Dev Charles's Solo Adventure | The Castillon Arc

[Captain Charles]

An Old Enemy Returns​

Charles | Captain’s Quarters | Stryker II:
He felt her hands on his shoulders, their touch melting the tension away. He picked up his head swiveling the chair around to face her. Her expression was soft. Not the composed diplomatic bearing she wore in public, something quieter, something she kept only for him. Her green hazel eyes were warm and steady, the specific look of someone who was entirely present and entirely his.

“It’s him, isn't it.” she said quietly, leaning over so their faces were on the same level.

They made eye contact.

She cupped his face in her hands.

He pulled back slightly. He needed to say it out loud. He needed her to hear it.

“He was given Velar,” he said. His voice was flat but icy. It was the most control he could manage for now. “As a reward. After Harrun IV. The NIO gave him a planet full of people and he killed most of them.”

She said nothing. She kept her hands on his face and let him talk.

“Banks died in a corridor on the Relentless because Ostell ignored the intelligence reports. Ignored the objections. Launched the assault anyway.” He paused, imagining the arrogant look he must have had. “...And his reward was a paradise.”

He wanted to punch something. He knew his expression was slipping…and for once, he let it.

“He wrote in his report that it was unexpected enemy strength,” he snarled. “He lied. That bastard wrote a lie in an official report and walked away scott-free. No. He was rewarded for it!”

He slammed his fist against his knee.

“I promised myself I would avenge Banks.” He finished quietly. “That man is responsible for his death, I will see to it that he dies.”

She didn't flinch.

She moved closer instead. “I remember.” she said softly, kissing his forehead. She stood up.

“Get up,” she said gently.

He obliged.

She brought his forehead to hers.

“We will get him,” she said quietly. “Together.”

He hugged her tight.

She hugged him back.

They stayed like that for a while.

 

[Grand Admiral Ostell]

The Victory Plan​ Ostell | Ballroom | OSS Triumph: Everyone was here. The time had come. Today he would lay out his masterpiece, a plan for triumph and glory. He would prove once again why he deserved to be a Grand Admiral. “Good Morning Ladies and Gentlemen.” he started, a hint of a smile flickering on his lips. “We have a minor issue. A rival Imperial Remnant has decided to launch an incursion into our territory. The plan is simple, we must crush their advance guard and bring them to the negotiating table.” “Grand Admiral, there are three other Imperial Remnants besides our own, who is the one attacking us?” asked a male captain. “The Mahporeem Imperial Remnant,” replied Ostell dismissively. “Those scrap mutts will soon feel the might of an actual modern Imperial Force. I will send half of my Velar fleet to intercept. Intelligence reports that is only a squadron. The rest of you will stay here with me.” “Grand Admiral, which ships will be intercepting and which ships will be staying?” asked a female captain. He sighed. “Figure that out yourselves,” he said. “All I need is exactly half of all my ships to go. Any other questions?” There was silence as everyone looked at each other. “Very well, you are all dismissed,” he said, they started to leave. He waited until all were gone besides Lieutenant Anna. She always remained. He looked at her properly now — not the professional assessment he gave subordinates in public. Something else. The charm that disappeared behind closed doors reappearing in a different form entirely. They walked towards each other. “Well, you know the drill. My wife is on Velar as usual shopping with her friends. We should have plenty of time.” “She always is,” she replied, a light laugh escaping from her lips. They kissed. Then exited to his quarters.

 

[Captain Charles]

The First Battle​

Charles | The Bridge | Stryker II:
Charles was happy that he was the one that had the numbers advantage for once. The enemy force dropped out of hyperspace in a loose wedge formation. At its center were four Imperial II Class Star Destroyers, flanked by five Strike Class Cruisers and four Arquitens Class Cruisers. They were already launching fighters.

“Stop here,” he ordered. The enemy had more fighters than he had. He would have to bait them away from their capital ships so his own fighters and frigates could deal with them. “All squadron leaders report in. Once you repel their attack do not pursue. Looking at you Slasher and Bruiser.”

“Copy that sir,” replied Slasher. A pause. “But, I want it on record that I was going to hold back anyways.”

“That’s a lie.” said Bruiser.

“Was fact.”

“Nuh uh.”

They were interrupted by Revenge’s Squadron leader. The rest of the leaders reported in. They were already forming a defensive screen ready to meet their attackers head on. The frigates were just behind them waiting to catch any fighter that broke though and provide supporting fire.

He watched the display. Six seconds. Six seconds until the enemy fighters hit his screen. The red shapes drew closer…closer…closer… A green tracer signaled the opening of the battle.

Dogfights broke out immediately. Chatter filled the comms. The enemy was attempting to break though to allow their bombers to make attack runs. His pilots held the line despite superior enemy numbers, their skill and training more than making up for lack of raw numbers. It was Slasher who got the first kill.

“One down! About a hundred more to go!” he announced with a laugh.

“Hate to break it to you but I already caught up.” replied Bruiser.

The dogfights continued. He checked the tactical displays. The enemy fighters were depleted. Each breakthrough attempted had ended in failure. It was time.

“All fighters and frigates, lock the enemy down here. We are attacking the main battleline.” said Charles signaling Malren.

“Aye sir!” came the chorus of responses.

The Stryker II began to turn, followed by the cruisers. They switched from a defensive circle to a wedge once they were far enough from the enemy fighters. The enemy line reoriented to face them head on. He had no intention of letting that happen.

“The Stryker II will take the leading three star destroyers. Everyone else select your opposite number. Once you destroy them, help the nearby ship. Edric you may open fire when ready.”

He watched the tactical display. The cruisers were breaking off as intended. They would use their speed and maneuverability to turn the fight into one on one engagements. In the meantime, the Stryker II would just have to pick off the ISDs from a distance. He turned towards the viewport just as the first salvo was fired.

Its shields flared, the broke. Massive bolts impacted the bridge. The ship fell out of line crippled. The other three pressed the attack. He was going to leave the fourth to the Avenger, but this worked too. The four ships traded salvos. The deck swayed as Lucan took the ship through a dizzying array of evasive maneuvers. He checked the tactical displays. Vendetta had just finished off a Strike Cruiser, Avenger had switched targets and supported the Revenge in a two on two against two Strike Cruisers, Vengeance had destroyed an Arquitens…so far so good.

A bright orange yellow light filled the bridge. He glanced over his shoulder out the viewport. Yep, that was another ISD down. Two more to go. His attention returned to the tactical display. An Arquitens was holding position. Not firing, just holding position. Retaliation was approaching it cautiously. It was within tractor beam range now, still no movement. Hipper called in.

“Sir, this ship is broadcasting a surrender signal. What should we do?" He asked.

“Accept it,” replied Charles. “Instruct all personnel to evacuate to your ship as prisoners. Then destroy it.”

“Aye sir. I will question the captain.” Hipper’s shimmering blue figure disappeared.

He turned his attention to the remaining ISDs. They were on either side now trying to pincer his ship.

“All main battery target the left ISD.” he ordered.

He watched as the ship was obliterated in a massive fireball. The last ISD surrendered, its shields already broken. Another look at the tactical displayed showed the battle was over. The rest of the enemy ships had been destroyed. His cruisers were already returning to formation.

Now to deal with the prisoners.

Marines boarded the final ISD to take the surviving crew prisoner. The defecting captain and his crew in the meantime were brought to the Stryker II’s hangar. Hipper came with them, holding notes from his own interrogation.

“He said he has useful intelligence for you.” said Hipper, nudging the Captain forward before turning back to his shuttle.

“Send the rest of the crew to the brig. Ensure they are well taken care of.” he ordered to the Crew around him. They led them away.

It was just him and the defecting Captain now. The hangar was empty. The fighters were still on the way back.

“Charles,” he said extending a hand.

The Captain took it.

“Marven,” he replied. “Captain Marven though I expect not for long.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Charles.

“Because I surrendered mid-battle,” said Marven. “Ostell doesn't forgive that. And I doubt your Remnant has much use for a captain who abandoned his post.”

“You didn't abandon your post,” said Charles, “You made a decision. A rather good one I might add.”

Marven looked at him.

He could tell he was reassessing, calculating what would happen to him and his crew.

“How about this,” said Charles. “You tell me everything you know and I ensure your men are well taken care of. They may never see another ship but they will have comfortable retirements.”

“And me?” asked Marven.

“Depends on what you know.” he replied.

They looked at each other for a long moment.

Finally Marven spoke.

“It’s a deal.”

He listened to Marven speak. He actually knew a lot. A lot more than he was expecting. He told him about Velar, its 350 orbital defense cannons and the location of the planetary shield generators. He told him about the oppressed natives and their living conditions. He told him about Ostell’s fleet strength and its composition. He told him about Marvex and its ten battlecruisers that were under construction. Finally, he told him a little about Ostell and how he spent much of his time at his palace on Velar rather than actually leading.

“The battlecruisers,” asked Charles. “How much time until they are completed.”

“Nobody knows for sure.” replied Marven. “Ostell said a couple months until the first two are done.”

Charles nodded and made another note on his datapad.

“His palace on Velar. Tell me more.” he said.

“Like what he does there?”

“Yes, and the guard shifts.”

“Guards are rotated every three hours. As for what happens there…you wouldn’t want to know.”

He looked at him for a moment. He suspected as much. The bastard would pay for everything.

“I think I know what you are getting at.” he replied.

The fighters and frigates returned. No losses outside some damaged fighters.

The interview ended.

Charles escorted Marven to the brig himself.

Whatever Ostell was up to he would find out soon.

 

[Hannah Charles]

Post Battle​

Hannah | Her and Charles’s Quarters | Stryker II:
The battle was over. It had been for a few hours now. He still wasn’t back. She wished he was, though she knew exactly why he wasn’t back. Prisoners. Post Battle Checks and Reports. After Action Reports from all Squadron Leaders and Captains. All of that took time. It didn’t make it any easier.

She was laying on the bed. She had been laying there for hours. She had listened to the whole battle on the comms. Every exchange. Every order. His voice flat and certain through the whole thing the way it always was.

She had let out a breath when the last Imperial II surrendered.

She hadn't realized she'd been holding it.

It was like that every battle.

The Shirt was warm. She was tired but not sleepy. The specific tired of someone who had been carrying tension for hours and had just put it down and hadn't quite figured out what to do with themselves without it.

She turned over onto her side, curling into a ball under the blanket.

She missed him the way she always missed him when he was on the ship but not with her. The specific close distance miss — he was right there, somewhere on this ship, and she wanted him here specifically.

The door began to slide open.

She leaped out of bed, scrambling towards the door as fast as she could. He barely registered her before she was grabbing him. Both arms flying around him squeezing him tight. She buried her face somewhere between his collarbone and neck.

He hugged her back.

He smelled like the ship. That distinctive scent that only she got to know. Well maybe his men did too. She saw the stuff they could get up to.

But he was here with her. Safe. Home.

That’s all that mattered.

 

[Grand Admiral Ostell]

Bad News​ Ostell | His Palace | Velar: The view was beautiful from the pool. Colorful buildings. Palm trees. A white sandy beach. And beyond that turquoise water as far as the eye could see. It was a private pool built on a balcony of his palace. He spent of a lot of his time here. His ship was nice but didn't have a pool. Here there was no distractions, no work. Just him and the two ladies in his life, though he carefully hid one from the other. There were others too when he found the time. He leaned back in his chair. The water felt nice, only his head was above the water. His wife reclined on a lounger nearby, dressed in exactly what he had asked her to wear that morning. He liked that outfit because he could see more of her. She didn’t object. He found that satisfactory. An attendant appeared at the pool's edge — silent, efficient, the way he trained his staff — bearing a tray of sliced tropical fruit and two tall glasses of something cold and pale yellow. He accepted his without looking up. His wife took hers with a murmured thank you that the attendant did not acknowledge. He bit into a piece of fruit. It was perfect. Everything here was perfect. He had made it that way. His fleet would be returning soon. He was already planning the victory celebration. A smile formed on his face as he imagined the feast. He adjusted his glareshades. The report would arrive soon. He couldn't wait. There was a knock at door. He sighed, setting down the fruit. The smile faded. Another military report he had to deal with, he couldn't be bothered unless it was from the fleet. “You may enter.” he said, slightly annoyed. An aide entered slowly clutching a datapad. He knew the look. Something was wrong. “Well?” he said, waiting till the aide had come up to him. There was no time for smiles. “Sir,” the aide began. “We have received word from the intercept force.” He paused in the way a person does when they wanted to put something bad lightly. “Out with it.” demanded Ostell. The aide froze. Then spoke though a tight throat. “They have been destroyed sir. Wiped out. No survivors besides prisoners.” Ostell froze. Impossible. Reports said that was a scouting squadron. It should have been an easy win. His rage exploded. He got up from his chair. “Those incompetent fools!” he roared, clenching his fists. “The enemy was a simple scout squadron. I gave them four star destroyers and they still lost!” He got out of the pool, grabbing his towel and throwing it to the ground. It hit the bowl of fruits, tipping it over and scattering them everywhere. His body heaved as he took a deep breath. “Those dirty scrap munchers! They DARE TO HUMILIATE ME!?!? You." he snarled, pointing at the aide. “Tell me who commanded that task force now.” The aide stopped backing away. “Captain Charles sir.” he squeaked out. “The squadron’s name was First Scouting Squadron.” Ostell thought about it. He heard that of that name once. The squadron he was unfamiliar with. Probably insignificant, which made this defeat even worse. “I want all my ships! All of them! To hunt this Charles down and destroy him! Do you understand!?” “Yes sir!” replied the aide trembling in fear. “Then get out of here.” he said gesturing towards the exit. The aide ran for the door. It slammed shut behind him. “Babe?” started his wife, slowly approaching him. She was smart enough not to chastise him. It was why he kept her around, outside the fact she was stunning and satisfied him often. He turned towards her. “Pack your things,” he said his voice returning to normal. “We are heading to Marvex.” she turned to leave. He looked at her. “And tonight, I expect a performance.” she nodded and disappeared. He sighed. This was way more work than that he signed up for. He would crush this Charles then go back to relaxing in his pool. He glanced one last time at the ocean, then headed to the changing room.

 

[Captain Charles]

Pre-Battle: Assault on Marvex​

Charles | The Bridge | Stryker II:
Everyone was here. Good, it was time to begin. They had much to cover. A dim bluish light filled the bridge from the tactical displays and the figures of all the Captains and Squadron Leaders of his squadron. His senior officers were standing behind him, while he was positioned in the middle by the tactical displays.

He tapped the Marvex system, the display shifting to reveal a close up of the planet. “This is Marvex." He said. "Intelligence reports that the enemy has concentrated all his strength here. I've already sent this data via our secure network." he paused, letting everyone review the enemy force composition on their datapads.

He continued. "Our prisoners have also informed us that two of the ten battle cruisers are very close to completion. If they happen to be complete by the time we arrive be very careful. Those ships are very heavily armed."

"Sir, how exactly are we going to deal with these battle cruisers if we encounter them?" asked Captain Washington of the FSS-2 Vengeance.

"Glad you asked." replied Charles. "We are going to capture them."

"Capture them?"

"Yes, capture them. Here is how."

He tapped on one of the pictures from intelligence.

"Intel from our prisoners tells us that these first two battle cruisers are essentially enlarged Imperial IIs. If we can disable the bridge they are ours."

"To disable the bridge we are going to use a high risk, high reward tactic. The Stryker II will act as bait drawing the enemy's fire. Once the enemy is thoroughly distracted, a shuttle carrying a boarding team and a special breaching device will sneak up from behind and infiltrate the bridge. They will kill or take the bridge crew prisoner and barricade themselves in. Then they will pilot the ship to us while disabling all the systems from inside."

"I'll lead the boarding team." said Voss.

"Thank you," he replied. "That tactic will probably only work once though. We will have to choose on the fly which battle cruiser would make the ideal target. The other we will leave to our allies."

He waited for everyone to finish taking notes.

"Now for the order of battle. I expect the enemy to maintain a defensive strategy to defend the ship building ring and to allow for its defenses to support them. That means we will have to bait them away from the ring. We can do that by skirmishing with them and using that to find a weak spot. Once we or our allies find that weak spot it will be time to go all in."

"We will stand opposite their flagship. The Allegiance Class Battlecruiser Triumph. I have a bone to pick with their leader."

Everyone paused. They knew what that was.

It held for exactly two seconds before Charles continued.

"Lastly, as you already know reinforcements from Mahporeem are inbound. Once they arrive we will launch our assault. Do not interfere with their operations unless they need help. High command has greater plans they want to unfold."

"Any questions?" he asked. A pause. "Very well. You are all dismissed."

The figures disappeared. The bridge lights flickered back on.

All they could do was wait.

He returned to his and his wife's quarters.

 

[Hannah Charles]

Hannah’s POV | Before and During Operations​ Hannah | Her and Charles’s Quarters | Stryker II: She was dusting the cabinet when the first salvo was fired. Her husband, as usual, had found something to do with the waiting time for the Mahporeem Fleet to assemble. Knock out a pirate group known as the Void Stealers. They had been hired by Ostell to raid Mahporeem shipping lanes. He had decided to put that to an end. The comms were on as usual, so far just the normal chatter of battle. She always had them on ever since her husband installed the device into their Quarters to make her feel more secure. It hadn't always been like this. There was a time when the comms going on meant she stopped everything else. When a battle meant laying on the bed very still under the covers in a ball with nothing in her hands and too much in her head. She had figured out eventually that doing something helped. The battles eventually became podcasts. It wasn’t like she stopped paying attention. That would never happen. But, it became…more routine…something that she had almost come to accept. She moved on to the desk. The comms continued to play. Her heart did the small involuntary thing it always did when she heard his voice. She had loved that voice for two years and it still did that. The battle continued in the background. It seemed like they were winning. She listened closer. It meant he would be back soon. “Whoo, that was close!” exclaimed Charles. The duster clattered to the floor. Her body wasn’t responding. She waited until she heard his voice again. “That bomber almost crashed into us! Good steering Lucan!” he continued. She could hear Lucan responding in the background. Her body unfroze, the momentary terror having passed. She picked up the duster, returning to her work. The battle continued though its conclusion seemed inevitable. The guns stopped. The chatter died down. She knew. The battle was over. Status checks were already coming in. It was minimal damage and no casualties as usual. She let out a breath. She always did at the end of every battle. The worry had never fully left her. Everything was fine. It always was. She went to put the kettle on.

 

[Captain Charles]

oops​

 

[Hannah Charles]

Day In A Life X | A Typical Hannah Tuesday​

Hannah | Her and Charles’s Quarters | Stryker II | 0611:
She was aware of him before she was aware of anything else.

That was how it always worked. The specific warmth of him. The weight of his arm wrapped around her, his hand resting on her shoulder. She was on her side against him, her head on his upper chest, the top of her head tucked against his chin. Her arm across him, her hand resting on his heart. Their legs were tangled together somewhere beneath the sheets.

She was wearing The Shirt. He was wearing his pajama pants. It was their regular position. Something they had established early on into their marriage.

He was on his back as usual. She could tell he was awake. She could tell by the quality of his breathing — deeper, more even, the specific stillness of someone lying flat and thinking rather than sleeping.

He had been awake for a while. Exactly eleven minutes in fact. She knew his habits, the 0600 wake up from the academy was one of them. It had been communicated once and not brought up since. They knew the routine.

She also knew why he was still there.

The extraction technique had failed again.

Except…it hadn't. Not this morning. He had stopped trying the extraction technique approximately two months ago. She had noticed the exact morning it happened — the specific absence of the careful methodical movements she had gotten used to tracking from behind closed eyes. He had simply, stopped. Made a calculation. Decided waiting was more efficient than failing.

She had never told him she knew about the extraction technique. She had figured it out approximately three weeks into their marriage — the methodical untangling of legs, the slow removal of his arm, and then the inevitable moment where her arm tightened without her being conscious of it. She had watched him fail from behind closed eyes on more mornings than she could count.

She had found it enormously endearing.

She found it equally endearing that he had eventually filed it under unworkable and simply chosen to stay instead. It was the most Charles possible solution to the problem.

The morning brief being at 0700 instead of 0630 was also his solution to the problem. She knew that too. She had never mentioned it. She would tell him eventually.

The daylight cycle activated at 0612. He moved as soon as it did. He always did.

She opened her eyes. Slowly. There was no need to rush. She savored this moment every morning — the minute between her waking up and the daylight cycle activating. Just the two of them together in peace.

"Good morning," she murmured, her eyes still half closed.

"Good morning," he replied.

She kissed his throat.

He tightened his arm.

They stayed like that until the daylight cycle turned on and then she let him go. She always let him go at this point. She knew the routine.

She watched him disappear into the refresher, hearing the shaver and then the shower activate. She knew how long he showered. Nine minutes. He said it was a more thorough version of an academy shower. The refresher door remained open. That was also established early. In their marriage there was no such thing as privacy.

She rolled over onto his side of the rack. It was still warm. She would stay there for another fifteen minutes.

The shower stopped. She heard the rustling of towels and the clatter of a comb being put back in its place. He emerged seconds later, towel around his waist, already moving towards the closet.

She knew the order. She had never counted how many times she had watched it but she knew it well enough that any deviation would have registered immediately. There had never been a deviation. It was something else he retained from the academy.

"You gonna get up?" he asked. He already knew the answer.

"No thank you," she said. "I like it right here."

It was like that most of the time.

He made the tea without responding. Two cups — hers slightly cooler. He didn't measure the temperature. He had done this enough times that he could tell just by looking. He opened the pantry for the crackers, arranged them on the tray, set it on the desk.

He looked at her.

"Tea is ready," he said.

She got out of bed immediately.

She crossed to the desk, picked up her cup, took a sip. She leaned against him. He put his arm around her. They stood at the artificial viewport together — the space around the Stryker II projected across it, stars and the distant shapes of First Scouting Squadron's 34 ships holding formation. She ate a cracker. He drank his tea.

They stood there for a while. Not talking. Not needing to.

"I gotta get going," he said, checking the time.

She stepped back reluctantly.

"I know," she said softly. It was the morning brief.

She watched him put on his boots and armor. Then she crossed the room and picked up his helmet. She handed it to him herself. She always did.

He kissed her. She kissed him back, holding it for a second longer than necessary.

"I'll see you at breakfast," he said.

"I'll be there," she replied. She rarely missed it.

He went through the hatch.

She stood watching the door for a moment.

He would be back, she told herself. He always came back.

Then she went to water the plant.

She made the bed next, fixing up the pillows and making sure the the blanket was on tight. It was a new addition. The bed wasn’t made military style anymore. They talked about it a while ago and came to the mutual conclusion that it would be in impractical. She pulled it tight anyways because it made him more comfortable.

Now it was time to shower. She went into the refresher, making sure to bring her datapad with her for the morning ping. It had to be on time 0700, right before he went into his morning brief. It was their morning ritual. Often times she waited until after 0700 to shower just to make sure she didn't miss it.

She sent the ping.

“Have a great day honey!”

“Thanks, you too!”

She sent a heart. He would see it after the brief ended.

She showered, then dried off her hair, putting it in the loose braid she always wore. Then she got dressed which was just throwing on some undergarments, The Shirt and some pajama pants. Her slippers were by the door. She put them on before heading to the mess.

It was rare she missed a breakfast with her husband. She only missed them for emergencies.

Hannah | The Corridors | Stryker II | 0747:
The corridors were busy at this hour. It was the last stretch of morning watch. She knew because her husband had explained the system a while back. He was the captain so the system was a different for him, but he was typically on duty the pre-noon watch, first hound watch and most of second hound watch. He used to also take midwatch occasionally if he skipped second dog watch but after she moved onboard permanently that had come to an end.

She continued though the corridors. She passed a pair Marines who nodded as she went by. She passed an Engineer who looked up from his work to say hi. A junior officer whose girlfriend she knew was from Castillon. A trio of Death Squadron Pilots on their way to the hangar. She stepped out of the way of a couple sailors who were carrying something large. They all greeted her as they passed.

She knew everyone on this ship.

She hadn't set out to. It had simply happened because of her husband’s introductions and she noticed people and the specific momentum of noticing people was that eventually you knew them.

Hannah | The Mess | Striker II | 0800:
She heard the mess before she even rounded the corner. It was always loud. The specific kind of loud of men who were enjoying a meal together. She scanned for him the moment she went though the entrance. He was in the middle with a Slasher and Bruiser. He had different company almost every day. She grabbed some food and walked over to him.

Slasher moved over before she even sat down. She settled next to her husband, making sure not to leave even an inch of space between them. She set her tray down. The mess was loud around them. There was no awkward silence from when they were dating. Seeing her here was just like seeing another crew member enter.

“Good morning ma'am.” said Slasher jokingly. The nickname had stuck. She had two, “The Wifey and “The Real XO.” Slasher was referring to the latter one. Bruiser greeted her as well.

“Good morning.” she replied to both of them.

She leaned against her husband, who put his arm around her. No words were needed. They had already said their good mornings. She kissed him anyways. For her anytime was right for kiss with him.

“Hey, save that for your quarters okay?” said Bruiser with a laugh.

“No,” she replied pleasantly.

She saw a a fork flash across her tray. By the stars, she thought to herself. She knew it was going to happen. It happened most mornings. And as exasperating as it was, she still loved it.

She looked at her husband.

He was chewing.

The egg was gone.

They looked at each other.

She reached over and took his muffin. She ate it. He said nothing. They laughed once they finished chewing and swallowed.

“Every morning,” said Slasher.

“Every morning,” repeated Bruiser.

The four talked until they excused themselves to go to the hangar.

She finished eating. Her husband was already done patiently waiting. It was a mystery how men could eat so fast. Her husband always said he ate slow for a guy. It was still faster than her.

They got up together and put their trays away. Then they headed to the bridge.

Hannah | The Corridors | Stryker II | 0851:
They walked to the bridge together after breakfast.

This was routine. He waited until she finished, they got up together, put away their trays and left together. Nobody had decided this. It had just happened in the way many things happened between them, gradually, without announcement until it was simply how things were.

She had taken his arm the moment they dropped of their trays. It was instinctual. It had been since the moment they started dating. She felt better when she was connected to him.

She matched his pace easily. She had learned his walk — the specific measured stride of someone who always knew exactly where they were going and how long it would take. Not fast. Not slow. Efficient.

“What do you have today?” he asked.

“Just a quick consultation with Sena.” she replied. “She said she wanted advice on how to better establish Castillon’s position with Mahporeem.”

“Still making you work after retirement huh.” he said dryly.

She had retired a long time ago, a month before their marriage. The calls were informal now, though she was never sure if Sena actually needed help or just wanted to talk.

They reached the tubolift.

He let her in first and pressed the button for the bridge.

It zoomed upward. She held his arm the whole way.

Hannah | The Bridge | Stryker II | 0910:
They arrived on the bridge. Everyone paused to greet then continued their work. Malren saluted as the ranking officer here. They headed to his command chair. She let go of his arm as he was sitting down. Her station was just behind and to the right. It had been installed early into their relationship by Charles and Sorn, she liked its positon. From here she could see her display and see her husband beyond it.

Settling into her chair she noticed there were three notifications. The first was from Talven asking her if she could organize some food logistical data from Castillon. The second was Slasher making a silly joke in the squadron group chat. She had been added soon after the wedding. It was the original one, not the one they used to plot scenarios to bump her and Charles closer together. That had been archived. She had already read the whole history. The last was a message from Sena herself confirming the meeting.

She sent a thumbs up to Sena first. She looked at the time. She had thirty minutes, enough time to complete Talven’s request. She occasionally got some work from the Squadron. Her husband and his senior officers would pass some communications work or data off to her for her to organize. She pulled up the data.

It was pretty simple, just some estimates on what they would need next resupply. She was done organizing it by the time Sena called. She picked up her headset. Sena’s face appeared on the display.

“Hey Han!” said Sena cheerfully. She was sitting the now fully completed diplomat room in the Mount Maximus Relay station. It seemed very nice, there were large windows and nice furniture. She felt a hint of pride at its completion.

“Hey,” she replied, matching her energy though careful not to raise her voice too much. The bridge was a working environment after all.

“Sooo, I called because I wanted your help with our relationship with Mahporeem.” started Sena, taking out a datapad, presumably for her notes. “As you know we are a member world, but since they have been expanding they have been asking for increased food exports. You are the one that negotiated Castillon’s status in the Imperial Remnant. How should we respond?”

“Well, I did have a lot of help.” she replied thoughtfully, remembering how she did it. Her husband had been a rising star in the Mahporeem Navy during that time and had already sent his own requests to its High Command. All she had to do was hammer out the details.

“Negotate from a position of strength.” she advised. “Mahporeem’s food problems were solved largely thanks to us. Ask for more agricultural droids to tap more of the Infinitum Plains. Currently we are only at 20%, if we could tap even 5% more it would probably solve most of their problems for the foreseeable future.”

She paused letting Sena jot down some notes.

“Gotcha,“ Sena responded. “I’m sure Garrcus would love that. One more thing.”

“What is it?” she asked. Sena always saved the harder question for later.

“I have a couple of staff that I think could also be great assistant diplomats. We don’t have any yet so I was wondering if…”

“You want me to ask my dad.” she concluded for her.

“You didn’t let me finish.” protested Sena.

“Because I knew based on your expression that you wanted me to ask my dad for extra funds for the materials.” she replied smoothly.

Sena sighed. “Somethings never change.” she said wistfully. “But with business out of the way…” her tone suddenly changing. “...we can talk about more personal stuff.” she set down her datapad.

“How’s the ship been treating you? Like genuinely, no awkwardness still?”

“That got resolved a while ago, no thanks to you.” she responded with an exaggerated huff. “I know everything you were plotting or helping plot.”

Sena laughed.

“They let you read it?” she exclaimed.

“Yeah, I found it when Ferrin asked me to organize old communications.”

Sena’s eyes went wide.

She smiled. She had been sitting on that information for quite some time. She continued. “I suspected you were helping but the Cave test. I should have known.”

“You got me.” said Sena with a wink. “But look how well it turned out.”

“You embarrassed me.” she replied, crossing her arms. She was grateful though, that was the first night she had slept against her husband.

“Anyways,” said Sena switching the subject. “Holt said you are a basically a part of the crew now and have been for a while.” Right. Holt. Sena and Holt had started dating a couple months back. It was ironic that the pair that worked so hard to push her and Charles together were now dating themselves.

“Have been since the marriage. I know all of them now.” she replied proudly.

“Have you two talked about a family yet?” asked Sena, venturing into warmer territory.

“We’ve talked about it. He promised me retirement by thirty. He wanted to be present in our kids lives. He said he couldn’t do it if he was on missions and the kids and I were systems away for months. I hope it’s sooner though. I’m ready right now.” she replied honestly.

Sena’s gaze softened. “Don’t worry. You will be 27 by the time he is 30, and besides you never know he may decide to retire sooner too.”

She sighed. She really hoped so. As much as she enjoyed this life with him, she knew that little part of her would never rest until he was off the front line for good. “I hope you are right.” she said quietly.

“Go find him Han,” said Sena simply.

She looked up. He was right there at his command chair.

“Already there,” she said.

The call ended and she migrated.

Hannah | Charles’s Lap | The Bridge | Stryker II | 1000:
She loved being in contact with him. Without it, the world was much colder. She snuggled up against him, her legs thrown over his lap. The top of her head pressed against his neck while her cheek found his shoulder. His arm came around her automatically. She put her arm around him. They were together. She belonged with him.

She closed her eyes for a moment enjoying the moment. She opened them to the bridge around her. He was warm, even through his uniform. His shoulder was comfortable as always. She only liked her sleeping position more.

The command chair and her station were slightly elevated above the walkway that ran through the center of the bridge to the viewport deck. To the sides of the walkways in “pits” were the actual stations. In the middle of the walkway was a circular platform for the tactical displays. They were clearly visible from all angles. A clear design choice.

Her attention returned to his personal display. It was a transparent screen with a couple of items on it. Most of it was familiar. She had been asking him about stuff ever since she started coming aboard. In her opinion a wife needed to support her husband and what better way to do that than by learning about his work.

Her eyes landed on the strategy window. He had been researching something. She looked closer Kessel, a yellow orange planet.

“Kessel?” she asked.

“Intel from the Final Dawn confirms the presence of a rebel base there.” he responded.

Neither of them moved.

A wave of sadness washed over her. Another battle. He was in danger again. She knew it was coming. It was a part of his job but still a part of her wished his force was moved to a reserve at least. Then the peaceful and more importantly safe times, would be much longer.

“When?” she asked quietly.

“Sometime soon, High Command still finishing up the details.” he said, still looking at the display.

She accepted it.

They sat in silence for awhile. Her on his shoulder, just watching the focused work of a man who enjoyed his job. He was comfortable as always, she felt secure around him. The specific kind of secure when you love and trust someone completely. She was starting to drift when he patted her head.

“Honey?” he said quietly. ”It's time for lunch. Want to go to the mess or to the quarters?”

She shifted slightly, not wanting to move. Her eyes were half open.

“Quarters…” she murmured.

“I’ll call the droid.” he replied tapping his display.

He shook her. She reluctantly got off him. He got up. She followed him back to the their quarters.

Hannah | Her and Charles’s Quarters | Stryker II | 1230:
The droid arrived before they did. It was waiting in front of the door with their trays. Charles thanked it before dismissing it carry out its other duties. They went inside, the door sliding shut behind them. They took off their footwear before moving to sit down at the desk. He had two hours before he got back to duty.

She started talking before she finished her first bite. This was usual. He ate with the flat efficient pace of someone who had been trained to eat quickly and had compromised slightly in her direction. She had not compromised at all. She talked and ate simultaneously and managed both perfectly.

She was properly awake by the time she finished half her tray. The food helped. He was already done — he was always already done — sitting back with his juice watching her with the flat certain patience of someone who had nowhere more important to be.

“Sena asked me when we are starting a family.” she said laying down on the bed. She shifted so she was laying on her side. He walked over, taking off his armor, belt and helmet before joining her on the bed. He settled on his back, looking at the ceiling for a moment before answering.

“What did you tell her?” he said finally.

She shifted over, sliding over his arm and placing her head in its usual spot. She made sure to get tight against him, placing her hand on his heart and getting a leg over his thighs. His arm wrapped around her, taking her shoulder from behind. Now she was ready to answer.

“I told her about your promise to retire at thirty and that it was still too far away for me.” she said earnestly. She kissed his neck.

He held her a little tighter.

“I know how you feel.” he said softly. “I know how badly you want to start a family and for me to be safe. But I’m not doing this for fun. Yes, there are fun times but I’m doing this for the boys and for what I believe in.”

“I know,” she replied. “Just please, please don’t retire one mission too late." She felt her eyes brimming. “I…I don’t want to be the widow crying over your casket.” she felt a tear slide down her face. She had nightmares about it occasionally. Him dying in battle or her at a funeral wailing over his casket. She shuddered, just remembering.

He rolled onto his side, embracing her with both arms. He pulled her onto her side and into him, her forehead bumping against his neck. She felt his leg come over her waist. They were facing each other now. Chest to chest. The specific close position of two people who had stopped leaving space between them. She adjusted, ensuring every part of her that could be in contact with him was in contact. Just being in his embrace made her feel better already.

“Dying is a risk that comes with the job.” he replied softly. “I remember our conversations don’t worry. I promise I will always do my best to find my way back to you.” He paused. “and I’ll start researching retirement options.”

“Thank you.” she said quietly, moving in to give him a long kiss on the lips. That’s all she wanted for now, for him to start moving in that direction. She wrapped her arm around him. “And kids too.” she added.

“Yes,” he said. “We will have them soon don’t worry.”

She didn't say anything else after that.

The conversation had taken something out of her — not badly, not in the way that left you hollow, but in the specific way that honest things did when you finally said them out loud. She felt lighter. She felt heard.

She felt his arms still around her.

His warmth was around her and his heart was doing its usual steady reliable thing against her chest. The specific rhythm she knew completely. The most reassuring sound she knew.

Her eyes were already closing.

She didn't fight it.

The last thing she was aware of before sleep arrived completely was his arms tightening slightly around her — the automatic response, the specific warmth of someone who had noticed and adjusted without being asked.

She was out before she could think of anything else to file.

Hannah | The Bridge | Her Station | 1445:
She had to scramble awake. Her husband, as usual, had woken up earlier than her and was halfway dressed by the time she opened her eyes. He offered to let her sleep more, but as usual she came with him to his second watch. She insisted on bringing a book. They traveled to the bridge together arm in arm.

Second watch was the same as the first watch just quieter. The urgent business had already been taken care of. She sent a quick message to her father about Sena’s inquiry before migrating back to her husband’s lap.

He adjusted without looking up.

She settled into her usual position and opened her book. He returned to his reports. The bridge hummed around them — Ferrin at his station, Malren running a routine diagnostic, Holt moving between stations with his usual quiet efficiency.

Neither of them spoke for a while. She read. He worked. The specific comfortable silence of two people who had run out of things they needed to say and didn't feel the need to fill it.

Occasionally one of them said something small.

“Check out the final orders from High Command.” he said at one point, not looking up.

She looked up from her book.

“Let me see,” she said, leaning forward slightly.

“Zonill wants to go in alone. Pretty ballsy don’t you think?” he said, his lips twisting slightly into a smirk.

She didn’t like it.

“Don’t even think about anything remotely similar.” she said returning to his shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” he said, tapping the screen to look at a formation chart. “Our orders are as usual screen the Star then destroy the enemy vanguard.”

“Good,” she replied.

She returned to her book.

He finished reading the notes.

Occasionally she asked about something on his display. He answered. She filed it. She went back to her book.

The watch ended quietly. The same way it always did — the duty officer taking over, Charles standing, her sliding off his lap. The corridor back to quarters. Her on his arm.

As usual.

Hannah | The Corridors | Stryker II | 1700:
They had returned to their quarters briefly. Him to change out of his uniform into his gym clothes and her to put on a pair of actual shoes. It was the only time she put on something besides the fluffy slippers. Her walks were long, enough to last the hour and thirty minutes he would take working out at the gym then coming back.

She had established routes that took her all over the ship. Usually she walked them, though she occasionally jogged too. Today she decided to hit the Hangar route.

The corridors were less busy at this hour. The watches were split up more so everyone could get their dinner and rest. She saw few people, most were at their stations.

She arrived at the hangar.

The hangar was never quiet. Even without operations it seemed there was always cleaning and maintenance to do. It was a strange space filled with rambunctious pilots and quiet professional maintenance crews. It seemed the pilots were gone at this hour, there were just a few maintenance crews working on some tasks.

The sound of it was layered: the deep mechanical hum of the ship underneath everything, the specific clang of tools against hull plating, the occasional hiss of a welder somewhere in the far bay, voices carrying across the open space without urgency.

It smelled like the hangar always smelled. Fuel and metal and the specific synthetic quality of recycled air pushed through filters that couldn't quite eliminate the residue of a hundred engines. She had gotten used to it months ago. She almost liked it now.

She walked along the line of fighters. Each one slightly different up close — the specific clean wear patterns of ships that had been flown hard and maintained carefully. She ran her hand along one hull as she passed. Cool and smooth.

Then she saw them.

Slasher and Bruiser were crouched beside their respective fighters with what appeared to be red paint and a stencil.

She stopped.

They were adding kill tallies. Small careful marks along a wing of each ship. Neither of them had noticed her yet.

She watched for a moment.

“Are you allowed to do that?” she asked.

Both of them looked up simultaneously.

Slasher didn't miss a beat.

“Yeah,” he said. “Charles would allow it.”

She looked at the tallies. Then at Slasher. Then at Bruiser.

“Has he actually said that?” she asked.

A pause.

“He hasn't said he wouldn't,” said Slasher.

Bruiser nodded in solemn agreement.

She looked at the tallys again.

“What’s the current count now?”

“Fifty one,” said Slasher proudly.

“Also fifty one.” said Bruiser. “We are tied.”

“Not for long.” replied Slasher.

“We’ll see about that.” said Bruiser.

She left them to it.

She completed the latter half of her loop without incident. When she returned to Quarters she found her husband standing outside waiting. He was looking at his datapad. She ran the last couple of steps. He saw her before she grabbed his arm.

“Missed me?” he said jokingly.

“I always miss you,” she said simply. “Even when you're on the same ship.”

They went into the Quarters together.

Hannah | Her and Charles’s Quarters | Stryker II | 1830:
“How was your workout?” she asked, settling on one of the desk chairs. He had taken off his gym clothes and was heading towards the refresher.

“Good, I added 5 kilograms to the press today.” he said, taking off his last sock to throw in the laundry basket. He disappeared into the refresher. She heard the shower system activate.

“That’s good,” she replied, raising her voice just enough so he could hear her over the shower. “Slasher and Bruiser are painting kill tallies on their fighters.” she added.

He chuckled.

“Let them do it.” he said. “Actually remind me later to let all the pilots do that.”

She made a note to inform Slasher he was right.

“I also saw the leave log.” she added.

“Good.” he said. The water muffled his voice slightly. “You’ll get to see your father and Sena.”

She felt something warm settle in her chest. Castillon. Three days from now. She was looking forward to seeing them again but it wasn’t the main thing. She wanted free time with him.

“How long are you giving them?” she asked.

“Five days.” he said. “They've earned it. Besides we got the Kessel Op soon.”

She thought about the apartment above the Great Lake. The view from the twelfth floor. The Grand Archive she still hadn't properly visited.

“Are you going to actually rest?” she asked.

A pause.

“Define rest.” he said.

She smiled at the ceiling.

“Honey.”

“I’ll rest.” he said. “Mostly.”

She accepted this. It was the most she was going to get and they both knew it.

Hannah | The Mess | Stryker II | 1905:
The mess at dinner was quieter than breakfast. Less people and that end of day energy — people tired, content, winding down. Slasher and Bruiser were there. Eating in silence looking down at their food. For once they were not arguing. They made their way over to their table.

“Slasher,” she said, as she sat down next to her husband.

“Ma'am,” he replied.

“You were right,” she said looking at her husband. She wanted to break the news. He nodded. “He said let them do it. All the pilots.”

Slasher's expression did something extremely satisfied. He looked at Bruiser.

“Told you,” he said.

“You had no idea,” said Bruiser.

“I had every idea,” said Slasher.

She ate her dinner. He ate his — faster than her, always faster than her. The mess hummed around them.

Holt was not at dinner. He was probably logging something.

When they were done they headed back to quarters together. She was on his arm. The corridors were quiet at this hour. The ship settling into its night rhythm.

Hannah | Her and Charles’s Quarters | Stryker II | 1950:
She settled on the bed to read her book. He took off his uniform, putting it back as he took it off. He put on his pajama pants and settled next to her.

“What book is it?” he asked, looking over her shoulder.

“A romance novel.” she replied, flipping to the next page. “It’s called Reluctant Romance. An old story about the nobles from the good old days. Tess recommended it to me.”

“Why is it called reluctant romance?” he asked.

“I’m only half way though but it seems to me the main character Maya is having trouble confessing her feelings.”

“Who’s Maya?”

“A noble woman.”

“Who is she in love with?”

“A young Colonel.”

“Sounds familiar.” he commented.

She elbowed him. It was familiar, in fact so far this romance was going pretty similar to how their romance went. If only she asked him that starry night. Maybe he they would have had kids by now. She shook the thought away. No time to dwell on the past.

“Thanks for letting me know.” she said with a huff.

She continued reading. He started playing games on his datapad. They lay in silence for a little while.

“Are you sure this book isn't called Dark Romance?” he asked.

She looked over her shoulder. He was back upright reading along.

“That romantic scene…” he continued. “The one with Maya watching the Colonel and two noble women through the crack in the door. It was..uhh…quite graphic.” He starting laughing.

She felt her face flush. She hadn’t been expecting it either. So far it seemed like the Colonel was a charming gentleman. No more book recommendations from Tess, she thought to herself.

“I’m gonna stop reading this.” she said finally. She set the book on the night stand. “Tomorrow its going in the disposal machine.” she declared.

He laughed.

“What?” she asked.

“The disposal machine,” he said.

“The disposal machine,” she confirmed. “I like wholesome books, not this.”

“I know,” he said simply. “Keep it that way.”

“Do you know why?” she asked, rolling so she was on top of him.

“Why?”

He already knew the answer.

“Because I save all the dirty stuff for you.” she said.

He smiled.

She pulled The Shirt over her head.