Rapid Redeployment/Chapter Four

Rapid Redeployment

Chapter Four

"Blaagh, no," Kimba muttered stupidly at Palo's prodding. "S'all dark, too early for school..."

The Wroonian snorted mirthlessly, though inwardly he was laughing himself silly. "Up. Now. We have a schedule to keep."

It took her a minute, but the Alderaanian managed to flop herself to a sitting position on the bed. It took a few more moments of baleful glares before she swung her legs around to place her feet on the floor. Apparently she needed to be out for the full eight hours in order to be useful in the morning, an oversight that, hopefully, wouldn't doom the operation. Sniffing huffily, she dragged herself up and plodded out to the living area where the uniforms had been prepared prior to their turning in for the night, and began to dress.

"Not even a sanisteam before you go?" Palo remarked idly. "You're going to reek later today."

"Shut it, Blue," she shot back, shuffling uncomfortably into her pants. "Damn, these are tight."

"Been letting yourself go, or did you misremember your measurements?" Palo inquired mockingly as he too donned his uniform. "I hope for your sake that tunic isn't as snug as your trousers, or we will be getting rather more attention than our patron would care for."

Kimba grunted as she zipped herself up, sucking in her chest as she did so. It was as Palo feared; her upper torso would precede the rest of her body through a doorway by a second or two. "At least I got the rank and insignia right, Private," she retorted, heaping a healthy dollop of sarcasm onto that last word. "If you had gone for the uniforms, you would have made us captains for certain. And I can guarantee you that Dun'vei knows every Marine captain on Coruscant by name."

The barb dug a bit closer to home than Palo would have admitted, especially to Kimba. He did indeed possess a streak of vanity, it was part of his charm and how he had managed to make his living for quite a number of years. But he would not, perhaps, have been that obvious. His partner had made herself a senior lieutenant; just important enough to have an enlistee tag along, but not important enough to register on the commandant's mental radar. There was the issue of the commandant possibly recognizing her face, but she had taken care of that while Palo had sliced their temporary identities. She was now a dirty blonde, wearing contact lenses that turned her hazel eyes brown and sporting altogether different shades of blush and eye shadow. Palo knew that there were enough Wroonians in the military that his presence wouldn't be questioned, doubly so for the lowness of his own simulated rank, and he had no outstanding warrants.

"Alright, let's go," Kimba said mock-cheerfully after they had finished dressing, Palo having packed their "gift" in a hastily-bought velvet-lined box.

He reached the door first, looking through the peephole to check the corridor ahead, opening it after assessing that the passage was momentarily clear. Walking with the gift box under his left arm, he led the way like a good Marine to the air taxi that would take them to headquarters and, hopefully, the successful completion of their mission. The ride wasn't too bad but for the complete silence that marred it, the pair of them not confident enough in their assumed roles to banter idly. Apparently this suited the driver, a portly Human male, just fine.

They arrived on schedule, stepping out of the taxi with a few minutes to spare. Palo had spent a great deal of time over the last three days attempting to penetrate the computer systems of the Office of the Commandant, managing to achieve gradual progress without raising any alarms or red flags. He was rather proud of this achievement; it wasn't every slicer who could hack an admiral's appointment calender without the alterations later being rejected or otherwise overwritten, either accidentally or by some act of counter-slicing. As it stood, the two were confirmed for a quick meeting with the wily Bothan at 0845 hours, just long enough to explain their presence, hand over the "gift" and scarper without having left an impression on those who would see them arrive and leave.

On flimsi, it was the perfect infiltration. But flimsi was such a flimsy material.

"Don't slouch," Kimba hissed between her teeth as they approached the entryway. "Move your arms with your feet like a soldier."

This was not Palo's natural stride, and he wondered to himself how a being could stay erect while engaged in such a pace and bearing. He would feel better about this if he was the one tailing Kimba, following her example, but according to her he was supposed to be the one leading the way and opening doors for her. It had suited him fine when they had initially discussed how to pull off the insertion, but now he wished she had taken the time to drill some of this marching business into him first, along with a few lessons in protocol and etiquette.

"Crisp, precise, measured," she hissed again as he made to open the door for her. He feigned ignorance, hoping that she was telling him the proper procedure. Thankfully however, it would be her taking the lead from now on, as it apparently wouldn't do to be seen being led by a private once inside a military installation. Nevertheless his innards began to feel as though they were solidifying, a fear reaction that he didn't care for at all, and one that had never seemed to bode well for his financial prospects or the safety of his skin

"Lieutenant Ellon Serabau here to see the Commandant," Kimba said to the receptionist on duty, her tone precise and measured as an officer's should be as she flashed their identification. At least, according to the holodramas that was how one should act. "I believe he is expecting us."

Palo looked on through the corner of his eye as the Elomin behind the desk scanned his computer terminal. "Yes, I have you here..." he began, then paused, seemingly in puzzlement. "Hmm. Better make it quick, though. He's expecting a trio of interviewees at zero nine hundred."

"I'll keep that in mind, Sergeant," Kimba replied with the kind of smile Palo had previously thought her incapable of. "We won't be long."

"Right then, just follow the brass."

Kimba led the way and, as the pair passed through another doorway, Palo mentally breathed a sigh of relief. The job was far from over, but at least they hadn't fallen at the first hurdle with a broken kneecap.

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

True to her vow the previous night, Laera arrived at headquarters earlier than the commandant had suggested. This time, however, she wore her service greens though her nameplate still bore the assumed surname "Stromboli" while her shoulder boards indicated that she was only a lieutenant commander. The demotion suited her just fine, as she would neither be noticed for her rank nor questioned on her presence at this facility because of it. This allowed her to achieve her stated purpose, which was to get a read on how the staff at High Command was running things as well as their mental states, without them realizing that they were being subject to analysis.

Her ability to sense auras was proving to be immeasurably valuable for the task, as she could simply flit about the corridors picking up surface impressions from the soldiers, NCOs and officers she passed or in the rooms beyond. Most seemed to be a fair bit flustered, though they put forth a good enough front of composure, which was understandable given the galactic picture. She had left the barracks with Reeka and Tuffass still asleep, just in time to catch the latest news broadcasts on the public HoloNet terminal that flanked the headquarters building's entrance. It wasn't looking pretty: already there were reports of scout ships of an unfamiliar design appearing in multiple sectors, including Lahara and Ojoster, with some coming as close as Ralltiir in Darpa sector. Like everyone else in the building, she knew that it was only a matter of time before the next clash of fleets or armies erupted. In the meantime, the best thing for those within High Command to do was to gather intelligence on the enemy, take a proper accounting of the Republic's forces and their state of readiness, and prepare a defense to coincide with what information such endeavors yielded.

The worst thing the military could do right now was to attack. There was nowhere to direct such an offensive, no one had a clue yet where the enemy might be concentrating their forces. Revan was nothing if not devious; he would let his enemies have their chance to amass a force to meet his next move, thus he would be able to pick and choose where to attack and where not to. As she walked amongst a cluster of offices within the headquarters of Marine Force Recon, Laera found herself wishing that she had taken the effort to meet the man behind the Revanchist cause. Back then he would have made some time for her, she knew, especially considering that it was under his orders that she was up and breathing again.

A nebulous list of ideas began to form in her mind's eye regarding their new antagonists as Laera walked still further. She had at least met Malak once, during the awards ceremony where she had received the Marine Corps Star and the promotion to full commander that had led to her being noticed by General Sunrider. Unfortunately it hadn't been a very good opportunity to get a sense of the former Jedi Knight, she had been in and out of his presence far too quickly for that. But she had been able to reckon that he was a proud man, fond of making a show of himself but also possessed of the ability to back up his posturing. But as for Revan, all she could offer was an accounting of the battle plans he had issued during the Mandalorian conflict. It would be up to the commandant and his staff, as well as the rest of the Republic's admiralty, to pick out any insightful details.

As Laera walked through the corridor that led toward the commandant's office, she was momentarily knocked from her reverie by a pair of passing Marines clad in dress reds. She absentmindedly turned to regard them, catching sight of their backs as they proceeded onward, and briefly wondered why they had drawn her attention when she was so deeply focused on much more important matters. But then she glimpsed their pace as they walked and the way their auras seemed to hesitate under her gaze. Both were blond, the woman's hair darker and the man's nape showing the blue of a Near Human species she couldn't identify from this angle. More importantly, they didn't seem quite at ease in this location, as though they had overplanned their visit and weren't sure what to expect next.

The woman, who wore the bars of a senior lieutenant...something about her struck Laera as oddly familiar. She glanced at her chrono once the pair disappeared around a corner; it showed 0844 hours, time to call her comrades and make sure that they were on their way over.

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

"Just keep going, just keep going," Kimba hissed under her breath as they marched onward. "Don't you dare look back."

The sensation of eyes focusing on the back of his neck was decidedly unwelcome as Palo did his best to obey. He didn't know whether his cover was in the process of being blown or not, but a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach was beginning to coalesce into a bole of what felt like masticated grass rolling about his stomach. The sensation seemed to abate somewhat as they made a turn, seeing the way to their destination at the end of it. They only had half a minute to spare, and Kimba had informed him in no uncertain terms that the admiral expected and insisted on punctuality. As if that wasn't enough, his partner's body language had strongly indicated that the woman in the green uniform they had passed was vaguely familiar to her.

There was no help for it, however, as only one obstacle remained: the admiral's secretary. Palo extended his arm to press the door actuator, preceding Kimba into the outer office and forming up next to her in front of the gray-skinned Twi'lek male. He attempted to keep his expression and posture neutral as she again announced their presence and presented their credentials; like his counterpart in the front office, he seemed vaguely flummoxed but unwilling, or perhaps unable, to find a reason to refuse admittance. "The commandant is free at the moment, Lieutenant," he advised them instead. "Better see to your business quickly."

"It won't take but a moment," Kimba replied easily, favoring the sergeant with a smile as she turned toward the inner door.

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

"Don't do that to me again," Reeka admonished heatedly when Laera met her and Tuffass at the airspeeder drop-off pad. "When I woke up and found you had gone, I almost had a flashback..."

Laera inclined her head apologetically. "Last night I said...well, perhaps I should have made sure to see you before leaving."

"Let it go, Lieutenant," Tuffass advised sagely. "She did tell us she was going in early. What did you learn, Captain?"

Reeka seemed to deflate a bit as the pair walked on, Laera delivering a brief rundown of what she had felt and, in some cases, overheard. "The mood within High Command is tense, but they're doing their best given the circumstances. No one is expecting an immediate follow-up, and I'm inclined to agree. He's got a plan, Revan, and I don't think we're going to have any more luck in anticipating his next move than a granite slug would in predicting hawkbat maneuvers."

"Consolidation and assessment," Reeka chimed in, her sour mood smothered by her innate professionalism. "They talked about this in OCS."

"And from the chatter that's going around," Laera continued, "we lost a lot of ships at Foerost, either disabled, destroyed, or stolen outright. We're down to a very slim margin of naval reserves, a factor that is only going to become more acute. Which means..."

The Gand perked up like a nek being offered a hunk of raw meat. "Which means that Tuffass's beloved Corps will be in thick of it once the time is right."

"Exactly. And I suspect that Admiral Dun'vei is going to agree."

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

"You're right, I do agree with this assessment," the commandant confirmed confidently several minutes later, after Laera had explained herself in greater detail. "I believe that this is precisely the kind of warfare Admiral Tobonne imagined for us: small units of highly-trained soldiers fighting along many fronts, coordinating our actions as we harass the enemy and interfere with his plans. That's why I'm giving you command of the Third Battalion, with a free hand in developing your own operational plans."

A tremor of silence zipped through the room in reaction to this announcement. Laera was uncertain what to think, but a glimmer of comprehension was dawning in Reeka's eyes. "Your old unit," the Rodian murmured breathlessly. "They'll be glad to see you back."

The admiral nodded. "Indeed they will, once we get them all in one place and begin working them back up to combat readiness. I can think of no one better suited to the task than you, Captain Reyolé, particularly given your unique abilities and experiences."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," Laera acknowledged soberly. "Reeka tells me they suffered rather badly after I left to head up General Sunrider's outfit."

The Bothan's neck fur rippled and his eyes flicked in a gesture that Laera recognized as sadness intermingled with regret. "The lieutenant is correct. She identified the Third as one of the units most vulnerable in these uncertain times, a vulnerability that I hope to see taken care of. Your presence should also alleviate any resentment that veterans of the Mandalorian front may have toward High Command, regarding their withdrawal from the front after the defeat at Jaga's Cluster."

"You do realize, Admiral, that they will eventually have to be told of my status, if not my entire history since leaving," Laera pointed out.

"Indeed, and I trust your judgment," Voskel nodded. "You may tell them whatever you feel is necessary, and when."

There was a pregnant pause as the four beings pondered the course that this session was charting. Inwardly, Laera was overjoyed at being put back into her old battalion, but that feeling was swiftly becoming overshadowed by the burden of responsibility she bore both in helping to shape its role in the last war, and in leading it into a new one. Closing her eyes, she called upon the Force to steady herself, taking ownership of her emotions and letting them dissipate into her being as she had been taught. This was an inevitability in a way, a confirmation of her status as a Jedi and a veteran field commander; she should be proud of this accomplishment, yet detached from further emotional investment.

"Admiral, when did you get that?" Tuffass said into Laera's brief meditation, holding out a tridactyl hand and pointing. She looked about for the source of the Gand's inquiry, her eyes falling upon a collection of carved wooden objects that occupied a shelf behind the commandant's desk just above his seated head. She recognized among them one of her own pieces: a Foray-class frigate she had sent to Captain Teeklak Sookanado shortly after her graduation from OCS and posting to Bad Alshir as a junior lieutenant. The item had somehow found its way into the Bothan's possession, but that wasn't the object that had drawn the gunnery sergeant's attention.

"This?" the admiral responded with a shrug, turning about and extracting what looked like a brand-new addition. "A Lieutenant Serabau delivered it just before you arrived. She said it was a gift from Admiral Scaderi, CO of the Second Marine Division."

"May I take a look, Admiral?" Laera asked, almost reluctantly as a sense of uneasiness began to pucker her skin.

"I don't see why not," the Bothan nodded, handing her the item. "It is quite a fine effort, as I'm sure you can appreciate."

The first thing about the piece, which depicted the claw-like shape of an Interdictor-class cruiser, that struck her as odd was the newness of it. Long experience with woodcarving screamed at her from her previous life, forming a feeling in her gut that this seemingly innocuous gift was not as benign as this Lieutenant Serabau would have had the commandant believe, which only compounded her ill ease. The angles were too sharp, the wood hadn't had time to heal, and the craftsbeing hadn't even applied a protective stain and sealant. Running her right index finger along the base, she examined the model's display stand both with her sense of touch and the Force. Though the organic material was dead, it was still possible to sense the currents of life that had once flowed through it, along the extremely fine grain that halsa wood was famous for...

"Admiral, detain that officer!" she barked as realization hit her like a bolt of ionized plasma.

There was a very faint crackling noise as three necks cricked at once to regard her, the heads upon them gaping open-mouthed at the Jedi in their midst. Barely a beat passed before the admiral slapped the intercom button. "Ranro'alsik, get security on the horn! Tell them to round up my previous appointment on the double! All hands on deck!"

"Yes sir," the secretary's voice replied crisply.

"Now, if you would, please explain why I just sent two companies of armed Marines in pursuit of this woman and her apparent accomplice," Voskel rumbled, a hint of nebulous menace in his tone.

In response, Laera squeezed the base of the model cruiser with one hand, its upper hull with the other and, with a loud crack!, snapped off the ventral appendage. Flicking it nonchalantly over her shoulder, she dug into the newly-revealed hole, fished out a small black object, and smacked it hard onto the desk. "That's why."

&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;

"If Lord So-and-so ever asks me to do something like this again, I am going to go AWOL," Kimba remarked dully once the speeder taxi had dropped them off back at their safehouse building and they were nearing their temporary quarters. "That was entirely too close."

"I think, for once, we may be of an accord," Palo replied, his legs still shaking slightly as they entered their apartment. "Perhaps we could both get away from galactic politics for a while, maybe go into business for ourselves?"

"Don't push it, Palo," Kimba retorted mildly, shrugging off her tunic and gulping down mouthfuls of air like a fish out of water. "We just pulled off a coup that may well have every bounty hunter on the Republic's payroll after our hides."

"They have to realize what we've done, first," the Wroonian assured the ex-Marine. "By the time they do, we will be long gone."

"You better be right," Kimba snapped, but the effect was ruined by the softness of her expression as she stripped off the tight red uniform and replaced it with a much more comfortable ensemble. "How soon until our launch window?"

Palo glanced at the wall chrono as he followed suit. "Not for another few hours, unfortunately. And it would do neither of us any favors to simply go back to the Brixan Messenger and wait for clearance."

Kimba cast him a dubious look. "I told you to try and put a tighter timetable together! Those few hours are the difference between us getting away and this whole thing blowing up in our faces!"

"Oh believe me, if that had been possible I would have done so," Palo retorted. "Were it up to me we would already be burning sky until we saw lines! But with the war now in full swing, the military is running the show, and their traffic control systems are much more sophisticated. One box unchecked, one incorrect keystroke, that's all it takes. Then boom, we're done for."

"If we don't make it offworld, you will be the first I kill I swear to..."

Palo had no doubt of that whatsoever in his mind as he began to scoop up incriminating items. The pair of them worked diligently for the next few minutes gathering up the evidence of their existence and plans, with Kimba setting up a small disintegrator next to the garbage chute in the food prep area. The uniforms were the first to go, followed by Palo's carving tools, then the decoy holobox...