The Varactyl Squadron Commander (A Star Wars: The Clone Wars Fan-Fiction)

Chapter Twenty-One

It was quiet for the first part of the ride to Twar in the passenger-hold of the ship, where the eight disguised clones sat and waited for their arrival on the unfriendly planet. There were ten seats in all, five up against one wall and the other five up against the opposite wall. Just as Axel suspected, four of the seats on one side of the room were taken by Rex's men, while four of the seats on the opposite side consisted of his own squad.

They hadn't spent too much time preparing themselves for the mission. They didn't need to, their roles in this endeavor were simple enough: protect the Commanders, who were weaponless and would count on their squads to provide them aid if things went sideways. It wasn't rocket science. If anything, it was easier than what they normally did on the battlefield. Rex and Molindi would do the talking, and they'd follow along with their traps shut and their blasters ready. Simple. No need to worry.

Axel found his hands shaking none the less as he sat next to Breaks, who was busy disassembling and reassembling his blaster with a bored expression on his face. Axel clasped his hands together and acted as if he wasn't nervous for the task ahead of them.

The clone could remember the last time he'd done something similar to this assignment. That was how he lost his first squadron. They'd been sent to a crummy little planet a few parsecs away from Umbara, a desolate grey wasteland that should've been uninhabitable. Regardless of the harsh environment on the planet and deadly storms that formed in both the winter and spring, word had spread that slave traders and pirates had established a secret base there with help and resources provided by the Hutt clan. Agents of the Republic caught wind of the rumors revolving around the planet and the possibility of slave traders and pirates living there.

It wasn't long before Axel and his brothers were assigned to a recon mission, along with two other squads they'd been working with a few months prior. Their job wasn't supposed to be a dangerous one, just to check out the planet and scan for any lifeforms possibly living there. They were told they'd be in and out in only a few hours, they had no reason to worry about danger. After all, this wasn't the first time rumors of a deserted planet harboring criminals had popped up on the Republic's radar. The odds were in their favor that no one would be around and they'd end up crossing this mission off their list of pointless expeditions.

Boy, had they been wrong.

When they arrived on the planet, their ships were ambushed almost immediately by unfriendly vessels and the clones were shot from the sky. The crash-landing killed an entire squad and one of his own brothers, leaving himself and the remaining clones to fend for themselves against the pirates that had taken siege over the wastelands.

He and the other clones fought well when the first wave of pirates attacked, though they did end up losing two clones from the other squad in the process. Using the wreckage of their ship as a barrier between them and the raining fire from their enemies, the job of fixing the broken communications device built into their vessel fell to Axel, since he was the only one tech-savvy enough out of the remaining clones to even stand a chance at contacting help from their allies. He took too long to repair the damaged communicator, and by the time aid arrived he was the only soldier left to tell the story of what happened on the supposedly abandoned planet.

If he'd been faster, if he'd known how to fix the machine by heart, then he wouldn't have lost his first squad. At least, what remained of it. The guilt of their deaths weighed heavily on the soldier and even over a year after the incident, he still had nightmares of the attack. He still heard his brothers' shouts of pain echoing in his mind as they were mercilessly gunned down before his eyes. He still saw their bodies fall to the ground, heard their armor smash against the dirt as their weapons flew from their hands and slid across the unforgiving terrain. The deadly scenes replayed in his mind's eye, over and over and ov-

"Hey, Axel?"

The clone blinked and realized that he was subconsciously crushing his hands in his own grip. Beads of sweat were dripping from his forehead and sliding down his neck, making the collar of his black undershirt moist against his body and stick uncomfortably to his skin. He immediately released his clasped hands, felt the tingling sensation of the blood flow returning to his fingers, and looked up at the voice that had said his name.

All eyes were on him, both squads staring in concern at their brother, who was obviously having some sort of nervous attack.

"Are you alright, man?" Breaks questioned next to him. The soldier's hand was gripping Axel's shoulder tightly, as if he'd been trying to shake the poor guy out of whatever stupor he'd been falling into. Axel shook the memories away and cleared his throat, which had become unusually dry.

"Yeah," He choked out and wiped the moisture from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Yeah, I'm fine." Axel sounded a little more certain the second time he said it and gave an appreciative nod towards his brother. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Tyson piped up from his chair a few soldiers away. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"His face is certainly white as one," Risk commented with a chuckle, obviously trying to lighten the mood in the room that had taken a serious turn. "You thinkin' about those witches we'll have to fight? I don't blame you for being scared, I'm shaking in my boots, too." The statement was followed by nervous laughs of agreement and the squads began to chatter about the possible trials ahead of them. Axel took a deep breath and tried to push away the thoughts of his past.