They always said getting to an enemy's camp was the easy part. Jurir Regito was beginning to doubt that as he piloted his barloz freighter towards the large Separatist blockade looming in the asteroid belt before him.
Shab, why are we doing this? If the Republic wants this mine taken, they could send one of their nice shiny venators into blow it up.
But the Republic wanted the Torrecite mine and its resources secured and brought back unscathed. And they wanted it done in relative secrecy. So that was why he was taking his ship, the Kebiin'sol'yc to to the mountain world of Treshgar, which had just allied with the Confederacy of Independant Systems, or the Separatists, along with four Republic Commandos of his father's training company called Solus Squad,
Jurir remembered the first time he had met the clones, a year ago, when he was eighteen. He had been shocked to find that they were just like his Mand'alor, Jango Fett, who he had met multiple times, and that they were so tall. Once he had gotten over his initial shock, he had become friends with the teams, then accidentally destroyed a Jedi delta starfighter.
If only times were so simple. We had just gotten back from a night on Corrie... Were we drunk? I don't know.
"Jur'ika, you might want to keep your eyes on the Seps, because they're about to notice us." The voice of Solus Squad's sergeant, Quill, brought him back out of his memories.
"Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "Are they going to board?"
"Who knows, ner'vod," Flint, the black armored sniper, replied"Clankers are unpredictable."
"Unless they're walking straight towards you," Jurir told him. "Then it's all the same. Rodger Rodger this, then shoot that..."
"Gar serim." The door to the cockpit of the barloz hissed open and Brack stepped in. The demolitions expert – unlike many others – was always grim and quiet. "That's what I wish all tin cans were like."
"Quiet," Jurir said, putting his helmet on. The buy'ce was painted red with green highlights. It wasn't his, not really; it was his grandfather's. Sev Regito had been a close friend of Jango Fett's until he had been killed by a Jedi at the ill-fated battle of Galidraan. Jurir's father, Krif Regito, had gifted Sev's armor to him when he turned fourteen, and he treasured the heirloom dearly. "They're about to make contact. If they do a life form scan and attack us, we bang out."
"We should have frozen ourselves in carbonite That always worked," Quill said. "But we mustn't grumble. Our chums at Procurement do their absolute best." All of Solus's men had a sense of humor, even Brack.
"Then lets hope that they board us, then. You all can hide in the storage boxes," Jurir told them. "Where's Reed?" Reed was the fourth member of Solus, and by far the most outgoing of them.
"In his cabin, trying to call his girlfriend," Brack said. "I told him to get his shebs over here, but apparently his cyar'ika is much more important than survival."
"Just you wait till you get a girl, Brack," Flint shot back. "Then you'll be gossiping and talking to her all the time."
"Who's going to love such a shut-in like him, though?" Quill asked to no one in particular, nudging Brack with his elbow.
"Another shut-in. Now you all might want to shut yourselves into a box, because I see a boarding shuttle," Jurir ordered, looking out of the viewport. "Let's see if I can pretend to be Death Watch."
"I'm glad you aren't," Quill said as he left the cockpit, hitting a panel on the side of the doorway. "You'd be dangerous."
"To your own men..." Flint said as he followed his sergeant.
"Shut up. And tell Reed that he doesn't get to see Kilpha ever again if he gets shot," Jurir snapped. Contacting the enemy always made him tense, even though he had been doing insertions and extractions of commandos for the past eleven months. There was always a risk of getting caught, getting shot, and getting killed. Working for the Republic had a price.
But I'm not working for the Republic, am I? I'm working to help my brothers, to help my father.
That conviction kept him going, and it was the only thing really keeping him from joining the Seps, or going rogue. He shook his head. He needed to be on the top of his game now, if this mission was to succeed and if Solus were to go home.
"This is Commander Two-six," a nasally, irritating voice of a B-1 Battle droid came over the ship's comlink. "Barloz freighter Kebiin'sol'yc, lower your shields and prepare to be boarded. If you do not comply, we will be forced to fire on you."
"Commander Two-six, this is Death Watch lieutenant Naast Olic, delivering supplies to the torrecite miners on the surface," Jurir responded, deadpan. Naast Olic was a former Death Watch soldier that Krif had become tentative allies with. Jurir used the name to get through Separatist checkpoints; Mandalorians meant friendlies in the CIS's eyes, and however much he disliked it, that stigma had it's advantages.
"Lieutenant Olic, we are still boarding your ship. Prepare to let us on board," the droid said, it's monotone seriously annoying Jurir. He hoped that these were the dumb, slightly comical, battle droids searching his ship. They might miss something, or see the commandos and not even report it.
"Wait two moments, please, commander," he said. He had to make this look real, just in case. He waited for the reply.
Come on, beskar'ad, just wait two minutes!
"Why, lieutenant?"
"Because it will take a little while to open the airlock. Please wait two minutes."
Another pause. The static crackled, not helping his anxiousness. After a very long, agonizing several seconds, the droid replied.
"Affirmative, Lieutenant. We are on standby until your response."
"Thank you, Commander. You are most kind." Jurir cut off the comms and switched to the private link between himself and the squad. "Quill, Reed, I need you two to get into my spare beskar'gam. The Seps are boarding us and I told the clankers that we're Kyr'tsad taking supplies down there."
"Got it. How long to we have?" That was Reed. Perhaps, thank the manda, he wasn't talking to his Mirialin girlfriend Kilpha.
"Two minutes. Hurry."
"We'll do it in one." Quill said, then cut the comms.
Jurir stood up and left the cockpit, heading down the short corridor, around the commons room and past the living quarters and the galley, then into the machine shop, and finally the large cargo bay. That cargo bay itself was what made him want to buy the barloz in the first place; it was huge, big enough for storing large amounts of cargo, and if he wanted, he could put up bunks in there. It was an ideal ship for a Mandalorian. The only downside was that there wasn't much firepower besides one small turret at the stern, so he had added two large light cannons to the hull and one torpedo launcher under the cockpit. Now it was, as Quill would say, smart.
A closet door hissed open and two figures in Mandalorian armor stepped out: Reed and Quill. The former wore a completely black suit with two red shoulder plates, and the latter had green-and-yellow beskar with the jai'galaar, the Mandalorian shriek-hawk sigil on his chest and belly plate: the sign of the Death Watch.
"I can't wait to take this aruetyc thing off," Quill muttered, pulling on his helmet. Aruetyc could mean anything from something foreign to something treacherous, and Jurir could guess that the sergeant was using the 'traitor' definition. The Death Watch was a collective evil to Mandalorian society, and he was furious that they hadn't seen Tor Vizla's descendant, Pre Vizla, was the leader of a new Death Watch until it was too late. "Why do you own this thing anyway?"
"In case we have to convince pals in the Kyr'tsad that we are indeed one of them. Like right now. Come on, let's get this hatch opened."
They walked in single file towards the hatch, silent as they began to open it, pressing panels and buttons. It took almost two minutes.
Let's hope those tinnies can't tell time very well...
"Alright, we're done," Reed said. "Let's invite them over for caf and cookies."
"Let's hope they like decaf, then," Jurir said. "We don't have anything else. We have to stop off at Garqi to pick some up beans after this." The planet of Garqi, the home of the unique bean used to make caf.
"You make your own?" Quill asked as the thud of a boarding ship jerked the barloz to the side. "Nevermind. It looks like they have no patience. Let's greet our metal friends."
Jurir took a breath. I can't fail my brothers. I can't fail Krif'buir. This has to work.
The airlock rumbled open, a burst of cold air venting from the corridor used to connect the ships. Jurir was glad he had his beskar'gam on.
Seven dark-brown, lithe, tall droids leaped into the cargo bay, vibro-blades unsheathed and poised.
"Stand back, Lieutenant," one of them said. It had white stripes on it's round head and torso. Jurir gritted his teeth under his helmet.
Osik! He thought, wanting to stab Commander Two-six with his beskad. Commando droids. Bracing himself to sound at ease, he flashed a hand signal at Quill and Reed. Don't talk. Jurir didn't look to see if they noticed; he hoped that they would.
"Go ahead, search the ship," he said, almost sounding cheerful. Come on, mir'shebs, don't check the cargo...
Two of the droids had what seemed to be scanners and began waving them around in the air. The comm switched on.
"What are they looking for, our cookies? We should ask them if that's it. Maybe Dooku has banned all sweets unless they go to him or his lightsabder-weilding pals."
"Ventress has a sweet tooth for killing Jedi, not candies. And Grievous? Lightsabers. Those other saber-jockeys are the same as Ventress."
"That's good," Reed cut in scathingly. "Now we can eat sugary foods as we go for execution. Calm our nerves."
The next several minutes were agonizing. Two of the droids had remained with the three of them, obviously to keep watch.
What are we going to do, tweezers? Board your ship? We don't have much of a chance of escape if something does go wrong.