Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars
Ch. V: New Job, Old Problems
Commander Bly's breathing was erratic as he loaded a fresh gaspack into his rifle, barely paying heed to the red blaster bolts whizzing by his position. He was down to his last couple of gaspacks, and he knew that many of his men were faring little better. To make matters worse the Seps had committed a whole regiment's worth of reinforcements, vastly outnumbering the already depleted Republic security teams.
His eyes hardened. Best make the rest of his shots count then.
With precision born from a decade of training he emerged from his cover, only exposing his body enough to aim the DC-15A at an approaching SBD. Sighting up, he depressed the trigger, releasing a burst of three shots directly into the droid's faceplate. The first bolt didn't make it through the armor, while the second left a noticeable scorch mark. The third sadly hit to the left, doing little aside from singing the paint.
As if noticing him for the first time the SBD turned slightly in his direction and raised it's arm mounted blaster cannon, releasing a mechanical growl. Before it could fire however the droid (and the other two standing on either side of it) were cut down from behind by a blue lightsaber. Their mechanical forms fell, revealing the beautiful and shining blue skin of Aayla Secura, Commander Bly's General.
The 327th Star Corps' beloved Goddess of Victory.
He and the men with him let loose a cheer, but immediately faltered when she whirled around, desperately parrying a strike similar to the one she had just executed. She leapt back, attempting to gain some breathing room, but a black armored figure straight out of Bly's nightmares relentlessly pursued her, swinging his crimson blade with unerring precision.
"Commander!" Aayla shouted, drawing his attention. "I'll hold him off, get the men to the escape pods!"
Like hell we're leaving you here, Bly and his men thought as one.
Instead he shouted, "Flanking positions, help the general!"
As if they would leave her, the woman the 327th owed loyalty to above all others. The woman the men respected and adored. The woman Bly loved unconditionally.
The men moved into position with textbook efficiency, sighting their rifles on the monstrosity daring to attack Aayla Secura in sight of her troopers. Before they could let plasma fly however the armored being kicked the Rutian Twilek away, waving his hands at the troopers who were all flung against the walls by an unseen force. Several sickening cracks were heard, and Bly himself was left dazed by the impact.
He was just cognizant enough to see his general scream in outrage and leap at the black armored thing, her lightsaber dancing like Bly had never seen. The black figure seemed ready to meet the challenge, countering each movement of the Jedi Knight's lightsaber with his own. But it was clearly surprised at her veracity. If the towering figure dueling her was a mountain, then Aayla was the river which was going to break him at the foundation.
Bly's faith in his general never wavered, and indeed seemed to be vindicated when she slipped past the monstrosity's guard and stabbed its shoulder. The clone commander felt elation. Their Goddess of Victory would come through, as she always had.
Funny how quickly elation could turn to despair.
With a growl appropriate to a demon the figure grabbed Aayla by the neck in spite of the lightsaber protruding from its shoulder. The Twilek desperately tried to claw the leather clad hand off her neck, but it was to no avail. With mocking slowness, the being held up it's deactivated lightsaber right over the Jedi's heart. Bly tried to move, to reach his blaster, to stand and rush the armored giant, something, anything. But he was powerless, his damnable body refused to move, and he could only watch.
"May the Force be with you," the abomination mocked, and with a snap-hiss a crimson blade pierced Aayla Secura directly in the heart. Her eyes widened and she let loose a gasp of pain, before her body went limp in her killer's grip.
He was jolted back into reality by the crippling pain of an electrostaff to his midsection. He was spat upon by a separatist interrogator demanding the information he had access to as a Commander in the GAR. He was assaulted by the putrid stench that permeated his cell, a result of his refusal to cooperate.
Through it all, Bly screamed in heartbreak at this inescapable hell he now lived in. A hell without his beloved general leading the way.
Confederate Ministry of War, Raxus Secundus
Like any important government facility, the Ministry of War on Raxus was that peculiar blend of fine, classical architecture meant to awe the mind and the sort of functionality unique to governments which borders on scrimping. Marble columns and facades outside held within them a maze of offices, conference rooms, and study halls. Originally meant to house the command structure of Raxus' local defense forces, the building was one of the first of its kind to go through a complete overhaul so that it could adequately service the needs of the new and vast Confederate military. This had resulted in the aforementioned peculiar blend, as the original stately offices from the old days were now not a few hallways down from tight, spartan rooms jammed tight with a desk and other various items considered necessary to any officers residing in them. This led quite a few officers feeling like they were a minor bureaucrat on a dust ball, and not commanding a galactic military. It couldn't have gone any other way, really, as the Confederate Army and Navy had more or less appeared overnight, and there was simply no way to both give the officers the stately workspaces they felt they deserved and build the adequate number of them at the same time. Hence, the cramped offices, which everyone complained about in their own unique way.
It was to one of these cramped offices that Darth Vader had been shoved off to, owing to the fact that he had quite literally come out of thin air and there was nowhere else to put him. Personally, while he felt his space could be larger, he appreciated the functionality of its décor and the no-nonsense attitude of its arrangement. Besides, it wasn't like he would spend too much time here. He was now actively fighting a war after all.
"Admiral Vader," a protocol droid chirped from the door. "The holodisks you requested, sir."
"Excellent," Vader replied, "Leave them on the desk, I shall sort them later."
When my shoulder doesn't feel like it's being soaked in lava, he thought with a frown. He rolled his arm slightly to try and alleviate the pain, but that only made it rub against his suit and cause more discomfort. Blast this contraption and whoever put me in it.
His discomfort was his own fault, he supposed. After all, he was the one who had recklessly charged against what he had later found out to be a seasoned Jedi Knight. He was lucky she hadn't stabbed him in a more vital area, thought that was subjective. After all, even if he hadn't died, he'd still been stabbed in his fracking shoulder.
He had learned some valuable lessons. For one, it appeared his connection with the Force was muted, something that in hindsight he should have realized before, considering that the power of a Dark Side user was directly related to the power of their emotions. At the moment, he did not have any especially powerful memories laced with anger or passion to draw from. He knew that he could partially alleviate this through meditation, but that would be no substitute for the genuine item. Until further notice, he should be far more cautious when engaging the more powerful members of the Order.
Second, and this related to the first lesson, was that he needed to exert more control over his battle lust. True, it could be used as a source of fuel for his more arcane abilities, but there were risks with relying on such a mindset when he was in charge of a fleet. It was this which had driven him to accompany the boarding party and engage the Jedi Knight, and it could have cost him dearly if things had been different. The role of a commander in the field was to direct the troops where they needed to be and give them the objectives, not to wade into the thick of combat and put the command hierarchy at risk. Until he could be surer of victory in such situations, it was best to just overwhelm the enemy with battle droids. That, or acquire a few higher end models such as Magna Guards for himself. Those were incredibly expensive however, so other options should be looked into if that didn't fall through.
Those were things he would need to work on immediately. A more long-term problem had presented itself with his recent commission as well. As an admiral, he would inevitably be drawn into the politics of the CIS, no matter how much he wished otherwise. It would be important to gather allies in both the military and civilian government, mostly because he didn't want to rely too much on Dooku. Someone not informed on such matters might question why when the count had been so generous to him already, but history held plenty of examples on why trusting Dark Siders unreservedly was a bad idea.
The problem was, he had no idea who to approach.
Like the military the CIS government had appeared practically overnight, and while quite a few of its officials had formerly worked for the Republic almost as many were hastily drawn in to fill the gaps created by their leaving the galactic government. In other words, many officials in the CIS, including Senators, were rather unknown quantities, especially to him.
That helped to partially explain the piles of data disks on his desk, even though Vader had not truly been able to execute his duties due to his current lack of a command. A profile of every prolific Confederate MP, military officer, bureaucrat, and even members of the Council lay on his desk. He had been spending the majority of his time reading through them when he wasn't reading up on the fluid situation at the front and Confederate ship and droid designs. What he'd found was most definitely a mixed bag.
On one hand, the Confederates had managed to grab no small amount of talent for their civil and military services. Marked for further investigation were the profiles of individuals such as the famed Admiral Trench (currently a Confederate Vice Admiral) and more infamous General Grievous (officially the Chief of Staff of the Armed Services). He'd also prioritized the dossier of the officer who'd worked with him at Phindar, Rune Gunray. If nothing else, he'd serve as a valuable partner on any future campaigns, especially with his recent promotion to Brigadier General. And while there were fewer civil servants that had caught his attention, there was no shortage of candidates there either. Individuals such as the widely respected Mina Bonteri and the newcomer to politics Seth Gilboa were also marked for further investigation.
He placed particular emphasis on Trench and Grievous. The former's field career was as colorful as it was accomplished, and Grievous' leadership of the Kaleesh armies in their war with the Huuk was legendary in the Outer Rim.
But where there was talent, there was also incompetence and corruption. The entire Confederate Council disgusted him as nothing more than profiteers who cared little for the responsibility their sovereign offices carried. The majority were shortsighted, greedy, pathetic organisms, and Vader highly suspected that Dooku had only recruited them for their vast wealth and the ease with which they could be manipulated and controlled. He would do well to avoid these individuals unless he could find some sort of use for them. The same applied to a worrying number of military officers; far too many of them were former corporate enforcers for his liking.
He frowned as a minor headache made itself known. This was something that had been occurring with frequency ever since the battle at Phindar. All of these individuals seemed to arouse different feelings within him that he could not identify a reason for. Respect, disgust, loathing, it was a rather heady mix. Most likely they were similar to whoever he had known in his old life before coming here. The Sith lord shook his head.
Ruminating about questions he couldn't find the answer to was pointless.
It would require time to form his own base of power from reliable people; for now it'd probably be best to focus his efforts on examining Confederate ship designs, which were a headache unto themselves…
A chime from the comm built into his desk caught the Sith's attention, and without looking he accepted the call. "Yes?"
He should probably have an adjutant to help with things like this, but one couldn't have everything they wanted.
"Sir," a clipped voice with what he thought was a Rutian accent spoke. "Vice Admiral Trench requests you come to his office immediately."
Vader's eyebrow was raised as he focused his attention on the speaker. Unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. "Very well, inform him I shall be there shortly."
Well, it seemed he'd get to meet one of his persons of interest sooner than expected.
It had been a bit of a walk to make his way to the Vice Admiral's office, whom unlike Vader had been given one of the much coveted 'Penthouses' (the nickname for the older, more spacious offices). The male Harch was well deserving of the work space, however. His career spoke for itself; the name Trench was practically a byword for CCM (Cloaking CounterMeasures) and the Firepower Conservation Doctrine. He was also known for his meritocratic approach to command and fair treatment of enemies once they had surrendered, a sadly rare trait among Confederate commanders at the moment.
Trench was quite large for a Harch, especially a male, and where a normal member of his species would have been made to seem smaller behind the large mahogany desk it only seemed to add to Trench's pervading presence. He sat with a straight back, clasping his middle hands together while the others rested on top of the desk. His six forward facing eyes were all focused on Vader, their red gleam only adding to the spark of analytical cunning and intelligence which lay within his cranial exoskeleton. His mandibles twitched while the fangs located within the insectoid's mouth clicked together, muttering some phrase in the Harch language. His custom made blue admiral's uniform only added to the Harch's sense of sophistication, while the fur collar lay upon his shoulders like the mantle of a king.
Vader offered a salute to his immediate superior, the motion coming easily. While he hadn't had the chance to serve under the admiral, he nonetheless looked forward to it. This was a being the Sith knew he could respect.
Trench's fangs once again clicked, and his mouth worked in an effort to form his words. "At ease, Rear Admiral," he spoke in a deep and full voice, like Dooku, but there was a noticeable lisp to his words. If his narrowed eyes were any indication, he knew there was a lisp and was highly annoyed at it. "I hope I haven't inconvenienced you with the summons."
"Not at all, Excellency," Vader replied. He decided to offer the Harch an out with his language problem. "If you wish, I am perfectly capable of understanding your native language. While the Force comes with quite a few problems, it can be useful in certain situations."
Vader was certain that Trench was giving him the equivalent of a raised eyebrow at the sardonic statement, but all the same began speaking not in the words of Basic but a series of clicks that most non-Harch would never understand even with a translation device. "You have my thanks then, I must admit your species' mammalian sounds are difficult to imitate. This will save me a great deal of embarrassment. How are you acclimating to your duties?"
"Well enough, for all that I have had very little to do with the lack of a command," Vader replied, wondering what the true purpose of this meeting was. He knew the Vice Admiral hadn't called him up to exchange pleasantries.
"Yes, I suppose that would be the case, wouldn't it?" Trench continued in his species' language. "Before we continue I'd like you to indulge me, if it isn't too much trouble."
Vader nodded, curious, though he was beginning to become slightly annoyed. His time was valuable, and a thing not to be wasted.
"I have a simple question, you see," Trench continued, keeping his eyes focused directly on the cyborg. "What is your opinion of this war? More specifically, do you believe the CIS will be defeated, within the year if some people are to be believed?"
Vader was initially silent as he analyzed the question. It did not take him long to come up with an answer which he believed to suit the current facts. Technically, the "correct" answer. However, he had to wonder if it was the "right" answer.
Was Trench testing him? Was his loyalty to the CIS being evaluated so early? It would not surprise him; a new person of interest enters the war with no warning, and within two weeks is promoted to Rear Admiral based on the recommendation of the President alone? Suspicious was an understatement. He would likely be doing the same thing in Admiral Trench's shoes.
There were two answers he could give; the correct answer, or the right answer. Based on Trench's reputation, he would most likely appreciate the former more than the latter, however just because it was the admiral asking didn't mean that the answer was meant for him. There could be others watching.
In the end, he decided it would be best to give the "correct" answer, the one based on the reality of the situation. Trench's reaction would tell him everything he needed to know.
"If things continue as they are, then we will suffer a military defeat within a year, two if the Republic does not maximize its advantages. The reason for this is simple; the constant defeats being suffered by our fleets, the rash and wasteful use of resources by commanders on projects of dubious utility, our dismal interactions with neutral systems and potential allies, and the frankly pitiful tactics which make up current Confederate doctrine. The Confederacy has the means to achieve victory, but only if we conduct this war in a completely different manner than has been the norm."
Trench's eyes remained focused on Vader throughout his reply, his mandibles hardly twitching. To a lesser man, it would have been unsettling. Vader simply returned the stare.
After a moment Trench's mandibles clicked audibly, and the Sith thought he saw something flicker in the Harch's red eyes. They broke eye contact when Trench reached into a drawer and withdrew a datapad, setting on his desk.
"A good answer, but it is easy for a person to point out there is a problem. It is another matter entirely to propose viable solutions to fixing it."
Vader nodded, seeing the prompt for what it was. "I would start by focusing on resource allocation. Initiatives such as the Malevolence are not things we can afford, at the rate things are going. Focusing on the production and refinement of weapons which we know work is the best option. It's foolhardy to ignore a tried and true tool after all, especially in a time of need."
"So, you would ignore a new weapon simply on the basis that it might not be worth the effort and risk to test it?"
"Not at all," Vader replied. "Rather, I would focus on weapons and devices which have a bearing in reality. For example, mounting turreted proton cannons on the Providence class would greatly improve their power projection in the field, providing us with a ship that could match the Venator for speed and the Lucrehulk refits for firepower. Thus, the Navy gets a ship better suited to its requirements while the Treasury only has to fund a simple refit of an existing class instead of the development of an entirely new model."
Trench nodded, this time definitely looking impressed. "You have certainly been studying up on the war so far, I see," he said. "I must admit the idea of turreted proton cannons on our heavier ships is an interesting one. Something to look into later. Now, I read over your orders for the occupation of Phindar, and I found them sensible. However, hypothetically, what would you have done if the Phindarians had offered fiercer resistance? What if resistance groups had sprung up that began hindering your ground forces in a guerilla campaign?"
This being is certainly in-depth. He's probably already thought of several different answers to his own question, and I'll be judged based on which ones I answer closest to.
"I would start with the capture of a few of the more prominent groups, making an example out of the most belligerent ones. This would show that we are capable of finding them and that we will overpower them when we do. But this would only partially demoralize any resistance. To truly dig into their will I would make them believe continued resistance would endanger the lives of their loved ones. To do this without appearing overtly oppressive would require a bit of finesse. Taking in refugee families, even those who have members suspected of being rebels, and providing them with aid and shelter would be best."
Trench's mandibles clicked. "You would spend Confederate resources on aiding the families of our enemies?"
"It is well within our means," Vader said. "The nature of the droid army means that more supplies could be devoted to any such initiative. Taking in these families puts them within our control, as bargaining chips and potential hostages. And they won't even realize it. Most insurgents will be paralyzed by the simple possibility of us harming their families, while to the outside observer we maintain the moral high ground and even appear magnanimous. This approach would take a longer time to see full effect, but in the end the Confederacy maintains credibility and doesn't have to spend ammunition on disgruntled farmers and workers."
Trench's mandibles worked for a moment, and his eyes had a glazed look in them. Most likely going over how any such operation might play out. Soon he had a reply.
"Interesting… I have not had this sort of approach proposed before, but there is merit. However, what would you do if it didn't work out? More radical resistance groups could attack the supply convoys even if it meant risking the survival of their loved ones."
"It is as you said, Vice Admiral," Vader replied. Trench felt a cold thrill in his soul at the flat tone. "They are the enemies of the CIS in the end. It matters not how many of them die, only that they cease to resist."
The Harch was still for a moment, blinking in surprise. It was clear to Vader that the coldness of the answer had been unexpected. But it was still his honest opinion. He was a pragmatist, not a saint.
"Indeed," Trench said after a moment of silence. The Sith sensed approval radiating from him. Reluctant approval, but approval nonetheless. "I believe I have a grasp of your character now."
"And how do I measure up to your expectations?"
"You're the kind of officer the Confederacy needs. You have the ruthlessness necessary to complete the objective even if it is at great cost, but also the pragmatism and foresight needed to see that it is done in the best possible way for the CIS. Though," the Harch's eyes flickered briefly to his shoulder. "You also have a habit of taking actions with no small amount of risk."
"In war everything comes with some degree of risk," Vader replied smoothly. "Only a fool thinks they can negate any possibility of failure on the battlefield."
To that Trench could only chuckle in agreement. Vader smiled behind his mask. In the battlefield known as politics the greatest victory was winning people over to you, even if all you did was leave a favorable impression. Regardless of what else came out of this meeting, he would call this a victory.
More importantly, it had illuminated a few things for him. Trench's questions had given him an insight into the admiral's own impressions of his colleagues. From the looks of it, Trench was displeased with how other Confederate officers had conducted themselves in the field, either through incompetence, excess or even both. Without a doubt Vader reminded him of General Grievous or Asajj Ventress; a mysterious figure whose only recommendation for command was the word of Count Dooku. One only needed a passing glance at their careers to see the worrying implications. Ventress for her repeated failures, and Grievous for turning so many successes into outright atrocities that could have easily been avoided. Having two such generals in high positions was enough to cause problems; having three could court disaster.
"Now, I do think it's time I get to the official reason for this meeting," Trench said, pulling out a holodisk from his desk and sliding it towards Vader. "This contains the details of your new command and assignment. Study it well, you'll have your work cut out for you I think."
Vader took the disk and slid it into his personal datapad, skimming over the contents briefly to get a rough idea of what he was dealing with. "Task Group 'Rancor', numbering approximately eighty vessels, survivors from Jabiim and Muunilinst… Admiral, is this an entirely new formation?"
Trench nodded, the apology written on his face being genuine. "Sadly. I attempted to protest, seeing as you are a newcomer, but the politicians were insistent that their new war hero have a command as fast as possible, even if it meant scraping together a half assed fleet from forces that have no experience working with each other."
Vader's lip curled in distaste. Damned politicians and their games… "At least the organic captains will have some combat experience under their belts if nothing else… and thank the Force my first assignment is to drill them into shape. I'd question the civilians' sanity if they expected me to win them a battle with these forces in their current state."
Trench nodded in wholehearted agreement. "Win a simple skirmish and suddenly they think you're Revan reborn," he quipped. "Regardless, you'll need to set out immediately to assume your post. You'll be conducting drills around Randon while also protecting the supply chains that pass through there. It's close to the front, but the fighting there has been light. It'll be a good chance to break them in."
Vader nodded, quietly hoping that no more supposed glory came his way for the duration of this assignment. Fighting a war with an experienced and reliable force was one thing; doing it with troops who'd never met each other before and had already been smashed in previous engagements was another.
"If that will be all then?" Vader asked, eager to get started. He was going to busy in the foreseeable future, without a doubt.
"Yes, dismissed," Trench said. "Good luck, and may the Great Weaver smile upon you."
With that the Sith lord offered a salute before turning and leaving the office. Soon he'd be back in familiar and comfortable territory. Even if it was a ragtag one, he now had a command of his own, and all the responsibilities that came with it. He was going to have his work cut out for him whipping this fleet into shape. He grinned.
It certainly beat wasting away in this building at least.
Jedi Temple, Coruscant
It was almost too much, Yoda thought, as he gave the eulogy.
Before him was a depressingly familiar scene. A multitude of robed figures were gathered in one of the vast halls of the temple's Mausoleum, all of them radiating solemnity and world weariness. Well over five hundred Jedi of all stripes were gathered around a single coffin, which hovered over the niche in the floor which would hold it until either the end of time or the erosion of the temple. The coffin was symbolic however; no matter how much they might have wanted to it had been impossible to recover Aayla Secura's body, not without causing even more loss of life.
"An example to us, you were," Yoda's weathered voice echoed through the Mausoleum, barely hiding the sting he felt in his heart. "A being possessed of more courage and integrity, hard it would be to find."
How many? How many students had he lost like this? Qui-gon, the closest thing he would ever have to a grandson, killed like an animal. Dooku, like Qui-gon almost a son to him, lost to the throes of the Dark Side and turned against everything he had stood for.
And now Aayla, that bright and beautiful child who had always been eager to learn, to grow, to do what was right. Now just another corpse in an ever-growing mountain of death and suffering.
"Died how you would have wanted, you did," he continued. "To defend those who could not defend themselves, quick you would be. Even quicker, to demand justice and what was right."
His Jedi were all bowing their heads, the emotion of it all becoming too much for some. He spied Quinlan Vos in the front, openly weeping. He would have to offer counsel to him especially, seeing as the Cathar had been Aayla's master before she became a Knight. Mace stood next to him, the Haruun Kal native putting his hand on Vos's shoulder in a small measure of comfort.
The trio of Tano, Skywalker, and Kenobi stood further up in the bleachers, but he could see they were no less distraught. Little Ahsoka held her hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Kenobi's brow was furrowed and his eyes downcast, while Skywalker sat with his fists clenched.
Too many Jedi had already been lost in this war, but Aayla's death was a blow to them all. She had been an unwavering star, a source of inspiration for many of the younger generation. A friend to many more.
A star that had been snuffed out far too soon.
"Missed by us, you will be," he said, he pronouncement seeming even more poignant with every head that nodded in agreement. "But take heart, we shall. Departed from this world you may be, but gone you are not. One with the Force, you are, forever removed from the torments of this world. Meet you again, we all will, when our time arrives."
He paused, gathering himself, before giving a solemn nod to the Temple Guards standing at each corner of the coffin. They would be the ones to lower it and seal the opening shut. "May the Force be with you, brave Knight."
With that the coffin was slowly lowered into the floor, two slabs of intricately carved metal sliding out from within the floor to cover the space. They shut with a resounding clang, the pillar of light which emanated from all Jedi caskets being hidden away. A final source of light to guide Aayla Secura's soul to the Living Force.
Yoda's eyes blinked rapidly as the crowd dispersed. Even after 900 years, it was so, so hard. Even if he had been forced to let go of dozens, maybe hundreds of bonds forged with his fellow Jedi during his tenure, the loss of each one was like a fresh wound to his heart.
He would be recomposed soon, he'd had plenty of practice he reflected somewhat bitterly. Tomorrow he would be the solid and unflagging rock which all Jedi could lean on in their time of need.
Tomorrow he would. Today, he would let himself acknowledge the immense grief he felt. Not just for Aayla, but for every living being who died in this senseless war.
The war. Yoda's eyes narrowed as his thoughts turned towards it, particularly towards the being he was certain had killed Aayla Secura.
A hero, they called him, Yoda thought, his walking stick creaking as his grip tightened. Spread wanton death and destruction, a hero does not. Feed on the darkness present in all beings' hearts, a hero would not.
A hero would not do those things, no. But a Sith Lord would.
Darth Vader's visage floated in his memory, the abominable imitation of a Sith War Droid drawing forth both dread and uncertainty from the Grand Master.
Even from afar Yoda sensed the turbulence of the Force around that being. The crashing waves of the Living Force fell about him, and Yoda also did not have too look far to sense the insidious undercurrent of the Dark Side flowing forth like the vilest of inks. It had banished any lingering doubts in his mind about the survival of the Sith. Dooku could pin all of the medals and accolades he wished upon his newest pet; it would not be long before the galaxy saw just what sort of monster had been unleashed upon them.
Growing in strength, the Dark Side is, he thought solemnly, gazing at Aayla's resting place one last time before beginning to make his way out of the Mausoleum. Most of the Jedi who had attended were already gone, those that remained having been particularly close to her. He made sure to stop and offer each of them words of comfort, especially Quinlan. He could not deny that it hurt to see that usually bright and mischievous soul so darkened by loss and grief. He was not more concerned because he knew that the Cathar had his friends to help him piece himself back together.
They would endure the coming troubles, Yoda knew, as they always had. It would be hard, and there would be more death and tears before it was over, but by the Force they would still be here at the end. Where the Sith had raw power and cunning, the Jedi had the strength created from their bonds, and the will to carry on regardless of how bleak things seemed.
Strike hard and fast, our enemies will, he thought, before his eyes hardened with the durasteel resolve that had steered the Order for a millennium. And survive, we will. Survive, we must.
Author's Note:
Poor Bly. I don't normally regret making characters go through hardship, but I'll admit I almost felt sad for him while writing his scene. Almost.
I think Yoda is my favorite Jedi to write for; he's that old as dirt grandpa with wisdom you wish you had, but he can still knock you on your rear if you get too uppity. The eventual encounter between him and Vader is going to be fun.
The scene between Vader and Trench took a bit of doing; I spent a whole month trying to figure out how I wanted that thing to go. I finally got something I'm satisfied with, but yeah. Probably the most enjoyable part of this chapter for me though. Also a hint at what Vader will be doing next. He's indeed going to have his work cut out for him, training an entirely new formation. And that won't be the only thing giving him headaches...
Someone mentioned that it seemed odd for Vader to reach Rear Admiral for a minor victory, and it's a good point. Dooku needs as many pets as he can get to keep the Jedi occupied, and the Confederacy has been so starved for good news that Vader's victory got far more attention than it normally would have. Though to be fair to Vader, what he accomplished was no small feat. His forces took the system in two days for starters, and when the Republic launched its counterattack he sank or captured all of their combat vessels while only outright losing one of his own. He'll have too perform much greater feats in the future if he wants to keep advancing like that, but for the moment its enough to get him noticed and put on the board.
Hannibal was indeed an inspiration for the battleplan (though admittedly so was Legend of the Galactic Heroes :p) Coming up with your own battle plan for a story sounds really cool, until you realize that you can use existing plans from history and it looks way better than anything you could come up with.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I look forward to seeing you all at the next one!