Imperial Heritage
By: Gavin Mott
Disclaimer: The characters, events and places contained herein are the property
of Lucasfilm.
Static ridden voices rode the ether.
“Five minutes to deployment. All units commence engine start.”
“This is Venom Lead to TACCON, I copy.” A pause. “Venom Flight, commence engine start.”
Voices acknowledged, “Venom Two commencing start up.”
Lieutenant Drake Mantell thumbed the transmit button and spoke into his helmet pickup, “Venom Three commencing engine start.”
“Venom Four commencing engine start.” As the other pilots called in, Drake reached down to the right hand console and flicked up two red safety tabs, flipping the switches concealed beneath.
The cramped cockpit of the TIE Fighter shuddered briefly as the pair of ion drives fired up and a faint whine could be heard as electronic green data scrolled up indicator displays, while instrument needles surged and flickered before settling into the green. Drake eased the throttles up to half power, feeling the fighter surge against the electromagnetic grapples, noting what the indicators did, before easing back to idle.
“Venom Three has two good starts,” he called. “All indicators in the green.”
Confirmations from the other pilots crackled in, then the voice of an operations tech sitting up in TACCON. “Reversion to sublight in three zero seconds. Ready to launch on sublight plus five.”
“Venom Lead acknowledged.”
Drake looked ahead through the octagonal windshield, out of the starboard launch hanger and into the cavernous main docking bay itself. He could just catch a glimpse of hyperspace below the steely gray bulkheads of the Imperial-class Star Destroyer Conqueror. The mottled gray nothingness swirled past, writhing distantly. It began to fade, segueing into Doppler distorted streaks which rapidly shrank back to stellar points.
Five, four, three, two, one…
There was a jolt and a metallic rattling sound as the launch cradle slid along the ceiling mounted track clear of the launch hanger. A sudden, stomach twisting drop as the grapples released and shunted the TIE Fighter down and out of the docking bay. He throttled up and the hull of the Conqueror slid past overhead, a blur through the narrow view slits in the hatch above his helmet. The hull vanished, leaving only starry vacuum in it’s wake. Drake counted to five, waiting for Lead’s transmission.
“Venom Lead, check.”
Drake counted a further two seconds before calling, “Venom Three, check.”
As he banked and curved back towards Conqueror’s aft he glanced at his right formation display, which showed an electronic image of Venom Four sitting off his starboard solar panel. For the umpteenth time, he cursed the TIE’s lack of visibility. Apart from the octagonal windshield and the hatch slits he was blind but for a myriad of electronic displays. Hardly ideal conditions for a fighter pilot, but Imperial doctrine regarded the TIE as a superior craft, so that was the end of the matter.
He looked ahead to see the other two TIEs; Venom Lead, flown by Lieutenant Commander Willis Maeder, with Venom Two on his port wing. Drake eased up to the right, completing the finger-four formation. He followed Maeder in another curve back towards the Conqueror, climbing so they would pass over the ship in front of the command tower. As the Conqueror slid into sight, Drake caught his breath. The angular shape of the Star Destroyer was silhouetted against the swirling orange maelstrom that was Yavin. The huge gas giant hung there in space like a bloodshot eye, eddying cloud bands barely hinting at the violence of the three hundred kilometer per hour winds that tore through the planet’s upper atmosphere. Its surface was marred by a black spot, the shadow of a moon that hung in the near distance.
That moon was their destination. Yavin 4 it was called. It was the largest of the planet’s moons, with a breathable atmosphere and a lush, tropical climate. There were three other moons orbiting Yavin as well; airless, rocky planetoids that were pockmarked and scarred by meteorite impacts. But now, Yavin also possessed a new family of satellites, which Drake began to pick out as his TIE drew closer to the cloud wreathed green moon. There were hundreds of them, stretched out like a thin necklace in a similar orbit to Yavin 4. Predominantly metallic in composition, ranging in size from a couple of millimeters to a couple of hundred meters, scarred and twisted, and blackened. Metal that had partially or completely melted before refreezing into a myriad of warped and broken shapes. The remains of the Death Star.
Conqueror had been five systems away when commodore Steele had received a priority hypercomm from Imperial Sector Command. Governor Tarkin had reported he was engaging a Rebel enclave in the Yavin system and although the Rebs were putting up a concerted opposition he expected to have destroyed them at any time. He had refused assistance when it was offered but ISCOMM had ordered all nearby ships to proceed to the Yavin system anyway. That was six hours ago. Venom squad had been slated to launch first, but seconds after Drake had dropped out of the Star Destroyer it was immediately obvious they’d missed the action. Even now, Drake could hear Tactical Control ordering the rest of Venom as well as the other three fighter squads and two squadrons of bombers to stand down from alert.
Looks like Tarkin had badly underestimated the Rebs, Drake thought to himself. By the Force! The Death Star was supposed to have been invincible! Tarkin must have screwed up royally to have allowed something like this to happen. He was probably lucky to have been blown to atoms out here with his station. A fate that was probably better than to have survived and be forced to throw himself upon the tender mercies of the Emperor…
By now, Yavin 4 was looming large in his windshield and he switched his multi-function display over to the nav-entry program. Sensors scanned the moon’s atmosphere and noted his own speed and trajectory, then displayed a series of advancing squares on his CMD. So long as he stayed within the box-like safe corridor, it would lead him down into Yavin 4’s atmosphere without him burning up. Technically it was Maeder’s job as Venom Lead to follow the boxes…all Drake was supposed to do was follow Maeder. But even so, all that stood between life and a fiery death was somebody else’s nav system. No offence to Maeder, but Drake trusted only himself.
The four TIEs rushed down towards Yavin 4, the glowing curve of the horizon arcing across Drake’s windshield. The terminator crept rapidly towards him and passed by underneath, plunging him suddenly into darkness. The TIE began to buffet as it entered the atmosphere and Drake was crushed into his seat by g-forces. TIE Fighters were so small that many systems available to larger craft were omitted. Among those various gadgets that were dropped were acceleration compensators and g-diffuser systems that reduced the stress on a pilot’s body. The TIE was buffeted again, the quiet background of creaks and groans made by all flying machines assuring Drake that all was well. At a hundred thousand meters the digital altimeter display winked on and began flickering down.
Gradually the g-forces lifted from Drake’s body and he checked his instruments. The CMD had automatically switched over to a terrain-scan mode and a couple of skin temperature indicators returned to nominal as the thermal dumps did their job. Drake reflected that atmospheric entry could be steeper, and therefore quicker, if the TIE had been equipped with shields. But it wasn’t to be. Imperial doctrine said that pilots should rely on skill to avoid being hit at all rather than shields to save them after their ship had already been bracketed by an opponent. To assist TIE pilots to this end their ships were made extremely fast and agile. Drake’s TIE Fighter could turn and accelerate like a startled womp rat, and the high pulse rate of his twin laser cannons enabled him to quickly punch through the shields of his more durable opponents.
Altitude was now down to three thousand meters and the landscape stretched out darkly beneath him, bathed only in faint starlight.
Maeder’s voice crackled in his ears. “Venom Three from Lead, move out to element combat spread.”
Drake clicked the transmit button twice in reply, then radioed his wingman. “Venom Three, check right.” He banked to starboard, his wingman slipping below and to his left before following. He resumed his original heading two klicks to the right, one behind, and a half below Maeder’s element. Close enough to support his leader if necessary, but not wasting resources by being committed to following him everywhere.
Maeder’s voice came again. “Keep your eyes open. It’s only been six hours. The Rebs can’t have packed up their base and moved out in that time. That means they’re still here. If you do eyeball them, avoid contact if possible. We just want to locate them.”
Drake kept a sharp eye on his threat display to the right of his CMD. It was at times like this, in enemy territory, that he desperately wished for better visibility in this crate. Tin coffins, that’s how some of the more cynical pilots referred to the TIEs. Quite often they were right.
On his map display, an anomaly appeared.
“Lead, this is Three, I’ve got something on my scanners.”
“Acknowledged, Three, I see it too. Go in and take a look, I’ll cover you from here.”
“Roger.” Drake eased the stick forward and the TIE sliced through the moon’s humid atmosphere. He leveled out at a hundred meters, the treetops flashing by invisibly beneath him. Yavin was rising, a huge ruddy curve easing above the north-western horizon. It would fill half the sky when fully up and bathe the surface in weird orange twilight. Even now he could make out the angular pyramidal shapes ahead, their sides catching the first orange light as they rose ghostlike out of a dark ocean of trees.
Drake switched on the TIE’s recon package; a trio of multi-wave holocams and a fairly limited sensor suite, nothing as sophisticated as a dedicated Scout-ship, but enough for now. He couldn’t help but stare at the four ziggurat-like structures as they slid rapidly past. He pulled up again, returning to combat spread formation with Maeder.
“Anything?” Maeder’s voice crackled.
“Hang on,” Drake answered as he called up the sensor data and the 2D rendered holocam data onto the CMD.
The visible light image didn’t reveal anything but light enhancement and radar imaging showed a cleared swath of land, five hundred meters to a side, around the ziggurats as well as a new-looking permacrete apron outside of the largest. Infra-red and X-ray scans revealed several fading thermal signatures and a number of anomalous shapes within the structures that looked too regular and high-tech to belong inside those ancient pyramids. Drake tight-beamed the data across to Maeder.
A moment later his squadron leader replied, “I think we’ve found their base, or what’s left of it.”
“So they’re not here, and they can’t have gotten offworld just yet,” Drake said.
“They must be hiding out in the jungle somewhere,” Maeder said. There was a pause.
“Flushing them out is going to be a real pain,” Drake commented.
“Oh well, let the tactical guys figure it out,” Maeder replied . “Let’s head back. Close up formation and initiate egress program.”
Drake closed in on Maeder again and switched his CMD to nav-egress mode, calling up a similar box corridor to the one he’d followed on entry; only this one would lead him onto the correct launch trajectory, out of Yavin 4’s atmosphere and into space. He pulled up firmly, advancing the throttles to the stops as he did so and the TIE leapt towards the stars. The g-forces weren’t as intense on the way out as they were on entry, a fact which always surprised rookie pilots.
As the atmosphere faded out and they rocketed into open space, Maeder suddenly called out. “Contact! Bearing three six zero mark ten.”
Drake saw it on his threat display too. It was almost dead ahead, the range-to-target placing it out amongst the debris field.
“Combat spread,” Maeder ordered, “accelerate to attack speed.”
Drake reached up to the armament panel to the left of the CMD and flicked on the master arm switch. Indicator lights winked from green to red and the CMD automatically changed to targeting mode.
Ahead, one of the larger pieces of debris appeared, cold sunlight gleaming off it’s slagged surface. As it came into range, a wire-frame image of the debris appeared on the CMD, followed by the appearance of a small target designator box to the lower right of the wreckage. There was a brief computerized warble as the IFF program interrogated the target. A negative tone and the box remained the same electronic green color.
Drake keyed his comlink. “Lead, this is Three. My targeting computer says the contact is friendly.”
“Acknowledged, Three, so does mine. Venom Lead to Flight, secure weapons. The target is friendly.”
Drake steered towards the piece of debris which was beginning to loom in his windshield. It was something over a hundred meters long, irregularly shaped and partially melted. Drake could see the remains of pipes and conduits, durasteel framework like metal lattice, part of a corridor exposed to vacuum. The pride of the Empire, symbol of Imperial might, now nothing more than so much space junk orbiting a nowhere planet in the backwaters of the galaxy.
Drake saw the ship before anyone else. “Lead, this is Three. I’ve got it. Down to the lower right, see it?”
“I got it,” Maeder replied.
Drake coasted closer to the ship, throttling back to idle and hanging there in space so he could get a good look. It was a TIE of some kind, of a type unfamiliar to him. Its solar panels were bent like that of a TIE Bomber, but the cockpit pod was obviously that of a single-seater. The wings were thicker than those of a regular TIE and wrapped around the rear of the cockpit. A lot more internal space than a regular TIE, Drake thought. More room for better engines and upgraded systems. I bet it’s got shields! Must be some kind of advanced prototype. Maybe we’ll all be flying these before long. The prospect pleased him greatly. So long as it’s superior performance was not affected, a shielded TIE Fighter would be practically unbeatable against its Rebel opponents…
He suddenly noticed that the upper rear section of the portside solar panel was missing, torn off, as if something had collided with it. Maeder began tight-beaming the damaged TIE.
“This is Lieutenant Commander Maeder of Venom squadron aboard the Imperial-class Star Destroyer Conqueror, hailing unidentified ship. Please identify yourself.” A pause, only static answered. Maeder repeated his message, ending, “do you require assistance?” Again, only silence.
A moment later, the comm unit crackled and a deep, chilling voice answered, “I am Lord Darth Vader. You will escort me back to your ship.”
Drake felt a stab of fear. Foolish, irrational, but real just the same. Darth Vader. Dark Lord of the Sith, Emperor Palpatine’s right hand. It was said he could peer into a man’s soul and read the thoughts there like any other man would read a screen full of text. It was said that he could choke the life out of a man with the merest of looks, and that his temper was as lethal as it was legendary.
Now the damaged TIE came to life, moving quickly away from the debris and flashing past overhead. Drake yawed his own fighter around and fell into formation with Maeder as the squadron leader hastened to catch up.
“Venom Flight from Lead, escort formation,” came Maeder’s terse command. The four TIEs arranged themselves into a vertical diamond formation, with Vader’s ship in the center. Ahead lay the Conqueror, closer now as it fell in geosynchronous orbit over Yavin 4, appearing as a steely gray arrowhead with it’s underside orientated towards them.
Vader did not concern himself with flying a standard docking approach pattern. Instead, he flew straight towards the gaping square opening in the belly of the Star Destroyer. Drake and the others followed, slowed, re-orientated themselves in order to rise vertically into the docking bay. The gray bulkheads slid downwards past Drake’s vision, cutting off the view of space and the green curve of the moon which now lay directly below. He waited his turn until a docking controller directed him to land. He looked up through the hatch slits as he rose towards the recovery cradle and it’s electromagnetic grapples, hanging down on robotic arms like a metallic spider’s legs. There was a jolt and a muffled clang as the grapples caught and held his wings on either side of the cockpit. He throttled back to idle as the grapples slid forward into the main TIE landing bay, carrying him through the magnetic containment field and into the atmosphere of the ship.
Through the windshield he could see the ominous black figure of Darth Vader who, having already extricated himself from his damaged fighter, now strode purposefully away, black armor gleaming darkly under the fluorescent lights…
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TACCON, or Tactical Control, was located one level below the bridge. It was a large windowless room filled with banks of sensor displays and command equipment, radar and tactical displays, communications nets, fire control, jamming and ELINT (Electronic Intelligence) systems. All manned by crewers in pale gray jumpsuits, alternately bathed in the blue of the ceiling lights and the orange glow of their instruments. The air was filled with the steady drone of voices and the electronic warble of computers as men and machines communicated with one another.
The security door connecting TACCON with the rest of the ship hissed open and a dark presence swept into the room. A brief glimpse of two black uniformed Imperial Marine guards standing to attention in the corridor outside before the door snapped shut again. Vader strode across the center of the room, armor now concealed by flowing black robes, the hollow rasp of his breathing apparatus cutting loud across the muted activity, causing breath to catch and pulse to quicken in fear.
Just off TACCON was a smaller war room, separated by a transparisteel partition and empty save for a floor mounted holo-projector and a couple of wall mounted interface jacks. Six men occupied the room now, officers in dark gray uniforms, black leather gloves and knee-high jackboots. The ship’s Captain, Commodore Steele was there, as well as his Executive Officer, Captain D’Naab.
The CAG (Commander Aerospace Group), commander Riece and his second, Lieutenant Commander Kagimo, were also there. Riece’s responsibility was the Conqueror’s aerospace complement; four TIE Fighter squadrons, two TIE Bomber squadrons, one squadron of scout ships, one squadron each of Lambda-class utility shuttles and Sentinel-class assault landers, and two Hammer-class drop ships; one hundred ten ships in all.
The other two officers were Lieutenant General Hess and Colonel T’Kaan. Hess commanded the nine thousand, seven hundred strong augmented Stormtrooper division berthed aboard Conqueror, which included an armored company and a battalion of speeder bike mounted mobile infantry.
All six of them snapped to fearful attention as Vader entered the war room. Steele was nervous, although he hid it well. Finding Darth Vader floating amid the wreckage of the Death Star was something he’d definitely not expected. It was said that the Dark Lord was always angry. If this were true, then sitting for six hours in a damaged ship hadn’t helped his mood any.
When Vader spoke, his voice was icily calm and in control. Vader was never ruled by his anger. He ruled it, wielded it like the lightsaber at his belt. “What is the situation, Captain?”
Commodore Steele swallowed and began his report: “We are currently in geosynchronous orbit over what remains of the Rebel base. Initial surveys indicate that it is deserted, yet they cannot have completely evacuated the moon in six hours. Therefore, we are conducting an extensive scan of the moon. The Rebels must have gone to ground in the jungles, but they can’t hide forever. We have almost completed a COMSCAN and our scout ships are now making sub-orbital passes over the moon to extensively map it’s surface.”
Steele nodded to his XO, who touched a control on one of the interface jacks. The holoproj hummed and a real color image of Yavin 4 sprang to life in the center of the room. It was only two-thirds complete, although another section appeared as further information was tight-beamed up via the data-link with the scout ships. D’Naab adjusted the controls and the image changed to a combined terrain/tactical map. An image of the Conqueror appeared above the red dot indicating the Rebel base. Other green dots appeared, floating numerals beside each displaying telemetry, crisscrossing high above the moon as the scout ships continued their work.
Steele continued, “We’ve deployed our fighters in elements around the moon to provide total coverage. As a blockade it lacks somewhat, but it is the best we can do until reinforcements arrive.”
“How long?” Vader demanded.
“The frigates Spiteful and Harrier are en route and should arrive in less than fifteen minutes. The Star Destroyer Avenger is also on it’s way, ETA is one hour from now. Those are all that responded to the original call, but as soon as I realized the situation here, I sent a priority hypercomm to ISCOMM and they are sending more units this way. Unfortunately, it may be twelve hours before the first arrives.”
Steele indicated the CAG. “Commander Riece here had the idea of requesting a Phantom unit.”
Riece stepped forward and spoke up; “The nearest Phantom unit is only four hours away. They fly Koensayr BTL-A4s, the single-seat version of the Rebel Y-Wing fighter. If we send them down masquerading as Rebels, the real Rebels may give away their position.”
Vader thought about it for a second. “A novel idea,” he said. “Get them here and we will see if it works. Is there anything else?”
Steele shook his head. “No my Lord. As I said, it will be twelve hours before we can expect significant reinforcements. In the meantime, we’ll have to do the best with what we’ve got. As soon as the scout ships are finished mapping, Lieutenant General Hess will begin deploying our surface forces to sweep the area; first around the Rebel base then further afield. Those Rebels can’t have gone far. We’ll find them.”
Vader nodded, as if satisfied. “Good work Captain, I am pleased with your progress thus far. There is one other thing I want however. I already know that the traitor Leia Organa is the leader of this cell of the Rebellion, but I also want to know the names of those with her, from the highest ranking generals right down to the lowliest private. I want those names. Especially the pilots.”
Steele nodded. “Yes my Lord, at once. My code slicers in ELINT are the best, I’ll get them working on it right away.”
“Good,” Vader replied. “Find those Rebels, Captain. We may yet salvage a victory from this colossal blunder after all.”
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Soon after the Spiteful and Harrier arrived and took up their positions, the CAG began rotating his fighters, three squads on and one off. With the arrival of the two frigates, each with two squadrons of TIE Fighters, the pressure was off slightly and he could afford to allow some of his pilots to stand down for a while.
The levels just above the docking bays and hangers were pilot country, with dormitories, rec-rooms, mess halls and briefing rooms for the crews of Conqueror’s many auxiliary ships. Venom Squad’s dormitory was darkened, the two neat rows of bunks occupied by slumbering forms.
Drake Mantell slept.
And dreamed. He was eighteen again, upon his homeworld Aborleon. It was not a major world, yet it was among the more prosperous in the Outer Rim Territories. Again he was cruising in his speeder down the main street of Bou Saada, Aborleon’s capital, boasting a modest population of a half million. It was a sunny weekend, and people were out strolling the boulevard, enjoying the clement weather. Drake cruised in his new landspeeder, a brand new X-34 that he’d scrimped and saved and worked like a slave to earn. Now he reveled in the envious stares of his pedestrian peers and the suggestive glances from the pretty girls.
A sound like thunder echoed across the cloudless azure sky and people looked up curiously at four moving specks that angled steeply towards the city. Drake glanced at them, straining to make them out. Not TIEs, they were too big. Slightly ungainly looking, with a central fuselage housing the cockpit. Short, stubby wings jutting from the rear fuselage upon which were mounted long drive pods. Y-Wing starfighters. Drake frowned. Y-Wings were old, nobody used them anymore. Planetary defense forces all over the galaxy were retiring them, practically giving them away in favor of newer, more capable ships.
A sudden suspicion formed in Drake’s mind. Nobody used Y-Wings anymore; except for people who needed cheap, reliable, durable ships. Ships that were easy to fly and would readily forgive the mistakes of young, inexperienced pilots. Ships that could suffer abuse and be serviced by poorly trained ground techs. Rebels needed ships like that.
The Y-Wings flashed by silently by overhead, low enough that Drake could make out the individual pipes and conduits that festooned the clunky, agricultural looking rear fuselages.
A sonic wave boomed right overhead, a solid wall of sound that knocked people stunned to the ground and shattered windows up and down the street. There was a sharp pain in his ears and he slowed down instinctively to avoid losing control. Other speeders slid off the street and crashed into trees and shop fronts. People were screaming, but he couldn’t hear them through the painful ringing in his head.
The Y-Wings curved back, blue flashes erupting from under their forward fuselages as proton torpedoes streaked out and down. Multiple explosions, strobe-like flashes brighter than daylight, expanding hemispherical shock waves smashing all in their path. His speeder was knocked sideways across the street, the left repulsorlift shorted and blew and the speeder flipped, crashing down on it’s side, catching fire. Drake crawled painfully out onto the pavement, dazed and still unable to hear, stumbling away from the burning wreckage of his speeder. Everywhere buildings burned and collapsed, people lay broken, bleeding and screaming soundlessly.
An hour later he reached his own neighborhood, only to discover it had been hit too. Staggering down the broken pavement towards his house. Only it wasn’t his house anymore, nothing remaining but blasted and charred wreckage, his parents and younger sister nothing more than shredded rags of flesh…
Drake awoke gasping, sobbing for breath. He waited for the shaking to subside, still remembering the dream. A year later he’d been accepted to the Imperial Academy on Carida, graduating four years after that. He’d never gone back to Aborleon.
After a while, he threw aside the sweaty sheet and got up, heading for the showers. He was no longer tired. He’d slept enough…
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Drake’s TIE Fighter sliced through the moon’s atmosphere, riding the usual entry buffet. The TIE was an inherently unstable design, especially under atmospheric conditions, a fact which explained it’s awesome maneuvering capabilities. But it also would have rendered it unstable, if not for the computerized Control Augmentation System, or fly-by-wire, as the pilots called it.
He was leading a four-ship formation that was escorting one of the Conqueror’s Hammer-class drop ships. The drop ship’s bulky armored frame punched through the atmosphere like a fist, carrying on board an armored platoon and a company of general Hess’ grunts. At three hundred meters, he had his flight split into elements and begin circling the LZ, while the drop ship continued down, settling onto the large permacrete apron built by the Rebels in front of largest of the four ziggurats. It was full daylight, both the coldly burning sun and a bisected Yavin hung in the sky, bathing the steaming jungle in lurid amber light.
The armored platoon began to deploy; three AT-ATs, six scout walkers and nine Chariot-class Combat Assault Vehicles. Each of the repulsorlift CAVs could carry half a platoon of infantry, so six of them were acting as personnel carriers. The armor began to move out from the drop ship, which sat squat and imposing like a mobile fortress, turreted blaster cannons trained on the thick walls of jungle. One of the CAVs disappeared into the base of the nearest ziggurat. Drake and his wingman continued to circle. He noticed that some of the armor, especially the AT-ATs, were having some trouble negotiating the twisted tree trunks and tangled underbrush of the jungle. Looking at the four-legged walkers struggling through the trees, despite their great size and power, he began to wonder whether they’d be all that useful in this operation…
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Captain Tyrell, Alpha Company’s commanding officer, was beginning to wonder the same thing as he sat at his station aboard one of the CAVs. His helmet ear-piece buzzed and crackled as Lieutenant Brandt’s voice reported, “We’re making some progress, but the jungle’s just too thick. Some of these trees are as high as we are and I’ve got practically no field of fire.”
Tyrell swore inwardly. “Okay,” he said aloud, “bring them back. I want the AT-ATs standing sentry positions in the cleared area around the Rebel base. How are the AT-STs coping?”
“Better sir, they’re small and nimble enough to get around the trees and the worst of the undergrowth.”
“Leave them as they are, then,” Tyrell ordered. At least the CAVs, with their repulsorlifts, were having no difficulties; they could just float right above the trees.
Tyrell switched frequencies to speak to his three platoon leaders. “Okay, listen up. As soon as the CAVs reach the perimeter you’ll deploy and begin your sweeps. Stick to the patterns we went over in briefing. I only want the immediate area secure; the rest of this rock can wait. Understood?”
A chorus of affirmatives was his answer. He turned to the CAV driver, “This’ll do. Remain here and cover our egress.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tyrell went aft into the troop compartment where an eighteen-man section of the 1st Platoon was waiting. Their white Stormtrooper armor was covered by jungle ops camouflage sleeves designed to slip over each separate armor piece. Two of them wore red and white checkered armbands which denoted them as medics. They all wore shoulder pauldrons and field backpacks, and all but two were armed with the standard field issue DLT-20A blaster rifle. The two exceptions carried the bigger T-21 Light Repeating Blaster for added firepower. As Tyrell entered the compartment the platoon sergeant approached.
“Deploy by squads,” he ordered. “Our objective is the command center. Preliminary scans have tentatively located it on level five. The Rebels left a lot of equipment behind when they bugged out of here. Command wants us to check it out. It’s a long shot, but they may have left something behind that can help us.”
In seconds they were organized, Tyrell leading the first six-man squad, platoon sergeant Garth leading the second. The two medics would stay in the rear unless needed. Tyrell hoped they wouldn’t be necessary. “Move out.”
Garth hit a switch and the ramp at the rear of the compartment dropped with a hiss. Tyrell strode swiftly down the ramp, around to the right side of the CAV, looking past it into the gloom beyond. His squad fanned out to his right, the LRB shooter covering the flank. Garth did the same to the left of the CAV.
“Second squad, move up,” Tyrell ordered quietly. “Everyone, go to infra-red.”
Tyrell reached up to the side of his helmet and adjusted a control, switching his eyepieces to IR mode. Suddenly, the gloom before him resolved itself into a huge cavern cast in shades of black and gray. He could see Garth’s squad advancing line abreast in a wary crouch, weapons raised before them at chest height.
“First squad follow me.” He moved forward to the right, heading for the edge of the cavern. It had been a hanger, he could see, noting the yellow lines painted on the floor denoting taxiways and parking bays. A few discarded power hoses lay like snakes on the ground; an abandoned repulsorsled fuel truck was parked in the far corner. Halfway up one wall, he could make out a glassed in control station.
Second squad had reached the center of the hanger and he saw Garth flash him a series of hand signals. There was an opening in the wall ahead. Some of his men knelt, covering the entrance, while the others kept a wary eye on the far walls. Tyrell reached the corner and peered round. The entrance was about four meters wide, with a shallow flight of stairs leading up to a hallway that ran parallel to the hanger. Tyrell activated the holodisplay inside his helmet and called up the interior schematic provided by the initial scan.
“We want to head left and up,” he said. “First squad move in. Second squad flanking.”
Quickly, but cautiously they moved into the guts of the base. Everywhere Tyrell saw evidence of a hurried evacuation. The Rebels had taken only the bare essentials with them, leaving everything else. We may have lost the Death Star, he thought, but our resources are unlimited. This victory cost them dearly.
Fifteen minutes later they were five levels up from the hanger. Ahead, the hallway bent ninety degrees to the right. Garth’s squad had just reached it.
“Command center should be around that corner,” Tyrell warned. As Garth’s squad moved around the corner, Tyrell suddenly heard a low pitched whine and a warbling stream of computer speak.
“Contact!” someone in Garth’s squad yelled, and the trooper behind Tyrell swore. The darkness suddenly flashed red and a pulsing explosion of blaster fire erupted from the command center. Men screamed and laser beams flashed across Tyrell’s vision, smashing into the opposite wall.
“Sentry droid! Get it!”
“The Sergeant is down!”
“Medic!”
Tyrell hurried forward, stopping short of the bend as three of Garth’s troopers fell back, firing continuously into the command center. The LRB shooter’s weapon pulsed rapidly, spitting a lethal stream of scarlet energy. Sizzling return fire slashed past, blasting chunks of stone from behind them and quickly filling the hallway with smoke and the reek of ozone. The LRB shooter was hit and he went down and lay screaming, his belly a charred and smoking mess.
As the others made it out of the droid’s line of sight, the firing ceased. Tyrell poked his head around the corner, ducking back just in time as laser bolts slashed towards him and blasted a sizeable chunk out of the corner at head height. But he’d seen enough. Four of his men lay dead or dying halfway along the short hall which terminated in the command center. In the middle of the large room was a remote sentry gun; a tripod mounted SoroSuub SS-70 light blaster cannon similar to their own E-Web system, rigged up with a motion sensor and basic fire control computer. Crude, but more than effective.
Tyrell motioned to his second LRB shooter. “I want suppressing fire down that hallway. You don’t have to look, just keep it busy.” The trooper nodded and stood above him as he crouched and pulled a concussion grenade from his belt. The trooper stuck his blaster out into the hall and cut loose with a continuous stream of laser fire. The sentry erupted again, peppering the walls and corner with hits. Tyrell depressed the primer and tossed the grenade down the hall. He and the other trooper turned their backs as a heavy explosion shook dust and small stones from the ceiling. Debris skidded along the floor and a rolling cloud of smoke billowed around the corner.
Tyrell looked around again, his IR eyepieces cutting through the gloom and smoke. He made out the remains of the sentry gun; it had been slagged.
“All right, let’s move. Stay alert.”
As they moved forward again, the med-techs descended on Garth’s LRB shooter, who was still moaning feebly, having gone into shock. The sounds ceased altogether as the med-techs injected him with morphine.
Tyrell led the way into the command center, quickly scanning the area. Many of the computer banks and light boards were still here, although some of them had been damaged in the firefight. The other troopers fanned out, securing the area. He motioned to his comm-tech, a young private named Sajer. Tyrell indicated the blackened computer equipment. “See what you can do.”
As the comm-tech went to work, Tyrell looked back to the hallway, where the Med-techs were zipping Garth’s armored corpse into a body bag. He hoped that whatever they found here was worth it.
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Above, Drake was still on station. The grunts had finished their sweeps and were pulling back to the cleared area around the ziggurats. They hadn’t found any Rebels, but they’d found some of the nasty surprises that were left behind. As he watched the activity below he saw the medivac shuttle lift off, it’s wingtips banded with red and white checkers, taking a full load back to Conqueror’s infirmary. Many of the bacta tanks would be occupied tonight.
The troops were securing the perimeter of the clearing, altogether a two klick front. The AT-ATs stood motionless in the center, heavily armed heads pointing outward. With their capacity to carry a full platoon each, they were being used as a temporary field HQ. The six AT-STs patrolled the perimeter while the CAVs scouted further afield, zooming just over the treetops, scanners probing the jungle below. Occasionally one of them would hover and riddle the trees with cannon fire as their scanners picked up one of the Rebel’s booby traps.
Still no actual Rebels though.
His helmet earpiece crackled, “Venom Flight from Hammer One, we’re lifting now.”
“Acknowledged Hammer One.” He changed frequencies. “Venom Flight, this is Lead, form up on me and prepare for egress.”
Below, the drop ship shuddered and lifted ponderously, gaining speed and momentum, punching skyward. Drake and his TIEs formed into escort pattern ahead of it and led the way out of Yavin 4’s atmosphere.
Directly ahead lay Conqueror and, beyond that, Drake could see another Star Destroyer, it’s gray hull glinting in the light of Yavin’s parent star. The Avenger had arrived.
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“Captain on deck!” The Marine guard announced as Commodore Steele mounted the short flight of stairs onto the bridge. His XO saluted crisply as Steele approached the communications quarterdeck on his right. He returned the salute and asked, “Anything I should know about?”
“Nothing major sir. Captain Needa and the Avenger have taken up station opposite the moon from us. The frigates Spiteful and Harrier are currently in polar orbits. Our scout ships are running low level recon patrols to try and locate the Rebels.”
“Any luck?”
“Not yet sir. We’ve picked up a few anomalies, but they require further checking.”
“What about our beachhead at the Rebel base?”
“Secured sir. We’ve landed our mobile infantry, as has the Avenger, who has also deployed the CAV units of it’s armored company. Hess has decided to refrain from landing any more walkers because they’re only of marginal effectiveness in the jungle anyway.”
"Thank you, Captain. I know that Hess is planning a major sweep of the jungle. Let me know when he’s ready to go.”
“Yes sir.”
Steele turned and strode from the quarterdeck. He looked across the bridge, past the crew pits, to the heavily framed triangular transparisteel viewports. A black robed figure stood there, gazing down intently upon the green curve of Yavin 4. Steele hurried across the gangway between the crew pits and came to attention a couple of meters behind Vader. The black figure turned, the angular mask staring at him balefully. Steele held out a small laser disk.
“My Lord, one of our comm-techs was able to slice into the Rebel’s network on Yavin 4. He tight-beamed part of it back to our ELINT section, who were able to decipher it. Much of the data was fragmented, but I have here a copy of all their personnel records that were still intact.”
Vader took the disk. “Good work Captain, you have done well. I shall be in my stateroom if I am required.”
Vader swept past the Captain and off the bridge, taking the short turbolift ride down into officer’s country, where the guest stateroom was located next to the Captain’s. In the privacy of his room he switched on the computer terminal and inserted the laser disk into the drive. A menu appeared in the holofield above the terminal and Vader selected the personnel item. A pause, then a list of names appeared. Meaningless. He began to scroll down the list.
Vader’s instincts were aroused. Kenobi was dead, but the tremor in the Force he’d felt on that last fateful run through the Death Star trench had been unmistakable. The pilot of that X-Wing had been Force sensitive, with a latent power that was enough to awe him. But it wasn’t just the strength of that untapped potential that stunned him, it was the disorientating feeling of gazing into a mirror, of standing outside himself and sensing his own power…
But surely that was impossible. He’d been away when it had been Ami’s time, and he’d returned only to be greeted by her tearful cries that his child was stillborn. He remembered vividly the burning anger he’d felt; anger towards himself, towards her, towards the universe at large. He’d left her then, never to return, and the echoes of that cold rage had often sustained him during the dark days since then. It had not been long after that hateful day when he’d had that first fateful duel with Kenobi…
A name suddenly appeared in the holofield and caught his eye like a magnet, stilling his breath: << SKYWALKER, LUKE; LIEUTENANT COMMANDER; 7701198 >>
Skywalker. Now that was a name he’d not heard in a long time…a long time. So, she had lied to him. He had a son after all. Who now appeared to be a squadron leader into the bargain. Vader felt a flicker of pride. A son who had inherited his own legendary flying prowess. A son who had, it seemed, also inherited the same awesome ability to wield the Force as himself. A son. This changed everything…
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Drake and his wingman sat in their fighters on alert five status, all systems operational, engines idling, ready to launch at a second’s notice if need be. He’d been here for half an hour now and as he checked his instruments for the umpteenth time he wriggled in the ejection seat in an attempt to stave off the numbness that was settling into his butt. Another half hour to go, then some other unlucky sod would get to take his place.
His earpiece suddenly crackled, “Venom Lead, this is TACCON, we have bogeys inbound bearing three one zero mark November ten, range one fifty. Launch and intercept. Repeat, we have multiple bogeys inbound, launch and intercept.” The launch cradle was already sliding out of the launch hanger, as other TIEs were quickly scrambled behind him. There was a jolt and the familiar sickening lurch and he was away, throttling up to attack speed.
“Venom Two, this is Lead, accelerate to attack spread, master arm on.” As he spoke he flicked the master arm switch, turning his indicator lights red and bringing up the targeting program. Six dots appeared on his threat display, range numbers flickering down as they drew near. Target designator boxes appeared on his CMD as they came into range. The IFF computer warbled and all six boxes turned red with identity tags appearing over each one.
They were Z-95 Headhunters, an old Incom design. They looked like a smaller brother of the X-Wing; with two engines instead of four and with two conventional wings instead of the X-Wing’s splitting S-foils. They were also so obsolete that even the Rebels were phasing them out of service.
“TACCON, this is Venom Lead, targets identified as Z-95s. Do I have permission to engage?”
“Affirmative Venom Lead, those are bandits. Fire at will, fire at will!”
The Headhunters were in element formation, spread out in pairs at one kilometer intervals. As the first element came into lethal range an electronic green targeting reticle appeared on his CMD. The reticle settled over the nearest target and turned a darker green, accompanied by a steady beeping. Drake fired, verdant green laser pulses flashed away, spattering against the Headhunter’s shields. There was a burst of scarlet return fire then the lead element split vertically. Drake pulled up after the leader while Two dived after the wingman.
Pulling up through ninty degrees, Drake found the Headhunter in his windshield, it’s belly exposed. He loosed a couple of shots without waiting for tone but they went wide. The Headhunter rolled ninety degrees and pulled hard left and as Drake rolled to follow, he realized immediately he was about to overshoot. He nosed up slightly and barrel-rolled away from the turn, coming to rest in the Headhunter’s low six position. The lock tone jangled in his ears and he fired, lasers punching though the Headhunter’s weakened shields and chewing into the rear fuselage between the engine pods. The Headhunter blew apart in a cloud of incandescent gases and molten debris.
“Venom Lead, break right! Break right!” Drake snap-rolled through ninety degrees and pulled back on the stick, waited a split second, then reversed hard, neatly scissoring with the second element’s wingman. His lasers locked up almost immediately and he fired. He could see the Headhunter shudder as it’s shields struggled to absorb the lethal energies splashing into them. They punched through, slagging the Headhunter’s starboard engine. It sparked and blew, taking the wing with it. The rest of the craft tumbled violently away. Drake had already turned away and didn’t see if the pilot ejected or not.
By now, Drake could see a new group of signals on his threat display as a flight of TIEs launched out from Conqueror.
“Venom Lead, this is Two, I’m in trouble here.” Drake turned in time to see Two sliding left to right across his windshield in the near distance, a Headhunter on his tail. He dove towards them, curving towards the rear of the Headhunter at a high angle.
“Venom Two from Lead, I’ve got your bandit. Break left on my mark; three, two, one…mark!” He saw Two cut hard left and the Headhunter followed, allowing Drake to neatly slip onto it’s tail. He waited for tone, then fired, his lasers stitching a line of ragged destruction along the length of the Headhunter’s fuselage. It fell away, enveloped in flaming gases.
He formed up on Two’s wing, searching for the other two Headhunters. There they were, heading away from Yavin 4 with a third flight of TIEs in hot pursuit. He let out a breath, relaxing slightly. But it wasn’t over yet.
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TACCON buzzed with activity as the TIEs dealt with the Rebels. Commander Riece, the CAG, stood in the aerospace section, monitoring the performance of the controllers directing his pilots. One of the scanner techs suddenly reported, “I’ve got a new group of signals inbound, same vector from Yavin 4 as the Z-95s.”
“Can you pinpoint their origin?” Riece demanded.
“Not exactly sir. Best estimate is a hundred square kilometer region on the equator.”
“Good enough, somebody alert general Hess. How many ships?”
“Fifteen sir.”
“Scramble all fighters and alert Spiteful and Harrier.”
Riece looked at the dots on the screen. It seemed as if the Rebels were attempting to make a break for freedom. The pilots anyway. Strange though, that they should be deserting their comrades now. Misguided fanatics they may be, but you couldn’t fault the Rebels when it came to loyalty to their own kind. Unless.
“Where are those two remaining Z-95s?” he demanded.
“Gone sir. Venom’s Gamma Flight destroyed them.”
“Good. Those Rebels are trying to leave the system in order to summon reinforcements. That must not happen. None of those ships is to make it to hyperspace. Understood?”
“Yes sir!”
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The IFF warbled and the identities of the Rebel ships flashed up onto Drake’s CMD. Nine Y-Wings and six X-Wings. Drake noticed immediately that while the Y-Wings were clustered in element formations, the X-Wings were in combat spread. Whoever is leading those X-Wings knows his stuff, Drake thought. Venom Two pulled into position a kilometer to his right, half behind and a quarter below, mirroring the X-Wings. Drake dived towards the Rebel ships as they soared up from the moon below. Behind him was the rest of Venom squad and half of Adder squad, with more TIEs continually launching from Conqueror’s TIE hangers.
As both sides came into lethal range, green and red laser beams began flashing back and forth. Venom Five was vaped immediately. Confronting the shielded Rebel ships the TIEs were at a disadvantage and they split high and low to avoid the head-on fire coming at them. Drake climbed, pulling up through ninety degrees as a Rebel Y-Wing pursued, only to be sandwiched by Two and blown apart. Drake then rolled one-eighty degrees and pulled a Split-S back into the fight. His earpiece crackled with chatter as the battle was joined; a deadly, swirling melee of durasteel and coherent light as men and machines fought desperately to survive.
He came down on the tail of an X-Wing, it’s S-foils split in the characteristic combat configuration which gave the Incom T-65 it’s name. The X-Wing stood on it’s port S-Foil and broke hard. Drake followed, immediately encountering the X-Wing’s one other advantage over the TIE apart from shielding.
Despite it’s overall inferior performance, the X-Wing did have a tighter turning circle than the TIE, and Drake’s quarry began to pull away. Drake initiated a low speed yo-yo, dropping his nose and curving down into the inside of the turn, then pulling up again, momentarily framing the X-Wing in his windshield before it shot past. He pulled up into a high speed yo-yo, hanging above the turn before dropping down onto his quarry. The targeting program locked up and he fired, raking the X-Wing’s shields, punching through and slagging the rear fuselage. The Rebel ship heeled over at a sickening angle and exploded.
He quickly reversed his turn, searching for another target. Tumbling debris scattered the dogfight, almost as deadly as the multicolored laser beams flashing back and forth. A stricken TIE Fighter spun past and blew, a Y-Wing pulling up off it’s tail. Drake broke hard and curved in on the Y-Wing, which broke hard in an attempt to scissor him. Drake pulled up and barrel-rolled to the outside of the turn to stay on the Y-Wing’s tail. He got tone and fired, punching through the Y-Wing’s shields and shredding it’s port engine. The Y-Wing corkscrewed wildly away, electrical discharges arcing over it’s surface. A second later, it blew apart.
Drake glanced at his threat display and saw that the dogfight had drifted away from the moon. Six red dots, four X-Wings and two surviving Y-Wings, were breaking away from the TIEs.
“TACCON to all fighters, they’re getting away. Intercept and destroy them now!” Drake was closest and he turned after them, accelerating to maximum military power. The other TIEs were quick to follow, although Adder squad had lost six ships and Venom two. Alpha and Beta flights from Raptor squad were streaking out from Conqueror in an attempt to cut off the Rebel’s escape. Drake got into lethal range and locked onto the rearmost Y-Wing, firing a few bursts, but not penetrating the Rebel ship’s shielding.
Suddenly, the lead X-Wing pulled up into a vertical half-loop, rolling out at the top and heading straight for him while the other Rebels streaked away. Drake fired a couple of bursts head to head, then zoomed upward as the X-Wing returned fire. It pulled up sharply after him and Drake snap-rolled through ninety degrees and broke hard right. The X-Wing barrel-rolled and stayed on his tail. He reversed hard and dropped his nose slightly to change his vector. His heart pounded in sudden fear as his threat receiver jangled stridently in his ears. The X-Wing had locked up on him!
He reversed hard again, his TIE jolting violently as the X-Wing’s lasers took a chunk out of his left solar panel, then pulled up and reverse barrel-rolled. The X-Wing overshot and he rolled out onto it’s tail. It broke left and Drake barrel-rolled again to avoid overshooting. He gritted his teeth as the X-Wing began to pull away. This Rebel fighter jock leading the X-Wings was good! Drake was functioning on pure adrenaline now, all too aware that he might not survive this encounter.
As the X-Wing pulled away he dropped into a low speed yo-yo, but as he began to pull up onto the X-Wing’s tail he saw it relax it’s break for a split second before pulling up sharply and reverse-rolling outside the turn, pitching down to meet him head on. Drake squeezed the trigger in panic, his lasers splashing over the X-Wing’s forward shields. Scarlet laser fire stabbed towards him, coming so close as to fill the cockpit with ruby light. He saw his lasers punch through the X-Wing’s shields and slag it’s starboard engines, a split second before his own starboard solar panel was blown off at the wing root.
The view outside the windshield wheeled crazily as the TIE spun out of control. He caught a glimpse of the X-Wing through the hatch slits as it careened wildly past overhead, missing by less than a meter. A dozen alarms beeped frantically, his twin ion drives screaming and straining at overload. His right instrument panel snapped and blew out, showering him with orange sparks and filling the cockpit with thick, acrid smoke. He reached blindly behind his head, grabbed the yellow and black striped handles on the headrest of the ejection seat and yanked with all his strength. The hatch blew off and the cockpit filled with fire as the seat’s rocket motors ignited. He was crushed into the seat as it blasted out of the stricken TIE at eleven Gs.
His black flight suit inflated slightly as he hit hard vacuum and he watched as his TIE Fighter tumbled away sparking electrical discharges before finally blowing itself to pieces. He floated free in space, the green expanse of Yavin 4 far below him. The suit’s built-in transponder immediately began broadcasting it’s emergency beacon, which would attract the Lambda-class shuttle sent out to pick up downed pilots. He could see Conqueror in the near distance and a score of TIE Fighters; but of the Rebel ships there was no sign.
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Darth Vader stood at his customary place on the bridge, forward of the crew pits, staring out of the heavily framed viewports. In the distance, he could see the flicker of laser beams, the deadly dance and weave of fighter craft in combat. He could feel that tremor in the Force and he reached out with his mind, seeking the source of the disturbance. There! Piloting that X-Wing which broke off from it’s fellows to occupy the TIEs. Vader was careful, hovering just beyond the perceptions of the pilot. The boy was strong, the power of his latent abilities simmering just below his subconscious. He was not aware of Vader’s presence as he engaged the TIE Fighter. He was not that sensitive just yet.
Vader watched the ensuing dogfight with interest, noting dispassionately that the TIE pilot was very good. He saw the climax of the duel, saw the TIE spin off, it’s pilot ejecting. He saw the X-Wing tumble away and right itself, straining towards open space on two good engines, a half dozen TIE Fighters pouncing after it. The X-Wing vanished with a flicker of pseudomotion as it made the jump to hyperspace, following the other three X-Wings who had made the jump seconds before. The last two Y-Wings were nothing but scrap.
Thirty Rebel fighters had attacked the Death Star. Nine had been lost in that action, a further seventeen destroyed while Vader watched from the bridge of the Conqueror. The surviving four had just jumped out of system in a desperate bid to summon aid for their Rebel comrades stranded on the moon below. Vader turned to regard commodore Steele, who waited respectfully at attention behind him.
“You determined the origin of those ships?” Vader questioned.
“Yes, my Lord,” Steele answered. “We have isolated a hundred square kilometer quadrant on the equator. The Rebels are there. Lieutenant General Hess is already mobilizing a strike force. Also, the Phantom unit that commander Riece requested has just arrived in system and is requesting permission to dock.”
“Allow them to land and tell them to stand by,” Vader ordered. “We may not require their services after all. The Rebel ground forces are now without fighter support. Find them and eradicate them.”
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The Y-Wings landed in Conqueror’s forward docking bay just as Drake was debarking from the Lambda-class recovery shuttle. His legs were a bit rubbery and his stomach was still knotting from his near-encounter with death, but otherwise he was okay. Maeder was waiting for him, a wide grin on his face.
“You should see the other guy,” he commented.
“Very funny,” Drake grunted. “As a matter of fact, did anyone actually see what became of that Rebel? I think I got a piece of him, but I’m not sure if it was enough.”
Maeder’s face fell for a second. “Sorry, buddy. He got away. Damnedest thing I ever saw though; going into hyperspace with nothing but slag where two of his engines used to be. If he makes it to where he’s going, he’ll be the luckiest man alive.”
Drake nodded towards the four Y-Wings, now taxiing to park along the side of the hanger. They were the single-seater version of the craft he saw, and their pilots wore Rebel-style orange flight suits.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Don’t tell me they’re defecting!”
Maeder laughed. “Nice to see your little ordeal hasn’t affected your sense of humor. No, they’re a Phantom unit.”
“Never heard of them,” Drake said.
“That’s not surprising,” Maeder answered. “They’re a covert action group. They fly Rebel ships into known or suspected Rebel space in order to flush them out. They’re very effective at infiltrating and exposing Rebel enclaves. The Rebels hate ‘em, of course. You definitely don’t want to be a Phantom pilot if they find you out.”
Drake looked at the pilots as they shut down their ships and debarked. The Y-Wings themselves looked like many others he’d seen in service for the Rebellion. Unmarked, grubby, looking as if they should have been mothballed years ago and were only kept flying by shear willpower. The pilots kept to themselves as they left the hanger. A docking officer approached them and exchanged a few words with the leader. The leader swore in frustration and the other pilots exchanged incredulous looks. The officer looked apologetic and left.
“They don’t look too happy about something,” Drake commented.
“Probably because they’ve just been told to stand down,” Maeder said. “Apparently Lord Vader has decided we won’t require their services after all. They’ve found the origin of those Rebel ships and General Hess and his grunts are on their way down there right now to finish them off.”
‘Maeder looked around and lowered his voice. “Serves them right anyhow,” he said. “If you ask me, Phantom pilots are only a slightly higher evolved form of scum than the Rebels themselves. It’s never admitted officially, but most of us know about it anyway, that Phantom units are also used by the Emperor for ‘propaganda missions’. Apparently they find some populous, but out of the way place, pay the local garrison to look the other way for half an hour, then they go in and shoot up the locals. Kill hundreds, maybe thousands of people, then pass it off as an example of Rebel terrorism. Always bug out just before the garrison forces arrive, who were invariably ‘unfortunately patrolling a different sector at the time,’ or some such nonsense. And it does the job. Civilian populations who have suffered Phantom attacks hate the Rebels even more than they hate us, and our fleet’s full of guys who joined up after their loved ones were killed by so-called ‘Rebel terrorists’.”
Maeder suddenly stopped and looked closely at Drake. “Hey buddy, what’s wrong. You don’t look so good.”
Drake’s legs were shaking even worse and he’d turned pale. He remembered that day on Aborleon, vividly recalled stumbling upon what was left of his parents and sister. Remembered the Y-Wings that had wrought the destruction. Remembered the sincere-sounding apologies from the local garrison commander as he informed the mayor that his forces had been diverted to protect a Fleet cargo transfer being made in the outer system.
Maeder grabbed his arm in concern. “Being EV must have roughed you up more than you realized. We’d better get a med-tech to look at you just in case.”
He turned to call out to the last of the medics as they descended from the shuttle, but Drake stopped him. “No…it’s all right. I’m fine. I don’t need a medic, I just need to lie down for a while.” He turned and began to walk rapidly away. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered.
Part of him insisted that it couldn’t be true. The Empire that he served couldn’t possibly have been responsible for the deaths of his family and of so many others on his homeworld. And yet, he knew with a horrible certainty that it must be. He’d ignored it the whole time he’d been at the Academy and during his service as a TIE pilot, but he knew deep down that the Empire was, at best corrupt, and, at worst, downright evil. It held up petty dictators like Lord Vader, who dabbled in esoteric practices and black arts, as upstanding guardians of Imperial law. It condoned the construction and use of such terrible weapons of mass destruction as the Death Star. The few surviving citizens of Alderaan could no doubt testify as to the true nature of the Empire…
His dormitory was empty when he reached it and he sat on his bunk and gave himself to despair. He knew he couldn’t stay here, that he could no longer serve the Empire knowing what he knew now. But that would have to wait. For now all that occupied his mind was the crushing realization that he’d disgraced the memories of his family and devoted his life to a perverted lie…
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Captain Tyrell felt the Sentinel-class Assault Lander buck as it hit a patch of atmospheric turbulence. He rode with 1st Platoon, A Company, as Conqueror’s No.5 battalion converged upon the patch of jungle identified as the origin of the Rebel fighters. The camouflaged Stormtroopers sat quietly as the lander sliced through Yavin 4’s atmosphere. Tyrell’s Landing Zone was a open stretch of beach on the edge of the target zone. When the whole battalion was in place they would begin advancing, saturating the jungle with manpower until they’d rooted out and destroyed the Rebels.
The lander bucked again and slowed, the pilot’s voice crackled in his earpiece, “We’re approaching the LZ, deployment in thirty seconds.”
Tyrell stood with the rest of his troops, motioning for Lieutenant Daal to join him.
“I want you to take a section and deploy forward to set up an initial perimeter before we advance in case the Rebels are waiting for us.”
The Lieutenant nodded and Tyrell again surveyed his men. Two sections of twenty men each; consisting of three six-man fire teams each with a LRB shooter, plus a separate E-Web crew consisting of a trigger-man who carried the actual weapon and a loader who carried the large power cell and heavy tripod base.
Suddenly there was a jolt and the lander’s boarding ramp dropped with a hiss. Even before it had lowered completely, Tyrell and Daal were jogging down side-by-side, their respective sections behind them. Tyrell’s boots crunched into soft beach sand and he moved left, his section fanning out beside him and advancing by squads to establish a ten meter perimeter. Daal and his men kept going, heading rapidly towards the tops of the dunes. Further down the beach to his right, the 2nd and 3rd Platoons were debarking. While, in the distance, six Lambda-class shuttles were deploying B Company. Up the beach to his left was G Company. At their backs the sea swelled and broke sluggishly onto the beach, while Yavin hung bloated in the sky, bathing the whole scene in orange twilight.
As soon as the men were clear the landers and shuttles lifted, their wings angling down to flight position before soaring skyward, heading back to Conqueror. One of the drop ships had descended to a hundred meters and was now deploying three CAVs and a platoon of mobile infantry; scout troopers mounted on speeder bikes. The CAVs and speeders dropped in formation, leveling out at treetop height. Tyrell knew that the lead CAV was a mobile command unit carrying Lieutenant General Hess and his battle staff. The CAVs hovered over the beach while the scout troopers began to range by elements inland.
Tyrell’s earpiece crackled as Hess activated the command channel, “All company commanders report in when you’ve reached your initial positions.” Tyrell looked around and noted the deployment of his men, glancing at the tiny holodisplay inside his helmet to check the positions of his other platoons. “Captain Tyrell reporting in, A Company is in position.”
One by one, the captains of the six other companies reported. They were spread out over a ten kilometer front, with A Company in the center. Twelve kilometers inland, deployed at various locations along a coastal river, was No.7 battalion from Avenger. Somewhere within the expanse of jungle between them lay the Rebel’s temporary hideout. If all goes well, thought Tyrell, soon to be a permanent hideout. After the last captain had checked in, Hess ordered, “All units advance. Give me regular progress reports please.”
Tyrell switched to the company channel, “A Company, move out.”
They began walking, trudging over the hind dunes and penetrating the jungle. It was darker here, the thick canopy casting the jungle floor in orange gloom. Tyrell ordered his men to switch their helmet eyepieces to light enhancing mode. He could hear the distant whine of repulsors as the CAVs and speeder bikes quartered the area ahead, sensors probing for possible booby traps or ambush. The Stormtroopers, their white armor concealed by camouflage sleeves, moved cautiously, weapons raised, scanning the trees with alert eyes. The ground was damp and spongy under foot, the jungle quiet broken by the varied cries of birds and other wildlife. For the most part nobody spoke unless necessary, although Tyrell’s earpiece crackled softly as his Lieutenants reported their progress. 1st and 3rd Platoons were on the flanks, with 2nd in the center. Occasionally he switched to the command channel to report in to Hess and listen to the progress of the other captains.
Half an hour in, Tyrell froze and held up his hand in caution as the stuttering pulse of a CAV’s blaster cannon erupted in the distance. The command channel came alive with voices:
“CAV One, this is CAV Two, we’ve made contact with Rebel forces in sector four.”
“Numbers?”
“Can’t say, they’re well concealed. We’re taking return fire.”
“CAV One, this is Scout Seven, we’re en route.”
“This is Scout Three, we’re inbound also. ETA one minute.”
“Scouts, this is CAV Two, better hurry. We’re taking heavy fire. We have to pull back.”
“Negative CAV Two. This is CAV One, stay on site. If you pull back, we’ll lose contact with them. Remain on station until help arrives.”
“Say again CAV One? I repeat, we’re taking damage, we have to pull out.”
Tyrell could hear the stress in the man's voice, could hear the sound of heavy blaster fire in the background. The CAV commander suddenly swore.
“This is CAV Two, one of the rebels has a shoulder launched proton torpedo! Sithspawn! He’s got tone!! Gunner, waste him now! I’m pulling out, I’m pulling out! We’ve lost the starboard repulsor! NOO!!!”
CAV Two’s voice was obliterated by static and Tyrell heard a sharp explosion in the distance. He swore softly to himself and silently cursed Hess. Shoulder launched mini-proton torpedoes. Damn. The Rebels were too well equipped, and more dangerous than most of Imperial Command realized. Hess was an idiot to have kept the CAV on site. Now they’d not only lost the Rebels, but also the two-man CAV crew as well.
As the normal jungle sounds descended once again, Tyrell motioned his troops forward. He checked their positions. His three squads were advancing line abreast, far enough apart that they weren’t bunching, but close enough that their fields of fire overlapped. He accompanied the E-Web crew at the center. Several meters to the left was one of Daal’s squads; while to his right was a section from 2nd Platoon. Tyrell heard the whine of repulsors approach and grow louder, then begin to recede as two speeder bikes flashed by overhead, barely visible above the canopy. There was a sudden eruption of blaster fire ahead and Tyrell could see red streaks of coherent light slash up through the trees.
“CAV One, this is Scout Nine. We’ve made contact in sector nine. Can’t tell…” There was an explosion and somewhere ahead there was a rending crash as one of the bikes went into the treetops.
“This is Scout Ten. I’ve lost my leader. The jungle’s crawling with Rebels.”
There was a sudden burst of blaster fire from nearer at hand and the trooper on Tyrell’s right was punched off his feet. The others dropped as laser beams flashed out of the gloom ahead, slashing through the undergrowth and splintering tree trunks all around. Smoke billowed and tongues of flame skittered over the vegetation.
“Contact! We have contact!!”
“Maakel’s down!”
“Medic! Somebody get a medic!”
With a stuttering, deafening burst of blaster fire, the whole line erupted, from Daal’s section all the way to 3rd Platoon.
“CAV One, A Company, we’ve made contact with Rebel forces in sector nine,” Tyrell shouted into his comlink as he lit off several rounds from his DLT-20, not seeing if he hit anything. Return fire slashed by inches overhead, his only cover being a slight depression in the ground. Ground foliage blocked his view ahead; all he could see were muzzle flashes and incoming laser beams. The others were also lying prone behind what cover they could find, returning fire, while his E-Web crew set up behind a fallen log. A second later, it’s heavy pulsing sound added to the din as the trigger-man laid down a withering arc of fire that shredded vegetation and chewed into trees and ground cover over the Rebel positions.
Tyrell caught a fleeting glimpse of shadowy figures ahead, Rebels in jungle camouflage carrying A280 assault rifles. There was a flash and a heavy explosion to his left as a concussion grenade wiped out a whole squad, showering him with dirt and burning vegetation and bits of Stormtrooper. There were frantic calls from the 2nd Platoon Lieutenant as the line there began to give way. 1st Platoon wasn’t much better off and Tyrell realized that, if he didn’t pull back soon, he’d be outflanked on the right.
B and G Companies were attempting to move up and circle around the Rebels, but they were starting to encounter resistance themselves. C and F Companies were too far away to be of any immediate help. CAV Three was on it’s way, although there’d be little it could do if the Rebels still had any mini-proton torpedoes. A couple of speeder bikes swooped overhead, strafing the Rebel positions with light blaster cannons. One of the riders was punched out of the saddle by a laser bolt and the bike spun into the trees.
By now, advance platoons from Avenger’s battalion were meeting resistance and were being beaten even worse than Conqueror’s troops. Tyrell cursed as he listened to the command channel. They’d be no help; Avenger had always been a two-bit outfit and Captain Needa was an incompetent fool. He looked about and saw that a third of his section was gone, the med-techs trying to retrieve the wounded were taking as much fire as his own men and had taken casualties themselves. Enough was enough. He switched to the company channel. “Lieutenant Daal?”
“Dead, this is corporal Teilo. What do you want?”
“We’re pulling back. Fall back by squads and re-establish the line after twenty meters.”
His two surviving squads began retreating, while the E-Web crew continued to lay down suppressing fire to cover them. Finally they packed up and all three of them ducked away, trying to keep as many trees between them and the Rebels as possible. Scarlet laser bolts flashed by on all sides, blasting another two of Tyrell’s men. Twenty meters back the way they’d come, they turned and found what cover was available.
‘Tyrell contacted his Lieutenants. “2nd Platoon, what’s your status?”
“Not good, Captain. I’m down to half strength and have had to pull back. 3rd Platoon is covering us.”
“3rd Platoon?”
“We’re keeping them at bay, but we’re taking casualties. I don’t know how much longer we can hold.”
Tyrell switched over to the command frequency. “This is A Company, we need help here.”
“This is B Company. Sorry, but we’ve got problems of our own.”
“What about C Company?”
“Too far away, and they need to stay where they are to prevent the Rebels from circling around behind us.”
“CAV One, this is A Company, I need assistance.”
“CAV Three is on it’s way and should be there in thirty seconds. Also be advised we have a flight of TIE Bombers inbound from Conqueror, ETA ten minutes.”
Further conversation was interrupted as the Rebels attacked again. The jungle began to burn unchecked in places and Tyrell’s vision was periodically obscured by smoke. Armored bodies littered the area, only some of them actually dead. Those that weren’t screamed in agony and the medics who tried to reach them were cut down themselves. He tried to aim at the origin points of enemy fire, but he couldn’t see his targets and didn’t know if he’d hit anything. The approaching whine of repulsors heralded the arrival of CAV Three and it began to circle overhead, pouring blaster cannon fire into the trees above the Rebel positions. Tyrell and his men began to advance again as the Rebels were forced to retreat. Then suddenly there was a blue flash and a scintillating ball of energy streaked upward and blew the rear out of the CAV.
As the flaming front section spiraled down into the trees and exploded, the Rebels renewed their assault. Corporal Teilo had integrated what was left of his section with Tyrell’s, although even combined, the platoon now numbered only twenty-two. They still had both E-Web crews though, and they managed to stand their ground in the face of the attack.
After several minutes Tyrell heard a welcome sound; the scream of ion drives growing louder by the second. Above the trees, a pair of twin hulled, cant-wing TIE Bombers screamed past overhead. Blue flashes as proton torpedoes lashed down. Strobe-like detonations, blue-white glare as trees and underbrush and Rebels were vaporized. Tyrell hugged the dirt as the shock-waves rolled over him, ripping away foliage and splintering tree trunks. Another pair of bombers flashed by overhead, stitching a line of smoking destruction along the whole front.
Tyrell raised his head. The jungle around him was a confusion of charred and smashed vegetation, scattered fires burning out of control. Directly ahead was a series of inter-linked craters and circular clearings, all blackened and smoking, where there was nothing but charred dirt fused into glassy lumps.
Sporadic blaster fire cut across the desolation as surviving Rebels retreated into the jungle. Tyrell ordered the advance and his depleted platoon broke cover and jogged across the blasted clearing. To his right, he could see the other platoons as they also advanced. Tyrell braced himself again as he re-entered the jungle, but to his surprise, there was no sign of the Rebels. He advanced cautiously, blaster rifle raised, searching for danger, but there was none. He switched to the company channel.
“2nd Platoon, you see anything?”
“Negative, captain. Those damned Rebels have vanished again.”
“3rd Platoon?”
“Not a thing, Captain.”
Tyrell returned to the command channel again. “A Company here, the Rebels have vanished.”
“Vanished? They can’t have just disappeared. B Company, what about you?”
“Ah, we’ve also lost contact with the Rebels. After the air strike, they just faded into the forest. There’s no trace of them sir.”
There was a pause, then, “Okay, continue with the operation. Keep your eyes open.”
Tyrell moved his platoon forward and they continued into the jungle. An hour later, they found the Rebel’s hiding place…or what was left of it. A series of clearings hung over by camouflage netting. Markings and indentations on the ground marked where Rebel fighters had rested on their undercarriage and a few pieces of broken machinery lay discarded; but apart from that, there was nothing. Not even any booby traps or other unpleasant surprises.
All up and down the line, units from Conqueror were meeting those from Avenger and no further encounters with the Rebels were made. Tyrell cursed and reported to command. The Rebels had vanished into the jungle, leaving no clue as to their next destination.
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Aboard CAV One, Lieutenant General Hess listened incredulously as the last report came in. He reviewed his status board. Damn! Fifteen percent casualties, concentrated in A and B Companies. All for nothing. The Rebels had escaped, vanishing again as if they had never existed. Hess’ mind raced as he tried to think of some way to salvage the situation. The medivac shuttles were already on their way back to Conqueror and Avenger. He couldn’t leave his troops waiting around in the middle of the jungle, but he didn’t want to return them to orbit just yet, not without more positive results.
He was saved as a message from TACCON arrived: “This is a priority message for Lieutenant General Hess.”
“This is Hess speaking, what is it?”
“Be advised that Rebel ships have entered the Yavin system. They will no doubt be attempting to rescue the Rebel ground forces down there on the moon. As soon as those ground forces reveal themselves, you will attack. Shuttles and drop-ships are en route, you are to prepare for an imminent engagement.”
“This is Hess, I acknowledge.” He switched channels. “CAV One to all units, Rebel ships have arrived, their ground forces will have to reveal themselves soon. Prepare to engage.”
Hess looked over at Colonel T’Kaan, who returned a relieved grin.
“I never thought I’d be glad to see Rebel ships turn up.”
Hess agreed. Reporting back to Lord Vader empty handed would have surely cut short his military career, not to mention his life expectancy…
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When the pair of Nebulon B-class frigates dropped out of hyperspace close to Yavin and accelerated towards Conqueror, Commodore Steele had assumed they were reinforcements. He stood on the communications quarterdeck as a comm-tech attempted to contact them. The tech looked up in confusion.
“They’re not answering sir, and they’ve raised their shields.”
A sudden suspicion formed in Steele’s mind. He called across to the portside gunnery quarterdeck, “Shields up! They’re Rebels, alert TACCON to target them and fire at will!”
As if to confirm his suspicions, more ships dropped out of hyperspace just behind the frigates; a bulbous-looking Mon Calamari cruiser, a half dozen Corellian corvettes and four whale-like medium transports.
“Sound general quarters!” Steele called. Alarms wailed throughout the ship and warning lights flashed red as one of the comm-techs spoke urgently into the intercom. “General quarters, general quarters! We have incoming enemy ships! This is not a drill, repeat, this is not a drill! All hands man your battle stations!”
Steele turned to another comm-tech. “Contact Captain Needa and the frigates Spiteful and Harrier.”
The comm-tech spoke rapidly into his headset mouthpiece for a few seconds, then turned back to Commodore Steele. “The frigates will be here in five minutes, Captain. The Avenger reports than she is under way from her position opposite Yavin 4, but that it will take at least half an hour to reach us.”
Steele refrained from swearing. This thing could be over in half an hour. He nodded.
“Very well. Alert the frigates to launch their TIEs and send them on ahead. They should be here even sooner than their parent ships.”
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Conqueror’s main docking bay was a scene of controlled chaos. The alert five fighters from Raptor squad had launched at the first sign of trouble and now the sixteen TIE launch hangers lining the port and starboard sides of the docking bay were busily cycling out the rest of Conqueror’s TIE complement. The rest of Raptor squad was launched first, and then it was Adder squad’s turn. Talon and Mynock squads, Conqueror’s TIE Bomber squadrons, went out next, followed by Corsair and Venom squads.
The battle was joined.
As Conqueror launched it’s fighters, so did the Rebel ships; two squadrons each of X-Wings and Y-Wings from the frigates as well as a further two Y-Wing and one X-Wing squadron from the Mon Cal cruiser. The four transports dropped towards the moon, a squadron of X-Wings flying escort. Mynock squad moved to intercept but their attack vector was cut off by the pair of frigates flying orbital cover for the recovery force. The frigates were superb fighter suppression platforms, each one mounting twelve turbolaser batteries and twelve heavy laser cannons, and the TIE Bombers of Mynock squad were faced with the choice of either trying to go around them and losing their optimum attack vector, or attempting to engage the frigates themselves.
The Conqueror moved in to pummel the frigates, but, as it did so, the six corvettes and the cruiser moved up in wedge formation on it’s starboard flank.
The corvettes were dwarfed by the Star Destroyer, but each was armed with a pair of turbolaser batteries and four heavy laser cannons, and this coupled with the twelve hundred meter long cruiser armed with twenty-nine turbolasers and thirty-six ion cannons meant that the combined Rebel firepower was almost a match for the Star Destroyer. As the Rebel ships came within range Conqueror opened up with it’s massive main turbolaser batteries, verdant green lightning bolts flashed across open space to slam into the shields of the Rebel ships. The Rebels answered in kind and the space between the ships became a crackling storm of coherent light.
Meanwhile, Talon squad had formed into pairs and began making attack runs against the frigates, allowing Mynock squad to slip past and go after the transports and their escorting fighters. A squadron of Rebel X-Wings moved to intercept Talon squad, while the other X-Wing squad and the Y-Wings went after the port side of Conqueror, hoping to cause as much damage as possible with proton torpedoes. Raptor squad went after the X-Wings attacking Talon squad, while Venom, Adder and Corsair squadrons moved to intercept the remaining X-Wings and Y-Wings.
The TIEs slashed down from above and behind the Rebel formation and the X-Wings peeled off to engage them while the Y-Wings continued on towards their target. The two groups of fighters met and coalesced into a swirling dogfight, streaks of laser fire flashing back and forth, explosions flaring and spitting out twisted remains.
Drake was strapped into the cockpit of his new TIE Fighter, in the thick of the fight, though his heart was no longer in it. He no longer cared whether he lived or died. In fact, he almost wished that he could die, that this would be his final flight in service to the Empire. Death would be fitting punishment for a life spent in service to corruption.
His human nature would not let him simply give in and wait for the inevitable laser beam, however, and he curved down onto the tail of a breaking X-Wing. The Rebel ship reversed it’s break and Drake followed, firing a couple of pulses which splashed harmlessly on it’s rear shields. The X-Wing snap-rolled through one-eighty degrees and tried a split-S maneuver to get away, but Drake followed, waiting until his lasers locked onto it before shredding the X-Wing’s rear fuselage with a well placed burst. He banked around, searching for another target, and pulled onto the tail of another X-Wing as it pursued one of Corsair’s TIEs.
“Corsair Six, this is Venom Three. Break right, break right!” The other TIE broke hard, the X-Wing followed, allowing Drake a perfect shot.
As the X-Wing’s sparking debris tumbled away, he was already flying after the Y-Wings, accompanied by a half dozen other TIEs. The Y-Wings were rapidly closing on Conqueror’s port side; any moment now and the lead fighters would be within maximum lethal range for their proton torpedoes. Drake knew that a standard Y-Wing could carry eight torpedoes; if even one of the Y-Wings managed to fire off it’s entire payload, it could easily bring down a section of Conqueror’s shields.
As he dropped onto the tail of the rearmost Y-Wing, he realized that they were all two-seater BTL-S3s; just as the twin barreled light ion cannon mounted above the rear cockpit swiveled around to stare him in the face. He yanked back on the stick, pulling his TIE up sharply just as the ion cannon cut loose with a stream of electric blue charges. The crackling energy beams missed him by centimeters and slammed into Venom Four behind him, the focused EMP bolts simultaneously overloading every electrical and computer system on board the fighter. The stricken TIE tumbled violently away, enveloped in sparks and electrical discharges, it’s pilot ejecting scant seconds before one of it’s shorting circuits arced into the fuel tank…
Drake rolled back onto the Y-Wing formation, locking onto and vaping one of the Rebel ships. Before he could engage another, his threat receiver jangled harshly and he instinctively broke hard right as scarlet laser fire slashed past his TIE Fighter, missing by less than a meter. He pitched up slightly to alter his vector then reversed hard, scissoring toward the X-Wing that had almost got him. He fired and missed, the X-Wing broke left and barrel-rolled as Drake followed. He matched the barrel-roll, sliding back onto the X-Wing’s tail. His lasers locked up and he fired, punching through the X-Wing’s shields and slagging the portside drive array. The engines overloaded and blew, taking the S-foils and rear fuselage with them, while the broken forward fuselage tumbled away end over end, the pilot managing to eject before it disintegrated altogether.
Drake turned back towards the Y-Wings, their number now reduced by several as the TIEs pummeled them mercilessly. The Y-Wing back-seaters fought back with ion cannons while their pilots steadfastly held to their attack vector. The lead ships came into range and ripple fired their proton torpedoes before peeling away and engaging the TIEs with laser cannons, providing extra cover for the other Y-Wings as they also came into range.
Drake watched with a kind of slow motion fascination as the first cluster of scintillating blue energy balls smashed into Conqueror’s shields, blinding explosions rippling strobe-like across the invisible barriers and allowing him to observe the way they shuddered and warped as they struggled to absorb the horrendous destructive energies pouring onto them. Drake could see the shields as they weakened and then failed altogether as the next wave of torpedoes hit, the rearmost punching through and detonating against Conqueror’s gray hull. Durasteel armor vaporized and shredded as spherical explosions ate into the hull. The ship bled atmosphere, which flashed into incandescence, and twisted and charred bodies were ripped out into hard vacuum where they bloated and tore.
Time suddenly seemed to speed up again as proton torpedoes smashed through shielding and into Conqueror all along it’s port side. The TIEs belatedly continued to cut down the Y-Wings, but it was too late as Conqueror burned and gushed it’s atmosphere into space.
Meanwhile, the frigates Spiteful and Harrier had arrived, along with their TIE Fighters; which engaged the X-Wings that protected the Rebel frigates. Conqueror continued to exchange broadsides with the Mon Cal cruiser and the corvettes. One section of Conqueror’s starboard shields had gone down and part of it’s starboard bow was marred by scorched hull plates. The Mon Cal cruiser was also damaged and limping, it’s entire port side hammered and bleeding atmosphere, it’s starboard side now oriented towards the Star Destroyer and continuing to rain deadly bursts of coherent light against it. One of the corvettes was nothing but twisted scrap after it’s reactor core had been holed and another shuddered violently as turbolaser fire raked it’s dorsal surface. Explosions erupted all along it’s length and it began to drift, flaming atmosphere venting from a dozen hull breaches while escape pods began punching out from their launch sockets.
The Rebel transports were on their way back from the surface of Yavin 4, the TIE Bombers of Mynock squadron having been unsuccessful in bringing them down, and now down to only three ships after being mauled by the escorting X-Wings and the orbiting firepower of the Nebulon B frigates. One of these now drifted in two pieces, though, it’s narrow spine having been broken by a concerted attack from TIE Bombers of Talon squad.
Their objective completed, the Rebel ships began to withdraw, despite withering attacks from the Imperial taskforce. The transports made a break for open space, escorted by the surviving corvettes and a dozen X-Wings while the cruiser, the second frigate and remaining fighters fought a valiant rear-guard action against the slowly advancing Conqueror and it’s frigates.
Drake formed up with Maeder as the TIEs raced ahead of Conqueror, hoping to weaken the Rebel ships enough to prevent escape. They closed rapidly with the Mon Cal cruiser, battered and beaten despite it’s great size, limping with one main drive out and covered with half melted and blackened laser scorch marks. Defensive fire from a few surviving turbolasers slashed out to meet them and he jinked back and forth to evade, but was suddenly unwilling to return fire. A plan had formed in Drake’s mind, desperate, foolhardy and most likely to get himself killed, but surely better than returning to the bowels of Conqueror and the iron grip of the Empire once this was over.
The Rebel ships moved beyond the range of the crippled Star Destroyer and were able to keep Spiteful and Harrier at bay as the transports began to vanish into hyperspace one by one. Only the TIEs were able to keep up with them, although there was little they could do against capital ships with only laser cannons as armament.
Drake continued to stick to Maeder’s wing as they overhauled the Mon Cal cruiser and closed in on the surviving frigate. Drake loosed an involuntary cry of shock as a turbolaser blast from the cruiser narrowly missed him and incinerated Maeder’s TIE Fighter. Laser cannon fire from the frigate began to reach for him, but he somehow managed to evade it, reaching over to his armament panel and flicking off the master arm switch. As he closed on the frigate, he reached down to the left hand console and began rapidly turning dials on his comm panel, jumping channel after channel until he found one occupied by voices and chatter unfamiliar to him.
He mashed the transmit button and spoke urgently into the pickup. If this didn’t work he was a dead man…
“This is Lieutenant Drake Mantell, hailing Rebel frigate, please respond. I’m flying the TIE Fighter inbound at vector one eight zero mark two five. I have powered down my weapon systems and wish to come aboard. Please do not fire upon me. I wish to defect…”
There, it was said, and there was no going back. The comm-techs aboard Conqueror that monitoring enemy frequencies would be alerting TACCON and Commander Riece right now. If this didn’t work, it would be better if he was vaped by Rebel lasers right now.
He repeated his message. “I repeat, this is Lieutenant Drake Mantell, hailing Rebel frigate, please respond. I’m flying the TIE Fighter…”
He was cut off as a strained and surly sounding voice crackled back in his headset, “In case you haven’t noticed, flyboy, we’re a little busy right now. You have exactly five seconds to convince me why I shouldn’t let our gunners vape your sorry carcass.”
Drake’s lip curled involuntarily. “They could try, but I’m going to land this crate in your docking bay whether you like it or not. It’s just likely to be a little harder with your guys shooting at me.”
There was a stunned silence for a couple of seconds, then, “Okay, you have permission to land. Bring it in close and we’ll tractor you aboard. You’ve got thirty seconds before we jump outta here. If you’re not on board by then, we’ll leave you here to face the tender mercies of the rest of your mates.”
Drake breathed a sigh of relief and dove in towards the frigate’s main docking bay. Checking his threat display now for green signals which represented his former comrades. They’d caught on to what he was doing and the nearer ones were racing in his direction, firing at extreme range in their outrage, hoping a stray pulse might put an end to this betrayal.
He curved in towards the frigate’s starboard side at high speed, the docking bay looming large in his vision, before wrenching the throttles back to idle power, slamming himself forward against his harness. Another bone jarring jolt as a tractor beam latched onto his fighter and drew him towards the docking bay. Bright green laser beams slashed past his windshield and he swore in fright. Nearby, one of the frigate’s laser cannons opened up and spat a stream of scarlet energy out into space. The streaks of green ceased.
At last, the tractor beam dragged his TIE Fighter through the magnetic containment field and into the relative safety of the frigate’s docking bay. Behind him the stars suddenly stretched into Doppler distorted streaks and were obscured by the mottled gray of hyperspace.
With a hard bump, Drake’s TIE Fighter settled onto the docking bay’s flight deck and he began to unbuckle from the ejection seat. Out of the windshield he could see a few crewers in white jumpsuits looking at him with varying degrees of open curiosity and outright hostility. A squad of blue and gray suited marines jogged out onto the flight deck and ranged themselves in front of his fighter, DH-17 blaster carbines aimed through the windshield at his face. An officer with lieutenant’s insignia called out, “All right, we have you covered. Come out slowly, with your hands raised and drop your sidearm down here.”
Drake did as he was told, opening the hatch and standing slowly until he stood exposed from waist up, his hands resting on top of his helmet. His legs shook, part of him wanted to sob in fear while another part of him wanted to shout triumphantly. He’d done it! Foolhardy scheme or not, it had worked. He had deserted his post aboard Conqueror and escaped the clutches of the Empire. Perhaps now he could atone for the dreadful mistake which had seen him fight for the very evil which had destroyed his family.
As a pair of maintenance techs wheeled a yellow boarding ladder over to his TIE Fighter he took a first look around at what would be, for better or worse, his new home…