They called him the Saturday Night
Trooper, the Sequined Sargeant, the Disco Commando. They teased every
time they raided a rebel outpost, saying his sparkling helmet would
attract blaster fire, that his three piece suit offered no
protection. He gave the usual replies, that a blaster clipped right
through armor and maybe being lasers, the beam might be deflected by
the sequins and glitter. His dancing skills and fancy footwork
certainly helped him dodge his share of heavy enemy fire, and no one
could argue that his sense of style often put him front and center of
any post-battle victory photos. In truth, he didn't mind the friendly
ribbing, but when a disco convention on Coruscant saved him from the
first Death Star explosion, and suspension without pay for countless
uniform violations spared him from the second he found he could no
longer stomach the jokes about “Stayin' Alive.”
- Originally sent to B. Nowell from Newport News, Virginia
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