Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [35]
Tyria smiled. “As a former counterinsurgent, are you offended?”
He managed a wry grin. But he was saved from answering by a sound—a warning pop across the comm channel the Wraiths were using.
All the Wraiths stopped what they were doing and either donned their helmets again or held pocket comms up to listen.
Face’s voice came across in a whisper. “Skimmer full of stormtroopers approaching. Not a hostile attitude, but they’re coming right here.”
Wedge replied, “Stay loose. Keep us informed.” He looked among the Wraiths. “Tyria, Donos, get on the door. Be prepared to support Face and Phanan. The rest of you, what’s our status?”
Kell answered, “Five interceptors prepped, Runt and I are on the last, no work yet on the two we were going to sabotage.”
“Don’t worry about the sabotage. If we’re pressed for time, we’ll just blast them on our way—”
Phanan’s voice came in over the comm: “It’s shift change. They’re supposed to drop off two and take us away. Face is talking to them. He’s been listening to those Quadrant recordings and knows the guy’s voice. But—it’s not going well—”
The next sound was the scream of blasters from outside. Blasters, shouts, armored bodies hitting the duracrete.
6
Face had tried to be reasonable. “We’re ready to go, Lieutenant. But our packs are inside. Permission to go inside and retrieve our packs.”
The stormtrooper seated next to the skimmer pilot sounded contemptuous. “What idiot let you bring unauthorized gear out on a normal sentry watch?”
Tactic: When asked for information you don’t have, try to present the asker with a variable he can define himself. Face said, “The new one, sir. What’s-his-name.”
“Balawan?”
“That’s him, sir.”
“Well, he’s an idiot. But sharing some kitchen duty with you two might smarten you all up. All right, you can get your unauthorized gear. First, let’s finish this.” The officer turned to look at the bed of his skimmer; he nodded. Two stormtroopers stepped out. They stood before Face and Phanan in the same stance of attention. Face said, “I relieve you of this post.”
Face swore to himself. That was a nonstandard phrase. Tactic: When obliged to participate in a ritual you know nothing about, provide a reason and grab all the sympathy you can. Face said, “I—” And then he coughed, a deep, racking cough that shook him. The coughs continued and bent him nearly double. Still, he half straightened several times, saluting all the while, the very picture of a man fighting to do his duty in the face of overwhelming opposition.
If anything, the officer’s contempt increased. “What is this man doing on duty? He should be in his deathbed.”
Face heard Phanan say, “Dedicated.”
“Oh, very well. Just give me the damned password.”
Phanan said, “Amelkin versus Tovath.” That was the name of the classic Quadrant game that had given them access to the hangar.
“What? The shift password, you idiot.”
Tactic: When no other options present themselves, shoot everything in sight. Face straightened, grabbed the top edge of the chest armor of the stormtrooper before him to hold him in place, and shot the man in the stomach. Phanan shoved his own stormtrooper back and fired, catching the man in the helmet.
Face dragged his dead or dying target to him, holding him up as a human shield, and, one-handed, swept fire across the occupants of the skimmer. He saw at least two men, including the lieutenant, hit, but there would still be only a split second before the stormtroopers brought their own weapons into line and fired—
To Face’s and Phanan’s blasts were added lethal cross fire from the door into the hangar. Face hazarded a glance. Two Wraiths stood there in stormtrooper armor—he couldn’t tell who—and then advanced, firing as they came.
A bad tactic, Face thought, abandoning the shelter of the doorway, but he understood when their place at the door was taken by more Wraiths.
The pilot of the skimmer banked up and away from the firing Wraiths, a maneuver sharp enough to shake the surviving stormtroopers in back but skillful enough to place the skimmer’s bottom