WELCOME TO THE NEXT CHAPTER. IT WILL BE PLACED IN PARTS! SO STAY TUNED AS MORE SECTIONS OF THESE ACTS PAN OUT

Sharp rock jut at the sky like jagged spires, overshadowing sparse shrubbery and the occasional patches of trees; the arid climate of Ryloth beat down on inhabitants and visitors alike. 53 felt harsh sun rays through the plastoid armor and taut bodysuit; humidity was hardly a factor, but it didn't improve things. Step by step, 53 scanned the orange-hued horizon for targets or signs of this POW camp.

Behind him, the heavy footfalls of AT-STs crunched rock and matted dust. A ranger file of vehicles strung out for nothing shorter than four hundred meters. Mace Windu paced alongside the Alpha, Stak, and Razor flanking nearby, with Commander Ponds in an AT-RT. Other clones walked skirmish lines outside the AT-STs, undoubtedly in the same mindset at 53 with their situation.

Hot.

It's what he thought, what he recalled. Every step in this direction came with the foreboding that maybe this place didn't exist. A red-yellow orb hung above like some judgemental god blazing its hateful rays upon the clones. The horizon never changed, a constant craggy outline of red superimposed by orange and yellow. Arc-53 felt a simmering resentment for the damn rocks. How could this be so important, yet so pointless?

Wait. How are they not picking this up? Lazy tankers.

A black spike protruded off the orange. Arc-53 held a fist, then signaled to Windu. He, in part, held a fist, shouting; "Hold, Company!" Then, he moved to Alpha-53, "What do you have, trooper?"

"Dunno how they missed it," He nodded back to the lead AT-ST, whirring to a halt. Many troopers grumbled or groaned, but plenty held fast like Razor or Stak without complaint. "But I spy an antenna on the horizon," 53 pointed out, "Three, maybe four clicks, sir."

Windu squinted his eyes, eying the vague shape in the far distance. For several seconds, he didn't say anything.

Then, "Good work, trooper. Our men have long-range scanners offline to reduce relay tracings. The Droids are good at counter-intelligence," He clasped 53's shoulder, "You wouldn't know that, just dropping in. Sorry, we didn't tell you."

53 processed that for several seconds, staring at him through the heads-up display. Radar relay tracing? Counter-intelligence? Even defeated, these droids possess a hazard. 53 nodded.

"Understood, sir."

Windu keyed his wrist comm, "Commander Ponds, we have a potential enemy encampment due Southeast, approximately four clicks. Send me, 53, and a few others some Bikes, and we can be on-site quickly."

"Yes, sir. Captain Graves has your bikes en route."

Minutes later, troops pulled up on BARC-class speeders and dismounted. 53 took one, as did Stak, Razor, and Windu. Three other soldiers kept theirs, well-weathered troops with distinct markings on their helmets. 53 had only been on-site for two days and didn't know anyone except the CO, XO, and their best troops. Unfortunately, 53 already forgot the name of the blonde one, a crack navigator usually cooped up in the lead AT-ST, but Stak and Razor were ARF troopers. Advanced Reconnaissance Force troopers utilized premier scouting and direct action tactics, typically paving the way for larger forces or being the tip of the spear. Their unique helmets features spike-like protrusions off the back of their helmets, hardened visors, and reinforced protection.

53 set his assault bag on the back rack, strapped it in, and secured his Westar-5 across his back. Settling into the speeder felt like old news, having done it in training and at Cristophsis. 53 kicked the speeder into gear, swerving behind Windu as he did the same.

"Ready?" Came his husky voice over the net. Five clone voices came back affirmative.

"Ready," Replied 53 at the tail end.

"Follow me."

The Jedi engaged both throttles. Repulsors whined to full as it scorched the rock beneath, slingshotting forward to several hundred kilometers per hour in seconds. 53 followed, the howl of five other bikes in tow. Radar in the corner of his HUD showed they followed in singles: a ranger-style file with two-hundred-meter spacing.

Black spire turned to expansive gates, a distant web of gun nests, and fences surrounding a sunken encampment built into the side of a rocky protrusion.

"Radar says no hostiles. Everything's offline," Windu reported, "I don't sense anything, either."

"Maybe that shutdown was legit, sir," One of the clones wagered, "But aren't there a lot of holdouts everywhere?"

"Yeah," Came another, "I heard up North they got a lot of Super-Tacs that disobeyed the order and held out."

"Fact of the matter is," Windu interjected, "This place seems abandoned. But that can be fabricated. Stay frosty."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

53 scanned left to right. A vast encampment, and probably an outpost before POW services were integrated, two large gun towers stuck above the left open gates. Dozens of tan battle droids squat, deactivated, with many of their B2 brethren around several immobile shapes across the camp.

"Halt, two hundred meters out."

Windu's order, relayed by the clones, was executed as he neared a gun nest center to the gate. A roughly paved pathway split and rejoined behind it, filing into the camp. Windu parked left of the weapon mount. 53 gunned his sticks right, slammed the air brake, and swept sideways to a stop two meters apart from the mounted weapon. Dust and rock kicked across the path as his repulsors died down.

53 swept his legs over the left side of his bike, ripped the Westar to his shoulder, knelt, and swept.

Nothing.

The two ARF troopers and other clones came into his periphery, bikes whining down, touching rock, blasters up and sweeping. They held this position for several seconds, 53 slowing his breaths as Windu marched into the open, unlit saber in hand, feeling with his eyes. He's doing Jedi tricks; his face has that look, 53 thought.

His brows furrowed, mouth snarling in disgust at whatever he'd discovered by reaching out. Turning, Windu's face twisted in anger, then slowly subsided into a slightly angered expression, sadness in his eyes.

"Troopers," Windu called into his forearm comm, turning and marching towards the camp, "There are no survivors."

"Sir?" Called a clone.

"You heard me," Windu responded, not facing the clones, continuing his stride, "They're all dead."

"What in blazes?"

"What the hell?!"

"Damn droids! I'll kill every frellin' one of them!"

53 felt a pit of anger, red, hot, and twitching, work to his face. Vaulting over the vehicle, he momentarily checked his peripherals. Clones, even the ARFs, jerked their helmets towards each other and bantered on comms. Seconds passed, and 53, though caught up to Windu, didn't feel like listening anymore.

"Shut your mouths," He snarled, earning silence, "We have a job to do. Stop dragging ass."

53 glanced behind, spotting the clones following through. No response on the net. Good. Coming aside Windu, the gate, as did all the motionless shapes, came into focus.

Except they weren't shapes.

Through the wired fences and straight durasteel pillars, 53 recognized the telltale corpses. Vibrant green, blue, pink, orange, red - skins of Twi'lek POWs jut out against the drab orange basin. Charred holes and bloody wounds peppered their rag-tag bodies, clothes scorched or torn off their figures from the bolts' power or their holders. 53 didn't linger, though the bodies scored in the several dozen range.

A sickly sweet odor breached his scrubbers. Raw, unfiltered ozone twisted the mix into a demented barbeque of scents. 53 felt his stomach clench and glanced at Windu. His expression curled in disgust, though also in restraint, likely stifling the same impulse.

53 made it to the gates and stopped.

Windu did, too.

Old and young, male and female, their fish eyes and endless gapes ogled the sky in dead glares. Dried crimson soaked the ground, staining clothing and dirt like a dirty brown-red. Some were executed on their knees, others shoved in pits, and a select few died with skin torn off their knuckles and hands. They fought back, 53 observed, shaking his head. A sister wrapped around her brother, who tried to protect her in his dying moments, blackened holes peppering their petite figures. Others strung out from the powerful B2 bolts lay in heaps of flesh and organs, peppered across their executed kin like trash.

They spent an hour picking through the living compartments—same story. Dead bodies stacked, stuffed, or twisted beyond recognition by the hand of automaton firing squads. Twi'lek rot clogged 53's nostrils by the end, and as they exited the camp, the line of AT-STs had made their position around it—Ponds hustled beyond the first gun, other troopers in tow.

"Sir!" Ponds called out, meeting Windu halfway.

53 lingered behind, glancing at the stacks of dead bodies and the strangely sluggish movements of each clone. Their heads hung - blasters, too, and none had spoken since 53 barked for silence. Turning back to Ponds, Windu held a fist and took a deep breath.

"Commander Ponds," He droned with an edge of irritation, weariness, and something... Else, "The POW camp has been located. Tell Obi-Wan that all the prisoners were executed. No survivors-" Windu clasped Ponds' shoulder, "-you don't need to check. Understood?"

Ponds chanced a curious head tilt - looking over Windu's shoulder and spying the immobile figures. He quickly looked back to Windu, saluted.

"Sir, yes, sir! I'll let Command know immediately."

Ponds turned, plastoid boots clicking on rock as he hurried back to the AT-ST. Windu sighed, and turned to them.

"This was the last POW camp this far South. I expect you all to take it easy until we return. That being said, if we encounter any resistance... Remember them-" He pointed at the corpses,"-and fight to prevent it from ever happening again."

53 felt the words slip from his mouth, joining the other clones in unison.

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Twi'lek corpses stared at him. Knee-deep in crimson among a darkened veil, pearly fisheyes gaped up as widened maws snapped and gnashed. Their hands and fingers clawed at his armor, begging for purchase, moaning in pain and agony. Decrepit, charred, rotted limbs with flayed skin peeling to reveal pus and maggot-infested flesh called for him. But he couldn't move, could barely squirm, as they worked up his body. A dirtied white gauntlet shot from them, its glove burnt off with swollen, charred fingers grabbing onto Him.

It pulled up, a headless clone trooper with black sludge seeping from the decapitated mound over off-white armor, staining it vantablack. It crawled over the others, wrapping around him as he struggled, groped, and tried to move as the bodies pulled him down. The thing mounted over his shoulders, tipping an open throat over 53's face as the bodies swallowed him whole.

Inside, a small yellow sliver slipped out.

It pierced 53's skull.

Pain tore through his head, neck, and limbs as the same sludge waterfalled across his upper body. Skin peeled away, flesh melted, the white-hot sensation muting out as the moaning, screaming, and gnashing silenced.

53 shot up off his rack. Cold sweat coated his brow, throat dry, and pulse-pounding through his temples. Dark-skinned fingers clutched damp sheets, 53's sweat soaking through Republic sleepwear. Stains spotted his shirt and pants. Images of Christophsis lulled in his eyelids like cataracts, dead Twi'leks from Ryloth, the faces and dead glares of comrades and strangers looming in the dark and at the very corner of his vision.

He stood up, stumbled towards a desk, and pressed an unlit button which illuminated green on touch. Warm, white light basked 53's quarters and flushed the visions away.

The trooper glanced around, steadying his breath, making sense of the recurring nightmares and visions. Even after his temporary deployment to Ryloth - hot rocks as opposed to cool cityscapes - they only persisted. Newfound horrors in the wake of mass-separatist-initiated genocides had 53 march with Windu's units to discover concentration camps littered with locals' bodies and deactivated battle droid cadavers.

53 sat before his desk and milled over current events. A report and orders lay across the workplace, detailing a large-scale offensive.

The big one loomed over the horizon. After punching in a proprietary identification code, it opened to reveal an extended operations order sent from Jedi Master Mace Windu.

Expanding it across the wall via holographic projection, 53 stood back, fatigue washing through his system as 53 focused. The time read 0341, an hour before he typically woke. After a quick review of the operations order, a plan to invade Geonosis a second time, 53 ran through several calisthenics exercises to warm him up for the morning.

Handstand pushups, wide squats, jump squats, burpees, core twists, hanging leg lifts, crunches, oblique twists, one-armed pushups, chin-ups, pull-ups, and several extended stretches to get his pump in. After a quick shower, 53 inspected his face. Black hair with greyed ends combed over an undercut and a short, trimmed beard entertaining a mustache. 53's sun-kissed skin bore a few more scars, he realized, glancing over his trunk.

Some stylistic changes suit 53's likeness, notably to differentiate him from other clones. Because he is different, fundamentally, and exercises that difference with absolution. Though they are brothers to him, he knows of his superiority in training and genes. The personalization he'd earned further distinguished himself. 53 slipped into his GAR bodysuit and opened an equipment locker.

In full display, his customized ARC armor stood vacuum-clamped to a stand within a meter by two-meter box. 53's armor sported irregular and abstract rust oranges, dirty browns, and dull yellows in splinter style to accommodate the rocky surface littered with granules and the natural, jagged edges that Geonosis brings. In memory of Spike, a clone who had died on Cristophsis, the dorsal antenna now bore yellow paint in memorandum of the fallen Spike.

A paratrooper harness connected the kama, gear belt, and shoulder armor. Webbing stitched the armored, plasteel torso plate, lined with pouches for charge packs. Tibanna cartridges he kept secure in a hard case attached to the rear of his belt. Pouches for grenades, field equipment, and a marked IFAK spotted his belt with an equally distributed weight load. Two holsters for his customized DC-17 blaster pistols and

From a separate locker, 53 extracted his weapons. The Westar M5 gained an aftermarket lower receiver, an adapter to accept the DC-15/S/A charge and tibanna packs. After a night of tweaking and calibrating, 53 made it function flawlessly. A new underbarrel pump action munition launcher contained two plus one cased cartridges loaded with HE, flechette, concussion, or EMP munitions. The same smart-link scope and barrel shroud from his last mission remained attached.

His DC-17 utilized a modified upper receiver and suppressor shroud. 53's custom vibroknife bowed at the middle and hooked back at the edge, a wicked, curved design similar to what Major Almaani used on his first assignment. The hook-style weapon was concealed on his belt and machete across his left pack's side.

Piece by piece 53 slipped into his armor, spot-checked his equipment, and noted the time at 0550. With his helmet on the table, he examined a lot of private comms, with one pending from Jedi Knight Ozura Atlacoya. The message read; IMMINENT MISSION DETAILS, CONTACT IMMEDIATELY.

Sighing, 53 pressed the "contact" key and stood back as a rhythmic hum replaced the silence. In seconds, the Knight answered.

Atlacoya's long, raven hair was kneaded in a single braid with eloquent precision down her back from her brow. Light tones in her lips and eyes indicated some form of makeup, though not enough to stand out. The Mirialan dressed in her typical knight's uniform - a form-fitting combat outfit with pads, knuckle gloves, a utility belt, and shin-high boots. Offering a nod, she brokered a slight smirk.

"Alpha Fifty-Three. You're well on the way to your next objective. How'd Ryloth treat you?"

53 snorted. "A hot pit of despair and war criminals. Too many dead civvies thanks to that whelp Separatist and his power plays."

"All's well, then." She flowed differently, straightening her shoulders and puffing out her chest; Ozura touched her gauntlet and streamed aurebesh orders directly to 53's terminal. They displayed a similar ethereal blue to the hologram. Her voice gained an authoritative edge. "You're on advisory and escort duty for Jedi Master Mace Windu. They're making you his immediate advisor beside Commander Ponds. Your objective is to stack as many bodies as possible while assisting in-ground and tactical leadership roles."

"Understood, ma'am," He responded sharply, though his voice betrayed a sense of aggravation, "Are there any other factors?"

"You're directly supervising Flash Platoon, Windu's hand-picked unit for this operation. Lieutenant Lowe is their C-O, and you two will co-op the spearhead of the 187th's operations."

"We're on point."

"Precisely."

53 nodded. "Alright. What else?"

"Your extra piece of equipment was delayed," She traversed to a data pad, grabbing it from off-projection and pulling up unseen details, "And won't be there until after the invasion is over. Sorry, Lieutenant."

"Of course. Supply never fails to disappoint."

"No argument, there," She discarded the object, folded her arms, and gave him a different look. It was somewhere between suspicion and concern. These looks had increased their number since his episode on Christophsis. Though mandatory in the Republic Special Warfare community, he dreaded the following conversation, glancing off and eliciting an annoyed groan. "Alpha Fifty-Three, are you experiencing any traumatic nightmares or stress-induced episodes?"

"No, Ma'am," 53 looked back to her, eyes squinting, "I am not."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Atlacoya's poise didn't shift for several moments, as if inspecting or trying to connect to him from afar. The force, he understood, was practically incomprehensible to those who couldn't use it. An "ebb and flow," one Jedi tried to describe it, but 53 didn't believe much of what they'd said. She must've been trying to reach out to him that way, then and there, but gave up at the thirty-second mark of awkward silence. Atlacoya's poise slackened, and she tapped something into her gauntlet, gaze veering away.

"Very well, Alpha Fifty-Three. Carry on your mission."

"Yes, ma'am."

He terminated the call, eliciting an irritated groan. Nobody needs to know. It's my business. Checking the time, he decided it was time for chow and departed his quarters.

Other troopers went about their business; patrolling corridors, moving between spaces, or going where he now decided to go; the chow hall. Even if it was carb and protein paste with artificial sides, a hot meal was preferable to the ration packs with dry structure and poor taste they'd come to ingest.

As he entered, the geared-up ARC drew heads. Some regs whispered between each other, and some cast long glances. 53 moved to the line, grabbed his slop, and sat at an empty table. A clone tapped his shoulder before he could entirely remove his helmet to eat. 53 glanced behind him to see a trooper in white armor with dull orange stripes along the shoulders, forearms, torso, and legs. 53 instantly recognized his identity - fully shaved with a neutral expression.

"You're Alpha Fifty-Three, right?"

"That's me. You're Commander Ponds, correct?"

Ponds nodded, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smirk. "Come meet the lads, get acquainted with them before the drop."

"Flash Platoon?"

"Yup."

As per the op order, assignments paired special support with deploying units. Alpha-53's op order tethered him to Flash Platoon of the 9th Advanced Recon Company. Their company-level component consisted of ARF and scout vehicle operators.

53 nodded, "Aye, sir," and clipped his helmet to his gear belt. Taking his food, 53 followed Ponds to a table lined with orange-brown camouflaged troopers, their helmets indicating ARF trooper status. As 53 sat, the entire table silenced for a moment, stared at him, then went back to speaking. A massive ship like this allotted roughly two hundred per table, so an entire platoon congregating wasn't abnormal.

Ponds slipped beside him and indicated with a knife-hand a fellow clone shoveling food with tight-cropped hair and a small joker's scar stitching the left corner of his mouth.

"This is Lieutenant Lowe, C.O. of Flash Platoon."

Lowe and 53 locked eyes for that moment. Lowe, seconds later, cracked a wide grin and nodded to the ARC.

"Pleasure, ARC Trooper. You ready for some hard knocks?"

53 nodded aptly, glancing between the troops. "I am. Who're the squad leaders?" He knew who by CT number, but he wanted eyes on, names, and anything about them.

"Sergeant Zulu of Lightning Squad," Lowe identified with an extended finger. Ponds had since gone back to eating silently. The indicated trooper didn't change his look from the norm, nodding respectfully to the Alpha.

"Sergeant Kor of Break Squad," He indicated a clone sitting across from Zulu - Kor - who'd decorated his left ocular with a semicular tattoo, black and sprouting several small branches across his temple, cheekbone, and eyebrow. Kor's hair remained standard. Kor smirked with his nod, saying, "Welcome to the team, sir."

53 nodded, "I'm ready to kill; make sure you are, too." Kor chuckled in response. "Yes, sir," He said and turned to resume his conversation with another clone.

Lowe swung his arm to the left, indicating a somewhat distant clone in the lot, raising his voice to grab the soldier's attention.

"Corporal Dusk of Strider Squad." The clone whipped his head around on call, and 53 internally winced. A deep, jagged scar stitched his left nostril to where the ear should be but wasn't, displaying a misshapen, unflattering façade. Dusk exhibited long hair, combed messily, and a half goatee splotching his chin.

"Stride or die, sir!"

53 exhumed an amused snort, something akin to a sneer creeping across his mouth. But he nodded, enticed by the clone's response.

"Stride or die, Corporal."

Dusk chuckled and turned away, Lowe elbowing someone to his left now. The clone glanced up from his plate, locking eyes with 53 and sitting straight. He appeared almost ordinary, but small blotches of perhaps burn or shrapnel scars flecked his right cheek and temple. This clone had his head completely shaven save for the eyebrows.

"And finally, Corporal Fletcher of Jet Squad." Fletcher nodded smartly to 53, reaching his hand across the small space. 53, after a moment's contemplation, reached across and accepted the shake. "We're the airborne squad, hence the name. I'm eager to see you kill, sir."

Alpha-53 appreciated Fletcher's straightforward and flat approach. Eager to see me kill? 53 thought, allowing his sneer to morph into a grin, visually putting off Fletcher as he glanced away.

"You'll have plenty of chances."

After his hand retracted, Fletcher glanced one more time to 53, then resumed eating. Lowe held a gaze on 53, who processed each trooper's introduction.

"So," Lowe began, "You're with Lightning Squad. Two of my best troopers, Stak and Razor, are there. Zulu's a cut above, no doubt, but those two brothers cleared commando droids with nothing but their wits on Ryloth."

53 read the AAR on Ryloth after he'd been assigned post-Christophsis. Stak and Razor, led by Mace Windu, infiltrated a separatist fortress withholding goods and hostages - single-handedly fighting through a command center and surviving a counterattack by BX units. Commando Droids are tough bastards, and the fact that Razor and Stak bested a squad of them, allowing their combined assault unit to enter and secure the location, impressed Alpha-53. That ended with him mopping up resistance and searching for POW camps through southern Ryloth.

"Hot-shots all around, really." Lowe ended, glancing at his food, contemplating it, then eating it. 53 joined the fellow officer's silence, noting Ponds' departure moments after to another table. Two minutes later, 53 finished his meal, stood and dispensed his tray, then moved back to his room until the initial invasion briefing began.

At 0800, Lieutenant Alpha-53 stood in a war room, the lead Captains, Majors, Commanders, and Generals of the 187th, 13th, and 504th around a wide holographic projection table. Scintillating blue light reflected off the uncovered eyes of clones and Jedi alike, washing gunmetal grey bulkheads with a dull glow. The War Room, stationed just aft of the bridge, stood illuminated by the flickering, warping facade of hyperdrive bathing the compartments in its unique wash of psychedelic whites and blues. The merged holographic-hyperdrive light show reflected off everyone's expressions, illuminating cross, neutral, relaxed, and contemplative looks.

From the 187th Attack Battalion, Mace Windu stood abreast with Commander Ponds, wearing neutral expressions. Pods' faded orange streaks paired with dented, smeared, off-white, modified armor. Windu's brown robes complemented a muscular, fit physique. Dark skin contemplated the look with dense arms folded over a broad torso, a Jedi paragon.

The 504th Armored Combat Legion's command structure stood rigid before the ethereal blue glow. Standing first in the wedge, Jedi Master Kyras Malyuk loosely tucked his hands over his rear. Black, lacquered robes hung off broad shoulders, a belt containing his essential needs framed its waist, and knee-high mountaineering boots complemented the look. Malyuk's brown skin, garnished with grey cultural markings, encircled a crown of slightly yellowed skull protrusions. Malyuk's nose, mouth, and jaw were contained in a black life support apparatus - having undergone life-threatening injuries in his past; it kept him alive and breathing. Jedi Knight Talos Vryakan, a towering Kaleesh, hovered by Malyuk's right shoulder. White robes tautly wrapped his rigid frame, plastoid plating secured to lanky shins, knees, elbows, and forearms. The Knight's dual sabers hung at his right hip, gold engravings wrapping silver hilts with aquamarine electro-plated crossguards. Their Trandoshan junior, Jedi Padawan Lee Hasskar, stood similarly to Vryakan. His steady posture loomed just to Vry's right. Wearing a sleeveless cardigan with draped trousers, three bands of black, elastic cloth spotted each arm. Senior Commander Bulkhead and Major Bulwark stood to their left. Bulkhead, a steely-eyed clone with a trimmed goatee and shaved head, wore light blue markings over extensively modified armor indicative of a Tanker. In the blue light, 53 barely made out a jagged scar stitching Bulkhead's left temple to his high-right forehead. Major Bulwark bore an artificial left eye and burn scars about that side of his face with a combed haircut.

The 13th Womprats - an Advanced Recon Legion - outfitted the third element of this offensive. Of average height and build with messy, black hair, Jedi Knight Rennek Sloan wore an open-shouldered undershirt with plasteel plates protecting his forearms, torso, and hands - internal gloves housing his forearms and fingers. Dark trousers with inner knee and shin guards funneled into shin-high, earth-toned mountaineering boots. A sleeveless vest hung open, tucked into his leather duty belt, colored black and blue. His belt held two lightsabers of blackened lacquer, a medical pouch, and other gear satchels. Sloan stood cross-armed with Senior Commander Kali, who wore a recce loadout with green strokes painted over his figure. A desert-camouflaged, sensor-scattering poncho concealed his body, an ARF's helmet tucked beneath his left arm. Kali's head bore dyed, red hair he neatly slicked to a back-left angle with shaved undercuts.

"Alright," Mace Windu began in his baritone octave, "Let's begin."

Windu ambled his right arm to the display controls. 53 continued to scan the surrounding men - Naval Officers and other high-ranks from each element to land. 53 knew of Windu's Battalion - who hadn't? - and recently read of the 504th's efforts coordinating attacks on Ryloth and Mygeeto. The 13th Womprats specialized in probing, strategic recon, and jungle warfare. Their recent campaigns included Fallucia and Mimiban. They must be broadening horizons, 53 mused, or they're forced to be here. Trial by fire, mudjumpers.

At Windu's touch, an illuminated display of their three Acclamator Assault ships formed into a wedge, flanked by CR-20 Frigates and larger Repub vessels. Prosecutor, at the left flank, Reverent on the right, and Unyielding stationed center. They currently subsisted in Undyielding's war room.

"Each element will deploy from their respective command ships. Under fire, we'll land at this point, here," The holographic display indicated dozens of LAAT variants from each ship swaying through AA ground fire to an identified high point five clicks beyond their target. It bordered a series of scrappy slopes descending into the central northern basin of their objective. A rough, orange blur identified the ground. Red targets began to spring up at three locations.

"Objective Omega-" Windu pointed to the leftmost location, a spindly spire with dozens of communication relays, satellites, and hard-wired telecom cables stretching to other AO's for the factory. It overlooked the other targets on an elevated plateau surrounded by jagged inclines and a sole, fabricated bridge facing the factory. "-Is the primary relay station for the Northern sector. Anti-air guns and a significant minefield of anti-armor charges protect the position's base, and air defense guns pick off any flak. Working for us, there are only light elements of armor, anti-armor guns, and just two infantry companies. The largest issue will be getting there." Windu indicated General Sloan, "General Sloan, your men are the best equipped to take this objective."

Though he worded it like a statement, Windu floated a questioning tone for the young Jedi Knight. Sloan nodded, unperturbed.

"Aye, Master," Sloan's voice was deep with a throaty, rolling accent 53 couldn't identify, "We've got fast attack capability which can outrun their guns, and solid combat engineers ta' boot. Once we draw their fire, we can snipe off their big boys one at a time. Then, once they defenses are down, we can either scale the crags or take the bridge. Once that's done, it's a wrap." Sloan paused, blue eyes searching the room for nods of understanding. After a few moments of silence, he returned his gaze to Windu, "Sir."

53 spied Kali's far-away stare, gazing through the hologram as his jaw worked left to right. Something's bothering him, but he's not speaking up. Before he approached the fact, Windu beat him to it, speaking curtly.

"Commander Kali," it grabbed the redhead's attention, the Commander stiffening, "Something on your mind? It'd be best to share it."

Kali blinked twice, then refocused on the war-hologram. He leaned to the table, vaguely gesturing over its projected terrain.

"I have no doubt in my combat engineers' skills, sir, but we've two days and a wake-up to calibrate our mine sweepers through sim-trainers against hard rock. There's the preset from last campaign, and what we gathered from last time here, but were I down there, I'd of changed tactics. I'd expect no less from Poggle."

Kali paused, working another fact over.

"Not to complain, but we are jungle warfare specialists. Easier said than done to adapt from mud and trees to... Dust and rock."

Windu nodded contemplatively. 53 remained stone-faced but noted Bulwark reacting with accusatory, squinted eyes to the Senior Commander. Bulkhead nodded appreciatively - like he understood the brother's concerns.

"The lack of cover here is something we'll all learn to combat one way or another. When I first landed on Geonosis, calling it a bloodbath would be an understatement." Windu paused. "I have no answer for you regarding adapting to these conditions. But, I hand-picked your unit because of its skill in overcoming hostile positions with the odds stacked against you."

Windu offered an appreciative nod.

"You're thinking about your men even as you plan operations, Commander Kali, and I respect that. Regardless of the circumstances, I'm confident you'll complete the mission."

Kali nodded, "Thank you, sir."

Windu glanced to Sloan, who offered a nod and smirk.

"He took tha' concerns right out me mouth, Master. I've got nothin' else."

Wouldn't have convinced me, 53 thought; it was a stupid concern, anyway, should've stowed that sorry look. 53 snorted beneath his helmet, diverting attention back to Windu again.

Windu, wasting no time, indicated the center objective. "Objective Fortis-" he pointed out the single-story, sprawling complex embedded in the valley floor stretching its entire width between the plateau from Omega to their third objective. Lined with embedded tanks, air defense turrets, anti-armor cannons, a three-layer trench network, and three Battalions of Separatist armor, the squat structure featured heavy defensive forward shielding and multiple fallback structures. Artillery positions spotted these fallback structures positioned to support each hard point along the vast valley "-is the forward operating base of this sector. It contains enough reinforcements to supply both of its brother elements with support. Objective Fortis houses the forward artillery batteries, armor bays, and a direct route to both brother elements. Preventing its artillery and reinforcements from deploying is crucial to the mission." Windu identified two red-highlighted veins stretching to Omega and target three.

"Once the five-hundred-and-fourth begin their offensive, it's just a matter of time before they reinforce the other objectives. Master Malyuk, Commander Bulkhead, what is your plan?"

Jedi Master Malyuk gazed upon Senior Commander Bulkhead, the mask-wearing swordsaint nodding towards his officer and moving forward.

"We'll land our mobile artillery batteries - the Av-sevens, AT-APs, Falchion tanks, and our two SPHA-Ts along the ridge-" Malyuk's voice, an icy, electrical drone dripping with resonance, accented his fluid movement towards their landing point - Point Hail. "-and adjust a separate detachment to assist the Thirteenth Womprats in their endeavors. Jedi Knight Vryakan will coordinate ordnance with our Artillery Company Officer, Captain Iron. Padawan Hasskar and I will accompany Commander Bulkhead and Major Bulwark on the lead offensive towards Objective Fortis."

Malyuk traded a look with Bulkhead, who approached the table in exchange for the Jedi Master.

"We'll perform a blitzkrieg. 'Old-fashioned term for hitting something with artillery and following it with armor and infantry." Bulkhead inhaled sharply, displaying their entire attack element - consisting of half the Legion - descending into the ridge via rough terrain. At the same time, one quarter remained at the Artillery Battery, and the other quarter split into two support elements for each offensive. "Spearhead will be our designation for the attack element. Shield for the Battery, and Gurney one and two for the support elements. Shield will simultaneously barrage objective Omega and Fortis as we advance, hitting them with EMP and high-ex munitions. We'll launch targeting drones and jamming munitions as our elements close in-" the barrage synced with a fleet of UT-AT's, RTT-04's, HAVw-A6's, 105-K Lancer Bikes, BACR Speeders, and TX-130 Saber Tanks. A rear element of AT-RT's, AT-TE's, UT-OT's, and RX-200 Falchions set up a CCP and established supportive fire from behind. "-then break off two elements to destroy those veins. If all goes according to plan, the confusion will allow us to nip those buds before we hit the center complex."

Bulkhead sighed.

"But, as I like to say, everyone has a plan 'til they're punched in the mouth. So if we can't hit those veins in time, it'll be up to the other two elements to secure or destroy them." Bulkhead glanced at his XO. "Major?"

Major Bulwark flanked the Senior Commander at the table. A promotion should be in his future. 53 mused If he survives.

"This scan is incomplete. Recon satellite imagery is unreliable at best. So, expect immediate contact when we land - if we land. Do not rely on artillery, do not rely on air support. Bugs own the sky and the ground. We've got no intel on their countermeasure capability, but expect the worst. Like Commander Bulkhead said, we have a solid plan, don't lose your spine when you get punched in the teeth."

53 chuckled, a smirk crossing his face.

Cynical, not afraid to call it as he sees it. I like him.

Bulwark glanced impassively to 53, wearing his constant scowl, but looked back to the board within a second. Jedi Master Malyuk sighed, shaking his head.

"Shrewd as ever, Major."

"But," Windu interjected, playing a hand, "It's the edge we need to understand the scope of this operation. Your performance in your tasking is excellent, Master Malyuk - Commander Bulkhead - Major Bulwark." Windu paused, folding his arms.

No kidding, there.

"Now for the last objective."

Mace's hand hovered over a jagged series of spires, cliff faces, and crooked terrain off the AO's right side. A small access post split into a sprawling, carved-out cave system with dozens of side tunnels and passages. It stretched to a circular, underground structure paired with the rightmost, central access vein and a subterranean road stretching to the Northern Factory Access.

"Objective Sidewinder. Our seismic scans, paired with the last time we cleared this area, identified this as the barracks and command center of the Northern sector. My element, the one-hundred-eighty-seventh, will move by IFV and scout walkers to the objective. We'll dismount and assault the access post simultaneously with the other offensives. Once we secure that post, we'll set a CCP and sweep through the catacombs until we reach and eliminate the command center. Clearing these chambers will be no easy task, so I've requested Lieutenant Five-Three as a tactical aid." Windu indicated the only clone with his helmet still on, Alpha-53. He guessed from their adverse reactions they'd not been informed of his identity.

Bulwark stink-eyed 53 as he strolled to the table and removed his helmet, revealing the dyed grey of his loosely catered mane of hair and a thick mustache.

Don't eyeball me too long, tanker, or I'll take your other one.

"I've been assigned to Flash Platoon, an element of the one-eighty-sevenths ARF company. We'll assault and clear the access point with shotguns and carbines. Inside the caves're a different story. Flamers, detonators, shotguns, and tooth-and-nail fighting'll be how we clear the command center. Commander Ponds maintains highly competent close-quarters combatants, and I look forward to seeing them in action." 53 glanced to Ponds, who nodded accordingly.

"Much appreciated, Alpha-fifty-three-" which raised some brows among the others. Suppose they didn't expect me, eh? Ponds turned to the table, "Once we clear and secure Objective Sidewinder, we'll regroup half a click beyond Objective Fortis. Our combined elements will then convene on Objective Castle to eliminate the Northern material storehouse supplying the factory."

Windu now approached.

"We'll conquer and control this entire AO and stand by for second-wave elements. Any questions?"

Major Bulwark shuffled forward a half step, indicating Alpha-53 with an offhand.

"An Arc trooper, eh? You sure you don't want to roll with the big guns?"

53 snorted, drawing his claw-shaped vibroknife and displaying it beneath the luminescent blue glow.

"No, I prefer disemboweling my enemies with my hands. Sitting behind armor and screens defeats the purpose."

The Major tilted his head up, face screwing in irritation. Before he spoke, Senior Commander Bulkhead swatted his shoulder and said. "No issue with that, Lieutenant. I imagine you're quite skilled with that knife."

53 nodded, "Very," and sheathed it.

Sloan barely concealed a peal of low chuckles, sharing a grin with Senior Commander Kali. Windu glanced between his officers, then to the ranking Naval Rear Admiral - a one-star - who approached. He is a trim, tall human male with greying hair and a five o'clock shadow; his sun-kissed skin is similar to that of clones. Crow's feet spotted bright eyes, but the man hadn't lost his edge in age.

"Rear Admiral Manis?"

RDML Manis approached, punching in a matrix code and displaying the fleet support over their AO.

"My formations," He said in a posh accent, "Will be able to provide orbital support so long as transmissions are not jammed. Our forces are in a position to provide necessary resupply and reinforcements on command, but if we're tied up with Seppie Air, the requests will be delayed."

Oh, go off yourself, blowhard. Nobody can rely on your support.

Windu nodded.

"Thank you, Rear Admiral Manis."

The grey fox departed with a slight bow, returning to the Unyielding's bridge without delay. Windu faced the troopers and Jedi before him, ensuring to meet their eyes.

"We have our layout. Make your backups, rally points, and note of changes by the time we're in-theater. Upon our arrival, other forces will have begun the invasion, but our mission is still crucial to the war effort. Have your revisions submitted to me by zero-eight tomorrow."

A pause.

"Dismissed."

Each clone saluted smartly while the Jedi stiffened, and Windu dismissed them with a separate honorary. As the gaggle cleared, 53 diverted his eyes to Jedi General Windu, who'd done the same to him.

"Something on your mind, trooper?"

"Hm," It came more as a grunt, but 53 likewise nodded. A few things brewed in his head - like the consensually pondered question on how this happened. "Last time we dropped, we weren't thorough enough to root the bugs out. Makes me think about how thorough we need to be this time."

Windu nodded in agreement, fingertips brushing his chin.

"Indeed. The first battle of Geonosis was a bloodbath, and a testing ground with forces we'd never known existed beforehand. I admit, it wasn't simple transferring from peacekeeper to warfighter." Windu folded his arms behind his back, keeping his gaze on 53, "But this time, we're bringing the lessons learned from that campaign - and then some - to our strategy."

53 nodded, but pondered if that would be enough. Lessons learned, and new strategies only worked if their leadership applied them. 53 didn't doubt the capabilities of Windu, but other clone detachments weren't so lucky. Reports of incompetent Jedi leaders were frighteningly common, and despite 53's training to obey, he couldn't help but question their ability.

At least none I've been assigned to are morons. Yet.

"Like Commander Bulkhead said, strategy's great until you're punched in the mouth." 53 smirked, glancing at the holo-table, "We'll see how long everyone remembers those lessons, General."

Windu's face tightened at the response. Others had since left, but Ponds remained rigid and at the General's shoulder. Eyes slightly wide, brows raised, Ponds tentatively glanced between the two. 53 returned his gaze to the scrutinizing one from Windu.

"I understand your cynicism, but with troopers like you on the ground," Windu began, face unwinding, "I've no doubt you'll make them remember."

53 let off a one-note snicker, his posture straightening out and raising a brief salute.

"Sir, yes, sir."

Windu raised one in kind.

"Dismissed, Lieutenant."

As usual, I have my fans and friends to thank for supporting this journey. I'm not as quick as I used to be, or as dedicated, but I'm getting there again! Eventually. Anyway, this is gonna take a different pace over data-dumping two dozen thousand words [or some near crazy amount as somesuch] like the introductory chapter. This will proceed in Acts, and chop things up to be manageable in the foreseeable future. I hope everyone enjoys, and thank you especially to those friends that allowed me to use their concepts and characters in this upcoming arc! it means the world to me I can do and express this.

Yours truly,

~MontyTheMemeMan