The Beautiful Battlefield by Matthew Keegan
The Beautiful Battlefield
"If one keeps their eyes open, even in times of horror, beauty will reveal itself."
He had seen so many battlefields in his accelerated lifetime. But not many could claim to be as peacefully beautiful as the one he looked out over at that moment. Most battlefields had been mud-filled, crater pocked swamps where the air smelled of Sulphur and blood and fire and death. Some were drenched with torrential rain. Others were shrouded by a seemingly never ending nightfall where the only illumination came from blaster fire.
But this one allowed Commander Villak a moment of peace. It was something that rarely happened.
The setting sun painted the frozen landscape of Hoth with purples and pinks as ice crystals shimmered with refracted colours... colours he had forgotten existed. Light turned icicles into countless tiny beacons of silvered rose. The distant snow-covered mountains called to him with their soft pastels. Thin clouds rolled over their summits and down cliffs like faded orange veils slipping from the heads of playing children. Far out, a pack of indigenous snow lizards, once held within the Rebel base for use as primitive transport, fled from what remained of the hollowed-out mountain across the pristine snow swept plains.
Popping the neck seal on his helmet and removing it, Villak's heavily scarred face was met with the frigid, biting air of the dying day. He breathed in deeply and savoured the crisp, clean, un-recycled air. The battle to take the Rebel base had happened on the other side of the mountain behind him, and being upwind he smelt no war. There was no death here. No stench of charred flesh or burning machine. No reminder of scorched earth or spilled fluids. This side of the mountain was devoid of life other than what evolved here. This side was peaceful.
And despite being told they fought for peace, Commander Villak rarely saw it.
For where he went, war came with him.
As one of the last elite Kaminoan-grown Clones still serving the mighty Galactic Empire, CTS-16989/1408 - or Villak as his Mandalorian drill instructor had named him - had been created for just one thing; to fight. It was something he had excelled at that. He had been lucky enough to have survived every battle he had entered. He had melted blaster barrels at Geonosis; viciously fought house to house in the towns on Ryloth; stayed awake for six days straight repelling attacks on the mountain passes of Mygeeto. Mimban, Lothal, Malastare, Yavin 4… The list went on and on. They were just a handful of battles he had walked away from. Sometimes he had left unscathed. Sometimes he would require lengthy bacta treatment. But he always left behind a mountain of enemy dead.
Villak has killed more people than the Death Star.
He'd heard the whispered comments in the mess halls or on parade grounds when other soldiers didn't think he was listening. It was a crazy comment of course, but it was one Villak never rebuked them on. That reputation led to respect. And it was easier to lead men into battle if they believed their Commanding Officer was one step ahead of them with the intent to claim all the kills for himself.
Behind him he heard the crunch of approaching footsteps.
"Commander?"
He recognised the voice of Captain Penn. A regular human from Coruscant, Penn had served him well over the last few years.
"Captain. Have Ordinance Disposal completed their sweep?"
"Yes, sir. The prisoners have already been prepped for transportation."
"And the men are finished with the intel stripping?"
"Yes, sir. The computers they left behind had been wiped clean but some of their dead were still in possession of working data pads. Also, we found an inoperative K-3 protocol droid in their operations room with its memory still intact. It has revealed a lot about their battle tactics, past supply runs and even supply contacts on other Outer and Mid Rim worlds."
Villak nodded, not taking his eyes off the landscape. It was good news. If Military Intelligence showed their namesake, they would not raid these supply contacts. A smarter man would send in undercover operatives to watch these Rebel sympathisers and await contact. But that wasn't his job. He was the sharp end of the weapon.
"Very good, Captain."
Captain Penn waited for a moment before asking, "Is everything alright, sir?"
Villak nodded, watching the fleeing animals shrink into the distance. Above them the frowning crescent shapes of two of the planet's moons slowly rose above the mountain tops to glower down at him through the fading daylight. They seemed upset that their host was being spoilt by war.
"It's beautiful here," he said.
Penn looked out over the plains and took it in for the first time.
"It's cold," was his only reply.
Villak smiled. Non-clones always looked at the negative aspect of things. Always so pessimistic. He and his brethren had had a different way of looking at the worlds they encountered, different to how the mongrels they worked with saw things. They never knew how lucky they were to be alive. Clones would never appreciate a normal lifespan. For him and the millions of his clone brothers, everything moved twice as fast, so he'd learned to appreciate the small things in his accelerated life.
"Things don't have to be warm to be beautiful," Villak replied.
"I guess not," Penn replied without confidence. He paused for a second before getting back to the war. "Commander, if you're ready, we're almost set to destroy what remains of their base. The placement of charges will be complete in two minutes."
Villak nodded. He looked one last time over the coloured plains before donning his helmet. The orders from General Veers had been to wipe out what remained of the Rebel camp to deny them access to it should they return. Villak knew their explosives would collapse the mountain and add one more scar to the landscape, but he had never defied an order. Not even during Order 66 all those years back.
Turning back to face the rear doors of the Rebel base, he nodded again.
"Ensure everyone is accounted for and call in the shuttles. We'll detonate it once we're airborne."
"Sir."
The two soldiers of the Galactic Empire; one clone, one human, entered the empty base one last time.
In the distance the cry of several Taun Tauns carried on the breeze across the painted, frozen plains.
Commander Villak, Clone Officer CTS-16989/1408, a veteran of multiple wars and the slayer of countless rebellion terrorists, heard it and smiled.