"Well, General, I didn't think we'd pull it off, but all our wounded and dead have been recovered, with a day to spare at that."

Aayla Secura was poring over the tactical plot in the 327th's command post when the familiar voice came from behind her. Even to this day she still sometimes found herself trying to identify the Clones she regularly worked with by voice alone rather than relying on Force aura...but it was hard when you had such a strong presence as Commander Bly. Her right-hand officer's sense was unmistakable-steady and reliable, as rock-steady as the man himself, but with undercurrents of something more intense beneath.

She turned round to find him there, helmet tucked under one arm. "Well done, Commander. How's morale?"

"The lads are catching up on their sleep, but we can only relax so much before we weaken our protective posture too much." Bly shrugged, but even the ever-serious Commander had the ghost of a smile playing round his features. "It's been nice, though. It's a beautiful city."

"Maybe one day we'll be able to explore it in peacetime," said Aayla, sighing wistfully.

Bly gave a quiet laugh. "No such thing as that for you Jedi, Ma'am. Doesn't feel like it for us either."

Aayla looked away, at that. There had been plenty of chat among the Order about what happened to the clones after the war. Almost no one had come to a conclusion. Almost no one had wanted to discuss it after the first few months of the war. "No, it doesn't, does it. How's Galle, by the way?"

"Oh, he'll be fine, Ma'am. His armor kept him from getting too badly injured, he'll be done with his bacta soak in time for the ceasefire to end." Bly shrugged, a touch haplessly. "Fitting, I suppose."

"Maybe." Aayla motioned him over to the table. "Here, tentative deployment plans. What do you think?"

Bly paced over, peering down at the holograms. Some of the Grand Army's officers had resented the Jedi primacy and subordinating themselves to beings appointed over them with no military training or experience, but Bly had never voiced such concerns. Aayla had always taken care to consult with Bly on matters of strategy, which was more than some other Jedi did with their clone leadership.

"You sure we want the cannons that far to the rear?" Bly said after a few seconds consideration. "We push forward in the city it'll be hard to get arty on-call for the lads."

"I thought about that, but look-" Aayla indicated the holograms displaying Separatist disposition. "We're not seeing any of their heavies up front. No tri-droids, tank droids, Homing Spiders or Hailfires. What does that say to you, Commander?"

"Uh." Bly's brows knit as he considered that. "Just looks like a weakness to be exploited to me, Ma'am, but I imagine it's something more than that?"

"It is." Aayla indicated the Separatist positions. "Living troops taking the lead and no heavy artillery...Reiter wants his people to be as appealing as possible to the hearts and minds of Axxila's populace."

The Commander gave a snort. "You have a lot of faith in Reiter's military honor, if you don't mind my saying so, Ma'am."

"Compared to the other CIS leaders we've encountered, I don't see why not. He certainly hasn't violated the ceasefire." Aayla gave Bly a coy look. "Not getting jealous, are you?"

Bly remained stonefaced. "Reckon I can rock that scarf better than him, Ma'am, but I'll leave that to Keller and the cold-weather warfare lot."

Aayla laughed. "That's the spirit. We'll keep the artillery back for now in case we need final protective fire to hold the ground we've taken, but we will have our gunships standing by. They can provide a lot more precise air support. Sound good?"

"Yes Ma'am." Bly tugged on his helmet. "I'll go check in with the battalion commanders. Anything else before I go?"

"We've got a day of downtime left, Bly. Make it count."

Something thrummed in the Commander's Force aura at that. "Yes Ma'am. Count on it."


Even after all this time, Colonel Adreian Reiter still wasn't entirely used to the customary red dimness of CIS command posts. RSM Hem Zhe, at his side, clearly felt the same judging by her irritated blinking as they strode through the hallways of their headquarters. The Gossams didn't have the best night vision in the galaxy, and the Regimental Sergeant Major clearly was feeling the pain of that right now.

"Doing alright, Sergeant Major?"

Zhe grumbled. "This is not the first thing I like to see when I wake up in the morning."

Reiter laughed, adjusting his service cap as they dodged a pair of chatting security droids. "What was a day in the life of the Punitive Security Forces like, before you went to war?"

"Boring, boring, boring." Zhe shook her head. "I started off guarding a warehouse. Then I supervised people who guarded warehouses. We never did the whole conquer-for-credits, that was more the Banking Clan and Trade Federation's line of work."

"And now look at you. An RSM, and wearing the uniform of the Gossam Commandos."

The dimunitive sauroid looked up and flashed a sly smile at Colonel Reiter. "Just because I started off guarding warehouses didn't mean that was where my talents ended."

"Indeed." Reiter nodded approvingly. "As I understand there's not many women in the Commandos."

Zhe sniffed. "Not many, no. But we're there. And what about you? This is a far cry from the Judicials."

Reiter's lips twitched at that. "You're right, it is. I did fifteen years of service with them...soldiered everywhere from the Stark Hyperspace War to the Yinchorri Uprising, to the massacre on Galidraan. The Jedi had my back on more than a few of my missions. It's...weird, being on the wrong side of their lightsabers. In some ways I miss that life, even though I know what I'm doing is right."

The Gossam noncom's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized his attire. "Your uniform…"

"Yes. One of life's great ironies, that-the same shade of blue the Judicial Forces used would be adopted by the Confederacy." Reiter reached up to cinch his scarf closer. "I consider it a reminder. I fight for the same ideals, though the insignia may have changed."

"Very touching," came an electronic rasp. "Organic flair for the dramatic never fails to impress."

Reiter smiled at the figure looming in the entrance to the war room, though it was no doubt wasted on TR-11. "Good morning, TR. How was your recharge cycle?"

"Brief," said the tactical droid. "It left me time to redeploy our forces in your absence."

Reiter's white eyes narrowed. "If you've disobeyed my-"

"No. Our heavy units remain shackled as you requested." TR-11 turned about and started walking for the tactical plot. Reiter and Zhe followed after him, both Arkanian and Gossam looking more than a touch annoyed. Tactical droids had a controversial reputation among the CIS military. Their enhanced processors made them far more useful as strategists than the OOM-series droid commanders, but the increased intelligence had also brought with it no small amount of arrogance. Stories of tactical droids ignoring commands from organic superiors had rapidly proliferated through the droid army's ranks. No one was quite sure how many of them were true.

Reiter warily regarded the tactical plot, clasping his hands behind his back. "You moved up the Fusiliers' artillery."

"I did." There was nothing remotely apologetic in TR-11's voice. "If the Republic initiates hostilities we need to be ready to defend our positions."

"Very well." Reiter looked to Zhe. "Sergeant Major, how are the Commandos?"

"Troop commanders are in position," said Zhe, leaning on the table, sweeping her flinty gaze across the positions. "And they have eyes-on the Republic's forward positions. If they violate the ceasefire, we'll know."

"Very well." Reiter took a deep breath. "We have...thirteen hours until we're at war again, people. Let's be ready for it."


The battle lines on Axxila weren't always clearly delineated defensive positions. In some cases the command to stand down had come in the midst of a battle for a building, a hallway, an apartment. Where the Separatist combatants had been droids the ceasefire had been a simple, mechanical thing, but where the clones had scrapped with the organic fighters of the Gossam Commandos or the Kooriva Fusiliers, matters had been decidedly more awkward.

In the areas where there were wounded to retrieve and dead to lay to rest, the two sides had cooperated by silent agreement. Foes united to collect trooper armor tallies and lay them to rest in impromptu graves alongside Fusiliers while Koorivar soldiers read last rites before the troopers sang Vode An, the GAR marching song, one last time. The Gossam Commandos were less sentimental, simply stripping their colleagues of useable ammunition, weaponry, equipment, and finally, ID tags before turning to assist the clones.

But assist they did, some in deeper ways than others. The planetary headquarters of Biscuit Baron saw an almost amicable truce, as clones and Commandos alike united to scrounge up and cook what remained of the vast stocks of magnificently unhealthy and spectacularly delicious fast food.

But even as the brief respite prevailed, eyes kept flicking to chronos, keeping track of the countdown. And as the hours grew shorter and shorter more and more fighters from both sides bade farewell to their brief acquaintanceship, donning helmets, slinging blasters, and trudging back off to defensive positions. By the time an hour remained in the ceasefire, almost everyone was back at their posts.

Everyone, that is, except for one holdout: a squad each of clone troopers and Gossam Commandos, competing to see who could down more of Biscuit Baron's kids' meals. But even they had to call it quits at the thirty minute mark. Sweeping aside the debris of the galaxy's most successful fast food chain from the table, the clone Sergeant and Commando squad leader carved an epitaph into the booth's table:

In this booth the clones of Sergeant CT-19/3901's squad and the Commandos of Sergeant Xeng Liu decided to settle the war in far more delicious a fashion.

The two NCOs regarded their work and turned to shake hands. No clone had ever thought they'd be doing such a thing...but then again, no clone had been trained to go up against flesh and blood rather than machines.

Left unstated was the profound unease that Sergeant Oh-One and his squad had felt during the whole affair. Soon enough, they'd be back to doing what they had quite literally been born to do.

The Gossams and the Koorivar and even their own Jedi General might mourn the end of the treaty. But truth be told, the clones felt far more comfortable squeezing triggers than shaking the hands of their enemies.

This went double for Commander Bly, dug in alongside Lieutenant Galle's platoon at one of the foremost positions in the streets, steadily watching the countdown timer tick towards zero in his HUD. General Secura was touring the positions, checking in with the battalion commanders. Bly wanted to be at the tip of the spear, ready for the fighting to resume.

"Everyone's back, Commander," came the voice of the Lieutenant next to him. If Galle was worse for wear for his dip in the bacta tank, he wasn't showing it.

"Not a moment too soon," murmured Bly, gaze focused on the red numbers ticking down, and the battlefield beyond. "Ten seconds…"

"Safeties off, people," said Galle, flicking his DC-15 onto semi.

"Five…" murmured Bly, "four...three...two...one…"

For a few seconds after the war resumed, there was silence in the streets of Axxila...and then the dull thud of mortars sounded in the distance. A clone trooper opened up with his repeating blaster emplacement in a building nearby, a battle droid squad responded with a salvo of suppression fire-and then all hell broke loose once more.