Enemy Lines II_ Rebel Stand - Aaron Allston [105]
“And this, ultimately, will distract them enough to allow us to initiate a complete evacuation of this facility … and to take this final battle in this system to them in ways they haven’t anticipated.”
There were many words and expressions of relief after that statement. Wedge saw his officers exchanging glances. “That’s right. This defense is, ultimately, not a suicide mission, despite anything you may have heard.” That was something of a deception. The New Republic Advisory Council and self-appointed Chief of State Pwoe had demanded that it be precisely that, a suicide mission. But Wedge had chosen to interpret his orders a trifle differently. “The wounded and nonessential personnel have, over the last few days, been transported—very uncomfortably, I’m afraid, in the guise of cargo and other such deceptions—to our freighters and cargo vessels upstairs. Tycho?”
Tycho rose and hit a button on the datapad in his hand. “Your revised orders have just been transmitted to you. You have an hour before things get under way. I suggest that if you have anything remaining here dirtside that you want to keep, you’d better gather it up now.”
“If you have any questions,” Wedge said, “address them to your controllers. We have no time remaining here. Dismissed.”
The officers rose and crowded to the exits. For a few moments, until almost all had departed, their voices almost did drown out the sound of distant conflict.
“How’s your new squadron?” Wedge asked Luke.
“Not bad. My predecessor was a champion of discipline over talent, but the pilots I inherited are pretty determined. We’ll get along fine.”
Wedge called to an officer just reaching the door out. “Eldo. A moment?”
The bulky captain of Lusankya returned, pushing his way through the scattered chairs. His face was much harder to read than it had been weeks ago, when he’d arrived insystem, but that suited Wedge; then, the only things to read had been confusion and distress. “General?”
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for knocking your command out from under you. I’ll make sure it doesn’t reflect badly on your record.”
The commander gave him a wan smile. “Badly? General, I’m about to pilot the largest, most terrifying singlepilot starfighter the universe has ever seen. Live or die, I’m going to go down in history.”
“That’s a good way to look at it.” Wedge extended his hand. “Good luck.”
Luke settled into his X-wing cockpit with a noise of satisfaction. In the weeks since he’d left, Wedge had been using the snubfighter as a personal transport, and had had the vehicle maintained with the sort of monomania-cal thoroughness that another fighter pilot could appreciate. “How’re you doing, Artoo?”
His astromech beeped at him, similarly cheery, happy to be back in action once more.
“Blackmoon Leader to squad,” Luke said. “Blackmoon Leader is ready. Report readiness by number.”
“Blackmoon Two, ready.” That was Mara, in the E-wing that had belonged to the squadron’s former commander. He hadn’t been lost in combat; battle stress had finally reduced him to a shrieking paranoid, leaving him unable to pilot a child’s recreational landspeeder, much less a weapon of war.
“Blackmoon Three, ready.”
“Blackmoon Four, anxious to drive it in deep and break it off.”
Luke watched as the Starlancer pilots brought their ungainly craft out of the special operations bay on repulsorlifts. The three corner vehicles looked the same as ever, but the fourth, the central unit, had a new addition: in its astromech bay, behind the cockpit, rode a faceted jewel the size of a human. It stuck out of the astromech housing by a meter and a half, glistening in the sun. It was identical to the crystal that had been shattered by a Yuuzhan Vong spy in one of the biotics building’s sub-basements