WAITING
There are times, where we, the sergeants, are completely helpless, and this passive state is driving us mad. Yes, today is one of those days, when the cloners are performing "quality tests" issued by superior authority, to find out how the clones are doing. If they will be too weak, they will not survive. We can't prevent it, we can't even watch those tests. All we can do is to sit there and wait. So we are waiting, all of us. Some of us are going to and fro, others sometimes are kicking closed doors or sterile white wall with helpless rage. But most of us is silent, in deep thoughts.
My strill isn't with me. The atmosphere of heavy waiting lies upon us, Mandalorian Cuyval Dar, and I know that Mird feels bad when it senses that mood. I feel bad in this state too. Not for I'm impatient, but because I can't free myself from bad thoughts. In my remembrances I return to the days of training of my clone warriors and I'm trying to find my mistake, which can be reason of their deaths. I feel that I did so little, that I could teach them more. That I failed them... in some way. And so seconds are now minutes, minutes are hours, and every hour is stretching to an limitless eternity, full of fear and helplesness.
Beside me sits Kal Skirata, a man with whom I'm almost always arguing or fight him. It's easy to find out we aren't vode or close acquaintances, but today none of us is looking for the brawl - in words or in fists. Today we both are anxious, we both know that somebody can die. Even all of our boys can't survive. And we, the warriors, ironically, are those helpless people who can only wait.
Finally one of the cloners arrives and says that it's over. Everyone of us is hurry and we are coming to the room. My nostrils are feeling scent of fight, smoke obscures the view, but I can't wait for the smoke to clear. I'm marching lenghtwise of soldiers, standing alert. I see the clones standing side by side, hand to hand, but there are some blank spaces in their rows. Somebody didn't survived.
I quickly come to my soldiers. The boys are dirty and in ruffled clothes - some are wounded, but they are all definitely alive.
For the first time from a long time I'm smiling. I will not wait for permission or words or gesture from the cloners. I'm turning around and leaving - and with me my clones. I can feel jealous looks from other sergeants - all of my men survived again, and I would not mourn anyone. I can hear chattering of one of my clones - from cold, fear or maybe tears of pain. But I will not turn around to rebuke anyone. Not today.
Only few more meters and will be in the barracks. My boys can sleep peacefully, not worrying for tomorrow. Nobody will mourn nobody. Not in my unit.
But I know luck is not eternal. Sooner or later the Republic will come for its clone soldiers - legal slaves.
And I will wait for this moment, as helpless as today.