The battle plan had been drafted by Dagon Marek, Master Squater, Captain Ragnos, and the regimental commanders—some present physically, others as flickering holograms.
It was simple. Brutally simple.
There was no time for elegant maneuver warfare or layered deception. Mechanized force would decide the field. Armor, mobility, coordinated air cover. War did not change—no matter the galaxy, no matter the lifetime.
The plan unfolded in clear phases:
Dagon's LAAT formations would land well outside the primary anti-air envelope of the Separatist base, deploying armored columns immediately upon touchdown. Vanguard platoons would insert slightly ahead of the main body, establishing perimeter zones and suppressing enemy response forces until heavy units arrived.
Recon speeders and commando teams would punch deep into enemy lines. Shield-equipped elements were tasked with neutralizing heavy artillery. Other teams would reinforce Squater's isolated units.
One hundred fighters would maintain air superiority. It wasn't ideal—true bombers would have been preferable—but TIE Interceptors provided aggressive close support.
Nine regiments, supported by nearly one hundred AT-TEs and AAT/IFV units, would conduct a frontal mechanized assault to draw the bulk of CIS forces. Meanwhile, Master Squater would land near the gorge where his Padawan remained entrenched. One of Squater's Acclamators was too damaged for atmospheric insertion and would remain in orbit; if anti-air defenses fell quickly, the second could descend directly into the combat zone and provide heavy fire support.
Factories beneath the mountain ridge—Automatic Bactoid plants and a Techno Union facility—would be Squater's responsibility.
The hidden CIS command ship, half-buried behind mountain spurs, would be Dagon's.
SPHA artillery could not strike it. Ship cannons lacked line-of-sight. The vessel would have to be taken the hard way.
Dagon and Ahsoka would insert directly onto the hull with a squad of clone commandos. Infantry would storm from below. Capture the commander. Destroy the communications nexus. Break coordination.
Three commando squads existed. One already targeting anti-air emplacements. One held in reserve. That left Dagon, Ahsoka, six Katarn-armored commandos—
—and two companies of "volunteer" B-1s.
Planetary defenses were lighter than expected. Roughly one hundred heavy guns, most concentrated near the buried ship and the LH-1740's artillery.
Fighters descended first, harassing defenses like stinging insects.
Then the transports followed.
Atmospheric turbulence rattled the hull. Five minutes later, the fleet leveled out thirty kilometers from the target plateau.
Ice stretched endlessly toward jagged mountain ridges.
Beyond one spur: the base.
Beneath the ridge: the factories.
"Of course," Dagon muttered. "Why wouldn't there be factories?"
Gunboats launched before full landing clearance—vanguard units racing ahead to silence remaining anti-air guns.
The ships settled onto frozen ground.
Ramps dropped.
Seventy AAT/IFVs surged forward, clones and droids clinging to hull plating. Behind them marched clone infantry in disciplined waves. AT-TE walkers thundered after them, cannons already firing.
On the tactical display, engagements blossomed in real time.
"Advance units holding perimeter," Commander Zilo reported. "Enemy reinforcements inbound from interior positions. Several anti-air guns destroyed; remainder disabled."
"Master Squater's ship descending in designated sector," Captain Ragnos added. "Minimal resistance. Majority of enemy diverted toward us."
"Good," Dagon replied. "Maintain phase sequence. Attrition first. Advance second."
But his thoughts were elsewhere.
The clones valued battlefield presence. Mandalorian ideals ran deep in their training—personal courage, visible leadership. A commander who did not fight beside them risked distance.
Skywalker understood that instinctively.
Very well.
Time to be seen.
---
"Snips."
"Yes, Teacher?"
"How about a walk?"
She blinked. "In this storm? You can't see anything!"
"Pilots have radar and thermal imaging," Dagon said mildly. "We have something better. Life detection. Try it."
Ahsoka closed her eyes.
She extended her awareness outward—tentative at first, then stronger. The immediate field filled with the steady glow of clone signatures.
Farther out—faint, flickering clusters.
Enemy.
Then suddenly—
Several of those presences vanished.
A violent ripple tore through the Force.
Pain.
Fear.
Shock.
Ahsoka gasped, stumbling as the sensation hit her. For the first time, she felt death not as concept—but as rupture.
Panic surged.
A steady hand settled on her shoulder.
She looked up, breathing hard.
"Teacher… what was that?"
"You felt deaths," Dagon said quietly. "A disturbance in the Force."
"They never taught us that," she whispered.
"They didn't teach you many things."
He held her gaze.
"You cannot let the sensation rule you. War amplifies everything. If you allow fear to guide your decisions, more will die."
"Do you feel it too?"
"Yes."
"And how do you stand it?"
"You endure," he said simply. "And you remember why you fight."
She swallowed hard.
"Why do we have war at all?"
Dagon's eyes darkened slightly.
"Because sentient beings never stop wanting something from one another."
He turned.
"Focus. We're almost there."
---
The blizzard thickened as they advanced toward the forward line.
Then Dagon stopped.
"Stay behind me."
Before Ahsoka could respond, he vanished.
Not literally—but the Force surged around him in a violent compression.
Force Rush.
He blurred across the ice field, closing distance faster than any speeder. He leapt—clearing an AT-TE—and landed amidst a column of advancing droids.
The first wave disintegrated as his lightsaber ignited.
Modified like Ezra Bridger's weapon, it emitted a blade in one hand—while his gauntlet triggered the integrated stun-blaster with the other. Blue pulses dropped B-2 units without lethal dismemberment, while the blade carved through armor plating.
A tri-droid pivoted toward him.
Dagon extended his hand.
The gauntlets flared—dark energy crackling along their surfaces, disguised within shadow to mask the technique's signature.
Force lightning—compressed, controlled—erupted in a narrow arc.
It cored the tri-droid's central processor instantly.
He moved again.
Force Jump carried him atop a Persuader tank. The blade plunged through the hatch seam. He exhaled and invoked water-breathing discipline—not for water, but for cold—slowing metabolism, ignoring the slicing wind.
A second tank rotated its cannon.
He twisted his wrist.
Metal screamed as invisible pressure crushed the weapon barrel inward.
Within seconds, dozens of B-1s lay scattered across the snow. B-2s collapsed in smoking heaps. Spider droids toppled as invisible forces ripped at their stabilizers.
Clones paused mid-fire.
Watching.
Dagon advanced like a storm front—saber arcs precise, movements economical. Lightning remained low, concealed within the swirl of blaster discharges and snow.
When he finally stopped, the immediate battlefield lay silent.
Rough count: three hundred fifty droids and armored units disabled or destroyed.
The clones erupted in renewed advance.
Behind him, Ahsoka stared—awed, unsettled.
She had seen Jedi fight.
She had not seen this.
Dagon deactivated the blade and turned back toward her.
"See?" he said lightly. "Just a walk."
But in the distance, deeper within the Force—
Something had noticed.
And it was watching.