"Just—ait—I'll—as—oon—an—" Anakin's panicked voice crackled over the com.
Padme tossed the broken thing away in disgust. Blaster fire whined around her, around them. Obi-Wan was heavy in her lap, but not as heavy as she thought a full grown man ought to be. Not as heavy as Anakin. She touched a gloved hand to his pale face, smearing blood across his cheek. It still oozed from his temple. So much for peace talks with the Lilliputians.
"Senator?"
She glanced up at Rex, his voice tinny in his helmet.
"I think he'll be alright," I hope he'll be alright.
The captain nodded, "Head wounds are messy."
Yes. She supposed he would know. Probably far better than he'd like.
"Any word from General Skywalker?"
"Only of the garbled variety," she nodded at the com.
She looked around at their meager cover, their meager supplies, and their meager numbers. Cut off from the bulk of the army, there were five of them all together and Obi-Wan barely counted. Even if he suddenly regained consciousness, Padme doubted he'd be especially able fight. A shot shattered the rock above their heads, tiny shards crumbling over them. Padme narrowed her eyes and gripped her blaster at her thigh.
"Can one of you carry him?"
"Senator?"
"Yes or no, captain."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good."
She shifted Obi-Wan's weight on her folded legs while Fives—she was fairly certain that was his name—lifted him up and over his shoulder. A bit undignified maybe but Padme knew Obi-Wan's dignity had suffered worse. She stood and un-holstered her blaster.
"What exactly are we doing, senator?" Rex asked.
"Somebody has to save our skins, captain. It might as well be us."