Dear Reader, Hello and sorry for taking so long! I just needed some time to flesh this chapter out. I haven't proof-read it, so hopefully there won't be too many errors or repeats of the same phrases over and over again! Thanks to my reviewers: HuffleHecate, Ms CT-782, Sued13, Akira Hayama, CT7567Rules, Tsani, and my Guests. Enjoy! CS
Chapter 105 The Good Soldier
"Good soldiers are defined by what they can endure, not by what they can inflict."
Gregory David Roberts
He could still turn back. It was not too late to put the brakes on this act of treason. He could hold out a hope that all of this was a misunderstanding, a set of circumstances gone horribly awry. He could go back to General Krell as a respectful first-in-command and ask for an explanation.
There might be some logical reason behind it.
It was possible, wasn't it?
No.
No, it was not possible.
It was impossible.
What Rex had perceived as the general's demanding and cold command style had proven to be something much more insidious and wicked: the purposeful setting of clone against clone. To what end? Why would Krell have done such a thing?
The only viable reasons were too terrible to contemplate.
Such betrayal was foreign to the concept of a Jedi, and yet Rex knew that Jedi could become corrupt and fall. That was the foundation of the Sith. And the Sith were better left to the Jedi to deal with. Let Force-wielders battle it out amongst themselves. Rex felt more comfortable being on the delivering end of a blaster or his own fists. The metaphysical was beyond him, and he'd always been content with that.
Now, for the first time since he could remember, that contentment was shaken. He felt woefully inadequate to the task at hand.
Here he was, about to face off with a Jedi – a Jedi with apparently evil designs – and he had only his instincts to go on. His men would follow him. He knew that. And they had faced apprentices of the Dark Side before. But this time was different. This time, there would be no General Skywalker – or General Kenobi or Commander Tano – at their side or leading the way. And that was daunting.
He'd been wrong so many times already on this mission . . .
If he were wrong in this undertaking, what disasters would befall him and those that remained of his battalion? More than once, he'd tried to contact General Kenobi or Commander Cody to apprise them of the situation, but communications were jammed fully now. And in some vindictive way, Rex was not unhappy about this. If he could not contact General Kenobi, he could not be talked out of his decision. He could not be prevailed upon to wait for backup, to assess and reassess the situation. Because the truth was that Rex did not want to back down from this course of action. He might have entertained for a brief moment that possibility of doing things in a more conciliatory manner; but that would be a fool's errand, and he'd acted the fool enough. Only one thought was one his mind, and that was to see General Krell imprisoned, removed from being able to inflict more injury upon the troops he was supposed to protect, made to pay for his traitorous actions.
He might feel that he was in above his head, grasping at something painfully out of reach, but he was determined to do it. Taking Krell down was only part of the equation. Rex knew he had his own amends to make. His list of sins was only now becoming fully recognizable in the light of the recent horror.
But on top of and permeating every action, every decision, was the specter of fear. Terror. Rex acknowledged this uncomfortable fact, but he did not shrink from it. His men would never see it. They would never know—must never know—that their dashing and daring captain could be swayed by something as banal as fear.
The captain was fearless. This much was understood, and so it must remain.
"Captain, I still can't get through."
Rex turned to regard Moog, who had just given the update.
"But I can tell from the scramble code that this isn't emanating from the Umbarans," the communications specialist went on. "And it's too strong a signal to be coming from the capital."
"It's coming from the airbase, isn't it?" Rex asked.
"Yes, Sir," Moog replied, confirming what Rex already suspected: that it was Krell who was jamming them.
"Keep trying," Rex encouraged him. "If anyone can break through, it's you."
"Will do, Captain."
Sixer sidled up next to the captain as Moog fell back.
"You know Krell will be watching us," he pointed out. "What's going to happen when he sees 212th soldiers approaching with us? He'll know he's been caught out."
"That's most likely," Rex agreed. "But we can't be sure until we confront him. We can't go racing in there as vigilantes. We're going to arrest him, make no doubt of that. But I don't want him to realize that until we show up in front of him. Let him think we're not onto him."
"Are you hoping he'll surrender?"
"I am," Rex replied with stoic honesty. "But I'm not counting on it. And if we have to fight him, it's going to be bad." He drew in a deep breath. "If he gets past us, you'll need to stop him, Sixer. You and your men."
Sixer nodded, but his voice contained the unmistakable note of dread. "We'll do what we can. Let's hope he doesn't get past you."
Jesse raised his head at the sound of the platform moving. Three figures rotated into view.
The captain. Tup. Kix at the control panel.
Without a word, Rex stepped forward as Kix dispersed the shield. The captain was holding two weapons, which he held out to the bemused prisoners.
"What's this? You're letting us out? What's happened?" Fives asked.
"General Krell sent us out with false information," Rex replied. "He set us up . . . against the 212th. He tricked us, and he tricked them."
"What—what do you mean?" Jesse asked, narrowing his eyes, fearful of the answer.
"We attacked each other," Rex said. "We thought they were Umbarans disguised as Republic troops. They thought the same about us. Krell had fed the same false intel to them as he did us. We didn't realize our mistake until . . . a lot of men had already been killed."
"How . . . how did you find out?" Fives asked.
"All this can wait," Rex deferred. "We don't have much time. We're going to arrest General Krell."
"Arrest him?" Jesse balked. "You think he's going to allow us to arrest him?"
"He doesn't deserve to live," Fives put forth. "We don't need to arrest him, Rex."
"We're going to arrest him," Rex stated forcefully. "There's no discussion here. You're either in or out."
Jesse and Fives glanced at each other, then Fives announced, "We're in."
Jesse moved to stand beside Kix as the platform began to rise. He reached out his hand to touch his brother's arm, but Kix made no acknowledgment of the gesture. Jesse did not press him. He'd been hoping for some sign of forgiveness, a glint of reconciliation. He'd been hoping to offer a touch of comfort, only imagining what Kix must have felt after the situation Rex had just described. Kix's lack of response was a painful rebuff and an indicator of just how off-kilter things had gotten. A schism had drawn a crease in their brotherhood, and Jesse feared it might never be healed.
At the top of the shaft, as the platform stopped and the men stepped out into the corridor, Kix turned dutifully to his captain. "I'm off to warn Major Hypes," he announced, keeping with the orders he'd been given.
Rex nodded. He felt the need to remind Kix of what he'd told him: to stay in place in the medical center. But he held back. His orders had gone unheeded by only a handful of men – three, to be precise, and he did not want to appear to be questioning the loyalty and integrity of those who had followed orders. Kix might have sounded off in the middle of the stress of battle, but he'd done as told; and he'd been completely dependable, if a bit muddled, since then. So, instead of a reminder to stay in place, he opted for something less aspersive. "Tell Major Hypes to do whatever he can to contact General Kenobi or the fleet. I've sent Moog to scrape up whatever long-range communication gear he can find. He'll meet you in the med center."
Kix gave a crisp nod and was on his way.
He had every intention of doing exactly as his captain had commanded.
Every intention.
"This isn't right. We don't know for sure that General Krell set us up. It could have been bad intel. It isn't right to go in there and arrest him without getting all the details. This is treason, and I can't be part of it. The captain can do what he thinks is right, but I have to do what I think is right."
Dogma lagged behind the column of troopers before silently slipping away with a contemptuous headshake.
The entire trek back to the airbase, he'd been consumed with competing thoughts. He'd told Tup that he was in on the plan to arrest General Krell, yet he remained uneasy about what seemed to be only circumstantial evidence of the general's intentional wrong-doing. He himself did not want to be accused of treason, but he was unwilling to embrace the idea that Krell could be guilty of the same. He'd seen the moment his grief-stricken captain had collapsed to the ground under the weight of what had happened, the mire into which he'd led his men. It was a powerful image, and it took firm root in his mind. The horror of clone killing clone would forever have a place in Dogma's memory as one of the most ghastly moments of the war. And yet, his adherence to and faith in Jedi leadership, while shaken, was not fully undermined. There was a way to approach the question of the friendly fire, and it did not include making a preemptive arrest.
"Even if the rest of them do the wrong thing, I'm going to do the right thing. It's my obligation. It's what I trained for." He knew he was trying to convince himself that his actions were justified.
He was only partly succeeding.
"Major Hypes!"
Major Hypes turned to see Kix approaching him at a quick clip. He could see from the medic's gait and posture that something urgent was going on.
"Kix, what's happened?"
"Captain Rex sent me to tell you, he's taking men to go arrest General Krell," Kix explained hurriedly, then preemptively answering the major's questions and recounting how the general had sent the 501st out against the 212th under purposeful and false conditions, concluding with, "He wanted us to kill each other. He set the whole thing up. Captain Rex is going to arrest him right now. He wanted me to warn you to be prepared, in case things go bad. And he wants you to do everything you can to try and contact General Kenobi or someone in the fleet. They need to know General Krell is a traitor. Moog is out trying to find any communications equipment we can use to contact the fleet."
Major Hypes listened in dumbfounded silence. It was a lot to take in at once. But although he was a doctor, he was also a field grade officer and a clone – he was well-trained in taking charge and dealing with issues far beyond the medical realm.
"Are you sure about all this?" he asked with requisite skepticism. He was prepared to believe what he was hearing, but he also knew Kix had had a hard time on this mission. He had to make sure this wasn't an exaggeration of circumstances.
"Yes, Major," Kix replied. "I was there. I saw the whole thing. Captain Rex is on his way to the tower right now."
It wasn't proof, but it was spoken in a calm and rational tone. That was enough for the major to decide that Kix was not speaking from hyperbole but giving an accurate accounting of what had transpired.
"Very well," Hypes nodded. "Bets and Indy are out on the floor. Internal comm isn't working. Go find them and bring them back here. We need to set up a defensive line to protect our wounded. I'd hate to think that a Jedi would attack men who are already injured, but if what you say is true, it sounds like nothing is beneath him. And if you see Moog, tell him to try setting up comm here in the med center. This will be the safest place."
"Yes, Major," Kix replied sharply, but before setting off on his task, he took a moment. "Major Hypes, has there been any word on Pitch?"
"I'm sorry, Kix, nothing," came the reply.
Kix absorbed this for only a few seconds and then headed out to the medical floor. He was grateful for the desperateness of the situation, for it kept him from dwelling on the fact that Pitch was still missing and likely dead, as well as the unquestionable truth that Hardcase was dead. This was not a nightmare from which he would awaken and discover that all was again right in the universe.
He found Sergeants Bets and Indy in short order and returned with them back to where Major Hypes was already drawing up a plan on his holo imager.
"Did Kix tell you what's going on?" the major asked.
"Yes, Sir," both men replied.
Major Hypes turned to Kix. "Did Captain Rex say if he was sending any men to augment us?"
"No, he didn't," Kix replied. "I think he's taking everyone with him to try and arrest the general."
"We need to pull manpower from somewhere," the major said. "I want all men taken off the southern and western perimeters. And the men whose injuries are less serious—if they can hold a weapon—put one in their hands. We're already out of time."
Rex stopped and looked at the door before him.
His heart was racing. One more step, beyond the door, and there was no turning back. He was one decision away from leading his men—and a number of Cody's men—into treason. And likely, worse.
He had no illusion that General Krell would simply surrender. He was fully anticipating a fight. And a fight against the likes of Krell could descend into disaster. But things had already changed, and he was not willing to allow Krell to sacrifice any more of his men. He was going to stop him one way or another.
He nodded over his shoulder to the men behind him, and they moved up front into position. Upon returning to the base, he'd sent Sixer to marshal the battalion and take up a containment line around the tower. He'd taken only a dozen men with him to confront the general, knowing that the confines of the command post would make it difficult to bring in more men. If Krell were to get past this initial squad, Sixer and his larger elements would have more room to operate.
The truth was that he had no way of knowing whether any of his strategies would be effective against the general. He could only hope to overcome him by sheer numbers.
Rex motioned to one of the 212th soldiers who activated the door sensor.
As soon as the doors slid open, the troops ran in, weapons drawn, half running to the left, the other half to the right, surrounding Krell and surprising the other clone troopers in the room, who quickly fell in with their brothers.
Rex entered last. His pistols remained in their holsters.
"General Krell," he said with authority, "You're being relieved of duty."
Krell turned slowly, both pairs of arms clasped unworriedly behind his back. "It's treason then."
Something in that voice, the easy and confident undertone, raised Rex's level of caution beyond its already heightened state. He drew his weapons. "Surrender, General."
"You're committing mutiny, Captain," Krell replied, still nonchalant as he took several steps forward.
"Explain your actions," Rex demanded.
"My actions?"
"For ordering your men against one another," Rex replied, his voice containing a bit more emotion than he'd intended. He wanted to do nothing to give away the turmoil this entire situation was causing him.
Krell's indifference was infuriating. "Oh, that. I'm surprised you were able to figure it out . . . for a clone."
Fives motioned the circle of troopers to draw in closer.
"Surrender, General. You're outnumbered," Rex ordered once again.
In the next breath, Krell, using the Force, thrust them all back against the walls. He ignited his light sabers. "You dare to attack a Jedi!"
Within seconds, he had taken down at least half of the troops present, his lightsabers swirling and slicing in choreographed precision. This wasn't even a challenge for him. But then, inexplicably, when he found himself face-to-face with Rex, he changed tactics. Rather than cutting down the only man whose authority could compete with his own, he held back. "I will not be undermined by creatures bred in some laboratory," he hissed. He turned, smashed through the glass window, and leaped out into the darkness.
Rex, flanked by Jesse and Fives, raced to the window just as Krell landed on the tarmac below, where the rest of the battalion was waiting for him. It became immediately clear that, whatever else might lie behind Krell's motives, escape was not his only motivation. In cutting a path through Sixer's men, he took great pains to attack as many troopers as he could reasonably reach without losing the momentum of his flight, using his brutal efficiency to dispatch them with ease. Yet, this wasn't a simple rampage against beings he considered inferior to himself. No, he was making a break for it, heading towards enemy-held territory. The wanton killing of clones was only an added pleasure.
The quiet of the night suddenly went up in pieces. Blaster fire drowned out the silence.
Kix knew what he'd been told—what he'd been commanded to do. Stay with Major Hypes in the medical center. And he'd done so . . . up to this point.
But with the sounds of chaos erupting outside the walls, he could not resist the urge to go see what was happening. Coming outside, he was almost blinded by the light of blaster bolts filling the air. And among those tracks of light, he could see the unmistakable arc of twin light sabers. He watched for a few seconds, and even from this distance, he could see men going down left and right.
Instinct took over, and he ran out see who needed assistance and who was beyond help. But no sooner had he cleared the corner of the north hangar than he heard someone calling his name.
"Kix! Kix! Here!"
Kix slowed down and glanced to his left. It was Double Barrel who'd been calling out. He was heading towards the thick of the confrontation, but he stopped long enough to toss a fallen trooper's blaster in Kix's direction.
In his hurry, Kix had left his weapon in the med center. He'd not considered he would need it. He was, after all, going out to rescue injured men. But clearly, Double Barrel was intending something different, bringing every hand to the fight.
Kix caught the blaster and joined DB and Tup, both of whom were carefully flanking Krell as he fought the first wave of Sixer's men directly in front of him. But again, Krell was not going to linger any longer than necessary. He'd cleared a partial path through the clones confronting him, and he'd seen the attempt to pinch him off coming in from both the left and the right. Picking up the body of a dead trooper, he tossed it into the oncoming clones, knocking down Tup, Kix and DB before racing off into the forest and the second line of Sixer's forces.
Picking himself up, Double Barrel motioned the other two forward. "Come on! After him!"
Kix complied without hesitation, and the two of them joined the pursuit.
Tup had been about to follow when something caught it his eye. Across the tarmac, perhaps sixty meters away, he could make out a single figure lingering concealed outside the tower entrance. He used the enlargement feature in his HUD. A sick feeling gripped his gut.
General Krell would have to wait. Tup had other business that, at least for this moment, took precedence.
By the time Rex got down to the tarmac, Krell was gone. And the pursuit was just beginning.
"He's going to head for the capital," Rex stated. "He's hoping the Umbarans will still be holding it by the time he gets there."
"And we have no idea how General Kenobi's forces are doing—" Fives began, but Jesse cut him off.
"But we know at least one company was sent to fight us. That means there's at least one company fewer that he's got to fight with."
"Damn . . . I wish we had some way to communicate—"
Rex stopped abruptly as a figure stepped out in front of him. It was a clone, holding a blaster leveled right at Rex's chest.
It was Dogma. He was not wearing his helmet, and the look on his face belied the fear underlying the attempt at assertion. "Hold it right there!"
Rex drew his pistols, even as his heart dropped. He'd thought the incident with the 212th had moved Dogma back into the fold, and it pained him to see this fine young officer hemming himself in. Still, Rex knew intuitively that this one battle, at least, was not lost. He could sense the uncertainty facing him across the blaster's barrel.
"Lower your weapon, Dogma," he said calmly.
"I . . . I can't do that, Sir," came the troubled reply.
"That's an order!" Rex went from calm to commanding. He had to get through to Dogma before the Shinie got impatient and made a mistake he would regret for the rest of his life.
Dogma's uncertainty grew more precarious. "It's my duty. You're all traitors!" Faced with multiple weapons trained on him, and aware that more men were moving around behind him, he went from targeting Rex to Fives to Jesse and back to Rex. It was a no-win situation, but he wasn't willing to admit that to himself – not yet.
Rex holstered one pistol while keeping the other trained on Dogma. He removed his helmet, hoping Dogma would see the sincerity in his face. "I used to believe being a good soldier meant doing everything they told you. That's how they engineered us. But we're not droids. We're not programmed. You have to learn to make your own decisions."
His words appeared to be falling flat. Dogma gave no indication of conceding.
But what Rex had not noticed was that, as he'd been speaking, Tup had slowly been approaching, weapon at the ready. And it was the arrival of Tup that held the potential for turning the moment.
Dogma had seen his approach out of the corner of his eye. He swung his weapon on Tup, but seeing his best friend aiming back at him, a profound dismay settled over him. The only person he cared about, the only person who cared about him, had a drawn a bead on him and was ready to fire if it came to it.
Tup, for his own part, was portraying a much more composed demeanor than he was actually feeling. Seeing Dogma in such a predicament, his only thought was not for capturing General Krell, but for making sure his squad mate did not get killed.
"Dogma, don't do it," he warned gravely.
Dogma hesitated briefly. Everyone was arrayed against him. He was alone in this now. A sigh broke from his lips and his shoulders dropped. His gaze went to the ground and he lowered his weapon.
Immediately, he was tackled by two troopers.
Tup almost stepped forward, ready to intervene; but to what end? Dogma had to be taken into custody, and the focus had to shift back to capturing General Krell.
He was grateful that his captain seemed to be in full agreement.
"Take him to the brig," he said in a tone that conveyed his intent that the errant Shinie be treated without hostility. Then, to the rest of the gathered men, "Troopers, don't let General Krell escape!"
Tup took one last look at Dogma, face-down on the ground, cuffs being applied to his wrists. It occurred to him that this might very well be the last time he ever saw him.
It was not the sort of memory he wanted to take to his grave.
The forest was silent, cast in eerie red light from fluorescent trees. The terrain in this area was slightly more hilly, low and undulating in dark waves towards the capitol.
Suddenly, and to Rex's surprise, his wrist comm lit up.
"Captain Rex, do you copy?"
"Yes, I copy. Moog?"
"Yes, Sir. We found a work-around the jamming for our inner-battalion comm," Moog reported. "Still working on long-range comm."
"You're a genius, Moog," Rex commended.
"You can thank Waves," Moog replied, referring to one of the 501st's own communications specialists. "He was already working on it when I got here. We can't guarantee how far the patch will stretch, so the further away you get, you may start losing contact."
"Copy that."
Now, feeling a bit more secure with the knowledge he more than mere vicinity communication with his men, Rex hoped to make quick business of Krell's take-down, unlikely as that seemed.
"Anybody got anything?" He inquired.
A voice answered. "Eh, negative captain, we lost him." The voice as too casual, too colloquial to be Sixer. Rex wasn't sure who it was. He was about to inquire when the voice went on urgently. "Wait!" What followed were the sounds of light sabers and men dying.
Beside Rex, Fives focused his infrared binoculars. He could see General Krell slicing down clone troopers; and then, as if he knew he were being watched, the general turned his fearsome glare directly towards Fives.
"He's coming!" Fives warned.
Rex motioned his men to take up ambush positions. It occurred to him that Krell was no longer putting his flight towards the safety of the capitol first. He was purposefully turning back to take out more troopers. That must mean that he either felt so secure in his escape that he could afford to make time to kill the loathsome clones, or that his safe place was no longer such, and he was being forced to turn back out of necessity.
Rex got his answer in the next seconds.
Krell's voice echoed ghoulishly through the still air. It seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere.
"You should have listened to the ARC trooper from the beginning, Captain." A mocking laugh. "He was right. I was using you."
Without warning, Krell dropped down from above and landed in the midst of the clones.
"You've all been my pawns!" He bellowed.
"Get him!" Rex shouted.
Immediately, the air grew electrified with blaster bolts and swipes of the lightsabers. Rex could feel the superheated particles raising the temperature in the enclosed space where the fighting was going on. He'd felt it in the other battles on Umbara, where the thick mist had trapped and held the heat, often bringing the fine haze to the condensation point. He was feeling that now; and he was feeling the engineering of his armor and body suit compensating.
It was a strange thing to cross into his awareness at such a moment, but it kept other troubling thoughts at bay.
Thoughts such as the recognition that he'd been duped the entire time, that General Krell had never been leading his battalion towards victory, and that he was now watching his men be cut down by a Jedi general. There would be plenty of time for self-recrimination, but not now. Now, he had only one objective. To stop Krell by whatever means possible.
He held his ground, hunkered down behind one of the trees, wondering at and cursing Krell's ability to sidestep or deflect every blaster bolt while delivering death and injury at every turn. He became aware of another line of fire coming from over his shoulder; and turning his head, he did a double-take.
"Kix?! What are you doing out here?! I told you to stay back at the med center—"
"You need me more here, Captain," Kix replied. "Besides, DB forced me!"
Rex would have smiled at the shifting of blame, but this was no time for levity. "Whatever you do, don't get yourself killed," he said. "We're going to need every medic we can find when this is over."
With every passing second, more men went down. 501st. 212th. Rex feared his numbers had to be falling dangerously low, and he had no idea how to stop the carnage and overcome Krell.
"Captain Rex! This is Tup! If you can, force the general towards me."
Rex was surprised to hear Tup's voice. "Tup, where are you?"
"Sir, try to get the general to move towards me!"
"What? Why?"
"Trust me, Sir! Transmitting coordinates now!"
Rex saw the coordinates come through in his HUD, but he was no wiser as to Tup's plan. Still, nothing else seemed to be working, so a bit of trust might be in order.
"Troopers, listen up. Circle around. Lure him towards Tup," he ordered.
The men who only seconds ago had been firing a hailstorm now fell back into the forest, moving wide towards Tup's position.
General Krell, in the grip of a bloodlust, followed them. Their retreat only confirmed his estimation of their cowardice, as far as he was concerned. It was yet another mark of their inferiority. Such creatures deserved no quarter. They deserved to be hunted down and destroyed.
He was closing the distance between them when two blaster shots angled in from his right. He caught them out of the corner of his eye, deflecting them with ease. Casting a glance in the direction from which the shots had come, he saw a single clone standing assertively in the murky light.
"Hey Ugly! Come and get me!" The clone shouted.
Such a simple provocation, and yet it was effective. One of the characteristics of the Besalisk was that of violent arousal. Once the blood-letting began, a fever raged through their veins, releasing chemicals in the brain that worked to amp up and sustain the rampage. At its peak, even a single taunt could be an irresistible incitement.
If Tup had known these things prior to initiating his plan, he might have reconsidered. Since rejoining the battle, he'd had to pry his thoughts away from what had happened with Dogma; and even being in a fight for his life had barely been enough to redirect his energies. He had engaged General Krell at close range and been repelled. Fortunately, Krell had simply thrown him aside instead of employing a more lethal method against him. But that toss had landed Tup in the middle of a possibility . . . potentially a good idea.
He'd landed along the roots of the carnivorous plant that had plagued them on and off through their campaign. The impact of his body among the roots had roused the plant and given him an idea that the plant might now be turned from a hazard into an ally.
Yet, as he watched Krell come pounding towards him, stepping over the roots with certitude, lightsaber raised and ready, Tup began to think that maybe his plan had been too simplistic and wishful after all.
Krell was upon him, about to deliver a death blow . . .
The general's foot struck one of the tendrils, and suddenly the air was filled with flailing, searching, grasping tentacles. Tup jumped back out of range and began firing. He was joined by other troopers, but trying to hit such a wildly moving target was proving incredibly difficult. At one point, Krell broke free, but the creature quickly snatched him up again. Several times, clones were struck by the writhing tendrils, sent smashing into trees or crashing to the ground.
Then, at last, Krell managed to cut through the tentacle holding him. He landed heavily on the ground, and before he could get up, Tup had stunned him.
The fight was over.
And the hardest decisions were yet to come.
"You really did it this time, Kix. The captain's fit to be tied. He's furious at you. You disobeyed his orders, and that makes you no better than the others."
Kix had been silently berating himself since the fight had ended. Rex had tasked him with overseeing the recovery operation for the dead and wounded in the pursuit of General Krell, and he'd found himself repeatedly rebuking himself between assessments of the wounded. While most of the battalion had headed back to the base, he'd been left in charge of a detail of fifty men whose duty it was to tend to the wounded and transport them back to the base, along with the remains of the deceased.
"So, maybe it's a good thing I was out here with them," Kix tried to justify his disobedience. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have been here to care of all these injured men. At least, some of them stand a better chance of surviving now. Eh . . . fek . . . he's going to kick me right out of the battalion. Me and Jesse, both. He told me to stay back at the base . . . I should have just done what he ordered me to do."
His internal dialogue did not detract from his ability to do his job; yet, he wanted nothing more than to get these men back to the med center and turn over the reins of responsibility to Major Hypes. There was a big difference between a corporal and a major. And for once, Kix felt that he already had enough on his shoulders. He was happy to be a corporal and turn over the hardest decisions to the major. Kix's job was to keep them alive if he could, ease their suffering, and—if need be—make the end as painless as possible. But when it came to deciding when to throw in the towel . . . he wanted no part of those decisions.
"I think that's the last of them."
Kix looked up to see Ajax looking down at him.
"The last of the wounded, anyway," Ajax went on. "We've still got our dead to take care of. Why don't you head on back to the base? You can't do anything more for these guys, but they'll need you back at the med center. We'll take it from here."
Kix stood up slowly and nodded. "You sure?"
"Yeah," came the quiet, almost weary response. "It'll take us another hour, as least."
"Thanks, Ajax," Kix acknowledged gratefully. "Be careful. There may still be Umbarans out here."
"We'll be careful."
Tup kept his helmet on.
Whatever else happened, he did not want to show the emotions he feared might overcome him.
He was with Captain Rex, Jesse and Fives, and they were heading for the prisoner cells.
General Krell had been brought to the cell earlier in shackles and left to recover from the stun blast. Now, Captain Rex had made it clear he wanted answers, though Tup was not sure why the captain had decided to bring him—a mere Shinie—to this first meeting. Perhaps it was because Tup was responsible for Krell's capture. Perhaps, the captain wanted to groom him for positions of greater responsibility.
Whatever the reason, Tup was not happy to be going on this visit; for he knew that Dogma was being held in the prisoner cells, and he feared the thoughts and reactions that might result from seeing his friend so reduced. Tup had no illusions about himself. He knew he was a highly emotional and reactive man; and despite everything that had happened, Dogma was still the most important person in the universe to him. He was not ready for this encounter, certainly not with an audience present.
Being placed at the control panel, he was fortunately able to occupy himself with maneuvering the platform, thus giving him an excuse to keep his focus elsewhere than on the cells' occupants.
As the platform lowered into place, he saw Dogma standing in his cell, moving towards the opening in anticipation of . . . of what?
Tup knew that Dogma must have seen when General Krell had been brought in earlier. What must have gone through his mind? Had he spoken to General Krell since then? If so, what had been the outcome?
He did not longer ponder these questions, for Captain Rex went directly to the general's cell.
"Why general?" he demanded, "Why kill your own men?"
Krell had been kneeling, appearing to be in some sort of meditative state. But now he stood and chuckled scornfully. His response was filled with contempt. "Because I can. Because you fell for it. Because you're inferior."
Rex felt his jaw working. Fury unlike anything he'd ever known was roiling beneath his placid exterior, but he feared it would soon burst from under his control. "But you're a Jedi," he seethed. "How could you?"
Krell genuinely appeared surprised that the term Jedi was still being applied to him. "A Jedi?" He laughed heartily. "I'm no longer naïve enough to be a Jedi." He sank into his own words, enamored with the vision in his head. "A new power is rising. I've foreseen it. The Jedi are going to lose this war, and the Republic will be ripped apart from the inside. In its place is going to rise a new order, and I will rule as part of it."
As he spoke, Fives felt the skin on the back of his neck pricking in anger. Jesse, on the other hand, felt only fear and horror. These were not the rantings of a stricken enemy. These were not idol threats or wishful thinking. A current of truth and conviction underpinned Krell's assertions, and for the first time, Jesse suddenly realized that his assessment of Krell had been wrong from the start. Krell hadn't acted with the intent of killing clones to satisfy his own hatred. Every questionable order, every seeming incompetence had been part of a carefully orchestrated larger plan – a plan that, if Krell were to be believed, when far beyond the reaches of Kamino."
Rex was still speaking, accusing Krell. "You're a Separatist."
"I serve no one side. Only my own," Krell replied smoothly. "And soon, my master's."
"You're an agent of Dooku."
"Not yet. But when I get out of here, I will be. After I've succeeded in driving the Republic from Umbara, he will reward my actions and make me his new apprentice."
Jesse felt his stomach twist into knots. Even the idea of the Republic versus the Separatists was beneath the ambitions Krell espoused. He was talking of the Sith. And the Sith transcended any concept of allegiance or alliance.
Dogma burst out in hurt and anger. "How could you do this? You had my trust, my loyalty. I followed all your orders. And you made me kill my brothers!"
Krell's laughter only taunted him further. "That's because you were the biggest fool of them all, Dogma! I counted on blind loyalty like yours to make my plan succeed."
Dogma could only look away and lament his own gullibility. The pain was too deep, the humiliation too great. He'd been fooled in every way that mattered. Now, he was paying for it. Yet, when he thought of all the brothers who had died under Krell's malfeasance, his own sufferings seemed petty and insignificant. He could only despise himself for the role he had played.
Rex, on the other hand, fully cognizant now of the fact that he had been used by Krell to further the fallen Jedi's evil plan, was not beaten down by that knowledge. For whatever failings in his own character that Rex might have to contend with, one thing about him remained solid: the fact that he refused to be defeated. He took whatever came his way and did what he could with it. There would be time to grieve and mourn his mistakes later; but neither the grief nor the recognition of his errors would ever have the power to keep him down or paralyze him. And where he could make amends, where he could solve a problem, he would do so.
And now, listening to Krell boasting from behind bars of his imminent rescue and release, Rex felt something of the firebrand that had marked his earliest days as a lieutenant boiling up inside him. "That will never happen," he ground out spitefully. "You're a traitor, General, and you will be dealt with as one."
Krell was dismissive, his voice brimming with a sort of mocking pity. "You never learn, Captain. The Umbarans are going to retake this base, and when they do, I will be free." With that, he knelt again and resumed his meditation.
His words drove home.
Clearly, he was not speaking a bluff. He meant what he was saying. He believed it.
And so did Rex.
"How are you holding up, Scree?" Kix asked, as he approached the Hoth Company medic who was busily darting from one seriously injured man to the next, giving injections, starting IVs, and instructing the attending laymen on what actions to take until he or another medic could return.
Scree had been in the med center through the entire Krell incident; but to Kix's eye, the man still looked alert and engaged, even if his movements were starting to show some sluggishness in their rapidity.
"Well enough," came the reply. "Things had settled down until this last group started coming in. Do we have any men left who aren't dead or injured in some way?"
Kix knew the question did not require an answer. He put his hand on Scree's shoulder. "Where do you need me to help out?"
"Did you not see Major Hypes when you came in?"
"He wasn't there," Kix replied. "I'm sure he's busy somewhere. This place is still a madhouse."
"You're telling me," Scree replied hurriedly. "You can help Campion and Haze in triage," Scree replied. "They could use another pair of eyes."
"You sure you don't want me to take over for you, so you can get a break?" Kix inquired.
"I'm sure," Scree replied. "My adrenaline's pumping too fast right now for me to cut it off. When I'm dead on my feet, I'll just crash." A pause as he turned an assessing eye towards Kix. "What about you? You were out there chasing down that Dhog swill all this time. You must be wiped out."
"Neh . . . I'm like you," Kix replied. "The blood's pumping. I've got to do something or my blood vessels are going to burst."
"Well, you've come to the right place, buddy. Plenty to do here."
Kix began heading towards the front of the room, towards the entrance where triage had been set up, and where dozens of men were waiting to be evaluated for treatment. He approached one of the clones doing the assessing.
"Hey, Camp," he announced. "I'm here to help."
The man who turned to face him was an anomaly among clones. His face might be the same. His distinctive facial tattoo of Anzar hieroglyphics – some kind of bird on his left cheek and a pair of wavy lines on the other – were no more peculiar than the identifying skin work of any other clone. The hair, worn at a close sheer all around, was also nothing out of the ordinary. No, what made Campion peculiar was that he had one amber eye – the standard among clones – and one green eye. And to make his irregularity even more pronounced, the ink on each cheek reflected the color of the opposing eye.
It made for a clone who was fascinating to look at, almost humorous, and very often, distracting – the latter being a good quality in a medic.
Campion slid well into his role as a more lighthearted, occasionally clownish trooper. He was still relatively new to the war, only having joined the battalion a little over a year ago; but he was a quick learner and eager to be of use. As such, he excelled as a medic, and Kix knew that the man looked up to him and had made no secret among the others in the battalion, of his admiration for Kix's brilliance as a field medic.
"I'm glad of it. Jus' jump ya' self in wherever ya can, Corporal Kix," Campion greeted him. It was a funny manner of speech, but for Campion, it was natural.
Kix gave a gentle grin. "It's just Kix, Campion. We're all equals here."
"Except the major." This came from Haze, the other medic performing triage. He had been in the 501st since before Kix had come onboard, and he was a seasoned, battle-hardened veteran who, nevertheless, had somehow managed to wade through the fields of bodies unjaded. "We all know never to call the major just 'Hypes.'"
Campion chuckled. "Even the captain doesn't call him that."
"That's because a major outranks a captain," Haze grinned. He finished checking out the trooper he'd been examining. "Level 4," he announced, indicating the lowest priority in terms of the immediacy of treatment. Level 1s were critical, and the urgency went down from there. There were, however, two ratings that went without numbers. PC – palliative care for those troopers deemed too far gone to be saved, and whose final moments were to be made as painless and comforting as possible. And MT – Mortuary Team, for those who arrived at the center already dead.
Kix began examining the injured as they were brought in. Some arrived under their own power. Others upright but with assistance. Still others, on field stretchers.
After nearly fifteen minutes, his attention was drawn by a trio of voices whose boisterous and argumentative tenor reminded him briefly of his own squad mates. Looking up, he was pleased and relieved to see Three Point and Zinger entering the med center. Between them, they supported Bounce, who, though clearly favoring a leg injury, appeared to be more embarrassed than anything else.
"Look, just stop carrying on," Three Point was scolding. "They'll get you checked out, patched up, and you'll be back in the battalion before you know it."
"Who are you kidding? They'd send me to the rear for treatment even if it's only a scratch—"
"Well, we need to make sure it's not more than just a scratch," Three Point shot back. "After all that just happened out there, be glad your entire leg wasn't sliced off."
"Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better," Bounce grimaced, then glancing up, he caught sight of Kix. "Oh, great, and to top it all off, we've got the medic-of-medics who's going to examine me and probably decide I need bed-rest for the rest of the war."
Kix smiled as he drew near them.
Three Point returned the expression. "Good to see you, Kix."
"Yeah," Zinger added. "Now, we know he'll be in good hands."
"So, I see what happens when they take you guys out of your ships," Kix teased. "You just can't turn a pilot into a ground-pounder."
Zinger could not resist. "You've seen the way Bounce lands. He's already a ground-pounder."
"I just like to keep 'em on their toes," Bounce replied. "A smooth landing is a boring landing."
Kix was grateful for the moment of lightheartedness, for he knew it would not last. He took a look at the injury to Bounce's leg. There was a clean slice through the thigh armor of the left leg, the duraplast edges singed and darkened. But there was little blood from the wound beneath.
"Looks like a fairly deep wound, a couple centimeters," Kix stated. "But the lightsaber cauterized the blood vessels. I'd say you should consider yourself lucky."
"Lucky would have been if I'd not been hit at all," Bounce replied, then with a hopeful lilt in his voice, "You can fix this up with a couple bacta patches, right? I'm not going to have to be evacuated to a med station or something, am I?"
"I can't tell from my examination," Kix answered. "Once they get a closer look, they'll be able to tell." Then to Three Point and Zinger, "Can you two take him to the rear of the room? You'll see Deppy back there." He turned his medic's expression to Bounce, a look that conveyed the right mixture of reassurance and concern. "That's where the least urgent cases go."
"I'm a level 4?"
Kix nodded. "And you'll be fine." He watched the trio move past him.
"You'll be fine."
Physically, perhaps. But Kix could not help but wonder . . . would any of them be fine after the hell of Umbara? After the twisted fate of being turned against each other? After the deception and breach of trust wrought by a Jedi was supposed to have been leading and protecting them? He thought about how the troopers would hold up, how he would hold up.
How the captain would hold up.
He almost berated himself for worrying on his captain's behalf. Of all the clone troopers Kix had ever known, Captain Rex was one of the best when it came to keeping it together, forging ahead through hardship and tragedy. Perhaps, the only one who surpassed him was Commander Cody.
Both battalions—the 501st and the 212th—were going to need their firsts-in-command after this battle. It would take the greatest in leadership ability to pull together the remnants of two once-mighty fighting units.
And then Kix had to remind himself . . . the battle for Umbara was not over yet.
The cool, heavy air of the Umbaran night—air which had, up to this moment, been oppressive and suffocating- felt good against Rex's face as he emerged from the tower with Jesse, Fives and Tup.
He wasn't sure what to say or if words were even necessary.
General Krell was imprisoned, the battle for the capitol still had to be won, and for all intents and purposes, Rex had no idea what was going on with the 212th, for while internal comm had been restored, long-wave had not. He was on his own, and he had to make sure from here on in that his decisions were sound.
He noticed a clone approaching from across the tarmac. As the man drew nearer, he recognized Waves.
"Captain, we've repaired the transmitter," he reported. "It looks like it was sabotaged. We received a message from General Kenobi. His forces have captured the capitol. The remaining Umbarans are heading here."
It was a lot to take in at once, yet there was really only one piece of information that needed immediate action, and that was the fact that the Umbarans were headed towards the airbase.
Rex did not hesitate, did not inquire of the officers with him. He did not need a committee discussion to know what needed to be done. "Get everyone on the perimeter," he ordered. "We need to prepare for a full scale attack. Get word to whatever company commanders are left."
Waves saluted. "Yes, sir." And then, he was off.
Rex frowned. "Krell sabotaged the transmitter. He's been against us from the beginning."
"If the Umbarans get to him, he'll turn over all our intel, defense codes, everything," Fives put in. "He'll strike a crippling blow to the Republic."
"Something has to be done," Jesse said adamantly. "We can't risk the possibility that he might escape."
Tup spoke quietly, certainly more calmly than either of his two more seasoned companions, a trait Rex did not fail to notice and put to the Shinie's credit. "As long as Krell's alive, he's a threat to every one of us."
Rex was troubled. They had, all three, spoken the truth. There was no denying it. And if Rex and the remnants of his battalion could not hold out against the approaching Umbarans, then everything Fives had said would come true. The Umbarans would free Krell, and that would be disastrous. Even so, Rex knew what his three troops were speaking of, even though they hadn't the brazenness to speak the word.
This would be an execution.
An execution of a general. A Jedi general.
The very idea was abhorrent. It went against every scintilla of decency that Rex possessed. He believed in justice, in the rule of law, in letting men with more wisdom and power than himself decide judgement. Despite Krell's treason and wanton destruction of his own troops, Rex recoiled at the idea of a cold-blooded killing of a prisoner. The Republic did not kill prisoners. Honorable men did not kill prisoners . . .
But an honorable man backed into a corner? Might not the situation mitigate some of the guilt?
Rex sighed. The very act of breathing had suddenly become painful. When he spoke, his words reflected a moment of defeat. It was the death of his conscience. His demeanor reflected the truth and the agony that came with it.
"I . . . agree."
Jesse and Fives.
Those were the only men he would take with him. He could not afford to entangle more men in the web he was about to weave, from which there would be scarce a chance of escape.
Sacrificing his own freedom would be of little consequence. A man found guilty of executing a prisoner, a Jedi general, would have scant justification to fall back on. He could argue that Krell was a traitorous fiend, working his way towards an apprenticeship with Count Dooku. He could give graphic detail about the deaths of his battalion mates, all orchestrated by Krell. Yet, none of that would excuse his own action of killing a man already in captivity. He was, in a manner of speaking, taking the law into his own hands. He was abandoning his own credo, his core set of values.
He was setting aside the good soldier. This once. Surely, he could be forgiven for this one transgression. But who possessed that forgiveness to give? Was it General Skywalker? No. He already knew that General Skywalker would not only forgive him but take his part and defend his actions to the end. Was it the court-martial convening authority? No, Rex did not care whether they found him guilty of murder or not. The Jedi Council? Hardly. After the way the Council had treated General Skywalker, Rex did not hold them in very high esteem.
Whose forgiveness was he seeking?
He still hadn't answered the question when the platform rotated into place. He was barely aware as Fives made his way to Dogma's cell and brought him out.
For his own part, Fives was not convinced that it was a good idea to remove Dogma from the detention area. He might still try to thwart their plans once topside; but looking at him as he led him out of the cell, hands still fixed in binders in front of him, Fives realized that he was seeing a man so dejected, so completely broken, that he presented no threat at all. On top of that, Rex had already decided. Dogma was to be released. He wanted as few witnesses as possible to be implicated in this terrible plot. Besides, Rex had made it clear: Dogma done what any obedient soldier would have done, and he'd suffered enough for it. He could not have him suffer any more.
But much to Fives' surprise, no sooner had he ushered Dogma from his cell than Rex took a step towards General Krell's cell.
"Turn around," he ordered, unholstering one pistol. He wasn't waiting for Dogma to be removed. "Step towards the wall."
Rex hadn't meant to make a change in plans. He hadn't meant to proceed directly to the assassination. He'd wanted Dogma out. But the moment the platform had stopped its rotation, and he found himself looking into Krell's cell, everything changed. He would not wait. Could not wait. He had to do this now, while the blood was still churning and giving him conviction. He had to do this before his moral code burst past his desire for vengeance masquerading as a military necessity.
There was no necessity in what he was about to do. The enemy was not here yet. This was a pre-emptive killing . . .
Krell turned to face him, the disdain etched into his features.
"On your knees," Rex demanded. He could barely hear his own voice over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.
At the control panel, Jesse opened the door.
Krell chuckled, a caustic aspersion, as if he were laughing at something so insignificant as to be beneath his notice. "You're in a position of power now. How does it feel?"
Rex recognized the probing attempt at a Jedi mind trick, and he knew he was no more immune to it than anyone else. There was no wasting time here. "I said, on your knees," he snarled, articulating each word slowly and pointedly. He aimed his weapon.
Krell's voice was smooth and assured. "It feels good . . . doesn't it?" He knelt. "But I can sense your fear. You're shaking . . . aren't you?"
It was a moment of horror unlike any other Rex had ever experienced. It was a terror utterly different from what he'd felt only hours earlier upon discovering that he'd been tricked into ordering his men against their fellow clones. This was a perverse violation of the sanctity of his emotions. This was a grotesque attempt to play upon those emotions, to stretch his weakness to its breaking point.
Krell was right, and Rex knew it. He was frightened. Terrified. But not for the reasons Krell suspected. The idea of killing was not foreign to the captain. The very real prospect of spending the rest of his life in prison or facing the death penalty himself did not scare him. What made his stomach twist into knots, what made his face flush hot and his blood run cold, was the idea that he could be driven to abandon the code that had guided his actions from the very first days of his service.
"What are you waiting for?" Krell pressed dulcetly. "The Umbarans are getting closer."
"I—I have to do this," Rex said, as if trying to convince himself.
"You can't do it, can you?"
Rex felt as if he were taking his last breaths. All he had to do was pull the trigger . . . it would be justified . . . he would be forgiven . . . a simple pull of the trigger. He stood there with his arm outstretched, the pistol wavering in his hand.
He couldn't do it. Krell was right. There would be no execution. He could not do it.
Krell continued speaking, assured of his complete victory over the captain he had manipulated and tormented from the very start. He knew. He knew CT-7567 was incapable of stepping over that line. Captain Rex would always be swayed towards the good. After all, when all was said and done, he was merely a clone.
His suggestive tone filled the room, aiming for the one final exploitation. "Eventually, you'll have to do the right thing—"
A blaster shot rang out.
Krell fell forward, a bullseye hole still smoking in his back where the bolt had gone straight through his chest.
For a moment, Rex doubted his own sanity. He hadn't fired.
Had he?
No, he hadn't.
He turned and looked behind him, seeing confusion on Jesse's and Fives' faces. But it was neither Jesse nor Fives that drew and held his attention.
There beside Fives, Dogma stood with Fives' pistol clasped in his hands. He was shaking, panting, barely able to keep his feet.
"I—I had to," he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of an unbearable pain. "He betrayed us." As he began to lower his weapon, Fives reached over to put a calming hand on his arm.
Rex had no words. He had no words for this.
But he knew he would have to come up with some . . . and soon.