Tales from the Corps, Vol. 1/Master and Commander

Tales from the Corps, Vol. 1

Master and Commander

In the vast main hangar of the Interdictor-class cruiser, more than a hundred Republic Navy, Army and Marine Corps personnel were gathered, all clad in their finest dress uniforms, their pants pressed and their shoes shined. Standing in formations, segregated by service branch, the officers and enlisted beings faced the back wall where a stage had been set with a podium, a large table bearing a multitude of small boxes, and a simple backstop of blood red velvet curtains. Upon this platform stood about a dozen robed and cloaked Jedi Knights, accompanied by a few Masters, but they remained on the periphery. The dais itself was occupied by two beings, a man and a woman: the man was tall, clad in an orange leather greatcoat with high collar, his head bald and tattooed with two broad, pale blue stripes; the woman, significantly shorter and older, had fiery red hair and carried herself modestly, in keeping with her subdued mode of dress.

Jedi Master Vima Sundrider looked at her companion, the Jedi Knight Malak, and nodded.

“Soldiers of the Republic, it is our honor to have you here today,” he began, speaking into a comlink mounted at the podium. His voice was magnified severalfold by the ship's internal comm, so that everyone present could understand him; this also provided the rest of the vessel's crew with a running commentary. “The recent fighting along the Mandalorian front has been brutal, but you have all acquitted yourselves magnificently. It is to commemorate you and your efforts that we hold this ceremony, so that your valiant contributions to the war effort can be appreciated and given proper recognition. When your name is called, step forward to receive your commendations.”

Malak stepped back, and Vima took his place. She withdrew a flimsi from her robe pocket, gave it a cursory examination, then began to read from the alphabetized list. “Abidee, Sauder.”

A Human male who looked too young to consume alcohol detached himself from the formation of Republic Navy personnel and trotted up to the podium. When he arrived, Vima presented the young officer with the appropriate box. “For your actions at Randon, the Republic bestows upon you the Navy Orb.”

As the boy, blushing furiously, rejoined his fellows, Vima handed off the flimsi as she exchanged places with Malak once more. “Apel, Redanna,” he called.

An Army trooper, her visage prematurely pockmarked and bearing a patch over her left eye, made her way to the dais. Malak handed her a pair of boxes when she arrived. “For your actions at Dagory Minor, the Republic bestows upon you the Silver Shield, as well as the Crimson Orb, Second Class.”

The ceremony continued thus for some time, though Vima was not paying full attention. As the most senior of Revan and Malak's coalition, she had been given the rank of General by the Republic High Command. With the former Knight off doing who knew what during his solitary mission to the edges of known space, it was left to Malak and herself to lead this formal gathering. The front lines were stable&mdash;for the moment, at any rate&mdash;so the time had come to conduct this bit of morale-boosting pomp and circumstance.

As “Iplan, Xaart” received the Silver Shield for his own efforts during the Republic's defeat at Dagary Minor, she reflected on what had brought her to this point. She knew that many in the Order were scratching their heads in confusion or expressing frank disbelief at why a woman of her wisdom, experience, and abilities had seen fit to go dashing off to war, in spite of the Order's stance against premature involvement. But it was for those very reasons that she had joined the Revanchists in the first place; her mother had known that the most assured way for evil to triumph was for good people to do nothing. It was an axiom that she had long ago embraced for herself, ever since her training under Ulic Qel-Droma on Rhen Var and upheld during her service since then. If Nomi Sunrider were still alive, she would have felt the same way, of this Vima was certain.

If Nomi Sunrider still lived, it would be her leading the Republic, not Revan and Malak.

And the entire Order would have followed rather than the youngest, the most brash. The ones who were, in fact, at the highest risk of falling to the dark side.

Atris had been the one to express the greatest shock of all when Vima had informed the Council of her choice. The Jedi historian had berated her mercilessly, even in front of the other Masters. But it had been for naught, and Vima suspected that this had caused some wounding within the archivist's soul. Atris had, after all, been a Padawan to her mother, and she and Vima had once been friends. The other masters' reactions had been guarded, with none of them making the same grandiose pronouncements or declaring that such a decision would inevitably lead to darkness. Kavar had held his disappointment in check, but Vima had seen hints of it; Vandar had stayed completely neutral; Vrook had presented a scowl carved in stone throughout; the others had borne mixed expressions, some were almost sad, but some seemed to understand.

Nearly a year later here she was, at a ceremony honoring those who risked everything, who had suffered so much, to fight a foe that could only be thought of as a vast, amorphous need to wage total, highly-destructive war. And waged it they had. From Eres III to the Xoxin plains, from Duro to Ithor, the Mandalorians' self-titled Neo-Crusade had sought to conquer for no other discernible reason than to simply keep on conquering. Ithor, thankfully, had been saved during that first year, though it had been a near thing.

“Reyolé, Laera,” Malak called, drawing Vima from her ruminations. She didn't understand at first why the name held such meaning for her, but as the blue-eyed, auburn-haired Marine mounted the steps leading up to the stage and strode confidently toward the dais, the Jedi Master caught a hint of her sense in the Force.

Much to her surprise, she glowed like a miniature sun.

Malak, unperturbed by this revelation&mdash;or, perhaps, he hadn't cottoned on to it&mdash;continued speaking. “For continued excellence in leadership and your actions during the Battle of Contruum, the Republic awards you the Marine Corps Star and a promotion to full Commander.”

As Commander Reyolé accepted the boxes presented to her by the tall Knight, her gaze met Vima's. Something seemed to pass between the two women in that span of only a few heartbeats, and she resolved to arrange to meet this officer at a later date and get to know her better. In the meantime, however, it was now her turn to present a citation.

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

The door to her quarters chimed, rousing Vima from her meditative posture. She had known who was coming, though, and responded quickly. “Commander Reyolé, it was good of you to see me,” she said, gesturing the officer, now wearing her battle-dress uniform, toward a small table around which a trio of chairs had been placed. “Please, have some refreshment.”

“Thank you, General Sunrider,” the woman, who Vima realized was not far removed from her own age, said as she took a seat. “May I ask what this is in regards to?”

“I simply wished to meet you in less formal circumstances,” Vima replied, pouring for her guest a steaming mug of caf from a tray and hot plate on her desk, then she made one for herself. “You'll like this blend, I brew it strong enough to etch transparisteel.”

“The way it's meant to be,” Reyolé said appreciatively, taking a sip and nodding her approval.

As Vima sat opposite the officer, she noticed a slight twitching of the younger woman's sense; she seemed uncomfortable for some reason, almost as though... “You don't trust Jedi, do you?”

Laera Reyolé pulled a face as she swallowed another mouthful of caf, then set her cup on the table. “With all due respect, General, I don't believe that is your concern,” she said, doing a remarkable job of retaining her composure. “I would rather not discuss it.”

“As you wish, Commander,” Vima replied, taking a sip and setting her own cup aside. “May I make another observation, however? I would not think less of you were you to decline an answer.”

“You are my superior officer, Master Jedi, you may make any observation you desire.”

Vima could sense that the woman was trying to wall herself off from any Force probes, which she supposed was understandable given the circumstances. Most of the officers and personnel she encountered seemed to regard her in one of two ways: either as an extremely capable leader who understood battle and war, or as the glory-seeking daughter of a great leader who didn't care one jot for the people under her command. Commander Reyolé, however, didn't seem to share either sentiment. Instead, she was actually succeeding in keeping her mind neutral before the gentle brushing of her thoughts that the Jedi Master was engaged in.

After a pregnant pause, Vima spoke again. “It is my understanding that you led the force that defended Bad Alshir during the first battle of the invasion,” she said gently, taking care not to seem overly curious. “You have been wounded on several occasions, and you are among the most experienced of the Republic's field officers. Before that, you served as a non-commissioned officer for many years, three of them as a senior drill instructor, before going to officer candidate school and earning your commission. Tell me, what is it that has kept you going after having gone through so much?”

The commander fiddled with her caf cup for a few moments, then drained it, buying herself time to think. When she spoke, her voice and countenance were grim. “I suppose it's just down to one simple fact: my family lives on the Rim, and as long as the bucketheads are doing their best to conquer the Republic, they'll always be in danger.”

“Where does your family live, if I may ask?” Vima replied.

“On Agamar,” Reyolé said in that same resigned tone, but then she continued. “On this ship, others like it, and on a hundred different worlds scattered across Republic space. You see General, Master Jedi, the Corps is my family as well.”

Vima nodded sagely, her expression showing approval. “The Jedi Order is not so different from the Republic Marines, Laera. May I call you Laera?”

The commander nodded, a subtle inclining of her features, and Vima continued. “You see, Laera, those of us among the Jedi are encouraged to form bonds that are very much like that which you share with your family, and the soldiers and officers you know and command. None of us are perfect, but by maintaining such ties, we are able to support one another and use our own individual strengths to counter each others' weaknesses. Through such cooperation, balance is achieved.”

Laera seemed to work her way through that thought as she stared at her empty mug. Silence descended on Vima's quarters, a sort of contemplative feeling that seemed quite appropriate for the occasion and the topic of discussion. The Marine had begun to relax slightly, almost in spite of herself, and Vima was careful to maintain discretion with her abilities in order to encourage the woman further.

“I've heard of your mother's exploits,” Laera said abruptly. “If you will pardon my frankness, you seem to be quite a different person.”

“Oh, you've only seen the public records, Laera,” Vima replied, offering a warm smile. “They tend to...exaggerate certain aspects of her personality. She and I are actually very much alike in almost every way.”

“I...didn't realize,” Laera said apologetically.

“And why should you have?” Vima asked with a shrug. “You never met her, and I knew her for nearly all my life. My mother...I almost wish she were still with us. We'd be following her orders now, not Revan's...”

Vima hadn't meant to admit that to Laera, but something had begun to form between the two of them. It wasn't a Force bond, at least insofar as she understood it, but it was something that had become more and more manifest between herself and the beings under her command. The Jedi Master wondered if this was some aftereffect of having been in so many battles, alongside so many different soldiers in such a short time, or if it was something that had always been a part of her. In either case, she felt compelled to nourish that connection.

“I watched her funeral over the HoloNet,” Laera said into Vima's thoughts. “While I was stationed at Bad Alshir. My CO at the time said that Jedi don't generally hold public memorial services.”

“No, we don't,” Vima replied. “Nomi wouldn't have wanted it either, but I guess the Republic needs its heroes. Now more than ever, it seems.”

“Hence the ceremony in the hangar bay,” Laera said, a hint of resentment and chagrin both working themselves into her voice. “Malak standing tall up there, thinking for all the universe how important he and his buddy Revan are...I'm sorry, that was uncharitable.”

“No, it was honest,” Vima said reassuringly. “Honesty is to be respected, especially when it comes from those outside the Order.”

Laera paused, then fixed her eyes on Vima's. “You know, you're ruining this impression I've had of Jedi being self-righteous blowhards.”

“You're not the first to say that, you know,” Vima replied with a half-grin. “For what it's worth, I do not begrudge you for whatever bad feelings you've ever expressed for Jedi or the Order.”

“I know that the Jedi serving with Revan's forces are but a fraction of the whole,” Laera said as she rose to pour herself another mug of caf. “May I ask why the majority have stayed neutral?”

Vima contemplated this query in silence, taking some time to weigh the options even after Laera had resumed her seat. Technically, she wasn't supposed to be telling anybody&mdash;not even her fellow Masters&mdash;about the goings-on of High Council meetings. However, she felt a strong compulsion to share what had happened when she had announced her intentions; despite this, she resisted. “It is...complicated,” she began instead. “Suffice it to say that the Council did not choose to accept what I saw&mdash;what my mother would have seen. Speaking for myself, I joined Revan's cause in order to save civilization, to preserve the peace it creates. It is that which keeps me going, regardless of what the effort may cost.”

“To the Republic,” Laera said, raising her caf cup.

“To the Republic,” Vima replied, repeating the gesture. After a few moments of silence, she broached the topic that had been on her mind for some time, a way to further bring about the prosecution of the war effort. “I've been mulling over a few ideas about how we can fight the Mandalorians more efficiently. One of them seems like it would suit you, if you are willing to be a part of it.”

“I'm always up for new ways of doing things,” Laera replied, placing her cup on the table once more. “What's on your mind, General?”

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

After two more months of bloody conflict, Vima Sunrider was beginning to feel the weight of having witnessed so much death and destruction. Despite the increasing pressures of command and the inauguration of Revan's grand strategy for defeating the Mandalorians, the Jedi Master felt as though she was right where she belonged. Particularly considering the ever-ready presence of Laera Reyolé.

After her promotion to full commander, the Marine had been bumped out of the Third Battalion, with a young, up-and-coming officer named Thedus Bimm taking her place as leader of Besh Company. In the wake of the loss of Duro, Vima had finished plans to form her own small unit of soldiers and officers, each one talented in several fields of warfare, for use in covert insertions prior to major planetary assaults. Drawing personnel from all three service branches including Marine Force Recon, she had wanted to place the fifty beings she had recruited under Reyolé's command, so that it would be led by someone she could trust. Laera had accepted, and the scheme had been approved in a communiqué to the fleet from Revan himself. It had taken this long to get everything assembled and working smoothly, and now she was ready to meet with the unit, designated Viridian Squadron after the color of Vima's lightsaber blade, as a whole for the first time.

Striding into the large and well-appointed briefing room, she acknowledged the gathered men and women, who were dressed in their original branch-specific day uniforms, as they stood to attention. “At ease,” she said, and everyone resumed their seats. “Commander Reyolé, is everyone present and accounted for?”

“We're all here, General Sunrider,” Laera replied briskly. “Viridian Squadron is at your disposal.”

“Excellent,” Vima said, then began to manipulate the holoprojector. “As it happens, the fleet is gearing up for a major operation, and I've asked to have you dropped in prior to the invasion.”

“What planet are we hitting, ma'am?” one of the other officers, an Army captain named Nor Estayo, asked.

Vima pressed one last button on the holoprojector's control panel, and the holograph of a planet-wide city emerged. “Taris.”

One of the hallmarks of Viridian Squadron was its informal nature. As an “off-books” unit whose very existence was kept classified, it was in essence Vima's personal strike force. She didn't think of it as such, though, especially not with Laera helping her in selecting the best candidates. And, because the squadron was kept apart from the regular chain of command, many of the formalities of line units were ignored. For instance, the babbling amongst them that broke out at the mention of their target. Every being present had already proven themselves to be skilled operators, disciplined in their own way, so both Vima and Laera felt comfortable in allowing them their freedom.

After all, pre-invasion insertions were incredibly dangerous, both to those being inserted and those who would come after should the mission be compromised.

“Alright people, let's look to the plan,” Laera said, drawing the squadron's attention back to the Jedi Master. “Where do we insert and when?”

“As we all know, Taris was the first major world to fall to the Mandalorians,” Vima said, nodding to her commander. “Because of this, they will be well-entrenched upon the surface, and will likely have significant numbers of warships in orbit. However, information about underground resistance movements has been making its way to Republic Intelligence for some time now.”

Vima touched another button, and the image of the planet was replaced by a city grid. “Known to the locals as the “Jedi Tower,” this Upper City high-rise was home to the Order's operations on the planet and was a focal point for the initial invasion. However, Intelligence suggests that it is now largely ignored save for routine patrols. Taris is a big world, and they're losing warriors every day to the swoop gangs and other pro-Republic insurgents. For this reason, you will be inserting into the Middle City about a kilometer away from the Tower, aboard an ex-Mandalorian Q-carrier that the Ninth Force Recon Platoon 'acquired' on Zeltros.”

“Are all fifty of us gonna fit in one of them things?” asked an Army technical sergeant. “I helped check out a couple of wrecked ones on Ithor, and they're not that big.”

“The intact ones are about the size of Jarhead-class landers,” Laera corrected the noncom. “General Sunrider and I checked our insertion vehicle over with a fine-toothed comb. It'll be tight, but the thing will get us where we need to go.”

“I guess that means I'm in the cockpit,” said Omaar Bradli, a Navy ensign who looked far too old for the rank. Vima knew that he'd been given a battlefield commission recently, and that out of all of Viridian Squadron, he was the most proficient speaker of Mando'a. In fact, he was fluent in the language, and had used that knowledge to escape Mandalorian captivity in the first weeks of the war.

“You would be correct, Ensign,” Vima replied with a smile. “It'll be up to you and Captain Estayo to get the squadron to the surface unmolested and hide the lander. We hope to use it in future operations, so please do try to avoid getting shot down.”

A ripple of laughter crossed the briefing room, and the two officers were given appreciative back-slaps by the other members.

“Now that we've got the basics out of the way, let's get down to brass tacks,” Laera said, standing up and bringing out her own datapad. “Aurek Team will be led by...”

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

The briefing took another half hour to wrap up; in addition to finalizing the organizational structure and handing out team assignments, there had been a number of questions as to the purpose of the infiltration. Vima and Laera had agreed that this initial insertion was to be more of a practice run, in keeping with the idea of the Tarisian assault marking the beginning of the counteroffensive. The three team leaders had agreed that the plan would work best as a three-pronged effort: Aurek Team would obtain Mandalorian gear and, thus disguised, attempt to sabotage the enemy's defenses; Besh Team would attempt to make contact with any of the major swoop gangs or resistance groups; Cresh Team, meanwhile, was tasked with finding and tracking enemy commanders and, as the Republic fleet arrived, eliminating them.

“Everything looks solid, Master Sunrider,” Laera said as the two of them left the room, the last to leave. The mission was still a few days off, and the squadron had been given plenty of time to work as teams to plan their missions, along with all available intelligence sources. “Has their armor arrived yet?”

“Laera, I've asked you to call me Vima twice already,” the Jedi Master admonished mildly. “As for your question, their gear will be arriving in ten hours aboard the next personnel transport.”

“The Army and Navy folks will need some time to adjust to it, so the sooner it gets here the better,” Laera said with a shrug. “I was planning on visiting the armory and exchanging my sniping blaster for a SOPMOD carbine, as it won't be...”

Her voice trailed off as she caught the look on Vima's face.

“I'm not going, am I?” she asked bluntly.

“No,” Vima said simply. “Captain Estayo is more than qualified to head up this first mission; he's up for promotion to major soon, anyway. To be honest, Laera, while I trust you to lead the squadron, I didn't exactly intend to have you leading from the front.”

“Master...Vima, that is exactly what a Marine does,” Laera said, anger creeping into her voice and sense in the Force. “We lead by example, not simply by issuing orders.”

“I know,” Vima replied, keeping calm despite Laera's rising emotions. “This wasn't an easy choice to make, believe me. But I have to factor so much more into the equation, including the operations to follow.”

“I see,” Laera said, and for a few moments the two walked in silence. “Vima, I do trust you&mdash;you're the only Jedi I've ever trusted, in fact&mdash;but this isn't easy to accept.”

Vima sighed. “I would have been more worried about you if you had just taken my benching you in stride,” she said, inclining her head. “I picked you to lead Viridian Squadron because you're a natural leader, and while you won't be going for this op, there are others in future that I would greatly appreciate you taking an active role in.”

“Such as?” Laera asked, a bit of hope emerging in her response.

The pair halted at a junction where no other soldiers or other personnel were present, Vima indicating a nearby room. Opening the door, she led the way into what turned out to be an unassigned dual-occupancy quarters deep in officer country. After checking that no one else was about, she sealed the door. “If word of this gets out it'll be both our hides, war heroines or no.”

“I understand,” Laera replied, her demeanor sober as she stood at attention.

“Your service records say that you served in Iziz City for some time, even if that deployment was more than fifteen years ago. Do you remember much of the place from your time there?”

Laera seemed to ponder that question for a moment, then regarded Vima with a nostalgic grin. “Fifty-meter walls with plenty of coverage, laser cannon mounts and wave gun emplacements every hundred meters on the first wall and even more closely-packed the further up you go, and a population that lived in fear of the jungle for the better part of four centuries? I'd say I remember the place pretty well. Do you mean to tell me...”

“...that Iziz will be our next target?” Vima finished for her. “You would be correct.”

Laera's deep blue eyes bored into Vima's hazel orbs. “Vima...General Sunrider...if you don't send me on that mission, I swear on my own head that I will sneak aboard the insertion vehicle myself.”

Vima smiled. “Laera, if anyone under my command was capable of pulling off such a stunt, it would definitely be you.”

Exchanging nods, the two parted company with Vima heading for the warship's bridge while Laera walked toward her quarters. Humming idly to herself she caught a nearby turbolift, which took her to the command deck. Stepping out of the lift, she was intercepted by Malak.

“Greetings, Master Sunrider,” the younger Jedi said respectfully as the two headed for the bridge together. “Is Viridian Squadron ready to launch its inaugural mission?”

“They'll be ready when they need to be,” Vima replied curtly. “I was meeting with their commander just now.”

“Am I to take it that your conversations with her have had the desired effect?” Malak asked obliquely.

Vima flashed the tall Knight an admonitory glare. “I did as you asked,” she said shortly. “Commander Reyolé is a fine officer and a good friend, but she is not one to be trifled with. She's proven that to me many times over in the last two months.”

“I understand&mdash;” Malak began, but Vima cut him off.

“No, Alek, I don't think you do,” she said, and there was no mistaking the stern rebuke in her voice and the way she used the man's true name. “There is more to Reyolé than meets the eye, it's true. But getting back to the bigger issue, you two need to be careful. I don't know what your pal Revan has been up to this past year, and frankly I don't give a damn. He needs to realize that, with the coming campaign we can win this war, but we need to proceed carefully. Once the offensive starts, no more reckless abandonment of worlds, no more grandiose schemes that needlessly jeopardize civilians; from here on in, it's a straight-up fight to the finish.”

As Vima's declaration came to a close, the two ascended the ramp and walked through the hatchway to the bridge itself, where a cloaked and hooded being stood in wait for them.

“Master Sunrider, it is good to see you again,” the voice of Revan said from beneath a hauntingly familiar mask. “Please, join me. I have a slight modification to make to the coming campaign that I wanted to run by you first...”