"Well, well," Commander Kinaun said, turning away from the tactical map we had been coordinating on for hours. "You've helped secure this sector. The Jedi commander I'll leave for Council Sector Command wouldn't understand your methods. I can't allocate additional forces to you. The only thing I *can* do is send four Pelta-class frigates—brand new ships that have only recently left the shipyard. True, their combat value is low, but…"
Here we go again. The Republic always seemed determined to push *blatant junk* on us. The Pelta was a new design, true, ergonomically sound—but its armament and armor were weak. Carrying capacity? Just over six hundred tons. Primarily used as medical or cargo ships. Still, any vessel was welcome.
"Fine. Send them over. I'll figure out where to put them. But I'll keep the four new light cruisers and the Acclamator, right?"
"Yes. The rest will remain under my command," Rinaun replied.
Saluting, he departed, returning to his flagship. Fortunately, we had already exchanged contact information, and I could rely on him to follow through with his promise to provide fleet management materials.
"Commander Blam, assemble the legion," I ordered. "Location: the clearing three hundred meters south of the gate. Don't forget security. Assign me a company of fighters—I have a task for them."
"Combat, sir?" the commander asked.
"No. But let them take their weapons anyway."
As the preparations began, Ahsoka appeared, arms crossed and eyes wide.
"Teacher, what's going on?"
"Patience, my young Padawan," I said evenly, unwilling to reveal anything before it was time.
"Grrr," she growled softly. "I'm not a little kid!"
"You want to ruin the surprise," I replied calmly.
"So what?"
"Hmm," I murmured, pretending to think. "I'm not sure I can quote Master Yoda exactly—though I doubt he ever said it—but… 'Age is determined by the ability to be patient, mmm…'"
"Teacher!" she barked, indignation clear, though she couldn't suppress a small smile.
---
Neat rows of company-sized formations stretched across the field—clone infantry, technical crews, engineers, repairmen, and ship crews not on watch. One side abutted the base wall; the other melted into the jungle. There, we had dug a shallow pit and erected a makeshift podium where Ahsoka, the regimental commanders, and I would stand.
I keyed my comlink, signaling the arrival of gravplatforms. Seconds later, they rumbled onto the field, a company of soldiers marching in perfect step, weapons held ready. On the platforms were the fallen—clones who had given their lives in battle. The most difficult part was handling the bodies with dignity; we immediately moved them to a makeshift morgue.
I activated the transmitter, letting my voice carry across the field to every soldier, including those on watch. My prepared speech had evaporated. Public speaking must be learned, and this was my first time addressing tens of thousands of eyes. I had to speak from the heart.
"General Dagon Marek is speaking…" I began, letting the Force guide me as tens of thousands of minds and emotions focused on me. The sensation was electrifying. "Today we honor our brothers and sisters. They died performing their duty—facing those who bring ruin and devastation to the Galaxy! Fighting for peace and the safety of its inhabitants! Their deaths were worthy, honorable, and a testament to the warriors they were! And we—those who remain—must live with honor. We must uphold their legacy. Let us take a moment of silence. In your minds, bid farewell to those who have left us. Remember them. May their path in the Force be peaceful."
A hushed stillness settled over the field. The presence of thousands of sentient beings, their grief, respect, and attention, coalesced into a tangible current through the Force. Perhaps my words weren't perfect, but they were sincere.
The minute of silence ended. I nodded to the honor guard, and they began laying the bodies into the pit. Once all were interred, the company lined up for a farewell salute.
"I am proud to command soldiers like you. May those who fell in battle rest in peace."
Three rounds fired into the greenish-blue evening sky, where the first stars were emerging.
A simple monument was erected—a four-sided stele, three meters high. At its base lay a bullet-riddled helmet, framed by a wreath of welded blasters. Small pillars bore polished metal plates listing the fallen, including those from outside the Thirteenth Legion.
"And now," I said, raising my voice once more, "I wish to revive an old tradition from wars past across the Galaxy!" My arm extended as several dozen T-shaped battle banners were lifted from hidden gravplatforms.
The black cloth bore a modified Revan Empire coat of arms: the fusion of a Starkiller-style Jedi sword with a Sith symbol, Roman numeral XIII in the center. A risky choice, but meaningful. Color-wise, we were limited: black fabric with white and red paint, but it conveyed the message clearly.
Raising my hand in salute, I watched thousands of clones mirror me. Thousands of hands lifted to helmets in unison.
The fleet at our disposal had expanded as well:
* *Terminus* — primary vessel
* 1 additional Acclamator, renamed *Akagi*
* 4 Consular-class cruisers: *Ikazuchi*, *Murakumo*, *Shirakumo*, and *Akatsuki*
* 2 Aegis Hammerhead-class cruisers: *Brightburn* and *Gearing*
* 150 starfighters
The clones were quiet, disciplined, and unified. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I allowed myself a small measure of satisfaction. We had survived, we had honored the fallen, and we had rebuilt, even if just a little, the foundations of what our forces would need for the coming wae.