Three wary ribbons of light darted to and fro through the murky black bowels of Sector 6. Coated wires of every color lined the narrow, circular walls, accompanied by thick pipes that heated the tunnels well beyond a degree suitable to humans. A singular strip of metal, not more than half a meter wide and a few centimeters thick, served as the only platform to be walked upon. Clearly these spaces were built for specialized maintenance droids – not at all for an armored squad of clones.
"Hope things are all right upstairs," commented Waxer through the intense darkness and heat. His joints ached from the prolonged crouching position that the cramped passage enforced. At this point he was seriously debating which party was given the more pleasant task.
Cody kept pace at the front of the group, seemingly unperturbed by the hostile conditions. "That's none of your concern," he scolded plainly without looking back, "Let General Kenobi handle things up top. It's our job to make sure the fight ends up being worth it out there."
"Yes, sir," Waxer returned with vehemence. Never could get a friendly conversation going around the Commander…
"Sir," interrupted Charter from the back. The holomap in his hand further illuminated the passage, sending ambient rays of blue from behind the other two clones. "Sir, d'you hear that? Almost sounds like…"
The group's trio of headlights converged upon a T-shaped intersection in the tunnels up ahead. As they approached, Cody angled his light down to reveal a shimmering stream of some-or-other liquid flowing rapidly through the thoroughfare underneath. He slowed to an investigatory stop, and each man paused behind him. Waxer sent his puzzlement at the unexpected scene through a deliberate glance back to Charter. Meanwhile, Cody pulled the holotransceiver from his pouch for the tenth time this mission. The Sector map expanded in his palm; the tunnel was enveloped then in an even brighter ethereal blue that amplified with every reflective surface nearby. Judging by their position, as estimated by the distance covered since descending, it appeared that the peculiar stream ran from the heart of Sector 6. Cody deflated with a frown. He may not have been conscious for his salon pod's wild entrance, but he vividly recalled the opposed journey out from the demolished fountain. And last time he set eyes on the plaza, that fountain was utterly gone. The water supplying it had to go somewhere, of course, and Cody held back a sigh at the realization that 'somewhere' ended up being inside the station. Creeping into the thoroughfare, he readjusted the scope of his headlight. The way ahead was littered with fallen supports that spewed water from every available crevice.
"Obstruction en route," he reported coolly, "Take a left, men."
…The fifth left so far.
Their holomap was indispensable, to be sure, but without the comm relay to update, it showed a stagnant model of the Sector from a time well before the Separatist invasion. Little surprises such as these were unavoidable as they were frequent. In addition, it was impossible for the squad to track their position. Every turn, every step had to be counted manually so as not to lose their position within the underground maze.
Waxer turned as ordered once Cody took the lead. "Ah- sir," he began with trepidation, watching the river race past them underneath, "You don't think it's possible the whole island might, you know… Fall?" The sight of water running freely over sparsely dressed circuitry was less than reassuring. "I mean, it's just repulsors keeping this place afloat, right? 'Least the stations back home have a leg or two."
"Can it, Waxer," Cody snapped. "Need I remind you a second time? We're soldiers, not engineers. The faster we get that comm station online, the faster this place gets cleaned up. Our orders are top priority right now."
Waxer wasn't given the chance to retort before Charter cut in once again. "Right turn at twenty-five meters, sir," he directed. "We'll be back on course in about four minutes." Strictly business. He obviously had more experience working directly under their Commander.
"Copy. Turning right on your mark."
Musty silence filled and elongated the time it took for their designated turn to be reached. Cody tested the corner as they arrived, the same level of militant caution as always, despite the conclusive lack of droids since their underground mission began. Waxer waited for his ritual to end. He studied his blaster aimlessly, nursing his unspoken concern over the effects of the surrounding humidity and heat on the gas cartridge inside. And then Cody disappeared. Waxer hardly needed to look up to discern the moment he did, given the clockwork precision with which each corner was checked: three and a half seconds, every single time. Only, this time Cody wasn't nearly so far along on the other side. Waxer turned the corner and halted with a jolt, nearly ploughing into the back of Cody's knees before realizing he no longer needed to crouch. Craning to the side, he saw that the passageway before them was sloped to enable a standing height – if only marginally.
A thick metal door denied their progress at the end of the hall. Cody advanced to examine it, and something in his posture then was uncannily reminiscent of the posture he took with undisciplined recruits. Waxer couldn't speak for the door, but in its situation, he'd have promptly stepped aside and apologized. The uncooperative door resembled that of a boiler room's. Its windowless surface was dotted with heavy rivets, plain and industrial save for the enormous valve in the center that no doubt held the ominous structure in place. Cody held up a hand sign – Charter and Waxer retreated obediently behind either corner flanking the hall.
The first thing they heard was the clicking of Cody's rifle onto his back. The terrible screech that followed told them his first attempt on the valve was less than successful. Charter peeked into the hall, then returned to his holomap on the gamble that however long this delay took, it would be long enough to drum up yet another alternative route. Waxer observed him rotate and expand the holographic model. He wondered if there would be any of their unit left by the time they were through. Diversions impeded their assignment one after another. Every setback only lengthened the suffering endured by the rest of the 212th. The echoing river below was piqued by the insulated sounds of cannonfire above. But in a morbid sort of way, the cannons were reassuring: if they were firing, then there was somebody left to fire upon.
The wrenching noises across the hall were punctuated with a low, metallic exchanging of gears. Charter and Waxer jumped to attention again, and Cody huffed at his hard-won victory.
"Lightsaber would've taken care'a this a lot faster, but we'll just have to make up for lost time," he said, mostly to himself while collecting the gun from his back.
As per protocol, he creaked the door open a hair, and peered in with his back to the other side. This amount of caution wasn't particularly expedient, he knew, but in this case, out of the tens of hundreds that preceded it, Cody's life was spared from the fizzling blue beam that scored his helmet as it flew into the hall. The squad snapped to defensive formation without flaw nor command. Barrels lurking around the walls, Charter and Waxer were poised to follow their leader in from the sides. Cody nodded back. He watched the door predatorily, rifle pointing up, and in one motion plunged into the unknown.
The door was cast wide open. The other two troopers sprinted forth. They stomped onto what seemed to be a wire-lattice balcony and scanned the shadowy space at the ready to shoot. They located their commander with his headlight pointing down… Onto a terrified crowd of civilian refugees. Only a few of them were armed. Even fewer held their blasters with confidence. Cody lowered his sights with a wearied sigh.
"Don't shoot," he ordered lethargically, left hand up in surrender, before a near-match of his voice reverberated through the dark, gymnasium-like room from the back.
"Don't shoot!" the harried voice cried again. Three lights wandered over the crowd, searching for the source, and finally illuminated a single, grimy clone struggling to push his way to the stairs.
"The hell…?" Charter puzzled quietly.
Cody was just as surprised, though his response quickly vanished in a sheath of glaring disapproval. "You had better have a damn good reason for being down here right now, son," he scorned as he stepped down to meet him. The civilians smartly compressed to provide him with room.
Switch failed to salute, Cody noted initially. He mentally annotated the minor offense. Switch was instead preoccupied holding back an equal mix of laughter and pain – the coincidence of meeting anyone down here was really too bizarre. But a full room, plus the infiltration squad? The Force was a mysterious thing. "Well that seals it: it really is you, Commander."
Cody's fingers twitched in his fist. "Listen kid, if you know what's good for you-"
"Right, right- sorry, sir," Switch retracted with both arms up, "Forgive me. General gave the signal to retreat."
Karking hell. "So you're telling me this is where you bloody retreated to?!"
"Ah, no! I mean," he floundered, "Sir, it's Grievous. He's touched down up top with those bodyguard droids. Offbeat an' I barely made it down here alive."
At that, Cody felt every muscle in his body seize.
"What?" called Waxer a few steps higher up, "Did you say Grievous is here?!"
And the General's ordered off his support, Cody finished internally. They could have expected this. They should have expected this. Granted, it was impossible to know who their opponents were above planet, but they'd entered the atmosphere knowing full well that Sector 6 was Separatist territory in every way but name. Enemy reinforcements really were that easy to install. And who better to install against General Kenobi? Dammit. Eight clones and a Jedi. Half of them sleep-deprived. All of them wounded. There was a reason some men took to calling them 'Team Suicide,' but with Grievous added in, the name was terrifyingly accurate. …Dammit! He was right. We should've kept fighting last night. It was me who told him not to. Now he's the one paying for it.
Charter appealed to Cody's tense back. "Sir, there's no time to lose."
Involuntarily, the forehead of Cody's helmet fell into his hand. "…Charter's right. Switch, you're coming with us. If either you or Offbeat can still fire a blaster, we'll need all the help we can get."
Switch was both proud and afraid that Cody could identify him correctly. "Yes, sir," he readily agreed, "I'll try not to slow us down, but Offbeat's out like a light. Lugged the bastard in here myself. He's over there-" a vague gesture toward a dark and crowded corner, "-if you wanna go check."
"No time." Cody glanced back. "Charter, we need the fastest route to that relay station, asap."
"On it, sir. Straight through this room and an exit at the right."