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Salm nodded slowly and pointed with a glass of pale blue Abrax cognac at the datapad on his desk. “Intelligence reports that the Imperial Star Destroyer-II Eviscerator left the Venjagga system on a course that would have put it in at Blackmoon within six hours after we launched our operation. Its six squadrons of TIEs would have matched our fighters and the Eviscerator would have pounded on the Emancipator. Chances are very good we would have lost our strike force and Blackmoon.”

The Corellian’s jaw dropped. “The mission was a go with a Impstar-Deuce within six hours of the target? How did that happen?”

“I don’t know. Iceheart has been shifting some resources around, and some Admirals move them even further to avoid her control. It could be the Eviscerator was moved at random.”

Wedge frowned. “Or Iceheart anticipated where we were likely to strike.”

“Or”—Salm looked at Wedge over the rim of his glass—“someone told Iceheart where we were going to be.”

“Tycho was in the dark about our destination as the rest of us were—and he was out there without any lasers or torps pulling in EV pilots.”

Salm held up his open hand. “Easy, Commander, I wasn’t accusing your XO. I don’t trust him, but I know he was innocent this time.”

“You checked the monitor logs on him?”

“I checked the logs on everyone. There were more call-outs than I like, but nothing incriminating. Now I didn’t know where we were going before we pulled out, so I assume no one else did, but there are always leaks.” The General set his cognac on his desk, then walked over to the small bar in the corner of his quarters. “Would you like a drink, Commander Antilles?”

“I’d prefer it if you’d call me Wedge.”

The smaller man seemed to consider that for a moment, then he nodded. “Very well, Wedge. A drink?”

“How old is the Abrax?”

Salm smiled. “I don’t know. My aide obtained it from the black market so your guess is as good as mine. The bottle does have Old Republic tax holograms on it, though.”

Wedge shrugged. “I’ll chance it, then, thanks.”

The General poured him a generous dollop of the aquamarine liquid. “Please, be seated.”

The General’s quarters were as sparsely furnished as his own, with munition cases and old ejection seats being about the best thing available to use as tables and chairs. Salm’s liquor cabinet had been built out of a plasteel helmet case with foam inserts to keep glasses and two bottles safe. Wedge appropriated one of the ejection seats and raised his glass of cognac. “Thank you for coming to our rescue out there.”

“Defender Wing pays its debts.”

Glasses clinked as they touched and both men drank. The liquor’s spicy vapors opened up all of Wedge’s nasal passages. He let the liquid pool on his tongue for a moment more, then swallowed it. A warmth started in his belly and pulsed out to ease some of the fatigue in his limbs.

The General hunched forward, cupping his glass in both hands. “I want to ask you what you intend to put in your report about what I did out there.”

Wedge made no effort to cover his surprise. “You saved my unit. I thought I might recommend review for the Corellian Cross. Since I’m not your commanding officer I can’t put you in for it, but …”

Salm shook his head. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What, then?”

The man’s brow furrowed. “I disobeyed a direct order to leave the system.”

Wedge blinked in confusion. “If you had returned to the Mon Valle, your entire wing would have been killed.”

“We know that now, but we did not know that at the time the order was given.” Salm swirled the cognac around in his glass. “General Kre’fey and I had often been at odds with each other—you may have gathered that from the briefing. I felt, when he ordered me out, that he wanted to rob me of any credit for the operation. I started us on an outbound vector, but came in close to the Emancipator so I could claim its mass prevented us from making the jump to light speed. I didn’t want to leave and closing with the Star Destroyer made