Solo collapsed exhaustedly onto his makeshift bed, seizing every spare moment of rest during the division's return to the base for resupply.
Ten days of relentless fighting in Jabim, six days of continuous repelling of the Separatists' fierce assaults, had left him utterly drained, both physically and mentally.
Repeated use of Combat Meditation to anticipate enemy movements and rescue his troops from desperate situations, even after tapping into his reserves with Pota Grass, had taken a heavy toll.
Severe headaches, frequent nosebleeds, and even brief fainting spells plagued him.
Yet, driven by sheer willpower, he forced the Force to surge again and again. This was their only trump card in this lopsided battle, their only hope to turn the tide.
The ten days in Jabim had been a rollercoaster of fortunes.
The first counterattack had dealt a devastating blow to the enemy's morale, drastically reducing the ranks of both robots and Nationalists.
But five days prior, the situation had suddenly deteriorated.
Miro intercepted intelligence revealing that the enemy had mobilized all available forces for a final assault.
Leading this offensive was Cordelia Stratus, the cousin of Alto Stratus. Her impassioned speech to the National Self-Defense Force had galvanized their spirits.
The robot units required no mobilization, being ever ready to execute any command. Now, their offensive was particularly fierce.
The real challenge was the appearance of the enemy's elite Cloud Rain Assault Team on the battlefield. This elite force, combining special operations and guard duties, carried on a combat tradition spanning thousands of years. Their equipment far surpassed that of ordinary units, even including hovering boots that allowed them to move nimbly through the muddy terrain.
"It's practically an unfinished version of Hermes Power Armor," Solo cursed under his breath. "Damn it all."
Although the Cloud Rain Assault Team was slightly inferior in direct combat, Jabim's harsh environment compensated for this weakness. On our side, we had barely thirty experts of comparable skill.
To put it bluntly, only three—Puck, Lucky, and Black Ghost—could truly hold their own against them. The training level of the other RC clones fell far short.
To make matters worse, intelligence intercepted by Miro the previous day revealed that the Confederacy of Independent Systems' Trade Federation and Techno Union had dispatched a massive reinforcement fleet to Jabim's orbit.
Ten Lucrehulk-class battleships, each packed with battle droids, hovered in orbit above, along with an unknown number of auxiliary vessels.
For now, they could still rely on the extreme weather to block enemy air support. But if the weather cleared, the consequences would be unimaginable.
Even the most conservative estimates predicted they would face an assault by over 1.5 million battle droids.
By then, the base was doomed to fall, and survival hung in the balance.
Even without reinforcements, their losses continued to mount.
To date, 3,842 clone troopers had been killed, and 47 combat vehicles had been lost, most of them the less mobile bipedal walkers.
Only half of the B-1 battle droids stationed at the base remained, but Solo considered the loss of robots acceptable. After all, it was far preferable to losing precious clone troopers.
Though each Dominator Tank was pockmarked with shrapnel scars and their armor blackened by fire, they still roamed the battlefield, reaping lives and machines with devastating firepower.
They continued to employ cavalry-style raid tactics, maneuvering flexibly within a 40-kilometer radius of the base, disrupting enemy supply lines, intercepting reinforcements, and launching surprise attacks from behind enemy forces advancing on the base.
After each brief return to the base for resupply and rearming, they would once again break through the enemy blockade and sortie.
Ahsoka spent almost the entire day manning the turret, completely exhausting herself. Solo understood that she was using physical fatigue to suppress the mental trauma.
At this moment, everyone was at the end of their rope.
Their faces were pale as paper, dark circles under their eyes, and their movements were hurried from extreme exhaustion.
The number of wounded in the base continued to rise. Those who could still hold a weapon forced themselves to keep fighting, while the seriously injured were taken to the Hunter, a frigate converted into a hospital. Even though the Hunter could accommodate 1,500 bedridden patients after its conversion, it was now severely overcrowded.
Two regiments of surgeons worked tirelessly, sustained only by stimulants.
Solo didn't care about this. As long as they could still treat the wounded, it was enough.
After all, there was no way to evacuate the injured from this besieged planet.
The atmosphere in the base was suffocating, mirroring the gloomy, rainy weather outside.
The clone troopers, disciplined and well-trained, far surpassed the enemy's robot militias. Even so, the prolonged, grueling battle had inevitably plunged them into despair and depression.
Endless rain fell from the sky, the mud and dampness beneath their feet stretched endlessly, waves of enemy forces surged relentlessly, their overheated gun barrels nearly melted, and occasional hand-to-hand combat erupted. Blood mixed with mud in a gruesome tableau.
The enemy forces roared as they charged toward the clone troopers, who silently and precisely swung their vibrating blades, reaping lives with surgical precision.
The Jabim forces were repeatedly repulsed, only to regroup and launch frenzied assaults again hours later.
Fortunately, the clone troopers' mental states had been specially adjusted, making them largely immune to the bloody spectacle of the battlefield. In their eyes, these were simply enemies of the Republic.
The most agonizing aspect was the complete isolation. Cut off from both the war zone headquarters and the entire galaxy, they sometimes felt as if the small patch of war-torn land beneath their feet was all that remained of their world.
Despite being trapped in this desperate situation, they continued to fight fiercely.
The clone troopers strictly adhered to regulations, executing every command to the letter.
Solo, in particular, couldn't afford even the slightest lapse in concentration. Not only would this lead to the annihilation of the entire corps, but it would also be a profound disgrace.
Now, they had only one choice: to fight to the bitter end.
Fortunately, a few days earlier, they had successfully established contact with a local resistance group loyal to the Republic.
The resistance leader, Olis Gilmun, had sent a young girl as a messenger.
The Jabim people had always fiercely protected women and children, and even Alto Stratus, the leader of the enemy forces, hadn't broken this tradition.
When Solo asked the girl why she was risking her life to join the war, she calmly replied that her home had been destroyed and her parents brutally murdered.
Several guards accompanied her.
Solo wasn't particularly pleased about this. The Loyalist faction, unable and unwilling to provide substantial aid, had long ago assessed the situation and considered them expendable.
"Hmph, we'll see about that," Solo thought with a cold smirk.
The meeting wasn't entirely fruitless, however. As the girl left, she took a holodisk containing the distress signal Solo had sent to the Jedi Council. He didn't hold much hope that the message would reach them safely.
The greater the hope, the greater the disappointment!
Another thorny issue was Alto Stratus.
A leader of his caliber was undoubtedly the greatest threat, but even so, Solo had never considered eliminating him outright.
The reason was simple: even if Stratus died, the Nationalists would simply elect a new leader to continue the fight. Such assassination attempts were pointless, no matter how strongly Puck urged him to consider them.
"That Hutt will push me to my limits someday," Solo thought, temporarily setting aside this plan as a last resort.
He turned over, closed his eyes, and tried to clear his mind of chaotic thoughts, hoping to fall asleep quickly.
Shaak Ti finally returned to the Jedi Temple after a long absence.
With the situation on Kamino relatively stable, she seized the opportunity to return to Coruscant.
The Temple always provided her with a sense of inexplicable peace; it was the home of the Jedi.
However, today's meeting of the Jedi Council was permeated with a heavy and sorrowful atmosphere.
Shaak Ti sat attentively, listening carefully to Master Mace Windu's report.
In her memory, Master Mace Windu was the type of sage who rarely revealed his emotions.
Years of Jedi training had not only honed his mind but also made him one of the most powerful Jedi in recent times.
His appointment to the Jedi Council at the age of twenty-eight, and his long tenure there, were clear proof of his strength and prestige.
All Korun possessed the ability to sense the Force. According to legend, they were descendants of the crew of a Jedi starship that crashed on Coruscant four thousand years ago. Mace Windu's Force aptitude, however, was truly extraordinary.
Among the living Jedi, few could rival him in skill—perhaps only Master Yoda and Master Xin Drallig.
Windu had also pioneered his own seventh form of lightsaber combat, Vapaad, a style of infinite power.
Like Master Yoda, he possessed profound knowledge of Jedi history and philosophy, mentoring countless exceptional Jedi disciples.
He was also widely recognized as a diplomat, virtually single-handedly shaping the Jedi Order's foreign policy.
Yet now, the usually composed Korun's face was etched with unmistakable grief.
"Depa's physical condition is stable, but... she has been utterly consumed by the Dark Side of the Force," Mace Windu's voice was low and hoarse. "When I arrived at Harun Kal to rendezvous with her, she was completely out of control, even attacking me. After failing, she tried to kill herself."
The Korun sighed heavily. "Though we managed to stop her, she remains in a coma. I can't establish any connection with her through the Force."
Master Voca Che confirmed his words: "Master Bilaba is currently under our care, but I cannot predict when she will recover enough to return to normal life. It may take years, perhaps even longer."
Master Saesee Tiin turned to Mace Windu, his voice filled with regret. "I'm deeply sorry, Master. Depa was your most outstanding student. What led to her becoming like this?"
"This war... it was too brutal," Mace Windu said slowly. "The Jedi Order hasn't experienced such a savage conflict in ages, and the situation on Harun Kal was especially dire. The conflict between the Korun and the native Balowick people was deliberately stoked by Separatists, who chose to support the Balowick. The war was fought with extreme brutality, steeped in local customs that sanctioned torture, massacres of unarmed prisoners and civilians, and other atrocities. The endless cruelty, the extreme torture of prisoners, and ritualistic killings—all of it overwhelmed Depa's limits. In the end, she was utterly crushed by the overwhelming surge of hatred and darkness."
The Jedi Healer broke the silence, his voice heavy. "I must make it clear that this is not an isolated case. Our infirmary is currently treating over twenty Jedi—some who have suffered mental collapse due to war, others who have been corrupted by the Dark Side of the Force. As for the number of Jedi injured or disabled in combat, that is impossible to count."
A heavy silence settled over the conference room, finally broken by Ki-Adi-Mundi. "It seems Master Depa will be unable to fulfill her duties on the Council in the near future. We must find a replacement immediately."
"The Council must remain fully staffed," Evan Pierre agreed firmly. "Under no circumstances can there be a vacancy."
Yoda slowly twirled his walking stick, his Self-Light sweeping over each Master present. "Does the Council have any suitable candidates to recommend?"
Adi Gallia and Kit Fisto exchanged a glance, then stepped forward. "Perhaps Obi-Wan Kenobi is worthy of joining the Council?"
Plo Koon nodded in agreement. "Obi-Wan is an exceptional diplomat, and his steady temperament and extensive combat experience perfectly meet the Council's requirements. He has successfully led numerous challenging missions and is the only Jedi Knight in nearly a millennium to defeat a Sith Lord."
"What is your decision?" Yoda asked again, turning to the assembled Masters.
The Jedi Masters present nodded silently. Obi-Wan's abilities and achievements were undeniable, and many of them had deep personal friendships with him, trusting his character completely.
"In that case, it's settled," Yoda declared, slamming his gavel. "Notify Obi-Wan immediately and have him come to Coruscant at once."
Evan Pierre twitched his ears and suggested, "Perhaps Obi-Wan is precisely the right person to command the Jabim operation. The situation there is extremely complex and requires a Master-level commander. This battle will also be an excellent test for him."
Mace Windu nodded in agreement. "That is indeed the best solution."
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