Commander Bly's boots sank into the stinking mud as he trudged along behind General Secura. Felucia's daylight was coming to an end, and he was thankful for his tinted visor as the sharp rays of light sliced through the objects protruding from the ground.

He would almost dare to call them trees, but they were hardly that. Some looked like dirty sponges, shoved into the dirt. Others looked like spikes of clear crystal, stained many different colours. Still more glistened like the insides of a halved mangoes.

The walker tanks shook the ground behind him. Pollen and mud caked his armour, seeping into the cracks between plates and caused him to crave a shower, or a rag, or a bucket of liquid in which to clean himself off.

Instead there was only mud, grass, strange trees (if you could call them that), birds, frogs, fungus, and the rest of the 327th.

Bly felt sweat trickling down his face inside his bucket. He gripped his blaster tighter and kept on walking. His unit was made to survive conditions such as this. The 327th Star Corps were deployed on only the roughest missions on the most uncivilized planets. He was specially trained to know what to do when in over a hundred perilous situations. He was trained to know where exactly to shoot a rancor, how to confuse an acklay, and how to outsmart a Gundark.

Surely he could handle a little sweat and mud?

General Secura slowed her pace in front of him, gazing around at the scenery. Bly followed her example and did a sweep of the area, marking it as all clear.

Then, over his radio, with quite a bit of static, came a voice.
"Execute Order 66."

Bly's ears started ringing. He raised his blaster, pointing it at the General, who began to tense up. Her hand went to her lightsaber, then her head shook, lekku waving behind it, and she relaxed.

His men came up behind him, aiming their weapons but waiting for his signal. One of his troops looked at him. "Commander?" He said over the comm.

"Not yet," Bly said, fingers straying from the trigger.

"She's a traitor," whispered one of the clones, perhaps not realizing his comm was on and his brothers could hear him.

"We shoot now, Bly," said his lieutenant.

"No, no, not yet!" Bly said again. He screwed up his face and tried to fight his instinct, his . . . programming. He didn't want to do this. . . He knew he didn't.

But something in him DID. And he could barely control himself as his finger went back to the trigger, taking aim.

His brothers raised their guns and readied to fire alongside him.

A second too late, he stopped. "Wait!" He almost said. A split second before they fired, Bly leapt in front of them, throwing his blaster down, knocking the General to the ground, and tensing himself.

Blaster fire exploded all over the clearing. Bly hissed with pain as he was hit in the shoulder, the leg, the foot. He screamed when a blaster bolt ripped through the side of his ribs. A few of his men stopped firing, but his lieutenant pelted him with bolts mercilessly.

Perhaps he thought Bly was the traitor.

His gaze went a little hazy when something pushed his brothers back and away, farther and farther until they were out of sight.He didn't feel his helmet be yanked off. He didn't feel himself being dragged over to a sliced-mango object and fussed over by Aayla as she tried to patch him up with a fallen Medkit.

Bly was light-headed, couldn't think straight. His armour was burned to his skin where he'd been shot, and he had lost too much blood. He already knew that, despite the General's efforts, he was going to die.

"Bly! Bly, talk to me!" Aayla tried to squeeze a bacta pack on his side wound, trying to bandage him. Her slim fingers fumbled with it as she attempted to open it.

"General. . ." He managed to say.

Aayla looked overjoyed, which surprised him. Why would she be so happy to see him alive? He was just a clone, after all.

"Bly, stay awake. Stay awake and talk to me. You're going to be okay, all right? You'll be okay, Bly." Her brow furrowed as she studied the damage done to him.

"I'm going to die," Bly groaned, trying to roll over on his stomach.

The General looked at him and shook her head. One of her lekku flipped over her left shoulder. "No, you won't. You'll be okay."

"You need to run, sir. It isn't safe."

The Twi'lek nodded and stood, then grabbed one of his arms and tried to pull him. Bly grit his teeth as his organs and muscles twisted under his wounds.

"No, General! Go without me. I'm going to die anyway."

Aayla stared down at him. "Shut up, Bly."

He laughed, then coughed. Aayla studied him with concern.

"Put me down, Aayla."

She frowned and did so, looking into his eyes. Bly grinned at her. "I just saved your life, sir," he said.

"And you're going to die for it," Aayla said darkly, biting her lip. However, it was the way of the Jedi to know when a life was past and when to let go.

Bly sighed and reached for his helmet and blaster. "Can you hand those to me?"

Aayla reached over and retrieved his helmet and his weapon. She helped him put the helmet on. She handed him the blaster and watched as he straightened himself out, trying to look as if he were standing upright.

"Go now, sir," he said.

"Good bye, Bly," Aayla whispered, taking her sleeve and cleaning off his visor before staring into his eyes, one last time.

Then she stood, walked away. Hopefully got off planet. He'd never know. So Bly lay there for a moment longer, looking up at the sky.

His breathing became more rattled. He gasped for breath, then he stopped fighting it. He was over.

Commander Bly breathed his last, looking up at the odd Felucian trees.

If you could call them that.