Good soldiers follow orders.

The most important lesson they teach on Kamino is how to be a good soldier. It's not about blaster accuracy or innovative battle strategy or even loyalty. The first thing about being a good solider is obedience.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Rex's grip tightens around the handle anchoring him to the shuddering gunship. The hold is cramped with nervous energy. Soldiers alternate between checking their blasters to testing comms to brushing off an imaginary speck on their polished white armor, then repeat the cycle. Although he's no exception from the series of emotions, Rex refuses to contribute to the maelstrom. He's grateful the army-issued helmet covers his entire face, providing a shield for his nerves.

  "Take us in, pilot." The voice cuts through the thick haze. Fidgeting ceases as everyone focuses on their commanding officer. The gunship dips, and Rex shifts his stance to accommodate for the change in direction. His commanding officer's black, t-slit visor sweeps over the soldiers. The blue outlines on his armor–painted with care–and the air of authority sets him apart from the rest.

  "We're coming into the heat of a firefight to rescue the Jedi," briefs the commander, clear and direct. "The Separatist army is made up of droids and Geonosians, so check your aim. Lay down cover fire for the Jedi and help any wounded on board. Am I understood?"

  "Sir, yessir!" erupts one unified cry. Courage surges within Rex. The commander seems to feel the same way, his posture straightening minutely. If anyone else detected the tremors in the commander's voice, no one betrays it. It doesn't matter that he went through officer training. It doesn't matter how many simulations they practiced. None of them have seen battle.

  The commander touches his helmet briefly, listening, then he speaks into his brace-comm to the pilot. "Just received word the Jedi are surrounded. Form a perimeter and open the doors."

Rex braces himself as their shield slides open with a blast of hot, dry air. Below, a swarm of machines surrounds a group of warriors brandishing glowing laser swords. The fight is in the center of a huge arena built from rock. The bright red surface shocks Rex's eyes; the roar of blaster fire mixed with the marching of thousands is deafening.

The chaos below startles him, but the instinct programed within kicks into gear. With the gunship leveling, Rex releases his death grip on his anchor and raises his blaster. The familiarity of pulling the trigger followed by the kickback comforts him, as if this isn't his first time on the field. Blue plasma punches metal flesh, crumpling droids right and left.

The rocky ground crunches beneath the gunship as it lands, throwing Rex's aim off once. He refocuses and his aim rings true again.

Rex is a first generation Clone trooper. On Kamino, he's one of the oldest, thus one of the most experienced among his Clone brothers. Here on Geonosis, he feels like a cadet again. The droids are models unfamiliar to him. The thin, brown ones are easier to take out than the tall, broad, gray ones. The best description for the Geonosians are as huge, flying bugs. Yellow eyes bulge from their narrow skulls. Translucent wings protrude from their brown exoskeletons. They're armed with electric spears or odd blasters that shoot green balls of energy, electrocuting multiple targets upon impact. An inhuman clacking and screeching emit from their throats. Truly, they are the creation of nightmares.

Retreating onto the gunships, Jedi cover themselves and their rescuers by deflecting enemy fire in a whirl of color. Out of the corner of his eye, Rex watches in awe at the fluid motions of the Jedi. The blue and green blades slice through metal armor and exoskeleton like it's nothing.

Rex shoots down one battle droid aiming at the retreating back of a Jedi too young to be anything more than a cadet. Then again, what did he know about age? The kid's probably older than him. That doesn't snuff out the surge of protectiveness as he ushers the young one onboard with a hand on his shoulder.

  "Thank you, soldier," the young Jedi gasps, wiping the perspiration from his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic.

  "No problem, kid." Despite his earlier revelations, the nickname rolls naturally off his tongue.

  "That's all of them!" the commander announces over blaster fire. "Take us up, pilot!"

The gunship rumbles as it tears from the ground into the air. Rex manages to brace himself before he's thrown out of the ship. The cadet Jedi isn't so quick and Rex's arm instinctively shoots out to catch the youth's tunic. The doors slide close, preventing the possibility of anyone falling out or being shot. In the dim red glow, the cadet nods his gratitude before moving closer to the other Jedi in the ship.

The rescue lasted mere moments, though it felt like a lifetime. Leaving the sound of marching machines and blaster fire behind, Rex's heartbeat refuses to slow. In the now more cramped hold, his brothers are also restless, anxiously bouncing on their feet. The Clone army was created to fight wars for the Republic, not to rescue Jedi. This battle is far from over.

The commander confirms their instincts.

  "Just received new orders from Master Yoda–" here even the Jedi perk up to listen– "Our new objective is to engage the droid army and prevent their escape."

Good soldiers follow orders.

And follow orders they did. The gunship shifts beneath their feet as it gains sudden speed. Blind as to their direction, Rex trusts the pilot to take them to the battle.

In mere minutes, the hum of the ship is drowned out by the roar of a distant fight. Something ripples through the men. They check their comms and their weapons with a bit more ease than before as if the smoothness of their first objective had given them a boost of confidence. Good.

  "Prepare yourselves, Troopers!" the commander barks. "We're making out decent. We'll be right in the thick of it, so keep your heads low and your weapons ready."

Rex rolls his shoulders and waits for the doors to crack open. He feels the gunship descend into the chaos. The noises grow louder as it swallows them up.

The moment the ship's belly touches the ground, the red light turns green and Rex jumps.

Red rocks crunch beneath his boots. Rex has no time to bask in the wonder of his first time stepping onto a world unlike Kamino. He rushes forward with his brothers. Red and blue plasma streak back and forth through the cloud of dust. An occasional blur of bright blue or green catches his eye, leading a charge of Clones behind the warrior wielding it.

Rex keeps his eyes glued on the back of his commander. If the body of a droid materializes through the cloud, Rex and his fellow soldiers quickly turn it into scrap.

They charge towards the ginormous, round ships looming ahead. These are the means of the droid army's escape, and their task is to prevent that.

Republic tanks swivel their ion cannons to the rising ships and tear them to pieces. Rex has a bit of mandatory tank training under his belt, but the men behind the controls are experts.

A droid ship collapses onto the surface, sending a tidal wave of red dust over them.

  "Get down!"

Rex barely hears the commander, instinctively throwing himself to the ground and covering his head before the ripple hit. Pebbles bounce off his armor. Grit infiltrates the chinks and chaffs between the plastoid plates and his body suit.

By the time he deems it safe to rise, the commander is already up and communicating with one of the Jedi they had rescued. The cadet is beside her as if stitched to her hip.

  "What are your orders, sir?" he's asking her.

The Jedi seems startled by the question, yet quickly schools her expression.

  "The enemy now knows our objective and our means to do it, Commander." Her authoritative voice carries over the battle with little effort. "We must continue to push forward while also protecting our tanks. They are our greatest weapon. If they fall, we cannot stop the ships from leaving the atmosphere. Take defensive positions around the tanks."

The commander salutes and begins relaying her commands.

Good soldiers follow orders.

Rex's squad finds a tank and takes protective positions in a wide circle.

The terrain grows more rocky as they draw close to the cliffs. Gradually, the tanks begin to slow. Although they're built for all terrains, they're forced to crash through rock obstacles as the space between them shrinks.

To some advantage, that means more cover for the ground soldiers. Rex climbs over and skirts around giant red boulders as he keeps the enemy at bay. Red dust in the air thickens to the point that even the optics in his helmet are compromised. 

In the chaos, Rex hears the commander's voice pierce through clear as day. "Grenade!"

He moves just as the ground behind him explodes. The blast slams him into the cliff face and sent a spray of stone and shrapnel after him.

Rex awakens after mere moments of unconsciousness, ears ringing and vision swimming. He tastes blood and dirt. His nose is broken and his chin bleeds from a deep wound.

Though the world sways, Rex slowly rises to his feet. His helmet lays at his feet, cracked in half. He blinks dirt out of his eyes and searches the cloud of settling dust.

Blue paint catches his attention and he stumbles toward his commander. The man lays twisted between the rocks. His helmet had fallen off, revealing the face of a young man. His hair is dark in the standard Clone cut and his brown eyes are full of pain.

  "Commander," Rex rasps, collapsing on his knees beside him. "You're going to be okay, sir." Then he yells into the empty void, "Medic! We need a medic over here!"

  "Rex..." the commander coughs, red dribbling from his lips, his breathing labored.

  Internal bleeding, Rex realizes. Broken ribs, maybe a punctured lung or two.

A heavy hand hits his chest plate, ceasing his call for help.

  "Rex," he begins again. "It's over... for me. You must... you must lead them. Lead the men."

  He squeezes the commander's hand resting over his heart. "Why–why me? I haven't gone through officer training. There are others who could–"

  "Others are not here. You are. I've seen you, Rex. You're–you're going to be the best of us." The dying man coughs. Blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth and splatters onto the ground. "Take my helmet. You know your orders."

Good soldiers follow orders.

Rex takes up the helmet with blue markings. When he turns back to the commander, the man's eyes are closing. He squeezes his hand more tightly and feels his pulse grow sluggish.

  "Hang on, brother."

   The commander smiles, showing bloody teeth. "Heh, brother. War brings a new meaning to that word." He coughs again and gasps as his lungs struggled to take in air. "You're a good soldier, Rex. You can lead."

  "What–what's your name? I don't know it."

  "Torrent."

Torrent's hand slips from Rex's fingers and falls limp.

Rex sits back on his heels and stares numbly at the body, the commander's helmet in his lap. He doesn't react to the hurried footsteps approaching; Coric with Jesse at his heels. The medic arrived too late.

  "Rex?" Coric starts, kneeling beside the body with his med kit. "Is he–?"

  "He's gone."

Rex rise to his feet. He turns the helmet in his hands till the visor stares up at him. He criticizes his reflection in the blackness.

  "What happens now?" Jesse asks quietly.

In one swift motion, Rex makes up his mind and slips the helmet over his own head. Jesse and Coric tense when they recognize the blue.

  "We fight." New-found authority rings in his voice. "We have our orders. We regroup and continue on. Make sure none of those ships leave this bug-infested planet."

  Jesse and Coric snap to attention and shout in unison, "Yes, sir!"

  "All right. Let's move out!"