Dear Reader, Thanks for the feedback (and it's nice to see you again CT-782!) So, here's a reminder sheet of who's who. I've also introduced some OCs who will be reappearing - especially the ones in Rex's Squad.

2025: Colt
5052: Bly
1004: Gree
3636: Wolffe
7567: Rex

There's quite a bit of Wolffe in this one, and his character goes through lots of gyrations - both pleasant and unpleasant - as the story progresses. Also, a tribute to my own field training officer from days gone by, Captain Spicer; and a tribute to an old TV series that some of you may recognize when you see the name . . .

Enjoy! CS

Chapter 45 Range 9

"Turn your back on the mouth that misleads, keep your distance from lips that deceive.
Let your eyes be fixed ahead, your gaze be straight before you.
Let the path you tread be level and all your ways be firm."

Proverbs 4: 24-26

"Echo Squad leader for the first rotation: CT-2025." This announcement came from Captain Spicer, Echo Squad's advisor, and what a clone he was!

Immediately upon learning that Captain Spicer was to be his squad's advisor for the next six weeks, CT-7567 had begun trying to discern whether or not the man was as good as he appeared to be or whether his florid manner was just show and no substance.

Captain Spicer looked like he should have been a longshoreman at some sea-going port in the days before space travel. His neck was fully as big as a man's thigh, and it seemed impossible that he should have been able to fit his muscular bulk into the standard-size clone armor. He wore two very busy tattoos that climbed up the sides of his neck—7567 had not gotten a good enough look yet to see what they were—and his shaved head sported a dagger-shaped tattoo running from front to back.

His expression seemed to be one of perpetual challenge, as if he dared anyone to try and surpass him at any endeavor. And why shouldn't he feel up to any contest? He was the proverbial mountain of a man.

Ct-7567 was looking forward to seeing just what he was made of.

Spicer turned to CT-2025. "Take your squad to Range 9 and wait for me there."

"Sir, yes, Sir!" CT-2025 acknowledged. He waited until Spicer had begun to leave before turning to his squad mates. "Let's go, chaps."

CT-7567 spoke in a low voice. "You may want to take us there in formation and at the quick-step. They're always watching. We can look sharp from the beginning."

2025 nodded. "You're right." He used his command voice. "Left face! Forward march! At the quick-step, march!"

As they trotted along in two columns of five, 2025 spoke sideways to 7567 at the head of the other column. "Do you know where Range 9 is?"

"I'm thinking it was the same Range 9 we used when we were cadets," 7567 replied. "They didn't say anything about separate ranges."

"That's all the way over in West Tower 4." This came from CT-9090 behind them. 9090, though the others could not know it yet, was a born fuel injector; meaning that he loved taking whatever situation existed and throwing fuel on the fire. This was not done for malicious reasons or out of any desire for drama, but rather because 9090 was simply an extreme individual. He was not an instigator, but he was tremendously adept at intensifying a situation and carrying others along with him. Thus, upon overhearing the conversation at the head of the column, he had made his remark with the sort of overblown observational slant that made it seem as if the range were on another planet altogether.

2025 spoke louder back over his shoulder. "Did anyone catch anything about there being separate ranges for ARC training?"

No one had heard of there being such a thing.

"Unh! I should have just asked Captain Spicer," 2025 grumbled. Up ahead, they were approaching a divide in the corridor – a decision point.

"Why didn't you?" This from CT-390, in line directly behind 7567. CT-390 was, in 7567's newly formed estimation, going to be one of the tougher squad mates to get along with. He was the type of clone who really should have been sent to an advanced engineering school or a scientific laboratory. His primary focus appeared to be the why of everything. In the brief moments since having been assigned to Echo Squad and taking breakfast with his squad mates, he'd wondered aloud, why had the last four weeks of ARC training been moved to Mayotta? Why did they mix newly graduated cadets with seasoned soldiers? Why were there no Jedi in charge of the ARC program? Why did they still use bounty hunters as instructors at ARC training? It had gotten somewhat monotonous.

And now, he wanted to know why 2025 hadn't sought out more information regarding the location of Range 9.

"Because the captain made it seem like something he expected me to know already," 2025 replied.

7567 chuckled. "Well, I guess we'll find out soon enough."

"We can go ask one of the training officers." This voice came from the back of one of the columns, from CT-8462, a clone who could best be described as rank-and-file – one of those newly graduated cadets whose presence 390 had questioned. He did, however, have one distinctive characteristic: his eyes, unlike the usual amber of the Jango Fett template, marked the occasional variance present in even the most controlled cloning operations. His eyes were brown – dark brown. He seemed to take a degree of pride in this peculiarity; but otherwise, he was quiet and—7567 opined silently—perhaps too timid to be an ARC trooper.

"We'll lose too much time," 9090 replied. "Every scenario in ARC training is by design – even this. They're waiting to see what we do, and if we take too long to do it, they'll gig us."

"But we may end up doing the wrong thing," 390 persisted.

They came to the divide. CT-7567 looked at 2025. "It's your decision. You're the squad leader."

"I agree with CT-9090. There's no time to run around trying to get clarification. I think it's best if we head to the Range 9 we know of, and if it ends up being a wrong decision, then we live with the repercussions."

CT-7567 nodded his agreement. He leaned in and spoke in a low voice to his squad mates. "It's only day one and it's only a training exercise. If nothing else, we'll give the cadre something to talk about at their own debrief tonight."

The others liked this idea and the conspiratorial tone in which it was spoken.

"West Tower 4, it is," 2025 announced. "At the quick-step, march!"

"Wow, this is a lot more dynamic than anything they had when we went through. I didn't even know this level existed." CT-1004 stood at the railing of the command view box overlooking the massive hangar-like training simulator. "That looks almost real."

"A lot different from the gray box construction of the Citadel challenge," Cody replied. "I think they built these training pods specifically for ARC school. They are pretty impressive." As he spoke, the training scenario below them transformed from urban to jungle, complete with heat and steam; then to desert, sweltering, dry and cloudless. "They can take a trainee through all kinds of conditions and still maintain a controlled environment. A good way to ease us into the more difficult challenges on Mayotta."

"As if our battle experiences weren't challenge enough," 1004 said with a grim smile.

"Remember, not all of us have battlefield experience yet. Half the class is coming straight from the cadet corps. My guess would be that they want to use the two weeks on Kamino to assess where we're at," Cody replied. "Mayotta will be where they thin out the candidates."

The sound of whooshing doors turned their attention behind them as another squad arrived.

This time it was Havoc Squad, with a very self-assured CT-3636 leading the way. Like Cody, CT-3636 was already fairly well-known as one of General Plo Koon's top tactical advisors, and he had a reputation that preceded him. CT-3636 was not the sort of man who felt he needed any distinguishing physical factor to set himself apart from his peers, and as such, he had maintained the standard template appearance. Rather, he had full confidence that his abilities alone said everything about him that needed to be said. He wasn't much for small talk. He certainly had no use for pomp and fanfare. He viewed everyone and everything from a standpoint of constant assessment, and he had an acerbic wit that often found its way into his expressions—both vocal and non-vocal. Still, he was not without compassion—though he believed any display of it was weakness; and so he was well-regarded by the others even as they maneuvered only cautiously towards forming a more solid acquaintance with him. He led his squad past the others with courteous nods of acknowledgment and joined them at the railing to marvel at the training platform below.

That accounted for all squads but one.

And why was Cody not surprised that the one squad missing . . .

. . . was his room-mate's?

Range 9 was full to capacity.

With cadets.

Physically, they looked to be about fourteen years old. Chronologically, that made them seven.

Not a single one of the other ARC squads were in sight. Nor were any of the ARC instructors.

"I think we . . . made the wrong choice," CT-390 pronounced.

"It does look that way," 2025 agreed.

"Look, here comes one of their instructors," CT-7567 pointed out.

The instructor was one of the contracted bounty hunters, and at least two of the squad members recognized him right away.

"You boys lose your way?"

"We were told to report to Range 9," 2025 replied. "This was the only Range 9 any of us knew of."

The instructor's reaction was one of expectation, as if he were not surprised in the least to see them.

"Range 9 for ARC training is back where you came from. Cluster Six contains all the ARC training facilities. Range 9 is on the top level of Pod 6-1." He grinned. "Good luck, boys. You're gonna need it."

As Echo Squad began heading back, CT-9090 scowled, "That instructor knew we were coming. He'd been expecting us! You could tell! Captain Spicer let us go there on purpose!"

"But why? To make us look like fools?" This was the first time CT-8448 had spoken up. Another clone fresh from the cadet corps, he tended to defer to the battle-hardened clones around him; but he had a certain spark, an occasional streak of boldness that made him a very interesting character, as no one ever knew when that boldness would show up. CT-7567 thought he would make a very fine officer some day, if he ever found a way to ignite the spark and keep it burning.

"That's exactly why," 7567 answered. "To get under our skin and see how we would react. Remember, they're sizing us up. They'll do it with each and every man in each and every squad. We're just the first. We'll show them they can't rattle us that easily."

CT-2025 voiced his fervent agreement. "I think 7567 is right, so when we get to Range 9, I want everyone to maintain their professionalism. We won't even act like it bothered us. One thing an ARC trooper should always be is in control of his emotions."

"As you can see, Range 9 is not just a firing range," Commander Steed pointed out. "It can be programmed to imitate limitless topographies and scenarios . . . and enemies. In a very realistic manner. Which means that when you take a blaster bolt on this range, you're going to feel it. No, it won't cause any permanent damage, but it won't be a pleasant experience. Your injuries on this range will be temporary equivalents to the real thing." A smooth grin descended over his face – a face the same as those staring back at him, but with one highly visible difference: a light saber burn mark above his right eye, testament to an injury that should have killed him. Luck had been on his side that day. His wry wit was with him today. "It's the perfect way to . . . unwind at the end of a busy day. We're going to give you all a chance to show us how well you can relax."

At that moment the doors opened and Echo Squad came in, not in a hurried, discombobulated rush, but in formation, calm and orderly.

Relaxed.

CT-2025 called them to a halt and stepped forward to render a crisp salute to Commander Steed.

"Sir, I apologize for our delayed arrival!"

CT-7567 noticed Captain Spicer standing back with the other advisors near the simulation control panel, and he knew then that he'd been absolutely right in assessing the situation. Spicer had sent them off with dubious instructions, and as a squad, they had not thought to seek clarification until it was too late.

"Where have you been?" Steed asked, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Sir, I mistakenly thought Captain Spicer wanted us to report to the Range 9 used in cadet training. I was unaware that any other Range 9 existed."

Steed regarded him with the cold stare of a rancor. "You didn't ask him if there was another range?"

"No, Sir."

"Why not?"

"I didn't want to—appear ignorant," came the honest reply.

"So, it was your pride that caused you to lead your men in the wrong direction?" Steed challenged.

"It would appear so, Sir."

Commander Steed took a step past him and addressed the entire corps. "This is why an ARC trooper must never place his own ego and pride ahead of the mission. A failure to understand the objective here in this case causes you to be . . . late. Maybe it causes your team to fail a task. Maybe it results in injury. But in war, when pride stands in the way of fully comprehending the mission and all its details, the result is death, serious injury, or losing the battle." A pause. "And none of you should be thinking in your smug little minds that you would never make such a mistake. This time it was Echo Squad. Next time, it will be someone else. And for their error, they have only lateness to show for it. The rest of you may not get off so easy."

"With all due respect, Commander . . . "

CT-7567.

Cody felt his face flush, and he could not comprehend why he should feel embarrassment on his room-mate's behalf. He grit his teeth and hoped whatever was coming would not be too asinine.

"In battle, I don't expect my commanding officer to purposefully lead me and my men into danger based upon false premises," CT-7567 put forth.

The silence was enough to make every trainee feel uncomfortable.

But this was not the first time Commander Steed had faced a questioning student, and the truth was that he'd been expecting such a challenge from this clone.

"CT-7567," he began slowly, coming to stand in front of him. "I knew it wouldn't be long before you pushed your nose out, but I admit I hadn't expected it to be on the first day."

CT-7567 could have felt many different things at that moment, but flattered took the throne. His commanding officer in the 729th had told him he'd become well-known to some of the powers-that-be; and this seemed to be proof of that.

"There is certainly something admirable in the idea, the hope, that a commanding officer would never lead his troops into unnecessary danger," Steed began. "But I want you to consider this. Is intelligence always correct? No. Oftentimes, a commander makes decisions based on what he believes to be the case, and if the intel is wrong, that commander may end up leading his troops into a danger that could have been avoided or mitigated." A pause as he once again strode before the entire group. "But that isn't all. All wars have traitors. Men who would lead their fellow troops into harm's way with the sole purpose of seeing them die." He returned to CT-7567 and drew within inches of his face. "The question is, will you be able to detect them when you meet them? That's food for thought, lieutenant. An answer is not required." He stepped back. "And that, once again, is why an ARC trooper leaves nothing to chance. Put the ego aside, forget about doing anything half-assed anymore. An ARC trooper observes, listens, and performs his own recon and research. Questioning situations is acceptable when you have reason to believe something isn't right." Another pause. "Or when you don't have the full information." He turned to 2025. "Have your squad fall in."

As Echo Squad took their place, Major Tides took over. He was not quite as intimidating as Steed, but he had his own special identifiers, one of which seemed to be a penchant for the idea of real pain and real effort. "Our first exercise is just a friendly little game of raise the flag. We'll be pitting one squad against another, changing scenarios for each challenge. The winning squads from each challenge will then play against each other until we have one final squad standing. And they will play against a team of ARC troopers. Challenges are 1-hour each or until one team raises the flag, whichever comes first." He noted the nods of approval and excitement from most of the trainees. "You will not be using your own weapons. We will issue specialized trace-tracker blasters that will mimic injuries commensurate with those inflicted. This range has over ten billion trace sensors, so if you get shot in the leg, that sensor will tell the trace to inflict a mimic of that same level of injury until the sensors are shut down at the end of the scenario. Understand what that means, gentlemen: it means that instead of just getting stunned and blissfully sleeping it off, you will feel any blaster- or explosion-caused injury as if it is real. If you've never been injured before, this is going to be a shock to your system. You may pass out. You may get sick to your stomach. We've even had men ready to kill themselves to stop the pain. The sensors monitor all that, and we have a full team up there in the control room, along with the on-duty medical crew, making sure safety parameters are met. They'll halt the scenario if they need to, or order the removal of any individual who's in serious mortal danger." He finished with a flare. "So, let's have some fun! Let's start with Alpha Squad versus Havoc Squad. Raise the Flag challenge, Variant 2888, Dorain Mesta Fire Valley. Advisors, take your squads to the prep rooms. The rest of you, find a good viewing spot. Take notes on your HUDS, because at the end of the whole thing, we're going to have after action reports. And . . . may the best squad win."

CT-3636 still could not stop marveling at how wonderful it felt to be back in armor. For the four months since the war's start, he'd been wearing the standard Republic Navy uniform as a bridge tactical officer. He'd spent the two years prior to his coming on active duty practically living in armor – training armor and then the real thing; so when he'd found himself once again wearing a uniform instead of armor, he'd somehow felt that he'd taken a step backwards.

To be sure, his selection as General Plo Koon's senior tactical officer was a boon and an honor. The general was a tremendous leader, even-minded and fair, brilliant both strategically and tactically, and extraordinary in his compassion for others, including his clone troopers. 3636 considered that he'd been assigned to the best, and he took great pride in his accomplishments under the Jedi general.

Like Cody, he, too, was a commander. And like Cody, it was his full intention to return from ARC school straight back to the unit from which he had come. CT-3636 had no desire to be reassigned. His only goal was to move from tactical planner to field commander – to put on the armor and garner the title of first-in-command.

But he was under no illusions, for there was someone already occupying that spot; and that someone was well-regarded by General Plo Koon.

CT-33 had been with the general since the start of the war, coming to him as his first-in-command and remaining in that position. CT-3636 knew that, barring 33's reassignment, injury, or—Force forbid—death, he stood no chance of taking over that position. But even if he couldn't be first-in-command, he could ask for a field command. Company commanders tended to have high turn-over rates, injury and death being the top causes.

At this moment, CT-3636 was glad he'd been a tactical officer for the past four months. He could put that knowledge to use here in the training scenario. Hell, he already knew what the Dorain Mesta Fire Valley was all about. He knew the topography, the dangers, the tactical and strategic advantages. It wouldn't be his first time planning out a mission in such environs. How many of the others had such a headstart on the game? He felt assured that there could be none with the degree of experience he had when it came to the landscape or tactical operations planning.

He did acknowledge—to himself only—that Commander Cody was going to be tough one to beat, and he was already anticipating that matchup. Cody had, by far, the greatest name recognition among them; but that was because of his assignment to General Kenobi. At least, that was CT-3636's firm belief.

He'd also heard talk of a firebrand coming out of the 729th. In fact, he'd heard about CT-7567 well before ARC training. Apparently, there was a sure-shot, knows-no-fear lieutenant with enough charisma to win over just about everyone who came into contact with him; a humble-less over-achiever with a penchant for flashy gun-slinging, dare-devil exploits on the battlefield, and absolutely no sense of mortality.

It might have been a somewhat overblown report—in fact, it was, but only slightly. Still, CT-3636 was curious to see this emerging star—for what else could describe such adulation—if for no other reason than to confirm to himself that the burgeoning reputation was nothing but hyperbole and without substance.

CT-3636 was not about to entertain the idea that there could possibly be anyone among the trainees who could present any real competition to him – except Commander Cody.

Havoc Squad's advisor, Captain Scarlet, gathered his squad around the holo-table in their prep room.

He pulled up the three-dimensional schematic.

"This is a plat of the Dorain Mesta Fire Valley. Have any of you ever been there before?"

CT-3636 nodded. "I have."

"So have I." This came from another clone, CT-1291.

"Then you know what it's like," the advisor stated. "Surface temps of over 130 degrees. Perpetual firepots, ground that gets so hot, it cracks and shifts as you're walking on it. Fire funnels." His gaze went slowly, seriously around the faces before him. "Let me be clear on this. You get mixed up with any one of those hazards, the trace-trackers in those obstacles will signal the injury, and that injury will follow you until the scenario is ended or you're removed. This isn't hraka, trainees. You don't want to take these obstacles for granted. You will feel pain like you've probably never felt before in your life."

That warning out of the way, he continued with the mission. "Your starting point is here. Your goal is at the opposite end, 250 meters away, here on this ridge. The goal is to raise your squad's flag before the other team raises theirs."

"What are the rules?" CT-3636 asked, since he had been put in charge of Havoc Squad for the first rotation.

"No rules. The mission is to plant your flag."

"No rules? Is the other team being told the same thing?" 3636 inquired skeptically, having already seen and been lectured about the importance of not leaving things to chance.

"They are getting the same instructions as you."

CT-3636 was not satisfied. "But are they being told that there are no rules."

Captain Scarlet smiled, pleased with his trainee's persistence and intuition. "Only if they ask."

"So, they know they have the goal of setting their flag on our end, but they won't know that there are no rules," 3636 surmised.

CT-1291 shook his head. "In the absence of stated rules, there are no rules. Even if Alpha Squad doesn't inquire, it stands to reason they would proceed as if there are no rules."

CT-3636 pressed once more. "Captain Scarlet, are you telling us the truth? Is Alpha being given any kind of rules? Or strategy, for that matter?"

"None whatsoever. You have your mission. Now, we want to see how you accomplish it." Scarlet motioned to a small crew of clones—part of the team—who handed out the tracer blasters to the trainees.

"Make sure you align your sites," one of the clones reminded them. "You're going to want to make sure you have good aim."

Captain Scarlet looked at the chronometer on the wall. "You have fifteen minutes to come up with your plan of attack. I'll be here to observe, but I will not offer any advice nor answer any questions. Your time starts now, trainees."

Hraka is from Watership Down, it's Lapine for "excrement"

Captain Scarlet . . . the good ole days.