Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead
Prologue: The Last Thing She Heard
Whenever there was a battle, there was always the chance that someone would fall.
Death stalked the battlefields, close and hungry, ever present. If Ahsoka ever took the time to think about it, death would, perhaps, have felt more ominous. But it surrounded her every time she lit her lightsabers, every time she readied her stance and prepared to charge, to defend, to attack. Death was a familiar presence, and a Jedi was not supposed to feel fear. Battle, though, always quickened her heartbeat, set it pounding in her chest and sometimes up into her throat where it caught her breath and strangled her.
It did so now.
There was always a chance someone would fall, and they so often did. Rex was not supposed to be one of those, catching a shot to the chest before spilling onto the ground, haphazard and broken, his descent eerily backlit by the flush of red blaster fire.
A Jedi was not supposed to be attached to things, to people. Years spent together, though, created bonds that did not need to be acknowledged to exist, did not need to be spoken of to be real, did not need to be addressed to be honest.
She screamed, and the world screamed with her. The concussive blast of ordinance boomed across the field, tearing apart stone and earth and sending chunks flying into smoke clogged air. The pastel haze of their deflector shield began to shear away above, ribbons of energy pulling apart and letting in the florid light of a setting sun and the wild display of firepower warring in the planet's exosphere. White armored troopers stormed through the scrubland, tearing up underbrush with booted feet as they raced to return red fire with blue.
If anyone heard her screaming "Medic!", they did not respond; the generator was down, their defenses were shredded, and if the battle now raging in space did not go well, they were open to orbital bombardment.
Death was close, sending cool whispers down sweat laden necks and promising peace.
She knelt; it was a dangerous thing to do, she knew. One leg down, one leg out, primary lightsaber held defensively, she was poised to leap back into battle, to defend the man sprawled on the ground. In the chaos, two, then three men in white armor saw their Commander stooping over their Captain, and took up defensive positions around them, providing cover. Another blast pounded into the ground nearby, throbbing and unsettling her precarious position. She cast a glance around; the ground was uneven and rocky in places. She could pull him behind the nearest set of stones, take some shelter, pull off his helmet, check his pulse and get a shabla medic –
Her lightsaber slipped out of her hand. Her fingers bent back, opening, as the silver cylinder rolled off her palm and down, the green light of it guttering off as it struck Rex's chestplate and tumbled down into the dirt. She staggered a second time, dropping down onto both knees, her hands coming up to hover in the air as she wobbled, vaguely trying to balance herself, stay upright. She reached out but grasped only air. Rex lay still beyond her hands, and the dirt stained, burnt orange of her fingers contrasted neatly against the dirtied blue of his armor. Then he was no longer beyond her, and she was laying beside him, and the lower rim of his helmet was very close. She could see its' curve, arching upward around his chin.
She'd been hit. It couldn't be too bad, though. There was no pain.
The last thing she heard was Master Skywalker screaming her name.
Welcome, all, to the new fic.
This story began drafting during the summer of 2011, prior to the beginning of TCW Season 4, so there will likely be some canon conflicts with any new happenings in-series. Yes, I write slow. Blame grad school.
And of course, as I'm sure you all know by now, I'm not George Lucas. I do have a few rather nifty pictures taken with some stormtroopers (including one wearing a red tutu), but that's about as close to owning Star Wars as I get.