» Leader's Promise

~ by

The metal deck of the Republic gunship vibrated beneath my boots. This was it. Our first fight; the moment of truth. Our ten long years of training had been eternally burned into our minds - the intended effect, of course. As the sight of the dry Geonosian sand became clearer with the gunship's descent, both the Republic and Separatist alike would find out if those countless exercises had paid off. One would think by the sheer amount of time put into our rigorous training that we would be able to face any challenge without hesitation or doubt. But we were still men.

Our time on Kamino had molded us into the most efficient and deadliest soldiers the galaxy has ever - and will ever - know. Our white armor would strike fear into enemy and I knew in my heart neither myself nor the good men under my command would hesitate to vanquish our foes, whoever or whatever they may be or what they believed in.

The ivory statues beside me and in other gunships were those of Squad 2233. We had the privilege of being the very first ones in a real fight. These soldiers - my soldiers - were my self-esteem, my confidence. They would not falter and regardless of the fact that dying was essentially what we were made for, I would do everything in my power to delay that inevitable fate from befalling my men. They would not die needless deaths. Not on my watch.

Every leader selected on Kamino - be it a AT-TE commander, flight leader, or commando sergeant - were taught accordingly on just what exactly it meant to lead men into combat.

First and foremost, 'a leader must be ready to send the men under his command to their deaths.' Simple as that, they said. But it wasn't simple. It didn't take a fool just imagine horrific it would be knowing a fellow man was killed doing your bidding, obediently following your order.

Could I live with that on my shoulders? The guilt always haunting me; a brother's blood forever stained upon my hands? Early on, I made a vow to never find out. Even if that meant dying in the place of one of my own.


Simulation or no, these training exercises seemed to get upgraded on a very frequent basis, getting more and more realistic each time. Of course, I couldn't possibly know just how accurate these things were. After all, Kamino was the only place I knew.

And if we performed unsatisfactorily, like Squad 2232 had no more than a week ago, it would be the only place I would ever know. The Kaminoans took great pride in their work and certainly didn't hesitate to make sure their precious gun-toting cattle were the absolute best they could be.

I tried not to think just what happened to the bodies of the culled.

There was a subtle whack as I slapped the side of my helmet to clear my thoughts. Even though the troop bay doors were shut, the blinding, misty fog could be seen through cockpit's windscreen, visible from my place next to the entryway. Droplets of rain speckled across the transparent shield and turned into chaotic and yet majestic lines of water making their way across the ship's hull. Get it together. Show time.

I grabbed hold of the ceiling to steady myself as the gunship flew through the simulated environment. Behind my helmet, I swiftly licked my lips, preparing myself to address the ready and willing clone trainees before me and our fellow squad mates in the surrounding ships in formation.

"Alright, recap: we're going to hot drop into a hostile environment - " I leaned forward to counter the sudden descent of the ship, " - retrieve the friendlies on the deck for immediate dust off. I want a nice, clean dispersal, boys. Clear?"

I braced myself. Even over the signature revving of the LAAT/i gunship, the unified cries of genuinely motivated men (especially over helmet speakers) could mute out just about any other noise.

"SIR!"

Despite the wince-inducing shouts, their enthusiasm never ceased to make me proud.

Our pilot, "Lord" as he preferred to be called, craned his neck to look over the side of his seat. "Thirty seconds, gentlemen." Immediately after, the troop bay doors slammed open and the damp wind rushed into the cabin, sprinkling our Phase I armor with droplets of water. With my vision obscured by the fog, I could barely see the other gunships flying alongside us, let alone the ground.

In the back of my head, I wondered if we would still be sent on a real mission despite such bad flying conditions. I scoffed.

Of course we would. If they cared about our safety, we wouldn't exist.

However, the turret gunners could apparently see just fine and solid lines of green light traced deadly lines on the ground as they cut through unseen foes. The glowing lasers were morbidly hypnotic. It was amazing and somewhat scary as to just how awe-inspiring instruments of death could look in action.

Do our creators think of us in the same way?

I had no more idle time to muse to myself or to answer my own question as the ground became visible. Training took over and our bodies moved in quick, military precision without conscious thought. Splitting our numbers in two, one half readied themselves for exit at the starboard opening of the aerial transport and the other half would do the same for the port side.

I tightened my grip around my DC-15 rifle, loaded with non-lethal rounds for the simulated enemies we would be fighting against. I furrowed my brow in a focused determination. A determination not only to win, but to keep a promise. To follow the leader's creed.

In almost every military, regardless of what ideals were fought for, it was common practice for the leader to be the first one onto the battlefield, to ensure that his life was no greater than the lives of those who fought under his command; he had to see the field firsthand to accurately command his men.

But that wasn't the main reason I prepared myself to stomp onto enemy territory as fast as my legs would take me. If there was something lying in wait for us, I had no problems with protecting the lives of my men at the cost of my own. And such was my promise. I would always be the first one in, always the last the to leave.

The ship finally came to a stop and the turret gunners moved themselves out of our path. "Touchdown!" Lord called out. "Hit it!"

Adrenaline kicked into action and my feet left the deck of the gunship and crunched onto the damp gravel beneath. For a fleeting, almost divine moment, all was silent as the single pair of Republic boots violated enemy ground. Then, like a thundering chorus, a deafening cacophony of crunches were heard as the rest of my squad followed suit.

Rifles raised, we opened fire on the programmed hostiles of the day - stereotypically dressed smugglers, faces begrimed and scowling at their ivory adversaries. With the blinding fog, they could just barely be identified as hostile; they were, for the most part, ominous outlines in the mist returning fire.

I could only imagine how intimidating we looked in our armor as we strode through the fog: ghostly, identical warriors marching steadfast and determined, unflinching as we relentlessly advanced to protect our own. Closing a perimeter around our objective - a group of wounded Republic crew men and women with their jumpsuits torn and dirty - to protect against the enemy smugglers. We slowly walked backwards, still raining glowing blue fire upon our opponents as our holographic comrades made their way to the waiting gunships

Thankfully, the simulated smugglers proved to be stereotypical indeed: they couldn't hit an Assault Ship if they were standing on it. One of them fell to the ground in a smoking heap, minus his face. I winced. The simulations had definitely been upgraded.

"Sir! Friendlies secure!"

I breathed a sigh of relief. Mission accomplished. "Fall back!" I barked over the thundering blasts of our long rifles.

I heard sudden fzzzt behind me followed by a heartfelt expletive. Dread flooded my mind, overwhelming both my adrenaline and concentration. As shots whizzed past us all and harmlessly scorched the armored hull of the gunships, I looked in horror at a clone, laying on his back on the ground, admirably struggling with all his might to get back up.

No, no, no, no...

Simulated rounds were non-lethal, but that didn't mean a hit didn't register; the Kaminoans made sure their training produced the best troops and thus, even simunition could be temporarily immobilizing to recreate the effects of a real wound.

"Damn it," the trooper strained. His glove was tightly wrapped around a hit directly to the back of his knee. "Get out of here, sir, leave me - "

Without having to be told what to do, the clones already onboard the ship laid down heavy covering fire, which shielded us from the smugglers' increasingly accurate aim. I crouched, grabbed his arm and draped it across my shoulders. "Move it!" I hissed.

It didn't matter that it was a simple training exercise. The entire purpose of it all was to prepare us for the real thing; if we didn't give it our all just because it was practice, we were worthless.

A round found its way squarely on my back. The impact was a shock, causing me to jerk forward from the hot explosion of simulated pain. I quickly forgot of the injury as my determination propelled my body to ensure the safety of my own. One of the men that shared not only my inevitable fate by my genetics as well. But I had a higher responsibility. I was their leader, the one who coordinates their might to victory - the one they look to for unending confidence and composure.

Even though I knew he wasn't truly injured, his failing attempt to restrain his pained gasps, each full of fear and despair, haunted my ears. Getting as close to the gunship's cabin as possible, my wounded man was hauled aboard, allowing relief to soothe my mind.

I took a quick glance backwards at the enemy fruitlessly continuing to rain small arms fire upon the gunship's hull before hauling myself aboard. The ship rose higher and the fog consumed the battlefield in its gray haze. As an afterthought, I checked the mission clock.

Total time elapsed, from mission start to mission end: one minute and three point two seconds.

I allowed my pride and satisfaction to tug at the ends of my mouth to form a faint smile. There had been no friendly casualties, the mission was successful, and my promise remained unbroken.

"You make me proud, boys."


"Around the survivors, a perimeter create!"

The gunship's turrets let loose, decimating almost all of the Separatist forces surrounding the surviving Jedi. Severed metal limbs still glowed a dull red as they littered the ground.

The ship itself slowed to a halt mere inches from the Arena floor. Without hesitation, I hopped off the edge of the deck. Just like those countless times in training, there was a split second moment where everything seemed to freeze and go absolutely still, with my boots falling upon the dirt seemingly almost echoing in its singularity.

Then everything resumed and that signature, almost heavenly chorus of boots smashing into the ground filled my ears. Selecting a random droid from the remaining masses - an unshielded destroyer droid - my rifle sights enveloped my view of the enemy, placing the mechanical hostile directly in their center.

The large, bulky DC-15 bucked backwards into my shoulder as I pulled the trigger and the droid's main chassis was blown off its three peg-like legs from the sheer force of the shot. This was where adrenaline in combat took over, controlling one's body to perform to its fullest potential for as long as possible.

Droid after droid was blown apart from our combined, coordinated firepower. Some fell victim to their own blasts as the rescued Jedi blocked them back at their initial shooters, an admirable feat worthy of respect. As quickly as we expanded outwards from the safety of our landed transports, we herded back to them, still firing as we walked backwards. Each of us fired in a certain direction as to disperse our combined firepower into a semi-circle of counterfire against the Separatists.

There seemed to be a sudden shift if the masses of droids as a majority of their weapons visibly moved to the next closest target. Knife Two Six, the gunship that had dropped us, was apparently their new target. Standing right in before of it was Private CT-0117, who also caught sight of the enemy's sudden change of plans and fired at a more rapid rate. I could see his face, contorted between concentration and the restraint of letting panic overcome him. Death was a damned scary thing for any living being, even if one was literally born to do so.

Not on my watch.

I walked sideways and stood next to the private. Our strength doubled, we both let loose with our weapons, using those reserves of fury and passion in humans that were only unleashed in the face of mortality.

However, said reserves seemed only enough to save one man, as I took an unlucky round straight to the chest. My eyes shot open as I fell onto my back, rifle blasting shots harmlessly into the air in my pained grip.

I was surprised at how calm I was despite the fact that I was laying belly up with a blast wound emblazoned across my chest. I allowed a tiny smile as I saw the gunships finally rise into the air, filled with the Jedi we had been summoned to rescue. Everything seemed to grow quieter into a muffled collection of assorted sounds as I simply stared into the Geonosian sky, now covered with Republic Assault Ships and formations of smaller aircraft.

"You make me proud, boys," I quietly said to myself. "You make me proud."

Even though I had been bested in my very first actual mission, I was satisfied. I had held true to my vow. Never would I know the horrors of sending a subordinate to his doom. I had fulfilled my purpose as a clone trooper, going about my duty to the best of my ability.

I had been the first one in, just as I should have as a leader. Now, as my breathing became shallow, everything became darker and darker. And I'll be the last to leave.