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wr1t3-my-wr0ngs · 4 years

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Good Soldiers—Chapter 3/4

Remembering Yesterday’s Tomorrow (In the Here and Now)- Part 4 cont.

As much as Rex wants to move directly onto the next step in removing Krell, there is still a war that needs to be dealt with. Having Fives in his corner helps immensely as both a sounding board and support. It has taken a weight off his shoulders that he is infinitely glad he no longer has to shoulder alone. However, he had forgotten the specific brand of insanity that comes from working with his brothers, and while he is happy (among the other emotions that swirl dangerously close to the surface) to have them in his life again, it does, at times, make him wish his hair was longer so he could pull it out. Especially as he, Jesse, Tup, and Hardcase listen to Fives' infiltration plan.

"You want to what?"

He knows his plan to deal with Krell isn't perfect, but he hopes beyond all sense of reason that it's better then what he just heard Fives suggest.

"Have the men and myself fly the Umbaran craft into the supply ship and blow up the main reactor."

Last time, he hadn't asked for details. The thinking being he couldn't report what he didn't know. If this was the same plan that Fives had used to take down the supply ship, Rex knows why it went so horribly wrong.

"You are aware that General Skywalker was already one of the best pilots in the galaxy at that time? And that most of it was an accident?"

His brother looks sheepish. From his perch atop a table, Rex pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. Despite knowing the answer, he asks his next question anyway.

"How many men are you planning to take up?"

"It would be us three, Sir."

Rex looks at Jesse who has momentarily looked up from cleaning his blaster to indicate Fives, Hardcase, and himself. The Captain unconsciously brings a hand up to stroke a beard that isn't there, thinking over the specifics that he was privy to the first time around — regretting his lack of involvement and the subsequent lack of information.

“If you have a better plan, we’re all ears.”

He thinks of Ahsoka, of her uncanny ability (force given or natural, he never knew) to plan on the fly. To take a pile of unknowns and somehow rearrange them until they created actionable intel. There was a reason she was one of the leaders of the Rebellion, and he, her right-hand-man.

But she's not here. Surrounded by a room of living ghosts, the only thing he has of her is his ring and the memories of advice they had shared. One in particular whispers across his mind.

Work with what you know.

So that’s what he does.

He thinks about the Separatist ships he's been on. The narrow passages designed for droids and not much else. Considers the size and challenges of the Umbaran crafts. Three would be a tight squeeze and tricky to maneuver in such a limited space, even with the best of pilots, never mind when operated by foot soldiers who considered demolishing a hanger a successful test run.

"Send only one pilot."

"Without backup?"

Tups concern is valid, a brother without backup was always a dangerous thing, for the mission and the soldier both. But he doesn't have a better plan, not one that would work with their limited number of men, resources, and time. He can only pray that what he can change will be enough.

Rex leaves that part out when he explains his thinking, although Fives gives him a brief side-eye. He watches as each man mulls over the idea, weighs the pros and the cons, considers their part.

"I'll do it."

His heart sinks.

"The Captains right, and I have the most experience with the tech."

"Hardcase, " He isn't sure what to say without giving himself away to everyone in the room. When he had first woken and started putting together his plan, he had considered that there may be things he couldn’t change, couldn’t make right. Hardcase it would seem, is one of those things. A knot of emotion catches in his chest as he considers the very real possibility of watching his brother's death a second time over. Eventually, he settles on the only question available to him.

“Are you sure?”

His brother squares his shoulders, easy-going manner set aside.

“I am, Captain.”

The room is silent for a moment, heavy with the knowledge that this very well may end up a suicide mission.

"What about—"

At that moment the doors to the barracks open, cutting Jesse off mid-sentence, revealing Dogma, head bent over a datapad and lips silently moving.

The collective group freezes, including Dogma who seems to realize he has the full attention of everyone in the room. His head snaps up and eyes go wide, jaw clicking shut, and for a second Rex thinks he can see fear in his brother's eyes. But his time to observe is limited, as Dogma, without so much as a word, about faces and leaves the room with the speed of a man being chased by cannon fire.

The group exchange glances and all Rex can do is shrug at the inquiring look Fives sends his way, just as stumped by his brothers behavior as the rest of them. He had expected suspicion and anger, or even the cold shoulder. Those he could understand, but fear?

He shakes himself internally. His concerns about Dogma hardly the top of his priorities at the moment.

"What about Krell?" Jesse repeats, looking between Fives and Rex in equal measure.

"We need a Jedi."

Hardcase scoffs and crosses his arms.

"Yeah, I don't know if you noticed Captain, but they're in short supply."

"I'm just saying that his ability to receive transmissions with new orders is awfully convenient, considering they're supposed to be being jammed."

Jesse looks up from cleaning his blaster with a critical eye.

"You think he's lying about communications with the 212th?"

Rex nods.

"It's a possibility. And it won't hurt to try and get General Kenobi here to assist."

"I think, " Tup starts slowly. "That I might be able to convince a few of the men to try and establish contact against orders. No promises, though."

Rex looks over to Fives, who nods in agreement.

"That's all we can ask for Tup."

Tup inclines his head at the ARC Trooper.

"And what if, and that's a karking large if mind you, we can't get the General to assist?"

Rex sighs.

"Plan B and prey."

----

Dogma was acting strange.

Usually, Tup wouldn't have paid much attention to his brother's odd habits. But he had never seen him that upset before or that close to exchanging blows with another brother. He understands Dogma's anger; he does. Is still reeling from the implications himself, even though nothing he heard really surprised him when he thought about it. But he also understands, as best as he can understand his brother, why it would affect Dogma more than the rest. He’s aware that he is the closest to Dogma, one of the few Vod’e who took the time to get to know the tightly wound trooper. And as a result, is far more used to the quirks of behavior than most and has learned to read Dogma with some degree of accuracy.

But he’s not sure what to make of his brother's recent behavior; walking into rooms, only to turn back around when he spots any of them, constantly reading at every available opportunity. Not that Dogma hadn’t done his share of recreational reading, but this was something different. The few times Tup had found him in the past hours, Dogma seemed to be enthralled, reading as if his life depended on it.

And now he is missing from his bunk.

It feels like avoidance, but never in his short life has Tup known Dogma to do anything less than face a problem head-on.

It concerns him, for Dogmas sake. His one consolation being that he knows his brother would ask for help if he needed it.

Whatever it is Dogma is up to, he only hopes it won't cause a problem for the Captain.

-----

Watching the sky for the impending destruction of the Separatist ship is by far the tensest twenty minutes of Rex’s life, and he intends to spend them with his eyes glued to the sky as if he might be able to see the raging space battle and the one small ship that contains his brother if he looks hard enough. Futile, he knows, but it's all he can do. The troops mill around him, coming and going at their own paces, running information back to the main tower, or just enjoying what rest they can in the middle of a war zone. At some point, Fives joins him.

"Any word?"

"Not yet, Captain."

"Any sign that Krell suspects?"

Fives shakes his head.

"No, Sir. I don't know what you told him about the takeoff, but he doesn't seem suspicious."

Rex didn't expect he would be, since he's almost certain that Krell knows what they are doing despite the lie Rex had fed him. Suspects that Krell knew the first time too, and that everything that followed was designed to torture himself and the men as much as possible.

They laps into silence and Rex returns his focus to the sky.

"Permission to ask a question?"

Rex glances at his brother, gauging the request.

"Granted."

"How did this mission go, last time?"

Fives is looking at him, but Rex can't meet his eyes and hopes that his brother will let the topic go with a simple answer.

"It was a success,"

"Rex, " The plea is soft, and it strikes him how much younger his brother is; the gap between them able to be measured in decades instead of a few years. Aware that behind the bravado and the swagger, Fives is as scared as Rex, wondering if he just sent his brother to his death.

He's hesitant to talk about it, the memories from Umbara old wounds that never fully healed. The sound of distant artillery and shelling only hammers home the futility of attempting to avoid them.

"I wasn't as involved last time, didn't really condone the course of action. I don't know what went wrong exactly, but from what I gathered something happened to sound the alarm, and the Seppies raised the ray shield around the main reactor. It had to be detonated by hand."

"Which brother...?"

"Hardcase."

The inhale of breath is sharp, and its what makes Rex finally look at his vod'ika, sees the pain in his eyes.

"Fives, I'm sorry."

"He knows the risks."

Rex isn't sure who the phrase is trying to console, Fives, or himself. He reaches out a hand to the back of his brother's neck, gently bringing their foreheads together. He can feel his little brother tremble ever so slightly under his touch, and he gives what he hopes is a comforting squeeze. They stay like that until the Captain feels the ARC Troopers breathing even out. When he pulls away Fives looks better, less shaken, and although his grin isn't as large as normal, it's still there. (He marks it down in a new column in his heart, right next to Ahsoka's smiles and laughter, counting it as a small victory against a war that's designed to cause as much misery as possible).

"Thanks, Gramps."

Despite himself, he laughs. Perhaps, he thinks, the nickname isn't so bad if it brings a little joy.

He's about to respond, when a flash of light overhead draws their attention; Bright orange and yellow that bleeds through the dark clouds. Hardcase did it. But he doesn't let himself relax, not yet, because for all the changes made, he still doesn't know if he changed enough.

His heart pounds in his ears and he's fairly certain that he's forgotten to breathe. The seconds tick by, each one seemingly longer than the last. Beside him, Fives is tense; eyes also fixed to the sky, waiting and watching.

The relief that foods him when he spots the speck of light approaching is indescribable. However, it quickly fades when he notices the erratic flight, the way the ship lists dangerously to one side, and (when it gets closer) the sparks that trial behind it.

The landing, if it can be called that, is rough, and when the shield comes down, Rex is there ready to catch his brother if need be. It's a good thing too, as Hardcase tumbles from the seat, blood leaking from under his helmet. It takes a matter of moments to find the pulse at his brother's neck and only then does Rex breathe. Unconscious, but miraculously alive.

Boots on the pavement prompt him and Fives to look up.

"The General requests your presence."

---

Knowing the execution order is coming doesn't make it any easier to hear or make him want to strangle the fallen Jedi any less. Especially as Hardcase, barley able to stand from what Rex strongly suspects is a concussion, has to be assisted to his mark.

“Do the prisoners request blindfolds?”

Tup looks disturbed to even be asking the question, and Rex’s heart goes out to him. No brother should have to face killing their own family.

Not right.

He has to check again to be sure he isn't imagining it, but no, it is Tup at the firing line.

Fives has begun speaking, but Rex doesn’t pay attention, too busy doing a headcount, grateful for the lack of helmets obscuring faces. He does it again, just to be sure.

Dogma isn't there.

Distantly, he's aware that Fives speech is winding to a close, but only just. Too busy running over the possibilities, the implications, and drawing a blank.

The sound of blaster fire draws his attention violently back to the present, and he is no less relieved to see that the firing squad had come to the same conclusion as before.

Fives glares at him as he walks up.

"A warning would have been nice." The ARC trooper hisses under his breath.

"And miss that speech? Look at them Fives, " he surreptitiously gestures to the men as he begins undoing the binders. "Sometimes we forget that we're more than walking numbers, especially under men like Krell. They needed to hear that."

The binders come off with a click, and Fives rubs his wrists.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because I needed to hear it."

The ARC Trooper looks at the Captain for a moment, eventually nodding his head in acceptance.

"Besides, " Rex cocks an eyebrow, "I thought you didn't believe me?"

Fives punches him in the arm.

---

To say that Krell is displeased at the news of the failed execution would be an understatement. The fallen Jedi is livid, and standing before him held in a fourhanded grip, forced to look up to meet the massive force users gaze, Rex is reminded of standing up against the Imperial AT-AT on Seelos, just him, Gregor, and Wolffe; Easily uncrushable and very small.

“You are making a mistake by crossing me clone.”

It is fortunate then, that he isn't immune from the insanity that plagues his brothers, and that his tolerance for disrespect dwindled significantly with age.

“Its Captain.”

The lack of ‘Sir’ does not go unnoticed, and Krell’s grip on his arms tightens to the point of bruising. Rex does not look away. Neither does Krell, not even as a trooper relays the incoming transmission.

Rex is aware that were they alone, Krell would drop all pretenses of being a General. When the Besalisk does let go, it's accompanied by a shove and despite his best efforts, Rex stumbles.

“Lock the traitors in the brig. You have your stay of execution, Captain.”

The way Krell says his title slides like ice down Rex’s spine and leaves a rancid taste in his mouth.

“We take the Capitol now.”

---

The battle passes in a blur and by the time its over, he's shaken to his core. The reality of it so much worse than the nightmares ever were. Worse because he can still taste the ion trace from the blasters that lingers in the air, the screams of his brothers ringing to loud in his ears. Unable to console himself with the knowledge that it was just a dream.

The blood caked into his blacks.

He's only one man he tries to remind himself, only one man against a tide of destruction and death. He can't change everything.

Intellectually he knows its not his fault — that it's Krell and Krell alone that is responsible for every life lost in this sector of the planet.

It doesn't help, knowing that the battle - the loss- was designed to be a form of torture, not when it worked so well. Not when he still blames himself—his orders for the troops to not wear their helmets into battle being too little, too late, with far too many brothers dead by friendly fire.

Blames himself for every brother lost.

For Waxer.

His fists clench in a mix of rage and sorrow, before pulling himself back to present. They have minutes left before they go to confront Krell, and he needs to focus as they go over the plan one last time. The prison is hardly private, but at this point, discretion no longer matters. He knows that every brother, not just the little band he has assembled, will stand with him.

"I still say we should just kill him."

By rights, Hardcase shouldn't even be out of medical, but Rex strongly suspects that only death would have kept him from joining the fight against Krell at this point.

He shakes his head.

"And I'm right there beside you Vod, but unless we want to end up shipped back to Kamino for reconditioning, we need-"

"Evidence."

All four heads whip around. There, standing in the door to the cell, looking haggard and broken is Dogma. No one says a word as he makes his way toward the group and silently extends a datastick, hands trembling.

"I couldn't get what you said out of my mind." He addresses Rex. "About how things didn't add up. So I read his reports, ran the numbers. You were right."

His face is stony, but in his eyes, Rex can see the betrayal, the anger, the overwhelming sense of loss that comes from having ones whole world come undone around them.

"He didn't even hide it."

Ah, he read those reports. Brutal and full of plain language detailing his choices. The kind of reports where it didn't make sense how they could have gone without being flagged, not until Rex had learned the truth about Palpatine, just one of the many puzzle pieces that fell into place. Rex carefully takes the datastick.

“How do I help?”

He looks from Dogma to the cylindrical tube. Evidence, he had said.

"Is this what I think it is?"

Dogma nods.

"Every file, every report, every statistic." His smile is a wry, bitter thing. Sharp and self-deprecating, edged with the anger of a man who will never again be played for a fool. "It's amazing what you can get access to when someone thinks you're in their back pocket."

Then they have all the evidence they need.

"Tup, any word from the 212th?"

"No, Captain."

His frustration slips past his lips as a growl and he rapidly does the mental calculations, handing the datastick back to the tattooed Trooper.

"Dogma, get this to General Kenobi. I don't care how or who you have to go through to get it to him, but it's for his eyes only. Understand?"

The Trooper salutes, new purpose lending strength to his bearing, and as he barks out a "Yes, Sir!" he almost looks like the Dogma Rex remembers from the start of the campaign.

He looks around the cell at his brothers, fully kitted and armed, faces set with grim determination.

"Alright, men: Plan B."

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