Lines crisscrossed the holographic map, depicting a Separatist base nestled deep within a mountain canyon. Yet, the lines were wobbly, the details blurry- the mark of rushed recon and desperate intel gathering. He gritted his teeth, glaring at the map.

Across the table, the General stood, bathed in blue light from the holoprojector calmly. That infuriating calm that didn't fool Wolffe for a second. He knew that look, the one that hinted at unwavering determination, a determination that often bordered on recklessness. This wouldn't end well.

"General," Wolffe began, his voice a low growl of frustration. Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the insistent hum of the projector. "These plans are a mockery of strategy. We're talking about a full-fledged Separatist stronghold, not a glorified pirate hideout!" He knew he was overstepping, but the urge to yell, to shake some sense into the General, was overwhelming. He couldn't reasonably stay quiet over this. Not with the risks. They were going to get themselves killed and he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't risk his brothers on his either.

"These maps are outdated," he continued, each word an attempt to keep himself calm. "Droid patrols, weapon placements, even the layout itself- it's all a gamble. We're sending you in blind, the odds are-"