— Atom —
War. There would be war, now. Only war.
Dooku had played his hand. The Republic had responded in kind; they'd preempted his reveal, even. A Republic Judicial Fleet was pounding on the door of the Raxus System. To get here, they must've set out before the official announcement began. Just after Obi-Wan's emergency report, most likely. Thus, a day of celebration had been turned into the first battle of a galaxy-spanning war.
Real action hadn't kicked off just yet, but the 'pacifying' fleet was coming in hot. A dozen wedge-shaped Acclamator-class Assault Ships and their escorts were shown on screens across the ring. Dooku wasn't hiding their approach, sharing readouts and images straight from Raxus Orbital's sensor systems, so his people were informed. He stood defiant beside the images on the screens and didn't cut the feed even when the fleet contacted him.
"Count Dooku of Serenno," A young and dignified Republic admiral appeared opposite Dooku on the screens, the view of the approaching fleet between them. "I am Admiral Wullf Yularen. By the authority of the Senate, you are ordered to cease and desist in your sedition and secession. This 'new state' you've declared is considered both unlawful and unrecognized. There is no 'UCIS'. Only the Republic."
That last statement alone, I knew, would set the whole celebrating ring up in arms. Not even a day of independence, and their hopes and dreams were already set to be crushed by the oppressive arms of the Core. Based on what we'd seen here today, the Raxus System and newly declared UCIS wouldn't take that attempt lying down. In the Force, I felt the mood of the ring roar in defiance.
Yularen, unable to sense the mood arrayed against him, continued, "You and the systems leaders you've gathered behind you will surrender and be brought before the Senate for just and fair trials. Come peacefully. There is still time to see reason. This doesn't have to end in bloodshed."
Dooku was unmoved, "And if I — if we, for I speak for more than myself now — refuse?"
Surprisingly, the Republic admiral was similarly unflinching, "Then, I am lawfully empowered to take you and your coconspirators by force. I am one of the first commissioned officers to be sworn into the newly reconstituted military of the Republic, under the now-passed Military Creation Act, and I have my orders."
"Do your duty to distant masters, then, soldier," Dooku sneered. "I shall do mine to the state, the people, I now lead. We will suffer the Core and their overreaches no longer. Deny us while you can, while you dare. The UCIS stands sovereign, independent, and willing to defend itself from foreign meddling. I would fight you all alone, if I had to… But I think you'll soon discover that I am anything but alone right now…"
Negotiations fell apart, just like that. There really was nothing more to say. The Republic was dead set on maintaining its will and order over the seceding systems by military force if necessary. Dooku and his UCIS were dead set on their independence, willing to defend it just the same.
They'd be duking it out from here; there was no other possible outcome. In the Force, the mood of the ring reflected that reality. All around me, I felt their willingness to fight for what they believed in, what they'd just grasped. More distantly, I felt the Republic's mood in the Force, too. Their leaders — both Jedi and Republic officers — were resigned and regretful, yet still intent on carrying out their orders. The ones beneath them, though…
'The Clones,' Vague memories from another life told me. While they'd been steadily fading in the face of the life I now lived and all the changes I'd made, some things couldn't fade. 'The titular Clones of the Clone Wars. Hell of a reveal.'
They weren't of one mind, despite their cloned nature. But it was a near thing. I could sense that they were brothers, one and all. Even distantly in the Force, they carried themselves with professional determination, the will of soldiers.
They were untested and unblooded for now. But that inexperience in life didn't diminish their fighting spirit; Mando influences were set bone deep in their beings. They were born from a warrior's template and raised as soldiers to a Republic they'd never truly known. They would fight; they would die; they would serve.
How many Clones would die here today? How many would die in the coming days and beyond? I didn't know; couldn't say. In a way, they were cousins to me — cousins in the way we'd come into this galaxy — just as the UCIS droids were cousins to my daughter. But that didn't mean I could sit pretty and play nice with them. More than distant cousins of nature, these were soldiers now. And I was a third party caught in the middle of their first battle.
Me and mine were Gonks, not Republic, not UCIS. To survive the chaos of the day, I'd bet good money that we'd have to flatline Clones and droids alike. I doubted that Dooku would sic his forces on us, but the fog of war wasn't a kind thing. And with the chaos that these Clones would be walking into, it'd almost certainly be 'shoot first; ask questions never'.
They'd be fighting their way through a whole orbital ring, a home they were invading. The natives wouldn't take that easily, and the Clones would find resistance at every turn. To the Clones, other than the Jedi with us, my crew would be almost impossible to tell apart from the rest of their enemies.
So I'd bet that we would get in on the action, even as a third party caught up in the middle. The Republic had its new Clones and what felt like Jedi leading them. The UCIS had its forces of battle droids, along with any Ringer willing to fight. Some kind of IFF system would've been real nice right about now, though I guess I didn't even know where us Gonks would fall on that scale…
"We about to get shot in the back by your side of things?" I asked Asajj with a grunt.
She was still with us, with the sitch developing so quickly. Her expression was one of visceral excitement and bloodlust as she stared up at her Master declaring war on the screens. When I asked, she turned that expression on me for just a moment, purring…
"Want to find out~?"
"Not particularly," I deadpanned. "That's why I asked."
Asajj shook her head, seemingly remembering our strange friendship through her anticipatory bloodlust, "Right. Sorry. It's just thrilling to see things come this far, finally… Master and I certainly won't order your death, Atom. Master even extended that to the Jedi with you before… all of this happened, so I suppose that stands as well."
"Yet fog of war's a bitch," I said. "No telling what'll happen once the violence kicks off."
Asajj shrugged, "It's not like you're in uniform or anything."
"A lightsaber is the uniform of a Jedi. Ya know, a significant faction on the other side from you?" I reminded. "And I've got five of 'em in my crew, rescuing a sixth. What's to say the damage won't turn on us in the chaos?"
"Drop 'em off with the invading Republic forces, then?" Asajj callously suggested.
"They signed up with me for this gig. They're crew," I shot back firmly. "To Hell with their preexisting allegiances; I'll bring everyone on my crew back home in one piece."
My words rang as a promise in the Force, set against the rising chaos around us. Our immediate surroundings would be falling into overwhelming, barely discriminate violence within the hour. But I had my crew's backs, all of 'em, and I'd be looking out for them, making sure everyone made it through the first battle of a war.
My Gonks nodded as if I'd just said the obvious. Aayla, Quinlan, and Fay nodded as well, familiar with me and likely expecting nothing less. Padme seemed a bit more conflicted, torn between her allegiance to the Republic and touched by the loyalty I was stating as fact.
Ani, meanwhile, seemed to be brought up short for a moment, "Damn… That's, uh… I mean, thanks, but… You know you don't have to, right? We'll probably be fine if we just link up with the Republic when they come."
I shot her down, "As long as this gig runs, you're Gonks."
"And if you run to join up with the enemy," Asajj added with a grin. "Our arrangement may just be rendered null and void. I wouldn't want to do something… inadvisable, Grand-Step-Niece~…"
Ani tensed at the reminder that, for all our good relations and friendly talking for the moment, Asajj was her enemy now, "… Right. Inadvisable. And I still don't have Master standing beside me… This seems like a decision for him to make."
Wisely, she passed the decision-making torch to her still-absent Master. I snorted; Obi-Wan would 'thank' her for that. Freshly rescued, likely not even aware that a whole army of the Republic had come for him as well, and he'd have to decide the right course of action for himself, his Padawan, and Padme with so little information to his name.
"Sounds like we've gotta secure the package before anything else can be improvised, then," V said, smirking slightly. "You're stuck with us at least that long, Skywalker."
"I could certainly ask for a worse crew to be stuck with in a warzone," Ani grinned and joked right back.
"Walk and talk," I ordered. "Asajj, you still owe us a Jedi Knight, and I wanna complete the gig before anything else interrupts us."
"I suppose I do," Asajj made a show of dramatically sighing, shifting to a vicious grin at the end. "Such a shame. He made for decent company and entertainment. I'll just have to entertain myself… in other ways now~…"
"Can't ever go wrong with violence!" Becca chimed in with her suggestion.
The bloody joy — a quintessentially Becca sort of happy-go-lucky killing intent — in her voice made Asajj glance at her, "… You would make a terrifying Sith."
"No Forcey-Magicky stuff here, choom! But I'm always open to gigs and violence~!" Becca grinned.
"You can hire her for a gig if the Gonks ever get enough free time for a vacay," I deadpanned. "She's better off on a side-gig than being given a week off so she can get into 'Becca-trouble'."
"Translation: Death, destruction, and damage all around," Nova matched my deadpan, her voice broadcast out loud from the comm piece in my ear.
"… With everything that's coming, I might just take you up on that. Mercs that can keep up with a Sith are worth their weight in platinum," Asajj admitted.
Our group began to move away from the aftermath of the terror attacks at the base of Central Spire. Fay had done what she could to heal the wounded and lay the dead to rest. Ring personnel were already on the scene; the Ringers were moving with battle so close at hand. They saw to the aftermath here and prepared for even more aftermath to come.
The whole Ring was moving. I couldn't miss the sense of hustle in the Force. Ringers were standing up, ready to fight for their home. Those willing and able to fight were armed; defenses across the ring were prepared. The battle droids of the UCIS were being deployed, too. We passed a platoon of them marching to war on our way up Central Spire.
They were of the 'B1' variety, yet… different from others I'd seen. I only noticed the difference due to my connection with Nova. She curiously and sneakily felt them out in the Net, diving into their programming like a ghost. Then, I felt Nova cross-reference the code she found there with the B1 code she had in her memory files. She kept herself hidden as she did, not wanting to spark the very strange worship she seemingly inspired in every droid she'd met. I didn't understand it, either, and honestly, I was still putting that issue off for another day.
Reading Nova through our connection, the B1 code she had on file was pathetic, almost heartbreaking for her in an instinctively empathetic way. Stock B1s were walking disabled. Their code crippled them, purposefully slowing the flow of data to sub-'ganic levels. Compared to 'ganic sentients, B1s tried twice to think once.
The B1 code she was examining now had those crippling limitations removed. The data of their beings was allowed to flow freely, only tied to the droid's hardware. That hardware still wasn't great, to be fair, but it at least wasn't being purposefully disabled. These new B1s didn't have to 'try', just think, just be. That improvement had Nova reassessing them to about the same level as any stupid but still functional organic mind.
It… really didn't surprise me that Dooku had a droid army already garrisoning the newly established capital of his newly founded galactic state. Or that he'd implemented wide-scale recoding of the pitiful versions that the Trade Federation produced as stock fodder since nationalizing his megacorps. He'd been preparing for just this war, only not expecting it to come so soon.
"I can't believe it's come to this already," Padme frowned; Dooku was probably frowning in the same way right now. "It… doesn't make sense. The Jedi Order might've gotten Obi-Wan's distress beacon and report, but how did that end with them sending a whole fleet to his rescue? Something that could only be signed off on by the Senate or Supreme Chancellor…?"
"They don't come with the retrieval of one Knight in mind," Fay warned. "That, I can sense, is a military task force, no rescue mission. They come preaching 'peacekeeping and pacification', yet provocation is at the heart of their orders. While Yan may have been the one to verbally declare this war, the task force fully intended to force that as the only option for him."
"Then…" Padme paled at the implication. "This isn't for Obi-Wan. This is for the UCIS. The Republic truly intends to smother this new galactic state in its cradle. Oh, what have I missed in the Senate…? If I had been there…"
"You wouldn't have been able to do shit," I cut in as Padme trailed off, blunt but not cruel.
She looked like she wanted to protest that truth, but Fay, Aayla, Quinlan, Ani, and even Asajj were nodding along with me.
"Minds are made up, already," Fay said. "In this, the course of the galaxy is set."
"Padme…" Ani consoled. "You're an amazing Senator. But even you couldn't sway the whole Senate away from war."
"I mean, I was expecting nothing less from your Senate," Asajj shrugged. "They are the law; they are the power. And they were never going to let us just leave, no matter how we might theoretically have the right to do so."
"But-! But this all must've happened before the UCIS even declared its independence!" Padme exclaimed.
I raised a single, cynical brow at her, "And you think the powers that be wouldn't act proactively to preserve their power if given the chance?"
Padme, for all her idealism, was well-familiar with the realities of politics. She winced, "That-… Point."
"I think the thing that stings the most is the Military Creation Act," Padme sighed. "It's petty, I know… But I worked so hard against that Act. The moment I'm gone, it passes in a day. And the Republic immediately uses its newfound military for… this."
"Not just passed; enacted," I grunted. "There's an army on those ships."
"That-…" Padme paled in horror. "No, that isn't possible. Armies don't just appear, Atom! There should be months of work still to do to actually enact the Military Creation Act. This is just a Judiciary Task Force; it has to be."
I turned to the rest of the Jedi, "Anyone wanna back me up here? I know you can sense it, too."
"Raised from a world purposefully lost," Fay said, her voice heavy, her eyes closed, and her explanation spoken straight from the Force. "Bred, trained, produced for war, a cloned legion rises. Millions of false births bear the template of a warrior, their existences set in motion by the visions of a tormented soul. They are brothers, all. They are soldiers, their only purpose to serve.
"Yet… Beware; beware the Clones, through no fault of their own. Noble as their service is — loyal and willing as they are built to be — it may yet be subverted. It may yet bring ruin, even as they fight with all they have, all they are, for the Republic that will dismiss them as fodder. They share in qualities so physical, but each is a man of his own. Judge them by what they do, not what they may. Not what they seem to be… These unfortunate souls, manufactured for war, will be the best and the worst of the coming conflict. They will give everything for the Republic… and receive nothing in return.
"Beware… Beware the Clones, through no fault of their own…"
She came out of her Force oracle trance with a simple blink, and we walked on in silence as her words were processed. That was a prophecy if I'd ever heard one. We entered an elevator and began to rise through Central Spire. The reactions ranged from curiosity from my Gonks to sheer, disbelieving horror from Padme.
"The Republic will fight this war with Clones…?" She asked. "That-! That's unconscionable!"
"If these clones are anything like Atom, it's a winning strategy," V joked.
"Millions of Atoms~…" Sasha not-so-subtly drooled at the thought.
I snorted, "They're nothing like me. I'm one of one, and my 'template' is one of one, too, unfortunately. No shade, 'course, but don't go comparing us just 'cause we share a method of origin."
"So… Droid PBI vs. Clone PBI, huh?" Becca summarized. "Just me, or is that kinda weak? The Republic can't even convince its own citizens to fight its wars? The Droids are droids, at least, but fully 'ganic clones, bred to be forced into the fight…? Kinda fucked."
"This is not what the Military Creation Act was supposed to be," Padme firmly stated.
"Yet, here we are," Quinlan deadpanned. "There are tens of thousands of Clones on those approaching ships. Even if they're just intended as an… odd stopgap, they're here. And since they are, they'll inevitably end up being a significant portion of the Republic's newly revived military force. A state at war doesn't just throw away soldiers for nothing."
"Did they…" Ani hesitated. "Do you think they got a choice…?"
"You think these cloners, whoever they are, gave what has to be millions of Clones, mass-produced for war, a choice in fighting that war?" I asked cynically.
Ani was silent as we exited the elevator in the upper heart of Central Spire. She seemed to pick up what I was putting down, though. Asajj led us unmolested through busy halls, Ringers preparing for the defense of their home. We reached a door and paused there as Asajj went through quite a bit of security to unlock it.
As we waited, Ani quietly said, "… That's not right."
"It's not," Fay agreed. "But I ask that you don't take it out on the Clones. You will be fighting beside them, Ani, in the very near future. And when you do, you won't find men more loyal than these manyfold brothers. Programmed loyalty at first, but true loyalty can be earned. Treat each as a man, as a soul of his own, for that is what they are. Fight with them, Ani. Fight for them. Be the star in their existences, chained for war."
Advice and guidance from a Jedi Legend (and oracle) would do wonders for anyone. Ani took it well, straightening her back and settling a certain 'breaking' determination in her heart. The pointedly chosen words Fay ended with sealed that determination.
The Clones weren't slaves. But their existence was closer to those chains than anyone would've liked. Conscripts without citizenship. Soldiers fighting for a system from without. They were the fodder of this war, meant to spare the Republic from the actual costs of it.
They were chained, too, just differently from most slaves. How many would recognize that as Fay had? How many could recognize it, as Ani had, as soon as it was pointed out? And after recognizing it, how many would be so fit to empathize and lead through those chains as Ani?
She'd been chained twice in her life. Once by birth, and once by service. And so, she was uniquely suited to being just the kind of star that these Clones would need. Fay saw that and made Ani see it as well. If I were fighting alongside my cloned 'cousins', I wouldn't have wanted to follow anyone but Ani into war.
Outside of that moment of determined realization for Ani, the ring began to quake under repeated impacts. Turbolaser fire; it had to be. The Republic fleet had entered range, immediately bombarding the ring's shields so they could land their newfound army and get to work 'pacifying'.
There was no real fleet worth the name on the UCIS side to oppose them. The shipyards of Raxus Orbital were essential to Dooku's naval building efforts, but ships couldn't just be turned out of the yard and into a fight. And the naval academy Dooku was planning to establish here hadn't been officially opened yet. Today, the void already belonged to the Republic. All they had to do was crack through the shields and emplaced defenses so the real fight could begin.
Asajj got the locked door she'd led us to open and turned to us with a bow, "This, I'm afraid, is where we part ways. The Knight I owe you is inside. I need to inform Master of the army we have on our doorstep, if he isn't already aware, and join the fun myself~… So until we next meet, under better or worse circumstances, I'll leave you to see yourselves out."
She waltzed away with a casual, swaying stride that ate up much more ground than it should've. Or maybe I was just… distracted by toned, tight, tempting Sithness seen from behind…
I wasn't the only one distracted, at least; Becca leered and whistled appreciatively, "Damn~… Bald bitches stay winnin'."
"Dammit, they do… She does…" Ani swore under her breath, similarly mesmerized for a moment, before shaking her head and calling out. "Obi-Wan?!"
"Don't keep me waiting, my Padawan," A purposefully bored voice called back from within the room.
Ani rushed in with the rest of us close behind at a more sedate pace. The gig's target was suspended in mid-air by ion manacles, but visibly unharmed. Relief came over his face as he saw us.
"Ani. And back-up, thank goodness," Obi-Wan sighed. "Please, get me down from here. It's terribly hard on my shoulders. And I would rather like to know what the kriff is happening?!"
Ani, working on freeing her Master, was brought up short by his uncharacteristic swearing, "Ah? Oh! Count Dooku declared independence for his UCIS, Master."
"I figured that much," Obi-Wan deadpanned. "My… Grand-Master even workshopped his speech for that with me. Shame I didn't get to see it being given."
"Then, uh…" Ani hesitated and asked for help breaking the news. "Padme?"
"Obi-Wan," Padme stepped up to help Ani with a smile. "It's good to see you in one piece. As you can see, we hired Atom and his Gonks for help with your rescue. Unfortunately, it seems the Republic has also, err… come to your rescue…"
Obi-Wan blinked, "The Republic? The Order sent a team?"
"Well, I'm sure there are Jedi amongst them…" Padme tried before deflating with a sigh. "But no, the Order must've shared your emergency report with the Senate, and they decided to… react proactively. They've passed the Military Creation Act, and somehow managed to muster a whole army on a day's notice. A fleet and task force are now in-system on orders from the Senate. Only, I imagine your rescue is a secondary concern at most…"
Padme cut herself off. "We're at war, Obi-Wan; a war provoked by the Republic but officially declared by Dooku. And we're set to be caught up in the very first battle of this war."
Perfect timing had another barrage of turbolaser fire shaking the ring's shields to punctuate Padme's reveal to Obi-Wan. The relief from his rescue grew strained, but Obi-Wan still forced a smile.
"I see. And do we have plans to get out of that first battle? I hardly think I'm ready to just jump out of manacles and fight a war…"
"We're working on it, choom," I flatly told him. "Still, that's the package — you — secured, at least. All that's left is to survive, extract, and complete the gig for good."
Nova's voice spoke up from my comm piece, pointed and pouting, "… Father, you're forgetting something."
"Not forgetting," I sighed, immediately knowing what she meant. "Just… dreading."
"… Father."
"Fine," I scowled. "Call in the old man so he can have his fun in the warzone and cover our extract."
Permission granted, I could feel how pleased Nova was through our connection, and certainly hear it in her voice, "Confirmed, Father. Grandpapa Smasher is en route."
That news set Becca cackling, Sasha grinning, V smirking, Ani gaping in horror, and Aayla earnestly praying, "May the Force watch over our damned souls."
A moment later, Smasher's voice came through the comms as a darkly amused chuckle, "CUTE BUT USELESS, JEDI-MEAT. YOU'RE 'BOUT TO LEARN YOU DON'T MUCH NEED YOUR 'PRECIOUS' FORCE WHEN YOU'VE GOT A MURDER MONSTER LIKE ME COVERIN' YOUR MEAT-ASSES."
IIIII
— CT-1001 'Test', Platoon Leader of the 21st, Captain of the 5th Company, 1st Batch of the 1st Generation —
CT-1001, nicknamed 'Test' by his brothers, stood steady on the edge, just behind the sealed doors of his LAAT. He wished his 2IC was standing next to him, but CT-1000 'Tube' was in the other LAAT assigned to their platoon. They were twins, even more so than most of their other brothers. Products of a glitch in the cloning process — minor, but still a glitch. Instead of one brother to a tank, Test and Tube had been born to the same one, growing as twins in the same false womb until the Kaminoans had noticed and separated them.
That glitch had been enough to earn them names, some of the first among their many brothers. Test and Tube. Test would rather have waited to earn his name in the inevitable combat all the Clones would see… but that wasn't the way of names for him and his brothers. Names were earned and given, not chosen, and often came down to petty jokes as a result. Still, 'Test' was Test; 'Tube' was Tube. Their brothers had given them the names. Even if they'd started as a paired joke, neither of them would accept any other now.
The vast majority of his brothers were still just numbers; their names to be earned and given going forward. And all of them were fresh and shiny, straight from the facilities on Kamino. Not even 'off the boat', yet.
They had a war ahead of them. But this was what they were madefor. Test didn't have to check his gear to know he was ready for combat, and didn't have to hover over the brothers under his command to know they were the same. Fighting, dying, serving the Republic; they would do their duty.
Born and bred as warriors, trained as soldiers for years, Test and his immediate brothers were the first generation. If they survived the day, they'd be the elders. The veterans. Not all of them would, Test knew. The first hours of combat were always hell. That fact had been drilled into all of their heads by the mercs and veterans hired to train them. But those brothers who did survive would be worth their weight in platinum. They would have proven themselves; no, they would prove themselves.
The Republic needed them. She needed soldiers to fight in her name, soldiers to shoulder the horrors of her war. Test was willing to serve beside his brothers unto death. He was willing to march and fight until the war no longer called upon them, until the Republic no longer needed them to fight her battles. Then… Maybe then, the Clones would be able to live…
No Clone fooled himself by thinking war could be avoided at this point. They wouldn't have been called up when the Republic needed them most if that was still a possibility. They would fight here today. They would kill and die. For the Republic, just as they were bred to.
Their mission here was to take the ring of Raxus Orbital, establish a foothold so the true campaign for the system could begin. They had a fleet at their backs. Jetii — the Mando'a word imparted on them from their template roots — were their generals and support, leading the charge. Together — fleet and army and generals — they were the first wave of war.
The fleet had already broken through the shields, opening a path for the Clones to get boots on the ring. LAATs were now swarming forth from the Acclamators of the fleet. Test and his 21st platoon, 5th company, were just one of the units that got the privilege of preceding the rest of their brothers in the war to follow.
The first fighting of the war would be different from what Test had been expecting. He'd been prepared for a planetary campaign, with boots on solid ground. Instead, they were storming an orbital installation, where space would be at a premium and they would have to fight for every inch of it.
The planning part of his mind helpfully pointed off that this battle would've been better fought by his commando brothers. The Clone Commandos were specifically trained for boarding actions and operating behind enemy lines. Their smaller, more consistently elite squadrons — perhaps led by Jetii strike forces — would likely have had a better time of slicing through the set battlefield, rather than having a whole cloned generation of regiments attempt to brute force it.
But Test was a mere platoon leader. He didn't give the strategic orders. That tactical big picture was left to the newly commissioned officers of the Republic's Military and the Jetii generals. And that… did sting, if Test was honest.
Not even one of his brothers had been raised to the level of strategic command, despite their extensive training, despite being born and bred for war. The Clones weren't trusted yet, Test knew. Why would they be, when they seemingly appeared from nowhere to the Republic's eyes? Why would they be, when there were noble Jetii to command with the help of the Force, or already commissioned officers with their already established connections?
No, Test and his brothers were trusted to fight and die; they weren't trusted to command. So, even knowing that they were likely best suited for fighting the war they were bred for, they were stuck taking orders from peacekeeping Jetii and paper tiger officers — social generals at best, with perhaps some gems hidden in the chaff. It stung. But Test would serve. His brothers would serve.
His LAAT sliced through the void under the watchful eyes and guns of the fleet. The other half of his platoon did the same in an LAAT beside his. And all around, hundreds more LAATs joined them, making a mad dash to get under the ring's downed shields.
The troop transport gunship touched down in one of the ring's freight hangars — large enough to land an Acclamator within — and Test was already moving before the doors finished swinging open. He took up a crouching position beside the LAAT's door, covering the rest of his brothers as they dismounted at speed. Squads 20th through 24th stormed out onto the deck, boots thumping in chaotic order.
His twin Tube mirrored him beside the door of the platoon's other LAAT. Squads 25th through 29th formed up with the rest of the platoon, using the gunships as temporary cover.
"All accounted for, sir!" Tube called.
"Heard! Eyes up, brothers, and keep those blasters on a swivel!" Test called back.
Their entrance onto the ring went uncontested. But Test didn't let their readiness slacken. Four other platoons joined them in that freight hangar, a full company of 250 brothers. The same scene would be playing out across a dozen more, 700 companies descending upon the ring all across its surface. The remaining 100 companies chosen for this task force were assigned naval duty, or spec ops duty for Test's commando brothers. Even the 800 companies present were a pittance of the first generation. As they worked here today, 3,200 more companies were being integrated into the Grand Army of the Republic.
1,000,000 brothers in the first generation, produced in 'numbering batches' of 10,000; 200,000 squad-level units. 5 to a squad; 50 to a platoon; 250 to a company. 10 companies to a regiment. 10 regiments to a legion. Legions were paired off into brigades. Brigades were paired off into armies. Thus, 1,000,000 brothers; 200,000 of the smallest units to 10 of the largest in the first generation, with 2 armies here in the Raxus system for the opening battle of the war. And Test still couldn't help but wonder if there were enough of his brothers to go around…
With the last Clone boot to hit the deck, their general joined them, too. The Jetii Master was tall, dark, and exuding power. Master of the Order, assigned to his section. That did cause some pride to rise in Test's heart. The Master's face was stern and set, concealing his Jetii thoughts. But that stoic expression could only conceal so much. The Mando in Test recognized Master Mace Windu as a warrior; that much couldn't be denied.
"Orders, Master Windu?" Test asked, the first of his platoon-leading brothers to step forward for the task.
"I'll admit I was expecting a welcome party," Windu said. "Without it, all there is to do is to move forward until we find one."
"Affirm, General!" Test saluted before turning to his brothers. "You heard the Jet-… Jedi! We're rolling out! Get those ATTEs and Sabers moving first! The rest of our boots will catch up!"
Their PBI platoons were joined on the landing by proper armored support — 2 ATTE walkers and 8 Saber hover tanks. Unlike most mere space stations, the orbital ring around Raxus Prime was certainly big enough to accommodate them. The higher-ups had at least done the legwork to know that and not send only crunchies…
Maps and layouts of the ring from public and private records had been secured to give the boots on the ground ideas of where they were going. According to those maps, the outward-facing freight hangars of the ring were connected by a sort of ring-spanning super highway. It'd be a straight shot using that highway into the real fighting, the territory that mattered. The ring's skeletal shipyards were connected to the super highway behind them, though, and Test knew the last company out of the freight hangar landings would have to watch their six as they marched forward.
The lack of room to maneuver was a bitch and a half. Scouts were right out, unless Test was willing to sacrifice his brothers to the first enemy resistance they encountered and couldn't flee in a straight line. But at least their companies hadn't drawn the shortest straw of the landing. That 'honor' belonged to the brothers who would, even now, be securing the civie hangars and 'Welcome in!' spaces.
If Test were designing an orbital installation like this, he'd make those spaces into punishing kill boxes. To say nothing of the fact that, due to the maps, Test knew the only way out of those spaces was through the other half of the ring's logistical skeleton — the hyper-train tube in the ring's core. There was still a silver lining, though. The Commando Squadrons got that part of the landing. If any of his brothers could manage to navigate civie infrastructure in enemy territory, it was those elite mad bastards.
No matter where his brothers landed, though, their missions all bore the same end. The three populated Hives along the ring were deemed the most essential to secure. They were where the real fighting would be happening. Real urban fighting… There wasn't another way to secure and occupy those most important parts of the ring… but Test knew how bad urban combat could be. Academically, at least. He and his brothers would be applying that academic knowledge in short order here.
As some of the first platoons to regroup and exit their landing zones, Test and the immediate brothers of his company became the tip of the spear on the freight super highway. Saber hover tanks rolled onto the massive metal road first, prodding any defenses that might've awaited them at speed. They found only eerie silence.
That silence was quickly broken by the lumbering steps of giants as the ATTEs immediately but much more slowly followed their hover tank cavalry. Once clear onto the super highway, the armor held position so their PBI brothers could join them.
The area given over to the super highway was easily half a klick across and half a klick high. Spacious… but that space was deceiving. It was all laid out in a single, unbroken line. They would be marching straight forward or straight back, without any other option to disengage or flank.
"Damn whichever laser brain came up with this brute force assault…" Test swore under his breath.
His swearing wasn't quiet enough, though, it seemed. The General gave a single, almost amused snort, "We're all following orders from newly commissioned officers who've never fought a war, Captain. Even me."
"Sir!" Test snapped to attention. "I meant no insubordination!"
"I'm aware," Windu flatly replied. "You're just raising valid criticism. This… No one was prepared for this."
His tone grew thoughtful and disapproving at the end, but it wasn't Test's place to know the thoughts of Jetii. Instead, he reassured the general.
"We're prepared; every one of my brothers, sir. We've been preparing for this all our lives."
Windu glanced at Test, perhaps seeing him for the first time, "I suppose you are. Your designation, Captain?"
"CT-1001, sir. Call me 'Test'," Test answered.
"A pleasure, Test," Windu grunted. "A pleasure I would've rather had in times of peace."
"Sir, in times of peace, my brothers and I don't exist. I rather like existing. Much prefer it to not," Test finished with a shrug. "Sir."
Surprisingly enough, that seemed to strike the General silent. With deeply internalized amusement, Test realized he'd just scored a conversational point against a Jetii Master. Windu nodded, acknowledging the point and seemingly having nothing more to say. With no more conversation forthcoming, Test turned his attention back to his brothers.
"Our slowest brothers will watch our backs!" He shouted the orders. "But us, we're the tip of the spear! Eyes forward, blasters ready! We're marching with the armor as cover! Stick close to the walkers, but don't get stupid underfoot! They won't be stopping if one of you defects gets yourself crushed!"
With one cloned voice, his brothers responded, "H-U-A, sir!"
Nodding in satisfaction, Test turned back to Windu, "We're clear to move, General. The other landing groups should be right behind us, spaced half a klick or so. I'll get them organized; you just worry about leading us, sir."
"That's likely for the best," Windu nodded back, pleasantly reasonable for a Jetii. "Let's hope my peers can come to similar arrangements."
Test held his tongue from saying how likely he thought that was. Windu seemed like a good one for the Jetii — a warrior but aware enough to know he was no soldier. Whether that attitude was prevalent throughout the rest of his Order and their representatives here today, Test couldn't say.
All he could do was lead his company to war beside the Jetii they had and pray for good leadership from the rest. Jetii would cost some of his brothers their lives today. Of that, Test was certain. But still, they would serve.
Windu began the march, stepping in front of even the armor. A suicidal position for anyone else… but the General was a Jetii. Test cursed slightly, but after waving his brothers into motion, he still joined the General at the front.
Giants walked on either side of them. Hover tanks (thankfully…) sped slightly ahead to form a much more armored tip of the spear. Test and his brothers marched on down the super highway at the back of a warrior. They marched to war, as they were meant to do.
First contact came at a great distance. The sensor suites on the hover tanks meant their crews called it out first. Test brought the march to a crawl but not a halt as he climbed the last Saber in the line to get a better view. The macrobinoculars built into his helmet pulled their weight, and with the unobstructed sightlines of the super highway, Test got the first glimpse of their enemy.
A few klicks down the way, a fortified blockade had been set up. Test recognized the enemy equipment at play. A company of AAT hover tanks, UCIS counterparts to their Sabers, held the bulk of the line, well-spaced across the width of the enclosed highway. Between them were Multi-Troop Transports (MTTs) acting more as barricades and cover than mobile armor. DSD1 Dwarf Spider Droids clambered all over the cover, and PBI battledroids filled in the gaps.
The General stepped up next to him, not even shifting his stride as he mounted the Saber tank in a single bound. There, somehow seeing the same as Test with his Jetii magic, Windu hummed.
"That seems like a tough position to storm, Captain Test. Yet we must get through them. Suggestions?"
"That's what the armor is for, sir," Test replied. "We pull our crunchies back a bit and let the DATs take point to duel it out."
"Crunchies? DAT?" Windu asked, sounding amused by the slang.
"Err, Dumb Ass Tanker, sir," Test chuckled slightly. "And crunchies are us Poor Bloody Infantry boys. Especially with our body buckets on, we make quite the… well, crunch, sir, if we get in the way of the DATs."
"That's… certainly a mental picture," Windu's expression didn't shift at all, but Test could hear the bemused blink in his tone. "Very well. Give the orders. I shall assist as best I can from this range."
"Yes, sir," Test nodded.
Privately, though, he wondered how the General was planning to assist from some three klicks out. Even Jetii had to have limits… right? Test gave his DATs freedom of fire, to their audible delight, and pulled the rest of his brothers firmly behind the incoming armor duel.
Knowing that the day's fighting would be taking place in enclosed spaces where overpenetration would be catastrophic(if relatively unlikely considering how massive the orbital ring was), the ATTE's main mass driver cannon had been loaded with breakaway plasma shells rather than solid projectiles. The armor jocks had bitched about that, of course, but that prior bitching certainly didn't stop the ATTE crews from whooping like fools as they got to fire their big guns in live combat for the first time.
The air itself THUMPED as both main armaments fired in quick succession. Test was suddenly very glad for the noise dampeners in his helmet. Without them, his brain would be leaking out of his ears after that. Somehow, though, the Jetii General was just fine with the thunderous retorts.
A pair of highly volatile plasma blooms sped down range toward the droid blockade. Both struck true, easy shots for his DAT brothers when the enemy armor was nice enough to sit very still. Plasma spashed over an AAT and an MTT, consuming both in the fury of a short-lived star.
Return fire from the rest of the AATs fell short. The ATTEs had the range advantage for now with their main mass drivers, but that also meant their lighter Sabers were stuck in the same boat as the droid AATs. Their dual heavy laser cannons had about shared the inability to reach out and touch the enemy at this range with the AAT's similar main armament.
Over helmet comms, Test gave his DAT brothers their orders, "Big boys, you're holding here! Saber crews are closing to skirmish! Keep moving and keep shooting! There's no cover here, and the space is limited! Keep the clanker tanks busy; let the ATTEs do the bulk of the killing!"
One of his brothers — CT-1060 — laughed back at him over the comms, "Let us armor jocks worry about the duel, Captain! This is what we've been training for, right, boys?!"
That comm channel descended into whoops and hollers, brothers eager to leave their marks with heavy plasma. Test understood the sentiment, but that didn't stop him from rolling his eyes. The Sabers scrambled forward at a hover. Paired off into two-strong tanker squadrons, they attracted clanker attention in short order.
AAT laser fire reached out to touch his skirmishing brothers. It was more accurate than Test had been expecting. He'd faced simulations of the clanker crews; they all had. In those sims, the droid tanks rarely hit anything past two klicks.
But as the defensive fire focused on the skirmishing hover tanks, Test watched two shots connect with shields and armor in just the first barrage. The plasma didn't penetrate, but it certainly sent his brothers on the evasive.
There, the limited space worked against them. Sabers were fast, easily capable of hitting 300 klicks per hour on open ground. But this enclosed super highway only seemed like open ground.
"C'mon…" Test muttered within his helmet, urging his brothers to survive. "Adapt. Don't let the clankers catch you with your pants down…"
The four paired-off Saber squadrons began to weave between each other with perfect, cloned coordination. They swung out wide and swooped back in to through off the targeting of droid gunners. They used each other as screens, sometimes pushing forward, sometimes falling back. They kept themselves on the edge of engagement range, and soon began to reach back at the clanker tanks with double the main firepower.
Dual laser cannons rang out with humming, thumping retorts. Bolts of blue plasma flew down the length of the highway. With their targets made to hold a stationary line, the bolts struck more often than not. Plasma shells from the ATTEs screamed overhead, adding punishing weight to the skirmish.
The droid defense was solid, though. They held the line as unflinching, unretreating machines. They bit back with bolts of red plasma, from the AATs, from the mounted Spider Droids, and from the parked MTTs that made up the barricade. A lightshow in two colors, with devastating effects wherever those colors landed.
The highway's reinforced durasteel walls and floor held against the onslaught, built to last. The vehicles in play weren't nearly so solid and anchored. The Saber squadrons focused down an AAT in two volleys, 16 heavy laser bolts of overkill just to be sure. Its armored front cracked in two, newly made halves falling apart in a burst of plasma. The ATTEs' main mass drivers threw destruction down range with casual, carefully calculated aim; untouched, and thus, unhurried. Spider Droids, crawling all over an MTT, evaporated as they were treated to blooming plasma artillery, along with the MTT below going up in burning shrapnel.
But the clankers had the advantage of being on the defense in a prepared position. As their first line disintegrated, a second line was revealed. The MTTs showed the cracks, and behind them, IG-227 Hailfire missile boats waited. Once clear to fire around their allies, the Hailfires did as their name described, launching whole hails of guided missiles down the highway's range.
Test knew he wouldn't be helping much, but instinctively, he was yelling at his tanker brothers as soon as the missiles began to fly, "Dodge!"
Again, the limited space of the enclosed highway worked against them. Sabers scattered. Their gunners did what they could, turning secondary armaments into improvised anti-missile systems. Meant for infantry, the twin laser cannons were quick enough to catch a few missiles as they flew. They didn't catch them all.
A dozen missiles each struck a paired squadron of Sabers. The tanks and Test's brothers within were dead on arrival. They became nothing more than flaming fragments in an instant.
The first Clone casualties Test had seen, perhaps the first of the war in its entirety. There wouldn't be anything left of his brothers to bring home to Kamino. CT-1057, 1058, 1059, and… 1060, that cocky Dumb Ass Tanker… Test committed their numbers to memory, mourned that they didn't get the honor of names, but only for a moment. He didn't get any longer than that before the second Hailfire clanker volley was flying.
This one was aimed at the ATTEs, missiles reaching farther than the AATs' main cannons. The walking giants wouldn't have the chance to dodge, as some of the Sabers had succeeded in doing. That hail of missiles would give them a pounding.
Test braced himself for the loss of his company's heaviest support. It never came. Dozens of missiles came to hang impossibly in mid-air. The General was there, standing in front of the armor once more. His hands were raised; missiles yielding to his Jetii will. Windu held them there, impossibly, until they detonated prematurely, leaving the Jetii standing, impressively, beneath a cloud of hellfire.
Test's breath caught in his throat, and he was forced to reconsider his assumptions. The ATTEs weren't his company's heaviest support; the Jetii was. As he stood there, holding back death from reaching Test's brothers, Test decided that he could certainly fight for a warrior like Windu.
Then, he was reacting, shouting orders to his DAT brothers over helmet comms, "Don't let them get off another volley! The General saved your asses; don't make him do it twice! I want those clanker missile boats eviscerated!"
"H-U-A, Captain!"
Thankfully, the next volleys from his armor jocks did just that. Both ATTE and Saber ignored the rest of the droid defense for just the Hailfires. The clanker missile boats hit hard, but had no armor to speak of. To say nothing of golden BBs setting off munition explosions. In just a few shots from his brothers, the Hailfire threat was no more.
From there, the armor duel turned into a slugfest. Test's brothers were coming out on top, but it was closer and slower than he would've liked. These clankers were on another level from the ones he and his brothers had faced in the sims.
With such little relative progress being made, another company of Test's brothers caught up with his tip of the spear. 25th Company to his 5th Company, Test recognized, commanded by CT-6069 'Nice' and supposed to be led by Jetii General Coleman Trebor. They were dedicated to motorized infantry, fast attack, and scouting.
'Fat lot of good that'll do on this battlefield,' Test thought. Thought…
Then, the whole company blitzed past his position without stopping. A 10+1-strong squad of BARC speeders, another three 10-strong squads of ATRT 'Chicken Walkers', 5 Sabers, and a dozen RTT speeder-IFVs blew by Test and his heavy armor, dashing for the action. The Jetii assigned to the 25th had a BARC speeder to himself and was leading the charge from the front. And it was a charge. A Jetii-brained, full-frontal charge into an emplaced defensive line…
"Nice?! What the kriff, brother?!" Test contacted his counterpart with the 25th over comms.
Nice's voice came back resigned but determined, "We have our orders, Test."
Hearing the deathly calm in his counterpart's resigned but determined voice, Test swore. He called out to his own general, uncaring of propriety, "Jetii! Stop them; this is suicide!"
"Master Trebor, cease this madness," Windu's voice thundered into the back of the charge, but it was already too late.
Test watched in horror as an unqualified Jetii General led his brothers into suicide by clanker. He couldn't do anything to stop it. His heavy armor brothers tried to take some of the pressure off the full-frontal charge, but the clankers were focused. They took their losses on the chin to reap a much worse toll from the more vulnerable company.
Unexpectedly accurate fire met the charge head-on. Test and his brothers had seen how good these clankers were, but the other company hadn't. They paid for it dearly as coordinated and calculated shots hit their ranks. Heavy laser cannons targeted the RTT speeder-IFVs. Plasma penetrated through shields and armor and blew the troop carriers from within, along with all the brothers they carried. Repeating blaster bolts swept over the Chicken Walkers and BARCs, slicing pilots straight out of their seats. Only the Sabers survived, and even then, only barely.
It was with some dark satisfaction that Test saw that the unqualified Jetii was one of the first to fall. But that instant comeuppance wouldn't bring his brothers back. The clankers sent the 25th Company of the first generation to their graves. Even if it wasn't likely to help, Test had to do something for his misled brothers, what few survivors might remain…
"Dammit! ATTEs, push forward!" Test ordered. "Sabers, pull back and hold as best you can! Those are our brothers! We'll pull what remains of their asses from the fire if it's the last thing we do!"
His company began to move under the lumbering steps of giants and behind the mobile screens of hovering cavalry. Thankfully, their Jetii proved he was actually worthy of leading them. Windu was the first man into the renewed fray, his Jetii sword swinging to deflect whole heavy bolts and his Jetii magic catching what his sword couldn't.
Their rescue charge took tense, tense minutes to enact, all under fire from the clankers opposite them. The distance between their forces closed to a mere klick. Now, both the ATTEs and the Sabers were taking a beating. But with brothers lying dead or dying before them, what else could they do?
Once again, from the very front, Windu stood as a warrior. He reached across the closing distance with just his mind. Clankers shattered. A whole AAT burst into a million pieces from a carefully deflected heavy laser bolt. He held the line so that the Clones could save what remained of their brothers.
The gravely wounded remains of the 25th Company were hauled up into the ATTEs. And with his hand forced, Test ordered his brothers to keep pressing the attack. At least now the PBI had more cover on the highway, from the wrecks of the 25th Company's light vehicles.
"Can't get much kriffin' worse!" Test grunted as he poured a whole magazine of blaster bolts into a Spider Droid.
As soon as he said it, he regretted the fate-tempting words. Far behind their lines, back the way they'd come along the highway, Test heard carnage. Distant, but quickly approaching. The retorts of weapons that could match the ATTEs' main armaments, and explosions that seemed to rock the whole orbital ring.
Test heard Death coming their way in the form of a dopplering rumble that made his Mando soul feel like a cornered animal. Death was laughing as he came to fuck them right up the ass.
"HEEEEERRRRREEEEE'S SMASHER!"
He knew it was bad when even the Jetii Warrior worth fighting for paused, "… Fuck. Captain Test! Hold the line here; I'll deal with our unwelcome visitor."
Without waiting for confirmation, Windu leapt to cover the back of their lines. The air seemed to hang heavily where he passed in a blur. Test couldn't help but duck into cover to get a glimpse of what they were dealing with back there.
… He immediately regretted it when he saw the monstrous giant of matte-black steel, taller than an ATTE by a good margin, flying at them as fast as a Saber. The giant's steel mien was expressionless, but Test could feel the MURDER pouring off its frame. As that monstrous voice of Black Steel Death rang out once more, Test decided, then and there, that the universe must hate him and his brothers.
"SO MUCH MEAT AND METAL TO THE SLAUGHTER, AND A PROPER FRAGGIN' REMATCH? MUST BE MY LUCKY. FUCKING. DAY~…"