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“Leader, Eleven. Commencing strafing run.”

Behind Wedge and Donos, the two wings of snubfighters crisscrossed above the line of ULAVs and missile artillery pieces, their lasers flashing down from the skies like red shears. The sky lit up again as one of the missile units detonated.

Wedge’s distance-to-range was down to a klick. Ahead, he saw the tan warehouse Face had identified in his briefing recording. He targeted the building, saw his brackets go red almost instantly, and fired.

The proton torpedo flashed to the target faster than his eye could follow. The torpedo hit an upper-story window and was inside when it went off, blowing the roof from the building in an uncountable cloud of pieces. Moments later, torpedoes fired by the five Wraiths trailing him homed in on the disintegrating target. As Wedge pulled up, the warehouse became a cloud of smoke and bright light, one that swelled so fast that even his evasive course carried him partway through it.

He saw red glowing light, heard thumps as debris from the detonation rattled against his X-wing’s skin, and then he was through the cloud, climbing. A quick check of his diagnostics told him the extinguisher system of one of his engines was reporting failure—which meant that shrapnel had penetrated the engine and might cause more trouble to come.

“All units, report in,” he said.

“Nine is fine. But you’ve got some new vents, Leader.”

“Let me know if anything comes pouring out, Nine.”

“Tych, this is Eleven. Their defensive line is gone. The missile units committed fratricide.”

Wedge winced. That meant the missiles on one artillery unit had detonated, igniting the missiles on adjacent units, and so on up the line—probably taking the ULAVs with them, since they were so close. That defensive line was a bad, sloppy tactic, probably chosen in haste because of the speed of the Wraiths’ approach.

“Four is in the green.”

“This is Three. I’ve lost a laser cannon and picked up some drag.”

“Twelve is intact. Leader, the primary target is a crater.”

The rest of the acknowledgments rolled in, reports of minor damage, no injuries. Wedge said, “Good work, Rogues. Let’s get out of here.”

Falynn looked as though she’d just bitten into sour fruit. Her body language, as she kept her elbows on the conference-room table and propped her chin on her hands, also suggested irritation. “I thought I wouldn’t mind. But it bothers me.

Wedge guessed that it wasn’t too deep a grievance. “That Rogue Squadron gets credit for the raid on Todirium?”

“That’s it.”

“Well, they don’t in the official report. And that will be declassified as soon as our current mission is done.”

“Well, I have a complaint,” Kell said. “I hit my artillery unit dead on and by the time I came around for a second pass, all the ULAVs were gone.”

Wedge gave him a skeptical look. “That’s hardly grounds for complaint.”

“I still don’t have an aerial kill! Three strike missions and a score of zero!”

The others laughed at him.

Face’s comlink beeped. He activated it. “Yes?”

“Loran, this is the bridge. You have a HoloNet communication for Captain Darillian. It’s Admiral Trigit.”

“Night Caller,” the admiral said, “will join the corvette Constrictor and the frigate Provocateur as our forward close support line. As soon as we drop out of hyperspace into the Morobe system, launch your TIE fighters to join theirs; they’ll serve as our escort force.”

“I understand,” Face said. “And your own TIE fighters will be the primary attack force?”

“Correct.” The hologram of Admiral Trigit leaned forward and his tone became more confidential. “Now, I have something further to ask. How might I persuade you to give me the details of your, shall we say, unrecorded adventures at each of your stops?”

Face froze. The admiral had guessed—

No. Trigit had only learned something about Captain Darillian’s private negotiations on behalf of Warlord Zsinj. If he had suspected the true identity of Night Caller’s crew, he would never have given Face the plan of attack for Talasea.

Face swallowed. “Sir … You can’t.”

“I could make it well