Chapter 18
Pantora – Republic Camp
The Republic Camp was a series of prefabricated buildings, unloaded from the Resurrection and brought down by shuttle. Mark had seen the small village of domed buildings as he had his squad had circled about. Green Squadron were grounded for the night. They had preformed six hours of straight flying, cross the Pantoran space in search for the elusive jamming satellite. Unfortunately, they hadn't found it.
He stripped off his flight suit, stuffing the jacket into his cockpit. The helmet was tucked under his shoulder, and the oxygen tubes were wrapped around his waist to tuck into his pocket, he opened the canopy. Finally, he reached into the small side pocket of the Gladbron and pulled out the necklace stashed there, slinging the leather strap over his neck. Then he turned and made his way towards a building larger than rest, the mess hall. It was strangely deserted.
He soon found out why.
The doors slid open easily, revealing six dozen tables with long benches. The rest of his squadron were already here, all twelve pilots and twelve gunners spread about the tables. They weren't the only ones though. In the centre table, five members of Shocker Squadron were watching as Shocker Five, the short Sullustan known as Ten Numb, and Mark's own gunner, Nelion Dare. Their arms were locked in place, each straining to push the other down to the table surface. It didn't look fair; the Sullustan's arm was half the size of the humans. Still, he was holding his own. Mark's eyes narrowed slightly, but he moved to the serving buffet, noting the meals listed. All were basically ration slop, but he chose his favourite, nunna mince and a wheat bun. Moving back to the tables, he took a seat at the far end of the table from the contest, continuing to stare at his meal until he heard the thump of the victor. Peaking up, he saw Ten raise his fists in victory, while Nelion slunk away in defeat.
Ten was starting to stand on the table, when Mark noticed a shadowy form on the far side of the crowd. He matched eyes with the man, who gave him a slight nod. Mark gestured towards the Sullustan, and received another nod.
Trying to sound bored, he called up the table. "Hey, Ten. Congratulations. You beat Nelion and she won't be able to shoot straight for the next few days. But can you perhaps beat Matron with such ease?"
Ten's skin paled as the bulk of Matron Trass slid in across from him. The Twi'lek brushed his lekku behind his shoulders, and placed his arm before the Sullustan in challenge, a smile glinting in his eyes. "Your move, Numb."
"You expect me to challenge you?", Ten barked with mirth in his native tongue, "I am no fool, Mark. I will leave in victory."
Another voice, this one strangely melodious yet still gravelly, broke through. "Then I will challenge you!"
Mito Reed, Shocker squadron's leader, pushed her way through the crowd, her fur ruffling back and forth along her snout. The bothan's eyes were deep and challenging. She slid into the chair, grabbing Matron's still offered hand.
"This should be good.", murmured one of the Shocker pilots.
"I hope that Matron wins.", Honey Grassi slid beside Mark, placing her own meal of processed meat and bread on the table. She scooped a spoonful of meat onto the bun, "You really put him on the spot there."
Honey Grassi was Green Squadron's bomber pilot. Their only bomber pilot. She had joined them as a replacement for the losses over Malastare, and the Togruta had integrated herself well. Very well. Mark felt his eyes drift unconsciously to the curved of her montrals and down her neck.
A thud of a hand against the table was followed by the howl of a Bothan's growl, and Mark looked back to see Mito Reed stalking away. The rest of the Shocker pilots were following her, while Matron was being treated like a hero; Kira Kath and Rax Imora holding the Twi'lek's hands high. He took it in stride, claiming that he deserved compensation for beating their rivals. Soon, three more plates of food were spread before the Twi'lek, and the other pilots were getting their own meals from the kitchen. Across from them, Pilios March and the Duros, Frone, stopped and laid the tray across from them. Both the human and the Duros had chosen the soup, and simultaneously dipped their spoons into the liquid.
"How are you going, Captain?", Pilios asked after she swallowed.
"I'm frustrated.", Mark answered. "Six hours of flying and no sign of the damn satellite."
"And what about the attacks?", Frone asked, her red eyes staring into his. "What do you think about this situation?"
"We lost people.", Honey stated bluntly, "But we are soldiers. Losing people is part of the job."
"You are a soldier.", Pilios spat out, her words like venom, "We are simple pilots who signed up because it is the right thing. Losing people is more than part of the job for us."
"I agree with both of you.", Mark growled out, "We lose people. Sometime they are our own. But we need to keep going. As pilots we cannot stop and bury our dead. We fly forward. We fly towards the danger, protect those who cannot get away."
He looked up, meeting each of their eyes. "We fight first, Honey, but we need time to mourn. Those who died need to be recognised, especially by those who failed them."
He grabbed the remainder of his bread, leaving his mince behind as he stormed out the door.
Three hours later, now in his bunk amongst the other tents, Mark lay staring into the ceiling. He didn't notice when his bunkmate made their way into the room, and he never saw as he slowly and gently placed a flask of medical fluid next to their bunk, then began to apply it to their skin. But he smelled it, the acrid scent burning into his nostrils. He looked up at Matron, the Twi'lek rubbing the fluid into his left arm, where a rash discoloured the green skin to a pale white. A millisul rash, somewhat common when jumping between worlds.
"I apologise.", the Twi'lek smiled awkwardly. "I hope this isn't offending you."
Mark waved it aside. "I need your opinion on a matter."
"The dead.", Matron's smile diminished. "I overheard your talk with Pilios and Frone. We need to find this satellite before we lose the entire Pantoran people's trust."
"The Assembly is hard enough.", Mark admitted. "Apparently the Jedi have been tied up in negotiations for the last hour."
"I cannot imagine being in that position. I would take out my left eye.", Matron frowned.
Mark nodded, "But that isn't our job. We fly. For that I am really thankful."
MERRY CHRISTMAS
I thought that for this chapter, I would delve deeper into Green Squadron, as they all become big players in the future. Anyway, hope you enjoy.