#dengril

They were all strangers to him. Two Humans, a Kel Dor, and a Twi’lek—and that wasn’t counting the Kaleesh, Torg, as he climbed off his speeder and waved down the Twi’lek.

Varrich squared his shoulders when one of the Humans approached.

Where was the team he’d served with for so long? Where was Dorne, and Forex, and Yuun and Vik? When Jorgan had said…

He’d said he was the only one left of the old team. Hearing it was one thing, but seeing it? Seeing all these strangers wearing a symbol that Varrich had worn with pride as he led Havoc? Seeing it was something else entirely.

Then…they were all saluting. Even as surprise and disbelief etched their features, concern across the Human male’s, even as Varrich’s cybernetic arm curled up as if to protect him from a threat, they saluted.

“Jorgan… Where’s the old team?”

“Let’s get you do the medical tent, first.” The Cathar already had a hand on his arm to help him off the speeder. “I’ll explain while Dengril tends to your injuries.”

“Dengril?”

The Human male gave a relaxed salute to draw attention to himself. “Lieutenant Milo Dengril—Havoc’s medic,” he greeted. He had an eyepatch, and the light on it glowed almost easily in the dull swamp. That patch did nothing to soften what seemed to be a permanent scowl on his face.

It was even harder to walk now than it had been when he escaped—that’s even with Jorgan and Dengril at either arm. The soles of his feet were practically shredded and bruised to hell and paired with one bad leg, every step had him wincing and gritting his teeth. He could only be grateful that the camp was small and Jorgan had parked fairly close to the tent.

The “bed” was really just a simple cot. Something that could easily be packed up and moved when they tore the camp down. That didn’t change the fact Varrich wanted to just lay back on it and sleep for a few days; it was softer than the one he’d had before, that’s for sure.

Despite outward appearances, Dengril’s hands were gentle and had almost droid-like precision as he tended first to the blaster burns.

He’d taken Dorne’s place as the squad’s medic.

Maybe it was the way he watching Dengril, or perhaps his expression, but Jorgan must have caught on to his train of thought as he leaned his elbows on his knees. “We stayed here to keep searching for you. We’d disobeyed orders to return to Republic space trying to find you, sir. We were reprimanded, and Saresh—” he said the name with a distasteful curl to his lip, like it was nothing but poison—Varrich was inclined to agree, “—took it as her chance to remove Dorne the moment we were back on Coruscant. You hadn’t even been gone two months when Dengril was sent to replace her.”

Varrich shook his head and muttered under his breath. Not even he was really sure what exactly he said. “Because she’s ex-Imperial?”

Jorgan only touched a finger to his nose as he glared out at the camp beyond the tent.

“Had a lot to live up to,” the man in question said. He moved to start working on Varrich’s feet, and the Mirialan grimaced as he started cleaning away the blood. “Didn’t want to split up the squad, but it also needed a medic with her gone.”

“Where was she stationed?”

Jorgan offered a shrug. “Uncertain, though the Supreme Commander had shown interest in her. With any luck, she serves him and Saresh didn’t destroy her career.” He leaned back, then, setting his sights on the other Human. Before she could duck into another tent, he called out, “Kanner! Did you get those uniforms?”

“Yes, sir! Gathering them up.” Into the tent, then back out in a flash with the uniforms piled up in her arms. “Torg is already changing.”

Jorgan took them, then nodded to the woman. “Sir, this is my XO. She joined us shortly after Dengril. Good eye—if I didn’t know any better, I’d think she’d been a Deadeye.”

For the second time since they’d arrived, she saluted. “Captain Hylie Kanner. An honor to meet you, Colonel.”

Colonel. There it was again. He’d been a major, not a colonel. Maybe it was the furrowed brows and frown that reminded Jorgan that he’d said he would explain it.

“When we couldn’t find you, you were eventually announced KIA. You…were promoted posthumously at your service.” He shook his head. “Sorry that’s what it took.”

Varrich pinched the bridge of his nose even as it irritated the bruises spanning his face. New team, new rank that had been given at his funeral, Havoc back on Zakuul…and the new cybernetic was giving him a headache again. Too much was going on all at once. But he needed to know.

“…The rest of the team. Both teams. Who and…why?”

“I tried to keep us together, but there was only so much I could do. As the years went on, the squad changed.” Kanner ducked out as Jorgan pointed toward the Twi’lek. “Vik was next to leave. Without you to keep him in check, he returned to crime.” Varrich’s frown mimicked Jorgan’s as he said it. “Sergeant Xaban was his replacement. She can be reckless, but she knows her explosives and looks out for the team.”

Xaban was laughing while Torg’s arms waved about. The Kel Dor had his face in his hands as he shook his head.

“Yuun left and turned to Wild Space—to look for you, actually. Who knows, maybe he’s even on Zakuul?” He pointed to the Kel Dor, then. “Sergeant Ro Abbeth took his place.”

“Technical engineer,” Varrich concluded. If that was the place he filled in the squad, it would have made sense for Jorgan to have requested Dengril and Abbeth to tend to Varrich.

…Not that he wanted anyone messing with the cybernetics. Not for now, at least. Just the thought made him start bouncing the leg Dengril wasn’t tending to.

“Click-Click?” Kolto as a medic’s call sign and Rulebook for an XO sounded straightforward enough, but Click-Click for an engineer?

Jorgan hummed the affirmative, then started tapping a finger on a crate near him; his claw clicked loudly against the metal. “Constantly taps his claws. Says he was called that since his earliest Academy days.”

As Dengril stepped back to grab a scanner, Jorgan passed one of the dry uniforms to Varrich. “And you’ve met Torg. He’s our newest member—our muscle. Still green as far as the rest of the team’s concerned. Young, too, and a fast learner. Had never spoken a word of Basic when he joined and picked up on it incredibly fast.”

“What happened to Forex?”

“Glorified morale officer,” Jorgan snorted. “Don’t think he’s even been allowed off Coruscant since he was restationed. And since he’s a droid, it’s not like anyone’s going to realize what a mistake it is to be keeping him from the fight with Zakuul. No, instead he gives speeches.”

Forex kept off the battlefield? Whose bright idea was that? Varrich thought bitterly. “How’s the fight going, anyway? I’ve…been mostly in the dark about anything that’s happening.”

Jorgan made a face he couldn’t quite place. “Technically…” He shook his head and sighed. “The Republic isn’t fighting, sir. Both it and the Empire have a treaty with Zakuul and it’s bleeding them both dry.” He’d started changing into the dry uniform, though paused for a moment while pulling on the boots. “Havoc is considered rogue and we’ll receive a court martial upon our return.”

Varrich went still at that, stomach twisting. Court martial..? He opened his mouth, but his voice caught in his throat. Then, “…You could be killed, Jorgan.”

“We knew what we were getting into.” His tone became flat—dismissive, even. He knew that fact, accepted it. Whatever they were doing on Zakuul, they felt it was worth dying for. “With all due respect, drop it, sir. You need to worry about recovering. Not what we’re doing.” He stood, grabbing for the clean, dry uniform Kanner had brought for Varrich. “Let’s get you changed. Abbeth should be over shortly.”

“You can’t just—”

“Drop it.”

Silence. Awkward, heavy, silence, as he and Dengril helped Varrich get changed into something he wouldn’t be shivering in. Drop it. Like he could just forget that. But he bit his tongue—both metaphorically and physically, catching the tip between his teeth before he could start arguing. He wasn’t sure he even had the energy to argue, if he was completely honest.

Instead, he took a slow, deep breath. He trusted Jorgan’s judgment. Always had. Whatever Havoc was doing on Zakuul, he had to have thought it over carefully before actually deciding to come here. He knew what he was doing, and the new squad had loyally followed its leader even knowing what they’d be getting into.

That didn’t change the fact that Varrich didn’t like it. Couldn’t change the worry that gnawed at him.

The next hours passed in a blur. Abbeth had successfully removed the shock collar and now Varrich found himself constantly rolling his head to stretch his neck and rubbing a hand over it; part of him had a hard time believing it was actually gone. He’d had run scans over the cybernetics—even with the mask and protective eye-wear, it was obvious he would have been frowning.

He’d tried to start repairs, but only managed to get the new one sorted out so it would quit giving Varrich headaches (turned out it was a HoloNet uplink. what the hell could he do with one of those?) before Varrich had shoved him away with a snarl. The bruises hurt and, yeah okay, maybe he was used to only having one worked on at a time so trying to move to the next wasn’t the routine he was used to, and maybe having the Kel Dor’s claws so close to his remaining eye had made his breath hitch a little.

He caught the way Abbeth, Dengril, and Jorgan glanced at each other, but only crossed his arms and scowled. “If none of their problems are life-threatening, just…” He waved a hand dismissively. “Leave them be for now. Please?”

And…That was that. Abbeth would glance over at him occasionally, likely debating what he needed to work on the next time Varrich gave him the chance, and Dengril’s eye would scan over him as if searching for more injuries. The Kel Dor clearly wasn’t fond of leaving the damages, but like hell if Varrich cared.

He learned quickly that Abbeth and Yuun probably would have gotten along. His deep, gravelly voice paired with the way his mask altered it could startle any man if they didn’t know he was there, but he was surprisingly softspoken and seemed to have endless patience. Curious, too. Varrich could picture him and Yuun trading notes or working on a project together.

Varrich’s gaze shifted, from Abbeth over to the Twi’lek. Xaban smiled and laughed a lot and had the lines around her mouth and eyes to show it. She may have taken Vik’s place, but she seemed far more bubbly and approachable than her predecessor in the position. Would have driven Vik crazy, no doubt. Varrich learned through her constant banter with Torg that her call sign was “Boom.” Whether it was because of her status as the team’s demolitions expert or the recklessness Jorgan had mentioned, Varrich wasn’t sure. He hoped it was the aforementioned instead of the latter.

Dengril was gruff and had a “nothing surprises me anymore” sort of air about him. Even so, he’d crack the occasional smile when Xaban or Torg managed to say just the right thing.

It wasn’t long before Jorgan was ducking through the group as rations were dealt out and was cutting toward the spot Varrich had tucked himself into. It was a nice little spot, out of the way, but still close enough he could watch the group of strangers without actually speaking with them.

Varrich frowned as some of the food was passed to him.

“…This is more than a regular ration.”

“No offense, sir, but you look like a starved womp rat.” He sat at Varrich’s side on the slab of crumbling stone. “You should really get to know the team. I imagine you and Kanner would hit it off—she reminds me a lot of you, actually.”

At mention of her name, the Mirialan’s gaze moved to find her. While the others ate and chatted, she sat a little ways away, focused more on the swamp beyond the camp with a blaster ready at her side. Xaban didn’t take long to find her side, however, and the smallest, briefest smile found Kanner’s face at something the Twi’lek said.

“They…seem to get along well.” For a squad like Havoc, getting along—trusting one another—was important. Moving as one, being quick to agree without arguing to give themselves away, it would keep them alive on the field where other teams could fall apart.

“For the most part.” Jorgan gestured to the group—Dengril had turned his back, and Torg was mimicking him with over-exaggerated movements while he wasn’t paying attention to the Kaleesh. It had Xaban cracking up and her laughter was enough to alert Dengril to something amiss. By the time he’d whipped around, Torg had turned to say something to Abbeth as if he hadn’t done anything. Ah. Now “Copycat” made sense for his call sign. “Sometimes they’re a little harder to wrangle than the old team, but they’re a good one. Would have made you proud had you served with them, sir.”

There was fondness in Jorgan’s voice. Varrich wanted to smile as he noticed it, but it was hard to smile anymore. Instead, he offered, “They’ve got a good leader; I’d expect nothing but the best.”

Jorgan smiled—actually smiled, it was small but there—briefly before standing. “Eat, then try and rest. There’s a setup for you ready in Dengril’s tent, and come morning I expect you to let Abbeth work on more of your repairs.” When Varrich opened his mouth to argue, Jorgan put up a hand to stop him. “I know, he says none of the damages are severe, but they’re still damages. They need to be worked on.”

The Cathar reached a hand down, and Varrich took it to stand. He couldn’t help but wince a little as he did (his feet and leg still ached, but the kolto had helped a lot) and reached down to grab what was left of his ration.