Ah.
You.
Bastard.
I stared at Mace Windu's smug, impenetrably self-satisfied face. The black (forgive me, but I'm not even a little bit tolerant) Jedi was looking at me like I was shit. And he was waiting for an answer.
"I accept the assignment proposed to me, Master Windu," I said, bowing my head in a show of submission.
"The headquarters of the 13th Sector Army is located on the planet Ord Pardron," Yoda said. The Grand Master's hologram jabbed his cane at me. "Arrive there you must, with the troops entrusted to you. Well you proved yourself in the battle of Kamino, Knight Dougan. Only because of your intervention, the enemy could not reach the third generation of clones."
"It wasn't only my doing, Grand Master," I admitted honestly. "Master Shaak Ti, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, the ARC clones…"
"Knight Dougan is being modest," Shaak Ti said. "He was the one who suggested collapsing the tunnel, and he held back the surge of water until help reached us."
After the fighting on the ramp, leaving the younglings under the protection of a clone detachment, I, Shaak Ti, Kenobi, and Skywalker—escorted by Prime Minister Lama Su—made our way, not without battle, to the laboratory where the third, youngest generation of clones was being grown. Future fighters who still had to grow up.
Right there, just a few passages away, there was one of the auxiliary control points, next to which we found several hundred droids blasted apart. This was where Shay and Vette had stolen the information from Tipoca City's central computer.
If you can't summon an army—create it.
I never understood why the conflict was called the Clone War. To me, the title implied, well, clones fighting each other. Maybe it was the localization, maybe something else…
Odessen greeted us with a soothing balance in the Force, a pleasant climate, and relatively calm wildlife. Coupled with the Eternal Alliance base being virtually untouched, the planet looked like the most suitable support point for fledgling conspirators.
By my decision, Odessen became the headquarters of the Eternal Empire. Malgus was tasked with moving the Emperor's station and the Ghost squadron into orbit over Odessen. With some bickering, the Sith set off to carry out the assignment, taking the fallen Jedi woman with him.
Vette, as the only one familiar with the Alliance base, began putting it in order, compiling—together with R3—a defect list for repairing or replacing equipment. But she hadn't gotten even halfway through when Malgus and the Harrowers returned. Assigning the Sith and the fallen Jedi to handle the base, I took the Twi'lek for a more important mission. Her valuable technical skills were needed elsewhere.
Ashara obediently took over from Vette and ran the base while Malgus "played soldier," using skytrooper droids to transfer the station's supplies down to the planet.
Under the cover of a trusted agent of the "anonymous account" holder, Kira was sent by me to Rendili—to oversee the repair and modernization of our fleet.
Nadia left on a similar mission to Kuat. A highly complex and responsible assignment fell on her shoulders—one that will be described in detail in due time.
With the remaining three girls, I departed for Coruscant and then for Kamino.
The nimblest part of my Hands had to penetrate the Kaminoans' secret files. Everything interested me—from how cloning technology worked to methods of gene alteration. Most of all, I wanted to understand what exactly made the clones raise their weapons against the Jedi: that chip embedded in their heads, or the meekness and obedience to orders the Kaminoans had raised in them?
I would have believed that clones—created to follow orders in strict accordance with hierarchy—obeyed the head of state and carried out Emergency Order 66, if Commander Cody in the film hadn't called Palpatine "my Lord." A form of address fitting a Sith lord. Did the clones—or at least their commanders—know who Palpatine was? Or is the inhibitor-chip theory true after all, that the chips forced them to do what they did…
"To create an army of Mandalorians," Vizla said when she heard who the donor was for the clones, "that's quite ambitious. It'll be interesting to dig through this little planet's dirty laundry."
Atroxa silently accepted the order to accompany the two of them. Vette, meanwhile, talked nonstop all the way to Coruscant about how a clone army was the Sith's correct choice: total unification, uniformity, no additional costs and losses for citizens. A product grown solely for war…
Her words made me think. So, on Kamino, I asked Atroxa—while Shay and Vette were digging through files—to "borrow" several incubators from the Kaminoans. Fortunately, it turned out the warehouse with spare incubators was not far away. Over the encrypted channel, the Lethan reported the successful completion of her covert mission.
Meanwhile, knowing my helpers would leave Kamino for the Katana Fleet's coordinates in order to assess its condition, I—together with the other Jedi—defended the third generation of clones. Admit it: there's something devilishly ironic in that—Jedi saving those who will later kill them.
Despite the victory on the ramp, the tinheads kept dominating across the entire "mushroom" we were defending. The first few levels passed with almost no fighting, but the closer we got to the lab, the more droids there were. But we received reinforcements too—Kenobi and Skywalker along with a detachment of clone troopers. Together, falling back under the pressure of an enemy that outnumbered us, we pushed toward the laboratories. The third-generation labs were in the underwater section of the complex.
When we arrived, we saw with relief hundreds and thousands of incubators untouched by war, with tiny clones floating inside them.
"There's nowhere to retreat," Skywalker said.
"And we're not retreating," I snapped back. "These clones," I nodded behind me, "are future soldiers. Either they grow up loyal to us—or they don't grow up at all. ARCs," I addressed the three clones, "rig the incubators. If we fall," I pointed my blade at several droids appearing at the far end of the underwater tunnel, "the clones must not fall into enemy hands."
"As you command," the commando saluted me. Alpha-17. In the short time, I'd gotten to know each of the three commandos—17, 22, and 56. Despite their external similarity, they felt different in the Force.
Alpha-17—the one who smacked two of his brothers for failing to recognize me as a Jedi. Without overcomplicating it, I dubbed him "Alpha."
Alpha-22—suspicious and mouthy, the one who doubted me at our first meeting. I nicknamed him "Baldy."
And 56… yeah. A character. The toughest of them all. Acts first, thinks later. His grenade stunt in the underwater tunnel nearly sent us to the bottom of the sea. But I can't deny it—the droids didn't have an easy time. That's why he got dubbed "Berserker."
While Baldy and Alpha dealt with the lab's self-destruct system—despite Lama Su's whining and protests—the Jedi and Berserker shot back at the pressing droids.
The enemy kept coming and coming. It seemed the droids would never end. Completely unconcerned with losses, more and more mechanical soldiers advanced toward us.
Kenobi took a shoulder wound and dropped out of the fight. Five clones were killed, two wounded—one of them almost certainly wouldn't make it. Shaak Ti started tending the wounded as soon as a stray shot damaged her lightsaber.
When the entire tunnel floor was covered in droid remains, with ocean water sloshing between them, generously seeping through countless holes from Berserker's grenade shrapnel, a plan formed in my head.
"Skywalker," I called the Padawan, who was enthusiastically reflecting the droids' shots back at them.
"Huh?" the Chosen One replied with an annoyed face.
"Two!" I mimicked the Tatooinian. "Ever tried holding back a surge of water with the Force?"
"What?" the future Jedi stared at me, eyes full of horror and confusion.
"Then we'll learn on the fly." Gathering the Force—more of it—I sent it in a destructive shove down the tunnel.
The Force, like a massive hammer, tore through the corridor, sweeping and crushing everything in its path. The elegant arches of the underwater tunnel—once strong, now weakened by shrapnel—collapsed, dragging droids down with them, both active units and those who'd already met their digital god.
Almost immediately, what remained of the corridor on our side, bordering the lab entrance, began to fill with water.
Drawing in the Force's power, I tried to find balance between my calm (more accurately—my indifference) and my inner fear (if this fails, we'll all drown, and to hell with them, but I'd rather not lose myself). I felt the Force flowing through me, filling my whole body, clearing my mind, and pouring from my hands as an invisible shield.
Like an energy membrane, the Force rose between us and the ocean's waters, keeping us alive.
"Incredible," Skywalker whispered. "Where did you learn that?"
"The Force holds unimaginable power, Anakin," Obi-Wan said as he approached us. Despite the wound, he looked lively. "A magnificent idea, Knight Dougan," he praised me.
"Just Rik is fine," I offered. The Force flows I was channeling made my hands tremble slightly with strain, but overall it was bearable. I think I can hold it for a while.
But credit must be given to Alpha's quick thinking and Lama Su's desire to live. The clone and the Prime Minister quickly sorted out the lab systems, and a super-strong sealed bulkhead cut the laboratory off from the ocean abyss.
With hands shaking from the strain, I thanked them both.
And though the Force currents that passed through my body couldn't be compared to what I'd channeled while absorbing Exar Kun's spirit, it was still rough.
While waiting for the evac team Lama Su had already called, I sat on the floor with my back against the wall. My body shook with tension. I once again ran Force flows through myself—not too strong, but enough to ease the agony of my nerve endings.
Master Ti gave the order, and the three ARCs hurried to disable the self-destruct system. Now, no longer fearing that death would come through the only entrance—also the only exit—the clones and Jedi began binding wounds.
***
With heavy losses, the Separatists retreated. Part of their fleet hung in orbit as shapeless chunks of debris. But most ships escaped.
The Jedi—without hyperspace rings—could not pursue the ships leaving the system. Oppo's vaunted Republic fleet had been battered so badly it couldn't counter the retreating Seps. Two of the three Barrishniks—the main strike ships of the attacking fleet—and more than half of the initial number of Shchedrys managed to get away. And even though GAR command considered the battle a Republic victory, my view of it was skeptical.
Routine corpse cleanup and clearing the facilities took several days. All that time I remained on Kamino. I received no order to leave the planet, though most of the Jedi—except Shaak Ti—departed, taking almost all ships and combat-ready clones with them.
Kamino once again had nothing.
A couple of Acclamators in orbit meant nothing. A puff of smoke against even one Barrishnik.
But Sidious never planned for the Seps to capture Kamino…
The Council—greatly reduced—assigned me to the 13th Sector Army.
"The Iron Spear."
And if I remembered anything about this particular army, it was that throughout the Clone Wars the 13th bounced in a sine wave across all sorts of offensives.
But everything in order.
With the outbreak of war, the command of the Grand Army of the Republic split its space into twenty supersectors. Each was put under a high official—a Moff. This person represented the full authority of the Republic within the sector. Essentially, a Moff could say on any planet: "I am the law here," and be absolutely right.
Reading the "brochure"—the information on my datapad—I got a quick primer and learned there were twenty sector armies, divided into three groups: Northern, Southern, and Reserve. The 13th topped the Southern list. Not surprising. The 13th Sector Army, the Iron Spear, under Moff Bailur with headquarters on Ord Pardron, received the largest theater of operations. Its responsibility zone included all territories of Hutt Space, Bothan space, and other unremarkable worlds, all the way out to the ass-end of nowhere: for example, Christophsis, Rodia, Toydaria…
The Iron Spear's primary mission was the defense of Kamino. But seeing Christophsis and Hutt Space on its roster, I felt in my liver that I'd be swallowing a lot of shit.
At the same time, success in harsh theaters promised dividends. Where else can you make your name if not in the hardest battles?
My modest merits on Kamino were enough that all three ARCs—Alpha, Baldy, and Berserker—stayed with me. Other surviving ARCs were snatched up by more eager officers, but I held on to "my" boys almost in an argument with Shaak Ti. The Master, as calm as always, took my whim with favor.
Soon after the assignment, orders came.
Rothana—located in the responsibility zone of the neighboring 14th Army—was, as I said, a secret production site of Kuat Drive Yards. The Kaminoans chose it for producing GAR equipment and ships precisely because of the planet's secret location. As far as I remember, throughout the whole Clone Wars the Separatists never managed to learn where it was.
So. Rothana and Kamino were linked by a secret hyperlane. Along it, equipment and ships arrived for the cloners; they were staffed with crews and infantry, then sent to wherever they were needed most. And they were needed… right, everywhere.
Even though Kuat Drive Yards had already delivered the first Venators to the GAR, the need for ships—even Acclamators—was monstrous.
I was to meet an Acclamator squadron at Kamino, load each ship with a legion of clone infantry and a battalion of supporting services—engineers, medics, technicians—then move out to Ord Pardron, where the command of the 13th Sector Army would determine my next posting.
The ships had already arrived and were going through standard loading. There was no particular sense in supervising it—the Kaminoans knew their work. The saddest part was that almost all ships and clones would scatter to other sector armies. Only one assault ship and one clone legion—the 204th—were allocated as reinforcement to the 13th.
Notably, I was to command them.
"Sir," I was studying the provided documents in the cafeteria, in a far corner. The clones' white armor dazzled under the merciless artificial lighting. My three "Alphas," dressed in ARC armor, stood around me in a semicircle. After our shared battle, there was some thaw between us.
"Spill it, Alpha," I gestured for my officers to sit. Alpha, Baldy, and Berserker sat down across from me.
"General, is it true we're getting a legion of shinies?" Baldy couldn't hold it in.
"That's right," I sighed. "A rookie legion. But they're not that green. Units within the legion fought at Kamino."
"I thought you'd be given a more experienced unit," Berserker grumbled. "You saved the third generation!"
"We saved them together," I reminded him. Sighing, I looked each commando in the eye. "Boys, one victory doesn't give grounds to demand rewards. We've been entrusted with hopes—to win this war. So let's do our duty and bring peace and prosperity to the galaxy?"
Trading looks, the clones supported me unanimously.
"Then let's go take a look at our soldiers," I said, rising from the table.
***
I looked at thousands of pairs of eyes—and they stared back at me.
Thousands of identical brown eyes belonging to Jango Fett.
"Alpha, tell me," I asked quietly, "is this some kind of joke?"
"I don't think so, sir," the clone checked his datapad. "They're all here… all five thousand three hundred seventy-two clones. The 204th Legion at full strength…"
Out of the nine-plus thousand clones in the legion assigned to me, a little over half survived the Kamino meat grinder. Another two hundred or so were floating in bacta, recovering from wounds. Everyone else who'd lived through the slaughter stood in front of me.
"I think there's some mistake," Baldy scratched the back of his head. "There are too few of them."
"It's not a mistake," I objected. "We got played."
"What did they do, sir?" Berserker asked, surprised.
"They lied," I clarified.
We were standing on the ninth loading platform. Two clone regiments of the 204th Legion—what was left of the four prescribed—stood patiently under drizzling rain, rifles at the ready, waiting for their commanders to order them aboard the Acclamator.
I stood before them, surrounded by three ARCs. A little farther away, standing at attention facing the troops, were three clone commanders. Two of them—Phob and Dei—had the remaining regiments under their authority, 2,304 clones each. The third, Fan, made do with an understrength third regiment of the remaining seven hundred soldiers. Five companies and a platoon on top…
Five thousand three hundred seventy-two clones, sunk in indifference and gloom, stood in silence before me. In the Force they felt like a viscous emotional swamp that needed stirring.
"I'm going to strangle the Kaminoan who kept quiet about the understrength numbers," I promised.
"Would you have refused the legion?" Alpha asked.
"No," I shook my head. "I would've found the one who commanded them during the battle—and thrown him into the ocean."
The ARCs nodded approvingly.
"Legion," I amplified my voice with the Force to draw the troopers' attention.
In the Force, a flicker of surprise went through the clones toward me. And almost immediately faded.
"I am Jedi Knight Rik Dougan, commanding officer of the 204th Legion. From this moment on, you and I are one," movement rippled through the clones' monolithic formation. The soldiers began quietly talking among themselves. They probably hadn't heard something like that from a Jedi before. Or from anyone. Meanwhile, the Force told me that attention toward my person was growing exponentially. The clones were clearly interested.
"Together, we will walk the path set before us," I promised. "The 204th Legion will become the very hands that break our enemies' necks and lead us to victory!"
I struck my right fist to the center of my chest, then thrust it forward in a salute. A moment later, every soldier, commando, and clone commander standing before and beside me answered with the same gesture.
In the Force the clones surged with enthusiasm, with energy. Sure, I'm no Goebbels, but still.
"We are headed to the headquarters of the sector army 'The Iron Spear,'" I said. "And from there—off to smash Separatist scum. I promise you I will not let you down, and I demand the same from you! Never again will we lose our troopers without necessity! You have my word!"
The answer was a roar of тысячи throats. Again and again armored fists hammered white breastplates and rose into the air.
Now that looks like applause. I felt a trace of warmth coming from the legion and allowed myself a smile.
"Phob, Dei, Fan," I addressed the commanders. "Begin loading. Alpha, Baldy, and Berserker—on me."
With three ARCs at my side, I headed through Tipoca City's corridors toward Prime Minister Lama Su's office. A heart-to-heart was required.
***
Despite the fact that the battle on the planet had ended, Prime Minister Lama Su preferred not to remain alone anymore. So now a pair of trained clones stood outside his office doors.
Last time, he'd been miraculously lucky—Jedi Master Shaak Ti had been nearby. Together with three elite Republic commando clones of the Alpha class and other Jedi, they had saved the expensive third-generation equipment from destruction. Yes, the Republic's clones survived too, but compared to the cost of the equipment…
Lama Su held the position of head of Kamino's ruling council of governors. Due to his people's isolationism, Lama Su was one of the few intermediaries who dealt with offworld visitors.
But with the Jedi—as representatives of the largest contract—Lama preferred to deal personally. The Order had stationed Master Shaak Ti on Kamino, though she wasn't needed at all. The Kaminoans knew their craft. It wasn't the Jedi's job to watch over the growth and training of a clone army.
Jedi. Don't expect any good from them.
A little more than ten years ago, Lama Su personally accepted an order to create a clone army from Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas. The reward was an enormous infusion into Kamino's economy. And now the Galactic Republic itself was generously replenishing the treasury of the cloners' planet.
Isolation from the outside world helped the Kaminoans achieve mastery in creating clones. As strict pragmatists, Kamino's native population was absolutely uninterested in the goals of the army being created. They were paid. They delivered. Extra questions were bad for business.
An invasion of Kamino was also bad for business. The damage from the Separatist attack was still being assessed. Lama Su expressed his displeasure to the Jedi, and Shaak Ti assured him that nothing like it would be allowed to happen again.
His attention was drawn by noise behind the partition separating his office from other rooms. But before he could contact security, the door panels parted, letting in the Jedi in armor familiar to him and one of the ARC clones.
"Prime Minister," the Jedi greeted him courteously. "It seems we need to talk."
The man placed the hilt of his lightsaber on the desk and sat down opposite the Kaminoan like he owned the place. The clone sat down as well, keeping his blaster carbine in hand.
"What do I owe this visit to, Jedi Knight?" the Kaminoan tried to keep control of the situation.
"To deception," the man smiled. "The simplest kind of deception…"
"I'm afraid I don't understand you," Lama Su said as sincerely as he could.
Instead of answering, the Jedi tossed a datapad onto the desk.
"The 204th Legion," he explained. "Manned at a little over half strength. And you signed the documents stating my unit is at full complement."
"That is impossible," Lama Su said, fully aware of his own deception. After the battle, more than half the legions shipped out understrength—here a company short, there a regiment… There weren't enough ready clones for everyone—too many had died. But it turned out no one in the GAR counted troopers head by head, trusting the paperwork. So the shortages hadn't been exposed. Meanwhile, using such padding, the Kaminoans could receive substantial extra funds from the Republic—more than enough to cover the costs of restoring Kamino. In the end, for his planet, this war was just business. And it paid well.
"You know I'm telling the truth, Prime Minister," the Jedi cut in. "I'm to deliver six legions to the sector army base. But by a headcount it comes to four at best. So tell me, Prime Minister—why are you stealing from the Republic?"
"No, that can't be…" the Prime Minister began to excuse.
"Lama Su," the Jedi leaned forward. "You don't need this scandal. So I propose we come to an arrangement."
Frightened by the prospect of political squabbles, the Kaminoan suddenly calmed down, realizing this Jedi might be the kind one could do business with. Not as hardheaded as clones or Shaak Ti.
"I am prepared to hear your proposals for settling this… misunderstanding," the Prime Minister smiled.
The Jedi smiled back and slid over a new datapad. Staring at what was written on the screen, the Kaminoan slowly sank into shock.
"This… this is outrageous!" he exclaimed.
"Outrageous is stealing from the Republic," I noted. "You're playing a very dangerous game, Prime Minister. But if you meet me halfway—no one will learn of your schemes. Naturally—except those present here."
Lama Su looked anxiously at the Jedi, then at the clone accompanying him.
"I think," he finally said, "Kamino can help you."
"Excellent," I smiled. "Soon, my representative will visit you."
***
Ord Pardron.
A tiny ball in the middle of the Dufilvian sector.
Once, the planet served as a defensive-reconnaissance outpost—a world from which the Republic took broad steps in its expansion across the galaxy.
With the outbreak of the Clone Wars, the planet was remembered again.
Old structures—some literally gouged into the rock—were refurbished, freshened with paint and construction plastcrete. Orbit was thick with patrol ships and starfighters. A squadron of Acclamators stood watch in-system, converted into more of a carrier force than troop transports. They were supported by five proud Venators, their fresh hull plating gleaming. Clearly they hadn't seen combat yet. Unlike most civilian bases, this one couldn't boast strong defenses. Besides the cover squadron, the system also had an orbital fortress station—which my Acclamator docked with. And although it reminded me of the medical station from the Clone Wars cartoon, the presence of hundreds of gun emplacements on its surface dispelled my doubts.
Almost immediately upon arriving in-system, I received an incoming call from Moff Bailur. I was in the ship's control room, surrounded by regimental commanders, ARCs, and the Acclamator's officers. But since there was no separate communications room on the bridge, I had to take the call in front of everyone present.
"Aaaaah," the hologram of a short, slightly pudgy, graying man drawled. Rurkh Bailur in person. The Moff's small, plump, delicate hands told me more than his demonstratively furrowed face from intense "thinking."
He's not a warrior. And most likely he knows even less about war than I do. There would be no help, good advice, or meaningful orders from him.
Sighing internally, I returned the greeting.
"Good that you've arrived," the Moff said. "I desperately need fresh forces."
"Ready to help in any way I can," I shrugged.
Following the commander of the sector army, Berserker and I reached the operations holoterminal. Apparently, it was a briefing room. Separated from the main operations center by massive bulkheads, it had the holoterminal in the center and several chairs in the far corner.
The Moff gestured to a clone in a Republic uniform, and a planet's hologram appeared at once.
"Christophsis," Bailur said. "Ever been there, General?"
"Never in my life," I admitted. Though my mind was spinning with thoughts that the first Clone Wars cartoon I'd ever seen had been about the battle for that planet. If I remembered the official Clone Wars chronology right, it was one of the largest and bloodiest battles.
"Well then," the Moff concluded. "You'll be there soon. Captain H," the Moff broke off, distracted by the green light of his comlink, "continue the briefing. I've got an urgent call."
"The planet is located in the Christoph system, in the Savareen sector," the clone who had started the hologram began. "With the outbreak of war, the Confederacy landed on the planet and has controlled it since. CIS forces are commanded by Whorm Loatson. Senator Organa organized refugee camps on the planet; however, the Separatists pushed the humanitarian mission out and established an orbital blockade. Generals Skywalker and Kenobi broke the blockade, landed on the planet, and managed to evacuate most civilians. General Skywalker's 501st Legion, as part of General Kenobi's 7th Air Corps, together with attached forces, is conducting successful operations for the planet."
"Sounds like everything's going smoothly," Berserker noted. "But if the generals are succeeding—why are we needed?"
"The generals landed forces on the planet," Captain H explained. "And both Venators assigned to them returned for resupply. Admiral Yularen stated that due to Separatist sabotage, General Skywalker's and General Kenobi's units were left without ammunition. In addition, in the battle for the capital, they suffered heavy losses and require support."
"You want to send my legion to support Kenobi and Skywalker?" I clarified.
"And not only that," Bailur said, returning to the terminal. "Admiral Yularen reports that the Jedi Temple contacted him, and Master Yoda requests that an urgent message be delivered to General Kenobi…"
For fuck's sake, I swore silently. This was in the feature-length animated film… Yoda sent Kenobi a new Padawan…
"Allow me to introduce myself," bulkheads parted behind me with a hiss. "Ahsoka Tano."
***
"This is so great!" the little one squealed. "I'm going on a mission with a real combat general."
Damn you, Bailur! I cursed internally. Not only did he send me to the ass-end of nowhere to fight, he also ordered me to deliver this thorn in the ass to Skywalker.
"Sir," Berserker asked quietly, but loud enough for the Togruta to hear, "can I shoot her?"
"Not now," I waved him off. "We'll deliver her to Christophsis and get her off our neck."
"Actually," the girl blushed, "I didn't force myself on you. Moff Bailur said it would be better this way—Admiral Yularen's Venator will cover your legion's landing."
"Yeah. Sure," I snorted. The events of the cartoon were rising more and more clearly in my memory. The Venator that Ahsoka would arrive on would be shot up by Separatist ships, and it would have to pull back.
So we could forget about landing the legion right away. The moment the Venator and the Acclamator showed up within the enemy's engagement envelope, they'd be torn to shreds. And with them—my barely rebuilt legion.
Speaking of that.
After squeezing Lama Su by all his sensitive spots, I still found a way out of the personnel-shortage situation.
Like the 204th, many clone units on Kamino had taken heavy losses. A shortfall of three thousand clones and change could turn into a disaster for us. The padding the Kaminoans were doing could come back to bite not them, but me. So, without much ceremony, I walked through Kamino's barracks, requisitioning any clones I could get my hands on.
By departure, I managed to bring the legion up to three full infantry regiments out of the four required. The fourth regiment I filled "a thread from every spool."
The first battalion of that fourth regiment was made up of jetpack troopers. Copies of Jango Fett with jetpacks on their backs struck me as an excellent acquisition.
The second battalion were clone medics, bred by the Kaminoans specifically to provide field medical support to clones on the battlefield.
The third battalion I filled with heavy troopers. Issued heavy armor and heavy weapons, these clones were created to fight not only enemy infantry, but also enemy vehicles. Silent and grim, they weren't popular with other clones. And they didn't particularly seek conversation. During the flight to Ord Pardron, I hadn't seen a single one of the "heavies" outside their berthing block.
The last battalion was disliked by every clone in the legion without exception.
Paratroopers. In reinforced armor with helmets that looked like beehives, they underwent intensified training on Kamino for future missions involving drops from great heights. But something went wrong in the cloning kitchen, and the paratroopers became a unit no one liked among their brothers. When I learned that one of the Jedi who arrived to defend Kamino had left behind an entire battalion, replacing them with ordinary infantry, I couldn't afford to refuse such a luxury.
It would seem that after filling out the unit, it was time to stop my greedy hands—but no.
The legion's fifth regiment, and the first beyond the standard complement, became four battalions of clone engineers. And if by "engineers" you imagine these boys only get entrenching tools, you're wrong. A combat engineer battalion had maximum standardization. Combining the skills of pilots, technicians, medics, armorers, and more, these guys were simply irreplaceable. By the books, they belonged to one of the standard-complement legions, but I decided to strike while the iron was hot.
For the same reason, the legion was also given two hundred clone snipers. To round it out, I grabbed another eighty flametroopers.
Now my legion's strength was eleven thousand and another eight hundred clones.
Aboard Eon Krivz's Acclamator assigned to me, my little army now sat. Along with manpower, I could also rely on 320 74-Z speeder bikes, 80 LAAT gunships, 48 AT-TE walkers. The cherry on top was 36 SPHA—those very self-propelled artillery pieces used to knock down Separatist ships on Geonosis.
With these forces, I could seize a planet in the Outer Rim and ride out everything there. But I kept the bigger plan in mind. Taking one planet meant nothing compared to taking the galaxy.
"What are you saying, General?" Berserker's voice pulled me back to reality.
"The Seps probably didn't calm down," I said. "Christophsis matters to them, which means the moment our ships left for resupply, they should have pulled in more forces and renewed the blockade. If they didn't—I'll be disappointed in them."
"Maybe," Berserker said, "we shouldn't go in with everything. We'll wait until the passage is safe…"
"If the siege was broken once," Skywalker's future headache drew the wrong conclusion, "then it should be broken again. My message from Master Yoda…"
Good Lord, I rolled my eyes. Nobody cares what you decided. Better you'd offer an actual idea…
Almost at the shuttle ramp that would return us to the Acclamator (which, by the way, I'd named Rhino, after the USSR Navy's large landing ships), we met Alpha and Baldy, who were waiting for us.
"Splitting up was the right call, General," the careless Baldy said. "There's information…"
Alpha unceremoniously drove his elbow into his brother's breastplate.
"The General just came from a briefing, Baldy," the commando said in a honeyed voice.
"Back to the ship, gentlemen," I ordered. "On the way, we need to visit Admiral Yularen."
Glancing at the little thorn in the ass, I weighed for a moment whether Skywalker really needed a Padawan at all.