A keen mind is like a blade. When
used properly, it will fuck you just
as surely as a lightsaber through
the bowels.
-unknown source
Revan gritted his teeth as the transport lurched like a drunken pisspot for what seemed like the hundredth time in five minutes. The descent onto the planet was proving to be a trial in itself, with frequent bouts of turbulence and unpleasant shudders courtesy of the ionic storms that constantly plagued the planet's deadly atmosphere. The Jedi briefly thought about abandoning the dignity of his station of Lord Commander and throwing up, until he remembered his title was worth as much as virginity to a seasoned whore.
We should have just taken the Ironheart...except we can't now.
Evidently his companions thought the same way, judging by the poisonous glares they were shooting his way. Mysteel and Kynes occupied two of the seats opposite him, wrapped in impact webbing with varying degrees of nausea plastered on their faces. Kynes seemed to be weathering the descent better than most, with only a faint green flush on her neck. But like him, Mysteel looked ready sacrifice the traditional grace of aTwi'lek and hurl all over his robes.
"Great idea Revan," she grumbled. "Thanks for getting the ship to blow its load like that and leaving us girls out to dry like this."
"I'm no more comfortable than any of you," said the Jedi even as his stomach did another backflip. "Besides, the Ironheart is better suited to maintain the blockade to ensure that the Reborn cannot escape,"
"But you didn't ask if any of us preferred to use the cannons or fight it out. You just assumed we would prefer this," retorted Kynes with her typical understated moue of annoyance.
"Just like a man," Mysteel sniffed.
Revan could think of a couple of suitably pithy retorts to their accusations, but decided to let it slide. Instead he tried to lighten the mood with a half hearted joke.
"You know, some Jedi think that suffering is the highest form of virtue. And that-"
"Shut. Up." chorused both of the women. Revan sighed and pretended to be fascinated with the view. Not that it wasn't a spectacular view. The windows showed a portrait filled with green tinged clouds and periodic dense clusters of ash that looked like they had been saturated in poisoned blood. From his aerial view, the Jedi could also make out the wasteland below, ashen brown rocks covered in bright red rivulets of lava which spurted out in jets from jagged volcanoes like writhing snakes. Not for the first time, Revan realized this was a violent world, a planet that was constantly at war with its own self.
It figures that the Reborn would take sanctuary in a place that mirrored their souls. Primal, destructive and corrupting.
The lurching sensation finally subsided as the transport passed through the lower atmosphere. Minutes later, it came to a shuddering halt as the landing gear crunched on solid ground. With the thrum of the engines subsiding, the pilot's voice emerged from the cockpit.
"Lord Commander, we have reached the designated coordinates,"
Revan nodded in relief and unbuckled himself from the impact webbing before unlocking the hatch. The magnetic doors hissed open and a jet of rancid hot air billowed into his face as brutal as a lightsaber's kiss. A normal human would have choked to death on the ash and smoke, but the Jedi had taken precautions. He along with the rest of the expedition had been outfitted with rebreather masks designed to filter out the worst of the planet's vile toxins. Too bad they hadn't been field tested until now.
Taking a deep breath to make sure his lungs didn't burn, Revan stepped out from his transport and onto the blasted landscape. He was immediately aware of a sense of oppression in the air, a hatred that was as tangible as the wind itself. Malleus was here, the Jedi was certain of it. Kynes emerged shortly afterwards followed closely by Mysteel, their mouths obscured by a puffs of fog from their breath masks.
"Visibility is better than I thought," commented the sniper, absorbing the terrain before sparing a look at Revan. "I will go help make the preparations,"
The Jedi nodded absently but didn't reply, too busy looking at the unfolding scene around him. As one of the first ships to touch base, Revan had the privilege of watching his army coalesce onto the planet's surface. Some of the ground crew had arrived before their transport, and had already begun setting up an open tent that would serve as his command post. Others were preparing Aethon's defence perimeter, priming shield generators, setting up gun turrets and rigging proximity alarms. The rest were busy coordinating the logistics of air traffic and the imminent arrival of Aethon's transports.
That was a sight to behold. The skies ran ablaze with white streaks as Aethon's warriors descended from the heavens and onto the blighted land. From the naked eye, one could make out dozens of gleaming red and white vessels, each carrying a lethal payload. Despite the speed of their descent, the transports flew down in perfect synchronization, gliding smoothly to a relatively smooth strip of steppe land amongst the lava troughs. A collective screaming of jet engines heralded the first major wave of arrivals as they ignited their inertial dampeners and crunched onto the dark crusty soil. Almost immediately, the transport's hatches blew open with the hiss of depressurized air followed by the crunching of armoured feet.
Out came the Mandalorians in gleaming red armor, warriors without peer in close combat. They emerged from their metal chariots like demi gods of old, chanting and banging their blades against burnished chest plates. Although the Tenth was technically part of Aethon's command structure, they eschewed the predominantly structured hierarchy found by those who had been in the Republic Army. Instead, Mandalroians were divided into warbands where each band roughly equaled to a conventional squad of ten. These in turn were led by a veteran warrior who had accumulated enough victories and battle scars to earn the right of leadership.
Leading that entire procession was a warrior half a head taller than any other, stomping across the Jedi's field of view like a man possessed. Mandalore's left hand had been replaced by a crude cybernetic claw that clutched an ugly looking blaster while his right sported his trademark notched blade. Despite his misgivings for the braggart, Revan had to admit Mandalore made for an impressive sight as he waved his weapons and bellowed some senseless war cry that seemed designed to stir his comrades into a battle frenzy. Either that or he was imitating two Rancors mating.
Revan's attention shifted to another recent arrival as the distinctive whine of servos heralded the arrival of Octavia's droids. Roughly equal to a normal human in height, their skeletal frames seemed slight compared to the lumbering Mandalorians with only their chest and heads armored in plating. But what they lacked in protection, they more than made up with firepower. Each droid carried a Mark 1 dread rifle, a prototype weapon supposedly superior to the Republic soldier's standard issue blaster. The weapon had a complex coil mechanism which could fire volleys of superheated plasma at terrifying distances without losing cohesion. Coupled with the droid's targeting augers and natural resistance to recoil, the dread rifle could be fired to devastating effect. Revan watched with approval as they marched out of their ships in synchronous harmony, with the cold dispassion that only a machine could possess.
Last but not least to cross his appraisal were the Widowmakers, their armor striped red and black to signify their dual allegiance to Aethon and their crafts of death respectively. The Widowmakers didn't so much march across the battlefield as they did flow with effortless precision. Years of fighting together had moulded each squad into a well oiled cog, where each member knew exactly how the rest of their brethren would react to any given situation, These were truly battle hardened veterans, elite soldiers that had seen some of the bloodiest Republic war campaigns. As a result, they were also the most tactically versatile of the armed forces, bearing weapons that ranged from blasters, blades and missile launchers. Their numbers were few compared to the Eighth and Tenth's forces but they would provide versatility and support in battlefield as needed.
The sharp tang of motor oil caught Revan's attention as he heard the distinctive roar of war engines. One by one, Aethon's mighty artillery were being unladen from the larger, bulkier transport ships and brought to life. Mortar batteries and artillery pieces, mounted on vehicles with massive iron treads rumbled past the group, followed by a procession of land skimmers retrofitted with customized heavy gun emplacements. It was said that men won skirmishes, tanks won battles but artillery won wars. Revan knew these massive war machines would be essential in bringing down the shields and guard towers of Malleus' sanctum.
Mysteel tapped him on the shoulder.
"Enough sightseeing, you should get into the command tent."
Revan turned and followed her into the relative comfort of the makeshift shelter. Several men and women were present already, adjutants from Aethon, the Eight and Tenth. These were the commander's proxies, men and women whose purpose was to relay his orders down the chain of command and into the battlefield. As Mandalore and Octavia lead his forces from the front, Revan would be leading them from the back.
"Lord Commander," the officers chorused, sketching a salute.
The Jedi nodded to each of them and approached the center of attention in the tent, a massive holoprojector. Like the one aboard the Ironheart, the projector received a continuous stream of data from the orbital probes which allowed it to reconstruct a tactical representation of the battlefield in real time. Based on the detected life signs and projected depth of the fortress, Aethon had anticipated Malleus had in excess of up to eight hundred units at his disposal, almost four times the size of his own forces. Hopefully that was not the case.
As the projector did a three sixty animation of the entire landscape, Revan made out the exterior of the enemy's encampment. Unsurprisingly, an energy field surrounded its perimeter, likely designed to withstand orbital bombardment but also less effective at close range. The Jedi also saw the unmistakable shapes of pintle mounted autocannons hanging from the walls as well as sentinel towers that protruded from the ground in grim defiance against the raging winds and heat. Revan fancied that his target was watching from one of those towers, watching as the wretched interlopers invaded his territory.
Can you see us Malleus? There are no more dark holes for you to hide.
Revan took the time to consider the enormity of the endeavour. His actions, or destiny as many Masters would have liked to say had brought him to this desolate wasteland. For better or ill, a climatic battle would be fought here, one that would determine the fate of the galaxy.
On one side was Aethon, a ragtag brotherhood made from the dregs of all known races in the galaxy, sworn to protect the Republic that had cast them out. Led by a disgraced Jedi Knight with relatively little command experience whose only crime was going beyond the call of duty.
Their enemy were the lost and the damned, humans and aliens twisted into dark perversions of their inner selves, forced to serve a monster created by one of the most infamous Jedi in history. A monster that had been made mighty in countless wars throughout the millennia. And unlike Revan, Malleus could guide his minions through sheer force of will, similar to the Battle Meditation employed by a select few individuals. He was the perfect puppet master whereas Revan would be lucky if his commanders didn't mutiny in the middle of a firefight. Put in that perspective, it seemed Aethon's chances of success were meagre to none. But if Revan had learned anything from his Master, it was that wars were not determined by the force of arms, their numbers or even the supernatural abilities warriors possessed. It was how they were used. In other words, victory went to the better leader of the two armies.
Master, all those mind games you played with me. It's time to see if they are worth their weight.
His musings was interrupted when he heard one of Aethon's crew members enter the command tent. The man sprinted right front of him and issued a quick bow.
"Lord Commander, Octavia and Lord Mandalore sends their respects and would like to report that all their units have reached planet side. They are ready to move against the enemy at your convenience,"
I'm sure they didn't put it quite so politely. Revan thought dryly. But to the messenger he simply said. "Very good. Tell Octavia and Mandalore to make sure all their squads arrive at their designated coordinates and hold position. I will contact them through the command line once all preparations have been made."
As the runner nodded and moved away, Revan opened a channel. "Kynes,"
"Revan," she replied in her usual monotone. The Jedi noticed the sniper had never once used his rank, probably because she secretly thought it was as much of a lark as he did.
"Are the artillery teams in position?"
"They are. The first round of annihilator shells are ready to fire,"
"Commence the barrage. Shake those vermin out of their nests."
"Understood,"
Moments later, Revan heard the distinctive thundering of mortar batteries accompanied by the whistling hiss of massive artillery pieces launching. From the projector, he saw the payloads hurtle through the air and into the fortress' shields, each one exploding in a spectacular display of mushroom clouds. Thousands of them pockmarked the energy dome, erupting like craters before disappearing altogether. A few seconds later, the next wave hit, then the next and the next...until the barrage became a constant ear splitting cacophony.
As the ground shook with the violence of each barrage, Revan stroked his chin thoughtfully. He had made the first move in this battle. Now it was time for Malleus to make his.
Matarl staggered as a particularly violent tremor shook the dank corridor. He grabbed the wall with a clawed hand to steady himself only to be knocked down completely by a pair of burly guards that rushed past him. Matarl would have cursed them for poxy whores if he didn't feel so terrified.
Ever since the first ship had been detected, the fortress had been in an uproar. Soldiers, slaves and droids scrambled through the corridors creating a tumult of chaos. In the far distance, he heard Abominations rattling their cages, drowning out the warning klaxons with their horrid screams. Aethon had kicked down the beehive and now all the insects were buzzing up a shit storm. And Matarl was caught right in the middle of it.
I should have known Lucidae wouldn't take this lying down...
A bloodbath was about to start, Matarl was certain of that. He didn't know whether Malleus could repel the invaders or not and frankly, he didn't care. The Twi'lek's only intention was to be as far way from the killing ground once the killing started. He wasn't risking his life for Malleus or his monsters. Not again.
A shuttle. I need to find a shuttle before they-
As he turned a corner through the labyrinthine corridors, a massive clawed hand lashed out and caught him by the throat. Twin black pits stared at him without pity. Matarl recognized him as the same warrior that had dragged him out of his cell and into Malleus' presence. He began to feel an unpleasant sense of deja vu as the monster held him aloft until his legs were kicking uselessly in the air.
"Let me go dammit!" Matarl snapped. The Twi'lek tried to pry the bony fingers off his throat, but the grip was unyielding. The Aspirant ignored his demand and leaned in uncomfortably close.
"Where do you think you're going?" the thing hissed. Matarl heart almost froze as he struggled to dredge up a convenient lie. When he didn't answer, the aspirant tightened his grip.
"I-I need to see Malleus!" Matarl gurgled.
The Aspirant sneered at his pathetic excuse. "The Reborn is preoccupied and is not to be disturbed at this time. Especially by the likes of you"
"Not to be-!" Matarl fumed, momentarily forgetting his place. "In case you haven't noticed, there's an army descending upon us. Lucidae army! You have to-argghhh!"
The Twi'leks ranting was abruptly halted as the Aspirant flung him against the wall with an audible crack. Matarl felt the air being blasted from his lungs. As he gasped in pain, the Aspirant drew in close, baring his fangs.
"Don't ever presume tell me what I must and must not do," growled the wretched thing. "Understood?"
"Malleus..." Matarl panted semi incoherently. "... must...warn...,"
"He knows fool," replied the Aspirant disdainfully. "What did you think I meant when I said he was preoccupied? Reborn are marshaling the forces even as we speak. Abominations are being roused from their flesh pits and the slaves are gathering their weapons. This... inconvenience will be crushed, swiftly and brutally."
"But...those ships! There must be hundreds of them!"
"And more of us," interrupted the other warrior. He pointed down the corridor where Matwrl had come from. "Go back to your hole worm. Back to the safety of our gene labs before I lose my temper."
It was not a request. With a shuddering breath, the Twi'lek turned and slinked back into the darkness like the good slave that he was.
True to the Aspirant's word, Malleus' forces responded to the interlopers attack within minutes as hundreds of black clad fiends vomited forth from its walls. At the front were the slaves, broken pieces of flesh that had no more purpose than to serve as fodder for the enemy's guns. The hunched and deformed Abominations came screaming behind them, clawing the open air with diamond hard claws. A few of the more unfortunate slaves were trampled or devoured by these fiendish creatures. Amongst the mass of flesh were the more disciplined but no less deadly Aspirants. They herded and restrained the worst of their demented brethren into the field with whips, light sabers and sheer mental domination.
Moving in more structured ranks were the mercenaries, hefting an assortment of melee and ranged weapons. Criminals, rapists and murderers all, these pirates were the most hardbitten and deadly of the scum and villainy that plagued the galaxy. They had to be, in order to survive amongst the Reborn and endure their depravity. And while they may not have been as disciplined as a Republic soldier, each mercenary had instinctual experience that told them where they fit in amongst the horde. Their formations were uneven however, distrust amongst certain groups forcing them into groups ranging roughly from five to twenty.
And finally came the Reborn. Dark, terrible and draped within flesh of their countless victims, they towered over their lesser brethren like lords towering over their peasants. Every other lesser creature mewed and shied away from these deadly beings as they stalked to the forefront of the army. These were the backbone of Malleus horde, warriors who had endured millennia of trials and who were almost as deadly as Victus, Malleus second in command. Savage and powerful the army might be, but without the Reborn's their constant control, the entire horde would disintegrate and turn on each other. Reborn imposed control over the Aspirants who in turn relayed their commands to the mindless Abominations like a man would control a vehicle.
So it was under their baleful sight that the horde pressed forward, a morass of slaves and monsters urged by the whips and threats of their superiors.
"Force take take those bastards," breathed one of the officers. The number of symbols representing hostiles on the holoprojector had suddenly multiplied several fold. And more were appearing every second.
"There must be thousands of them,"
"It only looks that way," said Revan to command staff huddled around the table. After staring at the projected figures for a moment, he said.
"A thousand at most, and most are registering as minor to unsubstantial threats."
"A thousand, ten thousand, it doesn't matter. They outnumber us in every possible way,"
Most of soldiers in the tent seemed to agree. The one assigned as Mandalore's proxy turned to Revan and said in a dubious voice.
"I hope you are as good as Lucidae says human,"
"Better than you, I'm sure ," Mysteel remarked sarcastically, earning a viperous glare from the warrior.
Revan looked at all of his officers. He could see uncertainty in some of their faces, the nagging fear and doubt that their cause was lost before it even began. Others had the grim determination that Revan had seen in many warriors when they were backed into a corner. They would fight all the harder because they had nothing to lose. Hopefully, the majority of those doing the actual fighting were in the latter category. But he couldn't take that chance. An army that was demoralized before the battle even started would never hope to stand against a numerically superior enemy. If they broke, the ensuing massacre would make everything the Reborn had down seem a jolly lark until now. Revan knew he had to say something.
"Your orders Lord Commander?" asked another adjutant.
Revan considered his words carefully. What could he possibly say that would sway the hearts of strangers? The Jedi mulled over words from the most influential people in his life. He thought of the lessons Vandar, Lucidae and his first Master had imparted him and realized they all had a common theme. After a moment he said, "Open a channel to all squads, general frequency,"
When the link was established, the Jedi leaned over the table and spoke with a clear voice.
"Warriors of Aethon. This is your Lord Commander. I know that title will sound queer to many, for what am I to Aethon but an outsider? None of you have cause to respect me, or even die for me. And many of you may even have been my enemy had circumstances been different. But no matter what walk of life we come from, whether you marched under the banner of the Jedi Order, Republic Army, or even the Mandalorians, we are united today to rectify an injustice on the galaxy."
He paused to see if his officers disagreed with anything he said. Nobody did.
So far so good.
"I speak of course of our singular foe, the Reborn. Make no mistake, they are a blight on the very nature of existence itself. Most foes, no how vile they might seem, have a reason to fight. Even the Sith, for all their monstrous intentions are but another faction vying for control in a galaxy festering with war. Yet Malleus and his brood exist only to spread their virile corruption, to destroy everything you and I hold dear. A singular force of nature that will leave naught but ashes and smoke in its wake. So look upon the face of the enemy kinsmen. Many of you have seen them in combat, in all their fury. You all know the atrocities they are capable of, how they despoiled this fraternity not days ago. No sane man could possibly face these monsters and not know fear. But it is not the absence of fear that makes a true warrior but how you overcome it."
Revan saw that he had the rapt attention of everyone in the tent. He could only hope it was the same for the warriors out in the field.
"I am told by many of my Order that destiny is a fixed construct, that nothing happens by coincidence. By that logic, it seems we are all destined to fall in battle against a foe that has every advantage. But I'm here to tell you no. Everyone one of us is born to believe that they are the arbiters of their own fate."
This time, Revan could hear murmurs of approval, not just from the officers but from the warriors in the distance. And to his own surprise, the Jedi began hearing the conviction in his own voice.
"And today, we choose to stand united against these so called Reborn. We choose to send these hellspawn into oblivion. For too long have Malleus and his deviants preyed upon the lives of others to sate their own sick perversions. Well, I say enough! I will not let the Reborn gain another foothold into Core Worlds to spread his influence. I will not suffer Malleus and his black tide to pollute this galaxy with their existence any longer! Will you?"
"No!" came the thunderous reply, both within the tent and across the link.
"Divided we are nothing. But united, no force in the entire galaxy can stand before us! For Aethon!"
"For Aethon! For revenge!" The war cry was echoed with a conviction that left no doubt in Revan's mind that Aethon was ready to march.
"Prepare for war my brothers. Force be with you all,"
After Revan switched off the link, Mysteel spoke with a tone of admiration.
"Fine words Rev. I almost considered tearing up a bit. You know, if I wasn't dead inside,"
"Aye," agreed the Mandalorian next to her. "But words will not win us battles. Not those words at least. I hope you have a plan to deal with these fiends."
Revan nodded.
"I know all of you harbor doubts about my abilities, and some of the orders I give will indeed seem contradictory. But I assure you we can win as long as I can control the flow of battle. That means every man, woman and droid needs to obey my orders without question. Can I trust all of you to accomplish that?"
The soldiers looked at each other before most of them turned back and nodded in unison.
"Yes, Lord Commander,"
Revan nodded. "Then let us begin."
They swept out into the wasteland like locusts, braving the impact of mortar shells and debris alike, as the fell pieces of death ricocheted sporadically amongst their ranks.
A few of the pack (slave fodder mostly) were blown into messy bits of meat, creating gaps in the black tide that abruptly coalesced back together like oil. Their numbers seemed infinite, yet for all their numerical superiority, Malleus forces lack of discipline began to show. The army started losing cohesion with groups of abominations spurring forward from the main body like tendrils from a underwater monstrosity. Their screaming reached a fevered pitch as dozens of Abominations charged straight into the sea of red, heedless of their own safety.
Aethon made them pay for their bloodlust.
Ranks upon ranks of droids unleashed punishing salvos of plasma fire. The first wave of Abominations simply came apart as superheated energy ripped though stringy limbs and chest cavities. The second wave were similarly dismembered and any stragglers that had the misfortune to reach the front line were easily cut down by the Mandalorians. Heads, legs and bits of meats were flung in all directions as the monsters flung themselves in futility at the proverbial thresher. And in short order, the attackers were quickly reduced to a fetid pile of charred meat.
Yet for all the easy kills Aethon inflicted against the encroaching enemy, they were simply the tip of the iceberg. By the time the last tendril was cut, the main horde had finally closed the distance. And then the real battle begun.
"Mandalore reports contact." announced one of the Mandalorian adjutants. "Squads Helicon and Astereid have engaged the enemy. Force, do those monsters ever stop screaming?"
"Squads Hellbore and Vipus from Octavia's flank is reporting contact." Added another Widomaker. "Slaves and Abominations led by Aspirants."
Revan could see that himself. He looked silently at the holo projection that was broadcasting the battlefield in realtime. It was like watching a 3D chessboard, with different icons representing the individual pieces. Although truth be told, it was a very lopsided chessboard, with Malleus' forces outnumbering them at least five to one. And in terms of opening moves, Malleus was not being subtle at all. Hundreds of red enemy icons were being pushed forward to engage Aethon's blue, pawns to soak up damage while the elite forces finished them off. It was a common tactic for forces with superior numbers, and effective against an unseasoned leader with scarce resources. Revan knew he had to make every one of his decision count if he wanted any of his forces to survive the maelstorm.
"Orders Lord Commander?" asked his adjutants. Revan didn't immediately answer. Although his lieutenants couldn't see it, Revan's mind was churning furiously through a hundred different scenarios. As a Jedi, Revan didn't possess any particularly unique abilities. He did not have the gift of foresight like some or the Order's seers, nor the ability to inspire soldiers with Battle Meditation. What he did possess was one of the keenest and organized minds known to the Jedi Order, a mind molded by natural talent and a brutal training regime. A keen mind was like a blade his Master used to say. When applied properly, it would fuck an opponent as surely as a lightsaber through the bowels. And Revan's had been honed to perfection, folded again and again until its edge was keener than a banshee's wail.
So like a fine tuned processor the Jedi weighed all the variables being funneled through the projector. He calculated methods of attack, possible counterattacks and contingency plans, not to mention the pros and cons of each strategy. And only was he absolutely sure that he had chosen the right course of action did the Jedi make his move.
Just as the lieutenant was about to repeat his question in a more urgent tones, Revan said.
"Tell Mandalore to shift his forces Northbound to the dreadmount regions, away from the Abominations in sector six. Have squads Vraxis and Executor cut through the trenches to reach grid reference fifty five alpha."
The adjutant he gave the order to scrunched his face up in confusion.
"Sir, that will take the bulk of our melee forces away from the fighting. Plus there is a good chance Vraxis and Executor could be surrounded if they move to the coordinates you specified,"
"You were given orders lieutenant,"
The adjutant's hesitated but issued the command through the comm channel. Revan didn't wait for a confirmation. He continued to relay new orders through his subordinates while taking stock of the unfolding results on the screen. The Jedi gave no hint to his feelings while he conducted the battle, but the same could not be said of his underlings.
Minutes passed, and many of the commanders and lieutenants faces shifted into concern at what they saw on the holoscreen. The pattern their commander was forcing allied units to move into didn't make sense. When pushing into enemy territory, most commanders would have tried to keep their assault lines cohesive and unbroken, with a defensive line for support in case one of the flanks became broken. Instead, Revan's orders had forced certain squads to scatter into individual pockets of resistance. Some teams had been cut off in the lava trenches entirely, seemingly left to fend for themselves against the Abominations and masters. Many of Mandalore's assault squads were left virtually out in the open, far away from the greatest areas of conflict where they would be most useful.
A significant number of Aethon's squads had started to register orange warning icons, indicating mid to severe casualties. If Revan gave any hint that he was perturbed by these developments, he didn't show it.
"Get Squad Annhiliator to move their heavy weapons emplacements into grid vector thirty over theta." Ordered Revan at one point to Octavia's adjutant. "Withdraw Maximus back to the Stepstones."
The officer made no move to obey.
"Lord Commander, the coordinates you have specified will break our trench lines and sacrifice a precious holding point. It makes no sense."
The man's voice was filled with an unmistakable tone of reproach. Revan turned and fixed the unruly subordinate with a cold stare.
"Do it,"
The officer glowered at him but grudgingly issued what seemed to be a nonsensical command to the designated squads. The tactical display continually shifted as enemy units responded to the the Jedi's moves. Some of the enemy icons winked out, mostly small pockets of slave fodder that had broken off from the main body. But no matter how many Aethon killed, there were always more enemies. And their precarious position only seemed to be exacerbated by the Jedi's foolish commands.
As life signs were continually snuffed out, a few of the individual squad colors began flaring red as they became combat ineffective. Worse, some squads were entirely engulfed on all sides, only to disappear entirely moments later as they became hopelessly cut off from support. Rapid channel communications revealed the Reborn had personally entered the fray and were reaping a bloody tally, much to the officers' dismay.
Revan was not blind to his men's ire. He could feel the growing anger and resentment of the officers as more reports of casualties came in and the enemy continued to gain the upper hand. But he continued to issue orders calmly and efficiently, never faltering in his grand stratagem.
"The left flank is bending over." reported one of the Mandalorian officers urgently to him as the casualties piled up. "Squad Maximus reports being in danger of being pinned down by Aspirants! We must send Hellebore in to help them!"
"No, tell squad Hellbore to break off engagement and regroup at these coordinates,"
"But they have a clear advantage! We should press in and finish them off!"
"A clear but short advantage. Sending them in now would make them useless in the long run. We need to think of the big picture,"
"What the hell is the big picture?" the metal clad warrior growled.
"Winning. Carry out my orders."
Instead, the Mandalorian slammed a fist onto the projector.
"Fool! I won't let this disaster go any further. Your orders are killing our men!"
There was a stunned silence. The tension in the tent had become ugly and so thick that the slightest spark could trigger an explosion. Most of the Mandalorians looked ready to follow their comrade's example and the Widowmakers shifted their weapons. Only Mysteel looked unperturbed by the turn of events. Revan stared at the instigator cooly.
"Are you refusing to follow my orders lieutenant?"
"Damn right I am." The Mandalorian grated. "I don't know what kind of nonsense is going through your head, but you clearly have no sense of strategy!"
He jabbed a metal finger at the tactical display, with its blinking red icons and dire warning symbols.
"We have to pull the majority of our force back before they are all destroyed piecemeal!"
For a horrible moment, a measure of doubt flickered through the Jedi's mind. Had he been wrong to trust that these men would follow his orders without question? They weren't even soldiers...not really. Worse, had his strategy been wrong?
No...I must trust the teachings of my Master. I must trust in me.
In his mind's eye, Revan could see the ghost of all pieces of the puzzle coming together to form a perfect picture of victory. It was so close... But to achieve that goal, every squad, every cog had to do its part. To work in parallel in order to achieve a goal that was greater than the sum of its parts. The Jedi needed to restore discipline. But to do that, he would need to take a brazen move.
Let's hope I know the people around me as well as I thought.
"Lieutenant," Revan said calmly. "You are relieved of your station. Mysteel, take his sidearm and have an escort send him back to the ship."
Mysteel looked at the Jedi with her inscrutable face for a second...then turned to the Mandalorian in question.
"You heard him, drop your weapons."
The Mandalorian stiffened.
"Bitch! You're still listening to this boy after this...this catastrophe?"
The warrior raised his arm, perhaps to signal some sort of attack. But quick as a flash, the Twi'lek was standing next to the Mandalorian, the maw of her stiletto gauntlet pressed firmly against his helmet. Two of his subordinates had actually started reaching for their weapons until the flash of a golden blade swept up against their next. Mysteel stared at them coldly, down the length of her lightsaber. All the other Widowmakers had drawn their guns and were pointing them at the offenders as well. Wisely, the Mandalorians did not.
Mysteel looked at her victim coldly as she ripped his blade and gun from their holster and tossed them to the ground,
"You're right about one thing. I sure as hell don't know what Revan's thinking." She said quietly. "But I know that he is no fool. And I also know your dogged attempts to subvert his authority are what will lose us this battle. So be glad I don't paint this floor with your brains."
With a curt gesture, two of the Widowmakers came up and grabbed the Mandalorian by either shoulder, dragging the offender away to await punishment. A moment later another Mandalorian took the empty place and issued Revan's earlier order. The moment of disaster had passed. Revan gave her and Mysteel a thankful nod before turning back to the tactical display and carried put his plan.
Another ten minutes creeped by with Revan continuing to push and pull different squads into sectors he saw fit. Aethon's forces had held out a lot longer than many of the officers had predicted, but their grim expressions made their opinion clear. For all of Revan's maneuvers, the enemy's forces were gradually engulfing the invaders with superior numbers. It was only a matter of time before every man, woman and machine was cut down. The Jedi was undaunted, his orders coming so fast and unexpectedly that many of his adjutants barely had time to convey them to the field sergeants. Most still had the look of confusion and resentment on their faces but they obeyed, and that was all that mattered. Unfortunately, it seemed like every remaining squad was effectively a scattered piece on the battlefield, having shifted, moved and broken off from each other in such a way that nobody could support the other.
In other words, a complete mess.
Yet through that chaos, Revan could see his vision coalesce even as his voice strained to keep up with the thoughts in his head. The final completion of his puzzle was nearing as every one of his pieces began fitting into place. It was hard to pinpoint exactly which of his orders caused the shift in momentum, but one by one, the officers began to sense the change as well. Squads began realigning and the suggestion of a pattern became evident to even the most dubious of spectators.
And when everything did fall into place, the effects were devastating.
In the western pass, squads of Mandalore's warriors had finally moved into position and crashed into the Aspirants flanks as they harassed an isolated group of Widowmakers. Squadrons of droids that had been fighting alone suddenly found themselves linked as the enemy shifted to deal with the change in events. Multiple fire lanes presented themselves and the machines unleashed their fury, felling Abominations and Aspirants by the dozens and even a Reborn.
As parties of pirates and Abominations broke through the lava trenches to take cover, squads of Widowmakers that had been waiting idly brought their heavy weapons to bear and presented a unified line of devastation against the confused horde, ripping them into shreds.
The same change in fortunes kept repeating itself across the entire battlefield. In the span of a few minutes, Malleus' entire forces found themselves surrounded, cut off and scattered. Confusion became retreat and retreat became slaughter as plasma fire whittled the monsters down to smoking slurry while the Mandalorians waded in to butcher the survivors. Enemy icons began winking out in droves while Aethon's remained surprisingly constant.
The officers in the command tent stared at their change in events with slack jawed amazement. What they were seeing was akin to a tangled mess of loose threads suddenly pulled tightly together and revealing the complex lattice patterns underneath. The patterns were always there, but hidden from the normal eye. But when they were revealed, the effect was beautiful.
"I don't believe it," whispered Mysteel, staring at the rapidly diminishing enemy icons. Most of the men were repeating her thoughts in hushed tones. Even the Mandalorians looked surprised at the role reversal and they were wearing helmets.
Revan paid the murmurs no mind, having always been secure in the knowledge of the eventual outcome. The battleground was like an elaborate game of chess. And the greatest players were the ones that could always ahead of their opponent. He remembered his Master playing this game with him often during training, and inevitably Revan always lost. But it was the lessons he learned and not the outcome that was most valuable. And the Jedi had put them into good use in this battle.
What had seemed like a series of erratic and nonsensical pushes into the battlefield were actually a far sweeping moves to control the board and eliminate the enemy in one fell swoop. There were casualties yes, but all of them had been necessary sacrifices to put the pieces in perfect position to strike at the critical time.
It is commonly said that battles were won by the side that made the least mistakes. But in reality, it was the side who could anticipate their opponent's mistakes and take advantage of them the most. Malleus mistake was assuming Revan's moves were mistakes.
There was no doubt to the outcome now. The battle had turned into rout, which in turn devolved into butchery. Not one Abomination or pirate escaped the roar of Octavia's guns or the devastating slashes of the Mandalorian's blades. Even the Reborn were not immune to these weapons. Shredded under superior firepower, the empathic backlash of their deaths was like a bomb going off in the middle of allied ranks, killing masses of Aspirants and Abominations outright while leaving the rest aimless and stunned. In less than an hour, the thousand enemies Malleus fielded to protect his fiefdom had been reduced to nothing.
"Casualties report?" asked Revan when the last enemy icon had winked out of existence.
One of his adjutants listened into his comm. channel.
"Twenty percent of our squads are registering at ineffective levels or have been eliminated. Thirty percent are at moderate casualties. Fifty percent report only slight to negligible wounds."
The soldier couldn't seem to believe his own words. Everyone had predicted the majority of their forces would be lost. But this...this was...
"Amazing," breathed Mysteel. "I've...I've never seen any attack so swift. So...brutal."
If there was any trace of doubt left on Revan's subordinates, it was gone now. They all stared at the Jedi like he was some paragon of war, a primal force of death.
"Lord Commander," whispered one of the adjutants. "I'm-I'm sorry that we-"
"Not the time," said Revan. He pointed to the horizon where frequent sparks and concussive blasts echoed through the air.
"We still have a fortress to bring down. Consult with the squad leaders. Have the wounded taken to infirmaries and the rest establish a perimeter."
"Yes-Yes sir!" stuttered the man. He and the others scrambled back to their duties with an alacrity that would have put a savant to shame. Mysteel stepped up towards him, a nervous expression on her face. Revan looked at her neutrally. After an awkward pause she said.
"Rev...back on the Ironheart. I said-"
"Nothing that wasn't true," cut in the Jedi. "let that be the end of it,"
Mysteel nodded uncertainly. After a moment she said.
"I never doubted you, y'know? I knew there was a good reason that Lucidae chose you to lead this mission."
"You were the only one who supported me back there when things looked dire." Revan said quietly. After a moment gave her a lopsided smile. "Killing these fiends seemed like the least I could do,"
For the first time since Revan had seen her in the infirmary, the Twi'lek laughed.
"When you put it that way, it almost sounds like you killed all those bastards for me." she replied, a measure of her playful demeanour returning. The Twi'lek began twirling one of her tentacles.
"That's kind of hot."
"...If you say so."
the Jedi shrugged before pointing into the horizon.
"We need to link up with Kynes and the rest of the command squad. Once we get those shields down, we will bring the fight to Malleus sanctum. And Force willing, we will find your sister unharmed."
At the mention of her sister, Mysteel's expression hardened again.
"Force willing," she repeated.
Within ten minutes, Revan, Mysteel and a detachment of Widowmakers reached the summit where Kynes was coordinating the artillery barrage. Ear splitting explosions echoed through the air as the mighty war machines unleashed furious barrages towards the distant towers. The Jedi was pleased that even at this distance, he could see some of them were crumbling.
The sniper was standing several meters away from vehicles, staring at a series of schematics on a metal table. When the Jedi and the rest of his allies approached, she looked up.
"Revan," said the sniper. She made no attempt to salute but her expression seemed softer than usual.
"I hear congratulations are in order,"
"Status report?"
The sniper gestured at the maps.
"Our guns have opened a breach in their shields at grid reference sixty two gamma," she said, jabbing a finger at the southwest part of fortress schematic. "Large enough to insert our forces. I have deployed snipers to deal with sentries. Based on the projected size of the fortress' interior and the casualties Malleus has sustained, we estimate that there should be no more than a hundred hostiles left."
Revan nodded
"Then I will order our forces to maintain the perimeter and make sure nothing escapes while kill teams are inserted to deal with the survivors."
"I will be part of that deployment," stated Kynes flatly. While her tone brooked no argument, Revan was hardly surprised by her decision. Like Mysteel, she had a serious score to settle with a certain monster. The Jedi almost felt sorry for Matarl. Still...
"We will be fighting in closed corridors, likely hand to hand." said Revan doubtfully. "I doubt your sniper rifle or sidearms will help if an Abomination takes you by surprise. Can you even fight in melee?"
"Of course," said Kynes, sounding slightly affronted.
"Then where is your weapon?"
By way of answer, Kynes started unraveling the belt around her waist. Revan looked at her with an incredulous expression. She kept unravelling the thing like a coiled snake until the full length of it, all twelve feet became visible.
The Jedi realized it wasn't a belt at all. It was a...whip.
Kynes gripped the handle, an elaborate shaft made of silver and ivory. The weapon itself was black as sin, made from a material that let no light escape it's surface. On closer inspection, the Jedi noticed that the thing sported serrated teeth all around the surface, like some spiked tentacle. It definitely looked lethal enough, but a whip...
Force take me...who the hell uses a whip in this day and age?
Revan stared at her, a thousand lurid remarks popping into his head where any one of them probably would have forced him to defend himself. Apparently, Kynes knew what he was thinking too.
"Go ahead Jedi, say something clever," she warned ominously.
"You're kidding, right?" Revan managed as Mysteel snickered from the back.
"Trust me Rev. I've seen Kynes scalp more than a fair shake of enemies with that toy of hers. And I'm sure it comes in handy when she's doing her interrogations. Just ask my sister."
Revan shook his head wearily.
"Fine. Mandalore and Octavia are going. Why not you and that...thing?"
"You're sending those two with you?" asked Kynes. It was her turn to sound incredulous. "Mandalore is a psychopath,"
"Said without irony by the woman who uses a fetish as a weapon," Revan made sure to stress the word. Kynes flushed but amazingly did not attempt to take the Jedi's head.
"What about Octavia? That droid gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'friendly fire'"
"I couldn't restrain Mandalore from combat short of chaining him to the ship. And do you really want to leave Octavia in control of an army with all this artillery at his disposal?"
Kynes nodded grudgingly, "Point taken,"
The Jedi turned back to their distant quarry. "We'll take three squad, ten members each. Gather your most experienced veterans and tell the other two commanders to do the same,"
The sniper tilted her head in the slightest indication of a bow. "As the Lord Commander wishes," she said. Revan couldn't tell if the honorific was genuine or not.
Author's note: I've got another two images posted on my deviantart page. They're both pictures of Mysteel (I like drawing Twi'leks) but one is in color and the other is sort of a retro style feeling). Enjoy.