Chapter Text
Umbara was dark; that was certain. The Atmosphere is dark and cloudy, the local flora and fauna hostile beyond belief. No matter how long you spent here, you don't think you could ever get used to it.
“How’s the plan looking so far, Scout?”
The clone across from you lifts her head, and locks her tan eyes to yours, smiling. “Looks good, general. If everything goes to plan, we should have Umbara within at most four rotations.”
You laugh softly. “Nothing ever goes to plan, captain.”
Making eye contact with Scout, you give her a small smile and nod as she goes to give the rest of the squad the breakdown of the next few days. The plan was relatively simple - today, the 501st will hopefully seize an airbase about 20 klicks away, which has allowed you and the rest of the 313th to take control of a local supply and munitions factory and storage space over the next few days This would cut them off from their supplies on your end, and their aircraft via the 501st, and if this all somehow works, they would be forced to surrender.
You wonder if you’d ever be able to come up with this shit without Scout, but you quickly realize she’s been trained for this since she was born, and beats you in sabacc with strategic skills that would make your master shed a tear.
Glancing down at the holomap in front of you, you catch a quick glance at a small orange dot on the outskirts of the city - Obi-Wan, you realise. You wonder how he’s doing - if he and Anakin have talked recently. When you all get back to Coruscant, you should ask him how he is. It feels like you haven't talked in months, but you know in reality it’s only been a few weeks.
War truly messes with one’s sense of time.
Laughter outside of the ship pulls you from your thoughts. Fresh air wouldn’t be the worst idea, you decide, as you hop out of the hull and see what all the noise is about.
Scout had her arms wrapped around Charm, passing a drink between them as they sat atop the grey umbarian dirt. Rocket sat next to them, talking about something inaudible to Dasher as he sat looking unamused. Drought and Cable sat around them silently, just drinking in a shared peace before the war could begin again around them.
You lean against the doorframe before making a loud coughing sound, catching everyone's attention.
“I’m not interrupting, am i?” you ask, a smirk visible on your face as Rocket smiled up at you.
“Not at all, boss! Was just telling Dash how much ass we’re gonna kick tomorrow!” he grinned, giving you a thumbs up as you sat down next to them.
Laughing, you held your hand out towards the bottle of gal Cable had somehow managed to sneak past the guards on Kamino. Dasher rolled his eyes at his brother, before looking toward you pityingly, rubbing the space between his eyes.
“He won't stop talking about how much shit he’s going to blow up. It's exhausting.”
Drought snorts. “He named himself Rocket for a reason. I don't get why this annoys you every time he gets his hands on any form of explosive.” Cable falls on his back before adding “every mission rocket gets his hands on an explosive is a good one, we all know that.”
A few “cheers” are thrown around as you down your respective glasses.
Suddenly a clone you don’t recognise - probably from the latest shipment off Kamino - comes out to tell you all that Jedi Master Krell has requested the general’s presence. Sighing and saying a quick goodnight to your team, you stand up and walk towards your private comms room, awaiting for the holo to transfer. The room you’d claimed in this ship was what seems to look like an office space. It had a holo table, a makeshift bed made out of hard, cold metal, and a desk space large enough to stretch across one of the walls. Like everything else on Umbara, the architecture of their spaces was just as dark and uninviting as the landscape outside.
suddenly the comms table in front of you lights up - the holo forming out of cube like structures - you’ve never seen anything like it.
“General. It is good to see you alive and well.” the baritone voice that you know to belong to Pong Krell comments. You take notice of his surroundings - the holo is completely empty besides the Besalisk Master.
You sigh in relief, his tone and the location beeping on your holopad an indication of the outcome of the 501st’s attempted siege of the airbase.
“I assume your attempt at taking control of the airbase was successful?” you ask. Your eyes began to sag - you’d had almost the exact same conversation thousands of times over the war. You were beginning to wonder if it would ever end.
Pong Krell lifts his head and pulls back his shoulders with pride. “Yes - despite the idiotic decisions made by some clones in my legion, we have captured the airbase successfully. The 313th is clear to take the munitions factory tomorrow at 0500 hours.”
You notice the way his tone shifted and his eyes rolled in disgust at the mere mention of the men that makeup the 501st, and just as you’re about to ask him further about said “idiotic” decisions - Krell suddenly ends the holo without much as a goodbye, leaving you standing there stunned at just how rude he was.
You’d heard the rumours from your men - his high casualty numbers, his distaste towards clones - but maker, it was definitely a shock to experience when you’re used to the soft, kind words of encouragement from Anakin. The long “goodbye”s and “goodluck”s that would end with you both being late to your respective strategy meetings.
You smile softly at the memories.
Sending a quick morale boosting goodnight message to your legion’s comm chat, you sit down against the hard metal ‘sofa’ you’ve been sleeping on the past few nights. Placing your holopad beside you, alarm set for 0400 hours, you attempt to rest.
Your eyes close and your sleep deepens, your thoughts of war and strategy are slowly replaced by memories and dreams of Anakin Skywalker.