The newly formed 212th attack battalion, made up of remnants of the 115th, a select few from the 501st, and hundreds of shinies, is settling into their new flagship and awaiting the arrival of their new general. Gunships fly into the hangar, carrying more supplies than Cody hopes they’ll need, and settle into position, doors open and ready to be unloaded. Some of the more eager men are already eyeing their unpainted sides and no doubt scheming how to get their rest of their squad to agree with some new design. As long as they aren’t too crude, Cody is happy to let them do it.
Cody removes his helmet and sets it against his hip as a Jedi fighter drops into the hangar. He tries to cool the growing anxiety in his chest. He’s spent the last four months on Kamino after being blown up in a training accident days before the war began. It had left him with a scar wrapping around his eye, weeks of physical therapy to get his left arm moving again, and bitter disappointment. His whole life had been building up to the war. Being forced to remain out of it because some shiny had lost their grip on a grenade had been devastating. Then the Jedi general he was supposed to be assigned to had died along with most of the 115th. Now Cody has to pick up the pieces.
All eyes turn to the Jedi as he hops lightly out of his fighter. Cody isn’t sure what he had come to expect from the stories he’d heard from Alpha and the pitying shake of the older clone’s head after learning who was replacing the dead councilor that had once led the 115th and would now lead the 212th, but a robe-wearing human that looks like they belong in a religious temple, not a battlefield, isn’t it.
The man either doesn’t notice the stares or chooses to ignore them as he crosses the hangar with unnaturally graceful strides. Cody is more inclined to believe the latter. Obi-wan Kenobi has only just been promoted to Jedi master and councilor. Those are not titles earned by a lack of awareness. And if what Alpha said is true, then Kenobi is one of the most competent Jedi he’s ever met on the battlefield. He’s more than earned his promotion.
“General Kenobi,” Cody says with a salute. “Welcome aboard.”
Kenobi bows. “You must be the Commander Cody,” he says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Now that Kenobi is closer, Cody can make out the faint shadows under his eyes and the ever-so-slight bagginess of his robes. It would have passed Cody’s notice if he hadn’t read the report on what had happened to Alpha and Kenobi. The report had been unusually sparse, considering Alpha’s tendency to catalogue everything in detail, but Cody could read between the lines.
“You too, sir,” Cody says, drawing himself quickly out of his thoughts when he realizes he has been silent a beat too long. He’s spent far too much time alone with his thoughts in the medical ward and his social skills have suffered for it. “All your clearances have been upgraded and your quarters have been assigned.” He taps on his comm to forward the information to Kenobi. “We have another three hours before we’ll be ready to depart. In the meantime, I can show you around the ship.”
“I would appreciate that,” Kenobi says. He seems to glide more than walk as he falls into step beside Cody. He carries no baggage with him, no supplies but what’s on his belt. No Jedi robes had been sent to them, a possible oversight he correct immediately. He doubts the black undersuits the clones wear would fit the taller and leaner Kenobi. “Actually, we should head to the bridge.”
“Sir?” Cody asks a moment before an alarm blares to life. Only years of middle of the night alarm drills keep him from jumping out of his skin. The alarm shouldn’t be going off. They aren’t anywhere near Separatist controlled space nor had he heard of anyone needing reinforcements.
He glances to Kenobi, who seems completely unfazed as the initial ear splitting roar of the alarm quiets to an incessant pulse. The Jedi merely shrugs as the hangar descends into chaos around them. The men run in all directions to secure the supplies and ships before the impending jump to hyperspace that shouldn’t have come so soon. It’s a controlled chaos, one that could only be built by men that had all undergone the same training. They know what they need to do. “Shall we?” Kenobi asks.
“To the bridge then,” Cody says.
He breaks into a light jog which Kenobi easily keeps pace with. They weave in and out of the crowded hallways, narrowly avoiding collisions with droids and squads of gunners moving into position. They pack themselves into a crowded elevator, or, more accurately, Cody packs himself into the elevator. Everyone in it is more than willing press together to give Kenobi extra space.
The bridge is bustling with officers and techs when they arrive. The entire deck freezes, then snaps a salute to the two of them, much to Cody’s relief. It’s more formal than how most ships are run, but it makes for a good first impression.
“Carry on,” Kenobi says. The bustling returns, though not before the deck officer slips free of the chaos to make his status report.
“The Separatists launched a surprise attack on Malastare. We’ve been ordered to respond immediately,” the deck officer says.
“Are we ready to depart?” Kenobi asks.
“We’re still waiting for the all-clear from the hangar and we’re chasing down a bug in the nav system.”
Kenobi nods. “Has the Council left a report for me?”
“All the data is waiting for you on the comm table,” the officer says.
“Good. Depart as soon as you’re ready,” Kenobi says.
Cody trails after Kenobi as he makes his way to the holo table. Kenobi lacks the awkwardness Cody had been told to expect of Jedi generals once they learned the Jedi had not been nearly as prepared for this war as the Kaminoans had told them. Kenobi knows the rank he carries and isn’t afraid to use it.
A part of Cody relaxes as he realizes that. It will certainly make working together easier. They don’t have to flounder to figure out what the other is comfortable with or make tentative suggestions that may not be welcome. Their relationship is already defined in their regulation handbook. If Kenobi doesn’t deviate from it, then Cody doesn’t have to either.
The holo table lights up with a dozen files, all of them relating to Malastare. Intelligence briefings, planet maps, schematics of major cities, historical information. It all hovers before them in more files than can possibly be read before they arrive.
Kenobi selects the most recent briefing, skims it quickly, then switches over to a rough holographic image of the invasion. It is full of more holes than actual images, but Cody can piece together what isn’t seen. The Separatists have set up a blockade to prevent reinforcements from reaching the planet below with more than enough ships to cover the entire planet. Still, Kenobi has most of the 3rd systems army at his command. It shouldn’t be difficult to sweep the Separatists from orbit. The problem is the cities. Fighting in unfamiliar territory always brings high casualties.
“The cities won’t have fallen yet,” Kenobi says.
Cody’s heart skips a beat.
“My apologies, Commander,” Kenobi says. “I can’t help but pick up particularly strong thoughts and impressions from those around me.”
Knowing what the Jedi could do and seeing it in action were two very different things. It’s more disconcerting than Cody had thought to know someone could be listening in on his thoughts, unintentionally or otherwise. His thoughts had always been his own, despite the Kaminoans’ best efforts.
He knew the Jedi were different his brothers. He knew they were different than every other living being in the galaxy, though not even the Kaminoans had known to what extent. He’s heard the whispers of impossible feats from brothers who had survived what they shouldn’t have. Those feats never showed up in reports, were never spoken of over comms. No one would have believed them.
Kenobi looks at him like he wants to say something, but he turns back to the table and zooms in on the planet’s capital city. “I can lead the forward assault from this point here,” he says, pointing to the ridge. It overlooks where Cody would expect the Separatist army would be if they were attacking the city.
“They’d expect it,” Cody says.
“There isn’t any other natural cover,” Kenobi says. “I’d rather not have the men be target practice for droids.”
“We’ll have to scan the area for booby traps.”
“And keep an eye out for an ambush. I can go down first to determine if it’s safe. Otherwise, we’ll have to use the gunships as cover. I’d rather they be providing air support.” Kenobi adds a few holographic images to the map to indicate him plan. “I’m afraid I don’t know enough about General Grievous to have any further idea of his tactics. Any thoughts?”
“It would be foolish to send a Jedi on such a risky mission,” Cody says.
“I’m perfectly capable of handling myself in combat. I’m sure you’ve read the reports.”
“The death of a Jedi would be an unacceptable loss.”
A shadow passes over the Jedi’s face. “My duty is on the battlefield,” Kenobi says. “I know you’re trained to protect your generals, but I am not willing to be left on a ship floating above battlefield, watching from afar. No Jedi is.”
He hopes Kenobi is as good as he claims, otherwise Cody will be looking for a new general again. He wants to avoid that. Kenobi seems decent enough. He is a competent strategist and used Cody’s name without prompting. But his personal feelings are of no consequence. It’s far too risky to send Jedi councilors into battle. They’re supposed to be leading the war effort and planning strategy, not fighting in the trenches. They have too much intel and aren’t easy to replace.
But he knows an unspoken order when he hears one. Kenobi believes he belongs on the battlefield and that’s where he’ll go. Though perhaps he would be amendable to some additional armor.
“Then I’ll be leading the 212th once you give us the all-clear,” Cody says.
“Assuming we can even make it to the planet,” Kenobi says when the hologram flickers and new intel is added from their scouts currently in the system. The Separatist fleet is much larger than it had initially appeared. “Grievous must know his flank is exposed while besieging the city. He won’t want to let us land. Though we might be able to punch through the blockade here.”
“It could be a trap,” Cody says. “I wouldn’t underestimate him. Fordo said he killed six Jedi last time he showed up on the battlefield.”
“Believe me, Commander, I’m well aware, but I’m not seeing another option. We’ll never be able to free Malastare if the Separatists take the planet. The capital is more labyrinth than city. Clearing it of droids would be next to impossible.”
Cody looks over the hologram. The new Separatist general had left a trail of destruction in his wake, starting with the death of six Jedi on Hypori. This is their chance to stop him before he is unleashed fully on the galaxy, but they have so little intelligence on Grievous’s capabilities beyond the destruction he leaves in his wake. No eyewitnesses. No footage. Only the briefest of glimpses when Fordo had arrived to evacuate the Jedi but found nothing. Not even their bodies.
“Can you fight him?” Cody asks. The other option is orbital bombardment, which even Cody is hesitant to entertain. Despite the efficacy, such strikes killed everyone around for miles. The entire city would be destroyed, though if Grievous is as terrible as the rumors say, it might be worth it.
Kenobi strokes his beard. “I will do what I can. Though let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Hope has no place in battle planning, but judging by the solemn expression on Kenobi’s face, he knows it. Alpha told him Kenobi knew what he was doing, even if he wasn’t nearly as ruthless as he should be. As far as Cody was concerned, that was a glowing compliment.
“General Kenobi,” the deck officer says. “We’re cleared to make the jump to hyperspace.”
“Then by all means,” Kenobi says. “Let’s go.”
--------
The gunships are filling up quickly as shinies and veterans alike pack themselves in. Many of them have a fresh coat of gold paint on their armor, though Cody isn’t sure when exactly they decided gold was their color. Cody would have preferred green. Still, it’s important to foster a sense of unity in a mixed battalion. He’ll have to paint his own armor soon.
Across the hangar, Kenobi is seated in his starfighter, preparing to leave the moment they drop out of hyperspace. He says he can slip through the blockade and scout ahead, though Cody doesn’t share his confidence. While Cody is sure the fleet can punch through the blockade, the risk of Kenobi being left alone on an enemy planet isn’t negligible. That is if he can slip through a storm of more blaster shots than there are raindrops on Kamino. If not, Cody will have lost his general after less than twenty-four hours.
Cody checks over his ammo packs and charges. His blaster hums to life in his hands, nearly vibrating with the built-up charge. There’s enough power in his hands to blow up a building if expended all at once, though there are plenty of safeties in place to keep that from happening. That doesn’t stop the hairs on the back of his neck from standing up each time he activates one. The GAR rifles are almost frighteningly powerful compared to the those he had trained with on Kamino.
His comm beeps a warning as they get ready to drop out of hyperspace. The gunship doors rumble closed. He allows his heartrate to settle and his focus to narrow. This is what he’s been trained for, what he’s spent his whole life waiting for. No more hours spent in med bay, waiting to join his brothers on the battlefield, to do his duty to the Republic.
The entire ship shudders as they are hit with a wall of blaster fire moments after dropping back into real space. The hangar doors open. No doubt Kenobi is making his departure. The gunships will follow when they’ve made it through the blockade. The clone pilots don’t have the Force to keep them from getting shot down, though Cody still isn’t sure just how powerful the Force is. However, Kenobi had insisted, and Cody wasn’t comfortable pressing the issue. The Jedi is his superior officer after all.
The men behind him begin to whisper to each other, mostly nonsense about who will destroy the most droids. The veterans are quick to bring up their own war stories. One of them, Longshot, he thinks, is bragging about taking down a droid tank with a single sniper shot. He weaves a convincing story, but anyone who’s actually spent time on a battlefield could pull at the stray threads until it falls apart.
Cody wishes he had his own war stories to share with the shinies to ease their nerves.
His fingers touch the outside of his new bucket. His old one had been shattered and fed into the recycler before Cody had a chance to remove the specialized HUD set-up Bly had helped him build.
His scar itches beneath his ghosting touch.
He pulls his hands away before he is tempted to rip off his bucket and scrape until his fingernails break through the skin. Cody shifts his weight from one foot to the other, then settles himself. The wait is finally getting to him, though he has no intention of allowing the shinies to pick on his nerves. They have enough of their own.
The ship shudders as the constant barrage of blasterfire gets louder. The deflector shields are holding, but they won’t be for much longer if this keeps up.
“We’re breaking through, Commander,” the deck officer says form the bridge to Cody’s comm. “But we won’t be able to hold the position for long. We’re taking too much fire.”
“Understood,” Cody says. “Prepare for takeoff.”
The roar of gunship engines fills the hangar. His entire body vibrates with the ship as it rises into the air. He grabs hold of the safety strap and watches as the others do the same, though some of the shinies are holding on with two hands rather than one.
He’d smile if he weren’t trying to untangle the knots of worry in his stomach. He has no doubt some of them won’t make it back. They’ll die, nameless, and then be replaced by someone else just like them who will die just as quickly.
They’re clones. It’s what they’re made for.
The drumming of blaster shots fades as they pass through the atmosphere shields. There’s a moment of quiet, preserved by the absolute silence of the vacuum around them. And then the blaster shots hit them.
It reminds him briefly of the pounding of rain back on Kamino before the imminent threat of death pulls him back to reality.
“Taking evasive actions!” the pilot calls to them.
Cody clings to the safety strap as the ship whirls around. They drop out of the line of fire for a moment, but the droids are quick to retarget them. Alarms blare as enemy fighters are launched to intercept the small fleet of gunships.
Gunships can take a hit, but they aren’t designed for dogfighting. They’re as good as dead if they try to stay and help.
“Get us down to the surface!” Cody yells. “Now.”
“But the others—” the pilot says.
“Know their orders. Get us down.”
The ship rocks to the side, caught in the blast wave of an explosion. He hopes it was one of the droid ships, though he has no way of knowing, not without access to the cruiser’s scanners or, at the very least, a window.
The ship rattles as they pass into the atmosphere. The barrage of blaster fire from the Separatist cruisers is replaced by fire from the cannons below.
Cody’s comm beeps. “This is General Kenobi. I’ve cleared the ridge of the hill. You’re free to land,” Kenobi says.
Cleared of what, Cody wants to ask, but now isn’t the time. “Acknowledged,” Cody says to Kenobi. Then to the pilots, he says, “Take us down. Then get out there and take those cannons out.”
“Understood,” the pilot says.
“This is where the fun begins,” someone says and claps one of the shinies on the back. A roar of agreement follows as the troops unholster their blasters.
Cody allows himself to get swept up in the growing excitement. This is what he was made for. His heart pounds as the troops psych themselves up with yells of encouragement and outlandish claims of what they will do to the Separatists.
It’s almost funny.
The gunship doors open with a blast of warm air and a cloud of purple dirt kicked up by the ship’s engines. The troops leap out and, crouching below the ridgeline, join those that have already landed. The gunship takes off barely ten seconds later.
They take up positions along the ridge and fire on the droids below from relative safety. The droids return fire, but they’re divided between the Republic’s forces and the city’s defenses.
“Ah, Commander,” a distinctly non-clone voice says. “Good to see you.”
Cody can’t help but to stare at the Jedi. The man’s lightsaber flickers brilliantly as he effortlessly bats blaster shots away from him. His robes are dusty and only lightly singed, which is surprising considering the sheer number of droids Cody glimpses piled up behind him.
“I take it Grievous tried to hold this ridge,” Cody says.
“Of course,” Kenobi say. “Though to be honest, I expected explosives, not a company of droids.”
“A company?” He must be exaggerating. There’s no way Kenobi could have fought a company of droids alone.
Kenobi shrugs. “More or less.” He bats away another blaster shot without looking. Cody would much prefer he keep his head down, but he can’t get his tongue to form the words. He had known Jedi were powerful. He’d seen the footage and viewed the reports the Jedi wrote, but nothing could have prepared him for this.
The ground shakes beneath their feet as one of the Separatist cannons explodes. Kenobi finally has the good sense to drop down beside him as debris rain down around them. A few scraps hit Cody’s helmet, but without enough force to damage it. With their armor on, the troops are too far away to be in any real danger from the explosions.
He glances at Kenobi, untouched by debris and blaster bolts. Maybe Jedi really don’t need armor.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Kenobi mutters.
“Sir?” Cody asks, but doesn’t have a moment to question any further when a shout rises over the sound of blasterfire.
“Grievous approaching!”
Whoever made the call has now marked the approaching general in Cody’s HUD, making it easy for him to pick out the figure moving through the ranks of droids with alarming speed.
Kenobi tenses beside him, the blood draining from his face. “Commander, listen to me,” Kenobi says. His eyes somehow find Cody’s through the opaque visor of his helmet. “I need to get those lightsabers away from him. You’re going to pick them up. Do not lose them.”
“Sir?” Cody asks.
“I can’t afford to be distracted with trying to retrieve them. A Jedi’s lightsaber is their life. I can’t allow them to be—” Kenobi cuts himself off, then forces his hands to relax from their white-knuckled grip on his saber. “I’ll explain later. But this is important. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Cody says because he can say nothing else. His curiosity doesn’t matter. Not now. Not when Kenobi’s eyes are full of pain and sorrow, pleading with him to do as he asks.
“Good. I’ll draw him away from the troops as best I can.”
The Jedi leaps over the ridge line, his saber ignited, before Cody can issue the order for covering fire. He can only watch as the brilliant line of Kenobi’s saber swings through the air almost faster than his eyes can track. Had Kenobi taken that swing at Cody, the trooper would have been dead. Human reaction time was too slow for any other outcome. But Grievous catches Kenobi’s saber with four of his own and knocks the Jedi back with frightening ease.
It isn’t difficult to imagine how Grievous could kill so many Jedi so easily. Kenobi can only shunt the cyborg’s blades aside as Grievous bares down on him. He doesn’t have the physical strength to meet him blow for blow. Cody doubts anyone does.
Kenobi gives ground with every exchange. Grievous takes it. But Kenobi’s moves remain steady and controlled, guiding them away from the battle, rather than being pushed back.
Cody follows, one eye on the dueling pair and another on the battle droids. The mechanical army hasn’t split off to deal with the clones picking them off, which means reinforcements must be coming. The fleet above might be able to delay them, but they’ll come. Cody can’t allow them to be surrounded. The hill might protect them, but it also traps them. If the droids have the numbers, they could survive the march up the hill and kill them all. There’s nowhere to run.
There is, however, an entire range of hills to work with and a city of allies whose defenses are doing an admirable job holding the droid armies off.
“Captain Evan?” Cody says to his comm. “I need you to take your company and move south. Clear us a path towards the city. We need to be ready to move if we can’t hold off the reinforcements.”
“Understood,” Evan says. Evan has enough commendations on his record that Cody can trust him to keep the 212th safe. They need to be able to keep moving. That’s the advantage they have over the more static and uniform tactics of the droids.
A gunship careens into the hillside and explodes upon impact. All the ammunition ignites at once, shaking the very foundations of the hill and sending a cloud of metallic dust into the sky. The 212th needs to start advancing or this hill is going to crumble beneath their feet.
Cody’s gaze falls back to Kenobi and Grievous. Kenobi won’t last much longer. He’s losing ground too fast now for it to be under his control. Disarming Grievous clearly isn’t within his abilities, no matter how much the Jedi may wish it were.
That just leaves one option.
He waves over one of the shinies and takes the rocket launcher from him. Cody won’t ask the kid to make this shot. Firing on their own Jedi goes against everything they’ve been trained to do, but Cody doesn’t have any other choice.
Cody lifts the launcher onto his shoulder. He breathes slowly, carefully, his gaze fixed on the duel. It would be rather unfortunate if he killed his own Jedi general, but Kenobi isn’t going to win this. Not without help.
He pulls the trigger.
The rocket explodes in a plume of fire at Grievous’s feet. Cody tosses the launcher aside and runs. “Medic!” he yells. “With me!”
He scrambles over the rocks and skids downwards through the loose dirt. It cakes his boots and armor, all of it growing heavier with each passing step. One of the medics, Wedge, follows just behind him, cursing and swearing as they stumble through the shrubbery until they reach level ground.
Something glints at him through the haze left behind by the rocket’s blast. A lightsaber, though not Kenobi’s. It sparks when he tries to pick it up, but he doesn’t let that stop him. Kenobi ordered him to pick up Grievous’s fallen lightsabers. This is clearly one of them. It’s heavier than he expected, weighted by some metal he has no experience with, despite its apparent delicacy. It’s a beautiful weapon, far more elegant than a blaster.
He clips it to his belt. “Keep an eye out for more,” Cody says.
Something skitters past them, then a low growl reaches his ears. Cody raises his blaster and creeps forward. There’s another lightsaber, covered in dust, sitting a few feet ahead of him. He adds this one to his belt, then continues forward. Grievous is close, possibly unconscious, or at the very least, injured. Cody tightens his grip on his blaster.
Something skitters behind him. He raises his blaster and scans the surrounding hills. His visor doesn’t pick up any heat signatures, only the faint glint of a third saber, which he gives to Wedge. There’s no room on his belt. Even if there were, he doesn’t think he could carry the weight. They’re growing heavier by the second, shortening his steps and digging painfully into his thigh.
“Got anything?” Cody asks over the radio, silent to the outside world within his soundproof helmet without his voice amplifier on.
“No,” Wedge says. “But there’s—”
His voice is choked off with a cry. Cody whips around but freezes when a lightsaber ignites a few inches from his face. It’s swinging towards him before Cody can react. He has no bargaining power, no chance of even moving out of the way.
“Move!” Kenobi yells. His saber intersects Grievous’s as he shoves Cody aside.
Grievous growls and presses back against Kenobi’s guard, but without the strength he had before. The cyborg is injured, no longer capable of moving as fast as he once was. His armored body is cracked and covered in an oily green substance that Cody can’t identify. Only one lightsaber remains in his grip.
Kenobi sharply twists his saber, removing Grievous’s hand from his wrist. The cyborg roars, then flees before Kenobi can finish him.
Cody fires after him, but he can’t get a clear shot through the haze. To his surprise, Kenobi doesn’t follow. Grievous is unarmed, as vulnerable as he’ll ever be.
“Sir?” Cody says.
Kenobi’s knees hit the dirt.
“Sir!” Cody scrambles to his side. He rolls Kenobi over to find a deep shrapnel wound on the Jedi’s leg. His silver blood has already soaked through his pants.
He runs to the Wedge’s side, tries and fails to ignore the horrifically twisted neck, and grabs the medpack.
“General Kenobi? Can you hear me?” Cody says as he rips the pack open and retrieves the bacta patches.
“Did you have to blow me up?” Kenobi asks, sounding a little dazed.
“It was that or let Grievous kill you.”
Kenobi winces as Cody rips his pants away from the wound and applies the bacta patch. It’s not a life-threatening injury. If an artery had been nicked there would be a lot more blood, though Cody can’t be completely sure. He doesn’t know nearly enough about Kenobi’s biology to make that determination. Clearly, Kenobi isn’t fully human despite what his medical files say.
“Hey, stay with me,” Cody says when Kenobi’s eyes drift closed.
“Oh, I’m fine,” Kenobi says. “It’s not the blood loss. The fight just took a lot out of me.”
If Kenobi had been under his command, Cody would have snapped at him for making such a ridiculous statement. A shrapnel wound is the very definition of not fine. Part of him wants to believe that Jedi are so powerful that a shrapnel wound really is nothing to be concerned about, but Alpha had warned him Kenobi tended to downplay his injuries. Apparently, it was a habit left over from missions where medics weren’t available, where Kenobi was out in the galaxy alone. It was the only way to survive.
“I thought you were human,” Cody says, trying to keep Kenobi engaged in conversation and keep him awake until a medic can come find them.
Kenobi’s eyes crack back open. He sees the silvery blood on Cody’s fingers, glistening despite the haze. “It’s residue from using the Force. Nothing to worry about.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing to worry about.”
“Midichlorians. They’re generated when we use the Force. They build up when we use it for an extended period of time. Like when we fight.” Kenobi yawns. “They tend to sap our energy.”
“Hey,” Cody says as Kenobi’s eyes drift closed again. “You need to stay awake.”
“I’m fine,” Kenobi says, but he sits up and opens his eyes, much to Cody’s relief. The bacta patch must finally be numbing the pain. “Did you get the sabers?”
“They’re here,” Cody says and unhooks them from his belt. The sabers practically leap into Kenobi’s hand, suddenly far lighter than they had been just moments before.
“Thank you, Commander.” Kenobi smiles as his fingertips trace over the hilts. There is a fondness on his face, a softness, so intensely opposite to the intensity, the rage, that he wore when fighting Grievous that Cody is unsure how to respond. Lightsabers are powerful, but they’re only weapons. They had as much emotional value to Cody as an expertly-built blaster.
He tucks the sabers into his belt. “Well, the battle awaits,” Kenobi says.
“Woah,” Cody says, stretching out a hand to stop Kenobi from getting to his feet. “You need to wait for the medics.”
“Then we’ll go to the medics. Right now, the droids are without their commander. We have to use that to our advantage now or we’re going to be fighting these droids for weeks.”
Cody has to remind himself how inappropriate it would be to growl at a superior officer. Kenobi must know that walking on his leg will only injure it further. There has to be a reason he would make such a foolish decision.
It’s the same reason he insisted on scouting ahead, Cody realizes. It’s why he led Grievous away from the troops, why he insisted that the troops have a mountain to use for cover when a full frontal assault would have accomplished their mission well enough.
He cares.
“Here, lean on me,” Cody says. “Keep your weight off that leg.” He pulls Kenobi’s arms over his shoulder and lifts the Jedi to his feet. He’s heavier than Cody anticipated, but no more so than any of the clones. This is a man who has spent a lifetime training in combat, honing his body into a weapon in service of the Republic. Just like a clone.
Kenobi’s weight falls a little more heavily on Cody’s shoulders as they limp their way up the hill and out of the haze left by the rocket explosion.
“You okay, sir?” Cody asks.
“I will be,” Kenobi says.
It had felt like only seconds to barrel down the hill after a rocket he had fired on his own general. Climbing back up, on the other hand, takes much longer.
Cody sinks into the motions of walking and the steady drone of blaster fire above him. He could almost imagine himself on one of the extended training exercises, trekking through forests and over mountains under the watchful eye of the Kaminoans and the training droids. For days, he had walked, alone for the first time in his life. It had been strange, at first, but he had come to miss the quiet when he returned home.
Kenobi grunts when they hit an unexpected dip in the ground. A fresh stream of blood dribbles down his leg, more red than silver now and much more alarming, though Cody could only attribute his newfound urgency to the change in color. The unnatural silver didn’t register in his head the same way red blood did. It didn’t carry the same horror, the same memories of when he had his hands pressed against his face, trying in vain to keep his brain from leaking out between his fingers.
He crests the hill to find his brothers crouched behind boulders and laid out in shallow trenches, still firing on the droids below. The tension in his chest eases. Logic told him they wouldn’t have been killed the moment he had turned his back, but his heart had never been inclined to listening to reason.
“I heard you blew up the general,” Bones says as he jogs up to Cody with a truly unnerving smile on his face. The battle must be going very well. Or someone had died in a particularly interesting way. Cody has tried and failed not to judge Bones too harshly for his preferred method of coping with the death he saw on the battlefield and in training exercises, but they’ve known each other long enough that Cody can choose to ignore it. Mostly.
“Only a little bit,” Kenobi says.
Cody eases the Jedi off his shoulder and onto the ground as gently as he can. “He has a shrapnel wound in his thigh,” Cody says. “I’ve put a bacta patch on it.”
“Let me see,” Bones says. He kneels beside Kenobi and carefully lifts the fabric away from the wound, mindful of the dried blood.
“At least buy me a drink first,” Kenobi grits out as Bone peels away the patch.
“I know some vod who brew the best moonshine in the 3rd systems army,” Bones says. He pours a disinfectant over the wound and uses a tweezer to pull out some embedded shrapnel. “If you’re interested.”
“As long as it gets me drunk,” Kenobi says with a laugh, then hisses when Bones pulls another fragment from the wound.
Cody sighs. Maybe he should care about the distillery that has apparently cropped up in the few hours the 212th has been together or about the very real possibility of his general poisoning himself with whatever they’ve brewed up, but he has other things to worry about.
“Where’s Captain Beck?” Cody says. “We need to launch an offensive.”
“He’s injecting charges into the ground to create a landslide,” Bones says. “Should deal with some of the droids and give us more cover when we go forward. He’s waiting for the go-ahead from you.”
It’s either the most breathtakingly stupid plan Cody has ever heard or the most brilliant. At least he had the decency to wait for Cody’s approval. It’s not a bad plan. If Evan has done his job, they’ll have somewhere to safely hole up when the explosion goes off and an opportunity for a two-pronged assault, one from the front via the path to the city and one from the side via their current position.
“What do you think, General?” Cody asks.
“You’ll need help,” Kenobi says. He pulls one of the lightsabers out of his belt and pries a small, circular device from the casing. “You’ve met Shaak Ti before, haven’t you?”
“I have, sir.” It had been by hologram back when bandages still covered half his face. She had been the first person he met that hadn’t treated him as just another clone, just another number. She’s the reason why his brothers no longer disappear into operating rooms never to be seen again and why the Kaminoans stopped using injured brothers for spare parts.
He had been devastated to hear she had been killed by Grievous, though the Jedi had labelled her MIA, for reasons he hadn’t had a chance to ask about.
Kenobi crushes the device between his fingers. “Normally I’d wait for a Jedi healer to do this,” he says. “Emerging from stasis like this can be devastating to both the mind and body. But I believe Master Ti is willing to accept the risk. She has been most insistent.”
“Bones, I think he has a concussion,” Cody says.
Bones, having finished stitching closed the wound on Kenobi’s thigh and sticking a bacta patch over it, frowns and pulls a penlight from his belt. “Sir, would you into the light?” Bones says, but Kenobi bats away Bones’s hand before he can flash to light into his eyes.
“I’m not concussed. Just watch,” Kenobi says. The lightsaber floats out of Kenobi’s hand and spins lazily in the air. The hilt begins to glow, softly at first, but then brighter by the second. Cody turns away just before a bright flash of blue light temporarily whites out his vision.
He blinks the spots from his eyes, then freezes. He rips off his helmet before he can think better of it, but this is impossible. Completely and totally impossible.
And yet it explains everything. All the rumors he had heard and dismissed suddenly slot into place. All the stories of Jedi returning when they had been blown up or shot down, rising from the ashes of smoldering buildings suddenly makes sense.
General Ti stands before him, her hand wrapped around the lightsaber that had once floated above Kenobi’s hand. “Cody,” she says with a smile. “It’s good to see you again.”
Anakin glows with the Force of twin suns, constantly burning and glistening gold, gold, gold - the color of endless grains of sand when the sun rises highest in the sky. He is adorned in a shendyt made of pale gold, tucked in around his waist with white cloth that shines like the hottest sun. His back is bare but for the black whip marks layered and layered upon themselves. His hands, his feet and his hair- all are stained black, dripping ichor onto the ground on which he stands.
About his neck is a collar, gleaming with gems of blue and green, forming an abstract pattern of the sigil for the Jedi Order. Wrapped around his wrists are manacles that dim the light of his skin, and trail black smokes as he moves.
His feet are bare, save for the darkness that stains them. He wields a staff that is a two sided blade, one that shines with the light of stars, the other the blackest corners of space.
Anakin stands at 8ft tall, and should be desire to speak in his form, his voice is an accusation. Righteous fury howls from every word when he opens his mouth.
how dare you, how dare you, how dare you, how dare you, HOW DARE YOU
The thing about 'not crude matter, but luminous beings' is that you gotta know who you are. Anakin's voice in his true form is an accusation, because he still sees himself as something of a slave. Not quiet free, only just barely. When he looks around and sees everyone who isn't 'free' and that is the Jedi because no family, no attachments, even though Master/Padawans are how the Order survives and how if you want to be a Jedi Knight and you cannot get one to train you, they stick you somewhere you will be useful, regardless if you wish to go or not.
Anakin knows all the deepest, darkest parts of him. Including the darkness in his head, in his thoughts, that stains his golden hair black, along with his hands, his feet. He sees himself as stained because he has done things he regrets, isn't proud of and he's used his hands to interact with people he considers filthy.
he's only wearing white fabric folded and tucked around his wait, with his back bared with it's black whip marks because ANAKIN WAS A SLAVE.
He's got bracers that look like manacles and five links on one side and four on the other (nine years, nine years and he was freed but he still calls someone Master) but-
if I end up writing this into an actual fic, all the credit to @fialleril-
LEAVE HIS FEET BARE, because Ekkreth is The One Who Walks Free Skywalker and it’s very important to me to make this (IF I WRITE IT) fic into a thing that is Anakin being deeply, deeply into Tatooine Slave Culture, to such an extent, it literally shapes who he is.
Fluff things include a japor snippet that hangs about his neck from blue cord. The exact same shape of blue as in what Padme first wore when he met her and the same japor carving for luck, tucked neatly out of sight. Also the edges of his hair burns in oranges, in reds and a deep bronze because Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are always on his mind.
Anakin gets a few more titles (given to him by people he’s saved, from slaves and from people who title Jedi they manage to catch pictures of videos of in their true forms) and his being is on a deeper level then everyone else because as the Chosen One he's both the Light and the Dark perfectly balanced.
(when he’s stable, I mean)
Son of Suns, of the Desert, (insert lots of Tatooine Slave Culture here that I haven’t though of yet since I probably won’t write this)
Anakin is of the Force, born in the desert from a mother who begged and pleaed for something. Force Things comes naturally to him, so while he cannot actually sit still and mediate and deliberately, through long contemplation and deliberation and practice take his luminous form- he absolutely can, throw himself down and take a breath and boom.
Gold and sunlight.
It's like taking off clothes and pulling better ones on.
(maybe as a small child he spent a good year or two in this form wandering the desert while his physical body was kept in good health by the Force and Shmi just left him in safe-ish places because that woman knew what was up.
I haven’t actually decided if this should be a ‘you leave your crude matter and take up your luminous self’ kinda thing or ‘your crude matter transforms into your luminous self through use of the Force’.)
....anyway I don’t think I’ll actually write this- like maybe?- but I’ve got like five Jedi down and I am absolutely willing to do more.
