Featherhead - pt. 4

Maedune was flying through the velvet black of outer space. High orbit, really, just above the jungle planet of Crondre. Dead ahead were three Imperial *Dreadnaught*-class Heavy Cruisers, but they weren’t his target. Instead of engaging with the three *Dreadnaughts*, Maedune had been ordered to drop off yet another contingent of Marines to the planet to reinforce the ground troops who were beginning an attack on a pesky artillery FOB that had been giving hell to the Republic forces on the surface. Behind him, flying in fleet formation, were three imposing New Republic cruisers, two of which being MC80 Liberty-types, called the *Intrepid* and the *Frontier*. The third was called the *Temperance*, an MC75 Star Cruiser refitted for combat.

The *Intrepid* had been over Crondre for several days now, primarily watching and supporting New Republic troops that were stuck on the planet. Maedune had been a part of the operation, ferrying troops to and fro, even using his U-wing as close air support at one time. Imperial *Dreadnaught*-class Heavy Cruisers had blockaded the planet and were wreaking havoc. Now, *Frontier* and *Temperance* had arrived, and the real battle had begun. Despite this, however, it was still up to Maedune to support the ground troops who were dug in, defending a critical medical supply depot on the surface. During the chaotic, desperate battle that would begin the next several minutes, Maedune was to sneak past and drop off the Marines before assisting in the attack on the artillery position. All three of the Republic cruisers were moving in attack formation behind his craft, their compliments of starfighters already on their way to begin initial engagements with the Imperial *Preybirds*. Maedune already knew that the fight was going to be a real knife-and-gun show, and so, he maneuvered the U-wing out of the picture for the time being, waiting for his chance to make the run to the surface.

Fighters from both sides came together in the middle, all semblance of coordination evaporating in an instant. A-wings and X-wings engaged in a brutal slugging match with the enemy fighters, keeping the *Preybirds* off of the B-wings and Y-wings that were attempting to make early bombing runs on the *Dreadnaughts* to little effect. As this happened, the cruisers entered long-range engagement distance. High yield proton torpedoes were fired in every direction, reddish-purple blazes of light reaching out to destroy the enemy. Some were shot down by point-defense blaster fire, others were scrambled by electronic counter measures, screaming off into the void, only to explode on their own volition. Few reached their targets, both sides taking several hits. *Temperance* had taken the blunt, however, though her deflector shields held for the time being.

This bombardment went on for some time, till the six battlecruisers entered medium engagement distance. Turbolaser batteries and ion cannons entered the mix. At this point, the starfighters had buzzed off in independent engagements, point defense blasters attempting to aid the respective allied fighter compliments or shooting down the fighters that dared to attempt a bombing run. Maedune realized this was his chance. He fired up the engines as the battle got into the thick of it, blasting towards the surface.

The few fighter engagements he passed didn’t pay too much mind to him, the *Preybirds* focused on getting their kill. As he began his descent, the three Imperial cruisers surrounded the *Temperance*. The battle had now become one of broadsides, something Rebel Alliance tacticians had never even considered to be on the table in an upfront fight, something that carried over in the New Republic simply out of habit. A broadside attack was something only the desperate or brave did, and devastating if done properly.

At the time of the Rebel Alliance, there simply had not been enough resources, nor did the Rebel ships have the capability to compete in a full on broadside attack against an Imperial Star Destroyer. It was simply suicide to do so. Here, over Crondre, the move was not as punishing, had the New Republic commanders thought of it first, but they didn’t. The Imperials did, because the tactic was what killed capitol ships, and they were good at it.

The three ships converged in an isosceles triangle, covering *Temperance* in converging firing arcs. Every gun on every blister of the Imperial heavy cruisers open fired. Point defense blasters, turbolasers, you name it. It was hard to miss at that range. The Temperance made a futile attempt to fire back, but it had been cut short halfway through the barrage, caught off guard. The central reactor of the MC75 had imploded at that point, leaving the star cruiser in its death throes, cascading explosions erupting across the hull. By the time the *Temperance* began a downward descent towards Crondre caused by gravity, repulsors failing as a result of the onslaught of fire, Maedune had already entered the atmosphere of the planet.

“Three-point-five thousand souls aboard,” thought Maedune. He knew that some escape pods had to have launched. Little did he know that the ones that did manage to escape the inferno, small craft with a one-jump, limited range hyperdrive installed, had jumped away to Ukio, a planet that was about to be captured by Grand Admiral Thrawn.

“Do that one, babe.” The voice was distant, but close at the same time, like it came from right behind him. Major Halcorr of the 23rd Imperial Starfighter Corps spotted the target, a rebel T-65B X-wing starfighter.

“Yes, Ma’am.” With the finesse of years behind the stick, the starfighter Major lined the enemy fighter up in his kill slot, opening fire. The red streaks that issued forth from the *Preybird*-class starfighter Halcorr was flying decimated the rebel X-wing, causing it to break apart in a violent explosion over Crondre. He still called them rebels. To call them the “New Republic” only legitimized them, and Grand Admiral Thrawn had outlawed the use of the term 'New Republic.' So, to him, they were ‘rebels.’

Halcorr had been the most senior fighter pilot sent on the diversionary mission to the jungle planet. In fact, many of the green pilots he served with called him the ‘Bloody Baron,' though he had never officially been awarded the title. Due to this, he was given charge of a squadron of Imperial *Preybird*-class Starfighters, replacing the TIE Fighters that the pilots under his command were used to. He didn’t mind the downgrade from TIE Fighter to Preybird, though. It was mission essential, and plus, he still got to kill rebels. He didn’t despise the rebels, not before the blossom festival, at least. In fact, at the time, he had sympathized with them. Thought what they were doing was right, thought that the Empire was evil. Right up until Saw Gerrera’s Partisans arrived on Inusagi. The massacre that night claimed… Her. Along with all the other party goers. The very next day, Halcorr had walked into an Imperial recruitment office, wearing his best clothes.

“Do another one, babe,” she said in his ear. He didn’t hesitate. He lined up his next target, a RZ-1 A-wing interceptor. This one took a bit more skill. It’s deflectors were stronger than the X-wings, and the pilot was evidently much more skilled. He didn’t pay much mind though, he was better. Fifteen years of combat service with the starfighter corps did that. The A-wing was reduced to a fiery smear on the backdrop of outer space. He had been offered promotions to Colonel in the past, but he had refused them. It would have meant he was the Commander of the Air Group, the CAG, but that came with less opportunities to kill rebels, which is all he wanted to do.

More Rebel capital ships had arrived at the planet not too long before, backing up the single MC80 that had been lying in wait for the last two days. What followed the arrival of the two rebel ships was a quick starfighter sortie before a slugfest. The battle was in full swing, now, and all going according to plan. Off to port side, the MC75 that had only just arrived to the planet lit up in explosions following a violent coordinated broadside attack by all three of the *Dreadnaughts*.

“Do another one, babe,” she said once more. “That one.” His eyes scanned the skies beyond the *Preybird’s* cockpit. He found it. A rebel U-wing, painted white and yellow. Fat and slow. Easy kill. It was making its way down to the surface, just breaking the atmosphere. “Do that one, babe.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Maedune had attempted to launch chaff and flare countermeasures to stop the concussion missiles directed for his dropship, but the enemy pilot was just too good. Knew where to hit, and when to do it.

“Chaff flare,” announced the toneless rudimentary onboard AI. It hadn’t helped. While the missiles were effectively made redundant by the countermeasures, the instant it took for Maedune to fire off the countermeasures, he was distracted. At that moment, the *Preybird* fired off the it’s main blaster cannon, taking out the shields and one of the U-wing’s S-foils while causing severe damage to the engines and main power. The U-wing entered into a dead spin, the stick going dead in Maedune’s hands.

Warning lights and sirens competed with each other to see who was the loudest. The *Preybird* that had followed the U-wing down into the atmosphere had broke off, probably assuming the bird was dead in the sky. In the back of his mind, Maedune wished they had ended him right then and there. It would have been a lot more merciful than allowing the ship to disintegrate the moment it hit the ground.

Centrifugal force was crushing Maedune against his seat, preventing him from moving. He was helpless. A tornado of wind rushed through the shattered and now open canopy. All the while, the ship’s rudimentary AI bellowed, “Warning. Catastrophic structural damage has occurred. Abandon ship.”

The ship continued to tumble, and the spin revolutions were so violent that a black cloud began to form at the edges of Maedune’s vision. In seconds, he would pass out.

When he woke up again, the ship had stopped spinning. The yaw reversers had kicked in, and stabilized rotation. Maedune looked over at the droid beside him. It was frantically attempting everything it could to bring the ship down safely. At that moment, Maedune realized he had been able to move his head, and with effort, searched for the controls in front of him.

The thrust reversers were there, and he grasped them, pushing forwards. A second later, there was a loud bang as the engines exploded, sending a soul crushing shudder through what remained of the ship. Maedune didn’t even bother looking at the readouts that displayed the kind of damage they took. It was bad, but he knew he had to do something. He was responsible for everyone aboard.

Maedune’s next move was to re-initiate the repulsors that helped handle atmospheric flight. A heavy thud could be felt as the craft slowed in free fall, but they were still indeed falling. He knew that if he coaxed the bird to land on its stomach, its landing repulsors would help prevent vaporization on impact with the ground, which had rapidly been coming towards them. Maybe he’d come out of this one yet. Maedune pulled back on the stick, hearing himself scream just before impact. His world turned black.

It was a burning sensation in Maedune’s back that caused him to flutter open his eyes in a pain racked consciousness. Everything was muted and blurred. He couldn’t make out anything around him, though he knew on a cognitive level that he was still in the U-wing’s cockpit. An alarm, almost a whisper to him, kept a steady hum around him. He tried to adjust himself, but cried out due to a sharp pain in his leg.

“That hurt. Don’t do that again.” The additional spike of pain helped focus his vision.

He could see the instrument panel in front of him. The cockpit’s canopy was still gone. He briefly recalled it shattering during the descent. Outside, all he saw was the jungle. Deep greens, turned even deeper and darker with the oncoming of night. Maedune then adjusted his head to look down at his leg. He saw that it was bent where it shouldn’t be in a place much too high, between the knee and the hip. Green, chlorophyllic blood oozed from a tear in his jumpsuit where the leg was bent. The realization that his femur was snapped brought on a brand new wave of pain and nausea.

“K-3…” His voice was a dry croak, a whisper. “You there?”

He looked to the right and found that the droid was simply gone. Had the droid been torn out of the cockpit during the fall, and he simply hadn’t noticed? Maedune removed his helmet, feeling the sweat on his hair bristle. He tossed the helmet into the empty co-pilot’s seat beside him, before leaning over, hurling his lunch onto the empty seat where the helmet came to rest. He took a moment to rest, before reaching beneath his seat as best he could, fumbling with a compartment to grab a sub-compact machine blaster, equipped with all the bells and whistles the New Republic offers. He checked the tibanna cartridge, charged the weapon, and waited. He didn’t bother with the comm, because it had not once asked for Nomad Four’s status, something he had hoped for. Faint sounds of the jungle could be heard outside.

A dreadful thought crossed Maedune’s mind. “Would a New Republic QRF come to find him first, or would the Imperials?” He stopped that thought dead, and focused on more pressing matters. He realized that one of the various noises that he assumed was the local planet’s many variations of wildlife, was really footsteps on the jungle floor. Maedune held the sub-compact at the ready, while simultaneously holding his breath. The blaster felt so heavy, but he didn’t let go.

The crunching footsteps were coming around the back. The thought struck Maedune that the footsteps may be a Marine, or maybe even the QRF. He had no way of knowing how long he’d been out, but he imagined it had only been a few minutes. Who could say how consciousness worked once you lost it?

He decided to call out a warning, because he didn’t want to shoot a friend, and if it wasn’t a friend… Well, he was dead either way.

“Hap…” That wasn’t what he meant to say, but that’s what issued forth from his mouth. He didn’t know what it meant.

“Please do not open fire, Captain.” The toneless voice of the automata that had been assigned as his co-pilot replied. “I am here to help.”

Maedune lowered his weapon, and the droid seemed to sense, or more likely, process that the tension had been resolved. A massive matte black figure appeared in the left most corner of the shattered canopy. It’s eyes glowed a pale white and swiveled all about inside it’s head. Had Maedune not been in close contact with the droid beforehand, the sight of the giant standing darker than night would have probably terrified him. As it was, he felt only moderately scared.

The droid approached. “Are you hurt, Captain?” Maedune was indeed hurt, but the droid knew that. It was really asking if Maedune was about to fall unconscious or maybe even die.

“My leg…” Maedune managed, groaning from the very memory of seeing that grotesquely fractured limb. The droid efficiently clambered into the cockpit to take a look. “I’m going to have to remove you from the canopy, Captain.”

The droid was not asking for permission, it was simply doing. Trying to help. It leaned forwards, unlatching the harness restraints that kept Maedune in his seat during flight, causing more weight to sit on his broken leg. He let out a pained, “Gah!”

“Apologies, Captain.” The droid’s voice modulator filtered the words out with both compassion and urgency. It hadn’t been so sorry that it was going to stop. The droid then moved outside, sitting on the U-wing’s sloped nose, before grabbing Maedune at the collar before pulling him from his seat and out of the shattered window.

Maedune roared in pain all the way out. He was nearly hyperventilating when the droid lowered him down into the jungle brush. It had felt like the six Corellian Hells were trying to escape through that gash in his leg, where the femur had been broken. Resting, he felt his senses come back to him, the feeling of a watering mouth returning when he was down, signaling that he was about to vomit once more. He only dry heaved. The pain was still intense when he was done, but at least he was no longer being jostled and jarred. He never wanted to get picked back up. At some point along the journey, he had dropped his sub-compact machine blaster.

“Weapon…” he said, looking up to the big droid, not bothering to thank it for retrieving him. The droid looked around, so Maedune did as well. The Marines bodies were laid out in a line next to him, their pristine tiger stripe fatigues made dirty and wet with blood. Their white, conical helmets in the fashion of Alderaanian consular security, more in respect than practicality, were removed and discarded off to the side. None were moving. Off to the side, the U-wing’s on board surgical bot was attempting to tend to one of the bodies, floating over one. This one wasn’t dead, but he was sitting perfectly still, just whimpering something.

The droid then trundled into the cargo hold of the U-wing. Maedune strained to listen to the man. He didn’t know him, but he was a Marine, just like Maedune. A moment later, it returned carrying a Marine’s A280C blaster rifle, as well as the Marine that it likely belonged to. It set the man next to the rest, before handing the blaster rifle off to Maedune. He preferred the heavy rifle over the sub-compact anyways. As they said, every Marine is a rifleman.

Maedune heard himself ask, “Where’s Rhoro?” The droid stared for a moment, inspecting the corpses for a moment longer, before saying. “Unknown.” It then returned into the ship, not saying anything else.

The man was balling, tears in his eyes, a face a mask of pain and death and sorrow. The man was asking for help, saying, “I can’t- I can’t do it, Ma’!” He looked over at Maedune, a begging look in his eyes. “Hold my hands up…” he mumbled weakly. “I can’t move my hands and… and he’s comin’...” The Marine began to sob again, softly this time. “Mama told me I gotta hold my hands up when he comes… The angel… That way they knows I was ready to go… But my back’s broken-... I can’t...” The man devolved back into sobbing.

Maedune tried. He made the attempt to get up, that’s what he told himself, but he still regretted not being able to do so. The broken leg prevented it. The Marine had been on the other side of the bodies, the little hovering surgical bot moving onto the next body, probably just to confirm for the record what its cause of death was. K-3P9 was standing off to the side, watching silently.

“Help him,” pleaded Maedune. “Hold his arms up…” The droid moved over to the man, doing as asked, delicately. A few minutes later, after another soft fit of sobs, the Marine died.

Maedune felt like he should have said something, and started to, but stopped. As if it was sacrilegious. As though he had no right to speak out loud during such a pivotal point in a mans one and only life. His mind supplied him with an abundance of phrases to say. They were all memorable, worthy things, in isolation. Things he read others say at times like this in the history books, or in the holofilms.

“You did all that could ever be asked.”

“Your sacrifice would never be forgotten.”

“You did good, kid. You did good.”

Each of these sounded phony, hollow, forced. Unworthy of the Marine’s final moments of life. Maedune looked back over to the dead man. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

“Perhaps he worshiped the Diathim of Iego,” supplemented K-3P9 as he crossed the dead Marine’s arms over his chest. “Though, all instances of the Diathim recorded in Galactic history, rare as that may be, were female.”

“Find my gunner,” interrupted Maedune, his voice venomous. The droid’s head dropped slightly, along with its shoulders. “Yes… Captain,” it had said with a somber tone, before going back to the crashed ship.

He then laid down in the dirt, looking upwards at the night sky. The near silent surgical droid hovered over, and began to tend to the pilot’s broken leg. A human medic may not have known what to do, and probably would have panicked over his green blood, in fact. Luckily for Maedune, however, the surgical droid did know what to do. He thought about that for a moment, thinking about the special kind of hell it must have been to be a Rebel Alliance logistics officer at the height of the Rebellion. All the different races and species, and all the different kinds of ships, many of which were modular, individually unique Mon Calamari designs. All that coupled with the constant changing supply lines that came with a fractured Rebellion.

In the night sky, he saw five of the brightest stars twinkling back at him. They were swarming one another, intermingling and moving in an unnatural fashion. He took note of the number, five, not six. That meant the *Temperance* had indeed been destroyed. He was far away from that fight now, and was simply an observer. Every once and awhile, a small star seemed to twinkle into existence, before disappearing without a trace. He knew it wasn’t really a star, only the illusion. They were really explosions that marked the death of some crew member aboard one of the five remaining ships in combat. He admitted to himself that there was a macabre kind of beauty to it. The kind you wanted to look away from, to detest because of what it really was, but you simply couldn’t. It was too awesome, too eye catching. It was the kind of beauty that meant somebody was dying on the other end of the spectacle. Then, three of the stars twinkled out of existence at the exact same moment, leaving the two behind, alone.

Maedune assumed the Imperials had retreated during what he assumed was a pivotal battle. Crondre was a medical supply depot for the New Republic, and many had assumed the Imperials were here with the intention to strike that depot, steal or deny supplies to the Republic. What had actually occurred over the planet was much worse. While the Marine had been dying in the big droids arms, Grand Admiral Thrawn had forced the agri-world of Ukio, one of the top five food suppliers to the New Republic, to capitulate. Under threat of destruction, the planet had re-joined the Galactic Empire who had deceived the Ukians by appearing to fire turbolaser batteries directly though the planetary shield the planet was equipped with. All the death, and all the fighting was simply a diversion so that Thrawn could easily take Ukio at that pivotal moment when the New Republic’s fleet was preoccupied. Maedune didn’t know it yet, but it would be the last time he flew for the New Republic as a U-wing pilot. All for a dirty ruse that his government had fallen for.