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His breathing was already accelerating, and they were still minutes from launch. He tried to calm himself.

He looked rightward and down. In the next row over, in the bottom rack, Tyria was going through her own start-up and checklist. She glanced his way, saw he was looking, blew him a kiss.

He forced a smile for her, turned away as he felt it turn shaky.

Lieutenant Gara Petothel looked up from her station in the crew pit and caught Admiral Trigit’s eye. “I think the old container ship is their delivery mechanism, sir.”

“Why is that?”

“It’s reporting structural damage from planetary gravity. Possible breakup. I say it loses structural integrity, breaks up … and when it blows, it rains X-wings.”

Trigit chuckled. “Not a bad tactic. Whether or not you’re right about this assault, I’ll have to remember that.”

She smiled and turned away.

“Communications, put up on our speaker any transmissions you receive to or from the container ship Red Feathers. Sensors, give us a visual lock on that cargo hauler.”

“Switching to speaker, sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

Almost immediately a voice came over the bridge’s main speaker: “Negative, Ession Control. We’re showing failure all along the keel. Fissures widening. Hold atmosphere venting. That’s making it worse. We can’t hold together until you get rescue craft up here.” The voice sounded pained.

“Red Feathers, do you anticipate debris entering our atmosphere?”

“I’m afraid that’s an affirmative, Ession. We’ll do what we can to limit it. We’re going to set our self-destruct for five minutes and eject in an escape pod.”

“What about the mass of your hull and containers—”

“Hull won’t be a problem. Our self-destruct will reduce it so everything will burn up on reentry. Containers, too. I’ve transmitted our manifest. We’re not exactly hauling hundred-ton durasteel ingots up here. You’re mostly going to get a rain of manure.”

“Planetary communications protocols don’t allow me to answer that statement properly, Red Feathers.”

Admiral Trigit looked down at his navigator. “Plot their course. Report where they will be at the end of their five-minute countdown.”

“Yes, sir.” The navigator worked at his control panel for a minute. “Grid seventeen thirteen.”

“I mean, in relation to the Pakkerd Light Transport plant.”

“Oh.” The navigator sounded abashed. “Laterally, within fifty kilometers, plus or minus another fifty. At an altitude of a few hundred klicks.”

The admiral settled back, satisfied. “Lieutenant Petothel, award yourself a three-day pass.”

“At once, sir.”

“All pilots to their fighters.”

· · ·

On Night Caller’s main monitor, and piped to secondary monitors in all the fighters and common areas, the ancient container ship called Red Feathers tumbled helplessly, its hull already deforming, as it reached the outer edges of Ession’s atmosphere.

An escape pod ejected and drifted away from the planet.

A minute later the first explosion rocked the cargo ship’s surface. Portions of the hull gave way. As the ship continued to rotate, tiny rectangles, standardized cargo containers each capable of holding a hundred tons of raw goods, tumbled free. With them were smaller, more irregular shapes.

Wedge activated the ship’s intercom. “Rogue, Green, and Blue Squadrons are emerging.” Green Squadron was a unit of Y-wing bombers from General Salm on the world of Borleias; Blue Squadron was a unit of A-wings commanded by General Crespin. Between them and the X-wings of Rogue Squadron, this mission was being handled by a versatile set of attack craft. “Gray Flight, stand by for the command from Implacable. Wraith Squadron, are you ready?”

Kell’s voice: “R-ready, sir.”

“You all right, Lieutenant Tainer?”

“Fine, sir. Something caught in my throat.”

The containers that had been ejected first began to glow from friction with the atmosphere.

Wedge’s comm officer turned toward him. “Transmission from Implacable. ‘Launch all TIE fighters.’ ”

“Acknowledge.”

“Yes, sir.”

Wedge hit the intercom. “Launch Gray Flight.”

Atril, Falynn,