21 BBY: Republic Military Command
My hard work had paid off, I had begun distancing myself from the Jedi. Tarkin really must have pulled quite a few strings to get me here. Sitting in my office with a warm cup of coffee, a true testament to civilization. I could really get used to this. Having a work life like this couldn't be more ideal at the moment. That being said there would be no shortage of work. Going through all of the trouble to get me here, they must expect a lot out of me. Honestly I don't mind doing the work. Being away from those Jedi is like a weight lifted off my shoulders. I finally feel like my work can be appreciated.
With my transfer came a standard Republic military officer's uniform—a stark departure from the Jedi robes I had grown accustomed to, and yet, quite familiar. As I donned it for the first time, a sense of déjà vu washed over me. I could appreciate the tailor's attention to my stature.
The uniform itself was functional, yet undeniably formal, with a high-collared tunic made from a durable, matte-gray fabric that exuded authority. The buttons were polished to a mirror shine, each one meticulously aligned down the center. The insignia on the shoulder marked me as an officer, its geometric precision a subtle but clear indication of my new rank and responsibilities.
The dark trousers were tailored to fit perfectly, their edges creased sharply enough to cut paper. My boots, black and gleaming, rose just below the knee, their weight grounding me in this new role. Around my waist was a utility belt—practical, yet emblematic of the military's focus on functionality over ornamentation. Even the belt's buckle bore the Republic's insignia.
A cap, part of the ensemble, rested neatly on my head. When I looked at my reflection, I barely recognized myself. Gone was the image of a child knight; in its place stood a figure of calculated authority.
My assignments at the moment revolved around the tedious—but essential—tasks of paperwork and immersing myself in the intricacies of the warfront. They wanted me to devise ways to outwit the Separatists, leveraging my experience with the Jedi and intellect to address a conflict of unprecedented scale. The tactical situation was unique, to say the least, given the composition of the forces engaged. It reminded me of the Eastern Front against the Federation—endless masses of droids facing off against a small but elite force of clone troopers. Of course, the galaxy had transformed such battles into something far removed from what I had seen in my previous lives. The fighting took place on a 4D plane, a galaxy-spanning war.
The people of Coruscant, meanwhile, carried on their lives as if the war didn't exist. Shielded by their distance from the front lines, they lounged in their opulence, blissfully ignorant of the harsh realities faced by those fighting to preserve their way of life. No wonder so many of them were detached from the grim truths of war. It was always a mess, and somehow, I always seemed to end up in the thick of it.
As I sifted through tactical reports and adjusted theoretical models, my thoughts wandered. But the abrupt chirp of my comm interrupted my musings. I answered it immediately, straightening as Tarkin's hologram flickered to life.
"Tanya Valken," Tarkin began, his tone sharp and direct, "your work so far has proven invaluable to strategic command. Given your contributions, I've put you in for promotion to Lieutenant Commander. Congratulations."
"Thank you, sir," I replied crisply, inclining my head. "I'm honored."
Tarkin's expression shifted slightly, a hint of warning in his tone. "The Jedi, unsurprisingly, have their qualms about losing one of their brightest students so suddenly. Their disapproval has caused quite a political headache for the military. Not everyone approves of your presence here."
"I understand," I said evenly, hiding my irritation at the political obstacles.
"While the Chancellor himself has endorsed your transfer, there are those who view your ideas as unproven, a gamble rather than an asset. This promotion is an opportunity, Valken—a chance to silence the dissenters. Prove yourself once again, and make them see the value you bring. Good luck, Lieutenant Commander. The Republic is counting on you."
I raised my hand in a sharp salute. "For the Republic. I will not fail them."
"Good," Tarkin replied. "Your new assignment is being transferred to you now. Begin immediately."
With that, the hologram flickered out, leaving me alone with the soft hum of the datapad in my hand. The details of my new mission were already loading on the screen. My thoughts churned. Tarkin was a man of calculated precision—he wouldn't have made this move unless he was confident in its value. Still, the promotion to Lieutenant Commander felt... precipitous. Had I made that strong of an impression, or was this a test wrapped in the guise of an opportunity? The unease gnawed at me even as I delved into the mission briefing.
The unease gave way to a sharp jolt of disbelief as I read the orders.
"Report to Hangar B13 at 0800 hours to join Commander Rho Vesken's task force. You are to assist in the completion of their objectives and comply with their directives."
I stared at the screen, re-reading the words as if they might change. All my efforts to steer clear of the front lines, all the work I'd done to establish my value in research and strategy—undone in an instant. My attempt to carve out a niche in the relative safety of analysis and planning had failed.
My hands clenched into fists as I processed the implications. Being thrust back into combat wasn't just inconvenient—it was insulting. They wanted me to prove myself on the battlefield? My critical thinking and contributions weren't enough? What more did they want?
I leaned back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. War was, as always, an exercise in futility and waste. Yet here I was again, dragged back into the chaos. I couldn't help but feel the hand of Being X in this turn of events, pulling strings to keep me entrenched in violence.
21 BBY: Aboard The Invictus
Rho's fleet was deep into preparations for their next mission. The task force was a small but capable contingent centered around Rho's flagship, the Invictus, a Venator-class Star Destroyer. Accompanying it were two Arquitens-class light cruisers, a pair of Acclamator-class assault ships for troop transport, and a handful of Consular-class frigates retrofitted for fleet support.
The repairs from their previous mission—a hard-fought engagement to repel Separatist forces from Cyressia Prime—were nearly complete. That operation had been marred by incomplete intelligence, and the sting of failure still lingered. Rho had little patience for military intelligence's lapses, and he silently cursed their inadequacies as he read through the latest orders from central command.
His brow furrowed as he reached an unexpected name in the dispatch: Lieutenant Commander Tanya Valken.
"This can't be good," Rho muttered under his breath. He didn't have time to ponder it further as his second-in-command, a seasoned clone officer named Captain Dax, approached.
"Commander," Dax said with a crisp salute, "the fleet has completed its repairs and will be ready to deploy by 1900 hours."
Rho nodded. "Excellent news. As usual, central has given us another impossible task. They want us to raid a Separatist logistics hub on Kastallax V. Intelligence claims it's a critical node in their supply chain, but lightly defended since they're not expecting a Republic attack. Command provided us with classified hyperspace lanes to maintain the element of surprise and give us the upper hand."
"Understood, sir. Shall I begin briefing the troops?" Dax asked.
"One more thing," Rho said, setting down the datapad. His tone grew heavier. "This mission is being kept under wraps. The Jedi Council doesn't openly approve of aggressive operations like this. Central, however, has decided to bypass them entirely."
Dax's helmeted head tilted slightly. "They've done this before, sir. But why would they make a point of mentioning it now?"
"Because," Rho said, leaning back in his chair, "central is dispatching a special officer to join us—Lieutenant Commander Tanya Valken. According to her file, she's only seventeen years old."
Dax blinked, momentarily caught off guard despite his usual composure. "Seventeen years old, sir? That must be a mistake."
"No mistake," Rho said, his tone dry. "She was a Jedi—a prodigy, apparently—until she had a falling out with the Council over the direction of the war. Central seems to trust her enough to bypass the Jedi consultation. The distrust between the two is really growing. That being said, I can't say I share their confidence in Valken."
Dax frowned beneath his helmet. "What do you plan to do with her, Commander?"
"She was a Jedi, and from what I've read, she doesn't shy away from voicing her discontent. She might be brilliant, or she might be a liability. Dax, I'm handing her to you." Rho stood and faced Dax. "I don't want interference in my navel battle. I don't fully trust someone from the Jedi Order whether they are with them or not. Utilizing her on the ground will be less of a liability to me. Once we punch through the Separatist fleet above Kastallax V, you'll lead the ground assault to destroy their logistics hub. I will leave the details of the plan to you. See if she can be of use to you there."
Dax saluted sharply. "Understood, Commander. Thank you for your trust. For the Republic."
Rho returned the salute with precision. "For the Republic."
As I boarded my Nu-class attack shuttle, it took off almost immediately. A designated pilot was at the controls, sparing me the effort. While efficient, the lack of control only deepened the unease gnawing at me. I was walking into this mission blind—command hadn't told me a thing beyond the basics. Clearly, they wanted to see how well I could adapt under pressure, though it seemed more like a test of endurance than skill.
It wasn't long before the Venator-class Star Destroyer came into view. The massive vessel loomed like an airborne fortress, its sheer scale a testament to the technological progress of this galaxy. The Venator-class reminded me of an aircraft carrier, except this one flew. Sleek, deadly, and brimming with firepower. The ship's prow loomed over the shuttle as we approached, giving me a full view of its colossal hangar bay.
As my shuttle approached, the pilot transmitted our clearance codes and guided us toward the designated landing zone in the hangar. The shuttle landed with a hiss of hydraulics, and I straightened my uniform. A quick tug of my officer's hat and a subtle adjustment of my lightsaber on my belt, and I descended the ramp. Standing at attention was Major Dax, flanked by two clones from the 509th Republic Assault Legion.
"Lieutenant Commander Valken," Dax said, extending a hand. "It's an honor to meet you."
I took his hand and shook it firmly. "The pleasure is mine, Major."
"If you'll follow me, I'll escort you to the bridge. Commodore Rho is expecting you."
I nodded, falling in step beside him. The hangar bustled with activity—clones running drills, engineers retrofitting starfighters, and officers shouting commands. War has its rhythm, its own oppressive zeitgeist. No matter how far the galaxy stretched, some things remained the same.
When we reached the bridge, the door slid open with a mechanical hiss. Inside, Commodore Rho Vesken stood at the tactical command table, reviewing a holographic projection of Kastallax V. The towering man turned as we approached, his crisp Republic uniform immaculate, his presence commanding.
"Greetings, Tanya Valken. I'm Commander Rho," he said, extending his hand. "It's an honor to meet you."
I returned the gesture. "The same goes for you, Commander."
His expression hardened slightly, turning to focus. "We don't have much time, so I'll be brief. Our mission is a deep infiltration into Separatist territory. Intelligence has identified a critical supply depot on Kastallax V. If we succeed in neutralizing it, we'll cripple their logistical chain in this sector. However, time is not on our side. Once we attack, Separatist reinforcements will be en route within hours."
"I understand, sir," I replied evenly, though inwardly I was already bracing for the details.
"I'm sure you're curious about your role in this mission. For that, I'll defer to Commander Dax."
Dax stepped forward and saluted. "Sir."
Turning to me, Dax explained, "The naval battle will be under Commander Rho's command. I'll lead the main ground assault, but you'll be taking point on a critical objective. You're to command the 497th Shadows of Kastallax on a stealth infiltration mission. Once we exit hyperspace and engage the Separatist fleet, you'll board a stealth shuttle and head for the surface. Your mission is to infiltrate the facility and disable the planetary shields, allowing the rest of our forces to land."
I stifled a sigh as I processed his words. Of course, I'd get stuck with the special ops mission. Not only would I have to work with a team I'd never met, but I'd also be operating blind in a high-stakes operation. At least the clones wouldn't be green recruits—they were bred for this. Still, the odds weren't in my favor.
"I understand," I said. "Will I have any support during the mission, or am I completely on my own?"
"Unfortunately," Dax said, his tone apologetic, "we can't provide direct support. The success of this operation hinges on maintaining surprise. We can't afford to stretch our forces or risk drawing attention to your infiltration while the fleet is engaged."
They were putting a lot on me for someone who had just arrived. Did they trust me that much? That didn't seem plausible. No, this felt more like a test—or a setup. I pressed the matter.
"I see," I said carefully. "Given the critical nature of my mission, do we have a failsafe if something goes wrong? Banking entirely on its success seems...rash."
"Failure is not an option here," Commander Dax said firmly, his gaze unwavering. "I'm giving you my best men for this mission. They won't fail you."
It was clear that pressing my concerns any further would be futile. Leadership that can't fathom failure rarely sees reason. A small headache started to thrum behind my eyes.
"I will give it my all," I replied, masking my discontent.
"I wish you luck, Valken. May the Force be with you."
The Force… I thought bitterly. It's nothing more than another form of divine manipulation. A convenient substitute for a diety. I'd bet my life that Being X has his influence all over it. But those musings would have to wait—I had a mission to focus on.
First, I needed to meet my squad. I can't run away now, as much as I want to. My departure from the Jedi relied on powerful figures keeping me here. For now, I needed to prove my usefulness to the military.
As Tanya left the command bridge, Rho turned to Dax, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face.
"Why did you give her the infiltration mission?" Rho asked.
"I deduced that since we can't fully trust her, sending her in on her own would be an effective test of her abilities," Dax replied without hesitation. "Her mission will not be easy, and the 497th isn't exactly an easy squad to manage. I'm hitting two birds with one stone here—testing her competence and evaluating how well she can lead experienced clones in a high-stakes operation."
Rho leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. "I see. And if they fail?"
"If they fail, I plan to use the fleet to deploy a secondary assault team and bombardment. They'll execute a contingency operation to neutralize the base and disable the shield generator by brute force. It will cost us time and resources, but the Separatist logistics hub is too critical to leave intact. This way, she won't be a problem to us."
Rho raised an eyebrow. "A calculated risk, then."
Dax nodded. "Precisely. If she succeeds, she proves her worth and gains my trust. If she fails, it justifies keeping her out of situations where she might endanger the mission or disrupt the chain of command. Either way, I'll have my answer."
Rho regarded Dax thoughtfully, then glanced toward the viewport where the stars shimmered. "Let's hope your plan doesn't cost us more than it's worth."
"It won't," Dax replied confidently. "One way or another, we'll achieve our objective. The Republic can't afford anything less."
I made my way to Block D4 in the hangar, where the 497th was waiting. According to the memo there were four of them, each supposedly experienced in special operations. Based on the profiles I skimmed, they were solid choices for this assignment. Despite my reservations, I had to admit most clones had considerable combat experience. The droids on the other hand had a combat doctrine reliant on large numbers. In other words a quantity over quality model.
The clone army, however, was quite the opposite. They weren't manufactured, but bred for war, and war alone. They'd never had the chance to choose their fate, trapped in a cycle of endless violence. Their losses were much more difficult to replenish. It was a grim existence, one I could almost sympathize with. Almost. After all, I hadn't exactly chosen this life either.
"Get your gear ready, brothers; the mission is a special operation behind enemy lines. We can't rely on support from the fleet this time."
"Did you hear who's leading the mission? They better be better than the last one." one clone muttered, double-checking the calibration of his DC-15 blaster rifle.
"Yeah," another replied, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Some Jedi who ditched the Jedi Order for the military. Valken, right? I hear she's only seventeen."
"Seventeen years old and already a lieutenant commander? That doesn't sound right."
"Well, she better not hold us back. The clankers aren't gonna pull punches," the first clone shot back.
Their squad leader, a seasoned sergeant, cut in. "Listen, brothers. I get the doubts, but orders are orders. Her record speaks for itself—she's got a reputation for getting things done. Let's hold our judgment until we see her in action. Now, gear up. The mission starts in thirty minutes."
As the clones packed their equipment, the little girl approached from the far end of the hangar. The sergeant squinted, his gut suddenly tightening. Something about her felt...off. Her stride, deliberate and unhurried, was eerily at odds with her small stature. Despite everyone's reservations as she drew closer, his unease deepened. Her look reminded him of the Dathomirian witches he had heard about. Then her piercing green eyes locked onto them, scanning each face.
Those eyes—they were lifeless, grim, he knew those eyes of a soldier who'd lived through far too much. The kind he'd seen in war-torn commanders who'd stared into the abyss and come back hollow. Never had he though a mere child would intimidate him this much.
As I stopped before them, the clones quickly snapped to attention.
"Troopers," I began, my voice cold and precise, "I'm Lieutenant Commander Tanya Valken. I'll be commading our impending mission. State your names and ranks."
One by one, they answered.
"Sergeant Vrex, ma'am."
"Corporal Talek, ma'am."
"Private First Class Renn, ma'am."
"Private Verik, ma'am."
Each voice carried a mix of professionalism and curiosity. As I memorized their names, I noticed their subtle glances—curiosity, suspicion, and, for some, a flicker of wariness.
"You've been assigned to me for this mission," I continued. "I expect nothing less than perfection. I've read your files—each of you is here because command considers the Shadows of Kastallax the best for this mission. I'll hold you to that standard. Report to our assigned vessel as soon as you've packed. You'll receive your specific orders en route. Dismissed."
Our vessel, a Nu-class attack shuttle, was equipped with advanced stealth capabilities, ensuring we'd maintain the element of surprise. As I boarded, I navigated to the holographic display table and inserted my datapad. These designs were clearly not intended for someone of my stature, but getting frustrated over that would serve no purpose. Grabbing a stool, I elevated myself enough to see the projection properly.
The file I displayed contained our limited intel on the enemy base. The layout was far from concrete—an approximation of the shield generator's location at best. Command seemed confident it would be enough to complete the mission, but I wasn't as optimistic. Military intelligence was notoriously unreliable. The lack of definitive data gnawed at the edges of my patience, but I buried my annoyance for the time being.
As I mulled over these thoughts, the squad began boarding the ship. Sergeant Vrex was the first to speak, his voice steady and professional.
"Commander Valken, what are our orders?"
I turned to address them, gesturing toward the holographic display.
"Intelligence has provided us with an approximate location of the shield generator. The base layout we have is outdated, as the Separatists have since retrofitted the facility. That means there's a high chance the layout has changed. What we do know is that they aren't expecting a direct infiltration. The fleet will serve as the primary distraction, but that means we'll have limited time to complete our objective. Upon landing, stay sharp—look for any clues or indications of where the generator might be located."
Corporal Talek stepped forward, his tone carrying a touch of eagerness.
"Ma'am, are we permitted to eliminate high-value targets along the way, in addition to taking down the generator? I'm sure the ground assault team would appreciate the assistance."
I held up a hand to temper his enthusiasm.
"I understand the temptation, Corporal, but we can't risk compromising the mission. The shield generator is our sole priority. Taking out other targets is secondary and only permissible if it doesn't jeopardize our objective."
Talek gave a curt nod. "Understood, Ma'am."
"Any other questions?"
Private Renn raised his hand.
"Commander, once the shields are down, are we joining the ground assault?"
I shook my head.
"No. Once the shields are down, our orders are to secure the ship and return to base. The fleet and Commander Dax will handle the rest of the operation. Our task is to complete the infiltration and preserve Republic assets. Wasting resources unnecessarily is not an option."
"Understood."
I looked over the squad, my gaze sharp and commanding.
"The 509th is counting on us. The success of this operation hinges entirely on our ability to infiltrate, disable the shields, and extract swiftly. Prepare yourselves for anything. Enemy tactical assets inside are unknown, so stay alert. Dismissed."
21 BBY: Separatist Logistics Base
The cavernous halls of the separatist base on Kastallax V hummed with mechanical efficiency. Battle droids patrolled in precise formation, their servos whirring in unison. Amid the sterile monotony of metal walls and flickering displays, a towering figure loomed, his presence a stark contrast to the droids' calculated uniformity.
The centuries-old bounty hunter, was clad in his menacing, spiked armor, its dark plating marred with the scorch marks of countless battles. His imposing form radiated a palpable aura of violence barely restrained. The dim lighting reflected off the crimson visor of his helmet, giving him an otherworldly glow that only heightened the air of danger surrounding him. His mere silhouette could have cowed most beings, but the battle droids paid him no mind—they lacked the intelligence to feel fear.
Boredom, however, was something Durge could feel all too keenly. He stalked down the main corridor, his boots striking the metal floor with a weight that seemed to echo his displeasure. His heavy gauntlets clenched at his sides, fingers twitching as if aching for combat. The intermission between missions was leaden.
He stopped by a viewport overlooking the desolate landscape outside. Jagged cliffs and an abundance of greenery swirled across the planet's surface. He lamented his situation as he surveyed the unremarkable horizon.
"Stuck babysitting a depot while the war's real action happens elsewhere," he muttered to himself, his voice distorted and amplified by his helmet's speakers. "They waste me here. I could be cutting through Jedi on the front lines. Killing them, like I'm supposed to."
His annoyance festered as he recalled the numerous Jedi he had slain over his long career, their self-righteous ideals shattered under their craven assault. The reminiscence brought a flicker of satisfaction, but it wasn't enough to quell his frustration. He didn't just live for the fight—he thrived on it. Every day spent away was another wasted opportunity to carve his name deeper into the annals of fear and destruction.
Behind him, a B1 battle droid approached, its thin frame wobbling slightly with each step.
"Sir," it said in its nasally, monotone voice, "we've received no updates from central command. All systems are operating at peak efficiency."
Durge turned, his immense size making the droid appear comically small. He stared down at it for a long, tense moment before replying. "Of course, they haven't sent anything. Why would they? No one cares about this place."
The droid tilted its head. "Orders are to maintain current operations. Shall I relay—"
"Forget it," Durge snapped, waving the droid away. It scampered off, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. I'll just have to contact the count directly. Surely he won't turn down my offer. It's been years since I've felt this generous about my services. The war brought an opportunity like no other to finally openly confront and destroy my enemies. Little did Durge know that the battle would come to him.
As the 509th fleet exited hyperspace, the Shadows of Kastallax sprang into action. The battle had begun. It appeared the sneak attack worked—the Separatists were sluggish to respond, likely caught off-guard by the sudden arrival of our fleet. Republic fighters launched in tight formation, weaving through the chaos to cover our approach. Meanwhile, our stealth transport activated its cloaking field, allowing us to slip past the Separatist blockade unnoticed. At least that part had gone off without a hitch. I suppressed a sigh as I braced for what was to come.
I didn't sign up for this. But lamenting my fate wouldn't change anything now. As the stealth ship glided toward the planet's surface, I double-checked my equipment one last time. My officer's uniform was pristine, but the addition of my mask felt... necessary. With a hiss of pressurized air, I locked it into place. It wasn't just for anonymity—though that was useful—it also enhanced communication and provided tactical overlays. Through the visor, I could display maps and telemetry in real time. The synthesizer modified my voice, giving it a commanding edge that masked any hint of youth.
Since leaving the Jedi, I'd made it a point to familiarize myself with blasters. My DC-15A blaster rifle was Republic standard. Although its size was somewhat disproportionate to my stature, I got used to this discrepancy during my time in Germania. Blasters weren't that different from firearms in my previous life, and I had quickly mastered their use. Priming the weapon, I turned to address my squad.
"Alright, men. Listen up," I said, my synthesized voice carrying authority. "The fleet is relying on us. This mission will be a major Republic victory if we succeed. I expect nothing but the best from the 497th Shadows, and from what I've seen and heard, I have confidence in your abilities. We will swiftly complete the mission and extract before the Separatists even realize what hit them. To victory! For the Republic!"
A chorus of "For the Republic!" echoed back at me.
The ship shuddered as we landed, its electromagnetic systems deactivating to preserve stealth. The ramp hissed as it lowered, revealing the forested terrain of Kastallax V. This was it. The mission had begun.
We landed in a dense forest west of the Separatist base. The base itself was carved into a mountainside, its gray durasteel walls blending into the rocky landscape. According to intelligence, a maintenance entrance was located roughly two klicks from our landing zone. I activated my comms, my voice steady and calm.
"01 to squadron. Keep your eyes peeled. We don't know what's in this forest, and there could be guards up ahead."
"Copy," came the swift response.
Blaster raised, I led the team forward. The forest was thick, shadows flickering as we moved under the canopy. The sound of rustling leaves and distant wildlife filled the air, but then I heard it—a howl. A low, guttural noise that sent a chill through the Force. Something was out there.
"01 to squadron. Potentially aggressive lifeform ahead. Prepare to engage on my signal."
"Roger. Standing by."
As we advanced, the outline of a large creature emerged from the shadows. Its hulking form was difficult to make out in the dim light, but its size alone was intimidating. We didn't have time for this, nor could we afford to alert nearby patrols.
"01 to squadron. Move to the right flank. Hold position. I'll handle this."
"Orders confirmed," Vrex replied.
I masked my presence in the Force and leapt silently to the treetops, using the dense foliage as cover. The creature stepped into a clearing, revealing itself fully. It had thick, leathery skin, jagged tusks protruding from its snout, and glowing amber eyes that scanned for prey. Its sheer bulk would have made it a nightmare in close combat.
Positioning myself on an overhanging branch, I holstered my blaster and reached for my lightsaber. I could feel the Mauler's primal instincts radiating through the Force, its hunger and aggression fueling its every move. This needed to be quick.
With a burst of Force-enhanced speed, I leapt from the treetop, igniting my frost-green blade midair. The hum of the lightsaber cut through the night as I descended, severing the Mauler's head in a single, precise strike. I landed gracefully, deactivating my weapon as the beast's lifeless body collapsed with a thud.
"Target eliminated," I said over the comms. "Regroup and proceed to objective."
"Yes, ma'am," Vrex replied.
The rest of the approach was uneventful. As the base came into view, I was struck by its sheer scale. Even from a distance, the sprawling logistics hub was a testament to the Separatists' industrial might. I could see towering cranes moving shipping containers like pieces on a chessboard. The facility's utilitarian design and strategic location made it a prime target—and a nightmare to attack.
I signaled for the squad to deploy their grapples. With swift precision, they scaled the mountain's edge, their movements disciplined and efficient. It was moments like these that I appreciated working with professionals. If only the human capital development in my previous life had been this effective across the board.
At the top, we found the maintenance entrance—a small, unassuming durasteel door nestled against the rock. It was unguarded. The fleet's diversion was working.
"04," I said, signaling the tech expert.
"On it," he replied, moving to the door's control panel.
We aimed our blasters in a sweeping formation, covering every angle as Verik worked. On his signal, the door hissed open, revealing two B1 battle droids stationed just inside. I singled to hold fire as they hadn't spotted us. There was a stealther way to approach this.
"02, deploy EMC," I ordered.
"Affirmative."
Talek rolled an electromagnetic suppression grenade with perfect precision. The device activated with a sharp crackle, disabling the droids instantly. They crumpled to the floor in a heap of metal limbs.
I pulled up the base schematics in my visor, scanning for the general direction of the shield generator. The map wasn't entirely accurate, but it would have to suffice.
"Alright, squad. Let's move. The 509th is counting on us. Victory depends on our success."
Weapons raised and senses heightened, we advanced into the depths of the Separatist base.
Before Durge could contact Count Dooku, it seemed his wish had already been granted. The emergence of Republic forces in his system was like a gift wrapped in chaos, delivered straight to him. His prayers for bloodshed had been answered, though not in the circumstances he'd have chosen. The Separatists were woefully unprepared to face an assault of this magnitude. Still, reinforcements were en route. All the Republic had accomplished was to start a clock ticking down to their own destruction.
"Idiots," Durge growled, the word dripping with disdain. "What are they thinking? Revealing a secret hyperspace lane for this?"
Having lived for over a millennium, Durge was no fool. His bloodlust may have been insatiable, but it was tempered by centuries of hard-earned wisdom. Battle was his craft, but recklessness was the playground of amateurs. Even as his instincts screamed for violence, his mind sharpened with tactical curiosity.
"This isn't a random attack," he mused, pacing the command center with heavy, deliberate steps. "The Republic wouldn't waste forces on a desperate gambit. So what's their play?"
He folded his arms, watching the tactical display as the Republic fleet advanced. The blockade was already faltering under their concentrated assault. Breaking through was inevitable, but the planetary shields would hold long enough for Separatist reinforcements to arrive. Time was on their side.
"Planetary bombardment?" he muttered aloud, dismissing the thought almost immediately. "No. Too blunt. Too reckless. The Republic clings to its façade of moral superiority. Bombing in the crossfire of civilians for a military target would shatter that image."
He tapped a clawed finger against his arm. "A ground invasion? Setting up siege equipment? No, they wouldn't have the time."
Durge's crimson eyes narrowed as the pieces began to slot into place. He could almost hear the gears turning in his mind. He knew there was a missing detail, some thread of logic he hadn't yet pulled.
Just then, a commando droid emerged from the shadows, its metallic footsteps echoing faintly against the walls. The droid's arrival was so perfectly timed that it felt like the universe itself was mocking Durge's inability to connect the dots.
"Commander," the droid began in its flat, synthetic tone, "the Republic fleet has broken through the blockade and is assuming ground assault formation."
The words hit Durge like a hammer blow. His gauntleted fist slammed into the metal desk with enough force to dent it, the sharp clang reverberating through the room. The action wasn't born of frustration—it was revelation.
"Sabotage," he snarled, the word tasting bitter and electric on his tongue. "Of course. It's the only way."
The pieces fell into place with terrifying clarity. The Republic's tactics were becoming clear. A stealth insertion. Their goal could only be the shield generator—the linchpin of the Separatists' defense. Without it, the Republic forces would steamroll the planet, before reinforcements arrived.
Durge turned sharply to the commando droid, his voice a guttural growl of command.
"We don't have much time. Deploy my commando regiment to the shield generator room immediately. Tell them to set up an ambush. I want to greet these rats personally. Also, inform the tactical driods to prepare our defences for a ground assault."
"Roger, Roger," the droid replied, before vanishing into the shadows as quickly as it had come.
Durge rose to his full height, his armor creaking faintly with the motion. His heavy footsteps struck the metallic floors like war drums as he strode purposefully toward the shield generator room. The thrill of the hunt coursed through him.
This would not be an ordinary battle. No, this was a challenge worthy of his attention. He'd meet the Republic's infiltrators face-to-face, crush their hopes, and savor the despair in their dying breaths.
His muscles curved into what looked like a twisted smile under his helment. If the Republic wanted a fight, they had chosen the wrong battlefield. Durge would ensure that this day ended in victory for the Separatists.
As we made our way through the base, we encountered minimal resistance. We had managed to stay undetected thus far, and I intended to keep it that way. The Separatists hadn't built this base with subtlety in mind—it was a logistical hub, not a fortress—but their security measures weren't to be underestimated.
When we arrived at the location specified by our intel, my gut instinct told me it was wrong. The room wasn't heavily guarded, nor were there any visible indications of a shield generator. It didn't add up. A critical asset like a shield generator wouldn't be left in such an innocuous location.
"Well, this is a waste of time," I muttered under my breath. "The generator can't be here. They wouldn't leave something so vital out in the open."
I turned to Verik. "04, get into the mainframe. See if you can pinpoint the actual location of the generator."
"Yes, ma'am. Cover me."
I hoped it wouldn't come to this. Hacking into their system was risky and time-consuming. Every second we lingered here increased the likelihood of discovery.
"It's encrypted, ma'am," Verik reported, his fingers working furiously at the terminal. "This'll take time to crack."
I cursed silently. "That won't do. We'll have to find another way."
I racked my brain, forcing myself to think logically. What do I know about shield generators? They require immense power and a significant amount of space. They're strategically vital, so they'd be well-guarded even during peacetime. And their placement in the base would likely follow practical constraints—close to the main power conduits and far from high-traffic areas.
"02," I said, turning to Talek, "pull up the power distribution schematics and a map of the facility's room dimensions. Let's see if we can find any anomalies."
"Yes, ma'am, sending it to your hypervisor now."
I reviewed the outdated map on my visor, noting the locations of power junctions and larger rooms. Unfortunately, the old layout map didn't align with the facility's current function. The Separatists had clearly retrofitted the base, rendering some of the intel useless. Still, one thing hadn't changed: electricity doesn't lie.
"04, can you access the facility's power monitoring system?" I asked.
"Working on it, ma'am. Just a moment..." Verik's voice trailed off as he focused on his task.
Then, his voice came through my comms. "Commander, I've got a hit. There's a high-voltage power line running directly to room G43. It's drawing significantly more power than any other section of the facility."
"That's it," I said, confidence solidifying in my tone. "That much power has to be feeding the shield generator."
I studied the map again. G43 wasn't far—just a few turns down the corridor. The outdated maps didn't list what the room was currently being used for, but repurposing room labels takes time, and it's the kind of bureaucratic oversight that works in our favor.
"It's the only lead we've got," I said to the squad. "Let's move quietly and quickly. If it's not the generator, it'll at least be something important."
We advanced in formation, weapons at the ready. There was no room for error now. The stakes were clear: if we failed to locate and disable the generator, the Republic fleet would be torn apart when the Separatist reinforcements arrived. Failure wasn't an option.
As we approached the designated room, I noticed two B2 super battle droids standing guard outside the entrance. My gut told me this had to be the place—no other part of the base had shown such security. Time was dwindling, so leisurely tactics now were out of the question. Our concealment wouldn't matter if the Separatists' reinforcements arrived.
"02, 03, take them out."
"Roger that, Commander. On my mark... 3, 2, 1."
The clones fired with precision, their blaster bolts landing perfectly. The B2s crumpled to the ground, sparks cascading from their chests. Clones really are made for war. Their precision was unnerving—a product of relentless training and a purpose they never chose.
Still, I couldn't shake the unease I felt about them. A perfect army bred specifically for battle, appearing right when the Republic needed them most... It was too convenient, too calculated. My instincts told me there was something we weren't being told.
We formed up into a sweeping pattern and entered the room. It was empty, apart from the ominous hum of machinery. Security here must have been lightened to redirect forces to the our ground assault defense. Then I saw it—the shield generator. A wry smile crossed my face.
"05, prime the explosives and get them in position," I ordered.
"Roger that, Commander," came Verik's calm reply as he moved to set the charges.
Suddenly, my instincts screamed at me to move. Years of battle-hardened experience taught me to trust them without question. I leapt to the side just as the ground where I had been standing exploded in a hail of debris from an impact.
"AMBUSH!" I shouted.
The sound of blaster fire erupted as commando droids emerged from concealed positions in the shadows.
"Take Cover!" I yelled.
"03 is hit!" one of the clones yelled.
"I can still fight!" 03 grunted through gritted teeth.
"04, cover me while I administer meds!"
"Roger!"
Suppressive fire ricocheted across the room as my squad dashed for cover. As the smoke began to clear, I saw it—a hulking monstrosity stepping through the haze.
The monstrosity stood before me.
His towering frame was encased in armor that gleamed with menace, almost as if taunting its enemies. His helmet was shaped like a skull, with glowing red slits for eyes. His right hand gripped a massive mace. His movements were slow, deliberate, and terrifyingly confident, as though nothing in the galaxy could stop him.
I fired at him instinctively, aiming for weak spots in his armor. It was useless—the bolts dissipated harmlessly. My shots did little more than catch his attention, and now his glowing red eyes were fixed on me.
Great. Looks like I was the distraction.
"Fan out! Focus on the commando droids!" I yelled to my squad as I sprinted to lead the monster away.
Blaster bolts zipped past me as I shot down two commando droids in my path. As I dove behind cover the monstrosity revealed a wrist mounted flamethrower, spewing a torrent of fire that licked at the edges of my cover.
"That's a treaty violation, bastard!" I shouted, ducking away as the heat singed the air around me.
My squad had regrouped, laying down suppressive fire to take out the commando droids. But he wasn't waiting. With a thundering step, he swung his mace, obliterating my cover in a single blow.
He launched wrist-mounted projectiles at me, but I caught them midair with the Force, dropping them harmlessly to the ground. He rushed me again, and I had no choice. Tossing aside my blaster, I ignited my frost-green lightsaber, its hum cutting through the chaos.
Durge watched the young Jedi with growing curiosity—and contempt. Initially, he didn't think she was even a Jedi. She fired her blaster with precision and composure, forcing him to keep his deflectors active. A Jedi using a blaster? It was almost insulting. Until he noticed the elegant weapon of the Jedi Order hung at her side like an ornament. Why was this one not using it? And why did she look like a child?
Durge had heard stories of the Jedi indoctrinating young children, molding them into warriors as if they even had a choice. But sending one of them to battle, especially one leading such a critical mission? It was despicable even by Jedi standards. For a moment, Durge almost felt pity for her—almost. But pity had no place on the battlefield. Mercy was weakness.
The time for games was over. Durge activated his wrist-mounted deflector shields and charged. He expected the Jedi to falter under his sheer size and strength, to make a desperate mistake that would let him end this farce quickly. But she didn't. The child was nimble, darting and flipping with erratic acrobatic maneuvers that left his strikes cutting air. Every swing of his mace was met with a perfectly timed dodge, every rush countered by a frustrating leap to safety.
Durge's annoyance grew with every failed attempt to land a decisive blow. This child was nothing but an annoyance. Is this really the best the Jedi can send? he thought. They entrust such a critical infiltration mission to a mere little girl? How pathetic. His contempt boiled over, clouding his judgment.
And then it happened. In his arrogance, Durge miscalculated. The Jedi capitalized on an opening, severing his left arm with a clean slice of her lightsaber. Durge stuttered, and he staggered back. The severed arm fell to the floor with a heavy thud, twitching before going still.
But Durge didn't falter. He stared down at the limb as muscles, sinews, and tissues began to twist and reattach themselves. In moments, his arm was regenerating before the Jedi's eyes, the grotesque process as horrifying as it was effective. Even with her mask concealing her expression, Durge could sense her shock—an emotion she couldn't completely suppress. Ah, so the Jedi child wasn't unshakable after all.
Before she could recover, the Jedi extended her hand and unleashed a Force push, sending Durge skidding backward across the metallic floor. He came to a grinding halt and straightened with an audible chuckle, his arm nearly fully reformed.
"So, little Jedi," Durge rumbled, his voice dripping with amusement and menace. "Is that all you've got? I expected more."
He flexed his fingers as his arm regained its full strength, a predatory laugh escaping from beneath his mask. For Durge, this battle was no longer just a mission; it was an opportunity to savor the fight and utterly crush the Jedi's resolve.
Regeneration? Damit! Who the hell is this guy!? My Force push did little to hinder his onslaught as he drew two blasters and opened fire. I deflected the shots back at him, but they did nothing to slow his charge. As he closed in, he threw away the blasters and activated his twin wrist deflector shields before lunging into melee combat.
His strength was monstrous. Each swing of his mace sent shockwaves through the air, while I relied on form four acrobatics to evade his relentless strikes. I leapt over his head and landed behind him, using the Force to shove him away again. I needed time to catch my breath.
But Durge was ready. With a feral snarl, he hurled his mace at me, forcing me to deflect it midair. Then, to my horror, his arm muscles twisted from his body, launching itself like a missile. It struck me square in the upper left arm, sending me flying.
I crashed to the ground, landing hard on my hands and knees. My mask had been cracked, blood bagan dripping down my face. The pain began to set in as I stared at my distorted reflection in the metallic floor. Anger and frustration boiling within me.
"The Commander's hit!"
"We're pinned down! The commando droids won't let up!"
Vrex shouted, "Brothers, this is it! We have to make a charge. We can't let the commander's courage go to waste!"
Renn growled, "It's suicide!"
Vrex shot back, "We don't have much time!"
As Vrex led the charge, the rest of the squad surged forward, firing at the commando droids' positions, blaster bolts whizzing by their heads. But before they could get far, a wave of raw energy rippled through the room, knocking friend and foe alike to the ground.
I seethed with rage, hatred bubbling over at the absurdity of it all—this war, my circumstances, everything. My bloodied face twisted into a snarl as I stood, the Force crackling around me.
"Dear lord, give me the strength to smite these faithless invaders; they have beset your throne," I muttered, my voice laced with venom.
Tanya's eyes burned with an unnatural hue—golden with a faint crimson edge. As she stood back up and reignited her lightsaber, its newfound golden blade erupted with fiery brilliance.
With imbued power, she charged at Durge, leaping over his swinging mace. Her blade shattering his deflector shields and severing both his arms in a single strike. Before he could recover, she held him in a Force grip so tight he couldn't move. His muffled cries of frustration meant nothing to Tanya.
With a look of utter contempt, she slashed him apart, carving through his body until nothing recognizable remained. What was left of him fell to the ground in an unrecognizable heap.
Turning to the commando droids, she reached out with the Force and crushed them all at once, their metal frames crumpling into worthless scrap.
The battle was over.
The golden hue of her blade extinguished as her body gave out. Exhaustion overtook her, and she collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
As the clones scrambled back to their feet, they struggled to process what had just happened. They had been prepared to sacrifice themselves in a desperate charge, but the battle had ended in a way none of them could have anticipated. Still, they were soldiers, trained for moments like this, and quickly snapped back into the present situation.
Sergeant Vrex wasted no time, barking out orders with authority.
"Talek, administer aid immediately! The commander needs medical attention. Call for evac, now!"
"On it, sir!" Talek replied, already pulling out his medkit.
"Renn, Verik," Vrex continued, "make sure this place is rigged to blow on our way out. We're finishing this mission!"
"Roger that, Sergeant!" Renn and Verik responded in unison, moving quickly to prime the charges.
"I'll help carry the commander," Vrex said, kneeling beside Tanya's unconscious body to help Talek administer aid.
The team sprang into action with the efficiency of seasoned professionals. Even in the wake of such a harrowing encounter, their discipline never faltered.