Star Wars_ The Dark Lord Trilogy - James Luceno [6]
“That’s no ordinary avalanche,” he said, passing the glasses to Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan raised the glasses and waited for the lens to autofocus.
Rolling toward the trench at better than eighty kilometers per hour were some of the most feared of the Separatists’ infantry arsenal.
Droidekas.
Known also by the fearsome title destroyer droids, droidekas were rapid-deployment killing machines produced by an alien species that encouraged mayhem at every opportunity. A combination of sheer momentum and sequenced microrepulsors allowed the bronzium-armored droids to roll like balls then unfurl in a blink as tripoded gunfighters, shielded by individual deflectors and armed with paired, twin-barreled, high-output blasters.
Since the shields were powerful enough to resist lightsabers, blasters, even light artillery bolts, the proven strategy for dealing with droidekas was simply to run from them.
More so, because surrender was never an option.
But Anakin had another idea.
“Comm fire support for an artillery strike,” he ordered Cody, loud enough to be heard above STAP and DC-15 fire. “Do it now.”
Cody was more than willing to comply. After all, the order had come directly from “the Hero with no Fear,” as Anakin was sometimes known. “The Warrior of the Infinite.” There was, though, a chain of command to maintain, so Cody looked to Obi-Wan for confirmation.
Obi-Wan nodded. “Do as he says.”
The commando called for his comm specialist, who splashed through the shallow water and flattened himself alongside Cody. When the spec had provided needed coordinates, Cody opened a frequency to the fire support base and spoke in a rush.
“To FSB from Squad Seven. We’re taking continuous fire from STAPs in sector Jenth-Bacta-Ion, and are about to be buried under destroyer droids deployed from the redoubt. Request immediate artillery support at coordinates accompanying transmission. Recommend tactical electromagnetic pulse airburst, followed by SPHA-T barrage.”
“Pulse weapons don’t discriminate, Commander,” Obi-Wan thought to point out.
Cody shrugged. “It’s the only way, sir.”
“Tell them we’ve got a wounded trooper for the Rimsoo,” Anakin said. The term stood for “Republic Mobile Surgical Unit.”
Cody relayed the message. “Warn the evac pilot that he’ll be setting down in a hot area. We’ll mark a safe landing zone with smoke, and leave two behind to assist.”
The assistant squad leader moved his right hand through a series of gestures. When the gestures had been repeated down the line, the commandos removed their helmets and began to deactivate the electronic systems built into their armor.
To a clone, they hunkered down in the fetid water.
A screaming came from the south.
Then: a nova-bright flare of white light, followed two seconds later by a roar that turned Obi-Wan’s eardrums to mush. A shock wave spread from the ramparts, down onto the clear ground at the foot of the mound and out over the already blazing orchards. Above the trench, half the droidekas deployed prematurely from ball position and began to tumble down the slope in a tangle of limbs and weapons. Behind the trench, STAPs fell like stones, plunging from the sky into the burning trees.
What harvesters remained alive ran in dizzying circles, spilling their precious loads.
Now from the south came an infernal wail as SPHA-Ts—the Republic’s walking artillery—loosed lasers on those droidekas that had survived the pulse weapon. Deprived of shields and unable to fire, they melted like wax in the gushes of radiant energy that struck the slopes.
Still without helmet, Cody stood up, signaling with both hands.
Obi-Wan interpreted the gestures: Sixty count, then suit up and break for the entrance to the nest.
He prepared by calming himself.
For all their reliance on droids, for all their infatuation with high technology, for all their inborn cowardice, greed, and guile, Neimoidians had a soft spot for their youth—their seven formative