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Donos heard no reply from Crespin. That exchange had been enough for both leaders.

Moments later, when the range meter showed two kilometers between the Interceptors and General Crespin, Donos saw the Interceptor group change formation. The starboard TIE dropped back and fell into position immediately behind the center one. The port TIE rolled out and turned back toward the A-wing.

Why? Then Donos knew what had happened. General Crespin had gotten a laser lock on Trigit’s craft. One Interceptor had moved in the way of the general’s lasers. The other was going back to destroy the A-wing … or die trying.

For once, Donos prayed for the success of an A-wing pilot. “Gadget, can we put anything else on acceleration?”

NO.

Donos began rocking in his seat, forward and back, as though the action would coax just a little more acceleration out of the X-wing.

On screen, the rearmost red dot and the blue closed on a head-to-head course.

Donos frowned over the maneuver. What was General Crespin doing, playing head-to-head with a pilot who was doubtless willing to give up his life to buy the admiral a little extra time?

They were far from the mass shadows of Ession or her biggest moon. In moments, the Interceptors would be able to jump to hyperspace.

Donos calmed himself. The general isn’t an idiot. He has a plan. If I can figure out what it is, maybe I can figure out what he’s going to do to Admiral Trigit—what direction he’ll make the admiral jump.

If he, Donos, were in an A-wing closing with an Interceptor while two other, more important Interceptors were headed away at a slight angle, what would he do?

The A-wings had laser cannons that traversed up and down, giving them a generous arc of fire—something else the drivers of those tiny speed machines were always bragging about. In Crespin’s place, Donos could keep his current course but rotate ninety degrees rightward and elevate his guns, bringing Trigit and the other escort back into his sights.

Donos brought up his visual sensor and saw that the general had indeed rotated—in fact, his rotation was continuous, a spin designed to make the A-wing’s narrow profile an even more difficult target, and laser blasts from the Interceptor were streaking harmlessly past him. But Donos saw the general had indeed elevated his guns. He wouldn’t be able to use them to fire on the Interceptor. He had to be planning for an angle of attack on the other Interceptors.

Donos almost slapped himself. He had it. In Crespin’s place, he’d close until he had barely enough time to maneuver out of the head-to-head death trap, then fire the A-wing’s concussion missiles. The other pilot, more likely to be locked into a suicide ramming course, would not be likely to maneuver out of their way. That would eliminate the suicide pilot and immediately give Crespin a clear laser shot at the other two Interceptors.

Which way would they jump? Currently, Trigit was in front, his bodyguard trailing immediately behind, Crespin vectoring away from them at a slight angle to port. As soon as they sensed a laser lock, Trigit would have to go to starboard—because that would keep his bodyguard right behind him and in the path of Crespin’s lasers.

Donos almost smiled. He switched to proton torpedoes and aimed visually toward empty space to the Interceptors’ starboard. He wasn’t in range for a torpedo lock yet … but was well within the torpedoes’ strike range. If he fired at the correct angle, with the torpedoes set to follow any heat source, and the Interceptors broke across the torpedoes’ path …

He waited, and rocked in his seat for more speed. Falynn, are you watching?

When the Interceptor and A-wing were a quarter klick apart, Crespin angled away, but twin streaks of light continued down his original course. The Interceptor he was jousting with reached the point they’d both been aiming for and exploded, victim of twin concussion missiles and bad tactics. Crespin stopped his A-wing’s rotation and had his guns directed at