Innocents of Ryloth
Scene 2
A small squadron of gunships issues out of Peerless' hangar bay and rockets through the upper atmosphere of Ryloth in loose formation. Inside the main cabin of the lead gunship, dim light filters through closed blast panels.
Commander Cody stood directly behind the General, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face. His helmet was tucked neatly under his left arm while his right hand held one of the overhead grips for stability as the ship rocked and swayed through Ryloth's skies, buffeted by wind and the pressure differentials left in the wake of the cruiser's ion drives.
The Jedi, of course, stood on the bucking, tilting deck at perfect ease, like a waterbird serenely riding a swell. At such cramped close quarters Cody could easily pick out every pock and scorch mark on the General's partial armor, every scratch on the emblem of th winged flame emblazoned on his shoulder plate, every one of the few premature grey hairs standing out in his beard. Cody was technically only twelve years old, and had no grey to show for all his harrowing months of experience in the war, but he knew the routine well enough to know what came next. This was the part where Kenobi lectured them about the moral component of what they were doing.
"We need to remember why we are here," Kenobi was saying. "We came to aid the Twi'Leks, not destroy their homes. Cody."
Ah, great. The Jedi was handing it off to him. The glint in Kenobi's eye as he stepped back to allow Cody to take up the front position told the clone commander that it was a purposeful maneuver. Stang. That mind-reading thing was unnerving. Cody would never get used to it.
"That means we'll be taking it back the hard way," he told the boys. "Minimal destruction with blasters and droid poppers only. " He turned a baleful eye on Wooley, the rookie of the team. "No rockets or detonators. Check your aim. Keep an eye out for locals. Am I understood?"
"Sir yes sir," his brothers all chanted in unison.
Cody grabbed an overhead support again as the transport jumped like a stone skipping across a pond. A dull boom sounded distantly above, in the vicinity of the cruisers. A warning went off in the back of his mind. The echo of the sound, like thunder, spoke volumes to his specialized ear: heavy cannon, long distance auto-det high energy rounds. But then, it was only natural for the Seps to take a few pot-shots at the capital ships as they passed overhead. He turned and watched Waxer and Boil divest themselves of several extraneous and now prohibited weapons.
"If we're here to free the tail-heads, the least they can do is stay outta our way," Boil muttered darkly.
Cody glared at the perpetually disgruntled trooper, and risked a careful backward glance at Kenobi. Jedi were big into the tolerance and respect thing, and "tail-head" was not an acceptable epithet in polite company. The General didn't seem perturbed by the rude slur, however. He spent a lot of time with the clones nowadays, after all. And Cody happened to know that despite his well-bred manner, Kenobi could – on rare occasion, under extreme duress – dish it out with the best of them. On Anoth, for example, in the driving rain and mud, when that time delayed mine had taken the bridge out from under the squadron's feet and landed the surviving members of the Republic vanguard in a neat ambush, Cody had distinctly heard the Jedi consign both the Seppie tactical droid and every SBD in the area to a lingering destruction in the nine hells. He smiled at the memory of Kenobi simultaneously deflecting blasterfire with his lightsaber in a desperate whirl, and employing language varied and colorful enough to make a Besalisk blush.
The gunship lurched violently to one side and another explosion blossomed in the air directly behind them. The blast shield held but the transport shuddered like an epileptic womprat and dropped a sickening thirty meters before leveling out. Cody noted that even the Jedi had grabbed a handhold for support. He and his brothers all rammed their helmets in place on instinct.
They were under attack. The Separatists' long range cannon were good, that was for sure. Somewhere overhead a howling roar ripped open the sky and a grinding current of superheated air blasted them downward again. Emergency thrusters being fired up above – One of the cruisers had been hit, and hard. Anything that could get through their shields at this distance was a serious threat.
"Starboard!" Kenobi shouted, suddenly, for no apparent reason.
The pilot had the good sense – and genetic conditioning – to obey without question, and a split second later a round exploded on their left, exactly in their line of flight before they had swerved aside.
"Kriffin' psychic son of a vetch," Wooley muttered through the helmet comlink system.
"Shut up, rookie," Cody snapped at him. If the Jedi's weird powers could save their necks, then the least the clones could do was not complain.
"Drop altitude!" the General barked at the pilot. Diving lower might take them under the trajectory of the cannon.
The transport swooped and dodged, its counterparts following as best they could in a mad game of tag. The comm. unit mounted overhead sputtered and then spewed out a flickering life-size image of General Windu, who stood before them in ghostly blue effigy.
"We can't risk landing the bigger transports until you take out those guns." The hologram figure spoke directly to General Kenobi.
"Pull back," the General responded evenly. "We'll take care of it!" He had to shout to be heard over the scream of the engines and the cacophony of the bombardment outside.
Windu's shimmering image blinked out and they tore onward, lower and lower, toward the slopes of the jagged rocks surrounding the city of Nabat.