Before - Legends Silver Swarms of Ships *RELOADED* [Dear Diary 2014] Diary Complete!

Nice celebrations showing they're a close-knit team

 

Well, the first entry mentions that he went into pilot training soon after turning 18, and he's been involved in the Marine Corps ever since. From what I've been able to determine, being a senior naval lieutenant at age twenty isn't so far out of the norm for Star Wars, especially given the high attrition rate of fighter pilots and how valuable one with innate leadership abilities can be in a protracted conflict. Marine fighter pilot training takes eighteen months, and he's been a pilot for about ten months...

But as for the lifeday celebrations, I grabbed elements from a number of Star Wars sources, mostly from the X-wing series where it's mentioned that ryshcate is the traditional Corellian thing for birthdays as well as other special or momentous occasions. The carousing is just standard fare for military folks.

 

If there is, I don't know it, so I just made up a mention to some childish song (there's no way in Chaos I'm going to write up a GFFA lifeday song!). And of course the Five Worlds is a casual way of referring to the Corellian system.

 

He sure is young and what a great party for him

 

Pilot log, entry forty-nine, 3958.11.7 BBY

I'm probably the luckiest guy in the Republic today, at least that's how I feel at the moment.

On the night after my lifeday Teish'ala and I, suited up in our dress uniforms and looking positively dapper (she looked absolutely radiant), took a luxury speeder cab downtown to a performance of the Curamelle Philharmonic Orchestra. Accompanied by quite an impressive set of zero-G ballet dances, the orchestra performed a wide selection of classical pieces. I know absolutely nothing about this sort of music, but I know what I like, and the entire show had me feeling as though we were flying through the most beautiful skyscape one could imagine while having a hundred or more instruments each praising our piloting skills in their own way. After the conclusion of each piece, both Teish'ala and I stood up to applaud, and from the way she was moving as we listened it was evident that elements of the performances went beyond the range of Human hearing. We thoroughly enjoyed the evening, as well as the night we spent together afterward. When we parted company the next morning, she promised to be visible for the start (and hopefully finish) of the race to come.

With the upcoming swoop race and recruit training sessions, my flight (which contained my team) had been kept off the patrol roster for the past week in order to prepare, which had been a happy little coincidence for the previously-mentioned celebrations. The accelerators finally arrived the day before the race; fortunately it only took about an hour for the mechanics to swap out all four parts, so we were able to conduct more time trials. They definitely work as advertised, putting quite a bit of umph into the engines beyond what the stock items already offered. If you know what you're doing and have a good idea of the course, having superior acceleration can actually be better than having superior top speed, and I would rather have the former than the latter. So, going into the race, I was feeling good about our chances despite the master sergeant's dire warning.

The pre-race festivities weren't nearly as extensive or expansive as those held for the season opener in Tasjon, but we didn't mind. We were as anxious this time around as we were the previous race to get such hullabaloo over with so we could climb onto our swoops and get going. And like the opener, all four of us placed really well. Ensign Telmi, after falling behind early, made something of a miraculous recovery and took second place. Ros'lax took fourth, I netted fifth, and Lieutenant Ven snagged seventh. Jalitha was positively over the moon during the awards ceremony; unfortunately for a lot of young male egos present at the post-race celebration, this manifested in a light dosing of the pheromones her species was somewhat famous for. The first-place racer, a Dug whose civility was surprising given his species' reputation, netted fifty thousand credits. When presented with the runner-up prize, a cool twenty thousand, Telmi blushingly announced that all winnings earned by the Marine Corps team would be donated to the Corulag Childrens' Conservatory, a non-profit organization that took in orphans with talents in the performing arts and saw to their education. Teish'ala was among those clapping hardest in response, and we shared a furtive smile.

This policy was in keeping with the finalized proposal that had been forwarded up the chain of command and approved, and all four of us were quite keen on the idea, especially since all of our equipment was provided for us on the Republic's credcard. In any case, the next swoop race won't be for another month at least, so we've got plenty of time to teach the current crop of "maggots" how not to call in an airstrike. I'm really looking forward to this duty...in case that hasn't been made clear.


______________________________________________________________________
Thumper09 windu4 Nyota's Heart earlybird-obi-wan TrakNar Findswoman

 

Wonderful race finishes and great donation for the winning. The date at the orchestra sounds fantastic! I felt I was right there enjoying the majestic music and the 0-Gee dancers. Teish'ala and Chak seem to be getting closer.

BTW, I have a particular fondness for Twi'leks since the first very OC-centric fic I read was about one.

 

Yes for the swoop team and their donation. Love the visit with Teish'ala to the ballet

 

Just a clarification, the "proposal" in this entry refers to the original request to form a swoop team, not the recent offers of sponsorship.

 

Pilot log, entry fifty, 3958.11.25 BBY

War is hell.

For a moment, just one small, tenuous moment, I forgot that the Republic was in a war for its very survival, and that we were losing badly. That moment came today after a two-hour flight over the live-fire bombing range run by the Marine Corps Training Depot on Corulag, conducting the fire missions that recruits on the ground were calling in the coordinates for. I was exiting my fighter, waving at the other pilots in my flight and smiling at the fact that the "maggots" were indeed getting better at accomplishing this task, and seeing to the servicing of my Aurek fighter when a utility landspeeder puttered onto the tarmac of the spaceport. A Duros officer in service greens hopped out of the back and strode toward me, a look on his face that, even for a species known for dour looks, was decidedly grim. He handed me an order datapad and, after I took it, he saluted smartly. It was then that I noticed he bore the stripes of senior lieutenant; wondering why he was bothering with the gesture for a person of equal rank, I looked at the clinically short message.

Commander Atton Juyode, the man who had taken a novice fighter pilot and made him into a warrior and combat leader, is dead.

And I'm to be his replacement.

Feeling as though a quantum singularity had formed in my gut, I returned the salute and the lieutenant withdrew to his speeder, which retreated smartly. Lieutenant Ven was the first to inquire into what was going on, and as soon as the two ensigns had joined him I informed them that I was to leave with my craft the next day to rendezvous with the cruiser Horseshoe and my own command. Thankfully, the remaining members of the swoop team recognized by the look of hurt resignation on my face that this sudden promotion was not a happy—or welcome—step forward in my career. "Who's gonna lead us now?" Ros'lax asked awkwardly. "They can't just yank you..."

Shaking my head dully, I mulled that thought over, buying time to consider the impact this would have on the team. The sponsorships had been approved ten days previous, and Master Sergeant Quimiln's team had begun working alongside a pair of civilian engineers from Aratech soon after, and all four of us had been eager to see what innovations they came up with. But now that little hope has been vaped, crushed like an insect against a speeder truck's windscreen, replaced by a feeling not unlike being burdened with fifty kilos of sand hanging from one's shoulders. "They'll transfer someone else in to replace me," I said huskily. "When they arrive, see if they have recent swooping experience. If not, you three will do fine, but until that matter is settled, you're in charge."

I gestured toward Lieutenant Ven, who snapped to attention. "We'll keep going, sir." he said. "No matter what."

"Never doubted it for a nanosecond. Now, if you three will excuse me, I have some packing to do."

So there it is. Barely ten months after my first combat action, I'm returning to my old unit as a lieutenant commander and its new commanding officer. If by some trick of the Force anyone I flew with upon joining the unit is still alive, hopefully they will be able to accept me as their new leader; if not...we'll just have to work things out. I have no idea how my old CO met his end, the message wasn't specific. But I expect a full accounting of the events leading to his death will be waiting for me—if not, someone's going to have some explaining to do. Hopefully once that's settled I'll have a day or two to get the squadron ready to go back out again, to what part of space and what kind of action I can only guess at. As I write this entry I am packed and ready to go, though before I leave I'm going to see about spending an hour or two with Teish'ala. She was there when I first drew blood and when I became an ace, and she will understand.

It may well be the last time we meet in this universe, and I want her to know just what she means to me.


__________________________________________________________________________________________
Thumper09 Nyota's Heart windu4 earlybird-obi-wan TrakNar Findswoman Diary_Challenge_Sock

 

I agree fully with Findswoman, absolutely. What an icky way to get promoted and to leave - I can't say a cushy assignment - exactly LOL - but things were clicking on all cylinders romantically, recreationally, and work-wise. Sure opens the way diary-wise for some edge of seat action though

 

I second the comments from Findswoman and Nyota's Heart Action next?

 

Pilot log, entry fifty-one, 3958.12.2 BBY

It was with a mixture of pained loss and resignation that I discovered that the 23rd Marine Starfighter Squadron is a group of strangers to me. Upon rendezvousing with the cruiser they were assigned to, a Hammerhead-class vessel called Horseshoe keeping station in orbit of some Inner Rim dirtball, I was greeted by the executive officer. Lieutenant San Thioro, a Corellian whose records said that he had received his combat initiation in one of the last skirmishes of the Mandalorian Wars, explained to me as he showed me to my quarters the circumstances that led to my predecessor's—my onetime mentor's—death. The squadron had been hitting known Sith supply lines for a month, encountering little resistance but just as few worthwhile targets, before stumbling across a full fleet of reinforcements destined for somewhere along the current planes of contention. With the situation deteriorating rapidly, Juyode had ordered the rest of the unit to bug out while he drew off as many enemy fighters as he could. As his subordinates retreated into hyperspace, the sensors on the trailing Aurek, Shabu Eleven, recorded the detonation of the lieutenant commander's Aurek under massed interceptor fire.

It was a brave thing to do, it was completely selfless...but ultimately stupid and, in my opinion, unnecessary.

With that unhappy backdrop in mind, I met with the rest of the pilots in the cruiser's starfighter ready room. It was then that I realized my predicament; at the same time a blessing and a curse, I am presented with eleven unknowns whose sole virtue, so far as I could tell in that moment, was that they had managed to survive for at least a month under combat conditions. Each of them bore looks reminiscent of all manner of negative emotions, the hallmarks of low morale. So I took them through what I imagined most pilots would expect to hear from a new leader. Explaining to them how I had come to know their old commander and, with his help and guidance, gained an understanding and appreciation for combat and small-unit tactics, I entreated each being to do their utmost to honor and respect the sacrifice that had been made to ensure their survival. When that was over, I told them in no uncertain terms that this was a fighting unit, and that if such a situation were to occur a second time, either we'd all get out or none of us would.

"Marines don't leave one another to die alone," I said in closing, my voice the growl of a nek on the hunt. "We throw ourselves into the fray, sink our teeth into the enemy, and bleed him until he either throws us off or dies. Is that clear?!"

That seemed to have a distinct effect on my audience, who piped up in unison: "Sir, yes sir!"

"XO, work up a sim on that last fight," I ordered Lieutenant Thioro. "We're going to go through it until our eyes bleed, because there are some tactics I want to try out."

Within a day, the appropriate computer program had been drawn up, and we spent three full days working our way through it, seeing just how much destruction one squadron of Marine-piloted Aureks could wreak upon a Sith military convoy before getting overwhelmed. As it turned out, while every fake mission resulted in 100% casualties by design, each instance produced more and more losses amongst the enemy, out of all proportion of what could normally be expected. Beyond that, however, these sessions had two purposes: the first was to try out some thoughts I had had during the trip out from Corulag, balancing out the sum total of my combat experience with what I knew of the Sith and past wars between the two belligerents. The second was to give my new command something to center their emotions around, and perhaps get to know their commander before circumstances dictated we go into battle. No rational being could ever expect a veteran unit to go into battle with a novice at the helm, and I unashamedly counted on that mentality to buy time for things to settle down.

I think I may be on to something. As we conducted these 2D sim exercises, I came to understand that in order to survive against an implacable foe, we had to be even more relentless. Not only that, but I began to feel that same sense of relentlessness myself, of entering into a fight with absolute wild abandon, and soon recognized in that some echoes of what had driven me on during some of the most desperate fights of my combat career. This self-assessed hypothesis still needs testing, however, to be thrown to the hawk-bats and be ravaged at every turn. Because that is precisely what the Sith do, in their unshielded fighters that may as well be made of aluminum foil, regardless of how many of them we may vape in a dogfight. But at the same time, we stick with our wingmates, protect each others' backsides, and coordinate whenever possible.

If we can combine the strengths of these two sides' fighting styles, then perhaps we can in turn negate their weaknesses, and in so doing become a true pack of hunters.

As I write this log, the Horseshoe is on her way Rimward, to rendezvous with the other ships in her small flotilla. The vessel's captain has told me that Commander Juyode once spoke of me to him, predicting that I might well end up in his place as the leader of a fighter squadron. It went without saying that both of us would rather it had happened under different circumstances, whatever those might have been, but he did agree that our first mission should be a relatively simple one. Back on Corulag, Teish'ala had expressed her sympathies as well as her hope that this wouldn't be our last visit, but she had also admitted to being somewhat jealous, both at my return to the front and at my promotion. But she didn't give the feeling any purchase, proving it in how we spent that last bit of time together.

Unfortunately, I can't seem to find any Whipstaff quotes that would be appropriate to my situation.


______________________________________________________________________
Thumper09 windu4 Nyota's Heart earlybird-obi-wan TrakNar Findswoman

 

Hmmm. I can understand Chak's mingled sense of relief and disappointment that he wouldn't be working with old compatriots. Still, his opening salvo as to raising morale and tightening up battle strategies was superb and well-thought out.

 

back into the fray again. I hope - with his experience and methods - he can keep his squadron alive

 

Pilot log, entry fifty-two, 3958.12.6 BBY

Horseshoe has made its rendezvous with the small division of cruisers it had been assigned to. Its flagship is none other than Delta Dagger, on which I had served early in my career when the 23rd was conducting raids behind enemy lines. As our ship approached and formed up with the others, I remembered how that vessel had once been the sole survivor of another flotilla, one that had been ambushed and slaughtered by a pursuing enemy task force. It was an unwelcome memory, especially considering how much wider the front has spread, as well as the fact that our orders consisted of largely the same types of missions. I was told that Republic Intelligence has identified a number of supply depots and communication stations that have been taken over by the Sith, and we're going to go and blow them up in an effort to hinder the ability of the enemy to resupply and coordinate their ongoing campaigns.

My first thought, expressed silently behind a sign of vexation, was "I've got a bad feeling about this."

On the squadron level, after evaluating each pilot's performance during the sim exercisess and compared with their previous roles and experience, I've come up with a reorganization that I'm happy with. Lieutenant Thioro will lead Three Flight as Shabu Nine; Lieutenant Lod Telloin, a Duros who earned his commission between the wars, will lead Two Flight as Shabu Five. The two junior lieutenants in the squadron graduated from flight school in the months before the war, making them only slightly more senior than myself, and will serve as second element leaders in Two and Three Flights as Shabu Seven and Shabu Eleven, respectively. The Rodian and Devaronian are both promising flyers, with a keen sense of situational awareness, and I could see each of them as flight leaders if they keep up the good work and don't get killed. Even the least experienced member of the squadron has been in the combat zone for a few months and experienced his share of battles—it is a testament to the unit's abilities and luck that every pilot is an ace at least, and my exec's kill tally is actually higher than my own.

As I write this, we are preparing to hit a comm center and sensor relay site located within an asteroid belt, in an otherwise unremarkable star system a couple of parsecs Rimward of Yag'Dhul. It was interesting to see the details of the mission as they were presented to me, its leader (the other ships' squadrons are hitting separate targets). The orders and parameters were given to me by Horseshoe's executive officer on a datacard, with a nod and a muttered "good luck, Commander." She and I are the same rank, actually, with most cruisers of this class captained by full commanders. Both officers are Human, and both seem competent in their way, and as I peruse the data and plan the mission, I find myself slightly flustered. I feel as though I don't know enough about naval operations and command to do this kind of work, though obviously some captain or rear admiral thinks I do. I'll have to sit down with the ships' officers and pick their brains about these subjects, get their perspective on starfighter operations, anything that's going to increase my unit's chances of survival.

If there's one thing I've learned throughout my military career, it's that knowledge is power. And lack of knowledge will get you killed, whether it comes in the form of a mission detail you aren't told about, or the enemy interceptor that's sneaking in for a kill-shot, or the hidden anti-starfighter cannon emplacement...


______________________________________________________________________
Thumper09 windu4 Nyota's Heart earlybird-obi-wan TrakNar Findswoman

 

Sound reorganization strategy Chak undertook and understandable that he feels like there's more he needs to know to do his job well for the benefit of the entire squad.

 

Great organising and intel has to be good

 

I don't know and I don't care, but the name seemed like a good idea at the time (read: when Chak's character was originally drawn up).