Dear Reader, Thank you to my reviewers: Darth Pancake, Meridian Pony, Sued13, Shadow Wanderer, The Unnamed Guest, and Undercoverdreamer 450. It makes me so happy to read the reviews and know folks are enjoying the tale. Uh, I hope everyone is still happy after this chapter. The quote at the beginning is from a song by Big Country. It has long been one of my favorite songs with amazing lyrics. I think it suits the clones very well. Happy reading! One more chapter to go in this little Kettrun Arc, and when I get back from Germany, it's off we go to the Citadel for a short bit. Peace, CS
Chapter 84 Soldiers in Search of a War
"We lay the night in anguish, snakes drawn out by the tide.
The compass of decision falls always on one side.
We can do nothing more than move headlong through the gloom.
The thorn between our lips is the missionary's tune.
We stand as thick as vines, though the fruit is torn away.
There is no beauty here, friend. Just death and dark decay.
We save no souls. We break no promises. Yay-i-o!
Lost Patrol
B. Watson (Big Country)
"Fek and all . . . eh . . . damn . . . "
Bads could barely gather his thoughts. Everything hurt. Everything felt . . . disconnected. But if he'd been blown to pieces, he wouldn't be thinking at all. Maybe he was only partly torn apart.
Unh . . . and now he was shaking. He must have lost a lot of blood.
"Bads, come on. Bads . . . come on. We've got to go . . . come on, come on."
Bads opened his eyes to see Top staring down him, the signature Bespin rabbit image stretching above his visor.
"What the . . . fek, are we alive?"
"Not for long if we don't get moving."
Top was helping him to sit up. A quick glance around him showed a jungle bereft of foliage, the ground littered with bodies – dead and injured.
"Pitch's plan worked," Bads said.
"Yeah, but it's not over yet," Top cautioned. "Some of these bastards are still alive. And more are probably on the way. Come on, we need to get to the ship." He pulled Bads to his feet. "Can you stand?"
"Yeah, I'm okay," Bads answered. "I just feel like—like, ugh, nothing fits right."
"Well, the back of your armor looks like it's seen better days," Top replied. "But it saved your life."
Bads reached a hand behind him, but instead of the usual smooth surface of the poly-stein, he felt the jagged, twisted edges of melted armor. He leaned forward to look at the back of Top's armor. "Wow, it saved yours, too."
"Yeah, thank the Force," Top said. "We can marvel about our armor later, but we've got to go – now." They began heading towards the jungle's edge. Top opened his comm. "Captain, are you and Pitch alright?"
"We're okay," Rex replied. "I can see both of you. Head for the ship."
"Yes, Sir." Top then added, "You can probably make it back down, Sir. We can take out whatever's left, long enough for you to get down."
"We'll head down further up the ridge. That area below us is going to be crawling with more of them soon," Rex replied. "Don't wait for us. Just go."
"Roger. We'll clear out any that might still be breathing on our way back."
Up above on the ridge, Rex surveyed the destruction below. "Pitch, you never cease to amaze me," he commented. "Look at this. You calculated it perfectly."
"It's a calling," Pitch replied. "It's my passion."
"I'm just glad you're on our side."
"Well, it may have done nothing more than buy us a minute or two more," Pitch replied. "Hopefully, that's enough time for everyone to get to the ship and get out of here."
"Us, included," Rex agreed. "Let's go."
"I'm leaving behind pieces of armor as we run," Bads said, trying to inject some sense of humor into the situation. "I'll be stark naked when we get to the ship."
"It'll be like looking in a mirror," Top replied. "Literally."
"That Pitch is something else," Bads remarked. "I thought I knew explosives, but he's a fekking genius."
"He is," Top replied. "But we're not out of this yet. He bought us time, but they won't give up the chase. We need to pick up the pace. We're almost to the edge of the jungle. I can see the plain."
Thirty seconds later, they encountered Hardcase who had been concealed twenty meters within the tree line and now stepped out to meet them. "Top. Bads. Are you alright? Where's the captain and Pitch?"
"We're okay," Top replied.
Strings and Coze emerged from their hiding places. "By the Force, what happened to your armor? It's completely melted in the back."
"Pitch happened to it," Top replied.
"Where is Pitch? And Rex?" Hardcase asked again with emphasis.
"They're coming down further up the ridge," Top replied. "We split up to try and slow down the enemy. Pitch did what he does best and blew a ton of them to smithereens. But it won't be long before more show up."
As he spoke, something exploded in the trees above them, and once more, the air was filled with blaster fire.
"Take cover!" Top shouted, diving into a nearby depression, Bads following right behind him.
"Well, it didn't take them long to fekking regroup," he thought ruefully. He opened his comm. "Commander Cody, we're at the edge of the plain. We're taking fire. Do you want us to try to hold them here?"
There was only the briefest pause before the response came back. "Continue towards the ship. We have a better chance of fighting them off if our firepower is concentrated. Plus, we have the ship's guns. Try to get here as fast as you can."
It was not an optimal answer, but everyone knew it was also not an optimal situation. The commander was making the best out of the worst, and now all that remained was for the rest of them to obey orders and make for the ship.
"You ready to make a run for it, Bads?"
Bads gripped Top's arm. "I can't. I'm hit."
Top was stunned. Bads hadn't screamed, hadn't cursed, hadn't given any indication he'd been injured. "Where?"
"My hip."
"Bads is hit!" Top cried out, then to Bads, "Can you still run?"
"I don't think so, Sir," came the trembling reply, spoken through gritted teeth.
"It'll be alright," Top assured him. "We're going to get out of this. I'll carry you, if I have to."
Top was contemplating what to do next when a light thump sounded to his left. He looked up to see a grenade sitting at nearly eye level about five meters away. Without any conscious thought, he turned his back to it, clutched Bads to him, drawing the wounded man's head down against his own chest, fell flat on the ground, and closed his eyes.
The force of the explosion passed mostly over them, pressed flat as they were in the shallow hole. Other than a sharp and momentary pain in his left calf, Top felt nothing of the explosion, except for the shock wave and the rubble it brought down on him and Bads.
"Bads? Are you alright?" he asked, raising his head.
Bads nodded.
"Top! Keep down! Do you hear me?! Stay down!" It was Hardcase's voice.
Top complied.
Strings and Coze tossed two white phosphorous grenades. Within a second, the sun-hot phosphorous erupted like some deadly flower. Smoke from the phosphorous and now burning underbrush rapidly created a floating haze of smoke, dirt and dust particles thick enough to obscure the enemy's view.
The two air crewmen rushed to where Top was hauling Bads to his feet.
"Take him! Take him!" Top ordered with urgency as a volley of blaster bolts came streaking through the curtain of debris.
Strings and Coze practically lifted Bads off the ground between them and were out onto the plain before another heartbeat could pass. Top and Hardcase emerged from the jungle seconds later, two hundred meters of waist-high grass stretching away before them.
Fifty meters into the plain, Top felt the pain in his lower leg. A piece of shrapnel or flying debris from the grenade's detonation must have sliced into the back of his leg. The muscle had been damaged. The pain was tolerable, but the weakness was quickly making itself known. The muscle would not endure much longer.
Meanwhile, the enemy, well-disciplined and determined, had gathered up its survivors and was moving quickly now, taking up several positions just within the jungle treeline. They poured a withering fire across the plains, figuring that density alone would catch at least some of the attackers. More reinforcements from the camp continued to join them.
Top had lost sight of Strings, Coze and Bads, but at least they had disappeared into the grass ahead of him. They were certainly headed in the right direction. Hardcase, on the other hand, had stopped several times to spray the treeline with blaster fire, and Top had lost track of him, as well.
And now, he was going to have to stop for a moment to give his leg a rest. He dropped down to one knee in the grass and listened to the melee going on around him. He could hear the sounds of the ship's guns as they sent bolts flying over the plain towards the treeline where the enemy was ensconced. And then there followed a peculiar swishing sound culminating in popping and crackling. It was a sound Top was not familiar with. After a few seconds, he rose again, hobbled another twenty or thirty yards, then took a knee once more. It was during this brief pause that the smell of smoke wafted past him.
"Smoke?" He straightened up just enough to raise his visor above the top of the grass. "Oh, great . . . "
Kix had taken up a spot standing on the ship's wing. From this vantage point, and using binoculars, he could get a clear and expanded view over the plain. And with three of his squad mates out there, he felt more than just a commitment to the mission.
He had often been fearful on his brothers' accounts; they were, after all, prone to being impetuous—well, maybe not Jesse or Pitch, but certainly Top and Hardcase. They were, all four of them, selfless to a fault, ready to throw away their own lives in order to save another's. And they were the ultimate risk-takers. No job too difficult. No task too daunting. No risk not worth taking, if it were in the pursuit of victory.
Kix had grown used to spending a good portion of every battle wondering whether all—of any—of his brothers would return safely.
He was wondering that now. This mission had gone haywire since the beginning. From the unexpected appointment of Commander Ki'weya as mission commander to faulty or incomplete intelligence, to the presence of rhydonium . . . it had been one surprise after another, and Kix wondered how it could have been expected to end any other way than how it was ending now.
Two injured men. Another on the way. Those were not good numbers for such a small incursion.
He was following the progress of Strings and Coze across the plain, as they carried Bads in; but he had to admit that his attention lingered more on the progress of his two squad mates. Hardcase, in typical fashion, was making his retreat a costly one. He had swung slightly wide in a westerly direction as he crossed the plain, stopping every twenty or so meters to spatter the treeline with blaster fire.
Top was making a direct line for the ship, but clearly something was not right. Kix knew Top was as fast as the rabbit adorning his helmet; but as he watched his squad mate's progress through the field, he could detect an awkwardness to his gait.
"He's injured," he said out loud to no one but himself. He could inform Hardcase and direct him to divert and lend assistance. He was about to do just that when, from the treeline, a series of projectiles, like small rockets with blazing tails, burst across the plain with a swishing sound. They landed in various places across the grassy field, and within seconds, flames began to show.
"They're burning the field . . . " Kix gasped. His voice rose into a shout. "They're burning the field!"
And then, all hell broke loose.
"Oh, hell . . . Captain, this looks bad," Pitch breathed. "We can't get to the ship going across the plain. Everything's on fire."
Rex was one step ahead of him. He spoke into his comm. "Cody! Cody! Status report!"
"We're missing five, plus you two," Cody replied calmly. "An 808th assault element is six minutes out." A pause. "Do not—I repeat, do not try to get to the ship. Go back up on the ridge, and we'll come get you."
"Cody—"
"Cody out."
Rex struggled with himself for the next few seconds, then he turned to Pitch. "Let's go back up."
Kix leaped down from the wing as Strings and Coze arrived with Bads.
"Where are you injured?"
"My hip," came the strained reply.
"Get him inside," Kix ordered. He followed them, turning to take one more look out over the plain. He could now see Top, forty-perhaps fifty-meters away. No sign of Hardcase. "Damn you two . . . always trying to make me—"
His words were cut off by the sound and impact of an explosion in the field.
"They're launching grenades!" This from BB, who was acting as a lookout from the cockpit.
"Continue firing towards the tree line," Cody ordered calmly.
"That was awfully close," Ki'weya noted. He was standing at Cody's side. "Another twenty yards, and they would have hit the ship."
"The ship can withstand grenades, Commander," Cody replied. "I'm just hoping they're not packing something with a bit more strength."
"Not much to pin your hopes on, is it, Commander?" Ki'weya pressed. "You still have two men out there. Do you think they're going to survive all this? Fire, grenades, blaster shots?"
"You'd be surprised, Commander Ki'weya," Cody replied. "I wouldn't put anything past Top and Hardcase."
"Damn it . . . keep going . . . it's right there . . . keep going!" Top demanded of himself. The ship was less than fifty meters away. Mind over matter was the key here. Self-discipline. He could coax a little more from his injured leg. This was not the sort of trivial wound that was going to stop him.
To his left, the field was burning. He could feel the heat and taste the smoke. Even with his helmet filter on, the seals in his armor had been broken in Pitch's explosion, making the filters less effective. All around him, grenades were exploding, blaster bolts were whizzing by. Every time he straightened up and raised his head above the grass, he felt as if he were in a shooting gallery.
But he also knew that the fighting was getting closer to the ship, and if they did not get out of there soon, they might not make it out at all.
"One more good run," he told himself. "One more. It's not far."
Keeping hunched over, he began shuffling towards the ship again, while the field continued to be destroyed around him. He was closing the distance. Forty-five meters. Forty meters. He could see BB in the cockpit . . .
A sudden whistling sound told him some sort of munition was coming in. He dropped to the ground just as the force of the explosion sent the field around him erupting into the air.
Kix gave Bads a quick double-pat on the cheek, not necessarily as a gesture of comfort but as a test for shock. "The hypo should kick in in about twenty seconds. You'll be okay. It didn't hit the bone. I know it hurts like hell, but you'll be okay." Then to Strings. "Keep an eye on him."
Kix went back out and was horrified by how much the situation had deteriorated in just the last minute. There were at least two dozen patches of burning grass, craters of barren earth kicked up by the grenades, and plumes of billowing smoke spreading over the plain.
Neither Top nor Hardcase were anywhere to be seen.
And then suddenly, a splash of white appeared almost directly ahead of him, barely thirty yards out, in the direction in which he'd earlier been watching Top's progress.
Kix drew in a breath of relief. Top was accounted for. Now, where the hell was Hardcase?
An odd whistling sound drew his attention. He instinctively jumped back behind one of the ship's landing struts as the munition landed, but the impact did not reach the ship. When he looked up again, the field where only seconds earlier he'd seen Top . . . the place was blasted and burning.
"No . . . no . . . NO!" Kix could barely catch his breath. "Top!" He sprang forward, running headlong into the field. "Top! Top!"
"Kix! Kix, get back here!" Cody called after him. "That's an order! Kix!"
KIx ignored him. He raced through the grass, not even attempting to conceal himself.
Cody was furious beyond words, but the sudden appearance of Hardcase beside him helped allay some of that fury.
"What the hell was that? That was no grenade!" Hardcase blurted out.
"It was a mortar," Cody replied coolly, adding with well-honed control. "And I think we've lost Top."
Hardcase felt as if he'd misheard him. There was no way Top could be gone. Damn, the guy was indestructible. He immediately opened his helmet comm.
"Top? Top, come in! Top!"
"Kix ran out there after him," Cody went on. "I don't think he's going to find anything, and he's going to end up getting himself killed."
"I can go bring him back."
"You have one minute."
From the cockpit, BB's voice came through their comms very clearly. "Commander! The firing . . . it's stopped."
They all stood still to listen. The pilot was right. While the sounds of the burning fires roared across the plain, they no longer had the accompaniment of blaster fire or explosions.
"Do you think the 808th is here and has taken them out?" Hardcase asked.
Before Cody could answer, BB spoke again. "They're coming! I can see the enemy coming across the field! They're headed this way!"
"Then that's it," Cody said grimly. "We've got to go. Now."
"But Commander—" Hardcase began.
"Don't argue with me. Get onboard."
"I—I can't leave . . . " Hardcase swallowed down his protest. He'd never disobeyed orders before. He wasn't going to start now. "Yes, Commander—"
As he spoke, a splash of green and black flashed past them in the direction of the field.
"Oh, I don't believe this . . . " Cody groaned. Things just kept going from bad to worse.
Kix might have been terrified, but he was also so well trained that the terror could do nothing more than add to his adrenaline. And the fear itself was not because of what was going on around him; it was on account of what he might find. It was inconceivable that Top had been killed. But the more he shouted into his comm only to be met with silence, the more likely it grew that the inconceivable had happened.
He picked his way through the grass, coming to the scorched and blasted earth where the mortar had hit. There was no body. No pieces of body. No fragments of armor. And for a moment, this gave him hope; he renewed his shouting with increased vigor, moving into the grass surrounding the impact site.
And then he found himself being yanked violently to the ground.
"What the fek are you doing?!"
Kix, stunned, could not find his voice.
"What are you doing out here, damn it?!"
Top's gruff, brutal manner slowly brought Kix back, and he managed to reply, "I—I thought you were injured, so I came . . . I came . . . " Then the bemusement turned to indignant anger. "Why the fek didn't you answer my comm?! I thought you were dead, idiot!"
"Because it's broken, you tat-wit! Damn you, Kix! Now, I have to get us both safely to the ship!"
"I saw you! I know you're injured," Kix rebuffed. "I can carry you. Come on, over my shoulder."
"The hell with that," Top refused. "You can lend me an arm, but I sure as hell ain't going over your shoulder."
"I don't care how we do it, but we need to do something fast," Kix replied, taking Top's arm and draping it around his neck. "We don't have any time left—"
The grass behind them parted. A trio of terrorists emerged.
Neither clone was armed, Top having lost his weapon in the explosion, Kix having left his behind when he'd run out to find his squad mate. But it became evident very quickly that the terrorists had no intention of killing the two men outright; and the prospect of being taken prisoner, tortured, and used for propaganda was more galling than the thought of death on the battlefield.
Well, if they were going to try and take them prisoner, they would get a good fight for their efforts.
But there was no fight. There was no prisoner-taking.
Instead, there was Commander Ki'weya.
It wasn't even fair, really. The padawan appeared to drop from the sky in a somersault, and with a single slice of his light saber, cut all three assailants in half. Then, without any flourish or fanfare, he turned to the two clones.
"Now, we need to go. There are hundreds of them coming across the field." He reached down, hoisted Top over his shoulder—meeting no protests—and the three of them made for the ship.
"Commander Cody, this is Captain Snap. We're coming in 075. I show that you're still on the ground."
"We're lifting off now," Cody replied. "I've still got two men out there, up on the ridge."
"We'll take the ground battle from here," Snap said. "But let us get some of these rats back into their holes before you try taking off. Right now, you'd be a nice big target."
"Copy that. Snap, there are a lot of them – hundreds, I think."
"This was their largest training camp," Snap came back. "They probably have a couple thousand men in reserve, but don't worry. We've got it now."
"Looks like the 808th has arrived, Sir," Pitch remarked.
"Good ole Snap," Rex nodded. "You can always count on him. We were in ARC training together, you know."
"Yes, Sir, so I'd heard," Pitch replied. "We never got to meet him."
"Well, that's because you were too busy making my job all the more exciting," Rex said.
"I think, these days there's enough excitement to go around, wouldn't you agree, Sir?"
Rex considered. "Yeah, you could call it that. Personally, I don't like being set up for failure."
"It's not a total failure, is it, Captain? We did blow up a lot of the camp, and we've sure as hell killed a lot of terrorists tonight . . . today. It's morning."
"Morning on another day of fighting." Rex's voice was almost whimsical.
"Huh, what would we be without the fighting?" Pitch asked.
Rex took a deep breath. "We'd be soldiers in search of a war."
"General Skywalker, we were not expecting you. I take it you're here to check up on your team."
General Medge, the Sixth Army Commander, had been trying to think of how to handle this unexpected, though not unwelcome, visit ever since Skywalker had first contacted the fleet to request landing permission. Unlike General Pehna'qua, Medge actually admired Skywalker's fortitude and aggressive spirit. Skywalker was a field general, like himself, and he appreciated that.
Medge had received Skywalker in his private quarters aboard the Portica, the former's flagship. His greeting had been accompanied by a proffered glass of Salus Pen, one of the finer spirits to be found in this region of space.
Anakin accepted the glass. "That's exactly why I'm here. It's a dangerous mission."
"You will be glad to know the mission is complete."
Anakin inclined his head slightly. "I thought it might be by the time I got here. Was it a success?"
Medge was particular in his response. "In certain respects, yes. In others, far from it."
This answer raised the concern in Anakin's heart. "My men?"
"All alive. You had some injuries. None too serious." A pause during which Medge took a swig from his own glass. "The 808th, on the other hand, took heavy losses covering the team's retreat." He paced over to the window and looked down at the planet below. "If there was one thing this mission demonstrated, it was that we are woefully deficient in the intelligence department."
"How so?" Anakin asked.
"There was rhydonium on site. And apparently, a great deal of it." He shook his head. "That necessitated a change to the entire plan. And it almost cost the entire team their lives." He turned to face his fellow general. "As it stands, though, your men did blow up about sixty percent of the structures. They killed hundreds of terrorists. The camp will never be able to be used again. So, in that sense it was a success." A deep sigh. "It was a failure in both intelligence and the fact that more than three-quarters of the remaining troopers in the 808th died to make sure your men made it out safely."
"I'm sorry to hear that. I know how it feels. It's happened to me, as well."
"You'll be glad to know your men comported themselves with the utmost professionalism. They're good. Everything I've ever heard about the 501st . . . they lived up to it."
"Where are they now?"
"They're on board the Stellis, still debriefing, I would imagine. I can have General Shyfa show you to them."
"Thank you, General Medge. I'd appreciate that."
"You're a lucky man. This will heal up nicely in about a week, though it will take at least a month to get to full strength again. Here's an order for daily bacta sessions, and a two-week convalescence."
"Thanks, doc," Top said gratefully, sliding off the table to his feet.
"Now, you need to give it some rest, let it heal," the doctor added, noting the vigor with which his patient had jumped off the table.
"I'll make sure he takes it easy." This from Kix who was standing near the doorway.
"Very good," the doctor nodded. "Do you need help getting to the barracks?"
"I'll help him." Again, Kix.
They stepped out into the hallway.
Kix gave a slight grin. "He said you were lucky. He has no idea just how lucky."
Top was silent. Uncharacteristically silent.
"Does it still hurt?" Kix asked. "You're limping. I can help you—"
In the blink of an eye, Top had turned and slammed him against the wall. "Don't you ever do that again! Do you hear me?!"
Kix regarded him evenly without speaking.
"Why did you do that? Why did you run out there? You could have gotten yourself killed." Top had drawn close enough that Kix could see the trembling of the muscles of his jaw as he fought to maintain his composure.
Again, Kix was silent.
"You'd better say something, because you scared me to death down there. Were you trying to get blown apart?!"
"You're asking me that?" Kix finally spoke up.
"You're damned right I am."
"I saw that you were injured—"
"I wasn't!"
Kix regarded him incredulously. "Yes, you were! How can you stand here and deny—"
"It—it wasn't serious! I could have made it back—damn it . . . damn it, LB, you shouldn't have done that," Top groaned. "If anything had happened to you . . . it would have been all my fault."
Kix regarded him with a gentle smile. "I'm a medic, Top. It's what I do."
"Well—well next time, be more—be more careful!" Top replied, some of his usual bluster pushing through.
"We both made it. That's what's important," Kix said. He reached up and wrapped his fingers around Top's forearms while his brother still held him pinned to the wall. "You always say we live together, we fight together, we die together. Well, it sure looked like you were trying your damned best to break that promise."
"I was trying to get back to the ship," Top replied. "And there you were, thinking you needed to protect me. That's not the way it works, LB."
Kix scowled. "I don't know why you think it's okay for you and the others to worry about me, but I'm not allowed to worry about you. Why do you—all of you—why do you insist on treating me differently?"
"Because you are different," Top stated. "You've always been different, LB."
"That doesn't mean I need protecting—"
"Oh yes, you do. You do. And I'll tell you why," Top insisted. "You're not just any other soldier, LB. You're a medic – the best medic in the battalion, and we can't afford to lose you—"
"So, I'm a medic. That's not why you all act the way you do—"
"You're right. It's not. So, let's be honest. You know your history. We know your history. We were there! We all know you're . . . emotional and impulsive—"
"So are you, and that combination seems to work for you," Kix cut him off.
"That's because I know when to let my impulses take over and when to rein them in. You don't. You just say what you want to say when you want to say it, do what you want to do when you want to do it; and you don't think through the consequences because you only live in the moment. Didn't you learn a damned thing on Kamino?"
Kix looked at him with warmth. "I know that you're the only reason I'm here. You and the rest of the squad. But Kamino is long behind us. Saber Squad is my family. What else do I need to know? Did you really think I could stand by and do nothing when I saw you were injured? You should know better."
Top lowered his head, forehead to forehead, as was his way. "Just promise me you won't do it again."
"You know I can't promise that, Top," Kix replied honestly.
"I know." Top sighed. "That's why I love you, LB. You think about everyone but yourself. I'll never understand it, but I love you for it. We all do."
The cantine was as good a place as any.
At least it had a large viewport from which one could view the starscape. Hell, even Kettrun, the terrorist haven, was beautiful and gem-like from space.
And he could have a drink, too, if he wanted one.
Eh, but he didn't want one. Not right now. The truth was, what he most desired was a few hours of sleep. Just a few. But the Stellis was an older model battleship with only sleeping tubes for its clone crew. Hell, even the clone officers only rated sleeping tubes.
Rex hadn't slept in a tube since Kamino. He sure as hell didn't feel like slipping into one now, no matter how tired he might be.
He'd been to the ship's infirmary earlier. Cody and Top had already been released with a two-week convalescence order and one-week of daily bacta therapy. Blackie and Bads were also faring well, due to be released in a day or two with slightly longer convalescence.
All things considered, they were lucky. Things could have been much worse.
For the 808th, they had been much worse.
He was reminded of that now as Jedi General Shyfa joined him.
"Am I disturbing you, Captain?"
"Not at all, Sir," Rex replied.
They stood together without speaking for several moments, looking out the window and watching the planet rotating silently below them.
At last, Shyfa spoke, "I'm sorry how things turned out down there."
"So am I," Rex replied. "I'm . . . sorry about the 808th."
"They were able to get you and your men safely out of there," Shyfa said. "That was their task." A pause. "Sixth Army has already decided to reconstitute the battalion."
"I'm glad." It was a reflexive response. The truth was Rex had no feelings one way or the other about reconstituting a battalion that had lost over eighty percent of its men. It was becoming a more common occurrence throughout the Grand Army as the war wore on.
"And you know . . . the battalion will need a new first-in-command," Shyfa put forth gently.
Rex gave an imperceptible nod.
"You and Commander Cody knew Captain Snap well," the Jedi general ventured. "He told me you were all in ARC training together. He was a fine officer . . . and a good man."
"He was," Rex agreed, not willing to discuss the loss any further.
"He's going to be hard to replace," Shyfa went on. "I relied very heavily on him. My padawan thought the world of him." A pause. "To tell the truth, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."
Rex regarded him sidelong. "About Captain Snap?"
"No . . . about Lieutenant Top."
And suddenly, Rex understood. "You want him to replace Captain Snap."
"The battalion's going to need a special kind of leader to join together what's left with the new troopers that will be coming on board," Shyfa went on. "I would like a by-name request for Lieutenant Top, but I won't put one in unless you agree."
Rex hesitated. This was the last thing he wanted to have on his mind, and yet here it was, and he could not pretend the conversation had not taken place. "Have you talked to Top about it?"
"No. Again, I wanted to speak to you first." Shyfa took a few steps back into the interior of the room. "My padawan, Ki'weya, is a very difficult man to impress, but your lieutenant managed to do so. It was his suggestion. The question is . . . are you willing to release him to be reassigned?"
Rex sighed. "The question is whether or not Top wants to be reassigned." He rubbed his hands together. "He's very attached to his squad. I'm not sure he would agree to go anywhere without them." A pause. "And I'm not sure I could bear to see him go."
"Will you think about it? Ask him?"
Rex nodded slowly. "I will."
General Shyfa's wrist-comm buzzed.
"General Shyfa, this is bridge ops. Please report to hangar bay 4 to greet General Skywalker."
Rex's head came up.
"This is General Shyfa. On my way." He looked to Rex. "I wasn't expecting this. Care to join me, Captain?"
"Definitely, Sir."
NOTES:
So for those of you who were concerned about me killing off a character (most of you thought it would be Top), I hope you're not disappointed. I am notoriously fond of my OC clones and rarely would I be able to kill one off if I have spent a good deal of time developing him. Top falls into that category.
The scene with Top and Kix outside the infirmary is one that I like very much, and when I do finally get around to telling Saber Squad's story, it will become clear why his squad mates are so protective of him at the same time as conceding that he is a better man than any of them.
And lastly . . . Ki'weya turned out not to be so very bad.