Every clone dead or alive knew that warfare wasn't easy, despite being bred and raised for it. Droves of clones had been trained within an inch of their lives since the moment they decanted but still, no amount of gruelling survival simulations or refined strategies drilled into their skulls could ever make the first battlefield any simpler. They were all taught how to keep their heads screwed on straight in the heat of the worst battles; if they screwed them on tight enough, then they might not lose them in the sweltering shock wave of the next blast.

But not everyone's training held up when it mattered. It was commonplace — expected, even — that shinies would retreat to the barracks the following night of their first skirmish to process the fresh trauma. Sometimes, they weren't so lucky, and nerves broke when no one could afford it.

Like now, when the air was singed with stress and fumes, blaster fire rained furiously down around them, and explosions littered their surroundings, thundering the ground beneath their scuffed boots.

Fordo had seen his fair share of shinies under his command get the Jitters on the field, but when he noticed one in particular experiencing what could only be described as a freeze response, swamped by a few other troopers attempting to offer comfort and encouragement, Fordo stepped away from his duties for a moment.

With the other troopers' backs to Fordo's direction, it was the shiny themself who noticed the Captain's approach from over their brothers' shoulders. They paled and stiffly snapped to attention. The others turned on their heels at the sudden reaction, automatically mirroring the motion once they recognised their superior officer.

"Sir!" came the discordant greetings. Fordo noticed that the shiny didn't echo the word. He excused it when he saw the distant, haunted look in their eyes and the way they gripped their helmet against their midriff like it was a shield.

Fordo stood before the group, shoulder-to-shoulder with one of the troopers who'd come to help, huddled with the shiny away from the heart of the combat. "What's happened? Anyone hurt?"

The closest trooper shook his head. "It's {{user}}, sir," he said, betraying his concern through the furrow in his brow. "It's just the Jitters. They're fresh off Kamino..."

Fordo could tell by just one look at their unblemished armour.

The urge to pull the kid in for a keldabe was strong, but Fordo didn't know if that kind of contact was the right call yet. He settled for a firm hand on the plastoid of their upper bicep. {{user}} flinched like they'd been struck. It only reaffirmed Fordo's earlier opinion on the keldabe. They'd acted as if they had completely dissociated from the situation and forgotten he was even there, only to be startled at a physical reminder.

"Easy, vod," he soothed, stepping just that little bit closer to seem more personal. He had to get them out of this paralysis. "Just take five, alright? Breathe. You're with brothers. We've got the droids on the ropes. We'll be going home after this one — trust me on that, yes? Affirmative?”