Fic: Jenna's War I: Screw Up (1/6)
Title: Jenna's War I: Screw Up
Fandom: Star Wars
Rating: T, to be on the safe side
Genres: Gen, Action/Adventure
Summary: A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... there were also people who were neither Jedi nor smugglers nor bounty hunters nor anything else as glamorous as that. Private Jenna Melara, infantry soldier for the Alliance, was one of them. Here's her story.
A/N: Okay, so I said I'd post some of my old Star Wars fics here for a while... I started with Under Covers and will now go on with my Jenna's War series. Jenna first appeared in Joustingforcancer's story Soldier (over on ff.net) and for some reason I instantly liked her and asked her creator if he minded me using her. He didn't, so I started writing her, partly with his help. Basically, Jenna's stories can stand on their own, but it might help if you read Soldier (because I do use some of his other characters, such as Korwin Nalan and Danna Kreth).
Anyway, here we go:
Screw-Up
“Never win first place,
I don't support the team
I can't take direction,
and my socks are never clean.”
Pink, “Don’t let me get me”
One
Yeah, that’s me; Private Jenna Melara, major screw-up, pleased to meet you. First I begged Corporal Nalan - who happens to be, like, six years my junior - not to let me die, like some terrified girl in a trashy holovid. Then I almost lost my lunch over the stench of decay, which I should be used to by now, and acted like a schoolgirl with a frigging crush in front of said Corporal. And, to top it all off, I almost got myself killed with my own frigging blaster rifle on the shooting range. Just. Frigging. Great.
“Hey Melara, how are you doing? Still being a lazy bum?” Oh, and here comes my own personal nemesis: Private Xanas Farrayn III, called Nas for short. Okay, so he isn’t really my nemesis; it’s just that he seems to have taken a certain liking to me and has been following me around a lot. Thing is, I don’t want to be followed around, and I certainly don’t want anyone to take a liking to me… not like that. We are at war, people die. You get attached to them, and it hurts. As simple as that.
The only exception I've really allowed is Danna Kreth, the only woman in all 3rd platoon, and the only other woman in K Company. I don’t know how, but somehow she wriggled her way under my radar in the weeks after that fight in Mos Espa. Maybe it just was the fact that she refused to let me wallow in my self pity; and that she was a woman. When there are only six women in the whole regiment, you tend to turn to each other. It’s a social thing, at least that’s what they told me in my sociology classes in college.
But back to the present. I don’t answer Nas, just turn around to face the curtain opposite to me. I’m really not in the mood for idle chit-chat right now. But one of Nas’ biggest strengths - or weaknesses, depending on your point of view - is his persistence. Of course, he's much more annoying than Danna. Once he has a target, he gets into that 'single-minded male predator mode' that makes men go to such amazing lengths to acquire the object of their ardour. In this case… I'm the target.
“Oh come on Mel, don’t give me the silent treatment. I know you must be feeling a little lonely in here.” And the award for dumbest statement of the year goes to... We are in a field hospital with no privacy for the patients, and there are 15 other people lying around here. Try to feel lonely in such surroundings. Maybe pulling the blanket up a little will help… Holy shit! Okay, note to self: Do not move right shoulder unless absolutely necessary.
“Uh, Mel, everything okay?” Dammit, he must have heard how I sucked in my breath when I tried to move that shoulder. I’m desperately trying to shake my whiny-little-girl image from my first mission here; the least he could do is appreciate the effort and let it go without a comment.
“Mel, really, talk to me. Ever since that patrol in Mos Espa you’ve been so… quiet. You scare me when you’re quiet, you know that?” Aw, dammit. I hate it when he shows concern like that, because he’s almost irresistible. And it's because he’s right. Ever since that “Dead Baby Patrol” some weeks ago, I didn’t really feel like the same old Jenna anymore. I had only recently recovered from a bad blaster wound to the shoulder, and hadn't been on that kind of patrol before. And then, when we found that hut, the stench made me nearly vomit… and I was relieved when the Corporal ordered me and Azen out. But the worst was when the sandpeople attacked the camp. I really don’t want to go into details, but let’s just say that since that night I've known I never should have become a soldier.
I mean, alright, so I’d had that fleeting feeling ever since arriving at the training camp on Chandrila for basic. But there, the thought of my mother had kept me going. My mum was a living legend on Chandrila; a starship captain who joined the Alliance almost as soon as Mon Mothma declared war on the Empire.
She fought some pretty tough battles, and she was a tactical genius. Well, at least that’s what they say back home. To me she was a distant warrior goddess who visited us something like every three or four months, bringing with her souvenirs from distant planets or new war stories, and most often both. We all admired her - even my dad, a business man who really wasn’t happy about his wife endangering herself constantly - and we all secretly dreamed of becoming a war hero like her.
So I took the test for the Chandrilan Navy, but failed gloriously. It nearly devastated me, but I allowed myself to be steered towards a career in journalism by my dad. And then… the message came. On a bright summer’s day a young man came up to our house, and we all knew instantly that something was wrong. He gave us a data card and his honest condolences and then he was gone, leaving us with the last message my mum ever recorded for us and an official letter from Alliance High Command, saying that her ship was ambushed and that she had died heroically, giving her crew the opportunity to escape. She went down with her ship, just like the captains in those stories about the ancient ocean mariners.
That was the day I decided to abandon journalism and become a soldier, no matter what. Someone needed to carry on my mother’s legacy somehow, and I had this stupid idea that the someone needed to be me.
See, I am the eldest of three children, raised to believe strongly in freedom, equality… all the things the Alliance stands for. I was also raised to believe that I had a responsibility of some kind, and I thought it was the responsibility of not letting my mother’s legacy go to waste. And so, at age 22, I dropped out of college and I took the infantry test. I got accepted and was sent to basic training on my home world of Chandrila. For half a year we were trained, and then they sent us to Tatooine, our first deployment. And well, that’s how I landed in that sandy wasteland here, knowing I was never meant to be here.
“Mel, please, talk to me. I know something’s wrong, and I don’t want Sarge or the LT to be the one to find out first what it is. I’m not gonna leave until you tell me.”
I snort, just can't help it. And before I know it, the words “Don’t you have work to do, Private?” are out of my mouth.
I can almost see the grin plastered all over his face, when he says, “Not right now, Private. Managed to swap DBP with Tarkker. So, for at least four hours, I’m all yours.”
I snort again, only this time to suppress a laugh. “Only in your dreams, Nas.” I hear footsteps, then see him sit down on my cot, about hip’s height, from the corner of my eye.
“Ah, but wonderful dreams they are. But I hear your interests lie elsewhere anyway…” I knew it. I knew he would come up with that stupid 'Magic' story. Just one of my famous “Act first, think later” stunts. A little frustrated I want to reach up and slap him on the arm with my right hand, but the shoulder protests again. This time I can’t hold back a small grunt.
His voice grows concerned again. “Oh, hey, you okay? Can I help you?”
Very slowly and very cautiously I manage to turn myself back on my back with only a minimum of pain, then sigh and say: “No, it’s okay. Shoulder’s just a little… sore, that’s all.” He half turns to me, with a somewhat skeptical expression on his face. He doesn’t believe a word I say. Not that I care, but…
“So, now that you found your voice again… won’t you tell Uncle Nas what bugs are biting your beautiful little ass?” I glare at him. We’re in a sithspawned war and he keeps on throwing around compliments like he’s in some stupid Outer Rim cantina? That’s just not how it’s supposed to be, right?
“Not when Uncle Nas keeps talking nonsense,” I reply, trying to sound adequately huffed. Which is not easy when you’re lying flat on your back and the receiving end of your reprimand is leaning over you. But miraculously it’s helping, since he gets all serious again.
“Okay, no more nonsense. Now… talk to me?” Inwardly, I sigh. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time trying to evade this man, but he just keeps popping up on my radar again and again. And what’s even worse: I now suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to talk to someone. And he's the only one around.
And so, before I think about it further, I say, “Xanas… have you ever felt like you don't belong here?” When I call him by his full given name, I’m usually trying to be serious. I hope he gets the hint.
He raises his eyebrows and snorts. “Don't belong here? Mel, we’ve been here for what… a month, two? And if the Force wills it, we’ll not be here for another. Of course we don’t belong here.” Nope, didn’t get it. But what did I expect, anyway?
This time I managed to slap him on the thigh with my left hand. “Not 'here' as in Tatooine, stupid. 'Here' as in the Alliance is what I meant. I’m trying to be serious, and you don’t even listen. Another reaction like that, and I’ll not talk to you ever again.”
Nas holds up his hands in defense, trying to make an indignant face. “Hey, how am I supposed to read your thoughts? Not a fucking Jedi here, sister.” I’m really about to throw him out when he gets all serious again. “You think… you don’t belong here? That’s what’s bothering you?”
I only nod, waiting for either some stupid jokes and some remark that he knew all along that I’d only fuck up here, or the eager denial and the assurance that I was just doing fine. But neither comes. Instead he only says, “Why?” I don’t really know why, but I’m touched. I’m genuinely and honestly touched. And feeling a little guilty because I always found him to be a nuisance. But that doesn’t mean I still don't, okay?
But, he asked me a question, and I guess I owe him an answer. “Well, just… look at me. Remember the battle for Mos Espa, when I was going in behind Magic and his gang? Well, I got shot and I dragged myself into an empty stall, and then suddenly he barges in with his injured leg and everything, and all I can say is, 'Please don’t let me die, Nalan'.” I mimic my own voice, maybe exaggerating a little in the whiny-ess department, but I need to make my point clear. Nas just nods. “I sounded so… pathetic, you know? And the worst part was, I really was afraid I’d die, and I didn’t want to die so much that I’d have done anything at that moment.”
He rubs his neck. “Well, nothing really wrong there, I’d say.” Okay, so I didn’t make myself clear.
“No, look, I just… I’m a grown woman of 23 years, and I’m whining about a shot to the shoulder to a… what… 17-year old kid? And the same kid orders me and Azen away from some little house reeking of decay only days later because I’m about to puke right on his boots. Just because of the stench, right?”
Before I can continue my rant, Nas throws in, “Mel, he’s been in the field for, like months now, and people say he’s seen action on Gnazt and Yavin IV. It’s okay to be less experienced than him. And just remember that story how he fell asleep in the middle of an assault. If that’s not stupid, I don’t know what is.” I found myself grinning against my will at that. Yeah, that’s one of those stories they’ll be telling even on Hoth in no time. Big war hero Corporal Korwin Nalan falling asleep in the middle of an Imperial assault and needing to be dragged out by his second-in-command.
But there’s still the thing that landed me in the field hospital again. “Okay, that was stupid. But he never almost managed to kill himself with his own rifle, did he?”
He grins. “Mel, you did not 'almost kill yourself'; not by a long shot. You just operated it from an odd angle and your shoulder caught the recoil. That's all. Could have happened to anybody.” Great. That’s so not helping, mister. It just says I’m exaggerating again and making a fuss. I huff again.
“Well, that certainly doesn’t make things better. In fact, it makes them worse.”
He raises his eyebrows again. “How so?”
Is he really that dense or does he only want to torment me a little? “Well… don’t you see it? It just means I’m overreacting again and again. It means I can’t handle the pressure. It means: I. Don’t. Belong. Here. Get it?”
He smiles. “No. Because that just means you need to get used to everything. And trust in yourself a little more. You’ll do fine, Jenna.” Oh. He's never called me that before. Everyone here almost instantly started calling me either by my surname or some nickname like “Red” or “Blue Eyes” or something. Strange thing is: I never wanted anyone to call me by my given name, and I was okay with that. But now I’m also okay with Xanas of all people calling me “Jenna”. Huh?
“But… Xan… I… haven’t killed anyone yet. And I don’t know… I don’t know… Force, what if I screw up because I can’t pull the trigger when the time comes?” I look at my hands. Strange, how it’s him of all people I’m telling these things to. But he just has that thing about him that makes you want to tell him things. Should have become a shrink, I think a little sourly.
A strong callused hand suddenly lies atop mine and grips it. “For your sake, I wish the time would never come for you, but it will. And I know that you’ll do the right thing when it does. You’ll do whatever needs to be done because you’re just the kind of person who always does what they have to. I’d be happy to know you were by my side when push comes to shove.” Swallowing the sudden lump that appears in my throat, I look up at him and see that he’s grown really serious now. Holy frigging shit.
“I…”
“Oh, and I'll allow you to continue calling me ‘Xan’… and that’s really something, you know? Sounds better, too.” He grins brightly. Okay, it’s amazing how that man can ruin just about any 'moment'. Stupid shutta.
“Well, thank you, sir. I feel, like, really honored now.” I grimace at my sentence. Though he’s right. It does sound nicer than “Nas”, which always reminds me of “nasty”, and that’s more what I’d associate with the Sarge, not necessarily with Xanas. ‘Annoying’ would be more fitting in his case.
Before he can say anything in response, a voice booms through the hospital tent, shouting, “Farrayn! Come out, you little pile of bantha poodoo, and I’ll show you what it means to cheat your way out of DBP!”
Now it’s my turn to raise my eyebrow. “What was it you said about 'swapping', Private?”
He just grins a little lop-sided, then hops off my cot, and makes his way stealthily out the other entrance of the tent, but not before whispering, “If I don’t come back, tell my mum I died as a hero,” to me.
Grumbling, I turn back to face the curtain again. That guy’ll be the death of me someday, I swear.
“Private?” Oh joy, Sarge is following Xan’s tracks and he just discovered where he went before disappearing. Damn traitor. Guy knew Sarge would be coming here first of all, pissed like hell. Suppressing a sigh, I turn around.
“Yes, sir?” Whoa, I think I’ve never seen Sarge’s head that red. And he gets red a lot. One… two…
“GET ON YOUR FEET WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU PRIVATE!” I think I just felt my eardrums pop… I swear. Okay, so I knew that was coming. Still doesn’t mean I like how he always picks on me.
Before he can say anything else, a Mon Calamari nurse approaches him, touching him lightly on the arm. “Please sir, would you be so kind as to…” Mistake, Miss, big mistake.
Sarge goes off like plasma grenade on her, yelling at her that a damn fish head should not be ordering him around, that he could treat his troops as he saw fit… the usual rubbish. The only thing that really aggravates me is that I’m intimidated by it and the nurse isn’t. I mean, she is the target, right? Then why is it me that gets smaller and smaller, and not her?
Hm. Maybe because Sarge is a stocky human guy about 6 feet and the nurse is about a head taller than him. And she’s Mon Calamarian; maybe she’s seen worse than a stocky little man screaming obscenities at her. When he’s finally out of breath, the nurse’s mouth twitches a little and she says with her voice a little dry, “Please would you be so kind as to keep your voice down? We have a lot of patients here that need absolute quiet to recover.”
“I don’t fucking care…” Sarge wants to start again, but suddenly there’s a large Shistavanen looming over him, baring his teeth briefly to Sarge. On his collar there’s the insignia of a Captain in the medical service - a doctor, then - visible.
“Is there a problem?” he grumbles at Sarge, and for one fleeting moment I get the totally priceless and once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see Sergeant Nyre “I’m gonna have your balls for breakfast, even if you haven’t any” Dankin actually shrinking from another being. I’m almost tempted to say that this is worth the fuss.
But then it’s over, and Sarge has slipped into the usual jovial manner he usually exhibits when dealing with officers. “No, sir. Of course not, sir. I was just asking this Private here…” a nasty glance into my direction promising me a slow and painful death if he ever caught me alone, “where my AWOL - one of my other Privates who weaseled his way out of a DBP - went.”
The Shistavanen looks from me to Sarge and back to me, then says, “Well, Private? Is there anything you have to say about this matter?”
I swallow. There’s murder in Sarge’s eyes, most presumably because that wasn’t the first time Xan managed to get away from some undesirable duty. And if I know him right he managed to do it right under Sarge’s nose. And he managed to drag me into it, this time. That alone should give me any right to tip Sarge off. On the other hand… Xan did it for me. He was there to listen when Danna couldn’t be because she was crawling around in the desert again. There, when I needed a friend. Or just someone. Ah, hell. “No, sir. I’ve got absolutely no clue what the Sergeant is talking about.” Oh, dear, if looks could kill.
“Well, then everything is settled. Would you be so kind as to leave my tent now, Sergeant?” the Shistavanen Captain growls, and when Sarge stalks away without saying anything else, I have quite some difficulties of fighting the impulse to hug the Captain. But I manage to stay on the bed. The Shistavanen and the nurse just give me nod when they leave, and then I’m alone again; free to plot Xanas Farrayn III’s slow and painful death at my hands. He really should consider himself lucky if Sarge is the one who catches him first, because no matter was Sarge has on his mind, I’m sure my stuff is worse. Making me lie for him... really the nerve that man’s got.
“What’s all the commotion about, huh?”
Gah! Can’t a girl have her peace even at the hospital? Only two nights until there was enough bacta to treat the broken shoulder and the light concussion, and then I would have been free prey for all of you. But no, you just have to grate on my nerves even here, right?
Okay, so maybe I’m being unfair, because this time it’s neither Sarge nor Xan disturbing me, but Danna. I turn around. She's obviously fresh out of the shower by the look of it, and smiling from one ear to the other. I sigh without sound, then say, “Had a successful hunt?”
“Yep. What about you? Heard you had a little weapon trouble?” I roll my eyes and barely suppress a groan. Is everyone fated to torture me today? First Xan, then Sarge, and now even Danna? That’s just not fair.
“Yes. Went to the shooting range, handled the stupid thing wrong, got a broken shoulder, end of story.”
“Not very talkative today, are we?” Danna smirks.
I just stick out my tongue at her and say, “You would be, too, if you were harassed first by Xanas Farrayn, pain in the ass extraordinaire, and then by Sergeant Nyre Dankin. And we all know him, right?”
She grimaces again, this time contorting her face into an almost ugly expression. Then she grins, a little slyly now. “How about I get you some company that would be more… desirable?” I knew this would come, but I would have liked it if Danna had stayed away from the “Jenna and Korwin sittin’ in a tree”-ship, even if it was just for my sake.
“Danna, could we just…” She holds up her hands, grinning like mad.
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” She looks down, and then up again, grinning naughtily this time. “Although you know, I think he actually found it kinda cute…” Okay, enough is enough. Trying to ignore the excruciating pain in my right shoulder, I lift my upper body up.
Gritting my teeth against the pain, I look her directly into the face and say, “No, Danna. That’s enough. I’m really sick of everyone thinking they can poke fun at me or pick on me whenever they feel like having a good laugh at someone else’s expense. I’m an abysmal soldier, I’m 23 years old, and often enough behaving as though I'm 17, and I’m more of a danger to myself with a blaster in my hand than to anyone else. But I’m a damn sentient being who can only take so much. Why is it so damn hard for everybody to frigging treat me like one?” A few heads are turned to us now. Okay, so I should have kept my voice lower, but at this point I’m beyond caring.
For a while, it’s silent between us, and when I can’t take it any longer, I let myself fall back on the cot. It’s this moment of weakness, Danna chooses to get back. “Fine,” she says in a very low and somehow flat voice, “if you really want to lie around here and feel sorry for yourself, then do it. I won’t hold you back. I was just trying to be a friend, but it seems you don’t need one right now. So… see you later.” And with that she’s gone again.
Great.
Just frigging great.
After that first battle, and the wound I took, I thought there couldn’t be anything worse. Turns out, sometimes you don't need laser fire and blood to make your day the most miserable you've ever had so far. Sometimes all it takes is a little pain and a bad joke too much, and wham, you scare off the only real friend you had in the camp. And it’s really only my fault.
You see, it's just like I said. Private Jenna Melara, major screw-up.
TBC in Chapter Two
Fandom: Star Wars
Rating: T, to be on the safe side
Genres: Gen, Action/Adventure
Summary: A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... there were also people who were neither Jedi nor smugglers nor bounty hunters nor anything else as glamorous as that. Private Jenna Melara, infantry soldier for the Alliance, was one of them. Here's her story.
A/N: Okay, so I said I'd post some of my old Star Wars fics here for a while... I started with Under Covers and will now go on with my Jenna's War series. Jenna first appeared in Joustingforcancer's story Soldier (over on ff.net) and for some reason I instantly liked her and asked her creator if he minded me using her. He didn't, so I started writing her, partly with his help. Basically, Jenna's stories can stand on their own, but it might help if you read Soldier (because I do use some of his other characters, such as Korwin Nalan and Danna Kreth).
Anyway, here we go:
Screw-Up
“Never win first place,
I don't support the team
I can't take direction,
and my socks are never clean.”
Pink, “Don’t let me get me”
One
Yeah, that’s me; Private Jenna Melara, major screw-up, pleased to meet you. First I begged Corporal Nalan - who happens to be, like, six years my junior - not to let me die, like some terrified girl in a trashy holovid. Then I almost lost my lunch over the stench of decay, which I should be used to by now, and acted like a schoolgirl with a frigging crush in front of said Corporal. And, to top it all off, I almost got myself killed with my own frigging blaster rifle on the shooting range. Just. Frigging. Great.
“Hey Melara, how are you doing? Still being a lazy bum?” Oh, and here comes my own personal nemesis: Private Xanas Farrayn III, called Nas for short. Okay, so he isn’t really my nemesis; it’s just that he seems to have taken a certain liking to me and has been following me around a lot. Thing is, I don’t want to be followed around, and I certainly don’t want anyone to take a liking to me… not like that. We are at war, people die. You get attached to them, and it hurts. As simple as that.
The only exception I've really allowed is Danna Kreth, the only woman in all 3rd platoon, and the only other woman in K Company. I don’t know how, but somehow she wriggled her way under my radar in the weeks after that fight in Mos Espa. Maybe it just was the fact that she refused to let me wallow in my self pity; and that she was a woman. When there are only six women in the whole regiment, you tend to turn to each other. It’s a social thing, at least that’s what they told me in my sociology classes in college.
But back to the present. I don’t answer Nas, just turn around to face the curtain opposite to me. I’m really not in the mood for idle chit-chat right now. But one of Nas’ biggest strengths - or weaknesses, depending on your point of view - is his persistence. Of course, he's much more annoying than Danna. Once he has a target, he gets into that 'single-minded male predator mode' that makes men go to such amazing lengths to acquire the object of their ardour. In this case… I'm the target.
“Oh come on Mel, don’t give me the silent treatment. I know you must be feeling a little lonely in here.” And the award for dumbest statement of the year goes to... We are in a field hospital with no privacy for the patients, and there are 15 other people lying around here. Try to feel lonely in such surroundings. Maybe pulling the blanket up a little will help… Holy shit! Okay, note to self: Do not move right shoulder unless absolutely necessary.
“Uh, Mel, everything okay?” Dammit, he must have heard how I sucked in my breath when I tried to move that shoulder. I’m desperately trying to shake my whiny-little-girl image from my first mission here; the least he could do is appreciate the effort and let it go without a comment.
“Mel, really, talk to me. Ever since that patrol in Mos Espa you’ve been so… quiet. You scare me when you’re quiet, you know that?” Aw, dammit. I hate it when he shows concern like that, because he’s almost irresistible. And it's because he’s right. Ever since that “Dead Baby Patrol” some weeks ago, I didn’t really feel like the same old Jenna anymore. I had only recently recovered from a bad blaster wound to the shoulder, and hadn't been on that kind of patrol before. And then, when we found that hut, the stench made me nearly vomit… and I was relieved when the Corporal ordered me and Azen out. But the worst was when the sandpeople attacked the camp. I really don’t want to go into details, but let’s just say that since that night I've known I never should have become a soldier.
I mean, alright, so I’d had that fleeting feeling ever since arriving at the training camp on Chandrila for basic. But there, the thought of my mother had kept me going. My mum was a living legend on Chandrila; a starship captain who joined the Alliance almost as soon as Mon Mothma declared war on the Empire.
She fought some pretty tough battles, and she was a tactical genius. Well, at least that’s what they say back home. To me she was a distant warrior goddess who visited us something like every three or four months, bringing with her souvenirs from distant planets or new war stories, and most often both. We all admired her - even my dad, a business man who really wasn’t happy about his wife endangering herself constantly - and we all secretly dreamed of becoming a war hero like her.
So I took the test for the Chandrilan Navy, but failed gloriously. It nearly devastated me, but I allowed myself to be steered towards a career in journalism by my dad. And then… the message came. On a bright summer’s day a young man came up to our house, and we all knew instantly that something was wrong. He gave us a data card and his honest condolences and then he was gone, leaving us with the last message my mum ever recorded for us and an official letter from Alliance High Command, saying that her ship was ambushed and that she had died heroically, giving her crew the opportunity to escape. She went down with her ship, just like the captains in those stories about the ancient ocean mariners.
That was the day I decided to abandon journalism and become a soldier, no matter what. Someone needed to carry on my mother’s legacy somehow, and I had this stupid idea that the someone needed to be me.
See, I am the eldest of three children, raised to believe strongly in freedom, equality… all the things the Alliance stands for. I was also raised to believe that I had a responsibility of some kind, and I thought it was the responsibility of not letting my mother’s legacy go to waste. And so, at age 22, I dropped out of college and I took the infantry test. I got accepted and was sent to basic training on my home world of Chandrila. For half a year we were trained, and then they sent us to Tatooine, our first deployment. And well, that’s how I landed in that sandy wasteland here, knowing I was never meant to be here.
“Mel, please, talk to me. I know something’s wrong, and I don’t want Sarge or the LT to be the one to find out first what it is. I’m not gonna leave until you tell me.”
I snort, just can't help it. And before I know it, the words “Don’t you have work to do, Private?” are out of my mouth.
I can almost see the grin plastered all over his face, when he says, “Not right now, Private. Managed to swap DBP with Tarkker. So, for at least four hours, I’m all yours.”
I snort again, only this time to suppress a laugh. “Only in your dreams, Nas.” I hear footsteps, then see him sit down on my cot, about hip’s height, from the corner of my eye.
“Ah, but wonderful dreams they are. But I hear your interests lie elsewhere anyway…” I knew it. I knew he would come up with that stupid 'Magic' story. Just one of my famous “Act first, think later” stunts. A little frustrated I want to reach up and slap him on the arm with my right hand, but the shoulder protests again. This time I can’t hold back a small grunt.
His voice grows concerned again. “Oh, hey, you okay? Can I help you?”
Very slowly and very cautiously I manage to turn myself back on my back with only a minimum of pain, then sigh and say: “No, it’s okay. Shoulder’s just a little… sore, that’s all.” He half turns to me, with a somewhat skeptical expression on his face. He doesn’t believe a word I say. Not that I care, but…
“So, now that you found your voice again… won’t you tell Uncle Nas what bugs are biting your beautiful little ass?” I glare at him. We’re in a sithspawned war and he keeps on throwing around compliments like he’s in some stupid Outer Rim cantina? That’s just not how it’s supposed to be, right?
“Not when Uncle Nas keeps talking nonsense,” I reply, trying to sound adequately huffed. Which is not easy when you’re lying flat on your back and the receiving end of your reprimand is leaning over you. But miraculously it’s helping, since he gets all serious again.
“Okay, no more nonsense. Now… talk to me?” Inwardly, I sigh. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time trying to evade this man, but he just keeps popping up on my radar again and again. And what’s even worse: I now suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to talk to someone. And he's the only one around.
And so, before I think about it further, I say, “Xanas… have you ever felt like you don't belong here?” When I call him by his full given name, I’m usually trying to be serious. I hope he gets the hint.
He raises his eyebrows and snorts. “Don't belong here? Mel, we’ve been here for what… a month, two? And if the Force wills it, we’ll not be here for another. Of course we don’t belong here.” Nope, didn’t get it. But what did I expect, anyway?
This time I managed to slap him on the thigh with my left hand. “Not 'here' as in Tatooine, stupid. 'Here' as in the Alliance is what I meant. I’m trying to be serious, and you don’t even listen. Another reaction like that, and I’ll not talk to you ever again.”
Nas holds up his hands in defense, trying to make an indignant face. “Hey, how am I supposed to read your thoughts? Not a fucking Jedi here, sister.” I’m really about to throw him out when he gets all serious again. “You think… you don’t belong here? That’s what’s bothering you?”
I only nod, waiting for either some stupid jokes and some remark that he knew all along that I’d only fuck up here, or the eager denial and the assurance that I was just doing fine. But neither comes. Instead he only says, “Why?” I don’t really know why, but I’m touched. I’m genuinely and honestly touched. And feeling a little guilty because I always found him to be a nuisance. But that doesn’t mean I still don't, okay?
But, he asked me a question, and I guess I owe him an answer. “Well, just… look at me. Remember the battle for Mos Espa, when I was going in behind Magic and his gang? Well, I got shot and I dragged myself into an empty stall, and then suddenly he barges in with his injured leg and everything, and all I can say is, 'Please don’t let me die, Nalan'.” I mimic my own voice, maybe exaggerating a little in the whiny-ess department, but I need to make my point clear. Nas just nods. “I sounded so… pathetic, you know? And the worst part was, I really was afraid I’d die, and I didn’t want to die so much that I’d have done anything at that moment.”
He rubs his neck. “Well, nothing really wrong there, I’d say.” Okay, so I didn’t make myself clear.
“No, look, I just… I’m a grown woman of 23 years, and I’m whining about a shot to the shoulder to a… what… 17-year old kid? And the same kid orders me and Azen away from some little house reeking of decay only days later because I’m about to puke right on his boots. Just because of the stench, right?”
Before I can continue my rant, Nas throws in, “Mel, he’s been in the field for, like months now, and people say he’s seen action on Gnazt and Yavin IV. It’s okay to be less experienced than him. And just remember that story how he fell asleep in the middle of an assault. If that’s not stupid, I don’t know what is.” I found myself grinning against my will at that. Yeah, that’s one of those stories they’ll be telling even on Hoth in no time. Big war hero Corporal Korwin Nalan falling asleep in the middle of an Imperial assault and needing to be dragged out by his second-in-command.
But there’s still the thing that landed me in the field hospital again. “Okay, that was stupid. But he never almost managed to kill himself with his own rifle, did he?”
He grins. “Mel, you did not 'almost kill yourself'; not by a long shot. You just operated it from an odd angle and your shoulder caught the recoil. That's all. Could have happened to anybody.” Great. That’s so not helping, mister. It just says I’m exaggerating again and making a fuss. I huff again.
“Well, that certainly doesn’t make things better. In fact, it makes them worse.”
He raises his eyebrows again. “How so?”
Is he really that dense or does he only want to torment me a little? “Well… don’t you see it? It just means I’m overreacting again and again. It means I can’t handle the pressure. It means: I. Don’t. Belong. Here. Get it?”
He smiles. “No. Because that just means you need to get used to everything. And trust in yourself a little more. You’ll do fine, Jenna.” Oh. He's never called me that before. Everyone here almost instantly started calling me either by my surname or some nickname like “Red” or “Blue Eyes” or something. Strange thing is: I never wanted anyone to call me by my given name, and I was okay with that. But now I’m also okay with Xanas of all people calling me “Jenna”. Huh?
“But… Xan… I… haven’t killed anyone yet. And I don’t know… I don’t know… Force, what if I screw up because I can’t pull the trigger when the time comes?” I look at my hands. Strange, how it’s him of all people I’m telling these things to. But he just has that thing about him that makes you want to tell him things. Should have become a shrink, I think a little sourly.
A strong callused hand suddenly lies atop mine and grips it. “For your sake, I wish the time would never come for you, but it will. And I know that you’ll do the right thing when it does. You’ll do whatever needs to be done because you’re just the kind of person who always does what they have to. I’d be happy to know you were by my side when push comes to shove.” Swallowing the sudden lump that appears in my throat, I look up at him and see that he’s grown really serious now. Holy frigging shit.
“I…”
“Oh, and I'll allow you to continue calling me ‘Xan’… and that’s really something, you know? Sounds better, too.” He grins brightly. Okay, it’s amazing how that man can ruin just about any 'moment'. Stupid shutta.
“Well, thank you, sir. I feel, like, really honored now.” I grimace at my sentence. Though he’s right. It does sound nicer than “Nas”, which always reminds me of “nasty”, and that’s more what I’d associate with the Sarge, not necessarily with Xanas. ‘Annoying’ would be more fitting in his case.
Before he can say anything in response, a voice booms through the hospital tent, shouting, “Farrayn! Come out, you little pile of bantha poodoo, and I’ll show you what it means to cheat your way out of DBP!”
Now it’s my turn to raise my eyebrow. “What was it you said about 'swapping', Private?”
He just grins a little lop-sided, then hops off my cot, and makes his way stealthily out the other entrance of the tent, but not before whispering, “If I don’t come back, tell my mum I died as a hero,” to me.
Grumbling, I turn back to face the curtain again. That guy’ll be the death of me someday, I swear.
“Private?” Oh joy, Sarge is following Xan’s tracks and he just discovered where he went before disappearing. Damn traitor. Guy knew Sarge would be coming here first of all, pissed like hell. Suppressing a sigh, I turn around.
“Yes, sir?” Whoa, I think I’ve never seen Sarge’s head that red. And he gets red a lot. One… two…
“GET ON YOUR FEET WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU PRIVATE!” I think I just felt my eardrums pop… I swear. Okay, so I knew that was coming. Still doesn’t mean I like how he always picks on me.
Before he can say anything else, a Mon Calamari nurse approaches him, touching him lightly on the arm. “Please sir, would you be so kind as to…” Mistake, Miss, big mistake.
Sarge goes off like plasma grenade on her, yelling at her that a damn fish head should not be ordering him around, that he could treat his troops as he saw fit… the usual rubbish. The only thing that really aggravates me is that I’m intimidated by it and the nurse isn’t. I mean, she is the target, right? Then why is it me that gets smaller and smaller, and not her?
Hm. Maybe because Sarge is a stocky human guy about 6 feet and the nurse is about a head taller than him. And she’s Mon Calamarian; maybe she’s seen worse than a stocky little man screaming obscenities at her. When he’s finally out of breath, the nurse’s mouth twitches a little and she says with her voice a little dry, “Please would you be so kind as to keep your voice down? We have a lot of patients here that need absolute quiet to recover.”
“I don’t fucking care…” Sarge wants to start again, but suddenly there’s a large Shistavanen looming over him, baring his teeth briefly to Sarge. On his collar there’s the insignia of a Captain in the medical service - a doctor, then - visible.
“Is there a problem?” he grumbles at Sarge, and for one fleeting moment I get the totally priceless and once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see Sergeant Nyre “I’m gonna have your balls for breakfast, even if you haven’t any” Dankin actually shrinking from another being. I’m almost tempted to say that this is worth the fuss.
But then it’s over, and Sarge has slipped into the usual jovial manner he usually exhibits when dealing with officers. “No, sir. Of course not, sir. I was just asking this Private here…” a nasty glance into my direction promising me a slow and painful death if he ever caught me alone, “where my AWOL - one of my other Privates who weaseled his way out of a DBP - went.”
The Shistavanen looks from me to Sarge and back to me, then says, “Well, Private? Is there anything you have to say about this matter?”
I swallow. There’s murder in Sarge’s eyes, most presumably because that wasn’t the first time Xan managed to get away from some undesirable duty. And if I know him right he managed to do it right under Sarge’s nose. And he managed to drag me into it, this time. That alone should give me any right to tip Sarge off. On the other hand… Xan did it for me. He was there to listen when Danna couldn’t be because she was crawling around in the desert again. There, when I needed a friend. Or just someone. Ah, hell. “No, sir. I’ve got absolutely no clue what the Sergeant is talking about.” Oh, dear, if looks could kill.
“Well, then everything is settled. Would you be so kind as to leave my tent now, Sergeant?” the Shistavanen Captain growls, and when Sarge stalks away without saying anything else, I have quite some difficulties of fighting the impulse to hug the Captain. But I manage to stay on the bed. The Shistavanen and the nurse just give me nod when they leave, and then I’m alone again; free to plot Xanas Farrayn III’s slow and painful death at my hands. He really should consider himself lucky if Sarge is the one who catches him first, because no matter was Sarge has on his mind, I’m sure my stuff is worse. Making me lie for him... really the nerve that man’s got.
“What’s all the commotion about, huh?”
Gah! Can’t a girl have her peace even at the hospital? Only two nights until there was enough bacta to treat the broken shoulder and the light concussion, and then I would have been free prey for all of you. But no, you just have to grate on my nerves even here, right?
Okay, so maybe I’m being unfair, because this time it’s neither Sarge nor Xan disturbing me, but Danna. I turn around. She's obviously fresh out of the shower by the look of it, and smiling from one ear to the other. I sigh without sound, then say, “Had a successful hunt?”
“Yep. What about you? Heard you had a little weapon trouble?” I roll my eyes and barely suppress a groan. Is everyone fated to torture me today? First Xan, then Sarge, and now even Danna? That’s just not fair.
“Yes. Went to the shooting range, handled the stupid thing wrong, got a broken shoulder, end of story.”
“Not very talkative today, are we?” Danna smirks.
I just stick out my tongue at her and say, “You would be, too, if you were harassed first by Xanas Farrayn, pain in the ass extraordinaire, and then by Sergeant Nyre Dankin. And we all know him, right?”
She grimaces again, this time contorting her face into an almost ugly expression. Then she grins, a little slyly now. “How about I get you some company that would be more… desirable?” I knew this would come, but I would have liked it if Danna had stayed away from the “Jenna and Korwin sittin’ in a tree”-ship, even if it was just for my sake.
“Danna, could we just…” She holds up her hands, grinning like mad.
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” She looks down, and then up again, grinning naughtily this time. “Although you know, I think he actually found it kinda cute…” Okay, enough is enough. Trying to ignore the excruciating pain in my right shoulder, I lift my upper body up.
Gritting my teeth against the pain, I look her directly into the face and say, “No, Danna. That’s enough. I’m really sick of everyone thinking they can poke fun at me or pick on me whenever they feel like having a good laugh at someone else’s expense. I’m an abysmal soldier, I’m 23 years old, and often enough behaving as though I'm 17, and I’m more of a danger to myself with a blaster in my hand than to anyone else. But I’m a damn sentient being who can only take so much. Why is it so damn hard for everybody to frigging treat me like one?” A few heads are turned to us now. Okay, so I should have kept my voice lower, but at this point I’m beyond caring.
For a while, it’s silent between us, and when I can’t take it any longer, I let myself fall back on the cot. It’s this moment of weakness, Danna chooses to get back. “Fine,” she says in a very low and somehow flat voice, “if you really want to lie around here and feel sorry for yourself, then do it. I won’t hold you back. I was just trying to be a friend, but it seems you don’t need one right now. So… see you later.” And with that she’s gone again.
Great.
Just frigging great.
After that first battle, and the wound I took, I thought there couldn’t be anything worse. Turns out, sometimes you don't need laser fire and blood to make your day the most miserable you've ever had so far. Sometimes all it takes is a little pain and a bad joke too much, and wham, you scare off the only real friend you had in the camp. And it’s really only my fault.
You see, it's just like I said. Private Jenna Melara, major screw-up.
TBC in Chapter Two