Hoth: Blood and Ice

Part One

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Alderaan had touched Cynella's heart beyond what she had ever anticipated. That sheltered young lady seemed like a distant echo. While she had always hoped to add more good to the galaxy, she had only truly appreciated what that meant after marrying her beloved Prince. Charitable actions and military service were all well and good but her children reminded her most of her efforts.

That was what the pin, a rather gaudy button portraying a wintery landscape, represented. A heartless critic would consider it crude, especially if they discovered that it had been crafted by a child. Rambunctious Carlotta (oh Cynella had lightened up as much as she could) had sloppily painted on top of it: "Tied for Galaxy's Best Mom." A matching, albeit crude, pin had been gifted to Aurilie too, of course.

It was by no means in regulation to wear it while in uniform. But these were desperate times (so nobody really cared), for that new home she so adored suffered under a new regime. For months, she had ferried refugees to Kuat whenever the war had most distracted the people. It was the safest way, she believed, to do her part while staying as much out of harm's way as possible. Such a sacrifice never came easy to her. In a strange way, her wife probably knew that the chill of Hoth had never completely left her bones.

Descent protocols started aboard the shuttle. The snow surrounding Mount Joral always buffeted them on approach so everyone needed to strap in to uncomfortable seats. Perhaps retrofitted cushions would have been a good idea. Besides the hum of the engines, everything was silent. The crew remained on high alert. Nonetheless, Cynella couldn't keep herself from idly stroking Carlotta's pin.

One of those jolts was too excessive. Then another. And so, it came as no surprise when the speakers blared. "Brace! Brace! Brace!" Still so high up in the air, they weren't landing anytime soon. Instead, the crew listened to their sharp descent with dread as the air whistled around them. From a certain point of view, they were the missile. If fortune turned to their favor, then they wouldn't crash into anyone as collateral. What am I thinking? Worrying about others at a time like-

The impact jostled her in her seat but she remained otherwise unharmed. She tossed off the restraints and scanned her crew who had also been spared from any major injuries. Meanwhile, the infantry escort disembarked to met the obvious foe. So much blaster fire kept them from reuniting with the refugee contingent. The Captain delegated the status report to her as he assessed the more violent situation.

Cynella took a deep breath then connected the bridge to engineering. "What's our status? Do we all need to evacuate?"

"We were struck only by ion cannons. Hull damage is mostly cosmetic, save for the lower turret sponsons. We're restarting the engine as we speak."

"Please hold." Cynella switched to intel. "Do we know where the ion cannons are stationed?" Based on positioning, there was a narrow path that the ship could escape through that could, and only could, avoid any further flight disruptions.

That was, assuming, that the engines resumed operations. It was the one hope they and the refugees had, though. Zakuul... And they called Alderaanians savages. Once the orders were conveyed and understood, Cynella ran a finger across her cheek. That small ritual completed, she unholstered her pistol and stepped into the firefight.

Part Two

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Two of the guests at the procession didn't fit in. Though neither wore the armor, they were distinguishably Mandalorians by their demeanor. The man's eyes shifted around; he had come on his partner's behalf. Even if the woman wasn't a Mandalorian, that metallic arm of hers would have stuck out among all of the Alderaanian and Kuati fineries amidst the beautiful garden of Mount Joral.

Not that any of that fully registered with Carlotta Alde. For her young mind, two weirdos only registered as that. Spotting the metallic arm also wasn't easy behind constant tears.

Nor could she much see the silvery shine come closer. "Do you mind if I take her for a moment?" Vera asked the grieving widow. Friends of friends, they knew each other, but never to a great extent. "Only for a moment. I'll entrust my husband to you in return."

"Please," the man said, "Pardon her manners but..."

Mandalorians and eloquence. Seldom a strong suit. But as the deceased had often expected, the widow displayed a remarkable amount of patience during a belated funeral of all times.

The strange woman led the child slightly off the path. They could still see the pallbearers and the like. Such was excessively slow, though, due to the strange combination of cultures. "Sit on my shoulders," the woman said so that the girl could see over the other guests and the lines of Alde tombstones. "Now listen up, since I don't like to repeat myself. Your mother died a heroine. Damn, I know she made Captain Alderaan proud. The Captain Alderaan. I'm a friend of his. Well, I work with him. Worked..."

"You're hurting me," Carlotta said. That metal hand had gripped a bit too hard on her ankle.

"Sorry about that, kid." The grip loosened. "There's nothing wrong with being emotional. I get that way too. I just want you to understand that your mother's sacrifice... It's part of why we're here today. If she hadn't been smuggling out your people, then we would have never been able to coordinate past the palace defenses." So much intel and the deceased had never even known.

"It's a shame it took so long to have a proper ceremony," the woman continued. "But the occupation... Well, you know better than I do. Wish your homecoming could have been nicer."

The woman finally kept her mouth shut when the procession reached the burial site. Draped over the coffin was a flag bearing three symbols: her planets and the Republic itself. Both cultural sides could at least agree that the proper military instrumentals would be fitting. More notably, though, were the soldiers firing their blasters into the air.

"I've heard rumors that they're going to starting calling her Captain Kuat," the woman said. She had been the one starting that, though that was beside the point. At the very least, the posthumous promotion was the real deal. "We'll need to get her a shield."

"Why would she need a shield?" Carlotta asked. "Is she coming back?"

"Fuck." The woman's self-directed frustration shifted to a sullen chuckle. "No wonder my husband doesn't want to have kids." Another volley gave her the opportunity to steer the conversation away from further awkwardness. "Your mom isn't coming back, no. She never will. So what you're going to do is learn to hold one of those rifles too. Then, you're going to aim it at Zakuul and pull the trigger.

"That or I'll finish the job before you're old enough. I pray that'll be the case, actually, but galactic war has a way of lasting a long time."