Author's Note: Often enough, the story focuses on the special ones- the Jedi, the clone commanders, the ARC troopers. Most clones, however, weren't special. In fact, they were about as far away from 'special' as you can get. Mass manufactured, numbered, one of millions exactly like them- and yet for all that, each one of them was unique, in a way. Being a clone means a fragile, dangerous existence. But that doesn't mean it isn't an existence worth having or a story worth telling. More often then not, it is tragic- but this is their story. The story of a few of them, at least.
Prologue
CT-1124 survived a total of exactly seven minutes and 22 seconds of combat before being blown to bits by a proton cannon. He was one of the lucky ones. Many of the men in the 4th Brigade of the 132nd Clone Legion, fresh from the simulators of Kamino, never even made it to the surface of Ansion.
"Twenty through Twenty-two, fill that gap!" the corporal shouted, looking up from the smoky battlefield and waving his men into the crater formed by the artillery blast.
CT-1121 rushed forward with his head down and dived into the crater, firing into the fog and the droid-infested rock formations ahead of them. Just to one side of him rested the scorched vambrace of Twenty-Four. Gritting his teeth, he looked down the sights of his DC-15 carbine. The pitted, rocky plains were littered with shrapnel, and here and there the white armor of a fallen trooper stood out against the brown sand and stone. Crimson blaster bolts poured out of the rocks ahead, humming overhead before being lost in the gloom or impacting the ground in a puff of dust and ash. In the distance, the loud blat of proton artillery could be heard, punctuating the battlefield with bright explosions. Unable to see any droids distinctly, Twenty-one fired several shots into the Separatist position before turning to look at Twenty. "Pretty nice weather we're having, eh Twenty?"
Twenty grunted. "I prefer a cold Kamino rain to this hot one, if you know what I mean." He squeezed two shots off from his rifle, then ducked a bit lower below the crater rim as a burst of Seperatist fire found their position. "I'm just not... quite... acclimated to the climate yet," he grunted, letting off a return salvo of his own.
"Push the line! Take that rock formation!" The lieutenant's voice crackled in over the comms.
"Get ready for it, troopers!" The corporal said. "B Squad will cover us in 3… 2… 1…"
Twenty-one scrambled to his knees, gripping his blaster tightly.
"Charge!"
He jumped up from the crater and rushed forward, firing into the rocks as he ran. His feet pounded the ground in unison with the feet of his brothers, raising a cloud of dust. His heart pounded in his throat, a symptom of an exhilarating mix of terror, rage and adrenaline. Other clones along the line joined them, sprinting out from behind rocks, downed ships, or whatever tiny dip or rise they had found to use as cover against the enemy fire. They ran straight into a sea of crimson blaster bolts.
The bolts screamed past on every side of Twenty-one, filling his vision with a hazy red glow. One passed a fraction of an inch to the left of his helmet- he heard the noise dampeners crackle and shudder. To his left, Twenty-two let out a strangled cry as the front of his helmet was blown off, and he fell backwards with a shudder. A proton shell exploded behind him, sending rocks fragments and light shrapnel bouncing off of his armor. Another blaster shot glanced off his greave. He stumbled and lost his balance, then tumbled into a large crack in the ground. There was a thud as Twenty jumped in alongside of him and pulled him to his knees.
"Nice place you've got here, brother. Hope you don't mind if I, eh, crash it for a while."
"Anytime, Twenty- long as you help out with the rent." Twenty-one pulled his carbine out of the rubble, then risked a glance over the top of the crack. They were perhaps halfway to the rock formations, which were still showering murderous fire on the clone lines, recently thinned from the charge which had left white-armored corpses strewn along the battlefield behind them. Not far to their right were the smoldering remains of Corporal Thirty.
Twenty let out a harsh laugh. "Sorry mate, I'm fresh out of credits. But-" he said grimly, "I can definitely help deal with the landlord."
