{"product_id":"hard-contact-star-wars-legends-republic-commando-isbn-9780593599495","title":"Hard Contact: Star Wars Legends (Republic Commando)","description":"\u003cb\u003eExperience the first in the epic series featuring the brave members of Omega Squad—an elite team of clone commandos—fighting to protect the Galactic Republic.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eOn a mission to sabotage a chemical weapon research facility on a Separatist-held planet, four clone troopers operate under the very noses of their enemies. The commandos are outnumbered and outgunned, deep behind enemy lines with no backup–and working with strangers instead of trusted teammates. Matters don’t improve when Darman, the squad’s demolitions expert, gets separated from the others during planetfall. Even Darman’s apparent good luck in meeting an inexperienced Padawan vanishes once Etain admits to her woeful naivety.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eFor the separated clone commandos and stranded Jedi, a long, dangerous journey lies ahead, through hostile territory brimming with Trandoshan slavers, Separatists, and suspicious natives. A single misstep could mean discovery . . . and death. It’s a virtual suicide mission for anyone–anyone except Republic Commandos.\u003cb\u003eKaren Traviss\u003c\/b\u003e is a novelist, screenwriter, comics writer, and the author of five \u003ci\u003eStar Wars: Republic Commando\u003c\/i\u003e novels (\u003ci\u003eHard Contact\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eTriple Zero\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eTrue Colors\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eOrder 66\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eImperial Commando: 501st);\u003c\/i\u003e three \u003ci\u003eStar Wars: Legacy of the Force\u003c\/i\u003e novels (\u003ci\u003eBloodlines\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eRevelation\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eSacrifice):\u003c\/i\u003e two \u003ci\u003eStar Wars: The Clone Wars\u003c\/i\u003e novels (\u003ci\u003eThe Clone Wars\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eNo Prisoners)\u003c\/i\u003e; five \u003ci\u003eGears of War\u003c\/i\u003e novels (\u003ci\u003eAspho Fields\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eJacinto’s Remnant\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eAnvil Gate, Coalition’s End,\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Slab)\u003c\/i\u003e; the award-nominated \u003ci\u003eWess’har Wars\u003c\/i\u003e series (\u003ci\u003eCity of Pearl\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eCrossing the Line\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe World Before\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eMatriarch\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eAlly\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eJudge)\u003c\/i\u003e; and four \u003ci\u003eHalo\u003c\/i\u003e novels. She was also the lead writer on the third \u003ci\u003eGears of War\u003c\/i\u003e game. A former defense correspondent and TV and newspaper journalist, Traviss lives in Wiltshire, England.\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThink of yourselves as a hand. Each of you is a finger, and without the others you're useless. Alone, a finger can't grasp, or control, or form a fist. You are nothing   on your\u003cbr\u003e own, and everything together.   —\u003c\/i\u003eCommando instructor Sergeant Kal Skirata\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Darman moved on fast, up a tree-covered slope a kilometer south. He planned on spending   the rest of the daylight hours in a carefully constructed hide at the highest vantage   point he could find, slightly below the skyline.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He concentrated on making a crude   net out of the canopy cords he had salvaged. The activity kept him occupied and alert.   He hadn't slept in nearly forty standard hours; fatigue made you more careless and   dangerously unfocused than alcohol. When he had finished tying the cord into squares,   he wove grass, leaves, and twigs into the knots. On inspection, he decided it was   a pretty good camouflage net.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He also continued observation. Qiilura was astonishing.   It was alive and different, a riot of scent and color and texture and sounds. Now   that his initial pounding fear had subsided into a general edginess, he began to   take it all in.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was the little living noises that concerned him most. Around   him, creatures crawled, flew, and buzzed. Occasionally things squealed and fell silent.   Twice now he'd heard something larger prowling in the bushes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Apart from the brief   intensity of Geonosis, Darman's only environmental experience had been the elegant   but enclosed stilt cities of Kamino, and the endless churning seas around them. The   cleanly efficient classrooms and barracks where he had spent ten years turning from   instant child to perfect soldier were unremarkable, designed to get a job done. His training in desert and mountain and jungle had been entirely artificial, holoprojection,   simulation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The red desert plains of Geonosis had been far more arid and starkly   magnificent than his instructors' imaginations; and now Qiilura's fields and woods   held so much more than three-dimensional charts could offer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was still open country,   though—a terrain that made it hard for him to move around unnoticed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Concentrate,   he told himself. Gather intel. Make the most of your enforced idleness.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lunch would   have been welcome about now. A decent lunch. He chewed on a concentrated dry ration   cube and reminded himself that his constant hunger wasn't real. He was just tired.   He had consumed the correct amount of nutrients for his needs, and if he gave in   to eating more, he would run out of supplies. There was exactly enough for a week's   operations in his pack and two days'worth in his emergency belt. The belt was the   only thing he would grab, apart from his rifle, if he ever had to make a last-ditch   run for it without his forty-kilo pack.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Beneath him, farm transports passed along   a narrow track, all heading in the same direction, carrying square tanks with security   seals on the hatches. Barq. Darman had never tasted it, but he could smell it even   from here. The nauseatingly musky, almost fungal scent took the edge off his appetite   for a while. If he had his holochart aligned correctly, the transports were all heading   for the regional depot at Teklet. He twisted the image this way and that in his hands   and held it up to map onto the actual landscape.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Yes, he was sure enough now where   he was. He was ten klicks east of the small town called Imbraani, about forty klicks   northeast of RV point Beta and forty klicks almost due east of RV point Gamma. They'd   picked RV points along the flight path because the Separatists would expect dispersal, not a retracing of their steps. Between RVs Alpha and Beta was a stretch of woodland,   ideal for moving undetected by day. If the rest of his squad had landed safely and   were on schedule, they would be making their way to Beta.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Things could be looking   up again. All he had to do was get to RV Gamma and wait for his squad. And if they   hadn't made it, then he'd need to rethink the mission.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The idea produced a feeling   of desolation. You are nothing on your own, and everything together. He'd been raised   to think, function, even breathe as one of a group of four. He could do nothing else.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But ARCs always operate alone, don't they?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He pondered that, fighting off drowsiness.   Leaves rustled suddenly behind him, and he turned to scan with the infrared filter   of his visor. He caught a blur of moving animal. It fled. His database said there   were no large predators on Qiilura, so whatever it was could be no more troublesome   than the gdans—not as long as he was wearing his armor, anyway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Darman waited motionless   for a few moments, but the animal was gone. He turned back and refocused on the road and the surrounding fields, struggling to stay awake. Lay off the stims. No, he wasn't   going to touch his medpac for a quick boost. Not yet. He'd save his limited supply   for later, for when things got really tough, as he knew they would.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Then something   changed in his field of vision. The frozen tableau had come to life. He flipped down   the binoc filter for a closer look, and what he saw made him snap it back and gaze   through the sniperscope of his rifle.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A thin wisp of smoke rose from a group of   wooden buildings. It was quickly becoming a pall. It wasn't the smoke of domestic   fires; he could see flames, flaring tongues of yellow and red. The structures—barns,   judging by their construction—were on fire. A group of people in drab clothing was   scrambling around, trying to drag objects clear of the flames, uncoordinated, panicking.   Another group—Ubese, Trandoshan, mainly Weequay—was stopping them, standing in   a line around the barn.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e One of the farmers broke the line and disappeared into a building. He didn't come out again, not as long as Darman watched.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Nothing in his   training corresponded to what he was witnessing. There was not a memory, a pattern,   a maneuver, or a lesson that flashed in his mind and told him how this should be   played out. Civilian situations were outside his experience. Nor were these citizens   of the Republic: they weren't anyone's citizens.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e His training taught him not to   be distracted by outside issues, however compelling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But there was still some urge   in him that said Do something. What? His mission, his reason for staying alive, was   to rejoin his squad and thwart the nanovirus project. Breaking cover to aid civilians   cut across all of that.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The Separatists—or whoever controlled this band of assorted thugs—knew he was here.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It didn't take a genius to work it out. The sprayer had exploded on landing, detonating any demolition ordnance that Darman hadn't been able   to cram into his packs. The Weequay patrol hadn't called in when their masters had   expected. Now the humans—farmers—were being punished and threatened, and it was   all to do with him. The Separatists were looking for him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Escape and evasion procedure.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e No, not yet. Darman inhaled and leveled his rifle carefully, picking out an Ubese   in the crosswires. Then he lined up the rest of the group, one at a time. Eight hostiles,   forty rounds: he knew he could slot every one, first time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He held his breath, forefinger   resting on the trigger. Just a touch.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e How many more targets were there that he couldn't   see? He'd give away his position.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This isn't your business.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He exhaled and relaxed   his grip on the rifle, sliding his forefinger in front of the trigger guard. What   would happen to his mission if they caught him?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In the next two minutes, reluctant   to move, he targeted each Ubese, Weequay, and Trandoshan several times, but didn't   squeeze the trigger. He wanted to more than he could have imagined. It wasn't the   hard-drilled trained response of a sniper, but a helpless, impotent anger whose origin   he couldn't begin to identify.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Don't reveal your position. Don't fire unless you   can take out the target. Keep firing until the target is down and stays down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And   then there were times when a soldier just had to take a chance.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They could be Republic   citizens, one day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They could be allies now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Darman wasn't tired anymore, or even   hungry. His pulse was pounding loud in his ears and he could feel the constriction in his throat muscles, the fundamental human reflex to flee or fight. Fleeing wasn't   an option. He could only fight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He targeted the first Weequay, a clean head shot,   and squeezed the trigger. The creature dropped, and for a moment his comrades stared   at the body, unsure of what had happened. Darman had nothing against Weequays. It   was only coincidence that this was the third one he'd killed in a few hours.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e And,   suddenly unfrozen, the band of thugs all turned to stare in the direction of the   shot, drawing their weapons.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The first bolt hit the bushes to Darman's left; the   second went three meters over his head. They'd worked out where he was, all right.   Darman snapped on the DC-17's grenade attachment and watched through the scope as   the civilians scattered. The grenade sent a shower of soil and shattered wood into   the air, along with four of the eight militia.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e He'd certainly pinpointed his position   now.Book 1 of the Republic Commando series; The Essential Legends Collection","brand":"Random House Worlds","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302836424933,"sku":"NP9780593599495","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780593599495.jpg?v=1767728705","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/hard-contact-star-wars-legends-republic-commando-isbn-9780593599495","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}