Chapter Two
Five weeks later...
From that moment on, it felt like they hadn't stopped moving. Before he even realized it, Stonewall found the Jedi, himself, and his squad aboard a shuttle, hurtling through the galaxy in pursuit of Doctor Raphan and his cohort, Breen Gymir, finally setting down on a distant world in the Outer Rim: Japarran.
The planet of Japarran consisted primarily of vast jungles that rivaled even the forests of Kashyyyk; the trees and plants were variegated and thick, covering almost eighty percent of the planet's surface. Presently, Stonewall was crouched behind the cover of a fallen boga tree, every sense alert for the sound of footsteps in front of him that would signal when it was time to spring the trap for Gymir, a member of the three-eyed Gran species that they'd been tracking for well over a month; intel had informed them that he was scheduled to meet his associate, Raphan, on this backwater planet and Stonewall was more than ready to be done with this leg of the hunt.
Though he couldn't see them, he knew that his brothers were set up at strategic intervals throughout the thick forest, their armor painted to camouflage their presence. A series of blinks into the corner of his HUD in his visor opened the short-range comm channel that would allow him to communicate with each of them at once. "Milo and Crest: you're in position?"
"Almost, Captain," Milo replied, his tone hesitant. "Just give me a minute...I think I can get a better shot from the next branch..."
"You have thirty seconds," Stonewall said with a frown. Shinies, he thought with a sigh before noting the position of another of his men atop one of the thick branches of a stately boga tree that was draped in moss and vines. "Crest?"
"Can't wait to drop a few rounds of ordo onto those tinnies...just give the word, Cap," his demolitions man said, a grin in his voice. "Those clankers are gonna be farkled for sure."
"Weave, Traxis...you've got the, er, other part of the plan ready?" The air had grown very still, as if the jungle was holding its breath in anticipation of the skirmish.
There was a hesitation that made him tense, but he nodded to himself when his brother spoke. "Weave here: Captain, we're all set." They had taken position on a hillock adjacent to the area, which would provide the weapons man, Traxis, with ample room for his favorite toy.
"We would be, if you would get out of my way. Vera needs room to breathe." Traxis' voice was a low growl.
"Calm down, Trax," Weave replied in a weary tone. "There's enough room here for us both – and your blaster cannon."
"Modified blaster cannon."
"That's enough, you two. Stand by." Stonewall glanced at his dark-haired companion. "The lads are in position, General. On your word." They were crouching beside one another in the cover of the felled tree, their backs against the rough, greenish bark.
The Jedi nodded. "Excellent." As if sensing his unease she smiled at him. "This will work, Stone. Have a little faith, will you?" They could hear the clanking sound as the droids approached; a cluster of small birds that had been hidden in the dense brush took flight, their cries piercing the still air, punctuated by the sound of flapping wings.
Thankful that he was wearing his helmet, as it concealed his look of disbelief, he nodded. "As you say, General." He lifted his DC-17 and checked – again – that it was fully charged and ready to go.
"One of these days, I'm going to get you to drop that epithet," she replied, rising from her crouch. "It's far too formal for me." With that, she leaped out of the cover to face their opponent. "Hello there, Gymir," she called to the triple-eyed Gran male who was surrounded by a battalion of droids, both of the generic B1 and the bulkier B2 varieties. "Such a pleasure to see you again."
The Gran glared at her a moment before raising his blaster and aiming it at her heart, the surrounding tinnies following suite. "You again? I thought we'd lost you back on Rhen Var, Jedi." His voice was cold with unconcealed malice; still hidden, Stonewall fixed the Gran's head in his scope and held his finger over the trigger, waiting for her signal. Their target was dressed in what had previously been a rather nice suit, though weeks of being relentlessly pursued by the small but dogged Republic force had added much wear and tear to the black garment.
Though his eyes were trained on the scientist, Stonewall could hear the smile in her voice as she replied. "And abandon you after all we've been through together? Perish the thought." Her yellow saber ignited with a familiar hiss. "Breen Gymir, you are under arrest for conspiring against the Republic and for the manufacturing and sale of biological weapons. I order you to call off your droids and come with me."
The Gran's laughter reverberated through the forest, startling a family of small mammals from their home in the trees above, their passage marked by the rustling of branches and a faint shower of leaves. Milo let out a curse on the secure comm channel; the creatures must have been near his position. "Keep your focus, Milo," Stonewall said, his voice low as he continued to peer through the scope on his Deece. "It's nearly time."
The Gran's three eyes wavered in the center of the display as he looked down at the Jedi woman, a smirk on his face. "You and what army? Those half-trained miscreants I saw at our last meeting?"
"Now, Stone!"
At her words the clone captain gave the order and all hell broke loose.
The booming of blaster cannon fire was all that anyone could hear for a moment as Traxis let loose a single shot towards the droid escort. From his vantage point in the treetops, Crest tossed a dozen or so droid-poppers to the tinnies that were next to the Gran himself, crippling many of the spindly B1's before he began taking the rest out with his blaster; with his rifle, Milo began picking off the more solidly constructed B2's that surrounded Gymir. There was another booming sound, followed immediately by a spray of droid parts as Trax let loose another volley, hurling obscenities at the droids as he did so. For his part, Stonewall leaped from his position and fired on the nearest group of tinnies that threatened to cluster around the Jedi.
As the remaining clankers turned to open fire at the clones in the treetops, Weave swooped into view from the opposite direction, swinging from his cable to snatch the Gran up and place him directly before General Halcyon, who was deflecting stray blaster bolts; while Weave held their prisoner, Stonewall placed the muzzle of his Deece against the Gran's head and glared at him. "Call them off." Gymir shot him a look filled with loathing that did little to improve the Captain's mood, especially as his men were being fired on by the enemy forces they'd been pursuing for a well over a fortnight. "Now."
"Stand down, you scrap heaps," Gymir said at last, all three of his eyes narrowed on the muzzle of the Deece. "I said stand down!" Immediately, the clankers stilled, though the air was ripe with heat from blaster fire and the smell of hot metal as the clones finished off the remaining droids before approaching their general and captain.
Stonewall looked at Traxis. "Get his other arm. I don't want to take any chances." His brother nodded and moved to the prisoner.
The clones' grips were firm as they held the Gran's arms behind his back and brought him to his knees before General Halcyon, who regarded him with an almost amused expression, her saber still humming. "What was that? You're willing to come without a fight?" She held her hand up to her ear and nodded, as if they were conversing. "I'm so glad to hear it, Breen." Behind his bucket, Stonewall grinned at the mockery in her tone.
The Gran gave a feral growl and lunged at her, though he was held in place by Weave and Traxis, the latter rarely missed out on an opportunity to mishandle a baddie if he could help it. "You won't get away with this," he hissed, his accent sounding thick and guttural in his anger. "You little bi-"
"Mind your tongue," Traxis snapped, jerking the doctor's arm. "Worthless piece of g-"
"That's enough, Trax," General Halcyon said, deactivating her blade and crossing her arms to her chest. "We don't need to stoop to his level; besides, he's not going anywhere. Are you, Breen?"
"You have no idea what you're dealing with, do you?" The Gran replied, glowering at her. He had suddenly grown calm and Stonewall felt a prickle of danger as he glanced around the forest, which had again become silent.
"Captain!" It was Milo, who had held his position in one of the massive, thick-barked trees that surrounded them. "Reinforcements at four o'clock!" Indeed, moments later they could hear the crash of the new droid squad approaching, the groan of metal against wood as the lifeless soldiers came into view.
"Keep the prisoner secure," Stone ordered to Traxis and Weave. "Get him to cover!"
For her part, the general lunged after the droids, her yellow saber springing to life with a hiss and humming as she felled several of the slender battle-droids at once, her movements a graceful dance. Stonewall thought that he could never tire of watching her, though he pushed the thought to the side as he fired on the clankers, hoping to take down as many as he could; there were at least four dozen and it bothered him to think that they had not detected them sooner. However, there was no point in concerning himself about that now.
He raised a grenade and shouted to the others to get out of the way. It arced through the air to land in the center of the tinnies, who erupted in a shower of metal and sparks; the clone captain watched with satisfaction as the enemy forces were cut down to a more manageable number. Crest had taken up position on the edge of the fray, firing on the droids while Milo continued to rain blaster bolts from above; Traxis, however, had left his position with the prisoner to join the general in the center of the battle as he fired on the droids with a twin set of blasters that he wore at his sides. Damn him, Stonewall thought as he brought down another B2. I told him to stay put.
Stonewall was preparing another grenade when he heard Weave shout behind him; turning, he saw his brother on the ground as Gymir sprang away and made a beeline for the General, who was still engaging the droids at close range. Immediately, Stonewall lunged after the assistant, his only thought to stop the Gran before he reached the Jedi. He shouted a warning to her; she turned in time to see Gymir pull something small and glinting out of his sleeve, raise his hand and toss whatever it was in her direction.
Time seemed to stretch, to become a taut bowstring, a withheld breath. The clone captain prayed to whatever gods were listening that he would be fast enough to save her.
While the Jedi's attention was fixed on the Gran, her saber raised and a determined look on her features, one of the clankers that Stonewall knew his men should have taken out sprang behind her, firing at her the instant she sprang away to avoid whatever Gymir was aiming; her side was caught in edges of the droid's fire. Stonewall heard her yelp of pain and he felt a thrill of terror streak through him. In the next moment he was knocking the Gran to the ground and wrenching his hands behind him, calling for his brothers who were already at his side. Traxis fired on the rogue droid while Crest and Milo finished off the remaining tinnies.
But Stonewall was only dimly aware of the activity around him. Though he held Gymir in a firm grip, all of his attention was focused on the dark-haired Jedi who lay still in the dirt and brush in front of him. Later, he would recall the thudding of his heart from within his armor as he watched for the rise of her chest and listened for the intake of breath that would signify that she was alive.
Time was still and so was she.
Then Weave was beside her, checking her vitals before he looked up at Stonewall. "She's alive, Captain. Wounded, but alive." He picked up the slender woman, who had seemed almost indestructible moments ago; Stonewall could see blood seeping through the side of her scorched tunic. "I'll get her back to the camp if you want to take care of that," he indicated their prisoner, tossing Stonewall a hypospray. "This should keep him quiet for a while." As the squad medic, Weave had the ultimate say in these matters; besides, Stonewall found it remarkably difficult to speak at the moment. He nodded and looked down at the writhing, spitting form of their only link to one of the galaxy's most notorious biological terrorists.
"She's alive. You're one lucky son of a mudcrutch, you know that?" He injected the tranquilizers into Gymir's neck. After the assistant quieted, Stonewall glanced at the others. "Get him back to camp. We'll discuss this fiasco later."
"But-" Milo interjected.
Stonewall shook his head. "I don't want to hear it, shiny. That entire thing almost ended in disaster...the General could have been killed..." He snapped his jaw shut before he said anything else, shaking his head again. "Just get this di'kut back to camp."
While Traxis went to collect his cannon, Crest and Milo moved to gather up their prisoner. "You know, this species doesn't look like there's a lot to them," Crest said as he hefted the Gran's body on his back. "Until you have to tote the kriffing things around."
The first brush of true awareness brought Kali the sound of birdsong; it resonated all around, providing a measure of comfort, as local fauna never hung around for a battle while it also indicated that she was not dead – a pleasant realization. Kalinda took a deep breath and began to assess her physical condition: other than the ever-present ache in her left knee, the vestige of a childhood injury, she was sore but whole. Long ago she had taught her body to heal itself through the Force, a talent that all Jedi possessed; even as she slept, the Force – the one constant in her life – had knitted her blistered flesh and smoothed away the bruises.
Her eyes opened and the first thing she saw was her Captain beside her, his almost-golden eyes fixed on her face. "Stone?"
"General." His voice was nothing short of relieved. "How do you feel?"
"I'm here," she said. At his look of mild frustration she clarified. "Tired and sore, but in one piece, happily. Where is our guest?" Her tongue felt thick and clumsy; she tried to sit up, but was overcome with dizziness and disorientation.
"Safely in custody," he replied. "You should lie down...I think Weave overdid it on the painkillers." They were back in the squad's makeshift camp, about thirty klicks from where they'd ambushed the doctor's cohort; she was surrounded by the muted light of her tent, though there were cracks of sunlight shining in from the frayed and torn edges. It was a hardly enough space for one person, so Stone was hunched over even as he knelt beside her. "Are you thirsty? I have some water...Weave said you might be thirsty from all the meds..." He trailed off as she met his eyes. "What is it?"
She frowned, not trusting her voice for a moment. "Did you see what happened? All I remember is Gymir tossing something small and metallic at me, then..." she winced. "Pain." Her eyes snapped open as she recalled the flash in his hand. "Toxin. He had poison, didn't he?" Beneath her chest her heart rate began to increase. "Did you see what it was?"
Stonewall shook his head. "That's my fault. The men broke formation; they didn't take out all of the droids as they were supposed to and we couldn't find whatever he had." He frowned at the memory. "One of the stragglers almost took you out. If you hadn't been getting out of the Gran's way..."
"Don't be so hard on them, Stone, it's early yet," she said. "Creating a good team takes time. I know that you'll get them into shape; they're a good bunch." She tried again to sit up, but he put a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. His touch was gentle.
"Weave says you should lie down, General." Though his tone was firm, there was something in his eyes that she had never noticed before while he looked at her. "And you don't need to thank me for letting you almost get killed." He repeated the words in a murmur, as if to himself. "I almost let you get killed."
She said nothing for a moment, mostly because her eyelids were growing heavy again; however, she sensed a flare of unease from him as he continued to study her, so she gave a reassuring smile at the trooper. "It's not your fault, Stone," she said, her voice barely a whisper, which caused him to lean forward; she could almost feel his warm breath against the side of her face. "I'm not great at close combat."
He was quiet for a moment; she could see that he was considering her words. He's so thoughtful, she thought absently. I can practically see the wheels turning in his head. Finally he seemed to reach a conclusion, straightening and giving her a nod. "How are you with a blaster?"
At this she chuckled. "Okay. Not...how do you guys say it? One hundred percent. Maybe only seventy five. Eighty if the wind is right."
"Perhaps it's time to consider adding another weapon to your kit," he said, his mouth quirking into a smile at her use of the clone's lingo. "We've got enough to choose from, General. With a little practice I can have you at a hundred percent in no time."
Kalinda felt the heaviness of the meds overtaking her once more. "I've been thinking about it...call me 'General' again, Stone, and I'll have you court-marshaled...okay?" Before she could hear his response, she fell asleep and did not dream.
