Republic Commando: Tip of the Spear

Chapter 2: Training Daze

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The following is the complete and uncensored record and analysis of the commando project's training procedures. The information contained within is Top Secret Level 5. All unauthorized access will be dealt with extreme prejudice.

Year One

Incubation Period. All subjects are born using a combination of collected DNA from primary donorone and meta-eggs, specially manufactured eggs designed to contain no genetic material of their donors. Upon gestation, electro-magnetic beads are used to remove any defects, as well as search for future problems. After the requisite nine months, when the bodies are finished incubating, hormones are added and the subjects are genetically modified so that their bodies age at twice the rate of a normal human. For the next three months, while the subjects remain in the incubators, subliminal suggestion and hypnosis is administered in order to increase brain function in preparation of training.

Year Two

Subjects are removed from their "wombs." Upon "birth" subjects are physically the equivalent of a three-year old human boy. Subjects quickly learn motor skills, including walking, within a three-month period. They are also immersed in language classes, where teachers indirectly teach subjects to talk and understand fluently military coda and RUD (Republic Universal Dialects). Upon completion of year two, subjects are prepared to enter preliminary education. Despite rigorous screening and testing, some human deficiencies are undetectable or impossible to prevent. Subjects exhibiting these tendencies are removed immediately from the program and placed in Liberatus.

Year Three

Subjects enter preliminary education. They are taught rudimentary mathematics and science to allow proctors ample time for selecting specialization. Between education, subjects play "games" designed to test cognitive reasoning, dexterity, hand-eye coordination, and reactions under pressure. Recruits without the mentai capacity to comprehend or keep within minimal commando standards, which are at a much higher level than ordinary troops, are removed and placed in Liberatus.

Year Four - Six

Subjects are now the physical equivalent of an eight-year old human. Subjects go through a constant daily regime of drilling, uniform designs and maintenance, and study the weapons that will be provided to them during the sixth year. They also experience primary education, where alien languages and customs are studied and advanced mathematics and sciencesare studied and understood. Starting with year four, commandos have been placed in enough training, but not enough advanced commando training, that should they not make minimum standards, they can be processed into the regular army in positions of NCOs or trooper captains, and not automatically sent to Liberatus.

Year Seven

Subjects have finally finished the human growing period known as puberty, and their bodies are now ready to be trained to the peak of perfection necessary for their futures. Subjects are placed in a constant cycle of physical activity and primary education. Muscles are built and toned, endurance and speed are tested, and subjects push themselves in running and swimming activities. At the end of the year, the subjects practice rucking with modified uniforms and are given basic martial arts in a number of disciplines. Subjects whose bodies do not remain within minimum commando standards, which at this point are far and above regular army standards, are processed for movement into the regular army as Captains.

Year Eight

Commandos spend this year learning their trades. Most subjects are moved back to 001, the rifleman designation, to hone their learned skills. However, a select few subjects who proved exceptional in building small machines and appliances are moved to demolitions. Several others who show interest in electronics and gadgetry are moved to Combat Technician training. Advanced training such as combat medicine, sniping, and Sergeant training, are also undertaken. Should a trooper fail out at this time, they cannot be placed in the regular army due to knowledge of some Special Forces intricacies. However, enough training has been put into them that they have much value to the Republic, and can be moved into supporting staff positions.

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The electric door to the small, four-person bunk opened, and a tall Kamino worker who the three commando recruits had never seen before quickly entered without a word, pushing a commando inside. The recruit's face was no different than the other three commando recruits, except for one small detail, a black bar tattooed under his right ear. He stared straight ahead as the Kaminoan stepped up next to him and spoke.

"Recruits, this is your new sergeant."

Without another word, the Kaminoan left the way he came, the electric door closing quickly behind him.

The four recruits stared at each other for a moment, obviously sizing each other up. The only experience the recruits had with sergeants were the Drill Sergeants and aliens who made up their training staff, never one of their own. Except for that one bar, cosmetically there was no difference whatsoever between the four of them.

"Good morning. We four have been assigned the title of Whiskey squad. Are you rucksacks packed and ready? Any problems with your armor and weapons? Are you all rested, because we move at 0530. Anything? Nothing? Any questions?"

One of the commandos raised his hand.

"Number and your question." It was more a statement than a request.

"Oh Eight Two Four. Nap. Sarge, what's the op-order…"

"Hold up." The Sergeant stopped him in mid-sentence. "What did you say after your number? What was that word?"

"Nap, sarge?"

The Sergeant looked at the commando with equal parts confusion and disgust. He didn't understand what it meant. Was he being disrespectful? What exactly was he talking about? He had only been discharged from Sergeant training for one hour and already he had no idea what was going on. One of the first things he was taught was that the Sergeant always has the answer, even when he truly doesn't know.

"You don't have a name, Sarge?" The commando answered his question for him.

"No." The Sergeant responded quickly. "When did you start giving each other names?"

Another one of his commandos spoke up.

"Gunny over in Hotel Company called one of our brothers 'wormmeat.' We didn't know what it meant, but ever since then they've been calling him Wormmeat. Soon, everyone started naming each other."

"Do the Instructors know?"

"No, Sarge. It's only between us commandos."

The Sergeant frowned. Independent thought could undermine complete obedience, he had been taught. It was called "thinking for yourself, not for the Republic," and though he hadn't been told why, he was told he needed to suppress it. However, it did feel nice to be known by something other than a number. This was what the Instructors had told him was 'team-building', which was necessary for moral and the feelings of brotherhood that would keep them together even in the worst conditions.

"Alright," he finally spoke. "I'll allow it. But only between us." He placed his hand under his chin. "I need a name."

The final member of his squad finally spoke. "Usually, Sarge, brothers get named by things that happen to them."

"How'd you get your name?" The Sergeant pointed at Nap.

The other two laughed. "He fell asleep standing up while we were doing Podunk bar drills."

Sarge joined in with a chuckle. "You should be glad you didn't get rotated out."

"So, what have you done, Sarge?"

"Haven't gotten in trouble, that's for sure. Let me think… the only thing I can think of is that I graduated ninth in my Sergeant class. Ninth? What do you all think?"

"How 'bout Niner?"

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Year Nine

Considered by the instructors to be the most brutal year of them all, training is increased to a level that would be considered inhuman in outside circles. Subjects are pushed to the brink of exhaustion, then are forced to go through their squad tactics and drills in live-fire exercises in a variety of environments artificially manufactured inside the Kamino domes. Environments include shooting houses, jungle, desert, underwater, low and zero gravity, and aboard starships. At the end of the year, squads are finalized. These squads are the ones the commandos will enter with in actual combat.

Year Ten

The final year. Squads are now competent enough to act on their own that the instructors leave them to their own devices. Squads work on deficiencies, as well as continue their educations and prepare for entrance into the fleet. Gene seeds are also collected for further studying and processing into more efficient commandos broods. In case of emergency, "Tenners" can be immediately cut loose from training and enter battle.

First Batch: 5000 ready commandos, filling 1250 squads.

Frequency: Three batches a year.

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The Sergeant-at-Arms of the Commando project, Naugus Klim, stood at the railing of the viewing balcony of the Parade Ground, wearing his working fatigues. He looked out from the balcony to what could only be called an ocean of clone troopers. Below him, thousands of clone troopers paraded about in their respective companies, with a bit of red and yellow uniforms standing out ever so often amongst the sea of mostly white armor. Around him, the balcony was decked with banners, Republic flags and standards, and a few chairs for the limited amount of Republic Senators and Jedi who would show up for the 'graduation' ceremony. From there, a sixteenth of them would head out to Geonosis, the rest would head to Coruscant for further processing and then off to the warzones and battlefields around the galaxy until either the war ended, or…

"See anything interesting?" a sultry voice spoke up behind him.

Naugus turned to see Magilene, a female member of an alien race he couldn't name. At least, her body had a female shape according to human standards. Her body was sleek, curvy, and tone. It was also covered completely in reptilian scales. Her eyes were slits, with bright yellow snake-like eyes peering out. She had no hair on her body, and her scales operated as pseudo-clothes.

"I see you watching the regulars almost every day now." She strutted up next to him along the railing.

"They interest me." He rubbed his fingers through the first few hairs of his new beard. He was being cycled out after this run due to his age, which meant these were his final days in a long and illustrious career as one of the very few Republic Space Marines, an elite but very rarely used organization long overshadowed by the Jedi.

Magilene spit in disgust. "Ha! Every time I see them, they're marching or drilling. When do they train for the things that matter? This is an army, not a day camp!"

"You don't give them enough credit."

"They don't deserve any. Did you hear they're sending the commandos out with the infantry? We go to all this work, so a bunch of politicians can send them to get slaughtered with the cattle down there!"

"Not if my commandos have anything to say about it."

"Well, that goes without saying."

"Still, Magilene," the crusty old sergeant wrinkled his brow, "like you said, commandos aren't infantry. Our boys can't win this war alone. We need the boots, the regulars, to perform the normal tasks of an army. Without them, the commandos are just a wrecking ball."

Magilene was quiet, allowing his words to sink in.

"Still, I worry about them."

"Me too. Me too."

They both stared off at the regulars, still marching, still drilling, a million faceless soldiers born to fight, and, if needs be, to die. It was their purpose, the reason why they were born. But, did it even matter that maybe, just maybe, beneath those faceless helmets and endless ranks… that they were humans?

To be continued…