Bab 12: Weight of Command
The gunship's engine droned in the background, a steady hum that filled the silence as we sped toward the nearest Republic outpost. My eyes were fixed on the horizon, but my mind was elsewhere—back on the battlefield, back in the ruins of that listening post. I had done what I was trained to do: lead my squad, keep them alive, and get the mission done. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw the faces of the brothers we'd lost.
Lucky was dozing in the seat across from me, his bandaged side rising and falling with each breath. Spark sat next to him, cleaning his blaster with the same quiet efficiency I'd come to expect from him. We'd made it out alive. That should have been enough.
But it wasn't.
The cost of survival was high. And I knew, deep down, that this mission had changed me in ways I wasn't ready to face.
As we neared the Republic outpost, the voice of the gunship's pilot crackled through the comms.
"We're approaching outpost Delta. ETA, ten minutes."
I glanced at Lucky, who had stirred at the sound of the pilot's voice, his eyes still half-closed with exhaustion. "You holding up?" I asked quietly.
He nodded, sitting up straighter and wincing as he adjusted his position. "Yeah, Sarge. Just a little tired, that's all."
"We're almost there," I said, though the reassurance felt hollow. Getting back to the outpost wasn't the end—it was just a pause before the next mission. The next battle. I couldn't shake the feeling that this cycle would never end.
Spark, still focused on his blaster, broke the silence. "What do you think they'll send us to do next? Command's been pushing the 191st pretty hard lately."
"Whatever it is, we'll be ready," I replied, but even as the words left my mouth, I wasn't sure if I believed them.
When we touched down at outpost Delta, a squad of clone troopers was already waiting for us. The stark white of their armor was a sharp contrast to the dirt and grime that covered us. They looked fresh, like they hadn't seen a battlefield in weeks. We stepped off the gunship, greeted by a Republic officer who was already barking orders at the troopers around him.
"Sergeant," he said, turning to me, his expression unreadable behind the standard-issue helmet. "Glad to see you made it. Command's been waiting for your report."
I nodded, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle even deeper into my bones. "We got the job done. But it wasn't easy."
He motioned for me to follow him toward the command center, leaving Spark and Lucky behind to debrief with the rest of the squad. As we walked, I couldn't help but notice the way the troopers moved around the base—calm, organized, almost detached from the reality of what was happening out there. It was a different world inside the walls of a Republic outpost.
"Command's been pushing your unit hard, Sergeant," the officer said as we entered the command center, the sterile lights buzzing overhead. "We've been receiving reports from all over Felucia, and the situation is getting worse. The Separatists are digging in, and we're losing ground."
I nodded, feeling a familiar knot form in my stomach. I had seen it firsthand. The war wasn't going in our favor, and Felucia had become a battlefield no one seemed able to win.
"I know the losses have been heavy," the officer continued, his tone softening slightly. "But the Republic needs soldiers like you, men who can adapt, who can lead."
I wasn't sure if that was supposed to comfort me, but it didn't. All I could think about were the brothers we'd lost—the ones who hadn't made it off Felucia. The ones who had followed my orders, who had trusted me to bring them home.
"Sergeant CT-7744," the officer said, using my designation for the first time, as if to remind me who I was. "We're sending you and the rest of the 191st to reinforce a critical sector. Command believes a decisive push could turn the tide."
I clenched my jaw, feeling the familiar rush of tension that came with every new mission. Another fight. Another chance to lose more brothers.
"Understood," I said, though the words felt hollow.
As I left the command center, the weight of command settled on my shoulders like a heavy cloak. I had survived Felucia. I had kept my brothers alive. But at what cost?
I walked back toward the barracks where Lucky and Spark were waiting. The sun was setting over the outpost, casting long shadows across the ground. In the fading light, I saw the faces of the brothers we had lost—Pax, Tread, Gear. They were gone, but their memory lingered, a constant reminder of what this war demanded of us.
As I approached the barracks, Spark looked up, his expression unreadable. Lucky was sitting on the edge of his bunk, cleaning his helmet with the same quiet efficiency he applied to everything.
"We've got new orders," I said, my voice steady despite the storm of thoughts swirling inside me. "We're being sent to reinforce a critical sector."
Spark sighed, leaning back against the wall. "Another fight. Another day."
Lucky gave a tired nod. "What else is new?"
I sat down on the edge of my own bunk, staring at the worn floor beneath my feet. The war wasn't going to end anytime soon, and I knew that every mission, every battle, would bring new challenges. New losses. But it was my duty to lead, to fight, to keep pushing forward.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone