[Corusca] A Squadron Reborn

[Minuteman75]

It has been a few days since the titanic battle of Naboo between the Empire and its enemies occurred. By a sheer miracle the Rebel allied forces, were saved from total destruction by the arrival of the mysterious rainbow fleet and then routed the Imperial invaders. Despite turning the tide, it had been a costly victory for the insurgents. The members of the rebel frigate Corusca and its fighter squadron codename Violet felt those losses personally. Forty-seven dead, including four pilots as a result of the battle.

By comparison such casualties made seem light to a causal observer but for each men and women who loss someone they cared that fateful day, the grief was utter hell. The only solace the Corusca crew could take from it, was that those deaths were avenged by the victory they achieved. Still it couldn't bring back the comrades, friends, and lovers taken due to death's impartial hand. Bittersweet indeed Forim Viridux thought to himself as he lead his remaining squad mates quietly down a hallway. Their destination was the captain's quarters, for they were invited to share a private drink with the commanding officer, Arya Atin'al. Though hesitant and still grieving they compiled with the order/invite.

All of them were wearing causal clothes since their Mandalorian captain mostly prefer to keep things to be less regulated and formal during off-duty hours. Forim himself wore a brown spacer jacket with a red t-shirt, blue pants and dark boots, it was his favorite grab beside the flight suit. Pal, his emerald atsromech rolling alongside him, chirping softly in comfort to his organic partner.

"Thanks buddy I know we made it count back at Naboo, but their deaths are still on me. My command, my fault."

Forim whispered back to Pal in order to avoid being overheard by the rest of the pilots, but the attempt likely fail since they were all bunch up together. Then finally they arrived to Arya's door and opened it then entered inside.

 

[Loco]

Arya wouldn't have called her living space unpresentable, but it was hardly the tight ship she had once enforced at the Atin'al ancestral home in the mountains of Manda'yaim. Where once she had kept the kids (and Aeden, and sometimes even Damri and Akil) in line, with the floor pillows straightened up, the light fixtures in their proper place, all toys and/or weapons in their racks, and boots by the door. At this point, in the Corusca's captain quarters, she adhered to maybe one or two of these rules at any given time. At this particular point of time she was doing rather well for herself, with her beskar alloy plated boots placed neatly next to the entry hatch (with a blaster carbine perched next to them) and all other manner of weaponry properly stored or concealed on or about her person.

Even still, the quarters seemed to her a mess. Though not exactly luxurious, the CO's quarters were significantly more spacious than the multi-person bunk rooms afforded to the majority of the crew. She had her own desk, dining nook, and sofa. Shortly after taking command of the vessel she had brokered a few deals, trading a stained and tattered love seat for a pair of Rogue class fighter ejector seats (one with a neat blaster burn through the middle). The standard caf table had been swapped out for a rifle sized weapons crate- convenient in Arya's mind for the dual purpose of serving as a caf table and an actual weapons crate, because... uh, reasons. A few personal touches had also managed to accumulate during her tenure. A hand carved cuba'kid board sat lonely on the caf table/weapons crate, and her sword- the only family heirloom to survive the genocide- hung from a hook on the wall above her double sized bunk. Datapads covered nearly every spare surface of her desk, and her armor sat neatly stacked in the corner near her wardrobe.

In contrast to the polished black shell she normally wore, she now paced the room in her only set of traditional garb she'd had stuffed in the bottom of a bag for her escape from the fires of death- a flowing, silky, loose fit affair of brilliant greens and yellows, grounded by tan undertones and with the sleeves anchored at her wrists by delicate looking but sturdy gold bands. The style was that of the mountai dwellers of her people- simple, elegant, and functional. Silk breathed well in the brutally hot summers of Manda'yaim. The sash style belt was broad and colorful, and perfectly concealed the flexible duraplast holster that held her curved fighting knives and her taskmaster pistol concealed at the small of her back. There was never any such thing as unarmed.

Arya turnd toward the sound of her door whisking open. She brushed a lock of golden hair behind her ear and set her mouth sternly as Forim stepped through the threshold first, "Boots OFF."

 

[BZenwrath]

Remember the dead, live for them. Mourn their sacrifice, but live for them.

Violet 6, Lynwood Akin, walked quietly alongside Forim Viridux, the battle over Naboo still fresh in his mind. It had been a long time since he felt the loss of friends plaguing his thoughts. Despite knowing the feeling, the loss of friends was never easy to handle. It didn't just weigh on him, it was apparent the losses weighed on everyone heavily. Four pilots in one maneuver. They knew it was risky, the simulations didn't prepare you for the actual losses. The Corusca's hallways would seem a little less lively with the missing pilots of Violet.

Currently however, Violet, well those left in Violet, were asked to meet with the Commander. Akin had great respect for her and anyone else who had the responsibilities of command. It was a tough position to be in, one he never wanted to have. He had enough troubles as is, the worst position he could imagine was having the responsibility of even more. This feeling of respect was extended to even his young Squadron lead, Forim. He glanced at the Duros hotshot. When he was first assigned to Violet after agreeing to join, he avoided the pilot like he was the plague. Now wasn't much better, but in battle Akin trusted the man with his life.

Dressed in his classic flight jacket, red shirt underneath, some dark grey pants, and his flight boots, Akin followed Forim into the CO's quarters. He didn't exactly have anything in the way of off-duty attire with the way he was brought into the rebellion. It wasn't close to what he used to wear, but no one seemed to care too much about how they were dressed. He smirked a bit when Arya ordered the removal of their boots. He removed his boots and placed them just inside the CO's quarters. He looked around the room, taking note of the... utilitarian style... He didn't expect anything less from a Mandalorian.

 

[Minuteman75]

As soon he heard the captain telling them all to take off the boots, Forim though surprised, quickly compiled as did the others. Pal beep sounds that hinted amusement at the pilots' haste to follow the command. Forim rolled his eyes in respond but then took note of the state the room was in. Needless to say he didn't expect it to be totally like this. In all fairness, he tended to a be chaotic with his own stuff except with it came to fighter-craft. Once the group was inside, Greeta the Rodian, the most less experienced pilot of them looked at Arya's outfit and nodded, being impressive.

"Are those clothes homemade? Greeta asked nervously, she was a kind girl yet timid when out of the cockpit and she was very much aware who she talking to. Beside flying she enjoyed music, clothes, and anything cultural, which explained her curiosity right now. Next to her, Bol, the squadron second in command and a Mon Calamari looked at her like an amused parent and whispered to her that it's okay to ask the question. Forim looked on and wondered how Arya would react to such a simple inquiry.

 

[Ral]

Carii Galaar wondered what the purpose of this assembly in Arya's quarters was all about. Stepping into the Commander's room, Carii couldn't help but chuckling quietly at the order. It wasn't all that surprising to her, and so she took off the boots she was wearing and placed them next to the others. The redhead was wearing her typical pilot's flightsuit, unzipped down to the waist and arms tied around her hips to keep it from dragging on the floor. Carii was wearing a black tanktop which displayed the tattoos which covered her arms and back, her burgundy red hair was tied in a french braid that draped across her shoulder.

Smirking as Greeta asked if the clothes were homemade, Carii looked at Arya to see her reply. Regardless of the answer, she would smile and comment, "You look good, Arya, reminds me of home. So, would someone like to inform me what we're all doing here?"

 

[Loco]

"Yes, it is," Arya responded with a pursed smile to the Rodian girl, "But not by me."

Truth be told, Arya was most definitely the creative sort- her creativity, however, was limited to flight maneuvers in a starfighter, the interesting application of high explosives, and the occasional bout of classical music composition. It was her adoptive sister, Alymah, who was the real housekeeper. She had been the seamstress, the cook, the child rearer... It was she who had sewn this particular getup from scratch. Arya could never hope to imitate her skillful hands. The galaxy was a less beautiful place without her.

"The reason you're all here is," She looked first to Carii, and then to the rest of the pilots shuffling through her doorway, "is to give you one chance to unburden yourselves." She moved to her bunk and withdrew a small crate. Inside were three bottles of Concordian Tihaar- probably some of the last in the galaxy. The few bottles of fruit liquor before her could probably buy half this ship, she knew. For awhile she had been drinking so much of it she could have bought a small army with the proceeds. The longer she spent with the Rebellion, however- and the longer she spent in command here- the less she found herself drinking. A little bit of purpose in life could go a long way. She withdrew a bottle and worked loose the cork. Nine small cups sat prepared on the small dining nook counter, and she moved to them.

"My people... The way I came up..." Arya started slowly, passing out cups a quarter full of Tihaar with stern looks implying it wasn't an option, "We know each othe', yeh? The crews o' ships this size are femilies, squadrons the same. It was years before I spent any time around a comrade I wasn't related to," not blood relative of course, but Arya would never have made that distinction, "end ou' trust was built off years o' experience togethe' o' the implicit trust given by people thet had spent years around thei' leade'. None o' us heve thet luxury, yeh? You barely know me, end I barely know you, end I got a lot of you killed on purpose." The cups were all passed out and Arya poured one for herself before sitting, legs crossed, on the corner of her bunk allowing the pilots to select their own seats. "I made a call thet got nearly helf you' squadron killed, end I'd heve teken worse. Two thirds o' you dead would heve been en ecceptable loss, if the Corusca made it out end we won the bettle. Put in the same situation, I'd do it again."

Arya fixed them all with a stern face. She meant what she said.

"Now's you' chance yeh? You say you' piece with thet. Whateve' you feel, whateve' you think about me, o' the Rebellion, o' Naboo. You get one chence, end one chence only to decide if this is worth it to you- if servin' on this ship unde' me is what you want end what you' willin' to suffe'. Because all o' you' lives come secondary to the mission end if we all end up dead it won't be the worst thin' in the gelexy. If you' not alright with thet ettitude now's you' chence to say it end get out. No ha'd feelin's... Go."

Arya raised her glass to the pilots.

 

[BZenwrath]

Lynwood followed Arya's words, taking the glass of Concordian liquor. He gave her a grateful nod, knowing just how rare the liquor was. This was different for him. He had never known a single Imperial commander to have ever been so understanding of them. At least openly. There was one he served under during the Core Blitz that was similar in a way. However, Arya seemed much more sincere than what was normal for one in her position. She showed every quality he always wanted to see in a commander. It was a little inspiring, even for some one like himself.

When she was finished, he took a moment to think about what she was trying to get across. She couldn't actually expect any of them to take this chance she was giving did she? He had been around wars enough to realize that the position of command meant a great deal of duties. It meant that she weighed outcome with cost. The cost just so happened to be the lives of those she was responsible for. That stress in itself had caused commanders to fail in their duties more than any other reason. The fact that Arya accomplished what she did as a commander spoke multitudes about her.

He raised his glass silently, his eyes a telltale sign that he wouldn't leave this ship so long as it existed. This was his new home and it would be until their job was done.

 

[Minuteman75]

Once again, Forim was reminded of the reason why Arya is their commander as he held his Mando drink and listen to her talk. She was a warrior who can make the hard decisions and live with it in order to succeed. Hard bitten as she is though Forim can tell she cared about the whole crew in her own way or else she wouldn't be honest with them like right now. As harsh as her words were there was truth in them. The young squadron leader had come to see that war dosen't make any exception to anyone when it comes to the price of victory or defeat.

He didn't want his family and others like them to keep living in a galaxy where the Sith and their cult-size empire do as they pleased at everyone's else expense. If his own life is to be forfeited so that the Rebellion can win this war and give people a chance to make better future than so be it. Of course, Forim hoped it wouldn't come to that point to fulfill that goal and perhaps maybe live a full life, but he now prepared to accept either outcome. Raising his cup and glancing toward everyone and especially Pal beside him.

"I made my decision Iong ago when signing up for all this. Of course, I didn't know the full extent of what to expect back then but it doesn't change anything now, for me at least."

He paused and gulped the beverage as the others did in unison. It was actually pretty good, beside flying, racing, Forim always enjoyed a good drink, mostly Corellian vintage though but it seem the Mandos got a knack for it too. Then he thought about the four squad mates that gave their lives back at Naboo.

"I'll miss watching Hawke goof off and hearing his lame jokes or playing dejarik with Wanda, or just flying with Ryu and Serah."

Then with another brief pause finally he added a final note with eyes of determination. "Yet I'll carry on, for there no where else I rather be in this kriffing war than with the Corusca and our squadron."

 

[Loco]

"Jate."

Arya intoned simply as she watched the pilots come to terms with their own grievances before downing their own individual drinks and swallowing their doubts along with it. Truth be told, she'd been prepared for worse. Few among the Violets were quiet as battle hardened as she, though had she really been thinking she might have realized that some of them had seen their homeworlds burned much like she had. She would have been truly surprised if any had taken the opportunity to quiet the squadron, especially after the latest loss. She'd spent the better part of the last year watching and testing them, and there wasn't one among them she considered a coward or even frail of fortitude. No. These were all strong people, and strong pilots to boot. Arya took her own shot in one gulp.

"Jate... Jatne, vod... Well then, since none o' you seem inclined to protest me puttin' you in more end more dangerous positions, you shouldn't heve eny reason to protest this next one, yeh? Right now the Rebellion's big on symbols, end the biggest symbol o' Rebellion's pest hes been Rogue Squadron. They've always been et the forefront of these gelectic fights, but frenkly nobody hes lived long enough so fa' to fill thet role fo' the Rebellion this time round yeh? Leadership's been lookin', end I figure it might es well be you lot."

Arya put her small cup down on the battered weapons crate serving as her caf table. Her mouth was set in a thin line that brooked little argument. What she said was true- the Rebellion need this and Violet squadron has a better record than most. What she hadn't mentioned was that in addition to being effective, and to being a huge morale symbol, Rogue squadron had also always taken brutally heavy casualties. That was a fact of life this new squadron would have to take unto themselves. They would have to see the short term pain of losing pilots to conflicts like Naboo, and come out all the stronger. They would have to be real hero's, this new Rogue Squadron.