Hey, guys! How's everyone doing? Hopefully this chapter takes your mind off your worries (or boredom) and takes you to a different world (read: galaxy far, far away) for a few minutes. ;D

Before you start reading this, I've posted a link on my profile to the music that I used while writing this chapter, in case you're interested. It is very appropriate, since it's a compilation of the themes from Republic Commando. :)

Grievous' howl of fury followed Kit Fisto as he raced down the hall to the control room. The Jedi general tried not to grin, but the memory of Grievous being flattened beneath a huge storage shelf. . . He chuckled. It was unfortunate that his droid hadn't been there to take a holocam.

He skidded around the corner and into the control room. The commando sergeant swung around, but lowered his rifle when he saw who it was. "General Fisto. Where's Grievous?"

"At the moment, he's under a storage shelf."

"He's still alive?" Fixer twisted the power core and pried open the casing at one end.

"Unfortunately. He called in his MagnaGuards and I had to retreat." Kit Fisto swung his lightsaber and turned to Delta Thirty-Eight. "Sergeant, we don't have much time."

"Roger that. Advisor, do we still have access to the systems?"

"I can get it back." Advisor stumbled to the keypad, pushing his blaster rifle, which had been cut through, to the floor. "General Fisto, should I lock down this level?"

A sudden sense of danger flashed across his mind. "We're out of time. I'll take care of it."

"I've got the data, sir." Fixer held up the computer chip.

Kit Fisto stepped over a MagnaGuard that had been shot through the head, reached past Advisor, and stabbed his lightsaber through the power core.

Scorch leaned over to inspect the damage and hummed his approval. "Man, I wish I had one of those."

Fixer visibly flinched at this, and Sev growled, "Not a chance."

"Hall's clear," reported the sergeant from the doorway. "Form up, Deltas. General?"

"I'll lead the way."

Advisor retrieved his helmet from beneath the console and put it on. "Stay alert. I'm picking up a lot of activity outside."

Kit Fisto started down the hall at a run just as a low, cavernous bellow vibrated through the walls. He glanced over his shoulder. "That creature is close by."

The sergeant huffed. "I never would have guessed."

Boss signaled for a halt and stepped to the left, gaining a clear view to the main entrance of Grievous' lair. The huge stone doors were wide open, and there were no visible guards.

"This has got to be a trap," Fixer said.

Scorch snickered. "Come on, Fixer. Be optimistic. Maybe Grievous wants us to leave and he's making it easy for us."

"This side corridor leads to the northern landing pad," General Fisto said, narrowing his eyes. "Can the shuttle be reached from there?"

Boss considered, remembering how the landscape had looked from the cockpit as they landed. "Yes, once we reach the canyon floor."

"Very well, Sergeant. Take your men by that route and get the shuttle ready for flight. I'll go this way." He gestured at the main landing pad and flashed a grin.

Thirty-Eight raised an eyebrow, then turned and waved for his men to fall in. On General Fisto's head be it if there were too many droids for him to handle alone. . . To be fair, he had managed very efficiently so far. Too bad he hadn't impaled Grievous, though.

A sealed door at the end of the hall brought them to a stop. Scorch pulled out a breach charge and slapped it into place. "Clear!"

The explosion forced the doors apart, and Sev shouldered his way through the gap, firing a steady stream of lasers. Boss moved to his left, systematically clearing the landing pad of battle droids, ignoring the return fire that skimmed his armor. As usual, by the time the droids' tracking systems had caught up with the commandos' movements, there were only one or two left that posed even a slight threat.

Boss smirked. A little relaxation's always nice.

The other three commandos spread out, and Boss clipped his blaster to his belt and cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the empty hall.

"All clear," Sev reported, from where he and Fixer stood, beside a starfighter of an unfamiliar model.

"Hm. I take it that's Grievous' ship."

"Yes, sir." Fixer tapped the hull with the back of his hand. "It looks like a modified Bellbulab-22. Atmospheric speed of ten or eleven hundred kilometers per hour."

"That sounds fun," Scorch said.

"All right, Deltas." Boss pulled out his last thermal. "Let's not leave it undamaged."

Advisor caught at his wrist. "The scans Commander Cody sent indicate that the hull is covered in impervium."

Boss disarmed the grenade and waited for an explanation, but Advisor was busy studying the ship. "Fixer?"

"It's impenetrable to small-arms fire," explained the technician. "Very rare, very expensive."

"Grenades won't harm it," Advisor said. "Not from outside. Advise you plant a few thermals in the fuel tank instead."

"Oh." Scorch sounded reverent, which probably meant he was visualizing the destruction ahead. "Boss?"

"Get to it." Thirty-Eight stood back and kept watch while Scorch opened the fuel intake valve and shoved it full of explosives. At the outer edge of the platform, Fixer disarmed a mine and Sev shot out two security cameras.

Boss glanced at the hall behind him again. It was still empty, so why did he feel like some threat was looming just out of sight? Probably because it is.

"All set," Scorch called. "I've left a thermal exposed for detonation."

"Platform's clear, sir," Fixer said.

"Fix cables," he ordered, approaching the edge. "Advisor?"

The other clone seemed to hesitate as he glanced down at the canyon floor, some fifty meters below.

Scorch sauntered by and attached his own cable. "It's like going up, but easier."

"Just don't let go," Sev added, readying his sniper rifle against one shoulder.

Advisor regarded them coldly.

"Sev," said Boss, ignoring their antics. "Fire on my signal."

He signaled for Fixer and Scorch to jump, swung around to brace his feet on the platform's edge, and glanced at Advisor, who gave him a short nod. They kicked off, swinging to a halt a dozen feet below. "Okay, Sev. Light it up."

Sev jumped backward off the platform, firing a single shot in mid-air. The roar of the resultant explosion sent a vibration through their ascension cables, and a wave of light and heat blasted over their heads. The clones ducked against the cliff face as a large hunk of Grievous' prized starfighter whizzed past.

Clinging to his cable with one hand, Boss put two fingers to his helmet in a casual salute as the rest of the ship slid, crashing and clanging, to the canyon floor below. It was several long seconds before the echoing racket died away.

Scorch snickered. "So much for the Soulless One. Hey, Boss, why do you suppose the ship is called that?"

Sev chuckled in his low voice. "Grievous named it after himself."

Boss kicked off again, keeping a sharp lookout on the cliff wall to either side.

"General Soulless One," mused Scorch. "Sev, you ever wonder if –"

"Cut the chatter," Fixer said.

Advisor jumped the last few feet, stumbled, and almost fell to his knees. Thirty-Eight motioned for Sev to take point just as General Fisto's voice came through the comms. He sounded out of breath, but calm. "I assume that explosion was caused by you?"

"Yes, sir. Grievous' fighter is out of commission."

The hum and clash of meeting lightsabers cut off General Fisto's next few words, and he spoke faster. " – bring it to my position, we can –"

A faint, familiar voice broke in. "Not so fast, Jedi."

"Ah." Boss switched his rifle to sniper mode. "Grievous found the general."

As they ran over the uneven rock, dodging loose rubble and weathered boulders every few meters, Boss mapped out his strategy. "General Fisto," he said. "If you can hear me, we're headed for the shuttle. We'll rendezvous with you shortly."

He glanced at his companions. "Advisor."

Delta Squad's tactical coordinator stumbled again, but nodded. "I'll take off and hover a few meters from the landing platform."

"Roger that. Sev, take position on the boarding ramp and provide the general with cover. Scorch, Fixer, be prepared to move in if necessary."

They rounded a sharp bend, and there was the shuttle, the doors still sealed. Fixer sent rapid commands on his datapad, lowering the boarding ramp as the clones rushed towards it. Advisor, still holding Boss' pistol, ran up it as Scorch keyed the entrance code into the cargo bay door manifest.

The door sprang open and a droid leapt out, stabbing viciously. Advisor crumpled, and Scorch only barely avoided a second blow from the humming vibrosword.

"Cover!" shouted Boss, lunging forward.

Scorch ducked aside, and Thirty-Eight grabbed the droid by the neck and twisted, forcing it out of the doorway. He jabbed his own vibroblade between its photoreceptors just as Fixer fired over his shoulder, incapacitating a second droid that had slipped up behind him. A third and fourth flipped through the air and landed at the far end of the boarding ramp, each holding a long blade out to the side. They communicated with each other in low, guttural tones, their yellow eyes focusing on the commandos.

"Fixer." Boss jerked his head toward the cockpit. "Six-Two, give him cover. Sev, clear the ship."

"Those droids look like they're good at close combat," Fixer warned as he hurried inside, followed by the other two.

Thirty-Eight, who had no intention of getting near those vibroswords, armed an EC detonator and dropped it at his feet. It rolled down the boarding ramp. The droids were too stupid to move in time, and the burst of blue electricity fried their circuits as neatly as any others. He turned to check on Advisor, who had pushed himself up and was aiming his pistol almost at Boss' face.

Boss spun around. A fifth droid was perched on the ship above him like an Utapaun rock-vulture, vibrosword aimed for his neck. He had barely stepped back when Advisor sent four precise shots into its head, and it clattered to the ground.

The ship vibrated and the engines rumbled to life. Boss kicked the droid's skeletal figure off the ramp. "Ship clear, Oh-Seven?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. Taking position."

"On our way, General," Thirty-Eight reported, pulling Advisor up and glancing at the bloody slash in his chest plate. "Get to the med station."

"Wait, Sergeant!" General Fisto's voice sounded sharply in his ears. "I'm afraid we're in trouble."

"Boss!" exclaimed Scorch. "The general!"

Thirty-Eight sprang to the end of the ramp and looked up.

The small figure of the Jedi Master stood at the edge of the cliff just beneath the landing pad, some fifty meters above the shuttle. He vaulted into the air, soaring toward the ground as though flying were something he did every day. As he neared the ground, he somersaulted and slowed inexplicably, coming to a gentle landing. Immediately he was sprinting up the boarding ramp, shouting, "Take us up!"

He pivoted upon reaching the cargo door, standing with his lightsaber at the ready, and Sev and Scorch flanked him, standing precariously close to either edge.

Fixer's yell of alarm was punctuated by a dull clang as something heavy slammed into the shuttle, rocking it and nearly sending it veering into the cliff wall. A moment later, Fixer had the ship – and his voice – under control again. "Boss, we've got something throwing boulders at the ship."

Scorch sighed loudly. "Figures."

"It's that creature," General Fisto explained, balancing easily. "Grievous called it a darkghast."

Thirty-Eight loaded an anti-armor round into his gun and dropped to one knee, bracing himself against one of the struts. A rock flashed past him and bounced off the ship, and Boss followed its trajectory back to the source. The darkghast was crawling headfirst down the cliff face. Four powerful upper limbs and two lower ones propelled it easily from ledge to ledge. Its armored hide was mottled black and grey, and there were strange, rust-colored hourglass shapes on the head and upper back.

"Where does Grievous get these things?" Boss demanded.

Even as he took in its appearance, it dug its claws into the rock and tore out a sizable piece. With a challenging roar, it flung the boulder.

Boss fired instinctively, exploding the rock before it could hit the shuttle. "Fixer, get us out of here."

"Working on it."

The Jedi stood at the very edge of the boarding ramp, put away his lightsaber, and lifted both hands. "It's getting ready to jump," he warned.

"Deltas." Advisor's voice cut into the comms. "That creature is ten meters in length."

"And the shuttle is twenty," Scorch finished unhelpfully.

Delta Thirty-Eight loaded another shell. "Six-Two, get inside and get on the guns."

Scorch ran back inside, but Boss could still hear his gleeful muttering. "Time to use a real weapon."

Sev braced an elbow against Boss' shoulder and leveled his sniper rifle as the ship swerved again. "Whenever you're ready, sir."

They fired simultaneously. The darkghast roared, flinging up both sets of arms like some strange scorpion.

General Fisto put up his hands, as though he were forbidding the creature to move, just as it jumped.

Boss jerked back.

Ten feet from the ship, the darkghast came to a full stop, still in mid-air. Two arms slashed at the ship. Sev fell, catching at the strut with one hand. Boss threw himself flat, both to keep his balance and to reach Sev. General Fisto nearly fell off, but caught his balance at the last second and twisted, swinging his hands to the side.

The darkghast was flung back into the cliff wall.

"Accelerating," warned Fixer.

As Sev and Boss pulled themselves up and moved back to the door, Scorch sent a flurry of laser fire directly at the creature.

"Get yourselves inside," Advisor said. "We've cleared the surface."

Boss followed the general into the ship. As he retracted the boarding ramp, he cast a last look at the darkghast. It was still moving, chasing after them despite the heavy lasers that pummeled it.

"We're out of range of the explosives now, sir," Fixer said.

"Excellent." Boss moved to the viewport, slipped the detonator from his belt and pressed it with a deep sense of satisfaction. Fixer brought the shuttle around in a tight curve as the forbidding structure that had been Grievous' stronghold shivered once, twice, and then collapsed in on itself.

It was spectacular.

General Fisto spoke. "Well done, commandos! We won't know if Grievous escaped that for some time, but he'll never use that fortress again."

If he does, he'll be using it as a grave, Boss thought. He replaced the detonator, hooked his gun on his belt, and stood in the center of the empty cargo bay for a long moment. "Deltas, report."

"Six-Two here. Another successful mission, Deltas!"

"Oh-Seven reporting. No enemy fighters on scanners. . . Too bad."

"Delta Four-Oh reporting. We're exiting the atmosphere."

"Acknowledged." Boss removed his helmet and set it on the storage rack before heading out to the small med bay. "Advisor?"

A medical droid turned to look at him. "I believe that the injured clone is now in the cockpit, with the others."

Thirty-Eight headed forward, wondering, yet again, why medical droids had been programmed to speak so formally.

The air shifted almost imperceptibly as the shuttle entered hyperspace, and Boss entered the cockpit to see the familiar blue-white streaks of light flowing past the viewing ports. Sev and Scorch were slouched at either side of the door, Fixer was standing up from the pilot's seat, and Advisor was at the navigation/comms station.

General Fisto, in the co-pilot's seat, turned to Boss. "We've started back to the Endor system. If General Kenobi has already completed his mission, his flagship will be waiting for us there."

Advisor glanced up. "The Negotiator's at Endor, all right. I'm receiving a signal from them – transmission sent one standard hour ago."

Scorch huffed. "Which means they won."

"Wait." General Fisto moved to look over Advisor's shoulder. "It was transmitted through the Negotiator, not from it."

Advisor hesitated an instant, as though surprised that he'd made an error. "Yes, sir, it originated from the Twilight. Decrypting now."

There was a burst of static, and then a familiar voice spoke. "General Fisto, this is Sergeant Boomer, CT Two-Two-Oh-Seven, speaking for Captain Rex. Count Dooku is in the city. We captured Ventress, but she was rescued. Generals Kenobi and Anakin have been captured, along with Commander Cody and nine of our men. No known casualties as of yet."

Boomer paused for a moment, and his voice took on a wry tone. "We need your help, sir. The citizens are up in arms, and Captain Rex has decided against bringing in reinforcements from the Negotiator for fear of starting a city-wide riot."

General Fisto nodded approvingly, his expression intent.

"The Twilight seems to have escaped enemy notice for the moment. We've landed three klicks east of the capital and will wait for further orders. Captain Rex and four men are inside the castle."

Another voice murmured in the background, and Boomer cleared his throat. "One other thing. The captain recommends you get here fast. Generals Kenobi and Skywalker and the men have been condemned to die in the arena tonight. The holonet calls it the 'Cauldron'. Both Count Dooku and Ventress will be there. No further word of Grievous as of yet, bur we'll keep our eyes open and do everything we can from this end. Sergeant Boomer out."

The transmission cut off, and Advisor leaned slowly back.

"How'd that happen?" asked Scorch.

General Fisto blinked slowly. "I'm sure listening to their sequence of events will prove to be interesting. Fixer, take us out of hyperspace."

"Yes, sir."

"Laying in a course for Rattatak," Advisor said.

Sev pulled off his helmet, revealing the jagged scar that ran from his right cheekbone to the back of his neck. "We got a few hours till planetfall?"

"Three and a half hours," said Fixer.

"Right." Boss glanced around at them. "You've got three hours to rest up. Report back here at eighteen thirty hours."

"Oh, good." Scorch popped the seals on his helmet and removed it with an exaggerated sigh of relief. "I could do with a cup of caf or three. Anyone else?"

Boss took a moment to reflect on the wisdom of letting Scorch – or Sev, for that matter – at the supply of caf before what was likely to be a stealth mission. A stealth mission to effect the rescue of two Jedi generals and a group of clones from an arena guarded by a couple of lightsaber-wielding Sith in a crowded city full of hostile civilians. "I'll join you shortly," he told them.

They headed for the galley. Fixer followed them, stopping on the way to glance down at Advisor. "Sir. Recommend you relocate to the med bay."

"Opinion noted, Four-Oh." Advisor got stiffly to his feet. "Delta Lead. For future reference, those droids were commando droids. Fast-moving and programmed for close-range fighting; armed with vibroswords; tough armor."

Boss nodded. "We'll look into the specs later."

General Fisto gazed out into the dizzying swirl of hyperspace. "Sergeant," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "I will contact the Jedi Council and update them on both missions. You and your squad did an excellent job today."

"Thank you, general." He turned to leave and paused. "We'll have to do a better job than that to complete this next mission."

"Indeed." General Fisto smirked. "But we already won the bet."

Yes, General Fisto . . . you're going to remind Anakin of that for a long time to come, aren't you . . . ? :D

If you've got time, could you let me know a couple of things. One: who is your favorite commando? (or Advisor, he counts too!). Also, was the action easy to follow in this chapter? I rewrote it a few times, and I can't see the forest for the trees now. :D Thanks a lot!

Also, let's give credit where credit is due. I was working hard on this chapter and not getting anywhere, until GriffTalon suggested I write my ideas and storylines and whatnot down in a notebook. Seeing as how I already have a composition book full of notes for this story, I followed her advice and then read all my previous ideas. It helped a great deal to consolidate things. :)