Dear Reader, Whew! It's taken me forever to get this chapter up. Just a lot of competing priorities over the past month, but here it is. Please note that I will not be following Fives' misadventures on Kamino. I think we all know what happens there, and this story is Rex-centric, so it will pick up in the next chapter where Fives returns to Coruscant and disaster follows. This chapter has no action and functions as a transition chapter. But it does feature Boil briefly and some good interactions, I think. I hope you enjoy, and I promise not to be so late with the next chapter. Peace, CS
And thank you to MS CT-782, Scrumblenut, Sued13, Australian Dealer, Kingsforcedvacation, and Dz for your reviews and comments. It makes me so happy when people are enjoying the story.
Chapter 115 Preparing to Depart
"This is the very perfection of a man, to find out his own imperfections."
Saint Augustine
"Commander?"
Cody looked up from the damage assessments his flight commanders had compiled. The air and space operations wing of the 212th had lost another fifteen ships: six fighters, three bombers, and six supply and troop ships. All things considered, that was not a bad number. The greater loss was the fact that the troop ships that had been destroyed had been carrying over 3,200 men from various battalions being shuttled to and from the Ringo Vinda station.
On top of that, the course of the battle had steadily declined in the immediate aftermath of General Tiplar's death. The Republic Forces were now regaining the upper hand, but the battle was a see-saw. It was there for either side to grab the victory.
"And now they're pulling out the 501st. And I can guess why. They want to get their investigation off the ground. Ridiculous when the war is at such a critical point."
That was the direction in which the commander's thoughts were headed when Boil's voice drew his attention.
"Commander?"
"Yes, Sergeant? What is it?"
"We just got word the shuttle's on its way back from Kamino," Boil replied. "I thought you'd want to know."
Cody nodded once. "Thanks."
Boil lingered a moment. "Commander, is there any chance that we'll get recalled along with the 501st? We've been on the front lines with them for this entire duty rotation. It would be nice to have a little downtime, even if it's only a couple days."
Cody regarded Boil with a sort of whimsical appreciation. Boil was one of the squadron's few remaining veterans; and yet somehow, through everything, he'd maintained a certain naiveté that buoyed his caustic, rough-and-tumble nature. That innocence he'd inherited from Waxer, who had been not only his superior officer, but his best friend as well. Throughout the war, Waxer had maintained a soft spot that had often shown itself even under the most trying circumstances, and yet he'd been one of the most effective officers Cody had ever had serve under him. Trusting to a fault and dedicated, Waxer had held a place of esteem in the commander's estimation. His death had hit the squadron hard, especially Boil. Yet, the sergeant had refused to be pushed down under the weight of the loss. Boil's own self-built characteristics of suspicion and callousness might, on occasion, be breached; but they could never be torn asunder. And those very same traits were what had allowed him to see through the death of his friend, to ensure that Waxer's death was not in vain. They were the same traits that now urged him to inquire about standing down in the middle of combat.
"I think it's unlikely," Cody replied. "This is a crucial battle."
"Then why are they pulling the 501st out? I know their manpower is low, but they're still probably the best fighting force the GAR has – other than the 212th."
Cody chuckled internally at Boil's catch, ensuring his own unit was not placed subordinate in greatness to any other unit – not even the vaunted 501st.
The commander could be perfectly forthright with Boil. "Two generals are dead at the hands of 501st troopers. That warrants an investigation." He inclined his head. "I don't agree with the timing, but I do agree that the murders need to be investigated."
"But General Krell was a Separatist," Boil said. "Dogma did the Republic a favor by killing him."
"You won't get any argument from me," Cody replied. "But there are rules that have to be obeyed, and not killing prisoners is one of them. Hopefully, Krell's betrayal will be taken into consideration."
"You don't really think they'd put Captain Rex in prison, do you?"
It was a question that had intruded upon Cody's thoughts time and again recently. And the truth was he had no idea of the answer. There had been a time when he would have been certain that Rex was untouchable, that the justice of Krell's execution would have erased any violation of the rules. But he wasn't sure anymore. He could not fault leadership for wanting to take a closer look at a unit whose personnel had seen the death of two Jedi generals in close succession; but he was fearful of the outcome.
The truth was that, ever since ARC training, Cody had felt a certain responsibility when it came to watching out for Rex. Not that Rex needed looking after. He was the most capable clone officer in the GAR. Cody had known that for a long time. But the commander could not help but feel that Rex possessed a degree of blindness—perhaps willful—with regard to the darkness of various motivations, that he placed too much faith and trust in the idea that good was always destined to triumph. It was his greatest weakness, perhaps his sole weakness. He was able to recognized evil, but he was not good at anticipating it.
"That remains to be seen," he replied to Boil's question. "If the system is fair, there won't be a court-martial. Hopefully, the investigation clears everything up." A pause. "As for what happened with Trooper Tup and General Tiplar . . . that's a different issue altogether. If it does turn out that Tup was infected with a virus, that could prove to be a huge problem for anyone else who was exposed."
"A virus that makes a clone go crazy to the point of killing their Jedi? That would have to be some amazing biological engineering feat to pull that off," Boil said doubtfully.
"The Separatists have some brilliant bio-medical engineers working for them," Cody pointed out. Seeing Boil's doubtful expression, he went on, "You don't think it could be a virus?"
"I don't know how a virus could be . . . programmed to target Jedi," came the reply.
Cody shook his head. "It's hard to imagine how something like that could happen. Hopefully, they'll find answers on Kamino."
"Yes, Sir," Boil replied, then like the good soldier he was, "Is there anything you need me to do before I head back to the barracks. My sleep cycle has already started."
Cody knew that when that 12-hour cycle was over, Boil would be heading back to rejoin the battle for Ringo Vinda. "No. Go get some rest. Thanks for informing me about the shuttle."
Cody watched his trooper depart. Now, he needed to keep his focus on the current situation and the reports he was reviewing.
Yet, that was one battle he was not winning. Despite his superior self-discipline, his thoughts were travelling with the shuttle.
Six standard rotations after his stint in the frozen supply closet aboard the doomed shuttle, Kix was fully recovered.
And very excited.
He went out of his way to find Jesse, who was busily overseeing the marshaling of the 501st's heavy equipment in the Justice's bays in preparation for the return to Coruscant. With help from Sixer and the other company commanders, he was doing a good job of moving machines into place and securing them for travel.
Kix drew up beside him, and Jesse could sense his enthusiasm even before he spoke.
"I hope you're here to tell me there's a faster way to load and secure all this hraka," Jesse grinned with a sideways glance.
"You shouldn't call them that. Sometimes, those machines are all that stand between us and death," Kix cautioned. "They're pretty good at their jobs."
"You talk as if they were alive," Jesse poked.
"In a way," Kix grinned, not in the least offended. Then he turned to the reason for his visit. "I've got great news."
Jesse wasn't even going to venture a guess. "Let's hear it, then."
"Pitch is being released from the med station," Kix fairly beamed. "He'll be rejoining us when we reconstitute on Coruscant."
This was, indeed, great news. Jesse diverted his attention from operations long enough to grip Kix's arm. "Now, that's a reunion I'm looking forward to. Wow, they put him back together pretty fast."
"His injuries were serious but not critical," Kix replied. "This is about how long I would have expected."
"Spoken like a medic," Jesse quipped. "Well, I can tell you that it's been too long for me. It's been . . . what, three weeks?"
"Almost four."
"I've missed the hell out of him," Jesse conceded. "You know, he was always so laid-back, skulking around in the background—"
"Except when he was blowing things up like a madman," Kix interjected.
Jesse chuckled. "Yeah. But my point is . . . I didn't realize how much I'd miss him."
"He, uh, he is kind of the stabilizing force in the squad, isn't he?" Kix put forth.
"Huh, if you're our moral barometer, he's our voice of reason," Jesse replied.
"So are you," Kix replied. "Usually." He added, "That just leaves our two hotheads."
Jesse maintained his smile, but it had an added element of sadness. "Just one, now."
"Hardcase is still with us . . . in spirit," Kix replied. "And . . . if what you all saw on Bertegad is any indication, he's out there somewhere waiting for us. Even the Jedi believe the soul is eternal."
"That's too much philosophy for a time like this when I've got to get all these pieces fitting in here like a jigsaw puzzle," Jesse waved off with a humorous lilt in his voice.
"Well, Puzzle could help you with that," Kix pointed out. "You know, those 212th guys are good for more than ferrying us ground-pounders around. And he is a loadmaster."
"And I'm sure he's busy taking care of 212th business," Jesse replied. "Now, if you want to really help me, you can go find the medical crews that are supposed to be marshaling their rigs into this hangar right about now, and I don't see a single one of them." A pause and cheeky grin. "Why are medics urgent about everything except logistics?"
"Because we leave that to people like you," Kix replied. "Okay, okay, I'm off to see where my fellow medics are. How hard can it be get our last four remaining med rigs in gear."
"My thoughts exactly."
"With any luck, the 212th will be following you back shortly," Obi-wan stated. "We could certainly use some downtime ourselves."
"But they have nothing to investigate you for," Anakin replied. "That's the only reason they're recalling us."
"It's the right thing to do, Anakin," Obi-wan told him evenly. "They can't let events like this go by without conducting a proper investigation."
"I'm not letting them punish my captain." The tone in Anakin's voice, the look in his eye . . . there was no doubting that he meant what he had said. "He's not going to prison. He's not going to be reprimanded. He did the right thing, and they should be rewarding him for that, not trying to find reasons to go after him."
"Anakin, they're not trying to go after him. You're looking at this all wrong," Obi-wan persisted.
"What more proof do they need of Krell's betrayal than the holo recordings from the cell block? He plainly admits that he was working for the enemy," Anakin retorted.
"Yes, and those same holo recordings mysteriously stopped just before the execution—"
"It's no mystery," Anakin corrected. "Rex admitted they turned off the cameras. He didn't want any record of what he was going to do—"
"Which shows that he knew what he was doing was wrong," Obi-wan cut him off. "Executing a prisoner—"
"He was the senior commander on the ground after Krell was relieved," Anakin put forth. "The decision was his to make. He had the right to render punishment, and Krell wasn't just a prisoner. He was a traitor who masterminded the destruction of almost an entire battalion and nearly lost us the planet."
"Anakin, calm down. Don't forget . . . this kind of emotion is very attractive to the dark side," Obi-wan warned him. "Keep your feelings in check. Let the investigation play out. Getting worked up now won't do anyone any good." He paused a moment, then asked cautiously, "I do wonder, though . . . it was the Chancellor's summons that drew you away from the battle field and put General Krell in charge. May I ask, what was so important that the Chancellor was willing to have you removed from a crucial battle, and the Council conceded to his demand?"
Anakin hesitated. He considered his conversations with the Chancellor to be privileged communications. For reasons he could not fathom, Chancellor Palpatine had taken an interest in his welfare since the earliest moments of their acquaintance. He'd been what Anakin would describe as a distant mentor, advising in the gentle manner of a grand-father, yet always preserving the hierarchical dignity of his position. Anakin welcomed his attentiveness and counted him a good ally to have in any circumstance.
The Jedi Council showed Palpatine the requisite deference due his position, yet Anakin got the feeling they did not much care for the Chancellor. They were respectful, and in return, Palpatine almost always acquiesced to their suggestions and advice – often in the dottering manner of an elder statesman who's long since past his prime. Yet, if there was one thing Anakin had discovered during his one-on-one meetings with the Chancellor, it was that behind the frail body, there was a keen mind.
A persuasive mind.
A mind very much in alignment with Anakin's own views.
Such agreement made it easy for him to trust the Chancellor, even if it meant getting called away from the front at the start of one of the most momentous battles of the war. Even if sometimes, the Chancellor confided matters to him that seemed more appropriately shared with more experienced Jedi.
"It was a confidential matter," Anakin replied at last.
"A confidential matter . . . that couldn't wait until a more opportune moment?" Obi-wan pressed.
"I fear there are those on the Jedi Council who . . . disapprove of my leadership, though it pains me to say it. I fear there may be a plot afoot to remove me from office. I sense you are a man of justice and courage."
Those had been Chancellor Palpatine's words.
But Anakin was not going to tell that to Obi-wan. Or anyone else. The chancellor had stopped just short of asking him to be his eyes and ears within the Council, to be his protector. And the truth was, Anakin had been honored.
"It doesn't matter," Anakin brooded. "None of that matters. I'll say it again . . . they're not punishing my captain. I won't allow it." He turned to leave but spoke over his shoulder at the door. "And I won't allow them to make an example of Dogma, either. The last place he belongs is behind bars."
Obi-wan frowned deeply as he watched his former apprentice disappear through the doors. Trouble was brewing on the horizon if Anakin went into the investigation with the mindset just on display. Being so combative when not even a single question had yet been asked . . . it was not a sign of good things to come. Obi-wan could only hope that the 212th would be sent home quickly behind the 501st; then he could keep an eye on Anakin and try to smooth over what was sure to be a bumpy ride.
In point of fact, he agreed with Anakin. There was no guilt to be laid at the feet of either Captain Rex or Dogma. The proper protocols would reveal that truth. Yet, if Anakin were going to be so recalcitrant, that might color the entire inquiry. Hopefully, that attitude would not rub off on the captain or the trooper. Still, Obi-wan knew Anakin's soldiers took on many of their general's characteristics. This might one time when imitation would not yield the best results.
He considered talking to Rex directly but quickly nixed that idea. That would be going behind Anakin's back, and that was not acceptable. No, he would just have to bide his time and hope that cooler heads would prevail.
Cooler heads in a galaxy growing ever more heated.
"Not bad, there, Captain," Three Point complimented with a subtle nod. "You'd make a good heavies pilot."
Rex chuckled. "You think so? Kripes knows I've heard often enough how poor a fighter pilot I am."
"Well . . . only compared to the likes of Stinger or Oddball," Three Point replied. "And Oddball doesn't really count, because he goes back and forth between fighters and bombers." He grinned. "But what glory is there in being a fighter pilot? What's special about getting a great performance out of a high-performance craft? Nah, the real skill comes in cajoling a baby like this to do the things a fighter does."
Rex laughed – a rare occurrence. "Well, I've seen you do that, so I won't question it."
Three Point let the silence fall for several seconds before venturing carefully. "While you were transferring Tup, we got a communication from General Kenobi. He said the 501st is being recalled to Coruscant."
Rex nodded once. "That's correct."
"You already knew?"
Rex cast him a chastising eye.
"Sorry, Captain," Three-Point said a bit sheepishly. "Of course, you'd know before the rest of us." A pause. "It's bad timing pulling you guys out right now."
"It is," Rex agreed.
"This is about Umbara, isn't it?"
Rex drew in a deep breath. "I'm sure that's only part of the reason," he replied. "General Tiplar's death is the other part."
"You know that we're all behind you, all of us in the 212th," Three-Point stated.
Rex allowed a slight grin. His companion deserved as much. "I know. I appreciate it."
After a few seconds, Three-Point changed the subject. "What do you think will happen with Tup?"
That was not an easy question to answer. "I don't know," Rex replied honestly. "I think they'll do whatever they need to do in order to find out if what's affecting him can affect the rest of us. If they can cure him, they will."
"And if not?"
"You already know the answer to that," Rex said. "We all know the answer to that. But even if they're able to cure him, there will still be the matter that he murdered a Jedi General in cold blood."
"But if it was due to a virus, they can't blame him for it," Three-Point posed.
"They shouldn't blame him for it," Rex replied.
"You sound doubtful, Captain."
"Just . . . cautious."
"General Skywalker, the shuttle is back from Kamino, on final approach. Bay D-12."
Anakin raised his wrist-comm. "Thanks for the update."
About damned time.
Why did this absence of his captain feel so much longer than previous absences, when in fact, it had been one of the shortest, less than six standard rotations? And why had the distance felt so much greater than other journeys that had placed the captain much further out-of-reach? Anakin was anxious to see Rex, to have him back at his side, and he wasn't sure why.
That strange, indistinct sense of foreboding that he'd felt just prior to the Kettrun mission had taken unwanted residence in the back of his mind. The suffering of a faceless victim . . .
"You're just worried about what will happen if there's a court-martial," he tried to assure himself. Yet, the threat and anguish he sensed within his dread went far beyond any fear of the sort of justice and punishment that could be meted out by a military court. Something dark and sinister hovered just on the periphery of his senses, too filamentary for him to grab hold of and examine.
As he made his way to Bay D-12, he attempted to forcefully push the specter away, but to no avail. It wasn't until the shuttle touched down in the bay, the hatch opened, and Rex walked out, steady and stalwart as usual, that the unease subsided.
Anakin waited for his captain to approach him.
"Glad you're back," he greeted him. "How did everything go?"
"As well as could be expected," Rex replied. "Did you receive my comm that they kept Fives?"
"Yes," Anakin nodded. "That's a tough loss."
"But only temporary," Rex replied. "I'm sure once they've run all their tests, they'll clear him to return to duty." A pause and a grimace. "It's his own damned fault for trying that Umbaran gas."
"Yeah. I was surprised to hear that in your report," Anakin frowned. "I would have thought Fives knew better."
"It's that independent streak in him," Rex said, shaking his head. "He wanted to try it, so he did. Now, he's paying the price – test subject."
"Do you think that's what made Tup crack up?"
Rex cocked his head to one side. "I have no idea, General. Hopefully, the Kaminoans can determine that."
Anakin redirected the topic. "We've got just a little over a week before redeploying back to Coruscant. I think Commander Bly would appreciate an overview on the situation before the 327th takes over. I've already briefed General Secura, but I want you to do the same with Bly."
"Yes, General."
It was not until two days later that Rex made the attempt to meet up with Bly and back-brief him on the state of affairs aboard the station. And even that report was somewhat superfluous, having been overcome by events during the last two weeks with the 501st having already been removed from the fighting.
Rex had focused his immediate attention, upon returning to the Justice, on his own battalion. He'd been pleased to find that between General Skywalker and Jesse, they'd been able to keep the men's spirits up in the midst of depressing and deflating circumstances. Getting called away from battle for R&R was one thing; getting called away because of unusual happenings that warranted investigations . . . that was another matter. An insulting matter. A degrading matter.
Rex had expected to find the men in a forlorn and agitated state. What he found instead were men who were not happy with the situation but were resolved to make the best of it and stand by their captain and their battalion.
He felt proud. He felt as if he could face whatever awaited on Coruscant.
He carried that attitude with him when he met with Bly.
The two men stood looking down at a holo-diagram of the station.
"We had pushed forward all the way to their command center," Rex pointed out. "We split between these two corridors, making them split their defenses. Their defense was pretty sparse until we entered the hangar, and that's where the bulk of their firepower was concentrated. This is where we lost General Tiplar and retreated."
"And no other battalion was sent in to try and take it back?"
"All the other units are busy fighting elsewhere on the station," Rex replied. "This is going to fall to the 327th."
"Yeah, and just the 327th. While you were gone, they made the call to pull out the 279th. Doom had less than a hundred men left," Bly scowled. "They're going to put them on resupply until replacements arrive. Have you ever heard of such osik? Some of the best infantrymen in the GAR, and they're gonna have them sorting ammunition or some hraka like that. Doom was fit to be tied, I can say that. General Tiplee is being temporarily reassigned to the 808th."
Rex could not muster the same indignation as Bly, but that was no surprise. Bly had always been good at negative emotions, and that had not changed. For Rex, the 279th's predicament was not far removed from his own; so while he felt for Commander Doom, he could only lament that more and more units were trodding the same path of dwindling numbers.
The briefing went on for two hours, and when it was over, Bly surprised Rex by inviting him to join him and General Secura for dinner on Secura's flagship.
But for Rex, this was too much. This was getting too close, too intimate with things that weren't supposed to take place. It was enough that he had to contend with the relationship between General Skywalker and Senator Amidala, although he had no official confirmation of their connection. He could manage that one – even cheerfully, if it came to it – because of his own devotion to General Skywalker. But he did not want to be brought in any deeper into the deceptions of another Jedi . . . and her clone commander. He had too many things going on already to be part and parcel to another deception.
"I appreciate the invitation, but there's too much to do to get ready to depart," Rex declined.
And Bly, recognizing the excuse, understood the true underlying reluctance. "I'm sure we'll see each other again before you guys leave."
Rex nodded. "Let's make sure we do."
But they did not meet again. A brief acknowledgment of each other's presence at the 501st's departure marked their last encounter for many months to come.
Rex watched through the starboard viewport as Ringo Vinda grew smaller and smaller. Then it blinked out as the jump to light speed was made. He was glad to be leaving the place, yet he felt as if he had left so much behind on that station.
In terms of sheer horror, it could not even begin to approach the dark madness of Umbara. While General Tiplar's death had been a shock and a setback, it could not compare to the days of terror visited upon the 501st by General Krell, the spiral down into chaos and despair, the rending of decency and humanity that had taken place on that cursed world.
Still, Rex could have forced himself to view Krell and Umbara as an aberration, a one-time incident of the worst the galaxy had to offer.
But then came Ringo Vinda. So close upon the heels of Umbara. Rex had barely had a chance to regain himself after one before the other had reached out to snag him. This was not the way wars were supposed to be fought; and yet, this was his reality. He had no choice but to accept it and move forward. How quickly it had become clear to him that there was no should or should not. There was magical rule that guaranteed the 501st a mystical status. Every victory was hard-won with the blood of the men who served under him. And victory was not promised. He'd known defeat. He was knowing it more and more frequently.
"They broke me. After all the things I said about setting the example and being a leader, I completely crumbled."
"And you think they hold that against you?"
"Why not? I would. I do. I should have been stronger."
"Do you think you're made of stone?"
"I wish I were. You told me I wasn't serious enough. I should have listened."
"I was wrong. You any other way wouldn't be you. It's what makes the men want to follow you even when they're not sure where you're leading them."
How many times Rex had replayed that conversation in his mind over the last two years! How many times his thoughts had turned back to ARC training, to the Escape and Evasion portion, to the torture and defeat. The cadre had broken him in more ways than one. They had taken his spirit, his sense of who he was and dashed it against the harsh stone of truth. He wasn't indestructible. He wasn't immovable. They'd reduced him to a point where all he'd wanted was to just be done with the course and retreat back to the comfortable familiarity of the 729th.
And then Cody had stepped in. The bridge between reality and perception. A clone officer who could tear a man down and then build him up to even greater heights. Rex was convinced that Cody had no idea of the power he wielded. Cody had so often deferred to Rex as the greatest clone officer, but Rex would always place himself as second. To him, Cody was as far beyond his own abilities as General Skywalker was . . . well, beyond all other Jedi – in Rex's estimation.
"You may have been right then," Rex said under his breath, watching the warp of space funnel about the ship. "But even I don't know where I'm leading them right now."
He thought back on last night, his last meeting with Cody.
"I hope we'll be following you back to Coruscant soon. In the meantime, try not to look so defeated. You know, your men will pick up on that."
"Eh, I'm not defeated. But if feels as if . . . as if the Republic is starting to lose the momentum."
"Just so long as you don't lose your momentum."
Sometimes Cody could be so trite.
"There's still a long way to go in this war," the commander went on. "This is no time to do something stupid like locking up their best officer."
"You think there's still a long way to go?"
"From the look of things, yes. Don't you?"
Rex sighed. "I don't know. Sometimes it feels like the end is just within reach, but then there are times when it seems like it will never end."
The commander's silence had been scrutinizing. "You don't want it to end, do you?"
"Of course, I want it to end. I . . . just don't know what will become of all of us once it's over."
"No one does."
Rex spoke carefully. "I'm not so sure of that. When they created this army, they had to have some idea of what they would do with it once the war was over."
"Either way, it's not our decision to make." A pause. "But I still believe that you don't want this war to end. Fighting at General Skywalker's side is the only life you can picture."
Rex had faltered. No answer had been forthcoming.
Because he couldn't argue with the truth. It was the only life he could envision. But that didn't mean he wanted endless war. He only meant that he could not see any other way to remain with his general than through the waging of war. For in the absence of war, the Jedi would abandon their military ranks and return to their quiet lives of peace.
And Rex was not a peaceful man. He'd been made for war, and even the ravages of destruction that surrounded him almost daily were not enough to dissuade him. He'd been engineered this way, the warrior ethos imprinted at the deepest level.
"Maybe you're right," Rex had conceded. "But it's not as easy as it used to be."
"Only because you're choosing to make it hard. You're a soldier, Rex. It's what you love. Stop second-guessing everything. Stop wondering where the next General Krell is going to pop up. Stop thinking that you should have noticed something was wrong with Tup. You know, I kind of miss that arrogant, obnoxious kid from ARC training."
"Kid?"
"To me, you're a kid—"
"You're barely one chronological year older than me."
"You know what I mean. It's the nature of our friendship. I'm like the older brother."
"Good grief."
Rex would have given anything to have that older brother with him right now on this return to Coruscant.
And if he had known what was to come in the following days, he would have broken every rule in the book to have his staunchest friend beside him.