Vona swung through the air, wind cutting through her thick flight suit like a lightsaber through, well, anything.

She was dead.

She was dead.

She could already feel the pressure of the planet squeezing her as she descended to the core.

"By the Force, you could give me some help here!"

Vona looked up and realized there was a hand holding her wrist!  "Pát!"

"The one and only.  Now give me a hand.  Heaven knows I need one."

It was then that the pilot noticed the woman's limp arm.  "Get my hand onto the lip of the door.  I can do the rest."  She didn't add that she wasn't sure it'd even work.

Pát grimaced and planted her feet on either side of the door.  "One.  Two.  Three!"

She pulled with all of her might.

Vona hung by both hands on the edge of the doorway.  "Keep a lookout.  Wouldn't want either of us getting shot."

"On the contrary, Captain.  I'd quite enjoy that."  Pát laughed.

She was sobered by her superior's glare.  "Right."  The fighter turned and got her blaster ready.

Behind her, Vona kicked at the air, before swinging herself to gain momentum.  When she had enough force, she used it to launch herself up onto the deck.  She steadied herself with Pát's shoulders.

The soldier let out a hiss of pain.

"Sorry!"  Vona looked down the hall.  Spotting an abandoned stormtrooper blaster, she took it.

"What's the plan?"  Pát asked, closing the door so that the wind no linger pulled at them, and that strange urge to just turn and jump, for no reason at all but to do it, was gone.

"We go to the hangar.  There should be a couple ships there."

"But we need a pilot!"

"You're looking at her." Vona spun the girl around.

"Well, technically, I'm looking at a dead stormtrooper, so that doesn't help us much."  Pát's way to deal with the trauma of the battle was to crack sarcastic jokes.  However, that wasn't helping them escape.  Rather, it was hindering them.

"Pátriciá, I can leave you here alone, so you can try to find another way out of here."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

The two women snuck down the halls to the hangar.  "Okay.  Do you see that ship there?" Vona asked.

"The DP20 frigate?  Are you sure it still works?"

"No, but we can hope."

The remaining few troops were loading onto their vehicle.  Vona sat behind a box, and pulled the overly-eager Pát down next to her.

"Wait," she hissed.

There was a sound of the rocket-like engines, and the Troop Transport vehicle was gone.

"Alright.  I doubt they left anybody here.  We're going to the frigate, it's fast, it will hold two people.  Nothing else here will.  Got it?"

"Got it."  Pát touched her shoulder gingerly, took a deep breath, and watched Vona as she slowly stood.

Vona poked her head up over the side and watched for any stormtroopers.  When she found none, she stepped out, blaster at the ready.

The two women ran, crouched, to the frigate.  Usually, there was a crew of ten required.  Hopefully, they could make do with two.

They took their seats and started off.

The frigate was faster than she'd anticipated, and Vona momentarily struggled with her bearings.

They flew back in relative silence, until an alarm started to sound.

Vona quickly used the main computer to diagnose the problem.   "There's a gas leak!"

"You want me to go fix it?"

"Of course!  It's below the latrines."

Pát sat down next to the hatch and removed it.  "I don't want to do this.  It stinks!"

"You're awfully picky for someone who's about to die!"

Pát took a deep breath and wrestled a tool under the latrine, turning off the gas main.  "Happy?"

"Well, I'm alive."

"I'll never get the smell out."

They flew on in silence.  Nothing else went wrong.  They radioed ahead that they'd be coming in a DP20 Frigate, so the Resistance should avoid shooting them down.

As they landed, various pilots and medics ran out.   The human medics helped Pát to the medbay while two droids checked Vona.  She had no injuries besides a bruised wrist from where Pát had caught her.

Jess ran over to her as soon as she was out of the frigate.  "What happened?"

"A complete massacre."

"How many casualties?"

"Nine pilots, probably ninety-nine ground troops.  I think Pát's the only ground troop survivor."

"And Irving?"

Vona shook her head and looked away.

"Oh, Vo!"  Jess wrapped her arms around the breaking girl.

"What about Marc?" Poe asked, walking over.

"All gone.  Except for me.  What a terrible leader I am..."

Jess hugged the stricken pilot, and led her to the command center.

"Why are you taking me here?" Vona tried to turn around, but Jess' strong arms prevented her from moving.

"You need to report what happened to General Organa."  Jess opened the door.

"No!" she tried again to leave.  "I don't want to relive that."

The dark-haired pilot put her hands on Vona's shoulders.  "I know you don't.  But this could help you get vengeance on the First Order."

"How so?"

"The more information we have on them, the more likely we can win."

Vona nodded slowly.  "Okay."

While the two women were in the command center, Poe went to see Pát in the medbay.

She was laying on a cot as med-droids attended the wound.

Poe took a seat next to her bed.  She shuddered as a droid ran a tool around the inside of the impact sight.

He touched her right arm and she noticed him for the first time.  Turning her head, she cracked a small smile, before wincing again.

"Please stay still," a med-droid said.

Pát grunted that she understood, but didn't take her eyes off of Poe.  He reached down and slowly pulled her hand up so he could hold it.  She winced and squeezed it tightly from the pain.

"Miss Ponitá, we will have to reconstruct your arm.  The blaster severed major arteries and nerves, leaving your arm useless."  The med-droid paused for a response.

Poe gave it.  "How long will that take?"

"About six hours.  Though I do not have the ability to feel emotions of disgust, you may want to leave, Captain Dameron.  Miss Ponitá will be under anesthesia."

Poe nodded and let Pát's hand fall back to her side gently.

He left without saying goodbye, but regretted it, realizing it could have been the last time he'd see her alive.