Damn— I mean, Hutt! Well, that was quite a conversation. Of course, I didn't learn anything new — it's all in my 'memory.' But hearing it all from the mouth of a thirteen-year-old child is somehow… creepy. It gives me the creeps. Over the past ten years, the Order has firmly instilled its dogmas in her head — and not only in hers — which is truly admirable. Grandpa Goebbels would be pleased: propaganda at its finest. Not a single step out of line, not a single seditious thought against 'party policy.'
However, no one seems to find anything strange about it — including Ahsoka. And in the animated series, she even managed to lecture Skywalker himself on this very subject — he had formed his opinions before entering the Temple, and his training was a little "lame." Well, let's leave that on Obi-Wan's conscience.
Looks like I'll have to take the long road — teaching her through real-life examples. Apparently, that's the only way with her. Especially since the war, damn it, will provide as many examples as we'll ever need… Maybe then I'll be able to set her mind right a little. Sometimes she's just a child, honestly. Look at her — she found a new toy and she's over the moon. I thought, referring to the armor I'd given her.
That story turned out to be as funny as it was epic. Digging into my memory, I recalled conversations with an acquaintance from a parallel course — also a fan of GFFA like me — who was terribly obsessed with Force forging. Remembering the previous experiences of the former Vikt with it during the creation of the lightsaber, I decided to forge Ahsoka's armor myself, since there was nothing suitable nearby. And as for the size… well, the anatomical features of the Togruta head alone are something else.
If it weren't for my meditation and a healthy dose of indifference, reinforced by the folk wisdom that "patience and hard work can overcome anything"… I doubt I would've managed at all. Although, what do I mean by "managed"? The best result I achieved after three hours was a durasteel plate crumbled into fine dust, and a couple of its companions with cracks. Apparently, this wasn't my thing. Either I didn't have enough strength, or something else. Fortunately, the garbage chute was nearby, and I quietly disposed of all the results of my "experiments" there, so no one could assess the extent of my "fiasco."
In the end, I had to go and bow to the ship's technicians. A rather large council gathered — eight people, including me. It was good that the ship had a workshop for repairing this kind of armor, a whole warehouse of spare parts, and a repair device equipped with the latest GFFA science and technology — about the size of a Beetle.
After discussing and examining the sketch I'd brought, the clones threw half of it away and outright rejected the other half. Hastily casting and stamping the necessary shapes from scrap metal, the technicians began cutting and assembling the armor. The helmet was a whole other story. Half of the internal sensors and systems had to be removed because they simply wouldn't fit. The surveillance and protection visors also had to go — but I don't recall Jedi ever suffering from nearsightedness.
The light armor — I can't even bring myself to call it "armor" — consisted of small plates attached to a leather base, reinforced with pieces of woven armor. The original Phase I armor plates had to be reduced by two or even three times. The result was… well, what it was. Still, at least it provided some kind of protection.
Back in my cabin, to complete the look, I painted the armor to match mine, adding the legion emblem to the only shoulder pad.
After digging around the ship's network, I finally found a file with data on navy and army rank designations. After that, with a clear conscience, I applied a rank insignia to chest plate: five blue squares and one yellow square.
Damn, that's what you call rest. Oh well — screw it. I'll go train now… and then I'll definitely sleep…
***
Our arrival on Donovia wasn't particularly exciting. Routine, in a word: we entered orbit, circled a bit, and then landed on the base territory. Marat was the first to descend to the planet's surface, followed by one of my aircraft carriers. The second remained in orbit, waiting its turn. During our absence, the runway had been covered with a local analog of concrete, so the landing was more than comfortable — no mud or dust. Beauty. There was plenty of space, since both Peltas were on flights and the Isaribi was patrolling the system. Otherwise, all my ships clearly wouldn't have fit here.
First, we had to listen to a report on the state of affairs at the base — and it didn't hurt to learn some general information about what was going on in the world. Commander Blam was the first to report:
"Sir, there were no significant incidents during your absence. Everything is calm. The landing pad has been completed. Contact with the local population is minimal. The personnel are on combat alert. Fuel deliveries are proceeding exactly on schedule."
"Not bad. I've been informed that reinforcements will be sent to us. Do you know anything about that, Commander?" I asked.
"Yes, sir! Reinforcements are already on their way to Lantilles, but we'll have to transport them from there ourselves. They don't want to send unarmed transports into our area of responsibility — too dangerous. Enemy raiders, sir."
"Oh, I see. Then…" I paused for a moment. "Prepare the Marat for takeoff. I'll take one regiment, a dozen gunboats, and four squadrons of V-19. Unload the rest of the equipment for maintenance and repair — I'll need all the available holds. And give the personnel a rest — we'll most likely be called upon to patrol the trade routes."
Blam nodded and stepped away from the tactical table, after which the chief engineer took the floor.
"Sir, the technical condition of the units, ships, and base is perfect. Ongoing repairs are being carried out in accordance with regulations. We've managed to put one AT-TE tank and four AATs into service. Two thousand seven hundred and twenty-two B-1 droids have been activated."
"Where did the reinforcements come from?" I asked, surprised.
"We managed to collect some of the debris from orbit. About four thousand B-1s and several dozen pieces of various equipment were found and delivered to the base. We also salvaged four turbolaser cannons and several blaster cannons from the wreckage of CIS ships."
"Excellent news! You clearly didn't waste any time, Captain."
I quickly calculated the numbers in my head. "Now we have about six thousand droids. Not much, but it could come in handy."
"Yes, sir," the clone nodded. "We need your approval."
Once again, I had to tap the necessary data into the datapad. When I was done, I turned to the commanders.
"So, gentlemen, I'm satisfied with your actions. I'm setting the departure time for…" I glanced at my watch. "Ten hours from now. That should be enough time to prepare. Commander Blam, you'll remain in charge. As for the ships…"
Damn, what should I call them? 'Acclamator One' and 'Acclamator Two' sound ridiculous.
"What are the numbers of the two Acclamator-class ships, Commander?"
"TR-724 and TR-792, General! Ninety-two is currently on the surface," Blam informed me.
"All right, seven twenty-four will be renamed Akagi. Ninety-two will be Shinano," I ordered.
"Acknowledged, sir!"
"Then, each assault ship carries three regiments — leave one regiment at the base, refuel, and load the necessary materials. Have the Akagi patrol Donovia's orbit while the Shinano protects the factory. This must be done as quickly as possible."
"We'll manage in three hours, sir," Blam confirmed.
S-scheiße, I completely forgot…
"And… we need to organize funerals for the dead."
"We'll have to add a couple of plaques," replied the clone. "Will you give a speech, General?"
What else can I do?
"Of course, Commander." I nodded.
"As soon as everything is ready, we'll notify you, sir." The clone saluted.