Rogue Squadron (26 page)

The ride down through the clear atmosphere got a little bumpy, but having a little resistance to fight with the controls felt good after six hours of doing nothing during the hyperspace run. Corran leveled the X-wing out at ten kilometers above the surface of the planet. “Control, Three Flight on station. Can you send me tacvisual from below?”

“Here you go, Nine. From Rogue Leader—returning the favor.”

Corran’s cheeks burned as he recalled his sensor data being used by the rest of the squadron on Folor. “Relay my thanks.”

The visual feed from Wedge’s X-wing showed four Y-wings swooping in at the northern face of the
volcano’s crater. From about a kilometer out, each of the slow craft launched a pair of proton torpedoes, then peeled off. The blue balls streaked out toward the mountainside. They exploded against it at a point where the abundant rains had already eroded and weakened the rock.

The rippling series of explosions cast smoke, rock, and burning plants into the air. The visual feed went vector, with green grids representing the land hidden by the smoke. Where there had been a gentle, curved dip in the crater’s rim there now existed a sharp, jagged rift that looked as if some titanic vibro-ax had been used to chop the rock away. As Corran watched, the gap grew larger and he suddenly realized it was because Wedge was going in.

“Tighten it up, Deuce.” Wedge’s X-wing plunged through the smoke. “Mynock, make sure Control is getting a topo-scan of this trench.”

The smoke cleared almost instantly, showing him a bristle of shattered volcanic rock a dozen meters off each wing.
Wide enough for the bombers, but not much room for error
. He nudged his throttle forward, distancing himself from the Y-wings following in his ion wash, and emerged from the split rock faster than any prudent pilot would have flown.

The laser shots from a quartet of TIE starfighters illuminated the air behind him as he came into the crater beneath the shield’s protective dome. He immediately inverted and dove toward the base of the crater. Wind whistled from the S-foils. He rolled 180 degrees, filling his cockpit canopy with sky and pulled back on his stick to level the X-wing out.

The astromech behind him shrieked a warning.

“I know, I have two eyeballs on my tail.” In the
vacuum of space the presence of two TIEs behind him would have been very serious because their superior maneuverability made them difficult to shake. In atmosphere, however, their less-than-aerodynamic design and the turbulence produced by their twin engines’ exhaust meant they had significant yaw problems. This made them no less deadly in a dogfight, but it did open up a myriad of strategies for dealing with them.

“Deuce, help here.”

“On my way.”

Bror’s voice crackled through Wedge’s helmet. “Three, on me. I have them.”

Okay, time for me to gouge at least one of the eyeballs
. Wedge brought the left wing up at forty-five degrees, then feathered his throttle back. The lessened thrust and atmospheric drag slowed him enough that his X-wing slid fifty meters down and twenty to the right.

The TIE pilot tried to follow him and remain at his back, but the hexagonal wings killed the sideslip. The drag slowed the TIE considerably, and it started to dip toward the jungle carpeting the crater floor. The pilot did the only thing he could to avoid a stall and crash. Diving his ship, he picked up speed and shot ahead of Wedge’s X-wing, but not so far in front to allow Wedge to sideslip left and come in behind.

Not that I wanted to do that anyway
. Wedge punched the left rudder pedal down and slewed the fighter’s stern around to the right. Goosing the throttle straightened the ship out, then Wedge’s crosshairs spitted the TIE and burned green. He hit the trigger and the quad lasers converged to blow bits of TIE fighter all over the Grand Isle landscape.

“Vaped one.”

He saw a smoking TIE slam into a crater wall. “You’re clear, Leader.”

“Thanks, Deuce. Report, Three.”

Nawara Ven’s voice seemed tinged with some disgust. “Four got a pair. Island is blind to my sensors.”

“Rogue Leader to Control, Champion is clear to run.”

“Relaying that message now. Nine sends thanks for the feed.”

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.