One Step at a Time

One Step at a Time - Part 1

It's almost over.

Chuckles's feet felt lighter as he stepped out of his fighter and onto the ladder next to the Z-95 Headhunter, slipping his helmet off and tucking it under his arm. He paused for a moment on the ladder to examine his reflection in the transparisteel of his cockpit viewport. He ran his fingers through his flattened mohawk, trying to stand the colored ends back up from where the helmet had pressed them against his skull. The teal color he'd dyed the tips of his hair a few weeks ago was fading to more of a greenish grey at this point, and his mouth twitched at the hue.

Needs a touch-up soon.

The color had been chosen by his friend Howzer after a lost game of sabacc to "ensure everyone knew who beat him." Chuck would never admit it, but he'd liked the teal the best of any colors he'd tried during the war. It had looked nice against the magenta and grey of his armor.

Three years, and it might all end today.

When he reached the base of the ladder, he paused, glancing down at the helmet in his hands. His fingers traced the stars he'd painted for each of his fallen brothers on the plastoid, some of them with scratches marring their magenta paint. Turning the helmet, his thumb grazed the single grey star he'd painted on the back of the helmet near its base. He sighed.

Thank the Maker this might all be done. Was running out of real estate for these guys.

A few of the maintenance droids were already rolling towards his fighter, and he gave them one of his lop-sided grins, the scar on the right corner of his mouth tugging against the expression. "Make sure you polish her up good, fellas. By all accounts, it sounds like there'll be a victory parade shortly." The droids buzzed and beeped in excitement, the R7 unit spinning in an excited circle. Chuckles grinned, patting its metal dome as he moved past.

What to do with my day off? The possible last day of the war? Maybe I'll go see that mechanic down in the temple garage. Might be time I finally asked her out for a drink. To celebrate.

Chuck glanced down at his armor before raising his arm and giving his armpit a sniff. The last mission had been shorter than the others, so the stink hadn't set in yet. He shrugged, deciding not to run by the barracks and change.

Eh, who can say no to a guy in his armor? I showered yesterday anyway.

Reaching down, he made sure his sidearm was still in its holster at his hip before he stepped out of the garage. He'd misplaced the damn thing enough, and he was not about to be reprimanded by some uptight admiral on a day as momentous as this.

The streets of Coruscant were buzzing as usual, but today felt different. There was a charge of excitement that made the air feel electric, as if everyone knew what he did.

News travels fast, I'm sure. Especially good news.

He slipped his helmet back on so that he could monitor the clone comm channels. This was not the day to be out of the loop. He tuned into the main feed, listening to the crackle that was occasionally interrupted by one of the millions of voices that all sounded like his, reporting statuses or giving order updates. If General Kenobi could just handle things on Utapau with the 212th, then it would be all over.

A new beginning.

Chuckles had been created to fight in this war, and with the end of it looming, he wasn't exactly sure how to feel about his future. If he was honest, he hadn't really thought that far ahead. With as many brothers as he'd lost, he'd just assumed he'd wind up as a star or a hashmark on someone else's armor at some point, but now, he'd made it.