The HMPs had been pulled back, but not before they had done some serious damage.

Bly and Aayla walked the line from outpost to outpost, movingly with more confidence now that the Gossam snipers had been withdrawn and the mortars of the Fusiliers had fallen silent. With the withdrawal of the organic forces, the action had devolved into what had become the sad archetype of action in this war: massed waves of droids marching mindlessly forward towards dug-in clone positions.

But it had given the 327th troopers not currently in action the opportunity to rest and re-arm. Bly and Aayla had taken stock of the wounded. They'd taken stock of the dead.

There were far, far too many of both.

They were inside the blown-out remains of a Biscuit Baron, now, where Lieutenant Inc and his platoon had been shredded by a gunship before downing it with a desperate rocket salvo. The Lieutenant was still alive, though unconscious, and being seen to by the platoon medic and an IM-5 droid. In front of Bly and Aayla, the platoon sergeant made his report.

"Came out of nowhere, boss. Heard their engines coming for ages, kept the Plexes and the E-Web ready...we weren't expecting them to be on top of us..."

Bly looked round. That surprise had proven deadly; a full three-quarters of the platoon were dead or combat-ineffective. Mostly dead, at that. He raised a hand, forestalling the rest of the platoon sergeant's weary litany. "We're tracking. Rig this place to blow and then pull back. Take your wounded with you. Once they've been dropped off behind the lines head for the main drag, clankers are pushing hard there."

The platoon sergeant blinked slowly as he processed Bly's orders. Then he reached into his belt kit to produce and jab a stim into his neck as he nodded his understanding. "Copy, Commander. We'll make it happen."

Aayla frowned. "Take some time at the rear, though. A few hours or more to rest. Your team looks like you need it."

Another slow blink, and then the platoon sergeant gave a nod of thanks. "Yes Ma'am. Will do."

"Carry on," said Aayla, and motioned for Bly to follow her out of the outpost.

The streets were silent, save for the running hail of blasterfire in the distance where droid and clone force alike clashed, and the two leaders of the peripatetic 327th began their trudge back to the battleground. Aayla's brow was furrowed in thought, and eventually Bly had to ask.

"Ma'am? You alright?"

She shook her head. "No. I'm getting worried. The Separatists can afford to try to bleed us dry, but I won't let that happen to my soldiers, and I won't let them lure us into a quagmire like that. We've beene dishing out casualties but when was the last time we gained any ground?"

Bly blew out a breath. "Building by building, bit by bit. But nothing solid, nothing that would dramatically turn the tide."

"We need something that can turn the tide." Aayla blew out a breath. "...we should ask Reiter for another ceasefire."

"With respect, General, you're more likely to get blood from a stone." Bly could hear the sudden intensity in his voice, feel his spine stiffen. He didn't care. "That just gives that traitor more time to recover from the body blows we've dealt him and to come up with new plans to hit us. We don't want to legitimize him any more than we have."

Aayla gave Bly a concerned look, but if the Commander's vehemently expressed opinion of their opposite number was worrying the Jedi General, she kept it to herself. "Alright. What do you recommend?"

"Reinforcements, but not regular troops." Bly rolled his shoulders, kicking idly at a pebble in the street. "We've already got enough of my brothers sucked into this quagmire, it won't change anything. But. If we could get an Alpha ARC, or some RCs..."

"Useful assets to be sure, but what would we do with them?"

"Cut the head off the snake," Bly said immediately. "Kill or capture Adreian Reiter, kill the remainder of the Sep leadership and shut down the droids...and win us this battle."

Colonel Adreian Reiter strode into the war room, expression grim. His face was now blackened from dirt and debris. His scarf, once as pristine white as his eyes, now a dull gray. RSM Hem Zhe, smoke still curling off the barrel of her slung rifle, walked behind him.

There were two new figures waiting for him, holograms hovering over the tactical plot and quietly talking to TR-11. A massive humanoid shrouded head to toe in gray battle armor, a stylized mythosaur skull splashed across his chest. And next to him was a woman, clad in well-tailored, well-fitting robes. She had angular, striking features, a shaved scalp and at her waist hung two curved lightsabers.

Reiter bit back a curse, but managed to compose himself as Asajj Ventress turned to regard his entrance. "Madam Ventress. Commander Durge. This is an unexpected honor, to what do we owe your presence?"

The massive Durge just laughed. Ventress, however, was a bit more forthright, folding her arms to regard Reiter with a condescending stare. She was a dagger of a woman, simultaneously the bane of the CIS military's organic officers and their savior, the reliable counter for the Republic's force-using warriors.

Right now, however, she was the last person Adreian wanted to talk to.

"Count Dooku is growing impatient, Colonel." The dark acolyte's voice was a sultry rasp. "And your droid here tells us that you're refusing to employ all the assets at your disposal."

Reiter gritted his teeth. Damn TR-11 and whatever passed for a soul among droids. "I hope they also passed along my reasoning behind it."

"Oh, make no mistake, they did." Ventress smiled lazily. "Hardly a convincing excuse, Colonel."

"You've got those bastards in your sights," rumbled Durge. "Quit wasting time and smoke 'em."

Taking flak from Ventress was one thing-the woman had a code of her own, twisted though it may have been. Durge, however, was a rabid dog on Count Dooku's leash and was hardly someone a senior officer needed to kowtow to. Reiter stiffened, staring the other man down. "As I recall I have operational authority here, Commander Durge. While I appreciate your concerns, my staff and I are confident in our current plan."

"Oh, is that so?" Ventress' gaze languidly flicked over to RSM Zhe, standing at Reiter's side like a miniature monolith. "What say you, Sergeant Major?"

The Gossam woman made a faint noise of displeasure in the back of her throat, clearly unhappy at being pulled into the standoff. But ever the Commando, the RSM stepped forward to face her foe down. "I can see why it might look slow, but that's because our plan is more considered. We gain nothing from destroying a planet we already hold."

"Better to let that happen than let it fall into Republic hands," opined TR-11, coming to life from the other side of the holotable. "Axxila's strategic value lies in its hyperlane location. Not in its natural resources."

Reiter felt himself flush bright red with anger, like a damned human. "Axxila's value lies in that it is a world whose people we are supposed to protect-"

Ventress waved him down, clearly bored. "Spare me the rhetoric, you sound just like a Jedi-"

"I'll take that as a compliment," growled the Colonel.

Ventress sighed. "Of course. Just know that Count Dooku is unhappy with the slow progress of the fight here...but you remain in command. For now."

Reiter and RSM Zhe exchanged glances. "...that's it? You called me for...what? To put me on notice?"

"Precisely. And I'm sure you can imagine that Durge and I might approach your little battle with a...heavier touch."

Nightmarish visions flashed before Reiter's eyes: buildings blown out, civilians screaming, burning, falling under indiscriminate fire from mechanised artillery. He held no illusions about some of his colleagues in the CIS, ruthless ones like these two most of all. If he was to lose command here…

"...very well. We'll increase our operations tempo accordingly."

Ventress gave Reiter a thin smile, and then her holo, plus that of the hulking brute next to her, winked out of existence.

As soon as she was gone, Reiter was whirling on his tactical droid, storming over to TR-11. "You went to Ventress? You were so damned displeased with our operations here you went to that witch?"

The tactical droid stared impassively at its commander. "Yes."

"You didn't think to let me know about that?" Reiter reached up to adjust his scarf. It was better than going for his blaster.

"No," said TR-11, and the droid paused a bit before elaborating. "I had calculated that your sentimental designs on this world would render me unable to convince you of a necessary course of action alone. External stimulus was needed."

"External stimulus? Listen, you piece of scrap-"

"Sir?" The RSM's voice was quiet but insistent, drawing Reiter back from the fruitless endeavour of a standoff with TR-11. "We need to draw up new plans. And activate our heavy units."

With a will, Reiter forced his glare away from the tactical droid's soulless photoreceptors and nodded to his Sergeant Major. "Right, of course. We might as well prepare to destroy the city to save it."

There were four of them, locked at stiff attention in the command post, all in the same gray armor and blue-visored helmets that bore just enough similarity to the regular rig that the infantry never failed to get jealous. One had a black shoulder pauldron, but the rest all wore the same identical gray kit.

Commander Bly, standing opposite the quartet alongside General Secura, couldn't help but be a bit wary. The Republic Commandos were a notoriously eccentric lot. Bred to fill in the gap between the hard-charging Alpha-batch ARC troopers and the regular infantry, the "RCs" hadn't set about endearing themselves to their standard-issue comrades. A certain aloof sense of superiority, a tendency to keep to themselves, and last but certainly not least, the cultural indoctrination given by some of the Cuy'val Dar training sergeants on Kamino had all contributed to the RCs forming an army within the army.

That last had been the real rub. The Grand Army might have marched to the beat of Vode An but the Mandalorian culture had barely percolated among the regular army...not that you'd know it talking to most of the RCs. Mando'a peppered their speech, Mandalorian customs their every action, and their training sergeants still slunk around in full beskar, unable to leave their "boys" behind.

The four standing opposite him were part of Beskad Squad, and they seemed to have fully embraced the trend, if their squad name-Mandalorian for 'Iron Saber'-was any indicator.

Bly decided to let Aayla do the talking. After New Holstice, he wasn't particularly keen on Mandalorians. Born-again or otherwise.

"At ease," said Aayla, surveying the quartet. "And please take off your helmets."

The commandos shifted at that...but as one the helmets were removed, revealing a quartet of identical features, save for the scars that they and so many of their brethren had picked up over the war, with regulation haircuts identical down to the millimeter.

Behind his mask, Bly frowned. That was not par for the course among the RCs he'd met, especially not the Mandalorian-trained ones. Next to him he could see General Secura's eyes widening in the faintest hint of surprise...and in front of him, the RC with the officer's pauldron's lip curled in the faintest of sneers.

Bly clenched a fist.

"General Secura," said the officer, "Captain RC-9019, squad leader. How can we assist?"

"As you can tell, we've let matters here devolve into a stalemate." The Jedi General shook her head. "That has to end. Your mission is simple: infiltrate the Separatist headquarters and neutralize their leadership. Take Colonel Reiter alive, ideally, to stand trial."

RC-9019 inclined his head. "Gutsy, Ma'am. Not what we'd expect from a Jetiii at all."

There was a flash from within Aayla-not of anger, no, but definitely of dismay, and Bly's eyes narrowed as he regarded the commando Captain. But Aayla Secura was made of sterner stuff than the RCs seemed to be giving her credit for, and she didn't so much as flinch.

"More often than not, guts are what's needed to win a battle, Captain." She tilted her head. "Do you have a name?"

"Yes Ma'am, I do." The Captain left it at that.

"May I know it?"

"Respectfully, Ma'am, that's...a private matter."

"Very well." Aayla didn't so much as bat an eyelash. "Commander, give them all the deconfliction information they need. I need to check on the wounded."

Bly dipped his head. "Yes Ma'am."

Both Commander and commandos waited until Aayla had made her exit, and then RC-1019 turned to face Bly, a lazy smile curling his lips. "Not bad, Sir. Can see why you'd enjoy being lapdog for that Jedi, hey?"

Now Bly did tug off his helmet, letting the RCs see the fury burning on his face. "Wind your neck in, Captain. Remember you're wearing Katarn armor. Not beskar."

"Yes Sir," said RC-9019, giving Bly a searching look.

The Commander stared the special operations clone down in return, but curiosity got the better of him. "Any special reason you won't tell the General your name?"

RC-9019 blinked, almost confused. "Well I mean-she's a Jetii, Sir. Not one of us. No reason for her to know."

It was like listening to one of the more aggressive Cuy'val Dar instructors speak through a clone's mouth. Bly was suddenly very, very tired. "Yeah, roger. We need to move fast as possible on this one; you'll have a gunship out of the 127th detailed to support you, but all other assets will be on-call. All pertinent intel's already been sent to your databases. Get me an op order within the next twelve hours, step off soon as possible after that. You need anything, let me know."

"Will do," said the Captain, drawing himself up to attention. His three comrades were likewise doing the same. "If that's all, Sir."

"Yeah. Dismissed."

The quartet of commandos right-faced and moved to stride out of the command center, donning their helmets as one. But as the inscrutable visage of the T-visor slid over their faces, Bly could've sworn he'd heard them whistling a very familiar tune.

It was Vode An.

"Bloody RCs," grumbled the Commander.