Chapter One
Stonewall didn't dream very often, but when he did it was always the same.
The LAAT is almost completely dark, as the blast doors are closed for their initial descent onto the battlefield. All around him are his brothers, though no one is speaking he can feel the tension in the air. Outside there is a booming sound and the transport shakes, causing all the men to grip the handles that hang from the ceiling a little tighter. He swallows and tries to remember his training, tries to feel the certainty that he once did, the assurance that he is doing exactly what he is supposed to be doing.
He can't.
Suddenly he feels a nudge at his elbow; turning, he sees his brother, Drake, incline his head towards the slit in the side of the blast door, the only light that enters the transport. "Looks like nice weather, at least, eh vod?" Drake's voice is casual, as though they are about to go to the mess hall and it brings a measure of comfort.
However, he does not get to make a reply as the Larty shudders in its landing on the shifting, Geonosian sands. The doors open. Light, blinding sunlight that is unlike anything he has ever seen on Kamino, floods his visor and obscures his vision for several moments until he pulls himself together and begins firing at the nearest group of droids; he was not even aware that he had leaped out of the ship and started to run. Drake is beside him still, moving in synch with his brother and together they fire on a group of clustered droids; when those have been brought down, they rush to the next group, then the next.
He is not sure how long this continues; he is only vaguely aware of the ache in his legs and the furious pounding of his heart as he dodges blaster fire and does his best to stick with Drake. At some point they get separated from the others and he nearly panics, but then Drake is beside him.
"Look," his brother points to a rolling droid tank that he recognizes from his training: a Hailfire -class. "Think we can take it out?" He can hear the grin in Drake's voice. "Just like the drills, vod." They make their way to the massive, two-wheeled machine unmolested, as two clones amidst the frenetic battle are hardly a noteworthy sight. Drake fires at the tank's midsection, one of the few vulnerable areas only able to be reached at close range. "I can cross the wires in the main system," Drake calls to him. "Just cover me, okay vod?"
All around them the battle rages. As he fires on droid after droid, he can see a pair of Jedi in the distance, their distinctive bright sabers cutting through metal with ease even as they deflect blaster bolts. They are not weapons, as he is, he thinks. They are works of art. Unmatched in talent and skill.
And then he turns and sees that someone has taken notice of his and Drake's actions, as there are four of the droidekas approaching him. He calls to Drake to hurry. The rollers grow closer and he can see the faint blue outline of the shields that deflect his fire. He calls to his brother again.
Drake lands beside him and urges him to run. They run. The tank detonates with a wave of heat and a scream of rending metal. They keep running, but the rollers are on their tails, as if seeking revenge for the destroyed Hailfire.
All around them are the shouts and cries of the dying interspersed with the shriek of blaster fire, but even as they run from certain death he hears Drake's voice in his comm. "Never a dull moment, huh brother?"
Stonewall had not expected to hear from the dark-haired Jedi so soon after Basrah; in truth, it had bothered him more than he could say to see a Jedi – or anyone, really – in a state of such abject misery when he encountered her on the Intrepid. Though he had known her only a few days, he had reckoned General Halcyon to be the kind of person with a ready smile and a kind word, and he wondered what it was that had upset her so as he made his way to the Senate district after checking in with Commander Cody.
Not that it's any of my business, he thought as he stood at attention besides several of the red and white armored shock troopers that had recently been posted at the massive building. All around him, citizens of Coruscant rushed by: senatorial aides, civilians, military personnel and a few scattered senators, none of whom paid the least bit of attention to the clones, which suited him just fine. Jedi matters are not a soldier's concern. He nodded to the nearest trooper, who inclined his head slightly but made no response. She's my CO; nothing more. As it should be. As it must be.
Still, he couldn't shake the image: she had looked as though the slightest touch would break her apart, her face shadowed in the muted lights of the mess hall that last night.
True to her word, the general appeared through the crowd within the allotted time and Stonewall found that he was irrationally pleased to see her slight figure approaching him. She lifted her hand in greeting and he returned the gesture with a salute, smiling to himself as she sighed and shook her head. They met in the center of the wide platform; the sun was almost completely below the horizon at this point, its light reflected off nearby buildings and casting the crowds of people in a glow; it set the edges of her dark hair aflame as she looked up at him. "Stonewall," she said. "How's it going?"
The question caught him off guard, but he remained at attention. "Very well, sir."
"Are you hungry?"
"Always, sir." It was true; the clones' metabolic systems were constantly in need of fuel, in part due to their rapidly aging cells. At this she nodded and before he knew it they had made their way to one of the smaller cafes that catered to the nearby Senate building whose awning advertised "the strongest caf in town!" Stonewall watched as the general slid into a booth beside one of the windows and beckoned him to follow; after a moment's hesitation he sat down across from her, keeping his back straight.
"You can take the helmet off, if you want," she said once he had settled. "Unless you can eat with it on." There was levity in her voice though her expression was deadpan.
Nodding, Stonewall popped the seal and placed his bucket on the seat beside him. Instantly, he was assaulted by a host of sensations: the hissing sound of a hot beverage being prepared behind the far counter; the sharp scent of brewed caf mingling with the delicious aroma of baked goods; the rush of displaced air against his cheek as the door to the cafe slid open again to allow more patrons to enter. He glanced back at the Jedi to see that she was watching him, a faint expression of amusement on her face. "I've never been here, sir," he explained, glancing at a Twi'lek couple who were regarding him with unmasked curiosity. "It's...nice." The words sounded clumsy on his tongue and he tried not to wince.
"Your hair," she exclaimed after a moment. "You shaved it all off!"
He ran a hand over his head, his fingers brushing the fine fringe that remained. "It's less trouble this way, sir," he replied, glancing back at her. "But I didn't want it all gone."
"It suits you," she said, smiling at him. "It really does." She gestured to the menu screen that was stationed above the long counter opposite them. "What'll you have? It's on me."
There were a dazzling array of options and Stonewall was taken aback at the challenge of picking one, as everything sounded delicious and unfamiliar. Finally he looked back at her. "I'm not sure, sir. What's good here?"
One of her eyebrows lifted. "You trust me, right?" He nodded and she seemed pleased. "Great. You won't be disappointed, Stone." She flagged down the service droid and placed their order; moments later two steaming mugs were placed before them, with the promise of food to come. The Jedi began to add sugar to hers and after a moment, Stonewall did as well. "So," she began. "You remember our talk on the Resolute? Are you still interested in accompanying me on missions?"
The caf was strong, but rather good once he added several packets of sugar. "I am, sir." He wondered if she remembered saying that she'd promote him, but decided not to mention it just in case it had just been idle talk.
"Excellent. I've been given an assignment – it's a little unusual, from what I understand – and I'd like your help." He nodded again and she continued, telling him about the bio-terrorist that he'd been only vaguely aware of, Doctor Nes Raphan. "Anyway," she said as two small, empty plates were set down in front of them, with one larger one in the center of the table that was covered in an assortment of breads and pastries. "The Council has decided that you should be assigned to me – for now – and that we get to track this man down. It's imperative that we figure out exactly what he's helping the Separatists cook up."
Stonewall did his best to focus on her words but the aroma of the food was rather distracting; his eyes kept flicking to the plate before him, piled high with baked goods. Finally she chuckled and shifted it towards him. "Go on before you strain something; I recommend the chocolate scones."
Heat crept to his cheeks. "My apologies, sir," he said, trying to ignore the growling in his stomach. "You were briefing me."
She shrugged and selected one of the scones. "I think the 'briefing' can wait for a few minutes. Dig in." They sat in silence for a few minutes while they ate; well, he realized after a moment, he was doing most of the eating while she merely nibbled at the pastry and sipped her drink, her eyes focused on something outside the window. A casual glance showed the direction of her gaze to be the Jedi Temple, the ziggurat whose spires could be seen from any number of locations around this part of town. When he had more or less eaten his fill she met his eyes again. "Good, aren't they?" He nodded and she leaned forward, her hands around the mug. "How do you feel about special ops? I need to put a team together, but am somewhat at a loss how to do so."
This kind of talk he could handle. "I can help with that. To track down this Raphan?" She nodded and he leaned back in the booth, ignoring the uncomfortable press of his armor with the motion. "A broad range of talents would be best," he continued, his tone thoughtful. "We'd need to make sure we were covered for any contingency. I can think of a few men off hand who might work..." he trailed off and looked at her. "When would you like this done, General?"
Her hands spread. "As soon as possible."
"Right, sir." He considered for a moment. "Can you please give me a day to contact the candidates, sir? I'll get back to you by this time tomorrow, if that's okay."
"Of course," she replied, sipping her drink. "And you can drop the 'sir.'" At his startled look, the edges of her mouth tugged. "It's just a little...formal for me. Please call me 'Kalinda,' or 'Kali' if you don't mind." As if sensing his discomfort she cleared her throat. "However, 'General' will work for now, though we might have to revisit that later."
That would take some getting used to, but he nodded. "As you wish, General."
At this she sighed but made no further comment on the matter. After a moment she set her cup down and reached out to him. "One last thing: I almost forgot to congratulate you," she said as she smiled and shook his hand; even through his glove her skin was warm. "Captain."
When Stone contacted her the following evening, Kali was covered in sweat and grime from a grueling sparring session with several of the Temple's training droids; she was determined to become a more proficient fighter, despite the persistent ache in her knee and she wanted to work on her shield a little more. However, she'd lost track of time – of course – and answered her comm with a gasp. "It's evening, isn't it?" she said as Stone's image appeared at her wrist. Kriffing hell.
If he noticed her disheveled appearance he gave no indication of it. "General Halcyon. I have the team that we discussed."
"Excellent. Give me twenty minutes," she replied, exiting the training room with her robe in hand. "I'll meet you guys at the barracks."
"Certainly, General."
Once his image died she all but ran to her quarters to shower and change, as she had no desire to meet her new troops – there was another strange thought – looking a ragged mess; as she didn't have time to wash her hair, she plaited it in her customary long braid and decided to deal with it later. Though, she thought as she slipped on a fresh tunic. I'm not sure it even matters what I look like. It's not like they won't follow the orders of a Jedi if her hair is dirty. Still, she felt it was important to look as professional as possible, since they would most definitely be doing the same for her.
With nine minutes to spare she made her way to the ubiquitous shuttles that ran between the Temple, the clone barracks, the Senate and any other place where military personnel might need to travel. There were not many people about at this time and she had most of the shuttle to herself, which she found to be more of a curse than a blessing, as it allowed her to be alone with her own thoughts. Obi-Wan and Anakin had left the planet that morning; from the window of her quarters she'd watched their transport leave, feeling Obi-Wan's presence receding, though the weight in her chest refused to budge.
Finally the shuttle arrived at its destination; she stepped on to the tarmac and found Stone in an instant, his presence had become familiar and welcome since Basrah, though she resisted the urge to wave to him this time. After they'd parted ways the previous night she'd contacted the quartermaster at the clone barracks and informed him of Stone's promotion, so she was pleased to see that he was wearing new, red-striped armor, complete with pauldron and kama. It suited him.
The four clones who stood at attention behind him were dressed in the requisite white plastoid armor, their gauntleted hands rose to their T-shaped visors in a unified salute as she approached. Stonewall stepped forward and spoke, his voice distorted through the mic in his helmet. "Your new squad as requested, General Halcyon." One by one they stepped forward and gave their ranks and numbers, none of which she remembered. Instead, Kalinda asked them to remove their helmets, which they did – again, as one fluid motion – and she approached each one individually.
The first clone was as bald as Master Windu, and though his expression was solemn, she could sense an undercurrent of merriment within him, a joviality that made her smile. "Do you have a nickname?"
His eyes flicked to Stone, who nodded, before he spoke. "Yes, sir. Crest."
"Crest is our ordnance man," Stonewall said. "Demolitions."
"That's a fancy way of saying I like to blow stuff up," Crest added, a grin splitting his face, though he recovered quickly. "Sir."
Nodding, Kalinda moved to the next trooper; he was also bald, though he had two strips of hair shaved onto the top of his skull. From him, she sensed an innate curiosity, a desire to heal and help others, as well as a quiet, orderly mind. At her gaze he straightened and nodded. "Weave, sir."
"You're the medic, aren't you?"
He nodded again, though she sensed his incredulity, surpassed only by his unease, which she thought might have more to do with the fact that she was female than anything else. They haven't been around too many women, I suppose. "Yes, General."
Stonewall spoke. "Weave's good to have around when you have a problem that you can't shoot your way out of."
"I'm sure we'll have our share of those," she replied, smiling at the trooper, who flushed and lowered his eyes. "Weave. Good to have you around."
The next clone was younger than the others, his face smoother and less battle-worn and he had a full head of hair. "General," he said, saluting her again. "I'm Milo. Stealth and sniper-trained, sir." His voice was tinted with eagerness and she sensed impatience from him as well, which made him seem so much younger than the rest.
"You'll find no better shot around, General," Stonewall added.
Kali nodded again and patted Milo's shoulder. "How long have you been in combat, Milo?"
At this he hesitated and glanced at Stonewall, who answered for him. "Four months since he graduated, General."
"But my squad was at the top of the class," Milo added. "We completed our exam in record time."
"Congratulations," Kalinda replied, though she wasn't sure if it was the right thing to say. "That's good to hear."
The final clone emanated nothing so much as determination and stubbornness. This man is a force to be reckoned with, she thought as she nodded to him. He did not offer his name so she asked him. "Traxis," he replied. There was a long, jagged scar that ran diagonally across his face from his forehead to below his body armor, shiny and pink. "Weapons are my deal, sir." He met her gaze unflinchingly and she was struck again by the fierce energy he exuded. A glance at his torso showed that he was equipped with several more blasters than the standard DC-15's, as well as an assortment of blades, both vibro and steel.
"Traxis," she repeated, giving him a nod. "I'm glad you're on our side." The clone said nothing, but she sensed a flicker of amusement from him at her words.
"Haven't met anyone else with such an...affinity for weapons as Traxis," Stonewall added. Kalinda looked back at the captain, touched by his obvious pride in each of the men he'd selected. She stepped beside him once more and faced the squad – her squad – clearing her throat to address them all.
"Gentlemen," she began, meeting each of their eyes in turn. "I look forward to working with each of you; I think that between us, we'll be unstoppable." She glanced at Stonewall, whose shoulders straightened under her gaze. "First thing tomorrow morning," she added. "We're going hunting."
