Chapter 15
Fireballs trailing smoke mar the sky, the ruins of the Death Star create a picturesque nightmare. From the king's platform, they have an unobstructed view.
"Rebel command, come in!" Hera calls but static screeches on the radio. "Rex? Anyone!"
"Atmospheric and radioactive interference knocked out comms," Gary says breathlessly.
"My shuttle won't hold everyone!" Hera warns. "There's not enough time to evacuate!"
The commander looks at King Gorneesh, "Are there any mines or caves nearby?"
Urgah answers, her eyes widening with panic, "The bathing caves!"
"Get everyone into the caves, as deep as they go! It's your only chance!"
"Wha-what's happening?" King Gorneesh stutters.
"Get your people to safety!" The commander yells. "Protocol droid, help the general!"
Gorneesh grabs his club and slams the gong three times. Immediately the villagers race out of their huts, responding to the alarm. Then he and Urgah run down the stairs and speak to the gathering. Time swiftly runs out as the burning debris spread across the sky. Duloks cry out, recognizing the cataclysmic horror. King Gorneesh and Urgah remain calm initially, but for only a moment longer. Once the horror becomes clear, they run. In seconds, the tribe devolves into full-blown chaos. Following their king, the Duloks flee, adding to the confusion. The commander watches their fright take hold, inciting the worst aspects of their survival instincts.
Simultaneously, the commander and Gary look at the growing fire in the sky. Distant explosions herald their impending doom. Then they turn to the rebels—Hera and the protocol droid struggle with their injured. The arena stairs aren't intended for more than one person at once, let alone wounded assisted by a second person.
Meanwhile, the frenzy reaches a fever pitch, fear driving the villagers psychotic. Hera pleads for calm, begging them to stop, and finally screams in their faces. Suddenly a blurrg screams, plowing through the villagers as it runs away.
The commander raises his rifle and fires; instantly, the blast halts the Duloks.
"Enough of this! Stand up and move to the caves! Help your neighbors!"
They can't understand his words, but they know. Sanity reasserts itself even if fear is ever-present. An impact explodes near enough to feel the heatwave, and a dozen more shake the ground. The commander and Gary lift the fallen; Duloks assist the rebels too. The commander and Gary arrive last, corralling the slow, elderly, and hurt.
An elderly Dulok screams, pointing hysterically. The commander follows it to a mass of wreckage coming straight for them. Blackened by a fiery corona, trailing smoke, the ruin spews hundreds of smaller chunks along the way. He pushes Gary in front of him, "Run!"
They follow the Duloks deeper in, trailed by deafening thunder. Suddenly, the ground shakes violently as rocks pummel him, still pushing forward until darkness envelopes him.
Distantly, far on the horizon of grassy hills, movement can barely be seen. From behind the Republic forces, the sun rises. Hundreds of villagers reinforce thousands of Clones in a trench. The professional soldiers' bright white armor sparkle in the sunlight save the few splashed with paint. Dents and gouges mark these seasoned troopers. In contrast, the villagers look ragged and undisciplined. Their weapons are ancient, handed down from father to son.
The Clones remain silent, utterly focused on the distant enemy. The few words spoken are hushed, brief, and necessary. Even those in the AT-TEs wait patiently. The gravity of the battle to come mutes all conversations. Even the chatty villagers restrain themselves. They look to the experts for guidance and recognize that even the pros are concerned.
THUMP! The sudden artillery blast shakes the villagers; they can feel the pounding shot in their bones. The Clones never move. On the horizon, specks of fire and columns of smoke announce impact. THUMP! It goes on and on, a slow and steady drumbeat. THUMP!
Far off in the distance, the movement grows pronounced and purposeful. Spherical droid control ships land while others take off, leaving smoke trails on their way back to orbit. A tan mass begins crawling across the hills, steadily and utterly uniform. TWEOO! The AT-TE's cannons fire slightly faster than the artillery. TWEOO! Dirt and rock explode on impact, consuming chunks of the legion stretching across the hills. It doesn't slow them or give the battle droids any hesitation. The mass crawls forward with the inevitability of a flood.
Tromp-tromp-tromp begins as a whisper but swiftly grows louder. The skeletal battle droids cross the hills, unafraid of the salvo, utterly uniform and in-step. Anxiety takes hold. Dread grows with the rising march, booming now, TROMP-TROMP-TROMP!
"Steady," his father calls. "We've beaten pirates; we'll beat these clankers too."
His son tears his eyes from the robots, but he steels himself after a stern look from his father. He looks at his fellows, utterly terrified now that they see the volume of their enemy.
"Do not give in to fear, for the force is with us!" Conviction strengthens his voice. The Cerean Jedi Master cuts an impressive figure, tall with a white beard fluttering beneath his conical-shaped head. He raises his hand and ignites his lightsaber, materializing a bright blue beam. The one-of-a-kind hum dims the booming march of the enemy. "Prepare yourselves!"
Reassured, he turns to his father but catches a dark look at the Jedi. His father senses his attention, conceals it and smiles, before turning the boy back to the enemy. Instead, he peeks at the villagers lying against the trench wall. Hands trembling, jaws clenched, but they hold firm. The boy leans into his sporting rifle, as tall as he is, and licks his lips nervously.
"Fire!" The Jedi orders over the deafening TROMP-TROMP-TROMP. A blinding red barrage decimates the droids. Energy bolts shred their ranks, disrupting their lines, but the B1s continue. The boy fires repeatedly and accurately, but the droids seem infinite. They return fire once they're close enough; blue blasts race overhead and an AT-TE explodes behind them. This close, grenades fly out of the trench, adding lightning blasts to the chaos.
The boy's rifle clicks empty, and he looks at it in confusion. He'd never run out of ammo before and didn't even realize how many times he'd shot. He releases the cell, fumbles it, and drops it to his feet. Naturally, he reaches for the empty magazine.
"Leave it!" His father commands. "Reload, boy!"
He struggles to pull the cell caught in his pocket, fear making his movements clumsy. He slots and slams it into the rifle and looks down the sights-directly into the eyes of a B1! He jerks the trigger, blasting it in the face, but another immediately replaces it.
The sleeping stormtrooper whispers. Hera watches the commander shift side to side while his muttering grows fiercer. Suddenly, he jerks. He sits up, snarling, chest heaving with each desperate breath. He snaps to a crouch, defensively, and looks around him.
"Easy, commander," she says gently. He turns to her, and Hera wonders if he recognizes her. After a moment, he looks at her men, laying on mats the Duloks provided. Then he studies the small chamber where they rest. Hera wipes moisture from her brow, ignoring the hot springs' stifling humidity and the constant sound of trickling water. "It's a miracle you're unharmed."
"Gary?" He inquires, searching for his comrade.
"He's still working," Hera can't keep the surprise from her voice. "He's a gifted medic."
The commander sighs in relief, sitting before he asks, "How long was I out?"
"It's been six hours since we ran into the bathing caves. We dug you out and let you rest because you needed it." Hera answers while handing him a canteen. "There's another exit, but the Duloks feel safer waiting until the rocks cool to leave. They want to return to their village."
The commander removes a straw from his belt and inserts it into his helmet before drinking. Then he hands it back, she wonders, Why won't he take off his helmet?
"Just say it, general."
She'd forgotten how sharp his eyes are, but she's surprised how easily he reads her. Instead, she pivots, "Where were you, in your dreams? Was it the Clone Wars?"
He's quiet a moment before answering, "My childhood home. The Separatists came, and the Republic fought them off, but they returned. Their legions stretched from one horizon to the other. The fighting went on for three days after the initial attack."
"When they came to Ryloth, I'd sneak out to watch the starfighters," she tells him.
"My people were poor, like the Duloks. There was no need for starfighters," he replies.
"Did you choose to wear Clone armor when you became a commander?"
"No, only veterans can wear it," he explains. "The Seppies pushed us back, through a forest, before surrounding us. They'd destroyed our village and cut off our retreat. With only a handful of us left, my father suggested putting on Clone armor. The Jedi gave permission because no one expected to survive. The Clones weren't happy, we hadn't earned it, and it fit poorly because we weren't Clones. There were so few of us left we fixed bayonets."
Hera's jaw dropped, "You've worn that armor since the Clone Wars?"
"More or less," he shrugs. "It's been repaired so many times I can't tell what's new or original anymore. I've gone through dozens of helmets and hundreds of pauldrons."
"That doesn't explain-," she begins before she stops. Then she continues, "You can tell me it's none of my business, but how did you keep it? Was the battle at the end of the war?"
"It's none of your business," he laughs. "The battle was during the second year of the Clone Wars, after Ryloth. Only a handful of the villagers survived, mostly children and elderly that evacuated. I was the sole survivor of the villagers reinforcing the Clones. I lost my father, my home, and the rest of the village resented me. Or maybe I just blamed myself. The Clones took care of me during the battle, and I stayed with them for the rest of the war."
"No way," Hera tilts her head skeptically, "No one would mistake you for a Clone."
"I was tall for my age, and you'd be amazed how much people disregard. All they see is the armor, as long as they do their job. I led my own squad by the end of the war."
"They're clearing the rocks away, general," Gary interrupts. He steps into the chamber, looking at the commander. "It's good to see you're back with us, sir."
While the commander rises to his feet, Hera gives her team a shake. Slowly, the big man comes to his senses, but the Sullustan stands up without being woken. He stretches, then says to Gary, "I never thought I'd thank a stormtrooper, but I feel much better."
The big human nods grudgingly. Feeling a little brighter, Hera leads them through the caves to the entrance. When they arrive, the king and Urgah urge the workers impatiently. Hera scowls at his idleness. When workers move a large rock, sunlight streams in, and relief floods the cave. Soon, there's a path large enough to exit. Unlike earlier, the Duloks calmly leave.
BLEWOO! A blaster discharge cuts through all conversation. Everyone flinches, and many Duloks retreat deeper inside. The troopers take cover while the warriors grab weapons. A moment of silence follows until a dark-furred Ewok reveals himself from behind a Dulok hut.
"Misti," King Gorneesh spits, "-of the Lightfoot tribe."
Miski screams in his language, and the coppery protocol droid translates. "We don't want you; we want the one that killed our chieftain. Turn him over, and the rest of us live."