I

They who hold this hill hold Ryloth, so the saying goes. Republic Intelligence proclaimed this site as 'Hill 837', after the elevation displayed in Republic Grand Army maps.

The more poetic and sentimental native Twi'lek dubbed the collection of humid valleys and hilly dry broadleaf forest as 'Hiku Jehsa Tu'rok', the Hills of Misery. Any Twi'lek, whatever their color, who walks these grounds would have their skin turn flushed, dry and hot to the touch. Chief among them is hill 'Turin', hill 837.

"They who hold this hill hold Ryloth." While it is by no means a direct interpretation, Turin, and by extension the whole Hills of Misery, is key in occupying Tann Province. It was here that the warrior sub culture of the Twi'leks found its hallowed ground. So long as their warrior spirit is alive and burning, there will always be a Twi'lek who'd tame the storm for Ryloth rather than to ride it out.

The twilight sun has begun to fall in the horizon, while Ryloth's largest moon started to rise. Akaan and his four brothers exited their landspeeders, unloaded their blasters and packs and made their way to the rendezvous. By this time, the hot and suffocating air has turned cool and breezy.

All around Akaan were members of the Resistance already on site. Not only Twi'leks, but Humans and Rodians who had settled down on Ryloth as well. The brisk and jaunty evening weather had brought complacency upon the 30 or so fighters. Some were leisurely talking with one another, their weapons out of arm's reach. None had their eyes upon the direction of likely danger. Their layers of defences were barely dug in. And their Emplacement Weapon Heavy Blaster was not manned.

And so Akaan drew himself up to his full 1.83 meters, spread his broad shoulders, straightened his ramrod of a back and got to work.

A young green skinned Twi'lek sporting a DL-44, his lekku hanging down his back, approached Akaan and his team. He was lax in his stride towards the white-clad soldiers, but his expression was stern.

He was breaking silhouette.

He hadn't finished his greeting when a resounding crack suddenly echoed throughout the neighbouring valleys. The young Twi'lek fell face first, sending dirt and pebbles flying. Twice more the same cracks of blaster fire reverberated. Fighters scrambled for their weapons and ducked for cover. Akaan did his best to take reign of the chaos. His brothers, in contrast to the whole debacle, were orderly, cool and controlled. One of them, a scoped blaster rifle in his hands, broke away and melted into the forest.

Wisps of silver-grey smoke danced their way through the thick broadleaf forest, filling the resistance fighters' defensive position with dense clouds as Akaan and his men popped smoke grenades to hinder the enemy snipers' line of sight. To the resistance fighters around Akaan, the scene was frantic, hazy and obscured. Not to Akaan.

His range-finder, mounted on his helmet, allowed him to see thermal figurines, coming ever closer cutting through the swaths of ghosts hanging in the air. Wiry humanoid forms, elongated heads atop their slender necks, tall hulking figures, mechanical in their sprints, came racing through the ridge. Akaan shouted for the fighters to stay down.

Akaan fired his WESTAR-M5 blaster in short bursts. For most men, the adrenaline rush would hinder their accuracy, their breath would be sporadic. Not for Akaan and his brothers. In short order, one by one the thermal images fell to systematic slaughter.

Not 150 meters away, the thunderous roars of blaster fire tore through the clicking and clanking steps of battle droids. Fresh soldiers and lesser warriors might flinch in the franticness and excruciatingly loud noises, but not Kyr.

With a modified DC-15 at the ready on prone firing position, his armoured form was covered by a layer of mesh, its material coinciding with the dirt and dry leaves which Kyr was laying upon, granting him near invisibility.

The enemy had the numbers. But Kyr and his compatriots have the terrain on their side. The droids, with all the resources they were able to draw, could not manoeuvre their tanks through the hills of Hiku Jehsa Tu'rok. And the Tann Province is rife with hidden resistance anti air positions, which have been diligent in hindering and disrupting separatist troop movements. But tanks and low altitude air assault units are not the only instruments of terror the droids have in their arsenal. They have commando droids. Heavily armoured, acrobatic and incredibly proficient with their weapons, they make for terrible oppositions to face.

Kyr judged the general direction where the enemy sniper had come from based on how he had seen the resistance leader fall. A hill, 1200 meters away. It was the best option to gain a suitable line of sight, so he adjusted his scope to accommodate the impact from such a distance and got to work.

As a sniper, Kyr was trained to make a canvas out of his environment and take in the details. He knows how to separate the slightest oddity from normalcy, like how when a shadow does not match its surrounding, or when a touch of snow or grass is out of place.

Like how a predator stalks its prey, Kyr was patient, cunning and invisible.

The more nearby and immediate firefight didn't faze him. He had his business. He trusted his brothers to handle the rest.

Then he saw it.

First, was the unnatural way the dry brushes flutter against the wind. Something was blocking them. Kyr switched to the thermal imaging of his scope. Then, a nuance source of heat, easily dismissed by untrained eyes. But to Kyr, it was obvious. A muzzle of a blaster rifle, smoking from having recently been discharged. Kyr drew a mental marker. Commando droids seldom operate alone. It didn't take Kyr long to spot a glint on top of one of the ridges, some of the most obvious spots.

Kyr snapped his rifle at the first sniper he had spotted and further adjusted the scope of his rifle for optimal impact. He aimed at where the droid's centre mass should be. Kyr had a plan in the back of his mind. As soon as he fired his first shot, he'll have exposed his position. Kyr slowly squeezed the trigger of his rifle. Kyr flinched as a thunderous crack permeated in the air. Something heavy had fallen and rustled the bushes. Kyr didn't think, he knew that his DC-15A, modified and set for engagements at up to 5 kilometres, had found its mark.

Kyr low crawled to the right, avoiding his original firing position. At this point he expected the opposing sniper might be triangulating his position, all the while looking for his thermal imaging.

Kyr crawled his way into his next firing position, all the while dragging his prone form through jagged rocks and muds, cautious so as to not to disrupt dust and rustle leaves. He was in an awkward position between rock formations. His rifle set rested on a particularly large boulder. For all the sophistication of a commando droid, they are still predictable. Kyr hid his features, and that of his weapon, well. The droid would fail to find his position, it would either bait Kyr with a few shots, or it would reposition itself to gain better overview of the surrounding area. Kyr was quick to identify the possible places the droid will take and adjusted his scope accordingly.

Branches began to rustle and leaves fell. The droid was skilful in hiding itself and its muscle like pads on its limbs and waist allowed it to move in terrifying speed.

But Kyr was quicker in his aim, and deadly accurate to boot.

There, behind the field of dry grass and leaves, was a black figure moving quickly, as swift as a gutkurr racing through a field of tall grass. Kyr snapped his rifle, his scope now fielding the black form, determined to put it down quickly before it had the chance to melt into the forest. Kyr braced his rifle as best he could and squeezed the trigger. The commando droid, with a .05-meter hole through its cranium, was stopped dead in its track. Kyr let out the breath which he had been holding, the exhalation filling him with ecstasy.

Commando droids usually operate in a group of eight, up to twenty in a good day. Kyr had his work cut out for him.

II

Fifteen hours. That was how long since the first wave of droids tried to take over Hill 837. Fifteen hours of hectic exchange of fire between Akaan, his team and their native allies, and the endless legion of Separatist battle droids. Twelve times they had tried to fight their way up the slopes of Hill 837. Twelve times Akaan and the others repelled them.

Akaan and a couple of the fighters had carried the young resistance leader into a speeder, of which had sped away towards friendly territory.

It was a jarring struggle, which cost the lives of five resistance fighters, to push the droids' assault off of the ridge and onto the steeply - sloped hills, but finally Akaan and the rest of the small troop regained lost ground and a particularly courageous Twi'lek had managed to take back control of the E-Web Heavy Blaster.

The hills were thick with the remains of battle droids that had tried to approach the post on Hill 837. But the droids' onslaught was one that knew neither pause nor halt. Nor were the droids aware of remorse nor fear.

Eventually the crushing weight of separatist troops proved too much, and in the dead of night, the heavy weapon emplacement, along with the Twi'lek manning it, were decimated by the explosion of a thermal detonator.

Akaan readied his WESTAR-M5, inserting into the cylindrical aperture a new charge pack, his last one. This has been one of the toughest fights he and his brothers had been in.

When word had got out that the Separatists might attempt a daring attack to conquer Tann Province, the Ryloth Resistance Movement quickly send word for aid to the Republic. Unfortunately, a five-man team of ARC Troopers, having just returned to resupply from a long-range reconnaissance, were the only republic troop operating in the area.

And so, a job for a battalion-strength unit, with their own artillery and support elements, fell to a five-man special operations unit and a resistance cell in hasty fighting positions.

If these hills fall, then it would mean months' worth of setback for the Republic's campaign on Ryloth, and a huge loss of morale and resources for the Ryloth Resistance Movement. Akaan wasn't going to let that happen.

Now, with the sun beginning to rise in the horizon, spreading her incandescence in every direction, heavy guns and explosions roared in the distance. Reinforcements were attempting to break through the separatists' line. The sepies were most likely struggling between blocking the highway in the valley and securing a foothold on hill 837. Had the droids been able to bring their full might to bear, then they would have been dead within the first hour of their engagement.

Would have, could have, should have, will be. These are out of context and wholly irrelevant to what mattered: The ground beneath his feet, dry, coarse, steep and rugged; The droids, preparing and hiding behind the hills, an unending personification of murderous intent turned metal; His men, whom Akaan would rather die than to see getting killed.

Akaan's anticipation and sinking adrenaline were interrupted, as lyrics of nature close by and the afternoon winds were broken by a familiar wheeze cutting through the air.

Incoming mortars. Akaan screamed for the others to spread out and lay down.

A shell landed five meters from where Akaan laid, sending dirt, shrapnel and rocks flying in all directions and leaving a small crater in its wake.

Akaan peered his head, feeling as if drowned as the sound wave around him was muffled by his helmet's built-in noise reduction apparatus.

Some of the fighters around him weren't very lucky. Most were experienced enough to know to open their mouths and cover their ears. A couple were screaming profusely on the ground as blood streamed out of their ears and dripped down their chins.

As his auditory senses returned, Akaan registered the clanking steps reverberating behind the ridge, signifying the advent of yet another wave of an endless legion of death-dealing battle droids.

His form hugging the dirt, Akaan had one hand on his WESTAR-M5, whilst another drew his DC-17 sidearm from its holster. As the lanky form of the first B1 came into view, Akaan fired his pistol, sending a bolt right through the B1's central processing unit.

The droids came in droves as they finished waiting out their small artillery pieces, their tactics merely to crush Akaan and his allies through sheer one-sided attrition.

III

ARC Trooper Morut took cover behind the ridge as his thermal detonator, thrown into a group of three approaching Super Battle Droids, send hulking metal forms toppling in different directions. Dirt, sand and pebbles were still flying onto Morut's helmet and visor as he primed his next grenade.

This had been the third day in the enemy's attempt to conquer Hill 837. Soothing lavender and brilliant amber had begun to paint the sky, the spreading sunrise long since announced a new day. In the distance, the guns of incoming Ryloth Resistance reinforcements and the beleaguered blockade force of the droids continue to roar, spasmodically, breaking the silence of the morn.

Morut felt as if as each day passes and dawn unwraps the world anew, someone had scratched a mark to denote the time he had left before demise took him. Each day that went by took with it supplies, lives and munitions. Now, with all the last standing defenders' remaining thermal detonators in hand, Morut was all that was standing between Hill 837 and the opposing force.

The endless waves of droids, constant mortar attacks and the sun that continued to radiate heat into the defender's bones had finally taken their tolls. In the dead of the night, the remaining six fighters had loaded their wounded into the speeders and fled. No words had been exchanged and no animosities were given. Having sixteen of your comrades killed and the rest wounded had led realization to reveal itself. The finality of death was a real and tangible substance. To the resistance fighters, dying meant seeing their lives ended before they had even begun. Dreams of a free Ryloth, raising a family or a realized ambition, all cast aside and permanently out of reach through dark nothingness. To Morut, Akaan and their brothers, fleeing means a dereliction of duty. A stain which will forever permeate how the rest of their kin will view them.

When all of his brothers' weapons had spent the last charges of their power packs, Morut was still holding the trigger of his DLT-18c, carefully tracing the exiting blaster bolts and hosing the encroaching droids with fully automatic fire, all the while bracing the powerful recoil with the effort of his toned and chiselled muscles.

Kam'ir had been overwhelmed by B2 Super Battle Droids, a powerful bolt from their built-in double blaster canon having punched through his visor.

A mortar shell had made an impact less than a meter away from where Akaan had stood. Now he was on the ground, battling the urge to pass out as his mouth and chin were wet with blood, coughed out as a pair of broken ribs had punctured his lungs. His helmet laid beside him, filled with grimes and its visor cracked. His armour, partially removed to make way for the medic's battlefield treatment.

Zaix crouched beside Akaan, his exhausting pistol in one hand, ready to send a bolt through the vitals of those who got to close and threaten the life of his patient. Pistol in hand, he held Akaan's writhing form in place. The other held a syringe, the tube carrying bacta foam that grows and solidifies inside the patient's injured body when injected. Zaix plunged the long needle inside Akaan's chest. When Zaix released the medicine, it was like air had introduced itself anew to Akaan. Akaan's breath had steadied, the bacta foam having grown and solidified around his punctured lungs. Be it the elements, shell and ordinance fragmentation or laser bolts, Zaix would protect his patient against them all with his own armoured carcass.

It had been more than half an hour since Morut heard the cracks of Kyr's DC-15A. He feared for the worst.

For hours, Morut took it upon himself to hold the line with his heavy blaster rifle against all odds. It wasn't long before a B2's wrist rocket detonated in his vicinity and put his DLT-18c out of commission. It was then that he collected his comrades' remaining thermal detonators and looted those of the fallen fighters. He was careful to make each of them count.

Now, with Morut down to his last three grenades, he realized that there was no stopping the swiftly encroaching battle droids. One by one, he approached his remaining brothers.

One by one, he handed them his thermal detonators.

As he heard the droids' swift approach closing in, Morut primed his grenade. It was coming, he knew.

He was bred never to hate it, nor to fear or despise it. He feared not knowing what could have been, maybe. But strangely he was absent regret, no. He felt light, like he had only learned how to breathe and felt for the first time the sensation of cool air filling his lungs and permeate his veins. He had done his duty.

Then he heard them. The humming heavy engines of a low altitude air transport, closing in at inhuman speed, cutting the air.

Missiles streaked past Morut and obliterated the enemies closing in with High Explosive Armor Piercing ballistics. The world around him had suddenly gone partially silent as his helmet muffled his hearing. Pain erupted as flying debris bluntly cracked against his fetal armoured form, Zaix covered Akaan as best he could.

Republic support had arrived, cutting a path of destroyed battle droids for resistance reinforcements to come riding in with their blurrgs and armed speeders.

A gaunt, yet proud Twi'lek sat atop his blurrg, a DL-44 held in one hand. A Twi'lek's lekku was a highly sensitive organ, yet he had tattooed his to symbolize total devotion to the cause of his faction. His name was Cham Syndulla, leader of the resistance against the Separatist occupation on Ryloth.

When Cham rushed Hill Turin with his force of 230 fighters, he had expected an uphill battle of attrition against an entrenched Separatist position.

What he got were 3 clones, a thermal detonator in each of their hands, ready to blow themselves up rather than let the droids approach the post.

His men had recovered another one of the defenders. He had been knocked out near a collection of missile fragments fired from a rocket launcher, his armour riddled with scorch marks.

He thanked the Goddess that they were still alive. As he gazed upon the Republic's warriors, he hoped that his own men would fight as hard for their own homes as they did for his.