A/N - Death

A/N 2 - No, really. It's Order 66 - people die; Jedi, troopers and babies.

A/N 3 - You have been notified.

Epilogue 7

Operation Knightfall - Coric

Coric was a man of two sides.

As a trooper he was brutally effective. He'd been captain's second and was still one of the best men of the 501st. He supposed he still was captain's second even though Commander Appo rather than Rex was now in command of the 501st. It didn't matter. Coric was content to be Rex's trooper and friend. On his own he'd become sergeant with a good squad of men who trusted their lives to him and he, his life to them.

As a medic he was quietly compassionate. As soon as battle was over and as often as possible, even before, he'd be in the medical unit working on saving brothers. Not simply saving lives, but working hard to save limbs; to keep troopers with the 501st instead of returning to Kamino. In the years of battle, he'd heard too much from too many other medics to be comfortable returning his and Rex's men to the long-necked aiwha bait. Just as often, he was one of the last man on the battlefield; finding the dead, checking their vitals once last, hopeful time but most often removing them from the 501st active list.

Coric looked at the closed door of a side room off the main living chambers of the Jedi Temple; a room that had taken four squads almost half the night to obtain.

He knew it contained something valuable by the way the Jedi had come rushing continuously at them, invisibly called by the Jedi they faced and killed. It must be some kind of Jedi mega-weapon to use in the final destruction of Coruscant or perhaps untold riches they'd plundered from the Republic in so many years of quiet wandering.

Coric was glad Skywalker wasn't one of the traitors and he wondered where the commander - now General Tano - had been sent to keep her from the carnage. He was glad she wasn't facing her former comrades; that explained the general's harsh, hateful expression. It must be tearing him apart to face his former friends and teachers. Coric couldn't imagine General Tano facing this and not hesitating; she fought with her heart and had a tendency to question orders if they required too much sacrifice on the part of her troopers.

Glancing down at the broken troopers and dead Jedi, cut down by blaster and a few small grenades, Coric stepped over the bodies and touched the door. Lightly his gloved fingers, more sensitive than most from years of trying to detect life through armor, brushed over the door.

"I'll tend to Fast, Coric," Kix's voice sounded in Coric's helmet. "It's just a broken leg and shouldn't take long then I'll catch up"

"Do it," said Coric as he studied the door. It wasn't reinforced. It wasn't even locked. For as desperately as the Jedi fought, you'd think the door itself would be harder to enter. Coric took a step back and gestured to his demolitions expert.

"Check the door," he commanded and took a step aside to give Pale room to work.

Pale stepped forward with a brusque nod. He held his arm gingerly and Coric mentally diagnosed a cracked radius. Like most of the troopers, he'd been slammed into one of the stone walls but, as they had all learned in diligent practice with the General and the Commander, being Force-pushed didn't prevent a trooper from firing his weapon. They'd all have bruises from being slammed against the stone walls and each other, but they had continued firing with their blasters and ultimately it had been the Jedi who'd fallen in defeat to the ground.

After several long moments as Coric listened to battles being fought elsewhere, Pale stepped back and gave a nod.

"There's nothing, sir." Absently Pale rubbed the armor over his arm.

"You can go back to medical, Pale," Coric offered. After the first wave of battle, sometime around midnight, Coric had directed a medical aid station be set up at the Temple steps. The Corcuscant Guards medics with a few volunteers had come to assist.

"I'm fine, sir, and I'd prefer you be the one to poke and prod when this is all over."

Coric gave a soft chuckle. "Very well, Pale." He gently pushed the door open prepared, he thought, for anything.

It was a sleeping room, small and snugly warm with about ten low, half-sized bunks against the walls or crookedly pushed against each other, as though whoever slept in them might take comfort by reaching out to the one next to him. It was very similiar to the newborns' creche on Kamino.

No wonder the Jedi fought so ferociously, they thought we'd harm the children.

Coric bent, one knee to the stone, as some of the children, none more than toddler, peered with wide, frightened eyes at him and the white-armored figures crowding the door. There was a Gran baby, a Twi'lek, several humans; some sobbing or whimpering. A couple were nothing more than shivering shapes under blankets, frightened of the noise or the disruption in their routine. One extremely brave or, far more likely, curious child pushed itself off the low bunk, its belly on the edge and its feet waving in the air until gravity brought them to the floor then crawled towards Coric. It sat and tapped at his knee as if asking for attention.

Coric shook his head in bemusement and stood, reaching for the child and bringing it to his chest as he contacted the command group. "I've got civilians here, Command. Where do I take them?"

Appo's voice was on his speaker. "There are no civilians in the Jedi Temple, Sergeant Coric. You were briefed; no prisoners."

"Commander Appo," Coric wished it had been Rex to answer. "These are civilians; they're not even younglings; the oldest may be two years. I repeat, where do I take them?" Coric suddenly realized he hadn't heard Rex's voice much during this operation; no encouragement of his troops or even calls for medics. He glanced at the display showing the captain's armor integrity and vitals. They were odd readings for Rex, for any trooper in battle, but indicated no injuries.

"Your orders stand, Sergeant Coric."

"Give me the general," growled Coric to Appo, heedless of rank. "These are children. Innocents. They're babies and the general won't authorize their destruction."

There was a silence then the silken satisfaction of Appo's voice. "Sergeant Coric, he already has."

Coric flicked his helmet speaker to Rex and only Rex. "Rex, this is mad..."

"Your orders," said his captain's voice so weakly, as if wounded and from a far distance, that Coric glanced again at the display. "Do what you've been trained to do." Then Rex closed the channel leaving Coric stunned and speechless, a defenseless not-quite-toddler in his arms.

Before he could think for more than an instant, Fives' voice resounded open-channel in all their helmets, as hard and as commanding as General Skywalker's. "Jedi General Tano is no more. She's been taken out."

Something cold and bitter came over Coric and his knees trembled. He wanted to find a hidden corner and puke his guts out like some raw cadet.

This wasn't war; it was a mocking travesty of everything he'd been trained for. This was a massacre, this was slaughter.

"Sergeant Coric," came Appo's voice in hard command, "carry out your orders."

"No." Coric said, turning to Pale. "This is wrong. You can see that."

Pale hesitated, dropping the muzzle of his blaster toward the floor. "I... I don't know..." He panted heavily, stress in his voice. "It's not our choice which orders to..."

Again Appo's voice came over their helmets, slightly harder, slightly firmer. "Squad, your new sergeant is Pale. Sergeant Pale, take out the clone traitor."

Slowly Pale, newly appointed brevet sergeant, raised the muzzle of the blaster. "They're Jedi, traitors, Coric." His voice quivered as he tried to reconcile his orders with the sight of the children. The entire squad heard the deep gulp and the moist noise of him worrying his lips. "Squad, command orders. Take out the tra...". He faltered and Coric had hopes then Pale's voice came strong, his decision made. "Take out the traitors. All of them."

An instant before Pale fired, Coric whirled around, his back to his former subordinates, his arms tight around the sobbing child bereft of the comfort of reassuring pattern. The blaster bolts slammed into his armor, forcing him forward through impact then heating his armor, melting it, the bolts finally penetrating his body. Around him the children, toddlers barely more than babies, died.

He was screaming in his helmet, open channels so every trooper could hear him; not in pain but in anger. "What are you doing? They're children. Think, think." Coric fell to his knees, his head bent over the now-screaming child. "This is wrong! You are men, not droids! Think!" Coric saw his helmet shut down, Commander Appo's overrides silencing his words.

Abruptly, the blaster fire stopped and Coric registered that relative silence at the same moment he knew he was dead. Absently he catalogued his wounds. Cervical spine. That explained the lack of more pain; that and the adrenaline. Lungs and liver penetrated several times, more like ground nerf steak than functional human organs, and that explained all the blood. There was the distinctive smell of burnt flesh. No, he'd be dead before he could be taken to a bacta tank. Besides, he was a traitor. Coric was sure there'd be no bacta for a traitor. Gentle hands rolled him onto his side, supporting his head, slipping Coric's helmet to the floor. Coric's arms, no longer under his control, relaxed around the child, shielded by Coric and miraculously uninjured, who was trembling and trying to conceal its hiccups.

"Aw, Coric," Kix's voice was barely a whisper with the knowledge that his teacher, his mentor, his friend, his brother, his partner, was dying. He laid down his smoking blaster and removed his helmet, but didn't reach for anything in his medic's pack. They both knew there was no reason. Softly his hand cupped Coric's face.

"What y'do," Coric whispered, "determines who you are."

Kix nodded even as his eyes glistened with tears. He stood and, under Coric's supervision as if a newly assigned rookie medic instead of a three-year battle veteren, checked each of the small beds, shaking his head at the death he saw.

Coric sighed, trying to spit out a mouthful of bloody air. He was so tired. He'd been fighting for a long time and he was exhausted. Rex's words suddenly came to mind. Your orders. The overarching orders of the GAR was the protection of civilians, it was why the GAR had been created, why he had been created. What you've been trained to do. Protect them. "Tried, cap'm," he whispered so weakly he wasn't even sure he spoke. He'd have to do better than that to make Kix understand him.

"Kix, take child." Coric took a breath. Too shallow, fluid accumulation in the lungs diagnosed the medic in him. "Go." Coric gave a slight smile as Kix nodded.

Dying was easy. In his thirteen years, four months and couple of days of life, dying was the easiest, sweetest thing Coric had ever done. He simply let go.

# # #

Kix grabbed the child, taking a moment to brush his fingertips tenderly over Coric's dead eyes. The child curled into Kix's arms whimpering softly and he pulled a sling out of his medic's equipment, slipping it over his neck and under the child's shebs to help stabilize the child in his arm. He was sure he'd need to use both hands. Before tugging his helmet back on, Kix bent his head to set his teared cheek against the side of the toddler's face in comfort. Then he picked up a few extra blaster cartridges, setting them into one of the hold-alls at his belt and slung the deece strap over his shoulder, muzzle pointed forward and deece at the ready.

"Let's go, kid. See if we can survive the night."

Kix heard the pounding boots of troopers on the stones of the corridor.

Read and review.

Next chapter in about a week; it will begin a few weeks/months/years (?) later. It is the final story arc and concerns Captain Rex and Chopper in the 501st.

Yes, ultimately there is a (reasonably) happy ending.

If you have sharp eyes, you may even discover what happens to Kix (in a general sense) before the end.