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The youth’s voice trailed off as Wedge raised an eyebrow in his direction. “I don’t think any pilot from Tatooine ever found a mission tough, especially when it involves racing through a canyon.”

“Well, the target’s not really that small, sir.”

Corran laughed. “It is the size of a reclining Hutt, give or take a couple of meters. The conduit can probably move faster, too.”

Even Wedge laughed at the comment, but Corran knew it wasn’t because of the weak humor in his statement. Everyone in the room, the nine surviving pilots from Rogue Squadron and Tycho Celchu, knew the mission being presented to them was difficult. Their laughter came from the nervous tension of staring death in the face and knowing death was likely to win this one.

“The real sticking point on this mission, people, is time-over-target. We’ll be coming in and using a meteor shower as cover for our insertion to the atmosphere. This means we’ll have to maneuver through the asteroids to get into Phenaru and get out again. We also have a long run up to light speed so we can make the jump out of the gravity well. All this means we’ve got a half hour over the target. If we burn too much time and fuel fighting, we don’t get out.”

Bror Jace scratched at the pale stubble on his chin. “That’s cutting it rather fine, isn’t it? The valley run should take a third of that. If only six of us are going in, that’s one pass per flight element.”

“He’s right, Commander.” Rhysati frowned. “Can’t we get auxiliary fuel pods for our T-65s?”

Wedge glanced over to where Emtrey stood. “Last check of our inventory didn’t show we had any and a check of the Alliance requisition system shows a backlog of requests. That’s what you said, wasn’t it, Emtrey?”

“Yes, sir.” The droid raised a hand and tilted his head to the side. “However, sir, we now have some.”

“What?” Wedge frowned. “I thought you characterized requisitioning them as an exercise in futility.”

“I did, sir.” The droid shrugged in a most un-mechanical manner by bobbing his head up and down on his neck. “I saw we needed them, so I scrounged ’em.”

“Scrounge?”

“They cost a couple suits of the stormtrooper armor we had left over from Talasea, the cold weather gear we are not using here on Noquivzor, and some spare parts for which we have little use.”

The squadron’s commander stared at the droid for a moment. “How many did you get?”

“A half dozen.”

Wedge shook his head. “All that only got you six auxiliary fuel pods?”

“Sir, when scrounging merchandise you can get it fast, in good condition, or cheap: pick two.” The droid’s clamshell head righted itself again. “They’re here and Zraii is ready to fit them on ships. He’s fitting them with a quick release so you can jettison them when they’re empty. It’ll kill the drag when you’re fighting the squints. These pods give you half again the time-over-target.”

Forty-five minutes sounded like forever, and in some ways it was. In atmosphere the engines gobbled a lot more fuel than they did in space because of the friction and drag. X-wings were a better fighter in atmosphere than TIEs, but the two squadrons on the ground outnumbered the Rogues four to one. Long odds and we ran through the last of our luck on the previous visit to Blackmoon.

Rhysati raised a hand. “Any defenses in the rift valley?”

Wedge shook his head. “None that we know of, but it’s possible there are some. Whoever goes in first has got to be careful. First run probably won’t nail the prize.”

“I can believe that.” Corran scratched at the back of his neck. “Are Page’s folks coming down while we make our runs?”

“If they were, Lieutenant, the answer to that question would be classified.” Wedge hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “It’s a logical assumption to make, though. Regardless, any of us who gets left behind will be in severe straits—out of fuel and out of luck long before the assault for which we’re doing the prep work will hit.”

Bror Jace slowly nodded. “This is a suicide mission.”

“No, I want it to be anything but a suicide mission.