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The channel had started in the early days of the GAR, not long after companies started to be assigned their Jedi generals and realized exactly what the Republic was tossing them into. It was strictly backdoor, unmonitored by anyone official even though it had found its way into the channel list of every clone commander.
It was almost always silent by unanimous agreement, only two kinds of messages went out, when a Jedi was wounded badly enough to take them down or when a General was killed.
Wolffe had always called it, in the privacy of his own mind, the Karking General Down channel. A ping on it usually forewarned a desperate call for backup through official channels or in some more worrying cases explained sudden drops in communication from battalions. Usually it gave commanders precious extra minutes to start getting the men into order before things started going sideways, even if sometimes they had to get creative about how exactly they’d known they needed to do that.
More than once they’d used it to bail out a desperate company holed up with a wounded general and a commander at the end of his rope.
Not a perfect system but it’d been all they dared, the penalties for running an off the books channel alone were high, nevermind using it pass such sensitive intel.
No one risked using it unless they really had to,
Now, with the echoes of the order from the Chancellor still echoing around his skull Wolffe eyed the channel ping he’d fed into the main holo display, feeling the distant twinges of a migraine.
Each company had a ping for their general, easy to decipher from the weak pun the code translated into. It had probably been Fox’s idea, it felt like his kind of humor. Wolffe pushed down a grimace at the thought that Fox probably didn’t have any kind of humor anymore, not now that the chips had done their work.
It was an effort of will to refocus on the holo display, he was trying, and had been for the last few hours, not to speculate on what the other clone commanders might be doing. A least this ping was proof that one might still be himself.
This ping code was one he’d seen often enough he didn’t even have to dig out the key to decode it.
Poltergeist in bed. Location here.
Ghost company, Jedi down, and a set of coordinates. Just that, over and over, sent every hour on the hour.
From beside him General Plo, admirably upright considering bacta could only do so much for his injuries in such a short time, crossed his arms. “What is the likelihood that this is a trap?”
Wolffe frowned, studying the display but keeping the General in the corner of his good eye. He could see out of the prosthetic but everything was always clearer through his natural eye. For a check on his General he always wanted clarity.
Ever since General Plo had crushed the chip and brought him back to himself Wolffe felt as if he had to keep his eyes on him, otherwise he was worried he might vanish, pulled away in a plume of smoke and a crashed fighter.
“It’s unlikely.” he answered. “This channel was… very unofficial. I doubt any of the commanders would even remember it existed unless they were…” his fingers drifted up to touch the scar over his eye, “Unless they managed to keep some control too.”
He’d held just a little of himself, long enough for it to matter but he doubted many other brothers were so lucky. Out of the whole Wolfpack it’d only been him and his kriffing prosthetic eye that hadn’t completely turned into empty puppets.
A shoulder bumped his, a solid pressure against pastoid. General Plo, drawing him back to the present, reminding him that he was in fact still there.
“We cannot afford to ignore it if it is really Kenobi.” General Plo said. “Unless this is a notification of his death?”
“No.” he shook his head. “Poltergeist would be in the ground if he was dead. But he’s likely in some sort of trouble if Commander Cody is risking using this channel.”
The General shifted back from the display, exhaustion in the line shoulders and adding more lines to his face. “I fear too few of the Jedi remain now, if Kenobi is really alive I wish to help him and whatever men remain with him.” He sighed and pressed a tired hand to his hurt side, “I fear we may need as many allies as possible.”
It wasn’t, strictly speaking, an order. Woffle raised an eyebrow at him.
“I am not your general anymore.” General Plo said. “If the war is truly over I cannot order you or any of the men into possible battle against your brothers.”
He snorted, crossing his arms, “You’d be hard pressed to find a clone here that wouldn’t follow you into any danger that you threw yourself into, sir.” The Wolfpack had been willing to march with their general into the afterlife and back even before Order 66. Now that General Plo had freed them from the agonizing blankness of the chip they were following him whether he liked it or not.
Apparently some of that was clear on his face because General Plo frowned and moved to look around the bridge. Around them clones stopped pretending not to listen in, turning to them, faces lined with determination and resolve. Over by navigation Bolts nodded solemnly, both the ARC troopers by coms gave identical grins that promised mayhem in whatever direction their General wanted to point them in, and at the door guard Boost clenched an eager fist in anticipation of coming conflict.
“You have the Wolfpack, sir.” Wolffe said. “Don’t doubt it. Now, that signal?”
“Yes…” General Plo, pressed a hand to his chest, his voice more thick than usual behind his mask. “To the signal then.”
-
Three hours later they dropped out of hyperspace above the planet the signal was pinging from, a tiny moon off of a backwater system near Utapau. Leaving the Faithful to watch for incoming danger they took a shuttle down to the surface.
Wolffe had wanted to pack the craft with as many brothers as possible, layering a wall of armor between his general and the possible trap but General Plo had argued the number down. He didn’t want to spook whatever survivors were broadcasting that ping.
None of them knew exactly what state of mind the clone commander, who might or might not be Commander Cody, holed up there was in. Whoever he was he remembered the Karking General Down channel but then again, so did Wolffe and he’d almost shot his own general. This whole trip would be wasted if the commander ended up putting a blaster bolt through General Kenobi’s head because they accidentally jolted the chip into working all the way.
Assuming it was even General Kenobi here and not some new Sith trap.
He swore trying to think through all the angles this could go was giving him grey hairs. Instead of turning it over in his mind again he turned to put the general back in sight of his good eye and breathed deep.
The pilot put their shuttle down near when they had calculated to be the source of the ping, some sort of bunker set into one of the dusty hills. Even if they hadn’t been able to narrow the signal down it wouldn’t have been hard to locate them, despite the distance the pilot had called out the sight of two troopers stationed to guard the door. White armor was hard to hide against the moon’s grey dust.
It didn’t look like they’d made much of an effort to hide other than getting under cover, only two hills away smoke rose from the crashed remains of what looked like two smashed transports. When they passed above Wolffe had reckoned at least one of those crafts hadn’t gone up until after crashing, it was likely that the less damaged transport had several survivors.
The two troopers, armor painted in 212th gold and white Wolffe was glad to see, straightened as he strode down the shuttle’s ramp, flanked by two of his own ARCs. The 212th troopers were tense, grip on the blasters they held too tight.
Wolffe stepped off the ramp, pointedly ignoring the way both men immediately leveled their weapons at them. He stopped halfway between them and the shuttle, planting his feet and crossing his arms. Without looking he knew his men had come to a halt just behind him, an intimidating wall of grey and white.
Tilting his helmet Wolffe gave the two troopers the Commander glare that was strong enough that any trooper worth his shell could sense even through the helmet.
Both troopers flinched, one visibly swallowed. They exchanged looks and seemed to come to a decision.
“Who are you?” demanded the one on the right, a trooper with blocky patches of gold across his chestplate.
Wolffe snorted. “We came all the way out to this miserable rock to rescue you and that’s what you lead with?”
Before either man could react to that the door behind them opened, out stepped a familiar figure.
Cody closed the bunker door firmly behind himself before turning to them, signaling both troopers with a hand sign to let him take the lead. He wore his bucket, with his face hidden Wolffe couldn’t tell if his brisk stride forward was Cody’s usual efficiency or the blank compliance to GAR regulations the chips had brought. Whatever had happened to him since Utapau looked like it had been an adventure, Cody’s armor was covered in dents and scratches, enough moon dust was ground into it to make the paint difficult to pick out.
Having seen it enough times Wolffe easily identified the red brown smears on the other commander’s chestplate and bracers as dried blood. From the easy way Cody was moving it hadn’t been his, not unless they were hiding a bacta tube in that bunker.
Cody stopped a few paces from them, in easy firing range, hands loose at his sides but not far from his blaster. The slight tilt of his helmet said he was looking them over, knowing Cody he was probably running through each variable of the situation, trying to evaluate every threat.
Or it was CC-2224 trying to figure out which protocol covered this situation best.
A long moment stretched between them, heavy with the watchful eyes of the Wolfpack and the Ghost troopers as they watched their commanders.
Finally Wolffe rolled his eyes and reached up to pull his bucket off. He settled it under his arm and scowled at his brother. “I better be speaking to Cody right now, because I didn’t haul my ass halfway across the galaxy for CC-2224.”
The tension went out of Cody’s posture so fast he seemed to sway for a moment, before straightening to pull his own helmet off. His brother looked like he was hours past exhaustion, his eyes were shadowed with weariness, his face pale, lines carved deeper than usual in a way the Wolffe had no doubt his own face showed too. The signs of whatever recent battle had mauled his armor were on his face too, he had a livid bruise on his temple and a nasty looking scratch down over his chin.
“It’s me, vod.” Cody said.
That was enough for Wolffe, none of the controlled troopers he’d seen before had that sort of spark in their eyes, even bone tired Cody had too much life in his eyes to be still under the chip’s control.
“It’s clear, General.” Wolffe called.
He didn’t need to look back to know the exact moment that General Plo stepped into view on the shuttle ramp, the look of naked hope on Cody’s face was clear to see for the moment it took him to school his expression back into commander neutrality.
“It’s good to see you unharmed, General Koon.” Cody said, giving him a nod as General Plo came level with them.
“I am glad to emerge from this affair mostly unscathed.” General Plo replied, though all the usual hints of good humor missing from his voice. “Although I am given to understand that General Kenobi was not so fortunate?”
Cody nodded. “Do you have a medic?”
Half turning Wolffe bellowed, “ Stitches .”
The man jogged down the shuttle ramp, already pulling the medical pack from his back.
“There isn’t much room, better keep it to the two of you and the general,” Cody told Wolffe, leading them back to the bunker door. He waved at both guards to stand down, apparently choosing to pretend not to notice the way both troopers were gazing in awe at General Plo.
Considering Order 66 Wolffe couldn’t say he wouldn’t also be shocked to see a breathing Jedi walking by.
Inside the bunker they found that Cody hadn’t been exaggerating, there was barely room for the cot and the five troopers huddled against the bare walls.
All of them looked up with the shocky wide-eyed looks of shinies after their first battle gone sideways but one look at the paint and wear on their armor showed them to be no fresh troopers thrown into the meat grinder. These men had years of combat and huddled against the walls like spooked recruits. Two of them were wrapped up so close they were almost in each other’s laps, clutching each other so hard it looked like they would have been leaving bruises if not for their shells. The other three sat against the wall, broken armor piled between them that it seemed like two were trying to make some effort to repair with wherever tools they’d scrounged.
The third trooper had his splinted leg stretched out in front of him, the space was so small Cody had to step over his leg to reach the cot set up the far side of the room. On it, under what was probably every blanket scrounged from the emergency kit was General Kenobi. Although Cody laid a careful hand on the one clear part of his bandaged shoulder he didn’t open his eyes.
“Sir,” Cody said quietly, “General Koon and the 104th are here.”
General Kenobi was deathly pale, only an unhealthy looking flush in his cheeks giving his face any color at all. His breath was coming shallow and too quick, Wolffe winced internally on hearing the rasp of it. In his experience that generally wasn’t a good sound.
But Stitches was already pushing past him and General Plo, unfastening the clasps on his kit. “How long has he been unconscious?” he demanded.
As the medic knelt next to the cot Cody moved back, spine visibly straightening as he pulled himself into commander mode, “At least four hours. He was in and out before the ship crashed.”
“Did he get injured in the crash?”
“No.” Cody’s face went grim, the hand not holding his helmet clenched at his side. “He sustained initial injuries after being shot off a cliffside and falling… very far. Broken ribs, possible internal injuries, lacerations on the chest, dislocated shoulder. Broken leg too.” There was a slight twitch of his lips, something that might have been a smile in another life, “Probably a few broken knuckles.”
Stitches snorted, flipping the blankets down so he could start to peel back the stained bandages from General Kenobi’s chest. “When’d the fever set in?”
“A few hours after initial injury.” Cody replied, “Hard to give an exact time but he was mostly conscious until we crashed here. After that we haven’t been able to rouse him.” If he clenched that hand any harder he was going to pop a knuckle.
Deliberately moving forward Wolffe stepped over the trooper’s splinted leg so he could knock his shoulder against Cody’s using the movement to also tap the back of his hand. “Forget how to land?”
“No.” Cody’s voice was clipped, his eyes on his general as he spoke but his hand was opening, fingers relaxing now that Wolffe had brought his attention to the lapse, “We were shot down by…” his eyes darkened, “They must have seen the transport explode and assumed we all died. Not all the 212th were…” he gestured vaguely at his head.
“I need to ask you about that, Commander.” General Plo spoke for the first time since they’d entered. He’d stayed by the door, hands tucked into his robe’s sleeves and outwardly serene. Wolffe had served with him long enough to see the worry he carried in the line of his shoulders and in the creases at the corners of his covered eyes. “How is it that you and your men here retain your sense of self?”
“General Kenobi fried our brains. He made the blank go away.” They all turned as one to look at the trooper who had spoken. Under their gaze he laughed, high and hysterical, a sound quickly muffled as he buried his face in his hands. The man next to him reached out to pull him to his side, hand patting awkwardly at his back as he shook. He didn’t seem to be able to stop trembling.
Wolffe clenched his teeth. He could remember that feeling of emptiness all too clearly, of being hollowed out, just a vessel for orders.
And good soldiers followed orders.
He shook the echo out of his head, shifting so he could keep General Plo in the corner of his good eye. It helped keep the echo from coming back.
“He’s not wrong.” Cody said, voice grim and eyes fixed on his Jedi as Stitches pulled more bandages away and started to swear. “I don’t know what he did. One second I was-- I went down with a squad to confirm the kill then I was waking up by the water, back to myself.” he brushed wry fingers over the bruise on his temple. “I think he hit me with something. Or just, well, punched me. General Kenobi had already freed the rest of the squad and was down by the time I was awake again. We grabbed him and got out.”
Eight men, weighed down with a wounded general, against an entire company. Wolffe was impressed they hadn’t gotten shot down sooner.
“We discovered chips in the head of each trooper in the 104th.” General Plo said. “If not for Commander Wolffe’s malfunctioning long enough for me to identify it I suspect I would not be here.”
“Chips.” Cody repeated, voice blank.
The trooper with a broken leg spoke up, tilting his head back to look up at Commander Cody, “Sir, he’s right. General Kenobi, he grabbed my head and I felt like… there was this crunch, then I could think straight again.” He looked a little rueful, reaching out to pat the still shaking trooper on the back. “We just left the others.”
“We’ll be going back.” Cody said firmly. “Once we regroup. We have another Jedi now, we can free more troopers.” The look he cast General Plo wasn’t questioning but the other general was already nodding.
“Yes. But we need to regroup and see that everyone’s injuries are cared for first.”
A hasty knock on the bunker door brought them all around. “Sir!” one of the guards called, “There’s a ship landing!”
Wolffe and Cody exchanged the look of commanders done with surprises the war over. Almost at the same time they shoved their buckets back on and headed for the door.
-
The two man ship touched down lightly, landing near the Wolfpack shuttle with only a small cloud of dust kicked up. The shuttle ramp was lined with the 104th troopers Wolffe’d left outside, quickly formed into a decent defensive wedge.
He and Cody had planted themselves in the space between the bunker and the new ship’s landing space, in easy view of whoever had managed to also track the Jedi down ping. The windshield of the cockpit was too pitted and scratched to be easily seen through but the familiar curve of a clone helmet was definitely in the pilot’s seat.
Whoever it was didn’t power down the engine, instead the helmet tipped toward the second seat, the hooded figure in it leaning forward a little. Whatever they decided on the hooded figure slid down in their seat and the clone keyed the cockpit open.
In one smooth move the clone vaulted out of the cockpit, landed next to the ship, and drew his pistols. He leveled one at the two commanders, the other on the Wolfpack troopers.
“Where is General Kenobi?” demanded a very battered looking Captain Rex.
His aim on either group didn’t waver as he looked from the shuttle in 104th grey to him and Cody.
“What,” he said, in a very deliberately controlled voice, “Did you do to the general?”
Beside him Cody flinched and Wolffe decided he was done with this entire karking day. Slowly he lifted his hands, telegraphing the movement as clearly as he could as he took off his helmet.
“Stand the kriff down, captain.” he said. “I’m not getting shot today of all days.”
To his credit though he seemed surprised Captain Rex didn’t lower either pistol.
“Rex,” Cody reached up to take his own helmet off. “It’s alright, we’re us. All of us here, we’re ourselves again.”
Both pistols failed to lower. “Prove it.” he snapped.
“Sir,” Wolffe called back to the bunker, “It’s Captain Rex. Might want to come out slow, he’s a little spooked.”
For the second time Wolffe kept his eyes on a brother as General Plo emerged behind him. The effect on Rex was instantaneous, both weapons lowered, and from the angle of his helmet his eyes were fixed on the Jedi.
“It’s Commander Rex now, I believe,” General Plo said lightly, “Congratulations on your promotion, Commander, although I imagine we all wish it have been longer lived.”
It was Rex’s turn to flinch, which didn’t bode well for his new command.
There was a muffled shriek from the cockpit that had every one of them twitching. A brown cloaked blur flung themselves from the ship and hurled themself at General Plo. Dark skinned arms were flung around his shoulders and Commander Tano buried her face in his chest. “I’m so glad you’re okay, master!”
General Plo put his arms around her, holding her just as tightly. “As am I, young one It’s good to see you well.”
With a sigh Rex holstered both pistols, “What part of ‘stay in the ship’ was unclear?” he said, reaching up to remove his helmet.
Wolffe snorted at the idea of getting any Jedi, former or otherwise, to fully cooperate with a plan. He signaled his men to stand down, sending them back into the shuttle with a few quick signs. They probably didn’t need an audience for this.
Rex joined him and Cody as they watched General Plo and the commander talk quietly. From the set of General Plo’s face it wasn’t good news.
“How.” Rex said flatly, looking at two of them. This close Wolffe saw the bacta patch on his skull, he frowned at it and Rex, noticing the direction his look, put up a hand to cover it. “The commander got my chip cut out. How did you two…”
Tapping his cheek where the scar split it Wolfe grinned wryly, “Long necks botched something when they put the prosthetic in. Didn’t flip over all the way. Gave General Plo enough to go on when he poked around in my head he could crush my chip. All my men’s chips.” he glanced over at the transport’s ramp, where he could definitely see some trooper boots lurking toward the top.
Eavesdropping, without a doubt.
Rex turned curious eyes on Cody, clearly taking in the other man’s bruised temple and battered armor.
Under his gaze Cody’s spine straightened, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. He opened his mouth to speak but Wolffe’s hand settled heavily on his pauldron, hard enough he leaned a little to the side under the weight.
“Cody here got punched out by his general.” Wolffe said, tone pointedly light. “General Kenobi did the same Force crushing trick on him and his patrol group.”
But Rex was frowning, “I didn’t see the Negotiator in orbit, only the Faithful , was it damaged?”
“The rest of the 212th isn’t here.” Cody said stiffly. “Just the squad. It was all General Kenobi could… he was hurt before he freed us. We had to run.”
Rex frowned, eyes flickered over Cody’s face again, reading more closely. “Is he--” he started but was interrupted by Stitches cracking the bunker door open.
“Are we being shot at?” the medic demanded.
“All clear.” Wolffe told him and he nodded.
“In that case I want to get the general into bacta on the ship.”
At his words Commander Tano broke away from General Plo, “Master Obi-Wan is hurt?”
“He’s stable enough to move.” Stitches said, but when she made a concerned sound he added, “If we get him to the Faithful’s medbay soon I’m optimistic of his chances.”
Beside Wolffe Rex’s frown had deepened as he watched the expressions flit over Cody’s face. It was strange to see his brother so wrong-footed, especially when he noticed them watching him and put his bucket back on to hide his face.
It had been a disaster of a day, so Wolffe let him get away with it for now, turning back to Stitches and the most pressing matter, “Load up then, let’s get off this rock.”
Men from the 104th headed into the bunker to assist the 212th out, more then just the trooper with the broken leg needed a helping arm out. Wolffe waved two aside to pilot Rex’s ship back up to the Faithful , no need to waste a perfectly good craft.
Besides, seeing strain on Rex’s face Wolffe wasn’t about to put him in ship by himself. He knew all too well the 501st and the 212th worked closely together. Wanting to keep an eye on one of your Jedi was a feeling he could sympathize with.
Commander Tano attached herself to the stretcher General Kenobi was carried on as soon as it emerged, following it into the shuttle with determination.
Without bothering to be subtle about it Wolffe put an elbow into Cody’s ribs. That he connected only showed how distracted the other commander was.
“Go hover.” Wolffe told him. “You know you want to.”
When Rex raised his eyebrows at him too Cody sighed, shoulders slumping. Apparently to tired for even a token protest he joined the stretcher bearers as they headed up the shuttle’s ramp.
The two seater craft took off, the pilot waving what was probably a salute to him through the weathered windshield.
Giving Wolffe a tired nod Rex followed the others, helmet tucked under his arm with military precision even though his feet were starting to drag from weariness.
Wolffe hadn’t had time to fully read the last dispatch about his deployment to Madalore but he remembered from skimming it he’d had at least a division of the 501st with him, from the shadows in his brother’s eyes Wolffe had a bad feeling about what had happened to his men. He hoped that they were just stranded out on whatever planet they’d been sent to but the war had taught him not to bank on the best case scenario.
Besides, Order 66 had been empathic about killing all Jedi and Jedi sympathizing clones, which meant even with one brother on her side Commander Tano would have had a difficult getting free. It was possible they’d had to cut brothers down just to escape.
At the thought Wolffe shifted his head to put his General, who had been by the ramp, in the corner of his good eye again and felt cold bolt of fear to find him gone. Panic, gripped him as he turned, where was his General?
Smoke, pluming up into the sky as he watched and--
A hand settling on his shoulder made him jump so badly he dropped his helmet.
General Plo reached down to retrieve it and paused, holding the helmet in his hands as he looked thoughtfully at him. “We’re alright, Wolffe.” he said softly.
He took a breath, forcing himself to make it an even one and swallowed down the fear. “I know.” he said. Glancing up the ramp he saw that Stitches had gotten stretcher settled to his liking, they were probably clear to lift off. “We should go.”
“Yes, we should.” General Plo said, handing the helmet back to him.
But as they both turned to head up the ramp he walk close enough that their arms brushed, a constant reminder that his general was in fact right there.
Wolffe found that he was painfully grateful for the gesture.
The ramp retracted behind them and their transport took off, headed back for the Faithful . Now they had what amounted to three Jedi, that had to mean thing for the future were looking up. At least for the time being.
With his general next to him, alive and as well as could be expected after a plane crash Wolffe found that he was willing to take that for now.