20 BBY: Obi Wan's Venator
"Cody, how's mission prep going? We need to get moving soon. Separatists still have a loose grip on the planet. Now's the time to strike."
Commander Cody stood at attention, datapad in hand. "Sir, we'll be ready in four hours. We're currently awaiting General Skywalker's fleet, along with Commanders Pong Krell and Saesee Tiin."
Obi-Wan nodded. "Good. We set out as soon as they arrive."
Cody hesitated for a moment before adding, "One more thing, sir. Republic Command has sent two officers to observe the campaign."
Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow. "Really? That sounds suspiciously like 'Command wants to keep an eye on us.'"
Cody smirked. "You said it, not me. But yes, I believe they're arriving as we speak."
Ah, the Jedi. The Republic's favorite money sink. You'd think an order of 'peacekeepers' would be a little less eager to requisition entire battle fleets. Especially for this offensive—we're throwing nearly everything we've got at Umbara.
I'd read about the planet's advanced technology before. Its strategic value must be enormous for the Republic's bureaucratic overlords to approve an operation of this scale. Maybe I should take notes—if this war ever ends, I could make a killing in the defense tech industry.
We're here to observe some of the Republic's most celebrated Jedi generals. A rare opportunity, really. Not to learn from them, of course, but to see firsthand how they keep justifying their 'peacekeeping' war. I bet they'll frame this entire offensive as an act of "liberation" even though the Republic lost this planet due to secession in the first place.
I glanced over at Elara, who seemed particularly eager.
"Have you heard of these Jedi Generals before?"
She gave me a look that could only be described as mild disbelief.
"Of course. General Obi-Wan Kenobi and General Skywalker are Republic war heroes. I can't believe you haven't heard of them."
I shrugged. "Oh, I have. I just wasn't sure if you had."
A harmless jab, but she rolled her eyes nonetheless.
As our ship approached the docking station, it shuddered to a halt, the ramp hissing open. The sight before me was, as always, impressive.
The Venator-class Star Destroyer was a marvel of Republic engineering—an enormous, floating city of war. The sheer number of personnel required to operate one of these things was staggering. Supply chains, logistics, maintenance crews—so many moving parts. It's almost comical how they just hand them out like ration packs to these 'Jedi Generals'—most of whom have no formal military training, let alone experience commanding legions of soldiers.
I exhaled sharply, stepping off the transport. This mission was going to test my patience.
I spotted a clone officer flanked by two troopers heading toward our transport as we stepped off the ramp. Their polished armor gleamed under the overhead hangar lights, their movements precise and disciplined.
"Tanya Valken, Elara Voss," the officer addressed us with the usual clipped efficiency of the clones. "General Kenobi welcomes you on behalf of the 212th. Please follow me. He wishes to meet you both."
Elara looked around in quiet awe, eyes darting across the massive interior of the Venator's hangar. I wasn't sure if she had ever been aboard one of these ships before, but judging by the barely-contained excitement on her face, it was a safe bet this was her first time.
I, on the other hand, had been here before: Republic forces mobilizing for another battle, another world burning in the name of "peace". I'm shocked to see that the Jedi Council even sanctions this.
"Come on," I muttered to her. "Wouldn't want to keep the great Kenobi waiting."
She shot me a brief glance before nodding and following behind me.
General Obi-Wan Kenobi stood at the center of the room, flanked by Commander Cody and several Republic officers. A holographic projection of the battlefield hovered above the war table, casting a dim blue glow over their focused expressions.
Across the table, Anakin Skywalker's image flickered as he attended the meeting remotely, his arms crossed in impatience. The other Jedi Generals, Saesee Tiin and Pong Krell, stood nearby, listening intently as Kenobi explained their approach.
"The Separatists have blockaded the planet with their fleet," Kenobi stated, gesturing toward the map. "Multiple Providence-class Dreadnoughts and Recusant-class Light Destroyers are controlling access to the system. Fortunately, they have yet to deploy their full forces to the surface. If we act quickly, we can secure a foothold before they reinforce their positions."
Skywalker smirked. "So, what's the plan for breaking the blockade? The usual?"
Kenobi sighed, rubbing his chin briefly before replying. "You're always quick to act, Anakin. But yes, we don't have many alternatives. We'll need to hit them fast and hard before the Separatists have a chance to fortify the planet."
Pong Krell, towering over everyone in the room with his four-armed Besalisk frame, grunted. "The clones are ready. If we secure the ground quickly, we can force the enemy into a prolonged engagement, pinning them down before they get organized."
Saesee Tiin, ever the tactician, nodded. "If our forces spread too thin, we risk losing our momentum. The Umbarans have prepared for an invasion, and their advanced technology gives them a significant edge in terrain we are unfamiliar with. The planet's perpetual darkness and thick atmosphere already work against us."
Tanya crossed her arms, absorbing their words. She wasn't here to speak yet, only to observe, but already, her mind was working through the layers of strategy.
The Umbarans were no ordinary defenders. Unlike the battle droid armies the Republic often faced, the Umbaran Militia was composed of elite soldiers, equipped with cutting-edge hover tanks, and energy-based weaponry that rivaled even the most advanced Republic tech. Their vehicles could maneuver through the dense terrain far better than the Republic's walkers, and their armour were engineered specifically for nighttime warfare.
The Republic was walking into a tactical nightmare.
Kenobi continued. "The 212th and I will spearhead the main offensive from the southern front, where the enemy's fortifications are heaviest. General Tiin will coordinate the fleet engagement, ensuring the blockade is neutralized."
Skywalker nodded. "The 501st will land in the north. We'll hit them from behind and disrupt enemy reinforcements before they can reach your position."
Krell folded two of his arms. "The clones know their duty. We cannot afford hesitation. We crush them before they have a chance to regroup."
Tanya's eyes flicked across the holographic battle map. These Jedi were throwing themselves headfirst into what could become a disaster.
Elara listened intently, hands clasped behind her back. She looked… inspired. It was clear she idolized these generals. Tanya, however, remained unimpressed.
These Jedi have a bad habit of assuming everything will go to plan.
Cody cleared his throat. "The first waves of troops are already being prepped. We'll be ready within the hour."
Kenobi glanced at Tanya and Elara. "You two were sent to observe and advise. If you see anything we've overlooked, speak up. This battle is too important to leave to chance."
Tanya gave a small nod. "I'll be watching closely, General."
As the briefing concluded, Tanya turned to Elara as they exited the room. "Well? What do you think?"
Elara practically beamed. "It's incredible to see them work. The way they lead, the way they plan—this is why the Republic wins wars."
Tanya smirked. "Let's hope they don't just win battles. Otherwise, we'll be stuck fighting this war forever."
As they moved down the corridor, Tanya's thoughts drifted to what lay ahead. The battle for Umbara was about to begin.
And if the Jedi weren't careful, it could cost the Republic more than they realized.
As the meeting adjourned, the gathered officers and Jedi began to file out of the war room, leaving Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker behind. The sound of the closing doors echoed through the chamber, followed by a brief silence as both men remained deep in thought.
Anakin was the first to speak.
"What do you make of this Tanya Valken? I hear she left the Order to join the military."
Obi-Wan frowned, rubbing his beard in thought.
"The Council was disappointed to lose her. I don't know the full details, but from what I've gathered, she and the Council didn't see eye to eye as the war escalated."
Anakin scoffed. "Sounds familiar."
Obi-Wan shot him a look before continuing.
"She's remarkably young to have abandoned the Jedi to enlist in the Republic military. It's very unusual for someone raised in the Temple."
Anakin's brow furrowed. "And now she's here. I wonder what Republic Command hopes to accomplish by sending her."
Obi-Wan exhaled, his arms folding across his chest. "I can feel her presence in the Force, but she's adept at concealing it. If I weren't actively searching, I might not even notice she was there."
Anakin's expression darkened slightly. "Almost like a rejection of the Force."
"Perhaps." Obi-Wan considered the thought carefully. "But whatever happened to her must have shaken her deeply. She lost her left arm in battle, after all."
Anakin flexed his robotic hand instinctively, a phantom ache reminding him of his own loss.
"Yeah… losing an arm tends to do that to you."
Obi-Wan studied him for a moment before shifting the topic slightly.
"Then there's the matter of her companion—Elara Voss."
Anakin raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
"Her second-in-command. From her public record, she is relatively inexperienced, but I suspect there's more to her than meets the eye."
Anakin smirked. "You getting a bad feeling, or are you just jealous that the military took a Jedi and replaced her with their own version?"
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Hardly. But I do wonder why they paired the two together. If Tanya had been left to her own devices, she would have operated independently. I have a feeling command assigned Voss for a reason."
"Could be a babysitter," Anakin mused. "Tanya's still young. Even if she's skilled, the military might want someone keeping an eye on her."
Obi-Wan nodded. "That's one possibility. But there's something else—Elara Voss isn't just an officer. I read her file. She's seen combat, and she's been placed in command roles before. There's something about her record that suggests she's being groomed for something bigger."
Anakin hummed in thought. "So, we've got a former Jedi who doesn't want to be a Jedi anymore, and a rising star in the Republic military. And now they're both here. That can't be a coincidence."
Obi-Wan sighed. "No, it can't."
For a moment, the two Jedi simply stood there, processing everything. Then, Anakin grinned.
"Well, I suppose we'll find out soon enough. Maybe Rex can break through to her."
Obi-Wan smirked slightly. "You're suggesting we assign her to Rex?"
"Why not? We're putting her on the flank, aren't we? That's where he'll be. If she wants to see battle, she'll get her wish—and maybe she'll learn a thing or two."
Obi-Wan considered it. "I see your point. Yes, this sounds like a plan."
Anakin's grin widened. "Besides, if she's anything like you, I bet she'll hate working with me."
Obi-Wan shook his head with an exasperated sigh. "You're impossible."
Elara and I had received clearance to observe the naval battle firsthand from the bridge of Obi-Wan's Venator-class Star Destroyer. It was one thing to read battle reports or analyze fleet compositions, but quite another to watch it unfold in real-time.
Shortly after the strategic meeting, the fleet jumped to hyperspace. The transition was smooth, the telltale starlines stretching before us before collapsing back into normal space. As soon as we re-entered realspace, we were greeted with the imposing sight of the Separatist fleet waiting for us.
Massive Providence-class Dreadnoughts loomed ahead, their angular hulls bristling with turbolaser batteries. Smaller Recusant-class Light Destroyers maneuvered between them, acting as escorts to Munificent-class frigates positioned in a defensive wedge. Swarms of Vulture droid fighters began launching from the enemy ships, preparing to meet our forces in the void of space.
On our side, the Republic fleet swiftly moved into formation, Venator-class Star Destroyers adjusting their headings to face the Separatist blockade.
Commander Cody stood at attention beside Obi-Wan, relaying orders.
"Launch fighters."
The hangar bays of our fleet erupted with activity as waves of V-19 Torrent starfighters and ARC-170s blasted into the fray. Meanwhile, Y-wing bombers formed up behind escort squadrons, waiting for their run at enemy capital ships.
The battle erupted in earnest.
From my vantage point, the battlefield was pure, controlled chaos.
Hundreds of starfighters weaved through the void, exchanging volleys of laser fire while capital ships traded devastating turbolaser barrages. The entire theater of war moved in a three-dimensional battlespace, an eerie contrast to conventional naval warfare I had studied in my past life.
This wasn't like Earth's aircraft carriers launching sorties over a two-dimensional ocean. This was an environment where momentum, vector calculations, and gravity wells played crucial roles. Ships didn't just maneuver left or right, forward or back—they could ascend, descend, and reposition themselves in ways that would be impossible in traditional warfare. My mage days were just a warm-up compared to this.
Still, some fundamentals applied.
The Republic was employing a variant of the "crossing the T" maneuver, an old but effective naval tactic where one fleet positions itself perpendicular to the enemy's line, maximizing broadside firepower while minimizing the opponent's ability to retaliate with forward-facing guns.
Meanwhile, the Separatists' strategy mirrored classic fleet-in-being doctrine—their Providence-class Dreadnoughts acted as anchors, drawing Republic forces into an engagement while keeping enough distance to deploy reinforcements or retreat if necessary.
But unlike the old-world battleships I once studied, these starships weren't limited by oceans or fuel constraints. They could engage from multiple attack vectors, flank in ways impossible on the seas, and reinforce any weak point in real-time.
I narrowed my eyes, watching the Republic fleet advance.
Our strategy here was aggressive, bordering on reckless. A direct assault on the blockade, trusting in superior firepower and Jedi-led command.
To a casual observer, it might seem logical—we had more Venator-class Star Destroyers than they had Dreadnoughts. But numbers alone didn't determine victory.
The Separatists had a technological edge. Their Munificent-class frigates were loaded with powerful long-range turbolasers, allowing them to weaken our fleet before we could even close the distance.
Additionally, their recusant-class destroyers were designed for mobility, meaning they could reposition quickly if our approach was too predictable.
I turned to Elara.
"We're pushing straight into their kill box. If the enemy reinforces mid-battle, we're in trouble."
She gave me a quizzical look. "Isn't that why we have the 501st landing behind them?"
I sighed. "That depends on how fast Anakin's forces secure the flank. If he gets bogged down, we'll be stuck fighting a reinforced blockade with no retreat options."
She considered that for a moment. "The Jedi must be confident in their plan."
I sighed. "They always are."
For all their skill, the Jedi still had a fundamental misunderstanding of warfare. Battles weren't about heroics—they were about logistics, positioning, and execution.
And right now, we were betting everything on overwhelming the enemy before they could react.
A bold strategy. And a dangerous one.
The space battle had been won—barely. The Separatists had been forced into retreat, their blockade broken, and the Republic now had control of the skies. But at what cost? The Republic fleet wasn't exactly unscathed. The wreckage of Venators and Separatist cruisers alike floated in the void, silent monuments to another costly engagement.
But, of course, this war wasn't fought in the stars alone. The real mess was about to begin.
Obi-Wan and Cody turned from the bridge.
"Tanya, Elara. You were sent here to observe combat firsthand, weren't you? Follow us. The real battle will begin on the ground."
I fought the urge to sigh as I repeated those words in my mind. Observe firsthand? Who said that? I came here to analyze Republic battle strategy, not to get shot at because some Jedi wants to feel better about himself. My job here is not to be a frontline commander—I was sent here to observe this battlefield.
Elara, on the other hand, looked... thrilled. Her eyes practically gleamed at the prospect of following the Jedi into battle. Does she really believe these people are that great? The more I watch them, the less I'm convinced of their so-called military genius. Their precious Council is more of an obstacle than an asset, constantly getting in the way of actual battlefield efficiency.
This is exactly why religious zealots should not be running wars. These Jedi are not meant to be military commanders.
But orders are orders, and unfortunately, my orders dictated that I follow the command structure, which in this particular nightmare scenario meant being under General Obi-Wan Kenobi.
We boarded an Acclamator to meet with Skywalker and his forces. The generals once again clarified their plan for the ground assault while the rest of us prepared for the landing.
That's when I realized something deeply concerning.
This plan was much more reckless than I had originally thought. Unfortunately, I can't keep quiet anymore now that I have to be directly involved.
"So, let me get this straight. You plan on landing right in front of the enemy and making a dead rush at their line?"
Obi-Wan turned to me, his usual serene expression unwavering. "Yes."
I stared at him. "...You do realize rushing headlong into an enemy entrenched on their own planet doesn't sound particularly sustainable?"
Obi-Wan, to his credit, at least acknowledged my point. "You're not wrong. But the plan has already been decided, and we don't have time for alternatives."
Ah, yes. Classic Jedi logic. Instead of reassessing a clearly reckless strategy, they doubled down because "we've already committed." I swear, they operate like a failing company refusing to change management because "we've always done it this way."
Skywalker—who seemed far too excited about this plan—nodded. "Obi-Wan's right. Our men are the finest around. They'll be able to get it done."
I nearly rolled my eyes. Confidence in your soldiers is great, but faith in their abilities doesn't magically erase bad planning. The best troops in the world can't compensate for a flawed strategy. This isn't some holodrama where bravery alone wins wars.
This kind of thinking is why so many wars in history ended in catastrophic failures. Take Operation Barbarossa for example—the Nazis believed sheer force and "elite" troops could overpower the Soviet Union in a single campaign. They ignored supply lines, logistical bottlenecks, and the sheer reality of attrition warfare. That overconfidence cost them the Eastern Front and, eventually, the war.
And now, here I was, watching the Republic's finest generals fall into the same trap.
But it was too late to argue. The drop ships were already being prepped, and I knew I wouldn't be able to convince a room full of Jedi to reconsider basic strategy.
I exhaled. I wouldn't let their incompetence end in my death. I would make sure of that.
Obi-Wan turned to me with a knowing look.
"Oh, and one more thing—General Skywalker has personally volunteered to have you observe under his command. I trust you'll find what you're looking for there."
This is exactly why I can't stand Jedi.
20 BBY: Umbaran Surface
As the landing operation began, I could hardly believe my eyes. This just keep getting worse.
I had been assigned to my worst nightmare—a war fanatic.
The 501st had deployed AT-RTs ahead of the infantry to "soften the approach." A reasonable tactic if you're not leading a direct charge into entrenched enemy positions bristling with repulsor tanks and anti-aircraft defenses. The walkers marched forward in formation, only to be obliterated within moments. What a surprise.
Meanwhile, the infantry disembarked, boots hitting the mud in perfect synchronization, only to face similar results. Blaster fire rained down from the enemy lines, cutting down troopers before they even had time to establish cover. Yet the attack continued—wave after wave, relentlessly pushing forward. No one was spared from the carnage.
At least I wasn't leading this reckless charge.
As an "observer," I had the privilege of watching the disaster unfold from the back. And I intended to take full advantage of that privilege.
Elara, however, seemed utterly captivated by the spectacle, standing next to me in our LAAT as we hovered just behind the main attack force. She watched with what I can only describe as awe, completely oblivious to the blatant strategic incompetence.
I sighed internally. Training her is gonna be a nightmare. If she actually believes this is successful battlefield strategy, then I have a lot of work to do.
Tarkin's reason for sending us here was becoming painfully clear. He didn't send us here to admire the Jedi. He sent us here to witness their failures firsthand.
If only Elara saw it that way.
Once the 501st had somehow managed to clear an area large enough for reinforcements, our ship finally touched down on solid ground. We stepped off the LAAT, flanked by two 501st clone guards—likely relieved that they were getting a cushy guard duty instead of running into a meat grinder.
A 501st officer approached us, offering a grin that seemed entirely out of place for someone covered in mud, blaster scoring, and what I could only assume was enemy blood.
"Welcome to the 501st. I hope you enjoy your stay."
I blinked. Enjoy?
I glanced at Elara, who looked giddy at the idea of being here. Great, another one.
"Funny," I replied, "you seem to be enjoying it a little too much."
The officer shrugged, unfazed. "Fighting with my brothers is an honor. I wouldn't have it any other way."
Ah, yes. More indoctrinated soldiers glorifying war. The clones never had a choice in this life, and yet here they were, acting as if they did. They had no idea what they were missing by not living in a time of peace.
"I… see," I said, offering the most neutral response I could. "How's the battle progressing?"
The officer—a captain, judging by his markings—gave a sharp nod. "The advance has slowed. We're taking a rest while we can. The Umbarans have put up a good fight. General Skywalker has us catching our breath before we push forward again."
Ah, yes. The great Anakin Skywalker. Who needs tactics when you have sheer force of will?
"Thank you, Captain," I said, exchanging salutes.
I turned to Elara, expecting her to have some sort of critical observation about the battle so far. Instead, she looked as enthusiastic as ever.
I have never seen this many people so excited to be on the front lines. The romanticization of war is costly, and most people here will have to learn that the hard way.
Just as I was settling into my designated rear position, I heard it—the unmistakable sound of blaster fire.
"Ambush!" someone shouted.
Instinct kicked in.
I dropped to the ground and unholstered my SE-14r Officer's Blaster, returning fire toward the enemy position. Bright streaks of plasma zipped past, illuminating the darkness of Umbara's perpetual night.
"Elara, stay down!" I ordered, barely ducking into a makeshift trench. "Guards, make sure she's safe!"
I wasn't about to let my only tactical officer get killed out here just because I wanted extra human shields. I couldn't let my record be tainted now.
"Yes, ma'am!" the guards responded, moving to cover her.
Elara, however, had the audacity to protest. "Commander, I can handle myself!"
I turned my head just long enough to shoot her a glare. "Don't be ridiculous. You're a tactical officer, not a frontline soldier. Do you even know how to handle sustained blaster fire?"
Before she could retort, an Umbaran soldier vaulted into the trench just a few meters to our right.
I shot him in the head before he even had a chance to raise his weapon.
"Shit!" I muttered, sliding over to grab a fallen clone's DC-15A Blaster Rifle. My officer's pistol wasn't going to cut it in a proper firefight.
More shouts rang out through the comms.
"We're taking casualties! We need to reposition!"
Calling in a bombing run, danger close," another voice cut in. "All units, retreat towards the landing zone!
Pinned down, outgunned, and now they wanted us to run away in the open? Fantastic.
It's beginning to come back to me why I hate the front so much. The Jedi's idea of tactics was to throw themselves at the enemy until one of them stopped moving. Preferably, the enemy—though that part seemed negotiable.
Unfortunately, staying put wasn't an option. I didn't exactly have the authority to call off a bombing run, and I had no intention of getting vaporized by friendly fire. Wonderful.
I sighed. "You heard the orders! Everyone move!"
The clones hesitated for half a second before snapping into action. They were disciplined, at least. As they pulled back, I layed down suppressing fire, covering them as best I could. Stray shots still whizzed past me, but I could tell my suppression was doing its job.
The advantage was our positioning. Since we were on a ridge, retreating was relatively quick—for everyone except me, since I had to cover them. Wonderful, once again.
"Cover me!"
As I shouted, the clones now covered my retreat. I ran as quickly as I could; the clones couldn't suppress them for long.
"Impact!"
The moment I heard it, I turned and dove for cover.
No hesitation.
I barely made it before the air shook with the force of the bombing run. Explosions rippled across the battlefield, bathing the night in brilliant flashes of destruction. The ground trembled as shockwaves rolled through the terrain.
Then—silence.
I peeked up from cover, scanning the battlefield. The Umbarans weren't firing anymore.
Guess the run was effective.
Skywalker's voice crackled over the comms, sounding as eager as ever.
"The bombers did their job. Now let's do ours. Take back the ground!"
I sighed. Here we go again.
We secured the ridge shortly after, retaking it under General Skywalker's relentless push. His 501st Legion—the famed Fighting 501st—had lived up to their reputation. It was brutal, direct, and effective. Their losses were... extensive, but their morale? Unshaken. It's a sight to behold—men bred for war, charging forward without hesitation.
I was caught off guard when Colonel Valken covered our retreat by herself. The way she carries herself—so precise, so coldly efficient—I had heard rumors that she was once a Jedi, but she feels nothing like the ones I've read about. No serene calm, no philosophical platitudes. Just brutal efficiency.
It's strange. The Jedi are supposed to be these beacons of peace and wisdom, but with her? I just can't see a world where she would be a Jedi. She moves like a soldier, fights like a commander, and her demeanor reminds me of... well, Tarkin. And she doesn't use a lightsaber.
I don't know whether to be impressed or uneasy.
Still, I can't help but admire Skywalker. The man commands loyalty like I've never seen. It's not just fear or duty; his soldiers would follow him through hell and back because they believe in him. And it's hard not to feel a little inspired watching him lead from the front.
We were regrouping on the ridge. I assumed General Skywalker must be preparing our next attack. Just then, my commlink crackled with an unexpected transmission.
"Troops, I have been recalled to Coruscant. General Pong Krell is assuming command in my absence. May the Force be with you."
My head snapped toward Tanya.
"What? Why do you think he got called back in the middle of such an important campaign?"
Her face was unreadable, but her tone was anything but.
"I don't know," she said, voice clipped. "Perhaps his replacement will be better… but I wouldn't hold my breath."
There was something in her voice—a cynicism sharpened by experience.
Pong Krell did not waste any time relaying his new orders.
"Prepare to march; we move out immediately."
I was surprised to hear our rest cut short. The troops had just fought a tough battle to gain this foothold in the north. Perhaps Krell is just unaware of our situation, considering he just took command unexpectedly.
20 BBY: Outskirts of the Capital
This new commander is somehow even more insane than the last. After a grueling six-hour march that's left the troops completly exhausted, his grand strategy is to order a frontal assault on the capital—straight down the main road.
Yes. The main road. In the middle of a war.
And he refuses to cycle reserves to at least have the fresher troops in front. Does Krell think the Umbarans will be waiting with a "Welcome to the Capital" banner and complimentary refreshments? This is war, not a parade. That road is almost certainly mined, fortified, and designed to funnel us into a kill zone. It's like watching someone walk into a corporate negotiation thinking their charisma alone will outmaneuver legal fine print. Spoiler alert: it won't.
Honestly, Republic propaganda must be working overtime to convince the galaxy that Jedi are brilliant strategists. If these men weren't clones—if they had any prior military experience that didn't come pre-installed in a lab—there's no way they'd stand for this. They'd be filing complaints faster than a middle manager who just lost their corner office.
It's almost as bad as the Charge of the Light Brigade. At least those poor fools had horses. We're about to march straight into the kill zone with nothing but armor and terrible orders. And history doesn't tend to look kindly on leaders who send their soldiers to die for the sake of 'valor.'
To make matters worse, Krell hasn't even acknowledged our presence. No introductions, no briefings—nothing. Does he even know we're here to observe him? Or is he so confident in his 'brilliance' that he thinks scrutiny is beneath him?
Part of me wonders if this is Tarkin's idea of a leadership assessment. "Let's see how Tanya handles the worst chain of command imaginable," I can almost hear him say. "Adversity builds character," or some other corporate platitude managers say right before they cut your budget.
And just like that, the orders came through. The vanguard is moving out—straight down the road, just as predicted. I swallowed the urge to yell at the nearest officer for going along with this lunacy. At least our group was left in reserve. There's no way I'm stepping into that meat grinder.
Elara and I found a vantage point to observe the impending disaster. From here, we'd have a clear view of the bloodbath about to unfold.
I broke the silence first, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Is this commander even trying? Skywalker was crazy, but this is reckless. I can't believe this guy's can even call himself a commander."
Elara, to my mild surprise, was frowning as well.
"Yes… this does seem a bit reckless," she admitted, her voice hesitant. "Tactical officers would never approve of something so brash."
I smirked. "Ah, I see you're finally starting to come around. Welcome to reality. The Jedi are not generals. They are all cowardly fools."
Elara's expression faltered, a flicker of doubt crossing her face.
"Well… not all of them," she argued weakly. "Skywalker, at least, led from the front."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, please. You don't need to keep defending them. But you're right—at least he bled alongside his men. Krell? He just sits back, barks suicide orders, and watches the fireworks from a safe distance."
Elara's voice softened, her eyes fixed on the troops below.
"I feel bad for the clones," she said quietly. "They fight so bravely for the Republic… and for what?"
Her words barely left her mouth before a deafening BOOM shattered the air.
I snapped my gaze down. Mines. Of course. Blaster fire erupted next, the unmistakable sound of repeating fire slicing through the carnage. The Umbarans had sprung their trap, ambushing the clones from cover while they were pinned—out in the open.
The road was a massacre. Bodies fell as blaster bolts met their marks. Smoke, screams, and chaos. I could already hear the casualty reports piling up.
I clenched my jaw, the sheer audacity of the situation burning bitter on my tongue.
"Ugh… I've seen enough of this disaster. I'm going to get some rest before Krell thinks up his next grand act of butchery. I suggest you do the same."
Elara's eyes lingered on the chaos below, but she nodded, her voice subdued.
"Yes, ma'am…"
I turned away, but I knew what she was feeling. She was starting to see it—the cracks in the Jedi's shining armor.
The cracks where men fell through and never came back.
The results of Krell's so-called offensive—if you could even call it that—were predictable: a complete slaughter. And now? Completely pointless. Why? Because command has decided to pivot—now we're ordered to capture a supply base southeast of our current position.
It's almost impressive how quickly these Jedi can change their minds. It's like watching a company restructure mid-quarter after tanking their earnings—panic and guesswork disguised as strategy.
The next farce on my schedule: the strategic meeting. Naturally, Krell hadn't invited us. But then again, it's my job to observe, and I don't need an invitation to watch a train wreck. So, Elara and I crashed the party, guards in tow.
As we entered, I spotted Krell, towering over Captain Rex—Skywalker's infamous right hand. If half the stories I've heard are true, he's probably the only reason the 501st isn't already extinct.
The tension in the room was so thick you could choke on it. I tuned into the tail end of their 'conversation.'
"CT-7567, why have you stopped the assault!?" Krell's voice was a venomous growl. CT-7567? Krell can't even be bothered to use his name.
"The enemy now controls this route because of your failure! The entire operation has been compromised!"
An ARC trooper stepped forward, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.
"General Krell, the captain just saved this platoon. Surely you won't fail to see that."
Bad move.
Krell's lightsaber ignited with that familiar, unmistakable hum. The green blade flashed, and before anyone could react—
It was at the ARC trooper's throat.
"ARC-5555," Krell spat the number like a slur, "stand down."
The trooper's fists clenched—Force, I could feel his rage from here—but his training won.
"Sir, yes sir," he said through gritted teeth.
The lightsaber hissed back into its hilt.
This is worse than I thought. The clones clearly have more common sense than this walking disaster, and their so-called 'commander' is treating them like droids. If I'd pulled this kind of stunt in any military organization worth its salt, I'd be stripped of rank before I finished my next breath.
But instead—Krell just keeps going.
Captain Rex, steady as a rock, stepped forward.
"Sir, if I may address your accusation—" his voice carried a calm authority. "I followed your orders to the letter. That battle was not winnable. We were losing men out there—not clones—men. I pulled back to save their lives. You ordered me to fight a battle, and we did, but I refuse to waste their lives for nothing."
Krell's eyes narrowed, and for a long, tense moment, I wondered if he was about to ignite that lightsaber again. But then he spoke—his voice slow and patronizing.
"You have a spark of tenacity, Captain," he said, his words dripping with condescension. "It has inspired loyalty in your men. An important quality... in a commander."
He paused, as though tasting his next words.
"I may not lead like the Jedi you're accustomed to... but I get results."
There was nothing but cold dismissal in his tone.
"Your opinion has been noted. You are dismissed."
Without another word, he turned and strode past us, never even acknowledging our presence.
I stood there for a second, absorbing the sheer audacity of what I'd just witnessed.
Are you kidding me?
I stepped forward, addressing Rex directly.
"Captain," I said, my voice crisp, "the Republic has taken notice of your... predicament. While I lack the authority to remove General Krell, rest assured—his conduct will be documented. He will be noted as... problematic in our records."
Rex met my eyes, and for the first time, I saw something behind that helmet: tired gratitude.
"Thank you, Colonel Valken," he said with a nod. "I'm sorry you didn't get to observe General Skywalker. This... situation has taken an unexpected turn."
I gave a dry chuckle. "Unexpected? Please. There's nothing unexpected about Jedi wasting lives."
Elara shot me a sideways glance—slightly scandalized, as always—but I didn't care.
"The Jedi were never meant to fight wars," I continued, my voice cold with certainty. "And every time they try, they bleed us dry. They waste soldiers... and resources... in fruitless endeavors—all to the rhythm of their doctrine."
Rex hesitated before speaking again, his voice carefully neutral.
"With all due respect, Colonel," he said, "General Skywalker... he's not like most Jedi. He leads from the front. He fights with us."
I folded my arms, fixing him with a measured gaze.
"I see your point. General Skywalker may be better than most, but he has his faults."
Elara, to my mild amusement, spoke up.
"Well… at least Skywalker has some sense of tactics."
Before the conversation could continue, the comm crackled to life.
"All units, prepare to mobilize. The offensive on the supply base begins immediately."
I sighed, turning to Elara.
"Looks like recess is over. Back to the grinder."
As the clones moved out, I lingered for a moment, watching them—men marching under orders they knew were suicidal.
No protests. No hesitation. Just duty.
I felt the familiar churn in my gut. They deserve better than this.
I turned to follow, my voice cutting through the tension.
"Elara, let's move. I want to keep a close eye on this situation."
The clones were ordered to march through a narrow ridge, hemmed in by jagged, impassable cliffs on both sides. It was as if we were willingly funneling ourselves into the galaxy's most obvious chokehold. The path was so tight that the battalion had to move in single file, turning us into the perfect shooting gallery for any half-witted Umbaran with a blaster. All because dear General Krell couldn't be bothered to take a longer, safer route. Efficiency, after all, is too much to ask from a Jedi with a superiority complex.
No air support, no artillery, and a laughable amount of anti-tank weaponry. We weren't just walking into danger; we were waltzing into an ambush with a neon sign that read, "Please, shoot me." If the Umbarans had even a shred of tactical sense—which, given their track record, they certainly did—they would make our lives miserable following orders from Krell.
We had been marching for over six hours. Six hours. Even for clones bred for warfare, fatigue was beginning to weigh on them. Combat readiness? Dwindling by the second. And yet, Krell's master plan was to push on, unrelenting, because clearly, exhaustion makes for better soldiers.
Suddenly, the ground trembled beneath us—deep, rhythmic vibrations that sent an unsettling ripple through the line. I instinctively pulled out my visor to get a better view, scanning the path ahead. At first, I saw nothing but the dense, fog-choked terrain. Then, with an eerie grace, something massive erupted from the earth.
It was a centipede. Or at least, something grotesquely inspired by one. A mechanical monstrosity slithered out of the ground, its segmented body adorned with plasma cannons firing in all directions. Each segment moved in perfect sync, creating a seamless, undulating assault machine. The Umbarans had a knack for unsettling technology, but this... a centipede tank? Not exactly what I had on my galactic warfare bingo card.
And Krell expects a single battalion to break through this? Jedi arrogance knows no bounds. He displays such gross incompetence it's hard to believe it's genuine. But why? What would Krell gain from sabotaging the Republic—the very entity that bestowed him his rank and influence?
Unfortunately, pondering Jedi ineptitude wasn't going to help me now. I couldn't override Krell's orders, but I could at least mitigate the impending disaster. I was sent here to observe and advise, and if salvaging a doomed operation wasn't a perfect opportunity to advise, then nothing was.
20 BBY: The Southern Umbaran Front
The atmosphere on Umbara was suffocatingly oppressive. Obi-Wan Kenobi crouched behind a gnarled Umbaran tree, its bark devoid of life and color—just another bleak fixture of this perpetually night-clad world. A thick, unnatural fog clung to the landscape, coiling around every tree and ridge, obscuring sightlines and turning even the shortest distance into a tactical nightmare. The air felt heavier here, the tension palpable as blaster fire echoed through the mist like distant thunder.
Beside him stood Commander Cody, ever pragmatic and sharp-eyed. The battle had dragged on longer than expected, thanks to the supply base just outside the Umbaran capital. It was a critical lifeline for the defenders, feeding them the resources needed to keep the Republic at bay.
"Cody, any updates from the 501st on their progress with the supply base?" Obi-Wan asked, his tone calm but laced with urgency.
Cody shook his head, lowering his rangefinder. "No, sir. The Umbarans have jammed our signals. We've lost contact with them."
Obi-Wan exhaled slowly. Placing hope in the unseen was a gamble, but if anyone could achieve the impossible, it was the 501st. "I hate relying on faith alone, but I trust them to get the job done," he said.
"I'd bet on them too, sir," Cody replied without hesitation.
The Umbaran artillery rained down mercilessly on their position, forcing the Republic troops to huddle behind cover. Every advance was met with a relentless barrage, making it nearly impossible to push toward the capital without significant casualties. The entire front line was a chaotic symphony of blaster fire, explosions, and shouted orders.
Obi-Wan's resolve hardened. "We need to keep pressure on them. If we push now, their supply base defenses will be stretched thin. Get the AT-TEs to the front. We're making a move on their forward trench. Have our artillery provide covering fire, and signal the bombers to target their artillery emplacements."
"Yes, sir," Cody confirmed, relaying the orders swiftly.
The ground rumbled as AT-TEs lumbered forward, their mechanical legs pounding against the scorched earth. Obi-Wan sprinted behind one of the walkers, Cody close behind him, both narrowly avoiding incoming blaster fire that sliced through the fog like crimson streaks of death.
The Republic artillery retaliated with brutal efficiency, sending shells screaming through the air and suppressing the Umbaran positions. But the momentary relief was shattered when the AT-TE Obi-Wan had been using for cover exploded in a fiery blast, sending debris flying in all directions.
Obi-Wan was momentarily taken aback by the sudden destruction of the walker but quickly regained his composure. There was no time to dwell on the loss—the priority was getting any survivors out of the wreckage. With a swift leap aided by the Force, he landed atop the smoldering hull, moving toward the front compartment to check on the crew.
The sight was grim. The pilot and gunner hadn't made it.
Blaster fire rained down around him as the Umbarans suppressed their attack. Deflecting incoming bolts with precise flicks of his lightsaber, Obi-Wan wasted no time, jumping down to the side of the walker. With a decisive stroke, he cut through the damaged hull, carving an opening for the stranded troopers inside.
One by one, the survivors crawled out, coughing from the smoke but miraculously still mobile.
"Thanks, Commander. That was a close one," one of them managed between heavy breaths.
"If you're able to walk, fall back to the medics," Obi-Wan ordered, his voice calm but firm.
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
The troopers quickly moved to the rear, seeking cover as they made their way to safety. Obi-Wan remained behind, deflecting blaster fire to cover their retreat. Only once they were clear did he step back from the wreckage, making his way toward Cody, who was already waiting at the rear of the destroyed walker.
Cody had ducked behind the smoldering wreckage, activating his thermal visor. "Sir, you're not going to like this," he said grimly.
Obi-Wan followed Cody's gaze and saw it—a towering, four-legged monstrosity that could only be described as a droid from a nightmare. Its design was sleek and menacing, adorned with dual rapid-fire laser cannons that unleashed a torrent of blaster bolts. A shimmering energy shield enveloped its form, deflecting blaster fire with ease.
"What in the Force is that?" Obi-Wan muttered, eyes narrowing.
"Looks like the Separatists brought some new toys," Cody replied.
The droid moved with unsettling grace, its cannons tearing through Republic lines. Obi-Wan's mind raced. This changes everything.
"Get anti-armor teams up here now!" Cody barked into his comlink. "The Umbarans have some new Separatist reinforcements, and we need them gone yesterday!"
Obi-Wan steadied his lightsaber, its blue glow cutting through the fog. "Looks like we're about to see just how much the Separatists have been holding back," he muttered grimly, preparing for the battle ahead.
20 BBY: The Northern Front
Now was the time. If ever there was a golden opportunity to demonstrate just how hopelessly inept Jedi leadership truly is, this was it. As much as the idea of charging headlong into the chaos made my caffeine-deprived brain scream in protest, the battlefield presented me with something far too tempting to ignore: a chance to prove Being X wrong.
I don't need him. The Republic doesn't need him. And it certainly doesn't need his self-righteous puppets swinging lightsabers and preaching serenity while their soldiers die from poor tactical decisions. The Jedi love to act like philosophical venture capitalists—throwing their 'wisdom' around and hoping something sticks. But like most investors, they wouldn't know a sound strategy if it bit them in the rear.
I primed my DC-17m blaster, its familiar weight a reassuring constant. If nothing else, at least this piece of hardware wouldn't betray me with moral platitudes.
"Elara," I said, keeping my tone steady, as if I wasn't already bracing myself for the inevitable headache, "I'm heading to the front to support the troops. As this goes beyond our mission scope. I understand if you'd prefer to stay back."
Honestly, I expected her to nod politely and find a safe corner to analyze troop movements from a comfortable distance. But no, of course not.
Elara straightened her posture like a fresh academy graduate ready to prove herself. "If that's the case, I wish to come with you."
Oh great. The intern wants to join the hostile takeover. Admirable? Sure. But admirable doesn't stop blaster bolts.
I raised an eyebrow, half out of curiosity, half out of mild disbelief. "You do understand the risks, right? This isn't the bridge of a Venator. Tactical officers usually prefer holo-displays over incoming blaster fire."
"I understand the risks," she replied firmly, determination practically radiating from her.
Wonderful. Just what I needed—a bright-eyed idealist charging into a warzone. Has she even read the risk assessment reports?
"Well," I sighed, resigned to the chaos I was about to endure, "my advice? Stay back. But I won't stop you. I've learned that lesson the hard way. No point in arguing with ambition."
Before I could dismiss my clone guards, they stepped forward in unison, their posture as rigid as the chain of command they lived by.
"Our mission is to protect you, ma'am. Wherever that may be. We'll follow you to the front if that's what it takes."
Ah, clones. The galaxy's most paradoxical creations—engineered soldiers with unwavering loyalty, yet somehow more human than half the officers I've met.
Their resolve was impressive, if not slightly concerning. Manufactured camaraderie, yet undeniably genuine. The Republic's most efficient workforce, and ironically, its most sentimental.
"So be it," I muttered under my breath. Fine. Let's throw logic out the airlock, shall we?
"Let's head out."
"Nice going, everyone."
"Thanks for the assist, Fives," one of the clones responded as they regrouped behind a scorched Umbaran tank.
"Let's keep moving," Rex commanded, his voice steady despite the enveloping chaos.
"Your resourcefulness is impressive, Commander Rex,"
"Colonel Valken," Rex greeted, surprise flickering across his faceplate. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I can't allow you this close to the front."
I couldn't help but smirk. "I appreciate your concern, but my decision is made. I'm here to observe—and now, assist. The same goes for my partner, Elara."
Rex nodded, albeit reluctantly. "It's an honor to have you with us, ma'am."
"My guards are offering their support as well," I added, motioning to the two clones at my flank.
"We'll take all the help we can get," Rex admitted.
Of course, our chat was cut short by the distinct, stomach-churning thump of artillery being fired.
"Everyone, get down! Find cover!" Rex shouted.
I ducked behind the twisted wreckage of an Umbaran tank, pulling out my visor to scan the source of the incoming fire. As the smoke cleared, my suspicions were confirmed: an Umbaran artillery walker, its spider-like legs scuttling with unsettling precision, firing relentlessly at our position.
Ah yes, because a giant metal spider launching high-explosive blasts is exactly what this day needed.
"Everyone, fall back now!" Rex barked into the comms, urgency sharpening his tone.
We continued our retreat, scrambling for cover as the walkers unleashed devastation. Their artillery blasts tore into the ground, shaking the very earth beneath us. Then came something worse—crackling arcs of energy erupted from their cannons, vaporizing clones in an instant. One moment they were there, the next... gone.
As we regrouped behind whatever cover we could find, our favorite General's voice crackled over the comms.
"Captain, continue your attack."
Rex, still catching his breath, responded immediately. "Sir, the walkers have overwhelmed us. We need reinforcements."
Krell's voice remained as cold and unyielding as ever. "The rest of the troops are holding the entrance to the gorge to ensure you break through to the base."
Rex clenched his jaw. "But sir, we can't—"
"Captain, do you not listen?" Krell snapped, cutting him off. "Do not fall back—continue your attack! That is an order!"
A heavy silence fell over the comms. I could see it in the clones' faces—the sheer frustration, the barely restrained anger. But their respect for Rex held them in check. Despite everything, they still followed him.
Blaster bolts from the clones bounced harmlessly off its thick armor. A few direct hits from heavier weapons left little more than scorch marks.
"Fire anti-armor!" Rex ordered.
The response was immediate—rockets streaked across the battlefield, slamming into the walker's hull. A brief silence followed, smoke billowing around the impact points.
Then, as if to mock us, the walker continued its advance, its cannons unleashing another volley.
I exhaled sharply. The Umbarans weren't stupid. They had clearly engineered these things to withstand attacks like that.
"Great," I muttered under my breath. "We brought knives to a gunfight."
Rex took cover beside me, his expression grim. "We need another plan."
He wasn't wrong. Shooting at it and hoping for the best wasn't going to cut it. We needed something... creative.
I watched the walker closely. I knew next to nothing about these machines, but every machine has its flaws.
Its armor was damn near impenetrable. Its weapons were devastating. But there had to be something…
I studied its movements, looking for any sign of vulnerability. Its shields were focused forward, prioritizing the direction of incoming fire. That was useful, but not enough.
Then I saw it.
The walker advanced with predictable, mechanical strides—its legs rising and sinking into the mud in a steady, rhythmic motion. But it wasn't just the legs that moved. The cockpit, where the driver was housed, was enclosed in some kind of translucent Umbaran technology.
Strange.
Most tanks sacrificed visibility for protection. Back on Earth, armored vehicles relied on external guidance or periscopes to navigate the battlefield. But this? This was the opposite—clear sightlines but likely at the cost of durability.
I had to assume there were drawbacks.
The real issue, however, was the way the cockpit shifted with every step. The entire structure wobbled under the force of its own movement, making it an unstable, constantly moving target. Any direct shot at the driver would be nearly impossible.
Unless, of course, I could stop it from moving.
That was the weakness.
A vehicle that size needed stabilization. Normally, that wouldn't be an issue—it was designed to function under those conditions. But if I could disrupt that balance…
Explosives weren't enough to destroy the thing outright, but they could destabilize it.
If I could place detonators at key joints on the legs, I could disrupt its movement—just enough to send it staggering. And if it staggered, the cockpit would be exposed long enough for a clean shot at the driver.
Simple. Dangerous. High-risk. But effective.
I turned to Rex.
"Rex, any detonators left?" I asked, already locking the plan into place.
"Very few," he admitted. "Those worm tanks didn't go down easy."
"That's all I need." I locked eyes with him. "Keep those walkers distracted. Have your anti-armor on standby and wait for my signal. Elara, stay close to Rex and provide support."
Elara's brow furrowed, but she nodded. "Understood."
I turned to my guards. "Keep Elara safe. I'm going in."
I only needed to get to the blind spot underneath the walker—where the walker's weapons couldn't reach me.
I sprinted low and fast, weaving through the wreckage, keeping my profile as small as possible. The air was thick with smoke and blaster fire, but the walkers barely seemed to notice my approach. Their cannons remained locked on the clones, hammering their position with relentless fire.
Good. Stay distracted.
Slipping through the chaos, I used the terrain as cover, closing the distance one careful step at a time. My approach went off without a hitch.
All I need is one good shot at this.
My plan was simple: get in close, plant detonators on the legs, and stun the tanks long enough for the clones to exploit the weak spot.
I vaulted over a smoldering tank, slid under falling debris, and dashed toward the first walker. It loomed above me, firing relentlessly, its mechanical legs sending tremors through the ground with each step. Its size made it slow. Perfect.
I targeted the legs that weren't moving first, the ones bearing most of the weight. Planting the charges was almost too easy as the walker's movement was methodical, each step deliberate. One by one, I secured the detonators, my fingers steady despite the chaos around me.
Alright, that should do it.
I ducked behind cover, took out the detonator, and pressed the button. The resulting explosion sent sparks and smoke billowing into the air. The walker staggered, its legs crippled, momentarily stunned. The weak point where the driver was housed was now exposed.
"Now!" I shouted into my comlink.
The clones unleashed hell, concentrating fire on the vulnerable section. The driver's compartment, though armored, wasn't built to withstand that level of concentrated firepower. Within moments, the walker went limp, its pilot eliminated, and the towering machine collapsed.
Rex crouched behind a fallen tree trunk, scanning the battlefield through his visor. The walkers were relentless, and their armor was proving impenetrable.
"This is madness," one of the clones, Fives, muttered. "Our blasters barely scratch those things."
Hardcase nodded grimly. "At this rate, we'll be forced to retreat further back."
Rex's eyes flickered to Colonel Valken weaving through the battlefield. "What in blazes is she doing?"
Elara, kneeling beside Rex, furrowed her brows. "She said she had a plan, but I don't see how one person can make a dent in those walkers."
"Whatever it is," Rex said, gripping his blaster tighter, "we better be ready when she gives the signal."
Fives shook his head. "She's brave, I'll give her that. But this? This is insane."
"I'd rather put my trust in someone who's willing to lead from the front and see their own plan through than in a commander like General Krell—barking out suicide orders from the safety of the rear," Kicks said firmly.
Elara's voice softened, though uncertainty laced her words. "Maybe she sees something we don't."
"I hope so," Rex muttered. "Only General Skywalker could come up with a plan this crazy."
The clones watched in tense silence as Tanya vaulted over debris and darted toward the walker.
"What's she doing near its legs?" Hardcase asked, squinting through the smoke.
"Looks like... she's planting charges," Elara whispered, realization dawning on her face.
"Wait," Fives said, eyes widening, "she's not trying to bring it down; she's trying to stun it."
"That's why she asked about the detonators," Rex muttered. "She's going to cripple its legs—give us a clean shot at the driver compartment!"
"But she's right under it," Elara said, her voice tight with worry. "If that thing doesn't go down fast..."
"Then we cover her," Rex interrupted firmly. "Stay sharp!"
Seconds felt like hours as Tanya moved with calculated precision. Then—
Boom!
The explosion ripped through the air, sending up a plume of smoke and fire. The walker staggered, its legs buckling under the force.
"Now!" Tanya's voice crackled through the comms.
"Light it up!" Rex shouted.
Blaster fire erupted from all sides, hammering the exposed driver's compartment. Sparks flew as the concentrated fire overwhelmed the walker's defenses. A final, precise shot from Fives pierced through the weakened armor. The walker shuddered and collapsed, its driver dead.
"Target down!" Hardcase confirmed.
Rex exhaled sharply, a small grin forming beneath his helmet. "Remind me never to doubt her again."
Elara, still wide-eyed, whispered, "That was... brilliant."
"Yeah," Kicks chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Crazy, but brilliant."
Rex's comm buzzed again. "Alright, men, stay sharp! One down doesn't mean we're done. Valken's got another one to handle."
Elara nodded, determination in her eyes. "We'll cover her."
"Damn right we will," Rex replied. "She's earned that much."
As the clones repositioned, Tanya was already on the move, ready to take down the next walker.
It was clockwork at this point. The Umbarans might have thought their walking fortress was impenetrable, but everything has a weakness—especially big targets. The bigger they are, the more cracks they have if you know where to look. And on the plus side, there were no Umbaran infantry in sight. Convenient. Almost too convenient.
No one to stop me? Well, that's a first.
Before long, the walkers were reduced to smoldering wrecks, and we finally had a moment to catch our breath.
"Nice work out there, Commander Valken," one of the clones said, leaning against the remains of a destroyed tank.
"Good shooting," added another. "Coordinating focused fire like that isn't easy."
Before I could respond, the voice I least wanted to hear crackled over the comm.
"Colonel Valken," Krell's deep tone cut through the static like nails on durasteel. "I thought the Republic sent you here to observe. Your direct involvement goes against my orders. But if you're so eager to fight on the front lines, I'll grant you your wish. Take the supply base. Press the attack."
Perfect. Just perfect. Somehow, despite my best efforts to salvage this mess, I've managed to maneuver myself into exactly what I wanted to avoid—taking orders from a fool.
Brilliant. Truly. It's almost poetic how quickly a moment of victory gets rewarded with more work. In the corporate world, we called this the 'Curse of Competence.' Perform well once, and suddenly you're the go-to person for every high-stakes project no one else wants to touch. Congratulations, Tanya. You've been promoted to 'unwilling assault commander.'
But, I suppose, if I must glean something from this misstep, it's that this is a good testing ground to get back into rhythm. Would I normally volunteer for this suicidal venture? Absolutely not. But with my own Task Force soon to be under my command, frontline operations are inevitable. Better to cut my teeth here than risk failure when it actually matters. After all, every successful operation is just another line on the résumé.
The supply base was only an hour's march away. An hour. Wonderful. Of course, the clones were already exhausted after fighting for their lives. But no rest for the expendable, I thought grimly. If this were a corporate merger, these poor souls would be the overworked middle managers forced to pick up the slack while the executives sat back and counted credits.
War, business, politics—different arenas, same exploitative playbook.
The clones had to be genetically enhanced—there was no other explanation for how they were still on their feet after so many hours of relentless combat. They marched forward with unwavering discipline, showing no signs of exhaustion, as if fatigue was merely an afterthought.
When we reached the outskirts, I pulled out my visor to scout the area.
"Looks dead," Rex muttered beside me.
"I concur," I replied, narrowing my eyes. "Which means it's probably a trap."
"Fives, what do you see?" Rex asked.
"Just light infantry on patrol. No sign of the armor we faced outside the base," Fives responded.
Elara chimed in. "Krell ordered the other divisions to assault the base. We won't be alone this time."
Right on cue, Krell's grating voice came through the comms. "Troops, move in. Take the base."
Rex scoffed. "Well, he's not worried about a trap."
"Why would he be?" I muttered. It's easy to be brave when you're not the one doing the dying.
War rarely offers surprises. Today, however, it delivered one wrapped in false hope. As soon as we revealed ourselves, the Umbarans opened fire, as expected. But, for once, fortune—or perhaps sheer statistical probability—was on our side. The main assault force bore the brunt of the onslaught, leaving our group with minimal resistance.
Lucky? No. Luck is a gambler's excuse. This was the calculated outcome of throwing enough bodies at a problem until it solved itself.
The scout walkers charged headlong into the base, their mechanical legs kicking up dust and debris. The Umbaran defenders scrambled to regroup, their formation crumbling under the sudden, reckless assault. Good. Confusion is a force multiplier. The enemy's disarray bought us time, and time is a commodity I never waste.
"I'm moving in."
I moved through the chaos like a shadow—precise, methodical, and unrelenting. One Umbaran soldier barely had time to register my presence before a blaster shot pierced his chest. Another, attempting to rally his squad, found a vibroblade at his throat before the order could leave his lips.
Rex observed Tanya as she moved through the battlefield with an almost unsettling efficiency. Every action was deliberate, every movement precise—wasting no energy, taking no unnecessary risks.
"Commander Valken..." he muttered, watching her dispatch another Umbaran with practiced ease. There was no hesitation in her strikes, no unnecessary theatrics—just clean, decisive execution.
"She's... efficient," Fives remarked beside him, his tone neutral, though his gaze lingered a second too long.
"That's one way to put it," Rex replied. "She doesn't hesitate. Doesn't second-guess."
It was something he'd seen before—seasoned clones, hardened officers, warriors who understood that survival meant acting without doubt. But for someone as young as Tanya, it was striking.
"She's already a soldier," Rex realized. "Not just fighting. She's here to win."
There was no Jedi idealism, no reluctance, no pause to consider the weight of her actions. Just results. It was... different. And in this war, different could mean the difference between victory and failure.
He couldn't help but think of Krell—the supposed Jedi general who led from the rear, issuing orders that sent men to die in droves without so much as glancing at the battlefield.
One refused to hesitate because hesitation meant losing. The other refused to care because lives were just numbers on a battlefield.
One of them was a soldier.
The other was a butcher.
The base fell easily. Suspiciously easily. No traps. No last-minute defenses. Just... silence.
Nothing ever comes this easy. Not in war. Not in life. Victory without effort reeks of manipulation. And manipulation? Well, that's Krell's specialty, isn't it?
The so-called "General" was suddenly eager to make his presence known, striding into the command tower like a Hutt at an auction now that the risk was gone. How convenient, I thought, rolling my eyes.
Within the hour, the base was secured. Finally, a moment of well-deserved rest.
Though, with Krell in charge, I doubt that luxury will last long.
Rest is a resource. And resources under Jedi management tend to vanish quickly.
The next morning, I received an order to report alone to the command tower. Wonderful. I could only imagine what Krell had planned. Would I be graced with another of his grandiose, ill-conceived strategies? Or perhaps subjected to a tirade for salvaging his operation from certain disaster?
Outside, the remnants of last night's battle still lingered. The air was thick with the acrid scent of scorched metal and blaster residue. Republic forces had fully occupied the supply base, setting up defensive perimeters and makeshift command posts. Medics tended to the wounded, their hushed voices barely audible over the distant rumble of battle.
The capital loomed on the horizon, obscured by the planet's eternal twilight and rolling fog. Missile barrages periodically streaked through the sky, their trails of light carving arcs of destruction between the city and our position. The Umbarans had no intention of letting us keep this base without a fight. Their artillery harassed us relentlessly, forcing the clones to take cover between bombardments. Each distant impact was a grim reminder that this was only a temporary victory—one that Krell seemed eager to throw away with his next reckless maneuver.
I made my way to the tower, my boots clicking against the sterile durasteel floors. The elevator ride up felt longer than it should have, the hum of the machinery filling the silence like an ominous prelude. As the doors slid open, I was greeted by a dimly lit command post—Umbaran technology retrofitted for Republic use.
A holographic display flickered in the center of the room, projecting the jagged geography of the surrounding area in a cold, ethereal blue. Thin wisps of holographic mist drifted upward, giving the room an almost ghostly atmosphere. Two clone guards flanked the elevator, their helmets locked forward, motionless as always.
At the far end, standing rigidly by the panoramic window, was Krell. His broad, towering frame cast a long shadow against the dim light that filtered through the glass. He gazed out over the bleak Umbaran landscape, a silent figure contemplating... something. Perhaps his next bout of brilliance, though I dared not hope.
I stepped forward, my boots clicking sharply against the floor. "Colonel Valken, reporting as ordered."
Krell didn't turn. His deep, gravelly voice cut through the silence.
"Colonel Valken, your efforts to intervene in my plans have been noted. I cannot allow your insubordinate conduct to continue."
Straight to the point. Refreshing.
"My conduct, General, was to ensure mission success. If my actions offended your sensibilities, then I apologize. But I was under the impression that victory was our priority."
Krell finally turned, two of his arms crossed, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto me. The tension in the room thickened, palpable enough to cut.
"Victory is achieved through discipline and obedience, Colonel. Not through insubordination."
I offered a polite smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Discipline and obedience are valuable, General. But so is adaptability. The battlefield rarely conforms to rigid plans."
He stepped closer, towering over me. "You believe yourself above my methods? That your... innovations supersede my orders?"
I kept my composure, hands clasped behind my back in a textbook military stance. "Not at all, sir. I simply believe that, in war, the situation often demands flexibility. My actions ensured that the Republic took control of this supply base. I would assume that outcome aligns with your intentions."
Krell's voice dropped lower, almost a growl. "You assume much, Colonel. I tolerate your presence because the Republic insists upon it. But make no mistake—this is my battlefield. My methods may differ from those of other commanders, but they prove effective. Your interference will not be tolerated again."
I nodded curtly. "Understood, General. My intent was never to undermine your authority, only to assist in achieving our shared objective."
There was a beat of silence. His eyes bore into mine, searching for weakness, for insubordination. Finding none, he turned back to the window.
I saluted sharply, though the gesture felt hollow. I turned on my heel and made for the elevator, but just as I reached for the control panel, Krell spoke again.
"You are unlike the others, Colonel Valken," he mused, his tone shifting from rigid authority to something almost... knowing. "You see beyond the orders, beyond the battlefield. But you lack faith. That is your greatest weakness."
I paused, my finger hovering over the button.
Faith?
The word alone irritated me. Faith had nothing to do with war.
I turned slightly, enough to catch his reflection in the window. "Faith is a luxury for those who can afford to lose," I replied evenly.
Krell let out a low chuckle, though there was no humor in it. "And yet, even those who think themselves beyond it are bound by forces greater than themselves. You will see that in time."
The air in the room suddenly felt heavier, charged with something I couldn't quite place.
I forced my expression to remain neutral. "If you say so, General."
I pressed the button, and the elevator doors slid shut between us.
As I descended, I replayed his words in my mind.
You will see that in time.
Something about the way he said it made my skin crawl.
I had seen Jedi arrogance before—the way they looked down on those who didn't share their blind devotion to the Force. But this was something different. This wasn't arrogance. It was certainty.
Like he knew something I didn't.
Like he had already seen the path ahead and was merely waiting for me to catch up.
I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders to shake off the unease creeping up my spine.
No. That was nonsense.
The Jedi always spoke in riddles, always pretending they had some deeper insight into the universe when all they really had was an inflated sense of self-importance.
And yet...
Something about the way he looked at me, the way he said it—
I clenched my fists, burying the thought before it could fester.
It didn't matter.
Whatever Krell thought he knew, whatever nonsense he was spewing about faith, was just another instance of Being X's propaganda.
I was here to complete my mission—nothing more, nothing less. Surely even Tarkin hadn't expected it to unfold like this. Walking away from this disaster would be preferable, but orders are orders. And until this is finished, I have no choice but to see it through.