Star Wars: X-Wing I: Rogue Squadron (26 page)

Wedge smiled. He would have preferred to have Corran more involved in the action, but resistance was expected and until they could bring a new pilot in for Lujayne Forge, his flight would be vulnerable—in spite of the skills both Corran and Ooryl exhibited. General Salm had suggested leaving Three Flight to oversee Warden Squadron—Defender Wing’s least experienced squadron. They’d all get mission experience, but nothing too life-threatening.

“Control to Rogue Leader, Champion and Guardian squadrons beginning their runs.”

“I can see them, Control.”

Through the gap lumbered the Y-wings. Never an elegant craft, they appeared to have the atmospheric flight characteristics of something between a TIE starfighter and a big rock. All of the Y-wings dove to pick up speed, but they leveled out with little apparent trouble and started in on their strafing and torpedo runs.

They may be slow and awkward, but Salm’s pilots do know how to do their jobs!

“Control to Rogue Leader, we have trouble.”

“Go ahead, Control.”

“Two ships.
Carrack
-class cruiser and a
Lancer
-class frigate are in our exit vector.
Eridain
is beginning a withdrawal.”

Wedge felt his stomach begin to fold in on itself.
“Control, confirm
Lancer-
class frigate.”
They’re rare, maybe this is a mistake. Please, let it be a mistake
.

“Confirm
Lancer-
class frigate. Orders?”

Lancer
-class frigates had been the Imperial Navy’s solution to the problem of snubfighters and the threat they posed to capital ships. All of 250 meters long, the boxy ships were studded with twenty gunnery towers, each one sporting a Seinar Fleet System Quad laser array. With its speed, which was exceptional for a big ship, and those weapons, the
Lancer
-class ships were rancors amid a nerf herd. While the
Eridain
’s turbolasers could have driven it off, the
Carrack-
class cruiser outgunned the blockade runner, leaving the
Lancer
free to pounce on the fighters.

The X-wings were fast enough to elude the
Lancer
, but there was no way the Y-wings could outrun it or fight it. The
Lancer
’s guns made it the equivalent of eighty TIEs. Wedge glanced at his fuel monitor. He didn’t have enough fuel remaining for a long fight with the
Lancer
and the run home.
I don’t have enough fuel to let the
Eridain
run for help
. The best chance the Y-wings had was for the X-wings to engage the
Lancer
while they ran.

Before he could reply to Tycho’s request for orders, General Salm’s voice came over the comm. “Rogue Leader, screen Warden and Guardian squadrons and get them out of there. Champion will buy you the time.”

“Negative, General. Champion
will
die that way, Rogue
may
die if we hit the
Lancer
and you break out.”

“I’m making this an order, Antilles.”

“Rogue Squadron takes its orders from Admiral Ackbar, General.”

“Rogue Leader, this is Nine.”

“Not now, Nine.”

“Commander, I know how we can get the
Lancer
. Worst case, we lose one ship.”

“What is he babbling about?”

“Easy, General. Go ahead, Nine.”

“Ships have to close to two and a half klicks to get a firing solution for a proton torpedo. The Y-wing getting that close to the
Lancer
will be vaped. An X-wing can get in and send targeting data to the Y-wings, increasing the range for their solution. Same thing Captain Celchu did in the
Forbidden
at Chorax. The proton torps will home for thirty seconds, which means they can hit a target at just over fourteen and a half klicks. That will keep them safe from the
Lancer.
”

Wedge frowned as he worked through Corran’s plan.
A weaving X-wing might be able to get in close to the
Lancer.

General Salm saw the flaw in the plan at the same time Wedge did. “A weaving X-wing won’t be able to get a targeting lock on the
Lancer
, Antilles. This is nonsense.”

Corran’s voice came back strong. “The X-wing doesn’t need to get a targeting lock, he just needs to get in close. The Y-wings will be targeting the X-wing’s homing beacon. Time it right, put the
Lancer
between the missiles and the X-wing, and you can scratch one
Lancer
.”

“That just might work.” Wedge pulled back on the X-wing’s stick and started up toward space and the waiting Imperial ships. “I’ll make the run.”

“Negative, Antilles.”

“General …”

“Rogue Leader, this is Nine, outbound. Release Warden Squadron to me.”

Salm’s fury sizzled over the comm. “Under no circumstances! Stop now, Rogue Nine.”

“Release the squadron to me. I’m outbound and I’m going to play tag with that
Lancer
.”

“This is treason, Nine.” Salm’s voice cracked with anger. “I’ll have you shot.”

“As long as it’s Warden Squadron that’s doing it, I don’t mind a bit. Nine out.”

“Antilles, do something!”

“He’s got the altitude, General.”
And the attitude
. “Release the squadron to him.” Wedge let a deep breath out. “Then form Champion up on me, just in case his run doesn’t do the trick.”

Corran keyed his comm. “Okay, Wardens, this is how we become heroes. Link your torpedoes so you’ll be shooting two. You’ll shoot them on my mark. Timing is critical here—go too early and you won’t hit anything. Go too late and I’m … look, just don’t go too late. Ten, I need you to match their speed and don’t let them get any closer than eight and a half klicks from me. And not much farther either. My homing beacon will be on 312.43. Use that as the frequency for the target lock on the torpedoes.”

“Got it, Nine.”

“Control, Nine here. Be prepared to scatter the Wardens with evasive maneuver plots in case the
Lancer
gets aggressive once the torpedoes are away.”

“On it, Nine. Good luck.”

Corran’s hand strayed to the medallion he wore. “Thanks, Control. Nine out.”

“Okay, Whistler, we have our work cut out for us.” The pilot hit switches that pumped the full output of the fusion engine into propulsion. He ran all shield power to the forward shields. “I’m going to be trying to weave in at that monster. I want you to route my stick commands through a randomizer
that adds or subtracts portions of five degrees in all dimensions from my commands. Don’t let the
Lancer
get out of a twenty-degree cone of my nose, but in that cone I want to be jumping around, got it?”

The droid replied with a sharp, affirmative whistle.

“And at the
Lancer
, I want to invert and pull a tight loop scraping right over the top of its hull and down the other side. We should be going away at ninety degrees to our current line and back toward Vladet’s atmosphere.” Corran sighed. “If we make it that far.”

Whistler squawked reprovingly.

“Sorry to get you into this.” Corran punched the console button that enabled the droid’s ejection system. “Maybe your next pilot won’t be so stupid.”

The green light above the button went out.

Corran hit the button again. “And maybe your next ship won’t have shorts.”

The light died again.

The pilot turned and looked back at the droid. “You got a death wish?”

Whistler brayed derisively at him.

“I am
not
looking at taking all the glory for myself.” Corran swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Thanks for hanging in. My father died alone. Doing that doesn’t recommend itself.”

The droid gave him a scolding whoop.

“Okay, you do your part and I’ll make sure we don’t die.” Corran looked at his scanner. Sensors put him eighteen klicks out from the
Lancer
. “Whistler, check my math. At full power I’ll do six klicks in the time it takes the missiles to catch me. That means they have to shoot when I hit the six klick mark. They have to be inside fifteen klicks from the
Lancer
. Looks like we’re all lined up and ready to go.”

The droid chirped triumphantly and a countdown clock started in the upper corner of the sensor display. “Nine to Wardens, forty, four-oh, seconds to launch.”

“Whistler, cut in the randomizer when I hit two and a half klicks from the target.” The
Lancer
’s weaponry, because it was taken from TIE bombers, suffered the same range limitations as the fighters. “Also map how the towers are working and send that data back to Control and Rogue Leader. If the
Lancer
has any weak points, any guns that aren’t shooting well, they need to know.”

The timer counted down to ten seconds. Corran rubbed his medallion one more time, then settled his right hand on the stick and smiled. “Here goes Rogue Nine, following the unit’s tradition of accepting suicide missions with a smile. Wardens, on my mark. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Mark. Launch torpedoes!”

The comm came alive with fire reports. Corran couldn’t make sense of the babble, but as the clash of voices died, he did hear “Warden Three, torpedoes away.”

He glanced at the timer, which had started scrolling off seconds until impact.
Two seconds late. Probably not a problem
. “Whistler, you want to kill the volume on the missile lock warning siren? I
am
aware they’re incoming.”

The background noise in the cockpit died. He watched the seconds slowly count down. It seemed to take forever for him to pass from the launch point to halfway in on the
Lancer
. As his ship streaked in he could see strings of green laser bolts begin to stretch out toward him. They began to curve and curl as the gunners tried to track his ship. The closing speed made all of their initial shots go long.

Twelve and one-quarter seconds from impact, Whistler brought the randomizing program into play and Corran felt the stick begin to twitch. A tiny spark of fear ran through him as he imagined he had lost control of the ship. In its wake he found a calm that felt all too familiar from the last night on Talasea.
Well, I didn’t die then. Maybe, just maybe …

Easing the stick back and to the left he tossed the X-wing into the weave. Wave after seemingly solid wave of green laser energy lashed out from the
Lancer
, yet his snubfighter sliced through the troughs and curled around the crests, flirting with their deadly caresses. Light flashed against his shields, partially blinding him, but those glancing hits neither slowed nor deflected him.

There was no missing his target. The
Lancer-
class frigate—Whistler identified it as the
Ravager—
swelled into a hard-edged, spiky rectangle with an up-bent prow and a bulbous engine assembly. Green backlight from the quads splashed color over the ship’s Imperial-white exterior. Corran nudged the X-wing in line, more or less, with the ship’s middle deck, then the X-wing whirled out of his control.

In compliance with the instructions he had given Whistler before, the droid rolled the fighter hard to starboard. The stick bashed Corran’s right hand against the side of the cockpit, but before the pain could begin to register, the stick tore itself free of his grasp and smacked him solidly in the chest. With the stick pinning him back in his command chair, Corran could only look up and watch the
Ravager’
s hull blur as it flashed past.

The torpedoes had been within half a second of catching the X-wing when it snapped up and around the
Ravager
. While fully capable of making the same maneuver the fighter had, because of their greater
speed, the torpedoes needed more space in which to make it. Even as they started to correct their courses to follow Corran, they slammed into the
Lancer
and detonated.

The first half-dozen explosions produced more energy than the shields could absorb. The shields went down, leaving the frigate open to the rest of the torpedo swarm. Blast shields buckled and transparisteel viewports evaporated as the torpedoes detonated. Titanium hull plates went molten, flowing into globules of metal that would harden as perfect spheres in the frozen darkness of space. Decks ruptured and the growing fireball at the center of the ship consumed atmosphere, equipment, and personnel with a rapacious appetite.

All but two of the torpedoes fed into the roiling plasma storm raging in the heart of the
Ravager
. In bisecting the ship, the torpedoes cut all power and control links between the bridge, in the prow, and the engines at the stern. Automatic safeguards immediately kicked in and the engines shut down. All laser fire from the
Ravager
died and the stricken ship keeled over. It began to lose a tug-of-war with the planet below and slowly tumbled down into Rachuk’s gravity well.

Corran, in an X-wing sprinting away from the Imperial frigate, could see none of the damage the torpedoes did to the
Ravager
. He stared down his sensor monitor and smiled as the sensors reported, line by line, the deaths of twenty-two torpedoes that were following him.

Twenty-two? But there should have been twenty-four
. He pried the stick off his chest. “Whistler, where are those last two missiles?”

The sensor array shifted. The torpedoes had shot under the
Lancer
, reacquiring his beacon when
he cleared the frigate’s far side.
Almost here. I have to break hard!

The stick twitched and jerked of its own accord. Horror trickled electricity through Corran’s guts. “Whistler, cut it out!”

The stick still bucked and fought against his grip. Corran realized, in one painfully crystal-clear moment, that in having used the indefinite pronoun
it
in his last command he had made a mistake equal in magnitude to still having all shield energy in his forward arc. He started to rectify both of those errors, but the proximity indicator reporting the location of Warden Three’s torpedoes told him his time had run out.

Kirtan Loor’s shuttle came out of hyperspace a second before the spread of proton torpedoes hit the
Ravager
. Hanging nearly ten kilometers above the distant
Lancer
, all Kirtan saw was a cone of green laser light stabbing off into space, then a brilliant light dawning at the base of the cone, illuminating the frigate in which it burned. Subsidiary blasts surrounded the ship with fire, then it slowly started to drift away as escape pods shot in all directions away from it.