Star Wars_ X-Wing 05_ Wraith Squadron - Aaron Allston [83]
“Good luck, and good flying. Tower Six out.”
Cubber cut in the repulsorlifts and the Narra smoothly rose off the ferrocrete pad. As she rose, her wings came down from their upfolded position and locked into cruising configuration. Cubber elevated the bow and cut in the thrusters, punching the Narra up toward space at an abrupt angle.
Face, bounced around by the crude maneuvers in spite of the inertial compensators, hurriedly strapped himself into place. “Hey, where did you earn your pilot’s license?”
“License?” Cubber broke into laughter. “Listen to the boy. I don’t have anything as fancy as a license. Just a few hours instruction from a couple of pilots I did some favors for. You want a smoother ride? Give me some lessons.”
“Oh, yeah? Will you trade a favor for them?”
“Sure. Something mechanical?”
“A modification to Vape, my R2.”
“Sure. Just let me station this flying can at our waiting zone and you can tell me all about it.”
A hundred meters from the landing pad, in a glade a few meters from the forest edge, Grinder looked over his datapad. “It uncompressed fine. I told you.”
Kell squatted down beside him. “Don’t be defensive. I just like to have things run through over and over again.”
“You’re obsessed with preparation.”
“Yes, I am. Meaning I want you to study that recording until your eyes bleed. I’m going to do the same.”
Grinder sighed.
They wore dark jumpsuits in dark green broken by irregular swaths of black—camouflage wear suited to deep forest or nighttime in most overgrown areas. All the Wraiths but Face were present … and despite the rank disparity between them, Wedge had assigned command of the mission to Kell, due to his specific commando experience.
“All right,” Kell said. “Everyone, settle in for some sleep. I’ll take first watch; Janson, you take second. We go at nightfall.”
As the day progressed, large personnel skimmers and private vehicles delivered workers and managers to the factory. From their vantage point, the commando party couldn’t see much of what went on at the front, or business, end of the complex. But shortly before noon, four X-23 StarWorker space barges landed and took on cargo through the bunker’s rear cargo doors. Kell and Wedge took notes on their registry numbers while Jesmin recorded all transmissions. The barges took off an hour later and Kell went off-duty, settling into sleep.
He woke as dusk was settling. He was a little stiff and suffered from new aches, his sleeping roll not being adequate defense agains the hard ground and tree roots beneath him or the local stinging insects. The other Wraiths looked as though they felt the same.
Runt, his fur spotted with twigs and crumbled pieces of leaves, handed him a hot and extra-stout cup of caf. Kell took a sip and winced. “More of Cubber’s solvent?”
Runt looked at him in slight confusion, then something in his eyes and manners changed and he uttered a soft chortle. “I understand.”
“Has everyone eaten?”
“Everyone but you.” Runt picked up a small gray case a third of a meter long and pressed a recessed button at one end. The whole package began to crackle as its contents, Kell’s supper, began to cook within.
“Good.” Kell raised his voice slightly to get everyone’s attention. “People, do your final equipment checks. We’ll move out as soon as it’s fully dark.”
He ignored his own directive; he’d done his equipment check before falling asleep. Shaped charges. Grenades. Explosives. Adhesives. Detonators. Detonation comlinks. Miniature datapads optimized to detect complex sets of circumstances and then trigger detonators. Sensors. Tools. Hand lights. Headband lights. Lights with temporary adhesives to stick to all sorts of walls and other surfaces. A full-sized datapad with permanent memory stuffed full of data about explosives in use by the Empire, by the New Republic, by warlords and individual worlds. All of it arranged by straps or in pockets so he could find any item by touch. All of it was fine. He opened his meal case and began absently pulling nameless meatlike