Star Wars: Old Wounds (6)

Later that night, Dak wandered the narrow corridors of the Centurion alone, reminiscing on the long-lost glory days of his youth, remembering the ghosts of old friends. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden clattering coming from the boarding ramp. He turned and strode in the direction of the sound to find Lara attempting to sneak onboard, carrying armfuls of ration packs, her subtlety ruined by a few stray packets which had fallen to the floor. Bending to help her relieve her lost supplies, Dak asked,

"Felt like a midnight snack? I'd be careful if I were you. Wedge is in a bit of a court-marshaling mood today."

"No, I think it's just you he has an issue with. He wouldn't be the first, Gramps. Besides, if he wants to come after me for this, he'll have his hands full. Janson and Porkins are still in the mess, digging into the puddings." Lara replied. Dak chuckled in response.

"Well, then we can form an orderly queue to face his ire." he added, before trailing off. Lara was staring at him, a hard edge in her eyes. A look he'd received frequently of late. She spoke, her voice laced with concern.

"Enough jokes Dak. What's up? You not sleeping again?"

"It's nothing." Dak said, quickly. "I'm fine. Just missing the old girl." he added, gesturing at the ship.

"Don't try and flip a blast shield over my eyes. I know you too well. I know when you're not alright. You've been having those nightmares again. What is it this time?" Lara urged him to speak.

"Nothing. Just an old man's weariness. Don't fret about me." he sighed.

"Don't give me that. I've told you, you need to talk to someone. I understand not wanting to bring it up with the fly-guys, but I'm practically your daughter. You raised me for over ten years. You can talk to me." A silent pause hung in the air for a few moments. When it became clear that he wouldn't reply, Lara tried a different approach.

"So, what was it this time? That time on Rhyindar? The mines of Preet? The fortress of K'ddash?" Still, Dak remained silent. Lara's eyes widened with realisation.

"No, not Xantu... you haven't had those dreams in years."

"Well, having all the bones of your right arm ground to dust is just the kind of trauma that stays with you!" Dak snapped. He paused to compose himself, before continuing,

"That was the day I failed. The day I lost everyone I ever cared for, bar you, each one believing in me until their final breaths. The day the man I was died, leaving me in his place. A lingering shadow, a pale imitation."

"So stop trying to fill his shoes. Embrace who you are now, don't wallow in the past. The galaxy still needs you, it needs everyone who's willing and able to rise up, if the tyranny of the Empire is to be opposed. The Rebellion is full of broken people. Ex-criminals and scoundrels, slaves and the oppressed, and every single soldier here has lost someone they care about. We have to take that pain, hold it tight, let it be fuel for our struggle, rather than for our funeral pyres."

"I wish I shared your optimism, Smudges. But I lost that spark long ago." said Dak, with resignation.

"Really? Then why did you join the Rebellion? Was it just to keep an eye on me? Because I don't need your protection. If that's all that's keeping you here, go and leave the fighting to those who have the heart." Lara blazed with anger. She knew Dak better than he did at times. She knew he still cared, too much.  That was why he tried to close himself off, tried to erect walls to distance himself from suffering. She had to be harsh to force him to see himself.

"I..."  Dak started, before trailing off. He couldn't find the words he wanted to say. He half smiled to himself with pride in his surrogate daughter. She was stubborn enough to bring down the Empire single handed. He admired her determination, her endless, hopeful resolve. She never stopped believing in him, something he had always struggled with.

"You're right Lara." he said, finally. "We've got a battle to win in a few hours, so I'd better try and get at least a few minutes of shut eye." as he strode out of the ship, he called back, while waving two ration packs, "Oh, and I'm keeping this Bantha jerky. Consider it a bribe so I don't tell Wedge about your thievery."

***

Wedge had a bad feeling about the mission. If he was being honest, he always had a bad feeling, a flutter of nerves before every encounter he was involved in. But this felt different, somehow. Privately, he wondered if attacking the same convoy so soon was wise, surely the Imperials would be on the defensive, but who would expect such a blatantly audacious attack? Besides, he reasoned, it was necessary if they were to uncover the details of Project Indomitable. He kept his concerns to himself, no point in distracting his wingmates, instead he gazed out into the void of space, watching for the approach vector of the vessel.

With a silent pop, the Imperial cargo transport stretched into real-space. Moving with practiced elegance, the Rebel pilots began their assault, mirroring their previously successful tactics. Wes was the first to notice that something was amiss.

"Red Leader, do you see the TIEs it's carrying?"

"Affirmative Red Three. Are they painted gold?!"

"It's more of a dull bronze colour." Dak added, needlessly.

"Are we facing off against an agent of a particularly ostentatious Moff or something?" Wes asked, exasperatedly. "Is it too much to ask for the Empire to show some class?"

"Maybe it's a new trick to confuse and dazzle us?" said Dak. "Because if so, I have to admit it's having the desired effect."

"Whatever the reason, it can't be good. Form up and stay sharp. Those eyeballs are undocking, and we don't know what they're capable of." Wedge ordered.

Like Mynocks from a cave ceiling, the sheltered, shining TIEs dropped from the transport, preparing to engage the Rebels, though each moved slowly and deliberately, as if pushing against a massive resistance. They appeared as if they were attempting to force their way through a viscous liquid, rather than the empty vacuum of space.

"These things are ridiculously slow!" Dak laughed. "Whatever they're covered in, they've lost all maneuverability."

"Easy pickings then!" said Wes in agreement. "Going in!"

Wes' X-Wing banked towards the nearest fighter, easily locking onto its lazy listing trajectory. He squeezed his triggers, and his quad-cannons barked hot bolts of plasma at the gilded TIE. To no effect.

"Nothing! These eyeballs must have some high powered shields to tank that much firepower." Wes exclaimed, with frustration.

"I don't think so." Wedge replied, uncertainly. "Look at the wing's surface." The exterior of the TIE seemed to fizz as electrical energy sparked across it, slowly dissipating. Several isolated spots where Wes' attacks struck glowed a molten red, but still the surface was unbroken. "I think the hull absorbed your blasts somehow. You hit it, but nothing happened. How is that even possible?"

"No..." Dak muttered to himself, an old memory surfacing from his mind. "It can't be..."

Before Red Squadron could regroup, the bizarre, armoured TIEs began their counterattack. Each fighter spat harsh green energy at the Rebels, monstrously powerful blasts that were more akin to the turbolaser batteries of a capital ship than a one-man craft. For a while, both sides were locked into a stalemate. The nimble X-Wings able to weave between and evade the Imperial fire, but unable to inflict any damage of their own on the lumbering TIEs. As the battle lingered, weariness began to burrow into the resolve of the Rebels, until...

"I'm hit!" Wes cried out. As he tried to swerve left from the TIE on his rear, he drifted into the stray fire of a second fighter. Smoke and sparks trailed from two of his engines, and one of his S-Foil wings had sheared off entirely. "Port engines are fried, but I can hold it." he growled through gritted teeth.

"No you can't. Get out of here, while you still can!" Wedge demanded, narrowly avoiding more enemy fire.

"I've got this!" Wes pleaded.

"I said leave. That's an order!" Wedge yelled. "You're no good to us dead. And someone has to get word back to the base about these new fighters."

Reluctantly, Wes peeled off from the group and made a break for open space, and the safety of Lightspeed. One of the TIE Fighters followed, determined not to lose its prey, but even in his damaged state, Wes could outmanoeuvre a single ship. Instead, as he fled, all he could do was listen helplessly to his friends continuing a futile struggle.

"This is hopeless!" Dak said, finding a brief moment of calm before having to dodge fresh fire.

"Agreed." Wedge concurred. "We need more firepower. Prepare to..."

Wedge's voice cut off abruptly, as his X-Wing took a glancing blow from a TIE. The nose of the craft was blown clean off, and his engines flared with a quickly smothered conflagration. The remaining husk of his fighter drifted in the void, just inside the outer edges of Andriss' atmosphere, just within its gravity well. Slowly, the burning cockpit fell towards the planet below, its edges beginning to glow as it streaked through the atmosphere.

"Wedge!" Wes cried, in desperation.

"I've got a plan." Dak replied, gunning his Y-Wing towards the falling wreckage. "It's not much of a plan, but it's something. Wes, you have to tell High Command about these new fighters. In case we don't make it out..."

"Don't. Whatever it is, don't say it. The three of us can discuss it over an Alderaanian Ale when  it's over. Wes out."

Star Wars: Old Wounds (5)

In the hanger bay, surrounded by a motley assortment of Rebel fighters, Dak was tinkering with a a fried plasma oscillator, deep in the bowels of his craft. He lay on a mechanic's trolley, which hovered several inches above the ground, while he reached up towards one of the Y-Wing's service hatches. He still wore his orange flightsuit, though the helmet had long since been discarded, revealing a tousled mass of unevenly cut hair, distinctly greyed. It was late and he was alone in the hanger, with only the scurrying servomotors of the mouse droids for company. That and his lingering, unwanted thoughts. Mechanical, menial tasks helped him clear his mind, to distract him from himself, but it wasn't always successful. Sometimes he couldn't drown out his endlessly looping ruminations, no matter what. But even on such nights, keeping himself occupied was still preferable to lying awake in his bunk, or the fitful nightmares of his fractured sleep.

His left arm began to tremble, at first softly, almost imperceptibly, gradually increasing in severity. An old war wound, the kind that can never truly be healed, the kind of injury which marks more than just the physical self. It always flared up during periods of stress, Dak had learned to cope with it, adapt to it and mask the worst of his symptoms, though he was always left with the pain. He willed his appendage to behave, even as waves of resignation ate away at his resolve. As if to spite him, his arm spasmed, fingers stretching open involuntarily. The sound of his hydrospanner colliding with the concrete floor rang through the silent hanger. As the echo faded, Dak thought he could just make out the sound of faint footsteps. With a groan of effort, he pushed himself upright, his old bones creaking slightly under the strain.

"You're not getting any younger." Dak thought to himself. "You can't keep this up forever." He stopped to retrieve his dropped tool, before facing in the direction of the footsteps just in time to see Wedge approaching. The young pilot was dressed in casual clothing, consisting of a beige leather jacket with Rebel insignias embroidered on the shoulders and navy trousers featuring a vertical red marking, a Corellian Bloodstripe. Dak idly spun his hydrospanner through his fingers, seeming casually, to hide his lingering tremor.

"Dak, thought I'd find you here." Wedge announced, his voice clipped and authoritative. "We need to talk."

"Save your breath." replied Dak. He knew why Wedge had sought him out, and was in no mood to be disciplined. "Unless you're here to ground me, can we just assume you've said your piece and move on?"

"A perfect example of your troublesome attitude." Wedge sighed. "Look Dak, I hate to do this, but you're giving me little choice."

"You know as well as I do that I'm one of the best pilots you've got, if not the best. Besides, you can't even fill an entire squadron, you need all the pilots you can get. Including me."

"We also need trust, and discipline. Every mission puts our lives on the line. Each of us needs to be able to rely on the others. Loose cannons and wild cards only create chaos and confusion."

"And a synergized squadron is greater than the sum of its fighters. Any more saccharine platitudes?" Dak bit back, harsher than he intended. Wedge turned away, rubbing his forehead with frustrated contemplation. He spun back towards Dak, pointing a finger at the other pilot.

"Why are you even here, Dak?"

"Excuse me?"

"In the Rebellion. Why do you fight?"

"I told you when I signed up. There's a death mark on my head, I crossed the wrong Hutt when I 'lost' a shipment. My options were either spend the rest of my days fleeing from bounty hunters, or joining the Rebellion and letting the Empire take me out instead. Jabba found it most amusing, this way it saves him on paying out when I'm blown from the skies."

"Is that really your only reason? You joined the Rebellion out of convenience?" Wedge exclaimed, incredulously.

"More or less."

"The rest of us, we're risking everything we hold dear to bring down the Empire, its corrupt systems and its cruelty and malice. We fight to liberate the Galaxy from its terror." Wedge was shouting now. "But you, you treat this struggle like it's just a game, just some hobby to breathe some excitement into your life. If that's the case, you've better off joining a swoop racing circuit on some backwater Outer-Rim world and clearing off. Leave the fighting to those who actually care."

A stony silence sat between the two pilots for a few moments. Dak couldn't fail to see the passion in Wedge's eyes, and felt a pang of remorse deep within himself. He'd promised himself years ago, on the day that all his hopes had died, that  he wouldn't care anymore. He'd spent so long keeping himself at arm's length from all those around him, afraid of attachment, of hope, and of the inevitable loss that such bonds must bring. Despite himself, he couldn't help but see a spark of his younger self reflected in Wedge, a man who wanted to fix the Galaxy, a man who would let nothing get in his way. With a sigh, he finally spoke, repressed words tumbling forward like water held behind a dam.

"Okay then, you want to know the full story? I was your age, or a bit older, in the last years of the Republic. It was a fine time to be a smuggler then, so many Coruscanti elite who wanted to import exotic foods and exquisite goods from across the Galaxy, but were less keen on paying taxes and tariffs. The kind of people who have an excess of credits, who you don't feel bad for swindling. Then came the Clone Wars, the fall of democracy, a rise in military expansion, and the beginnings of the Empire. I lost a lot of friends and family in those early days, as did we all. But I was there, powerless, as the Dark Side flourished, as evil was invited to take control. All I could do was watch as decency was strangled and hope withered. So I kept my head down, only looking out for myself, and for Lara. Spent years trying to survive as a smuggler. Suddenly the elites were able to simply take what they desired, so that left me with few options. I refused to traffic slaves or spices, so that ruled out most of the pirates and cartels. The only other jobs available were smaller communities, desperate for food, or medicine. Vital supplies which the Empire hoards for itself. But even only charging for cost felt like fleecing such folk. I couldn't keep going, ignoring the problem, I had to do something."

"So, that's why you really joined. You want to make a difference after all."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Wedge. I'm not a naive romantic like you. I don't burn with the fire of resistance. In fact, we're unlikely to make even a dent in the Empire's fierce chokehold of the Galaxy. But at least we're doing something."

"I admire your optimism." Wedge said with a smirk. "Honestly though, thanks for sharing. I had a feeling you did care, no matter how deeply you try to bury it. You're a decent pilot, but please try and follow orders, or I will have to drop you."

"No promises." Dak added, with snark. "And what do you mean 'decent'? I'll have you know I'm..."

With a screeching whine, R3 came trundling into the hanger with some urgency, beeping and whistling hurriedly.

"Slow down, buddy." Dak said, soothingly. "What's gotten into you?"

"He was helping me go through the logs I ripped from the transport we boarded." Lara explained, breathing heavily as she followed the droid into the hanger. "He's found references tosomething called Project Indomitable."

"Some sort of Imperial scheme? Were there any other details?" Wedge asked, his jaw stiffened with concern.

"Only a partial copy of some encrypted files. We weren't expecting anything like this so I only pulled a basic transcript from the transport."

"Wonder if it's connected to the mining equipment we liberated?" Wedge wondered aloud.

"When's the next shipment scheduled for Andriss?" Dak queried. "If we can take the next transport, maybe we can access a completed file from the ship's database."

"In about 16 hours, give or take." Lara replied, consulting her datapad.

"Then we'd all best go get some rest. We're scrambling the fighters in the morning." Wedge announced. "Dismissed."

***

The Imperial Star Destroyer Escutcheon drifted through the endless dark void of space, it's motion presided over by Admiral Aegis Malefic. He was a tall, imposing figure, his naval uniform impeccably creased, his rank insignia perfectly polished. His face was aquiline, and set in a permanent scowl, though he would, very occasionally, allow a toothless smile to flash across it. His high, sharp cheekbones were a rival for even Grand Off Tarkin himself. His short dark hair was perfectly groomed, as was his precisely sculpted curling moustache. Given his stature, it constantly appeared as if he was looking down upon those around him, and moat of the time, he was. At this moment, the target of his ire was a grovelling Captain Atticus Wurmly.

"So you see, it wasn't my fault! The Rebels, they were sneaky, they surprised us. Caught us with our guard down. But I assure you, if I ever encounter them again, I'll be ready!"

"Indeed." Aegis said laconically. He was a man of few words, as he prized his time very highly. "See to it that you do. You shall be witness to the first practical demonstration of Project Indomitable."

"Oh, well, this is such an... an honour! Yes, I shall not let you down again." Atticus blathered.

"See to it that you do not. Or I shall consider your usefulness expired." Aegis said, his clipped tone implying a certain finality to his words.