Dear Reader, I think after this chapter I will have to put out a "Who's Who and in Which Squad" posting to help keep track of all these guys! In this chapter, I introduce CT-5869, Lieutenant (soon-to-be commander) Stone. You may recall him as the poor Coruscant Guard officer put in charge of the ill-fated mission to deliver the spice ransom to Hondo in exchange for Dooku. Don't know what it is about his animation, but he has a nice clean look. I always wished we'd seen him in more episodes; but since we didn't, here he is! Cheers, CS
Chapter 46 Alpha Havoc
"All action takes place, so to speak, in a kind of twilight, which like a fog or moonlight, tends to make things seem grotesque and larger than they are."
On War
Carl vonCKlausewitz
CT-7567 took up a place along the railing with his squad mates. They had moved to the far side of the training platform and stood looking down onto the scenario that was taking shape below them. A crackling magnetic shield had been activated above the platform, and this shield protected the spectators from not only the climatic and topographical aspects of the scenario—such as heat, lava, fire, and the like—but it also protected them from being hit by errant trace-tracker fire.
From the spectator side, it appeared as a clear and occasionally sparkling dome of clear energy. For those within the scenario, it would appear as the corresponding sky to the internal landscape. Yet, it was this faux sky, this energy shield itself, that contained the billions of trace trackers that would make the training environment one of the most realistic platforms in existence within the Republic's facilities.
Above the training platform and its dome, there were dozens of massive screens that allowed for the observation of individuals and locations within the scenario; and they offered a multitude of angles and viewpoints.
"Anyone care to make a wager?" 7567 smiled round at his squad mates.
CT-2025 grinned gamely. "I'm always ready to win a bet. What'll we wager?"
"Gigs. Losers have to work off the winners' gigs," 7567 replied.
"That'd be kind of hard to track, don't you think?" 390 queried.
"It's just for fun," 7567 replied. "It doesn't have to be scientific."
"The cadre would never let us pawn our gigs off on another trooper," 390 continued to balk.
"Most of the time, they won't even know," 7567 grinned.
"You're not giving them much credit," 2025 put forth. "If one of us is given extra duty, and another one of one of us shows up to do that duty, you don't think they'll notice that?"
"There are ways to make it happen." CT-7567 sounded so sure of himself that it was hard not to want to believe him.
"Sounds good to me." This from CT-9218, another newly graduated trooper. He was an amiable, pleasant fellow, easy-going and game for anything. He was also a crack shot and a pretty incredible pilot in both fighters and heavies. His manner was always relaxed, happy to go along with the crowd; yet, he had an alertness to him that CT-7567 was already starting to recognize as a great force multiplier.
"I'm in," CT-9090 agreed.
The others nodded their participation.
"So, who are you picking in this matchup, 2025?" 7567 started.
"Well, I don't know anything about either team, but I'll go with Alpha Squad."
When all bets were taken, four of them had chosen Alpha. The other six had chosen Havoc Squad.
CT-7567 had come down on the side of Alpha.
Now all that remained was to watch.
And maybe learn something.
CT-3636 had only one complaint.
There was no intelligence on the enemy. No information about the opposing squad leader, his tactics, his personality. That, in 3636's estimation, was a gross deficiency going into any scenario. His experience as a tactical officer had taught him the value of studying his enemy—their commanders and the average soldier. Oftentimes, knowing the identity and background of the particular enemy commander facing him formed the foundation upon which he would build his strategy.
He knew none of that in this scenario. He knew only that he was facing off against a fellow clone. He wasn't even sure who was in charge of Alpha Squad at the moment; and it was unlikely he would have known much about him, even if he had known his identity. Since arriving at training, he'd seen only a handful of troopers with whom he was somewhat familiar.
But intelligence of enemy forces was often in short supply in the real world, and CT-3636 had developed many battle plans without such knowledge. And he had done an outstanding job, according to his success rate . . . and General Plo Koon.
He and his squad mates traded their own personal weapons for trace-tracker versions; and before entering the training platform, he ordered his men to adjust the filtration system in their helmets to account for the scorching air and gases of the Dorain Mesta Fire Valley.
"This close to the fire pots, the temperature is going to be a hell of a lot more than 130, more like 200. It's going to feel like a fire in there. Our armor will hold the heat at bay for no more than 30 minutes tops. After that, the polysteen will begin to warp. Within 10 minutes, it will begin to melt and burn through the body glove. There's no place within the scenario to escape from the heat, so we have 30-40 minutes tops. I know they said we'd have up to an hour, but that's just not true, if this is a realistic environment," CT-3636 instructed his men. "With that in mind, there's not going to be any screwing around. We've got to get in there and take the thing as fast as we can." A pause, then he gestured towards the schematic. "There are three approaches to our high ground where they'll be trying to plant their flag. We have to block those approaches. CT-8881, I'm putting you here to take out anyone who comes this way. 7106, you're here. CT-309 . . . you'll take this narrow cutting—looks like an old mining cutaway. And CT-2303, you'll keep hidden here as a last line of defense in case the enemy gets past any one of them. The rest of you will go with me to the objective."
He proceeded to lay out the path they would follow, and he warned them extensively about the dangers of the Fire Valley.
"Stay as far away from the edges of the fire pots as you can," he instructed. "Because below that fire is lava, and the ground around the edges is brittle and will break right under your feet. I don't know what these trace-trackers can do to imitate falling into a lava pit, but—" a somewhat perverse smile tugged at his lips, "—I imagine it will be a few short seconds of agony and then a simulated death. Also, in places like this, where the gorge is narrow: these are prime locations for fire funnels. We'll only go through these passages as a last resort. I want to try and stay here along the perimeter route. It might be a bit more rocky, but there don't appear to be as many hazards. The one thing we could encounter in this area are Burning Scorpions. They can't get through our armor or the body glove, but they're swarmers. They can cover your visor to the point you can't see where you're going, and you could end up falling into some other hazard. If you don't disturb them, they won't bother you." He then assigned his own detail's positions within the squad. CT-7767 would take third position and carry the flag, CT-9012 and 8713 would take second and fourth positions. CT-8722 and 1291 would bring up the rear in fifth and sixth position. CT-3636 himself would be in the lead. "And just a reminder: 8722 and 1291, check your six constantly – not just for the enemy, but for funnels and scorpions . . . and anything else trying to get us out there. Let's not get too spread out. We'll have greater strength in numbers, if we encounter the enemy. And remember, the goal is to set the flag. It's not to kill the enemy, it's not for all of us to come out of this alive. It's to set the flag. Keep that in mind at all times. Any questions?"
"Let's do this," CT-7767 said with excitement. "We can win this entire thing."
CT-3636 nodded. "I think so, too."
The red light above the short passageway that led into the platform turned amber.
"Into the chute you go, boys," Captain Scarlet announced. "When the light turns green, you'll enter the scenario and once the door shuts behind you, the exercise will be underway. The exercise will terminate after 60 minutes."
CT-1291 spoke up. "What if neither side has planted their flag?"
"Both teams will be eliminated from the challenge."
With this happy knowledge, Havoc Squad donned their helmets, made sure their seals were secure, and entered the passageway. A heavy durasteel door came down slowly behind them.
"Lock and load," 3636 ordered.
A 10-second countdown sounded over the klaxon. The doors opened.
A blast of superheated air jolted them; and despite the protection of the armor, they felt as if they had entered a smelter. They moved onto the platform. When the door closed a few seconds later, CT-3636 immediately got his men moving. The four who were to guard this end took up their positions, while the others headed off across the 250 meters of hellish terrain.
CT-3636 had calculated that it would take them no more than ten minutes to cross the expanse, given they met with no obstacles or the enemy. He also knew that was unlikely. It was a certainty that the technicians overseeing the scenario were anxiously watching the progress of both squads, impatiently tapping their fingers as they waited for the right time and locations to inject trouble into the mix.
He had imagined they would let the first few minutes go by in relative peace, lulling the trainees into a sense of false security. And based on this assumption, he had determined that they needed to cover as much ground as possible during those early quiet minutes.
CT-3636 hated being wrong.
And he was wrong this time.
Less than a minute into the exercise, as he and his detail headed for the perimeter route he had chosen, they had to pass over a narrow stretch of ground bordered on either side by fire pots. Without warning, one of them spouted a searing column of lava that came glopping down in all directions.
"Take cover!" 3636 shouted over his helmet comm, but there were very few options for sheltering place.
Caught off-guard and carrying the flag, CT-7767 lost his balance and almost went tumbling into one of the firepots. It was only the quick reflexes of CT-8713 that saved him.
CT-8722 and 1291, at the back of the group, managed to dive out of range, while 9012 took cover with 3636 behind a jutting rock.
After the short-lived eruption had died down, CT-3636 ordered the others to move forward – and quickly. He led them away from the firepots to a shallow crevice in the wall of one of the many criss-crossing gorges.
"If you got hit with any of that stuff, wipe it off against the rock," he ordered. "That stuff'll burn through, so get it off of you."
Every one of them had been hit to a greater or lesser degree, and they took the time now not only to scrape the lava from their own armor, but to help each other with the task, as well.
"We should be able to start climbing up to the high ground once we're on the other side of that steam field," CT-3636 told them.
"And I'll bet they have another surprise waiting for us," CT-8722 stated.
"I'll bet you're right," 3636 replied. "But the only other way to get there is through this gorge, and that's also dangerous. If we get caught in a fire funnel, I don't think even our armor will save us."
"Then we'd better do it," CT-1291 said.
As it turned out, they made it through the steam field without incident. And now, they began their ascent to the high rocky ground. It was a treacherous climb. The rocks were lose and gave way easily, making the clones' progress slow and clumsy.
CT-8713, scrabbling up the steep slope behind 7767, fell to his hands and knees as the jumble of rocks rolled away beneath his feet. As he straightened up, he saw dozens of small black flecks on his gauntlets. He quickly brushed them off with his hands then looked down to see more of the black flecks, hundreds of them, covering his feet and climbing up his legs.
"Scorpions! Scorpions!" he cried out, moving away and trying to shake the creatures off his legs.
"Stay calm!" CT-3636 commanded. One thing that could definitely be said about 3636: he had a powerful command voice that brought immediate results. "They can't get inside your suit. Just feel your way back down to the bottom. 8722, stay with him—keep your distance—and verbally guide him back into the steam field. The steam will kill the scorpions. But whatever you do, don't get close to him or they'll come after you, too. And 8713, for fek's sake, don't panic. You understand? Don't panic." A pause. "The rest of you, keep climbing and watch your footing."
"Well, that's a kriffing mess," CT-7567 said with an inappropriately gleeful tinge in his voice.
"You know they're going to go into that steam field and never come out," 9090 announced.
"That's what I'm hoping for. I want to see how these trace-tracker things work," 7567 replied.
"Oh, I think we're all going to get our turn to find out how they work." This from CT-2025. "But I have to say I'm not looking forward to it quite the way you are."
CT-7567 chuckled. "I'm not looking forward to seeing them work on myself. But I'm not opposed to watching them at work on the other squads."
His squad-mates laughed – even CT-390.
"I wonder who we'll be competing against?" CT-8462 said.
A glimmer shone in 7567's eye. "I can tell you who I hope we'll be competing against." He relished the looks of anticipation coming back at him. "Bravo Squad."
"Commander Cody's Squad?" 9090 sounded incredulous.
CT-2025 laughed doubtfully. "You're off your nut."
"Yeah," 390 agreed. "He's probably going to be the toughest one to beat at anything."
"He's General Kenobi's first-in-command," 9090 reminded him.
"He's also your room-mate," 2025 added.
"Which is precisely why I want the chance to go up against him," CT-7567 replied. "I know how good he has to be in order to serve under General Kenobi. He'll be a good test of my own skills."
CT-2025 shook his head with an almost pitying grin. "Sounds like a good way to brown off your room-mate."
"Eh, I think I've already browned him off," came the reply. "But I like him. I think I can learn a lot from him. And maybe he can learn a thing or two from me."
At that moment, a giant ball of steam burst up from the training floor below. "Hey, look! You were right, 9090!" This from CT-2848, yet another Echo Squad newly commissioned officer. "Those two are down, and it doesn't look like they're getting back up."
"Fek and all, that looked pretty damned realistic to me," CT-8462 breathed. "Damn, I wonder what scenario we'll be in. I hope it's not this one."
"Check it out," CT-390 said, nodded towards the screens. "Alpha seems to be doing pretty good."
As Alpha Squad's first rotation squad leader, CT-5869 knew he had to prove himself from the get-go. As a lieutenant in a squad with at least two more lieutenants and two captains, he had to commit himself to asserting his authority and not allowing more domineering personalities to overpower him.
Not that he was a pushover, because he most certainly was not. As a member of the Coruscant Guard (CG), he'd had to deal with his fair share of overbearing politicians and diplomats, high-strung superiors, and often immovable Jedi. But he'd managed to do quite well as a platoon leader, earning the admiration of his men, and somehow finding the right balance between military order and tactful diplomacy.
Truthfully, he enjoyed being a member of the CG; but he also knew that many of his fellow officers looked upon the guard with a certain degree of derision. The CG was considered a cushy assignment, not in any way equal to the front-line units.
But CT-5869 knew otherwise.
While it was true that he did not see battle with nearly the frequency of the line units, his position as a team member for many of the interplanetary diplomatic missions had resulted in his foray into a multitude of danger zones, usually protecting high value targets such as senators, negotiators, envoys and ambassadors – even royalty, on occasion.
He was good at what he did. Level-headed, slow on the trigger, and with a seemingly infinite well of patience: he was perfectly suited to dealing with civilian leaders. He would be happy to become an ARC, but he wanted to remain on Coruscant, hopefully to attain the rank of colonel one day and take command of the Senate Guard.
Let the field officers sneer if they wanted. Let them say that the CG was no place for ARC trooper and would only be a waste of skill. CT-5869 was not so easily swayed; and at least here at ARC training, he would show his peers exactly what he was made of.
As a strategist, his plan had been quite different from his opponent's.
"Moving a lot of men through such hostile terrain only gives the enemy and the scenario team too many easy targets to mess with." This had been the conclusion that had led to his line of attack. "Four of you will make for the objective. You'll stay together as a team, but if you have to sacrifice three on the way, make sure one gets there. The goal here is to plant a flag; but I want you to think of it like this instead: Imagine you need to get to a bomb and defuse it. Everyone dies if at least one of you isn't successful. At the same time, the enemy is trying to get here to plant another bomb. The rest of us will be here to stop them from doing that. And believe me, we'll stop them. We'll give you the time you need. You just need to be successful."
He was nowhere near as calculating as CT-3636. He had neither the tactical nor strategic experience of his opposing squad leader. But what he did have was the right mixture of earnestness and esprit-de-corps to motivate his men to succeed. He would not tell them how to suck the proverbial egg; he would just impress upon them the importance of making sure the job got done.
For CT-5869 there was no beauty in the process, no honor in the method. There was victory only – and a pretty path to it was not necessary.
The four-man team he had dispatched towards the objective had already made it past two stretches of firepots and barely managed to outrun a fire funnel that had chased them down one of the gorges. Two of them had gotten a bit singed on that one, but they were all four still on their feet, still moving.
Unlike Havoc Squad, Alpha was sticking with the lowlands, huddling close together as they went, and carefully picking their path, even if it meant their progress was not as fast as they wished.
And then, the conflagration.
If the obstacles of the scenario were not enough to hinder both sides' progress, the untimely meeting of the two groups – now four against four with the loss of Havoc's two troopers in the steam field – completely disrupted their movement.
The battle that ensued had their fellow trainees up on the observation loop howling and scoffing, cheering and hooting – none of which was heard by the two groups on the platform.
Within a matter of minutes, two of Alpha's men were down in the simulated death of the trace trackers.
CT-3636 was ordering his men to continuing firing. What he could not see that the observers could, was that one of the remaining Alpha troops had broken away under cover of a series of firepot flash explosions and managed to dash behind the line of Havoc soldiers and was headed for the objective.
The troop, CT-7771, was stealthy and cautious. He made it clear to the base of the rise upon which he was to plant the objective. A few adjustments to his helmet's visual sensors and he was able to pick up the cooler red heat signature of a body against the deeper red of the superheated surroundings. The enemy trooper was crouched behind one of the rock spinneys halfway up the route which 7771 planned on taking.
This was where ruthlessness would have to come into play.
He took careful aim at the lip of rock above where the enemy was hiding. A single blast brought the rock crashing down, and for a frightening moment, CT-7771 wondered how something so realistic could be simulated so as not to be deadly in reality. But the moment of consideration passed quickly—he trusted the scenario controllers—and he raced up the path, climbing over the fallen rock.
A blaster bolt nearly caught him in the shoulder, but his own stumble had made the shot miss.
He flung himself sideways behind a small boulder that offered scant protection, squeezing off a blind shot as he did so. When no shots were fired in return, he carefully peered out from around the rock and could see on the top of the rise, the armored feet of a fallen body.
His wild shot had hit its mark!
Or had it?
This could be a trick to lure him out of hiding.
Fek and all, so what if it was! He would be ready. He leveled his weapon and sprung out into the open. There was no movement up ahead. He moved forward until he came to the top, and here he saw his opponent laid out flat, his blaster lying several meters away.
"I made it! Alpha's made it!" he shouted excitedly into his helmet comm.
But around him the scenario wasn't ending. Shouldn't it be ending if he had won the contest?
Only then did it occur to him.
He did not have the flag.
"Belay that! Belay that!" He warned. "I don't have the flag!"
"Copy that." This curt reply was from CT-5869, and a moment later came the follow-on. "Where is it? Can you get to it?"
"I'll have to go back to where we engaged the enemy."
"Do it. I'll send two more men out to provide more cover."
"Roger."
Up above on the observation ring, CT-7567 could barely contain his excitement – and his penchant for critiquing the performance of both competing squads.
After the two groups had met and done battle, as CT-7771 had snuck off to make his humiliating bumble, the fighting had slowly pushed closer and closer to Havoc Squad's objective.
But this was where they were all in for a surprise, participants and observers alike.
Having dispatched two more of his defensive team, CT-5869 was now holding the high ground with only himself and three others. Whatever he thought about a member of his offensive team getting to the objective but without the flag was open to speculation, for he gave no appearance, no sign of being anything other than focused on the mission.
When the two troopers he had sent to CT-7771's aid reported that they had spotted the enemy getting very close now, he ordered them to provide only the coordinates of the enemy movement and proceed directly for the objective.
"Find that flag at all costs. Beware of friendly fire: 7771 is looking, as well."
CT-7567 liked this sort of cool composure. He couldn't detect even a tremor of frustration or fear in 5869's voice.
And in the next few minutes, he found out why.
CT-5869's orders to his remaining three defenders were plain. "HUD sync. Voice alert Reta codes if you catch sight of the enemy. On my order, lay down blanket fire. Keep them from moving. I'll do the rest."
It was short-scrit for instructing his men to synchronize the grid layouts in their helmets' headsup displays. Reta code was a collection of single syllable voice codes –named after the language and planet from which they were taken – used to indicate grid blocks in close-range confrontations such as this, without the need to give lengthy coordinates. Blanket fire was just that – laying down a spray of fire meant to keep the enemy from moving or returning fire. It was infantry equivalent of carpet bombing.
As CT-3636 and his team—now at four men total—approached the foot of the rise that marked their objective, it was CT-5869 himself who spotted them entering one of the old and now solid lava flow chutes.
"Getta," he said in code, directing his fellow defenders' attention towards the encroaching enemy. "My single shot, then blanket." He lined up his sights.
"Wait . . . just a couple more steps . . . that's it." He pulled the trigger.
The lead man, CT-7767 went down with a bolt straight through the head – or its trace-tracked equivalent. The flag he had been carrying dropped to the ground at his side.
"Take cover!" CT-3636 shouted as he dove for the meager protection of a condensation-worn depression in the smooth floor of the chute.
Immediately, blaster fire erupted all around him. "Return fire!"
But there was no opportunity to return fire. It became immediately apparent that any attempt to even raise his head would invite death.
Judging from the sound, he estimated the enemy could not be more than twenty meters away, though at an advantageous elevation. If he could lob a grenade at least part of the way, they might get lucky and hit the mark; or, if not, create enough dust and debris for him and his men to get out of their precarious situation.
He removed a grenade from his belt, depressed the handle and removed the pin. "Hit the deck!" he yelled. But as he flung his arm over his head, a searing pain struck him in the wrist and the grenade flew from his hand. He whipped his head around to see it go skittering down the smooth pahoehoe chute behind him – straight towards where his two remaining men were crouching for cover, one on each side of the chute.
The grenade was not going to make it past them . . .
Before he even knew what he was doing, he dove head-long down the chute, landing on top of the grenade just as it detonated. The trace-trackers instantly rendered his simulated death, though without the gory aftermath.
CT-9012 did not hesitate. He recognized the sacrifice the commander had just made. "Come on!" He shouted to CT-1291. "We've got to get that flag and finish the mission!"
CT-1291 was a bit more circumspect. "If we leave cover, we'll get our fekking heads blown off!"
"Then we get our fekking heads blown off! We can't give up when we're this close!"
And then the scenario halted.
The fires died, the lava pools quieted their bubbling. The temperature began to abate and the sky overhead dissipated in billions of twinkling particles.
Within seconds, medical teams were on-hand for the "dead" and "wounded." But as the trace-trackers released their hold, the simulated bodily states also abated.
CT-9012 and CT-1291, at first bemused about the sudden termination of the scenario, quickly recovered their wits and crouched down to help their dazed squad leader onto his hands and knees, where he quickly pulled off his helmet and retched.
"Here, here, out of the way." This came from a medical tech who appeared out of nowhere with a hypo that he injected directly into 3636's carotid artery. "Give it fifteen seconds, and you'll feel a lot better, Commander. That's it . . . take it easy. There you go. Come on, sit. Let me check you out."
"What happened? Is the scenario over?" CT-3636 asked, blinking and wondering why his vision was so blurry.
"You threw yourself on top of a grenade," the med tech replied. "That was instant death."
CT-3636 was incredulous. "I did what?"
The med tech gave a sardonic smile. "A selfless act, but a bit too late, because at almost the exact same moment, the other squad was planting their flag."
These words were enough to snap CT-3636 back to his senses. "What?! Are you—they beat us?"
"They sure did," the med tech grinned. He looked to the two remaining members of Havoc Squad. "Report back to the ready room."
"What about the commander?" CT-1291 asked.
"He'll be along shortly. A quick trip to the med-check room, and he'll be right back with the rest of you."
As the two clones left, another clone came down the lava chute.
"He gonna be okay?" It was CT-5869.
"Oh yeah, he'll be fine," came the reply. "A few minutes in recovery, and he'll be good as new. That'll be just enough time for the controllers to program the next scenario, so he'll be back on deck in time to watch all the festivities."
CT-3636 looked up to see a clone wearing the tell-tale red markings of the Coruscant Guard, and a sense of mortification coursed through the commander's veins. He and his squad had been bested by a member of the Coruscant Guard?! A lieutenant, no less?! It was outrageous and humiliating.
"Glad to hear it," the lieutenant said with a satisfied nod. He seemed to be considering saying more, perhaps offering some words directly to the commander, but something made him think better of it. Instead, he turned and headed back to his own ready room.
"Well, I'll be damned if ole' senator-sitter didn't have the nerves of a stone and the aim of a hawk," CT-9090 remarked with admiration.
"He's definitely a good shot," CT-2025 agreed. "What did you think, 7567?"
"I liked his strategy," came the assessing reply. "He took some chances by not sending more men to take the objective, but it worked. And his final defense . . . that was good. It helped that he apparently is a marksman."
"Guess you gotta be a sure shot to protect those senators and diplomats from all the people who want to kill them," CT-9218 put in. "But I think I could beat him in a target contest."
CT-7567 smiled and put a brotherly hand on his shoulder. "Don't sell him short just because he's in the CG. Sometimes I think it might be easier to face a ship full of battle droids than a room full of politicians."
"Point well-taken, lieutenant," 9218 agreed.
"Hey, look," CT-2025 pointed his chin towards the far end of the platform. "Looks like your roomie's squad is up next."
"And there goes Crimson Squad," CT-390 added. "That's CT-5052's team. Huh, I feel badly for them. Commander Cody's going to mop the floor with them."
CT-7567 gave him a rough elbow. "Let's hope so. If Bravo gets knocked out of the going, we won't get to compete against them."
CT-2025 chuckled. "We've got six weeks to go, 7567. There'll be plenty of opportunities to go head-to-head with Bravo."
CT-7567 gave a charming one-sided grin. "Yeah, but I want to establish the pecking order right from the start. Echo Squad is going to be the best in this class—no, the best that this school has ever seen." A pause. "Cody is just one man. And one man doesn't make a team."
Prescient words.
But not for the reasons he would have liked to believe.