Star Wars: X-Wing V: Wraith Squadron

by Aaron Allston

  Face was on station in the comm center, acting out Darillian’s part whenever communication was necessary. His broadcast was replayed on the bridge’s main monitor, and the increasingly irritable Captain Hrakness tried, whenever possible, to ape Face’s motions.

  At ten minutes until departure from hyperspace, the pilots were in their cockpits, going through start-up checklists. Wedge, Falynn, Janson, and Atril were in the TIE fighters, with the rest in the X-wings.

  They emerged from hyperspace a hundred light-years from the Morobe system, into a system with a white dwarf for a sun.

  Night Caller was the last ship on station. Already in formation were the Imperial Star Destroyer Implacable, the Imperial escort frigate Provocateur, and the Corellian corvette Constrictor. Provocateur was stationed well ahead of the Star Destroyer; Constrictor was some distance to the port of and slightly behind Provocateur. Without waiting for confirmation from Admiral Trigit, Captain Hrakness headed to the mirroring position starboard and behind Provocateur.

  Admiral Trigit’s hologram sprang into life before Face a minute later. “Captain Darillian! Your profile has changed since the last time we met face-to-face, so to speak.”

  Face turned his head to display his profile. “I think it’s the same. Regal, yet unbearably handsome. Or perhaps you mean Night Caller’s profile?”

  “That is what I meant. You’ve picked up a shuttle and made some other modifications, I see.”

  Face turned forward again and gave the admiral a conspiratorial smile. “The shuttle we took from a pirate. And the outer escape pods on either side are actually my TIE fighters, Admiral. A notion of mine. Instead of taking a minute to deploy all four, it now takes me one second. If you like, I’ll have my mechanics dig up the modification specifications. I can transmit them to you and Constrictor.”

  “Please do.”

  “Speaking of modifications, have there been any made to our mission profile?”

  “No. We can jump as soon as you’re in position.”

  “Which will be in one and a half minutes. We’ll be awaiting your signal.”

  Trigit disappeared.

  The New Republic forces could have attacked Trigit’s fleet here, in this unnamed system … but since, in theory, only the ship’s captains knew where they were making rendezvous, that would have been a giveaway that one of them was a traitor. This would not matter if Trigit’s fleet were entirely wiped out or captured, but would have cost the Wraiths their false identity if one or more of the ships got away. By attacking in the Morobe system, they could blame all “treachery” on the “Rebels” should they need to.

  Face’s comlink cracked. “Coming on station.” It was Hrakness.

  He sighed. He wanted desperately to be in the cockpit of his X-wing, but he had to play out his role if Trigit communicated again. For once he regretted his theatrical skill.

  Face saw elements of the comm board light up as Night Caller received a data transmission from Implacable. Moments later the corvette’s engine pitch changed. All four ships would be matching speeds and courses.

  A minute later they were in hyperspace.

  Five minutes from Implacable’s arrival in the Morobe system, Lieutenant Gara Petothel presented herself to the admiral—unusual, since protocol called for her to speak to him from her console in the crew pit below or to use the intercom. “We have a problem, sir.”

  “Something we need to deal with before this assault?”

  “If I’m right, this assault will destroy us.”

  He blinked. “Make it fast.”

  “I’ve been running the data from the Morrt Project. The data that told us that Talasea, in the Morobe system, was the probable site of the Folor relocation.”

  “And?”

  “Nobody had correlated the data of systems being profiled with the parasite units providing the data. Sir, eighty percent of the statistical hits pointing to Talasea come from the same twenty-two units. For this to happen, those units would have to be attached to ships that jumped back and forth between Talasea and neighboring systems. And when the units changed ships, they would have to have changed to ships doing exactly the same thing.”

  Trigit kept his features still but felt cold run through him. “The Morrt Project has reached the end of its useful life span,” he said.

  “I’m afraid so, sir.”

  The admiral turned to Implacable’s commander. “Captain! Drop us out of hyperspace immediately.”

  The captain, a dull-looking fellow from Coruscant whose appearance belied his reliability and intelligence, didn’t ask any stupid questions. He looked up, gauged the seriousness of the admiral’s expression, and nodded to his chief pilot.

  A moment later the view in the forward window of hyperspace turned into the end-of-jump vista of stars stretching to infinity. Those stars snapped from lines into sharp, unblinking points, with Implacable still light-years from the Morobe system.

  The captain cleared his throat. “What about our fleet, sir?”

  “Have Communications prepare an alert. It should tell them that Talasea is a trap; their orders are to exit the system immediately and signal us when they’re sure they have eluded pursuit. Begin broadcasting that over the HoloNet now and continue for twenty minutes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Trigit settled back into his seat. “Good work, Petothel. You’ve probably saved us a considerable pounding.”

  The lieutenant gave him a cool smile and returned to her station.

  He followed her with his gaze. He’d decided that she was very nearly the perfect woman. Intelligent, talented, and beautiful … and somewhat distant, the way he preferred things. Perhaps she’d be amenable to a liaison. If she was, he doubted she’d be the sort to become too attached, too intertwined in his life. An ideal package.

  He’d think about it.

  The other three ships of the fleet arrived from hyperspace within a second of one another. The planet of Talasea was close before them; they’d used its mass shadow, rather than a timer, to drag them out of hyperspace. Instantly, all three vessels launched their TIE fighters: Night Caller’s four from her former escape pod ports, Constrictor’s four from her bow hold, and Provocateur’s two dozen from her hangar bays.

  Implacable failed to appear behind them.

  Face saw the HoloNet indicator light up, but allowed the ship’s communications officer to handle initial reception; Face might foul up the process. A moment later Captain Hrakness’s voice came across the ship’s intercom. “Attention, all crew. Implacable has figured out the trap and held back. The other ships are turning to escape Talasea’s mass shadow. We’ll fire on them as we maneuver. All bow guns, prepare to fire on Provocateur’s engines and communications gear. Turret cannons, prepare to fire on Constrictor’s engines. We’ve got to hold them here for the Alliance forces. Do not, repeat, do not target until I give the command; we can’t have them bringing their shields up.” Face could feel the faintest lateral movement as the captain spoke.

  He turned on the chamber’s main monitor and split it between a forward visual view and sensor view.

  In the starfield before the corvette, he saw the enemy frigate begin to come into range of the arc of Night Caller’s bow guns. The sensor showed that all three ships were turning to port, preparing to come around in a 180-degree maneuver that would end with the corvettes still flanking the frigate.

  Face swore. The corvette’s turret guns might cripple the Constrictor even at this range, but her forward paired turbolaser cannons couldn’t be counted on to crack the engines of an Imperial frigate. He hit the intercom button for the bridge. “Captain, this is Face. Recommend you emergency vent atmosphere from the bow hold and open the hold door as you bear. That’ll give you fourteen, maybe sixteen proton torps to fire at Provocateur on your first pass.”

  “Thanks, Loran. Good thinking.”

  Face headed out of the comm center at a full run, risking broken legs as he charged down the stairs. If he was fast enough, he co
uld get into the hold, get into his cockpit before they vented the atmosphere …

  But when he slapped the door control to the bow hold access hatch, it failed to open. The light above the door glowed red. The captain had already vented the hold atmosphere. Frustrated, Face slammed his hand into the door.

  In the darkness, Kell waited. Before him, blackness turned into a thin vertical strip of stars; as he watched, it widened, and the frigate Provocateur drifted into position from the left, its stern toward them. That meant Night Caller was taking a hard maneuver to port. Beyond Provocateur was the other corvette, executing the same turn at the same rate.

  “Stand by,” Kell said. Captain Hrakness had said all bow guns would go on his command, and he had to wait until all seven pilots in the bow hold had a clear field of fire.

  Despite his best efforts, his breathing quickened, became harsh. It sounded like gasping in his ears.

  The other day, the assault on Todirium hadn’t affected him like this. Of course, Todirium’s defenders were underpowered. Underprepared. These enemies, on the other hand, can shoot back.

  Kell shook his head, trying to send that invidious mental voice away.

  You’re about to stare down the cannons of an Imperial frigate. You’re going to be vaped. That’s the end of Kell Tainer.

  “Shut up.”

  “What’s that, Five?”

  “Nothing, Nine.”

  The frigate was almost centered in the exit from the hold. Kell grabbed his control yoke, gripped it hard to quell the shaking of his hand. “Get ready … get ready … Target and fire!” Kell activated his targeting computer, swung the brackets over the frigate’s stern, and saw them immediately go red; the computer whined with the tone of a good lock. He fired both torpedoes and saw them streak off toward the Provocateur.

  A dozen torpedoes joined them in the near-instantaneous crossing to the frigate. The stern end of the capital ship lit up in a ball-shaped, glowing explosion.

  Kell said, “Five away,” and shot out of Night Caller’s bow. Even as he emerged he saw Night Caller’s forward lasers lance in on the frigate’s engines, adding their formidable damage to that done by the torpedoes.

  “Four away!”

  The sensors showed Night Caller turning away from the frigate. As on the Blood Nest moon, for the X-wings to launch, the corvette had to keep its bow shields down … and to maneuver so neither enemy ship could get a clear shot at its bow.

  “Six away!”

  The center column of X-wings was clear. Kell switched over to lasers, linked them for quad firing, and brought up his visual sensors. Provocateur, until a moment ago in the process of gathering up its TIE fighters, was deploying them again, a fire drill of confusion. He fired as he raced in toward the frigate’s screen of starfighters, shooting as fast as his shaking hands would let him.

  Wedge hovered near his TIE fighter’s landing port as if preparing to dock.

  The instant the bow vista lit up with the emissions of proton torpedoes and laser cannons, he announced, “Grays, form up!” He goosed the engines and moved out in an arc that would carry them well around the Provocateur on a course toward the corvette Constrictor. As soon as his range meter read two klicks he began firing lasers.

  Night Caller’s turret guns had already struck home, he saw. The corvette’s engines were awash in energy, their insulating sheaths glowing from absorbed energy; a brilliant ribbon of fire from the portmost topside engine was clear sign of a sheared fuel conduit. Night Caller continued fire against the other corvette’s stern. Wedge also directed his fire toward the engines, trusting Falynn to do the same, and said, “Gray Three, Gray Four, take the communications systems. You know where.”

  Indeed they did. Different Corellian corvettes had set up their communications chambers at different points, but all had the majority of their comm and sensor hardware at the same position: starboard, in the central portion of the ship, deck two. Atril and Janson swept far to starboard, then angled back in and began firing continuously against the corvette’s far side.

  Constrictor finally began returning fire. The stern gun and top turret opened up on Night Caller; the side guns sprayed fire against Wedge and the other TIE pilots.

  Face was in the stairwell up to deck two when Night Caller was jarred by a powerful blow; it knocked him from his feet and he rolled across the bone-bruising steps down to the deck three landing. He made it painfully to his feet and hobbled up to deck two a moment later.

  Lights in the corridor leading to the bridge flickered and smoke drifted through the corridor. Face limped forward. The blast door to the bridge was bowed in toward him. Paint had peeled and burned from its surface, yielding the smoke Face saw, and the metal of the door was glowing red from heat. The door made a hissing noise like a reptile preparing to strike.

  He gulped and hit his comlink. “Captain Hrakness? Any bridge crew? Come in.”

  There was no answer.

  Kell tore past the Provocateur. His jittery laser fire had missed the first screen of TIE fighters, but his second set of torpedoes had detonated on the frigate’s shields. He grimaced; this was going to be a pounding match.

  “Five, Seven.”

  “I hear you, Seven.”

  “We’ve lost the bridge.”

  “What?”

  “She took a direct hit from the frigate’s stern battery, Five. The bridge is gone.”

  Kell swore and began to swing around for his next pass. Runt was now on his tail. “Was anyone still in the hold?”

  “Face’s fighter. He wasn’t in it. I think Night Caller is drifting.” Indeed, the corvette seemed to be locked in the starboard turn that was supposed to bring its bow away from its enemies. In a minute, the maneuver would bring the bow toward the other two ships again.

  Kell activated his comm unit and personal comlink simultaneously. “Night Caller, this is Wraith Five. Does anybody read me?”

  Wedge and Falynn roared past the Constrictor’s bow, reversed, and fired almost before they looked.

  The enemy corvette’s bow hold was opening and her bow shields were down to allow her TIE fighters to emerge. The Wraiths’ linked laser fire went straight down the throat of the enemy ship. As they dove, losing relative altitude rather than follow their shots in, they saw energy spill right back out of the hold at them, evidence that something had lit off in the hold—probably the ion engines of one of the TIE fighters preparing to launch.

  The corvette’s belly turret swung after them, firing as they passed, but then the guns froze in position, their last blast being half the intensity of a standard barrage.

  Wedge checked his sensors. This close, the corvette’s shields would have lit up the sensor board, but the only thing doing that was the increasing brightness from the corvette’s engines. He swung around to bring the corvette into his firing brackets and switched his comm unit to broad-spectrum Imperial frequencies. “Constrictor, this is the New Republic. You are helpless under our guns. I’ll give you ten seconds to surrender. If you don’t, I’m going to blow a hole through your bridge and fly through it for fun.”

  It was only a moment before a strangled voice replied: “Constrictor to Rebel forces. We surrender. Please bring up rescue craft. Our engines are on fire. And please don’t fire on our escape pods.” Two of the escape craft ejected from the corvette’s center section and began a slow drift toward Talasea.

  “Acknowledged, Constrictor.”

  Janson’s voice cut in. “Wedge, Night Caller’s in trouble.”

  At a dead run, Face worked his way down to deck four and to the combined security hold and auxiliary bridge situated just forward of the engines. The door opened to his voice but the chamber beyond was dark, unoccupied.

  He slid into the command chair and hit his comlink. “Grinder! You still among the living?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I’m in the backup bridge. What do I do to bring it up?”

  “Why does everyone think that I—”

  �
�Grinder.”

  “Type in command wormturns, W-O-R-M-T-U-R-N-S, then ID yourself by voice and issue the vocal password ‘Agamar Rules the Galaxy.’ ”

  Face did as he was told and a moment later the auxiliary bridge sprang to life. He redirected all officers’ stations to his command console and immediately stopped the ship’s portward spin.

  On the main sensor monitor, Constrictor was reading green—safe, pacified. Provocateur was still red. The board showed a variety of blue dots already in the fight and more onrushing from Talasea and her moons.

  First things first. He activated the bow hold door and closed it, then brought bow shields up to full power. “Cubber.”

  “Here.”

  “Get a crew up to the deck two bridge door. The bridge is gone and the door is losing integrity. Weld it down or something before it blows out completely and takes half the crew with it.”

  “We’re on it.”

  As fast as he could process the information, Face flipped between the screens for each of the bridge positions he now commanded. I used to think bridge officer was such an easy post.

  Provocateur was outbound at full speed, again gathering up the last of her TIE fighters, taking advantage of Night Caller’s momentary lack of responsiveness and the Wraiths’ inability to do her harm.

  “Wraiths, form up,” Kell said. “We’re not getting through their shields alone. I want a torpedo barrage. I’ll transmit targeting data; have your torps follow it in. Everyone fire on my mark, except Seven and Nine—you fire exactly one second later.”

  He counted off their acknowledgments until he was sure all were accounted for. Tyria and Piggy had finally emerged from the topside hold, and that gave them a total of seven X-wings, fourteen torpedoes, to fire in this barrage.

  He finished his arc and swung into position at the head of the X-wing formation. Runt settled in beside him. “Night Caller, come in.”

  “Night Caller here.”

  “Face?”

  “Never mind. What do you want?”