DISCLAMER- I DO NOT OWN STAR WARS OR ANYTHING FEATURED IN THIS WORK OF FICTION.

The Landing:

Jabiim, Outer Rim Territories

21 BBY

His mind was closed off to the larger world around him, blocking out the rumble of the gunship's descent through the planet's atmosphere. His right hand was clenched tightly around the handle above his head, helping him to keep balanced against the violent jolts of the ship's passage to the surface. His left hand trembled at his side, his nerves frayed from hours of anticipation. It had been too long since he had last been able to meditate and center his emotions. He allowed himself to slowly reorient to his surroundings, releasing a few calming breaths as he opened his eyes.

It was dark in the belly of the LAAT, save for a red flashing strobe on the wall behind the cockpit. The intermittent flashes shone off the white armor of the Clone troopers crammed in around him. All of them were silent, holding on to handholds just as tightly as he was, their expressionless helmets hiding the anxious faces he knew were hidden beneath. He could feel it pulsing off of them, putting a pit in his own stomach just from the intensity of it, along with the knowledge that their feelings were justified.

Their gunship, and countless others like it, was descending into madness. The battle for Jabiim had been raging for weeks, leaving the original Republic task force that had been deployed bloodied and in tatters, desperate for relief. They were holding a very thin line, held together by the few Jedi left on the surface, and the sheer willpower and grit of the clones who served them.

The Republic's answer to the beleaguered assault force's problem came in the form of thirty thousand fresh infantry troops, and a host of heavy weapons and machinery to go with them. Leading the reinforcements were four Jedi Masters, and a few apprentices and Knights. It had been made clear to them before they departed the shipyards on Coruscant that if they failed to turn the tide of the conflict, the Republic would be forced to abandon the offensive, and leave the innocent Loyalist inhabitants of Jabiim to the occupation of the Separatists and the iron-fisted rule of their Nationalist supporters.

Suddenly, a hard jolt rocked the gunship, wakening him from his thoughts, followed by a tremendous torrent of noise outside the blast doors telling him the horde of transports had broken through the outer atmosphere, dropping them out at the highest elevation of the planet proper.

The pilot's voice over the ship's loudspeaker was the next sound to greet him. "Welcome to Jabiim, boys! We'll have the side doors open in a minute, so hold tight." The troopers shifted their stances, adjusted their grips on the handholds, and waited for the view of the planet below. "General?" the pilot piped up once more, drawing the attention of the sole Jedi on board.

"Go ahead." he replied, leaning over and pressing the commlink button on the wall next to him.

"General Diath is hailing us, asking for you."

"Put him through, please." A moment later, the comm on his wrist guard flashed. He activated it, and a miniature hologram of his fellow Jedi Master appeared. Master Nico Diath was leading the reinforcements, and now had full command of the forces, both the battered detachments already on the surface, and the new troops being deployed. He was a human as well, middle-aged, with long, salt and peppered black hair, and a neatly kempt handlebar mustache that framed his hardened, weathered face. His eyes were kind, though, which put others at ease when he was near.

Even through the hologram, small as it was, he gave off a comfortable aura of confidence that put his fellow Jedi at ease. "Master Krosis," Diath said, nodding a greeting.

"At your service, Master Diath," Krosis replied, "awaiting your instructions."

"Good," said Diath. "I have Masters Glaive and Sirrus on as well. Our deployment is as follows."the general's avatar was replaced by a map of the battleground. "Glaive will deploy to the rear of our landing zone with our armour and artillery, here." A highlighted section at one end of the map blinked, showing Glaive's drop point. "He will set up just in front of Shelter Base, our forward command post. It's not in the best shape, but what's left of the officers on the ground are holed up there."

"Krosis," Diath continued, "You will advance our infantry ahead of the artillery with Master Sirrus. You will land here-" another section of the map glowed, a few quadrants ahead of the last- "just behind the trench line the 43rd battalion and the remnant of the Loyalist army dug out. What remains of them are holding out on the front lines."

The map blinked out, replaced once again with Diath's miniature form. "You were all in that briefing with me. This is going to be a savage fight. The terrain is a muddy mess, and the planet is plagued by nearly endless rain storms. Advancement will be slowed for our armour, and we will be under fire from the enemy position as soon as we touch down.

"Regroup at the trenches, asses our options, and get us moving to that Nationalist stronghold." He paused, his avatar's head turning to the side slightly as someone outside the hologram spoke to him. He nodded a reply to whomever was talking to him and turned his attention back to his commanders.

"We are 10 minutes out from the LZ. I'm landing at Shelter base to deploy our command center and gather up whatever officers are left there. I'll join you all as soon as I can." He placed his right arm across his chest, fist over his heart, and bowed slightly, "Good luck my friends, and may the Force be with you."

With that, the transmission ceased, its bluish glow leaving the confined hold darkened as it was before. Krosis let out a sigh. He flinched slightly as the blast doors unlatched with a loud clamour, and the gunship's hold flooded with natural light. He raised his hand to his eyes and squinted against the change, blinking away the dark spots from his vision. The sound of the air rushing by the vessel's open sides was deafening, as was the loud hum of the ship's engines.

Finally able to see, he pushed past a few troopers, keeping a firm hand on the ship, and surveyed their surroundings. Dozens of other gunships filled the grayish skies, a thick covering of storm clouds above them blocking out the sun's rays. Among the gunships, a compliment of V-19 Torrent starfighters flew as escorts; their unique tri-wing configuration made them exceptionally maneuverable, and perfect for gunship escort missions. The other LAAT's side doors were opened as well, and he could see the other troopers crammed in the hulls, ready to deploy at a moment's notice.

He looked directly across from his ship, and saw Master Sirrus's transport; the Jedi was also looking out, taking it all in. Krosis waved a salute, but before his counterpart could reply, the pilot's voice erupted over the ship's speakers. "Vulture droids, incoming!" he barked as the first volley of enemy lasers streaked past. "Hang on to something!"

The ship pitched to the right suddenly to avoid a streaking missile, forcing Krosis and his troopers to brace themselves. They started shouting, grabbing on to the men beside them to keep anyone from falling out. Krosis fixed his gaze on the battle developing around them; the fighter escort had acted immediately, picking targets to engage and returning fire. The LAATs added their beam turrets to the fight, the green streaks filling the sky. The vulture droids blazed through the Republic formation, and the V-19s turned in pursuit.

He watched in horror as a clone fighter took a direct hit, disappearing in a ball of fire and shrapnel; one of the doomed ship's folding wing fragments rocketed towards a nearby gunship, tearing into the cockpit and lodging itself there. The pilot had to have died instantly, but the copilot's section burst into flames, flooding the back of the ship with smoke and fire. The LAAT drifted out of formation, flames engulfing it, clones spilling out of the open bay doors to escape a roasting death. They plummeted out of sight.

"Holy hell," a clone beside Krosis exclaimed. The Jedi Master felt sick at the sight, but had no time to lament the loss. A tremendous crashing sound from the opposite side of their transport caused him to whip around, just in time to see another gunship, now missing an entire wing after colliding with an enemy fighter, begin a death spin, throwing it's passengers violently free, sending them screaming to the surface below. "You droid bastards!" another trooper cried out.

Krosis turned again to where he had been looking, and found Master Sirrus's transport still flying near them. Relieved, he leaned further out his ships side door, looking to where the attack force was headed. He could just make out pillars of smoke a few miles ahead of them. "That must be the frontline," he said to himself. Debris was falling past them from the starfighters engaged above. The gunships were spread out now, still returning fire when they could. He looked back, to the rear of the formation, and saw that the group's heavy armour transports hadn't taken too many losses.

"Sir," a voice beside him spoke up. He turned to it and saw a clone sergeant holding a trooper helmet towards him. "You might want to put this on. It's getting a little hairy out here."

But Krosis declined. "That's all right." He rapped his knuckles on his chest piece as he spoke. "This will protect me fine. The rest, I leave to the Force." He was wearing a cutdown version of the clone troopers' standard armor, combined with elements of his normal robes, allowing him full range of movement in combat with a little added protection.

The sergeant scoffed, hanging the spare helmet back up where he got it. "Here's hoping your Force is with the rest of us, too."

The Jedi smiled wryly and turned back to his view. The gunships looked weathered; his own ship had lost one of its beam turrets in the fray, and its gunner with it.

"We're approaching the LZ now," the pilot spoke up again, "dropping altitude to avoid those turbolaser batteries." The entire transport group angled down for the last leg of the approach. They had entered the atmosphere of the planet well away from the battlefield, because the enemy fortress possessed several anti-aircraft weapons. Until the ground forces could disable them, no air support within their range would be possible.

As they leveled out, a group of vulture droids made another pass at them. Lasers scorched past them, hitting the ground below, but some shots found their marks: a transport took a direct blow to the cockpit, killing the pilots and sending it nose first into the earth. It hit at full speed, rolling end over end, scattering debris and bodies with every impact, before turning into a fireball and detonating in the middle of the transports' formation. Shrapnel bounced off scores of gunships, killing a few unlucky clones in the hot metal's path.

Another shot grazed Krosis's ship, again at the cockpit. A loud pop, followed by a sizzling sound, drifted back to them, and soon a trail of smoke began to stream from the front of the vessel. "Co-pilot's dead!" the pilot called out.

Krosis hit the comm to reply."How bad is the ship? Can you get us there?"

"I think she'll hold together," the pilot replied dubiously, "but I don't think this bird is leaving the LZ once we set her down."

The Jedi turned away from the comm and looked back out to the flight of transports. The vultures had left, re-engaging the fighters above, but they had done severe damage to the group. He wondered how many of the first wave would be left when they landed. "Please," he muttered under his breath, patting the side of the gunship "get us there in one piece…"

Alto Stratus watched the approach of the Republic gunships through his field binoculars. He stood atop the wall of the Nationalist base, situated at the easternmost edge of the Jobreth Plains. The flattened, muddy terrain that sprawled out before him sloped down from the fortress grounds and led to the far-off enemy trenches. The gradual climb up the miry slope had proven disastrous for the Republic forces' first assault; they had died in the hundreds against the stiff defence of the Nationalist army, eventually retreating back to their makeshift base.

Alto studied the droid starfighters as they tore into the transports and their escorts, and sneered as he saw gunships fall out of formation under the hail of fire the Vulture Droids put forth. Although he much preferred to utilize his own forces for combat, he was nonetheless pleased to have the Separatists' aid in controlling the skies, as his turbolaser batteries weren't placed at a proper angle to fire on the low-flying Republic vessels. Instead, they kept his enemies from dispatching bombers to level his stronghold, something that had given his army a distinct advantage.

Stratus leaned over the rampart and shouted an order to his men lining the defensive trenches that ran along the entire front of the base just outside the main wall. "Don't fire until the transports start unloading! As soon as you see those clone fools, hold nothing back!" He knew the range was too great for true accuracy, but with enough men firing on them, the odds were in their favor.

The men cheered loudly at his words, grabbing their weapons and lining them along the trench in preparation, sighting in on where their targets would be. Stratus had several thousand men under his command, and a large force of droid infantry he had yet to send into the fight. He was saving them until he knew he could crush the clone forces, which as of yet had fought off his attempts to dislodge them from their trenches. Even their pathetic forward command post had proven tough to assail. Now, with the arrival of the Republic reinforcements, he knew the final battle to push the invaders off the planet was approaching.

Footsteps near him drew his attention, he turned to see the head of his elite commando units come to stand beside him. "Sir," he said, placing his helmet on the rampart in front of them and resting his hands on it, "what are your orders?"

Stratus raised his binoculars to his eyes as he replied, "Nothing for now. We will soften them up first, then we will assault their trenches again. I'm bringing up those droid tanks from the bunker; they'll give us the firepower we need to grind them into the dirt." The bunker was carved into the mountain itself, which was to the rear of the fortress grounds. It was a massive enclosed storage space which currently held all of the droids Stratus had under his command, as well as the heavy weapons and tanks that came with them.

Thunder rumbled in the distance: another storm was rolling in, a near constant occurrence on this turbulent planet. Stratus glanced up at the thickly forming storm clouds, smirking at the timing of it.

"Perfect," he said, staring out over the battlefield. "Let them come."

The first gunships reached the landing zone.

CT-5/1087, also known as Burster to his clone brothers, clicked the commlink to the belly of the ship on. "We're approaching the LZ now," he addressed his passengers, General Krosis included. "Dropping altitude to avoid those turbolaser batteries."

The pilot dipped the nose of the gunship, joining the rest of the flight group as they descended. Mott, his co-pilot, called out a warning. "Enemy fighters coming back!"

Burster craned his neck to look up, just in time to see the vulture droids open fire. He snapped back to the task at hand, angling the ship down harder, the engines groaning from the effort. Lasers streaked past the cockpit as he dove down, leveling out finally, the rest of the transports close behind. As a ship settled in next to them, it was struck directly in the cockpit, killing its crew instantly. It nosed into the ground, rolling end over end and spewing its passengers out violently before exploding amidst the rest of the transports.

"Damn," Mott cursed, "That was Hoax's ship!"

"Focus, Mott, we're almost-" Burster was cut off as a laser bolt cut across Mott's cockpit, killing the co-pilot, and frying his electronics in the process, starting a fire and sending smoke streaming out the front of the gunship.

"Mott!" the pilot called out, shocked. He cursed and hammered the comm button again. "Co-pilot's dead!" He gripped the controls firmly as the ship became more sluggish to respond.

"How bad is the ship?" the general called back, urgency in his voice. "Can you still get us there?"

Burster hesitated slightly before replying, "I think she'll hold together-" at least he prayed it would- "but I don't think this bird is leaving the LZ once we set her down." He clicked the comm off, needing all of his focus. He knew he wouldn't be leaving the drop point once they landed- or more accurately, crash landed. He had to fight hard the keep the nose up, and the turning capability he would need to leave was now non-existent. If they weren't already aimed at their destination, he doubted they'd have any chance of making it there.

Shelter Base came into view; he could see that the battered command post was flanked by two AT-TE walkers on either side, and he could make out a few dozen troopers running to their entrenched positions around the camp. The transports zoomed over the troops below, eliciting unheard cheers at the sight of the long-awaited reinforcements.

Finally, the LZ came into view. "Everybody hang on!" he warned his passengers. "This is gonna hurt…"

He slowly let the ship drift towards the ground, throttling down evenly; he had to be precise about how they crashed, or else no one would walk away from it. His arms began to shake from the effort, the ship's controls barely responded, and he held his breath, jaw clenched tight. With a dull scrape off the muddy surface, he made contact, jolting the ship as it skipped off the ground. He grunted, putting everything he had into keeping the drop as smooth as possible.

He skipped again, but recovered quicker, pressing the ship into the mucky earth; this time it stuck in, lurching horribly as the mud grabbed the gunship and cut its momentum in half. The ship wanted to turn and roll, but he timed his emergency thrusters, somehow keeping the transport aimed straight. It bounced terribly, and he knew the troopers and the general were having to hang on for all they were worth.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of violent bouncing, and metal scraping off of mud-slick rocks, the gunship slowed, halfway into the landing area, and whimpered to a stop. Burster exhaled explosively, letting out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. He yelled, punching his control console repeatedly in a mixture of anger, fear, and triumph. He had done it!

He turned suddenly as other gunships, clearly in a similar situation as he had been, landed far less gracefully; one hit the ground and rolled on its side as he nearly had, snapping off its left wing and skidding violently to a stop. Another one hit and rolled several times, throwing a few passengers out of the open sides before landing, finally, upside down. A few more landed safer, though still crashing to a halt, and the rest of the group dropped to the surface as they were designed to, hovering just over the muddy plain to let their cargo of troopers off.

He could hear orders being shouted outside the cockpit, could hear the General's voice clearly, ordering someone to grab the battlefield medical droid out of its containment locker. Then, all at once, what seemed like a river of blaster fire filled the air around the LZ. Screams of the dying and wounded echoed across the plain, and lasers pinged off the disabled gunship.

Burster snapped back to the present, scrabbling at the harness holding him to his seat. He unbuckled, throwing the belts off, grabbed his field pistol, and smacked the cockpit release. Nothing happened. He paused for a beat, then hit it again, and a third time, "No," He breathed. More bolts striking the ship, and smoke from Mott's section started to filter into his. "No!" He banged on the cockpit hatch, punching the thick window uselessly. "No!"

He wasn't worried about the smoke- his suit could filter that easily enough- but fire was another issue. He pounded harder on the roof, the smoke shrouding his view now. Suddenly, a humming sound ignited just outside his widow, and a blue glow washed over him. The humming seemed to move rapidly, sparks flew, and the cockpit door flung open, revealing a human figure: General Krosis, lightsaber in hand, staring down at the pilot.

"I'd say you're pretty well grounded now, my friend," the Jedi said with a friendly grin, holding out his free hand to the clone. "You made quite an exhilarating landing." He kept his saber held out in front of them, to help shield them from blaster fire. Burster took the offered hand and stood up, briefly resting against the side of the cockpit as he caught his bearings.

He saw the chaos around them, hundreds and hundreds of clones rushing from their gunships to the trenchline, struggling the move across the marshy land, dragging wounded and equipment frantically behind them. He quickly looked in the enemies' direction, where the hail of blaster fire streamed from, and his eyes widened in terror. The general didn't see it; he was still checking the pilot over for wounds, not paying any mind to the trail of white smoke speeding straight for them.

CT-5/1087 had no time to call out a warning, only time enough to react. He instinctively turned to the side, facing the General, braced his right leg behind him against the sidewall, pressed both hands into the Jedi's chest, and shoved him backwards for all he was worth, throwing him free of the doomed ship.

The last thing Burster saw was Krosis's surprised, confused expression falling away. Then a flash of blinding light. Then...nothing.

His war had ended.