The art of war. An unforeseen factor

The desire to survive overcomes agony. *** Slowly, but surely, consciousness cleared up, and thoughts gathered in a pile, pulling out a train of memories.… An ordinary, unremarkable weekday… Evening, to be more precise — the lanterns on the streets have already been lit. I went outside... yes, that's right, to the store, to buy bread. It was cold, twenty degrees below zero, so I moved vigorously. I walked along the sidewalk, I didn't touch anyone. I was thinking about something… Important... I don't remember! I didn't pay any attention to the sound right away… There was a strange sound. And then the darkness. I didn't even have time to be scared. Then some colorful glitches. Stars, planets, constellations... seemed to fly right under my feet.… There was some kind of fog or smoke swirling around… And all this in utter silence. In general, I was clearly somewhere far away. At least there's no light at the end of the tunnel. It's a good thing that all this incomprehensible nonsense is ending. I hope I didn't lie in the snow for long and didn't freeze anything off. It is unlikely that anyone will rush to help a stranger lying on the sidewalk, and to call an ambulance is to meet someone extraordinary.… Yes, consciousness is returning, and so is hearing. Yeah, there's a rumble, although maybe it's just ringing in my ears. No, the screams are getting louder, the clang of metal. "Has some kind of construction started nearby, or has someone decided to celebrate tinker's Day because of the ice? I moved my hand. Sand creaked between his fingers. The warm sun was shining overhead. A cloying, unfamiliar smell filled my nostrils. What the hell kind of sand??? Everything has been paved a long time ago, and... winter is in the yard, the evening has probably already arrived, it can't be so warm! When I tried to open my eyes, I found that they were also covered with sand. I sat up and rubbed my eyes with a stiff hand. It took a few seconds to finally come to my senses. He barely opened his left eye. Closed it. He opened the right one. The picture has not changed. He closed his right eye and took a deep breath. Pain shot through his chest. A cacophony of screams, gunfire, screeching, and explosions filled my ears. Although the shots had a very familiar sound. I opened my eyes. - Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I wanted to say something unprintable, but the words stuck in my throat and my head hurt. And what I saw was complete nonsense, something that could not be by definition, but that was undoubtedly happening at the moment. The nonsense is painfully familiar. Shaking his head and taking a closer look, he made sure that nothing had changed. Only the picture became clearer. And somehow I immediately realized that I was totally stuck in. Just like in those books about "popadunov". Because after that high-speed flight past glitches in the form of stars, constellations and nebulae, reality looked very plausible. Too much, even. Geonosis, for fuck's sake! Petranaki Arena, damn it! The fucking Jedi! The droids, damn them! Star Wars, by the Power of the mother soul! By the way, I wonder if I'm in my body here or if I've hit someone. Memory, come on, help me! I conjure all the gods and the Force, just don't C-three-pi-o... or any other droid.… I didn't even have time to panic at the thought that I didn't have the slightest idea how to search my brains for other people's memories, but suddenly I realized that I just knew how to, uh... me (?) call… That is, I remembered two names, but one was completely unusual and was accompanied by images of life in the Jedi Temple and a flight to this planet. Mikore Vict??? Who else is this? As soon as this thought flashed through my head, the answer came to me again. So, Jedi, twenty-six years old, human, Balance Corps. Pictures from the life of the former owner of the body flashed before my eyes. The mentor was some old Zabrak named Nhon Arto. He is not particularly remarkable, he owns only the first form of sword fighting, which Shii-Cho did not particularly strive to develop in terms of combat, preferring meditation. Unsurprisingly, he worked in the Balance Corps after becoming a Knight—he had no desire to wander around the back of the Galaxy as a diplomat. And of course, like any Jedi, he didn't have a penny to his name. A typical average Jedi. The number of midi—chlorians in the blood is two thousand eight hundred and thirty-nine. He wandered around the Galaxy with a diplomatic teacher for a while, didn't participate in any serious skirmishes, and about four years ago he became a Jedi knight. And the strangest thing is that I took all these memories for granted, I just remembered! However, my head reacted to this with an aching pain, so unbearable that I wanted to open my skull and scratch my brains with my hand. It's hard to find epithets that would somehow describe... this. In general, those are still feelings. Phew, not the worst option. It could have turned into Skywalker. Brr, chur me. Getting into that cocky idiot… Although, in principle, I understand him and have nothing personal against him. After all, he's as cool as a boiled egg. The chosen one is all business. The central figure of the main events of Star Wars. Although, Palpatine or Yoda would also be out of the ordinary, despite my deep respect for them. What is one great combinator, what is the second. I wouldn't have pulled such roles, oh, I didn't… Again, I'm a man and a human. By God, if I'd been caught in some kind of snowstorm, I'd have shot myself right there. If I could, I might not have any hands. Or vice versa, about forty pieces at once. Actually, my name is Vladimir Lanevsky, twenty-four years old, Russian by nationality, a student of the Faculty of History, my interests are books; in particular, I was fond of "Star Wars", there was something to evaluate and weigh in historical terms. I didn't make any friends because of my personality. I've never humiliated myself in front of anyone, and I've often said what I think about people. Someone once told me that I was too old-fashioned, but I don't think it was serious. Although... now my past life is not very important. You have to get used to the new name. God forbid I get burned, they'll put me in some kind of hospital. And they'll put it down to a concussion injury, and remember their name. *** It hurts so much! Concentrating, he called on all the body's memory to help, and tried to cut off the pain, to distance himself from it. It became more tolerable, but not by much. There was no question of healing the wound. But the meditations of the former owner of the body still brought benefits. I was able to move without causing myself unbearable pain. When I felt his chest, I found a hole left by a blaster shot. The Jedi robes were hopelessly ruined. "Damn! Why the hell am I lying here? It's like there's a battle going on, and no one's going to wait while I'm lying here thinking! I have to do something, or some shitty droid is going to shoot me dead right now. I don't really want to die a second time." *** Meanwhile, the situation was getting ugly. The Droids had pushed the Jedi away from the stands, and now they were fighting in the arena. Jango Fett had already "fried" Master Windu with a flamethrower, and he jumped down. B-1 and B-2 died by the dozens and hundreds, but the pieces of iron had no fear, and more and more new ranks entered the arena. Although, as they entered, they ran quite briskly, much faster than in the movie. The individual skills of the Jedi were shattered by the coordinated actions of the machines. No matter what anyone says about the weakness of the B-1 processors, they obviously don't have a Pentium-4, but something more serious. Well, the B-2s did even better — they tried not to approach the Jedi, but fired from twin wrist blasters, which were the most difficult shots to deflect. The Jedi were stupidly crushed by the mass. Here and there, another swordsman fell, deflecting ten shots and failing to deflect the eleventh. The Geonosiance bastards also contributed... or the Geonosians? It doesn't matter, in general, these insectoids flying here and there with their sonic guns. A terrifying weapon, despite its short range. And now I understand why Yoda made such a face at the end of Revenge of the Sith — I felt the death of the Jedi, with some kind of itch, I would say goosebumps on my skin. I felt the Force itself as a kind of formation in my body, and at the same time it seemed to be diffused around me. Incredibly simple. Damn, blinsky! It's time to save your ass. There are already a hundred Jedi left! We need to hold out for a while, and then the cavalry will arrive. There was no question of saving anyone. I'm not a scoundrel, but I'm not a hero either. What can I do in this situation? Almost nothing. If magisters like Mace Windu and Ki Adi Mundi are retreating, the droids will step over me and not notice. Here is such a parsley. It remains only to try to survive. My new body obeyed me better and better, and circumstances spurred me to take decisive action. *** Turning his head, noticing his own deactivated sword lying nearby (nothing remarkable, two crystals, a blue blade) and an E-5 carbine belonging to B-1, he grabbed the carbine without hesitation. What a sword, fuck it! I've always dreamed of shooting with a blaster! However, the sword went to its rightful place on the belt. Moreover, not with my wound to show the wonders of acrobatics. And I'm not a Jedi master. That's the Plo-Kun beast over there, he crushed eleven Bae-firsts in two seconds. And I didn't even really keep track of his sword. Or Shaak Ti — she also gave the droids heat, Mom, don't worry. Hmm, offhand it's not as heavy as it seems, it'll be about two kilograms. Leaning against the "corpse" of the B-2, he aimed the barrel at the approaching droids. The trigger mechanism, so to speak, is somewhat inconvenient, and no wonder, because the weapon is designed for the three-fingered stump of a B-1 droid, and on a human hand, and on a wookiee paw, but nothing, you can press, and fine. Come on, Forc, let's help! Pee-pee! There is! Got it! Still, it's cool that there's no payoff! Actually, I've only shot a couple of times in my life, at a school shooting range with an air rifle. I did not hold firearms in my hands at all — I did not manage to get into the army (except for the mass-dimensional model of the Kalashnikov assault rifle?). Piu! Piu-piu-piu! Catch it, you bastard! Pee-pee! Peek-a-boo! What the hell? When I noticed the indicator light, I realized that the charge and gas in the cartridge had run out. It doesn't matter, there's enough of this stuff here, so you don't have to bother with recharging. Throwing the useless piece of metal aside, I moved slightly to the left, picking up a new carbine. "Well, shall we continue?" piu, piu! Piu, piu, piu! I have experimentally established that the carbine is weak against the droids themselves, of course, Be-the first and one accurate hit is enough, but Be-the second already needed five or six hits. They're tough, damn it. Unsurprisingly, the clones ran with hefty fools, a cross between a three—line and a light machine gun - the DS-15a had more than enough power against droids. The Kaminoans clearly knew how to equip the ordered army and what it would have to face. There was an explosion behind me, and something massive collapsed behind me. Turning my head, I saw Skywalker for the first time in person. The guy was swinging his sword smartly, deflecting blaster shots, while Amidala, hiding behind the body of a repulsorlift wagon left over from the Geonosian drivers, confidently fired back from the same E-5. Meanwhile, Skywalker turned his attention to me. Apparently, the sight of a Jedi lying on the ground and firing a blaster instead of waving a lightsaber clearly warped his worldview. “Master, what are you doing? And where is your sword?” "Where, where." God knows, I had a strong desire to answer him in rhyme — the circumstances did not suit. But, restraining himself, he decided to squint under the wise Yoda and gave out a phrase he had read somewhere: “A Jedi without a sword is like a Jedi with a sword, but without a sword. And I'm not a master, I'm just an ordinary knight,” after that, after watching the elongated face of the Chosen One for a brief moment, he turned away and continued shooting droids. “Oh,” was all Skywalker could manage. However, none of us had time to talk. Still, that sound of a blaster shot... mmm. Beauty. Piu! Piu-Piu! Oh... my mother hutt, that's a filthy animal! It was my gaze that fell on one of the little animals that the trio of "loser scouts" were using in the arena. Yes, in reality, aklay, as someone else's memory immediately suggested, looked much more intimidating, a kind of six-meter cross between a praying mantis and a shark. One of her nasty screams is worth a lot. Even the droids made way for this vile creature. However, it didn't take long for Obi-Wan to chop off her legs and then spectacularly put a hole in her head. But all fun comes to an end. The Jedi, losing more and more fighters, began to retreat to the center of the arena. I had just run out of carbine charges, and the barrel was pretty hot. After all, these weapons are designed for droids. But, worse than that, the ring of our defense had already completely shrunk, and remaining in position behind the metal bulk of the B-2, I risked being cut off from my own in a minute. Throwing away the useless piece of metal, I activated my lightsaber—if I can't destroy droids, at least I won't let them hit me. At another moment, I would undoubtedly have admired this miracle, but now there was no time for contemplation. Damn, it's harder than I thought! My body wasn't listening very well, but gradually my motor skills took over. By some miracle, I still manage to deflect the shot, but I can't send it back to the shooter. And I remembered that Shii-Cho was weak in terms of deflecting blaster shots. I'll hope that at least I won't hurt my own… *** In the end, the few survivors formed a small circle. The droids, obeying Count Dooku's gesture, stopped firing and took up a waiting position. Estimating their number, I whistled in my head — at least two thousand, however. And there are about seven hundred pieces lying on the sand of the arena, crumbled into pieces. And, all over the arena, the bodies of humans, Twi'leks, Zabraks, and other races whose names I couldn't immediately remember. And there were only so many of them left that it was impossible to figure out who it was or what. “The Magistr of Windu! You have shown valor worthy of entering the annals of the Jedi Order! But now it's over. Surrender, and we will spare your lives.” Well, the chatter has begun. And after all, everyone knows the result anyway, but talking is sacred. Windu glared at the count. “We will not be a bargaining chip for you, Dooku.” He slowly held out his hand: “I'm sorry, old friend.” The droids got into a fighting position and pointed their blasters at us. The Jedi raised their swords. I lowered myself slightly, holding the activated sword horizontally with both hands. What the hell is not joking, it can come to hand-to-hand combat. Come on, where are you, Yoda, your fucking green... it's time for the cavalry to appear. A rumble was heard from the sky. “Look," Amidala exclaimed. Our eyes went up. LAAT gunboats, nine in number, descended from the sky at a rapid pace, firing from all barrels. The droids switched to a new threat and opened fire, but the gunboats with laser beam installations are powerful. The weak shots of the droids only slightly melted the armor of the gunboats. Green beams sliced through the droid ranks for scrap. The forward turrets of the light blaster cannons also contributed. "Come on, it's time for us to leave." The gunboats, having completed a lap of honor, and, in addition, firing rockets at the stands, descended into the arena. The clones jumped to the ground and opened fire. The blue and red shots kept flashing. The remaining Jedi hurried to them. Naturally, I followed everyone. Having boarded, we abruptly began to gain altitude, leaving the Petranaki arena. *** After catching my breath, I discovered that my traveling companion was Luminara Unduli herself and several other fairly familiar personalities: Shaak Ti, Ayla Secura and Kit Fisto. In reality, they looked... cool. Especially Shaak Ti in her traditional outfit and coloring. Although the blue-skinned Twi'leech could give her a fair head start. And they felt very... weighty in their Strength, I would say. There were also a dozen clones present. Well, what can I say about them — serious guys, everything is as it should be. They were hung with barrels, one had a rocket launcher tube protruding from his shoulder, the other was holding a Z-6, a hefty rotary blaster-six-barreled shotgun. He looked no less solid with her than Schwarzenegger. Looking at Fisto's positive face, I couldn't help but smile. The Jedi turned their gaze on me, though their gazes immediately fixed on the hole in my chest. “Sir, are you okay?” one of the clones asked, judging by the chest markings, some kind of commander - neither I nor my predecessor understood the insignia adopted on Kamino. “You could use some medical help.” “It would be nice, but there's no time right now”, and when I realized that the Jedi were looking at me, trying to remember who I was, but to my shame, not really succeeding, I decided to introduce myself: “Mikore Vikt, the Jedi knight," after which he wanted to bow, but it was at that moment that we were visibly shaken. Everyone grabbed their safety belts. Turning to the clone commander, I asked: “What is it?” “Approaching separatist positions, sir.” With a grunt, I got ready for the second part of the Marlaison ballet. *** A battle of ships was unfolding in the skies. Some of the "Endorsers" clashed with the few ships of the Trade Federation. Some of them, on the contrary, had already entered the atmosphere, which made it possible to land clone troops at an incredible speed. A couple of cruisers even landed on the surface of the planet. Probably to land the hefty SPHA self-propelled guns. The transporters landed clones and AT-TE tanks on the approaches to the separatist ships. Then Shaak Ti commanded: “Pilot, drop us off at the front line!” “Roger that," the pilot replied obediently over the intercom. The gunboat banked, and, firing from all barrels, began to descend. A few moments later, we were already jumping out. The clones followed us. The magistrs and masters of the saiga ran off in different directions to take command of the detachments. How's the command? They simply made a pretentious gesture of "follow me!", waved their swords no less pretentiously and dragged the clones into a frontal attack, while rushing ahead themselves, clearly intending to engage the droids in hand-to-hand combat. Apparently, they did not learn the lesson that the Petranaki arena taught them. Although... magisters can afford it, unlike ordinary members of the Order. Grunting in frustration, since I didn't feel like rushing anywhere with a hole in my belly, much less head-on at several tens of thousands of continuously firing robots, I nevertheless gritted my teeth and waved my hand in the direction of the droids: “Come on, let's kick their ass! Go ahead!” it was madness, pure idiocy, and I even understood it, but either the herd feeling of "everything is done and I have to" worked, or the subconscious understanding that it's better not to stand out, or maybe I just temporarily went crazy from everything I've been through and adrenaline hit me in the head. So I ran, hoping desperately that I wouldn't get shot. I was followed by a squad of clones flying in our gunboat, as well as three more similar squads. All hell was breaking loose. Around and ahead of us, numerous clone troopers were inexorably attacking separatist ships. MLRS droids fired missiles hysterically in all directions. The droids were also advancing, firing heavily. Huge spider droids, towering a good twenty meters, slowly mowed down the advancing clones with red rays. Clone tanks AT-TE fired from all barrels, especially distinguished by artillery installations of the main caliber. As I found out later, they were quite ordinary kinetic guns with a caliber of about seventy five to eighty millimeters. Laats, which were gunboats and landing craft at the same time, flew at different altitudes at a rapid pace, firing missiles from mass accelerators at droids and Trade Federation starships. A shadow crossed us, and another AT-TE tank landed in front of us, from which clone infantrymen jumped out through the landing hatches. Together with them, our squad increased to fifty clones, and with the support of a tank, firing, we hurried to meet the counterattacking droids. Barely deflecting the shots, I ran forward. A little more, and the seps will start to reel in. There, their balloon ships (hefty crap, by the way) began to rise into the air. The blue rays of the SPHA art installations pierced into the nearest ship (they were simply HUGE — forty meters long and a four-story building tall). It hovered for a second, then streams of plasma splashed out from under the hull, and the ship began to collapse. Yes, this is not a pound of raisins! At that moment, a parting salvo from some kind of droid missile tank covered our squad. Two missiles hit the tank at once, one right in the forehead, the second hit the roof; A couple more exploded in the ranks of the clones. My face was scorched by fire. The blast wave threw us far back. Hitting something, I safely passed out.