Commander Cody knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that General Kenobi was pissed.
The signs were subtle: the creases around his eyes deepening, the way he tugged on his beard a little more vigorously than usual, the fact that he kept every so slightly shaking his head. To the untrained eye, the ticks would most likely go unnoticed. But Cody had spent a great deal of time honing his skills when it came to his General and determining his various moods.
And it was his fault. Well, partially his fault at any rate. He was responsible for bearing the bad news. And had suffered that famous Kenobi Look Of Disappointment as a consequence.
Sometimes, Cody thought he'd rather take a blaster bolt than be on the receiving end of The Look.
Kenobi studied the holo map in front of him before sighing loudly. Another beard tug. Another shake of his head. He half turned towards Cody and gave him a fleeting look.
"And you're certain this squad will arrive before we depart for the surface?" the General asked levelly, his voice much calmer than his demeanour suggested.
Cody stood a little straighter and clasped his hands behind his back.
"Yessir. They will be arriving within the hour."
Kenobi momentarily closed his eyes before opening them again. His nostrils were flaring now. That was a new mannerism, but Cody doubted it bode well for an improvement in his General's mood.
"And may I ask who signed off on this squad?" Kenobi asked frostily.
Cody repressed a sigh.
"Master Chief Skirata, Sir."
Cody felt a little bad for Skirata. He had no doubt Kenobi would give the Mandalorian a hard time over his decision.
The General straightened from where he had been stooping over the holo projector, switching off the device and turning to face Cody properly.
"And what do you know of these clones, Cody?"
Cody scowled in thought, trying to construct a tactful response. They were shortly due to ship out to the planet's surface, and he knew, deep down, that the Umbaran's were not going to relinquish control of their planet easily. This was going to be a long siege, and the last thing he needed was for Kenobi to be in a filthy mood for the duration. The General hated surprises of any kind, least of all ones that inflicted some sort of responsibility on him.
"They're an...experimental unit."
Kenobi's blue eyes widened, before narrowing into a suspicious frown.
"Experimental?"
"Yes, Sir."
"In what way?"
Cody again pondered his response.
"They are defective clones with...desirable mutations."
"Desirable mutations?"
"Yes, Sir."
"And how do they perform?"
Licking his lips, Cody fixed his gaze on a spot just above the General's right shoulder.
"As I said, Sir, they have never been deployed on active duty."
"I understand that," said Kenobi almost witheringly. Cody felt himself shrinking. "But how have they performed in training?"
The Commander's stomach tightened. Oh kark. The General always had a way of knowing when he was trying to bend the truth. Maybe it was a Force thing? Best to keep the bending to a minimum at any rate.
"Well, their reports state them as being more than proficient."
"Is that all?"
"Well, Sir, apparently they do have an aptitude for...not following standard combat protocol. But they come highly recommended."
An arched eyebrow in Cody's direction had him feeling like a fresh new cadet that had made a mistake during training.
"Oh really?"
"Yes, Sir. Highly recommended."
"By whom?"
"Well...Master Chief Skirata..."
Kenobi gave him another dose of The Look before shaking his head.
"I do wish Kamino would consult with us before deploying new troops," he said, switching the projector back on and pulling up a series of diagrams depicting their meticulously considered battle plans.
"I agree, Sir," replied Cody. It was always best to agree with the General.
"This siege is going to be difficult. We need seasoned men, not new recruits. I rather feel that we will be throwing them in at the deep end."
"Yes, General. Where would you like me to station them?"
Kenobi pinched his chin, a small smirk etching his lips.
"Send them to Anakin. Anarchy is his speciality."
Cody suppressed a smile of his own. He wasn't certain who he felt more sorry for: General Skywalker, or Clone Force 99.
...
Hunter quickly decided that hyperspace was mesmerising.
The blues and greens and silvers were iridescent in their hues, beautiful and flighty and so unlike anything he'd ever seen before that he could do nothing but stare. He stood stiffly in the cockpit of the brand-new Omicron class attack shuttle, staring through the viewport until his eyes hurt. The sight was so mesmerising that he barely even noticed the way his senses were going absolutely haywire from all the electrical interference on the ship.
Eventually, after an hour or two, he pulled himself away, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, and, leaving Tech at the controls (the man still only having explored the functions of about half the switches and levers) went to check on the rest of his squad.
It wasn't hard to find the other two, even without his heightened senses. The ship wasn't exactly large after all, but even disregarding these factors, Hunter knew his brothers well enough that finding them was never a struggle.
As he suspected, Wrecker had somehow found his way into the rations (despite Hunter instructing Crosshair to lock them away) and was slouched on one of the two racks at the back of the shuttle. Empty wrappers littered both the bunk and the floor. Good job he'd ordered extra from acquisitions, knowing full well that Wrecker had an overactive metabolism and a tendency to devour anything even remotely edible if left to his own devices.
"Wrecker," Hunter barked, scowling at the mess. "Are you gonna clean this up?"
Wrecker peered over the side of the bunk, his movement causing another cascade of rubbish to fall to the pile on the floor.
"Err, yeah. I guess."
"'Cos this ship is new. We gotta keep it looking nice."
Because no doubt as soon as they'd served their purpose, the GAR would most likely seize it back, he thought but didn't say out loud.
"Yes SARGE," Wrecker replied, deliberately over-emphasising his rank in a way all three of them had been doing since his hasty promotion yesterday.
Hunter winced. The inflexion was becoming tiring, despite the fact that, deep down, he knew it was merely fond teasing. Well, aside from Crosshair's remarks, because Hunter suspected his were deliberately meant to be spiteful.
With a sigh, Hunter waded through the garbage, shooting Wrecker one last stern look, before heading aft.
Crosshair had stationed himself in the rear gunners' turret. Not that there was anything to shoot at in hyperspace, but the grey-haired clone was a naturally suspicious bastard, and seemed to function in a state of constant high alert. Hunter clambered up the ladder into the turret, glancing at Crosshair where he lounged in the chair with his feet propped on the yoke, his pose deceptively relaxed. But Hunter noticed the way one hand rested on the holster of the pistol at his hip, and he'd seen his brother move faster than a coiled snake when threatened. Crosshair was never one to be underestimated in any way, shape, or form.
Hunter leaned one forearm on the back of the chair and gazed through the transparisteel. Crosshair allowed the silence to hang for less than a minute before sighing dramatically and folding his arms.
"What do you want?" he drawled lazily. The man never was one for unnecessary contact with other people, be it verbal, physical, or anything in between.
Hunter shrugged, meeting his brother's sharp gaze in the reflection of the canopy.
"Just wanted to make sure you were ok."
Crosshair scoffed loudly.
"I'm not a tubie, Hunter," the man replied, his tone somehow both venomous and exasperated.
Hunter scowled, though the gesture was aimed more at himself than at Crosshair. He should have known better than to give any suggestion of caring about his taller, grumpiest brother.
"I know."
"Good. Then kindly piss off and leave me alone."
Hunter bristled at the blatant insubordination. Of all of them, Crosshair had been the one most reluctant to accept Hunter's new rank, not for any other reason than that he was an obtrusive asshole with an inbuilt dislike of authority.
"Hey! I'm still your Sergeant!"
"How could I forget?"
Hunter bit back a retort as anger flared inside him. He took a deep breath. There was absolutely no point arguing with Crosshair when he got like this. It would just end up in a shouting match with the pair of them trading childish insults.
"I don't wanna argue," said Hunter with a sigh. After two hours of very broken sleep the night before, he really didn't have the strength.
Crosshair grunted, and Hunter took that to mean that he conceded. For all his faults, the sniper was not one to expend energy unnecessarily.
"You clear on the plan?"
"Yup."
Hunter nodded to himself, for once glad that this brother in particular was not one for conversation. He wasn't sure his nerves could take too much of that right now. Despite his best efforts at controlling his anxiety, Hunter still felt permanently on the verge of being sick. He'd read the mission briefing at least a dozen times since Skirata had handed him that data pad, and three words in particular had become lodged in his skull and seemed to reverberate around inside him like a persistent, thrumming headache.
Heavy casualties expected.
Hunter wasn't an idiot (even in comparison to Tech, and despite the insinuations that Crosshair threw his way whenever he was in a particularly bad mood) and nor was he naive. He knew that people died in war. He also knew that he himself was an expendable resource. That fact had been drummed repeatedly into him since he could remember, and he'd long since accepted his fate. That he was most likely destined to die on some far off battlefield on some nameless planet, just another number on an ever growing list of fallen men.
Hunter was not afraid of dying.
What he was, however, afraid of, was the thought of losing his brothers. Afraid was not a strong enough word, he concluded, as his stomach twisted violently somewhere behind the plackart of his armour.
He was absolutely kriffing terrified of that concept.
And worse, what if one of them died because of him? Because of orders he gave? Because he failed them?
A fresh wave of nausea rose up Hunter's throat. He gripped the back of Crosshair's chair so hard his knuckles hurt and pushed down such a horrible thought. Fortunately, there were plenty of other things to distract himself with. Least of all their impending arrival at the Venator, and all the complications that brought.
Hunter glanced at Crosshair's reflection.
"Cross? Promise me one thing when we land?"
His brother huffed once again.
"What?"
"Try and play nice with the regs?" Hunter asked tiredly, already anticipating Crosshair's response.
As expected, his brother shrugged vaguely.
"No promises."
...
There was an air of nervous anticipation as the Venator crept closer and closer towards the Umbaran blockade.
Rex could feel it as he made his way down to the hangar in the wake of General Skywalker. It was apparent in the way the troopers moved with a little more haste than usual, not hurrying per se, but as though they were keen to get things over with. He himself felt a slight fluttering somewhere behind his naval, something he hadn't felt since the second battle of Geonosis. It wasn't anxiety. Of course not. Rex had been trained extensively not to feel such things. It was just excitement. That was it. That was what had his heart beating a little faster. Rex hoped that if he told himself that enough times then he might believe it to be true.
"Everything alright there, Rex?"
General Skywalker titled his head to catch Rex's eye out of the corner of his own.
Kark, had the man tapped into Rex's emotions?!
"I'm fine, Sir."
The Jedi held his gaze for a second longer before the corner of his lips quirked up in a way that told Rex he was indeed aware of everything the clone was feeling and taking a great deal of amusement in it.
Rex sincerely hoped his General could also feel just how annoyed he was at the infringement of his privacy.
The comm link on Rex's wrist chirped softly, informing him that Fives' shuttle had just docked. He allowed himself a small smile, glad that Fives would be joining them for this mission. He'd put the request in himself, and was pleased to have the ARC trooper by his side. Rex trusted Fives to have his back.
Making a mental note to track the man down for a quick catch-up before they left, Rex followed his Jedi into the main hangar of the Venator. The site was a hive of activity as the final preparations for departure were being made. A few troopers directed hasty salutes at him and the General, though most appeared far too busy to engage further. The bustle was oddly comforting to Rex. He liked being prepared, something he often wasn't able to appreciate, given the tumultuous nature of his General's battle plans and his tendency to fly by the seat of his pants.
What was not comforting, however, was the sight of Commander Cody striding across the deck towards them, a grim scowl on his face and his mouth twisting slightly to one side. Rex groaned internally. He knew that expression well: it was the one Cody usually wore when some kind of Jedi bullshit was about to kick off.
"General," said Cody with a nod of his head. "Rex."
"What's going on, Cody?" Skywalker asked, his grey eyes narrowing suspiciously. Evidently, he too recognised Cody's expression.
Cody set his jaw and rested a hand on his hip. Rex braced himself for the worst.
"I'm to inform you that a new squad has been assigned to you, Sir. They will be reporting shortly."
Rex blinked slowly. Glancing at Skywalker, he saw his own surprise mirrored back at him.
"A new squad?" asked Rex, arching an eyebrow at Cody. "Doesn't sound so bad. We'll need every man we can muster if we're to take Umbara."
The thinning of the other clone's lips told Rex that he was missing something.
"Cody?" the General repeated, his tone turning sterner in an attempt to coax more information from the clone. "What squad?"
Cody suddenly became very interested in a speck of dirt on his right spaulder. Without meeting the Jedi's gaze, he handed the man a data pad.
"I'll, err, let you read for yourself, Sir."
Rex watched Skywalker's eyes dart across the screen, his scowl deepening with every word. Rex clenched and unclenched his fists behind his back in an effort to expel some of the unease creeping over him. Whatever was on that data pad must be pretty bad, because the General didn't make that face very often.
Skywalker finished with a sigh, thrusting the data pad at Rex and pinching his chin with his cybernetic hand. Rex hastily read the text, which transpired to be a set of records detailing 'experimental unit 99'. Memories of an old, twisted clone, dying in his arms during the invasion of Kamino flashed through his mind but he beat them down quickly.
An experimental batch? He'd never heard of such a thing in his entire career, although he honestly wouldn't put anything past the Kaminoans anymore. Scanning the data pad, several comments immediately jumped out at Rex. His heart sank a little more with each sentence.
Failure to perform within strategic guidelines. Inability to follow protocol. Disdain for command structure. Tendency to deviate from standard battle plans.
Was this some kind of joke? Who in their right mind would deem such a squad fit for combat?
The answer was obvious. Kal Skirata had always harbored a fondness for the misfits and outcasts.
Rex let the hand holding the pad fall to his side.
"Is it such a good idea to put this squad into active duty?"
Cody shrugged, brown eyes lifting to meet his.
"You said it yourself, Rex. We're gonna need all the help we can get."
That was, unfortunately, true, though Rex couldn't help but feel that this squad, in particular, might be more of a hindrance than a help.
...
Of all the things that really kriffed him off, tardiness ranked amongst one of the highest for Rex.
He really did have better things to do than wait for Clone Force 99's arrival. A million things, to be precise. Waiting in the hangar for the squad to report in was not one of them.
General Skywalker had long since departed to attend to Jedi business. Which Rex suspected was a ruse to get out of having to accept possession of this new group of defective shinies. The General was less than thrilled at the thought of having to babysit, though he had eventually grudgingly admitted that having a bunch of clones with enhanced abilities to bolster the ranks might have its advantages. At the very least, they would provide fodder for the Umbaran flack guns. Rex didn't like thinking of it that way, but it was an unfortunate reality of war. A lot of men were going to die on this mission and he had to make peace with that. No matter how much it killed him just a little bit.
The approach of a familiar figure dragged Rex from his morbid thoughts. A small smile etched his lips. He could pinpoint the swagger of an ARC trooper from a mile away.
"Fives!" he greeted, clasping the forearm of the other clone.
"Rex," Fives replied, pulling his helmet off his head. His grin was exactly the same as Rex remembered: wild and full of the promise of mischief. "Good to see you, Captain."
"Likewise, trooper."
"That's ARC trooper now, remember?" asked Fives with feigned indignation. "I'm not a shiny anymore, Rex."
Rex huffed in amusement. He'd missed Fives. The man was nuttier than squirrel osik and more than a little insubordinate at times, but he was easy company.
He was just opening his mouth to give Fives a half-mock, half-serious lecture on respect for one's superiors when the ARC trooper suddenly threw himself on Rex, tackling him to the floor.
"Watch out!"
The pair rolled in a tangle of limbs and plastoid, coming to an eventual halt with Fives half draped across Rex's chest.
"What the Hell is wrong with you?!" Rex yelled, heaving the trooper off of him angrily.
He was just about to rise when something large zoomed past mere feet from where he'd just been standing. Rex just had time to notice the belly of the shuttle before the craft whizzed by, the downdraft from its engines sending anything that wasn't bolted down flying in its wake. Several nearby troopers and deck workers rapidly flattened themselves to avoid decapitation, and more than one of them threw a filthy curse at whoever was piloting the shuttle so recklessly.
The ship rapidly banked, coming about haphazardly, one wing clipping the side of the hangar and leaving a deep gash in the wall. Rex winced. General Skywalker was going to go berserk over that, he was sure.
He felt the deck plate underneath him tremble as the shuttle slammed down in some semblance of a landing. The hangar with eerily quiet in the aftermath of the ship's arrival, save for a strangled hiss as the engines powered down. Glancing about, Rex noted several downed men staggering to their feet. Fortunately, no one appeared to be injured, though he suspected there might be a few bruised egos.
Fives, sitting upright and looking more than a little ruffled, scowled ferociously.
"Kriffing idiot pilot could've killed someone!" he grumbled, rising and offering Rex his hand. "Who the Hell was that anyway?!"
Letting the ARC trooper haul him to his feet, Rex straightened his armour and set his jaw. He was absolutely furious and, glancing at Fives, the ARC trooper looked about ready to shoot someone.
"I think I have an idea," he said, marching over to the shuttle with Fives in tow.
The ramp lowered promptly and four figures descended to the deck. All were dressed in an odd assortment of armour, the pieces piecemeal and seemingly comprising several styles all muddled together. The only similarity between the gear was the colour, which appeared to be either black or dark grey. The men themselves were equally mismatched, so much so that Rex could hardly believe they were clones at all.
The man at the front was probably the only one that even vaguely resembled baseline, although his hair was well above standard length and somewhat shaggy. Of the other three, one was enormous, broad and tall and built like the ass end of an AT-TE. Another was smaller and slighter with neatly cropped auburn hair and a pair of goggles perched on his nose, and the final man was tall and thin and lean, with silver grey hair and a nasty look on his face.
Drawing himself up to his full height (which was still several inches shorter than the two tallest men before him) Rex came to a halt and set his hands on his hips, face printed with the look he only usually reserved for shinies that had done something particularly stupid.
"That was an incredibly dangerous manoeuvre," he barked, trying and failing to keep the anger out of his voice. "Just who do you think you are?"
The four men exchanged a look, before the one with long hair stepped forward, meeting Rex's eye with a level kind of determination that suggested the guy was not one to easily flinch at a dressing down.
"Clone Force 99. At your service."