Star Wars - X-Wing - Rogue Squadron Page 13

  databases containing information about navigation hazards got progressively

  better as they headed toward the Core.

  And Coruscant.

  Corran knew the Imperial capital was not their

  intended targetat least not tor this flightbut he felt certain they would get

  there eventually. His more immediate concern, however, was plotting the course

  for the third leg of the jump. While he had not been told their final

  destination, Commander Antilles had given him a list of twenty starting and

  ending points, and he had calculated the best courses he could see for making

  those jumps. The direction, speed, and duration of the first leg allowed him to

  eliminate all but two of the courses given to Rhysati for solution for the

  second leg and that narrowing down of ending points meant he only had two plans

  of his own to refine.

  The first course of his, which would take the flight further along the disk and

  outside the most populated and advanced section of the galaxy, had been plotted

  pretty tightly. Several black hole clusters narrowed leeway as far as that

  course was concerned. He glanced at it again and decided it couldn't be refined

  any more.

  "Whistler, bring up the course for the Morobe system."

  The astromech droid hooted at him as numbers and graphics scrolled up on the

  screen.

  "Yes, I know you did the best you could on this plotting. Freeze output there."

  He tapped the glass on the monitor. "At the Chorax system you have us skirting

  it by .25 parsecs. There's only one planetary mass in that system and the sun

  isn't that big. Since the Chorax system comes up so early in our leg, if you

  pull us another tenth of a parsec closer we should come out of hyperspace close

  enough to Morobe's habitable planets that we won't need to make an in-system

  jump to find gravity if we need it."

  The astromech wailed at him.

  Corran laughed. "You're correct, the data you

  used to compute the course indicated giving the system a wider berth, but

  that's because you're using merchant data and they're afraid of pirates and

  smugglers working the system. We're a squadron of X-wings. We have nothing to

  worry about."

  With astronavigation and hyperspace jumping being so tricky a business, courses

  were plotted as often as not to brush by inhabited systems, even if they were

  inhabited by social misfits and undesirables. If a hyperdrive went out in

  midflight, or refused to engage after a course correction between jumps, being

  within hailing distance of worlds from which help could easily be summoned was a

  blessing. Trying to find a ship that had misjumped to some random location in

  the galaxy was next to impossibleas all those who hunted after the fabled

  Katana fleet had learned since its disappearance.

  The first leg of the journey ended uneventfully. Two Flight, with Rhysati flying

  lead, took over from One Flight and brought the squadron around on its new

  heading. Just before they made the jump to light speed, Commander Antilles shot

  Corran the coordinates for the third jump.

  "So, it's Morobe after all." Corran called the flight plan up for one last time,

  ignoring Whistler's disgusted wail, and went over it. The course appeared as

  nearly perfect as possible, given the ships they were using. A ship capable of

  greater speed could have trimmed even more distance off the run by getting

  closer to the Chorax system. The greater speed would allow it to resist the

  influence of the star's hyperspace mass shadow. Without the resistance the ship

  would be dragged back into realspace in the system and, more likely than not,

  would be unable to escape the sun's gravitational grasp.

  "Fortunately X-wings have enough power to get us through." Corran glanced at his

  reactor fuel level

  readings. The hyperdrives barely sipped fuel, while the sublight engines gulped

  it. Running up to a lightspeed jump burned a lot of fuel, though not as much as

  maneuvering through a dogfight, but nothing they had done on their journey so

  far had been that taxing on the engines or fuel supply.

  By the time we make my jump we'll still be at eighty-seven percent of a full

  load. More than enough to make it to the Morobe system and back home again.

  The squadron came out of hyperspace and Corran eased his stick to port.

  "Squadron, come about to a heading of 230 degrees and depress 12 degrees. Flight

  plan on its way to you." He pushed his stick forward until the X-wing's nose

  dipped slightly. "Jump to light speed in five."

  The jump to hyperspace for his leg seemed somehow smoother and more effortless

  than the previous two. He knew that sensation was an illusion and he wondered

  about it for a moment or two. It occurred to him that the reason he was more at

  ease with his jump was because he had been in control of it. Mistakes made in

  calculating a hyperspace jump could be fatal and Corran had never been good

  about putting responsibility for his life in another person's hands.

  "But I don't have to worry about a mistake on this leg, since I did the

  calculations." A keening whistle from his astromech made him smile. "Fine. You

  did the calculations, with no help from me at all."

  Whistler's hooting became more urgent. The astromech started scrolling sensor

  data over the cockpit screen, but none of it made sense to Corran. "There's

  another stellar mass in the Chorax system. That's impossible, unless ..."

  Before he could broadcast a warning to the

  other members of Rogue Squadron, the automatic safety cutout on the hyperdrive

  kicked in. The snubfighter burst through an incandescent white wall and into the

  outer reaches of the Chorax system.

  And right into the middle of a running lightfight.

  Corran threw the stick hard to port and pushed it forward. "Rogue Eleven, break

  up-star." He trusted Ooryl would follow him moving down and to the left, which

  cleared the way for the rest of the squadron to enter the system. "Lock S-foils

  into attack position."

  He reached up and flipped the switch with his right hand. "Whistler, have you

  IDed those ships yet?"

  The little droid shrieked urgently back at him.

  "Anything you can give me." The big ship, Corran knew immediately, was an

  Imperial Interdictor cruiser. Its quartet of gravity well projectors allowed it

  to create a hyperspace shadow roughly equivalent to that of a fair-sized star.

  The Interdictors had proved effective in ambushing smugglers and piratesand the

  presence of one of the six-hundred-meter-long triangular cruisers in the Chorax

  system was not wholly unexpected.

  It hadn't been there to trap them, however. Running from the cruiser, which

  Whistler identified as the Black Asp, was a modified Baudo-class star yacht.

  About three times as long as his X-wing, the yacht had a broad, triangular shape

  to it that was softened by the gentle down-curve of the wings. It looked almost

  organic in origin, as if it should have been swimming through space instead of

  rocketing along on its twin engine's ion thrust.

  Corran had seen plenty of modified yachts in his time with Corellian Security,

  and this one even

  looked vaguely familiar. Most often the
yachts were modified to haul contraband.

  While he had no love for smugglers, he had even less for the Empire. Enemy of

  my enemy is my friend.

  Whistler bleated sharply. Corran glanced at his screen, then keyed his comm.

  "TIEs. SquintsI mean Interceptors. Looks like a dozen of them." He looked up

  through his cockpit canopy and felt panic when he couldn't see with the naked

  eye what his instruments showed so plainly on his monitor. "Rogue One, what are

  your orders?"

  Wedge's voice came back cool. "Engage them, but watch the cruiser's guns."

  "I copy that. Rogue Ten, on me."

  Ooryl double-clicked his comm, indicating understanding of Corran's order. That

  action seemed, like Commander Antilles's order, to betray no nervousness at

  all. The bitter taste slicking Corran's tongue surprised him because he'd flown

  against Imps in real life and endless simulator battles. He'd never been this

  bad beforenervous, yes, but not edging toward losing it.

  Pull yourself together, Corran. His hand snaked up and touched the coin he wore.

  Your squadron mates and the folks in that yacht are counting on you.

  Because the break they'd executed had taken them down, the Interdictor and its

  TIEs were coming in above their line of sight. Pulling back on his stick,

  Corran thumbed a switch that put all power in the forward shield.

  "All power to forward shield, switching to proton torpedoes." A targeting box

  appeared on the heads-up display and Corran maneuvered the X-wing to drop the

  sight on the lead Interceptor. The range indicator dropped numbers and digits as

  the X-wing closed on the Imperial fighter.

  Easy, easy. Let yourself go, just like in training. He nudged the flight stick

  to the left and framed the incoming squint perfectly. The box went red and a

  strident beep filled the cockpit. Corran hit the trigger and the first torpedo

  sped in at its target.

  Another torpedo streaked past him and raced toward an Interceptor. Both of the

  Imperial ships broke hard, but Ooryl's torpedo reduced his target to fire and

  scrap metal. Corran's missile missed his intended target, so he switched back to

  lasers and evened his shields out.

  "Good shot, Ten. Scratch one squint!" Fingering the coin he wore beneath his

  flight suit, Corran swallowed hard, then keyed his comm unit. "Cover me, I'm

  going after mine."

  Ratcheting the throttle up to full, Corran swooped the X-wing up on its port

  stabilizers, then corkscrewed down through a roll that brought him out on the

  Interceptor's tail. He linked his offside lasers so they fired two at a time

  and triggered a burst that burned armor from the Interceptor's bent wings, but

  failed to destroy it.

  The squint drifted to the left, then c ame up in a roll that brought it around

  and over Corran's line of flight. If he continues that roll, I'll overshoot him

  and he'll end up on my tail. Corran pushed the stick to the left, making a wide

  turn to port that opened distance from the Interceptor, but still let the

  Imperial ship slip in behind him.

  "Ooryl cannot get him, Nine."

  "I know, Ten, not to worry."

  Keeping one eye on the rangefinder, Corran kept his X-wing on the long loop.

  Come on, you know you want me. If you had proton torps I'd be free-space ions,

  but you don't! "Yes, Whistler, I know what I'm doing." Feeling some of his

  confidence returning, he shrugged. "At least I'm pretty sure I do."

  The Interceptor pilot came up fast and flew in a straight line to get quickly to

  the same point in space where Corran could get slowly with his great loop.

  Seeing his prey close in fast, Corran centered and hauled back on his stick,

  tightening his turn considerably and jamming his body down in his seat.

  The X-wing shot across the TIE's line of flight barely twenty meters behind the

  ball-and-wing craft. Yanking the stick to starboard, Corran rolled the fighter

  180 degrees. He pulled the stick back to his breastbone, bringing the X-wing's

  nose up in another turn that reversed his previous course. Leveling the

  fighter out, he sailed in right on the TIE's tailhis long S-turn having allowed

  him to let it overshoot him by a fair distance.

  A lethal distance. Corran lined the Interceptor up in the sights and blew it

  apart with two laser blasts. As pieces of the disintegrating ship whirled past

  him, he keyed his comm unit. "Ten, report."

  "Cover Ten. Heading 90 degrees."

  "I have your wing, Ten." Guiding the stick to the right he saw Ooryl's X-wing

  shoot ahead of him and into the ion wake of an Interceptor. The Gand's first

  shot struck sparks and armor from the fighter's central ball. One more, Ooryl,

  and you have him!

  "Nine and Ten, break hard port! Get out of there!"

  Ooryl's compliance with Wedge's order came immediately. His sharp turn took him

  across Corran's line of flight, forcing Corran to yank back on his stick and

  roll to starboard. He leveled out and started a turn to port, but Whistler's

  shrill whine filled the cockpit. The stick slammed back into Corran's chest,

  pinning him in his ejection chair as the droid brought the X-wing's nose up. Red

  crept into the corners of Corran's vision and the

  stick's pressure against his breastbone made breathing hard.

  The vast expanse of the Black Asp's bulk filled his viewscreen. By all the souls

  of Alderaan! A blue bolt of ion-cannon energy sizzled in and battered down the

  X-wing's shields. Whistler yowled and the stick went slack for a moment,

  allowing Corran to act.

  He slapped the stick hard to port, bringing the X-wing up in a snap-roll that

  put the Interdictor beneath his feet. He started to pull back on the stick, to

  show the cruiser his stern and rocket full away from it, but he felt a tingle

  run through him as another ion blast partially caught the starboard stabilizer

  foils. The astromech's screams died abruptly and Corran was slammed against the

  left side of the cockpit.

  Even without seeing the stars swirling around him like dust motes in a Tatooine

  sand tornado, he knew what had happened. The ion blast had knocked out his

  starboard sublight engines, leaving the pair on the port side of the ship

  operating at full power and without competition. This put him into a flat spin,

  with his stern chasing his nose, completely out of control.

  But at least I'm hard to hit.

  The ion blast, in addition to shutting Whistler off, had killed all his cockpit

  electronics and acceleration compensator. The only thing he could do, he knew,

  was to shut his engines down and go for a restart. Until he had some sort of

  power, or until that cruiser slaps a tractor beam on me, the X-wing would spin

  like a gyroscope. Gotta power down.

  That was easier said than done. The emergency shutdown panel had been placed on

  the right side of the cockpit. Mashed against the opposite side by centrifugal

  force, it remained just beyond the reach

  of his outstretched fingers. Gritting his teeth, Corran levered himself off the

  cockpit wall with his left elbow and tried to hit the panel.

  The stick slammed him back into place pinning him. Corran caught it with his

  right hand and tried to pry it forward. Pain radiated out f
rom where the stick

  had jammed his medallion into breastbone. So much for that being terribly lucky.

  The stick made it painful to breathe, adding one more unnecessary complication

  to his predicament.

  A sense of urgency boiled up in him, overriding panic instead of boosting it.

  "Let. Me. Go!" He redoubled his effort to move the stick. It resisted at first,

  but Corran refused to be daunted. Concentrating with every fiber of his being,

  he pushed and the stick yielded. Centimeter by centimeter he forced it away from

  himself. Yes, I'm free.

  Corran shoved the stick as far as it would go to the left, then used it to pull

  himself away from the port side of the cockpit. With his left hand on the top of

  the stick, he brought his elbow up, inch by inch, scraping it past various

  switches and knobs that had died with the rest of the ship. When his arm came up

  above the top of the stick, he lunged to the right, letting the stick slip

  beneath his armpit, and hit the shutdown panel with his right elbow.

  The thrumming of the port engines died, leaving him alone with the sound of his

  own breathing in the cockpit. The ship still spun and showed no signs of

  slowing, but without friction or other resistance in the vacuum of space, it

  would continue to spin forever. Corran relaxed slightly in relief at cutting the

  engines off, and was rewarded by being bashed back against the port side of the

  cockpit. His helmet hit a hard stanchion, leaving him a touch dazed. Along with

  the spin-induced nausea, it made him hope someone would shoot him and end his

  misery.

  That flash of despair lasted for a moment until another spark of pain spread out

  from his breastbone. Kill us they might, but I'm not going to make it easy for

  them. He slid his right hand across his chest, past the medallion and his left

  shoulder, and tipped three switches up. A bit farther along, he lifted a

  plasteel plate that covered a recessed red button, then punched that button and

  hoped for the best.

  What he wanted to hear was the return of the engine thrum, but what he got was

  nothing. Ignition circuits must be fried. There has to be something else I can

  do. Without the engines, he had no power. The primary power cells and the

  reserve power cells for the lasers probably had enough energy in them to at