"Only the dead have seen the end of war." -Santayana
Drakken sat on the last seat of the large shuttle, not speaking a word. He had not for several minutes. He was bent forward, his head angled downward, his still blood-caked hands draped between his knees. The ship had just lifted off from the rebel spaceport, and the commander had remained deathly silent and eerily distant since his parting with General Veers and Tharcourt's entering the shuttle. Freya sat beside him and watched the man she loved staring at the metal deck at his feet.
"Drakken?" She asked softly. "You okay?" He slowly turned his head toward her.
"Yeah…" He muttered in a detached voice. "Fine." His right hand went slowly to the inner pocket of his leather jacket, and he drew out a tin of cigarras. Drakken fumbled with the container clumsily, and finally got one of the thin tubes out. He jammed it haphazardly into his mouth and tossed the tin to the seat next to him. He shakily drew out his plasma lighter and tried to spark it. His battered, shaking hands fighting against him, Tharcourt huffed and dropped his arms. Freya took the lighter from his hand and lit his cigarra before lighting one of her own. Drakken took a long draw and exhaled, letting the cigarra hang precariously from his lower lip.
"Yer…hands okay, love…" She asked. He seemed to focus on them for a moment, turn them slightly over, and gently closed his hands.
"They're…covered in blood." He said in a hushed tone. "Always have been…"
"Drakken?"
"That was…almost like Mimban…" He muttered. "S'what it was like…"
"Mimban?" Thorne queried. "I don't remember Mimban being like…that."
"Because you weren't really on Mimban." Tharcourt stated aggressively. He panted for a few moments, seeming to calm down from his sudden rage. "I mean…you were…just not…like it was then." Thorne was about to ask him what he was talking about, when Dall came over and knelt down in front of the commander. Tharcourt sucked an inordinately large cloud of smoke from the cigarra, and he exhaled. Dall coughed and shook his head. He pulled the smoldering tube from Tharcourt's mouth and tossed it onto the deck.
"Those'll kill you." The medic advised. Drakken gave a slight shrug. "I need to have a look at those hands." He started to examine Drakken's swollen knuckles and fingers, but the commander pulled them away.
"Go treat Lago first." He grumbled. Dall gave him a stern scowl.
"Already did, sir." He said matter-of-factly. "Hit to the leg. He'll be alright in a couple of days." Dall went to take Tharcourt's hand again.
"Then treat Mets." The weary officer ordered.
"I did…sir." Dall stated.
"Then…"
"Commander, I treated Lago, Mets and Daraay. Their conditions are stable to good. Everyone else is fine. Now, if you don't allow me to treat those busted hands sir, I'm going to report you for destruction of Imperial property." Drakken sighed and held out his hands. The team medic looked them over.
"Just get it over with." Drakken mumbled irritably. Dall whistled.
"Spit fire to save the kriffing matches, sir…" He commented. "I hope the other guy got it worse than this."
"Worm food…" Drakken returned blankly.
"Oh yeah?" Dall said, reaching into his bag. "Well, I think you got it worse than anybody on this team." He drew out a syringe, and two bottles. "I'm going to give you a couple of things for your injuries…some liquid bacta, an injection of abstract glucocorticosteroids too, for the swelling. It's gonna hurt, so I'm going to give you some dihydrohydrooxycodeineone for the pain." Tharcourt made an angry grunt.
"I don't even know what the Hell that is, but it ain't going in my body." He complained. The rest of the team watched the scene quietly.
"You know what, sir?" Dall returned. "You're going to lay back and relax, and I'm going to stick this damned needle in your hands...because they're swollen beyond use, and I'm sure they feel like Hell. Ma'am?"
"Aye, doc?" Thorne said, her face showing the worry and sadness she was feeling for Drakken's physical and mental state.
"Give him another cigarra." The medic told her. Freya nodded and stuck one in Drakken's mouth. She lit it, and he took a few angry puffs. Dall administered one set of shots, then another. He went to give the commander his third round, and Tharcourt spoke up.
"If that your damn-blasted painkillers, you can keep them." He growled. Dall gave him a smile.
"I knew you would say that, commander." The unit sawbones said. "That's why I gave you the diddy-ones first."
"Damnit…" Drakken cursed. Dall finished with the shots.
"Now, you need to go clean those hands. Run cold water over them, and it'll help with both the pain and the swelling." He advised. Drakken waved him away.
"Thanks, doc." Thorne said with a small smile. Dall nodded and moved back toward the front of the passenger compartment with the rest of the team. Freya leaned in close.
"You need help?" She asked. "A-washin' yer hands?" Tharcourt stared out into nothingness a moment.
"No…I should…be fine." He finally said. She took a drag from her cigarra and let the silence linger a moment. "Wh…what did you mean…when you talkin' about Mimban?" She asked quietly.
"Freya…" He sucked half of the cigarra down and threw it to the floor. "Today…it was like that…almost. I got up in the monster's face today." He looked at her. Thorne was giving him a look like a nurse would give a dying man. He scoffed. "It's a monster…an all-devouring monster…forever living…everywhere man may step foot. You see it, you are confronted by the monster…you can run for the rest of your life…but you see it, under your bed, in the shadows…always stalking you. I seen some guys check out. Just…shut down…their mind breaks from the fear…the horror...the sheer...horror of it. They can't look at it." He took his hands and rubbed them down his face, leaving a smear of blood and dirt.
"You're…you're talkin' about war…aren't you?" Freya asked, her voice quaking a bit. His head bobbed ever so slightly up and down as his eyes stayed locked on the floor of the ship.
"You determine…to stare at it…to keep going back…it loses I think…some of it's power, its bite. But it's like an addiction, you know? You have to keep going back so you don't have to hide from it. You…make friends of the horror…of the terror. You…join them, or you can only fight them and lose. You…spend your life…searching out the monster…and staring it in the eyes." He looked back to Freya to see tears in her green eyes. He glanced at the rest of his team. Most of them were staring at him with almost horrified expressions. Drakken stood up and walked out of the passenger bay, toward the refreshers.
"The void, man…" Gallen uttered in shock.
"Never…heard him talk like that…" Coleth said to nobody in particular. "That's kriffin' scary, guys." Lago stared at the ceiling from where he laid, his eyes wide. Daraay sat in silence, and her lip trembled just a bit.
"What is it? What do I need t' know about Mimban?" Thorne said in a low but demanding voice.
"There was a big fight there, and the old man was in on it." Gallen answered.
"All I know…what I heard is that he lit the place up majorly." Mets offered.
"Thorne." Daraay's voice caused the others to fall silent. The death trooper inhaled deeply and pushed a lock of dark brown hair off of her face. "Twelve years ago, Imperial forces invaded Mimban. The battle is rated as the most costly the Empire has fought…if you don't include the DS-1." She locked eyes with Freya, and went on. "Commander Tharcourt, according to his file, volunteered for service there. He was given a platoon, and sent into the field. That evening, the portion of the trenches the commander and his men were defending were overrun by hostile forces. His unit was…declared missing in action…presumed killed."
"Me gods…" Freya whispered.
"Three days after, Imperial forces retook that part of the battlefield. When they found…" Daraay closed her eyes a moment, and her expression softened a little before she regained her composure. "They found the commander. The reports said that the trench was filled waist-deep with blood, mud, and the bodies of Imperial and Mimbanese soldiers. The commander and four of his men were what remained of the twenty who went out. They had survived…fifty-four hours behind enemy lines, scavenging weapons and power cells from the dead, fighting repeated attacks by enemy patrols and at least three dedicated assaults. The report stated…" She seemed to have trouble forcing herself to say the words. "…that they were covered head to toe in blood…from near-constant hand-to-hand fighting over the last two days."
"That is…" Mets whispered. "That's crazy…"
"They…sent him home…right, Meeka?" Thorne asked, tears falling down her cheeks. "After they saved 'im…they took care o' him, right?"
"Thorne…he was returned to the rear. The commander showered, donned a new uniform, ate a pack of rations then demanded to be sent to the front again." Daraay said. "He went back out, and was responsible for the destruction of an entire Mimbanese company the next day." For a few moments, nobody in the compartment seemed to even breathe.
"He…went back…" Freya said in a halting voice. "To see the monster…"
"My father once told me…" Felian began, poking a fork into a can of rations. "There were soldiers who go to war and come home broken. There's soldiers that go to war and come home fine…and there are soldiers who go to war…and they become it." He looked into the can and scowled, then sat it aside. "Don't act so surprised, men. How did you think the Commander became so good at what he does? And don't think he's cracking, troopers. Not now and not ever. He's better, I think…than any of us will ever hope to be."
"What's the point if it breaks ye?" Freya returned. Felian gave her a sad smile.
"Don't think a man intends that…" The sergeant replied. "Even if he's born into it. Somewhere it happens maybe. What's a man got to give up to become a…living avatar of war?" Thorne bit her lip.
"E'en the gods hae their troubles." She said bitterly, and wiped her eyes before standing and walking to the back of the ship. She heard water running in one of the refreshers, and knocked on the door. "Drakken?"
"Yeah." He answered. Thorne opened the door. Drakken was standing at the sink. He had washed the blood and dirt from his hands, and was leaned over the sink, cupping his hands under the flow of water. He brought his hands to his face and wiped slowly at the smear of blood. Another handful of water and his hands went over his messy black hair. Freya grabbed a towel and turned him toward her. She wiped at his face and placed the towel over his shoulders.
"Talking about me, Freya?" He asked, attempting humor weakly. "My ears were burning." She brushed his damp hair back and gently caressed his cheek.
"I didnae know…" She whispered.
"The reports didn't mention…" He began, and leaned against the wall. "That we were all injured. I took two hits during that battle. We had no choice but to keep going, you know? Keep fighting. We ran out of tibana the first night…had to use enemy weapons. You know something? I never once…the whole time, entertained the thought that I was about to die. Guess I hadn't planned for that contingency." He scoffed. "When they found us, all I could think about was getting back out there…getting back at the Mims for what they did to my men…and I did." He slid down the wall to a sitting position on the floor, and Freya knelt down in front of him. She pulled his head onto her shoulder.
"We assaulted a trench early on." Drakken continued. "We shot our way in, and I didn't plan on leaving until they were all dead. I…I lied to you about my first time in combat. What I told you…it was my second time out…and I killed more than five or six. It was…more like fifty. It was like…shooting durasteel targets. One after another…after another. I ran out of cells…I found an axe. My platoon found me in a pillbox bunker in the end. There'd been half a dozen of them in there." He shook his head. "They were…"
"Nae, stop…" Freya said. "You don't need t' say it, Drakken." She held him closer, tears in her eyes as she squeaked out; "Please…don't say it."
"When that reb tried to kill you…"
"I know." She said, and let out a sigh, pushing her forehead against his. "I know, I know…yer too good t' me, Drakken…ye always have been." He looked into her eyes. "I don't deserve it…havin' somebody care this much about me."
"Yeah you do…" He countered. "Maybe I don't…but you do."
"Oi!" She said sternly, and placed a hand on his cheek, forcing him to keep his gaze on her. "Ye shaddup, Drakken. You deserve t' be treated like the princely fool ye are, an ye'll get it from me like it or not."
"Why do you have to go and like me so much?" Tharcourt grumbled. "I never understood that." She gave a sad smile and shook her head.
"Darlin'…ye went an' saved me life…then ye went an' made it amazin'." She scoffed. "Then ye saved me life a few more times. I gotta stop getting meself intae mortal danger all the bloody time, methinks." She finally got a small chuckle out of him.
"Best of luck…" He commented, his voice slurring a bit from the medication. "We're surrounded by it all the time." Her smile dropped.
"Why…why do you keep going back, love?" She asked.
"Somebody has to…" He answered. "Somebody has to kill the monster." Freya understood now why Drakken fought. After all of this time, she finally got why he'd sought battle after battle from the time he was a child. Somewhere inside, he felt like it was his responsibility to end war. He took it on his own shoulders to do whatever it took to try to save others from having to see what he had seen, by immersing himself in the horror of it all. She thought of what Felian had called him, a living avatar of war itself. If Drakken was war, then every day, the man was fighting and trying to destroy the very thing that he was. It was such a beautiful tragedy, and the young warrior woman from Breoh'Lar found herself loving him even more for it all.
"Drakken…" She began. "Love, it's a right poetic mess, an' I don't think I'm smart enough to dive deep enough t' see it all, but…I think I know…maybe not all of it…but I think I know why ye are…ye." Tharcourt huffed.
"You know, that didn't make a damned lick of sense." He commented with a small grin. She laughed with tears in her eyes.
"S'alright, it made perfect sense t' me." She said. They gazed into each other's eyes for a few seconds, then Freya leaned in and pressed her lips into Drakken's. He didn't hesitate to softly embrace her and kiss her. He gently pushed her back after a moment.
"You…you do that…entirely too much." He breathed. Drakken started to stand, the painkillers Dall had given him making him feel woozy and more than a little dizzy. "I'm trying Freya…just not used to having someone love…" He promptly struck his head on the bottom of the sink. "Bitch!"
"Eh?"
"Not you!" He remarked, holding his head. "I was talking to this damned metal deathtrap…" There was a knock at the door.
"Sir? Is everything okay?" Felian called.
"Yeah, everything's fine, sergeant." Drakken answered. "I'm…on my way out." Thorne stood and opened the door. Sergeant Felian perked his eyebrows up seeing her in the small washroom with the commander. Behind him, Gallen made an amused face.
"Both ye shove it." Freya stated. "I was helpin' him clean up." She took Drakken by the shoulder. "This way, me darlin'. Let's get you someplace comfy, and I'll take care of ye." By now, Tharcourt was fully immersed in the effects of the narcotic in his system.
"Thanks, mom…" He said sarcastically. He glanced at Felian. "Oh sergeant…" Thorne stopped guiding him to let him speak. "I must…apologize for my earlier outburst, my…philosophical dribble. I was…" He rolled a hand trying to come up with a word. "…overcome with a bit of…melancholy over the mission." He smiled a little. "I'm right as rain, Sergeant Felian, and I want you and everyone to know…that you did well on this mission."
"Thank you, sir." The scout trooper nodded.
"All of you should be proud." Drakken said earnestly. "Every time we crush one of these rebel bases…we're probably saving a thousand lives. That…is something to be proud of." He placed a hand on Rix Felian's shoulder. "Don't listen to the ramblings of a dumb old officer, sergeant." Felian smiled and nodded.
"Never thought you were, sir." He returned. He passed a glance at Thorne. "Even the gods have their troubles, Commander."
The ship touched down on Shumavar, and the team prepared to disembark to board The Huntsman for the return trip. Drakken, still a little lethargic from his treatment, turned over the assignment of transferring the troopers and what Imperial property they had brought back onto their shuttle to Freya. He stopped Ekks, and drew the Corellian in close, whispering in his ear a few moments as the pilot nodded. Ekks retrieved a small chest marked as rations. The both of them were the only ones who knew the true contents.
The roguish trooper had identified the powerful blaster Drakken had found as a T-7 Disruptor Rifle, a unique weapon that could not only vaporize an opponent, but even disable small ships and vehicles. Tharcourt had immediately laid claim to it, and ordered Ekks to stow it away to add to his growing collection of ordnance on their secret space rock. He had also hidden away two of the DH-17 blasters taken from the trenches of the rebel base, and Ekks had personally stashed a couple blasters and a few hundred credits he had taken from a few of the dead rebels. Drakken told Ekks to secure the box aboard The Huntsman, and he vowed to take the new acquisitions to their cache as soon as he went on leave.
"Lieutenant." Commander Gra'am greeted as Freya stepped off of the ship. "I trust you people had a successful trip?"
"Aye. T'was productive." She answered.
"Good. I'm happy at least that the rebels won't be strafing my outpost anymore." He looked over as the rest of the troopers began to file out of the ship, Lago being helped by Dall, Mets with his arm in a sling and Daraay slightly limping. Commander Tharcourt tromped down the ramp last, an irritated expression on his face. He shot a nod toward the Imperial garrison commander. "Good…night." Gra'am uttered. "Your men look like they took a beating." Drakken stopped and looked at him.
"The rebels got it worse." He stated grimly. "You think this is a beating?" He motioned to his blood and dirt-caked clothing, and gave a condescending shake of the head. "Nah…this ain't a beating." Gra'am's eyes widened. "Take care of our ship?"
"Oh yes…yessir." The other commander answered. The soldiers of Delta-7 were already climbing aboard, and Drakken gave a forced smile.
"We'll be on our way then." He said. Drakken and Freya turned and walked toward their ship.
"I trust you'll mention my aid to your team…when you file your report…" Gra'am called nervously. "…commander?" Drakken simply turned his head slightly back.
"Have fun in Ecstacy…commander."
As soon as the shuttle docked in the bay of the ISSD Executor, Tharcourt changed into a proper uniform and was immediately off to find Lord Vader for his debriefing. He was still a little groggy, especially after he had received a second round of doses from Dall, and Freya went with him to help him. They journeyed through the enormous vessel, and it seemed that the very sight of a medicated commander with bandaged hands, cuts and bruises on his face and the faintest trace of blood on his visage was enough to clear a path through even the most crowded hallways aboard the destroyer. They finally reached the bridge, and Thorne stopped him, and straightened his uniform tunic and cap.
"There…gotta have ye lookin' all prim an' proper, eh?" She remarked, then used her code cylinder to open the hatch. She helped Drakken inside, and within a few moments, they were met by Captain Piett.
"Drakken, old man!" He half-exclaimed. "Are you…alright?" He eyed his old friend up and down. Tharcourt gave a smirk.
"Remember when we had the Hell beaten out of us during that riot?" He said.
"Ah yes…" Firmus muttered, remembering the incident.
"I feel about like that…"
"I'm going to warrant that your opponents ended up the same way." Piett commented.
"Far…far worse." Tharcourt stated.
"You are a frightening man when you're angry." Firmus said. He looked to Freya. "He's always had a…nasty temper, Thorne. Especially when his subordinates or his friends are in trouble."
"Oh captain…believe me, I already know." She said with a smile. Piett grinned.
"How have you been, my dear?" He asked.
"Catch me when I'm not takin' care a' this one, captain." She replied.
"I resent that remark, Freya." Drakken grumbled. He felt a pain in his right hand. "Or resemble it at the moment, ugh." They all three had a laugh.
"Congratulations on your promotion Thorne." Piett said as he led them across the large bridge. "Well-deserved, I should think."
"Watch it, Firmus…" Drakken warned. "She'll have your job before it's all over." Piett smirked, trying hard to keep up his bearing.
"Not ceding on our wager, are you now?" He asked. Tharcourt chuckled.
"I never tried to get promoted, you know that." He said. "People just keep giving me tiles."
"Well, you keep winning, afterall…" Piet began, but Freya cleared her throat. The two men looked to see Lord Vader standing before them. It was if he had just appeared there, and to the trio, perhaps he had.
"My apologies for interrupting your conversation, Captain Piett." Vader said in an unreadable tone.
"My lord…I was bringing Commander Tharcourt to you for debriefing." Firmus said in a genuflecting tone. "I apologize for being distracted."
"I would only be angry should you not choose your friends as wisely." Vader replied. "Leave us." Piett saluted.
"As you wish, my lord." He paced off as Vader looked at Tharcourt and Thorne for a moment in silence, his gaze finally stopping on Drakken's bandaged hands.
"It appears that you experienced a certain degree of opposition on your mission, Commander Tharcourt."
"Little injury like this…it's a small price to pay, my lord." He sighed. "We achieved what we set out to do."
"You have recovered information?"
"Sergeant Daraay…my Death Trooper, is turning in everything we captured to the ISB commander aboard this ship right now." Drakken answered. "We were able to get to the computer terminals and hard files before the rebels could destroy them. With any luck, there'll be something there we can use. Maybe we can stop it." Vader stared at him a moment.
"There is something you wish to say, commander."
"Yessir…" Tharcourt replied. "Is it true, Lord Vader? The rumors? Are we officially at war?"
"Yes." Vader stated.
"And…I've heard that the rebels have taken an entire system?"
"The rebels have launched an offensive in the Mid Rim." The dark lord replied. "But they have mistakenly placed too much faith in their own abilities, and the matter will be dealt with soon enough."
"Yessir."
"You have your doubts." Vader stated. The looming figure began to walk, and Tharcourt kept pace beside him. Freya walked behind them, keeping a respectable distance, but not wanting to leave Drakken.
"About beating the rebels? No…not really. We have the resources and the benefit of experienced units, if they are used appropriately. I…can't help but feel like something changed though." Vader said nothing. "I can understand the enemy being bolstered by their attack on the DS-1…I get that. But it's almost as if they've been given some great weapon or…they're privy to something we don't know. They're showing too much morale for a force that's lost so much in the past year."
"You have great insight, commander." Lord Vader commented. "Your ability to read the enemy is impressive. They have indeed shown an uncanny resolve."
"Thank you sir." Drakken said. "I've spent enough time as an insurgent…and fighting against them that I understand their mindset. Hell, sometimes I feel like I can predict them. Do you think they may have something or someone on their side fueling their confidence, sir?" Vader stopped abruptly, and stared forward.
"It does not matter what or…who they may have on their side, commander." Vader answered in a tone that lowered the air temperature by ten degrees. "Once we have located and crushed their primary base and eliminated their fleet in the Mid-Rim, their ability to resist will be destroyed."
"We should continue with these asymmetrical assaults as well, sir." Tharcourt advised. "They are disrupting the rebel supply lines and sapping manpower needed for their war effort. Bad for morale too. A few more bases and outposts could make them rethink their audaciousness."
"You are beginning to sound much like Tarkin." Vader said. "You wish to crush them quickly and ruthlessly."
"I…I want an end to this war." Tharcourt admitted. "Whether it comes as a crowning victory or they go out like a fading ember, I could care less. This whole thing has been too costly, and I want to see it done." He sighed. "That spaceport…they were practically using civilians as shields. That's too far in my opinion." Vader stood there breathing for what seemed like half a minute.
"How did you injure your hands, commander?" He finally asked. Drakken licked his lips and averted his eyes downward. "I asked you a question."
"I killed a rebel, sir." Tharcourt said in a guilty tone. "I…killed him with my bare hands."
"And your team eliminated at least half of the rebels there." Vader added. "I was told." Drakken shook his head.
"Yessir."
"Do you have anything to add to the report then, Commander?" The magic-wielding cyborg asked.
"No sir."
"Do you have anything you wish to add…lieutenant?" Vader inquired, turning about to look directly at Thorne. She snapped to attention and saluted.
"Nae! No, milaird!" She responded quickly. He turned back to Commander Tharcourt.
"Then commander…I insist that you enjoy your leave. You and your lieutenant. When you return in five days, I will make certain that you have an assignment…worthy of your resolve." Tharcourt threw up a salute, and they quickly left the bridge.
Another chapter delivered quickly as promised, and I hope you all liked this one. I have a show this weekend, and won't be able to post for a few days. I should be able to get a new chapter up afterwards though, so you haven't long to wait. Wish me luck, my dear readers. First show of the season, and I'm off to get my Barnum on! I'll be back in a few days. Leave me mail for when I get back. Until next time, Cheerio!
