Dear Reader, First and foremost, thank you to my wonderful reviewers: Sajuea, Sued13, My Guest, Sarmay, Ms CT-672, HuffleHecate, Akira Hayama, CanadianGirl, and CT-7567. As always, I appreciate you all taking the time to put your reviews out there. This is a long and pretty sad chapter. To start, I've included one of my favorite poems of all time, In Flanders' Fields. You will see it referenced in the body of the chapter, as well. Second, I tweaked some of the dialogue in places in order to make it seem a bit more credible. Lots of anger and angst and a complete blowup with Jesse, Fives and Kix. It might be hard reading, but there's more to come! Long chapter, so settle in and I hope you enjoy. Peace, CS

Chapter 103 Live To Fight Another Day

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

In Flanders' Fields
Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae (World War I)

Dogma didn't know why he could never sleep for more than a couple hours at a stretch. Tup always teased him that he never went off alert, even going so far as to wonder out loud at the fact that Dogma was ever able to sleep at all.

"You're the most high-strung guy in our entire batch." That's what Tup used to say repeatedly on Kamino. "You know, if you're not careful, if you don't learn how to relax, you're gonna find yourself in a bantha's pile of osik one day." But of course, he hadn't really meant it. Or, certainly he'd meant the part about being high-strung; but truly Dogma was such a stickler for rules, Tup could never imagine him getting into trouble – at least not for disobedience.

Dogma hadn't even tried to argue the point. He took a certain amount of pride in his perfectionist nature. He enjoyed when his superiors noted his abilities and commended him on his performance. And since coming to the 501st, he'd wanted nothing more than to distinguish himself in the eyes of his captain and his general. He felt he'd done a creditable job of it thus far. But he had to admit that he did not want to promote himself right out of his position next to Tup.

True, there were batchers – and even squad mates – Dogma had grown up and trained with who were still alive and in the 501st. But though they did not dislike him, he knew that they found him somewhat difficult to work with. Dogma was exacting, precise, and always keen to go into any situation, no matter how dangerous. He had a tendency to make others feel inadequate, though it was never his intention to do so. Tup was one of the few who, despite Dogma's idiosyncrasies, still enjoyed his company and the steadiness of his brotherhood. Dogma recognized this fact and was devoted to Tup's well-being, and Tup returned the favor with equal devotion to his brother.

This mission had proven trying for both of them. Some small barriers and points of contention had gone up between them, but the off-putting was short-lived. They were too close to let such things break their bond.

Now, in the darkness of the Umbaran barracks, with the past two days' events penetrating even through sleep, Dogma's confounded internal clock roused him again. He cracked open an eye.

All the other beds were empty. Save one. That was not normal.

"Hey. Hey, Tup. Wake up." He said in a loud whisper, though there was no one else there to hear him.

It took Tup a moment to realize, from the depths of his own sleep, that he was being summoned. But when he responded, he made sure his squad mate could hear the annoyance in his voice. "What? I'm trying to sleep."

But Dogma did not care about annoyance. "Where are they?"

Uh-oh. Now, Tup knew he was going to be put on the spot, and his wakefulness increased immediately. "Who?"

"You know."

Tup gave no reply. He wasn't sure what to say; and he cursed his own shortsightedness for not having foreseen this moment. If he had, he might have been better prepared to throw his persistent friend off the trail. But it was too late now.

"Don't tell me they're going to disobey orders." Dogma sounded disgusted, offended by the idea.

"I didn't say that," came the weak reply.

Dogma jumped down from the upper bunk he'd been occupying. "You know we have to tell the captain."

Tup pushed up onto his elbow. "Dogma, just let it go. You're just going to get in the middle of something that doesn't concern you."

"We have to tell him," Dogma persisted. "If we know what they're up to and we keep our mouths shut, we become complicit in their insubordination. Do you really want to be court-martialed?"

Tup sat up fully now. "Look, Dogma, if—if the captain is letting them go, then it's not our place to question his decision."

Dogma felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. Tup must have misspoken. "What do you mean, the captain is letting them go. Are you—are you telling me that Captain Rex approved this?"

Tup cleared his throat. "Uh, well . . . no, he didn't approve it, but he knew what they were planning to do, and it's clear he didn't—he hasn't stopped them."

Dogma turned away. He did not want his brother to see the look on his face. It was more than disappointment. It was a sense of abject betrayal in that their captain, the man Dogma most admired, had gone soft and practically sanctioned the disobeying of the general's orders. And for a trooper like Dogma, for whom rules and discipline and faithful service meant everything, this was a blow that could not be borne, would not be borne.

At last, he turned back to face Tup. "That means we need to go to General Krell."

Now, Tup was alarmed. "No! No-no-no, you can't. Why—why don't we go talk to the captain first, let him talk to the general—"

"You just said the captain knows about this and let it happen!" Dogma reminded him. "Going to him isn't going to do any good. We have to let General Krell know. We can't be part of a conspiracy to disobey orders. You know that!"

Tup sighed heavily. He was torn. Dogma was technically correct, perhaps even morally correct. But being right in support of a commanding general who was wrong in every decision thus far still had the final effect of causing the loss of many men's lives.

But Tup had never let Dogma stand alone. And he would not abandon him now.

"I'll go with you," he finally gave in. "But don't' expect me to say anything."

"Captain."

Rex turned at the sound of Sixer's voice.

"I've got those numbers for you," the lieutenant announced. He touched the back of his data pad to the one Rex was carrying and transferred the data.

The first thing Rex noticed was the BLUF, or Bottom Line Up Front. Battalion strength: MP 58 percent.

Rex hid his emotions well, but Sixer knew the number was disturbing. To be at 58 percent manpower was alarming, not just in consideration of the numbers lost, but because no replacements were coming.

"That's not a good number," Rex said evenly.

"Of that number, we have 150 confirmed dead, 261 injured, and 53 missing or unaccounted for."

Rex absorbed this, then moved on. "Equipment?"

For the next ten minutes, Sixer briefed Rex on the battalion's status. There was really no good news, except that they could use some of the Umbaran stockpiles from the airbase to augment their own depleted stores of ammunition and other supplies.

Noting an interesting item on the inventory, Rex ordered, "Make sure those drug canisters are locked down. I don't want any of our own men thinking they're going to follow the lead of the Umbarans and use enhancing drugs."

"Fin's taken care of that, Sir."

Rex nodded his approval. "I'll take a few more minutes to digest this. Good work, Sixer."

The lieutenant nodded and departed.

Rex frowned as he began looking more closely at the numbers. Alpha Company had truly been decimated. It was worse than originally thought. They were down a full 60 percent of their manpower. Boffa Company hadn't fared much better. They were down 50 percent. It just went on and on. Rex knew he could not continue to operate the battalion as eight companies, when so many of those companies had lost half or more of their men. He would have to do some restructuring, and he would do it without consulting General Krell. It would be better for him to just take the initiative and then inform the general rather than asking permission, for there was no guarantee permission would be grant. And a company of 40 men versus 100 was not a viable option.

Down more than half of their walkers. Rockets were in good supply, but the launchers . . . they'd lost 25 percent. Grenades—those numbers looked good. Detonators—they'd used almost their entire stock. Charger packs for their blasters—

"Look, Sir!"

Rex looked up from his data pad as one of his troopers pointed towards the northern end of the base.

Three Umbaran fighters floated up into the sky, hovered for a moment, then sped off towards the heavens.

Rex hardly knew what he was feeling. He hoped for their success without consciously forming the words of his well-wishing. He doubted that success. He doubted they would ever come back. He saluted their daring while condemning their decision. And he knew he shared in their defiance, for he had chosen not to stop them. They could not be guilty without he himself sharing in that guilt. He'd taken the easy way out by being non-committal, but he didn't know if he regretted that fact or not. Umbara had changed everything Rex had thought he'd known – about war, about his troops, and mostly, about himself.

Now, as he watched the Starfighters soar up and out of view, he felt a part of himself go with them. It was the part that he had always valued most – the idea of freedom. And never before had he felt so tied down, so trapped.

He resumed his rounds, checking the stockpiles against Sixer's inventories.

Not surprisingly, it was less than two minutes before Krell approached him in agitation. "Captain! My flight officer reports the launch of three Starfighters. I thought I ordered those ships locked down."

This was the moment. This was the moment where he would fully enter the deception. Up to this point, he'd not been dishonest to General Krell. True, he'd not grounded his wayward erstwhile pilots, and that could be considered a failing on his part. But he'd not lied about it. He was about to do so now. It was a turning point that he'd never wanted to reach.

"Sorry for the confusion, Sir. I authorized the recon of the delta in preparation for your attack on the capital." So plausible, so smooth. He found the ease with which the lie flowed from him to be despicable.

"You took it on your own authority to launch such a reconnaissance?" Krell was shocked and angry.

Rex hated him. The lies were justified. He was doing this to try and save what was left of his battalion. "Oh, yes, Sir. I'm sure the report will make your strategy more effective."

Krell grudgingly accepted this answer. It was, after all, a believable falsehood. "I want that report as soon as they are back."

"They're probably never coming back," Rex said silently as he watched the general walk back towards the tower. Turning, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

Much to his surprise, he saw Dogma and Tup approaching. There was determination as well as trepidation in their gaits, and Rex had a fairly good idea why. He moved to intercept them.

"Where are you two going?" he asked.

When neither man answered and they both continued walking, Rex placed himself in their path and took on a more authoritative stance.

"I asked you a question, troopers."

Dogma, ever well-disciplined in military bearing and demeanor, replied politely, "We are going to speak with the general, Sir."

Rex now maneuvered himself into a more direct blocking position between them and the doorway into the tower. "Regarding what?"

Dogma faltered a bit before reply, "A personal matter."

Rex, having only moments ago become quite adept at deception himself, recognized Dogma's answer as an attempt to skirt the truth without actually lying. But he'd be damned if he was going to let these two Shinies burst the seams on what Fives, Jesse and Hardcase were undertaking. The mission was already underway, for good or bad, with or without approval. Reporting it to Krell would only intensify the general's state of perpetual disdain and anger. "Why don't you tell me, and I'll report it the general?" he said, knowing they would never take him up the offered alternative.

And he was correct. Dogma considered for the briefest moments, concluding that it was not worth it to go against the captain. The chance would come to inform the general. Eventually, the chance would come.

He conceded, "On second thought, Sir, it's not important."

Rex watched them leave, confirming his own suspicions. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

Jesse felt, as he left the surface of Umbara behind him, that he was leaving behind a lot more than gravity, more than the dark and murky surface and the growing numbers of dead and wounded. He was leaving behind the constraints of being a soldier, of always having to follow orders, the burden of the responsibility of being second-in-command, the voices and eyes and hands that sought him out continually for his leadership. The things he'd once loved but now despised. He was able to cast it all back down to the surface as his fighter broke free of the atmosphere. Chaos was down below; up here was the silence, himself, and his fighter.

Of course, what he hadn't anticipated was that the alien craft he was piloting did not share his romantic notions of lofty emancipation. It was a war machine with very particular operating parameters. And while he might have decoded and reprogrammed the fighters to make them easier for the clones to operate, he was now discovering, upon his first real flight in one, that there was something to be said about the simplicity of Republic weaponry. A simplicity not to be found in the Umbaran technology.

"These things are trickier than I imagined," he admitted, a bit of worried doubt coming through his voice. "I hope this is a good idea."

Fives came back immediately, "Well, it's better than Krell's plan.

Jesse replied gamely, "You know, I'm only doing this because I don't like him."

"That's reason enough," Fives affirmed.

Hardcase laughed. "I'm just doing it for fun!"

Suddenly, Jesse felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach. For some reason, that brief exchange had made him feel uneasy. Was he really only doing this because he didn't like Krell? If it had been General Skywalker or General Kenobi saying no to this plan, would he have carried it out against their orders? Despite Fives' assurance, was hatred of Krell really enough to justify turning against his captain and undertaking a mission of this magnitude with its attendant risks? And Hardcase-was he really doing this just for fun?

Fek and all, they had tossed aside everything they'd ever believed in—their loyalty to and trust in Rex, their acknowledgment that good order and discipline were necessary to the success of any combat unit, and perhaps worst of all, the sense of cohesion that had held their squad—Saber Squad—together. It hit him now, in a way it hadn't before—though he'd been fully aware of the possibilities—that if anything were to happen to himself and Hardcase, with Pitch missing in action, the impact on Kix would be devastating.

Damn! How had he come to this point? How could he have been so cavalier about the whole thing? He could look at Fives and try to convince himself that the ARC trooper had given him license to break ranks, tacit approval to decide his own course, and full-throated encouragement to disobey orders. But to blame Fives would be the height of cowardice, because Jesse knew that everything he had done, every decision he'd made these last months—not just on Umbara—were to be laid at no one's feet but his own. He'd tried to blame Top, without ever actually saying so; steadfastly believing that Top's departure had put double the load on his own shoulders. But at least Jesse could say that he was not the one who'd broken up the squad. That had begun with Top-

"Eh, fek, stop lying to yourself," he chastised silently, struggling to keep the Umbaran fighter level and heading in the right direction. "You want him to come back, and that's where all this osik stems from. Fek and all, if we get through this, I'm going to tell him he needs to come back. Hraka, what the hell am I even thinking about? I need to concentrate on flying this thing and completing this mission. All that other osik can wait until this is done."

No sooner had that last thought found its place than he, Fives and Hardcase broke through a cloud of space dust only to discover themselves in the middle of a battle.

And no one was more surprised that Fives. For the first time since settling on the idea of carrying out this mission, he felt a pang of regret, but only in that he had not fully taken into account the entirety of the battle for Umbara. He'd been so wrapped up in the 501st dilemma that he'd completely overlooked the likelihood that a space battle might be raging.

Now, he and his team were flying right into the thick of it, in Umbaran fighters, drawing the fire of their own Republic forces. They were facing maelstrom with no choice but to fly right into it, for their target lay on the far side.

"Try to fly steady!" Fives commanded, in what might have been the most inane thing he'd ever said.

Entering the thick of things, weaving carefully through the ships fighting in close quarters, Hardcase could see the other Umbaran fighters taking out the Y-wing fighters of his own fellow troopers. Not returning fire was something that went against every grain of his being.

"I'm really not liking this!" he warned.

Fives heard the tone in his voice and knew he had to stop Hardcase from defecting from the mission in favor of the dogfights. "Easy, Hardcase. Don't get an itchy trigger finger. We've got a job to do, and this is no time to get distracted."

The trio continued through the lines of battle, at one point finding themselves being trailed by an echelon of four Umbaran fighters.

"Fek, they've seen we're not Umbarans," Jesse fretted silently, but then when the echelon peeled off, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Looks like they think we're Umbaran, alright."

They broke clear of the battle, and there before them, hanging silently and unaccosted, appeared their target.

"There's the supply ship!" Fives proclaimed. "Follow me!"

Hardcase felt his blood surge. "Let's do this."

The schematics they'd relied upon to build their plan of attack were years old, but it was all that had been available. They could only hope that the supply ship's layout had not changed.

The ship itself was comprised of two semi-spheres connected by a trestle work. The two sides could be contracted for space travel and then expanded to give the ship increased surface space and stability. Each semi-sphere contained its own reactor core which was located at the juncture where the trestle intersected the interior of the sphere half. Given the core's almost constant need for an outside fuel source, the ship's design allowed for low capacity tankers to pull up directly to the reactor fuel cells by way of extended cargo bays that followed the ship's perimeter. It was a design flaw that had been corrected in the new versions currently being constructed; but fortunately, for the three clone pilots, this particular ship still had the potentially deadly flaw, and that was what the men hoped to exploit.

They located the hangar bay easily enough and entered at speed.

"Not much room to maneuver in here," Jesse noted. "Wide enough, but not much height." He saw a number of battle droids but he paid them no mind. He hadn't come here to take out droids by the ones or twos—or even the hundreds. He'd come here to take them out by the thousands. "Fek and all, how long is this damned thing?" He cursed the hangar bay through which he was traveling. Up ahead, a pair of blast doors was starting to close. Hardcase's voice followed.

"Why'd they have to go and do that?" He didn't sound upset about it. Rather, a certain anticipatory glee filled his voice.

In the next moment Jesse knew why, as Hardcase fired one of his weapons and the wall disintegrated.

"Reactor core marked," Fives announced, as his targeting screen lit up before him. "Prepare missiles."

The reactor core came into site.

"Fire missiles!" Fives ordered.

No sooner were the missiles away than a wall of pulsating red light rose up around the core. The missiles dissipated against it.

"Ray shields!" Fives choked. "Hit the deck!"

They swung their fighters just in time to avoid colliding with the shields, but now they found themselves backed up with nowhere to go, the core still intact, and confronted with the station's defensive complement.

Battle droids were swarming towards them, firing at will.

Fives was at a loss. This was not how he'd envisioned it playing out. But he had no idea of how to remedy the situation.

"This may have been a bad idea, after all," he said, but it was not contrition or apology in his voice. There was something bordering on glib, and it seemed hardly appropriate for the moment.

Jesse grit his teeth as he looked at the shield percentage reading. "Our shields are sure taking a beating!" He wasn't sure if he expected Fives to say something in reply, to come forth with a backup plan, or at least to wax eloquent about the virtues of going down fighting.

But Fives said nothing. It was clear he had no options.

Nor did Jesse. Here he was, second-in-command of the most elite of fighting units, and he had nothing to offer in the moment.

"This is it," he thought ruefully. "Captain Rex was right. This was a suicide mission, but with no positive results. We'll die up here and this mission won't have made a single difference in the battle. I guess—I guess they can at least say we tried."

Hardcase's voice interrupted his morose thoughts. "Can't turn back now! Cover me!"

Both Fives and Jesse looked over to see Hardcase deactivate his cockpit shield and jump down from the fighter.

"Hardcase! Get back in your ship!" Fives shouted, and it was now that he saw Hardcase had disengaged one of the missiles from the foil. The missile's arming light was on.

"Trust me! I got a plan!" Hardcase replied. He leaped over the foil and began guiding the missile towards the non-ray-shielded maintenance access alleyway – just a small opening to the side of the main hangar, but large enough for his purpose.

"This is for the 501st! Don't wait for me!"

"Hardcase, no!" Fives cried out.

But Hardcase was set on his course. "You've disobeyed enough orders today, Corporal! Follow this one! Get outta here!"

Fives balked. He knew exactly what Hardcase was planning. He'd understood perfectly the warning to cut and run. Yet, he could not decide what to do. They'd entered this mission together, and it seemed they should all finish it together, whether that meant in life or in death.

Jesse, on the other hand, though faced with the terrible truth of what was about to happen, knew that his squad mate would want them to get away. There could be no reasonable justification for three men dying when only one had to . . .

"Damn you, Hardcase," he swore under his breath, then aloud, "If I know Hardcase, we'd better leave." He didn't wait for a response from Fives before gunning his ship back the way they had come. He knew what he was leaving behind, who he was leaving behind. And he wasn't going to let Hardcase's sacrifice be in vain, nor would he allow the future to forget whose was this act of valor.

Fives did not share Jesse's certainty that Hardcase would successfully deliver the munition on target. He had no idea what kinds of protections were on the other side of the barrier or if Hardcase could breach those protections. But, his own idea having failed, he had to place his faith somewhere.

Had he known Hardcase better, he would not have doubted. He'd already seen the fearless, devil-may-care attitude in action. He knew Hardcase was not the type to back down. And he knew he was fiercely loyal to his brothers. To the point of sacrifice.

Doubting Hardcase's resolve was never a winning proposition.

For Hardcase, the decision to hand-deliver the missile had not been a question of winning or losing, of doing what was expected or not.

No. In his mind, this was their only choice. They'd risked everything, disobeyed General Krell, gone against Captain Rex, with the sole intention of destroying the supply ship. Coming back alive had been viewed as a possibility only under the best of circumstances. And certainly, these were not the best of circumstances. But the mission still had a chance to succeed. The lives of hundreds, if not thousands of clones, might end up being saved.

The image of the rows upon rows of injured and dying troopers flitted through his mind as he maneuvered the missile through the narrow alleyway. And in the middle of that field of death and pain and anguish, he saw Kix wading through, doing everything he could to make a difference. Then he saw Top and Pitch and Jesse as well. Even himself. The five of them. Saber Squad. On the day that all five of them had long agreed with the most significant day of their lives – the day two years ago when they had met a fiery ARC trooper candidate. Lieutenant Rex. A man who embodied every admirable quality they'd ever imagined. A man who had taught them what fighting a war was really about. A guiding figure who cared about them enough to call them brothers . . .

Thinking of them—of his squad mates and his captain—Hardcase knew he was doing the right thing.

"I'm doing this for you, brothers," he said under his breath. "All of you." Rounding the final corner, a fragmentary thought enjoyed its last recollection, that of a bond shared. "'To you from failing hands . . . don't lose faith." He swung the missile around in front of him, directing it towards one of the fuel cells, letting it float freely above the floor. Then, turning away, not wanting to see the moment of impact, he swallowed down the tiny seed of fear. "Live to fight another day, boys." He closed his eyes hard on a moment of grief. But when he opened them again, a grim determination found its expression. "Live to fight another day."

For Hardcase, the fight was over.

"Come on! Come on!" Jesse worked to coax every last bit of speed out of the Umbaran fighter. He could feel the heat and the vibration of the air around him as a cascade of explosions followed him through the bay.

He could see Fives' fighter out of the corner of his vision and the occasional lick of flame as the destruction caught up with them.

And then they were clear.

Behind them the supply ship broke up.

Fives exhaled heavily. "He did it. He did it."

"I told you he would," Jesse replied in a subdued voice. They had succeeded in their mission, but he could not feel happy about it. He could take satisfaction in the ship's destruction, but there was no elation, no joy. In the terrifying flight from the exploding ship, he'd not allowed the loss to sink in. Now, it was trying to worm its way into his consciousness, and he wasn't ready yet. He was determined to hold any sense of grief at bay, for he knew the worst was yet to come.

He had to tell Kix.

"Excuse me, Sir, do you have a minute?"

Rex turned to see Tup approaching from the direction of the barracks.

Rex faced him squarely. "Are you coming to see the general again?"

"No, Sir," Tup replied. "I—I wanted to—to . . . " He was clearly troubled. "I wanted to tell you that we—Dogma and I—when we saw you earlier, we were going to tell the general about Fives and the others taking the fighters to destroy the supply ship."

"I knew that," Rex replied. "That's why I turned you away."

"It wasn't my idea, Sir," Tup hemmed, "But Dogma was afraid we'd get in trouble if we knew about it and didn't say anything."

"I know that, too."

Tup frowned. "I just—I don't want you to think badly of him. He's always been a rule-follower, and I know he respects you, Sir-"

"I don't have any problem with Dogma," Rex replied. "I know he's a good soldier. He's in a tough spot right now. But I think you've got his six."

"It's not easy, Sir," Tup replied. "He can be very persistent and very convincing. It's more likely that he'll talk me into something than vice versa."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," Rex replied. "He listens to you. More than you think." A pause. "Where is he now?"

"I left him in the barracks," Tup replied. A small grin formed on his lips. "I think he needed to be alone. He's not fun to be around when he's angry."

Rex nodded. "I believe you. Just . . . make sure you don't leave him alone too much. He needs someone like you." He placed a hand on Tup's shoulder. "And you need someone like him. Every trooper needs a reliable battle buddy." A pause. "I'm finishing status updates. Come with me. You can learn something."

Tup felt his spine straighten. For a Shinie to be invited on a walk-along with his captain was an honor. "Of course, Sir!"

Less than five minutes after they started, they were both distracted by a brightening in the sky, followed by the faint concussion of an explosion. Looking up, they saw, through the clouds, a great light, the unmistakable sight of the exploding supply ship.

Rex had already cordoned off his feelings. If Cody were here, he would easily recognize the expression on Rex's face as one of forlorn satisfaction, an attempt to acknowledge the accomplishment and keep the cost at arm's length; for Rex indeed believed that all three of his men had been lost on this mission. Cody would have understood Rex's need to prevent his emotional attachments from overwhelming his professional demeanor. Cody would have known the depth of pain that the loss of these three men, in particular, would engender.

But Cody was not here, and Rex's secrets were safe.

And then two points of light appeared through the clouds. They drew closer.

Tup recognized them as Umbaran fighters; and when they landed, he surged forward.

"They did it!" He proclaimed excitedly to the captain.

But Rex was more circumspect. Three fighters had gone up. Only two had come back. Crossing the flight line, he saw Fives and Jesse approaching.

Tup's exuberance vanished immediately. His first words were not expressions of congratulations but of fear. "Where's Hardcase?"

Fives, removing his helmet, replied somberly, "He didn't make it."

Jesse also removed his helmet. "We couldn't have done it without him." He left it at that, for the truth was that he and Fives had done nothing. It was Hardcase who'd made the decision. If he'd not been so ready to give his own life, none of them would have made it back, and the ship would not have been destroyed.

Rex was stoically silent. It seemed almost impossible that Hardcase could be gone. But then again, there was no surprise that, of all the clones in the 501st, Hardcase would be the one to make such a sacrifice.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew everyone's attention.

Sergeant Appo was coming from the tower with two other clones.

"General Krell would like to see them in the tower," he announced.

Rex nodded. "Tell him we'll be there in a few minutes."

Appo knew that for him to return without the two pilots would anger General Krell, but for the sergeant, his first loyalty was still to his captain. "Yes, Sir."

Rex could hear the trepidation in his voice. He knew that Appo was not looking forward to going back to the general empty-handed. And so he changed tactics. "Sergeant, go and wait at the door and we'll go up with you in a couple minutes."

"Thank you, Sir," came the grateful reply.

Rex waited until Appo and his detail were out of earshot, then he turned to Fives and Jesse. "When we get in there, you two keep it shut. Let me do all the talking."

"No argument from me," Jesse replied. "If I never say another word to that bastard, it will be too soon."

"Something big has happened!"

Kix looked up from the application of plastisceen he was putting over a rather gruesome leg wound. He'd tried to stay away from the med station as Major Hypes had ordered, but being in the thick of medical activity was the best way to keep his mind off of the more troubling thoughts of what two of his squad mates were currently undertaking; and when he'd shown up again, Major Hypes hadn't had the heart to cast him out. Besides, the major could always use the help.

For Kix, the more he threw himself into his work, the more calming it was for his state of mind. Things were bad enough that he was worried about Pitch. Now, he had to worry about Jesse and Hardcase, as well.

The announcement of "something big", coming from a trooper who had just run into the med station from outside, most likely meant one thing.

Kix finished up the leg wound and went outside.

There was a fireball in the sky.

Kix felt his entire body shaking. The supply ship had been blown up. That most likely meant the deaths of Jesse, Hardcase and Fives.

All at once. So quickly. The very idea made him feel numb.

Around him, other troopers were coming out to look at the sky, wondering at what they were seeing.

But Kix knew. He knew precisely what it was.

"Look!" The cry went up from another trooper.

Two Umbaran fighters emerged through the clouds.

"Enemy fighters!"

"They're friendlies!" Kix shouted, feeling a sense of hope for the first time since learning of the ill-conceived plan. "They're friendlies!" He took off towards the flight line where the fighters were starting to lower.

By the time he rounded the maintenance hangar which Hardcase had earlier damaged, he could see that there were definitely two fighters. Two, not three. He could also see that the pilots were already out of thems. From this distance, he could not tell who was whom; and even as he raced towards the flight line, the group disappeared into the tower.

Suddenly, he found himself being intercepted by a single trooper.

"Kix, Kix, woah, hold on!"

It was Tup.

"Tup! I saw the fighters—"

"Kix." Tup put his hands on Kix's arms. He wasn't sure how to say what he had to say, and so he simply fell back on directness. "Hardcase didn't come back."

Kix stared at him in silence. As much as he might be loathe to admit it, he'd hoped that the two fighters had belonged to his squad mates. Now, he knew that wasn't true. Unless Tup was mistaken. It was possible, wasn't it?

Tup went on. "Fives and Jesse made it back." He could see the hopeful doubt in Kix's eyes. "I saw them both, talked to them both. I even asked where Hardcase was. They said he didn't make it."

Kix pushed past him and headed towards the tower.

"Kix, wait! You—you can't go in there! They took them to General Krell—" Tup warned, grabbing Kix's arm.

Kix acted calmer than he felt. "Let go, Tup. I need answers. They owe me answers."

"They won't let you in there," Tup insisted. "Come on, let's—let's go back to the barracks."

Kix turned a sober eye on the Shinie. "I appreciate your concern, Tup. But I don't need a private telling me, as a corporal, what to do."

"I didn't mean it that way, Kix," Tup replied. "But I . . . I know you're upset and maybe . . . maybe it's best to wait until they're done with Krell and then talk to them, then get your answers."

Kix considered. He had to admit that Tup was probably right. "Did—did they say anything else about what happened?"

Tup shook his head. "No. There was no time. Krell sent for them right away." A pause. "Let's go back to the barracks."

"No," Kix shook his head. "No, that's okay. I just—I need some time to myself."

Rex was not looking forward to this. Not that he'd looked forward to any of his meetings with General Krell, but this one instance, in particular, was going to be brutal. For he was well aware that Krell now knew he'd lied to him about the mission to use the fighters to destroy the supply ship. The whole fabrication about reconning the delta was now laid bare. And it seemed inevitable that the general would relieve him of duty. So, it was not simply the fate of Fives and Jesse that was at stake, but his own.

The general was standing on the far side of the room with his back to them. As was his way, he did not even bother to turn and face them when the entered.

"You wanted to see them, Sir?"

"Indeed. It seems they have accomplished a very brave act," Krell replied. "Unfortunately, they've also committed a serious crime by directly disobeying my order." Finally, he turned and looked down at them with disdain.

Rex stepped forward. "With all due respect, Sir, the order to attack the cargo vessel was mine. If there's a punishment to be given, it should be directed towards me. I'm their commanding officer—"

Fives spoke up vehemently. "General, Sir, Captain Rex is attempting to take the blame for actions that were clearly mine—"

"Fives!" Rex cut him off angrily. He'd been determined to take the blame for what he knew was going to result in, at the very least, a court martial. As the battalion first-in-command, he could have stopped them. Maybe he should have stopped them. But it was his fault that they were now in trouble; and even though he'd told them that he would not be able to help them when they were caught, he could not step away from trying to do just that.

Fives ignored him and went on hurriedly. "I request that his admission of guilt be denied and full blame placed upon me."

But if either man thought he was prevailing for the other, General Krell made it clear that their pleas were not going to move him.

"Oh, do you?" the general sneered. "You willfully countermand my direct order, and now you have the audacity to suggest who should bear the punishment of your insurrection!" He jabbed Fives in the chest, then crossed in front of Rex. "Let me be clear about the punishment for the treason committed by ARC Trooper 5555 and CT-5597." He looked directly at the captain. "They will be court-martialed. They will be found guilty." He drew within inches of Rex's face. "And they will be executed."

There was something in the way he spoke, the way he moved that confirmed what Rex already knew. General Krell was fully aware of the duplicity on the behalf of his captain. But what was perplexing was that Krell was not removing Rex from command, and the general's next words only added to the conundrum.

"Make no mistake, for crossing me, you will pay the price."

It was clear. Krell was not speaking to Fives and Jesse.

He was speaking, in no uncertain terms, to his first-in-command.

Double Barrell had been looking for Kix for almost an hour.

News had spread very quickly of the destruction of the supply ship and of Hardcase's death.

DB, knowing the stresses Umbara had already inflicted upon Kix and fearful of what the loss of Hardcase might do to him, had immediately set off to find him and offer whatever solace he could. He'd looked in at least a dozen places before finally finding him on the far side of the eastern flight line.

He was sitting on the wreckage of one of the destroyed Umbaran fighters, looking out into the murky darkness of the Umbaran forest.

"Kix."

Kix looked back over his shoulder. "DB."

"You want some company?"

Kix gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I'm not sure."

DB decided that was close enough to a yes. "Not the safest place to be sitting," he observed. "There's still insurgents out there."

"I'm not worried about that."

DB heard the despondency in Kix's voice.

"Well, I am," he said. "Come on, let's, uh, let's move away from the perimeter." He guided Kix away from the fence line and towards the interior of the base. With a hand on his shoulder, he offered his sympathy. "I'm sorry about Hardcase. You okay?"

Kix gave a weak nod.

"We're all going to miss him," DB went on. "He was one of a kind." It was a poignant choice of words, given their status as clones.

"He would have done anything for the battalion," Kix said quietly. It was a safe thing to say. It allowed him to keep the emotion at bay.

After a brief silence, Double Barrel probed a little deeper. "Do you know what happened?"

Kix shook his head. "I haven't seen Jesse or Fives to ask them."

"Word is, Krell's put them in the brig."

Kix kept walking. "It's not a surprise. They disobeyed orders, and Krell's not the type to let something like that go – even though their actions probably saved a lot of lives."

More of the indifferent emptiness, which DB could understand, but it was worrisome nonetheless.

"They're likely facing a court-martial," Kix went on. "And if they're found guilty, they'll go to prison." A pause, and when he spoke again, there was tight control in his voice. "That means Umbara has cost me three of my squad mates." He set his jaw. "Two years of fighting side-by-side, escaping death . . . I used to think we were special because . . . we were still intact as a squad. But . . . it was really just luck, only a matter of time. And then in the span of two days . . . " He shook his head and kept his eyes on the tarmac. He hadn't wanted to say that much.

"There's still a chance Pitch will show up," DB replied. "And even if Jesse goes to prison, at least he's still alive. And—I know Top's with the 808th now, but as far as we know, he's alive, too."

Kix nodded, but it was clear to DB that his words had done nothing to ease the pain. What Double Barrel did not know was the depth of betrayal Kix was feeling. Somehow, Kix felt as if he'd been supplanted in his own squad. Jesse and Hardcase, knowing that Pitch was still missing, had seemingly not thought twice about leaving Kix alone – possibly to become the sole surviving member of their squad still serving in the 501st. Fives' lofty rhetoric and fiery disposition had won them over, and they'd chosen him and his ideas over the bond between squad mates.

"They always felt they needed to protect me. I guess . . . not anymore," Kix said, not speaking to anyone but himself. "And that's a good thing. I hate that they . . . always felt like they needed to watch over me."

"I think they took this risk because they felt like they were trying to protect all of us," DB replied.

"It doesn't matter now," Kix replied with calculated indifference.

"It does matter," DB replied. "Destroying that supply ship? It sure as hell does matter. This battle isn't over yet, and if they've been able to cut off supplies to the capital, then we have a chance to beat these bastards. I'd say that makes it worth it. Hardcase clearly thought so."

Kix said nothing.

As they walked past the eastern-most hangar, both men saw Captain Rex approaching.

As the captain drew near, Kix tensed. It was clear that the captain was coming towards them with purpose.

"Captain," they greeted him in unison.

"DB, I need to talk to Kix for a minute," Rex said.

Double Barrel nodded, and with one more look at Kix, meant to convey his support, he headed off towards the hangar.

But now that Kix was alone, face-to-face, with his captain, there was a long hesitation before Rex said anything. When, at last, he did speak, he sounded tired, worn.

"I have bad news, Kix," he said.

"I already know," Kix replied. "Tup told me."

Rex had not expected this, and he was caught short as to how to respond.

But Kix went on. "What about Jesse?"

Rex frowned. "He and Fives are in custody. They're facing a court-martial."

"Am I allowed to see him?" Kix asked.

And while Rex was sure Krell would object, he was not going to let that stand in the way. For all he knew, it might be the last time the two ever saw each other.

"Come with me."

They crossed the tarmac to the tower. Entering inside, Rex led Kix down a long corridor to a maximum security area. Through the ray-shielded doors, a group of troopers could be seen standing guard with high-powered weapons. Beyond them, a semi-clear shaft enclosed a platform with a see-through floor and hovering control panels.

When Rex entered the area, the guards—his own men—met him eagerly. They wanted to know what was going on, were the plans to move on the capitol still going to proceed as scheduled or had things changed with the destruction of the supply ship.

And although they dared not ask directly, Rex could tell they all wanted to know what was going to happen with Jesse and Fives. Many of these men had known Jesse since the day he'd joined the battalion, and to see him in a prison cell was disconcerting. What had he done that had been so heinous? As far as the troopers were concerned, Jesse might have disobeyed orders, but he'd also accomplished a great feat for the Republic troops fighting this battle.

Among the guards was Gernot. Rex had placed him in charge of the security detail.

"We've cleared out at least forty spaces to use as cells, Sir," Gernot reported.

The facility was actually a hazardous storage facility for munitions. The shaft into which Rex entered with Kix and Gernot was actually a rotating levitator used to access the munitions, all stored deep below the surface. There were hundreds of individual pod-like rooms, each containing its own particular type of munition and protected by an electro-magnetic door that could function very effectively as a cell door.

Gernot went on. "We've had to double and triple up on the Umbarans in each cell. Keeping them in binders, since these aren't exactly prison cells. The force fields seem to work well, but we don't want to take any chances."

Rex nodded. "Good job, Gernot."

"I take it you're here to see Jesse and Fives," the sergeant presumed.

"Kix is here to see them," Rex replied. "I'm just here to give him clearance."

Gernot nodded. "I'll take him down myself. Will you be coming, Captain?"

Rex shook his head. "No." He sighed audibly. "I've got other things to take care of."

"Yes, Sir."

Kix turned to his captain. "Thank you, Sir."

Rex did not feel comfortable with the thanks. He left without another word.

Kix stood with Gernot on the platform as it rotated slowly down past several levels of cells, most of them occupied by Umbarans.

"How many are you holding here?" the medic inquired.

"One-hundred-twenty-one," Gernot replied. "And a crap job it is. Let me tell you, as their happy gas wears off, these guys turn into Class-A assholes. They just stare at you and scowl the whole damned time. Talk about hatred . . . it's all they've got." A pause. "Believe me, it makes me sick putting Jesse and Fives down here with the likes of these."

"General Krell didn't leave you much choice," Kix replied.

"No, he didn't," Gernot agreed, then after a brief pause. "Kix, I'm sorry about Hardcase."

Kix gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, and that was the extent of the conversation.

The platform finished turning and came to a stop.

Kix found himself face-to-face with the man he'd come to see.

They were separated by the force field, but the tension reached beyond any partition.

Gernot nonchalantly removed himself to the far side of the platform on the pretense of examining something on the console.

Jesse stepped up to glowing blue boundary that separated them.

Kix could see his hands were in binders behind his back. From the waist up, his armor had been removed, leaving only the black body suit with its grey Republic emblem.

The two men stared at each other without speaking for several seconds. At last, it was Jesse who broke the silence.

"I'm sorry, Kix. It wasn't supposed to turn out this way."

Kix did not give a damn about apologies or how things were supposed to have turned out.

"What happened?" he demanded quietly.

Jesse swallowed. "We, uh . . . we got up there, and the core was ray-shielded—"

"You should have known it would be," Kix interjected bitterly.

"Well, yeah, but . . . we thought, since we were in their ships, they wouldn't be suspicious," came the harried rejoinder. "They didn't activate it until the last second. We were almost there—"

"Well, you blew it up somehow," Kix said, his voice tightly controlled. "So, tell me what you did. And tell me why Hardcase isn't here."

"Kix, you won't want to hear it—"

"You owe me an explanation."

Jesse grimaced. "We . . . ran into a brick wall," he stumbled. "With the ray shield up, we couldn't deliver our missiles. The droids were firing on us. We weren't sure what to do." He lowered his eyes for a moment. "That's when Hardcase jumped out of his fighter and took the missile in himself."

Kix clenched his jaw on words he knew he would regret if spoken.

"And—and you know Hardcase," Jesse went on. "Once he'd made his decision, there was no talking him out of it. And we were running out of time and options."

Fives stepped up. "He did what he felt he had to do."

It was then that the hatred simmering deep in Kix's heart welled up to the surface, but not like a raging geyser; it was more like a hot spring giving off its steam in a quiet, subtle tranquility that masked the very furnace heating it.

"He did what you should have done, but didn't," he corrected, going on before any protest could be spoken. "This whole plan was your idea, but you didn't have the courage to finish it off."

"Kix-" Jesse made to cut him off, but Kix was not going to be silenced.

"You had the grand plan, but when it stalled, you, the great ARC trooper, couldn't figure a way out," Kix went on. "And so it fell to Hardcase. Why am I not surprised? You haven't changed at all—not at all—since the first day the captain brought you into the 501st. The only counsel you've ever taken is your own."

"Kix, stop—" Again, Jesse attempted to intervene, to no avail.

Kix continued his smooth tirade. "You're a fraud, Fives. All your big talk, trying to convince the men to follow you . . . and then when two of them did – my squad mates – this is where they end up. One dead, one in a detention cell awaiting court-martial." His jaw was working. "You came here thinking you could just slide into Saber Squad, take Top's place. You thought you were smarter than Captain Rex. And you convinced two—two idiots—to follow you . . . "

His composure started to crack, and so he fell off abruptly.

"Kix, that's not what I was thinking at all. You have to believe me—" Fives protested, but Jesse waved him off.

Fives retreated to the back of the cell, a tumult of emotions going through his head.

"Kix," Jesse began softly. "I followed Fives' plan because I wanted to. He didn't force me. I did it because I . . . "

"You know, I'm only doing this because I hate General Krell." Damn, was he going to lie to Kix as well as to himself now?

"I did it because it felt right at the time," he concluded. "And even though we lost Hardcase, we did destroy the supply ship. The mission was a success."

Kix stared at him in disbelief. Was he really trying to justify what he had done? "So, disobeying orders is okay as long as luck is on your side? Is that the new standard for conducting battle?

"Kix, I understand you're angry—"

"Go to hell," came the seething reply as Kix turned away.

Jesse called out after him.

Kix stopped but kept his back to the cell. "I'm leaving. I hope I see you again, but at this point, who knows what's going to happen."

"Kix!" Jesse implored.

Kix motioned to Gernot. It was time to get out of this place.

Rex stood outside the command center.

On the other side of that door was General Krell.

Rex had never backed down from a challenge in his life. In fact, he prided himself on being the kind of man who sought out challenges, faced them head-on, and emerged victorious. But there was no way to view General Krell as merely a challenge. Not anymore.

Rex could think of nothing to look forward to in his dealings with the Besalisk general. From the moment Krell had taken command, this entire battle had gone from being merely a difficult undertaking to being a nightmare that seemingly had no end.

The general's reckless tactics had driven Fives to flat-out rebellion, and Rex had not been able to stop it. Fives had finagled others into following him, and again – Rex had not been able to sway them otherwise. At every turn, Rex had been either stymied or too hesitant to make the hard decision. He'd let events carry him along, rather than shaping events as he had always done before.

A sense of exhaustion and defeat was settling over him, and the destruction of the supply ship had done nothing to abate it. He hadn't felt this way since ARC training, when through his own excessive drive to be first, he'd almost lost Cody's friendship, one of the few things he valued more than his own life.

However, the sadness he'd felt over his falling out with Cody had been quickly erased by the commander's own magnanimous nature and the restoration of the friendship, which Rex was sure had been due to no merit on his own part. The case with General Krell was altogether different, for not only was there no friendship; there was no bond, no respect, and barely even the acknowledgment of Rex's own sentience. Rex was sure Krell viewed him as nothing more than a military tool, someone to carry out his orders and get things done.

And now Rex found himself hoping very often for General Skywalker's rapid return. He was not sure how much more of General Krell he could take – how many more threats of removal, how many more insults to his intelligence? Added to that was the whole business of Fives and Jesse. If these two men were court-martialed, what message would that send to the rest of the men?

"That you don't disobey orders." Rex could not argue with that. "And that General Krell isn't someone to mess around with." He could not argue that either. For a moment, Rex leaned against the wall as if to support a body grown tired from battle, but he knew the real fatigue was due to an entirely different kind of warfare—that going on inside his head. "I warned them. I warned them I wouldn't be able to help them when they got caught. I tried to stop them. And now, here we are." A pause. "Here I am."

He sucked in a deep breath and entered the command center.

General Krell stood with his back to him, facing a monitor screen.

Despite his own voice telling him to hold his tongue, to turn around and leave before he did something else to incur Krell's wrath, he was determined to say what he had come to say. He felt strongly about it, and it was worth a try.

"General Krell, I respectfully request you reconsider court-martialing Fives and Jesse."

Krell's tone was measured and calm. "The actions of ARC Trooper 5555 and CT-5597 were a clear act of treachery and disregard for my command. If punishment isn't swift, their defiance may inspire others to follow suit."

Rex retained his bearing. "Sir, the men are with you." He wasn't so sure this was anything approaching the truth. "It's just that some of them feel that you're putting their lives in danger needlessly." And this was an understatement of the truth, if ever there was one.

General Krell's demeanor remained one of reasonableness. "All the more reason to send a clear message that I am in charge, and insubordination will not be tolerated. The truth is, these clones have had a difficult time respecting my command since the beginning." A pause. "I've seen it before. Some clones are just . . . defective. They aren't able to succumb to authority. You're right, Captain. I don't think I can court-martial them. It will only be a waste of time, and that's something we don't have." During this entire soliloquy, Krell had not once faced his first-in-command. Even now, as he moved towards Rex and stood beside him, he never made eye contact. "I'm afraid they'll have to be disposed of." And now, at last, he placed a hand on Rex's shoulder. His touch was the most gentle and compassionate he'd shown yet, as if he knew how hard his words were falling. "Prepare a squad for execution."

Rex was horrified and dumbfounded at the same time. The words were so preposterous and yet spoken in such a matter-of-fact manner that Rex could scarcely believe he'd heard correctly.

It was the first time his panic showed in front of General Krell. "What?! But Sir—"

But if Rex were hoping for an open ear and an extension of the consideration of the previous moment, he was sorely mistaken. Krell raised his voice in a yell that made the other troopers present take notice. "You heard me, Captain! Have it done immediately or I'll do it myself." With that, the general left the command post.

Rex was reeling. What the fek had just happened? He'd come to see Krell with the intention of getting him to drop the punishment from a court-martial to an administrative action. Now, he was walking away with death sentences and no trial.

This wouldn't stand. He wouldn't let it stand.

Somewhere in the deepest recesses of his brain, wheels began turning. The brash lieutenant crept up through the layers of obedient captain. He would find a way to do this . . . without disobeying a single order. And he knew precisely where to start.

"It's been quiet out here for the last couple hours, but I wouldn't put much stock in that. Those woods are still filled with insurgents."

Dogma acknowledged this report from the officer of the watch, whom he was replacing at shift change. He was glad to be coming on duty after a fitful night in the barracks. Following his aborted attempt to warn General Krell about the secret plan to destroy the supply ship, he'd spent an unpleasant fifteen minutes arguing with Tup. At the conclusion, Tup had walked out, angry and disgusted.

Dogma still recalled his parting words.

"You're on your own. I'm not going to be a part of this anymore. I let you draw me in once, but that's over now. You want to be a bastard and isolate yourself from everyone, go the fek ahead and do it. But you do it on your own."

Tup had never spoken to him that way before. Yes, Tup had been angry at him on earlier occasions, even yelled at him for some thoughtless action. But he'd never, never threatened to abandon their friendship.

Something in that parting salvo had struck deep with a pain Dogma had never experienced. But the idea that he could be hurt by such a thing was intolerable to him, and so that hurt was quickly glossed over with anger and indignation. Damn Tup and the rest of them! Dogma had been the only one trying to do the right thing, the only one fully committed to following orders! Why, even the captain had succumbed and gone soft! It was unconscionable! Let the rest of them fall down on duty. No one would ever be able to say that about him. He would always stand for what was right.

It was with that self-righteous and fairly hostile mindset that he now led his detail onto guard duty, addressing them with perhaps more biting a tone than he'd desired. He dispatched them along the perimeter line for his sector and noted shift change in his log.

He'd had one failure to show for shift change, and that, of course, was Tup.

"Not surprising," he muttered. "He's just going to follow Fives and do whatever the hell he wants now. Well, just wait . . . you'll end up in a prison cell, too," he said to his errant squad mate.

"Dogma."

Dogma turned to see Captain Rex standing behind him; and despite his feelings of recent antipathy, he came to attention and displayed the proper protocol. "Captain, Sir."

"I've got a job for you," Rex stated. "You'll be OIC of a firing squad."

Dogma was perplexed. "A firing squad? We're executing the Umbaran prisoners, Sir?"

"No," Rex replied. "The firing squad is for Fives and Jesse."

For a moment, Dogma was speechless. While his hurt and anger might be fresh and stinging, he was not—and never had been—of the mind that an execution would be on the horizon. Not until after a trial, at least.

"Are they not going to be afforded a court-martial first, Sir?" he inquired.

"General Krell has decided they're too dangerous to keep around," Rex replied. "This is not going to be an easy job, and I need someone I know can handle it. So, you'd better tell me right now whether you think you can do this or not."

Dogma considered for only a moment. "I can do it, Sir. If it's my duty, I can do it."

Rex nodded. "0900 hours in the south hangar. I'll put the squad together for you."

"Yes, Sir. 0900 hours in the south hangar. I'll be there, Captain."

"Dismissed."

Rex watched as Dogma moved off to make his rounds. Now, he had his own work to do. He had to put together a firing squad in a little less than two hours.

The captain felt inward satisfaction. He'd gotten his OIC. Now to get his executioners.

"Aren't you supposed to be on watch? I thought your squad had the duty right now."

Tup looked to see who had spoken.

It was Bads standing over him, a curious look on his face.

"Oh, yeah, I, uh, I'm on my way," Tup stammered.

"On your way? Shift change took place ten minutes ago. You're already late," Bads pointed out. "This isn't the time to start slacking off. We have to stay on our toes—fek and all, here comes the captain. You're all for it now."

Tup glanced over his shoulder, saw Rex approaching, and got to his feet.

Before Rex could even say a word, Tup began offering excuses and apologies. "I'm sorry, Sir. I lost track of the time, and with recent events, I've just been . . . I'm sorry, Captain. It won't happen again."

"That's not why I'm here," Rex replied. "I've got a detail I'm putting together, and you're going to be on it. Report to the south hangar at 0900."

"Yes, Sir," Tup acknowledged, adding tepidly, "Are you able to tell me what the detail is, Captain?"

"You'll find out when you get there." Then, to Bads, "Go find Double Barrell, Ajax, Sempe and Coze. Tell them to report as well."

"Yes, Sir," Bads acknowledged.

Rex dismissed them both then headed off across the flight line. He had one more stop to make.

And that was the medical station.

"Look, he'll get over it. There's no help in brooding about it."

"Easy for you to say, Fives. He's not your squad mate." Jesse paused and sighed. "But I am sorry about the things he said to you. He—he loved Hardcase like a brother – a real brother. He's taking the loss hard."

Fives was conciliatory. "You don't need to make excuses for him. He had every right to be angry. He's just directing that anger in the wrong place."

"Maybe."

"Maybe? Are you wishing we hadn't done it, then?"

"I'm wishing we'd thought it through more," came the reply. Then in a low voice, "I wish I'd thought it through more. There are consequences I hadn't thought about."

They both saw the platform rotate down towards their level.

"It's Rex," Fives observed. "Maybe he's got good news."

But it was not good news, and when the platform stopped and Rex approached their cell, they could tell immediately by the look on his face that something had gone terribly wrong.

"Fives, Jesse. I'm sorry, but General Krell has ordered your execution immediately."

The words fell like bombs.

Jesse was stunned and terrified. "What? But . . . how? He can't do this."

"He has authority to render punishment during combat," Rex replied sadly.

Jesse was beside himself. This simply could not be happening! "I can understand a court-martial and locking us up in the brig, but executing us?"

Rex frowned. "I tried to convince him that it's my fault, but he wouldn't let me."

Here, Fives stepped forward. If he was going to die, he was going to say his piece. "Rex, you have to face it. He's been using you. He needs your loyalty to control the others."

Whether Fives' words registered was something Rex did not show. In fact, he was showing as little emotion as possible. Clearly, he was distressed and this was not something he was doing willingly; but he was the consummate soldier, and he would not allow his bearing to falter.

"I won't let him get away with this," he said, motioning for the guards to open the cell.

Fives was unnaturally stolid. "Eh, don't beat yourself up about it. We made our choice. We knew what the price was."

At this, Jesse spoke out, and his voice fell between a sneer and a scoff. "Speak for yourself."

Fives, fully mistaking Jesse's tone, offered feebly, "Still have your sense of humor, I see."

"Yeah, who said I was joking?" Jesse's voice contained not one jot of humor.

"Well, I guess this is it," Fives said with resignation. It hadn't hit him yet that in a matter of minutes, everything would be over.

But not in the way he was imagining.

"I can't do this. I can't do this. How could he make me do this? This is crazy. I—I'm going to go crazy. How could he ask me to do this?"

"Kix?"

Kix felt Sempe's hand on his shoulder. Turning his head to face him, he could barely speak. "This isn't right. This isn't—I can't—I can't kill a brother. When—when he told me to report, I didn't know it was for this—"

"We have to do the right thing," Sempe said in an assuring voice. "The captain chose us—all of us—for a reason. We have to do the right thing."

"I'm a fekking medic. I shouldn't be on a firing squad," Kix protested. "And not one for my—my—"

Double Barrel stepped forward. "The captain knows that, Kix. Just . . . do the right thing, like Sempe says."

"I can't. I can't. He—he's going to have to find someone else. If I had known—if I had known the reason, I wouldn't have come," Kix continued to protest. It was clear he was nearing the point of collapse.

"What's going on over here?" This, from Dogma.

"Everything's fine, Dogma," Sempe replied. "Kix is just . . . having a hard time with the idea of having to execute Jesse."

Dogma looked past him at Kix, then back to Sempe. "It is unfortunate. But it's the path they chose, and now they have to pay for their actions—"

"We understand that, Dogma," Sempe said with an empathetic tilt of his head. "And we understand the position you're in. We'll do the right thing. You don't need to worry. We'll all do the right thing."

"I don't understand why the captain would choose Kix to be on the firing squad in the first place," Dogma said thoughtfully. "That seems very . . . cold-hearted."

"I'm sure he had his reasons," Sempe replied. And he knew those reasons full well. "Don't worry. Kix will do what he needs to do. We all will."

Jesse and Fives entered the hangar, flanked by the security detail.

Dogma, seeing their arrival, ordered his detail into a column and marched them out to a pre-marked location.

"Line up the prisoners!" he commanded, taking his place near the head of the column.

As they crossed the hanger, Jesse felt his heart pounding against his ribs, threatening to burst. It was not lost on him that he'd never feared death in battle; there was never time to think of getting killed when the blaster bolts were flying. But he was ashamed to admit that he was frightened at this moment, frightened of this kind of ignoble death, of knowing what was coming with certainty.

"Well, I've officially lost my sense of humor," he said, a nervous utterance that might very well be his last words in this life.

Rex, walking at the head of the security detail, glanced up from the hangar opening at the tower to see Krell looking down and watching. The sight brought the well of dread surging up his throat. Things were about to get very ugly.

Once Jesse and Fives were lined up against the outer wall of the hangar, Dogma strode in front of them. "Will the prisoners request to be blindfolded?" he asked with an air of imperious self-importance.

No response was forthcoming.

Dogma was almost flippant. "I'll take that as a no."

Fives hissed bitterly, "I hope you can live with yourself, Dogma."

It was at that moment, as Jesse scanned the faces of the men on the firing squad, that he saw Kix, and an icy pall blanched his face and made his blood run cold. How the hell had Kix, of all people, ended up on the firing squad? He saw Kix looking back at him, and it might have been the worst moment of his life; for the eyes that were staring back into his own were filled with terror and confusion.

Jesse hadn't seen that expression since the days on Kamino . . . the fearful, glazed look of a trapped animal. He was on the brink, and in a matter of seconds, he was going to be pushed over the edge. And neither Jesse nor Hardcase nor Pitch were going to be there to pull him back.

"Ready weapons," Dogma ordered.

Jesse spoke, his voice a near-whisper. "Never thought we'd go out this way."

"Aim!"

Dogma had only command remaining.

Standing beside him, Rex closed his eyes and bowed his head. This was where he would find out if he knew his men as well as he thought he did. If he turned out to be wrong, the consequences would be tragic. But if his instincts were right, he knew he would be facing a different set of trials, one that might very well cost him not only his command, but his life. Either way, it was too late to change plans. He'd already set things in motion.

But before Dogma could give the final command, Fives shouted in anxious protest. "Wait! This is wrong! And we all know it. The general is making a mistake, and he needs to be called on it. No clone should have to go out this way! We are loyal soldiers. We follow orders, but we are not a bunch of unthinking droids! We're men! We must be trusted to make the right decisions, especially when the orders we are given are wrong!"

It was an eloquent and passionate speech, reaching out and touching the souls of the men who heard it.

All except one.

"Fire!" Dogma barked.

Rex lowered his eyes and held his breath as all six men discharged their weapons. When he found the courage to look up again, his breath trailed from his lungs and he felt like an unstrung puppet. The tension that had held him upright now found its release. And its relief.

Fives and Jesse were still standing, unscathed.

The wall behind them was filled with blaster bolt holes.

Dogma stepped forward, baffled. "What—what happened?"

Every man on the firing squad dropped his weapon.

Jesse, recovering from the shock of still being alive, straightened up and saw Kix gazing at him. And while Kix had always somehow maintained a youthful appearance in contrast to some of his brothers' more grizzled looks, at this moment he appeared even more child-like—both embarrassed and relieved that he'd not been able to carry out the order. And this made Jesse feel his own failings even more acutely. He'd let Kix down, and he was ashamed of that fact.

Rex's gambit had paid off. For the firing squad, he'd selected men whom he felt sure would never carry out the execution. And by choosing Dogma, he'd put the operation under the charge of a trooper Krell trusted. He'd not given any contrary orders. He'd not done anything to blatantly go against the general's orders. He'd done as commanded. Dogma had done as commanded. The members of the firing squad had done as commanded, poor aim notwithstanding. If Krell decided to court-martial them all, it would have to be owing to the failure to hit their targets, not the failure to obey orders. And that, Rex knew, would be walking a precariously thin line. Rex knew it was only a reprieve, but it would have to do for now.

"They're doing the right thing, Dogma," he said. "Because if this is how soldiers are rewarded for heroic actions, then one day every man in this battalion may face a similar fate. Take off their binders."

"No, we have orders," Dogma protested, appealing to the members of the firing squad. "We have to go through with this."

But his words fell on deaf ears.

Except for Rex. The captain eyed Dogma with surprising sympathy. He felt for his young officer, excellent in so many ways, yet unable to find his footing in these terrible times. Rex could not help but believe that if Dogma had come into active service earlier in the war, he might have better understood the currents that drove men's actions.

"Good luck finding anyone to do it," he said evenly.

And even though the words were nothing approaching a rebuke, that was how Dogma took them; and as he watched the guards and the firing squad free the hands of the two men who should, by all accounts, be dead by now, he felt more isolated than ever. That fact that Tup was among those who had purposefully blown their duty as executioners—and now Tup was removing Fives' restraints—only further fanned the hot ember that smoldered in Dogma's heart. He'd been abandoned by everyone – even his closest friend.

Behind him, Jesse turned to offer his cuffed wrists to Sempe, who quickly freed him. Turning once more, he caught sight of Kix leaving the area to go back inside the hangar. He could not let him just walk away. Not now. Not this time. The air between them needed clearing.

But as he set off to follow him, he felt a hand on his arm.

It was Sempe. "Hold on. We've got company."

Company was Sergeant Appo and two attendant troopers.

The sergeant approached Rex directly.

"Sir, General Krell wants to see you and Dogma in the command post," he announced, sounding as if he dreaded giving the summons. Lowering his voice, he added, "He's furious, Captain. I—I think he's lost his mind."

Rex appreciated the warning. "I'll handle him." Then, to Sempe and DB, he decided to err on the side of good judgment and caution. "Take Fives and Jesse back to their cell." In silence he added, "I've already pushed my luck to the limit. I can't take any chances."

He called Dogma to his side and together they accompanied Sergeant Appo and his detail up to the command center.

But upon entering, Rex found that his military bearing had been stretched to its limit. The sight of Krell engendered such distaste in him that he barely managed a civil greeting. He imagined it was only Dogma's presence that gave him the impetus to put the best face on it. And his best, at that moment, was something just short of open hatred.

"You wanted us, Sir?"

"I ordered those clones to be destroyed," the general replied. He put his formidable hand on Rex's arm and leaned close, clearly meant to threaten and intimidate. And what he had only hinted at earlier, he now spoke openly. "You are making a mistake by crossing me, clone."

Rex was not going to back down. He was not going to be cornered. He'd known the risk he was taking when choosing the firing squad, and he was not afraid of meeting whatever fate awaited him. But he was not going to go out slinking with his tail between his legs. Nor was he going to lose his bearing. He was going to be the officer whom General Skywalker would want him to be.

He took a step forward and raised his eyes to lock stares with the general. "It's Captain, Sir." The challenge had been spoken.

A moment of surprise filled the room as the general actually growled in response. None of the clones present had any idea what to expect. There might be a physical confrontation right there on the spot.

And then the tension was cut when one of the clones manning the communications station announced urgently, "General, there's an incoming transmission."

Krell, surprisingly, straightened up and seemed to forget about his first-in-command and the challenge laid out before him. "Put it through."

A terrible, blocky Image appeared. It was a clone trooper, down on one knee, HOPO in hand. The transmission was too fuzzy to identify the insignia or any other markers that might indicate his unit. "General, the Umbarans have stepped up their offensive. We're holding them off, but their squadrons have ambushed one of our platoons, seizing weapons and armor. We believe they may be planning to launch a massive attack."

The image disintegrated.

General Krell scowled. "Looks like you have your stay of execution . . . for now." He crossed the room in four strides, heading for the elevator. "Lock the traitors in the brig and prepare your companies to move out immediately. We need to preempt the enemy by hitting them now with everything we've got. We're finally going to take the capital."

"They're already being taken to their cell," Rex replied. But at the moment, the accommodations awaiting Jesse and Fives were of no interest. Something about the transmission had struck him as odd and out of place. "General, Sir, did you get a make on which platoon that was?"

"The image wasn't clear enough."

"We only have four platoons out on patrol right now, one in each quadrant. It would help to know which platoon that was and which platoon was attacked," Rex went on.

"That's not important, Captain," Krell said derisively. "We don't have time to squabble over details. We know that our men are in trouble, and we need to go to their assistance."

The whole thing just did not sit right with Rex, but it was not worth arguing with the general. There was no way Krell would exercise caution, so it was up to Rex to do so.

As they entered the elevator, Krell instructed, "And Captain, make sure the troops are aware that the enemy may disguise themselves as clones to try to trick us."

"I will, Sir," Rex replied. He cast a look at Dogma, wondering what to do about him. Did he dare take him out on this mission? It might be safer than leaving him in the rear, where he might attempt to finish what he'd started with the execution.

Dogma openly sneered at him, and that decided Rex on the spot.

Dogma would be coming with him.

So, I apologize to my Fives' fans out there. He's sort of taking the brunt of Kix's anger right now.

And, I wanted to make Dogma and Sergeant Appo a little less cookie-cutter. After all, these two guys are members of the 501st, so there has to be something redeeming about them, right? I just like characters to be more than one-dimensional!