Solo Command (34 page)

Chewbacca yanked the controls hard to port. The freighter’s inertial compensators shrieked as they tried to accommodate the nearly ninety-degree maneuver. TIE interceptors, their pilots caught momentarily off guard by the surprise move, overshot the
Falsehood
. The jettisoned portion of the ship continued on, laser-straight, toward the bow of the
Reprisal
.

Squeaky said, “Flight Officer Konnair, you are free to detach when ready.”

Lara and Fel looped back quickly, getting back into position behind the
Falsehood
. They continued their erratic, side-to-side motion, which made it all but impossible for the ship’s gunners to target them.

Lara heard Fel report, “There’s something attached to the
Falcon
where that piece of debris just detached. It’s—oh.”

Lara saw the “something” break free of the
Falsehood
. It was an A-wing fighter. It drifted free of the freighter with the puff of small explosive bolts detonating; then its engines lit off and it vectored away at the kind of speed only an A-wing could manage.

“Don’t be distracted, Petothel,” Fel said. “Stay with the primary target.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, and opened up again on the
Falsehood
.

Fel’s wingman veered away in pursuit of the A-wing.

On the bridge of the
Reprisal
, the captain and crew watched the
Falsehood’
s movements.

“He’s vectoring to sweep around us,” the weapons operator reported. “He’ll probably return to his primary course when he’s clear of our guns.”

“Order the TIEs to herd him back in toward our side,” said the captain, a burly man who could not return to his home on Coruscant until Rebels like Han Solo were purged from the galaxy. “We can’t keep Fel from firing on her, but maybe we can steal the kill. What’s the status of that debris?”

“On a collision course with us,” the sensor specialist said. “But its speed and tonnage are insufficient to do us harm. Our shields will repel it.”

“Very well,” the captain said.

Lara and Fel continued to pour laser fire into the
Falsehood’
s stern, all the while dodging with the mad speed and maneuverability of which only TIE interceptors were capable. The remaining TIEs swept out ahead of the
Falsehood
, forming up in her path, dictating a run through their gauntlet or a turn—either toward space, along the Dreadnaught’s flank, or back toward the planet.

But Dorset Konnair in her A-wing flashed along behind the line of TIEs, firing her blaster cannons continuously, vaping two of the TIEs before she emerged from the other side.
Fel’s wingman pursued her, firing at maximum range, unable to overtake the starfighter.

Donos kept up ineffectual fire at Lara whenever she was under his sights, while trying with all his skill to tag Fel whenever that pilot came within view. He had no more success hitting the pilot he wanted to kill than he did the one he wanted to miss. And shot after shot from the pursuing TIEs rocked the
Falsehood
, sounding alarms as shields threatened to fail.

Chewbacca veered back toward the escape course short of the gauntlet of TIEs. His maneuver left them too close to the Dreadnaught; the
Falsehood
would be running under the guns of the
Reprisal
. Donos shook his head and stayed focused on his more immediate problems. If the
Reprisal
hit them, he’d be dead before he felt anything.

Zsinj watched the Corellian freighter’s run. He rapped his knuckles against a bulkhead, trying to bleed his nervousness away with activity. “Why isn’t
Mon Remonda
jumping in?” he said. “Petothel said that these
Millennium Falcon
missions had cruiser support.”

Melvar said, “Maybe she was wrong. Or they changed tactics.”

“No, it makes sense. He just isn’t calling in his cruiser. Why isn’t the
Reprisal
dealing with that debris?”

Melvar glanced at the data feed from the Dreadnaught. “It’s not real ship’s construction. Too light. Their shields will handle it.”

Zsinj glanced away from the transmitted view from the
Reprisal’
s bridge to the data feed. Cold suspicion clawed at him. “Contact the
Reprisal
! Tell them to blow that debris
now
!”

The tumbling piece of space junk that had been attached to the
Falsehood
made contact with the
Reprisal’
s bow shields.

Inside, a sensor attuned to sudden shocks and gravitational variances registered impact. It triggered the large cache of explosives fastened within the debris’s hull.

The bomb, originally intended for a drop onto one of Zsinj’s production facilities on the surface of Comkin Five, exploded with far more force than the Dreadnaught’s shields could withstand.

A bright glow washed over the
Falsehood
from the side. Donos glanced away from Lara’s TIE interceptor to look.

The entire bow of the
Reprisal
seemed to be awash in bright light and flame.

His comm unit crackled. Squeaky said, “We have good news to report. The Wraiths are incoming.”

Squeaky turned off the comm mike and glared at Chewbacca. “You didn’t tell me it was a bomb.”

Chewbacca rumbled a reply.

“No, now
is
the time to talk about it. You’ve made me a participant in this fight! I’ve actually done damage to other beings! I’m not allowed to do that. I don’t know if I can cope.”

Face brought the seven X-wings of Wraith Squadron, including Kell in Donos’s snubfighter, around the
Reprisal’
s stern along its starboard side, putting them on the same side of the conflict as the
Falsehood
and her pursuit. The X-wings were already in attack position, their S-foils spread and locked. “Fire One,” he said.

Fourteen proton torpedoes launched toward the mass of enemy TIEs. As close as the Wraiths were to their targets, the torpedoes crossed the intervening distance almost immediately. As tightly packed as the TIEs were, when those on the leading edge were able to veer out of the way and break a torpedo’s targeting lock, the TIEs behind them were not. Ten kills registered on Face’s sensor screen, then the TIE force was spreading, scattering, breaking by twos and preparing to engage the Wraiths.

“That won’t work twice,” Face said. “Change Target Two to the Dreadnaught’s bow. Fire Two.” Fourteen more proton
torpedoes leaped away. Face saw detonations all around the
Reprisal’
s bow, couldn’t determine if they were penetrating the damaged Dreadnaught’s shields. “Break and engage by pairs.”

On the bridge of
Mon Remonda
, Han Solo sat in his command chair, his stomach threatening to knot ever tighter, while he watched the holocomm broadcast from the
Falsehood
. The sensor-display portion of the broadcast showed the
Falsehood
on her outbound flight and all the vehicles around her.

At the moment, only two TIE starfighters assailed the
Falsehood
. The Dreadnaught was not firing, its command crew obviously thrown into disarray by the detonation of the bomb.

“They’re going to escape, Zsinj,” he said, his words intended for no one’s ears but his own. “You can’t have that. Jump in. Bring
Iron Fist
in. Come on, Zsinj.”

“Sir,” Squeaky said, “do we tell the Wraiths about Lara?”

Wedge hesitated. If they broadcast an encrypted message telling the Wraiths that one of the TIEs was Lara and she was conceivably an ally, the message would eventually be broken. A voice signal like that simply offered too much data. “Tag her as a friendly on the sensor board and transmit only that information, and only as data,” he said. That might do it—a tiny data update was much less likely to be intercepted by the enemy or decoded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Me up, you down,” Kell said.

“We’re your wing,” Runt responded.

They aimed straight for the
Millennium Falsehood
, Kell approaching above the level of the freighter’s top hull, Runt beneath her keel, both firing at the TIEs pursuing the freighter.

Kell kept his fire a little high so no slight deviation in his progress would bring his lasers down onto the
Falsehood
. But his target’s erratic motion brought it up toward his field of fire …

And then, on his targeting computer, his target changed
color from red to blue. Kell swore, took his finger from the trigger, and the
Falsehood
and its pursuit blasted past underneath him. He began as tight a turn as was possible to come up behind the
Falsehood
again. Below him, Runt was doing the same.

The
Falsehood
rocked more violently than before and suddenly air was howling through the freighter. Wedge’s ears popped as the air pressure changed.

Squeaky’s voice, for once, contained alarm. “We are breached! Shields are down on the keel!”

“Chewbacca, roll her!” Wedge shouted.

Outside his viewport, the universe rotated 180 degrees. Fel was abruptly in his gunsights instead of Lara. He opened fire on Fel. “Donos, lock down that hull breach. Chewie, keep our good shields between us and Fel. Maybe Lara won’t vape us.”

What a thing to have to count on. Squeaky’s assurance that they shouldn’t destroy Lara—and now, with the
Falsehood’
s unprotected keel exposed to her guns, she could vape them with no effort.

Lara saw the
Falsehood
rotate, exposing its belly, and her sensors showed its shields there were gone.

She could fire, or she could reveal herself to Zsinj to be a traitor to his cause.

Or she could—

She deliberately twitched the pilot’s yoke a little too hard and her maneuver carried her forward, right into the
Falsehood’s
keel. Suddenly she was spinning out of control, and there was an ominous cracking noise as a jagged line appeared on her viewport.

“Petothel?” It was Fel’s voice. “Petothel, are you hurt?”

She didn’t answer.

Zsinj watched, his mouth slack and expression disbelieving, as the holocomm display from the
Reprisal
continued.

The bridge view was gone, of course. It had vanished when the bridge was destroyed. But sensor data continued to pour in.

The
Reprisal
was breaking up. The initial explosion had breached her hull, smashed her bow shields, and temporarily deprived her of effective command. The proton torpedoes that followed had inflicted massive structural damage on the old Dreadnaught.

Now she continuously vented atmosphere into space, her crumpling bulkheads preventing airtight doors from sealing. Her captain had sent her into a turn just before the bomb’s impact, doubtless to track the
Millennium Falcon
with her guns, and the stress of the maneuver was cracking the mighty old ship open like a nut.

Zsinj sagged against the bulkhead. “I can’t kill him. I can’t kill Han Solo. I don’t know the formula. I don’t have the plan.”

Melvar, in his ear, said, “The One Eighty-first is disconnected. I’ve ordered them to break away from the attacking force. But we can send in another capital ship and get them coordinated again.”

“No. Throw good money after bad? Besides, Solo will be in hyperspace before another ship can get into proper position. This assault is over.”

Melvar saluted and moved over to look down into the crew pit, where his starfighter director was. “Send the starfighters down to a planetary base.” His voice was heavy with regret.

Zsinj knew that regret.

He knew frustration, too. Nothing was working. Nothing was working.

The TIEs were still swarming, but abruptly they were swarming in another direction, back toward the planet.

With no TIE fighters close enough to see in the cockpit viewport, Squeaky dispensed with the human-face mask he wore. It served merely to conceal the gold tone of his face and was only effective against distant or fast-moving observers. At Wedge’s direction he returned to his Han Solo voice and activated
the comm unit. “Wraiths, form up, prepare for hyperspace. Polearm Seven, it’s time for you to return to dock with the
Falcon
.”

“Coming in, General.”

Wedge leaned in over Squeaky’s shoulder. “Now say, ‘Good shooting out there.’ ”

“Doesn’t she know she shot well?”

Wedge glowered. “Just do it.”

“Good shooting out there, Konnair.”

“Thank you, General.”

Dorset Konnair’s A-wing sidled in toward the
Falsehood’
s starboard. Delicately, she maneuvered it alongside the docking station temporarily installed where one of the freighter’s escape pods should be. A moment later, Squeaky felt the thump of contact. “All ready,” he said, in his own voice.

“Go back and help Donos patch that leak, would you?”

“If I must. One minute a general, the next minute a sheet-metal worker.”

Wedge smiled at him. “That’s life in the armed forces.”

“Petothel, come in.”

Lara stirred, trying to convey with body language that she was dazed. She stared out the forward viewport. Fel’s TIE interceptor cruised there, mere meters from her. It seemed to be spinning, though she knew that it was her own interceptor that was rolling. “What? I, what?”

“Are you injured? We can bring in a shuttle with a tractor to get you out of there.”

“No, I’m good to fly.” That was the pilot’s automatic response, whether Imperial or New Republic, whether truth or self-delusion. She sat upright. “Did—did we get him?”

“Almost,” Fel said. “Come along, you’re my wing.” He vectored away and moved planetward, away from the burning wreckage of the
Reprisal
, only a few kilometers away.

She’d spent her time “unconscious” productively. The datapad that had transmitted its unusual commands to her laser weaponry was now back in a pocket. She’d hammered her helmeted head against the side of the cockpit until it really was
sore, until she was almost as dizzy as she claimed to be—she’d need the telltale physical signs of injury when she got back to
Iron Fist
.