Chapter 1: The Bravest Patient

If a combat med unit was called in to pull a strike team out of their own rescue operation, one could assume that that operation had just sunk to Corellian hell in a hand basket.

Transports plunged through Dantooine's atmosphere like rocks in a murky lake, explosions and turbulence from atmospheric change throwing around their passengers. The eerie red light that illuminated the inside flickered in and out with every jolt.

Somewhere towards the middle of the transport, a young lieutenant watched her command with growing uneasiness. Her hand squeezed the handle mounted onto the ceiling above her. Beings muttered prayers to whatever they believed was holding them together to hold them together for a little bit longer. Equipment was checked and rechecked to make absolutely certain that everything was performing at top efficiency.

Time, she knew, was never on a medic's side. No matter how good they were. Any kind of malfunction, no matter how small, could get them – and more importantly, their patients – killed.

The floor groaned as landing gear was dropped. Mila took a deep breath. The ship pitched and shook as it made its descent.

Everyone flinched.

Mila held a hand up. "Steady!"

An alarm blinked a countdown. Those that had weapons shouldered them. The gangplank suddenly collapsed and locked into the dirt, and everyone sprinted forwards into the darkness. Triage droids fanned out in front of them in search of the critically wounded. Bright red laser bolts did their deadly dance across the plain, running into anything and everything within range. In the distance, flames licked at the sky as they tore through the shell of a nearby base, their smoke stinging Mila's lungs.

Force only knew what had happened.

Republic Command had said pirates. Mila had other ideas.

Wisps of her brown hair escaping from her ponytail, Mila ran as fast as she could, a pack of medical supplies strapped to her back and a blaster rifle cinched tightly between her palms and her fingers. Many lay strewn on the ground, their blood staining the dry grassland.

None, unfortunately, were alive.

A scream ricocheted down a hill, and Mila took off, pelting in the direction of the wailing. A young soldier lay crooked on the grass, blaster wounds puncturing his body in several places. His leg was broken. Terror flailed in his eyes as he squirmed in agony.

"Hey!" Mila shouted over the chaos of the battle, dropping to her knees and yanking the medkit from her back. "Hey, buddy," she said, leaning over the man and running her fingers through his hair in an effort to calm him. "You're okay. Doc's here. I'm gonna fix you up. Get you back to Hosnian. How's that sound?"

The soldier's face lit up a little. A trembling hand reached up and tapped the medic's patch on her uniform with a single, bloodied digit.

"That's right, buddy." She smiled. "The doc's in."

Relief flushed through his features, relaxing the stressed lines in his face, and he made an effort to smile.

Mila pulled out a small syringe from her bag. "Get you doped up here, my friend, and we'll see about getting you onto one of those transports."

Boots pounded into the ground behind her, and two of her noncoms* ran to her side.

"We clear to take him, Lieutenant Criss?" one asked. "What's the damage?"

"Broken clavicle, blaster wounds through his upper arm. Several through his left side, though I don't think they hit anything precious." She took a second look as she stuck the needle with the sedative in it into his thigh. "Right tibia's shattered, so be careful when you pick him up. Though he's probably on enough sedative to knock out a bantha. Just be careful, sergeant. Whoever's responsible for this—" she gestured towards the ongoing fight "—kriffed him up pretty badly."

The sergeant nodded. "Roger that." He motioned towards his comrade. "Give me a hand here, Wex. This one's delicate."

Carefully, the two men lowered the soldier onto a hovercot and ran him back towards the transport.

The first sergeant waved to the sky. "Looks like we got some air support coming in, Lieutenant!" He paused, looking into the sky as nine X-wings dipped below the clouds, quad engines screaming.

Wex's jaw dropped. "Holy hell, that's Rapier Squadron!" He laughed triumphantly over the noise, clapping his friend on the back. "Whoever started this mess is about to get their ass handed to them!"

Both medics turned to the soldier on the hovercot, pointing upwards and hurriedly rambling on about their apparent salvation as several Rapiers sped towards the carnage and unleashed a loud hail of cannon fire on the enemy. Everyone on the field started cheering.

"About damn time, Dameron!" the wounded soldier cried jokingly, relief seeping through his voice. Though she could no longer see him past the threshold of the transport, Mila knew he was beaming.

The first sergeant and Wex ran back down the gangplank and across the field to their commanding officer, who quickly conversed with a triage droid.

"They've got him in there, Lieutenant," Wex said. "You want to move on?"

Mila nodded, looking up. "Let's get to the top of that hill again," she said, pointing in that direction. "Droid said there are more on the other side."

The three soldiers took off running and crested the top of the hill. Chaos had strewn itself across the plain. Blasterfire bounced in every direction, smoke and dust rose from the field, and the Rapiers soared overhead, picking off anything and everything that tried to retreat with lethal precision. The three medics sprinted into the fray, Mila kneeling down by another patient and quickly gathering a prognosis.

The man's dark eyes fluttered open for a brief second, and he took a short, sharp breath. Mila started to comb her fingers through his hair, but just as her small hand reached his black curls, the soldier was gone. She hung her head for a second, collecting herself.

"Can't save them all, sergeants. No matter how bad you want to."

Someone opened fire, but the rounds sounded too heavy for a blaster. Mila winced.

"Looks like mystery kid's pulling out some ground fire," Wex said.

One blast hit the ventral side of one of the X-wings, and it completely vaporized. A second Rapier was hit, this time directly in the engines, and it exploded. A third fighter, painted black, pounded into the cannon with enough ferocity to give a krayt dragon a nightmare.

But the second gun, which was much closer than the now vaped one, clipped another Rapier in the wing. Smoke streamed from the fighter's top left S-foil, and Mila waited for the pilot to eject.

He didn't.

The fighter rocketed towards the ground, diving into the grass nose-first. The ground shuddered with the impact. A large plume of smoke went up from the X-wing's nose, and flames licked at the back. An astromech droid's last haunting screech tore through the air. Frozen with mute shock, Mila and the others looked on.

"Think he's still alive, Darren?" Wex asked.

The first sergeant shook his head. "Probably not. And if he is, he doesn't have much time left."

The crippled X-wing groaned, part of the nose being eaten away by flames. Suddenly it exploded, sending shrapnel and glass in every direction. Mila swore she heard the pilot inside, desperately trying to find a way out. Black smoke filled the cockpit, rising out of a hole cracked in the top.

"Yeah," Darren said. "Don't think there's much we can do. He's a goner."

"Wait," Mila said, eyes fixed on the wreckage. Two of the Rapiers circled overhead, standing guard over their fallen comrade.

A deep pink light filled the inside of the cockpit, and soon a flare shot out of the hole in the top. Mila gasped.

"He's still alive." Adrenaline shaking her voice. "Both of you, stay on my tail and cover me!"

The two sergeants' protests faded in her ears as Mila ran forwards, grabbing onto one of the X-wing's S-foils and hoisting herself on top of the wreckage. A loud cry went up from inside the cockpit.

"Hang on, buddy!" Mila called, fumbling around for something heavy enough to smash the canopy in with. "Should have thought this one through, Lieutenant," she muttered to herself, when her hands hit a large piece of shrapnel, roughly the size of a blaster rifle, lying on the X-wing's damaged dorsal hull. Snatching it up with the disparity of a starving person grappling for bread, Mila stumbled towards the cockpit.

"Can you hear me?" she shouted over the roar of the flames, which were growing steadily closer.

"This thing's about to blow!" the pilot screamed back, smoke scratching at his voice. "You need to get away before—"

One of the engines gave out, rocking the X-wing violently. Mila fought to retain her footing.

"Go! Now!"

With as much force as she could muster, Mila rammed the shrapnel into the canopy. The transparisteel began to give way, spraying in every direction.

"What the hell are you doing?!" the pilot cried. The X-wing pitched again. "Get out of here! Now!"

His voice was weakening.

Not a chance, Mila thought, hammering the shrapnel through the canopy until she had a hole big enough to work with. Smoke rushed from the new, larger opening. She coughed.

The smoke cleared enough that Mila could finally see the pilot's royal blue flight suit peaking through. Reaching down into the cockpit, she fumbled for the restraints that held the pilot in, cutting through them with a utility knife from her belt. She grabbed the now unconscious pilot under his arms.

Every muscle in Mila's body screamed as she braced her feet against the X-wing's hull and began to wrench the pilot from the cockpit. The leg of his flight suit caught on a piece of bent metal. Flames licked at his feet, and his sweating brow furrowed.

Mila pulled harder.

He didn't move.

Crying out as her muscles strained, Mila finally ripped the sturdy fabric and dragged the pilot out of the cockpit, the two of them tumbling to the ground as another one of the X-wing's engines gave out.

She ducked under the smoke and grabbed the pilot under his armpits, dragging his wounded body across the grass.

"Lieutenant!" Wex shouted, running towards her. "Are you—"

"Help me!"

Wex carefully grabbed the pilot's singed ankles and lifted him off the ground.

"Darren!" he shouted. "Cover us!"

Darren raised his rifle to his shoulder, took off the safety, and wrapped one long finger around the trigger, silently daring anyone to come close. A transport sank to the ground behind them, the ground shaking as the gangplank rammed into it. Carefully, the two medics carried the pilot's battered body into the transport, setting him in Mila's arms as the gangplank began to rise.

The black Rapier soared overhead, and judging from the noise coming from the transport's cockpit, the pilot was conversing with the fighter. The transport groaned as it lifted off, and Mila heard several X-wings flanking them outside.

Gently setting the pilot down on the floor, Mila began to assess his wounds. She carefully removed his helmet, which was cracked in several places. His head was bleeding, his dark hair soaked with blood. As gingerly as she could, she took off his life support vest and felt the pilot's sides for any abnormalities.

One of his ribs popped under her fingers.

Suddenly the pilot's dark eyes snapped open, and he looked down at the rest of his body. A long piece of shrapnel jutted out from his stomach. He started to panic.

Mila's small hand combed through his dark hair. "You're okay, buddy. You're on a transport. We're taking you back to the cruiser."

His fair-skinned face twisted in pain. "Where… where's—"

"Shh," Mila motioned to the outside of the transport with her free hand while the other gently massaged his temple. "You're safe now. Your squad's just outside. Our pilot's been talking with your CO. Take a deep breath. Can you hear their engines?"

The pilot closed his eyes, making an effort to relax. Slowly, he started to smile, tears filling his eyes. "They made it…."

Mila nodded.

"Am… am I gonna make it?"

Eyeing the shrapnel and the many thick, red stains splotched across his flight suit, Mila swallowed. She didn't know.

"You'll be fine, buddy," she said softly. Even she was alarmed at the lack of confidence in her voice. "You'll be fine."

"Lieutenant, we're touching down," the transport pilot called over his shoulder.

Mila looked at her patient. "We're almost there. We'll get you into an OR as soon as we can. We'll fix you up."

Fear ate at the fighter pilot's features. "Are… are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"You don't sound too sure."

Mila steeled herself. "You are going to be fine, my friend."

The gangplank lowered, crashing into the durasteel floor and echoing around the medical cruiser's hangar bay. Techs rushed to newly landed X-wings, getting astromechs on the ground and checking the fighters for any signs of damage.

One pilot climbed out of the cockpit of his fighter, hurriedly handing the tech his helmet and nodding a silent thank you before jogging towards the transport. His dark, wavy hair was matted with sweat. Worry loomed behind his deep brown eyes.

Mila recognized his face from somewhere.

"Kit!" he called, almost sliding to his knees next to his wounded friend. "Rapier Five, can you hear me? It's Poe."

Kit's face lit up. "C-Commander!" he coughed, reaching out and grabbing his friend's hand. "You… you're okay!"

"And you will be too, bud." Poe looked at Mila. "You're in good hands."

Mila smiled at him.

"Come on," Poe said. "Let's get you inside." He turned to Mila, quickly glancing at the patch on her chest that listed her rank. "You need help, Lieutenant?"

Mila nodded. "Grab his ankles. Be careful. They're burned in several places."

Wrapping his long fingers around his friend's ankles, Poe visibly cringed. "I got you, buddy. Let's go."

"Lift on three. One… two… three."

Kit screamed.

"Hang on, Rapier Five!" Poe called to him. "You're gonna be okay!"

Two blast doors opened, and the three slowly made their way into a long, white hallway. Kit's blood left a spotty trail on the floor behind them. His eyes began to droop.

"We're almost there, buddy," Mila said. "Hang in there."

They rounded the corner, and Mila's heart dropped to her stomach. "Oh, that's not good."

Poe's eyes widened. "What?"

Poe looked over his shoulder at the carnage and squeezed his dark eyes shut. So many had been hit during the attack that a long line had formed outside the operating room. Some surgeons had grabbed sedatives and were already operating right where they were. Hardly regulation, Mila thought, but they were desperate.

Poe took a deep breath and raised his eyes to Mila. The look on his face broke her heart. "Can you do anything for him?" he asked, helping her set his friend down on the floor.

"I've got better light, so I can at least get a better idea of what all he's got going on here." She grabbed her knife and tore open the middle of her patient's flight suit. "What did you say his name is?"

"Kit Anderon," Kit said. "What's yours?"

Mila didn't look up from her work, but she smiled. "I'm Mila. Mila Criss."

Kit chuckled a little. "I'd shake your hand, but…."

Mila laughed. Poe grinned and rolled his eyes, gripping his friend's shoulder reassuringly. "She understands, bud."

"She's been living under a rock if she doesn't know who you are," Kit went on, tilting his head backwards and grinning admiringly up at his commanding officer.

Poe scoffed, smiling. He looked at Mila. "I'm Poe. Poe Dameron. And he's exaggerating."

"No I'm not, and you know it."

Poe shrugged. "Was gonna be modest, but-"

"You? Modest? Did you hit your head?"

Poe laughed and shrugged. Mila smiled at him. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere."

"You based on Hosnian Prime?" Poe asked.

Mila nodded. "I've probably seen you around." She observed Kit's wounds and clenched her teeth. It looked like the shard had punctured his stomach. It was a miracle that he was still alive.

Poe grimaced. "How bad is it?"

Mila sighed. "It's bad."

"How bad?" Kit whimpered.

"Not bad enough that I can't fix it," Mila replied, combing her hand through Kit's dark hair. "But you're gonna have to be brave, buddy. I can't get you into the OR, so we've gotta do it right here." Her head popped up. "Hey Wex!" she called.

Wex turned and dropped next to her. He looked panicked. "What do you need?"

"He needs sedatives. Heavy ones. This isn't going to be pretty."

An explosion rocked the cruiser, but not violently enough to indicate that it had been hit, or that something had gone off inside.

"What the-"

"The other med cruiser just got hit!" someone screamed. "We need to jump! Now!"

Mila's eyes grew wide. Panic gripped her heart. "The others, Sergeant—"

"They're dead, Lieutenant," Darren said, walking up to them. "The whole cruiser blew. Took a good chunk of our guys and what we had left of the pain killers with it."

"W-What?" Kit said.

"Are there any more here?" Poe asked.

"Not unless Lieutenant Criss still has some."

Mila quickly pawed through her pack and pulled out one lone syringe. "This is all I've got," she said, shaking her head and flicking at the side to get the medicine to sink farther down. "And it's not even all the way full. It wouldn't even numb a paper cut." She stuck the needle into Kit's leg. "But we'll try it. Hopefully it will take some of the edge off."

Poe's tanned complexion paled. Kit started trembling.

Mila looked back at Poe. "I need you to hold him down," she said, pulling on latex gloves and starting to pull out various sharp instruments from her pack.

Poe's eyes popped, and his voice dropped angrily. "Wait a minute. You could get more sedatives on Hosnian, Lieutenant. If he can hold on for that much longer—"

"He doesn't have that much time, Commander."

Kit whimpered.

Poe's face hardened. "He's going to be in a lot of pain, Lieutenant."

"You think I don't know that?" Mila snapped. "Hold him down, that's an order!"

"You can't give me orders, Lieutenant!"

"As long as he is my patient, then yes, I can give you orders! Under the circumstances, I could order a general around right now! If I don't get that shrapnel out of his stomach, he dies! Do you want him to die, Commander?"

Poe stared at her for a second, his jaw still slack as he shook his head.

"Then you will hold. Him. Down."

Poe sighed, his hands gripping Kit's shoulders. "Hey, buddy." Clearly he was still angry, but he'd put it aside for now. He pulled Kit's head into his lap and ran his thumb along his temple to let him know without a shadow of a doubt that he was there and wasn't going anywhere.

"Keep his attention on you, Commander," Mila said, her voice softening. "Don't let him look down here."

"Hey," Poe said, rubbing Kit's shoulder. "Look at me, bud. I'm right here. You're gonna be okay."

Kit nodded, tears welling in his eyes.

"Poe!" a voice called, followed by the worried chirping of an astromech droid.

Poe's head snapped up. "Karé! Get over here, we need help!"

Karé sped over and sank to her knees next to her commanding officer. She looked at Mila. "What do you need me to do?"

"Hold him down," Mila said, her voice beginning to falter. "Try to keep him calm." Her stomach turned. How many regulations did this break? Could she do this?

"Hey there, baby face." Karé reached down and gripped one of Kit's shoulders. "It's Karé. We're gonna get you fixed up."

Kit chuckled weakly. "I-If I get through this, w-will you stop calling me that?"

Karé smiled. "Not a chance, kid."

The little BB unit that rolled in with Karé chirped.

"S-See? Even BB-8 thinks it's derogatory."

Poe shook his head, grinning. His hands shook. The smile on his face faded. He clenched his jaw. Mila had seen so many people in his position before, but it had never gotten easier.

"You ready?" Mila asked.

Poe and Karé both nodded.

Karé ran a hand through Kit's hair and grabbed his hand. "You've got this, buddy."

Slowly, Kit nodded. There were tears in his eyes.

Karé kissed his forehead. "You're gonna be okay," she whispered, giving his clammy hand a squeeze. "I promise."

Mila blew out a shaky breath. She clenched her eyes shut, bit her lip, and grabbed the shrapnel, slowly pulling it out as to not cause any more damage.

Kit screamed. His eyes drooped.

"Hold on, Rapier Five!" Poe said. "She's almost got it. It's almost over. Don't you quit on us now!"

The shrapnel, about a standard foot long, finally cleared his bloodied flight suit. Mila allowed herself a small smile of victory before snatching up her cauterizer and moving in to close the layers of gushing wound.

She fired up the device and closed up the wall of his stomach. Kit cried out. Then she moved to the abdominal muscles, and finally to the entrance wound itself, sighing when the last of the bloody opening sealed back up.

Mila smiled so wide it hurt. "Done," she said. She looked at Kit, who was crying with relief. She put a hand on his shoulder. "You're the bravest patient I have ever had. Hands down."

Kit nodded. He grabbed Mila's hand and squeezed it. "Th-Thank you, Lieutenant."

Mila took off her gloves and smiled, running her hand through his hair and gently massaging his scalp. His eyes slowly closed, and his muscles relaxed.

"It's all over, buddy," Poe said, gently patting Kit's shoulder. "Take it easy. She did it."

"What'd we tell ya?" Karé beamed. "Piece of cake."

Kit grinned.

Mila's heart swelled. "We're going to move you to an ICU here soon. Hook you up with some bacta. That'll take a lot of the pain away." She released his hand and stood. "I'm going to go get that set up now, so you don't have to wait any longer."

Kit nodded gratefully.

"I'll go with you, Lieutenant," Poe said. "It could help to have me around."

Mila nodded. "That it could. When the request comes from the CO, med tends to be a little quicker about seeing to it."

"I'll take him, then," Karé said, reaching out and pulling Kit into her lap. His head sank into the crook of her arm, and he closed his eyes, smiling gratefully. "You go ahead and go, Poe." She ran her fingers through Kit's hair. "I'll keep watch here."

*Medical and Military terms/abbreviations

Noncom: Noncommissioned officer. Any officer below 2nd Lieutenant is a noncom.

CO: Commanding officer

OR: Operating room

ICU: Intensive care unit