Tatooine, eighteen months after the Zakuul invasion
Jallira could hear the doubt in the man’s voice, feel it in his Force pattern, as he spoke. It was understandable. The sergeant of his little resistance cell - the cell currently being crushed under the shadow of a Star Fortress being built in the planet’s orbit - was older, a veteran; for someone like him, the newest Mrs Harridin did not exactly fit the typical picture of a commander. She was young, small, slight, unarmoured and not appreciably armed, and - at least to those not overly familiar with miraluka or the Force in general - apparently blind. Not the stuff of which Havoc Squad was made.
The temptation was strong to follow the example of her former superiors, commanders she had known and come to trust in her time in the field. Nyomi’s name featured prominently in the list of potential examples to emulate. She was the kind of Jedi this sergeant would accept as a commander; the older, battle-scarred Master knew how to handle herself on a battlefield--
But this isn’t a battlefield. Not yet. And you are not Nyomi.
Once upon a time, that last statement would have been a censure, a self-deprecatory statement. Once, the fact that she was nothing like Nyomi Adastra, or any of the other Jedi of her immediate acquaintance, would have been a cause for dismay. It certainly had been during the many, many philosophical debates they’d had over the years of their acquaintance, standing on a wall overlooking whatever outpost they were occupying at the time so that Nyomi could assure herself that nothing untoward was coming at them (and, though she never said so, to enjoy a peaceful view, once such a rare feature in her life that they required the utmost appreciation now that she had them in abundance). While Jallira and Nyomi agreed on certain aspects of the theory and the practice of being a Jedi, it was only in the broad strokes at best, particularly when discussing Jedi philosophy in war time. The young knight and the older master had ... not argued, exactly, but certainly debated ... the finer points and strategic approaches from dozens of different angles over the years.
Neither of them had exactly convinced the other that their way was ‘best’. In the time since Zakuul skytrooper drops had ended those conversations, however, Jallira had found a way of combining the two approaches to her satisfaction.
“Anyone with so much as a half-healed blaster burn should be called in from the field,” Jallira said, tilting her head up to the sergeant’s face. “We need to exploit that cliff to the north and the cave-in blocking off the west passage to get everyone as close to fighting fit as we can, as we might need to fight our way to the extraction point. That means everyone with an injury gets it treated as well as possible, and everyone, injury or no, gets a good solid meal." After a second’s calculation, she added, “Anyone fully healthy should man the south entry point. Those who’ve rested recently should lead that guard detail - if the south entry point has enough warm bodies, the rest should get some sleep.”
The sergeant frowned. "Dunno if we have the supplies for what you might call a ‘good solid meal’, Commander. Plus that leaves the east wide open, with some serious skytrooper presence.”
Jallira shook her head and pulled out her comm unit. “I promised medical treatment, food, and an extraction when everyone was fit. I may have failed to mention the reinforcements.” As the sergeant stared at her, she activated the comm, which projected the image of a fully armoured and head-bucketed Mandalorian. The sergeant stepped back, a little horrified and clearly confused, as Jallira spoke in the general direction of the holoimage she’d never bothered to have disabled. “Aranar? We need Clan Atin to deal with a complement of skytroopers east of my current position, and the Orange Bucket for extraction.”
“OYA!” The Mandalorian sounded cheerful and eager; the sergeant just blinked, unable to reconscile a Mandalorian taking orders from a Jedi. “Oh, Doc Harridin wants to know if you’re gonna need surgeries. He’s scrubbing my medbay like it’s--”
Jallira interrupted at that point. “Good; I’ve seen your medbay and it’s not quite as sterile as it could be. Tell him we might need one or two, but neither urgent. He should be ready with antibiotic ointment and medication for dehydration, though. They’ve had to fight too long in too much sun with not enough water.” After a moment’s thought, she added, “And Srina, since I know you’re listening in, try to give us some advance warning of any incoming reinforcements. We need some time to get as many people as fit as possible, as I’d rather avoid dragging wounded through a skytrooper / Mandalorian crossfire.”
The holoimage glitched for a moment, and the T-visor helmet was replaced by something that confused the sergeant even more: a humanoid woman whose eyes had no visible iris or pupil. The word Chiss crossed his mind loud enough for Jallira to hear it even before she spoke, her very Imperial accent ringing loud in the little side cave that served as the command office for this little resistance group. “Understood, Commander. I’d advise that your forces to the south prepare for a strategic demolition effort to cave in their current position sooner rather than later, however. There’s a structural weakness showing up on my scanners and movement in the mountain range suggesting that it’s been noticed and will soon be exploited. I’ll be in touch with further updates. Srina, out.” The comm shut off at that point; evidently the Chiss named Srina didn’t think the Mandalorian named Aranar needed to say anything else.
Given the sound of jetpacks, blaster fire, flamethrowers and screaming coming from the east, he probably didn’t.
Jallira sighed. “Get them to prepare for the demolition as she asked, but hold off on giving the order to detonate for at least another twenty minutes. It’s the only entry point we have large enough for a cargo hauler that’s not currently a battlefield.” Then she switched on the communicator again and said, “Alti?” After another sigh, this one mostly stifled, she said, in tones that suggested that if she had eyes, she would be rolling them at that point, “...food time is now; go”.
Another helmet, far more streamlined than the T-visored headbucket, appeared in holoprojection above Jallira’s hand. A female voice came from it, shouting, “FOODTIMEISNOWYES!”
Jallira shut off the comm without another word and shook her head. “I promise you the food will be worth it. Plus she has med supplies I need. She’s just a little ... unconventional.”
The sergeant stared at her. “You’re working with a clan of Mandalorians, a karking Imperial--”
“Former Imperial, actually,” Jallira pointed out, the picture of helpfulness. “She defected at least three years ago now. I think she mostly keeps the accent so that she doesn’t lose it if she needs to impersonate someone”.
The sergeant paused, briefly derailed by that, and then shook his head as if to clear it before going on: “Anyway; also a lunatic who thinks ‘food time is now’ is a reasonable set of orders!”
Jallira shrugged. “It’s nicely vague, particularly over a fairly open comm channel. I’m told those are unfortunately easy to slice. She could have been saying anything from ‘this is a major supply drop’ to ‘I’m going to go have lunch now’, so far as Zakuul are concerned. Artificial intelligence isn’t known for its processing of bombast or humour.” Sensing that the sergeant was reassured by her conviction but still unsettled, she reached out and patted his arm. “I trust them as I trust in the Force, Sergeant. Now please. You asked for orders. Those are your orders.”
The sergeant froze for a moment, considering ... then let his shoulders drop just a little bit as the tesion of bewildered terror ratcheted down a few degrees. He took a moment to salute the young Jedi before he pulled out his own comm unit and started barking instructions to the remains of his resistance cell. Bare seconds later, people could be heard moving through the tunnel ‘corridors’ of their makeshift base - purposeful quickmarching steps heading south, slower, occasional shuffling gaits heading north, where the natural cliff formation too solid to dig through provided enough defense to set up safe quarters, mess hall, and medbay.
Jallira, after nodding at the salute’s intent rather than truly seeing the gesture, headed towards medbay at a pace that conserved energy but still ate distance fairly well for someone with legs as short as hers. Command wasn’t easy. Everyone had a different way of going about things. But when they asked for orders, a commander had to give those orders, and find a way of earning enough respect for those orders to be followed. Jallira had many strikes against her - youth, delicacy, an unassuming appearance in general, and a tendency towards being softly spoken. Nyomi would have simply glared at the man, and any attempt at reassurance or explanation would have been brusque at best. Jallira, lacking the physical gravitas and base personality for ‘brusque’ to carry over well, simply had to find another way. If orders to lower-ranked military personnel needed reassurances and explanations ... well, so did medical advice, most of the time.
Besides, Jallira had debated many martially-inclined Jedi Masters in her time - some who still saw her as younger than her years, some who had perfected the Flat Look, some who managed both at once ... all of whom had shaped her life so much, and who Jallira feared disappointing more than she had ever feared anything in her life as a result. If she could stand her ground with them and have her opinion respected, whether or not they were adopted? Sergeants were easy by comparison.
