[Star Wars] Rite of Passage
Title: Rite of Passage
Author: LaneWinree
Word Count: 1,701
Rating: PG
Prompts: Magazine, swoop-racing, embarass
Characters: Wedge, Tycho, Janson, Hobbie, Gavin
Author Notes:
This was written for Nic, who was looking for a Fab Four piece and/or Face and Ton. I should probably start apologizing now. I suspect from that prompt, you were looking for something quite a bit more upbeat. This piece ... isn't, so much. Also, there's a bit at the end that looks like an NJO spoiler if you squint and turn your head sideways, but it really isn't, I promise! I needed to mention a glancing reference to the future to pull this fic together.
***
Lieutenant Maiko was the embodiment of professionalism and bravery. I know I cannot begin to comprehend your loss, but know that he was a valued and deeply respected member of his squadron and will be missed dearly.
If there is anything at all I or any of my staff can do for you, please do not hesitate to contact me.
Cmdr. Wedge Antilles
Rogue Squadron CO
“And that,” Wedge said as he depressed the send button on his datapad, “is how you write a next-of-kin letter. What did you think of it, Tycho?”
I looked back at him, appalled that he had asked for my opinion. What did he expect me to say? It was heartfelt? Sure, it was, I expected nothing less from Wedge. Maybe that his prose was nice? Well. I’ve read worse, but he’s certainly no scholar.
“I … I hate that we have to write these things,” I replied honestly.
“So do I, Tych.” Wedge rubbed his eyes, suddenly looking very tired. “I hope you don’t have to write any of these in your lifetime, but just in case …” He trailed off momentarily, frowning and tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “Just in case. Maybe you’re leading this merry band of misfits someday. Or maybe something happens to me.”
“Wedge-” I tried to protest, but he stopped me. Sometimes Wedge got into these spells where he needed to pontificate at someone. Looks like today I was his unlucky target.
“If there’s family, they deserve one of these letters,” he continued. “Old man Dreis told me that before Yavin, sat me down and had me write one with him after one of us got vaped on a cargo ambush mission.”
So that’s what this was about. I kept quiet, not exactly sure what to say in response to that. Admittedly, I was a little concerned. Wedge normally didn’t wax nostalgic like this after one of his men was lost to Carth Onasi’s locker for all of eternity. Then again, normally I’m not sitting in his office while he’s writing one of these letters. Maybe this happened every time, he just chooses not to let anyone peer into him
“If something happens to me and one of these needs to be written,” Wedge said, “I hope I can trust you to do that.”
I merely nodded and watched as he reached into his desk, pulling out a bottle of something that I assumed was alcoholic along with two tumblers. He gestured to me with one of the glasses and I readily accepted. After that experience, I needed something to drink. I’m not quite sure how he’s managed to do this so many times. How he’s managed to write letters of condolences to so many grieving mothers and fathers, husbands and wives. To children who were now without a parent.
But he would soldier on every time. The pattern was always the same. Wedge would disappear into his quarters and emerge the next morning after sending off the letter, looking as if nothing had happened. The moment he walked out of there, you knew he was ready to go back to work and that he expected the rest of us to do what we needed to in order to ensure we were ready as well. He would never begrudge someone for needing time to grieve, but he expected you to be upfront if you weren’t fit to fly.
Still, even the best of us have to let it all bubble to the surface sometime.
***
So many young faces.
Hard to believe I’d been sitting below the stage like that, clad in a proper military dress uniform for the first time. Sure, I had been wearing an Imperial academy uniform at the time, but the premise was the same. I was eager to start my training and get my hands on the flight controls of a warbird. Maybe that wasn’t the most appropriate thought for a loyal son of Alderaan like myself, but let’s be honest. Going fast is fun, and you’re not going to go much faster than you will inside of a TIE Fighter.
I watched as Wes introduced Wedge, inviting him up to the podium while deftly inserting a joke at the commander’s expense. I honestly can’t remember what it was specifically, but I do recall that it was hilarious. Wedge shooed his former subordinate away from the podium before leaning towards the microphone.
“Just remember, he’s one of your instructors,” Wedge said, allowing the levity to carry on for a moment longer. “As you heard, I’m Commander Wedge Antilles and it’s my honor to welcome you to the Starfighter Academy.”
The four-step instant speech. Of course he was going to default to that. Wedge never prepared for these things. Step one; remind the audience who the speaker is in case they had forgotten.
“I’m here today to welcome you into a select fraternity,” he continued. Step two; remind the audience why he’s here. “Anyone can be some jarhead on the ground holding a blaster rifle, but it takes a special mind to be a pilot. It takes dedication to a craft that is impossible to master and …”
Step three should have started right about now. Instead, everything went off the proverbial rails.
“And it requires a commitment that most of you do not possess.” Wedge grasped the edges of the podium. “This isn’t like the propaganda in the holomagazines you were shown by recruiters. This isn’t like flying your swoop racers or Skyhoppers. I don’t care how many womprats you bullseyed or what kinds of adventures you think you’re going on. The starfighters you’re going to be piloting are multi-million credit machines of war. They are designed to kill and if you are not careful, they will get you killed. Let’s be honest even if you know what you’re doing the odds are high you’re going to wind up dead.”
From any other officer, a show like this would have been embarrassing. It was different coming from Wedge. There aren’t many people in the Galaxy who are sporting a pair of Death Stars on their starfighter’s hull. Maybe that’s why his words seem to carry more weight. Glancing over at Hobbie and Wes, I could see they were thinking the exact same thing I was. A part of us all wanted to get up there, grab Wedge, and tell all the new recruits that everything was going to be fine. The larger part of us knew that they needed to hear what he had to say.
“You all need to figure out right now if you want to be here,” he continued. “If you’re here for glory or for the hazard pay, go home. We’re not the Rebellion anymore, we can afford to turn you away. Answer this question to yourself right now: are you prepared to give up everything, and I mean everything, for this calling? If you can’t answer ‘yes’ to that, go book a transport.” Wedge seemed to hesitate for a brief moment, his shoulders slumping in what looked like resignation. “I’ve seen enough of you shoved into caskets for one lifetime. If you aren’t committed to this, I promise you’ll wind up in one.”
I’m not sure how many people Wedge scared away from Starfighter Command that day. Hopefully it was a sizable number because he’s right. This is no place for someone who doesn’t accept death as a likely outcome for themselves.
***
If there is anything I or my staff can do for you, please do not hesitate to contact me.
Colonel Tycho Celchu
Rogue Squadron CO
Glancing up, I could see that Gavin looked to be as emotionally spent as I felt. He had been with the squadron for a long time and had lost more than his fair share of wingmen and friends over the years. He’d learned to cope in his own way, which was why I felt terrible for putting this burden on his shoulders. This whole exercise forced you to confront the harsh reality of what had just happened. In this case, a husband would never see his wife again. Two young children wouldn’t hear their mother’s voice anymore. Whatever walls you built up to protect yourselves from loss like this, a next of kin letter would immediately tear them down. At least for a short while.
Gavin needed to see this. It wouldn’t be much longer before he would be the one handling the duties of a commanding officer and, Force forbid, this might be one of the unpleasant tasks he’d have to handle. I’m not going to be around here much longer. I have to be honest, Wedge of all people finally calling it a career has me thinking maybe it’s time to do the same. We live on borrowed time, and more and more I’m getting the feeling that the fates won’t be willing to give me another loan if I keep testing my luck. That’s why I turned in my papers and recommended the unit be handed over to Gavin. He’s been around as long as anyone else in the squadron at this point. All he needed to take over were a few lessons in command duty.
This horrid task being one of them.
“And that,” I said as I pressed the send button on my datapad, “is how you write a next-of-kin letter. What did you think of it, Gavin?”
He looked like he wanted to punch me for having the gall to ask him that question. I couldn’t really blame him. “I hate that we have to write them.”
“Me too, Gavin. Me too.”
Reaching into my desk, I pulled out a glass of brandy and a pair of tumblers that Wedge had left as a parting gift when he handed the squadron over to me. It’s funny, years later Gavin wound up thanking me for the three hours we spent in my office that day writing that damned letter. Said it was one of the most important things any of us had ever taught him.
Appropriate, I suppose. Gavin just about wound up writing more of these than the rest of us put together.
Author: LaneWinree
Word Count: 1,701
Rating: PG
Prompts: Magazine, swoop-racing, embarass
Characters: Wedge, Tycho, Janson, Hobbie, Gavin
Author Notes:
This was written for Nic, who was looking for a Fab Four piece and/or Face and Ton. I should probably start apologizing now. I suspect from that prompt, you were looking for something quite a bit more upbeat. This piece ... isn't, so much. Also, there's a bit at the end that looks like an NJO spoiler if you squint and turn your head sideways, but it really isn't, I promise! I needed to mention a glancing reference to the future to pull this fic together.
***
Lieutenant Maiko was the embodiment of professionalism and bravery. I know I cannot begin to comprehend your loss, but know that he was a valued and deeply respected member of his squadron and will be missed dearly.
If there is anything at all I or any of my staff can do for you, please do not hesitate to contact me.
Cmdr. Wedge Antilles
Rogue Squadron CO
“And that,” Wedge said as he depressed the send button on his datapad, “is how you write a next-of-kin letter. What did you think of it, Tycho?”
I looked back at him, appalled that he had asked for my opinion. What did he expect me to say? It was heartfelt? Sure, it was, I expected nothing less from Wedge. Maybe that his prose was nice? Well. I’ve read worse, but he’s certainly no scholar.
“I … I hate that we have to write these things,” I replied honestly.
“So do I, Tych.” Wedge rubbed his eyes, suddenly looking very tired. “I hope you don’t have to write any of these in your lifetime, but just in case …” He trailed off momentarily, frowning and tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “Just in case. Maybe you’re leading this merry band of misfits someday. Or maybe something happens to me.”
“Wedge-” I tried to protest, but he stopped me. Sometimes Wedge got into these spells where he needed to pontificate at someone. Looks like today I was his unlucky target.
“If there’s family, they deserve one of these letters,” he continued. “Old man Dreis told me that before Yavin, sat me down and had me write one with him after one of us got vaped on a cargo ambush mission.”
So that’s what this was about. I kept quiet, not exactly sure what to say in response to that. Admittedly, I was a little concerned. Wedge normally didn’t wax nostalgic like this after one of his men was lost to Carth Onasi’s locker for all of eternity. Then again, normally I’m not sitting in his office while he’s writing one of these letters. Maybe this happened every time, he just chooses not to let anyone peer into him
“If something happens to me and one of these needs to be written,” Wedge said, “I hope I can trust you to do that.”
I merely nodded and watched as he reached into his desk, pulling out a bottle of something that I assumed was alcoholic along with two tumblers. He gestured to me with one of the glasses and I readily accepted. After that experience, I needed something to drink. I’m not quite sure how he’s managed to do this so many times. How he’s managed to write letters of condolences to so many grieving mothers and fathers, husbands and wives. To children who were now without a parent.
But he would soldier on every time. The pattern was always the same. Wedge would disappear into his quarters and emerge the next morning after sending off the letter, looking as if nothing had happened. The moment he walked out of there, you knew he was ready to go back to work and that he expected the rest of us to do what we needed to in order to ensure we were ready as well. He would never begrudge someone for needing time to grieve, but he expected you to be upfront if you weren’t fit to fly.
Still, even the best of us have to let it all bubble to the surface sometime.
***
So many young faces.
Hard to believe I’d been sitting below the stage like that, clad in a proper military dress uniform for the first time. Sure, I had been wearing an Imperial academy uniform at the time, but the premise was the same. I was eager to start my training and get my hands on the flight controls of a warbird. Maybe that wasn’t the most appropriate thought for a loyal son of Alderaan like myself, but let’s be honest. Going fast is fun, and you’re not going to go much faster than you will inside of a TIE Fighter.
I watched as Wes introduced Wedge, inviting him up to the podium while deftly inserting a joke at the commander’s expense. I honestly can’t remember what it was specifically, but I do recall that it was hilarious. Wedge shooed his former subordinate away from the podium before leaning towards the microphone.
“Just remember, he’s one of your instructors,” Wedge said, allowing the levity to carry on for a moment longer. “As you heard, I’m Commander Wedge Antilles and it’s my honor to welcome you to the Starfighter Academy.”
The four-step instant speech. Of course he was going to default to that. Wedge never prepared for these things. Step one; remind the audience who the speaker is in case they had forgotten.
“I’m here today to welcome you into a select fraternity,” he continued. Step two; remind the audience why he’s here. “Anyone can be some jarhead on the ground holding a blaster rifle, but it takes a special mind to be a pilot. It takes dedication to a craft that is impossible to master and …”
Step three should have started right about now. Instead, everything went off the proverbial rails.
“And it requires a commitment that most of you do not possess.” Wedge grasped the edges of the podium. “This isn’t like the propaganda in the holomagazines you were shown by recruiters. This isn’t like flying your swoop racers or Skyhoppers. I don’t care how many womprats you bullseyed or what kinds of adventures you think you’re going on. The starfighters you’re going to be piloting are multi-million credit machines of war. They are designed to kill and if you are not careful, they will get you killed. Let’s be honest even if you know what you’re doing the odds are high you’re going to wind up dead.”
From any other officer, a show like this would have been embarrassing. It was different coming from Wedge. There aren’t many people in the Galaxy who are sporting a pair of Death Stars on their starfighter’s hull. Maybe that’s why his words seem to carry more weight. Glancing over at Hobbie and Wes, I could see they were thinking the exact same thing I was. A part of us all wanted to get up there, grab Wedge, and tell all the new recruits that everything was going to be fine. The larger part of us knew that they needed to hear what he had to say.
“You all need to figure out right now if you want to be here,” he continued. “If you’re here for glory or for the hazard pay, go home. We’re not the Rebellion anymore, we can afford to turn you away. Answer this question to yourself right now: are you prepared to give up everything, and I mean everything, for this calling? If you can’t answer ‘yes’ to that, go book a transport.” Wedge seemed to hesitate for a brief moment, his shoulders slumping in what looked like resignation. “I’ve seen enough of you shoved into caskets for one lifetime. If you aren’t committed to this, I promise you’ll wind up in one.”
I’m not sure how many people Wedge scared away from Starfighter Command that day. Hopefully it was a sizable number because he’s right. This is no place for someone who doesn’t accept death as a likely outcome for themselves.
***
If there is anything I or my staff can do for you, please do not hesitate to contact me.
Colonel Tycho Celchu
Rogue Squadron CO
Glancing up, I could see that Gavin looked to be as emotionally spent as I felt. He had been with the squadron for a long time and had lost more than his fair share of wingmen and friends over the years. He’d learned to cope in his own way, which was why I felt terrible for putting this burden on his shoulders. This whole exercise forced you to confront the harsh reality of what had just happened. In this case, a husband would never see his wife again. Two young children wouldn’t hear their mother’s voice anymore. Whatever walls you built up to protect yourselves from loss like this, a next of kin letter would immediately tear them down. At least for a short while.
Gavin needed to see this. It wouldn’t be much longer before he would be the one handling the duties of a commanding officer and, Force forbid, this might be one of the unpleasant tasks he’d have to handle. I’m not going to be around here much longer. I have to be honest, Wedge of all people finally calling it a career has me thinking maybe it’s time to do the same. We live on borrowed time, and more and more I’m getting the feeling that the fates won’t be willing to give me another loan if I keep testing my luck. That’s why I turned in my papers and recommended the unit be handed over to Gavin. He’s been around as long as anyone else in the squadron at this point. All he needed to take over were a few lessons in command duty.
This horrid task being one of them.
“And that,” I said as I pressed the send button on my datapad, “is how you write a next-of-kin letter. What did you think of it, Gavin?”
He looked like he wanted to punch me for having the gall to ask him that question. I couldn’t really blame him. “I hate that we have to write them.”
“Me too, Gavin. Me too.”
Reaching into my desk, I pulled out a glass of brandy and a pair of tumblers that Wedge had left as a parting gift when he handed the squadron over to me. It’s funny, years later Gavin wound up thanking me for the three hours we spent in my office that day writing that damned letter. Said it was one of the most important things any of us had ever taught him.
Appropriate, I suppose. Gavin just about wound up writing more of these than the rest of us put together.