106

A Young Girl’s War Between the Stars

106

33 BBY/967 GSC. Naboo Conflict +45 days. Naboo.

“Sixty seconds to drop!”

The call from over the bay’s PA system drew the newly promoted Lt. Ahab’s attention as the Shaadlar-class transport shook beneath their feet as it dropped quickly through atmosphere. Turning to his troops, Ahab whistled once and raised a hand, making a circular motion and gesturing towards the vehicles. He climbed into one of the land vehicles as Ishmael, or Izzy as she preferred, slid in beside him and two more members of their squad climbed into the back seats.

“So this is it,” Sgt. Izzy murmured on the squad only frequency. “Finally going to see combat.”

“Looks that way,” Ahab agreed, counting down the seconds in their head.

“Well, let’s hope the tractor operators aren’t slacking off,” he heard the woman’s grin. “Otherwise, it’s going to be a really short mission.”

“Don’t jinx us,” Cpl. Tashtego—or Tasha as she preferred—muttered from the back, one hand clutching her rifle, the other holding onto the side of the vehicle for dear life for what was to come. “I don’t want to be one of that two percent.”

Beside her, Cpl. Dago snorted quietly. “Too late for that.”

The Shaadlar-class transport lurched below them as it leveled out and slowed, and then the world opened up below them and they fell. Someone yelled, “Fuuuck!”

The modern Shaadlar-class transport looked nothing like its beetle shaped version of yesteryear. Mandalore Mereel had requested a transport for getting in, dropping troops and materiel onto a planet quickly, and getting out again before AA or planetary defenses could shoot them down. The closest thing the Mandalorians had at the time was the SoroSuub Quasar Fire-class cruiser-carrier, meant to carry fighters—that is, unless they wanted to make like the Tradies and modify a trade vessel for it. The Quasar Fire was close to what she wanted, but hadn’t had the capacity to come anywhere close to matching the Tradies and their Lucrehulks, or even the Republic and their new Venator and Acclamator-class ships. So, someone had redesigned the Quasar Fire and scaled it up a bit.

The resulting Shaadlar was twice the length of the Quasar Fire, with the majority of that being taken up by their drop bays. They had removed the open force fields at the front of the bays that had allowed for fighters to quickly leave and enter, and instead changed them out for ramps for loading troops and vehicles. But for putting them onto a world, having them leave via the ramp was just too slow. Thus, the aptly-named drop bay. The floor at the bottom of each bay opened in the last stage of atmospheric entry, leaving a force field in place to hold everyone in position. Then, when they were over the drop zone, the force fields were shut off as the ship pulled up and away, launching their cargo at the ground.

That wasn’t exactly conducive to keeping their gear in one piece if they hit the ground at speed, however… and most people would tend to splatter across the ground and decompose into the consistency of salsa upon meeting the ground at mach fuck. That was where the tractor beam projectors in the drop bays came in. Tractor operators would guide them down to the ground for that last stretch and hopefully set them down gently—allowing the ship to keep moving while it quickly deployed its precious cargo. In training, it had worked about ninety-eight percent of the time. But that two percent…

The results of those tended to end one of two ways. One had looked more like the aftermath of a bombing run than a cargo drop, where the dummy payload was driven into the ground at speed. The other, the tractor hadn’t released in time, so the cargo was pulled back up just as it let go—launching the dummy payload across the landscape nearly a hundred miles before it came down across the desert.

Thankfully, the tractor operators seemed to be on point today. They touched down with barely a bump as the Shaadlars set them down and quickly left the LZ behind. Red blaster fire and several missiles streaked overhead towards the Shaadlars, but the ships were already moving fast enough that they were able to avoid most of the anti-air fire, and what little hit splashed off the shields as they quickly climbed and broke atmo.

Looking around briefly, Ahab took in the gathered Confederate force. Ten thousand troopers in this drop—the first of ten that would take place today. Men and women in armor freshly painted in gray, brown, and green camo moved quickly, checking over gear and making sure nothing had been damaged in the drop. As the first of the reinforcements to arrive, that meant they were being deployed closest to the enemy, with the goal of slowing them down long enough for later groups to do the work they needed to make a true defensive line.

The local comm net lit up as Cdr. Taro keyed up. “You know your assignments. Get to it.”

With that, men and equipment began to scatter, making an orderly procession into the mountains and across them to the swamps on the other side. While half their forces turned east and headed further down the range to set up further along the enemy’s projected path, Ahab’s unit crossed over the range through a narrow pass and into the driest part of the southern side of the mountain range, just before it turned into swamp. From there, their job was simple: scout ahead and forge a path for their forces to follow quickly under the cover of trees, so they could retreat and relocate after engaging the enemy. They were just one of many teams who would swap out between assault and pathfinding.

Making their way through the treeline they only made it two miles before coming across a large game trail that seemed to follow the east/west direction of the mountains. Ahab pulled the vehicle to a stop, looking up and down the path. It was practically invisible from above and disappeared into the forest to either side around natural bends in the terrain, but the path was very distinct—oddly clear, in fact.

Frowning, Ahab slid out of the ground transport and stepped a few feet away from it as he spotted something. Izzy joined him a moment later. “Something wrong, LT?”

Kneeling, Ahab pushed aside some brush and pointed out what he’d spotted. “It’s a stump.”

“What’s the big deal?” Dago asked from the transport.

Kneeling beside Ahab, Izzy ran her gloved fingers over the top. “It’s cut smooth and it’s not very old. This is intentional. Someone’s been maintaining the path.”

There was a moment of silence as they took that in, before Tasha said, “Sounds like the locals the updated briefing the boss sent talked about. These gungans.”

“Yeah,” Ahab agreed. “We’ll keep an eye out for them. In the meantime, Cpl. Dago, get those IR markers out. Go mark the entrance for the trail.”

“Roger that, LT.”

Nodding, Ahab walked back to the transport as Dago got to work. Keying up on the battlenet, he made his report. “This is Lt. Ahab. Found a managed trail following the mountains roughly two mikes into the jungle. Designating trailhead with IR markers. We’ll follow this path and drop markers every five mikes. The trail looks recently maintained, so all forces advised to be on the lookout for natives.”

“Copy that, Ahab,” Cdr. Taro replied. “Good find. You’re confirmed to leapfrog ahead. Keep going until dusk and set up. I expect this will put you well outside tonight’s AO. You’ll be on the fire team for tomorrow night’s AO.”

“Understood, sir. Ahab out.”

Cutting off his comms, he waited until Dago returned, then got them moving again. The rest of the day passed quickly as they followed the trail and put out markers for their people to follow. Eventually, the sun started to set and they set up a final marker before Ahab drove them out of the jungle and into the mountains. A bit of scouting found them a nice place to set up with plenty of cover and over the mountain from where they would be shooting.

“Dago, we’ll get those mortars set up. Tasha, move the jeep back into the treeline, then see if you can hunt us up some food and gather some firewood—I saw some game trails as we came out of the forest. Izzy, get the gear and set up camp here.”

Everyone dispersed to do their jobs. Mortar launchers were set in place and enough ammunition for a fire mission moved up and made ready. Tents were set into place. The jeep was hidden on the trail and covered in freshly cut limbs and foliage. Pits were dug for a fire and a latrine. By the time it got fully dark, they were cooking something that looked vaguely like a pig over the fire as they removed their helmets and settled in for the night.

“You think it’s safe to have a fire going?” Tasha asked, as she gave the pig a turn on the spit.

“Should be fine, right?” Dago asked, before gesturing west. “Nearest team’s six hours away and the clankers haven’t been running aerial recon because the jungle makes that pointless.”

“For now,” Ahab grunted. “That’ll change once we hit them a few times.”

Izzy shrugged. “Yeah, but by then, our forces will have the first set of trenches dug and mines laid out.”

Dago snorted. “Space ships. Faster than light travel. Droids. Clones. Blasters. Laser swords. And at the end of the day, the most effective way to fight a droid army on open ground is Force damned trench warfare. You can’t make this shit up.”

The enemy has a tireless, implacable army of cheap, easy to produce droids. They are decently armed and equipped, they don’t require food or rest only fuel. They can’t be intimidated or terrorized. They outnumber your forces ten to one. Bombing is of limited usefulness given just how many there are and how much AA they’ve brought. They’ve learned to stagger their forces in smaller groups and spread out in a staggered march so explosives or other traps don’t take out as many. Someone in the enemy command structure has also adapted to your tactics, refusing to pursue enemy forces and only engaging at extreme range with artillery fire.

Your allies, the local government, are leery of damaging the terrain. They’ve ruled out more powerful bombs or orbital strikes, which would be far more effective. You are effectively limited to ground tactics.

How do you handle a foe under such restrictions?

The answer Confederate command had come up with was a mixture of harassment and delaying tactics from the front line, while preparing to receive the enemy with the middle and rear lines. At the moment, the second wave of ten thousand was using the heavy equipment that had been dropped with them to dig hundreds of miles of trenches and lay down razor wire and mine fields. The razor wire wouldn't be as effective at deterring droids, but it would still get stuck in joints and was a physical barrier they had to cut through and move aside to clear a path, which stalled them and forced them to narrow their march through those cleared areas, creating chokepoints. The rear line would arrive within the next day or two and make a second set of trenches and mine fields, stretching even further—forcing the enemy to make the choice of trying to circle around, cross the mountains to the south into the swamps, or attempt to cross the trenches.

The way Ahab understood it, those droids would just keep coming so long as there was a single control ship in orbit—and at the moment, there were many. They didn’t have the firepower to take out all of the Lucrehulks acting as droid control ships, but even if they did… Mandalore Mereel was running this op.

Having met her, he could say with certainty that even if she could end the engagement right now, she wouldn’t. The woman wouldn’t see this as a proper war. No, she was likely treating it as a training exercise. A way to get the Confederate clone army experience fighting a large scale deployment against Tradie forces now, when the danger level was the lowest it was ever going to be in the coming war. The Tradies would only ever get more dangerous as their technology got better and their factories pumped out more droids. Which meant they needed all the experience they could get fighting them. Hitting the off switch on the enemy army right now would be a colossal waste and ultimately lead to the loss of more lives in the future. And if that required a bit of damage to the unoccupied Nabooian countryside, then it was well worth it.

This content has been misappropriated from NovelPhoenix; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

At least, that’s what Ahab thought she’d say.

So if the enemy had already adapted to Mando hit and run tactics and bombing runs, what were they doing setting up with a couple of mortars in the middle of nowhere? Because the enemy were stupid, even when they were trying to be smart. The droids had staggered their march into smaller units, each separated by roughly a quarter mile of open space. So in response, the clone army’s first attack was going to be a simultaneous mortar and arty bombardment over the mountains after letting the droid army walk past their position, so each firing position could hit at least two groups of droids.

Then, they’d pick up their gear, haul ass down the mountain, and disappear into the jungle. They’d travel for a day or so, give the enemy just enough time to start thinking they wouldn’t do it again, then set up and hit another group. And they would be doing this all up and down the line of droids, at random intervals, as their troops advanced further west and spread out.

They would also be using a combination of ammunition types—standard explosive plasma shells and ion shells. According to the brass, dead or destroyed soldiers meant the enemy just kept marching. But wounded, or in the case of droids, disabled soldiers took time, attention, and resources. Ion shells would leave large groups of the enemy disabled, but otherwise functional, so long as they were repaired. Repairing them would require getting a troop transport out to load then, having troops load them up, fuel to transport them, and droids, parts, time, and energy to fix them. It was war by attrition.

But that wasn’t all. No, after the first few instances of letting the enemy recover their droids, they would begin sabotaging them. Sending men down to booby trap the disabled droids and armor with explosives. From then on, every disabled droid could potentially be booby trapped and they would have to decide if they wanted to save resources by trying to repair them, or if they were willing to cut their losses and leave them.

If the Tradies decided to cut their losses, then the Confederates were going to start yoinking droids wholesale from the battlefield after disabling them and engaging in what their briefing from Mandalore Mereel had called ‘ugly duckling’ tactics. Essentially, scavenging droids, booby trapping them, repairing them, setting them out on the field, then waiting to reactivate them until the enemy passed nearby. When the enemy approached, the droids would be reactivated and attempt to rejoin friendly forces. Once they were mixed in with the enemy, the clones would set off whatever payload they’d booby trapped the droids with. Cdr. Taro was favoring ion charges, for the simple tactic of turning one disabled droid into one hundred, and practically never running out of ‘ammo.’

“How likely do you think it is that we’ll run across the locals, LT?” Izzy asked, drawing Ahab from his thoughts.

Humming, Ahab considered what they knew—which honestly wasn’t much. The other locals, the Nabooians, weren’t very forthcoming on that front. Apparently, there had been a war between the Nabooian humans and the gungans in the not so distant past and they were still sore about it.

“Their capital was blown to shit and that trail looked like it’s seen a lot of traffic recently. The grass was all pushed down in the middle, heading east. It’d take a lot of animals all moving one direction to do that. I’d say that if we keep going, we’re likely to meet them.”

The others were silent as they considered that for a moment before Tasha asked, “Where do you think they’re going?”

“Otoh Gunga was east of here,” Izzy pointed out.

Frowning, Dago murmured, “Yeah, and so is Theed.”

Izzy scoffed. “Come on. Give ‘em the benefit of the doubt. They’re probably just sending aid to Otoh Gunga to see if there are any survivors.”

“Nerf shit. If our capital had just been hit with an orbital drop, you think we’d be sending a bunch of people and heavy equipment that way? We’ve got civvies for that. Nah, we’d be sent to strike back at whoever we think did it,” Dago shook his head.

“Yeah, but it was the Trade Federation who did it,” Tasha pointed out. “So why head for Theed? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Fog of war,” Ahab supplied.

Izzy hummed, before nodding. “Plus they’re isolationist and what we got about them said their tech was all over the place. There’s no telling how much they really know. So I guess it’s possible.”

“We should probably approach with caution if we spot them,” Ahab warned. “We don’t need an incident. Mandalore Mereel would be pissed if some grunt accidentally opened a second front in her little practice war.” Reaching out, he prodded the pig-creature with his knife, cutting into it. “Looks done to me. Let’s eat, then rack out. I’ll take first watch.”

With that, they settled into the routine their training had prepared them for. Eat, sleep, wait, fight, move, and do it all over again.

33 BBY/967 GSC. Naboo Conflict +47 days. Naboo.

Standing in the room we’d turned into a war room and command center in the royal palace, we looked over the most up to date tactical map. Orbital sensor scans of the continent and the battlespace above Naboo had been taken from our ships and beamed straight down via laser tightbeam, so the enemy couldn’t detect or disrupt our comms.

Debris from multiple destroyed or inoperable TradeFed ships and fighters filled the space between our ships and theirs. The enemy’s fighter swarms had been all but eradicated at this point, leaving only their main force of what passed for warships. We had figured out the trick of dealing with their tactic of sharing shield coverage and rotating damaged ships out to cycle in fresh ones some time ago, but we had yet to fully take advantage—only picking off one or two here and there to whittle their numbers down.

I wanted them to believe they could win this, right up until the very moment they lost. The longer we took to destroy them, the more reinforcements they sent, believing they were just one more engagement away from retaking the battlespace. We kept that illusion going by occasionally giving ground, before always reclaiming it. The more ships and materiel they sank into this, the greater the cost and the more damage it would do to them—with the end goal of convincing them that it just wasn’t worth the cost.

The Kandosii had dropped in on the edge of the system with our reinforcements and was currently parked behind Widow, the fourth planet of the Naboo system, using a small constellation of droids and laser tightbeam comms to communicate with the rest of the fleet and stay up to date, waiting for the call to arms. She wouldn’t have to wait much longer. I intended to introduce the enemy to her rather violently, as soon as Padme returned.

The plan was to shift to an all out attack as soon as the queen returned. Padme would rejoin the Redoubt, along with Master Qui-Gon and Obi. I’d let her broadcast a nice, rousing speech to the planet and the wider galaxy over the holonet when we reestablished comms. Then the Kandosii would make a short hyperspace jump between Widow and Naboo, drop in practically on top of the enemy forces, and we’d synchronize our fire to wipe them out before they could escape. With the enemy Lucrehulks destroyed, the droid army below would be rendered inoperable. Peace would come to Naboo and Padme would be elevated in their eyes as the queen who did it all—with a little help from some friends, of course.

Then we’ll spend that political capital to see about rewriting that little clause about the number of terms an elected monarch can serve. I don’t want to deal with a planet whose leadership changes every few years and may wildly swing between being fervent supporters to mortal enemies. Having policy switch every election cycle is bipolar and that’s no way to run a government.

Shaking my head, I turned my attention to the ground battle. So far, it looked like the plan was working. The droid army had slowed, as the constant harassment necessitated adaptation, forcing them to adapt in ways we anticipated.

With the arrival of the clone troops, my Mando special forces could back off and take a few days to rest while the clones picked up the slack, before I sent them back into the fray. In the meantime, the middle and rear lines were already working on excavating trenches and building a network of tunnels beneath the enemy’s feet, laying down razor wire, dragon’s teeth, and mine fields, setting up shield units to ensure the enemy couldn’t just bombard their positions with arty, and building pillboxes and machine gun nests.

There was a certain irony I enjoyed in using the lessons I’d learned the hard way and turning a former enemy’s favored tactic against a new enemy. I was looking forward to seeing Operation Revolving Door put into action against the droids. They would ‘push us back’ from the forward trench lines, fill up the hundreds of miles between the front and rear trench lines with droids, then we would connect the newly dug northern trench line with the western/forward line and our men would pop up behind the enemy from tunnels beneath them—turning the area between the trenches into one big killbox. From there, we would then push into the middle to wipe them out.

It wouldn’t take out all of their forces, but I estimated it would get perhaps a third of what they had available. Then, we’d withdraw behind the rear trench line and see if they fell for it a second time and entered the killbox again, thinking that they were safe now that we had visibly withdrawn. If they didn’t, we’d have to adjust our tactics from there—assuming that the queen hadn’t returned by then.

As to how we were digging those tunnels and getting behind enemy lines… I had borrowed a tactic that had been used against me on Felucia. The newly established sapper division of the Confederate Army Engineering Corps had lit up like children at Christmas when they’d been presented with mining and tunneling droids and all the explosives they could ever want.

Footsteps from the hallway drew my attention and I looked up to see the gray and red armored form of Jaster strolling into the war room, his helmet stuck to the mag plate on his belt. I smiled, throwing a salute. “General Mereel.”

The old man chuckled, returning it. “Mandalore Mereel.”

Nodding to the table, he asked, “That the latest?”

“Updated half an hour ago,” I confirmed, before quickly going over what I’d already gleaned. “…In short, so far, everything is going to plan. Knock on wood.”

“That’s good,” he nodded.

“How are things on the front, with your retirement war?” I asked, sending him an amused smile.

“I’m not retired, brat,” he grumbled, fighting down a smirk. “You and Jango both are still on my shit list for that damn ‘retirement party,’ and for getting my daughter in law to go along with it. You’ve corrupted her.”

I scoffed. “I think you mean Sheeka’s corrupted Jango. I seem to recall his sense of humor was rather lacking when we first met.”

“Ah, he’s always been too serious. Like someone else I know,” he sent me a knowing look.

“I have a sense of humor,” I protested. “It’s just that everything has its place—”

I paused as I sensed distress from someone nearby, approaching quickly. Holding up a hand, I looked towards the door, prompting Jaster to do likewise. A moment later, one of the signal corps ran in, looked around, and spotted me before hurrying over. She snapped off a quick salute. “Mandalore! You need,” she gestured towards the table, “there’s a call for you!”

“Slow down. What’s going on?” Jaster demanded.

“General,” she took a breath. “One of our scouting teams has been captured.”

“I didn’t realize the Trade Federation were taking prisoners,” I frowned.

The woman shook her head. “It wasn’t the Tradies. It’s the gungans!”

I blinked, exchanging a confused look with Jaster, who radiated incredulity and confusion that matched my own. “The gungans?” he asked, to be sure, and she nodded.

“They captured one of our scouting teams. Their leader called and demanded to speak with our leader, or he said he would execute the prisoners.”

I gestured to the table. “Get us connected.”

The woman nodded and quickly tapped at the holo projector’s controls. A moment later, the hologram of the battlespace was replaced with one coming from a holocom in the field—one of ours, given that it was transmitting in color. On the screen, a male clone had been stripped of his armor, tied up, and made to kneel. Standing behind him were a group of eight gungans, covered in primitive mud camouflage, holding weapons.

I didn’t like it. Something about the way they were standing was familiar in a bad way. It was obviously an intimidation tactic, but I couldn’t place where I had seen it before or why it left a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

His face was swollen, his nose broken and lip split and bloody. Either he hadn’t surrendered without a fight, or more likely given they wore helmets, he had been beaten after his armor was stripped. Likely as part of an interrogation.

My eyes scanned over the hologram, taking in the details.

Jungle canopy. Stone temple ruins depicting near humans, decidedly not gungans. More gungans around, further away—some kind of gathering. Lots of weapons. Lots of large animals and mounts. Those look like bombs, but I don’t see any artillery pieces. …This is an army.

Hitting the mute button, I looked to the technician. “I need a location for this, ASAP. Right now. Go!”

“Yes, ma’am!” she snapped a salute and hurried out of the room.

“I don’t like this, kid,” Jaster muttered.

“Neither do I,” I agreed.

The old man shook his head. “No, you don’t get it. This shit… I’ve seen this shit before,” he pointed to the trooper and the gungans behind him. “This is gonna go south real fucking fast.”

A gungan moved into the center of the frame, between the holocom pickup and the clone trooper. This one looked older. Whip thin and covered in scars, and missing an ear and one eye stalk—both on his left side. Wrinkled and his brown skin graying and mottled in places, where it wasn’t covered in mud.

“Whosa you bein?” the gungan demanded.

Unmuting the feed and coming to attention, I answered, “Mandalore Tanya Mereel, here on behalf of the Confederation of Independent Systems per our treaty with the Queen of Naboo. The Queen is on Coruscant on business, but I am capable of speaking on her behalf. I lead the Confederate ground forces. And you are?”

“Yousa know soon enough.”

“I see,” I murmured. “You have my man there. Why?”

The gungan blinked, before glaring into the holocom. “Yousa be blowin up Otoh Gunga wif da big bombad boomen and yousa tinkin we gungans not do nuffin bout it? Wesa taken yousa man. Askin lotsa questions—”

“I didn’t give them shit!” the trooper yelled in the background, before I heard a snap of electricity and a yelp from him.

“We did not bomb Otoh Gunga. Two Trade Federation ships fell out of orbit and hit it. That was not our doing—” I tried to explain, only for the gungan to shake his head, blowing through his big lips and sending spittle everywhere.

“Poodoo! Yousa workin wif da Naboo. If dere one ting wesa learnin bout da Naboo from da war, iz dat if dey be breavin, dey be lyin!”

Leaning against the table the projector was built into, I asked, “Have you not seen the Trade Federation’s droid army marching across Naboo? They are the ones responsible for what happened to Otoh Gunga.”

“Wesa be seein dem,” he nodded. “Meybe dey be dis Trade Fedration. Meybe dey don’t. Meybe yousa be tellin da troof, maybe yousa be lyin. Wesa gonna find out.”

“You don’t know us. You don’t trust us. That’s understandable,” I nodded. “However, our men have not attacked you, have they?”

“Cause wesa got da jump on dem,” the gungan waved dismissively.

If he didn’t want to acknowledge the truth, then I couldn’t force it here and now, and I wasn’t going to try. It would only waste time. It was more important to get my people out of their hands. So, I moved on to negotiations. “I want my man released and returned to my people unharmed. What’s it going to take for that to happen?”

“Hmm… Yousa value yousa people? Wesa gungans do too. Do yousa know how many gungans wuz lost when yousa boomen Otoh Gunga? Eleventy grillion gungans. All dead. An yousa beggin mesa to be sparin dis one?” The gungan turned away from the holocom, gesturing to his people. “Yousa see? Deysa weak! Deysa fear de gungans! As dey should! Wesa gonna remin dem why dey loss da war!”

Then, the gungan pulled a knife from his belt. It was fancy—unlike anything the other gungans carried, so likely something he had looted at some point. As he approached the clone trooper, what I was seeing clicked, and I realized what that feeling was.

“Don’t do it,” I hissed, leaning forward, practically into the hologram.

“Why not? Yousa kill ours, wesa kill yours,” the gungan shrugged, palming the clone trooper’s head in one of its over-sized hands.

The trooper thrashed for a moment, before going still as the blade touched his neck. His eyes met mine through the hologram.

“Do. Not.

Faintly, I registered the table shake and the hologram distort as blood pounded in my ears.

“Give ‘em hell,” the trooper grinned. Hacking up a mouthful of spit, he jerked enough to turn his head and spat on the gungan’s leg, getting his head around just enough to meet its eyes.

“DO IT, PUSSY! COME ON! FUCKING DO IT—!”

His yell cut off into a strangled scream as the gungan began sawing with the knife… before going silent entirely. The body thumped to the ground as the gungan held up the head in one hand and the knife in the other, roaring a rallying cry to his people. A cry which was returned loudly enough to peak the mic on the holocom.

I couldn’t hear it. All I heard was a constant, static whine. I smelled ozone and tasted blood.

Jaster’s hand on my shoulder brought me back to the present. “Fuck sake,” the man muttered, before whispering a quiet prayer.

Turning back to the feed, the gungan tossed the head on the ground and kicked it away as he approached. “Wesa comin for yousa. Wesa—”

“Dead.”

The gungan blinked its lone eye. “Hoh?”

“You can’t be reasoned with.” Shaking my head, I reached for the button to hang up. “No point explaining to dead men.”

The holocom shut off with a click and I quickly dialed up the command to record and send a message to all forces in the theater. “Attention all Confederate forces in the AO. The gungans are hostile. They have attacked our people and executed at least one of our own. Your first priority is still the droid army, but you are to eliminate all militant gungans, should you encounter them. Do not try to open communications, do not attempt to negotiate. If they’re armed, shoot on sight. No prisoners. That is all.”

I sent the message, then turned and left the room, Jaster following. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to figure out where that broadcast came from. Then, I’m taking Allaya and going hunting.”

“And then?”

“I’m going to carve the meaning of fear into their souls.”