SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYYY!

I haven't updated in anything in... like, maybe a little bit. Okay... longer than that. I'm terrible at this, but accept my deepest apologies and read this chapter as tribute to all of you in the internet community. Just don't judge if it is a little bit disjointed. I'm trying to piece back a story that I had well thought out but didn't take physical notes.

Enjoy!

Logi never liked cheese, especially the ones with all the holes (it looked damaged). Some folk enjoyed it for the flavour, but he had found himself to be allergic to dairy on Kamino. The cloners had considered it a minor defect, which was fine by him; he thought the stuff to be absolutely disgusting. So, when the front fields of the base became riddled in holes like Alderaanian Bantha Cheese, he knew he was in trouble.

The clone huddled in a trench line, watching red laser bolts streak by the lip of the crest of the dugout, whizzing as they flew. Artillery shots screamed overhead, impacting targets with thunderous slams followed closely by deafening explosions which threw clods of dirt spraying everything and stacks of grey smoke billowing up. The blue sky above was speckled with fighter craft, looping and curving in a graceful yet cruel and heartless dance that ended with balls of flame plummeting through the air, usually to explode somewhere before crashing down. The roar of engines couldn't drown out the shouts of soldiers around him though, as clone troopers attempted to stem the advance of the tanks and droid infantry that encroached the perimeter. Back against the moist wall of the trench, Logi looked left and right at the Republic soldiers that peeked over the top, shooting off blue lasers to exchange for the red.

"Get that gun up!" A clone yelled, making a low dash for a medium mounted machine gun that lay in the mud on the floor, resting atop a fallen soldier whose blood had intermixed with the grime. The trooper grabbed it, dragging it in Logi's direction. As he approached, Logi help him hoist it up the wall and behind a pile of sandbags. Clambering up, both clones set up the tripod and activated the weapon. The other clone turned his dirty helmet towards Logi. "Corporal Capi," he introduced himself quickly, checking the ammunition box.

"Private Logi," he replied skittishly, poking his head up to look down the range. Just as he did, a large red bolt was fired by the main cannon of an AAT hovertank, soaring to his right and destroying a section of the trench. There were screams as clones went flying, some completely mutilated by the strike. Flames blossomed across some wooden pallets, adding an orange hue to the battle.

"Medic!" A random clone with dented gear yelled desperately, pulling a trooper who lacked a helmet away from a blaze. Blood streamed down his face, covering most of his features with red and black.

"Dwang," Capi profaned, grabbing the two handles of the machine gun and pressing the triggers. The barrel began rotating, sending off bursts of blue projectiles. As he did, four other clones stumbled their way over. "Where's our orbital support?"

"Engaged wae Seppie capital ships," the clone with a brogue responded, ducking a red laser effortlessly. " It's three to one up there. Our comms are also jammed up."

"The Eventful Flight won't be able to take that for long," a second clone that Logi recognised as Jeb realised. "They'll have to pull out."

An explosion showered them with small rocks and debris, clacking off of their armour. Another man hefted a rocket launcher off his back. "We won't be able to take this for long!"

"Ya dinnae like it, go back to Kamino," the obviously senior clone replied, throwing himself against the upper trench and letting loose a torrent of bolts from his rotary cannon. "Man up an' fight!"

"Yes, Sergeant Moyer!" the third trooper called out, mimicking the Sergeant with his rifle.

Logi scurried across the side of the trench wall, heart pumping as he prepared to peek over the top again. Carbine ready, he poked it over and froze, witnessing the approaching regiments of battle droids marching in large phalanxes. They advanced unflinchingly, stopping not for casualties nor enemy fire nor any detonation. They moved fearlessly, assaulting with no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. Behind them glided the blue AAT tanks, anti-infantry guns spraying the trench lines and walls of the base behind them. The main guns launched huge bolts sporadically, destroying wide swaths of defensive positions.

Shaking his head, Logi began recklessly shooting into the B1 ranks, not needing to aim for anything specific other than the mass. He felled multiple enemies, but there were always more behind them to continue gaining ground, rapidly closing the distance between belligerent forces.

"Incoming bandit!" Capi shouted, pointing his machine gun upwards as a Hyena class droid bomber zoomed towards them, and Logi instantly deduced there was no stopping it.

"Cover!" Jeb hollered, diving to the ground.

BOOM!

Logi discovered that he no longer was touching the ground. Instead, he was tumbling through the air, going head over heels as he cartwheeled to the left and landed with his armour crunching horribly in his ears. He rolled sloppily on through the mud, coming to a rest face up at the sky. His helmet HUD glitched before going out, leaving him staring through the empty visor glass. With the sound systems dead, the explosions and crashes that surrounded him became muffled, almost echoing outside the helmet. He tried to move, but pain told him not to, rushing through his body and drowning out all sound, so he just remained there, clenching his teeth and tearing up. Slowly, the flaring hurt began to isolate itself in Logi's left leg, allowing him to figure he had something near a broken bone, which rendered him effectively immobilized.

A clone with a blood-and-dirt stained helmet stumbled over, picking up the rocket launcher which lay beside the mutilated trooper that had been wielding it. His helmet turned to Logi, and he made his way over. "Corporal Stern; what's your injury?"

Logi coughed as he tried to speak up, nauseated from the combining effects of the grizzly deaths nearby and his own wound. "M-My leg... I think it's b-broken."

Stern muttered something, checking the tube of the anti-vehicle weapon. "Alright, I'll-" He was interrupted by the buzz of Separatist speederbikes, racing overhead. He threw himself to the side, barely dodging the dual cannons of one that strafed the trench, tossing dirt all over Logi. Stern crawled back over, activating his comms. "I need a medevac at line four! I've got some wounded troops!"

"I've got him!" A medic rushed over, head low as bolts whizzed above the lip of the dirt. He knelt down beside Logi, producing his kit. "What's your injury?"

"Leg... broken," Logi gasped, trying not to wretch or bawl or something ugly along those lines.

"Tank incoming!" Sergeant Moyer bellowed, reappearing from the smoky haze, missing a shoulder plate and his rotary cannon. Instead, he brandished two carbines as he pressed against the dirt wall and fired of into the distance. Logi could see the blue shape of an AAT looming closer.

Stern, hefting the rocket launcher, clambered up the trench, stood tall at the top, aiming carefully. Lasers narrowly missed him by inches, but he did not flinch or falter. Dirt showered him as an explosion rocked the ground only yards to his right. "Back blast!" He yelled, pulling the trigger. Smoke spewed from the rear end of the weapon and burst of flame came out of the front. A thunderous detonation rattled Logi's skull as the tank blew apart, its turret landing in a clattering, burning heap down the trench line. Stern proceeded to leap down, discarding the used weapon.

"Orders are to fall back to the compound walls!" The medic yelled, having created a splint from gauze wrap, tape, and beams from destroyed gun shack roofing. He removed some of Logi's leg armour to attach it, the trooper hissing in pain and blinking back tears all the while. "I need help moving him!"

"Got it," Stern acknowledged, coming up beside Logi and supporting his left arm while the medic took his right. Meanwhile, Moyer was firing guns and throwing his seemingly endless supply of grenades, screaming hardly intelligible insults at the advancing battle droids. "Sergeant, we're moving!"

He glanced back, nodding. "I'll cover ye! Dinnae look back, an' kep movin'!"

"HEY, GET OUT OF MY ROOM, NIMROD!"

Joystick chuckled, shaking his head as he heard the chaos ensue the demand. Alarmed shouts, devious laughs, furious bellows, and wounded yelps bounced through the halls of the starship in a tumultuous ruction. Something crashed, and bodies tumbled in and out of rooms, wrestling and cackling in a territorial battle. Inside the bridge of the Storm Seeker, he pressed buttons and checked meters with reverence, in a constant state of admiration for the cruiser which was now (technically) his. The many undulating and shifting shades and tones of blue light streaked surrounding the hull of the ship.

"Force, Force, Force, Force!" Dusty mumbled in elation, rushing this way and that, checking anything that glowed or made a sound inside the cockpit. He opened containers, tapped screens, and toggled switches. "This is so kriffing cool."

Mate the droid was enjoying himself as well, relaxing in his charging port which was now situated near the weapons and shielding systems, which was definitely not to be concerned about.

"I'm with you Dusty," Joystick chuckled, running a hand over the smooth dashboard. It didn't matter that they'd already been travelling for a day and were nearing their destination, he was still enthralled by his new ship. "Hey, go get one of those idiots out there to check the cargo. Make sure it's all battened down. Last thing we need is for loose munitions to destroy my beautiful new baby."

"Aw, fine," Dusty groaned, parting dramatically with the gunner's seat with an outstretched hand as he backed into the hallway, bumping into a confused looking Tunnel on the way out.

"... What's with him?" The clone asked, looking over his shoulder after the pilot. Not watching himself, he stumbled briefly on Mate's charging port, grunting in surprise. The astromech made angry sounds, shaking a retractable arm. "Sorry; accident."

"Nothing. We're all just hyped about our new place," Joystick responded, motioning for the other clone to sit down on the copilot's chair. "What about you? Excited?"

Tunnel shrugged, plopping down into the seat. "A little. I mean, it is a nice ship."

"But...?"

The tall clone sighed, frowning. "Doesn't it feel, I dunno, like we're closer to combat now? We have our own transport and everything."

Joystick nodded understandingly, turning over a hand. "Guess so. No worries, with me as your pilot, nothing will ever go wrong, though!" As he said that, the ship rumbled for a scary second, and several instruments flashed red. He jerked forward, ready for the worst, when he noticed Mate had plugged into the systems and was cackling. "Nice try, tin-brain." Joystick paused when he saw Tunnel's face though. "You're not worried about the ship."

Tunnel seemed to debate internally whether or not to continue onward, with the first winning out with the wrestle. "I've never been the best on the simulators... You know, the weak link in the squad. I'm always going down first or causing a tactical error."

Joystick cocked his head, considering the shiny. He realised that a quick witted or even superfluous response would not ease the private's worries. "You'll improve. We always do with time."

"Realistically, how much time do we have?" Tunnel stressed, bearing his real concern. "I read the action reports from Ryloth. F-From the Garrison. Near one-hundred percent casualties of the entire unit."

"Oh," the pilot said in a small voice, wondering why in the galaxy were those kinds of things accessible to freshly trained rookies. He had been spending the past while now trying to repress memories from the incident, having lost nearly everyone he knew in one horrible incident. "That was bad, I'll admit. But it's not all like that." Jeez, what to tell him. War was war, with no guaranteed survival clause attached. You just dealt with it. Even Joystick knew, even though he'd only flown, like, twelve strike missions.

"I just... what if I drag the team down?"

"Listen, you can't spend all your time worrying about this. We still have some time between this supply mission and actual deployment. Besides, no one can be worse than Dusty."

"I HEARD THAT!" The voice of Dusty came over the intercom.

"Druk," Joystick cursed, leaning forward to flip off the mic. "I must've hit that by accident." They continued to sit in silence, watching the spectacle of hyperspace race by, casting various blue shades across their faces. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Tunnel glanced at the pilot curiously. "Sure?"

"What's this about your, quote-unquote, 'mom'?"

"What do you mean?"

"How did that come about, to what extent, and why Captain Krijger?"

Tunnel blinked, visually processing the questions and formulating a reply. "Uhm, well, you see... er..."

"If you don't want to say, you don't have to," Joystick amended quickly, not wanting the shiny to feel pressured.

"No... it's complicated. Even the rest of the squad doesn't know all of it... You won't judge?" Joystick shook his head, so Tunnel plowed on. "Mike, Evals, and I are what you call defective."

Joystick nodded slowly, looking him up and down while remembering the hunchbacked 'defect' clone named 99. There was hardly a resemblance. "You guys seem alright, though."

Tunnel sighed shamefully. "I've got a problem with my depth perception, and occasionally I have... brief bouts of actual tunnel vision where everything around goes black, which isn't good for a soldier. The Kaminoans speculate that there was a problem with the lights in my incubator or something like that."

"Oh," Joystick said in a small voice. "Mike and Evals?"

"I better not say," he quickly cut the pilot off, fidgeting his hands nervously on his lap. "Anyway, w-we weren't doing so good in basic, and the Kaminoans had come up with the decision to... 'recycle' us."

Joystick's blood ran cold at their creators' cruel solution for clones that didn't fit the Jango bill, involving carbon paste and being reused for future troopers unless there was, by some miracle, a task needing to be filled on Kamino (though you only need so many janitors). It wasn't something talked about much, and the Jedi weren't aware of it, but that dark threat always loomed in the back of every clone's mind.

"So... what happened?" The pilot asked, leaning forward, fully invested in his comrade's tale.

"Well, we were marched off towards the surgeries for termination, and on the way, we passed by Captain Krijger. She had just returned from that mission to Skellus... you remember hearing about it? Eighty-six dead, twenty others wounded. Well, she stopped us in the hall and asked the Kaminoans where we were going. They were all cryptic, but she figured it out, and... I can't quite remember, but things got tense, then we were suddenly being whisked away by her."

"Evals said you were trying to get into ARF training?"

"Yeah, he tells all the others that. It's more like she conscripted us to the course so that she could keep a close eye on us. She tried to help us overcome our difficulties."

"Interesting," Joystick muttered, rubbing his hand unconsciously across his helmet which sat on the dashboard. He was silent for one of the few times in his short life, pondering deeply on this new information (which was also a first). He was drawn from his thoughts as a light began flashing and a tone started to sound. The pilot pressed the intercom button, clearing his throat. "All hands, this is your pilot speaking. We will now be exiting hyperspace... now."

The streaks of hyperspace faded away outside of the window, instead being replaced by a panoramic view of space with the large round coloured sphere of a planet dominating the view. Clumped together were several large capital ships, exchanging heavy turbolaser fire, the small, sleek forms of fighters buzzing about like angry Zapper Hornets.

"What in the world...?" Tunnel muttered, leaning forward with wide eyes. "Is that-?"

"ALL HANDS, BATTLE STATIONS!" Joystick shouted into the comms as a pair of Separatist fighters wheeled on them. The pilot slammed the accelerator, dodging the enemy ships by a hair as the Storm Seeker zoomed forward.

"What the kriff did you do?!" Dusty screamed from the hallway, tumbling into the cockpit. His face was smeared with something white and creamy.

"We have-" Joystick's eyes narrowed, fixating on his copilot. "Where were you?"

Dusty averted his eyes. "Uh... I may have made a pit stop in the galley."

"Were those my pastries from Coruscant?!" Joystick accused, pointing a finger.

"Guys?" Tunnel gulped, watching the target tracker alert red blips in pursuit. "Don't we-?"

"You left the jar open!" Dusty defended himself, stumbling to Tunnel and stealing the seat away.

"Guys!" Tunnel tried again as red lasers streaked by to the left. Mate whooped in fright from his charging port.

"YOU ATE MY PASTRIES WITHOUT ASKING!"

"IT'S NOT LIKE YOU EVER SHARE WITH ME!"

"GUYS!" Tunnel shrieked in conjunction with the proximity alarm.

Joystick furiously jerked the controls of the frigate into a barrel roll, rotating sharply as the droid fighters whizzed by again. He pulled the trigger, blowing up one of the enemy fighters swiftly. "We're going in. Dusty, adjust the shields and tell those morons in the back to get their asses on the turrets. And don't you think I'll forget about this any time soon."

"Did Joystick start a space battle with gangsters again?" Shock wondered out loud as the ship rumbled. The ARC Trooper stumbled down the hall, gripping the occasional safety handles that were spaced out on the walls.

"Orders, Commander!" Chase shouted, standing straight before Raid despite the rollicking of the ship from laser impacts against the shields.

ARC Trooper Raid grit his teeth, looking over his hastily assembling troops in the hall. "I want Rocky, Evals, Hotshot, and Chuck on the laser turrets. Wedge, take the dorsal cannon. I want Shock, Awe, and Nerd in the engine room. Keep things under control." Raid slammed into the wall as the hull bucked. Down the hallway, Shuriken could be heard cursing colorfully as something went CRASH. "Chase, get the rest of your boys prepped in case we need to land. Troopers, move out!"

"Sir yes sir!" Came the collective acknowledgment as the clones began to split off into different directions, headed for their assigned tasks.

For Hotshot, that meant racing down the hall, half-dressed in his armour and slamming straight into a gunner's seat, powering up the console and display. Numbers, words, distances, and readings came to life along with a clear view of outer space. Hotshot could see the large, looming form of a Venator class star destroyer, trading fire relentlessly with two Separatist capital ships- Munificent class, he believed. A much smaller yet no less threatening destroyer loomed in view, maneuvering behind the Republic ship. Fighters zoomed this way and that at breakneck velocities, blasting each other into smithereens. It was then that Hotshot realised that they were approaching the firefight.

He held down the comm and spoke. "Hey, uh, I might not be an expert in all things pertaining to space warfare, but shouldn't we be headed away from the battle?"

"Not when this is where we're supposed to be," Joystick responded in a grouchy tone over the communications. "Now shoot something!"

"Geez," Hotshot mumbled, gripping the controls in front of him and turning them left. His screen image followed; so did the crosshair that occupied the centre of the monitor. Quickly, he adjusted his aim to encompass a Vulture droid within range. Squeezing the trigger, he watched with disappointment as he missed the streaking target. Following it, he fired again and again, finally knocking it out on his sixth try with a satisfying explosion, debris drifting away from its wreck. He set the comm to hold in activation as he gloated to the rest of the ship. "One already. Where you at, Wedge?"

"Four, why?" was the familiar smug reply, and Hotshot rolled his eyes. "Why weren't we alerted that our destination was an active combat zone?"

"I dunno," Commander Raid joined, sounding concerned. "We're establishing contact with our buddy, here."

Another clone spoke now, sounding an ugly combination of tired, stressed, and frightened. "This is the GAR Eventful Flight. We haven't been able to contact reinforcements for hours now. We're losing power and shields, and our boys on the ground are getting crushed."

"Captain, this is Commander Raid of the 303rd. We were sent for a routine supply run."

"Commander, our men on the surface have been all but overrun. Our hyperdrive is FUBAR and these Separatist bastards have me pinned. I suspect that they're employing a jammer on one of their ships, but I'm out of time. Return to allied lines and get word of our situation out."

Hotshot flinched as a Y-Wing bomber, engulfed in flames, spun out of control and crashed into the command tower of the Eventful Flight, a huge explosion resulting from its payload. Lights across the Venator flickered sporadically before extinguishing. Small explosions began to erupt across the hull. He swivelled his aim, picking off another enemy fighter.

"Eventful Flight, do you copy?" Raid asked the question rapidly. "Repeat, Eventful Flight, do you copy?"

"We might want to make our way outta here," Chuck warned as the pressure from the enemy began to increase. Hotshot began sweating as he frantically pulled the trigger, numerous targets streaking by.

Meanwhile in the cockpit...

"Not again, dammit," Joystick muttered numbly as the Venator began to fall apart violently. Most everyone present knew exactly what memory was triggering, one that still haunted them.

"Sirs?" Rocky asked hesitantly over the comms. Laser bolts streaked in every which direction, changing crafts to space junk in a matter of moments. The only thing happening inside the Storm Seeker was staring. Raid was silent. Joystick was silent. Dusty was silent. Tunnel was silent. Mate was silent.

There was a moment's delay, then Raid spoke, voice under control but with a hint of panic. "Contact the flight leader, stat!" He looked around, nobody yet shaken from their stupor. "Dusty!"

"R-Right." He smacked his forehead, mashing some buttons. "This is the Storm Seeker to Republic fighters. Squad leaders, respond."

"Joystick, get us on course for those Seppies. Tunnel, work with Mate and scan for interference. I need to know where that jammer is."

"Yessir," Tunnel stuttered, bustling over to chair beside a large screen.

"Raid, I've got them on air," Dusty called out, eyes sweaping across the dashboard barely faster than his hands.

"Commander," a voice addressed. "This is Flieger Four, acting leader of all remaining squads. It's getting hotter round here without our big guns."

"Flieger Four, I need you to form all wings around the Consular Charger and follow us in an attack run," Raid informed him.

"Ten-four, commander. We'll show you the meaning of flying."

"Oh, he's good," Joystick approved, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he swerved his ship past oncoming enemies. "Any luck, Tunnel?"

The tall clone shook his head, biting his lip. "... Nothing. Mate can't pick up any kind of output." The droid whooped in emphasis.

"Nerd," Raid spoke into the comms. "Would you happen to know anything about signal jammers?"

"Hmm... no signals?"

The ship's hull quaked with close detonations. "Nothing."

"Are they being redirected?"

Raid scrunched his brow. Sweat was trailing across his skin. They were running out of time before they'd be within firing range of the capital ships' flak cannons. "What do you mean?"

"Pirates like to employ a technique that. Instead of giving discernable resistance to your messages, they just use the same channel with a device that basically lies that it is the intended destination. Like that, there's no sign of being jammed and the pirates get an accurate picture of your location by following the signal. I read about it in this cool Galactic Ranger comic book. We can reverse that by sending a long-distance communication and tracing our own signal. Mate can do it from any terminal."

Raid blinked twice, unsure whether or not a comic book's logic would be any good. Lacking other viable options, he nodded to Mate. The astromech grumbled, accessing the port beside his charger again and turning it.

"We've got a confirmed signal!" Joystick announced with a mix of surprise and relief. "It's coming from that Recusant-class light destroyer."

"Thank the force that it's the smaller target!" Dusty laughed.

Raid leaned over the microphone. "Flieger Four, what's your status?"

"We're trailing you and ready to go wherever the hell needs killing, sir!"

Raid counted four ARC-170 starfighters and two Y-Wings. To his surprise, he saw that five LAAT gunships had evacuated from the doomed Venator in the back. "All wings, we need to destroy the bridge of that Recusant."

"Alright boys! Remember our motto: 'Quality killing like no one else!' Let's stick some lasers up their tin donks!" Many voices screamed their agreement in a bloodthirsty way.

Damn, they're determined, Raid thought. "Attack in a tight formation! Use all your firepower left!" He hoped that a bunch of laser and the rockets from the LAATs would be enough to punch through the shields of their target.

"Kriff yeah!" Joystick hollered, red lining the speed on the Consular. "I've been wanting to test the missiles. Let's blast them into the Stone Age!" Raid's own troopers shouted over the comms.

Rocky: "Cannons up!"

Evals: "Let's get it on!"

Awe: "Bring it, baby!"

Hotshot: "Imma do more damage than Wedge!"

Wedge: "There's no way, you big kriffing lurdo son of a-!"

Nerd: "Yep."

Raid leaned forward in anticipation as the enemy capital ships began to concentrate their fire on the oncoming rush of Republic craft as they realised a major strike was coming. Shots clustered thick as a cloud, hair-raisingly close to striking the Storm Seeker.

"Not complaining, but that's a lot of lasers," Hotshot said, the perspiration audible in his voice.

Raid held his breath as the destroyer loomed huge in their view, the bridge directly in front of them.

...

They neared so close that Raid could pick out individual droids at their stations, pointing up and gawking in their robotic way.

...

Raid braced himself.

...

KAROOM!

Raid was nearly blinded by the explosion as Joystick pulled up, almost skimming the edge of a conning tower as the amassed remnants of the Republic combat teams unloaded the last of their payloads directly into the monster's eye, which did more than blind it. Rather, it burst through, destroying the Recusant's bridge instantly.

Celebratory whoops and cries filled the air and the comms as the Republic ships raced on toward Trogan. Raid sighed, watching as pursuing Vulture droids faded back on the radar under the cover of the now wrecked destroyer. "All ships make for the surface. We need to support our men on the ground, and now we can call for backup."

"Right on, commander. The Republic is on Trogan to stay."