“Right, people,” Hublin said. His speech was even more clipped and efficient than usual. “Second Lieutenant Solo and I have a little mission for you lot. Apparently, it’s so simple high command thinks even you cretins can accomplish it. Take a seat and watch the screen."
They sat, Dav on the far right and the others sitting in the order that they'd stood in.
"Screen on," said Hublin. The monitor flickered to life, showing a stylized wireframe picture of the Adeptus.
"This, as you know, is the Adeptus. Our mobile academy wherein we are trained in service to the Empire. While you people have been busy wasting the Empire's time and resources, it's been conducting Empire business throughout a number of systems. We are currently in orbit over this system, codenamed Dorn. You won't have heard of it, since it's only been codenamed after the fourth letter of the Arabeth alphabet. A commander of particular consequence is currently on the world, one whose safety is such that whenever he travels, the typically takes an entourage of between five and ten TIE fighters as an escort. We will link up with his escort in orbit, taking him with us as our charge. We'll then journey at sub-light speed for a period of time to this co-ordinate, delivering the commander to his destination and then returning to base. Are there any questions?"
"Sir?"
"Yes, Daggart."
"Can you tell us who it is we're escorting?"
"No. That information is on a need-to-know basis. And you don’t need to know. Is there anything else?"
"Well…every world out here has a name, even if it's just a nickname. Why not tell us the name of the world we're orbiting? Why all the cloak-and-vibroknife action here? If this person is so important, why have a group like us escort him?"
"I can answer that," Solo said, looking to Hublin for a moment and waiting for his nod. "You'll notice the Lieutenant and I are carrying our blasters with us. That's no accident or measure of protocol. There have been several attempts on the lives of Empire officers lately, on both core and rim worlds. Rebels, pirates, scoundrels, people with a grudge. There's a concern that these scum are getting organized and more efficient as time goes on. As a result, a directive went out to all personnel that officers are to go about their business armed and have an escort when they change locations. Captain Ozzel, if you've seen him in the hallways, now has at least two armed troopers with him even when he goes to lunch. We happen to be closest to this particular system, and…"
His wristpad made a particular noise they'd never heard before. "One moment," Solo said, looking at the message. Hublin picked up the conversation. "Yes, so this mission should be nothing more complicated than a simple supply run. Hopefully you won't embarrass yourselves or me too much, since Second Lieutenant Solo and I will be escorting you five TIE fighters…"
"Ten," said Solo. "It's been upped to ten, Lieutenant. For some reason, the threat level has been increased from level zerek to yirt."
Everyone chuckled. Everything in the Imperial military was designated according to the letters of the galactic alphabet. Aurek, the first letter, was used for the highest of anything, be it a grade on a test, a threat level, or the approval rating of a mopped floor. Zerek, the last level of the common galactic alphabet, was typically the lowest level of anything in the Navy, while yirt, being the second-last letter, was used to designate anything just a shade above lowest or dead last.
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"Right," said Hublin. "Well, they always have their reasons. Eccles, I'll be babysitting you and your group, which will be designated Aurek wing. The Second Lieutenant will gather up and coddle five more pilots from our flight for Besh wing of this assignment. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" shouted all five pilots, who snapped to the seated-attention pose with straight backs and arms pointed at the floor. Solo snapped to attention, too, shouting alongside them.
"And, Cadets?" Solo said, still at attention.
"Yes sir!" they answered.
"Who are we?"
"We! Are! Four! Flight! Sir!"
"What do we do?"
"We, rock, theboat, sir!"
"Good! Unless the Lieutenant has anything else?"
Hublin, his mouth straight, shook his head.
"Excellent. Dismissed!"
After they were gone, Solo started to leave, but felt Hublin's eyes in his back. "What?" he said. He'd felt the slightly older and more advanced Hublin's disapproval enough times to where he no longer took it very seriously, feeling annoyed by it rather than concerned.
"The whole ‘we are four flight’ thing, Solo. It's so…unprofessional."
"Professional is for people like Ozzel, who can't hack it in real combat situations and get stuck babysitting kids like them. And us. Uniting pilots as a group with cheers and exercises gives them confidence, a belief in themselves. And that’s vital out in space, where everything can fall apart in a heartbeat out with no help for a thousand light years. More important," Solo had walked towards Hublin now, jabbing his finger in the air near his chest. "This group of Four Flighters can communicate with, rely on, and trust each other. Better than most families I've seen. It may seem undignified, Shea, especially to someone from a family like yours. But all the dignity in the galaxy won't save you when your wingman gulps vacuum and you need to trust that someone's going to take his place at your elbow, keeping enemy lasers off your tail so you can focus and complete your mission. You got me?"
Hublin smiled. "You're so adorable, Han, when you talk about our pilots as if they really mattered."
"They do matter," he grumbled, "at least to me."
"That, Han, is why I'm on the track out of here to real power in the military, and you'll be stuck babysitting these younglings until your hair turns grey. You’ve got to learn to treat those under your command as a builder views his materials. Certainly, no one wants to waste wood, plasteel, quickcrete or lumiglobes. But we’re not attached to them, either. And we don’t mind expending them for our greater good if need be. Well,” he said, readying himself by stretching and slapping his knees with both hands, “I’m off to lead my team. Assemble some second-stringers to act as our back ups, won’t you?”
Solo looked at Hublin for a second. “Fine,” he said. “But don’t think for a second that I like the way you do things. The way your string these kids along, making them think you’re tough on the outside, but caring on the inside? You’re smooth enough that they probably won’t see it for a while. But mark my words: if you don’t change that attitude, when the time comes and you need them most, they’ll turn on you. And they’ll do it in a way you can’t retaliate against them for. I’ve seen it before.”
Shea Hublin smiled. “You’ve obviously mistaken me for someone who believes that someone raised by a wookie would have anything to say about human power dynamics. Those aren’t pilots, Solo. They are glorified arrows or rocks we throw at the enemy. If they survive, fine. If not, fine, too. No one care about rocks or arrows that are lost, nor do I care about lost pilots, so long as they destroy two-point-three opponents before they themselves are consumed in the black void of space. See you in the hangar bay in an hour. Bring five more pilots. And don’t choose idiots, please.”
“Yes, sir,” Solo said, his voice a soft snarl.
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TO BE CONTINUED....