[Republic Commando] - 02(8)
The pilot closed the hatch, and Skirata limped across the barracks landing pad. Jedi general Iri Camas, hands on hips with his brown robes flapping in the breeze, watched in a way that Skirata could only describe as suspicious. Two clone troopers waited with him. Skirata thought the Jedi should get his long white hair cut: it wasn’t practical or becoming for a soldier to wear his hair to his shoulders.
“Thank you for responding, Sergeant,” Camas said. “And I apologize for the manner of your return. I realize your contract is completed now, so you owe us nothing.”
“Anytime,” Skirata said.
He noted the blasterproof assault shields erected across the main entrance: four squads of Republic Commandos stood behind them, DC-17 rifles ready. He glanced up at the roof, and there were two commando sniper teams spread out along the parapet as well. Yes, if a bunch of Null-class Advance Recon Commandos didn’t want to cooperate, then it would take a lot of equally hard men to persuade them otherwise. And he knew that none of the commandos would be happy about being ordered in to do the persuading. They were brothers, even if the ARCs were rather different men at heart.
Skirata shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and focused on the doors. “So what started all this, then?”
Camas shook his head. “They’re scheduled to be chilled down now that they’re back from Geonosis, because nobody can command them.”
“I can.”
“I know. Please, get them to stand down.”
“They’re even more of a handful than the regular Alpha-batch ARCs, aren’t they?”
“I know that, Sergeant.”
“So you wanted the hardest troops you could buy to take on the enemy, and then you got cold feet when they turned out to be too hard.”
“Sergeant-“
“I’m a civilian at the moment, actually.”
Camas took a silent breath. “Can you get them to surrender? They’ve shut down the whole barracks!’
“I can.” Skirata wondered if the clone troopers were looking sideways at him, or in the direction they appeared to be facing. You could never tell with their helmets on. “But I won’t.”
“I really don’t want any casualties. Are you holding out for an increased fee?”
Skirata was a mercenary, but the suggestion insulted him. Camas couldn’t be expected to know how he felt about his men, though. He made an effort not to be annoyed. “Enlist me in the Grand Army of the Republic and give me back my lads. Then we’ll see.”
“What?”
“They’re terrified of chill-down, that’s all. You have to understand what happened to them as kids.” Camas gave him an odd look. “And don’t even think about mind influence, General.”
Skirata didn’t give a mott’s backside about pay. Eight years spent on Kamino training special forces for the Republic’s clone army had made him wealthy, and if they wanted to press more credits on him, that was fine; he’d have a good use for them. But what he wanted most right then, and what had made him happy to return with the CSF officers instead of showing them just how handy he was with a fighting knife, was not being safe in a soft civilian life when his men were fighting a desperate, bloody war.
And he needed to be back with them. He hadn’t even had the chance to say good-bye when they suddenly shipped out to Geonosis. He’d lasted five miserable days without them, days without purpose, days without family.
“Very well,” Camas said. “Special adviser status. I can authorize that, I suppose.”
Skirata couldn’t see the commandos’ faces behind their visors, but he knew they’d be watching him carefully. He recognized some of the paint schemes on their Katarn armor: Jez from Aiwha-3 Squad, and Stoker from Gamma, and Ram from Bravo up on the roof. Incomplete squads: high casualties on Geonosis, then. His heart sank.
He began walking forward. He got to the blaster shields, and Jez touched his glove to his helmet. “Nice to see you back so soon, Sarge.”
“Couldn’t stay away,” Skirata said. “You okay?”
“It’s a laugh a minute, this job.”
Camas called out, “Sergeant? Sergeant! What if they open fire-“
“Then they open fire!” Skirata reached the doors and turned his back on them for a few moments, unafraid. “Do we have a deal? Or do you want me holed up in there with them? Because I won’t be coming out unless you guarantee them no disciplinary action.”
It struck Skirata that Camas might be the one to fire on him right then. He wondered if his commandos would obey that order if it were given. He wouldn’t have minded if they had. He’d taught them to do their job, regardless of their own feelings.