Despite their two pairs of powerful legs and the saw-toothed pincers that extended from their lower mandibles, the broad-bodied harvesters were single minded creatures, complaisant except when threatened directly. From their flat heads sprouted looping antennae, which served not only as feelers, but also as organs of communication, by means of powerful pheromones. Each beetle was capable of carrying five times its considerable weight in foliage and branches. Similar to the Neimoidians who had domesticated them, their society was hierarchical, and included laborers, harvesters, soldiers, and breeders, all of whom served a distant queen that rewarded effort with food. Each one was rewarded specific amounts but they all worked for the ulterior benefit of the queen who rose above all other victors.
Plo Koon, Vos, and the clones that made up the Wolfpack had to run to keep up with the beetles as they hurried their fresh-picked loads from the orchard to the cave-like entrance to a natural mound at the base of the redoubt. The beetles' carapaces afforded them cover from surveillance sorties by battle droid STAP patrols. More important, the harvesters knew safe routes through mined stretches of cleared ground that separated the mined stretches of cleared ground that separated the trees from the fortress itself.
The beetles' frequent habit of lowering their heads to exchange information with hivemates moving in the opposite direction demanded that the Jedi and troopers keep between the harvesters' rear legs. Hunched over, Plo Koon ran with his lightsaber in hand but deactivated. As the shielded royal residence came into view , a certain uneasiness seemed to take hold of the creatures, disrupting the ordered nature of their columns. Plo Koon suspected that outbound beetles were relaying accounts of potential perils to the nest posed by the Republic's unrelenting barrage. In response to the crisis, soldier beetles were joining the procession, quick to shepherd nervous strays back into line.
Vos remained farther back with lightsaber at the ready, running almost directly under the beetle's pug tail. To Plo Koon's right ran Wolfe, with his teammates trailing behind and flanking him. Through his breathing mask, Plo Koon was able to watch as the beetles hive was transforming from an organized hub to a disrupted web of chaos.
Soldier beetles or no, discipline was breaking down fast.
A harvester providing cover for one of the clones, Comet, veered from the column before it could be guided back into line. Instead of hurrying under another beetle, Comet stuck with the stray, and quickly found himself out in open ground.
Plo Koon felt a ripple in the Force an instant before the harvester's right foreleg tripped a land mine.
A potent explosion fountained from the rocky ground, blowing away half the creature's foreleg. Comet threw himself to one side, rolling out from under a trio now of pounding legs, only to have to bob and weave as the harvester began to run in frantic circles, seemingly determined to trample Comet underfoot. A glancing blow from the beetle's left rear leg tipped Comet off his feet. Confused, the harvester lowered its head and butted at the hard white object in its path, again and again, until there wasn't a smooth area left in the clone's armor. Plo Koon called upon the light side and summoned a whirlwind that pushed the harvester onto its hind legs. This was Plo Koon's specialty. A perfectly harmonized unity of nature with the flow of the force. When the Kel Dor called upon the force, it was a call towards the elemental powers that surround him. Plo Koon is the stream of purified water that replenishes the barren landscape. His wisdom is the clarity that helps the Jedi recognize right from wrong. He is a templar of justice, a templar that called upon the wind send the harvester tumbling away from Comet and straight into an unsuspecting soldier beetle.
The harvester's distress after colliding with a soldier beetle was having an impact on the rest of the beetles, as well. While most were pressed tightly together, others were suddenly scurrying away from the main column, sending the soldier beetles to high alert. Tripping two mines in succession, a second harvester was lifted off the ground by the ensuing explosions. With that, the column dissolved into disorder, with harvesters and soldiers running every which way, clones and Jedi alike doing their best to protect themselves.
"Stay close to the ones who are still headed for the nest!" Vos shouted, slashing through the legs of a soldier beetle that careened too close to his position.
Plo Koon was doing just that when he noticed that Comet was back on his feet and staggering toward him, tapping the side of his helmet with the palm of his gloved hand, and obviously indifferent to where he placed his booted feet. Barreling straight for the maw of the mound, a harvester bore down on Comet, clamping its pincers around his waist, then lifting him high into the air. Summoning the last of his reserves, the clone twisted his body back and forth, trying desperately to break free. Clone troopers fired at the beetle to no avail as the shots bounced off harmlessly.
All at once Vos was out from under his protective harvester.
Lightsaber tight in his gloved hand, he bounded across the denuded landscape toward the captive clone, the Force guiding him to safe landings among the mines. The harvesters might have taken him for a demented turfjumper were they not so fixed on safeguarding their loads and reaching the security of the nest. Vos's final leap dropped him directly in front of the harvester that had seized Comet. With one upward stroke of his green lightsaber he rid the beetle of its pincers, freeing the clone trooper, but also sending the soldier beetles into a frenzy.
While Plo Koon could not smell the pheromone release through his mask, the frenzied action of the mechanical drones conveyed was easily deciphered: The area is rife with predators! From the brood rose a shriek so high-pitched as to be barely audible, and a stampede was under way . Mines began to detonate to all sides, and out from billowing smoke above the orchard canopy swarmed more than a hundred STAPs. The droning call of the STAPs were accompanied by the bursts of fire directed towards the Republic force.
"Enemy STAPs incoming" Wolfe called out! "Fan out!"
A Neimoidian version of the agile repulsorlift airhook used as an observation vehicle throughout the galaxy, each Single Trooper Aerial Platform was equipped with twin blasters that delivered more firepower than the stubby-barreled models carried by infantry droids. From maximum range the swarm rained energy bolts on everything in sight, dropping harvesters in their tracks and turning the rocky ground into a killing field. Explosions erupted in jagged lines as scores of mines were detonated. Supporting Comet with his left arm, Vos warded off blaster bolts on the run. The rest of the Wolfpack supplied cover, blowing STAPs out of the sky with uninterrupted fire. Wolfe motioned everyone into a shallow irrigation trench just short of the mound as he ducked behind a strafe run made by a pair of STAPs. He scored a hit on one of the platforms and a scorched battle droid burst into sparks.
By the time Plo Koon arrived, the troopers were deployed in a circle, and continuing to pour fire into the sky. Vos slid into the trench a moment later, lowering Comet gently to the muddy slope before resuming a defensive stance, swatting away blaster bolts that rained onto their position. A medical specialist crawled over, removing the clone's ravaged utility belt and deeply dented helmet. Plo Koon gazed at the face of the injured clone.
Unlike Wolfe's face, Comet's wasn't filled with overwhelming confidence. It was filled with desperate relief at finally being rescued from either trampling or bisection.
"Comet, are you alright? Can you stand?" Plo Koon pressed, bending his head down to hear the clone.
Coughing dust, Comet began to push himself into a sitting position. "Sure thing, General. Not dead yet."
Comet's effort faltered and he collapsed onto his back. As he struggled, Boost and Sinker came to his assistance. "Too close for comfort, brother," Boost replied, offering the specialist a hand in removing the flattened plating on his body. "Hope you got a good view of that harvester's mouth."
"Oh, you wouldn't believe it," Comet replied, groaning as black bodyglove was knifed open by the medical specialist. Comet grimaced as the specialist touched his chest, touching cracked bone.
Plo Koon glanced at Wolfe and the rest. An army of clones was an army of one man. The right man for the job; the clones' rallying cry.
The harvester's pincers had crushed the armor into Comet's abdomen. His skin was intact, but the bruising was severe. With only half the original army of 1.2 million in fighting shape, the life of every clone was vital. Blood and replacement organs-what the regular troopers referred to as "spare parts"-were readily available-"easily requisitioned"-but with the war reaching a crescendo, battlefield casualties were on the rise and treated as high priority.
"I'm sorry but he's not in any condition to fight. Not much I can do for him here," the medspec told Plo Koon. "He needs to get to a medical bay."
"Maybe if we can get an FX-Seven airdropped we can get him patched-" Sinker spoke up.
"We don't need a droid," Plo Koon interrupted. Kneeling, he placed his hands on the injured commando's abdomen and used a Jedi healing technique to keep the clone from going into deep shock. Slowly, the clone's breathing eased and his grimaced face slackened. Comet trained his eyes on Koon's and his stamina started to return.
A sudden noise from above caught everyone's attention. Scores of boulder-sized objects were spewing from openings in the lower ramparts of the fortress. Wolfe pressed a pair of macrobinoculars to his eyes and gazed upward. "That's no ordinary avalanche," he said, passing the binoculars to Quinlan Vos.
The Jedi general raised the binoculars and waited for the lens to autofocus. Rolling toward the trench at better than eighty kilometers per hour were some of the most feared of the Separatists' infantry arsenal.
"Droidekas." Vos spoke with anticipation.
"Prepare for battle" Plo Koon spoke aloud, raising his lightsaber with Vos' for the next wave of defenders.
Known also by the fearsome title, destroyer droids, droidekas were rapid-deployment killing machines produced by an alien species that encouraged mayhem at every opportunity. A combination of sheer momentum and sequenced microrepulsors allowed the bronzium-armored droids to roll like balls then unfurl in a blink as tripoded gunfighters, shielded by individual deflectors and armed with paired, twin-barreled, highoutput blasters. Since the shields were powerful enough to resist lightsabers, blasters, even light artillery bolts, the proven strategy for dealing with droidekas was simply to run from them .
from them.
More so, because surrender was never an option.
Unless you didn't accept surrender, like Quinlan Vos.
Destroyer droids deployed themselves at a small overhang while others continued to charge towards the Republic forces. Plo Koon tried to take control of the situation. "Call for aerial support. We need starfighters to provide us with-" was all he could say before Vos exited the firing position and began his own counterattack.
"Vos, wait!" Plo Koon called out to little avail. Leaping from his position, Vos deflected barrages of blaster bolts as he made his way towards the cliffside. If the shields could not collapse, perhaps the footing of the destroyer droids could be displaced. Vos angled his blade away from his body, directly into the cliffside that he stood on. Every blow that wasn't spent deflecting blaster bolts was spent on slashing the terrain that the destroyer droids needed for purchase.
The jutting stone was cracked but not shattered. Droidekas not focused on him dipped their guns slightly shallower and volleys of fire pounded at the troopers below.
Holding a curse, Vos launched himself into a leap towards an overhanging orchard that grew atop a jutting boulder. The tree bent dangerously far from the added weight of Vos' body but still held. It was time to improvise. Vos deactivated his lightsaber and twisted his body so that he stood on the trunk with his outstretched hands. With precious little time to spare, he swung his body towards the boulder from behind, taking his hand from the trunk for a single second. In that second, Vos summoned a surge of energy that carried the boulder outside of static friction. Grabbing the trunk of the hanging tree, Vos watched as the boulder was propelled by a wave of force energy. It flew into the cliffside with the force of a charging speeder.
A trick he learned from Ventress, the nightsister who died before she had the chance to prove herself as an ally. The chance to prove herself as a trusted friend.
Unable to absorb the impact, the cliff collapsed. Droid and rock collided, this time without control or direction. Plo Koon reached out to steer the avalanche of stones towards the left of the clone perimeter. Forming a wall of rock, droidekas found their attack blocked. Once more, the natural terrain was allied with the Jedi warriors. Clones directed their fire at the droidekas deploying on the right side, trying to hit the rolling spheres before their shields could deploy.
Above, Vos was slashing falling destroyer droids with his lightsaber, leaping from stone to stone, and even droid to droid, to clear the wave of enemies. The force told him where each droid was falling and his movements demonstrated synchronized movements. His thoughts were drifting back to Ventress, and Dooku. Vos was almost amazed at how quickly he was accepted back into the ranks of the Jedi. While glad to be fighting alongside his allies once more, he expected to be given time to reflect on his actions. His choices. His choice to willingly embrace the dark side and fight his comrades under the pretense of discovering the Sith plot.
Once you walk the path of shadows, it becomes increasingly difficult to see the light.
Where had he heard those words? He couldn't recall and for a moment he doubted his resolve. Did he really belong with the Jedi? How could he forgive himself.
These dark thoughts were cleared as he touched down back with Plo Koon and the remaining forces of the Wolfpack. It almost seemed too easy, with hindsight. The droidekas and STAPs were being cleared out by Republic firepower. But as the saying goes, when you ask for a challenge you can't' complain afterwards.
Far above the clearing, more droideka's descended onto the Republic soldiers, flanked by an additional wave of STAPs. The worst was still to come. Vos' Dathomir inspired trick, was a trick that only worked with favorable conditions. Those conditions didn't exist now. Vos and Plo Koon were resuming their defensive stance as surviving troopers reloaded their weapons and aimed at new targets. Comet was miraculously still alive, but that wouldn't last forever under these circumstances.
"Can we call for starfighters now?" Plo Koon asked, pointing towards the empty sky.
"Yeah, we can try that." Vos panted, returning to a defensive stance.
"Wolfe, have we established communications with command?" Plo Koon asked with desperation.
"Working on it general." the commander replied. "To FSB from Wolfpack. We're taking continuous fire from STAPs in sector Jenth-Bacta-Ion, and are about to be buried under destroyer droids deployed from the redoubt. Request immediate assistance at coordinates accompanying transmission. Recommend tactical squadron deployment followed by precision bombing runs."
"Can they get here in time?" Plo Koon asked as several STAPs closed in on their location. Deflecting burst shots, Plo Koon looked to Wolfe's scarred face for assurance.
"It's our only chance, sir" Wolfe replied.
"Tell them we have a wounded trooper for the Rimsoo" Vos said. The term stood for "Republic Mobile Surgical Unit."
Wolfe relayed the message. "Warn the evac pilot that he'll be setting down in a hot area. We'll mark a safe landing zone with smoke, and leave two behind to assist." The frequency whined loudly on the comlink Wolfe was using. It took several moments for the static to clear, but a loud voice came through the intercom.
"You didn't think that we'd leave all the fun to you, Master Plo?" a voice spoke. A voice that Plo Koon could recognize anywhere. The voice of Anakin Skywalker.
A screaming came from the south. It was the screaming roar of twin ion engines that could only be found on an Eta-2 Actis Interceptor, the latest more preferred craft of Jedi aces. This Jedi interceptor was painted yellow on both wings and it was a color that Plo Koon had come to associate with arguably the best pilot in the Jedi Order. Anakin Skywalker was after all, the "Hero with No Fear" as declared by Republic propaganda.
The roaring of the Jedi Starfighter was joined by squadrons of Z-95 Headhunters and ARC-170s. Plo Koon was only able to register a flare of white light before his eardrums were overwhelmed into a silenced ringing. Plasma bolts rained from the sky like fireballs, exploding on impact with the ground. The resulting strafe run created a shock wave that spread from the ramparts, down onto the clear ground at the foot of the mound and out over the already blazing orchards. Above the trench, half the droidekas managed to find purchase on the terrain and opened their shields in an attempt to defend themselves. Behind the trench, STAPs were popping out of the sky into heaps of scrap metal that fell into the burning forest. What harvesters remained alive ran in dizzying circles, spilling their precious loads, seeking out cover from this skyward assault.
Without time to recover or retreat, a second wave of starfighters flew on Anakin's trail from the south including a red Eta 2 Actis interceptor. Instead of collections of fighters built for dogfighting this flight of ships was primarily composed of Y-wing bombers. What few droids remained were subject to proton bombs that fell with whistling cries. Deprived of shields and unable to fire, the remaining droid forces melted like wax in the gushes of radiant energy that struck the slopes and orchard fields.
It was a sight that Plo Koon was becoming more and more familiar with. It sickened him to see this destruction spread, even if it occurred on the planet of his enemies.
Still without helmet, Wolfe stood up, signaling with both hands.
Plo Koon interpreted the gestures: One minute to prepare, then suit up and break for the entrance to the nest.
He prepared by calming himself.
For all their reliance on droids, for all their infatuation with high technology, for all their inborn cowardice, greed, and guile, Neimoidians had a soft spot for their youth-their seven formative years as grubs, struggling for limited food in communal hives, discovering early on the benefits of duplicity and self-regard. The fungus foodstuff of those early years was as dear to them as adults as it was to them as hatchlings, and no wonder, since it was that same fungus that had found favor with species galaxy-wide, and from which the Neimoidians had evolved into a wealthy, space-faring society, with ships enough to attract the eye of the notorious Trade Federation and, ultimately, droids enough to equal an army.
It would have been natural to assume that the fungus-prized for its medicinal as well as nutritional value-was somehow concocted from manax foliage gathered by the harvesters. But in fact the leaves and branches provided little more than a growth medium. Enzymes produced by the beetles, coupled with the dank conditions within the burrows and grottoes of the nest mounds, encouraged the rapid growth of a product that required only a modicum of refinement to become palatable.
Now it was all being reduced to ashes from the war that finally came to their home. Fitting that the war which the Neimoidian's paved way for decades prior was now at their doorstep. Their prized possessions, their dreams fueled by raw ambition, collapsing into the burning fire that is the Clone Wars.
Elsewhere during the sieges of Deko and Koru Neimoidia, Plo Koon had never visited a fungus farm, but no sooner had he and Vos dashed through the cave-like opening to the nest than the sight unfolded before them. Here were the partly masticated leaves, carefully arranged in layers; the clumps of branches and other impurities; the laborer beetles; the droid overseers; the conveyors and similar contraptions devoted to sorting and transport…Not a Neimoidian in sight, but that was
consistent with their doctrine that exertion of any sort was anathema. In the deep recesses of the mound, untouched by sunlight, the starter fungi-molds, mildews, and sickly white mushrooms-would be undergoing treatments with natural and synthetic growth-acceleration agents. And higher up, in what constituted the basement of the citadel, the matured end product was probably being consumed by grubs, or packed and readied for shipment.
Wolfe ordered the squad to secure the area. Those in the rear were still taking sporadic fire from STAPs, but the droid pilots couldn't get close to the entrance because of the bodies of dead beetles piled outside.
Wolfpack's medspec hurried over to Plo Koon and Vos.
"Sirs, I recommend you exercise caution. Odds are we won't have to penetrate any deeper into the nest, but there's always a chance of encountering free-floating spores in other areas."
Plo Koon quirked his brows together. "Toxic, Sergeant?"
"No, general. But the spores have been known to have an adverse effect on biological organisms."
"Adverse how?" Vos asked.
"The effect is most often described as 'dislocating,' sir."
Plo Koon glanced at Vos. "Then I suggest we do as he says. Sergeant, how effective will our equipment be at protecting us?" The gray trimmed sergeant quickly recognized whether or not the spores would be strong enough to breach Plo Koon's breathing mask. The Kel Dor relied on this mask to survive in most environments, sometimes even the vacuum of space. If damaged, even slightly, his life would be put in severe jeopardy. While a limitation, it induced no pain to wear the mask and at this point Plo Koon was more uncomfortable about removing it.
"Your mask would most likely protect you, general. But I would still suggest that you avoid any spores you come across."
"Noted," Plo Koon replied.
The medspec handed a small device to Vos who began inspecting it. His fingers were prizing the small, twin-tanked, rebreather offered from the sergeant's pouch on his utility belt when a volley of blaster bolts streaked into the grotto. Caught in their upper chests, two troopers were knocked off their feet. The source of the sudden fire was the mouth of a narrow side tunnel that could be sealed by an overhead door. Vos was already racing for the tunnel, lightsaber gripped in both hands, deflecting most of the bolts back through the entrance.
Plo Koon leapt to one side, raising his blade to deal with two bolts that got past Vos. The first he returned toward its source; the second, he parried at a deliberately downward angle. Striking the grotto's hardpacked floor, the deflected bolt ricocheted to one wall, then to the ceiling, to the other wall, and back to the floor, from which it caromed squarely into the control panel that operated the tunnel door. This was the mastery of Shien and Plo Koon demonstrated it to perfected mastery.
Showering sparks, the device shorted out, and a slab of thick alloy dropped from its pocket in the wall, sealing the tunnel with a loud booming sound! Switching off his lightsaber, Vos cast a complimentary glance over his shoulder. "Nicely done, Master Plo."
"Shien offers many advantages." Plo Koon remarked. "But most of all is the ability to control my environment."
"And Ataru allows you to breach that environment" Vos grinned. "But I admit, Shien is mesmerizing to watch. Perhaps when this war is over, we can put our skills to the test. Force knows we both need it."
"Indeed," Plo Koon returned. "But I have to warn you. This Jedi may be tired, but he has a few tricks up his sleeve."