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

He made it back but at great losses

 

Excellent detailing on the mission - the good/high points and the losses. Due to brilliant strategizing, those could have been heavier. True statement that it never gets easier.

 

Pilot log, entry ninety-eight, 3957.12.21 BBY

I am exhausted. There's just no getting around it, no matter what we do to try and set the Sith war machine on its heels, they come right back at us stronger than ever. We're on our way back to Coruscant, what's left of us anyway, so I can go into detail about what we've been up to and the consequences of our mission.

After the battle over Abhean, we fell back Coreward and hit what the spooks at Naval Intelligence suspected was a covert training base for Sith interceptor pilots, established on a moon orbiting a gas giant in the outer reaches of the Sarka system. As the system was somewhat off the beaten path, though its primary inhabited world is known for its particular brand of nova rubies, we had a little time to settle down and account for our losses; there was no time to call for replacements, so Two Flight had to fly a pilot light, double for the 77th's Three Flight. Our cruisers led the way this time, with us flying in close behind so as to mask our presence in case some of the "students" and their teachers were on hot standby. This turned out to be a good idea, because as soon as we came to within maximum weapons range for the big ships' guns, the Sith came boiling out from their hangar, which had been wedged into the permanently-shrouded bottom edge of a lunar crater.

Though they outnumbered us more than three to one and put up a spirited fight, the interceptors' pilots were definitely rookies, and not the kind with potential, either. We broke by wingpairs, with Two Flight forming an impromptu trio, and fell upon the swarm of silver ships for the harvest while Horseshoe and Monmouth hammered the crater from whence they had come with turbolaserfire. From a secondary launch bay set into a nearby massif, several large transports attempted to sneak away, presumably to evacuate base personnel and whatever equipment they could take with them while our forces were preoccupied. Unfortunately for those vessels, their defenders just weren't good enough to protect them, and the 77th's One Flight shot ahead to wreak their vengeance for comrades lost, such that none of them escaped. Our work there was finished within half an hour, and we took our time exiting the system. After a couple of diversionary microjumps, we then set course for the rendezvous point set for the rest of our forces once their tasks had been finished.

What we found was a significant dent in the strength of the forces that were supposed to be massing there. The way the admiral in charge of the task force puts it, two of the raiding parties—each of similar constitution to our own—were unfortunately caught in the act and were overwhelmed, with only a handful of starfighters escaping each incident. Other groups fared better, but at least two more cruisers and a frigate had been lost during other missions, as well as a number of starfighters, and some ships were sufficiently damaged as to necessitate a retreat to friendly space. All told, the force that had been sent out to harass this region of enemy-occupied space had lost approximately thirty percent of its effective combat strength, an unacceptable rate of attrition if we want to have any hope of winning this war.

Despite this news, orders were orders. As most of the remaining squadrons had also incurred losses, these survivors were soon amalgamated into the shorthanded units, such that nearly everyone was now back up to full strength. Our new pilot is a Navy junior lieutenant formerly of the 61st, who had joined the unit out of flight school some six months previous and had been promoted just before this series of raids had gone off. Because of the roster changes, our main attack was postponed a day, so that our temporary replacements could become better acclimated to their new units through sim exercises and other means. Lieutenant Gril'char, as Shabu Five, took the Neimoidian under his care and made sure that he understood how Marines fly. From what I could tell going on, the Bothan did a good job of it.

Despite our losses, all of us were determined to press on to the final target, myself in particular. The Roche asteroid belt was where I had first met the enemy and inflicted harm upon him, even if my first ship-to-ship fight would come later. Our targets this time were a series of large asteroids that had been converted into production facilities for everything from the armor that Sith troopers wore to assault droids and even the interceptors we had been fighting for nearly two years. The asteroid cluster itself was expected to be well-defended, so it came somewhat as a surprise to find a lone cruiser and its fighter escort patrolling the area; its gravity well generators weren't even online. Faced with a combined force of twenty Republic cruisers and their attendant squadrons, plus a handful of frigates, all it could do was try to run—a race it ultimately lost as the frigates raced ahead from the main force to catch and disable it before it could jump to lightspeed. Its four squadrons died not long afterward as the 12th Marines and 68th Navy split off to bring them back into the fight, not that they had anyplace to go.

While the cruisers carried out the business of pulverizing the asteroid facilities, our frigates and starfighters carried out far-ranging combat space patrols such that, when a response force inevitably showed up, we would be in a position to provide a skirmish line that would provide our main force with enough of a warning that they could form up to engage the Sith properly. Much to our surprise, however, enemy reinforcements didn't arrive until a solid hour after our initial reversion, and even then it was only a convoy of empty freighters escorted by a pair of Interdictor cruisers that hadn't been warned off owing to their comm satellites having been destroyed in the first barrage. By then we had moved on to other targets of opportunity, including a return to Cobalt J-27 that proved quite fruitful. Twenty minutes or so after the convoy had been dispatched, the admiral called for an ordered withdrawal in case the Sith were mustering up a much bigger fleet to contest the matter. Whether or not they did send more ships, I neither know nor care, because when the Republic finally left Roche in its ion exhaust, not a single enemy contact was to be found on long range sensors.

Four days on, we're about another thirty hours' travel from Coruscant, where presumably the whole mess with transfers and temporary reorganizations will be set right. I can only imagine the bureaucratic nightmare that'll be in store for whichever staff officers in Republic Navy High Command get tractored into this delightful duty, which is perhaps one reason why I don't ever want to be a staff officer. I've spent the time between the Roche mission and now catching as much rack time as I can get away with, which unfortunately isn't as much as I would like owing to the need to program and execute more simulator runs. Our Navy guest pilot has undergone quite the crash course in Marine-style flying; he performed well enough when we flew as a unit in combat, but I was interested in seeing what lessons he would be able to pass on to his new billet. Whatever that might be.

I hope that, when we arrive back at Coruscant, any news we get pertaining to the rest of the war isn't all bad. Despite our losses, we have repaid the enemy in kind with heavy interest, in addition to undercutting the Sith's ability to wage war, or so it would seem. But as the old cliché goes, I've got a bad feeling about this...

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

 

Sith are always giving a bad feeling

 

Pilot log, entry ninety-nine, 3957.12.27 BBY

We arrived in orbit over Coruscant as scheduled, however we were almost immediately diverted out to Anaxes, the so-called "Defender of the Core"; someone in High Command probably thought the Sith would be making a move in that direction considering they do control parts of the Inner Rim and Colonies regions, and are practically knocking on the door of the Core Worlds themselves. I was slightly disappointed that I wouldn't be able to return to my homeworld and possibly see my family, but figured I'd been fortunate enough to have had so many chances in the past six months or so. When we reached the planet famous for its institutions of higher military education, the various ships of the task force were berthed in one of the better-protected spacedock facilities, the easier to repair those vessels that had sustained damage as well as to carry out routine maintenance. Our starfighters were also given over to the technicians for overhaul; mine in particular, having seen a good deal more service than most, needed extra care.

Thankfully, I was able to bring my swoop down in the same shuttle that carried me and my pilots to our temporary quarters where, for the rest of that day, I was able to let them cut loose and relax.

The next day, however, it was back to duty—for me, at least. Along with the commanders of the surviving frigates and crusers, and those squadron commanders that remained, I was called in to meet with another clutch of admirals to give a general debrief on the operations we had carried out. Most of the meeting was spent in stony silence on my part, since I didn't really have anything to add to the proceedings, though my name was mentioned several times. This mostly had to do with my and Elam's sim work, and how they had been used to great success in the missions that Horseshoe and Monmouth had carried out. The few occasions when I was asked to speak mostly involved said sim work, and what opinion I might hold as to whether or not such pre-planning was a useful activity or a waste of resources. In more words than I will waste here, I told them that I thought it was a necessary endeavor and, if put to general practice, would see a general increase in the effectiveness of Republic fighter forces.

In essence, it was a rehash of the meetings I had attended on Coruscant the last time I'd been there, complete with the inverted salutations that still left my cheeks slightly rosy. However, it didn't end with the conclusion of the debrief, rather we were then treated to a summary of events taking place throughout the battleplanes, conducted by a particularly grim-faced Gotal captain in Navy grays. It seems that ours was not the only group sent in behind enemy lines to harass their rear areas, but we were among the most successful—in terms of losses sustained versus enemy forces and installations neutralized, we were only just beaten out by a task force led in part by Bastila Shan aboard the Endar Spire. This news was tempered by the fact that one task force had been all but wiped out just as its various elements had begun to engage its second set of targets, and another had been whittled down to barely more than a quarter of its original strength. Sadly (for me at least), the tally of losses had also included a good chunk of the 18th Marines, though thankfully Ettiau was still among the living. Based on the establishment of the facts, the overall scheme was deemed a "partial success" by the gathered admirals.

Since the debrief I've been making my languid way about Pols Anaxes, the planetary capital, seeing the sights and whatnot while my pilots enjoyed liberty. The day before yesterday I was offered a tour of the Anaxes War College by its commandant, a Human woman older than my mother named Captain Leile Needa, who contacted me via holocomm in my quarters that evening. Since I didn't have anything planned for the day, I accepted, and yesterday was spent being ferried by landspeeder from building to building and touring each in the company of a number of mid-grade officers, listening intently as Captain Needa explained the kinds of things that the galaxy-famous colleges there taught. I had always known that there was much more to fighting a war than starfighter combat, or even things like fleet actions and planetary conquests or liberations. But by the end of the tour, I had come to realize just how broad a spectrum the term "war" can cover. Even as a veteran fighter pilot and squadron leader, I felt woefully out of my depth as such terms as "tactical logistics reconfiguration" and "regional drift compensation" were bandied about like swearwords during a Corellian drinking game.

Everyone seemed so intent on my impression as the tour was wrapped up that I began to feel as though my brain was being pecked at by some ethereal avian. When asked by the commandant's adjutant, a Commander J. Paven, what I thought might interest me in terms of career advancement—the clever little bastard was careful to exclude service as a snubby jock—all I could think of was capital ships, and I explained to the group of officers how I had felt when piloting Horseshoe while on approach to Ciutric IV. Captain Needa smiled in understanding, and explained that the War College could make it happen. "Wouldn't I have to go to the Naval Academy first?" I asked, somewhat incredulously, which caused the knot of officers to laugh heartily.

"You're too experienced for those dullards at Corulag and Carida," Captain Needa said mildly, making me wonder if that was how she really thought of the faculty of those respective schools. But she wasn't done. "Given all you've survived thus far, and are likely to encounter before this war is over, we'll have you in an XO slot aboard the Hammerhead cruiser of your choice within eighteen months of enrollment. You'll be a ship captain within another year after that, if your service record in fighters is anything to go by."

Slightly nonplussed, I thanked the group for the tour and the captain for her encouragement, at which all of them snapped off precision salutes. Feeling even more embarrassed, I returned the gesture as respectfully as I could manage. As a Rodian petty officer brought along my swoop so I could get back to my billet, I made a mental note to do a HoloNet search for documents about the three worlds' respective military education systems. Today I've been looking at a number of the results, and while I'm disinclined to take Captain Needa at her word, I can't exactly find anything that might cast doubt upon her declaration. Bragging about one's school is one thing, but if you're the headmaster and you make such a statement in the presence of beings who I can only assume would be among my instructors...is something else entirely. But none of that really matters if I don't live through this war, and it'll matter even less if I do and the Republic loses.

I better call Teish'ala tomorrow, jut talking with her will help to settle my mind and put me at ease. If she's available for a conversation in full holo, I'll make it happen—or, more likely, the comm weenies will bend over backwards to accommodate me. If that's the case, I won't feel bad at all for using my influence in such a way. I reckon I deserve it this time.

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

 

Needa, a well known name

 

Chak is being recognized by the higher-ups, and it's not just flattery but because of success and results. He still has his head on straight and priorities as well. Not an easy thing to balance.

 

Pilot log, entry one hundred, 3956.1.2 BBY

The holocall with Teish'ala had to be put on hold when the 23rd received its replacement pilot, a Human woman who had earned a reputation as an aggressive dogfighter with the 10th Marines in a number of ambush scenarios. With seventeen kills to her credit in seven weeks of flying combat missions, Ensign Yuri Namane was rotated into our unit at the recommendation of her commanding officer, who felt that her talents would benefit from experience serving with an elite unit. Before she could get too comfortable here on Anaxes, I and the rest of the squadron took her through a few simulator runs, culminating in a rehash of the "nightmare scenario" that had so intrigued the admiralty at the expense of bucketloads of sweat and the virtual deaths of everyone involved. This time around, we managed to last a little longer, and Ensign Namane seemed to take to our flying style like a granite slug to a starscraper. Though I knew she would need more sim work as well as actual stick time before we could go into battle once again, after three days of exercises I have become confident in her discipline and abilities. Lieutenant Gril'char in particular seems to appreciate her skills as a wingmate in addition to her innate aggressiveness.

Yesterday, however, I let the rest of the squadron have a day off; flying in the fully-enclosed sims can be almost as taxing as flying real combat missions. Besides the fact that it was the first day of the new year and most were slightly hung over from the previous evening's festivities, I took advantage of the ready-made excuse to be able to make that holocall to Sluis Van on a secured channel. Coincidentally, Teish'ala had been out on a long-range patrol mission on the day I had intended to call her, and had only gotten back in time for the official turning of the year. So it was probably a good thing anyway that things panned out as they did. Judging from the way she greeted me, it seemed that she had regained that old spark of hers, as her lekku shuddered in a manner that I recognized as barely-restrained delight. She asked if I had managed to stay out of the limelight, and I told her "Not exactly, but at least we're getting things done," which caused her to giggle. She went on to indicate that her unit was due to move out at some point within the next month, possibly returning to the front lines or at least to some posting closer to the current planes of contention.

I told her about the recent incursions into Sith territory we had participated in, and about losing Ensign Cailun, then about what I'd been up to on Anaxes, including the tour of the War College here. Her response to Captain Needa's assurances was a hearty dose of laughter, followed by a bit of advice: "Listen, Chak," she began seriously, fixing me with a stare that indicated she meant business. "Take it from someone who's grown up around political and military leaders, and don't be tempted by the boastings of the brass. This Captain Needa probably wants you to come to her academy so she can brag about having had a Cross of Glory holder as a student and alum. Whether you like it or not, you're part of a rare breed, because the Republic doesn't give that medal to just anyone."

After churning this line of thought over in my mind, I replied with a question. "What do you think I should do?"

She smiled cryptically, her left lek curling up and down coyly. "I can't say, though I know you'll find the right way to go forward. You always have, and that's why I love you."

We spent the rest of the call discussing various things, including contacts we'd had with our families, though there wasn't much I could tell her about mine that she didn't already know. For her part, Teish kept the discussion limited to her immediate blood relatives, confessing that Rylothean politics were quite convoluted and she didn't want to bore me with the details of a clan-based society. I laughed at that and told her that Coruscant, with hundreds of billions of inhabitants, couldn't possibly be less mired in the mud of maneuvering that went with planetary (not to mention galactic) governance. In the end, we wished each other luck for the coming year, and shared a promise that we would do all we could to make it through this war "relatively intact," as she put it.

My spirit has been thoroughly reinvigorated by this chance to talk to the woman I love, as I had hoped it would. Today I took the squadron out for Ensign Namane's first orientation flight and had a blast. With our lasers powered down, we divided up by flights and took turns scrimmaging against one another in the skies outside the capital. The last such mock engagement came down to a duel between myself and Elam, and we spent over fifteen minutes corkscrewing and sideslipping through the air, jockeying for position for that decisive "kill shot." Low on fuel and all but exhausted, neither of us were able to best the other, and we ended up calling it a day. When we landed back at base and gathered for the debrief, Paol, Yuri, and all the other pilots were cheering and carrying on, calling for Elam and I to go at it again to determine who was truly the best pilot in the squadron.

I agreed, and in two days we'll hold our little duel on the ground of the squadron's choosing. My only condition was that there be no betting on the outcome, but I'm sure some will do it anyway. If so, it'll only be a problem if such activities cause one.

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

 

I am glad Namane is fitting right in. I loved the talk with Teish'ala and the lekku, how it is used to communicate emotion - I find that extremely interesting. I applaud Teish's advice; it bespeaks confidence in Chak without leading him one direction or another.

 

Nice update with him meeting his beloved and to see a skilled pilot added to his team

 

Pilot log, entry one oh one, 3956.1.8 BBY

Elam and I had our duel, which by popular vote among the pilots was set up and organized by Paol Gril'char, who went all out to make it quite the spectacle.

The squadron lifted from its base in Pols Anaxes and headed for the smaller of two moons that orbited Axum, the third planet in the system which is also inhabited. What I wasn't expecting were the three star liners that rendezvoused with us and paced our formation as we made the short hop toward the chosen battlefield, nor the five additional vessels of similar type that had apparently come from the less-prestigious but much more industrial world that gave this star system its name. As we were on approach, I commed the Bothan lieutenant on a private channel and asked, somewhat annoyed but trying not to show it, what this was all about. "Just a little something for morale purposes," was his wry reply, which I found both exasperating and, paradoxically, a little bit heartwarming as well.

"So these are all civilians who've come out to watch, eh?" I asked, at which Gril'char chuckled an affirmation.

If someone were to ask me to give a blow-by-blow description of the mock duel, I would happily comply. But it's not really something I can put into words, so I won't try. Rather, I will simply state that from the time each party had assumed its assigned starting stance to the moment a victor was decided, not one thought was spared for anything or anyone but Elam and what he was doing with his own starfighter. The overall experience was exhausting and excruciating, but incredibly, indescribably fun at the same time. My exec is one of those calculating sorts of pilots, who thinks of combat in terms of dejarik and tries to plan things as far ahead as possible. By contrast I am a whirling dervish of unpredictability, throwing myself fully to the predatory instincts that had made me a ranking swoop racer as a kid, enhanced a hundredfold by the raw emotional turmoil of war. The man from Ralltiir kept trying to trap me in clever tactics, using terrain to his advantage whenever possible or switching things up unexpectedly. However, whether it was because of my own experiences, my knowledge of his skills and abilities, or some other factor, none of them seemed to really work as he'd intended. The fight wasn't one-sided, and there were a few times Elam came close to besting me, but in the end I recognized one of his maneuvers and was able to trap him in his own follow-through.

When I flipped over to the general frequency, which was also shared between the civilian ships, to congratulate my XO on his efforts, the comm unit in my fighter exploded with cheers, whoops and hoots of exhilaration. Finally the noise faded away and I was able to offer the intended salutation, at which Elam replied "Yeah, as soon as I pulled over I knew you'd caught on. Good flying, chief."

The rest of the squadron chimed in with their own congratulatory remarks, as did the captains of the chartered liners. Later, after we got back to base and went over the dogfight for the benefit of the squadron, I took Paol aside and grilled him on the details of the spectacle he had created. By then I had long since gotten over my initial embarrassment, which had been the root cause of my annoyance, and found myself grinning at the lieutenant's sense of propriety and industrious nature. He's a damn good pilot and natural leader, but this was an interesting side to him that I hadn't seen before: he had set the whole thing up as an impromptu charity drive to benefit war orphans. By his inital estimation, Paol had collected nearly a hundred thousand credits, with costs for the transportation having been taken on pro bono by the companies that owned the star liners, with other incidental expenses covered by the various local and galactic broadcasting agencies.

Apparently there had been quite the clamor among the citizens of both Anaxes and Axum for the chance to see a Cross of Glory holder engage in the business that had gotten him his medal.

This hunch was borne out when I was ambushed by a holonews crew as I left to return to my billet. During the resulting interview, I found myself starting to relax a bit at the idea of being the subject of such scrutiny; finally, it seemed, I was starting to get over the idea of being a hero to others. The Twi'lek woman who led the conversation was pleasant enough, and I answered her questions to the extent my duties would allow. Her last question was interesting, and caught me a bit off-guard, forcing me to do some hard thinking: "If you had known beforehand that this would be turned into a charity fundraiser with a live audience, would you still have participated?"

"Yes," I said simply after a beat, "yes of course I would have. Though to be honest, I might not have been able to do as well."

After another beat, she asked the follow-up I was hoping for: "If I may ask, why do you think that?"

"When civilians are present in a battlespace, even if they are beyond the established periphery, any number of things can go wrong and I would have had to account for that. In a duel situation, that is more mental overhead than any pilot can afford to allocate, and as defenders of the Republic, it is our duty to ensure the safety of all. The Sith have demonstrated that they do not care what collateral damage their actions cause, even when their own people are caught in the crossfire. That is why we fight, why we are willing to sacrifice ourselves for those who cannot defend themselves."

After this proclamation, the reporter thanked me for the interview and nodded to her holocam operator, indicating that they had what they needed. As they departed, I mounted my swoop and absentmindedly flicked on the audio feed for the local HoloNet News affiliate as I began to lift off. Fortunately I was still quite close to the ground, for I almost slipped off at realizing that I had been on the business end of a hot mic connected to a live feed. Even as I gained altitude, unseen talking heads were analyzing my comments, with a retired fighter pilot also present to add his own color commentary. Whoever that person was, he seemed to have been energized by my final remarks, because he kept comparing them to key moments in history harkening back all the way to the Great Hyperspace War. At one point one of the news people said that I was simply spouting off platitudes worthy of a Jedi Master, at which the pilot snapped back "You've never been on the business end of a laser cannon, have you? I thought not."

Whoever this guy is, I have to meet him, because I was laughing all the way back to my quarters.

Anyway, it's now a couple days on from the duel, and while the pilots of the 23rd have fallen back into the routines of training and living, the rest of the system is still talking about the duel. I swear there must've been at least ten different analyses of the combat composed by ten different teams of analysts, each wondering what this meant for the war as a whole. I've actually had to confine the squadron to quarters when not on duty, lest their heads be turned by all this fame and they start thinking themselves special or something. I didn't state it in those terms when announcing the edict, however, stating instead that it was "in retaliation for setting us up for humiliation." Though the response was a host of grousing and grumbling, so far they're sticking to my orders without complaint.

We need to get back to the front lines, and soon.

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

 

Love his description of the duel and aftermath

 

Pilot log, entry one oh two, 3956.1.26 BBY

After nearly a month of living in relative calm on Anaxes amidst some of the most formidable defenses in Republic space, the 23rd was finally repositioned—along with six other starfighter units and a double-handful of cruisers and frigates including Horseshoe—to the Inner Rim world of Tirahnn. The seat of the Zeernacht Cluster, it's a well-known producer of agricultural and luxury goods, but has no military facilities to speak of save for a few scattered starports and orbital docking facilities that can accommodate starfighters and warships, respectively. There are also communications and sensor stations on each of its nine small moons, but even those don't have much in the way of defenses. However, this world is further Rimward along the Perlemian than Chazwa, the scene of bitter fighting between Republic and Sith forces. Therefore I could only conclude that we were being sent there as a sort of buffer force, meant to warn the rest of the galaxy of any renewed efforts by the enemy to control this vital trade route, and to hold them up as long as possible.

The trip out from our former host planet took only about a day, but that day's absence was enough to shatter my entire universe.

While we were busy packing up and hyping off to our new posting, an armada of Sith warships descended upon the Sluis system and utterly decimated the shipyards in orbit of Sluis Van, along with just about every fleet element the Republic had stationed in the system. I got the news not long after we decanted from hyperspace in close proximity to our destination, via two different sources: first, the HoloNet News feed, which was aflame with the news; second, by a private message sent along the regular military comm channels directly to my datapad. The flag that it carried could mean only one thing, and as I read it, my hands became nerveless and I nearly slapped the device from the table. Elam and I were in the officers' mess watching the holo-monitors at the time, so fortunately nobody noticed the fact that my heart had exploded within my chest and my head had flown apart.

The woman I love is now nothing but free-floating hydrogen, scattered somewhere between the planet and the remains of its deep-space docking facility.

The message itself was nothing more than an official notice, but it came with an attachment...a very large attachment, in fact. Opening it with trembling fingers, it soon became apparent that this was the entire contents of Teish'ala's flight log, going all the way back to the last few weeks of her Navy flight training and with the most recent entry timestamped for the morning of the attack. This realization took only a few moments, such that I was able to excuse myself and retreat to the tiny but mercifully single-occupancy room that was due my rank and position. While the rest of the fleet worried about drawing up initial deployment orders and carrying them out, I cried my eyes out while reading various entries in no particular order. She had been an almost obsessive diarist, logging more than twice as many entries than I had in a roughly similar span of time, though most of them were quite brief and limited to only a few paragraphs of terse prose. She also wasn't one for reproducing dialogue...something I rather like doing.

The exceptions were those times when she and I had made major commitments to each other, or her thoughts about what I might be up to and how she wished we didn't have to be so far apart, or other worries that pertained to me and our relationship. She didn't focus as much on her fellow pilots as I tend to do, but that didn't matter to me; some folks are just more invested than others in such things. She had also cottoned on to life in the military a lot faster than I had, holding a favorable impression of the chain of command especially when compared to the way things worked on her homeworld. Her Basic isn't as flowery or descriptive as mine, but she has...had...a way with words that was crisp and concise, leaving no doubt as to her opinion. I'm beginning to suspect that she was not exactly likeable, at least with her fellow squadron-mates, but in one entry written shortly after...after we decided to become a couple...she decided that for me, she would keep her emotional hangar bay open at all times.

I miss her already. By the Force, why did she have to die?

I find myself staring at this last line for minutes that pass like hours, unable to shake the gut-wrenching dread of facing a universe without Teish'ala, of fighting a war that suddenly seems irrelevant, almost inconsequential. I'm writing this while still looking at various entries of hers. Burning stars, I thought I had known her so well, but I couldn't have been more wrong. She was all but ripping the lekku from her skull at the prospect of not being able to fly. She could have easily seen herself bearing my children if she had been capable, of loving my family as much as she'd loved her own. She—

Someone's triggered the hatchway open request...

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

 

Oh nooh, to have him putting that to words and who is coming?

 

Pilot log, entry one oh three, 3956.2.2 BBY

Reports are still filtering in from all across the galaxy, and none of the news is good. In the aftermath of the destruction of the Sluis Van facilities and the fleet stationed there, the Sith armada moved on to attack other worlds and targets on the Rimma Trade Route, including an outpost in the Clak'dor system and the industrial planet of Eriadu, with side trips to Darkknell and all the way out to Elrood. Their rampage was finally checked when the Sith attempted to take Sullust once more, only to be met by a much stronger Republic fleet stationed in that system, which had been bolstered by surviving elements from other encounters. Even this last battle was stacked heavily in favor of the Sith, at least insofar as the numbers of ships and fighters involved; it was only due to the presence of Bastila Shan and other Jedi, all of them using Battle Meditation, that the enemy was brought to heel. So brutal has this week-long series of clashes been that the losses in warships alone eclipses those incurred in the last six months' worth of operational deployments across the galaxy.

And I thought our situation before had been precarious.

None of this is making it any easier to deal with Teish'ala's death, nor is the fact that she was posthumously awarded the Navy Cross for her leadership and skillful flying in an ultimately futile struggle to stop the Sith and save as many lives as possible. It is fortunate that there hasn't been so much as a peep in our neck of the galaxy, because I've been drifting aimlessly about on half thrusters and autopilot. It was Captain Juliso who had called on me that evening; Mara told me that Elam thought something was up when I seemingly vanished while the two of us were taking lunch in the officers' mess. She wanted to know if there was anything she could do for me, not knowing what might be troubling me (a blind gornt could tell I was in distress), but I couldn't deal with company at the moment. I told her it was nothing, and though she (rightly) didn't believe me, she relented and told me that the 23rd would be moving to one of the planetside starports the next day.

When not otherwise occupied with the duties that go with leading a starfighter squadron, I've been going through Teish's pilot log, restarting after the captain's check-up with the very first entry and going forward. But I can't keep going on like this, twisting in the wind like an injured hawk-bat just waiting to be sucked into the engine of a passing airspeeder; even the junior lieutenants and ensigns are starting to notice that there's something wrong with their commander. The woman I love wouldn't have wanted to see me like this, but I still can't wrap my head around a Teish'ala-free cosmos. It's like a black hole has germinated inside me and engulfed my innards, leaving me a shell of my old self. I can't even work up the energy to get angry at Teish's killers, or the urge to blame other folks for not being there when she needed them—the Jedi we have left are far too busy elsewhere, and logically there should have been no way for the Sith to orchestrate such a surprise maneuver.

With the state of the war now having taken a sharp downturn, I don't expect we'll be on Tirahnn for much longer. There are other places that need protection, and so far the Sith seem singularly disinclined to even send a token force to this system despite having had ample opportunities. Some small part of me is telling me that there's a reason for this, but with my mental state being what it is, it's tough to even acknowledge that faint voice, much less give it room to bloom. It occurs to me that Mara has had to deal with the death of those close to her, even if the nature of the relationship was decidedly different, so perhaps I should come clean with her.

She's my superior officer, and deserves that much at the very least.

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

 

Poor Chak he has to go on

 

Wow, Goodwood - for Entry 102 ... I cannot even imagine what! Chak is feeling! All the future dreams and what ifs in a good way are totally trashed... The hardest, ickiest, heart-wrenching thing is to start thinking of your love/heart's other half in the past tense.

#103: I am so not surprised all the yeah let's do this has gone out of Chak. He needs a big hug and comfort! food LOL

 

Pilot log, entry one oh four, 3956.2.7 BBY

Another year of entries comes to a close, and yet again I am a different man from who I was at the first anniversary, to say nothing of when this log was inaugurated.

I took my Aurek back up to rendezvous with Horseshoe a day after my last entry, determined to try and find a pressure release valve for this soul-crushing grief. Captain Juliso met me when I arrived, possibly wondering what was up; given the circumstances I had expected that the bay would be deserted but for the deck officer and the hangar watch, but there she was, regarding me with deep sympathy. She asked me what was up, and if everything was all right with my people. I asked if we could find a private space to chat, and she obliged with a somewhat mournful air. I didn't at the time understand how she could imagine what was worrying me, or that anything serious had happened, but as soon as she shut the door on the captain's cabin, she surprised me with her frankness. "I was hoping you'd open up eventually," she said not unkindly. "Your exec isn't the only one who's worried about you."

I stared at the deck as she made this statement, knowing she wasn't wrong. "How close were you to Commander Svellyn?" I asked tentatively.

After a pause to recall her thoughts, she told me about having served with him since before the Mandalorian Wars, becoming his exec when he first took command of this vessel in the last year of the conflict (they had been stationed on the other side of the galaxy, in the Trailing Sectors). She had regarded the man, who was only a couple of years her senior, as a friend as well as a comrade-in-arms; the two had formed a close bond as fellow officers that made their relationship as CO and XO an effective one. Perhaps as incentive for me to feel at ease, she admitted that her own exec, who had taken over her former position in the wake of The Mutiny, wasn't quite the same and needed more experience. When she finished answering my question, she invited me to sit opposite her tiny desk terminal. "So, what's troubling you?"

"Teish'ala," I began, letting my forehead fall into my hand. "She was lost at Sluis Van. She was..."

"I think I met her once," Mara put in after my voice faded. "You two seemed very close. Was she...?"

I nodded, and spent perhaps an hour pouring my heart out to the captain, who simply sat there and listened intently. Mara was not at all surprised to learn all of this, and her evident sympathy deepened as the litany went on. Finally I ran out of things to say, at which she stood, circled around to where I sat, and offered a hand. I took it and she pulled me into a standing position. "She wasn't the only one who cares about you, you know," she stated matter-of-factly. "Others need you, too."

"I know, that's why I came here," I replied. "If something happens and we have to go into battle, I'm just going to get my people killed because my heart isn't in it any longer. If I can't lick this, I'm finished as a fighter pilot, but even more so, my people will lose confidence and—"

"That's not what I meant," Mara replied sternly. "But when you figure out what I do mean, I would be obliged if you would come and see me."

Utterly nonplussed, I let her push me out of her cabin and then trekked somberly back to my fighter. After I had strapped myself in but before going through the preflight checklist, I noticed a small light flashing on the upper right side of my instrument panel. Someone, somehow, had at some recent point sent a message directly to my Aurek, and it had been waiting unnoticed for me to retrieve it. Flipping the appropriate switches, I nearly jumped through the sealed canopy as Teish'ala's voice spoke to me through the audio emulators that normally give voice to the vacuum of space and aid in a pilot's situational awareness. Her voice was strong and clear, despite being thick with emotion.

"Chak, if you're hearing this, then I am dead, either killed in battle or by some other means. If I know you as well as you know me, then I know you are grieving for my loss, so much so that you feel as though you might implode with the pain of it. I know this because that is how I dread feeling if something were to happen to you, who would dive into the heart of the swarm without a second thought to save those for whom you feel responsible. It is this utter selflessness you possess in such quantities, combined with an endearing naivete, that first drew me to you. When we met, you were just a boy who loved to fly, but I watched as you grew into a man and the leader you were destined to become. For that experience alone I feel like the luckiest woman in the galaxy, but knowing and loving you has been so much more rewarding, and I'd like to think that, in some small way, I helped you to come this far. I love you, Chak Ravartin, and though I am gone, I need you to go on living for the both of us."

My head spun and my heart threatened to burst as I took in the words, but her voice wasn't done.

"I recorded this message shortly before the 23rd and I were shipped out after training, uploading it to your starfighter in secret so that it would be activated were you to receive notification of my death. I'm sorry I couldn't live long enough for us to live together in peace, sorry that I couldn't outfight the Sith the way you can, seemingly with such ease. But most of all, I am sorry for the pain that my death has caused you, as selfish as that may sound. I have only one last request for you: if I am to die, I beg you to live your life the best way you know how, and that means letting yourself love again. You will survive this war, Chak, and you will find around you those who love you as I do. Please, do not hesitate to let yourself accept that love, it would give me peace knowing you were able to carry on with your own life. Good-bye, Chak Ravartin. May the Force be with you."

During the flight back to Tirahnn, I played her message over and over again, downloading it to my datapad after landing but also keeping it in the fighter's onboard computer. In the days that followed and even today, I've replayed it several times to myself when I know I'm alone, and it's started to have an effect. Gratitude for her foresight and the outpouring of her love through that recording has started to burn away my lethargy, and though I still have a ways to go, I feel as if things are starting to come back on course. My shields are still at half power and there's a nasty vibration in my engines, but at least I'm no longer tumbling through the stars on a ballistic course toward some strange sun. I've been so busy with my duties, however, that I haven't had the time or energy to dwell on Mara's admonition.

But I'm not too concerned about that. If anything is going to get me back on an emotional equilibrium, it's letting my grief run its course in the knowledge that I can, in fact, recover. I wouldn't want to disappoint Teish'ala.

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

 

That was one of the most glorious loving things. OK, Mara would leave such a thing /message for Luke, not cryptic, not OOC, but just. that. sweet.