Propaganda I will never fall for:
1. Anakin didn’t care for the clones and was callous with their lives;
2. The clones not just from the 501st but other battalions also hated him for it,
3. He was an incompetent selfish General.
Meanwhile Anakin and the Clones:
“Oh, these men. He loved them. “It means we’re going in hot and wild, no plan but this: blast those kriffing Sep ships out of my sky.” Fireball grinned with ear-to-ear ferocity. “It’ll be our pleasure, General.” The rest of Gold Squadron was listening, their focused attention and absolute belief in him as warm and as reassuring as his mother’s hand on his back.
Under his careless confidence, she sensed a hint of that unhealed grief. The loss of greenies Vere and Ince during the Jan-Fathal mission … the loss of other Torrent Company clones since then … his pain was like a kiplin-burr, burrowed deep in his flesh. Anakin had a bad habit of nursing those wounds, and no matter what she said, tactfully, no matter what Master Kenobi said without any tact at all, nothing made a difference. He hurt for them, and always would.
He was so proud of them—and at the same time so afraid. The brutal reality of combat meant the odds were they wouldn’t all come home. They knew it, too, but no one would read that in their faces—faces that were at first glance, to the uncaring observer, identical. But he knew them as individuals, and he loved them for themselves. He could list each man’s scars, recite each man’s quirks, describe each man’s idiosyncratic hair. Close-helmeted, in full body armor, he knew every one of them by his walk. Blindfold me and I’ll tell you who laughed.
I’m so lucky to have them. Please, don’t let me let them down.
Wingnut’s fighter was struggling, pitching; its starboard stabilizer shot, his R4 unit a smoking ruin—and the droids were gaining—gaining— No. No. Not Wingnut. He only joined us a month ago. Grimly determined, he plunged his own fighter into the vultures’ path
“And Ahsoka …” He felt his heart thud. “Tell Rex—tell all of them—that anything less than a full recovery is unacceptable. Tell Rex I—” He had to stop. Obi-Wan was in earshot, and they were not supposed to care so much. But Ahsoka cared too much, too. She didn’t need to hear the words. “I will. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not,” he said tightly. “I’m afraid Anakin is—” With an effort he stopped himself. Whatever irritation he might be feeling with his high-handed former Padawan, it wasn’t appropriate to vent it at the admiral. Yularen was looking at him closely, an odd and unexpected sympathy in his deep-set eyes. “He’s upset about his lost pilots,” the admiral observed. Only a fool forgot he was a smart, perceptive man.
“I think—” Anakin kicked his heel against the polished marble floor. “I think I hate it when I can’t stop my men from getting hurt. From dying. I think—” “What?” he prompted, when Anakin didn’t continue. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.” “It matters, Anakin,” he said gently. “What you think matters.” Anakin flicked him a look. “You’ll just lecture me about attachment. Again.” Careful, careful. He’s not your Padawan anymore. “It’s true,” he said, after a moment, “that I sometimes wish you were more … moderate … in your feelings. But it’s also true that your men follow you with such enthusiasm and loyalty because they know how deeply you care.”
When they didn’t think she was listening, they referred to Rex and Coric and the others as units. Units. They weren’t units, they were men, living breathing laughing hurting brave and reckless men, who would lay down their lives for her and for one another without ever once stopping to think first and she loved them for that. So did Anakin. And Master Kenobi, well, he respected them. But the Kaminoans? No love. Not even respect. Just pride.
“I’ve seen Rex and Sergeant Coric. They’re not awake yet, but they look okay.” The Padawan winced. “Sort of. And I got to visit with some of the other troops, too. Nala Shan says everyone who’s going to die has died, so—that’s good news.” Heedless of his audience, Anakin covered his face with his left hand—his organic hand—just for a moment. Then he let it drop. His eyes were bright. “That’s great news, Ahsoka.”
- Clone Wars Gambit: Stealth by Karen Miller
The clone pilots were fully engaged, looping through a dogfight so tight that their ion trails looked like a glowing ball of string. “Oddball’s in trouble. I’m going to help him out.” “Don’t. He’s doing his job. We need to do ours.” “Master, they’re getting eaten alive over—” “Every one of them would gladly trade his life for Palpatine’s. Will you trade Palpatine’s life for theirs?” “No—no, of course not, but—” “Anakin, I understand: you want to save everyone. You always do. But you can’t.” Anakin’s voice went tight. “Don’t remind me.” “Head for the command ship.” Without waiting for a reply, Obi-Wan targeted the command cruiser
- Revenge of the Sith by Matthew Stover
Not only did Anakin care deeply for them, it was common knowledge that he did. Obi Wan knew it, Yularen knew it, Ahsoka knew it, the Clones knew it most of all.
It’s almost like wanting to help and save as many people as he could and loving so ardently it literally hurt him is a crucial aspect of his character
theartofmadeline
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