The afternoon sun cast a layer of gold over Bespin's western hemisphere. At this time of day, iconic Cloud City was already in shadow. Only the less frequented Sector 6 –known locally as Corona Station– was still basking in the brilliant hues of sunset. Sector 6 was, simply put, a glamorous façade for a government sweatshop. This tiny, floating island was home to the great communications hub responsible for relaying all interplanetary signals from over a hundred sectors between the Mid and Outer Rims. It was both a product and a source of the planet's immense wealth. Outwardly, Sector 6 mirrored Cloud City in many ways; the elegantly tapered saucer shape drifted just as serenely as its larger sibling, though Sector 6 was compacted to only one hundred twenty-two levels instead of Cloud City's nearly four hundred. Moreover, most of these levels were dedicated solely to machinery, all for the purpose of maintaining the galactic comm station and its supporting buildings. Due to the requirements of signal transmission, these buildings resided together on the structure's open-air surface. Passersby overhead would scarcely be able to differentiate the station's layout from Cloud City's luxurious tourist district, which was just as well, because hovering above the gaseous wasteland of Bespin, camouflage was the only way to conceal something so valuable.

Then again, such a ruse was largely unnecessary: few organizations would find profit in disrupting such a communally beneficial service. For this reason the administration at Cloud City grew lax in the station's supervision. None were prepared when the Separatist fleet exited hyperspace one evening and took Sector 6 within a few scant hours. An overwhelming swarm of fighters, dropships and gunships descended en masse, securing the entire platform at once and forcing the workers there into emergency confines. And when Cloud City went to beg for aid from Coruscant, the Temple received no transmission. Fortunately, the vast and sudden gap in reception from over eighty different planets surrounding Bespin was more than conspicuous enough for even the average mind to suspect there was trouble. Less fortunately, the lack of communication available to that region forced Cloud City representatives to travel in person to deliver their request for Republic intervention – a task made considerably more difficult by the Separatist fleet haunting the planet's outermost atmosphere. In the end it took four Standard days after the invasion on Bespin for the Republic to issue a response. Plenty of time for the droid army to get cozy on Corona Station and set out on whatever project they felt such a widescale communications blackout was needed for.

Three monstrous Republic star destroyers were thus staged above Bespin. Eight frigates and seventeen starfighters wove around their flanks, streaking like sentient meteors where they dipped and dodged and laid waste to the droid opposition. But ever more targets appeared; line after line of tri-fighters and Vultures spewed forth from the five Separatist cruisers arranged strategically to coax Republic warships into their vacant middle ground. At first glance, this area appeared ideal to stage an attack on the frontmost heavy cruiser because it was disconnected from the protective network of its fellows further back. The bait was taken once, and the trap was sprung, leaving nothing but Republic debris when several streams of long range laser fire shot through the squad in an instant from those cruisers stationed further back. "Stay away from that opening!" ordered Plo Koon from within the cockpit of his own Y-wing, having just witnessed one more of his own clones suffer the deadly consequences of being lured into the pocket with false advantage.

The naval battle ongoing was intended as a cover. Successfully occupying the Separatist fleet was to provide the opportunity for Republic LAATs and dropships to safely descend into Bespin's atmosphere and deposit upon Sector 6 the means to establish a formidable ground assault. Liberation of the station was first priority this mission, as reinforcements for the larger battle above (should they prove necessary) would be unreachable so long as communications back to Coruscant remained blocked. But just ten minutes earlier, four of the six LAATS launched during a window in the enemy's formation reported failure to land and requested immediate return to the fleet. The droid occupation was more lavish than anticipated. J-1 proton cannons decorated the Sector's extravagant walkways, gardens and rooftops, effectively creating a concerted network of defense that precluded any hope of landing with the slow-moving descent required for proper installation of troops. Were the mission on any other planet, the ground assault would simply begin further away. Being Bespin, however, direct infiltration was really the only way to go. Furthermore, sending starfighters to eliminate the cannons would endanger the city. Each building held relevance of one level or another to the comm relay's function, so preservation of infrastructure had importance beyond the financial.

The returning LAATs and dropships filed into the centermost star destroyer from the top. Upon entry past the destroyer's airlock shield, the ships began to depressurize and adjust to the carefully maintained environment of the hangar. No clone aboard the carriers was terribly thrilled with the prospect of retreat, but each of them knew with the utmost confidence that their General would soon have them grounded in action as planned. Their brothers' sacrifice –the two LAATs missing– would not go to waste. It was this faith that drove away the troops' desire for words when the wide doors of their crafts swept aside. The mission was still on. It was only a matter of time before redeployment. No need to get casual. The look of displeasure on Obi-Wan's face as he exited the LAAT told everyone in the hangar to steer clear and allow him to think. His strides came in fast, irritated steps. If his men were upset with the mission so far, then Obi-Wan was furious. What could he have done differently? He expected hostility. The formation he'd organized in response was executed without flaw, right down to the feint maneuver he'd instructed half the ships to make in order to open up a small part of the station for landing. If only just one carrier had successfully made ground, that would have spelled the end for the opposition. Those troops would have distracted or destroyed proton cannons nearby, propagating a domino effect and thereby exponentially raising the chances of the other crafts' landing. Fighters, Obi-Wan thought. I should have brought fighters. The enemy didn't know – could predict, but wouldn't know – how expendable the Republic viewed Sector 6. A slew of fighters might've swooped a few rounds, gotten in close, "missed" a few shots and pretended to be scared off, all while taking the heat off the prospective ground assault. Would the droids fall for it?

Obi-Wan was surprised to find himself standing in the star destroyer's bridge. His body must have assumed auto-pilot as his mind scoured strategy for flaws. The bridge was familiar, replete with all the usual thrumming of mid-battle assessment that signaled the battle's tide was well-matched. Admiral Wullf Yularen could be seen among two clone lieutenants ahead, the three of them crowded purposefully around the holotable and the grand battle it projected. Luminescent green shapes danced staccato across the projection. Larger pyramids took the place of heavy cruisers, and smaller ones for bombers and such. Useful tools, as ever they were, but they never really captured the sort of chaos and uncertainty brought about with actual combat. The last half hour's mayhem over Sector 6 contrasted acutely with the cool greens of holographic analysis. Obi-Wan stepped up to the group.

"General Kenobi," greeted Yularen, turning his unblinking attention from the grid out in front. "I can report that the Separatists are keeping their battle cruisers stationary. It is likely the case that they mean to stall us to the depletion of our forces. Without that comm station up and running, we will be unable to request reinforcements, and the enemy will advance at his time of choosing."

Surely the Admiral intended no disrespect, absorbed in the larger scheme as was his duty and strength, but Obi-Wan really didn't need to be reminded of the assault he forfeited not an hour ago at everyone's expense. "The station is overrun with droids using long range cannons to prevent us from landing," he explained level-headedly as he keyed in a series of digits to the table's control panel. The image of the two fleets turned blue then, was minimized and gave way to an expanded view of Sector 6. "We divided their fire as planned," he continued, "but we lost the carriers that were sent to capture the first point." A sweeping of coordinates over the panel highlighted the pertinent section in red. "I fear the platform is too densely occupied for diversionary tactics."

At the helm of the bridge, Anakin stirred from his observation of the campaign's progress. He and Admiral Yularen were assigned to share fleet command while Plo and the 104th were to carry out naval operations in real time. Fluid cooperation of all three officers was imperative to culminate in the 212th's implantation onto Sector 6. As such, everyone felt at least a touch bitter when Obi-Wan reported retreat. Spotting his Master across the way, Anakin left the stagnating scene out in space and walked back to listen in on the firsthand explanation for what he was merely informed of as "failure to land."

"What do you suggest?" he heard Yularen ask Obi-Wan upon his approach. Obi-Wan fell quiet, propping his elbow up in his hand in favor of scratching thoughtfully through his short beard. Frustration illuminated the Force in his place, flowing along dozens of separate strings of possible strategies and their associated pitfalls. The silence prompted Anakin to offer up his perspective.

"They're wearing us down out here. Master Plo and his guys can hang on for a while, but the longer we wait, the less ships we'll have to carve out another opening down to Bespin. Better make this one count, Obi-Wan." And you'd better make it quick. He folded his arms.

The droid army's defenses on Bespin were impenetrable. It was an amateur method, to crudely swamp the area with guns, but Obi-Wan had to admit that it worked with the terrain. Only fast, small ships such as interceptors and bombers could hope to counter that blinding mess of cannons. Of course, neither of those classes were suited in the slightest for the deposition of troops. And Sector 6 absolutely needed to be retaken gently from the ground, lest the whole mission lose its point by accidental destruction of the facilities. What Obi-Wan needed was a fast way to get troops from air to ground. Cannons could be out-maneuvered by speed. But it wasn't as if his troops could simply drop from high altitude at terminal velocity…

The concentration in Obi-Wan's gaze lifted into stark realization. The Force crackled with inspiration. The hand left his beard and his eyes locked onto Anakin where he stood behind the Admiral.

"...Oh boy," Anakin dismayed, suddenly uneasy about the plot burning inside his Master's head.

"Anakin." Obi-Wan struck out a hand in proposition, leaving Yularen feeling as though there had been some important wave in the Force that no one had bothered to notify him about. "I'll need to borrow your skills as a pilot. Round up the men you have here on standby and assemble an escort. Instruct them to direct fire away from you as we descend but do not allow them to damage the platform. You will be piloting a small cruiser, if we have one. Anything fast, with as many escape pods as the ship will hold."

Anakin hoped desperately that just this once, he and Obi-Wan were not imagining the same plan. "…Escape pods," he repeated slowly, knowing exactly how his Master would interpret his incredulity.

Obi-Wan clasped Anakin's slumping shoulders with a nod and a not-so-reassuring smile. "I have nothing but faith in you, Anakin."