"Man, did you see the general they sent us?" The younger of the two Republic pilots tossed himself onto his regulation bunk, fresh from a briefing about the next day's battle—flight formations, squadron assignments, the usual. It was crucial information in any event, but that day especially so. If all went according to plan—and it had been planned by the best mind the galaxy had to offer—then Malachor was to be the battle to finally end the war and stop the Mandalorians for good.
The other real difference was the person delivering the information. They'd seen some Revanchists before—the Jedi willing to break away from the Council and bolster the Republic's attempts to defend itself against the invading Mandalorian threat. But it was damn unusual for any of them to meet top brass.
"Kinda hard to miss the person delivering our orders," the other soldier replied with a half-smile, unbuckling the blaster holster from his hips. He was a bit older and calmer than his friend, his uniform neat and inspection-worthy. "Why, was there something wrong with her?"
The first pilot's lips curved into a wicked grin, and he cupped his hands behind his head. His uniform was contrastingly unkempt, bright orange jacket zipped down his belly to reveal the white undershirt. "Oh, there was nothing wrong with her," he assured with a chuckle. "About as right as a woman can get, actually—pretty sure I'd follow that cargo hold to the ends of the galaxy."
"You barve," the older man chastised with mild amusement. He'd known the other soldier long enough to not be surprised by the track his mind would take. As a superior officer and general nice guy he knew he ought to give him a harder time, but he had to admit a certain soft spot. "Don't tell me you were too busy staring at our pretty new Jedi general to pay attention to the orders she was giving?"
"Don't get your stubble in a knot, lieutenant," he replied, closing his eyes. "I may not be career, but I'm not a fool. I can pay attention and enjoy the view."
The lieutenant—quite happy with what was waiting for him at home—had only cursorily noticed the attractiveness of the Jedi. She was beautiful, yes, but more striking to him was how young she looked. She couldn't be much older than the pilot lusting after her, and yet she was one of the most talented and respected among Revanchists, surpassed only by Revan and Malak themselves. Fresh off of the bloodbath that was the Second Battle of Dxun, she'd had a strange graveness for someone so young.
Breaking the lieutenant's reverie, the younger man continued, "If they made more Jedi like her, it'd make me wish I'd been Force-sensitive. You think that after this whole war is over, a general and a guy like me…?" His voice trailed off with cautious optimism.
The older officer couldn't contain a snort. The idea of the sarcastic pilot ending up with the beautiful Jedi…yeah, that would happen. "Kid, I think you're barking up the wrong tree. The Jedi Order tends to discourage that kind of thing."
Not apparently enjoying the other man's skepticism, the young man shot a narrow-eyed look at him. "What," he said, voice dripping with derision, "you telling me those holos about naked padawan practice duels aren't real? And they don't really have wet robe contests?" He rolled his eyes and propped himself up on an elbow. "Besides, they also discouraged helping save the Republic, but she did the right thing anyway."
The lieutenant chuckled. "And I take it you're 'the right thing' too, Jaq?" he shot back teasingly.
That earned him a lazy grin. "Damn right I am," he replied as the lieutenant went about taking off his boots. "You can't tell me there isn't something appealing about female Jedi."
The older man smiled sentimentally to himself. "I've got a woman at home already who's perfectly capable of kicking my ass, thanks," he said, thinking about his wife waiting patiently at home with their young son.
Jaq snorted, settling himself more comfortably on the bunk. "Yeah, yeah, Fleet, I know. We all know. Don't think there's anyone in the squadron who hasn't heard about your precious Morgana." It was true; his family was his favorite topic of conversation, even knowing that younger wingmates might not be able to relate.
They fell into a comfortable silence as they got their things in order to sleep and other officers filed in slowly. After a few minutes of thought, however, the lieutenant couldn't quite help asking the other pilot a question that had been bothering him for a little while. "Hey kid," he said quietly, hoping to get his attention.
"Yeah?"
"You know that tomorrow's battle…it's going to be a big one. Our actions could put an end to the war, if Revan's plan goes smoothly. Or it could be another bloodbath. Either way, a lot of good soldiers are going to die. Maybe us."
His voice turned sharp. "And?"
"And…" he continued softly, "knowing all of that, you're spending your time lusting after some Jedi you don't even know and are unlikely to see again even if you both survive?"
Jaq chuckled humorlessly. "Come on, Onasi, you're not that dumb. What would you rather think about: Morgana, or some horrible death at the hands of those Mando slimesuckers?" He gave a light shrug and stretched while the other man thought about it. "So yeah, I could think about how this may be the last time I sleep in one of these frinking uncomfortable beds. Or I could think about what it'd be like to be in one of these frinking uncomfortable beds with a little company."
The lieutenant took awhile to absorb this, and felt a little more sympathetic towards the younger man's choice of conversation topic. He had a point about…dwelling on things one couldn't change. Food for thought, at least. In the meantime, he asked, "How do you think tomorrow will go, then?"
"Honestly, Fleet? I've got a bad feeling about this."