Dear Reader, First, thank you to my reviewers: PinkCookie, Akira Hayama, LLTC, HuffleHecate, CanadianGirl, Sued24, My Guest, and Ms CT-782. Your comments are both appreciated and wonderful motivation for me to keep plugging away! So, this chapter is pretty sad and disturbing. I really hated to see Hardcase and Jesse go against Rex; but it made for a great plotline in the series and interesting writing in my story! There's a lot of imagery from WWI in this chapter. If you've ever seen "All Quiet on the Western Front", the medical station is based on the ones shown in that movie. Very sad and poignant. It's a long chapter, so settle in . . . and even though it's sad, I still hope you enjoy. Peace, CS
Chapter 102 The Dissolution of Loyalty
"I thought I was not alone, walking here by the shore.
But the one I thought was with me, as now I walk by the shore,
as I lean and look through the glimmering light-that one has utterly
disappeared,
And those appear that perplex me."
I Thought I Was Not Alone
Walt Whitman
Hardcase put his hand on Kix's shoulder as they walked towards the building housing the make-shift medical station. And although it was impossible to feel his brother's tenseness through the protective armor, what Hardcase had sensed outside on the flight line, he now discerned with even greater intensity.
"How you doing, Kix?" he asked.
The answer was not surprising. "I'm fine."
"Okay, then, let's take a look," Hardcase said firmly, stopping in place.
"Huh?"
"Helmet off. Let me see your eyes," Hardcase insisted.
"Good grief, Hardcase, what are you expecting to see?" Kix pushed back, mild scoffing in his voice.
"I'm not sure yet," Hardcase replied. "But you can humor me. Come on. Helmet off."
Kix removed his helmet and raised his eyebrows. "So. Satisfied?"
And Hardcase was satisfied. Satisfied that he'd been right. He looked at Kix expectantly.
"What?" Kix demanded, almost in a protest.
"I can tell by looking at you, Kix—"
"Can tell what?"
"You've got that look on your face," Hardcase pressed. "Something happened. What was it?"
"Other than the bloodiest battle we've ever been in?" Kix replied, and Hardcase found his demeanor to be remarkably calm considering the tumult he could sense beneath the exterior. "Other than being told to just let men die on the battlefield? Other than insulting my captain in front of everyone?"
Hardcase sighed. "That's quite a list. Yeah, those are . . . bad enough."
"Bad enough to break a man?" Kix put forth.
"Maybe a regular man. But we're not like that."
Kix shook his head. "You know I am."
Hardcase cocked his head to one side in concession. "Well, yeah, maybe a bit. But feeling strongly about things doesn't make you a soft-belly, Kix. Given what you have to deal with, I think you're probably the toughest of us all—don't tell Top I said that. And let's be honest, you've killed your fair share and it hasn't seemed to bother you in the least."
"It's not the killing, Hardcase. It's never been the killing," Kix explained, sounding tired and frustrated. "I don't know what happened back there." He swallowed and looked away. "I lost it. I completely lost it."
Hardcase knit his brows. "What are you talking about?"
"Ask DB. He'll tell you. Or Ajax," Kix replied.
"I want you to tell me," Hardcase insisted.
"I'm not sure what I can say." Kix frowned heavily. "There was—I just . . ." He hesitated and appeared to gather his thoughts. "This was the first time where it seemed like . . . like . . . "
Hardcase waited as patiently as his impatience would allow. "Like what?"
"Like . . . I was out there by myself."
"By yourself? There were hundreds of us out there—"
"That's not what I mean."
Hardcase regarded him with a hard look of not understanding, until slowly the meaning of Kix's words dawned on him.
"Kix . . . "
"Maybe we've always been too close," Kix mused. "Maybe what we always thought of as our strength in Saber Squad was really a weakness. Maybe that weakness shows itself when we're separated."
"Now, you're just being stupid and saying osik that makes no sense," Hardcase deferred lightly. "The bond we share as squad mates is the best thing we've got going for us." He put his arm around Kix's shoulders and began walking again. "Maybe you had a hard time. We've all had our moments. But we've always had each other to come back to, right? Look, Force knows I've done some bone-headed things in my day—"
"Many," Kix interjected, grateful for Hardcase's lightening of the mood.
"Okay, many," Hardcase agreed. "So, things are a little . . . out-of-order right now. I mean, Jesse's going through a spell. Top is probably sowing every wild command oat he ever had, and Pitch is going to be side-lined for a while. But we're all still squad mates, and the stuff that binds us together is firm enough to withstand any test." He grinned. "You lost it? Enh! I never had it! And you seem to have recovered it, so what's to worry about?"
Kix managed a slight grin. "Says the man who saved the day."
Hardcase nodded once with emphasis. "And had a damned good time doing it."
Rex pulled up the battle sequence log and entered the encryption code. He knew precisely what he was he was looking for.
He scrolled through lines of entry until he came across it.
212AB. DTG8021ULL1415. 23.8N/15.8S. Enemy missile barrage has halted advance. Impossible to pass via first route. Reviewing options. MS70. ES65. AS80.
The 212th Attack Battalion, followed by the date-time-group of when the entry was made. Next came the coordinates of the leading elements of the battalion, a brief summary of their situation, and then the statistics. It was these numbers that most interested Rex. Manpower Strength at 70 percent. Equipment Strength at 65 percent. Ammunition Strength at 80 percent.
Manpower at 70 percent.
Cody had lost 30 percent of his men. For all Rex knew, Cody could even among those lost. They'd not had communications since the battle had started. All inter-battalion communication was strictly forbidden in order to prevent the enemy from intercepting transmissions. Rex did not even know what frequencies the 212th was operating on. Only the commanding generals had use of their HOPOs, and the Umbarans had already shown that they were quick to intercept and disrupt their signals, making use of the devices sketchy at best, ineffective at worst.
Thirty percent . . . dead or injured.
Rex could not get the figure out of his head. Yet, as much as he felt for the 212th's losses, he knew that his own numbers would be much worse. It would probably still be a couple hours before he knew how much worse. Sixer was working on it, and the lieutenant was meticulous and precise. When he finally did make his report, Rex knew it would be an accurate accounting.
Rex frowned and rubbed his forehead. "Damn, I wish you were here, Cody," he said out loud. "You'd help me figure out what to do. The battalion is coming apart. I don't know how much longer the men will continue to tolerate General Krell . . . or me. But I can't start disobeying him. All discipline would go straight out the window."
At this point, where Cody would have offered some word of sage advice, there was only silence. And so Rex filled the void with his own reply.
"Honor your code. It's your duty . . . no matter who's in charge over you."
"Captain?"
Rex looked up to see Dogma approaching. "Lieutenant Fin sent me to tell you that they've been able to round up 42 walkers, but he says several of them need work before they can be returned to service."
Forty-two walkers . . . from an initial complement of one hundred.
"He also reports that the woods outside the base are filled with insurgents, probably the Umbarans who fled this base during the attack," Dogma went on.
Rex nodded. "Thanks, Dogma. Let Fin know he can use one of these hangars to do the repairs." Then, as the Shinie turned to carry out his assignment, the captain added, "And after that, report to General Krell that we have insurgents outside the base, and we'll be sending some squads to clear them out." It might not have been the work of a Shinie to report to the Commanding General; but the truth was that Rex had other things he needed to do—would rather be doing—than dealing with Krell at the moment.
And Dogma was the perfect fill-in. Impeccable bearing, protocol-bound, and he was one of the few—perhaps the only—trooper who had a modicum of respect for the general.
Not surprisingly, Dogma leaped at the chance with enthusiasm. "Yes, Captain."
Rex watched as the young troop hurried off with an energy that was admirable, and he had to admit that General Skywalker was right. In Dogma, Rex saw a great deal of himself: eager, clever, loyal. While Dogma did not possess the dare-devil, risk-taking aspect that Rex possessed, he did have the same fearless drive and determination towards victory as his captain; and the more Rex worked with him, the more he liked what he saw. In fact, Rex decided, if they both survived the battle for Umbara, Dogma might be a good Shinie for him to take underwing and groom for positions of leadership.
After all, at the rate troopers were dying, there was always a need for new leaders.
"Kix, I'm glad to see you," Major Hypes said with genuine gratitude. "I can definitely use your help. I've got a lot of men who need to be prepped for evacuation."
"I'll help wherever you need me," Kix replied. "But I did want to find Pitch first and make sure he's okay. He was injured in the fighting."
"By all means," the major said. "Go take a look around. He's probably back there somewhere. There are hundreds of injured."
"He was with Slider," Kix informed him.
"I'm not sure who's back there," Hypes said honestly. "You'll just have to go start looking."
"Let's go," Hardcase said, and the two rounded the dividing wall onto a large bay, covered end to end with clone troopers lying on the floor. Some were on field litters. Others lay on whatever padding could be scavenged from the environs. Some had only minor injuries. Others were clearly on their way out or even fully gone.
Kix spotted at least a half dozen of the 501st medics moving amongst the men, prioritizing treatment, administering pain killers, offering the brief word of encouragement before moving on to assess the next patient. There were also regular troopers assisting, drafted into helping out and using the meager medical skills all clones possessed to apply bandages, splint broken bones, and irrigate wounds.
Finding Pitch among this mash of men was going to take more than a few seconds.
Not surprisingly, the moment Kix had entered the room, the medic in him overrode any frazzled nerves, and he ended up stopping many times as he worked his way through the room, looking for Pitch.
Hardcase did not try to hurry him. He knew, intuitively, that this was the best medicine for Kix. Being able to go to the aid of the wounded, even if only to offer comfort to a dying man, was what gave his squad mate peace-of-mind. It was the balm for a soul that was often exposed and raw from agitation. It was the salve that removed the poison. Where there was still life, Kix drew strength from trying to preserve that life. And if his attempt should fail, then he drew consolation from knowing he was there to share the end.
In a way, Hardcase found Kix's commitment to his profession and his brothers to be hauntingly beautiful, worthy of admiration.
But he'd seen the other side, as well.
The gaunt, vacant-eyed stare of death that defined the mission of the mortuary teams was altogether something else. These teams, coming in upon the aftermath of battle, had the undesirable task of identifying the dead – and to them, the dead could only be numbers run up against rosters; no names, no ranks, no personalities, or how else would they possible make it through one minute of such gruesome work – and dispose of the bodies. Their operations relied on slate-cold emotion, chip scanners, computer data bases, and massive mobile incinerators. It was considered to be one of the worst jobs in the Grand Army.
And often, the mortuary teams enlisted the help of medics to carry out their mission. After the injured were stabilized and evacuated, that was when the mortuary teams came forth with their requests.
Kix had helped them in the past. Hardcase had seen it firsthand, and he didn't want to see it again. The vigor and sense of purpose that animated Kix in his caring for the wounded could not be found—not a speck or strand—when carrying out mortuary duties. It was as if Kix himself were one of the dead come to life for the sole purpose of tending to his deceased brothers. Still, he would never refuse or decline the duty when requested or tasked to assist. But each time brought him a bit closer to peering into the abyss of callous evil.
Now, in this swath of injured men, Kix, though surrounded by encroaching death on every side, was yet as far removed from it as if he were on an island isolated by the sea.
"I wonder if he knows how fekking amazing he is," Hardcase wondered, watching his squad mate go from one man to another, criss-crossing the room in no particular order, just going wherever he saw a need, giving each man his full attention. And if the patient was coherent and able, he would always inquire at the end. "Have you seen Pitch?"
At length, Hardcase decided to do him one better. "You keep checking these guys, Kix," he said. "I'll go see if I can find Pitch."
"Thanks, Hardcase," Kix replied, taking enough time to look up over his shoulder and give a nod of appreciation.
Hardcase walked back and forth through the bay, looking and asking. After nearly twenty minutes, he was coming to the last row. Here he found one of the Hoth Company's medics named Scree.
"Scree," he drew his attention as he approached.
"Hardcase, what are you doing here? Looking for someone?" Scree asked, straightening up.
"Yeah," Hardcase replied. "Pitch."
"Haven't seen 'im."
"He was injured and was with Slider and some other guys," Hardcase went on.
"I haven't seen Slider either," Scree stated. "Believe me, if Slider were here, we'd have him working. Look at this place. Crazy."
"Are you sure you haven't seen either of them?" Hardcase pressed.
"I'm sure," Scree said with certainty. "But I've only been working the back quarter of the room. They could both be out there somewhere. Or they might still be outside the base. They're still brining men in."
Hardcase gave a slight nod. "Thanks, Scree." A pause. "And, uh, you've got a little more help now. Kix is here."
"That's good news."
Hardcase made his way back across the floor, checking again among the faces. Pitch's crown of explosive device tattoos made him easy to identify, but Hardcase was not finding such a distinguishing feature anywhere among the wounded—or the apparently dead.
Coming back to Kix, he waited until the latter was finished with his task, which was applying a layer of plastiscene over a shoulder wound.
"Pitch isn't here," he announced quietly. "I've looked everywhere."
Kix stood up. "What do you mean, he's not here? He has to be here. You didn't look close enough."
"I went through twice, Kix," came the reply. "And I know what he looks like as well as you do. He's not here. Neither is Slider. I ran into Scree, and he said they're still bringing men in."
"Let me go look."
"Suit yourself," Hardcase said, adding with emphasis, "But I think these guys could really use your help. I'll go look again, if you want."
Kix hesitated a moment. "Do you think they just haven't brought him in yet?"
"Most likely," Hardcase replied.
"And you're sure you looked at everyone in here? Everyone?"
"I'm sure."
Kix seemed to hang on the cusp of a decision, and Hardcase decided to make it easier for him. "Tell you what: I'll go find Sixer. He's doing the headcount. I'll see if he has any info. Slider had at least twenty guys with him. Sixer has to have heard something about them."
Kix nodded. "Good. That sounds good. Make sure you let me know what you find out."
"I will."
Hardcase admired Sixer.
He admired the fact that the lieutenant never seemed harried or hurried. He admired him for his right-hand man, Sempe. The two were a good team. Not as good as anything from Saber Squad, but certainly a cut above average. He recalled often, and with fondness, his first meeting with Sixer and his own excitement at discovering their shared affinity for weaponry. And truth be told, when it came to the type of trooper Hardcase would want on his team, Sixer topped the list – after, of course, his own squad mates and his captain.
It took a while for Hardcase to locate Sixer, but after half an hour of searching, he found him near the south hangar where D and E Companies had established their assembly points.
"Hey, Sixer, how's it looking?" he inquired.
Sixer looked up with a grim expression. "Not good. Heavy losses in all four forward companies. G and H companies look good. They were held in reserve. My company is down about 10 percent. F Co stayed at the mouth of the gorge, so they're not too bad."
"You said heavy losses in the forward companies. What are we looking at?"
"I'm still waiting for good counts to come in, but right now, it looks like we're in excess of . . . 40 percent in at least three companies. Alpha may be down as much as 50."
"Damn."
"Damn is right," Sixer agreed. "At this rate, we may not have the strength to make it all the way to the capital."
"General Krell doesn't care about losses, as long as he gets the win," Hardcase grunted.
"He's a bastard alight," Sixer concurred. "But this is war, and victory is what counts."
"You don't sound very convinced," Hardcase noted.
"I'm convinced victory is what counts," Sixer rejoined. "I just don't think General Krell has the best ideas of how to gain victory." A pause. "But the captain gives the orders, and he gets his orders from General Krell."
"A no-win situation," Hardcase mused.
"Oh, it's winnable," Sixer sighed. "Just the cost is high."
Hardcase could not argue that, nor did he want to, Instead, he went to the whole reason for his visit. "Have you seen Pitch or Slider? There was a group of injured men that Slider was taking care of, and Pitch was one of them."
Sixer scrolled through his data pad. "Alpha Company . . . no, no, I haven't come across Pitch." He continued scrolling. "Or Slider." A pause. "They could still be out there."
"No, uh, no positive ID of them among the dead?" Hardcase asked tepidly.
"No," Sixer replied. "But you know the mortuary team won't come in until this place is fully secure. Right now, we're, uh, we're just directing them to the medical bay. I don't know what the doc is doing with them from there. But we've been scanning them as we find them. And their numbers aren't showing in my database as having any status as of right now."
Hardcase nodded. "Good, good. That means there's still hope."
"You! Trooper!"
Both Hardcase and Sixer looked up at the sound of General Krell's voice.
Hardcase was surprised, but only mildly, to see Dogma accompanying the general. It seemed that the two were returning from the perimeter. This summons was a perchance encounter.
Hardcase could see the general was looking at him, so he straightened up into attention. "Yes, General?"
"You were one of the clones who piloted the Starfighter."
"Yes, Sir."
Krell actually continued walking, prompting Hardcase to follow him. "I want a full report on the operation of those fighters in two hours. I want to know how they work and if we can possibly use them to our advantage."
Hardcase felt his blood surging. This was the kind of idea he could get behind. This was just what Fives had proposed. He wondered if Fives had already spoken to the general and that was where the idea had come from.
"I'm on it, General," Hardcase replied.
"They may be of use, or they may be too dangerous," Krell went on. "But since you and ARC Trooper Fives have some . . . experience, you are the ones able to shed some light on the subject."
Hardcase decided to take a step. "Sir, did Fives already talk to you about this?"
"He did," Krell replied. "And while I am not inclined to agree with him, I will reserve my judgment until I have a full report on how the craft function and how likely is it that . . . more clones could be trained in their operation on such short notice."
"It would be a good idea," Hardcase put forth.
Dogma added to the conversation, working hard to bolster the concept but trying to keep his voice as pedestrian as possible. Showing enthusiasm for an idea he knew was likely to get shot down would not put him in good stead with the general. "And the insurgents are stepping up their attacks. We could use the fighters against them."
Krell was unmoved. "They want their base back. We cannot let our guard down for a moment. Have all Umbaran security reconfigured and locked down. Interrogate the prisoners, if you have to; but I want this base under our complete control. And I don't want excuses."
At that moment, the three encountered Rex coming from the direction of the tower.
"Sir, there's a transmission from General Kenobi," the captain reported, and Hardcase thought he detected a twinge of relief in his voice.
"I'll take it in the tower."
Rex waved off Dogma and Hardcase and followed the general back to the tower.
The 501st troopers were using the Umbaran communications technology, tweaked and hardwired, to establish contact with General Kenobi. The blockish image of the general rose up from the projection bed in gritty and imprecise detail.
General Krell strode across the room to stand before the image. "General Kenobi, do you read me?"
Despite the distortions, the gentility of General Kenobi came through. "Congratulations on your capture of the Umbaran airbase, General. It's refreshing to have good news."
Krell was not interested in pleasantries. "There will be time for celebration when we've taken that capital."
Kenobi hemmed. "Yes, well, I'm afraid that's going to be more difficult than anticipated. Their attacks have increased, and their long-range missiles are forcing us to retreat from our positions."
"I was hoping we'd cut off their arms shipments and supplies when we took this airbase," Krell stated.
"It seems they're receiving new arms shipments directly from a supply ship orbiting—" The transmission began breaking up. "—having difficulty transmitting—they must be jamming our signals."
At this point, fearing cut-off was imminent, Rex leaned forward urgently. "Can't we destroy the supply ship?"
But his hopes for a non-501st resolution were quickly dashed. "We're trying, but with little success," General Kenobi explained. "Their fleet outnumbers ours, and the extra ships we were promised have not yet arrived."
General Krell spoke fiercely. "We'll just have to take that capital regardless of the missiles. My battalion will meet you at the rendez-vous coordinates."
At these words, Rex felt his heart sink. The hope of breaking the enemy in space had just been cast back down to slugging it out of the surface. And the 501st would once again be the spear-head.
General Kenobi was in the process of responding when the entire communication fell apart. "We cannot expect—"
"I'm trying to get him back, Sir." This from one of the clones manning the communications station.
General Krell replied in a quiet, almost desolate voice. "Don't bother. The enemy is jamming our transmissions. We're on our own."
And that was what Rex feared most.
After parting from Rex and the others, Hardcase headed for one of the hangars. On his way out to find Sixer earlier, he had noticed Fives inside the hangar, tinkering with an Umbaran fighter.
He now saw that Fives was still there, and he went to join him. "Hey, how's it coming?"
Fives grimaced. "Enh. Tricky piece of hardware."
Hardcase reported on yet another anomaly he'd observed on his trek across the base. "Krell's got Jesse stacking ordnance."
"I thought Rex had him running perimeter security," Fives replied.
"Yeah, well, looks like the general overrode him," Hardcase said.
After a moment, Fives spoke again. "I'm still waiting for Krell to thank us for handing this base over to him."
Hardcase was not sure what to say to this. He'd never expected thanks or gratitude from his commanding officers when he and his fellow troopers succeeded in battle. It was their job to perform on the battlefield. It went without saying that their skill, their bravery and daring, their sacrifice were all acknowledged and valued by the command. It was a tacit appreciation of the fact that, without the clones, victory would be impossible. Even for the Jedi.
But Hardcase also had to concede that he felt no such unspoken sense of value coming from General Krell. Quite the opposite: Krell had made it abundantly clear that the clones were means to an end; and highly disposable means, at that. And if Krell didn't realize that he had one of the most brilliant tactical minds at his disposal in Captain Rex, then Hardcase was damned if he knew how to prevail upon the Besalisk.
"Looks like you got permission to work on the fighters," he said at last.
"Not exactly."
"Did you at least do the base inventory like the captain told you to?" Hardcase inquired with a quirky grin. "He won't be happy to find you if not."
"I've got some of the non-coms working on it," Fives replied. "Rex knows what I'm doing. I cleared it with him."
Hardcase eyed him doubtfully.
Fives was emphatic. "I did! Do you think I'd be stupid enough to brown off the captain? Disobeying Krell is one thing. Disobeying Rex is another."
"Yeah, well . . . " Hardcase still sounded dubious. "You keep messing around with that. I'll be back in a little while."
"Woah—wait, I thought you were going to help me with this," Fives said.
"I am. I'll be back."
"Where are you going?"
Hardcase took a deep breath. "Pitch is still unaccounted for. I have to go tell Kix."
"You can just use the battalion frequency for that," Fives pointed out.
"You can be a real idiot sometimes, Fives," Hardcase replied, but his manner was not accusative. "Some things have to be done in person."
Rex's mind was working furiously. He had to find a way, some way—any way—to convince General Krell that moving ahead towards the capital without having a coordinated plan was nothing more than a death march.
He'd followed Krell back down onto the flight line, where the general was barking out orders and putting the men on edge even more than they already were. He had no idea what Krell's actual plan of attack was; the general hadn't shared it with him anymore than to say the advance would go ahead as planned. But there was no plan! Advance along the main road was not a plan.
And who knew where the 212th was by now? They had been pushed back from their positions. Without knowing where friendly forces were, lobbing missiles and grenades towards the capitol could result in friendly fire mishaps. Or they could find themselves occupying the same territory as the 212th, leaving other access routes to and from the city open to enemy passage.
"Have those containers searched and all weapons prepped and loaded!" Krell snapped, passing a gaggle of clones who already appeared fully engaged with inventorying the container contents. He then turned to Rex. "Have the battalion ready to move out in 12 hours. We're advancing on the capital."
Rex used his most seasoned officer voice, respectful and suggestive. "Sir, should I try to get a message to General Kenobi? Shouldn't we coordinate our attack, especially in light of the missile threat?"
Krell wasn't hearing any of it. "General Kenobi has his hands full. Same as us. We need to throw everything we have at them . . . now."
Rex corralled his military bearing and decorum; he needed every bit of it. "We'd be marching into a blast zone, Sir."
Even as he spoke, a missile made impact just outside the base perimeter.
"Blasted insurgents," Krell swore. He turned to Rex and bent down so they were almost face-to-face. "I realize you haven't agreed with all of my strategies, Captain. But you are smart enough and loyal enough to obey my orders."
His tone had started off as something nearly approaching conciliatory; but it ended with an insinuation that to do anything other than obey would be nothing more than a demonstration of the captain's short-sightedness and disloyalty.
And Krell had him.
For Rex was neither short-sightedness nor disloyal. He would carry out faulty orders before he would break his oath of duty. He would do as he was commanded and hope for the best.
The sad truth that the success of the mission was riding now on nothing other than hope bore down on him with the weight of a thousand stars. He wondered, in a passing moment of self-reproach, what had happened to the lieutenant who, as an ARC trooper-in-training, had flaunted the rules, skirted the limitations placed on him by authority, and used every ounce of his wits and wiles to gain the upper hand. Where was the fire? Where was the brashness?
General Krell interrupted his thoughts. "Now, prep those troops."
As he watched the general walk away, it occurred to him with cold finality. Whatever he had lost, whatever had happened to the officer he's once been . . . he wasn't going to recover it here on Umbara. If anything, he stood to lose even more.
Hardcase found Kix still on the bay floor, assessing and triaging the wounded.
As he approached, he was relieved to see the steadiness once again in Kix's frame. The way he carried himself, the set of his shoulders, the smoothness of his movements. The serene countenance on his face. Kix was in his element, and here he thrived.
Hardcase was not sure he should disrupt that undisturbed flow of collectedness and energy, and news of Pitch's status would surely do just that. Or would it?
Here was where Hardcase fell short. Did he give his squad mate the benefit of the doubt and tell him? Or did he delay until some undefined moment after the wounded had been tended to? And how long might that be? There was a good chance Kix would not finish his stint on this floor of injured and dying men until the battle for Umbara itself was over and done.
But Hardcase had given his word. He'd told Kix that he would report back to him with what he'd found out. Of course, he hadn't specified precisely when he'd tell him . . .
"He needs to stay focused right now. He's elbow-deep in all this osik in here," Hardcase said internally, enroute to convincing himself of his course of action. "When he's finished, I'll tell him. That's the best thing."
He turned and headed back towards the hangar.
When he arrived, it was to find Tup, Dogma and Jesse now present along with Fives.
At his approach, Fives straightened up from where he'd been examining the fighter's fuel system with Tup. "You're back fast. Did you tell him?"
Hardcase shook his head. "No. I decided it was better to wait. He's in full medic mode. You wouldn't believe the number of injured they've got in there. The entire bay—it's half the size of this hangar—filled wall-to-wall with the wounded. And probably a lot of dead."
Jesse looked up from the console where he was working on deciphering the Umbaran operating codes.
"What are you talking about?"
"Kix," Hardcase replied. "I went to tell Kix that . . . I guess you don't know this either, Jes. Pitch is MIA."
Jesse's face froze. "What?"
"He hasn't been seen since the battle with the tanks. He was with Slider and some other injured troops," Hardcase explained. "Slider hasn't been seen, either."
"Fek . . . are you—are you sure?"
"I talked to Sixer," Hardcase replied. "He's still getting numbers. There's a lot of insurgent activity, so it's very possible we've got men out there who can't get to the base. And they dare not contact us, in case their communications get intercepted, and that could lead the enemy right to them."
Jesse nodded slowly. This sounded like a reasonable explanation, and he definitely wanted to believe it. "He'll show up. I'm sure he'll show up." A pause. "And it's better to wait to say anything to Kix until after we know for sure."
"I doubt we'll be able to put it off very long," Hardcase replied. "He knows Pitch is missing. He's expecting me to keep him informed."
As he spoke, Captain Rex entered the hanger. The captain did not beat around the bush. "We're moving on the capital in twelve hours." Then to Hardcase, "Get word to the other companies."
Hardcase nodded smartly. "Yes, Sir."
Fives could not believe his ears. Rather, he could believe it. He could believe just about anything of General Krell. But this?
He leaned against the fighter's foil and dropped his head into his hand, absorbing what he'd just heard. At last, he said plaintively, "Those missiles have a hundred mega-ton yield. We won't even make it to the delta."
Rex was in no mood to spar. "What can I do? I've tried to reason with him. Those are the orders."
From the console, Jesse spoke up with a puerile complaint . "Great. Another suicide mission. The capital is too well-armed."
Rex regarded him ruefully. He was just about at the end of his tether where Jesse was concerned. He needed his second-in-command to act like one. He was just a moment from a reprimand when Tup piped up.
"Why does it seem like he has it out for clones?"
Dogma, who had been sitting and quietly cleaning his weapon, interjected. "I think you're all over-reacting. Obviously, General Krell knows what he's doing. Do you really think he doesn't care if he loses men?"
Jesse, looking serious and like his old self for once, replied evenly. "I'm not saying that. But I do think that his desire for victory has blinded him to the fact that there are lives at stake. I've never seen a general with these kinds of casualties."
Fives was animated. "He's out of control. He is not acting like the other Jedi. He has no respect for us."
This was getting out of hand. These men were inching closer and closer to open rebellion. Rex addressed the issue in a firm voice. "Listen, I don't agree with him either, but I don't have a better plan."
This was the opening Fives had been waiting for. "What about using these Starfighters to destroy the supply ship?"
"Our fleet has been trying. The Umbarans have it as protected as the capital," Rex protested.
"But we've got their access codes. And their own hardware," Fives said with a glint in his eye.
This was not something Rex had been expecting, and it ignited a spark of hope in his darkened soul. "You were able to crack it?"
Fives, recognizing Jesse's brilliance with alien code breaking, cuffed the latter's shoulder, where he still stood busily engaged at the Umbaran console. "Mm-hm. We can sneak right past their blockade, get where our ships can't."
Rex raised a hand to chin in thoughtful consideration. Now, this sounded like a plan General Skywalker might come up with. Just daring and crazy enough to possibly succeed, yet within the realm of realism.
Fives, seeing that he was making some headway, pressed further. "If we take out that supply ship, we cut off arms to the capitol."
Rex gave a minute nod. "It just might be worth a try."
General Krell looked at the battle sequence log. The 212th was still being pushed back, forced to retreat in the face of an almost continual missile barrage. In the sector further north where the bulk of Umbara's munitions and weapons manufacturing plants were located, the 808th under Jedi General Shyfa was also having a tough-go, but they were dug in and committed to a ground battle that was taking heavy casualties on both sides.
This was not exactly how Krell had expected things to go. He had truly believed that the superior Umbaran technology would make short work of the Republic forces. But, as he had noted of his momentary first-in-command, these clone troopers had a tenacious strain running through them. They certainly knew how to take a beating; and for the most part, they were extremely obedient and duty-bound.
Still, the general had noticed the presence of a small group of . . . dissident clones. He could see them sowing the seeds of dissatisfaction and rebellion. They were too independent, coming up with their own opinions of how things should be done. And the undisputed front man for this gaggle of trouble-makers was the ARC Trooper Fives. Krell had seen right away that the man was certainly not like any of his fellow clones. Unlike the others, who all still considered themselves to be more or less part of a whole, the ARC Trooper viewed himself as something and someone apart, not subject to the bonds of loyalty and brotherhood that seemed to propel the others into following leader for the sake of their bond. To be sure, there were loyalties there, and a sense of brotherhood; but his loyalty was to his own ideas, and his brotherhood extended to those in agreement with him.
Yet, his charisma definitely marked a threat. If he succeeded in winning more clones to his positions, then Krell's entire battle plan could be in peril. Yet, to move against him would be tricky, for it was clear that the battalion's first-in-command had a certain attachment to the ARC trooper that would make any intervention tricky and even perilous.
For the one thing General Krell knew was the absolute key to carrying out his mission was to keep the allegiance of the captain. And this one—this one who thought so highly of himself that he expected the use of his name instead of his number—this Captain Rex was proving to be more effort than the general had wanted to employ. Krell's own captain in his permanently assigned battalion had been nothing like this. He'd never questioned orders, never dared raise an objection to his general's plans. He'd kept the men in line without ever uttering a whisper of complaint. Now, that clone captain was acting commander while Krell filled in for General Skywalker.
Krell grinned in the Besalisk manner. He found it amusing that the powers-that-be had not found it unusual to put his captain in charge while deciding that Skywalker's first-in-command was not up to the task of being in charge of the 501st. It made very little sense.
But then, making sense was not at all what Umbara was about. There were other motives at work here. Krell liked to muse about those motives and the future they might usher in.
And then the sound of the captain – that dreaded, hated captain – entering the room stole his reverie from him. He stood placidly looking at an Umbaran hologram image of the airbase as Rex approached.
"Sir, with all due respect, might I suggest another option to help us secure the capital?" came the inquiry.
Krell dug out the forced civility that would be necessary to make this encounter go away as quickly as possible. "What would that be, Captain?"
"My men have cracked the Umbaran codes. With the Starfighters, we could sneak past the supply ship's defenses. We take it out, we cut off the arms to the capital." There it was. He'd been direct and forthright. It certainly merited some thought . . .
Krell was not so convinced. "And who do you propose would fly these Starfighters? Are your troops now pilots?" Still so calm and smooth.
"My men may not be pilots, Sir; but they are able to learn and adapt quickly. A few of them have already demonstrated that," Rex pressed.
Now that he'd given the captain the chance to speak his mind, Krell was finished with the subject matter. "I'm afraid I can't afford to waste any clones on frivolous adventures. We're going to need everyone to take the capital."
Rex was formulating a response when the warning klaxons began to chime.
"Sir, incoming. Sector Delta. Long-range missiles," came the report from one of the clones manning the scanners.
A perfect distraction, and Krell used it.
Rex thought about pushing his luck, but he knew it was pointless. And if he wanted to remain nominally in command of his troops and give them even the slightest chance of survival, he needed not to give the general any reason to relieve him. For, from among disasters, such a situation would spell the complete demise of the battalion.
"Well, if we're moving out in . . . ten hours now . . . I'm going to get some shuteye while I can," Jesse announced, unslinging his weapon and placing his helmet in a top bunk.
"Enh, we should all still be in those hangars working on mastering those fighters," Fives stated.
"Look, we're dead on our feet," Jesse replied. "A couple hours won't make a difference. We can get back to it afterwards. Besides, we need to wait to hear if Rex can convince the general to carry out your plan."
Tup, already sitting in a top bunk and deciding that these Umbaran barracks were only marginally less sterile and forbidding than clone barracks, said with doubt, "I can't imagine Krell agreeing to anything a clone comes up with. I'll say it again: I think he just wants to see us all dead."
"Nah," Hardcase deferred from his seat on a bench adjacent to a long, narrow table. "He just wants victory at any cost – like Jesse said."
At that moment, the door opened – an interesting sort of force-field door that dissipated when the sensor was activated – and Captain Rex walked in.
The room's occupants could already tell from the look on their captain's face that the news was not good, and when Rex dispensed with any preliminaries and struck straight to the bone, they got their answer.
"The assault on the capital will continue as planned." There was a note of regret in his voice, but no sign of wavering.
This was too much for Jesse. Stepping forward, he demanded, "So, that's it? We just march into those missiles?"
It was Fives who answered. "Oh, there's another option. We go ahead with our plan and suffer the consequences."
Rex sat on the edge of the table. He tried to sound reasonable, but every word simply had the ring of reluctance as it fell from his lips. "You would be court-martialed. If it were up to me, and we had the time and training, I would say do it. But it's out of my hands, and the truth is, you are no pilots."
Jesse was not going to give up. "Come on. If Hardcase can fly one of these things, we all can."
Here, Tup felt it necessary to chime in. "Yeah, he wasn't really flying. More like, avoiding crashing. We'll be blasted out of the sky before we get anywhere."
Fives pushed harder. "Not if we're in their fighters. No one's going to be shooting at us."
"Except every Republic ship up there," Rex said to himself, but before he could speak, the door opened again, this time admitting Dogma.
Jesse side-whispered a warning, "Here comes Dogma."
Right away, Dogma could sense that something was not right. The dead silence upon his arrival. Men who had clearly been engaged in something were now taking to their bunks and acting conspicuously inconspicuous. Dogma narrowed his eyes. "What going on?"
Tup hated lying to his squad mate, to the closest friend he had among his brothers. Dogma had always looked out for him, and he had done the same for Dogma. While they could not be more opposite, they also complemented each other, and there was nothing they would not do for each other. But they were not going to be together on this one.
Now, as Tup muttered "Nothing," in reply to Dogma's question, the uncomfortableness came through clearly in his voice, leaving Dogma more suspicious than ever.
Yet, suspicions and disagreements between brothers were the last things on Rex's mind at the moment. He had to get the battalion ready to move. He left the room without another word.
And Fives followed.
Once the door was closed, Fives unloaded.
"This is about more than just following orders," he accused, even as he had no idea what admission he was expecting from his captain.
Rex stopped, grit his teeth, and turned to face him. "It is," he replied emphatically. "It is about honor."
"Where is the honor in marching blindly to our deaths?" Fives demanded, any semblance of respect fully discarded now. He did not care if he was insubordinate. Why, neither Rex nor Krell were giving his plan a chance, and he sure as well was going to express his sentiments about it.
Rex was steely and even-toned. "It is not our call. We are part of something larger. We are not independent of one another." For the life of him, he could not comprehend how Fives failed to grasp this simple concept of a fighting unit, its morale and its success.
But Fives' response made it clear that not only did he not understand what Rex was saying, but that he was already dead set on a course of his own making. "I'm sorry. I cannot just follow orders when I know they're wrong. Especially when lives are at stake." His voice was edgy, sneering and filled with anger.
And this, in turn, fueled Rex's own furnace of ire. He gestured pointedly at him, going up in tone a bit himself. "You will, if you support the system we fight for."
"I do support it! I do!" Fives insisted, batting Rex's hand away. "But I am not just another number! None of us are." With that, he turned around and walked away.
Rex, now fearing his mistake in bringing Fives on this mission was festering into even greater wounds, barked after him. "Fives! Where are you going?"
Fives didn't even deign to face him. "To round up some pilots."
"Why don't you head back to your company and get some rest?" Major Hypes suggested.
"There's still a lot of work to do here," Kix replied. "And you're already short-handed."
"We'll be okay, Corporal," the major assured him. "But you look like you're asleep on your feet. You've been in the forward elements ever since this thing started. That takes a lot out of a man. Go get some rest. Don't make me give you an order."
Kix nodded. "I'll be back in a couple hours, though."
"The general is moving the battalion out at 2000 hours. You may want to get a little more rest before that, unless he decides to keep you back here in the med station," Hypes informed him. "And I doubt that's going to happen."
"Twenty-hundred? That's . . . less than ten hours from now," Kix noted. "Oh, I can't go to bed. I should stay here and help you before we move out."
"Corporal," Hypes put a hand on his shoulder. "Kix, get out of here. We've got everyone triaged and prioritized. My regular staff can handle it now."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
As Kix moved outside, he would not have been able to tell if it were day or night except for the chronometer in his HUD. At 1000 hours, the Umbaran mid-morning could have just as easily been dawn or dusk or the afternoon. The perpetual gloom that hung over the place could not be lessened by the lights of the airbase as they cast ghostly halos in the mist.
Intra-battalion communications were permitted on a limited basis, and Kix was tempted to use them to find out where his squad mates were. But then he decided he'd rather just search for them. A prolonged walk through the swirling Umbaran currents might do him some good.
It had not gone unnoticed that Hardcase had never returned from his search for Pitch. Kix wondered if that was an indicator of the worst. He recalled Fives talking about studying one of the Umbaran fighters, and he imagined that wherever Fives was, it was likely that Hardcase—and perhaps Jesse—were there, as well.
He turned his attention towards the hangars, and at the second one, he found what he was looking for.
He discovered Hardcase sitting in one of the Umbaran fighter cockpit chairs, still on the floor, dark and lifeless before its foil. Fives stood at a nearby control console. And back among the stockpiles of ammunition, Jesse was walking along, inspecting the devices as if he were trying to figure out what each was.
Hardcase caught Kix approaching out of the corner of his eye, and he got up from the seat. "LB," he greeted him.
"I thought you were going to come tell me if you'd found Pitch," Kix said, brushing aside the nickname of endearment.
"I did," Hardcase explained, "But you were really busy when I got there. I didn't want to interrupt you."
Kix frowned and regarded him with scrutiny. "If it were good news, you would have come and told me without question. That means it must be bad news."
"Well, no, not completely," Hardcase replied quickly. "Sixer doesn't have him accounted for one way or the other. He's still missing."
"How is that not bad news?" Kix asked.
"Because there's still a good chance he's alive," Hardcase replied. "Sixer said they're still brining in men from outside the perimeter, that the insurgent activity makes it slow, but he could still be out there."
"So . . . why aren't we out helping to look for him?" Kix asked.
"Sixer's men are on that," Hardcase replied. "Let him handle it, Kix. He knows what he's doing."
Kix looked at the seat and the contraption behind it. "And what exactly are you doing?"
Hardcase sat down a bit awkwardly in the pilot's seat. "Well . . . I, uh . . . I'm learning to fly this thing—better than I did the first time around."
Kix was not fazed. "To what end?"
"Well, to—to fly it," Hardcase stuttered.
"Why do you need to learn how to fly it?" Kix persisted.
Fives answered, "Because we've got a plan to use these fighters to destroy the supply ship."
Kix's eyes widened slightly. The idea would not have sounded preposterous if it had come from General Skywalker; but coming from Fives', it was ludicrous. He bore into Hardcase with the intensity of his gaze. "Is that true?"
"Yeah, uh, yeah . . . that's true," Hardcase nodded.
"And you're going to fly this mission?"
"Thinking about it."
Kix felt his jaw working. "Did the captain approve this idea?"
Again, Fives jumped in with the answer. "He knows about it."
"I didn't ask if he knew about it," Kix said, controlling his tone as best he could. "I asked if he approved it."
"Not yet," Hardcase replied. "But he will."
Kix saw Jesse approaching out of the corner of his eye. "Are you part of this, too?"
Jesse shrugged. "Sort of. I've been working on cracking the Umbaran codes." He could see this answer was not sufficient for his brother. "It's a good idea, Kix. It's the only real chance we've got."
"There has to be some other way," Kix insisted calmly, fearful of what might happen if he let his emotions get the better of him again.
"Kix—" Jesse tried to put his hand on Kix's shoulder, but Kix stepped back.
"Why are you so quick to think this is the best option?" the medic demanded.
"Kix, you've seen what Krell is like," Jesse replied. "If we try to advance on the capital following his plan, every man remaining in this battalion will die in the process."
"What about the captain?"
Fives, observing the interaction between the three squad mates, saw that the question clearly posed a problem for both Jesse and Hardcase, as neither of them had an immediate response.
At length, Jesse drew in a deep breath and replied, "He has to obey General Krell." A pause. "We don't."
"But we have to obey the captain," Kix pressed, his own moment of indiscretion fresh in his mind. "Even when we disagree with him."
Here, Fives let his lesser virtues overpower his good reason. "You didn't seem to have troubled telling Rex exactly what you thought of him out there, if I recall."
Kix scowled and turned an expression towards Fives that could only be described as loathsome. "I said things I should never have said," he retorted. "But when he gave me an order to leave those men behind, I did what he told me to do. I obeyed him. I hated it, I disagreed with it, but I did as he said."
Fives straightened up and took an assertive step forward. "That was your choice. But he's wrong on this one. There's no reason why we shouldn't try to take out that supply station using these fighters. Rex is backing Krell, even though he doesn't want to. You could see he doesn't agree with him. I don't know why he won't stand up for what's right!"
Jesse, seeing trouble was about to erupt, got in between the two men. "Careful where you're going with that kind of talk, Fives," he said lightly, trying to diffuse the situation. "That's our captain you're talking about."
"Look, I respect Rex as much as the next man—"
Kix very much doubted that.
"—but I'll be damned if I'm going to follow along with him right now!" Fives went on. "We're not machines! We're independent thinkers—"
"But we're not independent of each other," Jesse put forth.
Fives fell silent. This was precisely what Rex had said earlier outside the barracks room. And for the first time it occurred to Fives just how much these men—long-time soldiers under Rex—had absorbed his mindset, how deep their loyalty ran even when they did not realize it. He realized very suddenly how carefully he would have to move this plan along; for the truth was that neither Hardcase nor Jesse considered themselves to be in disobedience to anything Rex had said up to this point. After all, the captain hadn't expressly forbidden them from using the fighters; he simply hadn't approved the idea.
They had to continue to believe that they were not flouting Rex's authority, that Rex would somehow still have their backs if they decided to follow Fives' plan.
And he had to deal magnanimously with this momentary bog-fly in the ointment. If he made the mistake of putting Kix back on his heels, he risked souring any enthusiasm the other two had for the clandestine mission.
"You're right," he conceded. "We aren't independent of one another. None of us is an army of one. Not even an ARC trooper." He turned and walked back toward the foil, putting a hand against the fuselage. He looked from one man to the next. "And I do respect Rex. In my eye, he will always be the greatest clone officer to ever live, no matter who might come after him. I wouldn't even be alive if it weren't for him." He took in a deep breath. "But this is one time when I have to follow my conscience, just like he's following his. We're just . . . the difference is we're following different paths."
Kix was not moved nor pacified by Fives' eloquence. "The difference is, he's our captain . . . and you're not." With that, he turned and headed for one of the hangar's rear exits.
Hardcase got up from the pilot's chair and looked ruefully at Jesse. "We'd better fix this."
"We will," Jesse said assuredly. "But not right now. Give him a few minutes to cool off."
"This is Kix, Jesse," Hardcase said with emphasis. "The longer we give him to brood, the more angry he's going to become."
"And he might go tell Rex what we're up to," Fives added.
Jesse smirked. "You think the captain doesn't already know? You've practically told him you're going to do it." He looked to Hardcase. "But you're right about Kix. I haven't seen him this upset since Kamino. Okay, I'll go talk to him."
"Don't be a bantha's ass when you talk to him," Hardcase warned with a grin. "You've been kind of a prick lately."
Jesse ignored the barb and set off after his squad mate.
The hangars were shell-shaped, with tall, wide openings facing inwards towards the central tower. The bays which comprised the front area of these openings only went about halfway deep into the structure. The rear areas consisted of much smaller specialized repair bays, storage rooms, and offices. Two long hallways ran parallel with each other from the main bay all the way to the rear of the structure, where they exited onto stretches of tarmac between sturdily constructed bunker-type buildings used for mostly administrative purposes.
And at the moment, one of those purposes included the make-shift medical station.
Jesse caught up with Kix just as he was exiting the door onto the tarmac.
"Kix, Kix—hold on, hold on," he said, snagging his elbow as he raced up behind him.
Kix stopped and faced his squad mate. "Don't try to convince me that this is a good idea," he said right away. "And don't ask me to trust Fives over Captain Rex."
"I'm not going to ask you to do any of that," Jesse replied calmly. "I just don't want you to be angry—"
"Do you even care that Pitch is missing?" Kix demanded. "Do you—do you give a single damn about how many men are lying injured or dead inside that building right now?! Or is the only thing on your mind some hair-brained idea about how you can best disobey orders and shove it in Krell's face?"
"Of course, I care," Jesse replied, maintaining better control over his own demeanor than he had in a long time. "That's why I'm trying to help figure this out. I want to find a way to cut our losses. I know Rex has a job to do, and this can't be easy for him. I know it's not easy for you. But I've got a job, too. I'm still second-in-command. I've got some smarts, and I think Fives plan is a good one, so—"
At that moment, they both heard and felt a crash of some kind.
"That sounded like it came from the hangar," Jesse announced.
Without another word, they both re-entered the corridor and raced towards the far end of the building.
They came to the door that led into the hangar, jumping back into the corridor just in time to miss the sideswipe of what was clearly an out-of-control Starfighter.
"What the fek?!" Jesse cursed under his breath, carefully approaching the door again and peering out into the hangar.
The place looked like a cyclone had hit it. Racks of supply parts and containers were knocked over and scattered across the floor, several control panels were down—some in pieces. Clones were dodging and taking cover . . .
Fives stood—now ducked—now stood again—behind one of the still intact control panels. "Hardcase, what are you doing?!" he cried out.
"If I knew, I wouldn't be doing it!" came the excited reply.
Both Jesse and Kix cautiously stepped into the doorway. Before them, the Starfighter Hardcase was piloting—if it could be so called—was swaying and bucking and rotating about like an out-of-control carnival ride. It was complete and utter chaos.
"I rigged that thing to make it easier to fly," Jesse ground out. "What the hell is he doing?!"
Kix was silent, staring with mouth agape in disbelief.
Suddenly, the sound of General Krell's voice came over the intercom, echoing through the hangar. "Trooper, what's going on down there?"
Fives pushed a fellow trooper away from the console. "Eh-yeah-yeah, I got this." He leaned over the console. "Uh, yes, Sir, everything's fine in the hangar, Sir."
Jesse and Kix watched as Hardcase's out-of-control fighter rose up and began moving in a circular motion, knocking the other foils off their grappling hooks. The sounds they made as they crashed to the floor could surely be heard well beyond the walls of the hangar.
And all the while, Fives continued his exercise in absurdity. "Nothing's out of control down here."
Krell believed not a word. "Then why have the alarms been triggered?"
After hemming and hawing, Fives changed his story. "It's just a drill—a safety drill, Sir."
"Safety check occurs at 0600. Who authorized this drill?"
Change of story number two. "Ohh, uhhh, we're decrypting the alien hardware Sir. Standard operating procedure."
"I'd better get out there and see if I can help with this," Jesse said, edging out of the doorway and into the hangar.
"Are you crazy?" Kix protested. "It's too dangerous in there right now. That thing'll knock your block off. Talk him down!"
"If I can get to one of the control panels, I might be able to take control remotely," Jesse insisted. He darted across a stretch of floor, dodging the tumbled munitions, marveling that they had not exploded in the mayhem, and took cover behind a row of crates that he knew would be no cover at all if the foil should hit them.
But then he had a whole different concern to contend with as Hardcase suddenly began firing the guns.
"For fek's sake, has he lost his mind?!" Jesse grumbled.
Krell's voice once again boomed through the hangar, as it became clear that Fives' excuses were not passing muster. "Who is this? What's your CT number? Trooper identify yourself!"
At that moment, the runaway fighter appeared to steady a bit.
Jesse allowed a sigh of relief, which was woefully premature; for in the next instant he could see a growing ball of static light on the wing foil. It was the activation of the missile, and as the light intensified, he knew what was coming.
He turned and raced back towards the door where Kix was still looking on in stunned silence. He dove into the doorway, smashing into Kix and sending them both skittering several meters into the hallway.
"Stay down!" he commanded, still lying on top of his squad mate.
They both felt the impact; and seconds later, as the ceiling above them began to warp and melt, Kix pushed Jesse off of him, yelling, "It's coming down!"
They both rolled to one side, but the collapse never came. The missile's destructive capacity had reached its limit, and the two clones had been at the outermost edge of that limit.
Jesse let out a long breath and sat up. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," Kix replied. "We'd better get in there and see if there's anything left."
They picked their way through the now misshapen hallway, emerging into the hangar just Hardcase was lowering the foil to the floor.
Fives, nearly beside himself, approached Hardcase angrily. "Are you crazy? You could have gotten us killed, not to mention ruining our hopes of flying this mission."
Hardcase, nonchalant and unworried as always, deactivated the cockpit bubble and got out of the pilot's chair. "It's a malfunction. No harm done," he said cavalierly, completely oblivious to the destruction all around him.
At that moment, General Krell entered the hangar with a very stern-looking Captain Rex following him.
Krell was livid. "Explain this. Now."
Fives hesitated, at a loss as to how to make any of what had just happened sound reasonable. But just as he was about to launch into whatever explanation might ramble out of him, Hardcase spoke up in such a measured tone that it completely offset the flimsy military bearing he was using in presenting his story to his commanding general.
"Sir, we were decrypting the enemy craft when what appears to be an enemy booby-trap went off."
"A booby trap?" Krell challenged.
"Yes, Sir. The fighter went haywire, and had I not been able to take control of it and aim the missile at the doors, something worse might have happened."
Fives marveled at Hardcase's ability to present a lie as smoothly as if it were the undisputed truth. So impressed was he that when the general turned his burning gaze towards him, demanding to know if this story was the truth, Fives could only reply in a way that would not detract from the masterstroke of deception Hardcase had weaved.
"Uh, uh, yes, Sir. That is what happened. No doubt." He glanced at Rex, and he could tell by the expression on the captain's face, that Rex knew he was listening to a complete fabrication.
"Well, Captain Rex, it looks like I was correct. The Umbaran fighters are too dangerous and not fit for flight," Krell announced.
Hardcase was adamant. "But Sir, we now know how they work. We just need practice!"
General Krell shook his head in disbelief and disgust. He turned and began to leave the hangar. "Lock down these fighters. I don't want anything else exploding," he said decisively.
For his own part, Rex was disappointed on too many levels to even identify them all. He'd allowed his men to work on decrypting the fighters in the hopes of using them as the battle for Umbara went on. He'd certainly nixed the idea of using them to destroy the supply ship, based on General Krell's disapproval, but he'd at least hoped that Fives and the others would have had the good sense to proceed deliberately and cautiously with finding a safe way to use the fighters as assets.
But now, he saw that he'd been mistaken. He'd given them too much credit, and now they'd ruined any chance of using the fighters at all. As he turned to leave, he conveyed his disappointment without speaking a word. And the truth was, at this point, he was not sure that any words would make a difference.
As he watched the captain depart, Fives punched Hardcase's shoulder. "Nice work. Now we know how to fly them and we won't be able to get near them."
Hardcase was not dissuaded. "Oh, come on, that won't stop us. It's just procedure." He took on a vaguely conspiratorial tone. "We can sneak in and be out before Krell knows anything."
It was at this point that Jesse, having weaved his way through the obstacle course of destruction inside the hangar, approached with a smile and sarcastic clapping. "I thought the plan was to destroy the enemy ship with the fighters, not blow up our own hangar," he quipped, patting Hardcase on the back.
Fives would not be distracted from his point. "Look, I agree we should go through with this. So, you two volunteering to be my pilots or what?"
Hardcase replied immediately. "I'm in, regardless of the consequences."
Jesse gave a flippantly more circumspect answer. "Flying these fighters beats blindly walking into a bunch of missiles, so . . . I'm in. We just need a plan."
Fives was jubilant. "Already got one," he announced with a blithe air. "General Skywalker blew up a droid-controlled ship when he was a kid. He told me the trick is hitting their main reactor from the inside."
Hardcase grinned sardonically. "Oh, that won't be so tough."
Jesse grinned.
"We've got a bit of preparation to do," Fives said. "Let's get going."
"The captain's not going to be happy about this," Jesse pointed out.
"I'll talk to Rex," Fives assured them. "I know that if Krell weren't saying no to the plan, Rex would give us the go-ahead."
"I hate the idea of going against him," Hardcase regretted. "But this is the only chance we've got."
Standing off a bit, having gone through the hangar to make sure no one had been injured in Hardcase's flying debacle, Kix listened to the conversation without entering it.
They were going to do it. Jesse, Hardcase. They'd decided. They were going to carry out this half-baked, very dangerous plan, with or without the captain's approval.
And this put Kix in a precarious position. Did he go against the designs of his squad mates and report what they were planning? Or did he go against the will of his captain? Neither choice was a good one, and Kix could not stop the anger festering within him. How could they put him in this situation?
It was a terrible moment. A moment in which he hated two of the men he most loved.
Rex could not afford to dwell on whimsical ideas.
The concept of flying the Starfighters to take out the supply ship had been put to rest, and now he had other matters to tend to, matters of immediate importance. The insurgents had been attempting multiple incursions into the base, setting explosive devices, making sniper attacks on the Republic defenders, and disrupting the chance that any clone survivors still out in the wilderness might make it to safety within the base's confines.
"I want a full perimeter sweep," he told Lieutenant Fin who was coming on duty as officer of the guard. "Be on high alert. Things are getting uneasy out here." He turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.
Fives, Jesse and Hardcase drew up before him.
"Fives, what are you doing out here? You should be in the barracks," Rex inquired, though he had a fairly good idea what was coming.
Fives was blunt. "I found my pilots. We're going after that supply ship."
This was what Rex had feared, and now the moment was upon him. He could no longer make his decisions from behind General Krell's authority. Fives had come—with two of Rex's long-time troopers—to present their intentions directly to him. And now he would have to make a determination on what kind of response he would give.
He removed his helmet. He wanted Fives to see the look in his eyes. He wanted him to see that this was not a situation to be taken lightly. But most of all, he wanted him to see the pain and difficulty that this was causing, and to recognize the sincerity of whatever Rex's final decision would be.
He took Fives aside and placed a paternal hand on his arm. In a low voice, he questioned the wisdom of the plan. "Are you out of your mind? It's a suicide mission. Not to mention, against orders."
"It's the right thing to do. We have to try." Fives was hard, like stone. He would not allow his own determination to be swayed by whatever feelings he had for the man before him.
Rex sighed. "It . . . sounds like you intend to go through with it."
"If you're going to try to stop us, we need to know."
These words were something Rex could never have expected. But perhaps he should have. Perhaps he should have known that the logical outcome of Fives' valuation of his own moral compass over any other consideration would be the flat-out disregard of Rex's authority and disobedience to his orders.
How had it come to this? How had it come to a point where the insurrection was not only on the part of Fives, but of Jesse and Hardcase, as well? Two of Rex's best officers, recent difficulties notwithstanding. Rex closed his eyes in deliberation. This was not how he'd wanted things to turn out. This was not how he'd imagined events would go down. These were men about whom he cared very deeply. Yet, he'd lost them. He'd lost their loyalty. He'd lost their respect. He'd lost any ability to prevail with them regarding this mission.
He opened his eyes and said in a sad voice, "I can't help you when you get caught."
It was not the full-throated approval Fives had been hoping for, while knowing all the while such an approval would never be forthcoming. Instead, it had been, in his estimation, a death-knell of sorts, the spoken finality of a decision the captain had been unwilling to make.
"I understand, Sir," Fives replied. It struck him not as a victory in that the captain had not forbidden the action; but rather a forlorn reconciliation with the idea that Rex had girded himself against the loss of those he had long trusted. And for the briefest of moments, Fives felt a pang of regret and remorse for having come between them.
"But this is the only way," he consoled himself. "And if we succeed, he'll thank me for it."
With that, Fives turned and began to return to the base.
Hardcase and Jesse hesitated a long moment before joining him. If they had hoped for some word of encouragement from their captain, it had not come. If they had been counting on some glance or gesture that would lessen the guilt, their expectations went unfulfilled.
But if that was the way of things, so be it. They were both committed.
Fives spoke over his shoulder as they drew up behind him. "Meet me outside the hangar at 1800 sharp. And bring your guts with you."
"Yeah, we'll bring our guts," Hardcase replied. "You just bring your brain. We're counting on you to make this thing happen."
"Don't worry about me," Fives assured them. "I've got it all worked out."
Fives parted from them and headed to the hangar. He needed to make sure everything was set up and in order for a quick lift-off and departure.
Left alone, Hardcase turned to Jesse. "Well, we've got thirty minutes."
"You know what we need to do," Jesse replied.
Hardcase heaved a sigh. "Yeah. Let's not put it off."
They crossed to the barracks but found only Dogma and Tup.
"Either of you seen Kix?" Hardcase asked.
"He was here for a few minutes," Dogma replied. "I think he went back to the med station."
"Figures," Hardcase said. "Let's go."
Tup got up from the lower bunk where he'd been sitting. "Are you two—are you coming back after you see him?" It was clearly not what he'd meant to ask, but he was hoping Dogma had not noticed.
"Yeah, probably," Hardcase answered.
"That's the plan, anyway," Jesse added.
"Good luck," Tup said.
Dogma smirked. "Good luck?"
"Finding Kix," Tup clarified.
Dogma shook his head. "You can be weird sometimes, Brother."
Leaving this conversation behind them, Jesse and Hardcase headed for the medical station. It was the first time Jesse had been inside, and he was stunned at the number of men jammed into the space.
"Fek and all, this must be . . . twenty percent of the battalion," Jesse breathed. "I had no idea it was this bad. Now, I know we're doing the right thing."
"There's Kix," Hardcase said, nodding towards the right side of the room, where Kix was leaning over a field compounding setup, mixing a cocktail of drugs in a specialized tumbler.
The two men walked up behind him, and even though Kix had not seen them coming, not even heard their approach, when they stopped short and stood wondering how to greet him and say what they had come to say, they were surprised when Kix spoke up without facing them.
"Give me a second to finish this." He completed his task and turned to regard them both.
"We, uh, we came to tell you we're leaving in a little while," Hardcase said.
Kix was silent for a long time. The expression on his face was unreadable. At last, he asked, "Both of you?"
"And Fives."
Another awkward, dreadful silence followed, which Hardcase finally broke.
"Any word on Pitch?"
Kix shook his head. "I—I've got to get back to work," he said, but he made no move to return to what he'd been doing. Instead, after a few seconds, he surmised in a weary voice, "I guess I'd be wasting my breath if I asked you not to go."
"We'll be alright, Kix," Jesse assured him.
"Yeah, of course," Hardcase nodded with confidence and a bit of bravado meant to raise his brother's spirits. "A quick trip up there, deliver the bad news, and we'll be back before you know it."
Kix could barely feign the smile that fell wanly across his face. "Sure."
"Have a party waiting for us when we get back," Hardcase said, stepping forward to give him a nudge. "Or at least a bottle of something good."
"I will."
He watched them leave. And he wondered if he would ever see them again.