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The dark emptiness of space spun lazily outside the Gorgons docking bay, tempting Mark to re-think his decision and pilot one of the training exercises few star fighters. As it was he would be piloting one of the AT-ST's, affectionately referred to as "chicken walkers" by their pilots, assigned to the mission. A much better job, in his mind, then fighting in the infantry. It wasn't that Mark was afraid, or unable to be an infantry officer. It was that it seemed such a crude, almost primitive, way to fight. This was much more elegant and, to the TIE/in pilot, was the only way to fight on the ground.

"Alright laddie," His squadron commander sat in the co-pilots seat next to him. Mark was to train along side the commander personally, which meant he would be operating the slightly older mans AT-ST. "This craft has been modified from what you've likely run in the simulators. After the last Endor incident, all AT-ST's have been modified to have greater mobility. The last thing we want is to be bollixed up by our own feet." The Endor incident. That's what the AT-ST pilots had come to call the embarrassment that was the battle for Endor, the one when they had lost the Death Star. "Now move us up and get us into line for the transports."

Mark nodded and began the start-up sequence for the walker. It was a little like the pre-flight checks for his own Interceptor, and the ground crews bustling around the walker to make sure it was combat ready almost made it feel like home. A few things, mostly to do with locomotion, were just different enough to put him out of place. Slowly the walker trundled forward to the head of a small group of three other walkers and took its place in the line. His would be the first Walker loaded on the transport and his would also be one of the walkers in the first wave. Which likely meant his would be one of the first to "die".

Mark hated being first.