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Recall
FM/LCM Krax Tarnisar/Thunder 2-4/Wing X/ISD Challenge
(miner49er@excite.com)
"Blue
Fight, Blue Leader. I'm picking up the convoy on long-range sensors.
Prepare to engage fighter screen."
"Blue Two, roger." Reaching
down, the pilot activated her targeting computer and increased her
fighter's cannon charge rate. Deep down she felt a twinge of regret,
quickly suppressed, that she would soon be killing fellow Imperials.
But all must sacrifice so that the Empire could be strong once more.
Checking her own display, she nudged
the throttle studs up just a hair. The A-Wing wasn't a bad fighter,
provided all its systems were working. Now her own sensors were
showing the red pips of an Imperial supply convoy. Smaller dots
were quickly breaking away as the TIE escorts swarmed to meet this
New Republic ambush.
"Blue Flight. Tango's Y-Wings
will hyper in in 45 seconds. Cover their attack."
"Blue Two copies. Engaging lead
fighters." Ami Tarsor, known to her Blue Squadron mates as
Niki Neeso, tapped her control yoke selector, arming the A-Wing's
missile tubes. The quicker she got this over with, the better.
Shaped much like an arrowhead, her
blue-trimmed A-Wing shot through the cold silence of space. Closing
in for the kill. It always struck her that now matter how fast you
went in normal space, the stars never seemed to move. Remaining
motionless, disinterested spectators at the deadly light show about
to unfold. No matter what you did, no matter how brave or how cowardly,
the stars never more than winked at you. That total lack of judgement,
of bias, was one of the things that had drawn her to space.
The smooth attack arc jerked slightly
when a low tone sounded in her inner ear. It was the recall implant!
Correcting her course, but ignoring any information from her targeting
computer, Ami strained to hear what she knew would be a perfectly
clear message. "Gemini 2. This is control. You are being recalled.
I say again, you are being recalled. This attack must be stopped.
The escorting TIEs are being told that you are a defector. They
will not engage you. But they are not enough to defend this convoy.
Reinforcements are on the way, but you must act now. Control out."
Unlike Imperial fighter helmets, those
of the New Republic had no face shields. Taking her hand from the
throttle studs, Ami wiped at sweat that was suddenly streaming down
her face. There was no deviating from a recall order. And in ten
seconds, the Y-Wings would be arriving.
Decisions came fast. Cutting her speed,
Ami put some panic into her voice. "Blue Two. I've had an engine
failure. I'm falling out of formation."
"Roger that, Blue Two. May the
Force be with you."
Cutting her com link, Ami muttered,
"You'll be needing it more than I, you bastard." Her squadron
leader's voice had been full of concern, but back at her squadron's
base platform, all he'd been interested in was seeing what was under
her uniform. Killing him would be a pleasure, not business. Cutting
back to one-third power, she watched as the other four A-Wings shot
past, running lights blinking red and green like tiny stars hitching
along for the ride. Rolling her fighter just a shade, she got a
lock on Blue Leader. A smile flickered across her face as the target
box went from yellow to red, and the lock-on tone squealed in her
ears. The best part was, their EW gear would ignore the lock, thinking
it was a friend's sweeping arms computer. The pig would never know
what hit him.
"Blue Two. What are you. . ."
It was a squeal from one of the other pilots. Masrach, she thought.
No one else's voice was that objectionable over the com. He must
have seen the flashes of her missiles, or perhaps seen them as tiny
red blips on his sensor screen. Whatever the case, it was too late
for Blue Leader to do anything other that cry out for his precious
Force. There was no lurch as the missiles launched. Nothing to indicate
their departure from her fighter's belly other than the flicker
as her warhead counter reset itself and two quick pinpoints of light
as their motors engaged. Then she rolled the fighter away, switching
to cannons to deal with the rest of Blue Flight before they understood
what had happened. All she saw of the death of Blue Leader was the
disappearance of his fighter's dot from her sensors.
Resisting the temptation to switch
to an Imperial channel, she kept her com set for New Republic transmissions.
Smiling as she heard the panic in the voices of the rest of Blue
Flight. Running at full power, her A-Wing dancing and spinning under
her expert fingers, Ami sought out another victim. Always with one
eye on the chronometer on her instrument panel. Those Y-Wings were
due in less than five seconds. Just enough time for another kill
before she switched to the more important target.
After living with Blue Flight for
two years, she knew her fellow pilots better than she knew her own
parents. Killing Blue Leader was personal pleasure. Blue Three would
be more difficult. He was the most accomplished pilot in the flight.
Next to herself, of course. Stars whipping past her cockpit, she
brought the A-Wing around. Lining up on a swaying A-Wing that was
trying to lock onto one of the oncoming TIE fighters. It would be
hard for Three to detect her, but one of the other Flight members
might warn him. Swaying back and forth, ignoring flickering yellow
lock-on warnings from her computer, Ami fought to keep Three in
her target box. Finger twitching as the box flickered yellow, then
turned bright red. She squeezed the firing stud just as red lances
caressed her fighter's rear shield, sending warnings flashing across
the controls.
Blue Three lurched at the impact of
linked cannon fire, his rear shield buckling and then failing under
the second burst. He tried to spin away, but Ami was right there.
Firing again and again until the fighter in front of her seemed
to shudder once and then expand in a growing cloud of metal, plastic,
and freezing gasses. Then it was her turn to roll away, diverting
as much power as she dared from her cannons to bolster her weakened
shields. With any luck those TIEs would be in range, and be able
to distract Blue Flight from her for a few moments. It would be
all she'd need.
"Blue Flight. Tango Leader.
What's going on?"
"Tango, this is Blue Four. Two's
gone rogue on us. We've lost Blue Leader and. . ."
The com link hissed once and then
silent as lancing missiles from the escorting TIEs found Blue Four.
Switching back to missiles herself, Ami smiled thinly and began
locking on to Tango Leader. Although she didn't know everyone in
that squadron, she did know that Tango Leader liked to keep a close
control over her squadron's operations. Take her down, and they'd
be flailing like so many fightless Filgariss birds. Easy prey for
any Imperial pilot.
Just two missiles left. Pressing buttons,
she linked the two tubes. Knowing that two missiles wouldn't destroy
a Y-Wing. Just cripple it enough to finish with cannons. Now it
was a matter of staying away from the surviving fighter and keeping
those slow Y-Wings in easy missile range. A simple thumb motion
reduced her thrust, slowing the A-Wing just a shade. It would have
been easy to tell the flight computer to match speeds with her target,
but Ami liked doing the unexpected. Most Y-Wing drivers wouldn't
expect a high-speed pass.
The target box went from yellow to
green, and a simple squeeze sent her last two missiles flashing
on their way. Then it was up to full throttle and a sudden roll-away
from the main Y-Wing formation. With Tango Leader's position locked
in her target computer, it was a simple matter to slice back around
and make a single cannon run. Chopping the head off the striking
monster. Then, maybe, she would find out the reason behind this
sudden recall.
A single warning light flashed on
the far side of her console. Ami looked down, and cursed softly.
Damn! Talk about a bad time for a partial systems failure. It was
one of the circuits that channeled power from the engines to the
A-Wing's cannons. Normally a reasonably reliable component of this
finicky fighter, Ami guessed that some of the damage to the rear
shield might have managed to leak through. Either that or the New
Republic's precious Force had chosen this moment to bite her on
the ass. Looking at her glowing red meters, she did some quick thinking.
There was still enough charge in the guns to take out Tango Leader.
Then it would be up to the convoy escorts to finish things.
One burst changed the crippled Y-Wing
from a functional attack craft to an expanding ball of bits and
gasses. Dotted here and there with shreds of frozen flesh and blood.
But by then Ami had wheeled her wedge-shaped fighter away from the
growing battle. Away from the boxy Y-Wings and the darting balls
attacking them. Not used to seeing such battles from a distance,
she took a look back. Glad for once that these helmets weren't full
face. She could see the darting TIEs, see the lancing red and green
cannon bolts, without any tint to get in the way. It was an oddly
beautiful sight. Like watching flashing tikki-a flies on their nightly
courting dances. But these dances ended not in mating, but in death.
Shaking her head slightly, Ami chased such thoughts away and concentrated
on her run for the convoy's main body. Channeling all cannon energy
back to her engines. And waiting for her implant to speak again.
"Gemini 2. Control. Reinforcements
are one minute out. You will report to the hanger bay of the frigate
Retribution. Let nothing delay you."
Five
minutes later, still wearing her New Republic pilot's uniform and
soaked in sweat, Ami was standing at attention in one of the Retribution's
more isolated briefing rooms. Not wanting to meet the gaze of the
two men seated at the table before her. It was, she had learned,
never wise to lock eyes with your masters in Imperial Intelligence
until asked to do so.
"Commander Tarsor." The
speaker's voice was surprisingly pleasant. Like that of an old,
wise grandfather. "Please. Be seated. We have much to discuss."
Sitting down slowly, Ami still avoided
their eyes. That would be too much, too soon. "I serve the
Emperor."
"Yes. There is no doubt of that,
commander." It was still the grandfather talking, although
he didn't look old enough to have had children of his own, let alone
grandchildren. "Now, please relax."
"Yes, sir."
"Good." Grandfather leaned
back in his chair, a smile stretching the corners of his round face.
He looked more like a good-natured spice trader than a member of
Intelligence. The other one, who had yet to speak, was a different
story. He had the pinched face, the narrow cold eyes, that holos
always associated with Intelligence. And the same lack of words.
"Sirs, if I may be so bold.
What was the reason for my recall?"
"An excellent question. One
that may be answered in due course." It was the agent who spoke
this time, with a voice flat and devoid of all emotion. Ami realized
at once that it was computer-generated. For the first time she looked
closer, seeing that the pinching of his face came from surgical
scars and that at least one of his eyes was cybernetic. Not a caricature,
but rather a seasoned field agent. The realization made her even
more nervous.
"Of course, sir. My apologies."
"That was some outstanding flying
you did just to get here. Especially considering that you were in
one of those A-Wing scows."
"Thank you. I felt I had to
do something to break up that attack before reporting in."
"And if you hadn't been recalled?"
"I would have pressed on with
the attack as part of Blue Flight. Destroying the escorting TIEs
and then covering Tango Flight on their attack runs. As per standard
New Republic procedure."
"But you would have killed fellow
Imperial pilots." The field agent seemed to have taken over
the room, pushing his grandfatherly colleague aside with his presence.
"Yes, sir. If that's what the
mission required. Some must always sacrifice so that the Empire
can be strong once more."
"An admirable view, commander.
Assuming that it's your own."
Ami shot out of her chair, forgetting
for a moment where she was. "I have served the Empire loyally
for years! I have given up everything for the Empire. My family.
My career as an Imperial fighter pilot. My own face. Everything!
Who are you to question my loyalty?"
"Just your controlling officer.
Who may decide to forget your outburst."
"Of. . .of course sir. Please
forgive me." Ami sank back down into her chair, feeling her
palms growing slick with sweat. Realizing what she had just done.
"Now, why don't we all just
relax a bit?" Grandfather took control easily, demonstrating
that his was the higher rank, even if he lacked the battle scars
of the other agent. "Surely you can understand, colonel, that
Commander Tarsor might be a bit confused and upset by what has just
happened?"
"Of course." The agent
sank back himself, weariness showing for the first time in his badly-reconstructed
face. "But we must move on."
"Certainly. For starters, commander,
you were recalled for a specific reason. In addition to your normal
debriefing, of course. You had risen fairly high in the New Republic's
starfighter service, had you not?"
"Yes, sir. Second in command
of a squadron."
"Of course. But you also had
a hand in training and doctrine development." Without waiting
for her to answer, grandfather hurried on. "For both their
X- and A-Wing fighters. Things have changed since Endor. While we
have fighters coming into service that are greatly superior to the
X-Wing and the A-Wing, for the first time they have the advantage
in numbers. As well as resources. But we have something they lack.
Ruthlessness."
"But. . .my recall."
"Yes. I'm getting to that. You
see, we have managed to capture many examples of the various Rebel
fighters. Most intact. But we have lacked one thing until now. Someone
to train our pilots to think like the Rebels. To fly like them.
To look like them. At least, until the time comes to destroy them.
A wing of infiltrators, Commander Tarsor. Designed to tack onto
existing Rebel convoys. To drop into their patrol lanes. To move
unnoticed until the time comes to strike the death blow."
"I don't understand."
"Think about it, commander.
You've lived with those scum for some time now. You even helped
them develop their own fighter doctrine. If anyone knows how they
think, how they fight, it's you. We want you to help train our strike
forces. Consider it a request."
But Ami saw that it was an order.
Drawing herself up, she saluted in her best Academy form. "I
serve the Emperor!"
"That was never in doubt, commander.
That was never in doubt." Smiling, grandfather motioned for
her to take her seat again. "Of course, you'll have to take
some time to familiarize yourself with our new fighters and doctrine.
Maybe even participate in a few missions. Then you'll understand
the nature of the work ahead of you. Consider that your reward.
The Empire does not forget those who serve loyally in these difficult
times."
Once Ami saluted and left, bound for
her room in the restricted section of the frigate, the agent turned
to the grandfather. "Do you think we can trust her?"
"For now, at least. You know
these pilots, my friend. Always wanting to fly. But the little minx
does know how those Rebel bastards think. Better than we do, I'm
afraid."
"That may be. But can we trust
her to command the Infiltrator Wing?"
"I think so. We'll know more
later, but for now I think we can trust her. Her file shows that
she lacks any political ambition, and she's been away long enough
to be untainted by some of the rebellious former admirals that are
cluttering Imperial space at the moment. No, my friend. She's a
throwback. Like those youngsters that used to flow out of the Academy.
Fired with hope for their Emperor and belief in the Empire. What
she'll do when she sees what the Empire's become…well, if we
knew that we'd be sitting with the Directors and not out here on
Fleet duty."
"A good point." The agent
smiled, stretching the reconstruction around his mouth. "I'll
be sure to have my men watch her closely."
"Good. But if we're right about
this, we may have forged a weapon that will allow the Empire to
become great once more."
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