Star Wars_ X-Wing 05_ Wraith Squadron - Aaron Allston [49]
“Four, this is One. Refrain from personal comments. Wraiths, they seem to be going after the lead eyeballs and the dupes they’re escorting. That leaves us free to hit the squints. Let’s go.” He pulled back on the stick, punched up both the thrusters and the repulsorlift engines.
Wedge’s X-wing cleared the lip of the fissure wall by only a few meters, but its proximity to the lip kicked in the repulsorlifts, which bounced the X-wing up faster and harder, giving him an extra edge in altitude. He was pleased to see Jesmin Ackbar still with him; she had to have been proficient with the same little trick to do so.
Above and ahead, less than two klicks away, were six full squadrons of TIEs. Wedge set his jaw; they faced three-to-one odds. This was going to be bad.
He homed in on the squadron of squints, interceptors, and swept his targeting brackets across them. The brackets immediately went red and he fired, sending a proton torpedo toward them. He saw other reddish streaks of acceleration as four more Wraiths fired their torps, then pure red needles of light as the remainder cut in with quad-fired lasers. Wedge saw no less than four of the interceptors flare out of existence from that first barrage.
Almost directly above, TIE fighters and bombers flared into incandescence and faded into nothingness as General Crespin’s Blue Squadron hit them. Then all six flights of TIEs were dissolving into flurries, pairs of fighters rolling out and diving toward them, already firing green laser lances.
“Two, stay on me.” He corkscrewed upward, gaining altitude west of the main body of descending TIE fighters.
“One, we have three oncoming.”
“Target the one to starboard, Two.” Wedge transferred more energy to the bow shields.
Three TIE fighters dove toward them, firing continuously. Wedge almost smiled at their lack of marksmanship. Wedge closed with them, half rolling his fighter back and forth to present a more confusing profile, and switched to lasers, linking them for quad fire. He waited until he had a solid lock on the port eyeball and fired.
The shot melted and tore away the entire starboard side of the fighter, sending its severed wing in a plummet toward the lunar surface. The TIE fighter banked as though the pilot were still futilely trying to regain control, then exploded.
Wedge saw a quad pattern of laser fire hit the starboard fighter, coring it through the center of the cockpit. The eyeball, still virtually intact, heeled over and began its final descent to Folor.
Yes, they were beginners. The third pilot panicked, rolled out to begin his escape, and presented both Wraiths with a beautiful side shot. Both linked sets of lasers hit it, melting it to slag in the brief instant before its twin ion engines lost integrity and detonated.
Wedge and Jesmin wheeled around, seeking the area where the interceptors were most likely to be. Over the babble of instructions and outcries occupying the airwaves, Wedge heard Piggy’s voice: “Seven, this is Twelve. Recommend you dive … now. Eight, recommend you fire … now.”
Wedge frowned. Piggy needed to be fighting, not acting as ground control. But Janson was the Gamorrean’s wingmate and could control him. Wedge picked up the blips of a cluster of fighters, probably eyeballs, at the extreme range of his lasers. He evened out his shields, said, “Two, fire at will,” and began taking target-of-opportunity shots as his brackets flashed green.
Then across his comm came the last thing he expected to hear: “Han, can’t you coax any more speed out of that pile of junk?”
Admiral Trigit switched his chair monitor to the plotting graphic showing the fighter engagement. He frowned. They no longer had three-to-one odds; the Rebel fighters were putting up a ferocious fight after an ambush of considerable efficiency. Of seventy-two fighters,