Elizabeth Marie-Noir burst into the barracks with an energetic stride. Since their regiment, the *Brave Boys*, had arrived on Va'aart, they had only participated in a few patrols outside the base. For the most part, the militiamen simply stood guard within its walls. Yet no one was particularly eager to wander through the surrounding mountains and forests—there was no sign of civilization out there anyway.
The natives, however, were friendly and even supplied the Republic with meat and fruit. How the Jedi had negotiated with them remained a mystery, but the fact remained: the whole assignment was one enormous bore.
Once the excitement of the first few days had faded, the regiment split neatly into two camps: those who were always sleeping and those who were always playing sabacc.
Their commander, Colonel El Johnson, firmly belonged to the first group—and at the moment, he was sprawled comfortably across his bunk.
"El Johnson, get your ass off the bunk!"
"What's the rush?" he mumbled without opening his eyes.
"There's a meeting at headquarters."
"Marie, if you want to go, go ahead. You're our chief of staff—so it's technically your job. No big deal," he replied lazily, stretching and yawning with theatrical exaggeration.
"It's always like this! They dump all the paperwork on a defenseless girl!"
"Correction—you're not defenseless. And you're not—"
"Shut up."
"Already."
The rest of the regiment's officers burst out laughing as they watched their commanders argue.
Marie-Noir lifted her chin dramatically and marched out of the room with exaggerated dignity.
"Gregory, why don't you want to go?" one of the officers asked.
"What new information am I supposed to learn there?" Gregory replied lazily. "We'll be securing the perimeter inside the base just like before. Or do you want to wallow in the mud in the trenches?"
"No, thank you."
"Then I don't see the point of your nitpicking, Elizabeth. So don't disturb the commander's sleep."
"Yes, sir," the officers answered in unison.
"Clowns," El Johnson muttered.
---
Ntor Ragnos, captain of the *Terminus* and de facto commander of an eighteen-ship task force, was in good spirits.
All attacks against both Va'aart and the fuel plant had been repelled, and General Dagon had finally returned. However, his arrival had brought new complications. According to the Jedi's report, a large-scale assault was expected soon.
On top of that, a request had arrived to transfer two young officers to the general's headquarters.
The Zabrak sighed quietly.
He had already evaluated the potential of Second Lieutenant Li Noriega. Still, he suspected that conditions on the ground might prove even more complicated than expected—and the general clearly intended to make full use of every capable officer available.
"You called, Captain?"
"Sir."
Midshipman Mirro snapped to attention with a crisp salute.
"You two are being reassigned to General Dagon's headquarters. Pack your things—the shuttle is waiting in the third hangar."
"Yes, Captain!"
A clone midshipman approached.
"Sir, Artkainen is on the line. Captain Fokker wishes to speak with you."
"Put him on the screen."
Over the course of their service together, the two officers had developed an easy rapport, frequently discussing everything from tactics to politics.
"Captain?"
"Ragnos, what's the situation?"
"The general believes the Separatists are preparing an offensive. You know how reliable enemy intelligence can be."
"Poodoo. So what are we going to do?"
"The plan isn't finalized yet, but the general outline is that we'll leave Va'aart's orbit and link up with your position. We'll guard the fuel plant."
"What about the ground troops?"
"They'll hold the line until reinforcements arrive. A request has already been sent to Sector Command."
"Help is good."
---
Ten hours.
Any droid could tell you exactly how many minutes and seconds that was.
Was it a long time or a short one?
On the one hand, it was only half a day—Va'aart's day lasted twenty hours. On the other hand, it was more than enough time to accomplish a great deal.
Some orders were little more than formalities.
Appointing Blam as deputy corps commander, for example. He had already been running most of the base anyway.
Other tasks—like establishing a new headquarters—required considerably more effort.
Still, everything was ready.
The enemy had not yet appeared… but I could feel them coming.
It was difficult to explain, even to myself. My thoughts on the matter were a tangled mess of instinct and intuition. You simply *knew* the enemy would attack.
And that knowledge didn't make the waiting any easier.
There was danger—but where? When?
Moments like this made me understand how even Yoda could miss someone like Palpatine hiding in plain sight.
---
I chose the large hall containing the tactical table as the headquarters' main operations center. It had already been designated as a backup command post.
The rest was simply logistics: moving equipment, relocating communications officers and operators, and powering up the systems.
The strange thing was that this hall was actually superior to the original command center—more spacious, more comfortable, and far better protected, being located deep within the structure instead of at the top.
Everyone who needed to be present had gathered.
Marshal Commander Blam.
Four former regimental commanders, now promoted to brigade leaders.
Second Lieutenant Li Noriega, who was already busy managing daily logistics and ensuring the headquarters ran smoothly.
Ensign Mirro sat in the corner, hunched over a large communications console surrounded by staff operators.
Everything functioned perfectly.
Unfolding a map of the region on the tactical table, I used telekinesis to pull a crate from the corner toward me and sat cross-legged upon it while studying the holographic display.
Our plan wasn't particularly original.
Of the twelve regiments stationed on the planet, ten had been deployed around the base perimeter, manning trenches and fortifications.
Ten regiments sounded impressive—but for a defensive line stretching sixteen kilometers, it really wasn't that many.
Still, with the number of heavy weapons available, there was little reason for concern.
The base alone mounted more than five hundred laser and blaster cannons. In addition, a considerable stockpile of captured Separatist weapons had been repurposed to increase firepower.
For instance, twin E-5 blasters had been mounted on self-propelled carriages and operated by captured B-1 droids.
Anti-aircraft defenses were also formidable.
Alongside the base's standard batteries stood heavy artillery systems such as SPHA and J-1 cannons. Lighter mobile anti-aircraft platforms had been assembled as well, using quadruple-mounted carbines—something very similar to the old Maxim quad mounts I had used during the Resistance.
Two regiments—including the *Brave Boys*—handled inner perimeter security in case the outer defenses failed.
Most of the AT-TE walkers remained hidden in underground hangars, while newly acquired IFVs patrolled the surrounding terrain as a mobile reserve.
One hundred and fifty interceptors and bombers were concealed inside a mountain hangar, waiting for the right moment.
The battle would almost certainly begin as a defensive engagement. Our positions were prepared—but the enemy's numbers remained unknown.
There might be one hundred thousand of them.
Or five million.
---
A thought flickered in the back of my mind.
*What if…*
While studying one of the Jedi infocrystals, I had discovered a description of a fascinating technique known as **Battle Meditation**.
The document itself was painfully dull—long, dense, and overly philosophical. It felt like Master Yoda himself had written it.
Still, I had experimented with a few of the preliminary exercises.
Meditation had never been difficult for me.
And something about this technique… resonated.
That resonance told me one thing with absolute certainty.
Given enough time, I could master it.