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Obi-Wan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and extending his head forward and up. He let out a small gasp as the motion shifted his vertebrae, spine cracking as he extended from pelvis to neck. The relief was immediate and he folded over, letting his arms dangle forward like dead weight.
“General, are you alright, sir?” a voice broke in, and Obi-Wan looked up to see his aide-de-camp, Wooley standing in the doorway, pads in hand.
“Just tired of flimsiwork,” Obi-Wan replied. “I swear I get less down time in hyperspace than I do planetside during a campaign,” he added, gathering his frustration and letting it go into the force.
“The perils of command,” Wooley agreed before handing over the pads. “Latest orders from Coruscant, alongside the resupply inventory. Metic was fuming when he handed it over.”
“Not good then?” Obi-Wan asked, already opening the file and scrolling through the summary Metic had supplied. They had been low on nearly everything, practically down to rationing of basic meds and non-ration bar food. A skimpy resupply would not be good for morale. Obi-Wan’s or the Vod.
“Not good,” Wooley agreed. “Less than half the medical supplies we requested, none of the replacement parts for the starfighters, and only ration bars for food. Lots of them- we won’t starve-”
“But it won’t be pretty,” Obi-Wan interrupted, already frowning at the thought of having nothing to eat but rations. They were technically nutritionally complete for a wide range of humanoids, but practically tasteless, hard as a rock, and prolonged reliance on them did a number on the non-clone digestive system. “We rondevous with the 501st in less than a week, let’s see if maybe they have some extra they can exchange with us. It was a full load, what did we receive extra of?”
“Plenty of blaster charge packs, an entire pallet of survival gear we didn’t order, and of course the truly absurd number of ration bars. We technically could feed the full crew without resupply for over a year on ration bars alone.”
Obi-Wan rubbed his brow, sighing deeply. If they had been given enough food in ration bars, there was no way he’d be able to swing another resupply. Even this one had been surprisingly difficult to obtain given their stocks. He’d been commander of the 212th for only 6 months, half of that doing milk runs as he fully recovered from, well his stay with Ventress. This was the second botched resupply.
“We will be passing by the 332nd in hyperspace. If we drop out briefly, we should be able to arrange a transfer. I know they have extra parts, they’ve been on the ground for the last 2 weeks.”
The 332nd was Aayla, and their commander a batch mate of his Commander if he remembered correctly. “Do it,” Obi-Wan ordered, “but don’t send Coruscant any info on our diversion. With luck they won’t even notice a few hours delay.”
“Very well sir,” Wooley agreed, gathering the abandoned lunch tray and leaving the room. “Briefing room 12 in 10 sir,” he added before the door hissed shut.
Obi-Wan sighed again. The briefing was the initial strategy planning session with the senior officers. They were ordered to assault the Travik Fuel Refinery in what Obi-Wan personally thought was the most idiot and senseless use of resources. Why his battalion- stationed halfway across the galaxy- had to be the ones to orchestrate the assault on the well defended refinery, when other battalions, including at least two already stationed in the general vicinity would be better equipped was beyond him. And given the way their last few missions had gone, he would be surprised if any of their intelligence was even accurate.
But he was an officer in the GAR now, for good or for ill, and he had lost his argument with the council. He did not have the political capital to fight the chancellor, and even if he did, this was but one small battle. So across the galaxy they went.
Aayla and her Commander, Bly, had been very accommodating to the 212th as they were scheduled leave on Coruscant and would be receiving a full retrofit and restocking. As such, they were at least heading into the conflict with a mostly stocked medbay, enough parts to have at least one wing at full strength by arrival, and several boxes of instant caff. Unfortunately for the 212th, the 332nd was at the end of their deployment and low enough on fresh food stuffs themselves that none were available for the battalion. The coffee had cost Obi-Wan and Commander Cody dearly in favors, but there was no way they were heading into a protracted engagement without enough coffee.
They were only a few hours out at this point, engagement planned with several backup plans, battalions briefed and ready, ship as fixed as it can be, leaving only rest and food before the battle. Obi-Wan was taking the opportunity to meditate, trying to find a moment of calm, of piece in this time of chaos and darkness.
The force, unfortunately, was not obliging. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but something was almost off in the force. A sense of impending...something. It was almost anticipatory, as if this next moment would matter more than the campaign should otherwise indicate. Obi-Wan did not see shatterpoints, not like Mace, but he suspected he was feeling the edges of one. His own precognition, long weakened and muddled by the dark side sent a feeling of foreboding down his spine. The moment, whatever it was, was near.
Slowly, eventually, he found not peace, but at least some balance in the force, drifting across the currents. The lights of the men around him, the strange swirl of lights stretching by in hyperspace, the thrum of the ship and the void of space. Time passed and Obi-Wan floated, lingered, relaxed. He had a feeling he wouldn’t get much opportunity to do so anytime soon.
All too soon the door hissed open and Obi-Wan dropped out of his meditation as Wooley entered the room. “15 minutes until we drop from hyperspace sir. Time to armor up.”
“Very well,” Obi-Wan agreed, mentally sighing as he gave into the necessities of war, letting Wooley snap armor pieces into place. He could do it himself, but Wooley seemed to enjoy the ritual, at least when they had time in the approach such as now. That, and if Wooley donned his armor for him, Obi-Wan was stuck with what Wooley viewed as an appropriate amount, not just what Obi-Wan wanted to wear.
Wooley was efficient, so it was only minutes later that Obi-Wan was making his way down the hall to the command center, begrudgingly chewing the dry cardboard the Republic insisted was a nutritionally complete meal. Wooley at least had the decency to accompany the terrible bar with a cup of caf, sweetened with a generous amount of sugar. A secret stash, Obi-Wan had no doubt.
“General on Deck,” announced Technician Mu as they entered the bridge, Obi-Wan quickly waving off formality as he joined Commander Cody at the command station.
“Dropping in three minutes, approached from vector 145.43,” Cody stated, pulling up the system map. “If it really is a surprise, we should be able to get out at least one strafing round before they can react.”
“Lt. Didgits?” Obi-Wan asked, turning to the helmsman, “Are we ready for drop and approach?”
“Yes sir,” Didgits responded, “strafing run programmed, as well as several evasive maneuvers. Drop in 60 seconds,” he added, as the countdown light turned on.
“Prepare for drop, all personnel to active stations,” Tech Mu announced.
The very universe seemed to hold its breath and all the sudden Obi-Wan had a terrible foreboding. “Evasive maneuvers!” he yelled as the ship lurched from hyperspace. Right into a fleet of Separatist Battle Cruisers. Surprise assault my ass, Obi-Wan thought as Digits sprung into action, the Negotiator somehow managing to miss most of the shots fired off the moment the shift dropped into real space.
“They knew exactly when and where we were coming from,” Cody stated as fighters began swarming from the Seperatist ships.
“They were ready,” Obi-Wan agreed, “even with our unexpected delay.”
“Tracking us?”
“Possibly,” Obi-Wan agreed. Or being updated on our position, Obi-Wan thought darkly. There was too much missing, inaccurate, or straight up wrong intelligence from Coruscant. Either they wanted the GAR to lose the war, or there was a serious leak. Or both, the force seemed to whisper and Obi-Wan shuddered.
The battle was chaos, a doomed fight from even the start. They were prepared for a surprise assault on a relatively well guarded facility, not to face off a ready and waiting full on Seperatist battle group. Escape was their hope, taking out the facility in a blaze of fire the backup. His men fought well, fighters swarming the Seperatist ships, taking advantage of the basic and predictable formations of the droid fighters. The gunners wielded the Negotiators lasers with unerring accuracy, the barrages timed for maximum effectiveness. The helm kept evading the worst of enemy barrages.
But they were outnumbered, outgunned, surrounded. They had tried to send a signal for backup, but it was unclear if the signal went through, and the nearest group was at least 3 hours by hyperspace. They were alone. And it was quickly becoming clear they had little hope of escape.
“Sir,” Cody interrupted his thoughts. “I think it’s time to consider plan Skywalker Cresh.”
Obi-Wan consulted the force. It was anxious, anticipatory, urging him on. Onto certain death. He was one with the force, the force was one with him. There is no death, the force. “Initiate Skywalker Cresh,” Obi-Wan ordered. All non-essential personal to escape ships and pods.”
“I’m with you General,” Cody said before Obi-Wan could order him to evacuate.
“And me,” Wooley added.
Obi-Wan did not argue. There was no time, and he knew that if if he failed, and even if he succeeded, there was little hope for the escape pods. “Very well. Lt. Didgits, you have the bridge. Continue evasive maneuvers, shield the escape ships. Do not protect us, stealth is our only way.”
“Yes sir,” Didgits agreed, already flipping the ship so the lower bay was positioned away from as many ships as possible, the auxiliary upper bay, practically hidden, rarely used, facing the refinery.
“May the force be with you,” Obi-Wan replied. “Let’s move.”
He ran through the corridors, Cody and Wooley at his heels as he made his way towards the auxiliary bay, where the corvette was waiting. A project of Anakins’ stripped down and only partially rebuilt it had no shields. Only the fastest subspace engines Obi-Wan had encountered, and a rear compartment packed with ordinance. This was a suicide mission, and all three knew it.
“Wooley, take the helm,” Cody ordered, strapping himself into the copilot seat. “General, do your thing.”
Obi-Wan strapped in to the jump seat and sunk into the force, wrapping the ship as best he could. Nothing here, nothing at all, he told the universe and pulled the force as Wooley activated the engines.
The rest of the trip was a blur. He knows Wooley weaved through the battle in the speed run of a lifetime, that at some point he caught a stray blast heading for the ship, fighters swarming on their tail as the bolt stopped, only for the weave to weaken. He remembers releasing the cargo doors, air rushing through the ship as ordinance fell.
And then it exploded, the refinery catching, storage tanks rupturing, the blast large enough to catch at least on of the separatist cruisers before enveloping them. He wrapped the force around them in instinct as the ship vaporized, thinking this was it, that he was leaving Anakin and his brand new Padawan behind. He didn’t want to die, but he was a Jedi and would meet his end with grace. He closed his eyes, accepting his death.
He wasn’t sure what dying would feel like, but he knew it was not supposed to be roughly yanked by the force, colliding into a hard surface as the force of the explosion, blasted him back. He felt raw and spread out, his own presence stretched too thin, too far in the force.
“That’s not Kanaan,” a voice, young stated.
“No,” agreed an older voice. “This is impossible,” they added, as Obi-Wan felt their presence reach out to his, gathering his essence and essentially helping him shove it back into his body.
“This whole place is impossible,” the first voice replied.
“But this didn’t happen, that blast would have killed him, killed all three of them.”
“Who is he?”
“You don’t recognize him? That’s High General Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
Obi-Wan choose this moment to regain control of his body. It was not a pleasant experience.
“And Kanaan?”
“I don’t know, but we need to move,” the elder said, their voice sounding suddenly far more worried.
Obi-Wan opened his eyes. He was laying on the floor, a narrow pathway...somewhere. It was, well it wasn’t the real world. Cody and Wooley were near him, both stirring. He eyes turned upwards, catching sight off the young human or near human, probably no more than 15, maybe 16. Besides him was a Togruta, fully grown and oddly familiar. She was the one who had known him on sight.
Then he felt the presence, unmistakably dark. The air crackled, and the Togruta reacted at the same time as him, drawing her lightsabers and positioning herself between the padawan and the threat. Lightning burst into existence as she shouted for them to run.
Obi-Wan, naturally, did not obey. This was a sith and he was Jedi. He wasn’t sure where he was, or even if he was, but the force was clear. Act now, act fast. He drew his lightsaber.