Fey'Dann - The Forgotten War: Weekend Passes (NRSF)

[Captain Tyle]

The center table was always reserved on the weekends. That was the unwritten rule, at whatever pub the 127th would chance to frequent whenever it wasn't in the thick of it, on the front lines on some far-flung and war-torn planet. The mood of the men since pulling out of the Balmorran frontier was of high spirits, and even one of hope. There were hot showers and soft beds on Coruscant, and if you tried really hard, you could even start to feel normal again. The replacements caught hell coming in, but that was better than catching bullets, so nobody complained. Nobody could much warm up to new guys. You didn't want to. When you could remember the last three guys to fill their spot in the platoon, you weren't eager to get close. Naturally, it would pass later on, but the veterans who had put their time in the One Two Seven had been where it was worst, and were always expected to go there again and again. Some of them didn't make it back. So, Captain Tyle knew that as important as training was, it was just as absolutely vital that his men live a little. Nobody in One Two Seven took the small things for granted. R&R could make you a human being again, and it was better medicine than a thousand aid stations could ever muster.

Tyle twirled a black-laquered dart in his fingers as he took a few gulps from a cold pint. Setting his glass down, he glanced to Private Blake, and Sergeant O'Neil...an amused look on his face.

"Well, I'm not much of a gambler, but how bout a game of cricket, Blake?"

He gestured with a thumb jerk to the dartboard hung on the brick wall in the back.

"Just keep in mind, I reserve the right to put you on mess detail indefinitely if you beat me too badly."

"Capn's got a shaky hand, Sol. Just remember, I like pizza...heh-heh." Private Ruutiger waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially at Blake, as he sat across, puffing on a cigarette.

"Army pizza? Thats boot soles with tomato paste, you prick. Damn Ruutiger, you come from a proud family of billygoats?" Sergeant Thanis made a face, wadding up a napkin and tossing it into Ruutiger's beer. The Private arched an eyebrow, smirked, and proceeded to chug the pint down to the bottom, where the last thing left was a soggy napkin, which he proceeded to chew...and swallow, causing the entire table to burst out in jeers and laughter. Tyle allowed a smile, and just shook his head.

"You up for it, Blake?"

[Sophia Harten]

Sophia was lounging in a chair behind the Captains, her feet propped up on another chair. She watched the proceedings, laughing when Ruutiger ate the napkin.

Hey Ruutiger! Maybe I could get ya to eat some secret messages for me? My paper shredder's busted.

That got a few more laughs and chuckles from the platoon. She smiled, lugging down a big gulp of the beer she had ordered.

The Captain again asked if Blake was up for a game of cricket. She'd heard of the game, but never actually played it.

[William Neir]

I watched the commotion at the far end of the table, smiling a bit as it distracted me from my correspondance with home. I'd only managed a 'Dear Cynthia'. After that, I'd begun to daydream again, wondering where I'd see my first action. I didn't talk to the older guys much. I don't think they really wanted to say anything to me, anyway...but I'd heard enough of the Balmorran frontier to know that I'd rather not go there. But then, there was Ithor before that, which sounded nice. Sunny days, friendly people and beautiful scenery, which I think is why I signed up in the first place. In my time at college, I'd come to find out that there was only so much that you could learn, and the rest you had to experience. I put off my junior year, and Cynthia fussed at me. She was always more dedicated than me with her studies. I guess I just got tired of getting postcards from abroad. I wanted to live postcards.

Maybe I could find something for Cynthia, too. She liked flowers alot. Too bad I'd missed Ithor.

"Hey, FNG...make yourself useful and go get another pitcher, alright?" Private Ruutiger pointed in my direction, and I felt a few eyes follow him. I looked away from my letter, and stood up.

"Alright..."

I went to the bar, and got the pitcher refilled, returning to the table. Sitting down again, I watched the others dole out their new pints, and I turned to my squad NCO, Sergeant Wychek.

"Um, sir? What's a FNG?"

He paused, and clapped a hand on my shoulder reassuringly.
"Mean's Frelling New Guy, kid. Don't let it wear you down, they just aren't in a position to make friends right now."

The way he looked at me, was like he hoped that I wouldn't have to understand what he meant.

[2nd Sgt. Gex Churman]

Sgt. Gex Churman grinned as he watched the others from a distance, but quickly returned his gaze to the small holo-projector in his palm. It was displaying a tiny, flickering, light-blue image of a slender woman. She was attractive by anyone's standards - even if she was a bit short... Light hair, a very full figure, and a get-up that could make you rise to any occasion. His grinned melted to a smile for a few seconds, until someone snatched the holo-projector out of his hand.

"What do we have here," called out Pvt. Nichos Vilkker tauntingly, holding the holo-projection up to his own nose. He looked through the flickering projection and back at Sgt. Churman, his eyes full of a playful sort of malice.

"Give that back Vilkker, or you're going to be really sorry..." Sgt. Churman was visibly annoyed, but his threat was only partially serious. "Besides, you're so ugly you might break her." Gex snatched the holo-projector back out of Pvt. Vilkker's hand and turned it off, stuffing it away in one of his pockets.

"That was cold, Churman," sighed Pvt. Vilkker, feigning being hurt. ""Real cold..." He sat himself down So does this blue fairy of yours have a name, or are you going to keep me guessing?"

“I think I’ll keep you guessing for a while...” Churman smiled and stretched comfortably. "But forget about that - I've been meaning to ask you, how's everything going back home?"

"Not too good," replied Pvt. Vilkker, frowning. "My old man passed away - don't get me wrong though... I won't miss him much; he got what he deserved, chanting 'glory to the Empire' till his dying breath. Unfortunately though, my little brother always looked up to the old fool. He's saying how he's going to sign up with Imperial fleet, because my credits aren't worth more than a meal to our mother and sister. I can't say I don't see his point. If local authorities there knew that their income was coming off New Republic credits, they'd all be blasted."

"Hey," interrupted Churman carefully, "relax... Listen, think I can help you out, but you have to swear= -" his voice hushed, falling below the clamor of the other jabbering locals, "swear to me you're not going to let Captain Tyle hear about this. Do you understand? I could get stripped of rank..." Nichos nodded, leaning in to listen carefully. "I've got a pal back home who is in the business of converting currency. If you need some Imperial chits I can take of that. Give me a few weeks, and assuming both of us live to see the end of them, I'm going to help you out."

Vilkker smiled and nodded.

"Now get over there and have some fun, and stop bothering me! I've got some sleep to catch up... and a little bit drinking." Sgt. Churman shoved the private away with a grin and reclined back, closing his eyes and letting his thoughts wander. He had been waiting a pretty long time for his Rodian Twist, and opening his eyes to glance around, he wondered if the R2 unit that had taken his order had managed to get knocked over.

[Derric Rienhardt]

Whilest the rest of the Company did their own, Rienhardt opted to sit at the bar and down vodkas with a few others from the platoon.

"Hey, Derric. Get off yer <smallfont color={hovercolor}>-Censored-</smallfont> and have a contest over here. Bring a bottle!" One the privates, whois name eluded Rienhardt at the moment, shouted from the table.

"Yeah yeah," Rienhardt replied, grabbing two crystalline bottles of vodka. Spinning them in his hands, Rien slammed the bases onto the table and sat next to the private. "You and me, let's go."

"Al'ight. Pour and lose," He replied, grinning. Rien returned the grin and poured two shots, taking his and downing it with one gulp. Steven, that being the contestant's name, downed his own.

"Let' keep rollin!"

[Sol Blake]

"Sure. I'm game." Answered Sol with a thin grin and added. "After all, it isn't often a superior is willing to lend himself to a public shaming."

He stood as his remark was met with a cheer and one or two taunting "Oooh"s. Although he was still relatively new to the 127th, Sol had settled in quickly, one has to lest he loses out on precious and rare time for relaxation. It was part of his philosophy; if you are going to experience the downs you must ensure you enjoy the ups, much like on a rollercoaster.

Being sure to take his pint glass, already half-empty since the last refill, Private Blake ventured over to the bar and leaned forward to be greeted by a rather handsom cleavage below. He smiled and cleared his throat. The lady, in her late thirties, looked up from sweeping up some broken glass.

"'Scuse me, hun, but you wouldn't mind passing me those darts over there would you?" He spoke with a confidence triggered when in the presence of any desireable woman and when in a profession like his own, that accounts for most things in a skirt. She smiled and happily complied but when she handed him the darts he wrapped his fingers around hers before he took them from her grasp.

"Now tell me, what is such a beautiful, young lady like yourself doing in the presence of such muts, like myself you could say?" He spoke in a charming way enough to make her to break eye contact with a shy giggle. Then regaining her maturity she took the hand with which he held her own and pulled him in closer.

"Well, perhaps I like the company." Her voice seductive as she teased the younger man. Sol's eyebrows raised with interest and he grinned. She had let go now but had leaned closer, he took one of the darts and rested its pointed tip on the plunging neckline of the woman's blouse.

"You do?" He asked, she nodded and he began bringing the dart down, catching it on her blouse and carefully starting lowering the material. "Then perhaps I could spare some of my own time to keep you company after I beat the boss with my increadible, dextrous, skills."

They both chuckled and the young private was happy to catch a glimpse of a lacey, black brasiere before his ladyfriend flicked the dart away. "Then you do that but be warned, I'm working late."

"I can wait." Sol replied, pulling away from the bar to join his superior for a game of darts. Once his back turned on the bartender, his cool grin turned into a big, toothy smile and pleased with himself he declared arriving back at the centre table. "I am so in there!"

[Captain Tyle]

"Fraternizing with the locals...we lose more privates that way, pardon the pun."

Sergeant Thanis clapped Blake on the back, laughing.

"Just don't enjoy too long. General Enlistment and Non-Comm are fine, but if you're thinkin bout climbin up the ladder, you'll have to trade your balls in for brass."

He pointed across from him, at a sandy-haired man.

"Lieutenant Hiller got married three weeks after his commission."

Turning to the side, he gestured to another Lieutenant, with reddish-brown hair.

"Lieutenant Pylache is a regular boyscout. No vices, and all virtue."

Tyle approached, darts, in hand, just as Thanis nodded to him.

"And the good Captain...well, they just slapped him together at Battalion HQ, out of nothing but E rations, spare parts, and dead grunts, so he don't quite apply."

This elicited a round of laughter, and Tyle glanced to Thanis' beer.

"Your pint's looking a little on the empty side, Sergeant."

Thanis looked down at his beer, which was filled to the brim.

"Whaddya mean Ca-"

And Tyle helped himself, commandeering the Sergeant's brew before he could voice an objection. Tyle turned it up, and within ten seconds, upended it. Setting the glass back down, he ran a finger along the mug's lip.

"I'd say completely empty, and thats practically dereliction of duty. You'll have to do something about that."

Patting the stunned Sergeant on the shoulder, Tyle winked, face still devoid of humor.

"As you were."

The entire table took their turn at heckling Thanis, as Tyle and Sol walked to the cricket line.

"First shot, Blake? It'll be your only chance to pull rank."

[Marc Tycho]

Picking up a bottle of Ale Marc took a quick swig and then placed it back down on the table, Tycho was hardly the "sociable guy" and thats why he kept out the way until he was called by one of the others to join in. But tonight however Tycho was in a ammused mood.

' Ill put money on it that Blake beats you sir!' Tycho said placing a 20 chits upon the table. 'Any other guys want in on the bet?'

Tycho smiled as he stepped completely out of his chracter from a quite guy, into what he had just said.

[Sol Blake]

Eagerly looking back and forth between Tyle's beer-downing and Thanis's open-mouthed expression, Sol failed to contain himself and started laughing, breaking the stunned silence. Then the banter commenced once again.

"Well, there was this one fine leuitenant--" He said with a grin in response to Tyle's "pulling rank" remark, stepping up to the line before the dart board. "--but let's leave it at that shall we?"

He leaned forward as he aimed, looking straight ahead, whilst moving his hand back and forth judging the distance from the dartboard. His right eye narrowed and with his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth in concentration he released the dart. It soared like a bird over the ocean, like a missile over a valley. With a thud it hit it's mark, well almost.

"Treble one." He glanced back to his superior with a half shrug. "Three. Not too bad. Not too far off a treble twenty."

Again he tried for a treble twenty but wasn't quite on target and just scored a five. The third one clanged with the metal wiring and ricocheted from that onto the floor with a clang. "Blast!"

He cursed as he went to retrieve the darts and on his way back formulated a quick excuse. "No worries, I just need a moment to warm up!" He confessed with a smile. Tyle went to take his place, he took aim.

"Just a moment, sir. I thought you proposed we make this interesting." He announced, smiling back to the others present seated at their table, specifically Tycho who had suddenly made a rather boisterous outburst. "What's the bet?"

[Marc Tycho]

' I say we make it a little more interesting how wedo that is upto you two, but a simple game between lads is hardly acceptible...' Tycho laughed pushing his 20 chits into the middle of the table, he had made his bet not it was the guys turn.

'I say Blake wins, no offence sir...what do you guys think?...Neir?' Tycho laughed, Neir was proboly his closest friend there and he knew he would be up for it. Pulling his beer to his lips again, he leaned back in his seat and sipped with a smile towards Blake.

[William Neir]

William grinned a little, shaking his head at Tycho.

"Not much into wagering. Saving my money for Cynthia."

Private Alma flicked the ash from his stim into an ash tray, and snorted a bit.

"Yer a regular Romeo, Willy."

He pointed his stim in Sol's direction.

"Blake, you could learn a lot here, eh?"

He took on another demeanor, with waggling eyebrows and a stiff upper lip.

"Oui, oui, Mademoiselle....merci, mon cheri!"

He held his own hand up to his mouth, and kissed the back of it passionately.

"You're a gas, Willy. Just born in a different time. So, do you learn all that hopeless romantic stuff in college?"

William just smiled, an embarrassed look on his face.

[Captain Tyle]

"Well..."

Tyle patted down his pockets.

"...contrary to whatever your Sergeant in AIT may have told you, the stories of officer's pay are greatly exaggerated."

Finally, Tyle fished out a couple of small, white boxes, and set them on the table.

"Two packs of smokes a friendly enough bet?"

As he waited for an answer, Tyle rolled a dart around betwen his fingers, lining up for some practice shots. He let them go, looking about as rusty as Sol's salvo.

[Sophia Harten]

Harten shook her head and finished off her drink, hailing down a waitress and ordering another.

For this round of betting, she stay out, content to just watch.

[Sol Blake]

In response to Tyle's wager, the private simply nodded with a look of worry surfacing. He had no cigarettes to bet, he didn't smoke and a feeling of guilt came over him. He couldn't take smokes from Tyle. He couldn't take them from any man. He stepped up to the line from where he was to take his shots.

"Learn? Me?" He retorted with disbelief in response to Private Alma. He took his first shot, twenty. He grinned and looked back over his shoulder. "You don't know what you're talking about, Chris, I'm a professional. Will and I would paint the town red! Right, Will?"

He looked back and took his next two shots. "Five and Double-twenty." He grinned and drank from his pint. As the Captain stepped up to take his shots, Sol quickly excused himself to go the toilet. On his way he was lucky enough to come across a tobacco-vending machine. He rummaged about in his pockets for a few credits and bought to packets of cigarettes. "Thank the Force!"

"My oh my, is that a bead of sweat I see, Captain?" He taunted as he returned, dropping the smokes on the table. Sol was on a high, he had slipped right into place within the Krayts and everything seemed to be going right.

[2nd Sgt. Gex Churman]

Sgt. Churman took a deep breath and glanced around the cantina a second time. His drink was still nowhere in sight. Well, I might as well do something with my time, he thought, a table of Sabbac players catching hi eye. He walked over and nodded to the aliens and odd looking humans were seated at the table. "Mind if I join in?"

A collective grunt came from the table of gamblers. They kicked out a chair for him, although it seemed to Churman that they weren't eager to allow anyone in their game. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim silver case, popping it open with his thumb. Inside of it were a few death-sticks. He drew one out of the case and to his lips, then pocketed the rest. The dealer handed him his Sabbac cars.

He had been dealt a rotten hand, and thought, I always manage to make the best of these...

[Marc Tycho]

' Ya' know sol..your right, thats a bead of sweat thereon his brow...tut tut Capin'...you know wecould call the bet off if you like?' Tycho taunted also with a grin, he knew the old Captain would not give up.

[Jae Pylache]

Jae Pylache, XO of the 127th, leans back in his chair. He sips on his water, watching the interaction of the men. A great deal can be learned about the way a man will handle himself in combat, just based on the way he relaxes. He smiles at Tycho's ribbing.

"Come on now... you know the good Captain would rather kiss a rancor than back down from a bet. You'd have better luck convincing him to sing opera. What say, Cap? Care to grace us with a hymn?"

[Captain Tyle]

Tyle glanced sidelong at Pylache.

"Never was much of a singer, Jae."

He took aim, and loosed 3 darts in succession, all hitting reasonably close to their marks, but only one counting in the rules of Cricket, as it landed on 20. He retrieved his set, marking his score down.

"But any more of this, and I might consider humming a few bars."

He waited on Sol's turn, turning back to take a glance at the table.

[William Neir]

I couldn't keep my mind on the letter to Cynthia. Someone once said that if you take too long to reflect on life, the best parts would pass you by. To these men, I was an outsider, and the only way it would change is if I were to live in the moment. Most of them were veterans of brushfire wars like the Balmorran frontier...things I knew only from newspaper articles. My time in basic, AIT, and later Orbital Infantry training had prepared me in all of the mechanics and quantifiable facts of warfare that I might face. But stuck in between the numbers was always the qualitative, and the eternal fact that I could learn everything that is possible to be learned, and yet know nothing without experience. Besides the other replacements from the NRSF mustering camp on Kuat, I knew only the medic of first platoon, Marc Tycho. Why he had reached out to me and the others did not, I could not say, and I didn't want to ask. It was a small blessing, in and of itself.

I tucked away my unfinished letter, and looked across the table to him.

"You think we'll be off the lines for long?"

[Marc Tycho]

Marc shook free of his attention towards the game and looked at Neir, the guy missed his girl and of course so did Marc, but Neir....Neir looked as if his heart was broken just being away from her and in any case, the guy was nice enough and Marcs mate.

'No Neir' He sighed taking a quick look towards Tyle and then back again...'I dont think so...theres a reason there call us the best mate and thats becuse we are always out there doing a our job...i dont think it will be to soon before we are back out there....' Marc smiled and gave Neir a quick thumbs up...

[Sophia Harten]

Sophia chuckled at Captain's last remark.

Oh, come now Tyle. Do sing us something that would get us right here.

She put a fist to her chest for emphasis.

Oh wait... maybe that was heartburn...

The Captain gave her a "very funny" look, which she raised her glass to and finished the rest of her ale, promptly ordered another one from one of the nearby serving droids.

[Sam Riley]

Jordan wasnt much for "chatting." Even less so when she drank.

Where others became liberated and extrovert when drinking, she was the opposite and seemed to withdraw into the bottle and become "broodish."

But tonight, that was difficult to do. Too many 127th's were in and they were just getting warmed up. Their good humor was infectious.


...And Tyle had the worst throwing style O'Neil had ever seen.

She murmered such to Harten who was sitting across from her.

[Sophia Harten]

Sophia chuckled in her mug at O'Neil's remark as she began on her second ale. She swallowed before answering.

Definitely no arguments here. Maybe it's a new stradegy? Befuddled your opponent before whoopin his <smallfont color={hovercolor}>-Censored-</smallfont>?

She raised an eyebrow and shrugged, turning once again to watch the ever-suspensful and hilarious dart game.

[William Neir]

Spirits ran high, even though there was an ever-certainty that the stint off the line would be a brief one. I had nothing to say on the matter, so I simply consoled my beer. How do you ask about something like the Balmorran frontier? How do you ask somebody what its like to shoot at another man? What it's like to kill? Maybe I didn't want to know, and in my mind's eye, I was still centered on the postcards that I would undeniably be sending to Cynthia. I was at a crossroads in my life, where I looked back, saw myself with a younger face, sitting on the knee of my dad, the Storyteller. He was not a veteran of foreign wars. He was not a leader of men. In his own right, he told his own stories, from a life that was no less full of drama. His front was the front of many. A job, a paycheck, and a family. The stories he told were not so full of color, as other childrens' fathers who wore medals of the Rebellion. I in my ignorance, listened less to these than to others. Perhaps it is the nature of boys to dream of cowboys and indians. Of order and chaos. My father's lessons were no less important, but I wanted for the scenic route. The route I now take leads me to this crossroad, where the boy I was has enough courage to ask if I will one day be a man, with my own stories to tell. Neither my mother nor Cynthia understood, nor will understand, this question which is paramount in the hearts of men. There comes a time, when the listener must learn to tell. The stories are all the same, but the inflections are different, and deeply personal. As I sat alone, quiet and drinking my beer, I suddenly had a pang of doubt. The only stories being told were unsaid. The silent, hollow stares when nobody thought anyone was looking. It was a simple testament to those who were veterans in Krayt company, and those, like myself, who would soon be, but as yet were not soldiers. No one spoke of past combat, nor of any detail in the heat of conflict. My desire to experience and to live was challenged in the eyes of Captain Tyle, Lieutenant Pylache, and Doc Tycho. I didn't have the courage to question why.

[Marc Tycho]

Tycho looked at Nier for a moment and then looked away to the game, he could see where Nier was, hell he had been there to along time ago...a newbie of war...a newbie of the battle. And then Tycho leaned back into his chair and looked over at the game quite in his own thoughts.

'Ones eyes close tight and families fade
When going to war which evil men made
Though anxious and frightened, we dont let it show
For the day is approaching when the airbourn must go.

Eatch day now rolls fast; we wait just the same,
But the war is near, and for this we all came.
The hour gorwns near; eatch man feels it inside,
And soon we will be falling with nowere to hide.

Our eyes are now down and the chatter the same,
Eatch weapon now loaded, no longer a game.
Eagles gather around and bow your heads low,
Balmorra awaits and the hour is go.

Shuttles rumble past as we wait our turn,
To fly over waters we have yet to eatch earn.
Checked buckles and straps,left nothing the chance,
The jumpmaster stands, calls "Welcome to the dance".

Flak turns to fire in the blakest of night,
Too low, too fast, cant jump from this height.
Theres no turning back,the risk has been taken,
Free fall into hell, soldiers forsaken.

Eagels hold tight, scattered prayers to survive,
We'll hit the ground soon, whether dead or alive.
As feet touch the ground, eatch soldier turns on,
Confustion and fear are beaten and gone.

The enemy is close and sad they dont know,
The Airbourne is here, its time they most go.
The hour is now, Millards had his last chance.
On St. Michael's wings, were taking back the dance.'

Tycho turned back to Nier with a smile and winked, and had just noticed most if not all of the bar had been looking at his as he recited the poem.

[Sam Riley]

She paused, beer bottle poised to her lips and held the draw, her eyes finding Tycho and she listened to his words. The poem took them all (with the exception of Nier) to a place they had all been before. The romance of poetry, for O'Neil, could not remove the taste of bile such imagry brought to her mouth. Her memory recalled vividly the bitterness of lives lost, the chaos of brave men around her falling and reduced to bloody writhing wretches, begging for help and comfort as they tried to hold in their own insides and stop them spilling on the ground about them.

It was a nice poem. It was a nice lie. Battle was not a dance. It was a filthy stinking lousy attempt at an answer to beat back evil.

Yes, it was a nice poem, (she tipped back the remainder of her beer) and one they would all one day soon live again.

"Gimme another beer, barkeep."

[Hector Diens]

Hector Diens, Corporal Hector Diens drudged into the bar which several of his comrades were enjoying a drink. He was tired. He was always tired unless in the heat of battle. That is when he used his energy. Hector measured a mans worth on not how many people he could kill with his pinky finger (Hector estimated he could do in about a million) but how long he could sleep at any given time.

"Oooo..." He moaned for sleep as he sat down at the bar. "Gimme something that'll wake me up."

"About time you got here Corporal." Said Seragnt Wychek, one of Hectors better friends.

"Oh bug off. I need sleep." He moaned out, looking at his beer.

[Captain Tyle]

Tycho's words gave Tyle pause, and his face took on a very distant expression, as he gave ponderance to the poem. Momentarily, he made eye contact with Pylache, but diverted his attention elsewhere just as suddenly. Marc's words were full of history and emotion, none of which the Captain dared to revel in for too long. Instead, he turned back to Sol, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"Blake..."

[Sol Blake]

Infectious and haunting, the tales of war are spoken in many different tongues. The result of which, few can understand them. What rucus remained in the bar whilst Tycho gave his recital faded into an ambient back-beat, which thus blurred into the beating of boots on an unforgiving floor, the beating of bombs landing at those feet, the beating of bodies as they hit the floor.

Not commenting on the poem itself, Sol merely said quietly to himself:

"If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori."

His words were little more than a whisper with little more than the purpose to right his outlook on the bitterness of what he knew from that which he heard. There is no glory in war. There are no victors.

"Wait just a second, Captain Tyle!" He protested, snapping out of his thoughts the private turned to his superior and gestured to the score he had just marked down.

"Twenty?" He questioned then added with a grin, "If you look back to my score, I scored twenty, five and a double-twenty. That's three, so twenty is closed, sir."

He laughed victoriously, then swilled back a mouthful of ale from his glass, watching with great amusement the look on his superior's face as realisation set in.


OOC: It took a while but I know the rules now. :)

[Captain Tyle]

"Well, I'll be damned."

Tyle glanced to the dartboard, and ran a hand through his hair.

"Are you trying to hustle me, Sol?"

He smirked, and went on.

"Guess we'd better cut to the chase and make this quick and as painless as possible. How about we just go first to bullseye, three darts, winner take all?"

[Sol Blake]

"Sounds like a fair deal to me." Sol replied, siezing his trio of darts from the table. He half-turned to face the dartboard then looked back to the captain, eyes narrowed and a grim smile across his lips. "Although it does look like you're trying to wriggle your way out of an agonising defeat here. If you don't mind me saying so, sir."

He grinned, turning to face the dartboard and released one which landed below the bullseye, a little off-target. "Seventeen. Bollocks." He said to himself. He aimed and threw again. Bullseye. "Yes, that's what we want and--"

Clunk. The third dart rebounded off the metal wiring in the board and hit the ground. Sol gingerly strutted over to retrieve his darts and took a seat. His intention was to lose deliberately; not being a smoker and all it would be a waste if he won a packet on top of the pack he had just bought for the bet.

[Captain Tyle]

Tyle lined up for a shot, and it sailed wide by two inches. Muttering under his breath, he let another loose, that missed the board entirely. By now, the table behind was full of "ooohs" and "aaahs". Tyle turned, taking a moment before his last throw. In the meantime, he busied himself with pouring up a shot of gin.

<font color=FFFF00>"Sir, I don't think you'll find your bullseye in there."</font> Private Tak offered up politely, which only stirred up more laughter. Tyle took his shot in deadpan solace.

Private Vilkker hypothesized. <font color=000099>"I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn after hitting the gin." </font>

<font color=009900>"You can't hit the broad side of a barn sober, Nic."</font> Ruutiger ended with a grating laugh. He eyed Tyle as he put the shot down.

<font color=009900>"Hey Cap'n...you ain't Corellian by any chance? That's a lot of gin."</font>

Tyle shook his head, smiling a little.

"I'm drinking, aren't I? Corellians are born with a blood-alcohol level, right Root?"

The table turned to fresher meat, as Ruutiger laughed nervously.

<font color=000099>"Anybody got a tap. Could stick it in Root's <smallfont color={hovercolor}>-Censored-</smallfont> and find out."</font>

Everyone laughed, with a few shouts of "Drinks are on Root!" in the mix. Ruutiger waved them off.

<font color=009900>"One at a time, fellas! Anyway...Cap'n...what are you doin?"</font>

Tyle held up his last remaining dart.

"I'm teaching Sunday School, Root. What do you think?"

<font color=009900>"Well...I'se just askin cause...I thought you was left handed."</font>

The conversation stopped, and Tyle looked at the dart in his hand, shrugged, and transferred it to his left.

"Well I'll be damned. Been so long at this, I forgot."

He turned to Sol, and smiled.

"What would I do without you, Root?"

thunk!

Bullseye.

[Sol Blake]

Sol didn't know which was more worrying; the Captain's easy bullseye or the fact that he had forgotten he was left-handed. Nevertheless, the private smiled and stood. He had a feeling his superior would have little hassle getting two more bullseyes.

"This one's for Vader!" The dart flew. Twenty. "And the Darth's breathing apparatus is bust." He threw again.

"For Old Black Bones himself. A twenty. Punctured his old, black heart and last but not least." He took his last dart and held it up a little. "This is the same torpedo that some farm-boy fired into some exhaust shaft one day..."

Bullseye. "Boom! Must be that Skywalker luck."

[Nathan West]

It was pretty much the only establishment that West had decided was safe: Sort of ironic since they had parted ways from sharing a planet with the Jedi. Too many eggs in one basket, and yet now the eggs were sharing a basket between the next move.

West sighed as he walked through the doors to Yog's.

The 127 wasn't hard to find, thankfully.

"Nice toss, Tyle." Tyle looked at him knowingly, and saluted, along with every other NRSF soldier in the room: they were being called back to the lines of somewhere.

"At ease."

"Where are we headed, General?"

"Fey'Dann." West said it quietly, and with well hidden yet present dread.

[Captain Tyle]

The festive mood seemed to plummet with the temperature. All background conversation died, as General West delivered his news.

"Fey'Dann, sir?"

<font color=AAAAFF>"Where the hell is Fey'Dann?"</font> Sergeant Kinnoch interjected, but was silenced by a steely glare from Tyle. You didn't ask top brass these things. You asked when top brass was out of earshot.

Tyle looked to Blake, and slowly set his darts on the table.

"Permission to speak, sir?"

"Granted."

The Captain moistened his lips before proceeding.

"How long before we deploy, sir?"

"You have a twenty-four hour mustering furlough. Get your gear together, and get ready to ship out tomorrow."

And that...was that. Tyle nodded curtly.

"Yes sir."

[Sam Riley]

She nudged Derric Reinhardt, and murmered lowly.

"The females rule the men there, good place for you to retire, Reinhardt. Just like home."

Jordan found it easier to joke, even if it was a lame one. The news was expected - it was only a matter of time before they got their marching orders, after all. No big surprise. But it was always tough knowing what you were heading out to face.

[William Neir]

At last, we were moving out. I felt an immediate release to a kind of pent-up ennui, stifling like a sweater worn in summertime. At the same time, I had the distinct feeling I was about to move past the sheltered harbor of my old life. It filled me with anxiousness and fear. The moment we were dismissed, I shrunk away from the crowd, a bit at a loss for what to do with the next 24 hours. I barely noticed the bartender filling me up again. I was on another world. Paying my share, I barely managed a nod to the man behind the counter, as I made my way to the back of the building, where the comm sets were. I had enough credits, seeing as I made a habit to save up like a miser ever since I started basic. Who to call first?

I punched in the comm address...and waited. The heat seemed to run flush into my face.

"Hello?"

"Dad."

His hologram did a double-take at me.

"Will! How are you doing, tiger?"

I swallowed, nodding a bit.

"Doing fine, dad...doing fine. Is mom there?"

He glanced back.

"She's in the kitchen cleaning up. I'll let her know you want to talk."

I interrupted before he could pull himself away.

"Actually dad...I want to talk to both of you."

He stopped, and nodded.

"Alright Will. Sure. Just hang on one second."

As his hologram moved from the forefront to the background, I couldn't help but smile to see him again. It had been a few months since I'd put in for a holotransmission. We kept up to date in other ways, but it was rare to get to chat face to face. He looked the same, maybe with more grey hair. What time was it on Chandrila? Mom probably just finished cleaning up after one of her famous big breakfasts. I could almost smell the fluffcakes. I missed them. A few seconds lost in my thoughts were all it took for mom and dad to come back to the projector. Mom's smile beamed...and it helped to shake off that funny feeling I'd gotten from General West.

"Hi mom."

"William...my you look more handsome each time I see you. Maybe I was wrong. The army may make you even more of a gentleman."

"Thanks....thanks mom. You guys alright?"

"Oh I suppose. Its pretty boring here, as usual. We miss you , William."

Dad echoed her sentiments.

"We can't wait to see you again, Will. Talking like this just isn't the same."

"I know, dad. I know."

There was a stretch of uncomfortable silence.

"I just called to...well....they're putting us on active."

More silence. Dad finally broke it.

"Active? You're shipping out?"

"When? Where?" Mom added, anxiety in her voice. Their hands clasped together.

"Fey'Dann. We leave tomorrow." I had no sugar in my vocabulary to ease the bitter taste of the pill I was giving them. I had my own thoughts and preconceptions of where I was going. To my parents, they had a completely different paradigm. They'd endlessly told me it would be harder on them. Their child was going to war.

"Fey'Dann?" my Dad recovered first, his brow knit in frustration. "Where the hell is that? I've never heard of a planet called Fey'Dann."

"I haven't either." I cut him off before he could go on about it. "I'm sure they'll tell me more about it later. Right now, that's all I know."

"So soon?" Mom's voice was wavering. "Just one day?"

"Yeah." I looked to my feet, adding to the silence. After a moment, I looked up. Mom's head was on dad's shoulder. She was crying. I knew she would. Dad just kept his eyes on me.

"I just called...to see how you guys were doing. I know its short notice. I'm sorry."

"We're just glad you called, son." Dad nodded in rapid, curt motions of his head. He was having a hard time with it, too. Mom recovered from dad's shoulder, and quickly dabbed at her eyes.

"William..."

"Yeah mom?"

"I want you to promise me...when all this is over, that you'll come home. That's all I want. Just promise me that. Be safe, and know that we love you."

Dad squeezed her shoulder. "Listen to your mom, Will. Just do what needs to be done, and come on home, okay? Just come on home."

Emotions were high, and I blinked a few times, and nodded.

"I will. I promise. After all this, I'll come home."

Nobody said a word for 30 seconds. We just looked at each other. There was nothing that needed to be spoken to fill in the moment of being in each other's company. Even through holograms, it was good medicine.

"Mom, dad. I have to go now. I'm about out of minutes."

"We love you William." They both made out in unison. I nodded...and reached out to them. They did the same...their holographic hands coming to the edge of mine, so that it seemes our hands were twined together for a moment.

And then they were gone. I took a deep sigh to steady myself, and went back out to the main room.

[Sol Blake]

This part was always carried out following strict procedure and informality; General West held the cards and was dealing out fate. Now the fate of the 127th was no longer nameless; Fey'Dann. Sol now sat, quietly sinking back into his beer. The young private neither feared or anticipated their next destination for he knew nothing of it. "Why fear the unknown?" And it was this philosophy he held onto, with all his strength, for his own simple beliefs and excentricities kept him sane, kept his thoughts in check. He liked the security. He needed it.

"I kinda envy Neir, captain." Sol confessed idly, his eyes watched over his fingers as they fumbled together on the table. "Y'know, family and all. You got anyone you can call?"

[Captain Tyle]

At first, Tyle didn't speak up. He just looked back as Neir entered the bar again.

"Well...I figure if anything happens to me out there...you all will be the first to know."

He clapped Sol on the shoulder, and set down two packs of smokes on the table.

"Hell of a game, Blake. Hope you shoot as well as you throw."

[Hector Diens]

"Cizeracks... faster and stronger than humans. Big kitties." Hector commented drowsily to Wychek.

"Yeah. Heard they ain't to smart too, but damn good fighters"

"They ain't smart. The let the women run them." Both of the soldiers gave out a laugh. It was a nervous laugh. Each man knew very well that hand-to-hand combat would be suicide with a Cizerack. And trench warfare didn't seem like the Cizerack type either.

"If all goes well, I'll just blow crap up." They laughed again.

[Derric Rienhardt]

"The females rule the men there, good place for you to retire, Reinhardt. Just like home."

Derric turned, grinning and delivering a small joke back, "Honestly? Sounds like my place there!" Even though it wasn't the greatest, it helped the atmosphere... hopefully.

"Guess while you blow 'em up, I'll pick em off as they fall down. Eh?" Derric said, pumping the air with his arms holding an imaginatry shotgun.

[William Neir]

"Cizerack?"

I returned to my seat, catching the tail end of the conversation. I remembered seeing one in a lecture back at University. She didn't really talk to anybody. She seemed to exude a standoffish personality, and kept to herself. Character fault aside, I wondered why we were going to fight them.

"I thought the Cizerack were at peace with us."

Of course, history books were filled with the Corellian Trade Expeditionary's debacle about 100 years before. The Republic had to send a contingent of Jedi to keep an unwanted mercantile outpost from being annihilated. But those were different times.

"I thought we were going to fight the Empire."

<font color=009900>"Heh...which one?"</font> Ruutiger quipped, which brough a few laughs. <font color=009900>"We've given the bucketheads enough of a shellacking anyway. They're so out of whack that they can't find their balls with flashlights and road maps. I ain't suprised we're goin to the Ciz. Damn Felix just sits back, while Johnny Reb and Billy Imp are whackin each other. Sonsofbitches, bunch of credit-pinchin misers...makin a chit off every one of us, when its our asses in the foxholes to begin with. No sir, I ain't got a damn problem with goin down there."</font>

"But why? Besides trading with everyone, they keep to themselves, right?"

<font color=9999FF>"Neir, you ever been to Carshoulis?"</font> Private Gellera took the seat opposite me, lighting up a stim as he passed ot off to Ruutiger.

"No. Can't say I have."

<font color=9999FF>"Well I have. Took a work-study trip to Carshoulis. These people...they're not like you and me, or any of us. They don't give a damn about what's fair to others. I've seen how they treat men, and other races there. Hell, I had to spend my summer in a leaky apartment...because I'm a man, because I'm human, and because I'm just not good enough for the 20 story high-rise that has plenty of room and I can afford to rent. Felix might as well be a buckethead to me. If they had death stars and star destroyers...they'd be worse, I promise you that."</font>

<font color=009900>"At least a frelling Buckethead looks like you and me, when you take the helmet off."</font> Ruutiger put it darkly, dragging on his smoke. <font color=009900>"There's room for those bastards to change. Felix ain't ever gonna change."</font>

[Sam Riley]

"You got dropped alot as a child, didn't you Reinhardt."

Jordan said this as she got up from her seat, giving Derrick a light, goodnatured shove of the shoulder.

She listened to the exchange between Neir and the others. Sure, it was easier if you just thought of the enemy as "Felix" or "Billy Imp." Made them faceless, nameless. They were just a running gun then, not a living breathing man who had family and friends someplace. Helped too, not to think of their cause, or rights and wrongs. Made it a simple "us against them." Tell yourself that, it makes it easier. Atleast, its supposed to.

Jordan leaned over Neir and jibed.

"All you really gotta remember Neir, is the hole in the end of the rifle faces AWAY from you."

A hail of derogatory "yeah yeah O'Neil, took you some time to figure that one out didnt it" from the others caused a reactionary flipping of the bird from her in their general direction.

She stopped by the Captain.

"Im outta here, Boss. Got some letters to write before ship out."

As Tyle nodded he'd heard her, Jordan tossed a wad of credits for her beers to the barkeep on her way past.

[Jae Pylache]

As the notice comes in that they will be shipping out, the strange but familiar calm settles over Pylache. Once more, he will recieve a new taste of life, a new threat of death. Only after a battle does one truly appreciate the world.

He recalls his first battle in the 127th. Before it all began, he felt nervous, anxious, scared... everything you could feel all at once. But he had survived. The battle had been long and exhausting, but he made it. Suddenly, the sky was more beautiful than it ever had been before. The lukewarm water in his canteen was the nectar of the gods. The pain and weariness in his limbs was a joy. Pain let you know you were alive. And life was good.

Now, battle was not so much enjoyable as simply... familiar. For only in battle does a man know who he is.

He scans the room, seeing the faces of the soldiers of the 127th. Though never good at speeches, he felt compelled to attempt to revive their spirits. He stands to his feet to gain their attention.

"As you all know, we ship out tomorrow. We will enter a war against an enemy we have yet to face. They are brutal, vicious, and unmerciful. And they are fighters. I won't lie to any of you... this will not be easy.

"But it will be terrible to our foes." His voice raises slightly, building. "We are the 127th! And we shall not falter. It is true, some may not survive this war. But know this: our enemy has never seen our like. Nor will he ever. And none among us will go down easy.

I have never been more proud... nay, honored... to serve with such a group as you. It is my prayer that we will all come home, and I will do my best to see it so. So, put your fears aside, and be calm. We are the 127th, and we will perform our duty. Now, as you know, we must leave in 24 hours. So, enjoy the end of our leave, and don't worry about tomorrow. It will worry about itself. Good evening to you all."

Jae flashes a smile to them all, hoping his words hit home. Yes, war is anything but fun, to put it mildly. It is full of death and despair. But there is no brotherhood as strong as that forged in the heat of battle. They'll be alright... of that, he has no doubt.

He makes his way out of the bar, shaking hands and chatting quickly with the others on his way out. He exits then, heading toward the nearest tram station to his room.

[Nathan West]

Meanwhile, the General and Tyle had made their way to a private back room.

"Tyle, the rundown is damn ugly. We're looking at a messy operation, because few things fight like the Cizerack... and they're millions of the buggers enlisted. Furthermore, its going to be damn hard to determine who really is our ally. There are differences... and you can recongize indivduals, but... they're all the same species."

Tyle nodded his head.

"One-Two-Seven is going to be dropped closest to enemy lines... which aren't very known. We're going in half blind..." West fished out a small holoprojector and a control. It came to life after setting it on the floor. Units in the First Battalion were colored according to purpose, and designated by each unit's logo. Other Battalions were greyed out, but visible.

http://www.swforums.net/forum/attachment.php?s=&postid=461183

"The DZ is here, which is the core of the NRSF, comprising the First Battalion, while the other battalions are Secondeers, with the exception of the One-Three-Six. Mechanized support will be Sarins and the One-Three-Five, who should be hot on your heals. Res' Lay and the One-Two-Eight will be your linemates, so I want to see your men sucking face with them before boarding. Unfortunately, the One-Three-Eight and One-Three-Seven are going to be the loose girls, because the Rouges are tied up elsewhere, and no other units could qualify on CAS. Don't depend on air support."

[Captain Tyle]

To Tyle, it looked like a standard insertion and anchoring mission. Friendly zones towards the coastline, if they could be considered friendly, were to be held against an uncertain hostile front.

"So you want the Krayts to hold Ai'karee. Understood."

Of course, he would rather advance the push on Sol'aissa. If enemy strength wasn't known...then it was probably feared as potent. The doggies in 2nd and 3rd battalions were tough enough...but if it were up to him, he'd rather have 1st battalion on the main push. But it wasn't up to him. The line had to hold. The lack of air support caused his brow to knit. The Cizerack made up for a dilapidated army in sheer numbers. They were dismally equipped, but with attrition and determination alone, they could flatten a superior force. Though there hadn't been a major conflict with the republic in nearly 100 years, Tyle knew of brutal brush-fire wars the Cizerack conducted against pirate guilds. The pirates managed to steer clear of the Cluster by a parsec...which was unprecedented.

"I'll have the Krayts assembled at zero eight hundred for departure."

He gave General West a curt salute,

[William Neir]

I said my goodbyes to those around me, and decided to turn in early. There were those in the company determined and hell-bent to celebrate one last night of inactive duty. I wasn't one of them, and I had too much on my mind to be festive. I slipped out of the bar, barely a minute ahead of Lieutenant Pylache, to catch the tram to the billet post.

[Helenias Evenstar]

Going to war with the Cizerack? Better than sitting face to face with the devious beasts.

I was at present at a table not far from the soldiers of the NRSF - the elite of the Republic. Much smaller it was that when Tohmahawk controlled it and seemingly many new faces from the time I held a commission in it's ranks. Commander Cross in those days - and in many ways, days I preferred. Give me a stand up fight than the current political entanglements I was involved with as a Senator. I could hear the excitement, the fear, the trepidation in voices, the wondering.

Was I actually jealous of them?

Maybe. Some of them would not be returning, I felt. Other would be seeing things that would haunt their nightmares for years. Others... well they would come home and they would be strangers to their own families.

I put aside the datawork of the Senate and decided to listen to the familiar soldier-talk instead.

[Sophia Harten]

Sophia watched the rest of the evening slip by, it feeling like a dream. The game ended with much joking, the talk about the Cizerack, both the General and Captain went into a back room, West caring a map chip.

That last vision brought her around and she downed the rest of her drink, standing and making her way to the room. The door was closed so she knocked once and firmly waiting for a reply.

[Sol Blake]

So General West walks in with the marching orders, add water and you have instant mood change. Sol had seen it only once before but the first time is just as easy to remember as the last. It was interesting now, to be in a more of an observer position and see how Neir dealt with it. He called his parents and got an early night. Smart move. Not that it will make the slightest bit of difference when the very ground beneath you trembles and quakes in time to the beat of battle.

Sol sighed and swirled the remaining contents at the bottom of his glass, he scooped up the last of his froth in the amber and threw it back. The glass hit the table with a heavy-handed 'thunk'. It was difficult because he was trying to grasp his own feelings on the situation; he concluded that he was stuck somewhere in an uneasy mix of fear and excitement. The only thing that was constant was the fact that they would be leaving to fight Cizerack men and women tomorrow morning. He tried not to think about it though, he didn't want to for the private intended to have one last decent night's sleep. But his thoughts wouldn't settle.

Then he saw a woman. She caught his attention and held it. Sol tried not to stare yet feared if he took her eyes away from her she might dissapear. He had seen many beautiful women before but when he looked at her all the mixed up feelings inside seemed to settle, like sedement on the ocean floor. He sighed and found himself up on his feet, walking over to this lady. She was different; not because of how she looked or behaved but rather more importantly because of the way she made this young man feel. To look upon her face was like having all the troubles of the world melt around you until there was nothing but tranquility. It was like a drug and he craved more. Maybe it was the ale, maybe it was something else.

"Excuse me, miss." He spoke, his voice cracked nervously and he quickly cleared his throat. Without realising it, Sol put his hands on a free chair and did a half bow, he smiled and asked: "Are you one of those, you know. Jedi people?"

[Marc Tycho]

The bloody Cizerack?! Tyco screamed in his thoughts, a mind numbing thought spread across his body like a wave of freezing ice. Thats all we needed, a fight with a Imperial Lord now a bunch of sodding cats. And it seemed it was about to get a whole lot worse, they were shipping out tommrow which made the atmosphere plumet to about minus 50. Old Neir the poor bliter had never seen the horrors of true battle, blood spilling from every corner of the battlefield, corpses lining outside the barraks for identity checks.

No Tycho was not ready to see that again, but he guessed he made his choice to be a field surgion and he had to take the flak along with the rest of the boys...and tend to there wounds and crazy bloody infections,blisters, cuts and bruises. It was often a messy job but some poor sod had to do it and by a crap turn of chance it just so happned to be Tycho....excellent.

' What a day... Tycho sighed.

[Sam Riley]

Jordan decided to walk back to her room, rather than take a cab. Who' knows when she would get to enjoy the night simply as it was right now.

Ahead of her, she knew, there would be weeks, months maybe, of grabbing sleep in watches, feeling your eyes burn when you tried to close them because you were so tired it was like smearing sandpaper over them every time you blinked. And, if you were lucky enough to sleep, then you dreamed of some <smallfont color=#FFFF40>-Censored-</smallfont> hole poking a gun muzzle in your face and blowing your fracking head off. Jordan couldnt begin to count how many times she'd been suprised to still be alive upon waking in some stinking trench someplace.

And this time, she got to do it with Cizeracks. Bloody hell. Cizeracks. They were frelling nuts those felinoids. Personally, she would be happy to see them blast themselves to hell and back - galaxy would be no worse with out a few billion less of the buggers. Jordan never would understand the military brass and the decisions they made as to who we defended, who we smoked. She just tucked her head low, and ran forward like everybody else. Not for the first time in her career, she asked herself just what was she doing here.

But, like every other time the question arose, she already knew the answer.

It was her brother Terrance. Or Terry, as she always called him. Only the folks called him by his full name.
Accepted as a GI by the NRSF two years ago, he was thrilled beyond all reason to think that his life would make a difference. That he could help make this galactic crap-heap a little better. And get to shoot stuff up, and live with honor, and make everyone proud. Jordan had been proud, and happy for him too - his enthusiasm just bled all over her, there was no use fighting it.

Two weeks before leaving for bootcamp, Terry was jogging is usual 4 mile run before dinner. The sun was just setting, making a runner along the dirt road difficult to see. Some old timer who should have had his skiff-license revoked 50 years prior, clipped a tree and blew himself to kingdom-come. Debris from the vehicle hit Terry knocking him unconscious, face down in a side ditch. He came close to drowing in six inches of water, but Emergency Resonse revived him.

Good job Jordan thought, bitterly.
Terry is now a 6-foot cabbage who sits and watches Captain Kangaroo cartoons, plays jacks compulsively, and pisses himself atleast once a day.

Jordan always remembered that day, everytime she got new assignement orders. The bitterness of Terry's life being made so redundant by such a whim of fate never failed to sour her mouth. He was the reason of what she was doing here. She wouldnt let his life be for nothing. She was here because of him. She was here for him - because he couldnt be here himself.

**************

In her room, she jotted a quick note to her folks.
She didnt write alot. Things weren't said like they once used to be since Terry's accident. It was like no one really wanted to say how they felt about anything because it would open the floodgate to the sadness they'd been living under. It was easier to just keep things unemotional. For Jordan it was, anyway.

[i]Hi Mom, Dad........Got word today. We'll be leaving for Fey Dann in the morning. I'm with the 127th Krayt, assigned under Captain Tyle. He's a good sort, Dad you'd like him. Looks like we got a good crew, some seasoned fella's in the mix. Tell Terry I'll be by to play Jacks with him soon.

Love, Jordan.
</I.

Getting up from the desk, she crossed over to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. She was recognising herself less and less these days. Running a hand over her head, she felt the rough prickle against her skin and decided to shave before bed. Jordan did this ritual the night before ship-out everytime. It seemed to calm her and set her mind for a settled sleep.

Putting the plug in the sink, she hit the red button, and hot, steamy water rushed into the porcelain receptor.

[Helenias Evenstar]

"Excuse me, miss." He spoke, his voice cracked nervously and he quickly cleared his throat. Without realising it, Sol put his hands on a free chair and did a half bow, he smiled and asked: "Are you one of those, you know. Jedi people?"

I glanced up, seeing it was one of the soldiers I had been contemplating before.

"Why, yes I am. I am Jedi Knight Helenias Evenstar and I used to even be in the NRSF myself some time ago. Would you care to take a seat?"

He looked nervous, so even while my face remained stern, I laced my voice with gentleness, using the Force to exlude calmness and peace.

[Nathan West]

West turned off the holo projector, and opened the door.

"Come in, Harten." Harten did, in a smart, sure manner. She was a good officer, and knew more about Fey'Dann than anyone else in the New Republic right now, West figured.

"Captian Tyle, this is Lieutenant Sophia Harten, NRSF Intel. She'll be your liason for Pennant."

"She knows more about the Cizerack and the terrain we're landing on that anyone else in the NRSF. If you would excuse me, I'm going to go ruffle Sarin's feathers. The Lieutenant can brief you further."

[Sophia Harten]

Sophia thanked the General for letting her in and saluted sharply towards the Captain before extending a hand to shake his in a firm grip. She watched the General leave and then regarded the Captain.

I'll be happy to brief you in anything the General didn't go into detail about, as well as brief the troops when the time comes.

[Sol Blake]

Upon hearing her silken voice, inside Sol could feel himself melt. All he could do innitially was release a boyish grin and look at her not realising it was his turn to speak. He sat, now at eye-level with the woman.

"I hope you don't mind my approaching you. Forgive me, but one such as yourself seems to fair to the eye to have been part of the NRSF." He finished and during the silence, he dared to blink.

"How was your time with the special forces?" He asked finally, eager to hear the same soft voice once again. Despite the topic of conversation, all his fears and concerns about the near future slipped discreetly to the back of his mind.

[Captain Tyle]

"Good...we'll need whatever you've got."

Tyle glanced to Lt. Harten, and then back at the map. Taking a seat, he closed his eyes for a moment.

"They've got numeric strength. We've got qualitative strength. Makes sense to drop at the delta, and use both water bodies to force a bottleneck. There's a lot of flat terrain, looking at this map."

He looked up to Harten.

"Take a seat, Lieutenant. What can you tell me about Fey'Dann?"

[Sophia Harten]

Well...

She sat in the seat offered to her, leaning both elbows on the table, looking at the map.

Like you said, the terrain is fairly flat, with maybe a few rolling hills towards the west of the drop point. But, while the terrain is flat, it is rugged, with plenty of tiny rocks and mid sized boulders.

The only thing I see bad about those details are maybe a few pebbles in the troops shoes, and bumps in the road for our land vehicles, but other than that it shouldn't be too much of a problem.

She pointed a finger near where they would be dropping, on a small dot on the map.

We'll be dropping near this town right here called Ai'karree, named after the river running here.

She then pointed to the river.

The town itself is full of friendlies. The perimeter we set up will be there to help us assess enemy movements, and what with the land area being somewhat flat, we'll be able to see for quite a long distance.

Only thing is, so will the enemy.

But our advantage will be that we have the town as a cover to block any such surveillance on their part.

She leaned back in the seat, crossing her arms over her chest.

As to the rest of the information, it'll be dealt out once I've had a chance to breif your troops on the intelligence we've aquired.

[Helenias Evenstar]

Originally posted by Sol Blake

[I]"I hope you don't mind my approaching you. Forgive me, but one such as yourself seems to fair to the eye to have been part of the NRSF. How was your time with the special forces?"

I blushed faintly, flattered somewhat.

"Being a fighter has been my life for many years, so even if the NRSF was dangerous, I always enjoyed it. It helps that there are good men in command, one's who value their soldiers. The one thing I appreciate above all is knowing that the person with the sniper rifle, there to watch my back is skilled enough so they wont shoot it. So, how about you? Have you been in the NRSF long?"

[Captain Tyle]

Tyle nodded to the intel report...satisfied with Harten's presentation.

"We'll have to occupy our position at night, then. If visibility is like you say, I doubt command will risk showing their cards during daylight. Second battalion would lose their suprise element, up on the flank."

He rose from his seat, shutting the holo off.

"That's enough for me. You should get some sleep, Lieutenant. Prepare to brief K Company at zero eight hundred tomorrow. We'll depart at zero eight thirty. Dismissed."

[Sophia Harten]

Sophia nodded her head to the Captain's reasoning.

Indeed.

And then, as he rose, she also did, collecting the various information data pads she'd brought with her, while nodding her head to the Captains suggestion of sleep.

I couldn't agree more.

She saluted smartly.

Goodnight, Captain. I'll see you tomorrow.

And then she left to her quarters. She had some last minute info packages to put together for the commanding officers, and a quick shower, before she hit the sack.

[Captain Tyle]

Tyle returned his I.O.'s salute, and returned to his seat, mulling over the details. In the meantime, he took to his own personal sleuthing, using a nearby computer terminal to glean as much information as he could on tomorrow's destination. It was an uncomfortable ritual for Tyle. On the eve of a fight, with nothing to do but wait, worry, and wonder...you feel caged in. It would be hours before he could sleep, so instead of twiddling his thumbs, he would try and make himself useful.

Thus, as the party continued to wind down outside, the small office, Captain Tyle burned the midnight oil.