Location: Hierarchy Mining Colony 0235
Base of Operations: Coalition Habitat Walker
Hard-point Configuration: Production/Assault, Clone Staging Area
"Clones aren't expendable – at least not as expendable as droids. We're not sent on suicide missions, and we have our leaders to thank for that – but when the unexpected occurs, we know we're probably going to be left behind. We are born to fight, we are born to die, and nothing can change that…" CT-1007 mumbled to himself. He was a clone soldier in the Anti-Hierarchy Coalition army. CT stood for clone trooper and 1007 was an identification code within his regiment. It wasn't much of a name, but then again, did he really need one? He wasn't going to live for long. The war between the Coalition and the Hierarchy was waging for a while and clone casualties were quite high. Only old clones, several weeks old, to be more exact – though few lived that much – got some sort of a call sign. Of course, that nickname only lived on if a whole group of comrades survived together and had common memories, shared bonds. Otherwise, such informalities were left behind with the bodies of dead – lost brothers. Lone clones were easily leaving behind their past, and their old identities. The same had happened with CT-1007. This was his second mission. He had survived his first, which was a feat, although not without cost. He had lost a lot on that last battlefield.
A red desert planet, CT-1007 could see it through one of the viewing glasses of the orbital ship his battalion was assigned to. "There's nothing more than a red hot dessert all over the planet. Make sure you have your armor's environment hazard mode on," had said the briefing officer just a couple of minutes earlier. The Hierarchy had done a good job with their Purifier, virtually vaporizing all life forms form the planet. He was going to get hell on that damned planet.
CT-1007 reached the armory and rapidly grabbed an ion pulse carbine. It was heavier, useless in close combat, but had high accuracy and range, perfect in an open environment. He had learned the hard way to analyze the battle zone before entering combat, the large scar on his face served as a reminder; not that it was too visible, he was wearing a helmet most of the time.
"CT-1005 through 1010, drop pod nine, planet fall in 30 seconds!" shouted the teleport sergeant. That was it: he was going to meet his new team. CT-1007 had lost his last team on a jungle colony, one of the first planets the Coalition saved before 'purification'. It was there where he had received his facial souvenir: the still savage inhabitants weren't too happy with their invaders. Dammed predators, he thought as he reminded the pain he had to endure before reaching the Command Center for extraction. He didn't get to know his team too good, as by the time he stopped thinking about the past and started having a look at them, they were already landing in the Habitat Walker. We're not bred to socialize, we're bred to fight. He wondered why he was so happy to meet them in the first place; they were all probably going to die on that forsaken planet anyway. He didn't expect death to elude him the same way it did in the jungle; hell, he would have preferred to die with his detachment anyway.
"It's hell out there!" said one of the officers from the staging area. "And you're going right in the middle of it! Make sure your radiation filter is working well, double check if you have to! And make sure you're ready to shoot any of your teammates if they mutate. One mutant can turn the tide of the battle." It wasn't as if he didn't know that. Briefing was very explanatory.
He was once again engulfed in the light of teleportation. The next thing he saw marked him. A handful of clones, at most a dozen, were desperately trying to halt the grunt assault. The next thing was shock. Something had hit right behind him. He was thrown several meters, right into the trenches in front of him. "My team!" he shouted, but nobody answered. He didn't know whether it was the com-link that fried or his own ears. But he didn't care. Once again death had eluded him. In the place where his team once stood there was only dust. They had been vaporized. Eventually, he started to hear again; the same whoop, whoop, whoop of plasma shotguns and pulse rifles flushed his ears. He tried to join the battle, but his carbine was jammed. This isn't the environment I was expecting anyway, he thought, and grabbed a pulse rifle from another dead trooper's hand. At least I have a better RPM now.
It was getting dark; the planet's rotation was taking the battlefield from the face of the system's star. A powerful flash filled the orange dusk sky. CT-1007 looked up: fiery debris was raining from above. "They've destroyed the barracks ship…" one trooper close to 1007 said, as if talking to himself. Noticing that someone was actually listening, he continued: "We've lost the front leg hard-points and one coolant node. We won't last for long."
"Shouldn't we retreat?" asked CT-1007. Not like he cared, he was genetically programmed not to care.
"We can't retreat!" the clone continued. He appeared to be a sergeant. "There's no way they can put another ship in position to drag our walker back on orbit with the battle up there." He was right, and 1007 knew that. That battle was going against them. No reinforcements, no retreat, heavy casualties. A challenge at last! he said in his mind. Death was finally coming from him, he didn't feel ignored anymore. Most people would love being ignored by death, but not a clone. Not being able to die in battle with your brothers… it was dishonorable.
"Grunt!" shouted a trooper from the first line, a second before being hit directly by a plasma round in the head. His helmet, with his face probably still attached to it, flew several meters into the air. A grunt somehow managed to break through their lines. In a blink of an eye, a trooper squad jumped to remedy the situation. Two of them were hit by the plasma shells form the shotgun before they even managed to open fire. Two more died while trying to flank him. The last of the squad, the commander, tried to get close enough to shoot the grunt in the head, but it was too late. The Hierarchy soldier grabbed him by the helmet and squashed. Grunts were weak if picked from long range, but once close, they became formidable adversaries.
An opening! CT-1007 saw an opening as the enemy was trying to detach the commander's head from his palm. The other clones were too busy keeping the front line intact to notice that their brothers' counter attack had failed. Without thinking too much, 1007 sprinted to the grunt and by the time it realized what was happening, the brave trooper had hit him in the face with the back of his rifle, providing enough shock to cause his enemy to lose balance and fall on its back. Several ion pulse rounds in the head, and the grunt was down for good. Perhaps there is a chance for us here, CT-1007 thought, somewhat saddened that he won't be joining his comrades in death, but also relieved. His meditation was suddenly interrupted by another powerful blast, however not that close, as this time he could still hear after it.
"The walker, we've lost the walker!" a sergeant shouted nearby in a com-link. CT-1007 had been wrong; he would meet his comrades in death after all. The next moment he felt a powerful blow in his chest, and then nothing. He fell to the ground, barely conscious. The Habitat Walker was undulating chaotically as its core was overheating. Eventually, it exploded and the husk fell to the ground; but 1007 didn't feel the quake a super-heavy walker should have made when hitting the ground, he didn't feel or hear anything. He barely managed to turn his body towards his brothers in the front line. Without the walker's support, the Hierarchy army started advancing relentlessly.
Helmets were blown in the air, beams of radioactive energy were slicing through his comrades. The scent of death was flowing in the air. An explosion threw a mutilated arm straight in front of 1007's face. Blood was running on his HUD. It was over. We are bred to fight, we are bred to die, he though as his sight was growing darker and darker, not because of the blood on his helmet, but because of his internal organs, that probably weren't internal anymore, failing. However, as he was living his final moments, he felt happy… for the first time in his life…