Star Wars_ X-Wing 09_ Starfighters of Adumar - Aaron Allston [10]
At three klicks, Wedge said, “Break by pairs—”
And the enemy fired. Wedge saw eight flares, two from each oncoming fighter, as the enemy launched missiles.
Wedge whipped to starboard and then instantly began to bring himself back in line with his enemies again. The maneuver yanked him out of his approach vector … but missiles accelerated so fast, and the enemy was firing so close, that his sideslip stood an even chance of forcing an overshoot by the missiles. He saw twin burn trails flash back along his port side and knew he was right.
A split second later, his targeting brackets crossed over one of the oncoming aircraft and flickered from yellow to green. Wedge squeezed his yoke trigger and saw his lasers, red pulses, leap out toward the oncoming aircraft—
He had a glimpse of the enemy, black fighter-craft, and then he was past them. Sensors registered an explosion behind him and three targets beyond that, headed away but beginning tight turns back in his direction.
He looped around to port, noted that Tycho was still on his rear starboard quarter. “Leader to Flight. Status?”
“Leader, Two. One vaped, two laser-damaged but apparently still flyable. I have no damage.”
“Three, unhurt.”
“Four, no damage yet.”
Wedge didn’t bother to issue further orders. His pilots knew what they were about. He and Tycho tightened their loop, an effort to come up behind the surviving pair of enemy fighters, while Hobbie and Janson split wide—if the solo enemy turned against one of them for a head-to-head run, the other would have a good shot at a side or rear quarter.
As he came in toward the rear of the enemy wing pair, Wedge got a good look at them. They were large for single-pilot fighters. They were longer than an X-wing by almost half, their bows ending in sharp points. Behind the cockpit, their fuselages split into odd dual-tail assemblies joined by horizontal bars at the rear. The wings, which crossed the fuselage just behind the cockpit, were broad where they joined the fighter-craft but narrowed like a vibroblade to a sharp point at the tips. The craft surfaces were a glossy black.
Wedge switched to the general comm frequency. “Red Flight to enemy fighters. Indicate your surrender now by descending to the planet’s surface.”
“No!” The enemy pilot’s voice was strained, a little high in pitch. “I will have Waj Antilles or die!”
Both enemy craft attempted a hard roll to starboard and down. Wedge and Tycho stayed with them, closing to optimum firing range—two hundred fifty meters. “You’re within our sights and not going anywhere,” Wedge said. “This is your last chance—”
The two craft rapidly decelerated, an attempt to force the X-wings to overshoot. Wedge fired and saw his quad-linked lasers shred the black craft ahead of him, punching through the fuselage directly behind the cockpit; the craft rolled in the air, its structural integrity compromised, and disintegrated into a dozen different pieces.
Tycho’s shot was more surgical. It blew through the cockpit just where the canopy met the fuselage at the rear. The fighter-craft, still intact, rolled lazily to port and began an uncontrolled plummet.
Wedge checked his sensor board. Hobbie and Janson were headed back to rejoin them.
And the other, more distant fighters, those that had turned back toward the altercation, were once again resuming their original courses, setting up the kilometers-wide corridor for Red Flight’s travel.
Wedge brought his group slowly back around on course and watched Tycho’s target until that fighter crashed onto a forested hilltop far below. A fireball bloomed out of the wreckage and began consuming it and the foliage around. “Red Flight to Adumar Central Control, what was