Chapter 8: The Battle of Sorgan - Part 1
POV: Oliver
Dawn breaks over Sorgan with the mechanical thunder of death approaching through paradise.
The AT-ST's footsteps shake the ground with each ponderous step, a rhythm that speaks of unstoppable force and casual destruction. Through the morning mist, Oliver can see the walker's silhouette—a predatory biped bristling with weapons, flanked by speeder bikes carrying raiders armed for slaughter.
[DANGER SENSE: MAXIMUM ALERT]
[MULTIPLE HOSTILES DETECTED]
[THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: TACTICAL WITHDRAWAL]
Oliver dismisses the system's cowardly suggestions with a thought. They're not running. Not from this.
"Positions!" Cara shouts, her voice carrying the authority of someone who's turned civilians into soldiers before. "Remember the plan!"
POV: Cara Dune
Cara crouches behind the improvised barricade, checking her rifle's charge levels for the third time. The weapon is old but reliable—a Rebellion-era A280, scarred by a dozen battles but still deadly accurate in the right hands.
Around the village perimeter, civilians huddle in reinforced positions with hunting rifles and farming tools converted to weapons. They're brave, she'll give them that, but bravery doesn't stop blaster bolts.
The plan is simple because simple plans are the only ones that work when everything goes to hell. Let the raiders commit to the attack, channel them into the killing ground, spring the trap. Standard ambush tactics, adapted for civilian defense.
But the AT-ST changes everything. Those walkers are designed to break enemy formations through sheer firepower and psychological intimidation. The rebels used to call them "widowmakers" for good reason.
"Oliver," Cara calls out. "You ready for this?"
The strange man nods, though she can see sweat beading on his forehead despite the morning chill. His hands shake as he kneels beside what looks like a perfectly ordinary tree root.
"Environmental warfare," he says, placing his palms against the earth. "I can give you barriers, maybe slow them down."
"Do it."
POV: Oliver
Oliver reaches out with his consciousness, feeling for the vast network of root systems that underlies the forest. Sorgan's trees are ancient, their foundations deep and strong, evolved for mutual support and shared resources.
Perfect for what he has in mind.
[FLORA MANIPULATION ACTIVATED - MAXIMUM OUTPUT]
[MP: 52/92]
The change is immediate and dramatic. Roots surge from the earth in spiraling patterns, hardening as they grow until they form natural barriers around the village perimeter. What were once simple foot paths become maze-like corridors that will force the raiders to advance in single file.
The effort leaves Oliver gasping, his vision blurring at the edges. Manipulating this much plant matter at once pushes his system to its limits, but the result is worth the cost.
"That's actually useful," Cara says, and Oliver catches something like approval in her voice.
"I accept compliments in the form of not getting shot," Oliver pants.
A small sound from behind makes him turn. Grogu stands in the doorway of the barn where he's supposed to be hiding, his ancient eyes wide with concern.
Safe, Oliver tries to project toward the child. Stay hidden. Stay safe.
Grogu coos softly and retreats into the barn, but not before touching Oliver's mind with something like benediction. The child's faith in him is both humbling and terrifying.
[SENSORY SHARING ACTIVATED]
[TARGET: VOORPAK - BARN GUARDIAN]
[MP: 42/92]
Oliver links his awareness to a small mammal hiding in the barn's rafters, creating an early warning system that will let him know if anything threatens Grogu. The connection costs precious mental energy, but some things are worth any price.
POV: Cara Dune
The raiders come like a tide of violence and greed, their speeders weaving between Oliver's root barriers with practiced ease. But the obstacles serve their purpose—breaking up the attack formation, forcing the raiders to expose themselves to defensive fire.
Cara's first shot takes the lead rider in the chest, spinning him off his speeder in a spray of sparks and blood. Her second drops the bike's engine, sending it tumbling end over end into one of Oliver's improvised walls.
Around the village perimeter, the civilians open fire with hunting rifles and converted agricultural equipment. Their accuracy is poor, but volume of fire can compensate for precision when targets are close enough.
"Birds!" Oliver shouts, his voice carrying over the chaos. "Get down!"
Cara ducks instinctively as a flock of predatory avians dive from the forest canopy, their talons seeking exposed flesh and optical equipment. The raiders scatter, swatting at creatures that seem determined to blind them.
Not Force powers, Cara realizes, watching Oliver coordinate the aerial assault with hand gestures. Something else entirely. But effective.
A raider breaks through the defensive line, his vibroblade raised to cut down fleeing civilians. Cara swivels to intercept, but Oliver moves faster.
[BASIC CREATURE CONTROL ACTIVATED]
[TARGET: FOREST PREDATOR - LARGE CLASS]
[MP: 22/92]
The forest cat that emerges from the underbrush is magnificent and terrible—two meters of muscle and claws evolved for taking down prey much larger than a single human. It hits the raider from behind with the force of a speeder crash, and the man's scream cuts off abruptly in a spray of crimson.
Oliver collapses to his knees, retching violently. Through their shared connection, he felt every moment of the kill—the satisfaction of the hunt, the taste of blood, the violent joy of predator triumphant over prey.
"Stay focused!" Cara shouts, pulling him behind cover as blaster bolts sizzle past their position. "You can feel guilty later!"
POV: Oliver
The battle becomes a blur of violence and system warnings, each creature death sending feedback pain through Oliver's nervous system like lightning. His MP drops steadily as he maintains control over dozens of forest creatures, turning the village's natural defenders into an army of claws and teeth.
[MP: 22/92]
[HP: 170/210]
[WARNING: SYSTEM STRAIN APPROACHING CRITICAL LEVELS]
A stray blaster bolt sears across Oliver's shoulder, spinning him around and sending him sprawling behind an overturned cart. The pain is immediate and overwhelming—not just the wound itself, but the system's interpretation of damage to its host body.
Din appears at Oliver's side, his beskar armor scorched but intact.
"How bad?" the Mandalorian asks, applying a field dressing with practiced efficiency.
"I'll live," Oliver gasps. "But I'm running low on juice."
"The walker's almost here. Whatever you're planning, do it now."
Through the smoke and chaos, Oliver can see the AT-ST approaching the village center. Its massive form dwarfs the surrounding buildings, weapons charged and ready to reduce everything to rubble.
The walker's sensors lock onto the barn where Grogu is hiding.
Time stops.
Oliver can see the targeting laser painting the barn's wall, can see the main cannon beginning to swivel into firing position. In seconds, that building will be nothing but burning wreckage, and everything precious inside it will be gone forever.
No.
[FLORA MANIPULATION - EMERGENCY OVERRIDE]
[ALL REMAINING MP COMMITTED]
[MP: 0/92]
Every tree within fifty meters responds to Oliver's desperate call. Roots surge from the earth with incredible force, wrapping around the AT-ST's legs like grasping fingers. The walker staggers, its weapons firing wild as it struggles to maintain balance.
But it's not enough. The machine's systems are designed to compensate for difficult terrain, and it begins to tear free of the organic restraints.
Oliver reaches deeper, past the safety limits his system keeps trying to impose. Past the point where feedback becomes agony. Past the threshold where controlling so much living matter should kill him outright.
[CRITICAL OVERRIDE ACTIVATED]
[WARNING: SYSTEM DAMAGE IMMINENT]
[HP: 155/210]
[CONSCIOUSNESS FAILING...]
The forest itself seems to convulse. Every root system for kilometers around responds to Oliver's call, creating a network of organic bonds that no machine can break. The AT-ST topples forward, crashing into Cara's carefully prepared trap with a sound like thunder.
Water and electricity don't mix well. The walker's systems short out in cascades of sparks, leaving it a lifeless hulk half-submerged in the krill pond.
Silence falls over the battlefield like a benediction.
Oliver lies on his back, staring up at Sorgan's green canopy while blood streams from his nose. The taste of copper fills his mouth, and his vision keeps flickering between normal sight and system readouts that make no sense.
"Is... Grogu..." he whispers.
Cara's face appears above him, her expression a mixture of concern and something that might be respect.
"He's safe. You're insane, but he's safe."
POV: Cara Dune
Cara has seen a lot of brave fools in her time. Rebels who charged Imperial positions with nothing but determination and hope. Pilots who flew suicide missions against impossible odds. Soldiers who held the line when retreat would have been the smart choice.
But she's never seen anything quite like what Oliver just did.
The man pushed himself past every safety limit his strange abilities possessed, risking death or worse to protect people he barely knows. And he did it without hesitation, without calculation, without any thought for personal cost.
Rebellion mindset, Cara realizes. He's got the same crazy courage that got most of us killed.
She helps Oliver sit up, noting the way his hands shake and the glassy look in his eyes that suggests mild shock.
"You could've died pulling that stunt," she says.
Oliver's laugh is weak but genuine. "He's just a kid."
And there it is—the simple truth that explains everything. Not politics or ideology or abstract principles, but the basic human impulse to protect the innocent. Cara recognizes it because she's felt it herself, in a hundred battles across a dozen worlds.
"Yeah," she says quietly. "He is."
Around them, villagers emerge from hiding to survey the aftermath. The raiders are dead or fled, their AT-ST reduced to expensive scrap metal. Children who were hiding in terror moments ago are already beginning to laugh and play, resilient in the way only children can be.
Victory, at least for today.
But as Cara helps Oliver to his feet, she notices something that makes her blood run cold. A datapad lying forgotten beside his position, its screen displaying a message that makes her stomach clench with foreboding:
"Syndicate Alert: Target confirmed on Sorgan. Retrieval team en route. ETA: 48 hours."
So much for peace, Cara thinks grimly. Looks like this war's just getting started.
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