STS. LOG-060. (Patreon)

LOG-060.

Force users. Truly troublesome nuisances when they weren’t exactly on your side.

“Shuttlebays two and four have been breached! We’re being overwhelmed, send reinforcement-wait, wait! NyaAGH-!”

The fleet battle itself was all but a foregone conclusion now. What warships weren’t already transitioning into scrap metal and space dust were dead in the void, with a few of Kraken’s tugs already assembling into position to steal away with the disabled vessels. They’d be bound for a disassembly yard, soon enough.

“They’re cutting through the blast doors! I thought we were done fighting the Jedi?!”

“There’s only two of them! Just blast em’ and-”

“AaH! The commander’s down! The commander’s dowWW-”

But the situation onboard Perseverance was…irritating. Made clear as both Kraken and I crowded around a terminal displaying holographic representations of the marine force currently surging through the center line of the ship, attempting to forge a path straight towards the bridge.

Watching as crimson lightsabers cut down countless unfortunate B1 battle droids, with a few significantly tankier B2s being blown apart by honest to stars rocket launchers, I couldn’t help but applaud the sheer audacity of the duo that had decided sacrificing an entire fleet was worth getting a shot at us.

“Jedi.”

The singular word drew my attention away from the graphic depictions of mechanical gore and back to Kraken, the admiral staring down at the black uniformed Force users, alongside the white and marooned armoured troopers they were leading.

Well, best nip that in the bud.

“Negative. Former Jedi. The Sith Inquisitorius are a separate organisation to the Jedi Order. Though the presence of the 21st Nova Corps is cause for concern. They are above average in threat level.”

The comment earned me a brief glance, before my nominal superior turned to gesture at a nearby B1, a communications officer, judging by the paint.

“They will fall regardless. Deploy the destroyer droids, do not let them reach the tram lines.”

The lesser machine processed the directive for an instant, before snapping off a salute and twisting about to input a series of commands into the terminal it was stationed at.

“Roger roger.”

One spindly hand came up to the side of its head, its nature as a synthetic being removing the need for anything so crude as a pair of headphones.

“This is bridge comms to security division four. Deploy droideka destroyer droids to inner tram line section A6. Orders are to intercept and eliminate boarders. Hostile Jedi-adjacent individuals are present amongst the enemy force. Repeat, hostile Jedi-adjacent individuals are present amongst the enemy force. Exercise all caution.”

Well, good to see at least someone was paying attention.

Stepping away from the sight, I lifted my own hand, already speaking into the commlink attached to my forearm, one linked directly to Silent Guardian’s internal command net. An unfortunate necessity given the distances between myself and my own fleet vessels at the moment. This little visit had been fun, but I’d probably decline the opportunity to tour a dreadnought the next time it was offered.

“Prepare an emergency shuttle and direct it to my position. Standard escort.”

Kraken’s sharp stare almost brought me pause, before I tilted my head towards the doors. Within a few seconds, the other super tactical droid’s processor caught up to my hidden meaning, and he nodded.

Which was good. Having an escape route ready in case of inevitable bullshit was just common sense, after all.

—

Bacara had cultivated a sense of duty within himself that had been strong enough to withstand everything. The horrors of war. The stupid decisions of the bureaucracy behind said war. The loss of countless brothers. Order Sixty Six. The rise of the Empire. There was never a day that the clone truly complained. And most certainly not aloud.

But these idiots were very much putting that engrained patience to the test.

“DON’T RUSH AHEAD! MAINTAIN FIRING LINES, SHIELDS UP! JUST BECAUSE YOU SIGNED UP TO DIE FOR THE EMPIRE DOESN’T MEAN YOU SHOULD BE MAKING IT EASY FOR THE DAMNED SEPPIES TO DO YOU IN!”

His screamed orders were only half followed. Partly because half of the kriffing enlisted were already dead, white armoured bodies littering the ground while the remaining half fell back into line with the significantly more orderly (and alive) ranks of his galactic marines.

It was an unfortunate loss of bodies, but if he wasn’t able to deal with removing the wheat from the chaff, he wouldn’t have remained in his current position for very long, now would he?

“What are you doing?! Tell your men to press forward trooper!”

Thanking the stars for the presence of his helmet and its ability to mostly hide his scoff, Bacara turned towards their ‘general.’ Not that the so-called inquisitor even held that rank.

No, the Force user was slotted somewhere into special operations. Functionally it was identical to the Jedi Order that the man had defected from, given that they’d been granted authority over other military units. His primary issue was that the ‘Fifth Brother’ had even less of an idea of what he was doing than the bloody monks had!

“You hear that rolling sound? Those are destroyers incoming! We push now and more than half of us are getting shredded to pieces, including you! We need to huddle up and prepare to deploy droid poppers if we want to survive long enough to see your plan through!”

A few surrounding clones shouted out their agreement amidst the constant blaster fire, shrinking behind their blast shields as Bacara shot them a glare. Though he wouldn’t punish them for speaking out of turn, not this time.

They had a right to it, considering the utter mess their superiors had gotten them into.

Ignorant of his internal thoughts (or perhaps not, he could never tell with the not-Jedi), the inquisitor let out an irritated growl before performing an unnecessary backflip over the shield wall, ignoring the troopers that had been stepping aside to let him through and rendering their efforts pointless.

Rolling his eyes behind his helmet’s lenses, Bacara turned his blaster back towards the front, crouching slightly as the familiar rolling forms of droidekas began to emerge amidst the ever marching wave of B1s trying to drown them in a tide of metal bodies.

Blasted fool. At least the Seventh Sister was somewhat less of a pain, wherever she’d disappeared off to…