The landing on the planet went according to plan. Encountering no resistance, we disembarked near a large settlement on the border of the territories developed by the colonists. Farther north stretched a vast plain, across which a massive droid army—several hundred thousand strong—was advancing in our direction. Air strikes, however, proved useless: as soon as our bombers appeared on the horizon, the droids halted their advance and activated their protective shields.
It was clear that a ground battle was inevitable. At the edge of the mountainous region, there was a small river—well, not really a river, more like a stream. We chose it as our defensive line and took up positions along its banks. Blam and the clone troopers held the front line, stretching for ten kilometers, with the militia brigade deployed behind them. The second brigade remained aboard the Acclamator as a mobile reserve.
After setting up a network of improvised fortifications, we waited for the enemy to approach—while dealing with an unexpected problem.
***
The locals were extremely friendly. In Ahsoka's opinion, far too friendly. By the time the droid army was only an hour away, numerous onlookers from nearby settlements had scattered across the surrounding rocks, and some had even wandered directly into the battle lines. Men and women alike chatted with the fighters and offered them fresh fruit.
The girl tried to persuade them to leave, warning that they could be injured during the battle, but they merely nodded, smiled, and stayed put. Finally, in desperation, she turned to her Master.
He listened to her in silence, then walked over to the nearest group of onlookers. Stopping in front of them, he said firmly:
"Get out of here."
They ignored him too.
A shot rang out, and one of them collapsed, clutching his leg where a blaster bolt had struck. Everything froze.
The Jedi spoke again:
"I'll count to fifty. I want everyone out of here. Otherwise…"
Less than a minute later, all the locals had mysteriously vanished.
"Master… isn't that a bit harsh?" the girl asked, stunned.
He replied dryly:
"Remember: 'Due to their inability to reason, crowds are gullible and easily influenced, so an authoritative, strong-willed order from a reasonable person, delivered with confident intonation and in the form of an urgent demand, leads the crowd to instantly obey the leader's will.' This principle applies to war as well. On the battlefield, a leader is a man of action, not reflection. He subjugates the will through action…"
The Togruta shook her lekku. Ugh, the Master's at it again… Incomprehensible…
At last, the droid army reached their defensive line.
"There are a lot of clankers," Blam muttered, peering through his binoculars.
The droids advanced in a broad front. B-1 and B-2 units formed large, orderly blocks—fifteen droids across and ten deep. The B-1s marched in the front ranks, with their heavier counterparts behind them. DSD-1s and OG-9s advanced between the blocks, followed by two lines of AATs. Groups of six such blocks stood out, followed by speeders and NR-N99 tanks, as well as MTTs carrying shield generators. And there were several such lines… Groups of Vulture droids moving in walker formation were also visible.
Moments later, blaster fire lit up the space between the two armies…
After twenty minutes of fighting, the Master raised his hand.
"It's time. Bombers, prepare! Ahsoka, left flank! Take the militia and the equipment and strike the droids from behind! Puck, Lucky—take the shielded speeder bikes. You're in charge of the shield generators!"
"Yes, Master!" Ahsoka replied, already sprinting away.
Leaping onto a speeder bike, she surged forward to carry out the order…
***
When the last clone squad reported that there were no more droids, I breathed a sigh of relief. Despite my fears, things hadn't gone too badly. We had managed to blunt their attack and force their formations into disarray. The strike by Ahsoka's unit—comprised of armored support troops—had distracted the enemy from our diversion. The Freerunners were particularly impressive: a barrage of blaster and laser fire literally vaporized droids, infantry and tanks alike. Puck and Lucky, working with the scout squads, broke through to the shield generators and destroyed them. Then… then we pulled back slightly, and the bombers swept over the droid positions. The ARC-170s served as improvised attack craft; their two powerful blaster cannons produced a devastating effect.
After that, we advanced and finished off the remaining resistance. Our losses were minimal: the Legion lost two hundred troopers, with another seven hundred wounded. As for the militia, they got off with nothing but fright—two idiots suffered minor burns.
With this detachment eliminated, I ordered the troops to load onto the transports and move north. There, in the forests, lay more than fifteen fortified enemy bases. There was still a great deal of work ahead…
***
The battle had ended a day earlier—naturally, with their victory—and now the troops under General Vick's command had moved north, to the edge of the forest where the remnants of the droid forces were located.
Rodgmy Blackmoore slammed his palm onto the table.
"Support troops… ha! They underestimate us, lads. This general puts the clones on the front line and shoves us into the rear, like we're good for nothing! Come on—let's show this Jedi we're not pushovers!"
"What do you suggest we do?"
"Attack the droids! Now. There can't be many of them left out there…"
***
Kell Alerti moved cautiously through the dense forest, scanning his surroundings. The surprise assault on the droid positions had begun twenty minutes earlier, but so far they had encountered no resistance…
Suddenly, heavy fire erupted on the right flank—then on the left, and then from behind.
"Sir, what's happening?" he shouted to Tail Goo, their lieutenant.
"Hutt kno—" The lieutenant stepped forward, and at that instant several massive, barrel-shaped silhouettes burst up from beneath the ground and immediately opened fire on them.
Kell leapt backward, fumbling for the grenade launcher slung across his back—but a double red beam sliced through him, cutting him in half…
***
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! There's no other way to put it. One of the militia commanders—more precisely, the commander of one of the auxiliary brigades—decided to show off his courage and attacked the enemy on his own initiative. Naturally, he walked straight into an ambush and lost most of his men. We—meaning the Thirteenth Legion and the second brigade—were forced to attack immediately, and even my combat meditation barely helped amid the chaos…
In the end, it turned into a two-day battle. We were victorious—but at what cost? Three hundred seventy-three clones killed, more than a thousand wounded, and from the two militia brigades we could barely assemble a single unit at full strength. A third of their equipment was destroyed; and those idiots would have wrecked much more, if not for the dense forest, which limited the damage. The enemy commander made excellent use of the terrain and the specific capabilities of certain droids. Well…I was particularly impressed by the Scorpenek annihilators. Even a Jedi wouldn't immediately know from which angle to approach that infernal machine.
When all that racket was over, we began a more methodical offensive—by the book, so to speak. After clearing the remaining ambushes, we isolated the fortified enemy bases, brought up the SPHAs, and overloaded their shields. Further resistance was crushed fairly quickly; there weren't that many droids left anyway.
True, we never did find the droid commander…
When the operation concluded, it was time to hand out rewards—and punishments. Fortunately, I hadn't crossed paths with that Blackmoor in the heat of battle. He had been arrested by Firmus Baracus from Security. As it turned out, Baracus had tried to reason with the bastard, but Blackmoor simply knocked him out with a blow to the head. When Baracus came to, he charged straight into the fighting and personally apprehended this "commander." Now that there was time to spare, it was decided to convene a tribunal.
We lined up the troops in a "П" formation, with a small rise in the center, we positioned ourselves on a small elevation—an improvised tribune of sorts. I silently watched that fool, weighing how to act. At last, I made my decision.
"Puck."
"Yes, sir?"
"Shoot this bastard."
He was so shocked that he didn't even try to speak. Two clones, responding to a gesture from the ARC trooper, seized him by the arms and dragged him away.
Then I addressed the ranks—primarily the militiamen.
"Remember this: in the army, an order is law. Disobeying an order will be punished severely. I don't care about your lives—but if you endanger others, that's another matter entirely. I am the commander here, and I will not tolerate stunts like this again. Either you follow orders—and I'll do my best to see that you don't die before your time and make it home—or you follow Blackmoor. Understood?"
The militiamen looked grim, but no one protested. There were no fools among them.