Colonel Leo Chere was at his favorite place, doing his least favorite activity. The Forty-Second had come to their new home, an old Rebel Base on the temperate planet of Cashel. It was a cobbling of old military temporary buildings, some permanent bunkers, and even some larger military vehicles, stripped of various parts for salvage and turned into stationary structures. Leo Chere had taken up shop in an old, legless AT-AT walker, turning the cramped cockpit into his cramped office—with a view.
He was busily updating his roster, placing the dead on a list of their own, and entering a new influx of troopers into various slots. When the word spread that a new Legion had been put together, albeit by the New Republic, all sorts of clones, ex-stormtroopers and even just ambitious soldiers and commandos had come out of the galactic woodwork. The latest was a platoon of scout troopers—complete with their signature speeder bikes—that had gone mercenary, then had heard the Randomizer had gotten a command again at last. Leo was grateful; he now had the fast-hitting mounted infantry he needed for the lightning raids and long patrols and was part and parcel of the recon unit he was still assembling.
The office was rather spartan, but their were a few mementos on the bulkheads: an old, eggshell white Rebel Trooper's helmet next to a pair of vibro-shivs on a shelf on one side, an equally white stormtrooper helmet on the opposite wall. Above the rather spacious viewport was a small, bolted in shelf where a rangefinder had been ripped out. Upon that shelf was a rather humble-looking object: a half-melted power pack for a standard issue E-11 stormtrooper rifle. It had been placed so conspicuously so as anyone who came in would look at the power pack that had saved a desperate soldier and won a planet. Chere would never forget that battle.
Back to work. Chere wrestled with the datapad, quietly thinking happy thoughts about dead supply officers; they had seriously skimped on a lot of shipments, and now his own quartermaster and clerks were scrambling and scrounging like mad to get the weapons and gear the Forty-Second would need to function. Their cause was just, but it wouldn't get them anywhere if they get called up and ended up throwing rocks at the enemy. He was running a unit of soldiers, not a tribe of Ewoks. The proof of that was sitting in a corner.
A silver-grey banner, bearing the wing-like symbol of the New Republic. At both the upper left and lower right corners, blue diagonal stripes connected the sides, containing the digits 4 and 2—the unit's new color. Most Legions and old Regiments did not have an individual battle banner, but Leo was something of a firebrand, and the troops loved the idea of a flag to fight for. Soldiers were still soldiers, even among the stars.
A comm set into the colonel's desk buzzed, then clicked on. "Commander Raines in here to see you, sir," Leo's secretary announced, the trooper's voice giving a tinny quality by the system. "He has the list you asked for."
Leo punched a button on the comm. "Thanks, Criaal. Tell Captains Flick and Tym that I need have them in the conference room by twelve-hundred. Send the ex in here."
There was a dull knock on the hatch—the retrofit hadn't included a buzzer. "Come!" Chere barked.
Raines marched through the hatchway, closing it and saluting smartly. Leo rose to attention and returned the gesture. Salutes were as old-fashioned as the new flag, but the colonel knew their value. One the NR needed to learn. Badly.
Both officers sat, Leo in the old desk chair he had scrounged, the exec in an old battered jump seat that been fitted with legs. Raines spoke first.
"I've got the new list of recruits you needed, sir. We've got a company of snow troopers now, and some humorous soul decided to send us a group of regular Republic troops. They'll both arrive together in about twenty hours, but the detachment CO is not listed for some reason." The clone shifted uneasily in his new uniform. It had taken some screaming, but Leo had managed to get into the officer's skulls that they needed to look like New Rep soldiers if they wanted to keep fighting as a group.
Chere nodded gravely. "They probably went and gave us one of those spooky malcontents from Intel. It takes a mind-sifter to get one of them to admit they breathe; buildings talk more than that kind. I had to deal with them all the time before Command tossed me here; wahoo. Meanwhile, we have some promotions and decorations to hand out later. Those ARC's we got really did the trick on those pirates. I'm still ready to shoot your big brothers' Captain, though. If they don't signal when they need help again, I'll re-name the lot of 'em Regressed Recon Commandos."
Raines chuckled dryly. "They have a lot of ego to burn, sir. And getting tossed in stasis did not improve them a single bit." The clone gave his gene-brothers due respect, but they were little too wild for his taste.
The ARC's had taken their objective rather easily; five would had been overkill, but Leo and the NR wanted to know what a large group would be able to handle, and sent in twenty. They had managed to smash into the command center, with only two lost, but the pirates' leader had raised the alarm and hundreds of the scum had converged on their position. They had waited it out with their prisoner for reinforcements. Their officer, Tym, had stubbornly refused to signal for help, however; the only reason he had kept his rank and station, much less his life was the fact that he had been doing tests of his own—of their new commander. Leo had passed.
ARC's are strange.
The two troopers jumped. A loud whump! had sounded from the viewport. Leo and Raines both had blaster pistols out and trained on the source: a small winged creature idiotically trying to punch its way through the 'invisible' barrier. It left the strange metal place with an indignant squawk—and a healthy bruise.
The soldiers chuckled. Cashel was full of all types of critters, and defenses designed to repel a small mobilized army couldn't keep up with local wildlife all the time. Soldiers and speeders were easier to hit.
Leo thought for a moment, looking blankly at a point on the hatch. "Hey, that gives me an idea...Commander, have you ever hunted game other than droids and pirates?"
The clone started and gave the colonel an confused look. "What do you mean? I've killed a few animals for survival training, but not for sport."
Chere sprouted a evil grin. "You clones really missed out, no wonder 'old Palpy' got his chrono cleaned. Here's my idea: We send the companies to different sectors, we leave them there with their combat gear, and then have them all move toward a central point somewhere, bagging all the meat they can along the way. Then we have a major hunter's feast, with some kind of reward going to the company that bags the most. There's not much in the way of poisonous animals and such in the area, so all we need to do is make sure we have good ID's and be smart cooks. It's about time you lot tried something other than that cubed crap anyway."
Raines shrugged. "If nothing else, it should be interesting. Even us clones get sick of 'go there, kill this, leave.' "
The two officers discussed minor administrative things until twelve-hundred came along. They both rose and saluted, then Raines left for the 'conference room,' a partitioned-off room in the rear of the junked walker. Leo collected a few datapads—still thinking happy thoughts about dying supply pukes—and followed.
Leo marched smartly past Criaal's station, through the half-wrecked tunneling of the walker, and to the conference room. Captains Tym and Flick were already there, along with a few more officers.
Everyone rose and saluted. The colonel returned the salute sharply. He cleared his throat and re-sprouted the bloodthirsty grin. "Boys, let's go huntin'!"
Most of the officers gave him blank stares. Tym sprouted an equally vicious smile, while Flick merely raised his bushy brows. Quinn, the unit quartermaster, smiled. "That ought to help with the upcoming ration problem."