Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [123]
Face’s gut went cold and hard. “How?”
“She single-handedly eliminated a demolitions team and was lost in the explosion. Her action has apparently prevented any further assaults on the bridge. You have our condolences.”
“Thank you.” The tightening of Face’s stomach eased but did not go away entirely. Melvar’s story sounded like the kind of ploy Shalla might have used to get clear of the insertion team; on the other hand, the story might be entirely true. And he couldn’t ask, Did anyone witness her death? It would create suspicion. He could only pray. He said, “Someone is going to die for this.”
All around them, cargo ships and old cruisers were disgorging squadrons of starfighters. Some, like the Hawk-bats’, were modern fighter craft in good shape. Others were older craft, kept in barely functional form by their owners. Still others were fleets of Uglies, starfighters patched together from different fighter designs when there weren’t enough parts available to reconstruct a normal starfighter design.
In their groups—five here, a dozen there, a score—they turned to their assigned vectors and headed out toward the incoming strike forces.
“Hawk-bats, follow my lead.” Face turned toward a distant Imperial Star Destroyer. He could not see its complement of TIE fighters, but his sensors showed them plainly, three full squadrons of them. That was only half a fully equipped Star Destroyer’s complement; he wondered whether this vessel was underequipped, or whether it was holding squadrons in reserve. “Anyone recognize that?”
“Leader, Five. It’s Mauler. Nothing special.”
Nothing special. Only an average Imperial Star Destroyer. “That’s comforting. Thanks, Five.” He opened a wide transmission band. “This is Hawk-bat Leader. Who else is heading toward Mauler?”
The voice he got in return bore the clipped accents of an upper-class man of Coruscant. “Hawk-bat Leader, this is Vibroaxe Prime. You’re the spearhead; we’re the shaft.”
Face’s sensors did show an irregular force of between thirty and forty friendlies trailing the Hawk-bats. They were much slower and sensors couldn’t lock down a consistent vehicle profile for them—probably Uglies, then. “Want to trade places, Prime?”
“Thank you, no, Hawk-bat. I’m content for you to take first blood.”
“Join us when you get bored, Vibroaxe. Out.”
Wedge heard the exchange between Face and Vibroaxe Prime, but kept it in the background of his conscious mind. He was still struggling with the Ewok stuffed toy that was the most visible part of his disguise.
When he sat down with the Ewok in his lap, it rode up, interfering with his vision. Now he’d managed to release the main lap strap of his pilot’s harness, bring it up over the Ewok’s legs, and tighten it back down again, and that seemed to have done the trick … but if it came loose during maneuvers, he could have more trouble with it.
A dozen seconds after the end of Face’s exchange with Vibroaxe, the Hawk-bats were moments from maximum firing range of the leading edge of the Mauler forces. Wedge heard Face cut in again: “Break by pairs, set up for Kettch’s Drill, and fire at will.” Sensors showed Face swooping to port, Kell staying on his wing. Tyria and Piggy drifted to starboard. Wedge eased his yoke forward; he and Dia kept the center, losing a little altitude relative to the others.
As the range-to-target indicator dropped into numbers where a hit was an outside possibility, Wedge nudged his stick back and forth, up and down, making himself as difficult a target as possible, and opened on one of the pair of TIE fighters nearest him. Sensors showed a graze off the enemy’s hull, no significant damage. The enemy TIE’s green laser fire flashed over Wedge’s top viewport, a near miss.
An explosion ahead and to port