Being in command meant having to make the hard decisions.

Trudy knew that, but having to dishonorably discharge a talented pilot like Allenby still crawled under the collar and itched. Her shoulders took on a distinct slump as she walked through the hallways of the ship, mouth set in a hard line, going over the confrontation in her head. Could she have done anything differently?

Probably not. Allenby had been hell-bent on what she was doing and no amount of logic was going to dissuade her from flying down to the planet with just her Gundam and a small crew. Trudy was satisfied that she'd manage to stop her from getting herself and others killed... but the incident was a black mark on Starfighter Command and her ability to control her pilots.

These were the times that she hated her job.

Her boots hit the grass of Hydroponics and she made a beeline for the beer tree. She probably would have had better company at the Drunken Dragon, but company wasn't what she was after. Not right now, not after what had just gone down in the hangar.

Knowing this ship though, company would find her whether she wanted it or not.

Not long after the crew left XaXing, the ship had received a communication from the GIA, directed for Leon. In it was a new set of orders, ones that weren't part of Stacy's mission list, it seemed. After reviewing the orders, Leon put them into Stacy, which prompted an abrupt change of course.

While they were given more time than Stacy's usual routine of giving them their orders five minutes before dumping them off the ship, they still didn't have a lot of time to prepare, forcing Leon to call a meeting of some of his senior staff.

He was waiting for them in the briefing room that was just off the main bridge, a hologram of the world they were now headed to displayed over the conference table.

Anyone in Trudy's path on her way to the hangar today would notice an uncharacteristic slump in her shoulders, a shuffle in her step. She seemed despondent, and while she greeted any of her soldiers with the proper protocol, it didn't come with the usual smiles and easy banter.

The reason for that was clear when she entered the hangar and went straight for a vehicle that had sat untouched for months. The cargo doors of her Samson were flung wide open, tools scattered around the bay. She would have to take the door with its painted tiger off in a minute, but for now she just ran her fingertips over the metal, tracing every bullet hole and scorch mark.

"End of the road," she said. "We haven't flown together for a while, and I guess I should have accepted a while back that we wouldn't fly together again."

She stood with her hand pressed against the nose of the Samson, looking up into the broken windows like they were two huge, accusing eyes.

In the aftermath of the hostage situation, there were four funerals to be held. One for Major Charles Kawalsky, Cassandra "Stature" Lang, Private William Hudson, and the pod Stacy identified as Galaxy Blaster. There were only the remains of Charles Kawalsky and Hudson to be dealt with. The corpse of the parasite, Shiva, was given to Luis Sera.

They were gone now. All that was left was to say goodbye.

There was something different about the tavern. Typically, the mood in it was cheerful, almost homey; for the past few days, however, it had been... solemn.

It could have been blamed on a number of things. Because of the recent strike against GLaDOS, people were remembering those that had been repodded, and Hisk, the previous helper, was among that group. Kawalsky, Cassie, and two of the people in the pods had been killed. And lastly, though it was public knowledge by that point that Hiccup and Rose had been hurt, it wasn't yet known exactly what had happened or how bad it was.

Kang knew, though.

All of that combined equaled a somewhat mopey draconian behind the bar.

And this was the part of the job that Leon knew would eventually grate on him. Meetings. They were necessary, and usually productive, but they were not his thing. Still, it was part of the job now, so as per his post on the comms, he made himself available at the Precinct. His old office belonged to Samus now, so for the time being he made himself comfortable in the fifth floor conference room.

Thrawn had gathered and reviewed every scrap of information Stacy had about the disastrous battle with the Ohm--every after-action report, every camera angle. Now, in the Sensorium, he was watching the skirmish unfold in three unsettling dimensions. It was a reconstruction, only as good as the crews' accounts and his own tactical skill. The latter, at least, was formidable.

Parts of the battlefield were empty, grayed-out in a literal "fog of war," where Thrawn had too little information to fill them in. They shifted and flowed as the fight progressed, crewmembers and Ohm disappearing into them and then popping back into existence where the records picked up again.

Gradually, however, the blank spaces were disappearing, as Thrawn ran various scenarios and decided on the most likely. Combat would pause, reverse itself, and then resume with tiny differences, again and again, as bit by bit, with infinite patience, the Grand Admiral recreated the battle to his satisfaction.

If he had any say in the matter, no confrontation with the Ohm would go so poorly again.

Wedge was tired. He hadn't slept much since they'd gotten back to the ship. He'd been busy going over recordings, sensor-readings and other data from their fight with the Ohm. And in between that he'd been checking up on Shinn in the med bay and moving furniture and other things into the headquarters. But this was important. Discussing what had happened, getting impressions from his people and speaking to them about it would be important. So he waited, leaning against the wall in the briefing room, which had been refurnished, along with the other rooms of the headquarters. At least no one was dead, right?

He awoke slowly, taking in the soft beeps and faint thrum of engines around him. They’d been disconcerting when his team was first stationed on the Minerva, but he’d gotten used to them, just like he’d – no, that couldn’t be right. The Minerva had gone down on the moon. And the moon was gone, so he had to be on another ship. He’d be able to figure it out if his head would stop hurting; he hadn’t felt this groggy since Neo-Genesis, when the Destiny had been shot down –

He’d been shot down.

The fight over Zokoz II came back to him in a flash. He struggled to sit up, but it was hard enough just to open his eyes in the bright medbay, and one of his arms was wrapped in some sort of plaster, making it awkward just to scramble just to angle himself slightly upright against the pillow. “What happened?” he choked, his voice coming out hoarse with disuse.

During the last few days prior to their adventures during Shore Leave, Arha had been nudging around the city for places that were suitable for living.  Near the Vatican, she had found a damaged villa and had been able to begin the process of fixing it up.  There were times when the Force was a most welcome ally.  Where there was rubble involved, she found the practice of lifting it even more of a challenge than expected.  Lifting larger items was still not her strongest ability when it came to using the Force.

Chasing away the dust was the simplest of tasks, however, and marked the end of a long period of cleaning.  The small courtyard garden was clear at last.  Arha was pleasantly surprised to find that the large pots that had, at one time, housed trees and plants were largely undamaged.  There were a few chips, but such was all.  Only one had been destroyed, and she had found it a serious task to remove.  She counted herself lucky that she had the Force to fall back upon.  There was good earth under the rubble, this she found rich with moisture.  One could plant things in it and make them grow. 

( In which nothing happens save a bit of dozing. )

As soon as the Ohm appeared, Wedge had begun moving. He practically sprinted off the Obs deck, yelling at Stacy as he headed for the hangar bay.

“Stacy, I need our fighters prepped now..” He doesn’t wait for an answer, instead lifting his comm ring to his lips and speaking into it, the message transmitted across open channels to everybody in range with their own rings.

“Attention, Rogue Squadron. Scramble, scramble, scramble! All pilots report back aboard Stacy and to your fighters. This is no drill! Again, Rogue Squadron, scramble! All pilots to your fighters!” He glanced back at the others who had been close enough to the Obs deck to accompany him back aboard Stacy.

“This is it. We’ve trained. We’re as ready as we can be now. This is for real this time.” With that he headed deeper into the ship.

As he arrived in the hangar, he was already discarding the civilian clothing he’d picked up and was half-running, half-hopping across the bay to his fighter as he struggled into his flight suit. His helmet was waiting in the cockpit. He clambered up into the cockpit, kicked the ladder free to be caught by a tentacle and tugged his helmet on. No time for a walk around. He simply had to trust that the ship was in shape to fly. He keyed the comm system on the fighter, as well as speaking into the comm ring.

“This is Rogue Leader to all fighters. Launch as soon as you’re ready. Form up in wing pairs and engage the enemy. Our primary objective is to keep additional Ohm fighters from reaching the planet and from attacking Stacy. Fly your best out there, everyone. May the Force be with us.” With that he, began a quick-start check of his systems, and punched the throttle as soon as he was sure that his fighter wouldn’t explode when he launched.

“Rogue Leader is away, four lit and green.” His fighter slashed out into space, free of Stacy. And the Ohm were everywhere.

( OOC Stuff beneath the cut )

Arha stood for a long, long moment, her eyes wide as she leaned up against the three person landspeeder she'd carefully driven out.  It was not a difficult piece of machinery to tackle.  It contained people well and there was enough room for baggage, should there be any.  She had her funds (and as pleased with the amount) secured and was more than ready to follow her nose straight to the water's edge.  The ration bags she had been alotted had been secured as of five minutes prior, which left her half-sitting against the front part of the vehicle with her nose in the air and her eyes half closed.

The breeze was warm and felt food after the stifling humidity of the ship.  It smelled clean and good, with the tang of salt that meant the ocean was nearby.  She was looking forward to this thing, perhaps most of all.

But, for the moment, she enjoyed the moment as it was and paused.

The very first thing Tycho did after he disembarked, was to buy a pair of shorts and a shirt, in a lightweight summery material (along with some underwear) and some sunglasses. He stashed his plantsuit in the shopping bag, and then, pulling up a map of the city on his omicom, set out to familiarize himself with the environs.

As much as Tycho liked the idea of getting some drinks and hitting the beach, it was impossible to say how long Stacy would actually allow them to remain on this planet. The smart thing to do would be to get the needed supply gathering done first so that in the event of anything unexpected happening, they would not be forced to leave without stocking up.

Tycho gave a cursory examination to the shops meant for tourists, but he had no doubt the prices were inflated there, and they would not have things in the amounts he needed. No, instead what he wanted was to find where the shops purchased their supplies from.

It would take some sleuth work, but Tycho was sure he was up to the task. He headed down another commercial street that looked promising.

Suddenly, the usual relative peace of the ship is disrupted by a rather loud announcement from Stacy.

||Attention, Attention. All personnel please report to the Observation Deck. Attention, Attention. All personnel please report to the Observation Deck. Attention, Attention, all personnel...||

It's entirely likely that she won't stop repeating the announcement until, well, everyone reports to Obs Deck. The mouth in the huge statue on the wall opens, revealing a screen. On it, the dossier for the mission flickers into display, understandable to every person there. Smaller copies of the dossier appear in holographic form in front of everyone.

The planet's stats, right next to a rotating picture of it, blue with thousands of small islands just barely visible, are as follows:

( Mission Dossier )

--

...Waitaminute. That's no mission.

It's a goddamn vacation.

[ooc: SHORE LEAVE IS GO.]

Tycho was glad the squadron had so many new recruits, and he certainly didn't mind the sizable increase in his work-load that went along with it. After all, that's what his job as squadron XO was; making sure everything was organized. Still though, when it came down to it, Tycho was a pilot. He felt far more comfortable in the cockpit of a fighter than he did anywhere else.

Today, today he could use the distraction of some demanding piloting. Today, he wanted to go fast.

The sensoriums resolved themselves into the familiar hanger bay of the Mon Cal star cruiser Home One. The atmosphere was tense, buzzing with the familiar adrenaline high of before a major battle. With a grin, Tycho hoisted himself into the cockpit of his temporary ship, an A-Wing. Expertly, his fingers flicked over the controls, even as he logged into his squadron's com channel. "Green three has four lit and ready when you are," he informed Green Leader. Then they were off, forming up in a screen with the other fighters, ready to make the short jump to Endor.

Back in realspace, the fighter screen streamed towards the half finished Death Star, until there was Lando's voice on the coms, barking at them to pull back. It was a trap, the Death Star's shields were still up- even knowing it was coming, Tycho's stomach still clenched. But now, now here's where the fun part came in. He allowed himself a small smile as his craft turned to engage the oncoming wave of TIE-fighters. His A-Wing danced, his A-Wing soared, and TIE after TIE met their ends.

Tycho was a different pilot than he had been at the actual Battle of Endor 9 years earlier. He was older, more experienced. Still, he got the same joy out of flying that he always had, that same feeling of this is what I was meant to do.


[OOC: if anyone wants to come in and observe the battle, or hop in another fighter and join in, that's cool! Tycho's mostly just vapin some Imps to blow off steam. If you're not familiar with the Battle of Endor (the fight against the second Death Star) the video is here]

Wedge had set up the headquarters for yet another meet and greet operation. The headquarters, of course, was simply an abandoned building with appropriate facilities he had commandeered in the city. A low building of bright red brick, it had at some point been an office complex. Now it was the headquarters of the best fighter squadron anywhere (or so the reputation went). A crude sign and been painted over the front of the building reading 'Rogue Squadron Headquarters,' replacing the precious owners which had advertised for insurance of some type. The front offices had been set up for use by Wedge and his small staff (now including Tycho, Ben and Nura) to run the squadron. Another side room had been set up as a 'pilot lounge,' though at the moment it only had some spare office furniture. Couches and other things were hard to come by on Stacy. Finally, the largest room had been converted into a briefing room of sorts, with a projector and several rows of seating, as well as tables that could be stowed or set up as needed.

At the moment there were simply chairs scattered around the edge of the room. Wedge waited, occasionally checking his chronometer. Hopefully everyone would arrive and mingle, and then he could get down to the business of letting them know exactly what they were in for.

<sub>[[OOC: Feel free to tag each other, please!

The briefing has started!]]</sub>

Kenobi!

Vader's eyes snapped open as he jerked to consciousness, his last memory of Kenobi's smirk burnt into his memory. The treacherous Jedi had thwarted him again. Why he was not dead was beyond him, but the second time Kenobi had left him for dead without having the stomach to actually finish the deed would be the last.

His mouth curled disdainfully as he surveyed his surroundings. It may have been foreign, but he recognized a medcenter when he saw one-- and liked it as little as he liked any other. The ventilator tubes had been reinserted into his nose, and he began to examine the large machine he was bound to. He could, in theory, take it apart and convert it into something more manageable. He had no idea if his kidnappers ever intended to return his suit and lightsaber. If he wanted his revenge on Kenobi and reclaim his son (his son-- no, he had to put that out of his mind), he would have to act quickly, before the...ship...realized his intentions.

As usual Tycho had arrived at the designated meeting place at the debriefing room in Rogue Squadron's headquarters a little ahead of time. There was nothing for him to prepare really, but he'd called the meeting, so it was still good for him to be there first.

The room contained a semi-circle of chairs which faced a projector screen, and Tycho sat himself in one of them, looking something over on his datapad as he waited for the others to arrive. Someone who knew him well would see that his jaw muscles were tight, the only outward sign he was showing of how seriously he took this. Deciding what they were going to do about Darth Vader was a Big Deal.

[Bendytimed to the morning after this post]

Tycho had slept for a very long time indeed- obviously he'd need a lot of recuperation from Arha's healing. After he finally awoke, he got on the com network and sent messages to those people he knew, letting them know that he was okay.

Now, he had been ordered to stay in bed until the doctor came to check up on him again, so he sat, with the head of his bed raised, data pad in hand, looking over the numbers from the latest Rogue Squadron training exercise.

He's honestly not paying that much attention to what he's doing. Won't you come in and bother him?

<<This is Rogue Three, ready for launch.  Update needed on the current situation,>> Arha said over the radio, making sure her chin strap was securely fastened and her helmet was properly sealed.

<<Rogue Three, you are cleared for launch.  Please be advised--it is messy out there.  We have a frigate down.  They will need evac.  Escort Evac Shuttle 1 and 2 to the given coordinates.  Heavy enemy fire incoming,>> came the clipped voice of the communications officer on duty.  <<Stay sharp, Rogue Three.>>

<<Copy that,>> Arha snapped, <<primed and launching.>>

There was a certain thrill that came with a proper launch and she did it the way she'd been taught--nice and smooth.  The two shuttles were flanked by several other fragments of wings.  It was their job to shoot down any missile fire either ship took.  Arha sidled up to Evac 1, taking its wing as the rest of the formation solidified.  It was an uneventful run until halfway back when missiles started coming in like worms on a shield.  Arha grit her teeth as she shot down another and twisted away to go after an enemy fighter intent upon ramming Evac 1.  She wasn't satisfied with the near miss at all and struggled to maintain formation, shielding the shuttle craft with her X-Wing as well as shooting down anything incoming.  She worked with the pilots, her mind racing to predict and interpret from her Jed-Eye and Bene Gesserit senses.

Arha had no idea how long she'd been at this, but it was getting to the point where she was actually sweating--something she rarely did thanks to her control of her body.  She cursed in Fremen as a swarm of TIE fighters closed in.