In Corellia - The aftermath

[Fairbairn]

This is the ending of the story, perhaps add your own account in "flashback" of some writing you would like to do about the engagements or events...


:: In a corner of a Corellian cantina battle-hardened men and women are on shore-leave, except for one thing they are on the shores and at the end of a long chapter of war ::

There was always someone on watch when Alpha Company was drinking and this was no exception Fairbairn was on watch since sundown, and now the sober Corth worked his way into the cantina stepped up and handed his bottle of Alderanian ale to Fairbairn as he clapped his shoulder. “Get yourself a drink why don’t you.. you’ve been on watch long enough”. There was no need for orders, the duty just got done, as was remembered by the silence of the comms channel during intense engagements.
Fairbairn nodded once with a smile his helmet clipped to his belt-kit and his frame moved past Corth to sit down next to Sergeant Thavious who was drinking quietly in the corner. Fairbairn handed the bottle of Alderaanian Ale to Thavious and he looked around for a moment stating “Where’s the first sergeant. Wheres Rakehell?” Not here.. he thought, probably for the best he mused as he remembered the paperwork the combat veteran Ricky was immersed-in following the planetary defence.
Alpha company didn’t buy any drinks, or anything else for that matter and Fairbairn looked across the table to Eroc taking a single swig from the bottle and raising it in acknowledgement of her before setting it down again and getting to his feet. Fairbairn wasn’t restless but the silent Alpha Company was needing a break and well deserved it was. Looking at the nearby Dancers, the hour was getting late and Alpha didn’t pay for any entertainment on Corellia anymore and even the Twi’leks looked tired, male and female alike.

Fairbairn walked across to the centre of the bar and sat on the edge of a huge steel bar, the metal complaining under the heavy composites of his armour. He looked around at the mixture of mercenaries, CorSec republic military and the odd loner and stranger closeby. Above all the cantina was filled with dockworkers, shipbuilders and other mechanical workers. He nodded to himself pleased to see the tension gone from their eyes, though in others was etched sadness, stress and trauma. They’ll need this time, and they’ll need their brothers and sisters now and in future. Deciding he was going to leave the cantina and head back to the Torik, he looked up and raised his voice to the cantina, at a break in the band who were heading to the bar.
“Corellia, we aren’t all Corellians here, but let me thankyou.. not a grand speech to politicians or military heads but just a few words of thanks from one man to another. It’s been a hard fight here. The fight goes on for many behind the scenes; in the skies and on the ground. These past long days haven’t been about conquest, control - at least not for Acoy or the republic. But don’t be fooled. Corellia doesn’t care much for the Republic the constitution or anything else. We were here to defend you, we responded to the call and you did a good job of tryng to break us, much of it was done this evening right here. And as you know friends, this wasn’t a Coruscant operation, or some other “foreign” planet. This was your fight, and many of us are from these shores. You people didn’ need any heroes to fly-in and fight the empire trying to control you, you fought them yourself defending your homes, workmates and brothers in arms. No more salutes and congratulations to us. It’s time for us to acknowledge and salute you.. the people of Corellia!”


Come and greet some of the Corellians in our company those here and may the force be with you….

:: and with that Fairbairn stood up quietly and walked back to the corner of the cantina ::

[Kateri]

Kateri sat in a darkened corner of the bar, swirling her almost-empty glass of Corellian brandy listlessly. Gravity was a nice change for once. She could not remember how many times and for how long she had sat in her strike fighter, attempting to stem wave after endless wave of Imperial pilots hellbent on breaching Corellia's defenses and occupying the planet. The Republic had not expected such a formidable force, and even the barely trained pilots –- Kateri included - had been sent out in a desperate attempt to defend the planet.

Actual combat was nothing like what she had experienced during training. She remembered her first battle above the skies of Corellia all too well. At the time she had been assigned to Red Wing with First Sergeant Rakehell, Sergeant Decker, and Specialist Akitan. She remembered launching from the Torik... the Imperial battlecruiser looming in the distance... a formation of Imperial scouts swooping toward them... her field of vision exploding in blinding streaks of red as a barrage of laser bolts pelted the hull. In the distance, a gunship from Blue Wing disintegrated in a bright flash. Dimly, she was aware of the First Sergeant shouting out orders over comms, but she was barely able to make them out. An odd, sick feeling had settled in the pit of her stomach; it was one she had not felt in years. It was the feeling she had felt during her first encounter with the Imperials after joining the Republic military.

Frowning slightly, she attempted to push the memory out of her mind. She turned her attention to the center of the room where Fairbairn was addressing the weary occupants of the cantina. A short speech, but a good one. He always seemed to know what to say, and it was just as well; Kateri had the feeling that Alpha Company would be quite a dour, silent lot tonight otherwise.

She downed the rest of her brandy.

[Junlar]

Jun'lar was seated within a small group of people: friends, acquaintances, and females interested in more than companionship . However, his usual antics of drinking, dancing, and living it up were far away in the back of his mind. As the individuals chatted away among themselves, discussing how things were finally going back to normal, being tired of living in secured bunkers with little to no creature comforts. They were so self-absorbed, and had no frakking clue about the cost of liberating Corellia from the clutches of the Empire. It infuriated him to the point of snapping, for now one cared about the friends he lost, or the fact that his mother was still missing after the bombing of the Government Sector by the Empire. They cared about his fame as a dashing privateer turned soldier, and all the "glorious" stories fabricated by the media to make him appear as a genuine hero. Once, he would have reveled in the fame and fortune. Now, it made him furious, and he was sick of it all.

Standing up, the scout took one more shot of his favorite Corellian Whiskey, and moved away from the ones who were leeching off his fame by association. The small group merely looked on as he went away, appearing to goad him back to their table, but not listening at all. Seeing a small table in a lone corner of the bar, he took a seat, rubbing his head as the images of his time in his Flashfire, dodging blaster bolts and missiles from heavily armed Imperial strike fighters. The times on the ground infiltrating enemy lines to take out key enemy systems to ensure Republic victories, and killing said enemy from the shadows. The ones who knew the true cost of war were either in uniform or no longer in existence. Hearing the voice of Fairbairn and his speech put his mind at ease, taking some of the burden off his shoulders, but he still had a personal mission to complete. Jun'lar still looked through the civilian evacuation dossiers, with no luck of finding the name of Celia Letan anywhere...

[Eroca]

Would it ever end? Specialist Romaniski asked himself as his mind throbbed within the confines of his thick skull. The blatant loudness of the music and chatter of the cantina’s patrons were starting to get to him. The commando could spend hours in a warzone with mortars and explosions dropping left to right and never get a headache. Why was this any different? Probably because it isn’t just the noise, he thought to himself as his massive hand gripped a glass of ale. He wanted to leave this place and seek solace in silence, since he didn’t share the same overwhelming joy he assumed that others felt over their victory. Where others may feel relief, he felt dread, disappointment and anger...at himself. The 203rd had managed to push back the forces of the Empire and defend the core world of Corellia, but Eroc Romaniski knew he hadn’t done much to change the tide of the battle or affect the outcome of the conquest. He didn’t sit around and clean his assault cannon during the conflict, but he hadn’t been able to make as big of an impact as he wanted to do.

When the Torik jumped out of hyperspace above Corellia, Eroc was eager and ready to single handedly take out the Imps. He had trained long and hard for something like this, but to his surprise...what he had prepared for was not what he got. He was thrust into pilot’s chair of a starfighter and told to fight. How was he supposed to fight when his assault cannon was stored in the Torik’s armory? How could he defeat enemies with a vessel he hardly knew how to maneuver properly? He was not much of pilot and he proved that in space. He had disappointed himself...and Eroc, a man who was always was eager and confident...rarely felt that kind of weight on his heart.

When the smoke and debris had settled and the Imps fell back...as cries of victory filled comms...Eroc remained silent. He didn’t want to celebrate, but sulk. When he entered the cantina with the rest of the Alpha Company, he quickly broke off from the group and moved towards the seats nearest to the twi’lek dancers, alone. He preferred it that way. Most of his comrades didn’t understand him and most likely would never will. He was either as quiet as death or as loud as stampede of banthas. His mood changed like the wind. They wouldn’t understand what he was feeling now...and he figured they never would.

The last time..the last time I was a disappointment, the specialist began to mentally recall, before his emotions consumed him and a tear formed in his right eye. This isn’t the time nor the place to bring up such things better forgotten.

He downed the rest of ale and dropped a couple of credits at the feet of the two twi’leks he had been watching. Enough of this. This isn’t you, he told himself, trying to deliver his best pep talk to date, You are Eroc Romaniski, the best looking son of gun in this company. Ain’t no party like an Eroc party ‘cuz an Eroc party don’t stop, remember? Now, you’re gonna go to the bar and order yourself another drink and another and another until you forget all of this. and became that lovable drunk all the ladies and gentlemen enjoy. Got it?

Spc. Romaniski gave himself a meek smile as he rose from his seat. His eye regarded Fairbairn, who had taken it upon himself to give a speech, before walking towards the bar. He ordered a drink and planned to get obnoxiously drunk, until all the pain...the disappointment...the anger evaporated into the Corellian night.

[Viozaer]

Combat is not as the Holonet would lead the general public to believe, types Viozaer. It is not glamorous. There is no cigar chomping Sergeant barking orders and talking comedic shit to his or her troopers. It is brutal. It is defining. The very person you are will be displayed to those who you share a hole, defilade or permacrete cornerstone to some long destroyed landmark with. There are only two things that come from combat: Those who survive and those who don’t.

Viozaer rubs his eyes hard and switches off the datapad and places it on his desk. He leans back in his chair and slowly loses posture. The weight of the men and women lost, and the enormity of the task accomplished coming into focus once again. He wished is was dream… No, nightmare but it was all too real. Events had collided so quickly:

The RWS Alrek Torik commissioning. The EYES ONLY orders passed to the Major by the Senator there to launch the ship. The briefing in the empty room that will one day an Officer lounge, or was it an Armoury? The sounds of General Quarters, and then the additional sounds of boots of durasteel. This was no nightmare. This was..… Is combat.

The door chime sounds.

“"Come!", Viozaer barks.

The door opens revealing Specialist Fairbairn. Newly returned to the two-oh-three. Shame about the demotion.

“"Sir, some of us are heading planet side to find a bar. Care to join us?”", Fairbairn asks.

Pondering the question, Viozaer mulls an answer:

“"Specialist if you thought planning an OPORD was like trying to shave a Gundark, then the forms and reports afterwards are like trying to glue the fur back on."”, Viozaer says chuckling.

Fairbairn looks at him like he has just changed colour, but thinks better of asking for an explaination.

“"I have to decline the offer is the short form."”, Viozaer says.

“"Copy that, Sir. If you change your mind I’ll leave my COMM on to transmit our location."”, Fairbairn states. And with that salutes, then turns on his heels and departs.

As Viozaer watches the Specialist leave after returning the salute. He looks at the datapads on his desk. He is about to go back to typing up the report when something on another datapad catches his eye. He slowly lifts the datapad into view and starts to read…

“"Son of Sith! Command cannot be serious. This is a joke."”, Viozaer mumbles to himself.

Without cognitive awareness his reaches forward and pushes the code for Major Oca'’s office. The ghostly blue image comes into focus.

“"Captain, what is it?"”, the Major asks with just a touch if irritation in his voice.

Viozaer notes he is using his rank, rather than his name meaning he has company.

“"Sir, have you seen the latest MI8 report?"”, Viozaer inquiries trying to be vague, but instructional at the same time.

“"Do you mean the one marked NFN?”", the Majors asks.

NFN… A term used between the two of them which means:

Not Fucking Now. Or, I have someone here, did you not under-fucking-stand when I called you by rank?

“"Yes Sir. Since you’'ve read it I won'’t trouble you further. O-time 2330 hrs?”", Viozaer asks.

“"2330 hrs, copy.”", the Major replies cutting the connection.

O-time means Officer-Time, or meeting in the briefing room at the time specified if possible. Since he responded with the time, the meeting was a go.

Viozaer gets the datapads he will need together and places them in a transport case and locks it. Looking at his chrono he has 4 hours to kill before his meeting. Putting on his bucket, he used his eyes to bring up the company COMM panel, and used them further to locate the signal from Fairbairn’s COMM. Opening a channel he merely states:

“"This is ANVIL-2. Feet dry to your location 30 minutes. Line them up. Out."”

Viozaer closes the channel then heads to the Torik’s hanger deck.

[Kateri]

Kateri made her way back to the booths, unsteadily grabbing at chairs and bar stools for balance. It seemed the floor had begun to undulate. The glass of Huttese Hangover she grasped in her left hand was pitching wildly, threatening to overflow at any moment. I need to slow down, she hazily thought to herself. Her balance was always the first thing to go, it seemed. Now, if only she could remember which booth she had been sitting in--

A large body suddenly appeared out of thin air, and Kateri barely managed to step out of the way. A bit of her drink splashed down on her boots. No - someone else's boots. "Ah, shit," she muttered to herself and glanced up at the obstruction. Eroc stood there, apparently on his way to the bar. Kateri nodded at him, gesturing vaguely with her drink. "Er, hey Romaniski. Sorry about that... I'll buy you a drink?"

[Riike]

The freshly-promoted Sergeant opened his eyes. Ears ringing, Riike fumbled his way to the back of the gun deck where rows of dead or dying cannoneers were being carried to the medical bays. The ship jolted once again as another battery went up in flames.

When word got out that the ruling family of Corellia had been usurped by a coalition of gangs and rebel groups, Republic and Imperial forces alike rushed in to attempt to seize control of the planet. As expected, Alpha Company was immediately deployed. Most of the Company was shuttled to the surface while a squad-sized bunch got to stay behind and play pilot. This shiny new NCO, however, was sentenced to command a gun battery on a ship whose name he never cared to remember.

In the days following the battle, Riike had nothing to do other than lay in the confines of a medical bed and stare at the ceiling. Broken bones, plasma burns, and a mild case of post-traumatic stress were his rewards for a "job-well-done." At least he was back in the cradle of Alpha's newest upgrade, the Torik.

((Not done yet, will edit post when the rest is done.))

[Zidd]

Zidd with his helmet still on was sitting at a corner booth in the back of the cantina by himself. Watching and listening to his brothers and sisters try forget about the lives they took and the lives they saw taken. Zidd started to drown the troops and the partying out while his thoughts flooded in. He started think about how thanks to Jaxin who had taught him everything about flying, probably saved his life many times during the intense space battles that went on above Corellia. He thought to himself “As good as I am in a Scout fighter I would take combat on the ground anytime.”

He started to think about some previous engagements. The memory that came to was the one where a Sith was leading a small squad of imperials and him and a few other Alphas was there to deal with the problem at hand. The skirmish was tough but we killed all the imperials and only the Sith was left. The Sith came at them with brute force and was not holding back he threw the troops around and deflecting blaster fire with his lightsaber. Zidd had been thrown and his cannon was out of reach the Sith leaped at him ready to strike Zidd down with one strike of his saber. Zidd being one of the best hand to hand combat in the unit reached for the hilt of the saber with one hand and the other striking the Sith in the face. Stunning him long enough for some blaster fire to hit the Sith in the back and killing him.

Coming back out of a daze of thoughts he shook his head then proceeded to take off his helmet. Zidd tuning in to Fairbairn’s speech and listening to every word the war veteran had to say. Zidd then proceeded to pull out his holo communicator and an image of the newly made Sergeant Galon appeared.

“"Decker?! What are you doing alive I thought the Imps would have took out your sorry ass”." Galon said jokingly.

“"You know those sorry sons of bitches can’t kill me. Most of them can’t even get near me oh and speaking of ass how is that piece of shit you call a face. I didn’t think it could get any more fucked up?"” Zidd responding to Galon’s remark.

“"What are you talking about Decker? I always have to save your ass and nothing’s wrong with my face I just haven’t had a chance to clean up.”" Galon fired back.

“"Yeah you hit your head im the one saving your ass.” Zidd chuckles. “Why don’t you join me in adding another battle to the collection?”" Zidd meaning to swap points of views and putting the battles behind them while preparing to get ready for the next engagement.
“
"Maybe later. I got a few things to do before I join you."” Galon replied.

“"Copy that oh and make sure you get that face checked out I swear it has gotten worse."” As Zidd lets a smile. Galon ends the transmission.

Zidd puts his helmet on and start heading for the door to relieve whoever was on watch duty.

[Neves Eanur]

The flames from a small pile of debris slowly dance around and caress one another, emitting a dark but thin screen of smoke. The smoke steadily rises towards the planet's setting sun of Corell, to be carried off in a soft evening breeze. Neves sits there on his helmet, looking out at the shore and the sun the falls behind it slowly. In his hand he holds a tabac cigarette, one of the few luxuries he allowed himself. In the other arm he cradles his rifle. He looks down at it and takes another drag from the cigarette before staring off into the flames. As he releases the sweet smoke from his lungs he looks back towards the cantina which was about twenty feet behind his seat. He watches as Corth relieved Fairbairn, and the newly returned trooper went inside and give his speech. "Good speech" he thinks to himself, "Nice and short." It was good to have some of the old timers back on active duty again. Neves looks down at his cigarette, the ember was about to cease burning. He takes another drag and gave flame life again. Neves enjoyed playing this game whenever he smoked, it made his scarce supply of the precious tabac he had last that much longer.

The Lieutenant looks back at the flames and begins to immerse himself into a semi trance. The world around him melts away from existence, and is replaced by deep thought. The company was thrust into space in an attempt by the Republic military to halt the Imperial invasion of Corellia. Some how, his troopers pulled it off. The Imperial fleet was largely scattered, though a significant force was still planet side. Cut off and without the hope for support, Neves' experience reminded him that this threat will prove to be just as difficult a battle as the one just won in space. The Imperial ground force would fight as ferociously as a wounded and cornered animal, and likely cause much more destruction. Neves then turns his thoughts to his troopers. For many, this was their first taste of real combat, for others maybe their second since the deployment to Hoth. He was overall impressed by their performance. He wonders... how many will see it through to the end of this war? How many will be able to return home to their families to live a normal life again? He himself only hand a handful of months left on his contract. What would he do? Return home to Alderaan and aid in the civil war? Go freelance and leave his troubles behind? He didn't know. Neves then thinks back to his first months in Alpha Company, and looked at how many were left today. Hardly enough to count on his two hands... the old were becoming fewer, rapidly. And the new blood of the company were coming in... to carry the company off into the next chapter of its legacy. He would ensure they were ready to finish this war, with or without him. Perhaps though he will stay, and make it through this war. Hell after all of this, him and Mij were still alive. The two of them went through training together and ended up serving as the two platoon commanders within the company. Neves chuckled at that and the though of poor Ranque. Ranque, who ended up serving as the 1st Sgt. underneath Neves... the very trooper he helped to train. The one he bashed and pushed into a solid trooper. Into an Alpha Company trooper. Suddenly, a loud crash rings from the cantina. One of the troopers got clumsy and ended up breaking a glass. The dreamy world of deep thought wrapped around Neves shatters and falls as the night on Corellia descends on the scene.

Neves' features are illuminated by the slow burning fire in front of him, glowing in the ever deepening darkness of the coming night. His tabac cigarette was now long extinguished, he then tosses it into the fire to burn. Neves turns his gaze to the cantina behind him and sees Zidd emerging from the entrance and standing next to Corth who relieved Fairbairn. Neves rises and slings his rifle on his right shoulder. He then picks up his helmet, tucks it underneath his arm, and walks towards the cantina. Neves wanted to make sure the troopers didn't get themselves into too much trouble, he still needed them to fight... and he was going to cause a shit-storm of immeasurable proportions if he catches any of his NCOs letting the troopers get out of hand.

[Fairbairn]

Enjoyed reading all those troops. Really good work there. Anymore stories before we charge the cells for the next one?