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“Wraith Eight launching. Eight clear. Bridge, the hangar is empty.”

Gray One and Gray Two fired continuously as they raced back toward the command pylon by the Star Destroyer’s stern. Atril saw the communications tower disintegrate under their sustained fire.

She shifted her aim to the innocuous hull plating that protected the auxiliary power for the ship’s computers. She doubted the TIE fighter’s lasers could penetrate the armor, but perhaps, if she and Falynn were just accurate enough, perhaps …

Face rose toward the huge hole in Implacable’s underside. Blue energy emissions crackled across the ruined metal surfaces within and made Face’s comm unit pop. “Looks like a good landing zone for some more torps, Seven.”

“Take it, Eight. I’m your wing.”

Face fired. His torpedoes and Phanan’s flashed instantly into the gradually growing abscess in Implacable’s belly. Their detonation forced its way back out as a glowing ball of energy and debris.

Ever more debris, raining down on the lunar surface. Wraith Seven and Wraith Eight vectored away from the cloud of destructiveness, sideslipping to avoid return fire from the capital ship’s guns.

“Recall all TIE squadrons,” Trigit said.

His starfighter coordinator was dead, locked in with the vacuum in the bridge. Gara moved to an unoccupied console and issued the order.

Trigit’s officers were too well trained to protest that the command left the TIE fighter manufacturing facility on the planet’s surface open to the Rebel assault. Some knew that the plant would have a few TIE fighters on hand to reduce the assault’s effectiveness.

But the plant only mattered to Trigit in the long term. For now, he had to keep Implacable in one piece. And that meant throwing as many resources at the treacherous Captain Darillian as he could.

If it was Darillian. Trigit cursed silently. He’d allowed himself to be convinced by that man’s persuasive knowledge of Ysanne Isard. He should have followed his original instincts.

“Sir, maneuvers?” That was from the man who’d replaced the slain chief pilot.

Trigit gave him a frosty little smile. “Do you see a need for it? When our shields are equally down on all facings and every other craft on the battlefield is faster and more maneuverable than we are?”

“Uh, no, sir.”

The admiral turned to the main weapons board. “Weapons, is Night Caller destroyed?”

“No, sir. We’re suffering sensor malfunction.”

“Target her visually, you idiot! We’re close enough.”

“There’s a problem. We can’t see her.”

“All right, Lieutenant, we’re going to try some lateral drift.” Wedge saw the lieutenant gulp and nod.

He eased the yoke sideways, just a touch. Night Caller jerked as she strained in a new direction against the tractor, then jumped as the officer released it and immediately reestablished it farther to port. Wedge boosted the repulsors to compensate for the maneuver’s clumsiness, but the corvette slid to port, kicking up an entirely new cloud of dust and debris as she did so.

“Think we can do that a little more smoothly next time?”

“Yes, sir. This time, I’ll lay down a second beam, minimum power, and then transfer power at a smooth rate from one to the other.”

“Good.” He turned to the weapons officer. “Transfer control of one of the bow guns to my station, Lieutenant. I’m not here just to drive.”

The weapons officer grinned. A moment later the thumb trigger on Wedge’s yoke lit up.

Kell and Runt cleared the Implacable’s bow, spiraling and juking to throw off the aim of the vessel’s gunners, and raced back toward the stern, a duplicate of the attack run of Gray One and Gray Two. In fact, those two TIE fighters were just vectoring off from a second strafing run; the damage they’d done to the ship’s hull below the bridge was evident.

“That’s our target, Six. Stay evasive until we reach half a klick, then fire and vector away.”

“We’re ready, Five.”

They stayed close to the Implacable’s hull, making it all but impossible for any gunnery emplacement to have them in sight for more than a split second.

It was tricky flying. Implacable’s hull rose in steep