The Clone Wars: Containment - Chapter 3a

The next day, Separatist Air Base, Sagujero, Saleucami, 966 Days after Geonosis

    Sweat dripped down Tol Skorr’s forehead and into his right eye, but he didn’t dare blink.  His opponents were good.  Four of them were spread out, circling him warily.  He dropped the tip of his lightsaber a centimeter, faked a glance to the left, and that was all it took.  All four opponents moved as one, closing in on him and swinging metal staffs with blinding speed.  They would have had him in an instant, had it not been for the precognitive aid of the Force and the skills he had honed in sparring sessions with Count Dooku, Sora Bulq, and Assaj Ventress, master duelists of the highest caliber.

    Skorr’s lightsaber moved in a blur, parrying precise thrusts and vicious swings aside.  His blade found the open face of one opponent, then the unguarded thigh of another.  The two left standing pressed in from front and behind, intent on crushing him in between.  Only a last-second Force push to the front and a kick to the rear kept them from succeeding.

    As soon as they had been knocked down, all four were on their feet again, guards up and not even winded.  Skorr thumbed off his lightsaber and smiled.  “Good.  Very good.   You fight like that—together—and most Jedi won’t stand a chance.”

    Skorr’s opponents were four of the group of two hundred Morgukai clones that had arrived from HQ a few days ago.  Their presence, while unasked for, had turned out to be very welcome.  They were only clones, but had quickly proven to be immensely more useful than the battle droids that made up the bulk of the garrison.  They’d been especially useful during these training sessions he’d set up in a cleared-out section of a starship hangar on the airbase.  Dueling the clones had been a great way to assess their combat readiness, as well as provide a workout for him.  Most of all, it gave him something to do.

    It had been over a month and a half since the Count had sent Skorr to Saleucami.  He’d been well on his way to delivering the droid forces to Sora Bulq, loading the first wave of clones onto the empty C-9979’s and shuttling them half-way across the Galaxy to General Grievous for redeployment.  Then the Republic had shown up, and Bulq had ordered him to divert to the city to the south and take over the airport there.  Since then, Skorr had placed the city under martial law, converted the airport into an airbase, installed perimeter shield generators and AA guns, and mostly just tried to keep himself from dying of boredom.

    The four clones stood before him now, legs slightly spread and their combat staffs held before them in both hands, with one end resting on the floor.  Their leader, Ig or Ag or Og—Skorr couldn’t remember their names—brought one scaly hand to his armored chest in salute and spoke, “Lorda Bok say that to face your enemy one-to-one is true Morgukai way.”

    Skorr smirked at him.  “Your friend yesterday fought me the true Morgukai way, didn’t he?”  He left the rest unsaid.

    Skorr had wanted to see how good these fully trained clones really were, so he’d fought one in earnest, with his real lightsaber instead of the powered-down training saber he was using today.  The clone had impressed him immensely.  Remarkably swift and agile for such a sturdy, powerfully-built creature, it was also highly skilled with the cortosis staff weapon the clones used.  The staffs, which projected an energy blade similar to an industrial cutting torch on one end and held a powerful electro generator on the other, were incredibly deadly in such adept hands.

    The clone had not only been quick enough to counter his saber strikes, but strong and bold enough to press the attack.  The staff even held up against the lightsaber—for a handful of blows, that was.  An overhand chop had cut right through it, then passed through the strips of black chest armor and gone halfway into the clone’s chest.  Whoever was manufacturing their so-called lightsaber-proof weapons and armor was definitely skimping on the expensive cortosis ore.  If Skorr ever found the charlatan, he’d kill him of course, but he wasn’t overly concerned.  The Morgukai were a lot more likely to die from clone blasterfire than at the hands of a Jedi.

    Skorr thumbed the blade on again and beckoned the forgotten-named warrior forward.  Just then, a spindly B1 battle droid with yellow command flashes came trotting into the hangar and clanked over to their improvised sparring circle.

    “Commander Skorr,” its vocabulator rasped.  “Urgent news from our long-range sensors.”

    The droids seemed to think everything qualified as urgent news, no matter how mundane.  That was why Skorr had begun making a habit of leaving his comlink back in his quarters when he left the air traffic control tower they had turned into a base.  He also enjoyed making the droids run to find him.

    “What’s urgent this time, droid?  I’m busy.”

    “Republic forces, Commander.  A fleet has just exited hyperspace and is heading towards our quadrant of the planet.”

    Reinforcements.  Damn.  And they were so close to obliterating the remainder of GAR forces on the open desert, too.  The air raids Skorr sent out every night, along with the droid and Morgukai battle groups that Sora Bulq commanded, were wearing down the enemy troop strength.  The cost was high, though.  The latest report from Commander Bok stated that the droid forces Skorr had delivered to HQ were already down over thirty percent.  It was the cursed Oppo Rancisis and his famed battle meditation that was foiling them.  Whatever they threw at him, the old Thisspiasian seemed to anticipate and react ahead of time.

    What made matters worse was that Quinlan Vos was serving under Rancisis.  If I had only managed to bring that smug bastard in when I had him on the Titavian, Skorr thought bitterly.  Since that failed mission, the Count had told Skorr that Vos was still on the side of the Confederacy, and that he was now a triple agent.  Supposedly, Vos was in place to leak information on the Republic’s battle plans, but so far, they hadn’t heard anything useful from him at all.  The Count might have still had faith in Vos, but Skorr didn’t.  As soon as the Kiffar Jedi played them false, he’d be there to bring Dooku Vos’ dread-locked head.

    Skorr turned toward the door quick enough to send his long blond locks whipping behind him.  “You four,” he said over his shoulder, “with me.”

    Skorr stepped out into the night air, heading towards the command building at a brisk pace, with the droid and four Morgukai following behind him.  He wished he could say he stepped into the cool night air, but it seemed that Saleucami only had two temperatures: hot and hotter.  Right now, Skorr didn’t notice.  His blood was boiling for a fight, and if these Republic reinforcements wanted one, he was happy to give it to them.