Shouchi'nuru!
The word rose up, as if a cry of protest against the fading rays Haiguru's sun as it sank below the black horizon that marked the edge of the Bourei Valley. A rattle of swords rang out from the valley below as more voices joined in the thunderous chant.
Shouchi'nuru! Shouchi'nuru!
The ground seemed to shudder with each proclamation as boot heels stomped the valley floor.
The Sarujaa, the poor foot soldiers who had fallen under the spell of Ranshin—a man who imagined himself the reincarnation of great warlords long past—had torn the once peaceful Mid Rim world of apart. Count Dooku's influence had inspired the Sarujaa to rise up against the Gosho elite who still remained loyal to the Republic.
There was little doubt in Obi-Wan's mind the fallen Jedi had meticulously engineered the bloodshed to further strain the Republic resources.
Again the battle cry swelled, more voices demanding to be heard.
Obi-Wan despised the determination echoed in it. It had already brought the deaths of so many Jedi on this charred world.
Kill the Generals!
Exhaling heavily, he closed his eyes and gripped the controls of the speeder bike. Listening as more voices sounded from the valley, destroying the quiet that had reigned for long.
He had been among a second team of knights and masters sent to lead Republican troops under the insistence of the Supreme Chancellor to bring the rebelling world back under control of the Gosho rulers. Ka'tau was all that remained of the first team and now, General Kenobi was one of only two surviving Jedi of the second team and reinforcements were still days away.
They would just have to hold the line to keep Ranshin's forces from advancing closer to the capital city of Gishin.
Straightening on the seat of the bike, he brushed away the collecting ash across the readout panels. He stole a glance to his left, then to his right. He paused to study the armored figures that flanked him: Lancer troops. Each one mounted on their speeder bikes at ready, their long gray lances aimed skyward. He sensed their readiness for battle.
Focusing on the warm gray of his speeder bike, he did one more check to make sure all was in order. It would be the fourth time he had made one last check. The power cells were full, steering control felt tight, and the heavy canvas bag strapped below the controls was stocked and ready with small ordnance.
Drawing a finger over the coarse material, knocking away the layer of ash that had collected, and along the edge of the canvas flap, he paused when he reached the clasp. Uncertainty lingered for only a moment before the Jedi pushed it back and unsecured the cover under the pretense of making sure he was well stocked, but then purposefully left the flap back. Carefully he removed a canvas belt and drew it over his head, resting it on his left shoulder, the brown cloth cut down across the front of his tunic. It was weighted with a small arsenal of thermal detonators, both low and mid-ranged.
The detonators had proven useful in taking out the crude batteries of Ranshin's army and sending those Sarujaa made of weaker stuff fleeing from the battlefields.
This was war and casualties were to be expected, but the less killing the better. Though he knew that often in battled, there was little choice.
When he was sure the shoulder belt was situated, Obi-Wan slipped his hand to his side and breathed a sigh of relief feeling when he felt the familiarity of the lightsaber hilt at his hip. He was ready, as ready as he could be.
But still, the waiting continued.
The moment felt like an eternity, and if he had the opportunity to look back when it was all over, he would swear that it had been all too brief.
It was Ranshin's voice that brought focus and control to the din of would-be martyrs. A fierce warrior, he howled into the fire lit twilight and his followers—thousands—returned the feral cry.
"Shinoy'hii!" Ranshin bayed toward the shadow of the moon behind thick clouds, as his armored form was silhouetted against the flames of still another funeral pyre. Much like Master Ka'tau, he showed no fear.
A chorus of ten thousand voices rumbled across the landscape as torches and light rods burst to life leaving the gloomy valley all afire with golden light. Their haunting glow illuminated machines of war that had been hidden in the shadows. The mechanical monsters were gifts of the Confederacy and what they had salvaged from the broken Republic lines.
A quick scan of the depression spread before him left the Jedi in silent shock. He had been unaware of the firepower that Ranshin and his followers commanded. Small anti-infantry cannons that had been hidden in the smoke of the pyres were now visible, including a large Geonosian sonic cannon nestled on a squat platform. Heavy guard circled the area.
Obi-Wan straightened, studying the conical shaped weapon before the lights around it were doused, sending it back into the shelter of darkness. But he had seen enough to know the thread it represented. The cannon was aimed toward the Republic's command center on the precipice.
There would not be enough time to warn the command post and back the personnel off to safety. He knew the cannon would have to be taken out.
Below, the sea of lights shifted and split before rushing toward the edges of the valley.
Shinoy'hii!
The brave cry was deafening, nearly drowning out Obi-Wan's thoughts. Unclasping his lightsaber, he paused as he heard his troopers shift and soft clatter as they lowered their lances into a readying position.
Shinoy'hii!
Drawing his arm above his head, he activated the pale azure of his weapon.
Its glow was a beacon in the darkness.
Speaking evenly, yet loudly enough, for all the lancers to hear, he gave them their orders. The sonic cannon must be taken out at all costs.
Then, with a simple motion of his wrist and an echo of the Sarujaa battle cry, the waiting was over.
"It is a good day to die."
•
The fiery blue of Obi-Wan's lightsaber flashed through the thick air deep within the valley as he pushed his speeder bike forward. The engine growled as he kicked up the speed, weaving at a maddening pace through deadly obstacles that threatened to take him out of the battle. He skirted along the edges of stone biers, weaving between sword wielding Sarujaa and their blaster-toting counterparts.
The slap of metal snagged his sleeve, ripping it below the shoulder offering a small sting, but otherwise he suffered no injury as he pushed forward with cold determination.
At his sides, the lancer troops picked off anything in their path with long weapons, clearing the way as they zeroed in on the sonic cannon.
The smoke-heavy air and the yellow glow from the still burning pyres cast an ominous glow around the cannon as it slowly moved into targeting position.
There was no time to waste.
One man could make it there easier than the group forcing its way through hundreds of bodies blocking the path. "Cover me!" Obi-Wan barked into the headset that would deliver his message to communication units built directly into the troopers' helmets.
Breaking away from the lancers, he pushed the bike, with a little help from the Force, sending it over a mass of warriors intent on stopping him. Whatever thoughts—fears—he had possessed before the battle were lost in the moment as he fully devoted himself to the battle.
With expert skill, he shifted his body weight, reaching out with his blade, he sliced through the muzzle of a heavy blaster rifle. The last thing he needed was the Sarujaa shooting him in the back.
Not that disarming one weapon would make that much difference.
The thick smoke that lingered in the valley played tricks on his mind as it caught at the edges of his vision and became manifestations of the departed. It was only fitting then, he thought, that this place was called the Bourei; land of the spirits.
But the dead could not harm him.
The living though—
A pained cry from behind Obi-Wan drew his stolen glance back. He was now short a man.
No time to mourn, if that cannon was not disabled there would be many more dead. The battle would be lost if the cannon fired upon the command center.
Yet, that part of him knew it did not matter. Win or lose, he did not expect to get out of the Bourei Valley alive.
Drawing his weapon arm back, he swept close to a cold bier—the only one he had seen so far—where a heavily armored figure stood with a large tripod mounted blaster rifle. A deadly cut from Obi-Wan's blade sent the man and his weapon tumbling off the side.
The sonic cannon was now in full view. In a series of swift motions, he clipped is lightsaber to his utility belt and gripped a small canister hanging from the shoulder belt. Never offering it a glance, for he knew the protocol, he removed the safety with the flick of a finger and depressed the trigger, holding it down. Knowing that there would be but seconds once he released the trigger before the thermal detonator destroyed everything in a five-meter radius, he held it firmly in his grip.
Ducking under bright orange bolts that ripped through the gloom, Obi-Wan shifted, directing the speeder in a wide circle around the cannon base.
The cannon turret was locked in position, he knew that he had little time to act. Just as he lobbed the detonator toward the cannon, a blast rocked the bike and threw off his aim.
A bright flash of light imprinted colored spots on his vision and heat rippled through his tunic as he pushed the speeder ahead of the destructive bubble.
The repulsors growled as he dug a heel into the battle-loosened soil. Sharply turning the speeder bike as bits of pulverized stone rained down around him.
The explosion sent the crush of Sarujaa protecting the cannon scattering. Staring ahead though, he realized that not all of the Sarujaa had fled. Armored humanoids turned, weapons ready to defend the cannon, as they were forced to adjust the cannon to the target again. The soldiers rage boiled off them like a toxic miasma.
A smile bled across Obi-Wan's lips when he saw the cannon base was shattered, his attack had not been a complete loss. He grabbed another small thermal detonator from the belt and armed it.
Kicking off, the Jedi raced toward the weapon. Dodging the hail of blaster fire in the process. One more blow would be all it took.
As he neared the cannon, a bright bolt sheared off steering control. The front of the bike nose-dived, crashing to the battle softened soil. With only a moment to think, Obi-Wan flung the thermal detonator back toward the surging Sarujaa forces as they raced toward the cannon. As the speeder bike flipped before he could leap free.
Obi-Wan cried out as he broke free moments before the bike smashed into the base of the canon. The flames from the explosion and the heat blast from the detonator licked at the Jedi as huddled in the loose soil with his arms wrapped over his head for protection.
The acrid stench of dirt and ash filled his senses. He lay motionless for what seemed like a long time after the explosions ended. In truth it was only a moment, the distance of a few hesitant breaths.
Angered cries rose up as the deep red armored beings barked orders. They desperately tried to prepare the cannon once more before there could be any more interference.
Digging his fingers into the Haigara soil, Obi-Wan shifted, raising his head slightly. From his position, he could see little but booted feet racing around. The Sarujaa had not noticed him, or they figured him for dead. Cautiously moving, he drew his hand along his side, with a vague knowledge that he had survived the crash intact. Seeking the comfort of his lightsaber, he wrapped his hand around it.
The simple act of taking hold of it, one that he had done thousands of times, that was a comfort to the tightness that gripped his heart.
Shifting to draw his weight off of his chest he found with his left hand the only detonator remaining attached to his shoulder belt. He did not need to see it; the spherical shape told him that this one would destroy everything in a twenty-five meter radius.
"The Force be with you," he whispered, thinking of the embattled Republic troops.
Exhaling slowly, he disabled the safety and depressed the trigger. All he had to do was let go.