Dear Reader, First thank you to my reviewers of the last two chapters: Sued13, Zarroc789, Akira Hayama, Sajuea, Cuthalion97, and the Unnamed Guest. This chapter has no battle scenes in it. It's the "in between battles" timeframe, and I'm trying to show how the boys
are all starting to disintegrate a bit. I should give a headsup . . . Fives' fans may not be happy with how he's portrayed here but I tried to stay
faithful to how he's depicted in the Umbara arc. He is definitely not an obedient soldier :-) Happy reading! Peace, CS

Chapter 98 Descent and Dissent

"Men say it's a long journey down into darkness. It's not. Ask anyone nwho's ever been on the front lines. Ask the man who scratched his skin off in the trenches near Dounenant. And once the biting flies were dead, all that was left was us. And for a while, we ceased to be men. But the only way you could leave was to die."

Adrian Philmont

Pitch had long since lost sight of Jesse and Hardcase.

When the Umbarans had resumed their attack on the main road, the advancing elements of the 501st had scattered into cover on both sides of the road. Any idea of continuing in the direction of the capitol city had been dashed and replaced with the simple necessity of staying alive.

The Umbarans had not only regrouped after their retreat, but they'd called in reinforcements in the form of Starfighters. And what Pitch had only seen before on holographic displays of enemy equipment, he was now seeing directly with his own eyes. The unusual design of the Starfighter, as depicted in the holograms, had appeared almost as something to laugh at; or if not that, at the very least, it raised questions about how such a machine could possibly fly in the atmosphere or in space.

But seeing it now—its sheer size, its maneuverability, the way its ray-shielded cockpit afforded a full view of the enemy pilot, face filled with maniacal savagery—the lethality of the thing was unquestionable. Pitch's uninformed scoffing at the design and appearance of the fighter went down under the weight of truth as he watched brother after brother taken out by the fighting machine. It could use not only its weaponry to obliterate its opponents, but also its very structure to smash into and flatten them.

In the four hours since they had been driven off the main road and the fighters had entered the fray, Pitch had seen what the fighters could do; and he'd taken done the only thing a clone could do against such superior technology. He'd taken cover and waited for an opening during which to advance, although even the concept of an advance had become something amorphous, guesswork. The battalion had frayed during the course of the battle. The companies had lost any semblance of formation. There were small groups of clones running and taking cover, daring to fire off a burst whenever the opportunity arose, taking useless aim at the fighter cockpits.

Pitch was not quite ready to call it a disaster in the making, but he was wishing very much that General Skywalker was there to lead the battle. And he imagined that Captain Rex was sharing that sentiment.

The captain was crouched down in front of him as they took cover behind cluster of broad-trunked trees. Between him and captain were Gernot and one of the newer members of the 501st, a Shinie they called Dogma. All things considered, good company to be in under the current circumstances. Gernot was a seasoned fighter, and Dogma had already shown himself to be smart, even-keeled, and fiercely devoted to the war effort.

Gernot spoke back over his shoulder. "We can't step foot out there without one of those fighters smashing our fekking heads in. And our blasters are no good against that ray shield."

"We need rockets," Pitch replied. "But who knows where our launchers are. Everyone is spread out all over the place." A pause. "I wish I could get close enough to one of 'em to plant a little glycenol patch."

Gernot grinned ruefully beneath his helmet. "I'll bet you do. That makes two of us."

As he spoke, yet another fighter came screaming into the narrow trough where many troops were taking cover. Met with concentrated Republic fire power, it lingered only briefly before executing a turning maneuver and shooting off skyward.

"It's retreating," Dogma said, but his voice contained more of a question than an assertion.

Rex did not believe that for a moment. He had no idea why the fighter had left the area, but he felt confident that it would not stay away for long. "We have got to move before those fighters come back."

"Rex! Over here!" It was Fives' voice.

Rex caught sight of him and a handful of troopers running through the fiery smoke in front of him. He brought forth his small gaggle and joined them.

The air was still filled with the green streaks of Umbaran plasma bolts. Starfighters or not, the enemy was abundantly present and defending against the advance, such as it was.

Running behind his captain, Pitch could hear Rex barking out orders. He heard Jesse's name, prompting him to look about and seeing that Jesse had been part of the group that had been with Fives and was now rejoining them. Other than that, all was chaos. Rex was ordering the right and left flanks covered, yet there were no flanks. There was no order of battle. This was only disorder and desperation.

But then there came one of the few certainties that Pitch could rely on. It was the certainty that, no matter how dire the situation, there was one trooper who always knew what his job was about, who always stepped up without question or doubt.

Kix was suddenly out in the middle of the criss-cross of competing fire, staying low and moving quickly, dragging another injured clone to safety.

Following his movement, Pitch now saw at least half a dozen wounded soldiers gathered together in a hollow-type shelter on one side of a thicket of trees. He saw Kix jab a hypo into the man's neck before running out into the fray once again to bring in another man. Tending to the rescued men was the D Company medic, nicknamed Slider. It was a team operation. Kix would bring them in. Slider would triage them.

"Teamwork among medics," Pitch mused. He'd never really given much thought to how medics did their job. He just knew that the 501st medics were among the best, if not the best. But at one medic per company, he'd never seen them act in pairs. With the lines between companies having been erased in this battle and the men interspersed all over the battlefield, the resultant combining of the medics' efforts had been a necessity.

Pitch caught sight of a hazy blue spot to the right of where Slider was tending the wounded. Unlike the flash of blaster streaks, this one lingered, drawing Pitch's attention. For the first time, he noticed General Krell standing there. He was holding out his hand where a holo-image was playing.

Pitch was surprised to see the general down on the front lines. He certainly had kept his distance and stayed in the rear up to this point. It seemed that Captain Rex's moment of assertion on the main road had hit home. Certainly, the presence of the Jedi in the thick of the fighting was a morale booster and added to the confidence of the troops.

Pitch broke from cover, ran the short distance to the triage area and dove for cover. Rolling to his feet, he could see that the holo-image was that of General Kenobi.

" . . . your battalion to help us take it." The image of Kenobi was speaking.

General Krell replied firmly. "Resistance from the Umbarans has been greater than anticipated. We're holding our ground at the moment."

"We've gathered intel on an airbase to the west," General Kenobi stated. "It's resupplying the capitol's defenses—"

"Incoming! Incoming!" A near-miss rocked the ground around them, temporarily disrupting the transmission. But when the image cleared, General Kenobi resumed as if there'd been no interruption at all.

"If you can capture that airbase, it will sever the capitol supply lines, allowing the rest of our forces to move in."

"I'll see to it that the airbase is placed under our control," General Krell said emphatically.

"Remember, General Krell, the entire invasion depends on your battalion." With that, the holo-transmission ended.

Pitch waited to see what General Krell's orders would be. He looked at Captain Rex, standing there before Krell, watching as the image of General Kenobi flashed out; and he fancied he could almost feel his captain's longing and remorse as the holo disappeared. He imagined Rex must be thinking how much more preferable it would be had General Kenobi had been put in charge of the 501st instead of General Krell.

But then again, wishful thinking had no meaning in the life of a clone. There was only the situation and what to do about it.

"Captain Rex, have those coordinates mapped and all troops ready to move out immediately."

"Yes, General."

"Move out?" Pitch questioned silently. "We're getting smashed to pieces here, and he talks as if we have the option to advance just like that? He's crazy."

"Pitch, come help me."

He turned, knowing it was Kix who had spoken before seeing him.

"There's too many for me to get on my own," Kix went on. "I need your help."

"You got it," Pitch nodded.

They moved out onto the battlefield. It was not the first time Pitch had helped Kix bring in the wounded. It was not even the tenth time. He – and the other members of Saber Squad – had helped with this task so many times, it had become a standard practice. They did not begrudge being asked to help and had even gotten to the point of volunteering when the flow of combat permitted it. But it was not something they would ever want as a primary duty, and for that reason, they held their squad mate in even greater esteem.

Searching out the injured, one never knew what he was going to find. The horror of bodies blown apart and torn to shreds could be made worse only by knowing the identities of many of those men, wounded or dead. As a soldier, it was not necessary to look upon the grotesqueness of what modern weaponry could do. A trooper did not have to stop and see who had been killed or how. Whether enemy or friend, an infantryman could always bypass the gore and proceed with his mission. What he might see in his periphery, in passing, or through unfortunate happenstance, could usually be dealt with by the strongholds within the Jango Fett matrix. It wasn't a desensitization; no, it wasn't that at all. It was a deliberate coldness, and indifference that marked the character of a bounty hunter much more than the character of a citizen soldier. That had been one of the benefits of a custom-made Army: such traits could be injected into the mix of creation.

But to varying degrees of success – no matter how the Kaminoans might boast of their own brilliance in defining the requisites for an ideal soldier. For most soldiers did not want to look upon violence done to a living body. They certainly didn't want to see it done to their brothers. If need be, they could do it and still walk away mentally intact afterwards. But it was not so easy as the Kaminoans insisted it was.

And so for Pitch, knowing what Kix saw on a regular basis—and being familiar with Kix's un-clone-like sensitivities—he was always on the lookout for any sign of upset in the equilibrium of Kix's state-of-mind. He and his fellow squad mates all shared the same concern, but since coming onto active duty, Kix had been solid as a rock. He'd let the lessons of basic training on Kamino shore up his defenses. He'd focused on strengthening a little more of the bounty hunter aspects within him.

But that vulnerability was still there. Kix knew it. His squad mates knew it.

No amount of conditioning could erase it. It was his weakness and his strength, both at the same time. It's what made his brothers see him as their moral superior, but a superior who was always balancing on the precipice.

Now, Pitch was beginning to wonder if that precipice was starting to crumble.

After dragging over twenty men to safety, with the volume of enemy fire slowly lessening and the air clearing, something peculiar happened.

Pitch had just slung an injured man over his shoulder when he glanced over to see Kix struggling to drag a man to safety. Only it wasn't a man.

It was half a man.

The body had been blown in two. The lower half was nowhere to be seen.

"Kix, he's dead," Pitch said.

"He needs to be moved out of here," came the reply. The medic sounded as if he were on a recording, simply saying the words without meaning.

"The mortuary teams will take care of him," Pitch pressed. "There are men who are wounded who need our help. He—he doesn't need our help. There's nothing we can do for him."

Without a word, Kix let go of the dead man's arm and went to check on another man.

Pitch deposited his injured trooper in the triage area and went back out to Kix's side. This time, the medic was, thankfully, hunkered down beside a man who was still alive and wounded.

"Listen," he said, going down on one knee. "All the firing's stopped. The Umbarans have retreated."

"They'll be back," Kix replied. He added in a bitter voice. "And there'll be a lot less of us to face them."

Pitch nodded. "General Krell commands as if we have an unlimited number of men."

"He commands as if it doesn't matter how many clones die," Kix added. "There—there must be . . . thirty injured men just from what we've brought in. The other medics probably have their hands full, too. And—and that's not counting the dead."

Pitch could hear the edge in his voice. "Kix, you can't let this get to you—"

"I don't begrudge a man a good death," Kix said with quiet anger. "But these aren't good deaths. These men didn't have to die this way, following a plan that—that makes no sense—"

"You need to shut up right now," Pitch warned. "You're not a tactician. You're not a strategist. We have our orders, and we follow them."

Kix faced him directly. "Hraka," he scowled.

"You two need some help?"

Sergeant Denal joined them.

"We all do," Kix replied curtly, then he hoisted the injured man to his feet and led him away to the triage area.

"He sounds angry," Denal stated after Kix was out of earshot.

Pitch sighed. "He is."

"Not a good sign."

"No . . . not a good sign."

Sixer pulled off his helmet. He felt the need for some fresh air, even if it was the thick, fog-laden air of Umbara. He sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree and drew in a deep breath. Arrayed in the vicinity around him were the remnants of the 501st in the process of reforming into their companies for a head count and in preparation for whatever was to come next.

He saw Jesse approaching him and got to his feet as the battalion second-in-command drew closer.

"Sixer, what's your company's status?"

"I don't know yet. Sempe is still rounding everyone up." He paused, then said with no hint of emotion. "March is dead."

Jesse was silent for a moment, then he asked, "You're certain?"

"I saw him . . . a mortar landed right where he was standing. There—there wasn't much left of him—" Sixer cleared his throat. "I have to tell Keeper and Slip . . . but I don't even know if they're still alive."

Jesse took off his helmet, and Sixer was surprised to see the anger etched there. He knew Jesse to be level-headed and always in control of his emotions. But that was not what he was seeing now.

"This has been a fekking cluster since General Skywalker got called away," Jesse ground out. "It's sheer luck any of us are left."

"General Krell isn't exactly the kind of leader I'd want to serve under," Sixer agreed, "But we have to trust Rex. And if he's willing to follow Krell, then we have to be willing, too."

"I don't know how he's ever won a single engagement. He's not a good strategist," Jesse sneered.

Sixer knit his brows. "What's up with you, Jesse? This isn't like you."

"What's not like me? Expressing doubt about my commanding general's competence?" Jesse sounded as angry as he looked. "Maybe I've never had the need to before now."

"No . . . it's not that you've got your doubts about General Krell. I think we all do," Sixer replied evenly. "It's how you're doing it. You've always set the example, Jes. Respectful disagreement is what I always called it. But you've been short, almost flippant; and now you're . . . "

"I'm what?"

"You're feeding the negative reactions and behavior of a lot of our boys. They see their second-in-command acting unprofessionally and –"

"Unprofessionally?"

Sixer was not deterred. "There's no other word for it. With all due respect for your position, Jesse, I have to say that you've . . . eh, fek . . . you're not acting like second-in-command, not since this mission started."

"Maybe that's because I'm not really second-in-command on this one, am I?" came the heated reply.

Sixer recognized immediately that he was hearing the truth, a bitter truth for the man speaking it.

"Rex didn't put Fives in charge," he began, but Jesse waved him off.

"I don't care about that." A clear lie, if ever Sixer had heard one; but Jesse went on. "You want to know the truth? It feels good not to have to lead, to just once get to be a follower. Let someone else make all the decisions and deal with the repercussions."

"That's a load of osik," Sixer pushed back. "If you really felt that way, then you would be perfectly content to just follow General Krell's orders. If you were only a follower, you'd just keep your mouth shut and soldier on. You wouldn't question his plan." He leaned in closer. "I think what's really happened here is we're all looking at a very possible defeat; but you're looking at it alone. The one guy who always bolstered you isn't here anymore. Top moved on, but if he were here, he'd tell you to get your head out of your ass and act like the leader you are. You're not defeated until you're dead."

Jesse felt his jaw working. "I never depended on Top for anything." He grit his teeth. "And he sure as hell didn't depend on me."

"You two look like you're fighting each other. What, the enemy isn't enough for you?" It was Hardcase, appearing suddenly beside the two. Neither of them had noticed his approach.

Sixer regarded Hardcase for a brief moment. "I've got to go see how much of my company is still alive." With that, he turned and walked back into the amassing troops.

"What was that all about?" Hardcase asked. "Sixer looked pissed off. That doesn't happen very often."

"Don't you think the last day and half have been enough to piss anyone off?" Jesse replied.

"I've been having a good time," Hardcase said gamely. "Killing real living, breathing, thinking enemies is a bigger challenge than shooting droids."

Jesse shook his head with a sarcastic grin. "There's something seriously wrong with you." Even as he said it, he was silently thanking whatever forces moved the galaxy that Hardcase was still around – no judgment, no hang-ups, no attempts at psychoanalysis. Just a man with a big gun and a love of using it.

It came naturally to Fives.

He knew Rex was notorious—along with General Skywalker—for never carrying anything stronger than the standard issue binoculars. Rex tended to rely on his range finder. General Skywalker . . . intuition, perhaps?

So, as soon as Rex approached the edge of the promontory from which he, Fives, and General Krell were assessing the terrain below and before them, Fives had, in ARC trooper style, handed over his binoculars without Rex even having to ask.

Even more, he could sense the tenseness rise in his captain's shoulders as Rex looked out over the landscape.

"There's a base there, alright," Rex said after a moment's observation. "And it's heavily guarded. At least three tank divisions plus guns." He did not sound particularly moved by the enemy's display of firepower. But then again, he never would. He would not allow any doubt to show. Not that he questioned whether or not his battalion would be able to take the base. He was certain they could.

If given the right plan.

General Krell spoke decisively. "We'll advance along the central gorge and engage their forces in a full forward assault."

So much for the right plan. But Rex had expected as much and was ready to offer an alternative. Going down on one knee, he took another look through the binoculars. "The gorge is narrow, Sir. There's no room for a platoon-sized element to get through there, much less a company. We'll only be able to move the platoons through in single squads. Perhaps a closer recon will tell us if there's a more secure route."

There. Respectful yet looking at other options.

"Obi-wan and the other battalions are holding off the enemy right now while they wait for us to take out this base." General Krell spoke in a calm, reasonable tone – not his usual combative manner. And while Rex felt it was a sign of increasing respect the general had for him, Krell's next words proved to the captain that he might be garnering the general's respect but not his trust. "We don't have time to look for a more secure route."

Rex could have protested. He could have pressed for more consideration of the situation. But the truth was that General Krell had been right about the fact that General Kenobi and the other battalions were waiting, depending on the 501st to eliminate not only the resupply but also the air support originating from the base. And although Rex was not convinced that Krell's plan was the best option, he could not abandon his own nature. He was loyal. He was conscientious. But he did not call the shots, and insubordination was not something that formed any part of who he was.

"Yes, Sir," he said reluctantly. He turned and started down towards his men.

Immediately, Fives was beside him, and he did not waste a second.

"Rex, this is crazy. There's no way we can get down that gorge—"

"This isn't the time, Fives," Rex cut him off. "We need to figure out how we're going to do this."

Fives made a sound of disbelief and disgust. "What are we going to figure out? There's no way to do this, no way that doesn't involve the deaths of a lot of men."

"That's what we want to minimize," Rex replied. He stopped and turned to face Fives squarely. "You can help me come up with a plan to get through that gorge. But if you're not going to do that, then I don't have time to argue with you."

Fives hesitated. "I don't know what I can do to help. I can't see any way this could possibly work."

Rex gave a curt nod and resumed walking.

And Fives felt horrible. Torn. Rex was the perfect example of what Fives had always held in the highest esteem, the kind of man he wanted to be. He could see the pain the situation was causing him. If anyone deserved the best Fives had to give, it was Rex. Yet, Fives could not deny the anger and frustration building within him. What he did not recognize was his own short-sightedness. Having never been in command himself he could not put himself in the role, could not grasp the responsibility involved in being first-in-command.

He almost called out after him. He was a breath away from offering his expertise in developing a plan.

He never understood what it was that stopped him.

Tup noticed the grim expressions on the faces of the company commanders as they assembled. The fact that they were gathering could only mean that Captain Rex was on his way with the latest set of orders.

He dared not approach any of them – not even Jesse with whom he'd become friendly. He was a private. They were lieutenants. And at the moment, they did not look to be in the mood for conversation.

He approached Kix who was standing alone, looking worn but alert.

"Look. The platoon leaders are all joining the company commanders," Tup noted. "I guess we're about to get orders."

"It appears that way," Kix replied.

Tup waited to see if the medic would offer anything more. When he didn't, Tup continued. "I guess you've been kept busy," he said matter-of-factly.

The casualness of the remark struck Kix as peculiar and out-of-place, but he replied evenly, "Yes."

"How many have we lost?"

It was not something Kix wanted to talk about. "I don't know. I've just been getting them to the rear. I haven't been . . . counting numbers."

"I don't know how you medics do what you do," Tup said with a shake of his head. "When everyone else is running for cover, you guys are going out there under fire trying to save people."

"We all do it," Kix replied. "Not just medics." He could not account for it, but at that moment he wanted only to be alone or with his squad mates. But Pitch was back further in the loose formation, helping inventory the remaining heavy munitions. Jesse was with the other company commanders, and Hardcase stood next to him. They were speaking to each other, but Kix could not hear what they were saying. He considered going to join them, but recognizing that Tup, still a Shinie by all measures, had come to him with the attempt at making conversation, he was not going to be rude by walking away or excusing himself on a false premise.

"Well . . . this is the most combat I've seen since leaving Kamino," Tup went on. "And it looks like there's still a long way to go."

Kix was trying to think of something to say in reply when he saw Captain Rex approaching. He felt a sense of relief at his arrival for saving him from a conversation he really had no desire to indulge.

But that relief was short-lived.

Rex removed his helmet, approached the gathered company commanders and their platoon leaders, and got straight down to business.

"All right, listen up. We'll assemble the companies into two divisions. We'll move straight up this gorge to the airbase on the far side."

Although not among the battalion leadership, there were still plenty of troops within hearing distance Kix and Tup being two of them.

And after spending the better part of the last hour sifting through a battlefield of bodies and parts of bodies, the fraying edges of Kix's carefully maintained military bearing now felt themselves being further unwound. In an uncharacteristic outburst, he blurted—before even a single company commander could speak—in heated voice, "The casualties are going to be high."

It was unexpected. By everyone.

To be sure, Kix was not one to hold back on speaking his mind, but he would never have thought of questioning his captain in front of others. Any reservations he might be harboring were usually conveyed in private, without the risk of appearing insubordinate. He never would have simply injected himself into a briefing between Rex and his company commanders. The fact that he had just done so was the sprung leak that could only move the dam closer to breaking, as evidenced in what followed.

Standing beside Kix and emboldened by his words, Tup spoke up forcefully. "Is Krell trying to get us killed?"

Rex could overlook a Shinie getting caught up in the moment. He could even overlook his most skilled medic questioning tactics by stating the obvious. Hell, he agreed with him.

But it was what came next that set Rex back on his heels.

"You know, I wasn't sure that Krell was crazy before; but now, I'm positive." The words hadn't come from a rank-and-file soldier. They hadn't come from one of the hard-as-nails, bombastic types like Hardcase. They had come from the man Rex had relied upon for his steadiness since the moment he'd appointed him second-in=command.

Jesse might have been feeling the pressure a bit more since Top's departure, but he'd still been a stalwart figure within the battalion. He'd carried out his duties and done so with the same pride and professionalism he'd always displayed.

Rex could hardly recognize the man speaking now. This was not the responsible, well-thought-out voice of reason. This was . . . a complaint. A gripe. An accusation.

What the hell had driven him to this point? The point of acting in an impetuous, puerile manner.

"We had to retreat from the capitol because the general pushed a flawed strategy. Now, this?" It was Fives who had spoken, his voice dramatic and bubbling with rage. He had come down the hill just behind Rex . . .

. . . and now Rex had his answer. He had only to look at Fives, helmet-less and with that smoldering determination in his eye, to recognize that the charismatic ARC trooper was the weaver threading the thin strands of dissension through the ranks.

"No. No, I'm not going to let that happen," Rex commanded himself. "I won't see this battalion broken into factions."

His thoughts were interrupted by Hardcase, standing beside Jesse and balancing his weapon as if it were a baby on his knee. "I dunno. Could be fun," he opined, his voice tinged with genuine excitement at the prospect of another battle.

Now it was Dogma's turn. "Well, I, for one, agree with the general's plan. We're running out of time, and this is the best option."

While Rex agreed that time was not on their side, he certainly did not accept that this was the best option. Still, it was the option their commanding general had decided to pursue, so any discussion served no purpose other than to allow the clones' passions to become inflamed and spread further dissension in the ranks.

In response to Dogma, Jesse began pointing out the flaws of the plan. His tone was critical, but not just that—it was . . . there was almost an element of hatred back-coloring his words. "No recon? No air support?" He rapped his helmet against his forehead in a gesture Rex had never seen before, and the captain could not help but wonder if his second-in-command had gone completely off the rails. The man speaking now was a stranger as he went on angrily. "We don't know what we're up against. They have weapons we've never seen before."

"A few of General Skywalker's plans seemed reckless, too; but they worked," Rex pointed out emphatically.

It was Fives who replied. "Yeah, but General Skywalker is usually leading his men up in the front, not bringing up the rear like General Krell. A full forward assault would leave us too exposed."

The men begin to murmur amongst themselves. " It's going to be a meat grinder down there . . . We have to look at other options . . . If we march straight down there . . ."

Rex glanced out over the fifty or so men within his visibility.

They were waiting. Waiting for their captain to make a decision.

But didn't they understand? The decision was already made. General Krell had given his orders. Rex had suggested they look at other options. Krell had decided that speed was of the essence, and there was no time to explore other possibilities. Krells' original orders stood.

But now a seed of rebellion had been planted, and Rex knew by whom. He had to put an end to this, and he had to do it now. And the best way to do that was to get and keep Fives on his side.

"Fives." He summoned, leading him away from the others. "It would help if you eased their minds."

"What, you mean coax them into following another one of Krell's suicide missions? We lost a lot of men last time." His tone and demeanor, which Rex had always thought of as a boon, now, when working against good order and discipline, were proving to be very large and persistent thorns in Rex's side.

In the face of such hostility, Rex maintained his calm. "Krell may do things differently, but he is effective in getting them done. He's a recognized war hero."

Fives drew close, uncomfortably close. Somehow, the lines between captain and corporal had blurred, and the disagreement intensified. "He may have had some victories, but have you seen his casualty numbers? More troopers have been killed under his command than anyone else."

Rex was tempted to remind Fives of the difference in their rank and position, but military protocol was not the subject matter at the moment. And he considered Fives to be, while not quite a friend, still a good man with ties back to earlier days. No, this was not a time for a dressing down. It was not a time to feed Fives' outrage and rebellion with anger of his own. Instead, he drew back, and putting his hand on his chest, he fell back on earnestness, speaking the belief that formed the basis of his life as a fighting man. "That's the price of war, Fives. We have a duty to follow orders, and if we must, lay down our lives for victory."

As he turned away, he felt Fives' hand take rough hold of his arm.

The sneer in his voice was unmistakable. "You believe that? Or is that what you were engineered to think?"

Rex refused to be drawn in. He had spoken the truth and been repaid with insult. There was no point in trying to change Fives' mind. If this were to be a test of Rex's leadership, he now knew he could not count on anyone to bolster him. He would do it himself, the way he had always done it, through the strength of his own character.

The words of General Skywalker played once in his head. "He kind of reminds me of you."

Rex's response had sounded almost like an excuse, an apology for the exuberance, the energy, and the excitement he had brought with him in the first years of the war . . . as if having felt those thing had been somehow wrong. "Maybe . . . back in the day."

But at this moment, Rex would have given anything to recapture the sense of indestructibility, the fearful thrill of going on missions with General Skywalker, the powerful currents of challenge when leading his troops into battle. He would have given anything to have General Skywalker back in command. Instead, this scenario of serving under General Krell was proving something else to him. It was proving that he had become the first-in-command for one general, one Jedi. And if anything were to happen to that general, what remained? What drove him to serve faithfully under a commander whose leadership he detested, whose strategies seemed ill-conceived and heedless of the loss of life they entailed? Nothing here seemed right, and yet he followed.

Rex had always considered himself a simple man, though others would most certainly disagree with him. His answer now reflected his own perceived simplicity.

"I honor my code. That's what I believe."