Star Wars_ X-Wing 08_ Isard's Revenge - Michael A. Stackpole [3]
Corran looped his X-wing away from the dying squint, but before he could vector in on another Interceptor, he heard Commander Wedge Antilles coming through on the squadron’s tactical channel. “All Rogues, come about on a heading of one-two-five, mark one-seven. That Golan Space Defense Station is designated Green One. It’s ours.”
“Ours, Commander?” The same surprise Corran felt in his chest came flooding through Gavin Darklighter’s voice. “That’s a pretty tough target.”
“We’ll just have to be tougher than it is, won’t we, Six?” Wedge’s reply came loaded with grim irony. “If we can get into the shipyard, the Imps will have to think about more than just pounding our fleet. Besides, we have friends coming out. One Flight is on me. Five, you have Two Flight. Nine, you have Three.”
“As ordered, Lead.” Corran brought his fighter around on the appropriate heading and locked the target into his computer. “Estimated time of arrival at missile range is forty seconds. Let’s move, Three Flight.”
Ooryl pulled his X-wing up on Corran’s starboard wing. Inyri Forge brought Rogue Twelve up on Corran’s port wing and Asyr Sei’lar, in Rogue Eleven, hung back off Inyri’s port wing. Corran goosed his ship a bit forward and shifted his attention toward their target, trusting the others to keep him informed if Imps were vectoring in on them from behind.
Not likely, though, since they’ve got plenty to keep them busy. Throughout the bowl into which the New Republic’s fleet moved, massive salvos of energy shot up and down and side to side, filling the area with a dazzling light show. Corran would have been more than content to watch the turbolaser bursts flow back and forth, but the fact that they were lethal was more than enough to keep him from finding much beauty in them. Behind the squadron, Y-wings, A-wings, and B-wings mixed it up with Interceptors, TIE fighters, and Bombers, punctuating the light show with brilliant explosions.
The larger ships, when hit hard, didn’t explode as quickly. Instead their fire-blackened bulks drifted through the battlefield, atmosphere burning off as it leaked out of broken hulls. Some turbolaser blasts were enough to peel back armor plates and reduce them to floating metal globules that hardened in the vacuum of space. In other places the shots holed the ships through and through or vaporized things that should have been there, like superstructures or a bow.
The Golan Space Defense Station loomed larger. Lights blinked placidly at the various corners, almost inviting inspection. Over two kilometers long, about half as wide and tall, it bristled with turbolaser batteries, proton torpedo launchers, and tractor beam stations. It massed more than an Imperial Star Destroyer and, while it wasn’t as heavily armed, the proton torpedo launchers gave it the ability to inflict serious damage in a hurry. It could easily put down any of the New Republic ships that made it through the Imperial formation.
Corran flicked his weapons-control over to proton torpedoes and linked fire so two would go with a single pull of his trigger. Whistler brought up the heads-up targeting display and the HUD fixed a green box around the space platform. The droid began to beep insistently as it tried to get a target lock; then the HUD went red and Whistler’s tone became constant.
“Nine has a firing solution, transmitting now. On my mark, Three Flight. Three, two, one, mark!”
All four of the X-wings fired their proton torpedoes at one time, using Whistler’s targeting solution to guide them. A battle station like the Golan sported very powerful shields and individually fired proton torpedoes would have been unable to pierce it. Eight torpedoes coming in at the same time, aiming for the same point, would overstress