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It came a moment later. Janson’s Blade began a quick drift to port. Wedge hit the trigger for his vehicle’s missiles, launched one into and slightly left of Janson’s drift, then traversed right and fired again. Janson, quick on the reflex, shied right out of the first missile’s path … and the second missile detonated two meters ahead of his Blade, blanketing the starfighter in a thick cloud of obnoxious orange paint. Janson emerged from the explosion with streaks of orange along his flanks and a large spot of it on his forward viewport.

“I am slain,” Janson said, his tone lofty. “What mischance ever brought me to this dismal world, where bags of paint would spell my doom?”

“You’ve been listening to the Adumari too much,” Wedge said. He checked his lightboard. It showed Tycho and Hobbie, a few kilometers out, heading toward them in formation. “How’d you do, Tycho?”

“A rare one for Hobbie,” Tycho said. “Brought me to one hundred percent damage with laser fire.”

“Tycho’s too used to really maneuverable fighters,” Hobbie said. “TIE fighters, A-wings … the X-wing is the most sluggish thing he’s ever spent a lot of time with. The Blade is just too much like flying a boulder for him.”

The four formed up again, began a long loop around the broad tract of forest that Giltella Air Base had assigned for their training exercises.

“Still no challenges,” Wedge said. “By this time yesterday, we’d had three or four of them at least.”

“I don’t think they’re going to go for simulated weapons,” Tycho said. “They’re so keen to see blood, Wedge. The last group of people I saw with that sort of enthusiasm for killing was Imperial stormtroopers fresh from boot camp. It’s kind of unnerving.”

“I still have to figure out what sort of reason to give them for simulated duels,” Wedge said. “Something they’ll accept within the parameters of their honor code.”

“Oh, that’s simple,” Hobbie said. “Do to them what you do to us at times like that.”

Wedge frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Tell them what you’re doing but not why. Then let them speculate. Listen to them as they speculate. When they come up with an idea you really, really like, tell them ‘You finally guessed right. That was my reasoning all along.’ ”

“I don’t do that,” Wedge said. “Much.”

“All the time, boss.”

Wedge caught a new pattern of motion on his lightboard, six blips incoming. “Heads up. We have something.”

A moment later, a new voice came across the comm board, a brassy one that rang in their ears: “Strike the Moons Flightknife issues greetings to New Republic Red Flight, and a challenge!”

Wedge kept his comm unit tuned to broadcast at low strength and only on Red Flight’s frequency. “Tycho, call Giltella Air Base and make sure these guys are really equipped with sim weapons.” He switched to the general frequency and upped his broadcast power. “Red Flight to Strike the Moons Flightknife, greetings. I will consider your challenge. Please give me the particulars about your pilots.”

“I am Liak ke Mattino, captain, fourteen years’ experience, eighteen war kills, thirty-three duel kills, one ground kill. I bring five pilots before you. In order of precedence, they are …”

Wedge listened to the litany of accomplishments with half his attention. He could have obtained the same information by tapping on the blip representing ke Mattino and the other Blades on the lightboard; the board’s text screen would have then shown the appropriate data from the transponders on their fighters. But demanding an oral recitation was a good way to stall.

Tycho’s reply came a minute later, toward the end of Captain ke Mattino’s inventory: “Giltella confirms Strike the Moons is equipped with sims, General.”

“Thanks, Tycho.” Wedge switched back to general frequency. “Captain, we accept your challenge. We accept four, your choice. Standing by.”

They waited while the Strike the Moons pilots chose among themselves. Two Blade-32’s peeled away from the Cartann half squad and circled out to a much greater distance. Then the other four fighters banked in the direction of Red Flight.