Chapter 7: An Unwelcome Saviour


I kept following the wide corridor until I came to a flight of stone steps leading up to the next floor of the Temple. Having climbed the steps I suddenly became uncomfortably aware that the battle for the Temple seemed closer than it had before. The sounds of screaming, explosions and endless blaster fire intensified until it reached a crescendo I'd rarely heard the like of. At last I discovered its source when the right hand wall of the corridor beside me gave way to elegant arches. Between these arches were bronze railings allowing Jedi, in happier times, to stand in the gallery I was walking through and look down into the large peaceful courtyard below. The courtyard now however was far from serene; it was a hideous battlefield. The room into which I was looking was the size of a cathedral and it was filled with nothing but Jedi and clones, each side at each other's throats. Blaster fire was so thick that the air seemed to be rent by glowing flashes of lightning in a fierce storm, in places combatants were using the bodies of the dead as barricades behind which to shelter and here there Jedi Knights and clone troopers rolled together on the floor, blasters and lightsabers forgotten, each tearing at the other with fists, boots and teeth. The savagery of the violence and the surreal horror of seeing former allies and friends killing each other in such monstrous ways put me in mind of a vision into Hell.


There was nothing I could do, and nothing that I wanted to do, but turn around and hurry along the new corridor in which I found myself. As the sounds of the nightmarish conflict began to fade behind me I became aware of a new sound. The passageway that I now stood in had clearly been the site of a brutal skirmish, with dead Jedi and clones lying everywhere. However unlike many of the areas of the Temple I had seen thus far the bodies of clones seemed to outnumber those of the Jedi; was it possible that here at least the Jedi had won their fight? My question was answered when I at last came to a doorway. The door itself had been blown off its hinges and lying sprawled in the entrance was a clone sergeant. He was missing his head. Inside I could hear two voices; that of a young man and an old one.

"Master we must go before more come back"

"No my faithful Padawan, you must go and leave me here". This was followed by a choked cough and then a half laugh "those clone blasters pack quite a punch don't they?"

"No!" screamed the young man, clearly distraught "Master you've got to try! I'll...I'll carry you!"

"What and you half my size? My boy have I taught you nothing of logic?"

I didn't like the sound of the Padawan's voice one little bit; I'd heard voices like that on the battlefield before. They belonged to men who had been pushed to the very limit of their endurance and the slightest nudge would be enough to push them over into insanity. As I debated what to do, whether to declare myself or creep away, I accidentally stepped on a piece of broken glass. My standard issue army boot crushed the shard to splinters, producing a crack that sounded ear-splitting in that quiet corridor. The voices stopped at ones and then, just as I was praying that the Jedi might be about dismiss the sound, the young man shouted hoarsely "Who's there?"

Well that's torn it, I thought to myself with a grimace. I had no choice now but to show myself and hope for the best. I didn't want to take any chances and so I holstered by blaster and then said very slowly and carefully "I'm here to help you".

There was silence for a second before the young Jedi shouted "thank the Force! Please you must help me to carry my Master to safety".

Cautiously I stepped around the doorway and entered the room. The apartment had perhaps been some sort of office; there were a few desks, chairs and one wall was completely lined with holo-books. The room also contained a few dead clones, three Jedi corpses and the two living Jedi who I had been listening to. The Jedi Master was an old Duros and lay propped up against an over turned desk, green blood oozing thickly through his robes from a deep wound in his side. His Padawan was a Rodian, who was also dripping blood from a blaster hole in his upper thigh. He was kneeling beside his Master and saying "look help's come at last, don't worry Master, I'm going to get you out of here". He turned towards me smiling "thank the Force you've come, now hel...holy Force you're a clone!"

I raised my hands placating "it's alright; I'm on your side!" I shouted, but it was already too late. As I said just now sometimes a soldier can be pushed so far and then all it takes is one little shove.

The Rodian drew his lightsaber, activated the glowing green blade and charged. "Get away from my Master you mutinous back-stabber" he screamed shrilly. I was very lucky that the Padawan was wounded, meaning that he was rather less graceful than he doubt usually would have been. As it was he lurched towards me, swinging his lightsaber back and forth as he came, more in the manner of an angry peasant waving a flaming torch than a Jedi warrior wielding his noble weapon. I backed away "no stop, oh Force no, please no, I'm no traitor!" I howled in terror. The humming blade scythed through the air towards me and if I'd been an inch closer the blade would have sliced me clean in two (and believe me that is just a figure of speech, when someone is sliced in two it is anything but clean!). As it was the tip of the lightsaber only scored a molten gash across my breastplate, releasing a fowl stench of burning plastoid. Having missing with his initial slash the Rodian raised his weapon above his head in both hands, this time intending to decapitate me. For once in my life my survival instincts failed to kick in; I simply stood rooted to the spot, my eyes wide with horror and my life flashing before my eyes. All things considered I was left with the distinct impression that it had been completely rubbish.


Suddenly, as the lightsaber was hissing down through the air towards me, the Rodian Padawan was lifted clean off his feet by a hail of blaster bolts impacting against his scrawny chest and smashed against the wall of the office. A moment later and a second barrage of fire whistled past my ear perforated the wounded Jedi Master as he lay helpless. Turning around I found the doorway behind me completely packed with clones. It seemed at first as if the whole Grand Army had turned up to save my skin at the eleventh hour, but I soon realized it was in fact a fireteam; four troopers led by an NCO. I recognized the non-com as one Corporal Cross. Recovering as well as I could I inclined my head politely to my saviours, "thank you Cross, thank you gentleman, you're intervention was most timely".

Corporal Cross saluted "you alright sir?"

"Fine thank you corporal" I said, whilst feeling far from it. Slightly unsteadily I walked towards the broken body of the Duros Master, lying sprawled in a growing lake of his own green blood. Stooping I retrieved his discarded lightsaber and slipped it into one of the numerous equipment pouches on my belt. I know it must seem like the ultimate act of dishonour, robbing the dead and all that, but when you've been a soldier for as long as I have, taking what you need from a defeated enemy is just second nature. Besides, well I mean to say, it's not like you find lightsabers lying around everyday now is it?

Cross looked around the room, littered with the bodies of dead clones and fallen Jedi. "Glad we got here when we did captain. We heard shouting, came running and burst in here just in time to put this slime out of his misery" he finished, kicking the crumpled body of the Rodian Padawan. Looking back up at me he added "two less Jedi scumbags eh sir?"

"Quite corporal" I returned, with as much hatred and conviction to the cause in my voice as I could muster on short notice. "And now I feel as if we have wasted enough time here; I shall continue to my objective and I suggest you do the same".

Cross gave me a parade ground quality salute "right you are sir!"

It seemed as if I'd got away with it; I'd run slap bang into a clone patrol and they hadn't realized that I was helping the Jedi. They'd even saved my life and had not apparently realized that the 'shouting' they'd heard had in fact been me screaming for mercy. It seemed as if for once luck was on my side. At that moment an urgent voice erupted from the clone NCO's communicator, "Cross, you reading me Cross, come in!"

Immediately the corporal raised his wrist communicator to his mouth and responded "yes Sergeant Primer, reading you loud and clear sir".

"Get the other half of the squad over here on the double; we've come across a pocket of resistance!"

"Confirmed, where do you need us sarge?"

"Some sort of theatre, southwest corner of the Temple" answered Sergeant Primer, causing the bottom to drop out of my stomach. They'd found the Odeon and the resistance could only be Ahsoka, Rex, my three Younglings and any other poor souls that the Padawan and the captain had managed to scrape together.

As if the dratted sergeant didn't feel like he'd wrecked my day enough he added "they're a pretty tough bunch, bring along anyone you can scrounge along the way".

Corporal Cross's helmet immediately turned towards me and he said cheerfully "don't work Primer; I've just met up with Captain Hawk. We'll be along as soon as we can!" Signing off he laughed "I almost feel sorry for the filth, they won't know what's hit em' when we get there, right sir?"

I managed a weak chuckle "I'm sure they won't corporal" and then added, because I had no choice "well troopers let's move out". As we sprinted back along the corridors I had crept through so cautiously, I felt as if someone had pulled the world out from under my feet and I was now falling into a hopeless abyss. I had no idea what I was going to do or what on Kamino was going to happen next. All I knew for sure was that whatever the outcome, it would not be good. I was entirely correct.


[Author's Note: For those that don't know; a 'fireteam' is a military term to mean half a squad, led by either a sergeant or a corporal, and generally numbers between 4-8 soldiers (depending on the size of the squad). The practice of breaking down a squad into two halves is a popular tactic in urban warfare, as the smaller units are more flexible and manoeuvrable, ideal for close quarter fighting.]