When Padawan Rycku Bikali first arrived onboard the Sphinx, I was highly doubtful of his combat prowess; seeing as he stood barely one point six meters and possessed a lanky build. This slight figure, coupled with his red hair, green eyes, and freckles, gave him an appearance of frailty, as if a stiff breeze would knock him over. Oh, how quickly did he prove me wrong.
Early the next morning, I led Bravo Company down to the ship's training area for our standard morning exercise regime; just enough to get the blood flowing before breakfast and our primary training period. As we approached the sparring room, I was surprised to find dozens of my fellow marines, including Marshall Commander Bacara, standing in the observation area, seemingly mesmerized by something inside. Stepping over, I was astonished to see young Rycku standing in the middle of the room, a lightsaber hilt in each hand, his eyes closed in meditation, as a dozen training remotes dart around in the far corner.
Suddenly his eyes snapped open and his sabers ignited, just as three remotes detached from the swarm and darted forward, spewing painful training stingers. His twin blades, one a green lightsaber and the other a yellow shoto, whirled like dervishes as they easily repelled the dozens of bolts fired by the remotes. As if sensing that their brethren were in need of assistance, the other remotes began joining the exercise in ones and twos, until all twelve were darting about in a fierce, synchronized dance, spitting out hundreds of shots. Padawan Bikali was just barely visible in the midst of this raging inferno, his red hair and brown tunic blurring together into a tan whirlwind, surrounded by the glowing green and yellow streaks of his lightsaber and shoto.
As we stood there, watching him deflect everything the remotes threw at him, Marshall Bacara shook his head and told me that he'd heard Rycku was one of the top Jedi with a lightsaber, but he never thought he'd be this good; especially considering the fact that he was only seventeen. Shortly after the First Battle of Geonosis, he and his master, a Togrutan named Tham Alekk, were assigned to the 45th Legion in the Chommell Sector, where they fought in dozens of battles, both in space and planetside. While supporting the massive campaign on Boz Pity, Master Alekk had been killed in a duel with Count Dooku, so young Rycku had spent the last six months on Kamino, helping train the latest batches of clone troopers, before being sent to assist us in our continuing campaign on Mygeeto.
When the remotes finally went silent at the end of their long program, I offered up a silent prayer of thanks that Rycku was on our side, for I would have dreaded having to face him in battle. After he deactivated his blades and hooked their hilts to his belt, he walked over and Bacara made the introductions. I was quite surprised, and relieved, when Rycku assured me that he had no intentions of usurping my control over Bravo Company, particularly right before we headed into battle. He pointed out that I'd been serving with some of these men for close to three years and it would be reckless on his part to step in and disrupt such an ingrained command structure. Instead, he informed me of his intentions to act as my subordinate throughout the remainder of the upcoming campaign.
The next morning we rode larties down to the surface and I was reminded of just how much I hated Mygeeto. A frigid, inhospitable planet under normal conditions, combat just made it that much more unbearable. The cold background air temps allowed droid forces to spot us easily on infrared scanners and thermal scopes, but the clankers' frigid, lifeless bodies were all but impossible to detect with anything other than the Mark One eyeball. The barren, treeless expanse left us scrambling for fuel sources for the fires that kept us from freezing to death during the long, cold nights; but again we had to keep our distance from the fires in case an SBD decided to pop a rocket or mortar into the flames.
It was on those cold nights that Rycku surprised me yet again; for who would have thought that a Jedi would be musically inclined. At night he would pull out his mandolin and serenade us with some of the many folk songs he'd learned in his three years of campaigning. In response, we taught him a number of the traditional Mandalorian songs we'd learned on Kamino; such as Vode An, Brothers All, and Bes'laar'ad, the Minstrel Boy. As he learned to play these songs, we would often join in and sing long into the night.
Six weeks after arriving on Mygeeto, Bravo Company was pulled off the front lines, after our casualty rate topped fifty percent, and we were sent back to guard our primary casualty collection point, located in a small crystal canyon about ten kilometers outside the capital city. Two days later, just as General Ki-Adi-Mundi and Marshall Bacara began their final push against the droid forces, a brigade of battle droids somehow managed to slip around our flank and attempted to wipe out the injured clones we were guarding. We set up a hasty defensive position, blocking all passage through the canyon, but their numbers were simply overwhelming. We attempted to contact Mundi and Bacara to warn them of the danger and have them divert reinforcements our way, but they too were being hit by a massive counterattack, so we were on our own.
For five hours we battled against overwhelming odds, fending off wave after endless wave of droids, paying a high price for precious time needed to evacuate the wounded up to the two hospital ships that had finally arrived in orbit. But eventually we reached the end; there were almost two hundred droids still coming at us, but I was down to only five able bodies; myself, three marines, and Padawan Bikali. Just as I was preparing to order a retreat back to the casualty collection point, Rycku let out a battle cry like I've never heard and leapt over the barricade to rush straight into the heart of the droid formation, his twin blades slashing through droids left and right and also deflecting many of their blaster bolts back into those who fired on him. Dancing and whirling like he'd done in the sparring room those many weeks previous, he was like a rancor let loose in a nerf pen, but even his incredible agility and speed could only do so much against such odds. While he was able to deflect many of the blaster bolts sent his way, still others slipped past his spinning blades to tear into his body and send him crumbling to the ground. By that time, however, there were only nine battle droids remaining on the field, easy prey for myself and my three remaining men.
After ensuring that all of the droids were eliminated, I hurried to Rycku's side and attempted to offer comfort while assessing his wounds. A quick glance, however, was all I needed to know that his wounds were mortal. He had taken seven blaster hits to the torso and was coughing up blood from his scorched and ruptured lungs, but he still had enough strength to reach up and grasp my hand. Even as he struggled to breath, he began singing that mournful ballad.
The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death ye will find him;
His father's sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;
"Land of Song!" said the warrior bard,
"Tho' all the world betray thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!"
His strength escaped him on that last line and he collapsed back to lie with his head cradled in my lap, his chest barely rising and falling; as I fully expected each breath to be his last. By this time, the other three marines had searched the battlefield and had managed to locate five of their brethren who were wounded but still alive. The eight of them gathered around as we kept vigil on this one who was brother in all but blood.
The whine of repulsorlifts caught my attention and I turned my head in time to glimpse four larties full of reinforcements, nearly an hour too late, swooping in from the front lines. A moment later a helmetless Marshall Bacara hurried over to kneel by my side, his eyes professionally scanning Rycku's wounds, and he shook his head in resignation as he came to the logical conclusion. After laying a comforting hand on my shoulder, he stunned me by stating that Order 66 had been issued.
Nodding in understanding, I pointed out that Rycku only had a few moments and asked that his last memory not be of a blaster blot from the men for whom he'd sacrificed everything. Bacara's jaw clenched several times as he considered this request before he stated that Padawan Rycku Bikali was mortally wounded while defending a casualty collection point full of wounded clones and died of his wounds some thirty minutes before Order 66 was given; thus he died a Hero of the Republic.
Thanking Bacara for this mercy, I held Rycku's head in my lap for another five minutes before he expelled one last shuddering breath and became one with the Force. Cradling his slender form against my chest, I rose to my feet and carried him to the waiting lartie for the journey up to the Sphinx.
That evening, even as Chancellor Palpatine declared himself ruler of the Galactic Empire, every able-bodied member of the Galactic Marine Corps, either on Mygeeto or onboard one of the ships in orbit, stood at attention as the coffin containing the mortal remains of Padawan Rycku Bikali, a Hero of the Republic, was launched into Malola, Mygeeto's sun. There is not a man in the Corps who will ever forget the sacrifice Rycku made, and the tale of his bravery will be passed on for so long as there is a Corps.
***This testimony was given by retired Clone Captain Leonidas to Professor Jorg Lukas, Dean of the History Department at the Imperial Academy on Carida, for a news article commemorating the twenty-fifth anniversary of the victory at Mygeeto. Sadly, Captain Leonidas died of extreme old age (age 38) before this paper could be published.***