So.
I’m used to linking via wristcomp. But OpSec is tight on this one. So here it is. Microengraving on a sliver of Mandalorian steel. All going well it’ll be left behind when I go. In a building. On a planet. If you’re getting this then someone survived who could send this to you. But that someone wasn’t me.
I haven’t been there. And I’m sorry. But maybe someday you can tell Rilla that her Father couldn’t be there because he had to do something. To keep all the other little girls and their Fathers safe.
I have to do something. It’s not an easy something. But it’s important. Real important. Maybe you’ll see hints of it someday. Maybe you won’t.
We got you off Kunuluuth when they pulled out the defenders to bolster somewhere else, and before the clans came for those left behind. But I know you left plenty of folks there. This is for them.
This is for my folks, and Elapai and her brood, so they can stay as safe as they can down-level.
This is for Vinor, and Gruna, and Trace, and Sparks. And all the others of the 373rd who didn’t make it out of that deathtrap at Malachor. And Leys, who died forgotten with third-rate leg implants not knowing why they threw him out of the unit he gave everything for, ground down so much he didn’t call for help.
This is for the others, too. Those steady stalwarts in the 304th, those glorious bastards of the 1275th, even those stuck up double-digiters of the 72nd. The crew of the Vigilance, and the Amber Star. I miss every last one of them. Even you, Daymar. You still owe me that drink.
Things are moving quickly. I wish we had better gear. I wish we had more troops. I wish we had more time to train. But if wishes were cruisers we’d have an armada.
Not sure what I can say, even here. It’s a long shot amongst long shots, that much is clear. But win or lose this time we’re not going after some poor grunt straight out of the habs. The ones giving the orders, the ones that threw us away then decided we weren’t good enough. This time we’re going for them.
We’re good enough, you bastards ~ D R