In the black void above Kamino, Admiral Wilhuff Tarkin watched his Victory-class Star Destroyer's turbolasers tear through a Separatist cruiser's shields. The enemy ship broke apart in silent, spectacular death—beautiful, if you appreciated efficiency.
Then the tactical display screamed warnings.
"Admiral! Port flank compromised!" The clone officer's voice cut through the bridge's disciplined calm.
Tarkin's jaw tightened as he watched the Separatist fleet surge through the gap like water finding a crack. His ships poured fire into them—turbolasers, ion cannons, missile batteries—but the enemy vessels ignored losses and pushed through with single-minded purpose.
"They're not engaging," Tarkin observed coldly. "They're breaking for the surface."
Munificent-class frigates and Separatist transports punched through the Republic's defensive screen. Vulture droids swarmed around them like insects protecting a hive.
Tarkin activated his command channel. "This is Admiral Tarkin to all Republic forces. Enemy breakthrough confirmed. Multiple craft heading for Tipoca City. Prepare for ground assault."
Deep within Tipoca City's command center, Lama Su stood like a pale statue, his elongated fingers steepled as tactical displays painted his face in shifting blue light. Reports flooded in from across the facility, each one worse than the last.
"Cargo platform C-22 overrun."
"Security sector six breached."
"Ninth medical level under fire."
The Kaminoan Prime Minister's black eyes tracked each notification with the detached precision of someone calculating acceptable losses. "If the breeding laboratories are compromised, we will lose an entire generation of clone production. If they reach the DNA repositories..." He paused, the weight of that possibility hanging unspoken. "Our work would be set back a decade."
He turned to the clone commander at his side. "Status of the primary specimen?"
"Secure in sub-level vault seven, Prime Minister. Defenses holding."
Shaak Ti, who'd been monitoring the broader battle, turned sharply. "Primary specimen? I was under the impression Jango Fett's genetic template was stored in—"
"Master Ti," Lama Su interrupted with the particular condescension the Kaminoans reserved for outsiders who presumed to understand their work. "Our contingency protocols extend far beyond what the Jedi Council was briefed on. We did not build this facility without considering the possibility of attack."
The Togruta Jedi's montrals twitched with barely suppressed irritation, but before she could respond, new alarms shrieked across the command center.
In the corridor three levels down, Fives heard the announcement echo through his helmet's comlink: "All personnel, orbital defense breached! Enemy forces inbound! Repeat, we have hostiles entering atmosphere!"
"Well, that's just osik," Hevy muttered, his Z-6 rotary cannon held at the ready.
Echo's helmet turned toward the massive transparisteel windows lining the corridor. Through Kamino's eternal rain, he could see streaks of fire—dropships burning through the clouds. "How did they punch through the fleet?"
"Does it matter?" Fives snapped, already moving. "We've got a mission. Prime Minister's DNA vault needs securing before—"
The floor heaved.
All four members of Domino Squad staggered, caught off-guard by the violent tremor that ran through the city's structure. Then the ceiling ahead collapsed with a shriek of tearing metal.
"Back!" Droidbait yelled unnecessarily—they were already scrambling away from the cascade of debris.
Through the settling dust, something moved.
"Osik," Hevy breathed. "What the hell is that?"
The war machine that emerged from the rubble defied easy classification. It moved on multiple segmented legs—eight of them, each ending in sharp mechanical claws that found purchase on walls and ceiling with equal ease. The body was a nightmare of overlapping armor plates and weapon mounts: cannons, missile pods, and what looked like flamethrower nozzles. But the worst part was the cockpit—a glowing blue sphere at the front, with the silhouette of a humanoid figure visible inside.
The machine's legs punched through the durasteel floor like it was flimsi, and then it was coming at them, fast.
"FALL BACK!" Fives roared.
Domino Squad ran.
Behind them, the war machine scuttled along walls and ceiling, its multiple weapon systems tracking with terrifying precision. A missile streaked past Droidbait's head and exploded against a blast door ahead, showering them with molten metal.
"Anyone know what this thing is?!" Droidbait shouted.
"No idea!" Echo called back, his mind racing. "But that pilot—we take him out, maybe we stop this thing!"
"You mean the guy in the glowing target up front?" Hevy's sarcasm didn't hide his fear. "Great plan! How?!"
"Working on it! Just keep moving!"
They careened around a corner into one of Tipoca City's many hangar bays—a vast space filled with parked LAAT gunships and equipment crates. Echo's eyes swept the area with the tactical assessment that had earned him his name.
"Guys! Keep it busy!" He broke away, sprinting toward a weapons rack. "I've got an idea!"
Fives, Hevy, and Droidbait scattered as the war machine crashed through the hangar entrance. It paused, its cockpit swiveling as if the pilot was deciding which target to prioritize.
It chose Hevy—closest, biggest threat with that rotary cannon.
"Oh, come on!" Hevy opened fire, his Z-6 screaming. Blue bolts hammered into the machine's armor and—
—splashed harmlessly against a shimmering force field.
"Are you kidding me?!" Droidbait snarled, adding his own fire to the barrage. "It's got shields!"
"Shields?!" Fives shouted. "This is getting ridiculous!"
Echo grabbed a PLX-1 portable missile launcher from the rack, hefted it onto his shoulder, and dropped to one knee in a single fluid motion. "Everybody down!"
He fired.
The missile left a white contrail across the hangar and slammed into the war machine's center mass. The explosion was magnificent—fire and smoke engulfing the mechanical spider.
But when the smoke cleared, the thing was still moving.
"Oh, you have got to be—" Droidbait didn't finish.
Hevy did finish—finishing what Echo started. His Z-6 blazed again, but this time the bolts found their mark. The shield flickered, stuttered, and several shots punched through to score the armor beneath.
"Yes!" Fives pumped his fist. "Echo, load another one! Keep hitting it!"
Domino Squad became a coordinated unit—years of training overriding fear. They spread out, moving, firing, creating crossfires that forced the pilot to split his attention. The war machine's weapons tracked frantically, firing in all directions.
A blast caught Fives in the leg, and he went down hard.
"Fives!" Hevy and Droidbait shouted in unison.
Echo was already lining up his second shot. He rolled, came up in a new position, locked the target, and squeezed the trigger.
WHAM.
The second missile hit the weakened shield head-on. This time, the force field collapsed completely, and the warhead detonated against the cockpit itself.
The war machine shuddered, spasmed, and crashed onto its side with a tremendous clang of metal.
"We... we got it," Echo said, slightly stunned by their success.
Hevy and Droidbait rushed to Fives, pulling his helmet off. Their brother's eyes were unfocused but aware.
"That... that thing dead?" Fives asked.
"Yeah," Droidbait confirmed. "We killed it."
"Good." Fives tried to grin. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
Hevy looked at Fives's hand—all fingers closed in a fist. "Uh, buddy, you're not holding up any—"
"Exactly," Fives interrupted, and they all laughed—the slightly manic laughter of soldiers who'd just survived something that should have killed them.
They helped Fives to his feet and approached the fallen war machine cautiously. The cockpit had cracked open, and a body lay in the wreckage—humanoid, gray-skinned, with too-large black eyes.
"Umbaran," Echo said quietly.
"So the rumors were true," Fives muttered. "They really did side with the Separatists."
"But why?" Droidbait asked. "Why throw in with the droids?"
"We'll figure that out later," Fives said, limping slightly. "Right now, we need to—"
Another section of wall exploded inward.
A second Umbaran mobile heavy cannon—that's what Fives's tactical database was calling them now—crawled through the breach, weapons already priming.
Domino Squad raised their weapons with the exhausted determination of men who'd run out of luck.
Then a red-and-silver blur rocketed past them.
War Machine slammed into the Umbaran vehicle at full thrust, his armored fist caving in the front armor. His shoulder-mounted cannon deployed and fired point-blank into the cockpit.
The war machine died instantly.
Rhodes touched down in front of the stunned clones, his armor's servos whining as he turned to assess them.
"You boys alright?"
"Yes, sir, Colonel," Droidbait managed. "Thanks for the assist."
Rhodes looked at the first destroyed war machine, then back at the clones. "You took one of these down yourselves?" There was genuine respect in his synthesized voice. "That's impressive. These Umbaran weapons are serious hardware."
Echo nodded grimly. "They're pouring into the city. Our defenses are getting overwhelmed."
"I know," Rhodes said. "That's why I'm—"
A clone trooper burst into the hangar, running full-sprint. Something grabbed him from behind—a long, segmented mechanical arm that wrapped around his waist like a python. The trooper had time for one abbreviated scream before he was yanked backward and slammed into the corridor wall with bone-breaking force.
His body crumpled to the floor, motionless.
Rhodes's targeting systems locked onto the corridor entrance. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
The figure that stalked through the doorway was pure nightmare—hulking, asymmetrical, and bristling with weapons grafted into living flesh. Its armor was a patchwork of plating and cybernetic growths, slick with hydraulic fluid that hissed like breath. A helmeted head turned slowly, red optics flaring beneath a scorched visor.
Durge emerged from the smoke with the fluid menace of a predator who'd been killing for centuries. His voice came out distorted and layered, a guttural snarl wrapped around mechanical reverb.
"Well now… Colonel Rhodes." He toed a fallen clone with one heavy boot, then seized the corpse by the chest plate and lifted it effortlessly. "Still fightin' the same pathetic war, I see." The body hit the floor with a wet thud as he tossed it aside.
Rhodes's repulsors hummed to life, bathing the hangar in blue light. He stepped forward, placing himself between Durge and Domino Squad.
"Colonel—" Fives started.
"Go," Rhodes said, never breaking eye contact with the towering Gen'Dai. "Secure your objective. Now."
"Sir—"
"That's an order."
The clones hesitated only a moment before retreating through a side corridor, leaving their commander alone amid the wreckage.
Durge flexed his massive gauntlets, cables writhing like veins beneath the armor. "You're braver than most tin cans, I'll give you that," he growled. "But I've fought your kind since before your grandfathers learned to crawl."
Rhodes adjusted his stance, targeting systems locking onto the bounty hunter's immense frame. "Then you already know how this ends."
"Ha!" Durge's laughter was deep and wet, like gravel grinding under steel. "The same way it always does. I get torn apart… and then I get back up."
Neither moved.
Then, with a roar that shook the hangar, they both opened fire.