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“Leader, Five. What’s our destination?” Folor had shrunk to a small coin-sized disk of silver-gray behind them; their current course was taking them around Commenor in a wide arc.

“As before, Doldrums. We’re going to take the same navigational exercise as before. We’ll be joining the rest of the Folor Base evacuees at Doldrums.”

“They’re going there, too? That’s an odd coincidence.”

“No coincidence, Five. When I reported the Implacable coming in, I also told General Crespin of our training mission and mentioned that Doldrums would be a good site to stage a regrouping. The rest of the evacuees are going there in one jump; we’re going to do our exercise just because we can use the practice. Which reminds me—I need fuel reports from each of you.”

· · ·

Malicious cheer clearly visible on his face even through the wavering hyperspace connection, Warlord Zsinj’s hologram smiled at Trigit. “Well?”

Trigit didn’t bother to conceal his glum mood. “I have both good news and bad to report. The good news: the base on Folor is gone, and I think I gave it enough of a pounding to make it impractical for the Rebellion to reestablish it.”

“Good! And?”

“Due to some unanticipated reconnaissance and some superior tactics on their part, the Rebel garrison got away without significant loss. We, on the other hand, had substantial losses. Twenty-six TIEs of various types destroyed, another eleven damaged so badly that they withdrew from the engagement. I’ve already transmitted a requisitions request to your bridge.”

“Apwar, Apwar! They outmaneuvered you with such ease, and you expect me to replace your losses?”

“Yes, of course. I don’t ask for unnecessary excesses of supplies when I perform brilliantly for you, and I do ask for ordinary replacements on those few occasions I come up short. So far, I believe you have little to complain about.” Trigit finally let a smile spread across his face. “Besides, I had already set some activities in motion to capture possible evacuees. With luck, I’ll have some better news to report to you in the near future.”

Zsinj sighed, rippling the holographic image. “Very well. I’ll signal you when I have replacements available for you. In the meantime, keep—”

“—you informed. As ever, sir.”

Zsinj gave him a frosty smile and wavered out of existence.

Before they made the jump to hyperspace, Wedge switched his comm over to give him a private channel with Janson. “Wes.”

“I’m here.”

“What was Piggy doing?”

“I’m not sure how to describe it. I think he was running like a tactical planning computer. In addition to doing all his own flying—he vaped one interceptor—he seemed to be keeping track of all the Wraiths and their current opponents. He offered a few suggestions at critical times and gave us a handful of kills we wouldn’t have had otherwise.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone able to do that.”

“Well, he’s not human. He’s not even exactly Gamorrean.”

“What’s your assessment of the overall squadron?”

“They’re not as good as Rogue Squadron was when you reorganized the squadron. But they’re still pretty good. Why?”

“They’re just … different. Hand them an ordinary set of instructions and they’ll carry them out in an ordinary fashion. Hand them an objective without instructions and they accomplish it some strange way. Like that whole fake Millennium Falcon ploy, and what Piggy was doing, and the data they got off Commenor’s planetary computer net. I’m having a hard time anticipating them.”

“Hey, you picked them.”

“I—I picked them? What were you doing during those pilot interviews?”

“Daydreaming.”

“Traitor.” Wedge hit the comm key to send a click, signaling the end of the conversation, and switched back to squadron frequency. “Wraiths, thirty seconds to jump.”

During the first of three long jumps leading them to Doldrums, Kell forced himself to calm down, to settle his nerves.

He couldn’t quite extinguish his jubilation, though. In his first combat mission as a pilot, he hadn’t so much as fired a shot at an enemy, but he’d executed tactics