Dear Reader,

First, thank you to my reviewers, Sued13, Sajuea, and HuffleHecate (who gave me my 500th review!). Well, I suppose I'm either doing a crummy job with Umbara, or perhaps folks don't like my portrayal of Fives, or interest has just waned! Not a whole lot of reviews of the last few chapters! So, I suppose I must wrap up Umbara quickly and move onto another original plotline. Either way, I like exploring how the guys are starting to fragment. In the TV series, there was so much in this segment of Umbara that just jumped out at me as very disturbing, especially with regard to Rex's behavior. I wanted to highlight that, but Umbara has been very difficult to write, when we all know the plotline already :-) I hope you enjoy! Happy New Year! Cheers, CS

Chapter 100 The Airbase

"There is a type of warfare in which the entire pattern is made up of a collection of lesser actions, but these lesser or individual actions are not sequentially interdependent. Each individual one is no more than a single statistic, an isolated plus or minus, in arriving at the final result."

Military Strategy: A General Theory of Power Control
J.C. Wylie

Rex led his men through the aftermath of the battle. The bodies of his brothers. The bodies of Umbarans. Burning bushes and smoldering trees. Pieces of the blown centipedes. And hanging over it all, an increasing thickness as the smoke blended with the perpetual Umbaran mist.

Rex had already viewed Umbara as a strange world, more foreign than most. Now, it had taken on an ominous and eerie aspect, like moving through a minefield of ruins and destruction. It was unsettling, not only to his men, but to Rex himself.

A sense of detachedness was enveloping him, as if the rest of the universe lay beyond the dense wall of fog through which he and his men were moving. Outside the wall was where honor and decency and goodness abided. Within . . . there were only the shadows of death and decay, fear and the ruthlessness needed to combat it. Whatever rules of engagement, whatever fragments of humanity that had survived the horrors of Umbara up to this point were only there by a tenuous grip in Rex's heart. Each step through the nightmarish landscape only stretched that hold more and more until the very real possibility existed that it might break completely.

And then what would stop what remained of the 501st from running amok? They were all suffering the same ailment of this place, the dehumanization of their souls.

They came upon the cockpit of one of the destroyed war machines. The greenish lights inside flickered with occasional bursts of power from the damaged circuits.

The machine was so badly mangled that it was the sort of thing Rex would normally pass by without taking any interest. But the rage inside of him was so great that even the slightest provocation, the death throes of a mortally injured electrical system, was enough to spur the demons of vengeance into action.

"That one's still got some juice in it. Waste it!" he ordered.

Hardcase, still hauling the rocket launcher, was more than eager to oblige. "Sure," he said with an undertone of satisfaction. It might have been overkill to use the weapon at such close range on a machine that was already out of commission, but it met an emotional need. Payback. Revenge. A burgeoning desire, a necessity, to not just defeat this enemy, but to annihilate him.

Shockingly, after Hardcase had fired the launcher, an Umbaran came staggering out of the cockpit before collapsing to the ground, dead.

"No juice left in him, either," Rex said with cold indifference before firing two shots into the dead man's back for good measure.

Trailing several meters back, Denal watched this scene play out, and it struck him as troublesome. It was out-of-character for the captain to take unnecessarily callous actions. He knew what kind of man Rex was, and these actions did not fit the picture. Even under the most brutal conditions, Rex always held it together. He always maintained a tactical mission focus. Ordering the destruction of an already useless piece of equipment, then shooting a dead man in the back . . .

"Something isn't right here. I need to talk to him, find out what's going on," Denal concluded. He quickened his pace, closing the distance between him and his captain. As he drew nearer, he suddenly saw Kix go running off to one side, shouting and firing his weapon.

Denal tensed and raised his weapon only to see that Kix was not running towards the enemy, but rather towards a trio of banshees that were attempting to feed on the body of a dead clone.

"Hey! Still hungry! Chew on that!"

In short order, Kix had killed two of the creatures.

Rex killed the third without even breaking his stride. "Everyone, keep moving."

It was a pointless, needless thing to do . . .

. . . and there was Kix, still leaning over one of the dead creatures, pointing his weapon at it, as if he feared it might rise up from death.

"Hey, Kix, leave it." This from Tup.

A new trooper giving advice to a seasoned veteran . . . what the hell was going on?

The advance through the gloom continued. Denal drew up to Rex's side. "Captain?"

"Sergeant?"

"The strain seems to be taking a toll on everyone," Denal noted. "Maybe a few words from you? To reassure them?"

"There are no assurances right now, Sergeant," Rex replied. "The only way we're going to survive this is if we get in the same mindset as the enemy."

"Sir, the enemy uses chemical inducement to create that mindset," Denal pointed out.

"We don't need chemicals," Rex replied. "Just hatred for the enemy." Then, not wanting to have his conscience plied any further, he quickened his pace, leaving Denal behind and no more at ease than when the conversation had started.

Rex could not fault the trooper for voicing his concerns. It was simply that Rex did not want to hear them right now. He did not want anything to interfere with the cultivation of his own hardness, his own immovable determination to defeat this enemy who had inflicted such tremendous losses on his own men. If he were going to be forced by General Krell into fighting the kind of battle that he could not win by conventional means, then he would have to alter his way of thinking, his way of doing. He would even have to change the core of who he was inside. If he was to maintain the loyalty and control of his battalion, he would have to offer them something better than what Fives offered—

"What? That's ridiculous. This isn't a competition with Fives. This is a war of strategies and discipline. If I speak out against General Krell, that's the end of good order and discipline. Everything will go to hell. This has nothing to do with Fives."

An indistinct movement in the distance drew his attention before he could further contemplate his conundrum. Raising his binoculars, he felt his blood turn cold at what he saw.

Yet another weapon of war the likes of which he had never seen. It was somewhat crab-shaped with multiple arms and a long spindle-shaped funnel raised above its semi-circular body. From the readings within the binoculars, its height was determined to be at least twenty meters tall. It was massive, heavily armed and armored, and a single Umbaran could be seen in the round cockpit. Drawing back on the magnification, two more of the monsters came into view.

"We've got a problem," Rex announced calmly, but when the funnel released a ball of crackling blue light in the direction of the Republic troops, his voice rose urgently. "Men! Fall back now!"

Within seconds, a maelstrom of incoming fire was falling so thickly that it made any kind of orderly retreat impossible. The explosive power of each individual round was so immense that dozens of troops were being taken out in single shots. Attempts to flee were confounded by the weapon's range, and any cover taken was within its ability to blast into smithereens.

The only hope was to outrun the things back into the gorge where they were too large to follow. But even that seemed a long shot, for the gorge was now two kilometers behind them, and these war machines were already lobbing their deadly munitions at least that far, making retreat as risky a calculation as staying to fight.

Up above, observing the battle, General Krell was furious at what he saw.

"What are they doing?" he growled angrily, then opening his comm, "Captain, continue your attack!"

Rex's reply came amidst the chaotic sounds of the rout going on around him. "Sir, we're overpowered. We need reinforcements."

Krell was unrelenting. "The rest of the battalion is holding the entrance to the gorge, Captain. They're guarding it so your troops can break through to the airbase!"

"Sir, we can't possibly—"

"You will stand your ground! Do you read me? Captain?! Are you listening?! Do not fall back! That is an order!"

Rex did not even give an acknowledgment. He didn't need to. He understood the order well enough. Instead, he switched frequencies. "Sixer?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Are you at the entrance to the gorge?"

"Yes, Sir. With two companies," Sixer replied. "General Krell kept the other two in reserve." A pause. "What's going on, Captain? We can hear the battle from back here."

"We're getting wiped out. We need reinforcements, but the general isn't sending any," Rex replied. It did not go unnoticed by him that the general had failed to mention only two companies were holding the gorge while two more were being kept in reserve.

"Let me contact Appo," Sixer suggested. "He's in charge of the two companies with General Krell. Maybe he can convince the general to send them to help you. If not, I'll bring my company up. It doesn't take two companies to hold the gorge."

"Check with Appo, but also bring your company up now. We can't afford to wait," Rex replied. "We're not going to last long up here." And although he had been struck with the mention of Sergeant Appo having been put in charge of the two reserve companies, he did not inquire at that moment. He could only hope that it did not mean that two of his company commanders had met with their ends. It seemed unlikely. At last roll call, all company commanders had still been alive. But right now, survival was foremost on his mind; the how and why behind bizarre command decisions—how a sergeant could end up in charge when surely there were still officers available—could wait.

"We're on our way, captain," Sixer said with conviction. "Hold on. We'll be there."

"Make it fast," Rex said. He switched back to his regular comm channel and surveyed the deteriorating situation.

Around him, men were being instantly incinerated by a lightening-type ray beam that had merely to scan over the battlefield in order to draw contact with its victims. One moment they were there; the next, gone without even a trace of ash. Vaporized, erased from existence.

It was terrifying. But even more terrifying was that he still had his mission to complete. He might not like or approve of the orders Krell had given, but he still had to carry them out. And until Sixer brought his company up, he would have to carry them out with what remained of his four companies.

Beside him, a trooper suddenly went down with a yelp of pain.

Another Shinie . . .

Rex dropped to one knee beside him. The man was very much alive but it was clear he'd taken a serious injury in the leg. "Come on," Rex said, taking the trooper's arm over his shoulder. They'd gone only a few steps when they were joined by Kix.

"Over this way, captain," the medic guided. "We've taken cover behind these rocks."

As they rounded a jutting edge of a natural rock barrier, Rex saw that there was already a small collection of injured troopers, as well as Fives, Jesse, Hardcase and several others. A handful of troopers guarded the approach, and judging from their movements, they were on the verge of firing at anyone or anything that came near, friend or foe. But that did not bother Rex nearly as much as the fact that the leaders of this part of the company were all sequestered in a safe space – relatively speaking – while the rest of the battalion was still out on the battlefield getting utterly destroyed.

Setting the injured man down, Rex looked at Kix. "Keep the wounded as quiet as possible."

Kix didn't even acknowledge the command. It went without saying that he would do everything in his power to ease their pain, and his drugs of preference tended to have the effect of quieting a patient. But the silence of those under his care was of little concern at the moment. He just feared that it would not be long before he was faced with more injured men than he could handle. Slider had moved his triage station back down the gorge, and although the other three forward companies all had medics—and there were even four more medics in Kix's company—he did not know how many of them were still alive. Or where they were. But surely, if they were alive, they were as busy as he was. He could not count on them for help, so it was best not to dwell on it. Instead, he focused on the task at hand. Yet, when he heard what his captain said next, he was hardpressed to hold his tongue.

"Alright. You heard the general. Let's go."

Had it not been for the injured men relying on him, Kix might have spoken out of turn.

But he needn't have worried. He had Jesse to do so for him.

"You can't be serious?" came the protest, so strange for Jesse, that Rex, for a moment, was not sure how to respond.

Fives stepped in, but not in a helpful way. "I used to think General Krell was reckless, but now I'm beginning to think he just hates clones."

"The captain is right," Dogma chimed in. "Now, let's move out."

In truth, that was all Rex wanted to hear from his troops. This constant questioning of his authority, the persistent suggestion that he should disobey General Krell, and the petulant attitude of officers whom he thought should know better had pushed him about as far as he was willing to indulge. He now realized that this was, in fact, due in great part to Fives' presence and the demeanor the ARC trooper had brought with him. But it was also in large part due to Jesse's complete abdication of his position of leadership – a situation that had been building since Top's departure but which was sprung into fullness when the light of Fives' own disobedience was shined upon it.

Rex knew he had the loyalty of the vast majority of his men, and he was not going to show them anything less than his best. If a handful of men wanted to question every move and set the example of disloyalty, Rex was not going to let that interfere with his command of the battalion or his duty to General Krell.

He began to head towards the battlefield again, but Fives reached out and stopped him. Drawing close, the ARC trooper said in a low voice, "We can't take them head-on. We need to find another way."

Now, this was the sort of line of thinking Rex could entertain. He was ready to see what his former battalion member was capable of concocting. "You got any ideas?"

And for the first time, Fives might have gotten an inkling of just how precarious command was. It wasn't enough to complain. It wasn't enough to question orders. It wasn't enough to attack a battle plan. Criticism without suggested alternatives was nothing more than whining. An unwillingness to fight against an enemy that was hell-bent on destroying you was cowardice and defeatism.

Fives was none of those things, but for a brief moment, he felt like the embodiment of each one of such undesirable traits. He had a terrible sense that he was letting Rex down in the worst way.

He had no ideas. He had no alternatives.

He shook his head.

"Then this is it," Rex replied, turning and heading back to the battlefield.

There was one brief, awkward moment where it appeared uncertain whether any of the gathered troopers would follow their captain.

But it was short-lived as Hardcase nodded resolutely. "Okay. Let's do it!" He followed Rex and was followed, in turn, by the others.

As Fives watched them go, one by one, he felt torn and deflated. Before Rex had shown up behind the rock wall, the general agreement had been that they needed to retreat before they were completely decimated. To hell with Krell's orders. No one wanted to die in an unwinnable situation.

Fek! Everyone had been in agreement!

And then Rex had shown up and everything had changed. Fives had forgotten just how powerful a pull Rex exerted on his men. He'd forgotten how much they admired him . . . how much he admired him. The last thing he wanted was to be at odds with his former captain, yet that was precisely where he was.

And now the only men waiting to see what he did were Tup and Jesse. The others had all followed their captain back into battle.

So would he. Grudgingly. With great trepidation. With hopelessness. But follow, he would.

Sixer knew of no other way to deflect General Krell's outrage than to switch frequencies.

The moment the general had become aware of Fox Company's movement up the gorge, he'd flown into a frightful rage and ordered the company to go back to its position at the gorge's entrance.

Sixer never responded. He would claim ignorance later . . . a malfunction of the comm system. Right now, he could hear the communications on the forward frequency, and he knew the situation was dire. He had his company moving at a fast clip through the gorge, and shortly, then came to the area where it opened out. The main thrust of the fighting appeared to be no more than two kilometers ahead. But even back here, they were coming upon groups of injured men and occasionally a medic who'd stayed behind to tend to them.

Sixer turned to Sempe, "Get some men to start moving these guys back to the rear. The medics go forward with us."

"Yes, Lieutenant," Sempe replied smartly.

"Fek and all, with these kinds of casualties, how many fighting men are left?" Sixer wondered.

"Lieutenant . . . look at that!" This from a new trooper who still went by his number, which escaped Sixer at the moment.

Sixer looked through the mist and could see the monstrous domed head of something sinister. If that was what the other four companies were fighting, Sixer was not convinced that the addition of one more company would make a difference.

But if nothing else, they would all die together.

"Kix! For fek's sake, keep your fekking head down! You think they give a damn if you're a medic?!" Hardcase bellowed, reaching out and yanking his squad mate down to the safety of a thick overhanging branch just as one of the balls of lightening passed overhead. "Those things don't have to score a direct hit! They catch you as they pass by and zap! You're dead!"

"I—I didn't see it coming," Kix replied, sounding out of breath. "I'll be careful. I've got to get back out there—"

Hardcase took firm hold of his arm as he got to this feet and made a move to go back into the fray. "Kix, we can't lose you. A lot of brothers are going to need you . . . don't do anything crazy."

Kix thought this was funny coming from Hardcase, whom anyone else would have agreed was the crazy one. But it was not the time for humor, so his only response was a nod and to say, "I'm not the crazy one in this squad."

"I'm serious, LB," Hardcase said emphatically. "Rocket launchers don't work against these things. We don't know how to take them out. You need to watch yourself. I can't guarantee I'll be there to have your six."

Kix felt a peculiar moment of peace. This was as serious as he'd ever seen Hardcase. Not only that, but this marked the first time he'd ever called him LB – Little Brother. The only person who ever called him that was Top. The meaning of Hardcase's use of the moniker was clear. For this one brief second, he was taking his role as a blast-happy war monger and setting it aside long enough to be the guardian. That he would do such a thing touched Kix deeply and reminded the medic that there was more to his squad mate than bluster and bravado.

"I'll watch out," Kix replied. "I'll see you when this is over."

Of course, he was not at all sure that was true. In fact, the way things were going, there was a much greater chance that one or both of them would be killed. Damn, all of them might die. Men were going down on every side, some to clear and immediate deaths, others to injury, others to an uncertain fate until Kix could get close enough to determine their status. And of every five fallen troopers he went to, four would be dead.

He had said the casualties would be high. He'd been ignored.

All he could do now was fall back on his training. Treat the injured. And to treat them, he had to find them. And to find them, he had to venture onto the battlefield. He could not wait for the wounded to be brought to him.

Hardcase might not like him putting himself at such great risk, given the circumstances of this particular battle, but Kix knew his squad mate would never insist on him staying back while others ran the risk. Kix was almost as good a fighter as his squad mates, for a man whose skills and main purpose ran in a different direction; but in this battle, his prowess as a soldier was not as crucial as his prowess as a medic. He wasn't even sure if he'd fired a single shot yet, so busy was he with retrieving and treating injured men.

Even now, he was still dragging them out of the line of fire to whatever cover he could find. Since leaving the rocks, he'd brought at least fifteen men to shelter. He'd done what he could to stabilize the ones who could be stabilized, and then he'd gone back out. He felt like a beast of burden, dragging and carrying trooper after trooper after trooper . . .

He couldn't even feel fear of the fighting machines at this point. They were nothing more than interferences with his ability to get men to safety. So, when one of the metal monsters reared up over him as he tried to rescue yet another injured trooper, instead of panicking, he simply watched the machine's movement and leaped back at the appropriate moment to avoid being crushed. As the machine's foot lifted, he saw the outstretched hand of a trooper and sprang forward to drag him clear.

But . . . he could feel it now. He was growing weary, being overwhelmed. His adrenaline might be pumping, but his body was having difficulty keeping up. Even as he dragged the injured man towards cover, he passed by at least a dozen other men, some of whom might have been dead but others who were clearly injured.

"Help me with the wounded!" he called out, not really sure who was still alive to answer his plea.

In fact, the nearest men who heard him were Rex and Fives. The two broke from their position and ran out to lend a hand. Fives shooed off the banshees attacking one of the injured men, while Rex helped Kix drag his trooper to safety.

"We gotta get these guys out of here," Kix said, yet he knew full well that there was nowhere to go. Even the place they were using now for cover would be overrun by the enemy eventually. Still, at this point, he was not thinking of anything other than getting men out of the line of fire. That was his responsibility. Whatever happened after that, if these men died, it wouldn't be because he hadn't tried.

No sooner had he dragged his current burden to safety than he turned and began to head back out.

Rex stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Forget it. We have to leave them."

Kix turned in horror, violently shaking off his captain's hand. To hear these words coming from Captain Rex was something not to be borne, something nightmwarish. He could not possibly mean what he had just said. The captain had never abandoned men on the battlefield before, no matter how grim the situation.

"We can't just leave them, Sir!" he protested.

Rex was firm. "We don't have a choice. That's an order."

Kix did not even hesitate. As he watched his captain walk away from him, he spoke the only thought on his mind. "You sound like General Krell."

Every head turned. Whatever actions the small group of clones in the thicket had been doing, they all ceased at that instant.

It was the most stinging accusation that could have been made. It was more than an insult, and it had been intended as such. But the man who has spoken it . . . that was the surprise.

Kix was not one to hurl thoughtless words in moments of pique or stress.

Only . . . that wasn't quite true. Kix's squad mates knew better. They'd had plenty of first-hand experience with Kix' outspokenness in Basic training. But none of them was around to witness this broadside. The only ones present all knew Kix as one of the captain's most loyal and dedicated troops. But this last command had pushed him over the edge.

And even Kix knew it, the moment the words had spilled forth. He'd wanted to jolt Rex enough to make him change course. He'd been hurt, devastated by the decision to leave injured men behind. Tending to the wounded was what he did, and he felt as if he'd been betrayed. His whole purpose had been betrayed. As if the casualties mounting up around him were not bad enough; now he had to be a party to those casualties by being prohibited from saving them.

It was a fiendish moment in which he found himself hating the captain who had been his role model from the day they'd first met; yet, he regretted and despised the way he felt, the way he was acting, the words he had said. Things were coming apart inside him. Umbara was unraveling the threads of his composure, his reason.

He saw Rex stop walking. The captain seemed to freeze for a moment, and Kix braced himself for a dressing down.

But then Rex turned and without malice or offense, he replied, "Look Kix, it's more important to save yourself right now. If we survive, you can patch up the wounded later." It was clear the captain had more important matters to attend to than the impetuous outbursts of a medic. He was already down on one knee, looking through his binoculars, assessing the situation and trying to come up with some way to eke out a victory – or if nothing else, swing a retreat that didn't look like one in General Krell's eyes.

Kix found himself actually shaking. He knew that back behind him, lying injured and waiting for help, were the men he'd passed on the way as he'd brought in the last trooper. They expected someone would come get them. Kix had seen them. He knew where they were. It was his job to go out and get them.

And to do so had been forbidden.

He slowly moved to one side of the thicket, wondering but not caring if the others could see the tremors going through his body. He heard Tup speak, but he sounded far away . . .

"We're . . . we're finished."

"We've still got some fight left in us, Tup," came Rex's response.

Kix looked at them both as if he were seeing them through a narrowing tunnel. He could hear his heartbeat inside his head.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turning, he saw Double Barrell standing behind him.

The sniper offered a nod of support, encouragement.

Kix leaned towards him and lowered his voice. "I . . . shouldn't have . . . said that."

"The captain understands," DB replied. "And he's right. You need to stay alive. When this is over, there are going to be a lot of brothers who need you."

"There—there may not be any brothers left," Kix stammered.

Double Barrel spoke his own honest opinion. "You need to switch gears, Kix. You need to go from someone who saves to someone who kills. I've seen you do it before, plenty of times. No reason you can't do it now."

Kix shook his head. "A lot has changed, DB."

"Yeah, but you don't have to."

At that moment, Rex's raised voice broke into their conversation. "DB."

"Yes, Captain?"

"That thing you do . . . can you do it here? Now?"

DB was clearly taken aback. For while he had long suspected that his captain—and others—were aware of the special abilities he'd attained since the business on Bertegad, he'd never had confirmation until right now.

"That . . . uh, what thing, Captain?"

"There's no time for this, DB. We all know you use that eagle soul," Rex said sharply. "Can you do it now?"

DB gave a single nod. "I can try." He drew in a deep breath. "What do you want me to look for, Sir?"

"The airbase. I want you to report on its perimeter and flightline security. And I want you to see exactly where the fighters are located. I can't tell with the binoculars if they're in hangars or somewhere on the flightline," Rex explained.

"Fighters, Sir?"

"Fighters," Rex affirmed. "Five is going to, uh, take a little . . . uh . . . "

"Joy ride," Fives chimed in. "It's a good idea, Rex. And I think I'll take Hardcase with me. Two fighters will be better than one."

Rex didn't have time to question or call out Fives' presumptive acquisition of Hardcase for his mission. Truth be told, it was probably a good idea to take along he one man in the battalion who loved fighting more than any other activitity. Rex nodded his consent, with a caveat. "Let's see what DB finds out for us first. I want to make sure you can succeed with this."

There they were. Neatly lined up like clone cadets at a review. Dozens of them. They didn't look as fearsome parked on the flightline as they did when they were in action; but their design was intriguing.

Intriguing, perhaps. But the part of Double Barrell where the eagle now resided scoffed at the awkward construction, the lack of line and beauty. No surprise, really. It happened every time the great bird's soul was brought to the forefront. DB would never have imagined that a bird could be so prideful, so keenly aware of its own comparative perfection. But he had come to like that about the eagle. There was more than strength and grace abiding; there was confidence and determination.

"Now, let's see if we can find a way for Hardcase and Fives to get in there."

He discerned an unspoken suggestion in his mind.

"No, no, they can't fly over the wall. You know that as well as I do. There's no time for playing around, eagle. This is serious," DB silently replied. "If we don't find a way to beat these guys, we're all going to die. You don't want me to die, do you?"

His words had the desired effect. The eagle began looking for the most likely access points for a ground-tethered human. Although certain parts of the wall were lower or appeared to be less visible to the patrols on the flight line, DB ultimately had to conclude that there was no easy way in. He could report back on the patrols and security measures that guarded the place, but in the end . . .

"We'll just have to trust to Hardcase and Fives to figure it out. Let's go back. We need to report to the captain. We've already taken too much time."

"CT-7567, where are you?!"

Rex grimaced behind his visor. So much for the general calling him by his name . . .

Taking a deep breath and marshaling his military bearing, Rex replied evenly, "General Krell, we've come up with a plan to infiltrate the airbase."

"What is your plan?"

Rex spoke quickly. He wanted to get the whole plan out before Krell had a chance to protest. "I've dispatched two men on a stealth incursion into the airbase. They've been ordered to coopt starfighters and use them against the tanks." There – said, done.

Krell expressed only mild outrage compared to some of his pervious outbursts. "You what?! You put this entire assault on your hope that two clones can do what your entire group could not?"

"Sir, the rocket launchers don't work on these tanks," Rex replied, taking on a more plaintive tone than he would have liked, but at the moment, his goal was not to go head-to-head with General Krell, but to win approval to carry out his plan. "It will be easier to slip by undetected while the rest of us keep the tanks occupied."

"Captain! You will launch a full forward strike immediately! Or you will be relieved of duty." With that, Krell cut the transmission.

And there went the hope of winning approval.

Rex would carry out the general's orders. Yes, he would. But in the absence of an absolute refusal from Krell regarding the plan to commandeer the starfighters, he fully intended to go through with that plan, as well.

Rex straightened up. "We need to hold out as long as we can. I'm trusting Fives and Hardcase to pull this off."

And although he did not like to think General Krell might have had a point, it seem a shaky wire upon which to hang their hopes of victory.