Prologue
Battle of Geonosis
The gunship, an LAAT/i, roared through the orange-red skies of Geonosis, carrying a compliment of thirty clone troopers, all shiny in their new, white armour, except for one man, who had the yellow stripes of a commander. CC-1223/1993 held onto the gunships grab rail, keeping his balance as the ship jinked to avoid anti aircraft fire. "Remember lads, when we touch down, we hit them hard, and rendezvous with the hundred and twelfth to assist with their objective" a chorus of acknowledgements met this announcement. The soldiers were only thirty out of a full battalion. The two hundred and thirtieth battalion, had trained together on Kamino. If any of them were nervous about their first battle, none of them showed it.
That was when everything went to hell. A Geonosian pilot, either desperately, or deliberately, rammed his ship into the side of the gunship. The tip of the spear tip shaped fighter rammed through the closed door of the gunship, sending it into an uncontrollable spin. The other side of the gunship rammed something, possibly the canyon wall, and the roar of the ships engines took on an urgent whine. "Brace yourselves!" Bellowed the commander, and seconds later, the ship nose dived into the desert sand of the the planet. Corpses littered the bottom of the ship, either killed by the collision, or the final crash. Only four troopers had survived, out of the thirty in the gunship.
The sound of approaching battle droids came to '23, and the three others. The troopers sprang up, opening fire on the enemy. One trooper took several blaster bolts to his upper chest, and collapsed. The commander stumbled out of the ruin of the gunship, firing his own DC-15A blaster at the, emotionless, death delivering machines marching towards him. A waist height droid, with four legs and a spherical body, a long laser cannon, and large, spherical red eyes. It homed in on him, and fired. He felt, rather than heard, the blaster laser punch through his chest plate. The force of the bolt threw him back into the gunship, where the side of the gunship door slammed into him. Something had caught fire, and he could feel the hot metal burning into his flesh. Unfortunately, there was no one left alive to hear his screams.
Chapter One
Introductions
Republic Base, Coruscant
96 days after the battle of Geonosis
Geonosis after action report: Twelve thousand seriously injured men, eight thousand walking wounded, approximately seventy two thousand men fit for combat
CC-1223/1993, also known as Drake, jerked away with a stifled gasp. Recently, the nightmares had gotten worse. He wasn't supposed to have nightmares...clones had been flash-drilled to not have nightmares. Or show fear in battle, or question orders, ever. Drake had done all of that, at some point after Geonosis, but mostly within the sanctuary of his helmet. The Jedi might have their magical 'Force' to help them out, but even they couldn't hear conversations inside a closed comm channel.
Throwing off the thin blanket that was covering him, he noticed a slight tremor in his right hand, and glared at it until it stilled. He was one of four clones in the room, all of whom were identical to Drake. Black hair, brown eyes, six feet tall, and well muscled.Thanks to the Kaminoans, he, like all his brothers, aged at an accelerated rate. Drake had the body and mind of a twenty year old man, but really, he was ten years of age. The only difference between the four of them, was Drakes' scars. The large, blaster scar in the center of his chest, and the burn scars all over his back, wide, crisscrossing scars from the ruin of the gunship door three months ago. He had a few smaller scars on his face, from the shrapnel of his brother's armour.
Normally, someone would have seen their scars as a sign of individuality, but for Drake, they were a constant reminder of his greatest failure. He was a clone commander, bred to lead his brothers in combat, and to be there for them when they needed a helping hand, or a sympathetic ear. Falling apart because of the nightmares and his scars was not an option.Ever. Only Cross, the medic in the squad, and Vyre, one of the captains in the battalion and Drakes close friend knew of his fears. Fears of being incompetent.Deficient. Fear of going back to Kamino.Again.
Shaking his fears away, or to the back of his mind for now, at least. Punching in the combination for the armour locker, he pulled on his black bodysuit, legs first, then the top. Then he placed on his boots, greaves, poleyn, thigh plates, the front and back plates, that connected at the shoulders by a pair of magnetic clasps, his belt, containing extra ammunition, a pair of thermal detonators, a water bottle, and med kit. Then the gauntlets,lames, vambraces,cowter, rerebraces, spaulders, and finally, the helmet.
As he placed it on his head, he blinked once, bringing up any messages or alerts that he needed to know about. Only one message, informing Drake that the 230th would be receiving their new Jedi commander and general in approximately one hour. The clone sighed, a little disappointed, and a little irritated. The battalions last Jedi had died trying to protect civilians from an AAT, an armoured assault tank. Both the Jedi and the civvies had ended up as a red mist. After that battle, on a planet Drake couldn't remember the name of, GAR command had sent the 230th to Coruscant, to recover from their wounds, and await a new general.
Technically, a major should have lead the battalion, not Drake, but for whatever reason, he was in charge.
'Then again, we can hardly be thought of as a full battalion,now can we?' Thanks to casualties from both Geonosis, and subsequent battles in the past couple of months, the battalion had been whittled down from the standard four companies, six hundred and sixty men, to three companies. Reinforcements had yet to arrive from Kamino, and he personally doubted they would. Other battalions, companies, and regiments besides the 230th had been hit hard since the beginning of the war.
"Drake? You okay?" 'Vyre' even when he was in full armour, Vyre always seemed to know when he was sinking into one of his moods. Vyre was the captain of the battalions first company, and Drakes' second. "Fine, Vyre, just thinking about meeting the new general today" he responded. The other trooper grunted in surprise "that's today? I thought they wouldn't get off their shebs' until next week, at least" the commander shrugged, watching as the captain dressed in his own body suit and began armouring up. "I guess they want us ready to go as soon as possible" he remarked, nodding to the two other troopers that were getting out of their bunks. Jag and Cross, a trooper, and medic, respectively. The rest of the nine man squad was in the other room, probably already awake and armouring up.
"Help me with this, will you?" Drake glanced over to see Vyre struggling with the back plate. It wasn't always easy to fasten the magnetic clamps, and best to have a brother help. Wordlessly, he brought up the back plate, and fastened the two clamps. Vyre nodded his thanks, and placed his own helmet on. Another anonymous, white helmeted, with a T-shaped visor. Both of them had gold yellow markings on their armour. Vyre had a trim of gold on his chest plates, helmet, and spaulders, while Drake had painted his lames, the plates covering the top of his hands, solid yellow gold, as well as his shoulder spaulders.
It was common practice in most, if not all units to paint their armour with the unit colour. Of course, troopers needed to earn the colours in battle, before they could mark the armour. Drake wasn't entirely sure where the tradition had come from. Perhaps it was a desire for individuality, or an act of defiance against the Kaminoans. The first thing all troopers did when they were safely away from Kamino was remove the ultra-violet markings the skinny grey freaks had placed on their armour to identify them.
All of Drakes' squad had markings'. Ice, the squads' sergeant, nodded in greeting as they filed out of the barracks, and towards the mess hall. "Another beautiful morning on Coruscant" the sergeant said brightly. "Ice, have you been hitting the stims?" Jag asked, his helmet tucked under one arm,revealing his grin. And the jagged scar that ran from just over his left eye, across the bridge of his nose, and ending at the corner of his mouth. The scar that had inspired him to name himself 'Jag'. Despite the injury, he kept a good sense of humor, and wasn't afraid to crack jokes, at anyone's expense.
The squad sergeant, despite outranking the trooper, just chuckled and shook his head. "Maybe I'm just naturally cheery" he said, stepping into the mess hall. Most of the battalion, those that weren't on shift, were in the mess hall, getting breakfast. "Nuna eggs, and nerf bacon again" groaned Vyre, heading for a mostly unoccupied table. Following, Jag quipped "would you prefer dry rations?" The captain shuddered. It wasn't that dry rations tasted bad...they just didn't taste like anything. They had all the nutrients that a soldiers body needed to keep functioning, cut down on fiber, and were despised by clones. They'd eat almost anything else, and almost all of them had a sweet tooth.
Not that any of them had ever had sweets. Or much of anything else, except food approved by the Kaminoans. Setting his tray down, piled with scrambled eggs, and perhaps more than the approved amount of bacon, he tucked into his meal. He'd probably need the strength for dealing with the new general, if they were anything like the old one. Drake had never opposed the first generals decisions, but he'd quietly despised the man. He wasted men to take impregnable bunkers and command stations. Despite Drake giving tactical advice, and being ignored, he'd followed his training like a good little trooper, and lost an entire company of good men. And then the general had gone and gotten himself blown to bits.
"Waste" he grunted, and Cross, sitting opposite him shot him a puzzled look. He shook his head, indicating the medic shouldn't pay him any attention. 'Gotta keep my head in the game. For all I know, these Jedi might be decent' he reasoned. But he doubted it, and suspected he wouldn't ever fully regain the respect he'd had for the Jedi at the beginning of the war. He ate quickly, chewing the minimum amount of times, as was drilled into him on Kamino. They finished their breakfast quickly. The night shift people were just coming in, to eat their supper, before heading to bed.
"The Jedi are supposed to be arriving in a few minutes, at the landing pad, in the next few minutes" Drake announced, wiping his mouth, and putting on his helmet. The squad stood with him, copying him. With a nod, the commander lead the eight mean outside, where an airspeeder was setting down, with a man and woman, wearing the typical Jedi robes. "At attention, men" he ordered softly, and the eight clones snapped to attention, blasters held diagonally across their chests, legs together, heads high. Drake strode towards the now settled speeder, trying to keep his less than pleasant thoughts under control. By now the Jedi were out of the speeder, and making their way towards him. He stopped just short of them, and snapped to attention, bringing his left hand up in a salute. "cc-1223/1993 reporting for duty" the two Jedi, an older man that Drake presumed to be in his mid to late forties, and the other,a younger girl, human, maybe eighteen, with long auburn hair, and curious, slightly frightened green eyes.
"Don't you have a name?" She asked. Drake stiffened, his eyes flicking from the older man, who was also watching him with a polite curiosity. "Yes...but it's private" he said, trying not to sound too rude. He didn't like Jedi, but he would have to be careful that they decided they didn't want him as a battalion commander and had him sent back to Kamino. The girl frowned, but only for a moment, before shrugging, and saying "well, my name is Allanna Starsong. I'm an apprentice, as you can see by my braid" she held up the twined hair for his instruction.
The other Jedi, the man, stepped forwards, extending his hand for shaking. Automatically, Drake mirrored the gesture, clasping the mans' hand. "Jedi knight Jevik Adraxis, a pleasure to meet you, commander" underneath his helmet, the clone frowned. He hadn't told the man his rank, and yet he'd known it without even a glance at his rank bars. "Yes, sir. The battalion will be ready to move out by nightfall" the general nodded, heading to introduce himself to the command squad. The apprentice- commander, remained, staring at him with curiosity on her face. "So....if you're a commander, and I'm a commander, does that mean we're on equal footing?" She didn't seem to mind being equal with a clone. In fact, she seemed interested in the possibility, but that just wasn't how things worked. "No ma'am. A Jedi automatically outranks any clone" he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
*****
Allanna almost stumbled back from the dark...maelstrom of emotions coming from the clone commander. He definitively wasn't like the other clones she'd met. He was a tightly controlled vortex of hate and sorrow and violence. Something horrible must have happened to him in the last three months...and his men as well. They didn't have the same amount of dark hatred, but they were cautious, almost skittish around the Jedi. Usually, clone troopers were trusting, and awe struck in the presence of Jedi. She'd been told this was because of their training, on the watery world of Kamino, where they'd been taught that Jedi were basically demi-gods.
She wasn't sure that was a good thing. Jedi were unsure of themselves too, they knew doubt, fear, grieved the loss of friends just as much as anyone else. Clones didn't believe her when she told them that. She didn't insist, knowing that it might make them feel better, believing they had someone powerful, and nearly omniscient leading them into battle.
She approached the line of eight troopers, who were still standing at attention. "At ease, men" master Jevik was saying, his hands clasped behind his back. The soldier relaxed slightly, lowering their weapons, and setting their feet farther apart. She approached one of the men, with a sergeants markings on his chest plate. "Hey there, do you mind if I ask your name? Your real name?" The sergeant hesitated, tilting his helmet to the side, obviously wondering why.
Slowly, carefully, he replied "the men call me Ice, ma'am" and then tensed, as if he expected to be punished for the independence he'd shown in naming himself. "A nice name, Ice" she said, smiling at the sergeant. "Mine is Allanna Starsong" she wasn't sure, but she thought the sergeant was smiling as well. She introduced herself to the rest of the squad, learning their names in return.
However, she noticed that the men she had and hadn't introduced herself too were still nervous. When she mentioned it to master Adraxis, he'd nodded grimly. "I'm not sure what happened, but the battalion is under strength, and they won't talk about their former assignments...none of them will" the two Jedi were concerned. For something so bad to happen that the troopers wouldn't even try talking to the two of them didn't speak well for their leadership of the battalion.