Operational History (Final Draft)

[AlyxDinas]

Author's Notes: This was my first fic, meant to flesh out my character before launch. Since then, a significant of character development and life changes have occurred. I, however, wish to leave it here in its original form. I was and still am proud to have this be part of what was know as the Forged continuity with a handful of other writer along with my other (still on considerable hold) piece of work.

 

Please enjoy! Constructive feedback is appreciated!

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Location: Planet Eliad, Minos Cluster. 0200 Hours. 2 BTC.

 

You should never run from a sniper. You’ll only die tired. It seemed like Master Sergeant Jeos Dinas had to teach the Sith on a regular basis. The wait to deliver his lecture had been a long one. Two days ago, he and the other members of the 408th Rangers had been dropped on Eliad.

 

Their arrival had been a initial stealth insertion in a Ministry-class orbital shuttle which succeeded only because their pilot came in low and fast enough to avoid any planetary sensors the Sith might’ve had that were still active. What occurred from there was a two day trek through Eliad’s temperate terrain from the LZ to the target. The four man fireteam he was attached to, lead by Captain Morlis Feran, spent most of their time silently marching towards the general location of the Sith’s encampment.

 

Intelligence claimed the base was under the command of Commander Dana Keteris, a crafty and sly officer who had quickly made her way up the ranks of the Sith military. Keteris was a fanatic, an absolute true believer in the Sith Empire’s supremacy.

 

A tactician known for her unorthodox methods, Keteris had bunkered down hard on Eliad as the Republic’s operations in the system left less and less territory for the Sith to hold on to. Now, having backed her into a corner, the 408th had been given the go ahead from High Command to go in for the kill.

 

Their mission was the same as almost all their missions had been since they had been dispatched to the Minos Cluster: to locate and mark fortified Sith targets for orbital bombardment. To wipe out the Sith holdouts swiftly, so as to avoid anymore protracted activity in the Cluster. The Republic had adopted a policy of hitting hard and hitting fast which seemed to be turning the tide against the Sith in the area.

 

The smart thing to do was to simply bombard suspected areas from orbit but without a team on the ground to mark the target, there tended to be a lot of unwanted collateral damage.

 

And after all, the Republic was here to save the Cluster and its resources, not leave it a smoking pile of useless slag that they could not use. Thus, the necessity for a ground team to paint the target.

 

Eliad had never seen too much combat during the Sith’s offensive. Most of the combat in the Cluster was centered on Onadax and Pergitor. The Eliad system held little strategic value other than its closeness to the Outer Rim and some surplus of resources that the Sith needed.

 

The entire assault here, and in the entire Cluster, seemed little more than a desperate grasp by the Sith for additional territory from which to stage their campaign against the Republic.

 

It was indicative of a larger trend in the Sith’s war effort, which had lost much of the momentum it had in the earlier years of the war. The reason was plain to see.

 

They were running out of supplies and without resource rich worlds and strategically strong staging points for future operations, the Sith’s position deep in the Republic was likely untenable. And yet despite this, the Republic could not drive them from the galaxy either. Both sides were fighting, at this point, a war of attrition that would destroy them both unless bold action was taken.

 

However, Jeos had a personal investment in the mission: while Sith presence in the Minos Cluster boded worse for planets like Sullust, Utapau, or Eriadu, it was close enough to Jeos’ homeworld of Naboo that it was not entirely absurd to think that the Sith war effort could soon find its way to doorsteps of his friends and family. That was something he could never abide.

 

By holding the Sith here in the Cluster, he would be keeping his family safe more than they would ever know. It was fitting, then, that after two days and many hours of waiting patiently, he would be the first of his squad to draw blood once they took positions up around the target base.

 

Working without a spotter was not ideal and under most circumstance wouldn't even be a possibility. However, given the nature of the 408th's missions, certain standard operating procedures had been phased out in order to allow for more flexibility and mobility.

 

For Jeos, as the team's marksman, that meant he no longer had the luxury of a spotter. The squad needed to be small, able to be inserted into hot areas fast and leave before massive counter attacks could be mounted against them.

 

It was a model first laid out by the Republic's elite Blackstar Squad but a handful of units throughout the Republic were adopting this model as well. So far, the benefits of this method seemed to far outweigh any potential deficits. The 408th was living proof of this.

 

His first shot hit the officer almost directly in the forehead. The blaster bolt left a clean bore straight through his skull. Only seconds before, another soon to be dead man had made the mistake of saluting his fellow soldier. It was an act which marked the officer as the first target.

 

It was simple operating procedure. If you were going to pick you targets, you generally wanted to prioritize by their rank. Ideally, he should have aimed for the center of his target’s mass but Jeos, somewhat egotistically, wanted to see if he could make the shot over such a large distance. Jeos pressed his trigger with all the strength of a Koros butterfly’s flapping wing. His hair trigger did the rest of the work. Moments later, he was pleased to have his first confirmed kill on Eliad.

 

No sooner had the shot hit its mark did the other soldier freeze in place. The Eliad air seemed to rush straight to the Sith encampment, over the green mountains and through the deep valleys between the sniper and his prey. Through his rifle’s scope, Jeos could see the shock on the Sith’s face.

 

Confusion had frozen his features into abject terror. Bulging eyes, too stunned to burn with tears, dominated the Sith’s features even as his mouth tried desperately to form words to explain what had just happened. He was left a stammering mess, cemented to the ground, futilely trying to summon courage.

 

In that moment, Jeos felt more thrill than ever. He was not a man given to heated emotions nor was he a man of many words. However, in that singular moment, the allure of the power he wielded intoxicated him with some perverse variation of joy. He had caused that. The fear on the Sith’s face was his handy work. His own artistry. There was a terrible authority that came from being able to create such a thing. But it was not to last. True art, it seemed, was a momentary concept.

 

Suddenly, the soldier began to run. His crippling fear was finally overcome by instinct. By his overwhelming and terrible desire to survive. He made no effort to raise the alarm or run into the base. He fled towards the wilderness, as if he was a slave running for freedom. If he ran faster, he just might-BAM!

 

He would never finish the thought. The second shot from Jeos’ rifle struck the soldier squarely below his neck, near the top of his back. Like a marionette whose strings were cut, the Sith tumbled forward with all the grace of a sack filled with permacrete.

 

“Two confirmed. I think it got a lieutenant or someone high up. I couldn’t really see the rank insignias.” Jeos said through the comm unit in his helmet, his voice business-like. “Path should be clear for you to place the beacon, Captain.”

 

“Not bad, Jeos. If you’re a bit faster on the second shot next time, I might just consider the possibility that you’re good at your job.” The Captain’s voice rang through his helmet, playfully mocking the sniper. The attempt was halfhearted at best; Feran’s voice was filled with a pride that would have suggested that he himself had taught Jeos to shoot.

 

“They never are going to know what hit 'em! Keteris was cocky to think that we’d be able to get this close. Saltan valforamosa n telval mord.” The phrase was Olys Corellisi (otherwise known as Old Corellian) for “Assumption is the first step into a shallow grave.”

 

Captain Feran was fiercely proud Corellian, holding on to the outdated language out of sheer patriotism for his home world and the phrase had become something of a motto for the 408th Rangers. Jeos himself had learned to speak the language moderately well over the years thanks to lessons that the Captain provided whenever the squad had some downtime.

 

The Captain had seen it as a chance to extol Corellia’s supremacy while Jeos, who was always eager to learn more about the Republic he was protecting, saw it as a chance not only to bond with the Captain but widen his own berth of knowledge.

 

It was an expression of the long standing relationship between Jeos and Feran. The two senior members of the 408th, they’d worked together for nearly a decade and in all that time their relationship had shifted from superior and subordinate to teacher and student and finally to father and son. The two would never admit it, however.

 

It was an understated thing, conveyed by small means like their language lessons or the occasional impromptu argument about who the best shockboxer of all time might be. Years of combat has forged a simple but strong understanding between the two, a silent meeting of minds that meant that when one acted, the other responded in tandem.

 

Knowing that the coast was clear if Jeos said it was, Feran and the two remaining soldiers of the 408th slowly made their way towards the base. Taking point was the squad’s heavy weapons specialist, Corporal Santh Chono, a tall and burly Iridonian who looked like he would be more comfortable wielding his Republic issue Z-4 rotary blaster cannon as a club than a gun and whose bravery and wild charges in to the fray ensured that some day he might just get the chance to do so.

 

Outside of battle, however, Santh was far more laconic and reserved. Often the squad’s emotional compass, he had a means of knowing just exactly what needed to be said and when to say it. Recently he had developed an added edge to his behavior ever since the death of his best friend, Corte Sarms, on a previous mission on Corva Yag.

 

Hate had been buried deeply inside Chono after that loss, finding its outlet on the battlefield only. His hatred was a cold and quiet thing that the Iridonian only let known to his enemies. It could have formed into a liability and distraction but Santh had honed it into a finely tuned weapon.

 

In the middle was the Captain, no nonsense as usual. Morlis Feran prided himself on one thing: results. This desire radiated off of his very being as he made his way closer and closer to the target building. His steps were purposeful and each second of his approach was filled with resolve. It was clear that he was expecting nothing less than complete an utter victory over his enemy.

 

Following him was Private Lanen Terrio, a real technical wizard and the newest addition to the squad. A Corellian, like Captain Feran, she had been attached to the squad at Feran’s own request after the death of PFC. Sarms on Corva Yag. Terrio had been transferred almost immediately to the Justice, the Hammerhead-class cruiser to which the 408th Rangers were attached. It was a wise move on the Captain’s part; Terrio had proven that she was every bit as capable as any of the other Rangers.

 

Jeos recalled how taken aback he was by Terrio's beauty when they were introduced. Terrio's blue eyes might have reminded him of ice but her attitude was a fiery as any could get. Jeos spotted her for a moment and his heart skipped a beat. She waited on Feran’s every command as they made their approach, keeping her eyes open for any potential flanking on the part of the Sith. If she had keener eyes, she might have spotted the slight movement to her right.

 

"You'd figure that someone might have come up to check for noise after Jeos blasted those two Sith's brains out of their skulls..." Terrio said as the Rangers stalked closer to the base, in good spirits. "But then again, I thought the Sith didn't have brains. Good job, Jay! You've made a huge scientific discovery!"

 

Jeos said nothing but smiled broadly under his helmet at Terrio's comment. Terrio certainly knew how to affect the sniper in a way few had ever managed. However, he needed to focus. From his perch on the nearby ridge, Jeos could see his squad slowly move up towards the Sith’s location. It would only be a few moments until-

 

Suddenly a shot of blaster fire opened near the base of the ridge in front of him, kicking up rock right before his face. At the same time, heavy repeating blaster fire rained down towards the rest of the 408th. Jeos retreated down below the ridge, laser fire still hammering at his position. Over his comm, he heard Feran’s voice ring in his ear.

 

“Droyk!” boomed the Captain’s voice as he cursed in Olys Corellisi. “How did they spot us!?”

 

“I don’t know but they've made a huge mistake!” shouted Santh over the comm, just barely making his voice heard over the roar of his rotary blaster cannon’s fire

 

The answer was found hovering over Jeos’ right shoulder. A small probe droid floated in the air before him, humming lightly. This one was modified, that much Jeos could tell by looking at it. It lacked any armament, the lack of extra weight giving its repulsion system a lessened noise threshold. Jeos did not wait long, snapping his rifle up and striking the droid with the butt of the gun. The droid broke apart and shattered before him.

 

“Blasted junk of junk!” Jeos shouted, cursing himself for not ever realizing he was being watched. “It was a droid, sir! It must have spotted me some time back while patrolling this ridge!”

 

And then the pieces fell into place in Jeos’ mind, even as the battle raged around him. There was a reason that the junior officer did not run to raise the alarm: he was not meant to. The droid must have spotted Jeos some time before he even got into position. The two men that he killed were either one of two things: soldiers ordered to put on a farce to draw his fire away from the ambush party or else prisoners forced to do likewise.

 

He would never find out the answer to which it was but the way that the second victim ran before Jeos shot him seemed to suggest the latter. Those shots gave away his position to the Sith counter sniper that had opened fire on him. His position, confirmed by the droid, was what the sniper was aiming for. It was, by some measure of luck, not what they hit.

 

Only Jeos' small area of exposure, barely peering above the ridge, saved him from death. But even escaping death did not hold any personal satisfaction. He had been tricked and he would carry the guilt of that folly for the rest of his life.

 

Too eager to hold the Sith on Eliad, Jeos had not taken time to note that anything was wrong, that things had been all too easy. Intelligence was right; Commander Keteris was good. But there was no time for admiration.

 

“We need to get that beacon up there!” Feran’s voice ordered through the comm. “Dinas! You need to cover us! If we can get close enough, we can toss the beacon. The Justice is hiding in the moon’s orbit. If we mark that target, they’ll burn it down!”

 

“What about prisoners, sir?!” Jeos countered, his mind still considering the two men he had killed. Shame washed over him as he thought about what he might have done “There may some in the base. Those two I shot, I think they might have been Republic soldiers.”

 

“We are not here to rescue captives, if there even are any!” his CO barked back, stressing the latter part of his sentence. His tone was harsh, uncaring, and held the hint of something uncharacteristically callous. “They got captured, that’s their own problem! We have our mission. We carry it out. Now, lay down some fire, soldier!”

 

There was no more discussion. Only orders and obeying them. The exchange of blaster fire that covered the area rang out like a stark percussive orchestra.

 

Peering quickly over the ridge, Jeos could see the rest of the 408th slowly press forward towards the base. The largest obstacle was a manned gun emplacement where a Sith trooper was firing burst after burst at his squad mates. Jeos snapped up from behind his cover and felt a blaster bolt soar over his head.

 

Jeos did not wait. He would not be able to confuse his enemy, only confront him. And he was almost certain that after a showing like that, he was a better rifleman than the Sith.

 

Snapping his arm down, he primed a small flash bang grenade and held it in his hand. Reaching directly over the ridge, he kept his rifle in his left hand. Quickly, he dropped the grenade over the ridge.

 

One. Two. Flash.

 

Jeos snapped up and readied his rifle, all sound lost to him as the grenade’s explosion still filled his mind. Leveling his rifle he spotted the blinded sniper and took a clean shot that hit the soldier in the chest. Not waiting, he twisted towards the repeating gun emplacement and took another shot that barely missed. In the heat of battle, the gunner did not notice the blaster bolt pass behind him.

 

Taking a deep breath, Jeos fired again and hit his mark. The gun stop firing as the soldier stopped living. Below, the rest of the 408th now broke towards the base, carving a path through the remaining soldiers.

 

Within moments, Corporal Chono was covering Captain Feran as he hurled the targeting beacon at the base. It landed right in the middle of the outpost’s yard.

 

“Beacon is clear, sir!” Jeos confirmed for his CO. At this, he turned and hurried his way down the cliff side, desperate to put space between himself and the condemned Sith base.

 

“Alright, we’re falling back!” the Captain replied as the rest of the 408th started their tactical retreat. Staggering their coverage of each other, the team slowly made their way to the minimal safe distance.

 

Within minutes, the sky was a crimson storm as the Justice began its bombardment. The 408th had gathered further off, gazing at their well earned victory as the Sith base was laid to waste. Captain Feran did not have them stand to look for long. Silently, he and the rest of the squad turned his back on the Sith and began to trek towards the pickup zone. Jeos was the last to follow, gazing satisfied at the wreckage.

 

Inside, Jeos hoped that Dana Keteris was not claimed by a heavy orbital cannon strike. Hopefully, she would slowly die in the flames. For her trickery. For endangering his squad. For her crimes against the Republic.

Edited October 16, 2012 by AlyxDinas

[AlyxDinas]

Location: Hammerhead-class cruiser Justice. En route to Corva Yag. 3 Months Prior to Eliad Operation. 0700 Hours. 2 BTC.

 

“Yeah, I got a question right here, Cap.” Private First Class Corte Sarms crowed from his spot near the middle of the operations room where the 408th was gathered. His messy mop top of shaggy blond hair flaunted regulation, his young smile held all the energy of a million suns. His tone was not fully disrespectful but certainly a bit too casual for whom he was addressing. Familiarity was something that was earned and Sarms had not quite earned that level of familiarity with his superior.

 

Captain Morlis Feran sighed and in the process it almost seemed like a few more lines were etched into cragged face. Feran had been fighting in the war since it began and every bit of it showed. His eyes, which had long lost the glint of youth, were a stark black. Heavy lines fell below them, making the Captain look like he hadn’t slept for years. Nearly thirty years of fighting the Sith probably made him feel like it as well.

 

That, and 10 minutes of dealing with PFC. Sarms.

 

“What is it, Sarms?” the Captain chided, with both an odd mixture of annoyance and almost fatherly reproach. For all his stubbornness, Morlis Feran cared deeply about every soldier he commanded. What he did not care for was anything that might impede the probability of a successful mission. The Captain had always thought highly of Sarms ability as a slicer. As a soldier? That was a different matter altogether.

 

“If there’s a Jedi attached to this mission…” Sarms began incredulously. “Why send us at all? I mean, the way I see it, we’re talkin’ about a karkin’ Jedi! What is down there that he needs us for? Sith have pretty much pulled out of the Yag; there’s no trouble down there. And yet, why are we assigned to babysit a Jedi?”

 

A deep chuckled arose near Sarms after he finished. Corporal Santh Chono interjected: “You just said it yourself. Jedi doesn’t need us. Show some respect. He’s probably asking himself why he’s got to babysit you! Jeez, Sarmsy, did you even listen to the Captain?”

 

“Yeah, I did. And I still don’t get it.” Sarms countered, as if his confusion was as natural as breathing.

 

“And you don’t need to.” Captain Feran said, closing the matter.

 

“All you need to know is what we’re told: the Jedi is heading down there to search through an abandoned Sith position that was set up in an old temple. He’s going to search through it for the usual: holocrons and the like. Maybe find out why the Sith seem so ready to give up the Cluster to us. We head down with him in case they’re playing us for fools. Regardless, I've given you the map of our trip and the general positions we are going to hold while we proceed. We do it like we always have, so there should be no confusion. Now, any other questions?”

 

The way that Feran ended his sentence made it clear that he did not really expect anything more needed to be said. All that ever mattered to him was the big picture: what they needed to accomplish and how. Everything was secondary to the operational details of the mission itself and how to get the best results.

 

Topography, target information, possible support options, communications protocols. All of these were intricately laid out in each and every briefing because those were important. Those were the things that would keep his men alive. Those were the factors that would ensure Feran his perpetually sought after victory.

 

It was maybe the Captain’s only flaw; his hyperfocus on such things tended to mean that he didn’t bother with anything that he didn't think he needed to.

 

From the back of the room, the last member of the 408th spoke up. Quick and to the point, he tossed the question out with minimal diffidence. “Who is the Jedi?” Master Sergeant Jeos Dinas questioned. “Unless I’m mistaken, you sort of left that part out.”

 

Feran looked down at his datapad and began reciting the information. “Jedi Knight Raan Lous. Lorrdian. Age: 21 standard."

 

“Lorrdian?” Jeos mused. “The kinetic communicators? Their whole planet was annexed by the Myrialite Argazdans. Caused the Kanz Disorders."

 

“Impressive, Dinas.” Feran said. “Glad to see that you're on top of things.”

 

"I always aim to please, sir. You know, not all of us are as senile as you’ve gotten, old man.” Jeos grinned at his Captain. “I was only eleven when the Republic reclaimed the Kanz Sector. I remember hearing about it from my father. Made me wonder if I could ever accomplish something that good." the sniper offered.

 

“Good to know. Hopefully my senile old mind will remember this conversation.” Feran replied wryly. “But you’re right to ask. Looks like our friend's master served under Mari-Elan Nora as part of the Jedi/Republic task force that took most of the Kanz Sector from the Argazdans. Took him as a Padawan.” He glossed over the statement with uncharacteristic dismissal.

 

“You sound disappointed, sir.” Jeos commented. He’d been serving under Feran for 5 years now and knew how to read the Captain’s every word. Feran was not one to downplay the service of other soldiers.

 

It was oddly curt on the Corellian’s part, especially considering that the Kanz Disorders had claimed billions of lives due to the Argazdans’ occupation and enslavement of many planets in the sector. And the campaign there, although dying down, still was not quite over.

 

“You know me better, Jay.” Feran cautioned. His tone was even and measured. “Those people did a good thing liberating that sector. I just don’t particularly like the idea that we had to send a whole lot of Jedi and soldiers away from fighting the Sith. Maybe those soldiers could have made enough of a difference that we’d have won the war by now. Now, if there are no more questions, you have one hour to gear up and meet down in the hanger.”

 

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Location: Hammerhead-class cruiser Justice . Hanger Twelve. One Hour Later.

 

The hour passed without anything noteworthy for Jeos. Shortly after being dismissed, he made his way directly to his quarters and suited up immediately into his armor. The 408th was fortunate. They, along with fifty other such squads spread out through the Republic, had been chosen to field test the latest in armor: a new, reinforced combat suit which was made of a flexible yet durable plastoid.

 

The combination was surprisingly reliable and easy to move around in. The only issue was the tendency for the smaller pieces to slide underneath the areas at the joints. Jeos recently earned himself a nasty scar on his right forearm during a harsh landing during a previous mission when two pieces wedged together rather forcefully.

 

Rumors had gone through the ranks about a new type of Special Forces that General Garza was interested in creating. Beyond the initial development of this equipment for testing, however, it seemed the project was at a standstill. From what Jeos heard, High Command lacked the full support of the Senate to appropriate funds for its creation.

 

It was odd considering the Republic was facing the Sith once again. The last time the Sith were around the Republic almost did not recover. That alone should be enough for any request the military made to immediately be granted. It was as if the politicians did not have faith in the soldiers. It was as if they were all waiting for a collective wake up call. One that Jeos was not sure the Republic could afford.

 

Jeos spent the majority of his time after that down in the hanger. He needed to check and modify his rifle. Jeos was aware of some of the accusations the came his way. That he was too solitary. That he should spend more time with his squad. Sarms had once joked that Jeos could have “been replaced with a battle droid” and the squad would never notice. The comment had always stuck with him, mostly because sometimes he worried that Sarms might have been right.

 

It wasn’t as if he didn’t feel close to his squad but you tended to see a lot of close friends die after fighting as long as he had. It tended to take its toll. Setting aside some time to yourself to set your mind straight and steel yourself for the next battle was sometimes all you could do. Thus, Jeos’ selfish crusade to streamline his weapon. To control more variables so that he could protect his brothers in arms.

 

So far, all that Jeos had managed was to up the gas flow in his rifle. The greater amount of gas made for a rather substantial increase in strength and penetration per shot but the increased heat made it hard to fire successive shots. Jeos rationalized this with the fact that he would probably need only one shot anyway.

 

The modification was nice but Jeos was hard at work trying to find a way to magnetize the barrel for ease of flow and accuracy. He was hard at work trying to figure how to tackle the difficult problem when he was jolted out of his contemplation by a voice.

 

“Hey, Jeos! Get over here!” a familiar voice boomed from across the hanger. Captain Feran. Jeos instinctively leapt to his feet and turned, running to his CO. Feran was right next to their shuttle. Next to him was someone that Jeos never saw before now, not even in the weeks preceding this assignment. It was the Jedi.

 

The man stood tall, with a loose stance that seemed to hold more nobility in it than all of the aristocracy of Naboo put together. Brown haired and fair skinned, the Jedi was a striking sight to behold.

 

Whether the man was unconsciously practicing the kinetic communication of his people or simply trying his best to send of an aura of confidence, his presence radiated outwards like none that Jeos had ever seen. His face projected this too, smiling as Jeos walked towards him. Indeed, as the Jedi looked at everyone around him, he smiled as if he was intimately connected with each of them.

 

Jeos reached them quickly and saluted the Captain. “Sir!”

 

“At ease. Sarge, this is Jedi Knight Raan Lous.” the Captain said with a gesture, knowing that it was not needed. “He’ll be accompanying us down to Corva Yag.” Jeos smirked a bit at the Captain’s phrasing. It was more like they were tagging along with the Jedi but Feran was a proud man and that would never change. “Master Knight, Sergeant Dinas here is one of the best shots in the entire Republic.”

 

“Well, then.” Raan Lous said, with a bemused appreciation. “I’m glad that he’ll be coming along.” Jeos found it odd to feel complemented by the Knight, especially since Jeos was older and may have very well been fighting in the war longer for all he knew.

 

However, there was a natural energy to the Jedi that shifted the dynamic. That, and the fact that anyone who had control over a power like the Jedi wielded was worthy of the utmost respect. The stories that he heard about Jedi training…well, it was certainly a type of sacrifice that demanded reverence. The Jedi were heroes and deserved to be treated as such.

 

“All the honor is mine, sir.” Jeos said curtly. He almost half bowed but kept it to a nod. The Jedi was about to speak up in protest to Jeos’ deference when he was cut off by another cross hanger shout.

 

“Check it out, Santh!” the cocky voice blurted out with childlike exuberance. It was Corte Sarms “The Jedi! Oh, man, this is awesome!”

 

Corporal Chono’s voice followed, dry as a bone: “My eyesight is working fine, Sarmsy.”

 

The pair made their way over to the rest of the group. Quick introductions were made and it was not long before Sarms was already talking to the Jedi as if he'd known the man all his life. “Hey, can you help me win a few credits, pal?” he said conspiratorially. “I got ten to one with Chono here that you can't use one of those ‘mind tricks’ on me. This head is like a fortress, Master Knight.” He clamored into the shuttle before anyone else did.

 

Chono lugged his heavy repeating rifle over his shoulder and leaned in towards Raan Lous. With a chuckle, he offered “I'll split the credits with you, sir. You should have no problem.”

 

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Location: Corva Yag Surface. 6 Hours Later.

 

The temple, if could be called such, was little more than a dilapidated collection of barely supported rock slabs and columns. Around it, the tarnished remains of dust blown, cracked, Sith barricades stood guard against the harsh weather. “The Yag”, as it was colloquially known amongst the 408th, was a barely habitable world, hot and inhospitable. To call Corva Yag barren would be to elevate it a few notches in most people’s eyes. The planet was a sea of brown dust and rock.

 

The trip to their location was not particularly enjoyable, even with Knight Raan Lous’ company. Brutal heat collapsed down on the men of the 408th before and during their long march. So bad, in fact, that Captain Feran had allowed the men to leave their helmets with the drop ship at Lous’ suggestion. Not that it made a whole lot of difference.

 

Jeos surveyed the temple through a pair of electrobinoculars. While there were signs of recent activity, displaced goods and scouting terminals that still hummed with weak life, there was no indication that anyone occupied the site for some time now. Content that there was nothing to worry about, he turned and nodded down to Captain Feran and the Jedi Knight.

 

“All set! Let’s move!” Captain Feran shouted, taking the point and walking towards the inner courtyard of the makeshift base. “Looks like a blue milk run after all, Master Knight.” The 408th formed up behind their Captain. Santh splitting the lead with the Captain, Jeos forming on the center near the Jedi Knight, and Sarms covering the rear. As they made their approach, the Jedi spoke up.

 

“Do not be so sure, Captain.” Raan measured. “A man of your experience knows that appearances are often deceiving. I would very much hope to think it is nothing but I sense…something.”

 

Jeos instinctively chided in with the 408th’s motto: “Saltan valforamosa n telval mord.” The rest of the squad repeated it under their breath, even the Captain. The Jedi was right. Jeos felt something too, although he was sure it was not the same thing that the Jedi was feeling through the Force. It was the same sense of impending dread that had driven Jeos to the solitude of the hanger hours earlier.

 

In response, the Captain gave a series of hand gestures and assigned each of the men to a position. Jeos was sent to cover the outside while the rest went further in. Sarms stood guard at the door, while Captain Feran and Chono accompanied the Jedi into the temple.

 

All was quiet as the trio walked further into the abandoned Sith stronghold. Jeos said nothing as he looked out from his position. Nothing. Nothing except the bleak horizon. From inside the temple, he could just hear the voices through the distance.

 

“Odd.” carried the voice of Jedi Knight Raan Lous. “These systems are still online but I can’t access anything but some scouting reports on local wild life. No traces of any packets sent towards any type of command or a final report on why they left.”

 

The Captain spoke up. “Could just be encrypted but more likely deleted. Sarms is our technical wizard. We’ll call him up.”

 

The next thing Jeos expected to hear was the Captain call for Sarms. The last thing he expected was a blaster bolt to hit him right in the middle of his left calf. With a cry of pain, he dropped to his knee and twirled to see where the shot came from. His eyes widened when he saw the source, only barely believing it as he winced through the pain and leveled his rifle.

 

Private First Class Corte Sarms stood before him with a similar wide eyed shock, his own smoking blaster leveled back at Jeos. His face was white, as if he was fighting against someone choking him. His shocked eyes were oddly glazed. Jeos barely had time to register the fact that Sarms had shot him when a snakelike hiss and a flash of light and blood cut off his mind.

 

A red sword of light shot through Sarms’ chest with a sickening thrust. The sound of bisecting bones and melting plastoid rang out like a death knell. Sarms did not yell. He did not say anything. He simply fell forward. Dead. Within the passing of a few seconds, Corte Sarms was no more than memory.

 

“Interesting.” a sinister voce rang out. It was filled with rough, deep tones that sounded more beast than man. “Resisting the mind trick like that. I thought he would kill you for sure.”

 

From the shadows behind Sarms’ corpse, a tall man emerged. Clad in red and black, his face was monstrous to behold. It was covered in Sith tattoos and wore a sickening smirk. “He looked like a weak willed moron. No matter. He was weak enough, so he died.”

 

Wrath claimed Jeos’ heart as the Sith mocked Sarms. He moved his rifles sights to the Sith before him but before he could pull the trigger, the man raised his hand and made a gesture like he was gripping a fistful of air. Brutal and unbiased pain shot through Jeos’ leg. Through his use of the Force, the Sith was crushing Jeos’ freshly given wound. He screamed with pain as his vision constricted and darkened.

 

Suddenly, the resounding sound of blaster fire rang out and the pain lessened, if only slightly. There was a red flash of motion and a sharp twang as the Sith deflected the attack. Jeos was flung back with a Force based push as the Sith reeled to face his new attackers. He collided with a durasteel barricade. Twisting through the air, he slammed into it chest first and could feel one of his ribs give way, snapping even under the protection of his armor.

 

He fell, facing the action. He could just see what was happening. Captain Feran and Corporal Chono were firing their blasters with unrestrained fury. It was a useless gesture. The Sith barely moved out of the way, tossing his hand to the side and sending Chono flying to his right.

 

The Iridonian flipped through the air and smashed right into Captain Feran. They tumbled out of view, into the recesses of the temple. Jeos, is strength waning, collapsed to the dirt entirely. All that lay before him was Sarms’ broken body.

 

“Enough!” rang the assertive voice of Jedi Knight Raan Lous over the cold hiss of his igniting lightsaber. A wonderful viridian blade shot up, a beacon of the 408th’s own survival, and cast its glow down across the area. Jeos was in pain but now he did not fear.

 

“You will go no further, Sith! I am Raan Lous, Jedi Knight and servant of the Republic! Yield now or face your end!”

 

“I have no name to offer you, Jedi. I am the embodiment of my master’s will. I exist because he allows it. You will die because he demands it!” The Sith spat down at PFC Sarms’ corpse to emphasize his point. “I will not yield! Not to the likes of you!”

 

“Then your bones will bleach upon the wasteland…”

 

Raan Lous was upon his opponent in an instant. A ferocious slash shot upwards towards the Sith’s heart. The light green blade crashed directly into the Sith’s defensive block, a sloppy but direct one handed downwards parry which caught Lous’ own attack and forced it to a grinding stop.

 

The Sith’s free hand shot out and caught the Jedi right in the nose. He reeled backwards from the impact and twisted away in response, a sharp jerk which allowed him to narrowly avoid a follow up slash that would have cut hit torso from his body. The Sith's lightsaber, instead, only cut the air.

 

Lightning crackled and filled the air next as the Sith's tactics grew even more violent. Thunder rang through the temple as the Sith summoned dark blue streaks of electricity towards the Jedi. Knight Lous threw his lightsaber through the air, launching it forward with the Force.

 

The lightning, drawn to the blade, never reached the Jedi. It arched up towards the flying weapon. Lous ran underneath it and got just close enough. As the Sith ran to meet him, he pushed out with his hand and used the Force to toss him into the nearest pillar. Rushing forward, his lightsaber returned to his hand, lightning still swirling around the blade. Within seconds, the blade plunged into the Sith’s chest.

 

“Now…” Raan Lous said, gripping the hilt of his lightsaber in the middle of the Sith’s sternum. “Trouble us no more.” And the Sith obeyed, the life escaping his body. The battle was over almost as suddenly as it began.

 

Through their duel, Jeos could only stare at Sarms' lifeless eyes. The quick, brutal battle seemed miles away. Be it the shock of his squad mate’s sudden death or the crippling pain that numbed his mind, he could not snap out of his daze.

 

Time passed. Barely registered images flashed before him. Santh bellowing with rage as he saw Sarms’ corpse, rushing to brutalize the fallen Sith’s corpse. The sick crunch of the Iridonian’s fists against the Sith’s face. Knight Lous, somehow tearing wild soldier away.

 

The Captain and the Jedi lifting him in a fireman’s carry, Chono carrying the lifeless body of his fallen brother. The silent faces of all of them as the shuttle roared back towards the Justice. The Jedi, composed as always, directing medical staff and others as they arrived in the hanger. The cold yet soothing embrace of the kolto tank. Silence.

Edited October 16, 2012 by AlyxDinas

[AlyxDinas]

Location: Hammerhead-class cruiser Justice. 2 Weeks After Corva Yag Operation. 0900 Hours. 2 BTC.

 

The alarm woke Jeos up. The sharp tones assaulted his ears snapped him out of his deep sleep. Instinctively, Jeos leapt to his feet and groggily looked around, desperate for any sign of what was wrong. The alarm was distant, yet close. Something was not right. Jeos could not ascertain the source. The Justice’s standard battle alarm blared into each room of the ship through speakers which were situated in their ceilings. The one in his room was silent. However, another alarm was not. His personal bedside alarm.

 

Dazed with an odd mixture of adrenaline and still present mental fog, Jeos trudged over to the chrono and hit the alarm button. The noise ceased immediately, leaving Jeos to stare into the darkness of his room. Another absentminded flap of a switch and the lights flashed to life, blinding the sniper and filling his room with fluorescence.

 

Jeos stood for some time, letting his eyes adjust to the brightness and letting his bearing return to him. His head was throbbing worse than usual. Staggering forward for a moment, he almost tripped over something on the floor. Groggily staring down, he saw that they were two books.

 

Reading was one of Jeos’ true passions; it allowed him to rest but also had the added benefit of not leaving his mind too idle. He tended to just do searches over the HoloNet but he was able to find a few actual bound books sometimes when he was on shore leave. He wondered how they had ended up on the floor. He usually was not as haphazard with his possessions.

 

Bending down, he picked them up and examined them. The first was a crisp volume titled A Brief History of Grav-ball . He’d always liked the sport as a child and the way that it seemed to excite anyone no matter age or species. Jeos had to travel with his parents on merchant deliveries when he was younger and he always recalls how, no matter what planet they stopped at, thousands of people would line up for tickets outside of the Grav-ball stadiums even during times of war.

 

It was a unifier and it fascinated him. Reading about the sport’s history didn’t just bring back pleasant memories of his childhood, it also gave him hope that maybe the Republic could actually unify and win the war.

 

The second was a significant older tome titled The Fallacy of War by the philosopher Codus Romanthus. Its frayed edged belied an age that almost made the book seem as ancient as the words inside. Romanthus’ text was a commentary on the nature of conflict and what he consider the myth of victory in war.

 

Jeos remembered a particular quote that had stuck with him over the years: ‘Peace is found neither in hot blood nor in cold sweat.’ He had never really bought into that line of logic all that much. Romanthus clearly had never had to fight the Sith. As a reaction to his thought, Jeos chucked both of the books onto his bed with more force than he anticipated.

 

In the days after being released from the kolto tank, Jeos had been on edge. More than ever before. He couldn’t place it. He had never been this apprehensive after a mission, even his first real deployment with Captain Feran. Five years had passed since then, five years filled with death. He had lost comrades before.

 

Indeed, he and Captain Feran were the constants in the 408th Rangers since Jeos had joined the squad. Corporal Chono was getting there with three years in the unit but that might as well be an eternity to Jeos and the Captain. Lots of good people had come and gone. Bad luck, that saboteur of even the most meticulous of plans, had seen to that. And yet…

 

Jeos shook his head. “You can’t dwell on it, Jay.” He said, only half convincing him to abandon the line of thinking. They had been up against something they had no chance of combating. A fully trained Sith. A monster of the Dark Side. Jeos had only ever encountered a handful of them and each time had only survived thanks to Jedi.

 

Prior to Corva Yag, most experience with a true Sith was limited to seeing their crimson lightsabers clash with Jedi blades through the scope of his sniper rifle, with a few exceptions. Even then he knew that he owed his life to the Jedi. He shuddered for a second.

 

As a general rule of thumb, if you saw a Sith and they had a lightsaber ignited, you ran no matter how far away they were. What would it have been like if the Jedi were not around? What distant world would his life had ended on if not for those mysterious warriors?

 

He looked down at his scarred leg. The mark was noticeable but not problematic. It should have been worse. The kolto saved the limb; that was what the doctors said. The single blaster shot it had taken was not the problem, it was the damage done by the Sith’s devastating attack through the Force.

 

Jeos still felt the pain sometimes, a small pulse. Or he thought he did. He could not tell if it was really there. What he was certain of, what even the doctors would not acknowledge, was that Jedi Knight Raan Lous must have contributed to his recovery in the madness after the Sith fell. Jeos could swear he felt protection envelope the injury as they evacuated. Just one more thing he owed to the Jedi.

 

Seven minutes later, Jeos was out of the shower and ready to change into his uniform. It was more casual in comparison to his armor but he felt less comfortable in it. Whether it was simply the downtime and recovery, he couldn’t tell.

 

His armor was a second skin though. Without it, he felt less safe. Without it, he felt vulnerable. Combined with his general sense of paranoia, Jeos could barely stand it. Once finished, he moved over to a cabinet and opened it surreptitiously. He saw what he was looking for immediately: a bottle of Forvish ale. He took the bottle opened it, letting the distinctive aroma creep forward.

 

He had been drinking more. It steadied him. He would need it. He was supposed to meet with the Captain today and the new addition to their squad. He hadn’t spoken much to Feran after getting released from medical. The Captain had his hands full with Chono and the new recruit. Chono was a wreck. He had taken Sarms’ death very hard. Jeos could only imagine what the Zabrak was feeling.

 

Feran would have his hands full enough; the additional task of acclimating a new soldier to the Rangers was no easy thing either. Jeos, between recovery and physical therapy, had not seen his squad outside of a few visits to the med bay. He poured his drink and downed it quickly, letting it burn down his throat. His personal vacation from duty was over. It was back to business as usual.

 

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Location: Hammerhead-class cruiser Justice. 408th Operations Room. Thirty Minutes Later.

 

He was here early. Jeos and the Captain wanted to meet before the rest of the squad showed up in order to discuss matters. The Captain was waiting for him when he arrived, looking poised and businesslike. If he was feeling anything like the rest of his squad, it did not show. Service seemed to give him strength.

 

Seeing that Feran, even after all his years of service and all his losses, was able to project such composure was enough to give Jeos his own measure of confidence, if only one that was heavily supplemented by liquor. Jeos entered the room and offered a quick salute to his Captain, who responded likewise before ordering Jeos to sit down.

 

“How are you doing, Jeos?” Feran asked with fatherly concern. For his posture, it looked as if he was resisting the urge to actually help the man into his seat. Feran seemed to understand that this would wound Jeos’ pride. Instead, he followed up simply. “Leg holding up?”

 

Jeos shrugged. The extra time off had not really been necessary in his mind. He had been ready to serve the minute he was released from the kolto tank. The extra downtime had made him restless. It probably showed. “Considering it is still there at all, I’m doing well sir. You wanted to speak to me?”

 

The Corellian nodded. A simple affirmation. “Yes, I did. I’m sure you’ve noticed it, even without being around all the time. We’ve been hit hard by this last one."

 

“I wish I knew why that was, sir.” Jeos confided. “We’ve lost people before. Specialist Andles back on Gesaril…” Thinking about that one made Jeos uncomfortable. Seeing Andles’ body sink beneath the jungle planet’s swamp was something he would likely never forget. Just as he would never forget the look in Sarms’ eyes when he died.

 

“That was different.” The Captain offered. Clearly he had an idea why. “That was just us. This time it was us and a Jedi. The others hadn’t worked with a Jedi before and even those who have, like you and me, felt invincible with him around. What happened, it showed us how wrong we were. How strong our enemy is. How small we are.”

 

The theory made some sort of sense. Despite a few setbacks here and there, the 408th had never failed to accomplish a mission, had never been so thoroughly beaten. It was a painful revelation. The Force, be it magic or actually some galaxy wide essence, had made their entire training amount to nothing. Jeos did not want to believe it, however. “If anyone failed, it was me. I should have been more alert, I should have-“

 

He didn’t finish. The Captain slammed a fist against the table. “I’ll have no talk like that here, son! You’ve been with this squad for years and you haven’t learned one of the most important lessons I’ve been trying to teach you: You. Can’t. Save. Everyone.”

 

It was shocking. Feran had not launched into such a lecture for some time, at least with Jeos. And the worst part was that he was entirely correct. Jeos, for all of his experience, could never quite let go of his idealism. Each death he had faced had built upon the other, culminating with Sarms. It had finally become too much. And Feran could tell that Jeos had nearly reached his breaking point.

 

“You think I don’t know why you run off by your lonesome time and time again? Why you spend less and less time around your team and more and more time obsessing over the battlefield? You keep everything bottled up inside and it is going to take a toll on you, soldier. You need to let go and stop being afraid to admit that there are things outside of your control. This is war. People die.”

 

“What about Chono? Has he gotten any better?” Jeos was deflecting, changing the topic. He had nothing to say. The Captain’s point was nigh irrefutable. He needed to be stronger. Not just for himself but for his squad. Not doing so would be an infinitely larger failure than anything that could happen in the field.

 

The Captain said nothing. The silence was answer enough. Finally, he spoke up again.

 

“It will take him some time. The results are easy to see, not just in his person but in his latest training exercises. He’s becoming a bit more reckless. Santh’s always been brave but now he’s just not thinking. Rushing ahead. The man probably wishes that he died in the Yag as well. That will shift. At the very least, he’s pointing the blame where it belongs. Towards the enemy. I can’t say I envy any Sith that wanders past Santh Chono anytime soon.”

 

“Well…” Jeos began. Before he could offer anymore thoughts on the matter, Corporal Santh Chono ambled into the room. He said nothing. Offered a casual salute and took a seat. He barely made eye contact with either of them.

 

“Chono.” Jeos offered curtly. He didn’t really know how to proceed. Instinctively, he tried to cover the uncomfortable pall that seemed to permeate the room. “The Captain and I were just discussing the new recruit. Weren’t we, sir?”

 

“Jeos is the only one who hasn’t met the Private." The Captain played along. The old man didn’t miss a beat. He’d been though a lot more than Jeos; he was just as quick on his feet when it came to things like this. The sudden shift in their energy must have seemed forced. Jeos was sure that Santh hadn’t bought it at all.

 

“You mean Sarms’ replacement.” Chono corrected. His voice was muted and even more clipped than it used to be. His old zeal for life had been taken from it and replaced with a pained resentment. As he took a seat, it seemed to buckle not only under the weight of his muscles but of his soul as well.

 

The Captain let it slide and continued as if he hadn’t heard it. Santh was a good soldier. Time would heal the wounds. That, and the chance to return to combat and bust some Sith skulls. “Terrio will be a valued addition to the Rangers. I personally selected her for his duty. I did some teaching back at the Academy on Corellia. The Private was extremely competent.”

 

“The Captain is putting it modestly.” A light, brash voice interrupted from the operations room door. “I was the best.”

 

Jeos turned to look at the source of the boast. For a moment, he was entirely convinced that he was seeing Shiraya herself. Jeos almost shook his head to convince himself that what he was seeing was really there.

 

Terrio’s face was fair and luminous. A confident cat like grin seemed to fill it with even more life than what Jeos thought was possible in a person. Her figure was svelte but not in the same way as, say, a Twi'lek dancer. Terrio was obviously toned through the fires of rigorous training and war.

 

Tough but with a subtle hint of something intimately kind. Her blond hair was tied up in a messy bun, a few loose strands falling across the right side of her face. However, all of this was little more than accessory to her eyes. Terrio’s eyes were a light, crystal blue. Icy yet warm. It was all Jeos could do from staring into them and not looking away.

 

The Captain stood up and gestured Terrio into the room. Jeos instinctively stood up and walked forward to meet her. She snapped a quick salute to him, which he returned to her as the Captain spoke up. “Jeos, this is Private Lanen Terrio. Private, this is Master Sergeant Jeos Dinas. Squad sniper and second in command.”

 

“Good to finally meet you, Dinas!” Terrio offered, forgoing formalities. Jeos was not used to that. It surprised him. “...Captain, this guy smells like Forvish Ale.”

 

“I also happen to be the best shooter on the Justice and your superior, Private.” Jeos responded more by rote than by need. He wasn’t offended, if anything he was amused. It was only his overwhelming respect for regulations that had made him speak. His mind was still frozen from his first gaze upon Terrio. “Let’s hope that you’re as good as you say you are.”

 

“Does a peko-peko crap in the woods, sir?” Terrio rejoined, grinning all the while. They all started to take seats.

 

“You’ve obviously not seen many peko-peko.” Jeos countered, responding to her natural energy. “I grew up on Naboo. Peko-peko crap everywhere.” He elaborated, smiling back at Terrio before the Captain proceeded to lay out their schedule for the day.

 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Location: Hammerhead-class cruiser Justice. Secondary Armory and Firing Range. Sixteen Hours Later. 0400 Hours.

 

Jeos couldn’t sleep. Even after a day filled with group PT and training scenarios, rest had eluded him. He couldn’t place what it was. To all intents and purposes, he was exhausted. True, he had been on edge for the last few days but that had not stopped him from getting rest. Indeed, today’s drills were so intensive that by all rights, he should have been on the floor.

 

Captain Feran had upped the units usual 5 mile run to 8 in an effort to sweat out the newly arrived Private Terrio. That, and the various combat maneuvers they practiced had simulated scenarios against overwhelming forces not unlike those the Republic faced in the Battle of Bothawui.

 

Scenarios they were unlikely to face on the scouting and targeting missions which the 408th took part in. Everyone had performed admirably, even Terrio. She was right to boast. She was as good a replacement for Sarms as any, right down to her big mouth and swagger.

 

Sarms. Jeos couldn’t stop thinking about what happened on Corva Yag. There must have been something he could have done to prevent it. He could have been more alert, more ready with his rifle. Something, anything.

 

Whatever it was, he couldn’t think of it. Instead, he sulked off to the armory to work on his rifle and get in more practice rounds at the range. His shots were hitting their mark. But he could be faster. If only he’d finish the rifle modifications that he wanted to before he had left for Corva Yag. Maybe the Captain was right. Maybe he just needed to let it go.

 

How long had he been firing? How long had he spent down here? Shooting. Nothing but shooting. Somehow thinking that he could improve upon his one nearly perfect skill. Apparently, it was long enough for someone else to have joined in. He was so intent on his endeavor that he hadn’t noticed. Only now that he stopped to take a break did he notice the other solider.

 

Private Terrio was busy shooting with a standard issue assault rifle, letting off carefully timed burst. She was not as taken in by her shooting as he had been. When Jeos stopped, she was not far behind. She placed her rifle down on the range counter and strolled over to Jeos. “Can’t sleep, sir?” she grinned.

 

“Yeah…” Jeos said absentmindedly, not really meaning to sound as distant as he did. “I could ask you the same thing to you, Private. Any particular reason you’re lurking down here after your first day and not sleeping after the hell that Captain Feran put you through?"

 

Terrio shrugged, almost as if Jeos’ question was odd to ask. “Just brushing up on my shooting.” she dismissed.

 

“Yeah, right.” Jeos scoffed, seeing through this display as effortlessly as if he’d known the soldier all his life. “Most people would be braying like a bantha cut off from the herd after their first day with the Rangers. Most people would also be smart enough to expect the same the next day. Either you’re really confident or you’re really stubborn. Which one is?”

 

Terrio grabbed a free crate from nearby and made herself a makeshift chair. “Maybe I’m just really good.” she preened as she sat on the crate. Jeos followed her lead and grabbed himself his own improvised stool.

 

Sitting down, he chided: “Careful, Private. The Justice is a big ship but I don’t know if there’s enough room for that ego. Are you two sharing quarters or rooming separate?”

 

Terrio’s icy blue eyes flared for a minute. They didn’t seem angry. If anything, they flared with more vigor at the Sergeant’s unspoken challenge. “Well, at least they don’t coat ships with paint named for how dull I am. Tell me, how many standard gallons of “Jeos Dinas Regulation Grey” did this ship need?”

 

There was silence for a moment as the insult set in. It did not last. Jeos began to laugh. Terrio joined in moments after. It was absolutely liberating, a gift that Terrio had delivered with such ease that it seemed impossible. It was cut off only when Jeos began to speak. “Seriously Terrio, why are you down here?” he asked, his voice calm and measured. “You can tell me.”

 

She looked down for a moment, almost ashamed. She didn’t speak for a minute, only looking at Jeos embarrassedly. Their eyes locked. Jeos did not press the point; he could tell by her stare that she needed to admit the truth as to herself and much as to Jeos. He gave her all the time she needed. Eventually she relented. “I’m nervous.” she divulged, turning her face away.

 

“Is that it? You’re nervous?” he recited to the anxious soldier. “You’re almost fresh out of the Academy, Terrio. I’d be worried if you weren’t nervous. You were stationed on the Chara for what, all of 3 months? You saw only a handful of fighting and you’re here because the Captain remembers how good you were as a cadet. It is only natural to be nervous. But you’re going to be fine. I promise you that. You did really well today in training.”

 

“Corporal Chono didn’t seem to think so.” she muttered resentfully, wounded.

 

Jeos sighed. Chono had been very dismissive of Terrio. However, her performance today put to rest any thoughts that she wouldn’t fit in and pull her own weight. She was being too hard on herself. Jeos hadn’t even done as well on his first day training as a squad under Feran. “Chono just had his best friend killed by the Sith. What did you expect? A welcoming parade? The last couple of weeks have been rough on us. We’re lucky to be alive. Sarms was…”

 

“Is that why you’re down here?” she interrupted. It was even really a question. She had lost all the edge to her voice, replaced it with understanding. It was so sympathetic that it was almost too much to bear.

 

Jeos stood up. “Get some rest, Lanen.” he said, taking his rifle and placing it back on the rack. It felt heavy in his hands as he lugged it over to its place. Heavier than ever before.

 

When he turned around, Terrio was right in front of him. She said nothing. Quickly, she placed her lips on his. Jeos did not draw away. He returned her kiss. For a singular moment, the war was over. The Sith were gone. His wounds and scars seemed to fade from his body. There was only her and the moment.

 

And at long last, after nearly a decade of fighting, it hit him. The realization of exactly what he was seeking on the battlefield all of those years. Of what Codus Romathus had really meant. The truth washed over his mind so utterly and completely that it astounded him: he had never really understood anything. Life could be so much simpler than he was making it.

 

More images flashed over his mind. The green fields of Naboo, its crisp azure sky hanging above. He saw himself living there. He had a small homestead and as he gazed out over the land before him, he finally felt at rest.

 

And he knew. He wanted that more than anything else he had ever wanted before. He wanted to share it with her. And not just that. Everything.

 

And then it was over. He was on the Justice once again and the Sith threatened the galaxy. Before he could say anything, she answered his question for him. “So you’d stop wondering.” she purred before flashing her feline grin and leaving the armory.

 

Jeos stood there, looking straight ahead as if he was hit by a bounty hunter’s paralysis dart. Alone in the armory he spoke out to no one in particular. “What the hell just happened?”

Edited October 16, 2012 by AlyxDinas

[AlyxDinas]

Location: En route to the Undercity. Coruscant. 0400 Hours. 2 ATC.

 

He was falling. Even underneath his helmet, Jeos Dinas could feel the wind whipping past his face. Yet, as he fell deeper and deeper into the labyrinthine architecture of the planet, he also fell further into a Zen-like calm. For someone whose only measure of safety was a jerry rigged rappel line, he was handling the situation very well. Perhaps he had been made numb to such situations, had come to accept them as commonplace. Even as his guts turned in on themselves and shot into his chest, he made no noise except to breath.

 

Around him, the rest of his squad rappelled towards solid ground, leapfrogging from side to side of the dilapidated shaft with the same determined composure that they always carried in the field. In spite of this Jeos wondered, even as he boldly made his way into the bowels of Coruscant, if they would ever be the same as they once were. If anyone would.

 

Two years after the planet was bombarded by the Sith. Two years after the war ended. Two years of recovery and rescue. Even after all this time, it still seemed like a bad dream. The image of the broken capital planet was seared into his mind and into the minds of any who beheld it.

 

Piles of wreckage stacked nearly as high as the buildings they once were. Areas of the city devoted entirely to the identification of the dead. The smoke, heavier than all the collective sadness of the whole Republic, still seemed to hang over the planet as a constant reminder of what was lost. Of the glory that could never be recovered as long as the Treaty was in place and the Sith Empire existed.

 

Jeos longed to strike out at his enemy. To be dropped right onto Korriban itself and leave a well aimed hole in the head of every Sith he could. Instead, he and the 408th were well into their second year of being stationed on Coruscant. Instead of fighting Sith on some remote field, they were now fighting on their own planet against their own citizens.

 

As the relief efforts spread across the planet, they focused mostly on the higher levels. As a result, areas like the Undercity had fallen into the hands of gangs and developed a decidedly feudal state of affairs. Constant battle and death was the norm and it wasn’t going to change anytime soon. Orders had come down from High Command that select units were to shift the focus of their operations to pacifying the situation which plagued the lower levels of the planet. That was where the 408th came in.

 

The team had recently been assigned to attack a criminal element known as the Jackals, a swoop gang which had isolated a small part of the Undercity and claimed it as their own. Identifying the power station for their entire sector, the Jackals had shut down the only service elevator into their territory.

 

Thus, rappelling. Thus, a whole lot of rappelling. Finding the right location took Captain Feran a considerable amount of time studying the sector’s infrastructure and it had taken the 408th just as much time to reach it once identified.

 

It was time well invested. Below him, Jeos heard the impact of feet against earth. Corporal Santh Chono's massive form connected with the planet’s surface, scrambling off of its rappel line and immediately lugging his rotary blaster cannon into the ready position.

 

His body language suggested that he suspected that their position might be swarmed by the whole might of the Sith Empire. Strong. Ready. Santh had no time for weakness. Not anymore.

 

Within moments, Jeos too felt the ground meet his boots. Quickly detaching from his line, he hit the ground a little too fast and actually needed to drop to one knee to prevent him from placing all of the force of his impact on his ankles.

 

Raising his rifle, he covered the area as Captain Feran and Terrio landed beside him. Instinctively, he offered his hand to Lanen as she landed and undid her safety harness. She, in turn, gave him her hand and offered a small slap to his shoulder with the other once free of her harness.

 

“Thank you, Jay.” she said, raising her own weapon too. The area was empty, the site specifically selected due to its distance from the Jackal’s main encampment, which was based around the sector’s power station. “But next time we go on a date, I get to choose where were go. Somewhere a bit more popular, with a band. A good one!”

 

“Fair enough.” Jeos offered. “We are dropping in without a reservation."

 

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Location: The Undercity. Jackal Territory. Coruscant. 20 minutes later.

 

“He’s coming to you. He’s coming to you. Slowly.”

 

Jeos’ voice rang through his helmet comm unit. His gaze was fixed down the scope of his rifle. Through the rifle’s finely tuned scope, he could see a Drovian saunter towards Corporal Santh Chono. The squad had just barely reached the edge of Jackal territory. Before them lay a massive sprawl of garbage and debris; tangled wire and piled up slabs of fallen durasteel formed makeshift ramparts and trenches.

 

The only entrance was a barely open pathway mark with a small flag: a doglike skull surrounded by flames. Further past the improvised entrance laid a reminder of those who thought to enter.

 

A crude pile of corpses set rotting, hastily sprawled as an omen to those who might think about entering without due reason. Barely concealed behind the high ramparts of the Jackal’s decaying fortress, Chono hid and waited to strike. And it was from this fortress that the Drovian departed.

 

Drovians were a common enough sight in most impoverished areas around the galaxy. Large, with pincers that could cut limbs clean off if given cause, Drovians were well known for their strength. They were the perfect fit for the sort of industrial work that formed the backbone of the economy in the Undercity.

 

They were also a good fit for basic criminal grunt work. The very presence of a Drovian was enough to make most unfortunate Undercity market stall owners hand over their credits without a question. If Chono was nervous about facing one down, he did not let it show.

 

“Got it.” was Santh’s simple reply. Cold and wicked, it was filled with barely contained anticipation. It almost sounded like he was eager to test his strength. Just at the scope’s edge, he could see Santh’s form sidled against the barricade. The Drovian drew closer each passing moment. Jeos’ trigger finger itched fiercely. With a simple tap, a simple squeeze of his little finger he could end this monster’s life.

 

The Captain had made it harshly clear that was not going to happen. He wanted this one taken alive. This time around, the Captain was apparently planning something a bit more theatrical. How had he phrased it? If you wanted to kill a Divto, you had to cut off all of its heads?

 

Jeos wasn’t even fully sure what a Divto was, let alone what the plan was but he needed to trust the Captain. Feran had never let him down before. And if that meant sending Chono ahead this time, he was going to do as he was told to. He just wasn’t going to lie to the Captain and tell him he loved not knowing what was going on.

 

“Captain.” shot out Terrio’s voice over the comm. “We’ve got the drop on them. We’ve got the weapons. We’ve got Chono, for cryin’ out loud! Seems to me we have all the advantages.”

 

“Just you wait.” Feran ordered back to Terrio, not offering any further clarification for his command.

 

“Ofax ets burrin tehn, sir.” Jeos added in Olys Corellisi. “I’m with Terrio on this one. Waiting doesn’t sit well with me this time around. They’re a bunch of skrag. They made their choices, Captain.”

 

“They didn’t choose anything.” Captain Feran countered. “Some people are born scum no differently than how some people are born stronger or smarter than other people. We’re just separating the wheat from the chaff, Jay. That’s how we get order. Those higher up make sure that those on the bottom don’t kill each other.”

 

“If they didn’t choose this, how can we give them the judgment you say they deserve?” Jeos followed up, feeling a bit uneasy at the implications of Feran’s statement. “If I can speak freely, Captain, that’s a dangerous line of thought.”

 

“Dangerous people.” was all that that the Captain said to this, as if it was a no brainer. He tone was clear. He didn’t want to engage in the matter further. He had no compassion for the Jackals.

 

That compassion was found in the voice of Lanen Terrio, who cut through the discussion with frankness and simplicity that was downright astounding. “Somehow I doubt they were born this way. But I’m also pretty sure that they didn’t have a whole lot of options to choose either.”

 

“Not to interrupt the existentialism but I do have an overly aggressive and violent Drovian bearing down on my position. “ It was Santh. “I heard somewhere that they have really big pincers.”

 

“Yeah, well…” Jeos observed. “They’re right on top of you. Go!”

 

Santh popped out of his corner quickly, wheeling about and grabbing the Drovian. There was no time for the Drovian to scream or yell in surprise. Santh barely laid hold of the swooper before he spun around, taking the Drovian with him and slamming his head into the steel barrier. It seemed to daze him well enough but it was not enough for Corporal Santh Chono.

 

Santh’s right leg fired out and hit the Drovian’s. Jeos could have sworn that he heard the bones crack from where he was. The Drovian struggled to get up but Santh’s vibroblade was at his neck before another moment passed.

 

“See?” chimed the Captain. “Just you wait.”

 

For some reason, Jeos didn’t quite like the mischievous tone in his CO’s voice. “Why do I get a bad feeling about this?”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Location: The Undercity. Jackal Territory. Coruscant. 85 minutes later.

 

Cryokk limped back into the main Jackal camp. It had taken the lumbering Drovian longer than he thought it would to make the trip. The pain in his right leg was still immense and each step caused it to spring up in flares.

 

The whole process would be easier if he wasn’t dragging a fully armor Republic soldier around with him. The added weight was not kind to his recent injury. The only real thing that made his steps lighter was the cheers that swarmed around him and a vague thought of reward that floated in his mind. His pincers tightened on the soldiers arm.

 

“Halle metes chun, petchuck!” roared Master Sergeant Jeos Dinas, unhelmeted and quite annoyed. The shock of pain running up his arm felt so intense, it felt like he had been stabbed. Mentally, he cursed his fortune. “That hurts!”

 

Around him, laughter cascaded up through the . The raucousness tolled at a fever pitch. Full of arrogance and assumption. It droned on and on, lasting for…well, he wasn’t too sure how long but it seemed cut off immediately as soon as a lone voice spoke.

 

“Well, what have we here?” beamed a voice which carried across the camp. Half machine, it passed through a voice modulater. The voice forced out its Basic with a clear vocal affectation that was barely masked by its confidence. “A leettle far away from the upper ceety, eh, Repub-leec dog?”

 

Jeos looked up and saw something that clearly didn’t belong. Before him stood a humanoid of moderate size, shabby and stark. Jeos could not quite see the man’s clothing, hid as it was by a long, ragged cloak. However, he could see what adorned the man’s head. He was wearing an unfeeling helmet which hid his face behind a breath mask and his eyes behind an empty visor.

 

The leader of the Jackals was Ubese.

 

The whole affair seemed odd. To see an Ubese on Coruscant was rare enough, given their intense hatred of the Republic. Having your colonies glassed on the orders of the local sector council would do that to a people.

 

Most Ubese had made it a point at the start of the Great War to aid the Sith, most had stayed in Sith space working as mercenaries and bounty hunters. Seeing them deep within the Core was odd enough; having one of them lead a swoop gang in the capitol's Undercity was something else entirely.

 

“Your name." The Ubese demanded loftily. "Tell me it before I keell you. Honorable executions are done between those who know the other’s name. ”

 

“Master Sergeant Jeos Dinas. Republic Army Service Number: RA16 8541” Jeos gritted through his teeth in reply. He had no patience for the thug leader's attempts to appear refined. He really was not enjoying this to say the least. If he could talk to the Captain right now, he would have quite a few choice words.

 

“Sergeant Dinas, there is no need for such hosteelity. You are a bit out of your element here, I do think.” the Ubese crooned through his helmet. “Allow me to introduce myself in turn: I am Arguse. And you have found your way into a den of Jackals.”

 

Once again, the laughter and screams. This time mixed in with taunts. Their choir of chaos contained all that was vile. All that was unlawful and wrong. It was the cry of a poisoned people. And it needed to be silenced. Through the torrent of cackling, Arguse poke up once more.

 

"Thees man have violated the sanctity of our borders! It is a crime worthy of death! See the Repub-leec's answer to dissent? They feer us! We have taken part of their precious capital away from them. We have created our own Republic, our own Empire, where the only rules are the ones that we make! And we all know one of the most important rules: eef you are stupeed enough to get caught, you've proven yourself of no value.

 

If you have something to say…" he finshed charitably while raising his own pistol. “Thees would be the time to do so. Well? Anything?”

 

“Yeah…” Jeos grinned, bracing himself for what came next. Turning to address the den of criminal, he made a bold proclamation:

 

“You all might want to duck for some cover.”

 

As if on cue, blaster fire hailed down on the camp from above. Bodies fell like drops of rain. Behind him, Cryokk dropped to the ground and cowered with his face in the dirt. An unrelenting storm of blaster bolts hit target after target. In their own home, many of the Jackals were unarmed. In this state, they were like so much wheat ready for harvesting.

 

From nowhere, the 408th materialized around Jeos, dropping down on their rappel lines from the maze of steel girders above. They disengaged together, their weapons level and spewing forth death. Off to Jeos' side, Corporal Chono let loose with a stream of blaster fire from his rotary blaster cannon that hosed down the upper catwalk of the camp, mowing the gang members down with terrifying prejudice.

 

Jeos could barely hear what was going on over the noise of the shooting but he could feel when his sniper rifle slammed into his hands.

 

“This is for you!” Lanen Terrio’s voice shouted in his ears, even as she began to pick off shot at her targets. “Now you really have to take me somewhere nice!”

 

"You were right about this place, Lan!" Jeos admitted with mock pain in his voice, as if he could not bare to concede the point to her. "The service is terrible!"

 

Before him, Arguse stood paralyzed with awe as his ragged empire fell around him. Jeos did not really aim his shot as much as command it. A single shot burst forth from its barrel, colliding with the Ubese’s chest. He fell backwards and hit the ground with a crash that sounded even over the screams of dying men.

 

People screamed. People begged. People died. The squad sparred none who could not escape their wrath.

 

Soon, no one stood except the 408th and one other. From the ground rose Cryokk, shaking and stunned. His crude Drovian face was etched with horror. When he agreed to the deal the Republic captain made while the Zabrak held him at knife point, he did not know what to expect. Only that he would be spared. He’d held up his end of the bargain. He had done exactly what the Captain told him to. He wondered if he'd done the right thing.

 

“I told you.” said Captain Feran. “Just you wait.” Inside, Jeos resisted the urge to point out the needless flair of the plan, how reckless it was. Indeed, Jeos was utterly amazed that the Drovian had not sold out the plan to his gang.

 

Perhaps he had feared Arguse enough that he didn’t want to admit that squad had gotten the drop on him. Perhaps he thought that he would be disposed of along with the 408th. What was it that the Ubese had said about being stupid enough to get caught?

 

Whatever the case was it didn’t change the fact that Feran had forgone a traditional, safer plan for one that had essentially played roulette with Jeos’ life for no other reason that the fact that he could. Only the plan's success and his respect for the Captain held Jeos’ tongue.

 

“Some of them got away.” lamented Corporal Santh Chono. Considering just how thorough he, in particular, had been in his efforts to cull their numbers, it was a impressive feat that any had managed to so do. The shock and aw nature of their entrace must have scared some of them off right away. “They’ll be back eventually.”

 

“If they do,” countered the Captain. “They’ll probably be left selling whatever they can to survive. We did what we needed to here.”

 

“What about the Drovian, sir?” added Terrio. Her tone was measured. Clearly, she was not sure what to do with him but is was obvious that she did not want to go against their agreement with the swooper. She waited on the Captain for guidance on the matter.

 

A single shot rang out in the Jackal’s den. One more body lay among the dead. “What about him?” finished Captain Morlis Feran.

Edited October 16, 2012 by AlyxDinas

[AlyxDinas]

Location: Residential District #784. Coruscant. 2 Days After Operation Against the Jackals. 0200 Hours. 2 ATC.

 

Sneaking out always made him feel guilty. It always made Jeos feel like he was disobeying a parent’s curfew. The night air was oddly heavy as he made his way out to the city streets. Impulsively, he cast a gaze back at the large apartment complex behind him. It was one of countless such structures that claimed the Coruscant cityscape, making one residential area of the planet nearly indistinguishable from the next.

 

This one was his. Or at least it was now. The attack on Coruscant had not only left most military barracks in shambles but it also had the left, for reasons best left unsaid, a great deal of vacancies around the city. Empty rooms that the Republic, bringing in troops to aid in the reconstruction efforts, had appropriated for their own use.

 

The 408th had been shacked up in a residential district that wasn’t particularly close to the Senate District or the other areas of the capital that needed the most reconstruction but was near enough to one of the main service elevators to the Undercity, where the majority of their work was done.

 

They made use of it until the Jackals had cut the power and forced them to use more creative means to make their way to the Undercity. The 408th had a floor of the apartment complex to themselves. Jeos himself had his own apartment with Lanen, a small oversight on the paper work by Captain Feran had seen to that although he insisted it was a fortunate error by a less than capable file clerk.

 

Jeos had heard accusations that the 408th and the Captain were rapidly approaching the line of being “Mildly Military”, a regulatory looseness that was saved mostly for a few of the Republic’s most valued special forces units.

 

It wasn’t as if Captain Feran was completely eschewing proper protocol. He still was every bit the career man that he always was and ran the 408th with his characteristic fervor. Yet, as Jeos made his way out to towards the heart of the broken capital, he still could not dismiss his gut feelings that the claims held more weight than he wanted to admit.

 

Jeos Dinas was a man who definitely saw the benefits of rules. Order and stability were the hallmarks of a strong and just society. Laws and rules were a measure of that. It was what the Sith and the Mandalorians lacked. They pretended to have them. They sought chaos and thrived on conflict.

 

Power struggles and a collective hatred may have honed their cultures into fearsome enemies but it had also left them without a true sense of unity. The Sith and Mandalorians would gladly fight the same enemy together but that was it. Looking about the struggling city before him, he understood the real strength of the Republic.

 

A member of the Republic would willingly risk their own life to pull someone else out of fallen rubble. A Sith would leave them to die. A Mandalorian might pull them out of the rubble if they could stop fighting for two seconds to see the destruction they’ve caused.

 

And that was a very big “if”. On Coruscant, in the Republic? You simply did it because it was the right thing to do. All the collective rage of the Sith Empire wouldn’t change that simple truth. You could bloody the nose of the Republic but when the chips were down, you could never break its backbone.

 

Jeos walked down the block, briskly making his way past a handful of alleyways and tenet buildings. The permacrete streets were fairly empty as he made his way to the transportation station. He placed his hands into his coat pocket and he strolled on his way.

 

The city excited him in a way that he would never understand. Maybe it was because it was so different than his childhood. And while he longed for the tranquil fields of his home planet, the city life still held its own charms. The city was alive and vibrant. It was stimulating. It teemed with life. And at this late hour, there was only one place to go if you wanted to really see how alive a city could get.

 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Location: The Cranky Gundark. Entertainment District #3. Fifteen minutes later.

 

The cantina was filled to the brim with folks from all walks of life, as per usual. Jeos had expected no less from the Gundark. The establishment had a reputation for bringing in honest, hard working people. Construction workers, mechanics, spacers, the occasional soldier.

 

The Cranky Gundark was a watering hole for people that Jeos would be quick to classify as “real”.

 

These people were the true lifeblood of the Republic. They built its houses, kept its infrastructure running, traded its goods, and fought its battles. Here, in stark contrast to the various internal conflicts across Republic space, was a common ground where all were equals.

 

Drinks were shared with reckless abandon and while some disputes might end with a few thrown punches, no one held real ill will towards another personally. Jeos snaked his way through the crowd towards the bar, taking in the sights and sounds of the cantina.

 

A roar of sound erupted in the back room, where casual Pazaak players came and went with wild abandon and often seemed more content to talk a big game and let the true card players take their credits as if it was some down payment on the fellowship they found. Someone had just made their own donation by the sound of it.

 

Jeos shoved past a fairly large, bearded Rodian who was staggering drunkenly to a table of his peers who were laughing raucously at his clear effort to avoid falling to the floor.

 

At last, he reached the bar and asserted his own place hoping that the bartender would soon come over. As he waited, Jeos could not help but notice a section of the cantina that seemed oddly quiet. To one side of the cantina, two people sat in a booth by themselves. They were being given a wide berth from the rest of the customers. Peering through the sea of faces, he could barely make out the booth’s inhabitants but it told him enough.

 

One was a tall Ithorian, sitting with a serene clam that Jeos had seen once or twice before in his life. The Ithorian’s face was a wall, showing no sign of perceptible thought. The other individual was much, younger. A teenage girl, she seemed to lack some of her partner’s patience. She was looking around impatiently for something. Both were dressed in loose, free robes. The young one wore a covering on her head, as if she were part of a religious order.

 

Jeos could tell immediately who they were. Anyone could tell. Jedi. That explained why they were being left to their own devices. Half of the people in the cantina treated them with a near limitless awe and fear while the other half had probably given in to the common fallacy that they somehow bore most of the blame for this past war.

 

Idiots. Jeos thought derisively. Anyone whose spent two seconds actually talking with a Jedi would dismiss that notion as pure garbage. They are heroes and anyone who thinks otherwise…

 

“Whayyda’ll have, Sarge?” a voice shot out behind him. The bartender had finally made his way over. Tall, with a grin wider than a Hutt, he spoke with a loose familiarity of a lost relative. His receding hairline teased of threat of age but his face burgeoned with a zeal for the well lived life.

 

“Two glasses of Renan and a Ruby Bliel. Put it on my tab and I’ll pay you tomorrow” Jeos answered. “Make sure the glasses are clean, Kardra!"

 

“Planning on saying hello?” he asked. There was a small clinking sound as the three drinks were placed on the counter. Jeos could almost smell the Renan vineyards coming off the wine in the glasses.

 

“Just buying some drinks for some people who’ve earned them.” Jeos replied, picking up the drinks and making his way over to the Jedi’s booth. Eye followed him as he passed through the crowd and towards the Jedi’s table. The youngest now, he could tell, was a Mirialan.

 

Her face was luminous and held a youth that Jeos had long left behind. The Ithorian too, it would appear, had as well. His face, inert, was wisdom personified. Both their eyes locked on Jeos as he stopped next to the table and gave them a curt nod.

 

“I took it upon myself to buy you both a drink.” Jeos admitted, holding up the glasses as if he personally had to fight every single bar patron to procure them. “I would consider it an honor if you would accept them.”

 

The Jedi exchanged a significant look for a second before the Ithorian spoke up, his voice reverberating with an odd stereo sounds as his four throats forced his words to form. “We would be equally honored to accept, sir.”

 

The words seemed to hang on the air even with all the cantina’s activity. A few awkward moments passed before Jeos spoke once again. “Thank you for that, Master Jedi. I don’t want to inconvenience you both. You seem to be waiting for someone.”

 

“We were.” interjected the Ithorian bluntly. “But then you showed up.” Jeos could not fully place his meaning. The Jedi did not sound combative. For a few seconds, Jeos did not move. The Jedi spoke up once more for emphasis. “We were waiting for someone but then you showed up. Please take a seat.”

 

Jeos did as he was asked, taking a seat across from the two Jedi and placing the drinks on the table. The handed the Bliel to the girl and placed the glasses of Renan wine before him and the Ithorian. “Gladly.” he said, doing his best not to sound to dumbfounded. However, he still could not resist pressing the point. “Although I have to say that it sounds more like you were waiting for anybody rather than somebody.”

 

A small laugh escaped the Miralian’s mouth, which she politely stifled quickly. She didn’t say anything but Jeos could tell that she wanted to. There was a distinct hint of mischievous delight on her face. Again, however, it was the Ithorian who spoke. “That is merely a difference of semantics, I think.”

 

Jeos chuckled a bit. “Pretty big one, I dare say. The name is Jeos, by the way. Jeos Dinas.”

 

He hadn’t particularly planned much more besides offering the Jedi their drinks. He had felt it almost criminal that no one else had done so before he arrived. Beyond the quick exchange of pleasantries, Jeos had not really thought out any conversation points.

 

Years of military training and time spent around Jedi simply had instilled a professional respect that did not exactly lend itself to extended discussion beyond “Yes, sir” and “Glad to have you with us on this one”. He found it hard enough not to seem entirely out of his element, to remain casual. However, much like the time years ago when he met Knight Raan Lous, all of his doubts seemed to alleviate when the Jedi spoke.

 

“I am Master Ixeh Pol and this is my Padawan, Zahira Talu Song. It is good to finally meet you.” the Ithorian offered, as if he had said nothing more interesting than making the bold claim that most grass was green. Jeos did his best to hide his own shock. What did he mean ‘finally’?

 

“I’m sorry, sir, you know who I am?” Jeos asked, assuming that perhaps the Jedi was familiar with him through mutual Jedi comrades. It was the only possible explanation, not that Jeos had any egotistical reason to believe it was the case. It was Zahira who answered.

 

“What my master means is that we knew that we’d be meeting you here.” she clarified, once more giving the impression that she wanted to say more on the matter. “C’mon, Master Pol! Tell him.”

 

A sound escaped from the Jedi Master that Jeos could only assume was the Ithorian equivalent of a sigh. “My Padawan has a talent for precognition that is quite significant. We knew that this meeting would occur. She had foreseen it in her dream.”

 

Before Jeos could even speak, Zahira had interrupted. “I’ve never been wrong. Sometimes I think I would fit right in with the Voss Mystics.” To this, her master only commented “modesty”, a command that seemed to have its intended effect as the Padawan went back to sipping her Ruby Bliel, embarrassment radiating off her whole being.

 

“You’re telling me that I’m here because your Padawan dreamed me here?” Jeos stammered, reeling at the implications of the Jedi’s words.

 

“Well, when you say it like that, it does sound rather peculiar.” Zahira mumbled before returning to her drink. "It isn't like we were expecting you specifically. Just...you, the person who is here right now."

 

Master Ixeh Pol, however, took a moment to ponder over the discussion. “I am only saying that it is the will of the Force that we have met.”

 

Jeos scowled for a moment. He had no objections to the idea of the Force or the supernatural. He was, after all, a religious man. It was just that he didn’t fully understand how what the Jedi said was true. The Force, as he understood it, was simply a power source that some people could use and others could not. His own experience would testify to that. But did it truly have a will? What had brought him here?

 

“Us meeting was my choice, Master Jedi.” Jeos emphasized, trying more to reassure himself than the Jedi. “I came over here because I chose to buy you both drinks.”

 

“Did you?” the Master mused, almost as if he doubted Jeos.

 

He was not angry at the Jedi but Jeos was a bit upset. He didn’t like the idea that his choices were somehow not his own. He had made a choice and then acted. “I believe so, yes.' he asserted.

 

“But that’s not exactly true, is it?” Zahira quipped pointedly. “Something made you decide to get us drinks, right?”

 

“I was compelled to. No one else had done so. I felt it was rude of them not to.” he explained.

 

“So the other people here made you act.” the Padawan observed, waxing philosophical. She sounded a bit shocked that Jeos did not believe her dream was not the cause.“And something stopped them from buying drinks. And so on backwards until there was something which started the chain of events that lead us here. We’re here because of my dream. My dream occurred because of some cause, wouldn’t you say?”

 

Jeos pondered what she said for a minute. The implication was clear. The something which caused her dream was the Force. If the Force somehow knew what was going to happen, well, that was what needed to happen. Jeos did not pretend to understand the Force but it made a type of sense.

 

He just couldn’t fully agree with it. “I would like to think that when whatever it was in the chain of events happened that supposedly "made" me get your drinks, I still had a choice: get pushed or push back."

 

Zahira was not convinced, however. “But what if the force pushing on you is too strong to be resisted at all?"

 

“I'll simply suggest that how you are here is not the same as why you are.” Master Pol broke in. “Whatever the case…we are here, now. In this moment. And we can do little more than enjoy it for what it is.”

 

“Too true.” Jeos admitted. “What solace we can get comes in small doses these days.” He took his glass in hand and raised it. “Shall we toast to whatever brought us here, be it the Force, Shiraya, or Mother Jungle herself?”

 

The Master and Padawan both lifted their glasses and they all toasted to whatever it was that had caused them the fortune of each other’s company. The Ithorian followed up Jeos’ toast. “You are familiar with the practices of my people? I am surprised.”

 

Jeos chuckled a bit. “Well, I can’t say that there is much to do on a Republic cruiser between battles other than play cards or read up on the Republic that you’re fighting for.”

 

Master Pol: “You are on the planet to aid in the restoration?”

 

“Undercity pacification.” Jeos verified with a hint of regret in his voice. “You know, back in the war, Jedi saved my life a few times. Do you know a Knight by the name of Raan Lous?”

 

It was the Padawan who spoke up. “Master Lous is a lightsaber instructor on Tython.”

 

“A master now?” Jeos said in quiet amazement. “Good for him. Should you see him, give him my regards.” The Jedi nodded as Jeos went on. “But let me ask, what had brought you here? Not to 'this table at this moment' but to Coruscant. Are you simply aiding in the rebuilding efforts?”

 

“Somewhat.” Master Pol conceded. “My Padawan and I have been aiding in efforts to recover what may yet be found in the Jedi Temple. There is not much but all of it matters.”

 

“It is important to know our history.” Zahira reflected. “It is my hope to eventually understand why the Force led us into war. To see what threads and events truly brought us here.”

 

“Nothing else brought us here except for the Sith and nothing saved us from them except our own sweat and blood. Nothing. Not fate or the will of the Force.” Jeos glowered.

 

"You know, you sound like my captain. He was going on the other day about how some people have no choice but to be a certain way. To act according to their nature. I didn't buy it then and I can't but the idea now that somehow all that has happened during the war occured only because one factor or another meant that it had to."

 

He did not mean to sound as harsh as he did. It was a reflex, a hard held hatred that had caused him to speak. For a moment, none at the table spoke. Once more, Master Pol broke the silence.

 

“Perhaps that is the reason why you are here? To contemplate that truth even further? Irregardless, forgive my Padawan. She aspires to be a historian and her zeal sometimes gets the better of her.”

 

The thought of the Jedi apologizing for his outburst was distasteful to his sensibilities. It was his mistake, after all. “No. Forgive me, Master Jedi. It is getting late and my temper got the better of me. It is hard not to hate the Sith or to see the war as some destined thing. Far too many good men and women died for me to do that, I am afraid. I can't accept that they were born for the sole purpose of being killed. To detach myself from that takes a type of bravery that I will never know.”

 

It was true. Question of ability aside, Jeos was not sure that he would be able to approach the war or the Sith in the same way that a Jedi could. He took one more sip of his wine, finishing it off.

 

“But I have been granted the privilege of your time and company for longer than I deserve. I will take my leave. I hope that the both of you find whatever you are looking for.” His wish was sincere.

 

“You as well.” Master Pol replied somberly, as Jeos rose from his seat, nodded to the two Jedi, and made his way out of the cantina and back out to the urban streets.

Edited October 16, 2012 by AlyxDinas

[AlyxDinas]

Location: Underground. Togoria. 1325 Hours. 4 ATC.

 

There was barely enough room to stand. The cave roof jutted down, bearing stalactite teeth down at its occupants. There was barely enough room to move. Dozens of resistance fighters stood shoulder to shoulder, lining the belly of the cave with their feline bodies.

 

Heads held high, eyes filled with silent yet powerful strength of mind. This was the moment they had waited for. The moment that everyone had waited for.

 

For Master Sergeant Jeos Dinas, it was something he would never forget. Like the memory of first beholding the broken capital of Coruscant or feeling his stomach sink with the confirmation of his first combat kill, it would be etched upon his soul until the day he drew his last breath.

 

Nearly 150 Togorian warriors had their attention faced squarely on the 408th. He had spent time with every one of them in one way or another, trained them and learned from them. And now, they all were ready. He knew it. They knew it.

 

One year. It was a whole lot of time to devote to a single operation. But in the aftermath of the destruction of Coruscant, any chance to strike the Sith was welcome. Jeos and the rest of the 408th had spent years on the shattered center of the Republic, rebuilding the world and helping to maintain order. Finally, they had a chance to make the Sith pay.

 

The idea was simple enough. Outright war was dangerous and threatened to shatter the fragile truce that held the peace. Even the border skirmishes were dying down as if to suggest that the presence of the Sith in this galaxy was to become the new norm. The Republic’s hands were tied. However, other hands were not. Local hands.

 

Thus, orders had come down that certain units would be dispatched to liaise with planetary resistance movements to offer training and logistical support. Not that the Togorian’s really needed it. Their battle prowess was such that even the Mandalorians held them in regard. First contact with the Togorian’s had actually come when the Mandalorians recruited them into their armies hundreds of years ago.

 

The 408th only came into play because their resistance movement was surprisingly ill equipped and undermanned. And because Jeos was one of the few people who could speak a common tongue with most of them: Mando’a.

 

Most of the Togorian’s either spoke their own language or the language of their past conquerors, an unfortunate holdover from their lengthy enslavement. Only a few spoke basic. Not that they did much talking. Communication around the planet was hard and the various resistance groups were scattered wide.

 

The subjugation of Togoria had been so total and absolute that the pockets of resistance that existed were immensely small for the task of fighting the Sith. This cell was the largest on the planet and barely up to muster for anything outside of guerilla raids on small Sith outposts. They had survived long enough by hiding in a series of caverns that were hidden in a deep forest.

 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jeos could see this group’s leader: Z’sishi. He had done the best with what he could, that was sure. Doggedly tough and capable, he stood before his soldiers as tall as a mountain. His snow white fur set him apart from most.

 

An angel of misbehavior, a beacon of resistance. His cat face was filled with a pride that Jeos had not ever known. This was his moment as much as it was anyone else’s. The moment when all of his risks would pay off. Where his resistance would shake the Sith until they tore up their roots and shipped their sorry hides off his world. His voice rang around the cave, grabbing his troops by the heart.

 

“[This is our moment!]” he roared towards the heavens in his native tongue, clear enough for Jeos to understand his words. The Sergeant had made strides into learning the local language during the long year spent here. “[We have toiled for untold time. We have lost brothers. Family. We were beaten. We were desperate. But we took that pain and made it our strength! We have waited. And now, we are ready. We will do the mighty and we will wake the galaxy the cries of our enemies! Listen well to the Republic man before you and brace yourself for tomorrow!]”

 

Jeos shuttered for a moment. Simple but effective. Z’sishi commanded the respect of his soldiers not only through his leadership but his skill. Just last week on a scouting mission, Jeos had seen the agile resistance leader snap a Sith scout’s neck at a breakneck speed, leaping through the air and twisting the man’s head with so much force that it seemed to spin entirely around.

 

Jeos was snapped out of his reminiscence as Captain Morlis Feran stepped forward. Even in a cave full of beastmen, he drew all eyes to him. Where Z’sishi’s wild gesticulating and grandstanding had served him, Captain Feran’s own simplicity and ease did the same.

 

Z’sishi was their leader. Feran was their commander. He turned to the crowd before him and spoke without hesitation. To his sides, Jeos could tell that Terrio and Chono were as amazed as he was. Jeos might have had a leg up on understanding the Mandalorians’ effect on the Togorian culture but Feran simply knew the culture of a soldier better than any other man in the galaxy.

 

Jeos gulped. This was also where he came in. Feran had not grasp for languages outside of Olys Corellisi. This meant that Jeos had the pleasure of having to translate what the Captain said into Mando’a so that most of the soldiers could understand it. J

 

eos had tried his hand as speaking Togorian but the results were embarrassing at best, so this would have to do. As the Captain spoke, he translated.

 

“I am not going to speak outside of the facts.” the Corellian began. “Tomorrow will be dangerous. Many of you will not live past it. But your children will remember it for the rest of their lives. Their children will learn of it, theirs will read about it in histories. That is, if we all do our jobs.”

 

The whole of the resistance stood at attention and for a brief moment Jeos thought he saw the unmistakable glint of triumph in the old man’s eyes. Feran, like any good Republic solider, must have relished the power he held at that moment. The knowledge he had that the Sith would soon die by the dozens.

 

“The goal is simple.” the Captain explained. “There is a Sith food production facility little more than a dozen or so miles from here. You know that. You’ve been hitting their caravans from the get go. Tomorrow, we hit it hard. We take all we can and then we make sure that they can’t make anymore for themselves. The task is split in two. The scouting team will head with Sergeant Dinas and Private Terrio to recon the defensive set up and place the necessary equipment in order to disable perimeter defenses. There are a lot of turrets and some towers that would make it nasty for the assault team, even with our numbers. A couple well placed explosives will solve that. The rest of you come with me and Corporal Chono. We wait for those bombs to detonate and then come in fast and hard…”

 

As the Captain continued on, highlighting structural notes and tactic approaches to take, Jeos looked out at the Resistance while reciting Feran’s words back to them. He took a moment to gaze at the handful of warriors who would take their courageous chances against a superior foe, armed with little but their natural knowledge and some basic military training. And as he did so, he honestly wondered if any of them would survive.

 

“…so use this time well. Prepare for what may come. None of you will get a second chance.” finished the Captain, his voice hanging on the chamber’s air and settling into silence.

 

As Jeos finished his translation, he embellished, leaving out the Captain’s more somber tone in exchange for something more bloodthirsty. Something the Togorians would relate to. As he ended his own sentence, he let slip his final phrase to the resistance.

 

“Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur…” he finished. Today is a good day for someone else to die.

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Location: Resistance encampment. Surface. Togoria. 1540 Hours.

 

The makeshift village was even more on edge than usual. Togorian warriors ventures from tent to tent, preparing for the next day. Such an increase of activity would have drawn the eyes of the Sith if not for the fact that it was so hidden.

 

Deep within the confines of a forest, the impromptu settlement was well camouflaged and the majority of the inhabitants often spent time the in the nearby caverns and underground tunnels. Indeed, the village was usually filled with only children and their mothers. Togorian males were not used to spending time with their mates so often.

 

Traditionally, the males were nomadic hunters while the females stayed in large cities, working to develop technology or tending to farm animals. The divide was large and mates were used to spending a great deal of time apart. The last thing they were used to was spending so much time together.

 

As such, the male warriors often spent a great deal of their time out on raids or else in the caverns while the females and their young stayed in the village. Not so today. The upcoming operation would kill many and for once, families seemed inseparable from each other.

 

Jeos stood apart from all this, leaning against a nearby tree and watching. Occasionally, a Togorian would approach him and ask a simple question, the answer to it Jeos would give curtly and quickly, speaking as little Mando’a as possible. Brown fur. Red fur. Any and all would approach, asking for logistical information or else simply communicating with the only Republic soldier they really could. Captain Feran was seated nearby, taking in the sight as well. Soldiers sparred and feline forms ran about the area.

 

Captain Morlis Feran saw nothing but death as he took in the Togorians. Jeos saw nothing but Lanen Terrio.

 

Throughout the mass of feline warriors and huddled families, Private Lanen Terrio did her best to force her way through the crowd. She was leading someone through the throng of excited and preoccupied natives.

 

A small Togorian cub walked besides her, clutching on to her hand tightly and searching around with desperate eyes. As they walked, she seemed to be calling out into the multitude, hunting just as intently and anxiously as the young cub’s tear filled eyes. They were looking for its mother.

 

Back and forth, they were jostled through the village as no one seemed to pay any heed. Finally, both she and the small child sprang to attention as another catlike form shot towards them, gasped the child and clasped it closely to her chest. The child cried, not with fear but with joy. And Lanen smiled so tenderly that Jeos wasn’t sure if the warmth he felt in his own heart had come from within or hadn’t actually radiated directly off of her.

 

As the mother did her best to overcome their language gap and thank Terrio, she did her best to explain that no thanks were required at all. Reaching out, she messed with the fur on the cub’s head and blew a raspberry at him. She was rewarded with a laugh of pure innocence, one that knew no boundaries of species.

 

Jeos laughed too. A small, but unrestrained chuckle that held the wonder of what may come. From his side, Jeos was interrupted by a voice.

 

“Why don’t you just ask her, Dinas?” inquired Captain Feran. His voice held a playfulness to it that Jeos was not fully accustom to even after all these years serving with the grizzled Corellian.

 

Jeos demurred at the question, shying away in a way that he never would have under any other set of query. The question caught him a bit off guard. However, he had a retort that came into his mind quickly. “Why don’t you just turn us in for fraternization already, Captain?” he offered back with a similar degree of good humor.

 

The Captain nodded in affirmation of that statement. It was hard not to see the connection between the two soldiers. From the first minute they had met, the Corellian knew that they would not be just squadmates for long. ‘Tejha larel’ was the phrase in Olys Corellisi: undying love.

 

And that was what they had from the moment they looked into each other’s eyes. “Not the point, Jeos. The question was why you’ve sat on your rear for nearly six years and not asked the big question.”

 

Jeos couldn’t wrap his head around it. “Marriage?” he asked, the word seeming completely foreign to him.

 

“Yes, Dinas. Marriage.” The Captain expounded. Rolling his eyes, he elaborated even more. “You think for a second that she would turn you down?”

 

“It has been nearly six years of constant missions, sir. I’ve not really had time to even plan something like that, let alone do it. Coruscant wasn’t the right time and that was the only time in years that remotely resembled leave. I want to give her what she deserves. Besides, what do I say to her, Cap?” Jeos snipped.

 

“Hey, Lanen. I know we’re busy fighting a guerrilla war against an enemy that has broken the Republic in two, but I was wondering if you want to settle down with me. I mean, that is assuming that either of us lives long enough to make it to the wedding day.”

 

“Don’t you think the current state of things is a reason to do it while you still can?” Feran proposed. “If not now, when?”

 

“I love her, sir.” Jeos proclaimed. “Every time we go into combat, I can barely hear anything over the beat of my heart in my chest. And I am not going to marry her while the Sith are still in this galaxy. Not until I know that I will never have to feel that scared again. Not until I know that we take those vows, we will never have to lift another gun again.”

 

The Captain gave a derisive snort at this. It was one of the few times that Jeos had seen anything resembling contempt from the old man. At least directed his way. Feran usually saved that for his enemies. The quick and sudden expulsion of air gave way to a gruff and unfilled laughter.

 

“Spast it all, Dinas.” Feran finally managed to shoot forth through his cruel amusement. “I don’t know what is more affecting: your nobility or your naivety.”

 

If he had said something funny, Jeos certainly had not noticed. He shot a cold but measured glare at Feran, taking the man in as if he’d never seen him before. “I’m not quite sure what you are talking about, sir.”

 

The Captain just gave a furtive and knowing smile before elaborating. “I’m just wondering if you listen to yourself when you talk sometimes, Sergeant.” Feran explained, the brutal honesty cutting through Jeos. “Talk like that might sound good in those books you read, kid, but might I suggest that there is such a thing as too much idealism?”

 

“If you’re suggesting that I’m not taking this seriously and if I can speak freely, you are wrong, sir.” Jeos countered quickly.

 

“What I am suggesting is that you stop kidding yourself, Jay.” The Captain spat back with hot vitriol. It felt like a small slap across the face. “Even if things have been official between you two in everything except it actually being official, you don’t exactly have the luxury of waiting around. Has it ever occurred to you that it might even be remotely possible that you might not have as much time as you think? Look around you once in a while and remember where you are. The Republic might have whored itself out with the Treaty but don’t ever forget that you are still in a war!”

 

And before Jeos could even manage to form an objection to the Captain’s words, the old and jaded man had stood up and left. Jeos was left on the edges of the camp, alone. He didn’t want to admit it but the Captain was probably right.

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Location: Resistance encampment. Togoria. 3 Hours after start of resistance operation.

 

“GO! GO!” Jeos Dinas yelled as he and Private Lanen Terrio rushed through the resistance encampment. Rain fell down from the sky above, irrigating the land and creating a thick mud that made the rise of each step a struggle for survival. Even with the torrential storm falling from above, his shouts pierced all. Frantic, fearful. His shout was part command and part plea.

 

Jeos’ mind reeled. What had happened? There must have been a moment where they did something wrong. But for all of his thoughts, Jeos could not conceive of it. He and Terrio had made their way to scout out the target and get it ready for the main assault.

 

The main attack force was going to wait for their signal when the scouting team disabled the perimeter defenses. Terrio had done an amazing job of sneaking in close and planting the electronics scramblers in the correct locations, aided by her Togorian spotter.

 

The initial approach was simple. The area surrounding the Sith facility was actually surrounded by a large wheat field, a wide expanse of crops ready for the harvest. Low and caution movement would conceal individuals from the guards in the watchtowers, provided those moving knew a little bit about basic stalking techniques like most of the Togorians and Rangers did.

 

The two phases of the plan were conceived to hit hard against Sith facilities that had grown used to Z’sishi’s frantic tactics.

 

Take away their ability to combat the native forces by cutting out things like auto targeting turrets and early warning systems and suddenly the Togorians were not limited to just hit and fade attacks on convoys. They would pose a serious threat to the entire Sith effort on their planet.

 

The Togorians were not poor hunters or scouts in the least. They simply lacked the support capabilities to properly tackle the technological superiority of the Sith and thus, score a big blow against their oppressors.

 

The arrival of the 408th changed that. And it seemed everything would come to pass. Lanen had just finished up disabling the Sith’s perimeter defense grid when her spotter keeled over dead from a rather sudden blaster shot.

 

Around the Republic soldier, other resistance fighters fell to the ground from similar shots. Sith soldiers fanned out through the field, rising from positions they took prior to the Republic led mission force’s arrival.

 

As the Togorians who did not fall in the initial onslaught began to fight back against overwhelming odds, Jeos hailed Captain Feran and his force only to receive no response. So began a long fighting retreat that claimed all but the two Rangers. As far as Jeos knew, at least.

 

And now here they were. Terrio clamored into the camp and made a sudden halt in the center of the area. Her gaze looked around, ice blue eyes cutting through the rain and scanning around for anyone. She found only an abandoned encampment. Nobody stirred from their small tents.

 

No eyes had made their way outside to gaze on the two Republic troopers as the rushed frightfully back to their base of operations. As Terrio did her best to make sense of the situation, Jeos caught up to her and kneeled at her side. He placed a hand on her shoulder and spoke up with quiet empathy, as if he knew what she was thinking.

 

“It’s nothing.” Jeos Dinas said with conviction, trying to convince himself more than her. “They all probably gathered down in the caverns to avoid the rain. C’mon.”

 

Jeos took the lead, rising from his prone position and marching calmly towards the large entrances to the caverns. Terrio took a moment to rise and followed a great deal of space behind. Continuing to move, he reached to mouth of the cave and walked in.

 

The rain stopped falling upon his helmet and a terrible silence washed over his being. Doing his best to pay it no mind, Jeos kept moving inward, towards the main chamber where the resistance soldiers gathered only a day ago. And then Jeos saw.

 

“Lanen!” he screamed. “Stay up there!”

 

They were all gathered there now. They always would be. Every man, woman, and child. Jeos could step but a few inches into in the large cavern for all the bodies that lay strewn about on the ground. The place was a crypt. The totality of the village was piled before him, broken and lifeless.

 

Through his helmet, Jeos could smell the fetid scent of death. He had smelt this before, on the wastes of barren planets and even in the forsaken Undercity of Coruscant. Never had it been so absolute, so full. A blistering mixture of blood, tears, and burned hair.

 

It was so oppressive that Jeos instinctively removed his helmet out of fear that he would vomit into it and was rewarded with a fresh wave of rank air that seemed to punch him in the stomach and choke him by the throat.

 

Doubling over, his eyes stinging with barely contained tears, he could only stagger out of the open cavern, gasping for fresh air. Eventually, he was topside once again, barely propping himself up on the outer walls of the cave entrance.

 

The influx of fresh, clean air into his lungs, combined with raw emotion, was too much to bear. Sobs, uncontrolled and sudden, began. His own tears mingled with the falling rain. He was drowning, fruitlessly attempting to remain composed.

 

Spinning.

 

The world was spinning. He had never experienced anything like it in his whole life. Even in the face of overwhelming circumstances, he had never really lots his senses on the battlefield. Something had broken. The totality of the event overwhelmed him and made him nauseous. It was almost too much to cope with. Almost.

 

A touch. An embrace.

 

Swiftly, he was brought back to his senses. The sudden shift was so jarring that it was almost painful yet it was entirely welcome. Lanen’s arms were wrapped tightly around him. “It’s okay. Shhh. It’s okay.” she said, even as her own voice wavered with pain. Jeos felt useless. He was stronger than this. Or he had thought that he was.

 

For years, he had avoided giving into the despair that was often found on the battlefield. He had seen all sorts of terrible things and convinced himself that he would hold strong throughout. He had sold himself a very pleasant lie. Lanen was the only thing that had saved him right now, the only thing that tied him to reality.

 

“We…have to leave. They’re all dead.” Jeos managed. Slowly, he got to his feet. Terrio did likewise. She didn’t say anything, only holding him up as he struggled to stand. He slipped his helmet back over his head and took his sniper rifle from where it was lugged over his shoulder.

 

“The evacuation site is far from here. We can call everything in as we move.” His voice was shaky, his call to action insubstantial. The brutality he had just witness had robbed him of all his strength; he was operating on what he could borrow from Lanen.

 

“Are you sure that you’re all set?” Lanen asked with a measure of trepidation. She didn’t press the point further. She knew better than that. She had been in his position before, had needed Jeos’ strength to get by in her times of doubt. She let the question hang on the air. The silence, terrible and painful, held both of their stomachs in a vice grip. Finally, Jeos broke it.

 

“Thanks to you.” he confided to her quickly, walking back out into the Togorian wasteland. Neither of them turned to look back.

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Location: Designated evacuation point. Togoria. 4 days after resistance operation failure.

 

Footsteps. Well, more like the trampling of reinforced boots. What the Sith were doing this far out was a mystery. Yet here they were. Only a few hundred yards away from the designated evacuation site. Jeos did not move. He barely took a breath.

 

A few dozen feet away from him, Lanen did the same. Jeos could sense her presence. Between them, a Sith commando patrolled the outlying perimeter of the area where, in a handful of minutes, a Republic dropship would arrive to pick up the Rangers.

 

No more than an inch separated himself from the Sith. A misstep would have spelled certain doom. Instead, no more than a hairsbreadth saved Jeos from detection. The Sith commando moved forward. And Terrio made her move. She got up from her position and slowly moved towards the Sith.

 

They were removed enough from the center of the field that detection would not be a major issue for now. Slowly, she made her way behind the soldier. Sith armor has a wonderfully convenient slit that seemed to be specifically designed for vibroblades. All it takes is a quick thrust to slip the blade in and a sharp twist and you had yourself a dead Sith.

 

Lanen went prone again. Slowly, she and Jeos made their way towards the center of the field. A small detachment of Sith ambled around the Togorian grassland. There was no real way to progress as long as they were there. And then, they began dropping dead. Blaster fire hit them hard and fast. But it was not from Jeos or Lanen. It was from an entirely different position ahead of them.

 

The source revealed itself. A standard issue Republic assault rifle and a large rotary blaster cannon. Both held by Republic soldiers. It was Captain Feran and Corporal Chono. Against all odds, they too, had made their way to the evacuation site. Their attack drew the Sith’s attention.

 

Lanen and Jeos wasted no time. Their weapons, too, rang out in the field and claimed blood. Wordlessly, they advanced towards the center of the field. The Captain and Chono did likewise. The two teams met, their mutual sense of relief and exhaustion mingling together into one group mind. It was a small thing but it was enough. The squad was together again.

 

“Glad to see you could make it, Dinas.” Captain Feran said, his voice faltering. Was it relief? It was odd to see the Captain slip like that. In the field, he was usually much more in control. The situation must have affected him just as much as it had Jeos. When he spoke up again, he had reassumed his usual demeanor. “We assumed the worst.”

 

“Yeah, well, so did we, sir.” Jeos replied honestly. “But I guess I should have know that there’s no Sith out there that will claim your life.”

 

“And I’m sure that you two stayed of trouble.” Chono chimed in with characteristic stoicism.

 

There was little time to answer. Off in the distance, a barely visible image, the familiar form of a Ministry-class orbital shuttle, had emerged. Slowly, through the skies of Togoria, it made a descent towards the Rangers. Suddenly, a singular blaster shot rang out in the field. Corporal Santh Chono fell to the ground, the plasma bolt having found his shoulder.

 

“Left!” the Captain shouted as the Rangers snapped to the direction of a visible muzzle flash. Immediately, they began to fire towards the area, only to be rewarded with more blaster bolts hammering their own position. “Someone get Chono’s cannon!”

 

“Lanen! Rifle!” Jeos shouted tossing his own weapon to the Private and rushing towards Chono’s fallen form. Without so much of a moment of hesitation from either of them, they both threw each other’s rifle towards each other. Jeos clutched the standard issue rifle she gave him while he tossed away his own sniper rifle.

 

Lanen caught it and immediately brought it bear, aiming it at the Sith position and firing choice shots at her prey. Between her pragmatic shooting and the Captain’s suppression, they were holding the Sith. However, there just didn’t seem to be an end to their onslaught.

 

Reaching his down comrade, Jeos was immediately relieved to find that Chono was still alive. Certainly a bit worse for the wear but he was alive. Grimacing with pain, he was struggling to get up when Jeos pushed him back to the ground. “Stay down! The evac is almost here. We just need a few minutes. This LZ is hot as all Corellian Hell. Take this.”

 

He thrust Lanen’s rifle into Chono’s arm. “You know the drill. Lay low and pick those shots, Santh!” At this, Jeos lugged up the Corporal’s rotary blaster cannon and began to lay down a vicious storm upon the Sith position. Soon, the firing stopped heading towards the Sith. Had they retreated? A temporary lull in the battle seemed to indicate that this was the case.

 

An instant sniper shot proved otherwise. A sharp crack rang out and Jeos’ weapon was hit right near its base, a fraction of an inch from the power pak. The residual heat would still be enough however. Immediately discarding the weapon, he dropped to the ground. “Everyone down!”

 

The weapon exploded wildly as its power source gave out. Rock and dirt kicked up everywhere but that was nothing compared to the danger of the exploding weapon. When a blaster's power source gave out, the explosion itself was not the only issue. The outwards explosion of weapon's durasteel frame tended to result in wonderfully painful bits of shrapnel.

 

Shooting outwards from the explosion, one such piece managed to slip into Jeos' left shoulder blade. His armor absorbed most of the damage but the shard metal shard still broke through far enough to pierce flesh. It was a small price to pay in exchange for not dying but it still hurt like a sweet son of a gundark. The sudden pain, coupled with the blast itself, left Jeos more than a little disorientated but not quite debilitated.

 

When he got up from the ground, he was ill prepared for the sight before him. The Sith had closed in. Dozens of them, weapons at the ready. The Captain and Terrio had dropped their blasters. Jeos followed their lead, grimacing a bit as new waves of pain shot through his shoulder.

 

“So close.” the apparent leader of the Sith troops commented in a clipped, almost Coruscanti sounding accent. Perhaps the man was a conscript or turncoat. It didn't matter, all that mattered was escape.

 

The shuttle would be there soon but it was not soon enough. It would take a little more time before it would even be in range to fire its laser cannons. And by then, they would all be dead. But for one unforeseen detail. A single forgotten variable.

 

A sudden roar. As if he had dropped from space itself, Z’sishi landed on the Sith commander and brought him to the ground with a sickening crash. A flash of claws cut off any possible scream.

 

The rest of the Sith, unable to take in what occurred, did not react until Z’sishi pounced again, leaping from soldier to soldier. They began to open fire, hitting nothing but air each time they did. Soldiers went flying, doubling over and somersaulting through the air. But for all that Z’sishi killed, it did nothing but to distract the Sith.

 

But it distracted them longer enough. The shuttle had arrived. Landing swiftly, it lowered its ramp. Firing on as many of the Sith as it could, the shuttle was only able to thin their ranks. Jeos and the Captain ran over and quickly moved Chono to the shuttle. Lanen was not far behind. Jeos could only watch the field as Z’sishi devastated the Sith ranks.

 

“K'olar!” Jeos shouted in Mand’oa. “Get over here! Jiila! Jiila!”

 

Z’sishi would have no part of it. He did not waver from his charge at the Sith. “Ne'johaa! Ret'urcye mhi! Slanar!” The voice was filled with a discernible sorrow that was masked by a fierce bravado. The Togorian would not leave his world. He would die fighting.

 

“We can’t wait any longer!” the Captain shouted. “Take us out of here.” he commanded the shuttle pilots. The shuttle rose up towards the sky. Before its bay doors closed, Jeos was able to shout down to the hopeless Togorian on the surface. “Haat, ijaa, haa'it!” Truth, honor, vision.

 

The Republic soldier desperately regretted having to use the Mandalorian tongue to send his final farewell. Just before the doors sealed up, he could just barely hear the Togorian answer back.

 

“Kyr'am!” Death.

Edited October 16, 2012 by AlyxDinas

[AlyxDinas]

Author's Notes: The contents of this chapter and the next are not written by me but by a phenomenal writer named Gestahlt. However, as this contains immensely important developments for Jeos, I have chosen to post it. And because Gestahlt's Forged in Blood fic, to the best of my knowledge cannot be found in full but only up to chapter five. It was amazing and deserves some recognition. My only addition are the timestamps.

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Location: Forge. 0200 Hours. 0100 hours. 9 ATC.

 

From the distance, the luminescent plumes blossoming upon the horizon could have been mistaken for fireworks. Against the night sky they appeared in quick flashes before fading into the darkness about them, each telling a story of its own.

 

Certainly the foreword was the most unique part of the tale. It may have begun with a father wishing for his son to follow in his footsteps before dying on Alderaan, or a mother holding her child and wishing only the best for him. It could have been a matter of tradition – a need to prove oneself. There were even some that began that story simply because they had nothing else to do. Whatever the reason was, they moved from being private citizens to proud members of the Republic’s military forces.

 

It was here that those people, whether they be a patriot or a careerist, developed bonds and made friendships. In this phase of the story, the individual learned more about himself by being pushed to the brink by instructors, peers, and his own self respect. There may have been many forces pulling against him to stop, but like any trooper he soldiered on through it all. He carried more than his own weight then; carried the hopes and dreams of the trillions of people that his uniform served.

 

Then there came the battle where all of his training was put to the test: the end of the story – its heroic or tragic conclusion depending on a centimeter’s grace of a blaster bolt or a missile. Philosophers might go into elaborate explanations as to the various meanings behind life and death, but a soldier knew the truth of it. The difference between the two was nothing more than a few centimeters of plasteel. That was all that separated a soldier from a casualty. Knowing that would have driven most men to doing little more than romanticizing those notions, because that stark reality was far too much for them to comprehend.

 

But there was the soldier, the trooper, who knew everything that was on the line and stood tall despite it all. He rushed into the thickest of battle, blaster in hand, not because he desired to die, but because he wished for others to live. In droves though his brothers may have been cut down, he would always push on until there was nothing left to push against. Either he fell or the enemy did.

 

That was where the story ended. That was where so many stories ended as of late. Those flashes in the sky were the signification of another brave man or woman’s spirit being sent to the afterlife. Be it the Force or some form of playground for the spiritually inclined, it didn’t really matter – the soldier was gone, and all that remained were holotags and a letter. Those two things were what joined all of these compelling and moving stories into a single anthology. War may have been their prevailing theme, but their epilogue was what bound them together.

 

A weeping mother; a heartbroken father; children that would never again see a parent; the spouse that kept a candle alive only to see it diminished with the blink of an eye. On a good day there may be less instances of this than on bad days, but even one such letter having to be sent spoke to the cruelty of war. The soldier may have died, but his influence would live on. He was an emptiness in someone’s life – a void that would never be filled again.

 

If Senior Sergeant Nils didn’t know any better, he would have believed that the truce between the Republic and the Empire should have stopped any of this from happening.

 

Another burst of lights flashed within the sky, each one signaling yet more lives that were brought to their conclusion. High above him, in durasteel clad beasts that spoke in megatons of damage, the Republic held the line against an assortment of Imperial warships that were doing everything that they could to break through it and move on still to the planet below.

 

At times, Nils had to ask himself how it was that a planet, which was nothing more than a collection of rocks, was worth the lives of men. Monetary values could be attributed to the quality of that rock, or the things that inhabited it, but in the end it was nothing more than an inorganic heap whose only purpose was to serve another. It was nothing like the currency that was being expended for its freedom or its capture: sons and daughters perishing into fire and twisted metal.

 

“I’ve been out of the fight too long; I’m getting philosophical.” The musing came with the rubbing of one hand against the side of his neck as Senior Sergeant Nils finally managed to remove his attention from the killing fields above his head.

 

The man’s voice did not have very far to travel before it met its intended target. Positioned not more than a meter away from him, Sergeant Dinas looked away from the overhead battlefield and toward his superior. “Weather looks like you won’t be out of it much longer, Sarge.”

 

That was a bittersweet sentiment. In all actuality, it was very likely that Dinas was correct and that soon they would be fighting against Imperial landing forces. That was, after all, why they were standing at their posts. When the first warships had arrived, it had been all but a show to watch them trading blows with the capital ship, Maiden of Ire, and her subordinate fleet.

 

But that amusement quickly changed when after a few weeks, the tide had not yet broken. Still more Sith ships replaced those that came before them, and the Maiden of Ire though a powerful ship, was beginning to reveal signs of duress. The line held for the time being, but it would not be an indefinite thing. Particularly not if what the rumors stated was true.

 

It was an intercepted transmission from one of the Imperial ships that alerted high command of what was on the horizon. In perhaps the first sign of good fortune since the beginning of the siege, code breakers had managed to acquire an encrypted message from one of the Sith vanguard ships back to their command. Though garbled and rough, the message that it related was understood well enough.

 

In a week’s time, the Mandalorians were going to arrive.

 

In most cases Mandalorians would have meant little to a planet like Forge. It was not a fringe, backwater planet that lacked the most basic of resources to prevent them from landing. They would have arrived, shouted a few words in their nonsensical language, and been turned into corpses before they had time to get off of their iron weasels or whatever it was that they called them. In and of themselves, they brought nothing to the table that couldn’t be chewed up and spit out with ease.

 

But on the tail end of the Sith offensive, that sentiment quickly became something much different. Fresh soldiers, any fresh soldiers, were going to have quite the advantage against the bloodied and battered men and women that were holding against them, and it was very likely that those Mandalorians, whooping and hollering as they descended upon Forge, would bring a legacy of carnage with them.

 

Soon, the streets of Forge were going to be painted in blood.

 

“Fragging clerical errors,” Nils muttered under his breath as the upcoming battles played out in his mind. It was all easily avoidable; in fact, it should not have even been an issue. If not for that fragging clerical error the Sith would have had to pull away from Forge and leave its people to peace. But somewhere along the line, the planetary registry for Forge was mistaken and it was not included under the planets protected by the Treaty of Coruscant. Any honorable man would have realized that and left it alone, but these were the Sith. Honor was anathema to them.

 

So it was that the Republic was without recourse against their offensive other than to push back inward, and although a relief force was on the way, Nils highly doubted that it would be capable of preventing the Sith from landing sooner rather than later. Forge was going to become a warzone just as the space around it had, and there was nothing that he could do other than keep his blaster ready and wait for the order to meet the enemy.

 

They still had some time though. It was time that they were using well. As the approaching battle became all the more corporeal, civilians were evacuated from the planet and only mandatory staffs were kept in the factories. The planetary shield was not only functioning well, but it had been given its own detachment of soldiers to protect its bunker. If the Sith wanted to break into Forge, they were going to have to do it against a fully functional and prepared Republic battalion.

 

It was the nature of Forge that made him question just how likely it was that a clerical error had occurred at all without a bit of help from a traitor somewhere along the line. The world was situated on the outskirts of Republic territory and had become the major manufacturer of weaponry in its region. Industrially stable, it was like a fragment of Coruscant being placed into a sea of scattered posts.

 

Whoever controlled Forge, without a doubt, would control the areas surrounding it. With that in mind, the Republic fleets in the system had come to its aid after the first of the Sith warships appeared, but the Sith were not surprised. Their continued offensive was not only whittling away at Forge’s fleet – it was devouring all of the sector’s forces. Without help from the Mandalorians it was unlikely that they would be able to break through on their own, but that was not a reality that he would bother considering.

 

“When it rains, it pours,” Dinas said as though he had read Nils’ mind. The senior sergeant looked over at him and gave a nod.

 

That was all that really needed to be said.

 

There were few people in the galaxy that didn’t have a reason to hate the Mandalorians, but when it came to the man beside him, Nils was certain that there was more to it than just an aversion to their naturally destructive nature. Although he had never felt the need to pry into the man’s past, he was fairly certain that somewhere along the line, Dinas’ family and the Mandalorians had had what could best be called a falling out. A more inquisitive man may have felt compelled to investigate further, but Nils knew everything that he needed to about his comrade.

 

He was an honest guy that knew how to follow orders. Whatever genetic or ancestral factor went into that meant a lot less than certain people liked to believe. The concepts of lineage and destiny were things that men who weren’t hunkered down on the frontlines thought up. Jeos Dinas was as much a member of the Republic as he was, and just as surely as he was willing to risk his life for him, he knew that his brother was willing as well. Really, nothing else mattered.

 

His own dealings with the Mandalorians had been much more along the lines of what people expected to hear from a Republic soldier regarding them. Some time or another they had hit a planet that he was on, and the resulting bloodshed only further proved to him that they were nothing more than amoral murders that hid behind a skewed concept of honor to justify their wanton bloodlust. A part of him was actually looking forward to seeing the Mandalorians touch down on Forge’s surface. After Jhi-Aust, he had a score to settle.

 

The silence that settled over the two soldiers was interrupted by a match being stricken. Dinas’ glanced over toward Nils as he began to take a puff off of his cigar, the action causing embers to spread along its edges.

 

“Smoking’s not good for you.”

“But waiting for an orbital bombardment to wipe me out is, right?”

A grin fixed itself to Dinas’ lips. “Truth be told, Sarge, I’m pretty sure they won’t be bothering with that here. They need most of the planet to remain intact, remember?”

“If they can’t honor a treaty, what makes you think they’ll follow a plan?”

Dinas thought that over a second. “You’ve got a good point.”

“It happens on occasion.”

 

Despite how flippantly the subject may have been addressed, Nils was fairly certain that whenever the Sith made their move, it would definitely be a full-scale invasion. Breaking through the Maiden of Ire would be a costly thing though, and whatever landed on Forge was going to find out what a battalion of well-trained and patriotic troopers could do when faced with their call to action.

 

He took another puff from his cigar and allowed the smoke to filter out through his nostrils. Each time that he saw another explosion from the ongoing space battle, his stomach knotted just a bit more. The line was being held admirably, but like any fuse, there had to be a limit before everything went up in a big, fiery explosion. All that was up for question was whether or not that explosion would bring down enough of the Sith with it when the time came.

 

The admiral aboard the Maiden of Ire was nothing if not competent, though. It was rare that Nils saw a reason to actually congratulate the brass, but under his command the admiral had been able to hold the enemy at bay for far longer than he would have imagined. Though his forces may have been whittled away, he still managed to keep up a strong front for them. The evacuation of civilians would have been impossible if not for the sake of his tactical prowess, and Nils could hardly fathom what would happen when finally he was pushed to the point of no return.

 

“So why did you join up, Dinas?” It wasn’t very often that Nils found himself in the mood for small talk, but with nothing to do other than watch more men perish above them, he could use a break from the norm. As he spoke, rings of smoke laced his words.

 

“The moment that that I picked up a blaster, I knew it was what I wanted to do.” The statement was followed with a one-shouldered shrug from Dinas as he thought over his decision to sign up. “My parents were against the idea, but I didn’t care. I lied to the recruiter about my age and shipped off before anyone could stop me.”

 

Nils chuckled. “Why were your folks opposed?”

“You mean other than because their son would one day be drinking in second hand smoke on a soon-to-be-warzone?”

“If they could see past that, sure.”

“I had an ancestor that fought in the Mandalorian War.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of. A lot of good men did.”

“On the other side.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Dinas said with surprisingly good humor. “Oh.”

 

“I’ll keep it simple,” he continued. “My family learned their lesson after that war and decided to become traders, businessmen – you know. Respectable people. They didn’t like the idea of me picking up a blaster, because if I did they were afraid I’d be quoting the Resol’nare before long.”

 

“I don’t got to worry about that, do I?” Nils’ question came with a feigned look of concern.

“At Minos, I took out more than my fair share of Mandalorians. They’re scum.”

 

While his comment may have been jesting, hearing Dinas say that was more than slightly reassuring. Too many people would have fallen back onto their ancestry as an excuse for why they would want to become like the bloody killers that had visited death upon everyone and everything that they saw. Before he had felt Dinas was a decent guy; now, he thought he was a good one.

 

Together, the two soldiers continued to watch the overhead theater.

 

“Why’d you join up, Sarge?”

Nils continued to puff on his cigar. “Ever asked a rock why it’s a rock?”

The lack of response was an answer in itself.

“I guess I’m a soldier because if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be who I am.”

“That’s a pretty deep sentiment there.”

“Like I said: I’ve been out of the mix too long.”

 

Dinas looked over at Nils, who seemed quite comfortable in the field of smoke that surrounded him. “Factoring in the space battle, orbital shields, anti-air batteries, and casualties from impact, how many of them do you think are actually going to make it through, Sarge?”

 

Silence answered the question as Nils thought it over. There were a lot of variables that were going to come into play when the Sith or Mandalorians attempted to land on Forge, but thinking them all through was going to make his head hurt. No matter how it played out, death was going to be the handed out generously.

 

“It doesn’t really matter,” he said as he removed his cigar and crushed it against his gloved palm. “Our job is making sure that none of them make it off alive.”

Edited October 15, 2012 by AlyxDinas

[AlyxDinas]

Location: Forge. 0400 hours.

 

If nothing else, Senior Sergeant Nils had to give the Mandalorians credit for knowing how to make a good entrance. Of course, he was all about making sure their exit was just as spectacular.

 

He was no action junkie, but after a week of waiting it was hard enough to keep a few of his recruits in line. Between the jitters that came before any engagement and the thirst for vengeance that quite a few of his boy were dealing with, he knew that the moment that he gave the command to enter the fray, nothing was going to be able to hold them back. Now was the time to make up for their loss at Jhi-Aust.

 

The ships that made it through the planetary shield were coming down in various states of disarray. Those that weren’t torn to pieces by planetary cannon fire were meeting with harsh landings, and it was only the frequent bombing runs of their accompanying fighters that kept his men at bay. More than enough of his men were ready to rush down the incline and meet the Mandalorians head-on, but much to their chagrin, the senior sergeant knew a thing or two about tactics.

 

Namely, that a person didn’t surrender the high ground for the sake of a charge out of a bad holo-vid.

 

The waiting was getting to him though, and for all of the rustling and complaining that came from the soldiers behind him, he had a few signs of his own eagerness. Two cigar butts had been chewed beyond recognition and it was through strength of will alone that he kept another from joining that number. It was hard enough to find a good cigar on Forge; there was no sense in chewing up the ones that he did have.

 

“A lot more of them made it through than I figured,” Dinas said as he lifted his blaster rifle after its latest inspection. When it came to things that an infantryman needed to rely on, his rifle was second only to the man beside him. When they waded into the thickest of the enemy, he was going to have to be able that the former worked so that he could provide the latter for one of his brothers.

 

Dinas was right in his assessment. Tactical command had believed that fewer than 20% of the Mandalorian landing vehicles would make it; however, while a few did explode upon entry, the majority was touching down. He didn’t know how they were getting through the shield so well, but he did know that he was going to send each and every one of them to hell when they left cover.

 

“Sergeant Nils,” a voice announced over his comm-unit. “We’ve got your van covered up here. Give me the word and we’ll light it up.”

 

“Sounds good, Baels,” Nils replied. “Just make sure that you don’t catch any of my boys in the crossfire.”

“Keep Dinas out of there and I won’t be tempted to have a misfire or two.” When Nils looked toward Dinas, his subordinate offered him little more than a shrug.

 

“We had a miscommunication on which of us a certain girl favored more.”

The chuckle that Dinas offered said more than enough. “So who did she favor me?”

“It was so long ago I can't even say, Sarge. I just know that she favored me longer.”

 

Keeping their banter going was a good thing. It filled the void; kept his men from thinking about what would happen when they were staring down the business end of Mandalorian warriors and their blasters. Most of them had standard kits, and while that would be good to ward off a glancing blast, he had no doubt that a good shot from a Mandalorian blaster was going to take them down.

 

Between their artillery barrage and the position they held, though, he didn’t think that was going to be too much of a problem.

 

In all, it was a matter of positioning. The Mandalorians needed to get to the shield batteries behind his line, while his line needed to make sure that they didn’t get any closer. With Baels and the rest of artillery in position, he doubted that many of them would be able to make it past the first of the barricades, let alone up to his post and past it.

 

If, and it was a pretty big if, the Mandalorians could make it to his line, then they were going to be in for the fight of their lives. The battle in the air may have been leaning toward the opposition’s favor slowly, but unless they could bring the shields down it didn’t account for a whole lot. As long as they could hold until reinforcements arrived, they would have done all they needed to.

 

“Keep it simple, boys. Fire from the shoulder and none of that holo-drama crap. The first one of you that I see reenacting that ridiculous footage we saw from Havoc Squad on Alderaan is going to be on latrine duty for a year.”

 

Private First Class Mullins, a Corellian recruit, replied with a grin on his voice. “But Sarge, they looked so pretty charging into enemy lines.”

“Yeah, well. When you get Mark II kits, let me know. Until then, hold your position and engage only when necessary.”

“You’re taking the fun out of it.”

“Now you sound like your mother.”

 

It wasn’t very often that it happened, but when he managed to land a good one on one of the new guys, it always drew a laugh from the veterans.

 

Jesting or otherwise he was certain that quite a few of them were going to try to prove themselves, and as a result they would be creating liabilities for everyone that was around them. Still, he had drilled them to the best of his ability – the only thing left to do now was see how they held up in the forge.

 

It was for that reason more than any other than he detested the footage that the Republic put out of people like Havoc Squad, or any Special Ops group. They were given better gear, better training, and the ability to edit a take whenever they entered the fray. He doubted that their battles were as heroic as they seemed, and while they certainly may have encouraged adrenaline junkies like FNG Mullins to enlist, it didn’t mean he had to like their showboating at all.

 

It was the basics, always the basics, that ensured a victory would be in hand.

 

More of the shuttles were landing in droves, and their bombing runs were becoming a little more ambitious. Intelligence had been correct to hold them further back from the line of engagement, although those meters that they surrendered by remaining back may have proven costly in the end. The smoldering ashes and flames left in the wake of those runs didn’t make him sad for that gamble, however.

 

In the sky, things weren’t looking any better than they had been a week before. The Maiden of Ire was still holding her own against the ships coming her way, but from the size of whatever the hell the Mandalorians brought with them, it wasn’t as though they were going to allow things to remain that way for long. The faster that they repelled their ground forces, the sooner that they were going to be able to commit more bodies to the air.

 

The Mandalorians may have landed a few klicks away, but the sound of their war cry managed to travel ahead of them. It was a wind that raced past his men and managed to check a few of their nerves. He thought of the lives he had seen brought to an end by that cry though, and was more than ready to answer it with one of his own.

 

“Sarge, we’ve got a problem.” Unlike the moment before when he radioed in, Baels no longer sounded jesting – in fact, confusion seemed to be the best way to describe what Nils heard.

 

“You forgot how to press a button, Baels?”

“No, but I think you’d better take a look at their line.”

 

It wasn’t very often that he heard confusion or concern on Baels’ voice. He wasn’t a recruit and he didn’t seem like an idiot, which meant that if either thing was there then there had to be a reason for it. Nils tapped his shoulder and then pointed to his eyes, a pair of binoculars was tossed his way. He removed his helmet and placed it aside, then lifted the binoculars to see what was so disturbing Baels.

 

Not a second went by before he saw what it was.

“They’re fragging kids, Sarge.”

 

True to Baels’ statement, the enemy line that approached was composed mostly of children no older than what appeared to be twelve or thirteen. He had heard of Mandalorian warrior rites or something of that nature, but nothing had prepared him for facing down a sea of children as they bore in upon his position. Given the option to shoot a man he could do it without thinking, but children?

 

There weren’t many things that could cause a war veteran to feel uneasy, but killing children was definitely one of them. Not only would they be killing children, but they would be doing it en masse. A few of the number stood out as being older than the others, but they were the exception, not the rule.

 

“Crissake,” he muttered.

“What’s up, Sarge?”

“They’re sending kids at us.”

 

Before the soldier could ask what he meant, he tossed the binoculars his way. Dinas caught them and looked for himself. His jaw clenched as their approaching mass was identified.

 

“What kind of bastards would send their kids at a heavily fortified position?”

Nils shook his head. “I didn’t think that they could stoop that low.”

“Well, they have.”

“Yeah, they have.”

 

That dynamic greatly changed everything. No one joined the Republic’s army so that they could shoot children, hell; they were supposed to be the people that went after bastards that did that kind of thing.

 

“What do you want me to do, Sarge? We’re ready and able.”

 

He was certain that Baels knew what he wanted him to do, but saying it was an entirely different thing. Just like Baels, his men were going to need someone else to tell them what was expected of them. Certainly none of them had ever dreamed that they would have to gun down children, but from the look of their weapons, those kids weren’t coming to shake their hands.

 

Senior Sergeant Nils placed his helmet back on and lifted his rifle once more. Being a leader wasn’t all cantina dancers and Corellian ale; sometimes, you had to make the tough call.

 

“You do your job, soldier, and protect the Republic.”

“Got it, Sarge.”

 

Further behind the line, Master Sergeant Edmond Baels could hardly believe what he was being told to do. It was the right call, of that he had no doubt, but to actually follow it meant breaking a code that he had given himself. Men didn’t kill children, it was just the way things worked. On Jhi-Aust the Mandalorians had used local militia to their advantage, but that was different – even if they were civilians, they knew what they were doing.

 

There were enough ordnance around him to stop a charging rancor, but for the first time since his stay on Oberiim, he didn’t feel he was capable of following an order. The mortars were ready: tanks had been positioned to rain death down upon men when they crossed into the kill zone, but those had been men that needed to die, not fragging kids.

 

The Mandalorian line advanced still further, the ground disappearing into the myriad of colors that their combined armors created. No longer could he see anything other than their number, and yet he knew that the moment he gave his order, it would be children that were turned into mulch. It sickened him to even consider it, but as Sergeant Nils had stated, he had a job to do.

 

“Hang it,” he commanded to the man behind him. The soldier hesitated and then nodded, before loading the first round into the mortar. It was 120 mm of death that was going to ensure that someone’s child would not live to see another day. His heart beat against his ears as he watched the line draw even closer.

 

Could he really do it? Further ahead he knew that Nils and Dinas were preparing to engage those same children, but that didn’t make it any easier for him. Even if he didn’t give the command, someone else would – hell, he knew that was going to happen. It would have been easier to just let another person take the blame for killing the child brigade that was coming his way.

 

But it wouldn’t have been right.

 

Once, long ago, Edmond had made the mistake of neglecting his duty for what he felt was an easier option. He would never again make that mistake – to that he had promised. The following action was surely going to be something to cause him nightmares; an action that was going to chase him for the rest of his life, but he couldn’t look away from it.

 

He lowered his hand sharply and shouted out to all of those within his vicinity. This wasn’t something that he wanted to do, but it was something that the Republic needed. The deafening roar of cannons began a cacophony of ballistics the likes of which threatened to darken the sky.

 

They weren’t doing this because they wanted to, he told himself.

They were doing it for the Republic.

 

“FIRE!”

[AlyxDinas]

Location: 5 Stand Months after the Battle of Forge. Three Standard Months Before Infiltration of Mantell Syndicate. Republic Intelligence Main Headquarters. Interrogation Room #12. Coruscant. 1300 Hours.

 

The room felt like a cliché. Bleakness surrounded Master Sergeant Jeos Dinas. Claustrophobic gray walled him. The air, thick with heat, choked him. There must have been some type of air circulation; an ever persistent drone clued him into the fact that the room’s climate must have been designed to be as uncomfortable as possible. Jeos would have laughed if he wasn’t the one stuck in the room.

 

It was like something you would read about in a war novel, so trite that only its existence stopped it from seeming like bad fiction. As it was, he sat in a cold durasteel chair at a similarly fashioned table. He was still waiting for someone to arrive after thirty whole minutes of waiting. Well, thirty minutes plus being paraded up to the interrogation room by guards. Guards who never told him where he was going or why.

 

The whole ordeal had been a slap in the face so far. Returning to Coruscant after a disastrous mission on Togoria, the 408th had landed on planet and what was the first thing waiting for Jeos when they arrived in the hanger? An armed escort who politely told him that he needed to go with them to Intelligence Headquarters.

 

Nearly a whole standard year spent on the operations in Sith territory and his reward was to be treated little better than a criminal. His considerable patience was about to wear thin.

 

He suspected that was the point of the delay in procedure: to make him as uncomfortable as possible. It was working quite well. Even thirty minutes in the stifling room was thirty too many. The table before him was empty.

 

The least they could have done was leave a glass or water. Or treat him like a fellow soldier. He hadn’t risked his life for the Republic’s stability, watched other men die due to his blunders, and been nearly crippled just so they could act as if he was no better than a swoop ganger or slaver. He was about to get up when the door opened with an ominous creaking.

 

Framed in the light which shot through from the hallway, Jeos could just barely make out the small frame of an officer as they entered the room. Upon entrance, his features became much easier to discern, even in the considerable lack of illumination the room held. A Bothan, perhaps a whole foot shorter than Jeos, strode into the room.

 

His fur was a golden color and seemed to shine with extra luster as he confidently entered the room, claiming it as his own. His face was the hallmark of Bothan cunning and confidence. The slightest shift in his eyes, the smallest reflection of light, made him look more calculating than any droid. He moved towards the table and Jeos instinctively brought his hand up to sal-

 

“That won’t be needed.” the Bothan shot out, stopping Jeos’ hand from reaching the apex of its journey. His voice was aggressive but somehow lacked the tone of command. He pulled up the only open chair at the steel table, across from Jeos.

 

Dropping a datapad on the table, he finally made eye contact with Jeos for the first time. “Sorry for keeping you, Master Sergeant. I’m Lieutenant Junior Grade Kurrith Vel'sar. Without a doubt, you are anxious to know what this is about.”

 

It might have been the understatement of the century. Jeos was entirely dependent on answer at this point. He craved them. There was very little that he could think of that would necessitate such measures. And he was positive that he wasn't guilty of any of those things. “It would certainly be a welcome revelation, sir.” He was careful to be respectful.

 

Vel’sar’s fur twitched for a minute, reacting to Jeos’ measured irritation. While the soldier was undoubtedly entitled to answers, it did not give him grounds to challenge authority. The subtle gesture was not lost to the Bothan.

 

Pausing further to relish the moment before the revelation, Vel’sar proceeded with little concern in his voice. “I regret to inform you that you have been deemed a person of interest by the Department of Internal Security and are currently under investigation on suspicion of being a Sith spy.”

 

Silence. Jeos felt it would have been better for the Lieutenant to simply have slapped him upon entering the room. It would have been much more direct and welcome than this. “I’m sorry, sir.” he finally managed to say, his tone barely measured. “But could you repeat that? It sounded to me like you said something crazy.”

 

At this, the Bothan’s fur full out flattened. His face was cold and unforgiving as he shot a gaze towards Jeos that would have broken through even the more powerful capital ship shields. Looking down at his datapad, he seemed to double check something before speaking again. “It says here that you have an ancestor who served under both Revan and Malak in the Sith Empire. Melkin Dinas? Is that not correct?”

 

Jeos almost scoffed out loud at that. The implication that Kurrith was making couldn’t be what it seemed to be. That was absurd. If not for the Bothan’s cold gaze, Jeos would assume that he was joking. “That was over three hundred years ago, sir.”

 

The Bothans did not waver. “It also says here that he married a Mandalorian named Akaess Takar. A warrior who fought against this Republic under Mandalore the Ultimate. Is this also correct?”

 

“Yes, but again-“

 

“Tell me, Sergeant…”the Bothan queried, raising an eyebrow. “Do you speak Mandalorian?”

 

Jeos became visibly angry at this. Not only was the charge against him utterly absurd but the grounds for it, so far, were just as ridiculous.

 

“I understand it, sir. I choose not to speak. With due respect sir, is this entire line of question going to revolve around my distant relation to a pair of filthy traitors and my somewhat cursory knowledge of the language of the barbarians one of them hailed from? My family has never been Mandalorian. I have never honored the Resol'nare and have served this Republic faithfully as a citizen and soldier all of my life.”

 

He had expected it to close the matter. Jeos’ refusal was meant to take the wind out of Vel’sar’s sails, to highlight the sheer lunacy of his line of question. Of the Republic’s doubt in his loyalty. What he didn’t expect was the Bothan to chuckle derisively.

 

“Yet you still know the language. Which means that you were still taught it. As for your own question…”he said, his voice cutting through Jeos’ confidence like a lightsaber. “I am afraid there is far more to it than that, Sargeant. Tell me, what do you parents do?”

 

This question seemed to lack relevance even more than the others. “They’re merchants, sir. My family deals in the trade and transport of agricultural goods. We have for generations. Ask anyone from the Chomell Sector.”

 

Vel’sar grunted. He was, apparently, not quite finished with his thought. “And according to your family’s records, you traded these goods rather further than simply the Naboo system. Your transaction records show visits to places as far as Ord Mantell, Gala, Dantooine and Phindar shortly after the signing of the Treaty of Coruscant. All are within the Sith Empire.”

 

“If you’ll note, sir, during the war it was very hard to determine the Empire’s territory.” Jeos began, exasperated at the further implications the callous Bothan was making.

 

“Definite boundaries would not be laid out for a few years. And even then, the territorial differences were hazy at best. My family was simply getting food to people who needed it. Whole worlds were devastated by the Empire’s might. People were desperate. People, who I might add, were Republic citizens before the war started.”

 

“That is of no consequence. The fact remains that not only is there a direct blood tie to the Sith and Mandalorians, your family was openly trading with them after the war. Deep in their territory.”

 

“My family saved lives!” Jeos erupted. It was the first time he had really lost his cool for a long time. To question him was one thing. He would not allow Vel’sar to question his parents.

 

“People would have starved without that food. And need I remind you that I was a child at the time they were trading during the war? And that afterward, I spent mandatory public service on my home planet from the age of thirteen until my enlistment in this Republic’s army?”

 

Vel’sar: “Their ways have corrupted even the best of us! And if you’re recent exploits are any indication, it would seem that they sunk their teeth into you at a young age!”

 

At this, Jeos could not help himself. “What the hell are you talking about?! I’ve been away on an operation that would launch us back to war if the Sith found out.”

 

The Bothan shot another automatic gaze at his datapad before continuing.

 

“The 408th were attached to the Justice and the mop up operation in the Minos Cluster in 2 BTC, correct? But isn’t it true that two of your operations resulted in disastrous consequences. Reports here say you were ambushed on two occasions. Corva Yag and Eliad, respectively. And that is not counting the recent incidents your squad has faced. Tell me, Dinas, if the Sith were not expecting us to find their smaller operations in the Cluster, how is it that they were able to ambush your squad? Especially considering they would be wiser to keep their presence hidden since they were already facing a losing battle against our counter offensive?"

 

Jeos was dumbfounded. That was years ago. Before the Treaty. He would have liked nothing more than jump up and strike the Lieutenant but he was already pushing his luck with his emotional responses to the questions. He didn’t need to give them a surefire reason to court martial him. He just needed to finish this exchange without skinning Vel’sar alive.

 

“Check your reports further, Lieutenant.” Jeos offered snidely. “We lost one man between those two incidents. A damn good soldier, I might add. And friend. You might also notice that I was almost permanently crippled during the Corva Yag op. Are you suggesting that I not only sold out my brothers but that I also let myself get shot in the leg?!”

 

The Bothan stood up and collected his datapad. “I am suggesting this: your unit was ambushed by the Sith when they had no reason to expose their operations and risk open annihilation. Additionally, they had no way of knowing specifically your squad's mission and movements unless they were somehow informed of them by someone intimately involved with the operations. Your family not only has blood ties to two of this Republic’s enemies but also has a history of dealing with the Empire and its citizens. If anyone was in a position to sell out troop movements, it would be you, Sergeant. We did not have the time to follow up on such things during the Great War.

 

You cannot hide it. Togoria was the first time your unit had been deployed off planet in years since you've been busy aiding in the rebuilding process and it ends in complete anarchy?! You're deployed to Forge and even with our considerable defenses, the planet goes to the Mandalorians. I doubt that is simply bad luck, Sergeant. As such, you are part of an ongoing internal investigation from this point on. You will be confined to Coruscant and you will comply will all further requests. Is that understood?”

 

“Yes, sir…” Jeos muttered coolly even though he had half a mind to kill the man right there for mentioning Forge. But what were his choice, really? Comply or else. The alternative was not anything he wanted to entertain.

 

“Good. You are free to go for now.” Vel’sar said, turning to leave the room. “I have a feeling that we are going to become great friends, Sergeant.” And with that, he left. Jeos sat alone. The place might as well have been a prison cell for all that he felt.

 

“I sincerely doubt that.” he said to the empty room.

Edited October 16, 2012 by AlyxDinas

[AlyxDinas]

Location: Two and a Half Standard Months Before Infiltration of Mantell Syndicate. Loading Bay 4186. Coruscant. 1800 Hours. 10 ATC

 

Late. He was running late for the most important thing he was ever going to do in his life. Out of breath and possibly out of his mind, Jeos Dinas could only hear the sound of his heart frantically crashing around the inside of his chest like some barely contained beast in a cage. It was bad enough to be nervous; it was an entirely different thing to be running behind schedule. If he was too late, he might miss his only chance to do this ever.

 

Standing near the entrance of the large Republic loading bay where the Justice preparing for departure, Jeos looked out of place for a military man. Unkempt hair and a gristly shadow of facial stubble made him look more like someone who belonged in a pazaak den then near a military vessel. It was a wonder that he had not been stopped sooner.

 

Upon making his up to the first security checkpoint, he was seized immediately by two surly looking Troopers, who took him aside and got up within a hairsbreadth of his face. One, a traditional looking soldier, had a harsh gaze that belied a certain type of aggression that came with asserting what little power came with running guard duty. Fresh faced, he looked like Jeos might have years ago when he had first given into his thirst for adventure and joined the Army.

 

The other was a less enthused looking Epicanthix. Bearing the distinctive height and deep mahogany skin tone of his people, he eyed Jeos with a measure of interest and suspicion but did not seem to share the same zeal of his partner. Releasing their grip on him, they seemed to circle around him like a pair of buzzards.

 

“Well,” began the younger Trooper, a playful grin on his face. “Who do we have here?”

 

Almost by rote, Jeos responded, hoping that if he still appealed to regulations, he might pass. “Jeos Dinas. Service Number RA16 8541.”

 

There was a quick chuckle from the Epicanthix. Soft but knowing. “Former service number.”

 

“Fact.” The younger Trooper raised a finger and pointed it at Jeos’ face. If he wanted, Jeos could have swatted it as simply as a fly but he did nothing. “Don’tcha know that you’re big news right now, Dinas? Selling weapons on the side, getting discharged. The story is all over the place. You’re the hottest thing since Moxla went toxic!”

 

“Listen,” Jeos began, keeping his voice measured even as his heart still pounded in his ears. “I don’t have time for this. Let me past.”

 

“Oho!” the younger man exclaimed, openly mocking Jeos’ command by giving a small salute. “Can’t let you do that, Dinas. Authorized personnel only. And that ain’t you.”

 

His partner only gave a small affirmative grunt. Jeos, gazing past them towards the excited and lively loading bay, became more desperate with each passing second. Kark it all! I’m not letting them stop me when I’m this close!

 

“Listen to me! Listen, please. In a few minutes that cruiser is going to take off and I will have missed my last chance to see the one woman in this galaxy that I love. If you don’t let me pass, I will have to wait at least a whole year before I can see her again. I should have done this a long time ago…”

 

He reached cautiously into his jacket pocket, moving slowly as to not seem like he was making a pull for a blaster or another dangerous object. Deftly, he pulled out a small box and held it in his hand. Both the Troopers’ faces filled with recognition. The younger one began to laugh.

 

“Oh, man!” he wheezed. “This is too great. I feel like I’m in the middle of a bad holoromance!” His childish hilarity at the situation made it clear that he had never truly felt strongly about anyone but himself. His cackle carried on until his partner spoke up.

 

“Let him go, Berker.” The darker man relented. “We can file a report about this afterwards.”

 

Jeos did not wait for the other Trooper’s response. Darting forward into the sea of soldiers on the loading bay, he moved at a breakneck pace, passing by any and all he encountered. He could hear the calls of the loadmaster, feel the polished durasteel beneath his feet but it did not matter only one thing did. And he would not stop until he found it. It was like some nightmare.

 

Claustrophobic pressure built upon every inch of his body. Each person he passed with another obstacle, another delay. He was running, weaving in and out of an endless cascade of faceless drones, searching for a hidden gem in the depths of the deepest ocean. Finally…

 

“Lanen!” he yelled, finally reaching the end of his search. She was not facing him but it couldn’t be anyone else but her. The mere sight of her corn colored hair, the mere hint of her familiar scent floating towards him was enough to send his already frantic heartbeat into an absolute and uncontained state of nausea.

 

He felt lightheaded. He expected nothing else. For a moment, there was a wash of doubt that swept through all of his body but it abated as soon as she turned to face him.

 

Lanen Terrio had never looked more beautiful to Jeos than she had at that moment.

 

“Jay?!” she exclaimed with shock and glee as she turned around. Her stark blue eyes exploded with pure elation. Rushing up to him, she gave him a quick hug that he returned before breaking away with a slight hint of discomfort. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you going to get in trouble? I thought we agreed that we would…”

 

“I know, I know.” Jeos acknowledged, a small and sheepish grin breaking across his face. “But things have changed and I can’t just sit and do nothing, Lanen. I can’t.”

 

“Jay…” Terrio began. “You shouldn’t be here. Not after what happened. The discharge…”

 

Jeos gulped. He had dreaded this part. He knew what was coming but he had pushed it to the back of his mind. He didn’t want to think about it. But it was unavoidable. “Lanen…there’s so much that I want to tell you about that. About why I was detained so long. The whole situation is karked and if only I could…”

 

“Just tell me the truth, Jay.” Lanen interrupted. Her face was full of the same trepidation that Jeos felt. It was hard to tell but Jeos knew that face’s every detail. Only a small creasing near the edge of her lips gave it away but it was enough the Jeos could immediately notice. “Is it true? Did you what they say you did?”

 

There was nothing else he could say.

 

“Yes.”

 

It was the first lie he had to tell thanks to Major Rebar and the wonderful people working at Republic Intelligence. It was also the most painful one. He could see it in Terrio’s eyes.

 

His admission of guilt hurt her more than any Sith could have managed on the front lines. A pained scowl formed, seizing her face with disappointment.

 

“You’re better than that.” she said, her words cutting straight to Jeos’ core.

 

It was all he could do from telling her the real truth but no one could know. Not even her. As such, he could only respond as he would if it we actually true. “I was trying to get things ready…for us. I know! I was stupid! I got rid of all that money, Lan. Gave it away to Sarms’ family. I didn’t even use it for this…”

 

It was now or never. His face was flush, his legs were weak. Dizziness claimed him. However, he managed to keep going. Taking a knee right in front of the shocked soldier, Jeos pull out the box from his jacket pocket and opened it. There was a simple and modest ring, a small sapphire fixed in the centre that was a blue as Lanen’s eyes.

 

“Lanen Corlena Terrio, will you marry me?” The words were heavier than he thought but upon saying them, they seemed to fly out into the galaxy itself.

 

For a moment, he heard nothing. He only saw her face. Pure joy flashed across Lanen’s features, coupled with a sly touch of mischievous plotting. She didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, she grasped the ring and slipped it over her finger.

 

“You sure know how to make a girl wait, don’t you?” she offered with a catlike grin. Taking his hand, she pulled Jeos up to his feet. To the side, the loadmaster called something indistinct that Jeos did not hear. However, Lanen must have. Scooping up her bags, she tossed him on her back and shot another smirk at Jeos.

 

“Well, that’s me.” She said, curtly. It almost sounded like she was disinterested. “Thanks for the ring, Jay.”

 

Jeos still stood in place. Despite her taking the ring, he still hadn’t heard her say “yes”. It was a small thing but somehow it mattered more than he thought. And now? Now she was toying with him. He knew it. They both did.

 

“Lanen…” he began.

 

“Yeeeeeeessssss?” she purred back at him, drawing out the word that she knew that the literal minded Jeos wanted to hear.

 

“Are you gonna, you know…say it?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“You’re a sadist.”

 

“And yer scruffy looking, so I think that we’re even.”

 

She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Drawing in close, she moved forward for the kiss and then drew back.

 

Whispering into his ear like she did those many years ago back on the Justice, she gave him a simply command: “If you want a wife, you better be a good boy and have your rear right back here when I get back from this tour.”

 

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, turning to walk to the Justice’s entrance ramp. All he could do was call back to her through the crowd.

 

“Yes, ma’am!”

Edited October 16, 2012 by AlyxDinas

[AlyxDinas]

Location: The Present. S-250 Chela-class starfighter “Second Hand”. En route from Coruscant to Alderaan system. ETA: 2 standard hours.

 

For all the potential problems, things were going smoothly. That was all Jeos Dinas could think of as his small starfighter shot through hyperspace. Perhaps it was wishful thinking or perhaps it was the soothing effect of the sapphire blue glow of hyperspace dancing right outside his ship’s transparisteel viewport but Jeos had, for the first time since being given to him. His infiltration of the Mantell Syndicate was finally underway.

 

For some time, he had waited. It was odd. Jeos had wanted nothing to do with his mission. Yet, as he had waited for his contact form to go through to the Syndicate, his sniper’s patience had actually begun to wear thin. Impatience had given way to anxiety. Anxiety had finally become peace of mind. He had a mission and now there was nothing but duty. If only his duty didn’t require becoming a criminal.

 

Jeos sighed. “We can’t always get what we want.” he said, tossing the phrase out into the vacuum of space. What was it that the Jedi always said? Something about the here and now? Whatever the logic behind it, he did not buy into it. Not this time. He wasn’t waiting to pull the trigger on some Corva Yag hilltop. He was waiting to pick up sensitive information from some shady Nerf-head on Alderaan at the request of what was apparently one of the most influential criminal organizations outside of the Exchange.

 

He should have been more worried but the many questions in his head, combined with the prospect of an upcoming task had left his mind too busy to be nervous. And too tired. He slumped in his pilot’s seat, sinking deeper into its embrace. He had wouldn’t be at Alderaan for at least two more hours. Jeos let out a few labored breaths before falling into a deep sleep. He would wake up when he got there but all he could think about was how he got here…

 

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Location: Two Standard Months Ago. Major Rebar’s Office. Republic Intelligence Main Headquarters. Coruscant.

 

“You wanted to see me, Lieutenant Colonel Torik?” Master Sergeant Jeos Dinas asked as he snapped up a quick salute towards his superior. He glanced about the unfamiliar office. He did not alter his position, only letting his eyes dart about. His eyes were immediately drawn to his right, where a rather surly looking Mon Calamari was leaning over a side table.

 

That would be Major Rebar, he presumed. It was strange that the man was not behind his own desk. But then, it was odd enough that he was meeting his Captain’s immediate superior in someone else’s office. After the last few days, he had grown accustom to confusion.

 

“Yes, Sergeant, I did.” Torik replied, his baritone voice carrying across the room like a slitherhorn’s note. “At ease, Dinas. I assume you have an idea what this is about by now?”

 

Jeos relaxed his stance and stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Best guess, sir? The same thing those banthas from Internal Security have been asking about for the last week.” He could not hide his displeasure at this point. How many interrogations had it been now? Five? Six?

 

“Stow that talk, soldier!” another voice boomed to his right. The Mon Calamari lurched forward, each of his steps louder than the last as he walked up to Jeos. “Or you’ll be spending a long time caged up like a slice hound at a zoo!”

 

“Sorry, sir.” he offered back. “But at least they do not keep asking the slice hound if it is a Sith.”

 

“Valid point.” Torik allowed. “However, be that as it may, Major Rebar here is right. Keep talking and you’ll get to do a whole lot more of it at your court martial. I understand your frustration, so I know you’ll be happy once you hear what the Major has to say.”

 

“So just shut up and listen.” Rebar snapped. “You’re going to get a chance to do something worthwhile. I don’t know if you are well versed with your criminal organizations but you’re going to learn; you’re being assigned to me and to Strategic Information Service…”

 

“Sir, I-“ Jeos began to protest. They were taking him away from his squad. From Captain Feran? From the 408th? The very suggestion was enough to make Jeos forget any respect for the command structure. The 408th was his family. You don’t just break up a family.

 

Lieutenant Colonel Torik: “No objections, Dinas. Listen to Major Rebar.”

 

“You will be assigned to me…” Rebar continued, barely hiding the contempt in his voice. It was clear that he was enjoying making Jeos squirm but he was not enjoying the idea of having his under his direct command. Outstanding record or not.

 

“And you will be tasked with infiltrating the Mantell Syndicate. They operated out of a front company: Corellian Transports and Exports. You are to infiltrate their organization and report on their dealings. We want to make sure they don’t consider dealing with the Sith. We doubt they will but you are to report if they do, along with all other details about the organization. We’ve never gotten someone on the inside. We want shipment information, hierarchy, personnel. The works.”

 

Jeos let the information sink in. It made no sense. One, it sounded like the Republic knew more about this organization than they were letting on.

 

Two, it was pretty damned clear that they were putting him on the proverbial landspeeder. Shipping him out of the way.

 

“With due respect, sir, this makes no sense. I have no prior training for this type of operation. Besides, there are border skirmishes everyday now with the Sith. You can not seriously be implying that my skills would not best be served on the front?”

 

“You know the answer to that, Sergeant.” Torik offered with regret to his voice. “And you’re just going to have to deal with it. We cleared your release with Captain Feran. He wasn’t glad either but orders are orders. He doesn’t know the details; he just knows that you are gone. Initial contact has already been made with the Syndicate. A fake report of your mercenary services has been passed along by the Major’s agents. Your normal records have been changed to indicate a dishonorable discharge. As of now, you are a former soldier to everyone but me and the Major…”

 

“So, I have really no choice.” Jeos offered through gritted teeth. He was defeated, he knew. It was either this or the stockade. At least this way, he would be serving the Republic. Albeit not officially. But official or not, he had a duty to the people of the Republic. He didn’t have to like it but if they or rather, his superiors, said jump then he would ask how high…

 

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Location: The Present. S-250 Chela-class starfighter “Second Hand”. Planet Alderaan. Alderaan System.

 

Jeos was snapped out of his sleep as the Second Hand lurched out of hyperspace. The psychedelic blue kaleidoscope which had been outside his viewport was no more. All there was, was Alderaan. Jeos glanced down at his ship’s display and checked the chrono.

 

Time on planet was 1700 hours. That left him two hours before he had to meet his contact and pick up the datadisc she would have. According to the information he had received from the Syndicate’s “Public Relations Officer”, a cold droid named Janice, he was to meet his contact at a place called “The Woolly Moth.”

 

Jeos entered his approach vector and transmitted his landing codes to the planet. The process was pretty standard no matter where any spacer went but it seemed to speed along here faster than usual.

 

However, seeing as Jeos was landing in Aldera, the capitol city of perhaps one of the least war-like or dangerous worlds, he was sure that his landing codes didn’t make a difference. The codes went through quickly enough. He would be down on the surface within the next twenty minutes...

 

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Location: Aldera. Landing Pad 564. Planet Alderaan.

 

The Second Hand roared into Landing Pad 564 with a holler that reverberated out over the cityscape and through the mountains around the city. Aldera was high up for a capitol city, far above the low plains where farmers herded Nerf. The Chela-class starfighter slowly lowered itself towards the landing pad. Jeos surveyed the areas through his viewport and immediately saw that something was not right.

 

As the Second Hand touched down, Jeos made eye contact. Right before his ship was a tall woman, her raven black hair blown back by the craft’s engines. Her deep green eyes bore right into Jeos’. It was his contact. Her deep green eyes gave her away. He was supposed to meet a Zelosian. However, he was supposed to meet one nearly two hours from now halfway across the city.

 

Something had already gone wrong.

 

What in the brix is she doing here? Jeos thought as he quickly shot his right hand down to a side compartment and rolled a round object up his right sleeve while she looked away for a moment. And how does she know which ship is mine?

 

Within moments, he was walking across the durasteel plating of the landing pad. His steps were even and measured even as he was ready to assume the worst. Had the authorities caught on? Had his contact lured them here? Not one to mince words, Jeos’ mouth was open before he had even reached the woman. “What happened? We’re not supposed to meet for at least another hour or two!”

 

The Zelosian shifted her weight ever so slightly. Her stance showed her to be a pillar of professionalism. Of control. Whatever was going on, it was not enough to shake her. Her gaze was still hard enough to grind diamonds but when she spoke, her voice was light and level. “Nice to meet you too, Mister Dinas. I am Viarrn. Indeed, we were supposed to meet later on but circumstances have changed. Come with me.”

 

There was little time to argue. Viarrn turned and began to walk towards a maintenance shed a few yards away. Jeos followed, keeping a sharp eye on his surroundings. They were not going far. Good, he would be able to reach his ship quickly in that case.

 

Viarrn seemed displeased about whatever the current state of affairs was and discussion right in the open would not be wise. They moved towards the shed, two conspirators. Before they reached the door, Viarrn mock bowed keeping her eyes towards the hangar’s entrance. “After you, Mister Dinas.”

 

Jeos pushed to old shed’s door forward, sliding his left arm along the interior to find the switch for the lights. He quickly found it and thumbed it on. Stepping into the shed, he was struck by how overly polite his contact was. A criminal contact was bothering to call him “Mister Dinas.” Wait a minute…Jeos thought. How does she know my-

 

He whirled around too late. His reward was a cold, hard pistol whip to the side of his face. White pain shot through his mind as he reeled back. He was about to reach for his own weapon when he heard Viarrn’s own pistol hum with barely contained death.

 

Slowly, he lowered his arms to his side, keeping his hands raised slightly. He stepped back, further into the large shed. “So…” he managed to work through the throbbing pain in his face. “What seems to be the problem, Viarrn?

 

“You tell me…” the Zelosian spat back at him with barely contained vitriol. “Master Sergeant.”

 

Jeos’ face was impassive, stoic. Inside, his mind was reeling. How did she know? How had someone figured out who he was this early into affairs, before he had even worked his way into the Syndicate? His eyes darted back and forth. The only exit was blocked by Viarrn. There must be an alternative. He didn’t want to discount that there might be some way out of this without resorting to that. He would have to stall for time. “I have no idea wh-”

 

“Save it. Now give me your weapon.” Viarrn interjected.

 

She gestured for Jeos to sit on a nearby chair resting next to a workstation. He obliged her spoke request first, reaching into his coat with his left hand and pulling out his standard issue blaster pistol and dropping it to the floor. He then indulged her unspoken request, sitting in the chair and hanging his right arm behind it.

 

“I know who you are. Five operations in the Minos Cluster near the end of the war including Eliad and Corva Yag. All with the 408th Rangers. Before that, at least 2 other operations. And now, suddenly you’ve gone criminal? I find that very hard to believe. And I think the Syndicate will agree. Unless…”

 

“Unless what?” Jeos probed, already knowing what the scoundrel would say. The mercenary type was so easy to understand. They cared about only themselves. That was the difference between him and them. He did what he did for others; they did what they did only for themselves.

 

“Unless you offer some incentive to keep my mouth from speaking.” Viarrn predictably suggested with a wry smile.

 

“You’re on the Republic’s payroll. It should be easy to transfer say, one hundred thousand credits to my account? You agree to do that, my mouth not only stays shut but you also get the datadisc you were supposed to pick up from me. The Syndicate never knows the wiser, I retire to some Naboo beach, and you can go off to do whatever you are up to.”

 

As she did this, she took the datadisc out of her vest pocket and held it before him like a bone to a dog before slipping in back into her pocket.

 

The offer was a no brainer really. He could not afford to have his cover blown. But he could also not really afford to trust the Zelosian, could he? Cornered, he did the only smart thing he could. He started to laugh.

 

“Why in the six novas are you laughing?!” Viarrn yelled, her green eyes nearly bulging out of her sockets.

 

“Because…”Jeos began. “I have an armed grenade in my right hand.” He raised his arm from behind the chair. As Viarrn had made her offer, Jeos had rolled the grenade he had taken from his ship’s side compartment down his sleeve and into his hand.

 

In her eagerness to confront Jeos, the Zelosian had failed to pat him down for weapons, instead assuming that he would only be lightly armed with a blaster pistol. Her emerald eyes locked on the explosive device as she froze in place.

 

“That’s right…You’re asking yourself right now: is it a dead man’s switch? Is it a timer? Contact triggered? Can I afford to knock it out of his hand to find out? Is he really willing to kill us both, right here and now. Well, the answers are all the same: you’ll have to find out for yourself, schutta."

 

Viarrn had raised her gun in an instant. The pistol’s barrel was aimed directly at Jeos’ eye. At this distance, there would be no idea as foolish as dodging it. He would die. “TURN IT OFF!” the Zelosian commanded with more fear in her voice than threat.

 

“Do it! Now!”

 

“You do it!” Jeos offered before tossing the grenade up. Viarrn caught it in her free hand and frantically looked at it, trying to decipher its buttons. Her blaster was still right in his face. “Which button! Tell me!”

 

Fear overcame Jeos Dinas. His face was a white pall. He did not want to die. What had he done? His voice cracked as he relented and told her. “The one on the right, hit it three times. Fast!”

 

She complied, dropping her pistol to thumb the button and the result was that a deep red glow emitted from the grenade, enveloping her hand. An ever increasing beeping filled the shed. Viarrn shook her hand but the grenade was somehow fused to it. Stuck. Jeos had lied.

 

Standard issue Republic Adhesive/Incendiary grenades had multiple levels of adhesion in order for them to fight the gravity of any planet they might be used on. It was easily adjusted by toggling a button right next to the activation button. In this case, the adjustment that Viarrn had made was almost triple what was needed for Alderaan’s gravity. She would not be able to remove it.

 

Jeos rose to his feet. He was still stuck inside an enclosed space with an active grenade. Quickly he rammed into her side, reaching his hand into her vest pocket. He grabbed the datadisc and retrieved it, while also spinning her away and shoving her towards the back of the-

 

BOOM!

 

Viarrn had barely cleared a moderate distance between herself and Jeos when the grenade exploded like a thunderbolt hitting the ground before him. Jeos was flung backwards and directly into shed’s wall. He connected with a sickening crash. And then everything was dark…

 

His eyes opened. How long had he been out? Hours? Seconds? His vision straightened. Sound returned to his ears. Before him was little more than a smoking smear of green blood. Smoking. So he had not been out long. He snapped to his feet, only to find that a deep pain gripped his right side.

 

Biting his lip, he whirled towards the door and limped to the Second Hand. Clamoring into the cockpit, he pressed the ignition and strapped himself in. Fumbling his hand into the side compartment even as the ship began to take off, he grabbed a small syringe filled with kolto.

 

As the Second Hand blasted into space, the syringed blasted into his side and shot copious amounts of the healing fluid directly into his wound. He screamed with pain, dropping the syringe to the floor with a clang. Looking at his nav computer, he keyed into the coordinates to the Syndicate frontier outpost on Dantooine where he would meet his client.

 

The Second Hand shot into hyperspace, leaving nothing behind on Alderaan but a smoldering corpse…

 

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Location: 6 Hours Later. Syndicate Frontier Outpost. Planet Dantooine. Riaballo sector. Outer Rim.

 

The Second Hand had just touched down at the small Syndicate run outpost. The outpost, if it were to be called such, was little more than a wayward collection of ships and cargo surrounded by hastily erected metal stations. A handful of smugglers and armed men moved back and forth, carrying out their duties. Jeos winced as he looked at the scene. The pain in his side was numb but not gone. For a moment he looked at the datadisc in his hand.

 

Threatening Statement: Under no circumstances are you to access the encrypted disc.

 

That was what the Syndicate’s protocol droid had said. Curiosity flooded through him but reason held it at bay. He was neither good enough of a slicer to do a speed hack of the disc nor was he going to start disobeying orders, even from a criminal droid. He was a soldier. He had his duty. He needed to infiltrate the Syndicate. He would not risk their anger and dismissal. Leaving the Second Hand, he staggered towards a tall Trandoshan who waited near his ship. He quickly thrust the disc into his claws.

 

“This is for you.” Jeos said coldly. He did not wait for anything else. Within the next two minutes, the Second Hand was shooting through the planet’s atmosphere and into space. He accessed his ships communications array and typed in a short, encrypted message to the Syndicate.

 

Syndicate Job ID W97-3V8: Complete

 

He thought about Lanen. About Zahira. About Sarms. All the 408th. About the Mandalorians he'd killed at Forge. And he wondered what else he'd have to do and how much of it would linger on his soul until he died...

Edited October 16, 2012 by AlyxDinas