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Clone fighter pilot Typhus Bronski sat strapped in tightly behind the controls of his Incom ARC 170 Starfighter. The sweat coating his brow made Typhus wish his helmet had a retractable visor. Flying combat missions since the near-upstart of the Clone Wars, still couldn't prepare the clone pilot for the uneasy feeling he felt before every battle—this time was no different. A glance behind him at his co-pilot and rear gunner told him that they were ready to sortie. He could only imagine that they, too, were feeling the same.

Typhus felt his right hand twitch—an annoying reaction from having been over-exposed to vacuum. In an instant, Typhus was back in high orbit around Coruscant, entrenched in heavy combat in what had become known as the Battle of Coruscant. A lucky concussion missile shot tagged his fighter killing his two crewmates and forced him extravehicular. A piece of errand shrapnel from the explosion pierced his hand and his life support magnetic containment field to collapse around the wound. As if it were just yesterday, he could see the Vulture Droid fighter orient on him and at that instant he knew he was dead.

The bass-filled voice of the Jedi Wing-commander thundered into his comm breaking him out of his reverie.

"Commander Bronski, are your pilots ready for launch?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. We launch in thirty. Good hunting out there. And may the Force be with you."

"And you, General."

Typhus thought about that for a brief moment. For as long as he could remember, he knew about the Force, but he never understood it. It was entirely beyond him, really. But he knew the Force was there. He'd seen the Jedi utilize it. From his understanding that was where they drew all their power from. But then again, he realized, he wasn't there to study the way of the Jedi. Typhus was there for one thing: to follow in the Sabers and deliver their payload—nothing more, nothing less.

His eyes narrowed as the six Kuat Systems Eta-2 Actis Interceptors to the right of the spacious hangar bay lifted up on repulsorlifts. The Actis Interceptors, commissioned and built for use by the Jedi, were formidable starfighters. Typhus managed a thin smile as the lead fighter fed power to the twin-ion engines, inverted and dove out of the hangar bay. That lead starfighter was the same one that saved him from death during the Battle of Couruscant. There was no way he could ever forget the striking black streak running down the center of the sleek starfighter. He owed the Jedi General his life.

And that was when the same thundering voice from before boomed back into Typhus' comm unit—this time being broadcast on a fleet-wide frequency.

"This is Jedi Master Alin Samera. Saber Flight is going to punch a hole in their formation. Once we're through, hit them with everything we've got."

"You heard the General. Let's move it, Hammers."

With that, Typhus killed his repulsorlifts and jetted down and out of the hangar bay just behind the Jedi group who by now had already engaged the enemy Vulture Droid fighters. Behind them, he could see the war-torn world of Rhen Var.

"S-foils to attack position. Arm proton torps. Hold your fire until we receive the order from General Samera."

He glanced at his mission clock that now read thirty-six seconds. Ahead of him and ahead of the Jedi fighters space erupted in golden balls of fire and gas. Typhus almost felt sorry for the droid fighters that were vaped under the deadly skill of General Samera's Saber Flight. He watched in virtual-amazement as the Actis Interceptors of Saber Flight wreaked havoc on the enemy fighter groups that were foolishly thrown their way. The six Jedi Starfighters closed in with each other and executed a formation he'd never seen used in combat.

Typhus glanced at his sensor board to see another wave of red dots disappear.

"All 170s, this is General Samera, we're through. Fire at will. Fire at will."

The clone pilot brought his targeting reticle down on the Trade Federation cruiser looming dead ahead and waited for it to turn red. In the brief moment it took to acquire a lock, his holocomm activated and a holograph of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine's hooded figure materialized.

Typhus watched the hologram intently even as the sound of a good lock resonated through the cockpit.

The Chancellor's hologram uttered one phrase before fading away.

"Execute Order Sixty-Six."

Typhus didn't have time to reply. In fact the only thing he had time to do was bring his targeting reticle down on his new target. Instantly, the clone got a target lock and squeezed the trigger firing off a single proton torpedo even as his right hand twitched uncontrollably.

There was no remorse or regret for what he had just done.