• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Cheriss stood near the fabulous gold Blade-28. She held a comlink in one hand and a blaster pistol in the other. “We need you to hit that with missiles before you go.” She pointed with the pistol to a bunkerlike cube of duracrete in the right rear of the hangar, then fired on it to illuminate it better. Her blaster shot did no perceptible harm to the hardened metal door at the front of the bunker.

“Will do,” Wedge said. He gained a little altitude, putting his Blade halfway between floor and ceiling, and said, “Take cover.” He waited until Cheriss ran to what he estimated to be a safe distance, then targeted the bunker and let fly with a missile.

The shock wave rocked his Blade-32, but when the smoke cleared, the bunker was merely singed.

“That’s really reinforced, Cheriss.” Wedge armed both missile ports and carefully targeted the front of the metal door. “What’s behind it?”

“A tunnel … we think.”

He glided backward on his repulsorlifts until he was nearly at the exit once more, and incoming sniper fire hammered away at his rear fuselage. Red Three, Red Four, and Blastpike Ten set down on the far side of the hangar, near Cheriss.

Wedge fired again. The shock wave actually pushed him halfway out into daylight. But when the smoke cleared, the metal door was gone and the bunker’s ceiling was blown out. Wedge saw the roof lying atop one of the Cartann Blade-32s, which was now crushed.

Wedge’s sensors showed that pursuit flight arriving. He turned around to see them: A half-dozen Blades in Yedagon red, most of them thickly decorated with burn marks, several of them trailing smoke, came across the near rooftops and set down on the duracrete outside, spinning on their repulsors to land with their missiles faced outward.

“Gate, begin power-on sequence and run through the portions of the start-up checklist you can handle. Instruct the other astromechs to do likewise.” He waited for the astromech’s confirmation, then shut down most power systems to his Blade-32. He raised his canopy manually and levered himself out to drop to the duracrete. The other members of Red Flight hurried to join him, but Cheriss reached him first. “What is all this?” he asked, and gestured at the destroyed bunker.

“When Gate broadcast the image of the inside of this hangar to us, we saw that.” She pointed to the gold Blade-28. “There’s only one Blade like it in existence. The Golden Yoke, Perator Pekaelic’s own Blade, in which he won his greatest military victories. If it’s here, this is the perator’s personal hangar … and you can be sure the perator is not going to be crossing the street and waving traffic to stop whenever he wishes to visit his favorite fighter.”

“Meaning that tunnel has to be a direct access …”

“To the palace itself. If we act fast enough, perhaps they won’t be able to array defenses against us like they have on the surface.”

Outside, a Farumme-class transport in Halbegardian blue settled down to the duracrete. Its front portions were afire. Side hatches opened and ground troops wearing the uniforms of Halbegardian elites poured out, streaming into the hangar in spite of the small-arms fire from the distant balconies. Ricochets flashed through the hangar sounding like bad musical notes when they hit metal, like meat sizzling when they hit duracrete.

“Good luck,” Wedge said. There wasn’t time for more. He hurried to his X-wing and its canopy rose for him.

It took moments to strap on the flak vest, systems controls, helmet and gloves, a ritual he could undertake in his sleep … and then he was behind the controls of his X-wing once more. “No time for full prep,” he said. “Be prepared to go unless you spot a critical failure. Red Leader has four lit and looking optimal.”

“Red Two. Four on-line, ready to fly.”

“Red Three. Anxious to show ’em what we can do.”

“Red Four. Four lit and in the green.”

Wedge’s sensor board howled, announcing an enemy target lock. He could see two black Blade-32s just coming over the horizon