Disclaimer- Sadly, none of us own Star Wars: The Clone Wars. That, and the whole Star Wars franchise, belongs to George Lucas.

This chapter is by LongLivetheClones


Just when things were going well, they dropped a bomb on him. Literally.

Gregor was already having problems with his memory. Being lifted ten meters into the air and slammed back down did not help matters any. He felt his back and shoulders take the brunt of the blow, but his head took a solid hit as well.

Don't pass out, he muttered over and over to himself like a mantra, don't pass out.

He couldn't move yet. His entire body was numb from the jarring impact.

Gregor reviewed the precious few pieces of information he'd learned from the small yet surprisingly, irritating creature known as "WAC" and his droid companions. I'm a Republic Commando, he struggled to hold on to the memories, even as his vision kept blurring. Not Gregor the dishwasher. I'm a commando.

A commando.

The word meant something. Everything. Much of his past life before waking up on Abafar was still a blank void to him, but he grasped on to the small pieces that he could remember. They were like weak tendrils and he clung to each one desperately, worried if he let go of a single one that he would be lost again forever.

I'm a Commando, he kept murmuring again and again as his head swam. He began to wonder if his name really was 'Gregor' or if that was just a name Borkus had conjured up when he'd snared him into becoming his indentured servant.

Who was I before?

A memory teased and tugged at the edge of Gregor's mind and then wisped away before he could pull it into focus.

All he was sure of was one thing.

I'm a Commando.

He didn't know how long he lay there, but feeling began returning to his limbs. Feeling came back to his arms first. He pushed up to a seated position carefully, and looked around. All around him were the scattered remains of B1-s, rollies and super battle droids. Gregor realized he could identify all of the droids, and when he stared at the pieces a little longer, images of individual specs and capabilities for each one sprang easily to mind.

Katarn armor can withstand a direct blast from a grenade. The information flashed through his brain, and he didn't know where it came from or when he had learned it. He rolled to his knees and pushed up to his feet. He staggered a bit before finding his balance. But, he felt a thrill of victory, most pleased that he had emerged from the blast in one piece. He stared around him again, feeling immense satisfaction that he'd fared so much better in the explosion than all of the droids in the vicinity.

Sensing he wasn't alone, Gregor whirled around weapon in hand. The action left him dizzy and he planted his feet solidly, fighting to stay upright. It was easier this time, and he realized his sense of equilibrium was beginning to re-establish itself.

I've always healed quickly from injuries. My body was bio-engineered to heal in the most efficient manner possible.

He knew was something special. He just couldn't put all the pieces together... yet.

He quickly scanned the area with his visor.

There. Up on the ridge. Civilians. He eased his weapon down.

He blinked, as more information kept coming back to him, almost like random flashes. It was the duty of a Republic soldier to protect civilians.

A small crowd of gawking townspeople had gathered, trying to catch a glimpse of the recent destruction. Realizing they were not an immediate threat, Gregor let the muscles in his shoulders ease. He was just considering his next moves, when he heard it. His conscious mind didn't need to process the sound to register it as a threat. Some part of him immediately knew what it was and was taking action before the rest of him could even catch up. He had already taken cover behind the wreckage, weapon drawn into firing position, before he even realized he'd done so.

Moments later, a Separatist shuttle came into view hovering overhead. It circled around looking for a place to land. The entire area was covered with shrapnel and metallic fragments from the recent explosion, not leaving a clear landing site. Rather than give up, the tenacious shuttle pilot decided to blast themselves a clear space. As Gregor watched from behind his makeshift hiding spot, the shuttle suddenly opened fire on one of the piles of metallic droid scrap. Pieces of blast shrapnel flew everywhere. Again, Gregor didn't even have to think. His body knew what to do on its own. He hit the dirt just as a deadly hail of metallic scrap blast fragments came flying at him. He heard the metal plinking off of his armor. He carefully unfurled himself as soon as the blasting stopped. He inspected his armor, which had some impressive new gouges and dings, but he was once again unharmed.

Gregor was suddenly assailed with a memory of the day he was given the armor when it was still new and unblemished. He heard a raspy voice in his head: Don't always rely upon the armor to save your shebs. That kind of thinking produces dead commandos.

For a brief moment, he was able to recall a face to go with the voice. The memory began wisping away again and thinking about it too hard left Gregor dizzy and reeling.

The shuttle landed, and Gregor heard his sergeant's voice again: Seize every opportunity. Sometimes a golden opportunity lands right in front of you.

Gregor stared at the shuttle, and realized it was his ticket off of Abaft.

Alright, then, so, what did the Seppies send down to investigate this little explosion? More SBDs and rollies? Maybe a squad of commando droids?

His mind immediately began calculating how many commando droids the shuttle could hold. His stomach tightened and he realized that even from what he could remember of his RC skills, he would have a difficult time with that many commando droids.

It seemed to take forever for the ramp to open up.

Arrgh! How slow are these droids?

He tensed up as he heard the clanking of metallic feet on the ramp. His finger tightened on the trigger of his DC-17m.

"What a mess!" chirped an overly exuberant voice.

"Who's going to clean this up?" chimed an equally chirpy voice in the same exact pitch.

"Looks like a bomb hit it!" retorted the first chirper.

"You idiot! A bomb did hit it!" responded back the other.

Gregor stared in disbelief realizing they were both idiots. Information flooded through his brain. It was an entire squad of idiots, to be exact. They had sent a squad of B-1s.

He wanted to laugh with relief. B-1s were so incompetent they were only considered marginally dangerous, and that was only because the Separatists could produce them in such massive numbers. He shook his head as his mind kept pouring out more and more tactical information at him.

He rolled out from behind the cover of the crate and began targeting the B-1s with ease. Taking the droids down was such a laughably easy task for the commando, he almost pitied the machines for their inane stupidity and poorly thought out design. Almost.

He rushed forward and stormed up the ramp of the shuttle, kicking battle droids off the ramp as he went. He heard the civilians up on the ridge shouting something, whether it was encouragement or disparagement, he wasn't sure. But, he had lost all interest in the people of Abafar, if he'd ever had any in the first place. He was leaving.

He was a Republic Commando.

And, he was making his way home.


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