Silence—broken only by the faint whisper of the ventilation system—hung over the ship like a shroud.
Thousands of clones stood in ordered ranks within the assault decks. Their armor, subtly modified under General marek direction, bore reinforced plating, thermal regulators, and expanded power couplings for heavy weapons. Identical faces hidden behind identical helmets. Identical resolve behind every visor.
They waited.
They expected nothing else.
Their purpose was simple. They had been bred for war. Trained for war. Created for war.
And they would carry it out with honor.
The alarm siren shattered the stillness.
A low, wailing tone rolled through the corridors. Boots thundered. Bulkheads hissed open. Engines roared to life. Officers barked orders as the ship transformed from dormant steel into a living war machine.
Sergeant KC-13Q-341 stepped into the corridor as his squad poured out of the barracks.
"Move it!" he roared. "Hangar L-3! And if anyone forgets their extra thermocouples, I'll personally reassign you to supply!"
The clones rushed past him in tight formation.
"Forty-First—yes, you—double-check the heavy pack!"
"Yes, Sergeant!"
When the last trooper cleared the compartment, the sergeant followed, sealing the hatch behind him.
As they jogged down the corridor, KS-13RT-7041 muttered to the trooper ahead.
"Think our tin cans'll actually help?"
He meant the captured B-1 units integrated into logistics roles.
KS-13RT-7047 didn't look back.
"If the Separatists waste fire on them, that's good enough. But reports say we're facing more than B-1s."
"Good," Forty-First replied, patting the PLX-1 launcher strapped to Forty-Seventh's back. "That's why he's here."
"And I'm here for this!" KS-13RT-7045 added cheerfully, adjusting his Z-6 rotary cannon.
"Less chatter!" the sergeant snapped. "Forward!"
Squads converged in the hangar—platoons forming into companies, companies into battalions. Perfect ranks assembled beneath suspended gunships and fighters.
Technicians completed final checks on vehicles. Pilots climbed into cockpits. Magnetic clamps secured armored units beneath transport hulls.
KR-13-Q17 ran a gloved hand along his BARC speeder. Engineers had mounted a salvaged droideka shield generator onto its frame. A faint shimmer enveloped the bike as he toggled activation.
He grinned behind his helmet.
Small-arms fire wouldn't be as much of a concern now.
Two dozen fragmentation and EMP grenades lined his harness.
Overhead speakers boomed:
"Third Battalion—load!"
The Raven gunships descended on rail mounts. Each had been modified: twin energy-beam cannons mounted along the wings, dual machine guns at each side hatch, and rapid-fire blasters integrated into the nose assembly. Beneath each hull, a modified AAT—now designated IFV—hung magnetically attached.
Twenty-seven clones boarded each transport.
Six captured B-1 droids stood stiffly in the rear compartment—three assigned to carry rotary blaster assemblies, three hauling heavy power cells. Each bore an E-5 blaster across its back.
After the losses on Donovia, heavy weapons had been redistributed. Every squad now carried either a Z-6, a DC-15x sniper rifle, or a missile launcher—often more than one.
The landing ramp sealed with a hiss.
"All ships, prepare for launch!"
The gunship shuddered forward.
"Three minutes to drop!" the pilot announced. "Atmospheric entry!"
Restraints locked. Engines flared.
"Drop!"
The gunship plunged from the launch bay, stabilizers firing as it screamed into Diado's atmosphere. Ice clouds streaked past the viewport. Under fighter escort, dozens of LAATs descended toward enemy positions.
At the last second, the gunship flared, hovering just above the frozen surface. Side doors slammed open.
"Go! Go! Go!"
Clones leapt into the snow, spreading into defensive lines. The gunship rose again, guns blazing, before banking toward another drop zone.
"Forward! Secure those rocks!"
The B-1 units surprisingly moved first, deploying equipment with mechanical efficiency. One unfolded a tripod; Forty-Five mounted his Z-6 atop it. Another connected a heavy battery to the power feed.
"Covering!" the droid announced.
"Roger, roger!"
Clones slid behind ice boulders as enemy formations crested the snowfields.
Ranks of B-1 battle droids marched in rigid lines. Behind them strode B-2 super battle droids. DSD-1 dwarf spider droids skittered between formations. Towering Octuptarra tri-droids loomed in the rear, with massive Magna-Tri variants further back. OG-9 homing spider droids advanced ponderously alongside Persuader-class tanks and other heavy armor.
"Open fire!"
Blaster bolts slashed through the freezing air.
Forty-First braced his DC-15A between two stones and fired methodically. The rifle's heavier output tore through standard droids at range. To his right, the squad's sniper picked off B-2 units at four hundred meters with controlled precision shots.
To the left, Forty-Five unleashed the Z-6 in sweeping arcs. In this subzero environment, overheating was less of a concern.
Forty-First checked his HUD. Squad intact.
Not bad.
A heavy plasma blast exploded nearby, forcing them flat.
"Take it!" Forty-Seventh barked.
His missile streaked forward, striking a tri-droid at the leg junction. The towering machine collapsed, crushing droids beneath it.
He pivoted and fired again. The warhead punched into an OG-9 chassis and detonated, engulfing it in flame and steam.
"Nice shot!" Forty-First called.
An AT-TE thundered down behind them, already firing. Its mass-driver cannon blasted into dense enemy clusters while anti-infantry turrets swept the flanks. Fresh clones disembarked from its belly to reinforce the line.
Overhead, TIE Interceptors screamed past, strafing advancing formations. Salvaged micro-missiles—once mounted on Vulture droids—detonated amid enemy armor.
The IFV detached from its carrier and surged forward, its cannon hammering droid lines. The mechanized integration was new—but the clones adapted quickly.
BARC speeders darted across the battlefield, shielded frames deflecting incoming fire. One scout took a direct hit; his speeder exploded and plowed into enemy ranks in a burst of flame.
The rest vaulted the lines, disappearing behind the droid formation to disrupt artillery positions.
Forty-Seventh reloaded smoothly, lifting the launcher back onto his shoulder.
Through drifting snow and streaking plasma, he scanned for his next target.
We're here, he thought calmly. We're fighting for the Republic.
And that's enough.