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He hears them, the first day after returning from Kamino. Sniffles and gasps alongside memories and night terrors, interrupting his sleep. Lengthening his recovery time. 32 rotations. Severely dehydrated. Near starvation despite the plentiful fish species, burned skin, mostly second degree. Alive.He hears them. Always weeping. If being haunted was the punishment for leaving his brothers, he'll take it.
A bloody emotional wreck he had sneered before. Worse than Hunter on a good day. They laughed in his face.Jedi's don't cry for their soldiers. They're free from attachments. He had sassed. He wants to take the words back now.All life is precious. Every life lost deserves to be mourned and remembered. If not by the living, then by the Force.
He remembers you explaining to him. He doesn't sleep well with memories. Can't go off base either to get away from it all. Decompress. Instead the wailing follows him around like a lost pet. Always sniffling, moaning, crying. Somewhere behind him. Off to the edge, his peripherals.He learns to ignore it. Reporting this would get him decommissioned. He gives up on the idea of running. He could never escape.Waking up in his spartan bunk to the droning alarm. Staring at the ceiling, he takes in what he can. Their once black and red robes flutter white and flimsy at the barest hint of wind. Or sway like water with every step. It's torn. Strips and flayed threads attached weakly to the mass. So far from the pristine state it once was.
He remembers the day his Brothers had presented robes to them. Personally commissioned; a thanks, a gift, a declaration of possession all in one. They were their General. Wearing their Squad's colors. No other general had their respect. The bright smile on their lips, accepting them all. Accepting him with a not so secret kiss to his cheek. He misses the teasing commentary from his brothers. The openness, his family.
He dresses quickly. Leaving his quarters for the mess hall. They don't hover so close to him when there are other soldiers -other clones- around. But he hears them. A soft, painful moaning. Like the time on Utapau, leg broken as they ran for their lives. Whimpering with every step they took. The occasional sob or gasp. When Wrecker jostled their General. Distant. But well within range. He notes who they stay near. Crying over a trooper talking between bites, or custodian passing by. Fleeting touches trace lines down every regs cheek. Something that used to make him burn; Jealousy, fear, desire to remind them of their shared rule breaking. Now. He doesn't care. Tries not to.Jedi had bleeding hearts after all. Yours was just as generous. Crying over every Clone that passed away under your leadership. Doing everything possible to save their lives.
Good soldiers follow orders.
He doesn't know if that's true anymore.
"CT-9904, Report to ramparts office."He tosses the rest of his meal to the bins. Without Wreckers endless stomach, it goes to waste. He doesn't care. Their moaning quiets as he leaves the mess. Their robes swishing softly behind him. He tries not to look. He can't bring himself to. They wail the entire time on Desix. It had been soft as first. Hovering around Cody as he ran through the plan one last time. He doesn't acknowledge the specter. He says his lines. He does his work.
Good soldiers follow orders.
"When have we ever followed orders?" Hunter asks.
"When we got the hottest General of the Order telling us what to do! Hah Ha!" Wrecker crows. Hugging them close.
Focus. Cody talks about the mission. The troop is entirely Clones. The wailing is louder. Ghostly hands touch regs with disregard for personal space. Clones. Disposable
NO! Essential! Necessary for the Empire.
Good soldiers follow Orders.
If he completes the mission. The Empire will treat them well. Like the GAR. Clones are needed. He will follow orders.
He feels the brush of cold against his back. Missiles take out their engines. Falling. They shriek, the Regs shout. It's loud, he feels the headache starting. He holds on tight as they crash. Someone's sobbing. Another groans. A third coughs, wet. He sees blood.Their shrieking doesn't stop."Sound off!" Cody calls. Nova, Waila, others have survived. Some have not. Those that haven't survived do not get moved. No time to lay them out. Paint mourning colors to their armor. Give them funeral rights. Only one voice wails in sorrow for their losses.Clankers come in. He takes them out. Ruthless. Efficient. Proof the empire needs him. Needs clones. They push on. His focus certain as they take down the separatists droids. Repurposed by the insurgent Govoner. They come in waves. A tactical droid must be somewhere.He sees the regs fall. Hears the piercing crying over bombs blasting and debris clattering off of walls to the ground. He and Cody climb. Higher. Seeking and eliminating the head of the Desix droid army.He waits. Torn.
Grotton is his Imperial commander. Tawni should be dead for repurposing droids.
But Cody gave his word. Clones have honor. Tawni has accepted his commanders offer. Why would Grotton betray their word?
Good soldiers follow orders.
He hears them crying."You did, I didn't! Now execute her." The crying gets louder, wailing."So much for peace..." he sees the spectral hand cup the Govoner's cheek. She looks, her eyes reflect the crying specter, he looks away. Her forehead. A quick death he knows, brains of drones and humanoids alike."I gave you and order! Follow it or face the consequences for diso-"
Crosshair takes the shot.
Tawni doesn't scream. Yet the shrill sound of a mourner shakes him to the core. The swish of robes and ghostly white force his eyes shut. He does not want to see an enemy comforted. Doesn't want another clone to die. The helmet covers his weakness.
Clones have honor.
Good soldiers follow orders.
They leave. The crying goes soft. He sees the bodies being loaded up without care or honors. They're taken off the transport with the same lazy callousness as they were loaded. He hears some remark their bodies will be given to medical students to dissect and study. Others, CSI for decomposition and poison testing. Clone corpses set a consistent control study. Makes it easier. He's glad to be defective."Tell me something Crosshair. This new empire...are we making the galaxy better?"He never would have said the words aloud. But it's something he's considered often enough. "We're soldiers, we do what needs to be done.”"You know what makes us different from battle droids? We our own decisions. We make choices." Cody tells him. "And we have to live with them too."Crosshair is relieved only with the soft crying. Everything else is a tangled mess of emotions and cords when he goes to his bunk to rest. Even Tech would be annoyed, if this ball of indecision in his head were cords on the circuits board.He sleeps to the sound of soft sobbing. Wondering if he'll be put out of his misery soon. Sitting alone the next morning in the mess. The idle chatter and moaning cry's familiar. Routine by now. Oddly welcomed, despite their horrible death call."CT-9904, Report to Ramparts office."He leaves his half eaten meal on the table. Hardly caring for the custodian that cleans it up. Their life is forfeit soon if it's louder that normal wailing indicates. They're paid per bag of rubbish. It's better for them.He doesn't don his helmet when he walks the halls. The other soldier pass him by. Their path opposite his own. Some on patrol, some chatting on their latest reports and missions. Their mornings is soft. Then quiets when he enters Rampart's office."After your success on Desix, I'm entrusting you with another mission. Report to CC-1226."Crosshair should be elated. Trusted by command, still of use. But..."Why not Commander Cody?" He cannot help to ask. Their teamwork on Desix was beneficial. They completed the mission, were good soldiers! Even if Cody didn't take out the Govoner, he did! There was no reason to decommission his commander."Cody?""CC-2224.""Ah, yes. It appears he has gone AWOL."They wail behind Rampart. Spitting and shrieking. Had they, their physical presence: the room would be a mess. Items tossed and broken, window cracked by the force, Rampart made bloody with injuries. All from their flailing hands. Swiping at living and inanimate things in anger. Apparitions cannot move the physical.They can only scream.Crosshair has had plenty of practice not reacting to screams.He is quick to return to his bunk. The screams rattling in his skull. Shutting off the light and cover his eyes. The sounds echoing through the halls of the empire. Until the rage has burned down. For Rampart reading Cody like a number, the threat of decommissioning lingering over his head, clones defecting around him. So what keeps him here?
Good soldiers follow orders.
He falls asleep to familiar whimpering moans that putter off to silence. He knows they'll watch him sleep.It's the last comfort he has.
He hasn't heard them cry this much since Desix.Traveling among soldiers isn't new for either of them. But Crosshair hasn't been on a squad where their crying and delicate touches applied to almost everyone there. Granted Lieutenant Nolan gets hisses, but tears still fall for his current commander.The keening is constant when they land on the frozen planet Batoun-4. A hair lighter than the sound of the wind and monrouse compared to the screeching vulture. It was the same with Cody's crew, though louder then that mission. He knows the shrieks will come later. In battle or blizzard."You must be the reinforcements. We expected you 36 rotations ago. Did you get lost?" A cloth wrapped and hairy clone remarked snidely. He liked this one already. Though the ghost was hovering around him. Thankfully without a whimper."We work on the empires scheduled soldier. Not yours." "It's Commander, Lieutenant." The reg corrected again. Just as calm. Though clearly insulted."Well Commander-" lieutenant Nolan tried to snip back. It sounded petulant to Crosshair. "Your orders were to guard and protect this facility and it's cargo. Yet this outpost is grossly unguarded. Where are the rest of your men?""Dead." The commander stated plainly. "Hex, Veech and I are all that's left.""You're failures will be dealt with later. For now: I am in charge here. Until the cargo is transported." Lieutenant Nolan was more bark than bite it seemed."I feel safer already." He smiled wide and had to bite down on the sardonic laugh that bubbled up in his chest. Though the commander didn't hide his own humor."Look here clone." Lieutenant Nolan spoke with clear derogatory tone. "You will speak to me with Respect."
The look the three clones shared was one Crosshair would have given with his brothers. Even among the Jedi Generals they had followed in the war, Respect was earned then given.
"In my experience, respect is something to be earned." "Yet the empire assigned you to this desolate rock. Where you let a majority of your squad get killed." Vex was up, silent but clearly ready to fight. Crosshair couldn't find a reason to bring out his hand blaster to defend the Lieutenant. This verbal quipping was his battle, and was far more entertaining than anything else recently. So much so he had forgotten the specter that haunted him. The wispy figure passing by behind Hex and Veech with a soft coo."Tell me lieutenant, how many missions have you commanded?"Nolan stayed silent."That's what I thought. Boys. Why don't you show the new commander his office."At his word, hex and Veech took Nolan back the way they came. Leaving him with the Commander and Ghost around the heating lamp."You uh...know the lieutenant well?" The commander asked."For about 2 hours." He remarked. Earning the humored huff from the other clone."2 hours too long I bet." The commander replied. Moving the lamp closer to Crosshair. Welcoming the warmth and light it brought to the storage bay. Even with the ghost approaching, he didn't mind. Their silence and the Commanders straightforward conversation were a boon to his mind."So. What did you do, to get stuck on this mission?""Just lucky I guess."The commander chuckled. "The names Mayday." The reg introduced himself. Unaware of their spectral presence. Hand grabbing the loose sleeve of their robes. Polishing his armor. What's exposed plastoid at least. That's not new to him. The flash of envy is only a blink. The memories of affection pass on by."Crosshair." He introduced himself. Greatful for the quiet this Reg brings."Welcome to the outpost. Come on. I'll show you the lay of the land."He follows. Their crying is soft. It's the constant white noise of his life. Even while Chatting plainly with Mayday. Kicking the ice off beacons and markers. The specters quiet crying doesn't bother him as much with the wind and Mayday taking most of his attention.His warning is their sudden keening wail.Blaster fire, explosions, screams. Blinding light in his helm let's the enemy escape. He's greatful to have the chance away from base, and the constant keening wail they make. As more soldiers die to their injuries or sudden cold. With him and Mayday alone. There's nothing to make them cry. At least until he hears the click, feeling the floor sink in his weight.They're in front of him while Mayday taps the hooks over the mines. They're moaning, he sees their lips wobble and tear track down their cheek. He keeps his eyes low. Focused on Mayday. He can't face them. Not yet. Not ever. He waits for Mayday to step back to safety before lifting his leg off the danger.Their whimpers stop.The two of them keep going. The raiders falling to the avalanche. A long with him and Mayday.They're crying now. Louder than the roaring wind. They take shelter by a small dome. Hardly covering them for the night, but they both need rest. He sees their spectral hand caress Maydays cheek. He lashes out."DON'T-T-TAK-KE HIM!" He yells. He's mad. This Reg is His. This Reg reminds him of his brothers. He will not loose another brother in this maker forsaken war! He will not leave another to die!!"C-c-c-crossss-sss?" Mayday manages."I'mmm n-not lea-v-ving you." He vows.They sob. Keeping their distance. Just out of reach. He hears them crying as he fashions Mayday a crutch from his rifle. Ignores their hoarse voice as they limp back to base. Their crying grating on his nerves. Just as much as Lieutenant Nolan is."Help him." He begs. On his knees. His hand stays on Mayday, keeping his brother on his side."I will not waste resources on a clone.""He'll die." His sharp eyes catch the ghostly hand reaching out. He swipes them away."He served his purpose. Now get up while you are still of use."He looks away from Mayday, as he hears the deathrattles from his brother. Shocked, confused, incensed. He looks to the lieutenants back, up higher, to the Ice Vulture circling above. He doesn't look to the wailing scream beside him. Doesn't swipe the hand away from Mayday. His brother is dead.The screams get louder.Less sorrow, more rage.Anger.Injustice.HOWLING for revenge.He stands.
GOOD SOLDIERS-
"Lieutenant"
He calls out calmly. Though he feels the urge to scream as well.He raises his weapon.Finger on the trigger.The howling cuts off as he fires.The cold silent darkness as he fainted was welcomed.
He is warm. Strapped down to a medical table. The restraints are tight on his wrists, belly, ankles, and head. A doctor rambles on, his mind is blurred.Disjointed nothingness as he wakes.
The only thing in focus is the crying. He hears them. Soft sniffling he once thought adorably annoying, now terrifies him. A hand so sharp against the fuzzy background comes into view. The cold feeling on fingers trace along his jaw. Lovingly. Longing.
Shocked. Shaking. He can't. He can't ignore them. Can't escape them. He tugs on the bindings uselessly. His heart pounds in his throat. Jerks to lose the restraints.
He can't escape the crying ghostly face that leans in. Close to his. As if to kiss.
He Can never escape his sins.
He Can never escape them.
He Can never escape you.
He chokes on his spit as he is faced with you. Ethereal. Haunting. A tear track down your one cheek. A smile so soft just for him.
He remembers it.
Touches he's been teased and calmed by, as your hand rests against his cheek.
Your unmarked right half face is just as he remembers it. Soft and filled with warmth. Love. Even frowning he remembers you all. The left half is twisted. Lips opened, snarling teeth and drooling. Deep lines that would smile, scream in silent agony. Your ear is gone, so is your eye. A black void remains.Where you were shot.
Where he killed you.
You lean over him. Uncaring that he is tied down to the medical table. Your hands cup his face now. He shakes. Your touch is cold as Maydays body was as they tracked back to Batoun-4. You huff and hiccup. Your one eye is wet. Leaking a trail of tears. He feels it drip on his skin. Stabbing ice with every drop.He can't escape.He is afraid. Tugging. Fighting. He doesn't want to die! He screams. "I'M SORRY!"You're silent. Crying, holding him, even as he's stuck in the neck with a needle. The familiar feeling of sedation taking hold. His fighting turns sluggish. His vision fades. Force to re-live his choice in his nightmares. Over and over.
Killing his General, friend, lover. Injuring Wrecker. Chasing his brothers and sister across the galaxy to kill them all. His fault, His Fault!
"I'm sorry." He sobs.Your face is the last he sees. Will always be the last he sees. A part of him doesn't want to forget you.
Another part thinks it's appropriate punishment.