**Chapter 837: Blades from the Sky**
**Scene 1: Fourth Elite Airborne Assault Corps – Descent on Neimoidia**
It wasn't for nothing that the Fourth Airborne Assault Corps was called "Elite." Clone Sergeant Kurt thought so. Addressing them before the landing, Marshal Commander Art had said it was an honor to be at the very forefront of the attack; even more, they were the blade that struck the first blow. A blow from which the enemy would never recover...
Silence. It was broken only by the beeping of sensors and a slight shaking... oh, not so slight anymore.
"Attention. Entering dense layers of the atmosphere."
The company commander's message appeared on Kurt's helmet's internal display.
"Aha. So the fight starts in five minutes."
A glance at the sensors. Altitude 120 kilometers, speed 1,480 kilometers per hour. Thirty seconds ago, they passed through a breach in Neimoidia's planetary shield, breached by sabotage. Although, it wasn't a window—an entire sector of the shield had been knocked out. Yes, the enemy could close it—but that would take time. Enough time for the clones to launch an attack.
"Code three."
"Beginning target acquisition." Using the maneuvering jets on his pack, the paratrooper began adjusting course to reach the southern outskirts of the capital. In fact, their entire regiment was aimed there. So was the Third Legion. The Second was landing in the city center, the First at the spaceport, and the Fourth near the garrison complex. The corps was to deliver a swift and decisive strike, securing a convenient foothold for the remaining troops. Command, apparently, hoped to complete everything in less than a week, ideally in a couple of days...
"Attention. Prepare to brake in thirty seconds. Countdown..."
Before his feet touched the street, the sergeant snatched his trusty blaster carbine from its holder, so he couldn't be caught off guard. However, there was no enemy nearby. Only airspeeders and landspeeders were scattered haphazardly along the street, and Neimoidians glanced at them fearfully from the sidewalks. Ha! After all, just a couple of minutes ago they were rushing to work... Probably. Still, the Separatists hardly imagined their defenses would be breached so quickly..
"Squad! Assemble! Drop your packs! Tinkers, Chatterbox—perimeter!"
"Yes, sir!"
After checking the map, the sergeant waved his hand.
"Okay, we're going there. Run-run-run!"
The paratroopers of the Fourth Elite Airborne Assault Corps hit the ground like a thunderbolt from the heavens. Rocket packs flared in controlled bursts as they descended through the breach in the planetary shield, their black-and-gray armor catching the light of Neimoidia's sun. The southern outskirts of the capital sprawled below them—a dense urban sprawl of suspension bridges, towering commerce towers, and fortified warehouses. Smoke already rose from distant explosions where orbital fire had softened the landing zones.
Sergeant Kurt landed hard on a wide avenue, his boots crunching against duracrete as the repulsor pack cut out. The impact jarred his knees, but the reinforced armor absorbed most of the shock. Around him, the rest of the squad touched down in near-perfect formation—veterans of Mygeeto and other hellholes who moved with the precision of machines.
"Perimeter secure!" Chatterbox called, dropping to one knee behind an overturned landspeeder, carbine sweeping the street.
Neimoidian civilians scattered in panic, their pale green skin flushed with terror as they fled into nearby buildings. A few security droids whirred to life at the end of the block, but Tinkers cut them down with a short burst from his heavy blaster.
"No heavy resistance yet," Kurt reported over squad comms. "Move out—double time to the rally point. We secure the southern bridge network before the main force lands."
The squad broke into a run, boots pounding against the pavement. Above them, the sky burned with the trails of more drop pods and gunships descending through the breached shield. The Fourth Corps was living up to its reputation—the tip of the spear, driving deep into the heart of the Trade Federation's homeworld before the enemy could fully react.
Kurt's HUD flashed warnings as enemy airspeeders began to appear on the streets ahead. "Contact! Light vehicles—take them down!"
The clones opened fire in unison, blaster bolts stitching across the speeders' hulls. One exploded in a fireball, crashing into a storefront. The others veered wildly, their Neimoidian pilots panicking under the sudden assault.
"Keep pushing!" Kurt shouted. "The capital falls today!"
**Scene 2: Hangar Assignment – New Blood**
Entering the spacious hangar, Private Jana Lowell looked around. Like the other recruits everything was new to her. Having volunteered for the Grand Army of the Republic, she expected her life to change dramatically. But not this much! After a week of training, their group was sent to none other than Mern-13 on Cato Neimoidia. For her, who had never been outside of Byblos, it was like being in a Sith's backyard...
The lieutenant accompanying them turned and waved his hand towards the far end of the room.
"Okay, recruits, your team is assigned to the second battalion. They're stationed there. Find Ensign Herin Solborne and report back. Quick march!"
Jana and her comrades—exactly forty young men and women—headed in the indicated direction, maintaining—or at least attempting to maintain—a semblance of formation. The lieutenant who had met them at the transport ordered the other two groups to follow him, then disappeared with them into the throng of scurrying soldiers, clones, technicians, and who knows what else.
Finally, they reached the far wall of the hangar, lined with armored vehicles. These weren't the AT-TEs seen so often in holocasts, but something more squat and streamlined. And no legs. But the vehicles still looked menacing, and their guns were on par with clone troopers'. A group of sentients stood near one of the tanks, and a couple more sat on crates. It wasn't quite visible from the back rows, but it seemed they'd found what they were looking for.
"Sir, we're looking for Ensign Solborne and the second battalion!" Private Lor Aboleth, designated senior officer in their group, saluted smartly.
From the nearest container rose... Jana almost whistled. It was a man, but quite large, two meters tall; black, with a pair of massive gold earrings and a cigar in his mouth. The uniform jacket couldn't hide his bulging muscles. "I wouldn't want to anger someone like that." After glancing at them, the big man muttered;
"You've come to the right place. Who are you?"
"Reinforcements, sir," Lowell said a little less confidently.
However, at this point a small woman in the same uniform, but with a sergeant's bar, flew up to the big guy.
"Solborne! What the hell is this? I ordered technicians," the woman said, jabbing the deck in the man's face and advancing menacingly. "It says 'technicians' here. Do you want me to spell it out for you, or what? How am I supposed to service the cars?"
"Hey, Odan, don't get so worked up," the ensign raised his hands placatingly. "They haven't arrived yet, they're delayed... And by the way, here are reinforcements for us. You can choose first."
The woman chuckled, turned around, and glanced at the new recruits.
"You, you, you and you," the sergeant said, pointing at Lowell and three other guys and shaking her head. "Follow me. And I'll talk to you later," she said to the big guy.
The girl grabbed the duffel bag and hurried after her.
"My name is Kurtz Odan, I'm a sergeant in the second company; I command a tank platoon—three of them, for those who don't know. You're assigned to one of them. Your commander... here he is." The officer nodded toward the corporal, who was explaining something to two privates.
"Oh, that's good, ye... Well, okay, I'll take care of it, ma'am," the man smiled, then spread arms in a welcoming manner.
"I'm Ben Marlick, Corporal. I command the tank, in case anyone missed it. These two slackers are Fitz Jard and Sogan Koda. Welcome to the team. What's your name?"
"Yoren Treim, Coley Danner, Chester Tull, Jana Lowell," the new recruits said their names one by one.
"I see... Where will you be from?"
"From Byblos."
"Oka... So, newbies. Meet them. This is a VAT-1, colloquially known as 'Stryker,'" the corporal patted the vehicle's armor. "A 'G' version, meaning it's on a tracked chassis."
"On a tracked one? But wouldn't a repulsorlift be simpler?" Tull blurted out.
"We thought so too at first. And so did the command. Our company had eleven tanks before the landing—six repulsor tanks and five tracked tanks. After a couple of weeks of fighting, we were down to two repulsor tanks and four tracked tanks. They don't have any particular differences except perhaps in their armament. But the hull and armor are identical. My point is... The repulsor tanks would push forward, and we would slowly creep up behind. In the end, the guys would get knocked out, and we would survive. That's how it is..."
Lowell looked at the tank and shrugged. It was covered in hit marks and looked a bit battered. But if they were still using it, that meant it was reliable.
**Scene 3: First Blood on the Ground**
Sergeant Kurtz Odan watched the new recruits with a critical eye as they scrambled to familiarize themselves with the Stryker tank. "Listen up, fresh meat. This isn't a parade. Cato Neimoidia is crawling with droids and Neimoidian Guard. You keep your heads down, follow orders, and maybe you'll live long enough to earn your stripes."
Private Jana Lowell nodded, gripping her blaster rifle tightly. The hangar vibrated as more dropships landed, disgorging troops and vehicles. Outside, the sounds of battle grew louder—blaster fire, explosions, the whine of repulsor engines.
"Mount up!" Corporal Marlick shouted. "We're rolling out to support the southern push. Keep your eyes open—Vultures love to dive on armor columns."
The Stryker's engines roared to life, treads biting into the hangar deck as it lurched forward. Lowell and the other recruits piled into the troop compartment, the hatch slamming shut behind them. The vehicle rumbled out into the streets of Cato Neimoidia, joining a column of Republic armor advancing toward the capital's outskirts.
"First contact!" the driver called. "Droids ahead!"
The Stryker's heavy cannons opened up, the recoil shaking the entire vehicle. Blaster bolts stitched across the street as B1 battle droids tried to form a defensive line. The new recruits returned fire through firing ports, their shots joining the chorus of the Republic's advance.
"Keep moving!" Odan barked from the command seat. "We don't stop until the bridge is ours!"
Jana Lowell felt a surge of adrenaline as the tank rolled over a fallen droid, its treads grinding it into scrap. This was war—raw, chaotic, and terrifying. But she was here. She was part of it.
The blade of the Republic had struck deep into Neimoidia. And it would not be withdrawn until the planet fell.