"It was a dark and stormy night when I was born. I know that's a cliche, but hear me out. There really isn't a better way to describe the nighttime on Kamino. Or the daytime. Dark and stormy.
"I should probably give you a little background about myself. I'm designated as a Republic Commando, created by the Kaminoans from the genetic template of Jango Fett. Engineered to be a super soldier. Or so I've been told. It's kind of a hard life. They had us doing live-fire simulations when we were just two standard years old. Biologically, that's the equivalent of four years old.
"The unit I'm with is called Phi Squad. It consists of me, RC-9726, RC-3608, and my best friend, RC-8233. When we're alone, we never use numbers. Everybody calls me Ka'rta. I'm the medic. My name is the Mando'a word for 'heart' or 'soul.' Oh-eight, our leader, is called Ajax, an ancient Taung warrior's name. Two-six, the sniper, is named Ca'ad. It means 'child of night.' Sometimes, he can be really dark and brooding. Thirty-three, Buckler, works as the squad slicer and demolitions expert. Buckler…" this was a moment of reminiscence, accompanied by a faint chuckle. "His name comes from the 'buckling' effect of his favorite bombs.
"We're a squad. We fight together, we train together, and we never leave a man behind. Special operations are a tough job for a squad of four. At least we've got an entire army supporting us."
He laughed aloud.
"We could survive as an entire army, though. That's a credit to our training and Sergeant Bralor. Our kit, too. The DC-17m Interchangeable Weapons System is a beautiful gun. Best blaster you could ask for in a tight spot. Full auto mode, sniper rifle, and anti-armor all rolled up into a neat little package. The armor isn't bad, either. They call it Katarn armor. Twenty kilos of plastoid that will save your life countless times. Even resistant to three-kiloton explosions. You can paint it, too. It even has personal deflector shields for those tight spots that you wouldn't come out of otherwise. Oh, the biometric sensors provide nice data. Especially for someone in my line of work. Those readouts are essential for my job as a medic."
He stopped speaking, as if to gather his thoughts.
"The survival training is the hardest part of it all, I think. Going days without so much as a bland ration cube is hard living. Crawling through nerf guts just after a meal is even worse. Gives us a good, hard stomach, though."
There was a pause in the audio for several seconds at this point.
"There have been some rumors going around that the Republic and the Jedi don't know about us yet. That we're a secret weapon. I guess the crisis hasn't escalated to the point of war yet. All I know are the shabla rumors going around the training grounds. Never trust the rumors."
Another pause, shorter this time. It could be quite hard to think of anything to say, especially when speaking was the only thing on your mind. There were so many things to say. Where was one to begin?
"Sergeant Bralor raised us as Mando'ade. 'Children of Mandalore.' It's an honorable title I'd like to live up to. She's been a mother to us clones. We have nobody else. We were born in kriffing vats, if you hadn't noticed. Rav Bralor saved us from being dar'manda, those without honor, without souls. My Mando heritage is part of the story of my name. I have a heart. I have a soul."
There was a faint male voice in the background, indistinguishable from Ka'rta's to an untrained ear.
"Sounds like this is the end of this entry. I have to log off. They're calling us to the training grounds, to face the thunder and lightning out there. I think Ajax says we're getting deployed."