Casualties/Text

"The greatest heroes are not always forged in battle."

Casualties
''Beep. Beep-beep-beep-beep-''

"Commander, look out! Get down!"

It happened with the speed of chain lightning. One moment she was walking across the hangar floor, skirting clones moving crates of supplies and wondering what would be available in the mess hall when she got there, and the next something hard slammed into her back and she went down, shocked. Before she had time to feel fear or anger, to turn and defend herself from the clone who had jumped on her, the world erupted.

The explosion tore up everything behind her, sending chunks of duracrete flying past and starting a concussive shockwave that shook the building to its roots. In that split second she could do nothing but cover her face with her arms and wonder when she was going to die.

The clone's chestplate slammed into her back, driving her along the floor as the wave hit them. More explosions erupted in a chain reaction across the hangar. After a considerable time in which she could only hear her heart pounding in her ears, the ground's trembling began to die away, leaving a thick pall of duracrete dust filling the air and small fires lapping up the remains of overturned fuel cylinders. The Padawan opened her eyes. She felt pain and shock from the troopers around her, and instinctively reached out with the Force, guiding the debris down safely. Chunks of the hangar ceiling came to rest on the ground like oversized birds.

The clone who'd shoved her down groaned, and only then, feeling like a fool, did she realize that he'd been shielding her from the blast. He saved my life. She swiped an arm across her face and scrambled out from under him, up into the dust, where she stood coughing for a long time.

Medics were everywhere when she looked around again, more clones assessing the fallen with a kind of almost desperate, detached efficiency. Real life had been shattered that day in the hangar, letting the nightmares in.

"You okay, Commander?" Someone walked up behind her. "Ma'am. Are you injured?"

"No, I'm not. I'm fine," she said almost disbelievingly. "I shouldn't be fine."

"Ma'am?"

She turned around to face the trooper. "I said I'm fine. How many troopers were injured in the explosion?"

"At least twenty dead so far. Many were just caught on the edge of the shockwave, they should be fine. Some. . ." He hesitated.

"How did this happen?" she asked numbly. "This is a secure hangar. Things aren't just supposed to explode."

"The explosion came from inside the hangar. Looks like one of those crates of thermal dets blew," he said, checking a handheld datapad. "May have been a malfunctioning unit that went off and set off the others."

"I'm going to report to the General," she said, still disoriented, stepping away. "See to the wounded."

"Right away, Commander."

The hallway outside the General's office was remarkably clean and quiet. She stood nervously in her tattered, dust-pounded robes, waiting for him to let her in. Minutes ticked away. She closed her eyes, trying to calm down, and began a simple breathing exercise. ''In and out. In and out.''

The Force is with all things, and I am with the Force.

When she had finished and opened her eyes, the door slid open and she stepped inside, slightly more composed, arms folded inside her sleeves. The General was sitting at his desk, looking concerned. He beckoned her to a chair.

"I heard about the explosion in Hangar 4," he said. "It appears to be an isolated incident. The clone captain assured me that the situation was under control. They sent in a bomb disposal squad, medics, the full kit."

"I was there when it blew. I'm okay," she said. "It seems a thermal detonator went off and blew up the crate it was in, and the explosion caught the rest." He nodded, obviously having heard the same theory. "It was most likely a fluke."

"Still, we can't rule out the possibility of sabotage," he said quietly.

"This is a minor base. Why would the Separatists go to all the trouble of planting a bomb - and just for one hangar?" She frowned.

"Agents of Dooku will do anything to foment chaos and disorder, Padawan." The General shook his head. "It is unlikely, I agree, but still, we must investigate."

She nodded, the Jedi Master's calm wisdom helping her refocus. Then she remembered the clones, the one who had saved her. Now that she was calm, she remembered his shout to look out. It had been shoved to the back of her mind before, held there by a tangle of emotions - shock, distrust. She'd misinterpreted his attempt to shield her from the blast as an attack. Now, that reaction shamed her.

I never really trusted them, did I? she thought. ''All those faces, all the same. Unnerving. And I thought they were like a bomb waiting to go off on the user.''

And now the bomb had gone off, just not the way she'd thought.

"Permission to go to the medical bay and see what I can do to help the wounded, Master," she said, making up her mind. He nodded.

"Compassion, Padawan, is a virtue that is only too easy to lose in wartime. Go, see what you can do." He rose. "I'll have to go down and see the scene for myself now. Good luck, and the Force be with you."

"May the Force be with you, too, Master." She rose, bowed, and followed him outside, then went to change into a clean robe and head for the medical bay.

Her heart sank when she saw how crowded it was. There had been close to two hundred troopers in the hangar when the explosion occured, and although, according to the trooper from earlier, many had escaped the blast, there were over fifty in various states of injury. She wondered how many more had died.

Closing her eyes, the Padawan reached out with the Force, feeling the emotions of the injured troopers. Pain was still predominant. She touched their minds, trying her best to soothe them. It's the least I can do, she thought. And it's not as if I was intruding.

It had been a while since she'd investigated so many presences in the Force, and while she understood why they felt so young - the accelerated aging had been explained to her a long time ago - she was surprised at how different the clones' personalities were. Well of course, they're people, she chided herself. I guess I just never really thought of them that way.

One presence seemed familiar, as if she'd felt it for a brief moment before, and she recognized it as belonging to the clone who'd saved her. She opened her eyes and headed towards him. Medics stepped aside to let her pass. As she walked through the rows she saw more injuries than she cared to count. Many clones were missing limbs; some had been so mangled by the blast they were barely alive.

When she reached the trooper she saw that he was no different. . . in fact, both legs had been blown off just above the knee, and where his left hand had been was a raw stump of bone. She clamped down on the feeling of horror and scanned his hastily scrawled chart. His number was CT-3414. He was on pain meds, but not much more. They must be running out of bacta, she thought, reading the scanty numbers.

The clone opened his eyes and saw her, and tried to say something. She couldn't make it out, and suddenly a wave of guilt washed over her as she looked from him to the other casualties and back again.

I should have been the one shielding them, she thought. ''I'm a Jedi, I could have helped all of them, used the Force to hold back the explosion. . . But I panicked, and - and this is the result.''

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "Thank you."

CT-3414's eyes closed wearily. The guilt increased until she could no longer bear it, and the Padawan turned to walk away.

A medic came up to check on that section of the bay, and she went over to talk to him. "The injured troopers," she said awkwardly, "what - what will happen to them?"

"We'll heal all we can, Commander, but supplies are low right now and the next shipment of bacta isn't due for another month. This caught us at a bad time." He shook his head. "In times like this, the least wounded are often the highest priority. The worse off a man is, the less likely he is to survive. It's protocol - and common sense."

Depression moved in alongside the guilt as she walked beside him. "What about the ones who will survive - but missing arms or legs?"

"To be able to fight again, they'd need prosthetics. But those are expensive. . . the Republic's funds won't cover the cost for an ordinary trooper. Officers, perhaps."

"What do you mean? Then - what happens to them?"

He shook his head, obviously not wishing to talk about it. "Commander, this is war. Sometimes there are. . . sacrifices."

She stopped walking. "But -"

"I do my duty, Commander," the clone medic said, halting and looking straight at her. "I'd save them all if I could. But sometimes it's just not possible."

The General looked up as the door swished open and his Padawan came in, this time without waiting. She looked - and felt - upset.

"What is it, young one?" he said, putting down the datapad report he'd been filling out. "You seem. . . troubled."

"It's about the clones." She dropped into the chair opposite him. "The explosion earlier left many with substantial injuries. The most severely wounded are slated to be terminated."

"This is war, Padawan." He frowned abstractedly at the report. "We do what must be done."

"One of those clones saved my life earlier," she said, anger rising in her gut. "His life is worth saving. All of them are."

The General put down the datapad, interested now. "You told me you were in the hangar when the explosion occured, but I didn't know that. What happened?"

"The trooper must have heard the thermal detonator about to go off. He told me to get down, and shielded me from the blast." Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. "They're soldiers, they all show their bravery daily. Their lives are worth something."

"But if they are too injured to live long anyway -"

"It's not just that. I could deal with that." The Padawan tried to control her rising anger, with only partial success. The research she'd done since her conversation with the medic had left her shocked and feeling considerably older. "Many of them lost arms or legs in the explosion. They'll survive, but the Republic is too cheap to pay for prosthetics, and they can't fight otherwise. And so they're considered useless, superfluous." She looked at him, upset. "They're people. Master, we can't just let their lives be thrown away!"

"It isn't really our concern, Padawan."

"Master, can't you hear yourself?" she cried. "You don't sound like a Jedi anymore. We've sworn to protect the innocent -"

"These men are soldiers, as you have pointed out. They did their duty. We can honor them for that - within reason." He picked up the datapad again, looked at the screen without seeing it.

''They were created to serve the Republic. Nothing more,'' he thought. But the words sounded false to him. They always had.

The Padawan spoke again. "Compassion is a virtue that's only too easy to lose in wartime." The General winced to hear his own words echoed. "Master, please. . . remember who you are. Not merely a servant of the Republic. Sometimes, being a Jedi comes first."

He was silent for a while, then spoke.

"I don't see that there's anything we can do. You say they need prosthetics? Well, how are we to get the funds for those? Ask the Jedi Order? If every Jedi general was to do that when their troops were in need, the Order wouldn't have any resources left."

"We could sue Blas-Tech Industries for providing us with faulty explosives." She sounded like she'd love to.

"They'd only promote the idea that it was Separatist sabotage." He shook his head.

"Can't we request more funds?" She was beginning to sound desperate. "You have influence, Master - surely the Department of Defense will listen to you."

"That's flattering, Padawan, but I really don't have that much say-so." He sighed. "How many clones are you thinking of saving?"

"All of them," she said stubbornly. "About seventy."

"Well, short of retiring them - not that we have anywhere to send them - I can't think of anything." He could tell she didn't think it was a funny joke. She got up and began pacing back and forth.

"Isn't there anyone who owes you a favor?" A thought struck her. "The Bothan chief we helped once, and that baron on Mygeeto - you told me you saved his life a long time ago. Surely -"

The General raised his eyebrows. "I'll look into those. It's going against protocol, but. . ."

"Tell them whatever you need to," she said impulsively. "As a Jedi, I am not going to see those men die."

The medical bay had lost some of its occupants by the time the Padawan returned, a day later. She relayed the General's new orders to the medics - keep the men alive - and then moved through the ranks, biting her lip.

Faces all the same above the sheets, clones so alike, yet so different. All individuals, with as much of a right to life as any naturally concieved being. She'd fought beside them for nearly a year now, yet it had taken an accident for her to understand them.

They were created to fight and, if necessary, die for the Republic.

It is our duty as Jedi to make sure they don't have to.

"Commander." The clone who'd saved her seemed to have found his voice. "You. . . all right?"

"Don't talk. Rest." She smiled at him. "Yes, I am. Thanks to you."

"Any one of us. . . would do. . . the same." His stump of an arm lifted on the sheet, as if to demonstrate.

"I believe it." She looked around. "Don't worry, you'll be up soon. You all will."

"I procured the funds, and ordered the prostheses based on the list you gave me," the General said casually, taking a seat next to his Padawan in the mess hall. She'd been listening with half an ear to a group of troopers telling tall tales about their exploits against super battle droids, but she turned to face him.

"When will they be here?"

"Within the month." He took a bite of the stewed nerf from his tray and chewed thoughtfully. "I've also filed a request - rather acidly worded - for better quality checks on explosives. I'm pretty sure we've ruled out all possibility of Separatist intervention. Or the local pirates, for that matter - that was another option I forgot to mention."

"At least the pirates take care of their own," she muttered.

He reached over and patted his apprentice's hand. "And so do we. This battalion will never fall while I lead it - to Separatists, or Republic corruption."

CT-3414 lifted one foot, rocked slightly, then planted both boots on the ground. He took a step, then another, increasingly confident.

"How are they?" the Padawan asked, watching with interest. The clone trooper jumped forwards, landed awkwardly, and grinned.

"It'll get better with practice," he said confidently. "Just wait and see, Commander."

"And your hand?"

"Better than new." He flexed the fingers inside the black glove. "A bit more tinkering, and I could be double-jointed. Might come in handy, who knows?"

She grinned with relief and looked around at the rest of the "walking wounded", as the clones she'd saved jokingly called themselves. Most of them were still on painkillers and struggling daily, she knew, but they were better off than they might have been. None of them had wished for termination, and she was glad of that. They were sound men.

The Republic's finest.

"Being half droid now, I feel more than a match for the Seps," CT-3414 was joking when the General walked into the training room, datapad in hand, one arm behind his back.

"All okay in here?" The clones stopped their chatting and turned to face him, eyebrows raised. "All right, men. Form up."

"Sir!" They obeyed with a slight clanking of new legs. The Padawan found herself looking out over eight ranks of nine, a group smaller than a battalion, larger than a squad.

"I've just recieved word from the top," the General went on. "CT-3414, you're being promoted to the rank of Captain in the Grand Army of the Republic's Iron Company."

"Sir?" All of a sudden the clone, a moment before so confident for the future, looked unsure. "Is that. . . far away?"

"Iron Company is a newly created, elite division of this battalion, under the command of a certain Jedi Padawan." There was a distinct twinkle in the General's eye. "Oh, and they also sent a new helmet for the Captain." He pulled his arm out from behind his back. "With the compliments of the Cuy'val Dar and the trainers back home on Kamino."

The Padawan, slightly agape at the turn of events, took the helmet as the General handed it to her, and in turn presented it to the newly appointed Captain. He took it gingerly, as if he was afraid it would blow up in his face, and looked it over. The white plastoid shell was painted with dark grey here and there. On the front, a pair of hawk-eyes gazed back at him.

"Jaig eyes?" He clanked back a step. "General, I - are you sure -"

"Apparently, saving the life of a Jedi Padawan is a very big deal. The Mandalorian trainers have no doubt of your valor." The General crossed his arms, still grinning. "Don't worry, the rest of you lot get new helmets too. Explosions aren't very good for armor, as you've probably noticed." Someone laughed shortly.

"So you weren't just filing complaints," the Padawan said, finding her tongue again. "Oh, Master. . ."

"Not to worry you, Commander, but we've also recieved new orders. We're leaving this base within the week and heading for Utapau on reassignment." The General consulted his datapad, then looked at her seriously. "You're the one who saved these men. You're the one who's responsible for them, and you'll be the one to lead them in battle. Make me proud, Padawan."

"We'll make the Grand Army proud," she said with a sudden grin. "Won't we, Captain?"

"Yes, Commander." He looked back over his shoulder at the other troopers. "Right, boys?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

I've fought alongside these men before, the Padawan thought as they fell into step behind her. ''I never really understood them. . . but I do now, better than ever. Maybe as well as I'm ever going to.''

''Not all stories have a happy ending. But some do, in a way. . .''