Alicia had left behind not only her own extended family, but also her little three-year-old boy and her asshole of a husband, Frank Deal--an abuser that she had been paired up with by her father well after our breakup and right after her graduation from college. It seems the Deal family, with an extended family base primarily in the Savannah area, was very prominent in business and politics in Georgia; and Daddy had wanted Alicia to marry someone well-connected. Frank had turned out to be less-well-connected than expected--even his own family came close to disowning him--unless one was referring to his connecting to Alicia with a right hook or left jab; the asshole. Yeah, Alicia had left all that behind all right.Well ... and me, of course; she had left me behind as well. I had never lost my deep emotional attachment to Alicia. My thoughts of 'what if' would often intrude whenever I got depressed over the way my life with Francine and the girls had turned out.Just then, my worst fear. The political ideologies involved interested them not at all.Dromo leaned forward and said to me, "I read somewhere that some military philosopher once said 'Ours is not to reason why. Ours is but to do or die.'" That certainly fits us, doesn't it?" I said sarcastically. "We've done a lot of dying."Dromo's reply was cut off by the clanging, klaxon sound of the general quarters alarm."Red alert! Red alert! Dimok attack. All pilots to your ships. All hands to battle stations. Briefing in the hangar. Red alert!" That didn't take long," I said, taking one last gulp.Dromo and I and all the other pilots piled through the doors in a mad scramble to get to our TIEs. The alarm clanged loudly in our ears, the red lights flashing. We lumbered down stairwells and through passageways, almost like a herd of Tatooine Banthas in a stampede in our relentless drive toward the hangars.Finally, the mob dispersed as we entered the hangar, each pilot dashing off to his own TIE. I spotted Admiral Haarkov.
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