Star Wars: X-Wing VII: Solo Command

by Aaron Allston

  Wedge looked at the general, who nodded, and said, “Wedge Antilles, Commander, New Republic Starfighter Command.”

  “Thank you.”

  The room’s holoprojector activated and a hologram swam into focus in the center of the conference table. It showed Warlord Zsinj against a neutral gray background. “General Kargin and the Hawk-bats, greetings,” the warlord said.

  “It’s a recording,” Solo said. “You’re not compromised.”

  “I have a proposition for you,” the warlord continued. “It’s my hope that you’re still stationed out of the Halmad system, because if you are, I can offer you a considerable sum to join me on a sort of impromptu exercise. If you’re available, please transit immediately to the Selaggis system—practically your next-door neighbor. However, our window of opportunity is very narrow—in a very few hours from this message’s time stamp, it will close. I hope to see you soon.” With a confident smile, the warlord closed down the transmission and his holo image faded.

  “Notsil was telling the truth,” Solo said. “Zsinj is trapped at Selaggis.” His expression transformed from tiredness and premature age to his familiar cocky appearance.

  “And he’s desperate for troops,” Face said. “He’s calling in the Hawk-bats and probably every pirate he’s dealt with within a few light-years. We’ve got him.”

  “Do you want to go in as the Hawk-bats?” Solo asked.

  Face shook his head. “We’d have to put on the makeup, repaint some of the interceptors. Call it half an hour to an hour’s delay. And all it would get us is proximity to Iron Fist in a half dozen TIEs.”

  “Where do I know the name Selaggis from?” Wedge asked.

  “Another Zsinj strike zone,” Solo said. “One of the first I looked at after I assumed command of this task force. One of the moons of Selaggis Six was colonized. I guess Zsinj decided to make a lesson of someone colonizing on his border without his permission. Iron Fist wiped out the whole colony. I think it would be very appropriate if he were wiped out in the same system.”

  “Right.”

  “Get back to your squadrons,” Solo said. “We’ll jump immediately.” He raced from the room, showing haste inappropriate for a general.

  Wedge and Face headed back for their hangar at a trot. “Shalla is going to be so relieved,” Face said.

  “How so?”

  “Her assault on Netbers back in the Saffalore complex. She’s been beating herself up for a while, wondering whether she should have risked all our lives to keep the Wraith Squadron/Hawk-bats link a secret. Now she gets to know she was right.”

  16

  “Second Death is on station,” announced Iron Fist’s communications officer.

  “Very well,” Zsinj said.

  “Sir.”

  Zsinj turned at the sound of Vellar’s voice. “Captain. What is it? You’re almost smiling.”

  Vellar did in fact smile. “I got through to the Chains of Justice. Group Three had not yet entered hyperspace at Vahaba. The entire Group Three is en route to us now.”

  Zsinj beamed at him. “We might not only survive—we may have just won this engagement, Captain. Thank you.”

  Mon Remonda and the New Republic fleet dropped out of hyperspace well within the Selaggis system.

  “Contact,” announced the sensor operator. “Multiple contacts moving well ahead of us. Their course takes them toward Selaggis Six.”

  “Show me,” Solo said.

  The holoimage brought up to hang before Solo’s chair jerked and flickered, the result of the extreme visual enhancement needed to offer any detail at this range. It showed a gradually lengthening line of ships headed toward a distinct yellow-orange world. The closest ships, those at the rear of the formation, were two Star Destroyers—one Imperial, one Victory—and a smaller vessel. Like Carrack-class cruisers, the small ship looked like a thick bar with thickened areas fore and aft, but Solo recognized it as a Lancer-class frigate. Smaller than Carracks, the Lancers were configured to repel starfighter squadrons. Stretching out ahead of these vessels were two Dreadnaughts and, in front, a smaller craft that would have been difficult to identify if seen from an above angle, where it would look like a simple triangle. But Mon Remonda’s position was slightly below the flight path of the outbound ships, and from this perspective Solo could see the teardrop-shaped command pod hanging from the bow, the boxy starfighter bay depending from the stern. It was a Quasar Fire-class starfighter transport. Solo had one in his own fleet.

  Solo ran the numbers through his head. It was a habit he’d gotten into as a general; the Corellian habit of ignoring odds until one crashed right into them was inappropriate for an officer who had lives depending on his decisions.

  “If they join up with Iron Fist, they will outgun us,” Captain Onoma said, confirming Solo’s calculations.

  “But not by an impossible amount,” Solo said. “We’ll just have to be better than they are.”

  The world the enemy forces approached, Solo knew, was a gas giant, a beautiful yellow-orange thing whose atmosphere was characterized by constant storm activity. The storms unceasingly changed the planet’s patterns of swirls and lines of color, so that each new day offered variations in the worldscape. It must have been an ever-changing work of art for the colonists on one of the world’s moons. Selaggis Six also had a heavy debris ring thought to have been another moon at one time.

  Solo nodded. “Selaggis Six is the perfect place for Zsinj to make a stand. He can use the terrain to his advantage. An asteroid ring to hide in, a planetary atmosphere he might even be able to bring Iron Fist into for cover. That’s our destination, Captain. Follow that group.”

  • • •

  Leaving Tonin behind, Lara stepped out of the turbolift onto a deck of Iron Fist that wasn’t supposed to exist.

  She’d only seen it through holocam recordings taken by utility droids. It didn’t seem quite as cavernous from a human perspective.

  Ahead was a long, dimly lit corridor. To the right was a bank of viewports showing more brightly lit chambers.

  The first chamber she passed was the one she thought of as the zoo. In it were a couple of monitoring consoles and an entire wall of metal and transparisteel cages, stacked three high, the upper ones accessed by a sort of portable turbolift—a metal floor in an open-air upright frame. Most of the cages still seemed to be full. Two human men were seated at a desk, one typing away on a large terminal. Neither noticed Lara. She wasn’t surprised; inside the more brightly lit room, the transparisteel of the viewport would be very reflective. If they did see her, all they’d see was a naval officer walking at a slow, measured rate.

  It was making her crazy, having to pace herself now that she was within sight of humans and holocams again—though Tonin’s measures should have rendered those holocams ineffective. She wanted to dash down to the end and do her business. But she couldn’t afford to attract attention, not now.

  The next chamber was a surgical theater. The operating table featured an inordinate number of straps and fasteners of varying sizes. There were also injectors on robot arms, monitor screens, tools she couldn’t recognize. She suppressed a shudder.

  Then, the office. Within it, another two men, medical technicians. One looked up as she passed, squinted, and shaded his eyes to see her through the partial reflection.

  She rounded the turn to the right and punched the combination Tonin had given her into the door keypad there. The door slid open.

  The two technicians, dark-haired men of ordinary appearance, their features so similar they were probably brothers, glanced at one another and their expressions brightened. “A new liaison officer?” asked one.

  “That’s right.” Lara entered and shut the door.

  “Would you please—” said the first.

  “Please please please,” said the second.

  “Tell us what’s going on with the ship?”

  “We were in a battle, weren’t we?” said the second. “I could feel the vibrations even
down here.”

  “I felt them first.”

  Lara looked between them. “You two, and the men in the containment chamber, are the most vomitously despicable creatures I think I’ve ever met.”

  The two men looked at one another. “You haven’t even gotten to know us yet,” said the first.

  From where she’d tucked it into her belt at her back, she drew her blaster. Both men flinched. “Take me to the containment chamber,” she said. “Or I’ll kill you.”

  In moments she was in the largest chamber, four prisoners standing splayed against one blank wall, while she examined the cages at ground level.

  Inside the nearest was an Ewok. “Do you understand Basic?” she asked.

  It nodded, its motion quick and very human. Its eyes looked like those of an Ewok but possessed an understanding that was unsettling.

  “I’m going to free you and get you off this ship. So you can go home or live where you please. Would you like that?”

  It nodded.

  One of the medics said, “Zsinj will kill you for this.”

  “No, he’s going to kill me for several other things.” The lock on the cage was simple, mechanical; she lifted it and the Ewok emerged. The creature looked at the medics and uttered a low, rolling growl.

  Then, to Lara’s discomfiture, it spoke, its voice rising and falling in a singsong that did not belong to any Basic dialect she’d ever heard. “I will kill them.”

  “No,” she said. “You will go to each cage. Ask each prisoner if it will refrain from attacking me if it is freed. Tell it that I will get them all off this ship. Then free the ones who agree.”

  The Ewok looked up at her, so obviously considering her command and his other options that Lara could almost see a strategic program running behind his eyes. Then he shrugged like a human and moved to the next cage.

  Out the forward viewport, Zsinj could see little but tumbling asteroids and brilliant flashes of light as Iron Fist’s forward guns blasted the largest of them.

  The communications officer said, “The shuttles report our explosives packages being planted on schedule.”

  “Good.”

  “And Chains of Justice reports sensor contact with Solo’s fleet, sir.”

  “Very well.”

  “And we have a report from the chief engineer.”

  “Hold on.” Zsinj stepped back to his hologram pod in the security foyer directly behind the bridge. “Send it to me here.”

  The face and torso of the chief engineer, whose light build and scrupulous cleanliness belied his profession, swam into focus in the air. “Sir, we’ve identified the trouble. The engineering compartments are swarming with, well, saboteur droids.”

  Zsinj gave him a look to suggest the man shouldn’t make jokes. “Would you like to try again?”

  “Standard MSE-6 utility droids, sir. They’ve gone mad or been reprogrammed. With their internal tools, they’re opening access hatches, chewing their way into wire clusters, sending false data, dragging chips out of their housings. All in the hyperdrive systems.”

  The absurdity of what the man was saying hit Zsinj and he almost snorted. “And what are you doing about this?”

  “We’re, uh, kicking the things to pieces with our boots, Warlord. Between the primary and redundant systems, we’re restoring the system to functionality. But when we jump, we’ll need to make it a careful one; there won’t be any backup systems in case of component failure.”

  “Understood. How long?”

  “Pessimistically, an hour. Optimistically, somewhat less. I don’t know how much less.”

  “As much less as possible, if you please. Out.” The image faded.

  Zsinj turned to Melvar. “Very clever. I wish our analysts had anticipated such an approach to sabotage. We need thinkers like her in my organization, General.”

  “Are we not going to kill her, then?”

  “I said thinkers like her. But loyal ones. Her fate will serve to reinforce that loyalty.”

  The starfighters of Solo’s fleet finished forming up, then broke off by task.

  Wedge’s task force included four X-wing squadrons, one A-wing, and the Wraiths. They turned toward Selaggis Six and leaped forward, drifting a little out from the path taken by Zsinj’s group, their intent to pass it by and reach the planet first. Other groups of starfighters would head straight for the Star Destroyers at the rear of the formation, hoping to get some early licks in, while still others remained on station with Solo’s fleet as a defensive screen.

  “Group, this is Leader. When we reach the ring, we’ll break by squads to our assigned task. Rogue and Wraith Squadrons will head counter-spinward and spread out the width of the ring for reconnaissance. Corsair and High Flight Squadrons will do the same spin ward. Polearm and Shadow Squadrons will break by wingpairs and do recon runs on the moons. First pilot to spot Iron Fist gets an extra three-day leave.”

  Iron Fist’s communications officer announced, “Chains of Justice reports starfighter launch and deployment from Mon Remonda. X-wings incoming. Y-wings remaining behind as a screen.”

  Zsinj smiled. “Launch all our squadrons, except the One Eighty-first and the experimentals.” He turned to Melvar. “While they send their fastest fighters looking for us, we can concentrate ours on them. Mon Remonda is in for the beating she deserves.”

  • • •

  “Incoming starfighter squadrons from Selaggis Six,” the sensor operator said.

  Solo nodded. “Bring the Y-wings up front. Let them think that’s all we have. Array the rest behind Mon Remonda.” He had four squadrons of Y-wings, two each from Mon Karren and Mon Delindo, plus two more Y-wing squadrons and a Cloakshape squad off the Battle Dog.

  The Y-wings were good at hammering large targets, and rugged enough to sustain a lot of damage from enemy starfighters. But they weren’t fast or nimble enough to keep TIE fighters from bypassing them and hitting a target like Mon Remonda.

  However, the last ship in Solo’s formation, the Imperial Star Destroyer Skyhook, after its capture from the Empire, never had its complement of Imperial fighters replaced by the New Republic’s ubiquitous Y-wings. Instead, it retained its original complement of six TIE fighter squadrons, crewed mostly by former Imperial pilots who’d joined the Alliance over the years.

  The approaching force, nine squadrons of TIE fighters and interceptors, came on in a spread pattern toward Mon Remonda, ignoring the other ships in Solo’s group. Several kilometers out from Mon Remonda, as they reached maximum firing range from the Y-wing squadrons, they opened up with a salvo of lasers, then broke around the Y-wing force in four groups, leaving the slower New Republic starfighters to turn awkwardly in their wake.

  “Open mass fire,” Solo said. “Forward guns only. Prepare to drop them at my command. Bring up the TIEs.”

  The cruiser’s forward turbolaser batteries and ion cannons flashed into life, and Solo could feel vibrations in the heels of his boots as wave after wave of destructive energy poured out toward the enemy. On his sensor board, the cluster of TIEs waiting to Mon Remonda’s stern, colored blue to indicate their friendly status, suddenly leaped into motion, half moving up over the cruiser, half under her hull.

  Off the cruiser’s bow, the incoming TIEs began reaching effective fire range. The cruiser throbbed and vibrated as her shields absorbed concentrated laser fire from a hundred starfighters.

  The friendly TIEs reached Mon Remonda’s midway point. Solo said, “Cease mass fire. Begin individual defensive fire by sensor only—with friendly TIEs out there, they can’t rely on visuals. Good luck to the pilots.” Then, all he could do was wait and watch.

  He saw a collective waver along the line of enemy TIEs as their pilots, momentarily freed from the distraction of the turbolaser barrage, recognized that the incoming TIEs were not friendly. Some looped back the way they’d come. Two red dots vanished instantly, destroyed by incoming fire from the pursuing Y-wings. Then the clouds of red and blue targets became hopelessly intermixed.r />
  The turbolasers opened up again, their fire more intermittent, their gunners firing more discriminately now that friendly and enemy forces were in such close proximity.

  Far ahead, Solo’s X-wing reconnaissance squadrons should be reaching the ring of Selaggis Six about now. “Come on, guys,” he breathed. “Get me what I need, fast.”

  “Group Leader, this is Polearm One. I have the Iron Fist.” Captain Todra Mayn, once of Commenor, now a Starfleet Command lifer, had only to glance out her port viewport to see the mighty vessel. “I’m flying parallel to the center of the interior rim of the debris ring. Iron Fist is about forty kilometers deep in the ring. She seems to be blasting herself a channel parallel to the edge. It’s the turbolaser flashes that let me spot her.”

  “Polearm One, Group Leader. Good work. Stay in position and we’ll form up on you.”

  Iron Fist didn’t alter course in the minutes it took Wedge to form up his group of six squadrons. “Group, Leader. Any guesses as to her intent?”

  “Leader, this is Shadow One. This sort of ring includes particles much finer and closer than we see in normal asteroid fields. Most of them won’t worry a shielded Star Destroyer. But even finger-sized bits can wreck an X-wing at high speeds. I think he’s giving himself a second set of shields here.”

  “Good point,” Wedge said. “But space around the larger asteroids should be a little clearer—their gravity will have drawn in some of the proximate particles. We’ll take it slow going in and move from asteroid to asteroid until we’re close, an island-hopping approach. Break by squads, each squad choosing its own approach.” He suited action to words by heeling over to starboard, descending relative to Iron Fist’s orientation, along the inner rim of the debris field. Rogue Squadron formed up behind him.

  Entering the debris field was like flying into an odd sandstorm. The asteroid debris was mostly small, and was sufficiently well spaced so that only the larger asteroids interfered with vision. But every few seconds, forward shields would light up with the impact from a tiny asteroid, or Wedge would hear a metallic clank as something hit his hull. His diagnostics continued to register full atmospheric pressure, though.