Star Wars_ Luke Skywalker and the Shadows of Mindor - Matthew Woodring Stover [55]
The Falcon’s spin, though, brought the intersecting contrails of the oncoming missiles through Han’s visual arc just in time for him to wrench the yoke and stand the Falcon on its tail, side-on to the missiles, for one flash of a ghost of a second … just long enough for the lead missiles to whip past so close that he would later swear he could smell them before they continued down into the murk in pursuit of the largest energy signature their targeting sensors had found to relock on: the exploding TIE interceptor. The following missiles had already located the ion signatures of the other TIEs, since the atmosphere apparently also presented enough EM interference to screw up the missiles’ reception of IFF transponder signals. While the TIE pilots struggled with that problem, Han was able to bring the Falcon back under control and angle it toward the folds of lava where the Mindorese had taken cover.
Over their position, he kicked the Falcon onto its side and circled them at high speed, while both Chewie and Leia fired their quads at full power into the ground, raising a huge cylindrical cloud of blasted-up rock and metal that Han figured would cloak them from the oncoming gunships for at least a minute or so; then he set down in the clear middle and dropped the Falcon’s boarding ramp as he activated the exterior loudspeakers. “Okay, let’s go! Mount up—we’re at B minus thirty, and B stands for Bagload of Bad Guys!”
The Mindorese scrambled for the boarding ramp, some of them limping, some carrying or dragging wounded comrades. The redhead paused just long enough to send a sardonic grin toward the cockpit and follow it with a blown kiss that somehow managed to look grateful and sarcastic at the same time.
Han canceled the loudspeakers and keyed the turret comm. “Chewie. Leia.” Even though the Mindorese couldn’t possibly overhear, he kept his voice low, just above a whisper. “Secure the turret access bulkheads, and don’t come out till I tell you.”
Those bulkheads would stand up to anything short of a mining charge.
Chewie growled assent, but Leia said, “Han—these aren’t enemies. I can feel—”
“I believe you,” Han said. “Do it anyway.”
“Han—”
“Leia!”
“All right. I’ll stay put.”
“And get ready to shoot, huh?” Without waiting for her answer, Han keyed the comm channel for the Falcon’s cargo hold. “Hey down there! You people inside? We’re out of time!”
“We’re in! Are we taking off sometime today?” Had to be the redhead. “Is this a ship or an artillery target?”
“Little bit of both,” Han muttered as he kicked power into the thrusters and swung the mandibles toward vertical.
The Falcon broke clear of the dust and smoke cloud. “Here they come!”
The interceptors hadn’t gone anywhere in the meantime; immediately the battered freighter bounced and shuddered under the impact of multiple cannon hits, and Han spotted the flight of heavy assault gunships circling into formation for a new attack run. “I hope somebody’s got a good idea, here!”
“Hrowwwroor!”
“Of course keep shooting!” Han replied. “I said a good idea!”
The intercom crackled with the redhead’s voice again. “Seventy-seven points off true north, and punch it!”
Han scanned the horizon from north to east: desert, featureless but for low rolling hills. “There’s nothing there!”
“If you want, we can argue about it while the Imps blast your ship to scrap.”
“Or maybe we could mount you on the hull and use your nerve for armor plate,” Han muttered, but he kicked the underjets and fired the thrusters. Six interceptors hurtled past, and Han pumped the missile trigger by instinct, snarling to himself That’s it, knucklehead, waste your time