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

Chapter Fifty-Six

"I can't believe we just left them behind."

Breaks didn't have to say it out loud; they were all thinking the same thing as the clones and their new passengers made their way in their ship off of Twar's surface and to open space.

It was a feeling they'd never felt before, a feeling none of them ever wanted to feel in the first place. Especially after finding out about and witnessing Commander Rino's PTSD from her time spent on Ganta-Nego. As the group flew in the opposite direction of their leader, all they could do was hope that Commander Rex, General Skywalker, Axel and Molindi survived long enough for reinforcements to return and pick them up. Hell, they just hoped she managed to survive fighting a sith in the first place. The rest would be a piece of cake as long as the woman didn't bite the dust butting heads with that bald assassin.

To put it simply: It sucked. And the solemn silence that had fallen between the clones was enough to make that obvious.

It wasn't just the Varactyl Squadron troops that were feeling the guilt; Champ, Dodo and Slides were trying to keep the refugees calm and their breakfast in their stomachs all at the same time, trying to fend off the gut-wrenching remorse at the image of Rex and Commander Rino going toe-to-toe with a fighter on a whole other level than themselves. The level that separated a being with god-like power and a being with nothing but a blaster and luck.

"They'll be fine," Risk tried to convince his brothers, but despite his efforts, he couldn't keep that small sliver of doubt entirely from his voice. He ran a stressed hand through his short black hair before taking a seat in the co-pilot's spot.

"Of course they will," Tyson attempted as well, though with half the enthusiasm as Risk had, and scratched nervously at his mohawk. "Commander Rino is a bad ass. Commander Rex and General Skywalker are rumored to be pretty good in a fight too, so their odds aren't terrible."

"Right, they're just trapped on a cannibalistic planet... Surrounded by cannibalistic guards... And witches that can't be killed by normal means... With no backup for the time being-"

"We get it, Breaks," Risk snapped. "But there's nothing we can do to change that right now. What we can do is get these people to safety and bring a shit-ton of ships back to pick up Rex, General Skywalker, Molindi and Axel."

"You don't think she'll be mad at us, do you?" Tyson questioned. "I mean, considering the circumstances-"

"Everything is going to be fine," Risk interrupted his brother's sentence before Risk himself could start worrying about the exact same thing. Worrying would get them nowhere. What was done was done, now their only option left was to press on forward and continue with the plan. The CCD plans needed to be kept safe and taken where the Separatists would never see them again. That was their mission; that's what Molindi wanted them to do. She'd forgive them once they were reunited.

That's what they hoped, at least.

***

"Where are you taking us?" One of the triplets, Jordae, questioned as she watched Breaks pilot the ship, standing on her tiptoes to see all the buttons over his shoulder. Nata still hadn't come to from her blaster injury, but with some magic from Jordae and Cyndea, the wound healed and the hardest part of the problem was over. All Nata had to do was wake up, and the two other triplets weren't too worried about it. Apparently stuff like this wasn't uncommon in the palace.

Breaks hesitated a second. None of them had any idea how the little girls would react to their guards actually being clones in the Republic army. If they didn't handle this situation carefully, everyone knew they didn't stand a chance against these small witches if they decided to rebel. They could only imagine all the horrendous tales these children had been told throughout their short lives, and now they'd been deceived by the people they feared or hated the most.