A/N: I'm baaaacckk! (cue guitar solo)
Alright, I suppose I owe you all an explanation for the four-month hiatus. They say life is what happens to you while you're busy planning other things, and if that's the case, I've had a lot of "happenings" lately. School, sports, family stuff, computer troubles, writer's block; the works. In any case, I would like to say that at no point did I forget about you all. I saw the one-year anniversary of this story was coming up and I figured I had to get something out before then. So, I ate some chips, logged in to Pandora, and settled in to blast through that pesky writer's block; the last half of this chapter was written in a single marathon session, and I would like to thank you all for giving me the inspiration to finish it.
So here you go. Happy Anniversary.

Chapter XXII

New Arcadia, Psi Olympus System, UNSC FLEETCOM Sector 6

Emerald Haven, Illerean Subcontinent, Western District

April 1st, 2593, 1134 hours

The senior command personnel of the 8th Corps watched the fall of the Scarab through the black-and-white FLIR imaging from a circling RQ-9 Overseer drone, but that did little to lessen the blow. Everyone in the command room of Fort Briggs, from the lowest-level aide on up, knew what the loss of the Scarab meant for the defense of Emerald Haven.

"Dammit!" General Pershing shouted, curling his fingers into a fist and slamming it into the holotable. The display flickered for a moment, returning to its original state a moment later.

Without the Scarab, the Sangheili would be unable to maintain their position in the Patrick A. Mellows Financial Plaza, and without the Sangheili occupying that central location in the Allied line, the entire defense would fold in on itself.

"Sir!" said one of the COM technicians. "Incoming priority hail on the joint command channel."

Pershing frowned. For simplicity's sake, the UNSC and Separatist forces usually operated on different networks, with the UNSC making use of the common radio frequencies while the Separatists used their BattleNet. However, in joint operations like this, a mother command frequency would be set up to foster quick communications between the two factions.

It must be K'dar, Pershing thought. He had only met with the Sangheili briefly, but the Ultra had seemed like a capable commander and warrior. "Patch him through."

"Yes, sir." One of the holoprojectors stuttered, then resolved into an image of a Sangheili. However, it was not K'dar; this Sangheili was clad in bright red armor, and due to the way the picture was jumping and experiencing sudden bursts of interference, he seemed to be running.

Pershing frowned. "Identify yourself," he said.

"Major H'rel Bamr, N'tho Creche," the Major said between gasping breaths. "I have contacted you to-"

"Where's K'dar?" Pershing asked pointedly. "And what are you doing on the joint command channel?"

H'rel's mandibles twitched in irritation. "K'dar is dead," he said, glancing back over his shoulder at something.

Pershing blinked. "What? How? When?"

H'rel shook his head in annoyance at the questions. "Just a short while ago," he said. "He stayed behind to delay the Imperials."

Pershing leaned forward. "He stayed behind?"

"The commander went on an honor mission to redeem himself for the destruction of the Scarab," H'rel explained. "But before he left, he placed me in command and told me to withdraw."

Pershing swiveled his jaw around for a moment, cursing the Sangheili and their thrice-damned obsession with honor. Now the UNSC's most powerful allies were under the leadership of a Major Domo, and in a state of retreat from the looks of it.

"Sir," H'rel said, appearing to duck something. "The Imperial advance will pick up again momentarily; what are our orders?"

The room was strangely quiet for a few precious seconds, only the background whir of the computers and equipment breaking the silence. Pershing became aware of nearly all the eyes in the room looking at him.

They expected him to make a decision. They put their faith in him as their commander, and he would not disappoint.

Planting his hands on the edge of the holotable, Pershing studied the chaotic mess it presented. The blue Allied forces were steadily being pushed back towards the river, while the red bulge of the Imperial advance had begun to pick up steam.

The bridges were the key, Pershing knew. Five bridges had spanned the Perrel at the start of the battle, separating the Eastern and Western Districts. Since then, Imperial aerial attacks on supply convoys had destroyed all but two, the Westhampton and the Lafayette. The river would serve as a final line of defense, but those bridges needed to be held at all costs in order to evacuate the surviving Allied forces across to the Western District.

"Sir!" H'rel pressed, his voice urgent. "I beg of you, what are our orders?"

"Continue the retreat," Pershing said. "Do not stop to engage, just move your men as fast as you can across the river. Form defensive positions at the bridgeheads; you're going to cover our retreat."

"Understood," H'rel growled. A second later, the connection terminated.

"Contact Settleton," Pershing ordered. "Tell him to pull the 192nd Cavalry back to cover the Elites' flank. And get me on the horn with Harth ASAP." He stomped over to the large holoscreen, expecting the grizzled Marine's face to appear at any moment.

It didn't. The screen remained resolutely dark.

Pershing frowned, a ball of dread beginning to coalesce in his stomach. Harth would never ignore a priority hail.

"Well?" he asked. "Where's that link?"

"Chasing it, sir," the comms tech replied, swiveling back and forth between consoles as his fingers hammered away at holographic keyboards, "but the signal's weak and intermittent. It doesn't appear to be coming from the 43rd's current position either."

"What-?" Pershing began, but the connection finally clicked as the screen erupted in a blast of static and white noise that finally broke to reveal Harth.

His head was at an angle to the screen, and a ragged bloody gash ran down the left side of his face. The staccato chatter of gunfire could be heard in the background dueling with the whining crashes of Imperial laserfire. The image was shot through with occasional bursts of static.

"Harth!" Pershing gasped, his concern for his fellow general temporarily overriding military etiquette. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"My bird took a missile," Harth explained. "Went down right in the middle of the damned Imperial army." He looked away from the screen for a moment, and then raised an arm. An M6G pistol was firmly in his grasp, and he fired two shots at some off-screen antagonist. "I don't think they've realized it yet-we're just dealing with some stragglers right now-but when they do, we're going to have a shit-ton of boys in white breathing down our necks. I'll have to make this call quick before they home in on my signal."

Pershing swore; the last thing they needed was for Harth to get captured. If the Imperials could figure out his rank, that would be a powerful bargaining chip.

"Where are you and what's your situation?" he asked, skirting over to the holotable.

Harth paused before answering. "We went down just east of the Nielson Mall; crashed into the southern side of the Bureaugard Financial Tower."

"What floor?"

"Twenty-second," Harth gritted out. "At least, I think. We crashed somewhere around the twenty-fourth, but went through at least two floors before we stopped."

"And your situation?" Pershing pressed as a blue dot appeared on the holotable indicating Harth's location.

"FUBAR, sir," Harth replied. "Our Pelican smashed through , and I'm stuck inside the cockpit. The pilot's dead. I've got my security detail-four men-and both crew chiefs still alive, but we're all pretty banged up." He winced as he shifted position. "And I'm fairly certain my leg is broken." He glanced up and fired another shot from his magnum. "Come quick."

The image suddenly vanished in an ocean of static, stuttering a few more times as the feed tried to reestablish itself before disappearing for good.

"What the hell?" Pershing demanded.

"Signal was terminated at its source, sir," the com tech said.

Pershing squeezed his eyes shut tight for a moment, fighting to regain a coherent thought process before opening them to scrutinize the holotable.

The retreat was going well so far; the Allied forces were withdrawing at a consistent pace, the units covering each other as they fell back to the bridgehead. Harth's transport had gone down just ahead of a large salient in the UNSC line.

The window to successfully extract the general had been tiny to begin with, but it was shrinking exponentially by the minute.

"What kind of forces do we have in the vicinity?" Pershing demanded.

"The closest unit is the 287th Marine BCT," informed one of his aides, pointing at the holotable, "but they're under heavy pressure on three sides; it's unlikely that they would be able to mount a counter attack."

"Are there any available special-missions capable forces? CSAR, SpecOps, anything?" Pershing pressed.

"All of them are currently committed to other operations," the aide replied. "We could recall a squad or two, but by the time they got there, it would be too late."

Pershing closed his eyes. He refused to accept the fact that they might be unable to rescue the Marines.

"Are you sure we have no one available?" he asked one last time out of blind hope.

"None, sir," his aide repeated.

Pershing bowed his head, already beginning to say a prayer for the souls of those brave Marines.

There was a second of silence in the room, then, "Well, actually…"

Pershing's head whipped up. "What do you mean, 'well actually'?"

The aide swallowed. "None of our forces are available, sir," he clarified, before gesturing towards the holotable. "But the Outsiders are."

Pershing stalked over to the holotable, noting the orange square near the western bridgehead of the Lafayette that denoted where the Outsider forces were being kept, ostensibly to help secure the area, but really to keep them in a contained location.

"They're currently being held in reserve," the aide said. "But I'm sure they would be more than willing to fight."

"Of course," Pershing muttered, before looking up. "Contact the Outsider battalion," he snapped. "I want those 'Jedi' inbound to the crash site yesterday!"

"Sir!" barked the com technician, scrambling back to his station.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, sir?" asked a colonel. "After all, we're extracting highly sensitive personnel here. Is that something we want to trust to these Outsiders-?"

"Son," Pershing interrupted, his voice a bass growl, "those Outsiders are the only chance we have left. And judging from the number they did on those walkers, I'd say we can trust 'em."

000

Jedi Knight Ahsoka Tano leaned out the side door of the LAAT/i gunship as it wove through the maze of crumbling, burning skyscrapers of Emerald Haven's Eastern District. The battle raged on below, above, and all around them, and the pilot had to keep a fine balance-not flying so high as to attract attention from enemy fighters, but not so low as to draw the attention of ground based anti-air. The LAAT/i, or "larty" as it was affectionately known, could take and dish out a lot of punishment, but it was a slow, lumbering target for the viciously-fast Siener subfighters.

Turning away from the open door, she glanced back into the troop bay. Six clone commandos, their armor painted over in a secondary red to signify their desertion from the Empire, sat inside, performing final checks on their blasters and armor seals. They were all highly qualified, each a veteran of Republic Special Forces, and well versed in all manner of operational environments. She trusted them with her life.

She just hoped that the UNSC would trust them as well.

When the UNSC general had first contacted the two Jedi, frantic and demanding, Ahsoka's first reaction had been joyful. Since the raid, they had contributed very little to the defense of the city, something that irked her to no end. Having the general come to them with a plea for help was a confirmation of their abilities and usefulness.

But now, as they wound closer and closer to their destination, she began to realize more and more what a tall order indeed this task was.

They were to insert near the Nielson Mall, enter the Bureaugard Financial Tower, battle their way through who-knew-how-many stormtroopers to the twenty-second floor, secure the wounded general, and then transport him to the roof-an additional ten stories up-for exfil.

Simple in theory. But with nearly the entire Imperial Army standing in between them and the river, it would be a tricky proposition to transport a wounded general safely back to friendly hands.

What was it Anakin had always told her during training? Ah, yes: Self-doubt becomes self-fulfilling.

Unfortunately, Anakin was not accompanying her on this mission; he had instead been requested by the UNSC general to act as a combat liaison between the Allied and Republic troops as they attempted to set up a unified defense at the bridges.

Ahsoka set her jaw. She had never shied away from a challenge before, and she would certainly not stop now. Anakin may not be with her, but she was a Jedi Knight, more than capable of completing a mission on her own.

"Ma'am," said the pilot, "we're nearing the LZ. ETA two minutes."

"Understood," Ahsoka replied, turning back from the open bay door. "Sergeant Flint," she said to the leader of the clone squad. "Your IFF beacons are functional?"

"Yes, ma'am," Flint answered. The whole squad had been given UNSC- issue IFF transponders in order to reduce the likelihood of a blue-on-blue, and Ahsoka wanted to make sure there were no foul-ups. It wouldn't do at all to get shot by the very people they intended upon rescuing.

"Good," Ahsoka said. "I want this quick, clean, and precise. We don't have time to get caught in an extended engagement."

Flint nodded. "Understood, ma'am."

"ETA one minute," the pilot interjected. "LZ looks clear from here, but I'd keep my eyes about," he suggested.

"Copy that," Ahsoka replied, walking back over to the bay door and unclipping her lightsaber from her belt.

The LAAT dipped lower, breaking free from the towering skyscrapers for a moment as the Nielson Mall loomed ahead, the walls pitted with craters. A giant sign that had somehow escaped the destruction around it unscathed advertised the "Best Shopping In-System" in garish pink letters. The briefing had said that their target had gone down just east of the mall, so they would be landing several hundred meters away to avoid attracting undue attention before they moved in.

Ahsoka was nearly thrown out the bay doors as the LAAT was suddenly rocked by a volley of lasers. Just as she was about to slip out into oblivion, the strong hand of Sergeant Flint locked around her arm, hauling her bodily back into the craft as a pair of Imperial subfighters flashed past.

Breathlessly, she nodded her thanks to the sergeant as she sought support against the bay wall. The gunship pitched and heaved violently as the pilot struggled to maintain control, and when she looked outside, she saw an obsidian smoke plume trailing from their starboard engine.

"Change of plans," the pilot said over the intercom, his voice strained from concentration as the gunship began to even out. "It's gonna be a hot drop. Get ready to jump."

Ahsoka glanced back out the bay door. The ground was coming up at an increasingly rapid pace, and while she could use the Force to control their descent, the clones had not come equipped for a bail-out.

Nonetheless, they were well-trained. They would have to make the best of it. The subfighters were already coming around for another pass, their dark forms swooping in like angular birds of prey.

"Get ready!" the pilot yelled.

Ahsoka inched even closer to the open bay door, feeling the wind rip at her clothes as the gunship dipped to a mere hundred meters above the ground. The clones were moving to secure weapons and gear with an aura of professionalism, seemingly undaunted by the fact that they were about to jump out of a moving gunship.

A burst of green lasers streaked past the juking LAAT as the subfighters fired their first salvo, missing by mere meters.

Ahsoka knew the next volley would hit home.

"Now!" the pilot bellowed, and Ahsoka didn't hesitate. Flexing her legs, she leaped into space, the six commandos following in short order.

No sooner did the sensation of free-fall grip her then a wave of sound and heat suddenly washed over her, her eardrums popping as the overpressure wave of the explosion swept past.

Ahsoka didn't have the time to thank the pilot for his sacrifice; the ground was rushing up at her with incredible speed. Reaching out with the Force, she slowed her speed and that of the clones to a more manageable descent, hitting the ground with a roll to absorb the momentum of the fall.

Still, it hurt. The pavement was hard and unforgiving, and her left shoulder wrenched a little bit as it hit, sending a brief lance of pain up her arm. Wincing, she gritted her teeth and finished the roll, coming up covered in scrapes and bruises but otherwise whole.

The clones fared a little better, having the advantage of armor, but the landing was still hard. They dropped out of the sky around her like comets, hitting the ground in rolls and somersaults.

"Team!" Ahsoka called as soon as she could get her feet underneath her. "Find some cover!"

The clones responded immediately, following her to a position of shelter behind a flipped vehicle.

Ahsoka glanced around at the squad. All of them looked fine, aside from a few new scratches and dents in their armor, but she wanted to make sure before they started moving.

"Everyone alright?" she asked.

The clones exchanged glances, and then Flint spoke up. "We're all good, ma'am. Couple of bruises and rolled ankles, but nothing serious."

"What about gear?" Ahsoka pressed.

"Dav and Harrow lost their rifles," Flint said, gesturing to two clones that were currently checking the plasma gas cartridges in their pistols. "And we're all missing a thermal det or two."

"Then we'll have to improvise," Ahsoka said determinedly. "We don't have time to look for them. Let's move."

"Yes, ma'am," the clones replied, arming up.

Ahsoka led them back across the mall parking lot, skirting the edges of a skirmish near the front of the mall between a pair of UNSC Warthogs and a platoon of stormtroopers. They couldn't afford to be caught up in any unnecessary conflicts.

Bureaugard Avenue ran along the eastern border of the mall strip, marking the divide between the mall and the principally-financial centers on the other side. The Tower was clearly visible, a glittering pinnacle of steel and glass now pockmarked with shell holes. While not even close to the tallest building in the city, the Tower was still an impressive sight.

Furthermore, a squad of Imperials were currently running towards the front steps, almost certainly heading to bolster the siege on the downed UNSC soldiers.

"Kill them!" Ahsoka yelled, and the clones opened fire, picking off several of the stormtroopers in the first volley. Ahsoka ignited her lightsaber, her eyes narrowing in concentration as she spun it in elegant circles and patterns to intercept the Imperial return fire before it reached the clones.

"Clear!" Flint reported when the last Imperial had fallen.

"Move up," Ahsoka ordered, leading the squad across the avenue, lightsaber in hand in case one of the stormtroopers wasn't quite as dead as they were letting on.

They stopped briefly at the steps as Dav and Harrow procured some blaster rifles from the dead troopers before entering the lobby.

Only a few days ago, it must have been an impressive sight, Ahsoka realized. The lobby was huge, a checkered tile floor lined with decorative plants and benches. To the left and right, balconies and floors rose up into infinitude, while a pillared promenade led up to a large oak receptionist's desk, behind which were the elevators and staircases that serviced the upper floors.

Now, the ornate columns were riddled with bullet holes, the floor scarred and melted by lasers. The decorative plants were tipped over, their casings shattered, spilling dirt over the once-flawless floor. Coagulated blood was splashed against one of the walls, and spent shell casings and plasma gas cartridges littered the floor.

Ahsoka reflexively brought up a hand to her nose, recoiling at the stench of spent gunpowder and ozone.

"Lifts are dead, ma'am," said one of the clones as he checked the elevators.

"Of course," she muttered, glancing at the stairwell. "Looks like we're hoofing it."

The stairs were wide, made of polished marble with gilded handrails along the side. The opulence of their surroundings was lost upon the Jedi and clones, however; as they ascended, the sound of gunfire could be heard more and more clearly.

Running up the stairs, they reached the twenty-second floor in a manner of minutes, the well-trained troopers hardly even breathing heavily from the exertion. A quick check of her surroundings oriented Ahsoka to the southern wing of the floor, which appeared to be made up of mainly small offices and cubicles. A quick hand signal from Ahsoka signaled the clones to break up into three-man fireteams, advancing in a leapfrog manner.

The sound of gunfire was even louder now, echoing through the halls of the tower. That was good; it meant that their targets were still alive.

And then, as they turned a corner in a tight hallway, they practically walked into the middle of the firefight.

The next complex of offices had been torn apart. The wreck of a UNSC Pelican dropship, its nose and wings crumpled from the impact of the crash, had skidded across the floor, leaving a path of destruction in its wake to where it now rested in the center of the room. A gaping hole had been smashed through the ceiling, and beyond that was another hole in the next floor, creating a visible path of the Pelican's crash. A beleaguered few men in familiar UNSC uniforms were hunkered down near the wreck, exchanging intermittent fire with at least a dozen stormtroopers who, for now, had their backs turned to Ahsoka and the clones.

"Open fire!" Ahsoka yelled, and leapt forwards, activating her lightsaber. As the beryl blade ignited, she was already in motion, bringing it across in a vicious sweep that neatly decapitated the first unfortunate trooper in her sights.

The clones spread out, taking up flanking positions on either side of the room as they poured fire into the suddenly-besieged stormtroopers. As blue and red lasers flashed back and forth, a niggling sensation in the back of Ahsoka's mind warned her of danger. Spinning around, she brandished her lightsaber in a quick flourish, deflecting a pair of bolts into the ceiling.

Keeping her blade in the "on guard" position, she waved up the clone team, leading them across the room. At the sight of the unexpected relief, the remaining UNSC soldiers also pushed up, trapping the stormtroopers between the two Allied elements.

In a matter of seconds, it was over. Ahsoka stood over the dismembered corpse of a stormtrooper sergeant and closed down her lightsaber, lifting her eyes up to find all of the UNSC soldiers still hunkered down behind cover, their assault rifles in the "ready" position.

"Thunder!" one of them challenged, straightening a little bit.

"Flash," she replied without hesitation, remembering the correct answer phrase that Pershing had drilled into her before the mission was launched.

The man, extracted himself from behind a flipped-over desk that was still smoldering from blaster fire. "Well, you're not the relief we were expecting, but we're not in any condition to complain."

"Ahsoka Tano, Jedi Knight," the Togrutan introduced herself. "This is Sergeant Flint." The clone dipped his head in acknowledgement.

"First Sergeant Marcus Steel," the Marine replied. "I wish there was more time for introductions, but we need to get out of here now."

"I'm all for that," Ahsoka said, looking around. "So where's the general?"

"Still in the bird," Steel said, gesturing to nearly-destroyed Pelican with the muzzle of his assault rifle.

"Well then let's get him out," Ahsoka said determinedly, striding over to the wrecked Pelican with Steel close in tow.

"Friendlies coming in," Steel called as they clambered into the Pelican's troop bay.

"Great, just when I was getting comfortable," grumbled a voice dripping with sarcasm from the inside of the cockpit.

Ahsoka shook her head, jogging up to the doorway that separated the cockpit from the bay. Ducking her head under the threshold, she straightened up…

…and nearly vomited all over the floor.

The scene was macabre, to say the least. The pilot was still in his seat, his head twisted at an unnatural angle, spine snapped from the impact of the crash. A razor-sharp piece of the shattered window was lodged in his eye, causing a fountain of blood to trickle down his face and all over the cockpit.

"Pretty, ain't it?" rasped the sarcastic voice from before, and Ahsoka turned to her right to see General Luke Harth seated in the copilot's seat. He was short and stocky, dressed in a set of urban-camouflaged fatigues with two stars pinned on the shoulders and cap. A salt-and-pepper beard covered his chin, and he spat out a globule of blood as he spoke again. "At least you didn't have to hear it. Man's neck broke like a twig."

Ahsoka winced momentarily, but quickly regained her composure. "Are you alright?"

"Well, apart from the small matter of a broken leg, I think I'm fine," Harth gritted out, wincing as he attempted to shift his lower body.

Ahsoka glanced down, and saw to her horror that the general's left leg had been caught underneath the cockpit instruments when the nose of the Pelican had crumpled, and was now trapped underneath the twisted metal. If they were going to evacuate him, he would first have to be freed.

She knew there was no way they would be able to pull back the metal; he had surely already tried, and the general looked to be much stronger than Ahsoka.

However, she did have an ace up her sleeve. Her hand darted down, plucking her lightsaber from her belt and igniting it with a swift, purposeful motion.

"Whoah!" Harth protested, holding up his hands, and Steel came rushing into the cockpit. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded, then saw the blade of energy in her hand. "You can't be serious-" he began.

"Unless you have a better idea, first sergeant," Ahsoka gritted out, "this is our only option. You wouldn't happen to have a saw of some sort around?"

Steel faltered. "Um, well, no, ma'am, but still-"

"But nothing," Ahsoka asserted. "We don't have the time for anything else."

A sudden chatter of automatic gunfire arose outside the cockpit, and a second later a voice yelled out, "Imperials!"

"It appears your services are needed elsewhere, sergeant," Ahsoka said, and without further ado, turned back to face Harth.

"Trust me," she said, and, without waiting for a response, plunged the lightsaber into the crumpled metal.

Harth swore at the sudden increase in ambient heat, jumping a little bit.

"Be still," Ahsoka chided as she called upon the Force to ascertain the location of the general's leg, guiding the emerald blade through the wrecked instrument panel. Dials and displays melted and the metal peeled back in the face of the extreme heat as she sawed determinedly around Harth's trapped limb. Outside, the battle had been joined in earnest, the crackling of lasers and rifles an insistent reminder that their time was running short.

"Just…a little bit…further…" Ahsoka muttered, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she began the final cut to free the general.

"There!" With one last incision, the plate of offending metal surrendered, peeling back to reveal Harth's injured leg. Uttering a triumphant cry, Ahsoka ripped the sheet away, tossing it to the cockpit floor.

Harth grunted in relief, and Ahsoka noted with concern that the imprint of the metal was clearly visible in a thin line of blood across his fatigues. His lower leg was also twisted at an angle to his knee, clearly broken from the crash. No bones protruded from the skin, so fortunately it did not appear to be a compound fracture, but there was no reason to risk an action that would cause one to develop.

"Lean on me," Ahsoka said, offering her arm to the Marine. Harth took it without complaint, cognizant of the fact that he could not walk on his own.

Ahsoka staggered for a second as the Marine wrapped his arm around her neck; Harth was built like a fireplug, and for the slight Togrutan Jedi, it was all she could do to keep from falling over.

With halting, uncertain steps, the Jedi and the general limped their way back through the Pelican's troop bay. As they exited the ruined aircraft, Ahsoka gently set Harth down with his back against the Pelican's fuselage. Harth muttered a brief thanks, dragging his magnum from its holster to begin determinedly popping off rounds at the stormtroopers downrange.

Casting her eyes about the firefight, Ahsoka was grieved to see that two clones and a Marine had been killed, further depleting their already-meager rescue force.

"First sergeant!" Ahsoka yelled, her voice hoarse as she tried to make herself heard over the rattling of assault rifles and screech of lasers. Ducking under a burst of red beams, she crossed over to where Steel was hunkered down behind a section of the Pelican's port wing that had been ripped off in the crash, obstinately returning fire against the ever-increasing number of Imperials.

"I got him out!" Ahsoka hollered. "We have to go-"

"Grenade!" someone yelled, and Ahsoka spun around to see a thermal detonator come rolling to a stop near the middle of the Allied troops, the red light on its exterior blinking in rapid succession.

Stretching out her hand, Ahsoka reached for the Force, seizing the deadly explosive and flinging it back towards the Imperial position. It exploded in mid-air, a blast of heat and sound that scalded her lungs as it swept over them.

Turning back to Steel, she found the Marine looking at her with a shocked expression on his face, and she realized that this was probably the first UNSC soldier to ever witness the use of the Force.

Part of her wanted to enjoy that moment of incredulous disbelief for a moment longer, but she knew that was a moment they couldn't afford.

"The general is free!" she yelled again. "We have to move NOW!"

Steel blinked, shaking himself out of his torpor. "Right, right," he said, glancing back towards where Harth was seated. "Wedermeyer! Stevens! On me!" he yelled, then turned to Ahsoka with a single request: "Cover us."

"Gladly," the Jedi replied. "Flint! Get them to a stairwell and get them heading up to the roof." Igniting her lightsaber, Ahsoka straightened, bringing it up to deflect the first laser even as Steel made his move behind her.

At the sight of the Jedi, the stormtroopers shifted their fire, logically seeking to eliminate the greatest threat first. The volume of incoming fire jumped within an instant, and Ahsoka bit her lip in concentration as she spun her lightsaber into a shield of energy in front of her.

It was all about time. Every second she bought was another second for the Marines to move Harth away from the conflict, another second closer to bringing this mission to a successful close.

Spying a weak section of ceiling above, Ahsoka pulled it down with the Force, dropping it onto a pair of stormtroopers and sending up a cloud of choking dust to obscure the sight of the others.

As she did so, she became aware of someone yelling nearly in her ear. Turning her head, she was surprised to see Sergeant Flint at her shoulder, firing resolutely away with his DC-17. "The Marines are clear!" he said, felling a distant trooper with a well-placed blast. "Let's go!"

"Sounds good to me," Ahsoka answered, shifting her lightsaber just in time to stop a bolt that was heading directly for Flint's chestplate. The sergeant grunted his thanks before rolling a pair of sonic grenades towards the advancing Imperials.

The grenades went off in twin concussive blasts, the shockwaves disorienting and deafening the Imperials. Seizing the opportunity, Ahsoka and Flint sprinted back through the office complex to a service stairwell in the southeastern corner of the floor.

With the Marines carrying their wounded general, Ahsoka and the clones assumed a rear-guard position, hurrying up the stairs while keeping their weapons trained below to where the pursuing Imperials would no doubt soon be appearing.

"Blackjack, this is Wild Card," Ahsoka said into her UNSC-issued COM system, which was patched with a direct line to the UNSC HQ. "The package is secure but incapable of walking; we are transporting him to the roof for extraction. Request exfil on the double."

There was a brief interlude of static before the response stated, "Acknowledged, Wild Card. Exfil bird designate 'Foxtrot One-Three' is inbound, ETA eight minutes, acknowledge."

"Acknowledged," Ahsoka replied.

The word had scarcely left her lips when the tramp of armored boots became audible only a few flights below. A quick glance over the railing showed a sea of white-armored helmets bobbing up and down as they stormed up their stairs.

Ahsoka glanced at the wall, where the number "26" was emblazoned in bright yellow letters. Only six floors remaining.

Another glance at the rapidly-gaining stormtroopers confirmed that they would be overtaken before they made it up the next six flights.

Ahsoka grabbed Flint on the shoulder. "Keep running," she said, jerking her head up to indicate the roof. "I'll hold them off."

Flint nodded. "Understood, ma'am." Without pause, he continued up the stairs, leaving Ahsoka standing alone in the stairwell at the threshold of Floor 26.

The pounding of armored boots was nearly deafening now as the stormtroopers grew closer.

In such a narrow space, where the troopers' numbers would be severely limited, Ahsoka should theoretically be able to hold off the Imperials forever. However, these were no mindless droids; they would not continue to simply charge at her and allow the Jedi to cut them apart one at a time. They would throw grenades, advance slowly with a base of fire, and do everything they could to force her to abandon her superior position.

Which was why it was imperative that she eliminate them as quickly as possible, before reinforcements arrived and drew out the battle. Time would not be her ally in this venture.

Ahsoka was fairly certain that the Imperials were as of yet unaware that she had stayed behind. Deciding to leverage that surprise to its utmost, she ducked down beneath the solid concrete rail, holding her lightsaber in her right hand but not yet igniting it.

A few seconds later, the first few stormtroopers swept around the corner into her view.

The cramped nature of the stairwell limited the effectiveness of the Imperials' rifles; they had attempted to mitigate this as much as possible by moving in single file, but it was impossible to avoid entirely.

Ahsoka had no such limitations. The first trooper had barely called out a warning to his comrades and begun to bring his rifle up into firing position when a blast of Force energy sent him flying back into the man behind him and knocking both of them back down the stairs into their fellows.

As the knot of men attempted to untangle themselves, Ahsoka came vaulting over the rail, lightsaber in hand.

Moving with a speed and precision accumulated through years of training, Ahsoka scythed through the first group of troopers she encountered, leaving only a pile of severed limbs behind. Such was the deadly effectiveness of her assault that only a few scattered lasers came her way, which she avoided with ease as she carved her way down the stairway. She moved as if on autopilot, conditioned by countless hours of combat to act and react in a seamless dance. The trooper to her right could be easily felled by a horizontal swipe, she knew, but this would also leave her left side exposed to the Imperials on the flight below her. Thus, the logical move was too step forward, placing another stumbling stormtrooper between her and the others and allowing her to fell both of them with two quick cuts. All of this her mind calculated of its own volition, with hardly a break in its thought. She was unaware of the stench of ozone that filled the air, or of the agonized screams of the man whose arm she had just severed. Such things were extraneous, filtered out by her senses as she focused all her considerable energies upon the sole task of eliminating all those who stood before her. A Jedi Knight in combat needed to be free, at ease, an open vessel through which the power of the Force was channeled and directed.

And so, in a habit she had picked up since her first days of training as a Padawan, Ahsoka began to recite the Jedi Code in her mind, calming her thoughts and steeling her nerves.

A tremor in the Force warned her of approaching danger, and she spun around just in time to bat away a burst of screeching lasers.

There is no emotion; there is peace.

A diagonal slash laid the man open from shoulder to waist, and he dropped to the ground as she swept past.

There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.

Reaching out with the Force, she pulled an approaching trooper forward, skewering him neatly on the end of her lightsaber.

There is no passion; there is serenity.

Three quick cuts felled another trio of foes, her movements as fluid as water.

There is no chaos; there is harmony.

Spinning her blade in front of her like a shield, Ahsoka deflected the last desperate shots of a lone trooper in her vision a second before her lightsaber found his throat.

There is no death; there is the Force.

And just like that, it was over. As if awakening from a long dream, everything zoomed back into perspective. She found herself standing in the middle of a stairwell, white-armored corpses strewn all around, the last of which slowly crumpled to the ground in front of her.

Ahsoka closed down her lightsaber, the immediate threat eliminated. A distant clamor indicated the approach of more Imperials, but for now, she was safe.

Drawing upon the Force once more, she sprinted back up the stairs, leaping entire flights at a time. In a few moments, the door to the roof appeared before her, a large, grey portal with yellow-and-black lettering declaring "Emergency Exit Only: Violators Will Be Prosecuted" stamped across the front.

Deciding a possible lawsuit was the least of her problems at the moment, Ahsoka shoved the door open, stumbling out onto the roof of the financial tower.

Immediately, her mind took in two things.

The first was the Pelican dropship that hovered at the edge of the roof a scant eighty meters away, the open bay of which Flint was currently frantically gesticulating to her from.

The second was the titanic jolt that shook the very material under her feet as a flaming LAAT came hurtling out of the nether with all weapons blazing to smash into the western face of the eleventh floor of the tower. Bursting through the hole opened in front of it by its lasers, the gunship came apart in a massive fireball, sending car-sized pieces of debris in all directions that smashed support columns like twigs and tore a complete hole all the way through to the eastern side.

Whether or not the crash was purposeful, whether the pilot was intentionally trying to bring down the tower or just out of control, Ahsoka would never know. What she soon realized, however, was that the impact of the massive troop transport traveling at several hundred kilometers per hour was the death knell for the Bureaugard Financial Tower.

With a support frame already grievously compromised by nearly three days of constant shelling and crashes, the fact that the tower had remained standing up to this point was something of a small miracle. But the wound inflicted by the Imperial gunship proved to be the tipping point, the last straw for the weakened tower.

A long, drawn-out groan filled the air as tons upon tons of weight was shifted to the central support column, and it seemed as if the building itself were crying out in pain. The tower lurched noticeably to the left, and Ahsoka stumbled, falling against a large communications spire for support.

And then there was a blast of sound, so sudden and earsplitting that it drowned out all other sounds with a titanic crack.

And the central support column of the Bureaugard Financial Tower, built to withstand a 9.5-magnitude earthquake, snapped.

For a moment, nothing happened. A deathly silence seemed to fall over the area, as if all those nearby stood watching with baited breath to see what would happen next.

Ahsoka didn't wait, springing into action and sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her towards the waiting Pelican.

A second later, with a bass rumble that grew louder and louder, the tower began to fall.

Slowly, at first, but picking up speed as the laws of gravity and momentum worked their magic, the massive tower began to topple, shearing off from the base at around the third story, the last of the support columns crumbling to dust. The ground beneath Ahsoka's fleet began to slant upwards at an ever-steeper angle, causing bits of steel and glass to come raining down on her. Doing her best to dodge the deadly missiles, Ahsoka ran as fast as the Force and her limbs would carry her towards the Pelican that struggled to maintain a constant altitude. She half-ran, half-climbed her way up the elevating roof, scrabbling for purchase as the angle became more and more extreme. If she did not make it within the next few seconds, she would surely plummet the thirty-plus stories to the ground below.

The Pelican was only a few dozen yards away now, hovering just far enough away to avoid being caught in the path of the tower. Ahsoka's muscles were on fire, but she knew she could not go on. Instead, she pushed them even faster. Her heart hammered within her ribs as her right foot finally slipped, unable to maintain a grip at such an extreme incline.

At the exact moment that the tower entered free fall, Ahsoka grabbed a rail in front of her and leapt.

Channeling all of her own strength and that of the Force into that final jump, she soared up into the air, the lip of the roof slipping just below her as the tower smashed down to the ground with a titanic crash of shattering steel and glass, sending a pillar of dust far into the air.

Ahsoka soared through the air, arms and legs flailing as she attempted to assert some measure of stability. The Pelican was in front of her, and she was falling towards it, its open troop bay beckoning…

She wasn't going to make it, she realized. It was too far away. A mere dozen meters, but that was all it would take. For all of her effort and determination, all the strength she had put into that last jump, everything she had, it simply wasn't enough.

She was a dozen meters too short.

Even a Jedi wouldn't survive a fall from this height.

But as Ahsoka's momentum slowed and her trajectory began to arc back down, the Pelican's engines suddenly roared to life. With a burst of speed, the angular craft reared back, looming in front of her as its open bay doors slipped just underneath her fall.

Ahsoka hit the metal floor of the troop bay with tremendous force, practically bouncing off the hard, unforgiving metal and nearly falling out again. Crying out in panic as she slid off the end of the open ramp, her fingers caught on a ridge in the metal, nearly ripping her shoulder from its socket as she dangled from the end of the Pelican hundreds of feet above the ground.

For a moment she thought that this was the universe's cruel, twisted idea of a joke, that she would be miraculously rescued only to die a few seconds later, but then a gauntleted hand wrapped around her own, and she found herself being pulled up and bodily heaved into the troop bay of the Pelican, where she lay panting, her limbs shaking from adrenaline.

"I suppose that makes us even, eh?" said the man who had hauled her in, and Ahsoka looked up to see none other than First Sergeant Marcus Steel, standing with his arms crossed and a grin on his face.

Ahsoka grinned back, an expression of profound relief and gratefulness. "Yeah, I guess it does," she said. "I guess it does."

A/N: By the way, I've been getting a lot of feedback saying that the battle is taking too long, and that I need to wrap it up, and frankly, I agree. I hadn't intended for the Battle for New Arcadia to end up taking this long. However, once I wrote myself into it, I couldn't just stop; I had to write my way back out. Since this is the first real meeting between the Star Wars and Halo armies, I really wanted to play it up. That said, the next chapter will be bringing it to a close. After that, the plot'll start rolling along again at a good clip. Thanks for the patience.