Star Wars: X-Wing I: Rogue Squadron

by Michael A. Stackpole

  “Got it. Armed two. Is that light up there?”

  Wedge slowly nodded. “Be alert. Power to forward shields.” Banking hard starboard he brought the fighter around the final turn before the run to the conduit. Yanking the stick to the left he snap-rolled the X-wing level, then hit the right rudder pedal and started the fighter skidding to the left. Laser bolts exploded against his forward shields.

  He pulled the trigger, sending two proton torpedos sizzling out, but even as he did so he knew they would miss high. As they exploded against the canyon walls beyond the ferrocrete tunnel, Wedge snapped his repulsorlift drives on and bounced his fighter up and out of the canyon. Jamming his throttle full forward, he hauled back on the stick and shot skyward.

  He saw the flashes of two more explosions below him as he rocketed away from Borleias. “Nine, report.”

  “Mine went low. That was a Juggernaut assault vehicle down there providing that fire.”

  “And it looked like they were reinforcing the conduit.”

  “I saw that. I nailed a ferrocrete mixer.”

  Wedge checked his scanners. “We have a squadron of Interceptors headed in our direction.”

  “What do you want to do? I’m good for another run.”

  “Another run would be suicide, Nine, and you don’t have the fuel to play.”

  “Sir, I’m good for another run.”

  Wedge shook his head. “You’re heading home while you can still get there.”

  “No.”

  “That’s an order, Nine, not an invitation to debate.” Wedge could feel Corran’s disappointment. It’s exactly what I felt when Luke ordered me out of the trench on the first Death Star run. “Get clear, Corran. You can’t do any more good back there.”

  Dejection filled Corran’s voice. “As ordered, sir. What are you going to do?”

  “Blowing the conduit is our mission and the others can’t break off to do it.” Wedge Antilles slowly smiled. “What the Imps have set up there will stop almost any pilot. I’m going to remind them that in Rogue Squadron we don’t take just any pilot.”

  35

  Kirtan Loor fussed with the hem of his tunic and adjusted his cap with a tug on the bill. He wanted to feel confident about his recall to Coruscant, but he did not dare allow himself that indulgence. His mission had been the destruction of Rogue Squadron. While half of it had died at Borleias, the other half lived, with Wedge Antilles and Corran Horn still flying. In fact, the unit had amassed a considerable list of kills while it was his to destroy, so he could not imagine Ysanne Isard would be in a pleasant mood.

  He cracked a smile. I cannot imagine her ever being in a good mood.

  The door to her office slid open and Kirtan’s smile died. Isard again wore her scarlet Admiral’s uniform, complete with the black armband on her left arm. Her hair had been drawn back and fastened at the nape of her neck with a black clasp. She gestured invitingly, but the mannerly nature of her greeting only played through her hand. Her mismatched eyes prophesied doom, but he thought it might be deferred instead of immediate.

  “Please, Agent Loor, do come in. I trust the journey from Borleias was not too tiring.”

  He shook his head, doing his best to hide any trace of fatigue. “I apologize for not being here sooner. My original agenda was disrupted, hence the week’s delay in my arrival.”

  “I know about it. Another operation demanded some resources that I had planned to use for your return.” She casually waved away concern over the delay—something Kirtan found mildly annoying since she had caused it and his week on Toprawa. “I trust you spent your time on Toprawa well?”

  “Well?” Toprawa had been a Rebel transfer point for the stolen data about the first Death Star. As punishment for their complicity in the Rebellion, the population saw its world reduced to a pre-industrial state where banthas were the swiftest form of travel and fire was the highest level of energy production available to the native people. Imperial forces lived in gleaming citadels that remained lit like beacons throughout the night, becoming visible monuments to what the people of Toprawa had lost through their perfidy.

  “You studied their suffering, yes?” Her dark brows arrowed together. “You saw what they have become.”

  Kirtan swallowed hard. “I have seen, yes. They are wretched and pathetic.”

  “And you witnessed one of their festivals?”

  He nodded slowly. The “festival” involved a company of stormtroopers driving a cart laden with sacks of grain into the center of a village. To receive the grain the villagers were required to squirm on their bellies, worming their way forward, all the time weeping and wailing lamentations over the Emperor’s death. Food was doled out based on some trooper’s belief in the sincerity of the mourning. Kirtan had no doubt that many of the people had come to believe they truly did regret the Emperor’s death.

  “Those people, Agent Loor, conspired with the Emperor’s murderers. They have learned that their actions have consequences, and they regret their past disloyalty.” Her eyes tightened at the corners. “In their previous arrogance they dared believe the Empire was superfluous and could be replaced. Now they know this is not true. All that is good in their lives comes from the Empire. They have been shown the truth and now live for a chance to be allowed back into our brotherhood.”

  “I saw. I remember.”

  Isard’s harsh expression slackened slightly. “I recall your visual retention rate.”

  Toprawa must have been meant as a lesson in contrition. Kirtan raised his chin slightly, exposing his throat. “Madam Director, I regret deeply not having completed my mission.”

  “You do?” Isard opened her hands and surprise widened her eyes. “How is it you believe you have failed?”

  “You sent me out to destroy Rogue Squadron.” Kirtan’s head twisted slightly to the side. “I have failed to do this.”

  “It is true that Rogue Squadron still exists, though for how much longer is in serious debate. The attack on Borleias hurt them badly. Your report made this quite apparent.” She smiled and Kirtan had to suppress a shudder. “More important than that was the information you provided about General Derricote’s private enterprise on Borleias. You could not have hidden it from me, of course, since it was key to the defense that sent the Rebels away without a victory.”

  Kirtan Loor bowed his head to her. “I am glad you were pleased.” As he looked back up her expression changed again and it did not speak to anything even approximating pleasure on her part. It also missed mild discomfort by a wide margin, turning his mouth into a desert and his stomach into a home for a Sarlacc.

  What did I do? When he swallowed his larynx scraped in his throat as if both were made of stone. What did I fail to do?

  “I had expected something more of you, Agent Loor. Can you imagine what that is?”

  He shook his head. “I cannot.”

  “No, indeed you cannot. And do you know why you cannot?”

  “No.”

  Her hissed words echoed through the nearly empty chamber. “It is because your imagination has atrophied to the point of lifelessness. Recall, if you will, what Gil Bastra thought of you.”

  Kirtan’s face burned. “He felt I relied on my retention of knowledge too much and used it to compensate for a lack of analysis. I remember this, and I have tried to change my ways. I had done an analysis of probable Rebel strategies and I isolated a number of worlds where I felt they would strike after they hit the Hensara system. And I was right, because Borleias was on that list.”

  “And how did you come to be at Borleias?”

  “You sent me there.”

  “I sent you there.” She held her right hand out to her side, then brought the left hand into the same position with a similar gesture. “Therefore you concluded?”

  “That your analysis of Rebel strategy paralleled mine, hence you sent me to Borleias.”

  She brought her hands together, interlacing her fingers. “You began analysis, found what you thought was corr
oboration for it, and then, instead of further testing your analysis and this corroborating evidence, you stopped thinking. Consider the utter absurdity of your conclusion.”

  “What?”

  “Kirtan Loor, are you so simpleminded to assume that if I could predict where the Rebels were going to strike I would send you and you alone to be there and observe their attack? I assure you, I do not think so highly of your martial skills.”

  The Sarlacc in his stomach grew restless and began gnawing its way free of his belly. Borleias should have fallen, and did not only because Derricote had hidden resources available to defend it. If she were able to predict where the Rebels would show up, she would have opposed them with significantly greater force and have struck a solid blow against them.

  “From the beginning, Agent Loor, the difficulty with the Rebellion has been in locating them. Since the Emperor’s death, they have been able to spread out and diversify their bases, making them more difficult to destroy. Your effort against the base at Talasea was commendable—had Admiral Devlia not been stupid, Rogue Squadron might have been eliminated. The importance of that example, however, is to show you the vast problem we have had in finding the Rebels we want to kill.”

  Ysanne Isard clasped her hands at the small of her back. “Borleias is but one of two dozen worlds that provides the Rebels access to the Core worlds and even Imperial Center herself. Defending against those attacks is nearly impossible and utterly ridiculous if one bears in mind that the destruction of the Rebellion is the only way the preservation and restoration of the Empire can take place. This I do have utmost in my mind, and it is this consideration that sent you to Borleias.”

  Kirtan concentrated for a moment. The only thing I did at Borleias was discover Derricote’s covert operation. But if she had known about that previously she would have dealt with him herself. “You sent me to spy on General Derricote?”

  Isard nodded almost mechanically. “He has skills that are useful to me. The fact that he had managed to repair and make operational the old Alderaanian Biotics facility indicated that his skills had not atrophied. After I received your report I sent for him, and left my own people in charge of Borleias. In fact, he is here, now.”

  “My passage was delayed because you used ships meant for me to fetch him away.”

  “Very good, Agent Loor. Your report indicated he had the resources needed to resist a casual invitation. The arrival of a Super Star Destroyer proved enough to convince him to join me here. I have my people safeguarding his operation for him, tightening defenses and the like.”

  His facility is held hostage against his cooperation. Kirtan closed his eyes for a moment, hoping all the confusion and conflicting thoughts in his mind would sort themselves out.

  They did not. He opened his eyes and saw her studying him as a scavenger would study carrion. “Forgive me, Madam Director, but I’ve lost track of your mission for me.”

  “Your mission, Agent Loor, is the same as it has always been—destroy Rogue Squadron. The fact that I choose other missions for you from time to time should not deflect you from your primary duty.”

  “Then you will be sending me back out into the galaxy to pursue them?”

  “No, you will remain here and work with General Derricote.”

  Kirtan opened his mouth and started to ask a question, then closed it. He watched her for a moment, then bowed his head. “As you wish, Madam Director.”

  “No, as it must be.” She turned away from him and faced the windows that looked out over Imperial City. “There is no need to send you in their pursuit. You see, soon enough, they will be here. And when they are it will be quite the welcome you have prepared for them.”

  36

  “Get going, Nine. Defend yourself if you can’t run, but get out of here.” Wedge rolled his fighter to give himself a final look at Corran’s X-wing. “You’ve done good.”

  The other pilot gave him a thumbs-up. “I’ll be waiting for the rest of you to get outbound.”

  “See you then.” Wedge pulled the X-wing back over past vertical and saw the planet descend to fill his canopy. While the four proton torpedoes he and Corran had loosed at the conduit had not destroyed it, the burning ferrocrete mixer did mark the target rather nicely. Knowing surprise had been irrevocably lost, Wedge brought his fighter down in a spiral that put him five kilometers out from the target at just under four klicks altitude.

  As Han once told me, “Stealth and subtlety work well, but for making lasting impressions, a blaster does just fine.” He brought his X-wing around on a heading that paralleled the valley, dropped the nose so it pointed at the fire burning in the distance, and started his dive. I definitely want this to be a lasting impression.

  Green laser bolts from the Juggernaut vehicle lanced up through the night at him. Mynock whined, but Wedge just dropped the fighter below the line of fire, or bounced up above it, constantly forcing the gunners to adjust their sights up and down or side to side. Shooting at a fighter means you have a lot more movement to account for. Very few land vehicles can dance around this much.

  And none of them can do what I have in mind.

  The range-to-target indicator on his console scrolled meters off by the hundreds as he dove in on the conduit. A peace washed over him despite the Imperial fire being directed toward him. He knew he wasn’t slipping into some Jedi trance—as much as he admired Luke he knew he’d never master his friend’s mystical skills. The sense of serenity seemed born of a conviction that he had to succeed in destroying the conduit and, more importantly, a lifetime of experience that told him the forces on the ground couldn’t stop him.

  One kilometer out from the target, Wedge pulled his throttle back and reversed the engine’s thrust. As the Juggernaut’s laser batteries brought their beams together to burn him from the sky, the X-wing dropped like a rock. In virtual freefall, it hurtled down toward the canyon floor. The Juggernaut’s gunners, perhaps believing they had in fact hit the fighter, or perhaps horrified at its uncontrolled descent, stopped shooting.

  Not that it would have mattered. A hundred meters from the ground Wedge clicked in the repulsorlift engines and their whine drowned out Mynock’s terrified scream. The fighter’s fall ended abruptly in a bouncing, bobbing hover barely five meters from the canyon’s sandy floor. Dust billowed up around the X-wing and the lasers in the boxy Juggernaut’s forward turret began to track down. Behind the vehicle, visible in the red and gold light of the burning mixer, stormtroopers and masons began to scatter.

  Running his engines to zero thrust, Wedge ruddered the X-wing’s nose in line with the Juggernaut and pulled the trigger on his flight stick. A single proton torpedo jetted out at the assault vehicle. The coruscating blue energy projectile pierced the Juggernaut’s windscreen. It immolated the cockpit crew and melted its way into the vehicle’s main body. There it detonated, swelling the Juggernaut with energy and rounding out its sharp corners before blasting it apart. Armor shrapnel sprayed throughout the area. It made the X-wing’s shields spark for a moment, but through them Wedge could see the aft end of the vehicle tumble back up and over the conduit to fall on the other side.

  Its burning hulk silhouetted the conduit.

  Wedge thumbed his weapons control over to lasers and pulled the trigger. Using the rudder pedals he rocked the fighter back and forth, peppering construction vehicles and plasteel forms with scarlet energy bolts. Scaffolding collapsed and semifluid ferrocrete oozed from burning forms. Stormtroopers darted back and forth, seeking any cover they could find. He made no attempt to target them specifically—using a starfighter’s weapons to kill an individual was akin to using a lightsaber to trim loose threads from a garment. It would do the job, but there were easier ways that were far more economical.

  He switched back to proton torpedoes and armed two. Focusing his aiming reticle on the ferrocrete pipe, he hit the trigger, then punched power to the repulsorlift drives to vault his ship into the air.

  The paired torpedoes blasted into an
d through the conduit in a shower of sparks. Ten meters beyond the pipe itself they exploded, igniting a rogue star right there in the canyon. The shock wave rocked the fighter. It disintegrated the pipe, shearing it off at both ends, then rolled on with such force that it snuffed the fires burning in the vehicles. The canyon walls shook, starting rocks and dust tumbling down. The explosion’s harsh glare gave Wedge one last glance at the complete destruction of the target zone, then the fireball imploded, plunging the canyon into complete darkness.

  He allowed himself the hint of a smile. “Conduit’s gone. Now we start working on my objective.”

  Wedge punched his throttle full forward and jettisoned his empty fuel pod. “Rogue Leader here. Mission accomplished.”

  “Four here, Lead. All eyeballs blinded, all Rogues are safe. Squints and Rogues inbound your position.” Bror’s voice stopped for a moment. “We’ll be there before they are.”

  “Time to head home, Rogues. Let’s outrun them.” Wedge brought his fighter around on a course that would link up with the other four fighters in the squadron. “Nine is leading the way out and will report trouble.”

  “Negative, Lead.” The anxiety in Nawara’s voice sank like ice through Wedge. “I’ve checked. Nine is nowhere on my forward scan.”

  Angry with himself, Corran considered violating Commander Antilles’s order and shadowing him anyway. That thought survived about as long as Peshk had in the first fight for Blackmoon. He’s right. Your fuel reserves are down. He’s given you a mission, and you’re to complete it. Head out and make sure the run is clear.

  “Whistler, boost my sensors. I want as complete a picture of the theater here as you can give me. Full threat assessments.”

  The astromech droid chirped happily. His first list of fighters showed only three eyeballs left in the dogfight with Rogue Squadron. A full squadron of squints was inbound, but their threat assessments were in decimal points. They were no threat to him, and scant little threat to his squadron mates. While he could not ignore them, there was no reason they would interfere with his run out of the system.