Death of a Friend, Chapter 2
26 Aug 2022MdN
Date: Late July 3230Location: Somewhere in the Alioth system
Setting: It's the height of Alioth's war of independence
Chapter 2
"I have people dying down there," Richard pleaded with the Admiral, "I can't just leave them. WE can't just leave them."
The trip back to the base had been eerily quiet apart from his own personal flood of emotion. That should have been enough of a warning that things were about to turn sour. Difficulties began as soon as he arrived at the base; all the landing pads were full.
"Come on, come on," he'd grumbled impatiently while waiting in the queue, before having an uncharacteristic row with flight control.
They'd had to man handle a sidewinder scout perilously close to the edge of a pad for him to squeeze in next to it. Against regulations for sure, but in times of war, needs must. Even then, it had taken Richard's insistence that he'd be gone within the hour, plus the Admiral's name being dropped into the conversation to convince flight control to allow it.
His winning argument, insisting that his mission was critical to ongoing operations, that he'd just returned from a war zone, and that he had to speak with the Admiral urgently, hundreds of lives depended on it, had surprised even him when it worked. He'd just avoided scraping the Sidewinder as he touched down, and Minerva managed to avoid blowing it off the pad with the powerful thrusters at her disposal. Wasting no time, Richard had jumped to the landing pad and gone off in search of the Admiral.
That had been the next problem. It quickly dawned on Richard why the base was so busy. Something big was brewing; flight control had assumed the new arrival had important intel for the mission that he now realised was being prepped all around him.
No one knew where the Admiral was, but he would be at the heart of it as usual.
"I hear you're looking for me?" it was the Admiral who'd found Richard some time later.
"Oh thank God I found you," that's when he'd made his plea.
"Richard, I've known you a long time," he heard back; nothing good ever started with those words. "I'd help your friends if I could, you know that."
"They're not my friends," he retorted. "They're Alliance troops, fighting for independence, laying down their lives to help save this system from the Empire." The Admiral's face contorted in pain, Richard had just put some emotional points on the score card if nothing else.
"Richard, I know. I really do. But that planet is lost and I won't sacrifice more men to rescue your friends who are most likely already dead." It was a harsh assessment, but this was a military man used to weighing up the odds and acting decisively. It stopped Richard in his tracks, score card ripped up, the knockout blow.
He was right as well, his rebels were most likely dead. The Imperial assault would be happening right now, or finished even, and no one would be left for him to rescue. But he couldn't think that way, Jaffa was still down there, his friend was relying on him. He'd promised to bring help, and he damned well would.
He opened his mouth to try again.
"No, Richard." the Admiral beat him to it and held up a hand to stop the conversation. "Every man here," he waved his arm around the assembled mass of heavy ships and lines of troops waiting to board, "every one, is heading out to Wicca's World within the hour in a major offensive. We simply have no one spare to effect a rescue mission. Winning this battle should end Imperial resistance in the Alioth system. We must win, don't you see?"
"Arggh," he threw up his arms in frustration; Richard did see, but he could also see his friends being overrun by Imps. The Admiral was trying to win a war, Richard knew, while he was merely trying to save the lives of a few desperate friends. There are always casualties in war, Admirals made the hard choices.
A battered Type 7 had just opened its loading ramp behind them. Tired, filthy soldiers disembarked. Some were covered in blood stains, their own or fallen comrades Richard wasn't sure, such is the chaos of war. But they weren't heading to Wicca, that much was certain.
"What about those guys?" he enquired, seizing on any opportunity. "That Type 7 would be big enough to bring them all back."
The wounded came out first on stretchers, a dozen maybe. One with a plasma drip held high by a concerned squady who constantly told his buddy they were home now, he was going to be fine, just hang on a little longer. Medics met them at the bottom of the ramp to take over, the squady refused to leave his side. Richard wondered if his friends would return in the same state; right now he'd welcome even that.
"Who, Z Force?" asked the Admiral incredulous. "They've been in the thick of it for a month, they're in no condition to go anywhere." Z force's CO managed to speed march over to the Admiral as his platoon continued to file out of the huge transporter. There was nothing casual about this officer's gait, even after a month of heavy combat Richard failed to see where even a parade ground could encourage more precision.
"Fantastic job, Captain," the Admiral turned and welcomed the new arrival with a salute that was crisply returned.
"Thank you Sir, we got the job done."
"That you did, Skip. My thanks to your team. You've given these boys, " he waved at the assembled fleet again, "far greater odds of coming home alive."
"We hope so, Sir," and Richard believed it to be true, without even knowing the mission. This man was all business.
"How are the casualties, Skip?" the Admiral asked with genuine concern.
"There aren't too many, sir. They should all pull through. Nothing a month surrounded by pretty nurses in a medical facility can't fix."
"Capital, capital."
"The boys are tired though. This was a hard op mentally. Just sheer exhaustion by the looks of it. If you need us leading the charge," he added with a nod to the assembled troop carriers, "we can probably rustle up half a platoon, three, maybe four fire teams at a push." His frown suggested that was optimistic.
"No, no Skip. Your boys have done the hard part, it's up to the cavalry now. God knows you've all earned a lifetime's rest."
"Errm," Richard coughed, raising a timid hand to interrupt. He felt terrible for doing so, even those leaving the transporter last looked exhausted.
"Oh for the love of Tellus, Richard!" the Admiral chastened. "Okay, okay. Skip have a chat to this fella would you, he has some friends in a sticky situation. Strictly volunteer assignment only mind. You boys have done enough already, but there really is no one else."
"Thank you Admiral," said a relieved Richard.
"Don't thank me yet. Skip, if your assessment is that your men are too tired, this mission is dead before it even starts. I'm not risking your lives to bring back the bodies of some dead militia."
Then turning to Richard: "Look after them, Richard - these men are gold dust and we already owe them a greater debt than you can imagine."