Star Wars_ X-Wing 08_ Isard's Revenge - Michael A. Stackpole [96]
Corran shifted his shoulders uneasily while Hobbie coughed into his hand. Had the Imperials managed to deliver the TIE Defenders in sufficient quantities before the Emperor’s death, the Rebellion could have foundered. The shields alone would have allowed pilots to survive errors and learn from their mistakes, which would have made the Imperial Navy’s fighter corps much deadlier. While it still took a good pilot to get a fighter through combat in one piece, pilots only got good if they didn’t die; and the Defender would keep a lot more of them alive.
The instructor pointed a remote toward the dozen ball cockpit simulators and pressed a button. The round egress hatches on the tops hissed open and rose slowly. “Get into your fighters, seal up your flight suits, and initiate the engine start sequence. Once everyone is ready to go, we’ll begin.”
Corran climbed up on the cockpit. He pulled the hatch closed behind him, locked it down, and flipped the safety switches on the explosive release bolts. Dropping down onto the seat, he strapped himself in, then pulled on his helmet and sealed it against the flight suit’s high collar. He connected the hoses to the environmental control unit he wore on his chest, then stuck out his tongue and activated the comlink via a tongue switch.
“Red Nine online with communications.” Corran shook his head. He didn’t like the Rogues having to shift away from the Rogue designator. Wedge hadn’t liked it, either, which is why he’d chosen Red. As he’d explained out of earshot of the Imps, Red Squadron had been the designation for the group that destroyed the first Death Star, and that made the choice a bit more palatable to Corran.
He shrugged. We’ll just have to use the Red designator as inspiration, I guess. Corran punched up the ignition sequence and got console lights showing his engines were both running at 100 percent efficiency. He hit two other buttons that shunted energy into the shields and energy weapons. He brought his heads-up display to life, then reached out with his gloved hands and took hold of the fighter’s controls.
As with other TIEs, the Defender worked with a wheel and yoke control system. Pulling back and pushing forward would make the fighter climb and dive respectively, just as the X-wing stick would do the same on that fighter. To get the ship to bank and turn, however, the pilot twisted the blocky panel mounted to the top of the yoke. As with a landspeeder’s controls, turning to the left would send the ship left and vice versa. The grips on either end of the panel had trigger switches to fire weapons, and between them lay an array of buttons and switches that controlled the throttle, weapon selection, target acquisition, data streaming to the primary monitor, and a variety of lesser functions. Each was manipulable with a flick of a thumb, and though Corran preferred the X-wing’s stick, he didn’t find this system that tough to work with.
Rudder pedals contracted and expanded maneuvering planes that vectored engine thrust, swinging the fighter’s tail around for quick course alterations. This contributed to the fighter’s added maneuverability which, along with the shields, would make the ship very hard to kill.
“Red Nine is good to go.” He glanced low left at the auxiliary monitor showing the status of his shields, then up at the lines of lights representing his weapons. Dead center in the weapons display bar were two counters indicating he was carrying eight concussion missiles. This is a lot of firepower for a fighter—more than enough to fight a B-wing to a standstill.
The instructor’s voice filled his helmet. “The mission is simple: You will engage your