Chapter 36: Through Hell and Back

"Motherf—! Get down!"

A shell whistled past, obliterating the stone wall of a nearby house. A small shard unpleasantly grazed my cheek. I felt the warm flow of moisture as a crimson trail carved a path through the grime on my face. But I felt no pain; every ounce of my attention was fixed on the advancing enemy.

The tanks approached, slowly, inexorably, flanked by columns of metallic infantry.

A sudden spike of danger in the Force forced me to dive into a nearby trench. The spot where I had stood a second ago erupted in a fountain of earth.

"Sir, the marksmen are in position!"

"Then tell them to destroy those karking machines!"

Flashes sparked from the roof of a nearby building. Four lethal charges streaked toward the enemy. One tank swerved violently, toppling directly onto the droids marching beside it. Another exploded with such violence that the debris swept away its entire escort and embedded itself deep into the armor of a third tank.

"Sir, the path is clear, just as you requested."

"Excellent. Cover me!"

I vaulted out of the improvised trench. The remains of crippled machinery and the corpses of soldiers blurred past. All my focus was locked on the sole remaining tank.

Three, two... Now! A sideward lunge saved me from its main battery, which kicked up a pillar of soil exactly where I had been a heartbeat ago.

Now, less than forty meters separated us. Closing the distance a bit more, I leapt with all my might.

Landing deftly on the tank's hull, I cut a circular hole with one swift stroke and kicked the plating inward, crushing a droid beneath it. I deactivated my blade and dropped inside, only to use the Force to crush the heads of the two surviving enemies.

Having memorized the layout of every control panel inside these enemy tanks, it took me mere seconds to switch to the secondary weapons. The droids, who hadn't even processed what was happening, began to fall under the fire of their own vehicle.

In moments, the enemy squad, already halved, ceased to exist.

"Commander, report to HQ that the sector is clear. Men, take five."

The three-hour assault had paid off. Another fortified zone had fallen under our control. Only one major push remained before we could finally encircle that cursed factory.

The war for dominance on this kriffing planet had been raging for weeks. It could have been over already if not for the constant influx of enemy reinforcements in orbit.

Where they were pulling these forces from, I couldn't even begin to guess. Either this had all been prepared since the very start of the Clone Wars, or our Imperial Security Bureau is completely asleep at the wheel. How could they miss a bunch of lunatics stealing an entire shipyard station, and likely more than one? Even if they didn't hijack a pre-built one, constructing a new one requires resources. Immense resources. You don't just hide that. How did they let this slip through the cracks?

But no matter how much I fumed, the reality remained unchanged.

It felt as though every spare ship the Separatists had was thrown into our annihilation. Imperial troops had barely finished unloading when hundreds of Nova-class frigates, capital ships, transports, and other enemy vessels jumped into the system.

There was a moment when our space forces were nearly wiped out. If not for reinforcements arriving just in time, we would have lost our air cover and been obliterated by orbital bombardment. Sure, we had stationary shields, but how long they could hold under the concentrated fire of an entire fleet was anyone's guess.

In short, air support was virtually non-existent. Just the occasional fighters or bombers that didn't change the tactical landscape much. Occasionally, a passing Star Destroyer might provide supporting fire, but you could count those instances on one hand.

So, we had to claw our way deep into Separatist territory on our own.

Regular enemy bombing runs left death's cold hand reaching over our positions. The numerical superiority of the enemy was obvious. Our forces were being depleted, while those "clankers" were being continuously rolled off the factory lines. It was incredibly draining.

I could feel the exhaustion radiating from the men. Most of my unit collapsed into sleep the moment they dropped their rucksacks at every camp. I couldn't blame them.

There were times we had to defend a newly captured point for two days straight with almost no breaks. Or make a forced march through local forests to support attacks by other units. Only to arrive and find that some amateur had practically surrendered all his positions, forcing us to cook up another plan on the verge of madness and suicide.

But we did it. We managed. By personal order of the Commander-in-Chief, our entire unit was reclassified as an elite division. Consequently, every high-stakes mission was dropped in our laps, and we were used to plug every hole in the line. At least they gave us priority for new equipment and reinforcements.

Though, that was a small spoonful of honey in a massive vat of tar. Tanks, walkers, and other heavy gear didn't suit our mission profile, but we fought tooth and nail for any available speeder bikes. We weren't the only ones, though; we barely managed twenty bikes for the whole unit.

Over these days, we had fused into a single organism. Often acting without words, simply knowing that the soldiers beside you would have your back. I trusted them with my life without question, and they left the command of our operations to me. We didn't know each other's names; we didn't need to anymore. There was no time for talk. All our energy went into surviving this meat grinder.

There was one battle where the Commander, myself, and a few stormtroopers had to hold off an entire battalion of droids. The "tinnies" had set a trap in a gorge. As soon as the vanguard entered, an explosion cut us off from the main force.

We had to hold the position for twenty minutes. If the clankers had managed to hold that pass, it would have been disastrous. It was the only route for hundreds of kilometers through the cliffs that our heavy armor could traverse.

If not for the orbital strike from a timely Star Destroyer, we would have stayed there forever. But luck was on our side. A precise hit wiped out the enemy reinforcements, and our "tin-heads" managed to clear the debris blocking the pass, while we organized some semblance of suppressive fire.

We broke through, fighting for every inch, but we broke through.

The other Acolytes weren't faring much better. Of all who had arrived at this war, only seven remained alive, each leading similar elite units and working themselves to the bone.

We were scattered across different corners of the planet, locked in active combat. The last time I saw another Acolyte was a week ago. I didn't want to think about how many were left by now. I was particularly worried about that blue-skinned idiot.

As it happened, Kamma and I had to sabotage a station that was jamming our techs' communications. Even then, my friend looked terrible. His eyes were clearly tinged with gold, despite his usual control and effort to hide the color, his cheeks were sunken, and several new scars adorned his already rugged blue face. His left arm was wrapped in bandages and moved with visible difficulty.

As he put it, he hadn't thrown a grenade back in time, and it "nicked" him. Compared to him, I looked like the most energetic man alive. Only the dark circles under my eyes contrasted sharply with my yellow irises and pale skin. But that was the price for the constant use of the Dark Side of the Force.

Predictably, my temperament was shifting as well. I had become more irritable and aggressive. There were moments I wanted to cut down a stormtrooper just for bringing another stupid order from HQ. But so far, I had managed to restrain myself. Years of practicing emotional control were paying off.

Though right now, I felt like tearing someone apart.

Just five minutes ago, reinforcements had offloaded near our positions. Stormtroopers were setting up heavy repeater nests, cover, and the like. But the object of my rage wasn't them, it was a young officer with an arrogant gaze who had delivered new orders from HQ.

"Repeat that. He... ordered... WHAT?!"

I think if he could have turned any paler, he would have, but biology had its limits. Yet his voice barely trembled, maintaining those high notes of condescension. At any other time, it would have amused me, but not now.

"The order has been issued: your unit is to destroy the command center of an enemy army preventing our advance. While the main forces engage in open combat, you are to infiltrate the enemy rear and neutralize the brain center. You must depart within the day to scout the situation. The battle is scheduled to begin in a week."

My hearing picked up the distinct cracking of the stone I was sitting on. A wave of Fury rippled outward, making the nearby stormtroopers flinch. But no one else reacted. By now, it had become routine. I almost always reacted to their orders this way. And judging by the emotions, if my men were Force-sensitive, nothing in the vicinity would be left standing.

"Are they completely out of their karking minds back there?! A third of my unit is wounded and barely standing. We have no supplies, no power packs... I'm going to deal with this bantha-fodder personally. Get me a direct line."

"But they ordered not to be disturbed—"

A red blade ignited dangerously close to the fop's face. I exerted every ounce of willpower to keep from leaving a long burn across the left side of his noble mug.

"I said..." If words could be turned into poison, I could have envied a whole planet. "Get me a line to HQ. Now!"

"Y-yes, sir!"

Backing away carefully, the officer scrambled to his equipment. While he frantically punched in commands, my second-in-command appeared beside me. His head was bandaged, a fresh scar ran down his cheek, and the clone's already rugged face now looked even more formidable.

"You realize this won't help, sir?"

"Naturally."

"Then why do it?"

I leaned back against a tree and immediately felt the sap clinging to my clothes. I didn't care, honestly. Folding my hands behind my head, I defocused my vision and sank into a light trance, listening to the surrounding nature. It was the only thing that helped me escape from this absolute cluster-kark.

"We have too many wounded, no supplies, and the men are spent. The mission itself reeks of senility, and under these conditions, it’s suicide. We need a break. I won't send my soldiers to certain death. If they refuse, that’s their problem. Without new gear and getting the wounded to a med-bay, we aren't moving an inch. Until Vader himself gives me the order, that puffed-up turkey at HQ can burst for all I care. It would be better for everyone."

"Understood, sir."

I could feel his surprise, mingled with relief. Though the clone would likely never put it into words, I didn't need him to.

"Connection established!"

The officer ran up, nearly tripping, and handed me the holographic communicator with trembling hands.

The small, piggish eyes of that massive tub of lard, who had somehow become a high-ranking officer, glimmered at me through the static. Maybe it was just me, but did he look even fatter since our last meeting? Mother— the kriffer is eating right now!

First came the sound of smacking lips, then that grating, high-pitched voice.

"I understand you are refusing to follow a direct order from the Command—"

"Shut up and listen to me." I spoke quietly, without strain. The words came out slightly drawn out and hissing, as if a snake sat deep inside me. "You piece of filth, you are going to give my men a rest, new equipment, and anything else they ask for."

"That is not authorized…" He bit into a piece of meat with a crunch, likely bone and all. "You received everything you needed only three days ago. We have a strict schedule; there are shortages everywhere. You are far from the only ones who need supplies. So—"

He didn't get to finish. His sausage-link fingers flew to his throat as his massive bulk slowly lifted off his chair, hovering in the air.

"Now, listen carefully. You have exactly one day to get us everything we need. Don't worry, I'll send you a list. If even one item is missing, then be ready. I will personally come there and sear our new requirements onto your flesh." Judging by his widening eyes, he believed me and felt the weight of my threat. "Secondly, we will have two days for rest and replenishment. You will transport all the wounded to the rear, and if you even think about taking this out on them, may the Force help you. Do we understand each other?"

Judging by his convulsive twitching, his brain had finally started working, at least a little.

"Splendid. I'll be expecting the transports."

Within the hour, we were swaying rhythmically in a gunship, flying away from the front lines.

Those two magical days flew by in a heartbeat. A warm shower... I had almost forgotten how pleasant that felt. And that feeling when absolutely nothing hurts? A fairy tale, pure fantasy.

The men looked refreshed and rested as well. Exactly how I needed them. All the wounded had been moved to med-centers, and their spots were filled by grizzled veterans from a decimated commando group.

Taking full advantage of the situation, we decided to thoroughly raid the local depot. Now, all two hundred stormtroopers under my command wore dappled green camo. Against the forest backdrop, they were practically invisible unless you knew where to look.

Missile launchers, explosives, fresh blasters that hadn't been through the ringer, mines… there was nothing we didn't have now. Every man was armed and lethally dangerous.

But I wasn't just resting; I was handling pressing matters. I felt a distinct ripple in the Force, something significant was coming, which meant I had to be thoroughly prepared.

First, I checked the security of the holocron. Satisfied everything was in order, I put it back. A small satchel slung over my back had been my constant companion on this planet for weeks. Surprisingly, it hadn't torn once. It held various medical supplies, a small stash of food and water, and my precious pyramid.

I regret bringing it with me now; I should have sent it back to the Academy. But what’s done is done, and I have to guard it like the core of a reactor. Though, it’s possible something has happened to it, as the Master hasn't made contact in over a month. Then again, maybe he’s just deep in his calculations.

Another critical matter was contacting King. Or rather, figuring out how to get a message to him. I couldn't use an Imperial communicator, that would spark questions like: Where to? Who to? Why? And then it’s "hello, torture chambers on Nur."

I couldn't use my personal one; they’d track it and come asking those same questions. And we destroyed Separatist comms before we could even get to them. Besides, their field transmitters lacked the power.

I was boxed in at every turn.

The final crucial aspect was planning our upcoming operation. There was no reason to doubt the provided intelligence, but it’s always better to double-check. You can never have too much caution in this business.

As a result, my senior NCOs and I spent several hours hunched over a map, studying enemy troop dispositions and defensive fortifications, everything our recon had managed to dig up.

If even half of this intel is true, we are quite literally going to have to walk through hell and back. I have no idea how we’re going to pull this off, but as the saying goes: the eyes are afraid, but the hands keep working.

A preliminary plan was drafted, though we didn't finalize it yet. Besides, that fat hog at HQ didn't seem eager to poke our unit again.

Damn, I should have pulled that stunt with him sooner.

But globally, there wasn't much else to do. All the data would have to be verified on-site. Even an hour after receiving intel, the situation on the ground can change drastically.

So, all that remained was to get our gear in order and enjoy this small sliver of peace, which, unfortunately, came to an end all too quickly.

We met the transports, tense and focused. I felt only a calm resolve from the men to do their jobs well—no jitters, no anxiety. Everyone understood that the outcome of the campaign might depend on this absurd mission.

There were no nervous recruits here. Those ones had either died or changed. All that remained were cold wolves, ready to tear the enemy apart with their teeth. Though, that’s a hard trick to pull off with droids. And the helmets didn't exactly help.

In absolute silence, under the cover of night, we boarded the ships that would send us straight into hell.