whatdyk

[whatdyk]

Chapter 4 - Thin Lines.

1.8k

Umbara's sky was a bruise of dark violet and smog, casting a dull, sickly glow over the battalion as they marched on.

Fog clung low to the ground, thick enough to swallow their boots, their footsteps, even their breath. The terrain twisted in unnatural ways—jagged rock formations jutted from the ground like broken teeth, and every tree seemed to lean inward, as if watching them pass.

Zhara walked along the flank, her boots crunching in rhythm with the squad's advance. Her saber hilts knocked lightly against her thighs with each stride, but she made no move to draw them. Not yet. Her senses were stretched thin, tracing the edges of the Force like thread through a needle. It thrummed beneath her skin—wrong. The land itself felt poisoned.

Ahead of her, Rex moved with practiced ease, his silhouette unmistakable even beneath armor and shadow. The weight of command sat on his shoulders like a second cuirass.

The weight of Krell's plan sat heavier still.

Their orders were simple. Stupidly simple. March down the central route, smash through resistance, and take the artillery line by brute force. No recon. No cover. Just blind faith and heavy casualties.

It was madness.

And it showed.

Jesse murmured, eyes on his the surroundings. "Too quiet."

"Feels like they're waiting for us," Kix added.

"They are," said Fives. He didn't bother to lower his voice.

Zhara turned her head slightly, catching the flicker of frustration on his face.

"This is suicide," he continued, stalking a little closer to Rex. "We should've flanked the valley—circled in through the northern ridge, taken them by surprise."

"Not our call," Rex replied evenly, eyes forward.

Fives didn't back off. "No disrespect, sir, but Krell doesn't care if we all get vaped. You do. So why the hell are we following orders that make no sense?"

The tension in the squad thickened. Jesse glanced sidelong. Kix kept his hand near his blaster. Even Hardcase, unusually quiet, shifted uncomfortably behind them.

Zhara slowed her stride slightly, coming up beside the Captain. She didn't speak yet—but she wanted to hear his answer.

Rex stopped walking.

The column behind them halted with him.

"I know what it looks like," Rex said finally, turning toward Fives. "And I agree. It's not how I'd run this op."

Fives' jaw clenched.

"But I'm not in charge," Rex continued. "And if I start questioning orders now—if we do—we lose our footing. We lose control of the entire line. And then we're not just marching blind. We're marching divided."

There was a silence that stretched longer than comfort allowed.

Fives broke it. "And what does she think?"

All eyes turned toward Zhara.

Her expression didn't shift, but her gaze swept the line of troopers one by one before settling on Fives.

"I think this is the worst possible plan," she said coolly. "And I also think Krell knows that."

That made them shift.

"But he's not stupid," she continued. "He's testing you. All of you. He wants to see who breaks rank first. Who falters. And when that happens, he'll use it to justify whatever losses come next."

Fives blinked. "So what—you're saying we just keep walking?"

"No," she said. "I'm saying we watch. Listen. And when the moment comes, we make the call. Not Krell."

She let that sit.

Then added, "I trust Captain Rex. So should you."

Rex said nothing, but she felt his glance, sharp as a blade, slide her way. Something unreadable in his eyes, but before he could respond, blaster fire erupted from the sideline.

"Contact?" Jesse barked, pivoting with his weapon raised.

Something winged shot overhead, a creature with bioluminescent veins and a shrieking cry. Blaster bolts missed, but the reaction was immediate—clones scrambling into cover, shouting conflicting orders, fingers tightening on triggers.

"Hold your fire!" Rex snapped.

The creature swooped lower, wings slicing the mist. Zhara's hand snapped up, purple blade igniting in a hiss. She stepped forward, already calculating—when, without warning, something blurred past her.

A second lightsaber ignited.

The creature shrieked once, then fell silent, cleaved in two midair by a green arc of plasma.

General Krell landed heavily beside her, breath harsh through his nostrils, arms spread in a wide, imposing stance. His grimace twisted downward into something crueler than disgust—mockery.

"Anyone else wanna stop and play with the animals?" he growled, voice booming across the clearing.

No one answered.

"Didn't think so." His eyes flicked across the ranks. "Now keep moving."

There was a moment of charged silence. Then, reluctantly, the march resumed.

Zhara deactivated her saber, jaw tight. She didn't look at Krell. She didn't have to. He was still standing too close, as if daring her to challenge him.

She thought about what would happen if she did.

And then she turned her back, and followed her men into the mist.

They moved in silence for hours, boots crunching softly over the thick soil, each man growing heavier with exhaustion. It was always night here, always cloaked in mist and dim starlight. It pressed down on them like a weight.

Zhara could feel it too.

She dropped back slightly as she noticed Rex drifting toward the center of the formation, scanning his men. Their movements were slower now—shoulders sagging, heads dipping. Even Hardcase had stopped humming.

Then Fives spoke again, more than a mutter this time.

"Sir, we've been keeping this pace for twelve hours now."

Rex didn't respond at first, but the words caught Zhara's attention.

"The men are getting worn down," Fives continued, voice edged with frustration. "We should rest."

They stopped walking. A low murmur rippled through the ranks. Several troopers looked to Rex, then to her, uncertainty clear, even from behind their visors.

Zhara moved closer, brow furrowed. "He's right. We've been marching in silence, through enemy territory, with no intel or pause. This isn't sustainable."

Rex exhaled, hands resting on his hips as he glanced behind him.

Then Krell's voice cut through the mist, "The men don't need rest." He said sharply, "They need the resolve to complete the task at hand."

Rex stepped forward. "But, sir—"

"CT-7567, are you reading me?"

Zhara stiffened beside him. Even now, Krell wouldn't say his name.

Rex straightened. "Excuse me, sir?"

"I asked you a question, CT-7567. Do you understand the need to adhere to my strategy?"

Zhara watched the muscles in Rex's jaw twitch before he answered.

"Sir, the terrain is extremely hostile. Despite the difficulty of the conditions, the battalion is making good time."

Fives muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Zhara to hear, "And dropping like flies."

"These men just need a little break," Rex said, the edge of steel finally creeping into his voice.

Krell's reply came like a lash.

"Captain, do I need to remind you of this battalion's strategic mission in conquering this planet? Look back. See those platoons?"

Krell gestured toward the stretch of weary troops behind them, their outlines barely visible through the darkness.

"Their mission is to take this city and take it swiftly. Time and rest are luxuries the Republic cannot afford."

His voice rose, towering over them all like the blade of his saber.

"We are the key to this invasion. The other battalions are counting on our support."

Silence.

"If we fail, everyone fails! Do you understand this?"

He stepped forward.

"Do all of you understand this?"

Zhara stepped forward before she realized it—anger quickly flashing behind her eyes. Her voice was already halfway up her throat—

But a gloved hand caught her wrist.

Rex.

He didn't look at her, didn't say a word—but the pressure of his touch, just firm enough to hold her back, said everything.

Krell either didn't notice, or didn't care. His gaze swept over the battalion, unreadable and unmoved.

"Do all of you understand this?"

"Now, move on!"

He turned and strode into the fog, his silhouette vanishing once more.

Silence hung for a moment, thick and bitter. Zhara yanked her arm free from Rex's grasp.

"What was that?" she hissed, keeping her voice low but sharp.

Rex turned to her, jaw set. "Calling him out in front of the men? You've already done that in front of me."

"I don't care" she snapped. "I -"

"You should." His voice was still even, but harder now. "Because every clone in this battalion is watching him. And watching you."

Zhara glanced around—dozens of helmets had turned subtly their way. Jesse, Fives, Kix... all pretending not to listen. But she could feel the tension in the air like a live wire.

Her face darkened.

"I don't need you protecting me, Captain."

Rex stiffened. "It's not about protection. It's about keeping command intact. If we fall apart in front of them, Krell wins."

She stared at him for a long second. Her green eyes flashed, the frustration and fire in her barely contained.

"Then maybe he already has."

And with that, she turned sharply and moved back toward the flank, the mist swallowing her before Rex could reply.

——————-

The battalion had reached its position at last, crouched just beneath the slope leading to the main defensive perimeter. Zhara stood beside Rex, her eyes scanning the terrain, noting the exposed approach.

Krell's voice boomed from behind them, sharp and without pause.

"All platoons will execute a forward assault along the main route to the city."

Rex turned to meet him, expression taut. "But, sir—General Skywalker's plan was to surprise them with multiple attacks. If we come in from the main route, they're likely to engage us in a full frontal assault."

Zhara narrowed her eyes. "He's right. There's too much open ground—we'll be cut down before we breach the perimeter."

Krell didn't even glance at her.

"Change of plans, Captain. I'm in command now."

"With all due respect, General," Rex said, voice tight but controlled, "we don't know what we're up against. It might be wiser to think first—"

"Are you questioning my order?"

Zhara tensed beside Rex, but this time she said nothing—though the glare she fixed on Krell was laced with venom.

"This battalion will take the main road straight to the capital," Krell continued, his tone growing more aggressive with every word. "You will not stop, and you will not turn back, regardless of the resistance you meet."

"We will attack them with all our troops—not some sneak attack with a few men. That is my order. And you will follow it implicitly."

He took a step closer, towering over them both.

"Do I make myself clear, CT-7567?"

Rex's jaw locked. "Yes, General."

A beat of silence passed, cold and weighted.

"Now, engage!"

Krell swept away toward the command line, leaving behind the crackling tension of two minds at odds with blind obedience. Zhara turned to Rex, barely keeping her voice steady.

"This is suicide."

"I know," he muttered. "But we don't have a choice."

Zhara's gaze drifted to the men, already forming ranks and preparing to advance.

"We always have a choice."

Then she pulled her hood up and moved to flank the line—just as the march began again.

(Chapter 5 - coming soon)

[whatdyk]

Garden Telephone, c. 1960s. Tom Kelley. Chromogenic print.

[whatdyk]

BRING THEM HOME IMMEDIATELY

[whatdyk]

[whatdyk]

Chapter 3 - Orders and Obedience

1.8k

The makeshift command post offered little shelter from distant blaster fire echoing over the charred remains of Umbaran land.

Zhara quickly looked over the holomap projected from Captain Rex's vambrace. The image flickered occasionally, distorted by interference from the planet's dense atmosphere.

Rex stood close by, helmet at hit feet and eyes sharp. "This canyon," he said, tapping a narrow gorge just west of their current location, "runs parallel to the enemy's supply route. If we hit them here and here"—he pointed to two outposts nestled along ridgelines—"we can scatter their lines before they regroup."

Zhara nodded, fingers tracing the projected path. "Small units, coordinated strikes. Fast in, fast out. Minimise casualties."

Captain Rex hummed in agreement whilst studying the map—but more than once, his gaze flicked to the woman next to him.

She leaned, head tilted to the side whilst tracing the edge of a canyon with a delicate finger. The glow cast soft highlights across her features—calm, serious, yet unmistakably striking. Not just because she was beautiful, though Rex couldn't deny it—but because she looked like she belonged there, even in the middle of chaos.

He cleared his throat, "I'll take Fives and Hardcase with the first squad. Jesse can lead the second team with Kix."

Her brow furrowed in thought before she eventually nodded, "Here. If we divide into two squads and move along the edge, we can flank the artillery before they regroup."

He glanced at her then—but just for a moment too long. She caught it.

"What?" she asked quietly, uncharacteristically unsure.

Rex cleared his throat, looking away. "Nothing."

It wasn't nothing.

She was—something. Striking, yes. That was easy enough to admit in the silence of his own mind. But there was more than that. The way she moved, the way she thought. The way she actually seemed to listen.

It unnerved him.

Clones weren't made to feel. Not like this. Not about Jedi. Especially not about their commanding officers.

He shoved the thought aside. Buried it under protocol and discipline. But it still lingered, like the haze outside coating the planet—thick, unavoidable.

Zhara leaned in, pointing to a new section of the map. "If we breach this ridge, we can bottleneck their reinforcements. Quick and clean."

"You're good at this," Rex said before he could stop himself.

She looked up surprised, but quickly schooled her expression. "Thank you."

He could have sworn he noticed a slight blush on her pale cheeks, but didn't say anything more. Even if he wanted to, the thundering sound of a nearby gunship interrupted his thoughts.

Watching as it departed, a tall figure emerged from the unsettled debris. A figure that they each recognised immediately.

It seemed that General Pong Krell had finally arrived.

He stalked towards them both, towering above as he arrived, two of his four arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed in barely concealed disdain.

Rex straightened instinctively, but noticed that Zhara didn't move an inch.

Krell's deep voice bellowed, "What is this? Planning in isolation without clearance from command?"

Zhara raised an eyebrow. "We were assessing tactical options for the upcoming push."

"Your options," Krell cut in, "are irrelevant. Orders have already been issued."

Zhara didn't step aside. "Irrelevant?" she echoed, voice like cut glass. "With all due respect, General, the terrain isn't known, enemy movements are scattered, and half of the platoons haven't regrouped. Forgive me if I don't blindly rush in."

Krell turned toward her, towering. "Your defiance is noted, Commander Voss. But this is not the Temple. This is war."

Rex stepped forward, sensing something sharp coil in the air around her. He cut in quickly, voice level. "Your reputation precedes you, General. It's an honor to be serving under your command."

A beat of silence.

Krell's gaze swung to him. "I find it very interesting, Captain, that you are able to recognize the value of honor...as a clone."

Zhara bristled—no, more than that. Her presence darkened, a ripple so subtle only Rex seemed to register it. She took a step forward, eyes fixed on Krell, voice lower now—dangerously steady and not seeming to notice as other troops began to approach.

"You will not speak to him like that."

Krell turned toward her fully, arms flexing. "You forget your place, Jedi. This is a military operation. Not a Council chamber for your emotions."

Zhara's hand twitched at her side, "No," she said, barely above a whisper. "I remember my place. But I also know how to recognize a commander who uses fear instead of leadership."

Rex looked at her sharply—surprised, impressed, and a little concerned. This wasn't just a disagreement. This was a challenge.

Krell loomed forward, voice colder than the Umbaran air. "You would do well to watch your tongue, Voss. I have no patience for insubordination."

Zhara didn't blink. "Neither do I."

Rex stepped in again, this time more firmly. "General," he said, holding Krell's gaze. "The men are awaiting your orders."

Krell paused, then gave a disdainful sniff, not moving to acknowledge the now surrounding battalion. "Stand at attention when I address you, Captain."

Rex snapped to posture, jaw clenched. "Sir."

"Your flattery is duly noted, but it will not be rewarded. There's a reason my command is so effective. I do things by the book—and that includes protocol. No improvisation. No personal attachments. Just results."

He turned sharply. "Have all platoons ready to move out immediately. We strike at the main route into the capital. No delays."

As his heavy footsteps faded into the distance, Zhara stood rooted, tension still thrumming in her limbs. Rex looked over at her—really looked this time.

Her gaze remained fixed on the horizon. "You disagree with what I said?" A faint smile tugged at her mouth, but it didn't reach her eyes.

She continued before he had the chance to respond, "I will not apologise. I don't have the luxury of pretending to be something I'm not."

Rex hesitated but then nodded, feeling somewhat unsure by what she'd said. "Just be careful. Krell's seems like the kind of commander who remembers who steps out of line."

Zhara finally turned to him, expression unreadable. "So am I."

And with that, she moved to follow in the Generals direction, robes trailing behind her like a shadow.

—————————

The dim glow of the holographic map flickered from a portable projector balanced atop a supply crate, casting jagged ridgelines in pale blue light across the gathered troopers. There was no shelter here—just open air and the distant echo of artillery fire.

Rex stood at the center, helmet off, arms crossed. Fives, Jesse, Kix, and Hardcase had formed a rough semicircle around him, each one silent, listening. The rest of the battalion were near, but busy observing their surroundings.

"He's ordered a full march," Rex said, eyes locked on the projected route. "No recon, no air support. We hit the main corridor to the capital. Head-on."

Jesse frowned. "No flanking, no intel?"

"That was the plan we had before Krell arrived," Rex replied. "This is his strategy now."

Hardcase gave a low, disbelieving snort. "So, what—we just march into the dark and hope the enemy's feeling generous?"

Fives stepped forward, face tense. "Captain, this is insane. That route's boxed in on both sides—barely room to maneuver. It's a perfect ambush site."

"I know," Rex said tightly. "I know."

Kix spoke up.

"What about the Commander? What's her read?"

Rex was quiet for a beat. "She challenged him. Said it was reckless. Told him the clones weren't expendable."

Fives blinked. "She said that? Out loud?"

"To his face," Rex said, sighing deeply. "And he didn't take it well.”

Hardcase shook his head, a flicker of something like admiration in his expression. "Gutsy."

"She's not like the others," Jesse added, glancing around.

"No," Rex said softly. "She's not."

The others didn't press him on the tone in his voice—but Fives gave him a sideways glance, thoughtful.

"And he's still got us moving out within the hour?" Fives asked.

Rex nodded. "Like it or not, we follow orders. Until the mission changes—or until one of us has a better plan."

Fives looked away, jaw tight. "Right. Orders."

Rex watched them for a moment, then donned his helmet. "Get your squads ready. We'll assemble near the ridge in thirty."

The clones saluted and dispersed into the darkness.

Rex remained for a moment, his gaze lingered on the holographic map, then drifted—back toward where Zhara had last been, standing still, silent and unshaken, eyes shadowed with something he couldn't quite name.

Something that made him uneasy.

And something that made it far too easy to remember she wasn't just his commanding officer.

Damn it.

He turned away, hardening his posture, and followed his men into the dark.

Zhara stood alone, her hood drawn low. Her eyes were fixed on the distant ridgeline, where the route to the capital wound like a scar through the mountains.

The enemy would be waiting. She could feel it—coiled in the Force like a viper beneath the fog.

She exhaled slowly, reaching out with her senses. Pain. Anxiety. Determination. So many lives burning in the dark. And above it all... Krell. A tower of arrogance. A cold void where others had warmth.

Her jaw tightened.

She hadn't meant to lose control back there. Not in front of the Captain. But the way Krell spoke to him-as if his life meant nothing. As if they were all tools, not men. She'd seen Jedi fall before. Seen what happened when power twisted the mind. Krell didn't need the dark side. He was already callous enough in her opinion.

She could still feel the flicker of something raw inside her from earlier—when she'd stepped forward, eyes sharp, her words laced with threat. A sliver of heat had risen through her like a pulse of lightning. She hadn't wanted to step back.

That scared her more than she'd admit.

The worst part? Rex had seen it.

He hadn't flinched. Hadn't judged. Just... watched her, like he was trying to understand. And when he'd spoken afterward—defusing the situation, pulling the attention off her—he hadn't done it out of obligation.

She'd seen the flicker of emotion in his face.

Admiration. Curiosity. Maybe even—

She shut the thought down immediately.

It wasn't possible. It wasn't allowed. Attachment was dangerous. Reckless. And yet...

He was different. Steady. Focused. Not like the other commanders who tried to impress or avoid her. He listened. And he challenged her without posturing.

She respected that.

Which was why this mission worried her more than most.

Because Krell didn't value strategy—he valued domination. And if the clones walked into a death trap, it would be Zhara's failure too. She couldn't let that happen. Not to Rex. Not to his men.

She would find another way. If she had to defy orders, so be it.

The war had already taken enough from her.

She wouldn't let it take them, too.

(Chapter 4 - coming soon)

[whatdyk]

Chapter 2 - Into The Darkness.

1.4k

Scarlet coloured lightning lanced across the sky, illuminating the silhouettes of twisted trees far below. Anti-air fire arced upward in angry streaks, rocking the gunship as the pilot shouted over the comms.

"Approaching LZ—hot zone, repeat, hot zone!"

Inside, the clones tightened grips on weapons and steadied themselves against the jostling. Blasterfire lit the clouds beneath them in brief, brutal flashes.

Zhara stood near the hatch, robes fluttering with each jolt of the ship. Her fingers curled lightly around a handhold as she scanned the chaos below—already, she could feel the press of war in the Force. Frantic. Claustrophobic. Familiar.

Captain Rex leaned in beside her. "Most of the 501st are already dirtside. General Skywalker's pinned near the ridge—we're the second wave."

Zhara nodded once, her voice cool. "Understood."

The dropship banked hard, descending through the haze. As they broke into the clearing, the world exploded around them—dirt and shrapnel thrown skyward as Umbaran tanks fired into clone lines. Bright bolts of plasma streaked through the gloom, the clash of blasterfire almost deafening.

Anakin's voice crackled over the comm. "Second wave, mark coordinates—bring it down now!"

Shooting past, a squadron of Republic bombers screamed through the sky, dropping a blanket of seismic charges over the battlefield. The shockwave hit seconds later, shaking the earth with a bone-deep roar, and for a moment, there was silence—just the hiss of steam rising from blackened craters.

The dropship touched down in a cleared zone, landing struts sinking into the smoking soil. The ramp dropped with a clang.

"Go, go, go!" Rex barked, leading the squad out at a run.

Zhara followed at the rear, boots landing lightly on the ashen ground. The moment she stepped off the ramp, the heavy pressure of Umbara pressed around her—thick, choking air, the stench of ionized metal, and the electric hum of something...wrong.

Near a makeshift command point, Anakin Skywalker stood with a small circle of officers. His robe was torn at the shoulder, lightsaber clipped but streaked with carbon scoring. When he turned and saw Rex, a fleeting expression crossed his face—relief tinged with something heavier.

"Rex, Voss" he said, nodding once. "Glad you could make it."

"Sir," Rex replied, glancing at the smoke still curling from the treeline. "We're ready to reinforce. What's the plan?"

Anakin's jaw tightened. He didn't answer right away.

A trooper jogged up and handed him a datapad. He scanned it, exhaled slowly through his nose, then passed it off again. "There's been a... change in command."

Zhara's brow arched. Rex's face didn't shift—but his voice sharpened.

"What kind of change?"

Anakin looked at him, and for a brief second, dropped the mask. "I'm being recalled to Coruscant. The Chancellor's orders."

"That doesn't make sense," Rex said, stepping closer. "We're in the middle of an active campaign. You've been leading us since day one."

"I don't like it either," Anakin said, voice low. "But this came from above the Council. I'm not being given a choice."

Zhara watched the exchange quietly, arms crossed, but she could feel the tension rising like a current. Rex wasn't just surprised—he was unsettled.

"Who's replacing you?" Rex asked.

Anakin hesitated, just long enough for the answer to carry weight.

"General Krell."

Rex went still. "Krell?"

"You'll follow his command," Anakin said. "Do what he says. No questions."

"I know his record, sir," Rex said carefully. "It's not the kind that works well with troopers like mine."

Anakin's expression softened. "I don't like it either. But Krell's not here to be liked. He's here to win the battle."

The two men stared at each other—shared history simmering between them, unspoken but felt.

Zhara broke the silence. "And I assume I'll be answering to Krell, too?"

Anakin nodded. "For now. But I want you with Rex's team in the field. Keep the 501st steady."

He turned toward his rapidly arriving transport. "May the Force be with you."

He didn't look back.

Rex stood there a moment longer, eyes on the soon-to-be departing gunship. "He wouldn't leave unless he had to," He muttered.

Zhara didn't answer immediately. Then: "No. He wouldn't."

They both turned back toward the smoldering treeline—toward the encroaching battlefield.

"Come on," Rex said, heading towards a more sheltered ridge, "we need to link in with the other battalions."

The air buzzed with static as a holoprojector flickered to life, casting a blue glow over the Captains plastoid armour. A familiar figure resolved in the light—General Kenobi, with clear lines of tension carved into his face.

"General Kenobi," Rex greeted with a nod. Zhara remained beside him, arms folded, lightsabers resting at her hips.

"Captain. Knight Voss," Obi-Wan acknowledged, nodding. "Glad to see you've arrived safely. I trust the landing wasn't too rough?"

"Just a welcoming party of orbital fire and a few stray missiles," Zhara replied with a faint smile.

Obi-Wan managed to mirror the expression, just. "Sounds like Umbara."

He tapped a control offscreen and a map of the region appeared beside him—a jagged sprawl of canyons and ridges, with the capital city marked in red.

"Our forces are advancing on the capital, but the approach is heavily fortified. We will be leading the main push, but the 501st's job is to clear the central supply route—cut through the Umbaran artillery lines here," he said, gesturing to a winding gorge choked with enemy positions. "You'll need to eliminate several key outposts to prevent them from coordinating reinforcements."

Rex studied the map, expression grim. "We've only just landed. No chance to set up forward command, scout the terrain... We're going in blind."

"I know," Obi-Wan said, his voice tight. "But time isn't on our side. The longer we delay, the more entrenched the enemy becomes."

Zhara tilted her head. "And Krell agrees with this strategy?"

Obi-Wan sighed, "I know it's not ideal that Anakin has been called away, but Krell is confident in the plan. From his experience, he believes a swift, overwhelming force is the only way through."

"Of course," Rex muttered.

There was a brief pause and then Obi-Wan nodded, "Good luck. And May the force be with you."

The transmission blinked out and Rex and Zhara were alone together once more. She spoke first.

"So. Our commanding officer is gone. Our soon-to-be replacement is an egotist with a kill count. And we're about to charge into a fortified canyon."

Rex muttered, "Welcome to the 501st."

He opened his mouth to continue, but the sound of boots crunching caused each of them to turn swiftly.

"Captain," Fives said, offering a crisp nod. "Heard we've got marching orders."

Rex nodded toward Zhara. "Before we get into that—this is Knight Zhara Voss. She'll be leading the assault alongside us."

The small group of clones straightened instinctively, forming a rough line in front of her.

Zhara stepped forward, hands clasped behind her back, voice calm but carrying. "CT-5555," she began, eyes on Fives. "Jesse, Kix, Hardcase. I've reviewed your files. You've all been commended for your skill, your loyalty... and your habit of bending protocol." She lifted her brow.

There was a pause, almost awkward—until Hardcase scratched the back of his neck and muttered, "We prefer 'creative improvisation,' ma'am."

That earned the ghost of a smile from her. "Then let's channel that creativity toward surviving this mission."

Fives tilted his helmet slightly under one arm. "We're not used to Jedi learning our names before we even meet them."

"I'm not most Jedi," Zhara replied smoothly. "If I'm expected to lead you, I need to know who I'm leading."

Jesse gave Rex a sidelong glance. "She's thorough.”

Kix, more cautious, stepped forward. "We've lost a few good men lately. Just want to know what kind of leader you are, Sir."

Zhara met his gaze evenly. "I don't believe in wasting lives for the sake of glory. I believe in completing the mission. Efficiently. Together." She continued, "I also appreciate your honesty."

Rex crossed his arms, watching their reactions. The tension eased, just a little.

Fives offered a slight grin. "Sounds good to me."

"Then let's get moving," Rex said, his voice back to steel. "We've got a mission to coordinate and we're running out of time."

The troopers gave a unified nod and turned to leave. Zhara lingered for just a moment, watching them go.

"They're good soldiers," she said quietly to Rex.

"They're more than that," he replied. "You'll see."

Chapter 3

[whatdyk]

No Peace for Soldiers

Captain Rex x Original Female Character

Newly knighted Jedi Zhara Voss joins the 501st during the brutal campaign on Umbara, where loyalty is tested, lines blur, and a forbidden bond with Captain Rex begins to form. As Krell’s betrayal fractures command, Zhara must decide where her heart truly lies — and what she’s willing to risk for those she’s come to trust.

(This is a story I started literally years ago. Until my obsession with the Clone Wars and a specific Captain returned..this is written very self indulgently with a character I had buzzing around in my brain. Don’t expect it to make sense or to follow the story line exactly! I’ve also tried my hardest and this is my first post in forever so pls don’t be mean x)

Chapter 1 - New Arrival.

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The vast hangar bay of the Resolute thrummed with activity.

ARC troopers polished their blasters in tight ranks, their armor gleaming under the flickering overhead lights. Maintenance droids flitted between formations, adjusting holo-projectors and fine-tuning ramp mechanisms. At the edge of the assembly stood Captain Rex, posture rigid; his white-and-blue-marked helmet tucked under one arm. He watched as the transport shuttle's cargo ramp began its descent.

Newly knighted, Zhara Voss stepped onto the bay floor as the ramp clanged shut behind her.

Her white hair caught the harsh fluorescent lights, framing a face both ethereal and unreadable. She wore standard-issue Jedi robes over fitted black battle leathers, twin lightsaber hilts at her belt. To the clones' trained eyes, she was the very picture of confidence: olive-green eyes bright, lips curved in a practiced, warm smile. Yet beneath the calm exterior, something like a shadow flickered in her gaze.

"Captain Rex," she announced, her voice clear and melodic. "Knight Voss reporting for assignment."

Rex inclined his head, expression neutral. Behind him, the troopers—Alpha through Omega squads—shifted to attention, boots clicking in unison.

"You're early," Rex observed.

"Prompt," Zhara corrected lightly. "I prefer 'prompt.' Besides, the war waits for no one."

A ripple of low laughter ran through the clones. Rex's eyes flicked to his squads before returning to the Jedi Knight, assessing her. He allowed a single nod.

"Briefing in ten. Follow me."

Zhara tucked her hands behind her back and fell into step beside him. Her robes whispered over the metal grating, her gait fluid, almost gliding.

The clones soon followed, with some troopers exchanging curious glances.

Though freshly knighted, Zhara's assignment to the 501st was no ceremonial posting.

The war had become a grinding engine, chewing through resources, troops, and Jedi alike. With veteran commanders spread thin, the Council had begun deploying younger knights with unconventional training to fill the cracks. Zhara Voss was one such name—her record marked by covert operations and battlefield improvisation rather than diplomacy or doctrine.

Her reassignment came swiftly, her dossier flagged for "strategic deployment," though some whispered it was a quiet exile after a failed mission that no one would speak of.

Captain Rex had read the file.

Twice.

It told him little beyond her combat qualifications, and even less about the Dathomirian woman behind the saber. That's what unsettled him. The Jedi he knew were measured, tempered by years of mentorship. Zhara's record suggested something different: raw power, shaped in the field, not the Temple.

When High Command informed him that she'd be joining the 501st for their next campaign, he volunteered to meet her shuttle himself—not out of protocol, but instinct. If she was to lead his men behind enemy lines, he wanted to see her walk, hear her speak. He wanted to know whether the calm in her smile was confidence or something far more dangerous.

The short corridor led them to the officers' briefing chamber, where General Anakin Skywalker stood before a holo-table, tracing glowing vectors across the surface of Umbara. Rex and Zhara entered, and the room fell into a hush.

"Ah, here we are," Anakin said, swiveling to face them. He smiled at Zhara, though the gesture didn't quite reach his blue-gray eyes. "Knight Voss. We've been expecting you."

"Thank you, General," Zhara replied, bowing her head in a small but elegant courtesy.

Anakin gestured back to the holomap, not pausing for long winded and unnecessary introductions, "Umbara's going to be a tough nut to crack. Their troops are dug in deep, and the perpetual twilight makes visibility nearly impossible."

"Our biggest problem is gonna be the local militia. The Umbarans have aligned themselves with the Separatists and are heavily armed."

He tapped a point on the map. "Remember, General Kenobi and his battalion will be 12 clicks to the south. We'll be landing in the North, to take out any enemy reinforcements that could stop the progress towards the capital."

"Rex, your squad will provide cover and coordinate the main assault with Knight Voss. You'll need to lead a recon team to map artillery positions and weak points in their trench networks."

Zhara stepped forward, one hand resting lightly on her lightsaber pommel. "We'll need Alpha and Beta squads for insertion—stealth approach"

Rex's jaw tightened. "Two squads are going to stand out like beacons in the dark. If we're going in stealth, we go in light."

Zhara met his gaze without flinching. "If we go in too light, we risk walking into their guns blind. I'll coordinate our entry points with your oversight, but once we're in, we need the freedom to move."

A charged silence hung between them. The clones, trained never to question a Jedi, felt the tension between their commanding officer and this newly knighted stranger.

Finally, Rex exhaled. "Fine. I'll pull Alpha and Beta. But if they go down, we stick to Plan B—extraction only."

Zhara inclined her head, the hint of a smile playing at her lips. "Understood."

Anakin deactivated the holomap. "Good. Get to your squads and plan the insertion. We launch at 0800 hours."

After the briefing, troops dispersed to gather gear, and Jedi stewards guided Zhara to her temporary quarters. The room was sparse: a single bunk, a small desk, and a viewport offering nothing but the hazy glow of a distant Umbara.

Zhara placed her lightsabers on the desk with gentle care, but first ignited and extinguished them in turn, watching the purple blades hum and flicker as they illuminated the room. She closed her eyes, drawing in a steadying breath.

Her breathing eventually evened, but a distant memory flashed: echoing screams in a cold cell, the sting of interrogation and the rasp of boots on metal grating. She pressed her palm against the cool wall, drawing on the Force to steady herself, banishing the tremor of anger.

—————————-

Hours quickly passed and preparations moved forward in quiet efficiency.

In the lower decks, techs ran diagnostics on shuttle nav systems, while troopers checked gear with the wordless precision of habit. The ship shifted into night-cycle lighting—dimmer strips lining the corridors, casting long shadows and bathing the Resolute in a quiet calm.

High above the hangar floor, Rex stood alone, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the movement below. His eyes tracked Zhara as she quietly appeared, walking between formations of troopers, her presence measured and deliberate.

She offered a word here, a nod there—easy gestures that spoke of familiarity, yet held something studied beneath the surface. He saw her laugh when a clone returned a nervous salute, saw the way she leaned in close to another with the care of someone trying to connect... or trying to be seen connecting.

She fit in too easily, he thought, too quickly. Like someone who knew exactly how to play the role expected of her.

A console beeped beside him. He keyed in his authorization code and a report flickered on the screen: Alpha and Beta ready. Equipment checks complete. All squads awaiting insertion orders.

He tapped his comm. "Alpha, Beta—stand by for Knight Voss. I'll be joining you en route."

He lingered a moment longer, watching her silhouette pass, cloaked in the pale blue-white of the shuttle's engines. Soon, they'd be boots-down in hostile territory.

And she would be helping to lead them through it.

————————————-

With launch only a few hours away, the corridors of the Resolute had grown hushed. Zhara moved with purpose, robes brushing the deck plates, her white hair catching the light as she passed.

Captain Rex rounded a corner and paused when he spotted her. He hesitated, then stepped forward, keeping a respectful distance.

"Knight Voss?" he offered, voice low.

Zhara froze, then turned. Her face was composed, but her eyes were cold.

Rex cleared his throat. "I saw you on the decks. Thought you might want company before the mission."

She took a measured breath, lips curving into a polite—but distant—smile. "Thank you for the offer, Captain, but I prefer solitude."

Rex's brow lifted. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. "All right. Just—if you need anything—"

She cut him off with a tilt of her chin. "I'll let you know."

She stepped past him, robes swishing, tone cool and clipped, like the corridor lights. "Good night, Captain."

Rex watched her stride away, her figure swallowed by shadow and silence. When the bulkhead doors hissed shut behind her, he stood alone, the echo of her dismissal lingering like unfinished orders.

Moments later the alarms sounded, signalling their impending departure.

(Chapter 2 )

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