"Around the survivors, a perimeter, create!" Master Yoda looked into his visor as he spoke, wrinkled face appearing even more lined in his worry.

CC-8047 relayed the order quickly, casting his eyes to the ground as their gunship began the descent. There were so few lightsabers on the sand, and too many bodies. He frowned beneath his helmet, worry filling him at the sight of so many droids. Of course – this was what he had been created to do – and his body responded despite his concern.

CC-8047 jumped the last few feet from the gunship, raising his blaster as he went – already locked on target and firing as he stood. The troops filed out behind him, and he raised an arm quickly. "Get straight to the Jedi – herd them if you have to, boys, but get them back on the transports!" he barked. The answering affirmative was loud, perhaps fuelled by the adrenaline coursing through them all. The Jedi were still fighting – despite the palpable exhaustion on their faces and bodies. Despite it – they were still the best weapons on the sand – and CC-8047 watched in awe as two Jedi moved in delicate arcs, destroying a group of droids in unison.

It became apparent very quickly that they were not enough – and CC-8047 began to see the first of his troop casualties. The sand was red, more orange than true scarlet – but it still looked like blood as it smeared the shining white of his fallen brothers' armour. He kept his focus on the droids, doggedly forcing his spearhead to curl around the circle of Jedi. Form the perimeter.

He knew he had CT-8009 on the ground, moving the other spearhead of troops opposite him. He could at least count on his brother's own stubbornness to meet up with him in the middle. The newly minted Corporal had always been hard-headed, and it always showed best in a firefight, when the only was forward was to push until you couldn't anymore.

It soon became apparent that a few of the Jedi had decided to dig in their feet – and CC-8047 cursed into the mic. "Fekkin' Jedi! Can't they see we're on a rescue mission?"

"What do we do, Captain?" the answering voice came quickly, and he chewed at his bottom lip, methodically taking down a group of tinnies as he thought it through.

"Brute force if we have to." He said finally. "Just get between them and the clankers and start shoving them back. We don't have time for pleases and thank you's." he said, and there was another call for the affirmative as he and a few others started to make their way towards the few Jedi still standing.

It took him a second to realise that the glittering white display of light was from a lightsaber – the Jedi wielding it moving quicker than the others around them, blurring the saber. He'd never seen anything like it – but then again, he'd never seen much of anything before. He didn't have time to be amazed at the prowess of the person behind the dazzling weapon – more irritated with their refusal to move back than anything. He shouldered his way through a group of droids, firing at the approaching group before the Jedi could take them out. It made the small figure turn to look at him.

CC-8047 was known for being rational, and calm, maybe even a little cold. The beat that his heart skipped when he made eye contact with the Arcturian female in the middle of an all out dog-fight was highly unusual – although to him, seeing a pretty woman was highly unusual.

She was bleeding, green blood covering half of her face in an ugly mask, from a wound at her temple, and she was favouring her left side. Still – she moved with a lethal grace. CC-8047 gave himself a mental shake. Now was not the time to be starstruck.

He switched on his external mic, and yelled at her instead. "Miss – would you get on a transport?!"

She flinched, blinking at him in surprise. Then her face grew sheepish. "Oh. Sorry. Yes, sir!" he remembered very suddenly, with a flood of embarrassment, that any Jedi technically outranked him – and that a GAR General had just called him sir, and he had just called her miss. He had no time to dwell on it as she began to walk backwards, keeping her saber up, and deflecting lasers as she went. It took him a second to realise she was defending him – not moving past him, and not letting any bolts past her.

He frowned in bemusement, and turned to call back his troops. Behind him, he could hear the engine of a transport ship, and relief flooded his system.

Then, several things happened at once.

The transport ship landed behind them – the pilot screaming for immediate evacuation as heavy artillery threatened to overrun them. He jumped aboard, lifting his blaster to cover his troops' retreat. Then, with a cry, CT-8009 dropped as a blaster bolt hit him in the shoulder. The Jedi – letting out a visible gasp, darted for him. And the Jedi wasn't running, wasn't retreating- instead, she had stooped beside his brother, and he watched with wide eyes as she lifted him with an impossible strength. Her lightsaber was gone, the brilliant blade retracted, and yet she carried him, leaving herself exposed.

Panicked, CC-8047 dropped his blaster as she turned to the transport, the ship lifting from the ground. His own desperation was mirrored on her face as she threw his brother towards the ship. Hands that were not his own grasped his brother – but he reached out, for her, as with another impossible display of agility, she jumped for the rising transport.

His gloved hand grasped hers, catching her tiny wrist in his grip.

Dangling, she yowled – body jolting as a blaster bolt caught her somewhere. She was slipping, her sweat slicking his grasp, and he lurched for her desperately. With a heave that took all of his strength, he pulled her up and onboard, the momentum of his tug sending them sprawling – her slight form on top of his.

He didn't have a second to feel embarrassed about it as she rolled off him with a hiss, hands going to grasp at her leg. The blaster wound was sizzling slightly, from where it had entered her calf muscle. He winced in sympathy, sending a look over to CT-8009. His brother was groaning, thrashing as the medics held him down. When he turned back to the Jedi, she had quieted, eyes fixed on his brother.

"Is he going to be okay?" her voice was hoarse, but sincere. He blinked at her in surprise, thankful she couldn't see his face.

"He'll be fine, sir." He said, remembering her rank. She looked at him, and he was struck with the intensity of her purple irises. "But we should take a look at your leg." That drew her attention away from him, and back to her wound, letting out a faint whimper as she prodded at the flesh.

The clacking of the wizened Jedi's cane drew both their attention, as CC-8047 rooted through his battlefield med-kit. "Injured, and lucky, you are." The Jedi was almost smiling as he looked at the woman, "Relieved I am, to see you alive, Padawan Omari."

He blanched. Padawan? She was only a Jedi student. He stared at her in wonder for a moment, before her head started to turn back to him, quickly dropping his gaze back to the med-kit.

Raiko felt like she'd just gone three rounds with a meat grinder – and the constant emotional flip-flop wasn't doing her any favours. She couldn't bring herself to regret her decision to save the soldier, even if she had received her own injury in the process. What was one blaster wound, when she was already covered in bruises, breaks and blood. Nothing – when it meant a life was saved.

The soldier that had yelled at her, and then saved her life was focussed on her still – she could feel his eyes and his attention centred on her. She knew it was probably out of frustration – due to her stupidity in the pit and then him almost falling out of a ship to save her sorry ass. A touch to her calf made her jump violently, hissing in pain as the sudden movement jolted her ribs.

"Sorry!" the soldier apologised quickly, gently, hand flattening and stroking lightly on her shin as if soothing a frightened animal. She stilled under his touch, and he slowly removed his hand, as if realising what he was doing. He ducked his head, and was silent as he tended quickly to his wound. Closing her eyes to distract herself, Raiko probed at her connection to her Master and to Obi-Wan, unsure how to get around her block with Anakin.

It took a push – and a wave of dizziness fell over her – as she knocked past the emotional blockade between them. The sudden flare of awareness was enough to rouse her, as a sharp flash of distress made her sit up straight. The despair was echoed in Obi-Wan, and she looked to Yoda, who was watching her carefully. "Master – Anakin, he just – I think something's happened. To the senator. But…" the distress faded into surly determination, and she frowned. "he's left her."

Their gunship began to descend again, and Raiko was aware of the rising sound of another skirmish. Yoda was frowning. "Following something, they must be. With speed, I sense them moving."

Raiko twitched, startling the trooper who was still hovering over her. "Dooku." She breathed, meeting Yoda's eyes as he nodded, reaching the same conclusion. "Master – let me take a speeder, I can find them. They're going to need help." She stood, filing off the ship with the Jedi Master and the troops she had gotten on with. The soldier she had saved was carried past them on a stretcher. Raiko was relieved to feel a faint pulse of life from him still.

Yoda's face was grim. "Very well. A speeder you will take, and your saviour if he is agreeable. With haste, you must go."

Raiko was already turning to the lingering trooper.

He flushed at her attention again.

His position was supposed to be on the field. He was a Captain – he couldn't abandon his men – and yet, as she raised a hand to him, stained with the blood of his brother and the red dirt of the planet – he knew he couldn't leave this fragile looking woman who contained the power of a warrior within her unassuming face.

He was nodding before he had even considered fully what he was agreeing to, as a cycle-speeder was brought over to them. The Jedi was already swinging her body over the machine impatiently, and he got up behind her, suddenly aware of every place their bodies came into contact, burning hot through his armour. Then she was turning her head around to look at him, eyes boring into his visor as if she could see him. "I can't, um, drive." She admitted, smiling the same sheepish smile that he recognized as symbol of her age. She was younger than she looked, younger than she seemed on the battlefield.

"Just tell me where to go." He said, leaning over and caging her in as he reached the handlebars. She shrank down slightly, nodding and turning to the front as he powered the speeder up.

"Head north!" she yelled over the noise, and he nodded, revving the engine and speeding off.