The holograms of the Jedi Council members winked out, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Half of them were obscene. I wanted to smash something. To smithereens.
Great. Just great. Just great…
Jabiim. Damn them all.
I was unlucky to get dragged into this story. Honestly, I had almost forgotten about the whole mess. But everyone agreed on one thing: Vietnam and Verdun were nothing compared to that meat grinder.
If I remembered correctly, the Republic took a crushing blow there—losing a huge number of clones, several hundred thousand, along with most of their equipment and what little trust they had left among the locals. And all of that in just two months.
The results were so devastating that the Chancellor ordered the details kept secret.
Even so, panic spread among civilians on Coruscant. The CIS wasn't being restrained, and they loudly trumpeted the disaster across the galaxy.
My memory added another note: it was around that time the 501st Legion first appeared—guarding the capital and helping suppress riots.
I never cease to be amazed. Was this planned by Sidious, or did he improvise?
Either way, he profited from it.
And now they're sending me into this shit.
Ugh.
I need to calm down.
There's nothing I can do—well, there is, but… it's unlikely to be anything drastic. Also, if I recall correctly, Darth Vader eventually won the planet—but only after extensive mining operations made the storms readable for air support. That was the key.
Still… why me?
I'll find out who to thank for this joy. I'll remember.
And Amidala—what in the Hutt's name was she doing at that Council meeting? In Palpatine's company, of all people.
Although… who was in whose company is still an open question.
The Chancellor… if I hadn't known he was a Sith, I would never have suspected him of being… gifted.
Such a polite old man.
And such kind eyes.
Like Lenin's, damn it.
He plays the role perfectly. You could say he's grown into it over the years. Stanislavski would have shed a tear.
Meanwhile, the datapad chirped loudly, announcing the arrival of the files. I reached for it with the Force.
"General Marek."
Moff Terbon's voice cut through my reverie. He stood nearby and had clearly heard our entire exchange.
"Not my affair," he continued carefully, "but weren't you a little harsh with the Council and Senator Amidala?"
"Oh, I softened it."
"Is it that bad?" The man frowned, realizing I hadn't caused a scene without reason.
"You have no idea how bad. Mark my words—we'll wash ourselves on Jabiim. With blood."
I watched the other officers in the conference room from the corner of my eye. Some were there on duty, some waiting to report, others off duty but pulled in by curiosity or professional instinct. Since we'd been speaking in raised voices, they had heard the Council conversation perfectly.
I think they appreciated my speech.
And they would remember every word.
"It was high time the Republic intervened," I continued. "Now we finally have a reason. But the moment has already been missed. The only option left is to clean up the mess politicians made with their tongues. Luckily, if I succeed, you won't have to keep paying second-hand for the weakness of certain Jedi."
That changed the mood in the room. Actions speak louder than words, and a decisive victory on Jabiim would mean everything.
Moff Terbon was distracted by incoming messages of his own, which gave me the space to move to a corner and go through the files.
The first was an official document—an order from the Jedi Council.
Those bastards move fast.
Translated from bureaucratese into plain speech, it said this: I, Jedi Knight **Dagon Marek**, together with the units under my command, was ordered to land on Jabiim to support the local "Resistance," sabotage the mineral extraction by any means necessary, and seize control of the deposits for the Republic.
Preferably, the mines should be flooded and destroyed—but who refuses a free lunch?
So instead, I had to secure them carefully, so no one could blame me later.
Of course, the locals wouldn't be happy if I destroyed their only source of income.
Also included: prepare a staging area for the landing of the main troops, scheduled to arrive **"presumably in two to three weeks."**
Wonderful.
Will we even hold out that long?
Or does no one care?
The second document was a mandate granting me broad authority to carry out the mission immediately.
A complete carte blanche, more or less.
Still, even with that you can't go entirely wild. Outsiders couldn't easily be involved. At most we could requisition whatever equipment the corps needed.
Not that I needed extra troops.
I didn't even know how to manage the ones I already had.
So this piece of paper was small comfort.
The third file contained intelligence reports: rough maps, a planetary summary, demographics, and other background information.
Let's see.
Population: about one hundred million humans.
Yes—humans.
"Xenos" were within the margin of error—about one-tenth of one percent. Practically negligible.
Roughly twenty million lived in cities; the rest were scattered across settlements—villages and workers' towns.
Jabiim had been mined for a long time. The first shafts opened nearly three thousand years ago. There was even a local term: **"Jabiim ore."**
The new deposits discovered recently lay far deeper underground, closer to the planet's core.
Not a problem for the locals.
They had simply reached those depths only now.
The fourth file was very short.
Two messages.
The first stated that **three elite Alpha-class saboteurs** would be sent to me.
Are those the ones Fett trained personally?
Not bad.
The second message reported a transport convoy arriving at **Lantilles** within a few hours carrying experimental equipment and reinforcements for the sector fleet.
I was authorized to prioritize the removal of equipment for the corps' needs.
Hmm.
Are they going to foist a runt AT-AT on me?
Pathetic machines. They can't compare with their later Imperial counterparts—shorter, weaker armor.
Still… maybe there's something more interesting.
I'll take every **AT-XT** they have.
Those are decent machines.
So.
What do we have in the end?
Jabiim.
An Outer Rim planet where the natives were extremely unfriendly.
Over seventy percent supported the **Stratus Nationalists**. Their commander was reportedly brilliant at combining positional warfare with guerrilla tactics and sabotage.
Poorly trained militias held prepared defensive lines while droids conducted frontal assaults. Meanwhile, elite sabotage units—like the **Nimbus Commandos**—operated behind enemy lines.
Meaning our lines.
He had at least **one hundred thousand fighters** under his command.
Given his talent for rallying the population against "vile invaders"—which, from their perspective, sounded perfectly reasonable—he could easily raise a million.
Add an unknown number of combat droids.
Let's assume the worst.
At least a million of them.
The CIS would guard such a valuable prize with everything it had.
An ugly picture when compared to my… let's say **forty thousand**.
A steamroller.
The number of troops loyal to the Republic—those same ragged militias—is questionable. No more than fifty thousand at best.
Suddenly, the ion storms didn't seem so terrifying.
If they were worse, the enemy would simply wipe us out from the air.
As things stood, we at least had a chance to fight back.
If we could even reach the surface.
I glanced again at the report about the captured transport and experimental equipment.
I could use the transport as bait.
Those war droids better be worth it.