Star Wars:
The Clone Wars
"The Lost Clone Chronicles"
A/N: Hello! Here's the beginning to an episode-based series we, (yes, TWO authors), are writing. Most of the episodes will be in a couple chapters, but a few may be one long chapter. Thanks for reading and make sure to review!
P.S. If you've already read this chapter before 12/29/11, you may want to reread it. And by that, we mean if you don't reread it, you'll be seriously lost.
Disclaimer: We absolutely own nothing of Star Wars and its respective universe. That belongs to George Lucas. This is purely for non-profit fun.
Episode 1:
Crash Landing
"Do not tell secrets to those whose faith and silence you have not already tested."
Republic forces engage a Separatist fleet for control over the strategic position of Planet Tanroq, rich in raw materials vital to war effort. In order to establish a foothold for an occupation of the planet, Republic Command has ordered Iota Battalion to seize Tanroq's only moon, Kiijama. Spearheading the attack is Omikron Platoon, led by Lt. CL-9414 "Fourteen". En-route to engage a Separatist forward command post, Omikron Platoon encounters troubled skies that could spell disaster for the mission…
Four Republic LAAT/I gunships accompanying an LAAT/C crested the peak of a snowy mountain, breaking into the morning sunlight on the other side. Flying in a loose line formation they sped fifty meters off the tops of the snow-covered trees dotting the white landscape below. Light reflected off the ships as the ice coating their sides melted and chunks of snow slid off the slick, heavily-plated armor. As they drew near the edge of the snowy limits and into the temperate forest beyond, the gunships shifted into a circle formation, enclosing the large LAAT/C transport in the middle. The low droning provided by the powerful repulsorlift engines thrummed the air, breaking the early morning silence.
Inside the command gunship out in front, Alpha Squad was making their last-minute checks on weapons and ammo. Each of the ten clones carried a DC-15A blaster rifle and several additional Tibanna Gas cartridges. In desperate situations, the gas canisters could be overloaded to create a decent-sized explosion. Several of the clones also carried Merr-Sonn V-1 thermal detonators clipped to their belts. Designed to maximize casualties within its blast radius, V-1 thermal detonators were widely known as the best grenades on the market. Otherwise, the clones' standard kit consisted of a grappling hook, a handful of rations, and a basic medi-kit used for stabilization rather than treatment.
One of them, CT-9184, had a LXR-6 concussion grenade that he kept in a pouch on his lower back. It was used to punch holes through enemy armor and fortifications. Being such a rare commodity; his brothers often teased him about its origins, claiming it was given to him by a female spice smuggler in payment for his 'services.'
Bishop rolled the grenade around his hands, admiring it when he felt a nudge from the clone standing next to him. "What?" he asked.
"It's that damn grenade of yours, you're always playing with it. One of these days you're gonna blow us all up."
"Shut up, Knight. You still mad about losing that bet back on Aargonar? You know, when you had to clean my armor for two weeks?"
CT-7883 grunted as he remembered scrubbing strange black sludge from Bishop's boots. Behind them, CT-5557 spoke up.
"And don't forget the time he was tricked int—"
"Shut up, Rook!" Knight steamed as laughter filled the hold.
Up in the gunship's cockpit, the view was spectacular. To the east, a fiery-red sun was just emerging from the horizon, turning the clear sky a brilliant orange color. CT-9393 glanced over his console, admiring the forest below as his hands naturally guided the gunship along. The craft extended from his fingertips as though it were another appendage he had been born with. The ease and grace of the massive machine complimented the trooper's steady palm, not a bump or flinch of turbulence disturbing the union.
This was his home.
"Hey, Ace," CT-6785's voice crackled over the COM, chipper as always. Ace tore his gaze from the jade-shadowed forest below to glance over at his copilot's bubble.
"What's up, Sparky?"
"I've got something on the scanners here at four-o-clock. Do you have a visual?"
Ace glanced low to his right, searching the horizon for the unknown disturbance.
"Yeah," he answered with a frown. "Looks like a storm. Where did that come from?"
A menacing billow of dark, purplish clouds had suddenly appeared a kilometer behind the gunship's wingtip. Flickers of blue lightning laced the bulging storm head with a crackle of excitement.
"I dunno, but I'm I' massive energy read-outs," Sparky whistled. "Talkin' off-the-scanners big."
"Yeah, yeah," Ace agreed. "Definitely looks like an electrical storm." He reached out to open a COM channel with Delta Squad's gunship. "8743, this is Alpha Squad, do you have a visual on the electrical storm at your five, over?"
"Roger that, Ace. We see it, almost as big as the ones back on Kamino, eh?"
Ice flooded Ace's veins. "What? O-oh yeah." He stammered.
8743 only laughed. "I'd recommend you alert the Lieutenant, over."
"Roger that, 8743, Alpha out."
"And Ace?"
Ace stiffened. "Y-yeah, 8743?"
"Call me Darts, will ya? I hate being called by my number."
Ace hesitated, caught off-guard. "Uh, roger that…Darts. Over."
There was a loose chuckle over the COM with a quiet mutter of "Damn shiny" before the line went dead. Ace shook his head, raising his gunship's hold.
"Lieutenant, this 9393, we have a situation, over."
"This is Fourteen. Go ahead." The calm, steady voice of their commanding officer filled the cockpit with a tone of authority and control.
"Lieutenant, we're reading an electrical storm moving in at high speeds," Ace said grimly, his lips tight.
"Is that a problem, trooper?"
Ace paused, gauging his words carefully. "It may be, sir. The LAAT/C isn't fast enough to keep up with us if we need outrun it."
"What do you suggest?"
"Sir?"
"You're the one flying this damn thing. Is this going to be a problem these ships can't handle?"
Ace bit his lower lip. "Could be, sir. There's nothing in the manual to suggest a proper course of action for—"
"The manual doesn't have a solution for every problem, soldier," Fourteen's stern clip cut him off. "Does the storm have enough power to wreck the electrical systems?"
"6785 said the readings were off-the-scanners," Ace said, nodding to himself. "I would suggest a change of course."
"Then that's what we'll do. Alert the platoon. Fourteen out."
Ace let go of a held breath and informed the rest of the ships with the change of course. As the formation shifted westward, away from the coming storm, Ace sunk lower in his chair. The quiet of the cockpit was a soothing comfort. Unfortunately, he managed only a few moments of silence before his peace was interrupted.
"Alpha Squad this is Bravo, that electrical storm is moving faster than we thought; it's right on us." The crackle of the trooper's voice over the COM could not hide his concern. Ace craned his head around and to his alarm, the storm was there. It was so close that Ace couldn't even make out where it started or ended. Even with the corrected course, the massive electrical cloud was bearing down on them with an immense girth that could not be evaded. A lightning bolt slashed across Charlie Squad's wing.
"Charlie, I just saw you get hit," Ace exclaimed. "Is everything all right?"
"Roger that Alpha, just a little tingle. We'll be fine. I'm more concerned by those winds then a little jolt. They look powerful enough to pull us right out of the sky. We'll contact you if we have anymore trouble. Charlie out."
Ace murmured an assent and opened a COM to his copilot. "The storm's right behind us, Sparky, coming in hot."
"Better raise the lieutenant," Sparky muttered over a thin crackle. "The static's already starting to affect the instruments."
Ace glanced down at his own control panel. Sure enough, lights were beginning to flash, readouts going haywire from bursts of electrical discharge. A blaze of sharp blue filled the cockpit as a bolt of lightning flared, meters off the gunship's wing. The storm roiled.
"Shit," Ace grimaced.
Sparky's voice was tense now. "Get the lieutenant."
"Lieutenant, this is 939—"
"Ace, there's no time for formalities, what is it?"
"Sir, we need to land, now."
"Negative, Ace," Fourteen clipped. "We can't afford any delays. This mission is to proceed at all costs. The attack will fail unless we destroy that command post. We'll just have to ride it out. Hold on boys, it's about to get bumpy."
The storm pounced.
Forward shields rippled as enemy fire skimmed across the Republic warship Decorum's bow. The fleeting shapes of red-streaked ARC-170s hot on the trail of flickering droid starfighters lit up the angry stars with laser fire.
Jedi Knight General Devon Va'Gray braced himself against the console as the bridge shuddered against a portside onslaught. Teeth clenched, he lifted his head to see Green Squadron race across Decorum's viewport, the streak of silver arching across his close-cut hair glinting in the reflective fire.
"General, we've got bombers at five-o-clock," a clone informed, looking up from his station with a grim face.
"Hold her steady, Lancer," Va'Gray ordered. "Bombers are the least of our worries right now." He narrowed his eyes at the enemy ships. There, a cold, mechanical void upset the Force. Ugly sensations pricked along his arms.
Three Banker Clan frigates hung against the black void of the universe, poised like bloated vultures above the tender atmosphere of Tanroq. The fertile planet was shrouded in night as the power struggle of droid and clone forces clashed its darkened heavens. Somewhere behind Tanroq, the planet's moon of Kiijama rotated on its tilted axis: the foothold of control waiting, as war chose its conqueror.
There was an explosion as a clone starfighter was torn apart below the massive girth of Ethereal, Decorum's sister warship. Ethereal was positioned several hundred meters off Decorum's rear starboard, acting as a lethal flanking defense. Heavy cannon fire speared forth from her forward guns, slicing through droid squadrons.
"General, in-coming transmission from Ethereal."
"Put me through, Lancer." Va'Gray turned, steadying his feet, as the holographic display of General Shek materialized before him. The towering 1.9 meter-tall Ishi Tib folded his arms calmly behind his back. The fish-like alien of green skin and squinted eyestalks was an old member of his race, a seasoned Jedi much unlike the young Va'Gray. Known for his exquisite tactical skills and fleet-management, Shek had developed a respected reputation within the Republic Army. While it was an oddity that an Ishi Tib would support the Republic cause against the majority Tibrin home world Separatist supporters, Shek was a fiercely loyal Jedi.
"General," Va'Gray acknowledged.
"We've lost contact with Omikron Platoon on Kiijama," Shek informed, his clicks and squeaks hollow through the digital display.
"What?" Va'Gray stammered. "They're our first-strike ground force! What happened?"
"We believe a massive electrical storm has overcome the gunships. Kiijama is known for its volatile weather."
"But the coordinates we decided on were supposed to be cleared for at least two rotations," Va'Gray said, shaking his head. "How long have communications been down?"
"Three minutes. I would strongly suggest regrouping with a new platoon."
Va'Gray ran a hand over his hair, brow furrowed. "Keep trying them, General. We can't just send platoon after platoon down."
"We need to acquire a swift security of Kiijama," Shek clicked pointedly, his beak snapping together with authority. "I understand your reserve against dispensing clones; however, we cannot afford to lose Tanroq to the Separatists. Control over this planet will be a powerful victory for Count Dooku."
Va'Gray, sighed, having to remind himself that this senior Jedi had a far more vast understanding of the workings of war.
"Yes, General," he agreed. Shek nodded and the hologram dispersed. Va'Gray felt an ugly pit in his stomach. He returned to his post at the head of the bridge, folding his arms calmly behind his tunic. The weight of his double-bladed lightsaber strapped firmly to the side of his shin was a cold comfort.
It was difficult for him to watch the battle, watch his men die, from the sidelines.
"Starboard cannons to sector five, fire."
Ace wrestled with the controls, fighting to keep the gunship level. The storm had swallowed the squadron whole. Ace lost sight of the other gunships instantly.
Dials flicked wildly.
An alarm screeched.
The altimeter showed they had dropped thirty meters, closing the gap between the trees and sky. Outside there was zero visibility, the only perceptible light coming from the flashes of blue lighting all around. The storm threw them about, buffeting the helpless gunship with strong winds. Rain pounded Ace's bubble mercilessly with sheets of frozen gray. He wished the wipers hadn't been ripped off by the gales.
Flying only by the flickering altimeter, Ace tried to steady the gunship and level them out before they hit the trees. With a mighty pull on the yoke, the nose tipped upwards, halting their descent. Slamming on the accelerator, the gunship jumped forward through the storm blindly. Ace kept his eyes glued to the altimeter. If they went any lower, they'd be in the trees for sure; something Ace couldn't let happen.
Minutes passed, and with each second, the storm increased in ferocity. Ace continued to push the craft at top speeds, hoping to break out somewhere to the side of the tempest. Branches and limbs battered the gunship as it flew, the largest of which indented the armor and created hollow pinging sounds like pots being banged on metal. The irony of how blaster-fire was practically useless on the ship, but a few branches could give a weak thermal detonator a run for its money was painfully irritating to Ace. The darkness around them suddenly began to lighten, a few beams of sunlight breaking through the clouds.
Abruptly the gunship broke into calm air, the eye of the storm surrounding them on all sides with columns of purplish clouds. Ace decelerated, bringing the gunship to a halt. Shaking uncontrollably, he ripped his hands from the yoke, trusting the craft to hover unattended. He drew in quick, shuddering breaths, running his hands over his face as he struggled to calm himself. Holy shit. He'd never been that terrified in his life.
Never had he felt so helpless, as if he had no control. It scared him. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and his mind whirled. He needed to do something. He needed to regain control. He tried his COMs, but heard only static on every channel. It seemed all the electrical systems on the ship had gone down. He punched the console in anger. Ace turned to look out the cockpit's glass dome in search of the others. Had any of them found the eye as well?
He didn't see the LAAT/C gunship hit them, but he felt it.
The entire ship jerked sideways, flipping up on its left wing. The sound of shearing metal and splintering glass shattered the calm. Ace was savagely thrown against the console, screaming as he felt his left shoulder pop out of its socket. His head was wrenched to the side, his spine shuddering at the whiplash. He threw out his hands to brace himself, and that was when he saw Sparky.
The copilot cockpit burst open, Sparky's white armor flying through the air. Ace watched in horror as his first and only friend whipped past him, plummeting to his death. Ace screamed, but the whine of failing engines drowned out his anguish.
With his good arm, he grabbed the yoke. Grappling with the spiraling ruin in vain, Ace struggled to keep the craft under his command. The spinning wreck of the LAAT/C broke away, and with a squeal of tearing metal took his right wing with it. Immediately, Ace's crippled ship dropped. The forest rushed up to claim its remains.
Ace fought until his last conscious moment.
The flaming gunship exploded through the canopy and tore through the vegetation, which ripping away the other wing with a shudder of crippled metal. A jagged hole was ripped down the center of the hold, exposing the troopers within. CT-7767 lost his grip and was thrown out of the gash and into the air.
"Fox!" screamed the nearest clone. He dove for his brother and snagged his wrists at the last moment.
Fox was wrenched back and thrown to the furthest corner of the hold away from the breech. The craft continued to groan as it sliced through thick trees. Splintered branches punched through the cockpit, flinging shards of glass like diamonds into the chaotic air. Ace felt something heavy and violent slash across his back. The pain erupted. The controls buckled.
Impact.
The gunship wrenched violently and with a horrific blow slammed its belly into the spongy forest floor. Sliding sideways, it twisted once in a ragged swipe and rolled onto its side. Dirt, wood, and stone were hurled into the air as the hunk of twisted ship billowing smoke collided with the dense of buttress of dark roots. The roof bowed in on impact. Bark bursting, birds shrieking, the smoldering wreck at last settled into its earthen scar to lay in motionless ruin.
It all happened in a few panicked breaths that passed like seconds on a folded clock. As the yells died off, the moans began. Within the crippled hold Fourteen was struggling upright. An unconscious clone pinned his legs. He had to push the trooper aside to stand on the uneven surface, blood trickled down his face. His helmet visor had shattered, revealing the sharp pain flashing in his dark eyes. He grunted as he rose, reaching up for anything to grip.
"Fuck…"
"My leg!"
Who was that? Fourteen staggered through the murky gloom, the billowing smoke from the ruptured engines choking him. He could just make out three white forms bent over a third that had been crippled against the wall. The clones examined their brother gingerly, his agonized shouts riddled with fear.
"Yeah, it's broken," rasped a thin voice from the floor. Fourteen recognized him as CT-4659; Lite, one of the younger members of Alpha Squad. The poor clone clutched his leg weakly while his brothers tried to hold him still.
Fourteen's eyes were watering, the smoke smothering him. Struggling coughs filled the shadows. The fire that roared outside was poisoning the air with toxic fumes.
"Everybody out!" Fourteen ordered. Images of exploding engines dropped a hot weight of lead into his stomach. He needed to lead them. "Move your hides!"
He was hacking now, gasping.
The clones rushed to where light was pouring in through the ragged hole torn into the portside hatch above them. Fourteen boosted a trooper and he reached up, hauling himself over the ragged metal edge. They carefully unloaded the wounded and unconscious first, Fourteen feeling the seconds tick by in agony. The crackle of fire roared.
Finally, he was pulled free and jumped from the ruined gunship, sprinting to escape the blast zone. That was when a white helmet caught his eye. Fourteen swore, slamming his heels into the ground. In a single movement, he swung around and bolted for the breached cockpit.
Ace, limp in his chair, hung suspended by his straps as his arms dangled against the side of the shattered cockpit bubble. A four-inch dent had been laid into the upper right lobe of his once-pristine white helmet. He looked dead, Fourteen could not deny that. He slipped his hand under the helmet and against the clone's neck. He felt the fluttered pulse.
Releasing the straps, Fourteen dragged his rookie from the wreck and hauled the limp body over his shoulders. He could feel the tension. How many seconds had transpired? Teeth clenched, Fourteen raced for cover.
The fire breached the weakened core. When the engines blew, they went with blazing dissent. Burning shrapnel rained down on the huddled clones, and fire raced up the trunks of trees. The shockwave was a succinct, forceful blow that rattled bone, wood, and metal.
Fourteen grimaced and set Ace down on the forest floor. He looked back at the ruin they had barely escaped with their lives and gave a long exhale.
"Lieutenant!" CS-4456 rushed to his commanding officer's side but Fourteen waved him off.
"I'm alright, King. How's Lite?"
"It's bad, sir, compound fracture. He's not going anywhere soon."
Fourteen sighed, looking down at the clone with the bloodied armor and the ghost white of bone poking out from under his knee. Inwardly, Fourteen grimaced. Lite moaned, rocking his head back and forth. Fox and Hare knelt by him, trying to keep him from jostling the break while another clone carefully removed the red-flecked armor.
"It's bad, isn't it, Smarts?" Hare nervously asked. "You did a stint with some medics, yeah? That's right there's bad, right?"
"He needs real medical attention," CT-7664 agreed grimly. Lite arched his back, fists clenching, as a cry of agony went up from his ragged throat. "There's nothing I can really do but secure the break and stabilize it until he's medevac'ed."
Fourteen nodded and turned back to the unconscious pilot. He carefully removed Ace's helmet to discover a thin layer of blood beneath. He had expected the worse. The gash was shallow, luckily, only a few millimeters above the eye, about the length of a finger. An ugly bruise was beginning to form.
"Come on, soldier," Fourteen muttered, gently slapping Ace's cheek. "Time to get up."
There was a faint groan. Ace's eyelids flickered, a distant, unfocused gaze staring back up.
"'Atta boy."
Ace moaned, reaching up to touch his head. "What…?" He looked at the blood on his hand and a flicker of panic crossed his face.
"Easy," Fourteen soothed, pushing him gently back down when he started to rise in alarm. "It's not that bad. You'll live, but you gotta lie still for a few minutes, think you can manage that?"
Ace stared up at his lieutenant. "Sparky," he suddenly blurted. "Sparky, I saw him…he…"
"You couldn't save him, Ace."
"The ship…" He turned his head, disoriented eyes confused as his brows came together in a deep furrow.
"You did your best, soldier."
"I could've done more…I could've saved it…I could've…I could've…" Ace winced, guilt etching deep lines of tortured anguish into his young face.
Fourteen sighed wearily and got to his feet. "Relax Ace, rest now. You've earned it."
He turned away from the clone to piece together the rest of his squad. From the corner of his eye, Fourteen caught a flicker of movement, like a twitch of light. He blinked and glanced back at Ace, but the clone had slipped back into unconsciousness, his head lulled to the side, the pain still evident in his face. Fourteen frowned. He stared at the rookie for a long moment.
"Lieutenant?"
Fourteen glanced over his shoulder, breaking away from the pilot.
"What're your orders, sir?" King asked.
"Alright, let's get a camp set up. Send Knight and Bishop to secure a perimeter and have Fox and Hare scout the north. We need to know where we and how far the command post is."
"Yes sir."
As the conscious swung into action, Smarts, the squad's unofficial medic made his rounds between the injured clones doing as much as he could to ease their pain. Fourteen lent a hand, making sure, Ace, Lite, Rook, and CT-5943 were in as little pain as possible. CT-5943, or Stacks, was slumped up against a tree, his hands had been folded across his chest.
"Ugh…Lieutenant?" Stacks suddenly muttered, coming to. "What…what happened?"
"Sit back, Stacks," Smarts said, as he came up from behind Fourteen. He kneeled and kept his brother still as he removed the clone's helmet. "You may have a concussion."
"We were in a crash, Stacks," Lieutenant informed him. "We've got injured. The ship blew."
"What happened to the rest of the platoon?" Stacks hissed sharply as Smarts examined the large welt on his temple.
Fourteen hesitated.
Stacks looked his commanding officer in the eye, fear hidden beneath the steady brown gaze. He looked nervous.
"Lieutenant?" he asked.
"We're not sure right now," Fourteen said calmly. "Let's get our bearings straight first. If the others managed to get out of that storm, they'll go on with the mission without us."
…
To be continued