When Cody woke up, he was lying on his back, staring at a polished white ceiling and listening to a high-pitched, quiet hum. At first, he thought his ears were ringing from the stun shot, but as the sound continued he recognized it as a ray shield generator. Sure enough, when he turned his head he was met with a pale film of red light over the doorway. Right . . . he thought, remembering Jorick's command. He sat up carefully, then turned to let his legs hang over the edge of the cot.
Right now, being in medbay seemed like a good idea. Cody wasn't coughing up blood – yet – but he had a feeling that particular symptom wasn't far away. Whenever he shifted even a little, the injury in his chest pulled sharply.
It had been a while since Cody had been in the brig – and he'd never been an occupant, only a visitor. He'd come to bother Wolffe a couple of times, and Monnk. The last time he'd come to this particular brig it was definitely Monnk. His younger batchmate managed to get himself tossed in a cell about twice a month, on average, mostly for starting fights – the cheerful, not-quite-to-the-death kind of fights that seemed to explode out of nowhere and which previously uninvolved clones rushed to join with reckless abandon, throwing blows, punches, dishes, and the occasional chair at each other.
None of the clones ever seemed sure of why they were fighting, and neither did they seem to care about reasons. As Monnk had unashamedly told his commanding officer, when an explanation was demanded of him, the occasional brawl was a nice break from the monotony of training. The unamused officer had replied that twelve hours in the brig was also a nice break from the monotony of training and would he care to make it fifteen?
The trouble with fights like that was that there simply weren't enough cells for all the men involved. But since the superior officers knew how much clones hated sitting still, they had come up with a practical solution. They'd send the ones who had started the fight into the brig, and then make the others run laps outside until they were so tired there was no chance of them starting trouble again.
Of all his batch, only Cody and Fox had never ended up stuck in the brig or running laps for fighting. One time Monnk had complained that the two of them were boring for not joining in the fun, and they'd reminded him that he was the one stuck staring at the metal walls of a two-by-two meter room, and that they were the ones kindly visiting him.
Leaning his head back against the wall, Cody let his gaze drift across the small room. He carefully took stock of his situation, for all the good that exercise did him. There wasn't much to work with. He was surrounded by durasteel walls, a ray shield, and a durasteel ceiling and floor. The only thing in the cell was a cot with a thin mattress. For some reason, Cody still had his armor, which was an advantage. Before knocking him out, though – his guards had stunned him even though he wasn't resisting them – they'd taken his commlink and datapad, as well as his utility belt. In the future, it might be wise to start carrying a knife inside his boot.
Of course, it wasn't as though a knife would be much use in escaping a ray-shielded cell . . . And besides, it was useless to ponder what-ifs. He didn't have a weapon. There was nothing he could do except wait here until Jorick and his gang figured out their plan.
Cody wasn't sure how much time had passed since his capture. He hoped the commandos would understand his message, and know something was wrong. They probably would – they were smart lads, all in all. By now, they were most likely either boarding the Marauder, or had already left the planet. If they hadn't, they were probably still out on the trail, waiting for one or more of them to revive. Or . . .
Or, they're coming back.
Recognizing that the last was almost certainly what was happening, Cody sighed faintly. He hoped they'd be smarter than to attack twenty-odd men head on, if they were going to attack at all. Don't get caught, lads.
For several minutes, he was unable to keep from wondering about what might happen. The cadets might succeed – their skills were incredible. And yet, even the most capable soldier could be defeated by a single, well-aimed laser, or overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Death was always a possibility in the field. But on a training mission? There was an almost cruel irony in the fact that they'd been attacked here. They weren't even ready to be in the field –
Yes, they are, he realized. Any other squad with the scores the Bad Batch had would have been graduated months ago, probably even deployed, quite likely regardless of age, and regardless of their ability to cooperate with one another.
And whether they were ready or not, they were in the field now. But that knowledge did not keep Cody from worrying. What if one or more of them were injured badly – worst of all, what if all of them were killed in an attempt to rescue him?
Stop worrying, he told himself sternly. It doesn't change anything.
He'd told himself that many times over the past few years, and sometimes it worked, but something about being unable to act . . .
Worry quickly grew into irritation at his own helplessness, the situation, and the men who had invaded the base.
Between his injury and the constant wondering and worrying, by the time Cody finally heard footsteps coming down the hall, he was feeling very bad-tempered and inclined to be as uncooperative as possible. Still, he was careful not to openly glower when Jorick stopped outside the shield and studied him.
After a long, silent pause, the Weequay wordlessly held up Cody's locked datapad.
Cody shifted his gaze to it. "It's a datapad," he said in a bland voice. "What about it?"
"Give me the passcode."
"No."
There was a pause of perhaps three seconds. Jorick narrowed his black eyes. "You think you have a choice, do you?"
"Yeah." Cody smirked. "You think you can make me give it to you?"
"Huh, yeah – I'm not stupid." The Weequay folded his arms. "Bet you want me to come in there so you can break my neck. Not likely."
Oh, well, it was worth a shot. . .
Shrugging, Cody leaned back, eyes half-closed but still focused intently on his captor. "So I won't get a chance to break your neck, and you won't get a chance to make me talk. I'd say we're even. Now let's part ways as mutual enemies."
"Quit mouthing off, will you?"
Cody raised an eyebrow.
The Weequay scoffed, shaking his head in irritation as he looked down at the datapad. "Look," he said finally, a crafty glint in his eyes. "Like I said earlier, I don't want trouble with your Republic. We've got no use for the data on here, except for one thing . . ."
He paused as though waiting for Cody to fill in the blanks.
Cody could have filled them in, but instead he plastered a look of mild interest on his face and gestured for Jorick to continue.
Rolling his eyes, the Weequay leaned an arm against the ray shield. "We want Gringov's whereabouts."
"You're asking the wrong man," Cody said. "I recommend you contact General Kenobi. If you can't access military comm frequencies, head to Coruscant and ask to speak to the highest-ranking member of the Coruscant Guard. I'm sure he'll give you the proper channels."
"You know where Gringov is!"
"Do I?" Cody mused, feeling a flash of vindictive pleasure as Jorick's eyes flashed with anger.
Unfortunately, the Weequay regained his temper only a moment later. "You've got Gringov's ship," he pointed out.
"Yeah, because he turned it in to the Republic. I used it because it happened to be on the transportation manifest and it was the fastest thing available."
That took a moment to sink in. When it did, Jorick snarled, leaning closer to the ray shield. "Are you telling me we tracked the Marauder all the way out to the Vinnda system for nothing?" Jorick's slanted eyes narrowed even further. "Listen, clone, Gringov and his traitorous double-dealing cost us millions! He turned me and my gang in to save his own hide."
"Not my problem," Cody answered.
Jorick cursed under his breath. "Well, I'm going to make it your problem. Either you put me in contact with him, or when we're ready to leave the planet we'll tie you to a tree in the middle of nowhere and you can freeze to death."
"Hm. Execution of a GAR trooper? I thought you didn't want trouble with the Republic – or the Jedi."
Jorick rolled his eyes. "We can always stage a speeder accident. The Republic will never know!"
"Right." Cody thought about it. "You should probably know that there are a couple of glitches with that plan. First, I happen to hold some of the highest piloting scores in the GAR. No one will believe I crashed a speeder. Secondly, if you go through with it anyway, make sure to incinerate my body after death. All clones have traceable chips. Ah, except that will mean you won't be able to make it look like an accident and – the Republic will know. Try again."
Jorick looked disgusted. "You think I'm not serious or something?"
"Oh, I know you're serious." Cody smirked. "And so am I when I tell you that I have no information about Gringov. You've got a problem with him, fine. Deal with it some other way or you'll live to regret it. The Republic doesn't take kindly to murder, or to having its bases invaded."
Jorick glowered, but before he could say anything further, the faint sound of a distant crash came down the hall, followed by an alarmed shout.
The Weequay turned, cocking his head to listen, then hit his comm and yelled, "What's going on?"
"We're under attack!"
Jorick's eyes widened, and he drew his pistol. "How many?"
"I don't know! The guards are down, and two of our speeders are gone!"
Cody shifted, wondering what on earth the cadets were up to.
"Barricade the doors," Jorick ordered, then turned off his comm. Aiming his gun at Cody, he deactivated the ray shield. "You didn't tell me you had buddies hanging around outside. Up you get, clone. Looks like I might need an extra bargaining chip."
Moving cautiously, Cody obeyed.
Hunter lay on his stomach in the ventilation shaft, peering through the grate at the outside of the base's front entrance, which was directly below him. Wrecker had boosted him and Crosshair and Tech onto the roof, but almost immediately they'd had to change their plan of attack. There were fourteen hostiles inside the control room; Hunter had easily located the jamming device, but getting to it would be a problem. Getting to it undetected would be impossible.
No plan survives contact with the enemy, Havoc always said.
So now, Hunter was lying in wait, keeping an eye on Tech and Wrecker as the two of them worked to link multiple speeders together. The front door had been forced closed after the first explosion of speeders against trees, and Hunter could hear the men beneath him working to barricade it.
Wrecker had his cable out and was looping it several times around the handlebars of each speeder before moving on to the next. Tech was occupied with calculating a trajectory to send the rest of the speeders on. A slight scraping above Hunter heralded Crosshair's approach as the sniper slid along the roof and leaned down, one side of his helmet partially visible.
"Hunter," he whispered.
"Right here."
"They're blocking off the other shaft entrance."
That could be a problem. . . Hunter gave the grate in front of him a hard yank, but it didn't budge. Weird – maybe this was one of the many irregular things the base's designers had put into the building in the interests of teaching.
Hunter drew his vibroblade to cut through the grating, then paused. "Crosshair, where does this shaft lead?"
"Back to the opposite wall and to either side in the center. You can access the bunkroom, the control room, and the outside on two ends.
"Okay," Hunter muttered. "I think I can put that to use. Tech's going to send the speeders off – that should create enough of a distraction that some of them head out. I'll get one of the doors open."
Wrecker stepped back, turning to give the others a thumbs-up. After angling the foremost speeder carefully towards a large grouping of tree trunks, Tech hopped on. He opened the panel, used a length of his own cable to lash the steering vane in place, and then fiddled around with something. When he was satisfied, he started the engine, keeping the airbrakes down while he grabbed a pair of pliers and turned a narrow metal rod inside the panel. The engine roared, at full throttle but still in place.
Tech put the pliers on his belt, then took a deep breath, paused, and flung himself sideways off the speeder. The instant his feet left the brakes, the vehicle shot forward with a roar, dragging eight speeders behind it.
Tech rolled to his feet and watched with the others as the speeders smashed into the tree trunks in a fiery explosion. As the sound died away, it was replaced with an ominous, splintering crack!
Hunter blinked, watching two of the larger trees tilt precariously, fortunately away from the base. For a moment, they seemed suspended, not falling but not balanced – and then they fell, gaining speed and snapping through surrounding branches until they slammed into the snowy ground with an earth-shaking thud.
"Woooowww," Wrecker breathed, entranced by the destruction.
Quick footsteps sounded in the corridor below, accompanied by a sharp voice that was easily audible through the many grates in the vent. "Two of them? You sure there aren't others? Did you check the vents?"
Hunter glanced up at Crosshair and warned, "Stay out of sight."
As Hunter backed carefully away from the grate, he caught sight of the sniper waving Tech and Wrecker to cover. There were voices getting closer, now, and from the direction of the vent system's entry, a boot clanged against metal. Someone was in the vents, looking for him.
Getting cautiously to his hands and knees, Hunter headed for the control room.