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Launched from the Integrity, Anakin poured on speed in an effort to catch up with the ARCs and V-wings that had been first to deploy from the assault cruiser’s massive ventral bay. An instrument panel monitor indicated that the starfighter’s ion drive was functioning at just under optimal.

“Artoo,” he said toward the comlink, “run a diagnostic on the starboard thruster.”

The starfighter’s console display translated the droid’s toodled response into Basic characters.

“I thought so. Well, go ahead and make the adjustments. We don’t want to be last to arrive.”

R2-D2’s plaintive mewl needed no translation.

The drive readout graph pulsed and climbed, and the starfighter surged forward.

“That’s it, pal. Now we’re moving!”

Settling back into the padded seat, he flexed his gloved hands and exhaled slowly through his mouth. Enough spying, he told himself. He wasn’t any closer to Coruscant, but at least he was back where he belonged, wedded to a starfighter, and prepared to show the enemy a thing or two about space combat.

Ahead of him—spearhead to groups of needle-nosed pickets that were screening the capital ships—slued hundreds of enemy craft. Some were thirteen-year-old Vulture fighters with paired wings that resembled seedpods; others were compact tri-fighter droids; and still others were space-capable Geonosian twin-beaked Nantex starfighters. Just now the lead ARC-170s were weaving through permutations of close combat with the droid fighters, the glowing pulses of energy beams turning local space into a web of devastation.

Not since Praesitlyn had he soared into such an enemy-rich environment.

Target practice, he thought, allowing a grin.

He took his right hand from the control yoke to activate the long-range scanners. The threat-assessment screen displayed the signatures and deployment of the Separatist capital vessels: Trade Federation Lucrehulks and core ships; Techno Union Hardcells, with their columnar thruster packages and egg-shaped fuselages; Commerce Guild Diamond cruisers and Corporate Alliance Fantails; frigates, gunboats, and communications ships featuring huge circular transponders.

The whole Separatist parade.

Switching his comlink over to the battle net, Anakin hailed his wingmate.

“I say we leave the small stuff to Odd Ball and the other pilots, and go straight for the ones that matter.”

Accustomed to Anakin’s disregard for call signs, Obi-Wan answered in kind.

“Anakin, there are approximately five hundred droids positioned between Grievous and us. What’s more, the capital ships are too heavily shielded.”

“Just follow my lead, Master.”

Obi-Wan sighed into the comlink microphone. “I’ll try. Master.”

Anakin scanned the threat-assessment display, committing to memory vector lines of the closest enemy fighters. Then he reopened a channel to R2-D2.

“Battle speed, Artoo!”

Again, the starfighter shot forward. Indicators on the console redlined. Just short of the roiling fray, when he could sense the droid ships drawing a bead on him, he shoved the yoke into a corner for a pushover and streaked out of the maneuver with all weapons blazing.

Droids flared and flamed to all sides of him.

Wending through clouds of expanding fire, he locked down the trigger of the laser cannons and made a second pass through the enemy wave, destroying a dozen more fighters in a heartbeat. But the tri-fighters were onto him now, eager for payback. A sunburst of scarlet beams seared past the bubble canopy, and a fighter appeared to starboard. An instant later, a second volley sizzled down from overhead. R2-D2 loosed a series of urgent whistles and tweets as the starfighter was rocked to its shields.

Blue lightning coruscated across the console, and droid fighters appeared to port and starboard. More bolts found their mark, throwing Anakin hard against the safety harness.

“Just what I needed,” he said, in appreciation.

Swerving hard to starboard, he caught the first ship with a sideslip shot. The second