"Of course... we do expect some casualties, General... But then, that is why the Jedi ordered so many of us, isn't it?"
-Clone Commander, CO-3004... 'Doff'... to his new Jedi Master-General, moments before the campaign on Ord Pardron-
Chap7-
Leaning out of the opened sidedoor of a shiny new LAAT/I, or 'Larty' as the men dubbed them in training, Trey's dark hair blew around wildly, as his squinting eyes took in the rapidly passing blurr of colors that made up the passing landscape below. This was his first sub-orbital view of any world other than rainy, miserable Kamino. With it's vast desert regions... split by high, rocky mountain ranges and crossed with wide, empty riverflows. He wished for the Larty to slow down some so he could enjoy more the experience. But, he also knew that when the assault-craft finally did slow it's pace, his first actual baptism of fire, would also finally commence.
Even to an 'ultra-trained' rookie, (which was exactly what Trey was) this moment rattled the nerves. It wasn't a feeling like 'excitement', or 'fear', it was somehow a mixture of the two powerful emotions. He could feel the adrenaline running through his veins leaving him cold, and jittery. Along with something else, he couldn't identify. It's effects were similar to fear, but not exactly. The best way to describe his current state was ready to fight, flee, vomit, and... pee!
In a sudden, 'Deuce-like' flash, Trey wondered how many other things, that he and his brethren clones had not yet had a chance to experience, felt like this..?
After so much anticipation, he figured any being would be subject a certain level of anxiety. He was sure, it was nothing to be concerned about... but still...
To take his sight off of the semi-nauseating rush of Ord Pardron (and his weird, minds wanderings), Trey turned his eyes upwards... to the not-so-distant horizon of stormclouds; which seemed to be getting darker the closer as they flew.
These were different than the ones on always-gloomy Kamino, however. On Kamino, there was never any real light for the gathering darkness to dominate and then devour. But here, against the contrasting sun-brightened desert lands, Trey could see how the light gave way... with its' promises of warmth and joy... in submission to its inevitable defeat.
Momentarily mesmerized, Trey lost himself in the growing spectacle before him. Of the wrath of the skies' vengeful darkness that loomed evermore steadily, above the cowering, quickly shadowing, land.
These dark, roiling masses, streaked now and then with angry flashes of lightning, seemed to touch something deep... and dark... within Trey, as he gazed in wonder at their power.
Standing next to him, completely forgotten for the moment was Deuce. Forgotten, that is until he nudged smaller brother, to get his attention. Once Trey had been shaken from his daze enough to turn and look at his brother, only then did Deuce turned to fully face him also... crossing his big arms over his chest plate.
Now, when fully armored, all clone troopers pose an intimidating figure. Each one (well, those who made it past the Kaminoans) were big, superbly-fit specimens of the human gemone. Added to their muscular frame: the bulky, automation-assisted plates of dura-steel/plastoid alloy that cocooned them; clone-troopers were meant to be impressive.
But Duece, somehow took it to a whole different level.
Although engineered to the same exacting standards as every other, something about him gave him the appearance of being larger. Of course, he wasn't... Trey knew that. He'd seen the measurement results. And, the Kaminoan engineers would never have allowed even an excessive millimeter or kilo, to fail to meet up to specs.
He would have made a great NCO, Trey thought... if only he'd been engineered to be.
One thing they didn't seem to engineer, unfortunately, was Deuce's odd sense of curiousity.
"What you think they call us?", he wonderously asked his little brother. His 'big' brother's sudden bursts of eloquetion no longer caught Trey off-guard, though. Deuce was just... Deuce.
He would seemingly go days without making an unrequired sound, and then... without any obvious prompting or cause; his 'older' brother would openly and innocently make an inquiry, or add a random comment to the conversation, as if he had been thinking about nothing else the entire time.
Caught off-guard, Trey took a second to provide any answer. "What do I think who calls us?", Trey finally responded.
"The enemy. You know the 'tinnies'.", his older sibling reasoned. "That's what we call them. I wonder if they have a name for us?"
Trey looked at his brother for a moment, then shook his head. Good ole Deuce. "I dunno what they call us now, if anything." he answered. "But, I'm sure they'll be calling you 'the Garbage Man' after you start sending them back to the scrap heap!"
His brothers helmet bobbed up and down a few times, and Trey could imagine the silly grin Deuce carried on his hidden face.
Then he reached over, and 'double-tapped' Trey, hard in the chest-plate, with his gauntleted fist. "And don't fret so much, little brother...", Deuce's visored-mask turned back to the passing landscape before he concluded. "I haven't kept you alive this long, just for you to glitch-out on me now!"
He added a final, brotherly 'love-tap' to puntucate his promise.
Always somewhat left unsure of what to say in monents like this, Trey lamely threw out an all-encompassing, "Copy that."
For distraction from the dizzying rush of 's flora (and Dueces un-nerving muses), he looked around the cabin to find Oni... currently helping Quay adjust his extra ammo-pack. Trey took a smidgen of fraternally-sadistic joy from hearing his little brothers shouted complaints.
"Hey... ouch! It doesn't have to be so tight, Oni!... Oww, c'mon, Sarge...!"
Fretting over every little thing was Oni's way of handling stress, and Trey was grateful that Quay had been the one Oni had selected to bother over. Trey couldn't suppress his grin.
Catching his brothers' amused gaze, Quay slipped a gloved hand behind his back, away from their sergeants view, and discreetly issued his brother a 'one-fingered-salute', as sergeant Kal Skirata had once put it. Chuckling, Trey returned the courtesy in-kind.
Any further discourse with Quay was interrupted, however, as Oni suddenly grabbed their youngest brother and jerked him upright to face him. Quay's back was now turned to Trey, but he could tell by his slumping posture that Oni was really giving him both blaster barrels.
"Poor, little Quay...", Trey snickered. Oni must have caught his non-regulation hand signals. While Quay endured what looked to Trey to be a SERIOUS dressing-down from Oni... Trey wistfully returned to his searching of the open, alien skies.
Soon Oni, appearantly satisfied with readying his other wayward charge, appeared in the doorway next to him. Trey took his eldest brother in with a sideways glance, as they stood together for the moment in mutual silence. Trey actual hoped his sergeant wouldn't say anything because Trey was at a loss, as to what Oni might be thinking.
Oni had been acting strangely lately. His normal, gung-ho attitude seemed to have taken a blow... as if he had seen, or done something that drastically altered him, inside. Perhaps, it was simply all of the recent changes they had gone through. Oni had done his best to maintain the 'status-quo', but a lot had happened onboard the 'Sullust Star' on the way over. A lot that Trey knew Sergeant Oni had never been trained to handle.
He was now more sullen, and yet, more intense. His temper, always on a short-leash, now ran the gambit, at seemingly any provocation. For last few days, always-reliable Oni had even been disappearing for hours at a time, telling no one where or why. Trey even suspected Oni was LYING about where he had been!
Most recently, 'Mr. Regulations' was even late for a pre-mission briefing! THIS mission! Trey worried about his brother, for these were not 'Oni' traits. But, now wasn't the right time to ask him about it. Right now, Trey had enough of his own to deal with.
Although he hadn't been bothered by any 'voices' or 'feelings' since they had left Kamino (and he was glad that he hadn't!), he began to wonder if, maybe... he somehow needed those instincts. That neither he, nor his brothers, would be alive today, if he hadn't headed his inner-whisperings.
"What if I'm not good enough, without it?"
This troubling train of thought was thankfully derailed, by his sergeant's unfavorable critique of their new environs... "Ugly as osik, isn't it?"
Trying to lighten his brother's heavy-mood some, Trey tilted his head as he looked back out at the harsh, blurry, Ord Pardronian tundra and replied.
"Well, it's still not uglier than Deuce, so..."
Without so much as a nod to acknowledge the joke, Oni leaned out a bit from the open doorway, then returned safely back inside, shaking his head. A moment of contemplation later, he turned away from the streaming hues of browns and greys, and with a wave of his gloved hand, motioning for Trey to join him.
As Trey followed his sergeant out into the hatchway, Oni suddenly stopped, and turned to face him... then Oni yanked off his armored glove... and slapped Trey solidly with it across his unprotected face!
The sting was as sharp, as the blow was unexpected. Trey turned with the impact, his cheek on sudden fire! He raised his empty hands up, as a feeble shield against further attack.
His sergeant then leaned in, getting nose-to-nose, and spoke sharply, yet quietly. "Listen Brother, we're about to go into the Meat House... for real!", Oni grunted. "I don't know what's been wrong with you lately, but I need you to get yourself sorted... now, Trooper!"
When Trey didn't respond, Oni tried a different tactic. "We each depend on one another, right? I need to know I can depend on you." Tilting his helmet to the side, he asked. "I can... can't I?"
All Trey could manage was a nod. He was afraid that if he spoke, Oni would hear a whisper of uncertainty in his voice, and scrub him from the mission. Given Oni's recent bouts of unpredictability... Trey didn't want to take any chances. Trey knew he could be replaced with some other, unfamiliar, random trooper... like one of the 'plug&play' accessories for his Decee.
Clone-troopers could do that, thats why they were all identical... in theory.
But Trey knew that any other clone wouldn't be him. Wouldn't know his brothers thoughts under fire, or care for them, as he would, if they were hurt.
That's why Trey couldn't just be 'replaced'... not to his pod-brothers, anyway. Surely, none of them could be so easily 'swapped-out' to him.
As if in response to his ponderings, Oni grabbed Trey in a tight-headlock, rubbing his knuckles into Trey's scalp. Affectionately, but still painful.
"You'll be fine, Little Brother..." Oni tried reassure Trey, or maybe even himself. "Now, lets go get our gear dirty!" The 'pep-talk' ended with a playful shove, and Oni walking back into the crowded cargobay.
He was right, of course. This was what they had trained for... fierfek... it was what he had been created for! To be the finest soldier ever to walk upon the field of battle. Soon now, it would be time to test how well the Kaminoans... and their Mandalorian-hirelings... had done in achieving that goal.
Yes, he re-affirmed... training was far behind. And war, lay just ahead. His brothers would need him now more than ever.
Trey focused on that, above all else: keeping his brothers alive. That was his overriding purpose, his reason to perform. It was his sacred mission. Nothing else mattered.
He was a Clone Trooper, and he would perform to specs. Simple. It was an act of will, like shutting out pain. And he had been well-trained in how to do that.
Slowly, the humming seemed to fade into the background, more and more replaced by the sounds of the hot, dry wind whislting through the cargobay, and the familiar rattle of the Lartys popping engines.
After completing his check of the rest of the squads gear, Oni went and stood next to Deuce, in the open doorway.
The flashing of blaster bolts and smoking from exsposions of the awaiting battle... could now be seen racing towards them. The Larty began to slow.
Soon, the sounds of the conflict joined the sights... as the transport drew ever closer to the bedlam. Next, the Larty decelerated hard, and began to drop very swiftly. Before Treys' stomach had a chance to return from his neck to his gut, the acrid smoke, heat, and screams... had reached the inside of the cabin... beckoning him to take his place amongst the fray.
Oni leaned over to Trey and yelled over the sudden din, just before affixing his helm. "So... you ready to kick some cans, trooper?"
Trey scanned the cargobay, looking at the men gathered there confidently with him. Men just like him. Soldiers. "No, not just soldiers...", he amended to himself.
"Troopers!"
Trey eased his white-armored helmet deliberately into place... as he symbolically put his uncertainties to rest.
He checked the Tibhaana-gas charge on his Decee-15's ammo clip, then decisively slammed it home. The resulting 'click and whine', confirming the weapon was fully-loaded and primed-to-fire, served also to underscored Trey's affirming reply...
"Sergeant, CT-3033... Ready for Duty."