The halls of the Home One, a Mon Calamari Starcruiser, were very different from those of an Imperial Star Destroyer. While its Imperial counterpart had sterile clean lines of polished durasteel, the MC80 design was very organic. Curved and suffused in warm lighting with bulkheads of glistening white, it didn’t have the same feel of a purely military vessel. If it weren’t for the constant hustle and bustle of uniforms and battle gear, one would think that this was just a research and exploration ship, which in essence it was. The Rebel Alliance had a reputation for being a rag tag group of terrorists and civilians playing soldier, but if they were to see how Admiral Gial Ackbar lead and trained his men, they would think twice before slinging their insults, especially after the Battle of Endor.
Zebulon “Zeb” Akarimas rounded the corner of the main corridor leading to the ships large briefing room and nearly ran into his commanding officer. “Oh, hey there Colonel, I have been looking for you. I wanted to hand you our equipment roster for the upcoming mission. It looks like we are packing half the Proton Torpedoes in the fleet.” Lt. Col. Ichijyo took the data pad with a calm warm smile that was as casual as your favorite sweatshirt. “Impressive, the Alliance does not skimp on equipment.”, said the veteran commander of the 42nd.
“Well, I don’t think they can afford to skimp sir. Since we’ve been with the Alliance we have been up against three to one odds. If it weren’t for the fact that we are more skilled, motivated and well equipped than the Imps, this Rebellion of theirs would have ground to a halt a long time ago.” Akarimas said in his well-practiced fatalistic tone.
Both men started walking together towards the center of the ship. “You really need to stop referring to it as ‘their’ Rebellion Zeb. We signed up with the Alliance, it’s our Rebellion. You need to stop thinking of yourself as a mercenary or even worse an Imperial”, said the Colonel as he gently patted the young man on the shoulder. “I know that you like to stay detached, but we are past that now. We either succeed or fail along with this endeavor. I don’t think that the Empire will cut us any slack because we once wore an Imperial uniform.”
Zeb’s shoulders sank in acceptance of that truth. He always liked to think that he can take or leave this whole war, pretending that he could always go back to jockeying Ixiyen strike craft on the outer rim for fun and profit. Now he is an officer in the Rebel Alliance and marked for immediate execution by the largest fleet to ply the stars since the old intergalactic wars of the Sith Empire.
“Yeah, I know sir. I’m just not used to fighting with idealists. It’s much harder to fight for faith than for money. The latter is far less tangible and less likely to bail you out of a god forsaken gulag. There is little difference between hero and criminal here.” Zeb said dourly.
The Colonel stepped in front of the worrisome pilot and stopped him dead in his tracks. “It all depends on who interprets history Zeb. Let’s leave that for future generations. As for me, I would rather make history, here and now, instead of discussing it after other men had the courage to make a difference. Win or lose. Men like us weren’t meant to get old.”
Zeb nodded and smiled. “It’s close to time for the briefing sir. We don’t want to keep General Dodonna waiting. It looks like we have an Imperial Governor to bag.”