Star Wars_ Episode VI_ Return of the Jedi - James Kahn [55]
Ackbar’s voice crackled back over the headset. “Proceed with the countdown. All groups assume attack coordinates.”
Lando turned to his copilot with a quick smile. “Don’t worry, my friends are down there, they’ll have that shield down on time …” He turned back to his instruments, saying under his breath: “Or this will be the shortest offensive of all time.”
“Gzhung Zhgodio,” the copilot commented.
“All right,” Lando grunted. “Stand by, then.” He patted the control panel for good luck, even though his deepest belief was that a good gambler made his own luck. Still, that’s what Han’s job was this time, and Han had almost never let Lando down. Just once—and that was a long time ago, in a star system far, far away.
This time was different. This time they were going to redefine luck, and call it Lando. He smiled, and patted the panel one more time … just right.
Up on the bridge of the Star Cruiser command ship, Ackbar paused, looked around at his generals: all was ready.
“Are all groups in their attack coordinates?” he asked. He knew they were.
“Affirmative, Admiral.”
Ackbar gazed out his view-window meditatively at the starfield, for perhaps the last reflective moment he would ever have. He spoke finally into the comlink war channel. “All craft will begin the jump to hyperspace on my mark. May the Force be with us.”
He reached forward to the signal button.
In the Falcon, Lando stared at the identical galactic ocean, with the same sense of grand moment; but also with foreboding. They were doing what a guerrilla force must never do: engage the enemy like a traditional army. The Imperial army, fighting the Rebellion’s guerrilla war, was always losing—unless it won. The Rebels, by contrast, were always winning—unless they lost. And now, here was the most dangerous situation—the Alliance drawn into the open, to fight on the Empire’s terms: if the Rebels lost this battle, they lost the war.
Suddenly the signal light flashed on the control panel: Ackbar’s mark. The attack was commenced.
Lando pulled back the conversion switch and opened up the throttle. Outside the cockpit, the stars began streaking by. The streaks grew brighter, and longer, as the ships of the fleet roared, in large segments, at light-speed, keeping pace first with the very photons of the radiant stars in the vicinity, and then soaring through the warp into hyperspace itself—and disappearing in the flash of a muon.
The blue crystal planet hovered in space alone, once again; staring, unseeing, into the void.
The strike squad crouched behind a woodsy ridge overlooking the Imperial outpost. Leia viewed the area through a small electronic scanner.
Two shuttles were being off-loaded on the landing platform docking ramp. Several walkers were parked nearby. Troops stood around, helped with construction, took watch, carried supplies. The massive shield generator hummed off to the side.
Flattened down in the bushes on the ridge with the strike force were several Ewoks, including Wicket, Paploo, Teebo, and Warwick. The rest stayed lower, behind the knoll, out of sight.
Leia put down the scanner and scuttled back to the others. “The entrance is on the far side of that landing platform. This isn’t going to be easy.”
“Ahrck grah rahr hrowrowhr,” Chewbacca agreed.
“Oh, come on, Chewie,” Han gave the Wookiee a pained look. “We’ve gotten into more heavily guarded places than that—”
“Frowh rahgh rahrahraff vrawgh gr,” Chewie countered with a dismissing gesture.
Han thought for a second. “Well, the spice vaults of Gargon, for one.”
“Krahghrowf,” Chewbacca shook his head.
“Of course I’m right—now if I could just remember how I did it …” Han scratched his head, poking his memory.
Suddenly Paploo began chattering away, pointing, squealing. He garbled something to Wicket.
“What’s he saying, Threepio?” Leia asked.
The golden