Star Wars - X-Wing 07 - Solo Command

by Aaron Allston

  "Good point. Squeaky, record that."

  "If I must."

  Wedge's attention was diverted by data on his sensor board. "We've just been tapped by planetary sensors. Now we find out if our camouflage fooled them."

  "I don't see how it can," Squeaky said, his voice even more petulant than usual. "On close examination, the extension off our starboard side just does not look genuine. And Chewbacca has failed to minimize the Falsehood's forward mandibles, which are, if I'm not mistaken, characteristic of the YT-1300s but not the YT-2400s. We are, I think, probably dead."

  Donos frowned at the two-tone 3PO unit seated beside him. Squeaky looked absurd in his ill-fitting clothing, a New Republic general's uniform. "Then why did you volunteer for this mission?"

  "Habit?"

  "No."

  "Because I thought my absence would doom the mission?"

  "Although Emtrey could have substituted for you."

  Chewbacca grumbled something.

  "Certainly not," Squeaky said, his tone turning indignant. "This is not fun, and I wouldn't miss you."

  Chewbacca grumbled again.

  "No, you don't keep having to remind me to belt in. I am firmly belted in. My belt is fixed with more finesse than that of any belt in this cockpit."

  Donos shook his head. Maybe he ought to set up at one of the gunport turrets now.

  Lara sat in her cockpit, drenched in sweat and feeling miserable.

  It wasn't because the cockpit was more uncomfortable than usual, or because of the protracted amount of time she'd been in it.

  She'd met the Broadaxe Squadron pilots and had been assigned a TIE interceptor and a wingman, the squadron com­mander. She'd gone through the routine power-up checklist and transferred, with the rest of the Broadaxes and the 181st, to another ship)—a Dreadnaught, older than the Empire, named Reprisal. She remembered it from the Levian mission. Broad-axe Squadron occupied the Dreadnaught's fighter bay, while the 181st was divided among officers' bays and cargo bays. Lara shook her head over that; she'd have thought that the more prestigious unit would choose the more convenient bay.

  She'd been among the last TIEs to land, and was posi­tioned to be among the first to launch, her viewport a mere me­ter from the bay's magcon shield. Her temporary commander had laughed at her zeal, but there was another reason she wanted this position: no one was likely to walk in front of her TIE and see what she was doing inside it. Since she'd settled in, she'd been hard at work.

  She had started by coupling her personal comlink to a data­pad she'd stolen from another Iron Fist crewman while they were in the officers' mess. She didn't steal equipment on the bridge; it might be too easy to track back to her.

  She recorded a lengthy message, one that turned her thoughts gloomy. Then she pulled up a panel beneath her feet, one that gave technicians access to the vehicle's laser power generators. She powered down all vehicle systems except the comm unit and exterior lights, which would allow her to pre­tend that the system was still fully powered—assuming no one ran a sensor scan on her, or that no one called, in the next few minutes, for immediate takeoff.

  Leading from the power generators were power regula­tors, which could keep a fatal spike of power from frying vehi­cle systems in case the generators were hit or malfunctioned in combat. She opened one of the regulators, the one protecting the port-side laser cannons, and spliced in a set of cables. These she attached to the datapad's computer coupler port.

  She activated the datapad and packed it into the cavity with the laser power generators, taping it securely into place. She left one wire, terminating in a simple thumb switch, trail­ing into the cockpit; she closed the access hatch over it, then taped the thumb switch to her pilot's yoke.

  Finally, she recommenced power-up, hoping that her modi­fication wouldn't cause any of the vehicle systems to fail, that her modification wouldn't activate any sensor she didn't know about.

  If this worked, she was one step closer to Iron Fist's de­struction. If it failed, but she was otherwise very lucky, maybe her activities wouldn't be noticed. Maybe.

  After a mere ten minutes of frantic activity, she began to get her breathing back under control.

  The stars beyond the magcon field suddenly twisted and blurred as Reprisal entered hyperspace.

  "This will be a short jump," her commanding officer said. "Prepare to launch on arrival."

  The Falsehood waited in low planetary orbit, its crew watch­ing the green, lush world slowly turn beneath them.

  "It's been too long," Donos said. "They're on to us."

  "Probably," Wedge said. He didn't look at all uneasy.

  Squeaky said, "I see other vessels awaiting final clearance to descend."

  "Either they're not on to us," Wedge said, "in which case our waiting here is standard procedure, or they're on to us, and they're having other vessels wait nearby so we won't get suspicious."

  "Oh," Squeaky said. "But we're suspicious anyway."

  "They failed," Wedge said.

  "Will it matter if they destroy us anyway?"

  "Not really." The console beeped at Wedge, and he leaned over to look at the comm unit's text screen. "We have final ap­proval for descent to our primary target zone."

  Chewbacca shook his head, making a nearly subsonic noise of dissent. He gestured at the sensor board.

  There, approaching from planetary east in a similar orbit, was a large, indistinct signal.

  "Looks like starfighters," Wedge said. "At least a full squad. All right, we go." He unbelted. "Donos, take the belly gunport turret, I'll take the top. Chewbacca, the controls are yours. Squeaky, you have the comm unit. Call in the Wraiths now, then bring in Mon Remonda on the holocomm unit, then stand by in your new mode."

  "I'll be so pleased to make my debut."

  "Only if they address you, now."

  "Yes, sir."

  Donos followed Wedge back to the turret access tubes and descended to his turret. He powered it up, swung his weapons back and forth a few times to gauge their speed and responsive­ness. Meanwhile, he felt the Falsehood maneuvering as it pointed spaceward and accelerated away from Comkin Five.

  Squeaky's voice came over the ship's internal comlink. "Chewbacca says estimated two minutes until the TIEs are in range. At least five until we're far enough away from the planet's mass shadow to enter hyperspace. Wraiths report that they will intercept us in three and a half minutes."

  Wedge's voice was next. "So they have a minute and a half to batter us before we have reinforcements. We should be able to handle that."

  Squeaky said, "Chewbacca says ... oh, my. Oh, dear, dear dear."

  Wedge said, "Report, Squeaky."

  "Are you sure you want to know? It's not good."

  "Do you want to walk home? Report."

  "Chewbacca reports a capital ship dropping out of hyper­space along our escape vector. It's closer than the Wraiths, and it's deploying TIE fighters. Excuse me, TIE interceptors. Two squadrons. They are deploying in what he calls umbrella for­mation and approaching."

  Wedge said, "And our pursuit?"

  "They're, ah, they seem to be hanging back. Pacing us, no longer gaining."

  "Driving us to the hunters. Thank you, Squeaky." There was a long moment of silence. "Chewbacca, make your course straight for the capital ship. When you're just outside the range of their tractors, deploy Package One and vector away. Then allow Package Two to deploy at its discretion."

  A grumble sounded over the comm unit.

  "He doesn't seem happy with your order, sir, but he's corn-plying. Ah, ah, the capital ship is identified. A Rendili Star-

  Drive Dreadnought-class heavy cruiser. Oh, it's the Reprisal! How nice to see it still functional. The Reprisal visited Kessel one time."

  "Save your reminiscences for later. And put your mask on." "Yes, sir. The droid's voice sounded resigned.

  13

  Lara put everything into acceleration, hurtling toward the Falsehood as fast as she could travel. She sh
ouldn't have been able to outstrip the other TIE interceptors of the combined units, but most of them dropped slowly back. In a matter of moments, she was at the fore with three other TIEs—her wingman and two interceptors of the 181st.

  One of them communicated. "Anxious for battle, Lieu­tenant?" It was Baron Fel's voice.

  "Anxious to show you what I'm made of," she said.

  "Never let it be said that I'm not gallant," Fel said. "The first strafing run is yours."

  She managed to project gratitude and excitement into her voice. "Thank you, sir." But the words were like bile to her.

  She knew what was happening. It was a test. If she was seen to offer less than her best effort toward the destruction of the ersatz Millennium Falcon, they'd know she was not trustworthy.

  Well, she'd show them something. She'd hit the Falsehood again and again.

  "Millennium Falcon,'' came the woman's voice, "this is the former Wraith Two. Prepare to die." The source of the trans­mission, the lead TIE interceptor, opened fire.

  The voice was Lara's. Donos stiffened. He'd been tracking the incoming TIEs, aiming at the lead starfighter, but now he let his aim drift off her.

  Green laser fire streamed from the interceptor. It was the only one of the four TIEs to fire. The first few linked bursts missed, then Lara began connecting, and the Falsehood rocked under the impact of her hits.

  The first pair of TIEs roared past the Falsehood and imme­diately looped around for a second pass. The second pair came on, and a new voice crackled across the comm waves. "I be­lieve I address General Solo. You can spare the lives of your crew by surrendering now."

  Donos had heard that voice before, at the Implacable fight. Baron Soontir Fel. He twisted to look up the access tube at Wedge. His commander had some sort of personal relation­ship with Fel, doubtless something that had come about during the brief time Fel served with Rogue Squadron, though Donos didn't know what it was. And sure enough, Wedge had stiff­ened in his seat, his aim faltering.

  Donos almost smiled. It was good to know that he wasn't the only one caught off guard by the forces confronting them.

  Then came another voice over the comlink. Han Solo's.

  Solo's voice said, "Baron Fel. They still say you're the best Imp pilot since Darth Vader. When you were a Rogue, I didn't want to hurt your feelings, but now I can tell you, I flew against him—and you're not fit to shine his helmet."

  "We'll never know," Fel said. "I'm certainly pilot enough to put an end to you." He and his wingman came on, firing, with twenty TIE interceptors in their wake.

  Donos's aim was thrown off as the Falsehood suddenly began spinning along its bow-to-stern axis. He recognized the ma­neuver's intent, to change the sight profile of the Falsehood so incoming attackers would have an irregular target.

  Fel and his wingman blasted by, their laser fire hitting the bow and forward mandibles. The ship's lights dimmed as its shields strained to hold up under the assaults. Donos's return fire missed both TIEs, but he was able to swing back in line and tag the second interceptor of the next pair. His shots chewed through a solar wing array and sent the interceptor spinning off into the blackness of space. On his sensor screen, the sec­ond interceptor vanished; streaks of debris exploded away from its last position, then faded.

  And more TIEs came on as, in the distance, the bow of the Dreadnaught grew larger and larger.

  Squeaky watched with fascination as the universe spun crazily before him. He switched back to his normal voice. "I say. If I were human, I imagine I'd be throwing up all over your control panels."

  Chewbacca turned and grumbled something.

  Squeaky turned to look in amazement at the Wookiee—what he could see of Chewbacca, anyway, through the holes in the ab­surd, oversized mask Squeaky was wearing. "Why, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Did I really sound like him?"

  Chewbacca grumbled an assent.

  Squeaky sat back, suddenly delighted. All the work he'd done with General Solo, recording his voice, analyzing and parsing appropriate phrases and recurrent remarks, might have paid off. It had not only fooled Baron Fel, it had finally gained him Chewbacca's admiration.

  The Falsehood rocked, accompanied by noises of hard­ware and systems leaping from their wall brackets and crash­ing around against the walls, as it sustained more incoming fire. "Chewbacca, can't we do all this without the participation of enemy forces?"

  The Wookiee spared a moment to glare at him.

  "What did I say?"

  ron of TIE fighters that had escorted them out of the planet's atmosphere was on an approach back toward the planet, doubt­less ordered away so the Reprisal and the interceptors could have all the glory arising from the Millennium Falcon's destruc­tion. Donos watched his sensor board with concern. The False­hood had been lucky to survive one run through that gauntlet.

  First to return would be Lara and her wingman. They were only seconds from optimal firing range. "Commander?" Donos said. "Opinions about Lara?"

  "When we do the breakaway move," Wedge said, "when we vector away from the Dreadnaught's bow, she may over-shoot us. Try for one of her wings. Disable instead of kill."

  The next voice was Squeaky's. "If you'll pardon me, sirs, I think you should let Flight Officer Notsil continue shooting us."

  , Laser fire from Lara's interceptor and her wingmate's be­gan pouring down on the Falsehood again. Out of the corner of his eye, Donos saw a hydrospanner rocketing down the ac­cess tube toward him. He tried twisting up and out of the way; it slammed into his rib cage instead of his head, and he grunted from the sudden pain.

  "What?" Wedge's voice suggested the frown Donos could easily imagine him wearing. "Squeaky, have you shaken loose your logic circuits?"

  "No, sir. It's rather complicated. It will take too long to ex­plain. Just trust me." The droid's voice was surprisingly confi­dent. "This is something I know about. What? Oh. Chewbacca -says thirty seconds to release-and-turn."

  Donos twisted and swept his arc of fire across Lara's TIE, but didn't begin firing until his crosshairs were just past her wing. His series of blasts flashed between her and her wing­man, then one grazed the second TIE. It jumped up, gaining relative altitude, and was suddenly out of sight.

  Then it was a bright, expanding ball as Wedge's shot hulled it.

  The last of the TIEs finished their first pass. Behind the False­hood, they began looping around for a second run. The squad-

  On the bridge of Iron Fist, Zsinj and Melvar watched with in­terest the holocomm broadcast from the bow of the Reprisal. It showed the Millennium Falcon's suicidal charge, the horde of TIE interceptors converging upon the Corellian freighter.

  "Come on, come on," Zsinj breathed. "Bring in Mow Re­monda. You'll die if you don't."

  "Ten seconds to breakaway," Squeaky said. "Nine... Eight..."

  Chewbacca rumbled at him.

  "You want me to do the jettison? Very well." Squeaky's metal hands sought out the large switch that had been bonded to the main console earlier today. "Four ... Three ..."

  Chewbacca ceased the freighter's spinning motion. The Falsehood shuddered as a vicious shot from Fel's interceptor slammed into its top hull.

  "One ..." Squeaky threw the switch.

  All along the starboard side of the Falsehood, seals holding the new extension, the mock-up that made the ship better resemble a YT-2400 freighter, opened with little flashes of explosive charges. The extension drifted half a meter from the False­hood's hull.

  Chewbacca yanked the controls hard to port. The freighter's inertial compensators shrieked as they tried to accommodate the nearly ninety-degree maneuver. TIE interceptors, their pilots caught momentarily off guard by the surprise move, overshot the Falsehood. The jettisoned portion of the ship continued on, laser-straight, toward the bow of the Reprisal.

  Squeaky said, "Flight Officer Konnair, you are free to de­tach when ready."

  Lara and Fel looped back quickly, getting back into position behind the Fal
sehood. They continued their erratic, side-to-side motion, which made it all but impossible for the ship's gunners to target them.

  Lara heard Fel report, "There's something attached to the Falcon where that piece of debris just detached. It's—oh."

  Lara saw the "something" break free of the Falsehood. It was an A-wing fighter. It drifted free of the freighter with the puff of small explosive bolts detonating; then its engines lit off and it vectored away at the kind of speed only an A-wing could manage.

  "Don't be distracted, Petothel," Fel said. "Stay with the primary target."

  "Don't worry about me," she said, and opened up again on the Falsehood.

  Fel's wingman veered away in pursuit of the A-wing.

  On the bridge of the Reprisal, the captain and crew watched the Falsehood's movements.

  "He's vectoring to sweep around us," the weapons opera­tor reported. "He'll probably return to his primary course when he's clear of our guns."

  "Order the TIEs to herd him back in toward our side," said the captain, a burly man who could not return to his home on Coruscant until Rebels like Han Solo were purged from the galaxy. "We can't keep Fel from firing on her, but maybe we can steal the kill. What's the status of that debris?"

  "On a collision course with us," the sensor specialist said. "But its speed and tonnage are insufficient to do us harm. Our shields will repel it."

  "Very well," the captain said.

  Lara and Fel continued to pour laser fire into the Falsehood's stern, all the while dodging with the mad speed and maneu­verability of which only TIE interceptors were capable. The remaining TIEs swept out ahead of the Falsehood, forming up in her path, dictating a run through their gauntlet or a turn— either toward space, along the Dreadnaught's flank, or back toward the planet.

  But Dorset Konnair in her A-wing flashed along behind the line of TIEs, firing her blaster cannons continuously, vap­ing two of the TIEs before she emerged from the other side.

  Fel's wingman pursued her, firing at maximum range, unable to overtake the starfighter.