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Wedge lowered his lum mug. “Captain, I’ve been in this Rebellion for as long as you have. I remember the fighting at Endor and I know the Eridain fought hard.”

“I appreciate that, Commander Antilles, but it was you who got paraded around the New Republic as the hero who saved the Rebellion.”

Tycho’s blue eyes narrowed. “He did blow the Death Star, you realize, and survived the previous Death Star run.”

“I know, and I know you were there, too.” Afyon sat back and frowned. “Look, I’m not saying you don’t deserve your recognition, and I’m not saying your people don’t deserve their little party here. Strapping yourself into a fighter isn’t the easiest thing to do, and more fighter pilots die than do the folks I have crewing with me, but our contribution to this Rebellion is just as important as yours is.”

Wedge nodded slowly. “I know that, Captain, and if the Eridain hadn’t been there today to make the Havoc think twice about closing with us, we would have been blind-jumping out of the system.”

Afyon shook his head. “Don’t take me for a stormie, Antilles, I don’t believe everything I’m told. You’d have gone in after the Havoc itself. What’s a Strike cruiser to a crew that turned two Death Stars into black holes?”

The Corellian brought his chair down onto all four legs. “The New Republic might promote me and this squadron as immortal and immune to danger, but I know better than that. Two of us, just two, survived Yavin. A half dozen survived Hoth and just four of us lived through Endor. As far as I’m concerned the Death Stars lived up to their names.

“Well now, this squadron has to live up to its name. The New Republic is using us as a symbol because it’s easier to blind people to the blood-cost of war when you get to celebrate the heroic efforts of a half-dozen people. Luke Skywalker is easy to admire and want to follow. Han Solo is a man who rose from nothing to become a hero and consort with royalty. Me, I’m the quintessential soldier who does his job very well. But what is that job? Two things: neutralizing Imperials and, the part I take most seriously, keeping my people alive.”

Wedge raked fingers back through his brown hair. “It doesn’t matter if we were good or lucky out there today—and I’d rather the former than trust in the latter. What does matter is that we all survived, and that’s as close to a miracle as I ever expect to see in my lifetime. The key thing to remember is that I can’t trust in our luck or skill. I can’t allow myself to believe we were that much better than the opposition and I can’t let my people believe it. If they do, they’ll die taking chances they should never take.”

Afyon sucked on his teeth for a second. “You’re right. I guess I just remember the Clone Wars and how the ‘hero’ labels were handed out. You’d think a dozen Jedi and two dozen snubby jocks won the whole thing. Even all the years I spend pulling for peace—same as most of the rest of the folks on Alderaan—never dulled that feeling of injustice I had concerning credit for the war. Weird, eh, wanting peace enough to agree to disarmament of my home planet, yet still burning about getting credit for my part in a war?”

The other Alderaanian at the table shook his head. “One of the problems we all have is that we try to think of ourselves in general terms, and that smoothes over some of the inconsistencies that make us who we are. We see all Imperials as rancors and they see all of us as nerfs. The very fact that we see them as a united front is ridiculous, just the same as we’re not all united—as this discussion proves.”

Afyon smiled. “I’ve not heard that kind of philosophy since, you know, our world …”

Tycho nodded solemnly and squeezed Afyon’s shoulder with his right hand. “I do know.” He smiled and looked over at the knot of pilots in the center of the room. “I’m afraid this group does not inspire that much philosophy. I appreciate being able to share some with another Alderaanian.”

Wedge glanced at his pilots, then tipped his chair