CT-7723 -a Star Wars Story-

A Leaders' Burden

As Condor gathered his thoughts, his commlink crackled to life with a familiar voice. "Lieutenant Condor, this is Captain Styles. Your platoon is ordered to return to the Tranquility immediately for debrief and reassignment."

Condor acknowledged the order, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Understood, Captain. We're on our way."

He turned to his men, feeling the weight of the past battle settle heavily on his shoulders. The reality of their losses hit him like a blaster bolt. Only 21 of the original 36 clones had survived. Each missing brother was a hole in their ranks, a reminder of the cost of their struggle.

"Alright, listen up!" Condor called out, his voice carrying the authority and compassion that defined his leadership. "We're heading back to the Tranquility. Gather your gear and fall in."

As the clones moved with disciplined efficiency, Condor's mind raced. He felt a complex mix of emotions—anger at the relentless droid forces that had claimed so many lives, sorrow for the fallen brothers who would never return, and a profound sadness for the weight of leadership that demanded such sacrifices. He had led them into battle with the promise of victory, but at what cost?

His eyes scanned the faces of his surviving men. Tank, his towering presence a symbol of unwavering strength, now bore new scars from the battle. Slice, ever sharp and deadly, moved with a hint of exhaustion. Sparks, usually so focused and composed, showed signs of weariness. And Brawl, his fiery temper subdued by the gravity of their losses, stood silent but resolute.

Condor's gaze lingered on the empty spaces where his fallen brothers should have been. He remembered their faces, their voices, their camaraderie. Each one a hero, each one a brother. The pain of their absence was a physical ache in his chest.

"Let's move out," Condor ordered, his voice betraying none of the turmoil within. He led them to the awaiting LAAT gunships, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he was taking fewer men back than he had brought into the fray

As Condor led his men towards the LAAT gunship, three familiar faces approached him. It was Kosmos, Sling, and Wreck, the clones he had found at the outpost earlier. Their expressions were a mix of determination and hope, a stark contrast to the weariness that clung to the rest of the platoon.

"Lieutenant Condor," Kosmos started, snapping to attention, "we've submitted an application for transfer to the 41st Elite Corps. We would be honored if you could accept our request to serve under you once the application gets accepted."

Condor paused, regarding the three with a mixture of pride and solemnity. "If your application gets accepted, there's not much I can do but put in a good word or two for you. But know this, I'd be honored to have you in my ranks."

The three troopers exchanged eager glances before Sling, unable to contain his excitement, burst out, "Thank you, sir! That means a lot to us."

Wreck nodded, his usually stoic face breaking into a rare smile. "We won't let you down, Lieutenant."

Condor smiled, a brief but genuine expression. "I know you won't. Now, get ready to move out."

As the three clones hurried off, nearly euphoric, Condor resumed his path to the gunship. Rook, already prepping the craft, looked up with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. "Who were those three? Looks like you've got fans, Lieutenant."

Condor chuckled, shaking his head. "Just some troopers who want to make a difference. Good men."

Rook's grin widened, dark humor flashing in his eyes. "Well, the 41st could use more like you. Ready to get us back to the Tranquility?"