"Just watch," he said calmly.
Another missile screamed overhead and detonated somewhere behind their line, the shockwave rippling across the sand and scattering debris into the smoke-choked sky.
The war raged on all sides.
But in the shadow of the ruined walker, something was beginning to take shape.
Red plasma continued to hammer into the wrecked AT-TE, sparks cascading from its shattered plating. Beyond it, the droid formation held steady — ranks compressed near the base of the ridge, blasters rising and falling in mechanical rhythm as they tried to pin the Republic advance in open ground.
Kael rose slightly from his crouch.
The first fuel canister lay half-buried in sand at his feet — thick, reinforced, scorched along one edge but intact. It was heavy enough that two clones had strained to move it.
He extended his left hand toward it.
Not touching.
Just reaching.
The battlefield noise did not diminish, but it receded in his mind — red bolts streaking overhead, the deep percussion of mass-driver fire, the crackling hiss of DC-15A rifles snapping in disciplined reply.
He aligned himself.
Not with the object.
With the Force around it.
He felt the weight of the canister not as mass, but as resistance — gravity holding it in place, inertia binding it to the sand. He didn't pull it upward with muscle.
He adjusted the energy around it.
The sand trembled first.
Then the canister lifted.
A few centimeters.
Ten.
A full meter.
Hovering in the air before him, turning slightly as if searching for equilibrium.
One of the clones beside him glanced up involuntarily, visor reflecting the floating cylinder.
Kael's hand remained steady.
He shifted his focus forward — past the burning wreckage, past the advancing B1 ranks, toward a dense cluster of droids positioned just short of the ridge. They stood shoulder to shoulder in mechanical alignment, blasters firing in unison toward the Republic line.
That would do.
With a sharp forward motion of his hand — controlled, decisive, he altered the canister's momentum.
The cylinder shot forward.
Not tumbling wildly.
Directed.
It cleared the twisted carcass of the fallen AT-TE and arced across open sand, passing through streaks of red plasma and drifting smoke before slamming into the ground dead center of the densest droid formation.
Several B1 units turned toward it, optical sensors registering the unfamiliar mass.
Kael didn't wait for confusion.
"Commander!" he shouted over the thunder of battle. "Have the walkers fire at that barrel. Now!"
4377 didn't question it.
"Mass-driver, central target!" he barked into his communicator. "Fire on the canister — immediately!"
The nearest AT-TE adjusted.
Its dorsal cannon pivoted with grinding precision, recalculating trajectory mid-volley. A half-second of alignment —
Then it fired.
The discharge shook the desert.
The projectile struck the canister squarely.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the world split open.
The fuel tank detonated in a violent sphere of fire and concussive force, the explosion blooming outward in a roaring wall of heat and sand. Droids at the epicenter vanished instantly — vaporized or torn apart in the blast. Others were hurled backward in twisted arcs, limbs separating mid-air as the shockwave tore through tightly packed ranks.
The explosion swallowed the base of the ridge in flame and debris.
A secondary ignition flared where nearby B1 units carried power cells, triggering smaller detonations that rippled outward like collapsing dominoes.
The shockwave reached Kael's position a second later, slamming into the ruined walker and rattling its twisted frame. Sand blasted across his armor, visor momentarily washed in orange light.
Then the smoke began to clear.
Where there had been a dense wall of droids moments before, there was now a blackened crater.
Scattered metal fragments.
Burning limbs.
A wide, unmistakable gap in the line.
For the first time since landing, the red volley faltered in that sector.
Behind Kael, clone troopers surged forward instinctively, blue bolts intensifying as they poured fire into the exposed flanks of the disrupted formation.
"Push into the breach!" 4377 shouted. "Left and right elements — collapse inward!"
Walkers advanced, six legs grinding into sand as they capitalized on the opening, ball-turret cannons chewing through destabilized ranks that scrambled to reform.
The ridge was suddenly closer.
Visible.
Reachable.
Kael lowered his hand slowly, the residual hum of the Force still thrumming in his awareness.
The droids were relentless.
But they were not invulnerable.
And now they were reacting.
He looked toward the remaining canisters behind him.
Smoke curled into the orange sky.
The tide had shifted — if only slightly.
"Next one," he said.
The smoke from the first detonation still rolled in thick black columns toward the ridge, embers drifting through the desert air like dying stars. The gap in the droid line was real — visible — but already beginning to close as fresh B1 units marched forward from the foundry perimeter to seal it.
Kael did not give them time.
He turned to the second canister.
Red plasma continued to rake across the battlefield, bolts streaking past in disciplined sheets. One struck the ruined AT-TE behind him, sending a spray of sparks across scorched plating. Another clipped the sand near his boot, erupting in a brief burst of molten glass.
He extended his hand again.
The Force answered faster this time.
The second canister shuddered and tore free from the sand in a violent jerk, rising cleanly into the air. It hovered before him for the briefest moment, spinning slightly as if testing balance against gravity and chaos.
He looked past the droid infantry this time.
Further.
Toward a cluster of DSD1 dwarf spider droids advancing along the right flank — low, angular bodies skittering over broken rock, heavy blasters flashing as they pinned down a Republic squad attempting to flank the ridge. Behind them, a pair of Hailfire tanks adjusted their missile racks, preparing another spiral of rockets.
That would do.
Kael stepped forward and snapped his arm outward.
The canister shot across the desert like a launched shell, clearing the broken AT-TE and slicing through smoke. It passed above the heads of advancing B1 units and slammed hard into the ground directly between the spider droids.
Several of the mechanical walkers pivoted instinctively toward the unexpected mass.
"Fire!" Kael shouted, not looking back.
4377's response was immediate. "Mass-driver, mark and fire!"
The nearest AT-TE adjusted trajectory mid-stride. Its dorsal cannon locked onto the canister.
Boom.
The impact was immediate.
The explosion dwarfed the first.
The fuel ignited in a concussive blast that consumed the spider droids in a wall of flame and fragmentation. But this time, the detonation found something more.
Missile racks.
Internal munitions.
One of the Hailfire tanks caught the edge of the blast, its pod igniting in a violent chain reaction. Missiles launched involuntarily in all directions, detonating mid-air or striking neighboring units in catastrophic bursts. The second tank attempted to reposition — too late.
Its payload erupted.
The desert seemed to tear open.
Flame roared upward in a towering column as munitions detonated in cascading sequence. Shockwaves rippled outward in overlapping rings, tossing B1 units like brittle sticks and collapsing a portion of the ridge's forward slope in a rain of shattered stone.
The concussion slammed into Kael's line even from behind cover, sand blasting across armor and forcing clones to brace themselves against the ground.
For several seconds, that entire sector was on fire.
When the smoke began to clear, the right flank of the droid formation was simply gone.
Burning wreckage.
Twisted spider legs.
Missile housings reduced to molten scrap.
The gap was wider now — far wider.
"Advance!" 4377 roared into the comm. "All units, forward! Collapse the right!"
Clone troopers surged through the breach, blue fire intensifying as they exploited the devastation. Walkers shifted to support, ball-turrets pivoting to shred any droids attempting to reinforce the collapsing flank.
The ridge was close now.
Fifty meters.
Perhaps less.
But the droid line beyond it still held in depth — formations visible on the far side, ranks preparing to push through the smoke.
Kael did not hesitate.
He turned to the third canister.
The battle around him had become a storm of red, blue, and green light — plasma bolts streaking in intersecting arcs, sonic pulses distorting the air, mass-driver rounds detonating with bone-shaking force. A clone near him fell with a choked exhale as a red bolt pierced the seam beneath his arm. Another stepped over him without pause, firing as he moved.
Kael lifted his hand.
The third canister rose sharply, sand cascading from its base.
This time, he did not aim for the front.
He looked beyond the ridge.
Beyond the immediate formation.
Deeper — where fresh droids were assembling to reinforce the breach.
He felt for the arc in his mind.
Adjusted.
Then drove his arm forward with decisive force.
The canister launched high, clearing the jagged stone of the ridge entirely. It disappeared briefly into smoke on the far side before slamming down amid a newly forming battalion.
"Fire!" Kael commanded.
The mass-driver cannon responded again.
The projectile streaked over their heads and struck.
The explosion erupted beyond the ridge, hidden for half a second before a column of flame and debris shot skyward on the other side. The blast consumed the reinforcement column mid-assembly, detonating power cells and collapsing the edge of the ridge's backside in a cascade of fractured stone.
Fragments of metal rained upward and outward, silhouetted against the burning sky.
The droid line wavered.
For the first time since landing, there was visible confusion in their movement.
Walkers advanced into the newly cleared space, six legs pounding into sand as clone squads pushed hard behind them. Blue fire surged forward in disciplined sheets, carving through destabilized ranks that struggled to reorganize.
Kael stepped out from the shadow of the ruined AT-TE.
The ridge now stood barely fifty meters ahead.
Smoke curled around its broken edges, and beyond it, the foundry towers loomed — closer now, clearer through the haze.
The smoke began to thin.
Not completely — never completely — but enough that the ridge was no longer an abstract line through haze.
It was there.
Jagged, fractured stone rising from the desert like the spine of some ancient beast. The near face was scarred by mass-driver impacts and chain detonations, chunks of rock sheared away by the third explosion. Blackened sand marked where droid battalions had stood only moments before.
Beyond it, through drifting ash and heat shimmer, the foundry towers loomed closer now — exhaust stacks vomiting dark plumes into the orange sky, conveyor bridges still moving, still feeding fresh formations into the fight.
The remaining droids before the ridge had thinned.
Not gone.
Never gone.
But broken enough that their fire had lost its synchronized rhythm. Red bolts still cut through the air, but in scattered patterns instead of disciplined sheets. B1 units stumbled forward from the smoke, stepping over molten fragments of their own ranks. A pair of OG-9 spider droids adjusted their position further back, heavy cannons rotating toward the breach Kael had carved.
This ridge was not a victory.
It was footing.
The first stable ground in a battlefield that had tried to swallow them whole.
Kael stood for a breath longer than the rest.
Violet blade dimmed but was still warm in his hand. Smoke curled around his armor, matte black absorbing the light of burning wreckage. The desert wind carried the metallic scent of exploded fuel and scorched circuitry.
This was the first step.
Without it, the advance stalled.
Without it, the tide resumed.
He turned slightly toward 4377, who was already repositioning squads through the breach.
"Commander," Kael said over the roar of battle, voice steady. "Get medics forward. Stabilize the wounded before we move again."
4377 nodded, already transmitting. "Med teams to the forward breach! Use the walker hulls for cover!"
Clones peeled off in disciplined pairs, dragging injured troopers behind the wreckage of the fallen AT-TE. Blue fire continued to snap overhead as the line held.
Kael looked past the ridge.
Past the immediate objective.
Toward the deeper droid concentrations still assembling in layers beyond.
"Have the walkers and ship turbolasers shift fire," he continued. "Aim deeper than the ridge. Hit the reinforcement columns before they reach the crest."
4377 hesitated — only a fraction.
"Deeper?" he asked. No doubt. Clarification.
"If they regroup behind that rise," Kael said, "we're pinned again the second we take it."
Red plasma flared across the slope of the ridge, carving bright lines into stone.
4377 transmitted the adjustment. Moments later, the nearest AT-TE pivoted its dorsal mass-driver past the ridge line, recalculating trajectory. A second later, a ventral turbolaser from the descending Acclamator carved a blue arc beyond the crest, detonating somewhere out of sight.
The ground trembled.
"What about the remaining front line?" 4377 asked.
Kael didn't answer immediately.
He stepped forward until the ridge filled most of his visor.
Remaining droids clustered along its base, firing blindly into the smoke. Enough to slow an advance. Enough to bleed them again if allowed to hold.
He ignited his lightsaber.
The violet blade snapped to life with that low, steady hum — a sound the clones behind him recognized instinctively.
4377 looked at him.
"General—"
"I'll clear the rest," Kael said.
There was no flourish in it. No attempt at spectacle.
Just a calculation.
Before 4377 could say anything further, Kael moved.
He didn't sprint wildly.
He accelerated.
The Force flowed through his stride, not lifting him from the ground but propelling him across it with impossible efficiency. Sand kicked up behind him in tight bursts as he crossed open ground toward the ridge, red bolts streaking toward his position.
He deflected the first without breaking pace — a clean angle that sent the shot through a B1's chest. The second he twisted around, blade flashing in a short arc that redirected it into the sand. The third he avoided entirely with a subtle shift of weight, momentum never faltering.
Behind him, the Republic line surged in response.
Walkers advanced.
Turbolasers hammered deeper targets.
Gunships banked low through smoke.
But Kael was already halfway to the ridge.
Red bolts converged from multiple angles now — scattered droid units attempting to reestablish a firing line. He cut through the nearest pair in two precise strokes, violet light shearing metal cleanly before he stepped through their collapsing frames.
The ridge rose before him in jagged stone and drifting dust.
Another volley streaked toward his center mass.
He angled the blade horizontally, absorbing and redirecting three bolts in rapid succession, sending one back into a droid's cranial plate, another into the chest of a second unit, the third glancing into the base of the slope where it detonated harmlessly.
He did not slow.
Behind him, 4377 watched for a fraction of a second — then turned back to his men.
"Push with him!" he shouted into the comm. "All units advance to the ridge!"
The desert roared.
Explosions rolled behind the crest as redirected turbolaser fire struck reinforcement lines out of sight. The droid formation before Kael thinned further under pressure, their once synchronized fire now fragmented and reactive.
Kael reached the base of the ridge.
The first true cover they would hold.
And without looking back, he drove upward into it — violet blade cutting a path through the last defensive cluster as the Republic followed into the breach.