Oh, my Lord. Hey guys. We have another update! I'm honestly shocked I cranked this one out this quick. Hold onto your hats...


Chapter 29: Field Promotion

"Mila!"

The medic's unopened eyes rolled as she fought to wake up. Her brow wrinkled; a hoarse moan escaped her parched lips as she took a deep, shaky breath.

Like rushing water reality – the distant roar of flames, the grimy stench of smoke, the prickle of the sand on her skin – poured back into focus. One blackened eye cracked open as her brother gave her a hard shake, desperately calling her name:

"Mila!"

"Relax, nerfherder," she rasped with a smirk, grabbing the front of his fatigues and hoisting herself to a sitting position. She coughed. "Just resting my eyes."

Relief washed over Jaren's panicked face. He started to chuckle, as did those around him. "If you weren't my sister," he breathed, pulling her towards him for a hug, "I'd knock you out." His grip tightened, and his voice cracked. "You scared the kriff out of me, Mila—"

"You honestly thought we'd part ways without saying goodbye?" She pulled back and put her little hands on his broad shoulders, her face softening a bit as she noticed the unreleased tears in his eyes. "Nah. That'd just be rude."

"Damn you," Jaren laughed, quickly leaning in and kissing her forehead. He stood and pulled her to her feet. "C'mon. We all got somewhere to be and not a lot of time to get there."

Mila's wobbly legs buckled a bit as they came to terms with what she was asking them to do, but a few deep breaths of relatively fresh night air and a long drink from Jaren's canteen convinced them and the rest of her body to heed her command. Between greedy gulps of water she picked out something about a transport from base coming to get them – if it could stay in one piece to do it. Letting out a heavy sigh as she wiped at the back of her mouth with her sleeve, she looked to the sky as she and the handful of men that were with her started to move forward.

"All of Rapier's still up," Jaren said at length, noting his sister's concerned, searching stare. "But Echo…" He sighed. "They've got three left."

Mila paled. "And one of them's Calo, right?"

A brief smile burst across Jaren's face as he nodded. "He's fine. Taking it to them." He shook his head, pride swelling in his eyes. "Looks like he belongs up there."

Despite her growing nerves, Mila grinned. "Good," she whispered as they crested the top of a large dune and made their way downward. "You got any word on that—"

"Incoming!"

For a short second Mila thought her brother referred to that transport, but the raw adrenaline in his voice – the fear and, even more apparently, stone-cold anger that flashed in his eyes – warned her otherwise. Her blaster rifle found its way to her shoulder before she registered what was going on. Troopers swarmed over the dune – which was more like one edge to a small crater that Mila and the others had walked into – and held their weapons at the ready.

All save the one giving the orders.

Mila quickly recognized her as the one who led the assault on the village, the one who had dragged Yiema to her death. The immense inferno in the distance – one Mila assumed this trooper had ordered – warmed her impeccable, chrome-painted armor to an eerie orange, almost as if the towering figure within was made of fire herself. The now soiled black cape clasped around her shoulders trailed out behind her like a long, dark plume of smoke.

Her voice, in stark contrast to her scorching appearance, was cold as stone:

"On my mark."

Mila's eyes bugged. They weren't walking away from this.

"Gentlemen," she started, forced evenness that only despair can bring smoothing her voice. "Ladies. It's been an honor—"

"Take aim."

Jaren's hand quickly clasped hers. "It's okay," she heard him whisper.

White fingers flexed around triggers, poised to fire. A shriek of panic boiled up in Mila's mind, crescendoing as her anticipation grew.

Get it over with, she wanted to scream.

The ground shook; her hair and the loose leather of Poe's flight jacket – which had stowed away on her shoulders when she'd ran to her post – whipped in a sudden, hot breeze.

Then the shriek grew louder, so loud that it couldn't have been in her head, and Mila could have cried with relief.

Quad engines.

Before their captain could give them the final order, an X-wing ripped overhead, pounding ion bolts into the disgruntled troopers with a level of speed and accuracy only experience – and a lot of strafing practice – could have brought.

The captain – steely voice bellowing a curse as he rolled down the dune – was the only one who got away with her life, and she wasn't doing any damage alone.

Cheers erupted from the men who'd just been spared, and Mila watched the pilot disappear briefly into the night and double back around.

An angel on her shoulders.

If only it were possible to thank him.


The whoop through his comms nearly deafened the X-wing's pilot as he guided the fighter for another pass. His finger deftly coiled around the trigger again; his dark eyes raked the sand in front of him for any more of the enemy, but his commander's excited call gave him the answer he wanted before he even had time to look for it:

"You got 'em, Rapier Five! That was one hell of a shot!"

As he rushed back towards the other fighters – as he caught sight of the troop transport they had somehow managed to escort out there hovering below him, brown-haired medic triumphantly stumbling towards it – Kit Anderon smiled.

"What can I say, Commander?" he beamed. "I owed her one."


"What do you mean 'you're not coming with me?'" Mila angrily barked over the engine noise. "The hell you aren't, Colonel! Get up here, now!"

"We can't pass that TIE up." Eyeing his panicked sister apologetically, Jaren took a step backwards. "We get a piece of it – take it back to Command – and they might actually believe this cluster-kriff is happening. Sundar ordered you to fall back—"

Mila's eyes flashed fearfully. "Not without you—"

"You don't have a choice, Mila!"

The medic's face – which only a moment before had been smiling ear to ear – collapsed. Hopping down from the transport and taking a few pointed steps forward, she threw her arms around her big brother's neck, forcing back tears as she held him close, squeezed her eyes shut.

"You have a family that needs you," she stammered, her voice low and shaking with emotion. "Come back to us."

"I will," Jaren whispered, rubbing her back reassuringly. "I promise."

He pulled away and put his hands on her shoulders. "Go."

Reluctantly, Mila stepped back into the transport, her eyes not leaving her brother's silhouette as it rose from the ground. Even after he had disappeared into the shadowy distance and the transport neared the base – started to touch down – she watched the horizon.

You made me a promise, nerfherder. You'd better keep it.


Sundar's thankful call announced his presence long before Mila saw him. His blue eyes – bright and hopeful despite the circumstances – swam with relief as he ran across the bombed-out flight line to meet her and her platoon.

"Thank the Force you're not hurt," Sundar sighed, putting a hand on Mila's shoulder and leading her towards the rest of the battalion. "We're gonna need you on this one."

They were crouched around a holo projector, the soot-covered wall and nearby guard tower behind them shielding their vulnerable position from anyone who might want to exploit it. Most of the soldiers – Wex and Darren, even Krell included – held blasters to their chests, ready to run if they had to. Sundar neared the projection – of which Mila recognized as one of the mess halls nearby – and his face hardened in a way that all those present knew what he was about to say was serious.

"You all know the First Order dragged you out to the village so they could waltz in here without much of a fight," he started with a concentrated frown. "They've captured almost the entire base. Most of it's a lost cause, except for this building."

He clenched his jaw in an effort to steady himself. In the past several years she had known him, Mila wasn't sure she had ever seen him do that before.

"Some First Order security psycho and his special weapons detachment have trapped about four hundred lieutenants in that mess hall," he went on gravely. "Could be more or less than that. We don't have an exact number. All we know is that almost all of them are either comms or brand-new Senate Intelligence officers. And that this… agent – whoever the hell he is – is holding them for a reason."

"How'd you get a hold of this?" Mila asked.

"One of the kids commed it in," Sundar replied, his face falling slightly. "She didn't last. But the others can and will if we can get to them in time. We're gonna have to move fast and carefully; Force knows what's between us and them right now, and I really don't want to lose any more of you than I already have—"

"Then – with respect, Colonel," Krell cut in coolly, trying to smother her rising fear with aloofness, "we need to retreat, if you want to keep the rest of us breathing."

Sundar glared at her. "Again, Major?"

Krell shrugged defensively. "Look, I want those captured to live just as badly as you do, but as you said, this place is a lost cause. If we run in there, I'll be cut – we'll be cut – to shreds by those special-weapons troops. And I am not keen on—"

Sundar's pointed stare intensified. "Major, when you joined this battalion – when you raised your hand and swore that oath – was there anything in there about you saving your own ass?"

Krell's icy eyes bugged. "Sir, I meant no—"

"Simple question; even simpler answer. Yes or no."

Irked, Krell backed down. "No, sir."

Sundar nodded tersely and turned back to the others. "Now there is an entrance point just around that corner, and you should be able to get right in—"

A blaster bolt from nowhere cut him off, driving into his chest as he collapsed to the ground.

"Colonel!" Mila shrieked, falling to her knees next to him and gathering him into her arms.

He gasped loudly. Haggardly. Mila was vaguely aware of those around her scrambling for cover – of Wex pointing his own rifle in the direction the bolt came from and blowing the sniper down from his well-hidden post – as she scrambled for a few supplies.

"Sir, don't—"

"Mila." Coughing, Sundar gripped her shoulder, his eyes locking with hers for a moment before drifting past her head. Weakly he pointed around the corner he'd just spoken of.

"All of them," he managed. "Get—"

He choked. Mila's brow furrowed as tears flooded her vision.

"Colonel?"

No response. Mila shook him hard.

"Colonel!"

When she looked at him again, his eyes had glassed over. Squeezing her own shut as she bowed her head and brushed her hand over his eyelids, Mila stifled sobs that threatened to wrench from her body as his stiffened in her arms. From over her shoulder Krell bent and fumbled for the officer's pin on Sundar's collar – replacing her own with his without a second thought as she promoted herself to his former rank– and straightened.

"Order suspended," she said, almost as if nothing was wrong. "Someone call a transport—"

Mila didn't have to hear the rest of what Krell said to know what she was getting at. Tears ran down her scowling face as she sat up. Looked down the corridor towards the mess hall. Stood.

Colonel Sundar had given her an order. His final order.

"You heard Sundar!" she barked, and pointed towards the massive building behind her. "We're not leaving without them!"

Krell almost scoffed. "And last I checked, Lieutenant, you cannot give me orders, and now that he—" she pointed to Sundar's lifeless body "—isn't here for you to hide behind, for you to whine to, you will obey my—"

Mila shoved past her towards the rest of the men, who were all as blindsided as she was. "All of you! With me, now! Stay tight; we're going in—"

"What the hell are you thinking, Lieutenant?!" Krell fired back. "I gave you an order—"

Mila nodded towards Sundar's body. "So did he."

"Between the two of us, who is still breathing? Who commands—"

Finally, Mila had had enough.

"Caraya's soul, Almira! They're just kids, dammit! They go home!"

Though Krell tried to maintain an icy composure, she visibly recoiled. Mila stepped up.

"They. Go. Home."

"Lieu—"

"He said everybody, people!" Mila went on, moving across rubble and picking up her pace. "And we're gonna carry that out if it kriffing kills us!"

Without another word, she took off down the street, the others quickly filing in behind her, Krell's furious protest fading under the pounding of her boots into the ground, the hammer of her heart in her ears. She made it to the door and shot the control panel, and the heavy barrier slid to the side like a massive, durasteel tombstone.

Mila's jaw hardened.

"Let's go to work."


Being concise – being prompt and efficient – had been drilled into Terex since his days in the Empire. In fact, he had garnered a bit of a reputation for being just that, one that he did not seek to tarnish. Though many within the First Order disagreed with his… methods… no one had ever said that he had never gotten the desired results, and no one had ever tell him he had failed.

Now that he ran the risk of hearing that dreaded word, Terex was growing a bit… impatient.

"Bloody hell, Sergeant," he growled, his voice practically tapping its foot. "There are four hundred and eighty of them. You mean to tell me that out of four hundred and eighty prisoners, not one of them has given you anything I asked for?"

The Flametrooper stiffened. "No, sir."

Terex sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fabulous," he muttered flippantly.

He turned to the rest of the room – crammed with baby-faced New Republic lieutenants all scared witless – and raised his voice:

"Now, my friends," he projected, a falsely pleasant smile slithering out from under his pointed black mustache. "Don't be shy. One of you must know something."

No one spoke. Terex raised his tattooed right eyebrow.

"But just in case any of you didn't hear me the first time, all I have asked for is information. Not weapons; not prisoners of war. Merely words. A few short answers to a few short questions."

His heavy black boots thumping across split tile and crunching over broken glass – along with a few frightened sobs from farther in the room – were the only noises to be heard.

"I want to know why your superiors sent you here. I want to know what your purpose is. The First Order wants to know what your purpose is. And one of you will be so kind as to tell me. Promptly."

The lieutenants – though most of them were visibly shaking – exchanged glances amongst themselves, but still no one would betray the New Republic.

"Fine," Terex huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose like an annoyed parent. "You have wasted my patience." He quickly turned to his troops – which stood around the massive room's walls, all wielding flamethrowers – and all cordial pretenses dropped from his face, a curtain falling to reveal the impatient animal underneath. "Ready!"

The troops raised their weapons. Several lieutenants screamed. Terex – he couldn't help himself – grinned.

"Aim!"

The troopers complied.

But before he could give the next command – his favorite order – the locked blast doors blew open, and he was tackled to the ground.


The second she had broken through the smoke, Mila had spotted the agent Sundar mentioned and ran at him. She'd taken him down fast enough to slow whatever order he was about to give, but that didn't stop one or two of his most hardened troops from firing anyway.

"Get them out!" Mila screamed over her shoulder to those that came in with her. "Now!"

She ran to follow her own order – came within two feet of a girl whose feet had been caught in the blaze – when she was all but thrown into the floor. The agent lunged at her, but she rolled out of the way, stood and slammed her fist between his eyes. He stumbled backwards. Growing steadily angrier, Mila rammed her knee into his stomach – threw several good punches into the side of his face – before he rebounded, clawed at her neck, and pinned her to the ground.

Before she could do anything about it, his thumbs were crushing her windpipe.

The sick pleasure he seemed to draw from her struggling, the venomous simper that eased across his face. They together shook the foundations of Mila's already battered walls so hard that they finally collapsed. Every last detail of her situation – the smoke, the screams for help and cries of pain, several of her own men meeting their demise upon entering the room and, especially, the sick face of the man attempting to take her life – seared onto her brain like a brand on the back of an eopie. A permanent, painful scar. Hundreds of them, rolling one on top of the other like waves in a violent storm.

Mila desperately grabbed at his wrist, kicking out and slapping at his hand in an attempt to wriggle free, but he was too strong.

"Ah, ah," he sneered. "The harder you fight, my dear, the longer it will last."

He tightened his grip. Mila's vision blurred as she frantically looked for an escape.

After what seemed like hours, she zeroed in on the tactical knife on his belt, drew it, and sliced at his left eye. He screamed, fumbling at his bleeding face as two of his troops began to drag him away from the fight.

Deep, hoarse breaths replenished Mila's lungs, though every movement of her neck hurt.

She could hear the agent taunting her – various curses and less-than-courteous turns of phrase howling across the room – as she rolled onto her stomach and coughed.

Shaking arms pushed her back to a standing position and, though still dazed, she ran for the first wounded soldier - a girl no older than Calo – she could find. Quickly she smacked out the flames, reached for sedative, and stuck the needle into the lieutenant's leg before hoisting her small body onto her shoulders and pelting for the door.

"You're gonna be okay," she rasped, forcing her voice out through damaged vocal cords as she came through the threshold, down the hallway, and out into the open air where, to her relief, most of the lieutenants – the vast majority of which were unhurt – piled into troop transports that she assumed Sundar had called in.

"Lieutenant!" Darren called, holding his arms out to take the wounded girl. "I've got her—"

"Put her on one of those transports and follow me back in," Mila ordered hoarsely. "There are still more in there!"


By the time it was over – by the time the room was cleared, the transports were loaded – Mila had run in seven times, and every time she left with someone, dead or alive, it didn't matter.

Sundar had said everybody. Whether or not they were still breathing hardly mattered. They were all going home.

Including the person – the man who Mila had considered her second father – who gave the order in the first place.

Ducking around the corner, Mila picked his body up – to her absolute disgust Krell had left it there to rot and, to her absolute shock, she found his heart was still beating – and sprinted back to the transports, yelling for a hovercot as she did. Slowly she lowered his broken body onto the cot as the medical droid next to her displayed his pulse. The cardiograms's bright white light hopped weakly in time with his heartbeat.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Every time that line jumped, there was hope that he would survive. She moved to the head of the cot to wheel him out.

But the second she did, he slipped away.

She hadn't been fast enough.

Tears nearly blinding her, she bent forward and kissed his forehead, the only apology she could manage.

Darren and Wex, both as shaken as she was, wheeled him onto one of the last transports. Painful sobs choked her as she watched them. From another transport – the only remaining that was still relatively empty – Krell stormed over to her. The ice in her stare could have frozen one of Mustafar's molten rivers solid.

"If you don't think you will be hearing about this upon our return to Hosnian Prime, Lieutenant, you are hideously mistaken. I told you to retreat—"

"He said everybody."

Seeing as Mila was unmoving in her decision – that she wasn't even the slightest bit guilty – Krell bristled and fumbled for words, flustered.

"You deliberately disobeyed me. And I will not…"

Her voice trailed, and as its sound faded, the howls of the TIE fighters crescendoed overhead.

But the Rapiers – and one lone A-wing – were right behind them.


"You've got one on your tail, Rapier Two!"

Karé grunted. "Yeah, figured that one out."

She banked hard to port, but the TIE all but predicted her move. She winced.

"Could use a little help, guys! I can't shake him!"

Kit swooped in behind her. "I'm on him."

One pulse of ion cannon later, the TIE spun out of control, trailing smoke and fumes as it slammed into the ground and exploded.

"Thanks, buddy," Karé breathed. "Good shot."

She could all but hear the smile in Kit's voice: "No problem."

"One of the pilots of those transports just hailed me, guys," Poe came in, his voice still remarkably steady even as BB-8 lost his binary mind behind him. "They're lifting off. Watch 'em; those TIEs are gonna be coming in hot after them!"

No sooner were the words out of his mouth did a TIE fighter fall in behind the first transport to get airborne. Iolo hammered into it before it could open fire, and as the TIE exploded, the transport shot into open space.

"Heading to the rendezvous," Poe clarified. "Let them go. We'll be there soon enough."

"I count fifteen of those transports, including the one that got away and those still on the ground," Iolo reported. "All left but three just lifted off. Watch for them!"

In tandem the transports rose from the ground and raced upwards, the freedom of realspace just within their grasp—

-before a thick cloud of TIEs descended from orbit, tearing half of them to shreds and racing at the other three. Calo's eyes bugged as he watched them.

"Commander—"

"Several made it through, Calo; let them go. I need you down here—"

Calo's voice rose and shook under panic. "Holy… holy kriff. She's—"

A few of the newly-released TIEs plummeted towards the base, their guns all trained on the remaining transports and the medics that manned them.

"Guys, she's down—she's down there." His voice nearly rose to a shout as she pulled in behind the offending TIEs. "Mila!"

He opened fire and took down one of the TIEs – cringed as it missed the battered flight line by the skin of its teeth.

One dropped in behind him and opened fire. Calo panicked.

"I can't shake him! Somebody—"

Without thinking twice, Kit dove after him. "Hang on, Calo!" he shouted as he opened fire, as the TIEs in front of him were reduced to vaporizing clouds of flame. "Got 'em!" Despite himself, he actually laughed. "Take that, you—"

Several TIEs fell on him at once, and those that didn't come for him charged at the ground. All opened fire. Kit swerved and banked, even threw in a few rolls, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't shake them.

"Holy kriff! Guys—"

"Kit!" Poe called, the panic he had been stifling the entire night finally bubbling up and over. "Hang on, buddy! I'm coming! Are you hit?"

"Little cooked, but I think I'll be alright. Don't worry about me—"

He swept upwards, picking up another TIE as he went.

"Kit, watch it—"

"Worry about the transports! Calo's right!"

One more transport sped past them, up and out of Rattatak's death trap. Kit sharply cut upwards and rolled, and when he did, two of the TIEs behind him slammed into each other, blowing fire and shrapnel in every direction.

Including into one of Kit's starboard quad engines. Smoke streamed out from the side of his fighter.

Every other pilot present – it didn't matter how long they'd been in the business – felt their heart shoot to their mouths.

"Kit!" Karé cried.

"It's not bad, Karé."

"The hell it's not!" she shot back. "Get out of here before—"

"I am not leaving you!" Kit barked, the fierceness in his voice taking the others aback. "We are leaving this together—"

"Watch out behind you!"

But Karé's warning came to late.

Like a shark to blood, another TIE saw the smoke, dropped in behind Kit, and opened fire.

But unlike his counterparts, he didn't miss.

"Kit!" Karé shrieked.

He didn't answer.

"Kit!"

Rapier Five spun out, slammed into the ground, and exploded.


Both frozen in place as the dogfight played out over them, Mila and Krell couldn't find any words to speak – even a sound to make – as one of the X-wings above went up in smoke several hundred feet away from them. Mila – whose head already pounded with unreleased sobs – nearly choked. The second he had been hit, all the others dove into a frenzy, and judging from Poe's fighter's reaction – she'd watch it take off after a whole pack of TIEs and blow every single one of them away – she knew whoever had just been shot down was important.

Part of her wished she wouldn't live to find out who it was.

"We need to leave," Krell finally said. "They are guarding our escape."

The remaining fighters disappeared briefly behind a thick cloud of smoke. Mila – still paralyzed by the scene – barely breathed as she watched them.

"Lieutenant—"

Another explosion erupted from behind the smoke, and judging from the sound afterwards, another X-wing had been hit. The desperate shriek of the quickly-failing engines made Mila's blood run cold.

Soon the fighter emerged from the other side of the cloud. And—

Mila clamped a shaking hand over her mouth.

It had to have been a shadow. It had to have been.

That X-wing – which was barreling towards the top of the Republic Command building about a block away – was absolutely not painted black.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that when she opened them again, the blue and silver paintjob would peek through the soot.

It didn't.

An orange stripe did.

Before she knew what she was doing, Mila found herself starting to run forwards, denial and shock and a fear like none she'd ever felt burning through her body like poison. Krell roughly grabbed her arm.

"You are not—"

"Poe!"

Sheer adrenaline – maybe even something greater – surged through her veins as she wrenched her captive arm free. As she ran as hard as she could towards the building, which – on top of crawling with Stormtroopers – now had Poe's X-wing poking out of the third story.

"Lieutenant Criss!" Krell lividly shouted after her, but the call was of no use.

Mila ran as hard as she could and rounded the corner, sizing up the building in her mind. She was close enough to see him still trapped in the cockpit – wrenching with his restraints as the fighter sank farther into the now flaming building – so he, thank the Force, was still alive.

All she had to do was go get him.