Dear Reader, Sorry it's taken me forever to get this up! No excuse, really. I just kept wanting to add "secondary" storylines to what we see on the screen in the actual episode. You see, I still love my OCs (DB, Ajax, Sempe, Sixer, etc), and Saber Squad, so I try to work them in where I can. Also, as I think I wrote in my intro for the last chapter, I had to change some dialogue, because it seemed unrealistic to me that Fives would never have met Hardcase; and in my story, they definitely knew each other. So, you'll see some changes there. Anyway, just getting started with Umbara. I hope you enjoy. Peace, CS

Chapter 95 Darkness on Umbara

"We were waiting in the forest, keeping dark behind the wall, what is hidden in our hearts.
Absolve us of all worries, for our fate is in the hands of a demon, not a god."

Porroh-Man
Stewart Adamson (Big Country)

"Rough, but we've definitely seen worse. Long as they don't score a direct hit . . . "

Such were Rex's thoughts as his gunship descended through the thick, swirling mist that shrouded the planet of Umbara. More than the gunfire coming up from below, the craft's jolting ride was due to the atmospheric currents and eddies; but Rex never even gave a second thought to turbulence when there were blaster bolts whizzing through the air, when a single lucky shot could take 32 men and their equipment out all at once.

This approach was very much like other approaches: Nanaam Bab, Phipporin, Andar. But it came nowhere near the lethality of Point Rain. Those bugs, the Geonosians, had sent up such a curtain of blaster fire that more ships had been hit than not. Rex's own gunship had been shot down, and it had been only by a miracle that none of his own men had died in the crash. The only two deaths had been the pilots – Cody's men. Maybe it hadn't been a miracle after all, but a concerted effort on the part of those pilots to bring the ship down as intact as possible. They'd certainly saved a lot of lives – in that moment, at any rate. Many of the survivors of the crash had later died in the battle.

But Point Rain seemed ages ago. Right now, his gunship was rocking and pitching its way to the surface, with only an intermittent burst of light outside the open side doors to indicate that they were, in fact, under fire. In the wave ahead of them, the majority of the walkers had gone in. They were probably in the process of dropping at this very moment with the goal of taking out the enemy artillery. Rex wished the air was clear enough to see them; he never failed to be impressed with the perfectly timed exit of the walkers from their gunships. The gunship would slow to just above stall speed, open the rear hatch while increasing power, and the walkers leaped out . . . backwards! And at a run to prevent impact shock. It was a neat trick, and Rex had tried it himself a few times just so he could have the experience. Several tumbles later, he'd decided such tactics were better left to those who had developed the timing and devil-may-care attitude to qualify as walker jockeys. Such clones were a rare breed, and Rex was not offended that he could not really count himself among their number.

As the anti-aircraft fire intensified, Rex commented to General Skywalker, standing beside him. "There's a lot of surface fire." It was an unnecessary remark, but Rex knew very well that a bit of talk helped ease Shinie jitters. And he had some Shinies on board, men who had come on active duty within the last month.

"They ain't got nothing we can't handle, Sir," Hardcase grunted, the coarse inflection of his voice cutting across the drone of the engines and the sounds of detonations all around them.

Still, it seemed his words may have jinxed them, for no sooner had he finished speaking than a tracer found its mark and the gunship just off their left wingtip went up in flames, disappearing down into the mist like the fading light of a lantern.

"Don't speak too soon," Pitch replied. "Let's wait til we're on the ground before you start claiming victory."

No more was said of the lost ship. Better not to dwell on which brothers had just met their deaths. The others would find that out after the battle was over. And surely, there would be many more to add to their numbers.

Rex turned towards one of the more recent additions to the battalion. He was so new that he was still hanging onto the overheads with both hands.

"Hanging in there, Tup?" he asked in a voice meant to distract from the fact that they had a fifty-fifty chance of making it to the surface.

"So far, so good, Captain," came the reply, spoken with mustered confidence.

It was an honest answer, and it pleased Rex.

Tup was turning out to be a good addition, even better than Rex had expected. The last batch of Shinies to come to the 501st, of which Tup was one, had been an interesting mix of personality. Long gone were the days when Rex could go out and scour the existing ranks or the new recruits for his pick of troopers. The numbers simply weren't there anymore. And so, the captain found himself falling back more and more on one of his greatest strengths: the ability to shape and mold these young men into the kind of fighting force that General Skywalker deserved.

And General Skywalker deserved only the best: the best skills, the greatest initiative, and the deepest loyalty.

Over the preceding months, Rex had come to an ever-greater appreciation of how fortunate he was to be Skywalker's first-in-command, an increasing comprehension of just how powerful his commanding general was. It would not be an exaggeration to say that Rex felt nearly invincible with the general at his side. But more important than that was the sense of trust Rex felt from his commanding officer. General Skywalker gave him free rein to command the troops as he saw fit; he valued Rex's opinions and judgments. And while Rex had felt these things coming from the general almost immediately after joining the 501st, they seemed to grow stronger the longer the two men were in each other's company. Now, it seemed almost as if the two could read each other's minds and predict each other's moves. Rex knew what General Skywalker wanted on the battlefield before any words were spoken. They had grown that close.

And Rex knew what kind of soldier the general preferred to lead, and Skywalker left the molding of those soldiers to his captain.

Rex considered that, even though it was too early to be certain, Tup gave every indication of being worthy of the 501st, of being worthy to serve under General Skywalker. He was a bit more serious-minded than most clones, but he was also anxious to fit in, and this made him extremely agreeable. He was up for any task, no matter how great or how small; but then again, this was his first true test in battle, his only previous action having been some skirmishes in the Katagani System, wherein only a small detachment of the 501st had participated. Umbara would be the first test of his fearlessness – or if not his fearlessness, at least his readiness to throw himself into the fray.

Of course, with troopers like Hardcase and Pitch beside him, how could he not feel the urge for battle? Those two always seemed poised and ready—even anxious—to wage war.

"General Skywalker, I'm turning the light outs," came BB's voice over the comm. "Our night vision sensors are having a tough time in this chop. I hope we don't overshoot the landing site."

"Just get us as close as you can," Anakin replied. In true Skywalker fashion, he was not overly concerned with precision. He knew his pilots would do their best; and where they fell short, he had confidence he and his men could make up the difference.

"Time to lock and load," Hardcase pronounced with gusto.

A slight smile stole across Anakin's face. He admired such fearlessness.

As this second wave descended through the fog, it disgorged its lesser complement of walkers first, spitting them out close to the forward edge of battle action. These walkers were to provide cover for the advancing ground troops, meeting up eventually with the walkers that had gone in to deal with the artillery. But it was clear already that smaller cannons—if they could be so called—were in the vicinity of this drop; and these weapons had to be taken out quickly if landing was to take place without heavy losses.

The Umbaran artillery had a distinct sound—like the ringing of bells, which was disconcerting yet was proving to be a tell-tale warning when a round was incoming. Within seconds, the walker jockeys had sent the word to each other to program their mounts to listen for the sound by sensing its vibration and taking evasive maneuvers. It was a course of action with some degree of success, but with all the violence around them, the sensors could not always distinguish one vibration from the next, and more often than not, the troopers had to rely on their own senses and reflexes.

As General Skywalker's gunship swooped in, the general turned to his contingent. "This is it. Follow me and stay tight."

"Give 'em hell, General Skywalker," BB said, bringing the flood lights forward. "We'll see you on the flip."

"Be safe, you two," General Skywalker replied. "We're going to need a ride home when this is over."

The gunship leveled off.

The men disembarked into a torrent of enemy fire and began their advance. Almost immediately, the Umbarans started to retreat against the onslaught. This line of defense was mostly foot soldiers, but it was clear from the type of munitions being fired, that somewhere beyond this front line, the artillery had not been fully taken out by the first wave of walkers.

Anakin raised his wrist comm while still deflected blaster bolts with the light saber in his other hand. "Flint!" He called to his walker company commander. "Report! What's the status on the artillery?!"

"Sir—this is—this is Springer. Lieutenant Flint is dead." The trooper's voice was harried but not panicked. "The cannons are . . . fek! . . . are protected by ground troops with rapid-fire-rapid-fire nests. Three lines of cannons . . . we've taken out most of the first and second lines, but—get up there! Get up there!—still working on the third line. We've lost . . . a lot of men, maybe twenty percent."

"We're on our way," Anakin replied.

"They're on the ridge at twenty-three degrees north, northwest," Rex reported.

"Good. Once we take it, we can use it as a staging area," Anakin replied.

Rex turned and motioned to the men behind him. "Keep moving! We've got to claim that ridge. The other battalions are counting on us."

The closer they drew to the third line of artillery, the more intense the incoming fire grew, green lines of deadly plasma streaking through the foggy darkness.

"Don't stray too far," General Skywalker ordered. "The enemy could have the whole place rigged with traps."

Following slightly behind General Skywalker, Tup ran clumsily across the uneven terrain. "I can't even see the enemy!"

Hardcase, unfazed, replied, "That's why they're called the Shadow People, Tup."

The haze of enemy fire became too thick to navigate.

Rex did not wait for General Skywalker's direction. He knew the only action possible. "Everyone take cover!"

The ground had many depressions that would offer some small amount of protection, and there were the shorn-off stumps of trees and what looked like shiny mounds of obsidian-type stone that would serve in a pinch.

As the troops began looking for places to hunker down, Hardcase spotted a sort of trench-like rift that looked as good as any. As he headed towards it, something tripped him up; and for a terrified moment, he feared he had sprung a trip-wire. But no explosion followed . . .

"It's just a vine, Hardcase," Jesse, walking beside him, stated. "Keep moving."

"Yeah, I got it all under control," Hardcase replied, not letting on at the relief he felt that he hadn't just blown himself and anyone else in the vicinity into the smithereens. He started walking again but had only gone a few steps before he suddenly found himself being lift off the ground and spun around. At first, he thought that maybe he had struck a trip-wire after all; but as he was swung through the air, he saw what had a hold of him, and after an initial shock of bemusement, he did what came naturally and began firing.

The vine he had tripped over hadn't been just any vine. It was part of carnivorous plant system, and the disturbance against one of its appendages had alerted it to the presence of an intruder or possibly a meal.

Within seconds, it had snatched up two more troopers, one of whom was Fives.

Hardcase used his blaster to sever the vine holding him. He crashed to the ground, looking up only in time to see the creature drop a trooper into its gaping maw. Hardcase didn't even get to see who it was whose end had come so cheaply and grotesquely.

"That's not right," he ground out, getting to his feet and retrieving his weapon. He opened fire again.

But it was Fives, still entwined in the deadly vine, whose ingenuity put an end to the danger. He'd noticed that the creature had a probiscus that it sent out from its devouring mouth, which it used to grasp its prey and pull it inside. He pulled out a thermal detonator, and when the probiscus came for him, he fed it the detonator, which it greedily accepted.

Seconds later, the explosion destroyed the creature from within.

Fives hit the ground, but Hardcase was there right away to help him to his feet. "Nice work, Fives."

"I'm just glad it worked," Fives replied.

"Looks like being an ARC trooper is good for something," Hardcase quipped. "You learned a trick or two."

Fives actually gave a slight chuckle. "You haven't changed. It's good to see you again."

"You, too, brother."

Nearly ten standard hours had passed before the ridge was secure.

Dead Umbarans littered the landscape, but there was no time—and no inclination—to make proper disposition of their dead. They had been a vicious enemy, and neither General Skywalker nor any of his troops could find room in the hearts for sympathy or in their heads for empathy or even the admiration that sometimes accompanied the defeat of a worthy opponent.

In fact, for the members of Saber Squad, there was nothing but contempt for this enemy.

"Let's get this bastard out of here," Pitch sneered, nudging with his foot the body of a dead Umbaran blocking the trench in which they were taking up position.

As he and Kix pulled the body up out of the trench, Kix tapped the plexiform bubble helmet surrounding the man's head. "This green gas . . . this must be what intel was talking about: the gas that makes them able to fight longer and harder."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't stop them from dying, I'll tell you that," Hardcase grunted. "And something else: a clone doesn't need to sniff any fekking gas to be a better fighter."

"But it's still kind of the same thing, isn't it?" Kix posed. "I mean, we were created to be better fighters. Greater endurance, stronger, all those things. This gas does the same thing."

"That gas makes them fekking crazy," Hardcase protested. "It messes with their minds. That's not how it is with us."

Pitch barked a laugh. "So says the craziest one of all."

"I wonder what would happen if we breathed that stuff?" Jesse said curiously.

"You're not thinking of trying that, are you?" Kix asked immediately, warning in his voice.

"It would be an interesting experiment." This reply came from Fives as he joined them in the trench. "But not one I think the captain would approve of."

"Nor would I," Kix added. "Our physiology isn't the same as the Umbarans. Who knows what effect that gas would have on us?"

"Better not to risk it," Fives stated. "We need every able-bodied and clear-minded man we've got. This is no time to take chances. But once this battle is over, I think the use of that gas should be looked at by the GAR scientists." He looked at Hardcase with a wry grin, "I'd bet it would turn you into a raving madman."

"Long as it helps me kill more of the enemy," Hardcase replied gamely.

"I don't think you need help in that area, Hardcase," Kix pointed out. "We've already seen what these Umbarans are like. They're merciless. I'm not sure that's a quality the Republic is looking for in its soldiers."

Here, Jesse spoke up. "Speaking of which, Kix, shouldn't you be at the triage or med station? I know we had a lot of injured."

It was a strange thing to bring up, for they all knew that if Kix had been tasked to help out at triage or the field medical setup, he would have most certainly already been there.

"Major Hypes said they're okay for now," Kix replied. He paused, then added, "The captain wants to keep as many field medics up front as possible. I think he's anticipating heavy casualties."

"Maybe you want to go check and see if those are still his orders," Jesse suggested.

"If he's changed his mind, he'd let me know," Kix replied, sounding only slightly perturbed.

Hardcase and Pitch cast side-long glances at each other. The moment was suddenly uncomfortable.

"Go ask him again," Jesse persisted, and this time his voice left no room for interpretation.

Kix eyed his squad-mate and company commander with suspicion. "You want me to leave so you can try that gas."

"No, I'm not going to try the gas," Jesse replied. "We had a lot of injuries, and I want to make sure the captain doesn't need you somewhere other than up here guarding trenches. You're a medic, Kix. Your skills can be used better elsewhere. Go ask the captain where he wants you."

Kix looked at Pitch and Hardcase. The former gave a subtle shrug, the latter a nod.

"Yes, Lieutenant," Kix replied at last, then he was off down the trench.

As soon as he was gone, Hardcase turned to Jesse. "You'd better have a good reason for that. He was pissed."

"I do have a good reason—"

"Fek and all, you're not really going to try that gas, are you?" Pitch asked.

"No, that's not why I had to get him out of here." Jesse drew in a deep breath. "We're fighting . . . barbarians. The truth is I'm not looking for a conscience right now."

"Is this because of what Top said?" Hardcase asked bluntly. "We all knew what he was getting across. And now you're trying to protect Kix?"

"I just told you why," Jesse replied sharply. "And if you'd listen for one second, Hardcase, you'd know I'm right."

"What? So you don't want a conscience—" Hardcase's voice dropped off suddenly. "Okay, okay, I see."

"You know how Kix is," Jesse went on. "This isn't a situation where we can afford to feel anything but hatred for the enemy."

"You think Kix is going have sympathy for these pricks?" Pitch asked incredulously. "Brother, that's not going to happen."

"And the captain's going to send him right back to us," Hardcase added, then he narrowed his eyes. "And that's where he should be – with us. Kix has always been Kix; it's never stopped him from mowing down the enemy before. It's never stopped you from doing what you have to do. What's changed?"

Jesse shook his head. "I don't know. I just have a bad feeling about this whole thing. I feel like we all need to . . . insulate ourselves against any sense of . . . humanity if we're going to succeed."

"That won't be a problem," Hardcase rejoined, clapping Jesse on the shoulder. "I lost my humanity a long time ago."

Jesse made a doubtful sound. "So you say."

"General Kenobi's battalion, Sir?"

Anakin lowered his binoculars and regarded his captain in the misty darkness. "They're pushing towards the capitol. We'll need to move out as soon as the men are ready."

As Rex nodded, a young clone came weaving through the bizarre Umbaran foliage and approached him and General Skywalker.

"All platoons have reported in, General," the clone reported from the position of attention. He wore a Symbari Wing, a highly stylized symbol of the scaled bird known for its loyalty to its brood. He had a formal, regimented air about him and probably the best military decorum Rex had seen in a long time. But that was what Rex had come to expect from Dogma. He had come onboard at the same time as Tup, had been in the same squad as Tup back on Kamino. They were batchers and friends, though the nature of their friendship was rather peculiar, for they seemed to be polar opposites. Yes, both were serious-minded, but where Tup was the sort of soldier who would go with the flow, finding no problem with bending rules as long as others around him were doing the same thing, Dogma was very much what his name indicated. He was a staunch follower of rules, even more so than Echo had been. He believed in following orders to the letter, eschewed deviation of any kind, and had a somewhat disdainful view of those who did not have the strength of character to tread the straight and narrow.

It was no surprise that these traits made Dogma an incredibly effective and reliable soldier. Rex knew he could depend on Dogma to carry out whatever task he was given, and the captain had hopes that the young trooper would rise quickly through the ranks. Rex could even see him crossing over to become an officer. He'd make a good one, so firm was his conscientiousness.

Anakin gave a minute nod of acknowledgment. "Get some rest."

"Thank you, Sir. I'm fine," Dogma replied, maintaining his formality.

Rex was not surprised by the trooper's response, but he felt it was a good moment to teach the young trooper about the proper way to receive his commanding general's show of concern.

"The General's giving you an order, Dogma," Rex stated with just the right combination of admonishment and this-is-for-your-own-good inflection.

Dogma took his captain's words in the way they were intended. "Of course, Sir!" he replied with characteristic enthusiasm, then retreated back the way he had come.

Rex watched him leave for a moment, then he turned back to General Skywalker. "He's wound tight, but, uh, he's loyal."

A small laugh came from deep in Anakin's throat. "He kind of reminds me of you."

Rex easily detected the fondness in Skywalker's voice, an affirmation of the connection that existed between him and his commanding general. And he knew that Anakin looked back on their earliest days together with great satisfaction, and so a comparison between Dogma and Rex's first days in the 501st was a compliment not only to Dogma but to Rex, as well.

Rex felt the compliment, felt it deeply, felt what it meant to have a Jedi General who knew him so well and appreciated him so much that he could convey so many sentiments in a simple, short statement, "He kind of reminds me of you."

Yet, for reasons he could not quite grasp, Rex's response was muted. The truth was that he did see himself in Dogma. But the image of himself he saw in the young trooper was a reflection of the early days of the war, when the only question of lasting consequence was who would emerge the victor in any given battle and ultimately at the end of the war. Such simplicity had long since flittered away, and now there were more questions than answers, or so it seemed.

For Rex, there was one thing to which he could always return in order to maintain his equilibrium in the storm, and that was his devotion to General Skywalker, his faith in the man who led him and his brothers into battle. Skywalker always had his troopers' best interest at heart. Rex trusted him implicitly. General Skywalker made the obedience of a clone trooper easy and natural.

"Maybe . . . back in the day," Rex replied, his voice containing a measure of oppression.

Anakin noticed it, but he knew better than to inquire. Rex was unflappable. No matter what he might be feeling, he would never let it interfere with his ability to do the job. And the truth was, the situation at the moment was that they were facing one of the most dangerous and deadly battles yet. This enemy was a mystery, their weaponry already proving to be superior to anything the Republic had. And these weren't droids. These were living, breathing, thinking enemies. They adapted to the situation, they were chemically enhanced, and seemed to have a zest for killing. Anakin could hardly expect his captain to be light-hearted. If anything, circumstances called for gravity.

Anakin raised his binoculars again and returned his attention to the far distant flashes of Obi-wan's drive toward the capitol city.

"We've got a lot of terrain to cover," he stated.

"The men should be rested enough in another hour or so," Rex replied.

Anakin allowed a smile. "You gonna be able to keep up with all these young troopers?"

"I was wondering the same thing about you," Rex replied, perking up a bit. "After all, technically, you're older than I am."

Now, Anakin chuckled. "I have to do all I can just to keep up with you."

"Just setting the example, General."

"And a good example, it is."

At that moment, the sound of a commotion came from somewhere behind them, among the trenches where the men were resting. Shouting and blaster fire erupted.

A voice cried out, "Ambush! They're behind us!"

Rex and General Skywalker turned towards the sounds of battle as Fives, who had been standing nearby, roared, "The enemy's circled behind us!"

Rex pulled his helmet on. "Everybody, we've got to defend our backs!"

The three men raced towards the fray, immediately seeing that one of the enemy weapons was a scorpion-like device that delivered deadly electric shocks to its victims. There were dozens of the things running around, taking down soldier after soldier. The troopers were trying to shoot the devices, all while being assailed by enemy fire coming from the alien jungle behind them.

It took Rex only seconds to assess the situation. His men were outnumbered, caught off-guard, and facing an enemy that had somehow managed to spirit their way behind the 501st's position – no small feat. At the moment, Rex could not indulge the guilt he felt at having allowed his men to fall into an ambush situation. He pushed aside the thought that persistently prodded at his awareness, the fact that he had not posted an adequate rear guard. He'd not believed that the enemy could possibly get behind them.

Now, as he and General Skywalker hunkered down behind a massive above-ground tree root, he knew immediately what had to be done. "I'll call in an airstrike on our position!"

"Let's help they're not too busy helping Obi-wan," Anakin replied.

"There's an opening to our south. I recommend we move all platoons off the ridge in case the airstrike overshoots," Rex suggested, though his tone of voice was more forceful than suggestive.

"Good thinking, Rex," Anakin agreed. "Everyone, move out! Now!"

The men began moving off the ridge, dodging enemy fire as well as the pursuing scorpions. But would there be enough time?

Kix was running from cover to cover, but his retreat was not like everyone else's. His eyes were constantly scanning, his ears constantly listening for injured troopers. It wasn't second nature for him to respond to brothers in distress; it was first nature. It was his most basic instinct, even more than his instinct for survival. The risks never entered his mind, not unless they were risks to others. The danger he put himself in by going to the aid of an injured trooper never played into his thought process.

And it didn't play into his thoughts now.

In his peripheral vision, he saw a man go down on his left. In the next step, he changed direction and went to the fallen trooper's aid. He could tell from the markings on the armor that the injured man was Ajax.

"Ajax!" Kix skidded down beside him, immediately seeing the smoking char mark on the rear lower left corner of the pelvic armor. Ajax was groaning and clearly in pain, but not the pain of screaming agony. "Ajax, can you still walk? Can you move?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," came the fuzzy reply, but his attempt to get to his feet was unsuccessful.

Kix looked up and called out to the nearest trooper. "Denal! Help me!"

Immediately, Denal was at Kix's side.

"We need to get to him out of here! He can't walk! Help me get him out of here!" Kix ordered.

Denal took one of Ajax's arms over his shoulder, and Kix took the other.

"We have to go fast!" Denal urged. "If we're still on this ridge when the bombers get here, we'll be swabbed!"

"Then move faster," Kix replied.

They were off the ridge within thirty seconds, hunkering down in one of the trenches earlier abandoned by the Umbarans.

Kix pulled off his own helmet then Ajax's. "Here, look right here, Ajax," he ordered, pointing towards his own eyes.

Ajax looked at him calmly, collectedly.

"Serial number?"

"Kix, I'm in my right mind," Ajax replied. "It hurts like hell, but I'm not delirious. I'm not in shock . . . yet. You—you'd better give me some of the good stuff."

"Let's get the bleeding under control first," Kix replied. "You seem to be handling the pain well enough for now." He shrugged his pack off and turned to Denal. "Get the bacta kit out of my pack."

Denal did so, initiating a line of chatter to keep Ajax's mind off the pain. "Double Barrell's going to have a hraka fit."

"DB's always having hraka fits," Ajax replied through gritted teeth. "Enh, he should have used that eagle eye of his . . . " He cut himself off, realizing that he was about to divulge his friend's secret. Maybe he was starting to go into shock; or maybe the pain was clouding his thoughts.

Denal grinned beneath his helmet. He'd heard the story about Double Barrel and the eagle soul, and it had fascinated him. "It's like he's got a . . . guardian angel. Maybe you should have tried to make friends with one of those souls."

"Yeah, maybe a—a rancor or something," Ajax replied. He grimaced. "How's it looking, Kix?"

"Give me another minute," Kix replied.

"Those—those bastards still coming at us . . . " Ajax said, and he was definitely starting to sound as if the pain were getting through to him now.

"Don't worry about that," Denal replied. "Hardcase is taking 'em out."

Kix spoke out of the corner of his mouth without taking his focus from the task at hand. "Imagine that."

Ajax let slip a small glimpse into his true concern. "Have you seen DB? Is he off the ridge?"

"I don't know," Denal replied. "I can try to comm him." He didn't wait for a reply before opening one of the two battalion-wide comm channels. "DB, this is Denal. Where are you?"

There was a long silence before DB's voice came crackling over the channel. "Hauling ass! You need me?"

"Are you off the ridge?" Denal asked.

"Just about," came the reply, followed by the repeated inquiry, "You need me?"

"No," Denal said. "Just . . . doing a head count." This was such a blatant lie, as he had not inquired after anyone else, and DB was not fooled.

"Are you off the ridge?" DB asked.

"We are," Denal replied, adding the details of real reason for the comm. "Ajax is with us. He's been hit, and Kix is taking care of him. He wanted me to make sure you were off the ridge."

"Is he okay? Is it bad?"

Denal looked at Kix.

"Still working on it," Kix replied.

"Kix is still working on him," Denal replied. "But he's conscious and alert. He's more worried about you than himself."

"Where are you exactly?" DB asked.

"I'm activating my triangulation beacon," Denal said by way of answer. The beacon was something all clones had in their helmets, meant to help hone in on troopers' locations and provide a means for regrouping, assistance, or rescue. "But don't be stupid. Just take the most direct route to cover."

"I've got your location," DB said after a few seconds. "On my way."

"Did you hear me?" Denal pressed. "We're not going anywhere. Don't do—"

"I know, don't be stupid," DB replied. "I won't. I'm not far, anyway. Just look after Ajax."

Kix, doing a quick wound irrigation and then injecting a coagulant into the surrounding flesh, spoke in a wry voice. "As long as he doesn't get in my way."

"This is DB we're talking about," Denal replied. "Getting in the way is what he does best."

Ajax managed a light response. "That's not fair. Picking off the enemy is what he does best. He—he only gets in the way—agh, damn it, Kix!—when he has—nothing better to do."

Denal nodded. "He is a damned good sniper."

"The best."

Kix rummaged through the bacta kit, drew out a treated plasti-skin patch and pressed it over the wound. "I got the bleeding stopped. This'll hold until we can get you on an evac."

"Yeah, so—so what about something for the pain, brother?" Ajax inquired.

"Nothing too strong," Kix said. "Not yet. You need to stay lucid in case we don't push back the enemy."

"When is that airstrike going to get here?" This also from Ajax.

"That's what I want to know." The voice that had spoken was Double Barrel's. He stood above them on the edge of the trench—but for only a split-second—before firing off a single shot and then jumping down into the trench. "Now there's one less of those bastards to worry about." He made a quick check on his squad mate. "Why didn't you comm me you'd been hit? We're supposed to stick together."

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," Ajax rejoined. "You were far ahead. I didn't want you to risk coming back for me."

"Idiot."

DB peered over the top of the trench and fired off another single shot. "They're getting close. Where's the airstrike?"

"I'm sure the captain has it all under control," Denal replied. "When the 501st calls, HQ* usually finds a way to answer that call."

"Let's hope so."

That was the last of them. All platoons had reported to their company commanders, and all the company commanders had reported to their captain.

Rex now reported to his commanding general. "All here, Sir."

"Stay covered," Anakin ordered. "We have to hold this position."

No sooner had he spoken than an eerie silence filled the air. The Umbarans had stopped firing.

"You sure those bombers are coming?"

Rex couldn't be sure who had spoken. It sounded like Tup.

As if in response to the question, a low rumbling started in the east, crescendoing to a roar as two Y-Wing bombers skimmed just above ground level. The Umbarans began firing again, this time at the two slow-moving craft, but it was not enough to stop the bombers from delivering their deadly payload on the positions the Umbarans had been holding – as well as pounding the ridge the 501st had just abandoned.

As the two craft passed overhead, one gave a signature dip from side-to-side.

Jesse recognized the maneuver as a trade-mark. "Good ole' Oddball. Always on target." His tongue-in-cheek irony was not lost on his companions.

"On and off target," Hardcase replied. "That's the one thing we can always count on from Oddball."

Anakin straightened up and spoke in sober tones. "I'm glad we got off that ridge."

"Yeah," Rex concurred.

"Heh, that'll teach 'em," Hardcase crowed.

Anakin knew there was no time to marvel at their pilots' deliverance. The push towards the airbase and the capitol were still in progress. A timeline was still in place.

"Rex, find us a good place to regroup," the general ordered. "Fives, go with him. Jesse, start a headcount. I want a full assessment of our injured and our losses – men and equipment." A pause. "We have no time to waste – we have less than thirty minutes before we need to move out again. We have to take that airbase before Obi-wan's troops reach the capitol. That's our primary objective, and I don't want anyone to forget it."

As he watched his officers take over their tasks, Anakin could not help but wonder if they would, in fact, make it to the airbase in time. He and his troops were encountering greater resistance than anticipated. He wondered if the same were happening to Obi-wan. It would be a very bad situation if Obi-wan's ground forces arrived at the Capitol while the Umbarans still had command of the skies. An aerial assault could inflict terrible damage and casualties.

The fact that the Umbarans had not launched such an attack on either the 212th or the 501st told Anakin that all air assets were being held in reserve to protect the Capitol. Whether or not that would make it easier to get the Capitol seemed an unresolved matter. The Umbarans certainly appeared to have formidable ground defenses.

"We'll find out soon enough," Anakin said to himself. "We knew this wouldn't be easy. Let's just hope it's not impossible."

"Don't do anything stupid." Ajax turned imploringly to March and Denal, March being one of Ajax's few remaining batchers, along with DB; Denal having remained with Ajax up until this moment – the moment the former would be loaded onto a gunship for evacuation back to the fleet. "Please don't let him do anything stupid. He needs to still be around when I get back."

March grinned. "I'll do my best."

Double Barrel smirked. "You just hurry up and get back on your feet. You know I don't trust those clone medical facilities."

"Don't start with that," Ajax brushed the topic aside. "I'll be fine. You just—you make sure you always have someone checking your six. I won't be there to keep you out of trouble."

Kix approached with the load master. "It's time to get him on board."

"See you guys later," Ajax said, reaching out and squeezing March's hand, then DB's.

"We'll be waiting," March replied, as DB gave a firm nod.

Kix saw him safely loaded onto the gunship, then as he returned to assist with the next man, Ajax drew his attention. "Kix, thanks, buddy. You really are the best."

"We'll see you back soon," Kix assured him. "It's nothing that won't heal up quickly. Just do what the docs tell you. You'll be fine."

Less than a minute later, the gunship lifted off.

Kix watched it go.

How many of the men whom he and his fellow medics had put on board would never come back? By his count, thirty-three injured had been evac'd. He had no idea how many dead there were. He didn't want to know. At that moment, watching the gunship disappearing into the mist, he wanted only to be in the company of his squadmates.

Apparently, they'd had the same idea, for as he stood, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Was that the last one?"

Kix nodded. "That was the last one." He turned and found Pitch at his elbow, and beyond, Jesse and Hardcase.

"We heard Ajax was injured." Pitch again.

"Yeah, but he'll pull through," Kix replied. "I don't think everyone will be so lucky."

"Well, they have a better chance because of you," Hardcase put forth, then in his characteristically gruff way of diffusing encroaching gloom, he blurted out, "I'm starving. You guys hungry? I need a protein pack."

"Sounds good," Jesse concurred.

"You guys go on," Kix replied. "I've still got some guys with minor injuries that I need to take a look at."

"Kix, there are other medics," Pitch pointed out. "Let them handle it. Just take a five-minute break with us, get something in your stomach."

"I'll get something," Kix assured them. "But I need to go help out. All the medics are working. I'm not going to be the only one taking a break."

"Here!" Hardcase tossed him a crumpled protein bar. "Eat it while you go."

Kix caught the bar and raised it in a sort of acknowledgment. "I owe you one." And then he was off.

"How the hell did he ever turn out that way when he's been surrounded by us his whole life?" Hardcase quipped. "Fek and all, he's straight business from dawn to dusk."

"He takes his job seriously," Jesse replied. "You know how he feels about saving injured troopers. He won't give up unless someone forces him to."

"Well, death has a way of doing that," Hardcase said bluntly. "He can't bring the dead back to life."

"That's why he'll break his back trying to make sure they don't die," Pitch stated.

"Well, you know the reason he didn't want to hang out with us for a few seconds," Hardcase prodded. "He's still pissed at you, Jesse."

"He'll get over it."

"Hey, who's that coming?" Pitch asked, noticing the approach of another gunship. The last of the injured had already been evacuated, and no other ships were expected.

The side panel on the gunship was open, and as soon as it had leveled off above the ground, an imposing figure jumped down – a figure that every man present recognized.

And although the surprise was palpable, it was Dogma who first expressed the question on everyone's mind, though in a low voice, audible only to those immediately around him.

"General Krell's here?"

Fives narrowed his eyes. "Something big must be going on."

Jedi General Pong Krell was a Besalisk male from the planet Ojom. At nearly 240 centimeters tall, he towered over most of his fellow Jedi and certainly over the human clones he commanded. He had a somewhat reptilian appearance in bone structure, but Besalisks had no scale coverings. He was barrel-chested, broad across the shoulders, narrow at the waist; and his four arms were as thick as tree stumps, solid muscle. He moved with a commanding certainty, able to switch seamlessly between a heavy, intimidating walk and a more measured, genteel gait. He had a reputation for victory, but at high cost. The death toll of clones under his command exceeded fifty percent in most engagements. Yet, no one could question his success.

As he approached now, the clones waited anxiously to see what this unexpected visit was all about.

"Master Krell," Anakin greeted him. "My thanks for the air support." It was an innocuous enough expression of gratitude, but for Rex, standing at his general's side, the undercurrent of questioning suspicion was unmistakable. General Skywalker had rarely spoken about General Krell; there had never been any reason to. But given the Besalisk's reputation and direct manner, coupled with an unannounced arrival, it seemed that General Skywalker's internal distrust alarm had been tripped.

"Indeed, General Skywalker, the locals have proven to be more resourceful than we anticipated," came the reply. Krell's voice was deep and strangely soothing, the sounds rolling almost dulcetly from his mouth. In fact, his entire manner was easy and confident, almost matter-of-fact.

He was not what Rex had expected.

There was a reasonableness, a calmness to his presentation that made Rex wonder if perhaps all the stories had been exaggerated.

Anakin went on. "But that's not the reason for your visit."

"No." He sounded regretful. "The Council has ordered you back to Coruscant. Effective immediately."

The shock registered not only on Anakin's face but on the faces of those clones within earshot. Only Rex maintained a fully professional decorum, with nothing more than a slight twitch of his brows to indicate that he found anything surprising or upsetting in this news. He had an example to set, after all.

Anakin, on the other hand, felt no need to hide his displeasure. "What? Why?"

"I'm afraid the request was made by the Supreme Chancellor, and the Council obliged. That is all they would tell me," Krell replied in the same smooth voice.

The anger began to bubble up in Anakin's veins. "Why, I can't just leave my men."

"I'll be taking over in the interim," Krell announced.

Rex could sense another protest about to burst forth from his general, and he moved to head it off. "Don't worry about a thing, Sir. We'll have the city under Republic control by the time you're back."

There was perhaps some easing of the tension, but it was forced and everyone knew it. Still, Anakin appreciated his captain's interjection into the conversation.

"Master Krell, this is Rex, my first-in-command," Anakin said by way of introduction. "You won't find a finer or more loyal trooper anywhere."

Rex always felt a swell of pride any time General Skywalker praised him to others; this time, however, he felt that the words had fallen on indifferent ears.

"Good to hear that," Krell said, but he did not sound as if he cared one way or the other. He leaned forward and put a large hand on Anakin's shoulder. "I wish you well, Skywalker."

Anakin boarded the waiting gunship. His soldiers watched until it was out of sight, lost in the swirling mists.

Rex, in particular, felt an emptiness had suddenly come upon the place. But he was determined to make the best of it. Besides, he still had to lead the way for his men. Making the new commanding general feel welcome would be a good start.

"Your reputation precedes you, General. It is an honor to be serving you."

But if Rex were trying to make overtures to help Krell integrate into his temporary command of the 501st, it became immediately apparent that such overtures were neither desired nor appreciated.

"I find it very interesting, Captain, that you are able to recognize the value of honor . . . for a clone."

The words were almost incomprehensible under the circumstances. A Jedi. A Jedi General, no less. One who had been leading men into battle for the entirety of the war. Leading clones! Was this truly Krell's view of the troops he had been charged with overseeing? And did he expect that such language would win him any allies among the men he was now facing? Would insulting their battalion first-in-command do anything other than infuriate them?

Rex said nothing. What could he possibly say? In front of the men? Disrespect and disloyalty were two things he could not abide. He would talk to the general in private later on—

"Stand at attention when I address you."

Rex immediately assumed the rigid stance of attention. Those clones who were nearby also did so.

"Your flattery is duly noted," Krell said, the tone of his voice never changing, "But it will not be rewarded." He began pacing among the men. "There's a reason why my command is so effective. It's because I do things by the book, and that includes protocol." As he passed by the different troopers, there was a sense of disdain that flowed off him like the tail of a passing comet. "Have all platoons ready to move out immediately. That is all."

Rex waited until General Krell had removed to a safe distance before relaxing from his position of attention. Immediately, he saw Fives turn to regard him with an expectant and foreboding look; and he could feel the disrupted vibe in the others. Words were not necessary. Everyone knew the prevailing thoughts of dread and the perception of insult on behalf of their captain.

Rex himself was at a loss to explain it. He'd not heard any word to the effect that General Krell had had issues with the idea of commanding clones.

For a clone . . .

The words had come out of the blue.

For a brief moment, Rex allowed his bafflement to show. But then he recalled his position. He was first-in-command of the most prestigious unit in the Grand Army of the Republic. He was General Skywalker's right hand, and as such, everything he did reflected upon his commander. He'd be damned if he'd let the 501st's reputation be tarnished because the man placed temporarily in charge was disagreeable.

There was no pre-requisite for politeness among the Jedi Generals – Master Piell had proven that. There was no qualification for kindness or empathy. There was only the necessity to obtain victory. And Krell was good at that. Casualties were of no consequence. The clones had been created to fight. Preferably to fight and live to fight again. But if they died, those losses had been built into the plan. There were acceptable attrition numbers for clone troopers.

And although he hated the idea of such cold calculations, Rex could not deny that it was the truth. But, working under General Skywalker, he hadn't been reminded of it in a long time.

Until today.

Until General Krell.

Note: So, you probably noticed that my sweet, responsible Jesse of all the previous chapters is now . . . er, undergoing a personality change. Well, that's because the Jesse of Umbara is so different than the Jesse of The Deserter that I had to find some way to get him heading that direction. So, between Top making him feel guilty last chapter, and Fives kind of drawing him in as Umbara goes on, well . . . I did the best I could.