The ramp hit sand with a force that carried through the entire hull.
Inside the deployment bay, the sound came as a deep metallic concussion — not heard so much as felt — followed by the long groan of structural braces settling under weight. A second later, the outer hatch fully lowered, and hot air rushed inward in a shimmering wave.
"Walkers advance," came the order over internal comm.
The lead AT-TE moved.
From inside its armored belly, the first step felt like the world shifting sideways. Hydraulics groaned as six triple-jointed limbs lifted in coordinated sequence, the massive machine redistributing its weight from deck plating to open ground. The transition from ship to planet was abrupt — the smooth resonance of interior steel replaced by the uneven crunch of sand and fractured stone beneath armored footpads.
Kael sat strapped into the forward interior section of the walker, opposite CC-4377.
Acceleration compensators hummed beneath the bench seats, subtle but necessary as the walker found its footing. The interior was cramped compared to the cavernous hangar they'd just left — armored walls close, red tactical lighting dim and functional. Rows of clone troopers filled the forward and rear compartments, twenty in total, seated in disciplined lines with magnetic restraints clipped across chest plates.
The air smelled faintly of oil and heated circuitry.
A DC-15A blaster rifle rested upright between each trooper's boots, long barrels angled slightly inward, stocks braced against the floor. Some troopers had secured additional power packs along their belts; one adjusted the grip on his rifle unconsciously as the walker lurched into its second step.
Outside, the battle was no longer distant thunder.
The mass-driver cannon atop the walker fired.
Even through layers of armor, the discharge was immense — a concussive boom that rattled interior panels and sent a vibration through the bench seating. A fraction of a second later, the echo of impact rolled back across the desert.
One of the troopers opposite Kael shifted slightly.
"First time planetside," he muttered, voice modulated through his helmet's comm filter.
"CT-7821," 4377 said evenly, not unkindly. "Eyes forward."
"Sorry, sir."
The walker took another step. Sand ground beneath its weight.
Kael's visor display flickered with live feed from the dorsal gunner — target overlays dancing across canyon ridges where anti-air batteries still spat green plasma into the sky. The ball-turret cannons along the walker's sides began firing in disciplined bursts, the steady percussion of laser fire punctuating the heavier cadence of the mass-driver.
Inside, the troopers remained steady.
Kael let his gaze travel across them.
"Designation?" he asked, voice calm over the internal channel.
There was a fraction of surprise at the question.
"CT-5594, General."
"CT-2110."
"CT-7821."
The responses came one after another, each trooper straight-backed despite the rocking interior. No hesitation. No embellishment.
Kael nodded once.
"Good."
The word carried weight without volume.
Another impact struck nearby — not the walker, but close enough that the shockwave rattled through the hull. Dust filtered faintly through external vents before dispersing into the system.
The walker adjusted its stance automatically, stabilizers compensating for the uneven terrain. The low center of gravity kept it grounded even as it climbed a shallow incline of fractured rock.
4377 watched him for a moment through his visor.
"You don't have to learn all of them at once, General."
Kael's gaze shifted back to him.
"I won't remember them all today," he said. "But I'll start."
A faint pause.
"The men appreciate that," 4377 replied.
The walker's pilot reported from the forward compartment. "Approaching designated assault corridor. Droid movement confirmed along the foundry perimeter."
On Kael's HUD, red indicators multiplied across the horizon.
Battle droids — B1 lines assembling in staggered ranks near the mouth of a canyon network. Behind them, heavier silhouettes — droidekas unfolding into combat posture, shield generators flaring.
The mass-driver cannon rotated again.
Boom.
Another ridge erupted under impact, stone and metal fragments scattering across the desert floor.
Inside the compartment, one of the younger troopers shifted slightly in his harness.
"Sir," he said after a moment, directing the question toward 4377 but glancing at Kael, "you think the Jedi made it?"
A brief silence settled between detonations.
4377 answered first. "If Master Yoda's there, they're still fighting."
The trooper gave a small nod.
Kael felt for it again — that distant flare of presence near the arena. Still there. Bright. Focused.
"They're alive," Kael said simply.
The compartment grew quieter after that.
Outside, the noise intensified. Laser fire snapped against armored plating as stray shots struck the walker's hull, deflecting in showers of harmless sparks. The conductive armor dispersed the heat, interior temperature remained stable despite the barrage.
The AT-TE crested a low ridge.
Through a narrow viewport slit near the forward compartment, Geonosis stretched out in brutal clarity — barren rock, towering mesas carved by time, industrial spires jutting from canyon floors like skeletal fingers. Smoke hung low across the landscape, and the air shimmered with dry heat.
The walker halted briefly as the pilot adjusted positioning.
"Infantry deployment in thirty seconds," the spotter called out.
The rear compartment troopers began unclipping harnesses in a practiced sequence. DC-15A rifles were lifted from braced positions, power indicators flashing green along their housings. One trooper checked the seal on his helmet once more; another rolled his shoulder as if loosening muscle that had never truly known fatigue.
Anticipation tightened the air inside the walker.
Not fear.
Readiness.
Kael leaned slightly forward, elbows resting against armored knees as the machine beneath them shifted into final approach.
"Excited?" he asked quietly, not looking at anyone in particular.
A few helmets tilted subtly in his direction.
"Yes, General," one answered.
A faint hint of something — almost humor — touched Kael's voice.
"Good. Stay that way."
The walker lurched again as another round detonated somewhere off its starboard flank. The interior lighting flickered briefly, then steadied.
"Ramp releasing," the pilot called.
The rear hatch mechanisms engaged with a heavy mechanical grind.
Outside, the sound of war surged inward — artillery thunder, blaster fire snapping in rapid succession, the mechanical clatter of droid battalions advancing through sand.
Kael rose from the bench as the hatch began to lower.
The desert heat spilled into the compartment.
And the war waited just beyond the threshold.
The hatch finished lowering with a heavy metallic grind, biting into sand and fractured stone as the walker settled into a firing stance.
Heat surged inward.
Not warmth — heat. Dry, abrasive, immediate. It pressed against armor seals and rolled through the interior compartment like a living thing. The sound followed half a heartbeat later.
War at full volume.
Blaster fire cracked across the open desert in rapid staccato bursts. The deeper concussion of artillery rolled in irregular intervals. Somewhere to their left, a Geonosian sonic cannon discharged — a low, reverberating pulse that struck the hull of a neighboring walker and shivered across metal like a struck bell.
"Deploy!"
Harnesses are released in synchronized motion.
Clone troopers rose from their benches with disciplined efficiency, DC-15A rifles snapping into ready position as they moved toward the ramp. Red plasma bolts streaked past the opening before boots even touched sand, slamming into the forward plating of the AT-TE in bright bursts of dissipated heat.
Kael didn't take the ramp.
He stepped forward as the first troopers began their descent — and then he dropped.
For a fraction of a second, he was weightless, falling clean from the walker's belly into open air. The world widened — sky a violent orange haze above, sand and smoke below — and then the Force answered.
His descent slowed.
Not visibly dramatic. Not theatrical.
Just enough.
He landed in a controlled impact ten meters ahead of the walker, boots striking stone with a muted thud that barely disturbed the dust around him.
He rose without haste.
Matte black beskar absorbed the sunlight instead of reflecting it, turning his silhouette into something solid and deliberate against the chaos. The armor was sleek — angular but restrained — built for mobility rather than spectacle. Violet tracer lines ran thin along the seams of his gauntlets and the outer ridge of his left pauldron, subtle enough to disappear in shadow and reappear only when the light caught correctly.
His visor was dark — obsidian glass giving nothing away. Along the right temple ridge, nearly invisible unless one knew to look, a small, angular Ka'rta etching marked heritage without announcement.
No Republic crest.
No Jedi sigil.
Just black.
At his left hip, the hilt of his purple lightsaber rested magnet-locked along the back plate for cross-draw. At his belt's opposite side, the Darksaber hung sheathed — its distinct flat-edged profile visible only to someone close enough to notice. It swayed slightly as he moved, not ceremonial, not displayed — simply present.
Behind him, the walker advanced another step, six articulated legs grinding into sand as ball-turret cannons spat blue bolts into advancing B1 ranks.
The battlefield unfolded fully before him now.
Geonosis was brutal in its simplicity — barren desert stretching toward jagged mesas that rose like broken teeth against the skyline. Between those mesas, industrial structures clawed upward from canyon networks: assembly spires, conveyor towers, and one structure in particular rising higher than the rest.
The foundry.
A towering cylindrical complex bristling with antenna arrays and exhaust stacks that belched dark smoke into the already choked air. Conveyor bridges connected it to secondary platforms where skeletal Federation landing craft hovered like watchful carrion birds.
Between Kael's position and that structure stood a sea of droids.
Hundreds — maybe thousands — arranged in staggered firing lines across the sand. Behind them, heavier silhouettes shifted: AAT tanks rotating their main cannons, droidekas unfolding into shielded positions, Geonosian warriors circling above with sonic blasters glowing green.
Red plasma bolts began streaking toward the Republic line in disciplined volleys.
The first wave of clones hit the ground behind him, spreading outward with textbook precision. DC-15A rifles answered immediately, blue bolts cutting across the desert in organized return fire.
Green sonic pulses erupted again from the canyon ridge, striking a cluster of troopers and throwing sand high into the air as shockwaves rippled outward.
Kael reached to his belt and flicked a compact holomap emitter into his palm.
The device unfolded in a brief shimmer of blue light, projecting a scaled overlay of the battlefield across his visor HUD. Red density markers pulsed across the droid formation ahead. The primary foundry glowed in amber at the center of the projection, designated Target Alpha.
Behind it, secondary manufacturing nodes flickered in calculated sequence.
Still operational.
He angled his head slightly, aligning projection with reality.
"That's just great," he muttered under his breath.
The words were nearly lost beneath the percussion of battle.
He could have been in the Temple archives right now — stone walls, filtered light, datapads filled with histories he'd already memorized. Quiet corridors. The illusion of order.
Instead, he stood in an open desert under artillery fire, about to lead an assault straight into the heart of a planetary war.
He exhaled once through filtered air.
Why did I agree to this stupid mission?
Because someone had to.
A thin shadow dropped beside him.
CC-4377 descended from the walker's side via rappel line, landing cleanly in the sand before disengaging and stepping forward into position at Kael's right.
Red plasma bolts streaked overhead.
"What's the plan, General?" 4377 asked, voice steady despite the chaos.
Kael tilted the holomap slightly so the commander could see the projection feed in his own HUD.
"That," Kael said, nodding toward the towering structure ahead. "First foundry. Intelligence suggests it's coordinating ground production."
4377 followed the line of sight.
"It's between two full droid battalions."
"And at least one armored column," Kael added, glancing toward the AAT silhouettes shifting near the base of the structure.
Another mass-driver round from the AT-TE behind them fired, the projectile streaking overhead before detonating against a ridge and sending debris cascading down onto advancing B1 units.
The droid line adjusted.
Red bolts intensified.
4377 watched the formation in silence for a moment.
"There are hundreds in front of us."
"Yes," Kael replied.
A droideka's shield flared bright blue as it absorbed a volley from advancing clones. A Republic trooper fell nearby, armor smoking from a direct hit, before a medic dragged him backward through sand.
Kael's visor reflected the advancing tide of red.
"We're going forward," he said.
No flourish.
No raised voice.
Just a decision.
"But we're not charging blind."
He closed the holomap with a flick of his thumb.
"We'll have to figure out how to get through them first."
A faint pause settled between them — not doubt. Calculation.
Behind them, more clones poured from the walker compartments, forming disciplined firing lines under covering fire from the six-legged artillery beasts that continued their relentless advance.
Ahead, the foundry loomed taller in the heat haze.
And between here and there, the desert burned.
Red plasma split the air in disciplined sheets.
The first full volley from the droid line struck the sand before them in a synchronized burst, detonations kicking up plumes of scorched dust that swallowed the forward-most clone squad in a wave of grit and heat. Blue returned fire, answered immediately, DC-15A rifles snapping in controlled rhythm as troopers dropped to one knee and sighted downrange.
The desert had become a corridor of light.
Kael remained still at its center, holomap dimmed but not dismissed, the towering foundry etched into his visor's tactical overlay like a destination carved into fate. Hundreds of B1 units stood between here and there, their thin silhouettes backlit by the glow of furnace stacks. Behind them, AAT tanks adjusted elevation on their main cannons. To the far right, Geonosian warriors banked through smoke and loosed another wave of green sonic pulses that rolled across the battlefield in concussive waves.
An explosion detonated somewhere behind the line — a Republic gunship caught in anti-air fire. Its engine shrieked as it spiraled, a blossom of flame tearing throughthe orange sky before the wreckage struck the desert in a violent plume.
Kael turned slightly toward CC-4377.
"Coordinate with the walkers," he said, voice even despite the chaos. "Concentrated fire on the droid front. Clear a corridor."
A red bolt screamed past his shoulder and struck the sand behind him in a flash of molten glass.
"We need those walkers off the assault ships and advancing," he continued. "Have them prioritize the central battalion. Break their formation."
4377 was already relaying orders through his wrist unit.
"Walker crews, focus forward arc," he transmitted. "Mass-driver on central density. Ball turrets sweep flanks."
The nearest AT-TE adjusted instantly.
Its dorsal cannon elevated and fired.
The mass-driver's discharge shook the air like a physical blow. The projectile cut a heavy arc across the desert and slammed into the center of the droid line, erupting in a concussive blast that flung skeletal frames into the air. Fragments of metal and sand scattered outward in a violent bloom.
Blue laser fire from the walker's six turrets stitched across the flanks, cutting down advancing B1s in disciplined bursts.
Kael lifted a hand slightly, indicating beyond the immediate formation.
"Have the gunships hit their backline" he said. "Push pressure from both directions. If we fracture their rear support, they'll stall."
"Understood," 4377 replied, already shifting channels. "Gunship elements, target rear formations beyond the central foundry. Keep altitude low. Strike and peel."
Overhead, three LAATs banked hard through smoke, engines screaming as they skimmed beneath anti-air arcs. Their side cannons opened up in blue lances, ripping through a secondary droid column that had been advancing to reinforce the front.
Explosions layered atop explosions.
The desert trembled beneath overlapping impacts — artillery from the Acclamator's ventral turbolasers joining the assault, heavy blue beams slamming into the outskirts of the foundry complex. One of the AAT tanks fired in response, its main cannon streaking a searing line of energy that clipped a walker's forward plating. The conductive armor dispersed the heat, smoke rising in thin streams before the walker answered with disciplined retaliation.
Kael scanned the terrain again.
Two hundred meters ahead, slightly left of the main droid density, a jagged ridge of fractured stone cut upward from the sand — tall enough to break the line of sight from the tanks, wide enough to anchor a staging push.
He pointed toward it.
"There," he said. "Two hundred meters. That ridge gives us cover."
4377 followed the line of his gesture.
"Once the walkers begin advancing," Kael continued, "we move to that position. Regroup behind it. Then we hit the foundry."
Another Republic trooper went down to his right — a red bolt punching clean through chest plate and spine in a single instant. The man's body dropped without sound, sand absorbing him almost gently before a medic dragged him backward under covering fire.
The noise did not lessen.
It intensified.
Turbolasers from the carrier roared again, blue beams hammering into the droid ranks and tearing open a gap in the center. Walkers advanced in synchronized stride, six hydraulic legs grinding into sand as they pushed forward through the smoke. Their ball-turret cannons fired continuously now, disciplined arcs cutting down droids as fast as they rose.
"Use the tanks and ship cannons to keep that pressure on," Kael said. "The more they focus on the walkers, the easier the advance."
"Yes, General."
4377 began issuing rapid-fire adjustments to armor and artillery units, voice calm amid rising casualty reports.
Kael rose to his full height.
The battlefield seemed to narrow around him — not quieter, not calmer — but clearer. Red bolts streaked toward his position, stray shots from the chaotic exchange.
He reached across his back.
The purple blade ignited with a dense, steady hum.
Not a flare.
A presence.
Violet light cut through the smoke in a controlled arc as he brought the weapon forward. A red bolt struck its edge and deflected cleanly to the side, glancing off sand in a harmless burst. Another came from the left — he adjusted his wrist, minimal motion, sending it back into the droid line where it struck a B1 unit square in the chest.
Behind him, clones shifted subtly.
They knew that sound.
The hum was lower than most blades — steady, grounded.
Kael began walking.
Not sprinting. Not charging.
Walking forward into the open fire.
Each step deliberate, boots grinding into sand as the walkers advanced behind him. Red bolts came in steady waves now, striking violet light and scattering outward in controlled deflections. One bolt grazed close enough that the heat washed across his gauntlet, absorbed by matte black beskar without reflection.
Explosions continued to erupt across the field — a walker's mass-driver obliterating another cluster of droids; a gunship caught in a glancing hit but stabilizing; a Geonosian sonic blast ripping through a forward squad and throwing bodies sideways in a spray of sand.
Kael did not quicken his pace.
He adjusted angles.
Redirected fire.
Advanced.
The ridge ahead grew closer, its fractured surface rising against the storm of light. The foundry loomed beyond it — smoke billowing upward, conveyor towers still moving, production lines unbroken.
Hundreds of droids remained between them.
But the line was fracturing.
Blue and violet carved through red.
Behind him, the Republic pressed forward.
And Kael Vizsla walked at the front of it, violet blade cutting a path through the fire.