In an office at the Twelfth District Joint Command, several officers sat around a small tactical table, the air thick with the gravity of their discussion about the upcoming deployment mission.
Major General Lewis Surabai's gaze swept across the assembled group.
General Jeremy Krappka, commander of Lantilles' ground forces;
Captain Roy Falk, commanding officer of the *Dreadnought-class* heavy cruiser *Arcturus*;
Colonel Gregori "El" Jensen, regimental commander of the *Brave Boys* Regiment, and his deputy, Major Elizabeth Marie-Noël.
The frequent meetings required by their shared duties had fostered familiarity among them, preventing the atmosphere from becoming overly formal.
Lantilles' armed forces stood in stark contrast to the mercenary bands of Trandoshan, Gossam, or Naboo's nearly ceremonial troops.
Here, there was no greed for plunder, no restless hunger for glory, and no hollow slogans or hypocritical idealism.
Every soldier understood precisely why they fought.
This mid-ring planet had, over millennia, risen from a backward colony to become a prosperous technological hub.
This rapid development naturally attracted many covetous eyes. The metal-rich planet of Scarcoan Cartel, the speculative merchants of the Techno Union, the criminal gangs of the Hutts, the pirates and smugglers of Mitralonar, the bounty hunters of Trandosh, and the Trade Federation, established three hundred and fifty years ago—all these factions have long kept a covetous eye on Lantilles.
Lantilles is no longer a passive colonial outpost. It has become a colonial power in its own right, developing multiple planets.
The lush and vibrant Avenel has become a vacation paradise and second home for the wealthy of Lantilles and Londinium.
The independent agricultural world of Yot exports its grains and cash crops throughout the entire star cluster.
In this environment, Lantilles has had no choice but to build up its own armed forces.
Its navy, considered elite, consists of hundreds of cruisers, frigates, and light frigates.
It also maintains a well-equipped army that recruits only Lantilles citizens.
The soldiers receive generous compensation, but they are not mercenaries.
Every one of them understands that defeat, or surrender to the Separatists, would utterly collapse the existing order.
This order may not be perfect, but the alternative would be far worse.
"Gentlemen, this appointment was indeed rather rushed, but..." Surabaya hadn't finished speaking when Captain Falk interrupted him.
"Hmph, 'rushed' is an understatement, Lewis," Falk grumbled, his voice tinged with displeasure. "I understand this is a temporary deployment, but why assign us to a Jedi commander?"
Meanwhile, on the other side, Krappka was listening to his deputy, Marie-Noël, voice her complaints.
"Hey, old man, have you lost your mind?" Elizabeth jabbed Jensen in the arm. "Why send us to a godforsaken place like that? Donovia, if I'm not mistaken, is right on the border of the Mid Rim—it's practically the Hutt's backyard!"
Marie-Noël and Jensen were seasoned veterans. Jensen had participated in multiple armed conflicts against Techno Union mercenaries, while Elizabeth still bore scars from storming pirate lairs.
Their opinions were clearly not to be ignored.
Surabaya chuckled, pointing at the two of them with mock seriousness. "Daring to openly criticize superior orders?"
He leaned forward, interlacing his fingers, his tone turning solemn. "Now, seriously, this deployment is necessary. That Jedi has seized a crucial strategic point. He recaptured the fuel refinery in the Donovia system from the Separatists, and it now supplies us with fuel on a regular basis. According to our scouts, the Confederacy of Independent Systems had planned to use the fuel from this remote refinery to launch a surprise attack on the Core Worlds. But General Viktor has completely disrupted their plans."
He paused before continuing. "You both know our fuel reserves can barely sustain us for ten months—maybe a year at most. Once they're depleted, the entire fleet will grind to a halt! The fuel from Donovia sustains half of our navy... And with the recent expansion of the fleet, including your *Alsenine*—Roy—that ship is now also part of Donovia's supply chain. More importantly, we're essentially getting this fuel for free!"
"But still..." Captain Falk began to protest.
"Enough, Captain Falk," Surabai interrupted. "No one is treating you like a lackey. If that Jedi isn't a self-important fool, he wouldn't casually deploy your heavy cruiser as if it were an ordinary escort ship. He'd use it to defend the Donovia system. You can think of this deployment as a much-needed rest and recuperation."
He glanced at Jensen and Mary-Noël and teased, "There are palm trees, sunshine, and beaches..."
"And fine wine and beautiful women?" Jensen slammed his hand on the table, his voice heated. "Don't dream! I hate this arrangement! Absolutely hate it!"
Surabai helplessly pointed to the ceiling. "I'm powerless. The orders have already been approved by higher-ups."
"Fine, Lewis, I'll obey the orders," Falk relented. "But don't expect me to kiss the Jedi General's boots."
After seeing everyone out, Surabai leaned back in his chair, exhausted, and muttered under his breath, "Damn war, damn Separatists, damn Jedi... All of you can go to hell! I'm getting old. I can't deal with this mess anymore."
***
"Stay alive!"
It wasn't a plea, but a command—a cold, emotionless voice issuing an unquestionable order.
The vibrations from this intangible bass thrummed through Solo's consciousness, stirring it.
He couldn't feel his limbs.
Only an endless sensation of falling, as if plunging from great heights into an abyss.
Surrounded by boundless darkness, icy and profoundly disorienting, he felt himself sinking deeper into the abyss.
Pain, anger... bewilderment!
Indescribable emotions and blurred images flashed repeatedly through his mind.
***
For Solo, this morning was starting off terribly.
A sudden wave of intense anxiety jolted him awake. His eyes snapped open to find himself standing on the floor of his cabin, clutching an activated lightsaber, his eyelids so heavy they barely opened.
He blinked laboriously, confirming no immediate threats were present. *Damn it,* he cursed inwardly. *I'm too on edge. This isn't a good sign.*
He mechanically combed through his memories, trying to recall the previous day's events...
He'd returned to the ship around midnight, barely managed to find his way to his cabin, and collapsed into a deep sleep. Beyond that, his memories were blank.
This was highly unusual for a Jedi.
Perhaps his body hadn't fully acclimated yet, combined with days of accumulated fatigue, causing this state.
Just then, the cabin's intercom system emitted a shrill buzz, shattering the silence.
Solo hurried to the communicator and pressed the answer button. Captain Ragnos's voice came through.
"What is it, Captain?"
"General, we have an urgent call. Please proceed to the Command Center immediately!"
"Why wake me so early? Has something happened? Or has that damned premonition of mine finally come true?" Solo's thoughts raced as he pressed for details. "What exactly is going on?"
"I'm not sure, Commander. They only said the situation is critical."
"Do I need to go now?"
"Yes, General. The Speeder Bike is waiting by the gangway." A hint of barely perceptible amusement crept into the Captain's voice.
"Damn it..." Solo cursed under his breath, a surge of inexplicable anger flooding through him. "I'll be there in five minutes."
He dashed into the bathroom and, without thinking, stuck his head under the cold water. The icy stream instantly cleared his mind, but that unsettling feeling lingered stubbornly.
After quickly tidying himself up, he stuffed a nutrition bar and a few headache tablets from the medkit into his mouth. Hurrying through the labyrinthine corridors, he headed toward the gangway and the waiting Speeder Bike.
Those recurring "visions" continued to haunt Solo, leaving him unsettled.
It was true that these visions seemed to foretell the future, and the "knowledge" about the war in his mind could be explained by them. However, each appearance was accompanied by a tearing headache that was truly unbearable.
After tidying up, Solo's mental state improved considerably, and his thoughts became clearer.
At the gangway, a four-seater speeder bike of a model Solo had never seen before was quietly waiting. The driver was a clone trooper from the local garrison, and Captain Ragnos was already seated on the rear seat.
Upon seeing Solo, the clone trooper immediately saluted. "General, I've been ordered to take you to Command!"
"What exactly is going on?" Solo asked again.
"I'm not sure, Commander. But everyone at Command is in a state of emergency, and the atmosphere is extremely tense."
"What does he mean by that?" Solo frowned, the unease in his heart growing stronger.
The Army Command Center of District 12 was located at the edge of a storage area—in other words, it was a large warehouse converted into a command center.
The choice of this location as the command center was simple: the warehouse's ample space could accommodate all the necessary equipment.
Adjacent to it was a massive landing pad, with the command tower repurposed as a long-range communication station.
The entire area was guarded round-the-clock by clone trooper patrols, and anti-aircraft guns were deployed in the surrounding area, making the defense quite secure.
Although the place had been bustling with activity since the war began, today's atmosphere was particularly tense.
Staff officers scurried back and forth like ants whose nest had been disturbed, the air thick with suppressed anxiety.
Speeder bikes continuously landed on the open space in front of the command center, ferrying commanders to an emergency meeting. The subject of the meeting, however, remained a mystery.
The officers gathered in small groups, trying to speculate about what had happened, but everyone was completely in the dark.
Once most of the officers had assembled, a staff member announced that the meeting would take place in the main tactical room, beginning in a few minutes. They would need to wait for the communication between Consul Tepben and the Jedi Council to conclude.
This news, like a stone thrown into a lake, reignited the rumors that had just subsided.
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