The end result of the generals' planning session came as something of a shock.

"That's it? That's the battle plan? We're going to stand in the middle of a field and let the maccaneeks shoot at us?!" exclaimed Artil.

"It's my understanding we're going to be allowed to shoot back," Tarpals replied dryly. "But, yes, that's the plan. The Naaboo are going to attack the brain that makes the maccaneeks move and fight. If they can destroy it, the maccaneeks will stop working. In the meantime, however, it will be our job to keep the maccaneeks busy and out of the Naaboos' main city, by whatever means necessary."

"Great, just great! Not only are we going to get slaughtered on the battlefield, we're going to be led there by Jar Jar Binks! Binks! What ever possessed Nass to make him a general?!"

Tarpals folded his arms and scowled out into the leafy stillness of the Sacred Place. "Do you want my honest opinion, or shall I just say 'capriciousness'?"

Artil stopped pacing and peered at him. "What do you mean?"

"I think that somewhere in the back of Nass's mind is the idea that, since we're going up against a superior force in what looks like a poor tactical move, there's a very good chance that Binks is going to one of the casualties of the battle. That way, Binks dies a hero, which erases some of the embarrassment he's caused his clan-family, and Nass is rid of him for good."

Artil blinked several times, then comment wryly, "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Ven, believe me, I'll be the first to agree that Jar Jar Binks is a walking disaster looking for a place to happen, but no one deserves murder in the guise of altruism. I'm betting Nass knew exactly what he was doing when he gave Jar Jar his so-called promotion. Binks has barely the basic warrior skills."

"Yeah, well...." Artil's voice trailed off.

"Which is why he's riding with us during the battle."

Artil's mouth fell open, then closed with a snap. "Why am I really not surprised by this?" He peered at Tarpals, a puzzled expression on his face. "What is it with you and Binks? Why do you keep defending him?"

Tarpals's gaze turned from the surrounding flora to the ground at his feet. "Because I know what it's like to grow up without a close family. To be shuffled from one relative to another, without any strong ties to any of them. Your children have you and your essoin, just as the Nril children have Kimma and Sen Tal and Hanar. Good, strong adults who take a genuine interest in them as an individual, not just as another resource or potential alliance-marriage prospect. The first time I felt that kind of closeness was when I took the initial warrior training as a child. The military became my family, more than my clan did. It was because of my military experience that I was adopted into the Zalaaca Clan. On behalf of my civilian clan-family, I pledged to two essoins."

"But you pledged to the third one for love," Artil finished for him.

Tarpals's mouth twitched into an ironic smile. "Well, they were hardly going to turn down the chance to gain the family a Shrine Keeper." He glanced up as Rell Iss approached with of one of Ceel's aides. "Looks like the Generals are ready for our strategy presentation."

As the two of them moved deeper into the Sacred Place, Artil ventured, "The gods won't let anything happen to Treece. She'll make it here safely."

"Treece does seem to have a special relationship with them," Tarpals agreed. "I hope it's enough."

A few minutes later he, Artil, and nearly twenty Generals and other officers stood clustered in a hilly, rocky portion of the Sacred Place.

"Captain Tarpals," Ceel said, "you've had the most experience of any of us with fighting the maccaneeks. What can you tell us about their weaknesses, or any possible defense against them?"

"Before I begin, General, I have something here that I think might be helpful." Tarpals carefully unrolled a leaf-like object on a flat, alter-like rock and weighted down the corners with small stones. Ceel, Yoss, Artil, and several other officers, including a newly promoted and much subdued General Binks, gathered around. "The Naaboo call this a 'flim-see'. They use it to record both words and pictures." The Gungans eyed the drawing critically.

"Goodness, Roos, did you draw that yourself?" drawled Yoss wryly.

"No. This was provided by a member of my temporarily expanded command, who is even now continuing to work behind enemy lines," Tarpals responded, dead-pan. Off to one side, Rell Iss made a choking sound.

Ceel tilted his head to study the drawing. "It looks like it was done by a child."

"The recruit in question has begun his training rather early in life," Tarpals said evenly. He tapped the drawing with a forefinger. "This is a diagram of one of the maccaneek tahnks," he began. "You've all seen them, I'm sure, but let me explain to you what we learned during our three battles. They can be taken out from behind with mid-sized buumas, or from the top entry hatch with small hand weapons...."

~*~*~*~

"Captain." Lieutenant Peskis, astride his kaadu, rode up to Tarpals, Artil and Rell Iss as the three waited for the final call to arms. The Gungan Grand Army had begun assembling the night before, as the militiagungs who served as cavalry riders, artillery fighters, and foot soldiers reported in to their various units. Nearly all of the Gungans from the outlying settlements had reached the Sacred Place, including a messenger from Tanoh Matawba village, who had informed Tarpals that Treece Vitay was alive and well, but delayed because of civilian families who were traveling more slowly than their soldier kin. Treece, not surprisingly, had opted to stay with them; not only would she lend them much-needed moral support, but was also a fair fighter in her own right.

"Lieutenant." Tarpals blinked at Peskis in surprise. "Shouldn't you be with your unit?"

"I'm on my way right now," the Ankuran replied. "But I wanted to tell you what an honor it was to serve with you since meeting you on the shores of Lake Paonga."

"Likewise. I kept meaning to speak with your superior officer about your conduct on our journey, but whenever I started toward your campsite, something came up. I've had Rell Iss write up a general commendation for everyone, which has been left with one of General Ceel's aides who's remaining behind. I thought it best to do that before the battle." The side of Tarpals's mouth twitched into something distantly resembling a smile. "Since we don't know who among us might not come back."

"That's thoughtful of you, Captain." Peskis's eyes twinkled. "I'm sure Captain Marl will find it a most enlightening missive."

"She won't believe a glowing report of your activities? You don't strike me as being a discipline problem."

Peskis actually grinned. "Let's just say that I'm more often known for leaving upheaval in my wake, and leave it at that, shall we?"

Tarpals cocked his head and peered at Peskis. "You were an exemplary officer during our travels, Lieutenant."

"I'm pleased you have such a high opinion of me, Captain." Peskis bowed in the saddle. The swamps around them were misted and hushed; only the occasional cry of birds and animals pierced the morning fogs. Here in the Sacred Place, the air was saturated with water, a comforting sensation for the Gungans as they waited.

"Do you think this battle plan will work, Captain?" Peskis asked suddenly.

Artil snorted in derision. Tarpals grimaced. "Honestly? No. The Naaboo may see us as an army, but the truth is that most of our soldiers are farmers and fishers and crafters first, and fighters second – or third, or fourth. There's a huge difference between receiving annual training, and spending your entire life in the military. Our people may have the motivation, but they don't have the skill. Even with the tricks we learned on the journey to Tendesay, I don't think we have much of a chance of winning this battle."

"But we're going anyway."

"The Generals think this is our best hope," Tarpals remarked. "The Naaboo are relying on us to keep the maccaneeks away from their capitol city, and we're relying on the Naaboo to stop the maccaneeks for good. It's all going to come down to trust, and faith."

"Well, I'm not much on faith, as you know, Captain," Peskis said. "And I get the impression that Naamanah-rissah Artil here isn't big on trust, at least not for the Naaboo. Am I correct, Lieutenant?"

Ven Artil tilted his head in a shrug. "Why should I trust the Naaboo? Most of them don't seem to trust us," he replied.

"Well, if you were in their place, would you?"

"Implicitly," Artil replied. "But that's because I know a superior lifeform when I see one."

Peskis gazed at him for a few moments; then a wide grin split his face and he laughed, eyes squeezing closed with humor. "That's good, Naamana-rissah," he remarked. "Very good." Still chuckling, he slapped the reins against his kaadu's neck and urged the animal forward.

Artil stared after him, shaking his head. "I didn't think it was that funny."

Peskis waved a hand. "Forgive me. Pre-battle jitters, I suppose." But he didn't seem the least bit nervous. He reached into his tunic and drew out a thin tube. "I'm even carrying a good-luck talisman. You'll appreciate this one, Lieutenant – it was a gift from the Naaboo." He tugged the end of the tube open, pulled out a roll of flimsy, and unrolled it to show them.

"That's one of Arlan's drawings," Rell Iss commented. The drawing depicted half a dozen stylized Gungans; interspersed among them were equally stylized pictures of humans. Several of the figures where holding hands or waving.

"Yes. He gave it to me before I left Sigglisson. I promised I'd keep it safe, no matter how many maccaneeks I had to fight." Peskis smiled fondly as he rolled the flimsy up and slipped it back into the tube, which he then tucked into his saddlebag. "He's a good child – they all are. I'll miss them."

Rell Iss shifted in his saddle as his kaadu shook its head, bridle jingling. "After the battle, when the maccaneeks are defeated, there's no reason you shouldn't be able to go visit them."

Peskis smiled at him. "The hope and faith of the young are an inspiration. May we all live up to your expectations on the field of battle, Rell Iss."

"When it's all over, you'll have the grandest story of all to tell, Lieutenant," Rell Iss said stoutly. Tarpals smiled.

"Indeed," Peskis murmured. "A story unlike any told before – the great battle fought by two peoples who spent generations distrusting each other." He turned to Tarpals. "I'm beginning to believe that the maccaneeks don't stand a chance after all."

"What's the saying?" asked Artil conversationally. "'Kill them all, let the gods sort them out'?"

"Don't do it, Ven. This is supposed to be a holding action, not a full-out frontal assault," Tarpals reminded him. "We just have to keep them busy. No death-or-glory charges, understand?"

"Yes, sir."

A message horn sounded in the distance, trumpeting the first notes of the "assemble" command. Rell Iss sat up straighter in the saddle; both he and Artil turned their gazes to Tarpals. "That's the call to the infantry," Tarpals said. "Our call will be sounded shortly. Let's go find General Binks. Peskis, may the gods go with you."

"And you, Captain. All of you. I hope they prove worthy of your faith." The Ankuran bowed, then turned his kaadu's head and trotted away, vanishing into the mist without a trace.

~*~*~*~*~

The Battle of Naboo was over.

Despite more than five hundred dead, the Gungan Grand Army had held the field (in a manner of speaking), and won their people's freedom with the help of the Naaboo pilots and the Queen's infiltration party. The Generals had declared the battle, if not an overwhelming and glorious success, at least a success, and the remaining soldiers had turned to the tasks of post-war clean up.

The songs and stories, Rell Iss thought numbly, always seemed to have left this part out. All those tales of glory and courage and honor somehow failed to mention the aftermath of the great battles: the smell, the scavengers, the grief, the exhaustion. After the initial joy over the victory had come the heartbreaking tasks of identifying and counting the dead, tending the injured, notifying clans and individuals of losses. Rell Iss had watched as General Ceel carried the bodies of first one, then a second of his own children off the field. The aide had accepted help from an Ankuran Gungan in lifting a wounded soldier onto a stretcher, only to have Peskis's name die on his lips as he realized that the Ankuran was Rugor Nass himself, clad in the simplest of clothes and doing the same work as everyone else. He saw his captain and governor each put a shoulder to a sheet of metal and lift it off a fallen female rider, only to have her die a few hours later of blood loss and infection. At one point Ven Artil, staring down at a body, had spoken a few words of compassion, then revealed that he had resented the fallen Gungan for years for winning the affection of a female they had both courted. All around them were the sounds of grief and loss as the Shrine Keepers sang for the dead.

When the first of the Naaboo arrived on the field, Tarpals had given the group a single, contemptuous glance, then turned his back and treated them with the same stony indifference he showed toward all discomforts, from bad weather to boorish jokes. The rest of the Gungans had followed his example, leaving the Naaboo to mill around uncertainly on the edge of the field until the Queen herself arrived. Rell Iss thought they looked like a flock of silly little nunas, fat two-legged reptilian creatures that often ran about in circles when chased. The Queen had come to offer Naaboo help in caring for the injured and removing the dead. Ceel, Yoss, Nass and Tarpals had consulted and finally assigned tasks to the Naaboo volunteers, most of whom worked in respectful silence among the Gungans.

Rell Iss had followed Tarpals everywhere, noting names, shifting debris, relaying orders. At some point late on the second day, Tarpals had gently taken the writing stylus and hide away from him, passed them to Artil, then carried an exhausted Rell Iss off the field and back to his makeshift bed in camp, ordering him to rest. Rell Iss had returned to the field the next morning in time to see Treece finally arrive. The Gungans around her had offered her the greeting befitting a Shrine Keeper: finger- and thumb-tips together to form a circle at eye-level, eyes closed, bowing. She had sung a brief blessing for both the dead and the living. Rell Iss watched as his captain tossed aside the maccaneek weapon he had lifted, walk to Treece's side, and begin the greeting. Treece had seized his hands before he could complete the gesture. For a few heartbeats they had stood staring at each other; then Treece opened her arms and two of them stepped into each other's embrace and stood clinging to one another in the middle of the field, politely ignored by the rest of the soldiers around them.

"Married couple?" asked a Naaboo male from over Rell Iss's shoulder. Seeing the puzzled look on the Gungan's face, he added, "Mated?"

"Yiss." Rell Iss supposed that "mated" could be applied in this case, although it barely described the complex essoia relationship that existed between Pledged individuals. Aware that he was staring at the pair, he turned back to his duty.

"My wife and I were at work when the invasion began," the male said conversationally. "We were assigned to different prison camps. Neither of us knew whether the other was alive, dead, sick, what have you." He nodded toward Tarpals and Treece, who were now standing slightly apart but deep in conversation, Treece's hand on Tarpals's arm. "I've got a pretty good idea of what they're going through. We went through the same thing after we were released. I'm glad they're both all right." He looked back at Rell Iss. "I'm sorry."

The Gungan blinked at him. "What'n yousa mean?"

"I'm sorry for all this," the Naaboo said, gesturing around at the wreckage and the bodies that were being removed from the field. "You people didn't deserve this. You had nothing to do with this entire blockade, but your people died for it anyway."

The young aide peered around the battlefield. "Deysa didn' die for diss'n 'block-ade'," he said finally. "All'n dem died for freedom. Iff'n wesa don't hev dat, issn' no point to livin'."

"True enough," the Naaboo said. His voice took on a bitter tone. "At least your people stood up for themselves. Most of us just allowed ourselves to be rounded up like shaaks and herded off to camps. Strangest thing – the Neimoidians never really did anything to us except ask for information from time to time. We weren't expected to work, we were fed.... it's as if the Neimoidians didn't know what to do once they had taken control of the planet."

The Gungans' anonymity had saved them from the brunt of the maccaneeks' force, Nass had remarked later. The invaders apparently hadn't even known of the Gungans' existence until landing. Despite the losses of life and property, Rell Iss knew, the invasion could have been much worse.

Amidst the pain of loss emerged a few bright spots. Most of the wounded, thanks to the newly offered Naaboo medical treatments, would survive. Many of the Gungans who had gone missing during the early days of the invasion were found alive and reasonably healthy in the camps that had housed the Naaboo. Rell Iss and the rest of the Third gleefully welcomed Jenais back to their ranks.

Within days, the last of the dead had been taken to the Sacred Places, and the Gungan Grand Army moved its camp to the grasslands outside the Naaboos' capitol city of Theed. The army had been invited into the city as part of a joint celebration of victory, Tarpals informed the Third. Their unit would lead the parade into the city, a place of honor meant to acknowledge their courage in standing at the center of the maccaneek attack during the battle. "I'm not sure which is worse," he confided to Artil later. "Facing the maccaneeks or the Naaboo ceremonial speeches."

"At least the Naaboo aren't likely to try to kill any of us," Artil remarked. "Unless –"

" – We die of boredom?"

"Or agitation." Both of them chuckled tiredly.