Trilogy (28 page)

Leia strained to see what she could only hear. She wasn't alone. “Help him, Artoo,” Threepio was whispering to himself, “and keep holding on.”

Luke continued his dive even as he looked back and spotted the object of Biggs's concern close on his tail. Reluctantly
he pulled up and away from the station surface, abandoning his target. His tormentor was good, however, and continued closing on him.

“I can't shake him,” he reported.

Something cut across the sky toward both ships. “I'm on him, Luke,” shouted Wedge Antilles. “Hold on.”

Luke didn't have to for very long. Wedge's gunnery was precise, and the TIE fighter vanished brightly shortly thereafter.

“Thanks, Wedge,” Luke murmured, breathing a little more easily.

“Good shooting, Wedge.” That was Biggs again. “Blue Four, I'm going in. Cover me, Porkins.”

“I'm right with you, Blue Three,” came the other pilot's assurance.

Biggs leveled them off, then let go with full weaponry. No one ever decided exactly what it was he hit, but the small tower that blew up under his energy bolts was obviously more important than it looked.

A series of sequential explosions hopscotched across a large section of the battle station's surface, leaping from one terminal to the next. Biggs had already shot past the area of disturbance, but his companion, following slightly behind, received a full dose of whatever energy was running wild down there.

“I've got a problem,” Porkins announced. “My converter's running wild.” That was an understatement. Every instrument on his control panels had abruptly gone berserk.

“Eject—eject, Blue Four,” advised Biggs. “Blue Four, do you read?”

“I'm okay,” Porkins replied. “I can hold her. Give me a little room to run, Biggs.”

“You're too low,” his companion yelled. “Pull up, pull up!”

With his instrumentation not providing proper information, and at the altitude he was traveling, Porkins's ship was simple for one of the big, clumsy gun emplacements to track. It did as its designers had intended it should. Porkins's demise was as glorious as it was abrupt.

It was comparatively quiet near the pole of the battle station. So intense and vicious had been Blue and Green squadrons' assault on the equator that Imperial resistance had concentrated there. Red Leader surveyed the false peace with mournful satisfaction, knowing it wouldn't last for long.

“Blue Leader, this is Red Leader,” he announced into his mike. “We're starting our attack run. The exhaust port is located and marked. No flak, no enemy fighters up here—yet. Looks like we'll get at least one smooth run at it.”

“I copy, Red Leader,” the voice of his counterpart responded. “We'll try to keep them busy down here.”

Three Y-wing fighters dropped out of the stars, diving toward the battle-station surface. At the last possible minute they swerved to dip into a deep artificial canyon, one of many streaking the northern pole of the Death Star. Metal ramparts raced past on three sides of them.

Red Leader hunted around, noticed the temporary absence of Imperial fighters. He adjusted a control and addressed his squadron.

“This is it, boys. Remember, when you think you're close, go in closer before you drop that rock. Switch all power to front deflector screens—never mind what
they throw at you from the side. We can't worry about that now.”

Imperial crews lining the trench rudely awoke to the fact that their heretofore ignored section of the station was coming under attack. They reacted speedily, and soon energy bolts were racing at the attacking ships in a steadily increasing volume. Occasionally one would explode near one of the onrushing Y-wings, jostling it without real damage.

“A little aggressive, aren't they,” Red Two reported over his mike.

Red Leader reacted quietly. “How many guns do you think, Red Five?”

Red Five, known casually to most of the rebel pilots as Pops, somehow managed to make an estimate of the trench's defenses while simultaneously piloting his fighter through the growing hail of fire. His helmet was battered almost to the point of uselessness from the effects of more battles than anyone had a right to survive.

“I'd say about twenty emplacements,” he finally decided, “some in the surface and some on the towers.”

Red Leader acknowledged the information with a grunt as he pulled his computer-targeting visor down in front of his face. Explosions continued to rock the fighter. “Switch to targeting computers,” he declared.

“Red Two,” came one reply, “computer locked in and I'm getting a signal.” The young pilot's rising excitement marked his reply.

But the senior pilot among all the rebels, Red Five, was expectantly cool and confident—though it didn't sound like it from what he murmured half to himself: “No doubt about it, this is going to be some trick.”

Unexpectedly, all defensive fire from the surrounding emplacements ceased. An eerie quiet clung to the trench as the surface continued to blur past the skimming Y-wings.

“What's this?” Red Two blurted, looking around worriedly. “They stopped. Why?”

“I don't like it,” growled Red Leader. But there was nothing to confuse their approach now, no energy bolts to avoid.

It was Pops who was first to properly evaluate this seeming aberration on the enemy's part. “Stabilize your rear deflectors now. Watch for enemy fighters.”

“You pinned it, Pops,” Red Leader admitted, studying a readout. “Here they come. Three marks at two-ten.”

A mechanical voice continued to recite the shrinking distance to their target, but it wasn't shrinking fast enough. “We're sitting ducks down here,” he observed nervously.

“We'll just have to ride it out,” the old man told them all. “We can't defend ourselves and go for the target at the same time.” He fought down old reflexes as his own screen revealed three TIE fighters in precision formation diving almost vertically down toward them.

“Three-eight-one-oh-four,” Darth Vader announced as he calmly adjusted his controls. The stars whipped past behind him. “I'll take them myself. Cover me.”

Red Two was the first to die, the young pilot never knowing what hit him, never seeing his executioner. Despite his experience, Red Leader was on the verge of panic when he saw his wingman dissolve in flame.

“We're trapped down here. No way to maneuver—trench walls are too close. We've got to loosen it up somehow. Got—”

“Stay on target,” admonished an older voice. “Stay on target.”

Red Leader took Pops's words like tonic, but it was all he could do to ignore the closing TIE fighters as the two remaining Y-wings continued to streak toward the target.

Above them, Vader permitted himself a moment of undisciplined pleasure as he readjusted his targeting 'puter. The rebel craft continued to travel a straight, unevasive course. Again Vader touched finger to fire control.

Something screeched in Red Leader's helmet, and fire started to consume his instrumentation. “It's no good,” he yelled into his pickup, “I'm hit. I'm hit …!”

A second Y-wing exploded in a ball of vaporized metal, scattering a few solid shards of debris across the trench. This second loss proved too much even for Red Five to take. He manipulated controls, and his ship commenced rising in a slow curve out of the trench. Behind him, the lead Imperial fighter moved to follow.

“Red Five to Blue Leader,” he reported. “Aborting run under heavy fire. TIE fighters dropped on us out of nowhere. I can't—wait—”

Astern, a silent, remorseless enemy was touching a deadly button once more. The first bolts struck just as Pops had risen high enough to commence evasive action. But he had pulled clear a few seconds too late.

One energy beam seared his port engine, igniting gas within. The engine blew apart, taking controls and stabilizing elements with it. Unable to compensate, the out-of-control Y-wing began a long, graceful plunge toward the station surface.

“Are you all right, Red Five?” a troubled voice called over the intership system.

“Lost Tiree … lost Dutch,” Pops explained slowly,
tiredly. “They drop in behind you, and you can't maneuver in the trench. Sorry … it's your baby now. So long, Dave.… ”

It was the last message of many from a veteran.

Blue Leader forced a crispness he didn't feel into his voice as he tried to shunt aside the death of his old friend. “Blue boys, this is Blue Leader. Rendezvous at mark six point one. All wings report in.”

“Blue Leader, this is Blue Ten. I copy.”

“Blue Two here,” Wedge acknowledged. “Coming toward you, Blue Leader.”

Luke was also waiting his turn to report when something beeped on his control board. A glance backward confirmed the electronic warning as he spotted an Imperial fighter slipping in behind him.

“This is Blue Five,” he declared, his ship wobbling as he tried to lose the TIE fighter. “I have a problem here. Be right with you.”

He sent his ship into a steep dive toward the metal surface, then cut sharply up to avoid a burst of defensive fire from emplacements below. Neither maneuver shook his pursuit.

“I see you, Luke,” came a reassuring call from Biggs. “Stay with it.”

Luke looked above, below, and to the sides, but there was no sign of his friend. Meanwhile, energy bolts from his trailing assailant were passing uncomfortably close.

“Blast it, Biggs, where are you?”

Something appeared, not to the sides or behind, but almost directly in front of him. It was bright and moving incredibly fast, and then it was firing just above him. Taken completely by surprise, the Imperial fighter came apart just as its pilot realized what had happened.

Luke turned for the rendezvous mark as Biggs shot past overhead. “Good move, Biggs. Fooled me, too.”

“I'm just getting started,” his friend announced as he twisted his ship violently to avoid the fire from below. He hove into view over Luke's shoulder and executed a victory roll. “Just point me at the target.”

Back alongside Yavin's indifferent bulk, Dodonna finished an intense discussion with several of his principal advisors, then moved to the long-range transmitter.

“Blue Leader, this is Base One. Double-check your own attack prior to commencement. Have your wingmen hold back and cover for you. Keep half your group out of range to make the next run.”

“Copy, Base One,” the response came. “Blue Ten, Blue Twelve, join with me.”

Two ships leveled off to flank the squadron commander. Blue Leader checked them out. Satisfied that they were positioned properly for the attack run, he set the group to follow in case they should fail.

“Blue Five, this is Blue Leader, Luke, take Blue Two and Three with you. Hold up here out of their fire and wait for my signal to start your own run.”

“Copy, Blue Leader,” Luke acknowledged, trying to slow his heart slightly. “May the force be with you. Biggs, Wedge, let's close it up.” Together, the three fighters assumed a tight formation high above the firefight still raging between other rebel craft of Green and Yellow squadrons and the Imperial gunners below.

The horizon flip-flopped ahead of Blue Leader as he commenced his approach to the station surface. “Blue Ten, Blue Twelve, stay back until we spot those fighters, then cover me.”

All three X-wings reached the surface, leveled off, then
arced into the trench. His wingmen dropped farther and farther behind until Blue Leader was seemingly alone in the vast gray chasm.

No defensive fire greeted him as he raced toward the distant target. He found himself looking around nervously, checking and rechecking the same instruments.

“This doesn't look right,” he found himself muttering.

Blue Ten sounded equally concerned. “You should be able to pick up the target by now.”

“I know. The disruption down here is unbelievable. I think my instruments are off. Is this the right trench?”

Suddenly, intense streaks of light began to shoot close by as the trench defenses opened up. Near misses shook the attackers. At the far end of the trench a huge tower dominated the metal ridge, vomiting enormous amounts of energy at the nearing ships.

“It's not going to be easy with that tower up there,” Blue Leader declared grimly. “Stand by to close up a little when I tell you.”

Abruptly the energy bolts ceased and all was silent and dark in the trench once again. “This is it,” Blue Leader announced, trying to locate the attack from above that had to be coming. “Keep your eyes open for those fighters.”

“All short- and long-range scopes are blank,” Blue Ten reported tensely. “Too much interference here. Blue Five, can you see them from where you are?”

Luke's attention was riveted to the surface of the station. “No sign of—Wait!” Three rapidly moving points of light caught his eye. “There they are. Coming in point three five.”

Blue Ten turned and looked in the indicated direction.
Sun bounced off stabilizing fins as the TIE fighters looped downward. “I see them.”

“It's the right trench, all right,” Blue Leader exclaimed as his tracking scope suddenly began a steady beeping. He adjusted his targeting instrumentation, pulling his visor down over his eyes. “I'm almost in range. Targets ready … coming up. Just hold them off me for a few seconds—keep 'em busy.”

But Darth Vader was already setting his own fire control as he dropped like a stone toward the trench. “Close up the formation. I'll take them myself.”

Blue Twelve went first, both engines blown. A slight deviation in flight path and his ship slammed into the trench wall. Blue Ten slowed and accelerated, bobbed drunkenly, but could do little within the confines of those metal walls.

“I can't hold them long. You'd better fire while you can, Blue Leader—we're closing on you.”

The squadron commander was wholly absorbed in lining up two circles within his targeting visor. “We're almost home. Steady, steady …”