Thick columns of smoke rose above Choal, and even the rain could not disperse the fog that had settled over the city.
The main street of the Jabiim capital bore little resemblance to what it had been a month earlier. The facades of many buildings had collapsed; piles of stones and debris lay across the pavement, and the blackened skeletons of burned trees rose like gloomy obelisks above the hundreds and thousands of bodies covering the ground. Not all of them were clones or Nationalists. The remains of military equipment were still smoldering, though the fires had already died down.
Among the dead clones, a Twi'lek crawled, shaking his head incessantly. Blood oozed from his lips, only to be washed away at once by the rain.
"No pain…" Norcuna whispered, searching blindly for the hilt of his sword. But instead of his saber, his trembling fingers found only the bodies of clones—or their separate parts: arms, legs, heads…
Wild agony tormented the Jedi's wounded body, yet an even deeper pain had taken root in his mind. Thousands of deaths had shattered his mental barriers, disorienting him and forcing him to cling to the only thought that kept him from slipping into madness.
"No pain…" his parched lips whispered again.
"No pain?" came a mocking voice. "Another Jedi lie."
***
Alto glared at the Jedi with hatred. Several dozen militiamen had gathered around them, and behind Stratus stood the Nimbuses of his personal guard.
"The Jedi lies on a pile of dead bodies and claims there is no pain."
Stratus punched the Twi'lek in the head. Norcuna collapsed backward with a groan.
"Two days ago," Stratus said through clenched teeth, "I saw a woman crawling in the mud. Her stomach was torn open by a blaster shot, and her legs were crushed by one of your Jedi battle machines… And before that—" he seized Norkuna by the lekku and lifted his head off the ground, "—I held my cousin in my arms… She was dying, and the flesh was falling from her bones. Isn't that pain?!"
Stratus's sword slid free of its sheath. The Jabiimi began to chant, "Kill! Kill! Kill!"
"When she died in my arms, do you think I didn't feel pain?"
The blade hummed as it cut through the air, severing the Jedi's head from his body. The approving roar of the militia drowned out the Twi'lek's final rattle.
"The Jedi have brought nothing but suffering to our planet! But I swear that soon every Jedi on Jabiim will know our pain!"
***
The Republic's forward camp was filled with frantic activity. Another attack had ended in failure. Yes, the clones had held the battlefield, but far too many had been left lying in the mud. Funeral teams were now packing the bodies into opaque gray bags, arranging them in neat rows on patches of dry ground.
Dara Leska stood silently beside the tactical table, nodding mechanically as the clone commander read his report . She hardly needed the details—she already knew things were bad.
It had all begun ten days earlier. Master Kenobi had left to assist Master Jis-Ilova, and Sirrus had departed to rescue the garrison at Daireen. She and Pak Norcuna had begun preparations for an assault on Choal. This time, it seemed that success would be on their side. The clones were determined to break through the Nationalists' defenses and dismantle the droids for parts. The loyalist reinforcements, led by Orlis Gillmun —the leader of the Jabiim Resistance—were numerous. Although their training fell far short of clone standards, the Jabiimi knew their planet well, and Dara had placed her hopes on their support.
She was particularly pleased with the Padawans. Their spirits rose the moment they learned they would finally be sent to the front. Clearly, they had not enjoyed their time under the command of this Vikt. Now, however, their spirits were lifted.
Leska herself did not understand why that knight repelled her so strongly, stirring negative emotions in her. "No emotions—there is peace." However, the Jedi annoyed her. Whether it was his gaze, his voice, or something else entirely, she couldn't tell…
At first, the offensive had gone well. For five days they pushed back the droids and Nationalists, not only reclaiming positions lost in the enemy counterattack during the storm, but advancing further, capturing three more defensive lines. Norcuna had even broken into the capital. The day before yesterday, fighting had already reached the city streets—but then her forces' momentum faltered. The clones ran into heavy resistance and became bogged down at one of the defensive lines. A full day had passed—seven fruitless assaults—and still there was no progress. All that remained was to rely on Norcuna.
Master Sirrus… had died six days earlier. His Padawan, Aubrie Wyn, had led a battered clone detachment straight to her. Now the girl was at the medical tents, assisting the doctors. Dara mourned the loss of another Jedi. She had known Sirrus well—back when they had both been younglings…
Gillmun approached her.
"General Leska, I bring unfortunate news. We've just been informed that General Norcuna's forces at Choal have been completely defeated. Our agents have already inspected the battlefield. The general's body was identified among the dead."
Leska bowed her head, honoring Pak's memory with a moment of silence. Everything was turning out far worse than she had anticipated.
"Any contact with Obi-Wan?"
"No, ma'am. Not even on the frequency General Jis-Ilova's distress signal came in on. And that must have been a powerful transmitter."
Leska closed her eyes.
"So now I'm the senior Jedi on the planet." She turned decisively to Orlis and the clone officers. "Commanders—summarize the situation as briefly as possible."
"Seven thousand clones survived from General Sirrus's squadron. Nothing remains of Norkuna's. Our losses amount to nearly thirty-five thousand clones."
"In the name of the Force…" Leska whispered.
"And yet, there is hope," Gillmun said, stepping toward the tactical map. "We know for certain that Stratus is now on the Razor Coast—right here on the front line, barely thirty kilometers from us, at this Nationalist outpost. If we capture him, his troops will surrender."
"Then… mobilize all our forces immediately. Inform the Padawans— the attack begins in three hours."
***
The clones advanced slowly but steadily, despite the heavy fire from the droids. The Jedi were leading the assault—well, almost Jedi, but the clones hardly cared. Seven blue and green plasma blades danced in the darkness, deflecting blaster bolts, piercing droid hulls, severing limbs and heads. At last, the final enemy collapsed.
"The plan worked. Well done, Te," Kass Tod said, smiling joyfully.
"Combat droids are terrifyingly stupid. Show them a target and they'll charge it, forgetting their post. Easy prey." The young man sighed, suddenly somber. "My uncle came up with this tactic. We trained together…"
"That's wonderful. After all, of all of us, you were closest to becoming a Knight," the Zabrak said, patting him comfortingly on the shoulder.
"We're all still far from being Knights, Kass," Mak Lotor murmured as he leaned over the body of one of the clones. "My Master… he was a truly master. Even all of us together could barely match a tenth of his strength, wisdom, or courage…"
Elora Sund—a Sullustan woman—approached, Un Vaabesh at her side, and said, "It's time to resume the attack. If we don't win this battle, we may not live long enough to become Knights."