Star Wars: X-Wing I: Rogue Squadron (34 page)

As peaceful as it looks, it’s not where I want to die
.

Wedge continued his briefing. “Our objective is a ferrocrete pipe roughly four meters in diameter and forty meters long. It’s reinforced and has suspension cables helping to support the weight. A single proton torpedo should be able to destroy it, but we’re not sure how well it’s going to show up on the targeting computers. If we get a lock, it’s likely to be at point-blank range.”

Nawara Ven stroked the tip of one of his brain
tails. “Run up this rift valley and hit something the third of the size of an X-wing, without the benefit of a targeting computer? That’s impossible.”

Gavin shook his head. “That’s nothing. Back home in Beggar’s Canyon …”

The youth’s voice trailed off as Wedge raised an eyebrow in his direction. “I don’t think
any
pilot from Tatooine ever found a mission tough, especially when it involves racing through a canyon.”

“Well, the target’s not really that small, sir.”

Corran laughed. “It is the size of a reclining Hutt, give or take a couple of meters. The conduit can probably move faster, too.”

Even Wedge laughed at the comment, but Corran knew it wasn’t because of the weak humor in his statement. Everyone in the room, the nine surviving pilots from Rogue Squadron and Tycho Celchu, knew the mission being presented to them was difficult. Their laughter came from the nervous tension of staring death in the face and knowing death was likely to win this one.

“The real sticking point on this mission, people, is time-over-target. We’ll be coming in and using a meteor shower as cover for our insertion to the atmosphere. This means we’ll have to maneuver through the asteroids to get into Phenaru and get out again. We also have a long run up to light speed so we can make the jump out of the gravity well. All this means we’ve got a half hour over the target. If we burn too much time and fuel fighting, we don’t get out.”

Bror Jace scratched at the pale stubble on his chin. “That’s cutting it rather fine, isn’t it? The valley run should take a third of that. If only six of us are going in, that’s one pass per flight element.”

“He’s right, Commander.” Rhysati frowned. “Can’t we get auxiliary fuel pods for our T-65s?”

Wedge glanced over to where Emtrey stood. “Last check of our inventory didn’t show we had any and a check of the Alliance requisition system shows a backlog of requests. That’s what you said, wasn’t it, Emtrey?”

“Yes, sir.” The droid raised a hand and tilted his head to the side. “However, sir, we now have some.”

“What?” Wedge frowned. “I thought you characterized requisitioning them as an exercise in futility.”

“I did, sir.” The droid shrugged in a most un-mechanical manner by bobbing his head up and down on his neck. “I saw we needed them, so I scrounged ’em.”

“Scrounge?”

“They cost a couple suits of the stormtrooper armor we had left over from Talasea, the cold weather gear we are not using here on Noquivzor, and some spare parts for which we have little use.”

The squadron’s commander stared at the droid for a moment. “How many did you get?”

“A half dozen.”

Wedge shook his head. “All that only got you
six
auxiliary fuel pods?”

“Sir, when scrounging merchandise you can get it fast, in good condition, or cheap: pick two.” The droid’s clamshell head righted itself again. “They’re here and Zraii is ready to fit them on ships. He’s fitting them with a quick release so you can jettison them when they’re empty. It’ll kill the drag when you’re fighting the squints. These pods give you half again the time-over-target.”

Forty-five minutes sounded like forever, and in some ways it was. In atmosphere the engines gobbled a lot more fuel than they did in space because of the friction and drag. X-wings were a better fighter in atmosphere than TIEs, but the two squadrons
on the ground outnumbered the Rogues four to one.
Long odds and we ran through the last of our luck on the previous visit to Blackmoon
.

Rhysati raised a hand. “Any defenses in the rift valley?”

Wedge shook his head. “None that we know of, but it’s possible there are some. Whoever goes in first has got to be careful. First run probably won’t nail the prize.”

“I can believe that.” Corran scratched at the back of his neck. “Are Page’s folks coming down while we make our runs?”

“If they were, Lieutenant, the answer to that question would be classified.” Wedge hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “It’s a logical assumption to make, though. Regardless, any of us who gets left behind will be in severe straits—out of fuel and out of luck long before the assault for which we’re doing the prep work will hit.”

Bror Jace slowly nodded. “This is a suicide mission.”

“No, I want it to be anything
but
a suicide mission. The facts do point to this being very dangerous.” Wedge folded his hands together. “We’ve got six ships and eight pilots. I’m sorry, Ooryl, but without a proper prosthetic fit, I can’t consider you healthy enough for this mission.”

Corran’s wingmate sagged a bit in his seat. The Emdee droids had fitted him with a odd device that capped his stub with what looked—and smelled—like a boiling pot of bacta. Below it a rudimentary prosthetic arm ended in a pair of pincers that snapped open and closed. “Qrygg offers apologies for Qrygg’s failure.”

“Your feelings are understood, Ooryl.” Wedge folded his arms across his chest. “Three of you are fit to fly but you don’t have a ship. We do have
Lujayne’s X-wing ready to go. If all of you volunteer for this mission, I’ll choose one of you at random to fly that ship. If anyone else opts out, you’re up. Do you all want to go?”

All three of the pilots nodded.

“Emtrey, randomize a choice here.”

The droid hummed for a moment. “Nawara Ven.”

Shiel growled and Erisi shrugged in Rhysati’s direction.

Wedge smiled. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Ven. You’ll fly with Mr. Jace, assuming he volunteers.”

The Thyferran shot a quick glance at Erisi, then nodded. “It shall be my pleasure to bring glory to the Thyferran people as their representative on this mission.”

“Mr. Darklighter, this isn’t Beggar’s Canyon …”

“I know, sir. It’s bigger and this won’t be for fun.” Gavin smiled slowly. “I’m in.”

Wedge looked over at Rhysati. “And you, Ms. Ynr.”

“Someone has to break up the boys’ club.”

Wedge turned to Corran. “Need I ask?”

“You want to know if I’m willing to fly to an enemy-held planet where I’m to race through some eroded ditch and pop a sewer pipe with a proton torpedo while Interceptors are swarming around, and do all this with no hope of rescue if I slip up?”

Wedge’s reply came cold and calm. “That’s what I want to know.”

Corran’s mouth soured and his stomach tightened. Despite Gavin’s protest, Nawara Ven had been correct—the mission was impossible. Performing any
one
of the feats mentioned might have been possible, but doing them all would push every pilot to
his or her limit. Failure by some was inevitable—only who and how many were in question.

They all knew that. They knew it as well as he did, yet each one of them had volunteered without a second thought. The mission needed doing, and they were going to do it. It wasn’t a question of survival, but a question of how best to make certain the mission succeeded. Each of them decided they were up to the task and now it was up to him to come to the same conclusion.

“Overwhelming odds, tough target, scant chance of survival—business as usual for Rogue Squadron.” Corran nodded. “I’ll go on one condition.”

“Go or stay, Mr. Horn, no special deals.”

“Then think of this as a tactical consideration.” Corran sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I’m first into the valley.”

Wedge shook his head. “That position’s already filled.”

“You need a wingman, Commander.” Corran jerked a thumb at the other pilots. “They’ve had practice using someone else’s telemetry to make a run, I haven’t. We’ll make the first run together.”

Wedge looked away for a moment, then back at Corran. “Glad to have you with us, Mr. Horn. Shiel, Ms. Dlarit, you’ll work with Captain Celchu and provide opposition for us while we do the simulator runs on the operation. You’ll have to do your best to kill us before we go. If you can’t, maybe, just maybe, we’ll be able to come back and thank you for your hard work.”

Corran leaned against the body of the simulator and gave Wedge a weak smile. “We got it that time, boss, but only just barely.”

“That last cut is very sharp. Banking is the only way to make it, but leveling out for the torpedo shot is tough.”

The junior officer nodded. The one time he had tried to make the last turn to the target by applying rudder and skidding around the turn, his X-wing slammed into a canyon wall. Making that turn and escaping a crash required very fine manipulation of the throttle. He could do that, but by the time he had negotiated the turn and recovered, he was past his target.

“I like the idea of popping up over the last turn and gliding on down in, but that might attract some of the TIEs the bacta boy is lighting up.”

“I agree that going up and out of the valley to avoid that last turn is probably the most simple way of handling the problem, but we go in first to provide the data for others to make their runs. Mr. Jace
and Mr. Ven will decide if they want to hop past the last turn or go through the valley.”

Bror Jace came out from around the corner of Corran’s simulator with his wingman. “Valley, I think, unless our fuel estimates are lower than expected because of dogfighting.”

Corran winked at him. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep them off you while you squirm your way into the tunnel.”

“I’ll do the job.”

The Twi’lek laid a hand on Bror’s shoulder. “We’ll do the job.”

Wedge smiled. “Only because our near misses will weaken the structure for you.”

“Of course, Commander.” Bror looked at Corran. “Even clean misses must ionize the air and do some harm.”

The Corellian Lieutenant levered himself away from the simulator. “Last I looked, I’ve hit more targets than you.”

Gavin and Rhysati joined the group. “If not for me not holding my end up, Corran would be winning your contest, Bror.”

The Thyferran waved that comment away. “Corran has one more kill than I do. If this simulation is at all accurate, I will eclipse his mark by three kills.”

“So it’s just you and me, head-to-head?”

Bror looked down at Corran. “Just you and me. Head-to-head. As it has always been.”

Wedge stepped between them. “At ease, gentlemen. Let me remind you of two things. First, Gavin’s got the best record for hitting the tunnel, which means the second flight didn’t do so well. Second, that tunnel is our target, not all the eyeballs and squints flying around.”

He rested a hand on each man’s shoulder. “I’ve
not discouraged this contest because there’s no way to stop you from keeping score. It’s given you a competitive edge which is good—neither of you has allowed the other to become complacent or bored. A bored pilot gets overconfident, careless, and, rather quickly,
dead
. And, in spite of planning and promoting this difficult mission, I don’t want to see any of us die.”

Wedge took a step back and folded his arms. For the barest of moments he looked far older than his twenty-seven years. Corran saw the weariness as Death’s fingerprints.
Death’s never gotten Wedge, but it’s been close enough to leave marks on him. There’s undoubtedly a nightmare for every pilot Rogue Squadron has lost, and I bet he runs through them far more regularly than he’d like
.

The squadron commander forced a smile onto his face. “Back when I first welcomed you to this squadron I told you that most pilots die during their first five missions. We were very lucky in our first three, but it all caught up with us on the run at Blackmoon. Looking at the numbers there is no reason to assume it will go any better for us this time.”

Corran nodded and fought the shiver coursing up his spine. In the first run they had eleven ships to take against Blackmoon’s fighters. They engaged two squadrons then and would likely face that much opposition this time. While the best pilots in Rogue Squadron were going in on the mission, fuel considerations limited their ability to perform.

“I want you people to know I’ve flown with the best the Alliance has to offer. Luke, Biggs, Porkins, Janson, Tycho, all of them. I don’t feel their lack here. This isn’t a Death Star we’re going after, and this mission doesn’t have that sense of urgency. That’s because back then we were fighting for the very survival of the Rebellion.

“The fact is, though, this mission is just as important as either of the Death Star runs.” Wedge glanced down at his hands, then back up. “This time we’re fighting for the future of the Rebellion and all the people who want freedom from the Empire. That’s a lot less immediate than what we fought for in the old days, but in many ways it’s far more noble a goal.”

Corran smiled in spite of himself. The nagging sense of doubt and doom that had been grinding away at his consciousness didn’t go away, but it became muted. Wedge’s words muffled it. Fear and insecurity were issues about
himself
, but their mission was about others. He was going off to make the future a bit brighter for people like Iella Wessiri and her husband and Gus Bastra and his family.
And even folks like Booster Terrik
.

The realization that this blow struck at the Empire would make life easier for the sorts of criminals he and his father and grandfather used to hunt didn’t tarnish the mission. He’d never believed the “virtuous bandit” myth most criminals like to wrap around themselves—raiding the affluent to give to the destitute was a pattern often claimed, but he’d seen no evidence of it. Still he couldn’t deny the contribution of folks like Han Solo or Mirax Terrik to the Rebellion. And how could one compare the minor evil of a Hutt with the grand evil of a government that would conceive of, build, and utilize weapons that could destroy planets?

If we cap the wellspring of evil, cleaning up all the little puddles it leaves behind will be that much easier
.