Dear Reader, First, thank you to my reviewers: Cuthalion, Ms CT-782, ShadowLight, TessaFred, and Akira-Hayama. As always, your reviews help keep me inspired and motivated. Here's a chapter for the Thanksgiving weekend (for my U.S. readers). I'm trying to get a chapter a week up, so they will be shorter than my usual mega chapters! In the series, Fives suddenly becomes "best friends" with Tup, whom he only just met on Umbara; so in this chapter, I try to show a very little bit of the formation of that friendship. Peace, CS

Chapter 112 Error in the System

"I break down in the middle and lose my thread.
No one can understand a word that I say.
I break down in the middle and lose my head.
Nothing I try to do can work the same say."

Breakdown
Alan Parson Project

"You're obsessed with that weapon."

Fives grinned. "Of course, I am. This is a trooper's best friend. You should be equally obsessed with yours."

Tup replied gamely, "Spoken like a true ARC trooper."

"Enh, that's not true just of ARC troopers," Fives corrected. "It's true for all of us."

"Yeah, but you've been practically making love to that thing for the past hour," Tup pushed back in a good humor. "For fek's sake, it can't get any cleaner."

"It's not just a matter of getting it clean. You want to make sure the sights are still aligned, all the parts are in good working order, the charge pack contacts aren't too worn—"

Tup waved his hand. "Ay, Fives, you're sounding just like Dogma."

"Are you trying to insult me?" Fives quipped.

But the joke fell flat. Fives realized the insensitivity of the remark the moment it left his lips.

"I'm sorry, Tup," he apologized right away. "I know he's your friend."

"He's my squad mate," Tup corrected. "My brother. More than just a friend." He did not sound offended by Fives' remark. He sounded as if he actually enjoyed the opportunity to talk about Dogma. It seemed that Tup's battalion mates were hesitant to mention the name, other than in passing condolences as if the man had died. Tup was glad to hear him spoken of, and he would not pass up the opportunity to expand the conversation. "You don't give him enough credit. He might have been a bit uptight, but he had my back. He never would have let anything happen to me."

"I know," Fives agreed. "I could see that. He cared a lot about you."

"He was completely devoted to the battalion," Tup went on. "And he was the only one who had the courage to do what needed to be done."

"We all have him to thank for that," Fives agreed.

"I hope he's acquitted," Tup sighed. "He doesn't deserve prison. He did the right thing." A pause in which the sigh turned into a subtle smile. "Even if he is a pain in the ass."

Fives smiled slightly at a memory of his own. "I had a squad mate like that. He drove the rest of us crazy, always quoting the regs, but he always put the safety of his brothers first."

"Echo?"

"You know about him?"

"I've heard other battalion members talk about him. I wish I could have met him."

"I used to give him a hard time," Fives recalled fondly. "He could wear your nerves raw, but he always had the right intentions." A pause. "I miss him. A lot."

"What about the rest of your squad mates?" Tup inquired.

"They were all killed on the Rishi moon," Fives replied. "The Separatists launched a surprise attack, and they were killed in the fighting."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Tup replied. "Dogma is my last surviving squad mate. I . . . I can sympathize with how you feel."

"Don't forget, you still have your battalion mates," Fives advised. "I made that mistake. I forgot that I had brothers I could turn to. When Echo was killed, I blocked everyone else out. As a result, I let them down . . . a number of times." A pause. "Rex bailed me out. He saved me, for all intents and purposes. I asked him for a transfer. I told him I wanted to go to the ARC Brigade, to give me a chance to clear my head after Echo's death. He made it happen. And . . . he held nothing against me. He supported me. He got me the assignment I wanted."

Tup grinned. "And now you're back with the 501st."

"For a while," Fives replied. "I needed that time away. I'm glad to be back. I'd be glad to come back to the 501st for good."

"Did you tell the captain that?"

"No," Fives replied. "Maybe one day, I will. Right now, I'm just focused on doing my best for him. He deserves better than what I gave him on Umbara."

"I was glad you were with us on Umbara," Tup said.

Fives put aside his weapon, tossing his cleaning rag onto the bench beside where he was sitting. "Don't take my performance on Umbara as an example of how to be a good soldier. I may have had some good ideas, but I didn't express them in the proper manner with the proper respect."

Tup was surprised to hear this, and he was impressed that this superior soldier, this ARC trooper, could admit his own mistakes and short-comings. It made him respect Fives even more.

"That's big of you," he noted. "Not many people can admit when they were wrong."

"Don't credit me," Fives replied. He stood up and pat Tup's shoulder. "I learned it from the captain." A pause. "Let's go get something to eat."

"Push forward!"

They were already three days into the battle, yet the sound of General Skywalker's voice still sounded like music to Rex's ears. After the despair and chaos of Umbara, this—the battle for Ringo Vinda—was war as it should be.

Rex's muddled thoughts about the why and to what end of the war had fairly evaporated in the heated pursuit of victory that marked General Skywalker's footsteps. He once again knew what he was about, what he was made for, and who he was made to serve.

And it came as a relief to him. A relief to get out of his head and back into the rhythm of battle, following General Skywalker's lead, feeling that his opinion mattered.

Feeling that his life mattered.

As always, he stayed close by his general's side while advancing. While he prided himself on always being first, he knew that there was one person whose insistence on taking point would forever outweigh his own.

General Skywalker blazed a trail, and his troops followed.

They were still in Phase 1 of the battle, which involved reaching the three-branch approaches to what had been known, when the station was in Republic hands, as the zip warehouse, a large storage transit area with ceiling-mounted conveyors that could "zip" containers from one area to another. At one end of the room, a glass-enclosed control center overlooked the operations floor.

The Separatists were using the control center as their command post. And that was the target.

Every inch gained thus far had been hard won. The narrowness of the corridors made it impossible to advance with more than a single platoon at a time, and the lesser concentration of fire meant that what fire there was had to be accurate.

Behind Rex, Five and Tup were advancing.

The plan to take the station had been in the works for the past four standard weeks, and that had been enough time to cement a burgeoning friendship.

Fives and Tup had found something to latch onto in each other. Their shared experience on Umbara had drawn them together. Fives' extended tour now gave him the impetus to get to know the newbies in the 501st, and he started with the one whom he already knew to a certain degree.

They complemented each other well. Fives was a dominant personality; Tup was quiet and reserved. Fives liked to lead; Tup was comfortable following. Fives had lost his center to death; Tup had lost his center to prison.

Rex had seen right away that keeping the two of them together would not result in another Umbara; it would ensure that both had the support they needed, and so he had moved Fives into the same company as Tup. And when that company commander was injured, he slid Fives into the company commander position.

They had made a good team thus far, and Rex felt confident having them behind him.

"Stay on my left!" Tup ordered the troops coming up behind him. In an instant, he caught sight of a droid ready to fire.

Directly at Fives.

"Fives, watch out!" He called out, leaping forward and taking Fives down, raising his own weapon and killing the droid.

"Thanks, Brother. I owe you one," Fives said gratefully.

"You owe me a lot more than one," Tup replied, holding out his hand. He helped Fives to his feet.

Further down the corridor, General Skywalker was joined by the Jedi twin sisters Tiplee and Tiplar. The sisters were Mikkian. Both had the tell-tale waving fronds of hair that marked the Mikkian female. Tiplar's skin was chalky yellow, her lips aqua-blue. Tiplee's skin was red with lips of dark blue. They both wore the symbol of their clan in the center of their foreheads, and both seemed to wear perpetual scowls. They were petite and vicious, fighters of the highest order. Very serious. All the time.

They were the joint commanding generals of the 279th Heavy Infantry. Their first-in-command was a brilliant clone officer who went by the name of Doom. Commander Doom.

His name did not exactly suit him.

In fact, he quite despised it. He couldn't figure out if it had been bestowed upon him as a sign of pessimism, as in he saw doom at every turn; or did it mean that he brought the doom upon his enemies? He liked to think it was the latter, but even so, he didn't like it. Never had. Never would. It sounded too dramatic, too forced.

The reason the nickname stuck was because, in the center of Doom's blind spot, where he could not or would not see the truth, his troopers saw the facts of the matter. And the fact was that their commander was a hard-charging, lethal, blaster-toting baga – or, in the vernacular, a badass. He could be diplomatic only under the best of circumstances. Otherwise, he spoke his mind and stood up for his men. He revered his dual generals and would gladly throw himself on a live munition to save either one of them. He liked their no-nonsense approach to battle. Get in, smash the enemy, get out. No nagging conscience. No regrets. No second-guessing.

As he moved forward with them now, guarding their flank, bringing forward shields so they could get in closer to the enemy, he was in his element. He'd been with them long enough to be able to practically anticipate their commands.

His relationship with his Jedi generals was not much different than the relationship most firsts-in-command had with their commanding officer. His generals might not have the name recognition of some of the others, but Doom did not begrudge the other battalions their fame and high visibility. Every battle came to the attention of the Chancellor – no matter where or the significance. The 279th did not need to be on the front page; their record spoke for itself.

The combined forces of the 501st and 279th finally arrived at the first goal on their march to the Separatist command center. With their enemy vanquished behind them, they entered into a sizeable, dimly lit room that functioned as a logistics control center. The only logistics going on at that moment were those of trying to fit as many Republic forces into the narrow approach as possible without compromising their ability to fight effectively.

General Skywalker, noting that Fives was already removing his helmet, put a cautioning hand on his shoulder. "Don't get too comfortable. This battle hasn't been won yet."

Fives nodded his understanding.

General Tiplee wasted no time expressing her concerns. "Master Skywalker. We must get to the command post. Comm intercepted a transmission from Admiral Trench. He has sent for reinforcements. We must take this post before they arrive."

The mere mention of Admiral Trench made Anakin's skin crawl. While the array of Separatist enemies was varied, perhaps none was as disgusting as Admiral Trench.

Trench was a Harch, an arachnid race that spanned an arc of planets in the mid-rim. The most heavily inhabited planet along that arc was Secundus Ando, and the predominant species there was Harch. Most Harch were roughly the same size as a human man, but Trench was a massive creature. It could have been heredity – or the assistance of cybernetic implants – that had enabled him to attain such stature; but whatever it was, the general stood almost two meters tall and had a girth that would rival a tauntaun.

One side of his face, including his chelicerae and one of seven eyes, was made of cybernetic implants. His three left arms were also cybernetic, affording him an array of weapons and tools that he was only to eager to employ against his enemies. He used a cane – a deceptive ploy, really – capable of launching an electronet.

His reputation was daunting. He had no sense of mercy. Enemies were to be destroyed – and if it got messy and agonizing in the process, so be it. Trench was a creature who lived for the fight, who took a strange delight in the sufferings of others. He was no Copian – not by a long shot – but he was still to be reckoned with when it came to the satisfaction he gained from watching his enemies wither away against his tactical genius.

Anakin was taking no chances with him. He knew that if ever his men fell prey the likes of Admiral Trench, it would not be a quick, easy death. And the only way to prevent such torments was to ensure victory – at all costs. Sometimes, the "Jedi" way of doing things had to take backseat to the urgency of a situation. Anakin would not allow his men to be captured just so he could say he fought a fair fight.

Fair be damned.

He crouched down as Ajax, fresh back from his stint of recovery, projected a holomap of the area of the station in which they were currently operating. The map showed one corridor diverging into three for a length of roughly 100 meters before joining back up just before the zip hangar.

"It's time for phase 2," he announced. "We're at this position. Tiplar, you'll take your men down this passageway. Tiplee, you'll move along here. They'll have to divide their forces to counter us, and when they do, Rex and I will press through the middle. Time it right, we'll all converge on this spot at the same time. The droids won't know what hit 'em."

It was a simple plan, and sometimes those were the best kind.

Commander Doom spoke up. "If we're making a run, we'll need backup. My men are severely depleted."

And although he really had no one to spare, Anakin had faith enough in his soldiers that he felt he could permit some of them to lend a hand where needed.

"Fives, you and Tup take 10 of your best men and support Master Tiplar." True to his own estimation of his troops, General Skywalker felt that ten 501st troopers were the equal of one hundred troopers from any other unit in the GAR.

"We're on it, Sir." Fives' fervent acknowledgment only confirmed what his general already believed. His men were up to the task – any task.

But as the assembled group broke to move towards their assignments, something wasn't right.

Fives the only one to notice.

Standing beside him, Tup had removed his helmet and was acting strangely. Strangely for a clone. He was holding his hand to his head, as if he had a headache – and clones did not get headaches unless they were injury-related. Well, that might not be fully true. Clones did fall ill from time to time; they were, after all, subject to the same pathogens as most humanoid life forms. But those instances were few and far between. And well . . . to see a trooper with a headache . . .

It just wasn't normal.

Still, Fives wasn't too concerned. "You alright?"

Tup seemed confused, answering slowly, as if he could not pick his words. "Yeah. I—I just—"

Fives slapped his shoulder, deciding that what he was witnessing was leftover Shinie nerves. It surprised him, given what Tup had already been through on Umbara. But a case of the jitters often affected new troopers, even after they had grown more hardened. If they lived past six months on the front lines, then Fives would expect no trepidation. He spoke encouragingly. "Come on, this is a textbook battle. We've run through this a million times before in training."

Tup barely seemed to be comprehending him. "Yeah, I know. I just, I . . . I just . . . " he stammered, rubbing eyes and forehead. At last, he managed to complete the sentence. "I just . . . don't feel like myself."

This pronouncement struck Fives as very peculiar, and now a felt the tendrils of suspicion and worry tapping on his senses. He drew close and lowered his voice. "What do you mean?" His tone was somewhere between empathy and accusation, an expression of both concern and also an acknowledgment that now was not the time to go soft.

But Tup did not answer. Instead, he appeared to be entranced, staring at the entrance to the corridor where General Tiplar was preparing to lead her group out into phase 2.

"Follow me!" General Tiplar ordered.

At the sound of her voice, a scowl crossed Tup's face and he muttered under his voice, "Jedi . . . "

Fives gave him a slight jerk. "Tup, what's the matter with you?"

At that, Tup appeared to shake himself out of it. "N-n-n-nothing. I'm fine." He put his helmet back on. "Come on, brother. We don't want to be left behind." Without waiting for a reply, he followed General Tiplar and the others out into the corridor.

And even though a sixth sense was telling Fives that something was amiss, he knew that circumstances didn't allow for hesitation. He would simply have to keep an eye on Tup and make sure that everything went okay. He could ask him what was bothering him once the battle had been won. The Republic Forces were too close now to turn back or slow down, lest they lose the momentum they'd built over the past several days.

The three combat teams converged exactly as planned, taking the droids by surprise – also exactly as planned. Out in front, General Skywalker was clearing the way, allowing the clones to break into the zip hangar where they were met with intense enemy fire.

The onslaught slowed the Republic advance, but in the rear, Fives urged his fellow troopers on. The tendency to take cove against such withering firepower was something the clones had been bred to overcome, and all that was needed was a bit of encouragement.

"Don't fall back! Push forward!"

And so the men did exactly that.

All except for one.

Fives had been keeping a sporadic eye on Tup – as often as the battle would allow him to divert his attention from the enemy. But what he saw now aroused more than a general feeling of worry.

Tup was lagging behind. Instead of advancing with the others, he was slowing. And then he was lowering his weapon. This was something Fives could not account for, something that needed to be put aright; and as soon as this battle was over, he would find out just what the hell was going on. In the meantime, he needed every able fighter to man up and pull his weight.

"Tup, hey! This is no time to freeze up! Pull it together! We're almost to the finish line! Come on!" He called out. He then ran ahead to help direct Doom's troops, whom he had been tasked to assist. That decision to let Tup behind him was one that, while necessary, he would come to regret.

The fighting continued. The Republic troops were making slow, steady progress towards the command center. It was within their grasp . . . Fives could feel it.

In the moment, almost as if he were living in some kind of dream sequence, he saw Tup walk past him.

He was not wearing his helmet. He was in no rush. He held his weapon with the barrel pointed towards the ceiling. He was not shooting.

"Hey, Tup!" Fives called out, fearful his friend would be struck down at any second.

But that was not what happened.

In a moment that would burn its image into Fives' memory, he watched as Tup strode straight up to General Tiplar as she finished off one of the battle droids.

The general saw him approaching from the corner of her eye. As she turned, Tup raised his weapon.

She looked a bit surprised, but only for a split-second. The split-second before Tup fired a point-blank range.

General Tiplar was dead.

Dead at the hands of a clone trooper.

And all hell was about to break lose.