And allowed him to act.
He slapped his throttle down to zero, which stopped the port engines from pushing him around in a flat spin. Using the etheric rudder he managed to counter the spin. He got himself oriented, with the gas giant below him and the dogfight above, then keyed his comm device.
“Nine is hit, two engines gone. I have power, so if you bring someone in front of me, I’ll shoot them.”
No one acknowledged his call, but he knew all of them had more important things to do. As do I.
“Whistler, are you okay back there?”
The droid blatted harshly.
“No, I didn’t think they would have gotten you. Keep me informed if I have more missiles coming. I’m shifting power to shields now.” A glance at his monitors showed the shields greening up nicely, which meant he could survive two or three more runs by a squint before it took him down. It wasn’t much, but it was much better than being dead outright.
He reached beneath his command chair and pulled out a small metal box. He unlatched it and, from a compartment built into the lid, pulled out a thick duraplast panel. He brushed away the last traces of transparisteel from the broken panel, then slid the duraplast panel into place. It rattled around a bit, but a tube of sealant from the same kit provided a bead of foam that hardened to hold the panel in place.
Corran closed the box and returned it to its place beneath the seat. I don’t think those repairs were ever supposed to be managed in combat, but I’ve got nothing else to do at the moment. The duraplast panel was nowhere near as strong as the transparisteel one it replaced, but it was only meant to hold a single atmosphere in and make the cockpit airtight. It would never deal with laserfire as well as the transparisteel would, but having atmosphere and heat was an immediate concern for Corran.
“Whistler, give me more atmosphere and push the heat.”
When life-support indicators rose enough, Corran turned off the magcon device. Heat hit him solidly, but a shiver ran through his body anyway. “Two engines gone, I’m dead.”
Whistler’s keening tone sliced through his self-pity.
Corran glanced at his monitor and smiled. “You’re right, I still have torps and some lasers. Might be dead, but I can also be a nasty corpse. Get me a readout on the battle.”
The data dump Whistler provided stunned Corran. Three Flight had faced thirty-six TIEs, but that number had already been pared down to twenty-one. Corran had three confirmed kills. The same went for Ooryl and Inyri had four. Asyr had accounted for five and even as he studied the data, another one was toted up as a kill.
Corran ruddered the X-wing around to find her. Her X-wing flashed through the dogfight with a pair of TIEs hot on her tail. She had the X-wing dancing up and down and side to side, letting their lasers slash green bolts wide. In the distance some of the bolts hit other TIEs, and somewhere along her line of flight an eyeball or dupe would catch her quad laserfire. Asyr was flying as he’d never seen her fly before.
Asyr’s X-wing broke hard to port, then immediately rolled up onto its starboard S-foil and cut back along the way it had come. A roll back to port brought her ship back on the tails of the TIEs that had been following her and managed to overshoot her as she pulled the tight turns. A quartet of red laser bolts burned through one eyeball, letting loose a seething golden cloud of energy that devoured the ship.
A little rudder reoriented her ship and let her blast her second TIE. The shots evaporated the fighter’s starboard solar panel. It began a roll that took it high and out toward the gas giant. Asyr made no attempt to follow it or fire again. She rolled right and started a climb right back into the fight.
Which was when her X-wing collided with a dupe. At the speeds the two ships were traveling, there was no chance for avoidance. The shields in front of the X-wing sparked as they hit the dupe first, crumpling the starboard solar panel. They drove it back against the ball cockpit, and shattered the transparisteel viewport. At that point the X-wing’s forward shield flashed opaquely, then imploded.
The X-wing’s nose stabbed into the dupe’s cockpit and lodged deeply. The slender fighter’s nose snapped off about a meter in front of the cockpit. Unspent proton torpedoes spilled out as the aft end of the fighter tumbled up and away from the Bomber. The broken Imp craft continued its flight toward the gas giant, while the remains of Asyr’s rapidly disintegrating X-wing launched themselves up and away from the planet.
“Asyr, do you copy?” Corran dialed up the gain on his comm unit. “Asyr, repeat, do you copy?”
He got no reply from her, but another message blared loud through his comm channel. “Rogues, Interloper and Stranger squadrons are friendlies. Don’t make us defend ourselves.”
“What in the shadows of Coruscant?” Corran looked down at his main monitor. It showed a dozen new contacts, which appeared as red specs on his monitor, indicating they were using Imperial ID codes. He selected one of them as a target and an image of the ship presented itself on his screen.
The fighter had a TIE’s ball cockpit and an Interceptor’s canted wings, but all in a very unusual configuration. The wings had been turned so they canted out, not in as they did on the Interceptor. There were also three of the wings, one mounted above the cockpit and the other two at angles that allowed them to cover low port and starboard. More important, the sensors indicated the ships were sporting shields and had enough power output to support hyperspace drives.
Whoever the new arrivals were, they fell on the remains of Krennel’s pilots with a vengeance. Three Flight had all but evened the odds for the new fighters, which Corran choose to designate as “trips” for their triple wings. The trips let off a volley of proton torpedoes that savaged the remaining Bombers, then they swooped in on the eyeballs. Quad bursts of green lasers melted TIEs ruthlessly. Within five minutes of their intervention, the trips had destroyed all of Krennel’s forces.
Rogue Squadron regrouped on the exit vector, with Corran’s ship limping along. Wedge’s voice filled the comm channel. “I appreciate the fact that you saved us, and I’m willing to accompany you out of here. I even understand the need for comm silence, but I can’t leave without seeing to the pilots who are extra-vehicular.”
“General Antilles, I understand your protest and have logged it.” Colonel Vessery, the commander of what had been identified as two squadrons of TIE Defenders, spoke in strong, even tones. “We’ve made runs looking for survivors, but we find no traces. We have to leave now. Krennel will be sending reinforcements and you’re in no shape to survive another fight.”
The comm channel remained dead for a moment, then Wedge replied, his voice weary. “You’re right. It’s just…”
“I know, General. It’s always been said you were an honorable man.” Vessery’s voice carried compassion with it. “Eight and Twelve, if you will tractor your charges, we can head home.”
A little shudder ran through Corran’s fighter. A Defender latched on to his ship with a tractor beam and would accelerate him to the appropriate speed to make the jump to lightspeed. On only two engines Corran’s ship wouldn’t have made it, though those engines were enough to power his hyperdrive. He slaved his navigation to that of Interloper Eight.
It’s just as well. I don’t think I want to be flying right now. He sat back and shivered. Three Flight had lost Asyr, but the rest of the squadron lost three other pilots. Khe-Jeen Slee had been the first to die, followed by Lyyr Zatoq and then Wes Janson. Corran had a hard time believing Janson was dead, but a concussion missile had blown the back off his fighter and left his body floating in space. All three of the pilots had been people he thought of as friends, but already his memories of them were beginning to fade.
Corran punched up One Flight’s tactical channel. “Lead, is it safe to be going with these guys?”
“I don’t know, Nine. They invited us to travel, but they could compel it, too.” Wedge sighed. “Still, they came along at the right time to keep us alive. Whoever they work for doesn’t want us dead.�
�
“Yet.”
“Good point, Nine.” Wedge grunted a chuckle out. “Let’s hope we’re in better shape to deal with them when they change their minds.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel reveled in the pain evident on Mon Mothma’s face. The New Republic’s leader stood only a meter and a half tall in holo and was being rebroad-cast to him by Isard, but he could still see how much the woman ached as she spoke. The interviewing journalist’s question had clearly caught her off guard, but the answer she gave spoke to her quick wits and the depth of her personal knowledge.
“The question asked was if the rumors of the destruction of Rogue Squadron in the Hegemony theater are correct. As you know, we are prosecuting a war against Delak Krennel and his Hegemony and any comments about ongoing operations stand to jeopardize personnel involved in those operations. I’m certain that none of us here would like to cost the brave men and women of Rogue Squadron their lives, nor put into jeopardy the lives of anyone supporting them in their missions.
“Warfare, as all of us know, is seldom a clean business with crisp, clear results. Rogue Squadron and its leader, General Antilles, are well aware of this fact. Pending further investigation all I am willing to say is that Rogue Squadron was involved in a mission that resulted in an unforeseen set of circumstances. I know you all hope for the best for these brave fighters, and we will provide updates as information is forthcoming.”
Mon Mothma’s figure froze and the holocam on the other side of the connection panned up to frame Isard’s head and shoulders. “There you have it, Prince-Admiral. Rogue Squadron is no more.”
Krennel nodded slowly. Two days previously Isard had given him word that Rogue Squadron was about to fall into her trap. Information from Corvis Minor had indicated that there was an engagement and no word was received from the Hegemony fighter wing that had been hidden in the Distna area to spring the trap. Observers on the Aspiration had little to report and only after Krennel insisted had they sent a shuttle out to the area of the battle. The shuttle found virtually nothing in the way of debris and the Aspiration did report, well after the fact, that another Imperial Star Destroyer had visited the battleground before they sent their shuttle out. The Captain said he had assumed the Star Destroyer was one of Krennel’s on a mission connected with the ambush, so he had done nothing to hail it or interfere with it.
“So, Isard, you do not find it disturbing that we have heard nothing from the fighters you had stationed at Distna?”
The slender woman stroked her sharp chin with a hand, then trailed her fingers down her throat. “A matter of concern, yes. Their silence, and the fact we could find no trace of any ships at the ambush site, means the mystery Destroyer likely scooped up whatever there was left over. What I find intriguing about that is very simple: Aside from the New Republic, the only people running around with Imperial Star Destroyers are other warlords, a pirate or two, and Booster Terrik. Terrik has a son-in-law in the squadron. Since no other warlord or pirate has claimed to have smashed Rogue Squadron, I assume Terrik did the recovery. Anything he learned he would have passed to the New Republic. Since the Rogues faced a foe that outnumbered them six to one, the survival of any of the Rogues would have been broadcast immediately.”
“So you are suggesting that no news from the New Republic indicates that your ambush was wholly successful?”
“I think that conclusion is warranted.”
“What of the pilots of ours who survived?”
Isard shrugged. “I would guess there were fewer survivors than either of us would care to imagine. While your Hegemony troops have heart and a desire to protect their homeworlds, their level of training is hardly up to Imperial standards. Those who did survive probably found themselves under the guns of the Errant Venture and chose to surrender. Terrik probably promised them freedom and money in return for their ships and stories.”
“When you find them, have them slain.” Krennel rose from the command chair in his ready room on the Reckoning and stared out the viewport at the black expanse studded with a rainbow of stars. “The loss of six squadrons of fighters is annoying, even if they did destroy Rogue Squadron. Replacing them will not be easy.”
“Your fighters, or Rogue Squadron?”
“My fighters.”
Isard smiled. “Actually, you will find that replacing them might not be so difficult. Thrawn showed that the New Republic was not invulnerable, and you are proving that they are not as mighty as once had been believed. We have already begun to get inquiries—careful, guarded inquiries—from a variety of groups who realize the Empire is waning and cannot bring themselves to support the warlords. Your battle against the New Republic seems to them to be the last chance to preserve life as they knew it.”
Krennel’s head came up. “Have you had word from Pellaeon?”
“None, my lord, but he will come around. Soon. After your victory.”
“Indeed, after my victory.” Krennel chuckled. “I expect you to keep digging into the New Republic’s affairs and determine if Rogue Squadron is truly gone or not.”
“I shall, Prince-Admiral.” Isard nodded slowly. “I suspect, however, what you accomplish now will occupy more of their time and consideration.”
“It shall.” Krennel waved a hand dismissively at her. “Krennel out.”
Isard’s image faded, but not before a momentary flash of anger arced through her eyes. Krennel knew that dismissing her would anger her, but he wanted her distracted. When she came to him originally, she said her agenda was the destruction of Rogue Squadron. That had been accomplished, which left her needing a new goal. He expected it would be supplanting him. Knowing that, he wanted her to be angry enough to plan a vicious downfall for him—which he would prevent by eliminating her the moment she outlived her usefulness.
Krennel did have to admit she had been very useful. Isard had an understanding of politics that he did not possess. The idea of negotiating with the homeless pacifists of Alderaan had been enough to turn his stomach, but the pressure they put on the New Republic when the world he said he had been intending to give turned out to be Liinade III had been terrific. A variety of sources suggested that a second series of attacks had been delayed by the internecine squabbling within the Provisional Council.
Likewise her handling of the Pulsar Station controversy had been masterful. It sowed distrust between the government and the people. The loss of Rogue Squadron—and Krennel had no doubt that the journalist who asked the question about them was on Isard’s payroll—would further undermine the New Republic’s war effort. Isard had been very effective in fighting the New Republic on the political front.
War may be seen by some as political action carried to the extreme, but I know there is a difference. Krennel turned to watch the Interdictor Cruiser Binder drift up alongside his Imperial Star Destroyer Reckoning. Warfare is a different beast, where power is displayed in its raw and naked form and there is no running or hiding from it. In politics one seeks to bend another to his will. In war the object is to shatter another completely, so neither he nor his will offers further resistance.
“Warfare is what I do best.” Krennel pulled a comlink from his pocket. “Communications, get me Captain Phulik of the Binder.”
“As ordered, Prince-Admiral.”
Phulik’s holograph flashed to life. “At your service, Prince-Admiral.”
Krennel looked down at the image of the portly man. “It is time for you to power up your gravity wells, Captain Phulik. Your gunners will concentrate on vectors five and six. We will cover the rest.”
“Gunnery solutions are already locked in, Prince-Admiral. My people await your command to fire.” Phulik looked off cam for a moment. “Gravity wells coming up, now.”
A slight tremor ran through the Reckoning as the Interdictor’s gravity wells powered up. Their power was sufficient to momentarily override the inertial compensators built into the larger ship. With all four gravity wells online,
the Binder now projected a hyperspace mass shadow roughly equivalent to a good-sized planet. Any ships moving through hyperspace in the area would automatically revert to realspace, since the alternative was to smash into whatever was creating the shadow.
Interdictor cruisers often accompanied larger ships on missions because they prevented enemy ships from escaping into hyperspace. Any course laid through hyperspace had to avoid gravitic anomalies, so transit routes were plotted out with precision and, depending upon where bodies were in their orbits around a star, a system could be wide open, or only have a narrowly defined route through it. The advantages of flying through or near systems came if a ship suffered damage, since out in deep space the chance of being rescued was slender. An Interdictor’s presence in a system changed the system profile, requiring new escape routes to be plotted and ships to head far enough away from the Interdictor to escape its gravity well and make it into hyperspace.
Krennel was not interested in the escape of ships in the system, but with the transit through it. The routes that connected Liinade III with worlds outside the Hegemony were few in number. The system in which he waited sat astride one of the routes and didn’t even rate a name: Imperial surveyors had only designated it M2934738. While it did not provide the most direct path from the New Republic to Liinade III, it did allow for a quicker transit than many of the other routes.
The only problem the New Republic had with taking Liinade III was in supplying it and the troops on it. Even before hostilities had ceased, New Republic supply ships began ferrying in a variety of necessities, from medicine to munitions, spare parts to food. The New Republic clearly intended to use Liinade III as a staging area for further operations in the Hegemony, so the buildup continued.
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