The art of war. An unforeseen factor

As soon as this thought flashed through my head, the answer came to me again. So, Jedi, twenty-six years old, human, Balance Corps. Pictures from the life of the former owner of the body flashed before my eyes. The mentor was some old Zabrak named Nhon Arto. He is not particularly remarkable, he owns only the first form of sword fighting, which Shii-Cho did not particularly strive to develop in terms of combat, preferring meditation. Unsurprisingly, he worked in the Balance Corps after becoming a Knight-he had no desire to wander around the back of the Galaxy as a diplomat. And of course, like any Jedi, he didn't have a penny to his name. A typical average Jedi. The number of midi-chlorians in the blood is two thousand eight hundred and thirty-nine. He wandered around the Galaxy with a diplomatic teacher for a while, didn't participate in any serious skirmishes, and about four years ago he became a Jedi knight.

And the strangest thing is that I took all these memories for granted, I just remembered! However, my head reacted to this with an aching pain, so unbearable that I wanted to open my skull and scratch my brains with my hand. It's hard to find epithets that would somehow describe... this. In general, those are still feelings.

Phew, not the worst option. It could have turned into Skywalker. Brr, чур me. Getting into that cocky idiot... Although, in principle, I understand him and have nothing personal against him. After all, he's as cool as a boiled egg. The chosen one is all business. The central figure of the main events of Star Wars.

Although, Palpatine or Yoda would also be out of the ordinary, despite my deep respect for them. What is one great combinator, what is the second. I wouldn't have pulled such roles, oh, I didn't... Again, I'm a man and a human. By God, if I'd been caught in some kind of snowstorm, I'd have shot myself right there. If I could, I might not have any hands. Or vice versa, about forty pieces at once.

Actually, my name is Vladimir Lanevsky, twenty-four years old, Russian by nationality, a student of the Faculty of History, my interests are books; in particular, I was fond of "Star Wars", there was something to evaluate and weigh in historical terms. I didn't make any friends because of my personality. I've never humiliated myself in front of anyone, and I've often said what I think about people. Someone once told me that I was too old-fashioned, but I don't think it was serious.

Although... now my past life is not very important. You have to get used to the new name. God forbid I get burned, they'll put me in some kind of hospital. And they'll put it down to a concussion injury, and remember their name.

* * *

It hurts so much! Concentrating, he called on all the body's memory to help, and tried to cut off the pain, to distance himself from it. It became more tolerable, but not by much. There was no question of healing the wound. But the meditations of the former owner of the body still brought benefits. I was able to move without causing myself unbearable pain. When I felt his chest, I found a hole left by a blaster shot. The Jedi robes were hopelessly ruined.

"Damn! Why the hell am I lying here? It's like there's a battle going on, and no one's going to wait while I'm lying here thinking! I have to do something, or some shitty droid is going to shoot me dead right now. I don't really want to die a second time."

* * *

Meanwhile, the situation was getting ugly. The Droids had pushed the Jedi away from the stands, and now they were fighting in the arena. Jango Fett had already "fried" Master Windu with a flamethrower, and he jumped down.

B-1 and B-2 died by the dozens and hundreds, but the pieces of iron had no fear, and more and more new ranks entered the arena. Although, as they entered, they ran quite briskly, much faster than in the movie. The individual skills of the Jedi were shattered by the coordinated actions of the machines. No matter what anyone says about the weakness of the B-1 processors, they obviously don't have a Pentium-4, but something more serious. Well, the B-2s did even better — they tried not to approach the Jedi, but fired from twin wrist blasters, which were the most difficult shots to deflect.

The Jedi were stupidly crushed by the mass. Here and there, another swordsman fell, deflecting ten shots and failing to deflect the eleventh. The Geonosiance bastards also contributed... or the Geonosians? It doesn't matter, in general, these insectoids flying here and there with their sonic guns. A terrifying weapon, despite its short range.

And now I understand why Yoda made such a face at the end of Revenge of the Sith — I felt the death of the Jedi, with some kind of itch, I would say goosebumps on my skin. I felt the Force itself as a kind of formation in my body, and at the same time it seemed to be diffused around me. Incredibly simple.

Damn, blinsky! It's time to save your ass. There are already a hundred Jedi left! We need to hold out for a while, and then the cavalry will arrive. There was no question of saving anyone. I'm not a scoundrel, but I'm not a hero either.

What can I do in this situation? Almost nothing. If magisters like Mace Windu and Ki Adi Mundi are retreating, the droids will step over me and not notice. Here is such a parsley. It remains only to try to survive.

My new body obeyed me better and better, and circumstances spurred me to take decisive action.

* * *

Turning his head, noticing his own deactivated sword lying nearby (nothing remarkable, two crystals, a blue blade) and an E-5 carbine belonging to B-1, he grabbed the carbine without hesitation. What a sword, fuck it! I've always dreamed of shooting with a blaster! However, the sword went to its rightful place on the belt. Moreover, not with my wound to show the wonders of acrobatics. And I'm not a Jedi master. That's the Plo-Kun beast over there, he crushed eleven Bae-firsts in two seconds. And I didn't even really keep track of his sword. Or Shaak Ti — she also gave the droids heat, Mom, don't worry.

Hmm, offhand it's not as heavy as it seems, it'll be about two kilograms. Leaning against the "corpse" of the B-2, he aimed the barrel at the approaching droids. The trigger mechanism, so to speak, is somewhat inconvenient, and no wonder, because the weapon is designed for the three-fingered stump of a B-1 droid, and on a human hand, and on a wookiee paw, but nothing, you can press, and fine. Come on, Forc, let's help! Pee-pee! There is! Got it! Still, it's cool that there's no payoff!

Actually, I've only shot a couple of times in my life, at a school shooting range with an air rifle. I did not hold firearms in my hands at all — I did not manage to get into the army (except for the mass-dimensional model of the Kalashnikov assault rifle?). Piu! Piu-piu-piu! Catch it, you bastard! Pee-pee! Peek-a-boo! What the hell? When I noticed the indicator light, I realized that the charge and gas in the cartridge had run out. It doesn't matter, there's enough of this stuff here, so you don't have to bother with recharging. Throwing the useless piece of metal aside, I moved slightly to the left, picking up a new carbine. "Well, shall we continue?" piu, piu! Piu, piu, piu!

I have experimentally established that the carbine is weak against the droids themselves, of course, Be-the first and one accurate hit is enough, but Be-the second already needed five or six hits. They're tough, damn it. Unsurprisingly, the clones ran with hefty fools, a cross between a three-line and a light machine gun — the DS-15a had more than enough power against droids. The Kaminoans clearly knew how to equip the ordered army and what it would have to face.

There was an explosion behind me, and something massive collapsed behind me. Turning my head, I saw Skywalker for the first time in person. The guy was swinging his sword smartly, deflecting blaster shots, while Amidala, hiding behind the body of a repulsorlift wagon left over from the Geonosian drivers, confidently fired back from the same E-5.

Meanwhile, Skywalker turned his attention to me. Apparently, the sight of a Jedi lying on the ground and firing a blaster instead of waving a lightsaber clearly warped his worldview.

"Master, what are you doing? And where is your sword?"

"Where, where." God knows, I had a strong desire to answer him in rhyme — the circumstances did not suit. But, restraining himself, he decided to squint under the wise Yoda and gave out a phrase he had read somewhere:

"A Jedi without a sword is like a Jedi with a sword, but without a sword. And I'm not a master, I'm just an ordinary knight," after that, after watching the elongated face of the Chosen One for a brief moment, he turned away and continued shooting droids.

"Oh," was all Skywalker could manage. However, none of us had time to talk.

Still, that sound of a blaster shot... mmm. Beauty. Piu! Piu-Piu!

Oh... my mother hutt, that's a filthy animal! It was my gaze that fell on one of the little animals that the trio of "loser scouts" were using in the arena. Yes, in reality, aklay, as someone else's memory immediately suggested, looked much more intimidating, a kind of six-meter cross between a praying mantis and a shark. One of her nasty screams is worth a lot. Even the droids made way for this vile creature. However, it didn't take long for Obi-Wan to chop off her legs and then spectacularly put a hole in her head.

But all fun comes to an end. The Jedi, losing more and more fighters, began to retreat to the center of the arena. I had just run out of carbine charges, and the barrel was pretty hot. After all, these weapons are designed for droids. But, worse than that, the ring of our defense had already completely shrunk, and remaining in position behind the metal bulk of the B-2, I risked being cut off from my own in a minute.

Throwing away the useless piece of metal, I activated my lightsaber-if I can't destroy droids, at least I won't let them hit me. At another moment, I would undoubtedly have admired this miracle, but now there was no time for contemplation. Damn, it's harder than I thought! My body wasn't listening very well, but gradually my motor skills took over. By some miracle, I still manage to deflect the shot, but I can't send it back to the shooter. And I remembered that Shii-Cho was weak in terms of deflecting blaster shots. I'll hope that at least I won't hurt my own...

* * *

In the end, the few survivors formed a small circle. The droids, obeying Count Dooku's gesture, stopped firing and took up a waiting position. Estimating their number, I whistled in my head — at least two thousand, however. And there are about seven hundred pieces lying on the sand of the arena, crumbled into pieces. And, all over the arena, the bodies of humans, Twi'leks, Zabraks, and other races whose names I couldn't immediately remember. And there were only so many of them left that it was impossible to figure out who it was or what.

"The Magistr of Windu! You have shown valor worthy of entering the annals of the Jedi Order! But now it's over. Surrender, and we will spare your lives."

Well, the chatter has begun. And after all, everyone knows the result anyway, but talking is sacred.

Windu glared at the count.

"We will not be a bargaining chip for you, Dooku."

He slowly held out his hand:

"I'm sorry, old friend."

The droids got into a fighting position and pointed their blasters at us. The Jedi raised their swords. I lowered myself slightly, holding the activated sword horizontally with both hands. What the hell is not joking, it can come to hand-to-hand combat.

Come on, where are you, Yoda, your fucking green... it's time for the cavalry to appear.

A rumble was heard from the sky.

"Look," Amidala exclaimed. Our eyes went up.

LAAT gunboats, nine in number, descended from the sky at a rapid pace, firing from all barrels. The droids switched to a new threat and opened fire, but the gunboats with laser beam installations are powerful. The weak shots of the droids only slightly melted the armor of the gunboats. Green beams sliced through the droid ranks for scrap. The forward turrets of the light blaster cannons also contributed.

"Come on, it's time for us to leave."

The gunboats, having completed a lap of honor, and, in addition, firing rockets at the stands, descended into the arena. The clones jumped to the ground and opened fire. The blue and red shots kept flashing.

The remaining Jedi hurried to them. Naturally, I followed everyone. Having boarded, we abruptly began to gain altitude, leaving the Petranaki arena.

* * *

After catching my breath, I discovered that my traveling companion was Luminara Unduli herself and several other fairly familiar personalities: Shaak Ti, Ayla Secura and Kit Fisto. In reality, they looked... cool. Especially Shaak Ti in her traditional outfit and coloring. Although the blue-skinned Twi'leech could give her a fair head start. And they felt very... weighty in their Strength, I would say.

There were also a dozen clones present. Well, what can I say about them — serious guys, everything is as it should be. They were hung with barrels, one had a rocket launcher tube protruding from his shoulder, the other was holding a Z-6, a hefty rotary blaster-six-barreled shotgun. He looked no less solid with her than Schwarzenegger.

Looking at Fisto's positive face, I couldn't help but smile. The Jedi turned their gaze on me, though their gazes immediately fixed on the hole in my chest.

"Sir, are you okay?" one of the clones asked, judging by the chest markings, some kind of commander — neither I nor my predecessor understood the insignia adopted on Kamino. "You could use some medical help."

"It would be nice, but there's no time right now", and when I realized that the Jedi were looking at me, trying to remember who I was, but to my shame, not really succeeding, I decided to introduce myself: "Mikore Vikt, the Jedi knight," after which he wanted to bow, but it was at that moment that we were visibly shaken. Everyone grabbed their safety belts.

Turning to the clone commander, I asked:

"What is it?"

"Approaching separatist positions, sir."

With a grunt, I got ready for the second part of the Marlaison ballet.

* * *

A battle of ships was unfolding in the skies. Some of the "Endorsers" clashed with the few ships of the Trade Federation. Some of them, on the contrary, had already entered the atmosphere, which made it possible to land clone troops at an incredible speed. A couple of cruisers even landed on the surface of the planet. Probably to land the hefty SPHA self-propelled guns.

The transporters landed clones and AT-TE tanks on the approaches to the separatist ships. Then Shaak Ti commanded:

"Pilot, drop us off at the front line!"