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

Yay for second chances

 

There's no time marker on such things, of course, but I do think it's too soon and that they should wait till the war's end to think about it, much less do anything with it. Right now, the waters are unclouded with them just being comrades and friends. Best to keep it that way for a spell of time.

 

Pilot log, entry one eleven, 3956.3.20 BBY

Arkania is...different than most planets I've ever been to. Most of the surface is frigid tundra accented with high mountains and deep canyons, but the cities are all but fully domed against the icy blasts that enwrap the planet. When Horseshoe arrived, we were greeted warmly by an ambassador from Adascorp, who explained that this world was governed by a corporate meritocracy—not unlike the military meritocracy, she claimed. At her insistence, the 23rd was deployed planetside in a starfighter landing field in the starport city of Novania and invited to make ourselves at home while Horseshoe herself would be able to wait in geosynchronous orbit, eyes and sensors peeled for any possible threats. That was two days ago, and our consorts have yet to arrive, so I've resigned myself to spending a little time dirtdown.

Fortunately, the city itself isn't without its charm, and I invited Mara to have dinner with me in one of the less expensive but still nice restaurants that catered to visiting spacers. I wore my service greens, and she met me in her own day uniform, and neither of us seemed to care that our appearances made for quite the odd couple. It wasn't a date, at least that's not how I thought of it, and mostly we discussed various goings-on in the galaxy, ranging from Darth Revan's demise to the recent escort mission the 23rd had undertaken, and just who it was we were supposed to be waiting for. Mara thinks that we might be going back to interdiction patrol, and I'm inclined to agree with her; indeed, I can't wait to "ambush the ambushers" as it were, especially armed with new knowledge of the enemy's capabilities.

The captain of Horseshoe gave me the look as we left the establishment and our separate destinations—me to the small barracks bordering the landing field, and her to the shuttle that would return her to the ship—but I resisted the invitation her expression offered. I was tempted, but before I could finish the thought my gut twisted a bit and I shrugged rather lamely. Mara seemed a little disappointed, no doubt sensing what I was thinking and feeling, but she recomposed herself and instead we settled into a more comradely embrace. As I made my way back to my surprisingly comfortable billet, I felt like a complete heel for leading her on like that, and resolved to make it up to her at some point further down the line.

Part of me, it appears, isn't quite ready to let go and move on. Which is okay, as there are plenty more Sith left in the galaxy that desperately need killing.

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

 

Sounds like there's still a lot of battle grounds to strive for victory. And I am pleased Cahk didn't give into momentary temptation; because it would've been crueler to start something he wasn't ready for.

 

interesting for him

 

Findswoman I'd have to go back and look things over to be sure, because any such references have utterly escaped me at the moment.

 

Pilot log, entry one twelve, 3956.3.25 BBY

Our companion cruisers showed up three days ago, and after a day spent in orbit of Arkania going over our mission, we've finally headed Rimward along the Perlemian. It's a route I know well now, having conducted so much of the war across or near this strategic hyperlane.

In my opinion we're off to quite a pokey start on what was outwardly declared to be just another patrol and counter-interdiction mission. I say it that way because the two ships accompanying us are the Endar Spire and Delta Dagger which, along with Horseshoe, have some of the best, most experienced crews in the fleet. The two starfighter units accompanying the flotilla along with the 23rd are both Navy units, but they're some of the most skilled in Republic space, the 7th and 32nd. This alone would have aroused my suspicion that this mission had some other, undisclosed goal in mind, but what sealed the deal for me was the presence of Bastila Shan and a small clutch of Jedi Knights. As one of the squadron commanders, I was able to meet her in person for the first time, even though I'd served alongside her in previous battles toward the beginning of the war, during the briefing that was held aboard the young woman's apparent flagship.

My impression of Bastila in the flesh took some getting used to, having experienced her ethereal presence in the form of her use of Battle Meditation, and it took me a bit to reconcile her physical demeanor and attitude with those previous feelings. Of course, it's difficult to form an opinion of someone when your only previous knowledge and experience comes from such a connection—and of course, scuttlebutt and "official" news stories about the young woman. While she was outlining our mission, essentially establishing herself as de facto commodore as she did so, I caught Mara's sour look out of the corner of my eye, and it seemed that the two of us agree on one thing: the auburn-haired Jedi in the skintight body stocking and smock certainly thinks highly of herself. If the other cruiser captains and squadron leaders felt the same, they kept it from showing, but I didn't spare such feelings much thought.

It's good to be back in the war again, and in the day since we left Arkania we've already come across a two-ship Sith interdiction force. Fortunately, my pilots and I had been sleeping in our Aureks—again due to my suspicions about what we were really up to—and we were the first squadron to launch as both sides jockeyed for position. It wasn't long after this that I began to feel the effects of Battle Meditation guiding my hands on the stick and throttle; setting the squadron frequency to scramble, I let my people know what was going on, telling them to relax and let the Force do its work. As I expected, the 23rd performed brilliantly in the engagement, smashing through the enemy starfighter screen to launch torpedoes right down the throat of one of the two cruisers, obliterating its hangar bay and nearly cracking the damn thing in two. After that maneuver, the fight turned into a general clean-up as the second cruiser attempted to retreat under the guns of all three Republic warships. Needless to say, it wasn't successful.

There isn't now a single member of the 23rd who isn't at least a double ace, and in this latest combat everyone was able to bag at least four more kills apiece. Paol was our biggest winner with eight, with Ensign Namane right behind him with seven. Part of me knows that swatting down such paltry forces probably isn't the best way to utilize some of the best units and warships the Republic has to offer, but the rational part—that same aspect of me that takes a backseat to my aggressive, predatory nature when in action—knows that if we come up against a large force of Sith, we're not going to get off nearly as easy.

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

 

Excellent outcome of the conflict. Chak's precaution of squad readiness was a good idea it turned out. Interesting perception he and Mara share of Bastila.

 

Pilot log, entry one thirteen, 3956.3.28 BBY

After an encounter with a second Sith interdiction patrol less than an hour after my most recent log entry, the small flotilla gathered itself up for another jump, a fairly long one this time, and I thought for sure we'd be crossing back into Sith territory. Much to my chagrin, however, thirty hours later we reverted to realspace close to the planet of Corsin. The funny part is that this particular world is known for its love of swoop racing, with several amateur and professional leagues in addition to being a stop on the galactic circuit. Sadly, we were in orbit for just long enough to "show the flag" as it were, departing within half a day. We're now on a hyperroute that I am unfortunately not very familiar with, having visited almost none of the planets that our charts connect it with. The word is that the Republic considers the Perlemian on this side of the border to be "secure enough" and that our "services" are much more urgently required here—particularly with the salient into Sith territory the route represents.

In point of fact, almost as soon as we left the Corsin system on the relatively short hop to Vulta, we came across yet a third Sith patrol, this one consisting of three of the ubiquitous Interdictor-class cruisers as well as a pair of small corvettes. Despite the disparity in odds, especially since the Sith had already had several interceptor squadrons deployed when we happened along, Bastila Shan's use of Battle Meditation allowed us to achieve a near-perfect victory. One of the enemy corvettes managed to retreat into hyperspace once the three cruisers' interdiction fields had been deactivated to shift power to their shields, and all three of our warships suffered some degree of damage, but we didn't lose a single pilot though several Aureks got rather badly shot up—including mine.

I'm okay, and my ship will soon be as well, but this means that we've tangled with three enemy fleet elements in less than a week. Though we have emerged victorious in all three engagements, thanks in large part to the Force and the skill and experience of our crews and pilots, my gut is telling me that we've been extraordinarily lucky so far. I put this to Bastila herself in the debrief held in the wake of this latest battle, to which she rather haughtily stated that "there is no luck, there is only the Force." Fortunately for me, I managed to suppress the urge to speculate on what can—what will—happen when our luck does run out, because I can't help but feel that wherever it is we're ultimately headed, there will be rather more Sith present to greet us than even Bastila's abilities will be able to save us from.

As if that wasn't enough, a man wearing what appeared to be scout gear over civilian attire followed me around while I was aboard the Endar Spire for this latest confab. I had seen him on my previous visits since we had left Arkania, but he had kept mainly to himself. This time, he was still tailing me as I entered the hanger to catch the shuttlepod that would take Mara and me back to Horseshoe, at which point I asked him what he was up to. Unfortunately, he seemed just as confused as I was, and muttered something about trying to remember what it was like to fly a ship. Utterly nonplussed, I shrugged and left him to his ruminations, telling Mara about the strange individual during the ride back. She had seen our brief chat, and speculated that the scout had "either recently returned to the fleet after convalescence leave, or he's a freelancer the Republic just hired on."

Well, it's none of my business at any rate, just as long as whoever he is stays to his role and doesn't bother me when I'm on duty. He seems like a nice enough guy, undoubtedly experienced in fieldcraft to have gotten a posting among one of the best crews in the Fleet, and if things weren't so tense I'd probably enjoy knocking back a few and talking shop with him. As it is, there's too much going on to be able to indulge in such things. Especially with the news that another major convoy carrying troops and supplies to the border worlds was recently attacked by the Sith and nearly decimated.

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

 

The battlefront is heating up again. And that mysterious dude tailing Chak?

 

Pilot log, entry one fourteen, 3956.4.3 BBY

The pilots of the 23rd, as well as the two Navy squadrons, are continuing to sleep in our Aureks. It's been a fairly rough couple of weeks, to be sure.

After spending a day in the Atreyis system in orbit of Vulta, our little task force was diverted to Jebble, an ice world that was the site of a Mandalorian staging base in the last war that, according to the briefing the commanders were given, had been working up an army to invade Alderaan. Fortunately for the Republic, that army was infected by some sort of plague and the entire planet was effectively irradiated by the Mandos themselves before the plague could spread offworld. It's a short hop, and we were only to stay in-system long enough for our ships' sensors to sweep the various planets to make sure there was no Sith presence, paying close attention to Jebble in particular for signs of whatever contagion had ravaged the place.

As I'd come to expect on this mission, we were once more pulled out of hyperspace by yet another Sith interdiction force. This one was much like the last, however there were no smaller escorts and the enemy warships hadn't yet launched any of their interceptors—which leads me to believe that they had only just arrived on-station themselves. Even as we scrambled to engage them, it occurred to me that the Sith commander leading this flotilla probably should've put out a screen before bringing their ships' gravity well projectors online. In what has become a standard tactic for us in these situations, our own cruisers angled toward the enemy warships to bring down their bow shields so that our Aurek fighters could deliver mass volleys of proton torpedoes right down their throats, where they're known to be vulnerable (magcon shields can keep atmosphere in, but almost nothing out, and blast shields take time to close).

I doubt we really needed Battle Meditation to make the tactic work, especially in this particular instance given our fortuitous timing, but experience has taught me that timing is everything in such operations. Bastila Shan's abilities, however, allow us to compensate for the imperfection of individual reaction times and other such vagaries of nature and ability, making a well-crafted maneuver into a decisive and utterly devastating one. That said, even without such enhancements we could have prevailed, but it might have taken longer and probably would have resulted in losses to our starfighter force and possibly even casualties among the cruisers. So on the whole, I'm rather grateful for the young woman's efforts on our behalf, even if they tend to make her a bit cocksure and possibly a little snooty. It's a trade-off that I would make any day of the week, particularly given the stakes.

We've spent the last three days since this latest encounter quietly scanning the Jebble system, encountering nothing more ominous than a comet passing close enough to Jebble itself that, had someone been on the surface, would've seen quite a show. Eight years on, the surface of the planet is almost entirely covered in ocean, doubtless an artifact of the nuclear bombardment inflicted by the Mandalorians. At the most recent briefing, we were told by that scout I mentioned that analysis of atmospheric readings indicate that while radiation levels are still fairly high, given the apparent rate of decay it should be safe for recolonization in a mere two hundred-odd years. Not that anyone would really want to do such a thing, because aside from previously being a frozen wasteland, Jebble was only really worth it for the mineral wealth—which shouldn't be affected by the bombardment's after-effects anyway.

We're due to leave later today, though where we're going is still unclear. I'm thinking there's really only one logical place for us to go next, given our previous stops, and I can't say I'm really looking forward to it. Call it a hunch, or an educated guess, but I have a feeling that not all of us are coming back from our next encounter with the Sith.

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

 

Very glad the mission near/at Jebble was a success. But Chak's hunch/intuition is ominous-sounding.

 

Findswoman Yes, Bastila is 25 at the time of KotOR. Chak refers to her that way because he's been taught to be an officer and a gentleman, and since Bassie isn't in the military, he's going to refer to her in such a manner rather than by some sort of military diminutive or pejorative—even though he's younger than her! In his own defense, he would probably say that he's "seen a bit more of this galaxy than most folks my age ever could."

 

Pilot log, entry one fourteen, 3956.4.11 BBY

The week from hell is over at last, and what remains of our task force has arrived back where we started, in orbit of Arkania where we promptly put into the closest available military spacedock.

It's tough to wrap my head around all that could possibly go wrong doing so in a matter of minutes, all while flying one's heart out trying to save everyone when it was clear from the start that we hadn't so much as poked the hornet's nest as knocked it down and kicked it several times. As much experience as I've had before in dealing with the swarm, this was far and away the most desperate battle I have ever engaged in, and I still wonder how I was able to even survive. We lost so many good people...

As I had privately surmised, our trip out from Jebble brought us to Taris, and in all honesty I thought we'd be intercepted while en route. What happened instead was that the Sith had prepared quite an extensive welcoming committee; as soon as we reverted to realspace, they descended upon us with an almost demonic will that I had seen only a few times previously, toward the beginning of the war. Perhaps the only reason I'm alive is that the 7th, 32nd and my 23rd made the jump in our fighters, otherwise I doubt we'd have made it out of our respective hangar bays before our ships were vaped by massed laser cannon fire. We were barely able to take any sensor readings before the first wave of enemy interceptors were engaging, and we had to resort to flying wedge attacks followed up with suppressive fire from the cruisers to make it through, and even then a couple of Aureks were vaped, one each from the two Navy units, who had met the enemy first.

After brushing past this initial response it soon became clear that Taris itself was under attack, from a huge force that was intent on conquering and occupying that world. With three cruisers and thirty-four starfighters at our disposal, we were not much of a relief force, but Bastila wanted to make a go of it anyway, and I really couldn't blame her. Employing some of the tactics that we had used in the Hapes Cluster augmented by Battle Meditation, we screened the three capital ships as the flotilla hit the flank of the nearest enemy fleet element, wiping out several dozen enemy starfighters and destroying two of their cruisers in a matter of moments. And that's when everything started to go down the Maw.

I'm still at a loss to explain how it happened, but as we disengaged from that initial attack run to make a follow-up slash, the entire enemy fleet on this side of the planet began maneuvering toward us. It was as though a morsel of the choicest meat had garnered the notice of a swarm of Colicoids, and before we could do much else, we were all but surrounded by enemy warships and their deployed interceptors. Several enemy ships closed with the Endar Spire, which was leading our formation and giving a good account of herself, and launched boarding shuttles after taking down her shields with massed turbolaser fire that, ironically, mostly missed the Republic warship and wound up impacting on "friendly" hulls. Horseshoe and Delta Dagger attempted to close in to relieve the stricken vessel, but Bastila herself ordered them—and the rest of us snubby jocks—to break off and head back to friendly space.

It's difficult to describe what happened next. The last view I held of the informal flagship of Bastila Shan was of an oft-punctured hull occasionally belching small strings of superheated plasma, just before an enemy cruiser occluded the tableau with its own, closer bulk. At that point, Delta Dagger's skipper took over and ordered us to "make a hole no matter the cost" in the enemy lines while an escape jump was plotted. The Sith didn't make it easy for us, and barely a moment after that order was given, Elam's fighter exploded in a cloud of boiling gasses—the sight of it nearly caused me to go into vapor lock. Fortunately, for a miracle, Battle Meditation was still in effect and I was able to channel my inner gundark; this was the doomsday scenario I had trained my people for, and though one of its architects was dead, we would make the enemy pay for killing him. The rest of the battle was a blur of motion, color, and noise, and if I lived to be a hundred I still wouldn't be able to fully or properly describe it.

Eventually we wound up in deep space somewhere between Taris and Vulta, where we could take stock of our losses and figure out what to do next. Nobody knew if the Endar Spire was down or had been captured, though it was pretty clear to everyone that the Sith had her number one way or the other, and since their host vessel was all but lost, the remnants of the 7th were divided up between Horseshoe and Delta Dagger. The debriefing was held aboard Mara's ship, as she was the (slightly) lesser-damaged of the two, and the captain and I sat next to each other for the meeting, furtively holding hands. I had lost Elam and three other pilots—a full third of my unit—in the breakout, with the 7th losing five overall and the 32nd losing only two in total. The 32nd's CO, a Human woman from Churba who had probably grown up in a starfighter cockpit, said that she had "never before thought that jarheads could fly like that" and that she would personally see to it that Elam Breaustar was posthumously decorated for his skill and valor.

Captain Yoni Odnas of Delta Dagger took our oral reports and decided that the best place for us to be at the moment was here in open space, away from the hyperlanes, while we undertook what repairs we could handle without a spacedock, in case more enemy interdiction patrols waited for us. From what she and Mara said, I surmised that each ship was at or slightly below half of combat efficiency, meaning that a single Sith cruiser could easily vape both ships. Accounting for my own people, I announced that I would be making Paol Gril'char my acting exec, and the 32nd's commander said that she would be willing to "loan" a few pilots to the 7th's CO to bring them to some sort of unit parity, an offer that was gratefully accepted. I proposed that two-ship patrols should be deployed at all times while we remained here, making sensor sweeps from about a million klicks out and to a range of two million klicks if necessary. Captain Odnas pointed out that this would amount to a fairly large beacon, but I countered that by pointing out "the larger the light, the longer we have to escape whatever it illuminates." The proposal was subsequently agreed to.

That light ended up spotting the enemy twice more, necessitating a relocation each time, before temporary repairs were completed three days after the disaster over Taris. Though we sampled the various news streams that were being broadcast throughout the HoloNet and other venues, we dared not transmit, even to send a message to Command regarding the status of our flotilla and the possible whereabouts of Bastila. News of Taris's ultimate, inevitable fall had been broadcast by both sides, with the Sith claiming that they had killed the Jedi who had been such a hindrance to their efforts to "liberate" the galaxy. I and the other commanders had already come to the conclusion that she was either dead or captured, but none of us were willing to put it in our official reports because we just didn't have the data to back it up. And the Sith propaganda machine was known by all to enjoy taking liberties with the truth.

It took us three more days to drag ourselves back to Arkania, at one point reverting to hyperspace on a course adjustment within spitting distance of an enemy patrol that had had its gravity well generators powered up, but focusing their cones of binding energy in the wrong direction. Fortunately we were able to make our own jump before they could redeploy, but that meant we had to make another one so they wouldn't be able to follow us. Throughout all this time since leaving Taris and before making port, I felt like an Alderaanian hare being hounded by young taopari, a sentiment I'm sure that I was far from alone in. It's a horrible feeling, wondering whether or not your next move will be your last, whether you zigged when you should have zagged in the effort to get away. All those times we had managed to force the Sith to back off, to retreat from whatever action had been initiated, now I had had the chance to know what that felt like from the other side of the equation. To have only really experienced this feeling now, after everything else I've been through, makes me wonder if I have led a singularly charmed life after all. Even the defeat at Yag'Dhul didn't feel like this, if only because I hadn't been there for the main thrust, the one that got turned back. Even that engagement had been decided on the Republic's terms, with the admiral in command ordering a fighting withdrawal right through the enemy formation once it became clear that the numbers precluded victory.

At the time of writing this log, we've been in spacedock for about a day and a half, and I've finally had the chance to talk to my pilots in a more formal setting, namely the funerals for Elam, Lieutenant Sesba, and Ensigns Gramme and Flive. Lieutenant Gril'char accepted his de facto promotion and has already come up with a new roster for our shorthanded unit, taking into account the destruction of Elam's flight and putting its sole survivor into One Flight as my wingmate. I've also given Yuri Namane a brevet promotion to junior lieutenant; she flew her heart out during the fight over Taris and saved Paol's furry behind at least twice. Though they've been through hell and know it, my people have continued to display the discipline and courage I've come to expect from them, and even if they mutter and murmur about private ruminations amongst themselves, they haven't given up, not by a long shot. Neither have I, but it still helps to know that those I have led into deadly danger and come out alive still count on me to lead them, even in the wake of such horrible losses.

I'll miss Elam. He was a good man, a good pilot, and a good friend, and he went to his death knowing that he was doing what was right. His courage mirrors my own, and I can only hope that I'll be able to continue to live up to his example as this war continues to spiral out of control. We've finalized and sent in our reports, and though I don't know for certain what will happen to us next, it's clear that at some point soon the 23rd will be pulled back to replenish its strength. I have every confidence that Wing will accept and confirm my informal promotions, and that they will send us good pilots. Whoever they do send, it'll take a while to bring them up to par with my people; this is the only way to ensure that they have all the tools necessary to give them the chance to survive and contribute. Ideally, we'll be able to do so in the same facility as the 7th, such that both units will be able to train off of each other, in the manner of all elite units of the Republic Military.

Last but not least: Ever since that first debrief after the Taris disaster, when Mara and I had reached out to each other under the table, in what little spare time was available I've been trying to sort out what exactly she means to me, and I to her. She didn't come out of that battle unscathed, either; a hit on the upper tower of Horseshoe's forward section ruptured conduits in the bridge overhead, sending smoke into the compartment and shrapnel pinging off the deck and bulkheads, killing the backup helmsman and a bridge guard. A couple of durasteel fragments embedded themselves in her back and she got a lungful of nasty stuff, but she had refused to be treated until her ship was safe; I learned later that after that meeting she had spent eighteen hours floating in kolto after a medical droid removed the metal. She had muttered my name at some point during her recovery, which was why I had been appraised of her situation. I can only assume that the droid must have thought the two of us had formed a relationship after all. That's droid logic for you.

I did visit her before she was permitted to resume her duties, and the two of us talked a bit each time, but not of anything of real consequence. She's now quite confident in her exec, who rose to the occasion admirably while Mara was still recovering, and even conned the ship through the first day of the arduous trek back to Arkania. Mara thinks that now that he's tasted adversity and come out ahead, he'll be promoted to command a cruiser of his own soon, and she wants to start preparing him for that. I told her that I would be happy to help him learn how to liaise with a starfighter squadron, and Marines in general, and that got a giggle out of her. Mara is a good person and we like each other, but recent events have cemented my decision to postpone a real relationship until after the war—assuming, of course, that we win and that both of us survive. That doesn't mean I can't be a good friend, however, and protocol certainly allows for that.

But protocol won't mean a damn thing if we lose this war.

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

 

Mara and Chak are real confidantes which is a good thing. They can bounce ideas off each other and get real insights and sympathy without feeling pressured.

 

Pilot log, entry one fifteen, 3956.4.16 BBY

The war continues to rage, but there's not a damn thing we can do about it right now except to repair our ships and replenish our numbers.

As I had surmised, the remnants of Bastila's flotilla have been recalled to Coruscant to undergo these essential tasks, but also to give High Command a full accounting of what went on during our little campaign. Or, at least, as full an accounting as we are able to give, if only because odd things are afoot. For as we prepared to leave Arkania, with only the most essential spacedock repair work completed, the rest of the galaxy learned that the Sith had instituted a planet-wide quarantine around Taris. They've encircled the entire planet with a massive fleet of interdictor cruisers, and are blasting any ships that attempt to break the blockade, coming or going. Some of us have speculated that perhaps they didn't get Bastila after all, that somehow she had managed to escape the demise of the Endar Spire aboard an escape pod—why else would the Sith go to such extremes? Any corroboration or confirmation of such a hypothesis is next to impossible to get, however, as the Sith control the comm buoys in that system.

We arrived in orbit of the capital early this morning, just after the turnover from the middle watch (0000-0400 hours shipboard time) to the morning watch (0400-0800 hours). It was learned through the regular military update feed that the Sith have actually pulled back some of their forces from the current planes of contention, and have even withdrawn completely from a few smaller theatres. They've effectively ceased offensive operations as well, and a number of emergency convoys have reported safe, unmolested arrivals over routes that had previously been considered hazardous at best. Whatever Darth Malak is up to, however, I'm fairly certain that it isn't anything good, though I'm glad that his shift in focus has given the Republic some small measure of breathing space. It's not much and no one expects it to last, but we'll take whatever breaks we can get. "Never interrupt the enemy when he is making a mistake" seems the appropriate quote here, though I am at a loss to remember who said it.

The 23rd has been billeted in a different starfighter base to the one we trained at previously, along with the 7th and 32nd, where we joined the 11th Marines and 15th Navy, two other elite starfighter units also working back up to full strength after recent deployments. Just about everything about the setup at this base screams "elite unit hunting ground," from the barracks themselves to the quality of the food and where it's served. Enlisted personnel eat at facilities that, on any other planet or station, would've been used by mid-grade officers, and those of us in command positions enjoy the use of suites that would have made an admiral feel comfortable aboard ship. Almost as soon as my surviving pilots had set down their gear bags in their assigned quarters, I released them for general liberty until further notice, which roughly translates to "until I figure out what's going on or someone tells us what to do." Naturally, I didn't tell them that, as they already have enough to worry about. Paol, on the other hand, seemed to understand the unspoken desperation, casting a sympathetic look in my direction as everyone departed.

As I write this, I'm sitting on my bed in my own room, in the apartment owned by my family. Nemi greeted my arrival with a bone-crushing hug; apparently she was certain I had been killed in action despite the lack of an official notice, and that they were "covering it up" for whatever reason. Mom and Dad were grateful to see me, of course, but they had known better than to believe my sister's wild speculations. Nemi, it seems, has taken up with a holojournalist, a thoroughly unpleasant specimen without the ghost of a scruple who seemed more interested in me and the possible news story I represented than her. Still, he was polite at least, if a little unctuous, and I chalked up any resentment as brotherly concern—a concern that this young man would very much regret if he ever tried to take advantage of my sister in any way.

Nemi isn't stupid, though, nor is she sheltered, so I don't really worry about her. At least she's away from the war...for the time being, at any rate.

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

 

Enjoyed the speculating about Bastila's fate. Seems like Chak and the others are at loose ends until a mission solidifies. Loved reading Chak's brotherly concern.

 

Pilot log, entry one sixteen, 3956.4.22 BBY

The news has just come over the HoloNet, while we're taking a breather after a series of simulation exercises with the 7th Navy: the Sith have pulled another Telos and are reducing Taris to slag even as I write this. It is a strange contrast to the reaction I had had at the former atrocity, because far from being shocked into stunned semi-silence, with this latest example of Sith depravity I find myself almost completely emotionless. Instead my thoughts turn cold as they re-imagine the tableau of enemy cruisers in orbit of the city-planet once billed as the "Coruscant of the Outer Rim" and plot their destruction in a calculated desire to personally launch the torpedoes that would send each and every one of them to oblivion. Is it hate that I feel now? Probably. But it is a controlled thing now, something that cannot rule me because I give it no purchase; there simply isn't room in my heart for it owing to the duty and responsibility I bear for the people under my command and those I fight alongside.

There are mutterings about this latest development, but nobody is going into vapor lock or fits of hysterics; everyone knows that there's not a damn thing we can do about this except to continue to train hard.

Paol and I are making a good team, and I'm grateful that the brass formalized his and Yuri Namane's promotions—the Bothan to senior lieutenant and the Human to junior lieutenant, respectively. This came through along with a similar promotion to another of my ensigns, "Slim" Jinn Cavin, who has consistently demonstrated a cool head and steady hand even in the most desperate fights; this was probably what had saved him when the rest of Elam's unfortunate flight had been vaped. I've made Yuri the head of a reconstituted Three Flight, and have distributed our four replacements as equally as possible. Two will be in Paol's flight, with one each in mine (as my wingmate) and in Yuri's. I expect that by the time we're sent back out into the combat zone, she'll warrant a promotion to full lieutenant, because before joining the 23rd, she had been flying combat missions for three months and had graduated flight school among the top scorers.

In the three days since their arrival, the replacement pilots have shown that they're no slouches despite their lack of experience in combat. All four of them were in fact the top of their class at the Coruscant branch of the Marine Corps Pilot Training Program—the very same program wherein I had earned good, if not spectacular, marks. They know my service history and that we're working up on my homeworld, and seem fairly eager to prove they have what it takes to hold their own in the company of such pilots as those stationed at this base. If they were overexcited at the prospect of having a go at the Sith, they lost it on the first day when I arranged for the old hands in the 7th, 23rd and 32nd to do a short-handed reenactment of the Taris operation in the simulator suite. Since it had been outfitted with the ability to show the progress of the virtual battle on holoboards in a sort of observation room, all the replacements for the three units, plus the pilots from the 11th and 15th, were able to watch as every single one of us was sent to computerized hell in that spatial abattoir.

It was after that grueling exercise when I once again met Caescar Piccolé, former CO of the 11th Marines and one of the officers who had helped me to learn the ropes of command. Now a captain and CO of the Third Aerospace Wing, he had come to Coruscant from Kuat to, in his words, "see to the proper disposition of the budding hero I had known previously." Feeling profoundly embarrassed though I was able to hide it, I thanked the Mirialan and let him know that he had been a hero of mine even before I had arrived at my first posting, in this very same squadron. He seemed grateful for the sentiment, and then proceeded to inform me that the following evening would be set aside for a formal acknowledgement—thankfully, it would be a private affair with only a few well-placed civilians in attendance in addition to the units' full compliments of pilots and support personnel. As promised, the medal ceremony was fairly quiet, which seemed appropriate. Decorations were handed out for nearly everyone who had been present at Taris for that terrible battle, both for actions that day and throughout the small campaign that had led to it, as well as those promotions I mentioned earlier. The centerpiece was the posthumous presentation of the Marine Corps Star to Elam Breaustar, taken by his recently-widowed husband who had been brought in from Ralltiir for the occasion.

The same medal was given to me as well, for "continued courage and excellence in leadership in the face of overwhelming enemy forces," and this time I had been prepared for it, thus I was emotionally quite ready to accept the award and what it entailed. After the ceremony, Captain Piccolé and myself, along with the other squadron commanding officers and their execs headed off to a private room at the base officer's club for a few drinks and to talk shop. Paol, who had been given the Silver Comet, seemed to feel out of place, and I sympathized with his plight; never before had he been in an informal situation such as this alongside so much brass. Every so often I would whisper encouragement when no one was looking, and he seemed to feel better as the night continued on. Eventually the confab broke up, and though all this discussion of death and destruction had been a heavy topic, I for one felt better for having gotten the worst of it off of my chest in the presence of those who knew all too well what it was like. I imagine the same could be said for everyone else present.

Well, that's the past few days summarized, and the reports are still coming in. It's a true saturation bombing on a global scale, but unlike Telos, the Sith seem to be going for full sterilization of the planet. Add to this horrible situation the fact that Taris is...was...so much more heavily populated, and you see how truly evil our enemy is. They must be put down, all of them that don't surrender, and it will be a happy day indeed when the Republic is able to marshal its forces and put the boot in.

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

 

Grim stuff on the battle front although Chak and his colleagues seem to be performing at peak still, thankfully.
Medals and approbation are well earned. I can practically taste Chak's deeper sense of resolve.