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Frontlines
Kamino – 19.42 BBY
The storms never ended here. I gazed up at the dark, thunderous sky above my head, the roiling clouds pouring forth their relentless stream of cold, wet, rain. I hefted my rifle to my side, checking the calibrations again, and again as we stood at attention, Mandalore the Resurrector, Spar, Alpha-Ø2, whatever name he chose to go by at that point of time, in front of these men.
He had to roar at the top of his voice to be heard above the torrid rain, “We came here today, to show the Galaxy who we truly are. We are not men bred in glass, cared for by pod-heads, we are men, we are soldiers, and we will fight to break free the Galaxy from this conflict!”
The irony, I thought, that he himself was one of those born on this world, bred in their glass caged and sent off to fight for that precious Republic, but I watched on, mesmerised by our charismatic leader.
“Today, we have been sent, to destroy the cloning laboratories here on Kamino, and put an end to this war. The Republic is frail, it is weak, and it is time for its reign to come to an end. I have been assured by my benefactors that if we are to succeed today, Mandalore itself will be provided by extensive protection by the Separatist forces for the remainder of the war and beyond!”
These words were met with an answering roar. We all knew why we were here, what we had left behind to travel to this world on the other side of the Galaxy. Our loved ones remained at home on Mandalore, tending our farm land, raising our families, leading our world to bigger and better places. We fought; we shed our blood, so that they could live in peace.
Many thought the Mandalorians were war-faring people, but in actuality, we were peaceful, wanting nothing more than to be left in peace. There hadn’t been in-fighting between the Mandalorians in decades, and now, more than ever, we were a united people, against this foolish fighting amongst petty boys waving light-sticks around.
“Now is our time, now is the moment!” Roared Spar, and lifting his rifle, he moved forwards, along the platform, and we, the Mandalorian Super commandos, roared in response, sprinting up the ramp behind him.
We had been assured by our Separatist masters that Kamino’s defences would be down, and that this would be a simple, trivial mission. I had snorted in disbelief, both at the assumption that our false brothers would leave their home undefended – I know we never would – but also that the Super commandos would fail at anything more than a slight challenge. We were the best of the best, the best that had ever been, and the best that ever would be, and we would prove that today, in combat against these men who wore our armour and spoke our language but were not us.
Breaking through Kamino’s outer defences, our men remained unscratched, as we drew closer to the cloning vats. As soon as our blasters had let off their first bursts, all thoughts had vanished from my mind, and now only one objective remained: destroy the cloning vats, and leave no vod behind.
Ahead, the ranks of Mando’ad began to pause, holding up and reaching cover as the first bolts of return fire began flying at us. My HUD began flashing with Friend-or-Foe recognition software, labelling the white boys as my enemies, and I opened fire accordingly. My bolts ripped through their soft armour, downing three boys within seconds. I shook my head in wonder at the sight; their armour was meaningless, and actually served to alert any foe that they were coming, like a big, bright beacon. I was doing the Galaxy a favour, honestly.
The clone stood no chance against our onslaught, with Manda’lor shouting words of encouragement as we progressed deeper into the chambers. I felt a deep sense of satisfaction growing within me, a warmth, and pride, at doing my duty for my home, my family, my world.
I worked my way to the front – my theory was that by leading by example I had nothing to fear, I wouldn’t be led astray, and I may be able to save any ner vod who led themselves into trouble. As we rounded a corner however, a darker challenge awaited us.
Three false brothers stood firm, grim, their helmets removed, and their kamas swinging slightly in the slight breeze moving through the corridors. Their solemn faces, and bulky profiles, as well as proper armour and advanced weaponry indicated to me that this may be trouble.
I glanced behind me to find that, somewhere along the way, we’d become separated from the main group, and it was merely me and four other vod. Seemed this would last somewhat more than a few minutes. I smirked in satisfaction, I hadn’t seen a good fight in a long time, since the Karthakk Crisis, and even then only fleetingly.
“It’s ok ner vod, I’ve got this one,” I said, and dropped my rifle to the ground with a clatter.
The expression on the face of the ARC Trooper opposite me was unreadable, but he mirrored my action, removing his armour slowly, leaving only his thin undergarments, revealing his bulging muscles.
I removed my helmet, feeling the biting air cut across my face, and removed as much of my armour as I could without committing to remaining defenceless – some aspects of my armour would take an hour or more to get back on.
Crouching into an aggressive stance, I leapt forward, striking out with the hardened edge of my left hand, and, when he caught it in his hand, I sliced out with my left leg, hoping to catch him unawares, but he leapt over it, keeping hold of my hand and flipping me over his head.
I slammed into the ground. Hard. Winded, I rolled to the side, regaining my footing, and launching myself forward again, striking hard with my right fist into his stomach before he could react, whipping my left foot up to snap his jaw backwards. Before he could recover I swept him off his feet, placing my foot against his throat, slowly choking him.
Wriggling slightly, he managed to dislodge me slightly, flipping me over onto my side, and leaping on top of me, turning our struggle into a primal one, of two men locked in such ferocious struggle, that only death would separate us.
I struggled on grimly for several minutes, in a true test of stamina, both of us struggling against each others pure strength, our muscles spasming as we grew more and more tired. Finally he flinched, and I was able to slip my left hand free, smashing my fist into his left arm, feeling the bone give way beneath my strike.
Grunting in pain, he didn’t let go, crushing my right hand beneath his desperate grip. Snarling in terror, I leapt out and bit into his face, taking a chunk out of his ear, and the pure shock at my action caused him to pause, and in that moment I was able to grip his neck, throttling the life from him without a pause, knowing any hesitation on my part would see this conflict begin again.
Before my eyes, I watched as I took the life of a Mandalorian, the pain, the urgency, the fear, and finally the acceptance, that passed through his eyes as my gaze bore into his. Finally, his eyes dulling over with the grim passing of death, he slumped to the ground, a death rattle escaping his lips and sending a shiver down my spine. I never wanted to do that again.
Lying there for an instant, I glanced up and noticed the other two ARC’s had slipped away in the commotion.
“Cowards,” I spat, launching a ball of blood and spit to the ground by the boy’s head, and slowly getting to my feet, my legs shaking slightly beneath me as I breathed heavily.
One of my comrades came over to me, handing me my helmet, without a word, and I slipped it on curiously.
“All men, retreat,” growled Spar over the comm. unit, “We’ve been trapped. Sero and Polus are down, and I refuse to allow any more casualties. We’ve set the charges, though they’ll probably be disarmed. Get back to the transport now, ner vod, that’s an order.”
Grabbing my discarded armour, and clutching it against my chest, clipping my rifle to my belt, and taking a deep breath of air, I sprinted forwards, remembering precisely what corridors looked familiar, and which way I had to go to get back out of the centre, my three comrades following close behind.
As we regrouped with the others on the platform outside, still guarded by our gunners, I slowed to a walking gait, and, as I boarded the transport, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Soldier, I heard what happened back there, you took on an ARC trooper in hand-to-hand combat. A brave action, I’ve heard they’re quite the fighter, trained by Jango himself,” said Spar, his helmet in one arm, under his arm.
I nodded, removing my helmet, to look him in the eyes, “I do my best, sir.”
Spar nodded, gazing deep into my eyes thoughtfully, “I like your style, soldier. You showed guts back there, and I value that. When we get back to Mandalore I’ll need to check the logistics of such a move, but I think you are fully capable of leading your own company of Super commandos.”
The prestige of such a promise from my Mandalore took my breath away, “Thank you Manda’lor, I will not fail you.”
“What’s your name, soldier?” Spar asked, a smile breaking on his face as the transport lifted off, taking evasive manoeuvres as the Kaminoans opened fire on us.
“Zhett, sir. Korus Zhett.”
“Korus Zhett,” Spar said, mulling the name over, “Welcome to the frontlines ner vod.”
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Time to start again.
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