A/N: Originally, I had a story with an Original Character cantina bartender (female) interacting with an ARC trooper and his accomplice, a Commando-in-training. I scrapped that original idea, kept the cantina bartender, but replaced the unusual clone team with two members of a squad. But in order to continue writing the story, I had to complete the squad, and then get into their heads a little bit. This resulted in the creation of Bha'lir Squad, part of the elite Republic Commandos.
And, well. I took the squad and ran with them. (There won't be any mention of the previous OC.)
Please keep in mind that Commandos (like all of the other Clones) are not issued names, they are 'recognized' by their numbers. They have no rights, like the rest of the Clone Army, and thus are not allowed possessions of any kind. They are property of the Republic.
I don't write happy fun time stories. Life is not happy fun time, 75% of the time. Hence, a serving or two of controversial material goes here (especially controversial in the Star Wars universe, as well.)
Quick list of Squad Members:
RC-3192 Beten
RC-7177 E'tad
RC-2405 Mute
RC-5163 Toss
This takes place during the Clone Wars, obviously. If you are unfamiliar with Commandos and their squads, I'd like to recommend the book series Republic Commando, which offers the Clone Wars in a light we haven't had before now—a true, real, military perspective, and the individual men involved in the galaxy wide war.
Warnings: As per most of my stories, expect to read much suggestive and/or contraversial material, including but not limited to: sexual themes, excessive cursing, violence, drug use/addiction/dependency, hints of PTSD, mental-health related issues, homosexual implications, and violence. If this bothers you in any way, shape, or form, or if you are a minor (aka, under-aged), there is a button at the top of your screen that says BACK. I suggest you use it. Thank you.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe on the rights of any copyright holder. Mando'a, Huttese, and any other Star Wars language belongs to LucasArts and other holders, if there are. Characters belong to their respective owners.
Carrack-class Light Cruiser Neebray, en-route to RAS Auspicious,
Yuwei XI, Mid Rim, 427 days after Geonosis
"I don't know who they're sticking us with, Sarge," muttered RC-2405, Mute, into the secured comlink. "Command deposited us on a transport with a one way ticket to one of the attack cruisers orbiting the Outer Rim's Coruscant."
"Which one?" grunted one miffed Mandalorian Feeorin.
"The fattest one with the prettiest hair," the commando deadpanned.
"…this is a secure channel, you know."
"Yeah, Sarge. But we're en-route with a company of shinies, and they don't appreciate me handing over information so freely."
"Shab." The Mandalorian laughed. "Ni n'arue." I'm no enemy.
"I know."
"Tion'vaii E'tad?" Where's E'tad?
"He's… around. He doesn't like being seen together all the time, especially in the 'freshers. Says it gives the other brothers too much suggestive gossip material."
"Suggestive material?" The commando could hear the surprised amusement in the Feeorin's gruff voice. "Your brothers… would think along those lines?"
"Commandos are eccentric, Sarge. That's what they say, and we don't try to make them think different. I don't think the troopers would go that far, but I'm not the chatty type—"
The Mandalorian snorted.
"—so I wouldn't know. Preemptive strike. I don't know if I want to fuel that type of adventurous storytelling yet."
The 'fresher door hissed open. Mute glanced over his shoulder…
…just in time to see the fist before it smashed into his face. Pain exploded behind his eyes as he clattered backwards onto the tiled floor. The comlink bounced away from his outstretched hand and settled by the sinks.
"Di'kut," hissed RC-7177, E'tad, as he stepped over his brother's groaning form. He plucked the comlink off the ground. "You didn't tell me you were going to com Tam'buir."
"Nice to hear from you, Et'ika. Don't hit your brother," Sarge grunted.
"Too late."
"Shab," spat Mute. "Who else would I com in the can, chakaar? That hurt."
"I'm not sorry," E'tad politely informed his downed brother as he stepped back over to the fresher door and sealed the lock.
Mute grunted a few times as he picked himself off the floor. He stumbled over to the sinks, gripped the edge of the nearest one, and leaned forward to look into the mirror. The commando gently poked his rapidly purpling cheekbone. Nothing was broken, and there was no permanent damage that he could see.
"Oh thank the Manda," he said. "You didn't damage my beautiful face."
E'tad snorted as he leaned his back against the locked door. "It's not your face you should worry about. Your hair's getting long. It's past regulation length."
"Past reg' length?" Sarge's voice echoed cleanly in the 'freshers. "Need to get that cut, ad'ika."
"No thanks." Mute angled his head to the side. His hair remained unaffected by his earlier fall… the rows of dark curls were still in place, so tightly braided to his skull that he might as well have been trimmed. There was nothing wrong with a little style. His brother was just jealous.
"It gives me character."
E'tad snorted. "Whatever."
"Any news on Sixer?" Mute asked as he turned around.
Soft static echoed via the comlink, which indicated that Sarge had the speech button pressed but had nothing to say. The commandos stayed silent. Waited. They were nothing if not patient when the need arose.
"…it doesn't look good." The Feeorin finally grunted. "I'm working on it boys, but I'm no healer."
E'tad let his head drop back to hit the door with a soft thunk. Across the 'fresher, Mute hung his head forward and stared at the tiles.
The silence stretched on. Mute counted the seconds in his head.
"It's okay, Sarge," E'tad said finally. "We knew he wasn't going to get better."
"I was the one who diagnosed him, after all," said Mute.
"Besides, someone's gotta keep Asher company." E'tad's voice cracked over the last word. He pressed the back of a fist to his mouth and automatically went over a few controlled breathing exercises.
It didn't help that the following static seemed to choke out the air in the 'fresher.
Mute turned around to grip the sink and stare at his face again. It hurt to breathe over the ache is his chest, so he held his breath and stared hard at his reflection. If he squinted, he could see his brothers instead of himself.
The Feeorin sighed. "Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la." Not gone, merely marching far away.
Though there was no way Sarge could see it, both of the commandos nodded silently.
"I have to cut this short," the ex-sergeant continued. "Keep in touch, ad'ike."
"Yes sir."
"Yes sir."
The comlink beeped twice and disconnected. Through the mirror, Mute watched his brother drag his feet across the room to tap him on the shoulder. Mute held out his hand, and received the personal comlink. He deactivated the small black box and then slipped the com into a secret pocket sewn just inside the seam of his bodysuit's waistband.
A knock at the 'fresher door abruptly ended the mood.
"What are you two doing in there?"
"Together? Again?"
"Leave 'em alone, they need their privacy."
"Someone unlock this door!"
"Di'kute," Mute whispered, grinning at his reflection. A bit louder, he gasped, "Oh Et'ika. Et'ika."
E'tad shot his brother a glare. "What are you…?"
Mute grinned a little wider and puckered his lips together. "Oh brother."
E'tad blanched. "Oh no. No way!"
"Et'ika. Et—E'tad? Where're you going?"
The door hissed open and E'tad disappeared faster than a top-of-the-line Corellian freighter could make the jump to hyperspace. Left in his wake was a trooper on the ground, his brothers spread out around him, with a palm cupping his swollen cheek and his mouth in the shape of an 'o'.
Mute stuffed his hands into his bodysuit's pockets and calmly strode out of the 'freshers. He didn't have to say a thing, the troopers jumped and obediently scattered the moment he exited the room.
Sometimes it was good to be a commando.
But only sometimes.