Saga Republic Sniper- OC(Fall challenge) Kenobi,Skywalker and Clones

Title: Republic Sniper(working title)
Author: Thorn058
Timeline: Saga Clone Wars Shortly before events in TCW movie
Characters: Sniper(OC) Clones, Kenobi and Skywalker, Rex, Cody
Summary: First stab at a first person story at look at the clone wars through the eyes of a non-clone soldier. It is fruity to start with to meet the challenge I hope.


Republic Sniper

As I step off the transport’s boarding ramp, the ground feels solid beneath my feet. I don’t care what spacer’s or fleet officers say the best feeling in the galaxy is still solid ground under your feet. I stand for a minute getting my legs under me as they say. I have been in space for too many days. I’ve gotten used to the way a ship moves in space, the artificial gravity always plays havoc with my sense of timing. The wind stirs the dust at my feet, another planet, another dusty settlement, solid ground. I don’t care where it is or the particulars of its culture, I just know it is solid and reasonable uncluttered. Unlike the press of Courscant or the layered feel of Cornet City this place feels solid. That is the trouble with the core; usually you have to go hundreds of feet sometimes miles before you hit bedrock. The high rises and monuments to technology were almost as bad as being in space; you just couldn’t beat good solid ground under your feet.

Shouldering my bag I start walking away from the landing pad, the boarding ramp kicks up more dust as it raises and the slight wind makes it difficult for anyone to get a good look at me, just like I planned it. My gait is steady and even, I have developed it after years of careful practice, it is not too fast and not too slow, it shows just the right amount of purpose without appearing anxious, all in all it says I’m average, something to be seen and then forgotten. I have lived my entire adult life being as forgettable as I can, the walk, the length of stride, even my foot position having been carefully tailored to say just what I intend them to say, I am a nobody and I’m not even there.

As I walk the wind blows though my hair causing it to fall over my eyes a bit, I resist the urge to shake my head and clear my face, it would attract too much attention. I keep moving towards the central marketplace, my eyes keeping tabs on everything. A street urchin is playing a few steps ahead of me to the left, a pickpocket looking for an easy mark, his handler watching from a sitting position a little farther down the street. He looks the boy off; I’m not the type of easy target they are looking for today. Several women line the dusty street offering various services but I walk by, I’m not in the mood for what they are selling. The marketplace is a good size, though not busy at the moment, it has a relaxed air about it. It puts me on edge, but I don’t show it.

I stop at a fruit vendor’s stall looking over his goods. He tries to make eye contact but I never meet his gaze. I pick up three muja fruit and then continue over to his larger melon baskets. I hold up four fingers and then point at some large wk’ou melons. I don’t care about their ripeness or size so I let him pick. He probably thinks he got the better of me, good let him think that because later when he brags to his friends all he will remember is that I overpaid and he got the better end of the deal. He places the four melons in a bag and I grab a smaller one for the muja fruit, handing him some creds for the fruit and then I continue walking.

The muja fruit is nice and firm and as I bite into one the juice runs down my chin and stains my beard. I slowly wipe the excess with my sleeve again appearing to all who may be watching, that I am nothing special and not worth a second look. I stroll by a weapons vendor and look over his wares. He has seriously overpriced his goods for someone this far from the core. He is a Twilek and he has a nasty habit of looking off to the left and down the dusty street. I let my eyes follow his without moving my head, ah that makes sense, there were several clone troopers wandering the crowd. I take another bite and move on. I take my time, I am in no hurry and I’m not really expected so it is not as if I would be late.

Leaving the market behind I make my way towards the side of town that seems a lot quieter. It is where the Republic has just built a new base of operations. By this time I have finished the first muja fruit and I’m tempted to eat one more. I decide against it, I had my hands pretty full at the moment no reason to add to the difficulty. There are two Clone Troopers standing watch at the gate as I approach, they don’t move a muscle. Good men, they were able to size me up just by looking at me and decided I wasn’t much of a threat. In this instance they were right to think that, but normally, well normally they would be wrong, dead wrong. You see, I’m death and I am very very good at my job.

The gate guards give me hope that this base might actually have some real soldiers in it, but that hope is short lived. The headquarters office dispelled any notion I had that things here would be different than anywhere else in the Grand Army. The low tech door swung inward on a simple hinge and had a large pane of glass in its upper half. A large window perhaps five by four on the right side of the door, sloppy I thought to myself, damn sloppy. The clerk’s desk was positioned right in front of the window and behind him was another window looking in to the base CO’s office. It made me want to grind my teeth just standing there. I handed the clerk my papers and waited, my eyes scanning the room. No cameras, no security locks, not even a simple alarm anywhere in sight. I focused on the interior window and didn’t see the tell-tale sign of shatter-proof glass. When was the Republic going to learn, some things were just too easy. I could have set up shop on the three-story building just down the dirt road from the gatehouse and blown a hole in the clerk, the CO and anyone else in that office without breaking a sweat and without having to move so much as a muscle to line up the shots. He hands me my bunk assignment without saying a word. Doesn’t surprise me, no one in the Grand Army liked outsiders, me included, and if he scanned my file he knew who I was and what I was. Some people don’t like talking to death let alone looking it in the eye, so I don’t blame him. I take the assignment and leave.

Standing outside the office I take in the surroundings. These Republic bases are all the same, all prefab cookie cutter structures, all with the same weaknesses and problems. The guard towers have too much space between them; the gun turrets don’t have overlapping fields of fire. There is no anti-aircraft turrets except for around the airfield, anyone could fast rope in cause there wasn’t any rear facing weapons. They figured the threats would come outside the walls so why have any artillery facing towards the camp. Sloppy, not the way I would run a war but then again I am just a simple soldier not an officer and sure as hell not an NCO so why would anyone believe me. Oh yeah because I could drop two squads in here and everyone would be dead in less time than it takes to cook breakfast. Oh well best find my bunk, I take out a muja fruit to eat on the way.

The clerk put me in the special ops barracks, fine with me; I don’t care where I sleep. Thing is most clones don’t like non-clone troops and special ops boys really don’t like me. Something in that genetic soup that those fish boys cooked up when they were making these Clone Commandoes and Advanced Recon Clones turned bad on them. These boys definitely didn’t play well with others, again fine by me I never had much use for friends anyway, always end up having to shot them at some point. The barracks look deserted to me, lots of empty bunks so I pick the least visible one, the one with the best sight lines to the rest of the room and set my bags on it, taking a bite of my muja fruit and chewing slowly. As I start unpacking two clones decide it is time to shake me down, well best to get this over with now.

“Hey buddy you lost?” the one in front of me asks. His partner starts to move around behind me. I do a half turn and look at him before taking another bite and chewing it.

“I asked you a question. You hard of hearing or what? I think you need a lesson in manners.” Since I wasn’t looking at him he thought he had the advantage and he rocked forward while cocking his right arm to throw a punch. It was then that his friend makes a long slow whistle and I meet his eyes. He stops short of throwing the punch and looks down. I haave drawn his blaster with my left hand and have it right in his gut and he never saw it. I shift my gaze down and he follows it with his eyes and freezes in place.

“Damn that was smooth!” his friend says. I brought my muja fruit to my mouth without breaking his gaze and takehold of it with my teeth. In the space of that few seconds I have drawn the trooper behind me’s blaster and had it in his gut as well. Clones were predictable always wore their blaster at the same height and same side, predictable every single one of them. I close my mouth finishing the bite and letting the fruit fall from my mouth the juice once again running down my chin. Again in the space of a few seconds I have holstered both blasters and caught the fruit in my right hand. I go back to unpacking as if nothing has happened. The two stare at me for a few minutes and then walk away. I hear the one from behind me say something as they left.

“Wow never seen anything that fast or anyone that steady not even some Mandos, I bet he could give the Sarge a run for his money.”

“I don’t think I would want to be anywhere near that fight.” The other told him and then walks out of the barracks. That was the way you deal with clones, show them you mean business and they respect you and gave you space. Just wish the Jedi were that way. They were a bit too squeamish for my taste, but then again I kill plain and simple so I make people squeamish as well. I look over my collection of meager possessions. The trappings of a life time spent chewing dirt on more planets then I care to think about and more wars then two life-times can account for, and even those are pretty sparse. I square everything away in my footlocker and then I assemble my baby, my right arm, my flaming sword of justice, my gun.

Born a metal workers son, I have always had a talent for working with mechanical things. My rifle is based on the Verpine’s shatter gun design but unlike theirs mine was built by me and was much more durable and lethal. It is my prize possession and without it well let’s just say I am not whole, not less effective just not complete. I handle it carefully and efficiently, I know every each of it and can assemble it in under a minute. I take my time now though, the juice from my muja fruit has made my fingers sticky and I have to use a small cloth towel when I assemble it. Satisfied when I finally click the magazine home, I disassemble it and start again making sure everything fits just right. It is the rituals that keep me alive, they give me focus. After the ritual is done I grab the bag of melons and head for the test range, I know I should get some rest but I need my rituals, I need the release.

I placed all four melons along a low wall near the backside of the base’s landing pad. It is well out of the target range but still within my limits, really quite low in my opinion but you make do with what you have. I set myself up at a firing stand and begin the test the wind, adjusting for every minute detail. The gunnery range sergeant looks at me strange and then walks over to me.

“What are you planning to shoot at son?”

I hand him a range finder and let him sight along my line of fire. He looks down the field and makes a long low whistle.

“That is quite ways off the range. You sure you can hit it?”

I block out his question, the world slows as I look through my scope. I am aware of the wind, the dust swirls, the troopers moving back and forth around the base, yet I am still as I sight in my target. I inhale deeply and then exhale slowly; repeating it several times and then I inhale and hold it. My finger rests lightly on the trigger and I slowly squeeze it letting out my breath as I do. I watch as the shot flies from the gun and hits the first Wk’ou melon dead center. It explodes and its insides fly into the air. I am death. He whistles again, but I still block him out.

“That is some shot and some gun.” He says.

I focus on the routine, breathe, aim, inhale, hold it, squeeze the trigger, and exhale slowly. Another Wk’ou melon is turned to pulp. The high speed projectile ripping the fruity insides out, even as I start the routine again, my heart rate never rising or falling, my whole body steady as I line up the next shot and the next. The four melons fall in rapid succession, a testament to my skill, yet that isn’t why I do it. I do it so that I can feel the stress of days spent cooped up on a starship wash away, I do it to feel the familiar touch of metal on skin, I do it to see melons explode, I do it because death is all I know.



After the last shot I bring the barrel up to my mouth, I blow into the breach to clear out any stray residue that might have accumulated in the barrel. It is a force of habit more than a necessity, since my gun uses a magnetic accelerator to propel the shell instead of a combustible, yet years of habit and maybe a bit of my father in me makes sure that the barrel is free of dirt, or grime after the target practice. I will clean it thoroughly when I get back to the barracks, but again it is the habits that have kept me alive.

“Mind if I take a look at it?” he asks me pointing at my gun.

“Sorry Sergeant no one touches my gun.”

“Didn’t expect you to, by the look of you I would have been disappointed if you had.” He draws his sidearm “This is mine a modified DC-15. It’ll blow a hole the size of one of those melons in a tinnie at twenty yards.” He hands me the gun. It’s not a bad looking weapon, he takes care of it and it shows. I take aim with it at several of the nearby pistol targets and in less than twenty seconds four of them are missing their heads. He whistles again.

“Do you ever miss?”

“No” I look down the sights on last time and then spin it in my hand, giving it back to him grip first

“So yours, that one of those verpine sniper rifles I have been hearing about?”

“Nope made it myself, I borrowed from their design but this one won’t ever jam and is twice as durable as the verpine ones. Excuse me Sergeant I need to be going.”

“Not a problem, glad you’re on our side” By the time he finishes his thought I am already halfway to the barracks. I’m not on his side though, I’m not on anyone’s side, I do this because it is what I was born to do. Truth is if it wasn’t this war, it would be some other war. There is always someone who is fighting, someone who needs killing, someone in need of death. I set my rifle on my rack and then head for the showers, I have the accumulated dust of at least four different systems on me and I need to get at least the first layer off. I wash quickly, there is no time to savor the warm water, that is a luxury and I can’t afford luxuries or the time wasted on them. I pause in front of the mirror to see if maybe I need to trim up my beard or my hair. Nope just the right amount of wild untamed look about it. I dress quickly and begin the process of cleaning my rifle. It takes less time than one would think but then again, I have had lots of practice. Battlefield conditions make it so you have to learn how to repair and clean while you are on the move and I can do it in my sleep. Really doesn’t matter what type of rifle either.

I sit down on my rack with my back against the wall and close my eyes, trying to shut out the sounds of the base around me, my hands resting lightly clasped in my lap. I hear the door open and the sound of boots on the floor, six pairs to be exact. One pair starts coming closer to my rack but I don’t move. There is a slight hitch to his gait, great an ARC. The shoulder paldron and kama cause them to shift their weight ever so slightly, it is a clear as a bell to anyone trained to listen. He comes to a stop between my rack and the next on my left side near where my back is leaning against the wall. He kicks the leg of the bed sending a slight jolt through me

“This is the special Ops barracks. What are you doing here.” He kicks my bed again.

“I asked you a question meatbag.” he raises his leg to kick my bed again but before it gets there my left arm shots out and grabs him by the knee cap. I know how to kill over fifty different species, most with multiple methods, so the pressure points on humans are all old hat to me. I have him in the spot between his shin armor and the thigh plate and I just squeeze. Other species you can break their legs this way, with humans the most you can do is dislocate their kneecap but it hurts though, like a white hot needle under your fingernails. I hear his teeth grinding, I give him credit he has lasted longer than I would have thought he would, I apply more pressure. He doesn’t want to give but he knows I have the advantage, again more credit to him for knowing it. He slowly begins to lower his leg as I release the pressure. He is saved by the door opening again.

“The Commander wants to see you Lieutenant. Right away” I let him go completely “I’ll be right there” he says and starts to move away.

“You too Sir!” the voice says and my eyes pop open and I look his way. He is just a young aide probable still green.

“I work for a living Son; you don’t have to call me sir.” I start walking towards the door. The six Arcs, all the same face, all with the same look, stunned disbelief. Good at least they won’t be hassling me.

The Commander’s office is packed but I manage to squeeze into that deathtrap and find a good spot out of prime firing range. I pay little attention to his briefing, since my role normally falls outside the command structure, plausible deniability. I take in the office once again, this time it irritates me less, yet I still have this itch between my shoulder blades like someone is taking aim at my back, sloppy damn sloppy. He voices raises and I look back his way.

“The majority of you will be shipping out immediately. You will be joining up with the 501st and the 212th under Generals Kenobi and Skywalker. Your destination is the planet Christophsis, Dismissed.”

I make for the door, I figure it will take me less than five standard minutes to pack my gear back up and be ready to hit the larti, I want to do it in three. By the time the Arcs get back to the barraks I have my gear stowed and my pack sitting by the front of my rack. Three minutes, twenty seconds, I think that shower slowed me down, well no need to worry about that, won’t be any hot showers for awhile. I shoulder my pack and without looking back I head for the door. Several of the Arcs as well as the commando’s look my way in disbelief, yep nothing says don’t mess with me like don’t mess with me. I won’t have to worry about showing them who is better aboard the ship; the word has already begun to spread.

As I make my way towards the landing pad I see the gunnery range Sergeant standing by a waiting lartie. He has a small sack in his hands.

“Figured you would be the first one here, got you something for the trip just in case you got hungry.”

He hands me the sack and the slight hint of muja fruit hits my nose. Man I hate when people are nice, I never know what to say. He turns to go and I feel like I have to say something, this is why I don’t have friends because I hate talking to them.

“Sergeant!” he turns to look at me “Keep your bucket on and your head down, good men are hard to find.” He waves back at me as I step into the waiting gunship. Several Clone troopers step in as well and then the ship slowly kicks in its repulsors and slowly lifts off, causing dust to swirl. One hand on the hand hold and the other on my pack, I lean out and take one last big gulp of fresh air. I look over the small town as it grows smaller, yet another place I didn’t learn its name, or really care to. I close my eyes as the doors close; the image is always the same, exploding melons. I am death it is all I know.

Kenobi and Skywalker everyone has heard of them. Jedi, sometimes you get the right type and sometimes you don’t. I haven’t met these two yet but if the real thing is half as good as the rumors I won’t have to put a round in them. I wonder if they are ready to meet death. Doesn’t matter it is all melons to me, I pull out a muja fruit and take a bite. The skin makes a noise as I bite into it and the juice runs down my bread, the clones turn and look at me. Good man that Sergeant for a clone, I offer the nearest one a bite and all the rest turn away. Oh well more for me, I close my eyes and the images of melons bursting comes, soon very soon.

 

Hmmm, interesting start here. Never seen anything from this perspective. Let's see what transpires when your hot shot sniper meets the negotiator and the hero with no fear.

 

Great story and perspective. Seeing the war from a different point of view.

 

Thanks MoAngel and earlybird-obi-wan. I wanted to include the battle of Chistophisis in it but I felt that I couldn't work it in under the deadline. The DRL got me and i have been unable to write as much as I would like. yes our would be hot shot will have some definite opinion on our famous Jedi. I hope to get some editing done and more writing soon.

 

Hi, Thorn! First off, awesome, awesome start! I'm really finding that your first-person POV works wonders for every little detail in the journey of the fic. Your descriptions are down-to-earth while still being thorough. It makes for easy, likable reading... what a story you've got in store for readers!

I have the accumulated dust of at least four different systems on me and I need to get at least the first layer off.

Good man that Sergeant for a clone, I offer the nearest one a bite and they all turn away. Oh well more for me, I close my eyes and the images of melons bursting comes, soon very soon.

Amazing wrap-up for this introduction... great entry for the Challenge, too. If you're planning on a PM list for this growing story, put me on there, would you?

Thanks for the read!

Trikes

 

Thanks Trika, I asked a couple of people to give it a look see before I went with it to see if there was anything there and I am glad I kept at it. hopefully in the next week or so I can continue and actually get more down on it and go somewhere with it.Thanks for reading

 

Very well done! First person present is a tough perspective to write in and you pulled it off really well. I really feel like you got is inside your narrator's head really well. Great job working in the fruit smoothly as well.

 

Great start with this, Thorn! The narrator certainly has been around the block a few times, and it'll be interesting to see how he'll do out in the field at Christophsis with the Jedi. He's got a lot of skill, and it'll be interesting to learn more about him.

Great job!

 

This was a really interesting take on the challenge. I love how the fruit was worked in, and your narrator is a very interesting character. Excellent work!

 

I decided to fix this short story that was truncated after the move and try and finish it as well. I fixed the first chapter and hope to get the others fixed in the nest few days.