Thank you Firehawk1100 and Kuiil for being my betas. I couldn't do it without them.

The Ones That Are Left Behind: Part One

Easy. That word was the best way to describe Coquer's newest victory.

"Commander, Republic forces are signaling their surrender. Do we accept?"

The Republic forces in question consisted of three ships—two Venator-class and one Acclamator-class—each heavily damaged, trailing smoke, and had fires sprouting quicker than the enemies were able to extinguish.

The enemy were on their last legs, having half the fleet decimated before they wised up and signal their surrender. If Coquer so desired, a simple exhale from his lungs could have the Republic fleet crumpling into dust. In any other situation, the debate to accept a foe's submission would be non-existent. While he strove for victory in each battle he was in, he didn't enjoy achieving them through annihilation. There was an unspoken code of conduct for a Serennian when they engaged in battle, small or large.

Respect and honor your foe, regardless of status, species, or sex.

Unless there was no other option, always request their surrender if their defeat was definite and clear.

If your foe waved the white flag, then cease all hostilities and treat them with high regards as you discussed the terms of their surrender.

Trench always vocalized his disappointment whenever he showed his adversaries mercy. Those that surrendered deserve death, he taught. War was messy, and hard decisions had to be made at times—Coquer knew this. But still, he referred to the code of his people through his campaigns, aiming to not waver far from the core aspect of his culture.

But as stated before, war was messy, and generals and admirals of the past created rules to adhere to to lessen the cost of conflicts. However, what were rules to a Jedi? Nothing.

Coquer shook his head. "No. Reports of Jedi falsifying surrenders to gain an upper-hand have been growing. We can't take the chance. Destroy the last of their ships, then do a sweep of survivors. Those we could assist."

"Roger, roger."

When the first beam struck, Coquer watched, stone-faced as the destruction began. Since the short amount of months this war began, he had to sacrifice a lot of his core principles to achieve victory. Guilt and shame of his own actions should be weighing down, leaving him unable to move a single digit from the density of the emotion.

It didn't, not in the slightest.

Gan Moradir seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet, the memory was still as fresh as if it occurred yesterday. It was there Trench granted him a taste of what would be his future, and engraved into his head one of the most important lessons a tactician needed to know.

Guilt and regret had no place on the battlefield.

The surviving Republic vessels turned around, showing their engines to Coquer's fleet. They were attempting to escape, he deduced. One last ditch effort save those that them, themselves doomed to oblivion.

He could accept this, their withdrawal. Retreat such as this ran low chances of it being a ploy the Jedi leader thought it may give them an upper-hand. But, on the err of caution…

"Keep firing at the enemy," Coquer ordered, "but lessen the intensity."

"Roger, rog—"

In the center of the retreating enemy's fleet, the engines of the star-destroyer suddenly erupted in a grand explosion, surprising Coquer. The enemy's rear deflector shield must had finally ran out of juice, and one of his ships landed a perfect shot. The vessel immediately listing to the right, on a direct course to their ally. The star-destroyer crashed against the Venator-class, slicing the assault ship in half, detonating into a larger explosion than the star-destroyer's engines, engulfing the two starships in it, leaving nothing but debris to be swept by the solar wind.

Lady luck smiled upon the last Republic assault ship though, managing to escape into hyperspace in the nick of time.

Coquer closed his eyes, sighing. If only the Jedi followed the rules of war, then so many lives wouldn't be needlessly wasted. What did those sorcerers believe they could achieve when falsifying a surrender? A miracle? A win that would magically be granted to them?

The Jedi advertised themselves as peacekeepers, protectors of the so-called fair democracy of the Galactic Republic. And yet, they utilized such underhanded tactics that not even the immoralists of commanders would do.

Bloody hypocrites. No wonder Father left the Order.

He opened his eyes, ridding the feeling of remorse from his body. "Lugnut," he called out. "Tell Scrapper he and his crew are good to begin their search for possible survivors."

He highly doubted there were even remains left to bring to their homes, but it was the right thing to at least try.

"Make sure they know to warn them before hauling them here. I don't want a repeat of last time."

"Copy that." Lugnut placed a hand to its head and relayed the order to its fellow droid.

Coquer looked to his left, staring at the two droids behind one of the consoles. "Reflector, Prim, what is the status of the rest of the fleet? Any serious damage?"

"The Indomitable is reporting their port side hangar's ray shield was disabled during the battle, and currently sealed off. Gallant's forward cannons are currently inoperable," Reflector informed.

"The rest of the fleet are reporting minor damages," Prim finished.

The damages Coquer's fleet sustained were manageable, with the exception of the Gallant's cannons. The only way to repair them would be to request assistance from the ground forces on Mygetto. He may have to accept the loss since he didn't know when the Republic would send another fleet to attempt to pierce his defenses. Unfortunate, but necessary.

"Reflector, tell Gallant to swap position with the Dauntless. Prim, ask the Indomitable if they need assistance or materials to get their hangar's ray shield operational again, if so, give it to them."

Reflector and Prim nodded. "Roger, roger," they said in unison.

"Alright, everyone." Coquer clapped his hands to gather everyone's attention. "We are holding strong and only need to hold out for two more day before being swapped out of this theater. And since the Republic didn't get the hint for the first three attempts, I wouldn't be surprised if they go for lucky four."

Coquer paused, waiting for a chuckle or an amused snort from his troops at his joke. Instead, all he received was silence and blanked stares, waiting expectantly for his next set of orders He coughed into his hand, covering his blushed cheeks. How he wished automatons could gain a humor update into their programming.

Clearing his throat, he took a seat in the captain's chair. "Recycle the shields and recharge the cannons. Relay to the fleet if they have needs of repairs—minor or not—to do them now while we have some down time."

His troops immediately went to work, following his command to the letter. It was strange, really. The sense of pride he felt when he looked upon them. When he first took control of the fleet, he didn't think he would view the droids under him as anything more than a replaceable cog in the war machine.

Lugnut, the gossip genius. Prim and Reflector, the inseparable duo. Rust, the droid with a heart.

He couldn't imagine going into battle without them, or anyone of his fleet, at his side. He knew what he would hear if he told any of his fellow Confederates about his feelings towards his droids—no—about the men in his fleet.

A human caring for a droid? Laughable.

A human thinking the beings of metal were equal to them? Hilarious.

A human treating a machine with respect? Hysterical.

Coquer sighed, shaking his head. Maybe this war could be the wake-up call the galaxy needed to show the worth of a droid.

"Commander," Lugnut spoke, walking up to Coquer's side. "Scrapper has reported a single escape shuttle that survived the battle."

"Really? I didn't think we would find any survivors." It seemed fate had different plans for the lucky soldiers of the Republic. "How many?"

"Five clones, sir."

Five? Five out of thirty-seven thousand survived.

Damn Jedi, Coquer thought, sneering.

"Send Breaker and Fixer's squads to the hangar," Coquer said, standing up from his seat. He started walking to the elevator. "Tell Scrapper I'll be there shortly. You have the bridge, Lugnut."

"Roger, rog—wait, what?!" Lugnut whipped its head to Coquer. "B—but sir, I'm just a B-1 droid—a foot soldier at that. I'm not like Watts, who is programmed to lead."

"Well I guess it's a good thing I don't care what you're programmed to do." He entered the elevator. "You'll do fine, Lugnut. You're a lot smarter than you think."

"But, Commander…"

Coquer smiled at the soldier. "Just think of it as a chess game, and you'll be fine. Besides, I doubt you'll see any action in the few minutes I'm gone."

"Commander, I—"

The elevator closed before Lugnut could protest further. He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. The droid reminded him much of himself when Trench first gave him command of his mercenary fleet. At least for Lugnut, the machine didn't have to worry about going completely blind into battle like he did on Ryloth.

Coquer was pretty sure he would receive a seal of approval from Trench with his decision.

When Coquer arrived at the hangar bay, he was welcomed to the sight of his men surrounding the escape shuttle on all sides, their blasters trained on it. There even were two vulture droids standing over watch, ready to blast the spacecraft at a moment's notice.

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed.

Damn it, Scrapper.

This was turning out exactly like last time. No. Not again. He refused to waste two weeks cleaning up the AFFF out of the hangar. He smelled like the awful foam stuff for weeks.

He moved quickly and with purpose, wanting to nip this in the bud before the incident blossomed into reality. Whether his men heard his approach or sensed his presence, he didn't know, but they parted, giving clear passage for their commanding officer.

Scrapper was waiting for him at the end, fidgeting with its metal digits. The droid looked side to side, hoping for someone to come to its rescue, but the machine was left out to dry.

When he walked up to the droid, the machine saluted, chuckling nervously. "C—commander."

"I thought I ordered you to warn them before picking them up, Scrapper."

The droid's knees buckled from his pointed glare. "I—I did!" the machine exclaimed. "I've been trying to convince them to come out since I arrived. They won't listen."

He spared a glance at the pod. "Please don't tell me you said, 'surrender to the might of the

Confederacy, or die, Republic scum,' again."

Scrapper tensed up. "I—No—" It hung its head. "Yes, Commander..."

Coquer sighed. Perhaps Scrapper was too new to think beyond its programming.

The droid looked up, gazing at him. "Sorry, Commander. I tried, but my programming—"

Coquer silenced the machine by placing a comforting hand on its shoulder. "It's okay, Scrapper.

Maybe this isn't your true calling, but I promise I'll find a suitable job for you."

Scrapper hung its head, its servos whining softly. "Roger, roger…"

The droid would get over it, sooner or later. It was best to put soldiers where they shined at, rather where they did not.

Coquer patted the droid's shoulder, smiling sympathetically before turning his attention to the Republic escape craft. The clones inside were probably waiting on his first move. If they had weapons, they were no doubt loaded and ready to fire. They probably already made a plan of attack to survive this ordeal, or more realistically, how much damage they could do before being gunned down.

Unlike the Jedi, he'd rather not have clones waste their lives meaninglessly.

Coquer took two steps towards the vessel. Clearing his throat, he said, "attention, troopers of the GAR. I am Commander Coquer, captain of this fine vessel and the one in charge of this fleet. You will have to forgive my men with their candid choice of words. Now, I know it is quite hard to believe, but—"

A fist thrown, connecting to the hard jaw of a clone. Panic ensued, troopers attempting to bounce on their brother to subdue him, but the clone was able to dodge in the cramped space. A blaster raised and aimed at Republic troopers.

"I'm sorry."

Coquer dropped to his knees, his eyes wide and breathing rapid.

What the hell was that, he wondered.

It was like he was there with the clone—as the clone, fighting all of his doppelgängers off. The feel of a fist flying through the air before clashing against the sturdy bone of another's jaw. The hesitation of the shaky finger squeezing the trigger. The wave of guilt crashed down on him as the final words were spoken.

It was unlike anything he ever experienced. Not even his weird sporadic lapses came close to the sensation he felt.

A B-2 super battle droid—Breaker, walked to his side, its wrist blaster still aimed at the escape pod. "Are you okay, sir?"

His body felt drained, leaving only a husk filled with exhaustion and paranoia. His head felt like it was about to split into two.

"Y—yes," he muttered.

Coquer closed his eyes, taking deep slow breaths to calm his beating heart and clear up his jumbled up mind.

Was this a new phenomenon he had to get used to? Become a slave to hallucinations that felt as real as day?

He was just starting to come to terms with the sudden flashes of images and sound that happened at random, but this. Coquer didn't think he could handle another episode.

A muffled sound of a blaster going off echoed in the hangar. Coquer's eyes snapped open. Letting his instincts take control of his body, he removed the blaster from his holster with swiftness, getting into the kneeling position as he aimed at the escape pod.

Two more shots came from inside the craft. His men prepared for a firefight, maneuvering themselves to get the best line of sight while protecting their fellow.

The hatch opened with a sharp hiss, not at all easing the tension that was in the air.

"Don't shoot!" a voice beseeched, coming from inside the escape pod. "I'm unarmed!"

Coquer eyed the craft, skeptical about the words the occupants said. Throughout the four months of him participating in this war, he met only a handful of clones who actually surrendered. Most chose death instead of imprisonment, thinking their demise would be the one that would end this war.

Idealism they no doubt inherited from the Jedi.

"If so, come out—slowly," he ordered, teasing the trigger of his blaster. "With your hands high in the air."

"Okay!" the clone agreed. "I'm coming out!"

Coquer eyed the escape pod with scrutiny, prepared for the slightest movement that he didn't like. He refused to let another clone kill his men with their suicide attack. At the sight of the clone troopers' signature white armor, he tensed up, preparing for the clone to make a mad dash at them with thermal detonators strapped to their torso.

Thankfully such a thing never occurred. The clone shuffled out of the escape pod, his hands high in the air like Coquer demanded. The clone was bereft of the iconic helmet, revealing the face Coquer had seen a million times by now. Each had their own little quirk to differentiate between themselves—like the one before him had green eyes instead of the normal hazel, and a tattoo of the mando'a language running down his neck—but the core characteristics were still the same.

Thin lips that were either in a frown or a scowl. Serious, unblinking eyes that always looked like they were glaring. Defined jaw and sharp cheekbones.

Coquer stood up from his kneeling position, blaster still aimed at the clone. "That's far enough, clone."

The trooper stopped, his face twisted in contempt at the sight of him. "I'm CT-1927," he introduced, somehow keeping the anger out of his voice. "My brothers and I would like to begin the negotiation of our surrender."

"If that's so," Coquer placed the barrel between CT-1927's eyes, "Where are they? I know there's four more in the escape pod."

CT-1927 didn't flinch in the slightest at the barrel nestling against his skull. "They're inside…unconscious," he said in what could only be described as regret.

Coquer narrowed his eyes on the trooper. "Prove it," he demanded. "I'm not taking the chance on one of your kind killing themselves to take out my own."

"How could I prove it?"

"Drag their bodies out."

CT-1927 was taken back from the order. Was it really that strange of a request? They were enemies in this terrible war of sovereignty, after all. He saw the tactics the clones and their Jedi commanders utilized on the field, laying traps such as this wasn't beyond them.

"Fine," grunted CT-1927.

The trooper took two steps backwards, turning around and then walked the rest of the way to the escape pod. He entered and a minute later he was grunting, heaving one of his brothers on his shoulder while dragging another by the collar of their armor. CT-1927 gently placed his brothers on the ground with a look of guilt on his face. He glared daggers at Coquer before going back inside the craft.

Coquer didn't take his eyes off of the clone until each of the bodies were out in the open. After the last one was shown to him, CT-1927 turned to him, scowling.

"Enough proof?" he asked.

It was. Coquer holstered his blaster. He brought his wrist communicator close to his mouth. "Red, I need you to go to cell block B. We have some clones that may need medical attention." "On the way, Commander," Red replied.

He dropped his hand. "Fixer, have your squad transport the unconscious clones to meet with

Red." He stared at CT-1927. "Treat them with the same respect as you do me."

"Roger, roger."

Fixer and its squads of B-1's walked past Coquer and CT-1927, heading straight for the unconscious troopers of the Republic. There were two per body, carrying them gently as they ushered out of the hangar.

"What happened?" Coquer asked. "If you don't mind me asking, that is." "Like I would tell you anything, Separatist," CT-1927 sneered.

Coquer expected such a reply. He could count how many times a clone actually talked to him on one hand.

He looked at the trooper, gazing in his green eyes. Coquer didn't know why, but he felt…ashamed of himself. Apprehensive to…talk? To speak of his own feelings.

He didn't know why such feelings were emerging in him. He had no rhyme or reason to feel that way.

"Are you going to send me to my cell, or what?" CT-1927 spat.

What was he doing? This was unlike him—the anxiety of facing the uncertain. The fear he felt creeping on him.

"You," Coquer spoke, slow and unsure of his next set of words. "Are…scared…" CT-1927 glared at the commander. "What was that?" he growled.

"You…" Coquer thought about what he experienced moments ago. The sensation of fists clashing against another. The restlessness he felt when the dust had settled. "Fought them—your brothers."

"How—"

"You didn't want to," Coquer continued. "But they forced your hand, calling you...traitor."

CT-1927 dashed at him, grabbing him by the collar, snarling at him. Breaker and his squad moved with urgency, surrounding the clone and their commander.

"Let go of the commander," Breaker ordered, its modulated voice stern and unforgiving.

"You don't know anything, kid!" CT-1927 shouted. "I did what I had to!"

"I…" His heated glare lessened, his grip slackened. "I did what I had to…"

Coquer blinked, feeling the drowning sensation of remorse being sapped away. Putting it mildly, that was weird. It was like his feelings and emotions weren't of his own, but from another. But that was impossible. There was no way for such an occurrence to happen. It was his mind playing tricks on him—had to be. There was no other explanation.

CT-1927 let him go, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry, I…" Coquer sighed. "I overstep my bounds. I meant no disrespect."

"They just wouldn't listen," said CT-1927 in a brittle voice. "We already lost so many of our brothers in this battle, and they just want to keep fighting."

CT-1927 opened his eyes. They were on the verge of tears. "…I couldn't lose another brother…"

Coquer sympathized with the clone. Based on the interaction he had so far with the clones, the only thing that they were more loyal to than the Republic, was to each other.

"I understand, and I don't judge you for your actions." Coquer knew nothing he say would lessen the guilt and sorrow the clone felt. "I'm sure with time they would understand your actions, and how much you cared about them."

He looked at Breaker, signaling the battle droid to cuff CT-1927. The four B-2's walked up to the clone, roughly placing the binders on him, while the rest had their wrist blasters aimed at him, daring him to strike the commander again.

"Place CT-1927 in—"

"Joker."

CT-1927 wiped a tear off his cheek with his shoulder, then looked at Coquer. "I'm Sergeant Joker," he introduced formally.

Coquer smiled. "Escort Sergeant Joker to his cell. Make sure Red take look at him too."

"Roger, roger." Breaker shoved the clone forward, forcing him to walk. "Move it, clone. You're lucky that the commander is kind," the droid said, with disdain in its tone. "We would've blasted you for attacking him."

Joker started walking, sparing Coquer one final glance. "Perhaps I am."

Coquer watched as the Breaker's squad escorted Joker out of the hangar. He would need to talk to the clone soon to formally discuss their surrender. It was a tough decision, what Joker did—but one he respected.

He would've done the same for his men.

His wrist communicator suddenly beeped, signaling an incoming transmission. It was no doubt Lugnut contacting him. Probably too freaked out from taking charge.

He accepted the transmission. "Yes, Lugnut?"

"How did you know it was me?"

He chuckled. "Because I'm a Jedi."

"Huh?!"

Coquer snorted out a laugh. His men' befuddled reactions was one of the few perks of being the only individual in the ship containing a funny bone.

"I'm just kidding." The breath of relief on the other side just made him laugh again. "Has there been an update to the fleet status?"

"Oh, uh, yes, sir," Lugnut answered.

The machine continued, "The Gallant reports their cannons aren't as intensively damaged as they originally thought, and could get them functional by tomorrow. Indomitable stated their hangar's ray shield needs more materials for them to repair it, and the Valorous should be delivering it to them shortly. All other repairs for the fleet are still undergoing, but we estimate all would be accomplished in two days' time."

Coquer hummed at the dutifully reported news, pleased with the favorable outcome. His men worked faster than he thought. Perfect timing since that was when they were slated to rotate.

"Good. Thank you for the update, Lugnut." He started to make his way out of the large hangar bay, heading towards the elevator. "I'm on my way back to the bridge."

"Roger, roger. Oh, Commander, there's one more thing to report."

"Yes?"

"CIS command sent us new orders," Lugnut informed. "We are being extended on Mygetto for another two weeks."

The door to the elevator opened. "What?" He entered and hit the button for his desired destination. "Why? What happened?"

"CIS command stated our relief was the fleet under the command of Admiral Trench, but they were destroyed at Christophsis last week."

Coquer stilled at the news, not believing what he heard. Color vanished from his face and anxiety gripped his heart.

He must've misheard the droid. There was no way his mentor would fall in battle. He was the man that survived a thousand battles. Defeat wasn't in his language, and death was a concept that eluded the great Harch.

Trench just couldn't be…

"Say again," Coquer said, his voice tight. "Your last came out broken."

"I didn't notice any interference, sir."

"I said, say it again, damn it!" shouted Coquer, letting fear ensnare him.

Lugnut yelped in fright. "Our relief has been defeated at Christophsis!" the droid blurted out in one breath. "We're waiting for a new fleet to be available so they could take our position over Mygetto."

No…

"C—copy."

He…He just can't be…

Coquer felt his throat clenching up, and tears already stinging the corner of his eyes. "I—I'm going to retire to my quarters. You're in command."

"Commander, wait! I'm just a—"

Coquer ended the transmission. He stood in silence, his body refusing to move.

He's…dead...

Coquer gritted his teeth, his face twisted in anguish. His heart felt like someone stabbed it with a vibroknife.

"Argh!" He threw a punch at the elevator's control panel, halting the metal box from going any further.

He just can't be. He just…

A gruttal sounding noise seeped out of his throat. Coquer dropped to his knees, lowering his head close to the floor. He ran his hands through his hair, gripping it tightly. He dug his fingers into his skulls, crying. His wails bounced against the steel walls.

I never had the chance to tell him I love him.

Author's Note: You know the hardest part about writing this chapter is—thinking up names for Coquer's fleet. Took me about two weeks to get that right names. We finally hit over 100 reviews, favorites, and follows! I didn't think this rewrite would get this much love from people. Thank you everyone, and especially big thanks to the many betas I had assisting me during this project. I couldn't do it without anyone of you guys.

Till Next Time