When going to war, decisions have to be made
based on the overall situation,
and the sequence and urgency of things.
Determining the course of action must be based
on an assessment of the enemy's strength.
(From an ancient Chinese treatise).
***
Once, I spent several nights playing a computer flight simulator—back in those ancient times when online games were just gaining momentum, and the internet hadn't yet spread its clutching tentacles across the country. What was it called again… well, it doesn't matter. What matters is that here, in GFFA, there was something very similar—only much, much cooler. A fighter cockpit complete with all the instruments, and instead of a transparent canopy, screens projected a virtual battle…
There was just one catch. No, of course I could handle the controls, but it was… not the same, not at all. These thoughts ran through my head after two hours in the simulator. True, it was a V-19 simulator, but that didn't make it any easier… Inside, I couldn't sense my opponents—my foresight simply didn't work!
I don't know why. Maybe my consciousness didn't perceive the virtual enemies as an actual threat… or maybe it refused to perceive them at all. Either way, I was shot down dozens of times by simulated "Vultures." Not exactly inspiring results. I can only hope it'll be easier in real combat. I really hope so.
Leaving the simulator cabin, I headed for the nearest cafeteria, but then I spotted yesterday's cadet officers—the ones I had "captured."
Last time, I didn't get a proper look at them, and I had other things on my mind, but now I had the opportunity. Well… what can I say? Quite a colorful group. Two second lieutenants and two midshipmen—two "young men" and two "ladies." Force help me, standing next to these energetic individuals, I felt like a real old man.
Although, in truth, they were practically my age—at least, my "Earthly" one. A tall, pale-skinned brunette with an aristocratic air, his uniform perfectly tailored. His companion was a typical human with straw-colored curls and faint traces of last night's drinks still visible on his face, wearing a midshipman's insignia. A slender, tall red-haired female lieutenant stood in contrast to a short, fair-haired zeltron midshipman beside her.
"General, the group of junior officers transferred to your command has arrived for further instructions!" the second lieutenant announced, saluting crisply.
The four of them stood at attention, eyes fixed on me, every inch according to regulation.
"At ease," I said, waving a hand. "Your personal files?"
"They're here!" The lieutenant handed me her identification cylinder. The others followed suit.
Those cylinders were fascinating devices—a hybrid between a flash drive and a mini-computer. They stored personal data, service records, and various access codes needed to verify orders. They also held technical documentation, reports, rosters, and even personal notes, as long as they contained classified information.
I didn't have one yet—not surprising, given that my current status was… ambiguous. I didn't exactly fit into any specific place in the official hierarchy. Things were simpler with Ahsoka; my own rank could be interpreted several ways. I was a general, an admiral, and—depending on the situation—a jack of all trades. For now, with solid arguments, I could even temporarily place an entire sector army under my command.
Later, if I recall correctly, around the middle of the war, the Jedi rank structure was reorganized—the titles of Jedi General, Senior General, and Supreme General were introduced. The latter were exclusively members of the Jedi Council, while the former commanded sector armies alongside the Moffs.
I took the datapad from my belt and loaded the files. Nothing secret yet—just personnel profiles. Immersed in reading, I lost track of time for about ten minutes. The local "paperwork artists" had truly perfected their craft. I only half-understood the bureaucratic jargon, but I got the gist. I hadn't received prodigies—but neither were they complete failures. Well, paperwork was one thing; people were another.
While I scrolled through the files, Ahsoka appeared beside me.
"Good morning, Master!" the Togruta greeted cheerfully.
"Good morning, Ahsoka." Lucky her—judging by that energetic tone, she'd managed to grab a couple hours of sleep while I was stuck in the simulator.
"Hi, Grace! Hi, guys!" Snips, as usual, in her element.
O'Connor—that was the Zeltron's surname, if I remembered correctly—glanced my way and said,
"Good morning, Commander Tano."
Ahsoka blinked, clearly thrown off. Few people ever addressed her by rank.
"What's the matter, Grace?" she asked in a lowered voice.
I tactfully pretended to be absorbed in another report. However, my hearing wasn't bad, so I could hear their muffled voices perfectly well.
"Well, the General's here," Grace whispered back. "According to regulations, I…" She nodded toward me.
"Wow, it took a whole General to remind you of the regs," Chris murmured, grinning.
"All right," I said, cutting in before their chatter went further—time was short. I looked over the group. "Let's see what you're capable of. Tell me—what do you prefer?"
"Um… General, what do you mean?" the pale-faced one asked.
"What specialty do you prefer?" I had to be more specific.
The redhead—Li Noriega, if memory served—exchanged glances with the others before replying:
"Midshipman Mirro is well-versed in communications systems and electronic warfare. Second Lieutenant Cerri and Midshipman O'Connor specialize in ship control."
"And you, Lieutenant?" I asked.
"I… um… I'm pretty good at operational planning," she managed, looking slightly flustered.
Their unease was palpable in the Force—no one had ever spoken to them like that before.
"Not bad. Not bad at all." I paused, considering. Interesting possibilities here.
"All right. You'll report to the bridge under Captain Ragnos's supervision. We'll see what you're made of. The captain will assign you as needed—access codes, tactical data, the works."
"May we go?" Li Noriega asked.
"Go ahead." I nodded. They saluted smartly and headed out.
Turning to Ahsoka, I smiled. "Well, apprentice—shall we go check on our fighters?"
"Yes, Master!"
"But first," I said, stretching, "we eat."
***
Ntor Ragnos was listening intently to a clone operator's report when four junior officers entered the bridge. One of them, a second lieutenant, saluted sharply.
"Captain Ragnos, in accordance with General Vikt's orders, we are reporting for duty!"
"Excellent. Your identification cylinders," the captain said, holding out his hand.
After a brief scan, Ragnos nodded and addressed them.
"All right, officers. You're beginning your service aboard this ship. Second Lieutenant Ceri and Ensign O'Connor, you are appointed my deputies. From now on, your station is here on the bridge. Ensign Mirro, your assignment is Section C-3—Reconnaissance and Communications. Your direct superior is Clone Lieutenant KK-3489L. Lieutenant Li Noriega, you're assigned to Section Q-2—Operational Planning."
"Sir, who will be my commanding officer?" Noriega asked.
"No one," Ragnos replied evenly. "The department doesn't exist yet—you'll have to organize it and lead it yourself."
Zabrak handed the young officers their identification cylinders.
"And I suggest you prepare yourselves," the captain added, his voice firm. "In a few hours, we'll be heading into battle."