Vader let the man's limp body fall from his Force hold, disregarding the now-dead officer. He had been useless anyway, and had made the fatal decision to send part of Vader's remaining original 501st Legion on a suicide mission.
Only one had returned. That was unacceptable. The new commanders were far too dismissive of Vader's power, and of the clone's abilities. And far to cavalier in their use of those who belonged to him.
The 501st was his to command, but the remaining clones within it were *his*. They were too valuable, had achieved too much, to be wasted like that.
He didn't think that was a mistake that would be repeated, after the example he had made of the arrogant lieutenant. Next time let them send in their precious storm troopers. It would take many more to achieve the same thing, but Vader didn't care about them.
He turned back to the man standing at attention in the briefing room, unbothered by the death of the officer. Despite the loss of his fellows, he had completed the mission, against all odds. Those smugglers really should have known better than to leave their partners and families somewhere so easily accessed when they decided to decline the Empire's generous employment offer. No matter how heavily armed they had been.
"Congratulations on completing your mission, soldier. You've earned a cycle off, after your wounds have been treated." Vader told the remaining clone, his voice as warm as it ever was, as it could be through the mask and breathing unit. Emotions like caring were a weakness, and Vader had long purged himself of those.
But he could reward loyal service, and the clones were the most loyal of all. Much better than the new soldiers they were bringing in. The command officers were arrogant and entitled and the new "storm"troopers were careless and inefficient.
The clones were steady. In the Force, they were a quiet hum of obedience, unifying their actions in service of him and the Emperor.
Other than the initial trouble as they reacted to the change in command structure. The Jedi had been too good at twisting those people around them, manipulating others into loyalty that was undeserved.
Too many otherwise useful soldiers had malfunctioned once their order to execute the traitors to the Empire was completed. The halls of ships and the battlefields had been filled with dead clones who had either turned their blasters on themselves rather than serve different masters, or turned on their fellows in rage, and been executed.
It was a waste, but it also displayed that their loyalty, once given, was absolute. It was a shame so many had given their loyalty to the traitorous Jedi, but they had either dealt with themselves, or been dealt with.
Not his troops, though.
Other than his traitorous ex-Captain, the 501st had always been loyal to him. It was a shame so few of them remained now. Careless officers too often treated the clones as obsolete or inferior, not understanding the things they had done, or their capabilities. But Vader remembered that, at least.
They had stayed with him, when no one else had.
"Your dedication and loyalty is appreciated, C-781," Vader told him, meaning for more than just this mission.
Vader felt a slight ripple in the steady surface of the clone's thoughts at his words and saw his hand twitch towards where he knew this one had kept a blaster strapped to his old armor right above a swirl of blue paint marking him 501st. He remembered that, too, though he had lost this clone's name to time.
The plain white armor the Imperial troops wore had no space for customization of either kind; decoration or additional weaponry.
Vader waited a moment, wondering what threat the clone had perceived, but after a moment the roil of emotion smoothed back into the steady hum of mental presence the clones all possessed.
The trembling hand opened and closed for a moment over where his blaster should have been, but his hand steadied and the motion smoothed into a crisp salute.
"Thank you, sir." Replied the trooper, before falling silent again.
Vader nodded a dismissal and walked away.
Behind him, the man who now only barely knew he had ever had a name other than C-781, a name given by a brother, sank back onto the a chair.
His hands shook as he raised them to remove the helmet and set it on the table. He raised one hand to wipe a small thread of blood away from his nose.
How strange.
For a moment, C-781 had been seized with an overwhelming urge to grab his blaster and shoot his General, his friend, right in the head, for everything he had done, for everything C-781 had been forced to do, for who his general had once been and was no longer.
Or turn the blaster on himself.
Fire until one of them was dead.
But he didn't have a blaster. He had turned it in for inspection as ordered. Darth Vader was not his friend or a General.
He was the second in command of the Empire.
C-781 was a good soldier who had followed orders. He wouldn't kill his commanding officer, and he had no reason to kill himself.
But deep, under the overwhelming pounding in his mind, the blanketing hum of
GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS
GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS
GOODSOLDIERSFOLLOWORDERS, that blocked out almost every other thought, Digger, once a proud soldier of the Republic and a member of General Skywalker's 501st, was screaming.