Nothing could prepare these young men for the task demanded of them. As they marched forward through the wild wetlands of the Eastern Gungan swamps in Naboo, several of the native rookies were trembling, as if they hadn't been training for the better part of a year for this very moment. One soldier who thought himself ready for the field couldn't account for the overwhelming pressure. When his shakey grip loosened, he dropped his weapon, still sporting its shiny new coat; a telltale sign of a soldier's first mission. As he extended his lanky arms toward it, two thin tears streaming down his elongated bill, a tall and bulkier trooper stepped close to the troubled amphibian. This man wore different, higher quality armor, donning an insignia on both shoulder pads to signify the rank of a sergeant. The Sergeant was blind in his right eye, with a scar running across it.
He gripped his battle-worn firearm with the stock facing forward, revealing the name Gratha crudely carved into the dedlanite, a metal similar to steel that could conduct much more heat; perfect for blasters. With weapon in hand, he battered the rookie in his left cheek, sending him rolling to the ground. As he fell, the marching quieted, and the men watched in anticipation. The red-scaled assailant berated and demanded the young soldier to stand. He failed to do so in quick time and was struck again, this time in the back of his head. This caused him to thrust into the thick mud face first, mildly reddening his upper lip in the process.
Some of the men in his squad managed to ignore the sight of their fellow rookie's abuse, at least with their eyes, while others couldn't help but lose focus in the wake of what they were about to undertake. After a moment, the grunt soldier pulled his mud-caked head from the ground. While the guard continued emasculating the young warrior, he failed to react to the Gungan's slender leg spinning from behind him into his heels. When the kick connected, the reptilian, caught utterly by surprise, sprang backward with his head violently snapping back into the ground. Mud splashed onto his one good eye. Despite being protected by his helmet, he was incapacitated from the sweeping kick. Before he could gather his senses, a red-orange, toad-like elbow rained from above and crashed into his nose in a bloody spectacle.
The rookie had done something unprecedented. He was a slave, the lowest lifeform in his community, fighting back against his masters; a sergeant of the Elder army no less. He figured this display of insubordination wouldn't come without consequences, but he wouldn't allow himself to be dominated by someone so arrogant. He pulled his crimson-coated elbow away from his superior, and looked up to be greeted by the barrels of the other Elders' blaster rifles.
The men were unnaturally focused and showed no expression. None of them took their eyes off the Gungan, who froze in motion and silenced his breath. His heart stopped for a moment, realizing that he was staring into his own soul. Though his eyes were locked onto the Commander, who hadn't raised his weapon or spoken in the slightest during the fiasco, the amphibian couldn't perceive his commanding officer. All he could see was his short life blinking past him; too fast to stick to any details for longer than a half second. He caught glimpses of the most important moments of his life: bonding with his mother, enlisting in the slave army, and the training that led him to this very mission, before delving deep into the imagination of how this day may end for himself.
The swamp was completely silent, save for the white noise of some biped animals resembling primates traveling through the enormous perlote trees, as well as a few flying lizard creatures; known locally as bogwings. After what seemed to be an eternity of staring into his bleak future, his visions were interrupted by the commander's waving hand .The officer signaled the soldiers to lower their weapons. He took a long, unblinking gander into the gungan man's eyes. His scales were exceptionally dark, even for an Elder. He had a large beard that was shaggy and grey, and had been braided with a silver clip sporting the Elder emblem. On his back, he carried a large steel shield. Not a moment too soon, he addressed the novice slave.
"Rise to your feet, soldier." The deep guttural cadence of the reptilian broke up the tense silence, and seemed to lessen the anxiety from the crowd, if even a bit. The young adult was relieved to be spoken to, rather than executed on the spot. He promptly acquiesced to the request, springing his long, lanky legs upward to a vertical position. The broken-nosed Elder soldier on the ground was still reeling from the blow to his face. The Commander aimed his arm deliberately in his direction.
"Men, this is precisely why you never underestimate your opponent. Whether he be one of your brothers, an enemy on the battlefield, or a slave like this one here." he said as he gestured with regard to the Gungan. "Overconfidence and ineptitude are members of the same household; a combination that will not be tolerated in my unit." He grunted angrily, surely to drive the point home. "On your feet, Slax. Brush yourself off, you look terrible." His expression of disapproval manifested in a weak scoff. A faint giggling hiss could be detected from a few of the Elders as the emasculated soldier rose from the muddy mold of where he laid. The Gungan, on the other hand, winced slightly at the thought that it wasn't the flagrant abuse from the Sergeant that drew his superior's ire, but his lack of follow-through. Of course, the kid was old enough by now to know just how war-like the reptilian Elder race was. He realized that he would never be treated like an individual of any real substance, not as long as he was trapped in the army.
The defeated Sergeant Slax slowly gathered himself, unable to make eye contact with his brothers in arms. He tried to swipe the endless excess of mud from his steel-plated armor. Another Elder soldier with the mark of a corporal on his armor firmly tapped Slax's shoulder and tried to pep him up, to no avail.
The grizzled commander paced around his formation, delivering a general sense of unease among his subordinates. He made his way to the manufactured crater of mud and wild grass where the gungan soldier was standing. He scanned the slave from head to toe, then regained eye contact with the frightened teenager, who was doing his best to hide his distress in the face of the man who controlled his destiny at that moment.
"What's your name, warrior?" the older man inquired, with an air of respect.
"Balkan, sir. Jin-Jeri Balkan," frigidly replied the Gungan.
"From my understanding, that's not a terribly common name for your people," acknowledged the officer. Jin-Jeri briefly cracked a smirk, as if to confirm the sentiment. The Commander continued his address. "What you did here was bold. Perhaps a little too bold, but I won't reprimand you for defending your honor. This is war, and none of us can afford to show weakness, so we must act in the name of survival, even if it is against our very own. Your very own. You understand, Balkan?" The Gungan knew exactly what he meant, and though his hatred boiled for a short moment, he rested his thoughts, and responded accordingly.
"Yes, Commander Sarth." The Elder veteran appeared satisfied with this answer, and directed his attention to the mud-soaked blaster still resting on the ground beside Jin-Jeri. He drew a long, thick, leather rag that was tucked in his belt, and reached down to pick up the rifle. With the weapon in one hand facing the ground and the rag in his other, he wiped a hefty, nearly hardened layer of mud off the barrel of the gun. He handed both the weapon and the rag to Jin-Jeri.
"Try to keep it dry," Sarth instructed. "These blasters are too easily disabled by the mud in these swamps. Keep your grip firm, soldier. The last thing you want out here is to lose your only means of defense." Slax looked on in seething envy seeing the slave who embarrassed him gaining the respect of his own commanding officer in the wake of his humiliation. Commander Sarth returned to his position, and the formation pressed on.
The Elders were tracking a gungan village residing in the outskirts of the Elder-controlled Lianorm Swamp that had somehow eluded patrols for years. Colonel Sarth was given the task of locating the village and depopulating it, either through capture or culling. As his group made it deeper into the cold, damp bog, the trees enclosed their path. The air started to thicken, creating a foggy veil around the soldiers that obfuscated their vision. Within seconds, the men had broken formation and began separating; despite the Commander's best efforts to keep them together.
Jin-Jeri relied on the loud and heavy footsteps of his comrades to direct him, while remaining cautious of the clouded environment. With every step, he rattled the nearby wildlife and caused them to scatter into the dense foliage of the swamp. As he continued, the fog cleared a bit. He could spot a tall, lanky figure standing on a branch in the distance. The figure was covered in robes and motioning a signal that Balkan couldn't make out. Just then, he heard a blaring shriek from behind him. He could tell it didn't come from a gungan.
He turned his head back in the direction of the fog to search for the source of the scream, but the opaque, stringy strips of air blocked his sight. When he turned back to the trees, the figure that had caught his eye earlier was gone. A flock of bogwings then exploded out of the nearby tree clusters. After the bogwings fled, the swamp once again grew silent. Jin-Jeri held his breath to conceal his presence, something he could do for a considerable amount of time thanks to his deep and hardy gungan lungs. He closed his eyes to concentrate on the sounds nearby. He could hear the light breeze of the wind whistling through the trees, as well as the many tiny critters scuttling their way through the towering hornweeds that surrounded the bog.
Deepening his concentration further, he could feel the ground beneath his feet, extending for metres beyond his position. The land was calm but not motionless, like a sleeping giant breathing heavily. Jin could feel the earth inhaling and exhaling, as if he and the planet were one and the same. For a moment, he could almost hear a voice in the wind calling out to him. He tried to make out what the voice was saying, but it was too quiet to understand. Eventually it faded out, leaving only the increasing crescendo of moving feet; a lot of them, and moving fast. Before Jin-Jeri could speak, Commander Sarth roared in confirmation of what the Gungan had already realized.
"Enemies approaching, men! Regain formation and be on your guard!" Jin remained in concentration in an effort to pinpoint the direction the enemy squad was coming from, but the corporal yanked him by the collar of his uniform back into the fog where he could make out the dilapidated images of his fellow warriors.
"Stay with the rest of us, slave," commanded Sergeant Slax. "We can't do this alone." The men huddled closely together, Elder and gungan alike. They slowly rotated in unison in a clockwise motion, while staying as silent as possible. The branches of the trees began shuffling all around the group. Some soldiers could be heard breathing frantically. They were dreading what would come next.
"Ready your fire and await my signal," Sarth quietly ordered.
The cacophony from the trees steadily increased in volume until it became impossible to discern its origin. An Elder gunman, startled by the racket, unwittingly stepped backward into a trap. A rope tightened around his ankle and sprung him up into the trees. The Elder yelled for aid from the others, who were already prepared to react. Sarth put two fingers facing up to gesture for his men to hold their fire. A blaster shot was mistakenly ejected into the forest, provoking the noise from the trees to grow almost deafening. Two more men were pulled into the branches in similar traps to the first.
"Hold, damn it!" demanded the Commander. "We don't even know where they are!"
"Commander, look up!" hollered Slax, who discovered a volley of large, blue plasma balls descending on the squad. The veteran saw this and hastily reached for the shield on his back before ordering his unit.
"Men, to me! Gather in close and take cover!" The Elder soldiers and gungan slaves all collected near the Colonel, who lifted his shield above his head and flipped a switch. This created an electrified force field around the shield, resemblant to a large umbrella that narrowly shrouded the unit from the descending plasma. Sarth activated another switch that sent a shockwave from the shield, bouncing the plasma orbs back toward the forest. A swarm of fully robed gungan warriors who were each equipped with a leather tunic similar to the ones worn by the Elder's slaves, a spear-like cesta, and a large wooden shield burst out of the trees nearly surrounding the squad. They thrust their cestas forward to trap the unit while they fired in retaliation. Jin-Jeri, in his most instinctive state of mind, found an escape route.
"Commander, we can get back out through the clearing! We'll have a better chance in the open!" he relayed.
"Agreed!" acceded Sarth. "Step back in formation and head to the bog! Sergeant, lead your men out single file! Corporal, cover them and give them time to clear out!" The cover fire was enough to keep the tribe back while the soldiers funneled out of the tree clusters and back into the open bog. When Sarth was the last one out, he triggered a second shockwave from his shield that launched the gungan back into the trees, harshly incapacitating most of them. The remaining few retreated into the woods. "Jakzal, go with Balkan! We can't lose them or the village!" The Corporal nodded to Jin-Jeri and the two of them headed into the forest.
Sarth and Slax organized their men around the fallen tribesmen and restrained them. The soldiers led their captives through the woods while Jin and his Elder superior tracked the gungan. Jin was chasing what he thought was an enemy, but lost the visual. He slowed down to gather his senses. With his eyes shut once more, he felt the forest around him. He heard the splashing of mud and leaves and followed the sound, with Jakzal close behind. They eventually arrived at the village, which at this point was besmeared by the energized goo from the gungans' plasma orbs, known as boomas. The Corporal connected to the Commander via radio to inform him of their status.
"Colonel, we've reached the village. Head southwest from the forest entrance and you'll find us."
"Acknowledged. Good work, Corporal." Sarth replied.
With the battle at a close and the village located, the troops moved in and captured every last member of the tribe. They gathered them in a line, and singled out three gungan who were part of the Ankura race of the gungan species. Ankura were much less common than the Otolla and stockier in build. The Elders considered them less useful for enslavement and would regularly kill or otherwise ignore them in favor of the more common and battle-ready Otolla. Colonel Sarth had been ordered to depopulate the whole village with no stragglers. Since he knew he couldn't bring back three Ankura with him, he ordered Sergeant Slax to execute them. This was much to the horror of the other villagers. The Ankura gungan begged for their lives, but the pleas fell on deaf ears. Slax shot them all, one by one. Jin-Jeri tried to close his mind off to the cries of the villagers, despite the torture he endured in doing so. The feeling overwhelmed him, and he collapsed to his knees. One of the villagers took notice of Jin. It was an elder man with long, faded whiskers protruding from his wrinkled bill.
"Brutta, pleasa free us. It nossa too late for youssa or any of us! Pleasa, man!" The Gungan cried out repeatedly. Jin-Jeri could only listen and accept his powerlessness.
"Balkan, you're not letting them get to you, are you?" The Commander interrogated. Jin couldn't speak, perhaps from the fear of having to admit to his people that he couldn't help them. "Balkan, answer me at once! I need to know you're not gonna' spoil on me, boy. Are you good?"
"Y-yes, sir," Jin timidly confirmed.
"I'm not convinced," rejected Sarth. "I think that you believe you're one of them. You aren't. You, in particular, never have been. You belong to us until you die, whether you like it or not. I have to verify that you're worth keeping around." Jin was vibrating intensely at the thought of what Sarth would say next. He exhaled softly, and rose to his feet, trying to summon what little courage he had left.
"What did you have in mind, sir?" He reluctantly inquired.
"The one who called to you," Sarth replied, in reference to the frightened, old villager. His expression grew cold. "Kill him." The gasps of the gungan tribe engulfed the air. Jin's heart sank at the order, but he knew he couldn't refuse it. He was just as likely to die out here as any of them. He still held out hope for a life of freedom, and he couldn't die here, no matter what survival demanded of him. Even knowing that, the idea of ending an innocent life for the crime of asking for help was too much to bear. Sarth glared intently at the warrior, who had nearly proven his value to the Elder squad. "That's an order, soldier," he insisted.
Without acknowledging the command, Jin-Jeri heaved his rifle up to his shoulder, now christened with the stains of battle. He aimed at the sobbing man who was grieving for his life. Jin failed to hold back his own tears, but remained steady in his aim.
"I'm sorry," he avowed to the older amphibian, staring longingly into his eyes. "I'm so sorry." All of the present gungan looked away in horror. They cried out relentlessly as Jin fired the fatal shot. The old man buckled to the ground and the stubby stalks where his eyes sat became lifeless and inanimate. The wails from the man's kin could be heard for miles. Jin-Jeri Balkan had successfully followed orders. The Commander couldn't have been more pleased, and vocalized his approval with a grunt of validation.
"You'll make a fine soldier yet, Balkan," Sarth remarked. At what cost, Jin wondered to himself, struggling with the weight of his atrocity.