Mandalorian Wars - Tales from Both Sides: An Arm for the Taking

A/N / Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters (except Jasa Aque, Captain Sahasri, Hasta, and Gelet) and most things are copyrighted to Lucasarts and Obsidian, yaddayaddayadda. Now onto what I really wanna say: Since I can't really focus on my other story (for lack of inspiration, if that's the way you wanna put it) I'm going to start something new: Some stories from the Mandalorian Wars. Each story is going to be from different points of view, like this one is from one of the Exile's crew-members. It could be from a Mandalorian's PoV, a civilian's, a Republic Soldier's, a True Sith's, a usual Sith's, whatever. But the stories will be told. And they will be taken from random parts. SOmetimes it will be from the middle, the beginning, then the end, the beginning again...etc. Get it? Good. About this one: Since I didn't quite like the original way Bao lost his arm, I figured I'd redo that. Plus, I remember Bao mentioning something about owing the Exile "more than one". Ready? Here we go. (sorry that this a/n is rather long)

It seemed like it was raining blaster bolts. It was a thunder-and-lightning storm with the flash and clash of lightsaber on vibroblade. Mandalorians, Republic soldiers, and the occasional Jedi drowned in their own blood. It was not for those weak in heart or mind...or body. Eres III was a blood bath, plain and simple. The techs, a Zabrak Iridonian named Bao-Dur among them, were being held back from the line of fire, but one or two grenades always managed to find their way there. One by one, the techs were being picked off, though it was nothing compared to the casualties from the front-lines. Basilisk War Droids were no longer a spectacle to gawk and wonder over; one or two shots from a miniature Ion Cannon disabled all systems and gave crash landings, crushing anyone in and beneath the heavy metal. The Mandalorians were just figuring out that the fields they were fighting in were flammible, but they weren't sure what to do with this knowledge yet. They knew the Republics would not endanger the denizens by setting anything on fire; the Mandalorians would. It was not much comfort that they didn't know previously.

Bao-Dur was growing increasingly worried; there had been no reports or orders from General Chval. She had been released two hours ago as back-up and hadn't contacted anyone over the comlink about the mines that were supposed to be set around the perimeter of the Mandalorian camp. It was the Republic's plan: Someone would gather the best mines the Republic had to offer and set it around the enemy's camp. From there, any rushing men to get to and from the battlefield would run into them and get seriously wounded or die. During that time, the Republic would 'retreat' and recover as best they could, then fight again, hopefully getting the upper hand over the smaller number of Mandalorians. They would win the battle over Eres III. For a long time, the Republic had debated over whether it was worth it all, and the majority had won. It was a risk, but it had a good chance of succeeding.

Bao thought about this as he stood around, feeling useless. More than anything (except, perhaps, the Mandalorians and their blessed 'honor'), he hated useless people and useless things. And here he was, being useless! He could see everyone else was just as nervous. The young Korrivar beside him, Jasa Aque, chatted at random moments for long periods of time - he usually did so when his nerves were biting at him. But Bao was too wary to bother telling anyone to shut up. The Mandalorians in this battle were thinning faster now, but not without taking a few Republics down with them. Bao watched angrily and helpessly as friend after friend went down.

Where was General Chval?

"Bao-Dur," crackled an official-sounding voice over the comlink on the terminal beside him. Bao spun around.

"Yes, Captain Sahasri?" he said.

"General Cvhal...order...for...mines...perim - " the Captain's voice was being repeatedly cut off.

"Captain, repeat that. The connection must be weak because I couldn't hear more than half of what you just said."

There was a short pause. "BAO! General... -val gave... -der...MDP-3! Execute order!" boomed the voice.

Impulsively, Bao saluted though his superior could not see him. "Yessir!" Bao breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He'd finally be able to help, to get some revenge on the Mandalorians and their 'honorable' murder. He prayed it all worked.

"You're going, Bao?" came the sharp voice of a bustling medic. Bao nodded silently. The woman shoved a bunch of medpacks and antidote kits in his hands. "Well, good luck out there! What was the term those Jedi used?" She paused for a moment to wrap a man's bleeding head. "Oh, right. May the Force be with you!" The last word was swallowed by the cries of war.

Bao walked on, equipping a stealth-field generator, two blasters and reloading clips at his waist, and two vibroblades at his thighs. He preferred it this way, despite it being the opposite of the usual. The mines were placed on a bandolier across his chest. They were dually secured and covered by his light battle armor, which covered his torso and shoulders, but left his arms exposed. After a moment of hesitation, he put on a helmet for extra protection. He took a small, one-man speeder to the edge of the Republic camp. From there, he was on foot. He was nervous, trying to quicken his pace; soldiers were dying.

He was nearly .7 of a kilometer away from the point of a camp where he would set up the mines, when something struck him (a rock, he saw) and his sheild deactivated. A voice then said "Looks like we missed a red-hatter!" Red-hatter was a military term (a rather teasing military term) used by most Mandalorians when discussing the Republicans. Bao ducked instinctively, saving his life, no small thanks to his training. Blaster-rifle bolts whistled past the tips of his horns as he dropped, rolled, and drew his blasters. He pulled himself on his knees quickly and shot. Two Mandalorians dropped. The remaining three turned on blaster shields. Bao rolled again and turned on his shields just in time. Two blaster shots rebounded from his shoulder. One of the Mandalorians was wearing blue armor - he could barely fight. The other two had red armor.

Great, thought Bao. He parried one Mandalorian's attempt to hit him by piercing his armor in his thigh. As he pulled back, the Zabrak stuck his othe vibroblade in his stomach, then pulled them out. The blue-armored Mandalorian charged stupidly, crying "Mandalorians will prevail!" as he went along. He impaled himself on Bao's blades.

The final Mandalorian watched the Iridonian. The alien had killed the patrol leader of this squad. The deuling circle honor had repeatedly been given to this man. "Back-up for Patrol group E3-12! One dangerous Red-hatter! Sector G-2!" he shouted into his comlink. Bao lifted the blades from the Mandalorians' dead bodies. He couldn't believe his luck, but did not wonder at it. Instead, he ran at the last man, feinted, and parried. He twisted himself around and parried again. He kicked the man in the shins, elbowed him in the face, and jumped back in pain. The kick hadn't been so bad, but Bao had elbowed the Mandalorian in the helmet. Bao was a fairly strong guy, but the Mandalorian Armor was built to resist hand-to-hand combat blows. He dodged the long-sword the guy had drawn and shook the painful throb away. On a gut feeling, he drew his blaster and shot twice. He was right. The shield had run out, and the Mandalorian dropped.

Bao-Dur took a moment to gather his breath and took one of the Mandalorian Rifles, absent-mindedly dropping his own in its place. He replaced his vibroblades and sighed. He felt an odd feeling in his stomach, and soon noticed it as anger and vengence. He had killed Mandalorians. Iridonia and its people would be avenged. The grounds once fertile, now barren, would breathe again from Mandalorian blood...

Tearing his mind away from his thoughts, the bandoleir of mines weighing heavily down on his shoulders the responsibility he had, and switched on his stealth field generator and walked on.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Hasta, Gelet, and their patrol pushed their way through the mucky foliage. Hasta had threatened that if Laccent was playing around with the need for back-up, he would personally blast his head off and reform it to make Mandalore's new helmet. He had gotten no response. He had tried the other men's comlinks, but there had only been the rustle of leaves in the wind and the buzz of flies. He also notes the constant drip of something that did not sound like water. It sounded much thicker. And besides, even if it rained, Eres III's puddles dried fast. It hadn't been raining for three or more hours. Only the leaves here retained any real moisture.

"What did that drooling nerf-herder say about the situation?" asked Gelet.

"Not much. But I guess he's dead," replied Hasta.

"What makes you sat that?"

"The flies," he said flatly. The tone of his voice ended the conversation effectively. After many moments, they stepped into a small clearing. There lay the bodies of five Mandalorians. Including Laccent.

"Wasn't a worthy Mandalorian anyways," said Gelet. Hasta stepped over a small pool of blood and bent over the bodies and foot prints that faded away into the undergrowth ahead. It would be impossible to track later on.

"One Red-Hatter," he stated finally.

"One can't do this much!"

"Yeah? Look at this." He gestured to the footprints. "Unless 'they' are Banthas, there are only one set of footprints with those marks." They all knew Banthas in Tatooine were trained to step in precisely the same spot where the Bantha ahead of them had stepped, so the Sand People could hide their numbers.

"Those are some damn small banthas," commented one of the men. Hasta glared at him.

"And," the leader continued, "that's not our blaster type." He pointed to the blaster laying beside Laccent.

"But why? One Red Hatter with a weapon could not get into our base and shoot the place up! He wouldn't try! He'd be over powered in seconds!" snorted Gelet.

"No. But he could open the doors for all of his little Red-Hatter friends," commented the yellow-armored Mandalorian grimly. He took out his comlink. "Home base, this is Hasta, patrol squad E3-13. Put the Base on alert. Post extra guards at all entrances. Perimeters breached by a Red-Hatter."

"One, sir?" asked the man on the other end.

"Yes, one. This Red Hatter has proven to be a dangerous individual."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He was there. Finally, he was there. The bandoleir seemed heavier than ever as Bao-Dur removed it and began to set the mines. These Frag mines demanded the best high quality sensors the galaxy could offer just to be seen. To be avoided was an entirely different thing. He quietly set up the mines, breathing as silently as possible. He went all along the perimeter. It was tedious, and he had to watch for any Mandalorians, but all seemed clear.

After what seemed like hours, Bao-Dur set the last mine. He stood back to inspect his work. A twig snapped. Bao whipped around and found himself being ambushed by ten Mandalorians. He was brought to the ground, crushed by their heavy bodies. But, he noticed proudly, None of them are looking in the direction of the mines!

"What was your job?" growled one Mandalorian. Bao shook his head. If he died, he would like to die far more honorably than these kath hounds. He wouldn't answer any questions. He was punched across the face. He struggled, and managed to snatch a rock that had been digging into his side. He struggled more, and then hit one of the Mandalorians with the rock. Immedediately, vibroblades were out.

Something inside the Iridonian snapped. He let out a cry of emotional pain and total rage. He lost connection with sense and rational thinking. He hit the two nearest men, who flew back. He didn't know where this strength came from. He didn't bother trying to find out. He felt if he thought of it too long, it would fade away and he would be nothing more than a tech again. He was, quite litterally, beserk. One Mandalorian, acting on impulse, rushed from behind him and sliced harshly at Bao's outstretched left arm. He felt nothing, but heard something thump to the ground beside him. He looked down. A grey, heavy, blood dripping hand was sitting on the ground. He stared at it, then looked at the stump hanging from below his elbow. It was also spurting blood. All the rage leaked out and was quickly replaced by a sharp, horrible pain.

"M- M-," he sputtered. but words failed him. He fell to his knees. They had taken his planet along with many others. They had taken the lives of friends and family and innocent people. They had taken his life away. Wasn't that enough? Did they have to take his arm as well? Hadn't they made him suffer enough?

He felt faint. He was losing a lot of blood rather fast. He fell forward, supporting himself with his remaining hand.

"Nice going, Kex!" complimented one Mandalorian. And then the ability to hear eluded him as he lost the trength to hold himself up, and fell forward. Things began getting fuzzy. The last things he saw were a flap of brown cloth, a lock of platinum blonde hair, and the fuzzy flow of silver and yellow lightsabers.