Bast turned to face Vader. “My cadets have been trained to Empire specifications, Lord Vader. Anyone who would question that need only see them in a sim or in the air. Sending them on a combat mission into an asteroid field with the small amount of data we have on our adversaries is the unwise decision. It brings into question the judgment of the one who sends them, not the one who trains them.”
Vader placed his hands on his belt and looked askance. “You will, I suspect, send a report to your superiors regarding my decision.”
“I am not so naïve as to think anything I say will have any impact upon the career of a person so decorated and accomplished in the eyes of the Emperor as yourself. The criticisms of a glorified schoolteacher against the decorated war hero who exterminated the Jedi? I might as well toss a pebble into a waterfall. I will make a report, yes, as I am bound to do each week. And, like every report I’ve written since my assignment to this post, it will gather virtual dust in some petty bureaucrat’s computer.”
Vader paused. For a second, Bast felt his life was in mortal danger. He remembered first hearing the rumors about how Sith Lords could choke a man to death with a flick of their hand, and how Vader had very nearly done so to one of the more experienced pilots now on the bombing mission.
Or was it pointing a finger that the Sith Lords choked their victims?
It didn’t matter. After a few seconds Vader laughed. The mechanical sound echoed through his breathing mask in the small office. “It would seem you have grown too attached to your cadets, Commodore Bast. We will monitor their performance today, and decide your fate based upon it. As for why I have ordered this mission:I have sensed great potential in one of your cadets, and feel this could be the path to even greater things for her.”
Vader turned on his heel and left. Bast let out a long sigh after the door swished behind Vader, glad that he’d survived the encounter, and hoping he’d never have to have another like it again.
#
“All right, wings, here we go,” said the commander of the older pilots, who would now only identify himself now as Grey Leader. They could see out in the black that the Adeptus had come out of hyperspace, and now sat at a reasonable distance from the asteroid-sized moon that the probe droid assured them was the base of operations of the rebels.
“Less talk, more rebel killing,” Jada muttered under her breath. Dav looked over at her, Though his helmet hid his quizzical expression, Jada did need to see his face to know he was puzzled.
“Cut the chatter, Black Two,” came Grey Leader’s voice over the comm. “If you survive your five, you’ll have more killing than you can handle. Believe me. Alright, children, let’s move out!”
Just as they’d done in the sims, the long arms of the launching cranes gripped and released first the fighters, and then the bombers over the open launching bay, where they fired up their engines and flew out into the inky black void of space.
“Look alive, people,” Hublin said over the comm. “Black One, keep that formation tight. Remember: your job will be to get your bomber to a position where Black Two can drop those little fifty-mill-pills on a bunch of rebs. Copy?”
“Copy, Black Leader. Waiting for escort confirmation,” Dav said.
“Fighter escort, ready,” Lieutenant Hublin’s voice came on over the speaker, crisp with his Talcene accent more visible than usual, possibly because of the stress. This wouldn’t be the first time any of them had shot at rebels, but it was the first time anyone was aware of Hublin, Solo, or anyone else having to go on mission specifically to kill enemies of the Empire.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“Grey wing, move out, Black wing, move out!” said Grey Leader’s voice as his T.I.E. engines glowed a brighter, colder shade of blue. The other four ships in his group did the same, following him in perfect formation.
Norrin felt a thrill like no other as he carefully checked and calibrated his instruments while Bondo focused on flying and keeping his place in the wing of ships. Above them, little Rex waited and watched. As much as a machine could hope, Rex hoped that they would come back from this mission in one piece. He’d fiddled and examined the data, knowing that an astromech droid like himself that never went into battle was certain to draw attention to itself, no matter how much Rex might falsify the records and cover his tracks.
But nothing made Rex’s concern subroutines flare up. If there was a danger to himself or the others he’d carefully manipulated into being his allies, Rex had found a very interesting bit of information in the past few days that he could use to distract, deceive, and perhaps even blackmail key humans around him to ensure his memory would remain unwiped.
#
It was only a few minutes before they began to approach the target.
“Fighters, Mark two-seven-niner,” said one of the Grey wing pilots, his voice calm, even though Dav could detect just a little bit of an edge to it.
“Grey wing, with me,” Grey leader said, “Black wing, continue to the target. Scanners read you’ll have a clear approach if you make a clean breakaway. Go!”
Slak took the lead, diving downwards in his quick TIE fighter, but holding back on the throttle so that the slower bombers could keep up. Hublin swooped in front of him in the sleek, arrowhead shaped Interceptor, and then pulled back to a rear position like a father wolf looking after his cubs.
Wolf, thought Slak. I like the sound of that. If I ever get to be head of my own squadron, that’ll be our name: the Wolf pack.
“Alright people, Black Leader here. Now listen carefully,” Hublin’s voice crackled over the comm. “We’re less than five minutes from target. Going in weapons hot. Bombers, arm payloads. Get ready to drop those pills on the enemy, and get out like an angry Jedi was at your heels.”
Jada and Norrin complied. They’d drilled for this and duty on the other major types of fighters a great deal over the past few months, to the point they could almost do it half asleep. A few important switches, and a happy chirp from the onboard astromechs to confirm their bombs were armed, and they were approaching the target in the right direction.
“Payload armed,” Jada said quietly. Dav looked over at her again. She’d been acting differently ever since that meeting with Bast. He’d heard that black-suited oddball, Vader, had been at that meeting too. Whatever had been said, she was tight-lipped about it and not interested anymore in flirting, or even talking. And when she did speak, she somehow worked hatred of the rebels into every conversation.
He’d have a little sit down with her afterwards. There was no way they could fly together with blocks of conversational ice between them for the next few years.
Could they?
No matter, he thought as they approached. The targeting computer whistled as it found and locked on to the Rebel’s base, spotted and designated as such earlier by a probe droid.
Norrin stared at his screen as Bondo’s steady hands held and moved the steering controls. Despite knowing that he’d never have to see his targets as they died in the vacuum of space, and having been through the sims time and again where he’d blasted his enemies to realistic-looking smithereens and his hologames for years before that, Norrin was nervous. He pushed thoughts of his enemies’ suffering away. They were Rebels, he told himself. They’d killed or caused the death of Gaad’s family, and thus had been responsible for Gaad snapping and killing Porkins and S’Vip as well.
“Fighter approaching,” Solo said, his voice surprisingly calm over the comlink.
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TO BE CONTINUED....