Dear Reader, So much for my short chapters. I just couldn't find a good place to draw a break! Anyway, this chapter is actually based on a true event as related to me by a WWII vet from the Royal Army Service Corps. Of course, I've embellished it quite a bit, but it does have the ring of truth to it! You might also see my "bow" to one of the funniest commercials I've ever seen. Peace and happy reading! CS

CT-7567: Rex
CT-4441: Top
CT-5799: Jesse
CT-6116: Kix
CT-2080: Hardcase
CT-2085-4: Pitch

Chapter 62 The Crossing

"From the dim regions beyond the mountains at the upper end of our encircled domain, there crept out a narrow and deep river, brighter than all save the eyes of Eleonora; and, winding stealthily about in mazy courses, it passed away, at length, through a shadowy gorge, among hills still dimmer than those whence it had issued."

Eleonora
Edgar Allan Poe

"How's the commander?" CT-4441 asked as CT-6116 joined him and the rest of his squad mates around one of the heat generators.

"All-in-all, pretty well, I think," came the reply. "His injuries are serious but not fatal – unless he does something stupid."

CT-2080 grinned. He detected an unspoken implication. "Is he the kind of officer to do something stupid?"

"Mm, I don't know, really," 6116 said honestly. "I think he's got a good head on his shoulders, but he's stubborn. He spent half of my examination telling me that he would be able to finish the exercise on his feet. After getting a close look at his leg and his other injuries, I knew that wouldn't be possible, and he still kept arguing with me."

Jesse spoke thoughtfully. "He doesn't want to be a burden."

"I told him he could stay behind, here in the cave, that we could leave a couple men to look after him," CT-6116 went on. "You'd think I had threatened to turn him over to the enemy." A wry grin twisted its way into his expression. "I'm pretty sure he hates my guts now."

"Well, of course, he does!" CT-4441 huffed. "Look, LB—"

CT-6116 rolled his eyes. "Would you please not call me that."

"Fine, fine. Now, look here, Little Brother—"

"You know, you're the only one who uses the word 'brother'—"

"Not so! The lieutenant's been using it all day," 4441 pointed out. "And if he's saying it, then I'm in damned good company." He cleared his throat in a manner that suggested he'd been temporarily diverted from making his main point and was now returning to it. "Anyway, as I was saying: you've got all those medical smarts, but a little common sense goes a long way. He's a fekking commander, for one thing, and he's in ARC training. Those are competitive slots, and I can guarantee you he doesn't want to be coddled. Not by anyone, especially a cadet he's been put in charge of. Do you get it, LB?"

CT-6116 had always appreciated CT-4441's direct, graceless way of making a point. Among his batchers, it would be accurate to say that CT-4441 was the one with whom he had the tightest bond; although, in CT-6116's case, it was not an exaggeration to say that he truly loved all his batchers. Still, his strongest sentiments were reserved for the four men who comprised his squad mates. Theirs was a sort of agape that held them together through the rigors of life on Kamino and prepared them for the war that was their destiny. They could be gruff and chafing with each other. Their competitive spirit tended to make them push each other beyond acceptable limits. Yet, they were as close as five men could be. When one was threatened, all reacted.

"I wasn't coddling him," CT-6116 demurred. "I was being reasonable in light of his condition."

"Sometimes passion trumps reason," 4441 posed.

"Not when you're a medic," 6116 pushed back with a challenging glint in his eye. "My reason will always trump a patient's passion."

"Good grief, you two . . . separate corners, enh?" This from Jesse.

"We're not fighting," CT-4441 quipped. "I'm showing my passion . . . and my undying respect for Little Brother's reason."

CT-6116 shook his head. "You'd better hope you never end up as one of my patients."

"Ha! I've already been your patient a dozen times at least!" 4441 replied. "Best care this side of the Outer Rim."

CT-2085-4 nudged the medic. "Just take the compliment and ignore him," he prodded. He unwrapped a nutrient bar and made a face of disgust. "You'd think they could figure out a way to make these things taste like something other than burnt hair," he said before stuffing one end into his mouth.

CT-2080 leaned in and bit a chunk off the other end.

CT-2085-4 spoke around the remaining bar in his mouth. "You could have just asked me for a piece."

"What are you griping about? I've been stealing food from you since we were batch-kits."

"Mm-hm, and starting to show it, I might add," 2085-4 teased.

"Right," 2080 said, patting his perfectly flat stomach. "It's all muscle."

For the next thirty minutes, they continued to converse amongst themselves, staying huddled around the generator.

Then Jesse drew their attention. "The lieutenant's coming over."

They all straightened up and took on a more formal stance.

"Relax," CT-7567 said. "I just wanted to tell you all that I was impressed with how you worked together back there on the path, getting the commander to safety."

"Thank you, Sir," CT-4441 answered for all of them.

"Sir, the question has come up about the rest of the exercise. There's still a long way to go," Jesse tread carefully. "CT-6116 thinks it would be best for the commander to stay here."

"I appreciate your concern," CT-7567 replied, "But there's no way he's staying back. I won't allow it."

"Sir, for his own safety—" CT-6116 began, but CT-7567 cut him off.

"Safety isn't the final word," the lieutenant said, much to the others' surprise, for they had always been taught that safety was paramount, even though they, themselves, had often traded safety for victory. To hear someone in a position of authority push the golden ring of safety off its pedestal . . . that was unheard of.

"What good is your own safety if every man around you dies? I don't much value safety in a world where I'm the only survivor." He paused. "This is a training exercise. It's meant to test our character as much as it is our skills. I, for one, like to make things happen, to make the impossible, possible. The question is, what type of men are you?"

CT-6116 spoke up right away, completely ignoring the lofty rhetoric. "Sir, I've already told you both . . . he can't walk on that leg, and he says he won't be carried on a litter anymore—"

"Leave that to me," 7567 insisted. "I'll keep him on the basting litter. What I need to know is, can this platoon get him safely to the end." He was not asking the question as much as posing the challenge.

"There's nothing we can't do," CT-2080 boasted. "We're the best squad in the best platoon on Kamino." A cocky pause. "And once we enter the war, we'll be the best there, too."

CT-7567 gave a one-sided grin. "That's what I like to hear."

By the following morning, the storm had passed. The winds had died down to the occasional gusty breeze. The sound of the funnels had disappeared. The rain had stopped. The forces of nature had calmed.

To be sure, the sky was still grey with threatening clouds, but all was peaceful.

Just before sunrise, CT-7567 had taken Jesse, Double-Ones and Chips down to check out the river crossing. What they encountered was a waterway completely enraged and tearing through its narrow fissure with such ferocity that the four men could barely hear themselves speak above the din.

"I don't know how high it's risen above its regular level, but there's no sign of where the crossing is," Double-Ones noted. "The path just gets swallowed up by the river's edge up ahead. If we tried to cross here, there's no way to get to the top of the opposite cliffs unless we climb."

CT-7567 could see right away that Double-Ones was correct.

"We're not going to cross," he determined. "We're going back up on top. There was another path leading up from those caves. I saw it when we left. Does it show up on the map?"

Double-Ones withdrew the polysteen map and expanded it. "Well, the caves aren't on the map, but it does look like there's a faint line here. That could be the path you saw, Sir."

"Does it lead back up to the plateau?"

"It appears to."

Cadet Chips spoke up. "Do you think it's safe to go back up on top, Lieutenant?"

Before CT-7567 could answer, Jesse replied, "Safety isn't the final word."

CT-7567 caught his glance and nodded his approval.

His point had been taken.

Less than two hours later, they were back on top of the plateau.

With CT-3636.

On the litter.

He had grudgingly accepted that this was his only true option for completing the exercise and hopefully remaining in ARC training. CT-7567 had made it easier for him by conferring with him on every decision; and the men of the platoon comported themselves with respect and deference. After all, they knew that any officer who worked directly for such a renowned Jedi as General Plo Koon had to be one of the best, regardless of the gruff manner he displayed. Even CT-6116 had resigned himself to the fact that his recommendation had been overridden, and so he had set his mind to making sure that the commander was as comfortable and protected as possible.

And considering what lay ahead, it would not necessarily be an easy job.

The plateau was riddled with tiny streams that had swollen into miniature torrents. And the peaks to the north, shrouded in cloud, hid what all of the clones already suspected: it was still raining at the higher levels. That rain would keep the streams raging.

After an hour traversing the rocky ground, CT-7567 called a halt. He called over Double-Ones and Jesse. He dropped to one knee beside CT-3636 who pushed up onto his elbows.

"We've been moving in a relatively north direction towards the point, but we've been avoiding as many of these streams as possible. We're running out of real estate. We're going to have to cross at some area," 7567 stated. "Let's see the map."

Double-Ones produced the map.

"A lot of these streams don't even show on the map, Sir," Double-Ones pointed out. "They're so small, they probably don't even exist until it rains."

"Where are we on the map right now?" CT-3636 asked.

"Just about here, Sir," Double-Ones replied.

CT-3636 studied the map. "I need to get to my feet. I need to see the terrain."

"We'll help you up," 7567 offered. "Just be careful or we'll have the medic breathing down our throats."

Once on his feet, CT-3636 scanned the scene before him. They were on the top of a low rise, but it was high enough to afford a good view of the ground that stood between them and the mountain towards which they were headed. Half a kilometer straight ahead, a fairly wide stream roiled well beyond its boundaries. There were no walls or embankments to use from which to launch a cable crossing; and it was too wide and too fast to risk a water crossing.

Thirty degrees to the east, there offered a much more likely prospect. Just out of the peaks, where the same river came down onto the plateau, it emerged between two steep, rocky banks that formed a flume of sorts.

This would be the crossing point.

"It shouldn't take us more than an hour to get there," Jesse opined. "The ground between here and there looks like it might a big trickier than what we've been crossing. The rocks have been getting more broken up the farther we've gone."

"Impress on the men the need to watch their step," CT-7567 instructed. "Get everyone on their feet. Time to move out."

The platoon was on the move once again. By the time they came to the river's edge, the men were spattered up to their waists in mud, but their spirits were still good. The prospect of getting off the plateau and into the foothills had much to do with it. Not to mention the fact that the clouds in the southern sky were blackening again – a sign that more weather was on the way.

The moment they came to a halt, CT-6116 was at CT-3636's side to check on him, although CT-7567 first helped the commander to his feet to survey the scene.

"Well, Commander, this should prove interesting," 7567 remarked. "Any ideas?" he asked, although he himself already had quite a few thoughts on how to cross.

"Call a few of the men over, see what they can come up with," 3636 replied.

It was not the answer CT-7567 had expected, but he could tell by looking at him that the commander was starting to feel the effects of his injuries. He was peaked—even for a clone. The alertness in his eyes was giving way to a cloudiness that might have been due to the painkiller as much as the pain. And even the act of speaking seemed to leave him breathless. The trip over the uneven, rocky terrain had been difficult – even for a man on a litter.

CT-7567 nodded. "Will do." He called over CT-4441, CT-5579, and Double-Ones as CT-6116 helped 3636 back down onto the litter.

"Take a look and give me ideas," the lieutenant said as he surveyed the scene himself.

It didn't take thirty seconds before CT-4441 came forth with his suggestion.

"We can get a cable across here," CT-4441 suggested. He turned so he could speak to both commanding officers. "We could get a couple men to the other side and then send another cable back to attach to your litter, Commander. Then we could pull you across. We could rig some straps to these bars and suspend the litter from the first cable—"

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," CT-3636 said.

"You can't pull yourself across—" CT-6116 began, but 3636 cut him off with perhaps more bite than he'd intended.

"I know my limitations, medic," he said thickly. "Don't interrupt us again."

CT-7567 felt a stab of embarrassment on 6116's part. There had been no reason to be insulting and dismissive of the medic. But if he thought, for one second, that CT-6116 would wilt under the commander's brusqueness, he was wrong. Apparently, the medic had reached his limit of accommodation.

"With all due respect, Commander, I could very easily declare right here and now that you're medically unfit to retain command, and I can put the lieutenant in sole command of the platoon," came the response, spoken with fierce calm and certitude. "I may be a cadet, but a cadet in the field medic advanced school. I don't have to be on active duty yet to make a call. The fact is this: you cannot pull yourself across that river. You either go on the litter or we find a place to shelter you until the rest of the platoon gets to the finish line." A pause during which he pinned the commander with a piercing stare. "Sir . . . trust us to do our jobs."

CT-7567 waited with curiosity and not a little smattering of anxiety to see what CT-3636's reaction would be. He felt completely put on the spot when the commander looked to him, apparently to see if he agreed with 6116's assertions.

CT-7567 was an honest man, if not always an obedient or orthodox one. "I agree with CT-6116." Then he directed his gaze pointedly at the medic. "Not necessarily his manner of addressing the issue, but the general idea that we should use CT-4441's suggestion."

CT-3636 waited before answering. At last, he said, somewhat unexpectedly, "I hadn't said I wasn't going to take his suggestion. I said I didn't like the sound of it." Now, it was his turn to dress down the medic, but he was not as caustic as was his normal demeanor. "If CT-6116 hadn't interrupted, if he'd let me finish speaking, he would have heard me say that, even though I didn't like the idea, I knew there was no other choice." A pause. "You have a lot of power as a medic, but it doesn't put you in charge and it doesn't mean you automatically have wisdom. Next time, let the person finish talking."

CT-6116 actually appeared to flush a bit. "Understood. My apologies, Commander."

The moment was over, and the discussion of the crossing recommenced.

When it was over and CT-4441 and CT-7567 moved off to get the men organized, CT-3636 motioned to 6116. The medic dropped back to one knee beside him.

"You're a smart guy, 6116," the commander complimented. "And I'm glad you're here." He reached up in a flash with his good arm, took hold of 6116's collar and yanked him down so their faces were within inches of each other. And with genuine humor—humor he'd not expected to find within himself, certainly not under these circumstances—he warned, "But if you ever jump in my words again, you'll find your first active duty assignment will be with the mortuary teams."

CT-6116 grinned. "I wouldn't want that, Sir. I won't interrupt you again, I give you my word." His grin broadened, "Unless I think it's warranted."

One of Predator Squad's cadets fired the cable, landing a solid bullseye in the wall of rock on the far side of the flume. In front of the wall was a good sized ledge, at least two meters deep, that ran the length of the watery chute before making a gradual climb up to the level ground about fifty meters downstream.

"Nice shot," 7567 praised him. "Now secure this end."

Once the near side was planted, CT-7567 made to begin his crossing.

CT-5579 spoke out. "Lieutenant, are you sure you wouldn't rather have one of us go first? Test it out?"

CT-7567 regarded him with cool authority. "I'm always first, kid."

And that settled it.

The river at this point was no more than twenty meters across, churning and spitting below the cable. It was filled with flotsam from the higher elevations: tree limbs, massive clumps of earth and rock, furze bushes, and unidentifiable jetsam.

CT-7567 began his crossing using a front crawl with his body on top of the cable. But the turbulence coming up from the flume soon made him change his posture to a hanging ankle-cross. He made it to the other side in a little more than thirty seconds, did a quick check on the cable anchorage, then motioned for the next man to come over.

CT-5579 was that next man, and his crossing was without incident.

Three more men came over, then it was the commander's turn. His litter was rigged below the first cable. A second cable, fired from the far side, was fixed to one end of the litter; a third cable to the other end, forming a sort of pulley system.

"Have a good trip, Commander," CT-2080 quipped.

"You'd better hope I do," came the curt reply.

As it turned out, his crossing was smooth and perfectly executed.

As the rest of the men made their crossing, each in turn, CT-7567 joined 3636, 5579, and Double-Ones in looking at the map. They were studying the routes through the mountains.

"It looks like this pass runs just below the tree line, and the map only shows the one river at the bottom of the main valley for at least three kilometers. That's where the first feeder stream comes in," Double-Ones pointed out.

"Where are the caves?" 7567 inquired.

"Here, about one-point-five klicks, just as we reach the northern foothills," CT-5579 replied.

"What if we stay along the eastern foothills? Is that an option?" the lieutenant asked.

"It's an option, but it's not heading in the direction we want to go," 5579 said. "There don't appear to be any more major crossings between here and the caves. Why would you want to stay along the eastern side, Sir?"

CT-7567 nodded towards the south. "That's why."

All eyes turned southward. The black clouds that had stayed just above the horizon since the platoon had started out that morning were now more than halfway across the plateau and moving quickly.

"Fek and all," Double-Ones cursed. "I've been watching the sky all day. When did they get that close?"

"Within the last hour," 7567 replied. "At that speed, they're going to be fully on top of us in less than two hours. And if they're bringing those tornadoes again, we're going to be in trouble. We've got to hurry the crossing."

"Send over another line," CT-3636 ordered. "We can have two men crossing at a time."

"Yes, Sir," 5579 nodded sharply. He looked back over his shoulder. "4441, tell one of them to fire over another cable and start crossing two at a time. We're up against the weather."

But no sooner had he finished speaking than an outcry went up. Troops on both banks were gesturing towards the flume upstream.

All attention changed focus. A massive, submerged tree had snagged some cranny on the river's bed, and now it reared up out of the water, appearing almost as a demonically possessed figure.

CT-7567's eyes darted toward the cable, and he jumped to his feet. There was a clone little more than halfway across. "Hurry! Move it, trooper!"

Beside him, he heard a man curse under his breath. It was CT-5579. "6116 . . . fek—fek . . . " His voice rose into an urgent scream. "Get the fek off of there! Come on! Go! Go!"

The force of the water had brought the tree upright and now it was forcing it over very slowly, like the needle on a meter; and when it had passed the tipping point, it came crashing back down, only for the trunk end to now tumble up from the water.

"He's not going to make it," CT-4441 swallowed, dropping his pack.

And he was right. The next rotation of the tree brought the trunk down squarely on top of the cable. As the cable was torn from the wall on the far side, it snapped like a snake through air, catching Jesse in the shoulder with such force that he was pushed right over the edge.

But CT-4441 had him by the sleeve. An instant later, Double-Ones was at his side, and together they hauled him to safety.

Or relative safety, as it was. For it appeared that the tree had lodged once again, and the pounding of the water was turned and tilting it towards the ledge. A loud, cracking sound preceded the explosive splintering of one of the branches, which, as it sprung back against the torque being exerted against it, caught the three clones full force, smashing them against the flume wall at the rear of the ledge.

Jesse, dazed and bruised, was nevertheless coherent enough to take action. He stumbled to his feet and began running—staggering—downstream, shrugging off his pack as he went.

"Jesse!" CT-7567 shouted, going after him. He could see a dozen clones on the far side, running full-tilt downstream as well, trying to catch sight of the missing man. He could hear the footfalls of clones following behind him. But it wasn't until they came out of the flume to where the river widened a bit that he caught sight of CT-6116, floundering in the water at the fringes of some broken off branches.

He was about to jump in when a man ran past him and without hesitation flung himself down into the fluss. "Who was that?!"

A gruff and angry voice burst out close behind him. "Fekking, stupid Jesse! Damn it!"

He turned to see CT-4441 beside him, looking like he was about to jump in. CT-7567 grabbed his arm.

"No one else goes into the river!" he commanded. "Let's go! Keep them in sight! Move, troopers!"

In the water, Jesse struggled to get reach CT-6116. There was so much debris that he kept getting hit and spun around to the point where he was having trouble even knowing which way to turn. But at last, he grappled past the jagged branch tips just as 6116's tenuous grip gave way, and the medic disappeared for an instant under the surface, his pack weighing him down like an anchor.

Jesse grabbed him just as he went under, and he found himself being dragged down by the combined weight of 6116's body and pack. Kicking with his feet to stay at least close to the surface, he felt along 6116's chest and waist, released the snaps on the pack and slid it off his shoulders, letting it sink away from them.

Together, the two men came to the surface, and that was when Jesse realized that 6116 was still conscious, though too exhausted or too injured to keep himself afloat. He was not worried about the medic panicking and drowning them both; he was more worried about where they could get to shore before his own strength gave out. He draped an arm over the branch, hoping it would help keep their heads above water until an escape presented itself.

His leg struck against something hard – a submerged rock – then the current swept him past and into another rock. Another followed. It suddenly occurred to Jesse that the river had grown so large and wide at this point that the rocky terrain that had surrounded it had now turned it into the rapids through which he and 6116 were plummeting headlong.

And suddenly, the branch that had been acting as their buoy, reared up like a skeletal hand from a nightmare as it jammed into a crevice below the surface. Jesse tried to weave around it, but the current was too fast and too strong. He lost his grip on the supporting end of the branch, and he and 6116 went crashing through the dagger-like ends of several broken lesser branches until they plowed up against the thickest part which was standing vertically.

Jesse wrapped one arm around the tree while the other arm remained fast around 6116. Directly below them, the stream dropped nearly five meters over a rocky precipice into a churning pool lined with the foam and froth of accumulated detritus. Another fifty meters beyond that, the stream widened even more and slowed down considerably.

Jesse looked to both banks through the spray. There was no sign of his fellow platoon members. He had no idea if any of them were nearby; and even if they had been, it would be a hard reach to get to him and 6116, isolated in the middle of the torrent. He couldn't count on much help; but without any more surprises, he just might be able to get his squad mate past this last bit of fast water and into the slower current. He had to do something soon, for his own body was beginning to fatigue.

"6116!" he shouted over the rushing water.

CT-6116 raised his head and replied with a slurry, "I hear you."

"It's not much further! Can you make it a little further?!"

"Yes, I can make it."

"Then we're going to let go of this tree and go over the fall here!" He drew 6116 tighter against his body; and as he moved, he noticed a dull, throbbing pain in his shoulder and side, in the same area where he had been hit by the cable. Some part of his brain registered that the injury might be troublesome down the road, but there was nothing he could do for it at the moment. He was occupied with much greater concerns.

He was about to push away from the tree, but then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Looking once again to the bank, he felt what might have been a premature sense of relief at the sight of his platoon mates.

From the moment Jesse had jumped into the water after 6116, men on both banks had gone chasing after them.

On the far bank, CT-7567 led the way with the remaining three members of Saber Squad hot on his heels and another half-dozen behind them. The water was moving so fast, they could not keep up with their men in the river. Not to mention the difficulty of the terrain once the river left the flume.

"We can't lose sight of them!" 7567 shouted. "Come on! Move faster! If we can get ahead of them, we can run a cable across!"

But they were not going to be able to get ahead of them. They were, in fact, falling further behind them.

And then abruptly, right at the precipice of a shallow waterfall, Jesse and 6116's forward movement came to a pounding stop as the branch onto which they'd been holding jammed into some below-the-surface trap.

"There! There! This is our chance!" CT-7567 had mastered the calm yell, which went a long way to keeping his men from panicking or overreacting. He turned to Double-Ones. "Get a cable across!"

Double-Ones waved to the men on the other side to clear way; then he fired the cable.

CT-7567 flung one leg over the cable before he felt a hand on his arm.

"Sir, we can't risk you going out there, especially with the commander injured." It was CT-4441. "Let me go out."

"This is my responsibility—"

"It's also your responsibility to get the platoon through the rest of this exercise," 4441 persisted. "Whatever happens here, they're going to need you. Lieutenant, please."

"He's right, Sir," CT-2080.

CT-7567 knew they were speaking the truth, and there was no time to lose. Reluctantly, he conceded with a nod. "Go on. Be careful."

CT-4441 did not hesitate. He pulled down his goggles and began sliding out along the cable.

In the river, Jesse saw his squad mate approaching along the cable that had perfectly threaded between the branches above him.

"It's 4441!" he shouted into 6116's ear. "He's coming out to us!"

He received no response.

"6116? 6116!"

"I hear you."

"Hold on just a little longer, mate!" he urged. "We'll be out of this in—unh! Agghhh!"

The branch shifted, popping free and listing over the fall. Jesse lost his grip on the branch, and together, he and 6116 toppled over the edge and down into the roiling pool below. Jesse clawed and thrashed his way to the surface, keeping one hand buried in the medic's jacket at all times. When they finally broke free of the hissing, spewing trap, it was to find themselves back in the main current, being carried rapidly downstream . . .

. . . and now with nothing to hold onto to keep them afloat. The branch was gone.

Above, on the cable, CT-4441 had hung on for dear life as the branch's movement had snagged the cable, causing it to sway back and forth but without giving way. However, the instant CT-4441 saw that his two squad mates were gone, he let go of the cable and dropped into the water, going over not far behind them.

"4441!" CT-2085-4 cried out.

"Come on! Come on!" CT-7567 shouted as he began racing down the path again.

In the river, 4441 rode the current and struggled to get closer to Jesse and 6116. The river had widened over the flood plain, slowing down though still formidable. This worked to his advantage, and after nearly three minutes of trying to catch up to them, he got a hand on the back of Jesse's collar.

"Jesse!"

"I can't keep—him—a-above water any-more," Jesse gasped.

CT-4441 nabbed a furze bush bobbing along beside him. "Grab on!" He reached out and pulled Jesse into the closely packed branches, still covered with their prickly leaves. "Do you have a good hold on him? Don't let go of him! Whatever you do, don't let go of him."

"I've got him," Jesse replied, using the last of his strength to haul 6116 up just enough to get one of his arms over a clump of furze. He then clamped his own arm down over top of his in an attempt to keep him from slipping loose and getting pulled beneath the surface.

CT-4441 looked to the bank. CT-7567 and the others were following along the path.

"Fire a cable!" he shouted, unheard above the sound of the water. He raised a hand and made a shooting motion.

"He wants us to fire a cable to him!" CT-2080 exclaimed. He drew his blaster and began to affix the cable.

"Wait! Stand by!" CT-7567 ordered. "That's going to be tricky. Who's the best shot?"

"CT-4441, but he's out there in the—" CT-2085-4 replied.

"Hurry! Hurry or they're all going to drown!" CT-2080 barked.

"Lieutenant, I can do it."

CT-7567 turned to see Cadet Bead step forward. "I'm a sure shot," the cadet said with certainty.

"Even with them being in the river?" 7567 asked.

"It won't be a problem, Sir."

"Do it."

Bead affixed the cable, lined up his sites, followed the movement of the furze bush and its passengers for three seconds, then fired. The cable shot through the branches just above CT-4441's head. He reached up, grabbed the cable and wound it around the trunk and branches.

He gave a thumbs up, and the men on the bank began pulling the cable in, dragging the bush and the three clones through the water on a brutally punishing trip to the river's edge. As the bush came into the shallows and began getting caught up on the rocks, CT-2085-4 and CT-2080 waded out into the water along with a handful of others.

CT-4441, seeming no worse for the ordeal, turned to help Jesse, who was running only on adrenaline by this point. His shoulder and side were hurting badly now, or perhaps it was just that he felt it more, given that the immediate threat to his life had been removed. He was barely able to keep his feet, much less offer any help to his half-drowned squad mate. But there were plenty of others there to render assistance.

CT-4441 handed Jesse off to the remaining two squad mates, then he took 6116 under the arms.

"Little Brother! LB! Can you hear me? Are you conscious?!" he asked urgently.

CT-6116 nodded as he coughed up water.

"Come on, let's get out of this fekking river," 4441 said quietly, sounding as if he were on the verge of an emotional display of relief. He carefully got his squad mate upright and handed him out of the furze into the hands of CT-7567 and Double-Ones, where he lolled between them like a drunken man.

As Cadet Bead took the lieutenant's place carrying 6116, CT-7567 turned to CT-4441. "Cadet, are you injured?"

"No, Sir.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. We'll talk about your little adventure later. Right now, I want you to send someone back upstream, back to CT-3636. Tell him what's happened. Tell him he should still continue with the crossing, and ask him if he wants us to come back up that way or if he wants the rest of the platoon to come down here."

"Yes, Lieutenant. I'll send someone right away."

"And—do you have another medic?" CT-7567 asked, already knowing the answer. Standard practice was one medic per platoon, even though all clones were trained in field medicine.

"No, Sir, but . . . CT-1781 in Predator Squad, he's got a good feel for this stuff," 4441 replied. "I'll get him up here as soon as possible."

"Good man," CT-7567 nodded.

"Lieutenant!"

CT-7567 turned towards the sound of the voice. It was one of Quest Squad's troopers. He was pointing towards the southern sky.

"Oh no," the lieutenant breathed.

The clouds were starting to show circular motion.

There was no time to dither.

Any moment, CT-7567 was sure, the sky would fill with funnels.

The platoon was on the stretch of open, rocky ground between the river and the foothills, split into two locations, with injured men.

And nowhere to take cover.

Note: another bow to Rex's "I'm always first, kid."

And a reference back to CT-4441's (Top) penchant for calling CT-6116 (Kix) LB or Little Brother, much to Kix's irritation.

The commercial? If you've seen the talking raccoons commercial where the one eats the bad-tasting garbage, you'll know he says it tastes like "mango chutney and burnt hair." Loved it, so it has a little appearance here.