Rated: 13+
Disclaimer: I really don't own this universe. It belongs to someone else.
„General, there are too many of them! Our escape routes one through three were cut off and our forward station is destroyed! You should go! Let us cover your retreat and use the last ship to get out of here!"
He simply shook his head. It was painful to think, painful to do anything in fact. He was so tired…And yet, there was no time for him to rest. The most painful part of this was probably the fact, that he knew their attackers. Once they had been his friends, now on the side of Separatist…And then, the sudden realization hit him. The majority of his forces had been destroyed during the last few hours, this outpost and men defending it were the last ones left. And now, suddenly out of nowhere, he understood. He understood his last mission, his last quest. These men had to live, no matter the cost. And there was only one way he could think of to ensure that.
These people were fighting against them because he was with them, commanding them on the behalf of an unloved Republic. If he were able to convince their leaders to maintain one of their old traditions, then perhaps, perhaps his men would survive.
He knew that the Clonetroopers would obey him in anything. That was the way they were bred. They may not understand, they may protest, but they would obey.
He stood up straight, no longer hiding himself and shouted above the noise of the battle one simply word in a local language – a word, which sealed his fate, and he knew it the minute he did so with a clarity he never had experienced before.
Their enemies stopped the gunfire hesitantly and he ordered his men to do the same. Then, he carefully laid the hilt of his lightsaber on the muddy ground, making sure that it was easily visible. He moved forward, ordering his second in command to stay behind with their men.
His counterpart was moving with the same grace he remembered from years before. The Jedi simply bowed his head and waited for him to answer his previous demand, shouted above the gunfire. His waiting was rewarded with the melodically sounding voice of his old friend.
"Your request is granted. We may meet with your men in future fights, but now, your offer is accepted. Your life for theirs – one for many. We will honor it and…"the voice changed a bit, "you will also be granted the funeral your kind prefers," again the voice changed, no longer tender, only military steel left," go now and tell them to leave. You will be allowed to observe their departure from the system and then, what you ask for will be delivered."
He bowed even deeper and returned to his men.
"General, what's going on?"
"Board the transport and leave, Commander. I shall stay here."
"No, Sir! This is unacceptable and against our orders!"
"It may be. But I will stay here as a hostage, my life given as a token to them instead of the blood of the last men under my command. I'm sorry, Commander. That is an order. Go and don't look back."
In the end, they obeyed, as he knew they would. They were moving along him, eyes downcast. They thought they had failed him. He knew in his heart, they hadn't, but he had failed them. He silently pressed the hilt of his saber into the palm of the last man.
"Take it with you."
They took it.
He was monitoring them until they entered hyperspace, feeling their anguish through the Force. When they were gone, he went outside, where his friend was waiting.
"I'm ready."
A/N: This piece was born at 2:15AM. Why so late/early? My insomnia got the better of me yet again. And my Muse seems to be in a dark mood, so more stories of this kind might appear here...