Wolfpup: Ch. 10
Chapter Summary:
“You ready, Pup?” Sinker asked with a grin, sitting next to Dogma as he prepared his training blaster.
“Yeah, but I’m still not sure what all the excitement’s about.” Dogma shrugged but scooted over to give Sinker some space to prepare his own gear. The 104th was in-transit again, giving the Wolfpack the opportunity to take part in a time-honored tradition: Capture the Bucket.
Chapter 10: Capture the Bucket
“I can’t believe you told him!” Comet lamented, head in his hands as he complained melodramatically. They’d just gotten back from their latest mission, a quick in-and-out that barely took five hours from start to finish. The wait-time leading up to it had involved some time in the sun, and to Comet’s dismay, Dogma had quickly shut down any pranks associated with well-placed suntans.
Dogma huffed. “Sunscreen is considered a medical supply, in GAR requisitions, and even if it didn’t get you in trouble with the medics, you could have been facing–”
“Two to four shifts of KP duty, I know.” Comet sighed defeatedly before grinning. “It would’ve been worth it, though, just to see the look on Patch’s face.”
Dogma shook his head, hiding his own amusement. It reminded him of one of the few missions he’d taken with the 501st before everything went downhill. Fives had slapped a hand-print of sunscreen on one of the other ARCs’ chests, and they didn’t realize what had happened until much later. Dogma himself had been the victim of more than a few sand-related pranks, though, so he’d prefer to warn others of pranks beforehand, especially if they flirted with the regs.
It had earned him some annoyed looks back in the 501st, but thankfully Comet had just responded with a sheepish look before dragging him back to the barracks.
“I still think we could’ve— what’s that?” Comet paused, pointing to the blinking notification on Dogma’s datapad, left on his bunk during their last deployment. He hadn’t thought to check it, until now.
Heart in his throat, Dogma held his breath as he nervously opened it. Too afraid to hope that it was Tup, he first glanced at the comm message icon, blinking in shock when he saw no less than ten new messages. He let out a puff of air as he continued, seeing that at least half of them were from Tup.
“Tup—“ His voice wobbled, and when Comet grinned in excitement, he returned the smile hesitantly before opening the first message himself.
“Dogma! It’s so good to hear from you!!! Captain Rex said you’d been transferred to another battalion, but I didn’t know for sure, or if you were alright! Can’t believe you’re in the Wolfpack now; that’s so cool!!! I miss you so much, vod! Don’t you ghost me like that ever again! Fives said you probably just needed time, and I can respect that, but I’m really glad you finally reached out! I got another tattoo— it looks like yours, but it’s on my shoulder, and Vaughn, you remember Vaughn, right? He got promoted to Lieutenant, and Fives finally made good on his promise to sit on Kix until he took a nap, and—“
As Dogma continued reading, tears started to blur his vision, and he let out a quiet laugh. It was just like Tup; sending seven different comms in a pure stream of consciousness about their last few missions, stuff Dogma had missed, and even a holovid of a couple lothcats he’d seen on a short campaign on Lothal. Apparently Tup had been on the ground in the Arkanis sector, so the long-range comms hadn’t delivered his message until they got back to the Resolute.
Dogma took a deep breath, still feeling a little choked up and emotional. Tup didn’t hate him— he wanted to meet up on their next shore leave, even, if his fourth comm message was anything to go by.
“You good, Dogma?” Comet asked, unsure whether to step in.
“Y-Yeah, just… he missed me.”
At Dogma’s dumbfounded expression, Comet gave him a smile, squeezing his shoulder in silent support, offering him a smile. “Good. You’re worth missing, vod.” He stated warmly, and Dogma was too overwhelmed to disagree.
And Tup wasn’t the only one who’d missed him, apparently. That was almost more of a shock than Tup’s messages, to see a comm from Kix, short and to-the-point, asking how he was settling in with the 104th, one from the Captain… and even one from Fives. Dogma hesitated for a long moment before finally deciding to read it, but the ARC trooper had actually been pretty thoughtful, giving him updates on Tup, who’d apparently forgotten to include a blaster injury to the thigh in his own comms, and… a short thank-you for what happened on Umbara.
Intellectually, Dogma knew that if he hadn’t killed Krell, Fives would’ve been next in line after Rex to take the shot, as ARC trooper, but it was another thing to have Fives thank him for it himself, and he’d have to unpack how he felt about that later. As it was, he was already drafting a response to all seven of Tup’s comms, typing with shaky hands, asking why he had to hear about Tup’s injury from Fives, of all people.
As Dogma sat on his bunk, eagerly responding to his closest vod, Comet settled nearby, sending a quick update to the rest of the squad. Dogma wasn’t the only one who’d been waiting on a reply, and he grinned in relief at that weight being lifted off his vod’s back.
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In an army of identical faces and experience, nothing spreads faster than rumors, and rumors about the 104th were many. Dogma himself was still getting used to it; the 501st had a very different reputation than the 104th, and these differences begged many a question. Outside of “Do you guys actually howl,” or “Do you shapeshift every full moon,” most troopers were actually pretty curious about why they’d decided to be a rescue battalion, rather than training in special teams, infiltration units, or other high-efficiency teams after reshaping a battalion from nothing.
Lycanthropy had nothing to do with their placement in one of the hardest, most satisfying jobs in the GAR, though, and Dogma was growing to understand that choice more with every mission.
When it came down to it, the 104th cared about their vode. They knew what it was like to be the last ones left, to think that nobody would be coming for them. They knew what it was to wonder… if anyone would even be left to find, by the time help arrives for them.
Their experiences after the Malevolence made them well-suited for helping the brothers who’ve survived the worst odds after watching their own vode march on. Even Dogma had seen more than his share of the horrors of war, with all but one of his batchmates gone on his first campaign, and seeing entire squads go down in a flash of light on Umbara. Not that he knew how to comfort other troopers when they were going through it, but still, he knew what it was like, and so did the rest of the Pack. Even their mental health support was more substantial than most battalions, given the number of troopers who’d joined their ranks after being one of only a few to survive their own battalions’ latest tragedy.
It also helped to have one of the best Generals Dogma had ever had the pleasure of working with (although his own experience was admittedly limited), and his chest swelled with pride to know that General Plo was one of the good ones– the best, if the rest of the Wolfpack were to be believed. Besides, it’s not like the other Generals organized strategy games for their troopers during transit time, but Dogma was quickly getting acquainted with that practice as well.
“You ready, Pup?” Sinker asked with a grin, sitting next to Dogma as he prepared his training blaster.
“Yeah, but I’m still not sure what all the excitement’s about.” Dogma shrugged but scooted over to give Sinker some space to prepare his own gear. The 104th was in-transit again, giving the Wolfpack the opportunity to take part in a time-honored tradition: Capture the Bucket.
Boost sat on his other side, giving him a friendly nudge. “What’s not to like? Real-time search and rescue? Learning each other’s skills in a controlled environment? The opportunity to jumpscare shinies in dimly-lit corridors? Plus, the winners get first dibs on the General’s newest batch of snack rations.” Boost grinned; he and Sinker had been placed on opposite teams this time around, and he was looking forward to the competition.
“But doesn’t it disrupt shipboard operations?” Dogma asked, not sure whether he felt perturbed or intrigued by the idea of a ship-wide game, even if it functioned as a training exercise.
Comet stepped in, giving a ‘so-so’ gesture. “There’s still a skeleton crew operating, so it’s not like we’re left vulnerable to an attack, and the game really only takes place on the two main decks, but it’s actually been pretty helpful in improving shipboard defenses, and we end up finding new hiding places and strategies every time we play.”
Even Patch looked a little more animated than usual, although he was busy stocking a medpack rather than prepping his own gear. “It’s always a big hit with the shinies, but personally, I’d prefer it if we kept the lights on a higher setting. Medbay’s always a little busy after these exercises, mostly with troopers who tripped on something or forgot to turn on their night vision.”
“Which is exactly why these games– I mean trainings– are important! Better in a friendly competition than on a battlefield, I say.” Sinker nodded studiously, although the effect of his words was somewhat lessened by the neon-orange training blaster in his hands.
That was another interesting thing about these games, Dogma had learned. Back on Kamino, training blasters had just been regular blasters with slightly lower stun settings, but for some reason, the General had provided them with civvie training blasters, which had foam bullets instead of power packs, and they were made from cheap duraplast material in a variety of bright colors. The foam bullets even lit up to mimic real blaster bolts, but without the lethality.
The training blasters’ aim wasn’t the best either, but that was just part of the experience, according to Fixer, who had already claimed the biggest training blaster of them all, currently slung over his shoulder for convenience. As a search and rescue battalion, the 104th interacted with civilians more often, and had more run-ins with nonstandard weapons. Learning how to adapt to different weapon configurations and accuracies could be the difference between life and death, which was another unexpected boon from this training game.
As it was, Dogma struggled to restrain himself from commenting when Warthog and Comet started shooting at each other before the game had even begun.
Thankfully, Wolffe chose that moment to enter. “Comet, Warthog.”
“Yessir?” Comet saluted him unabashedly, steadfastly ignoring the training dart currently suctioned to his visor.
Commander Wolffe’s helmet betrayed nothing, but Dogma could’ve sworn he heard a trace of humor in his tone. “Stow your gear. Comet, you’ll be taking point for Blue team.” Comet grimaced but nodded. He was Sergeant for a reason, after all.
“Warthog.”
The other trooper straightened as his name was called, so Wolffe continued in an almost smug tone. “Yellow team is starting in the aft rec room at 1420… in three minutes.”
“That’s on the other end of the ship! Kriff!” Warthog yelped before slinging his bucket back on and dragging Sinker with him out the door.
Patch chuckled, watching them go before turning to follow at a more sedate pace. “Want me to tell them it starts at 1430 when I get there, sir?” Unlike Warthog, Patch had read the briefing, as had Dogma, who snorted despite himself.
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Once everyone had gotten into position, it wasn’t long before the training simulation had begun. Commander Wolffe had assigned Boost and Dogma to defend a side-hallway off the main area where they’d hidden their team’s bucket, and Boost was currently walking Dogma through the corridor, pointing out clever hiding spots as they went, but they hadn’t found signs of activity yet. Dogma wasn’t the most excitable of troopers, but even he was starting to enjoy the training sim.
“How did these trainings start, anyways?” Dogma asked, intrigued, even as he kept an eye on the hall in front of them. “The Five— my old battalion never did anything like this.” Dogma winced, mentally berating himself for the half-slip.
Thankfully, Boost didn’t seem to notice, continuing to explain. “Well, it actually first started as a way to get used to the ship, and the emergency features. The first major evac drill after the Malevolence… well, we struggled a bit, but this simulates a lot of the same conditions, the lights mostly, but without the negative connections, and it’s a good bonding activity for improving squad cohesion, and it helps the shinies learn how to fight in close quarters.”
Dogma nodded, deep in thought. He’d never been in a shipwide evacuation before, but he understood the importance of practicing combat readiness. “Makes sense.” He said, glancing back at Boost and at the small blue light clipped to his pauldron, marking him as a member of Blue Team. Combined with the red emergency lights, the hallways were cast in eerie purple shadows that sent a chill up his spine.
It wasn’t until a squad of Yellow Team troopers attacked that Dogma realized exactly what the lights reminded him of– blasterfire raining down on a much different scene, troopers in 501st blue against 212th gold. Troopers that he’d gunned down– that Tup had gunned down, never to rise again–
One of his training rounds hit true, and the opposing vode’s light deactivated as they fell to the ground dramatically. Warthog, apparently, had been practicing his amateur acting skills, but it had been enough to strike another discordant note, further cementing the double vision in Dogma’s mind.
His training blaster fell to the ground with a clatter as the scene shifted before his eyes. His words from back then echoed in his ears. “I-I don’t understand– Why did these troopers attack us?”
Suddenly, he found himself gasping for air, unable to take a full breath. His previous panic attacks had felt like slowly sinking in cold water, but this felt like he’d dropped straight into the Kaminoan ocean. Cool, durasteel hallways melted into Umbara’s humid hellscape, and Dogma brought a hand up to his chestplate in an effort to ground himself.
Vaguely, he realized that both he and Boost had been taken out, distracted by Dogma’s sudden freeze, and that the remaining ‘alive’ troopers on the other team had moved on, but Dogma’s biggest concern had been focusing on one breath and then the next in a desperate attempt to remember the breathing exercises Patch had shown him.
On Umbara, when the world had been falling apart around him, Dogma hadn’t been sure whether to cry or throw up after learning that his shots had been responsible for the death of one of his vode. Instead, he’d froze, retreating into himself, into his clawing need for something dependable, even if that something was General Krell’s orders— but he made him kill brothers! And Krell was gone now, he told himself, fighting against the urge to let the world go blank.
When a hand reached for his shoulder all of a sudden, he lashed out, and cheap duraplast hit heavy plastoid with a clatter and a hiss of pain, bringing Dogma out of his panic just enough to realize he’d hit Boost– or his helmet, that is. Thankfully, he hadn’t done more than scrape the paint-job, but remorse filled his stomach even as he started to come back to himself.
It also helped that Warthog had apparently noticed that something was up, removing his helmet and motioning Dogma through one of his breathing exercises while Boost followed suit, waiting patiently for Dogma to come back to himself. He was far from the only trooper who’d had a panic attack in their presence, after all, but having one in a combat situation– or a simulated combat situation, was definitely a cause for concern, which Boost realized once Dogma’s breathing had mostly stabilized.
“…I don’t want to pry, but I’ve gotta ask… if this happened in a live combat situation…” Boost hesitated, biting his lip. He’d never doubt his brother’s resolve, but war was messy, and he had to know that Dogma could handle it.
Scrubbing at his eyes, Dogma shook his head before letting it fall in defeat, helmet in his hands. With a surprising rush of resolve, Dogma made the decision to trust, in that moment, and spoke before he could regret it. “I-I…Unless we find ourselves in a friendly-fire situation where we’re taking down vode, i-it shouldn’t happen again… you’d have bigger problems than me, if that were the case, a-and the other ones… it’s more manageable now, mostly.” And that wasn’t a lie. Gradual exposure to both the General and his lightsaber had helped a lot when it came to his knee-jerk panic and overall performance, but he couldn’t see himself getting desensitized to gunning down brothers, especially when the lines between real life and training blurred.
“Friendly fire– you mean…?” Warthog trailed off, letting out a long breath in disbelief while Boost gave a quiet exclamation.
“Kriff, kid! —No, that shouldn’t happen again, if we have anything to say about it. What kind of mission would’ve–” Boost nearly bit his tongue as he remembered what Dogma had said about demagolka, traitorous natborn commanding officers. That would definitely explain it, especially with the way Dogma’s hands were shaking before Boost had impulsively clasped one hand in his own.
Dogma huffed slightly but allowed it, just like he allowed himself to be led back to the debriefing room to regroup. Much later that night, he finally worked up the courage to talk about the atrocities he’d faced with the rest of the Pack before being surrounded in the comfort of their overwhelming protective instincts.
The Commander had looked like he’d finally connected some dots, muttering something about stubborn vod’ikae before pulling Dogma into a fierce hug and making a mental note to change the team colors to red and green next time. He also made plans to call a certain blond-haired captain. He’d like to stop finding Dogma’s triggers by, well, triggering them, and with this new information and the way Rex had looked after that FUBAR on Umbara that he still wouldn’t talk about, there’s no way the two weren’t connected. For now, though, he just focused on comforting his newest little brother, relishing the fact that he was finally starting to trust them to pick him up when he fell.
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