29

Corran half hid his face behind his left hand, daring only to stare that the floating hologram of the mythical world of Phenaru Prime with his left eye. Aside from the addition of an asteroid ring, an ocean where the southern continent was, and some adjustments to the coastlines, it looked exactly like Borleias. The computer-projected world slowly spun above the cylinder in the well of the pilots’ briefing room. It looked calm and almost peaceful, especially without the air-current overlays Whistler used to project onto it.

As peaceful as it looks, it’s not where I want to die.

Wedge continued his briefing. “Our objective is a ferrocrete pipe roughly four meters in diameter and forty meters long. It’s reinforced and has suspension cables helping to support the weight. A single proton torpedo should be able to destroy it, but we’re not sure how well it’s going to show up on the targeting computers. If we get a lock, it’s likely to be at point-blank range.”

Nawara Ven stroked the tip of one of his brain tails. “Run up this rift valley and hit something the third of the size of an X-wing, without the benefit of a targeting computer? That’s impossible.”

Gavin shook his head. “That’s nothing. Back home in Beggar’s Canyon …”

The youth’s voice trailed off as Wedge raised an eyebrow in his direction. “I don’t think any pilot from Tatooine ever found a mission tough, especially when it involves racing through a canyon.”

“Well, the target’s not really that small, sir.”

Corran laughed. “It is the size of a reclining Hutt, give or take a couple of meters. The conduit can probably move faster, too.”

Even Wedge laughed at the comment, but Corran knew it wasn’t because of the weak humor in his statement. Everyone in the room, the nine surviving pilots from Rogue Squadron and Tycho Celchu, knew the mission being presented to them was difficult. Their laughter came from the nervous tension of staring death in the face and knowing death was likely to win this one.

“The real sticking point on this mission, people, is time-over-target. We’ll be coming in and using a meteor shower as cover for our insertion to the atmosphere. This means we’ll have to maneuver through the asteroids to get into Phenaru and get out again. We also have a long run up to light speed so we can make the jump out of the gravity well. All this means we’ve got a half hour over the target. If we burn too much time and fuel fighting, we don’t get out.”

Bror Jace scratched at the pale stubble on his chin. “That’s cutting it rather fine, isn’t it? The valley run should take a third of that. If only six of us are going in, that’s one pass per flight element.”

“He’s right, Commander.” Rhysati frowned. “Can’t we get auxiliary fuel pods for our T-65s?”

Wedge glanced over to where Emtrey stood. “Last check of our inventory didn’t show we had any and a check of the Alliance requisition system shows a backlog of requests. That’s what you said, wasn’t it, Emtrey?”

“Yes, sir.” The droid raised a hand and tilted his head to the side. “However, sir, we now have some.”

“What?” Wedge frowned. “I thought you characterized requisitioning them as an exercise in futility.”

“I did, sir.” The droid shrugged in a most un-mechanical manner by bobbing his head up and down on his neck. “I saw we needed them, so I scrounged ’em.”

“Scrounge?”

“They cost a couple suits of the stormtrooper armor we had left over from Talasea, the cold weather gear we are not using here on Noquivzor, and some spare parts for which we have little use.”

The squadron’s commander stared at the droid for a moment. “How many did you get?”

“A half dozen.”

Wedge shook his head. “All that only got you six auxiliary fuel pods?”

“Sir, when scrounging merchandise you can get it fast, in good condition, or cheap: pick two.” The droid’s clamshell head righted itself again. “They’re here and Zraii is ready to fit them on ships. He’s fitting them with a quick release so you can jettison them when they’re empty. It’ll kill the drag when you’re fighting the squints. These pods give you half again the time-over-target.”

Forty-five minutes sounded like forever, and in some ways it was. In atmosphere the engines gobbled a lot more fuel than they did in space because of the friction and drag. X-wings were a better fighter in atmosphere than TIEs, but the two squadrons on the ground outnumbered the Rogues four to one. Long odds and we ran through the last of our luck on the previous visit to Blackmoon.

Rhysati raised a hand. “Any defenses in the rift valley?”

Wedge shook his head. “None that we know of, but it’s possible there are some. Whoever goes in first has got to be careful. First run probably won’t nail the prize.”

“I can believe that.” Corran scratched at the back of his neck. “Are Page’s folks coming down while we make our runs?”

“If they were, Lieutenant, the answer to that question would be classified.” Wedge hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “It’s a logical assumption to make, though. Regardless, any of us who gets left behind will be in severe straits—out of fuel and out of luck long before the assault for which we’re doing the prep work will hit.”

Bror Jace slowly nodded. “This is a suicide mission.”

“No, I want it to be anything but a suicide mission. The facts do point to this being very dangerous.” Wedge folded his hands together. “We’ve got six ships and eight pilots. I’m sorry, Ooryl, but without a proper prosthetic fit, I can’t consider you healthy enough for this mission.”

Corran’s wingmate sagged a bit in his seat. The Emdee droids had fitted him with a odd device that capped his stub with what looked—and smelled—like a boiling pot of bacta. Below it a rudimentary prosthetic arm ended in a pair of pincers that snapped open and closed. “Qrygg offers apologies for Qrygg’s failure.”

“Your feelings are understood, Ooryl.” Wedge folded his arms across his chest. “Three of you are fit to fly but you don’t have a ship. We do have Lujayne’s X-wing ready to go. If all of you volunteer for this mission, I’ll choose one of you at random to fly that ship. If anyone else opts out, you’re up. Do you all want to go?”

All three of the pilots nodded.

“Emtrey, randomize a choice here.”

The droid hummed for a moment. “Nawara Ven.”

Shiel growled and Erisi shrugged in Rhysati’s direction.

Wedge smiled. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Ven. You’ll fly with Mr. Jace, assuming he volunteers.”

The Thyferran shot a quick glance at Erisi, then nodded. “It shall be my pleasure to bring glory to the Thyferran people as their representative on this mission.”

“Mr. Darklighter, this isn’t Beggar’s Canyon …”

“I know, sir. It’s bigger and this won’t be for fun.” Gavin smiled slowly. “I’m in.”

Wedge looked over at Rhysati. “And you, Ms. Ynr.”

“Someone has to break up the boys’ club.”

Wedge turned to Corran. “Need I ask?”

“You want to know if I’m willing to fly to an enemy-held planet where I’m to race through some eroded ditch and pop a sewer pipe with a proton torpedo while Interceptors are swarming around, and do all this with no hope of rescue if I slip up?”

Wedge’s reply came cold and calm. “That’s what I want to know.”

Corran’s mouth soured and his stomach tightened. Despite Gavin’s protest, Nawara Ven had been correct—the mission was impossible. Performing any one of the feats mentioned might have been possible, but doing them all would push every pilot to his or her limit. Failure by some was inevitable—only who and how many were in question.

They all knew that. They knew it as well as he did, yet each one of them had volunteered without a second thought. The mission needed doing, and they were going to do it. It wasn’t a question of survival, but a question of how best to make certain the mission succeeded. Each of them decided they were up to the task and now it was up to him to come to the same conclusion.

“Overwhelming odds, tough target, scant chance of survival—business as usual for Rogue Squadron.” Corran nodded. “I’ll go on one condition.”

“Go or stay, Mr. Horn, no special deals.”

“Then think of this as a tactical consideration.” Corran sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I’m first into the valley.”

Wedge shook his head. “That position’s already filled.”

“You need a wingman, Commander.” Corran jerked a thumb at the other pilots. “They’ve had practice using someone else’s telemetry to make a run, I haven’t. We’ll make the first run together.”

Wedge looked away for a moment, then back at Corran. “Glad to have you with us, Mr. Horn. Shiel, Ms. Dlarit, you’ll work with Captain Celchu and provide opposition for us while we do the simulator runs on the operation. You’ll have to do your best to kill us before we go. If you can’t, maybe, just maybe, we’ll be able to come back and thank you for your hard work.”