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“Watch our tail, Whistler.” Corran kicked his shields full forward and drove in straight at the Interceptor. The rangefinder on the targeting monitor scrolled numbers off with blurred speed. His crosshairs went green and he fired, but couldn’t see how much damage he’d done because of the light show produced by the Interceptor’s lasers eating away at his shields.

Corran stabbed the right rudder pedal with his foot, swinging the ship around a full 180 degrees. Punching his throttle to full, he killed his momentum, then dropped the engines to zero thrust. With his thumb he popped his weapons control over to proton torpedoes and got a solid tone when he trapped the fleeing Interceptor in the targeting box. His finger tightened once on the trigger and a single torpedo shot away on a jet of blue flame.

The torpedo caught up with the Interceptor quickly enough, but the TIE pilot, confirming his possession of the skill Corran had willingly granted him before, juked his Interceptor out of its path at the last second. Unfortunately for him, his maneuvering and run at Corran had taken him to the outer edge of Hensara’s atmosphere. While not particularly dense, impact with it at the speed the Interceptor was traveling proved devastating. The starboard wing shattered and the Interceptor ricocheted away in a wobbly somersault.

“Control, this is Skate. We’re on our way back up. We have company that wants to go home.”

“Good job, Skate. Rogue Leader, mission accomplished.”

“I heard that, Control. Rogues, regroup for egress.”

Corran smiled as he heard Gavin’s voice over the comm. “Leader, there are two getting away.”

“Let them go, Five. Flight Leaders, check your flights.”

“Whistler, give me feeds on my people.” A tracking chart replaced the targeting data on Corran’s screen. Nine, Ten, Eleven, and Twelve. “Three Flight is all here.”

“Control to Rogue Leader, I have a dozen X-wings in-system, two Interceptors on recovery vectors, and two deployed shuttles on pilot recovery missions.”

Corran clapped his hands. “We didn’t lose anyone?”

“Are you complaining, Nine?”

“No, sir, Commander, not at all. It’s just …”

“Yes, Nine?”

“This is Rogue Squadron. I thought most of the pilots didn’t survive Rogue missions.”

“That was when there was still an Emperor, Nine.” The grim tone in Wedge’s voice gave way to one somewhat lighter. “I guess that’s the difference. Let’s head home, Rogues. This is one victory we can celebrate without having to toast dead comrades and I, for one, like the change.”

17

Wedge sat with his back against the thick wall of the Grand Room in what had once been Talasea’s Planetary Governor’s Palace. The title sounded much more important than the building and room it described. Built with heavy beams made of the dark native wood and plaster slathered over wooden slats, it reminded him of the sorts of reconstructions he’d seen in museums on Corellia. This is about as primitive as it gets.

The incongruity struck him as he watched his pilots sitting around a couple of central tables, using their hands to describe the twists and turns they went through in what they had taken to calling the Rout of Hensara. They could have downloaded their sensor packets and played them out on the wide-screen holoviewer in the corner, but that device remained black. By telling the stories themselves they shared not only what they did—which the sensor data would have shown in exacting detail—but how they felt about it.

And in doing that they’ll know they’re all the same. Wedge tipped his chair back against the wall. He glanced at two Alderaanians who shared his table with him. “They did a good job out there today.”

Tycho smiled broadly. “They did better than good—they were spectacular. We recorded thirty-four kills out of a possible thirty-six with no losses. If I hadn’t been there, I’d think it was propaganda.”

Afyon looked up from a barely touched tankard of the local lum equivalent. “You know as well as I do, gentlemen, they were awfully lucky. They may be the hottest pilots going, but vaping TIEs won’t Coruscant