Chapter Text
Oran Fel’s life changed drastically overnight. His life could almost be broken into two parts. The age of the Republic, and the age of the Empire. Of course no one spoke ill of the Empire. Not anymore.
Oran never spoke out. It was too dangerous. In the days of the Republic choices were criticized. Politicians insulted. The days of the republics were now looked back on with longing and mourning. Though it was never acknowledged out loud. Oran remembered being a fresh faced recruit to his planetary defense force. A pilot. His parents had been so proud.
His skill was quickly recognized during the Clone wars. Most citizens of the republic had thought the GAR was comprised completely of Clone Troopers and Jedi. This simply wasn’t true. Though rare in numbers there were non cloned military personnel. It was in his first six months of being a pilot that he had received the invitation. It came from the Republic Pilots Academy. This was where all pilots in the Grand Army of the Republic were trained. Exceptional Skill and Promise those were the words they used. He left his home world of Lantillies not even a week later.
His first impression of Kamino was that of slight disappointment. He had spent much of his life in a city. He had been hoping for at least a little bit of nature on this new planet. That of course was nowhere to be found. Only rain clouds and waves. However the constant rain was rather relaxing to the young man far from home.
It turned out he was the only non clone as a student at the Academy. Maybe people weren’t entirely wrong about the GAR. At first the Clones were wary of him. He was called an outsider, off-worlder, and Most commonly Ashi. He learned quickly that it meant Other in Mando’a. Another thing that isolated him from the Clones. He could barely speak a word of the closely held language. Still after a few weeks and several simulator runs he earned the respect of most of the clones. He even made a couple of friends.
His closest friend and eventual Wingman was Splash. Splash was exceptionally talented. However he was never able to back down from a dare. Even when said dare involved flying a damaged Z-95 Headhunter around the Academy. Needless to say they had to get a team of Scuba Troopers to rescue him from the fighter. He was grounded for three weeks the second his waterlogged boots hit the floor. But Oran liked him. He was funny brave and a great friend.
The day Splash was killed was the the first hardest day of Oran’s life he would never forget that day.
“Hey Fel get over here so we can take off.” Oran quickly slipped his flight helmet on. He was wearing a variant of Clone trooper Armor. It nearly matched the pilots around him with only a few distinctions. He had several dark chevrons along his helmet marking him as a non cloned humanoid. He climbed into the pilots seat of the V-Wing. Splash was on his left inside of an ARC-170. He quickly prepped the ship waiting for the commands from the Bridge. After being cleared and receiving orders to join the next wave of fighters he took off and flew out of the large dorsal hanger.
A short comm check and his squad was ready to go. The battle itself was a blur. He could remember brief glimpses. Like shooting down a Vulture, laughing at one of splash’s jokes and a near miss with a turbo laser. He remembered calling to his friend with an insult after a particularly poor shot when suddenly a massive blast ripped through Splash’s ship. A Vulture had crashed into him. It tore out part of the cockpit and cut straight through Splash. The 170 slammed into the side of Oran’s own star fighter. It threw him off course and damaged both his wings and Cockpit. His pressurized flight suit was what had saved his life. On quiet nights as he lay in bed he sometimes wished he had died with his closest friend. He felt the ship carrying his best friend explode. Throwing his ship away from the combat zone. He somehow managed to regain control even in the ships critical conditions and return to the Venator. He flew himself towards the hanger and cut the thrusters, he blacked out in impact, when he awoke he was being dragged out of the ruined star fighter as republic firefighters fought to extinguish the wreckage. His whole body was numb when the medic arrived and began to administer triage. He closed his eyes and began to sob as the medic worked.
Not long after that day he had Splash’s name tattooed on his forearm. He did the same with every pilot he knew that died. Soon his arm was crowded with names of those he flew with.
After the fifth wingman he couldn’t afford to take the time to properly mourn. His heart had been hardened by death. The clone wars cost him many friends. Every day after retiring to the barracks he would bathe the sweat and grease from fighter maintenance. It was there he would think of those he lost. However as soon as he finished showering he closed himself off from his grief.
After his first year he had already tattooed all along his left bicep. How he himself was still alive he didn’t know. He remembered a Jedi once telling him that the force had plans for him. Though what that meant he didn’t know. To be honest it didn’t make him feel much better. He spent two years as a pilot in the Republic. He was immensely proud of those two years. Still that didn’t change what he did and what would come.
He had been flying a combat mission on Bothawui. He was piloting a 170, his gunner and co-pilot chatting quietly when a transmission came over. Commander Crux’s helmet filled the screen. His distinctive green markings identifying him instantly.
“Troopers the Jedi have betrayed the republic. Execute order 66.” The words sounded sinister for a reason he couldn’t place. The two clones behind him went silent at once. Oran’s head was reeling. Traitors? The Jedi? The air in the Starfighter became very still. Finally He broke the silence.
“What’s Order 66? Do you know what’s going on?” There was a moment where no one said anything. The tension in the air was like a solid wall and Oran found it suddenly difficult to breathe.
“The Jedi must be executed for their treason.” The voice of his co pilot was grim. His throat was dry. He heard a fighter open fire on the Delta 7. The air in front of him was lit up by blue plasma. The Jedi took evasive action and the other fighters got into a dog fight. He didn’t move, he was frozen. After all this time the Jedi has betrayed the republic. He felt a cold fury burning in his heart. He argued with himself on what to do before he made his decision.He pulled the yoke hard to the side. The Jedi was rolling, gazing and dropping altitude, spinning, anything to avoid the fire of the 170’s.
Oran pulled in right behind the Jedi and opened fire. He caught the Jedi off guard and managed to knock out his thrusters, the Clones took this opportunity and finished off the critically damaged interceptor.
He remembered the near silent flight back to the Venetor, everything afterwards was hazy they landed got a quick briefing over the new state of events that Oran paid money attention to and were dissmissed. He returned to his fighter running a hand over the ships hull. He paused at the decal near the cockpit it was a Pantoran female. Designed after a girl he had been interested in of back on Lantilles. Dirra, he smiled fondly at the thought of the girl.
“You don’t need to worry about maintenance. I heard we’re scrapping the 170’s.” He whirled around coming face to face with another non Clone. A female human around his age.
“Oh and where did you hear that?” She shrugged nonchalantly. Her brown hair was tied back in a tight bun and her eyes were bright and intelligent
“We’re getting entirely new equipment once the transition is over.” He felt lost at her words.
“What transition?” She laughed at him.
“You should pay more attention Lieutenant the Galactic republic is being replaced. We’re now property of the Galactic Empire.” He felt a headache coming on. Sure it could just be a rebranding of the long standing republic, but he found that unlikely. The Republic it seemed was converting to a monarchy. He instantly felt a stab of doubt at his earlier blind loyalty.
Were the Jedi truly traitors or was this a sinister plot to cover up a totalitarian coup. He shook the thought from his head before it could affect him too much. He didn’t have time to think about that he had other things to worry about. The woman strode past him slapping the side of his star fighter.
“I’m gonna miss these bad boys, they were pretty damn reliable.” He leaned against his ship beside her looking at her face, studying it. She was new he was sure if it. He would have remembered another non clone on board. Especially one as attractive as her.
“I don’t think I caught your name.” He kept his voice nonchalant but inside he was burning to know more about her.
“Senior Lieutenant Emilia Briggs, they call me Icarus.” He tilted his head at her unique callsign
“How’d you get that.” She smiled, clearly pleased in his curiosity.
“I took evasive action from a squad of Vultures and flew just a bit too close to a star. Ended up frying all my instruments and nearly melted one of my wings. But I managed to keep it together. Even got these as a reminder.” She rolled up the sleeve of her flight suit to expose large burns across her forearms and hand.
“I’m Oran, Oran Fel.” She smiled knowingly at him.
“Oh I know you’re famous around the republic. Over three hundred combat missions and you’re still alive somehow. Not only that you had kill counts higher than some Jedi.” Her last words were quiet as if worried someone might overhear them. He ran a hand through his hair embarrassed at her flattery.
“Well it doesn’t come cheap. I’ve lost too many good friends to separatists.” She nodded solemnly. Before her comm beeped.
“I’ll catch you around, I’ve been assigned to your company. So we’ll see more of each other.” She brushed past him and Oran caught a whiff of her perfume. It was ridiculously pleasant and he felt his head swim just a little bit. It had been a long tome since he was around a girl. At least a normal one.