[Legacy Of The Force] - 02(57)

“Are you okay, Ben?”

Ben stepped forward. He hadn’t said a word. He clutched his lightsaber hilt in one hand, and Jacen sensed he was agitated rather than excited. He had changed irrevocably from a boy who found missions an adventure to a young man who had a healthy degree of fear in him.

“I’m fine, Jacen.”

“Comlink working?”

Ben fumbled with his right ear. “Do I really have to wear it?”

“You need to be able to hear what’s going on between squads. You can’t do that using the Force.” Sometimes the non-Jedi solution to a problem was actually the easiest. “I’m not even sure I can handle that much voice traffic yet.”

Jacen turned to the five squads of soldiers of 967 Commando in the troop bay, elite shock troopers whose specialty was siege busting and personnel retrieval, all of them handpicked because they were Coruscant-born and -bred, and human, with no possibility of secret sympathies with other worlds. Among them were volunteers from the CSF’s Anti-Terrorist Unit, selected and vouched for by Shevu. They would be loyal. Jacen had come to value loyalty very highly lately.

He couldn’t see their faces behind their riot visors and sealed black helmets. But they exuded no more than a sense of concentration and a little apprehension of the level that was normal for troops going into battle. They didn’t know exactly what lay behind the doors of the Corellian quarter, but they knew they ran the risk of armed resistance and even explosives.

On the other side of the Corellian district, Shevu stood by with more squads, ready to storm buildings to search, subdue, and arrest. At the ends of the walkways, more soldiers of 967 Commando slipped into position and trained rifles on doors, ready to stop anyone escaping. The sniper troops had moved into positions on the rooftops around the block.

Jacen opened the comlink looped over his ear. “Squad commanders … no discharge of weapons unless you’re fired upon first.”

Shevu’s voice cut in. “Can I suggest we update that to ‘unless we perceive a real and immediate threat,’ sir? Takes account of grenades and other weapons.”

I’m thinking like a pilot, like a Jedi, not like an infantry officer. “Good idea, Captain. Revise that.”

There was a faint murmur on the net as if troops had silenced their links for a moment and then opened them again. They’d exchanged comments. They might have said that their commander was an idiot for not establishing better rules of engagement from the start of the mission planning, but it felt more like approval that he could listen to advice. The Force might not have been useful for communicating routine detail, but it was perfect for discerning mood.

Jacen felt it was time to roll. Most would be asleep: 0400 was a good time to disorient humans and minimize resistance. Shevu had shown him medical data to confirm this but pointed out that it never, ever worked on Wookiees.

“Stand by,” said Jacen.

Ben’s lightsaber sprang into life, the blue light illuminating the troop bay. The 967’s sergeant crackled audibly as his armor systems created feedback in the assault vessel’s public address system. He adjusted something on the side of his helmet; silence descended.

Around two thousand people lived in this block of buildings, and Jacen had five hundred troops deployed: not a good ratio, but it was enough to get the job done. The assault ship hovered level with the walkway, and he leapt down from the bay, followed by the 967, who spread immediately to stack either side of doorways. Above them, Jacen could feel the adrenaline-fueled presence of roof teams and snipers.

There was a second of profound stillness like the pause of a pendulum before it swung back again.

“Go go go!” said Jacen.

The assault ships swung into the skylanes on either side of the block, and their arrays of two-hundred-million-lumen spotlamps turned the area into instant, blinding daylight. The 967 sergeant behind him relayed his voice via the assault ship.

“This is Coruscant national security. Stay where you are. I repeat, stay where you are.” Jacen felt the vibration in his teeth and sinuses. The canyon of walls on either side concentrated the sound. “Officers will be entering buildings. Please cooperate. Be ready to show your identity passes.”

One or two doors had already opened and some people stood on balconies in bathrobes, hands shielding their eyes against the ferocious white spotlamps. All along the walkways, there was a chaos of yelled commands and hammering on doors. There was no open area to assemble detainees to sort the Corellians from other passport holders who happened to be on the block, so commandos were going into the buildings and assessing the occupants where they stood, or taking them outside to stand against walls while their homes were swept for what had now simply become loosely termed as “threats.”