Dear Reader, Thank you to my reviewers, Ms CT-762, Freedom Phantom and the Unnamed Guest. Much appreciated. To answer a question asked about the last chapter. Originally, I had Rex paired with Cody, but because they have a lot of big joint adventures coming up (including at ARC training), I decided to mix things up a bit!

A couple notes:

CT-8333-11 Double-Ones (Nocturne Squad - language specialty)
CT-85-8585 (Predator Squad)

CT-5597 Jesse (Saber Squad)
CT-4441 Top (Saber Squad)
CT-2080 Hardcase (Saber Squad) - if he has a real number, someone let me know! I couldn't find it!
CT-2085-4 Pitch (Saber Squad)
CT-6116 Kix (Saber Squad)

Cadet Chips (Orange Squad)
Cadet Bead (Raptor Squad)

Chapter 59 Tinderhout

"Such inhospitable land! Yet wild beauty resides."

Many Crossing
Herbert Dfurning

CT-7567 shielded his eyes with his hand and scanned the rocky, uneven terrain stretching away before him.

Next to him, CT-3636 nodded appreciatively at the difficult expanse. "If this ordinance map is accurate, the easy part is behind us."

CT-7567 gave a wry smile. "And we're only four hours into this."

They had started out from L'Edale, a small village in the foothills below Tinderhout, just as the sun was casting the sky into grey above the jagged peaks. They'd formed up their cadets into two columns of fifteen and set off on the steep uphill march.

The weather was cool but not cold; and as the mist that hovered over the lower altitudes gave way to the clearer air of the mid-levels, the sun warmed up the rocks around them, raising the temperature and lowering the humidity.

"The men seem to be holding up well," CT-7567 noted.

"And well they should," 3636 stated. "They get enough conditioning in Basic that this shouldn't even be a challenge."

"They seem like a good group," 7567 opined.

"Yes, they do," 3636 agreed, and he meant it.

After arriving at L'Edale but before setting out, he and 7567 had taken thirty minutes to go over the exercise with their platoon. And in those thirty minutes, both ARC trainees had been impressed with the professional comportment of their charges, not to mention the clear enthusiasm and readiness the cadets displayed.

The six squads comprised a batch, and it was clear right away that these batchers were exceptional in many ways, not the least of which was the sense of unity they shared.

Of course, both CT-3636 and CT-7567 knew that, as squads, they were highly competitive with each other. It had been that way when the two of them had been in Basic. It was certainly that way now. Squads competed. That's the way it was. That was how they pushed themselves to ever greater levels of excellence.

They might be operating as a team now – the circumstances demanded it – but both 3636 and 7567 imagined that the pecking order of squads would reveal itself over the next four days.

CT-3636 had entrusted the ordinance maps to a responsible clone from Nocturne Squad, CT-8333-11. He was yet another clone being groomed for specialty operations. His area of expertise was languages. He stood slightly behind the two ARC officers now as they surveyed the way ahead.

"So, we have a choice," CT-3636 said, laying out the map on top of a relatively flat boulder. "Another two hundred yards and we have this split. We can go down along this streambed or we can go over the high ground."

CT-7567 turned and called out to the men lounging among the rocks behind them. "CT-5597!"

One of the cadets sprang to his feet and joined them. He had an eager manner, but his expression was serious, almost grave. He was a member of Saber Squad and had already distinguished himself back at L'Edale for having studied the data on the location to saturation. He seemed to have an uncanny ability to recall minutiae and seemingly insignificant details.

"Yes, Lieutenant!" he said, reporting and standing to.

"At ease," 7567 said. "What can you tell us about the risks of the lower route versus the risks of the upper route?"

CT-5597 looked at the map. "There are multiple routes over both the lower and the upper altitudes, Sir. Depending on which route we take, the risks are different. This route here would take us through this gorge, and if it rains – and it looks like it might – this gorge could turn into a flume. We could end up in serious trouble. If we get hit by a flash-flood, those walls will be hard to scale. On the other hand, any route over the high ground exposes us to the potential for violent weather and . . . these highland streams can also turn into raging rivers." He looked up from the map. "The biggest variable is the weather. It can be raining in the peaks and perfectly dry down here. We won't know what's going on until it hits us."

CT-7567 nodded. "The sergeant major said pretty much the same thing, that the weather is unpredictable and comes up fast."

"There are caves here and here," CT-3636 pointed out where he marked them on the map the night before. "We can take refuge if the weather turns bad."

"There were also caves along here. And . . . up here, they're not caves but the ruins of ancient dwellings," CT-5597 added. "They might suffice in a pinch."

"What's your opinion on the best route?" CT-7567 asked.

CT-5597 considered. He turned and regarded the sky to the east where dark clouds were just barely starting to show over the tops of the peaks. "Those look like storm clouds to me, but it's hard to tell how far off they are and how much rain they're bringing. We'd have to wait for them to move over the hills. My recommendation would be to stay on the high ground until we see what's coming up behind us. There are several other places we can move down into the valleys if we want to."

"The terrain up here is very rocky," CT-3636 pointed out. "Look at that up ahead. That's going to be treacherous. If we're going to try and go over that, it's going to be slow. And everyone needs to be careful – one wrong step and you could end up with a broken ankle."

CT-7567 was cheeky. "Sure wish we had jetpacks."

CT-3636 smiled, despite himself. It was a funny statement. "Look, it's bad enough that we have to wear this Class IV crap . . . I'd rather have armor. Don't remind me how much easier this would be if we could just soar across it all."

"Well, at least this uniform weighs a lot less, even if doesn't offer the same protection," CT-7567 replied. He put his hand up to the bill of his cap and tipped it in a quirky manner. "We're not going to win any fashion contests."

"You're right about that. Okay, I think we've been here long enough. Let's stick with the high ground at least until the next juncture. We'll keep an eye on the weather," 3636 said, then quickly added, "Are we agreed?"

"Agreed."

"CT-5579, get the men ready to go."

CT-5579 assembled the platoon. There were no groans, no sounds of disgruntlement – only the sounds of young men getting to their feet and regaining their packs.

The two ARC trainees set out at the front of their platoon, heading towards a fixed point on the horizon, a beak-shaped mountain peak. It looked to be a rough ten or eleven kilometers from where they stood now; but given the terrain before them, they had both concluded it would take at least eight hours to reach the point.

As they proceeded further, the ground between the rocky spikes turned into mud – slippery and, as CT-3636 had warned, treacherous. CT-7567 heard CT-4441 behind him, urging caution to his batchers, and he smiled at the cadet's boisterous and aggressive manner.

"If you break something, I'm sure as hell not going to carry you! Kripes, man, lift your feet or you're going to trip over them! Look at Quest Squad, tiptoeing like a bunch of dainties! Don't get your pantaloons dirty, girls!"

And the incredible thing was . . . no one seemed to mind.

After nearly two hours, CT-5579 spoke up. "Commander? Lieutenant?"

Without stopping, the two officers acknowledged him. "What is it, Cadet?"

"You might want to take a look at the clouds again," he suggested. "They're gaining on us."

The two turned and regarded the sky. "Damn, it didn't take long for them to catch up," CT-3636 grumbled.

"They look pretty threatening. You can see the rain coming down," CT-7567 observed, then to CT-5579, "How long do you think it will take for them to be overhead?"

"Another hour, maybe a little less," 5579 replied.

"And we're stuck up here," 3636 frowned. "There's no place to take cover."

"About one more mile and there should be a gradual downslope that could get us into one of the valleys," 5579 said. "But if we go down, it will add a lot of time to the trip unless we come back up after the storm passes. If we follow the valley, there are a lot of turns. And we could get caught in a flash flood."

"Where are the nearest highland caves?" CT-7567 asked.

"Beyond that point we're headed for. If we head down, there are caves on the other side of the valley. We might be able to get to them before the storm hits, but it's unlikely," 5579 stated.

From back among the cadets, a raised voice suggested, "Why don't we just push through the storm? It's just some wind and rain. We're not going to melt."

CT-7567 and 3636 looked back to see one of the cadets standing with his arms out, one booted foot planted firmly upon a pile of stone, looking like a conquering explorer.

CT-7567 took a few steps towards him, a smile forming on his lips. "CT-2080, isn't it?"

"Sir, yes, Sir."

"You're anxious to get wet?"

"I'm anxious to forge ahead, Sir. A little rain never hurt anyone."

"I like your attitude," 7567 nodded. "But I think this might be more than a little rain."

"Then it will be a challenge, nothing we can't handle."

"Pay no attention to him, Sir," CT-5579 said with a grin. "He thinks he can take on the whole Separatist army singlehandedly."

"And why not? They're just a bunch of machines," CT-2080 asserted.

Right away, CT-7567 felt a certain affinity for the brash cadet who appeared so fearless. "They may be machines, but wait until you have to fight against them. Besides, the Separatists have a lot of fighters who aren't machines, and they're pretty formidable."

"Again, nothing we can't handle, Sir," 2080 replied confidently.

CT-7567 liked his answer.

CT-3636 spoke up. "We don't have time for this right now. We need to make a decision which route to take before that storm bears down. CT-7567?"

CT-7567 returned to stand with CT-3636 and CT-5579, and they looked over the map once more.

"I think we should stick to the high ground," 7567 opined. "It looks like there are only three streams between us and the first point. We should be able to cross the before the storm catches us, while they're still small enough to make it without trouble. And 2080 is right, the rain isn't going to kill us. It's just going to make us wet."

"Yeah, but you're forgetting, we're not in armor. These Class IVs will stay water-proof, but only until they brush up against something and break the seal," 3636 pointed out. "We don't have extra uniforms. Once these are soaked, they're all we've got."

It was a valid point. The Class IV uniform, a drab grey, was not a combat uniform in any sense. Durable fabric pants and top with an over-top belt at the waist and light-weight knee-high boots, the uniforms were common use for non-combat missions, a sort of utility uniform. A round, five-point, duck-billed cap and goggles completed the ensemble. The uniforms were made with waterproof fibers and treated with a water-proof polymer, but like most flexible fibers, the water-proof seal was broken once the wet material was touched or rubbed.

And while they were constructed to dry out quickly, they needed dry weather to do so. There was no predicting how long the rain would last, how the next four days would pan out weather-wise.

"So, we'll be uncomfortable for four days—" CT-7567 began, but 3636 cut him off.

"I expect something like that from CT-2080. He's a cadet; he doesn't know better. But we do. I'm not into taking unnecessary chances."

"Going to the lower levels isn't without risk, either," 7567 pointed out.

CT-3636's tone was derisive. "Then why don't you take three squads over the high ground, and I'll take three squads low, and we'll see how things turn out?"

"Because we're supposed to work together," CT-7567 replied flatly.

"The sergeant major didn't say anything about having to keep the platoon together at all times," 3636 pointed out. "We can split up here and plan to meet at the first point by dawn tomorrow."

CT-7567 considered for the briefest of moments. He had decided early on that CT-3636 was a clone who was always complaining, always criticizing his fellow trainees, the cadre, and . . . well, just about everything. He would like nothing more than to get away from him for a few hours . . .

"No. We're supposed to do this together," he concluded. "There's strength in numbers, and we might need that strength in the coming days. If you want to go own into the valleys, we'll go down into the valleys."

CT-3636 nodded curtly. "Good. Now you're thinking like an ARC trooper instead of some fool cadet." He turned and climbed on top of a large boulder to get a look at the way ahead.

CT-7567 turned to CT-5579. "Let the men know we're heading off the high ground." As he spoke, he caught sight of CT-2080 standing with his other squad mates, looking none too happy. "They probably heard everything 3636 said, and they think he considers them fools." A sigh. "Yeah, this is some good start we're off to."

"It must be raining hard upstream." This observation came from one of Orange Squad's cadets, a buoyant fellow who had been given a name by his squad mates. He went by "Chips", short for "Chipper", which was how his squad mates viewed him. He was upbeat, always cheerful, and well-liked by his batchers. "This creek is definitely outside its boundaries."

"Yeah," CT-4441 agreed. "If we're going to cross, we need to do it soon, before it gets too wide and too fast."

"We're not even at the bottom yet," another clone said in a low voice. He was another member of Saber Squad, CT-2085-4; and he was an odd combination of gravity and whimsy. He had one great love—other than his squad mates—and that was explosives. In fact, his specialty path back on Kamino was demolitions. "If there's a river at the bottom of this valley, and we're supposed to get on the other side to get to the caves, we may have a big task ahead of us."

Ahead of them, CT-7567 listened to them without their knowledge. They were showing themselves to be no less than he would have expected from his brethren: clever, observant, and determined. He turned towards them, walking backwards as he spoke. "What did the map show, Double-Ones?" Double-Ones was the name he had created for CT-8333-11. "Is there a river at the bottom of this?"

"Yes, Lieutenant," Double-Ones replied. "I couldn't tell from the map how wide it was, but with all the feeder streams we've seen, I would imagine it's pretty big."

"Well, we've got to cross it, so we will," CT-7567 said. "One way or another." Then to CT-3636, "We'd better quicken the pace. If it is raining up above us, the river down below may be swollen and growing wider every minute. This stream here is already wide enough . . . how do you plan to cross?"

"Do we need to cross?" CT-3636 asked. "The path we're on looks like it runs parallel to the line of the valley, and it descends more gradually. We don't have to cross this stream unless we want to head straight down."

"Either way, we'll have a river to cross at the bottom. I think it's best to try and get to it as soon as possible before it has a chance to get too wide," CT-7567 stated.

At that moment, a thin rain began to fall.

"I agree," 3636 said, looking skyward. "But I'd rather cross one big river than cross a bunch of streams first and then still have to cross one big river."

"Point taken," 7567 conceded.

"We're going to get wet either way, but we have less chance of getting soaked the longer we avoid wading into any streams," 3636 pointed out.

7567 tilted his head. "You're speaking under the assumption that we'd be going into the water."

"Of course," 3636 replied. "There aren't any jetpacks here, Rocketeer."

CT-7567 smiled. "I rather like that name. I hope it sticks. But I wasn't referring to jetpacks this time. We have our weapons; we have cables. We can cross without ever touching the water."

CT-3636 was momentarily speechless. In truth, he was embarrassed for not having thought of the idea himself. "That's if we can find the right sort of place to use them," he said, not wanting to immediately acknowledge the validity of the idea. "We'll see what the situation looks like when we reach the valley floor."

For CT-7567, this grudging acceptance of his suggestion was good enough. He'd not expected anything more from his platoon co-leader.

"Right, so let's get a move on."

For the next hour, they continued their downward trek along the narrow path above the valley floor. The rain continued to fall, oscillating in intensity.

CT-7567 had to wonder, at this point, what the purpose was in finding cover? Unless it was to dry out their uniforms and warm up a bit—for the air had grown cold with the rain—it would be shelter taken too late. What protection from the rain did they need now when they were dripping wet?

"The cadets are probably thinking the same thing," he groused inwardly. "Kripes, they're probably wondering how the two of us ever got into ARC training if the best we could come up with was a hair-brained idea like this."

And then something happened that not only changed his mind, but it chastened him for having such a low opinion of the men he and CT-3636 were leading, thinking that they must be silently griping in the same manner as he was.

A voice broke out into song. Loud, clear and strong, rising above the sound of the rain and the wind.

CT-7567 smiled with recognition. It was a tune they had sung even in his days as a cadet, a sort of pro-Republic cadence call that placed a great deal of emphasis on the beauty and, er, abilities of the women of the Republic. It had been one of the boons of an all-male environment that such wonderful expositions on the finer attributes of the gentler sex could be undertaken without fear of offending any tender sensibilities. Why, even Jedi General Shaak-Ti, in charge of the clone training program and a stunningly beautiful Tagrutan female, could find no fault – though she did consider it very interesting and just a little peculiar that men who had seen very few women during their time on Kamino—certainly very few human women—whose access even to images of women was restricted, and whose first ten years of life had been geared solely towards combat and kept clear of any feminine influence . . . how did these men, under these circumstances, develop such healthy libidos and appreciation for the female form? Clearly, that part of Jango Fett had survived the cloning matrix and been passed along, only to be met with discipline and more than a degree of frustration, certainly; for the rules were clear: Clones were made for fighting, not procreating.

Which, as it turned out, made for some great cadence calls.

The rest of the men joined in. CT-7567 joined in.

CT-3636 did not.

But if 7567 were any judge, his companion's reticence was not due to an ill mood. No, 3636 seemed to be very focused and perhaps even a bit worried.

CT-7567 could guess why.

The path they were on was certainly descending but at a very shallow grade. It was taking them a long time to get to the bottom, and they had not avoided the rain at all. The decision to go low had resulted in a colossal waste of time.

CT-7567 almost felt sorry for him, imagining how he must be wilting under the weight of humiliation; and so he decided to offer some support, show how magnanimous he could be. He could find a hundred ways to say, "I told you so" without ever having to actually say the words.

"Maybe, if we're lucky, the rain will stop before we reach the bottom, and we can head back up," he offered. "The slope has been so gradual, I think the men are still pretty energetic."

But CT-3636's response was clear indication that his concentration and silence had nothing to do with humility, shame, or even doubt in his decision.

"Do you hear that?" he asked.

"Hear what?"

"It's hard to tell with all that caterwauling going on back there, but there's been a low rumble for the past twenty minutes or so. I can even feel it in the ground as we walk," 3636 explained.

"I don't hear anything other than the men . . . and some thunder," CT-7567 replied. "Maybe it's the thunder you're hearing."

"No, I thought of that," CT-3636 disagreed. "Thunder would come and go. This is almost continuous. I don't like it. Bring the platoon to a halt and tell the men to be quiet. I have a bad feeling about this."

CT-7567 was not much convinced that 3636's bad feelings were any reason for concern, but he did as asked. He turned to the platoon and called a halt.

"Everyone, be perfectly silent for a bit!" he ordered.

They obeyed him.

That was when they all heard it.

And felt it.

There was a low rumbling noise, sometimes louder, sometimes softer, but ever present. When it grew louder, the ground reverberated to a greater degree; when it grew softer, there was less reverberation.

"What the hell is making that sound? Where is it coming from?" CT-3636 asked.

Clones were conditioned from the earlier moments of their emergence from their growth tubes to perceive the world around them not just through the common and standard use of their senses, but through the development of much lesser functions of those same senses. One of those functions was using their hearing and even feeling sound vibrations in the way many lesser animals did. As such, by the time they left Kamino as troopers, they were adept at triangulating the location from which sounds emanated without any outside aid. They did not necessarily need to see where a blaster bolt came from, as long as they heard the shot as it was made.

"It sounds like a . . . like a massive engine," CT-7567 said. "Like a star destroyer firing on all thrusters." A pause. "I can't tell where it's coming from. In this valley, the sounds just bounce off the walls, back and forth." He raised his voice. "Squad leaders! Front and center!"

It took some careful maneuvering for the six squad leaders to approach the front, for the path the platoon was on had grown narrow at the point where they were now stopped. To their right, the valley wall rose in a nearly vertical face of rock. To their left, it fell away, not quite as steeply, but enough so that anyone going over the edge would not find a stop until they reached the bottom. Up ahead, the path had no appearance of widening any time soon.

"Do you all hear that sound?" CT-7567 asked.

A chorus of affirmative replies came back.

"Thoughts on what it might be?"

The Predator Squad leader, CT-86-8585—a rather gruff, no-nonsense cadet—spoke up. "It could be the sounds of the streams or the river echoing up the valley. If they're flooded and turned into rapids, they'd make a lot of noise."

"That's true," CT-7567 acknowledged. "That would also account for the feeling that the ground is shaking."

"It could also be the weather, the thunder and the wind." This from Raptor Squad's leader, an assertive clone who had also already acquired a nickname: Bead, which—his squad mates had already explained—owed to his incredible ability to line up a shot—draw a bead—in a split-second.

CT-5579 opined thoughtfully. "At our briefing before we started out, you mentioned, Lieutenant, something about high strata atmospheric winds. Could we be hearing those winds?"

"It's possible," CT-7567 said, noting that CT-3636 was keeping very quiet about everything that was being said. "Commander? What are you thinking?"

One of CT-3636's greatest strengths was his intuition, his instincts. He had always been very in tune with his surroundings; and he'd always wanted to put that ability to use on the front lines, leading men, for he felt that was where his skills would be best utilized. Being a staff officer—even for a Jedi Master as brilliant as Plo Koon—was, in 3636's opinion, a grave misuse of his talents. If he had one hope for ARC school, it was that by graduating from it, he would be reassigned from a staff role to a combat role.

"I think we didn't spend enough time studying the weather while we still had access to a computer," came the reply, spoken with a degree of self-recrimination. "Most high strata winds are jet streams. They head in one direction at rapid speeds. We have to take them into account every time we bring a ship into a planet's atmosphere. I've encountered them hundreds, if not thousands, of times. I'm sure you have, as well, CT-7567." He paused and a perplexed expression deepened the creases in his forehead. "But we're nowhere near the strata. Even when we were up on top, we were nowhere near the altitude of strata winds. But . . . if I'm right, and—and there's something going on up there on top of the plateau, then we may need to get down to the bottom a lot faster."

"Why? What do you suspect?" CT-7567 asked.

CT-3636 did not answer right away. Instead he turned to CT-5579. "Have one of your men use his cable and climbed to the top. I want to know what he sees up there."

"Right away, Sir!" CT-5579 turned and shouted back over the increasing din. "CT-2080! I need you to fix cable, get on top and see what's going on. Once you've taken a look, get back down here immediately and report."

"You got it, Jesse."

It was a strange thing to enter his mind, but at that moment, it occurred to CT-7567 that more cadets had nicknames than ARC trainees. He would have thought that active duty was a perfect breeding ground for the creation and bestowing of names; but perhaps the rigors of war and the rate at which clones died did more to prevent familiarities than promote them.

As CT-2080 began his ascent, aided by the retraction feature on his weapon, CT-3636 explained his thinking. "Why would the sergeant major have bothered to mention the high strata winds if it wasn't something he thought we needed to know? He said they can cause trouble at the higher elevations. We have to ask ourselves, what kind of trouble?"

"Gale force winds? Hurricane force winds?" 7567 offered. "They could blow a man right off his feet, send debris flying."

"If this planet has a wide strata band, a storm could gather strength as high up as 18,000, even 20,000 meters," 3636 pointed out. "And if the lower end of the band is close to the planet's surface, it would visit that storm even at high elevations. The thing we don't know—the thing I sent him up there for—is to find out whether or not there's a heat differential in the strata winds."

Suddenly, CT-7567 understood. "You're . . . looking for rotation."

CT-3636 nodded. "And if I'm interpreting that sound correctly . . . I think we're going to find rotation."

"Tornadoes," CT-5579, Jesse, stated bluntly.

"Tornadoes," 3636 confirmed.

Less than twenty seconds after reaching the top, CT-2080 was on his way back down; and there was no mistaking the urgency in his manner when he reached the level of the path.

"Fek and all—sorry, Sirs!—it's a kriffing madhouse up there! There must be ten—twelve cyclones running over the plateau! They're—they go so high up into the sky that you can't see the tops of them! They're sucking up all kinds of osik and throwing it all over the place—and in between these things, the sky—the clouds—are low! I've never seen anything like it!"

"Could you tell which way it was headed?" 3636 asked.

"In all different directions! It was going everywhere—"

"Calm down, Cadet," 3636 chastised. "I need informative answers, not an old woman's squalling."

CT-2080 reined in his over-expression.

"Could you tell, in general, which way the storm was headed? Is it coming towards the valley?"

"Well, the clouds looked like they were moving in the same direction we are," 2080 replied. "The cyclones were moving in all directions. I wasn't up there long enough to notice if they're also moving in generally the same direction we are or if they're getting closer to the valley or moving away."

"Whatever direction the clouds are moving, the cyclones will be moving in that same direction," 3636 pointed out. "They might reverse direction within the cloud mass, but they'll move with the mass."

"I guess it's a good thing we did get off that plateau," CT-7567 said with an internal pang of concession. He'd been wrong; CT-3636 had been right, even if the reasoning had not involved the possibility of tornadoes.

"Yeah, and now we need to keep moving down," 3636 said. "If those things get near this valley, they'll suck us right up off this ledge."

"Then let's go," 7567 said resolutely.

They got the men moving again.

"How will we know if they're getting closer?" 7567 asked as they resumed at the head of the platoon.

"The sound will be a lot louder," CT-3636 replied. "And the rain will stop. Those cyclones suck all the rain up into them. If the rain stops and the noise gets louder, then we need to take cover."

"Do you want to continue along this path or take our chances rappelling down to the bottom?" 7567 asked.

CT-3636 shook his head. "Look at the size of these streams now. Some of them have to cut across our path up ahead, and we'll be hard-pressed enough to get over those, unless there are walkways or bridges. But all this water up here . . . means even more water down there. If we go straight down, we don't know if there's a bank or not. The thing may be a torrent, and we'll have nowhere to alight. We could end up trapped. We don't know what the other side will look like for anchoring cables. If we continue on this path, I at least like to think that it will end at a crossing, and hopefully that crossing won't be under water."

And there, in the space a few scant minutes, CT-7567's entire opinion of CT-3636 changed. Yes, he still considered him to be rude, hyper-critical, and prone to complaining; but he now saw in him a clever, calculating mind that could look at the circumstances, figure out the right questions before running after answers that had no significance, and make sound decisions based on the facts. And whether 7567 wanted to admit it or not, the truth was that if he'd been the one to decide their course, they'd have been up on the plateau when the storm and its funnels had hit.

"Okay, brothers! Let's get moving! We've got to double our speed!" CT-7567 ordered.

The downward trek continued on.

From above them, the rain was now running down the valley wall in cascades; there were narrow fissures that centuries of falling water had carved into the rock, and at these junctures, the path crossed on stone or wooden bridges.

"We're going to get swept right off the path!" CT-2080 shouted to his squad mate, CT-2085-4.

"You could body surf all the way to the bottom!" replied CT-2085-4, making light of a situation that was growing more aggravating by the moment.

At the head of the columns, CT-3636 was grim. He could see another waterfall gushing down the side of the gorge ahead of them. "I'll bet a couple hours ago, this was barely a trickle. It's coming down in sheets over that bridge." He grit his teeth as he drew closer and got a better look at wooden bridge. It was not long, maybe ten yards, and a good one yard wide. It had no railings, and it was taking the brunt of the plunging water directly. "Well, I'm sure it's survived a lot of floods before today. It just needs to survive this one until the last man gets across." He turned to CT-7567. "We'll form a human chain to get across. The power of that water coming down makes it too risky to go one-by-one, and there's no perpendicular wall to get a cable into."

"Agreed," 7567 nodded. "I'll go across first."

"I'll anchor this side," 3636 said. "Pick your men to form the line."

CT-7567 could not explain why, but he felt a sense of pride that CT-3636 was leaving it up to him to choose the men. "Good. Nocturne Squad! Saber Squad! Up front!"

When the two squads reported, he realized he would have to make one change.

"You, CT-6116, is it? Yes, you step back. I'll find someone to take your place. I don't want to take any chances on losing our only medic," he said.

"Sir, whatever you have in mind, I'm perfectly able—"

"I know you're able," 7567 cut him off. "But it wouldn't be prudent. Step back." He noted how CT-6116's squad mates gave him nods of encouragement, as if to say, "We'll be alright."

He stepped back, and CT-7567 picked a replacement from Orange Squad.

"We're going to form a human chain to get across," 7567 explained. "You're going to face away from the cliff, arm-link and take hold of the next man's front pack strap. You've got to hold your place while the others are crossing. You're the guard rail. Once the last man has crossed, we'll bring you in link-by-link, staring with the last man. Keep your heads down." Then to the rest of the platoon. "You've got to make this fast, but be cautious. If one man goes over the side, he's likely to take others with him."

With that, CT-3636 took his place as the anchor on the near side. CT-7567 stepped out on the bridge and directed his first man into place, then the next and the next, moving along with them until there were ten men spanning the bridge, with 3636 on one side and 7567 finally arriving at and anchoring the far side.

The crossing, though not as fast as either ARC trainee would have wanted, went smoothly enough. Only two cadets slipped, but the chain of their brothers was a bulwark against disaster. By the time the last man was across and the chain was ready to be reeled in, the wall of water was so thick, it was not possible to see to the other side.

CT-3636 was about to start his journey across when the rumbling sound suddenly intensified. He was almost tempted to believe it was the pounding of his heart as he looked up in full expectation of seeing a funnel cross overhead.

What he saw instead drove a spike of fear and horror into his heart.

"Go! Go! Now! Run—get off the bridge! Go!" He began pushing the cadets ahead of him, any concern for the precariousness of the bridge itself forgotten.

On the other side of the raging waterfall, CT-7567 suddenly found himself reaching for the links of his human chain as they came scrabbling and sliding across the bridge.

"What the—"

A roar unlike anything he'd heard thus far that day brought his head up.

The cliff above them where the waterfall was pouring through the fissure – the whole thing was disintegrating and plummeting down towards them.

"Move! Damn it! MOVE!" As the last man passed him, he felt the ground beneath him giving way as the landslide hit the bridge. He sprang forward. He wasn't going to make it!

And then two sets of hands had hold of his arms and were pulling him onto the path. They dragged him forward as more of the valley wall and the path came down.

When the bedlam had ended and all was silent but for the continual droning of the cyclones above and the steady fall of the rain, he pushed up onto his hands and knees and looked back over his shoulder.

The bridge was gone.

And so was CT-3636.

*osik is Mando'a for sh**
*The Class IV is the thing Rex is wearing on Onderon (the very WWII German-looking thing)