Solo Command

by Aaron Allston

  The analyst gave her a look of scorn. "Zsinj's doctrine," he said. "No matter what the odds look like, if the enemy has chosen the battleground, he has more resources than we're aware of. It becomes imperative to choose a new battlefield, one the enemy can't have prepared. Don't mistake that for cowardice."

  "I never would have, sir." She returned her attention to her terminal, then typed a command, sixteen characters of gib­ berish, into her keyboard, and sent the command.

  Somewhere under the floor beneath her, a utility droid that was spliced into the data cables should be intercepting the command, interpreting it, then switching the terminal over from its analysis duties to a direct connection with her quarters— a connection the ship's computer was not set up to monitor.

  HELLO, KIRNEY.

  She donned a set of goggles and plugged it into the termi­ nal. "Hello, Tonin," she whispered. "Are we set to disable the hyperdrive?"

  His next transmission showed up on her goggles, yes. but FROM THE MOMENT YOU ISSUE THE COMMAND, IT WILL TAKE A FEW MINUTES TO TAKE EFFECT.

  "Understood. On my command, we pin him in place and make our run for it. Three, two, one—"

  "Sir, we're in a gravity well," the sensor operator shouted.

  "Hold it, Tonin."

  Zsinj leaned down to look into the crew pit. "We're not even near—damn. Sensors, identify the Interdictor. Captain Vellar, that's our primary target. Dispatch Red Gauntlet and Serpent's Smile to annihilate that nuisance. Keep Blood Gutter in tight to us. Communications, new message for Groups Two and Three. Send them our current position—update it con­stantly. Tell them to hold in readiness to jump to our position on my order. If we're not able to jump out of here before we're likely to be disabled, we'll just have to bring the fleet in here and fight on Solo's preferred playground."

  "I'm disconnecting, Tonin. We may not have to reveal our­ selves yet." She typed and sent the countercommand, restoring the terminal to its proper function, and got back to work.

  Wedge led his group in a wide loop around Skyhook, Crynyd, and Stellar Web, the lead ships of Solo's fleet; around Red Gauntlet and Serpent's Smile, the Star Destroyers coming in to eliminate the Interdictor; and then straight in toward the re­treating Iron Fist.

  Wedge was lead fighter in the lead squadron of twenty- four squadrons of fighters—every fighter in Solo's fleet except those from the Skyhook and Crynyd, which were charged with the defense of Stellar Web. Several of the X-wing squadrons were light, with pilots still scattered across the solar system, awaiting word that the battle had materialized, but the group was still imposing, the largest force he'd led in quite a while.

  "Rogue Leader, this is Mon Remonda. Still no sign of star­ fighter deployment from your target."

  "Thanks, Mon Remonda. X-wings, set your S-foils to at­tack position. All fighters, arm your weapons." Wedge looped around so he was lined up more perfectly with Iron Fist's long axis. The lack of starfighters didn't surprise him; Zsinj was hoping to make a jump to hyperspace and didn't want to lose time and pilots by deploying his TIEs and then summoning them back in. But that decision was about to cost him.

  Ahead, the Super Star Destroyer's turbolasers and other weapons flared into life. Space around the group was suddenly bright with laser flares and the ball-shaped detonation of con­cussion missiles.

  "Leader to group: make a trench." Wedge threw more power to acceleration and Rogue Squadron leaped out ahead. The X-wing squad to his starboard, the Gauntlets off the Alle­giance, dropped back and sideslipped in directly behind. The Y-wing squad to his port, Lightning Squadron off Battle Dog, slid in just as neatly behind them.

  In a matter of seconds, the broad wing of starfighters be­came a single concentrated line.

  Wedge brought them down low over Iron Fist's stern and fired down at the Star Destroyer's top hull, his lasers striking into but being dissipated by the great ship's shields, his proton torpedoes detonating on impact with those defensive screens rather than against the hull itself. Still, every shot he took bat­tered away at shield integrity and drained badly needed energy resources . . . and more than two hundred fighters strung be­hind him were doing exactly the same thing. He veered from side to side, varying his altitude as he came, and turbocannon fire was so dense his cockpit interior was constantly illumi­nated by its brightness.

  Then Iron Fist dropped away beneath him. He'd run the gauntlet. Tycho was still tucked in beside him, and his sensor board read all Rogues still accounted for. "At the end of your run," he said, "break by squadrons and make further passes at your discretion."

  Zsinj knew from the way Iron Fist rattled that some of those detonations were taking place at the hull, not above it. The beeps and wails of damage reports began to sound. A near-constant line of starfighters flashed forward past the bridge viewports.

  "What was that?" he asked of no one, then leaned over the edge of the command walkway. "Petothel! What is he doing?"

  His new analyst looked up. "He's concentrating fire on your centerline, since you don't have a starfighter screen out to prevent such a move. But he won't do it on his second run. He knows you'll concentrate your gunnery crews's attention on the centerline now, so he'll break his group up for more stan­dard strafing runs. Don't be fooled."

  "I asked for your analysis, not your advice," Zsinj said, and was surprised by the snap in his voice. He turned to Mel­var . "Prepare for them to come back by way of the bow the same way. Alert the gunners on top and below for a repeat of the same tactic."

  Melvar looked uncertain. "Yes, sir."

  On the sensor screens, the deadly line of starfighters emerged from its strafing run off Iron Fist's bow, then broke up into in­ dividual squadrons and looped back toward the ship, a broad cloud of enemies.

  Lara allowed herself a small smirk of triumph. She'd thought that if she phrased her reply a certain way, suggesting that Wedge Antilles could outthink the warlord, Zsinj would re­spond with pride instead of with his tactical ability. And she'd been right. It didn't make much of a difference in this situation; the gunnery crews were now receiving corrections, being told to abandon the previous orders. But Zsinj's response meant she might be able to manipulate him again. If only she could per­suade him to abandon his group, leave them behind. Then, wherever he emerged, she could shut down his hyperdrive and summon Solo's fleet for the kill.

  She sat upright. Wait a second. Maybe she could get Zsinj to abandon his fleet. It wouldn't take persuasion, either. Just a minor course correction.

  She switched her terminal over to direct communication with Tonin and plugged her goggles back in. "Has Iron Fist al­ready transmitted its jump course to the rest of the fleet?" she asked.

  YES.

  "Can you enter a course correction? I don't mean enter it as a new course—they'd notice that. I mean, like an automated minor correction, as the nav computer continues to process new data?"

  YES.

  "Is there a star within range of the kind of variation you can enter?"

  YES. SELAGGIS. JUST WITHIN ZSINJ-CONTROLLED SPACE. A FEW LIGHT-YEARS AWAY. A YELLOW STAR, SEVEN WORLDS.

  "Never mind the almanac data. Correct Iron Fist's jump-course so that the distance is unchanged but the destination is on the far side of a direct line through Selaggis's sun."

  COLLISION DETECTION IN THE NAVIGATIONAL SOFTWARE WILL PREVENT IT.

  "Oh." She sagged.

  UNLESS I DELETE SELAGGIS FROM THE STARMAP.

  "Do it!"

  DONE. WE ARE NOW BOUND FOR SELAGGIS.

  "Tonin, you are wonderful. Kirney out."

  Perfect. Either Iron Fist would remain here, trapped by the Interdictor, until Solo destroyed it, or it would jump to Selag­gis , where Solo's fleet could finish it off.

  She didn't switch back to normal terminal functions. In­ stead, she lifted her goggles and glanced right and left, making sure that the analysts on either side of her were fully occupied with their tasks. Then she began recording.

  Zsinj watched in pained f
ascination as the battle unfolded.

  Red Gauntlet, the Imperial-class Star Destroyer, and Ser­ pent's Smile, the Victory-class, had now dropped behind far enough to engage the Interdictor cruiser and her two escorts. His forces were somewhat overmatched; the Interdictor's screen con­ sisted of two Imperial-class Star Destroyers, and they had their starfighters deployed to offer additional damage to Zsinj's ships.

  But Red Gauntlet and Serpent's Smile didn't have to destroy the enemy. They merely had to make one ship driver flinch.

  They had to do it quickly, too. Zsinj took in the broader range of the sensor data available to him. Mon Remonda, two more Mon Cal cruisers, another Imperial Star Destroyer, two frigates, and a swarm of smaller ships were converging on Iron Fist.

  Already swarming with Rebel starfighters—Zsinj could see the tiny flashes of their lasers and torpedoes in the long­distance visual feed—his vessels dropped within range of the enemy capital ships's guns. Brilliant streams of light lit up be­tween them.

  Red Gauntlet began a stately turn to starboard, bringing her main batteries to bear on the enemy ships. Her flank of­fered more firepower than the bows of all three Rebel vessels-and more target area, too. Zsinj bit his lip. "Bring up damage and diagnostics holos for Gauntlet and Smile," he said.

  "Yes, sir." A starboard viewport was replaced by the giant- sized holoprojection of a data screen. It showed both his ships with shields intact, minor damage accumulating throughout their systems, especially on the older Serpent's Smile.

  But that ship had a canny captain who was a fine pilot. As Red Gauntlet rained destructive—and distracting—fire down on the enemies, Serpent's Smile rotated ninety degrees on her long axis to narrow her approach profile and sideslipped be­tween the Rebel Star Destroyers.

  As they advanced, the Rebel ships unloaded only a portion of the full might of their flank batteries against Serpent's Smile- any miss might continue on to hit the other Rebel ship. And, though Smile had only a few stern guns to bring to bear against the Interdictor, she had one other weapon—her considerable mass, which was decelerating right in the Interdictor's path.

  "Flinch," Zsinj said. All the Interdictor had to do was veer away from the collision. Then Iron Fist and, ultimately, all the ships in Zsinj's group could get enough distance from the Inter­ dictor to jump into hyperspace.

  The Interdictor came on, her own guns now firing on Ser­pent's Smile.

  "Flinch, damn you," Zsinj said.

  Melvar said, "We've identified the Interdictor. She's Stellar Web."

  "Stellar Web? Nonsense." Zsinj shook his head. "That's an Imperial craft. Captained by Barr Moutil. He doesn't have the nerve to do what that captain's doing."

  "You were the one who said the Rebels and the Imperials were cooperating against you," Melvar reminded him. "And Stellar Web has been observed to be part of Admiral Rogriss's task force."

  "Rogriss." Zsinj took a look at the sensor board. Stellar Web still came on, straight at the Victory-class destroyer decel­erating into its path. "If he's transferred his flag to the Interdic­tor... he has more nerve, better timing than my man. My captain will flinch first. We may have to summon the other groups and fight this one out. On their chosen battlefield."

  The communications officer called up, "Communications lost with Serpent's Smile."

  Zsinj scowled down at him. "Nonsense. We still have data feeds."

  "Sorry, sir. I meant bridge communications."

  Zsinj looked at the enhanced view of the battle zone. The top hull of Serpent's Smile was afire, with much of the flame concentrated around the command tower. Increasingly, the old destroyer looked like something a giant beast had chewed upon.

  "We're getting communications from their auxiliary bridge. They're requesting orders."

  Zsinj felt a sense of loss as he realized what needed to be done. "Tell them to lock down their current course, launch all starfighters, and abandon ship."

  "They say they can save her, sir."

  "Do as I ordered." Zsinj turned to Melvar. "It's a heavy loss. But now they can't flinch."

  Melvar nodded.

  Solo watched as the stern of Serpent's Smile slid ever closer to the bow of the oncoming Stellar Web. He was unconscious of the fact that he was rocking forward and back in his seat. Games of head-to-head between capital ships tended to result in disaster for both participants, and disaster was almost upon the two ships he watched.

  "They're going to hit," Onoma said. "They cannot avoid it now."

  Stellar Web finally vectored, her bow turning slowly away from the oncoming destroyer wreckage. Solo waited for the in­evitable collision between ships, but Serpent's Smile seemed to slow as it approached the Interdictor. Stellar Web shot away from the destroyer, her course taking her dangerously close to Crynyd, then vectored away from that vessel as well. Suddenly she was headed out to space, away from the surviving Imperial Star Destroyers.

  "How did she do that?" Onoma said.

  "I'm not sure," Solo said. "But if I were driving a dragship in that situation, I'd reverse the gravity-well generators so they pushed instead of pulled. That would give me extra propulsion to bounce away from any mass in the area. Must have wreaked havoc with the ship's artificial gravity, though. She can't be set up to do such a thing normally." He couldn't keep dull disappointment out of his voice. Stellar Web's course was now at an angle to Iron Fist's. Distance increased between the two ships. "Weapons, how soon before we overtake Iron Fist?"

  "They'll be within firing range in thirty-eight seconds," the weapons officer said. "Within effective damage range in a minute ten."

  "Sensors, how soon, assuming optimal piloting by Stellar Web, before Iron Fist is out of her projected mass shadow?"

  "Two minutes fifteen, sir."

  "Weapons, ready your guns."

  Wedge brought the Rogues around for another pass. Casual­ ties had been high in his group owing to the sustained effort against Iron Fist; of the Rogues, Hobbie had been hit by an ion cannon and his snubfighter was out of combat, though he was undamaged, and Asyr Sei'lar had been forced to punch out when turbolaser damage sent her X-wing into a fatal spin toward Iron Fist's hull. A shuttle off Mon Karren was now endeavor­ing to pick her up. Losses had been even more severe among many other squadrons, especially the slower-moving Y-wings and the Cloakshape fighter squadron off Battle Dog.

  But Iron Fist was starting to look bad, portions of her deck gouting flame. Mon Remonda reported Serpent's Smile destroyed, and Red Gauntlet sustaining heavy damage from the two Imperial-class Star Destroyers she faced.

  "Rogues, stay on her bow," Wedge ordered. "Solo's group is coming up off her stern and we don't want to get caught in the crossfire." He rolled toward the Super Star Destroyer, evened out his shields, and opened fire once more.

  His lasers plowed into Iron Fist's shields and through—he saw hull plates explode out under the pressure of the atmo­ sphere they'd once contained. As he looped around from this side-to-side strafing run, he saw the guns of Mon Remonda, Mon Karren, and Mon Delindo chewing away at Iron Fist's stern, the destroyer's batteries returning fire against the Mon Cal cruisers.

  Then Iron Fist became a single streak of light leaping out into space. A moment later, the destroyer was gone. Only the battered-looking cruiser that had been hugging her belly re­mained, and a second later it disappeared as well.

  Wedge set his jaw. This wasn't the sort of victory they needed. "Rogues, form up. Let's assess remaining threats."

  But the flaming wreckage that was Serpent's Smile was no threat, and neither Red Gauntlet nor the three ships around her—Crynyd, Skyhook, or Stellar Web—was firing. Zsinj's other destroyer had surrendered.

  "I can't beat him," Solo said. His voice was duller than before, even to his own ears. He couldn't seem to muster the energy even to pretend to be enthusiastic. "We've lost."

  Captain Onoma regarded him steadily; the Mon Cala­mari's eyes were wide, evaluative. "We have reduced him."

  "He'll swell up a
gain. And there we'll be, locked in this struggle forever." He heaved a sigh. "All right. Recall the star­fighters. Assemble the group. Secure Red Gauntlet and put a crew aboard her. Maybe we can draft her against Zsinj until Fleet Command decides to reallocate her."

  "Yes, General."

  The communications officer said, "Message from Contact M-317."

  "Put it through."

  Admiral Rogriss's face came up on Solo's private screen. He looked unshaken, undismayed by the events of the last few minutes. "General Solo."

  "Admiral. Let me compliment you on your flying."

  "Thank you. I think we're done here, however. A shame." The admiral shrugged. "It was a trap that could have succeeded."

  Solo nodded. "Let me ask you. Would you do it again?"