"To the lower left of your widescan, you'll find a joystick the size of your thumb. That's your designator control. Start designating droid starfighters as targets for our missiles. One missile per star-fighter, and don't save any. Do not-repeat: DO NOT-light them up until I give the order.
And do not designate anything other than a droid starfighter." "Not even, say, one of those sixty-seven gunships in our zone of engagement?" Nick pointed to the swarm of "friendlies" in a different part of the screen. "Because they seem to be taking a little interest in us, if you know what I mean. They are coming at us. In a hurry." "Sixty-seven? How many are on intercept vectors?" "Was I not clear on that? Maybe I should have said: By the way, have I mentioned that we're about to get our butts shot off?" "How many?" Nick gave a weak, half-hysterical giggle. "All of them." Mace Windu said, "Perfect." The regimental commander was designated CRC-09,'571. Haruun Kal was his third action in combat, and his first as regimental commander. At Geonosis, he had taken part as a battalion commander in the airborne infantry; his group had led the frontal assault on the Trade Federation battle globes. He had served, again as battalion commander, at the disastrous skirmish on Teyr. On board the Halleck, as the days awaiting action stretched toward weeks, he had drilled his brother troopers relentlessly, sharpening their considerable skills to the highest perfection that could be achieved, absent blooding his regiment in actual combat.
There had been blooding enough today, as a hornet cloud of droid starfighters swirled around his tiny fleet.
He had watched a third of his regiment die.
Some of the landers had been disabled rather than instantly destroyed, and they had been able to eject survivors: meteor swarms of space-armored troopers floating into low orbit, repulsorpacks sparking as they slowed and angled their minutes-long fall toward Haruun Kal's atmosphere. The surviving landers had not been able to keep all the droid starfighters engaged; there were plenty of starfighters left over to slaughter the men, as well.
They had flashed among the falling troopers with cannons blasting: silent streaks of scarlet lancing the black void with robotic precision, each hit leaving a broken corpse floating in the middle of an expanding globe of twinkling crystals, white and pink and blue-green: breath and blood and body fluids flash-frozen in the vacuum, shimmering and lovely in Al'har's light.
But the other troopers had not panicked; with polished fire discipline and plain raw courage, the falling troopers had turned upon the starfighters the weapons they carried upon their persons, coordinating their fire for greater effect. Three light repeaters, when turned upon the same starfighter, could break down its shields so that a single shot from a blaster rifle might disable an engine; groups of grenadiers scattered proximity-fused proton grenades in improvised mini-minefields; and when their weapons were exhausted, in desperation, men used their own bodies as weapons, manipulating their repulsorpacks to shove themselves into the path of starfighters whipping past at dogfight speeds. In such collisions, neither could hope to survive.
The troopers had not been fighting to defend themselves; they knew their lives were over.
But they had never stopped.
They were fighting for the regiment.
Every starfighter they took down was one less that might attack their brothers. CRC- 09,'571 was not particularly emotional, even for a clone, but he had watched their sacrifice with a hot swell in his chest. Men such as those made him proud to be one of them. His only drive was to discharge his duty; but he also nursed a secret desire to do something, to achieve something, that would be worthy of his men's astonishing heroism.
To hit back.
Which is why he felt a sting in his guts-what an ordinary man might call anger and frustration, but which CRC-09,'571 only barely noticed, and immediately dismissed-when his comm lit up with orders from General Windu.
Orders that his ships were to immediately cease fire.
Cease fire despite close pursuit by DSFs.
Despite three additional droid starfighter wings-192 units-closing on them from beyond the planetary horizon.
Despite sixty-nine Sienar Turbostorm gunships streaking up from the surface to intercept them.
His anger and frustration showed only in a certain hopeful tone when he demanded General Windu's verification code-perhaps this was an enemy, impersonating the general-and in the slight reluctance he felt to confirm, when the general's code came through correct.
General Windu, as far as CRC-09,'571 could determine, was ordering the clones to die. But CRC-09,'571 could no more disobey a lawful order than he could walk through armor plate.
As they hurtled down from the stratosphere above the Korunnal Highland, the guns on all the Republic ships fell silent.
Droid starfighters swarmed over them, weapons blazing.
As his lander was pounded from all sides by multiple cannon hits, CRC-09,'571 noticed an odd thing on his command-scan screen: some of the gunships below seemed to be firing on other gunships.
To be precise: sixty-seven of the gunships below seemed to be firing on the two that were in the lead.
These two did not return fire. They streaked at full power in a steep climb, scissoring side- to-side, heading straight for the mass dogfight so that the cannonfire which missed them-nearly all of it-blasted upward into the cloud of DSFs. Most of it passed harmlessly through, of course, not being aimed at the small agile craft, but several DSFs took blasts squarely, and exploded.
CRC-09,'571 frowned. He had a good feeling about this.
Not far below, in the open cockpit of one of the two gunships that were the targets of those behind, Mace Windu said, "All right, Nick. Light them up." "Yes, sir!" Nick Rostu flipped a single switch, and the droid brains of twenty-six different droid starfighters-one for each of the missiles remaining in the Turbostorm's launchers-felt the sudden internal alarm-buzz of sensors detecting a missile lock.
Coming from a friendly ship.
The droid brains found this puzzling, but not overly distressing; they were still focused on their primary mission, which was to destroy any and all Republic craft attempting to orbit or land on Haruun Kal. But they were programmed to monitor possible hazards, and each of them set some of their spare capacity to searching memory banks for any response programs that might be indicated in the event of missile-locks from friendly craft.
There weren't any.
This, the droid brains did find distressing.
And there was the issue of those laser blasts.
Only one second later, thirty-two additional droid brains among the swarm of starfighters had exactly the same experience.
Because all four of the Krupx MG3 mini missile launchers on Depa's gunship were fully loaded.
As the two gunships penetrated the perimeter of the sprawling dogfight, Mace said, "Fire." A Krupx MG3 tube could fire one missile every standard second; each MG3 had two tubes, which carried magazines of four mini-missiles apiece. The Sienar Turbostorm close-assault gunship had four Krupx MG3s: two forward and two aft. On Mace's command, both ships emptied their magazines. The gunships blossomed with fire and rocket exhaust.