Starfighters of Adumar

by Aaron Allston

  All down the line, other members of the advance screen of Blades would be doing the same thing. They couldn’t conceal their own approach to Cartann, but they could—if they hit enough sensor stations, and hit them early enough—conceal the size of the force approaching the enemy nation. The military forces of Cartann would have to go to an extra effort to get an idea of what was assaulting them.

  Ahead, the sky was growing lighter. Wedge checked his chrono. The operation was still on schedule. And it was midday on the Allegiance; he supposed that the Star Destroyer’s sensor crews would be having an interesting day of observation.

  Minutes later, with the lightness in the east broadening and climbing, comm silence was finally broken. “Group One Leader, this is Eye Three.” It was Iella’s voice. “Electrocution Death Flightknife, at the extreme north edge of the group, reports an assault by a squad of Cartannese Blades. The furball’s still continuing, but a unit of Scythe-class bombers tracked the enemy back to their base, a previously unknown one, and are pounding it flat. They say they caught another squadron on the ground.”

  Wedge looked northward. He could see distant, tiny flashes, and he wished luck to the members of Electrocution Death. “Thanks, Eye Three.”

  Minutes later, his lightboard lit up with signs of incoming squadrons—lots of them. They approached from north and south, from the major Cartannese cities in those directions.

  Standard Cartannese tactics, had this just been a fighter raid, would have been to veer toward one or the other force, whichever seemed more prestigious, and engage it, with the hope of dispatching it before the other caught up… but Group One continued straight on its course, which led straight to the great city of Cartann. In minutes, those two Cartann units’ lightboards would detect Groups Five and Twelve headed straight for their respective cities, and would be torn between the need to pursue Group One and to defend their cities. Wedge grinned. Cartannese society seemed to be tooled to keeping its people from having to address difficult questions. He planned to present them with quite a few more before this day was done.

  “Eye Three to Red Leader. Main force detected from Cartann City air bases. Forming up and heading this way. Estimated strength twenty squadrons and growing.”

  “Thanks, Eye.” That meant the enemy strength in fighters was already equal to Wedge’s. “How’s our pursuit?”

  “Still pursuing. Groups Five and Twelve should just now be reaching their respective cities’ lightbounce range.”

  “Acknowledged. Red Leader out.”

  The enemy would appear on the lightboard, Wedge knew, as a ragged line of tiny bright blips, each representing an enemy formation. As they neared, the blips would grow, gradually breaking down into clouds of dots representing individual fighters. And that’s exactly how it happened, moments later. That’s all Wedge would see until they were much closer; the enemy would be flying at them out of the rising sun, which was already peeking above the horizon.

  Wedge lowered the goggles on his helmet. Yes, it was a disadvantage to fly into the sunlight. But it was a momentary disadvantage; as soon as the two forces broke up into individual dogfights, everybody would be at equal disadvantage. And the Cartann pilots’ disadvantage, being too quickly roused after too short a night of sleep, would linger.

  When the enemy force was about sixty seconds from distant firing range, when enemy squadrons were beginning to diffuse into individual enemy fighters, Wedge switched his comm board over to group frequency. “Red Leader to Group. Forward screen, slow to one-third to allow main body to catch up. North Horn, South Horn, begin your move into position. All other flightknives, slow to one-half standard cruise velocity and maintain formation.”

  He heard acknowledgments from the two horn formation leaders. On his lightboard, he saw the group’s formation change shape. The leading edge, a thin line of fighters, dropped back until it was absorbed into the leading edge of the main body, an inverted triangle. The two leading corners of the triangle stretched forward, suggesting a pair of horns. Ahead, the roughly oval formation of Cartannese fliers continued toward them, not yet adjusting for the appearance of the horns, which would be to either side of them within seconds.

  By squinting, and with polarization increased as high as it would go on his goggles, he could see traces of the oncoming force, little black dots at the heads of needle-thin white contrails.

  Then specks of fire rose with blinding speed from the forest. As they reached the heart of the Cartann force, they expanded out into ball-shaped clouds of fire.

  Wedge jolted. That was Hobbie and Janson’s force, Blastpike Flightknife, sent on ahead to do just this thing—and Wedge, nearly overwhelmed by other planning details, had all but forgotten about them. He saw the Cartann force begin to mill, with whole squadrons spiraling down toward the source of the missiles… missiles that kept rising into the group.

  Wedge said, “North Horn, South Horn, that’s your cue. Close and fire. Main group, advance. As you close, break by flightknives and fire at will.” He accelerated back to cruise speed as, ahead, the first laser and missile crossfire by the two horn formations began.

  He switched his targeting system back on and it immediately began howling at him, a wavering cry as distant targets flashed into and out of his brackets. He switched to missiles and fired every time the musical tone suggested a clean lock. Ahead, the Cartann force looked like the intersection of four sets of target practice, but lasers and missiles were now pouring back out of the cloud of enemy fighters. Wedge was rocked when a Blade to his port, Running Crimson-3, detonated; the blast buffeted Wedge and drove him meters to starboard before he recovered.

  Then the two forces met, blurred into one wide-ranging engagement, clear distinctions no longer possible between them.

  Wedge caught sight of an incoming Blade-32, on what looked like a collision course with him. He switched to lasers, fired, then looped to port, diving to get out of the madman’s flight path. His sensor board howled that he was in an enemy’s targeting brackets; he continued the dive, flashing between two enemy Blades, and the howl cut off. He began to pull up. Behind him, the sensors showed one of the two Blades he’d passed between now stitched with laser fire, its port side opened by a blast; the Blade was shaking violently as air hammered its way into the now-unaerodynamic vehicle.

  His wingman was no longer beside him. “Tych?”

  “Busy, boss.”

  Wedge said “Tycho” into the microphone of his targeting board. One blip on the lightboard began to blink. It was half a kilometer above him, directly between two enemy Blades. Wedge climbed.

  He could pick out Tycho and the man’s enemies, even against the dark sky, by the flashes of light between them. Tycho was in pursuit of a Blade, being pursued by another, and was sending laser fire in both directions, meanwhile slewing about in evasive action.

  Wedge rose, caught the lead Blade in his targeting brackets, ignored it. He let his brackets flash back across Tycho and to the pursuit Blade. He opened fire, his first barrage of lasers missing the vehicle, his second chewing through its stern fuselage.

  The tough Blade-32 did not explode, but its stern dropped away. The vehicle rolled, out of control. Wedge saw the canopy tear free and the pilot punch out a moment later. Wedge grinned; he must also have wiped out the repulsorlift system, else that pilot could have brought the Blade down to a safe landing.

  No longer forced to divide his concentration, Tycho poured laser fire into the Blade ahead of him. Though the Blade returned fire, singeing the nose of Tycho’s craft, Tycho’s attacks relentlessly chewed away at its rear fuselage, riddling it with char and holes.

  The Blade didn’t look badly hurt, but abruptly it rose straight skyward, then heeled over in what looked like an uncontrolled dive. The pilot had to have been hit, a typically surgical Tycho kill.

  Wedge continued his climb. At the upper altitude indicated for the engagement, he pulled back on the stick and rolled over to continue toward Cartann, though he was belly to
sky, giving him a good look at the fight as it continued. Tycho pulled alongside.

  It wasn’t bad, Wedge decided. The united Adumari force was continuing to move toward Cartann, and Cartann’s defenders were forced to keep with them. In minutes, if this continued, they’d be over the city itself. “Red Leader to Eye Three, report if you can.”

  “Eye Three to Red Leader. Red Three and Red Four report in unhurt, though their squadron took heavy losses. The pursuit forces have broken off and are returning to their cities to deal with Groups Five and Twelve. The Scythes from North Horn and South Horn have broken away from the horn formations and are now over Cartann, heading for the air bases. We have reports of ground-based defensive batteries firing.”

  Wedge looked toward the city. Yes, yellow-white streaks of laser light, four to a group, were flashing into the sky. Tiny as they seemed at this distance, each column of light would have to be half the diameter of a Blade or more.

  “Sensors show another dozen or so squads rising from the air bases and Cartann proper,” Iella continued.

  “Any of Group One’s units not yet engaged?”

  “The six Meteors and their screens.”

  Wedge breathed a sigh of thanks that he’d assigned most squadrons and major aircraft numerical references in addition to their normal names—it was a choice that would allow him to address them even when he couldn’t recall their normal designations. He switched to group frequency. “Meteors One and Two and screen flightknives, join the Scythes from North Horn. Meteors Three and Four and screen flightknives, join the Scythes from South Horn. Meteors Five and Six and screens, I want you to plow right into the middle of this furball. Give the enemy something new to think about.” He switched back to command frequency. “Thanks, Eye Three.” He pulled back on the stick and he and Tycho dove into the main engagement again.

  He’d just taken a long-distance shot at a pair of Blades when a vehicle, unbelievably fast, cut across his flight path, leaving a blurry afterimage on his vision. It was a TIE Interceptor, flying an impossible-to-predict course full of sudden bends and course changes.

  His lasers pointed at empty forest floor, he opened fire again. And as another three TIE Interceptors crossed his path, he had the pleasure of seeing his sustained laser fire clip the solar wing array of one of them. The shot didn’t destroy the TIE, but he did see it roll out of formation and have to struggle to get back in position, and the spot where he’d grazed it was black with char. He turned in the TIE Interceptors’ wake and was rapidly outdistanced.

  “Good shot, Lead.”

  “Not good enough, Two. We’ve got no chance against Interceptors in these.”

  “Who are you now, Lead?”

  Wedge tapped the centerpoint of his lightboard. The data sent by his transponder came up; it was his alternate identity, a Yedagon pilot with no kills to his name. “I’m not-Wedge.”

  “Good. Recommend you stay that way until and unless we get back to our snubfighters.”

  “I’ll take it under consideration.”

  He could track the TIEs on the lightboard without consulting transponder data. They were the only craft in this engagement that moved at such high speed. He saw them streak to the edge of the engagement zone, reverse, then begin to shoot back through the thickest portion of the zone. All along the line of their passage, the blips representing Blades on the lightboard began blinking or vanished altogether. All along their flight paths, as Wedge checked visually, burning fighters began their final descents to the forest floor.

  Two dark red Blades rose up to join Wedge and Tycho. “Red Three and Four reporting in,” Janson said, his voice cheery.

  “Good timing,” Wedge said. “Come about with me to one-eighty degrees.” He began a hard loop around. “We’re putting ourselves in the way of trouble.”

  On his lightboard, the four streaks representing the TIEs reached the edge of the engagement zone and looped around once more for another pass. Wedge calculated their likely path, just an estimate, and climbed higher to be in that path. “Here’s the rules. This is not a one-on-one, not a duel. When the TIEs come in range, everyone hit the lead TIE. If you can, as soon as they flash past, switch to rear lasers and target the rear TIE. We’ll see how much damage we can do them.”

  “Good.” That was Hobbie’s voice, more intent than usual. “Damage.”

  “Three, is Four all right?”

  “He’s fine, chief. Still deliriously happy from his missile barrage, I think.”

  The path of the oncoming TIEs changed slightly, continuing from what must have been an evasive move. Wedge sent his Blade into a hard vector to starboard. Now there was no way to get in the path of TIEs, but they could still fire upon them—

  And there they were, two wing pairs streaking in from port. Wedge opened fire with his lasers, concentrating on the lead TIE, and was gratified to see three other pairs of lasers joining his.

  The Interceptor exploded as if hit by a missile, leaving only an orange-and-yellow fireball and a spray of shrapnel behind. Wedge’s Blade shook as he crossed in the wake of the TIEs and was hit by the explosion shock wave.

  But because of their changed flight plan they hadn’t concluded the exchange with their rear lasers pointed toward the TIEs. Wedge saw the three remaining enemy fighters split off, two one direction and one another, and begin to loop around at impossible speeds toward his Blades. “Whoops,” Wedge said. “Red Flight, scatter.” He rose and vectored to starboard, toward what looked like an incoming wing pair of friendly Blades.

  A TIE Interceptor rose in his wake. He fired upon it, but the nimbler craft juked and jinked far too quickly for him to get a fix on it. It responded with lasers that hammered away at his rear fuselage; he felt his Blade shudder and text suddenly started scrawling across his diagnostics board.

  “Red One, come to one-six-five.” That was Iella’s voice. He complied, as hard a turn as he could manage, the TIE adhering to his tail as if glued there.

  As Wedge completed his maneuver, he found himself heading almost due west and into the path of something huge.

  Shaped like a single curved wing, with a dozen laser cupolas atop the wing and a dozen below, the Meteor-class Aerial Fort was the largest flying vehicle the Adumari made, and among the most punishing. Each cupola held paired lasers the equal of the ones on the Blades and could turn 360 degrees around and depress to cover an entire hemisphere.

  As Wedge turned into the craft’s path, a half dozen of its gunners opened up on him—or so it looked, for their laser fire flashed all around him, above and below.

  The TIE on his tail broke off with an almost ninety-degree turn and flashed out to the side faster than the Meteor’s gunners could turn their weapons. In a second he was out of sight.

  “Thanks—” Wedge tapped the lightboard—“Meteor Six. Much appreciated.”

  “Our pleasure, Red Leader.”

  The Cartann Blades were not yet approaching the Meteor. Wedge saw some forming up into half squads, presumably for strafing runs at the enormous aircraft, but they weren’t ready yet. He took the opportunity to catch up on his breathing. He also checked visually for the other members of his flight, couldn’t spot them immediately. Into the lightboard microphone, he said, “Red Flight.”

  Three blips lit up.

  Three.

  He tapped each one in turn. Red Leader. Red Four. Red Three.

  “Red Two, come in. Tycho, where are you?”

  Janson’s voice came back, strained. “I think he’s gone, Lead. I saw him hammered by a TIE’s laser fire, really bad. He banked away from me, not maneuvering well, and then a Blade’s missile took him.”

  “Four to Red Flight, negative, negative. I was just queried by a Yedagon Blade-28, Sandstorm Six, who’s following him down. Tycho punched out. No serious damage.”

  Wedge nearly slumped. Fear for Tycho had tightened every muscle in his body like they were an instrument’s strings being tuned. “Red Leader to Eye Three.”

  “Eye Three.�
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  “Please track Sandstorm Six. He’s following Red Two down; Two is extravehicular. Send whatever you can to pick him up. We want him back in the air and with us, whatever it takes.”

  “Understood. And we have good news on another front. Cheriss with Holdout reports that her group has found your X-wings.”

  “That was fast.”

  “She said it was simple. They picked up your astromech’s broadcasts.”

  “Tell her group to stand by. That just doesn’t make any sense.” The first thing an enemy would have done would be to disable the astromechs with restraining bolts and then go to work cracking the security measures limiting cockpit access only to authorized personnel. The astromechs would never be allowed to continue transmitting.

  No, wait—that was the first thing an Imperial enemy would have done. It was the people of Cartann who’d seized the X-wings.

  He tried to think like his enemy, and the answer was there almost immediately.

  The perator ruled Cartann, not some diplomatic council. He could hand the X-wings over to the military, certainly, but as an ex-pilot himself—and an autocratic ruler—he might well have decided to keep them for himself.

  But he didn’t have time to investigate them. He was planning a war against those arrayed against Cartann. So he’d put them somewhere secure and worry about them when the war was done, or at least offered him some recreation time. He might not even be aware of the astromechs’ capacity for self-motivation and action.

  He switched to Red Flight frequency. “Red Leader to Gate, do you read?”

  His communications board’s text screen lit up with words, I READ YOU.

  “Report your situation, please.”

  I AM IN A HANGAR SUITED FOR TWO OR MORE SQUADRONS OF STARFIGHTERS. RED FLIGHT’S X-WINGS AND FOUR BLADES, VARIOUS TYPES, ARE HERE. THE OTHER SNUBFIGHTERS’ ASTROMECHS ARE HERE. WE ARE GUARDED BY SIX GUARDS WITH BLASTER RIFLES. THEY ARE TALKING, AND LISTENING TO DISTANT EXPLOSIONS AND THE SOUNDS OF LASER BATTERIES. WE HAVE NOT BEEN INTERFERED WITH AND THE X-WINGS HAVE NOT BEEN OPENED. WE AND THE X-WINGS HAVE SUFFERED ONLY COSMETIC DAMAGE.