Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [86]
Phanan’s organic eye was closed—Face had closed it last night. But his mechanical eye was still powered, still staring redly, and Face wondered what it saw.
Then Face fired.
His lasers turned the center of the glade into a burning inferno, charring speeder bike, organic body, and prosthetic parts into a melted crater of ash and bubbling metal. He fired until there was nothing recognizable there, nothing for the investigators of Zsinj or Halmad to identify as Ton Phanan.
Then he turned his bow skyward and fled to space.
At the end of Face’s debriefing, Wedge asked, “You’ve eaten?”
Face nodded. He rubbed his chin where the General Kargin scar makeup had been removed, and seemed surprised to find stubble there. “A little.”
“Good. Listen, Face, I know this isn’t going to help very much, but as far as I can tell from your report and your interceptor’s recordings, you did everything right. You did everything possible to preserve the integrity of this mission and the lives of your fellow pilots. I think highly of what you accomplished down there.”
“But I was unable to bring Phanan back alive.”
Wedge nodded. “I’ve been unable to bring a lot of friends back alive. And I’m not going to pretend that it’s not going to eat at you. It will. It still eats at me. I just want you to understand that it’s not something you alone have gone through. If you need to talk, come to me, or to Wes or to Myn. I don’t think we can make you feel any better … but we can remind you that it’s possible to survive the experience.”
“Yes, sir.” Face looked reflective. “I’d like to try to return that favor, if you’d like me to.”
“How’s that?”
“I knew Ton better than anyone in the unit. I think I should at least help write the letter of notification to his family.”
“Ah. Well, that’s not going to be necessary, Face. We’re both off that particular hook. While you were cleaning up, I went through his records and the datapad you brought back to me. The person we’re supposed to notify in the case of his death is you.”
Face’s eyes went wide. “Me. Why not his family?”
“No living family. He was the only child of a couple who had him comparatively late in life. They both died before he completed his education. No siblings. No family member closer than distant cousins who’ve never met him. You’re also the beneficiary of his will.”
Face didn’t even manage a reply to that statement. He just gaped.
“I have to process some of these documents. Then I’ll get them into your hands. It won’t be for a while. In the meantime, I want you to get some sleep. At least, get some rest.”
“Yes, sir.”
Wedge returned the pilot’s salute and watched him go. He waited a few moments before calling, “Wes.”
Janson stuck his head in the doorway. His normally merry features were now schooled into somber lines. “Yes, Commander.”
“Assign Lara Notsil to Face as his wingman. Also, she’s had the military first-aid course more recently than any of the rest of us, so assign her as squadron medic. Get her whatever instructional holos and equipment she’ll need for the task.
“And ask her to keep an eye on him, to watch out for signs of undue distress or any sort of overreaction to Phanan’s death. But she needs to keep it very surreptitious. We can’t have him feeling that we’re all spying on him.”
“Even though we are.”
“Correct.”
Moments after Janson had gone, there was a rap at the door.
“Come.”
Donos entered and saluted.
Wedge returned the salute and tried to keep from frowning. There was something different about the pilot. The somber expression was the same, the thick mop of black hair over brooding dark eyes was the same—though lacking the air of defeat Donos had worn when he joined Wraith Squadron.
Then Wedge caught it. Donos was in casual dress, mostly black, his jacket still bearing a patch for Talon Squadron, and Corellian Bloodstripes on his pants.
Donos had earned the decorations while serving with distinction as a sniper with the