Solo stationed all remaining usable B-1 battle droids—twelve regiments in total—at the base.
These droids could maintain combat readiness while charging at the power stations and provide immediate support to the clone trooper garrison. In the event of a breach in the defensive line, they could swiftly fill the gap, serving as a rapid response defense force.
He watched the observation screen as their combat vehicles steadily advanced. Agile Dominator Tanks patrolled the flanks of the formation, some already firing their main guns with enough power to pierce enemy light armor. They were now less than three kilometers from the enemy lines—
"Master, since we don't have to personally charge out there, could we..." Ahsoka trailed off, her gaze wandering, her tone filled with anticipation.
Solo rolled his eyes, instantly seeing through her intentions. "You just want the thrill of firing a weapon yourself."
He knew Ahsoka's perception of the Force was too keen, making her vulnerable to the battlefield's aura of death. Focusing her on marksmanship might distract her, gradually acclimating her to the brutal reality of war.
"Fine, do as you wish. I'll notify the gunner in the forward turret to coordinate with you."
"Yes, Master!" The Togruta girl's face lit up with excitement as she nimbly slipped past Solo, her footsteps quickening as she ran toward the stairs leading to the turret, disappearing behind the cabin door in an instant.
With a click, Solo activated his communicator and contacted the commander of the command-type Dominator Tank, explaining that Ahsoka would be participating in the firing.
The commander readily agreed to make proper arrangements, ensuring that Ahsoka's participation would not interfere with the operation while fulfilling the Jedi Padawan's request.
"Alright, gentlemen." Solo turned to Bram and Sumelagi at the tactical table, his tone serious. "The bets are placed. Time for contemplation is over. It's time for action."
Solo hadn't pinned all his hopes on the linear forces advancing head-on.
On the very first night after landing, his three Alpha-Class ARC clones—codenamed "Black Ghost," "Lucky," and "Puck"—each led a four-man assault squad to infiltrate the Separatists' rear areas. Their mission: to carry out small acts of "benign" sabotage.
Several critical targets lay in enemy territory—communications hubs, ammunition depots, and reactors. A successful strike would deal a devastating blow to the enemy forces facing the main assault.
The Separatists are in for a big surprise, Solo thought to himself.
Meanwhile, the Command-Type Dominator Tank, with Solo aboard, had crossed the forward-most line of its own forces and entered the open combat zone.
Before them, a steel tide of robots surged toward their positions, though the word "surge" was hardly appropriate.
In Jabim's treacherous mud, those tin cans moved with the sluggishness of octogenarians, their originally neat formations long since shattered. Only the larger vehicles and spider-type robots could barely cope with the atrocious terrain, maintaining a relatively steady advance.
"Commander Tano's marksmanship is remarkably precise," Sumelagi reported, her eyes fixed on the tactical screen, data streaming in real-time. "Hit rate at ninety-seven percent. Targets eliminated: forty-one—no, forty-two."
"For a Jedi, that's hardly surprising," Solo replied calmly, his gaze locked on the unfolding battlefield ahead.
The rest of the tank squadron was also firing at full capacity, coordinating their efforts to annihilate the enemy robot swarm.
Several missiles fired by the "Sabre" tanks struck agile enemy vehicles attempting to flank them with pinpoint accuracy. Meanwhile, AT-XT Walkers swept the trenches with proton grenade launchers, obliterating the Nationalists hiding within until not even bones remained.
Soon, the command-type tank Solo was riding in began to vibrate violently. The driver, steering the steel behemoth, crushed swarms of robots and enemy soldiers under its treads. Muffled sounds of twisting metal and shattering bones rose from beneath the tracks.
Sumelagi frowned slightly, clearly able to imagine the gruesome scene outside.
"This is to conserve ammunition," Solo said calmly. "The drivers and gunners want to join the fight, but they can't do it unarmed. Running over enemies with the treads is an efficient way to engage."
The rain continued to fall. Derrill Quince dutifully observed the front lines through the dense curtain of rain, fulfilling his duties as an observer.
The other warriors in the platoon used the lull to rest, huddled in the mud, conserving their energy.
Their position was a shallow depression in the muddy ground, occupied by a Jabim militia platoon.
Most of the soldiers were middle-aged men in their thirties and forties, married men who struggled to make ends meet as ordinary laborers.
There were also many young men like Quince, their heads filled with romantic notions of war, who had thrown themselves into the conflict without hesitation.
When Alto Stratus overthrew the corrupt Council and seized power, large numbers of Jabim's people flocked to his cause.
The planet had finally received aid, though it came not from the Republic, but from the Confederacy of Independent Systems.
The Separatists brought food, weapons, and medicine, along with the resolve to resist the Republic.
However, not all Jabim people agreed with Stratus's choice. Some traitors remained loyal to what they saw as a Republic controlled by Hutts.
Stratus's National Self-Defense Force had a core objective: to purge these loyalists.
Now, they were stationed on the front lines, surrounding a small group of Republic soldiers who had dared to invade their homeland.
"Commander, the robot units seem to have started their attack," Quince shouted from the edge of the makeshift trench.
He had heard of binoculars, but such precision equipment was exceedingly rare, reserved only for higher-ranking commanders.
He didn't complain. Instead, he strained his eyes, trying to pierce through the rain to discern more details.
Though their equipment was non-uniform, every militiaman had received reliable combat uniforms and full combat gear, including dependable blaster carbines and rifles, ample ammunition, and even a few high-explosive grenades.
"Command has ordered the general assault to begin at exactly 7 p.m.," Platoon Leader Halm replied. The forty-year-old former mining team foreman spoke with a steady voice. "It's high time we grind these arrogant Republic bastards into the mud."
"What's our mission?"
"We'll stay on the line and hold it," Halm said, leaning against the trench wall. "Hundreds of thousands of robots are enough. All we need to do is prevent the enemy from breaking through."
"I heard they have... some kind of badass over there. What's it called again?" Santos, another young man in the platoon, adjusted his slipping helmet, his voice filled with curiosity.
"A Jedi Knight, Steel Egg!" a slightly older warrior immediately corrected him.
The trench erupted in laughter. The monotony of frontline life made even this small joke particularly amusing.
"I've never seen a Jedi!" Santos protested. "I don't even know how to spell the word!"
"Hmm, that much is true," Halm teased. "I don't even believe they exist! Legend has it they all wear robes, but after all this time on the front lines, I've never even seen a shadow of someone in a robe."
"I heard the Jedi steal babies and raise them as warriors!" someone whispered, their voice tinged with fear.
"Even crazier than that, they can split a person in half with those lightsabers!"
"I heard that too!" another voice chimed in. "The scout from the next row over said they saw huge four-legged monsters in the Republic that could crush a tank with a single step!"
"Most likely bullshit," Halm shrugged, his expression dismissive. "They also said the Republic has giant wheeled houses. Do you believe that?"
Just then, the sound of intense fire erupted from the direction of the advancing robots, growing louder by the second.
The ground began to tremble slightly, the vibrations increasing until it felt as if some colossal creature were approaching.
"What... what's happening? Is it an earthquake?" Santos paled, tightening his grip on his blaster.
"Quince, for fuck's sake, what's going on?" Halm scrambled up from the bottom of the ditch, trying to get a better look at the situation ahead.
"Something's coming!" Quince shouted, his eyes fixed ahead. "The rain's too heavy to see clearly, but it's huge—massive!"
Before he could finish speaking, an unprecedentedly colossal combat vehicle emerged from the deluge, resembling a mobile steel fortress.
Its hull was covered in armor plating that glimmered with a cold light. Four twin-barrel laser cannons sprayed scorching energy beams in all directions, instantly reducing any robots in their path to burning wreckage.
Most striking were its fourteen-meter-diameter wheels, their treaded surfaces sending mud flying meters high as they crushed through the sludge.
Those wheels are enormous! That was Quince's final thought.
In the next instant, the massive "Dominator Tank" plowed straight through the depression where they were hiding. Its colossal wheels swept up Quince and the other militiamen, its steel hull mercilessly grinding them into the mud.
The dull cracks of shattered bones, the sharp cries of twisting metal, and despairing screams intertwined. In an instant, the entire platoon was reduced to a pool of bloody pulp.
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