"A warrior's home is the battlefield." —anonymous Mandalorian warrior
Coruscant burned below the Invisible Hand, pitted with craters like a moon. Ships blasted one another with reckless abandon, with no consideration for battle lines. Such is the chaos of war, mused General Grievous, awaiting a report.
"We have confirmed the prisoner's escape with two jedi. They left the ship on board an escape pod. We have tracked their movement back to the enemy fleet," said a communications droid.
"Standby to receive new orders."
How things had gone wrong. The General remembered dragging the Chancellor down the ramp, shoving him into his quarters, and binding him to a comfortable chair as befitting the man's position.
The fool had mocked him, belittled him, even as his wrists were bound. Then Grievous had shown him footage of two Jedi corpses, floating in space without their lightsabers. How the cyborg had laughed, explaining that the two had attempted a rescue mission. He remembered so vividly the look of shock that graced the chancellor's face when he said that.
Then, with the Chancellor behind him, he had announced to the galaxy that he had captured Palpatine, and heralded the beginning of a new age of prosperity to the countless beings who had been enslaved by it. He had left the room to handle the battle, leaving Count Dooku to guard the prisoner. Now he bitterly regretted not killing the Chancellor when he had the chance. If he had known what was going to happen, he would have killed him, orders from Sidious or not. He could not have dreamed it possible! Now, the chair was empty, and the prisoner gone. To make matters worse, Count Dooku lay on the floor, barely alive, with both of his hands severed at the wrists, and a stab wound in his chest. All injuries inflicted by a lightsaber. How had Grievous's teacher been bested by a mere Jedi? He would have to examine the holofootage if they escaped from this alive. He had to know. But first, he had to keep Dooku alive.
"Bring the patient to the medical station immediately."
"Yes, General," replied the comms droid in a monotone.
Now to look at his fleet. At the moment, the remaining twenty ships from the rearguard division were buckling under intense pressure from the Republic's reinforcements that outnumbered them two to one. He expected them to delay the fresh fleet back for a good ten more minutes.
The rest of the fleet were had scattered since the battle started and falling victim to concentrated enemy fire. He silently swore to punish those who had commanded his fleet in his absense, and began sending out orders.
"All ships are to abandon their engagements and withdraw in good order to Kashyyyk. Kirth Squadron, move to provide support for my flagship."
Nearly half of the ships holding the way clear were rapidly losing shields and succumbing to enemy fire. All across the battle, Confederate vessels abandoned their engagements, and tried to withdraw. They were taking heavy losses for turning their back, however, with ships losing power and falling to the city below.
"This is not a good idea, Sir," chattered a droid with what could have passed as fear. Grievous turned his head slowly to look at the coward, looking at it with such venom that even a battle droid could recognize with its photoreceptors. The thing understood its place, obliged to get back to work.
The Invisible Hand accelerated to full speed, accompanied by the ragged remnants of the escorting Kirth Squadron. They were less than seven kilometers from escaping Coruscant's gravity well, and making good progress through the enemy fleet.
—
"Shields functioning at worse than ten percent," reported a technician droid. They were within a kilometer of escaping the planet's gravity well, having pushed through almost the entire Republic Fleet with sheer momentum. The Invisible Hand and Kirth Squadron were now traveling at full speed, going in a straight line towards the remains of the rearguard division. Many ships had been left behind due to engine damage, and were ordered by the General to instead spread out and escape the system if possible.
"General, the enemy reserve fleet is forming up to block our ship from escaping the system," stated a neimodian officer. He was right. The last of the rearguard division had been eliminated, and the Re public reinforcements were headed right for his flagship. There was no way the Invisible Hand would escape the system.
"Prepare a shuttle to evacuate Dooku, and copy the last hour of holocam footage from my quarters onto the shuttle's database," rasped Grievous into his comlink.
"What vessel should I set the destination to?" asked the droid on the other end. Grievous briefly glanced at the tactical hologram, and replied, "The Cordon." He looked back up, trying his best to maintain a façade of confidence.
"Probability of getting past the blockade?"
"One to ten," calculated a tactical droid, looking at him from its tactical computer, "Do you wish us to continue moving in our current trajectory?"
"You are correct," said Grievous, moving to the exit and gesturing his Magnaguards to follow him, "Order an evacuation of all organic personnel, and bring in droids to replace them."
—
The kilometer-long middle corridor was seldom filled with anything other than droids. Grievous paced down the hall, followed by his Magnaguards on either side. The hangars were another three doors down. He broke into a run as the floor underneath him shuddered, hoping that the walls wouldn't explode on him.
Two magnaguards flanked the ramp leading into the shuttle. electrostaffs at the ready.
"We are leaving." They followed him up as the ramp underneath folded in, and the shuttle launched out of the hangar bay.
"Grievous entered the brightly illuminated passenger chamber. The scene before him reminded him of when he had taken the surgery that made him what he was now. Dooku lay on a stretcher, obscured by the seven medics working on him. The lead doctor, a human, turned to face Grievous, face pale in the light.
"Medical status."
"The wrist wounds are nonlethal, due to cauterization, but the hole in his chest is worrying, despite that there is no bleeding," replied the doctor quickly, "We can keep him alive nine more hours until he succumbs to his injuries. If we are incapable of giving him full medical treatment, it is inevitable."
"Understood," said Grievous, and walked across into the cockpit, looking out the viewport. They had nearly reached the Cordon, and safely avoided enemy fire thanks to the new targets offered by escape pods, and the moderate piloting abilities of the droid operators. He could now see vulture droids move to protect the shuttle as it entered within fifty meters of its destination.
"Twenty seconds until we enter the hangar, General," announced the droid to his left, "Do you want damage readings?"
"No," grumbled Grievous, assessing the situation outside. The majority of the Confederate fleet had managed to escape. To his far right, the Invisible Hand was still limbering towards the concentration of Republic ships through sheer momentum, its shields and engines long destroyed. Transparisteel windows and turrets burst open, explosions rippling across hull and plate. He could see it moving closer, ever closer to the enemy reinforcement fleet. Then the ship burst open with a blinding flash that sent shockwaves through the shuttle. The droids chattered worriedly but managed to get them into the Cordon's Hangar Bay as it jumped to lightspeed.
—Author's Note: Thank you for reading! This story is set in an alternate universe that I have been pondering for quite a while now: Dooku survives the battle of Coruscant without the knowledge of Sidious. Due to a combination of schoolwork and writer's block, I do not promise a new chapter within a week of this being published. However, I do appreciate critique, as this is my first story on Fanfiction, and have not ironed out all of the flaws in my writing. Please give honest reviews, I want to know what I did wrong, and what I did right.
Until next chapter!