Star Wars_ X-Wing 01_ Rogue Squadron - Michael A. Stackpole [81]
“Yes, sir. I’ve not logged enough time in an X-wing to be mission qualified anyway, Commander, so I’ll be happy to do flight coordination and control.”
Salm tugged at the hem of his blue coat. “I’ll have my own flight controller on the Eridain. You’ll work with him.”
“Of course, sir.”
And your man will decide whether or not to relay orders. Wedge nodded to himself. “We’ll make it work.”
“Good.” Ackbar closed his eyes for a moment and Wedge took that as a sign of appreciation for his cooperation. “You are returning to the Reprieve for the memorial service?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you don’t mind, General Salm and I will fly over with you in the Forbidden to attend ourselves.”
Wedge smiled, more at the Admiral’s offer than Salm’s clear look of surprise. “We would be honored, sir.”
“And we will honor your dead.” Ackbar turned to the bomber pilot. “And you will want your Defender Wing pilots there, too, yes, General?”
Salm hesitated, then nodded. “Perhaps if we mourn together before we fly together, our units won’t have so much to mourn after we hit Vladet.”
Kirtan Loor ducked involuntarily as he felt the tremor rip through the soil. A muffled report reached his ears a second later. The comlink clipped to his lapel hissed with static, then calmly reported, “Four-Eighteen and Four-Twenty are down.”
The Intelligence agent shivered, and it wasn’t the cool Talasean night that shook him. The stormtrooper making the report had reacted as if the Rebels’ little booby trap had killed droids, not people. Of course, stormtroopers are hardly people, are they? Brought up to be fanatically loyal to the Emperor, most of them seemed slightly distracted by his death. While this did not dull their efficiency, it did seem to make them care less about their own lives.
On Talasea care for one’s continued well-being seemed to be a required skill. The Rebels had rigged up a lot of explosive surprises for whoever followed them to Talasea. Just who that would be was not difficult for them to figure out.
Loor straightened up. “Not that it matters how many stormtroopers die. There must be a factory that stamps them out.”
He started to smile at his own whispered comment, but a cold dagger of fear plunged into his guts. Two stormtroopers in white armor emerged from the fog like wraiths risen from the grave. They stopped directly in front of him, but neither one bothered to crane his neck back to look up at Loor’s face. “Agent Loor.”
Kirtan nodded and did his best to wear a mask reminiscent of pictures he’d seen of Tarkin. “Yes?”
“Priority message relayed from Vladet. You are ordered to return to Vladet immediately and await further orders.”
“What does that idiot Devlia think he’s playing at?” Kirtan had been furious when he learned Devlia had sent a single stormtrooper platoon to check Talasea. He had recommended using a probe droid and then following it with a full-scale attack. Devlia had ignored his recommendation and had sent stormtroopers because they were, in his words, “a renewable resource.” The same could not be said for probe droids.
Nor could it be said of stormtrooper transports. Kirtan stared down at the stormtrooper. “Send a message back to Admiral Devlia and tell him I will return to Vladet when I am finished with my survey of this base.”
“Sir, the message came from Imperial Center, not Admiral Devlia.”
He purposely, slowly, raised his head and stared off above the white domes of their helmets. He knew his efforts to hide his shock and fear were useless. I suspect stormtroopers smell fear the way animals do. “A ship has been sent for me?”
“You’re to take one of the shuttles, the Helicon, directly to Vladet. It is waiting for you in the landing zone.”
“Thank you for relaying the message.” His voice carried no conviction with it. “Carry on.”
The two stormtroopers marched