The barracks, home to the vast number of clones in training. Many of the clones batched 10 years ago now sit in waiting, their training completed and pending assignments throughout the Republic. Little do they know the eve of their baptism by fire will soon be upon them. On that dust ball of a planet likely none of them have ever heard of, maybe an instructor or an ARC trooper mentioned parts of the galaxy in passing? But most of the shinies have only known the walls of these buildings and the platforms of Kamino.
CT-27-1037 walked down the hallway, looking up every so often at the numbers above the doors in the barracks hall.'Second Battalion, Charlie Company, Third Platoon... Finally found the right-' 1037 paused looking down and checking his orders '-one.' Stepping forward and pressing the button panel the door slid open in typical fashion. From what he had been told the entirety of this second training battalion was being stood up to be shipped off in the coming weeks. Something about a need for troops somewhere, things above his paygrade and all that.
As 1037 made his way in to the platoons quarters he would quietly adjust his DC-15S slung over his back. Clearing his throat as a few troopers passed him by, "I have orders to report to third platoon fourth squad... Which set of pods is fourth squad in?" He asked, addressing the room and anyone who might provide some guidance. 1037 stood as tall as the rest, sounded like the rest and generally looked like the rest of his brothers. The only current distinction being his shorter hair, dyed a lighter brown and slicked back in a stylized manner. His armor bore no markings, just a shiny white and his helmet sat beneath his arm.
CT-3187 looked largely like the rest of the Clone Troopers his age. His eyes were dark brown, his jawline chiseled and strong which complimented the broad physique he and his 'Brothers' shared. Unlike some of the Clones 3187 did not take to altering his looks be in the coloration of his hair or a style that deviated from the standard cuts. His hair was trimmed and shaved to his temples with the fade ending at his sideburns. He also kept a clean shave. This was a personal ritual he adopted during his training as a medic. Not to mention it was generally frowned upon by the higher authorities. But he understood why they did it. There were hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of Clones who all looked the same. Not just their faces but their bodies, their voices hell even their mannerisms. And in a sea of beings that all look and act like one another, there is a burning need for individuality and it often manifests itself in strange and unique ways.
It is largely assumed by those outside the Army, namely the foreign trainers, that Clones seemingly acted the same and were more akin to a cut and copy mentality. But those that trained Clones for longer periods of time began to pick up on small nuances and even accents, personalities and differing interests. 3187 was created with a batch of slightly altered embryos designed specifically for leadership, bringing out and amplifying the Clone Templates natural charisma as well as intelligence. By no means was he designed at the caliber of a ARC or Commando, but he was a cut above the stock standard. During his training alongside his pod he was taught combat and tactics, relatively in smaller groups as their roles dictated.
Those within the upstarting Army were quite sensitive to the subtle changes in a close brother, or a clone brothers demeanor. In 3187s case he and his pod were more bold in their speech and each had a slight accent, no doubt influenced by their trainer. He watched the new Clone enter albeit with a modicum of confusion. It was understandable, they were due to be launched out after what seemed like a lifetime of training. Finally, their purpose will be fulfilled. In his Olive Green trimmed armor 3187 announced himself over the shinies, directing his line towards the new entrant "This is the Forth Squad, you the new shiny assigned to my Unit?." he motioned towards one of the empty beds in the room with its own footlocker for the few possessions they accumulated "Take a bunk. You can put all your personals in the box." He scrolled through his datapad, looking for one of the few dossiers transferred to him regarding the new assignments to the Forth Squad and although all Clones looked alike, there were differences. "Let see....CT-1037. Huh, interesting" he flicked through the Troopers training information "Tell me about yourself". The Sergeant liked to get a sense of his Soldiers skill set and background. Who they trained with, their programmed purpose and any specialty skills they may have acquired in the last decade.
Here he was again, but CT-1785 wasn’t happy at all. He recieved the news just few hours ago while he was coming back from his last workshift; and he had no choice he had to follow the order. Luckly he didn’t have a lot of belongings so it took just a couple of minute sto pack everything before moving to his new quarters.
1785 heard a lot of stories about the war, but he thought that the Jedis were winning, now he wasn’t so sure. «Let’s see where I have to go this time.» He muttered moving along the corridors.
The other clones were looking at him with superiority. «Look the shiny has a new assignment, may be this time he will be able to hit something.»
Ct-1785 didn’t answer to his brothers’ words, he was used to it and he knew that they were right: it was hard for him to hit somethin, may be because he wasn’t interested in fighting, yes he was an error like his borthers told him.
«I hope to be the first one to arrive.» He stopped when he arrived at his destination. «As always I am not lucky.» He muttered hearing some voices coming from the inside. «Well I have no choice, com’on 1785 enter this room and do you duty.» He opened the door and entered. «CT-1785 reporting for duty, sir.» The clone studied the two brothers in the room with attention, he was sure that both knew his story.
"The injuries, though painful, appear to be minor, 8013," The Kaminoan stated. CT-8013. The designation of the clone sat on the observation table as his inspector dragged her long, white fingers gently across the open wound along his left eye. "Fighting your fellow clones... Again. You know we frown on this," 8013 merely rolled his eyes as he pushed the Kaminoan's hand away.
"Well when Hexer decides to spit on my lunch, he get's what's comin' for him," It's true that the situation in the mess hall wasn't his fault by any standard, but he certainly brought the heat of his superior's down on him by the damage he had brought on the clone Hexer and he couldn't help but feel a slight tug of guilt. "I don't regret a damn thing," he lied.
"CT-5389 may be unpleased to hear that. We are done here, 8013. You may return to your division now,"
"Not quite," The interruption came from the doorway of the medical unit, a fully armored Clone Captain with red markings along his shoulder's and visor stepping in. 8013, pushed by the training he's received since birth, snapped to his feet and saluted the Captain while staring directly ahead. "At ease, soldier. I have orders from the training staff. You're being reallocated to Charlie company of the Second Battalion,"
"Scared Hexer and I are gonna have at it again, are they?" 8013 joked as he dropped his hand from the salute. He wasn't surprised. Hexer and the Captain of his squadron had grown close, closer than most brother's of the Grand Army. He likely pulled some strings, or perhaps the Training team decided that conflict within a squad was counter-productive to strategy.
"Something like that. Sounds like you should be preparing for deployment soon, too. Guess they want you off this station sooner rather than later," Though he was wearing his helmet, 8013 could detect a slight smile on the Captain's face. "That shiner is coming in nicely, isn't it?" the Captain joked. 'Shiner,' 8013 thought to himself. 'I like that,'
The halls of the facility bustled with activity as clones, Kaminoans and droids made their rounds in the preparation, training and evaluation of the army being created within their walls. Amongst them, 8013 walked in silence. It had been ten years since his creation and he knew this wing of the suspended compound like the back of his hand. Activating the datapad, the barrack unit number displayed clearly. Glancing up from his pad, he knew he was here. Slipping it back into his bag, 8013 proceeded to place his hand on the door switch, bringing it to life and revealing the tiered cots, as well as a few other brother's already in discussion.
"Let's see... CT-1037. Huh, interesting. Tell me about yourself," The Sergeant requested of one of his soldiers.
"CT-1785 reporting for duty, sir!"
A soft chuckle left 8013 as he walked in to the room and placed his bag on one of the ground level cots. He hated heights of any degree so claiming one of the lower beds as one of his primary concerns, soon taking a seat on the bed and facing his brothers.
"I'll just wait my turn. Seems like you've got your hands full already, Sarge," 8013 laughed as he placed both hands on the back of his shaved head, smirking as the other newcomer's bombarded their new Officer.
When the door opened, CT-1318 had no idea what tail end of a conversation he had just walked in on. Sergeant 3187 stood as tall as a flag pole and as rigid as his conservative stance on clone dress and grooming. By the looks of things, 1318 wasn’t the only recruit present. He caught the eyes of a few faces as though he might recognize them. Nope. Just more me’s in a galaxy filled with me’s. Designating himself a bunk, he slung his pack onto a bed above a bald guy with a grim goatee.
By this time, the room had paused for their latest guest to introduce himself, but already he felt like he was being reintroduced to himself. Each and every face around him was his own, gathered and united as collectivized individuals. There was this head of black hair and that head of blond fuzz, a mustache and a tattoo and a scar. Really, though, if 1318 looked the most like just one of these brothers then it would have to be the Sergeant himself. If without the weathered countenance. 1318 was clean-shaven and traditionally tailored in hairstyle, just without the fade of his superior’s. He scratched his head as he scanned the faces in the room as though a trooper’s helmet were already over his own, and found his opening.
“Trooper Thirteen-eighteen, sir.” He saluted the Sergeant with affordable fingers. “Maybe just Thirteen or Eighteen if it doesn’t conflict with anyone else’s dig. Not sure what it is but the whole four digits thing begins to hurt my tongue after a while.”
He shrugged that off and let it lay where it fell, cracking an almond between his teeth. He didn’t know what to make of his peers just yet and they likely had less than two ideas past negative ten about what to make of him. Little and less, much and more, more or less.
No sooner did the first trooper enter that the others flocked in, one after the other. To the untrained ear one would assume they all sounded alike, but like their unique and individual looks they each held a certain note or an accent. These traits were no doubt obtained through their training protocols as Clones picked up on the nuances held by their instructors. Strangely enough they also adopted their accents. As a genetically engineered 'race' of soldiers, they were privy to hyperactivity and absorbed information eagerly. Mentally their learning capacity was in comparison to an infant child. They took in everything.
Sergeant 3187 waited as each new member of the Fourth Squad entered the barracks. He was bred for leadership, though not at the capacity of a Commander or a Captain. His specified role was to head a small team of Clones who had either been reassigned from other pods, or survivors of their Training Squad. In the last year of a Clones life they were exposed to live fire training and casualties were unavoidable.
3187 closed the automated door, barring the entrance as his deep dark eyes scanned the room "Attention Soldiers. You are now under my Command. I am Sergeant CT-3187 of Forth Squad, Third Platoon." To put it mildly they were a bunch of mongrel clones thrown together to form a Squad. Conventionally they were born with their pod brothers, raised together with them until they were finally assigned in a team together. This life-bond ensured they performed at maximum efficiency, sharing an almost unexplained mindset that caused them to execute their duties beyond the proficiency of a normal Human team. Forth Squad, labelled the 'Hounds' comprised of Clones from different batches and pods. The Sergeant kept an erect posture, his stance unwavering "Grab your buckets boys. We're to make our way towards the training center. Command wants to see our proficiency. Rumor has it we're being dispatched within the week." The Sergeant holstered his DC-17 hand blaster on his right thigh then slid the strap to his DC-15s over his torso, the gun resting along his front. He pushed the button, unlocked the mag seal and sliding the door open "Since we're running late, we are going to have to leave introductions for the walk there. Switch all transmissions to Squad Frequency. Lets keep this conversation to our ears only." 3187 escorted the newly established Squad down the white walled corridors. Much like every other Jango Clone in existence, the duraplast floors and walls were their entire World. He himself could navigate around the facility with his eyes closed. "You all know who I am. I want a brief update on your training and designations. If you have a name, and are comfortable to tell us, do tell." a clones nickname was a personal affair, and generally only used by those who most close with them. This privilege was usually only reserved for Pod brothers, or Clones deemed close enough. The Sergeant was unfamiliar with this batch so kept strict protocol. Perhaps one day.
Ct-1785 had a name, someoene gave it to him, but he never used it. He didn't really care about this things. «No sir, no specific name, I am just 1785.» He took his bucket and followed the Seargant, without speaking,but whe he heard that the sergeant wanted to be updated about what he was doing he put his bucket on.
«I already did the training, sir, but according the Jedis I wasn't enough good, they said that I fire like a droid, so they decided to not use me as soldier.» It was the full truth, he wasn't able to say something different. He was sure that there was a program error when he was born, that's why he wasn't good as soldier. «They decided to keep me here on Kamino, and helps the ships on the main hangars that are leaving. I make the last checks before the take-off. Sometimes I help in the armory, but my main assigment is the hangar.»
1785 had just one friend, 99, may be because they were both treated like scrap and they understood each other well, but at least he had another opportunity, but he wasn't sure how all this would go.
CT-8013 stood tall as the Sergeant began to speak to the group as a whole, his voice demanding respect. A trait no doubt instilled in a training level higher than 8013 had received himself. Still, each man here was one and the same. They all shared the same traits, the same limitations and the same desires. Key of those desires, of course, was to fight in the name of the Galactic Republic and the Supreme Chancellor. As he slid his helmet on, the clone cadet couldn't help himself from allowing his mind to race to the battles ahead. Rumors had begun to circulate around the facility after a Jedi Knight had arrived to inspect the Grand Army, the first since it's commission a decade ago. This event sparked the hopes of the troopers of Kamino. War was soon going to be upon them...
"A maintenance clone?" 8013 accidently responded to 1785 but before he could catch his tongue, it ran away on him. "Sounds like they don't think very highly of this little squads chances, Sarge, if they're giving you the scraps of the army," The statement was accompanied with slight laughter that echoed through the comm system of the helmet. "I'm CT-8013... But you can call me Shiner," Even as he said the word, it felt right. His old captain hit his name right on the mark. "I've received standard training with the rest of our brothers though I've been told I display an aptitude for demolition work. You give me a thermal detonator and I promise I'll find a way to down a dreadnaught with it," The less-than-humble brag was also a bit of an exaggeration. Not in that he wasn't actually adept with explosives, but if he ever did down a dreadnaught with nothing more than a thermal detonator? Well, he best be drinking for free for the rest of the war...