Star Wars_ X-Wing 01_ Rogue Squadron - Michael A. Stackpole [84]
The laser shots from a quartet of TIE starfighters illuminated the air behind him as he came into the crater beneath the shield’s protective dome. He immediately inverted and dove toward the base of the crater. Wind whistled from the S-foils. He rolled 180 degrees, filling his cockpit canopy with sky and pulled back on his stick to level the X-wing out.
The astromech behind him shrieked a warning.
“I know, I have two eyeballs on my tail.” In the vacuum of space the presence of two TIEs behind him would have been very serious because their superior maneuverability made them difficult to shake. In atmosphere, however, their less-than-aerodynamic design and the turbulence produced by their twin engines’ exhaust meant they had significant yaw problems. This made them no less deadly in a dogfight, but it did open up a myriad of strategies for dealing with them.
“Deuce, help here.”
“On my way.”
Bror’s voice crackled through Wedge’s helmet. “Three, on me. I have them.”
Okay, time for me to gouge at least one of the eyeballs. Wedge brought the left wing up at forty-five degrees, then feathered his throttle back. The lessened thrust and atmospheric drag slowed him enough that his X-wing slid fifty meters down and twenty to the right.
The TIE pilot tried to follow him and remain at his back, but the hexagonal wings killed the sideslip. The drag slowed the TIE considerably, and it started to dip toward the jungle carpeting the crater floor. The pilot did the only thing he could to avoid a stall and crash. Diving his ship, he picked up speed and shot ahead of Wedge’s X-wing, but not so far in front to allow Wedge to sideslip left and come in behind.
Not that I wanted to do that anyway. Wedge punched the left rudder pedal down and slewed the fighter’s stern around to the right. Goosing the throttle straightened the ship out, then Wedge’s crosshairs spitted the TIE and burned green. He hit the trigger and the quad lasers converged to blow bits of TIE fighter all over the Grand Isle landscape.
“Vaped one.”
He saw a smoking TIE slam into a crater wall. “You’re clear, Leader.”
“Thanks, Deuce. Report, Three.”
Nawara Ven’s voice seemed tinged with some disgust. “Four got a pair. Island is blind to my sensors.”
“Rogue Leader to Control, Champion is clear to run.”
“Relaying that message now. Nine sends thanks for the feed.”
Wedge smiled. He would have preferred to have Corran more involved in the action, but resistance was expected and until they could bring a new pilot in for Lujayne Forge, his flight would be vulnerable—in spite of the skills both Corran and Ooryl exhibited. General Salm had suggested leaving Three Flight to oversee Warden Squadron—Defender Wing’s least experienced squadron. They’d all get mission experience, but nothing too life-threatening.
“Control to Rogue Leader, Champion and Guardian squadrons beginning their runs.”
“I can see them, Control.”
Through the gap lumbered the Y-wings. Never an elegant craft, they appeared to have the atmospheric flight characteristics of something between a TIE starfighter and a big rock. All of the Y-wings dove to pick up speed, but they leveled out with little apparent trouble and started in on their strafing and torpedo runs.
They may be slow and awkward, but Salm’s pilots do know how to do their jobs!
“Control to Rogue Leader, we have trouble.”
“Go ahead, Control.”
“Two ships. Carrack-class cruiser and a Lancer-class frigate are in our exit vector. Eridain is beginning a withdrawal.”
Wedge felt his stomach begin to fold in on itself. “Control, confirm Lancer-class frigate.” They’re rare, maybe this is a mistake. Please, let it be a mistake.
“Confirm Lancer-class frigate. Orders?”
Lancer-class frigates had been the Imperial Navy’s solution to the problem of snubfighters and the threat they posed to capital