Chapter 01

Kachirho, Kashyyyk/ 19 BBY/ 12 hours before Contingency Order: 66

RC 1138 was known only to his brothers and training sergeant as Boss. He brought his hands up to his white and orange helmet and released the vacuum seal to remove it from his shaved head. He placed it on his knee and laid his head back onto the cool metal wall of the Republic Gunship. Sitting on the floor of the Gunship, he breathed slowly and allowed his eyes to droop closed for only a mere second.

Across from where he sat stood Delta 40, Fixer. His arm hung loosely as he grabbed the net that hung over their heads. He stood in his weathered and beaten white and green armor with his helmet in his hands and DC-17 Blaster Rifle clipped to his ammo belt. He hid his distraught face from his brothers as he stared at his feet.

Delta 62, Scorch, fumed where he stood. Boss watched his shoulders rise and fall with exaggerated breaths. Just minutes ago he'd made use of the metal wall to serve as his punching bag. From where Boss sat, he thought he could spot a dent in the wall of the ship. Fixer collected his wits and released the net then turned to walk towards his squad leader.

They were all soldiers, battle hardened veterans weary with last three endless years of war. They were far better than any normal grunt, however. They were Commandos, a pivotal component in the Special Operations branch of the Grand Army of the Republic. Together the three were components of Delta Squad, but they were far from being whole. They'd left the storm ridden ocean world of Kamino three years ago as a team of four but now were leaving the Wookie city of Kachiro as three.

Boss was designated as team leader from the moment their sergeant gave him his name. Fixer served as squad technician and Scorch was the demolitions and heavy weaponry specialist. Just before they left the war-damaged city of Kachiro, The team had lost their marksmen, Delta 07, closely known to them as Sev.

Boss watched as Fixer approached. Looking at his face was like looking into a mirror, though with less wrinkles, lighter bags under the eyes and more hair. Fixer crouched down and quietly spoke to his fatigued squad leader.

"Sir you gotta talk to Scorch," said Fixer with the shared raspy voice of the Clone Troopers. "I'm afraid of how he's taking this with the loss of Sev and all."

"I know he's worrying me too," Boss muttered with a quick glance at Scorch in his enraged state. "I need you to keep an eye out for him, you know how short his fuse is."

"You talkin' about his accident in training? I thought you ordered that demo?"

Boss shook his head "Nope, that was all him."

Fixer nodded and stood back up, casually walking back to the edge of the cargo bay. Boss sighed then got up to his feet and made his way to where Scorch stood in his white, black and yellow detailed armor. His back was to the others and used his extended arm to support his weight on the wall. Boss sidled up behind him, and placed his hand gently on Scorch's armored shoulder.

"We did what we had too, Scorch. We followed orders. We did our job." Scorch turned and threw Boss' hand off of his shoulder.

"No we didn't, we failed, because of those blasted 'orders'." He spoke through clenched teeth and with fury in his eyes. "What happened to 'never leave a man behind,' huh? Omega wouldn't." Boss was lost for words. He had to be careful with what he said to his brother. Scorch was a cooperative commando, but in times where his passion fueled him, Boss had to tread cautiously. These moments were rare, brewed by the horrors of war, yet each time, Boss would look into Scorch's dark, brown eyes and almost not recognize him. Just moments ago, Boss had seen it again when Scorch dared him to shoot him; he was ready to pay the price of desertion. But they had been trained better than that, absolute obedience. Boss would try to appeal to the soldier within.

"Look Scorch, the orders came from the top, from General Yoda. We had no choice but to follow them."

"At what cost, Boss? Screw the little green dwarf! Sev was our brother and we left him, period." Scorch then reached to his side holster and extracted his DC-15s sidearm and placed the pistol in Boss' hand. "Like I said, shoot me. I'd rather be dead then leave a brother." Boss quickly shoved the sidearm back into Scorch's armored chest.

"Hey, I was all for going back for Sev," Boss growled. "And I get how you feel. But this is something that we should all understand by now; war sure as hell ain't merciful. Feirfek, Scorch you should know this! People die. But as a team we will fight through it. You'll never be alone; none of us will ever be alone." Stepping back, Boss stared at his brother, another clone, another mirror image but with its own variations. Scorch's face was scarred from burns past. It never tainted his spirit and made him who he was. But this was different it was a scar not on the surface, but deep within.

Boss couldn't quite tell if he'd helped anything. Scorch's breathing slowed, though his clenched narrow jaw remained stiff. He nodded slowly while looking down at his feet. Boss then replaced his gauntleted hand on Scorch's shoulder and walked past the grieving commando.

He approached the door to the cockpit which retracted to the side. Inside the cramped area of the gunship's cockpit were two seats, one situated behind and above the other. Through the transparisteel window, he saw a sight which managed to bring a labored grin to his grimey face, a fleet and a glorious one at that. Lingering high above in the orange, morning sky were the backbone of the Republic Navy, Venator class Star Destroyers. Below them were swarms of LAATs similar to the one which carried them now, descending to the beaches and front lines. Each one transported clone troopers ready to fight and die for the Republic.

The war which had wreaked havoc across the galaxy had finally reached the peaceful Wookie home world, Kashyyyk. Hours before, Delta Squad had mobilized to Kashyyyk, personally seeing the devastation done by Trandoshan slavers, under the support of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. The Republic's war against the Separatists was the purpose for which Boss and his brothers, all three million of them, had been bred.

The two pilots, wearing standard Phase II armor directed the Gunship down over the tree tops till they came to a clearing. In the heart of this clearing, a mobile command post had been established for logistics support. Though the platform itself had already been placed, Clones scrambled around it, activating its systems. As the pilots lowered the LAAT just off of the platform, Boss replaced his helmet, covering his scarred, weathered, and grime encrusted face. The mission on Kashyyyk had done more than left its mark on him; it wrenched a part of him away, but he still had a job to do.

As the LAAT sat on a bubble of air over the blowing grass plains, the gunship's bay doors slid to the side allowing the broad figures of the three Commandos to step off and onto the grass. Clones that had never before seen a commando up close were mesmerized by the awesome view. They felt almost intimidated by the stature and reputation of the commandos. Boss walked across the grass smoothly over to the mobile command post with Fixer and Scorch both behind him. With their helmets donned and blasters at their sides, they were back on the job. The reflective blue Mandalorian 'T' faceplates, gave credit to the culture by which the commando's had been molded from. Delta's commander stepped up a ramp leading to the assembly of monitors. A field officer with his back to them was busy on a terminal assessing a Clone analyst. A trooper standing next to him leaned towards the officer.

"Sir, commandos." The officer turned to face the three elite troopers. He was clad in the standard issue Clone Phase II armor as every other trooper, except sported yellow detailing. From behind his helmet, his eyes were wide and mouth spread in a grin.

"Whoa Delta Squad," the Officer said. To any and all Clones privileged enough to know, these commandos were legends.

"Reporting for duty, Commander. What's our orders?" Boss inquired.

"All business I see, good." The Officer grinned. "I'm Commander Tyval; I'll be your advisor."

"Huh, wait a minute?" Scorch blurted. "What about 425?" Tyval didn't seem to know what to say.

"Must've been reassigned," he said dryly. Scorch glared at Tyval and growled. Boss glared back at Scorch. Fixer nudged his shoulder, muttering over their helmet com.

"Stow it 62." Tyval, unaware of the Squad's current ordeal continued, not sure what to make of the commando's strange behavior. He stepped up to a holo-table in the center of the command post. A projection of a large fortified wall imbedded in the wooden infrastructure hovered in a slow rotation.

"Deltas just minutes ago we discovered the enemy's true interest in Kashyyyk. General Quinlan Vos transmitted this intel." Boss closed in on the table watching intently. "This is the Caaltuvac Vault. Wookiee cartographers have gathered information on space routes for years and have stored them in this vault."

"That's some heavy stuff," Fixer blurted. "No wonder why the Seps want it."

"Precisely," Tyval exclaimed. "In their hands, they'd be two steps ahead of us on every mobilization move we make. Your Objective is to defend this vault from any CIS engagement."

"Uh no offense, Sir," Scorch said snidely. "But can't this a little easy, can't you send any squad of shinies in to hold a this place?" Boss tightened his grip on his blaster, refraining from snapping at his squadmate, he'd let this one slide.

"All of the 41st Elite Corps has been deployed already. Their holding the lines on the beach and are spread thin enough already," Tyval answered. "This is where we need you, Delta 62."

The display on the holo-table suddenly changed, the blue glow emitted unnecessarily on the Clones' white armor in the hot, radiant sun. The three Commandos circled around the table now studying the image of a base fortified high in the trees. "This facility, the Wooks call Tree Vikkilynn, is where this vault is stored."

"Creative bunch the Rugs are," Scorch mumbled snidely.

"That's enough Scorch!" Boss growled. From behind his helmet, Tyval eyed the Commandos in orange and yellow with concern.

"Hey Delta!" Tyval barked. "Get it together. This mission's more critical than you may think," he said stiffly. Frankly he was surprised. From Delta Squad's reputation; they were level headed and focused. But something was off. The three Commandos before him seemed out of step, discordant. He questioned if they were right for the task. But then there was the other half of their reputation, they don't fail.

"Pardon 62 here Sir," Boss said. "It was a long night." Tyval still didn't understand, and Boss' reasoning did little to put his doubts at ease.

"Understood," Tyval replied hesitantly.

"Sir." Boss stepped back from the table and faced Tyval. "This is obviously a top priority mission, so why waste time sharing Intel you could've sent to us over the comms?"

"Because your squad isn't mission ready, you're down a man." Tyval remarked coldly. From behind his helmet, Scorch's scarred face glowered with hate at the advisor. His fist clenched from below his beltline. No comfort came from Fixer's hand. The green Commando placed it on his shoulder blade, squeezing hard through the tough armor.

"Easy brother," he whispered over the comms. Boss too felt Scorch's pain; as did Fixer. But the two of them always had better reserve over themselves compared to Scorch. They learned self-control long ago in the training rooms of Kamino. They're trainer and mentor, the Mandalorian, Walon Vau easily exploited Scorch and Sev because of their brazen tendencies. Thoughts of Sev, their fourth wracked a pang of pain inside him. As he discretely fought this pain, another loud hum emerged from across the valley.

A second LAAT Gunship drifted with military precision to the command post. Tyval stepped broadly up to the edge of the platform. From behind, Boss watched intently as the cargo bay came into view. Grasping tightly to the net overhead, a Clone equipped with highly customized armor stood on the edge. His armor sported green detailing that almost mimicked camouflage. His helmet was capped with a visor and sported a green faceplate instead of the traditional black. Covering his shoulders was a dark armored pauldron, with extra clips of ammunition strapped down on his chest plate. The Advanced Recon Commando that stood boldly before Delta Squad was a hunter no doubt about it. Slung on his shoulder was a DC-15x, the GAR standard issue sniper rifle. Held in his free hand, a DC-15S.

"Delta Squad, meet Alpha ARC 0351, your new fourth."

The ARC would never fit in; Boss was sure of it. Scorch however, would see to it. He was livid, fuming and took this as a highly personal insult. As the ARC stepped up to greet his new team, be felt a chill come from Delta 38 and Delta 40. But when he extended his hand to the Delta in yellow armor, Scorch smacked his hand down and stepped up, just centimeters from the ARC's face.

"Let's get something straight, White-job, you are not a replacement! You are temporary, got it Aruetil!" Scorch shouted while standing over him. Completely thrown off guard, the ARC nodded slowly, yet still held his ground.
"Sure thing," he mumbled. Scorch stomped past him, purposely butting his shoulder, and clomped onboard the LAAT. Boss walked by and nodded briefly in an attempt of apology. Fixer stepped past him then paused at his side.

"Just watch your corner and don't get in the way," Fixer said then continued onto the LAAT. The ARC only nodded. Now wasn't a good time to try and fit in with the squad, Delta 62 had made that plainly clear, The ARC too was well versed in the language of their Mandalorian trainers, The ARC known as Keilbourn was an 'outsider'.