Star Wars_ X-Wing 05_ Wraith Squadron - Aaron Allston [135]
They gathered in the lounge for drinks and congratulations, Atril still, for the moment, a fellow commando instead of a member of the bridge crew.
“Here’s to everyone making it off that rock,” Kell said, and everyone joined him in a “Hear, hear.” “Though Falynn and I managed to get slightly busted up, mostly through our own dumbness.”
Falynn said, “Hear, hear.”
Wedge noticed Janson’s expression; the man seemed pensive. “What is it, Wes?”
“Well, I was just thinking. We’ve really set ourselves on a new mission and have a long way to go.”
“What mission?”
“We’ve now stolen a Corellian corvette and two TIE fighters. That’s good, but it’s not enough. I think we should steal at least one of every type of ship in use by the Imperial Navy or the warlords.”
Wedge smiled. “Ending with a certain Super Star Destroyer called Iron Fist?”
“That would round out the collection, don’t you think?”
25
Night Caller and Hawkbat made rendezvous at the appointed date, in a system whose dim orange sun sustained no life on any of its seven planets. Hawkbat’s captain, Bock Nabyl, apologized for not being able to meet with Captain Darillian face-to-face, and explained that an unseemly illness was spreading through the crew. Quarantine measures were in force. Captain Darillian claimed to understand fully.
So representatives of both crews, working in vacuum suits, transferred a set of stealth satellites from Hawkbat’s main cargo hold to Night Caller’s belly hold, then both ships went their separate ways, their crewmen never having seen one another in the flesh.
A day later Night Caller put in at the Todirium system, whose bleak third planet was home to a colony mining iron and refining durasteel. The corporate computer system coordinating activities worldwide was not easy prey for Grinder’s skills at slicing, but the corporate chief, speaking to Face’s Captain Darillian, asked whether Night Caller wanted to pick up the latest load of refined alloys. Since previous stops had not indicated that the corvette had taken on such loads, Face told the man that Zsinj would send a cargo hauler for the alloys … but he insisted on sending “Lieutenant Narol” down to examine the cargo. Face reported back hours later with the precise location of Zsinj’s warehouses.
“This will be a standard stoop-and-shoot mission,” Wedge told his pilots. “With one difference. We know we’re going to be recorded. We know because we’re setting out the spy satellites ourselves. So as long as we’ll be giving Zsinj information, we want it to be the worst information possible.
“Cubber, I want you to repaint all the X-wings with Rogue Squadron’s colors.”
The mechanic looked unhappy. “If there’s anything I hate worse than redoing a bad job—”
“It’s redoing a good one. I know. And it gets worse, because immediately after the mission, you’ll have to strip all that paint and reapply the Wraith Squadron colors.” Wedge shrugged. “Or we can let Grinder do the repainting and put you in his cockpit for the mission.”
“No, thanks. I’ll paint.”
Wedge continued, “So, we unload and situate the satellites. Piggy, I want you and Grinder to calculate the most likely point where an X-wing squadron would enter the system and what their most likely avenue of attack against the planet would be. We’ll set up the satellites along that path and get the best possible images for Zsinj and Trigit. Since we’ll be doing so much work in vacuum suits, I want Face and Phanan in X-wings flying cover, just in case of trouble. Phanan, you can use mine. As long as you treat it well.”
“I’ll try not to spill my lomin-ale all over it.”
“How professional of you. Then, we load up the X-wings, activate the satellites, and jump out of system. The next day, we come back in the X-wings and perform our ground strike.
“So, spend some time today and tomorrow getting used to calling one another by Rogue