“I’m grateful, Kal.”
“Okay, vode. This is now Captain Ordo’s command as ranking officer-even if we have no ranks right now.”
Skirata swung his arms through the full range of movement to check the fit of his armor, the sand-gold suit that his adoptive father Munin had given him. He put his knife-the knife he had retrieved from his real father’s dead body-up his right sleeve, handle uppermost. He could barely remember his parents or even his original name, but Munin Skirata was as vivid as life and still with him every day, one of the precious departed whose names he recited each night.
He hit his gauntlets against his chest plate to snap himself out of memories. Both squads jumped.
Lord Mirdalan, jowls flapping, threw its head back and let out a long, low, moaning howl. The preparations had worked the strill into a hunting frenzy. It could see its master in full Mandalorian armor, and it smelled and heard men who were tense and ready to fight. All its instincts and training said hunt, hunt, hunt.
And Vau held his gloved hand out to Atin. Astonishingly, Atin took it. There was nothing but the battle in mind now. They were all saving it for the enemy.
Skirata felt the visceral thrill tighten his throat and stomach. It had been many years since he’d put on this armor to fight.
“Buy’eese!” he said. Helmets on!
It was, he knew, a sight few would believe-Walon Vau and a Jedi Knight both in full Mandalorian armor, and Republic Commandos, ARC troopers, and a clone trooper in fighting order so closely modeled on that armor he wore himself that they looked like one united army. He pulled on his own helmet before anyone noticed the tears in his eyes.
“I ought to get a holo of this,” Corr said.
Etain stood among them, incongruously fragile.
“I could have lent you my Hokan armor, General,” Fi said. “Only one careless owner.”
Etain lifted her tunic to reveal plates of body armor. “I’m not stupid.” Then she pulled out two lightsabers. Skirata winced. “Mine, and Master Fuller’s. He’d have relished a fight like this.”
She was not herself tonight, if her usual self was that worried, awkward, but tenacious soul who found it so hard to be a Jedi. She was utterly alive. Darman seemed to be able to strike sparks off her. Skirata hoped she did the same for him.
Vau flung out his arm to signal the strill to race ahead. “Oya! Oya!” Let’s go hunting! “Oya, Mird!”
The strill bayed at the top of its voice and shot out the doors to the landing platform.
Ordo turned to the strike team. “Oya! Oya, vode!”
It was electric. It had never happened before, and it would probably never happen again.
And they went hunting.
21
Buy’ce gal, buy’ce tal
Vebor’ad ures aliit
Mhi draar baat meg’paijii’se Kote lo ‘shebs ‘ul narit
A pint of ale, a pint of blood
Buys men without a name
We never care who wins the war
So you can keep your fame
-Popular drinking chant of Mandalorian mercenaries-approximate translation, edited for strong language
Landing area, CoruFresh Farm Produce distribution division, Quadrant F-76, 2035 hours, 385 days after Geonosis
The produce distribution depot was as familiar as Arca Barracks now. Everything was as the holochart and holocam images had modeled it, although some of the vessels had been moved in the last hour. Ordo took a small risk and flew the airspeeder over the CoruFresh landing strip at a cautious height just for reassurance. The depot was a lake of harsh white light dotted with loader droids, trucks, and an assortment of speeders. There were more vessels parked there than Perrive had said. They were probably legitimate transports shipping nothing more deadly than fruit.
“I think CoruFresh might be annoyed about the damage to their fleet in the morning,” Ordo said.
“That’s their problem for not being too choosy about the company they keep.” Sev secured one of the Verpine rifles to his webbing. He seemed to take Skirata’s warning about bending anyone who bent his kit quite literally. “They must be bankrolled by crime gangs themselves.”
“We’ll be doing CSF a favor, then.”
It was always a challenge to insert teams into a busy location. Air traffic data said the strip clocked an average of 120 trucks and cargo lifters passing through the strip every twenty-four hours; 2000 to 2300 hours seemed to be the period when it almost shut down completely. That was probably why the Separatists had picked the 2200 time slot for Skirata to deliver the explosives. They’d be loaded and gone by the time the overnight deliveries started again at 2300.
If the teams had gone in early, they would have needed to avoid an awful lot of people and droids.