And if we take into account not the Force, but only the lightsaber… "An elegant weapon for a more civilized age." That's what Kenobi said, I think. He will say… someday… probably. Only now do I finally understand what he meant. Despite its destructive potential, the blade was used more for defense than attack—and even then, the goal was not to kill but to neutralize the enemy. Foolish, to be honest. And for Padawans, oddly enough, it's a little easier—after all, this dogma has not yet taken root in them as deeply as it has in adult Jedi.
The same Dooku had every chance to kill both Obi-Wan and Skywalker on Geonosis, but he only incapacitated the former with two shallow cuts, and only Anakin—who provoked him with his insolence—had his hand taken off by the Count. Jedi upbringing, my ass. As for the Padawans… their psyches are a little more flexible, they adapt better. That's why many of them survived while their Masters did not.
As for ordinary intelligent beings… the Jabiimi, no matter which side they fight on—those who didn't die in the first battles have grown more experienced. They've become weary and dullness, angry and fatalistic. Their training is improving, their grip on their weapons tightening, their fighting growing fiercer. It's not for me to judge them—they're fighting for their homeland, their homes, their families—but however much I understand them, they are still our enemies, and they will kill us if we don't kill them first. Simple rules.
Yes, at first, most normal people resist cruelty and violence, but over time they absorb them like a sponge, and cruelty becomes the norm, violence—entertainment. For this too is the norm. The norm of war.
A long time ago—those times now feel like ancient history to me—back in my freshman year, we had lectures on psychology. I remember them not so much because they were interesting, but because of the lecturer herself. She was a dry, ancient old woman—she was ninety, but looked like she was a hundred and twenty. Perhaps she had technicallybeen fired long ago, but she didn't care; she still came to work and read from her notes.
So, in one of her lectures, she touched upon the topic of military psychology. I remember her words clearly, explaining the types of people in a society: "Soldiers by obligation, soldiers by duty, soldiers by vocation."
The first type is the most numerous—they don't want to take up arms, but when trouble comes, they join the army. The second type wants to serve and usually enlists willingly. The third type… often has no place in peaceful society andconsciously seeks opportunities to fight. For every seventy soldiers by obligation, there are ten soldiers by duty and only three by vocation. Not so many at first glance.
Furthermore, here in this Galaxy, people seem more peaceful than ours. Different species have different beliefs—some are openly aggressive, others peace-loving. I also remember that Darth Plagueis used to say, "Just as not all Togrutas are peaceful pacifists, not all Muuns are merchants and bankers." But still, the proportions remainaccurate.
That means for every hundred million Jabiimites, there are three million who ready to go to war against us. Perhaps this number should be halved, but even then, the ratio is not in our favor. That's how it is. Yes, there are still those who remain loyal to the Republic, but they are very few.
When I came to, I realized I had been staring at my reflection for quite some time. Shaking my head, I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand.
The storm that had been raging in the skies—almost nonstop for six days—had finally subsided, and the weather returned to normal for Jabiim. The situation at the front stabilized, and we were able to calculate our losses. Even at first glance, they were enormous. And the front as such no longer existed…
Wiping my face with a towel, I picked up my helmet, mechanically checking that my saber and blaster pistol were secured at my belt, several grenades tucked into my pouch. Everything was in order. Leaving the cabin, I squeezed through the corridor toward the headquarters room. They were already waiting for me.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I greeted those present. "Is everyone here?"
"Yes, sir," Blam nodded.
H and Turn saluted without rising from their chairs. The operators were absorbed in their work, watching the instruments. Some were absent—the guys needed a break. Mirro was working his magic on one of the consoles. Ahsoka was in her cabin; I'd practically ordered her to rest. She was probably offended.
"Sumeragi, what will you delight us with?"
The girl looked down at her datapad, checking her notes.
She seemed drained, gaunt—bearing little resemblance to the woman I had first met. Even her voice had become… less lively.
"Nothing special, General. We still don't have exact figures, not all reports have come in yet… Heavy losses, and not just in our sector."
"The fact that most of them are attached-unit losses rather than Legion is little consolation. The number of casualties is around thirty thousand, a quarter of them Legion—though this is far from final. The situation with equipment is better—we know the exact numbers. That's where the good news ends. More than fifty AT-ATs and two hundred AT-TEs have been destroyed or disabled, eleven A6-type Juggernauts and another two dozen A5-modifications wiped out. Losses among light walkers are being clarified, but they're definitely no fewer than a couple hundred."
"That sucks. What do you think, Blam?"
"Sir, we should retreat and regroup… It's difficult to coordinate plans in such chaos… and it wouldn't hurt to replenish supplies… and get the wounded to medical. There'll clearly be a break between battles—the Nationalists and the droids need to recover from their losses as well."
"Are they significant?"
"You bet. We've destroyed droids alone… how many, Lieutenant?" The clone turned to Li Noriega.
"At least two hundred thousand—plus about forty thousand organic fighters and fifteen hundred units of military equipment."
"Not bad."
"Sir!" Mirro exclaimed. "I just caught a message—we've been ordered to retreat to the Shelter base. A meeting has been scheduled there."
"Well, let's regroup," I said. News like this lifted the spirits like nothing else. "Blam, gather thetroops. We'll leave as soon as we can…"
"Sir, correction—they're only calling our unit. The other units assigned to us are staying on the front line."
"That sucks."
"It's an order, sir. They'll probably continue their advance on the capital."
I hope Kenobi has a good reason to get us out of here. Those who remain have almost no chance of survival.