@readyaim-resist; @fynock
Having to uproot an entire armed force and relocate it while under fire presents a litany of logistical nightmares that the Resistance is still struggling with. Where do you put all those soldiers, pilots, and support staff? Where do you keep the wounded when the medbay isn’t large enough to hold them all? How do you quickly recoup the loss in manpower and material that you incurred in your withdraw? And so on it goes. Then there are the more minor issues, the ones that are more of an inconvenience than anything else.
Like having to use a glorified broom closet to question strangers who wander too close to your base, because every other room in the damn compound is packed to the brim as it is.
Still, the mantra of the Resistance has always been to just make it work, for fuck’s sake, so there they are, he and the captain crammed on one side of the table, the pilot seated behind the other. “So.” There’s a moment of hesitation where he weighs his words, trying to condense the introductions down to be as brief as possible. They’re all past tired, running on next to no sleep since D’Qar — except for their guest, who apparently took a nice nap on his way here. Woeful.
“The pilot here landed his ship about two hundred yards northwest of the base. Didn’t put up too much of a fuss about comin’ with — disarmed himself,” he elaborates. “I’m more concerned about why we weren’t alerted to any unidentified ships breaching our airspace, frankly, but.” His shoulders give a dismissive shrug beneath the dingy fabric of his fatigues. “In any case, I radioed it in. Should be hearing back from the squad that went out to search the ship soon. This one,” the lieutenant offers a sharp nod in the pilot’s direction, “says he’s here because he wants to fly for us. Starfighter Corps. But I guess since I’m the one who found ‘im and he was never given clearance to be here in the first place, he’s our problem for the moment.”
