Chapter 18
Fifteen hours after the commander promised an EVAC.
The commander and Gary watch Hera's shuttle rocket away before he orders, "Gary, mark her trajectory and transmit it to Vee along with her shuttle type. I'll bet she's heading straight home. His long-range scanners may identify their base of operations."
"Are you planning to attack them?" Gary asks.
"No, hah!" The commander grins behind his helmet. "Maybe if we had an AT-AT and some air support. No, Simz can place sensors along the route to our compound. Hopefully, they'll give us early warning when the rebels or Ewoks decide to attack."
"Do you think our storm commando can outmaneuver them in the woods?"
"Probably, but not his men, and I'm not throwing anyone away to test it. I'd love to have a lookout and observation post, several actually, but the Ewoks are frighteningly capable in the woods. They'll sniff us out. Instead, sensors could be overlooked by the primitives."
"What about rebel pathfinders?" Gary clicks his commlink and calls, "Vee, come in."
The droid replies with a series of beeps and whistles while the stormtrooper explains the commander's plan. It concludes with excited whistles before Gary gives him a thumbs-up.
The commander is in agony; sweat forms on his brow, and he's suffering a fever. Chills race through him while his head pounds. His arm still refuses to work, flaring with pain even at the thought of using it. The medpac and the bacta closed his wounds but didn't fix what is inside.
King Gorneesh's words echo, "Lightfoot use bad arrows and poison."
The commander believes it, but the thought reminds him of the king's problems. He looks at the Dulok leader, "King Gorneesh, dig a ditch around your wall; then build stakes to hold them off it. Clear the land around your village. Remove anything the Ewoks can hide behind or use to sneak up on you. They will come again with more weapons. Explosives to blast through your walls and blasters that shoot many times and kill many warriors."
"Yes," King Gorneesh nods in agreement. "Yes, we build and make stronger."
The commander exhales slowly then reaches out to shake the king's hand. Instead, the burly Dulok pulls him into a big hug. The commander tenses. A little uncomfortable with the affection, he awkwardly pats Gorneesh on the back.
"Thank you," the king whispers before releasing him.
"It's going to be a long walk back," Gary complains.
A stray blurrg wanders by, heading out the gate before a Dulok yells at it. The guard whips it until the creature turns around and returns to the village. The commander stops him then examines it. The blurrg is typical size but a deep green to blend into the forests of Endor. The commander turns to King Gorneesh, "Is it trained for riders?"
Gorneesh shrugs then wiggles his hand to imply so-so. The creature hesitates to sniff the commander before the stormtrooper runs his fingers over it. After only a moment, its eyes glaze over, and it leans into him. He scratches it a bit, and the blurrg whines when he stops. It pants at him, its toothy mouth wide open, causing Gary to cringe. On the other hand, the commander scratches it fondly at its neck above its shoulders. The beast sits, its leg kicking wildly.
He walks to Gary and takes the bag of soap before tossing it to Gorneesh. The king catches it, brightening immediately before yelling in his language. In a minute, the blurrg is saddled and harnessed before Duloks toss roped bags over the creature's back.
"Smoked meat," Gorneesh explains, motioning to the bags. "Good luck, co-mann-derr."
Despite the pain, he takes Gary's hand and helps him onto the blurrg. The stormtrooper wobbles but stabilizes himself. The commander turns the blurrg, standing within a crowd of Duloks now. He examines the village one more time before raising his ax. Instantly, the Duloks cheer him, roaring and whooping excitedly. Gorneesh smiles broadly.
The commander nudges the blurrg with his heels, charging out of the village. Sensing the Dulok's mood and the stormtroopers' intent, it sprints into the woods to the cheers and celebration of the villagers. Once they're beyond the Duloks' sight, the commander slows the blurrg to a trot. Gary sighs, "Oh, thank the emperor, I almost fell off three times.
"Use your legs," the commander tells him. Feeling better than he has in a long time, the commander laughs loudly, "Don't fall off, either. I won't turn the blurrg around."
Suddenly, Gary's hands wrap around his waist while his head rests on the commander's shoulder. The commander's discomfort erupts with the force of a volcano; tension spreads through him. Worst, the commander knows Gary did it intentionally, just to bait him.
"You ruin everything, Gary."
Gary snickers, "Doing my best, sir."
Silence rings in the absence of the Separatist shelling. Bull shifts to a crouch, searching for enemies. The boy mirrors him and looks too. Then Bull yells, "Sound off! Who's alive?"
A few troopers climb out of burrows made of corpses or holes in the ground. Then the Jedi master emerges from the trees, "The force is with us."
"General," Bull falters. "I don't see how we can continue. What are your orders?"
"We hold our ground," the Jedi replies. "Our predicament is dire but do not despair. Trust the Force; we are not without hope, but we must hold our ground."
"Yes, sir," they replied flatly.
"We're going to be slaughtered," the boy whispered Bull.
The Clone trooper sighs before replying with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, "A good soldier follows orders. We have our orders, trooper."
He looks around, quickly realizing that the clones will follow their orders into the grave. Disbelief, horror, and shock bled out of him during the battles, and now, he feels only a hint of sadness. He racks his brain, realizing that these fortunate few survivors will soon join their comrades if something doesn't change. The dead overwhelmingly outnumbers the living now.
"What about the dead?" He blurts out.
"What?" Bull demands. "What about them?"
"We use them. My father always said you have to use the land, every bit of it. Take cover behind trees, hide among the ferns or in high grasses, and strike your prey from hiding."
"Use them?" Bull demands. "That's our brothers!"
The Cerean Jedi raises a hand, stalling Bull, "Please continue, trooper."
"Prop them up, put a blaster in their hands," the boy insists. "The droids can't tell who's alive or dead. We'll distract them. From cover, we'll shoot them or throw grenades."
"That's…a little morbid," even behind his helmet, Bull can barely hide his disgust.
"Every moment we live means a chance to take down another clanker," the boy looks at the Jedi, who strokes his bearded chin. "We owe it to everyone that died, sir."
"I agree that this is a gruesome plan," the Jedi general begins. "Yet, our young trooper is correct. We are obligated not just to those that died here but to everyone on every battlefield. If we do not stop them here, they will arrive upon other planets, and the cost will grow."
Beginning as a whisper, the "Tromp, tromp, tromp" of battle droids rise in the distance. Bull throws up his arms in surrender, "I guess a nasty plan is better than no plan. Let's move!"
The Clones work rapidly and without words, positioning their brothers defensively. They lean them against ditches, walls, and even droids. In minutes, it appears as if an entire company holds firm. The survivors gather grenades and position weapons for rapid use. Soon, they lay among the fallen while the Jedi master occupies the center, raising his blue lightsaber for battle.
The march of robotic feet grows deafening as a barrage of blasterfire washes over them.
"Sir, wake up," the commander receives a hard shake. He jerks, nearly falling off the blurrg. Once he's fully awake, he feels awful, frozen, sweat-stained—his shoulder throbs too.
The commander blinks, looking around and realizing they're almost to the bunker. He growls, "How long did I sleep?"
"About an hour, sir, the blurrg is faster than I expected," Gary replies. Suddenly, the commander realizes Gary is the only thing holding him on the blurrg. "It knew where to go."
"Thanks for keeping me from falling." He says. "I think the Ewoks poisoned me."
"It's pretty obvious, sir," Gary replies. "You don't even sound like yourself."
After reflecting, he admits, "I feel awful."
"You spoke in your sleep," Gary points out. "It must have been pretty intense."
Decades of Imperial service cautions him against any disclosure. In truth, he felt safer revealing his past to General Syndula than to any Imperial officer. In the Empire, treachery waits around every corner, and information can be as dangerous as blasters. A rebel may betray or use it against him, but an Imperial rival certainly will.
None of which saved the Deathstar or the emperor.
"I dreamt about the Clone Wars. After my father died, a Clone trooper took me under his wing. Bull was a beast; it was all I could do to keep up with him. The droids were advancing on our position, and we stood the dead up to distract them. Near the end, we fought hand to hand in trenches of the dead and destroyed. The Jedi general kept the focus on him, jumping around like a low-grav acrobat, but the droids grossly outnumbered us."
"What happened?" Gary asks. "Did you win?"
"Yes and no," the commander replies quietly. "The battle was an ambush. The Separatists thought the Jedi general was trapped and committed everything he had. While the droids focused on us, they left their leaders undefended. The Jedi general's elite unit slipped onto the planet and wiped them out. Then, they decimated the droids. My world, my village, and all the dead were only a diversion to keep the droids away from valuable targets."
"Blast, what'd you do when you found out?" Gary asks.
"You killed them! You did this to us! You destroyed my home, my family! The village trusted you!" He screamed, desperate to turn his blaster on the Jedi general. Bull was too strong, easily dragging him away, even as the Clone apologized to the Jedi. "Don't worry about him, sir. He's just a little out of sorts from the battle."
The red-clothed elite troopers protected their general, pointing blasters at him, but the Cerean remained utterly neutral. He declared, "Every sacrifice, every loss, was necessary to protect valuable assets, in accordance to my mandate. "
"Nothing," the commander replies, the memory a momentary distraction from his misery. As they approached the bunker, they recognized that a dramatic change had occurred. Dozens of troopers protect the walls, standing guard or patrolling them. Viper probe droids hover in the air, warning of their approach. Even more Imperials hold the yard, alongside astromechs and mouse droids. An entire squad guards the gate with their blasters ready. Far more importantly, every last trooper is camouflaged. "Listen, Gary, I need to walk into the bunker."
"Are you sure you can?" Gary whispers skeptically. "Sir, you're in bad shape. You look terrible and smell worse."
"I know, but they need to see us, our blood and wounds. You know how low morale is, but if we keep going, they'll follow our lead. It may even inspire them."
"It'll be pretty uninspiring if you fall flat on your face, sir."
"Oh, I know," the commander grunts sarcastically. "Are you still with me, Gary?"
"Do I have a choice?" Gary asks brightly.
At the gate, they dismount the blurrg. The force of climbing off is jarring to him and sets off another series of fires in the commander's shoulder. Gritting his teeth and barely keeping from crying out, he turns to the guards. They jerk, then salute uniformly.
Unable to move his right arm, he growls, "Carry on."
It's a struggle to stand straight; his shoulder feels broken, even though he knows it's not. The commander can barely keep from wobbling. The blurrg takes a step forward, pulling him, and he leans against it. Now that he's moving, his blood starts flowing, and he feels a bit better.
"Sir," a scout trooper calls. "Should I take the blurrg for you?"
"Yes," the commander forces his voice to project, speaking loudly and in a commanding tone. "See that she's fed and cared for; we're not done, and we may be leaving again soon. Take the smoked meat and give it to the mess hall."
As the blurrg is led away, the commander realizes everyone is staring at him, even the troops on the walls. He takes them in, turning his gaze slowly when someone laughs.
Instantly, the commander glares at the man as the laughter spreads. His hand brushes the ax, his anger flaring before he realizes they're looking at Gary.
"It hurts so bad!" Gary rubs the insides of his thighs, walking bowlegged after riding.
"Stand up straight, trooper," the commander growls. "You're embarrassing me."
"I've never ridden anything before, sir!"
The laughter grows steady, but the commander reminds everyone, "You all have responsibilities! BACK TO WORK!"
The Imperials return to their duties quickly. Their light mood helped the commander, but his pain only faded to the background. It didn't go away.
One step follows another, even though his legs feel leaden. He doesn't rush. Instead, he turns his gaze slowly with each step, pretending to study his forces. It's a farse; even turning his head is painful now. Still, he stands straight, and each step appears taken with a deliberate pace.
Above the courtyard, in the blown-out window of the office, Captain Wither overlooks them. Her posture is stern, upright, and indomitable. Her eyes tell a different story, widened in shock, sharply focused on the commander. Then, she speaks with someone in the office.
Without warning, a trooper in shimmering black armor appears at her side. Another figure takes the opposite side of her, wearing bright crimson armor.