The Clone Wars: The Dark Times

The Clone Wars, as they should have been.

A Preface:

Obi Wan is dreaming. He’s back in that Naboo palace, fighting the demon from his memory that is Darth Maul. His master lies in a heap as he tries to fight back the darkness. Every step, every parry, every slice, every strike, just as Obi-Wan remembers, as he will never forget. The rage building, his vision going red as every nerve strains to kill this hideous beast that dances in front of him, to break him, destroy him, hurt him. The pain of a swift kick to the ribs flares, then fades away, a punch to the face bounces off and Kenobi feels nothing. He sees nothing, only Qui-Gonn crumpling, Qui-Gonn falling. Kenobi had screamed. Kenobi was still screaming. Every breath in his body erupting out of his lungs with his hate, with his hurt. Attack, attack, attack, and though he knows this doesn’t work, that his aggressiveness costs him this fight, but he can’t stop, and he attacks and attacks, finally attacks once too often, overcommits. As always, Maul uses the force to throw Obi-Wan back and back, and over the gulf, and then Kenobi is falling and falling and falling.

Falling into the vast deep that is the ocean of Kamino. Closing his eyes, not fighting it, this, the end. Finally. But then a jerk, and he is flying upwards, dragged from the grasps of the dark waves below by a chord wrapped around his wrists. A glance up. Ah yes, Jango. The father. The beginning. The donor, and he is pulling Kenobi up from the depths, and he is laughing. Up over the handrailing, sprawling on the deck. Obi-Wan looks for Jango, but he’s gone. No one there but the boy. The one they had called Boba. Boba wearing Jango’s helmet. “You won’t get away that easily Obi-Wan. You won’t get away. Ever.” Obi-Wan is on his feet now, moving towards Boba, hands free now, he notices, vaguely. “You can’t kill me.” Boba’s childish voice was light, free, airy. “I won’t die. I’ll never die.” Then Obi-Wan reached him. As he reaches for it though, the helmet slips off, falling to the floor, revealing… death. A clone. Jango, Boba, Rex, it doesn’t matter. It’s been dead for months, dead eyeballs gaze at him, accusing him. The jaw has long ago detached from the skull and lies against the clone’s chest. Kenobi takes one step back, sinks to a knee. Boba’s voice again, but now it seems to come from everywhere. “I’m still alive. You can’t kill me. You can never kill me. Now get up and fight. Get up. Fight. Get up. Fight.”

Keep going?

I could actually make a song of that.

This looks interesting. Kind of fun to see things from Obi's perspective.

Obi Wan is awake. He is lying on his back on his cot in the trooper barracks on Ryloth. Alarms are blaring. Over the loudspeaker, every 20 seconds, the words play back “Get up, Get up, we are under attack, Get up, Fight. Fight. Fight.” Without a word, Kenobi rolls out of the cot, cape over shoulders, saber to belt, gets in line behind the nearest troopers and runs with them outside into the blinding sunlight.

Ahead of him, the Rylothian desert reflects the sunlight, leaving only shadows visible, and indeed, millions of shadows are spreading across the desert. The trenches that run the length of the valley are hidden by the glare, making for just a moment, the dessert to appear one unbroken surface. For a single moment, it looks pristine. Even beautiful. Could this be something like what it looked like before? Before all this killing? Before the butchery?

Kenobi looks away, he has no time for such thoughts. Not much appreciation for them anyway. The buildings behind Kenobi are hemorrhaging clones, still pouring out of each doorway in as-of- yet unbroken lines. In front of Kenobi, the trenches are already filled with clones. 22 trenches, 3 feet deep, 2 miles long, filled with clones, shoulder-to-shoulder, blasters at the ready. Clones as far as the eye can see in all directions. How many men in those trenches? Kenobi can’t remember. Two hundred thousand? Three hundred? He was briefed once, long ago, it doesn’t matter now. He tries to shake off the effects of the dream. It is not an unfamiliar struggle.

At his back, half a million clones now stand ready to take their brother’s places in those trenches as soon as the fighting starts.

“Good Morning Master” Anakin at this side now, looking as dashing and refreshed as after. Where did the boy get his energy?

“I was wondering when you would show up.” Kenobi reached for the intel report from the nearest corporal.

“I was inspecting the front trenches for you, Master.” Anakin emphasized the title, chewing it, dismissing it. Both Jedi knew that the time for rank and formality had come and gone between them years ago, right here, in this valley, on this god-forsaken planet, in this same sun-drenched desert. Maybe someday, when the war was over, when the madness ended, when they were recalled to Coruscant… Kenobi chuckled. This would never end. This would never be over.

“What’s funny?” Anakin glanced at Kenobi sharply as though perhaps Kenobi was losing it. Maybe he was. Not as bad as the clones, granted, but the upside of never dying had a definite downside of never getting a break from the sunlight.

“Nothing Anakin, nothing’s funny. What have we got?” Kenobi changed the subject. Thoughts like that were not allowed. How many times had they heard that from Coruscant? "We can’t clone the force, we can’t clone the force." Over and over and over again as more reports rolled in of Jedi being careless, Jedi being needlessly noble, Jedi taking chances, Jedi taking their own lives, and always, always, always, Jedi dying and dying and dying. Towards the end, the orders had been static filled audio messages only, and finally even that equipment died, leaving the Ryloth Defense Force on its own. That was seven years ago. No one had come looking for them. Was there even anyone left to look?

“Looks like the Separatists are about to attempt the same old charge our front lines and try to overpower us with numbers approach.” Anakin was all business. “Once again, our numbers seem to be about even, so once again, it probably won’t work. “

“Our position this time?”

“Let’s try the left. Most of the attack was pressed on that side last time.” Anakin rubbed his mechanical hand through what was left of his dark brown hair. “Beautiful morning for a fight I suppose.”

“Isn’t it always?” Kenobi sighed, “Any ETA yet?”

“Maybe ten minutes, maybe fifteen, depends on how eager they are to get over here and be blasted really.”

Behind Kenobi, the Recyclers were already running, he could hear them grumbling, ready for the day’s waste. Solar powered, the reason the entire operation was set up in this goddamn desert. Ten minutes was longer than usual. Obi-Wan gazed out over the mass of clones in front of him. Not one word from any of them. Not one motion. Completely and utterly silent. They might as well be droids. Kenobi remembered droids. Clanking, clumsy, computer-controlled monstrosities. Technology turned to nefarious purpose. Not for the last time. When he had first seen them, Kenobi had been young, travelling to Naboo to settle what he had thought was a simple trade dispute. How naïve he had been then. Seeing that horde of metal spreading over the Naboo countryside, crushing the wildlife and citizens alike, he had truly believed that he was looking evil in the face. This he had thought, was the ultimate horror that technology could paint onto the face of war. Imagine fighting an enemy that wasn’t even human, that didn’t think, that couldn’t even feel mercy as it blasted you and your family into oblivion? Young Kenobi had truly thought he had understood what evil was. Lost in the recollection, Kenobi chuckled. What he wouldn’t give now just to see a droid come over that ridge in ten minutes?

Good work, TJ.

thanks, this just got a lot longer than i was expecting though. I'll do a second chapter tomorrow i guess.

You definitely need to take advantage of this creativity, because there is potential for a great narrative here.

"You coming Master?” Anakin again.

“Of course, we wouldn’t want to keep the Separatists waiting, would we?”

From their new positions on the left flank, the two Jedi chose positions to hunker down inside the second outermost trench. No orders had been given to anyone. There was no relay system anyway. Every trooper had standing orders for this and every situation here on Ryloth. They were as hardwired into the clones as the unquestionable loyalty that they had towards the Republic. It was the only way to make sure they actually learned them.

Technically Kenobi and Anakin were in charge, but Kenobi doubted his ability to alter a single order. He actually feared the effect trying might have on some of the clones.

The nearest trooper to Kenobi was staring intently out into the desert, his blaster already held at the ready, his finger already covering the trigger. He was muttering to himself. “Cover, contain, destroy , reload, repeat, cover, contain, destroy, reload, repeat.” He and the other clones took absolutely no notice of the Jedi crouched in the tunnel.

Kenobi could see that the men’s skin had already began to blister from the sun. Under normal conditions, he would have felt sorry for them, now he knew it didn’t really matter. They didn’t have to last long. Across the trench, huddled between two other clones, Anakin fidgeted, lightsaber already in hand.

“I really don’t like waiting you know. Makes me actually start thinking about what’s going to happen.” The corners of Anakin’s mouth tightened. Not a smile exactly, but the reflex was still there, apparently. “Remember waiting at Geonossis? Just waiting for them all to open fire again? There wasn’t any hope, none, that we were going to survive for even a few more minutes. I always thought of those as the longest moments of my life. I didn’t realize that waiting to die would be better than waiting to kill.” The hint of a smile was gone now, darkness had formed behind Anakin’s eyes. “One of these times, just like this, will be the last time, you know that, right?”

“Don’t say that.” Kenobi looks away. Don’t think it, Don’t believe it, Don’t remember. Don’t Expect.

“It will be. We will go out just like this to kill, and one of us will make a mistake, and one of us will be gone. ”

“I said don’t say that.” An edge in Kenobi’s voice now. Don’t think it, Don’t believe it, Don’t remember. Don’t Expect. Anakin had apparently gotten the message. He was quiet anyway. Close enough.

Don’t think it, Don’t Believe it, Don’t Remember, Don’t Expect. Too late. He was thinking it. Damn Anakin. He was right. He was ****ing right, he was always right. They could die. They could die in the first wave of attackers today, or tomorrow, or next year. They didn’t know. But what happened if they did? Would anyone know? Would anyone even care?

Seven years since he had spoken to anyone from the outside. Seven years of battles. When he and Anakin had first landed on Ryloth, they had been one of seventeen strike groups. Each group made up of clones and led by Jedi. Each group landing on a different continent. During those four years before the Separatists attacks had scored direct hits on the communication’s equipment, Kenobi had learned that six of the strike groups had been completely wiped out. Two others had lost their Jedi leaders, but continued to operate in a limited, mainly defensive function. In the seven years since? Who knew? This could be the last Republic army on Ryloth. The last Republic army in the galaxy for that matter. So if he and Anakin died here, today, who would know? Who would care? Not the clones. Doubtful that they would even notice. They would just continue to function with pre-loaded orders, blasting and blasting and killing and killing until there was simply nothing to scrape back together and send back into the war.

He really shouldn’t care. Jedi formed no attachments, Jedi were at peace with death. Yeah sure. Obi Wan remembered Jedi. He remembered peace too. “ Pretty useless memories those,” Obi-Wan shook his head. “Maybe I should just remember some ****ing drop ships to get us out of here, wouldn’t that be nice… “ C’mon man, pull it together. I’m talking to myself. Don’t think it, Don’t believe it, Don’t Remember, Don’t Expect.

“Here they come.” Anakin sounds bored, as if he were commenting on the weather.

Kenobi looks back over his so-called command one last time. Eight-Hundred Thousand clones. Eight-Hundred thousand faces from Kenobi’s nightmares staring out into the desert. An army without armor, without boots. The entire uniform, if Obi-Wan could truly even think of it as that, consisting of white t-shirts and brown pants that actually defied classification. Functional would probably be an upsell. A long fall from the days of immaculate troop uniforms and daily inspections. Didn’t matter now though, just like in the old days, there was a battle to fight, and they still had their blasters.

I don't think Obi-Wan would say the f word though.

You might be right. You are literally getting a rough draft thrown at you. Poor form on my part.

[Hook]Bad form![/Hook]

Obi-Wan remembers. He is eleven. He is sparring with Master Qui-Gonn. Green blade crosses blue, recoils, returns, again and again, sparks flying as the two Jedi strain against each other. Kenobi is struggling. His master is everywhere, flipping through the air, cutting him off, anticipating every advance, every attack. Kenobi’s blade might as well be aimed at the floor.

Kenobi gathers himself, redoubles his effort and concentrates on a low thrust, aiming at Qui-Gonn’s waist. As always, his Master is way ahead of him. Knocking the blue blade aside with strength that Obi-Wan cannot match, Qui-Gonn calls on the force to flip forward, over Kenobi. Obi-Wan swings wildy as his master flies overhead, but Qui-Gonn catches the blade easily, using the momentum from Kenobi’s swing to rotate in the air and land at Kenobi’s back, Obi-wan tries to turn, but he’s too late. Qui-Gonn’s blade at his neck freezes him. He bows his head, a concession. The two step apart, breathing heavily.

“You must do better Padawan.” Qui-Gonn’s voice is patient, as always. “When you over commit to the attack, your defense is easily broken. Your defense is your life Obi-Wan. “

“I will do better Master. “ Obi-Wan has more to say, but he knows better than to argue with Qui-Gonn. He bites his tongue.

“See that you do. I cannot take you with me on missions where there will be danger if I must protect you at all times.”

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan is unable to keep his frustration from slipping into his words. Qui-Gonn gives him a long look.

“Say it, Padawan. You disagree?” Obi-Wan does. He struggles for words, trying to sound intelligent. If he has learned nothing else from his training, he has learned that few things could make someone look and feel as foolish as disagreeing with a Jedi Master.

“It seems, Master Qui-Gonn, that if I am constantly defending myself, and never attacking, that I will never have a chance to defeat my opponent, and he will eventually break my defenses. Soresu makes it impossible to win! If I could study Ataru like you and Master Yoda…” Kenobi was unable to keep the eagerness from creeping into his voice. He sounds like a petulant child, and he knows it, but he cannot resist. “How can I ever become a master with a lightsaber if all I ever do is defend myself?”

“So.” Qui-Gonn’s face is as impassive as ever. Obi-Wan holds his breathe. Has he gone too far? “You think that using Ataru gives a Jedi an advantage over someone using Soresu?”

“I do, Master.” Obi-Wan realizes that Qui-Gonn is not agreeing with him, but deep inside, Kenobi knows he is right, if he could just use the superior form, he would be less of a liability to his master in combat situations. “It is a superior form, after all! None of the council members use Soresu!”

“Very well.” Qui-Gonn steps back and raises his lightsaber in a salute. “Use Ataru. I’ll use Soresu. Take the offensive, Padawan. Attack me.”

Obi-Wan knows that Qui-Gonn never jests. He also knows that whenever Qui Gonn seems to give him his own way, it usually ends badly. But still… the opportunity he was being given is too much to pass up, it’s finally his chance to show his master what he can actually do.

He feels a trickle of sweat run down the back of his neck as he brings his blue blade up into a salute to match his master. A moment of shared respect, and then the Master settles back into the familiar defensive posture that Obi-Wan has been trying for years to emulate. A slight pause as Obi-Wan tries to figure out the best way to attack his master, and then he launches.

With a fresh energy born of eagerness, he rains blows down upon his master. High, low, a thrust. Acrobatic leaps, changing angles, sliding footwork. Overhand, powerful strokes, as Obi-Wan makes pass after pass.
At the center of Obi-Wan’s fury, Qui-Gonn stands, parrying. Easily, patiently, without a hint of distress.
Qui-Gonn counters easily, almost lazily, batting aside his student’s attacks unhurriedly, never so much as shifting his footing. Obi-Wan becomes more and more angry, pulling back to hammer his attacks home, taking chances, leaving himself open more and more as he attempts to land a winning blow, to absolutely no avail. Finally he slows and comes to a stop, frustrated.

“Finished so soon, Padawan?” Qui-Gonn’s face reveals nothing. Obi-wan’s shoulders slump.

“I cannot break your defenses master.”

“Did I ever attack you Obi-Wan?”

“You did not, Master.”

“Do you feel as though you defeated me?”

“No, Master.” Obi-Wan is beginning to feel very small.

“If your opponent cannot defeat you, you cannot lose. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.” Obi-wan understood. He understood he could never be as good as Qui-Gonn. His master had made it look so easy, his blade, it seemed to Kenobi, had barely even been moving.

“Now, back to your training. Use the proxy droid. Only defend yourself. See how long you can last.” Qui-Gonn heads for the exit. Obi-Wan grits his teeth in frustration and readies himself to face his robotic opponent. At the door, Qui-Gonn pauses and looks back. “Obi-wan. I’m counting on you. Stay in that circle.”

The words register, even though Obi-wan struggles to keep a reaction off of his face. A renewed sense of determination wells in him as Qui-Gonn exits the room and the proxy droid prepares its attack. Defend the circle. That’s all he has to do.

The droid rushes toward him, lightsaber high, a leaping slash, and Kenobi catches the blow near the tip of his blade, forcing the attack down, and harmlessly away. The proxy doesn’t hesitate, not wasting time to raise the blade, and instead cutting at Kenobi’s ankles, attempting to throw off his balance. Obi-Wan resists the urge to leap over the blade, remembering how his master never moved his feet. He brings his blade down perpendicular to the temple floor. The proxy’s blow, without much power behind it, fades away. Obi-Wan sinks again into his defensive posture as the droid begins to circle, looking for an opening. He won’t find one, Kenobi decides, not today. He takes a deep breath and steadies himself as the enemy begins another attack.

“There they are.” Anakin’s voice jolts Obi-wan back to the present.

Right. Ryloth. Over the ridge came the enemy. In the early days of the war, Obi-Wan would be issuing orders, counting enemy numbers, trying to figure out enemy attack patterns. Now he only hunkers patiently in his trench, listening to the beating of his heart, to the pounding of the enemy’s troops as they pour over the ridge. It truly doesn’t matter what the enemy tries, his job will be the same. His job will be simple. Defend the circle.

Down the slope comes the enemy. Wave after wave. More of a never-ending mob really, one continuous unbroken mass of troops. Kenobi and Anakin, huddled in the second trench, simply wait for the battle to be joined.

To Kenobi, the sound of the battle unfolding has the echo of a holo-disc he has listened to one time too many. At first, merely the pounding of the enemy’s footfalls on the ground as they pour over the ridge, across the valley, and upon the Republic’s defensive position. A sound like thunder that goes on and on as the clones in the trenches wait, without a sound for the slaughter to commence. As the front of the enemy horde comes into range, the soundtrack starts to play the staccato of blasters testing the range from the trenches. The cacophony swells as more and more of the enemy come within range of the troops huddled in the first trench, and intensifies as the Separatists begin to return fire.

As the wave of enemy forces slam into the first trench and hand-to-hand combat is joined, Obi-Wan can hear high-pitched screams that he long ago unlearned the ability to register. Ripping sounds that can only be flesh separating from bone, the thud of bodies hitting the ground, the wailing of the wounded, the overwhelming, never-ending sounds of blasters blotting out all other sounds except one.

Above it all, Obi-Wan can still hear the recycler running. A low, throbbing pulse of sound that can be felt in the very ground around him if he concentrates on it, a disturbance in the force that never ends, never slows, just continues to sit there, mocking everything Obi-Wan has ever stood for. A disturbance that he, a Jedi can do nothing to correct, can only do everything in his power to protect and maintain. So Obi-Wan ignores the sound of the battle happening ahead at the first trench, ignores the pain rippling through the force, ignores everything. He has to protect the circle, that’s all.

His awareness is technical, robotic. Obi-wan knows what is happening in the battle, he has to. Obi-Wan is a Jedi General, in charge of over half a million clone-troopers. He can’t check out. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that the first trench’s position is already being compromised by the never ending stream of enemy troops still pouring over the ridge. He doesn’t care that the troops in that trench are dying, that was their job. The first trench is a levee, designed to collapse when the enemy has been bottled against it. The battle-plan is the same as always.

The second trench is what matters. The second trench is Obi-Wan’s circle. Nothing else matters. He doesn’t care about the elaborate buddy system set up to reinforce each position. Doesn’t care that as each clone in trenches 2-9 falls, a brother is already prepared to race forward across the battlefield and take that clone’s place. Doesn’t care about the vast number of clones already racing forward to grab the wounded back from the edge of death, and collect the bodies of the dead to keep them from clogging the network of trenches.

No, the battle will proceed with or without him, and Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi General, Council member, huddles in his trench, waiting with what would appear to be the patience that could only be available to a Jedi Master of excellent discipline and a strong connection to the force. But that isn’t Kenobi. Kenobi is waiting, because he simply doesn’t care. Not anymore. Not after so many years of fighting this same battle. Of seeing his troops killed and killed and killed.

This impasse in the desert, this never ending collision of forces, is playing itself out all over Ryloth, all over the galaxy. Different generals, different tactical situations, but the basics are the same. Jedi commanders ordering clones to their deaths as they fight off never ending waves of Separatist invaders. At least, that had been the case when Kenobi last been in contact. Back when Kenobi believed in the Republic, believed that defeating the rebellious armies and re-uniting the galaxy was the only way to bring…… peace.

There that word was again, one that he didn’t even believe in anymore, didn’t even quite understand, if truth be told. Interesting, Kenobi muses, fighting for so long for something that I won’t know when I’ve found. Vaguely he wonders if he should ask Anakin for clarification on what the mission is, thinks better of it. He shifts his thoughts back to the battle. The sacrificial trench is broken on the left flank, just as Anakin predicted. It has done its job though, as now the Separatists will all come through that hole in the line as opposed to continuing to attack the strength of the unbroken areas of the trench.

Like always, the clones on either side of the break in the line have built barricades around the breach, turning the advantage the Separatists think they have gained into a murderer’s row where the charging troops are gunned down from both sides as they charge towards the second trench, where Obi-Wan and Anakin sit huddled.

As always, the plan unfolds perfectly. Taking advantage of a breach in the enemy’s fortifications has to be hard-wired into the enemies list of automatic responses. As blindly and foolishly as battle-droids, the enemy comes pouring into the breach. The men beside Obi-Wan begin to fire, and then Obi-Wan feels the nudge in the force. It’s time. Lightsaber from belt to hand, a leap out of the trench: In his peripheral, Obi-Wan sees Anakin making an identical leap, the first enemy doesn’t have time to react as Kenobi’s blade cuts him down at the waist. The second Separatist gets his blaster up, one, two three blaster bolts launched at Kenobi. Obi-Wan dodges the first, knocks aside the second and third, and brings his blade up through the enemy’s forearm, removing it at the elbow. Just the beginning of a scream begins to form in the man’s throat before Obi-Wan brings the blade back, taking his head off at the shoulders and taking that particular instrument out of the orchestra playing the sound of battle all around them.

Established now, Obi-Wan accepts the melody, he’s into the dance. Blaster bolts all around him, none coming close to touching. His blue-blade is nothing but a blur as he anticipates, redirects, slashes, whirls. Defending the circle. Beside him, Anakin dances to a similar beat. Their lightsabers carve a path in a solid sea of bodies. At their sides, their clones, firing blasters when they are afforded room but mostly locked in hand-to-hand combat with their foes.

Kenobi sees four of his men blown away, their bodies rocking back into the trench. Even as their brothers from the third trench leap forward to race across the battlefield and take their place at Kenobi’s side, Obi-Wan swivels, finds the source: An enemy with a Gatling gun. He gestures with the force, the weapon points at the ground. The man with the weapon struggles to bring it back to bear, but in the time it takes him to do so, Kenobi has closed the gap between them. His lightsaber comes down on the weapon, cutting it cleanly in two. His opponent reacts instantly, swinging the useless weapon at the side of Obi-Wan’s head. Obi-Wan ducks the attack, swinging the lightsaber back around for the kill. A vicious head-butt from his opponent rocks him back on his heels however, his lightsaber flying off the mark. Pressing his advantage, the Separatist steps in, grabbing Kenobi’s wrist with both hands to immobilize his lightsaber. By reflex (what combat skill wasn’t reflex by now?), Kenobi shifts his weight backwards, causing the man to stumble forwards towards him, though still hanging on tightly to Obi-Wan’s wrist. As the man stumbles, Kenobi sweeps a leg under his ankle, causing him to fall forward to his knees, only to rock his head back with a vicious knee to the face. The death grip he has on Kenobi’s wrist loosens, and Obi-Wan wrests his lightsaber from the man’s grasp. He pulls back the weapon, and the enemy looks up, on his knees, just as Kenobi arcs the weapon back towards his neck. “You can’t kill me” Boba’s childish voice screams in Obi-Wan’s mind.
“I’ll keep trying.” Kenobi answers the delusion, finishing his stroke.

The man’s head flies off, lands, almost comically right-side up in the sand, Jango’s face with its blank stare accusing Obi-Wan is like a vision straight from his dream. Not a moment to waste. Don’t think. A backflip lifts Obi-wan back to his place at the edge of the trench as reinforcement clones crowd around him. The constant streams of reinforcements running from trench to trench all over the battle-field means that no one fights alone for more than a few seconds. The bodies of the four troops that Kenobi has just avenged have already been carted off, dragged to the back of the battle, away from the combat.

A glance at Anakin tells Obi-Wan that his former Padawan is excelling as always. Enemy clones are heaped around Anakin in great piles that Republic clone troopers are now using as cover to extend the cover of the trench a little further into the desert.

The day progresses. Hour after hour. Wave after wave of enemy clones fall to blasters held by their own genetic doubles. Every one of them identical. Every one of them with the face of a small-time bounty hunter that was now famous throughout the galaxy. Obi-Wan can't even tell them apart, he just kills the ones that attack him, a constant stream of Jango Fett look-a-likes, firing blasters, testing their mettle against the Jedi, only to die, one by one, felled by a lightsaber just as Jango had been.

On and on, into late afternoon, as Republic back-up forces began to dwindle away to nothing, and the numbers of the troops in the trenches began to thin. Finally, as the sun prepares to set, far, far above them, at the top of the ridgeline, there is finally a break in the mob pouring over the ridge and down into the desert. As Obi-Wan’s blade weaves his defensive wall , he has little time for satisfaction, but part of his brain does acknowledge the change. Next to him, Anakin manages to wearily raise his lightsaber into a salute to acknowledge he sees it too. As always, they are going to hold the line. There will be a limit to the number of clones that will have to die today. Just one more valley full. With this thought, Kenobi slips back into his defensive shell, and the slaughter continues.