Dxun, the jungle moon of Onderon, was a nightmare of blood and fire. In the skies between the twin worlds, Republic and Mandalorian warships clashed again and again, exchanging bright bolts of turbolaser fire as the battle raged, with the Republic slowly but surely driving their enemy back. Every once in a while an actinic flash would burn through the skies, momentarily outshining the sun as hundreds of beings died at once in the great ships. However, for that horrific majesty, the celestial battle in orbit was a sideshow to the slaughter beneath.

On one of the smaller continents of Dxun, fifty thousand Republic soldiers threw themselves at the outnumbered and exhausted Mandalorian defenders. The dense jungle and hilly terrain made the combat difficult and confusing, and battle lines blurred amongst the chaos. In theory, the Grand Army of the Republic had a Mandalorian brigade of five thousand troops surrounded and had just launched a final assault to annihilate the Mandalorians entirely. In practice, however, the soldiers on both sides cared little for such details, unable to see the wider battlefield. They simply looked down the canyon at the enemy, raised their rifles at the orders of their officers and continued the grisly business of war.

Amidst the chaos, on top of a large hill rising above the jungle, one small Jedi stood alone. She was rather conservatively dressed, wearing simple green fatigues with a long lightsaber hilt stuck into her belt. The vaporised foliage formed a thin vapour in the air, forcing the Jedi to cough occasionally when she breathed it in. No one would've guessed that that small young woman, with her plain looks, brown hair and unadorned camouflage fatigues, was one of the generals in command of the Republic attack.

"Repeat, Command," Meetra Surik muttered into her mouthpiece. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, resisting the urge to cough again. "Too much interference-"

"We need one more trip General," the response came, struggling against the static. "There's a squad one kilometer to your south-west pinned down. Clear and escort, repeat, clear and escort."

Meetra wiped her hand across her forehead and recoiled when she realised how much she was sweating. "Confirmed, Command," she muttered hoarsely in reply. "I'll get them. March north-west to Aurek Base after pickup?"

"Negative," the controller at the other end replied tersely. "Clear Mandos then signal for air extraction. General Scimra reports that the 290th Armoured has broken through the enemy lines in depth. High Command is gathering at Aurek and have requested your presence."

That caught Meetra's attention. 'High Command', despite the pompous name, was a rather haphazard collection of military officers and Jedi who led the Republic war effort. They hadn't gathered for five months, when they'd begun planning for the final stages of the Dxun campaign, and apart from Meetra, there were only supposed to be two other High Command members onworld. While Meetra had been out on the battlefield for four days straight now, trying to break one of the last pockets of Mandalorian troops outside the enemy fortress, she was still surprised that nobody had bothered to tell her that the High Command had gathered.

"Confirmed Command," she replied firmly. "Tell them I'll be there in an hour."

With that, Meetra began running. Even in the sweltering heat and difficult footing, she ran at a pace that would shame sport sprinters, the Force fuelling her movements as she ran, leaped and rolled through the jungle. This is not to say that it didn't hurt, though. She panted deeply with every step, and her legs burned mercilessly at the punishment.

It didn't take long to reach the Republic troopers. They were trapped against a sheer cliff, taking cover against some boulders while their foes poured blasterfire into their ranks. There were at least twenty Mandalorians standing there, blaster rifles raised, not even bothering to take cover themselves.

Meetra didn't even slow down.

Igniting her blue double-bladed lightsaber on the run, she tore into their ranks like a rancor amongst cannoks. The blue flashed without mercy, slicing through the thick Mandalorian armour with impossible ease. The Mandalorians poured red blasterfire at her en masse only to have each shot reflected straight back with impossible accuracy. Within a minute, the fusillade began to lessen and armoured body parts began to litter the ground, along with the corpses that they had once belonged to.

Soon it was over, as the last soldier fell to one of his own shots. The dozen Republic troopers emerged from their cover slowly. They appeared shocked, stunned; it was one thing to hear of the Jedi Knights, but another thing entirely to see one in action.

Meetra glanced around, scanning the soldiers, before finally spotting the sergeant in charge. He recovered quicker than his subordinates, saluting Meetra hesitantly.

"Ma'am, I...thank you," he whispered. "We were done for. Didn't know our message got through-"

"You're welcome," Meetra interrupted irritably. She raised her forearm and pressed a large blue button on her wristband. "Prep for exfil, sergeant. Transport on the way."

The sergeant nodded, and began barking at his soldiers. As they shook themselves from their lethargy, Meetra sat down upon a nearby boulder, shoulders drooped. She tried an old breathing exercise, focusing on each breath, feeling the life-giving oxygen rush into her lungs. It felt good, and her breathing slowed, but with it came an increased awareness of the Force.

She winced. It was only at moments like these, when she was doing nothing, that Meetra really sensed the Force. During her Jedi training on Dantooine it had been comforting, serene, a friend. Now, it hurt. Every breath, despite lessening the exhaustion and pain of her body, was accompanied by a sharp and lightning-like burst of agony from within the Force. It hadn't been particularly bad when they'd first landed on Dxun, but now it was worse than Meetra had ever known. Worse than Luk II. Worse than Habbal Prime. Worse than Serroco, even.

Above, a loud drone commanded the attention of everyone below as a boxy Republic gunship lowered itself to the ground. It looked just as battered as Meetra felt; one of its repulsorlifts was blown off, the starboard blaster cannon was bent, and carbon scoring almost completely concealed the red and blue paint. None of the troopers noticed, though. Indeed, they looked upon the descending craft as if it was covered in diamonds.

Meetra got up wearily, and after a few minutes of assisting the wounded onto the cramped deck, the gunship accelerated out into the jungle, staying as low as possible, skimming the hills. It was a relatively short distance to travel; within only a few minutes, Aurek Base was in sight.

Aurek Base and its other four siblings across the galaxy were some of the very finest examples of Republic military engineering. Two months ago, the Jedi and Republic forces had been huddling in tents and makeshift shelters. Now, an enormous twelve-kilometre square base dominated the jungle. High walls surrounded the compound, with countless turbolaser batteries pointed outwards on top of them. The place was fully stocked with everything an army might need, from communications stations and starfighter hangars to such simple accommodations as warm water showers in the barracks. All assembled within two months. One day, after the Mandalorians were driven from Dxun and Onderon, the base would be packed up into its dedicated fleet of transports and taken to be built somewhere else. Only the Republic with its immense economic and technological might could accomplish such a feat...and the deployment of the valuable Aurek Base spelled a dark fate for the Mandalorians. Their own fortress was fifty kilometres due south, nestled amidst the mountains.

As the gunship landed, a small team of techs and medics converged on it. Meetra ignored them all, and simply strode off towards Aurek HQ, a squat building in the centre of the base. She desperately needed a shower, but curiosity overrode hygiene today. The guards of the HQ saluted smartly as she entered and passed through the usual security checks required to enter the inner sanctum.

The central Operations room was much as Meetra remembered it from other campaigns. Screens lined the walls, showing various parts of the battle raging outside, and the dozen members of the High Command sat at a large round table. The table was simple grey metal, and the chairs straight-backed and uncomfortable; Revan's not-so-subtle way of keeping his generals and admirals on the job.

Revan himself was sat at the far end from the entrance, dressed (as usual) in simple Jedi robes, as well as his distinctive mask. He and Malak were in deep conversation, but both looked up upon her entrance. The other members of the High Command fell silent almost immediately. Suddenly self-conscious, Meetra slipped into the nearest empty chair at the table. Only now did she realise that her green fatigues were covered in blood of four different colours.

"Welcome back," Revan said with a simple nod as she sat. "And well done. The final large Mandalorian force outside their fortress is being destroyed as we speak, from what the colonels are reporting. How is the situation out there, from your perspective?"

"Catastrophic," Meetra said bluntly, rubbing her eyes wearily. "We're losing too many troops. But you know that." Glancing around the table, she leaned back wearily. "Any reason for this little shindig?"

Revan nodded and gestured to Malak, who stood at the unspoken command. Revan's second-in-command was a monster of a man: he was extraordinarily tall and well-muscled, and as Malak only wore a vest most days, his large biceps were on clear display. Bald, tattooed and with a lightsaber on his belt, Malak would've been an intimidating man indeed if he wasn't also a cheerful and compassionate man in general.

"It's taken four years," Malak began, addressing everyone, "but we think we're almost ready to win this war. The Mandalorians' resources are dwindling every day, and unlike us, they have no reserves, no influx of reinforcements. Their ships might be better than ours, but many of them are carrying damage from previous battles. Their crews are exhausted. Their ground troops are in the same boat...no pun intended." He grinned half-heartedly at this, but the lack of reciprocal smiles sobered him quickly. "As it stands, we believe that Mandalore is preparing a full-scale retreat back into the Unknown Regions. His fleets are busy securing the hyperspace routes leading away from the Republic, and in the last few days, almost his entire remaining army has been evacuated from Dxun. There are only a couple thousand troops left to hold their fortress, plus a handful more soldiers outside it."

One of the admirals, a wily Corellian, gave him a sceptical look. "How can you know that, Jedi Squin...Squinquar...Squin-"

"Just call me Malak," Malak said irritably. "You're new, admiral, so I'll forgive your ignorance. Never liked my surname, anyway."

"Right," the admiral said with an amused smile. It took Meetra a moment to remember his name: Lanno Jasvik. She'd served under his command at Serroco, but he'd only been promoted to the High Command last week. "Jedi Malak. How do you know all this? Jedi powers, or something more mundane?"

"Combination of both," Malak said with a vague shrug. "Fleet Intel has some agents in the Mando supply chain. Check with them if you like. But believe us when we say that what we say is true. Mandalore is retreating. He probably plans to disperse his ships into small groups and scatter them throughout the entire Outer Rim, keep us locked in a guerrilla war. We won't let that happen-but that is a different briefing."

He glanced down at Revan, who was sat casually, legs crossed. "First off," Revan said quietly, "we finish business here. Ground forces will initiate a final assault on Mandy One, the enemy fortress here on Dxun, while the Fleet makes preparations for an extended deployment. Once Mandy One is taken, the Open Circle, Blue Crescent and Seventh Chevron fleets will continue to a secret rendezvous under the command of myself and Jedi Malak. The other fleets will proceed to a different rendezvous, to be revealed at a later date depending on when the Mandalorian ships retreat from orbit"

If there was any concern about the secrecy, nobody spoke up. Indeed, everyone looked at Revan with a rather odd expression…except Meetra. "How do you expect to beat that fortress? It doesn't matter if there's two thousand Mandos in that thing or twenty thousand, it's still impossible to breach. Ten meter thick ba'ras, fifty meter tall walls, parapets every twenty meters. Shields protect their snipers from ours, and believe me, there is no way you can breach that thing with artillery."

Meetra's matter-of-fact tone, her words driven by painful experience, clearly shook the other members of the High Command, who immediately began muttering amongst themselves. Even Revan and Malak appeared disturbed, glancing at each other apprehensively.

"What about focused demo under an energy shield?" General A'Tuin said loudly. The twi'lek general stood and leaned forward, hands on the table. "A focused baradium blast will do the trick. Might take a couple of hours, but it'll break those walls, I guarantee it."

"You'd need twenty minutes to set up the shield to protect the demolition team," another general said dismissively. "The Mandos would destroy it immediately. Not an option."

As the discussion continued, Meetra became aware of Revan. He was looking straight at her, completely ignoring everything else, and practically radiating smugness. She tapped him with the Force in a not-so-polite dismissal, but Revan persisted in his amusement. It only took her a few moments to realise why, and she sighed, nodding in acquiescence.

With an easy grace Revan stood, and the chamber immediately fell silent. "I can break through those walls," he said confidently into the silence. "The Force is all I need. We will initiate a full infantry assault in six days time. It will be a phased insertion over the next five days to a line four kilometers from the fortress' walls. After that we gather into standard line formation, split by regiment. At 0800 hours, the army will advance, steady march. Malak and I will lead a small group of Jedi Knights at the front of the line. When we get to the wall, I'll do my thing. Malak and the other Jedi will protect me. When the wall falls, the army will flood into the hole and complete the conquest. Any questions?"

Silence greeted him. "Good. Let's get to it."