It was a plan equal parts ingenious and insane. And yet, to Commander Sitrep's continued astonishment, it had succeeded. Sitrep knew that each time the gravity well generators of the Watch Stronghold activated, there was a brief period where its seemingly impenetrable shields went down. He recognised the potential weakness- that brief but decisive window of opportunity. What he didn't expect, however, was Thrawn's absurd manner of exploiting it. Thrawn had placed a Cronau radiation sensor in geosynchronous orbit above Concordia, one which would signal the approach of an incoming raider- and, more importantly, signal when the base's gravity well generators were about to activate. Then- and this was where the plan turned utterly unhinged- Thrawn's forces would perform a blind hyperspace jump along a vector intersecting with the interdiction field, appearing instantly above the briefly unshielded fortress. It was an insane manoeuvre that risked losing the entire strike force to space's endless void. But the risk paid off.
The moment they'd arrived above the base, Thrawn routed the lone raider with a pair of Fang starfighters and ordered three torpedoes be launched from the Blitzkrieg. The purpose of these strikes was not to damage the stronghold- rather, it was to conceal the launch of a fourth projectile: a deep-scan probe. In recent years, such probes had become a vital tool for subterranean surveys, used extensively for their ability to detect beskar veins beneath the surface of Mandalore. Thrawn had employed one for a different purpose. Data from the probe, combined with old schematics from the base's days as a mine, allowed the Blitzkrieg's gunners to swiftly identify and eliminate its hanger bays before even a single enemy fighter could be scrambled. Then, while a squadron of Y-Wings acted as a diversion, a Mandalorian strike force led by High Paladin Kryze descended from orbit to seize control of the exposed Surface Facility where Thrawn suspected the base's shields and gravity well generators would be housed. This assumption, Sitrep thought, was at least somewhat sensible. The gravity well generators could not be underground since projecting an interdiction field through solid earth would trigger violent seismic activity. And considering the seeming link between the stronghold's shields and grav-well generators- indicated by the way the activation of one necessitated the deactivation of the other- it would be logical to place the two systems in close proximity for optimal coordination.
This series of absurd gambles culminated in a truly devastating attack- one which saw the First Light permanently disabling the enemies' shields, gaining control of their gravity well generators, and blunting a significant portion of their offensive capabilities. Now, the Blitzkrieg hung over the engagement zone, sporadically bombarding the mountain-range with scatterings of turbolaser fire. But one question lingered on Sitrep's mind.
"What now?"
Upon taking control of the Surface Facility, Bo-Katan's paladins had disabled its turbolift, cutting it off from any potential reinforcements. Turbolaser fire from the Blitzkrieg made any other method of exiting the stronghold a treacherous prospect. The Children of the Watch were trapped- cornered rats, but very much still a threat. And any conceivable way of breaching the facility seemed to risk countless First Light lives. Sitrep had raised this very concern with Thrawn in the aftermath of the initial attack, but was given yet another question in response.
"What was the purpose of my transmission to the Watch?"
Thrawn stood in his office surrounded by holographic depictions of Mandalorian art- paintings, statues, and all manner of architecture. Sitrep didn't understand it. What purpose did admiring art serve at a time like this?
"I... don't know, sir. It sounded like you were taunting them. Unless... was it your intention to goad them?"
"You're on the right track..."
"With all due respect, I don't see what bearing this has on-"
"Commander Sitrep. Surely you realise that to defeat an enemy, you must know them. Not simply their battle tactics, but their history- philosophy- art."
Thrawn gestured to a holographic painting in front of him, depicting a masked warrior wielding a pitch-black blade. The figure was surrounded by warring aliens with strange faces and unreadable expressions.
"Look at this mural, Commander Sitrep. What does it tell you about its creators?"
"Sir, I... apologies, but... I don't know what you want me to say."
"This figure- a warrior, certainly, but so much more than that. Every aspect of this piece serves to draw attention back to this single person. Look at how they are depicted: central, domineering, surrounded by an aura of stylised power. The rest of the artwork is almost abstract, using vague, flowing lines. By contrast, this figure is depicted using sharp, angular shapes. Why has the artist worked so hard to create this distinction? What does it tell you about the purpose of the artwork and the values it is intended to convey?"
"Well... I would imagine the mural was made to honour this figure. I mean, whoever made this must have held them in high esteem- maybe even treated them with the same reverence that some cultures treat their deities."
"That may be true, but it speaks to a deeper pattern. This is more than a way to memorialise or glorify a hero of old. This warrior is an ideal- someone that all Mandalorians should aspire to be. This piece- and Mandalorian art more broadly- emphasises the importance of individual exceptionalism. To be Mandalorian is to strive for individual strength, individual excellence- and to use one's own power to set oneself apart from- and above- others."
"I see..." replied Sitrep. Though secretly, he had no clue how Thrawn had arrived at that conclusion.
"The weakness of such thinking is that it predisposes a people towards perpetual distrust. What happens when the veneration of the individual takes precedence over the good of the collective? What are the consequences of a society built upon self-interest? Infighting. War. A deep-rooted suspicion of everyone around you- even of those you claim to trust. You need only look back at Mandalorian history to see these ideals played out."
"You got all of that from one mural?"
Thrawn shook his head. The mural was a singular datapoint- part of a much greater trend. But there was no sense dwelling on it any further.
"Now, pay close attention to the words I used when I spoke to the Children of the Watch," he said. "I insinuated that Bo-Katan Kryze was just one of many sources I had at my disposal. I told Paz Vizsla that he had best get used to betrayal should he wish to continue along his present path. And I demonstrated knowledge that by all accounts, I shouldn't possess- knowledge of his gravity well generators, knowledge of the hangar bay locations, knowledge of the stronghold's weaknesses and how best to exploit them. The intention was to plant a certain idea in his head- the idea that he cannot trust the people around him. The idea that there might be a traitor in their midst."
A grim smirk spread across Thrawn's face as he spoke.
"This is a people particularly susceptible to paranoia and dangerously prone to violence. Force them into a stressful environment- say, trapped underground and under constant bombardment... and with the seeds of doubt sown, it's only a matter of time before they turn on each other. For now, we need only observe as the Children of the Watch tear themselves apart; they'll be the architects of their own destruction."
"Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough."
The words echoed endlessly. She'd insisted she was ready. She was desperate to prove herself to Empress Tano. But she'd failed. Though Leia's training continued relentlessly, she'd been uncharacteristically subdued and despondent through it all. She'd stopped pestering her instructors with her once endless questions. Her fiery spirit- that seemingly unshakeable confidence- had vanished. Now, she merely went through the motions, dreading the day the Empress would cast her aside.
"I failed. I failed. I failed."
The ache in her chest didn't go away. For once, someone had seen something in her. For once, she'd had a chance to make Empress Tano- the greatest being in the entire universe- proud. And she'd ruined it. It wasn't that she wasn't capable. Everyone always saw such potential in her- such promise for greatness. But like so many times before, she'd squandered it. Ahsoka's criticism lingered in her mind- an ever-present source of violent disgust.
"Arrogant. Petulant. Unwilling to learn."
She'd tried to put on a brave face. She'd tried to appear unfazed. She'd trained like a mindless automaton, her true feelings concealed behind a forced passivity. But she wasn't blind to the happenings around her. Be it in the physical or the academic pursuits, one fact was unavoidable: she wasn't improving. If anything, she was regressing, her natural talent crumbling under the weight of Ahsoka's expectations. Was this all she had to look forward to? Would she amount to nothing, remarkable only by the sheer scope of the potential she'd wasted?
Each day became an exercise in frustration- another chance to disappoint both herself and those who'd dedicated so much to training her. But nights were worse. When there was nothing left to distract her, the swirling thoughts became impossible to ignore. Dread for a future she had no place in. Despair at her abject loneliness. Seething self-hatred and the wish to just disappear. One night, it was just too much. Leia stumbled, sobbing, to her bathroom, collapsing to the floor in the room's pale glow. She clawed violently at her own skin, digging her nails into her arms. She cried and scratched and hurt, and didn't stop until her skin was covered with haphazard lines of red. She deserved this. Of course she deserved this. She was a failure and would treat herself as such.
Her stomach retched. Her heart ached. But, for a moment, her thoughts were quiet.