Polemarch Pelegon couldn't believe the reports that the tactical droid gave to him, its droning, emotionless voice, yet at the same time thick with an overbearing feeling of superiority, gave him endless bad news. When his Archon had declared for the Separatist cause, with Count Dooku personally assuring his liege that his rule would be secure from the predations of the corrupt Republic and its endless bureaucracy and listless inaction, he had few, if any reservations. He had been given a brief overview of how the infamous 'Droid Army' operated and its strength, and he was won over. Its sheer numerical superiority to the Republic's clone army, in combination with the logistics to topple a stellar empire in mere weeks, had assured him that whatever came their way would be handled by the unending tide of metal war droids, crushing all that opposed them underneath their metal boots. He could fight a bloody war of attrition without losing a single organic soldier, grinding his enemies into dust by sheer weight of numbers, losses meaning nothing when they are replaced faster than they are destroyed. He wouldn't admit this to anyone but himself, but he had become overconfident, overestimating the capabilities of the war machines ostensibly under his command, being assigned a cutting edge tactical droid to act as a droid liaison in how the Confederacy of Independent Systems waged war.
But all the war machines he could ever want counted for nothing when they wouldn't act, refusing to listen to his orders directly, forcing him, much to his chagrin and mounting frustration, to act through the tactical droid almost exclusively. Even when he acted through the tactical droid, it wasn't a guarantee that the orders he gave would be followed, or listened to at all. He had a sneaking, and rage inducing suspicion that the tactical droid had the ability to turn off its vocal receptors, practically making the man speak to a wall, before carrying out what it itself thought best, regardless of the tactical, geographical and strategic input he provided. The few times it actually listened to his input and orders would unfailingly be accompanied by complaints and criticism, picking out bits and pieces of his order that it didn't like and found to be wrong and rudely explaining, loudly, why his orders were wrong or erroneous and why its own logic was correct. He glared at the odious machine from afar, disdain clear for all of his command staff and bodyguards to see. He hated the machine, and recently, he found himself daydreaming of the machine's destruction. By his own hands preferably, but he would settle for something or someone else carrying out the deed in his place.
His dreams of destruction would have to wait, however, as he was gaining a clearer and clearer picture of what he was about to face. Three Republic warships, Acclamator-class vessels all, had entered the system and landed their entire invasion force practically unopposed, and now were marching on the munitions depot that was Aktethus in supposed full force. An entire clone legion, 9,000 soldiers, vehicles, artillery guns and aircraft. He sighed in muted frustration and anger. It didn't make sense.
"It is most probable that the Jedi and their clones will attack Aktethus directly and try to deprive our forces of munitions. I calculate that the Republic will be annihilated if the garrison, aided by elements from other postings, were to meet them in a pitched engagement. Our forces will suffer fifty percent casualties, but the Republic will experience one hundred percent casualties due to their propensity for full frontal assaults and our numerical superiority," the tactical droid droned. "My logic and calculations are without error, and the Republic will be pushed off Gyndine in a most humiliating fashion."
He held up a hand, silencing the droid in an instant.
"Meeting them in a pitched battle is foolhardy, and a superfluous waste of resources and war material. When they attack Aktethus, they will batter themselves against our defenses, defenses designed to bleed an attacker until they have no strength left to fight, where our forces can mop up whatever survivors are left, and destroy their invasion force utterly once their attack fails. If we draw forces from other postings, they are more vulnerable to attack, and if this isn't the main attack, but merely a diversionary move, then we leave an opening for our enemy to exploit."
The droid retorted rapidly, "Impossible. Based upon previous encounters on other war fronts, and factoring in Jedi unorthodoxy, hunkering down within our defensive fortifications leaves us vulnerable to their attacks, which can come from anywhere at any time. The Droid Army is best utilized in frontal assaults and attritional engagements, where numbers play a key factor in whittling down an enemy force until they are ineffective in combat, whereas they are summarily wiped out by our forces. We must meet them in pitched battle, where our numbers will play more of a factor in total victory. Drawing from other postings will only further increase our advantage over the Republic forces, who are constrained in number and combat effectiveness.
"It is by my calculations that this attack is not a diversionary tactic, but their full force, determined to take the most vital city upon the planet. We must show force, and grind them into dust."
"Why would they risk their entire force on this one assault? It is folly to even consider such a thing. The Jedi commanding this force is not so foolhardy to commit his entire force on one assault, where the viability of their operations is determined by one, singular battle. Any mass casualties to their forces will drive them to retreat, perhaps even leave the system. No, this isn't their full force, it can't be. It must be a trick!" Pelegon insisted.
"Your logic is flawed, Polemarch Pelegon. You rely on outdated modes of warfare and outmoded methods of thinking. My superior logic, tactical and strategic AI supersede your inferior organic brain, limited by your experiences exclusively. I am an amalgamation of the best military minds of the Confederacy, and my logic is sound, yours is not," the tactical droid concluded, arms crossed over its chassis, imitating an organic expression of finality.
He huffed in frustration, wishing that only it would listen to him!
"I was placed in overall command of the forces under my liege's purview. I outrank you, and you are to listen to my commands, especially when the enemy is within range of one of our most important strongholds!"
"Yet I am not one of your Archon's weak, organic subjects. I am property of the Separatist Alliance, and I am to ensure that the goals and aims of the cause are reached, no matter the obstacles. In this instance, when a valuable asset to the Confederacy is at risk, I am not beholden to whatever frivolous command structures that you organics use, and I am free to utilize all forces under my command as I see fit, regardless of your orders."
That did it. He was finished dealing with this obstinate piece of tin. If he wanted to waste countless war droids on such an obvious trick, then let him. He would try to fill in the gaps left by the droid forces with whatever units he could spare, but it would leave Aktethus extremely vulnerable to a full scale assault. There were simply too few of his own soldiers to guard everything, but by his honor he would try. He hoped that his Archon would forgive him if it all came undone under his tenure.
"Know this, tactical droid. You are free to command whatever forces are under the purview of my liege's ally, but whatever actions you take will be bereft of my soldiers," he snarled, stalking out of the command center, followed by two of his bodyguards.
"Good, your organics would only weaken the integrity of my plans," the tactical droid snarked, turning towards a holo-table, contacting the droid commanders he had placed in charge of the forces stationed in Aktethus and three nearby strongholds, the holograms of three command droids flickering into existence.
"Commanders, I have orders," he addressed the droids.
"Yes sir, what are your orders?" they responded in near unison.
"Unit OM-12, your forces will form into battle formations outside the fortifications of Aktethus, and are to await reinforcements and further orders."
The droid in question nodded, then disappeared, leaving the three other droid commanders.
"OM units 13-15, you are to take your entire garrisons and reinforce unit OM-12, and are to await further orders."
The three droids nodded and disappeared, the tactical droid bringing up a holographic projection of Aktethus and three kilometers of land in all directions around the city. They watched the large mass of color that represented the forces of the Republic as it slowly moved closer and closer to the bastion, its droid brain practically crowing with victory over the weak, pathetic organics. Let the Polemarch withdraw his fodder. They were ineffective in the type of warfare that the Confederacy waged, and would only hinder the tactical droid's overall plans. Once he had achieved total victory, and made sure that the impudent organic was made well aware of such tidings, then he would be recognized and given a special designation and be exempt from the standard memory banks wipe for tactical droids. He would gain prestige and prove that he wasn't a mere tactical droid, but the best of them all. His programming was second to none, and his genius a budding thing, outstripping the best organic commanders. He only needed a chance to prove such facts, and this was the best chance he had.
"Fools, all of them. My superior programming will make short work of those feeble organics," the tactical droid muttered, striding out of the command center towards a transport vehicle awaiting him. He set the destination, Aktethus, and lightly chuckled as he sped towards his greatest triumph.
Republic
Commander Irons stared at what was before him through his macrobinoculars in sheer astonishment. Two division's worth of droids, tanks, transports and other war machines were marching towards his position, guns gleaming and ready for battle. He turned to the troopers to his left and right, spread throughout the makeshift field fortifications and shallow trenches they had created before the enemy forces had arrived, all with the exact same expression of astonishment, and something else.
Fear.
Fear of the enemy, of their numbers, their firepower, their show of strength. To shinies like them, like he was in all technicality, it was intimidating, to actually see the overwhelming force arrayed against you, their weapons, their armor, their numbers more than you could ever imagine.
He had to nip this in the bud, before it could take root in his men and cause them to make mistakes, costly mistakes, ones that have more of a permanent effect than most.
"Do you see what I see, brothers?" he said, opening a Legion wide comm channel, gaining their attention.
Before they could respond, he continued, "I see an enemy that is so threatened by our mere presence that they send overwhelming numbers to crush us. They fear us, brothers, fear us as only prey would before a predator, knowing that their death was near. Forgive me, when the time comes, when I order you to destroy them, to waste precious ammunition on their worthless metal bodies, to lay waste to them on the battlefield with ease as they blindly march towards their destruction.
"You've all run the simulations. You know how they fight. They don't think, they just march, point and fire, and hope for the best. We are soldiers of the Republic! We are the best army this galaxy has ever seen, and we are the best soldiers anyone could ask for. If they want to fling themselves upon our blasters, then let them! We will out think, outfight, and outmaneuver them before they realize what's happening, and by then it will be too late! We will have already won. We would have bled them dry and ended them before they even touch our lines!
" Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur! " he finished.
The men around him had taken heart and raised their voices in a thunderous roar, the rest of the Legion following suit, 9,000 voices in all, shouting their defiance at the foe. He was extremely proud of his men. It would only be proper to follow up such a display with an equally thunderous artillery barrage, and he had 36 guns to accomplish such an undertaking.
"Captain Jallaxx, this is Irons, do you copy?" he asked, establishing a comm link to the captain in charge of the artillery battery of his Legion.
"Solid copy, Commander. What are your orders?"
"Begin creeping barrage."
"Yes sir!" the captain acknowledged.
Commander Irons smirked when the heavy guns began their barrage, the thunderous cracks of the cannonfire sending out shockwaves that thudded against his chest, even from far behind the battlelines, the power of the guns was felt by all within the Legion. The projectiles flew towards their predetermined targets with lightning speed and accuracy. Explosions as large as one of the walkers flung hundreds of droids into the air upon the projectiles reaching their targets, destroying dozens upon impact alone. If the enemy were organics, it would be a slaughter of horrific proportions. Entire sections of the army were reduced to molten slag and scrap metal under the withering fire of the guns, but they marched on undaunted, blind and uncaring to their own losses, only following their programmed orders. The guns would move fifty meters forward every five minutes, allowing for the destruction of more valuable targets than mere droids, repulsor tanks and troop transports engulfed in flames and superheated plasma and torn to pieces as they were hit by the accurate barrage.
As the enemy army drew closer and closer to his position, drawing near the large hill that hid the BARC speeder squadrons, the droids entered the effective range of the AT-TEs and their main cannons, and a barrage of concentrated fire soon joined the artillery guns in raining down utter destruction upon the foe. The walkers were ordered by Irons to target enemy armor specifically, as the artillery were focused on the large, infantry formations at the fore, and the aim of their gunners was true, destroying tank after tank before the enemy were even in range. But the sheer number of them allowed the droids to advance implacably while under fire, marching around clusters of destroyed droids and the burning hulks of battle tanks and troop transports, and they finally came within effective range of their own guns.
The repulsor tanks raised their barrels and unleashed a violent salvo of shot towards their position, streaks of red hurtling at them at astounding speeds. Irons hunkered down in one of the shallow trenches, keeping his head down as turf and clouds of dirt rained down around them, the sounds of the impacting rounds muffled by his helmet's internal systems. His head snapped to the left when he heard screams of agony through the comm channels, and saw with a grief stricken heart one of the walkers taking a direct hit through the transparisteel canopy, killing the pilot instantly in an explosion of fire, the walker crashing to the ground soon after. He pushed his grief to the side and refocused on the battle at hand, peaking over the top of the shallow trench, and seeing that the enemy army had reached the hill. It was time. He ordered the artillery, and the walkers to stop firing, and enacted the next phase of his plan.
He commed Asher, and gave the order. Not a moment later, the roar of BARC speeder bikes sounded out, and lightning fast movement caught his eye. Three full squadrons of BARC speeders raced out from behind the hill, charging towards the rear of the enemy army. They weaved through the throngs of armored troop transports and tanks, seemingly without engaging the droids. That impression was proven false, as when the BARC speeders disengaged and sped behind the hill once more, explosions engulfed many repulsor tanks and troop transports, depriving the enemy of much of its armor and immediate reinforcements.
As soon as the speeders were out of the field of fire, he immediately ordered the artillery battery and walkers to open fire on the enemy, a wall of blue plasma greeting the droid forces, laying waste to entire companies of battle droids with ease. It wasn't enough. The droids kept getting closer and closer, until they finally came within small arms range, and the battlefield became alive with streaks of blue and red.
He ordered his heavy support squads to take down the Super Battle Droids, utilizing their EWHB-12 repeating blasters to tear through its thick armor, peaking over the top of his trench and firing at the approaching droids, taking down seven with ease before being forced to duck under returning volleys of shot. He turned to his left, and saw with some surprise the same lieutenant from before, his armor scuffed and streaked with dirt, hefting his DC-15 rifle over the trench and destroying droid after droid with pinpoint accuracy, directing the soldiers under his command with skill, their overlapping fields of fire blunting a massed charge of battle droids. Irons made a note to keep an eye on him, a promotion to captain already in the back of his mind.
A body was flung back into the trenches to his right, slamming against him as it fell. He turned and saw the massive, smoking hole drilled into the center of the helmet. Anger and rage dueled for control within his mind at the sight, and as the two powerful emotions waged war within him, he waged war against the advancing battle droids without mercy. He barked orders into the Legion wide comm channel, coordinating the fields of fire for 9,000 soldiers without error, creating kill zones on an open battlefield so deadly that the droid forces slowly began to be pushed back, torn apart by coordinated volleys of horrifically accurate fire seemingly without end. No droid was safe from his wrath. He saw where they would advance and countered with massive waves of concentrated fire before they even began to make progress.
" Vod! We've made it back, and are dug in on the left flank!" a voice over the comms sounded out. It was Asher, and relief temporarily broke the hold that anger and rage held over him.
"Good to hear from you, vod! Just hold tight, the General will be back soon! Do what you can to bleed these walking scrap heaps!"
" Oya! " his batchmate responded.
He turned his focus back to the battle, his darker emotions taking hold once more, and he resumed his bloody work. It was a long, grueling half hour, and it took nearly all that he had to keep the stalemate, his every order, action and thought was devoted to keeping the droids from advancing any further than they already have. What few moments occurred that he wasn't barking orders into the Legion comm channel, he was tearing through droids with unerring accuracy. Each shot was on target, not one was wasted. Dozens of battle droids had their processing units torn to bits before they realized where they were being fired upon, and even when they did and began to march his way, they were cut down one by one with unnerving speed. Not a single one droid got within fifty meters of his position, or that of the Legion for that matter.
It was a costly effort, and he had to shut out the cries of pain and death that came all too often across the comms, noting with increasing rage and grief that an entire company had already been wiped out on the right flank, ordering for another company to fill in the gap on the line. He briefly wondered how many men would have been slaughtered if he had not ordered the field fortifications and shallow trenches to be built, standing on an open field without a shred of cover, charging into the droid lines, but he brushed it aside. Now was not the time to focus on what ifs and what may have been, He had to hold out for the General.
On a better note, his men were performing impeccably, responding to and carrying out his orders with speed and efficiency. He couldn't have asked for better soldiers. The officers, the sergeants, even the line infantry were acting with skill and were displaying remarkable discipline under fire, not even a hint of the fear and trepidation he had seen earlier.
He huffs and aims his carbine, letting loose a salvo of shot, taking down a large squad of droids in seconds. He just hopes that his General gets here in time before it's too late.