Vital Communications

"Don't let your fear of being judged stop you from asking for help when you need it."

- Anonymous

Communications center, Eyat Command Base, five klicks outside of Eyat city, Gaftikar, Outer Rim, 21 BBY (22 days after the first bombing & 17 months after the Battle of Geonosis)

When he had first been told that he would be stationed on and given command over a small base on Gaftikar, Clone Commander Gaff would admit to feeling a momentary sense of disappointment. He had been ranked among the top three of his graduating class and F Company had been one of the most highly decorated companies coming out of Tipoca. Even with almost five months shaved off of their training, Commander Gaff had felt certain that he and his company would be assigned immediately to the battlefield. After all, the urgent need for more troopers was hardly a secret. So to be told by his trainer that he and F Company were overseeing planetary security for a newly captured Republic world had been...a let down.

On the way to telling his men their destination, reason had, of course, asserted itself. Rationally, it was a sound strategy, giving a new company the chance to adjust to the galaxy outside of Tipoca. Gaff had heard some of the clone trainers - experienced troopers returned from the battlefield to help train the next generation - talk about how different, how chaotic the outside world was. So yes, giving new troopers the chance to acclimate themselves, to gain experience in a more controlled environment made sense. And that was how he had presented the orders to his company.

And the more he had reflected on it, the more Gaff had come to believe that it was a good assignment, if not an exciting or prestigious one. What did prestige and excitement matter any ways. They had been given their orders and it was now up to him and F Company to fulfil these orders to the best of their abilities.

And though he put no stock in such things, Gaff had had to admit that there was something about the planet's name, Gaftikar, that had, at first glance, boded well for him. Gaff. Gaftikar. If there were such things as good omens, then perhaps this would be one of them.

Of course, those hopes had been shot down almost as soon as he and F Company had landed on the planet. Part of the Republic Gaftikar might be, but that sure didn't mean the locals were happy about it. And they seemed determined to let it out on the clones. And then there was the bomber and now this.

If there was ever a time for an alert to sound, Commander Gaff truly wished it could be now. Standing in front of the holotransmitter in the garrison's communications center, waiting for the transmission to Coruscant to get through, Gaff had to remind himself not to shift from foot to foot like an impatient and nervous cadet. It was undignified and unbecoming of a superior officer. But he was dreadfully nervous, with his stomach clenching uncomfortably in anticipation of the coming interview. Behind and to the left of him stood Sergeant Wren, arms crossed over his chest, chin resting lightly on his armored chest. If the sergeant was nervous about reporting their findings to the Jedi Council, then he gave no outward sign of it. Gaff was almost envious.

"Transmission going through, sir. We have acknowledgement from the Temple." The trooper on duty at the transmitter console turned towards him in his chair, one hand raised to his headset.

"Acknowledged, Corporal. Patch them through." Gaff was pleased that his voice came out sounding professional and sure. He just hoped that it would stay that way throughout his conversation with the Jedi. Gaftikar was his first real command and he did not want to make a fool of himself on his first assignment outside of Kamino. And that went doubly so for his first live communication with the Jedi. Gaff had been handed over command of the base by Captain Pellaeon and Commander Levet of the 35th, without ever meeting the Jedi who had been in charge of the Battle of Gaftikar and so far, all of his reports had been sent via a secured comm channel to GAR HQ and the Temple. This was the first time he would be face to face with a Jedi in any way.

The holotransmitter lit up and the life-sized images of the High Generals Yoda and Mace Windu appeared before him. It figured, of course, that his first meeting with Jedi officer would be with the two highest ranking generals. He really, really wished he didn't have to give this report.

General Windu leaned slightly towards the transmitter, and towards the commander, his face stern. "Commander, what progress have you made in your investigations?" The general, apparently, did not believe in wasting time with idle pleasantries.

That alarm would really come in handy, right about now, Gaff thought, swallowing. But he kept his back straight, body in perfect parade-rest and gave both High Generals a crisp salute before answering.

"Since the initial attack twenty-two days ago, two other structures in and around Eyat have been bombed. The second was a storage unit, used by a local agricultural company to house grains and the like. The third," and here he hesitated slightly, "last night, was at a communal records office in the government block. There were two casualties, sirs. Two Marits completing some repairs left over from the battle. As their presence was a last minute decision, we can assume that the bomber would not have known that they would be there at the time of the explosion."

General Windu's heavy brows lowered even furthered, as he regarded Gaff through the holo. Though the man was seated in a low, oval chair, he nevertheless gave off the impression of towering height. Gaff wondered if that was a result of his authority, or a byproduct of this mysterious Force.

"We have read as much from your reports, Commander. It does not, however, answer my question." There was nothing but cool durasteel in the general's voice.

Gaff swallowed nervously again, sure the sound was audible all the way to Coruscant. Quickly, he searched his mind for the relevant passages, trying to skip ahead in the report he had memorized prior to this meeting.

"Yes, sir. We have continued to question possible witnesses, as well as increasing the nightly patrols. The perpetrator appears to prefer setting off the bombs in the very early morning hours, when there are few civilians present. He also seems to have a set pattern. All of the attacks have been seven days apart, so we know we have another six days until we can expect the next bomb to go off. The civilians have also become aware of this and are keeping close to their residences come nightfall. That is also one of the reasons why the casualty count has been this low so far. In that, the bomber is making it easy for us."

"So it is not a high body count this bomber is after, but the destruction of property." General Windu looked off to the side for a moment, his expression pensive. "But why attack such unimportant locations? A warehouse for mining equipment, a storage unit for edibles, a records office; what do these targets have in common?" The Jedi General's voice was low, asking these question more of himself than of the commander. Then, abruptly, the general's sharp eyes were on Gaff again, his expression no longer far away and thoughtful, but sharp and piercing.

"What about local law enforcement? Have they been included in these investigations?"

"Yes, sir. They have."

This time, it was High General Yoda who made Gaff the object of his inscrutable gaze.

"And?" the diminutive Jedi asked.

Gaff took a deep breath, trying to keep himself from wincing. "The local authorities are rather…ahm….reluctant to work with us, Generals."

There was the sound of a derisive snort from behind him and Gaff fought the urge to turn around and reprimand the sergeant. But that would have been inappropriate to the situation and luckily, it seemed that neither of the two generals had heard.

"Reluctant, you say?" General Yoda asked, his long ears twitching slightly. Gaff had no idea what that could mean. "Reluctant how, Commander?"

Gaff cleared his throat, and felt the slightest of heat creep into his cheeks. He really wished protocol didn't demand of him to take off his helmet during debriefings with superior officers. "Well, sirs. For one, they say they are willing to cooperate, by helping us bring in witnesses or joining surveillance teams, but then they never show up, or are late. They claim to misunderstand instructions or to have lost vital communiqués." The commander grimaced. Voicing his problems with the local police out loud, and doing so in front of the two most senior and highest ranking generals in the entire GAR, made them seem so ridiculously petty. Worse still, he felt that it reflected badly on his ability and his command. How could he be trusted to lead men in an actual combat situation, when he could not even manage to impress a bunch of civilians with his authority?

General Windu sighed. "I see Commander. In other words, the Gaftikari are still resentful of the Republic and the GAR."

"Well, sir, it's actually only the Human settlers that are giving us problems. The Marits are still willing to cooperate with us."

High General Yoda let out a thoughtful "hmm", his eyes closing briefly, before focusing his attention once more on Gaff.

"And the bomb? New information you have?"

"We are still in the process of recreating the latest bombing site, but we do know that the main substance used was detonite. Whoever is doing this, is obviously no amateur. He knows enough about bombs to make sure that most of it is destroyed in the initial explosion. Whoever the Separatists hired for this, has considerable skills."

Both generals suddenly fixed him with penetrating stares and equal frowns. Being the subject of such scrutiny actually made Gaff lean away slightly from the holotransmitter, in an instinctive need for self-preservation. He regretted it almost immediately when he heard a low laugh coming from behind him. His sergeant was, apparently, quite enjoying himself.

"You believe this to be the work of Separatists?" Mace Windu asked.

For a moment Gaff was honestly confused. "Who else would it be, sir?"

General Yoda leaned forward slightly on his seat, his clawed hands resting loosely on his knees. "Indeed," he said. "Who else?"

The two Jedi exchanged meaningful, but tired looks, engaged in some form of quiet communication that utterly excluded Gaff. General Windu was the first one to turn his attention back to the young commander.

"What is your strategy, Commander, in the continuation of your investigation?"

"My…strategy, sir?" Gaff asked. Hadn't he already explained that? Surveillance and the questioning of witnesses were his strategy. What else was there for him to do?

Gaff was about to open his mouth to restate his previous words, when he heard an annoyed sigh come from the sergeant behind him. Before he could intervene, Sergeant Wren stepped into the holotransmitter's range.

"With all due respect, sirs," he drawled. "There's not much of a strategy for us to follow."

Gaff closed his eyes and silently counted down from ten until the urge to strangle his sergeant had passed. The man had been an absolute pain since he had been assigned as F Company's designated 'experienced' trooper. Always walking that fine line between insolence and downright insubordination, Sergeant Wren had the habit of rubbing everyone the wrong way and enjoying it. Right now was no exception. Not only was the sergeant addressing Generals Windu and Yoda with the barest modicum of respect and propriety, he was also basically humiliating his commanding officer in the process.

"The fact is," Wren continued, his arms still crossed over his chest, not having bothered with a salute, "no one here has the proper training for this kind of investigation. The locals won't have anything to do with us, not unless we force them at blaster point. Not exactly subtle," he said, the right side of his mouth stretching into a bare, half-smile, which the scar at the corner of his mouth twisted into a sarcastic sneer. "And that's what we need. Someone who can be subtle. We show up, all pretty in white and people tend to walk in the other direction. Or come at us with knives."

Sergeant Wren tilted his head lightly to the side, the lights of the communications centre reflecting off of the very short stubble of hair on his head. "We could use a Jedi, if you happen to have one to spare. Sirs," he added, as an afterthought and making no attempt to hide the fact.

Gaff wanted to sink into the ground. How this must look to the generals. Like he couldn't control his own command. And really, he couldn't. Not when it came to Sergeant Wren at least. The man had this aggravating habit of completely ignoring an order, but somehow still getting the job done. What was worst, his assessment of the situation wasn't wrong. Gaff had also come to the conclusion that he and his men were simply not trained for this kind of operation. They were an infantry unit and this was an investigation best left to ARCs or Jedi. He had hoped of putting in a request for assistance himself, but had wanted to frame it more…professionally. Wren made it sound like F Company and its commander were nothing more than…well, than a batch of shinies.

General Windu steepled his fingers in front of his face, casting his dark gaze first at Wren, who remained completely unperturbed and then at Gaff, who tried not to flinch.

General Yoda too was scrutinizing the two clones and a silence was settling over the communications centre that had even the corporal on duty squirming uncomfortably in his chair.

Finally, General Yoda broke the silence. "See what we can do, we will. Contact you, when a Jedi is found, we shall."

And with that, the communication was broken off, the holotransmitter going dark. Gaff thankfully closed his eyes, but kept a sigh of relief firmly locked behind his teeth. Professional, he thought. Keep it professional. You are the commander. You can't let your men see you as anything but in control.

"Well that was effing helpful," was the sergeant's sarcastic rejoinder. ""See what we can do", my armored backside." And with that, the sergeant stalked out of the communications centre.

Gaff's fist clenched, but he remained outwardly calm otherwise. He turned back to the on-duty shift, seeing that all five of the troopers were staring after Wren with jaws slightly agape.

Gaff squared his shoulders and looked down his nose at them, imitating one of his former training sergeants. "Gentlemen, I do believe your job is to monitor those sensors. Eyes front." It seemed to work and Gaff was pleased to see all five of them straighten in their seats and give him simultaneous salutes, before turning back to their duty stations. Well, at least they knew how to behave with the proper respect and decorum worthy of a clone trooper. They're good men, he thought, watching them briefly. Now, if only all of the men under my command were like that.

Thoughts of his sergeant made Gaff scowl darkly and the next words he addressed to the officer in charge of monitoring all incoming communications were sharper than he had intended.

"I want to be contacted immediately as soon as we receive a signal from Triple Zero. No delay, no matter what. Am I understood?"

The trooper, Teller, gave him a sharp nod. "Sir, yes, sir."

"Good. Let me know as soon as the patrols have called in." And with that, he left the communications centre as well, intent on finding his errant sergeant and setting the man straight on a few things. Like proper protocol when speaking to high-ranking Jedi officers.

Wren was already down the hall and making his way towards the barracks he was bunking in, when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He didn't need to turn around to know they belonged to Commander Gaff. The noob commander was the only person Wren had ever known who could sound huffy when walking.

I was wondering when he'd come storming after me, he thought, already mildly amused by the coming confrontation. While the two of them had been forced to work together for a little over two months now, the commander still managed to be somewhat entertaining from time to time. So Wren stopped walking and turned towards the sound of the footsteps, idly studying the grey durasteel ceiling, counting the rivets of each plating.

When Gaff came around the last bend, he nearly walked into Wren. Wren slanted his eyes so as to better watch the spectacle his commanding officer was making of himself, as he came to a screeching halt and tried to keep his balance from the sudden deceleration of his forward momentum without actually pinwheeling his arms or reaching out to steady himself against Wren.

Gaff managed to keep his balance, while still holding on to some shreds of his rank's dignity. Just as the commander was opening his mouth to speak, Wren cut him off.

"Commander," and Wren practically purred the title, "I'm surprised at you. You're late. I was expecting my chewing out two minutes and…" he trailed off in thought, eyes going to the ceiling once more, "eighteen seconds ago." The trick was, to always keep your opponent unbalanced, mentally as well as physically.

Gaff blinked at him, opened his mouth, closed it again, then caught himself before looking up at the spot of ceiling Wren was staring at. Ah, shinies. They make it almost too easy.

Finally realizing that Wren was, as usually, baiting him, Gaff straightened up and put on what Wren thought of as his 'command face'. Wren was certain it was meant to look both dignified and assertive and likely worked quite well on most of the regular troopers. The shinies certainly scurried fast enough when they saw it. But Wren was not a regular trooper strictly speaking and he hadn't been a shiny since before leaving Kamino.

"Sergeant," the Commander said, voice stern. "Your behavior back in the communications centre was utterly inappropriate in both context and form."

"Context and form," Wren murmured, closing his eyes briefly. "Really?" Then his eyes snapped open and he was suddenly right in Gaff's face, invading the man's personal space and ignoring all proper forms of protocol between an NCO and a CO.

"Please enlighten me, Commander. What part of my context and form was inappropriate? When I pointed out to the Jedi that they're expecting a huddle of troopers, so wet behind the ears I can still smell the ocean brine on them, to execute what is clearly a delicate investigation? When I made it clear that we are dealing with an karking uncooperative, if not downright hostile civilian population? Or when I accurately deduced that we never actually got a kriffing straight answer on our request for support?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared the commander straight in the eyes. "Go ahead, Commander. I am eager to learn the error of my ways." A deaf and brain damaged Kowakian monkey-lizard couldn't have missed the sarcasm in his voice.

Gaff's jaw clenched so tight, Wren was certain he could hear the tendons creak and the other clone's face flushed a pleasing shade of red. Wren felt the satisfaction of victory course through him. Gaff might be able to assign him extra punishment details, but he would never be able to deny the truth of Wren's words.

"Your tone, Sergeant," Gaff ground out, "was badly lacking in proper respect when addressing two senior members of the rank and office held by both General Yoda and General Windu. You have to realize that your actions reflect on the entire company."

Wren gave a scoffing laugh at this. "I can assure you, Commander, the Jedi might be offended by my tone, but they are hardly in a position to punish an entire company because of my actions. In case you haven't noticed, the war isn't going too well. The Jedi and the Senate need all the cannon fodder they can throw at the Separatists."

Gaff inhaled sharply at this and Wren saw his eyes quickly flicker around the corridor. Wren knew that reaction very well. He'd seen it countless times on Kamino, when anxious troopers made sure that there were no Kaminoan overseers about to hear what could be deemed a 'subversive conversation'.

At times like these, Wren could almost feel sorry for the poor bleater. Almost. But he had to hand it to Gaff, the shiny commander was so focused on doing a good job on his first assignment, he managed to recover from a life-long habit relatively quickly.

"I will not stand for such talk on my base, Sergeant. What you are saying can be classified as slander and is counterproductive for the morale of this unit."

Now Wren just had to smile. Gaff really was begging for it. "If it's morale you're worried about, sir," he said, "I have a few suggestions that might help."

Gaff's eyes narrowed suspiciously and Wren could practically hear the gears turning beneath that regulation haircut of his. But he was too wrapped up in his role of CO to deduce the nature of the trap.

"Yes?" he asked, warily.

Wren winked at him. "Give 'em a few creds of pocket money and let boys be boys. I know a few ladies who would be more than willing to do their bit for the war effort."

Gaff jerked back before his lips compressed into a tight line. "That, trooper," he ground out, "is it. You are hereby confined to your quarters until further notice."

"You can't do that, Commander." Wren drawled.

Gaff blinked at him, baffled, momentarily forgetting his rank and reduced to the state of the bewildered shiny that he was. "What?"

"My mission mandate, Commander," Wren explained, enjoying every second of this, "is to train and prepare members of F Company, until such a time when a Jedi is available to formally take over command. I am to pass on my experiences so as to make up for the five months you and your troopers were shorted on, on Kamino. Those orders," and Wren gave the furious young commander a razor thin smile, "came from GAR HQ on Coruscant and supersedes your authority. You can't confine me to my quarters, Commander, because that would interfere with my mission."

Wren leaned back slightly to watch the effects his words were bound to have. Gaff was young, almost comically so, and he had yet to learn either the limits of command or the ways of 'creative interpretation' when it came to orders. Wren was a master in both areas and quite a few others.

For a moment, the young commander merely stood there, one fist clenched at his side, while the other gripped the edge of the bucket clipped to his belt. Wren wondered if Gaff was about to burst a blood vessel.

But the commander managed to reign in his temper. He compressed his lips so tightly they went white and briefly looked to the side, away from Wren's amused expression and mocking eyes. When he had himself back under control, Gaff met Wren's gaze evenly.

"I understand, Sergeant. Nevertheless, your behavior during the debriefing with the generals, as well as your lack of respect towards your commanding officer are two things not covered by your mission mandate. I thereby order you to report for the night patrol as ranking NCO for the foreseeable future."

Wren slitted his eyes momentarily at the verdict, but then shrugged. Night or day patrol, what did it matter? And certainly night patrol would give him a greater chance for some actual action on this sorry rock of a planet.

So he raised his hand in a two-fingered salute and insolently gave the commander a lazy "yes, sir."

He turned his back on Gaff without a second thought. Really, the shiny could be fun, but quite frankly, he was practically too easy to rile. And his responses to Wren's provocations were becoming predictable. It seemed everything on this planet was predictable. Even the bomber had a schedule he kept to.

As he made his way through the corridors that made up Eyat Base, Wren found himself almost looking forward to night patrol. It would cut into his off-shift entertainment, but so far, these bombings were the only interesting thing to have happened since the actual Battle of Gaftikar. And more than anything, Wren craved a good fight, a challenge to his skills. And the shinies of F Company were certainly not up to providing him with either.

Keying open the door to his barracks, Wren made his way over to his bunk. The few shinies present at the moment quickly ducked out of his way, throwing him hasty salutes. One of the first lessons he had taught them was not to cross him.

Throwing his bucket on the bunk in the far corner of the barracks, Wren braced his hands on the frame of the empty bunk set above his, leaning his forehead against the cold durasteel. Already, the small bit of satisfaction he had gleaned from besting Gaff was fading, leaving him feeling empty and unfulfilled. He hated that feeling; hated it almost as much as he hated this planet.

Once, Wren had been an ARC - an Advanced Recon Commando - being trained by Jango Fett himself. He had been taught skills most of the regular troopers could only dream about, being prepared to take on the role of a one-man army. But during his eighth year, Wren had committed the worst mistake of his life and as a result, he'd been 'demoted' to a regular clone trooper. So far, he had been able to live with his new role, more or less. A regular trooper was hardly required to have the same skill set as an ARC, but they were in the thick of every battle and that had been enough for Wren. Droids didn't exactly challenge his cognitive thinking, but the action he had seen on Geonosis, Atraken, Jabiim, Qiilura and all the little skirmishes in-between had taxed his body and given him the adrenaline high he so desperately craved. But kriffing Gaftikar couldn't even offer him that bit of solace.

The Battle of Gaftikar had been short, with losses on the Republic's side so minimal, they were hardly worth mentioning. Wren had barely even broken a sweat as he and his platoon had secured the government block. And it had just gone downhill from there. The skirmishes with the civilians were hardly more than swatting wingstingers, his training sessions with the shinies nothing than an aggravation and his CO...

Wren gave a short, humorless snort. Gaff. Sweet fardling afterburners, the guy was a textbook stick in the mud with no more imagination than a Marit. Everything on this planet was as dull and grey as the durasteel that made up the prefab buildings around him. He could practically feel every part of his body and mind atrophying the longer he stayed here. And the fact that a bomber was the only thing he really had to look forward to was just...

Wren scrubbed at his face with one hand. He had heard the term 'clinical depression' before, but absolutely refused to apply it to his situation. For fek's sake he was a clone, not some whiny, soft civvie with mommy issues. He didn't even have a kriffing mother.

He pushed himself away from the bunks, going over to his locker and began to shed the hard plastoid shell of his armor, thinking over the day's developments. As long as he kept his mind busy somehow, he wouldn't have time to mull over that empty, listless feeling in his gut that never quite went away.

Pulling off his gauntlets, Wren determined that if the planet would not arrange for some entertainment for him, then he would arrange it for himself. He had several projects going on the side, little stints that no one at Eyat Base knew about. Now he did a few, quick mental calculations.

If he arranged his shift-schedule accordingly, he could actually finish his duties and still keep up his forays into the city and the surrounding forests. Actually, this might be for the better. With night patrol, he could visit the local cantinas and bars during the early mornings or afternoons. Neither time made much difference to the clientele he was interested in. He could have a good romp, gather a bit of Intel and start the tedious task of patrolling Eyat with his body nicely relaxed and his mind occupied, more or less.

Wren rolled his neck and shoulders, listening to his bones crunch a little. A small, almost invisible smile came to his lips, even if it was somewhat forced. A bomber to find, an opportunity for a daylight roll in the sheets and shinies to terrorize. Things might not be looking up, but he refused to give in to the empty feeling tearing at his insides. His incarceration on Gaftikar couldn't last forever. Maybe afterwards he could find someone who could actually challenge him.

Author's Note: Just a small warning about chapters. I don't set myself a word limit for these things, so chapters in this story might be a little longer than what you are used to from On Wings of Silver and Lead. Nothing epic, I promise, but I tend to close a chapter when I think best, so some might clock somewhere around 7,000 words or more. Oh, and, please keep in mind this is a T rated story. Swearing and violence will come, but you know my style by now. Nothing too explicit. Next chapter...Ro enters the scene, stage left.