Star Wars - X-Wing - Rogue Squadron

couldn't see how much damage he'd done because of the light show produced by the

  Interceptor's lasers eating away at his shields.

  Corran stabbed the right rudder pedal with his foot, swinging the ship around a

  full 180 degrees. Punching his throttle to full, he killed his momentum, then

  dropped the engines to zero thrust. With his thumb he popped his weapons control

  over to proton torpedoes and got a solid tone when he trapped the fleeing

  Interceptor in the targeting box. His finger tightened once on the trigger and a

  single torpedo shot away on a jet of blue flame.

  The torpedo caught up with the Interceptor quickly enough, but the TIE pilot,

  confirming his possession of the skill Corran had willingly granted him before,

  juked his Interceptor out of its path at the last second. Unfortunately for him,

  his maneuvering and run at Corran had taken him to the outer edge of Hensara's

  atmosphere. While not particularly dense, impact with it at the speed the

  Interceptor was traveling proved devastating. The starboard wing shattered and

  the Interceptor ricocheted away in a wobbly somersault.

  "Control, this is Skate. We're on our way back up. We have company that wants to

  go home."

  "Good job, Skate. Rogue Leader, mission accomplished."

  "I heard that, Control. Rogues, regroup for egress."

  Corran smiled as he heard Gavin's voice over the comm. "Leader, there are two

  getting away."

  "Let them go, Five. Flight Leaders, check your flights."

  "Whistler, give me feeds on my people." A tracking chart replaced the targeting

  data on Corran's screen. Nine, Ten, Eleven, and Twelve. "Three Flight is all

  here."

  "Control to Rogue Leader, I have a dozen X-wings in-system, two Interceptors on

  recovery vectors, and two deployed shuttles on pilot recovery missions."

  Corran clapped his hands. "We didn't lose anyone?"

  "Are you complaining, Nine?"

  "No, sir, Commander, not at all. It's just ..."

  "Yes, Nine?"

  "This is Rogue Squadron. I thought most of the pilots didn't survive Rogue

  missions."

  "That was when there was still an Emperor, Nine." The grim tone in Wedge's voice

  gave way to one somewhat lighter. "I guess that's the difference. Let's head

  home, Rogues. This is one victory we can celebrate without having to toast dead

  comrades and I, for one, like the change."

  17

  Wedge sat with his back against the thick wall of the Grand Room in what had

  once been Talasea's Planetary Governor's Palace. The title sounded much more

  important than the building and room it described. Built with heavy beams made

  of the dark native wood and plaster slathered over wooden slats, it reminded him

  of the sorts of reconstructions he'd seen in museums on Corellia. This is about

  as primitive as it gets.

  The incongruity struck him as he watched his pilots sitting around a couple of

  central tables, using their hands to describe the twists and turns they went

  through in what they had taken to calling the Rout of Hensara. They could have

  downloaded their sensor packets and played them out on the wide-screen

  holoviewer in the corner, but that device remained black. By telling the

  storie s themselves they shared not only what they didwhich the sensor data

  would have shown in exacting detailbut how they felt about it.

  And in doing that they'll know they're all the same. Wedge tipped his chair back

  against the wall.

  He glanced at two Alderaanians who shared his table with him. "They did a good

  job out there today."

  Tycho smiled broadly. "They did better than goodthey were spectacular. We

  recorded thirty-four kills out of a possible thirty-six with no losses. If I

  hadn't been there, I'd think it was propaganda."

  Afyon looked up from a barely touched tankard of the local lum equivalent. "You

  know as well as I do, gentlemen, they were awfully lucky. They may be the

  hottest pilots going, but vaping TIEs won't Coruscant take. That's going to take

  an operation that will need more than snubby jocks to make it go."

  Wedge lowered his lum mug. "Captain, I've been in this Rebellion for as long as

  you have. I remember the righting at Endor and I know the Eridain fought hard."

  "I appreciate that, Commander Antilles, but it was you who got paraded around

  the New Republic as the hero who saved the Rebellion."

  Tycho's blue eyes narrowed. "He did blow the Death Star, you realize, and

  survived the previous Death Star run."

  "I know, and I know you were there, too." Afyon sat back and frowned. "Look, I'm

  not saying you don't deserve your recognition, and I'm not saying your people

  don't deserve their little party here. Strapping yourself into a fighter isn't

  the easiest thing to do, and more fighter pilots die than do the folks I have

  crewing with me, but our contribution to this Rebellion is just as important as

  yours is."

  Wedge nodded slowly. "I know that, Captain, and if the Eridain hadn't been there

  today to make the Havoc think twice about closing with us, we would have been

  blind-jumping out of the system."

  Afyon shook his head. "Don't take me for a

  stormie, Antilles, I don't believe everything I'm told. You'd have gone in after

  the Havoc itself. What's a Strike cruiser to a crew that turned two Death Stars

  into black holes?"

  The Corellian brought his chair down onto all four legs. "The New Republic might

  promote me and this squadron as immortal and immune to danger, but I know

  better than that. Two of us, just two, survived Yavin. A half dozen survived

  Hoth and just four of us lived through Endor. As far as I'm concerned the Death

  Stars lived up to their names.

  "Well now, this squadron has to live up to its name. The New Republic is using

  us as a symbol because it's easier to blind people to the blood-cost of war

  when you get to celebrate the heroic efforts of a half-dozen people. Luke

  Skywalker is easy to admire and want to follow. Han Solo is a man who rose from

  nothing to become a hero and consort with royalty. Me, I'm the quintessential

  soldier who does his job very well. But what is that job? Two things

  neutralizing Imperials and, the part I take most seriously, keeping my people

  alive."

  Wedge raked fingers back through his brown hair. "It doesn't matter if we were

  good or lucky out there todayand I'd rather the former than trust in the

  latter. What does matter is that we all survived, and that's as close to a

  miracle as I ever expect to see in my lifetime. The key thing to remember is

  that I can't trust in our luck or skill. I can't allow myself to believe we were

  that much better than the opposition and I can't let my people believe it. If

  they do, they'll die taking chances they should never take."

  Afyon sucked on his teeth for a second. "You're right. I guess I just remember

  the Clone Wars and how the 'hero' labels were handed out. You'd think a dozen

  Jedi and two dozen snubby jocks won the whole thing. Even all the years I spend

  pulling for

  peacesame as most of the rest of the folks on Alderaannever dulled that

  feeling of injustice I had concerning credit for the war. Weird, eh, wanting

  peace enough to
agree to disarmament of my home planet, yet still burning about

  getting credit for my part in a war?"

  The other Alderaanian at the table shook his head. "One of the problems we all

  have is that we try to think of ourselves in general terms, and that smoothes

  over some of the inconsistencies that make us who we are. We see all Imperials

  as rancors and they see all of us as nerfs. The very fact that we see them as a

  united front is ridiculous, just the same as we're not all unitedas this

  discussion proves."

  Afyon smiled. "I've not heard that kind of philosophy since, you know, our

  world ..."

  Tycho nodded solemnly and squeezed Afyon's shoulder with his right hand. "I do

  know." He smiled and looked over at the knot of pilots in the center of the

  room. "I'm afraid this group does not inspire that much philosophy. I appreciate

  being able to share some with another Alderaanian."

  Wedge glanced at his pilots, then tipped his chair back up against the wall as

  the Twi'lek stood. Nawara Ven flipped one of his brain tails around and over his

  shoulder as if it were a scarf, then stumbled slightly. Wedge wasn't sure if it

  was the cavalier way he tossed his brain tails around or the drink that made the

  pilot stumble. The lum brewed up by the ground crew had the potency of Corellian

  brandy and the piquant bouquetaccording to Gavinof a Tatooine dewback in heat.

  Nawara remained almost completely upright as he wove his way through tables to

  where Wedge sat. "Forgive me, noble leaders, but we require your esteemed

  personages to act as a tribunal to adjudicate a question." The Twi'lek pressed a

  hand to his own

  chest. "Owing to my legal background, I have been appointed a neutral advocate

  to present the cases to you."

  Wedge couldn't keep a smile from his face. "Please proceed, Counselor."

  "Thank you, sir." Nawara turned back toward, the other pilots. "First we have

  the case of the worst pilot in the unit. May I present Gavin Darklighter, who

  won this award by virtue of the fact of not getting anything out there today."

  Easier to read than the scowl on Gavin's face was the open relief on the faces

  of Lujayne Forge and Peshk Vri'syk. Wedge knew the award had to sting Gavin

  badly, but he was young. The rest of the squadron had been willing to cut him a

  lot of slack because of his youth, but that latitude would last only so long. In

  Wedge's opinion Gavin wasn't the worst pilot by far, but his lack of kills

  allowed his squadron mates to rib him a little.

  Nawara gestured at Gavin. "The accused will stand."

  Gavin remained seated.

  Bror Jace grabbed him by the shoulder of his flight suit and hauled him up out

  of his seat. "Here he is, the worst we have. Just like the TIE pilots, he got

  zero kills."

  The edge in Jace's voice provoked a snarl from Gavin's wingmate, Shiel. Color

  flooded Gavin's face and muscles bunched at his jaw as he ground his teeth. Jace

  laughed and tugged on Gavin's shoulder, Like a puppeteer manipulating a

  marionette.

  The Twi'lek, seemingly oblivious to Gavin's discomfort, smiled at the tribunal.

  "We have determined there should be a punishment of some sort, to encourage an

  improvement in performance."

  Wedge turned his head to face the other two members of the tribunal. "Ideas,

  gentlemen?"

  Tycho held a finger up. "Strikes me that apprenticing Gavin to the best pilot,

  having him run errands and the like for him, might provide the perfect

  situation for Gavin to learn how to be better."

  / like that, Tycho. Corran won't be too hard on him and the added responsibility

  will give Corran something to think about other than your situation. Wedge

  nodded. "I think that is a good idea. Captain Afyon?"

  "Sure. I know I'd love to have an aide to draft the performance reports for the

  Eridain."

  Captain Afyon's suggestion brought a groan from the squadron, so Wedge

  catalogued the threat of report preparation for future disciplinary use. "I

  believe, Counselor, you have your judgment rendered."

  The Twi'lek bowed and straightened up slowly, then turned back to his

  compatriots. "Gavin Darklighter, you are sentenced to serve as aide to the best

  pilot in the squadron until such time as you are no longer judged the worst

  pilot."

  Bror smiled broadly and gave Gavin's flight suit one last tug. "Good, you can

  start your service by getting me more lum."

  Wedge frowned. "How is it that you, Mr. Jace, are considered the best pilot? You

  only had five and Mr. Horn had six. If we average them over the last two

  engagements, then Mr. Horn has four and a half, with you, Mr. Qrygg, and me each

  at two and a half. You fare no better when we total them."

  Nawara smiled, flashing pointy peg-teeth. "You have hit upon the crux of the

  matter, sir. Mr. Jace argues that percentages tell the true story. He killed

  five of the six bombers he faced, meaning he downed eighty-five percent of the

  TIEs he engaged."

  Gavin sat down and snarled, "And they were

  big, lumbering bombersno one could have missed them."

  The Twi'lek clucked at Gavin, then continued his explanation. "Mr. Horn, on the

  other hand, shot only six of thirty, giving him a kill percentage of twenty

  percent."

  Wedge shook his head. "This is ridiculous. Percentages have no place in this."

  "If you don't mind, sir"Corran stood up and glared over at Bror"I'm willing to

  let things be figured by percentages."

  "Go head, Mr. Horn."

  Corran folded his arms across his chest. "You want a real contest, Jace?"

  The Thyferran raised his head and glared down at the shorter man. "It's an easy

  offer to be made by the man in the lead."

  "I'm willing to make it even, and I'll even concede this round to youdeclaring

  you the best pilot until our next mission." Corran opened his arms and rested

  his right hand on Gavin's shoulder. "What I'm willing to do is average Gavin's

  kills in with mine. The one he got at Chorax adds to my nine, then we split that

  in half. That puts us even at an average of five kills. You and I are both aces

  and now so is he."

  "Don't do this, Corran."

  The small man winked down at Gavin. "I trust you, kid. You'll do fine."

  "We start even?" the Thyferran asked.

  Corran nodded. "We go straight kills from here on out, or average them, your

  choice."

  Bror raised a blond eyebrow. "You are still will-ing to average the kid's kills

  in with yours?"

  The Corellian nodded again and patted Gavin's moulder. "You willing to take the

  challenge?"

  Wedge watched conflicting emotions ripple over

  Bror Jace's face. He clearly wanted to go one-on-one with Corran, to prove he

  was better free and clear, yet the rules Corran was offering him played in his

  favor. Any kill Corran got would only count half. Unless Corran excelledkilling

  two for Bror's oneor Gavin started on a tear, Bror would win easily. The

  difference between their skill levels was not significant enough to give Corran

  a real chance of winning.

  Bror's blue eyes thinned to arctic slits. "We'll average things, just to keep

  Gavin in the game, but you and
I can go head-to-head whenever / choose."

  "I wouldn't have it any other way."

  "And you and I, because we did have the most kills at Hensara, will share the

  best pilot crown until our next outing."

  Corran smiled. "Done."

  Wedge nodded once to Corran, then looked up at the Twi'lek. "So, by this

  settlement, Bror and Corran are co-best pilots, and Gavin has five kills,

  correct, Counselor?"

  The Twi'lek nodded. "If you so agree, members of the tribunal."

  The three judges agreed and Nawara smiled. "It is done, then."

  "And the worst pilot is still apprenticed to the best pilot?"

  Nawara nodded. "The worst pilot is still bound by that agreement."

  "Good." Wedge stood and slapped the Twi'lek on the back. "Then since Gavin has

  five kills to his credit, that makes you, with only one kill, the worst pilot."

  Nawara's pasty complexion became ghostlike. "No appeal?"

  Wedge smiled. "To you there probably is not,

  but the idea of a lawyer getting the sentence instead of his client has some

  appeal to me."

  The Twi'lek frowned and caressed one of his brain tails. "Perhaps it is true

  that a lawyer who has himself as a client is a fool."

  "Which is why you're a pilot now, Mr. Ven." Wedge laughed lightly. "Consider

  your sentence suspended, at least for the duration of this celebration. Today

  we proved how good we can betomorrow we go back to training to make sure we

  know how we did what we did, so we can continue doing it in the future."

  Kirtan Loor scratched at the reddish raw patch of flesh behind his right ear.

  Rachuk roseola was a virus, he was told, that got to everyone who came to the

  world. Scratching it didn't appear to make it

  worse, and nothing but time made it better. It annoyed him because he found it

  distracting, and at this late stage in his calculations, distraction was the

  last thing he needed.

  He pored over the data from Hensara again, correlating figures and sensor tracks

  with known performance parameters for X-wings. All the ships in the squadron

  appeared to be operating within two standard deviations of the mean of Rebel

  spec-

  ifications. This told him that the ships were in good repair, which meant the

  Rebels were expending con-

  siderable resources on that squadron to keep the ships working.

  That little factoid combined with the spectacular kill ratio led him to believe