Chapter Text
“Are you sure you want to do this, Private FN-2187?” Captain Phasma asked of the soldier stood in front of her.
Blood soaks into the sand until the sand can’t absorb any more.
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” FN-2187 replied, snapping the crisp salute that the Captain demands of all her troops.
The opening to the spacious tent flapped in the breeze. Two soldiers stand in silhouette outside, waiting.
A hungry child cries out from want.
“Do you understand what this entails?” the Captain pressed, leaning forward in her chair, highly interested in his answer.
He wanders what she would look like-what any of them look like- without the ever-present helmets. If she would be beautiful, like an avenging angel or a scorned lover.
A survivor, a woman shrouded in cloth, begins a prayer loudly. BR-1535 makes it so she never finishes it.
Phasma sat up straight, reassuming her full, towering height.
“I will let this stand as a case of Entry Level Separation, since this was your first live fire fight and you’ve had an excellent track record until now,” the Captain starts.
“But if I hear a peep, a squeak, even a breath from or about you, I will not hesitate to court martial you and have you prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law for what happened here today. Your Entry Level Separation designation will be downgraded to a dishonorable discharge and accompanied with a very lengthy stay in a maximum security military prison.”
“Torch the buildings. Nothing and nobody makes it out of here” the Captain commands.
“Director Ren and Assistant Director Hux do not care about those villagers out there. The government certainly doesn’t,” the Captain snorted a laugh. “Hell, I’ll probably receive a commendation for what we accomplished today.”
“Be better. For them,” FN-2003 whispers as he sweeps a hand across FN-2187’s face. His hand falls limp before he finishes the caress.
“Are we clear, Private FN-2187?” the Captain asked as she arched a meticulously up kept brow.
FN-2187 expected a bigger fight. What kind of terrorist cell has only one gun- an ancient rifle at that- for a population of 200?
“Clear as crystal, ma’am,” FN-2187 answered.
If it hadn’t been trained out of him, he’d be sweating profusely.
This was not what they were briefed on.
The Captain sighed. “It’s a shame, really. When I recruited you, when I saw your test scores, I thought to myself, ‘He will do our country proud, I just know it’.” The Captain slumped in her chair, just a little. “Even I’m wrong, once in a blue moon.”
This is not the mission they prepared for.
“You may go now,” the Captain said as she waved towards the tents opening.
“Man, why do you even hang around me? Everyone thinks I’m Phasma’s pet or spy or something,” FN-2187 jokingly asks FN-2003 one day while they lunch.
FN-2003 puts down his fork and looks FN-2187 in the eyes.
“Because you’re the only one who gets it,” FN-2003 tells him with earnest eyes.
“Captain, before I leave, if you could tell me FN-2003’s civilian name? Please.” asks FN-2187, hoping beyond hope that he gets an answer.
The Captain looked shocked for a moment, before her face morphed into that of the cat who got into the cream.
“You mean he never told you?” she asked.
“No, ma’am,” FN-2187 answered, still staring at a spot a little over the Captain’s left shoulder.
“As a good soldier should, FN-2187. I told you on the first day, Private. You are not allowed to have attachments. Not even to a name,” she smiles.
FN-2003 may be the one dying, but it’s FN-2187 who can’t pull oxygen into his lungs.
“Now off you go. Your flight leaves at 0400,” the Captain dismissed him with another wave towards the tent opening and a pointed look.
FN-2187 salutes Captain Phasma one last time. “Yes, ma’am. Goodbye, ma’am,” he says, and leaves the room.
“Be better. For them.”