The Wolf Pack

Chapter 30

CT-1304 had gone into battle once before, under the command of Jedi General Pong Krell. He had done everything his training demanded and had followed every rule in the hopes that, some day, he might get acknowledged by one of his superiors. They never had the chance. CT-1304 had been to battle once, and all of his supervising officers had died right in front of him. The number of troopers that survived that battle were all reassigned to different battalions, those with the most experience went to Generals like Kit Fisto or Ayla Sekura, but CT-1304 had not acquired any experience before that gruesome battle on a planet he couldn't remember the name of.

He had survived because he had been lucky, and the thought that he hadn't been as worthy of living as many of his brothers who had died there, haunted him each and every one of his waking hours. He knew this because when no one offered him a place in another battalion, his superiors contacted the one they hoped would take him, the one who took every trooper no one else wanted: the 104th.

The Wolf Pack they called themselves, a title one of their commanders had bestowed upon them. CT-1304 thought it was pretentious, but he kept his mouth shut. He had learned, under the care of his first Jedi General, that there was no room for sentiment on the battlefield. He had learned that protocol and rules were there to be followed, and failing to do so only got you sent back to Kamino for reconditioning. Sentiment, and freedom of ideology and speech had no place in war.

When he arrived on Coruscant to meet with his new battalion, he identified them immediately, the gray markings and canine imagery on white armour were hard to miss. The first thing that surprised him was that the Jedi Commander herself was there to welcome him, an honour he had not expected a lowly clone like himself to receive. Although Zabraks were an intimidating kind, there was nothing hostile in the way his Commander welcomed him. There was, in fact, a certain warmth to her as she showed him around and introduced him to the men. She even asked for his name, not his designation, and the face she made when he told her he didn't have one was one of confusion and sadness. That look had stayed with him for a long time. Commander Foreas was young, but her friendliness did nothing to take away the aura of authority she carried with her. She held herself confidently, with her head held high and her body language relaxed, at ease.

It did not take long for him to be given a name, one of his brothers, Art, had found him sketching away on his datapad while he was off duty. He was immediately baptized Sketcher. Now, with a new name, new brothers and new leadership he could let his guard down around, Sketcher went to battle once more.

They had been tasked with occupying a planet, and their forces had been divided to cover as much terrain as they could. That was the first time he saw his Jedi Commander fight. Kriari Foreas had been a force to be reckoned with, tearing through enemy lines with ease and protecting the men, his brothers, at the expense of her own safety. She had almost died in an explosion trying to save one of his brothers. From that day, Sketcher decided he was no longer fighting for the Republic, he would be fighting for his Battalion, for his brothers, and yes, for his Jedi. It was a decision that he never could bring himself to regret. The Wolf Pack had embraced him, given him a name, a place to belong to and people to fight for. The 104th battalion never made him question his loyalties like General Krell had, they had never given him a reason to be afraid.

Until now.

The wind made visibility hard as it picked up snow and ice and wiped the outside of his winter armour, and still he could see them both perfectly, facing each other and engulfing the area around them with a presence, a pressure that would suffocate him. Commander Foreas had abandoned her fighter the second she found out Wolffe had engaged the assassin. Now, she stood with her back to them, lightsaber drawn and stance wide. Sketcher knew then, she was just as dangerous as the woman in front of them, if not more. She was protecting them both, Sketcher knew, she was protecting him and his wounded Commander, who seemed on the very doors of death. The bald lady, Ventress The Commander had called her, would have split Wolffe's head in half had he not dodged her strike on time. He hadn't come out of the encounter unharmed. Now, he lay in his brother's arms, missing one eye and bleeding more than he should have been. And their Commander was there to protect what was left of them.