Naboo

[Johanna Bryce]

Two Rebel officers surveyed the blue-and-green jewel of Naboo from hundreds of kilometers above in its orbit. The younger of the two officers, an impressively tall human woman, was frowning down at the planet, lips moving in silent calculation as though trying to make sense of the peaceful world. From a slew of sensor operators and air traffic controllers, the fleet’s Admiral disentangled himself to join his marine commander at Wrecking Machine’s viewport. 

 

“The planet doesn’t have a solid core? It’s hollow? And the Gungans have it mapped out?”

 

“Most of it. It’s a conglomerate of rocky bodies and fresh-water tunnels. Geologically stable, but otherwise quite hazardous to traverse, seeing that there is so little submersible traffic between Theed and Otoh Gunga.”

 

“Respectfully, sir, you sound like…” Bryce tilted back an invisible flask in her hand. “That can’t be mathematically possible. How can the planet even have a magnetic field without a metallic core?”

 

The fleet’s Mon Calamari Admiral fixed the marine in a single black eye. “Bryce.”

 

“The planet should have been sterilized by its own star billions of years ago--”

 

“Captain, you hail from Bespin.”

 

“Sir, that’s completely different. The planet is a gas giant. Most of its atmosphere is unbreathable--wrong mix of gases, wrong air pressure… it’s only habitable in a very thin slice of altitude--therefore the repulsorlift cities. If it weren’t for the tibanna, Bespin probably never would have been settled in the first place.”

 

“Whereas I find the exclusively terrestrial existence of most humanoid species a bizarre evolutionary dead-end. However, as fascinating as the conversation may be, we have a mission--to prepare this planet for a potential invasion. Those… mathematically impossible tunnels may be key to the planet’s defense. There is not a moment to lose. Captain.”

 

“Aye, sir. Contact with the Gungans. I suspect they’ll be properly motivated once they realize the threat facing them. Force be with you, sir,” Captain Bryce offered and received a snappy salute as she departed, belt-spat swaying from her hips as she swaggered from the battlecruiser’s bridge. Several minutes, she and the company of Talons--plus their Bothan liaison--departed in a half squadron of assault shuttles. The glow of their sublight engines converged on a location that was all but uninhabited by either of the world’s sapient species. It was a wilderness at the edge of Lake Country, where the hardwood trees began to give way to irascible, stubborn mangroves at the edge of the Gungans’ deep, dark waters.

 

When the shuttles finally set down on the boggy, saturated soil, Bryce stood under the wing of her LAAT/i and began to pace anxiously. There was no sign of their Gungan contacts…she also knew that meant nothing, if the Gungans were waited for their arrival under the surface of their waters.

 

[Johanna Bryce]

The next several minutes felt like hours. As Johanna paced the edge of the lake, splashing the cool waters against her ankles, the Rebel marine reflected that perhaps the reputation that the Gungans had for perpetual tardiness was perhaps warranted. In her experience, there was never a moment that she could afford to lose. And yet, the amphibians also had a reputation for being 

 

The next fifteen minutes felt like an hour. As Bryce paced the edge of the lake and waded into the cool waters up to her ankles, the Rebel marine reflected that perhaps the reputation that the Gungans had for perpetual tardiness was somewhat warranted. In her experience in the armed forced, there was never a moment that she could afford to waste. And yet, the amphibians also enjoyed a reputation as unlooked-for allies: their society existed separately from the Human Naboo and had a somewhat isolationist perspective… yet they had sacrificed entire legions of warriors in times of crisis.

 

Rather than being allowed to dwell on this wasted time, the Talon’s comlink buzzed on her bracer. It was a direct line from Admiral Klatchka, who hovered above her armor as a miniature Mon Calamari. “Captain, major Sith fleet units have emerged from hyperspace. Naboo is under invasion. We can’t hold these forces back. We must withdraw.”

Bryce grimaced. “Sir, and my soldiers?”

 

“You’ll have to make do on the surface. I’m sorry, Captain. May the For--”

 

And that was the end of the transmission--terminated midsentence, doubtless to enforce comms discipline as all outgoing transmissions needed to be kept at a minimum as the ships “went dark”. Johanna suspected that the fleet units were withdrawing to the planet’s star--probably making use of solar flares or other phenomena to mask their presence--but that meant that she and her two hundred Talons were going to be cut off from evacuation and stranded in hostile territory. She exchanged a glance with Alpha’s platoon sergeant, a Chiss whose expression remained impassive. At least, Bryce hadn’t yet learned out to read Drell’s facial expression… but if his thoughts were mirroring her own, then he also knew that all two hundred of them were likely to be dead at the end of the day.

 

A bubbling cauldron of lake water stirred Bryce from her distraction. A loose-limbed Gungan came swaggering up from the opaque water, clad in dripping leathers and a bearing an unusual, staff-like weapon with a hollow at its end.

 

“Capitan Bryce, Bombad General Yuusan. Weesa welcome you to Naboo.”

 

“General, sir.” The marine saluted; the Gungan held his weapon-bearing hand to his breast. “I’m afraid that our timetable has just been moved up significantly. Our ships have detected major Sith fleet elements--enough that they need to withdraw. The planet is under invasion.”

 

Supposedly the Gungans also had a reputation for advertising their every emotion on their face, of gawping wide-eyed, of frothing at the mouth, bashing spear against shield, and spitting defiance at their enemies; this one’s expression may as well have been carved from wroshyr. The Gungan warrior just blinked, nodded, and intoned slowly, “And whatsa yousa being doing about dis?”

 

“Well, sir… it occurs to me that this invasion is not likely to stop with Theed or the other Naboo cities. This Sith Empire has not exactly shied from executing genocides against species that have opposed it in the past. The reports of what they are doing on Mon Calamari are… frightening. A similar scenario is likely to occur here. However, my men are not a garrison or a Cresh-Besh unit.I propose that we join our forces to launch an immediate counterattack.” Feeling her spine attempting to melt away under the unyielding stare of the Gungan General, Bryce forced herself to rise to military-spec height and straighten her shoulders. “Talons strike, sir. ”

 

Now the Gungan reputation for being emotive was redeemed. Obviously amused by this display of esprit de corps, the fat Gungan erupted into massive, booming laughter--and continued laughing even Bryce’s jaw tightened and her expression grew serious. “Oh! Hohoho! Weesa like dees one! Ohoho!” The Gungan slapped his knee out of amusement. “Yes, yes, okie-day. Yousa want to keel and die, weesa happy to help. Longo comprends da thrrreat ahf da Seeth. Weesa--weesa long sheds mui blood to them.” Still chuckling, the Gungan began wading into the waters, which began boiling with the hulls of dozens of clamshell-shaped transports. “Pleasa! Comen Capitan! Comen! And yousa warriors! Weesa provide transport! And when da time comen, weesa fights and dies with you. But for now, yousa shares yous plans. Oh-hoh! Disa be hot.”

 

Glancing at the formation of shock troopers behind her, Bryce just shrugged and signaled her men forward to the Gungan transports. In a few minutes, they were all under the waters, cold, sopping wet, abandoned… and determined to make this a long and miserable day for the Sith Empire.

 

[Johanna Bryce]

Two minutes after the Gungan submersibles had descended into the darkest depths of the Naboo Abyss, Bryce refused to look through her bongo’s canopy and just stared into her lap. As a denizen of Bespin, she was a creature of open skies, far horizons, and free winds. The journey through the planetary core was one of impenetrable darkness, claustrophobia, piloting by instrumentation, and eldritch sea creatures with teeth larger than an interceptor.  Yuusan continued to boast about the honor of the Gungan Grand Army--centuries of tradition, never backed down from a fight even against a technologically-superior opponent--but the Talon’s discipline failed her.

 

But she was still a soldier of the Galactic Alliance, and a veteran of the Third Death Star, Coruscant, and Dark Sun Station. She had long developed coping mechanisms in confronting abyssal horror--most of which revolved around keeping calm and busying herself with work.

 

“Bryce, comms check.”
 

“Four by five, Captain,” came an answering voice from her Chiss executive officer. “It’s a little staticky this far down.”

 

“We’ll make do, sergeant. Open up your holomap of Theed. I’ve an idea. We have a direct route to Theed from the Abyss… one of the tributaries of the Solleu opens up to us. Depth is about twenty meters, give or take. Is that sufficient for navigation, General?”

 

“Disa bongo travels just fine. Da transports… risky.”

 

“We’ll have to make do. Unless… our packs carry their own oxidizer. They’re vacuum-sealed. They’ll work just fine at that depth.”

 

“Bit slow until we clear the water.”

 

“True, but the last thing that they’ll expect is an airborne insertion carried out from submersibles. Two bursts should get us to the palace hangar. The opening to the Virdugo Plunge will be perfect for entrance. From there, we can gain transport and exfil. Targets of opportunity are grounded shuttles. Remember, Talons, this is not a fight we will win if we get stuck in. The best we can hope for is to surprise them, blast as many targets as we can on our way to exfil, and get out while they’re still trying to figure out where we hit them from. No heroics--and especially nothing stupid like trying to take on a Sith Lord. You see red lightsabers, you put on the fuel and run, understand?”

 

“Understood, Captain,” was the general response from her soldiers.

 

____

 

“Sorry about that, General. I… feel better now.” Bryce apologized to Yuusan, after having defiled the Gungan’s submersible with seasickness. The Gungan, however, seemed to find her response to the final, hairraising maneuvers 

 

Thirty minutes later, the bongos began their final ascent from the Naboo Abyss and began to rise towards the Solleu River. Somewhat shaky after having expunged her seasickness from the final, hairraising maneuvers onto her boots, Bryce lifted a canteen to her lips and apologized. “Sorry about that, General… I’m not exactly suited for amphibious operations.”

 

The Gungan, however, seemed to find the defilement of his submersible hilarious. He burst out into massive, jolly, jowl-shaking laughter, taking his hands off the yoke to pound one of the control panels. “Birds not so good at water maneuvers, eh! Ha! Now, weesa ready! Depth tenska meters! Go and maken big messen. Ouch-time for deh Seeth.”

 

Bryce stood to her full height and clamped her helmet onto her head, the airtight seals hissing into place. The hydrostatic bubble canopy retreated and water flooded into the crew compartment--the warm air of the compartment was replaced by cool, stale air from her armor’s air supply. The Talon looked upwards, at the glimmering surface of water above her.

 

She and one hundred shock troopers kicked off from their transports and triggered their jetpacks simultaneously, turning their bodies into sapient missiles that rode a stream of exhaust and bubbles towards the surface of the Solleu River. The water was far from an ideal medium for their jet packs--acceleration was slow--but they soon cleared the surface of the water and streaked unimpeded to rooftop level above the surface of Theed.

 

Or it would have been rooftop level, had a squadron of transports not been blasting the city into rubble from turbolasers. Muttering a curse, Bryce gave the jetpack another burst of fuel and kicked in the repulsorlifts, causing her to glide above the smoke and rubble from a vantage point. Her head on a swivel, the Talon scanned from side to side in search of grounded transports.

 

“Multiple targets in that plaza to the left, take them. Boom and zoom, Talons.” Two platoons of Talon Company veered towards the open boulevard that led to the palace complex, while the other half continued their glide towards the hangars that rested on the cliff face at the very edge of the city. Another troop transport had touched down at the entrance of the domed hangar complex--she and four soldiers in her squad cut their repulsorlifts and fell upon the grounded vessel, landing hard on its dorsal surface.

 

“P for plenty, Rashik.” Bryce muttered to the Chiss, who thoughtlessly planted a sequencer charge just in front of the sublight engines. She and the other Talons blasted freely at a squad of the chrome-plated Sith troopers, forcing them to scatter and take cover until the charges were set. A heavy pat on her pack confirmed that the explosive charge was in place and ticking down. Without a word, the five shock troopers gave their jetpacks a microburst of thrust to escape and sprinted along the roof of the hangar complex. Far in the distance, a series of explosion rumbled and dark smoke began to rise from the Place Plaza, signifying the success--and retreat--of the rest of her soldiers.

 

[Johanna Bryce]

“Hit the deck!” Cried a soldier at Bryce’s right. One of the gloriously polished Naboo shuttlecraft, this one a sleek, needle-like yacht the size of a medium freighter, had just lit its sublight engines and was rushing at the four Talons at the entrance of the hangar. The marines fell prone to the deck and a wash of wind and searing heat swept over Bryce’s armored back. The rush of exhaust blasted the marine off of the deck and sent her into a battering halt, bouncing her against the waxed surface of the hangar deck until the collisions finally depleted her momentum.

 

“No joy, Talons.” the Bespinian groaned as she staggered to her feet. Nothing seemed to be broken, aside from a cosmetic crack in her faceplate. However, a brief scan confirmed that the hangar was now quite empty, aside from a pair of the slim starfighters favored by Naboo Royal Starfighter Corps. Even those were two-seater spacecraft, marked with bright blue at their wingtips: unarmed training craft, most likely. No escape would be found for her men from the Queen’s starfighter corps. “Repeat, no transports are available at the Royal Starport.”

 

“Lead, Dorn. Several transports remain in the Palace Plaza.  Plenty of space for the company, only…”

 

“Only?”

 

“Lot of infantry, wide open spaces. We’ll be a sitting duck for those starfighters.”

 

The tall Marine made a circling motion with the fingers on her left hand, signaling the remainder of her platoon to form on her lead. The formation jogged out of the hangar and towards the waterfalls directly under the Queen’s palace. “Copy, Dorn. We’ll need to risk it. Lay down some suppressive fire and we’ll hit them from the opposite side.”

 

At the edge of the waterfall, Bryce made an easy hop and gave the jetpack a brief burst. The Sith were now growing wise to their airborne attacks, and small arms fire was now beginning to track her flight despite her attempts to weave unpredictably. A streak of heat stung at her leg--a reflexive glance caught the crimson streak of a near-miss from the streets. The marine veered in her course, diverting from the jade-roofed towers that overlooked the promenade and towards the tall windows that lined the sides of the royal palace’s upper halls.

 

“Brace for collision.” Bryce uttered seconds before the repulsorlift-powered glide sent her crashing through the glass, spraying shards onto the polished floors and the startled Sith occupants below--a dozen crashes tore the air to her sides as the remainder of her squad made a similar egress. Both sides equally surprised by the forced entry into the chambers of the evacuated Queen, the Talons rained blaster fire onto their exposed foes. Blaster bolts streaking through her torn belt-spat and creasing her pauldrons as her glide descended, Bryce simply focused on landing fire on the exposed chests and heads of the Sith troopers as they scurried for cover.

 

“No time for prisoners, just stun ‘em.” Bryce growled as her feet touched the polished stone floors. A pair of stun blasts silenced the groans of the wounded Sith occupiers. Two of the marines shouldered the weight of one of their own wounded. Glass cracking under her plastoid boots, the Bespinian jogged towards a set of tall windows overlooking the Palace Promenade. Through those windows, she could watch as several of the angular Sith troop transports were being harassed by blaster fire and rifle-grenades from the remainder of her soldiers, their turrets sweeping back and forth to rake the rooftops with blaster fire.

 

“Go, get Javs out first. Take the nearest transport and move down the plaza. I’ll provide cover fire.” Bryce smashed a hole in the window with the butt of her carbine. She snapped the weapon up to a check weld, taking careful aim on a pair of Sith soldiers using the landing pylons of a transport for cover. The rest of the squad battered a man-sized breach in the glass and made a gliding egress towards the rubble-strewn flagstones of the Palace Promenade.

 

They were so close...

[Johanna Bryce]

Fifty thousand meters above Theed, a squadron of A-Wings were blazing downwards through Naboo’s atmosphere at a velocity that some meteors would have envied. In a frightening feat of precision flying, the twelve starfighters were flying so closely together that their overlapping sensor signatures might have caused some sensor relays to misidentify the interceptors as a falling meteor. The superheated gases glinting off of their hulls would have certainly caused any casual observers to dismiss them as a meteorological event. The A-Wings were continually buffeted from side to side by the turbulence from their own airfoil vortices, the tiny interceptors within such a close range that their pilots could have communicated by hand signals rather than the narrow-band line-of-sight comms that they used to avoid detection.

 

“ No diversions from Theed. Looks like we might make it through undetected.”

 

“I can’t even see it. All I see is smoke and--”

 

“That is Theed. Remember, protect your wingman, hit fast, hit hard and do not stick around for a fight. We’re here to give the knuckle-draggers some cover. Esk-war up on my mark. Five, four, three, two, one--mark!.”

 

At that moment, the pilots simultaneously triggered the jammers on board their equipment, filling the nearby atmosphere with interference that would play havoc with comms and sensor transmissions. Of course, the enemy would instantly realize that something was on its way, but from where--and what--could only be confirmed by the mark one eyeball.

 

_____

 

“Go Lead, before they…  pos…” 

 

“Repeat, Aurek--repeat.” Bryce growled as the Talon rained down semiautomatic blaster fire down the Palace Promenade, spattering sparks against the turret of one of the Sith transports. Static was all that answered her--the turret swiveled around to face her position and she fell prone to the polished floor..

 

In the next second, her hearing was blown out by the shriek of shattering glass and crumbling walls. Rubble and glass rained down all around her as the laser cannon opened up on her position, causing the entire wall and part of the floor to cave in. For the moment, all she could do was to try and protect her head from the wreckage. Once the impacts stopped landing, she triggered the repulsorlift in her armor, causing the rubble to blast away from her in a miniature explosion as the thrusters tried to push against the obstacles.

 

Bryce shook her head and tried to collect herself. The roar of laser cannon fire seemed to have died down. Nothing seemed to have been broken, but she had lost her rifle in the collapse and a warm liquid was leaking down her face. Somehow, the cave-in had caused her to fall down to the ground level of the promenade. 

 

Seizing her vibromachete, the Talon began to rush own the debris-strewn steps of the once-proud Royal Palace, to join in the firefight against a final unseized troop transport. The crew hadn’t seemed to realize that two of the other transports had gone silent and were seized by her soldiers… but as her boots sprinted down towards its landing struts, the whine of its repulsors took on a higher pitch. They were preparing to take off. Cursing under her breath, Bryce redoubled her pace and jumped onto the retracting boarding ramp--a chrome-plated Sith trooper nearly jumped in shock to see the Rebel marine lift her machete in a double-handed grip--a pair of bolts went wide and showered the keel of the transports--she brought the machete down in a hacking blow on the soldier’s shoulder.

 

The Sith trooper collapsed to the deck, his weapon falling to the deckplates of the transport. His gauntlets rose as though attempting to protect himself from a second crash of the blade--then shock and blood loss set in and his hands fell to the floor. Bryce only took a second while stepping over his body to slam an armored palm against the controls of the boarding ramp.

 

She charged towards the cockpit. An officer of some description stood from his position at the comms unit to pose some meager resistance with a light blaster pistol--Sophia tucked her head down in imitation of a shockball player’s tackle and felt burning heat against her left shoulder as a blaster bolt found plastoid. Her tackle rammed the officer into the corridor wall--a distinct crack resounded as the officer fell, and the man did not attempt to rise from his supine position.

 

Finally, the cockpit. It was a simple layout, just two seats surrounded by control boards. Bryce lifted her vibromachete in preparation for another overhand chop and roared from a core of visceral rage that astonished her. “Take this fracking ship down! Take it down or I will fracking chop you two up right now!”

 

She could not quite hear the response of the pilot, but it appeared to be a terrified squeak. More relevant was the fact that the deckplates sank under boots as the transport returned to the ground, allowing the remainder of her Talons to board and take control of the vessel. A pair of her men dragged the gunners out of their turrets, and another pair held sidearms to the pilots heads and shoved them into the passenger compartment.

 

“Take us out, Cegt. Any direction…” As the adrenaline began to subside, Bryce began to lean heavily on the co-pilot’s seat. Cold was beginning to creep up her fingers, and blood began to ooze between the gaps of her pauldron.

 

As the four seized transports lifted from the ruins of Theed and into a hostile airspace, the sensor boards reported that multiple Acklay fighters were vectoring to intercept their escape. At that moment, the A-Wings of Geist Squadron struck, dumb-firing their missiles into the Sith fighters. That fire was largely inaccurate and only two of the missiles found their targets, but the exhaust trails streaking past their cockpits undoubtedly threw them off their quarry. The grey-painted A-Wings then swooped around, spraying fire from their blaster cannons as the other half of the squadron began their own attack run on the grounded Sith forces around Theed.

 

At that moment, Johanna had collapsed from a mixture of blood loss and exhaustion. A medic fell upon the Rebel Captain, peeling away armor plating and shoving bandages into an ugly blaster wound at her shoulder. It had nearly severed her the subclavian artery, and she was in danger of bleeding out while they made their escape. Bryce would later have no recollection of screaming out of shock and pain as the bandages were packed into the wound. She certainly had no recollection of the hysterical laughter that issued from the copilot as a pair of the grey A-Wings formed up just in front of the cockpit, giving the transport an acknowledging wag of their fuselage before breaking off to embark on another strafing run.

 

Johanna did, however, distinctly remember the jolting landing as the transports set down in the hangar of Wrecking Machine. It stirred her into attempting to rise despite the firm pressure of the medics who held her supine, and she instead mumbled plaintively: “Men? My men? Where are my men? They make it? Tell me--need a headcount, let me up, gotta--”

 

Those were the last intelligible wounds that she uttered as the marine was lifted onto a gurney and the Rebel fleet made its escape into hyperspace.