Harkin Jendri was on edge, to say the least. The last few days had seen more genuine excitement Kamino in the space of a few hours than the last five years. Not since those [i]Kyr’tsad[/i] savages had been caught trying to establish a Battle Circle among the clones. The Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi, discovering the facility, the firefight on the landing pad, and now Jango was gone, Boba too. No explanation. 

That had only been the beginning. Now the Kaminoans were having the armor prepped, ships fueled, and all equipment combat ready. That could only mean one thing to the Mandalorian instructor; It was finally time for the army to make the first strike against the Separatists. His boys would seeing real battle at long last. He was proud, of course; They’d been trained to be the finest infantrymen the galaxy had ever seen. Warriors that any Mandalore would have been proud to call his own. That Jaster would have gladly called his sons. With that pride came dread too. Real combat was a different beast to any training program they could dream up. No matter how many times they pitted the clones against the surplus battle droids they’d been supplied with, no matter how many times he and the rest of the [i]Cuy’val Dar[/i] guided them in the ways of the warrior, the second that they hit the battlefield, all of that training would be put to the ultimate stress test. Even his kind weren’t invincible.

Harkin shook his head, looking back up at the squad training course. Rawl squadron were his boys. His vode, more Mandalorian than any of the cowards hiding under the skirt of Duchess Kryze, and certainly more than any of the honorless savages that had taken all he’d grown up with from him. Rawl Squad was the best in the battalion. They were [i]Khi’mandoade[/i] indeed.

“Alright, we’re running through basic drills today! We got plenty of B1s lined up for you, even some of those new B2s! I want to see top scores today! Skirata says that his ARCs put the standard models to shame. I want him to eat those words!” He barked out, grinning as he held up the pocket chrono that served as the only reminder of his biological father. “To the starting line! Double-time!”