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“He’s not a bad general, just… shiny. Young,” Rex says, three months and five dead commanders into the war.
Cody raises one judgemental eyebrow, pointed even over a hollocall. Rex knows it’s a bit hypocritical of him to say, given that he himself is all of nine years old and hasn’t been in this war a day longer than his general has, but it’s true. Jedi generals were supposed to be old and wise, but General Skywalker is physically (and in terms of maturity) younger than nearly all of his men.
“You know how protective CCs can be,” Rex says. The 501st’s commanders had all been first gen CCs, eleven and a half and incapable of looking at the general, stretch-limbed and baby faced still, and not seeing a vod’ika cadet.
“So it’s a problem of respect?” Cody says, “He’s too young for the Commanders to follow his orders properly, and trust that he knows what he’s doing?”
“The General doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Rex admits, “He’s just good at surviving his own dumbassery.”
“Can he be taught?” Cody asks.
“He…” Rex says, the thing is he likes his general, he really does but, “He doesn’t listen well. He’s, like I said he’s shiny, in over his head. But I think he really wanted his promotion, and he feels like he has something to prove. He takes risks, and then the risks pay off so he thinks that proves him right. And his risks do pay off. We really have a pretty low casualty rate overall.”
“That’s because he rushes ahead so far most of the troopers left in his dust don’t have anything to do. He rushes in, his CO and elite forces rush after him, he comes out alive by some force osik miracle, but the rest aren’t so lucky. I don’t have the commanders to spare for him to just throw away.”
It’s harsh, but it’s true. Clones die every day, but CCs aren’t meant to. It’d be one thing if the general got men killed, wasted troopers by leading from the back. That, from Rex’s point of view, would have been worse, morally speaking. But the fact of the matter is that it would be a hell of a lot cheaper. CTs outnumber CCs nearly a thousand to one, and first gen CCs? The ones with the best training, equipped to handle a unit as large and unorthodox as the 501st? There were only 500 made, total.
“Are you going to try to get him demoted?” Rex asks.
Cody sighs.
“That’s not actually something I can decide,” Cody says, “generals can’t get demoted, at least not from being Jedi knights. They could make an exception and demote him to commander even though he’s a knight, but it’s unlikely anyone would agree to doing that over the death of a few clones, especially since he was only promoted in the first place because he was so effective in battle. Which he is.”
”Why the interrogation, then?” Rex says, “What’s the point of all this.”
Cody taps a finger against his thigh, thinking over what he says next.
”I’ve got two options here. First, is to try and do damage control. Sideline Skywalker as much as possible. He’ll still get some big assignments, because he’s a pretty face and the Chancellor’s favorite, but I can make sure to keep him away from the heat of things day to day. I’ll transfer out his best troops to where they’ll be more useful, and give him a commander I can afford to lose if my efforts aren’t enough to keep Skywalker from getting him killed.”
”You can’t,” Rex says, knowing that if Cody was “transferring out” troopers, Rex would be first on the list, “It’d be a waste.”
”A waste?” Cody says, “Five dead commanders is what I call a waste. Or does your General’s ability to play hero matter more to you than your brothers’ lives?”
There’s something desperate in Cody’s face. He’d have General Skywalker demoted if he could, but he can’t. And that’s put him into an impossible position, one where he’s forced to weigh the options and sacrifice brothers, “a commander I can afford to lose,” the one thing that Cody hates most.
”I’m sorry,” Rex says, miserable with it. Because it is a waste. Because Skywalker really is incredibly good at what he does. It’s just that what he does is closer to a plasma bomb than a superior officer.
”No, I’m sorry. That was out of line,” Cody says, “Tell me, no don’t try to tell me why you think he’s a good general, we’ll just keep going in circles. Tell me why you like serving under him.”
Rex thinks about it. That fact that he has to think about it this hard is probably a bad sign. But the fact remains that Rex does like serving under his general, he loves it in fact. Despite everything, Rex is pretty sure this is the happiest, most content, most energized he’s ever been in his life. And it’s not just the near miracle of having made it out of Kamino alive, and it’s not just the relative freedom of the GAR, and it’s certainly not the war itself, not on its own.
”Please don’t be mortally offended,” Rex says.
”That’s certainly ominous,” Cody says, “Continue.”
”He reminds me of you,” Rex says.
Cody’s jaw works in his effort not to be mortally offended. “Elaborate.”
”He’s smart first of all. He’s a karking dikut but he’s brilliant. His plans are osik, but he’s so good at thinking on the fly. And it’s like magic, sometimes, the way we’ll be backed in a corner, and he’ll say the most dini’la shit, and all of the sudden I can see it, like he’s shown me a brand new version of the world where anything is possible, you just need to think fast enough and far enough outside the box. It’s fun trying to keep up with him, and I’m good at it. I’m good at pivoting when a plan goes off the rails, I’m good at reading the General and figuring out what the kriff he’s doing and why. And I do like him as a person. I know all the generals see us and look at us like we’re people, but Skywalker has a way of looking at us, individuals, like we’re the most important thing in the galaxy. And I know he’s flighty, I know the flip side is that sometimes it’s like he forgets that we’re still people when we’re not right in front of him. But he’s so earnest about it and he cares so genuinely it’s intoxicating.”
“And is that…safe, for you?” Cody asks. Which is a ridiculous thing to say as a clone in this war. But Cody isn’t asking if serving General Skywalker is safe, he’s already determined that it isn’t. He’s asking if it’s safe for Rex. Rex who never once had a trainer that wasn’t the karking worst Kamino had to offer. Rex, who’s a little desperate, maybe, to be approved of, and knows that he doesn’t know what it means to be treated right, or even acceptably, by a superior. But Rex has Cody now, he doesn’t need his general to fill some sort of parental role.
”He’s a kid,” Rex points out, “I respect him as my Jedi, but I don’t—I like him because he’s fascinating, because he’s fun. He isn’t going to hurt me.”
“Does he like you?” Cody asks, “Does he respect you?”
”I don’t think he believes in respect,” Rex says, “He doesn’t disrespect me. And he likes me a lot. I mean, I think he does, can’t know for sure, obviously but he—“
”He adores you, then,” Cody says, cutting Rex off before he can start second guessing himself too badly, “You wouldn’t be so evasive about it otherwise.”
Rex shrugs in acceptance of this.
”All right,” Cody says, more to himself than anything, coming to a decision, “I said there’s two options. Option number two is I stop wasting commanders and I make you his second.”
”What,” Rex says, blankly, “You can’t. You can’t just… I’m a CT, you can’t promote me past Major.”
”Actually I can’t officially promote you past Captain, there’s a hold on your file,” Cody says, because of fucking course there is, “But flimsy rank doesn’t really matter. I just won’t assign anyone else above you and you’ll be de facto commander anyway. None of the natborns will notice or care, unless your General objects.”
“Skywalker would love it,” Rex says automatically, because he would. He already preferred to work with Rex anyway, a problem that only seemed to be getting worse as time went on. But quite apart from the fact that it’s Rex specifically, General Skywalker would be delighted by such a willful disregard of proper chain of command. Rex would like to say he’s surprised that Cody is willing to completely ignore Rex’s actual rank, but there is, in fact, more than one reason that Skywalker reminds him a little of Cody. “But,” Rex says a little desperately, “I’m nine.”
“And your General is nineteen,” Cody says, “And he “doesn’t believe in respect”, apparently. You’re already the highest ranking soldier to have survived under his command since the beginning. You’ve said you work well with him, and the record bears that out. If anyone can work as his second it’s you.”
”Damn,” Rex says, “So it’s either step up and become Commander of the 501st legion, or let you write Skywalker off entirely. That’s a hell of a lot of pressure, you realize?”
Cody looks at him, measuring in a way that makes Rex sort of want to squirm, but also want to be the sort of person who never so much as thinks about deviating from perfect posture.
”Rexika,” Cody says slowly, “I don’t want— I can’t ask you to do this if it’s not something you’re prepared for. But don’t sell yourself short either. Can you do it?”
Rex breathes slowly, takes stock of himself and actually considers it. Can he do it? Can he be a Commander? Can he be Skywalker’s Commander? He wasn’t trained for it. But then again, as the past months have vividly shown, no one was properly trained for Skywalker. And for the past four years he’s tagged along during Cody’s training wherever possible, tagged along after Cody in general which is likely as close as anyone could get to being trained for Skywalker. He’s a fucking nine year old defective CT, this isn’t, anything remotely close to this was never in the cards for him, this isn’t what he was made for. But then, it’s not as though he has any faith in the long necks’ judgement. Cody thinks he can do this, or rather Cody thinks he can do it if Rex thinks he can. Can he, really? The truth is he already has been. Skywalker prefers him. Commander Plank likely wouldn’t have died when he did if he’d listened to Rex. Five first gen Commanders have died under Skywalker but Rex… He can do this. He’s really doing this, it’s insane, but when has that ever stopped him?
”I can,” Rex says, squaring his shoulders, filling himself with the certainty of it.
“Good,” Cody says, with a sharp nod. And there’s worry in the slant of his eyebrows, but every line of his posture radiates pride, “K’oyacyi, vodika.”
”K’oyacyi,” Rex says, and grins.