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Arena a17 “Killing House” Training Facility, Tipoca City Military Complex, Kamino 747 days before the Battle of Geonosis
“Endex, endex, endex!” Sergeant Vau’s voice sounded through the speakers in the Killing House and RC-1207’s comlink. The last few plasma bolts hissing through the air above Sev’s head ceased, and the lights turned back on. Sev was lying flat on the ground behind a nasty-looking couch, clutching his deece tightly. He scanned for any remaining hostiles before lowering his weapon to low-ready.
The exercise was over. He let out a silent breath as the tension left his body. The pain, however, did not.
“Was about kriffin’ time we got this done, eh? Definitely harder than that simmed Bastion breach last week. Everyone alright?”
Of course , Sev thought. Barely two full seconds after endex was called, and Scorch was already trying to start a chat. Sev suppressed the urge to mute Scorch’s channel.
“All good here,” Sev heard Boss reply, “Oh-Seven, Four-Oh, status?”
“Four-Oh here. All good, Sarge. No injuries sustained. Standing by.”
Sev was trying to get up, watching as the couch and several walls vanished into the floor. With every breath, there was a dull yet intense pain throbbing through his side. When he put weight on his right foot, his ankle screamed so loudly he had to clench his teeth.
“Sev? Do you copy?” There was the faintest hint of worry in Boss’s voice.
“Yeah. Sorry, Sarge. Green and ready. No issues, sir,” Sev said.
He wasn’t alright. Not by a long shot. But his squad didn't need to know that, and Sergeant Vau even less so. Fixer came around the corner, and Sev tried to look as normal as possible.
“All objectives achieved. Clean up. Debrief in ten. Move it, Deltas,” Vau's voice snapped through the comm.
Sev's jaw tightened as he started moving, trying his kriffing hardest not to limp. He wouldn't give himself away. He mustn’t.
Half an hour later, the Deltas were on their way to the mess hall. Sev’s side was still aching, and the pain in his ankle flared up with every step he took.
“Clean op! Did you guys see that droid dispenser go boom?” Scorch gleefully asked.
“Nice one. Just give us a warning next time before you blow up half the wall, yeah?” Boss said.
Scorch rolled his eyes. “Will do, Sarge. It was totally worth it, though.”
“Sergeant Vau seemed happy with our performance. We rank well above average,” Fixer pointed out.
Fierfek. If they knew. If Vau knew how badly Sev screwed up, he wouldn’t be so pleased. Sev was only half listening to his squad’s chatter. He kept replaying the op in his mind, looking for the split-second he failed.
He had been charging at an HK-series assassin droid, ancient yet lethal, aiming to disable it with his vibroblade. He had been alone in that room with the droid, dodging its blaster fire. Then, right before he had closed the distance to the droid, an explosion – probably Scorch’s droid dispenser – had shaken the arena. Sev could recall Scorch’s whoop over comm. The explosion had distracted him.
That, and the adrenaline flooding his system had led to him misjudging his momentum and angle. His blade had found its target, alright, but he had slammed harder into the droid than he meant to, and they had both gone tumbling. He had tried to catch himself, but had tripped over the droid's legs. His ribs slammed into the edge of a crate. He also strained his ankle, which had still been caught under the droid when he fell.
Sev had been lucky that his blade had taken it out, or he might not have survived the exercise. He hoped he had managed to make it look like a calculated take-down. Afterwards, he’d had the presence of mind to quickly overwrite the medical readout of his armour. The spoofed bio-readouts showed the baseline-values he was expected to have. He could live with the pain, but being seen as incompetent, weak – or, much worse, being decommissioned for falling short – was an entirely different story.
“Hey! Kamino to Sev! Do you copy?” Scorch's voice cut through to Sev's consciousness, while he waved a hand in front of Sev’s face.
Boss regarded Sev with a frown. “Lights are on but nobody’s home,” he mumbled.
Sev blinked. “Sorry. I was mentally rerunning the op. Trying to improve. Did you say something?”
“I asked you if you are down for a round or two of Sabacc tonight,” Scorch said. Ever since Skirata’s lot had introduced the game to commandos trained by other Sergeants, it had become a popular pastime.
Sev paused. Act normal, he reminded himself. He had a hard time breathing regularly and not suspiciously flat. He equally struggled with not letting the pain show on his face. It took him a moment to mentally steady himself before replying. “I think I’m gonna hit my bunk after dinner.” He looked at Fixer. “How about you?”
“Negative,” his brother replied. “Still working on that HUD mod.”
Scorch groaned. “Naw, cards are no fun with only one vod.”
Boss shrugged. “We can always ask another squad. Upsilon maybe. Or Yayax.”
They reached the door to the mess and were greeted by the ambience of hundreds of voices almost identical to theirs and the clacking of spoons meeting the food trays. They joined the queue for the serving counter.
As soon as they got their food – some grey, tasteless, yet nutritious slime – they sat down and dug in. All exercises made them hungry, but, in Sev’s experience, the Killing House made him extra hungry. His squad was chatting again, but Sev didn't listen. He was too focused on keeping a straight face and not flinching with every breath. His brothers’ voices blended in with the background noise.
Suddenly, he felt something touch his arm. It was Scorch, his hand on Sev’s sleeve. There was worry in his eyes. Boss and Fixer were looking at him, too, equally worried.
Sev realised his fist was clutching onto the edge of his tray. For a moment, he stared down at his white knuckles before he managed to loosen his grip.
“Wanna tell us how you are really doing? What really happened?” Boss asked.
Sev tensed. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Sarge. I’m alright. Everything noteworthy was mentioned in debrief.” He suppressed a shrug because he knew it would hurt.
“We're not fools,” Fixer said. “You might be able to fool our supervisors or even Vau, but we have known each other all our lives. We know when something is up.”
Sev frowned, displeased that his facade was failing, yet unwilling to give in. “No, I'm just exhausted. That’s all.”
Boss looked him up and down. “You’re hurt.”
Sev felt his stomach tense and anger boil up inside him. He didn’t want to admit what happened. It was his business and his alone. And he would deal with it by himself. “ Fierfek , how many times do I have to repeat that I am alright before you guys believe me? I'm good. Not hurt. Okay?”
Boss and Fixer exchanged a glance.
Scorch hesitated. “Uh-hu. Sure. Not hurt,” he said, and with one smooth, deliberate motion, he gently pressed his elbow into Sev’s side, right where his ribs had met the crate. The pain flared up.
Sev let out a long, sharp hiss. “Haar’chak!” he pressed out.
“Language,” Fixer warned.
Scorch's eyes widened in surprise, and he grimaced. “Kriff, I’m sorry! I didn’t think it was that bad!”
“So,” Boss said, “now that we have established that you are indeed injured, care to share with us what happened?”
“Don’t worry, we aren’t gonna rat you out to Vau or something,” Scorch added.
Sev sighed. He still didn’t want to talk, and he absolutely didn’t want to admit what happened. But these were his brothers, and they had caught on. He knew that after Scorch’s little stunt, they wouldn’t just leave him be. The tooka was out of the bag now, and there was no point in denying it.
“I went after a tinnie,” he explained, trying to play it cool, “tackled it a bit too hard. We both fell. I hit a crate and sprained my ankle. Still made a clean kill though.” He felt the blood rush to his cheeks as he admitted to what had happened.
“And why didn’t you share that earlier?” Boss demanded to know.
Sev lowered his eyes. He hated having to admit to his failure, even if it was only to his brothers. “Didn’t want Vau to notice. It was a rookie mistake, and I don’t wanna get the whole squad into trouble.” And I don’t wanna be decommissioned for failure, he added in thoughts, still stuck on that worry. A thought too frightening to voice aloud.
“But you know that you can always tell us, right?” Scorch asked.
“Just ‘cause I can, doesn’t mean I want to,” Sev mumbled.
Boss frowned but didn’t say anything.
“How did you know, anyway?” Sev demanded to know.
Fixer raised one eyebrow. “Easy. Your movement is slightly off. When standing, you suddenly favour your left foot, and not the right one as usual. Also, your breath is a bit more pressed than it should be, and you are careful not to touch your left side with your arm. Overall, you are tense. And then, there is your face. Shall I carry on?”
Sev glared at him. He hadn't thought he was being that obvious. “My face? What's that supposed to mean?”
“Even more grim than usual,” Scorch said, mouth full. “Kinda like this,” he added, scrunching up his face into a caricature of anger.
“We will get you some bacta patches,” Boss said. “I know you won't want this to go on record, but there are ways to get them off the books.” He paused. “And before you protest, try to see it like this: we need you at full health ASAP if we don't wanna blow our next drills and negatively impact the whole squad’s performance.”
Sev hated to admit it, but Boss was right. He nodded. Then he frowned. Fixer had started shovelling some of his own nutri-slime onto Sev’s tray.
“What exactly do you think you are doing?” Sev asked.
Fixer shrugged. “If you’re gonna heal quickly, you'll need more nutrition than usual. So I thought I’d share.”
Sev pressed his lips together. The concern of his brothers was moving, yet he hated that there was a reason for it in the first place.
Boss, too, started loading some of his own food onto Sev’s plate now.
Scorch, who had been watching Fixer and Boss for a moment, smiled at Sev and started rummaging around in his pockets. “Oh, you know what, Sev? I think you need this more than I do.” He pulled out a wrapped candy bar, clearly not military standard issue. The wrapper said that the chokolate bar contained candied nuts.
“Where did you get that?” Sev asked, eyeing the candy bar.
“Oh, I won it in a bet with one of Skirata’s boys a couple of months ago. Theta’s demolitions guy. You know how Skirata spoils his batch.” Scorch waved around his hand. “Anyway, I saved it for bad times. For when I need it. But now, I want you to have it. And also eat it, that is. Because you do need it. Both for the energy and the cheering up.”
Sev looked at the candy bar, and then hesitantly took it. He was worried Scorch might try to force-feed him if he didn’t accept the gift.
Scorch smiled, warm and familiar. “Now eat up and let us nurse you back to health. We are a squad, after all. Brothers. We belong together. And, like it or not, nobody gets left behind in this squad.”
It felt like the knot that had kept Sev’s stomach in a chokehold ever since they left the Killing House loosened as he looked at his brothers’ faces. He unwrapped the candy bar slowly. That small act of acceptance, not only of the treat but of his brothers’ care, was harder for him than taking out half a dozen battle droids. He didn’t feel like he deserved it.
“You know,” he said, examining the brown surface of the bar, “I could have pushed through the pain. I will push through it.”
Boss nodded. Sev knew he understood. In their world, pain was temporary, but failure was permanent. All commandos knew that, or at least, those training under Sergeant Vau did.
“Next time,” Boss said, his voice firm but gentle, “you tell us right away. That’s an order.”
Sev’s eyes met Boss’s, and he gave him a slight nod. “Copy that, Sarge.”
He finally took a bite off the candy bar. The flavour that spread in his mouth was sweeter than anything he had ever tasted in the Tipoca military canteen, a firework of different spices. He paused to take in the intensity and complexity of the flavour.
Just like the flavour of the special treat spreading across his tongue, he felt a rare feeling spreading through his chest: the sense that maybe, just maybe, weakness shared among brothers wasn’t really weakness at all. And also the unshaken knowledge that his brothers would always have his back, no matter what.
As Scorch had said: in Delta Squad, nobody was ever going to be left behind.