Assigned: Battlegroup Kenobi
Azure Sector - Fleet Rally Point F0-296
222nd - 312th Attack Battalion
Marcus never much cared for space travel. It was a necessity sure, especially for his line of work, but it was never something he looked forward to. Now, some of these shinies loved it. Loved the thrill of getting off of their backwater deep sector world or the feeling of not living under the same roof as mom and pop or maybe they just loved that sensation you got when you watched stars turn into starlines and black spark to blue. Marcus had done that and seen that a thousand times over now. Now it just reminded him that more of his brothers were about to die.
The Longclaw wasn't a bad ship though. The crew was cordial to the 222nd and the commander wasn't green behind the ears. At least he would know what he was doing when sket hit the fan.
"Why so glum Cap?" One of the starfighter pilots said as he passed on his way to the flight simulators. The Pamrthen accent was thick on that one. Pamarthens and Corellians had a bit of a rivalry as to who had the better pilots. This particular pilot, Jeb, had been dogging Marcus ever since he and his battalion had come aboard. He guessed there weren't any Corellian pilots he could stir up this old rivalry with but Marcus couldn't care less. Though his lack of enthusiasm didn't seem to deter the young salt hawk.
"Don't you have somewhere to be pilot?" Marcus barked. His tone seemed to only encourage Jeb who winked and made finger guns at him as he turned the corner.
"That's a strange one," muttered the other Marine walking next to him. Marcus shrugged.
"He's probably feeling a little airsick being cooped up on the ship." The other Marine turned to face him.
"Err, Airsick, Captain?"
"It's Pamarthen slang. Don't ask," After hard workout, some warm food, and a hot sanisteam, Marcus retired to his room. He was in the Officer's quarters. The Longclaw wasn't filled to capacity, so there were only a few other officers from the Marines on board. It made the halls feel empty and barren, not unlike his room. The durasteel slid back revealing a spartan room with a bed that seemed ready to have been spit out of a fabricator and unwrapped that day. A console sat unlit at his desk, he had his own shower and refresher, though it was nearly unused; he preferred to do that with his men after drills, and a bookshelf which had only a small handful of books. A datapad was also on his desk, though it hadn't been there before he'd left. Its green light was blinking.
Curious, Marcus picked up the pad which then suddenly hummed to life, a blue light scanning his face.
"Identity confirmed: Galactic Alliance - 222nd Nova Corps - Captain Marcus Dewey Rail"
"What the-" The screen went black for a moment and suddenly flashed a symbol he'd only seen in holos.
"Helljumpers....?" The screen flashed again, lines of green text sped across its surface as it encrypted and activated.
"Rail!" Came a familiar voice. One that he hadn't heard in years. "I'm glad we managed to get this to you. You wouldn't believe the kinds of hoops I had to jump through to get a message out to you." The screen displayed a fancy beach umbrella and he could hear the ocean in the background. The man cursed as the image spun displaying a glimpse of the Alderaanina coast line.
"Lucky bastard is just showing off now..."
"Sorry," apologized the voice as the camera shook and refocused on a dark-skinned man. "Major Doc Servantes, Helljumpers. Hope you're showing those Alliance Bucketheads how to KTF out there. Hope you're showing the Sith even more." He spat.
"Listen, I need you to drop what you're doing and get your rear to Corellia. I can't say why here. But something big is coming. Egg heads won't shut up about it, said something about-Ah well, just get here. Consider this an official recruiting card to join the Helljumpers. We could really use someone like you on the team. These greenhorns they keep sending me just don't take kindly to the work. Don't know how to KTF like a couple of bonafide Leej. It'll be just like the NetherOps days! I've already got an exception sent to your commanding officer. Just say the word and jump back to Corellia."
This was a surprise to be sure. He'd thought Doc had died years ago fighting Bleters on the edge of the Corellian Sector. Did he drop everything with the Alliance for now? Could he really afford to do that? If Doc was telling the truth though something had to have been taken care of already, right? To know what a Helljumper sees, to know what a Helljumper fought. It was hard to pass up.
The message repeated two more times before the screen flashed a final time and displayed the symbol of the Corellian Helljumpers. Corellia's first and only true defense against the mysteries of the Field of Blades.
By then Marcus had decided. His bag was packed, the shuttle prepped, and the hangar open. Marcus was going home.
It was time to Rip and Tear.
