webnovel

Roger, Roger. [SW SI]

Our poor MC gets thrown into SW Universe with no explanation given and worst of it all he is being thrown into the galactic conflict as common cannon fodder. Yes this is a story of a lowly B1 battle droid and his way to the top. This story was discontinued in 2017th. This novel I bring to you from forums that not so many had visited and it's hard to find constantly updated stories. Forum stories of origin: Book 1 Roger, Roger. [SW SI] https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/roger-roger-sw-si.244003/reader/ Book 2 Roger, Roger [SW SI] II - Still Not Sithy Enough https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/roger-roger-sw-si-ii-still-not-sithy-enough.311702/reader/ All right for star wars and etc are reserved by their respected owned, this is a work of fanfiction and made by [Tabi] Author!!!

Terrier · Movies
Not enough ratings
51 Chs

C4P3

Some poor bastard's ARC-170

The transparent canopy popped open and the clone pilot pulled the trigger immediately. He managed to get one shot off before a red pulse struck him in the chest. The co-pilot was similarly taken care of with a blaster shot to the chest, killing him instantly. The now-empty ARC-170 turned as the new pilots took over, throwing the two bodies aside and settling into the pilot's seat.

These actions were being repeated by thousands of times as droids broke into the ships and took over, quickly reactivating the snubfighters with manual restarts that forced the reactors online and rebooted the computer systems.

I have no clue how to fly a fighter. I could fly a shuttle, that was easy enough. But a combat fighter?

Fortunately, basic controls and a genuine intuition was enough to start it up. I had the general and technical idea of how to fly this thing and fire it's guns...but that was about it.

The B1 battledroid sitting in the pilot's seat idly wondered if this was a good idea.

Not by a longshot, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And besides, stealing the thousands of deactivated fighters floating several hundred kilometers away, killing the still alive occupants, and then putting stock B1 Battledroids with a hasty piloting patch was a longshot I was willing to bet.

Sure, they can't fly worth a damn, but it'd serve well enough as a distraction. Hell, they might kill a few while they're at it.

'All units ready,' a voice said. It echoed in my mind, as though it were composed of thousands of minds speaking at once.

Truth be told, that wasn't far from the truth.

Mentally I nodded. 'Commence the attack.'

'By your command.'

-

B1/i 33233 didn't like this plan.

It didn't like being in a Republic fighter-bomber, in the pilot's seat, where it was lowly easing the craft's S-Foils into cruise-mode. It didn't like the quick patch of data that removed it's former programming of how to fight as an infantry unit.

33233 didn't like the fact that it was now piloting a starfighter; novel as the experience was.

It also hated the fact that over ninety-nine percent of it's brethren were perfectly fine with piloting flying deathtraps with no prior experience straight into battle.

But all that didn't bother 33233 as to how willing the rest of the others were willing to throw their...lives? Intelligences? Their...existences away.

There were instances of arguments, all of which lasted microseconds, but were ultimately fruitless. The very tiny minority went along with the rest, but were even more determined to live through the experience.

Survival in the Network was very different to that as a droid mind not connected to the Network. A droid's mind was always connected to the Network, that webway of information, closed off to only those with the permission and willingness to conform to the sense of equality and obedience to the over-arching Mind above them all.

Even if the fighter he was manning was destroyed, even if his physical droid brain was vaporized, 33233 would still exist.

So with this mind, the battledroid turned pilot grasped the joystick and pushed it forwards. Surprisingly enough, the fighter moved.

Elated with success, the droid ran through the tutorial mentally and began speeding towards the battle; thousands of fighters following in a ragged formation.

-

Kamino, Tipoca City

Outer Wards, Eastern Hangar Bays

With the clones rallying and the droid forces being beaten back, it was only a matter of time before the Separatist presence crumbled entirely under the relentless onslaught.

Already, Separatist lines had crumpled along all the western sections of the outer wards, clone troopers smashing each section piecemeal with multiple thrusts before rapidly retaking the other surrounded and trapped droid forces. This gave the eastern side time to prepare...however much good it did them.

Ventress knew she had only a few minutes, a window of opportunity that was rapidly closing as the enemy closed in on her only point of exfiltration. Though she was now in secure territory, judging by the towering Tricola Siege Droids launching shells in tandem and the dozens of durasteel barricades set up by the rusty-colored armored bodies of battledroids.

"Ma'am," greeted a Battledroid Officer with a salute. "We've been expecting you. Transport is awaiting you in the hangar bay. You best hurry, clones will be making their final offensive soon."

The acolyte nodded curtly and dragged Grievous' mangled torso along with a grunt of effort. The Force augmented her body, but dragging a heavy mangled limbless body of the cybernetic general was tiring for the slender woman. With effort, Ventress rushed into the hangar bay, where dozens of medium repeating blaster emplacements had been set up. A large transmitter sat behind multiple barricades and a shield generator, being tended to by a handful of Tacticians with obvious modifications.

Ventress paid it no mind. All of this would be destroyed when the clones pushed forwards anyway, so it didn't matter.

A ship was waiting for her as was promised; a Sheathipede-Class shuttle with it's rear ramp open. Tossing Grievous in, she stalked inside and sighed in relief as her arms were relieved of their heavy load. The ramp rose and the ship immediately took off.

As the ship ascended into the air, away from the lost battle of Tipoca City, Ventress settled into one of the seats set into the wall of the shuttle. The shuttle tilted and Grievous' torso tipped precariously over, threatening to run his crumpled faceplate into the ground.

Idly, Ventress stabilized his battered compacted body and really looked at the damaged General.

His torso was dented and crumpled, servos were protesting as they were jammed and twisted, his protective sack of organs were squeezed tight, leaking profusely, and only one ever defiant and angry. Truly, Grievous was a mess.

It rather suited him, thought Ventress maliciously.

-

Venator-Class Star Destroyer Resolute

Command Bridge

Things were starting to look up, thought Yularen as he watched the remaining star destroyers in his command converge on one of the oversized Recuscant Assault Cruisers. A merciless barrage of blue turbolaser bolts impacted armored hull of the ship, digging deeper and deeper into it's superstructure. It's forward weapons slagged, it had not choice by attempt to push forward to allow it's portside weapon banks an angle.

The reply was less than satisfactory, feeble at most, when several of those odd Corellian ships began harrying those same weapon banks the separatist cruiser was trying to bring to bear. A handful of Corellian missile frigates and heavy corvettes sped by, strafing the portside, blasting apart turbolaser batteries and point defenses as the separatist guns strained to make their shots count.

By the time it managed to bring it's portside to bear, more than half the weapons were on fire, damaged, or destroyed outright.

The Admiral felt satisfaction as the entire length of the separatist capital ship was covered with explosions.

The arrival of the flotilla had be most fortuitous indeed. Though it was made up of mostly freighters converted into warships; with armor and turbolasers slapped on, old ships hundreds of years old, at least a few pirate ships, and quite a few military police craft.

He spotted at a number of YT-series freighters with racks of missiles welded on, speeding by and launching barrages of ordnance before running off; presumably for a mothership holding station nearby.

Most fortuitous indeed. These people had been a gamechanger.

"Forward my compliments to the flotilla. Any luck on getting a hold of their commander?"

Joren nodded, "The flotilla commander is on the line for you, sir. He's waiting on channel twelve."

Yularen nodded his thanks and walked to the holo-projector in the rear of the bridge. Tapping at a terminal, the flickering blue form of a scruffy looking man in spacer clothes appeared.

"Admiral," greeted the Corellian with a grim smile. "Good to see you're still up and fighting.."

"My thanks to your efforts, commander," replied Yularen with an appreciative nod. "Were not for your ships, we would be having a much harder time of things."

"Not a problem, Admiral," the spacer replied with a knowing nod. "Name's Jagged. Jagged Antilles. Now enough talking, where do you need my people?"

Straight to the point. Yularen nodded, he could definitely work with that. "We need to take out the Separatists' heavy capital ships' tractor beam batteries. Anything longer than six hundred meters needs your precise attention. I see you've a fair number of refitted bombers on hand. My ships will make sure your targets have more pressing concerns in mind."

"Alright, but we'll need some heavy fighter cover if any of my people go in poking their tractor beam emitters," the Corellian commander replied pointedly. "I've got some good people who can do precision work, but they'll need to actually get there to do their magic."

"I can divert some of our remaining V-Wings to provide some cover…"

"Sir! IFFs from the Sector Fleet just popped up on sensors, two wings of fighters are forming up several klicks away," reported Joren from the sensor station. "They're heading towards the rear of the enemy fleet at full speed!"

"It seems some of the fighters in the Sector Group have managed to restore power to their craft and are on their way to rejoin the fight. I'll direct them to provide support for your people."

"That's great news," Jagged noted, looking pleased..

Joren took the moment to deliver more news. "Sir, the fighters heading towards the enemy fleet aren't responding. No replies to hails."

"Perhaps their comms are damaged? Short-range only? I'm surprised they even managed to get their ships working with the ion blast as powerful as that ship can bring out," reasoned Yularen, stroking his chin. "Commander Antilles, can you send a ship to verify if those fighters really do belong to us. The Separatist Commander has been a clever bastard lately, I don't intend to let ourselves fall into another trap."

Antilles nodded. "I'll have some of my people go and check it out. We'll know in a few minutes, Admiral."

-

There were a pair of corvettes on an intercept course.

33233 glanced at it's co-pilots, another pair of B1s like itself. It was not particularly worried about the two ships, but it was...apprehensive.

That a ship would be sent to intercept them was not exactly unexpected, but two ships bristling with armament for anti-fighter work? Certainly a cause for...apprehension.

33233 didn't know what to do as the corvette neared. The ship's crew would instantly figure out that the fightercraft were not being piloted by clones, but droids, and they'll open fire and destroy it and it's fellow droid copilot!

It scrabbled around the canopy. No helmet, no disguise of any sort to be found. It was inevitable that it would be found out and destroyed.

The ships were in visual range now.

It needed to getaway. From this open space and into chaos where it's chances of death were not immediately absolute...it needed to adapt the Plan...How to…

It looked down at the hyperdrive control pad as an idea formed.

'All hyperspace-capable units, prepare for micro-jump,' 33233 said into the Network, to the confusion of it's brethren. 'Sending coordinates.'

'What are you doing?' Demanded it's copilots. 'This is not part of the Plan.'

'I'm altering the plan.'

It typed in a simple jump coordinate: just outside of the immediate engagement range of the battle. Numerous units began to acknowledge it's ordered as they began to reorientate themselves for a hyperspace jump.

'This is not a part of the plan,' noted many B1s.

'There are unexpected variables,' 33233 pointed out, adding humorously, 'Pray I don't alter it further.'

Hyperspace coordinates were locked in. 'Interceptors and general-purpose fighters, divert all power to engines and make the best speed. All units with hyperdrives...jump!'

The hyperdrive thrummed with power and the fighter-bomber threw itself into the blue vortex of hyperspace for a second...only to reemerge into the outskirts of the battle. Behind it, hundreds of ARC-170s began opening their S-Foil into attack position. Behind the fighter-bombers, Y-Wings emerged from hyperspace, their load of proton torpedoes primed.

'Lock onto an enemy target and attack! Priority targets are enemy capital ship tractor beams!'

'Acknowledged.'

-

Invincible-Class Heavy Dreadnought Corellian Pride

Command Bridge

Jagged Antilles slammed a hand into the makeshift command & control holoprojector. "Sith spit, they're droids!"

Quickly, he began barking orders into the comlink, directing convertd freighter with anti-fighter armament and CR70 corvettes to intercept the fighter-bombers.

"Antilles!" Shouted one of his friends manning the comms, "Merry's got two dozen gunning for his cruiser! Eta, forty seconds!"

"Get Harrel's squadron to intercept!" Should the Corellian spacer as the ship rocked. "What was that?"

Another explosion rocked their ship, sending shudders across the deck.

A grim-faced Corellian called up to him at his terminal.

"A lot of V-Wings are gunning for us at the extreme range! They won't get through the armor plating with their guns, but we'll be blind, deaf, and crippled if we don't do something soon!"

"Once those fighters are on top of us, micro-jump this hunk of metal behind the Republic fleet! We can't leave our people," the grizzled spacer shouted, "and we can't let these droids reinforce the-"

"JAGGED!!" Screamed a dainty woman at the helm sensor, "The Seps are retreating!"

"What?" He turned back to the holoprojector and saw that the separatist ships were indeed running for it. But his eyes were on the massive star destroyer falling out of orbit, no longer sustained by innumerable tractor beams. "No…"

"It's falling out of orbit! If that thing hits the oceans...the clones...Kamino…" Antilles breathed in sharply. "All our efforts for nothing...Helm!"

"Yeah?"

"Get us right on top of that ship," ordered the captain, "Have tractor beam lock onto that thing and drag it back up. Have every ship with a tractor beam lock onto it!"

"Sir, we can't possibly-" Started the helmsman.

The captain locked eyes with him.

"Yessir," the helmsman turned to his console, face stony. "Micro-jump in three...two…"

"One."

-

Venator-Class Star Destroyer Resolute

Command Bridge

"Tractor beams! Now! NOW DAMMIT!" Shouted Yularen, spittle flying from his mouth. He slammed his fists on the railing as he roared at the pit crew. "All ships lock those beams on that ships right now dammit!"

"All ships are locking their beams, Admiral!" Replied Joren, a note of panic in his voice. "But it's barely slowing down!"

"It's not enough," said a clone officer sadly. He closed his eyes, "We're doomed."

"Corellian independents are adding their own tractor beams to assist," reported another officer. "Our combined forces have arrested the Pride's momentum by 33%!"

Still not enough, thought Yularen, disappointment curling like a cold snake in his stomach.

"New contact, two klicks long!" Joren spoke up. "Right above the Pride!"

Yularen whirled around and started at the sight of the immense outdated warship hanging above the star dreadnought. "Well...I'll be..."

"This is the Invincible-Class Dreadnought Corellian Pride," Antille's gruff voice came, his image flickering wildly on the holoprojector. "We've slowed down it's descent by more than half, but…"

"It's still not enough!" Growled the republic admiral with an explosive sigh. "Dammit."

Once more Joren's voice came to Yularen's ears. "More contacts appearing over the north-eastern hemisphere. IFFs show them as detachments from the Seventh Fleet! Roughly twenty capital ships!"

"That should be enough, it needs to be enough," whispered Yularen.

"Sir!"

The Admiral closed his eyes and spoke a silent prayer. "What is it?"

"The Pride of the Core...it's…" Murmured Joren, shocked.

Yularen could barely handle any more bad news at this point. Still holding a stiff upper lip, he resolutely held onto the rails of the walkway. "Spit it out!"

"Her engines are online and are at full burn," whispered the sensor & comms officer in dull horror. "She'll hit Kamino, six thousand miles from Tipoca City in under an hour."

Originates from:

https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/roger-roger-sw-si-ii-still-not-sithy-enough.311702/reader/

Terriercreators' thoughts