by Jason Fry
And there would be TIE fighters providing air cover.
One thing puzzled Finn, however: A dozen huge First Order transports were descending in perfect formation. That didn’t match any procedure he was familiar with—and after a moment he saw that they were lowering a massive cylinder. It touched down and a moment later Finn could feel the ground shake.
He cranked up the magnification on the scope and shook his head when he saw what they had delivered.
“A battering-ram cannon,” he reported grimly. “Miniaturized Death Star tech. It’ll crack this door open like an egg.”
That was it, then—the instrument of their doom.
“There has to be a back way out of here, right?” Rose asked.
BB-8 rolled up to them, beeping. C-3PO tottered along in the eager astromech’s wake. All eyes turned to the droids with whatever hope could be mustered.
Behind the two droids, Finn saw the glowing eyes of more crystal foxes. The creatures had gotten over their fear of the Resistance members and seemed curious about them, though they remained easily spooked.
“Beebee-Ate has analyzed the mine schematics,” C-3PO said. “This is the only way in or out.”
Another impact rattled the control room as the First Order continued testing the strength of the massive door. The faces around him were bleak with despair—even Poe’s.
Finn shook his head. He hadn’t come this far just to let the First Order win. And he knew none of the rest of them had, either. They just needed to remember that.
“We have allies,” he said. “People believe in Leia. They’ll get our message. They’ll come. But we have to buy time.”
“Time for what?” a pilot asked in despair.
“For help to come,” Finn said. “For Rey to return with Skywalker, for Leia to figure out a plan, for the First Order to mess up, for a miracle. What are we going to do, not fight? We have to take out that cannon.”
Poe nodded, smiling at Finn. And Rose grinned.
“You said the magic word,” she said.
“What? Fight?” Finn asked.
She shook her head and gave him another smile—one with real affection. Her eyes, he saw, were wet. “We.”
“Load up,” Poe said. “Let’s do it.”
* * *
—
The ski speeder hangar became an assembly line, with Rose and several other newly minted technicians directing astromechs to check each craft’s systems and make a determination: ready to fly, needs repairs, cannibalize for parts.
No ski speeder fell into the first category, but with a little creative thinking and hasty tinkering Rose and the techs were able to get thirteen ships primed and powered, even amid the rhythmic booms of impacts on the shield door and reports that the First Order had landed tug walkers and started dragging their siege cannon across the salt plains.
The ski speeders had begun their existence as civilian craft, built to capitalize on a long-ago fad for asteroid slalom-racing. An oversized engine was set amidships, with outriggers on either side—one for the gyroscopic cockpit, the other for an equipment boom. Below the engine was a halofoil mono-ski designed to keep the speeder anchored. It was locked into a guide in the floor, one that led to a launch chute at the end of the hangar.
The demise of the asteroid slalom craze had consigned most ski speeders to the galaxy’s junkyards. But a few had survived and found new life as explorer craft in asteroid settlements, and Crait’s anti-Imperial insurgents had put them to use as patrol vehicles. The Crait techs had grafted twin laser cannons onto the equipment boom, locked out the cockpit’s rotation, and up-armored the ski speeders with surplus hull plating.
Rose had to salute those techs—they’d done ingenious work. But the ski speeders had been intended to tackle smugglers or pirates. The vanguard of a First Order army was way more than any sane person would expect them to be able to handle.
Poe was helping General Ematt prepare a last line of defense in Crait’s warren of trenches. As she waited for him to arrive in the hangar, Rose tried to figure out how to tell him of her reservations.
She’d only stammered through the beginning of her litany when he held up his hand.
“I know, I know,” he said. “It’s like someone knocked over a museum nobody wanted to visit in the first place. But it’s what we’ve got so we’ll make the best of it. Anyway, thirteen birds is a lot more than I thought we could get flying. Great work.”
“Um, at least tell your pilots they’ve got to pick their targets,” Rose said, scrubbing engine grease off her hands. “Those fire linkages are brittle, and you’ll overload them if you shoot at everything that moves.”
“Good idea,” Poe said. “But why don’t you tell them yourself? Since you’re going up with us.”
“Me?” Rose looked at him in disbelief. “I’m a maintenance tech, not a pilot. Remember?”
“When’s the last time you tightened a pipe?” Poe asked.
“About a minute ago.”
“Okay, fine, but that’s not the point. You landed that shuttle with six TIEs on your tail and a big damn door closing on top of you, didn’t you?”
“Crashed it, you mean.”
“A wise man once told me any landing you can walk away from is a good one,” Poe said. “Besides, who’s going to look after Finn?”
Rose saw that Finn was fumbling with a pilot’s headset. He looked up, saw Rose’s surprise, and crossed his arms over his chest.
“What? I’m the guy who’s most familiar with what they’re going to throw at us. And the only one who’s ever seen that big cannon of theirs.”
“This isn’t like flying a shuttle, which you were kind of bad at.”
“I’ll just do what you do. How hard can it be?”
Poe stepped in before Rose could reply.
“You see? This is why we need you.”
Rose started to object, but Poe shushed them. Leia had entered the hangar, C-3PO following behind.
“Red Squadron used these same speeders to fight off Imperial scouts,” Leia said. “And I flew one on that mission. According to Poe, that makes me an expert.”
A few of the pilots and crewers smiled, though some of the younger pilots looked astonished. Leia saw their reaction and managed not to roll her eyes.
“The ski’s there for stability—it’s to make sure your engine provides thrust and not lift,” she said. “Help it do its job. You go airborne, you’re an easy target.”
She eyed them to make sure they’d registered that, then continued. “The First Order’s landed heavy walkers. They’re using TIEs as air support. The walkers are muscle, designed to take out artillery and ground defenses. You can’t outslug them, so don’t try. But you can outfly them. The TIEs will be a bigger threat. That’s another reason to stay close to the deck.”
The pilots nodded, though Rose noticed a few studying the ski speeders doubtfully.
“Our objective is that cannon,” Leia said. “It’s the only thing that can crack our front door, so let’s try not to let it get in range. It’s being towed by tug walkers—squat, ugly, lots of legs. If we take the tugs out, the cannon stops. If we break the cables they’re using to pull it, the cannon stops.”
The pilots were listening intently now.
“We’ve transmitted our message,” Leia said. “I don’t know who will respond, or when. But I do know we’re not alone in this fight—and every minute of time we can steal from the First Order increases our chances. Any questions?”
There were none. Poe stood next to Leia, eyeing his pilots. When she nodded at him, he stepped forward.
“Well, I asked for a dozen T-85 X-wings with cloaking devices,” he told them. “Guess they got held up in transit.”
Nien Nunb laughed, but he was the only one. The others just stared stonily at Poe.
“Still, you just heard that Red Squadron flew our birds,” he said. “I grew up hearing about those men and women and dreaming that maybe I could fly like them one day. Nobody thought those pilots had a chance either. And you know what they did? They took down a Death Star.”
Rose smiled. So did a couple of the other pilots.
“Good luck,” Leia said. “And may the Force be with you.”
The pilots got to their feet and began donning helmets, checking headsets, and pulling on gloves. Meanwhile, techs and astromechs started firing up the ski speeders. The sound of their engines rose from a low thrum to a steady whine.
Poe climbed into the open-air cockpit of the first speeder in line. Finn was next, then Rose. She tightened the chin strap on her helmet, verified she was receiving the squadron channel, and checked her console. All systems were green—for the moment at least.
“Everything good, Finn?” she asked.
Finn turned and gave her a thumbs-up.
“Your comlink works, you know,” she replied.
Another thumbs-up. Fair enough.
“Launching,” Poe said. “Follow my lead.”
His ski speeder slid forward along the guide into the low chute at the end of the hangar, and was lost from sight. But a moment later everyone heard him yelling delightedly over the squadron channel. Rose, familiar with pilots, couldn’t resist smiling—if nothing else, Poe would have one last ride behind a control yoke, where he was happiest.
Paige would have been crowing, too, Rose knew. She touched her Otomok medallion and smiled sadly.
If you’re out there somewhere, Pae-Pae, I could use your help.
Finn’s speeder slid into the chute. Then Rose’s jerked forward, hesitated, and began to advance more smoothly. Darkness enclosed her, and then the ski speeder began to move, the thrum of the engine rising to a roar as the walls of the chute blurred past her.
Well, here goes nothing.
General Ematt emerged from a narrow door leading out of the mine into the old rebel trench, blinking at the brilliant light reflected off the white plains. Behind him came Sergeant Sharp, fussing with his blast helmet.
The trench walls were a deep red, dusted with white. Metal planking lined the bottom of the trench, encrusted with accumulated drifts. A pair of artillery cannons loomed over the trenches. Poe had assured Ematt that they’d fire. Ematt decided he’d believe that when he saw it—they looked like the recoil from the first shot would turn them into a pile of rust flakes.
Inside, they were passing out blaster rifles to anyone who seemed like they were more of a danger to the enemy than to the person next to them. Passing out rifles and small arms, and checking a store of old rebel ammunition cartridges to see which had any charge left.
They’d be the last line of defense, after the speeders and the artillery. Ematt hoped it wouldn’t come to it, while knowing it probably would.
Well, if so they’d make the First Order pay a price for every millimeter of ground.
Ematt clambered out of the trench and onto the plains, the massive shield door looming behind him. As he scanned the horizon with his quadnocs, Sharp leaned down to pinch a few snowy white flakes. He tasted them and spat.
Sharp looked back and saw that their footprints had lifted away the powdery salt, which now caked the bottoms of their boots. Where they’d stepped, crimson crystal soil had been revealed.
Ematt lowered the quadnocs and spoke into the comlink on his wrist.
“Ground forces incoming,” he warned.
“Copy that,” Poe replied. “On our way.”
* * *
—
Slots opened high in the shield door and the ski speeders hurtled out, their outriggers flexing in the wind. The descent was half glide, half powered flight, and Rose fought to keep her craft stable. Her stomach lurched as she tried to take in her surroundings, from the salt pan rushing up at her to the distant dots of the First Order ground forces.
Then she looked over and saw Finn grinning, apparently hypnotized by the experience of finding himself in the air—and not thinking about what it would be like to hit the ground.
“Hey, dummy!” she yelled into her headset. “Engage your mono-ski!”
Finn looked around, startled, and hunted for the switch. Just when Rose was certain he’d crash, he found the control that deployed the mono-ski. It emerged from the bottom of his speeder’s engine mount a moment before their ski speeders hit the salty crust.
The impact of her own speeder’s touchdown forced the air out of Rose’s lungs, and for a moment she was sure the craft would shed its cannons, her cockpit, or both. But then the speeder had bounced back up onto its ski and she was racing across the white expanse next to Finn, part of a line of speeders advancing across the plains.
Their skis sliced through the layer of sodium atop the ground, kicking up a wake of crystalline dirt beneath the crust and giving each speeder a brilliant red tail that extended behind it like a flag.
Poe had to pull his foot back after a panel gave way beneath it, sending a chunk of hull plating spinning off across the plain.
“What the hell? I don’t like these rustbuckets and I don’t like our odds. Keep it tight and don’t get pulled too close until they roll that cannon out front.”
Rose could see the First Order walkers in the distance ahead of them, but not the siege cannon. She reached into her jumpsuit and pulled out her Otomok medallion, hanging it from a lever on her speeder’s console.
“Ground forces, lay down some fire,” Poe requested.
The Resistance forces in the trenches heard his order and the artillery cannons opened up, blaster bolts streaking across the salt plains toward the First Order lines. A few bolts struck the walkers, but did no damage that Poe could see.
As the wind whipped past his cockpit, Poe considered their situation—and didn’t like his conclusions. The bulk of the First Order ground forces were heavy combat walkers. Each leviathan had a massive turbolaser cannon built into the top of its back, and reinforced forelimbs designed to brace against the recoil. Their armor was far too heavy for the Resistance ski speeders’ blasters to penetrate.
Above the walkers, TIE fighters circled like predatory birds. And above them, Poe’s sensors painted a lone command shuttle—undoubtedly the ship from which the assault would be directed. The speeders’ guns were powerful enough to destroy a TIE or the shuttle, but Poe knew the Resistance craft would be shredded if they tried to gain altitude and engage them.
The siege cannon would be more vulnerable—or at least Poe devoutly hoped so. But the First Order was wisely keeping it behind the lines, safeguarded by the walkers. Any attack against it would have to brave both the walkers and the TIEs—which was tantamount to suicide.
It might come to that, Poe knew. But he wasn’t going to throw away his pilots’ lives unless he could see no other choice. So for now, he’d probe the First Order’s line but try to keep his squadron intact and hope the enemy made a mistake—or something changed the odds.
* * *
—
Poe was right about the command shuttle—it housed Kylo, Hux, and several other high-ranking First Order officers, all staring down at the battlefield and monitoring sensor feeds.
Kylo would have preferred to supervise the assault alone—Hux, he knew, would see the relatively straightforward operation as an opportunity for self-aggrandizement. But it was critical to keep the ambitious general close at hand. Hux had eliminated a number of rivals during his rise to power—including his own father—and Kylo had no intention of joining their ranks. With Hux beside him, there was no chance of an accident befalling the command shuttle—and every opportunity to remind the general and the other officers who was in charge.
“Thirteen incoming light craft,” Hux said. “Shall we hold until we clear them?”
“No,” Kylo replied. �
�Push through. The Resistance is in that mine. This is the end.”
* * *
—
The First Order made its move with the ski speeders still some distance from their lines, ordering the TIE fighters to abandon their holding position over the walkers and engage. Blaster bolts churned through the sodium crust, sending up plumes of red that reminded Poe unsettlingly of blood, and one of the ski speeders blossomed into flame.
“Fighters!” Poe yelled. “Break off!”
The speeders scattered, with TIEs swooping down in pursuit. A dozen chases weaved across the plain, leaving it scarred with crimson pockmarks and slashes carved by the ski speeders’ halofoils.
Poe brought his speeder around in a tight turn, the frame of his outrigger emitting a groan of distressed metal, and took aim at a TIE fighter that was looking for an opportunity to strafe one of the speeders. Finding himself too low to line up the shot, Poe yanked back on the control yoke, letting the ski speeder bounce up above the plain.
Still too low. C’mon, baby, gimme a little air.
The ski speeder bounced a little higher and Poe mashed down the trigger, his laser cannon spitting fire. The TIE sheared in two, its solar panels spinning off in different directions.
Poe’s crow of triumph was cut short as he had to dodge another TIE swooping down from above, where his guns couldn’t reach.
“We can’t match this firepower!” C’ai Threnalli warned in his native tongue.
“We’ve got to hold them till they pull out the cannon,” Poe replied.
A pilot screamed as his speeder was ripped apart by cannon fire, the TIE that had destroyed it banking high above the plains. The Resistance artillery tracked it and blasted it to pieces, but the TIEs responded to that threat by wheeling around and raking the vulnerable troops in the trenches.
Finn flinched as the speeder next to his was hit. He peered forward through the windscreen, blinking at the glare, and tried to find the First Order cannon amid the towering shapes of the combat walkers.
