There was nowhere for Boba to hide. No way to get out of this.
He picked up a fallen trooper’s blaster and chose a side. The clones were his only chance of getting off the planet. He had to help them win.
Boba had never fought in a battle before. Whenever he’d held a blaster, his father had been at his side. Watching. Checking. Instructing.
Boba looked again at the troopers, the echo of his father. He raised his rifle like they raised theirs. He aimed at the controls of one of the battle droids. Without hesitation, he fired. The droid exploded into parts.
Another trooper fell - there were only four left with Boba. He could hear the sound of other battles close by. Who is winning? CT-4/619 leaped - with Jango Fett’s dexterity - toward a fallen excavation rig. Boba understood at once - protection. As the second and third troopers ran for cover, Boba kept in their shadow. The fourth trooper followed and was cut down by a rapid barrage of blaster fire. His mask went flying as he hit the ground. Boba knew if he looked he would see his father’s face, replicated once more in death. He did not look back.
Instead he positioned himself at CT-4/619’s side, aiming his blaster rifle as the troopers made their last stand. One battle droid down. Then another. Still, it wasn’t enough. There were at least a dozen left.
CT-4/619 did not falter. He did not look at Boba. He did not say a word. He kept his focus. He kept his aim. Boba knew this concentration well.
Boba fired again. A miss. The droid returned his fire, tearing a hole into the excavation rig - the only protection left.
Two more droids down. But the remaining droids were not deterred. They turned all their fire onto the third trooper the next time he moved into blasting position. He didn’t have a chance.
This is it, Boba thought. There’s no other way out.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see another form approaching. Not a clone. Not a droid. A female Bothan, bearded and small. Wearing the robes of a Jedi.
With one sharp, quick movement, the Jedi activated her lightsaber and began to repel the droids’ fire. As the droids turned their attack on her, Boba and the two remaining clone troopers had an open shot.
The droids began to fall. The Jedi expertly destroyed them with their own fire. The remaining clones rallied with cold precision. And Boba did his part. He was not as experienced or as focused as his clone brothers. But he had a desire to survive that they couldn’t match.
The firing from the droids slowed… then stopped. There were none left. Boba looked over to see the Jedi’s reaction - but she was already gone. Off to the next skirmish in order to complete this invasion.
Eventually, the laser cannons fell silent. Some of the gunships left the perimeter, their mission complete. A few more circled, the remains of the attack force. Jedi and clone troopers combed the ground for survivors - and prisoners. CT-4/619 led Boba forward. There was no time to stop and mourn for the dead. There were no congratulations, no expressions of relief. Just the task at hand - getting back to the ship, finishing the mission.
They walked across the smoking rubble toward a sleek gunship idling in the swirling, stinking mists. Boba followed resolutely. Even though he was walking into the hands of the Jedi, it was worth it to be walking out of the grasp of Raxus Prime. CT-4/619 took away Boba’s blaster rifle as he walked on board the gunship - but luckily he was allowed to keep his bag. Boba followed the trooper into the pilot area. The trooper got into the pilot’s seat and Boba sat in another seat.
“Not for seating,” said the trooper. “For my partner, CT-5/501. Detainees sit on the floor. We’ll wait here for the others.”
Boba wasn’t about to protest. He sat on his flight bag while the trooper powered up the vehicle.
Where’s the food? Boba wondered. He suddenly realized how cold and hungry and tired he was.
The gunship seemed awfully comfortable, even on the durasteel floor. He could still hear the last gasp of explosions and commands being given over the gunship’s comm unit, but for some strange reason, he felt safe. He knew he had survived.
“Impossible!”
Boba opened his eyes. Had he dozed off?
There was a face on the viewscreen. Angry, violet eyes peered out from under long ash-blond hair and over a cream-colored beard that had been braided into points. But it wasn’t the face that bothered Boba, or even the harsh, demanding voice.
It was the uniform.
Even though this Jedi had just saved Boba’s life, she was still the enemy. Boba knew he had to remember that.
“Impossible!” the Jedi said again. “There are no humanoid orphans on Raxus Prime, only Jawas. The planet is nothing but a toxic dump.”
“Nevertheless, General Glynn-Beti,” said CT-4/619. “I rescued one and brought him into the gunship, as per intructions.”