Dear Reader, thank you to my reviewers: Ms CT-782, LLTC, Sued 14, Cuthalion97, Christina TM, ichkak, Writingfan27, and Princess Rey-Tano. Okay, so we're moving into Bad Batch territory. Be forewarned, I use the Bad Batch reel as opposed to the Season 7 final version. I preferred the idea that Rex did not suspect Echo was still alive. So, there will be quite a bit of divergence from Season 7 (here and later). There are some dialogue changes and a bit of play on the distrust between the Bad Batch and the "Regs." I hope you enjoy!

Peace CS

Chapter 124 The Bad Batch

"We view things not only from different sides, but with different eyes."

Blaise Pascal

"Still tracking clear. Range 6.6. Right 023." Zinger spoke with the requisite surety Three Point had come to expect from him. "Keeper reports enemy closing on their position."

"Tell them to head southwest, if they can," Three Point replied. Then, opening a channel to his door gunner, "Brag, be on the lookout. Careful eye. We've got bad guys in the area."

"Got it, boss," Brag replied.

"Can you bring her in any lower?" Zinger asked. "I'm worried we're in sight of their radars."

"If we get too low, we'll be in range of their weapons," Three Point replied.

"Yeah, crummy situation no matter how you—" Zinger fell silent as another message came in from Keeper. It was Fin's company—what was left of it—that the gunship was speeding towards in an extraction attempt. Keeper was part of that company.

"—a rise about one klick due west of our current position. Can you meet us there—

Three Point grimaced. The last thing he wanted to do was bring the gunship down on an elevated height, making it easier to spot. "See if you can get a visual on what he's talking about. Can we bring her down safely?"

Zinger ran a forward imaging scan. "Hard to tell from this distance, but . . . they don't have a choice. He's saying the way south-west is a bog. They can't get through."

For Three Point, that was all he needed to hear. "Tell them to head to the rise. Changing course."

Three Point found gunships easy to pilot. They weren't the heavies he normally preferred, but they handled well and could take a beating like no other craft. He'd had enough experience at the controls to know that, while a bit sluggish and lumbering, they were still very responsive ships and well-suited to the mission currently being undertaken.

The battle on Anaxes was not going well.

In fact, it was going surprisingly bad. But then, the war had been turning in that direction for quite some time now. Battles that appeared just within the grasp of victory suddenly slipped out of reach. Surprise attacks were met with what seemed to be a prescience on the part of the enemy that bordered on soothsaying. Carefully laid plans were scrapped at the last moment when it became apparent that the enemy was well-prepared for the planned attack.

Now, after three weeks of combat on Anaxes, defending the vital Republic shipyards, it appeared this battle was shifting in favor of the enemy, as well.

Two Corps, consisting of 47 battalions and separate operating units, had been called to take part in the defense of the planet; for if the shipyards were lost, the war was as good as over. Anaxes was one of several shipyards that had primary responsibility for building the Republic's fleet. While other shipyards had churned out the ships now being used in battle, Anaxes had quietly gone about building a reserve to augment the production of the other shipyards. With the main shipyards already operating a full capacity, it was left to Anaxes, one of the largest shipyards, to be the standby, the fallback. They had already sent thousands of ships into service while managing to evade any serious attention from the Separatists, who had only recently deemed it worthy to go after production of ships instead of production of clones. But Anaxes' stealthy support of the war effort had come to an end as the Separatists had observed that the Republic had been able to replace ships as fast as they were being destroyed. It took at least 9 years to replace a clone. Ships were being replaced within months. The priority of destruction had shifted.

From the Republic's standpoint, the shipyards on Anaxes had to be held at all costs. As such, three Jedi generals had been dispatched to oversee the operations: Generals Windu, Kenobi and Skywalker. A make-shift headquarters had been established at a pre-designated location roughly 100 kilometers from the main shipyards. It was a cavernous bunker built into a range of mountains, offering the protection of thousands of feet of earth and rock above, and a defensible ground approach.

The 501st and 212th ground contingent had been dispatched to protect the southern perimeter of the shipyards. The northern perimeter was under the protection of 187th Legion – an elite unit that feel under the command of General Windu. Meanwhile, other units had been placed on the offensive task of trying to drive the hordes of droids from the planet surface.

Almost immediately, things had gone wrong.

The offensive units were being ambushed, as if the enemy knew every route they were going to take, every tactic they were going to use. The battle algorithms that had served the Republic well up until several months ago now seemed to be failing at every turn. Not only were the droids able to turn back the assaults, but they had made steady advancement towards the main shipyard until, at last, the defending units had been forced to retreat. Hundreds of soldiers had been killed.

And Anakin had been forced to listen to the vanquishing of his battalion from headquarters. It did not sit well with him.

General Windu has suggested, in the most uncompromising terms, that the place for General Skywalker was in the command center, where he could see the large picture of the planetary battle, including the space and air conflicts. Anakin had acquiesced, grudgingly and regretfully. The 501st had gone out under Rex's command; and the captain had done everything within his power to hold the southern perimeter against insurmountable odds.

From the larger picture back at the command center, General Windu had ordered a retreat.

"We wouldn't be retreating if I'd been out there with my men," Anakin scowled silently. "Staying here is the same thing as hiding. If he spent more time on the front lines instead of sitting in Council chambers, he'd know that." He caught himself indulging these critical thoughts and redirected his anger towards the enemy. He listened to the voices of the retreat and extraction effort; and he felt a wave of relief when he heard that Rex was on a gunship and on the way back; but he knew he still had at least two companies still in the process of being rescued. And then word had come that Fin had been killed

Finn had been part of the 501st since its inception. This was a painful loss, and yet there could be no grieving. Not right now, at any rate. Anakin had listened as Keeper took over the company and led their flight from the pursuing droids.

In the field, Keeper found himself thrust into a position he had never sought or wanted. He would have perfectly content to remain a company first sergeant for the duration or the war. He certainly had it in him to fill a leadership role, but he'd preferred being the troops' voice as opposed to the troops' commander. But with the death of Lieutenant Fin, he had no choice. The men were looking to him for guidance, and by the Force, he was going to get them out of this.

He wasn't sure how many men he still had with him. The company was one hundred-men strong, but who knew how many had already been killed? How many had straggled off during the desperate abandonment of positions? How many were headed for other gunships? There hadn't been time to take a headcount. It had been one non-stop dash through the forest from the moment the retreat had been signaled.

"Phoenix 12—" He used the temporary call-sign for the craft coming to rescue him and those with him. "Phoenix 12, we're almost at the top of the rise. There's a—a ledge here. You can hover alongside—fek—they're closing fast. What's your ETA?"

"We've been waiting for you."

With those words, Keeper let out an inadvertent cry of surprise and relief as the gunship suddenly rose up from below the cliff. The doors were open, and Brag was urging them aboard.

"Takes a lot longer for you guys to cover distance that it does us," he said. "But, uh, let's hurry it up, chaps. We don't want any unwelcome visitors."

Keeper stood by and watched the men jump onboard. "There's not going to be enough room!"

"No sweat." Brag was nonplussed as he gestured with his head. "We didn't come alone."

Keeper followed the movement, looking down the side of the cliff upon which he was standing. Below them were two more gunships.

"I love you guys," he grinned beneath his helmet. "I love you more than you can imagine."

And he meant every word.

There was something both comforting and disquieting about the sway of fury, the power it had to make a man contemplate saying or doing things he would normally not ever even consider. The balm it offered to a hurt ego or a wounded heart.

The resolve it engendered in a man like Rex.

The moment he'd stepped off the evac, he'd sought out Cody, his fury driving him to reveal what only days earlier, he had been determined, at all costs, to keep to himself; suspicions that he had deemed too outrageous to be worthy of discussion.

But Fin's death. Another retreat. A looming defeat planet-wide . . .

"It's gone on long enough," were the first words out of his mouth.

Cody regarded him with a puzzled expression. "What has?"

"Our defeats. Battle after battle, we keep losing." He paused. "There's something I need to tell you, and then . . . we need to tell the generals."

Now, Cody was more than curious. "Go on."

Yes, Rex's anger with himself had carried him this far, but now came the hard part. What he was about to say might incite Cody's own anger, or the commander might think Rex had lost his ability to think rationally. But he was going to say it anyway. He needed to get it off his chest. He needed to know if it sounded to Cody as crazy and unlikely as it sounded to him.

He began tepidly. "Over the years, I've developed an algorithm to . . . see where there have been weaknesses in previous battles. Enemy weaknesses, so we could exploit them. And our own forces' weaknesses, so we could shore them up."

Cody replied evenly. "Yes, I know. You've shown it to me."

"So much of what's happened over the past year—all the battles we keep losing—they match my algorithm precisely," Rex stated. "It's as if the enemy knows what's coming next, each and every time. There are decision matrixes in that algorithm from hundreds of battles, Cody – not just the 501st, but every battle I studied."

Cody knew the implication of the last part of the statement. Rex was a workaholic when it came to soldiering. Chances were for there were more than mere hundreds of battles in the algorithm; there were probably thousands, tens of thousands. Republic Forces had been fighting galaxy-wide for almost three years; Rex had a penchant for scrutinizing and go over those battles.

Now, Cody knew why. To build an algorithm.

"You think the Separatists somehow got hold of that algorithm?" Cody posed. "How would that be possible?"

Rex hung on the cusp of a response for a bit longer than usual. At last, he said, choosing his words carefully. "My files are all encrypted. Even if the Separatists were able to access the file, they wouldn't be able to view it unless they had cracked the encryption code. And I changed the code almost every week as an added precaution."

"But you still think the Seppies have it and are using it? How?"

Rex rubbed his temples.

Here was the difficult part.

"The droids have overrun our main production facility. It won't be long before the Separatists take Anaxes, compromising our entire reserve fleet." General WIndu's assessment was grave. And true.

Standing in the command post, he pored over the holo-schematic of the battle's progress with General Skywalker.

"We know Admiral Trench is one of the Separatists' best tacticians," he went on. "If we can take him out, that would cut off the serpent's head."

Anakin scowled. "Trench has a way of not staying dead," he ground out, referring to the admiral's survival of what had been perceived deadly situations.

"As we've seen," Windu agreed.

"Pardon the interruption, Generals."

The two Jedi looked to see Commander Cody and Captain Rex approaching.

Cody continued speaking. "Rex has an interesting theory that might explain why we keep . . . losing."

General Windu held out permissive arm. "Please, Captain."

"Well, damn. I knew when I told Cody, he'd say we needed to tell the generals. So, here it is. This isn't going to be good." Rex stepped forward and loaded his algorithm into holo console. "Well, as you know, I've studied our battles logs for some time." He could not believe the breathlessness in his own voice; but then again, he had reason to be anxious. What he was about to say would put his general back on his heels. "I developed an algorithm to counter all our tactical tendencies with the hope we could use it to shore up our weaknesses. The last few months—and especially here on Anaxes—the enemy has always been one step ahead of us." He drew in a deep, preparatory breath. "If I'm right, the Separatists have my algorithm, and they're using it to predict our strategies." A pause. "It's just—I don't know how he got it. My data files are heavily encrypted."

"Did anyone else know about your work?" Mace inquired.

Rex did not want to answer that question, for the truth would not be pleasant. "Cody knew," he began, and Cody nodded gave a single nod of acknowledgment. "And well . . . Fives knew, but he's gone. Only one other trooper knew: Echo."

"We lost Echo at the Citadel," Anakin pointed out, and there was something in his voice and expression that put Rex on edge. But the captain had expected as much; this was the first time his commanding general was hearing any of this.

"Yes, Sir, I know," Rex said quietly, gathering courage for what he was about to suggest. "But I also know Echo. We worked on the algorithm together. Echo was a good tactician. But he could never leave well enough alone. He used to check and re-check that algorithm every day. He practically had it committed to memory. It was like a hobby to him. It was the sort of thing he thought a good soldier should do." And now the moment was upon him. "He might have had it on him when he died."

After a moment's silence, Anakin spoke gravely. "We have to consider what Rex is saying. It is possible. It would explain the ease with which Trench has been able to defeat us here."

General Windu was more circumspect. "We have thousands of units fighting throughout the galaxy. They're not using your algorithm, Captain; yet they're being met with defeat as well."

Rex blanched. "General, Sir . . . the algorithm isn't just based off the 501st battles. It's . . . compiled from just about every debrief I could find. Thousands . . . tens of thousands."

Windu raised an eyebrow. "Now, that is a problem."

Rex nodded a minute acknowledgment.

"Changing strategies for thousands of units spread out over hundreds of systems isn't much of an option," WIndu continued. "But if what you're saying is correct, Captain, we may have no choice. We would have to re-engineer the entire war effort."

Rex felt his temperature rise. This was the nightmare he'd expected it to be – and more.

"I have a suggestion," Cody spoke up. "There's a Separatist cyber center here on Anaxes that relays all battlefield intel to their command ship. Rex and I can lead a small team behind enemy lines to infiltrate it. If they're using the algorithm, we should be able to detect it in their transmission signals and their processing units. If we can . . . feed a virus in or . . . find a way to corrupt or even remove the algorithm, I think it's worth a shot." A pause. "It's a better option than trying to re-tool every strategy and tactic we've ever learned."

"Even if you are able to remove it from the cyber center's computers, the Separatists may have it loaded in other locations," Mace pointed out.

"It's likely the cyber centers all have inter-connectivity," Cody replied. "We could send a signal to the other centers."

"And you have the expertise to pull that off?"

"I can find the expertise," Cody replied. "Messing around with enemy data systems takes specialized training . . . unless the goal is just to blow them up. That's not what we want to do here. " A pause. "The truth is, we don't know what we're going to find. We don't' know if it's really the algorithm at work or not. We have to get behind enemy lines, to the cyber center, to find out if Rex's theory is correct. And if it isn't . . . we'll still want to do some damage while we're there. No sense in making a trip for nothing."

After a few seconds' consideration, General Windu nodded. "Assemble your team, Commander."

"Yes, General."

"You bailed me out again, Commander."

"You're welcome," Cody replied. "It's getting to be a fairly regular part of my job description." He flashed a mild grin. "But I hope, for your own peace of mind, that this isn't what you think it is."

"So do I," Rex agreed. He paused, then inquired, "So, who are we going to put on this team? Like you said, we don't have that kind of skill in either battalion."

"We need to keep it small. I've got some troopers in mind," Cody replied. "I think it's a good idea to bring a medic along. And, uh, maybe your latest field appointee to ARC trooper." He chuckled. "Seriously, Rex, at the rate you're appointing them, there's going to be no need for formal ARC training anymore."

Rex let the friendly jibe roll off him. "I was never going to get Jesse to attend ARC training. He would never have agreed to leave Pitch and Kix for six weeks. And . . . I could hardly afford to have him gone that long, not at this point in the war. We need every man we've got." A shrug. "So, I did the same with Echo and Fives. Jesse was more than qualified. He deserved it." A pause. "Okay, so we've got me, you, Kix and Jesse. None of us have the skill to get into those computers and cause havoc."

"Leave that part to me," Cody replied assuredly. "I've got someone in mind."

Anakin knew procrastination was the enemy of quiet mind. The longer a certain task was delayed, the greater it loomed until it was no longer recognizable as the original it had presented. And he had never had qualms about talking to his first-in-command about anything.

But he'd also never had reason to believe Rex was withholding anything from him, either. Until now. Until the revelation of this algorithm. It was no surprise that Rex would create such a thing. Rex might have poked fun at Echo's love affair with the regulations; but he himself could be legitimately accused of being just as infatuated with battle tactics and strategies.

The question scratching at Anakin's conscience wasn't a matter of creating the algorithm, or even sharing it with Cody, Fives and Echo.

But why hadn't Rex told him, his commanding general, what he was doing? Why entrust others but not him? It was a troubling question. Anakin had believed there were no secrets between him and his clone captain. Now, he knew there'd been at least one.

He found the captain walking among his troops, checking on their morale. Dogma was with him, taking the more measureable assessment of weapons and equipment.

Anakin approached. "Rex, a word with you?"

"Yes, General."

Together they walked back towards the barracks conex and went inside. It was empty.

Anakin wasted no time. "Rex, why didn't you tell me about the algorithm?"

Rex frowned, trying to decide the best way to say explain his reasoning.

"Because I . . . didn't want your name to be on it in case things went badly," he replied at last. "I used that algorithm for almost every battle, General. We would get the tasking brief, I would go back to my quarters and run it up against the algorithm, and then come to the planning meeting with the results. Then, if my plans went badly, it would be only my fault. If you knew about the algorithm, the command might have put blame on you for following it when it went badly. And we've been having a lot of things go badly lately, Sir. And I think I know why."

Anakin was dumbfounded. "We succeed or fail together, Rex." He put a hand on Rex's pauldroned shoulder. "You don't need an algorithm, Rex. The strength of your tactical and strategic ability is in here." He tapped his own temple. "You don't need a machine to think for you. No battle ever goes strictly to plan. You're superior to any algorithm because you can anticipate the unplanned and find alternatives that a computer would never think of. That's one of the things I like most about you, Rex. You fly by the seat of your pants. Just like me."

Rex was silent, pleased with the compliment and relieved that he had a commanding general like Skywalker who did not hold this indiscretion against him.

"Do you still have the algorithm?" Anakin asked.

"Yes, General. I add to it every day."

"Destroy it."

Rex hesitated.

Anakin was more forceful. "Destroy it, Rex. Do it now. You don't need it, and I don't want it. I want the captain who came to me fresh from ARC training, who thought on his feet and made his decisions based on circumstances, not on some pre-programmed set of parameters. Destroy it, Rex. That's not a request."

"Yes, General."

Anakin nodded. He turned to leave, stopping at the sound of Rex's voice.

"I'm sorry, General Skywalker. I should have told you." His voice contained genuine contrition. "I suppose this is the final indignity I could have visited upon a dead man, providing him the data that would be used against us."

"You don't know that for sure, Rex," Anakin replied. "And I'm sure Echo would never think of it in those terms. He'd be honored that you trusted him enough to run the algorithm past him."

"Thank you, General."

No sooner had Anakin stepped out of the conex than the images accosted him. Briefly, in flashes, bursts of color. Sounds. Smells.

"Captain! Captain!"

"Go back! We have to go back!"

The bursting of pipes and glass containers. Walls rupturing. An indistinct figure, so horrible he could not see past the veil no matter how hard he tried.

"I can't stop it. He's not going to make it . . . "

"They need you, General. You're their Jedi."

His own voice echoed through his head. "Something is happening. I don't want him coming back. I want him to be safe."

And then he was looking at the Anaxes main base again.

He could not make sense of it.

It was the same sort of thing he had experienced prior to his mother's death.

Was it the future he was seeing? And if it was, what was he to make of it? It was confusing. All he knew was that Rex was at the center of it. There was great turmoil and danger, but . . . what role Rex had in it . . . that was something he couldn't figure out.

And that created a sense of dread that was more present than the dangers associated with the current battle on Anaxes.

"Is he sure he doesn't need a demolitions expert on the team?" Pitch asked.

"Not this time around, brother," Jesse replied. "You're going to have to sit this one out."

"I hate leaving you two alone. Who knows what trouble you'll get up to." Pitch's voice was light, but it was clear he did not like the idea of being separated from his squad mates once again. He'd just spent nearly four weeks convalescing away from them; and now they were headed off on a mission that he was not a part of.

"What trouble we'll get up to?" Kix pushed back with good humor. "You're the one who likes to blow up everything that crosses his path."

Pitch grinned. "It's a sickness."

"Just . . . try not to get carried away while we're gone," Jesse said, a bit of seriousness creeping into his voice.

"And I'm saying the same to you," Pitch replied. "If you're going behind enemy lines, just . . . do the job. No heroics."

"No heroics," Jesse promised.

Rex and Cody were headed to the flight line, Jesse and Kix following behind them.

The ship carrying the rest of their team was due to arrive any minute.

"Are you ready to let me in on the big secret now? Who are we bringing on this little excursion?" Rex asked.

"They're called Clone Force 99," Cody replied.

"Clone Force 99?" Rex repeated dubiously. "Never heard of 'em."

"They're an experimental unit," Cody explained. "They're defective clones with, uh, desirable mutations."

"Ninety-nine, eh? Nice touch," Rex granted.

Behind him, he heard Jesse's loud whisper to Kix. "Wonder what a desirable mutation is"

"They call themselves the Bad Batch," Cody concluded.

"That doesn't sound promising," Kix whispered back.

An urgent announcement came over the public address system. "Coming in hot on platform 4!"

Even as the words were spoken, a shuttle came screaming into the landing area, low and heedless of the men on the platform, sending many of them scurrying for cover.

"That's the first thing we'll have to talk about," Cody said to himself as the shuttle set down heavily on the platform. "It would be good not to kill our own men in the course of this mission."

Rex looked at the ship with an assessing eye. It was the standard long-range shuttle but with some modifications he had never seen before. The fact that he'd not known this variation existed rankled him no little bit, for he had always prided himself on knowing the Republic's full array of vehicles, transports, weapons. In the same way, the existence of Clone Force 99 also sat in his craw, making him wonder how many other novelties of the GAR had been hidden from him.

The side hatch opened.

Four men emerged.

Ignoring the comment, Rex was struck first and foremost by their appearance.

Their armor was not the standard white with color accents. Rather, it was dark grey with black and red highlights. A skull emblem adorned the right shoulder plate. Each man's helmet was a different shape, with only one resembling the standard. It was also obvious that the Jango Fett body template was not applicable to their makeup, for each of them was of a different size and shape.

The last to emerge stood at the top of the steps and removed his helmet, proclaiming boldly, "The cavalry has arrived!" He was a hulking man, easily over two meters tall, barrel-chested and broad-shouldered. He wore his head shaved with what could have been either an indistinct tattoo or the scars of a head injury above his left ear. The left eye was dead: white, unseeing, opaque. He wore a sort of one-sided grin that lent an air of . . . craziness to his overt enthusiasm. It struck Rex as worrisome, as if he were looking at someone teetering on the edge of self-control.

As the four headed across the tarmac, the other three removed their helmets, revealing equally nonconforming faces.

Kix exchanged glances with Jesse. "These guys are clones? They don't look like clones to me."

The man in front, clearly the leader, approached Cody.

"Sergeant," the commander greeted him, holding out his hand. "Good to see you again." And he did look genuinely happy to see him.

"You, too, Sir," came the respectful reply.

The two men clasped hands at eye level, a gesture Rex recognized as something unusual, something that signaled a certain relationship between the commander and the sergeant. It was certainly not how any other clone troopers would greet each other.

Cody turned to Rex and made the introduction. "This is Hunter."

Rex nodded a curt acknowledgment. He took in the sergeant's appearance and wondered what the hell kind of unit Cody had brought into this operation.

Hunter's face was fairly close to the template with perhaps more pronounced cheekbones and a more jutting chin. The left side of his face was colored mostly black with a swathe of undyed skin running from his temple down the hollow of his cheek. His hair was brown and long – and to Rex's eye, unkempt. He wore a red head band with the skull image that did a middling job of holding the mop of unruly hair out of his face. When he spoke, his voice was the standard template but deep and gravelly. Almost mysterious.

"Sorry we're late, Commander," Hunter apologized. "We were putting down an insurrection on Yalbec Prime when your com came in. Had a few unforeseen . . . complicaitons."

At this, the "cavalry call" trooper stepped forward with a burst of gruff laughter. He looked at Jesse. "Ever fought a male Yalbec?"

Jesse felt an immediate distaste for the man's abrupt, crude mannerisms, his uninvited familiarity. "Uh, no, can't say I have," he answered.

The hulk prodded him in the shoulder. "You're lucky. Only way to 'em is with one of these." He withdrew what looked, to Jesse's eye, to be a regular, long blade dagger. Jesse was not impressed.

"That's right," Hunter confirmed. "Wrecker, here, cut off the queen's stinger while she was still alive." He leaned forward towards his companion with a hint of playful insinuation. "That's why all those Yalbec males tried to eat us."

At this announcement, another clone stepped forward from the new arrivals.

"Technically, they were trying to mate with us. And, for your information, the stinger of a Yalbec queen is a delicacy on some planets."

"They call him Tech," Cody stated.

Tech looked like . . . well, like he was one strong gust away from being blown clear off the platform. He was thin – extremely thin for a clone. Unlike Hunter's mop of dark brown hair, Tech's was light brown and close-cropped. He wore a pair of thick goggle-like glasses that looked as if they were made with special capabilities and that magnified the interested expression that he wore on his face. Upon hearing him speak, Rex had immediately thought of Echo. Tech seemed like he would have been a kindred spirit for the inquisitive mind Echo had possessed.

When Tech had spoken, Hunter looked almost embarrassed at the idea of the male Yalbec's . . . confusion. But his next action made it clear that he saw the man who had spoken in a fond light.

He nudged him in the shoulder with a grin. "Yeah, he can fill your head with useful info for hours." A pause. "Crosshair, on the other hand, isn't much of a conversationalist. But when you have to hit a precise target from ten klicks, well, Crosshair's your man."

Crosshair with the fourth corner of this group of . . . experiments. And if Tech had been a wisp of a man, Crosshair was a wisp of a wisp. His hair was grey and worn close to a standard cut. He wore a crosshair tattoo around his right eye. His expression appeared to be a perpetual scowl, his manner closed and critical, dismissive, condescending. He chewed on a toothpick while staring down his long nose at the four regular clones standing opposite him.

"So, Commander, what kind of suicide mission to you have for us this time?"

"Let's get going," Cody replied as their mission gunship drew up alongside them. "We'll brief you on the way."

The eight members of the team climbed on board, Wrecker sitting down on the floor with his legs dangling over the side of the bay. As the ship lifted higher, Cody motioned to him to get fully inside with the rest of them. One thing Cody knew from working with the Bad Batch in the past was that it was crucial to establish his superiority of position right from the get-to. For while Hunter might be fully agreeable and respect the chain-of-command, and while Tech might be too immersed in the fascinating world of minutiae to find anything to contest around him, Cody knew that was not the case with Crosshair and Wrecker. The latter two took easy offense, and in the case of Crosshair, actually went out of his way in search of reasons to take insult. Wrecker tended to follow Crosshair's lead, and when any threat or challenge to his squad mates arose, he stepped in with his enhanced physical strength to protect and defend them.

Commander Cody was one of the few regular clone officers all four Bad Batchers respected. They had worked for the commander before on several stealth missions and had been impressed with just about every aspect of his leadership. Cody had treated them as he would any other clone trooper, despite their different appearance and specialized talents. Yet, he'd not let them get so full of themselves that they could indulge their disdain for the rest of the clone army. And he knew that the success of this mission would depend on the ability of the two sides of the team to get along.

And it took less than one minute into the flight for him to see just how hard that was going to be.

Jesse, at one end of the bay, noticed Crosshair staring at him. But not just staring; it was the evil eye, an intimidation tactic that might work on any number of sentients. But Jesse was not one of them.

"What are you looking at?" he sneered.

Crosshair replied with a sneer of his own. "We don't usually work with regs," he disdained, flicking his toothpick contemptuously against Jesse's chest plate.

"Regs?" Jesse glared, taking a step forward.

Hunter moved between them. "He's talking about regular clones. Don't take it personal."

Cody interjected with authority. "We're all on the same team, so cut the attitude and listen up. Here's the mission." He opened his HOPO and pulled up an image. "Our target is this cyber center. It's the brains of the entire Separatist operation here on Anaxes."

"I could demolish that with one hand! Yeah!" Wrecker enthused.

"This isn't a demo job, Wrecker," Cody pointed out.

Silently, Jesse thought, "If it were, Pitch could do it with one patch, so silflay hraka, Wrecker." *eat shit

Cody was still speaking. "It's strictly a retrieval operation."

"What are we retrieving, Commander?" Hunter inquired.

"An algorithm," Cody replied.

"An algorithm? Sounds like a good job for tech," Hunter said.

"Captain Rex will be able to show him precisely what to look for," Cody stated. He made sure to emphasize Rex's rank, so there would be no question about the fact that Rex was the ranking officer behind Cody.

"What sort of algorithm is it?" Tech asked.

Cody deferred. "You and Captain Rex can discuss that." He did not want to risk embarrassing Rex by revealing that the stolen algorithm was his.

"We'll be in and out before they even know it's gone," Hunter said assuredly.

Kix cast a sideways glance at Jesse who gave a subtle smirk.

In the next instant, the gunship rocked and pitched. Once, then twice.

"Incoming fire!" came the alarm from the cockpit as the pilot tried to pull up out the gorge the ship had been following. But it was an effort in vain. The enemy scored a direct hit to the cockpit, killing the pilot instantly. Another hit to the underbelly pushed the rear up and the nose down. The gunship dove towards the gorge.

Inside the carrier bay, the clones were being tossed around, hanging onto the overhead straps.

"We're going down!" Wrecker cheered – and it was a cheer. A bizarre, ill-timed, and utterly inappropriate expression of excitement at the prospect that they might all be dead within seconds.

And they would have been had it not been for the back seater. The pilot behind the pilot. The shot that had killed the front-seater had not taken him out. The heat of the blast had warped his canopy and smoke was pouring over the nose of the ship; but the man would be damned if he wouldn't at least give his living cargo a fighting chance by bringing her down in a controlled crash. He angled the ship to one side of the gorge, purposefully running against the side to slow their speed before the momentum finally pushed the ship back out in the center of the gorge where it landed on its side and skidded over half a click before coming to a flaming, smoking halt.

It was this final effort that saved the lives of the men on board.

Rex pushed up onto his hands and knees, took a deep breath, shook his head to clear it, and got slowly to his feet. He slammed his fist against the emergency door release, and the door grudgingly moved half open on its loaded spring ruvers. Beside him, Hunter pulled himself out then turned and offered his hand. Rex took hold and climbed up. He was followed by the others, all shaken up and still pulling their wits back together.

Except Wrecker, who seemed as indomitable after the crash as he had before. "We always get shot down when we travel with regs," he blurted out, partly in jest.

Rex ignored him and turned to Jesse. "Check the pilots."

"I already have, Sir," Jesse replied. "They're both dead."

At that moment, a cry came from up on top of the crashed ship. "Cody! Help! He's trapped! We have to do something!"

Rex felt his gut twist into knots. He hadn't even looked for Cody before leaving the ship. It had never occurred to him that Cody, of all of them, might get injured. Cody was the man in charge. He couldn't get hurt.

He made a desperate lunge towards the ship, but Hunter held him back. "Woah, woah, easy, Captain," he said calmly, carefully pressing Rex back away from the ship. "Wrecker! Get him out."

Wrecker cracked his knuckles. "Get back."

"This is ridiculous!" Kix was adamant. "He's going to need help to get Cody out of there."

Behind the medic, Crosshair gave a closed-lipped chuckle. "He's gonna get the gunship out there, not Cody."

In a matter of seconds, and single-handedly, Wrecker showed "mutation" he possessed that made him special. He lifted and flipped the gunship, freeing the commander. He hoisted him up over his shoulder and carried him to safety. And in a moment of extreme foolish arrogance, he crowed, "Boom!" the second before the ship exploded behind him.

He deposited the commander on the ground, where the others gathered around anxiously.

Kix ran a scan. "He has internal damage," he announced. "I can cut the pain, but he needs help fast."

Crosshair's deep, languid voice followed. "We all need help." He was looking down the gorge where squads of droids were lining up. "That blast gave away our position."

Hunter knew when to put his own man in his place. "I thought getting shot down gave away our position."

Rex straightened up from his place at Cody's side. "Everyone, take cover. We'll hold this position and let them come to us." With the exception of Umbara, he was used to his orders being followed without question, so when Hunter deferred, he was stunned.

"I don't think so, Captain. That's not our style. We prefer going to them. Bad Batch, plan 82! Shock wave!"

What followed was a display of combat brilliance that even Rex could not question. Unorthodox, brutal, vicious, yet precise and calculated. And, if Rex were any judge, it was an extraordinarily insular operation. Clearly, the four functioned well together; but did they have any room at all to work with others? Was it more important to them to show their own perceived superiority and worth, or was the mission paramount? Questions that remained to be answered.

"They're crazy," Jesse opined critically. "They're not even interested in working with us."

"Rex—" Cody gasped.

"Cody," Rex reached down and gripped his hand. He could see in Cody's eyes that the painkiller Kix had administered was starting to take hold.

"M-make them . . . work w—with you," he stammered. "You're—in charge."

Kix put a hand against Cody's shoulder. "Commander, please be still. I need to get some clearer scans."

Cody, never one to disrespect a medic's instruction, fell silent. And to own the truth, the pain was taking his breath away.

Rex straightened up and continued watching the spectacle taking place in front of him. He had always been someone who could appreciate the unorthodox; he tended to operate that way himself when the situation called for it. After all, the best was to beat an algorithm was, as General Skywalker had said, to enjoin his own originality. There was a lot to admire in how the Bad Batch was fighting this particular battle; Rex would grant them that.

But nothing more. Their teamwork was limited to themselves. That wasn't how things were in the GAR, regardless of what unit a clone was in.

"I can't believe it," Jesse breathed. "They did it. They knocked them all out."

"Yeah," Rex grunted. "What do you know."

"We n-need to leave h-here." This from Cody. "They'll—send more. Help me up."

Rex was hesitant. "Cody—"

"Help me up," the commander insisted.

Rex looked at Kix.

"I don't think we have a choice, Captain," the medic replied. "We have no stretcher—"

"I can walk," Cody insisted. "We—unh—we need to go b-before it's too late."

Both Kix and Rex helped him to his feet. Kix leaned over behind his back and whispered, "This is the painkiller working, but when it begins to wear off, he's not going to be able to go anywhere, and I don't want to move him too much—"

"I can hear you, Kix," Cody groaned. "So . . . get us out of here b-before it w-wears off."

Rex nodded. "Let's go."

They approached the members of the Bad Batch. As they grew near, Hunter came forward to meet them.

"That was some show you put on just now," Rex remarked.

"Just doing our job, Captain," Hunter replied.

"We should move out before reinforcements arrive," Rex said. "The whole Separatist army probably knows where we are."

Hunter watched as he passed, and if he were not mistaken, he detected a hint of derision in the captain's voice.

And that was the last thing Hunter wanted. Things were not off to a good start, and he realized that, quite inadvertently, his decision, following Commander Cody's incapacitation, to disregard Captain Rex's first order probably had done nothing to advance a positive working relationship.

He'd made a mistake. He wouldn't make another one.