Millions of a Face

Chapter 8

They stood there for half an hour listening to the Commander explain what their responsibilities were for the remainder of the time there was before their next battle. For the most part, that consisted of getting situated in their new barracks, weapons check, and the times that training happened.

All in all, it was a pretty useful speech.

Then, Commander Cody stepped away and General Kenobi took his place. He had stopped staring at Faces sometime while his Commander was speaking, occasionally throwing glances his way. He probably noticed that Faces had caught him looking. It was awkward, to say the least.

"Hello there," he started, and Faces wanted to face-palm. That fucking line. "Some of you may not know me. I am Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, General of the 212th and," Kenobi smiled charmingly. "Your new General. It is a pleasure to meet you all and I do truly hope that we become more acquainted in due time."

He seemed to politely not mention the fact that many of them wouldn't survive their first battle, as was usual for new batches of shinies.

Shinies. Kark it all to haran, Faces was a shiny. And they wouldn't even be able to paint their armor before their first conflict, because it was tomorrow. The Negotiator had only dropped out of hyperspace to collect them, and as soon as the empty transport left it took off again.

But still. A shiny. Faces was already babied enough as it was, being a year younger than his squad, and shinies were the babies of the battalion. This was going to suck.

"I do not wish to keep you for too long, so you are dismissed to mingle amongst yourselves." Kenobi straightened impossibly further. "I wish you all a pleasant stay here." With a final glance in Faces' direction, he and the Commander were off, probably back to the bridge.

Finally relaxing, Faces leaned around the vode in front of him to observe the gathered 212th troops that stood behind where the Commander and General were speaking, the bright gold on their armor setting them apart from the new arrivals.

A hand grabs his bicep and shakes his arm, the attached Dinii turning to face him. He was practically vibrating. "Faces. Faces we got threatened. By the Commander. Faces. How cool was that!" The clone wraps his arms around his brother and sighs, "I can die happy now."

"Don't die, dumbass," Hiccup snaps, stepping in front of his squad to face them. "You heard the Commander. We'll head to our bunks and then go to the range. Some of you," he not so inconspicuously tuned towards Faces and Dinii, "seem to need more discipline training."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Faces said, hefting his rifle further up on his shoulder. He was a pretty good shot if he said so himself. Especially with his beloved rifle.

See, there were specializations required for every clone squad. A leader, a tech specialist, an ammunition specialist, a long-range weapons specialist, and a close-range weapons specialist. Faces was the long-ranged man in their squad.

And he loved it.

The feeling of being able to protect his vode, to have their backs, even from so far away, was exhilarating.

To be able to kill droids before they could even compute his brothers as a threat, is phenomenal.

"Gamma squad?"

The question snapped Faces out of his rifle reminiscing. Looking towards the voice revealed two painted 212th troopers. They stood confidently, one with their hands on their waist, and the other with their arms crossed. Their helmets were still on.

"Yeah. That's us." Hiccup crosses his own arms. "Who's asking?" For all his meanness, Hiccup was very protective of his squad.

"I'm Waxer," says the one with their hands on their waist. "And this is Boil." They gestured towards the one with their arms crossed.

"Pronouns?" Faces cut in and asks, as was polite. In a society where everyone was alike, this was a way to express themselves.

"He and him for the two of us," Waxer replies.

"And for you?" Boil chimes in.

Jumper stepped forward, waving his hand around. "He and him for all of us, too." His head tilts. "What do you want."

"Jumper!" Ka sticks his finger in the other's face and waggles it. "Don't be rude! We've talked about this." Spinning around to the newcomers, he relents. "He's right though. What do you want."

"Well, we're here to congratulate you," Waxer says, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn't seem to expect the hostile atmosphere. "You were the best cadets of your year, so you've been selected for the 212th's special units division, Ghost Company."

"So. Congratulations," Boil drawls.

Huh, how about that.