• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

She nodded, but a tear broke loose and slid down her cheek. “I love you, Roa.”

“And I love you, Lwyll. I’m coming back, honey. I’m going to go straight. And we’re going to get married. You’ll see. It’ll be all right.”

She nodded. “Okay. You’d better go.”

“Right. Don’t want to be late for the drill!”

Grinning, Roa hoisted his stocky form up into the cockpit of the Lwyll, a modified Redthorn-class scoutship, fast and maneuverable, but lightly armed with only forward-firing triple lasers. The little ship looked like a needle-pointed cylinder, with a stubby delta wing. Almost as fast as a TIE fighter, the Lwyll possessed an overwhelming advantage in a dogfight—she had shields.

Roa looked down at his bride-to-be, standing on the permacrete, waving to him, and he grinned down at her, then gave her a thumbs-up sign.

Then he checked his instruments, strapped himself in, and put on his helmet. In order to achieve maximum speed and power to his weaponry, he’d elected to forgo diverting power to life support.

Easing forward on the throttle, then activating the belly thrusters, he sent his little ship climbing, climbing, up and away. Glancing down, he tried to make out Lwyll’s bright head, but she was lost in the distance.

Quickly Roa headed out for his assigned coordinates. He was one of the few pilots who was not assigned to fly with a partner. His assignment was to use the Lwyll’s fast speed to reconnoiter the movements of the Imperial fleet. He had a special channel that allowed him to report back to Mako.

As the atmosphere thinned around him, and the sky changed from blue-gray to cobalt, then to black, speckled with stars, Roa relaxed. He’d always loved to fly, and the Lwyll was a joy to handle, quick and responsive.

Roa headed for his assigned coordinates, swooping past the limb of Nar Shaddaa, and reached them in only a few minutes’ flight time. As he approached his station, he anticipated hearing his headphones come to life with Mako’s message that he’d heard so often before: “All ships, return to base. This was a drill. All ships return to base after completing your drill …”

Seconds later, as expected, the aging smuggler heard Mako’s voice: “Attention. Attention. All you spacebums, listen up. This is it. The Imps have appeared on our sensors. This is it. This is not a drill. Repeat, not a drill. This is the real thing, kiddies. Prepare to engage the enemy.”

Roa’s eyes widened. Huh? Not a drill?

As Mako’s voice faded from his hearing, Roa stared, taut with fear, as the Imperial vessels popped out of hyperspace …

The first thing Admiral Winstel Greelanx saw when Imperial Destiny emerged from its hyperspace microjump was a small scoutship turning tail and racing frantically away from him. The Admiral smiled dryly. I expect I’ll see a lot of that today …

The thought depressed him. It was going to be very difficult to manage to lose to this disorganized rabble. How in the galaxy was he going to manage it?

“Sir, the squadron has emerged from hyperspace,” his second-in-command, Commander Jelon, informed him.

Habit took over, and Greelanx found himself issuing orders automatically. “Order the squadron to deploy.”

Greelanx knew what was happening, and did not bother to watch. The seven Capital-class ships arranged themselves into Greelanx’s stipulated fighting wedge—with the Destiny as the point of the wedge. Then came two bulk cruisers, Arrestor and Liquidator, followed by the Peacekeeper and Pride of the Senate. The last two bulk cruisers, Enforcer and Inexorable, brought up the rear. The Dreadnaughts launched their TIE fighters, which moved to surround the wedge.

The two recon Carrack-class ships, Vigilance and Outpost, moved out in front of the squadron and launched their recon TIE fighters. The sixteen skirmish ships, Guardian-class Customs corvettes, were already in their shell-torus formation, ready to block any escape from the Smuggler’s Moon.

It all happened quickly and smoothly, without a hitch. Greelanx had drilled his commanders well on every point of his battle plan.

“Admiral,