Star Wars - The Clone Wars - Secret Missions #1 - Breakout Squad

by Ryder Windham

  “What a mess!” said the first clone trooper, CT-8863, as he surveyed the wreckage of the Separatist battleship Malevolence through his helmet’s polarized T-visor.

  “That’s putting it mildly,” said the second clone trooper, CT-4012. He turned his own helmeted head to let his gaze sweep over the area. “It’s a very, very big mess!”

  The third done trooper, CT-5177, looked around but said nothing. This didn’t surprise the others because CT-5177 seldom spoke at all.

  The three troopers were virtually identical. Each wore a black, pressure-sealed body glove that was covered with plastoid with matching utility belts that carried handheld comlinks, grappling hooks, explosive grenades, and spare blaster magazines. They all moved and held their DC-15 blaster rifles the same way. Even their voices, transmitted via their helmets’ built in comm units, sounded alike.

  In fact, their similarities extended right down to their genetic structure. They had been grown n cloning tanks and trained on the planet Kamino in order to serve and defend the Galactic Republic.

  They were standing on a nameless, airless moon near the Kaliida Nebula, with their Nu-class attack shuttle resting on the scorched ground just a short distance away.

  A day earlier, the moon had been a barren wasteland, but that was before Jedi General Anakin Skywalker had sent the Malevolence crashing into it. Now, massive metal fragments and countless bits of twisted, smoldering debris lay scattered in all directions across the lunar terrain.

  “Too bad General Grievous got away,” said CT-8863. Leveling the barrel of his blaster rifle at a shredded section of the Malevolence’s hull, he added, “At least this battleship and its ion cannon can be crossed off our list of worries.”

  “You know the old saying,” said CT-4012. “The bigger they are …””

  “… The bigger they explode!” CT-8863 finished with a chuckle. CT-4012 joined in the laughter while CT-5177 merely nodded his helmeted head.

  As the laughter ended, CT-4012 noticed a cylindrical scrap of metal near the toe of his right boot. He brought his foot down hard and crushed the scrap, driving it into the ground. Behind his helmet, he said, “I’ll bet Grievous is crying droid tears right now over his broken toy.”

  Unexpectedly, a voice said from behind, “Don’t forget that this ‘broken toy’ destroyed dozens of Republic warships and killed thousands of allies.”

  The three clone troopers turned to see who had spoken. It was their commanding clone officer, Captain Lock, who was walking toward them from the attack shuttle. They snapped to attention.

  Lock’s armor was scuffed and scratched, and his battered helmet was decorated with jagged blue markings. Lock was a veteran of the Battle of Geonosis, the first skirmish between the Republic and Separatist armies, which had launched the interstellar conflict that was already known as the Clone Wars.

  Lock came to a stop before the three troopers. “If you’re waiting for me to say, '‘At ease, men,'’ you can wait until this war is over. Our orders are to recover debris samples to confirm a report that the enemy battleship was built by Quarren Separatists at the Pammant Docks. I’m told Chancellor Palpatine himself is eager for this confirmation. Is that understood, shinies?”

  “Sir! Yes, sir!” answered the troopers, including CT-5177. They all knew that Chancellor Palpatine was the elected leader of the Galactic Republic. They also knew what shinies meant: clone troopers like them, who still wore shiny armor because they had yet to be in combat.

  “And another thing,” Lock added. “Calling you by your designation numbers takes too long. If you can’t come up with proper names for yourselves, I’ll be the one giving out nicknames. Understood?”

  “Sir! Yes, sir!”

  “Then let’s get cracking,” Lock said. “The sooner we find what we’re looking for, the sooner we can leave this rock.”

  The troopers and Lock fanned out and began sifting through the rubble. They moved carefully and cautiously, always staying within sight of each other as they searched for debris with any kind of markings.

  After nearly an hour of this tedious work, CT-4012 picked up a mostly pulverized piece of metal. He turned it over in his hands, examined it closer, then held it high over his head as he said, “Score!”

  Lock and the other troopers trotted over to ser what CT-4012 had found.

  He held out the piece of scrap so all could set the engraved insignia on its surface.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Lock said. “The insignia for the Free Dac Volunteers Engineering Corps! If that doesn’t confirm the battleship was built at Pammant, I don’t know what does. We’d better deliver this to Coruscant immediately.”

  He clapped CT-4012’s shoulder plate and said, “You’ve got sharp eyes, soldier. Maybe your nickname should be Sharp.’”

  “Sharp?” CT-4012 repeated, testing the sound of it.

  “Nothing wrong with ‘Sharp’,” Lock said. “It’s a good name.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said the trooper formerly known as ŃT-4012, his voice filled with pride.

  “Let’s move out,” Lock said, motioning to the others to return to the shuttle.

  As they walked, CT-8863 noticed a partially melted circuit board in a nearby pile of debris that he’d missed earlier. The board’s exposed assembly was as exotic as it was intricate, distinguished by overlapping patterns of concentric silver rings. CT-8863 stopped to bend down and pick it up. “Sir!”

  Lock, Sharp, and CT-5177 slopped in their tracks. Looking at the object in CT-8863’s hand, Lock Ťaid, “What is it? More evidence of Pammant construction?””

  “No, sir,” said CT-8563. “That is, I don’t think so, sir.”””

  “Then why are you showing it to me?”

  Hearing the impatience in Lock’s voice, CT-8863 answered quickly. “Sir, I don’t recognize this board as anything used by either the Separatists or the Republic.”

  Behind his helmet, Lock lifted his eyebrows skeptically. “You can recognize circuit boards at a glance?”

  “Yes, sir,” CT-8863 said. “Studying circuitry is, uh, sort of my hobby. I’ve never seen an assembly like this. It might mean the Separatists have a new ally that we don’t know about.”

  Lock looked at the circuit board again. “The Jedi will probably want to have a look at it,” he said. He lifted his gaze to CT-8863. “You have sharp eyes, too, but I won’t have a pair of Sharps under my command. Because of your interest in technology, we’ll call you Breaker.”

  “Breaker, sir?” CT-8863 said doubtfully. “Sorry, I don’t understand. Are you suggesting that I enjoy breaking technology?”

  Lock rolled his eyes. “Breaker is short for circuit breaker.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s a good name!”

  “Yes, sir!” said the newly named Breaker, who hadn’t meant to question his superior officer. “Thank you, sir.””

  Turning to face CT-5177, Lock said, “As for you, I’ve got a fine nickname picked out for-—”

  Lock was interrupted by a rapid burst of blaster fire. A volley of energy bolts traveled from the nearest debris pile and slammed into CT-5177, sending him falling backward.

  Before CT-5177 hit the ground, a battle droid lifted its damaged frame away from the debris. Sparks flew from the droid’s left hip joint as it lurched forward, angling its blaster rifle at the other troopers.

  “Die, clone scum!” the droid said as it squeezed off another burst.

  Lock, Sharp, and Breaker did not pause to wonder how the droid had survived the battleship’s crash. Such thoughts were not part of their training and conditioning. They respon
ded automatically and without fear, moving quickly to swing their rifles into position and return fire on the droid.

  The droid fired one burst that glanced off the armor at Sharp’s right shoulder. Sharp grunted at the impact hut kept firing his own weapon. The droid’s body jerked and spun as a hail of energy bolts sheared off its head and arms. The droid’s body collapsed and its head bounced across the ground.

  The bouncing head cried out, “Aw, nuts!”

  Captain Lock and Breaker scrambled over to CT-5177’s fallen body. Sharp kept his rifle trained on the droid’s head until it rolled to a stop.

  Facing Sharp sideways from the ground, the head repeated, “Die, clone scum!”

  Sharp blasted the metal head to smithereens.

  CT-5177 wasn’t moving. At least one of the droid’s shots had pierced the silent clone’s armored chest plate. Captain Lock placed his black-gloved hand on the side of CT-5177’s collar, then said, “He’s alive! Let’s get him back to the ship. Move!”

  CT-5177 moaned as the others lifted and carried him up the attack shuttle’s ramp and into the main cabin. As they entered, Captain Lock used his elbow to hit a button on the wall.

  There was a loud wham as the hatch slammed shut behind them, followed by a rushing sound as compressed air quickly flowed in to fill and pressurize the cabin. CT-5177 moaned again as the troopers placed him on the metal deck.

  The shuttle’s clone pilot already had the engines running when Lock said, “To the Demolisher! Now!”

  The Demolisher was the Republic Star Destroyer that had delivered the arrack shuttle to the moon’s, orbit. As the clone pilot deftly worked the controls, the shuttle lifted from the ground and its wings dropped into flight position. Then the shuttle turned its nose skyward and rose rapidly into space, heading for the waiting Destroyer.

  The troopers worked fast on CT-5177. Sharp maneuvered a laser tool to shear through the wounded trooper’s plastoid armor and body glove to expose his chest. Breaker removed CT-5177’s helmet and slapped a transparent respirator over his mouth. Lock pulled off his own helmet as he grabbed an emergency medpac and snapped it open.

  CT-5177 blinked as his helmet came off. He tried to focus on Lock’s face. Like all clones, he had inherited the rugged, swarthy features of his genetic template, a bounty hunter named Jango Fett. CT-5177’s forehead was covered by a sheen of sweat.

  Looking at the wound on CT-5177’s chest. Breaker said, “What a mess.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Sharp said. He glanced at Lock and said, “Will he live, sir?”

  “No one dies unless I order them to die!” Lock said as he slapped a wide medpac over CT-5177’s chest. Then he stared hard into his eyes and said, “Tell me, soldier. You’re not ready to say your last words, are you?””

  Under the respirator, CT-5177 gapped, “No, sir.””

  “Good! Because if you don’t stay alive, you’ll never know your nickname!”

  Chancellor Palpatine leaned forward in his chair so he could have a closer look at the thing that had been placed on his desk in his suite at the Senate Office Building on the planet Coruscant. The thing was an exotic but obviously damaged circuit board, the same one that Captain Lock's squad had recovered from the Malevolence’s crash site a day earlier.

  Raising his gaze to the tail, silver-haired man who had delivered the circuit hoard, Palpatine said, “Arc you certain of this device’s origin?”

  “Yes, Chancellor,” said the Jedi Master Ring-Sol Ambase. “The clone squad that found it was unable to identify its manufacturer, so they sent it to Jedi Archives. I happened to be in Archives when it came in.”

  “And your records confirmed that it came from KynachTech Industries on Kynachi?””

  “There was no need to consult records. I am very familiar with the design of technology manufactured by KynachTech. It is a personal interest. I was born on Kynachi.”

  Palpatine sighed. “Please, do forgive me. Master Ambase. I was under the impression that the people of Kynachi have golden hair, and I had not considered your ancestry.”

  “An apology is unnecessary, Chancellor,” Ambase said. “The Kynachi are indeed distinguished by their hair, a characteristic that is partially the result of the Kynachi diet. Naturally, because I have spent most of my life on Coruscant, I do not share the trait.””

  “Yes, naturally,” Palpatine said. “In any event, I can assume you are aware that KynachTech Industries has always insisted on manufacturing technology for entirely peaceful purposes?”

  Ambase nodded.

  “Then how did a KynachTech circuit board wind up on a Separatist battleship?”

  “As of now, we can only speculate.””

  Palpatine frowned. “It’s been nearly ten years since the Kynachi chose to become isolationists and severed ties with the Republic. Since then, they have refused to allow trade or respond to any of our transmissions.” His brow furrowed, and then he said, “I don’t suppose you have had any recent contact with your family on Kynachi?””

  “I am a Jedi,” Ambase said. “I have had no contact with my biological family since I was an infant.™”

  Palpatine shook his head sadly. “Of course. Forgive me, I should have known better than to ask. Still, you know a good deal about your homeworld?”

  “It is a Jedi’s duty to be familiar with many things. Granted, there’s not much to know about Kynachi. To the best of my knowledge, KynachTech Industries is the only industry on the planet except for farming.”

  Palpatine rose from his desk and moved to the wide window that offered a sweeping view of Galactic City, the most expansive megatropolis in the galaxy.

  As afternoon air traffic glided past his window, Palpatine said, “I was not surprised to learn that the battleship with the ion cannon was built at Pammant, but to discover that Kynachi was somehow involved … This is most distressing.” He sighed. “Kynachi may be very remote, and her people may have chosen isolation, but I remember it as a lovely, peaceful world. I fear that Kynachi has joined or become occupied by the Separatists.”

  “There are other possibilities,” Ambase said. “Perhaps the Kynachi are unaware that KynachTech supplied technology to the Separatists. Perhaps the technology was stolen.”

  “I had not considered that.” Palpatine looked away from the window to face Ambase. “But how are we to discover the truth without violating their isolation agreement or endangering the Kynachi people? How can we learn whether they need or want our help?”

  Ambase was silent for a moment, then said, “A Republic ship might not be welcomed at Kynachi. An investigation would have to be very discreet. A small, covert task force, a Jedi with twelve troops, could travel by unarmed freighter to investigate KynachTech.”

  “Unarmed?” Palpatine said with surprise. “Is that wise?”

  “If the Separatists are already at Kynachi, and we show up in a Republic gunship, we might draw their attention immediately.

  Palpatine sighed. “Yes, I suppose an unarmed freighter does have a tactical advantage,” he said. “Would you be willing to lead this mission?”

  “Chancellor, that’s not my decision to-—”

  “But, Master Ambase, I’m sure the Jedi Council will concur that you, with your knowledge of Kynachi, would be the best choice. I will contact Master Yoda and Master Windu at once.” Before Ambase could protest, Palpatine continued, “If no one objects, might I also encourage you to consider the troops for your command?”

  “Yes,” Palpatine said. “The squad who recovered the debris from the Separatist battleship and delivered it to you. They strike me as most resourceful.”

  After leaving the Senate Office Building, Ring-Sol Ambase took a diplomatic shuttle to the Jedi Temple, an enormous structure topped by five tall spires. He went directly to the Temple’s holographic training area, which was engineered for Jedi and Padawans to practice their lightsaber skills.

  He made his way past several Padawans who were testing their non-lethal training lightsabers aga
inst various simulated opponents until he found a young male Jedi, a humanoid alien boy with blue skin and red eyes, who stood before holograms of three super battle droids.

  The boy had hung his dark brown, hooded robe on a metal peg that jutted out from a nearby wall. He was clad in a tan tunic with matching leggings, and wore a synthetic leather utility belt and boots.

  The holograms of the hulking, slope-shouldered droids raised their arms to open fire with their dual laser cannons, launching crimson energy bolts at the boy. He made a series of swift, sweeping chops through the air as his training lightsaber connected with the bolts, batting them back at the holograms.

  The young Jedi had no difficulty sending a dozen bolts straight back at his attackers before he spun and leaped at them. Still in midair, he swung his blade to chop off the gun arms of two droids, then swung again as he landed on the floor, severing the droids’ legs with his lightsaber. As the two droids collapsed, the third droid swiveled fast to take aim and fire at its moving target.

  An energy bolt whizzed past the boy’s head, but he ducked and rolled toward the last standing droid. He twisted his wrist to flick his lightsaber up through the droid’s midsection, cutting it in half. As the droid’s torso fell, though, his right gun arm fired.

  “Stang!” the boy cursed as one of the fired energy bolts traveled straight into his right thigh. Because the energy bolts, like the droids, were merely three-dimensional constructions of light, they did not cause any physical harm, but the boy was discouraged just the same. The disabled droid fired again, trying to hit the boy but instead launching a spray of bolts at the ceiling. Rising from the floor, the boy said, “End program.”

  As the holographic droids vanished and the youth deactivated his training lightsaber, Ambase said. ““You're improving, Nuru.””

  Nuru Kungurama turned his gaze to the silver-haired Jedi. He bowed and said, “Thank you, Master.”

  “However, please refrain from swearing. Such language is not becoming of a Jedi.”

  “Sorry, Master,” Nuru said with another bow. Clipping his training lightsaber to his belt, he walked over to Ambase and said, “May I ask how your meeting went with the Chancellor?”