Do what you can, lads, because I can’t spare any more men to help you. Great…
“Understood,” said Niner. Sometimes Darman wanted to ram his sergeant’s patient acceptance down his throat. “Omega out.”
Nobody needed to remind Zey how thinly spread all the GAR forces were, especially Special Operations. They were cross-training regular troopers for commando roles now: the GAR had fewer than five thousand Republic commandos. Inadequate didn’t even come close. It was a joke. Darman waited for Niner to sign off with a surprisingly perfunctory salute and close the link, and that wasn’t good old gung-ho Niner at all. It was the closest he’d ever come to showing his frustration to the squad.
Maybe the Republic would have been better off with droids after all. They don’t get hacked off about what’s happening to them.
And they don’t fall in love.
“I’ll try to look on the bright side, seeing as that’s my job.” said Fi. “Last time we inserted into enemy territory without any decent intel and with totally inadequate numbers, we made lots of interesting new friends. Maybe I’ll be the one to get lucky this time.”
Darman ignored the gibe about Etain. “The Gaftikar rebels aren’t your type, Fi. They’re lizards.”
“So are Falleen.”
“I mean lizard lizards. Luggage on legs.”
“They’ve got a human population, too …”
“Optimist.”
Niner changed the subject with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Come on, we always insert without enough intel.” He hadn’t told Fi to shut up in ages, as if he felt sorry for him now. “It’s the way the world works. Okay, buckets on. We’ll be over Eyat in twenty minutes.”
The Core Conveyor’s cargo hangar was a stark void with a ramped air lock at one end. It was an armed freighter, one of many commandeered from the merchant fleet-taken up from trade, and so nicknamed TUFTies-and it was built simply to move vehicles and supplies, and sometimes men. and unload them discreetly where required. Darman wondered what its cargo had been in peacetime. Like the small traffic interdiction vessels, it masqueraded as a neutral civilian craft for covert operations. TUFTies could be deployed on planets where the arrival of an Acclamator would get the wrong sort of attention.
The hangar was packed with speeder bikes and crates. Darman picked his way through them, following Atin to the hangar doors where a loadmaster in yellow-trimmed pilot armor minus helmet steered crates on repulsors toward the ramp and lined them up.
“Deeces,” said the loadmaster, not looking up from his datapad. “And a few E-Webs and one large arty piece.”
“How many ‘Webs?” Atin asked.
“Fifty.”
“Is that the best we can do?”
“We’ve been arming them for a year. Just a top-up.” The loadmaster seemed satisfied that he had the correct consignments and stared at the commandos with a wary eye. He reached for the rail that ran along the bulkhead and hooked his safety line to it. “If it’s any comfort, you look pretty sinister in that black rig. Even with the white wings. I don’t think you’re a bunch of overrated Mando-loving weirdos at all…”
Fi gave him a bow. “May all your future deployments be with the Galactic Marines on ‘fresher detail, ner vod.”
But Atin could never pass things off with a joke. “What’s your problem, pal?”
“Just wondering,” said the loadmaster.
“Wondering what!”
“Mandos. You ever fought those guys? I have. They keep popping up in Sep forces. They kill us. And you were raised as good little Mando boys. Is that who you feel you are?”
“Let’s put it this way,” said Fi. “I don’t feel like a Republic citizen, because none of us are, in case you hadn’t noticed. We don’t exist. No vote, no identification docs, no rights.”
Niner shoved Fi in the back. “One-Five, shut it. Loadmaster, wind your neck in and don’t question our loyalty, or I’ll have to smack you. Now let’s get to work.”
It was the first time that Darman could recall the sense of brotherhood among clones-all clones, regardless of unit-faltering. The 2nd Airborne obviously had an issue with Mandalorians, and maybe the nearest they could kick were the Republic commandos-raised, trained, and educated mostly by Mandalorian sergeants like Skirata, Vau, and Bralor. He thought it was a bad omen for the mission. Yes, Sergeant Kal would be very upset to see this.
Core Conveyor was low enough now for them to see the landscape beneath from one of the viewports. Darman could see from his HUD icon of Niner’s field of view that he wasn’t looking at the drop zone but was engrossed in his datapad. It was just a mass of numbers. Atin, though, was reading a message, and although Darman tried not to be nosy he couldn’t help but notice that it was from Laseema, his Twi’lek girlfriend, and it was … educational.