Chapter Text
Chapter One: Under Cover of Night
The rain on Aargonar was dry and heavy. It clattered against rock and durasteel, creating an incessant backdrop to an otherwise silent night.
A BX-series commando droid was oblivious to the pounding of water against its armour, its matte, purple colour refusing to shimmer in the nearby moon’s delicate light. Situated on a short landing pad protruding out of a rocky cliff, it surveyed the area for any anomalies. The droid perked its head up as it stepped forwards, gazing relentlessly from side to side. No assailant could escape its vision. At least, that’s what its programmers liked to think.
The planet Aargonar itself was bland, and far from interesting to look at - not that the droid was able to perceive such emotions. Rock arches and stone spires dotted what was otherwise a barren landscape. In fact, the current heavy downpour was likely shaking up the landscape more than anything else had in the past few centuries.
That was, until the Separatist Alliance had arrived.
The commando droid spun around as a pair of doors slid open, light from inside spilling out and illuminating the platform. Three more of its counterparts exited the base and approached.
“All clear,” it said, it’s vocabulator a low rumble.
The three droids continued walking forward, right to the edge of the platform, as if the words of one of their own wasn’t enough.
Below, the rain had caused dust to rise up to create a thin veil that covered the base of the cliff. If the droid could squint, it would have, although even that would have been no use. The platform was far too high, their surroundings far too dark to be able to discern any movement below them.
The man in control of this base had told them any attack would come from the skies, not from the ground; the terrain was just too difficult. But these droids had been programmed to consider most eventualities.
A droid turned to the rest.
“Increase patrols,” it said.
“Roger Roger,” came the reply, three times in unison.
For a droid, combat was always seemingly just a few seconds away. There was no false sense of security, no over-confidence and certainly no boredom. There was only preparation.
A pair of DSD1 dwarf spider droids lumbered out of the base, positioning themselves on the edge of the platform. Their beady eyes were menacing red orbs in the dark that surveyed the surrounding landscape. The base was not yet fitted with proper anti-air turrets, meaning the DSD1’s were their only true defence against any oncoming ships.
After that, a group of ten B1 battle droids also strengthened the outside presence, the sound of their marching not too dissimilar to the continued pattering of the rain.
The commando droid watched as they came to a standstill in two rows of five, bone white plating reminiscent of Aargonar’s sands on a sunny day.
A bolt of lightning crackled through the sky, causing several of the B1’s to raise their weapons in false alarm.
The commando droid was prompted to raise its own blaster, but for a different reason. There was an irregularity to the pattering of the rain. Every now and then, the tempo seemed to shift. It was a minute detail, barely noticeable but for the droid’s astute audio-receptors. It knelt into a combat-ready crouch, and moved towards a set of supply crates to the right of the platform. A sound of shuffling grew increasingly louder as it approached. The droid prepared to fire.
Out of nowhere, a blue bolt screamed through the air, tearing through the head of the droid. It collapsed, inner wires exposed and crackling. Another bolt zinged into existence, taking another head clean off. One by one, the commando droids were taken out by similar shots, the bolts moving faster than the lightning that had lit up the night just a few moments ago.
Within seconds, four bodies, now no more than piles of scrap, lay scattered around the platform.
“We’re being attacked!” a B1 cried.
“But… where from?” shouted another.
The spider droids tilted their cannons upward, eyes desperately searching for the location of the sniper shots. Despite their infrared photoreceptors and powerful scanners, they were effectively looking at a wall of black.
Meanwhile, the B1s stepped forward with their rifles ready, breaking formation almost as easily as they had gotten into it.
No sooner than they’d done so, they were decimated by blaster fire. It opened upon them from the right, shots rarely missing its intended target. By the time the final droid turned to face the attackers, it had already been gunned down.
Alarmed by the sound behind them, the spider droids started the difficult task of turning around. One step at a time, they turned on the spot, but the fixed nature of their laser cannons meant it was a comically slow process.
Two figures in white armour walked leisurely up to the DSD1s, and fired into their vulnerable, domed heads. Internal capacitors fried, the droids’ legs crumpled beneath them, and the red in their eyes dissipated.
Once again, the beating of the rain became the prominent sound on this clandestine nook of Aargonar.
CC-3084, Sarge, watched in grim satisfaction as his two squad members walked away from the dispatched spiders. Brutal, efficient, and not a single droid blaster fired. Just how he liked it. He glanced up to a nearby mountain ridge, where a slight glimmer along the edge indicated the reflection of a sniper scope in the moonlight.
“All clear?” he prompted, the internal communications system in his helmet relaying his words to all members of his team.
“All clear,” came the confirmation.
Sarge looked around at the debris around them .
“You could have left one commando head intact Stark,” he jibed.
“I guess I need to work on my aim,” CC-1276, Stark, replied.
Shaking his head, Sarge waited for the other two clones to approach.
“Desh, get that door open,” he ordered.
“Yes sir.”
Without hesitation, CC-3085, Desh, broke into a jog towards the entrance to the base. It didn’t take him long to find the control panel to the side, which he promptly opened to reveal the inner wiring.
“I was expecting more of a resistance.” The words came from CC-6629, Bones, slight relief in his tone as he pulled up beside his sergeant.
Sarge frowned, and looked around. Ten battle droids, four commandos, and two spiders - it wasn’t exactly as light as his squad had made it look. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help it was fairly slim pickings given the supposed importance of this base.
“There’ll be more inside,” he said.
Whilst he waited for Desh to slice the panel, Sarge inspected the landing pad. Immediately, he noticed that it was devoid of any transport, implying the lack of non-droid presence at the base. Other than that, all he could ascertain was that this facility was close to full operation. Their intel had suggested that the Separatists were in the midst of setting this base up, but there were only a few supply crates left out here - perhaps the final caches of munitions remaining to be brought into storage.
“Desh?” he prompted.
“Nearly there.”
Sarge felt his jaw tighten. This was taking too long. Not having a specialised slicer on his team wasn’t too important in situations like this, but he knew there would come a time when it proved costly.
In fact, this whole operation was taking too long. To avoid sensors, they’d landed two rotations’ trek to the east, but sharp cliffs and dangerous fauna had meant his squad had required three to traverse the terrain. On top of that, Aargonar was a desert planet. They’d prepared for such, taking only the necessary gear and opting for a thinner undersuit for their armour.
Sarge remained still as the rain pounded against his helmet. Lasers integrated into his visor evaporated any droplets, keeping his vision clear. He could feel the wrinkles on his skin, the dampness of his feet, saturated with days worth of water. Yet it didn’t bother him. He’d grown up accustomed to the rain, after all.
“We’re in.”
Sarge turned back to Desh, weapon raised without thought. Bones did the same, and they took a few steps to the right to gain cover. He gave a curt nod to Desh, and the doors slid open.
They were met by nothing.
A slight exhale left Sarge's mouth.
He raised to fingers in the air and motioned towards the door.
The three clones crept towards the entrance, footsteps masked by the unrelenting storm. They were each armed with a DC-17m, an interchangeable weapon system as unique as the soldiers who carried it. For now, it was configured as a standard blaster rifle, and Sarge suspected it would stay that way, unless anything went horribly wrong.
He’d counted four commando droids back on the platform. Not that his team couldn’t handle them, but a nascent base on a barren planet didn’t exactly merit that quality of droids. Then again, capturing said base didn’t merit the use of clone commandos, yet here they were.
They moved up a set of stairs, Desh to the left, Bones to the right, and Sarge taking point. As they reached the top, the corridor split off two-ways, with another door directly in front of them - the command room. Fortunately, now they were inside the base, they shouldn’t have to slice through anymore doors. If they did, then this facility was definitely more secured than it should be.
Sarge held up two fingers, then rotated his fist clockwise several times. Desh nodded, retrieved two EMP grenades (named droid poppers among clones) and passed one to Bones. Taking in a deep breath in preparation, Sarge waited two seconds, then rushed towards the door.
It opened upon sensing his motion, and almost instantly after that happened, he heard the two grenades fizz past his helmet. The room was two floors, with a dozen droids upon the bottom and a few patrolling the top. Sarge ignored all those apart from those above, unleashing several shots that sent the droids clattering to the ground. Almost instantly after, the EMP’s let out a high-pitched shrill, covering the B1s in bright sparkles before their circuits were disabled.
Before any machine had had a chance to react, the room was devoid of any resistance.
Keeping an eye out for any automated defence system, Sarge stepped into the room, motioning his two brothers to follow.
“Doesn’t appear to be any turrets around,” Desh muttered as they walked in.
“Explains the clanker presence,” Bones noted. “They were clearly compensating for something.”
Sarge didn’t say anything, instead inspecting what lay around him. They appeared to be in the command centre of the facility; a holotable in the centre projected the base’s layout, whilst several other screens and consoles were situated around them.
He approached the holotable.
“It doesn’t go as deep into the mountain as I thought,” he said. The layout appeared to be simple; an armoury, a couple storage rooms, a barracks for non-droid guests, battery rooms, and a few others yet to be designated. Nothing hinting at the base’s purpose.
“Here,” Desh called from a nearby console. “Shipping manifests… comms equipment to be transported in a few rotations.”
Sarge nodded. It made sense - Aargonar was a desolate planet with little to no sentient life presence. But, the Perkell sector was home to several industrial, albeit unimportant, planets that the were affiliated with the Republic, as well as Aargonar. Few in the Republic had heard of Aargonar, let alone would think to survey it, which made it the perfect place for a Separatist listening post.
Well, it would have been the perfect place, had the Republic not managed to decode an encrypted transmission revealing its location. With the arrival of Sarge's Tau Squad, this base’s existence was sure to be short-lived.
“Desh, secure the armoury and other rooms on the west side.”
“Yes, sir.” Desh checked his weapon and jogged out.
“Bones, attempt to set-up long range communications with command.”
His comrade nodded and rushed over to the corner of the room. Their orders had been to fully incapacitate the base, but Sarge believed the extra effort to be futile. The strength of Aargonar was the fact that it’d flown under the Republic’s radar; with that gone there was little incentive for the Separatists to return. Hence it was worth repurposing the base for the Republic’s own use, or, if not, taking the equipment currently there for themselves, which Tau squad couldn’t do efficiently on their own.
“Stark, status report,” he said into the comms.
Sarge's jaw tensed as he was met by silence.
“Stark, come in.”
He turned to Bones, a frown on his face underneath his visor.
“They could be jamming our short ranged communications,” Bones said.
“How?” Sarge asked, his rigid aura a bit more forced than usual. “They don’t even know we’re here.”
“Could’ve been automatically activated upon our arrival,” the medic said, unable to hide the scepticism in his voice.
“Desh, come in,” Sarge prompted.
His grip on his blaster tightened when silence filled his ears once again. They were being jammed, that much was for certain. Stark going down was… conceivable - the sniper was far up on the cliffs and susceptible to all forms of attack. But Desh would’ve gone down with a fight, a fight that the two clones in the command centre would’ve heard. The lack of responses only suggested one possibility, but whether said possibility was a result of automation was up for debate.
“Find Desh and update him,” he ordered. “If they’re jamming us short range, I doubt we’ll be able to contact command.”
They both made for the exit.
“Secure the armoury, then proceed with our original plan. I’ll see if I can reach Stark.”
Bones didn’t bother with a response, taking an instant right once they’d left the room.
Sarge continued forward, preparing his rifle as he rushed down the stairs. He braced himself as the outer door slid open, both for potential enemies and for the thundering sound of the rain to continue. He crouched down slightly as he moved out of the base, keeping an eye out for any changes to the landing pad. Only when he was certain nothing was out of place did he relax his grip on his rifle.
He turned his attention up to the cliffside Stark was situated, keeping an eye out for the glare of his brother’s sniper scope.
Nothing.
Sarge looked around, unsure of how to proceed. He weighed up the options: attempting to signal Stark, figuring out the source of the jamming, maybe even completing the mission with Desh and Bones in the hope that they would be able to find Stark later. As he stood there, a slither of white amongst the dull, grey platform, he didn’t notice a humming entangled with the lashing of rain against durasteel. It was only when a pair of two circular lights started to grow larger against the black backdrop did he realise that a ship was rapidly approaching.
Without thought, he leapt into cover behind the nearest crate.
Another crack of lightning illuminated the vessel, in particular the telltale blue and grey of a Separatist shuttle. Sarge peered around the corner, watching as the ship hovered toward the platform. It was a Sheathipede-class, a transport shuttle with a curved hull and a fin protruding out of the back - it was useless in a fight but the staple of the Alliance.
Sarge looked back up towards the cliffside, heart beating as there were still no signs of Stark’s presence.
He breathed out slowly, unmoving as the shuttle dropped down onto the metal. He thought for a moment that he heard gunfire from inside the base, but it was hard to discern such noises from potential far away lightning.
He ignored it, focusing on his own situation as he heard the hiss and pop of a hatchway opening it out. Then came the footsteps, four pairs he believed - two heavy, two softer. By the irregularity of the heavier steps, Sarge assumed they belonged to commando droids, rather than B1’s whose walking was more of a straightforward march.
So two commandos, and two non-clankers. Probably the overseers of this base.
The walking came to a stop. Sarge readjusted his grip on his rifle, making sure it sat perfectly in his soaked gloves.
“Come out, clone,” a commanding voice ordered. It was male, upper-class, and doused in discontent.
Sarge refused to move, certain that he hadn’t been seen during the shuttle’s approach.
There was a faint whisper, followed by sounds of shuffling and a sharp cry of pain.
Sarge tensed, recognising the cry immediately.
“Do as he says boss,” Stark said, unable to hide the resignation in his voice.
After waiting a few seconds, Sarge stepped out into view.
As he had predicted, two commando droids stood either side of a human, a blaster held against Stark’s temple. His comrade was without a helmet or amour, and a black eye and several bruises marred his face.
Sarge didn’t recognise the human; they had no intel on who the head of the base was, and this was likely an unimportant figure amongst the Separatists. Nevertheless, the man oozed confidence over the situation.
“Drop your weapon,” he barked, pushing his weapon harder into Stark’s temple.
“Or what?” Sarge responded. “You pull that trigger, I down you and your droids in less than a second. Doesn’t seem a fair trade, does it?”
The commandos locked their blasters onto him at this.
“I wouldn’t risk it,” the human said. “Now drop it.”
Sarge narrowed his eyes, momentarily refusing to oblige. The man’s finger was pressed against the trigger, his hands were shaking slightly and there was an undeniable slither of urgency in his voice.
“I’ve got more men inside,” he said, motioning back to the door. “This facility is under Republic control now. I don’t know what you hope to achieve here.”
“Just… just drop it.”
The human’s voice no longer exuded the confidence of a man in control of the situation. He had likely expected Sarge to give in to every command, unwilling to risk the death of his brother. His hand was shaking much more visibly now, the tip of his blaster knocking against Stark, who’s own breathing was starting to escalate. The droids, on the other hand, were unmoving, giving off no emotional queues or signals of intent.
Sarge copied the droids. He remained stationary, silent and unflinching in the heavy rain. This human was already on edge - wearing down his nerves was going to be easy.
“Do as I say!”
He gave no response.
“I… I will fire."
Again, nothing. He looked squarely into Stark’s eyes and, despite the lack of any communication, knew that his brother was ready.
The human whispered something under his breath. Sarge couldn’t hear it, and he didn’t particularly care. He was just waiting.
For a moment, everything seemed to calm down. Then, the man shouted at the droids.
“Kill him!"
Before the words had finished spilling into the air, Sarge had already fired. A bolt of blue shot through the air and right into the chest of one of the droids. He moved to the side, dodging the return fire of the second, and answered by blowing a hole in its head. It teetered in place for a moment before collapsing to the floor.
Two seconds, two shots, two kills.
Meanwhile, Stark took opportunity of the distraction and flicked his head backward, winding the human. He tried to stand up, but the man recovered swiftly and threw him to the floor.
Sarge ran towards them.
Stark thudded against the metal.
The man aimed his blaster at the clone’s head once again. He saw Sarge running, he saw the dead droids, he saw Stark making to get back up, and panicked.
His hand tensed as he made to pull to the trigger.
A blaster bolt fired, but not from his own weapon. He tried to move his finger, but nothing happened. Instead, the gun slipped out of his hand and clattered against the platform. He felt no pain, but he realised what had happened.
Sarge lowered his rifle as he watched the human crumple to the ground, the barrel still fizzing from the shot. His heart was beating fast, but he relaxed as Stark brought himself upright.
“Sarge,” Stark uttered.
“I had to,” Sarge replied, unconvincingly. He could have aimed for the hand, tried to disarm the human, but in the moment he had been unable to risk anything. Instead, his bolt had ripped straight through the human’s heart.
Stark looked between his commander and the body on the floor, before giving a slight nod towards Sarge.
“Secure the shuttle,” Sarge ordered softly. “I’ll check in on the others.”