Star Wars_ The New Rebellion - Kristine Kathryn Rusch [153]
Despite the fact that his people had designed them, Admiral Ackbar had argued against these newer-model ships, saying that they allowed an attacker to find the command center more easily. Wedge, on the other hand, liked them. They gave him the same feeling he had had as a fighter pilot, a feeling that only a thin wall of material separated him from the vastness of space.
It also gave him great perspective, allowing him to remember that in space battles, as opposed to ground battles, the attacks could come from any position: above, below, behind, or sideways. So many commanders forgot that after years out of a fighter pilot’s chair.
And it had been too long since Wedge was responsible only to himself.
Sometimes he missed those days.
“General, a fleet of ships has just left the planet’s surface,” the lieutenant on the lower level said.
“Keep me apprised,” Wedge said.
“I think, sir, that we should reactivate the droids,” said Sela, his second in command. She was a thin, nervous woman who had been a crack shot and an invaluable assistant on Coruscant. She had yet to prove herself in a battle command.
“We can fight without them,” Wedge said.
“Begging the general’s pardon, but our support services are hampered without their presence.”
Wedge nodded. “But President Organa Solo went to some trouble to let us know about the droids. I think we should respect her choice.”
“President Organa Solo does not command the fleet,” Sela said.
Wedge debated whether or not he should call her on her breach of military etiquette. Finally, he decided on the soft approach. “President Organa Solo has led more troops into battle than you have ever seen, Major. I have learned, over the years, to pay attention to her suggestions.”
Sela sighed, clearly understanding the rebuff. “Yes, sir.”
“However, Major, if you can find a way to duplicate the droids’ services without reactivating them or pulling essential personnel, I will be grateful.”
Sela smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir.” She turned and hurried along the catwalk, as if his order had been her intention all along.
“Sir,” said Ginbotham, a Hig, from below. He was a slender blue creature whose piloting skills were renowned. “Those ships are moving toward us quickly.”
“How quickly?” Wedge asked.
“They’re moving faster than anything we have, sir.”
“They appear familiar, sir,” said Ean, a Mon Calamari. “I think they’re Imperial.”
“What?” Wedge asked. “How is that possible?”
“Their design, sir. They’re Victory-class Star Destroyers, modified Imperial style.”
“They’re?” Wedge asked, not liking the sound of this. He had gone up against Victory-class destroyers before. They had their weaknesses, but those weaknesses were hard to breach. “How many are we looking at here?”
“Three by my count, sir,” said Ean. “Along with a full complement of TIE fighters. Although there’s something odd about the fighters.”
“Figure out what that is,” Wedge said. “Let Sela know that we need A-wings out there, and quickly.”
He took a deep breath. He had not expected this. A ragtag fleet of some sort, perhaps, cobbled together from various other ships. Or maybe even a home complement. But not Star Destroyers, nor so many.
This Kueller had trained military personnel operating some of the most powerful ships in the galaxy. How had he come by all of this? And so quickly?
And why did it feel so wrong?
Wedge didn’t have time to reflect on the answers. He gave the instructions to follow command pattern 2-B, and almost belayed that order. Something was wrong here. Very wrong.
“Get Sela back