Millions of a Face

Chapter 10

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me, di'kut."

"It was an expression of disbelief, smartass."

They were at their camp, home for them for several days now as the battle went on, waiting for further orders from command. The current orders and context surrounding them were being 'discussed' by Jumper and Hiccup.

"No, really," gasps Hiccup, bringing his hands up on either side of his bucket in a shocked expression. The deadpan face of the helmet really made his point.

"Well, excuse me for being a teeny bit surprised that our general is having tea with the enemy!" Raising his arms and stomping away from the conversation, Jumper grumbles past Faces and into their squad's tent.

Blinking, Faces turns to his squad leader, who is shaking his head. With his rifle strapped to his back, he marches up to Hiccup.

“I uh, I fixed up my rifle, sir,” Faces says, a bit scared to unleash the ire of his squad leader as Jumper did. For only having been at base camp for a little over an hour after being called back, Hiccup and Jumper have already had, like, three fighting spats. The stress of this whole situation was getting to them. Honestly, active battle was a whole lot more manageable than whatever this was.

“Good, Faces. That’s, that’s good,” Hiccup replies a bit distractedly, glaring at the tent through his bucket.

Nodding, Faced turns towards the setting sun off in the distance. The differing colors spanning across the sky set a stark contrast to the grays and whites of their tents and base. GAR standard issue supplies were rarely colored, with the paints being the only thing really customizable. For someone who spent a whole life surrounded by color, it was kind of boring and drab.

There is a stack of crates being used as a place to eat, with about a dozen or so gold painted troopers on or around it. Feeling like social interaction with his brothers was better than dealing with whatever funk Hiccup and Jumper had going on, he made his way over to them.

“-- and so I turned and shot it in the head, saving this idiot’s shebs,” a clone, Boil, Faces recognized his armor, had his arm slung around another’s, probably Waxer’s, shoulders, shaking him slightly.

Faces joins in with the others’ snickers while removing his helmet, clipping it to his belt. It was better to laugh at their near-death experiences than come to the existential realization of their morality, and that their lives are nothing more than numbers to the Republic that they are fighting for.

“Faces!” noticing him, Boil turns, dragging Waxer along with him. They were seated upon a crate at the top of the stack. How they got up there was anyone's guess.

“Hey! How’s our resident shiny squad doing?” Waxer pipes up, shoving Boil off of him, causing the man to nearly fall off of the crates.

Faces sent them a flat look. “Our general is having tea with the enemy.” He was sure that statement encapsulated the feelings his squad was going through.

Wincing, Waxer removed his helmet, Boil joining suit. There hasn’t been much time for personal grooming in the last few days, so they had a bit of stubble on their jaws around their usual styles. Faces is glad that he doesn't have to shave that often, with only a few wispy hairs ever decorating his chin. He is not looking forward to dealing with the growth of a thick beard that many of his older brothers have.

“Bah, you get used to it,” Boil says, flapping his hand dismissively. “Watch, it’s probably a ruse for General Skywalker to blow something up.”

Actually, that sounded pretty familiar.

Okay, don't blame him. It had been years and a literal lifetime since Faces had last seen the events of the Clone Wars take place. His memory wasn't that good. Thinking back, wasn’t Christophsis a sort of catalist? Didn’t Ahsoka Tano show up at some point?

Whatever. He just has to stay alive, and keep his brothers alive, too.

“... sure.” Faces hesitantly replies.

“He may seem all serene and put together, but the General is just as crazy as General Skywalker.” Waxer comments, earning a round of snickers and agreements from the surrounding troopers.

Suddenly, an alarm blares through the camp, signaling the need for everyone to become battle ready. Faces races back towards his squad’s tent, pulling his helmet on along the way.

“Faces!” Hiccup shouts. “In formation.”

Settling towards the back of the squad formation, he leans over to Dinii. “What’s the situation?”

Dinii faces him, bucket somehow grim. “The enemy’s shields are down. We’re engaging.”