If you like clones and starfighters than this is the ficlet for you. Enjoy.


Wings

The sleek design gave it the best maneuverability, the engines empowered it with superb rapidity and the weapons were just downright intimidating to look at. Indeed the new Z-95 Headhunter starfighter was the epitome of the Republic Navy's starfighter corps. They were the cousin of the ARC-170 and shared with it a slender, dagger shaped design with double wings and dual ion engines. Despite being smaller than the ARC and having fewer defenses, the Z-95 can match the speed of a Jedi fighter and even outgun a trio of Vultures.

Every pilot wanted one and very few were given them. They were fresh off the Incom assembly line and were available to only the most elite of pilots. The rarity of the fighter only gave the one who piloted a heightened sense of superiority for they knew they were handpicked to fly this wonderful beast of a fighter.

But that's not what clone pilot CT – 6205 felt. He stood there in the hanger bay of the Resolute and stared at the brand new fighter with his helmet clutched tightly inside an arm hold. He loved the fighter and every aspect of it and would give anything to fly it. But in truth, he felt he didn't deserve it. He was the newest edition to the legendary Shadow Squadron, the most decorated starfighter squadron in the entire Navy, which meant that he was given access to the Z-95. The problem was that he had done nothing in the squadron yet. He believed he had not earned the right to use this fighter since there are more experienced clones who have sacrificed more than he has.

"Minimum casualties and maximum effectiveness"

That was the squadron's motto. Odd that there squadron prided itself on taking the least casualties and yet they've lost over half the people who've been assigned to the group. The reasons why they were called shadows was because one, they moved and struck without warning, and two, when they died they simply fade away in the blackness of space.

The young clone pilot, CT – 6205, didn't know that he liked the idea of being as invisible and unnoticeable as a shadow but he knew one thing though. He loved flying.

It filled his body with a soul that cannot be found when his feet were touching the ground. Up there, in the seat of a cockpit with the galaxy spinning about, he felt so alive and well. His love for flying gave him the motivation to exceed to the top of his class on Kamino and it also gave him outstanding marks which ultimately 'earned' him a position on Shadow Squadron. It was unheard of for a 'shiny' to be accepted into an elite squadron, so it placed a large amount of weight around 6205's shoulders. The fact that he hasn't flown a single combat mission outside training courses plagued him with the guilt that came from him believing he didn't deserve his position or the fighter that came with it.

"Admiring the new wings I see," A voice came from behind and almost made 6205 jump out of flight armor. He snapped around to find his commander CT – 3207, who is better known by the call sign Broadside.

6205 clicked the heels of his feet together with a snap and saluted so quickly that he nearly put a bruise on his forehead. "Commander Sir!"

Broadside looked at his new pilot and then chuckled. "At ease," He said between chuckles with the wave of a disarming hand. "No need to be so formal when were not in battle,"

The nervous pilot eased up a bit and dropped the salute but kept his posture straight and at attention.

Broadside shifted his gaze from the shiny to the Z-95 parked in front of them. "Ah, now there's a beautiful pare of wings. All she needs is a shadow-grey paintjob and she'll be ready to fly. It's unfortunate we'll be seeing action before we can give these birds a good makeover." He joked and put two hands on his hips as he envisioned the Headhunter with a grey paintjob that was signature to the Shadow's.

"Aye sir, a shame it is." The other said as he nervously starred down at his feet. In the mission briefing he and the rest of the squadron were to escort gunships past a Separatist blockade and onto the surface of a world whose populous is in full-blown rebellion against the Republic. Umbara was the name of the planet they were invading. The "Shadow World" as it was called. It almost felt ironic to him that Shadow Squadron will be attacking a world that shares its own namesake.

The snap of a finger brought 6205 out of his thoughts and he found his commander staring at him with an inquisitive look. "You awake in there pilot?"

With a jitter, the shiny shook his head and stood at attention with a suppressed feeling of embracement threatening to show itself on his cheeks. "Yes sir!"

The clone commander sighed and slapped a hand on the others shoulder. "Ease up man. You need to be focused for our mission." Broadside said nonchalantly.

"Sorry sir, I'm just…" He paused as he dare not say it but it was too late now. "Nervous,"

"I see," The older clone gave him a raised eyebrow as he rubbed his rugged beard. "Got the jitters. Don't worry about it, we all had them on our first missions."

It comforted 6205 to know that what he was feeling was normal to other pilots. "Yes sir," He acknowledged.

Broadside gave him a nod and then shook a leg out to stretch and then the other. "Well, my feet have fallen asleep. Care to take a walk with me pilot? It's good for you before a flight."

6205 nodded. "Yes sir,"

The two walked down a hallway that ran the outermost length of the ship so it had viewports with space on the other side of them. Broadside kept up a steady yet easy pace with 6205 falling in step two feet behind. The commander's boots clapped loudly on the durasteel floor with the others sounding like a light shuffle.

This was all too familiar to Broadside. He knew what 6205 was going through because he's been there and done that. "So what's your call sign pilot?" Broadside said over his shoulder.

The words seemed to have caught 6205 by surprise since he nearly missed a step and fell. Clearly he was lost in thought, again.

"Sir?" He asked as he was puzzled.

Broadside cut the pace and turned around to face him. "Your call sign. You do have one right?"

"Well I assumed I'd be called by my number. I'm designated Shadow Twelve so I'd thought I'd called by that." He said knowing that wasn't a complete answer.

"Huh, you've only been with us for a few days so I guess you haven't been able to get a name yet." He said which disheartened 6205. Yet another thing he hasn't earned.

Broadside noticed the sudden shift in the other expression. "Let me see your bucket pilot." He said out of nowhere.

6205 did his best not to look confused. "Sir?" He asked not knowing what he meant by 'bucket'.

"Your helmet," Broadside clarified. "Let me see it."

He didn't see why his commander wanted to see his helmet but he complied anyways. Broadside held the helmet in both hands and scrutinized it closely. He examined the shadow artwork on it, admiring how skillful the sharp jagged points of grey looked against the clone white. But it looked too simple for a Shadow which was evidence that 6205 didn't want to attract too much attention to him. Broadside now understood that 6205 felt that he hasn't earned the right to paint his helmet and armor with shadow grey like the rest of the squadron. That's why he put little color on his armor, to show that he was the newest and least deserving of the group.

Broadside sighed as he looked left towards a viewport that had streams of hyperspace blue passing by it. "What do you see out there?" He asked without taking his eyes off the viewport.

6205 could've answered that question in a heartbeat with his own opinion but he felt that was inappropriate in front of a superior. "The flow of faster than light travel, sir." He said sticking to a dull and unimaginative answer.

Broadside rolled his eyes but with a scoff. "Leave that Kamino dogma behind you pilot," He said a little sharply. "Tell me what you really see out there, in the void of space."

He just basically asked him for his honest opinion. No one has ever asked him for his opinion. He had grown up around long necked Kaminoans who basically treated him like livestock. To be asked to speak without obstruction was a new concept to 6205.

"I see… freedom." He spoke, the word freedom bouncing around his head and finally gotten louse. "The ability to be free of the ground and to experience invincibility, that's what flying, is to me." Speaking his mind felt great and he hoped he wouldn't get chewed at for it. But this was Broadside he was talking to. The man was the exact opposite of strict.

Broadside smirked as he tapped two fingers atop of 6205's helmet, giving him the appearance he was thinking of something.

"Firefly," He said and tossed the helmet back to 6205. The other stumbled with the helmet as he was caught off guard by the pass and the word.

"Um, sir?" He asked, confused and interested.

"Your name," He started. "It's Firefly."

Surprise hit the new pilot harder than a concussion missile. "M-my name?" He said as he could hardly keep a hold of his helmet from contained excitement.

"Yep, that's what we'll call you." He said and knocked a finger on the viewport glass. "When you are on the ground you get lost in your thoughts and become restricted and lackluster like a bug trapped in a jar. But out there," He made a broad gesture with his hand towards the viewport. "You're free to carve a path of light through the sky like a firefly would." He smiled widely and set a hand on the other's shoulder. "I think it's a fitting name. Do you like it?"

He was about to scream an affirmative but he got control of his excitement. "Yes sir!" He said, still a little too loud, with a salute.

Broadside laughed almost as loud as the other had spoken. "I knew you'd like it," He said and threw an arm around his shoulder and they began to walk back to the hanger. "Having a name isn't just identity, it's who we are. The reason why I'm called Broadside is because I'm always the one who jumps head first into the mist of battle." He squeezed his arm hard around the new pilot's neck. "You are a Shadow now and were like family. So you can drop the whole 'sir' thing and call every other squad mate by their name. You got that Firefly?"

For the first time in an eternity, he smiled. "I gotcha, Broadside." He said. Addressing a superior informally was also a new concept to him but he'll defiantly like it.

"Good," Broadside unhooked his arm from the other. "Now let's get right back to the hanger. I'm just itching to play with the new birds before we drop out of hyperspace. I know you are too." He said with a smirk and a slap on the back before striding off.

CT – 6205 was just a number. Firefly was a name, a true name that no Kaminoan scientist could have ever given him. It instilled a new sense of autonomy into him and it felt unbinding.

Tightening the grip and his helmet, Firefly took off after his commander as he too was eager to hope into the cockpit of the Z-95 Headhunter.

With a flash of pseudo light, the Venator class carrier Resolute rocketed out of hyperspace and propelled itself towards the ethereal planet of Umbara. It was flanked by two Acclamator assault ships and escorted by half a dozen Consular class frigates.

Inside the hanger bay of the Resolute, pilots and support crews scrambled everywhere, getting into position and ready themselves for combat. Shadow Squadron was regarded as top priority so they were to be the first to launch.

Firefly sat inside the cockpit of a Z-95, no his Z-95. With the flip of the ignition, the powerful dual ion engines came to life with a thundering roar that shook the seat he was strapped into. He eased the throttle of the repulsor drives to gauge their capacity and adjusted the targeting ridicule to make sure it was aimed straight and accurate. With all systems green he impatiently waited for the go ahead to launch. Seconds passed which felt like hours.

And then finally, the call went out. "This is Shadow One," Broadside's voice crackled inside his helmet through the comm. "All shadows launch."

One by one, the brand new, top-of-the-line Z-95 Headhunters lifted off the floor and eased themselves out of the atmospheric shield and into the expanse of space. Being the twelfth Shadow, Firefly was the last to launch which pained him more as he had to wait his turn. But when he felt gravity disappear as he touched the noise of his craft into the blackness of space he felt the sense of freedom that could only be found in this place, inside his starfighter. It was blissful for him to be able to fly the new fighter without shame. He knew he was accepted by the others as a Shadow and despite that he will still prove that he was worthy of the Shadow Squadron and the Z-95 Headhunter.

"Squad form up on me," The comm buzzed with Broadside's commanding voice again. All twelve Z-95's lined up in a wedge formation behind Shadow One but there was an odd gap right behind the lead fighter on the left. That position should've been filled by a fighter and yet in remained empty.

"Firefly you copy? I need a wingman. You green for that?" Broadside asked through the comm.

Firefly could've sworn he was just asked to be the wingman of the squadron's leader. It turns out, to his delight, that he really was asked and he was more than happy to oblige.

Angling his stick slightly and pressing down even slighter on the throttle, Firefly moved from the back of the formation to the second position just behind and to the left of the leader. He knew every other Shadow pilot was looking at him as he maneuvered into position, not with judging gazes but with accepting ones. There was no negative scrutiny amongst family and neither was there any jealousy. They were Shadow Squadron, the elite of the elite, and a droid's worst nightmare.

"Alright Shadow's," Broadside rallied. "We hit them fast and hard out of nowhere. Not one of you better get a scratch on your wings or else you'll be buffing it out." He joked over the comm which made every shadow chuckle. "Now then, who are we?" He asked in a loud, uniting voice.

"Shadow Squadron!" Everyone, including Firefly, replied in unison.

"And what are we best at?" Broadside retorted sharply.

"Minimum casualties, maximum effectiveness." Everyone again yelled back in unison. The motto filled Firefly with pride and strength. He relaxed his grip on the stick and took in the moment and its entire splendor. His freedom, his family, his fighter, his name have defined him into a new man. He was no longer CT – 6205 of Kamino, he was Firefly of Shadow Squadron. He was not a clone in white anymore; he was a pilot in the shadows.

"Shadow Squadron, move out!"


I just love Rogue Squadron from the classic trilogy and Expanded Universe. Shadow Squadron reminds me a lot of them. Thank you so much for reading.

xander867

Oh and quick question. Did anyone notices that Firefly's numbers add up to 13? I did that on purpose just for fun and because I sometimes can be a superstitious nut.