Mara had managed to wrangle her own thoughts and fears down into something more manageable fifteen minutes into the hyperspace jump when Hobbie started unclipping his flight harness. She glanced over at him with a puzzled look.
“Gonna talk to Celchu,” Hobbie explained simply as he reached forward and keyed primary control of the U-wing over to Mara’s side of the cockpit. “You’ve got the ship.”
“I’ve got the ship,” she echoed, hands still off the yoke. At faster-than-light speeds, the transport practically flew itself, but it was best practice to keep a pilot in the cockpit.
Hobbie doffed his flight helmet, stood, and dropped the helmet back in his chair.
Mara didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but the U-wing was cramped and hardly designed with privacy in mind. The empty, hard interior allowed voices to carry easily, and the rumble of the hyperdrive was low enough that it didn’t obscure their voices at all.
“You need to give me your blaster,” Hobbie said without preamble, and apparently as greeting.
“Seems a bit late to worry about disarming me,” Celchu said dryly. “Should’ve done that before I got on the transport.”
“I don’t want you to get shot by security on the Independence when we open the door.”
There was a faint rasp of metal on cloth, presumably the Alderaanian defector drawing his blaster.
“Thank you,” Hobbie said.
“You’re Derek Klivian, aren’t you? Deserted at Skystrike Academy?” Tycho’s voice was tired but held a note of genuine curiosity.
“There are only two kinds of people who call me that,” Hobbie said soberly. “Imperials who are trying to kill me, and my mother. Everyone else calls me Hobbie.”
Mara could barely hear a chuckle. “I’d best call you Hobbie, then.” There was a beat of silence as the former Imperial recalibrated. “So how did you do it?”
“Under fire from a very unhappy flight instructor, with Wedge Antilles and a Mandalorian infiltrator named Sabine Wren. She was a former Imperial herself, and walked back in like she belonged there to find us and get us out.” Mara could hear the faint pop of a cracked joint. “It was a messy few days. You?”
“The Accuser put in at Commenor, and I went dirtside for shore leave. Walked away after I made contact with an Alliance operative who put me in contact with someone further up the chain. Used every credit I had to get a seat on a transport to Dantooine.”
There was a long silence, long enough that Mara spared a glance back. Hobbie was sitting beside Celchu on the troop bench, both of them leaned back against the backrest. Celchu looked haggard, no doubt exhausted now that the adrenaline from the escape was ebbing away.
“So what was it?” Hobbie asked at last.
Tycho didn’t ask for clarification. “Alderaan. My family, my fiancé, they all…” his voice trailed off, and the silence lingered uncomfortably while Celchu struggled to compose himself. “I was talking to them. On the Holonet. When it happened.” The words came out haltingly. “I wasn’t blind. I didn’t think the Empire was great. But I thought it could be changed. After that, though…”
Hobbie grunted in acknowledgement. Mara fingered the pendant under her flightsuit.
“What’s going to happen now?” Celchu asked.
“Debriefing, I suppose,” Hobbie said. “General Rieekan will want to squeeze out everything you know and make sure you’re not a security breach in progress. After that, with your skills, I’d guess they’ll want to put you in a starfighter. Maybe even our squadron. We’re a new squadron and we haven’t even filled our roster yet.”
“Rogue Squadron,” Celchu said. “The kid up in the cockpit said you’re Rogue Squadron.”
Mara smothered the brief spike of irritation. If Rieekan puts him in a cockpit, he’ll learn quick enough I’m not some kid mascot for the squadron.
“Hardly a kid,” Hobbie said dryly. “She’s young, but she’s been training off and on for two years now as a combat pilot. Four confirmed TIE kills. And yesterday she was in a firefight with stormtroopers on Yavin IV.” He paused for a moment. “‘Course, this whole squadron looks pretty crazy.”
“Anyone else I might know?”
“Antilles is the executive officer.”
“He’s on more wanted posters than you are,” Celchu said dryly, his voice steadier now that the conversation was on professional ground. “Who’s the CO?”
“You wouldn’t know the name, but you’d know the reputation. He’s the one who made the kill shot on the Death Star a few months back.”
The silence stretched long enough that Mara risked another peek back. Celchu’s face was surprised as he processed the information. “That wasn’t Antilles? Or Garven Dreis? Or Antoc Merrick?”
“Wedge was wingman for that run. Dreis died a minute or two earlier after he missed the same shot. Merrick had died a week or so before at Scarif.” Hobbie shook his head. “No, the pilot who made the shot was an Outer Rim farmer. Nineteen years old. First time in a starfighter was the Death Star engagement, and his first time in a sim was just before that. His name’s Skywalker.”
Celchu’s mouth fell open. “An Outer Rim farmer blew up the Death Star.”
“The longer you think about it, the crazier it gets,” Hobbie said dryly. “Probably the best natural pilot I’ve ever met. Practically grew up in a T-16 Skyhopper, to hear him tell it, and it’s like he was born to fly.”
“You’re putting me on, aren’t you?” Celchu said after another pair of heartbeats.
Hobbie smiled at that. “No, no I’m not. Welcome to the Rebellion, Celchu.”
Luke Skywalker led the small formation of Rogues – three X-wings and a U-wing – through the magnetic containment field and down onto the deck of the Auxiliary Two hangar bay. New scorch marks decorated Puck’s fighter, though Luke was grateful the U-wing did not appear to have picked up any damage on the run. Colonel S’man was already fit to be tied. I can only imagine how much worse he’d be if we broke one of his ships.
“I’ll be back to handle post-flight, Artoo,” he told his astromech as he popped his canopy. One of the ground crew was already moving a ladder to his X-wing, but he waved it off and slid down from the fighter to land half-crouched on the deck, standing quickly.
General Rieekan and his security team were already marching into the hangar. Captain Bren Derlin was marching beside him, and they were trailed by a pair of aides in fleet lieutenant uniforms. Luke couldn’t identify either by name, but he was fairly certain at least one of them had been in the Great Temple on Yavin IV when he and Mara had gone back in for General Dodonna. Half a dozen men in security uniforms completed the group, each armed with an A280 blaster rifle.
The U-wing took a moment before the troop compartment door slid open, long enough for Luke to reach the craft. A blond man, maybe a few centimeters taller than Luke himself, led the way out, his hands clasped in front of him and his holster conspicuously empty. Hobbie was on the man’s left, and Mara was on his right, both flanking him a single step behind. He glanced over at Luke and offered him a nod before reorienting on General Rieekan and his team, walking at a steady pace that neither lingered nor appeared hasty.
“I’m Lieutenant Tycho Celchu,” he identified himself, “formally requesting asylum with the Rebel Alliance.”
Rieekan looked the man over, his expression sober. “General Carlist Rieekan,” he said in return, his tone formal. “Lieutenant Celchu, we will debrief you and question you before we adjudicate your asylum request.” The formality broke just a bit. “But unofficially, as one Alderaanian to another, welcome to the Rebellion. We have a lot to talk about, son.”
“Yes, we do, sir,” Tycho said with a nod.
Rieekan gestured, and Derlin stepped forward. “If you’ll follow me, Lieutenant,” he said. Tycho fell into step behind him, and the Alliance security personnel fanned out beside and behind him.
Luke waited until the general turned to him. “Mission successful,” he said.
“Any complications?” Rieekan asked.
“The Empire was on Dantooine and looking for Celchu. Hobbie had barely parked the U-wing when we had TIEs all over us. We extracted under fire, ran through some local canyons to the east of the rendezvous to shake pursuit, then burned for high orbit and jumped before the Empire could hit us with anything heavier than a few TIEs. We picked up at least one escort frigate and two corvettes in orbit, but they weren’t in position to intercept us.” Luke shook his head. “Not as clean as I would have liked, but we didn’t lose anyone and we got your defector out.”
“Thank you,” Rieekan said with a nod. “And I will stand by my word. Colonel S’man has been trying to cause trouble for you while you were gone, but he’s not getting much traction. Antilles has been recruiting more pilots for your squadron, too.” He frowned for a moment. “This Rogue Squadron you’re building. You had Dodonna’s approval and blessing. What are you trying to accomplish with it?”
Luke pursed his lips for a moment as he marshaled his thoughts. The topic wasn’t unfamiliar; he and Wedge had spoken about it long before he’d put forward a proposal for Dodonna. But how do I explain it to a senior officer who’s not a pilot?
“The Death Star battle was a disaster,” Luke said slowly. “Of the thirty fighters that went up, just three came back. Ninety percent casualties. And no one blinked, because we had to win that fight, or the war was over. What Wedge – Captain Antilles – and I want to build is a squadron that can tackle those critical missions for the Alliance without everyone paying in blood. It’s easy to say we want to build the best fighter squadron in the Alliance, but that’s not really the truth of it. We’re trying to build the squadron that can go anywhere, do anything that the Rebellion needs. So the next time there’s a threat that has to be handled right now, the mission isn’t accomplished by sacrificing a wing of pilots.”
“And how do you accomplish that?” Rieekan asked. “By poaching the best pilots in the Alliance? Weakening other squadrons?”
Luke shook his head. “No, sir. I mean, yes, we need very good pilots. But we want to try new tactics. New fighter doctrine. Maybe even cross-training on other starfighters. But if we’re doing all that, we need very good pilots, pilots who can adapt on the fly, or every experiment that doesn’t succeed ends in blood.”
Rieekan’s eyebrows lifted. “Commander, existing fighter doctrine was developed by veteran pilots who have seen more combat hours than your entire unit.”
“With respect, General, existing fighter doctrine hasn’t changed since the Clone Wars. And two decades ago, the war was two massive governments with major industrial bases with clones on one side and droids on the other. We’re fighting an insurgency with different fighters and people.” Luke shook his head again. “If there’s a better way, Wedge and I will find it.”
Rieekan studied the younger man for a moment, and Luke wondered if he’d overstepped. Then Rieekan offered the smallest of smiles. “I don’t know whether you’ll succeed, Commander, but I could use a squadron that’s willing to adapt to do whatever needs to be done. Now, officially, your squadron is still attached to Massassi Base under Jan Dodonna, but that won’t last much longer before the data catches up with it. You need a new chain of command for Rogue Squadron. Colonel S’man will, no doubt, push for Rogue Squadron to be moved to the Independence air wing. After all, for now at least that’s your base of operations.”
Luke nodded, finding no fault in Rieekan’s words.
“What I propose is to instead reassign Rogue Squadron directly to Alliance High Command. Which would mean you answer directly to me as a representative of High Command.” He turned and gestured around the hangar. “I don’t see any reason to pull you out of this hangar. You’d remain operationally independent of the air wing. I’m sure S’man will be unhappy about it, but as long as your squadron is making itself useful, his complaints won’t get anywhere.” Rieekan stared at the young squadron commander directly. “I want to make this clear, Skywalker. I’m not threatening your unit or your command. I think you and Antilles have potential to do important things for the Alliance, and this is a clean way to keep you and your squadron out of political infighting. But I’m not going to reassign your squadron without your go-ahead, because I don’t want to be fighting Princess Leia in council meetings because Commander Skywalker is unhappy.”
Luke’s lip twitched at that. “I doubt Leia would be concerned about that.”
“You’d be surprised, Commander,” Rieekan said dryly. “Take the night to think about it. Talk to Antilles. We’ll speak again tomorrow. I need to make arrangements to get your squadron more X-wings, anyway.”
“Sir?”
“Talk to Antilles,” the general repeated. “He’s been busy while you were gone.”
Rogue Territory had changed while Luke’s team was gone. Some of the empty crates had been replaced with real furniture, and a glimpse inside Luke’s own quarters showed the cot had been replaced with a larger-but-still-cramped bunk. Progress, he thought. More like actual assigned quarters than squatting.
Wedge was waiting for Luke in the Rogues’ common area. It now featured a pair of small tables, a mismatched set of chairs that included a Y-wing ejector seat that Luke was fairly certain he’d last seen on Yavin IV, and a stained, overstuffed, overlong sofa that absolutely had no place on a warship. Wedge was sitting at one of the small tables with a pair of pilots whom Luke didn’t recognize. Wes Janson was sprawled on the sofa with a satisfied grin. The new pilot, Karie Neth, sat on the floor with her back against the sofa, reading a datapad.
“Commander,” Wedge said, rising to his feet and offering a formal salute.
It was enough to bring a touch of blush to Luke’s cheeks. You’re an officer in the Rebel Alliance, Luke. Act like it. He returned the salute. “Captain.”
The other two pilots had risen and were saluting as well. Wedge turned. “With your approval, Commander, two new pilots for Rogue Squadron. Janson actually made himself useful and helped me sort through the ship’s records to find unassigned pilots.”
Wes’s lazy smile grew wider. “The last time Colonel S’man came stomping in here, we got a squadron name out of it. I want to see what we get next time.”
Luke studiously ignored him. “Who do we have, Captain?”
“Lieutenant Cesi Eirriss,” Wedge nodded first toward the green-skinned Twi’lek woman. “She’s made herself an absolute menace to the Empire.”
“And that was before I trained to fly X-wings, Commander,” the woman said slyly.
“Eirriss has the dubious honor of holding a doctoral degree from the University of Chandrila in political science,” Wedge said dryly. “The Empire was not a fan of her thesis.”
“One of the reasons I’m here,” Eirriss said. “Education is all well and good, but having knowledge isn’t worth much if I don’t put it to use.”
Luke returned her salute at last, studying the woman: attractive, green-eyed, cheerful, but clearly steel-spined. “Glad to have you, Lieutenant.”
“Most squadrons end up calling me ‘Doc’. I’m sure you can figure that out,” she said, her voice as dry as Tatooine sand.
Wedge gestured to the second pilot. “Lieutenant Zev Senesca.”
Luke returned his salute immediately, taking a moment to evaluate him. Wrinkles had started to tug at his skin, and his salt-and-pepper hair was clean but hardly youthful. His eyes make him look even older, Luke decided. He’s seen some action.
“Senesca spent some years gun-running for the Rebellion,” Wedge continued. “But he’s more interested now in active combat operations. He’s cleared his certification for the T-65, but his combat hours so far are all in Headhunters.”
“Glad to be here, Commander,” Senesca said, his voice having just a trace of roughness that Luke associated with either age or cigarros. “I’d like to have a permanent squadron for once.”
“My best friend spent plenty of time running guns. If you fly like a Rogue, I’m glad to have you,” Luke said with a smile.
Wedge offered a smile to the two new pilots. “We’ll start simulators soon, hopefully tomorrow. Your training and combat records look great, but we want to evaluate everyone and make sure they fit before we finalize the roster.” He spared a glance at Luke. “Though finalize sounds more formal than it is, given that we’ve been handed two combat missions in two days.”
Luke realized, for the first time, how tired he was. “Simulators tomorrow sounds great, unless we get handed another mission. But for now, welcome to the squadron.” He caught Wedge’s eye and jerked his head toward his office. “Chat?”
Wedge nodded and followed. “How did the mission go?” he asked quietly.
“Everyone came back intact. We got Celchu out. Some damage to Puck’s fighter.” He grimaced. “Sarkli chased kills during extract. We got out clean, but it could’ve been cleaner.”
“We’ll work on it,” Wedge promised. “You have to remember, Luke, the squadron’s been together less than a week. Even with veteran pilots, we need time to train before we can act like a squadron, and we’ve been in firefights twice in the last two days.” He shot Luke a sideways look as they entered the office. “How’d Jade do?”
“Fine,” Luke said with a shrug. “She let Hobbie do the talking on the comms. I don’t know much more than that, really. You’d have to ask Hobbie about it.” He offered a small smile. “Are we going to keep doing this?”
“Until we’ve actually had time to train the squadron, probably,” Wedge said with a wince. “You’re still not sure about Sarkli, and I’m still not sure about Jade.”
“Then we keep doing this in private until we’re both convinced.” Luke shrugged. “I’m trying, Wedge. And I know you are, too.”
“So what did you want to talk to me about? I assume there’s more than Sarkli on your mind.”
“We’ve still got S’man and the air wing hanging over our heads,” Luke said bluntly. “And Rieekan offered to solve the issue permanently for us.”
“Permanently?” Wedge frowned. “How?”
“Attaching Rogue Squadron to Alliance High Command, tasked directly.”
“Meaning we’d get orders directly from Rieekan.”
“For now, yes,” Luke agreed. “Though I have to imagine that would change.”
Wedge considered for a few moments. “That solves the immediate threat from S’man, more or less,” he said slowly. “Though it means we’d be more exposed politically. If High Command decides we’re not worth the resources, they dissolve us directly. No one in the chain of command to deflect and keep us intact. Did you take his offer?”
“Not yet. I wanted to make sure you and I agreed before I made any decisions. Rieekan said he’d talk to us about it again tomorrow.”
“So we don’t make any decisions right now, but you and I meet and discuss this first thing in the morning,” Wedge said. “Luke, I signed up with the Rebellion to fight the war. But I’m a pilot, not a politician. If Rogue Squadron is attached directly to High Command, the politics might become inevitable.”
“Maybe. But that’s not really any different than our existence right now,” Luke pointed out. “Rogue Squadron exists because you and I blew up the Death Star and survived. When we asked to build a new squadron, they weren’t going to tell us no.”
Wedge grimaced.
“So, we sleep on it and decide tomorrow,” Luke agreed. “And if we agree, we go into it with eyes open. There’s always a string attached.”
“Sleep?” Wedge asked, his smile sardonic. “You actually do that?”
“Not very much,” Luke admitted. “I need to check on everyone who flew today’s op before I go pretend to sleep, anyway. You coming?”
Wedge waved him off. “You’re the boss. Just let me know if you need any follow-up from me.” He smiled. “I’ve got more datapad work to do. We’ve got a maintenance crew coming from the main hangar tomorrow to evaluate our X-wings. I swear, Skywalker, the next time we have a mission, I fly it and you can stay behind and fill out flimsi forms.”
“Wedge, Wedge, that’s what an executive officer is for.” Luke grinned. “See you in the morning, Captain.”