"We have four inbound assault shuttles . . . range, thirty klicks."
Peeno didn't recognize the voice — but was thankful for the information. The fort's line-of-sight, target-acquisition system consisted of volunteers equipped with electrobinoculars.
She turned to her weapons-control officer, a grim-faced sixteen-year old with an aptitude for electronics. "Missile status?"
"Ready . . ."
"Prepare to launch . . . launch."
The youngster tapped some keys. Hatches slid clear, a flight of six missiles soared into the sky and flew down range. "We've got 'cm!" the teenager said excitedly. "We've got 'em!"
"Maybe," Peeno replied levelly "and maybe not. Prepare flight two." Sariss watched impassively as the first TIE fighter exploded, cursed the pilot for a fool, and felt the shuttle jink to port.
"Blew chaff," the pilot reported laconically. "Surface-to-air missiles inbound . . . air-to-air outbound."
The pilot thumbed a button, and two flights of four missiles raced away Sariss felt the shuttle jerk and saw reddish-orange flowers populate the sky. The pilot kept count. "Three, four, five . . ."
"And six," Sariss said dryly, as shuttle number three staggered, veered off course, and hit the side of a hill.
Then the fort was below, still fighting, in spite of the fact that three of its ball turrets had been destroyed and that a forty-meter section of wall had been breached.
Antlike figures could be seen running in all directions, while others sought the comparative safety of the underground caves. A TIE fighter swooped in on a strafing run, mowed an entire row of fugitives, and roared away
"Put her down," Sariss said grimly. "Some of the criminals are getting away."
The pilot nodded, put the ship into a tight turn, and chinned the intercom. "Thirty to dirt . . . stand by"
Forty stormtroopers had been crammed into the cargo area. They pulled one last check on their weapons and waited for the moment of impact. It came with a thump, tone, and green light. Daylight appeared, the ramp fell, and an officer began to yell. "Go! Go! Go!" They went. Ground fire stuttered out to greet them, one fell, and the rest charged.
The shuttle rocked under the impact of a shoulder-launched missile but remained undamaged. Sariss, who was unarmed with the exception of her lightsaber, strolled down the ramp. An energy beam whipped by her head, knocked a trooper off his feet, and left her untouched. That's when she saw Devo, waddling out to meet her, his face contorted with fear. "What are you doing? I answered your questions. You promised to leave us alone!"
The Jedi smiled. "Why, Mayor Devo! Nice to see you again. Politicians tell so many lies that I assumed you knew one when you heard it."
Sariss lit the lightsaber. It crackled and popped. The settler, eyes the size of saucers, tried to retreat. Energy sizzled, and his head flew off his shoulders and rolled down the slope.
It took fifteen minutes to subdue the fort and another twenty to clear the underground caves. Some of the colonists had managed to escape, Sariss knew that, but wasn't inclined to follow. The long and none-to-glamorous job of extermination could be left to junior officers and stormtroopers. Her task was done.
The Jedi waited for Boc to finish off a wounded settler, ordered Yun to destroy the subsurface farms, and climbed a nearby hill. A half-buried dwelling crackled as it burned, a woman lay dead a few feet away, and a gra fought to break its tether.
Sariss gained the summit, looked out across the badlands, and wondered what the planet had been like when the forces of light and darkness had clashed out on the plains. When artificial lightning had split the sky, when Jedi had fallen like wheat before a combine, and the stink of ozone filled the air.
The fact that such battles had occurred was incredible enough, but even more amazing was the fact that the ancient ones were still there —hidden in their Valley — waiting for someone to command their power. Jerec? Yes, probably, but with her at his side.
The wind swept in off the plains, caused her cape to snap, and blew smoke toward the east. The first battle had been fought — and the first battle had been won.
Chapter 2
Fire rippled along the New Hope's port side as a squadron of Imperial TIE bombers fought their way through Rebel defenses and launched their proton torpedoes. The deflector shields had gone down ten minutes before — so some of them were bound to get through.
Leia Organa Solo felt the hull shudder, met Mon Mothma's gaze, and knew what she was thinking. The Dreadnaught's best days were behind it. Last stationed over Churba, where it had served as a war museum, the ship had been a symbol of Imperial dominance. A symbol that Rebel forces had stolen and towed away. The victory was largely psychological, but a hull is a hull, and the Rebels needed hulls. That being the case, the Dreadnaught underwent a complete overhaul, was rechristened the New Hope, and hurriedly pressed into service.
Still, that being said, the Hope was no match for newer vessels half her size and served as a mobile HQ. She'd been in orbit around Milagro for a couple of months now, where she had provided the Rebel command structure with a space-going platform.
That's why both women knew the Dreadnaught wouldn't stand a chance against a Star Destroyer, wondered why the Imperial ship hadn't closed with them, and were thankful it hadn't. TIE bombers were one thing, but the massive weapons the Destroyer could bring to bear were something else. Not that they were about to say anything in front of the bridge crew. Morale was high, and they wanted to keep it that way.
Damage reports continued to flood in. "Turbolaser battery fourteen took a direct hit . .
"We have a pressure leak in compartment A-Forty-three ...
"The port sensor array is gone ... along with escape pods sixty through sixty-nine . . ."
The bridge crew, under the somewhat stoic command of a Mon Calamari named Captain Tola, acknowledged the reports and assigned appropriate resources to deal with them.
Mon Mothma, her hair still damp from a hastily interrupted shower, looked composed as usual. A silver pin secured her robe, which hung in orderly folds. "Any news from General Solo?"
Leia knew the question was rhetorical but answered anyway. "No, all three squadrons should be on the far side of Milagro by now, preparing to slingshot around."
Mon Mothma nodded absently. There was so much to consider. The first of the three squadrons belonged to the Hope and consisted of crack pilots in nearly new X-wing starfighters. Squadrons two and three were something else again. The pilots, many of whom were still recovering from wounds received earlier, had been recruited off the hospital ship Mercy and ferried down to Milagro's surface. Once there they were assigned a mishmash of old Y-wings, reconditioned X-wings, and, miracle of all miracles, two B-wings, just cleared for battle.
It was these forces, under the command of General Han Solo, that would decide the battle. If they could find the Star Destroyer from which the TIE bombers had been launched, and if they could neutralize it. Adding to the urgent need for a Rebel victory was the fact that a Battle Group had been dispatched six days before. A force that could return victorious or badly mauled and in need of support.
All of which raised another question: Had the Imperials known the New Hope was vulnerable? And if so, how? Had a probe droid stumbled across their hiding place? Had the Imperials planted a spy in the Rebel command structure? Mon Mothma sighed. The possibilities were endless ... and explained why she rarely got enough sleep.
A familiar voice came over one of the ship-to-ship comm channels. "Solo here ... we're approaching the North Pole and about to break the planetary horizon. Give us the latest."
A powerful computer had been used to analyze Imperial attack vectors, comm traffic, and exit paths. And it was that information, combined with stats on the TIE bombers' power plants and fuel consumption, that would provide the Rebel attack force with the Star Destroyer's probable location. Or so they hoped, since the best way to prevent the capital ship from launching TIEs or engaging the New Hope directly, was to take her o
ut or, failing that, to chase her away.
The Rebel starfighters broke the planetary horizon, received the information they needed, and altered course. "Got it," the voice confirmed. "Keep my dinner warm. Over."
Leia smiled, knew the comment was directed to her, and remembered the meal she and Han had nearly shared. There had been wine, candles, and the possibility of .. .
A hand touched Leia's arm. She turned, reached out to steady the comm tech as the Dreadnaught took another hit, and smiled reassuringly. "Yes?"
"A comm call for you, ma'am," the young man stuttered, "from your brother."
Leia frowned. "From Luke? Are you sure?"
"Yes, ma'am," the tech nodded emphatically. "He's on frequency six — channel four."
Luke Skywalker had left the Dreadnaught two weeks earlier, first to carry out a mission of his own, then to check on Kyle Katarn and Jan Ors.
After obtaining plans that enabled the Alliance to destroy the Imperial Death Star, the agents had taken on a new mission: the search for the Valley of the Jedi. A mission Skywalker considered important and hoped would succeed. Now he had returned — and at the worst possible time.
Leia hurried to a console and the holo of Luke Skywalker's face. He wore a helmet and flight suit. "Luke! Turn back! We're under attack!"
"No kidding," the Jedi said dryly. "We noticed. A pair of TIE fighters jumped us as we left hyperspace. We nailed 'em, but it looks like there are more up ahead." „ ,We,?"
"The Moldy Crow is off my starboard wing. Kyle Katarn and Jan Ors send their best."
"Break it off," Leia urged. "There are too many of them between you and us. Han and three squadrons of starfighters are looking for the Imperial Destroyer now."
"Too late," Skywalker said laconically "We found it ... or they found us! She's a Destroyer all right, Imperial class by the look of her, with bow damage. I see plenty of escorts . . . thirty, maybe more. Could be worse, though, since at least half appear to be transports."
"What was that?" Mon Mothma demanded, appearing at Leia's side. "Did Luke say 'damaged'?"
"I sure did," Skywalker answered. "I see major damage to the Destroyer's bow — as if something hit her or she hit it. Han can home on my transponder while we give her something to think about."
Mon Mothma brought her fist down on the console. A stylus jumped in response. "That's it! That's why the Destroyer didn't come after us —she's damaged! She dropped into this system looking for a place to hide and found us waiting for her! Captain Tola! Inform General Solo and prepare to break orbit."
If Tola was upset by the manner in which a civilian ordered him around, he gave no sign of it. Orders were given, the Dreadnaught broke orbit, and the counterattack began.
The Hope lurched as an Imperial pilot lost control of his fighter and slammed into the hull. The explosion destroyed cooling stack three and burned itself out. The lights flickered, steadied, and held. Mon Mothma looked at Leia. "It's going to be close."
The younger woman nodded, felt her fingernails bite into the palms of her hands, and fought to maintain her composure. "Yes, very close indeed."
The Moldy Crow did a wing over as Jan Ors fought to stay on Luke Skywalker's tail. The Jedi Knight's X-wing was smaller, faster, and a good deal more maneuverable than the Corellian-built ship.
Originally designed to carry small but critical cargoes to asteroid miners and orbital space stations, the Crow had served many purposes since then, many of which weren't exactly legal. That being the case, she could deliver a fair turn of speed and carried more armament than most ships her size. Something for which Jan was thankful — given Luke Skywalker's seemingly suicidal decision to engage what looked like half the Imperial Navy.
"Here they come!"
The transmission seemed somewhat unnecessary, given the number of targets that filled her view screen. Jan resisted the temptation to duck as coherent energy blipped over the Crow's hull and began the endless journey into space.
Skywalker fired in return and had the satisfaction of seeing one enemy ship explode and another tumble out of control as Jan added the weight of her weapons to his.
Kyle Katarn sat in the co-pilot's scat, wished he had something to do, and ground his teeth in frustration. The Crow was his ship, but Jan had been at the controls when the fight started, and there was no acceptable way to usurp her position. Not that such a move would made much sense since she was the better pilot.
All of which left Kyle helpless . . . or did it? Unlike most Jedi, who serve an apprenticeship under a Master, Kyle had been forced to work on his talents on his own, or almost on his own, since he did receive occasional guidance from the now-disembodied Jedi known as Rahn.
And among the many things Kyle had learned was the fact that there is no weapon more powerful than an open mind.
Take the present situation for example: There was an opportunity somewhere in front of him, and all he had to do was find it. The situation reminded Kyle of the set-piece battles he'd been required to study at the Imperial Military Academy. A career he had pursued in order to get an education — but abandoned after his father had been murdered. Murdered and his head placed on a spike for all to see. Kyle hadn't been there, but he'd seen a holo, and the image haunted his dreams.
The Imperial Star Destroyer seemed to swell in size. Support ships surrounded the larger vessel and opened fire. Kyle saw that they had formed a protective globe around the Destroyer, which, though heavily armed, was temporarily vulnerable due to the bow damage and the ongoing need to launch and retrieve TIE fighters — many of which were occupied elsewhere.
Suddenly Kyle had it, the perfect place to hide, even though the enemy would know exactly where they were. Not forever — just long enough for the Rebel fighters to arrive.
"Jan! Luke! Go for the center of their formation. Get between the Destroyer and her escorts, and maintain that position as long as you can."
Skywalker put the X-wing into a tight turn, fired at a TIE fighter, noticed it was one of the newer models — a GT if memory served him correctly — and considered the agent's suggestion. The idea seemed suicidal at first — until the beauty of it struck him. By placing themselves between the capital ship and her escorts, they would force the Imperials to break formation, fire at each other in an attempt to hit the Rebel ships, or cease firing altogether! "Good idea, Kyle . . . if we can get there in one whole piece. I'm going in..."
Han Solo checked to make sure that the Rebel attack group was still closing on course, saw that they were, and turned to his companion. "Let's run a last-minute check, Chewie — how's that power coupler? I'd sure hate to have it burn out with a couple of TIE fighters on our tails."
Though able to understand Basic, Chewbacca wasn't equipped to speak it. He growled resentfully; stabbed at some buttons, and pointed at a display.
Han frowned. "Yeah, I can read, but just because it looks good now doesn't mean it'll stay that way."
Chewbacca made a moaning sound, started to release his harness, and stopped when a voice came over the group's comm frequency. "Medpac One to Group Leader . ."
Han smiled. There had been very little time for niceties such as call signs. That being the case, the second squadron, mainly comprised of walking wounded, had chosen their own. "I read you, Medpac One ... go. Over."
"The bandits are coming out to play ... twenty . maybe more. Over."
Han cursed the need for the Millennium Falcon to lag behind, protected by a screen of Y-wings, and wished he could see the enemy for himself. It didn't make sense though — not with such a makeshift unit. Leadership would be crucial, and there wouldn't be any if he were killed during the first few minutes of battle. "Roger that ... you'll see even more as they pull fighters off the Hope and send 'em our way. Remember, don't let the Imps suck us into multiple dog fights. Go for the Destroyer."
"Roger," Medpac One said with a cheerfulness he really didn't feel. "Engaging now."
The next fifteen minutes were some of the longest in Han's lif
e. Medpac One and his squadron absorbed the initial attack, lost two X-wings, and bored through. The weight of three full squadrons, no matter how iffy some of the individual ships might be, was hard to resist.
The officer in charge of the Imperial Task Force continually sent two-ship flights in to pull Rebel fighters away and thereby weaken the counterattack.
Han, who had the instincts of a loner and had never enjoyed following other people's orders, found himself in the somewhat ironic position of maintaining ironclad discipline. Pilots who succumbed to temptation, or were cut off through no fault of their own, were left to fend for themselves as the larger force broke through wave after wave of TIE fighters. Minidramas, too many to count, played themselves out.
"Break right, Medpac Three! There's one on your tail."
"Yahoo! Eat energy, you scum-sucking Imperial . . . "
"Watch your six ... two on the way."
"Hey; you! In the Y-wing . . . follow me."
"It hurts . . . it hurts so bad . ."
"I'm on it, Blue Six . . . keep her steady . .."
Then, through the mishmash of comet traffic, Han heard what he'd been waiting for. "Medpac Four to Group Leader ... I have a visual on the Imperial Task Force ... repeat . . . a visual on the Imperial Task Force."
Han sideslipped to avoid the remains of a TIE fighter, fired at another, and sent a thought toward Luke. "Hang in there, kid . . . we're almost there . . ."
The X-wing rocked from side to side, dodged laser fire, and bored in. Luke could almost hear Yoda's voice: "Have a pattern things do, starting with the subatomic structure of the pebble in your hand and extending to the stars themselves. Hmmm, yes. Find the pattern, understand the manner in which it was woven, and nothing shall stand in your way."
Each of the Imperial ships had its own fire-control center, and all of those centers had been slaved to a computer aboard the Destroyer. While this strategy made maximum use of the Task Force's weaponry, it also created a pattern that Luke could feel.
Jedi Knight Page 3
