Chapter XXXVI: Turbulence

Julia hit the ground with a sharp groan as someone's knee jabbed into her lower back, crushing her facedown against the stone. She'd learned to improve her reaction time since the last raid's stranglehold incident, though, and she instinctively called her lightsaber to her hand, ignited it, and swung up, over, and around in a wide blue arc before anyone could restrain her limbs.

A loud crash, a spray of energy colliding with energy, and her blade curved back on her in a shower of sparks, her strike deflected uselessly back to her side by a –

Yellow saberstaff?

"Stay down!" Kherev warned.

A dark shadow passed over them – the dragon? – and there was a horrible screech like metal scraping against metal, followed by a hiss of sizzling scales and flesh as Aaron leapt into the air, sword extended, and ran it straight down the dragon's vulnerable underbelly. The predator roared like something of a nightmare. Warm, wet blood spat out of its wound, splattering up against the back of Kherev's robe.

The dragon's momentum kept it sailing over Kherev and Julia for several feet, and it tumbled across the rocks, its wings tearing on loose stones, its claws scratching blindly at the air – and it wailed all the while, unnatural growls of fury. It slid several yards before finally grinding to a stop on the hard, stone ground, where it laid in pain, moaning miserably, its tail thrashing about, its wings hopelessly beating the air. Its wails echoed through the valley below.

Aaron landed solidly, his flip carrying him over his fellow Jedi into a crouch facing the dragon. He breathed hard, drawing the Force into himself, pulling his arms back so that they were braced against his chest. With a shout, he thrust his open palms forward, letting emotion and tension, panic and adrenaline, finite self and infinite Force, tear out of him.

The resulting shockwave sent the dragon soaring unceremoniously over the edge of the cliff with a final, grating shriek.

Aaron fell to one knee. A hollow heaviness overcame him – like someone had ripped a hole in his chest. He gasped, waiting for the identity he called Earthshaker to come back from where he'd set it loose.

The Force trickled slowly into him. Life dripped back into his veins.

Kherev released his hold on Julia. "Up!" he said.

Julia rocketed to her feet, her heart hammering. She felt like she'd forgotten how to breathe. "Nice one, Aaron," she managed.

He smiled weakly. "I try."

Across from the Jedi, the clone troopers lowered their weapons to attack position. DC-15s snapped down from shoulders in near-perfect, mechanical unison.

"What a surprise." Commander Fallout's false humor was dry and colorless. "Ra'shah. Earthshaker. Star. We can do this the easy way or the hard way," he said. "Surrender, lay down your arms, and we'll take you alive."

Kherev white-knuckled the hilt of his blade as he slowly slid it from his belt. His reply emerged through bared teeth. "Try me."

Aaron raised his lightsaber to face-level, a crisp blue flame licking at the edge of his peripheral vision. His chest clenched like a fist, and his stomach turned inside of his chest. "We've done nothing to harm the Republic," he said in a tight growl, and he swallowed hard. "We're Jedi. If you're going to betray us, we won't go down without a fight."

Julia made no move to draw her lightsaber. "There doesn't have to be a fight," she said, bitter regret lacing the words. She stared directly at Fallout. "You can't have forgotten so soon – you were our allies in the war. It doesn't have to be this way. For any of us."

Fallout lowered his heavy combat blaster. "I already asked you once more than necessary, Jedi, but I'll repeat myself." His voice was cold as durasteel, immovable. "Surrender now – or die."

The clones stepped back into ready stances. Armored hands tightened on blaster triggers. The thin mountain air swam with wordless silence as they tensed for the kill.

At the head of the ranks, Commander Stride glanced distantly aside to glimpse Chase's mangled, blood-soaked corpse, the head wrenched halfway from the shoulders, still fitfully spurting crimson. It was nauseating.

Stride lowered his head and stared at his boots. Somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that this wouldn't end well for any of them.

Not my choice.

The realization stung like a crack in his spine.

His life or death had never been in his own hands. They never would be.

Eyes closed, heart pounding, he slowly drew his DC-17 blaster pistol from its holster at his side. He would go down fighting like a man. Whatever else this warped galaxy took from him, it would never conquer his dignity.

Stride breathed hard, sweat beading on his forehead beneath his helmet. He opened his eyes. He took aim, gloved fingers quivering against the ice-cold trigger of his gun.

Fallout shot him a glare that said, don't you dare screw this up now.

After all, their lives depended on it. This was what they were created for: they were instruments of the Jedi Order's collapse.

Surrender – or die.

Funny how Jedi and clone alike faced the same impossible choice.

Stride nodded. He knew what he had to do. The sad part was how he never knew it until now, and there was nothing he could do to alter the course that had been planned for him since Kamino.

Surrender – or die.

Stride surrendered.

"Aim," he instructed his squad. "On three."

Thirty-nine exchanged glances with the Jedi. "We're going to die,"he said.

Julia set her teeth. Chills began to shiver out from the base of her spine. "Not yet," she whispered.

Aaron leaned into an attack stance, his blade humming in sync with his pounding heart. "Follow me," he said, his Jedi restraint bending towards the breaking point. He felt his hands curl into fists, and hot sweat beaded on his forehead. "This is it."

This was it.

Do or die.

Kherev raised an open palm for silence. "Wait." He looked up at the sky, his maroon eyes searching the clouds.

Stride turned to his troops, checking that they were all in ready positions; then he nodded. "One," he counted.

Kherev took a sharp breath. "Wait for it."

"Wait for what?" Aaron growled.

"There's no time," Thirty-nine agreed.

Stride turned his focus to the Jedi, staring them down. "Two," he counted.

"Two," Fallout echoed to his squad.

"Wait for it," Kherev said again. "I hear things you can't. Trust me."

Heat flushed Aaron's face. "And get us killed?" he retorted.

Stride took a sharp breath. He looked at Fallout. The commander nodded his approval, and Stride turned back to his squad.

"Three," he said. "Fire!"

And the world exploded.

This was the battle on the battered Ryisyykian cliffs:

Aaron, howling forwards into the dense pack of clones, his blade raised to slice through anyone in the path of the roaring, flaming torrent of light and heat that he had become, carving through soldiers, shearing away limbs, tearing life out –

Kherev, saberstaff flashing and flaring to life; he was a consuming whirlwind of power and control, refined into a blur of energy; now spinning, now leaping, now wheeling into the fray, tearing through clone after clone after clone in a rush of pure adrenaline –

Julia, her weapon spinning from her belt, the electric blue blade extending even before it reached her open hand; a rush of wind, a shifting in the fabric of the Force, and she slipped seamlessly into a smooth leap that carried her into a dive-roll; she came up and around, her saber flashing into a sharp thrust –

Thirty-nine, custom blaster launching into action, and he was on the defensive already; he fell back from the clash and growl of the pandemonium, heart racing in his chest, gun still raised in instinctive panic, launch-ready, the butt braced against his shoulder, the trigger prepared to fire –

Repeating blasters, heavy artillery, standard-issue DC-15s, DC-17 pistols, opening fire; a pell-mell rain of plasma shots, flashing forwards, a half-invisible onslaught, glowing red in the dark shadows cast by the storm clouds that were thickening further overhead –

Bodies fell.

The first to fall: a Bravo Squad soldier, veteran in combat, favorite of Commander Fallout, recently transferred to Christophsis before he was summoned to Ryisyyyk, his designated name being "Shade." He took the front line offensive, but his bulky gun weighed him down – no time to dodge the sudden, upward sweep of Earthshaker's sword. The clone called Shade saw his chest rip open, cleaved through by blue fire, and without a cry he crashed to the ground, damaged armor showering dull orange sparks, and he gasped away the last shreds of his life. Pain swirled together with numb defeat and dissolved into darkness.

Only the first kill, taken down in seconds – and more to come.

A flash of light in his peripheral vision, and an Iron Squad clone called Bolt went down without even knowing his slayer to be Julia Star. She back-flipped over him, arcing above, weapon drawn. Her sparkling blade slashed from his right shoulder down across his back, leaving a curved, orange-glowing gash. He collapsed, but she landed solidly, already moving to take down another pair of soldiers that were sprinting in from the left.

Those in close range of Star and Earthshaker backed away, keeping tight formation, their sights still trained on the Jedi. But, panic seizing them, they hesitated; a mistake that would prove fatal for some.

Two quick rounds of gunfire from Thirty-nine, and another pair of the late Commander Chase's men were cut down – Nite and Splinter – brief shouts from both, and they hit the ground hard. Coughs of pain, choked gasps dragging through his throat, and Nite closed his eyes. Splinter was stronger, and he never did give up; he managed to haul himself several feet across the rugged stone before his face fell, pain racking his chest where the blasterfire had penetrated his armor, and he felt the cold grip of death take him away.

Simultaneously, across the cliff, a tangled slaughter – Kherev took the attackers' opposite flank. He came roaring in towards Commander Stride's Camo [flague] Squad, like a jungle beast in his ferocity, his saberstaff tearing like claws through the Kashyyyk veterans' anterior offense. Roshyr, Syren, Tek, Kash, and Yak – all felled like dominoes – five down in the wake of the Togruta's charge. They collapsed, armor clanging against them, as their bodies struck the stone ground with dull thuds of armor against rock.

The dying yells of the fallen, haunting, yet all but eclipsed by the storming fight – guns all ablaze, blasterfire ricocheting off of drawn lightsabers with crackling hisses, the Jedi tearing through their enemy, soldiers crashing down in the hateful grip of death's abyss – snarling energy, shouts of pain, orders called out above the madness, but the troops began to scatter.

"Hold your ground!" Fallout blared, fist raised. "Keep firing!"

"Surround and overwhelm!" Stride snapped at his men. He drew a second DC-17, one for each hand – his pistols flashed with precision aim. "Keep formation. Spread out!"

Commander Chase having been killed by the dragon, Iron Squad was in a tumultuous uproar. No orders, no one in charge – in honor of their leader, some ran in blind to meet the Jedi face-to-face, blasters blazing. But what was a blaster against the Force? What effect would a gun have when faced with a lightsaber?

Those daring (and foolish) enough to break away from the pack rarely got far before a rush of the Force, directed by Julia, sent them sprawling. Aaron came on ahead, bearing down on the staggered soldiers – cut down! – his blade piercing and slashing as he finished off the clone ranks.

Kherev tore his way into the heat and heart of the conflict. Blasterfire trained on him was either deflected or reflected back at the clones; the knotted mess of killers and killed found themselves shooting down each other in the confusion, the red-orange blur of the Jedi Knight weaving through the chaos without a start.

Thirty-nine, like a wolf prowling the outskirts of the battlefield, picked off stray soldiers from a safe distance. Weaving and dodging, he hung back from the battle; nevertheless, he cut down several clones.

All the while, wave upon wave of gunfire; lightsabers spun and deflected the endless shots. Seconds piled on seconds. The rush of raw battle, the red haze of conflict –

And then it happened.

Drawing his saberstaff out of a clone trooper's back, Kherev turned and called to his allies, "Incoming!" He lifted his eyes to the sky. "Stay clear!"

Aaron and Julia exchanged glances.

Thirty-nine tightened his grip on his blaster.

Twin shadows, massive, began to emerge from the dark sheet of clouds overhead. Two predators swooped down, teeth and claws bared, spiked wings whipping the air into frenzy. They roared, their metallic screeches splitting the sky – shattering cries! – and fresh waves of black terror seized the troops ranging below, shuddering through the ranks.

Aaron gasped. "How –"

"The dragons have supersonic signals," Kherev stammered. "My montrals can hear them. You can't."

It was at that point – the descent of the two dragons – that the tide of battle began to turn.

The troops withdrew in a panic. The clones drew together, their squads packing into a defensive formation – Bravo Squad, Camo [flague] Squad, Iron Squad – forming a barrier. They raised their guns, watching the dragons' descent.

"Steady," Stride said. "Steady."

The silence was deafening.

The twin dragons' sulfur-yellow eyes examined the Jedi and clones below – warm hunks of fresh meat in the animals' sight.

The dragons hovered there, silhouetted against the clouds, for what felt like a small infinity, although it was only a short span of seconds. Intelligent for non-sentient creatures, they scanned the prey below with an instinct-driven sense of primitive logic. Ravenous hunger boiled in their stomachs.

The sky began to rumble, the gathering storm starting to intensify – peals of thunder rolled through the black clouds.

The sulfur eyes never wavered in their fixed, deathly stares. Where to pounce? The thick-shelled things, too hard and shiny, packed closely together; the soft ones, they had fire in their hands, deadly fire; the lone, tough-shelled one, the only prey unprotected by a pack –

A hellish growl, another burst of thunder, and the first dragon's wings pulled back, its shape more angular now, and it cut into a dive that sliced cleanly through the air. Claws sprawled out, bone-white; razor-sharp teeth bared and jagged; spiked tail tense with the thrill of the hunt as the beast closed on its quarry –

"Thirty-nine!" Julia cried, and broke into a run for Thirty-nine – to help him; defend him; tackle him? – she had no idea, but she was already running now, praying that she would just be fast enough, that she would just be fast enough to do something...

"Get down!" Aaron shouted.

Kherev burst out, "Julia, don't! You'll both get us killed!"

Too late.

Too late to stop Julia, and too late for her to stop the predator's attack.

Thirty-nine let out a scream as the dragon's claws seized him by the shoulders. The world reeled and spun, the ground became sky, and the sky became ground, and his custom blaster clattered ineffectually to the stone – above or below? – his vision jerked and swam and whirled – warm, noxious breath rolled out in his face; the stench of raw meat and blood; his stomach roiled, twisted inside of his chest, violent rolls of nausea – he jerked and thrashed, bound by the claws, captured, desperate and unable to escape – death and life flashing before his eyes –

Pale yellow irises met his own.

...

A/N: I know, this update took forever. I was losing my hold on these characters; I'd built up to this scene, and I had no idea how I was going to pull it off. I stopped feeling connected to the plot and the characters. My writer's mind just deflated like a broken tire. I felt like I had to live up to something; I'd been building up to this, and it had to be good. It had to do justice to what I've been hoping it would be, (mainly because I wanted it to be good enough that I myself wouldn't be disappointed.)

Well, the trigger that sent me back into this battle scene was, in fact, school. I'm reading a translation of the Iliad in school, and the battle scenes really impressed me – if you notice a change in the style of this battle scene, it's because I drew heavily on the Iliad: naming characters before I killed them, referencing death dragging people away, and even certain phrases I took from it ("hateful death", "shattering cries".)

I'm hardly a Homer, but the Iliad really informed this scene.

I know where I'm taking this fight now; I have all the major beats of it planned out in my head, so have no fear – I'll update again at some point, I'm just not sure when.

Please review! Thanks to those of you who already have (Freelancer Seal... cough... Freelancer Seal... cough... is awesome... cough.)

May the Force be with you!