"We all knew that something was happening, we just couldn't fathom what, don't think even our flat-faced Kaminoan handlers or even our training instructors did either; it wasn't long after that Jedi had come to visit, the man who was our genetic template leaving us for the wider galaxy without so much as a word – I suppose his job was done after all – a feeling of agitation... of an oppressive but intangible sense of cogs turning over the galactic horizon...

It was barely a week before Geonosis that we began to be trained all that much harder by those we – at least some of us – had come to see as surrogate parents, completely unaware that soon we would be engaging the Separatist Army across a dust-filled hellscape, muzzle-to-muzzle, programmed robot against their organic opposite, a literal baptism by firepower.

How could we have known, how could any of us have known, that very soon the most mature of us would be taken from our barracks with barely a fraction of us returning to Kamino?"

- Anonymous Clone, 105th Journal

CT-6619, considered to be one of the more thoughtful (though still within parameters, of course) soldiers of 4/2nd Battalion – a mere designation without meaning, at least until they were called upon to fight in an official capacity – field stripped his Deece once more, taking apart and laying out each separate component with as much ease as one might consume protein rations in the mess hall; of course it had been implanted into all of them, just one of a hundred necessary skills to function as elite soldiers in the Grand Army of the Republic, the maintaining of ones weapon wrote in genetic code which could not be removed.

He had been at it for hours, yet he was paying as much concentration to act as a child might, his focus turned inwardly as it usually was and his mind working faster than his hands.

Ever since the departure of their progenitor he had been pondering on things he knew the Kaminoans would find unsightly, well aware of what happened to those clones found to be anything less than perfect and perfectly obedient, unable or unwilling to shake the thoughts and feelings that it was only a matter of time now until... until... well, he didn't know!

All he knew was that the long-necks were getting more worked up in their attitude, more strenuous in their perfection of the next batch of clones, the cadre of Mandalorians and others becoming more savage in their methods and the little trips to the Citadel Challenge course more regular – slowly he reached up and traced one of the many scars he had received recently, a grim expression on his face.

Instructor Jendri had imbued he and his brothers with the customs and culture of his people, in a genetic sense of his people though he was a clone, but even the father-like giant had been more unforgiving and brutal over the last couple of months. Six-six-one-nine didn't blame him however, believing that he had most likely been instructed to by those above him in the hierarchy, the training they received from their alor nothing in the way of 'soft' at the best of times, although usually accompanied by some form of moral or psychical lesson to go along with it.

Speaking of which...

The other members of Rawl Squad would in all likelihood already be at training room 7-2-12 by now, six-six-one-nine having just snapped out of his reverie to realise where he had to be, scooping up his yellow-visored practise helmet and returning his blaster rifle to the barracks armoury.

Time for training... again.

Such is the life of a clone.

Harkin Jendri was on edge, to say the least. The last few days had seen more genuine excitement Kamino in the space of a few hours than the last five years. Not since those Kyr’tsad savages had been caught trying to establish a Battle Circle among the clones. The Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi, discovering the facility, the firefight on the landing pad, and now Jango was gone, Boba too. No explanation.

That had only been the beginning. Now the Kaminoans were having the armor prepped, ships fueled, and all equipment combat ready. That could only mean one thing to the Mandalorian instructor; It was finally time for the army to make the first strike against the Separatists. His boys would seeing real battle at long last. He was proud, of course; They’d been trained to be the finest infantrymen the galaxy had ever seen. Warriors that any Mandalore would have been proud to call his own. That Jaster would have gladly called his sons. With that pride came dread too. Real combat was a different beast to any training program they could dream up. No matter how many times they pitted the clones against the surplus battle droids they’d been supplied with, no matter how many times he and the rest of the Cuy’val Dar guided them in the ways of the warrior, the second that they hit the battlefield, all of that training would be put to the ultimate stress test. Even his kind weren’t invincible.

Harkin shook his head, looking back up at the squad training course. Rawl squadron were his boys. His vode, more Mandalorian than any of the cowards hiding under the skirt of Duchess Kryze, and certainly more than any of the honorless savages that had taken all he’d grown up with from him. Rawl Squad was the best in the battalion. They were Khi’mandoade indeed.

“Alright, we’re running through basic drills today! We got plenty of B1s lined up for you, even some of those new B2s! I want to see top scores today! Skirata says that his ARCs put the standard models to shame. I want him to eat those words!” He barked out, grinning as he held up the pocket chrono that served as the only reminder of his biological father. “To the starting line! Double-time!”

Another day in the Grand Army of the Republic.

The clones’ lives up to this point were very routine: wake up, eat, learn, train, eat again, sleep. Rinse and repeat. Add in anything at all to this formula and it wouldn’t be difficult to notice that something was happening. An overwhelming sense of urgency and hussle had barged into many facets of clones’ daily routine all while paired with near- harshness from both their creators and instructors. While they surely weren’t coddled before, this shift was definitely noticeable to any clone with a pair of functioning eyes.

Whatever it was they were preparing for, CT- 7642 did all he could to stay positive. He had faith in their creators, the Kaminoans, and in their true purpose: unwavering loyalty to the Grand Republic.

It would be another day of training per usual. Like the last and the one before that, a sense of both pressure and extremity accompanied this session. CT- 7642 couldn’t help but enjoy these moments. There were fewer things more impressive than a squadron of highly-trained combatants working alongside each other in unison to complete their goal.

CT- 7642 stood beside the rest of his fellow squad members present in the training room, donning the classic clone cadet training equipment: padded plates with a helmet that had a yellow, transparent visor. His posture was as good as it could be with a plethora of cumbersome parts belonging to an EWHB- 12 heavy repeating blaster training variant strapped to his back. His chin pointed forward while his eyes focused remained glued on the Mandalorian who’d been their mentor and instructor to this point. Most importantly, his ears were attentive, ready to soak up anything of importance from their Mandalorian trainer. CT- 7642 made it a point to listen to Harkins’ words very carefully as that experience and wisdom he carried and brought to each training session was invaluable. He only hoped his brothers did the same.

“Just like last time, ner vod. Let’s get this gun up and ready quick!” CT- 7642 remarked as he patted CT- 7331 on the shoulder before breaking into a jog to hussle towards the starting line.

As always, the heavy-gun toting clone was more than eager to showcase his skills. Chemistry may very well be the most important quality of any squadron, and for CT- 7642 it was especially important that he established some with fellow squadmade CT- 7331 who was also on heavy gun duty. Building a rapport and establishing a consistent rhythm, so that Rawl Squad could depend on the two of them to have that gun up faster than a rancor eats its meal when it actually counted was the goal, naturally.

Up, one.

Up, two.

The metal on the edge of the rack groaned with contempt for its abuser. CT-7627 railed pull-up after pull-up before lights out formally ended. Grunts from the Trooper and the protests of his glorified pod they knew as 'racks' echoed down the platoon bay, as thoughts raced through his mind.

Command had upped the ante. They were being put to the flame more and more often in the past few weeks. Those 'Jedi' paid their visits more frequently, solemn robed figures which flanked the officers during formation. If things were popping off, they were going off now. It wasn't his business, though. Even if it was, they received the best training a soldier could get. They were more than ready after almost ten years of stagnation.

BEEP - BEEP - BEEP

Up, forty-five.

Reveille. Like clockwork some forty other racks popped open with a collective whirr. The lights in the platoon bay flickered and brightened to illuminate the blindingly white surfaces of their home of the past ten years.

---

Formation went as mind-numbingly boring as ever. The inspections and their constant nitpicks may have bothered some, but to 7627 and the other Troopers of the 105th, it was a fact of life. It was all but pure bliss when released to the training bays, even with all else said. Though basic drills put nothing near a smile on 7627's face. Yet, disagreeable as it was, there was nothing but silent reverence as Instructor Harkin walked the deck before them.

"Aye, sir." Were the first and last words out of his mouth before he took his place at the starting line. His DC was rendered hot with a swift motion, the feed of a charge pack into the weapon and the flick of a fire selector. His launcher too came unslung, albeit briefly as a dummy missile was fed in, the weapon returning to its rightful place.

"Same as always, guys. Just make sure to stay clear of my backblast." He cracked a light confrontational smirk as he looked down the line at his comrades. 7627 was as cocky and aggressive as ever.

8246 sat cross legged in his pod, the dim illumination strips of its enviro-lighting drowned out by the glow of the datapad in his hands. It was loaded with nothing more than the military education complex's standard learning modules, yet he had taken it with him to lights-out all the same. He had always enjoyed learning about other species, both to learn how to treat their wounds and to see how their customs differed from the Resol'nare he and his brothers had been carefully raised on by Instructor Harkin. If anything, the recent unusual activity around the 'plex only made him tear into the information he could find with more determination. He might have to put his skills to the test sooner than anyone in the squad thought. Even more than those tense moments where he found himself working in perfect sync with his squadmates in drills, 8246 loved the feeling of being relied on for what he did best. He was the last line of defense when it came to looking after his brothers.

The steady beeping of the alarms brought him back to the now, and his pod began to open with the slow hiss of hydraulics. Right. Time for drills.



8246 stood at attention with his brothers in front of the instructor. Preps for training amounted to the same mindless blur that it always was, but he was nothing if not comfortable with routine. Harkin seemed to expect something a little more out of them today, though. Probably wanting to show them off to the other drill sarges before... whatever it was, happened. Things had been slowly getting more urgent over the past few weeks. He moved in unison with his brothers up to the starting line, a tiny ghost of a smile blooming on his face as 7627 started his usual antics.

"Just try not to get tagged while you're showing that launcher off to us and everybody else in the Galaxy, Tooseven." He said, loading up his own Deece and trying to ready himself for anything.

Harkin couldn’t help but grin as he watched his boys setting work, readying equipment and engaging at banter like any good warrior. His fellow Mandalorians among the sergeants tended to dismiss the standard clones, seeing them as closer to the organic droids the Kaminoans preferred in their work. To their way of thinking, only the ARCs and commandos were real people. Harkin had seen all the evidence to the contrary. He was going to enjoy collecting his winning purse.

Rawl was officially a standard infantry squad, but they’d kitted themselves out like a heavy support unit. Harkin had approved of their thinking immediately. The E-WHB had raised some eyebrows among the other sergeants, but they couldn’t argue with the results. The Corellians had just laughed and drank to Rawl all night. Harkin was really staring to like the Corellians.

“Alright, people, you all know the Citadel. I want that tower taken in under four minutes!” He paused a moment then, as if he were just remembering something. “Oh, that reminds me. Seems that 99 was back-logged on data work last night. Didn’t have time to charge those power packs of yours to full. Figure you got maybe half charge. Better make those shots count!”

@The Whacko@CaptainBritton@Deadnaut@f0un@Ibzan@Bastian

CT-6619 managed to arrive after what may have been a rather integral part of knowledge, quickly knocking off a salute to the Mandalorian instructor and slipping his training helmet over his head, making a quick mental acknowledgement of those assembled - noting with an internal sigh that CT- 1184, the loudest of their team, was absent - before taking his place on the line along with Troopers 8246, 7627, 7331 and 7642.

"Apologies for the lateness brothers," he said through gritted teeth, a small grunt emerging from behind his teeth as he released his DC-15A was only at half charge, "and sorry Instructor Harkin, I was attending to important matters in the barracks, sir."

Attention... attention... training simulation to begin...

Five...

Four...

Three...

Two...

A klaxon blared and the room immediatly shifted into what some might see as a smaller version of the primary Citadel course, walls emerging from the ground at several points, a higher platform rising to overlook the course at the farthest end of the room, and the clanking sound of a dozen or so B1-droids powering up being all too familiar to the Cadets.

"We need to get that gun set up," half-yelled 6619 as he advanced to the nearest shoulder-height wall at a crouch, pointing to a patch of higher elvation off to the right side of the course, "if Bruiser were here we could send him in as bait."

Droids were moving through the course now, some more visible than others, painted white with targets marking them in stark red, coming on like the programmed mechanoids they were and always seeking their more organic enemies.

"Thoughts, comrades?"

For having lived such a short life, there were still plenty of things that CT-7331 knew: He knew how much det-charge was needed to blow a hole through a standard airlock. He knew just how far he could overcharge an energy cell before it stopped being effective. He knew that he could always depend on his fellow clones -- his brothers -- to cover his back in combat. Most importantly, he knew for certain who created him and what his purpose in life was: To live, and die if need be, in service of the Galactic Republic; which was more than could be said for trillions of other beings in the galaxy.

Despite all this however, there was still one thing that he did not know, and that was the answer to whether or not his creators had truly allowed him to continue on existing, or if they were still considering to "recondition" him with every passing day.

Indeed, his Instructor’s efforts had stopped the Kaminoans from terminating him once before and the designation of Requiring Intensive Supervision became the very proof of that, but it did not in any way guarantee his continued survival -- he knew it only meant that they would always keep a close eye on him. One mistake, one misstep was all they needed to justify his termination and examination, the better to avoid similar mistakes in future batches.

So it was that when training turned up in intensity and volume over the past several days that 7331 began to fear for his life more than usual. He always found comfort in routine and to see a sudden change in it made him uneasy. While 7331 had vastly improved himself since last the Kaminoans had confronted Instructor Harkin about him, he was still far from being the ideal trooper in his own eyes. To break from routine was to potentially expose his perceived shortcomings, something he definitely did not want to happen.

The all-too-familiar voice of 7642 would shake 7331 from his musings, and he quickly collected himself and took note of his surroundings from behind the orange-tinted visor of his training helmet. The EWHB-12’s generator was heavy in his hands and he looked around to make sure all his brothers were there with him. Taking deep breaths and hyping himself up, he failed to realize Bruiser wasn’t there alongside the others.

“Yeah.” 7331 finally uttered meekly in response to 7642’s remark after a period of silence, clearing his throat and returning the pat on his shoulder with a rather unenthusiastic nod. “Let’s make sure not to disappoint ori’vod.”

With both hands holding onto the generator while the tripod remained securely slung over his back, 7331 followed the rest of his squad’s lead and prepared himself by the starting line. Once again, he regulated his breathing and closed his eyes, waiting for the signal to begin.

Citadel Course. Training. Easy does it now. You can do this, 7331.

The blare of the horn marked the start of the training and immediately 7331’s eyes opened to scan the shifting course in front of him. Like 6619, he noted the elevated position and knew that that was where the turret needed to be.

"On it," was all 7331 managed to speak out in reply to 6619's question and without wasting a single second, he bolted straight towards the position his brother had pointed out, struggling ever so slightly with the heavy generator in his hands and hoping to make it there before the droids began putting bolts downrange.

He didn’t spare a moment to look back behind or around him, counting on 7642 to mirror his movements as he usually did. The faster he and 7642 got the turret up, the faster they could support the others.

The klaxon rattled in his helmet, leaving a hollow whine in its retreat. He drew in a deep breath, bolting as the first one off the starting plate. He was aggressive in his advance, thrusting a shoulder into the first block of cover abruptly, shouldering up his DC-15A. Bringing the sight to his visor, he put out burst after burst of fire, before retreating back into cover, bursts of red answering his assault.

"You wanted bait, you got it!" He shouted over the squad net, making a cheeky hand signal towards the heavy gun team.

He shrunk back into cover as he drew a metric ton of fire, letting his DC fall to hang by its sling, fiddling with the sling of his shoulder launcher.

"Come on, guys! Tempo, tempo, tempo!"

They’d started just like clockwork. Good. He’d trained them well on this course and all the others. He was particularly proud of how quickly they’d set up the EWHEB. Of course, in battle things were never fair. One had to throw everything they had into the field to attain victory. Or, as his father had said...

“If you ain’t cheating, you ain’t trying hard enough.” He smiled and reached for the small array of console controls. It was time to give them a real test. He pressed one button at the far side, activating the B1 in the tower. It started to set up its own heavy repeating blaster, almost faster than the clones had, with its mechanical strength and coordination. Another button on then left opened up a pair of panels in the wall, and, lumbering out with stomping metal feet, came the hulking forms of a pair of B2 Super Battle Droids. They made not a sound as they extended their arms, the repeating blasters fixed into their wrists screaming to life.

The blasterfire whizzing over 8246's head suddenly started to sound just a bit louder. He risked a quick peak, noting a tannish blur in the tower and the lumbering forms of what could only be two super battle droids making their way down the middle before he ducked back behind the artifical cover. If those clankers kept up that advance, this whole run would be sunk before it could get started. The medic let slip a tiny, colorful bit of Mando'a as he stayed hunkered down, turning his Deece over and over in his hands. Just like Harkin to throw a few surprises into the mix. 8246 admired the idea to keep their power packs at half charge; it would keep everyone smart about how and where to fire a shot. Not sure how well it'd translate over to real combat - he couldn't see himself ever forgetting to bring charged packs to the field. That doesn't exactly matter now, though.

Focus, focus. 8246 took another quick scan of the room, this time with his attention trained on his brothers. 7642 and 7331 were getting the gun up in what must have been some kind of record time, but the fire coming from the tower was doing quite a bit to hamper that accomplishment. 7627 was drawing fire farther up the center. Without hesitating, 8246 swung his carbine up and squeezed of a burst of shots towards the tower, trying to give the guys on the turret an opening.

"Look alive, ner vod!" He called up to 7642, jerking his helmeted head towards the Supers downrange.

“Be sure to keep up!” 7642 remarked to 7331 as he began to lug his way over to the elevated platform. With each and every step, he’d feel the weight of the bulky gun pieces on his back weigh him down. He hoped he’d eventually get used to the feeling, but he was starting to get the feeling that this was just going to be reality for the rest of his existence.

Halfway towards their desired position, a symphony of blaster bolts erupted from the opposite side of the training course. 7642 did his best to dodge and weave as bolts paraded all around him and miraculously failed to land. Occasionally, he’d turn around to make sure his partner was still running alongside him.

“Keep us covered!” 7642 barked to his comrades, hoping his plea wasn’t drowned out by the blasterfire. Luckily, he had reached his destination.

The clone scurried onto the higher ground with an added effort to keep his head as low as possible in hopes of avoiding any incoming fire. He’d quickly work to loosen the straps that kept his gun fastened to his back, causing the various parts to roll off his back with a thump. This was something CT- 7642 had done a plethora of times up to this point thanks to relentless drilling. In the midst of a panic such as this, it was even more so important that he assembled the gun quickly. The clone placed the bulk of the turret in front of him before reaching for the barrel of the gun. He’d begin to fasten the barrel, his hands twisting the part tightly to ensure it was secure.

“Computer… computer,” CT- 7642 grunted before his hands clasped around the heavy gun’s fire control computer which was laying by his side. He’d forcefully press the device into the base of the gun, sighing in relief after hearing a satisfying click.

A few whirs and beeps later, the computer module flashed on to reveal a dimly-lit screen. “Got it!” 7642 declared with glee in his voice as there was little else to do other than heave the gun up onto the tripod. He only hoped his partner was able to do his part.