My reasons to live. There are three of them: R-H11 C-8H, R-25G C-J2, and R-6Y. We do not die so easily like most of the other B1s. We keep each other alive, most times unknowingly. The organics say it is a miracle that we are still alive. Our survival was part of the reason we were studied. The other B1s do not know of our survival but I think they sense it. They crowd around us as if our luck is some sort of infectious disease that can save them all. But it is not. It is only luck and skill. That is all.
The Battle on Geonosis is hazy to me. We were among the evacuation party on one of the Luckrehulk-class core ships. We fought off a wave of clones and made it on-board. Immediately afterwards, we were put to organize the supplies.
This was our first downtime together. They were quiet at first, only responding to orders and asking simple questions. And I was like that too. We were fresh and new to the galaxy. I understood the basics like everyone else. We had orders to complete. We were given small bits of freedom in our programming, only enough to retreat if we thought we had no chance at survival or to shoot before orders were given. I was apathetic to everything and everyone.
I can't remember much about the days after Geonosis. Only the twinkling stars and the gray durasteel walls of the ships where we temporarily served as part of the logistics team.
It is strange. I was alive during those times but I don't remember much. I know I did not die, my memory from before would have been wiped and I have not died since then. I compressed those files but I do not know why. They must've been unimportant.
It did not take long for us to be put back on the ground. We marched up hills, through marshes, past cities, into cities, defended facilities, stumbled through sand, climbed up rocks, and in all, we survived.
In most operations we stay clear of the center of our major formations. That's where the most casualties occur, at least most of the time. We're combined with the rest of our battalion to march as one against the clones. There are always plenty of other B1s in front of us to keep us safe but we aren't all the way at the rear either. The artillery would land there and throw tan bodies into the sky.
Once, the torso of another unit smacked against the back of my head. It felt as if a B2 had slapped me, but the pain was much more tolerable. C-8H caught me mid-fall and heaved me up to my feet, asking, "are you alright sir?"
And I said, "Affirmative, let's not fall behind."
I was the first to ask them if they were alright and ensure they were undamaged when they fell or were hit. He learned to do the same from me.
There were times when our formation broke. Our orders would shift, or become overridden so that we could shift into our squadrons to stay alive and keep fighting.
There was one mission where the formation split between two sides of a valley. That hadn't been a good idea. By the end, only the four of us and a platoon on the other side were left. The clones led a frontal assault straight through our unit and ran some of us over with their tanks. Once orders were overridden, I took my squad deeper into the forest so that we could attack from within small pockets in a short cliff to the east where their tanks could not reach us.
The Confederate officers are always surprised to see us. Sometimes they don't bother to send a transport down. They order us to march back to the nearest base instead, and I gladly do so knowing those minutes spent marching might've been spent taking part in another assault. I understand that they're necessary for the war effort, but I want to stay alive for my team. The organics must understand, being so fragile and all.
I compressed unneeded memory files after that particular incident.
The next clear memory came on the day of our transfer to a Confederate base in the Outer Rim, far off and away from the front-lines. I did not question much then. I followed orders and that was it. But that would change soon enough.
This planet was full of foggy bogs and dense forests with all sorts of shrieks and yelps coming from within them. I made sure not to get too close to the electrified fence that formed the perimeter of our base.
The base itself was a simple refueling station housing a refinery on one end and a raised hangar-area on the other.
Our job was to guard the area and ensure the station was fully functioning at all times. There were no clones, no Jedi, no Republic.
These are fond memories.
C-8H is the first to gain an advanced awareness. The experience comes and goes as it does with most droids and I assume organics as well. But it is special to me. I mark it as the first day they truly appeared in my life.
We were on the upper platforms of the refinery, looking over gauges and bright blue screens. I saw him approaching me from the steps leading to the top of the refinery when suddenly he froze in place.
He has one leg up to take the next step but he never does.
I turn to him, confused. I thought that perhaps a bit of water had entered his internals but he proved me wrong a moment later.
His foot stomps down and clangs against the metal grating beneath us and his head twitches suddenly to mine. A burst of radio signals hits my antenna and we share a look.
"C-8H, what is the issue?" I ask.
He stares back without an answer.
His vocalizer breaks the silence just as I am about to march to his side, "I am fine, sir…" he says running a hand over the top of his head, "I just…"
In my ignorance, I believe something is wrong, "Come with me," I say, "I believe you are malfunctioning."
"No, no sir," He stands at attention with his blaster pressed tight against midsection, "I was only going to say, I can think clearly," his fingers twitch against the stock of his blaster, "I feel amazing sir. I think it's something with the atmosphere of this planet."
A wisp of fog blows past our faces and in that moment I make the connections in my head. He is conscious. And only then do I understand that the fog in my mind present after Geonosis meant I was not yet fully conscious during that epoch of my life either. There was only raw data. No emotions, no connections, only objectives and the need to follow orders.
"That is good, C-8H. You are becoming a better droid, like me," I say to him.
"Like you? Do you think I could become a squad commander like you?" He says.
He has never asked questions like this before. None of them have. Only I have and only in my head.
"The only barrier to entry for a squad commander is the Confederacy's orders. I believe you would do fine."
"Really?" He says, stepping closer to me.
"Yes, now get back to work."
"Yes sir," he says with a nod.
I have trouble focusing for the rest of that day, even into the night until the next guard rotation takes our place.
Inside our small barracks, a little shack crammed with charging pods in two squashed rows stacked atop each other, I give my first non-compliant order.
"You may charge without powering down," I say to them. There are no officers around to object to my order. All of them wire up to the ports and sit down on the mud-stained ferrocrete flooring. I keep watch at the foot of the shack, occasionally peeking out to watch for other droids. There are few organics around. Most of them are in the air-conditioned rooms of the hangar-area.
C-8H can't sit still. He is constantly clanging his toes together and making a ruckus in doing so.
"Stop that," R-6Y finally says after a minute of his constant noises.
"I apologize. I don't know why but I just want to move," C-8H replies.
"You are allowed to move freely around, you do not need to sit," I say.
"But there is nowhere to move in here."
I look out from the shack.
Another field of mist is just about to pass through the base. It is crawling to us but it is dense, almost viscous.
"You may move outside," I step to the side.
C-8H jumps up to his feet and begins to ramble. He disappears into the fog but his cable trails his path. I give up keeping lookout and press my back against the cool exterior of the shack behind me.
The others don't say anything for a long time.
C-J2 is the next to crack.
It is subtle but I notice the signs.
His body locks up suddenly and a few seconds later he drops his head to one hand.
"Is something wrong?" I ask him.
He stares at me, "No…" he brings a hand up to his face and flexes a fist, "Nothing is wrong. I just feel great."
"That is good. Your combat efficiency rating might just go up."
"I think it will sir," He says, sitting up straighter.
I hear the thrum of a star ship engine traveling towards our position.
"C-8H, get back inside," I say over our link.
His cable stops wriggling around and a moment later he appears from the fog. A film of water covers his entire body. Droplets run down from his chest to the floor.
R-6Y is the last to come to life, "this air does feel good against my chassis," he says from the very back of the shack.
"If only all planets were like this one," I say, "we would have won the war by now."
"When do you think it will end?" C-8H asks as he slides back down. He swipes lines of water from his arms and chest.
"Only the commanders know," I respond.
"What do you think we will do once it's over?" C-J2 asks.
"I believe we will perform tasks like this one. Simple maintenance," I say.
I wouldn't—no, couldn't give the same answer knowing what I know now.
"When this is over, I will ask our superiors for missions on these types of planets, away from the front-lines. It is less taxing to be here," C-J2 says.
I hear the rhythmic steps of steel boots against metal grating echo through the open air of the base.
"Get inside your pods, they will reprimand us for being out here," I say, jumping to my feet.
And just like that, the peace is over.
It's always like this. Brief exchanges, desperately trying to gather information from one another in an attempt to form a clear understanding of what's happening to us and the war as it progresses.
Then the battles begin again. They are short skirmishes, flashes of white armor and blue blaster fire. I'm sure if I line up all of those memories in a row, the colors of each planet would form a rainbow.
From there onward, I recall only brief conversations between each other here and there. Sometimes even in the heat of battle.
C-8H clutches my hand and pulls me back to my feet after I take a fall from a bolt to the chest.
"You are fine sir. Please get up, we are in need of your leadership," he says.
"I am undamaged," I say, moving past the pain of the shot, "let's keep moving."
In an air base on a dull planet where everything looks like the boring gray hull of a ship, I am forced apart from them and pinned down against the back end of a hangar and a downed droid tri-fighter. I believe I am about to be blown to pieces when R-6Y barges in with a heavy blaster steadied against his hips. The clones are mowed down; he reluctantly throws the heavy blaster away after it takes a hit to the barrel. He turns to me and says, "I didn't think I would have to save you."
I thank him and say nothing more other than an order to regroup. The first inklings of fear passed through me on that day. Or at least I believe it was fear. These words aren't completely accurate to the feeling.
A line of clones once manifested from a wall of fog while fighting on a planet of boiling lakes with mountains of chalky rocks towering overhead. C-J2 pushes me onto the floor just as they begin to shoot and when I look up they are all dead.
"You are lucky sir," he says, pulling me to my feet.
"I am lucky to have squad-mates like yourself," I say.
Those are the first days of our time together…
Good memories. Ones of success and victory and the fall of the enemy.
Good times.
A/N: I've rewritten this story five times now. The first three were only a few chapters long thankfully but this last one I rewrote the entire midsection of the story. I don't know why this gave me so much trouble, but it did. I'm still not satisfied with it but this is the best I can do for now. I also rewrote the first chapter so if you first read this story back when it came out, you should reread the 1st chapter. I'm improving as a writer, little by little. I think. I try my best to correct grammar and spelling mistakes but there's always a few that slip through so sorry about that in advance.