Star Wars_ X-Wing 07_ Solo Command - Aaron Allston [149]
He looped around to get a look at the new capital ship. “Polearm Nine to Mon Remonda, come in. I think Iron Fist has additional support up here.”
Only static answered him.
Zsinj stayed on his comlink while his pilot did the work. His shuttle lifted off, moved smoothly out into the eerie darkness now surrounding Iron Fist, and headed off at a course perpendicular to the Super Star Destroyer’s.
“Captain Vellar, report.”
“Thirty seconds to hyperspace entry. I’ve transmitted the countdown to Second Death.”
“Second Death, report.”
“Yes, warlord. Our detonation is linked to the countdown. Countdown plus two seconds. We’ve already abandoned ship. Our crew is on the landing craft and we’ve launched.”
“Well, get clear of here or you’ll be nothing but a dim memory and a pension bonus.” Zsinj turned to his pilot. “That stands for us, too.”
The taciturn pilot nodded and brought the shuttle up to speed. A few moments later, the stars returned as though they’d been switched back on by some cosmic being.
Zsinj checked his sensors. There was nothing behind him, no trace of Iron Fist, Second Death, or the starfighters battling around them.
“No, no, no,” Solo said. “She can’t have jumped. We’d have seen the sensor signs of hyperspace entry.”
The sensor officer offered him a face full of confusion. “No, sir. But she’s gone. It’s strange. Several minutes ago, we thought we detected a ship out there at that position; her sensor echo wasn’t anything we could identify, and she vanished almost immediately. Now Iron Fist goes out there and vanishes, too—and all the starfighters on her, ours and theirs. We’re not even getting comm traffic from them. We do have an odd visual.”
“Bring it up.”
The visual enhancer brought up a hologram of—nothingness. A black square blotting out the stars directly ahead of Mon Remonda, on the exact path Iron Fist took, many kilometers ahead. Three shuttles were outbound from the anomaly. Several Y-wings from Mon Remonda approached it at cautious speeds.
“What is that?”
The sensor operator shook her head. “It’s not on any sensors but visual. It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen.”
• • •
Captain Vellar stared out the forward viewport and tried to keep all emotion out of his face.
It was hard. He had to focus all that energy on his task.
He was a soldier. He always did his duty.
This time, his duty, as defined by the warlord, demanded that he be party to the murder of dozens of his own pilots.
“Captain,” called the comm officer, “the starfighter group leader is asking if it’s time to bring the TIEs in.”
“Tell him one minute,” Vellar said. “Then we’ll open up the bay and transmit approach channels where they won’t be chopped to pieces by our own batteries.”
“Yes, sir.”
A moment later, another officer called, “Ten seconds to hyperspace.”
“Very well.” Vellar closed his eyes. He would not bear the sight of the eyes of the bridge crew. They knew why all the pilots were being sacrificed—so Iron Fist would not be delayed in her jump to safety. So the intermixed wreckage of friendly and enemy starfighters would convince Han Solo that Iron Fist and her starfighter screen were destroyed.
Tetengo Noor brought in his A-wing close to the misshapen capital ship.
It was not illuminated and was firing no weapons. He switched on forward lights as he cruised over it.
He saw an engine pod, a bridge pod, a long spar connecting them, and three kilometers of vehicle wreckage between bow and stern.
One piece of wreckage was instantly recognizable. The triangular point of a Star Destroyer’s bow. On it were painted the words IRON FIST.
Apprehension seized him—not fear for himself, but fear for his mission, his fleet’s mission. He turned back toward Mon Remonda and accelerated.
Behind