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“What’s the diameter of a Fat Man?”

“Two hundred forty meters.”

“So the one that’s docked—it’s not fully enclosed by the yard’s shields.”

“So what? It has its own shields. Which are sure to be back up by now, even if it did have them down for unloading.”

“Exactly. Which means that there should be an interference zone between the two shield boundaries,” said Brand. “If we can wedge something in there—”

“Then the shields will concentrate and focus the blast, multiplying the effective yield.”

“Can a K-wing targeting computer find the interference zone?”

Still trading blows with the lead thrustship, Indomitable shook and groaned around them.

“No,” said the tac officer, shaking his head. “But the E-wings ought to be able to light it up for them.”

Brand nodded. “Signal Red Flight. Tell them what we need.”

Tuketu found it eerily disconcerting to be climbing toward such a huge target and not be receiving any defensive fire. The thrustship docked at the shipyard was completely and inexplicably passive to their approach.

“Tactical,” said Tuketu. “Has this Fat Man mixed it up at all yet?”

“Negative, Red One. We have not seen any activity.”

“Ignoring us so far, too, Tac.” He closed the link and called back to Skids, “Maybe it’s just a freighter. Or a dormitory.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” said Skids. “You get us there, I’ll dent it up the same no matter what it is.”

They were not to go completely unmolested—that was too much to expect. Five Yevethan fighters screamed in from the starboard, sending one E-wing spinning down toward the planet on a plume of smoke and drawing two others away in pursuit. Tuketu increased both his speed and the rate of his evasive maneuvers, challenging his escort to keep up with him.

“Who is that over there, Cover Four?”

“They call me Dogo, sir.”

“Well, Dogo, they tell me that somewhere about a hundred meters wide of that Fat Man there’s a seam between two shields. You paint it up so I can see it, and Skids here will do his best to rip it open.”

“Will do, sir.”

The E-wing jumped ahead and shortly after began firing its laser cannon at the invisible wall ahead, neatly sweeping his aim back and forth across its face.

“There it is,” called Dogo.

“I’ve got it—clear out,” Tuketu said at the same moment, looking at the line revealed by the E-wing’s laser fire. “Looks pretty tight, Skids. Hang on to the egg—see if you can get a CM-five in there.”

“I don’t need any flapping target practice,” Skids grumbled, but complied. “Ready to fire.”

“Clear to fire.”

“Missile away.”

Running up the big third engine, Tuketu began a dizzying pullout. “Red Two, what do you see?”

“Sorry, Red One—your bird exploded at the shield boundary. Repeat, did not get in. Let me have a run at it.”

“Negative,” Tuketu said, wheeling the bomber around for another pass. “There’s something I want to try—”

There was a sudden crackle of static, then Red Two came back on, his voice suddenly tight with excitement. “Tuke, that lead Fat Man’s coming back this way—Cover Eight just got toasted.”

“Run for cover,” Tuketu said. “Take my escort—I’ve got the target zeroed. Keep the yard between you and the Fat Man. If I don’t get in this time, I want you and Flick to put your eggs right on the seam, one-two. Got it?”

“Got it. What are you up to?”

“Just get clear and be ready to scamper.” Tuketu switched off the combat comm. “Skids?”

“Here as always.”

“I want to take her in and park right on that seam, zero velocity, so you can line it up from ten meters away. If it goes in, I’ll get us clear—their own shields will protect us long enough.”

“You think so.”

Tuketu glanced out the cockpit bubble at the shipyard. “This thing’s full of Star Destroyers, Skids. It’s got to go. Can you make the shot? It’s up to you.”

“Yeah, I can make the shot,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

“What in the devil is he up to?” Brand demanded. “He didn’t drop his egg on the first pass, and now he’s just sitting there.”

“I don’t know—his combat comm’s down,” said the tactical officer. “It almost looks like he’s trying to put himself right in the interference