"Cadets, I expect clean rifles! I don't care how long its been jammed in your cockpit," a bald Lannik barked at a cadre of fresh rebel pilots from Ryloth. 'We're becoming more regular everyday,' Kol worried to himself as he stroked his dominant side lethorn running his fingertips over the growing number of rough aging spots.

"Well, the Empires not becoming any less regular, you know," a youthful, athletic female Twi'lek ribbed him as she ducked under the nose of the BTL-S3 Y-Wing Kol had been repairing and that was now dripping a bit of oil over Kol's shoulder as he had been day dreaming. 'It's like she can read my mind,' Kol mused to himself as he considered the rumors about the rebel pilot using the powers of an old religion to bring down the aptly named Death Star. In truth, Kol had formed a bond with the Twi'lek, Iishi, during his command over her squadron. He took special care to cultivate relationships with all of his subordinates, but Iishi was a special case; she had joined up just recently, so she knew the Lantillies Sector Force only as the organized fighting force it had now become.

Kol took the bait and prodded his former subordinate, "a little discipline isn't the problem, its what we do next. What do we do when all those blaster rifles have fired their last shots in rebellion, then where will they get pointed?"

Iishi shot back playfully, "its a shame you no longer have a cockpit to contain your wandering thoughts. Freedom isn't so hard for the rest of us to imagine."

Kol just hoped all these rookies lived that long. What had been a few scattered attacks on Imperial outposts in the Lantillies sector was now an ordered fighting force. That was good, of course, the chain of command was an improvement over the early days, but Kol wasn't quite comfortable with his link in that chain yet. He was young enough to remember the highs he got from being a pilot, but old enough that his body couldn't keep up with the strain. He had been transitioned to the pits at his request, to at least stay with the ships, but had recently been given a rotating command to help build synergy, spirit, and community among fresh recruits. Kol had a knack for getting the diverse populations of species from across the galaxy to understand each other, a tall and underserved order for the Rebellion. Now, Kol was just beginning to learn how to translate that social service to real battlefield command. If he couldn't get camaraderie instilled in new recruits like Iishi, he worried whether this all might crumble once her generation took over the fight and had to actually replace Imperial control.

Iishi wasn't ready yet, he worried. For all her skill, drive, and sense of justice common in all the Twi'lek's under Imperial enslavement on Ryloth, she still believed in pure, unrefined freedom. She didn't think far enough ahead. Maybe one day she would lead her own squad, but they had to believe that she could lead them further than the next battle. Iishi didn't understand that order wasn't inherently evil - she had never been to the Chagrian home world where justice was met out through law. Kol worried that whatever was in Iishi's future, she could not be tasked with commanding a squad if she wasn't fighting for a bigger picture. The new recruits had to believe in each other after they put down their guns. Did Iishi believe that yet, or did she just believe in ending the Empire?

Iishi stared blankly back at Kol who was so far lost in thought at this point he hadn't noticed the plug he had put in the S3 hanging above him had burst and the ship was now leaking a steady stream of oil onto the floor. Iishi waved her hand in front of Kol's eyes which had locked their gaze on the Ryloth recruits on the opposite side of the room; the Lannik was still barking at them. Iishi feigned intimidation, "hey, you sizin' up my squad?" Kol broke his stare and looked back at Iishi in shock, "your squad?" Kol realized she couldn't read his mind after all.

Subordinates

10 - Camaraderie

Late middle aged, dark blue, Chagrian with lighter blue aging spots running down his lethorns. Formerly an athletic build from his piloting days, he has just begun to let himself go and has just had his flight suit expanded to fit the first bulge of his post front lines gut. Kol insists that all of his suits bear a red dye or trim around his neckline and, when possible, along the breast cut of his formals.