Part 2

I do not think I have been insensible for long. Precious little has changed except Cody is now standing some distance away with his back to me, barking out orders to a huddle of troopers and gesturing to the outer perimeter. The sound of explosions and gunfire is unrelenting; a smothering pressure of sound. Boil is still crouched on my right and the medic, who I recall bears the intriguing name of Folly, is on my left. The two are conversing in rapid-fire Mando'a. I think I hear the phrase "...stubborn, self-sacrificing bastard..." before the clones notice I am awake and swiftly shut up.

"Sir! He's awake again," Boil shouts in Cody's direction, while Folly leans in.

"General. Please try and stay with us. Can you tell me how are you feeling?"

I shift a little, feeling the pain burn beneath the smothering coolness of the drugs. It is certainly more manageable, but I can still feel pulses of tension racing through the nerves in my back. I would very much like to lie down, but then again, I really should avoid any further movement if possible.

Instead of giving an answer, I ask; "How is Trapper?"

"Waxer and Doghouse are seeing to him," says Folly, but he isn't perturbed. "General, I need to know what your injuries are. I'm concerned you have some internal bleeding and you just passed out, twice."

Twice? I only recall the once. Before I can get a clarification, I am distracted by a tapping motion on my chest and look down. My belt and obi have gone and the tabards and tunics pushed aside up to the gorget armour plate. When did that happen? Even in the red light of the Geonosian day, my chest and lower abdomen are clearly black and swollen with bruising. Folly is palpating across my stomach with a firm hand. It hurts, and I retch a little, tasting blood.

"Pulse's still fast and weak," says Boil and I see the clone has stripped off his glove and mine, and has his fingers pressed to my wrist. I can barely feel it through the tingling.

"Definitely internal bleeding. I can't find any other major injuries," Folly replies, slapping a handful of bacta paste and about three dressings over my stomach. Boil, in the meantime, is pushing a flask of rehydrating fluid into my free hand and stares at me firmly until I drink it all. Once I've choked it down, Folly plucks the empty flask out of my hand and then sets about retying my tunics when I don't make any move to attend to my own wardrobe. "No sign of broken bones, other than possible cracked ribs. Do you remember if you hit your head at all, sir? Trapper said you were unconscious."

"My head? No, I don't think so."

"Okay," says Folly, before glancing to Boil. "Help me get him lying down."

Boil takes hold of my shoulder, ready to roll me forward away from the crates. Visceral panic at the thought of the movement makes my objection somewhat louder than I intend.

"No, wait..."

"Sir," says Folly, reproachfully, "I know you want to keep an eye on what's happening but you'll be more comfortable lying down and it'll be easier for me to monitor y-"

"I think I have hurt my back," I am forced to confess.

The clones stop and stare at me.

"Kriff," swears Boil.

"Hurt your back," Folly repeats. "Are we talking bruising here or...?"

"I suspect...a fracture."

The medic pauses. "Loss of sensation? Numbness?"

"Both," I admit and sigh. Might as well make a fukk confession of it, now we are here. "Legs are numb and there are pins-and-needles in my hands."

Boil produces a string of filthy swearwords that would shock a Corellian spice freighter. Using his standard sixth sense for trouble, Cody appears.

"As you were, trooper. Get over there and support Shank on the north side."

"Sir, yes sir," Boil lays my wrist down carefully, grabs his rifle, casts me one last look and then vanishes.

"General," Cody says, crouching down.

"Cody, how are the defences?"

"Not good," the commander quickly summarises. "We already had some casualties but now we're losing a trooper every fifteen minutes. They're hitting us hard to the north, though the AATs are holding back. Probably a diversion."

"Almost certainly," I agree. "We'll have to draw them out. Cease firing two of the tank turrets on the west side; make it look like they are crippled. When they bring in the main force, they'll choose to strike there where it seems weakest. Have the men ready to surprise them."

"Why the west side, sir?"

"Because there's a ridge to the south and I'm sure they'll be intending to use it for cover if they can. If we can make them attack us to the west they'll have to come out into the open ground where they're more vulnerable."

"Good plan, General."

"Anything from Mundi or Skywalker?"

"We heard from Rex about thirty minutes ago. They were still trapped on the far side of the fortress. Nothing since then, I'm afraid."

"Can you get me through to Admiral Yularen?"

"Sorry, General. We think all comms are down."

I sigh. Of course.

"Sir," Cody said, glancing at Folly and then clearly looking me over. "Diversion or not, if we can't hold the north side we're going to be overrun. Are you fit enough to fight, sir? We could really use a Jedi right about now."

"Absolutely not," Folly interrupts before I can speak.

Cody bypasses my answer and looks straight to the medic. "Sitrep?"

"Internal abdominal bleeding," Folly recites. "Possible organ trauma, hypovolemic shock and, the icing on the cake, suspected spinal cord injury."

Cody doesn't miss a beat. "Can the General be moved?"

"Not unless it's for a med-evac."

"Excuse me, sergeant, but I am not dead yet," I cut in, slightly irritated, and look to my commander. "And despite Folly's generous estimations I have already walked the five kliks here from the crash site without incident. I will be perfectly fine."

"I've also been pinching your foot for the past two minutes, sir," Folly points out. "You can't feel it at all, can you?"

I don't answer, glancing at his grasp on my exposed foot in surprise. I didn't even notice him taking my boot off.

"To avoid any more severe nerve damage the General needs to be immobilised as soon as possible," Folly ignores me and turns back to Cody. "But I don't have a spinal-board or any equipment here.

"Can you do anything to heal or stabilise the fracture with the Force, sir?" Cody asks me.

Compared to the general populous, the clones are both more knowledgeable and less sceptical about the Force. More knowledgeable in that they have witnessed firsthand as Force-users have crushed droids, halted crashing ships and lifted enormous loads; things most citizens of the Republic would consider little more than the stuff of legend. But in witnessing such events I have found they tend to forget what our limitations are. True, the clones have seen more Jedi bleeding, turning and dying than any other living beings in the last thousand years. But that doesn't stop them believing in the Force, believing in wonders, hoping for one last miracle every time. Sometimes we can provide one. All too often we can't.

"Perhaps," I say, but at that moment there is a distant explosion and a cry of "Medic!" from across the square. I tense, instincts at war, trying to both hold me still and drive me up onto my feet.

"Stay there, General. Don't move!" Cody orders and both he and the medic are gone.

I stay where I am and tilt my head back, staring up at the sky. There's a dark column of smoke rising into the hazy sky from over my left shoulder, but I can see nothing more of the battle. One of the tanks is probably on fire.

My obi, belt and gloves are sitting in a pile to my left from where the medic half undressed me earlier to check my injuries. I manage to drag the items over without moving too much. It seems increasingly likely that we are not going to make it out of this and I therefore intend to die looking like a Jedi even if I can't fight like one. I carefully sort my tunics, fix the obi and belt around my waist - not too tight - and straighten my tabards. Irritatingly, my left boot that Folly removed to check my nerve responses is sitting in the dust just out of my reach. I don't bother calling it over with the Force; I won't be able to bend enough to put it on anyway. One boot will have to do.

With blaster fire and explosions filling the air around me there is nothing else to do but work on doing what I can for my own hurts with the Force as Cody suggested. Like I said, Force healing is not one of my natural talents. Healing or even just immobilising a fracture is the sort of delicate Force manipulation that an apprentice Jedi healer might usually only attempt after months of practise and research, and hours of meditation in the calm quiet of the temple. Not on oneself in a few minutes while sitting in the line of enemy fire. Fortunately, it has been said I do my best work under pressure. Besides, the worst that can happen is that I end up paralysing myself; if we aren't all dead within the next hour anyway I shall be quite surprised.

I close my eyes and concentrate on weaving the Force around me. I don't have the skill to repair the fractured vertebra even if I knew precisely the nature of the damage and where it lay, and I'm too tired for the fine control needed to splint it. Instead I have to settle for slapping rough layers of Force energy around my back and abdomen, drawing them in firmly like a rudimentary brace. It's not unlike the skill to control pain but it will take a great deal more concentration to hold it in place over a length of time. I sink into a light mediation to work on reinforcing the make-shift splint I've cobbled together. I only realise I have drifted more deeply from consciousness when an explosion nearby jolts me out of my trance.

I am up on one knee before I can register that I've moved. Someone at my side yells "General!" and I feel a hand on my shoulder. Debris and rocks are falling from the sky and an unfortunate trooper who was blasted up into the air by the detonation smashes into the ground all but ten metres from us. I stare at his body dazedly while other clones sprint past, the unrelenting blaster fire on all sides following the echo of the cannon blast. Two more blasts rock the ground and then Waxer is easing me back once more behind the shelter of the ammo crates.

"What happened?" I gasp out as Waxer helps me sit back, carefully. The pain is rather tremendous but at least it feels as if my force splint has worked. I certainly can't bend very well so I only hope it is holding whatever spinal damage there is immobilised too.

"The bugs attacked to the west, General, just like you said," the trooper explains, kneeling. "'Cept two of our AT-TEs actually got knocked out for real and they brought sonic cannons to the party."

A dozen Geonosians are swooping low over our heads, firing wildly at the backs of the clones defending the LAATs. Waxer shoots two down and then ducks low again at my side. The pain ignited by my ill-advised movement is slowly ebbing and my hand unclenches a little.

"The commander sent me to check you were all right," Waxer tells me, holding out a canteen. I drink two sips and pass it back. Water will be another scarce resource if we end up stranded here for long.

"I'm still here," I answer, reassured to hear Commander Cody is still alive too. But I know what Waxer's instructions truly mean – he has been sent to be my bodyguard. I feel utterly useless. "Pass me my boot, would you? Then find me a blaster."

"Sorry, sir. None to spare."

The clone does at least help me ram the boot back onto my foot.

A second wave of bugs fly over and suddenly there's another loud blast close by and a hail of debris and dust. We cower behind our meagre cover.

"Kark it," Waxer coughs. "They hit the other ammo crates."

A dozen crates have been blasted across the enclosed area, metres from where we sit. It could so easily have been us.

"Any word from our reinforcements?" I ask, coughing. The air is thick with acrid smoke; several of our vehicles must be burning now.

"None, sir," Waxer says apologetically. "I don't think we-"

There is another explosion, but unlike those of the last few moments, this one is far, far off and far more massive. I feel the shockwave first, vibrating through the ground under me and then a long drawn-out rumble, like far-off thunder or the collapse of some monstrous structure. I only know one person capable of producing destruction on that level.

"What the kriff was that?" Waxer says, staring off to the east. He looks concerned but the sound brings me hope.

"That, Waxer, is the sound of our reinforcements. Things quite often seem to blow up in the vicinity of General Skywalker. No doubt he's on his way."

We hold out for perhaps another thirty minutes. It takes just one link in the chain to break before Cody's long-held defences crumble like sand. A Geonosian tank gets close enough to one of the LAAT/i on the north side of the ring and destroys both gun turrets in a plume of smoke. The men inside scramble out of the hold they were using for cover as the unopposed AAT strafes the inside of the ship with fire. The men back off across the square, firing, but then a tank to the south falls too and Cody is yelling;

"Retreat! Go! Go!"

I hear the shouts on all sides and then what's left of the 212th start to tumble out of the tanks on the perimeter and fall back towards the centre. The AATs are roaring in now and I can hear the skitter of Geonosian wings as they swarm towards our abandoned defences.

"Go, go!"

"Every shot counts!"

"Give it all you got!

Waxer is kneeling a few metres in front of me at the edge of the crates, firing careful aimed blasts into the oncoming enemy. Cody is just ahead with at least five more troopers but they are all being steadily forced back to my position under the hail of fire.

Our time has run out.

I grit my teeth, drag my legs under me and force myself up. I have to scramble ungainly at the crates for a moment but I find a hold and haul myself up to my feet. Fire is racing through my back; I am short of breath and dizzy and I can barely stand, but I'll be damned if I will let my men die defending me while I sit helpless. I am a Jedi.

I draw in two deep breaths, brace myself against the crates and ignite my 'saber.

Let them come.

Then I hear it. Engines. Yes, definitely engines, and not Geonosian ones either. I pause in surprise. The sounds get louder and louder, and then a suddenly, impossibly, a Y-wing comes howling down out of the sky, then a second. Then a third.

"Reinforcements!" I hear a trooper, yelling. "The reinforcements have arrived!"

The lead ship swoops down so low over the landing zone that the ground shakes; I think I feel a blast of heat on my skin. Then the ship is past us and the sky is torn by gunfire; two enemy AATs explode in the first moment and then the Y-wings wheel around for a second run. The Geonosians are screaming and fleeing back under the airstrike and blaster fire. All about me the survivors of the 212th are cheering and punching the air.

"Go, go, go, go! Move it! Move it!"

A number of troopers sprint past me and then I hear someone across the square shout: "Skywalker! It's General Skywalker!"

"The five-oh-first!" shouts another.

"Where have you been, you bastards?!" yells a third, with delight.

We are, against all odds, saved.

I deactivate my 'saber. I know there is more for me to do. I should help rout the Geonosians. Check on the wounded. Debrief Anakin and Cody, see if Ahsoka is all right, find out if Trapper and Ki-Adi survived... But my body suddenly decides it has had quite enough of my nonsense and folds up on itself. My grip on the crates is the only thing that controls my decent enough that it is a sit and not a collapse. I am lightheaded and chilled to the bone, and I realise that holding the spinal splint in place has drawn my attention away from control of the internal bleed again. Damn. I close my eyes and concentrate on holding the pain in check and trying to draw in the acrid, smoky air in short, shallow breaths. We are saved and I suppose I can afford to rest, just for a moment.

I hear voices, more men running in from the south. Shouts of: "Up to the front! Come on! There they are... Move it, move it!" and then a different voice, right at my side, says:

"Master Kenobi?"

I open my eyes and there is Ahsoka. She's dusty and tired and her face pinched with worry, but she's whole and alive. I can't help but smile in my relief, resting my palm on her shoulder. My Grand-padawan.

The comfort is brief though, and I pull my hand away before she can feel the tremor.

I glance past her as I hear more footsteps. It is Anakin, with Ki-Adi-Mundi at his side. Mundi is holding himself a little stiffly; it is likely that he too is injured, but Anakin seems as indestructible as always. My former padawan pauses as he looks me over and I watch relief and fear chase each other across his face. The fact I am sitting here, well behind the front lines with my 'saber sheathed will no doubt be the reason for the latter. I am too tired to worry about it now.

"What happened to you?" He asks.

"I might ask you the same question," I retort, and then look to Ki-Adi.

"Master Mundi," I greet him, respectfully. "I am pleased to see you in one piece."

"Likewise, Kenobi," the Cerean answers, quietly. "We were concerned when we could not raise you on comms."

"I do hope Skywalker didn't slow you down." I return, ignoring the subtle prompt to disclose my own condition.

"What!?" Anakin sputters in mock outrage, taking the bait. "Ahsoka and I just survived a crash, fought our way here through twenty kliks of hostile territory..."

"...and blew up a fortress!" adds Ahsoka, brightly.

"...and blew up a massive fortress, and we still managed to arrive in time to save your skin, Master."

"It might not have needed saving if you had managed to land your ship rather than crash it in the first place," I point out. My words might sound callous, even cruel, to anyone listening in to our conversation but it is all part of the way Anakin and I communicate. This teasing, mocking repartee that we throw at each other like sniper fire keeps us going day to day through this hell of war. It is, in fact, the only way we really communicate at all anymore.

Anakin huffs. "That wasn't my fault, Master! Besides, we only got shot down a little bit. What's your excuse?"

My smile falters before I can stop it. I see warm corpses and smell again the stench of burned skin. I manage not to retch.

"We...got shot down a bit more, as it happens."

Anakin pauses, clearly thrown off balance by my sudden veer towards painful honesty. He's saved having to answer when Rex reappears at his side. He and Cody have been holding quick, low debate between themselves. The Geonosians were clearly decimated by the airstrike, but those that remain are selling their lives dearly. Cody glances at me but no words at needed; I nod my approval immediately and he takes off in the direction of the fighting. Rex draws Anakin's attention with a practiced air.

"Sir..."

Something else explodes beyond the ring of tanks.

"Yes, of course, Rex," Anakin says, and then looks to Ahsoka. "Come on. There's still plenty of bugs that need seeing to."

"Way ahead of you, Master," says Ahsoka, leaping to her feet and unclipping her 'saber. "Let's go, Rexie."

She and the captain set off at a run, following Cody towards the worst of the fighting.

"Come on, old man," Anakin says, holding out his hand as if to pull me to my feet. He knows full well it would be highly unlikely on any normal day for me to rest before I am certain that our position is secure.

"You go on ahead, Anakin" I say, too tired to even put on much of a pretence. "I'll follow along in a bit."

Anakin gives me a sharp, calculating look, seeking out a visible explanation for my reticence. I suspect I am pale and dirty and I can certainly feel blood crusting on scratches on my face, but I am holding the tremors in check and my other injuries are not visible to the eye.

"Obi-Wan..." Anakin starts but Ki-Adi comes to my rescue.

"Go, Skywalker," he says. "I will stay with Master Kenobi. We need to strategise. You can send word if you need our assistance."

"Sure," Anakin mutters, managing to insinuate in one syllable that the whole planet would have to be at risk of imminent detonation before he would be asking anyone for help. He speeds off after his padawan. The boy is a bright flare of energy, even now, hours into this gruelling campaign. The war is sucking the life out of me like a parasite, I feel it every day, but somehow the conflict just makes Anakin burn all the brighter.

"Kenobi?"

I realise my eyes have closed of their own accord. Ki-Adi Mundi is kneeling at my side, watching me carefully.

"I'm all right," I mumble, uncomfortable under the revered master's intense gaze.

"You do not look all right. I shall fetch a medic," he offers, making to stand.

"I promise you, there is no need," I argue, dragging back my control. "I have already been checked over. Besides, there are more seriously wounded in need of attention. What of your own injuries...?"

"Some broken ribs," the Cerean Jedi confirms. "I will seek medical attention when our task is complete and the shield generator is down."

I nod, trusting him implicitly to know his limits. "Then let's focus on that. I have come up with a new strategy..."

Ki-Adi sits down at my side. "Let me hear it."

By the time Anakin, Ahsoka and the troopers have the drop zone fully secured, Mundi and I have hammered out our plan of attack for the final stage of Phase One - taking out the shield protecting the droid factories. Master Unduli is then poised to bring in her troops and destroy the factories themselves, but not until the shield is destroyed. The campaign to retake the planet is resting on us, and yes, we do need to move quickly, but there is still time, and we must regroup first.

Cody and Jet reappear first at the head of a gaggle of men returning from the battlefield. They quickly cross over to the impromptu command centre that my stack of crates have apparently become designated, and I let the commanders know we will take two hours to regroup before pressing on. Ki-Adi and Jet head off to check on the rest of the 21st Novas. I am drawing together enough energy to do the same for the 212th when Cody halts me before I can start to move.

"I'll handle it, sir," he says, gently, and before I can say anything he disappears off towards the waiting troopers. I have seldom been more grateful for Cody than I am at that moment. With my commander on the case I am confident that by the time the two hours are up the fires will be out, all troopers will be accounted for, the wounded will be being seen to, the men will be fed, repairs underway and our surviving resources will be tallied up, all with Cody's unflappable efficiency. Like I said, the man is a gift; one I certainly don't deserve.

I have only been alone a few minutes when Waxer and Boil, who seem to have been assigned as my personal minders, hare over to check that I am still breathing. Boil is clutching a med pack and has apparently been instructed by Folly to check on my condition.

"He and Coric are busy with some of the other men right now," Waxer says, apologetically.

"How many injured are there? Any word on Trapper?" I ask as Boil checks my vitals and, after frowning at my blood pressure, quickly and efficiently attaches a IV field pump to my inner arm at the gap between the armour plates, cinching the straps tight. There is a hum as the device starts, a faint scratch, and then I sense, rather than feel, the neutral transfusion fluid pumping into my veins.

"Trapper's fine," Waxer answers while Boil works. "We're not sure how many men we lost yet."

"You need another bacta shot, sir," Boil interrupts, gruffly. "Medic's orders."

I sigh, but turn my head, letting the trooper press the injector gently to my neck. Boil is proving to be surprisingly proficient in battlefield first aid. I wonder if he is considering requesting specialist training and reassignment. I would not have predicted it, given his usual gruff temperament, but I have witnessed for myself the man's caring side on Ryloth.

Waxer is, much to my chagrin, busy unfolding a foil blanket over my legs when I see Anakin returning from the battlefield with his padawan. I object to the blanket on principle – it would, in fact, probably help with the tremors and persistent cold that the shock has gifted me with - but the two troopers stick to their metaphorical guns there too. The blanket is, apparently, also medic's orders and therefore trumps any authority I may have previously imagined I possessed as High General of the Grand Army of the Republic. So I am told.

Anakin and Ahsoka stride over and I note they are two of the last to re-enter the drop zone. They look tired, but satisfied; I suspect they were rounding up the last stragglers of the Geonosian attack force out in the dunes.

"Well, they're not coming back," Ahsoka is saying as they approach. "Skyguy, I'm starving, can we eat before we go blow up a factory? Please?" And although the question was aimed at her master, I note she looks to me for her answer.

"We redeploy in one hour forty," I inform her, with a faint smile.

"Ace," she grins. "I'll grab some food. Bring you back something?"

I decline, but Anakin says, "Yeah, pinch us a couple of meal packs. And see if you can find Rex. Oh, and let Besh know I'm on my way to see what a mess his mechanics have made of the tank repairs."

Ahsoka rolls her eyes. "They've only been off the battlefield two minutes, Master. At least give them the chance to actually make some progress before you wade in and redo all their hard work yourself."

She disappears out of my sight behind the crates. Waxer and Boil offer Anakin quick salute, inform me they will be back in a few minutes ("medic's orders") and then they too head off on their next task.

"All right," Anakin says, stepping up to me and folding his arms. "Spill."

Craning my neck to look up at him from this angle sends shooting pains down my neck, so I drop my chin and just stare across at some troopers across the square smothering the flames on a burning AT-TE.

"I don't know what you're..." I start, but Anakin points to the foil blanket and then taps his boot against the IV pump not quite hidden beneath it.

"If the next words out of your mouth are 'I'm fine', I won't be held responsible for my actions. You look like poodoo, Obi-Wan. Can you even walk? I can sense you're in pain, I just want to know how bad it is."

I don't want to tell him anything. I'm not blind; I know how severely Anakin struggles with his emotions and control never slips further from his grasp than when I or one of his men are injured. But he is going to be leading this assault and he needs the data at his disposal. And if our positions were reversed I would be most displeased if he kept his injuries from me.

"Internal bleeding," I concede. "Perhaps a few broken bones. Folly has checked me over."

I decide not to mention which bones are broken. There is such a thing as too much information.

Anakin sighs and crouches. He looks older and more tired than I thought him capable. He brushes his palm over his forehead. "Vape it. Was it the crash?"

"Yes."

"How many of your men made it?"

"One."

Anakin swallows and doesn't reply for a moment. Then he says, "Are you out of this fight?"

The directness of his question forces me to be honest. "As much as I hate to admit it," I confess. "Unless you can find me a blaster and prop me up one of the tanks I doubt I am going to be of much use... I'm not certain if I can stand."

I sense a flutter of surprise from him through the Force but it is quickly gone. "All right," he says, and the teasing, irreverent note is back in his voice. "Somehow I'm sure we'll manage to cope without you."

"I'm sure you will," I reply, dryly. "Particularly if you actually stick to the battle plan that Master Mundi and I have just devised rather than improvising or, Force-forbid, redeploying yourself half-way through. At least the intention is for something to blow up this time."

"Master, I don't know what you're insinuating. By the way, does your plan involve tanks?" At my affirmation, he nods. "Well then, guess I had better go and repair some, otherwise we won't be going anywhere. Ooh, food!"

His plan is temporarily abandoned as Ahsoka arrives back with a stack of meal packs and a datapad listing the initial survey of damage to our tanks and ships. Anakin grabs the datapad and a meal pack, tears the latter open and, with obvious delight, all but sticks his face into the rehydrated protein paste pretending to be Lothlian Stew contained within. Ahsoka watches him with a kind of fascinated horror. I have never worked out if it was the hardships of Anakin's childhood which made him both capable and willing to eat literally anything or if he just genuinely had no tastebuds. Ration packs are unpleasant but even I would admit they are far from the worst thing I've seen him merrily consume.

"Master Kenobi?" Ashsoka says, holding one of the packs out to me. My insides clench up painfully at even the smell of Anakin's food so I give my head a tiny shake. I manage a few sips from the water bottle Waxer left instead; it is nearly midday now and the red sun is hot, the air dry. Despite the IV pump and fluids, I am no doubt still dehydrated from the blood loss.

Ahsoka is giving me that wide-eyed concerned look again, so I distract her by asking for a recounting of their own crash landing and fight to the drop-zone. I wince at the part where the fortifications exploded in a storm of debris and droidekas, and she and Anakin Force-threw Captain Rex off a forty-foot wall. Despite the circumstances, that sort of behaviour was just rude. I should probably admonish my former padawan about that later, when I have the energy.

The two younger Jedi inhale their food in record time and Anakin sends Ahsoka off to find a comms officer - we need to get back in touch with Yularin as soon as possible. Anakin glances at the nearest gunship from whence come the dulcet sounds of someone hammering on delicate machinery with a wrench, accompanied by a harmony of furious Mando'a curses. I nod at him.

"Just do what you can to fix as much as you can," I say, "but we have to move by thirteen-hundred hours, tanks or otherwise."

He pauses and looks me over again. "Are you sure you are all right?"

"I am fine, Anakin," I reply, in exasperation. "Besides, Waxer and Boil seem to have adopted me like yet another war-torn waif so I very much doubt I shall be in need of anything for the foreseeable future."

Anakin laughs. "You'd make an adorable tiny twi'lek," he says. "I am just picturing your cute little lekku now." And he is gone before I can retort.

TBC