Dear Reader, A fairly long chapter here. And lots of numbers! So, I've included a "key" at the start of the chapter. I'm sure aficionados of the TV series will catch some of the themes from various episodes, and those "references" play into just how much Rex's character changes from the time of his ARC training up to Umbara and the whole bit with Fives - and even into the Bad Batch arc. Also, I liked the term one of my reviewers, CT-782 used, regarding Rex and his scenario, so I've used it here as a tribute! Thanks to all my reviewers! It's nice to see folks are enjoying the story. Peace, CS

Delta Squad
CT-1004 (Gree - series)
CT-3942 (an ass)
CT-9111
CT-7096
CT-5572

Echo Squad
CT-7567 (Rex – series)
CT-2025 (Colt – series)
CT-9090 (likes to throw fuel on the fire)
CT-390 (always wants to know why, hyper-critical)
CT-8462 (dark eyes, quiet and a bit timid)
CT-9218 (Shinie, crack shot and good pilot; alert)
CT-8448 (Shinie)
CT-1550 (904th Communcations Group)
CT-5576 (88 Division Artillery – DIVARTY – walker "jockey"; fatalistic, gallows humor)
CT-1448 (Unnamed OC – no history yet)
Captain Spicer – Squad Advisor

Clones on Observation Ring
Commander Cody (series)
CT-3636 (Wolffe – series)
CT-5869 (Stone – series)
CT-5052 (Bly – series)

Cadre
Colonel Claw – Commandant
Commander Steed – Training Officer
Major Tides – Training Officer

Chapter 49 Echo Squad

"Thunder is good. Thunder is impressive. But it is lightning that does the work."

Mark Twain

"So, who are we up against?" CT-7567 asked directly upon the arrival of the rest of his squad mates.

"If you hadn't gone running off, you'd know," CT-2025 quipped with a shoulder nudge.

CT-7567 assumed an air of mock superiority. "Well, unlike the rest of you, when I see my room-mate going down for the count, I feel the need—and the responsibility—to make sure he's okay."

"Bah!" 2025 grinned. "You're just cozying up because you want him to get you a position in the 501st. But with the way you keep talking about competing with him, you might forever bar your own entrance to that unit."

"No, that's not it," 7567 corrected. "I may be competitive, but that's not why I came down here. I came down here to make sure he was okay." He spoke the last words with emphasis.

CT-2025 was an astute observer, and he was surprised at what he was discerning.

CT-7567 really was concerned about his room-mate.

"And was he okay?"

"I didn't get to see him," came the reply. "They wouldn't let me onto the platform, and they said he'd probably already been taken to the medic station. But Bravo Squad's advisor told me he was alright." A pause. "I guess I believe him."

"Well, I hope your concern doesn't interfere with your ability to focus on our scenario," 2025 stated. "We're up against Delta."

"Delta. That's CT-1004."

"That's right. Your wrestling buddy."

"Ahh, this will be great! I think he's as competitive as I am."

"No one's as competitive as you are," 2025 rejoined. "But that's to our advantage."

"Echo Squad." Captain Spicer called them to attention. He strode in front of them, and as he passed CT-7567, he spoke in a low voice but loud enough for the others to hear, "I will deal with you later."

His words didn't faze CT-7567 in the least. What was the worst that could happen? He'd get a few gigs: maybe some extra duty or physical training. What Captain Spicer didn't know was that his firebrand lieutenant actually enjoyed extra duty and relished the prospect of additional physical exertion. CT-7567, while not obsessed with the idea of a perfect physique, nonetheless felt that a soldier needed to stay in shape, look good in the dress uniform, fit comfortably into the armor, and have the strength and stamina to get the job done. Working out was not a punishment to CT-7567; quite the opposite, in fact.

And if extra duty meant he'd get to sharpen or hone his skills in any area, he was agreeable to that, as well. Maybe he'd have to do his penance in the presence of other troops, which was always enjoyable – CT-7567 was, after all, an extremely social being. But even if he were to pass the time alone, scrubbing the latrine floor with a toothbrush, he'd be fine with that, too. Private time was as enjoyable as social time. He liked to be alone with his thoughts, conjuring up possible scenarios in which he might one day find himself, and then try out, in the safety of his mind, different solutions.

Quite simply, CT-7567 was as irrepressible as he was energetic.

All he needed—and this was part of Captain Spicer's task—all he needed was the right fire to temper his steel. The pieces were there; they only had to be properly coaxed together.

"Turn to the holo-projector," Captain Spicer ordered his squad. "This is your scenario."

The trainees all faced the projection; and for a moment, they weren't sure what they were looking at. The image was dark with only occasional patches of slightly lighter shades of blue or gray. As the image drew out, they could make out rough tunnels filled with debris and clusters of fallen rock. Pulling out further, the scenario revealed itself to be an underground labyrinth with two fairly large caverns, one directly opposite the other at the farthest ends.

"Do any of you recognize this?" Captain Spicer asked.

"No, Sir," came the flurry of responses.

Spicer grinned in an almost sinister manner. "PX-3. Tunnels of Hextor."

"I've never heard of it," CT-2025 remarked.

"You have now," Spicer replied.

"So, what can you tell us about this place?" CT-7567 asked.

"I can tell you there is more than one way to reach your objective. Study the maps—"

"Can we download them into our HUDS?" 7567 interrupted.

"If you wish," Spicer replied. He continued, "There are plenty of indigenous life forms that you could possibly encounter. Information on them is in the databank. The mean temperature in the labyrinth is . . . "

For the next ten minutes, he went through routine information. When he had concluded, he asked if they had any questions.

And while there were no questions, there was one assertion.

From CT-7567. "We're going to want to take jetpacks."

Captain Spicer looked a bit surprised, but only for a moment. "The entire scenario is underground, lieutenant. Jetpacks won't be necessary."

"Even so, we're going to want jetpacks," CT-7567 persisted.

Captain Spicer squinted then turned his attention to CT-2025. "Squad leader," he said, leaning heavily on the words. "This is your squad, you make the decisions."

But CT-2025 was not one to be offended by the take-charge attitude of his companion. His ego was not so fragile, his pride not so tenuous. To him, all was about victory and the best way to attain it. Besides, he rather liked the idea of having jetpacks – just in case.

"We're going to want jetpacks."

Captain Spicer hesitated for an instant, sucked in an exasperated breath, then turned to the briefing room technicians. "Jetpacks."

As one of the techs went into the equipment room, Captain Spicer spoke to the two technicians manning the briefing room consoles. "And tell control we're bringing in jetpacks."

"I know CT-7567. We were in the same pod. I grew up around him. I know what he'll do," CT-1004, the double-stripe, the military police officer, insisted.

"But he's not the squad leader," replied another Delta Squad member. His number was CT-3942, and he was as prickish as a man could be. From the moment Delta had come together for the first time as a squad that morning and all through observing the subsequent scenarios, he'd done nothing but disagree with everything anyone had dared to say.

"These scenarios seem pretty realistic." "They're totally contrived."

"I can't believe he forgot the flag!" "Didn't you notice he didn't have it? What an idiot."

"He blew himself up to save the rest of his squad." "If it were real life, he wouldn't have done it."

"Pretty smart, trying to communicate with those creatures." "Bunch of crap, if you ask me."

And, unfortunately, he was Delta's Squad's first leader.

"Look, CT-7567 may not be the squad leader, but that doesn't mean a thing," CT-1004 pressed. "He's very persuasive, and he's damned smart. Probably one of the smartest guys here. If his ideas prevail with CT-2025—and they will, I'm sure—then we're going to have a real uphill battle to beat them."

"He's not that smart," CT-3942 said dismissively. "No smarter than the rest of us."

CT-1004 scowled. "Yes, he is. And if we aren't prepared for whatever he has planned, he's going to blow right through us before we even know what happened."

CT-3942 raised a doubtful eyebrow. "Look, CT-1004, I don't know what kind of hero worship you've got going on, but we're all here because we're all at the top of our game. Every one of us comes into this on even ground. Every one of us. Fek, even Commander Cody's squad got wasted."

"I'm just trying to tell you, you have no idea what you're up against in CT-7567," 1004 said in one final appeal. "You're the squad leader. I was just trying to provide some background on our enemy."

"We are our enemy," 3942 droned. "We're them; they're us. We're all cut from the same cloth. We all have similar abilities and similar weaknesses. The point of this exercise is nothing more than to beat the other team at their own game . . . which is our game, as well."

CT-1004 held his tongue. He'd tried. He knew what they were facing, not just in the scenario itself, but in at least one member of Echo Squad. He'd said his piece, and now he would do the dutiful thing and fall in line with whatever his commander-for-the-moment decided.

"CT-5572, look up what sort of obstacles we can expect to find in those passages," CT-3942 ordered. "Terrain obstacles and living obstacles. I'm sure those tunnels are filled with all kinds of nasty creatures." He leaned closer towards the holograph. "In the meantime, let's figure out the best way to get to the other side."

Cody took a place along the observation ring beside CT-3636, now fully recovered from his own ordeal in the first round. Joining them were CT-5052 and CT-5869.

"This ought to be good," CT-3636 remarked. "From all I've heard about CT-7567, I expect him to be nothing short of brilliant." His words said one thing, but his voice clearly carried a different idea.

Cody recognized it. The tacit, unacknowledged hope to see the mighty fall, to watch the favorite not live up to the expectations. Yes, the commander knew the feeling very well, for he had experienced it himself on rare occasion. The acquaintance of his roommate being the latest prompt.

Still, he could attribute his own less-than-gracious thoughts to the idea that he didn't want to see CT-7567 fail for the sake of making himself feel better; but rather, he rationalized that a defeat would take some of the slapdash out of the lieutenant and perhaps instill a degree of humility.

Perhaps.

CT-5052 picked up on 3636's theme. "He's got enough arrogance to make up for the whole squad. Poor bastard who has to try and be his squad leader." Then, seeing a peculiar expression on Cody's face, he added quickly, "Sorry, Commander. I don't mean to rag on your roommate."

Turning, it became evident that the peculiar expression was just a grin – a small, indulgent, understanding grin. And once again, Cody congratulated himself for being more mature, more adult than his fellow clones. For the truth was, developmentally, none of them were beyond even 21-years-old; and despite the rigors and discipline of life on Kamino, they were still young men, and their maturity was, for the most part, commensurate with their age.

Few and far between were men like Cody, who, even at the tender psychological age of 21, carried himself with the gravity and reserve of a man much older. And so, he was not surprised or even disappointed to hear his fellow clones express something that he considered to be little more than envy. They were jealous of CT-7567. Damn, who wouldn't be?

Whether such envy had any genuine basis remained to be seen.

"No need to apologize," Cody replied. "I think we all need to get to know him a bit better." This, despite the fact that he himself had been immediately turned off by CT-7567's abundance of exuberance to the point where he'd already considered asking for a new roommate.

"I like him." This from CT-5869. "I like his energy."

"All field units have energy," CT-3636 replied without even casting a glance in 5869's direction. "It's a must if you expect to win on the battlefield."

The jab at CT-5869's assignment to the Coruscant Guard was unmistakable; but it elicited no reaction. Cody surmised that CT-3636 was still smarting from his defeat at the hands of CT-5869, who continued on with his initial train of thought.

"From the stories he was telling last night, I think he must have a real knack for tactical and strategic planning," he said. "And it sounds like he knows how to adjust fire as he goes along."

"Yeah, if all those stories are true," 5052 groused. "He may be nothing more than a great story-teller."

Here, Cody was thoughtfully silent for a moment before stating simply, "I think they're all true." He couldn't account for why he believed as he did. He'd never heard of CT-7567 before, although clearly some of the others had. But he'd been there last night, listening to the tales. Amazing as they were, still they didn't strike him as being tall tales. They had merely been told with such enthusiasm that it had been almost like entertainment. CT-5869 was definitely right: CT-7567 had the energy and the smarts to have earned a place in ARC training.

Cody only wondered if he wouldn't burn out—or burn out everyone around him—before it was finished.

"Well, I guess this will be our first indication of just how great he really is," CT-3636 noted. "And I, for one, am looking forward it."

"You're not alone," Cody nodded with a simper. "This is going to determine what I have to live with for the next few days – or until the next test comes along."

Echo Squad entered the chute.

"Everyone ready?" CT-2025 asked, receiving affirmatives from every team member.

"Remember, the goal is to plant the flag," he went on. "But that doesn't mean we have to sacrifice ourselves needlessly." He gestured for everyone to remove their helmets and gather close. He lowered his voice. "And remember to move quickly. If we can keep the control team off-balance, we might be able to give them a surprise or two."

The light turned green and the door opened onto the scenario.

They put their helmets back on and stepped into the labyrinth.

Immediately, eight of the ten squad members moved out straight down the tunnel.

Turning back to the remaining two, CT-2025 gave a curt nod, which the others returned as an acknowledgment. As the eight moved off, CT-1448 removed his jetpack and with the help of CT-9090, boosted himself up towards the roof of the cave where the tunnel entered. He found a crevice just wide enough to hold the jetpack, wedged it in place, then jumped back down. The two clones moved towards the back of the cave. CT-9090 fired off one shot that exploded the jetpack and brought the mouth of the tunnel crashing down, sealing off any forward entrance.

"Well done," 1448 remarked glibly. "No one will be coming in that way."

They both looked up at the shaft opening above them. They'd known from studying the holomap that it would be there. "Now, we've just got to make sure no one drops in on us by surprise."

"It's a narrow hole. We should be pretty good," 9090 replied. "Time?"

CT-9090 checked his chronometer. "Mm-hm. Switch frequencies." A chuckle gurgled deep in his throat. "I'll bet they don't expect that."

"They've switched comm frequencies."

Major Tides walked over and stood behind the non-clone human manning one of the many monitor screens in the control center.

"Well, they're off to an auspicious start," the major remarked. "Blowing up the passageway to prevent access. Now, they're switching comm frequencies. They're not only battling the other squad and the scenario; they're battling us." He looked at the comm readings for each of the Echo Squad troopers. "They all switched, huh. On the same mark. This was all planned before they even stepped into the chute. No one caught this during their pre-brief?"

"Briefing staff says they were very close-hold, planned everything without using helmet comm, seemed to be purposefully trying to keep the techs from hearing," the controller replied.

"Can we override and keep them all on the same frequency?" Tides asked.

From behind him came a deterring voice. "Don't try to override."

Major Tides turned to see Colonel Claw approaching.

The colonel had a look of intense interest on his face. "Let's see what they do."

Tides grinned knowingly. "You think they're going to blitz it, don't you, Sir?"

"Or crash and burn." Claw smiled in anticipation. "Either way, it will be worth seeing."

CT-7567 led the way through the tunnel, CT-2025 right behind him. Both had agreed, though CT-2025 somewhat hesitantly, that it was not safe for the squad leader to go first. He needed to be protected; this, even though CT-7567 had always made it a rule in his own platoon with the 729th that he, as the platoon leader, always—always—went first. It was a habit that stuck with him now, and he'd used every bit of his charm and persuasion to convince 2025 that it was the most reasonable thing to do.

Behind them, CT-390 had ditched the guidon post that had been carrying the flag. Instead, he folded the flag into a neat, compact rectangle and tucked it into a pouch on his utility belt. This way, no man stood out as a clear target for an enemy intent on taking down the flag-bearer.

The tunnel was quiet and still, but not completely dark. An eerie sort of blue-purple light seeped from the rough-hewn walls of rock, casting an iridescent glow on the white armor. The clones moved with weapons drawn. Their own weapons, which they had brought with them from their units, had been replaced with trace-tracker equivalents; and they had been given their choice of which armaments they wanted to carry.

Per custom, the officers usually chose a side-arm and a blaster. The enlisted men preferred blasters, grenades, droid poppers, and the like. Only grenades and rocket launchers had been off-limits, mainly due to the restricted size of the training platform.

CT-7567 had always carried two side-arms, two DC-17 pistols, in preference to carrying a blaster. He could hit a bulls-eye from 100 meters away, and a moving target was no safer from his skill than a stationary one. His prowess with a blaster of any kind was so impressive that he could make a strike without even laying eyes on the target. The audible triangulation function drilled into every clone's brain had been honed to such perfection in CT-7567 that visual contact was not necessary for him to find his mark.

He had both pistols drawn and leveled at chest height. He and his companions were using the sub-infrared filter in their visors to give a bit more clarity to the murky purplish light.

They were moving very quickly, but that had been part of the plan. They had all concluded that the competition was not so much against Delta Squad as it was against the controllers. To be sure, the controllers had a very distinct upper hand in that this was their scenario. Doubtless they already had plenty of obstacles and obstructions programmed and ready to be unleashed. They had been doing this for four months at least, so they had the experience – not to mention, the god-like omniscience of everything that was happening on the platform.

It had been CT-7567's idea to proceed rapidly through the scenario with the hopes of staying one step ahead of at least some of the controllers' fun and games. CT-2025 had quickly jumped on board and with the creativity of the rest of the squad, they'd come up with some creditable schemes. In fact, it had been Shinie CT-9218's idea to bring the ceiling down to cut off Delta Squad from the flag-planting ground. The frequency trick had belonged to CT-7567, but CT-1550 had fleshed it out to a timed, recurring change. CT-2025 had planned the route with input from the others; and now, as they approached their first decision point, they all hoped that the actual scenario matched what they had seen in the holo.

And, in fact, it did.

The tunnel they were in split into two, one sloping upwards, the other downwards.

Without a break in pace, they began heading up.

"Comm switch," CT-2025 ordered, and they adjusted their frequencies to another channel.

Knowing it would take the controllers less than two minutes to identify the new frequency, the troopers made their communications quickly in the small window of opportunity.

"No obstacles so far. I don't trust it. They're holding back," CT-390 stated.

"Just keep your eyes open. Stay alert," 2025 instructed. "I'm sure it won't be long."

Yet, another minute passed without any confrontations.

"They're messing around with us," CT-7567 mused silently. "Well, that's okay. That's how I like it. The bigger the challenge, the better."

"They're approaching Hazard 2-H." This announcement came from the senior controller tracking Echo's progress.

"Where's Delta Squad?" Colonel Claw asked.

"There's the four they left behind to defend the objective. The rest broke into teams of two. These two here have already encountered the bones . . . not pretty, but they're giving it a good shot. The other two teams: one went to the second level. The other is . . . about to have some fun," came the senior controller for Delta.

Claw nodded. "Make sure Echo has their fair share of fun. 2-H is always good for some chaos."

"Well, I guess we were wrong about the image on the holo," CT-9218 remarked, frowning beneath his helmet. "This isn't water. Looks more like . . . tar."

He and his companions stood at the edge of an underground lake – a lake which, from the murky holo images, had appeared to be of water. But now that they were seeing it directly, they could clearly see that it was not water at all but of a much thicker consistency.

CT-7567 stepped up to stand toe-to-edge with the feature. "Makes no difference. We're still crossing it the same way." He pat the jetpack ignition on his wrist. Then, realizing that he might have overstepped his authority, he looked to CT-2025. "Is that still the plan?"

"It is," 2025 nodded. "You can see the bank on the other side. It's not that far across. Fifty meters. That's an easy burn." A pause. "CT-390, scan for combustible gases. We don't want to send ourselves sky-high when we light it up." Light it up being vernacular for jetpack ignition.

Thirty seconds later, CT-390 nodded the all-clear. "We're good to go."

"CT-7567, get to the other side. Let me know how it looks," 2025 ordered.

And because CT-7567 never felt more comfortable than when leading the way, he gave an eager acknowledgment and without a moment's hesitation, ignited the jetpack. He rose slowly, then as he added more oxygen to the fuel mixture—through the barely perceptible movement of the thumb toggle, drawn down from within the gauntlet only when the jetpack was in use—he angled the thrusters and zipped across the lake, coming to the far side in less than five seconds, sweeping up to an abrupt halt.

CT-2025 simpered and spoke into his helmet comm. "Uh, I was hoping you'd go slowly enough to check out this obstacle and report any perceived danger or abnormalities."

CT-7567 was not chastened nor put off. The chance to go up again was more than welcome. "I'll go give it a more thorough look," he replied. "This side looks clear. Just like the holo indicated. There are four different tunnels leading away from the bank. No signs of any activity."

"Copy that. Make another fly-over – and . . . try to be thorough but not too slow. I have a bad feeling about this place. The longer we wait over here on this side, the greater our chances of getting attacked," CT-2025 said.

CT-7567 took off again and headed out over the dark, still, and non-reflective sludge. He kept a fair space between himself and the tarry surface, not allowing his feet to dip below three meters height. The pool was silent and still – no ripples, no bubbles, no eddies. In fact, it looked solid. CT-7567 was tempted to try and touch down on it, but that would be giving in to his own curiosity at the expense of the mission. Instead, he finished his somewhat cursory surveillance and alit on the near shore once again in the midst of his squad mates.

"I didn't see anything suspicious," he reported. "There's no movement at all. I actually wonder if it's solid."

"We can find that out once we're safely on the other side. I don't want to do anything to disturb it until we'll across," CT-2025 stated.

"I agree."

"Then let's get a move on."

They switched frequencies once more before undertaking the crossing.

CT-7567 went first once again. The three Shinies, CT-8462, 8448 and 9218, followed immediately, and both CT-2025 and 7567 were glad to see they knew their way around a jetpack. Some clones graduated from basic training without having quite got the knack of rocketeering; for the truth was, it was not the easiest skill to master. The jetpacks were heavy and unwieldy, and clone armor was not well-designed for their use. It took a lot of energy for the thrusters to lift a fully-armored clone off the ground.

Still, CT-7567 was a huge proponent of the jetpack. He might be a ground-pounder, but he loved the sensation of floating and flying, soaring and hovering. He liked the advantage being airborne gave him on the battlefield. Even with the bulk and weight of the equipment on his back, rocketeering gave him a sense of freedom, of superiority, even euphoria from time to time.

He touched down on the far bank and turned to see the Shinies land safely. "Well done," he said with a nod.

"Thank you, lieutenant," came the chorus of replies.

"You two, check out the far right tunnel for fifty meters."

CT-8462 and 8448 took off down the tunnel. During their planning in the briefing room, they had pre-chosen the tunnel, knowing that it led to a formidable chasm—one that could be easily crossed using jetpacks—with the intention that, if they had any pursuers by that point, they could leave them behind at the chasm.

CT-7567 and 9218 watched the progress of the rest of the squad across the lake.

CT-390 zoomed across without a hitch.

CT-1550 and 5576 rounded out the 10-man squad, and they were enroute just ahead of CT-2025, who was bringing up the rear.

CT-1550 was from one of the specialty units: the 904th Communications Group, a mysterious and highly classified organization whose mission fell somewhere along the lines of intercepting enemy communications, translating and interpreting, as well the development of codes used by the Republic. It was an operation that was probably more actively engaged on a daily basis than any of the combat units, though always under a cloak of secrecy. The veracity and accuracy of gathered intelligence often found its lynchpin in units such as the 904th. Spies and stealth equipment might be able to acquire data and transmit it for decoding and interpretation: but it was the men in the 904th and the like who made sense of the information. As such, theirs was a job that was demanding in a different way from the job of the front-liners. It required long bouts of focused attention, patience, endurance, and a mind that could quickly discard old ways of thinking and decipher the message challenge of the day. The necessity for speed was there, but always slightly overshadowed by the even greater need for accuracy.

It had been CT-1550's know-how that had enabled CT-7567's plan of frequency-switching to work as beautifully as it was. The man had known precisely how to synchronize random switches that would keep the controllers guessing.

And then, there was CT-5576. Walker jockey from the 88th Division Artillery, or more commonly referred to as 88 DIVARTY. He had all the characteristics of the mounted artillery – the sort of devil-may-care attitude of a man who knew he was a primary target every time he stepped onto the battlefield by virtue of the weapon on which he rode.

In addition to the big guns, units like 88 DIVARTY also had hundreds of mounted troops riding out on All Terrain Reconnaisance Transports – AT-RTs –converted for lightning strikes on the battlefield. These two-legged mechanical equivalents to the cavalry could be dispersed from the rear door of a gunship, move quickly over almost any terrain, and carry a wallop of firepower that any infantry soldier could not help but envy.

And the men who rode them had a fatalistic view of their survivability, yet it was that dim outlook that perpetuated a sort of gallows humor among them. Talk of death was common and often addressed in mocking terms. Yet, they were extremely proud of what they did for the Grand Army, and their ties were strong, even between riders in different divisions.

One of the things CT-7567 had come to notice about walker jockeys was that they all seemed to speak with the same strange accent – as if they had just rolled off the land after a year of nerf-herding. It was always a treat to listen to them talk – and there were even times when not a word was comprehensible, but the sing-song rhythm and mellow flow of their voices . . .

"Tunnel's clear, lieutenant." The voice came over CT-7567's helmet comm.

"Copy that. Stay there. Everyone's almost over. We'll be joining you soon."

He had just finished speaking when up from the lake's surface, a dozen or more plumes of tar shot into the air, arcing and twisting before falling back into the muck while others rose to take their place.

"What the—" CT-7567 didn't finish the curse before a long arm of tar slapped towards the bank where he and 9218 were standing. They managed to jump back just in time. Bits of tar splashed against the ground and rocky walls around them, but the bulk of the tentacle remained intact and slithered back into the lake.

"Back up! Back! Back!" CT-7567 ordered, even as he drew his pistols. He fired once into the tar, only to watch the bolt be harmlessly absorbed. "Kriffing . . . " He fired once more, this time towards one of the writhing spouts that was attempting to lasso the three remaining members of Echo Squad who were still over the lake, dodging and spinning, trying to get past the danger to the other side. Among them, the squad leader!

Despite the fact that it was a contrived scenario, CT-7567 did not react to it like a training exercise. Once thrown into the thick of danger, he did what he always did and rose to the moment.

The three men were too far across to go back; and even if they could, the number of spouts was increasing and with greater ferocity. CT-7567 recognized that these were not just the natural occurrences of a cyclical phenomenon. No, there was sentience behind this activity. Whether it was one being or multiple beings, it seemed clear that the intent was to snare and capture.

It took only seconds for his eyes, scanning for any possible relief, to light upon a series of ledges and crannies along the walls and ceiling. They might afford some cover . . .

"Get to one of the ledges!" It was actually CT-2025 who shouted the order, beating him to it. "Go straight up!"

CT-1550 and 5576 obeyed immediately, although it was not as easily said as done. The plumes of tar were rising up with such frequency now that evading them was becoming increasingly difficult.

CT-1550, doing his best to weave around the obstacles, passed through a sudden fountain burst that doused the thrusters on his jetpack. His momentum took him into the wall. He slid down several meters until his fingers found a narrow, precarious purchase. Using his thumb, he toggled the jetpack's afterburner vents into the open position, and hanging on with one hand, pressed the ignition switch. The force of the burn sent him careening upwards, and he managed to shut down the jetpack just before he ricocheted off the cave ceiling. CT-2025 swept up from below and beside, grabbing him and barely getting them both to one of the ledges just as another arm of tar came spiraling upwards.

Still out over the lake, CT-5576 had seen something the rest of them had not. His vantage point had shown him what had happened both when 1550 had flown throw the first burst of tar and then again, when he'd ignited the afterburners, the heat of which had reached down far enough to scorch the surface of the tar lake.

The heat, the flame-when it had come into contact with the viscous substance—had turned it solid, like a stone, and the hardened tar had sunk back down into the lake. That might be useful information, but he needed to relay it before he himself got taken down.

"Echo leader!" He called into his helmet comm. "The heat—agh!—the heat from the jetpack thrusters—ungh—damn!—it turned this hraka into stone!"

CT-2025 needed nothing more to prompt him to act on this report. "CT-7567, get everyone away from the edge! 5576, get out if you can. If not . . . just keep dodging 'em for a few more seconds." He turned to CT-1550. "Give me your jetpack. It's too damaged now for anymore flying. This way, we can get some use out of it."

"What are you going to do, Lieutenant?"

"Hopefully . . . not get us all killed." He took the pack. "Stay here and keep away from the edge. I don't know what this is going to do." A pause. "CT-7567, on my command, fire at the surface."

"Copy that."

He opened the fuel bleeds on the damaged jetpack, smelled the pungent stench of liquefied ion propellant, and launched himself off the ledge, jetpack in hand. He buzzed over the surface, weaving between the tentacles trying to capture him, and drizzling the fuel onto the surface. He had no guarantee that this would work, but it was the only option he could think of under the circumstances.

After several passes, the fuel was gone. He tossed the jetpack and, like CT-5576, found himself doing all he could just to evade the plumes. He made it to a crevice in one of the walls.

"7567, fire!" He shouted.

CT-7567 had planned to place multiple shots, but when the first shot sent the surface blazing like an inferno, he instead found himself leaping back from the heat. But the fire was short-lived, no more than fifteen seconds, and it swept over the entire lake like a massive wave; and when it had ended, he stared in shock: the lake was turning into stone. But as it hardened and expanded, it did not raise up along the walls as the path of least resistance. Rather, it pressed against the basin that formed its bed . . .

Cracking the walls and bringing the entire cave to a trembling crescendo.

CT-7567 could already see what was going to happen. They needed to act quickly. "CT-390, get up to that ledge and get 1550 down. 2025, where are you?"

"I'm here," CT-2025 emerged from the crevice. "Have you seen 5576?"

"I'm okay." CT-5576 emerged from behind a column of solidified tar. His helmet and shoulder plate were freshly dented and scraped. "I smashed into the damned thing when it hardened."

In short order, they were all on the far bank together. "Are we all accounted for?" CT-2025 asked.

"Yes," CT-7567 replied. "8462 and 8448 are down the tunnel. They said it looks clear."

"Huh! Well, we know that anything that looks clear . . . probably isn't," 2025 said with a certain gravity in his voice. But his next words were spoken with tenacious determination. "Be on your guard."

CT-7567 smiled wickedly, hidden beneath the visor. "I think we've shown them a thing or two. We can beat them. Let's prove it."

"Did they somehow get hold of the scenario parameters?" Major Tides asked.

Colonel Claw smiled and shook his head. "I wouldn't put it past CT-7567; but I don't think he'd do something like that. It wouldn't be a challenge if he already knew how to defeat it. And without being able to hear what they're saying to each other, we can't know who's coming up with all the smart ideas."

"I tend to think it's a collaborative effort." This was from Commander Steed, coming over to join them. "There's a lot of smarts on that team. They're showing what they're made of."

"There's a lot of smarts on every team," Colonel Claw replied. A glint appeared in his eye. "The difference is that some troopers already seem to be thinking like ARCs, and others aren't. Fortunately, we've got six weeks to get them all thinking like ARCs." A pause. "When all is said and done, it comes down to leadership."

Major Tides chortled. "Yeah, but whose? CT-7567 is as much in charge as CT-2025 at any given moment."

"Yes, but we knew it would be like that, no matter what squad he was in, "Steed replied. "Still, I'm impressed that he's yielding authority as much as he is. 7567 likes to take command."

Colonel Claw looked at his two training officers. "By leadership, I meant our leadership." He crossed his arms over his armored chest. "How we carry out our job of training these men will determine whether or not they rise to the level of ARC trooper. And you know that teaching them the skills and knowledge isn't enough. They have to leave here with an ability to think outside the norm, embrace the unorthodox. And that is only a partly teachable trait. Most of these men come here with some germ of that capability; it's up to us to develop it." He turned his gaze once more to the controller's screen. "CT-7567 is only one of eighty men. He may already have a head start as far as . . . creative thinking goes, but he's got plenty of areas where he can use some improvement. We're part of that improvement process." A pause. "And one more thing: I don't want all the attention focused on one man. He'll do enough to draw attention to himself among the trainees. That's not something we need to add to."

"Yes, Sir," both men replied.

"Besides . . . Delta Squad's not doing too bad themselves," the colonel pointed out. "There seems to be a competitive spirit on both sides."

CT-1004 was beginning to wish the six members of Delta's offensive team had stayed together. CT-3942 had been wrong to split them up; there was something to be said for strength in numbers.

It had been fifteen minutes since he'd heard from Team One, comprised of CT-2169 and CT-9111. They'd encountered some kind of trouble in one of the tunnels. Communications had been sparse and desperate, but something about bones . . .

He'd not had time to fret over it, for almost immediately, he and the other half of his own two-man team, CT-7096, had come face-to-face with something that could only be described as humanoid arachnid. The head, arms and torso of a man, the lower body and extremities of a spider.

The encounter had not come as a complete surprise. As they'd moved deeper into the labyrinth, the walls of the tunnel had become increasingly covered with filamentary strands much like those found in a spider's web. Above them, parts of the tunnel roof reached up as crevices into a bluish darkness, made filmy by the presence of the webs. Both CT-1004 and 7096 took turns keeping a vigilant eye overhead to make sure that nothing dropped down on them unexpectedly.

But the attack had not come from above. It had come from behind, with lightning speed and almost deadly—simulated deadly—consequences. The creature had not been limited to simply being able to spin webs in the manner of a regular spider; it had possessed the ability to project sticky wads of filament that had, on the very first attack, struck CT-7096 with enough force to send him sprawling. A second attack had been of lose, single strands, coming rapidly one after the other, pinning him to the ground.

CT-1004 had drawn his blaster, but the creature had the reflexes of a spider and dodged repeated shots, all as it continued to lob wads of its own.

CT-1004 had taken cover behind a rocky outcropping and continued firing as he contemplated his options. The creature had moved closer and closer to CT-7096, still trapped and struggling on the ground.

"Easiest way out . . . " CT-1004 had then targeted the roof and brought enough of it down that the creature could fit only a single spiny arm through the opening at the top of the rubble. But that was no guarantee of safety, for the creature had the strength of a spider and began pulling at the debris in its bid to claim its prize.

CT-1004 had moved quickly, burning through the webbing holding CT-7096 captive, and the two had run full-tilt down the passageway until the appearance of the webs thinned and finally disappeared. Now, they found themselves overlooking a wide, seemingly bottomless chasm.

"How are we going to get across this?" CT-7096 grimaced. He was a Shinie, specialty-trained as an armaments officer, rather wide-eyed and naïve, if CT-1004 were any judge. However, CT-1004 viewed their pairing as a perfect opportunity to impart some of his own wisdom, his own skill, and his own notions of loyalty and devotion to a brand new soldier who hadn't even seen a single blaster shot fired on the field of battle yet. Plus, he knew that CT-7096 would not be at ARC training had he not shown something during his formation that had set him apart from the others.

CT-1004 was about to find out what that something was.

For no sooner had CT-7096 asked than he answered his own question.

"We could fire grappling hooks into the ceiling and swing across," he suggested. "Or, if I recall . . . " He pulled out his HOPO and opened up the holo-schematic. "Look here . . . twenty meters directly below us is another opening, and its tunnel swings wide . . . it's on a more direct route to the objective. The problem is, we don't know what surprises might be waiting for us in that tunnel. If we cross here on this level, we know that we have to make at least seven switchbacks to lower levels to come out at the same point as we would here. We're also assuming those shafts into the lower levels have ladders or someway to get down them. We could end up having to rappel each one. Here, we'd only have to do it once."

CT-1004 listened intently. The kid had a good tactical mind.

Kid . . . he's only a few months younger than me.

"What's your recommendation?" 1004 asked.

"I recommend we rappel here and take our chances."

CT-1004 grinned. "I think we'd be taking chances no matter which route we chose."

"Agreed, lieutenant; so why not make the physical exertion the least part of it?"

CT-1004's grin broadened. "I like your way of thinking. Okay, let's do it. Wait—listen? What's that sound?"

Both men drew back, hugging the walls of the opening.

A few seconds later and at an opening across from and slightly above them, a gaggle of clones appeared.

"It's Echo Squad!"

"Jetpacks!" CT-2025 ordered.

"What about CT-1550?" CT-5576 asked. "He doesn't have his jetpack anymore."

"I can wait here," CT-1550 deferred. "The goal is to get the flag planted. We don't all have to be there to do it."

"I'll take you across," CT-7567 stated. "These things can handle the weight of two men easily. There's no need to stay behind. We'll probably need all the firepower we can muster as we get closer to our objective."

"You may need to use the jetpacks again; and yes, it can handle the weight of two men easily, but that also burns fuel at twice the rate. We may get to another obstacle, and there won't be enough fuel for—"

"No one gets left behind," CT-7567 said definitively. "That's our creed. Never lose faith with each other, never leave a fellow soldier behind."

"Sounds good in a speech but has little bearing on reality." This from CT-390. "We leave men behind on the battlefield all the time."

"I don't," CT-7567 replied. "Not on the battlefield and not here."

CT-2025 interjected. "We can put the philosophical debate aside for now." He looked to CT-1550. "You're not staying behind. CT-7567 will get you across. If running out of fuel is the worst thing that happens to us over the course of this scenario, we can probably consider ourselves lucky."

"Lieutenant, look! Down there. It's Delta Squad."

"I just see two of—watch out!"

A volley of blaster fire came from the opening where the two members of Delta Squad were covering.

"That's CT-1004!" CT-7567 exclaimed. "Hoo! He's going to try taking a shot at me?" There was a tinge of playfulness in his voice that was completely at odds with the scenario.

"Don't forget, they're the enemy in this scenario," CT-2025 pointed out. "They're going to try and take us out just like we're going to try and take them out. But—" He reached out and grabbed CT-7567's arm as the latter moved into a position to return fire. "—but we can't waste time in a firefight. We need to reach the objective before time runs out."

CT-7567 considered. "Then how about you take three with you and leave three here with me? We'll cover you so you can get across, then once we've taken them out, we'll follow."

CT-2025 simpered. "What happened to leave no man behind?"

"You're not leaving us behind," CT-7567 replied. "We're covering you so you can out of here and move on to the objective. I fully intend to follow you as soon as we've taken care of these guys."

There was a tense moment of consideration, then CT-2025 nodded resolutely. "That's a sound strategy. CT-390, 5576 and 9218, you're with me." He looked to CT-7567 once more. "Follow as quickly as you can. Cover fire."

CT-7567 nodded and made a gesture to the three members of his team to take up firing positions.

"Open fire."

"Eight against two," CT-5869 noted. "CT-3942 shouldn't have split them up into two-man teams."

"Fifty against two are fair odds, if the two are ARC troopers," Commander Cody noted.

CT-3636 stood leaning on his forearms over the railing. "None of us are ARC troopers yet. And if this morning's been any indication, we might all wash out."

Cody chuckled and gave his fellow commander a friendly clap on the shoulder. "We're just getting started, Commander. If I were a betting man, I'd say these scenarios are meant to be more a test of character than an assessment of skill. Having a sort of . . . eye in the sky that can manipulate the program to make it harder for anyone to succeed . . . they just wanted to see our reactions."

"I don't know," CT-5869 deferred. "Echo Squad is doing pretty good. Your room-mate and CT-2025 seem to work pretty well together—"

"We can't hear a word they're saying." This from CT-5052. "For all we know, they could be arguing the whole way. CT-7567 seems like the kind of guy who always has to have things his way."

Cody regarded him sidelong. "Enh, cut him some slack. He's a powerhouse, and he likes to win. Nothing wrong with that." As he spoke, he made a mental note to himself to remember those words in his own dealings with his room-mate.

"If you say so," 5052 said, sounding unconvinced. He had known plenty of troopers just like CT-7567. Selfish, thoughtless, braggarts. Guys who always wanted to be at the top of the pile . . . heroes.

Why did those who didn't know any better always see such men as heroes?

"Look, they're making their move." This from CT-3636. A gleam of anticipation shone in his eyes. "Let's see if they all make it."