[Republic Commando] - 02(52)

In the end it might not matter. He had his team ready to deploy on Coruscant now-his team, not the Republic’s-and they could do things that CSF either wouldn’t or couldn’t. Obrim had his hands tied by laws and procedures, and maybe he even had a mole among his own comrades.

But this strike team had no laws at all: it didn’t even exist. On Triple Zero, it was … zero.

Skirata hadn’t asked Zey what would happen to them if they got it wrong. They could end up dead, all of them. It was an academic detail.

Scorch got up, pulled the knife from the wall, and handed it back to Skirata with a grin. Fixer applauded.

“Remember all that dirty black ops stuff that me and Vau taught you way back?” Skirata slid the blade back up his sleeve again. My dad ‘s knife. All I have of him. I took it off his body. “Or did you file it with the boring stuff on contingency orders and emergency procedures?”

“I think we recall it, Sarge.”

Skirata remembered it, and didn’t want to. It was training that had to be done. It broke his heart, but it was going to be all that stood between those boys and death sooner or later. They had to be able to face the unimaginable, and-yes, there were even worse things than charging a line of droids with your comrades.

There were the things you might have to face alone, in a locked room, with no hope of rescue.

Maybe Vau was right. Perhaps trainees needed to be brutalized beyond the point where they were just brave, pushed into a state of existence where they became animals intent only on survival. That was how Vau had nearly killed Atin. It was why Skirata had then gone after Vau and nearly killed him.

“I’m not proud of what I did to you,” Skirata said.

“You crawled through the nerf guts first, Sarge. It looked like so much fun that we followed you in.” Fi roared with laughter and leaned back in his seat. “And then you threw up.”

The Sickener, they called it. One more endurance test to make sure they could face conditions that would break and kill lesser men, crawling through a ditch filled with rotting nerf guts.

But there were more tests to come. A night out in Fest-like temperatures; no sleep for three days, maybe more; scant water, a full sixty-kilo pack, and blistering heat; and a lot of pain. Pain, pitiless verbal abuse, and humiliation. A captured commando could expect brutal interrogation. They had to be able to cope without breaking, and it took some imagination to test that to the limit.

How far is too far, Kal?

Vau was much more detached about handing out all that punishment than Skirata could ever be. It was very hard to hurt your sons, even if it helped them survive the unsurvivable.

“Well,” Skirata said, mortified that Fi could take it in such good spirits. “The nerf guts were the fun part. It all goes downhill alter that.”

Sev seemed quite animated. “Do we get to do assassinations?”

“If we do, they never happened. You imagined them.”

“Whoops. My trigger finger just slipped, Sarge. Honest.”

“You catch on fast about the fascinating world of politics in which we now find ourselves, young man.”

“Is it okay if I say politicians are gutless chakaare?” Scorch asked.

“Call ‘em what you like, son. You still haven’t got a vote.” Skirata felt the thud of boots striding down the passage outside. The vibration carried; their voices didn’t. “Wars are legal violence. Everything else is just crime. Fortunately we’re Mandalorian, so we’re a lot less prissy about that fine distinction.”

“Just point us at the bad guys and say go.”

“That’s the awkward bit.”

“What is?” Scorch asked.

“You’ve got to find them first.”

“Well, we found quite a few so far . .”

Delta laughed like one man, even Sev, and Omega joined in. The coded entry system blipped and the doors slid open. Ordo strode through them, probably aware of the kind of entrance he could make.

Delta had never worked with a Null ARC before. Maybe they thought it would be no different from working with Alpha or any of the other Jango-trained ARC troopers. Skirata watched with interest. Ordo would certainly break some more ice.

“Sir!” Delta said sharply, all at once. Niner and the rest of Omega just touched their brows casually.

“Sorry I’m late, Sergeant.” Ordo took off his helmet, tucked it under one arm, and handed Skirata a datapad and a rather heavy flimsi-wrapped package about the size of a small blaster case. “Not much information, but Vau is still working on the problem. And General Jusik sends his compliments.”

“Thanks, Captain.” Skirata glanced at it and then unwrapped the parcel. But it wasn’t a weapon; it was a box of candied vweliu nuts. Jusik was a very thoughtful officer indeed. Skirata broke the seal and got up to place it on the table within the reach of both squads. “Fill yer boots, lads.”