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| - The platoon filed out in silence, and I was left alone to deal with my private ruminations. The day's exercises had been nearly as exhausting for me as it had been for them, and I knew that the subtle aches and pains would get worse before things got better. Sighing to myself, I massaged away a headache that was threatening to burst forth, only to notice that Lieutenant Ibratu'na was still in the room with me. The Twi'lek officer leaned against the hatchway, his arms folded across his chest and his lekku wrapped about his neck, one of the tips twitching in some incomprehensible mannerism. “I'm guessing you didn't stay behind for idle chatter, Lieutenant,” I said, trying to sound mildly interested. “Your supposition is correct, Captain,” he agreed, unfolding his arms and striding toward me. “Permission to speak freely?” “Please do,” I replied. “I have to wonder if all of this is necessary,” Ibratu'na inquired earnestly. “My people are good fighters, they've experienced battle before.” I turned away to hide my shame from the man as he vouched for his troopers. There was something about the entire situation that had me on edge, and Ibratu'na had to be suffering even more. Thrust under the command of a seemingly uncaring and unforgiving officer who belittled his people in front of him and threw aside everything they had accomplished couldn't have been easy. Were our positions reversed, I'd like to think I'd have taken such treatment with as much grace as he had, but that would have been a lie. He deserved an explanation after what I'd put his unit through. “And you're a good officer, Ibratu'na,” I replied, turning back to face him after a few moments of quiet reflection. “The Republic needs people like you and your soldiers now more than ever. It also needs you to survive the lunatic assignments that we're given in desperate times such as these, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't do everything in my power to maximize your troops' odds of success.” “I understand that, ma'am,” Ibratu'na replied, his lekku unfurling themselves to hang parallel to his spine. “And I'm not questioning your intentions or motivations. Private Axeli was decorated after Lannik for pulling Sergeant DiSote from a burning building during an ambush. Corporal Dar was promoted after she helped to repulse a Sith counterattack on Mon Gazza. And Private Goss was wounded in the act of shielding me from a grenade.” With a tug of the Force, I dragged a pair of chairs from a line of consoles on the wall opposite and plunked myself down on one of them, inviting the Twi'lek to join me, which he did. I'd skimmed the platoon's service records, but the revelation that the trooper I'd punched had saved the life of the squad leader I'd embarrassed had been painful; the knowledge that two members of the platoon had nearly shared my earlier fate was nearly enough to make me break down right there. I could read the sincerity in the lieutenant's bright magenta aura, along with the desire to do his best by his people, and this made my heart ache even more. But I had to be strong, for Ibratu'na, for his troopers, for Bastila's strike team, for the Jedi, and for the Republic itself. “I don't doubt their courage, Lieutenant,” I managed to say. “Then please, don't doubt their skills,” he implored. “I've fought alongside Marines, during this war and the last, and I know that you hold to a certain set of ideals. My people aren't used to these kinds of ideals, and while I realize that they don't quite have the skillset that the mission requires, I do know that they are fully capable of learning them in the time we have remaining. Corporal Dar, at least, has proven that.” “She has indeed,” I replied wearily after another pause. “And you're right, they're all capable soldiers. Something stinks about this whole mission, though, and I wonder if you can feel it.” Ibratu'na opened his hands. “Captain, I don't have your connection to the Force to provide me with such insights, but you're right, there is something odd about this venture. For instance, why are you the only Marine assigned to this flotilla if our main goal is the boarding of an enemy warship? And why are we putting some of our most competent leaders in grave peril on the off-chance that we could capture one Sith Lord? Forgive me, ma'am, but it simply doesn't add up.” “I've been asking myself similar questions ever since I got the operations brief,” I replied, shaking my head ruefully and blowing a sigh. “In all honesty, I feel as though I'm just as much in the dark as you are.” The Twi'lek looked through a nonexistent viewport in the rough direction of the warship's bridge. “Then I have to wonder, why the charade?” “I'm not sure what you mean, Lieutenant,” I asked, shooting him a puzzled expression. “You've experienced combat alongside and against Force-users, both as a normal soldier and as a Jedi,” Ibratu'na said bluntly. “Like myself, you started out as an enlistee. You've been a drill instructor, you've experienced nearly every facet of warfare there is, and yet you treated these men and women as though they were raw recruits, as though they were beneath you. I know you don't actually feel that way, ma'am, but I ask again, is all of this really necessary?” Though I wasn't proud of what I had done this day, I was resolute in the fact that I was doing the right thing, both for myself and for Ibratu'na's platoon. Military discipline, however, mandated that I keep my true feelings from him, that I be the one to make the hard choices and live with the consequences. That selfsame ethos, I knew, was what kept the Twi'lek going, and why he hadn't objected earlier, and I respected him immensely for it. Whatever I said next, I knew he would accept, even if he didn't like it. “It is,” I replied, with a quiet finality that indicated that this conversation was over. “But it needn't be in future. For now, let's just get some rack time.” — — — Thankfully, my rest went uninterrupted by the twitchings of the Force that had been such a nuisance lately, and I awoke refreshed from the previous day's activities. Since the platoon had gone through so much grief at my hands, I chose to give them the morning off, after a fashion, once we had gone through morning exercises. Dividing the unit by squads and providing them with schematics of Interdictor-class cruisers, I tasked Ibratu'na's people with devising three possible routes through the target vessel for the coming boarding action. One squad I instructed to come up with the most direct route to and from the main bridge, another, to map out the most circuitous passageways, while Sergeant DiSote's squad was assigned to figure out how best to cause the most mayhem in the least amount of time. The overall objective was to get them thinking like Marines, teaching them the Three As: Awareness, Adaptation, and Alacrity, as well as to evaluate their planning skills and get a sense of their thought processes. While Lieutenant Ibratu'na supervised their sessions, gravitating between his three squads but not interfering, I sought out Bastila and the rest of her strike team. Lieutenant Silas Dan'kre had caught up to me as I'd left the platoon to their work, and together we went over some troubling news, which I knew needed to be passed along. The five Jedi were meditating together in their shared quarters, and I wasn't surprised to learn that they had been expecting a visit from me. “There's something we need to discuss,” I said as Bastila herself showed me inside. “Of course, Laera,” she replied, taking a seat on the padded deck. “What can we do to help?” “It's about the plan,” I began, joining the quintet between two of the unfamiliar Jedi, one a recently-scarred, battle-tested man of about thirty Standard years, the other a white-haired, dark-skinned youth who looked just a bit over a year older than the only other woman in the room. “I understand the role laid out for myself and Ibratu'na's platoon; we're to open a corridor for you to wherever Darth Revan may be lurking and hold it. The details of what part you five are going to play, however, are still a bit sketchy.” “It's actually quite simple,” the younger man replied in a manner that reminded me of a primary school teacher. “If Darth Revan isn't on the command bridge, it will still be easy to locate him by his sense in the Force, as he'll be emanating the most intense dark side signature. We will track him, corner him, and do our best to capture him.” “I got that much from Master Kavar, thanks,” I shot back, nettled. “And you are?” “Jedi Knight Keeh Rha, at your service,” he said with an exaggerated nod. “Noi-Vas Jenn,” a red-haired and -bearded Knight sitting to Bastila's left introduced himself. “Georg Oakes,” said the scarred veteran. “Haydin Biddell,” said the last Jedi, a dark-haired, deeply-tanned and muscular specimen who would have, long ago, inspired animal lust within me. I found this particular fact somewhat humorous, but I kept it tightly under control; sure, he was good-looking, but I was far too old for him and sexual fulfillment was not in the battle plan. That, and it would destroy whatever semblance of discipline that either of us possessed. “Well, now that introductions are out of the way,” I said instead, “maybe you can be a little more forthcoming on details. Like, say, are my troops supposed to babysit you, or are you five going to be leading from the front?” “The latter, I think,” replied Oakes, who had either completely missed the small hint of sarcasm in my retort, or else chose to ignore it. “Communication shouldn't be a problem, and we can handle any threats ourselves.” “Let me get this straight,” I said, looking the scarred Guardian straight in the eye and smiling inwardly as his hazel-green aura squirmed slightly. “You lot are just going to run amok while my troops and I knock out anything that moves between the hangar and the main bridge? You're not going to stick with the unit, or at least take a fire team with you?” “I don't see how that's so out-of-the-ordinary,” Keeh Rha protested. “We four, plus Bastila, can work well enough as a team.” “Son, just how many battles have you participated in?” I asked him, spitting him with a scorching stare. “This will be my first—” “It'll also be your last if you don't see sense,” I interrupted him, resisting the urge to put my face in my palm in consternation. “Last I checked, Interdictor cruisers carried over thirty-six hundred troops, and from what I hear, the Sith aren't hurting for volunteers, particularly of the cannon fodder variety. You five rush off by yourselves and none of us will even make it out of the hangar bay.” I drew a small datapad from my left chest pocket and handed it to Bastila. “Did you know that the Sith have now outfitted their warships for just such an occasion?” “I was not aware of this, no,” the young woman replied, shaking her head as she perused the schematics. “If this is accurate, it looks like they've added self-powered turrets above every hatchway leading off their hangar bays.” “It's accurate,” I replied solemnly. “And I hadn't known about it either, until Lieutenant Dan'kre informed me this morning. This was an Empire-wide order, passed down from Darth Revan himself; the squids at Intelligence barely made it to us with this information before we left Tython.” Keeh Rha seemed unperturbed. “Then it is simply one more obstacle to overcome,” he said lightly. “No, it isn't,” Oakes replied before I could harangue the rookie for him. “Laera is correct; we hadn't known about this, and it means we need to adjust our thinking. The way I see it, we can handle this one of two ways; either we let the lander's gunners saturate the hanger bay with fire as we breach their magcon shield, or all five of us use our lightsabers to destroy the turrets with reflected blasterfire.” “Now you're thinking like Marines,” I nodded gratefully. “Georg, how good are you at blaster deflection?” “I prefer the Soresu form naturally, so I am fairly good in that art, even against nonliving opponents.” “Good, because there are a couple of problems with your first option,” I replied, smiling slightly. “First, you threaten to compromise the ship's structural integrity by firing heavy blaster cannons all over the place and second, we may need to appropriate any other spaceworthy vessels in that docking bay, and they might 'accidentally' be rendered unusable.” “Since you are the expert, what do you suggest?” Bastila asked sardonically. I chose to ignore the irritation that was readily apparent in her voice and aura. “Georg's second option, naturally,” I countered politely. “I'm pretty good with reflection myself, and between the six of us, we can subdue the automated defenses before the organic ones become aware of just what kind of trouble they're in. The lander's shields can keep my platoon protected while they debark, and we can proceed from there—together.” “What of the lander's crew?” Noi-Vas Jenn inquired. “Should one of us stay behind to protect the ship?” “No,” I said instantly. “Jarhead-class landers have plenty of shielding and their armor is tough, they can handle anything the Sith troopers could throw at them. Incidentally, how many of you have piloting skills?” I asked, suddenly inspired. Thankfully Haydin, Georg and Noi-Vas all nodded their affirmation. “Good, because I don't have any whatsoever. You three, consider yourselves emergency pilots, if what I said about our own ship proves incorrect.” “Wait a moment, Laera,” Bastila interrupted heatedly. “This is my team, you don't have the authority to change its structure or purpose! You are to lead your team and hold the way open for us.” This time, I did facepalm. “Bastila, please, just listen to what I have to say.” “Excuse me, but—” “I said shut up!” I bellowed, and the younger Jedi visibly flinched. “Look, I'm not trying to take command or steal your glory—not that you should even be thinking about glory—I just want to make sure that as many of us come out of this with our skins intact as possible. If you want me to have anything to do with your little enterprise, at least be civil enough to respect my knowledge.” Silence reigned as each Jedi exchanged glances around the room. Bastila in particular seemed too shocked for words, which had been precisely the point of my little outburst. This clearly wasn't the young woman I'd met aboard the Stalwart Defender after the liberation of Iridonia, and I found myself wondering just what had prompted this little outburst. Having to tell a fellow Jedi to shut up was something I'd never expected to be necessary, much less the need to shout it as an order. The young woman's aura continued to boil with resentment, but I was saved the necessity of having to apologize by Keeh Rha, of all people. “Bastila, please, Laera has shown how we are ignorant,” he said soothingly, placing a hand on her shoulder as he turned to me. “Unfortunately, my piloting skills aren't as well-developed as I would prefer, given our mission, or I would have volunteered as well.” “Very well,” the young woman replied finally, her voice steady despite a small twinge of irritation in her sense. “Laera, we will consider your expertise. Is there anything else you wished to add?” “Only this,” I said simply, opening my hands to encompass the other Jedi. “At some point in the next few days, I'd like the chance to engage all of you in mock duels—one at a time, of course—in order to gauge your skills and my own in relation to the whole.” “It'll also help to pass the time,” Haydin put in. “Very well, I'm game.” “Me too,” Keeh Rha piped up. The other Jedi nodded their assent as well, and even Bastila seemed up for a bout. Deciding that we'd settled enough for the moment, I stood and bowed myself out of their quarters, letting the Jedi know that they could find me when they were ready to fight or if they wished to go over anything else. — — — The Bothan intelligence officer caught up with me one corridor down, for once managing to surprise me in my ruminations of what had just transpired. After exchanging salutes, I gave him a nod and smile to let him know he'd gotten the drop on me, a roguish look which he returned with interest. “How did they take it?” he asked as we strode down the companionway toward the officers' mess. “It made them realize they couldn't just run off and play hero while us Marines held the hatch open for them,” I replied with a sigh. “Thanks for getting that information to me.” “It was my pleasure, Captain,” Dan'kre replied, his neck fur rippling. “Are you still willing to let me tag along?” I whacked his shoulder playfully. “Silas, you're probably the only person I can think of right now who could make this whole thing work.” “You are too kind, ma'am,” he said warmly. “'Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, or seal the bulkhead up with our own dead.'” “I didn't know you read Whipstaff,” I said, bemused at the younger officer's quip. “Oh, but Captain, you've simply not experienced Whipstaff until you've seen him in the original Bothan!” Dan'kre replied with mock astonishment. “Nellus V was one of my favorite of his holoplays while growing up, you could say his work is partly why I joined the Marines.” “I'm glad you've not forgotten your roots,” I said sternly, though the effect was ruined by the wink I shot at him. “The Marines' loss was Intelligence's gain.” “Say that again when we survive this mission, ma'am, and I might just believe you,” he replied with a feral grin. — — — My spirits buoyed somewhat by the conversation with Lieutenant Dan'kre, I grabbed a bite to eat before checking on the platoon's progress. Prior to entering the wardroom in which they worked, I paused to take a gander at the holocam feed. What I could see confirmed the general sense of camaraderie that I'd felt from them on my approach, and for a few moments it was relaxing to see how they threw themselves at their tasks. Putting my expectations aside, I clicked the monitor off and entered the room, Lieutenant Ibratu'na calling his soldiers to attention. “At ease,” I said, striding toward the far bulkhead. “Lieutenant Ibratu'na will now collect your reports,” I continued, once again pacing before the assembly. “I'll be going over them in due course. Right now, though, I want you to sit and close your eyes. Yes, even you, Private Tarsis.” I stopped then, and faced the platoon while they moved to draw chairs from their stacks along the walls and plant themselves in them. “Now, think back to the Three As I mentioned earlier,” I said, lowering my voice to barely above a whisper, forcing the gathered soldiers to focus on me in order to hear what I had to say. “'Awareness' is the most important of the As. Private Goss, what does 'awareness' mean to you?” “'Awareness' is a sensitivity to the battle around you,” the young soldier replied, his tone equally soft. “If you are aware of an enemy who is not aware of you, you are already halfway toward defeating him.” “Precisely correct, Private,” I replied. “Sergeant DiSote, what does 'Adaptation' mean to you?” The black-haired noncom nodded. “'Adaptation' is the ability to adjust to changing circumstances. If you come up against an unanticipated turn of events, you have to be able to think quickly to work around them.” “Correct in essentials,” I said, though my tone was not harsh. “Adaptation also includes the ability to use these unexpected disruptions to one's advantage. Corporal Dar, what does 'Alacrity' mean to you?” I had saved her for last, banking on her ability to think fast as well as shoot fast, and I was not disappointed. “'Alacrity' is mobility,” she replied confidently. “The enemy can't kill what they can't pin down, and the best way to stay alive is to keep moving, to keep them guessing.” “Good answer, Corporal,” I said, bringing my voice back to normal volume. “All of these axioms add up to a fourth rule: 'Anticipation'. To be able to anticipate an opponent, you have to have mastered the other three core principles. These mantras are at the very heart of Marine training, and they will keep you alive for as long as you are able to focus on them. Now, who can tell me in what direction a Marine should always be moving?” There was a lengthy pause as the troopers pondered the question. I didn't expect them to know, but I wanted them to mull the idea over anyway, so I could further evaluate their thinking. By reading their auras, I could sense that they seemed relieved at my supposed change of style, but they were still wary of what I might do to them next, which was understandable. Still, they were doing their best to wrap their minds around the problem. Finally, I answered for them. “A Marine is always—always—advancing!” I said emphatically. “'Awareness' means knowing where to advance; 'Adaptation' is knowing how best to advance in any given situation; 'Alacrity' means advancing swiftly and in good order; 'Anticipation' means knowing how and where the enemy is likely to advance to meet you.” Private Axeli raised his hand slightly, and I nodded at him. “What about retreat?” he asked earnestly. “If a platoon of Marines is outnumbered, outgunned, or outmaneuvered, sometimes you have to fall back.” “Sithspawn, 'retreat' is simply another word for advancing!” I replied as though this were obvious. “Just because the enemy forces you to give ground doesn't mean they're winning, especially while fighting aboard a starship, and moving toward something doesn't mean you're facing it. A Marine's job isn't to hold ground, but to take it!” I paused for a few moments to let them take this in. “Make no mistake people, we are not here to die for the Republic. We are here to make the other void-brain bastards die for their Empire!” There was a collective “Hoo-ahh!” at that, and I favored the gathered troops with a predatory smile. “Respect these four axioms,” I said after the exhortation had had its effect. “Treasure them as you would a loved one, and always keep them in your thoughts. You'll find that, if you do so, you will see with clearer eyes, solve problems with a more open mind, and move faster with greater purpose toward whatever you set yourselves out to accomplish. I am your conduit, your navigational computer, and I will show you the way toward not just survival, but success! Fall out for chow, and report back here in thirty minutes for another run at the engine room!”
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