Chains of Command

[John Glayde]

No matter how hard Glayde thought outside the box, he would never have imagined that he'd find himself here. His life had changed quite radically over the years; the young boy who wanted to travel to Alderaan and learn to become a chef would no doubt have been disappointed in the military path he chose; the unshakeably loyal Storm Commando would no dobut be ashamed of how severely his loyalty had been shaken. The Sergeant who never wanted to be an officer would hate to see the Major badges pinned to his uniform.

But none of them, not in a million years, would have pictured him seated on the bridge of a starship; especially not in that seat.

Hyperspace whirled around in front of the viewport as the Novgorod cruised onwards. The hypnotic cascade of colour was beautiful to look at for a few moments; but the magic had long since worn off. In these situations the ship flew itself. The officers manning the essential stations were doing nothing important, save for the occasional diagnostic; they were there because regulations demanded it.

So was Glayde. He didn't know a damn thing about starships, but he knew about regulations. If the Alliance Navy rulebook demanded that there was a senior officer present on the bridge at all times, then he would damn well sit in the chair until someone showed up to relieve him.

The doors to the bridge hissed; relief finally came. Out of reflex, Glayde was on his feet in an instant, arms clasping smartly behind his back. "Captain on deck!" he announced, the sudden noise enough to make the young Ensign at the helm leap clear out of her skin.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

He was proud of himself. He didn't wince that much. He was almost getting used to his sensitive ear drums getting molested every time he stepped toward his duty station. With a nod, he dismissed the call to attention.

He did the little shuffle-seat-change when the guard shifted. Taking the command from his XO, he skipped over the formalities of pulling rank, and gestured to the viewer.

"How was yourr fjirrst naval post? Fjish out of waterr?"

He'd gotten Glayde's resume on his desk a day before he was posted. It wasn't his decision, it was a directive from Bothauwui. With Novgorod's mission being open-ended enemy engagements wherever they presented themselves, Intel believed a specialist strike team assigned to the Navy's fastest sortie frigate would enable them to hit the Empire where it hurt, again and again.

[John Glayde]

"No offense to you personally, sir -"

A faint scowl had settled onto his features. He'd found that happening quite a lot lately. He wasn't normally the sort of person who had much in the way of facial expressions at all, really; but scowling especially was most definately not his thing. Not in the past, at any rate. A sinking feeling in his stomach made him wonder if he might slowly be turning into Vansen Tyree. Was this the first step on the path to becoming his miserable old CO?

He drew in a covert breath, holding the urge to sigh at bay. "- but this is hardly the sort of thing I signed up for. I'm not just out of water: this fish is on Tatooine, and he isn't enjoying it at all."

He'd kept his voice low; not so much to avoid the crew overhearing, more to make it clear that they weren't supposed to be listening. "It isn't my first time being stationed aboard a starship, but I much perfer sitting down in the barracks to sitting up here on the bridge."

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr's expression turned grim a bit as Glayde told him that gee, this just isn't the pleasure cruise I hoped it would be. It would be wasted on his second to explain how little he wanted to be a Captain, and how joining the Alliance was a career of not getting what you wanted. He swallowed down that impulse. It wouldn't be good for anybody to hear it.

"Well, jI wouldn't worrry. Wjith the trrouble we'rre orrderred to get jinto, jI expect all sorrts of jinterrestjing and hostjile planets to splash down on jin ourr futurre. Speakjing of..."

He pressed a datapad into Glayde's hands.

"Frrom Dac. We'rre lookjing forr a ljive jintel opporrtunjity. Snatch, grrab, and jinterrogate."

He leaned back a little in his seat.

"So we'll get you on soljid grround soon enough."

[John Glayde]

Sitting next to his senior officer was an uncomfortable feeling. Not that there was anything wrong with sitting next to Cirrseeto Raurrssatta; it just felt oddly casual, like he was chatting to a fellow passenger on a luxury shuttle instead of a ranking military commander. He wanted to be opposite, or at the very least standing at something vaguely resembling attention still. But, he'd surrendered and settled into a seat; the Captain would probably have ordered him to do so if he'd remained standing anyway.

His eyes skimmed over he datapad he'd been given; he resisted the urge to express his sincere hope that the Novgorod's shuttle pilots were skilled enough to not splash on anything. He supposed he should be grateful; the fact that there were shuttle pilots at all was a novelty he was very much looking forward to getting used to. After his last few experiences, he hated piloting the bloody things.

"Will we be interrogating the target on-ship," he asked casually, still absorbing the intelligence report. "Or will we be delivering them to Intelligence for that?"

It seemed like a stupid question; but with the motley crew that Captain Raurrssatta had assembled, he wouldn't have been surprised to learn that there was an expert interrogator with a shady background in the Inquisitors lurking around the corridors somewhere.

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

"We extrract them and deljiverr them to Dac. jI'm not jin the jinterrogatjion busjiness."

He continued, glancing to his XO.

"Command wasn't too specjifjic. jI just thjink they want a warrm body wjith a hjigh enough jImpSec clearrance. jI don't want any unneccessarry rrjisks forr yourr team. jIf you can't capturre, you kjill, and you get out."

It wasn't explicit in his orders, but Cirr interpreted them through is own personal ethics. If command got specific, he'd adjust that worldview accordingly.

[John Glayde]

"You've seen my service record, Captain."

There was a hint of something in Glayde's voice - not quite pride or arrogance, but certainly confidence; the kind of confidence that came from knowing what you were saying was unquestionably true, and everyone would have to grudgingly come to accept that - as he spoke, his attention finally peeling away from the datapad.

"I tend to keep failed objectives to a minimum, and I always put things right when the situation goes wrong."

The addendum went without saying, but his mind certainly dwelt on it. If I'd made a mistake in the Storm Commandos, they wouldn't have let me live long enough to make a second.

He offered a shrug, as if his success rate was just a casual topic of conversation.

"What's our ET-to-target?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr glanced to Saine, who was already on the query.

"Realspace terminus in just over twenty minutes."

The Captain continued.

"We used to hold Daltarrra. The Empjirre pushed us off, and have clamped down the surrroundjing sectorr. Rresjistance should be averrage on the surrface. We'll do a qujick pass, jinserrt you, and do pjickup agajin jin one hourr."

[John Glayde]

An hour. For a quick sieze and escape, that could either be too long, or not enough. A string of flukes could have them in and out in half that time, only to be apprehended by local authorities while waiting for their pick-up; and even one or two minor disruptions could leave them entrenched against hostile forces while their ride sailed on by.

Of course, Glayde lived for missions like this. It was this kind of op that the Empire had trained him for; strangely fitting then that his skills would ultimately end up being used against them.

He flashed a smile. "One hour? Should be a cake-walk, Captain. Anything else you want done while I'm out - groceries you need picking up?"

[Cirrsseeto Quez]

Cirr smiled.

"jIf you'rre askjing for a ljicense to cause mayhem jin the meantjime..."

He glanced over, his baby blues narrowed conspiratorily.

"jI don't thjink anyone wjill exactly complajin jif the occasjional garrrjison goes up jin flames. What's the human terrm? jIcjing on a cake?"

[John Glayde]

Glayde's face broke into the closest thing to a grin that he would ever allow it to become.

"In that case, I'll be sure to mix up some extra frosting."

Rising from the chair, still clutching the datapad in his fingers, his mind jumped ahead several stages, already planning the op laid out before him. Covert infiltrations and exfiltrations were his speciality; whereas collateral damage and bonus explosions were thing that he knew some members of his team did extremely well.

He threw a curt nod at Cirrsseeto.

"If you'll excuse me, sir, I can think of a different Captain who will be very excited to hear about this."

With that he left, so focused on his newly assigned task that he forgot to be relieved about escaping the bridge. A comlink found it's way into his hand, thumbing the stud that would open a channel to Captain Tallen.

"Mara," he spoke, holding the device close to his lips, "Tell Porter and Onashi to grab their gear, and meet me in the hangar in fifteen minutes. We have an op but time is short: I'll have to explain on the way."

He fell silent for a moment, his legs already carrying him through the ship to the lower levels, where cabins and bunk rooms had been distributed out to the various members of the Novgorod's unorthadox crew.

"Glayde out," he added into the comlink, thumbing it off as he reached the door he was looking for.

He drew in a breath before he pressed the chime; a few seconds past before the hatch slid aside, revealing the dour face and intimidating frame of Ledo J. Prent.

Glayde fixed him with a determined look. "I have a job for you."

[Mara Tallen]

The pull-up bar was set at a peculiar height in the doorway to her sleeping area. Low enough to clothesline anyone not looking where they were going. But it was the perfect height for hooking one's knees over it and dangling upside for abdominal crunches.

When the comlink trilled to the particular series of beeps that meant it was incoming from Glayde, she answered it without hesitation. "Tallen." She replied, trying to keep the breathless out of her voice lest he think she was misbehaving again.

She arched a brow as she dangled there, listening. A smile curled her lips as she barely managed to get in a 'Yes, sir' before Glayde cut the line. The careful flick of a fingernail brought a line open to both team members at once. "Porter, Onashi. Grab your gear, hanger in fifteen. We've got an op. The Major will explain en route. Time's short. Tallen out."

The comlink was flicked off again in short order. The other two knew what to do, she wasn't worried about it. In the mean time, Mara kicked her legs up and off the bar, flipping around in mid-air to land in a very feline crouch before she stood. A very quick trip through the 'fresher was in order, as was a fresh change of clothes. It was the usual black bodysuit, boots, utility belt and hefty backpack, the latter of which was always packed and ready by her door.

She was the first to arrive with a few minutes to spare. Mara set the backpack down and took the time to adjust the thigh holsters holding her shatter guns. She was going to need a new holster for the left one soon, a fact which made her frown. The door behind her whooshed open, and she cast her amber gaze over a shoulder to see who had arrived.

[Serasai Onashi]

Onashi stood, eyes closed, and his face creased in an expression of thoughtful determination, like he was relaxing off the burn of a good workout.

"Hmm," he 'hmmed'. "That's good."

His comm chirped, and he grinned, pulling the device off the stand next to him and thumbing it on. He didn't even need to say his name, however; Tallen only took the time to pass on the orders and then signed off.

He deactivated the comm unit and looked down thoughtfully.

"Do you think you could finish me off with that time limit?"

The cute little ensign on her knees in front of him smiled. His return smile was positively radiant - for him, that is.

She didn't quite make it, but swore she'd do it next time. He was sure she could, being the fast learner she was and all.


"Tallen!" Onashi called, a lazy smirk on his face and a certain spring in his step. "Are we going to break something explosively, or is this another one of those subtle missions?"

[Ledo G. Prent]

He drew in a breath before he pressed the chime; a few seconds past before the hatch slid aside, revealing the dour face and intimidating frame of Ledo J. Prent.

Glayde fixed him with a determined look. "I have a job for you."

"Heh. Heh. Heh."

The grizzled face that looked back at him cracked a shark's grin.

"Issat so lad?"

Ledo had finally had his room upgraded from the brig to a single cot room with two polite guards. He was familiar with the racket. Pirates impressed, shanghied, and kidnapped-with-benefits all the time. Apparently the Rebels aped the business model. Still not quite vested enough to be out on his own without a chaperone though. Of course, with his likeable personality, soon they'd all be the best of friends.

"Isser money 'n pussy innit?"

[Sam Porter]

She heard the voice coming from her activated comm, but gave no response to the accursed thing as it rested on the small nightstand beside her bed. In fact, after it'd clicked back off, Sam let out a rebellious groan as she turned over beneath the mound of covers that were piled over the top of her lanky frame. She closed her eyes even tighter, trying to will away the notion that she even leave the comfort of her bed.

She'd just gotten to sleep! It wasn't fair! Couldn't these people accept missions that had nothing to do with disturbing poor souls who'd tossed and turned all night long, thinking over the last batch of mollyhocked thermal detonators they'd put together? They weren't pretty, and were even less trustworthy.

Another disgruntled moan, and the blonde kicked away the mass of blankets before rolling over the side of the bed, giving the offending comm a distinctly angry glare.

"Do you people even know what time it is??!!!"

It was a question given to no one, and spoken more out of angry self-pity than anything else.

"This is an ungodly hour to foist the exhausted out into the world!"

Any hour before noon was generally considered 'ungodly' in her mind.

"And what's more," she raged to no one at all as she pulled a pair of trousers on, "... I want it known that a durracrete slab is more comfortable than that bed."

Sam pulled a shirt on over her head, and it was soon followed by less than graceful feat of acrobatics that involved putting on socks while at the same time pulling on her jacket.

She slid her feet into her boots, but didn't bother tying the laces as her gunbelt was cinched around her waist.

"It's a damn travesty, is what all this is," she grumbled angrily, swiping the comm from the nightstand and grabbing at the handle of a small duffel.

Like a violent solar storm she burst from her room to tromp her way down the corridor, a near-murderous glare that still held the cobwebs of fresh sleep glinting in her eyes.

[Mara Tallen]

"I sincerely hope so, Onashi. There's been a lack of proper explosions in my life lately."

Mara replied, until she really looked at the man as he bounded into the hanger. He was never quite so...ebullient. Except when...oh gods. There was no way in the nine levels of hell that she was asking which of the Ensigns it was this week. Especially since she wasn't getting any at all.

Shaking her head as she ran her fingers through her auburn locks, Mara kept her expression smooth with her usual smile firmly in place. A neat ponytail soon bound her hair back from her face as she eyes her backpack. She knew the contents and their precise placements by heart. But without knowing exactly what the mission was, she thought to err on the side of overkill.

Out of a nearby storage locker, she retrieved a locked silver case and set it beside her pack. There was Cresh-Four in it, among other assorted explosives that the military required certification and security clearance to handle. With that, and Sam with her kit, they ought to be able to cover anything Glayde could throw at them.

[John Glayde]

Ledo had finally had his room upgraded from the brig to a single cot room with two polite guards. He was familiar with the racket. Pirates impressed, shanghied, and kidnapped-with-benefits all the time. Apparently the Rebels aped the business model. Still not quite vested enough to be out on his own without a chaperone though. Of course, with his likeable personality, soon they'd all be the best of friends.

"Isser money 'n pussy innit?"

"Money, explosions, and shooting people," Glayde offered back.

The Major was loathed to call on the assistance of a man such as this. The Rebel Alliance was forced to make use of less than honest men on a regular basis: when merely being part of the Rebellion automatically made you a traitor and a terrorist in the eyes of the "legitimate" galactic government, you started to become a little less judgemental of some of the crimes your compatriots had committed in the past.

But Glayde still clung onto a few of his morals and principles; and working with pirates severely tested those. Luckily for the Alliance, and for Prent, Glayde's commitment to his morals came a different second to his commitment to his orders and the mission.

"Anything else, you'll have to get hold of on your own."

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Come on; I'm briefing the others in the hangar bay, and I hate explaining things twice."

*

The team was assembled looking professional as ever. They were certainly a motley assortment: one mercenary, one pirate, one loose-cannon, and one whatever the hell Sam Porter was - all of the above? - all to be herded towards an objective by a Storm Commando in-exile.

Were their mission not such a serious matter, it would almost have felt like some sort of cruel sitcom like the ones his sister had forced him to watch back on Corellia. His sordid history with Mara certainly fit the profile, and Onashi was clearly the comic relief; idly, he wondered which of the group were the requisite sleeping together in secret couple.

From Onashi's pleased with himself look, and Porter's ruffled and disgruntled one, they seemed to be the safe bet.

"Our mission is simple," he explained, clasping his hands behind his back. "Alliance Intel wants a senior Imperial to question; our job is to get one. It's a quick snatch and grab, with a one-hour window. Plenty of time if it all goes to plan; precious little if we balls things up."

"The Captain -" He hesitated, a slight nod of his head towards Mara. "The upstairs Captain has also been complaining that we have too many blaster backs, grenades, and explosive charges cluttering up his cargo hold. He's asked us to get rid of as much as we can; so collateral damage is approved - hell, encouraged -"

He wasn't sure who deserved his stern look the most; it was a struggle to rely on the restraint of any of the group, and he found himself with the uncomfortable realisation that Onashi and Tallen were probably the best behaved. Life had taken some interesting terms of late; he was pretty sure he didn't like them.

He decided on Prent as the target of his scowl. "- but against military targets only."

"Time is short: we only have a little over five minutes before we drop out of hyperspace; that's when our one our window starts. Get your gear on the shuttle; I'll answer any questions in transit."

[Ledo G. Prent]

"Money, explosions, and shooting people," Glayde offered back.

Bollocks on the money bit. He was every bit certain that the Alliance would short him or there'd be none at all. Maybe whatever he could steal while on the mission?

The rest was good though. One caveat.

"I wan' me knoif back."

The guards had confiscated his pigsticker. The blade was lovingly maintained but the rest of it looked like shit and it was mostly there for sentimental reasons. And for shaving. And for eating fruit. And for stabbin'. Not a lot of that in this day and age, but he was a sucker for waxing nostalgic.

Once Glayde ensured that, the rest was gravy on a spot of nerf. Ledo decked himself out gear that the Alliance master chief was suddenly all too willing to foist upon him. He listened to the plan, giving Porter a bit of his attention as he did.

[Sam Porter]

For her part, Sam busied herself with finally taking on the task of lacing up her boots as Glayde spoke. She made faces as she worked, parsing the XO's words and filing them away for whenever she deemed would be a useful time to pay them heed.

Of course right now, her footwear took precedence. She caught Prent sneaking himself a few looks, but gave no indication that she knew or cared as she finished up, and in one smooth motion her now-free left hand closed around the duffel's handle while she straightened to stand and took a small step backwards.

She did not have much to pack, which was a good thing in situations such as this, and with a weary sigh the tall blonde started for the shuttle. She shuffled her way past the short line of her teammates, walking behind them.

Restraint never being one of her stronger traits, Sam did not resist the urge to reach out, nastily flicking Prent's ear as she passed by him.

[Mara Tallen]

Amber eyes glittered with absolute delight as Glayde spoke. She swore the man had never said anything sweeter...well, he had, but that was neither here nor there. The directive to lighten the Novgorod's load of explosives from the Captain was a burden she would more than gladly accept.

It took her about two minutes to transfer everything to her silver case and in turn grab a few extra supplies. Leaving her empty backpack behind, she boarded the shuttle with the others and got herself settled.

Mara secured the silver case before finding herself a seat and strapping in. Slender fingers busied themselves with her shatter guns, checking the weapons over carefully as was her custom.