#11 Hop on the Wagon


Finding the gunship was easier than Goose had thought it would be, and the pilot had been very gracious about letting her ride on some of the ammo crates. However, hurtling through the air while being seated on top of live ammunition is not the most comforting feeling, so she was more than happy to get off. All of this meant that it was very easy for Goose to make her way to the staging area, presumably where Skywalker was waiting for her. She asked for directions from a clone cleaning his blaster, then grudgingly walked over to where he'd said the General would be.

She did not relish having to talk to him again, seeing as how poorly their first encounter had gone. After exchanging only a few words with him, Goose could tell he was reckless and headstrong, though she really wasn't one to judge. He was young, far younger than what one would expect a General to be, and his inexperience showed. She had to be at least three or four years his senior, not that it was saying much. Goose could not claim to know him well, but she considered herself good at reading other people. Skywalker was new at command, had probably only gotten his commission a week or so ago, and he was not yet used to it. He tried to be too assertive, and it rubbed her the wrong way.

The staging area was a bustling, chaotic place where supply crates were unloaded, tanks and artillery dropped off, and troops gathered for deployment. The Republic had just regained its foothold, and it was working hard to unpack and press their offensive. It was also quite noisy, with troopers milling around, some of them helping to move crates. Others lounged about, waiting for their orders. Officers barked commands at their troops, and engineers hustled around checking equipment. Goose was sure all of the activity would die down eventually, and somewhere in that time she would have to see about establishing a first aid station in the city.

Speaking of the city, this part of it was just as destroyed as what she'd seen the day before. It may once have been elegant, but now its buildings were half demolished and only soldiers walked its streets. Rubble crunched underfoot no matter where you stepped, and day-old fires still smoldered. A formerly-beautiful skyline was now pockmarked with bomb craters big and small. It was a world already scarred by war, yet the battle was only beginning.

Up ahead, Goose found Skywalker conversing with that other jedi she'd seen as a hologram in the stealth ship. Kenobi, she believed his name was. They seemed to be arguing, but that was not surprising to her given that she'd already seen Skywalker disobey Kenobi's direct order. Everyone from a core world knows that jedi take apprentices, and Skywalker had called him his 'master' yesterday, which made her assume that he had been his padawan up until recently. It did not exactly inspire confidence in her that he was still so attached to his old master.

Goose did not go close enough to eavesdrop, but it appeared Kenobi had won the dispute. It had probably been about strategy or some such nonsense she didn't care to listen in on anyway. She was sure she hadn't made any noise where she was standing, certainly nothing that could be heard above the din all around them, but he turned to face her as if he'd known she was there all along.

"Oh, you're here," he began stiffly, as if he was only being polite because of obligation. "I'd like to start off by apologizing for my hostility yesterday. It was very unprofessional of me."

Goose stared for a moment, immediately put off balance by his new attitude. She'd expected him to launch into the I-should-have-you-court-martialed speech, but here he was making an apology. That set off all sorts of red flags in her head. He was being too nice. She wasn't sure why she was so suspicious of him. Maybe it was because she didn't see what he was playing at.

"Uhh...yeah, I'm sorry about that too. I'm not exactly a huge fan of dying in the vacuum of space," Goose said guardedly. "Death by torpedo isn't my idea of a perfect afternoon, either."

She didn't trust officers that much, a bit ironic since she technically was one herself. Over the years, she'd found them to be just a manipulative as any black marketer. Besides, she didn't mean her apology anyway.

"Right," Skywalker said distractedly, like he had much more important things to think about. "Originally, I planned to recruit a surgeon with combat experience to help lower mortality rates. I made a mistake bringing in a civilian, so I've already put through your transfer to Kaliida Shoals."

Goose narrowed her eyes, just a little. So that's what it was all about. She was being dismissed. He was getting rid of her, not that she would mind the transfer. In fact, her heart rate shot up the moment he mentioned it. Goose would be free at last, able to relax in the relative safety of rear-area MedCenter. She'd been wishing for someone to say that to her since the moment she took her first, muddy step on Virgillia.

At the same time, it rankled her that he'd so flippantly decided she was incompetent at the job she did best, without first seeing her handiwork. He was treating her like some coddled core-worlder who wouldn't know a scalpel from a bayonet. Frankly, it was an insult to her skill as a surgeon and her experience in the field. But did she really want to stay? Not at all. Would she regret leaving? She didn't know.

Goose couldn't help but remember the day before. All of those men, laying there wounded with no one to take care of them. At least she'd been there, but what if she left now? She doubted any other doctor would accept the job, and there was no way the handful of medics she'd seen so far could handle the casualties she knew they would have. Goose was anything but inexperienced, and she knew she'd be able to manage far better than any replacement Skywalker would find. It would almost be unethical to leave.

It would have been so easy for Goose to just stand there, keep her mouth shut, and wait for a transport to take her to Kaliida Shoals, wherever that was. Skywalker was already turning away, as if her lack of response had settled the matter.

"Wait," she called after him, hardly sure she knew what she was doing. "I want to stay."

Goose didn't know where that had come from. It had just popped out, like a hiccup or a sneeze. Skywalker looked just as surprised as she felt. Her mind was reeling, trying to understand why she'd said that.

"What?" he asked, dumbfounded.

She smiled a little inside at his shock, but it didn't show outwardly because she was still scrambling to figure out why she'd just turned down her salvation.

"You won't find a more qualified surgeon willing to take the job, I guarantee it." Goose blurted, stumbled over her own words, trying to form a coherent reason, "The troops will need as much medical support as they can once the fighting heats up."

He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes as he studied her face, like he was sizing her up again.

"Are you sure?" Skywalker asked slowly, "I don't want to be responsible if you're killed."

Goose, momentarily forgetting her inner struggle, nearly laughed. If she died in this war, it wouldn't be because of her own stupidity. If a kid could be street-smart, then she was war-wise. It was never a sure thing, but she knew how to watch her back, was at far less risk than any of the troopers.

"I can take care of myself, thanks," she snorted. And I already have much more experience with war than you do, anyway, she silently added to herself.

"Are there any other reasons?" he added somewhat suspiciously, still unconvinced.

Was there another reason? When she thought about it, Goose realized there was. So secretly that even she didn't always know it, she loved this. She was by no means egotistical or a narcissist, but saving lives made her feel good, and the danger was exciting. If you asked her why she became a surgeon, Goose would tell you it was deep respect for sentient life, just like any other pious medical professional. But if you got right down to it, she was more of an addict. She might have even developed withdrawal symptoms if she stopped operating for long enough.

"Every surgeon is a thrill seeker, it's almost part of the job description. I won't deny that I find this work much more exciting, because it's a challenge." Goose explained tentatively, "In the rear-area it's all cookbook medicine and bacta tanks. I'm not trying to sound callous, but I'd be bored to my wit's end after a month or so."

Skywalker pursed his lips and considered her some more. Internally, Goose was pleading for him to refuse and take it out of her hands.

"I'll give you one more chance to back out," he finally said. "If I pull your transfer now, it'll be months before you can get another. Do you really want to stay?"

She took a deep breath and almost had to grit her teeth to get the word out. From here on out, for every miserable thing that happened to her, the fault was hers and hers alone.

"Yes."

Mentally, Goose was already kicking herself for being a sentimental idiot. What had she just done? On the other hand, Skywalker looked happy for the first time since she'd met him.

"Alright," his face broke into a grin, and he started tapping away at his datapad. "Then welcome to the five-oh-first! I've assigned you to Captain Rex in Torrent Company."

It was odd, as if she'd passed some sort of test, and he suddenly liked her now that she'd proved she had 'guts.' She was more than willing to just leave and wallow in self-pity for a while, but she had to have one thing settled first.

"Just to be clear, is Rex my superior now?" Goose added, "We are technically the same rank."

She hoped that he said yes, because she didn't want any more responsibilities, real or imagined. Only a few times in her unintentional military career had she been forced to order someone to do something rather than ask it, and she would like to keep it that way.

"You and Rex can come to an agreement on that," he said dismissively, then handed her his datapad. "Here are his coordinates. Go report to him and he'll get everything sorted out. And doctor, I don't want to see any more insubordination. You're under my command, now."

Goose fought the urge to smile, choosing to merely turn and walk away before she let out a snarky comment. She silently vowed to stop questioning Skywalker the day he started obeying orders. Probably never, then.


It turned out that Torrent Company was already at a forward position, so Goose would have to walk about a klick from the staging area to find them. She'd talked to a sentry before leaving, and he'd said from there to the front had been secured, so it was safe to go alone on foot. She would have preferred to bum a ride off someone, but there weren't going to be any more transports out there for hours, so she decided to rough it.

Like all the other streets she'd walked down, these were strewn with debris and broken things. Having seen it all before, her mind was numbed and she carried on in silence. Again, she was eerily alone as she navigated the ruined city. There was no artillery now, but that could change in an instant. Dust hung in the air, from all the shattered masonry, clinging to her clothes and covering them in a fine layer of powder. Goose stepped along as quietly as she could, mindful of the shadows.

There were many dead troopers, and even a few civilians. The ones too stubborn to evacuate, she assumed. Goose wondered why the Republic hadn't come by to pick up their dead yet. They made the city seem like it was in the grip of death. Most military traditions she'd heard of honored the dead, so she was confused as to why they littered the ground like yesterday's trash. Of course, deep down, she knew exactly why they were still here. No one cared enough to clean up the mess. The Republic, in all of its hypocrisy, would probably leave it behind for the Christophsians to contend with once they won. If they won. There was still the distinct possibility she'd end up just like them, just as expendable.

She trudged along, continuing to bemoan her idiocy. Was she really so arrogant that she thought it was her moral duty to stick around and save some clones? No, not just clones. Lives. Becoming a surgeon had always been about the lives, not so she could pat herself on the back for being a martyr. She'd just given up the best opportunity of her life not to feel good about herself, but so that she could live with herself. What kind of doctor would she be if she abandoned her patients just to save her own skin?

As she continued to brood, the city around her started to change. Goose had just left a residential area, which had been overshadowed by soaring apartment complexes. The sky had widened up, though it was overcast and smoke-filled. The streets were now lined with shops and small businesses, though they were all boarded up and many had their windows smashed in. She felt too exposed, walking out in the open, so she stepped off the street and onto the sidewalk.

Goose avoided all the glass shards as best she could, until she tripped on a crack in the duracrete pavement and nearly sliced her face on a broken…bottle. She cursed eloquently, if it was even possible to do such a thing. The would-be face-scarring bottle was, in fact, a beer bottle, laying among many others in front of a liquor store. Like most on the street, the store's window had shattered inward, giving her a nice view of its wares despite the darkened interior. The bottles on display had fallen randomly, some inside and some out. She was in disbelief. Had not she been missing booze only earlier that morning?

"Well I'll be broggled," Goose swore under her breath. "The gods really must be crinking crazy."

It was too convenient, the temptation too obvious. If one had any spiritual beliefs, one may think whatever deity they worshipped had decided they needed their faith to be tested. However, Goose didn't subscribe to any of the hundreds of religions offered throughout the galaxy. She only referred to them on the occasions when she couldn't find any better explanation. Her common sense screamed that it was too good to be true, and she was instantly wary. Still, Goose was not one pass up an opportunity like this.

She stepped gingerly through the gaping hole left by the broken window, careful of all the glass. Bypassing the cheap stuff, Goose ducked behind the counter where she knew the owner would have kept his secret stash. There were a few empty places where the most valuable bottles would have been, and it was likely that the proprietor had taken them when they evacuated. That wasn't an issue at all, because she found exactly what she'd been looking for. Corellian whiskey.

While she hadn't been born there, Goose had gone to Corellia Med to earn her M.D. and was quite familiar with the local firewater. In fact, she'd grown so partial to it she'd even spend some of her tiny stipend as a resident at Galactic Polysapient on Alderaan to buy some for special occasions. And now, here was a nicely aged bottle of it, ready for drinking. She picked out a bottle, turned it over in her hands, and thought about it.

Honestly, what could she do with it? Take a seat in a bombed-out liquor store and drink herself senseless? Only the most pathetic drunk would do that. She couldn't take it with her, because Rex certainly wouldn't like it. She didn't want him to think any less of her, anyway. Why was she even here, on some planet she'd almost never heard of, staring at a bottle of whiskey? It was absurd.

For a while she considered hurling the kriffing thing at the wall, breaking it so she could just move on. But why waste perfectly good whiskey? Goose thought of a better idea, one that would ease her conscience while still letting her keep some. She picked a small, empty flask from a shelf and filled it up with the whiskey. She vowed to herself never to drink it unless absolutely necessary, like if she thought she was about to die. Maybe even save it until the end of the war and drink it as a victory toast. To make sure the point was clear to her future self, even in a moment of weakness, she wrote For Emergencies Only on it with one of the felt-tipped markers.

Satisfied, she slipped it into her back pocket, where it was slim enough not to be noticeable. Then she chucked the bottle at the wall, watching in relief as it shattered. With that taken care of, Goose walked out of there at brisk pace without a backward glance, glad to be leaving. She smiled lightly to herself, pleased with the knowledge that if there was a god out there, they were probably having a hard time determining if she'd done the right thing or not. At least in her mind, she'd walked the middle road.

As she walked on, Goose briefly considered why the store had not been looted already, which would have been the expected outcome once it was abandoned. In retrospect, none of the shops she'd seen showed signs of looting. It made sense that the clones wouldn't do it, given that they were so well disciplined. But what about the enemy, the ones that invaded the planet in the first place? Goose suddenly realized she hadn't even seen one yet. She actually had no idea what they looked like, besides the arachnoid Admiral Trench. Goose had just assumed they'd be humanoid, or at least something along those lines/

Not long later, she knew she was getting close to the front when she saw the site of a recent skirmish, one Rex had probably participated in not long ago. All the survivors had been taken with the advancing troops, so there was no work for her to do. She did, however, see the enemy for the first time.

It was a battle droid, its almost skeletal body and angular face made of a tan metal alloy. That explained why there hadn't been any looting. Battle droids were programmed to kill, not steal. Pieces of them were scattered all about, the one she was looking at the most intact, with only a gaping hole in its 'chest.' Goose realized she'd seen a few earlier, but they been so warped by blasterfire or some other means of destruction that they'd been rendered unidentifiable. She recognized them now, vaguely, from seeing them in the HNE coverage of the aftermath of the blockade of Naboo. The Trade Federation was involved?

Goose stopped dead in her tracks when it dawned on her that she still had no idea who was at war with whom. Back on Virgillia, Oli had mentioned that the Republic was at war with the Confederacy of Independent Systems, implying that several had seceded. But which planets? It was unlikely, but what if her own homeworld was among them? That would certainly cause a few headaches. Now she wasn't even sure if she was on the right side, though she was still confident that only the disgruntled outer-rim worlds had seceded. However, there was always room for doubt.

"Would it be too much to ask to have just one catastrophe at time?" Goose groaned aloud to herself as she trudged along.

She decided not to worry about it, since everything would be made clear once she met up with Rex and Torrent Company. She was getting close, as revealed by the sporadic blasterfire she could hear up ahead. The fighting didn't sound heavy, but she still approached with caution. By the time she could see them, they'd already finished mopping up the last of the droids, likely having stumbled across them by accident. There did not appear to be any serious injuries among them, so Goose felt free to walk right up to Rex, who she recognized by the blue stripes of his armor.

"Hiya, Rex," she said with a grin. "Looks like you're stuck with me now."


A/N: Thank you for your patience with the slow updates. I'm taking a heavy course load this year, so I'll probably be posting sporadically. Please bear with me.