Star Wars_ X-Wing 07_ Solo Command - Aaron Allston [13]
“Glad to oblige. Give us vectors for twenty search pairs and we’ll get on it.”
“Ships dropping out of hyperspace!” It was Mon Remonda’s sensor officer, Golorno, a human young enough not to be able to keep his voice level in times of stress. “I count four, five, six capital ships!”
Han Solo abandoned his armature-mounted chair and moved to stand behind Golorno. He turned to his communications officer. “Recall the starfighters now.” Then he leaned over Golorno’s shoulder. “Details, I need details,” he said.
“Uh, uh, two Star Destroyers, one Imperial-class, one Victory-class. One heavy cruiser, a Dreadnaught, I think. Two light cruisers—telemetry says probably Carrack-class. At the back of the formation …” The young officer’s voice dropped. “One Super-class Star Destroyer.”
“Iron Fist.” Solo straightened and slapped his hands together. “He’s finally decided to come in for a scrap.”
He calculated unit strengths. His flagship was Mon Remonda, one of the most powerful of the Mon Calamari cruisers, and its pilot complement, led by Wedge Antilles, couldn’t be better. Also in this portion of his fleet were Mon Karren, a Mon Cal cruiser of more normal strength, Tedevium, a frigate recently converted from a training ship back to a combat vessel, and Etherhawk, a Marauder-class corvette that was just one restoration job ahead of being dilapidated. Not nearly enough strength to handle the fleet Zsinj had assembled against him … but Zsinj didn’t know that Solo’s Group 2 was standing by outside the Levian system. One holocomm call and Solo’s strength would be doubled, making this more of a fair slugging match. “Call in Group Two,” he ordered. “How long before Zsinj’s force reaches us?”
“Three minutes, sir.”
“How long before the starfighters return?”
“They’re grouping. Four or five minutes, sir.”
Solo sighed. “Slugging match” was to be the correct phrase for it.
An impulse caused him to turn back to the door out of the bridge. As he’d suspected, Chewbacca was there, just outside, standing by. The Wookiee, who chose to have no official role in the anti-Zsinj group, but preferred to stay near the bridge and Solo, had come up as soon as the tenor of voices from the bridge sounded different. Solo gave him a confident grin.
“A second group is dropping out of hyperspace, sir!”
Solo whipped around to stare at the sensor screen again. It was broadening, updating—the data stream at the bottom indicated that the sensor screen was being supplemented by information from Tedevium.
It showed another force of capital ships appearing on the far side of Levian Two. Telemetry indicated that the new force included two Star Destroyers, two Dreadnaughts, a light cruiser, and a Lancer-class frigate—a vessel designed especially to assault swarms of starfighters.
“We’re in trouble,” Solo said.
Golorno turned to look up at Solo. He wasn’t able to mask his fear.
Solo gave him a reassuring half grin. “Don’t worry. I know when to dump my cargo and run.” He turned to the navigator. “Set us a course out of here. What’s the closest path to get us out of Levian Two’s gravity well?”
The Mon Calamari navigator consulted his board. “Directly through the Super Star Destroyer’s force, sir.”
“Figures. Make that our primary course. Pass it on to our group.”
“Done, sir.”
“Communications, revise my order to Group Two. Tell them to be on course and ready for a jump at any second, but to standby.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned to Captain Onoma, a Mon Calamari male with salmon-colored skin. “Captain, take us out.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Third hostile group dropping out of hyperspace!”
Solo turned to look, disbelieving, at Golorno. “You have got to be kidding.”
• • •
Wedge Antilles stood his X-wing on its tail and blasted toward the sky.
He’d sent Polearm Squadron, the A-wing unit commanded by Captain Todra Mayn, on ahead. There was little tactical sense in keeping the faster craft back with the X-wings and B-wings. Now Wedge led Rogue Squadron and Wraith Squadron in escorting Nova Squadron, the B-wing unit.
Sensor