[fic] Rising From the Ashes of Valour

[Lord Spitfire]

This is a new idea I had; I will say no more.

 

Well . . . enjoy!

 

Prologue

Sometimes people ask me; how exactly did Karash and I become friends, and more so why. Well, this is a new datapad, so I might as well start at the beginning; if I can piece together everything that happened up until this point, maybe I can make sense of it. God, everything has gotten so complicated lately. Sometimes I need the past to help me through what is to come.

 

But anyway, the date was 1040 AHW (After Hyperspace War), and I was leading a group of Republic troops in the liberation of Izis. We, along with a group of soldiers in the Onderon Resistance, were fighting hordes of oncoming Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders. That is when he saved my life.

 

 

Dirty, filthy rubble stretched across the area, leaving a small clearing amongst the ruins where the tents were put up. About a hundred soldiers were packed in that small place, many of who were wounded and dying.

 

Raan Kelberon winced at the sight. The air was cold and the air was clotted with a mixture of dust and the smell of decaying bodies. He sighed dejectedly. “So much death,” he whispered. “Has Revan forsaken us? Why do we fight for this damn city when we know we can’t win?” He ignored the scuffling sounds of a soldier walking up to him as he spoke.

 

“Sir?” said the soldier timidly, “the Captain wants a status report. What should I tell him?”

Raan laughed coldly, his dry lips cracking as he did so. He brought up his gloved hand and felt the scraggly stubble covering his pale skin, and ran his hand through the soft black hair now covered in dirt. “Ammunition – low. Soldiers – low. Equipment – malfunctioning. Morale:” He paused and spat on the ground. “We have forgotten the meaning of the word.”

 

The soldier saluted and trudged back, showing no shock at his Sergeant’s bitterness. Raan simply scoffed. The Captain was a Jedi; it would be funny to see what he made of this.

 

“So you do now know why you fight for this damn city?” came a harsh voice behind him. Raan turned his head and his eyes fell on a tall soldier with light brown skin and messy black hair. He wore a ripped and disfigured Onderon Military jacket, and a crest on his chest symbolizing that he was a Corporal.

 

Raan stared at the man. “When you have been leading your men to needless massacre for the past week, you tend to ask those questions,” he replied coldly.

 

The Onderonian laughed. “When you have been living under the oppression and brutality of the Mandalorians for three years, when you have seen them butcher your brother and sister and parents, and when you have fought without end to take back your city, you tend to find those kinds of questions offensive coming from those who are supposed to save us.”

 

Raan’s eyes glared at the Corporal. “I could have you stripped of rank for disrespecting a commanding soldier, Corporal. What is your name, Onderonian?”

 

The Corporal’s gaze lowered to the floor, and all anger and contempt left his eyes, leaving only an emptiness of sorrow. “Karash Rak-Ralonn,” he said after a pause. “It is customary for sons of the Royal Guard to put Rak before their father’s name.”

 

Karash stared at the opening of the clearing into one of the city squares. “They’re coming,” he whispered darkly.

 

Raan looked the same way. The noises of the Mandalore war machine was growing.

 

__________________________________________________________________________________

 

All the able-bodied soldiers lined up amongst the rubble, their rifles and blasters pointed directly at the pass, waiting for the Mandalorians to come. Raan and the Captain, an old Jedi Knight, stood behind.

 

A sudden warmth filled Raan, and as he looked up he saw the cloud give way to a burst of sunlight, which illuminated the clearing, causing the Republic Armour to flash. He held his breath. Another massacre; this time he would not be lucky enough to survive.

 

A few seconds passed, and soon they saw the Neo-Crusaders charging from the upper side of the Square. “Fire!” he screamed. Jets of blaster rained on the Mandalorians, causing many to fall. However, the rest continued to run down the slope and towards them.

 

“Fire!” barked Raan once more, and again more Mandalorians fell. Panic filled Raan’s mind. They were advancing fast. “Onderonians, break formation and charge with swords!” he ordered. The soldiers of Izis twitched and hesitated, standing their ground. Raan screamed in frustration, “If you won’t die for your city, I will!”

 

Raan unsheathed his sword and charged at the oncoming Mandalorians, overcome by a strange feeling; he knew he was going to die. He embraced it with open arms. However, as he charged, the Onderonians charged behind him, following him to their death; a glorious death without remembrance.

 

In a split second, the melee soldiers of both sides collided, and chaotic fighting ensued. Raan screamed, sensing every Mandalore blade slashed at him, parrying, ducking, dodging, thrusting, stabbing, and ripping through their lines. Around him Mandalorians fell wounded and dead, and in a martyr bloodlust, the Onderonians did the same, shocking the Mandalorians with an unrivalled focus and determination.

 

Raan turned around and quickly ducked under a sword, blindly swinging out and slashing the leg of his attacker, then twisting and slicing his head off in a quick movement.

 

“The Jedi is dead!” screamed a woman; it was her last breath as a Mandalorian ripped open her chest. Raan looked ahead and, to his dismay, saw the Captain dead on the ground, with over fifteen of his fallen foes around him. Looking up, he saw the Mandalorians manning turrets, with more enemy riflemen charging on them. Raan looked back slowly, and saw the Republic Soldiers giving supporting fire. In a second, he made his decision.

 

“Fall back!” he screamed. “Retreat to the Northern base! Flee for your lives!” The Onderonians took a second to register the order, in which more of them fell. Then, with fire and determination, the soldiers sprinted, throwing their vibroblades at the oncoming Mandalorians.

 

Those that could not keep up were shot down and their bodies ripped apart. Raan did not let fatigue take up as he carried on, sprinting as fast as he could, the pain of his wounds overcome by his adrenaline.

 

“AHHH!!” He felt a blaster bolt rip through the flesh in his leg. Screaming, he limped on as his soldiers sped past him. “No!” he grunted. “I will not sit and let them kill me!” He trudged on, but too slowly. No one dared take him as a burden in the run for their lives. Finally, he collapsed on the ground, the pain of his leg controlling his mind. Slowly, his mind blurred and his vision faded as he slipped into unconsciousness .

 

The last thing he felt was a pair of arms grabbing him . . .

 

__________________________________________________________________________________

 

The sound of soft music slowly poured itself into Raan’s awareness, and he smiled softly. An old Bith Jazz tune filled his life with sound and joy as his dull senses picked up dis-connected parts of the sound.

 

He was given the will to open his eyes and be welcomed by the image of a dimly lit tent, with a doctor next to him, whose apron was covered in blood. Raan smiled at him; not deliriously, but as a friend would, with his glint in his emerald eyes. “I listened to this song as a kid,” he said sluggishly. “Say, I hear that they are coming to Telos in a month. You want to go to the concert with me?”

 

The Doctor laughed. “Good to see you’re awake!” You had a nasty injury in your leg, there.”

 

“What?” whispered Raan. Suddenly, memories of his situation came flooding back to him, filling him with a feeling of dread. “Wait,” he said slowly, “I thought I was dead for sure. What happened.”

The Doctor’s gaze was stern as he looked at Raan. “An Onderonian Corporal who was also lagging behind dragged you out of the Mandalorians’ way and hid. He was soon found and the Mandalorians shot him in the chest. However, he threw a grenade at them before they could attack you. A scouting party found both of your unconscious bodies on the ground.” The Doctor looked into Raan’s eyes. “He – he wasn’t as lucky as you were.”

 

Raan was hit by a wave of shock. His life had been saved. Someone had risked their life for his.

 

“What did the Corporal look like?” he asked softly as he started at the bed.

 

“Well, his skin was a little dark, and he had longish messy black hair,” replied the doctor simply.

 

“Where is he?” asked Raan.

 

The Doctor shook his head. “He won’t last much longer.”

 

Raan grunted in frustration. “Where is he?” he repeated.

 

“Well, outside,” said the Doctor, “but don’t-“

 

“Go to hell,” snapped Raan as he got out of his bed, much to the dismay of the Doctor. He walked outside and saw a black sky. He was in the heart of the Onderonian part of the city. It was the ruins of what was once a populated square, with music, shopping, sport, and laughter. Now, there were ruins everywhere, and the only sounds were the screams of dying men and the crying of refugee citizens who had lost their loved ones.

 

Raan limped through the dark night until he came across about twenty wounded shirtless soldiers lying side-by-side in front of a large wall of rubble. The sight sickened him. “Why are they not in tents with Doctors caring them?” he demanded.

 

The Doctor sighed. “We only have so many tents and doctors. Republic soldiers are the priority. If we can save the Onderonian Soldiers after, we will try.”

 

Raan shook his head in disgust. “The values of this Republic have been turned to bantha-sh*t.”

He walked across the dying men and women until he came across the body of a young soldier. He wore torn and ragged pants, and there was a crude piece of cloth covering a severe wound on his bare chest. The man’s eyes flickered open, and he coughed violently. “I can’t see so well,” he rasped desperately. “Who are you?”

 

A look of pity and devotion filled Raan’s eyes as he knelt next to the man. “You saved my life,” he said softly.

 

The man’s bloodied lips cracked into a smile. “You survived then? At least – cough, cough – at least I won’t die in vain,” he rasped, his voice getting weaker and rougher.

 

“Your name is Karash, right?” asked Raan. Karash nodded. Raan reached into his pocket and took out a golden locket, holding it tightly in his hand. “Before I left Telos, I had a feeling I would never come back,” he explained, “so I clutched soil from the land and put it in this locket, so if I were to die, it would be alongside the beautiful ground of Telos.” He placed it in Karash’s bloody hand. “Since you gave me another chance, and saved my life; this is yours.”

 

Blood came out of Karash’s mouth as he coughed violently, his eyes slowly losing life. “Keep it, friend. It won’t do good in my grave,” he managed to whisper.

 

Raan shook his head. “Your grave may be buried before it’s time, but I swear to you it is not today,” he said with steel in his voice. He grabbed Karash’s body and lifted him up, carrying him and laying him down on a stretcher.

 

He turned to the Doctor. “Take him to my tent; do what you can to save his life. That’s an order,” he demanded.

 

With that, Raan and the Doctor carried the young Onderonian’s body to help.

 

 

What rose from the ashes of that valour changed my life forever.

[machievelli]

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