To The Victor Goes The Spoils

Training Room Floor

I'm RC-5448-32, but most troopers call me Victor.  I'm a clone commando in the Grand Army of the Republic.  I was forged on Kamino, engineered to be an unparalleled weapon.  Most commandos have some semblance of a specialty.  

I'm a jet trooper... sort of.  We're all based off of the same basic genetic template, but some troopers are modified to better serve in particular roles.  Jet troopers tend towards the lighter end to maximize their packs efficiency.  That said, I'm very heavy by jet trooper standards.  

My kit is everything a "normal" clone commando carries, except that I've replaced most of my grenades and some of my charge packs for a flight pack.  This grants me vastly superior three dimensional mobility at the expense of slightly diminished firepower.  

My role in the squad is point-man and over watch.  I'm not a particularly impressive marksman, nor do I have the bulk to carry particularly impressive ordnance.  My technical skills are limited outside of operating and caring for my own equipment.  

My specialized equipment usually gives me a necessary edge.  My pack doesn't move me very quickly, but it ascends much faster than an ascension cable, and it goes even faster when assisted by or assisting an ascension cable.  

My ability to operate effectively in three dimensions gives me a necessary edge in lots of terrains.  Cover means very little when I can go over while maintaining line of sight and line of fire on the piece of cover in question.  

I usually fight by taking a difficult to approach piece of cover and holding it until I need to push forwards or am pushed out of it.  I'm certainly not the best commando, but I'm a commando dammit.  I'm shaken from my introspection by a quick call over my comms.  

"RC-5448-32, Keep your head down!"  That'll be Rav Bralor, the Mandalorian in charge of honing us into unparalleled weapons.  I tuck down a little tighter behind my piece of cover while I finish reloading my Deece, the DC-17m.  

I check that the cell is properly seated and I prep for a cover move by tossing a grenade.  By the time it goes off, I'm already moving.  I had previously noted a good piece of cover before I had emptied my cell downrange.  I was passingly aware of my pod mates continuing to push as well. 

Off to my right, RC-5432-32, is physically hefting a training droid on his vibroblade and using it as his own portable cover. I've gotta hand it to "Steam", he's good at what he does, and what he does is dismantle enemy forces with the precision of a sledgehammer.  

Off to my left and somewhat behind me, there's RC-5456-32, better known as "Pointer", master tracker, devious trapsmith, and probably one of the most dangerous men I've ever heard of. He's currently picking off enemy troops in my and Steam's path as we purposefully draw attention to ourselves.  

Bringing up the rear was RC-5428-32, also known as "Call".  He was the one in charge of keeping us moving forwards and usually marking targets for Pointer to drop.  He and Pointer made a sniper team while Steam and I would hem them, herd them, and draw them out.  

Today, like everyday, we were running sims.  We were trained at anywhere from 1:25 to 1:100 ratios for troops.  Even then, the toughest tests were always against our fellow commandos.  Just yesterday, we had squared off against Boss and the rest of Delta Squad in a CTF match. 

Sev is a damned good shot, and between Scorch's proclivity for 'nadeing first, and blasting second, and Fixer screwing with the terrain in the training room, We had a thrice damned hard fight for the flag.  

We lost Call quickly to Sev doing what he does best after being positioned with aid from fixer.  I dropped Sev quickly after because his raised elevation gave him a great view of the battlefield, it also made him stand out like a sore thumb as a valid target.  

I was forced down by the combined fire of scorch, boss, and fixer.  I knew that Pointer was setting up some nasty traps by their drop off point.  Stun grenades ready to go off with the slightest urging, and him waiting for someone to set them off.  He was our fail safe. 

Steam and I began trying to push, but it seemed that every time we found a good piece of cover, a grenade found its way into cover with us.  I once tried to go over the cover instead of around to avoid the grenade and Scorch was waiting there for me.  I was down.  

As I understand it, Steam took down Scorch immediately after he took me down.  Fixer took down Steam by dropping the cover Steam had just taken.  Fixer got dropped by Pointer, but Boss managed to tag Pointer and avoid the traps that were left.  

It was an embarrassing defeat for us, and an impressive victory for Delta Squad.  Again, though, I was shaken from my reminiscing by the clatter of a grenade over the cover I was using.  I kicked it back out the piece of cover I was using, and returned another of my own.  

Our simulation room was larger than that used for most of the rank and file troopers.  Really, it could best be described as sprawling.  Our simulations were usually multistage and often with their own unique challenges.  Once the voice faded out we found out today's challenge.  

The blasters stopped cycling and the displays flashed numerous errors.  We only had our vibro wrist blades apparently, and anything we could scavenge.  I waited for the training droids to start circling after me and I took a page out of steam's book.  

I punched my blade through the first one and used it to absorb blaster fire while I claimed its blaster for my own.  I holstered my Deece and started continuing my advance.  My flight pack was out of commission, my comms were on the fritz, and I didn't bother checking my sidearm.

Fortunately, they hadn't screwed with my HUD, so I could still see.  That said, I figured it was only a matter of time.  Once I had a moment of space, I turned off my helmet so that it couldn't display error messages.  

This meant that I couldn't use the threat identifiers, the motion trackers, or anything else which would've really given me an edge, but it also meant that the testers couldn't use it against me.  It also meant that I didn't have the shields of the Katarn armor.  

I kept pushing, hoping that I wouldn't be the only one to reach the predetermined rendezvous point before our final push.  I wasn't.  It looked like Call had also made it.  As best we could tell, Steam and Pointer had both been taken out by failing equipment.  

Pointer had been caught out of position when his blaster had failed, and hadn't been able to compensate for the abrupt loss of his weapon.  Similarly, Steam had handled the loss of his primary weapon just fine, but had been struck blind by a massive error message in his HUD.  

We learned the details in their after action reports.  That said, we knew our objective, and we knew we would be operating at less than half strength between the loss of our equipment and the loss of half of our team.  

The last leg of the mission was surprisingly easy.  The hardest part was that we kept needing to claim blasters from fallen foes as they ran dry.  When we marched back to the locker rooms to shower, we were stopped on the way by Rav Bralor.  

She inquired what we each did wrong, and what we each did right.  I refused to acknowledge my neglect of my sidearm as a mistake or as something correct.  It was foolish to never check it, but it was prudent to wait to check it.  

We all agreed that there wasn't a whole lot that Pointer could've done in his situation, and Steam was the first to admit the lapse in judgement he had made in keeping his helmet on even as various pieces failed.  

We discussed the day at length as we maintained our equipment, and then our bodies.  It would be only a few months more before we were sent to Geonosis.  That would prove to be the end of my squad, but it would be just the beginning of the war for me.