Accept whatever comes to you woven in the pattern of your destiny,
for what could more aptly fit your needs?
(Marcus Aurelius).
***
I moved forward slowly and carefully, using the Force to hold Ahsoka in one position with my arms outstretched. At the edge of my vision, I could still see the aftermath of the battle—equipment torn apart by explosions, both ours and the enemy's. In some places, thick black smoke rose into the air, only to be shredded by gusts of wind and blown back down to the ground. The rain grew heavier, lashing my face. A huge number of droid carcasses covered the soaked ground of Jabiim, interspersed with the blue-brown bodies of Nationalists and the greenish-red armor of dead clones. And although the enemy's losses were enormous, many of my soldiers had fallen as well. Too many, even at first glance.
Shit, shit, shit! At this rate, we won't last long. It's good for them…
Although it wasn't really clear who "they" were. My thoughts were muddled, and I was unable to focus on anything other than Ahsoka at that moment. After I was hit, I was too… overexerted, or something. Burned out. And that incomprehensible shit that had happened just recently made me doubt my sanity. The only thing missing for my complete happiness is voices in my head.
Ahead, the Juggernaut slowed down, and a pair of S-130 matched its pace, their turrets spinning menacingly. On the side, between the third and fourth wheels, a ramp swung down to give access to the interior. I carefully carried the Togrutainside.
"I need a medic, urgently!"
A white medical droid was already descending from the upper floor. Hovering on its repulsors, the four-eyed machine swept its manipulator over the girl's wound.
"The wounded requires urgent surgery. Her condition is stable, but additional diagnostics are necessary. Follow me," said the female electronic voice of the IM-6, sounding almost hopeful, with a trembling, caring trill coming from the vocabulator. These droids were truly ingenious—not only in terms of design or the voice. Their creators had managed to instill in them an extraordinary dedication to their work and a genuine-seeming care for their patients. These small, nimble machines were part of a large array of equipment, including LAATs and AT-TEs, that saved the lives of clones right on the battlefield—I myself had witnessed such cases.
Soon I placed Ahsoka on the operating table. A second IM-6 was already busy scanning the wound, while the 2-1B surgical droid prepared the necessary instruments. Apparently, they had just finished another operation—a third IM-6 was busy in the adjacent ward, where the patient beds were located.
"General, please leave the room. We will inform you of the results of the operation. However, you should also undergo an examination."
One of the droids floated closer and hovered insistently.
"That can wait." I snapped out of my daze and waved the machine away.
Leaving the infirmary, I headed for headquarters. There I was met by Mirro, who was bandagingLi Noriega's head.
"Are you injured, Lieutenant?"
"It's nothing. Two missiles hit the left side of the vehicle at once, and I lost my footing, so I cut my forehead. We'll manage on our own—we've taken first-aid courses."
"What's the situation?"
"Sir, judging by the enemy's communications and—" Mirro nodded toward the surveillance screens, "—by the intensity of the fighting, we can say we were almost crushed. But at some point the enemy soldiers—the organic ones—became confused. Some threw down their weapons or even ran back. I don't know what caused it, but it came at just the right time. The delay was very short, but it was enough to destroy theclankers and then drive off the surviving Nationalists."
The second lieutenant finished fussing over our chief of staff, and she, swaying slightly, stepped toward the tactical table while Mirro hurried back to his den of screens and consoles. At that moment, new faces began to stream into the headquarters compartment. Marshal Blam was the first to appear.
"General. May I use your staff vehicle? The ground headquarters has been blown to smithereens anyway."
I nodded silently. Following him were the legion commanders: H, Zilo, and Turn.
"Where's Enok?"
Blam shook his head negatively.
"So many enemies were advancing across the southern plain that… well, the losses are enormous. Senior Commander Enok led all the reserves into battle, including the headquarters elements. The clankers were stopped, but he was killed."
Hutt. This is not good at all.
"He was an excellent soldier and commander."
It was a cliché, but what else could be said in such a situation?
Meanwhile, four more figures took their places around the table: a clone lieutenant with a medical-service insignia on his shoulder; a captain-engineer covered in mud and blood, a blaster slung over his shoulder; plus Puck and Lucky.
"So, gentlemen, what do you have to say?"
"General, it's practically a miracle that we survived…"
"There are no miracles, Blam. You just happened to be better soldiers than they were."
"Thank you, sir. However, despite all our awesomeness, we won't be able to withstand the next attack. The defensive line is broken, and in some places it will be difficult to establish even a proper perimeter. Most of the heavy equipmentthat was at the base is irretrievably lost. And the Juggernauts are not exactly what we need for defense. Plus, if the enemy clears the sky again, we're in big trouble. Captain, what's the situation with the equipment lists?"
Blam turned to our engineer.
"Almost all of the walkers are lost—the couple of surviving AT-TEs shouldn't be counted on. The situation with the AT-XT and AT-RT units is better, but we've still lost around twenty percent. The equipment that hasn't been completely destroyed can be repaired, but not under current conditions. No—if we had more time and a proper production base… hutt, it'd be easier to build new machines."
"I see you fought well," I said, nodding at the captain's warlike appearance. In general, our technical staff was purely civilian, except for a few blaster pistols carried by officers. And here is the armor and the carbine.
Senior Commander Zilo crossed his arms over his chest.
"We had to use all our reserves, including the engineering and repair battalions. By the way, they performed surprisingly well. We didn't even have to arm them—they had quite a few guns stashed away."
"Now I understand why they aren't armed," I said. Everyone looked at me in surprise.
"What? They're such beasts that it's dangerous to give them weapons!"
The clones laughed, even though the joke was mediocre.
"Yes, sir," the captain saluted with genuine indifference. "We can do something."