The idea for this story came from playing Star Wars Battlefront II with my sister. It's the personal views of a soldier of the 501st, based on the game level Knightfall. The original was posted several years ago, so if you're reading this now, here's my updated version.

One note: The clone soldier mentions that he is only thirteen; clones age twice as fast as normal humans, so while he is literally only thirteen, he appears to be about twenty-six.

Knightfall

I don't need the vitals in my helmet to tell me I'm dying. I know it; I can feel it. There's no way to survive wounds like mine. Death comes for every man in the end. But dying doesn't trouble me, not the physical aspect of it. No, the only thing I want to know is, is my death worth something? Did I—but, wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me back up and start from the beginning.

We were on Utapau when we got the order. The 501st was pulling out. Order 66 had been enacted and we were needed on Coruscant—immediately. It was a quick extraction. General Grievous was dead and we were just tying up loose ends when we got marching orders. The dropships were ready and waiting for us to leave. Our summons had all been quickly and quietly orchestrated by none other than Supreme Chancellor Palpatine himself. We all knew why we were going to Coruscant. The Jedi had made a move for power, a move against Palpatine. And now all were to be killed. Not one was to be left standing. We all knew that was our mission as we boarded those dropships en route to Coruscant.

It was a silent transfer. None of the casual jokes and good-natured jibes that usually accompanied a move to a new position. None of us relaxed. Because we knew we couldn't. Our next mission would be the hardest, most challenging order we'd ever been given and many of us might not make it out alive. The Jedi were nearly invincible warriors after all and we'd all seen them in action. We'd seen them survive wounds that would have killed an ordinary man, dodge bullets that should have hit them, and topple opponents twice their size without breaking a sweat. Sure, we may have been the galaxy's toughest fighting force, but even our armor and equipment was no match for a well-trained Jedi.

But this was more than a physical challenge, it was also an emotional one. Would we kill the Jedi on command? Would we pull the trigger when asked? These men and women were the commanders we had served under this whole war, the Masters and Padawans we had lived with, eaten beside, and fought for. These weren't strangers we were going to fight. These were friends. If we refused orders, we'd be killed by the Empire. If we followed orders, we'd be killed by the Jedi. And if we survived, we'd have to live with the blood of betrayal on our hands for the rest of our short, violent lives. We shut ourselves up in our helmets, in our own private thoughts and prayers. No one wanted to voice their hesitation. No one wanted to admit they were afraid.

Coruscant was peaceful when we arrived. It was dark; the temple was quiet, illuminated by the soft blue glow of the Jedi lights. The dropships landed on one of the verandas, disengaging troops quickly then flying off, making room for the next ship to do the same. It was also a message—no man leaves this temple. We were committed whether we wanted to be or not. Lord Vader, our field commander, met us as soon as our boots hit Temple permacrete. Not only were we going in to kill the Jedi tonight - we were going in led by one of their own.

"There will be no mercy tonight," was all he said. We knew what that meant for us as well as for the Jedi. There was no turning back.

He led us into the Temple, lightsaber drawn, looking like a Grim Reaper with a mind for revenge.

The Temple was unnaturally quiet at first, as if the Jedi didn't even know we were there. And yet—they had to have known, what with the Force whispering in their ears. I don't believe we really surprised them. I think, maybe, it was their way of giving us a chance to back down. But we didn't. We couldn't. We spread out and hit the Temple like a hurricane of death and destruction.

At first, the Jedi didn't seem willing to fight back. They almost acted like the fight in their Temple wasn't real. Like they weren't about to be killed by their brothers-in-arms. We murdered Jedi in cold blood - sitting at their desks or strolling down the halls - before they finally acknowledged our traitorous purpose. But when the Jedi shook off the sleepy stupor of shock and sorrow, they united and struck back, like a well-placed battering ram on a weakened door. But there were tears in their eyes as they assembled to fight. This was not a battle they believed in. This was a battle of necessity.

That's when it finally became a life or death mission. Us or them. Masters or Generals. Padawans or soldiers. Humans or clones. It made it easier when the Jedi pulled their weapons on us. It was more like real battle. The shoot or be shot instinct kicked in and, for a moment, I forgot who I was killing.

The Jedi came at us in waves. From the ceiling, through the windows, from behind doors, and out of hallways and classrooms. It was a bloody massacre. Their Temple Guards came out in full force, their double-bladed light pikes slicing the very air we breathed. The Jedi were everywhere, energy blades of all colors slicing through armor like it was flimsi. And though most of them wielded the customary single-bladed saber, there were others who dual wielded or slung lightwhips, whirling them like deadly vipers. For the first several minutes it was complete chaos, but then some commanders got their senses back and we were ordered again. We took cover behind corners, bookshelves, desks, statues, and rubble as the Temple itself began to crumble under our onslaught. While the Jedi were highly skilled in one-on-one combat, we could overwhelm them by sheer number. It was impossible to block every blaster bolt aimed at you from over a dozen guns. As we took more defensible positions, we were able to fell the Jedi more easily. They began to retreat and regroup, giving us the chance to advance deeper into the Temple.

Our first priority was the Jedi library. Once they realized their position was hopeless, the Jedi began destroying their holobooks so that we couldn't take the data for ourselves. They were prepared to sacrifice centuries of knowledge and technique to keep it out of the hands of Vader and Palpatine. As a clone with such a short lifespan, I couldn't imagine destroying all that information. If they didn't leave something behind when they were gone, who would remember them? How would future Jedi learn about their history? Then I realized that if Palpatine succeeded, there would be no future Jedi. Only Sith. And the Jedi didn't want the Sith to know what they knew. As I stood in front of my brothers at the bookshelves, I felt something cold and dead stir in my chest and I choked back a sob as I gunned down any Jedi who got within twenty feet of the shelves. Behind me, more clones inserted datachips into the shelves and sucked data from the library like mynocks to a power cable. What the Jedi didn't destroy, we wiped clean.

Our next target was the Jedi Masters, particularly those who had poisoned their Padawans against the Clone Army. Descriptions and general positions began scrolling across our HUDs, marking them out. If we could take out the Jedi leaders, then the Padawans would likely break and fall to our onslaught. Just like any army, without leadership, it devolved into chaos. I tried to ignore the fact that all the names flashing across my HUD were familiar. That I had been healed by some of these men, that I had joked with some of these women, that I had looked up to them and respected them. That I had loved them.

Until now I followed orders to the letter. I pushed aside the tough decisions and let my soldier's instincts rule. This was just another battle, just another enemy. If I didn't kill, I would be killed. I was just an animal trying to survive. As I ran through the Temple chasing down the Masters all of that changed. I saw something I knew I would never forget, not for the rest of my days. If I had pushed my doubts away before, this scene brought them back crashing back in like a tidal wave. As I raced across a balcony with my brothers, I looked down. And there was Lord Vader, killing innocent, helpless Jedi younglings with insane, cold precision. I stopped short, feeling like I'd been punched in the gut. Masters were one thing. Men who could fight back, who could defend themselves, men who could kill. I could stomach that, even though I knew I'd live with the guilt for the rest of my life. But children...defenseless, weeping, frightened children...

For me that was the turning point of the whole war. In that moment, I realized where my loyalties lay. In that moment, I knew what the Jedi always meant when they talked of a greater good. Heedless of the clones around me, I dropped to one knee on the balcony, steadied my Deecee against the railing and sighted. I aimed for his back. With the deep cowl on, I couldn't tell exactly where his head was. And I didn't dare miss. My finger tightened on the trigger. A few of the clones around me stopped in confusion. Some ran on, like they didn't see me. Some looked away, like they were ashamed. One stopped and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Hold, hold, hold!" he shouted. "That's Lord Vader down there!"

"I know," I answered quietly.

"Are you insane?" he demanded.

"No." I'd never felt more sure about anything in my life.

I pulled the trigger. The clones standing near me instantly scattered. Back to attention, back to orders, back to following the damned.

I knew that Jedi were fast. I had seen them in action. But this...this was downright inhuman.

Vader stiffened as soon as I pulled the trigger and whirled around, facing the deadly blue bolt. In one fluid motion he flicked his lightsaber across his body, a fraction of a second before my bolt slammed into his saber. He didn't even stagger. With a sharp flick of his saber, he sent the bolt back at me. He knew. He knew what I'd tried to do. The bolt hit me square in the chest, leaving a wide scorch mark on my armor. I staggered back, breathless, but otherwise unharmed. And then it hit me. An invisible hand with the force of an enraged Wookie lifted me off my feet and threw me into the wall behind me, pinning me there. I blacked out for a second. When I looked up again, Vader's lightsaber plunged through the air toward my chest. Vader stood on the ground below, guiding the blade with the Force, his face hidden in the deep cowl. But I swear I saw his eyes, staring up at me, bloodshot, red, and ugly - full of hate. Then his blue blade sank into my armor like a knife and slid down my chest and stomach, gouging a scorched trail through armor, skin, muscle, and organs. I screamed. In my short thirteen years of life I've had my fair share of pain, but nothing, nothing like this. Then, suddenly, the pressure lifted from my body and I fell to the floor, utterly broken. What few clones remained to watch the scene passed me by. No one stopped. No one looked. No one touched me. I was just another casualty in a long list.

But I'm still alive. Vader knew it would be a slow, painful death. I committed an act of treason. In the code of war, I don't deserve a mercifully quick death. So here I am. The Temple is a silent tomb now. The blaster shots have died down to a stray bolt every now and then. The Jedi are dead, defeated. I can only hope a few managed to escape. I can only hope that for the fraction of a second that Vader's back was turned that those younglings managed to run. I'd be at peace if I knew at least one escaped. I don't know if Vader's still in the Temple. Dropships have been coming and going for the past several minutes, extracting my brothers. I wonder what they must think of me. Do they hate me too? Do they think I did the right thing? Will they forget me?

Suddenly I realize it's utterly silent. No more blaster shots, no more shouting, no more ships flying overhead. The battle is over. My brothers will have left now, all but a skeleton crew to remain on guard in the broken Temple. My mind wanders. I hear footsteps. Someone runs this way, but their steps fall quietly, like they are trying to keep themselves out of sight. It's not a soldier then. A young Padawan bursts around the corner, wide eyes searching the hallway for enemies. Seeing nothing, he sprints down the hall, but he slides to a stop right in front of me. He tilts his head to one side like he's listening to something I can't hear, then he kneels beside me. His eyes widen as he takes in the jagged wound that crosses my body. He's young. I'd guess about fourteen. His eyes have a look in them that I've seen too many times in my brothers. The look of one who's seen more death and evil than they imagined possible.

I take a shaky breath.

He holds his hand out, palm toward me. "Don't speak. It'll only make it worse," he says. He places his hands on my chest and closes his eyes in concentration. "I can't stop death, soldier," he murmurs. "But I can ease its passing."

I feel gentle pressure and warmth radiate from his hands. He remains still a moment longer, then pulls away, sitting back on his heels. He opens his eyes, breathing hard. I can't feel the pain as much anymore. Instead of a crushing weight, it's now a dull ache.

"Thank you," I manage.

The boy nods distractedly. "I only wish I could do more. I saw what you did earlier. I wish I had the courage to stand up for what's right before it all came to this." I know how he feels. I know the regret he must be battling right now, the grief, that feeling of powerlessness that settles on your shoulders when you lose a brother you knew you could save. An unexpected sob wells up in the back of my throat. I choke it down. It tastes like blood. I cough. Something warm and wet sticks in the back of my throat. My breath rattles uncomfortably. But there's one question I must ask.

"Tell me," I whisper. "Did they...get away?"

The Padawan looks back at me, focusing on my helmeted face with some difficulty. He leans closer so I don't have to strain myself to talk. "Who?" he asks quietly.

"The younglings."

Tears well in his dark eyes.

"A few," he says hoarsely. "Thanks to you, solider."

This time I can't stop the tears that fall from my eyes. I'm glad I have my helmet on so that the Padawan can't see this dying soldier cry. He answered my question, severed my last tie to life. I can die now.

"Then I do not," I cough again, "die in vain."

The Padawan suddenly stiffens, head tilted once again. I hear them a fraction of a moment later. Footsteps. He looks at me one last time. I can see the indecision in his eyes. He wants to stay. He doesn't want me to die alone. But if he stays, he dies too. I weakly wave a hand at him. Go. I don't want another Padawan dead on my account.

He nods and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Go in peace, soldier," he murmurs. "And may the Force be with you."

Then he stands and jumps straight up into the rafters that cross the ceiling twenty feet above us. He disappears behind the top of an ornamental column and that's the last I see of him.

Just as the Padawan disappears, two clones round the corner, blasters held casually by their sides. They're men from the 501st, but they weren't part of my squad. I recognize the taller clone as a man named Rev because he's missing two fingers on his right hand. The other I can't identify with his helmet on. Rev walks over and looks down at me. "You still alive?" he asks as if he can't quite believe it. It seems I've been reported dead.

I take a breath to speak, but it comes shallow, ending in bloody coughing.

"Do you have any idea what they'll do to you if you survive?" his comrade asks. There's a sneer in his voice. The haughty tone of a self-righteous soldier who followed his orders.

I don't have to ask who 'they' are. "Yes," I murmur. I know what they'll do. But I don't plan on surviving long enough to let them do it.

The clone proceeds to tell me exactly what Command does to traitors like me, but I'm not paying attention. I've seen Command deal with traitors before. Palpatine made sure executions were public. So we all knew what happened when someone didn't follow orders.

I can't focus on anything for long anymore. The world filters through me in snippets, like snapshots. I see myself lying on the Temple floor. I see fire. I see the two clones standing over me. I see death. Rev fiddles with something on his belt, but I can't tell what it is. My field of vision is strangely narrow. I hear a sound I've heard a million times before. An ammo clip locking into a blaster. The sound echoes in the dead silence of the Temple.

Rev's comrade keeps talking. Rev steps closer to me, head tilted to one side. Even under his helmet I can tell that he's willing his comrade to shut up.

"Hey, where's the other guy?" the clone suddenly asks, looking around as if he'll find someone hiding in the dark recesses.

"What are you talking about?" Rev asks. He adjusts his blaster as he speaks.

"I could've sworn I heard voices right before we got here."

"The dying often talk to themselves." Rev shrugs casually, but the underlying note in his voice is a warning.

"No, there was definitely another voice," the second clone persists.

"Probably just one of our boys." Rev looks up from his blaster, satisfied that it's loaded.

"It was a young voice," the trooper shakes his head.

Rev doesn't answer.

"A Padawan, Rev," his comrade spells it out to him.

Rev kneels by my head and pulls my helmet off. Then he pulls his off so I can look him in the eye. He leans over my body so his friend can't see what he does next. I feel the cold barrel of his blaster rest against my temple. I swallow.

"This is no way for a man to die," Rev whispers. Tears shine in his eyes. I nod at him, giving him permission.

"I'm sorry brother," he says. "May your soul find peace."

"Wait - what're you doing?" the other clone demands, as if noticing us for the first time.

Rev pulls the trigger.

Late that night, after the troops were cleared from the Temple, a dark shadow slid quietly past the remaining scouts. He navigated the Temple with the air of one long familiar with the labyrinthine hallways. The feel of death and decay that permeated the Temple nearly overwhelmed him. But he had a duty to perform. The young Padawan walked quietly across the balcony where he'd found a mortally wounded soldier earlier. No one stopped him. No one so much as shouted.

He found the soldier right where he'd left him, but this time, there was no whisper from the Force, no sense of a spirit. He was dead. Kneeling by the clone's lifeless body, the Padawan let the Force wash over him, clearing his mind. Then he noticed the trooper's head. The man's helmet lay on the floor beside him and his eyes stared up at the ceiling, vacant, hollow eyes. Someone shot him. The Padawan ran his hand over the soldier's body, feeling the tremors in the Force. There was no malicious intent, only a strange sense of loss. A brother's last act of kindness. The only mercy a traitor could hope to find. The Padawan gently closed the soldier's eyes.

Then he stood, looking around the Temple. His beloved home was a shambles. Huge chunks of the Temple lay in the floor, creating broken piles of rubble. Statues were toppled, columns felled, windows shattered. Fires still burned in isolated corners, filling the mournful halls with the acrid sting of smoke. His chest tightened. Determined, he grabbed a length of wood from a shattered beam on the floor nearby. Crossing into the next room, he lit it from the embers of a smoldering tapestry, coaxing the little coals into a blaze. He went back to the trooper's side. The least he could do was give him a proper Jedi burial. Quickly, he gathered any burnable debris he could find and arranged a funeral pyre around the soldier. It felt right, sending him on with remains of the Jedi Temple. He thrust his makeshift torch into the pile and watched as it slowly grew into a steady, crackling blaze.

"May the Force be with you."

He ignited his lightsaber, the steady thrum of the green blade doing nothing to comfort him. Tears pricked his eyes and he let them fall, leaving shining trails down his cheeks. He set his mouth in a grim line and severed the Padawan braid that hung over his shoulder. Tossing it into the fire, he saluted the Temple, the soldier, and the memory of the Jedi. Then he extinguished his lightsaber and tucked the hilt into his tunic. Turning, he walked, head high, out of the Temple. Without a shot, without a sound, he disappeared into the darkened streets of Coruscant. A new era had begun.

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