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“And so you were in position so the Emancipator could screen you from ground sensors and the incoming squints.” Wedge shrugged. “If I’d been given that order and thought of that trick to let me stick around, that’s what I would have done.”

“I know.” Salm stood and began to pace. “That’s the problem, Commander Antilles: What I did is exactly what you would have done.”

“It worked.”

“It doesn’t matter that it worked. I’m not you. My people are not your people.” Salm’s face became a mask of frustration. “The only thing that keeps my people alive out there is rigid adherence to discipline, and this discipline is instilled through consciously constructed drills that build them into a unit. My people lack the native talent in your squadron, but we make up for it because we cover for one another and watch out for each other.”

“As you watched out for my people.”

“Yes, I did that, but only by disobeying an order from a superior officer. And you have to write it up that way.”

Wedge shook his head. “I don’t want to see you taking slugs for something that wasn’t wrong.”

“But that’s not up to you, Wedge. You can excuse something one of your pilots does, but only Ackbar and the High Command can forgive me for this mutiny.” Salm tossed off the last of his cognac. “So, don’t give the Admiral a single byte report—tell him what happened.”

“What, and pretend I understand it?” Wedge sat back in the padded chair. “Interceptors came out of nowhere and the base suddenly developed more power than even the worst case allowed. If the Eviscerator had showed up and dumped two wings’ worth of fighters into the battle, we would have lost all our ships. With the Star Destroyer-II in the area, of course, Blackmoon won’t fall.”

“You’re probably right, though the presence of an Impstar-Deuce is not insurmountable.” Salm splashed some more cognac into his glass. “Stripped of their fighters, they are vulnerable to TRD.”

Wedge waved away a refill and smiled. TRD was Alliance slang for Trench Run Disease, or the tactics that had destroyed the first Death Star. The Empire had developed Lancer-class frigates to prevent TRD from claiming any capital ships. While attacks by snubfighters had proved relatively insignificant in hurting Star Destroyers, TRD was something Imperial officers feared and took great pains to avoid.

“Fine, I’ll head out with my half-dozen pilots and we’ll vape the Eviscerator’s TIEs so you can waltz in and give it a dose of TRD.”

“It would be my pleasure, Commander, but High Command is going to want a lot of questions asked and answered about Blackmoon before more operations are conducted in that sector of space.”

A tone sounded at the door, but before Salm could say anything, the door retracted and Corran Horn rushed in, followed closely by an infantry Lieutenant. “Commander, you wouldn’t believe …” The enthused smile on Corran’s face died as he saw Salm.

Both men snapped to attention. “Begging the General’s pardon.”

“At ease, Lieutenant Page, Lieutenant Horn.” Salm clasped his own hands behind his back. “What’s the meaning of this?”

Corran’s gaze darted back and forth from Wedge to Salm. “Emtrey just said Commander Antilles was here, sir. He didn’t mention these were your quarters, sir.”

Salm looked at Wedge. “Your officers barge into your quarters uninvited?”

“Not so far. Perhaps, General Salm, I need to institute some of the discipline you were speaking about earlier.” Wedge stood and gave Corran a hard stare. “News of our compatriots in the medical unit?”

“No, sir.”

Wedge could see Corran was fit to burst. “This had better be good, Mr. Horn.”

“Yes, sir.” Corran looked at Salm. “With the General’s permission.”

Salm nodded. “Proceed.”

Corran’s smile blossomed again. “If we want Blackmoon, we’ve got it.”

“What?”

The junior officer nodded. “Whistler, my astromech, collected a lot of data while we were out there and has been running it through the programs he used to analyze smugglers’ bases so CorSec knew where to hit them.”