Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [28]
There was a sharp metal shriek as her keel scraped along one of the building facades; her X-wing lurched. The snub-fighter’s shields were no protection against such a graze. She glanced at her diagnostics board, looking for the telltale red glows of system failures.
Behind her, the sky lit up. The sound and shock wave of an explosion rocked her X-wing. And the blue dot representing Gold Seven disappeared from her sensor board.
Lara grimaced. Gold Seven didn’t have the skill to manage a turn like that. Lara had known this, had counted on it, but it wouldn’t do for her observers to see a smile of satisfaction cross her face. Knowing she would get no answer, she keyed her comm unit. “Seven? Gold Seven, come in.”
Behind her, the two TIE fighters, having no trouble with the sharp turn into this side street, came screaming through the smoke cloud that was what was left of Gold Seven. As soon as they cleared the smoke, they opened fire again.
Lara felt her aft section shudder. It slewed again. Lara deliberately overcorrected and let an expression of shock cross her face as she veered into the side of a building. She had just enough time to read the words WELCOME TO MOFFICE’S GROCERS before impact—
Or lack of impact. There was no sharp blow, no deceleration, just the abrupt dimming of all cockpit lights to nothingness. Then the canopy opened above her.
Captain Sormic—short, bald, human, usually apoplectic, with a face like pink clay molded into a fair approximation of human features—stood outside the simulator, glaring at her. “Candidate Notsil. Would you explain, for the benefit of the class, just what you were trying to accomplish with that last maneuver?”
Lara let a note of uncertainty creep into her voice. “I was trying to regain control—”
“Not that. The suicide turn down the side street.”
“Oh. Uh, I was trying to shake the TIE-fighter pursuit—”
“Right. You presumed that a pair of novice pilots could outmaneuver more experienced pilots in more agile spacecraft in clear air. Correct?”
“Well, uh—”
“Say, ‘Correct, Captain.’ ”
“Correct, Captain.” Lara kept an expression of distress on her face.
“And you got yourself and your wingmate killed.”
“Correct, Captain.”
“Candidate Lussatte, is that the tactic you would have chosen?”
Lara glanced at her wingmate, who was still in the next simulator over. The Sullustian female gave Lara a look of apology. “No, Captain.”
“What would you have done?”
“I would have fired a proton torpedo—”
“The Imperial fliers were already behind you, Lussatte.”
Lara saw Lussatte take a deep breath. “Yes, Captain. Let me explain. I figure I can’t outfly the Imps. I figure that if I make a rapid deceleration, they’ll make an even more rapid one, because they’re better fliers in more maneuverable craft. But if I drop a torp about a city block up, that gives me a smoke cloud to fly through and a few moments where they can’t see me. If I have the impact site visualized well enough, I can risk a turn down a side street, throw them off, maybe get turned around so I can get them under my guns before they’re on me again.”
Captain Sormic paused, then gave her a brief nod. “Pay attention to what she just said, class. It would give her a one-in-four, maybe one-in-two chance of surviving the next ten seconds and perhaps bagging one of the TIE fighters. Which is a much better chance than she had following Deadstick Notsil here. Dismissed.”
Pilot candidates rose from the classroom seats; others climbed from the simulators. Lara didn’t rise; Captain Sormic still stood outside her simulator, blocking her exit.
He turned back to face her, and his expression was suddenly sympathetic. He dropped his voice nearly to a whisper. “Candidate Notsil, you earn great scores in astronautics and communications. Just say the word and I’ll transfer you over to officer training in one of those divisions. You have a tremendous career ahead of you as a technical specialist on a capital ship’s bridge.”
“No,