A Minute Longer: Phantom's Tale
Author: Phantom
5.1.5 ABY,
High Orbit,
Toseng System
"Buccaneer Four, break!"
Jack Krymson was in trouble. As of that moment, his situation was truly suboptimal. First things first, he was strapped into a "borrowed" Y-wing with no flak vest or helmet. Secondly, he had not flown a snubfighter in some two years. Last of all, he was being tailed.
On his display, he could see his shields weakening with every blast. This fighter was not built for dogfighting. The only way he was getting the edge on this guy was by being clever. Jack broke hard left, allowing his tail a minute to get behind him again. Just before his assailant could regain his bearings, Jack dropped his throttle as low as it could go. Crossing his fingers, he hoped the tail hadn't had enough time to see through his trick. From over his head, a horrible amalgamation of two starfighters blasted ahead. The convex wings of a TIE-Interceptor holding up the long-nose of an X-Wing. An Ugly.
Creasing his face in disgust for a millisecond, Jack squeezed the trigger. A duo of blaster fire erupted from the nose of his fighter, slicing through the wings of the Ugly and piercing the cockpit on their way out.
As he pushed his stick forward to carry him away from the burning ball of hot metal, he sighed, letting out a breath he didn't remember holding onto.
What the hell am I doing here?
Thirty Minutes Earlier…,
Simmons'-Schock Deck,
CRS Vigilant
Special Agent Jack Krymson sighed, calmly sipping his black caf. The end of an investigation usually brought a sad feeling along with it. Weeks of hard work, and in a moment's notice it was all decided by some paperwork sent to the folks back at headquarters. This particular case was a different beast altogether, though.
A Lieutenant of the New Republic Starfighter Command had seemingly murdered a fellow pilot. Said fellow pilot had turned out to be nothing more than an Imperial plant. Keen to cover up their blunder, the NRI were content to hide this evidence and let the suspect take the fall. In short, it was an absolute headache. One that had left Krymson questioning every value and ideal he held dear.
Leaning against the bar, he took in the sight before him. An IG-Class Assassin Droid, seemingly stripped of armaments - and now serving drinks. The SSD was a deeply nourishing place for Krymson. After spending four gruelling years as a snubfighter pilot for the Alliance, sitting in a pilots' bar listening to the hubbub of war stories was a return to home. Intense dogfights embellished by the rose-tinted glasses of adrenaline.
Wading through the crowd was the very man he had been waiting for. Major Myke "Wolf" Krenn spotted Krymson in no time at all, joining him in propping up the bar.
"A caf, sir?" The droid asked, extending its hand awkwardly, in what could only have been some manufactured attempt at being casual.
"Please, Iggy," Wolf responded before turning to Krymson. "And another for my associate."
Krymson smiled warmly, draining the last of his caf to make room for his next dosage of caffeine. "Thank you, Major."
"Don't mention it," Wolf said.
"So, it must be killing you," Krymson said.
"What must be killing me?"
"The reason I asked to meet with you."
"Oh… I did wonder about that."
"Wait no longer, Major Krenn. I have the answer here," Krymson said, sliding a datapad across the table.
Confused, Wolf picked it up and began perusing the text displayed on the pad. His eyes widened. "You're resigning?!" Wolf exclaimed in a hush tone.
"Yes, Major. I violated a deeply important personal ideal and I could not in good conscience continue with my work in Intelligence."
"What?" Wolf asked, "I don't understand. It was a pretty tough case to get around but you did your best. It's certainly not worth quitting over."
"It's more than that, Major. I met the suspect," Krymson said, his pleasant facade fading away to reveal a guilty expression.
"Wildcard?" Wolf whispered. Phantom knew that Wildcard's erratic behaviour and subsequent disappearance had been difficult for his fellow pilots to process. It had come at a time filled with so many defeats already, making it an even bigger blow to morale. *
Krymson merely nodded. Wolf sighed heavily, setting the datapad upon the bar and taking a long sip of his caf.
"What happened, Agent?"
"I let him go. I had him cornered, possibly even ready to come quietly."
"And you didn't bring him in?"
"He saved my life, Major. I wasn't the only one after him that day and he saved me from one of his other assailants."
"Not the behaviour of a cold-blooded killer," Wolf remarked.
"No. It is not. I was on the ground injured. It would have been so easy, but he saved me. I rewarded him by letting him escape."
"Come on, Krymson. We both saw how hard they tried to make a villain out of him. I think that even in the face of all that evidence, they still would've put him away and branded him a murderer. Anything but admit their mistake. To people like us, it's clear that you did the right thing," Wolf implored.
"Maybe so, Major, but I joined Intelligence out of a desire to unveil the truth. I couldn't live with myself if I continued my work there, knowing I'd lied like that," said Krymson, his eyes buried in his caf.
Wolf's brow furrowed, "I'm sorry, Agent. I can't help but think the NRI needs more agents like you. Ones with moral… fortitude."
"I don't think like other people, Major Krenn—"
"Enough. You call me Myke, or Wolf. You've earned that much."
"Wolf. People often don't understand how I think. My principles mean everything to me, and if I for a second betray those then it's like a great big itch in my brain that I can't scratch! It occupies my every waking moment and claws away at my subconscious."
Krymson felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His father had understood. In moments such as this, no matter whose ear he found, Krymson found himself wishing he could ask Dad for his advice.
The near-complete extermination of his homeworld's population had caused any refugees to go into hiding, split up. The last time Krymson had seen his father was the day he snuck off world. The last words he had spoken had been a promise to return with a resistance force and save his people. Before he could return, the Empire had culled them.
Krymson liked to think that his dad had escaped by the skin of his teeth, got to spend his twilight years relaxing on some tropical world, and was otherwise unharmed. It didn't take much thought to understand just how unlikely this was, however.
His mother… the less he thought about her the better.
"So?" Wolf said, breaking him out of his trance.
"So…?" Krymson replied foggily.
"So what will you do after you leave Intelligence?" Wolf asked impatiently.
"I don't know…" Krymson said, picking up his mug, "I haven't had time to even think about it."
"Well what were you doing before you were an Agent?" Wolf asked, sipping his caf.
"Oh, I was the executive officer of Calamity Squadron for a little while…" Krymson said absently.
Wolf's caf sprayed from his mouth, coating Iggy in the steaming black liquid.
"Gotcha good, didn't he, Iggy?" Krymson remarked, leaning over the bar to grab a rag that he could pat the droid down with.
"Perks of the job, sir," the droid answered drily.
"You were a pilot?" Wolf asked, whipping caf droplets from his hand.
"I was, Wolf. The Calamities were a bomber squadron. We spent a lot of time covering commandos on their runs at big targets, and even more time taking down capital ships."
"No kidding…" Wolf said, appearing to be lost in thought for a moment.
"Best years of my life, Wolf. My words truly cannot capture the thrill and achievement I gained from blowing up a big fish with my squad." Krymson's eyes sparkled with delight now. Just talking about it, Jack once again felt the urge to jump back into a fighter and fly again. It certainly wasn't the first time the thought had crossed his mind, but Jack's biggest fear was that flying snubfighters would be nothing like the way he had remembered it.
"Fish?" Wolf asked, interrupting his train of thought.
"That's what we called a capital ship. A big fish."
"Has uh… anyone ever told you that you're a little odd, Agent?"
"You call me Jack, I certainly won't be an agent much longer. But yes, many people in my life. It doesn't bother me one bit, however. I believe our quirks are what make us all beautiful."
"Huh. You're certainly a glass half full kinda guy, Jack."
"When you've found yourself in the darkest depths the Empire is willing to throw its own people, you're grateful just to have an excuse to smile every day."
"What's your excuse?"
"The little things, Wolf. A good cup of caf, a nice lunch, a funny joke you heard. Every day, once a day, find a reason to be happy, even for a moment. It enriches the soul."
"Well… I'll certainly try my best. Easier some days than others though, I'll tell you. Although I have to ask, if you were a pilot then what was your callsign?"
Krymson chuckled.
"They called me Phantom."
"Then that's what I'll call you!"
As they clinked mugs - Wolf's having been refilled - Krymson ruminated on why he enjoyed Wolf's company. One could simplify it and say the man was simply pleasant, which was true, but there was more to it. Wolf reminded Krymson of the pilots he had known during the height of the Galactic Civil War. He was a fine example of the kind of upstanding people who had carried the Rebellion on their backs.
With barely a moment to register what was happening, the hollow halls of the Vigilant were being blasted by the sound of the claxon wailing.
"Duty calls," Wolf remarked, draining his cup and dashing for the door.
"Now this I gotta see!" Jack said, unable to stop the smile forming on his face.
Hangar Bay
The very second Jack had caught up to Wolf, he had been told in no uncertain terms that he was to stay exactly where he was before Wolf jumped into his X-wing to lead the Spectres into the fray.
Jack had tried his best to listen. He waited for a minute or two, listening to the sound of snubfighter engines screaming to life as pilot after pilot left to join the fight. Tools clanged, announcements broadcast but seldom heard, technicians yelled to one another as they guided the pilots out.
It was all so… nostalgic. It felt like home. Jack felt like he was a sixteen year-old recruit again, fresh-faced and ready to take on the Empire all by himself.
In moments like that, he found himself at odds with the two people in his head. Most of the time, he was operating under the control of the wisened, rational adult. However much more tempting was to listen to the voice of the hotshot teenager telling him to join the fight.
The hotshot on his head won out. A short and frenzied search had resulted in Jack strapping into his craft of choice - the BTL-A4 Y-wing. For a period he had flown a BTL-B, but the Rebel fleet was unable to risk losing the extra pilot who sat in the gunner seat at the time.
He took a deep breath. You've done this so many times before, he thought. Kicking the fighter's power on, he engaged the repulsorlifts and felt that all too familiar sensation of butt leaving ground. The fighter shuddered slightly as it rose into the air of the hangar, drawing shocked stares from techs who hadn't expected another fighter out. Ignoring their frenzied waves for him to land, he firmly pressed the left rudder pedal so that the nose of the craft was in line with the mag-con field separating the hangar from space. Exhaling shakily, he pinned the throttle bar to the max, sending the ship barreling out of the hangar like a grav-train.
Flicking through the targetfinder on his navicom, Jack spotted a cluster of other Y-wings forming up close by. He kept his throttle at full power in order to catch up to the group of forest-green starfighters. A scramble of words came from his comm system. Adjusting the frequency until the sound was clearer, he finally made out the words.
"I repeat, all wings report in," a man's voice said.
"Buccaneer Leader, standing by," another added.
Jack waited for the other fighters to call in, before remembering the billet that hadn't been accounted for.
"Buccaneer Four, standing by," he said, hoping nobody would pick up on the error.
"There is no Buccaneer Four!" Leader's voice yelled. "Who is this?"
"Just a Phantom, Lead. You need help, you got it," Jack, once-again Phantom said. "Now tell me what we got here."
There was a lull in the communication for a moment. Phantom suspected there were some short-range communications going on in the background.
"Pirates attacked one of our medical frigates and followed 'em through hyperspace. Poor bastards didn't know who they were dealing with." Lead replied. "We're giving you a chance, Phantom, but you're under my command now which means you follow my orders."
"Copy that, Lead," Phantom replied, grinning from ear to ear. He looked down at the new arrival on his screen. Looks like they're almost in range, he thought.
—
Present
Veering the fighter away from the wreckage of the Ugly he had just junked, Phantom returned to the matter at hand. This unit appeared to be entirely bombers, meaning there was a big fish with their name on it.
"Enough playing, Buccs. Let the others clean up those Uglies," Lead ordered. "Form up for our first pass on that Gozanti at heading 3.4."
Phantom brought himself into formation with the rest of the Buccaneers.
"Ion bombs only, Buccs. We're disabling the ship so Sergeant Zun's commandos can board."
Speeding towards the highly modified Gozanti-class cruiser the pirates were using, Phantom noted that the Uglies must have docked using the external mounts. As they got closer, the Gozanti's weapon systems began hammering Buccaneer Squadron with blaster fire.
"Hey, they're not using ion weapons!" A voice called out.
"Well, Four, it's not a problem if you don't let 'em hit you so much," another replied.
"Raptor, Loth-Cat. Cut the chatter," Lead said firmly.
"Copy, Animal," Loth-Cat answered.
Leader is Animal, Phantom noted.
Jinking starboard to avoid a heavy concussion blast, Phantom found himself ever closer to the surface of the Gozanti. His weapons system pinged to inform him he was in range.
"Bombs away!" Animal yelled out.
So he does have a sense of humour, Phantom thought as he smirked to himself, someone's not all business in the front, after all.
Switching his weapons to ion bombs, he pulled the trigger to drop the payload upon the ship's surface. As the whole squadron made their attempts to hit the ship, the blue glow of the shields sputtered and died out.
Pulling up harshly in formation with everyone else, Phantom gritted his teeth. The reality of how dangerous this job was had started to sink in once more. They arced around for a second pass, blaster fire spattering all around.
As the squad came down for another pass, Phantom saw a cluster of blasterfire coming his way. He broke to port, attempting to dodge the barrage. In doing so, Phantom directed himself into yet another onslaught. Blasterfire swiftly wore through his shields, eventually shredding his hull into tiny pieces. Waiting no longer, Phantom reached down and yanked hard on the cord which rested below his seat.
With a deafening crack, he was propelled straight up just in time to watch his snubfighter explode. Sitting in the protective forcefield his seat was generating, he knew there was little to do but wait or be shot down. It was clear that four years out of a snubfighter had dulled his edge just a little. Despite the precarious nature of the situation he now found himself in, Phantom couldn't help but laugh to himself. Even after nearly dying so catastrophically, he still felt the urge to jump back into a fighter and do it all over again.
As a great burst of blue-lightning spattered across the hull of the Gozanti, its lights died out and engines cut off. She was dead in space, waiting to be boarded now.
Damn, thought Phantom. That big fish could've been mine if I'd held out for a minute longer…
Medbay,
CRS Vigilant
"Ouch!" Phantom yelped as a mist of bacta spray entered all of his wounds.
Leaning against the far wall of the sanitised white room were Wolf and Animal, still donning dirty flight suits. Phantom made out a whispered joke as the two laughed watching Phantom being manhandled by the medical droid, whose bedside manner left much to be desired.
Approaching him, Wolf continued laughing. "If only someone had told you to stay put!"
Sitting up straight, Phantom smiled humbly and raised his hands apologetically. "I owe you both an apology. My actions today were reckless, ignorant, and could have endangered far more lives than just my own. I am truly sorry, and I will accept whatever reprimands or consequences come my way."
Animal cocked an eyebrow at Wolf, before turning back to Phantom. "We're not gonna get you in any trouble," he said, waving his hand away.
"No, sir?" Phantom asked, confused as to why he would face no penalty for destroying a New Republic starfighter.
"No." Animal confirmed. "I looked at your combat record. Your career with the Rebellion was seriously impressive. Now, not mincing words, what I saw today was some truly horrific flying. However, I think with some sim time, you could be that pilot again."
"You're offering me a job?"
"Correct, Captain," Animal replied. He was clever and he knew it. Phantom had not been addressed as a Captain since he left Starfighter Command, and hearing his old title was making it hard to say no to his offer.
"But I stole a fighter and destroyed it. Rather ceremoniously, I might add," Phantom said.
"You did, Captain, you did. You rebelled against Wolf's directions so you could help us. That tells me you'll fit right in with the Renegades," Animal explained, looking rather cheerful now.
Phantom pondered for a moment. "When can I start?"
"Not until you apologise to Warrant Officer Pall." Wolf said.
"Who?"
"Y-wing maintenance chief. You got her project ship blown to pieces."
"Off to a great start…" Phantom muttered.
The End
*To see Wildcard's final days with the Republic, keep an eye out for Rebel At Heart, releasing October!
