Chapter Text
This wasn’t supposed to be happening. This mission was supposed to be easy; no one was supposed to get hurt. No one was supposed to die. But then, Munn’s engine was flaming, Vore’s fighter combusted into an inferno, and Poe was too occupied trying to dodge the barrage of blasters to cover his squad.
His first flight as Black Leader and he already lost one. Knuckles white on the control wheel, he jerked the X-wing hastily left, barely barreling out of a collision with a TIE.
Perhaps he should have known; every aspect of life with the Resistance was difficult; nothing ever came simply. Why did he expect his first mission leading to be different? But, he fooled himself, allowed himself to relax: bombing the First Order grain reserves on Naboo was laughably straightforward. No TIEs appeared to intercept them; there was no return fire from ground turrets as they set the warehouses ablaze.
But then, they broke the atmosphere and found a double squadron of First Order fighters sitting, waiting for them—three TIES for every one X-wing.
Chaos.
Red and blue blasts firing, two fighters on his tail as he dodged, trying to pick off enemies clinging to his less experienced pilots.
BB-8 swiveled anxiously on the fighter’s back, squeaking every time it managed to land a hit on the enemy, which—with more Resistance fighters being picked off or jumping into hyperspace, fleeing for their lives—was few and far between.
Poe didn’t blame the deserters. His subconscious, the sensible part of him he rarely listened to, was screaming at him to crank the throttle forward, to shoot off in hyperspace towards D’Qar and safety. General Organa would have the deserters court martialed but he would testify for them, defend them, and they’d have latrine duty for a month. It was better than being executed for cowardice.
Slamming down hard on the firing control, Poe fired a steady stream of red as he leveled out with a TIE, blowing it all to hell. Grinning, he yanked the wheel upward, narrowly dodging the explosion he created. Rocketing past Pava, now free of TIEs on her tail, he gave here a brief salute.
BB-8 yelped: Poe had two enemies of his own nipping at his fighter’s wings. Certainly explained the sudden shower of explosives.
Rotating the wheel counterclockwise, Poe sent him and BB-8 into a tight downward spiral. The TIES and their barrage followed. BB-8 returned fire as best it could, managing to blast one of the TIEs’ fuel tanks, igniting it into an explosion.
“Nice one, BB-8!” Poe cheered.
The words were barely out of his mouth when the X-wing shuddered.
Something was wrong.
Pain, sudden and searing, clawed up his leg. There was an angry siren and Poe’s world flashed red. The X-wing was hit; Poe was hit. He spared a glance down; there was a long gash in his jumpsuit, crimson red welling from it. Clenching his jaw, Poe ordered, “Cover me, BB-8.” Then, switching on his communication systems, he shouted to his pilots: “I’ve been hit; I’m going to make an emergency landing on Naboo.” Pause. “Pull out. I repeat: pull out!”
He switched the comm off; there was nothing the others could do.
He pointed the nose of the X-wing towards Naboo and they dove, fast and desperate. Yet, it wasn’t fast enough. With the cockpit flashing red, the sirens ringing in his ears, it seemed they were covering no distance whatsoever. BB-8 returned fire but couldn’t land a hit.
Poe leaned forward, urging the fighter forward, and then there was another shudder. Blowing past him, jagged and afire, was one of his wings. The control wheel quaking in his gloved hands and he wrestled to maintain controller.
Another hit; the engines failed and BB-8 screeched.
The X-wing broke the atmosphere and they were in a free fall towards the stretch of green and blue below.
“Bail! Bail!”
The top of the X-wing sprung open; slamming his hand on the deployment mechanism, Poe and BB-8 were launched from the fighter and were sent tumbling, head over feet over head, weighty in their rapid descent, chutes strapped to their backs.
#
Poe wasn’t sure when he lost consciousness, he just know, when he returned to it, he was suspended from a tree. He glanced up; his chute was tangled in the upper branches and he was left to dangle in midair, nearly twenty feet from the ground. He twisted his arms around, trying to reach his pocketknife, but, after a few minutes of struggling, he knew it was useless.
He sighed.
Craning his neck around to look at the forest below him, he found BB-8 rolling anxiously far below. Poe could have laughed in relief. Instead, he called: “Think you could help me out, bud?”
The little droid chattered: he tried but couldn’t find a way to reach Poe.
Poe sighed; of course it couldn’t be simple.
“Could you find someone who might help?” Poe asked. He knew there were strong Resistance sympathizers on Naboo but, knowing his luck, it may be too optimistic to think BB-8 might find one. It would be far too simple.
Yet, it was the only solution he could think of.
BB-8 tweeted agreement and went zooming off, rotating its little body as fast as it could, anxious to help its master down.