Star Wars_ X-Wing 05_ Wraith Squadron - Aaron Allston [53]
“Five, I’m taking lead.” It was Runt’s voice, but different, neither the polite Runt of ordinary conversation nor the inarticulate screamer who did his best flying.
Kell saw Runt overtake him, could barely pick him out visually and by sensor. Runt continued, “Blues, follow me in. This is an easy one.”
Obligingly, Kell brought his fighter up on Runt’s wing. Each debris cloud they cleared brought them into another one, more hammering sounds of stone shrapnel, more buffeting from the suddenly expanding clouds of gas that used to be ice and solid rock. But Kell maneuvered when Runt did and, miraculously, avoided tearing himself to shreds on the fissure walls.
Then, a sharp right turn and they were beyond the bombardment. Laser blasts the diameter of fighters hammered the fissure rim above them but did not reach the depths. Runt led them down to the fissure bottom and reduced their speed from insane to merely near-insane velocities.
“Great work, Six. Who was that?”
“The student. The one who remembers, who studies for tests.”
“Tell him he just scored very high.” Kell brought diagnostics up on his main monitor. They showed minor damage to both port strike foils and a slow leak, a very slow one, of cabin pressure. “Blue Nine, Blue Ten, status?”
“We’re chewed up, Wraith Five. But we can make it back to the group.”
“Good. This far from the Implacable, I think we’ll save fuel and jump out of the Pig Trough, head in straight.”
“Suits us.”
Kell found his hands were shaking, that his heart was hammering like Twi’lek warrior music. He’d just led a Star Destroyer on a fruitless chase and survived its attempt at retribution—and that called for a celebration.
Just before they jumped out of the fissure, Kell set his comm unit to broadcast in the open. “Attention, Implacable” he said. “Be advised, you’ve just become the victims of Dinner Squadron!”
Runt’s voice came in almost immediately: “And Silly Squadron!”
“Consider yourselves humiliated. And welcome to Folor. Out.”
10
Ten X-wings and the squadron’s Lambda-class shuttle, the Narra, were already lining up for departure as Kell and Runt arrived. The late arrivals slid into formation with Phanan and Face, then Wedge brought the squadron up to speed and oriented them away from Folor.
Wedge’s voice came over the comm unit. “Wraiths, I have the pleasure of reporting no losses among our forces. Ton Phanan has reported some minor injury; fortunately, he has our doctor with him. Everyone else has sustained some vehicle damage, none critical. For a unit’s first engagement against a numerically superior force, that’s brilliant flying.”
“Leader, Eight. How did Blue Squadron make out?”
“Not so well, Eight. Five lost, serious damage to most of the rest. We have two kills today for Face, which brings his total to six—you’re an ace, Loran.”
“Do I get a trophy with that?”
“No, but someone may buy you a drink. I also need to commend Wraith Five and Wraith Six for exemplary tactics in drawing the Implacable away from us—”
“Thank you, sir!”
“Pipe down, Five. Also to mention that I’m thinking of putting you two on report for that stunt with the clear-air broadcast to the Implacable. What were you thinking?”
“Uhhh … I guess we weren’t, sir. I was just shot through with adrenaline because I’d survived.”
“Well, I expect it all balances out, and by way of reward and punishment I’ll just hammer medals straight into your skulls.”
“Thank you, sir. Uh—who’s piloting Narra?”
Another familiar voice cut in. “It’s Cubber, Five. I have Squeaky with me.”
Wedge said, “That reminds me. Wraiths, be advised that instead of taking the first transport off this rock, Squeaky raided your quarters and lockers, bagging anything he thought would be of importance to you, especially personal items; they’re all aboard the Narra.”
There was a chorus of thanks, whistles, and short cheers over the comm. Then Squeaky’s voice: “It was enlightened self-interest, I assure you. Had I not done this, I would have been barraged with requests for replacements for your lost