"Volk," Rafe said, "what I need are options."
"Caden's the tactician, Sarge, not me," Volk reminded him.
At mention of his master, Theran loosed a stricken honking sound. He loped over to where Caden lay, crouched down and proceeded to fill the air with sad moaning noises.
"Where's Onoff?" the newcomer inquired, evidently having counted clones and found them one short.
Volk got up from where he'd crouched to catch his breath and jogged in the direction of the treeline to the west. Rafe and the other clone followed him. They found Onoff downed in trampled underbrush, and Rafe was the first to realize what must have happened.
"That damned slug," he shook his head, "We never should have taken her into the field."
"Time for blame later," the new clone said, then shouted over his shoulder, "Doc! Get over here! Volk, stay with him. I need a word with your sergeant."
"My sergeant?" Volk sounded challenging.
"Simmer down, Volk. And stay."
Volk growled wordlessly. Obviously he wasn't happy about being left out. His irritation did make a comfortable return to the norm, as far as Rafe was concerned.
When they were out of earshot of Volk, the newcomer turned and said the totally unexpected.
"Obviously, you have no idea who I am, or else you'd have tried to kill me already. Good thing you didn't, because Volk would have probably ripped out your throat with his bare hands if you had."
Realization came crashing down like a tidal wave.
"Tavis," Rafe found he could barely speak the name.
"Disbelief. Anger. That's more like it. Still, I trust you'll take my warning to heart. I'd hate for Volk to have to kill you. I think he's really rather fond of you, truth be known."
"Him?" Rafe choked on the rage as it competed with his confusion, "He doesn't like anybody."
"Not true, but I can see why you'd feel that way."
Rafe got the distinct impression that Tavis was enjoying himself. He found that he didn't care to be a source of amusement. It seemed as if Tavis knew it, and took pity on him; Tavis changed the subject.
"Now you know me and I know you, and we both know how Volk feels about it, and I trust you've been with the squad long enough to know that his is the final voice of decision among them. Are you ready to move on and tell me about those clankers? How many are they, where are they coming from?"
"What makes you think-" Rafe didn't get to finish, because Tavis interrupted.
"With your tactician down, it's clear you need help. I'm offering it. If you're smart, you'll take it, whether you like me or not. You can try killing me later, if we survive this and it will make you feel better. But I don't recommend that course in Volk's vicinity. He has the strange idea that my life belongs to him, and the rest of Fortune Actual."
"You don't even talk like one of us," Rafe said, finding a break in Tavis' speech.
"No," Tavis scolded patiently, "Save that for later. Separatists, remember? Talk to me, Sergeant, I'm the closest thing you've got to help out here, but I can't save you from something I don't understand."
On Tavis' side of things, he knew exactly what he represented to Rafe. He was not merely a challenger to Rafe's authority, but considered a traitor of his kind. He knew that every instinct, thought and feeling in Rafe wanted Tavis dead. And Tavis, if anyone had asked him, was a true rival.
Regulations and rankings be damned, Fortune was his, and he was willing to fight for it. But not here, not now, not like this. For now, he would ingratiate himself to Rafe, play the submissive obedient his rank designated. The time for conflict would be later, at a time and place of his own choosing.
That is, if Rafe would allow it.
Tavis was careful to maintain a genial, even jovial demeanor on the surface, because inside he felt the same hostility rising in him that had once possessed Volk. Tavis knew that -if Rafe sensed it- the sergeant would turn on him, shoot him immediately. But he also knew something else.
If Rafe were to attack Tavis, then he would be subject to Fortune's bad side. Tavis was under no illusions about his squad. Provoked, they were vicious, ruthless and cunning. Rafe would be torn apart and killed before he knew what happened. The tanker squad would follow, because they would be forced by training to retaliate against any clones who harmed one of their own kind without orders. It would be a bloodbath, and that was something Tavis did not want.
Lying beside Caden, Theran issued a low growl, bright eyes flicking from Tavis to Rafe and back. Theran typically used the squad's reactions to gauge whether he should merely keep an eye on a person or if he should tear their face off with his claws and wear it as a hat.
But Theran had never gotten such mixed readings as had been getting since Rafe arrived. Scent, body language, vocal intonation... all were telling him that fear and distrust were at work, but not to the degree that put Rafe in the category of "enemy". More confusing still, Caden had told Theran that Rafe was the new squad leader. Though Theran received instruction from Caden, it was not unknown to him that Volk had ultimate command of the squad. It had always been Theran's belief that Volk was the type of leader who would die before allowing any challenger to take over. In spite of what Caden had said, and how the squad acted around Rafe, Theran knew their unease, and he regarded Rafe as an unwelcome interloper.
Rising to a crouching position with his head down, Theran stood to Rafe's left, hissing. One wrong move and this clone was history. This was about the stability of the squad. Rafe had upset the stability and sync of the unit. That alone was enough reason to drive him away or, if necessary, kill him.
Moreover, Theran knew that it was on Rafe's authority that they had come out here. Through simple reasoning, Theran knew to assign blame for everything that had gone wrong to Rafe. The rest of the squad had known the storm was coming, and had wanted to stay at the base.
He sensed confirmation of his hostility in every aspect of Tavis. He also sensed that Tavis knew as he did that the storm had merely been the beginning, that it carried on its winds a scent that Theran did not know, but recognized in the same way that Lady had recognized him as a predator when she'd never seen a creature remotely like him. When Theran had said 'bad cloud' to Caden that morning, he had not been talking about the wind and rain, but of what was to follow it.
Rafe had just finished relating what little he knew to Tavis when Doc came to make his report on the injured. Apparently having decided to completely misinterpret what Tavis wanted by staying with Doc instead of away from Rafe and Tavis, Volk followed along, his every movement a shrill warning as to how aggressive he was feeling just now.
"Off's gonna have a bit of a headache when he wakes up, but from what I can tell he will wake up," Doc reported, diplomatically positioning himself so he was facing both Rafe and Tavis and therefore not reporting to either in particular.
Doc had learned the technique from Caden, a fact he was intensely aware of just now as the next portion of his report had to do with Caden, and it was much less favorable. He elected to use another of Caden's techniques to avoid figuratively being shot as the bearer of bad news. He waited for a prompt before continuing. Something about having to ask for the information let the questioner know it was bad, and allowed them be more mentally prepared and therefore less likely to have a fit.
"Caden?" it was Rafe who asked.
Doc shook his head, sighed and answered, "I don't know yet. From outside, I count three broken ribs and a fractured shoulder, but he could be damaged internally as well. By all rights, sir, the tank should have crushed him flat and killed him. It was only because its weight was unbalanced that it mostly missed, and that the mud provided an amount of cushioning, that he's alive at all."
"But for how much longer?" Tavis asked.
"There's no way to tell," Doc replied, "Not with the equipment I have here."
"Can he be moved safely?" Tavis persisted.
Perhaps Tavis was acting as a tactician, demanding all facts. But, here and now, it should have been Rafe's job to ask, and they all knew it. Tavis was flatly ignoring protocol. Perhaps it was just an old habit. Or maybe it was because Caden was his friend, and that counted above anything to Tavis.
"I wouldn't recommend it," Doc said, still patiently pretending he was addressing both Tavis and Rafe, "Moving him now risks further injury. I'd recommend at least waiting for him to be conscious, then the pain or lack thereof can tell us something."
"We've got clankers incoming, Doc," Rafe reminded him, "If they catch us in the open they'll cut us to pieces. We haven't got the numbers to hold this position."
"If moving him becomes necessary," Tavis said, casting a wary glance at Rafe before returning his focus to Doc, "What's your recommendation?"
"Keep him as still as possible and move him into the tank. That's the safest option, for both him and Onoff as well. But I'd need to stay with Caden in any case, unless you want to lose him."
"That might happen anyway," Volk said coldly.
There was a pause. Volk had been silent up to now. As per usual, Volk was the least sentimental of them. He took in their numbers, their position, and the health of the man in question and added it up in his mind. Caden might already be dying, to move him might just kill him, but if they stayed here they'd be guaranteeing they would all die, and their mission would fail. For the sake of the squad, and that of the information Bean carried in his mind, Volk pointed out the obvious, however much he hated it.
Clearly, the statement didn't set well with Theran, who snarled and clicked his teeth together, glaring at Volk as though the clone had threatened to kill Caden himself.
"Caden's too valuable to simply abandon," Tavis cautioned, directing the remark towards Rafe, "Clones may all be expendable, but some less so than others. The GAR needs clones like Caden."
"The GAR also, as I understand it," Rafe growled back, clearly becoming irritated by Tavis' interference, "needs the intel Corporal Bean is carrying. And that takes priority."
"Who saved who's ass just now when the tank was sinking?" Volk snapped, "Oh that's right, it was Beanie and Tay! If it were left to you, we'd have lost the tank by now, we'd still be short a man, and we wouldn't have met up with our objective."
"Easy, Volk," Tavis' voice was soft, barely a whisper, yet it had more effect than a shouted command.
Volk growled once, but fell silent after that. Everyone could feel his gaze burning into Rafe, but he said nothing further, and issued no more challenges for the moment.
"The way I see this, it isn't an either or type situation," Tavis said reasonably, "Protecting one does not require dooming the other. In fact, I submit to you that we'll be better able to fight if we do take steps to protect the injured."
"By what logic? If Doc's in the tank, he can't fight with us."
"No," Tavis agreed, "But Theran might."
There was a pause, as all eyes turned to Theran, who straightened slightly, looking suddenly more curious than apprehensive. Clearly, the animal was interested in what Tavis had to say.
"If we don't take steps to protect Caden, Theran will. If we protect Caden, Theran will help us fight. I submit to you, Sergeant, that in this environment that's an advantage worth having."
Rafe looked at Tavis, slow fury growing in him. Tavis had given him the illusion of control, while really leaving him no choice at all. Tavis had won.
"Alright," Rafe growled irritably, "You've got all the answers, Tavis, what's your plan?"
One of the greatest weapons in a combat situation where you are outnumbered is fear. But droids do not feel fear, and though Tavis had learned the value of inflicting fear on the enemy, he knew that knowledge would not serve him here.
Nor did he have the ability to choose what ground he chose to fight on. The tank could not move from its present location without risking falling into another quagmire. And there was no way in hell the weary and already strained squad could get it out a second time. Nor could they in good conscience abandon the tank to its fate.
For one thing, the tank was a formidable weapon. For another, it was objectively more valuable than the whole squad put together. Squads were often sacrificed to provide cover for a tank as it was being placed on the ground or picked up. They could no more abandon Beauty and her crew to the droids than they could have permitted her to sink into the swamp.
So they could not intimidate the enemy, and they could not choose their battleground. But Tavis knew that wasn't all that mattered.
Though a theoretical platoon's worth of droids was heading their way, those droids couldn't know that the clones could not continue to move forward. They could not know that here and now was when the clones would turn and face them. They could not know that their quarry was being forced to fight.
The Separatist droids also could not know that the GAR troopers were aware they were coming.
Even if they did, they could not know how many clones they were facing, nor was it likely they were aware of Theran. Theran was a single non-clone in the frankly huge GAR, and so far no enemy who'd seen him had lasted long enough to report on his existence. Theran's tactics and abilities were so wholly unlike those employed by clones or Jedi that he could kill multiple droids before they adjusted to the fact that they were under attack.
"The first thing we need to do is make a funnel," Tavis said, once Doc, Onoff and Caden were secured within the tank, "clearly we can't do that in the conventional way."
"So do it in an unconventional way," Nattan suggested mildly, having climbed out onto the roof of his tank for the strategy session.
He seemed emotionally detached from the reality that Tavis walked among them, and the rest of his bunch were still in the tank, so it was impossible to say what they felt about it. Tavis suspected this was fully intentional on the part of Sergeant Nattan. If he crew stayed in the tank, he maintained rigid control over everything they were able to do. Evidently he was wise enough to know that a personal animosity of his crew towards a ground trooper could be deadly.
Tavis craned his neck to look up at the tank commander, "What are you thinking?"
"Use the mire on one side, the tank on the other," Nattan replied, "We'd need soldiers on the ground covering us so that we don't get blown up prematurely, of course. I'd rather a brick wall, but we haven't got one of those, so Beauty will have to do in place of that."
"We're on the same page then, Sergeant Nattan," Tavis said with a curt nod, "Now, we have six expendable men on the ground, plus Theran. Bean we can't afford to lose."
"We don't want you on the ground," Rafe corrected.
For a second, Tavis thought Rafe was going to pitch another argument against him, or perhaps just shoot him now and get it over with. Instinctively, he tensed, and he sensed the rest of the squad do the same. But Rafe wasn't thinking with his emotions, he was using his head.
"You're a sniper, right? So we use that to our advantage. You're not half so useful in the thick of things. Up close, you're just another clone, and that's not enough."
He tilted his head slightly, indicating Tavis' bad leg without speaking on it. Tavis didn't resent the silent implication. He knew his agility was less than perfect, and he agreed with Rafe's assessment. A sniper was invaluable. There was just one problem, which Volk pointed out with clear hostility.
"You see any high ground around here?" he demanded, "Because I sure as hell don't."
Rafe flashed him a glare, which Volk reflected right back at him.
"Not high ground, Corporal," Tavis said, purposeful in his use of rank rather than name to address Volk, "but trees. Using the ascension cable, I can get up any tree you like. From there, I can start pickin' 'em off before they get anywhere near us. I recommend sending Theran out at the same time. The clankers have to come from that direction," Tavis pointed the way the majority of them had come from, "and there's plenty of cover Theran can use. If he rushes in and out, he'll generate confusion. Maybe we can't scare clankers, but we can sure confuse the hell out of them, which is the next best thing. We'll cut the numbers as best we can before they get here, but it'll only work so long before Theran has to pull out to avoid getting killed."
"Not to mention yourself," Rafe said dryly, "A sniper can only fire so many shots from one position before being located, even with Theran running interference," Rafe held up his hand before Tavis could respond to that, "Don't get any ideas. But we need as many able bodies as we can get, and yours passes for that under the circumstances. If things start getting hot, I want you to come down immediately."
"Understood," Tavis said, "Recommend Garm and Volk be the tank's guards."
"Agreed," Rafe said, "Phisher and Damyu will follow my lead, with Bean keeping to cover behind the tank," before Bean could protest this arrangement, Rafe gave him a sharp look, "I know you want to fight, son. It's in the blood. But you're the only one of us who cannot be allowed to die here. Besides which, you're a pilot, not a ground trooper. Let us do our job, so you can get back to yours."
Bean nodded in silence, but Tavis got the sense he was still annoyed.
"Everyone clear on the plan then? Good, get to your posts."
