Central Medical Complex
VE Navy Fleet Headquarters, Abrea
One month after the Battle of Lehon

Sitting on a bench in the park outside the medical complex, Ibram knew that he was the talk of the town... well, the talk of the staff room anyway. With the front lines so far away, the employees at the Navy Central Medical Facility rarely had anything interesting to discuss, other than patients. Even then, many of the more serious cases were treated aboard the nearest medical ship, or didn't survive the trip.

Suffice to say, they got bored a lot, and whilst this boredom was momentarily alleviated when Thrawn tried to invade Tadath not so long ago, nothing of note had happened in a while. That is, until he had come along:

"Were you there when they brought him in?

"No, what happened?"

"He was screaming, yelling...  his wounds had only been given basic treatment... a complete mess."

"Screaming? what was he saying?"

"I don't know... something about murder, he was crying a lot as well... kept going on about someone called Gray... and someone called Geordie... he really hated Geordie"

"Poor guy..."

"Tell me about it, it took twoweeks of continuous bacta treatments just to get him stabilised. He's been in rehab for the past two, including some psychotherapy."

"Isn't he a fighter pilot?"

"So the documents say, no details on what he was doing when he was injured though... all smells a bit fishy to me. We have those bloody VEI spooks hanging around again as well."

"Oh sithspit, those guys are always around when something funny is up... so how is he?"

"Oh he's fine now... just spends most of his time outside in the park. His injuries are almost healed now, although he did ask us to leave a few scars in place."

"Oh god, he's one of them..."

Ibram sighed, and picked up his data pad with his good hand. The other was in a sling, and it would be a few more days before he could use it properly. He rested the device against his knee and accessed the local datanets, doing his daily browsing of recent events.

Despite having officer-level military access codes, there wasn't much information available to him, something he found rather suspicious. A lot of talk about the Army and their exploits, inconsequential local news, the commissioning of a new Starfighter wing... the only thing that could be classed as 'interesting' was renewed tensions along the Eastern Territories, despite the "heroic efforts" of Viper Squadron...

...Viper Squadron.

Accessing the database, he used his personal  access codes to search the military database. No matter how hard Ibram tried however, he couldn't find anything on this particular squadron, it was like they no longer existed. Frowning, he typed in 'Nazgul Squadron' instead.

//NO DATA

Nazgul too? Just what is going on?

He tried a third time, typing in 'Kaph Squadron'.

//NO DATA

Ibram's frown deepened. He recalled a memo, in what seemed like another lifetime, from some stiff in the admin bureau reminding him in a "change of policy", and that "all forms pertaining to squadron administrative functions had to filled out properly". He vaguely remembered it had something to do with the squadron's official designations...

He tried typing in '172nd Squadron, "Viper".

//ACCESSING...
...
...
//ACCESS GRANTED
//SQUADRON STATUS: CLASSIFIED
//ASSIGNMENT: CLASSIFIED
//AUTHORISATION: RDM DENETHOR
//END FILE

He stared at the information on the screen, not quite understand what he was looking at. He re-did the search for Kaph and Nazgul, making sure to use their proper designations, but all he got was the same result. He tried doing a search on Phoenix Wing itself, tried looking up recent deployment schedules, personnel transfers... even tried looking up the files of some of his individual squadron members... nothing.

He jumped up and threw the datapad at a nearby tree, causing the people near him to look and stare as he simply stood there and fumed silently.

What the frak have they done to my squadron!? Ibram raged silently.

He turned to go back to his room, but found himself confronted by a Navy Ensign and four Stormtroopers.

"Lieutenant Tyrol?" The Ensign said, his arms clasped behind his back.

Ibram didn't reply, but simply stared at the man and his guards. You've got the wrong guy, he thought, That man was shot down. The Ensign spoke up again:

"Lieutenant Tyrol, I'm Ensign Harkin, I'm with Admiral Boon's office. I'd like you to come with me please."

He stepped back and two of the stormtroopers moved to flank him, as if for emphasis.

"At your earliest convenience," The Ensign finished, with more than just a hint of irony.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Admiral Boon's Office
Navy Fleet Headquarters

Ibram had never been in an Admiral's office before. Usually that was considered a good thing amongst the lower ranks – either you were being called in for some special posting or assignment, or you were in a whole lot of trouble. Either way, the saying went, you were frakked.

Sitting in the rather richly furnished waiting room deep within Navy HQ, Ibram couldn't help but wonder which of the two categories he fell into. So far, no formal charges had been brought against him for trying to pull the squadron out off Lehon, and no one, not even Lt. Grey, had come to debrief him about the original mission or inform him of where he would be headed next. (Technically the initial 3 month secondment period hadn't ended.)

Considering what little I dug up, there may not be anyone left, he thought gloomily. No one had even sent him so much as a 'Get Well Soon' message.

He looked over at the receptionist, a rather attractive young girl who sounded like she was a Tadath native. Even though the Vast Empire hadn't been around in this part of space that long, families who had lived on the home planet since the beginning were starting to develop their own dialect and accent, so you could always tell whether someone was local or not. She looked back over at him and gave a small, sympathetic smile, eyes briefly darting to his arm sling.

Great, sympathy... the last thing I need.

The universe must have finally gotten tired of Ibram's depression, as a buzzer quickly sounded at the receptionist's desk.

“Admiral Boon will see you now Lieutenant,” she said after a brief pause.

Stormtrooper guard still in tow, Ibram slowly stood up and headed towards the Admiral's 'inner sanctum'. Stepping over the threshold, he took in the big expensive looking desk made out of a no-doubt rare and Admiral-worthy wood, the large holo-images adorning the walls, and the large and vaguely interesting-looking plant in the corner. The Admiral himself was sitting behind his desk, a steaming mug of caf in one hand and a report in another. Off to one side was a man in the black uniform of VEI sitting on a couch, with a small table upon which sat a model of an Acclamator-II Cruiser in front of him.

Ibram drew to a stop in front of the Admiral's desk and stood to attention. Whilst he waited for the Admiral to acknowledge him, he took a moment to study the man. Considered to be a bit of a maverick, Admiral Boon was a heavy-set man in his late 40's in charge of the Fifth Vast Empire Fleet.  A relatively new addition to the Vast Empire, he was part of a core group of Flag Officers who had been chased out of the Imperial Remnant faction when Thrawn had returned.

The Fifth Fleet was a newly formed entity that arose in the aftermath of the war with the Imperial Dominion. With the entire eastern bloc in disarray, the High Command had seen fit to not only bolster the defences in the region, but to also grant the defending forces further administrative freedoms. In the past, all of the defence assets were under the direct control of the local Moff, who usually delegated the responsibility further down the civil administration, usually by system. Whilst this was usually the norm when it came to domestic defence, it still meant that military assets were commanded by a civilian authority, and that in the absence of that authority (which occurred whenever there was an incident larger than a pirate raid) there was no concrete chain of command within the local armed forces.

As such, the official entity known as the Fifth Fleet had been formed, handed to Admiral Boon, and given full administrative authority over itself. The Admiral coordinated the defences for the entire sector (now an official Theatre of War over at the Tactical Administration Office), and aside from high command, answered only to the local Moff, and even that was mainly just out of politeness. Ibram had come to learn most of this during the squadron's time on Typhus, as the Fifth was just starting to set up shop. He was surprised that the Admiral was still on Abrea, and not already at Badajoz with the rest of his staff.

“Lieutenant, glad you could join us,” Boon said, without looking up.

“Reporting as ordered Admiral,” Ibram replied formally, still standing at attention.

“I'm sure you're wondering why you're here,” the older man continued, still without looking up. “Usually you're either here for some weird assignment, or you're in a lot of trouble – that's how the saying goes isn't it?”

The Admiral then looked up and gave Ibram a kind of sly grin, before returning Ibram's salute and putting him at ease.

“Sorry for the white-clad escort by the way, your recent psych evaluation wasn't too flattering, and I couldn't be sure you wouldn't try stabbing me, or pissing on me. Or both.”

“I understand sir, it's been a... stressful month.” Ibram said carefully. One simply wasn't glib around an Admiral.

“So I can see from your file,” the Admiral indicated the VEI officer on the couch, who Ibram could see upon closer inspection had the insignia of a Colonel.

“I had to have the gentlemen here with me in order to look over the more sensitive bits... I'll tell you something son: this doesn't happen often, but I wouldn't want to be in your shoes.”

“Trust me sir, the feeling is mutual,” Ibram replied, without really thinking. So maybe one could be a little glib.

The admiral's mouth twitched, but he remained silent. The Colonel cleared his throat and merely smiled politely, before speaking up.

“Quite; we understand you may harbour some... animosity towards us Lieutenant, for what we put you and your squadron through. For what it's worth, we apologise for the necessity of it, and for any unfortunate... side effects. I'm actually here today with a dual purpose: I'm authorised to tell you that your secondment to us is over, and that we'll have no need to call upon your services for the foreseeable future.”

The Colonel smiled more widely, with the kind of look that seemed to suggest he expected Ibram to be eternally grateful for the announcement. Instead, Ibram said:

“What happened to my squadron?”

The Colonel's smile faulted, and he gave a quick glance to the Admiral.

“I'm afraid I can't tell you that,” he said.

Ibram blinked, trying to hold back his anger. Fulfilling his 'contract' didn't mean a damn if he was the only one who survived.

“What happened to my squadron?” He asked again. The Colonel adopted a more neutral tone and look.

“We know you've been digging around Lieutenant. The official story is that Viper Squadron, along with Phoenix Wing and the rest of the task force commanded by Lieutenant Commander Atrasin was lost during the Battle of Lehon. If it makes you feel any better, that battle was technically a draw – so severe were the casualties of both sides.”

Ibram took a step towards him, only to be blocked by one of his guards. Calm, he tried telling himself, you're not doing anything to negate that psych evaluation... The Admiral merely sat in silence, observing the exchange.

“Now now Lieutenant,” the Colonel said, “you're already on thin ice as it is. As I said, it's the official story – there were enough survivors to tell us of your... indiscretion...”

Ibram narrowed his eyes, but merely stood up straight and took a step back to his original position.

“If someone has charges to bring against me, then I'll deal with them before  a Military Tribunal, otherwise, I have no idea what you're talking about, sir.”

Now it was the Colonel's turn to narrow his eyes. “Now see here-” he began.

“That's enough Hatherence,” Admiral Boon said. “The Lieutenant here has suffered enough. I'm exercising my authority and will fill in some blanks for him. If you have a problem, take it up with your superiors.”

Colonel Hatherence opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it and simply leaned back on the couch, resuming his observation of proceedings. Ibram turned his attention the Admiral, who was looking at him rather intently.

“I'll be frank Lieutenant, your aborted stunt during Lehon put you in the bad books of many, especially when details of your recent history came to light. Before you say anything, I know you were just following orders, and were trying to keep your pilots alive, but the facts are you don't have many friends right now.”

The Admiral sighed and stood up, walking over to one of the holo-images on the wall.

“On the other hand, Lehon itself was a frakking shambles. Bad intel, under-prepared forces... and don't get me started on Atrasin. Most understand what kind of hell hole that was, and given the amount of black tape covering over everything due to what Viper Squadron was actually doing there, the general consensus is that we simply bury all this, and start again.”

He turned to look Ibram right in the eyes again, walking slowly towards him and stopping just short of arms reach.

“I can tell you that most of your squadron made it, and that the survivors have been reassigned to other units. Phoenix Wing has also been 're-assigned' - although in reality it only exists on paper. Perversely, Atrasin survived too, but he won't be pressing charges. You wouldn't always know it, but sometimes even he knows when to back off.”

He turned round and went back to his desk, sitting down. Meanwhile, Ibram was still trying to process all he heard. He was glad to hear that at least a part of his squadron had made it, but he still had so many questions... he wish he could just speak to them, although he knew that wouldn't be possible, at least not for a while. By the sounds of things, the military had performed the equivalent of the Witness Protection Program on an entire Starfighter Wing.

Where does that leave me? He wondered.

“As I said earlier, you're probably wondering why you're here,” the admiral continued.

“As of now, you are hereby transferred out of the Vast Empire Starfighter Corps, retaining the rank of 1st Lieutenant with full honours, and will now be part of wider Vast Empire Navy. You will be attached to the Fifth Fleet, with the provisional title of Attaché – you will be part of my staff for the moment.”

He smiled as Ibram's brow creased with confusion.

“I know, you're probably a little bit horrified by all this. I'll be honest with you Lieutenant, there 's no place for you in the Starfighter Corps right now. You're either not wanted or not needed, and the high command feels you could do with a change of... scenery.”

Ibram was almost heartbroken – flying was his life. Even before he had joined up, he had been involved with airborne vehicles for most of his twenty-two years... to suddenly hear he wasn't needed... wasn't even wanted, was soul-shattering.

And now I'm to be some flunky on the Admiral's staff? Frak that.

“Thank you sir,” he started to say, “but I think I'd rather-”

He was cut off as the Admiral raised his hand.

“I know what you're going to say son, but I'm sorry – the only way you're handing in your stripes is by a court martial. Consider this an informal punishment, if you want, but I for one see potential in you: it's why I asked for you.”

Ibram was silent for a good few minutes – a part of him had already accepted his fate, but the bigger part of him was still in a state of shock. He would need some time to process this, something which he couldn't do standing in front of this Admiral and the VEI Colonel.

“What now, sir?” He said eventually.

“Well, your appointment to my staff is only a formality, and hopefully temporary whilst we find something better for you to do. I'm assigning you to the Carrack-class light Cruiser Excession in the mean time – she's bound for the front later this evening as part of the inter system patrols. You will advise the Captain on how best to deal with enemy fighter raids. It may not be what you're used to, but it's the best I can do.”

“Thank you sir, ” Ibram replied, with little enthusiasm. He stood to attention and gave a crisp salute with his good arm, and left the room. Despite having been in the waiting room mere minutes before, he couldn't help but think that everything suddenly looked... different. His view on the world had changed, and even though he was still trying to digest all that had just been said, he had a very real feeling that one life had just ended, and another one had just begun...

OOC:

This will be a short(ish) personal story to bridge the gap between Ibram leaving the SFC, and joining the fleet, and how he got to be in charge of his own ship.