Clone Wars: Chronicles of the 607th

Chapter 1.1-Jedi General

Jedi Knight Galharad Tyrel. Zabrak male, forty-three years old. Brought to trial by the Jedi Council twice to answer for heretical teachings. Narrowly escaped being expelled from the Jedi Council due to divided votes made by the Council. His padawan was almost taken from him due to his questionable teachings, but again a divided opinion on the Council allowed him to keep his pupil.

A heretic Jedi. A rotten meiloorun in the bunch. An aberration in a cult of powerful space wizards.
Of course he was CT-7938's new Jedi General.

7938 swallowed hard as he watched the gunship descend into the hangar. Why in blazes did he always have the rotten luck? It was bad enough that the Jedi were automatically placed in charge as the military leaders, but did he have to get the craziest of the crazies?

It had been three months since the battle of Geonosis. Since then, 7938 and the 607th had deliberately been shunned for what happened in their first battle—7938 in particular. Nobody wanted have a captain that rebelled against orders; so they delayed assigning him until they realized that they needed every single unit available. And now that they finally had to assign him, they dumped him on a heretic who was sure to get them all killed.

Fate seemed to hate him sometimes.

"Well, this outta be rich," ARC-9597 commented, walking up behind 7938.

"Mm."

9597 bumped 7938 in the shoulder. "Relax," he chided. "It's gonna be great. Trust me."

7938 made a face as the gunship landed in the hangar. Slipping on his helmet, he sighed. "Whatever you say."

With a mechanical clank, the gunship door slid open to reveal their new general. Perhaps 7938 was expecting a bearded monk, wizened and stooped over with an insane gleam in his eye. Maybe he expected a wild rogue, cowled and flighty. Either way, he didn't expect the seven-foot giant that walked out of the ship. His horns flashing in the hangar light, Tyrel showed his pearl-like teeth in a wide smile. As he approached the two clones, his shoulder and bicep muscles rippled under his tan skin, left uncovered by his sleeveless tunic. 7938 could swear that the floor vibrated with every step the Jedi took.

"Kamino's rainstorms," 9597 swore under his helmet.

"Yeah," 7938 whispered back as they both snapped to attention.

Tyrel stopped in front of them, towering a full foot above them. 7938 suddenly felt extremely small and vulnerable under the shadow of such a physically powerful being. He was certain that the Jedi didn't need that laser sword kill him.

"Welcome aboard the Crusader, General," 7938 declared, his voice practiced and even. "My designation is CT-7938, rank of captain; this is ARC-9597, rank of lieutenant. The 607th Legion awaits your command." Tyrel nodded as his eyes flickered around the hangar. Snapping his attention back to 7938, he seemed to force a smile and, to 7938's utter bewilderment, grabbed the clone's hand and shook it vigorously. 7938 restrained from yelping; Tyrel almost crushed his hand unintentionally.

"This is indeed an honor, Captain," Tyrel replied, letting go and offering his hand to 9597, who accepted it immediately. The Jedi smiled sadly. "I'm just sorry it's under such unfortunate circumstances."

"Likewise, sir," 7938 said, flexing his squished hand.

"Quite a grip, Lieutenant," Tyrel grinned at 9597. "I like a man with a firm grip."

"As do I, sir," 9597 told him. 7938 knew he was smiling under that helmet.

"So, Captain," Tyrel continued, crossing his bulky arms. "If you don't mind me asking, what is your name?"