X-wing_ Iron Fist Part 36

She rotated and fired again, obliterating the second projector with similar finality.

Then she settled down again atop the rubbish-strewn tower. She'd wait a moment to launch wait until s.p.a.ce was crowded and confused, when she wouldn't be such an easy target.

"Razor's Kiss reports catastrophic failure of topside s.h.i.+eld generators !".

Zsinj stared at the captain as though the man had suddenly grown a Devaronian's horns and teeth.

"Tell me you're lying."

The captain shook his head helplessly.

Zsinj slammed his hands on the nearest bulkhead. "Change course to eight-five. Tell Razor's Kiss to follow closely and use us for protection from Mon Remonda. Calculate a new jump on that course and initiate it as soon as possible." He looked at Melvar. "Launch all fighters."

Wedge's sensor board showed the second Super Star Destroyer's topside s.h.i.+elds evaporating. It displayed the information without emotion, without understanding of how that fact made the pilots' hearts jump.

"All squadrons, this is Wraith Leader. Prepare for strafing run on the second Destroyer. Ignore Iron Fist for now. X-wings, B-wings, commence with proton torpedoes. Save some for the engines." Wedge heeled over, changing course toward the second destroyer, and sent up a silent cheer for Shalla.

Iron Fist surged forward, her bow guns opening up on the oncoming starfighters, and began a slow maneuver to starboard as the second destroyer dropped back behind her. Wedge adjusted course, bringing his squadrons up over Iron Fist's bow at a considerable alt.i.tude.

And then they were in the midst of it, ion cannons sending energy washes between them, laser batteries making s.p.a.ce brilliant all around them.

Wedge felt hair stand up all over his body as an ion blast came too close; his c.o.c.kpit lights dimmed, but the computer and his R5 astromech did not suffer power loss. He heard one cry over the comlink - the cry of a survivor who'd just seen a wingman evaporate; Polearm Five disappeared off the sensor board.

Then they were past Iron Fist, the s.h.i.+p's horrendous field of damage tracking and following them, and the second Destroyer's guns opened up.

But now they could reply. "Fire at will," Wedge commanded, and some of the starfighters were launching proton torpedoes before he had the second word out. Faint blue trails leaped out from the starfighters, homing in on the Destroyer's bow, detonating split seconds later in huge b.a.l.l.s of incendiary destruction.

Ahead, a tiny spark-ion-engine emissions-leaped off the command tower, then curved around in front of that projection and opened fire. Minuscule needles of green flashed between it and the destroyer's bridge... and Wedge watched as the bridge viewports blew in, then vented out just as suddenly in a hail of debris and atmosphere.

"New Republic forces, this is Wraith Ten. Sending transponder data.

Please flag me a friendly."

"Confirm that friendly," Wedge said. "People, this is the lady who just opened the front door for us."

Cheers sounded over the comlink. Then the starfighters flashed past the command tower and its ruined summit, past the friendly interceptor that looped around and struggled to catch up. They rained their torpedoes down on the Super Star Destroyer's stern, then looped around to add the s.h.i.+p's engines to their list of victims.

A grating voice, Mon Calamari: "a.s.sault force, this is Mon Remonda.

Sensors show starfighters launching from Iron Fist in considerable strength."

"Understood," Wedge said. "All squadrons, stay in formation. Turn to course nine-oh but keep firing on the target destroyer until you no longer bear. Prepare for individual action."

"The Razor's Kiss bridge is no longer responding to communications," the captain said. His voice was dull with this recitation of what was only one new set of bad news.

"Sensors show serious damage to the bridge. I think we've lost them."

Zsinj stared at the holoprojection of a live image of Razor's Kiss. The Super Star Destroyer, so powerful, so beautiful just minutes ago, was now awash in flame from bow to stern. Hundreds of gouts of fire had erupted from her top deck.

"What about our man on the auxiliary bridge?"

"Also not reporting. Possibly killed during the barrage."

On a fully staffed destroyer, crews would be putting out those fires.

More officers would be occupying the auxiliary bridge and getting back in contact with Iron Fist. But this was not a fully completed Destroyer.

When Zsinj spoke, his voice was quiet, calm. "What's her course?"

"She came to eight-five as ordered. But she has not come back up to flank speed. Unless we reduce speed, we're going to leave her behind."

"Reduce..."

A voice rose from the crew pit. "Communication from Razor's Kiss!"

Zsinj shouted, "Well, bring it up!"

The dismal image of the crippled Destroyer was replaced by a faded holoprojection of a stormtrooper. His helmet was off, revealing a big face on a big neck, black hair just a little too s.h.a.ggy to be regulation, a determined expression.

"This is Trooper Second Cla.s.s Gatterweld."

Zsinj frowned. He knew the names of all his agents aboard Razor's Kiss.

This man wasn't one of them. "You're part of the s.h.i.+p's security detail?"

"Yes, sir."

The warlord smiled. A social call from an enemy who wasn't even an officer. The ridiculousness of it pleased him.

"And what can I do for you this fine day, Trooper Gatterweld?"

"Sir, I'd just taken the auxiliary bridge to gain control of this s.h.i.+p when the attack came. But I'd prefer to see this fine lady intact in your hands rather than destroyed at the hands of the Rebels."

Zsinj's knees went weak. "I'm going to put a communications officer on.

He's going to talk you through the process of slaving Razor's Edge to our bridge. Then we'll save her."

"Yes, sir."

"Gatterweld, I'm going to make you a very rich man."

"I don't care about that, sir. I'm just doing my duty."

Zsinj tottered away to let Melvar take over. Suddenly exhausted, he sank into a chair at the communications console.

Events like this reminded him, from time to time, that there was good in the universe, that with enough faith and determination he could win. He could win everything.

Piggy was up to his armpits in wiring when he found the problem. His port-side ion engine was completely out of commission, its connections severed, with trailing cables from the power generator having fallen into other wiring, destroying he knew not how much additional equipment.

He'd have to cut the destroyed engine out of the loop, patch everything else back together as best he could, and then see if the thing would start. He devoutly wished Kell, with his mechanic's skills, were here.

On the other hand, he wouldn't wish "here" on anyone he actually liked.

He got to work.

They boiled out of Iron Fist's sides like angry stinging insects emerging from a shaken hive, squadron after squadron of TIEs-fighters, interceptors, even bombers. They curved in their streams back toward the New Alliance squadrons.

Face heard Wedge issue orders, perhaps the last set of group orders they'd receive before this fight was done: "Break by pairs. Take shots at Iron Fist when you can, but your main objective is to protect yourselves and hold the starfighters. Polearm, you're our spearhead-break up their formation, deny them their united inertia before they get to us. Rogues next. Wraiths, hang back, every pair protect a pair of B-wings. That's all."

"Polearm Leader acknowledging."

"This is Rogue Leader, we're on it."

"This is Nova Leader, thanks."

From the Wraiths there were only a few scattered groans.

Face felt like complaining himself. To be relegated to babysitting duty while the Polearms and Rogues were up front - but Face knew, deep down, the reason for it. More than half the Wraiths were just back from an earlier action. They were tired, even if they didn't realize it yet.

Ahead, the A-wings of Polearm Squadron roared toward the ma.s.sed TIEs with speed no X-wing could match. Face could see the deadly formation of starfighters stream straight into the squadrons of TIEs, their laser fire reaping heavy casualties in the target-heavy environment. The enemy forces seemed even more to be a swarm of stinging insects as their formation lost coherence, groups of two and four and six TIEs go-ing after each A-wing.

Then the Rogues were among them. Face watched the unit expertly break up into pairs, each pair moving as one, each pilot firing with the skill of years of experience. Face felt something like a shudder of dread, a feeling nearly of sympathy for the TIE fighters facing those formidable pilots, and suddenly he felt inadequate. He knew he wasn't up to their standard of performance.

"Orders?" That was Lara's voice in his ear, calling him back to the present situation.

"Right. Follow me." He dove relative to the formation and brought himself and his wingman up before a pair of B-wings. He dropped transmission power. "This is Wraith Eight and Wraith Thirteen. We're your escorts for this evening. What's your pleasure ?"

"You have Nova Three and Nova Four. We can play with the TIEs, but we're much better suited to unloading on that ugly hunk of metal the warlord is driving."

"Tuck in tight, we'll get you close." Face goosed his thrusters and the foursome of starfighters veered off, away from the center of the dogfight, toward Iron Fist.

Ahead, a group of fighters-nine, nearly an entire squadron - broke from the main engagement zone and moved out to intercept them. Face switched to dual fire and opened up with his lasers at maximum range.

The backstop for his fire was Iron Fist. No expended fire would be wasted.

The TIEs came on, twisting, bobbing, weaving, difficult targets. Face wished he hadn't expended all his proton torpedoes on the other Destroyer. On the other hand, it burned nicely, and he had no time for regrets.

One of the oncoming TIEs exploded under Lara's sustained fire and he heard a hissed "Yesss" from her. Why? Oh, yes, she entered this fight with four silhouettes on her canopy. She'd just made ace.

Another TIE drifted right through the ion-cannon wash from one of the B-wings and went ballistic, helplessly rolling in uncontrolled straight-line flight. Face saw one of the oncoming TIEs was making unpredictable moves at predictable intervals; he waited for the next interval, guessed at the pilot's next move, fired in that direction, and was rewarded when the fighter drifted right into his fire. It detonated and its wingman flew right through the debris, emerging intact.

Face felt a blow as his forward s.h.i.+elds were hit and some of the laser energy penetrated to score his hull. Then they were past, nothing between them and Iron Fist.

"Thirteen, drop back, sh.o.r.e up your rear s.h.i.+elds," he said.

"Let's give the Novas all the protection we can." In other words, let's be targets for a while. The way the raiders on the first Death Star trenches were before they died.

"Understood."

Wedge, unenc.u.mbered by a wingman, switched his encryption code so only the Rogues would hear him. "This is Wraith Leader. Any sign of the One Eighty-first?"

Tycho Celchu's voice, strained: "We're in the thick of them. You offering help?"

Wedge sighed. He'd like nothing better than to demonstrate to Baron Fel the error of his evaluation of Wedge's flying skills. Then he glanced back at the pair of B-wings following in his wake. "I'd love to. But can't. They'll be here soon enough."

"Understood."

Then they were before him, a half squad of TIEs, four fighters and two bombers. He saw one veer to starboard, picked out that one's wingman, fired ahead of its course if it turned the same way, and it did, erupting into a glowing shrapnel cloud - one kill, one second into the dogfight.

"Now reaching Iron Fist's escape vector."

"All stop." Han felt fluttering in his stomach as though it were occupied by alien invaders, but he tried to keep his discomfort from his face.

"All starboard batteries to begin fire on my command. Prepare for axial roll. Captain, maintain our position directly ahead of Iron Fist.

Continue correcting as it's recalculated. And when any bank of batteries falls below eighty percent, perform enough roll to bring new guns to bear, and increase s.h.i.+eld strength on the firing side as you do so."

"Yes, sir."

Iron Fist opened up, her laser batteries streaking by in such profusion that they looked like the star elongation that was the first visual manifestation of a hypers.p.a.ce jump. Han tensed against the blows he knew were to come.

"Open fire."

Piggy flipped the power-up switch and was rewarded with an erratic whine from the engines and the sudden lighting of his weapons and flight boards.

His diagnostics board said that all systems were down. He grunted. No use listening to people - or systems-who are inclined to tell you that you can't do something. Not yet daring to commence powered flight, he brought his targeting system up and tried to bracket the distant s.h.i.+eld projector dome.

One small piece of the dome fell within his targeting bracket, and jittered there, showing a clean lock, only moments at a time.

Wedge blinked away at the stinging of his eyes. The third TIE fighter had nailed him with a good fuselage shot just before Wedge had vaped him, and his c.o.c.kpit was now filling with smoke.

Sensors showed that of the flight of nine that had moved against him, four were down - one having fallen prey to one of the B-wings. One of his B-wings remained, battered, char marks on its hull from insistent laser fire; the other was a rapidly dissipating cloud a dozen kilometers back.

He brought his targeting brackets over another TIE. They overshot as the starfighter sideslipped. Then the vehicle exploded, hit by lateral fire.

Incoming vehicles on the sensors, from the direction of the second destroyer - an A-wing leading a flying wedge of unscathed Y-wings. They continued firing and the TIEs bedeviling Wedge evaporated under their ma.s.sed lasers.

"Wraith Leader to newcomers. Who am I talking to?"

The voice that came back was hard and military, but he heard an amused tone within it.

"Why, Commander. You forget old friends so soon."

"General Crespin!" This was the frigate's starfighter force, then, finally catching up from the rear.

"And the Screaming Wookiee Training Squadron."

"Can you escort Nova Three?"