Chapter Text
Captain CT-8118 stood at the docks, helmet held between sweaty hands, as he waited for his commanding officer to arrive.
He wasn’t the only one – not far away the soon to be 212th was packing up, loading their equipment onto the brand-new ship. They’d already chosen their paint; a brilliant shade of gold, standing out even more prominently in the damp, grim atmosphere of Kamino.
He felt a stirring of envy at the sight – his own battalion, the 119th, hadn’t received any information on paint yet. Either their General hadn’t been assigned yet, or they just hadn’t confirmed what shade or colors would be allowed.
He hoped it was something similar to that gold – maybe a softer yellow? Something… What had that trainer called it? Pastel? Yeah, that would be nice.
There was one Trooper over by the 212th who didn’t have even a hint of paint. They seemed to be speaking with the Commander, because the two had their heads bowed together, clearly communicating over inner comms.
The shiny-shelled trooper leaned back, giving a firm nod, before diving back in for one quick headbutt, rough but affectionate, before jogging away with a cheery wave over their shoulder.
He smiled, all jealousy forgotten at the sight. Batchmates, probably. Those goodbyes were hard, but always heartening to see. As a CT, he’d been separated from his own batchmates when they went into different training tracks, and the squad he’d been assigned to were kind, but not particularly close.
He’d always been the odd one out – never as strong, smart, or competent as his peers – so it was no surprise that CT-8118 didn’t have anyone running to say goodbye to him at the docks.
Still, he enjoyed being on the outskirts of such affection, even if he was rarely a participant himself. It was nice just knowing that something good existed in the world, something that he could think of and remember, even when his bunk felt unbearably cold and empty.
He chanced another glance in that direction, only to do a double-take when he realized the white-armored trooper was actually coming in his direction, and CT-8118 immediately stood at attention, spine ramrod straight.
“You with the 119th?” they said casually as they jogged closer, pulling their helmet off with one hand. Their hair was regulation-short, but they had the lazy whiskers along their chin of someone who often forgot to shave, and an easy confidence lining their face.
“Yessir!” he replied, saluting. “A Captain, sir! CT-8118!”
“Great,” they said, holding out a hand. “I’ll be the Commander of our new battalion; Osha, they/them. Got a name?”
CT-8118 returned the greeting, clasping forearms with his new commanding officer.
“N-No, sir, not yet.” He cursed his tiny stumble, knowing that was yet another mark against him on what was a very long list, but at least Commander Osha didn’t seem to mind.
“Are you nervous?” the Commander said, a lopsided smile on their face.
He felt his cheeks go warm as he fumbled with his helmet, trying to slide it back on before his blush was too noticeable.
“What’s there to be nervous about?” CT-8118 bluffed, hoping that his Commander couldn’t see the way his hands shook before he hid them behind his back, standing at attention. “This is what we were made for.”
Commander Osha’s grin took a mischievous edge. “Oh, sure. We were made for war, and we’ll be good at that. But getting all those other troopers to obey you? To follow your orders without complaining, causing trouble, or putting bugs in your sleeping bag as revenge? That’s the hard part.”
CT-8118 swallowed heavily. His training squad had teased him heavily during his time on Kamino for his ‘delicate sensibilities’, but he couldn’t help it! He couldn’t stand the thought of letting anyone down – which meant in the end that he hesitated, trapped between a rock and a hard place as he tried to find the solution that would please as many people as possible.
It wasn’t a good trait in a Commanding Officer, as his friends had all been kind enough to point out. CT-8118 was unsure of how he’d even ended up here, honestly. His scores and performance reviews had been more than enough to land him Captainship, he knew, but he’d always figured that his psych evals would disqualify him from command…
“I’ll do my best, sir,” CT-8118 said quietly, dread crawling up his spine.
Commander Osha softened, just a little, slapping CT-8118 on the shoulder.
“You’re not on your own,” they assured him. “That’s the good part of this whole thing. We’ve always got each other's backs. Look to your fellow officers for guidance if you need it. That’s what we’re all here for.”
CT-8118 huffed, his posture loosening, the Commander’s calming presence easing some of the anxiety chewing through him.
“Shouldn’t that include me, sir?” he quipped, and Osha laughed.
“True, true,” they snickered, and used their grip on CT-8118’s shoulder to pull him closer, slinging their arm around him. “I get the feeling you’re going to be the nice one, though.”
CT-8118 smiled, a little unsure. “And that’s… a good thing?”
He sure hoped so, anyway.
Osha gave him a friendly shake. “Sure it is. You need one in every battalion, that’s just procedure.”
“Oh, good,” CT-8118 relaxed.
Osha seemed to find that funny, chuckling as they shook their head.
“Yeah, you’ll be good for them,” they said, eyes crinkling with the force of their smile. “I can tell them what to do, Stereo can drag them into medbay by the hair, and all the rest of us can yell and dish out punishment and act tough. You? You can be the nice one. The safe harbor. It really is necessary, you know. Despite what the Kaminoans would say, we do perform better with a bit of positive reinforcement. You get me?”
The Captain blinked. It was like a fog had lifted, giving him a glimpse of a world he had only seen through a dark veil, hiding the true vastness of its expanse from view.
“Yessir,” Harbor said. “I understand.”
The men were abuzz with curiosity, a secret sense of excitement floating through the air. For all that they’d been created for service to the Republic, they’d been trained their whole lives to compliment the skills of the Jedi.
Not every battalion had a Jedi – there were many, many clones, soon to be millions, and only ten thousand Jedi, not all of which were even on active duty. Many battalions had to contend with natborn officers with half their skill and rarely any true experience – at least the Jedi, regardless of their knowledge of warfare, all had active combat training.
But even more than that, it was just – it was just wizard! They had powers unlike anything Harbor could ever dream of; rumors of mindreading, telekinesis, and seeing the future all flooded every available battalion as soon as the Jedi started trickling in. Communication between separate fleets was rare outside of official business, but some interesting little tidbits slid past here or there.
Harbor was hardly immune to that excitement. He’d heard that their Jedi was a respected master who wielded multiple lightsabers – a dueling expert! How amazing was that? Who knew how that would translate to siege warfare, but Harbor hardly minded it; the whole reason the clones were here was to support the Jedi on what they could not do, after all.
It was an honor and a privilege to be granted a Jedi General; one that Harbor knew every single trooper on board was looking forward to.
Unfortunate, then, that their General didn’t quite see it in the same way.
General Krell didn’t join the battalion until after they’d already been given their first deployment. He’d come storming onto the bridge with a deep frown on his face, evidently displeased with the sight that greeted him.
“This is it, then?” he’d said, and then turned towards the natborn Admiral that had followed after him, not bothering to wait for an answer from the clones who floundered awkwardly to find the appropriate response. “Thank you for escorting me here. You may leave, now.”
His tone was… firm, if right on the edge of politeness. Privately, Harbor thought the General might not like their Admiral very much, which the man also seemed to pick up on, face coloring slightly as he turned his nose up, leaving swiftly.
General Krell crossed one pair of arms over his chest, the other pair resting on his hips as he glanced around, surveying the ship.
Commander Osha took that moment to step forward, giving a sharp salute.
“Welcome aboard, sir,” they said, clicking their heels together. They reached up, motioning as if to take their helmet off (natborns respond better to faces, don’t they?), but the General turned away before the motion could be completed, and Osha halted, hands swiftly returning to their sides.
“The 119th Battalion…” General Krell mused, gazing out at the viewscreen, where thousands of ships were landing and lifting off from Coruscant’s atmosphere, nearly dotting out the sky with their lights. “Not a particularly auspicious number. Well, that hardly matters. Does the ship have a name?”
Osha shook their head, and then quickly followed it up with a verbal ‘No, sir’, when Krell continued to not look to them for response.
“Hm…” their General tilted his head back, breathing in deep. There were stress lines carving lines into his face – new and exaggerated. Every muscle in his body seemed tense.
Harbor wondered if there was truth to the rumors that the Jedi had not known they would be serving. He had been trained all his life to take on this duty – what would it be like, to have it thrust upon him out of the blue? It was impossible for a clone to ever imagine, but Harbor thought of that strange reality now, and felt sympathy stir deep in his chest.
Regardless of whether or not the General knew, he certainly hadn’t lived his whole life in preparation for it.
That’s alright, though. The rest of them would be there to act as support – and if Harbor was meant to be the ‘nice’ one, perhaps he could extend that care to his General as well. It couldn’t hurt, right? Everyone needed a shoulder to lean on. Harsh days on Kamino had taught him that much.
“This ship will be called the Elegy,” the General declared, and Harbor’s whole spine went rigid, like he’d been dumped straight into the deep, dark ocean, chilling him to the bone. “All of this, this whole war… Despite my reservations, I have come to understand it. This is a necessary evil. We must not forget this.”
The silence was stifling.
“Yessir,” Osha said, a touch more subdued than normal. “We understand.”
A necessary evil. That’s what this war is, to their General. That’s what all of the clones are, probably.
Something to be mourned. The already-dead.
Okay. Okay. Harbor could work with that. He knew what it was like, to mourn the loss of something that was still breathing.
He stepped forward, suddenly brave, and his breath caught in his throat at General Krell’s gaze on him, piercing him through to the core.
“We won’t let you down, sir,” Harbor said quietly. Tried to convey a dozen other things – tried to say you’re not alone and we’re here to support you, whatever you need, you don’t have to be afraid – hoping that even a fraction of it got through. “Give us your orders. We’re here to serve.”
And the General… relaxed. The tense lines of his shoulders finally eased, and he gave Harbor a curt nod before he turned to Osha, gesturing towards the door.
“Gather the officers and meet me in Conference Room Aurek,” he ordered. “We’ve already been assigned our first engagement, and we need to make sure everyone is clear on their roles.”
“Yes, sir!” Osha repeated, sounding like a broken record as they gave yet another salute, keeping position until the General brushed by them, exiting swiftly.
Then, they breathed out, the whole bridge crew relaxing all at once.
“That could’ve gone better,” Osha said ruefully.
Harbor smiled, a bit weak, but stepped up beside them, brushing their shoulders together in comfort.
“Could’ve been worse, too,” he muttered.
The two of them shared a commiserating glance. They’d all shared the same trainers, for the most part, and every single one of them had impressed upon the cadets that whatever treatment they may dislike on Kamino, it would be a million times worse once they were out in the wider galaxy.
Thankfully, the stealthy inter-battalion reports they’d been getting so far was proving this to not be the case, but it wasn’t like anyone would be surprised. Always better to be prepared for the worst, after all.
“Harbor, with me,” Osha said, striding towards the exit. “Let’s grab the others and get to work.”
Harbor had met all his fellow officers, at this point. They were bright and vivacious and all seemed to know each other — or, at least, got along so well that any unfamiliarity could be easily brushed aside.
It had felt uncomfortably like Kamino, at first; Harbor left standing awkwardly on the outskirts, enjoying the concept of camaraderie without being able to physically touch it.
Osha hadn’t allowed him to languish for long, though. He’s brought Harbor around during one of the early days, introducing him to everyone and explaining their specialities.
Stereo, their CMO, had glared at Harbor with narrowed eyes for a long, long moment at their introduction, before immediately bustling away muttering something about anti-anxiety medication, which had left Harbor fairly bewildered, but despite their brusque demeanor, Stereo was quite easy to get along with, so long as you obeyed their orders.
Frost was one of the other Captains, and Harbor felt immediate relief when he’d introduced himself, a kind smile on his face and a firm grip to his handshake. Frost wasn’t a CC, but he had the same sort of steady aura that all older troopers seemed to have, and Harbor couldn’t help but feel more at ease now that there was another ‘adult’ in the room.
Huron was the exact opposite – already ARC-trained and a brilliantly vicious fighter, but so loud that Harbor had to resist the urge to clamp his hands over his ears whenever the other clone got too excited. He was very personable, and Harbor certainly enjoyed being around him, but – in short doses. Harbor had at least that much self-preservation, thankfully.
Everyone gathered together, heading for the conference room, and Harbor allowed himself to hope.
He couldn’t imagine a better leadership team – his own place on it still felt awkward and suspect, but he was surrounded by highly competent troopers that would be able to catch him if he faltered.
Surely, the General would see that too.
Mission planning went… well, it wasn’t a complete disaster.
The General was talented with investigative work and direct dueling, as Harbor had expected. It seemed that he was not anywhere near familiar with the kind of long-form combat that war required, however.
The General kept putting forth strategies that Osha politely pushed back on, all of them far too focused on the individual fighter to be useful for full squads, let alone a legion or two. Even Harbor could see that much.
It got to the point where the General was clearly frustrated, and all of the clone officers in attendance were shifting nervously, trying to find the balance between respecting the Jedi’s authority and making smart plays.
All through their journey, the ship grew more tense, the excitement of leaving on their first real engagement diminishing by the hour.
Harbor tried his best to assist – he organized some group training (more of an excuse to let the boys roughhouse and play around, really), did some surprise inspections (and taught them all how to hide their contraband a bit better), and finally managed to get his hands on some paint.
It was their last activity before they exited hyperspace, and Harbor couldn’t have been more proud by the end of it. The paint he’d requisitioned wasn’t the brightest color – a sort of murky yellowish-green – but it was the same color as their General’s skin, and without an official battalion color yet, he found it to be a good fit.
He’d cautioned everyone to keep their patterns simple, at least for now. It would inevitably get damaged during the engagement, and they didn’t have much paint left to do touch-ups. So everyone kept it clean, mostly adding signifiers of rank and position, just things to make commands a bit easier on the battleground.
Harbor, admittedly, did go against his own word. He kept all the official pieces, just like everyone else, but he added the shape of an anchor, angled down across his chest plate. It was big and broad, no delicate strokes, so he figured it wouldn’t be much of a pain if it got damaged.
The General took little heed of their activities, and spent more time butting heads with Commander Osha instead – until they finally reached the surface, and made camp.
There was no more time for debate. The plans had to be finalized now – and that’s when everything began to fall apart.
“No, sir,” Osha said firmly.
The murmurs and chattering all around them immediately ceased, everyone holding their breath simultaneously.
Harbor certainly felt like the breath had been stolen from his lungs, a vice clamped around his throat as General Krell slowly turned around.
“What was that?” he said, voice flat.
Any hint of anger had vanished, without even the slightest tremble to his voice. It was more unnerving than a show of outward aggression would have been – Harbor could barely stop himself from shying away, even without Krell’s attention directed at him.
Osha blinked rapidly, but to their credit, did not hesitate.
“A frontal assault at this location would be a complete waste of our time and resources,” they said, lifting their chin. “While there is a slight possibility we would be able to break through the Separatist forces, the amount of damage that would occur is unsustainable for our – “
“You seem to be misunderstanding something,” General Krell interrupted. His voice was a low drawl, sounding almost bored. “When I give you an order, I am not asking for your opinion on it. I am telling you to do it. I have been mandated as your General by the Senate, despite it being far below my station. The least you artificial humanoids could do is refrain from irritating me during the process.”
There was a moment of quiet. Osha and Krell stared at each other, seemingly unaware of the way the rest of the camp was trapped in a strangled silence.
“Understood, sir,” Osha said finally, and followed their words with a sharp salute. “We will continue with the assault as per your orders, sir.”
Krell sneered. He didn’t even seem satisfied with his victory.
“See that you do, Commander. Unlike me, you are easily replaced.”
With those parting words, he swept back out of the camp, snapping at any clone that dared not to scramble out of his way fast enough.
When Krell’s back disappeared, Harbor finally let out a shaking breath, coming back to himself all at once. There was a river of sweat down his back – he felt like his knees would give out on him if he tried to shift positions at all.
Stereo pursed their lips, crossing their arms over their chest.
“What’s the plan?” they said harshly, causing Harbor to blink in confusion.
Hadn’t they just discussed the plan? Sure, it wasn’t a good one, but they had their orders –
“Follow me,” Osha said, waving for Stereo and the rest of the officers to follow. “Harbor, get the men ready to march. I’ll transmit the exact coordinates later, for now… Just tell them to prepare.”
Harbor nodded dumbly, entirely unsure of what was going on and terribly aware of some greater context he was missing.
What was happening…?
Their first battle went well. Almost suspiciously so, given Harbor’s initial concerns. He was hardly upset to be handed victory on a silver platter, but he still spent days pondering over the data, wondering what had changed between the mission planning and execution.
He did a bit of digging – perhaps more than was appropriate – and finally found his answer.
Commander Osha had rerouted several of the support squads, placing them in more strategic positions on the battlefield – and they’d done it quite last minute. Harbor didn’t find any requests filed for the change, which wasn’t unusual on the battlefield, but what was more unusual was the fact that he found no reports of this change afterwards either.
It had all been done very quietly, and far enough away from the General’s position that he would never find out unless someone told him.
Harbor felt almost sick with the realization; this had gone against orders, hadn’t it?
But… it wasn’t like it had destroyed their cohesiveness, and in fact had been a blatant benefit to their plans. Did it still count as treason? Was going against any order a sin, even if the order was faulty?
He wasn’t sure what to do with this information. Abruptly, he wished he’d never learned it at all.
No one had directly told him. And if he wasn’t asked to report on it, he really didn’t have to say anything, did he…?
Harbor’s stomach lurched with the ball of tension he’d suddenly swallowed, but he took a deep breath, disposed of all his research, and decided to go visit the medbay instead of wallowing here. There were still a few injured troopers stashed inside, and it would better serve his time to go visit them than to sit here and panic.
It was – it was fine. Commander Osha knew what they were doing, surely. The General would understand if he knew, they all just needed some more time to get used to each other, that’s all it was.
So Harbor didn’t mention it.
He didn’t mention it the next time he saw it either, or the next, or any little adjustment his keen eyes noticed over the next three months of engagements, all becoming increasingly blatant as the General continued to argue against every single plan one of his officers put forth.
Harbor closed his eyes, didn’t say a word, and then –
Then, the General finally realized something was happening. And by then, it was too late.
“I wish it hadn’t had to come to this, Commander,” General Krell said. His voice was flat, one pair of arms crossed over his chest.
Osha, stripped of their armor and kneeling in the mud, tilted their head up to look at him.
“Frankly, sir, I don’t think that’s true,” they said, entirely glib.
Harbor felt like he was about to have a panic attack. This was all just a dream, right? There’s no way this was happening, not now. Not like this.
Krell sneered. It was a sharp, ugly thing.
“As a Jedi, I must show benevolence to all living things. You have tested the very limits of that oath, and gone beyond it. How many lives have been lost because you were incapable of following orders? If you had simply done what you were told, you wouldn’t have forced my hand in such a way.”
Harbor swallowed. Osha’s latest plan had seemed sound – troopers would inevitably die, this was war. But… General Krell’s plan might have been different. Might have saved more lives than anticipated.
Osha remained mute, but the line of their jaw was tight. They were clearly unrepentant.
General Krell sighed, shaking his head. “Yet again, you squander another chance. Truly, you leave me no choice. Do you have anything to say before you return to the Force, Commander?”
Osha’s bottom lip trembled. There was a fire in their eyes, and Harbor watched, horrified, as it turned into a blaze.
Osha spat on the ground at Krell’s feet, vicious and unashamed.
“Learn this well, General, ” they growled. “Even a prey animal will bite when it's cornered. I don’t know what ending you’re searching for, but I promise you this – it will be cold, and leave you empty.”
The silence in the camp was oppressive – even the wind had died down. Harbor remained entirely still, paralyzed. Osha never so much as glanced at him, keeping their gaze fixed firmly on the General.
Krell stared down at Osha, meeting their eyes without pause. Then he gestured the natborn officers forward.
“Fire,” he said, deadly calm.
And Harbor – Harbor closed his eyes.
Frost was given command. Or, rather, he had quietly taken command when the General hadn’t seemed very interested in the process of cleaning up after Osha’s execution, showing up to give reports in Osha’s place as if he’d always been there.
General Krell made no comments regarding this, not that Harbor would have heard if he did. He had busied himself with speaking with the men, reassuring them about… what happened.
The whole thing weighed heavily on him – it hadn’t been right. Well, it had been regulation. General Krell was fully authorized to deal with traitors to the Republic, and a field execution was still a kinder fate for a clone than to be sent back to Kamino (picked apart, tortured and destroyed as a consequence of being made wrong), but, still…
It was the escalation that troubled Harbor – the General had gone from verbally reprimanding Osha’s mistake to ordering their death. Shouldn’t there have been a step in the middle, somewhere? If the two were truly incompatible, couldn’t Osha have been reassigned somewhere else? Even if they had ended up guarding a space station in the ass-end of nowhere, at least they would have been alive.
He didn’t speak any of these thoughts aloud. The air in the camp, these days, was too tense to allow for it. His fellow officers were equally subdued, trying to focus on what was directly in front of them rather than worry about the past – or the future.
In a comm call with their fleet admiral, reporting on the situation on the ground, Krell had mentioned that his Commander was dead.
“And you have a replacement?” the Admiral had said, barely looking up from the document he was skimming.
“Already handled,” the General said curtly, and that was that.
Harbor had been lingering in the back of the command tent during that conversation, and felt nearly dizzy with the rush of emotion that hit him, hands shaking.
Dead. Just, dead.
Harbor let out a shuddering breath. Perhaps that was what went on the reports, as well. Maybe that was a bit of kindness from their General, letting Osha die with their honor intact, marked as KIA instead of a traitor to the Republic.
Such a high-ranking mishap would bring a lot more attention to their battalion, after all. Their every action would be scrutinized after that, subjected to more inspections and censures.
This way, at least, Osha would not drag all their men down with them.
Harbor spent the next few days trying to convince himself of the wisdom in that – repeating it over and over as he wandered the camp, reassuring the soldiers and telling them that no, of course they wouldn’t be targeted because of what happened, the Kaminoans had no reason to recall them yet, it was okay.
Those who hadn’t been at the scene didn’t truly know the circumstances behind Osha’s death, and all of the officers silently agreed to keep it as contained as possible. Rumors floated around, as is inevitable when enough clones are gathered in one space, but the men were already antsy enough as it was.
They didn’t have time to be getting distracted, not while the ground campaign was still ongoing.
After. After it was done, after they were back on the ship, Harbor would let himself mourn, would allow himself the time and space to grieve what Osha did (and what Harbor didn’t do – couldn’t he have spoken up, tried to convince Osha to do this another way? Couldn’t he have done something?) but right now… right now, he had to focus.
He couldn’t afford to lose sight of what was truly important – his duty to the Republic. After all, none of the clones would even exist without it.
He shifted in his cot, trying to close his eyes.
They’d had their last meeting only an hour ago, preparing for the assault that would be conducted bright and early tomorrow morning. General Krell had been surprisingly cordial, and though Frost had offered only the mildest of suggestions, they had been received without much conflict.
Maybe the General had learned something from this experience too. Osha hadn’t known the right way to word it, and they’d gone behind the General’s back – treason, for all that Harbor understood why they’d done it. But their words hadn’t been wrong, necessarily. The Battalion was suffering unnecessary losses.
General Krell was a powerful Jedi, but he hadn’t been trained for war, not like the rest of them. And given that he didn’t seem particularly pleased to be involved with the war at all, Harbor understood how resentment could begin to fester.
But… If Osha’s loss could teach them something, maybe his Commander hadn’t died in vain. If their fellow soldiers got stronger in the wake of their death, it was the best thing a clone could ask for.
Harbor fell into dark, uneasy dreams. Voices murmured at the edges of his hearing, always just out of range, and he found himself desperate to answer them, to find them –
He woke to Huron shaking him, a smile on his vod’s face, small and tired as it was.
“It’s time,” Huron whispered, and Harbor nodded, dragging himself up and out of bed.
No going back now.
Harbor woke to a vod shaking him, something desperate in their tone.
“Sir!”
“Wuh – ” Harbor swallowed, working his throat. It was strangely difficult, and Harbor couldn’t quite summon the memory as to why. “W’as going on?”
“Stay awake, stay awake!” they chanted, sweat dripping from their brow. “Please, sir, stay awake!”
“I’m up,” Harbor grunted, and finally managed to gather the strength to crack his eyes open and glance down.
Oh.
The pain hit him all at once, like he’d just been sucker-punched in the gut. It was a deep, wrenching pain, utterly visceral in a way that no stunner had ever managed to accomplish, and Harbor choked on a breath, wheezing as he took in the sight of own mangled body.
Oh, he’s dying. He’s dying, he’s dying, he’s –
He’s going to die, and he’s going to leave this vod all alone. He can’t do that, he can’t. Even if, right now, he can’t quite remember why.
“What’s your name?” Harbor slurred out, vision going fuzzy.
He felt suspended, floating somewhere above himself, but the vod’s swearing pulled him back down, a tether more successful than even the urgent hands on him.
“Is that really important right now?” the vod snapped, sounding increasingly panicked.
Harbor couldn’t help but feel like the attitude was a bit unwarranted. It was only a simple question.
“Y’re elbow deep in my guts righ’ now and I can’t even ask your name?” Harbor asked, offended.
“No!” they replied, somehow even more frantic than before. “Shut up and let me work!”
Harbor blinked rapidly, trying to will away the dots obscuring his vision.
“Mean. Can’t be mean to me, I’m dying.”
“You can’t! Please, sir — “
Harbor lost time somewhere, the burn in his core settling until everything just felt numb. It wasn’t that bad, really. There were worse ways to go, in war.
“Sir, please —— name is Parasite —— just keep breathing, I —— the only one left, come on —— ”
Blissfully, Harbor drifted away into the waiting dark, allowing himself to finally relax.
— And then he shuddered, letting out a pained moan as he came back to himself all at once, able to feel every goddamn ache in his body down to his toes.
He’d been dragged back behind cover, his nearly shattered helmet in a pathetic heap by his side. On the other side was a vod he vaguely recognized — he was a member of Frost’s squad, Harbor thought. Parallel? Parsec?
“Parasite,” he choked out, the name coming to him completely unbidden. “Wha’s happening?”
Parasite jumped, and there was naked relief in his face when he turned to look at Harbor, giving as proper a salute as he could in the situation.
“Sir! You’re awake! How are you feeling?”
“Alive,” Harbor grunted, limbs shaking heavily as he began to push himself up into a sitting position — Parasite winced, shifting closer like he desperately wanted to protest, but didn’t have the words. “Which is better than I expected. Didn’t know you were a medic, Lieutenant. I owe you.”
If possible, Parasite cringed even harder than before.
“Not a medic, sir,” he said miserably. “None of them — none of them made it. I just grabbed a medkit from one of them before I went looking for any survivors.”
Harbor wanted to praise him for his smart thinking, but his brain was stuck on the first part.
“None of them?” he croaked out. “Who’s left? The other officers – ”
Parasite let out a shaking breath, and curled closer, like he wanted to duck behind Harbor for shelter, to hide in a safe place.
“Just you and me, sir,” he said, voice so small. “Nobody else. No officers, no medics… Nothing. It’s a goddamn bloodbath. I – I don’t know about the infantry squads, but I can’t get anyone on the comms. Sir, I. I don’t think...”
Harbor’s first instinct was to reprimand him for such an outrageous lie, something so completely out-of-line that it wasn’t even funny in the way of gallows humor, but —
The misery on Parasite’s face was real, and fresh. His armor was stained with more than just Harbor’s blood, and imagining this vod stumbling around the battlefield, trying and failing to revive the fallen…
It stole his tongue, kept Harbor from saying anything he would regret later, despite how impossible it all seemed.
Surely, brilliant, quick-witted Frost wouldn’t have died so easily. Huron had always boasted that he would only deign to be killed by Count Dooku himself, and his sturdiness had seemed ready to prove it. Stereo had only recently pulled together a squad of medics that they were satisfied with, so exacting and strict, but so strong that it felt impossible —
It couldn’t be true. Those words were on the tip of his tongue, but Harbor looked to Parasite, who had ducked his head, reaching out to hook his fingers around the broken edge of Harbor’s pauldron.
“I think it’s just us, sir,” he said, tears leaving smeared marks through the dirt on his cheeks. “What do we do?”
Harbor swallowed. “We keep going.”
Parasite was right. There’s no one left.
A quarter of the entire battalion was devastated. Their advance squads ran directly into an ambush – one that Harbor knew they should have been able to pick up on the radar. The fact that they didn’t is… disquieting. Their equipment had taken a few hits over these last campaigns, and some technical difficulties were to be expected, but the consequences were just too dire.
Most of the maintenance staff were spared of the massacre, thankfully. That’s the first thing Harbor did, numb and still feeling floaty from the high-grade painkillers that Parasite had hastily injected him with.
Harbor ordered a complete overhaul of their systems, making sure to place the equipment upkeep as their highest priority. This could not be allowed to happen again.
He would’ve placed a higher priority on medical evacs, but. There wasn’t much of anyone to evacuate, at that point. And they had, quite literally, no medics left. Of the few wounded soldiers that they managed to drag off the battlefield, none of them survived the transport to the Republic station above.
The battle was won, though. By the time Harbor managed to finally drag his weary body to camp and report to the General, the Jedi seemed… pleased.
“The Separatists have been routed from the planet’s surface, sir,” Harbor croaked out.
Other troopers were milling about, equally exhausted, and Harbor just had to get through this report – then he could comfort them. Then he could tell them that he was proud of them for what they did today, for doing their duty and surviving the aftermath. They could count their dead and say their remembrances, and Harbor could rest –
“Excellent,” General Krell grinned. “Finally, a true victory.”
Harbor blinked. For a moment, he didn’t even comprehend what the General had just said.
Then it sank in, and he swallowed heavily.
“We suffered heavy losses, sir,” he said quietly. “We will need to request new troops to strengthen the ranks. I would suggest specifically requesting some ARCs, and as many trained officers as possible. I am… I am now the only commanding officer left in this battalion.”
Krell turned to him, face blank. “And you are…?”
Harbor felt his face heat up, humiliation rising, and was grateful his helmet prevented anyone from seeing his shame.
“C-CT 8118, sir,” he stuttered. “I’m Captain – ”
“A Captain is more than enough,” General Krell said lazily, waving a hand. “You’ll take command. Adding in new officers will just disrupt our rhythm. I do believe we’ve already had enough issues on that front.”
Harbor paled at the reminder of - of Osha, and by the General’s words themselves.
No other officers? That’s just impossible. That would mean no ARCs. No medics. No one who could be trained to take command if something happened to Harbor. No one to share the burden of that command – he wasn’t trained for this! He wasn’t suited for this!
He – He could probably promote some troopers within their ranks in order to still abide by the General’s words, but it would still take too long! It was simply illogical!
“Sir — ” Harbor began, only for his mouth to snap shut as the General rounded on him, nostrils flaring.
“Did I ask for your opinion, Captain?” Krell said, voice dangerously soft.
Mutely, Harbor shook his head, shrinking under Krell’s gaze. He could feel his men’s eyes on him, and it made the back of his neck burn, his hands shaking.
“That’s what I thought,” Krell rumbled, a deep sound that echoed through the clearing, pressing down on Harbor with an indescribable weight. “Now. Shut up. When I want you to speak, you will know. Am I clear?”
Harbor swallowed heavily, nodding.
Krell stared at him for a long, long moment, eyes narrowed, before he finally snorted dismissively and turned away, stomping back in the direction of their camp.
Harbor let out a shuddering breath as soon as the General was out of sight, bringing one hand up to squeeze at his wrist, taking comfort in the subtle bu-bump of the pulse traveling through his veins.
He’d faced off against trainers on Kamino, had them screaming in his face while he just had to stand there and take it, had squadmates go down in live-fire exercises, lost so much over the short course of his life, and yet —
Somehow, under General Krell’s gaze, he felt smaller than ever before.