His eyes opened for the first time. Light flooded his vision, blinding his fragile eyes. An urge to cry out in pain rose in his tiny chest, but he subdued the urge. Something inside him held his emotions back, like a wall of iron. The need to cry was there and burned in his body, but he could not cry.
"Welcome, Echo 32," A voice, the first voice he had ever heard. It sounded cold and harsh, almost painful to listen to.
"You have much to learn, young one." The voice sounded like it was trying to be soothing, but it only made him scared. The urge to cry rose from within him again, this time stronger than before. His eyes burned from the salt rimming his eyelids. His head began to hurt from the pain of withheld tears.
"…training starts in two days. We will be expecting you at the infirmary… find your way there…"
Training? Infirmary? What were those? Who was he? Who was speaking to him?
"…is all."
The voice faded away and the lights turned off, leaving him alone in the dark. Finally, the bonds holding in his tears broke and he felt salty liquids pour down his cheeks, coating him in a comforting wetness. All that mattered was that he was alive.
(Three Months Later)
Echo 32 paused at the doorway, willing his heart to slow down. He could hear the enemies in the other room, waiting for them. As silently as he could Thrasher turned back and looked down the long corridor where his team waited behind him. They watched him anxiously. His hand waved back and forth in a chopping motion and they nodded. One second later his comm channel crackled to life.
"What's inside, Echo 32?" Echo 45, affectionately known as Cable, moved his shoulders up and down just in case the channel didn't work.
"Hostile count is unconfirmed, Cable."
Cable crept forward and pulled an optical probe from his belt.
"Let me check, sir." He sidled up to the door and bent down to his knees. With practiced ease he slipped the cable under a miniscule crack between the floor and the door. After a moment of positioning he backed away from the door and waved his hand at the cable theatrically.
"Your probe awaits you, fearless leader."
Echo 32 rolled his eyes inside his helmet and dropped to his stomach. He connected the probe to his helmet and blinked twice at the flashing light that popped up on his screen. The image on his visor changed and he saw through the eyes of the probe.
The probe's vision was scratchy and constantly buzzed with static, but he didn't mind. He saw all he needed. Two hostiles behind an over-turned durasteel table, one flanking the door to his right, one crouched down in a far corner with his rifle trained on the door.
With a sigh Echo 32 disconnected from the probe and pulled it out from the door.
"Four hostiles, Defense Pattern Sigma. You know what to do."
Three green lights blinked on the side of Echo 32's vision. His squad members lined up behind him, weapons ready.
"External dampeners to 75. Echo 31 and 45 prime the shockers." The green lights winked on again and he watched their shadows form up.
"Breaching in 3…2…1…Breach!"
There was a muffled explosion as the breaching charge imploded the door in front of them. Two EC Detonators followed in right behind it.
"Electronic shielding up now!"
Echo 32 didn't have time to catch his squad members' responses as he activated his system's shielding measures. His visor went black and everything shut down, including his suit's air conditioning. A wave of stifling heat overwhelmed him and he gasped for breath inside his suddenly claustrophobic suit. Every fiber in his body started to strain against the heat and he nearly panicked. Then he heard a pair of buzzing explosions.
"Shielding off."
His visor snapped back to life and he entered the room, DC17 aimed at chest height.
Four writhing commandoes lay on the ground. Their agonized cries pierced though the dampener setting on Echo 32's audio system, causing him to wince. His initial reaction was to carry out his orders and finish them off, but something stayed his hand.
"Sir, orders?" Echo 45, nicknamed Klick for his uncanny abilities with the sniper attachment, pushed one of the downed clones over onto his back. His voice cracked in apprehension as he held the muzzle over the clone's helmet. "Permission to engage?"
Echo 32 stood still and watched his men carefully. Despite their Katarn armor, he could tell that none of them were looking forward to finishing the job. After all, these were their brothers.
Conscious of the glaring eyes of his hidden Kamino Supervisors, and knowing full well what was about to happen, Echo 32 shook his head and raised his DC17 up so that it pointed to the ceiling. His squad mates relaxed visibly.
"Negative team. Hostiles are neutralized. Let's get their armor off."
Echo 32 resisted the urge to flinch as he pictured the shock round being fired from an invisible sensor planted somewhere along the ceiling. The round impacted on the nape of his neck and a fiery pain hit every nerve in his body. Only sheer force of will kept him from screaming as he fell to the ground amid the dismayed shouts of his squad members. Mercifully, he fell unconscious when he landed heavily on the floor.
(Present Day)
Thrasher let out a heavy breath as he stared at the ceiling above his bunk. He absentmindedly reached under his body and rubbed his hand across the numerous scars running in parallel streaks down his back. Slight spears of pain lanced across his muscles as he stretched his arm to its limit, counting each individual scar.
84.
Eighty-four times that he had been whipped, injected and beaten during his brief tenure as a cadet. It had not been worth it. Nothing would ever be worth those eighty-four interrogations and disciplines.
Thrasher rolled over onto his side and peered up to check on Gamma 71. It had been a few days since Sith had joined his squad and Thrasher had made almost every effort to help him fit in. Almost every effort. Thrasher still refused to let Gamma 71 keep to himself the hurt that he had from losing his squad.
"You doing all right there, Sith?"
The answer was disturbingly short and brusque. "Fine."
Oh, great. He's feeling it again. Thrasher gripped the bottom of Sith's bed and swung out onto the floor. He reached up and pulled himself up onto Sith's level.
"What's wrong, Sith?"
"Nothing." He was facing the wall and had his head buried in a holobook. Thrasher leaned over to get a good look at the title. The Mandalore Chronicles: A Life of Honor.
"Nice. I haven't seen that copy. Did Kal get it for you?"
"Yeah. He said it would help."
"Who's it about?"
"It's about the Mandalore that lived during the days of the Dark Years of Revan."
Thrasher coughed in surprise and leaned further forward.
"Do you mean The Mandalore? As in the one that fought by Revan's side after the Mandalore Wars?"
"The same one, brother."
"Wow." Thrasher slumped off of Sith's bunk and took a seat on Keith's. "Could I see that when you're done?"
"I'll run it through Kal, but he should be fine with it."
"Thanks."
The door slid open and Keith trudged into the room, followed by Cable.
"Hey, Sarge."
"Hey, Cable, Keith."
Keith walked up and stopped directly in front of Thrasher. His face was emotionless.
"You're on my bunk."
"Sorry."
"Not as sorry as you will be." Keith's fist came up like lightning and clouted Thrasher across the chin. He tumbled over off the bed and came up in a fighter's stance, blood streaming from his nose.
"You want some of this? Bring it on, Keith."
Keith swung a fist low at Thrasher's abdomen. Thrasher stepped inside the arc of the blow and brought his fists around in a giant hammer blow. The blow caught Keith in the chest and drove him back several feet. Keith stumbled back and fell on his bunk, eyes watering.
"That felt good."
"Thanks, Keith. Want to try again?"
"Nah, I got my pop in on you for the day." Keith grinned despite the tears in his eyes. "You're still using non-regulation combat tactics to win. Cheater."
Thrasher chuckled and probed his hand cautiously. "That wasn't exactly a clean shot that you pulled yourself. I'd call it even."
"Fine with me." Keith winked at the confused look on Sith's face. He had watched the whole scene and had been split between letting them duke it out or breaking up the 'fight.'
"By the way, the General has called for a mission debrief in three hours in the Dauntless's briefing room. We need to be there. That gives you two hours to clean up that nose of yours."
"Roger that."
Thrasher wiped blood off of his nose and opened the door. He could see the medbay just down the hall. It was still overflowing with wounded from Geonosis.
Some were missing limbs, some were hanging onto life by threads. A handful of medic-qualified clones meandered across the hall, offering aid to those that could be helped. There were too many for them to handle.
"I think I'll just let it bleed out for now, boys."
With one last sorrowful look he closed the door, shutting out the pictures of the injured clones from his mind.