A long awaited new chapter. I have been busy, what with the Corona virus + classes of college, and my real book that i've been working on. Also, hehe, yes I will end up covering the newer clone wars episodes in my own way. Don't worry bout a thing. Enjoy!
~20 bby, Ganthel System, 300th Fleet, RSD Unbroken.~
The industrial world of Ganthel was one of the many critical arteries of the Galactic Republic. While it did not necessarily produce exclusively war material - yet - it was one of the only truly industrialized worlds in the Core.
The 300th had been granted permission to use the region as a staging ground, moving and circulating droids and material from captured Seperatist vessels, offering their surplus to be cannibalized by the shipyards or industrial sectors planetside. But such a uniquely safe and secure industrial sector was uniquely suited for the 300th Privateering Corps. After all, a crucial area to govern, a place to divide their seized items, and a place to train newcomers.
That was how Shard pitched it to Clicker and Tusk. And, apparently, the Strategic High Command.
But it wasn't the shipping lanes of the dismantling ships eating captured warships that he watched, nor was he watching the prices for metal rise and fall in the open market. His eyes were welded on the hanger bay.
When the issue of reduced numbers was brought up during a lunch meeting between the three officers, the newly minted Commander Clicker began to pitch ideas. They started as hypotheticals, but then sounded as if he had already begun projects for his little tin men before even thinking of asking to divert resources to the matter.
And Tusk had to admit, on paper the idea doesn't sound half bad. Droid soldiers with spot-welded plastoid over the weaker points, taking the position of expendable front-line troops. It would certainly mean retiring the Skulls from commando missions - which none would be upset with - and having droids amongst the Clones.
That, was where Tusk had issues.
Droids, were useful. He admitted that openly. Droids can cook to a degree, work to a point, and kill well enough. But trusting droids, into the 300th, would be a dangerous pattern.
Down the line, droids would be seen as a part of the Republic Military. Small droid armies, or even whole legions and battalions of droids would follow. Clones, now the most common Republic soldier, would be gone. While the thought of being replaced did make Tusk antsy, it didn't frighten him as much as the thought of *droids* replacing him.
If they were organics, loyal to a fault to the Republic, men and women of her own people, then the people would not be, in their eyes, looked down on by the cold glare of droid protectors that could very easily look like just another droid army.
Flesh and blood is more reassuring than metal and oil when it comes to war.
Tusk thought Clicker was just excited; he had no doubt put on airs once he was promoted to Marshal Commander alongside Tusk, and he was just counting down the days until Clicker gave up on his project.
But he didn't give up on his project. At the last meeting two rotations ago, he had introduced the squad leader of his own expandable droid troops, Xztee Bell 1, or something along those lines.
So, Tusk's hand was forced.
The Commander approached the General separately, and formerly requested permission to run a different experiment.
It took a bit of diplomacy on the General's part, but Shard made it happen and got permission from High Command.
He looked out at the recruits milling about in a section of the hanger from his spot in hunger control. A full platoon of shinies. No, worse than shinys. At least shinies were regs. These people, had no idea how to fight.
Well, some did, but they were the minority; Twi'lek freedom fighters who joined after hearing about the open recruitment. The rest were near-humans and young humans from Coruscant, or patriotic veterans from the judicial force. But most were just eager kids with something to prove, hoping to wear the navy grey and impress girls at a bar.
He shook his head.
Half would request leave and never come back. And the deserter-hunters would not track deserting civilians.
Tusk heard approaching footsteps and turned to see the platoon's new lieutenant, Whipp. Named for the sharp crack in his tone, he would be the perfect trainer and leader to forge them into privateers.
"Never seen a stranger group, sir." He said apprehensively, standing alongside Tusk to look down on the newcomers.
"I agree with you on that. But we'll need to train them up regardless. We'll have these raws be breach troops, after we put them through basic we will move you over to one of the lighter seppie ships to practice maneuvers."
"Yes, sir!" He replied, turning on his heel and exiting with the swish of the door.
Tusk watched them mill about, already separating into minor factions and talking to their fellows.
An odd group to be sure.
Whipp scowled at the group as they ran laps around the entire length of the massive hanger.
He had started with stating the facts. He was not their butler, and he wasn't their mother. He was their lieutenant and they were to follow his orders. Then he had done simple drills, teaching them minor formations for hallway combat, as well as drilling them in military etiquette and customs. Salute when you think it's an officer, when any superior enters your presence you stand straight at attention, eat in a quick and efficient manner, and do timed exercises in getting into uniform.
He studied each one as they passed, looking for weakness or exhaustion.
The three Twi'leks were doing well, maintaining both speed and energy despite the twins' natural bulk. Ysrik, the small olive skinned female, seemed to only be just slightly behind her brothers, but would often push herself to lead or run alongside them.
A good habit he would not discourage.
Next came the humans, moving at a slower paced jog.
"Pick it up, gentlemen!" Whipp shouted, causing them to gain in speed. Elisan Beirbo, a fiery haired spindly little devil who never could be seen without a smirk, seemed to be leading this pack. Unsurprising, as he was apparently some distant relative of old money. The other three were two females and a male, all dark haired yet of varying complexions. Their accents seemed to be from Naboo, but Elisan the red-demon had the clip of a Coruscanti accent.
Their meandering was something he *would*, discourage.
The Umbaran was next; a lithe female of very capable ability by the name of Azara Morsk, a one hundredth cousin of one of the chancellor's Umbaran aids. With the speed and agility that her reputation had stated, she quickly outpaced the humans and was gaining on the Twi'lek trio.
Thankfully, this other group was *seemingly* drilled enough to not fall into cliques, with a dozen humans, six Mirialan, four Torgrutas, three Duros brothers, two Wookies and a Zabrak. These were running with stamina conservation in mind, but were also keeping a close eye on one another and were ensuring none fell behind.
A very good habit he would bring up.
Once the group had passed he waited for a few breaths before drawing his pistol and firing into the air, signaling the run was over.
As they had so many times before, they formed up into their squads, led by their selected squad leader.
Bedno and Izdar both separated from their sister, their lekku heaving from repressed exertion before standing at the head of their squads as the Zabrak stepped to head his own squad.
"Sargents, step forward." Whipp said sternly. The three Twi'leks and the Zabrak obeyed.
"Lead your squads to your barracks, I want you rested and refreshed before we begin our training. "Recruit Beirbo, a word."
The recruit stiffened slightly, before shooting a sleazy smile towards one of the dark haired human females as he approached his Lieutenant.
He stood before the Clone, in a pathetic excuse for standing at attention, and gave a slow salute.
"Yes? Sir?" He said slowly, only adding the sir as if it were an afterthought.
Whipp clenched his teeth.
He was a more restrained Clone. He had taken the holonet courses on anger management early on, and had become a master before many of the other Clones had considered taking such courses. But this pompous, elite child, was threatening to break the carefully constructed barrier between his anger and his actions.
"You are out of line, Recruit. Straighten your back when your superior addresses you."
He complied, but slowly and without urgency.
Whipp caught a repressed smirk.
"Is there something you find amusing, Recruit?" He asked in a deadly tone.
"No, sir, nothing at all!" He said slowly and mockingly.
Whipp felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. He was aware that the four squads had slowed to a stop at the exit to the hanger bay, and we're watching the exchange.
"Why not tell me, I have a great sense of humor." He deadpanned to the fiery haired punk.
"I just find it so amusing that a little vat-grown bundle of genetic leftovers think you have the power to dictate orders to a relative of the Tagg family." Beirbo said with a smirk on his face.
Whipp clenched his fist.
He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to draw his pistol and shoot this self righteous little pile of shit and throw him out the airlock. He wanted to beat him within an inch of his life, to strangle him in his own intestines, to mutilate him with a vibroblade and make him look like a new piece of abstract art.
He knew what he wanted to do.
But he also knew what he could get away with.
He secretly pressed a key on his wrist-com, summoning the on-ship security detail that was on standby for a situation of insubordination.
And when he felt the vibration of confirmation a half a second later, he smiled at the human.
Before giving him a powerful backhand.
The recruits were dressed in a simple version of pale Clone armor, the body-gloves especially tailored to fit the unique recruits and with segments to match. But their equipment did not yet include a helmet.
"How. Dare. You. Disrespect your superior officer in such a manner." Whipp hissed.
He saw out of the corner of his eye the security team of white armored XT Clones approaching stood out, ready to give the human some cool-down time in the brig.
When the unexpected happened.
The damn kid lunged forward.
Clearly, he had not hit him as hard as he thought, as the recruit seized the blaster from Whipp's holster and kicked the Clone away, pointing the weapon at his chest.
He squeezed off one shot, bellowing with rage as he fired again and again at the lieutenant.
However he never was good at the firing range, and Whipp managed to dodge enough shots to close the gap and deliver a punch with all his strength to the insubordinate recruit's face, sending him sprawling backwards and into the binders of the security team.
"Well done, lieutenant. We will set up a court martial board for him at once."
As the screaming, sobbing, and kicking redhead was dragged away to the disgusted looks of his peers, Whipp straightened his tunic and sighed, wincing.
Time to go back and study those anger-management courses again.
"How are they doing?" Tusk asked a week later.
"They are improving their group cohesion, and their aim has seemed to have reached its highest level of accuracy, Sir." Whipp asked, standing at attention before the helmetless Clone Commander.
Tusk smiled lightly, stroking the large curling tattoos of tusks that circled around his cheeks.
"Won't you at least sit down, lieutenant?"
"Thank you, Sir, but I am fine."
Tusk shook his head, pointing to the chair with a grin.
"I order you to sit, you son of a bitch."
He got a small smile out of the lieutenant that time as he slit into the straight backed chair.
"How are your sergeants and corporals?"
"They are doing well sir, well surpassing expectations. As you know I chose them based on skill, and the three siblings of Cham's freedom fighters seemed easy choices."
"And the Zabrak?"
"He matches the description of a Dathomiri Nightbrother, no doubt an escaped slave. We had people check him, and General Kenobi even ensured that he was not under some spell or mind trick, he is perfectly normal and wished to join the ranks on his own volition."
"So, you promoted him on reputation alone?" Tusk asked, raising a crimson eyebrow.
The lieutenant shook his head.
"Anything but, sir. One of the first things I arranged was a combat test, hand to hand, non-lethal. He only just beat the Umbaran female, although it is clear he respects her; he suggested she be made his corporal, and I agreed."
Tusk nodded.
"How goes their training otherwise?"
"As I said before, Sir, we have not yet graduated to live fire or to droids yet, mostly drills and protocol to really iron in what we expect of them."
The Commander then pressed a few keys on his keyboard, and a graph appeared, showing a sharp increase and a platowing close to the tenth mark.
"Their shots even out to nine and a half hits out of ten, with nine instant terminations and one two shot terminations. I think they are ready to begin our new training regimen."
The lieutenant's eyes widened for a moment, before nodding to his Commander.
"I… will do as you ask, Sir. I am unsure if they are ready just yet for such training, but they might yet surprise me."
Tusk stood, nodding with a smile to Whipp.
"Send them to the armory next. Clicker just finished working on their new helmets from the Workhorse. Time they graduated to bigger prey then old droid heads."
Tusk himself oversaw the demonstration on what was to be done with a group of Clone Commandos he requested come aboard. Their reputation had long since preceded them, and he was happy to meet their leader, eleven thirty eight.
"Pleasure to finally meet you, Boss." Tusk said with a smile, shaking the hand of the orange armored Commando.
"Believe me, pleasure is all ours. Scorch is happy to burn a hole through a ship again. What little beauty have you set up for us?" the Reg Clone Commando asked, gesturing to the contraption laid out in the hanger.
"An air pressurizer, like what you would use when you breach a hull. We'd like you to demonstrate to these recruits how to do it, as that will no doubt be what they will be doing on a regular basis."
Boss chuckled, giving Tusk a playful shove.
"You trying to replace us, Tusk?"
"We won't be replacing you for a long while, but always better to have a backup plan." Tusk assured with a smile despite himself.
"Good, otherwise Sev might want to hit them harder than your lieutenant beat that snot nosed punk." He said with a smirk.
The trial and resulting court martial and jail-sentence given by the court martial board had been done well before the members of the influential Tagg family could sink their claws into the case, and as such one of their own was rotting in a more comfortable prison cell in the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center, serving his sentence.
"Well, we'll make sure he doesn't need to -"
Tusk cut himself off, as he looked over Boss's shoulder.
"Excuse me a moment." He said, approaching the figure he spied lurking at the back of the cadets to stand beside him.
"Evening, Clicker. I don't recall calling you here."
Clicker turned his helmeted head slightly to his peer as he slid his helmet's rangefinder down with a click.
"Delta squad is on ship, Tusk. You can't be upset that I want to see the blasting too?"
"And no doubt make a recording for your droid project."
"You know me too well, brother." Clicker said with a chuckle.
"Besides, I think it might be fun. You are using the droids I supplied to you, yes?"
"Yes."
Clicker nodded slowly.
"Then this will be entertaining."
The construct was strange and alien, to say the least. A flimsy construct mimicking a small room had been set up with boxes and crates, while a large piece of bulkhead had been salvaged from a seperatist freighter. Attached to this scrap, was a large transparent docking tube, modified with specific internal keypad components and a transparisteel barrier, to allow the viewers to see what the squad was doing.
Moving in single file, the four Clones entered the chamber, closing the first door and ensuring the large cylinder was sealed and pressurized, as if it were a separate ship.
Pressing a key, Boss's voice rang out from a small speaker.
"We're ready when you are, Commander."
"Activate the droids, begin exercise in five."
The battle droids - four B1s and a B2 that were all but brain dead due to the improved Sovereign Virus - milled about in their small area, defending the crates of spare parts and spanners. At exactly five seconds, Delta squad went to work.
The pressurized seal was pressed directly against the mock hull, and using flash paste they applied it in a large oval shape, amping the pressure of the room up as they ignited it. Five seconds more, and the powder finished exploding - the door flying outwards thanks to the pressure difference - allowing Delta to move in, expertly dismantling the B1s and overpowering the B2 from behind.
Many of the Cadets whistled appreciatively, while nearly all in attendance - recruit or Clone - applauded the quick work. It was over in just over twelve secconds.
Tusk noted his suspicions on Clicker were well founded, as his brother pressed a few keys on his wrist as his rangefinder retracted.
Tusk sat down, scratching his head and sighing, looking over the holoscreen.
The new recruits were doing well, almost matching the form of Delta squad - while keeping none of their quick work and flair with their movements.
He was tempted to radio to General Shard on more than one occasion, requesting an audience with that new Clone Force ninety nine and having them help Whipp in bringing these recruits up to scratch, but each time he reigned himself in.
He wasn't there to hear his message, after all; he had elected to aid the Jedi in an assault on the Citadel, to rescue some heavily important data for the war.
And Clicker managed to get his squad of droid soldiers on the ship with them.
Damn, damn, damn.
He had to admit, he was impressed - if not terrified - at the efficiency the droids had mastered the art of breaching and clearing a hatch. An old seperatist ship was emptied of fuel and with minor life support, along with a platoon of droids set to sentry mode.
A squad of four droids tore through the entire ship, and broadcasted the all clear signal from the bridge in less than twenty minutes.
Twenty. Minutes.
If his recruits - no, troopers - were to stand up to that, then they needed to work harder.
"Sir, I just don't think they are ready -"
"Whipp, Clicker's tinnies are already being deployed to active battlefronts, with their first brush with combat showing full marks for their abilities. If the idea of organic recruits being made into privateers is to succeed, we need to up the tests. We will start with a munificent class, before graduating to larger vessels. I spoke to Clicker, and we have been given one of every seperatist ship to utilize our boarding actions on. I will be briefing them myself, call them to form up."
The low drone sounded from the recruit's barracks, with the troops forming up no less than ten seconds, with the stragglers adjusting their helmets as they approached and stood at rigid attention.
On par with regular standards, and their armor was all in perfect array, with their modified phase I Clone armor clearly from Kamino's old stock, as a new variant was soon to go into production.
"Cadets, you have been testing breaching methods against pressurised bulkheads inside hangar bays for three weeks. As such, you have clearly mastered the pattern needed to breach a door. However, you will need to learn tactics and accurate layouts for storming hostile ships. That will be your next session of tests. You will be breaching a Munificent Class Seperatist Frigate, and securing the bridge as your victory point while installing the Sovereign II virus via the data spike attached to your belt."
Tusk gestured for Whipp to demonstrate the device, inserting it into a nearby false dataport as the spike coiled itself in.
"Time, and efficiency will be recorded. You have thirty minutes to study the layout with your squads and map out your attack plan. Squad one, you will be first, continuing in ascending order. Dismissed!"
The cadets saluted before marching in formation to their bunks.
Marching in step, he noted.
Whipp would certainly earn something for this.
"Sir, you didn't mention the droids -"
Tusk held up a hand to silence him.
"A boarding party needs to be ready for anything. They will learn about the droids soon enough.
"Weapon check!" Gunos called to his squad, slipping his unique horned helmet carefully over his horns.
The rhythmic clicking of blaster packs and confirmation over the squadron's comm frequency was reassuring to the Zabrak, as he checked the power level of his DC-15A Carbine, while triple checking his pistol was powered.
"Droid, what is our ETA?" He called without looking towards the B1 pilot droid sitting in the pilot's seat.
[We will be docking at your selected incision point in a moment, sir.] it said over it's skeletal shoulder, as the ship's massive guns came into view while the shuttle docked sideways.
[We are locked in, sir. Ready for boarding action.]
"Open the door, R-one, R-two, breach. R-three ready ignition. Droid, double the pressure on our seal."
[Sir.]
The extremely flammable blast power was applied to the door, while the ignition was lit moments after the spray was finished.
And the moment the sparking, metallic burning was finished, the hole popped outward, instantly crushing a passing droid patrol.
"Take them out!" Gunos called, squeezing off a shot and decapitating a droid with the powerful shot.
The scuffle was short but violent, with no injuries to the squad; this time.
Gunos tapped the cooling valve on his carbine as he inspected the incision point.
As they had predicted, they had docked right in the middle of a hallway, one of the smaller passages that consisted of cooling pipes and general fuel ducts.
Clearly, this was a ship that did not want to waste a single inch of space.
"R-three, four, keep an eye on both ends of the hall. R-two, lend a hand with these bodies, we don't want to leave a trail. R-one, see if you can find us a dataport or get our bearings to the bridge."
The droids, it turned out, were nearly solid metal despite their spindly profile. It took two of them to carry the droid bodies into the nook of their ship, and by the time they finished that, R-one had her data.
"Sir!" the Mirlan called out.
"Dataport is just a few corridors away, while the bridge is quite a ways farther."
"Good. Lead the way. R-four, R-two, rear-guard formation. Droid, stay on guard until we get back."
[Sir.]
The datastick download seemed to take an age.
R-one later told them it was just five minutes, but in those five minutes a trio of B2 Super Battle Droids marched down the hall in a patrol.
The squad had some experience with these droids, with R-four throwing a droid popper in the air and firing on it, causing a heavy electronic feedback that easily crippled the first two droids, while the others took down the third.
They were clearly not being very stealthy.
"We need Sovereign in there now!" He said angrily, as R-one continued to make excuses, even saying that perhaps R-four's dataspike was faulty.
Until finally, finally, it was fully inserted and the data was overridden.
The ship was now functionally theirs.
"Now for the bridge. Lets move out."
Waste Formation was a unique style of door breach that Gunos was fond of, even though it was wasteful of blast powder.
A breach was marked and ignited by the paste, but just as the metallic chunk fell through and the droids began firing through the wound in the door, they would force the door to fully open, giving them the element of surprise.
Moving quickly, the five cadets pushed their advantage, overpowering the droid guards and blasting the Tactical droid in the chest, before broadcasting the message to their superiors.
A wonderful test.
"We read you loud and clear, Squad four. Move to your shuttle and disengage from the freighter."
"Acknowledged, sir. We are moving out."
The group moved doubletime to the entry point, boarding and ready to give the takeoff order to the droid -
But something was wrong.
"Where is R-four? Did she lag behind?" Guno asked, pressing a key to hail her on the squad comm.
But all he got was static as the droid sealed the door and detached, piloting back towards their home cruiser.
"Droid, turn back around! We left one behind!"
[Negative, sir.]
"Droid," Guno said slowly, drawing his DC-17 pistol and aiming it at the B1's head.
"I am ordering you to go back."
[Negative, R-oh. I have been ordered by General Shard of the 300th Clone Privateering force to return and cut comm channels with R-four.] the droid said, unfazed by the blaster now nudging it's scrawny neck.
Guno growled, holstering his blaster and sitting down.
Why would she be-
His thoughts were interrupted by an incredible explosion. The entire munificent they had boarded detonated, the engine leaving streaks of fire and molten metal across the spaceport, thankfully most of the wreckage glancing harmlessly off of hulls or bouncing off of particle shields.
What was that?
He got his answer as he disembarked with his similarly stunned classmates, from none other than General Shard himself as he was flanked by his two Commanders.
"R-four was a traitor to the Republic. The sovereign virus she uploaded was tampered with, specifically to turn the ship hostile to the dormant fleet and destroy most of our men, along with killing all of you. If it weren't for Whipp's sharp eye, we would not have been able to override the system with our own sovereign virus."
"And she was no doubt responsible for the glitches involving our droids turning traitor." Clicker added with a disdainful tone to his voice.
"Regardless, this was your final test. In the weeks you had to prepare, those droids and those ships were set specifically for each and every one of you. Those droids were not overridden by the Sovereign virus. In fact, it was just the opposite; we freed them. Those droids you faced were actual Seperatist units, and you overpowered them with ease. Welcome to the 300th." Tusk said, saluting his men.
Guro saluted back, but furrowed his brow as he took off his helmet.
"Sir, I just don't understand. Why would R-four betray us? She served in the Judicial forces, her people aren't Seperatist -"
"Weren't Seperatist, I'm afraid. Umbara just seceded from the Republic last week. As such, you will soon be seeing active combat as the 300th moves with the 501st and the 212th to recapture the planet." Clicker said warmly.
"In addition," He said, gesturing behind the dull grey horde.
Guro thought they were containers, at first. But now he saw them for who they truly were. Commando droids, painted a dull black with the white crest of the republic emblazoned on their front, while dark colored plastoid was welded to their limbs to give them extra armor.
"The XDT Boarding Parties will assist you." He said, the droids snapping to life, then snapping to attention with a crisp salute.
"Very good. Commanders, ready your forces. We head to Umbara the moment we are ready to leave, and this mess is cleaned up.
The Citadel arc happens in the middle of this story. I will be doing that one next, then Umbara. and trust me when I say, you will like Umbara. -ARH
PS: in the next arc, we see what happens with the commando droids in the field to make them seen as a success :)