The general looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “Well,” he said, “now you know what really makes an army work.”
5
General Khamar and several of his principal staff officers were observing the invaders from the same ridge where Odie had watched them barely hours before. Khamar had succeeded in reaching the ridge before the enemy deployed and quickly established a strong defensive position. So far, the invaders had been content to direct only harassing fires against Khamar’s force, but had made no attempt to attack him.
“We’re too well entrenched,” one of the officers remarked.
“They’re mostly droids anyway, no match for our troops,” another observed.
General Khamar glanced at him. No match for our troops? Obviously, that was an officer who had no idea how deadly the droids were. He briefly considered replacing him with someone more in touch with the realities of their situation, but realized there was no time to call up a replacement. He returned his thoughts to the situation before him. There was something odd about all of this. An army of an estimated fifty thousand droids was sitting down there without making a move against him. What could they be waiting for?
“Sir, they can’t flank us—we have strong forces to both sides,” an officer observed. “If they’re going to attack, they have to come at us straight up this slope. We’ll cut them to pieces if they do. They must be waiting for reinforcements.”
General Khamar frowned thoughtfully as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. He had not slept in the past forty-eight hours. That was a big problem about going to war: one never got enough sleep. Many times Khamar had requested more troops from Coruscant—as well as capital ships to protect the planet from orbit—but his requests had been refused. The Republic, he knew very well, was engaged on a vast scale, and the forces he felt he required to defend Praesitlyn had been denied because they were needed in other theaters. When he pointed out how strategically important the Intergalactic Communications Center was, he’d been told merely that he’d have to make do and to prepare his defensive plan with the forces at his disposal. Not even the Sluissi, who had the ships, would help him; they needed all their spacecraft to protect their shipyards.
It was almost as if the Republic wanted the Separatists to attack Praesitlyn. The general had kept this thought to himself, of course. It was ridiculous anyway. Everyone knew how important Praesitlyn was. Everyone knew how dangerously thin the Republic’s forces were spread.
But…
Suddenly the general knew with absolute clarity what was about to happen. He turned to the hologram map of his positions and the surrounding terrain and put his finger on a vast, jumbled rock formation about ten kilometers behind his line.
“I want a redoubt established here,” he said, speaking rapidly. “Start moving our troops on the double. Move fast but in small increments, infantry and support troops first. If the enemy gets wind of a retrograde movement and attacks, I don’t want the bulk of our troops caught in the open. Have the combat engineers go in with the first group, to fortify the area. Armor and mobile artillery will lay down a barrage on the enemy to keep his head down. They’ll move last, to hold on to this ridge until the last possible moment until we can secure that area, then withdraw into it. How many fighter craft do we have?”
“A full wing is operational, sir, but—”
“Good! We can use the air assets to cover our withdrawal.”
“But, sir,” another officer protested, “we have a classic defensive position where we are. They can’t possibly break through here.” Other members of his staff murmured their assent, glancing nervously one from the other and casting questioning looks at their commander.
“They aren’t going to break through here, and that is not the main force,” the general announced quietly. “We’ve been duped. The main force hasn’t landed yet. When it does, it’ll land behind us, between this position and the center. This force”—he nodded down the ridge—“is the anvil. The hammer is about to strike—from behind us.”
Absolute silence enveloped General Khamar’s command post for a full five seconds as the meaning of his words sank in. “Oh no,” someone whispered.
General Khamar sighed. “Listen carefully. There’s no easy way to put this except we’re retreating. Call it what you want, but it’s vital that morale not be affected.”
“General,” an officer said, “let’s not say we’re retreating, then. Let’s just say we’re moving our position to attack from a different direction!”
General Khamar smiled and clapped the officer on his shoulder. “Brilliant! All right, hop to it. I intend to save what I can of this army, and if the Separatists succeed in capturing this planet, which they will if I’m right about this, at least I’m going to make them pay for it. Just hope we aren’t too late to make it to those rocks.”
Pors Tonith didn’t bother even to glance up at Karaksk Vet’lya, his chief of staff, when the Bothan brought him the news. “So he’s not as stupid as we thought,” Tonith commented, a tight smile on his purple-stained lips. “How long has this retrograde movement been going on?” His tone was deceptively mild.
Karaksk’s fur rippled softly as he searched for the proper words to make what he had to say appear in the best possible light. “About an hour, sir, but we—”
“Ah!” Tonith finally looked at Karaksk, holding up his forefinger for silence. “We, you say? We? Have you by any chance a dianoga stuffed in your pocket? Who is this we who are making decisions in my command?”
Karaksk swallowed nervously. “I meant, sir, that our staff observed this retrograde movement on the part of the defending forces and we, the staff and I, that is, we decided to observe it for a time to, ah, determine the enemy’s plan.” His fur rippled less gently as his fear moved closer to the surface.
“You did?” Tonith carefully set his teacup on a saucer and stood. “The plan seems to be to withdraw, wouldn’t you say?” He smiled. Then: “You idiot!” he screamed. Spittle flew from his lips, and a damp spot appeared on Karaksk’s fur. “They’ve figured out what our plan is. They’re moving to a more defensible position! A droid could have figured that out!” Tonith managed to calm himself. “How much of their force remains in the original position? How far is the main body from the communications center?”
Feeling more confident now, Karaksk replied, “Their mobile artillery and armor remain in place, sir. Some of the infantry and support troops have reached the redoubt, a natural barrier some ten kilometers behind their original main battle line. The rest seem to be en route. They are about one hundred fifty kilometers from the center.”
Tonith was beginning to sense a challenge here. “Interesting. We shall proceed to the bridge. I’m ordering the main force landed immediately. I have two choices, it seems: I can let this garrison fort up, and isolate them while I move with the rest of my army to take the center; or I can first destroy the garrison and then move on the center. Which course would you advise, my dear fellow?”
“Well, sir, if I may. Isolate them and move on the Intergalactic Communications Center. We do not need the entire army to take the place. Your plan, sir, is working perfectly!”
“And leave an enemy force in my rear? Really?”
“Well…”
“Dead enemies cannot fight back. We will destroy this army in detail and then take the communications center. We have the strength, we have the time. Now leave,” he finished with a glare.
Tonith smiled at Karaksk’s rapidly retreating back. Bothans were duplicitous, opportunistic, and greedy—characteristics he well understood and could manipulate. And the rippling of their fur allowed the astute person to read them so easily.
“I have a mission for you.”
Odie stood at attention before the reconnaissance platoon commander and another officer whom she recognized by his collar tabs as an engineer. “This is Lieutenant Colonel Kreen, the commander of our engineer battalion. That rock formation where you met Sergeant Maganinny, I want you
to take Colonel Kreen back there. Right now.”
“Yessir,” Odie responded.
“Let’s go, trooper,” Colonel Kreen said. He stepped off with a short nod at the lieutenant. As he and Odie briskly headed for the engineer battalion’s bivouac, he briefed her on the mission.
“I have a convoy of cargo skiffs all loaded and ready to go. I want you to lead it back to that rock formation, where they’ll unload and prepare another defensive position.” He smiled down at her, but her heart skipped a beat as she instantly interpreted the nature of this move for what it really was. “It’s not a withdrawal,” he cautioned her. “We’re just establishing a rear supply base.” He smiled reassuringly, seeing her expression. “Are you ready to leave right now?” He grinned. His confidence was reassuring, but that slight pause spoke volumes.
“Yessir!” Odie replied enthusiastically. Since she wasn’t needed for any reconnaissance missions at the moment, she’d been put into the army’s field communications center to work in her secondary specialty—and she was bored to death.
Reconnaissance trooper Odie Subu straddled her speeder as she closely watched the three hundred vehicles of the engineering battalion finish forming up for the rearward movement to the redoubt. There were dirt movers, bridgers, graders, ground clearers, diggers, and more exotic machines whose uses she couldn’t guess. The most numerous, though, were cargo carriers, many of which were marked with symbols she recognized as indicating their cargoes were explosive ordnance.
She estimated there were enough explosives in the convoy to obliterate the army’s entire position. She briefly wondered why General Khamar didn’t order the engineers to use the explosives to destroy the droid army. Then she realized the army had no way to get the explosives into the midst of the droid army without whoever was doing the job getting killed before they could accomplish their mission. Still, she thought, it seemed a waste to not set some of them in the droids’ path, to destroy as many as possible when they followed the retreating army.
Well, she decided, General Khamar must know what he’s doing. Besides, how did she know the engineers hadn’t already emplaced explosives to kill the droids when they passed over this ground?
“Recon scout,” Lieutenant Colonel Kreen’s voice came through her helmet comm.
“Recon here, sir,” she said into her mike.
“We’re ready. Move out.”
Odie took a last look at the convoy. Whatever route she chose had to accommodate the largest of the engineering vehicles. The shake of her head went unseen inside her helmet. The biggest of those machines was so big, she was going to have to lead them in a roundabout manner.
“Moving out, sir,” she said, and eased her speeder into gear.
She wasn’t able to lead the convoy at speed, not even the paltry 250 kilometers per hour that was all her speeder was capable of. Over this rugged terrain, she had to keep her speed down to under fifty kph, which was the fastest the slower vehicles in the convoy could manage—at times she had to slow to little more than a trot for them to keep up, and sometimes she had to slow because Colonel Kreen said they were raising too much of a dust cloud. The distance they had to cover was only ten kilometers, line of sight. But the route she had to follow, this way and that, and sometimes doubling back, made it nearly four times that distance—and more than four times the length of time to cover.
But at last they made it. She stopped and pulled aside, while the engineering vehicles trundled past.
Colonel Kreen had his command vehicle pull off the trail next to her.
“Well done, trooper,” he said. “I’ll see to it General Khamar and your platoon commander both get a report on how well you did. Now you’d better get back.”
“Thank you, sir.” Odie saluted and waited until the engineering commander was back in his vehicle before she turned her speeder around and gunned it. She headed back at top speed.
Lieutenant Erk H’Arman knew he was going down, but even as he plummeted toward the ground he remained cool, calling upon every fiber in his body and all the skill he could muster to save his starfighter. The hit from the enemy fighter had slammed into him like a hammer and sent him into an uncontrolled spin downward. He had only just been able to pull out and stabilize his machine at a mere thousand meters above the ground. His hydraulic system was failing fast, and he knew he had but two choices: eject or ride his fighter in. So far there was no fire inside the cockpit. A pilot’s worst fear was to burn alive in his or her cockpit; crashing was no problem—that would be over quickly.
This was the most target-rich environment Erk and his fellow pilots had ever encountered. Not even in the many simulated practice sessions had anyone thought to program this many marks. Already, three pilots in Erk’s wing had been killed crashing into enemy fighters—not on purpose, but simply because there were too many of them to fly through without hitting one. The fight continued far, far above Erk. The enemy was winning, but now Erk H’Arman was intent on saving his life and, if possible, his ship.
A dust storm had developed below, obscuring the terrain. Erk’s suit was filled with perspiration, and he knew he must have lost two liters of fluid during the dogfight. Already that loss of fluid was making him thirsty. But he had no choice: he’d have to go down in that storm. He made his decision. “Well, old girl,” he muttered as he struggled to keep his starfighter level, “I’m not going to leave you.” He would go in with his fighter.
Odie was only halfway back to the main army after guiding the engineers to the rock formation where they were to dig the new defensive positions when the storm hit with a suddenness and ferocity typical of such events on Praesitlyn. The wind quickly rose to fifty or sixty kilometers an hour, buffeting her from all sides and making controlling her speeder difficult. She stopped and zipped up. Millions of granules of sand blasted at her. When at last the storm was over, which could be in ten minutes or ten days, she knew her helmet would be scoured white by the sand. Right now, though, she couldn’t see two meters in front of her. She dismounted and, turning off the repulsors, she tipped her speeder over and curled up beside it to wait out the storm.
A ground-shaking roar, momentarily louder than even the howling wind, washed over her as an enormous object passed no more than ten meters above where she lay. The ground trembled beneath her, and the huge tail of flame that came out of the dust cloud was so hot she could feel it even through her protective clothing. She heard a screeching, smashing noise as if some metallic object had impacted. Some distance off to her right, there was a brief reddish glow that was immediately obscured by the rolling clouds of dust. A fighter had just crashed only a short distance from where she lay. She didn’t hear an explosion, so she presumed the fighter had come down mostly intact. Would the pilot have survived? she wondered. Then she wondered whose ship it was. She lay beside her speeder, undecided whether to investigate.
The wind suddenly abated somewhat, and raising her head above the frame of her speeder, Odie saw a faint glow from the downed fighter’s engines. She was familiar with the design of all types of Separatist craft—that was one of her jobs as a reconnaissance trooper—but at this distance in the bad visibility she couldn’t tell which side the crashed machine might belong to. All she could see was that it hadn’t broken up on impact.
She righted her speeder, mounted, and started out toward the downed machine. As she eased her way along, she unsnapped her holster and withdrew her hand blaster.
When she got close enough to see the fighter’s markings, she identified it as a Praesitlyn defense force fighter. The canopy was closed and she couldn’t see the pilot. The fighter ticked and creaked and groaned like a living thing in pain as its overheated components began to cool. She wondered if it would explode. No time to lose. She jumped off her speeder and clambered onto the fighter’s airfoil. She couldn’t see through the canopy. She banged on it with her fist, and suddenly it popped open. The pilot sat there in his harness, a blaster pointed directly at her face.
“Don�
��t shoot!” she screamed, instinctively leveling her own blaster at the man.
They froze there for a very long moment, weapons leveled at each other. “Well,” the pilot said at last, lowering his blaster, “am I ever glad to see you!”
Odie helped him out of his harness and they crouched on the ground in the lee of the fighter. “Do you have any water?” he asked. “I came off in such a hurry my ground crew didn’t have time to load my hydration system.”
She unfastened the two-liter canteen strapped to her speeder and passed it to him. He drank sparingly and passed it back with thanks. As he did so, he studied his new companion. She was small, and he judged she might be pretty by what he could see of her chin and lips beneath her helmet. Likewise, Odie scrutinized him. A fighter jock! Fighter pilots were the only other people in the army with whom reconnaissance troopers felt any bond. Like the recon troopers, fighter pilots operated on their own, out in front of everyone else, surviving on their guts and skill.
At the same instant each realized what the other was thinking, and they both laughed.
“Well,” the pilot said, “I guess whatever we’re going to do, we’ll be doing it together. I’m Erk H’Arman. Who’re you?” He reached out with one hand.
Odie was surprised that an officer would speak to her so casually—he hadn’t even identified himself as an officer—but quickly recovered. “Trooper Odie Subu, reconnaissance platoon, sir.” She took his hand and shook it.
“Reconnaissance? That’s good, very good. You can get me back to base, and I can get back into the fight.”
Odie liked the sound of his voice. He had sustained a gash on his forehead in the crash, but the blood that had trickled down one side of his face had dried. His short black hair and striking blue eyes offset by a ruddy complexion made him look like an athletic outdoorsman just come in from a long hike.
Star Wars: Jedi Trial Page 4
