One armored durasteel plate tucked firmly into a holder over his chest with another in a different holder on his back. The back plate was covered up by a military backpack. His head secured within a carbon fiber helmet. A flashlight strapped to the side of it. A best wrapped over the chest plate with pockets to hold equipment. His feet in tight boots with laces properly tied and tucked away. Then a balaclava over his face that was currently pulled down. An M1911 firmly positioned on his right leg in a holster and a knife on his other leg in a sheath. Grenades dangled from his belt and an HK416 carbine hung from his chest hooked up to a shoulder strap.

Former Delta Force Captain Wilson Taylor was prepared for war. He made his way towards the hanger making sure his earpiece was working and stayed with the commentator on his gauntlet over his right arm.

"Test, test, One, two, three. This is Captain Wilson Taylor making sure the earpiece and mic are functioning correctly over."

Viktor Starikov simply threw on a grey jacket some good shoes with the earpiece tucked in. He had a small backpack that held basic things like food. He kept his balaclava in his hand. And had a Westar m5 blaster carbine slung over his shoulder.

"What, I can't quite hear you." Said Viktor. His facial expression was the opposite of his tone being a mischievous grin.

"I said test-"

"Can it cowboy I can hear loud and clear, " Viktor said laughing in between breaths, "I was just fucking with you."

Wilson shook his head in disappointment as he listened to the Russian operative laugh.

Both men met in the hanger of the clone barracks coming from two separate ends. Wilson scanned Viktor's outfit. He was surprised by the man's choices especially the fact he had no protective gear.

"Viktor, I see you've perfected the merc look," Wilson commented.

Most private military contractors wore similar styles of gear to Viktor. This was due to tight budgets or nature of their work.

"I thought delta operator's preferred civilian wear," Viktor said.

"When the objective is to blend in with a civilian populist, " Wilson said, "We ware whatever it takes to complete the operations. In this case, I find assault gear is preferable."

"To each his own." Said Viktor shrugging his shoulders.

It as at a republic shuttle Mr. Jackson Bolton stood still in his suit and black sunglasses and unremarkable facial expression. To his right one, SARC named Joel Smith who stood in standard military gear. He carried his medical supplies in his backpack. But more notably was his choice in rifle he was a medic designated to provide emergency support to battlefield injuries. An M4 was all he needed. But instead, he'd picked an HK417. Unlike Wilson's 416 the 417 was semi-automatic and fired 7.62 by 51-millimeter rounds. Not to mention only armor piercing addition of any weapon were used these days the kickback was strong even with genetic enhancements. Meaning this man was skilled at controlling it and maintaining his own breathing to accurately place a bullet right where it needed to go. This man was a sharpshooter a sniper as well as a medic. And the way he cradled the rifle suggested that was a fact he was proud of. To Bolton's right stood pararescuemen Michael Gabriels he wore military standard for his uniform the only difference was the addition of plastoid armor on his chest and back. It was painted the same green tan of US military gear. He held the same Scar h he'd been issued on earth. He hadn't changed a thing about it. The gun was good enough for the job perhaps even to fancy.

"Taylor, Starikov," Bolton said, "Meet Joel Smith and Michael Gabriels they're your medics. Any questions regarding their qualifications they're professionals they'll answer accordingly."

"It's nothing to do with their qualifications," Starikov said interrupting Bolton, "But the one to right Smith I'm assuming. He's packing quite the piece. Seems a bit much for a medic."

"Mr. Starikov if I am to provide you medical support I have to accompany you on the operation. Which means I must be just as effective at combat. And I excel at whatever it is I do. So worry not Captain I'll stitch you up and make sure the enemy can't be." Proclaimed Joel proudly.

"If that's all save any other questions for later," Said Bolton, "You are scheduled to meet up with a task force assembled to launch raids on separatist defensive positions on Felucia ahead of the invasion. Upon your arrival, the Commandos and ARCs are being informed of your presence and not to disclose that information to others. Still, I must insist you keep your identity secret and only use code names. You will also split into two groups one will accompany Delta Squad a republic commando outfit and the other Team 7 a contingent of ARC troopers."

"What are our code names?" Questioned Gabriels.

"Figure it out," Said Bolton, "Coordinates are already set in the shuttle. I look forward to your mission report."

Bolton stood off to the side as the four men walked towards the shuttle. The cargo bay door opened up a staircase leading towards the back. Steam rising from the exhaust ports.

Starikov learned how to pilot starships as soon as he'd discovered it was a thing. It was an absolutely critical skill in this galaxy. He jumped in the cockpit and got a look at the controls.

Everyone else gathered in the passenger bay behind the cockpit. Starikov left the door open so he could listen.

"We all need code names. I say let's keep it simple I'm Delta, Starikov you're Alpha, Joel you're SARC, and Gabriel you're Para." Suggested Wilson.

"So, you admit I'm the Alpha male of this group then." Said Starikov.

"Alright, Starikov your code names Spets now." Said Wilson.

It was obvious to everyone Spets was just short for Spetsnaz. It was also obvious it was intentionally lame. Who the hell wanted to be called Spets sounded close to spits.

"Fuck you, Taylor, " Said Starikov.

Wilson Taylor grinned. It gave him pleasure he was able to deal Starikov even the slightest amount of injury.

*

Republic Commando Sergeant 1138 referred to as 'Boss' by his subordinates had lead his four-man republic commando team one twenty missions since the start of the clone wars. And they were twenty successful mission never once having lost a man and always completing the mission objective no matter the task.

The campaigns on Felucia were about to begin. Three corps of infantry were preparing for the land assault. Before that could go down the Jedi General leading the strike had requested Special Forces to go in behind enemy lines and neutralize several airfields and artillery positions. This would make the ground assault easier. It was a suicide mission to throw guys behind enemy lines with no air support or any support of any kind. More so commando raids went best when the element of surprise was on their side. Some ARF troopers had botched that up getting themselves killed during a reconnaissance operation. The enemy was expecting. To further complicate things they were informed private contractors were coming along to survey them.

"Don't botch this one Deltas the Jedi are actually watching for once," Boss told his squad while they were still in the bustling hanger of a venator, "After all we wouldn't want them to think less of us."

"Boss, are they serious about these contractors," Scorch in his armor with the loud purple and yellow stripes streaming a crossed it started, "Honestly missions tough enough without a bunch of tourists tagging along."

"It was never mandated they come back," Sev their sniper said, "If they get themselves killed it's not our fault."

Sev's armor had red splattered aggressively on certain areas of his armor appearing to look like blood spots.

"Their contractors," Fixer jumped in, "Like the training sergeants on Kamino. They, at last, know what they're getting into. I doubt the Jedi would send inexperienced personnel on ban op like this."

Fixer was their tech sergeant so to speak. Tech corporal was a better definition if you wanted to be exact about the rank. And Fixer was the type of soldier to be precise about that kind of thing. He had his armor painted with organized green stripes and green was the color for a corporal in the Republic military.

"Fixer is correct," Said Boss, "Their sending mercenaries who were former soldiers in Terran Spec Ops."

"That primitive bunch," Scorch said practically laughing, "What Mandalorians up their rates."

A republic shuttle entered the hanger catching everyone's attention. They watched as the wings folded up in a v and the landing gear shot out. Smoke shot from the ports as the engine began to calm down. Then the cargo bay door lowered more smoke billowing out. Four figures emerged from it. Boss took immediate note.

The one who led the group held a black rifle Boss had to admit looked primitive. He was clad in all the things you would expect from a soldier and had a black mask pulled down over his face. The man behind him carried a blaster carbine but that was the only thing military about him. He stuck out from the rest of group since the other two followed the motto set by the man in front. But this man with the blaster wore a grey jacket and not a combat jacket at that and a cap and not even military fatigue. He leaned back yawning as the group turned to face Delta squad. The lead one took out his datapad stared down at it like a delivery boy before staring back at Boss.

"Delta squad?" Said He.

"Present." Said Boss.

"Oddly enough you are to refer to me as Delta," Said the man, "We're the contractors that'll be joining you today. Or at least well two of my other associates will be running with a group of ARC troopers."

Wilson Taylor couldn't help but feel a bit like a DMV drive test surveyor. They he had said it and how he held the datapad like a clipboard. He was glad to know the microphone in his balaclava was functioning concerned his voice would become muffled and hard to make out.

He subtly nodded to Starikov who simply turned right and strolled off like they were at some kind of city park. Joel went with him. Wilson paid them no mind but was honestly glad he wasn't going to have to deal with Starikov today.

"You boys got names?" Asked Taylor.

"RC 113-"

"No," Taylor said sharply, "I'm not going to shout One One three followed by whatever in the middle of a battlefield. You're a soldier and soldiers got a name its what separates us from droids."

Boss hadn't quite expected that even their handler referred to them by numbers. But then again this was a man who'd seen enough combat to form a distaste for dehumanizing the guys fighting.

"The squad calls me Boss," He said, "The kaminoans didn't give us real names. And with all due respect do you have any other moniker besides Delta? I often refer to one of my men as Delta."

"Right," Said Taylor, "Call me Ace then."

"Alright, Ace," Said Boss, "The man in the reds our sniper hius names Sev. The man in the purples named Scorch our explosives expert. Our tech guys in the green we call him Fixer."

Taylor was quick to remember that associating colors with names. While he wasn't to big a fan of the idea of colorful military armor it was effective identification.

"Duly noted Boss," Said Taylor, "My comrades named Para. He's acting as our medic-."

"What do you mean acting is normally not a medic?" Said Scorch who got a look from Boss, "I'm genuinely interested."

"I'm what's referred to as pararescuemen," Said Gabriels, "When something goes wrong like commandos effing up a job or a helicopter getting shot down in hostile territory we go in to extract and provide medical care to the wounded. Often we run in with say a spec ops task force to provide on-sight medical care"

Taylor shot him a look raising an eyebrow forming a crease in the balaclava. Technically speaking that wasn't classified information but, they were supposed to keep information regarding themselves on the down low.

"If one of us is injured would you-" Began Scorch.

"Without hesitation, our motto is so that others may live. However, if I'm forced to prioritize then it's Ta- I mean Del- I mean Ace damn it."

Now, Taylor, had both eyes locked on Gabriels. The man clearly had been on a lot of clandestine type operations that required to give the ability to deny involvement seeing a slip of the tongue almost happened. However, his record, however, was impeccable he'd saved more lives then Taylor had probably taken. And that got him enough respect that Taylor wouldn't bring this up later.

Starikov's destination was marked for the other side of the hanger. He walked through and watched as clones were prepping their equipment action. Technicians were hooking up fuel lines to LAAT gunships or ATTEs. Others were packing rockets into the launchers. Some were running system checks with one guy standing out front another in the cockpit giving a thumbs up to show the ship was functional. Commandos and ARCs were going over plans with their squadrons like football teams before the start of a game. He watched as one squad of republic commandos clad in black armor gathered as their leader briefed them.

"Alright, Omega we've had a good run let's keep it up. We haven't lost a single man yet let's not start."

That bit reminded him of his old Alpha team. They used to be glad in dark gear and go on high risk clandestine or commando-style missions during numerous wars. He remembered his six men. Gregori, Sokolov, Vasiliev, Mikhailov, Petrov, and Ivanov young Ivanov. They were his boys and he took good care of them. Always got them back home to their wives and families. And they always got the mission done. Starikov would move heaven and hell for them. He smiled at their memory. Then he stopped smiling as he thought about more and stared at the ground.

"Starikov," Said Joel, "Something wrong?"

Starikov realized his emotions were beginning to show. He quickly turned frown back into a smile and laughed a bit.

"Nothing wrong at all but your concern is appreciated, comrade," Said Starikov, "Run ahead of me I've got to take a leak."

"Wait, seriously?" Said Joel raising an eyebrow.

"Yea, seriously I could always go later, of course, I can tolerate the smell of urine."

"Jesus, I didn't need nor want detail just go."

Starikov slipped away down a corridor. He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching. He leaned against the white walls as he removed his back. He pulled the zipper back and reached inside pulling out a glass bottle of vodka. It was 80 proof for most downing a whole bottle was a death sentence before a mission. Starikov could recover in an hour with his genetic enhancements. So rather than continue you the thoughts about his old squad he popped open the cap and guzzled down the bottle.

*

Advanced Recon Commandos or ARC troopers as they were commonly referred to were the pinnacle of the GAR for a grunt. That's the answer Alpha 17 would give you. He was an Alpha-class Arc trooper. The best of the best his physical abilities were beyond that of any other trooper in the Republic military. His reflex could keep up with a Jedi's. Sure republic commandos were good at infiltration and direct action type missions but Alpha class arc troopers excelled at everything. And could work independently they didn't necessarily need a squad backing them all the time.

However, the Alpha bloodline was growing thin so Alpha 17 had brought in more recruits to be second generation arcs. They were meant to be the bridge between conventional and unconventional Republic forces. Most he had deployed around the galaxy as Marshall commanders. But he kept a select few apart of his own team.

"Fordo, " Alpha 17 said to Alpha 77 who was working with him on today's op, "These Terran contractors sure do know how to take their time. I thought they were told to meet us here in hangar bay 13."

Fordo didn't talk much. He simply sat there rubbing the barrel of his blaster with a towel polishing it getting it to shine. The two ARCs hadn't worked together before but had indeed heard stories about one another.

Fordo said nothing simply extended one of his fingers towards Alpha's east. Alpha turned to see one man approaching. He carried a very big black rustic looking rifle.

"That a kriffing slug slinger," Alpha said as if he'd never seen one before.

"This team 7?" Questioned the Terran.

"It is." Said Alpha his arms crossed, "Aren't there supposed to be two of you?"

As if he'd said some magical word the other one appeared sprinting up from behind. He had a blaster. Finally something logical. Alpha thought go himself.

"Viktor Starikov, " The Terran said extending his hand out in front of him.

Joel took in a few gulps air through his nose. He could smell the thick and heavy aroma of alcohol exude from Starikov's mouth. He was also annoyed Starikov had used his actual name opposed to his code name.

"Refer to me as Alpha my compatriot here is called Fordo. He doesn't seem to talk at all."

"Two guys your whole team or are there more," Starikov said immediately.

"Right to the point then, " Alpha said, "Alright boys introduce yourselves."

Quickly four other men appeared from around the gunship. They all had the standard ARC look with blue, yellow, or red stripes and colored pauldrons. Though they were built smaller than Alpha and Fordo. Starikov knew immediately those clones must be genetically modified.

"Names Ranger, " Said one who was packing a rotary cannon on his back, "Teams heavy gunner."

"They call me Six." Said one who carried a modified DC17. The barrel was replaced with one from a sniper and the grip was replaced with a square magazine that held the charge packs. It also had a modified stock and shoulder strap, "There's not that much to me. Give me orders I'll figure out the rest later."

"Names Shock. Don't ask why it just is." Said one packed simply a DC17S carbine.

"CT-7567, I haven't earned my name yet. I intend to do so today seeing as I'm being assigned to a command position over a separate legion."Said one who packed two DC15 pistols and a carbine.

Starikov found their choice of attire a little off-putting even a bit humorous. Their colors reminded him more of power rangers then elite spec ops operators. And the skirts were kind if spartan esk and while it didn't hamper anything it certainly was adding to anything but fashion. These were fancy boys.

"Names Sarc, " Joel said not to be left out, "If any needs stitching up I'm your guy. Though if you piss me off you'll find that I may have gotten hearing damage from a shell and I simply can not hear your cries for help."

"Ya know we might actually get along pretty well." Said Alpha, "Operations in forty cycles. Do as you please."

"I'm pretty sure me and Starikov are perfectly right here. Right?"

The way Joel had said it had a hint of anger. Starikov could see it in the man's eyes. What there was to be angry about he wasn't sure. After all, Starikov would be perfectly fine by the time the LAAT took off.

"Sure," Starikov replied.

*

Back on Coruscant grey clouds swarmed over the sky of the GAR's special operations barracks. Jackson Bolton moved into his new office space which was complete with one computer and a desk. All he had requested. It was simple Bolton preferred to keep things that way.

Positioned right behind the chair of the desk however that on a good day would let just enough sunlight in to make it easier for Bolton to go over files. The veteran covert ops man carrying a box of personal items set it down by his desk.

He reached down first grabbing an MP5K submachine gun. It was small but deadly. He withdrew it and knelt under his desk. He had a slot installed under it to conceal the weapon. He then rose opening the cabinets of the desk. He placed his datapad on the left and on the right would go a loaded Glock. After that was down he took out one last item his only personal item.

It was a photograph propped in a black frame. He placed it so the image faced him directly. The eyes of the people in the image on him. It was two soldiers in military fatigues with faces as bright as a star together with a small cabin wood cabin in the background.

Bolton then got right to work opening up the computer. He had plenty of files to go through.

Before he could do that the door to his office opened. Zey stood in Jedi robes to meet Bolton's rather unamused face.

"Mr. Bolton your men are in position, " Zey said, "It should also be noted I was able to move all your files over from republic intelligence."

"Is there something specific you require at the moment Master Jedi?" Asked Bolton.

"No, I was about to ask is there anything else you require?"

Bolton folded his hands as he stared up. He sighed as he thought.

"I need a room for ten men. In my opinion, the tactical group would be much more efficient if they lived together."

"Easily full filled." Said Zey.

"Also I'm bringing in an analysis. I'm very good at operations. But there's certain things a skilled Analysis will pick up on I may miss."

"Added with your four contractors plus you the council is going to ask questions when they see certain funds in special operations being allocated to a vague source." Said Zey, "Not that it can't be done but I would like to keep this unit as ambiguous as possible."

"Tell them it's for a classified special forces division. Codenamed Black Stars and you don't need to give them more information than that. Just enough truth to satisfy their minds."

Zey nodded. He didn't like lying but then again he wasn't lying just not going into the details. The things that needed to get done to win a war in this era were becoming taking on a nature that didn't seem to exactly agree with the Jedi way. Perhaps the Jedi themselves needed to change.

"Alright, I'm planning a meeting with select figures under my command. That way there can be cross-communication between you and the rest of GAR special ops."

"Understood." Said Bolton.

The door shut and Bolton was left to get back to work. He did immediately bring up files on past republic special operations to study meticulously.