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Obi-Wan knows a failed plan when he sees one.
The wreckage drifting above Ryloth provides a particularly thorough example.
Ahsoka Tano’s squadron limps back toward the Negotiator with less than half its original strength. The surviving fighters bear scorched wings, damaged engines, and the silence of pilots returning without friends.
She is an excellent pilot.
She is also 15.
Anakin’s decision to place her in command of an inexperienced squadron against a fortified Separatist blockade had been optimistic in the way only Anakin can make optimism resemble a tactical offense.
His second plan was worse.
Obi-Wan watches the tactical projection of the failed assault collapse for the third time.
“The maneuver was sound,” Anakin insists.
“The maneuver involved ramming a damaged cruiser into a control ship.”
“It almost worked.”
Cody stands beside Obi-Wan in orange-marked armor, helmet beneath one arm. “General, respectfully, ‘almost’ is doing considerable work in that sentence.”
Anakin glares at him.
Cody remains professionally immune.
Across the command deck, Ahsoka sits with Rex and the surviving pilots. Her narrow HUD eyewear rests against her headband above her eyes. The gold beginning to form around her blue pupils is particularly noticeable against the exhaustion on her face.
She hasn’t spoken a word since the casualty count arrived.
Obi-Wan lowers his voice. “We’ve spent enough lives proving the blockade is stronger than anticipated.”
Anakin’s jaw tightens. “Then what do you suggest?”
“I’ve already requested assistance.”
Cody turns toward him.
Obi-Wan recognizes the exact moment his marshal commander becomes alarmed.
“From who?” Cody asks.
The main hangar signals an incoming Republic interceptor.
Obi-Wan folds his hands into his sleeves.
“Marshal Commander Fox.”
Cody closes his eyes.
Anakin looks between them. “The Guard commander?”
“Yes.”
“The one who babysits senators?”
Cody’s eyes open.
“General Skywalker,” he says, with remarkable calm, “I strongly advise against saying that when he arrives.”
“Why?”
“Because I would like the ship to survive.”
The Clone Z-95 Starfighter painted in Guard Red enters the hangar at a speed that causes three deck officers to swear over the comm.
It lands perfectly.
Cody watches the hangar feed with the bleak expression of a man observing a prophecy come true.
Obi-Wan has heard about Fox for months.
Usually during conversations in which Cody begins with, “With respect, General,” and ends by describing something Fox would have done differently.
Fox would’ve noticed the missing fuel reports.
Fox could reorganize that supply line in an hour.
Fox once landed a burning gunship with no stabilizers and half a wing.
The comparisons have been frequent enough that Obi-Wan has developed a... professional curiosity.
Cody developed regret.
Fox enters the command deck several minutes later in red-dominant ARC armor.
The equipment immediately distinguishes him from Cody. Reinforced plating, a kama, additional ammunition, an advanced rangefinder, and enough customized systems to suggest that Fox expects every battlefield to become personal.
A Silver Star and Flying Star are painted in miniature beneath the command markings on his chest plate.
The rumors are apparently true.
The first clone ace of the war walks directly to the tactical table and removes his helmet.
Black hair. Gold eyes. An expression that suggests everyone present has disappointed him in advance.
Obi-Wan likes him immediately.
“General Kenobi,” Fox says.
“Marshal Commander.”
Fox looks toward Cody.
Something unreadable passes between them.
Cody straightens slightly. “Fox.”
“Cody.”
Anakin leans toward Obi-Wan. “They don’t seem pleased to see each other.”
“They’re clones,” Obi-Wan murmurs. “That may be affection.”
Cody hears him.
His expression begs the Force for patience.
Fox turns toward the battlefield projection. “Show me the failed assaults.”
Anakin folds his arms. “We’ve already reviewed them.”
“I haven’t.”
“You could read the reports.”
“I did. The reports were written by people defending their decisions.”
Obi-Wan feels Cody’s stare. No wonder he makes comparisons.
Anakin’s eyes narrow. “Do you always speak to generals like this?”
“No. Sometimes they have workable plans.”
Cody steps between them before Anakin can respond.
“Battlefield data is loaded.”
Fox studies the projection.
He asks no questions for nearly four minutes.
His gaze moves through ship positions, fuel reserves, fighter losses, Separatist reinforcement patterns, and the damaged Republic formation. He changes the display repeatedly, stripping away entire categories of information before restoring them in different combinations.
Obi-Wan watches the plan take shape behind his eyes.
The Kaminoans trained Fox in logistics alongside frontline command. Cody once described the decision as accidental brilliance. The medical and logistics sisters had apparently beaten supply doctrine into Fox with enough enthusiasm that even the trainers admitted his talent.
The best strategist in the army, they called him. Coming from the Kaminoans, it was practically an emotional declaration.
Fox enlarges the Separatist blockade.
“You’re attacking the center.”
“That’s where the command ship is,” Anakin says.
“That’s where they want you.”
Fox marks three smaller vessels along the outer formation.
“These are communications relays.”
“They’re escort frigates,” Admiral Yularen says.
“Their transmission output is too high.”
Yularen studies the data, then quietly adjusts his assessment.
Fox continues. “The blockade isn’t controlled from one ship. It’s divided into overlapping command sectors. Destroying the central vessel won’t collapse the formation quickly enough.”
Anakin gestures toward the projection. “Then we hit all four.”
“With what fighters?”
Anakin stops.
Fox highlights the Republic casualty figures.
“You’ve lost too many pilots.”
Ahsoka flinches.
Fox notices.
His voice changes, not softer exactly, but less sharp.
“You were assigned an objective without sufficient intelligence or experience.”
Ahsoka looks up. “I failed.”
“You survived long enough to learn why.”
Anakin’s expression hardens. “She isn’t responsible for the plan.”
“No,” Fox says. “You are.”
Cody makes a sound suspiciously close to despair.
Obi-Wan rests one hand on the tactical table before anyone begins a duel.
“What do you propose, Commander?”
Fox rearranges the Republic fleet.
“We stop treating the blockade like a wall.”
The center of the formation fades. Supply ships, damaged cruisers, and medical transports appear instead.
Fox builds the plan around everything the previous assaults dismissed.
Fuel limits.
Repair cycles.
Pilot endurance.
The lag between Separatist command relays.
He proposes a false retreat by the damaged Republic cruisers, escorted by transports broadcasting emergency medical signals. The Separatists will widen the blockade to pursue what appears to be a collapsing fleet.
Small attack groups will strike the relay ships simultaneously.
Not destroy them.
Blind them.
Once the sectors lose coordination, the Negotiator and two assault cruisers will punch through the weakest gap while Fox leads the fighter screen personally.
Anakin studies the plan.
“It’s too cautious.”
“It preserves ships.”
“We need a decisive victory.”
“Surviving is decisive.”
“The Separatists could refuse to pursue.”
“They won’t.”
“How do you know?”
Fox highlights the enemy commander’s previous engagements.
“He’s been rewarded for captured Republic vessels. He has three damaged cruisers in front of him and believes Commander Tano’s failed attack exhausted your fighter strength.”
Ahsoka’s montrals angle slightly.
Fox looks at her.
“We’ll use that assumption.”
Not her failure.
The enemy’s assumption.
Obi-Wan sees some of the weight leave her shoulders.
Anakin still looks unconvinced. “And if your timing is wrong?”
“It won’t be.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one that matters.”
The command deck goes silent.
Cody stares toward the ceiling as though reconsidering every choice that led to this meeting.
Obi-Wan hides a smile behind one hand.
He had been right to call Fox.
The plan begins within the hour.
The first stage proceeds badly enough to look convincing.
Damaged Republic cruisers break formation. Medical transports scatter behind them. Separatist ships advance, eager to finish what they believe Skywalker began.
Fox waits in the cockpit of his ARC fighter.
Obi-Wan monitors the battle from the Negotiator while Cody coordinates the assault groups.
“Outer relay approaching range,” Cody reports.
Fox’s voice comes through the comm, calm beneath the engine noise.
“Hold.”
Separatist fighters swarm toward the retreating cruisers.
Anakin paces beside Obi-Wan. “He’s waiting too long.”
“He’s waiting until they can’t withdraw.”
“They’re targeting the medical transports.”
“The transports are shielded.”
“They won’t stay shielded.”
Fox speaks over the command channel.
“Now.”
The battlefield changes.
Republic fighters emerge from behind the damaged cruisers and strike the relay ships from below. Ion weapons tear across communications arrays. Ahsoka leads one group through the outer screen, using her Togruta senses and HUD to track openings before the enemy pilots recognize them.
She doesn’t chase kills.
She marks targets, guides Rex’s squadron through the gaps, and withdraws exactly when ordered.
The first relay goes dark.
Then the second.
Separatist formations begin contradicting one another.
Some advance. Others retreat. Several fire into empty space where Republic ships had been seconds earlier.
Fox’s fighter tears through the confusion at the head of the main assault wing.
Obi-Wan understands how he earned the Flying Star.
Fox doesn’t fly like Anakin. There is no theatrical recklessness, no dependence on impossible instinct.
Every movement is deliberate.
He kills engines instead of pilots when disabled ships will obstruct pursuit. He uses debris as cover, forces enemy fighters into one another’s firing lines, and turns three surviving squadrons into the apparent strength of six.
“Ace count confirmed,” Cody says quietly as another Separatist fighter breaks apart.
Obi-Wan glances at him. “You sound proud.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m concerned.”
“Of course.”
The third relay fails.
The Negotiator drives through the opening.
Republic cruisers follow in tight formation, shields overlapping exactly as Fox instructed. Separatist ships attempt to close the breach, but their orders arrive late and conflict with one another.
Anakin watches the tactical display with reluctant admiration.
“He’s good.”
Cody looks at him. “Yes, General.”
“You could’ve mentioned that.”
Cody’s stare becomes almost philosophical.
The blockade breaks in 37 minutes.
Republic losses remain below Fox’s most optimistic projection.
Separatist losses triple theirs.
By the time the surviving enemy ships retreat, medical transports are already descending toward Ryloth.
The command deck erupts in relieved noise.
Obi-Wan allows himself one breath of satisfaction.
Then Fox’s voice cuts through the celebration.
“Stop cheering.”
The deck quiets.
“The blockade is broken, not the occupation. Redirect fighters to escort the relief convoy. Begin orbital scans for anti-air emplacements. Ground forces need revised landing zones before the Separatists understand what happened.”
Anakin smiles despite himself.
Cody lowers his head.
Obi-Wan suspects his marshal commander is praying Fox never receives permanent authority over them.
The following days prove the blockade was only the beginning.
Fox restructures supply drops so each advancing unit receives ammunition before requesting it. He reroutes medical transports around Separatist ambush corridors, coordinates local Twi’lek resistance reports with orbital scans, and rejects three proposed landing zones because the soil won’t support heavy armor after recent bombardment.
He is correct every time.
Republic forces take villages that had resisted previous assaults. Civilian casualties fall. Entire clone companies return from engagements that projections had treated as acceptable losses.
Even Anakin begins bringing plans to Fox before launching them.
Not always. That would be asking far too much.
Enough to constitute growth.
Obi-Wan finds Fox in the Negotiator’s secondary command center near the end of the week, still wearing his ARC armor and reviewing six simultaneous ground operations.
“You’ve reduced projected casualties by 40 percent,” Obi-Wan says.
Fox doesn’t look away from the display. “The original projections were wasteful.”
“Most people would accept the compliment.”
“I’m not most people.”
“So Cody has explained.”
That gets Fox’s attention.
“What has he said?”
“Enough to make me curious.”
Fox’s expression becomes wary. “That was his first mistake.”
Obi-Wan smiles.
Cody had been correct about something else too.
The resemblance is dangerous.
Fox possesses the same simmering anger Obi-Wan has spent years disguising beneath civility, but whereas Obi-wan releases it into the Force, Fox sharpens his into logistics, contingency plans, and casualty reductions.
Obi-Wan turns toward the planetary display.
“The siege is broken.”
“The blockade is broken.”
“And the campaign?”
Fox highlights the next Separatist position.
“Still inefficient.”
Obi-Wan’s smile grows.
“Yes,” he says. “I suspected you might say that.”
They still have an occupation to end, civilians to evacuate, and a Separatist army entrenched across half the planet.
At least now they have Fox.
They only need to finish what they started and let the marshal commander keep doing what he does best.