Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [134]
“New Republic forces, this is Wraith Ten. Sending transponder data. Please flag me a friendly.”
“Confirm that friendly,” Wedge said. “People, this is the lady who just opened the front door for us.”
Cheers sounded over the comlink. Then the starfighters flashed past the command tower and its ruined summit, past the friendly interceptor that looped around and struggled to catch up. They rained their torpedoes down on the Super Star Destroyer’s stern, then looped around to add the ship’s engines to their list of victims.
A grating voice, Mon Calamari: “Assault force, this is Mon Remonda. Sensors show starfighters launching from Iron Fist in considerable strength.”
“Understood,” Wedge said. “All squadrons, stay in formation. Turn to course nine-oh but keep firing on the target destroyer until you no longer bear. Prepare for individual action.”
“The Razor’s Kiss bridge is no longer responding to communications,” the captain said. His voice was dull with this recitation of what was only one new set of bad news. “Sensors show serious damage to the bridge. I think we’ve lost them.”
Zsinj stared at the holoprojection of a live image of Razor’s Kiss. The Super Star Destroyer, so powerful, so beautiful just minutes ago, was now awash in flame from bow to stern. Hundreds of gouts of fire had erupted from her top deck.
“What about our man on the auxiliary bridge?”
“Also not reporting. Possibly killed during the barrage.”
On a fully staffed destroyer, crews would be putting out those fires. More officers would be occupying the auxiliary bridge and getting back in contact with Iron Fist. But this was not a fully completed Destroyer.
When Zsinj spoke, his voice was quiet, calm. “What’s her course?”
“She came to eight-five as ordered. But she has not come back up to flank speed. Unless we reduce speed, we’re going to leave her behind.”
“Reduce—”
A voice rose from the crew pit: “Communication from Razor’s Kiss!”
Zsinj shouted, “Well, bring it up!”
The dismal image of the crippled Destroyer was replaced by a faded holoprojection of a stormtrooper. His helmet was off, revealing a big face on a big neck, black hair just a little too shaggy to be regulation, a determined expression. “This is Trooper Second Class Gatterweld.”
Zsinj frowned. He knew the names of all his agents aboard Razor’s Kiss. This man wasn’t one of them. “You’re part of the ship’s security detail?”
“Yes, sir.”
The warlord smiled. A social call from an enemy who wasn’t even an officer. The ridiculousness of it pleased him. “And what can I do for you this fine day, Trooper Gatterweld?”
“Sir, I’d just taken the auxiliary bridge to gain control of this ship when the attack came. But I’d prefer to see this fine lady intact in your hands rather than destroyed at the hands of the Rebels.”
Zsinj’s knees went weak. “I’m going to put a communications officer on. He’s going to talk you through the process of slaving Razor’s Edge to our bridge. Then we’ll save her.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Gatterweld, I’m going to make you a very rich man.”
“I don’t care about that, sir. I’m just doing my duty.”
Zsinj tottered away to let Melvar take over. Suddenly exhausted, he sank into a chair at the communications console.
Events like this reminded him, from time to time, that there was good in the universe, that with enough faith and determination he could win. He could win everything.
Piggy was up to his armpits in wiring when he found the problem. His port-side ion engine was completely out of commission, its connections severed, with trailing cables from the power generator having fallen into other wiring, destroying he knew not how much additional equipment.
He’d have to cut the destroyed engine out of the loop, patch everything else back together as best he could, and then see if the thing would start. He devoutly wished Kell, with his mechanic’s skills, were here.
On the other hand, he wouldn’t wish “here” on anyone he actually liked.
He got to work.
They boiled out of Iron Fist’s sides like angry stinging