Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [115]
“Attention,” Janson called.
The Wraiths snapped to attention in a reasonable line as Wedge approached them. Unlike the other Hawk-bat pilots, he was dressed in a traditional black TIE fighter’s uniform, with a difference it took Face a moment to recognize: All the usually glossy black surfaces, such as the helmet and breathing gear, had been painted matte black. Also, there seemed to be additional snap hooks on his chest and arms. He carried a large cylindrical cloth bag in black over his shoulder; this he set down at his feet.
“I’m not going to give you some sort of stirring, halfwitted speech about why we’re here,” Wedge said without preamble. “They’re for crowds, not for fighter pilots. But I did want to say something.
“The Wraiths have had to learn lessons fast, faster than any unit I’ve ever belonged to or commanded. I regret the speed of your education—because, inevitably, it’s intrusive and painful—as much as I’m glad you’ve been able to absorb it.
“Recent events, especially Runt’s dance and the behavior of several of you at that celebration, have convinced me that you’ve learned another lesson, as individuals and as a unit. The lesson involves watching out for one another. You’re now doing it as second nature.
“You need to keep that up today, perhaps more than any other day in our recent history. Do it and more of us will come back.”
He looked among them, catching each stare in turn.
The Wraiths weren’t wearing a collection of steely, confident expressions. Kell, just as before most missions, looked a little jittery, and more of Tyria’s attention was on him than on Wedge. Dia was more wide-eyed than usual, the mask of who she’d been before now gone, a little uncertainty in its place. Face stared back with the eyes of a stranger, already deep under his General Kargin makeup and personality. But with each of them there was a commitment to the mission, to its successful completion, regardless of the cost.
Wedge finished up: “For those of you who believe in the Force, may it be with you, and guide you. For those who don’t, trust in your intent, your weapons, and your wingman.” He clapped his hands. “Let’s go, people.”
The pilots broke rank, exchanged handshakes and embraces, headed off to their individual missions. The gray-clad Hawk-bats would wait until Sungrass was on-station and take their TIEs out to the cargo ship. The orange-clad Wraiths would then begin the process of shuttling all the unit’s X-wings out to the Mon Remonda, now waiting outside the Halmad system’s outermost planetary orbit, with the shuttle Narra bringing them back in for each flight except the last.
Wedge caught the eye of his second-in-command. “Wes, a moment of your time?” He picked up his bag and headed briskly off toward his interceptor; Janson followed at a trot.
Wedge drew to a stop beside the ladder at his interceptor. He pulled at the drawstring holding the lip of his bag closed, and from the bag’s interior withdrew Lieutenant Kettch. The Ewok toy was now dressed in Hawk-bat grays, and long spars of what looked like steel but swung with the mass of plastic hung from his paws.
“You have got to be kidding,” Janson said.
“No. Think about it. What if one of our erstwhile allies swings in close and sees a human inside Lieutenant Kettch’s interceptor?” Wedge snapped a loop sewn to the back of Kettch’s cloth helmet to the corresponding metal hook on his chest. “Help me with the arms.”
Janson did so, snapping the loop on Kettch’s left glove onto a hook on Wedge’s left biceps. “So that’s why you’re in black,” he said, and repeated the process with Kettch’s right arm. “An invisible background.”
“That’s it.”
“So, when you joined Starfighter Command, did you have any presentiment that someday you’d be impersonating an Ewok?”
Wedge glared. “Now the waist.”
“Sure. You know, pretending to be an Ewok is a felony on some worlds.”