Star Wars_ X-Wing 05_ Wraith Squadron - Aaron Allston [45]
“No, sir. Their beacons are still transmitting, and their coded signals became more agitated, but they haven’t responded to our hails.”
“Commence bombardment.” Why did the matter of the surface fuel stations bother him? Ah, yes. Commenor’s files on the abandoned mining facilities on the moon mentioned numerous surface buildings. The plain Trigit viewed was almost entirely clear of such construction. Obviously, the Rebels had destroyed or concealed the ruins in order to make it harder to find the base. A sensible measure, yet more work than the shorthanded Rebels were typically capable of performing. Nor was it sensible for them to remove most surface traces and yet allow surface refueling depots to remain. It was the contrast that worried him.
His sensors officer looked up at him from the crew pit. “Sir, I’m reading launch of a capital ship. A Gallofree medium transport, from its sensor echo and maneuvering characteristics.”
Trigit stared unbelieving at the little sensor screen on the arm of his command chair. “Where?”
“On the other side of Folor, sir. It just cleared the horizon.”
A cold wash of realization went through the admiral. “Lieutenant Petothel.” He kept his voice cool, calm.
His new favorite data analyst looked up from her station’s screen. She was a lean woman with medium-length hair and a beauty mark on her right cheek. Her features were elegant, mesmerizing; he often had to make an effort not to stare. “Sir,” she said.
“Call up the maps Commenor provided us of Folor.”
“Done, sir.”
“Establish the location of the mining facilities suitable for Rebel occupation.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where are they?”
“They’re …” She winced. “They’re halfway around the moon, sir. The base is at this same latitude one hundred and eighty degrees around.”
Trigit slammed his fists down on the arms of his command chair. A simple trick: plant beacons and false buildings far from the true base location, light them up when trouble is spotted. All he had to do was make sure the base they were targeting was in the same position as the mining facilities … but he’d let the Rebels make a fool of him. “Navigator, set course for the coordinates Lieutenant Petothel will give you. Get us there as fast as possible. Communications, transmit that location to the squadrons; they’re to stay before us as a screen.” There was little to be gained by dispatching the fighters and leaving Implacable vulnerable to an ambush.
“Yes, sir.”
Trigit watched the squadrons in the viewport as they heeled over and vectored north, the across-the-pole route being the shortest one to the target. The horizon tilted as the Implacable slowly followed suit. He couldn’t feel the maneuver take place, couldn’t feel the tilt of the ship; inertial and gravitational compensators eradicated the sensation.
He could feel annoyance. And a certain admiration. Well, if he couldn’t destroy Folor Base with its entire staff complement inside, at least he could annihilate the stragglers, destroy the base itself, and deny it to the Rebels forevermore. A partial victory.
Crespin’s was now the mechanical, condensed voice of a fighter pilot in a cockpit. Wedge wasn’t surprised; if he knew the aging general, Crespin would personally lead Blue Squadron into combat. The training squadron would benefit from his long experience and might, just might, get out of the conflict alive. “Confirm Implacable and escorts oncoming by the most direct course,” said the general. “Borleias, Bright Nebula, are you ready to lift?”
Wedge couldn’t hear the transmissions of the two transport captains, but a moment later General Crespin came back. “Bright Nebula reports ready to launch; they’ll be away before the TIE squadrons get here.