Author's Notes: I'd like to thank everyone for their patience while I try to split my time between my job in the Navy, and writing whenever I get a spare moment. It's taken me about twice as long as I'd hoped, but I've finally managed to finish this story. This is the next to last chapter. I'll be posting the Epilogue as soon as I'm done posting this one. Enjoy!

Added Notes: Based on some of the comments I've received on the first version of this chapter, I realized that there was perhaps some confusion in the dialogue, particularly at the end of this chapter. Therefore, I decided to go back and rework it a little bit, and try to be a bit more thorough. Hopefully it will clear things up and make the story better. The changes come in the last three paragraphs of this chapter.

Breaking The Chain:

Delta Squad moved forward again, but at a much slower pace this time. Surprise would be their only advantage in this fight, and to keep that advantage, they had to use every bit of stealth training they'd ever been given. Even with their bulky armor and heavy gear, their honed and inbred skills let them slip through the giant trees and dense undergrowth like wraiths.

But to 3-8, even his breathing seemed loud inside his helmet. He was scared, he realized, an emotion that was almost completely alien to him. He wasn't afraid of dying; he was afraid of failing. For this time – the first time that he could remember – there was a high probability that they would fail. And, surprisingly, he was afraid of what would happen should they succeed. Yoda was perhaps the greatest Jedi Master alive. What would happen once he was dead, not just on Kashyyk, but throughout the galaxy as a whole?

They were thoughts he tried to shove away, but they were insistent, coinciding with his instincts that something wasn't right. Getting ready to attack Master Yoda just felt wrong.

"There he is," Fixer warned quietly over their helmet comms.

3-8 froze as he peered ahead through the trees. "Get ready," he whispered as he sighted through the scope of his DC-17M. "Don't throw the detonators until I give the command."

Sure enough, there he was, hobbling along with such frail-looking determination that it was almost impossible to believe he'd just slaughtered an entire squad of clone troopers. Movement to his left and right caught 3-8's attention, and he saw that two Wookies were flanking the Jedi, heavily armed and watching their surroundings intently. Anything less than commandos would have been spotted instantly. As it was, a single glance in the right direction could still alert the Wookies to their presence.

"Boss?" Scorch prompted.

3-8 sighted in on Yoda's back, but the Jedi disappeared behind a pair of massive worshyr trees. "No shot," he whispered back. "Keep following. I need a new angle."

With 3-8 leading, Delta Squad continued to advance, trailing their prey as if hunting Jedi was natural for them. In fact, it was almost too easy, 3-8 mused. He had thought that Yoda would have sensed their presence by now, as well as their intent. He'd obviously done so with the squad he'd killed at the command post, else he never would have gotten the jump on so many of them. So why wasn't he acknowledging Delta Squad's presence? Perhaps he was too distracted with his escape to concentrate properly on sensing his surroundings.

And perhaps he was leading them into a trap.

The thought almost pulled him up short, but he made himself keep moving. Regardless of the danger to themselves, they couldn't allow their target to escape. Delta Squad had never failed an assignment before, and a direct order from Palpatine himself was not a good place to start.

Suddenly, the undergrowth started thinning out and the forest opened up into a rare clearing as the ground began to slope upward. Almost instantly, 3-8 spotted the small ship further up; Yoda and the Wookies were headed straight for it.

Their time was up. They had to act now.

3-8 stopped short at the edge of the trees, with nothing but a screen of ferns for cover. He brought his carbine up as Master Yoda continued into the open ground.

"Ready," he ordered his companions, and 4-0 and 6-2 each pulled a pair of thermal detonators from their ammo belts.

He settled his sights on the back of the Jedi's head, keeping his finger off the trigger until he was sure he had a good shot. His target kept going, apparently oblivious to his danger. He steadied his carbine, his gloved fingertip sliding back to rest lightly on the trigger. The pressure of a feather was all it would take…

He was opening his mouth to order Fixer and Scorch to throw their detonators when Master Yoda turned around.

Delta 3-8 expected to die at that moment. A storm of lightning, an invisible chokehold around the throat, a simple thought that burned the mind away… he'd seen Jedi use all of these tactics and more, and he was sure he was going to fall by one of them now.

But nothing happened. Yoda didn't strike.

3-8 hesitated, glancing over at 4-0 and 6-2, thinking perhaps the Jedi was dealing with them first. But they were still, staring back at their target, then glancing quickly at him. 3-8 swung his gaze back to Yoda.

"What are you doing?" 4-0 hissed. "Take the shot!"

3-8 almost fired. But as he stared into the Jedi Master's eyes, he saw something that made him shudder. He saw emptiness. There was no anger, no hatred, no murderous intent. There was no treachery, no deceit, no malice. Just quiet, complete, empty calm.

In that instant, he understood. Yoda was not going to try to kill them. He didn't want them dead. He was waiting for them to make the first move, waiting for them to choose their fate. Palpatine was wrong. Order 66 was wrong. Yoda was not the betrayer. He was the betrayed. And so were all the other Jedi across the galaxy that were even now being slaughtered.

"Take the shot!" 4-0 all but shouted over their comlink.

"Boss?" Scorch asked in confusion. "What're your orders?"

3-8 looked straight back at Jedi Master Yoda, and nodded once. He relaxed, sliding his finger away from the trigger, and lowered his carbine.

"He's playing a mind trick on him!" Fixer exclaimed, bringing his own blaster up.

"Fixer, no!" 3-8 exclaimed, grabbing the barrel of his companion's DC and yanking it upward. Fixer struggled for a moment, trying to wrench his weapon free, and 3-8 was vaguely aware that Scorch had brought his gun up too, but was training it on the two of them. This was going to get ugly… "Look at him!" he said urgently. He let go of Fixer's carbine, grabbed him by his shoulder plates, and shook him hard. "Look at him!"

Fixer started to pull away, but 3-8 held onto him.

"Look at him," he said again, more calmly, "and tell me that you still want to kill him. Tell me that he's the bad guy here. Tell me that he's actually betrayed us after all this time."

4-0 glanced at the Jedi – who was still watching with a calm that was eerie – but he didn't relax. "It's a mind trick," he insisted quietly.

"No, it's not," 3-8 replied firmly. "It's not a mind trick. It's our instincts telling us that killing him is wrong. You know this whole thing has been strange from the beginning, from the moment the Separatists were waiting for us at the LZ, all the way up to Palpatine giving Order 66. You know it. This is your gut telling you that. And you know what they told us about our instincts in training." He glanced over his shoulder. "Scorch?"

Scorch hesitated a moment, then lowered his carbine. "A soldier should always trust his instincts," he said with what sounded like profound relief.

Fixer glanced once more at the Jedi, then sagged in 3-8's grip. He lowered his rifle slowly. "I hope you're right," he whispered. "Because we've just committed treason."

"I know," 3-8 said back, equally quietly. He faced Master Yoda once again, and came to attention, offering a quick salute. He heard his companions do the same behind and to either side of him.

Yoda returned a small nod, and for a brief moment, emotion flitted across his face. Relief? Surprise? Hope? 3-8 thought it looked more like compassion… or pity. The Jedi turned away again, and started after his Wookie companions, who were still moving away through the forest, oblivious to what had just taken place behind them.

And what had taken place? 3-8 wondered. Delta Squad had just disobeyed a direct order from Chancellor Palpatine himself. In so doing, they had failed a critical mission. They had committed treason.

"I know," he whispered again. "But I think in the end, by the time this war is over, someone, somewhere, will know that we made the right choice. That all of this was worth it."

"And what if they don't?" 4-0 asked, in genuine wonder rather than bitterness. "It's not like we can tell anyone about this."

"Then only we'll know," 3-8 said. "And that will be enough."

The quickly growing whine of approaching engines broke into their quiet conversation and made them look up.

"Drop ships," Scorch said. "Looks like it's time to go home."

"Sounds good to me," Fixer answered wearily.

"Right," 3-8 said, "let's get back to our assault ship, get ourselves patched up, take a breather, and get ready."

"For what?" Scorch asked.

"The next mission."

"But who are we really fighting for?" Fixer asked. "You know we can't trust Palpatine, now."

It was a question that 3-8 had been asking himself for a long time now. Today, it had been answered. Fixer was right. They couldn't fight for a man like Palpatine. But they could fight for the people he'd deceived.

"The same we've always been fighting for," he answered. "The Republic. Always the Republic."