Blam walked confidently toward the exit leading to the outer landing pad. A few minutes earlier, the General had contacted him to ask how things were progressing. Blam had replied that he would report in person.
It was good that everything was… good.
As soon as General Vikt and Commander Tano departed, the unloading of the wounded began. Several hundred organic doctors, two dozen Jedi Healers, and thousands of medical droids were already waiting. So, within two hours, most of the wounded had been triaged and operated on. The doctors were now working with the most severe cases, but they guaranteed that all the injured would not only survive, but return to duty as well—most within a week, the rest in another five or six days.
The remaining troops were settled into one of the barracks on the far side of the landing pad. As Blam learned, construction of this complex had begun immediately after the outbreak of the war and had been completed just three weeks earlier. It consisted of a dozen rows of identical structures and landing pads, all fully equipped: warehouses and repair bays, barracks and medical centers, training grounds and hangars. The landing pads could accommodate up to three hundred Acclamators at once, while the barracks could house nearly five hundred million clones.
Coruscant scale—no doubt about it.
At the moment, however, there were barely half a million clones stationed here, and only seventeen ships.
Either way, the troops settled in quickly and without fuss. Officers from the ships were assigned quarters in a separate wing at the top of the complex. Repair crews began unloading equipment remained in the holds. Although, what equipment was there... twenty-seven light AT-XTs and two miraculously intact TX-130s. The hangars filled with gunships and fighters. Order and discipline reigned everywhere.
Could it really have been any other way?
Lost in thought, the clone reached the platform above the technical blocks, which served both as a landing pad—the hangars extended deep into the structure—and as an improvised canopy.
The platform was alive with activity. Clones from an unfamiliar unit, their armor marked with blue elements, were unloading containers from several Nu-class transport shuttles.
Blam stood off to the side, silently observing. After a while, a clone bearing the same legion insignia approached him.
"Waiting for someone, brother?"
Blam narrowed his eyes. The clone wore the rank of Senior Commander and was, evidently, the commander of this legion.
"Yes.Our General should be arriving shortly." he explained. "I'm Marshal Commander Blam, commanding officer of the... Thirteenth Legion."
"Senior Commander KK-1119. Call sign Appo. Commander of the Five Hundred and First Legion, sir."
"I haven't heard of you before."
"We were formed a month ago. Second-generation clones, first batch. Though…" Eppo paused. "Why legion commander? You hold the rank of corps commander."
"First of all, it's Legion, not legion. And second… We had a corps... Now we have two damn regiments left—and three more regiments of wounded."
Eppo let out a low whistle.
"Where did you get hit that badly?"
"Jabiim," Blam replied curtly.
"I've heard some things," Eppo said grimly. "They say it was a meat grinder… That's why they stationed us here on Coruscant—in case of riots or panic. We barely managed to get things under control."
"You have no idea what it was really like," Blam said. "If it weren't for General Vikt, none of us would have made it out alive."
"Is he a good commander?"
"No complaints. He's the smartest Jedi I've ever met. Do you know when reinforcements are expected?"
"No idea. But definitely not anytime soon. Most available forces are tied up in the assault on Muunilinst."
At that moment, a red, open-top airspeederdescended onto the platform. Vikt and Ahsoka Tano jumped out.
"General," Blam said, snapping to attention and saluting.
"And who's this?" Vikt asked, nodding toward Eppo.
The clone stepped forward quickly.
"Senior Commander Appo, sir. Five Hundred and First Legion."
"Five-oh-one, you say…" Vikt murmured absently, staring off into the distance.
"May I be excused, sir?" Appo asked.
"Dismissed."
Turning back to Blam, the Jedi gave him a firm slap on the shoulder.
"Well? Report."
"Everything is under control, sir. The wounded have been treated, the men are settled in the barracks. How long are we going to be stuck doing nothing?"
"A long time," Vikt replied. "At least two weeks."
"I see…" Blam hesitated. "Sir, I have an idea."
"Go on."
"Since we're waiting anyway…maybe we should include those who are recovering in our Legion?"
The Jedi grasped the idea immediately.
"Well yes… yes," Vikt nodded. "Experienced fighters instead of fresh recruits—especially from the last batch..." He smirked faintly. "I agree. Take care of it, Blam. We're getting our things, we'll be at the Temple. You know how to reach me. Keep me informed."
"Yes, sir."
***
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