Whit crouched behind a burned-out skeleton of a civilian airspeeder, the air filled to bursting with blaster fire. Around him the majority of Alpha platoon's third squad, nine clones spread around their side of a square, most of them returning fire across the quadrangle to their opposing sep number. Whit and the company had been on the outskirts of the base when the klaxons began blaring their shrill tones, and he'd received orders in surprisingly good time. It was a relief that the brass had their affairs in order, that at least directions could be given despite what Whit could only assume was a crippling explosive sabotage. He'd been given simple enough orders, at least: open up a new front and establish a strongpoint north of the hostile landing zone, clearing the way for heavy reinforcement inbound from the myriad other bases on the capital.

Unfortunately, simple orders did not necessarily mean easy orders, and as such he found himself in the shadow of a bunkhouse currently occupied by first and second squad, trying to push across a square with what was, in his mind, far too little cover for comfort. The enemy forces were putting up a good defensive fight, but while Whit caught his breath he wondered what their apparently slap-dash offensive effort was. He had been expecting to fight a rearguard action against a massed breakout force, hopefully slowing a mechanized spearhead sufficiently to counterattack when reinforcements arrived, orders be damned. What he had got was a slow trickle of ill-supported armor doing little more than driving forward and presenting a perfect target for AT troopers to dispose of. Maybe the enemy commander was incompetent, and didn't know the problems with armored warfare in city-fighting, but somehow he doubted that. What could the enemy gain from wasting tanks like that? All it did was litter the battlefield with good cover for defense and counterattack, and break up the city to force the enemies into close-quarters kill-boxes.

He paused in his musings to return fire, his breath recovered after his mad dash to the car that was currently saving his life. The droids hadn't had time to dig in properly, and with the barrage of fire those that had made it into the opposing bunkhouse were unable to set up and return fire. They would no doubt be preparing to repel intruders, but those measures would be hopefully easier to deal with than a dash across a square under a hail of enemy fire. Droids never were too good in melee anyways. He spotted yet another hovertank push its way past the debris blocking their current arena, and watched it explode into a magnesium-white fireball as fourth squad on fired a salvo of rockets from his left flank. He fired two score of shots at a heavy blaster crew trying to set up, reducing three of the bots to scrap and hopefully knocking the gun out of commission, before ducking back down to return to his thoughts.

He motioned to the NCO to advance, and pinged the other three squads to increase the volume of fire. It was right as the charging cry of 'For the Republic!' filled the air when the realization hit him. Jedi were cut down like any other troops in the open, but with enough cover they could close and wipe out whole squads. He hadn't fought dark jedi in the better part of two years, but in sufficient numbers, and with their enemies being caught unaware after an inefficient tank offensive, they could very well break out with ease. He opened comms to the four Lieutenants in command of his platoons. They were arrayed in a close line, each within supporting distance of the other, all advancing at a measured pace towards the airfield. The LTs reported minimal casualties, thankfully, and mirrored Whit's good progress, mixed with trepidation at the ease of the venture. He spoke after their reports.

"Lieutenants. Ensure your forces are kept spread out within easy range of supporting each other. Ensure at least half of your troops are in easily-defended positions that provide good support lanes for advancing troops. It'll slow our southward advance down, but I think Saber troops are on their way. Make sure advancing squads are able to disengage with defensive grenades. If one squad is running low, pull them into covering positions. Over."

The silence over the comms was clear indication of the disappointment at their slowed advance, but each officer in turn responded with acknowledgement. He noticed the platoon around him begin shifting their deployment, third squad slowing their advance, staying out of CQ while the other squads moved to better directly support them, the suppressing fire on what remained of the defending seps lessening somewhat. Whit poked his helmeted head around the corner for a brief moment, then carefully withdrew to a more fortified situation, eager to be away from the now-apparent danger. His conditioning rebelled at the perceived cowardice, but his training knew better. The chain of command could not be broken, no matter what he might think. Taking a seat against a pockmarked wall, he opened up a holo display and continued to survey the unfolding action.