Hello again, loyal readers new and old! How are you all doing? I hope this author's note finds each and every one of you all happy, healthy and living the best life you can. If not, surround yourself only with the things that bring joy and the people who love you, and lump the rest as the product of a world that is rotten, but cannot break you. I may be just a random clown writing a story on the internet that you like to read, but know that whoever and wherever you are, I think you're awesome.
I'm finally back with the next chapter that I'm sure you've all been craving like those stomach rumblies that only hands can satisfy. Too old of a meme? Okay, have this chapter instead. Enjoy!
The next two days were filled with training and cross-training. Commander Tharcourt did as much as he could, but still recovering from his injuries, he often had to sit out the exercises. As his team ran through the simulations and sparred in the training hall, Drakken sat watching grumpily from the catwalk. He could feel his body regaining some of its old strength, and to him, it couldn't happen soon enough. He pushed himself on the firing range until he couldn't stand anymore. Then he fired from prone until Freya made him stop.
On the third day, Drakken could no longer put off what he had to do. He sat at his desk, filling out page after page of requisitions, training reports and performance reviews until he wanted to scream. Finally, he switched off his terminal and lit a cigarra. For a moment, he still delayed, playing absentmindedly with his pocket torch. Freya watched him, knowing he had something big on his mind, and waiting on the man to finally speak. It was almost like the breaking of a storm on a humid autumn evening when he did.
"Sweetheart…" He said. "I need you to go get Felian." She nodded and left the office. A minute later, she returned with the dutiful scout sergeant in tow. He stood at attention in front of his commander's desk.
"Sir…you're looking better." Felain said. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yeah sarn't…" Drakken began. He pulled out his scrambler and placed it on his desk. Felian eyed the device through the lenses of his black scout trooper helmet, and sighed. He already had an idea what this was going to be about, but always a man who took in his environment before he acted, Rix allowed Commander Tharcourt to break the news. "You're one of the best soldiers I've ever known, Felian. You…ever think about what you would do if you weren't…a soldier anymore?"
"I…I have…sometimes, commander." He admitted.
"So have I." Tharcourt said. "I don't want to give a big monologue here. What would you do if me and Thorne resigned our commissions in the Imperial Navy?" Felian was silent a moment, then removed his helmet.
"It would be a pity, sir." He returned. "The Empire needs more officers like you two…not less." Drakken ran a hand through his black hair.
"Yeah…well, they might not share your convictions." He said tiredly. "You know as well as me that there's people up the food chain that don't agree with the way we run things here…the way we think."
"Yes sir. I know that." Felian nodded. "I knew that from the start. To be honest, I was hoping that the fact we were so successful would give us a little…"
"Wiggle room?"
"Yes sir."
"Well the wiggle room's gone, and the walls are closing in, Felian." Tharcourt stated gravely.
"I had a feeling something like that was coming down." The sergeant growled. "I'm going to give a wild guess that you two are about to leave the Empire…either on your own authority or in boxes. That about right, commander?" Tharcourt rubbed his stubble.
"Good sergeants know a lot more than they say." He spoke. "And like I said, you're one of the best." Felian frowned and made a low grunt.
"You know you're putting me in a really undesirable position, right, sir?" He asked. Tharcourt stood, and put his arms behind his back.
"I'm not, Sergeant." He stated. "I respect you too much to make you choose…to ask you to desert your post. We've been through a lot, and I know you hold your duty sacred, Felian. That's why…if you walk out that door and we don't speak of this anymore, I won't think any less of you." Felian took a deep breath, and sat his helmet on Tharcourt's desk.
"I always wanted to be a professional soldier, just like my father was." He began. "If I stay, commander, I will end up serving under a new officer…one who is less of a man and less of a soldier than you. If what I think is about to happen happens, and I stay loyal to you…" He huffed. "…then I'll be turning my back on duty, and I'd be giving up being that professional soldier for good."
"I understand." Drakken sighed, sure that he had the man's answer. Felian then looked up at him and bowed his head slightly.
"But I can't say it wouldn't be for a better cause." The sergeant stated. "Just like my father figured out." Tharcourt couldn't help but smile a little.
"Glad t' have ye with us, Tooka." Freya offered. Rix nodded to the Lieutenant.
"Thank you, Hellcat." He replied. "Just tell me you have something resembling a plan, commander."
"Mostly." Drakken answered. "We're going to do a couple more missions. I recommend looting as much materiel and as many credits from the rebels as you can get. You have anything saved up in you account, slowly drain it in the meantime. When I give the word, this unit is going to finally get wiped out on some void-forsaken rock, and nobody in the Empire will ever hear from us again."
"Mm. Got it all squared away to look convincing, sir?"
"Yeah. Scuttlebutt is that the top brass is trying to get us all stitched-up, shot out and KIA. It looks like we all got atomized, they won't give a dead bantha's last evac. I have somebody on the inside who can help make it look right once we're gone."
"You trust them?" Felian asked.
"With my life." Drakken replied. "What we really want to know is, you think everybody on the team will go for this op?" Sergeant Felian rubbed his chin in thought for a moment.
"Who's in already?" He returned. "I'm assuming Ekks." Drakken shook his head.
"Yeah. So is Lago and Gallen. I'm talking to Daraay after you."
"Mets…Coleth…" Rix muttered. "I might be able to sway them. It'll be hard. They like waving the banner of the Empire…but it's probably only because the service enables that cocky, fast-paced lifestyle of theirs. Couple missions, right sir?"
"Yeah."
"That might give me enough time to plant the right seeds in their impressionable minds." Felian commented dryly. "That still leaves Dall, commander."
"We'll talk to him." Drakken said. "I think he acts like he's more content here than he really is." Felain scoffed.
"That man isn't content with anything." The scout countered. "Promise him a medical occupation where he won't be shot at, and you probably have him hooked and reeled in."
"My thoughts exactly." Tharcourt concluded. Felian rose and picked up his helmet.
"Well…this is a spot and a half, isn't it?" He heaved a sigh. "I'll see what I can do. I trust your judgement here. Just keep me updated, roger, sir?"
"Will do, sergeant." Drakken said with a salute. Felian returned the salute resolutely, then left the office. "I feel a lot better with him on our side." Tharcourt commented.
"Aye." Freya agreed. "I'll feel e'en better knowin' we're getting' em all out."
"I know." Drakken said softly. "Go tell Daraay I want to see her. She's on guard detail, so have Lago relieve her."
"Right."
As soon as the Death Trooper stood before his desk, Drakken almost drew a blank on what to say. Not because of the woman's size or deadly skill, but because of all the troopers in the unit, he considered himself closest to Meeka Daraay. Even more so that Felian, she had time and again proven herself not just to be an exceptional soldier, but a loyal friend. In the time since she had joined Delta-7, Daraay had grown so much as a person, away from the fearsome demeanor that had been instilled in her by the Empire's Death Trooper training regimen.
"Daraay…" He began, uncertain of what was to follow. "…we've been through a lot together over the last year. May I ask you something…something personal?"
"Certainly commander." She answered.
"Where exactly does your loyalty lie?" He said bluntly. She straightened her posture.
"To my commanding officer and to the Empire, sir." She stated. He nodded.
"And if something happened…that Thorne and I were no longer in the employ of the Empire…what then, Meeka?" She looked between them a moment, then regained her straight posture.
"My…my loyalty must…be to the Empire, sir." She answered in a hesitant tone. She was silent a few moments, then spoke again. "If you were to resign, sir…or be killed. If Thorne was not here to command in your place…I would be reassigned. It is my duty to carry out my orders, commander."
"Meeka…I know what your orders are." Drakken said. "I guess I'm asking…what you would choose." Daraay took off her black helmet, and they could see a look of hopeless resignation on her face.
"Desire…is irrelevant, sir." She muttered. "I am a Death Trooper." She looked again between them. "What is this about, sir…ma'am? You are not being court-martialed…I would have known…"
"I have received intelligence…that this unit…more specifically myself and Freya, are under suspicion of treason…that we are being sent on increasingly dangerous missions with the goal of both testing our loyalty, and to get rid of any little hiccups in an otherwise perfect system." Sergeant Daraay seemed now more serious than ever.
"Those accusations are misleading…criminal, sir." She stated. "You have been creative and very unconventional in some of your methods, and I have seen you bend certain protocols to accomplish the mission, but I have never seen anything bordering on treason or sedition. Do you know who is leveling these claims? Can't you take it higher…or dispose of the guilty party, sir?"
"No." He said. "Because the one that branded me a rebel…the one sending us out to die is Lord Vader."
"Sir…" Meeka choked.
"He is also the one responsible for the deaths of dozens of innocent civilians on my watch." Drakken continued. "For screwing up a perfectly good war to obsess over some kid pilot, for the loss of that starliner, for personally murdering a little girl…" He glanced at Freya. "And for nearly choking my girlfriend to death. And he has me under investigation for treason, sergeant."
"The Empire is imperfect." She said. "You stated that yourself, sir."
"Imperfect isn't the word I would use." He muttered angrily. "Not when it means killing my men, my partner…my friends for no good reason at all. I'm not a rebel, sergeant, and you know that."
"I do know that, Commander Tharcourt." Daraay declared. "And I know what you are thinking. If you follow through with your plan, you will become the thing Lord Vader believes you to be."
"Then that old wizard is creating his own monsters." Tharcourt growled. "Because I'm not about to die, and let you all die, just to prove him wrong." The room went quiet, and Daraay stared past her two commanders, off into some distant, dark void in her own mind.
"Will ye come with us wen we go, Meeka?" Freya's voice finally came, low and soft. "Please?" Daraay blinked several times. Her head jerked almost imperceptibly.
"Ma'am…Drakken, sir…" She stammered. "Don't…don't ask me this. I…don't have any choice in what I can do…"
"A' course ye do!" Thorne shot back. "We all have a choice. 'Twas our choice t' be here in the first place, wasn't it? I chose t' be an off'cer, and ye chose t' be a Death Trooper, didnae ye, love?"
"I…I did."
"Well if'n the situation calls fer it, we can all choose t' leave this mess an' choose somethin' better." Freya walked over and put her arms around Daraay, squeezing the taller woman in a hug. "We be sisters, aye? Gi'en the option, I'll always pick family o'er some stupid orders." Daraay nodded, and Freya released her.
"I know you would, Freya." She said. "That is what makes you you. That is something I've learned in the service of both of you. You are not just Imperial officers. You think…and you believe that your troopers have meaning." She smiled a little. "You choose to obey." The smile faded.
"Daraay?" Tharcourt whispered.
"I have heard nothing that was said inside this office." Meeka stated. "On my life, you were all killed by the enemy. That is what my report will state." Her amber eyes locked onto Drakken, and he could see the conflict and grief behind them. "I don't have the same strength to choose as you, sir…but right now, I'm angry enough at the way this thing turned out, that I will make sure your plan succeeds." He placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Thank you." Drakken sighed. "Thank you, Meeka." She nodded austerely.
"Just promise me one thing…both of you."
"What?" He asked in a quiet tone.
"Take care of one another." Daraay said. "Sir…Ma'am, you two are the only reason either one of you is still alive. You go together." Drakken smiled.
"Don't worry." He assured her. "Freya and me are in it till the end."
The following day, Delta-7 spent the morning on the firing range. Tharcourt was feeling even more healed than the day before, and made sure that he got in several rounds of practice with his blasters. Having lost one of his SE14r pistols on the last mission, he wrote off both as destroyed in combat, and drew two more from the armory. As he sat at his desk after their training, typing out the requisition, a thought crossed his mind.
Every scrap of materiel they used, along with every blaster and every power cell had to be accounted for somewhere in a maze of data and red tape. If someone on the team ate a ration bar or broke an ammo pouch, it was Tharcourt's duty to make sure that it was logged. If they drew a new pair of socks from supply, it had to be noted on a form somewhere. This bureaucratic hassle ensured that nothing entered or left the possession of any Imperial soldier without the government knowing about it. It also placed a heavy burden on the commanding officers of each unit and their administrators and adjutants to make certain that everything was recorded. At the end of the day, this responsibility was theirs alone, entrusted to them as a badge of their rank. Tharcourt smirked.
"Freya?"
"Aye love?" She replied from her own desk nearby.
"You have the inventory sheet for our armory?" He asked. She printed out a page from her terminal and handed him the durasheet. He looked it over.
"Yeah…yeah, no…" He mumbled. "We gotta update this listing." He held up the inventory list. "These two E-11 Carbines, this grenade launcher and your little RK got creamed in that fight, along with my blasters." He winked at her, and handed her the form. She grinned cunningly.
"Oh right…" She said. "I'd near forgot. I didnae mark off the twenty-four power cells we used either." Drakken nodded, smiling triumphantly to himself.
"You must be slipping, love." He commented. She giggled.
"Sorry, C'mander sir." She returned. "I'll update the report right now. Then I'll have Ekks clean up around this place. Bloody filthy it is. Lots of trash needs t' be taken out. That a'right?"
"Make it so, number two." He remarked. Drakken stood and stretched his back, and bent his sore leg a few times. "I'm going to go to the X and pick up some groceries. You want anything from the shop?"
"Cornetto…" Thorne replied as she worked on amending their armory report. Drakken left the office, and spotted Ekks sitting on one of the benches, looking at a holopad.
"Corporal…" He greeted. "…I was just talking about you." The Corellian glanced up.
"All bad I hope, Boss." He remarked.
"Walk with me, Ekks." Tharcourt said. The two of them left the commons room and started their short trek down the corridor for the destroyer's onboard store. "Thorne's gonna have you take out some old, destroyed items a little later. I want them disposed of…like all the other broken gear."
"Mm. I read you, Boss." The pilot spoke. "And I was wanting to ask a favor."
"Shoot."
"Well, Lago has leave in a couple of days. He was thinking about visiting his home world for a day or two. Seeing as I'm teaching him to fly, I thought it'd be a good idea to take him there in the shuttle. You remember Tatooine, right Boss?"
"Oh yes. That dustball in the Outer Rim." Drakken thought out loud. "What a desolate sunbaked bone of a planet. Criminals…smugglers…I bet those damned rebels could hide an arsenal on that Hell-hole, and nobody'd ever find it."
"Yeah. I think so too." Ekks agreed in a low rumble.
"You clean up all the junk in the office, and I'll sign off on you cross-training Lago on his leave." Drakken said with a smirk. Ekks grinned.
"Deal, Boss."
Tharcourt walked into the X and took a look around. He had only been in the store a couple of times in his tenure aboard The Executor. The shop had everything a stormtrooper or junior officer could waste their pay on, and seemed to attract both on payday. Junk food, protein bars and sweet drinks were always in stock, and the establishment also carried playing cards, and novelties like stormtrooper dolls and necklaces bearing the Imperial Cog, for soldiers to buy for loved ones back home. Such mundane items as boot polish, tooth paste and even small light sticks took up real estate next to a section of uniform and armor components soldiers and officers could purchase before inspections.
Drakken grabbed a chrome wire basket and went to work. Years living in the field on Garos in his youth had impressed on him a hundred and one little things a sentient needed on the run. Food, water and weapons were a must, and he knew those were already cached in abundance. It was the overlooked things that got you. He put a dozen toothbrushes in his basket, along with several tubes of tooth paste, four bars of soap, and two packs of razors. Five tins of boot leather oil went into the basket, and he raked what he felt was half the store's inventory of thread and needles into his carrier. In the food section, the commander grabbed a dozen high-energy food bars, still in their display box. Next, he dropped four water filters in. He walked to the front of the store and placed his basket on the counter.
"Stocking up, sir?" The sergeant manning the commissary asked. Tharcourt gave him a humorous smile.
"Ugh. I'm in the field more than I'm shipside…" He returned. "Keeping this stuff on my ship. Feel like I'm living in the mud." The sergeant began scanning the items.
"Need anything else, commander?" Drakken looked behind the counter.
"Couple tins of cigarras." He answered. "The family-sized tins. I ran out on my last mission and felt like disintegrating someone." The sergeant chuckled and added the two large boxes to the growing pile of provisions. "Oh. Looking for a gift for my lieutenant. Something for the field. You have any compasses?" The shopkeep eyed him curiously.
"Compass, sir? Why would you want something that old-fashioned? Just get her a navpad."
"Never spent much time in combat, have you?" Drakken said.
"No sir."
"Electronics run down…or they get wet and die. You're on an unfamiliar world, and you're one short-circuit away from a bad day. It's surprising how effective knowing how to read a map and compass can be." The sergeant nodded, and rifled through a drawer behind the counter. He finally produced a lensatic compass with tritium inserts on the needle and four points of the dial.
"I guess it's good to like primitive devices. These things don't sell. You can have it for five credits."
"Bargain for a little piece of mind…" Tharcourt mumbled. He tossed a small, folding knife from a counter display onto the pile and it was scanned as well. "How much is all this?"
"Two hundred and eleven, sir." Was the answer. Drakken, still playing his part but half serious, huffed as he pulled out his chipped payment card.
"Geez and spacewhales, somebody bucking for an early retirement?" He sighed. The sergeant scanned the card, and Drakken stuck it back in his tunic as his items were bagged. He picked up his supplies. "Have a good one, sarn't."
"You too, sir."
Tharcourt lumbered back into his office, carrying the four bags of items from the commissary. Freya watched him enter and place the full sacks of supplies on the floor by his desk. He sat down in his chair and rubbed his head, completely messing up his hair. Curiosity got the better of her, and Thorne edged over in her chair and started rifling though the bags like a nosy kid. She made a perplexed face and looked up at him.
"Wot's all this love?" She asked. "Toothbrushes…soap? I know we're a mingin bunch a' bastarts, but what we need all this fer?" He took a bar of the deodorant soap from her grasp and held it up.
"When you're in the field, hiding from the enemy for months at a time…" He began. "This here is about as important as a blaster cell. You will exalt it like a god." She giggled and nodded, understanding fully his argument. "I got you something too." He added, and dug around in one of the bags until he found the small knife and the analog compass. He handed both to her. She took them and looked them over.
"A knife an' a compass?" She muttered.
"Yep. Those are the two most important things you can carry in the field. If you know how to use them." Freya shot him an exasperated look.
"Drakken ye bampot, I'm a Breohan. I know how t' use a knife."
"Know how to use a compass and a printed map?" He returned.
"Aye!" She squeaked defensively, then sighed. "Neu…sort of. I know the…what would ye call it…theory a' how t' do all that." He scoffed.
"How'd you find your way around the wilderness when you were younger?" He asked. She rolled her green eyes and shrugged.
"I jest used th' stars an' the big ol' burning ball a' gas wot the universe provided me, Drakken." She said. "Sun was risin' at me back wen I left hame, and so I figgered if I walked a'toward it in th' mornin' and away from it in the eve, I'd end up at me Ol Wan's table at some point." Tharcourt grinned.
"Did you?"
"Ta fios aeg Coitshean err-a huile dad mun chruine-say…" She grumbled under her breath.
"You said what?"
"Ugh. I ended up two towns o'er, alright?" She admitted. Drakken laughed. "An' jes wot's so funny, Drakken Tharcourt?"
"I love you." He remarked. "Just rely on dead reckoning and whatever feels right, huh sweetheart?" She smirked, then let out a snicker.
"Works. Dunna it?" She laughed. They slowly quieted down and looked lovingly at each other.
"I'm…living on dead reckoning right now." Drakken said softly. "I know where I've been…I know where I am. I uh…I think I know about where I need to be." He gave her an unsure smile. "Other than that, I'm flying blind." Freya looked down at the navigational tool in her hand. She flipped the cover open and shut a few times, then looked back up to Drakken.
"It's alright darlin'…" She whispered. "I'll be yer compass."
This is getting scary deep now, isn't it? As if it would be that easy for someone to just wake up one day and run away from the Empire like it's quitting a job a McDonalds. Drakken is being cautious yes, but imagine if you will how utterly terrifying it must be to be a part of a war machine like that, and to know their capabilities and their reach, to know how far they're willing to go...and to think about running from it. The doubts and fears you would have that Imperial assets could and would find and kill not only you, but these people that you love like a family. It's not like Iden Versio flying off in her ship or Veers' son running off and joining the rebels. No, this is a man who has to consider not only himself and what's at stake for him, but the life and well-being of the woman he loves, and the soldiers he sees as brothers. He has to get them all out.
I think we can all agree right now that Drakken Tharcourt, despite his flaws and regardless of the bad things he may have been party to in his past, can now be called a hero. Well maybe...sort of.
I'll have another chapter up soon, so until then my loyal readers, Cheerio!