» Clown's Lament

~ by

Sev had been left behind. My squadmate. My friend. My brother.

Standing at the edge of the ascending Gunship's troop bay, the trees of Kashyyk started to fade away below me. It feft as if the seemingly solid expanse of leaves and branchs symbolised my bond with Sev, getting increasingly distant. The man had saved my lives so many times before. But the time my brother needed me most... I wasn't there.


"Sir! We've got to go back!"

I couldn't see my leader's face through the grim helmet. But helmet or no, I knew that what he was going to do would hurt him a lot more than it would hurt me.

"We... We have our orders. Deltas, let's get to the extraction point."

It was a hot knife in each of our hearts. The order lacked the traditional enthusiasm Boss had when issuing an order.

My grief was slightly lessened by thinking of Boss, our team leader. He had the burden of saying what none of us would ever want to accept. He had to order his men to leave one of their own behind.


I slammed my yellow-painted fist against the hard armor of the Gunship. This wasn't fair. Fixer put his hand on my shoulder. I harshly shrugged it off.

I was aware that Three-Eight and the Advisor were talking, but I wasn't listening. I couldn't while that fact that we were truly turning our back on our brother stuck in my mind.

I felt moisture on my face. Sweat? No, this moisture came from my eyes. Tears?

Clones don't cry. We can't cry -- those Kaminoans tinkered with our genetic code.

So why am I crying? Was I one of their rare mistakes? A flaw?

Fine then. I let the tears roll down my face. I let myself cry. A stark contrast to the intimidating mask that struck fear into the enemy.

It was odd. I'd never cried before, even after seeing the many horrors of war. No matter. As long is it made me feel... Human.

Human. If only it were so. Species-wise, yes, but whether we liked it or not, we weren't truly human. Whether a clone viewed himself as a hero of the Republic, or as a defender of peace and freedom, the truth was that we were all born simply because someone needed a war fought. And who better to fight a war than soldiers that nobody would miss? That had no family to mourn their death? Obviously all clones were just a bunch of of mindless, emotionless, and organic droids. I knew that's what regular people thought of us. The very people we were born to protect.

I yearned to feel human. It was why I always strived to make those around me laugh, even under fire. Making people feel happy, hearing laughter.. It made me feel alive. A living human being.

But I wasn't in any state of self-pity. It wasn't that I felt bad for myself, rather, I just wanted to know what it was like, if it was better or worse than my current life. Thus, my relentless sense of humor was born.

However, all of it works against me as well. It puts a heavy burden on my shoulders: I know my squadmates look to me as a vessel of confidence, the one they can always count on to be in a funny mood despite the death and destruction around us.

So there was Sev, the slightly psychotic sniper. Despite us generally being opposites, we'd somehow forged a strong friendship. I guess opposites really do attract.

I remembered all the times he'd saved my life. The first I can remember was during a typical training exercise back on Kamino.


"Delta, breach that door! We'll cover you from here."

"Thought you'd never ask, lead."

I was the demolitions expert, the man you look to if you want something blown to smithereens. Or if you like to see explosions. Some people might think it'd be nerve wracking to be the man with the bang. I could easily understand why they would think so.

All kinds of ordnance was strapped all over my body: anti-armor, anti-infantry, explosives that could reduce buildings to rubble, high-tech beauties that could blow someone up twice before what was left of them hit the grond. All were ready for my eager hands to place one or more on something (or in a very messy case, someone) to watch it vanish in a fireball moments later.

I was literally a walking bomb. The right shot to the right spot would seriously ruin my day. Well, my day and whoever was standing in a twenty meter radius. It wasn't so bad. At least I'd go with a bang. Well, more like a miniature mushroom cloud, but that still counts as a bang.

In any case, it was my job. And I loved it.

I loved the sense of accomplishment after an obstacle is blown out of our way using just the right amount of ordnance. Too little cost all of us a few more precious seconds for me to try again. Too much... Well, too much meant I joined that obstacle in going boom.

I reached behind and took out one of my favorites: a custom satchel charge, usually used to bring down buildings. It wasn't all that different from a regular charge, I had just crammed a bit more explosive into it.

I carefully placed in the center of the locked door, blocking our progress.

"So, lead, would you like that to be well done or medium rare?"

"Heh. Just get on it with it, Six-Two."

Oh no. I made a mistake. I couldn't believe it. I had placed too much explosive on the door. But I was frozen. I couldn't will my legs to turn me around and double time it away from the blast that was about to occur in a few seconds. My stomach curled into a cold knot. This was it.

I thought we were bred to not freeze up in times like this. Guess I was wrong.

The countdown ticked to three seconds and I was still standing there like an idiot.

Suddenly, something grabbed my pack and pulled me backwards. Using our combined inertia, my unseen rescuer shoved me face-first to the ground and tried his best to cover me.

An ear-splitting explosion followed directly after. A few small pieces of debris bounced off the back of my helmet with a steady pat-pat-pat. Oh, I had definitely used too much. I turned my head slightly to see my work.

The door no longer existed. All that was left was a ragged hole, flames licking at the edges.

Despite the commando on top of me, the explosion managed to get to me. Flames had scorched parts of my armor, covering it in black soot. I liked the look. Went well the yellow paint.

"Nice job, expert. Next time, try not to blow your damn face off." I heard a deep, gruff voice say.

I looked up to my rescuer. It was Oh-Seven, the sniper of my group. He extended his gloved hand to me. I grabbed it and pulled myself up.

"Man, you have no manners, Oh-Seven. I was clearly working on my tan."

I heard him chuckle over the helmet speakers.

"Right. Maybe we should call you Scorch, wise guy."

"Hmm... 'Scorch'. I like the sound of that. I mean, I was aiming for something like 'Captain Handsome', but I guess 'Scorch' will have to do. Thanks for saving me, by the way."

He slapped my shoulder plate.

"Any time."


The foliage continued to fade. There was also that time on the Republic Assault Ship Prosecutor. Sev saved my shiny white posterior there as well.


We had been ordered to search a derelict Assault Ship to see what exactly happened to it. Coincidentally, it was one Delta Squad's first homes.

Now I was laying half-conscious on the floor of a cell room in the ship's brig.

Boy, I really hate irony.

I wondered how everyone else was doing. Maybe they had accomplished their mission and were on their way to get me. Either that, or they'd left me behind.

I tried not to think about the latter possibility.

Well, I wouldn't last much longer here. Eventually those Trandoshans would realize they'd get nothing out of me and finish me off. So much for my miniature mushroom cloud departure.

Suddenly, I heard blaster fire. The signature sound of a DC-17 -- our default weapon.

By the Force, I must be frelling lucky.

Then I heard that beeping sound every commando hears at least once in his life. The sound of a portable revival unit, used to give an incapcitated commando a little boost to help him get back on his feet.

A jolt of strength rippled through by body, enabling me to get to one knee.

A red-painted hand extended downward.

"Aren't you a little short for a commando?"

"Huh?"

"Nevermind. Did I miss anything important? And... Thanks, by the way."

I grasped his armored gauntlet and hoisted myself up.

"Any time."


The trees were almost gone from my sight. There was also that time earlier in our mission on Kashyyk. Once again, the sniper rescued me.


"This place was crawling with Trandoshans!" Sev said, laying prone a few yards back with his rifle shouldered.

"Trandoshan camps usually are, genius. Besides, a psycho like you should love these kinda oppurtunites to rack up kills."

"Who said I don't?"

Damn, these lizards didn't know when to quit. In my periphial vision, I saw Fixer punch his vibroblade into a Trandoshan's forehead. His limbs went limp, but he continued to hang there, mouth lifelessly gaping.

"Yikes, Fixer. Poor guy just wanted a hug."

He chuckled, which was rare as he was usually the one telling me to shut up an concentrate on the task at hand.

A violent growl caught my attention. Another Trandoshan unsheathed two knives, apparently seeking to give me a shave.

I glanced at the ammo count displayed on my weapon. 001.

Oh, that's just wonderful. I shouldered my rifle and aimed for the Trando's ugly mug. No wonder he was mad. The blue blast flew at his head.

It hit his ear.

"Uh oh."

He dove forward, his two knives pointed at me like a bouqet of flowers.

Suddenly, a flash of blue shot through his temple mid-flight.

I quickly steped to the side to avoid the flying corpse. It landed with a hard thud a yard behind me. I looked in the direction of the shot.

Sev looked up from his rifle scope and tapped two fingers to his helmet.

"Nice aimimg there, Scorch. I'm sure he's cursing you from the afterlife for his ear."

"Oh, Sev, you never learn. I knew that all the poor guy needed a good pair of earrings, so I decided to do him a favor and pierce his ears for him."

"Heh, whatever you say, Scorch."

"Thanks, again, Sev." I said, my tone serious.

He sighted through his scope again and fired at an unseen enemy.

"Any time."


"Delta Squad, lock and load!"

The troop bay doors of the Gunship slammed shut, and I steadied myself as the pilot suddenly changed course and accelerated.

We were ordered back to the planet by Master Yoda himself. Apparently, our mission on this planet was actually just the recon needed for the invasion force, which we had just been told.

The revelation didn't offend any of us. Being ordered back to the planet was an absolute miracle. We were utterly silent, determined to reclaim our lost brother. Regular people would never understand. Why mourn a comrade that could be so easily replaced? We're all clones, so why bother?

I suddenly pitied regular humans. They would never understand the brotherhood that can grow between soldiers literally born to to fight. They'd never understand that we clones fought for more than the mission, for more than the Republic.

We fought for each other.

Nothing would stop us. Nothing would stop me. If anything tried, I'd reduce it to a smoking crater.

I glanced at the soot that still dirtied my armor.

"Any time."