Dear Reader, many thanks to my reviewers: Akira Hayama, Darth Pancake, Ms CT-782, Sued13, PhoenixLordess, LLTC, and Cuthalion. I truly appreciate everyone taking the time to let me know how you're feeling about the story. So, again, lots of secondary character exposition in this chapter, especially trying to show Rex's thought process as he's being put in these very terrible positions. Also, a bit more of the imbalance and uneasiness building in Saber Squad. (Believe me, that comes to a big head later in my version of this arc). Lastly, I am happy I brought Denal back to life. For the few episodes he was in, I just got the impression that he was someone Rex really felt he could depend on, a trooper who would do anything for his captain. You'll see some of that expanded in this chapter. Happy reading! Peace, CS

Chapter 96 The General

"Oh, Frith help me!" said Fiver. "I can smell him from here. He terrifies me. He smells like barley rained down and left to rot in the fields. He smells like a wounded mole that can't get underground."

Watership Down
Richard Adams

"How many total are we down?"

"Last count from Major Hypes was . . . forty-seven evac'd and twenty-seven dead," Kix replied to Pitch's question.

The battalion was continuing to advance through the disconcerting landscape on its way to the capitol. The two squad mates were about a quarter's way back in the column, keeping a keen eye on their surroundings; and of course, Kix was continually noting the physical states of his fellow soldiers.

"That's almost an entire company's worth," Pitch noted.

"Yeah."

A few steps further, Kix spoke up. "There's a lot of tension."

Pitch made a simpering sound. "You can blame General Krell for that. He's got everyone on edge."

"Hm. Well, he didn't make a good first impression by insulting Captain Rex," Kix replied. After a brief pause, he added, "I was kind of surprised the captain didn't say anything."

"Eh, we both know Rex would never be insubordinate," Pitch said. "He's got more patience than a Median Desert Crawler."

"I don't know if it's patience or tolerance, but . . . he's better at keeping his cool than any of us," Kix agreed. "I thought Fives might combust. You could sense his temper just boiling."

"Yeah," Pitch nodded. "I noticed that, too." He gave a low laugh. "Fives isn't exactly the, uh, quiet guy he used to be, is he? He's practically taken over as second-in-command, and he's only a sergeant. But Jesse hasn't said anything, so he must not mind."

Kix was silent, prompting Pitch to go a little further. "You're not still angry at Jesse, are you?"

Kix hesitated a long time before answering. "I'm not angry. I'm . . . let's just say I'm concerned. He's changed. Ever since Top left. Sometimes, I think . . . I think he doesn't like being in charge anymore."

"Maybe he's a little different," Pitch agreed, "I think he probably misses Top more than any of us realized. I think the two of them always felt a kind of shared responsibility—for the squad and the battalion. You know how much the captain always counted on them. Now, it's all on Jesse's shoulders."

"So, he's happy to just step out of the way and let Fives take his place?"

"Fives is an ARC trooper now—"

"And Jesse is a lieutenant," Kix pointed out. "He outranks Fives. He's second-in-command, not Fives."

"We all know that, Kix. The battalion knows that. It's not something you should worry about. Jesse knows he's in charge. So does everyone else," Pitch said, directing the conversation back to the original subject. "You just need to stop being angry at him."

"I told you, I'm not angry," Kix pushed back. "But if I were, don't you think he gave me good reason?"

Pitch considered what he was about to say. "We've always been truthful with each other, Kix. So, let me be truthful now. The reason he didn't want you with us is because he . . . doesn't want to feel restrained."

"Restrained? What does that mean?"

"Oh, come on, Kix," Pitch pressed. "You know that you're . . . kind of the moral authority in the squad. Jesse just didn't want to have to contend with . . . your . . . "

"My what?"

"Your . . . well, you always insist on doing the right thing." Pitch went on quickly, hoping to forestall Kix's offended reaction. "And well, sometimes, the right thing means doing the wrong thing."

"I have no idea what you're trying to say," Kix replied.

"Of course, you do," Pitch challenged. "You know precisely what I'm saying. How many times have we all butt heads with you because you insisted on doing one thing, and we wanted to take a different course of action? Look, we were all there for the holocon. We all heard what Top said, and we saw that look on his face. We all know that look—you sure as hell know that look—and we all know he's right. You let your oath to save lives interfere sometimes with the need to win battles. Do I need to remind you what a battle it was to even get you graduated out of basic training? If hadn't been for Captain Rex—"

"I know the history, Pitch," Kix snapped, and his voice was now brimming with the anger he'd only moments earlier denied. "But I've never endangered a battle by trying to save lives."

"Maybe that wasn't the best way to put it," Pitch admitted. "I just mean that . . . sometimes the rest of us feel it's necessary to . . . to do things that aren't . . . normally acceptable. And you always disapprove." A pause. "Well, I can guarantee that this battle is going to involve of lot of things you won't approve of. Jesse didn't want to put himself—or you—in the position of being at odds all the time."

After a few seconds, Kix asked, "Do you all feel that way?"

"Well . . . yeah, but it's a compliment in a way," Pitch replied. "You're like a . . . huh, like a saint or something. Force knows, we aren't. And to tell the truth, ninety-nine percent of the time, it's good, it's nice to have someone who knows the difference between right and wrong. But right now, this is part of that remaining one percent."

Kix wasn't sure what to make of this explanation. He only knew that Pitch, who was honest to a fault, was doing his best to convey what he felt without inflicting too much pain; and he appreciated the effort.

"I'm far from perfect, despite what you all might think," he said at last.

"We know that," Pitch replied gently. "We all have our weaknesses and failings, Kix. But lack of a moral compass isn't one of yours."

Kix managed a genuine smile beneath his helmet. "Thanks, Brother."

"And now we'd better both save our breath and our energy," Pitch said. "Looks like we've got a long road-march ahead of us. General Krell doesn't seem to see any need for breaks."

At that very moment, from somewhere up ahead, they heard General Krell's voice, raised in a shout.

"Quicken that pace, battalion! This isn't some training course on Kamino!"

Kix put a hand on Pitch's shoulder. "You were saying?"

Up at the front of the column, General Krell had been leading the way, preceded only by a single walker. Directly behind him, Rex followed. The rest of the battalion moved in loose company groupings that stretched back nearly half a kilometer.

Fives drew up to Rex's elbow. "The, uh, new general has a way with words." His statement was clearly meant as a complaint and not an observation.

Rex would not fall into the trap of questioning or berating his new commanding general. He was certain there was a lot of fighting still ahead of them, and the last thing he wanted going forward was contention with the Jedi General. "He's just trying to keep us on schedule."

Fives was not deterred. "By raising everyone's ire?"

Rex was somewhat perturbed by Fives' manner, as if quibbling about the general's choice of words and indelicate manner was worth consideration under the circumstances. "Either way, he's in charge, and we've got a job to do. Just treat him with respect and we'll all get along fine."

At that moment, both men noticed eerie green lights flittering through the air ahead of them, about twenty meters above the ground and heading towards them. In the shadowy darkness, they could not tell if these were more of the gas-induced enemy in some sort of aircraft. The green was the same color as the gas the Umbarans used to enhance their fighting.

"Do you see that?" Fives asked.

"Yeah," Rex replied, then to the men behind him. "Ready your weapons."

One of those men was Denal. Seeing the approaching lights, he activated the magnification feature in his helmet. He was able to make out a ray-like creature with segmented mantis arms and a segmented body that tapered into a pincered tail. The green lights were the creature's eyes and a line of bioluminescence that ran the length of its underside. Even with the magnification, Denal could not tell if he was seeing a flesh and blood entity or yet another of the Umbarans' unknown weapons.

Around him, men began firing, but the creatures were agile. They dodged the hail of blaster fire, and in a split-second, two troopers had been snatched up. The clones continued to fire. From behind Denal, a shot cut directly across the creature's path, so close that it dropped its clone prey, who landed on one of the peculiar trees and slid almost gracefully to the ground along one of the bending fronds, where two fellow troopers went to his aid.

Denal, glancing behind him, wasn't surprised to see that it was Double Barrell who had fired the shot.

"Nice shot."

"Not really. I meant to hit it, but I didn't want to hit our man. Look, it's coming back—flaming osik, look at that! That's Krell!"

General Krell had sprung into action and leapt up onto the other creature, forcing it to drop the clone it was carrying. He was able to ride it to the ground where he finished it off quickly with his dual light sabers. And no sooner had he dispatched the first than the second, coming back for another try, had the misfortune of flying a little too close to the Jedi General, who sliced it as it swooped past.

The creature skittered across the ground, and Krell went over and stomped his foot down on its still quivering body.

But if Denal or anyone else had been expecting the general to inquire after the clones to ensure everyone was alright, they were in for a disappointment. For Krell was far from sympathetic.

"Anyone else want to stop and play with the animals?" He growled angrilly. Glaring around at the clones looking back at him in stunned silence, he grunted, "Didn't think so. Now keep moving." He headed off again without another word.

There was a thick tension and an unspoken shock among the troopers, not only at Krell's brutality, but at his clear insinuation that the clones were incompetent and not taking the situation seriously enough. His callousness in not inquiring after the two clones who'd been attacked started a low simmer of resentment in the men.

Rex sensed it immediately, yet he knew he had to react carefully. There was nothing wrong, per se, with anything the general had done or said. He'd saved a trooper, he'd killed the two creatures. Yes, he'd thrown out a rather insulting comment, but insults weren't against regulations. Best to let it pass. Best not to let on to the men that such behavior irritated him. Krell was going to be their commander until General Skywalker came back; Rex was determined to show him the same respect he showed General Skywalker, and he wanted the men to see it, to see that their captain, at least, was maintaining his professional decorum.

Rex motioned with his arm for the men to continue forward; and as he started walking again, he was glad for the helmet he wore, for he would not have wanted his men to see the consternation on his face.

Yet, for Denal, there was no need to see his captain's face for him to know how he was feeling.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that Denal shared a certain connection with his first-in-command, an understanding that required little expression and even less acknowledgment. The bond had been forged clear back in ARC training when Denal's role at the mock prisoner-of-war camp had put him in a position to see Rex, then still a lieutenant, at his most vulnerable. But what had stuck with the sergeant then was that, even at his weakest, Rex had somehow shown himself to be stronger than all the other trainees, stronger than the POW staff, stronger than the entire ARC cadre and its regimen. He'd emerged as a hero, a moniker well-deserved.

In his role as First Escort, a title that Rex had bestowed and even still used occasionally when he wanted to take the rare action of reaffirming their bond, Denal had become someone Rex the prisoner had been able to trust; and now he was someone Rex the captain was able depend upon for good, solid advice, loyalty, and level-headedness.

For Denal's own part, he'd faced down his own death once; and having been given a second chance at life, he could see no better way to repay his good fortune than by dutifully serving and standing by the man he had brought to the torturers – not once but many times. He would continue in his role as one of the very few men with whom Rex could let his guard down, though he had come to realize even during the POW scenario, that such unguardedness only went so far. Rex protected the sanctuary of his own feelings, and no one begrudged him that trait.

And so, there were very few people who would dare take the tack that Denal now employed. He sidled up beside his captain. "Shall I check on the two troopers who were attacked, Sir? It looked to me like they were okay, but I can go make sure."

"Yeah, that would be good," Rex replied.

"And you, Captain? You're alright?"

It was the sort of casual inquiry Rex accepted from Denal.

"Everything's fine," he replied, then turning the question back on his sergeant, "Hoth Company holding up okay?"

Denal gave a single nod. "Now that Sempe's back, Sixer seems to be back to his old self."

"Yeah, they fixed Sempe up quickly," Rex noted.

"I think the clone medical facilities have gotten better since the beginning of the war," Denal opined. "I guess they've had more troops to practice on."

"That's true," Rex agreed.

"Captain Rex, Sir." Dogma appeared beside the two men. "I did some quick research on this planet's indigenous life forms, and the creatures that attacked us are called banshees. They're carnivorous, mostly scavengers, and they're spread planet-wide, fairly heavy numbers." He went on to relate several other tidbits about mating and reproductive habits, life spans, and behavioral tendencies.

Rex listened, finding it somewhat humorous and amazing the amount of detail Dogma had looked up. Once the Shinie had finished his dissertation, Denal took that as a good cue for him to check up on the banshees' victims.

"I'll report back via comm, Captain," he said just before leaving. "I'll rejoin my company after that. It looks like they've shuffled further back in the column."

Rex nodded an acknowledgment. Now alone with Dogma, he indulged the young trooper several more minutes of reporting on the banshee and also now the vine that had attacked them earlier.

As Dogma seemed to draw to a conclusion, Rex felt a smile spreading across his face. "You know, Dogma, you remind me a lot of another trooper I brought onboard as a Shinie."

"Who's that, Sir?" Dogma asked.

"We called him Echo," Rex replied. "He was an information glut just like you."

"I've heard the men mention him," Dogma said. "They said he died at the Citadel."

"That's right," Rex replied evenly. "He was a good man. You remind me a lot of him. He was a rule follower, too."

"I appreciate the compliment, Sir," Dogma said graciously. Then with the good sense of a soldier who knows when the conversation is over, he dropped back into the column of soldiers until he found himself walking beside Tup.

"Sucking up?" Tup teased.

"Being useful," Dogma corrected.

"I'm just kidding," Tup said, nudging him slightly with his elbow. "But what are you worried about? You're always useful."

"I didn't say I was worried," Dogma replied, apparently missing the humor in his squad mate's voice. "I just thought the captain might want to know more about those creatures. They're called banshees, and they're—"

"You don't have to give me the whole rundown, brother," Tup cut him off with a warning chuckle. "I've seen that they can be dangerous, and that's all I need to know."

"You're such a simpleton sometimes, Tup," Dogma grinned.

"Maybe," Tup conceded. "But you know I always have your back."

"Yeah," Dogma nodded with genuine appreciation. "I know that."

They continued on through the growing darkness. Even though Umbara was already dim and shrouded, there was such a thing as night; and the night was darker and more foreboding than the inky daylight. It lent a feeling of being isolated from everyone and everything around you.

As the two brothers walked close side-by-side, that wall of night ensconcing them in their own sphere, Tup asked quietly. "Do you think we'll both survive this one?"

Dogma spoke with certainty. "I know I will. So will you, if you follow orders."

"I'm not sure how I feel about the new general's orders," Tup replied.

"Our feelings don't matter one bit," Dogma scoffed. "Feelings aren't what determines strategy or tactics. Don't make the mistake of letting your emotions get in the way of doing the right thing."

"I won't if you won't," Tup rejoined with a twinge of prodding humor in his voice.

"I never let my emotions get the better of me," Dogma said dismissively.

Tup didn't even try to disguise his sarcastic doubt. Truly, there were times when he loved his brother all the more for his short-sightedness and self-delusion. "Oh, no, never."

Twelve hours.

They'd been marching steadily ahead for twelve hours. Constantly alerting at the faintest sound. Discerning possibilities for enemy hiding places around every turn. Diving for cover at the slightest movement in the underbrush.

It had been a hellish advance through hellish landscape.

And now the men were starting to shows signs of fatigue.

Had this been, as General Krell had put it, "some training course on Kamino", Kix had no doubt the men would have held up just fine. Twelve hours certainly was not beyond a clone's ability, even under pressing conditions. But the pace Krell was setting and the complete and utter lack of reconnaissance of the way ahead had translated into a route that seemed to be more difficult than was necessary and left the men constantly wondering if they were about to walk into an ambush.

Kix noticed the increasing clumsiness around him. Weapons being carried low-slung and loose. Heads bobbing as men went on in a walking sleep.

It wasn't a good situation.

"Everyone's starting to drag."

"Yeah, including me," Pitch replied. "It's been over twelve hours now. This is hraka. A couple hours' rest won't put us behind schedule. I'll bet the other battalions aren't anywhere near the capitol yet."

"I'm going up front to talk to the captain," Kix stated.

"You, uh, you trot right on up there," Pitch quipped. "I'll hold your place back here."

Kix began making his forward through the column. It took him less than ten minutes to catch up to the lead elements, which included not only his captain, but Jesse and Hardcase as well. As he drew even with Hardcase, his squad mate gave him a slight bump of acknowledgment.

"Uh-oh, if you're up here, there must be bad news," Hardcase said, only partly joking.

"Not bad news," Kix corrected. "I've just been noticing the men are getting tired."

"You gonna tell that to Krell?' Jesse asked, leaning in, his voice a blend of incredulity and sardonic challenge.

"I'm going to tell the captain," Kix replied.

Hardcase nodded approvingly. "Good. Even I could use ten blinks right about now."

"You've got to find a way to work with him. He's already browned off most of the battalion. They're all looking at you to see how you react. They're looking at you to set the standard. If you lose your professionalism, everything falls apart. Heh, too bad this didn't happen to Cody. He'd know precisely how to handle this. I wonder how the 212th is doing. We haven't had any reports lately. I should comm him once we've slowed down a bit—"

"Sir."

Rex was drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of Kix's voice just behind him. He knew, without looking, that it was Kix. The medic had a smooth gentility to his voice that was very fitting for a healer. It never ceased to amaze Rex how the same genetically identical sets of vocal chords, producing the same voice, had the ability to tweak inflections enough to give certain clones unmistakable tones and timbres. Kix was one of those clones who had, whether by choice or by chance, adopted a voice altogether suited to his specialty. Rex actually felt a bit of humor in the realization that he genuinely enjoyed listening to Kix's voice.

"We've been keeping this pace for 12 hours now," the medic stated calmly but with just enough emphasis to impart his concern. "The men are getting worn down. We should rest."

Rex knew Kix was speaking no more than the truth, and yet he wished he hadn't said it. For in relaying his opinion as a medic, Kix had laid responsibility squarely on Rex's shoulders – a situation that normally would not have bothered Rex in the least; except that this time Rex knew he was going to have to take the matter to General Krell.

And he was not looking forward to that.

He gathered up his resolve for what he already knew was going to be an unpleasant scene. Quickening his pace for a few steps, he came alongside the general; and with as matter-of-fact a manner as he could summon, he motioned towards a low rise less than five klicks distant.

"General Krell, the top of this ridge will be a good place for the men to make camp."

Krell's response was not unexpected. "The men don't need rest. They need the resolve to complete the task at hand." He did not even alter his pace as he answered. He did not look at the man to whom he was speaking.

"But Sir—"

What happened next was a moment that, though not imbued with the violence or brutality of war, would forever stay with Rex as what he considered to be his first true injury of the war. He'd suffered multiple physical injuries before. There had even been the attitude of Jedi General Piell, but that had never had the power to injure him; in fact, he'd considered it no more than an insult, to which he'd responded with anger.

This moment, though, was meant to dehumanize. And in that, it was successful.

Krell, still walking and looking straight ahead, spoke in succinct tones. "CT-7567, are you reading me?"

Rex shook his head, wondering if perhaps he'd misheard. But he knew he hadn't. "Excuse, me, Sir?"

"I asked you a question, CT-7567." Now, Krell stopped walking. He folded his arms across his chest and turned at last to face his first-in-command. "Do you understand the need to adhere to my strategy?"

Rex forced down the indignation rising within him. He reminded himself of his own admonishment to Fives: "Just treat him with respect, and we'll all get along fine." Besides, Rex prided himself on his loyalty and sense of duty. He wasn't going to let Krell's brusque leadership style change that. He answered equably with only a slight hint of irritation peeking through here and there. "Sir, the terrain is extremely hostile. Despite the difficulty of the conditions, the battalion is making good time. These men just need a little break."

At this, Krell turned, moving physically into Rex's space, forcing him to take a step back. Bending his great height down, he pointed a finger at his captain, and thus began a dressing-down that caused waves of anger and consternation to flow through the bodies of all the men within earshot.

"Captain, do I need to remind you of this battalion's strategic mission in conquering this planet?" He straightened up and pointed back towards the column. "Look back. See those platoons?"

Rex turned and regarded his men. There, at the front, was Kix. Rex could almost see his expression through his visor. He could certainly see the strain in the drawn-up shoulders. And he hoped that the medic would not interject. Kix had been known to press his luck before, but he could do that with General Skywalker. General Krell was a whole different story.

To his credit, Kix held his tongue.

Krell went on. "Their mission is to take this city and take it swiftly. Time and rest are luxuries the Republic cannot afford. We are the key to this invasion. The other battalions are counting on our support! If we fail, everyone fails! Do you understand this? Do all of you understand this?!" His voice has been rising steadily until he was shouting at the end. He brooked no dissent, no disobedience. "Now, move on!"

It was not in Rex's nature to feel embarrassment. He could recall only a handful of times when he'd experienced it. And it wasn't exactly embarrassment he was feeling now; it was more a sense that he had let his soldiers down, that he hadn't been able to prevail upon this stand-in general. He'd hoped that by being courteous and not holding the general's demeanor against him, Krell might come to trust him the way General Skywalker did.

Clearly, that wasn't going to be the way things went.

He motioned the men to move out again and then nodded Fives to go ahead of him. He hung back, joining up with Kix again.

"I'm sorry, Kix," he said.

"You tried," the medic replied, then after a pause, he added, "He's not a good general. He's not a good Jedi."

"Eh, you can't say that, Kix," Rex reprimanded lightly. "He's a tremendous general. He wins battles. That's what wars are about."

"He wins them with soldiers, with clone troopers," Kix replied. "We have to figure into the equation somehow."

"He's expecting from us what he expects of himself." Rex found himself in the awkward position of defending a leader he was quickly coming to dislike.

"Besalisks have much greater stamina than clones," Kix pointed out. "They can go for days without rest, and on top of that, he's a Jedi. That gives him abilities we don't have."

"I understand, Kix, but that doesn't change anything," Rex replied. "He's right. We are the lynchpin to the invasion. If he feels we need to keep moving, then we keep moving."

At this point, and much to his surprise, Rex heard Jesse's voice at his ear. "You know, General Skywalker is a Jedi, but he always is looking out for us. If we needed a break, he knew it before we even told him."

"General Skywalker isn't like anyone else," Rex replied. "So don't even try to draw comparisons." A pause. "I'm trying not to." He quickened his pace, Kix and Jesse to draw whatever conclusions they would.

But it wasn't comparisons between the two generals that formed the basis for their conversation. It wasn't even a discussion of how the captain was faring under Krell's leadership.

Instead, Jesse asked, "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Kix replied. "Disappointed. I was hoping Krell would listen to the captain."

"Krell doesn't listen to anyone," Jesse humphed.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them as they walked on, until at last, Kix said, "Well, I'd better back there with Pitch."

"Stay up here for a while," Jesse deferred.

Kix did not fully hide his surprise at this suggestion. "You sure?"

"No, but . . . there's something not right when we're not all together," Jesse replied. He turned briefly to Hardcase behind him. "Comm Pitch. Tell him to get up here."

"Pitch told me why you didn't want me with you," Kix said directly, but with the manner of someone who knows how to ease into a conversation. "And I guess there's some truth to it—"

"There's a lot of truth to it," Jesse cut him off. "But you've always been like that. It shouldn't make a difference now."

"Why does it?"

"Because this place is going to be . . . the end of the road for a lot of us." And while his words were heavy, his manner was not. He seemed almost . . . glib. "Did you ever think of what you would do if you knew your time was up? How many rules would you throw out?"

Kix was perplexed. This sounded nothing like Jesse. Even over the previous few months, when the stress of being second-in-command had weighed heavily on him, Jesse had never deviated from his responsible self, even-keeled and thoughtful, more often serious than not. The man walking beside him right now came across as flippant, lacking in bearing.

He cared for his squad mates; that much was clear. Perhaps some smidgen of guilt played in the back of his mind over how he'd acted towards Kix; but there could be no doubt that the bond between all the members of Saber Squad was unbreakable. They'd been tried before and come through every time. Umbara would be no different.

Except that it was.

"If I knew I was going to die tomorrow, I can tell you . . . I would tell General Krell exactly what I think of him," Jesse went on.

"Have you been sniffing that gas?" Kix inquired, and he was not joking.

"No, I haven't," came the quipped reply. "But I'll bet a little whiff will do ya."

Up ahead of them, Fives turned around. "The Umbarans have advantages we don't. I'm sure if the Republic could develop a gas like that for use with us clones, they would. They might even be working on it right now."

"Well, I'd volunteer to try it out," Jesse put forth.

"You and me both, brother," Fives rejoined.

Kix looked between the two of them and shook his head. "I think you're both being ridiculous."

Fives chuckled. "For someone who dispenses drugs for a living, I'm surprised you feel that way. This could be another hypo to add to your collection."

Jesse laughed.

Hardcase chimed in. "If so, I'm first in line."

"Yeah, the three of us can be test cases," Fives said.

And suddenly, there it was. Kix saw it plainly.

A bond he had not expected. And one that he wasn't so sure he liked.

The conversation, absurd as it was, was meant as nothing more than a means of passing the time as they continued on their weary trek. But the days of Fives standing on the periphery were gone. Whatever agonies he had suffered at Echo's death, he now came back to the 501st seemingly fully recovered, a leader in his own right, but still with same air of skepticism that had marked him even when Echo had still been alive.

But these observations were not what leaped out at Kix as he watched his squad mates interact with Fives. What he saw was a charisma that had only been lightly at play in earlier days. Kix recalled the mission on Pylotta, just after Fives had joined the 501st, and how the Shinie had somehow managed to convince Pitch to go with him on an expedition into the tunnels beneath the enemy airbase. Pitch had been a veteran soldier at the time, not easily given to flights of whimsy. But Fives had won him over, and now Kix wondered if he was looking at the progressive flourishing of that charisma into something more . . . influential?

"And why have I been summoned up here to the front of the class?" Pitch's voice. "I was quite content to march on in ignominy back with the rest of the company."

Jesse replied, "I just wanted Saber Squad to be together."

"Well, the four of us anyway," Pitch amended.

"You can pretend I'm Top," Fives offered.

Hardcase clapped Fives on the shoulder. "Love you, Fives, but sorry brother. Nobody can pretend that well. He's one of a kind."

"You're damned right," Kix said under his breath.

Six hours later, the objective was in sight. After a forced march of eighteen hours, the Capitol was in range, and the 501st had reached the go-tactical point.

Krell had allowed for no rest, not even upon arrival. He'd given Rex the order to marshal the battalion's men and resources and report back to him in fifteen minutes.

What Rex had found as he'd gone to each company for a report was a steady string of exhausted and weary men. Yet, as much as he would have liked to lobby for even an hour's rest, he knew that such a thing was no longer an option. They were too close to the city now; and the longer they stayed in one place, the more likely it was their location would be discovered, and they would be open to attack. No, it was best to proceed with the scheduled plan.

He approached General Krell. "Sir, ready to bring our companies forward for a surgical strike on the city's defenses."

"There won't be any need, Captain," came the smooth reply.

Once again, Rex felt as if he were living inside some kind of nightmare where every time he spoke, he could be sure of a countermand. "Sir?"

"All platoons will execute a forward assault along the main route to the city," the general announced, walking past him as if that was all there was to be said.

Yet Rex was not ready to capitulate on this one. "But Sir, General Skywalker's plan was to surprise them with multiple attacks. If we come in from the main route, they're likely to engage us in a full frontal assault."

Krell's reply was evenly spoken. "Change in plans, Captain. I'm in command now."

"With all due respect, General, we don't know what we are up against. It might be wiser to think first." He knew the moment the last sentence fell from his lips that his choice of words had been poor.

And he was about to pay for it.

The general's cool collectedness was gone. Krell whirled on him, once again using his imposing height in an attempt to intimidate. "Are you questioning my order?" he thundered. He opened up a holomap of the capitol and the main road leading to it. "You will take the main road, straight to the capitol. You will not stop, and you will not turn back, regardless of the resistance you meet. You will attack them with all our troops, not some sneak attack with a few men. That is my order, and you will follow it explicitly. Do I make myself clear, CT-7567?" The ire and challenge in his voice had risen with every word.

Rex felt the eyes of many troopers on him at that moment. They were, once again, waiting to see what kind of example their captain would set.

But what other example could he set than that of an obedient soldier? He had been created for this purpose: to follow orders and wage war. He knew, as did everyone else, that he—and all his fellow clones—had obedience bred into them, but it was not an absolute. And where breeding and genetics fell short, a clone's individual morality—or lack thereof—filled the gap.

For Rex, there simply could be no outright defiance of a commanding officer. Throughout his entire though brief life, Rex had been an expert at twisting his interpretation of orders just enough that he could not be credibly accused of refusing an order, but he could put his own imprint on a mission. Of course, with General Skywalker, the thought of disobeying had never even entered his head, nor had it been necessary.

He would not allow it to enter his head now.

"Yes, General." And although he said the words, he could not hide the sound of defeat. He didn't want his men to see or hear the despair in his manner, but his best efforts at concealing his feelings were falling short. But General Krell gave him little time to think dwell on it.

"Now, engage," came the order.

Rex gave a smart, if half-hearted, salute and walked towards where his company commanders were assembled and waiting for his instructions. Most of them had already heard the order and were feeling a certain amount of anguish on behalf of their captain.

But one thing they knew they could always expect from Rex. No matter how difficult the mission, no matter how half-cocked the order, Rex would always lead the way. He would never ask his men to do something he was not willing to do himself.

When he said he was always first, he was always first—not only when things looked good, but more importantly, when things looked bad.

A little bit in there to bring closer the bond between Dogma and Tup. I would have liked to see both of their characters fleshed out a little more in the series; but of course, the writers had time limits to deal with. Fanfic doesn't! So, I wanted to show that Dogma isn't just a Bantha's a**, that he and Tup actually care about each other as brothers.

And for Fives fans . . . yep, he's going to be a bit of a foil in this story just like he was in the episodes.