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Originally, Gama Squad was the third reserved combat team of the 1st Airborne Company, 28th Parachute Infantry Regiment...but as the war went on, the Grunts became the front-line fighters of every major clone paratrooper offensive from Geonosis, to Jabiim, to the Outer Rim Sieges. We were folded into almost every facet of our regiment and performed almost every odd job that an army had to do. Hell, we even handled the mail for the troops!!

Don't ask me who a clone could possibly get mail from.

I was assigned to the Grunts a good two years after the Battle of Kamino, after I "volunteered" for Jump School and earned my wings. At the time, Gama Squad was stationed with the 8th Airborne on Kothlis in the Bothan Sector, some twelve klicks from the largest Bothan colony in the system. That didn't stop the Seperatist aligned Sanyassan forces from attacking. The 8th Airborne "Raiders" Company had it's hands full with just keeping the Sanies back beyond the treeline, giving the Grunts and rest of the combat teams the luxury of hunting the monkey-faces down on isolated patrols.

It was just my luck that the Sanies had planned a push on the very day I arrived... ...

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Knifing through the highest reaches of Kothlis, a white winged object cut steadily across the planet's blue skies. A Republic gunship, dropping out of the high atmosphere in a wide arc to it's drop point, still a thirty minutes away. The LAAT's front section glowed bright red as flames stretch down the length of the ship, creating a short tail of fire behind the craft. And did it ever shake! Rocketing back and forth, up and down, making the gunship blur out of focus into much more ambiguous shape.

The constant vibrations had caused the crates of ammunition and the odd couple of clones to buckle in their place. Hanging on to the overhead safety bar with dead-man's grip, Carthar struggled to keep his thoughts straight as he watch the flames lick pass the viewport. The young trooper frowned at the site from under his special 'HALO' helmet and turned to the cockpit... ...

"Shouldn't we've gotten through atmo' by now?" Carthar called over to the clone pilot through his built-in comlink.

"We'd get a fierfek load of A-A any lower, kid!" The pilot shouted back over the com, "Ta' Sanies have half this continent covered in rockets and flack-throwers, ta' fierfek peedunkee!!"

The trooper shifted his body and turned back the viewport, slightly unsettled by the pilot's cursing. Swearing was something of a touchy point for Carthar, even in Huttese. Where most of the clones back on Kamino took on to it like air and used it almost as much, Carthar liked to stay straight-laced. Nope. Just happy thoughts and 'Yes, sirs' for this paratrooper, no vice this clone. Besides...he's like 10-years-old...despite what his manual says. As Carthar continued to dump the undesired Huttese out of mind, he took glance back to the rear of gunship that lasted less then a second. It wasn't the first or even third glance, but the twenty-seventh glance back at the other occupant of LAAT. An ARC commando riding in the simple troop transport wasn't a common affair, as far as the young clone was aware of.

Lounging atop several boxed ammo canisters, the elite clone warrior looked perfectly at ease in the shaking gunship as he casusally read from a datapad in one hand, with his helmet sitting over his erect knee. Not just any helmet, mind you...but a HALO helmet. That had caught Carthar off the moment the ARC stepped onto the transport. Everything else about the clone screamed commando to the young trooper, from the pauldron around his shoulders to the kama hanging off his thighs. However the HALO was particular to clone paratroopers only. It wasn't just specialize jumping equipment piece, but a mark of honor for all who got their wings from the Advance Clone Parachuting Combat Training, or more widely know as 'Jump School', after five successful jumps. With another glance, Cathar had once again confirmed the clone's ARC nature, by that of his WESTAR-M5 blaster set across the clone's knapsack. Only special forces commandos carried them, with anyone else using the rifle model being restricted.

Meaning a trooper would get shot for shooting a WESTAR.

Carthar's glance soon changed into a stare, as the rookie clone noticed a few extra qualities to the ARC's HALO helmet. It's paint scheme matched the elite's armor, thick lines of dark blue on a white back-drop, and a long attachment sticking straight up. A rangefinder...something purely ARC in the Republic's armed forces, and something purely Mandalorian...if GAR manual proofed reliant.

"What do you think your doing, clone?" Carthar jumped as he frantically turned back to the viewport. The elite warrior speaking into his comlink, his lips next to the rebreather of his under-turned helmet as he held it by the rim, "A LAAT gunship skin can't stand over fifty minutes of heat at this intensity. It's been forty-eight..." The young trooper blinked, twice, under his HALO as the ARC's comment sloshed around in his mind.

... ...ooo-kay... ...?

"Hey, this is my larty, and I know how to fly the fiefekarking thing!!" Screeched the clone pilot's voice over the com, "You want ta' stick, Sleemo? Be my guest!!"

"That's Sergeant Sleemo to you, pilot." The commando responded sternly, "And it's a fact. Standard reentry heat is 1650 degree Celsius, well within skin tolerances. But when contract that with continued skimming of the atmosphere, durasteel starts to weaken and the LAAT's panels become unstable. After fifty minutes, we'll lose those panels and will burn up-"

"I know my larty, Sergent. And I know her limits." Carthar had finally caught on that he was third wheel in this argument, as the pilot went on, "All you ARC commandos are hot-shots, super-soldiers, know-it-alls. You don't know poodoo worth!! Flying a gunship is about feeling." The elite sergeant didn't seem to enjoy the clone pilots reply as his voice dropped down to a more menacing, dead-serious tone... ...

"Pilot... When I say that this boat will burn up after the fifth minute, I mean and know this boat will burn up after the minute... ..."

The clone in cockpit was silent for a moment, eyes still locked out the forward canopy. Then, without saying a word, the pilot eased LAAT down to a lower altitude and below their fiery path. The gunship's rocketing immediately decreased to small hiccups, as Carthar exhaled the breath he had not known he held. Lessening his grip on the safety bar, the young trooper watch the flames outside the viewport disappear as blue skies and puffy white clouds took it's place.

"Did I give you a start' there, kid?" Carthar twisted back to the ARC in the back of the transport as the elite clone smirked back at him. The corner of the trooper's eye flashed red, as the words 'Secure Channel' flashed across Carthar's HUD. The commando wanted a private conversation, "I didn't mean to scare the osik out of ya'. It's just these flyboy clones, you know."

"Oh-um...no, sir. And, yes sir, I do know... ..." The young trooper thumbed over the commando's use of 'osik', instead of normal cussing that usually graced such a comment. More importantly it was Mandalorian speak, or at least sound like it. The word had an odd settling effect on the clone paratrooper...something Carthar wouldn't have expected from a profanity.

"What's your name, trooper?" The elite asked as he smile. Every tiny scars around the clone's cheeks seem to smile with him.

"Sir!" Carthar stiffen himself and throw his right hand up to his HALO's temple, "My registry number is CT-2249, si-... um..."

The ARC's quick change from beaming to frowning, pushed Carthar off step. The standard drilled presentation from basics didn't appear to be the commando's desired response. The clone gathered himself and tried again, "Sir. I'm Private Ka'rta, sir."

The elite clone ceased his frown and gave a slight nod to the young trooper. The choice of the Mandalorian pronunciation of Carthar's name, instead of the Basic, had seemed to appease the ARC, which was good because the trooper didn't WHAT he was doing. This was nothing like rags back on Kamino.

"Sergeant Ramikadu, formally of the Adance Recon Commandos. At ease, Private." The commando said in reply, leaning back to rest on his arm. Carthar dropped his salute as the sergeant continuing to talk into his helmet lying on his chest, "So, Ka'rta... That's a good name."

"Is it, sir?"

"Yeah, it means 'heart'. Heart of a warrior, heart of a people. I'd wrestle a Wookiee to have to have a squad vod with ka'rta as his name."

"Really, sir... I'm pretty sure that my instructors gave it to me out of chance... ..."

"Ha... Well, a Jedi once told me that there isn't such a think as 'chance'. Everything happens for a reason, or some di'kutla saying like that."

Carthar nodded in coy fashion, feeling insufficient of such a high praise. This was a ARC commando, the pride of the Republic's Grand Army, and he was envious some ordinary clone's name? Not just title envy, though. The elite coveted the young trooper as a member of his squad, something Carthar was sure only the best would get to be. It seemed to be much more likely that the commando was just taunting him, have a laugh on the "shinie" clone expense. However... the trooper did get a level of excitement and preening, gungho sense of duty to the Chancellor and Senate. Carthar smirked under his HALO helmet, imagine his own daring feats and war-story victories yet to happen.

Before long the gunship was traveling over the Bothan capital city, Tal'cara, making it's way to the eastern outskirts, where the 8th Airborne was stationed. Cathar watched through the viewport as the city streets and buildings melted away into coves of palm and fruit trees, with a occasional dirt road. In the distance a great hump appeared, bare of anything but the shortest flora, and with a hefty square platform placed atop it's crest. The square's edges flashed with evenly placed lights, red and green, indicating a good-to-land status.

With final ramble of the deck plates, the LAAT had stopped and it's doors slid away to the sides. The young trooper stumbled out of the transport, walking off a few steps to let his legs reaffirm there natural pattern of movement. Two clones brushed past him, dressed in the more traditional "T-visor" kit and armor, moving onto the gunship. They quickly went to work on the ammo crates, pulling them down and piling them back up on the platform. The sergeant barely made it off the crates with his gear under arm before the trooper pair had finished.

A howling shrill snapped the paratrooper's attention to his right, across to the thicket beyond the platform. The dark reaches of the jungle seemed to project hoots and shrieks of every sort, a little intimidating to a clone from a water world city. Though, it wasn't as intimidating as giant barrel of the artillery piece between the platform and the jungle. It was huge! The gun, along with it's brothers about the hill, was the only thing higher than the landing platform.

Soon the LAAT was hover up, again, then sliced forward and to the left to make a large arch around. Carthar watched the gunship fly off westward, no doubt back over the settlement and to the cruiser in orbit. The young trooper watched as the transport sail farther and farther away into the horizon until the ARC sergeant called over to him. Looking over to him, Carthar found Ramikadu across the platform, waving his WESTAR around and to his stomach. Something of "Come on!" or "Get your butt following" type of gesture. The trooper dashed over the distance and followed the sergeant down a twist of scaffolding staircases, to the ground below.

From the base of the platform, Carthar truly took hold of the colossal nature of the artillery he saw from up above. They were behemoths. They seem more worthy as main guns on a battleship in space than shooting grunts in the mud. The insects around it (e.i. clone gunners) raced about, checking recoil-supports and targeting equipment as though the next battle was a minute away.

It just might be, actually..., The young trooper thought to himself.

"Ka'rta!" The sergeant shouted, pulling Carthar back into reality.

The trooper rushed after the ARC sergeant as he confidently took lead across the base grounds. Ramikadu hadn't even stop to once to ask for direction, just keep pushing forward as though he know exactly were they need to go and where it was. It was a little unsettling for the young trooper since he was simply trusting the commando's decisions, without actually knowing who he was. The sergeant never lost step, though.

Maybe he's just that confident. I think most would just call that stupidity, though...

The two soon reached a small hill in what must have been the middle of the base. A four meters tall, four meters long wall stuck out across the side of the hill, made of single piece of a durasteel that shinned in the bright tropic sun. A lone door stood at the center, left open to the clones to enter without button or switch to operate. The ARC continued in, pass the doorway and into the hill, Carthar still following in his wake. The interior was perfectly hollowed out, lined with same durasteel construction as the outer wall. A few desks were scattered around the moderately sized room, with white-washed clones and a couple paratroopers buzzing about.

The ARC sergeant and Carthar stood, shoulder to shoulder, calmly wait for... something. The young trooper was at a lost. All his training said to find the commanding officer and get assigned squad and bunk, which the clone assumed the elite was trying to do. But there was not telling if the CO was here or across the base in the latrine. Carthar tense up, anyway, sucking in his stomach and removing his helmet in preparation for a superiors review. The instance his HALO's seals opened, a flood of hot and humid air poured into the young troopers face, nearly gagging him. The room was oven, period. After a minute of sweating bullets in the heat, a bare-faced clone in red marked armor walked up to the pair. The young trooper quickly recognized the symbol of the Senate and Republic, the Great Galactic Seal, set in red at the center of the clone's breastplate. It was a sign of the Chancellor's authority, and his... ...

"I'm the commander of this base, Captain Burrs." The captain's voice was more grizzled then most of the clone voices Cathar had heard before. Odd...it reminded the young trooper of used blast caps, rattling around in a empty rations can. Odd..., "I'll keep it blunt for your ease, troopers. We're at high alert, 24/7, so keep your boots stripped on. There's no air support, space or planetside, and no Jedi. We're short on bodies, so there's plenty of bunk-space and plenty of work. I'm still looking for clones and I'll take what I can get...even flat-tops like you." Cathar blink at the use of 'flat-top', a common phrase in the first generation of Kamino clones. It referred to the hairstyle choices the Kaminoans made before and after Jango Fett left the program. With Fett, the standard cut was closer to the scalp to create a round looking head. With Fett gone the Kaminoans decided on a more rigid, 'flat' style. The term to the older generation mean that a clone was too lazy to train and too hyper to listen to orders...however that worked. It was akin to a ethic epithet in the civilian world, though more tolerated, "I'm not taskmaster" The captain continued, "but when I'm given a job, I get it done. My job and your job is to knock the Sanyassans off this rock and back to the hole they'd crawled from. So...Private..."

The young trooper marched on step up and placed saluting hand to temple, then back to his side of his hip in a single motion, "Sir!" He called out. Burrs seem to pause for a moment, then raise his right hand up at his side and waved his fingers. A paratrooper strode up behind the captain and placed a datapad into his waiting palm.

"Right..." The CO began, checking over the pad, "...Private CT-2249, correct. I'm putting you on Lieutenant Czar's platoon, in Gamma squad. I hate to throw a shinie, with no experience, on the front lines. But, we are under manned and that's were we need troops."

"Sir!" Saluting again, Carthar twisted about and marched out the door.

"As for you, Sergeant-" Burrs announced to the ARC, still review his datapad. A curious expression washed over the captain's face as one of his brow shot up at, eyes moving across the pad, "Sergeant...Ram-ee-ka...umm...Rameekadou? Ram-ye-kadou..."

"The Jedi and other Basic user like to shorten it to Ram, sir."

"Oohh...good then." Captain Burrs nodded as he folded his arms behind his back. If the elite wasn't mistaken, he thought he saw the CO blush a little, "Well Sergeant Ram, it seems your something of a tiny mystery to us."

"I'm...sorry, sir?" Ram wasn't quiet sure where the captain was going.

"You have to understand, I'm just a simple para-infantry officer. I can't get records on clones that don't exist...like former commando lieutenant. With no records, I don't know what to do with you. I don't know if your proficient at leading troopers into battle or washing trays at chow time."

"Ha...I can take my word, captain, I can lead and fight just as fine-" The elite sergeant chuckled, but Burrs cut him off... ...

"No, I can't. You see, I don't know why a lieutenant like you was dropped down to sergeant and placed in a infantry company." Sergeant Ram frowned as the captain continued, "Maybe you slept with Senator's daughter...who knows. I sure don't."

"I choose the demotion-"

"That's a little hard to swallo-"

"I choose the demotion, but not the assignment!" The commando shouted over the CO. The whole room froze to the spot, all halted to stare at the elite clone. Burrs studied the commando carefully and waited. However, Ram just ended his outburst with a single word, "... sir."

"... ... I believe you, Sergeant." The captain replied, fist resting on his hips, "I'll tell you what...I'll give you your own squad. Yours to choose. Maybe then I can see if your mouth is where your money's at. We always have room in the kitchen detail, else wise..."

"Thank you, sir..." A thought crossed the sergeants mind that made him smile, "...I think I know a squad, sir."

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Within the dark underground of a planet not too far away, a series long concrete corridors rang with echoing footsteps. The dank air and sharply angled walls doubled the lone walker's boot drops, as though a whole platoon was clamoring down the hall. After a few more trots, the echoing walker reached the needed destination, a large square chamber, dimly lit, with flashing equipment and motley soldiers scattered about it. Men and women, from a rainbow of species, all dressed in dark blue fatigues, preformed a variety of tasks on weapons and console inputs. All the while, a group of grizzled soldiers gathered around a table as a dark haired human male hunched over the surfaced and directed his finger across a placed map.

"Excuse me, General Kota." A feminine voice proclaimed, catching the attention of the human. The man's black bun from back his skull, bobbed from side to side as the general deliberated turning to meet his caller. Finally duty over came annoyance and the Senior Jedi General, Master Rahm Kota, twisted about with the brown robe around his shoulders flowing about him as he turned under his armor.

"Major Tekshar. How good it is to see you..." The Jedi related in a mock of cheer. The petite female Kuati, dressed in similar navy fatigues as the soldiers, snickered at Kota's poor sarcasm and pulled a datapad from the confines of her belt pouch.

"A transmission from Command, sir." The major said and hand her commander the pad, "It's a priority one, special ' Masters' message."

Kota blinked at the woman, slightly taken aback, and gazed down at the pad in his hands. There it was, flashing in red, the words "Priority: #1" with second line spelled in large letters: "MASTERS". It was a rare for Jedi to see, even the commander of all Republic military activity in the Bothan system. The message required more than just the normal thumb print or voice command to decode it, but a unique function in the datapad that needed Force trick, of such, to activate. Only a general's senior office held the essential datapad and only Jedi Masters knew the trick. Needless to say, it wasn't too practical and thus not often used. Reaching out with his feelings, Kota activated the device and the message sprawled into rolling lines of text. The general gasped... ...

"...a Separatist invasion fleet!!" Silence fell as whole room turned and stared, agape, at General Kota. The Jedi, recognizing his exclamation's effect, read the message aloud, "Military investigations have uncovered a CIS plot to seize control of Bothan Space in a single, all encompassing attack. The Sanyassan opposition will launch a inter-sector push on multiple planetside front in congruence with a Separatist invasion fleet under the General Grievous, as he attacks and hold the Both system... ..."

"Impossible!" Bellowed a Bothan at the table, his fur covered figures stretched out in a mixture of surprise and outrage. The Mon Calamari female next to him was much more calm with her words, much more dire.

"With Republic and Bothan defenses spread across the sector, Grievous will be able to Blitzkrieg right into Both." The tension in the room thicken with amphibious officer's comment, along with her confidence in the prediction. Kota merely ignored it and continued reading... ...

"...A task force of Venator cruisers commanded by General Skywalker has been sent to blockade Bothawui and system from the Separatist push. All units in the sector should prepare for incoming armor/infantry attacks. Suspected operations are believed to initiate around 20:15, Galactic City time." Taking a second to calculate the difference in time zones and stared at gauntlet mounted chrono. The Jedi looked up, "That's three hours from now, which gives us little time to do much of anything. *Sigh*" The general touched his hand to his forehead as it pulsated and turned to his rest of his officers at the table.

"This is outrageous!" The Bothan again shouted out, pounding his fist to the table, "Our spy network has operatives across the galaxy and is totally infallible. I can not believe that such a operations could be set in place and Military Intelligence doesn't know about it."

"Perhaps that makes it all the more likely..." The amphibious officer countered, "This sector's arrogance of it's 'Spynet' would make it utterly vulnerable to forces who can bypass such a measure. A great tactician like Grievous could have deceive our Bothan allies."

"Weather or not Separatists truly invade matter's little." Kota announced, "This attack would stretch our forces thin across the sector, the Sanie push alone!" Glancing at the Both native lieutenant, the general commanded, "Contact all Bothan Combat Elements, have them make accordances with local Republic forces."

"General!" The furry alien replied with a frown, but saluted and rushed off down the corridor.

"Captain!" General Kota, now moving on to the Mon Calamari, "Get hold of our space forces and any Republic ship near by. I have feeling that the Sanie Privateers will make sudden reappearance at our flanks."

"Aye, aye, sir!!" Then the amphibious captain was gone.

"Tekshar" The Jedi General called to his officer as he stepped past her, motioning to follow. The two glided down the concrete halls, the major staying on Kota's left, as the Jedi continue to speak without his commanding tone, "We should plan for the worst...if Bothawui does fall... ..."

"Sir, don't you think General Skywalker can pull this off?"

"Oh...Skywalker is a fiery commander, with his share of victories. But he lacks discipline, Master Kenobi even says this. The boy's hot head will eventually burn him alive."

Major Tekshar eyed the general, finding his words somewhat ironic. Not too long ago, the ever calm Jedi Master made a few comments about GAR after a battle on Duro that anyone else would have hesitated to say. Soon after, the news was flooded with headlines like, "Jedi Hates New Clone Army" and "Republic General Claims Clones for Lost". The Jedi Council didn't take Kota's new limelight on the Order too kindly, and the Jedi Master got the thick of their displeasure. The major knew, like many, that one as military commander should never have an opinion in front of the press.

"Sir, if I may..." Tekshar put forth, but went head without waiting for the general's say, "I think the Jedi Council has weighted Skywalker's abilities and still found him the best choice in short time they had. He has come up against the cyborg and came out ahead, unlike many other commanders and Jedi."

"Even if the 'Boy General' was the military generous everyone says he is, Grievous attentions are focused purely on Bothawui. If that mechanical horror gets to Both before the task force, it will all be for nothing."

"And if Skywalker's cruisers launched the minute priority message was send..." The major, continuing Kota's thoughts, "that means that they only have a few, slim hours to beat the Separatist to the system."

"What a fun prospect this message has brought. Thank you so much for sharing it with me, Major."

"It's my job, sir..." The senior officer replied, flatly. Kota snicker for a moment...but then suddenly stop in his tracks. When Tekshar noticed the general's absent footsteps, she looked back to she the old Jedi staring at the ground with his arms folded in front of him, "Sir??"

"...Tekshar...what do I hate more than anything before or during a battle..."

"Ha...seeing me...sir..." The major gave a sheepish smile, slightly embarrassed by the admission.

"Why"

"Because the only time I come to you duty those times is with 'annoying' tasks, as you call it, sir. Approving battlefield decisions, sorting out reinforcement distributions, making tactics on completely different fronts..."

"Yes. Such tasks get in the away of a commander's fighting and strategy making." Secretly, Tekshar thought 'a child's fun and games' was more accurate wording of how the general viewed war, "You shouldn't feel bad about it, Major. Every military leader has his 'Major Tekshar', even Grievous. That's what I'm going to use to our advantage!"

"Sir...what are you planning?" The major almost didn't want to know.

"The Republic STRIKES!!"

"There's no way we can launch an attack against the Sanyassans, sir. We're-"

"Don't be so small minded, Tekshar." The Jedi General retorted quickly, "We have the Republic's entire war front to use as our canvas of mayhem."

"Where, sir?" The female office shook her head in disbelief at Kota's so called 'plan'.

"Ryloth, Saleucami, Mygeeto, it doesn't matter. As long as we can surprise the Separatists on those fronts!" The general held his clenched fist in the air, as though he had the hold over the entire CIS forces under the power of the Force, "Imagine how many Major Tekshars that Grievous will get after that. How many cries for help for the great tactician will fly through space, just to pester the cyborg of a general. He'll be overrun...and Skywalker might just get his task force in place..."

Tekshar blinked, twice, too amazed to speak. It was either the most brilliant plan she had ever heard, or the most psychotic. But, if it worked, it would destroy the Separatist invasion fleet and possible Grievous along with it. It was a blazing move that Kota was know for, and they worked...most of the time.

"Major, we have work to do." The Jedi marched foreword and Tekshar speeded to after him, "I need you to show me how to send a 'Masters' encoded message to the Council... ..."

Author's Note: Next chapter's going to definitely going to have some action and such. Hopefully someone wants to read another chapter.