Fives was privately glad for Jesse's company on the recon team, because his sense of humour did at least partially cut through the moodiness exuded by both Dogma and the clone called Crosshair.
At least the latter's attitude was forgivable. Fives could imagine what it felt like to lose your entire squad on its maiden mission. He'd been through something similar himself, but he had been fortunate enough to still have a brother to rely on at the end of it all. Echo was gone now, and not a day went by when he didn't miss him dearly. But he had at least had someone by his side to weather than initial clusterkark on Rishi.
Dogma, on the other hand, was just an insufferable asshole.
As if thinking of the man had somehow summoned him, Fives heard footsteps behind him and tilted his head to catch sight of the other clone through the visor of his helmet. Even though he couldn't see his face, it was obvious the man was scowling.
"We should head back to the rest of the battalion," Dogma said, his tone suggesting he was more than a little put out that Fives had led the recon team. Which was just laughable, because the ARC trooper had more than earned his stripes and was probably one of the most experienced men in the entire kriffing company.
Fives frowned at the ground. He contemplated removing his helmet to give the trooper a reproachful look, but decided it was too much effort.
"We'll turn back once we get to the edge of the treeline," he replied wearily. "Like I said. Ten minutes ago."
Dogma bristled a little at his tone, but Fives didn't care.
"General Krell will expect us back soon," Dogma continued. Fives bit the inside of his cheek to contain his frustrated sigh. Dogma was, if anything, persistent.
"We'll get back when we get back," Fives replied sharply. "No point cutting things short. There could be an entire Umbaran regiment on the other side of this valley for all we know."
The truth, if Fives was being honest with himself, was that his desire to stay away from the battalion had nothing to do with surveying the terrain. He didn't like General Krell. That was all there was to it. He wasn't fond of his attitude, nor the way he spoke down to Rex and the rest of his brothers. The longer they stayed away, the better, in his opinion. And if their absence happened to piss off Krell even more, well then that was just a bonus.
Dogma looked like he was about to put together a counter argument when Jesse sped up to walk on the man's other side.
"Dogma, let it go," he said sternly. "Fives is in charge of this op, and what he says goes."
Thank the Force for Jesse. He was well enough respected amongst the men that even the normally aloof Dogma backed down, albeit it with a little reluctance. They made it to the edge of the treeline without any further incidents that made Fives want to commit violence.
The ground sloped off into gently rolling hills, dotted with tall boulders and stunted trees. On the horizon was a dark mass, which Fives assumed was another forest, but beyond that, he couldn't make out anything further in the murk.
The group paused at the edge of the sparse cover, Dogma stiffly standing guard while the others took a moment to catch their breath. Fives took the opportunity to pull out a pair of macrobinoculars, but even with the enhanced magnification, he couldn't see much more than he could with his naked eyes. Grumbling to himself about the pointlessness of such equipment, he was just about to suggest turning back when he became aware of a presence to his right. Lowering the binos, he tilted his visor to spot the clone called Crosshair standing nearby, that sleek rifle cradled across his chest. He remained unmoving, save for a slow sweeping of his visor as he regarded the horizon.
"Not much to see out here," Fives grunted as he stuffed his binos away.
The clone huffed softly to himself, and Fives pulled off his helmet to snatch a breath of air.
"Something to say?" he asked with more than a little annoyance in his tone. He was trying to be sympathetic towards the guy, but he'd just about had his fill of snarkiness from Dogma.
Crosshair rolled his shoulders and cocked his head to one side.
"Nope."
Fives grunted in reply, squinting across at the other clone, who showed no indication that he was paying attention. He watched the fellow for a little bit, before turning back to study the horizon.
"So," he said in an effort to diffuse some of the awkward tension, "Rex says you were part of an experimental unit. That right?"
Again, the man huffed through the modulator of his helmet.
"Must be, if your reg Captain says so."
That urge to bite back was getting strong, but he truly didn't have the energy for a full blown fight right now. And he could sense that Crosshair was on a hair trigger even more sensitive than that of his rifle. Fives took a deep breath and perched his bucket on his hip.
"What does that mean? 'Reg'? Is it code or something?"
The man turned his helmet towards him then, and Fives stared at the spot where his eyes would be.
"Why do you care?"
"Humour me," replied Fives with a shrug and a half smile. "Besides, I wanna know if I should be offended or not."
Crosshair was silent for a moment, before shifting back to staring into the distance.
"It's short for 'regular clones'. Whether you're offended by that or not is up to you."
Fives screwed his face up in thought, before deciding that the nickname wasn't actually that offensive.
"Nah. I've been called worse things."
"I'm sure you have."
Fives huffed a chuckle and smiled with genuine amusement. He knew that was supposed to be a dig, but he found it entertaining. Crosshair seemed like the sort that didn't like to follow rules either, and that resonated deeply with him. It was a character quirk (or flaw, as many of his superiors had insisted) that not many clones were lucky enough to possess.
Dogma, who had been watching the exchange from a distance, stood and headed over purposefully. Fives' heart sank, because he felt sure the man's sycophantic nature would almost certainly piss off Crosshair and could very well instigate a full on fist fight.
"Never heard of an experimental unit before," Dogma said with obvious synicism.
Both Fives and Crosshair turned to regard him, the latter with obvious disdain, judging by the cant of his helmet.
"I have," said Fives, in an effort to bring Dogma down a peg or two. He was little more than a shiny after all. "Never met one in person though."
"I doubt many make it off Kamino," added Jesse, who ambled over to join the group. "You and your squad were lucky."
Crosshair stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"Not what I would call it."
Fives privately agreed. He'd spent the majority of his youth chomping at the bit, eager to leave the watery planet. It was only after Rishi that he'd come to realise how stupid he had been. War was far, far worse than anything he'd experienced on their home world.
Jesse, to his credit, tilted his head sympathetically. In contrast, Dogma had planted his hands on his hips in a way that had Fives internally groaning.
"I don't get what makes you any different to the rest of us clones," said Dogma indignantly.
Fives really did groan then, pinching the bridge of his nose and screwing his eyes shut. The comment could be construed as a remark of solidarity, but he doubted Dogma intended it to be interpreted like that, and he certainly didn't think Crosshair would take it that way. Especially considering Dogma's condescending tone.
Which Crosshair apparently noticed, because he stiffened even further and hoisted his rifle a little higher.
"We're better. That's the difference."
That irked a little, and Fives could tell by the tense posture of his other two brothers that they were similarly affected.
"That remains to be seen," Fives said, folding his arms sulkily. He was trying to cut the guy some slack, but he couldn't stand arrogance. True, he possessed an above adequate amount himself, but he had more than damned well earned the right to that.
Crosshair stared him down for about half a minute before gazing off into the distance.
"Capitol's about forty klicks that way," he said flatly. "No sign of an ambush yet, but the road winds a fair bit, and there's plenty of cover."
Fives thought for a moment that the man was joking, but Crosshair did not seem like the type of person to possess a sense of humour. At all.
"How in the Force could you know that?" he asked skeptically, covering himself just in case the man was joking. He didn't want to look like an idiot, after all. Well, preferably less than he usually did.
Behind him, Jesse made a scoffing sound.
"Probably saw the city lights through the binos," he said dismissively.
Fives continued to stare at the taller clone, still waiting for the punch line.
"Nah, binos are useless. Can't see anything."
"Then he's bluffing."
Crosshair's shoulders slouched, and he shook his head slowly.
"Believe what you want. I don't care."
With that, the man spun on his heel and stalked back into the treeline, leaving Fives and the others to stare at one another and contemplate the odd exchange, and the even odder clone called Crosshair.
...
Hunter was sad. Really sad. In fact, Wrecker didn't think he'd ever seen his oldest brother so sad in all his (admittedly short) life.
The way the Sergeant led the group with his back slightly hunched and his shoulders sloped gave him the appearance of a kicked tooka. It made Wrecker want to pick him up and squeeze him until he felt better. Or choked for air. Whichever came sooner.
It had to do with Crosshair, he was sure of it, though their separation was in no way Hunter's fault. And besides, Crosshair was the most stubborn bastard ever to draw breath. There was just no way he'd died on that ridge. It wasn't possible, and Wrecker wasn't even prepared to entertain the thought.
Pushing aside any fear he might have for his other brother, Wrecker concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as he trailed along after Tech and Hunter. His head felt better. He still had to be mindful not to turn around too speedily, but the pain had muted to a dull throb. It was bearable, even with their quickened pace. Hunter seemed desperate to catch up with the battalion as soon as possible, though it still remained some distance ahead. Perhaps they'd manage to rejoin the group once the regs stopped to rest.
Wrecker squinted his one good eye and peered into the gloom of the surrounding countryside. It was dark, the stunted, twisted trees making it seem spookier than it really was. He was glad that his brothers were with him, because he never was fond of the dark. Not that he'd EVER admit that out loud.
The sound of bomb blasts could be heard in the distance, too far for the explosions to be of any concern, but close enough to smudge the horizon with light and cause the ground beneath his feet to tremble. Wrecker flexed his fingers and scowled beneath his helmet. What he wouldn't give to blow something up right now. At least handling volatile explosives might provide a distraction from worrying about where the kriff they were going, and what in the galaxy had happened to Crosshair.
With a huff, Wrecker shook his head with enough force to quicken the pounding in his skull. He didn't need to worry because he trusted Hunter with his life and knew his oldest brother would lead them safely to where they needed to be. And as for Crosshair, the miserable old grump was most likely already making himself a pain in the battalion's collective ass. He suspected the man would have a few choice words to say regarding their abandoning him to the regs once they caught up. Wrecker grinned to himself at the thought.
Another flash lit up the horizon, sending shadows reaching away from the rubble and plant life.
"D'ya reckon that's them?" he asked to no one in particular, nodding towards the whimpering light from the blast.
"Nah," replied Hunter, barely glancing up. "Our regs are this way."
Tech hummed thoughtfully, plucking out his data pad and bringing it up to his nose to better view the screen.
"Indeed. From the battle plans I downloaded aboard the venator, that would appear to be General Kenobi's battalion."
"Aww," Wrecker groaned, twisting so that he could keep the illuminations in sight whilst still walking. "Why couldn't they put us with him?"
It looked damned fun, whatever they were doing to the South.
Hunter made a vague growl and shrugged his good shoulder.
"A Jedi's a Jedi," he replied curtly. Wrecker tried not to take offence from the dismissive tone, because he knew that his brother was tired, and as such, his fuse was particularly short.
Perhaps he was right, but Wrecker stared wistfully behind them as they continued to limp doggedly towards General Skywalker and the rest of his regs.
He was so distracted by the continual stream of detonations that he tripped on something underfoot and almost entirely lost his balance. He stumbled to one knee, his blaster flying from his hand from the sudden motion, yelping loudly.
Both Hunter and Tech spun around at the noise, the former with his hand already wrapped around the hilt of the knife tucked in his gauntlet. Wrecker held up a calming hand, because their Sergeant's body language looked almost frantic.
"'S fine," Wrecker grunted, rising back to his feet and doing his best to ignore the dizziness that caused his head to swim. "Just tripped is all. Lost my blaster."
Tech hummed in the way that he did when he observed something amusing.
"I would advise paying closer attention to your surroundings," he said, already losing interest and beginning to move off.
Wrecker scoffed at the remark, which was unbelievably ironic coming from the man who spent the majority of his life with his nose buried in a data pad. Knuckling his back, he cast his gaze about for his weapon, which had fallen amongst a tangle of roots nearby.
"Yeah, yeah," he replied dismissively, stepping towards the firearm. "Don't have to tell me twice."
He stooped to collect the blaster, kicking aside a thick, fleshy vine that threatened to trip him yet again.
"Stupid plants," he grumbled to himself as he plucked up his weapon. Even the kriffing flora of this planet seemed hostile.
Straightening with a grunt, he hefted the gun, waving it in the air triumphantly.
"Found it!"
Lifting his gaze, Wrecker caught sight of Hunter, who was still standing rigidly with his fingers hovering over his blade. He was just opening this mouth to enquire whether his brother was ok, or if he was suffering some kind of breakdown, when the Sergeant violently shook his head.
"Wrecker," he hissed, voice strained and full of warning. "Don't move."
The fear in his voice sent alarm bells ringing.
"Why?" Wrecker yelped, twisting to peer over his shoulder and half expecting to see some giant hulking beast standing right behind him. Even Tech had turned back, pistol drawn and data pad forgotten. "W-what's going on?"
The words had barely left his lips when something grasped his ankle, and he was promptly slammed to the ground. Bright spots danced before his one good eye, and the wind was forced from his lungs in one big gust that rattled his ribcage and had him gasping to snatch a panicked breath. He'd barely sucked in enough air to yell, when he was abruptly dragged backwards, dropping his blaster for the second time in the space of a minute.
Somebody was shouting, and plasma bolts ripped through the air as Wrecker was hoisted off the ground by his ankle. He let out a strangled yell of panic, twisting to free himself from whatever had a hold of him as he was waved haphazardly about like a piece of flimsi caught in a stiff breeze. He pursed his lips to keep himself from being sick from the nauseating motion.
Abruptly, the waving stopped, though the yelling and shooting continued. Wrecker spun his head in a frantic effort to get his bearings. Glancing up, he caught sight of a heavy vine wrapped around his leg, the tendril thicker than his wrist. He kicked at the stupid thing, but the action was fruitless because whatever it was had him in a strangle hold. Looking down, a whimper escaped his lips (though he would swear to his dying breath that no such sound was ever made) at the sight below him.
The vine or tentacle or whatever the kriff it was tapered down to the ground, where it seemed to slither from a huge round mound just below Wrecker. As he watched, the pinkish lump split in two to reveal a gaping maw complete with rows of sharp, glistening teeth. This was bad, Wrecker concluded in his head, really bad, and things looked as though they might be about to get worse.
"What the Hell is THAT?" he screamed, somewhat hysterically as the pit opened impossibly wide, a second set of smaller jaws snapping at the end of a discoloured, fleshy tongue.
Wrecker didn't get an answer. With a heave, the tentacle around his foot suddenly jerked him downwards, towards that horrifying maw, which promptly swallowed him whole.