Luke and Wedge stood shoulder-to-shoulder just inside Auxiliary Two.
Two rows of six X-wings, a full twelve for a squadron. Gone were Luke and Wedge’s old Red Squadron markings, though the new red stripes were reminiscent of the Yavin group’s livery. The remains of other squadrons, of mismatched hull plates, all had been replaced by clean off-white paint with carefully applied red stripes up the fuselage and markings on the wings.
Luke sipped at the cup of caf, an unfortunate decision; it had cooled enough that now he could taste it. Still, the bitter taste did nothing to dispel the small but growing sense of admiration. We actually look like a squadron. Surprise warred with an unexpected pinprick of loss. My kill markings. He took another sip of the caf. I can always paint those back on.
“So when did it happen?” he asked conversationally.
“Last night, sometime after Hobbie left the hangar at 2200.” Wedge rubbed his jaw as he looked at the fighters.
“And you don’t know who did it?”
“Well, after I finally convinced S’man to check work orders for me to eliminate any of the maintenance crews, I narrowed it down to the squadron.” Wedge shook his head. “None of the astromechs had any knowledge of it. Or if they did, they’re keeping it to themselves.” He shot Luke a glance. “Your Artoo unit was not chatty.”
“I’m not sure if Artoo is trying to protect me or the X-wing,” Luke said dryly.
“Hobbie said he went to sleep, and I believe him. This is also far too much work for him to do on a whim; if he were going to paint the fighters, he’d recruit help.” Wedge’s recitation was clearly from memory.
He already worked all this out, Luke thought. Let’s see if he drew the same conclusion I did.
“Puck and Janson are both out,” Wedge continued. “If they had done it, at least one, if not all, of the X-wings would’ve been painted something ridiculous. Pink and green candy striping, maybe. Or bright orange from nose to tail.”
“That makes sense to me,” Luke agreed.
“Also not Eirriss’s style. She could give us an impromptu twenty-minute lecture on the symbolism of the squadron and particular markings, but she’s not going to sacrifice a night of sleep to make it happen just because she thinks it’s a good idea. Neth is too new. She’d be worried about how you and I would react to it, even if she thought it was a great idea. And Senesca isn’t the sort who’s worried about appearances. If he thought paint would keep one of our pilots alive, he’d be first in line with a brush and masking tape, but he’s too seasoned for that.” Wedge glanced at him again. “It wasn’t me. And it wasn’t you.”
“You’re sure?” Luke asked, hiding his smile behind the caf.
“Luke, your concerns are the pilots and the missions and the people we’ve saved. I think you like the squadron’s new paint, but you weren’t the one who did it.”
His grin didn’t fade. “Sometimes, Wedge, I’d swear you’ve known me for years, not months.”
“You’re not much for subtle or symbolic, Luke,” Wedge said dryly. “So that leaves…”
“Mara,” Luke finished. “That was my immediate thought when you told me someone had done unauthorized maintenance on the X-wings.” He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t put that on any report, did you?”
Wedge snorted. “Like I’d want to give Colonel S’man another concussion missile to fire at us.” He hesitated for a moment. “She painted over your kill markers. Including the Death Star marker.”
“I noticed.”
“And you’re okay with it?”
Luke hesitated before answering, marshalling his conflicted feelings and thoughts. “Every pilot who walked by my fighter saw that marker, Wedge, and knew exactly who and what it meant. The Hero of Yavin.” He made the epithet sound like a curse. “But Rogue Squadron doesn’t need the Hero of Yavin. We’re not trying to build a vanity project or a parade unit. And my X-wing doesn’t look like Red Five, the fighter that killed the Death Star; it’s Rogue Leader, and it belongs with the squadron. I’m a part of the squadron, not the whole thing.” He gestured broadly. “And these X-wings, including mine, all look the part now. We need the squadron, not the symbol.”
Several of the Rogues walked into the hangar, past Luke and Wedge – Hobbie, Mara, Cesi, and Wes.
“Mara,” Wedge said aloud. All four of them stopped. Wedge gestured with one finger, and Mara walked over while the other three continued further into the hangar, to the X-wings.
“Yes, Captain? Commander?” Mara said, tone both polite and questioning.
Wedge raised an eyebrow, looked at the X-wings, and back at Mara.
Mara looked at him guilelessly.
“You?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Why?”
“They looked unfinished.”
Luke tried to hide his smile.
“How many maintenance lockers did you raid for supplies for this little unauthorized art project?”
Mara’s expression was hard to read. “Two. First one didn’t have enough pigment.”
Wedge looked past her at the X-wings for long seconds, long enough for the silence to stretch into discomfort. Finally, his eyes came back to Mara. “They look good. Professional. Next time, requisition the supplies first.”
“The paint and tape were both already in the Aux Two maintenance lockers,” she had the gall to say.
Luke had to turn away and cough to keep from laughing. He could feel Wedge glaring at him while trying not to laugh himself.
“All right,” Wedge said after a moment. “One more thing, Flight Officer.” He leaned toward her, voice dropping. “You’ve still got a little red paint on your left hand. Clean up better after yourself. And next time, ask permission. Commander Skywalker would have given it to you.”
“Yes, sir,” Mara said, her tone uncertain.
She’s not sure whether she’s being praised or disciplined, Luke thought, doing his best to keep his face unperturbed and knowing he was likely failing.
“Dismissed,” Wedge said. When Mara had moved out of earshot, he shook his head and a chuckle escaped.
“We deserve this, Wedge,” Luke said, his mouth finally curving up at the corners. “We did name the unit Rogue Squadron.”
Immediately after the security lockdown lifted, a runner had delivered a datacard to Mara in Rogue Territory. She’d slipped it in her pocket and it had sat there like a ten-kilo stone. She’d tried to ignore it while doing some basic work on her X-wing and astromech, just a systems check to make sure no new problems had arisen during the week the T-65Bs had been parked. In the cockpit, she was tempted to pull it out and examine the contents, but she resisted. I already know what’s on this.
She decided not to put it off any longer and, when Wes started in on a story about the Tierfon Yellow Aces, she slipped back to her quarters.
In the Rogues’ common area, the lockboxes they’d used for personal effects and weapons were stacked up on a table. Mara snagged the one she had sealed herself and retreated into her quarters. Inside, she locked the door before setting the lockbox on her bunk and opening it with her thumbprint.
Her DL-18 blaster came out first, holstered and wrapped in her belt. She checked to make sure the blaster would slide free, checked the charge, and finally tucked the bundle under her bunk within easy reach if she were lying down.
The only other item in the box was the lightsaber. I expected questions about this. What does General Rieekan know? she wondered uneasily. Or Skywalker?
She bit her lip. Sooner or later, someone is going to start asking questions. Or someone will come looking. She opened a drawer, pulled out her pilot duffel, found the oiled cloth, wrapped the hilt, and tucked it all away again. I don’t know why I keep this. It’s nothing but trouble.
Mara shook her head. You know exactly why you haven’t gotten rid of it, or even given it to Hera to hold onto.
Her effects resecured, she finally pulled the datacard out of her pocket, slotted it into her datapad and found exactly what she’d expected: a holographic message, hidden behind an encryption code. It didn’t take long for Hera to find me. I’m surprised she hasn’t parked the Ghost in Aux Two.
Mara keyed in the decryption key shared by the Ghost crew and, a few moments later, the hologram hummed to life over her datapad.
Exactly as she expected, the image was of Twi’lek hero, Rebel general, resistance pilot, and self-appointed guardian, Hera Syndulla. “Mara,” the pre-recorded hologram greeted her warmly. “I’m sorry I lost track of you during the Yavin evacuation. I was even more surprised when I heard your voice on the fighter comms, flying with Wedge’s new squadron.” Her voice hardened. “I expect he and Hobbie are still holding to the terms we agreed on for training you.”
The Twi’lek hesitated for a long moment. “General Rieekan sent me a message asking for details about you and your service with the Rebellion and Phoenix. I gave him what he needed, and I personally vouched for you.” A smile touched her lips. “I doubt any of this surprises you.” The smile faded. “I understand you’re flying with Luke Skywalker. He’s a good man. Kanan would have liked him. But Mara, if the new squadron is too much, too…visible…” Hera’s voice trailed for a moment, “just say the word and I’ll accept your transfer to the Liberty‘s air wing. You can fly here, too, if you’d like. You can be closer to family.”
Visible, the word echoed in Mara’s mind. A memory, unbidden, floated up from the vaults she tried to keep locked. On Atollon, at Chopper Base, the Imperial blockade, the ground assault, and Grand Admiral Thrawn himself walking into the command center with a blaster trained on them as he’d looked at the gathered Rebels. “A pity Commander Sato did not survive for this moment. He was a worthy adversary.” His eyes flicked between them. “General Jan Dodonna. One of Commenor’s finest.” To Kanan. “The Jedi who has caused much consternation.” His eyes flickered past Mara, then back, with something like recognition in those alien red eyes. “The lost asset.” Finally, he looked to Hera herself. “And now, Captain Syndulla, I will accept your formal surrender. Or you will watch your friends perish, one by one, beginning with the Jedi.”
The lost asset.
Visibility is death, Mara.
“It’s your decision, Mara, but we’re here if you need us,” Hera finished. “I’ll be in touch when I can. I hope I hear from you soon.”
The image flickered and vanished.
Mara breathed, low and slow, eyes closed. “I’ll reply later,” she told herself quietly. “Not now.”
It was easier to tell herself later than maybe.
The afternoon was growing late when the four pilots gathered in the Rogues’ makeshift briefing room.
The chairs were uncomfortable, decoration was lacking entirely, but most importantly for Wedge’s purposes, the room featured a large holoprojector. Centered in the middle of a loose half-circle of chairs, the unit was likely older than any of the Rogues except Zev Senesca, but it was a high-resolution model suitable for detailed imaging.
The discussion was Wedge’s brainchild. He already knew the conclusions he had drawn, but this was about the squadron, not just himself.
Luke Skywalker was sitting closest to the holoprojector, unsurprisingly. He’s the unit commander and one of the best pilots I’ve ever met. He’s the most important person to convince, Wedge told himself. Skywalker is more instinctive than methodical. If I’m right, he’ll grasp this immediately and see the benefit.
Next to Luke was Derek Klivian. Hobbie’s been through the thick of it with me. He also trained at Skystrike with me. If there’s a weakness I’ve missed, he’ll see it.
And finally, next to Hobbie, was Mara Jade. And she’s here because of Ralltiir.
“What’s this about, Wedge?” Luke asked informally.
Wedge smiled. “Always good to have a shill in the audience.” He flicked the holoprojector on, the unit humming, image distorted as it warmed. “I’m pretty sure you can get credits for that in the civilian job market.”
“Not on my homeworld,” Luke deadpanned.
“We’re here to talk about fighter doctrine. Squadron doctrine. Engagement doctrine.” Wedge forced himself to focus and pace his words. Make the case. Don’t rush it.
The hologram finally settled into coherence, almost laughably simple: three simple triangles, arranged as a three-ship element. Wedge glanced down, tapped a button on his datapad, and three more elements appeared, twelve triangles in all, arranged line abreast. “Standard starfighter combat doctrine,” Wedge said. “A standard squadron size for the Rebel Alliance and the Empire alike is twelve fighters. During the Clone Wars, it actually varied depending on the unit, anywhere from nine to twenty-one fighters. The Separatists liked larger squadron sizes.” He looked from the hologram to the pilots. “This is the basic doctrine all pilots train, Imperial and Rebel alike. Hobbie and I have gone through both.”
Hobbie grunted an assent.
Wedge zoomed in on a single three-ship element again. “The basics are simple. An element leader at the point, one wingman to port, one wingman to starboard. The leader picks a target, all three fighters fire on it. It’s proven, it’s standard, and it’s horrible for our purposes.” He didn’t give it time to sink in. “Ralltiir showed us how fragile it is.”
He looked straight at Mara, who had gone motionless.
The image shifted, a larger cylinder added with the triangles. “On Ralltiir, because of the limited number of fighters available, Commander Skywalker bent the doctrine a bit. Instead of a proper focused fire, he assigned both wingmen a zone to protect on the run out of atmosphere. It was a clever solution for the problems imposed by the limitations of only having a single element. But it broke because one of the wingmen turned traitor.”
He looked at Mara again. “The Bright Wake should’ve been hit and forced down. As a wingman in the element, what was your job?”
“To keep position and take targets as assigned,” Mara said flatly.
“Yes. That was Sarkli’s job, too. And Luke’s job was to position the entire element appropriately and issue orders.” Wedge shook his head. “And no one had the responsibility of keeping an eye on the wingmen. They should call for help as needed, but no one’s actively covering them.”
“I saw Sarkli’s nose turn in,” Mara commented. “It looked wrong, and I was already reacting when he fired the torpedoes.”
“Right,” Wedge agreed, “but that wasn’t your job. I’m grateful you caught it, and everyone on the Bright Wake owes you their lives because you saw it in time. But that was chance, and we can’t build a squadron out of chance.”
“If the three-ship element is so bad,” Hobbie said slowly, “why does everyone use it?”
Wedge snorted. “The fourth day of working on this was when I figured that out. From the history I learned at Skystrike, I had assumed it went back to the Clone Wars. Turns out, it was maybe fifteen years before that.” He looked down at his datapad but didn’t manipulate the hologram. “Back in the last few decades of the Old Republic, some of the biggest corporations and trade guilds and unions were running their own private militaries. Droid starfighters were extremely popular at the time because they didn’t require paying pilots. The whole system was designed around central computer control.”
Luke frowned. “So it was…what? Easier?”
“More efficient. I found a surviving manual on it in the Independence‘s databanks. Running three droid starfighters in a three-ship formation required something like fifty percent less processing power than running them as three separate fighters. Plus, a three-droid element was enough firepower to bring to bear on targets of the era to ensure a quick kill.” Wedge shook his head. “Corporate efficiency built the fighter doctrine everyone is still using.”
“And it survived the Clone Wars?” Luke asked, some interest bleeding into his voice.
Wedge couldn’t help his own smile. Get the farmer talking about fighter combat and he’s all-in. “The Separatists were relying on droid starfighters and never adjusted the programming. The Republic built its flight elements the same way. For almost all of the Clone Wars, fighters were used as force multipliers in fleet engagements. The focus was on warships and dreadnoughts, not fighter-scale engagements.”
“But that’s not how the Alliance fights,” Mara said slowly. “Rogue Squadron has been flying unsupported missions. The only time the Rebellion has brought capital ships to a brawl was at Scarif, and that was a disaster.”
“Right,” Wedge agreed. “We only have a handful of Mon Calamari cruisers, and they’re almost impossible to replace. We don’t bring them to an engagement unless we have no other choice.” He looked down at his datapad again. “Which means we’re still flying a doctrine for the last war, not the war we’re actually trying to fight.”
“What’s the alternative?” Luke said, more than a bit of eagerness in his voice.
Wedge smiled and tapped a button. The image shifted, all twelve triangles on display again. Another button press later, the twelve rearranged themselves; instead of four three-ship elements, they resolved into six two-ship elements. The elements themselves paired off; two elements, or four ships, at each point of a triangular formation.
“At Skystrike we studied fighter deployment theory,” Wedge continued. “Before the Clone Wars, starfighters were considered a dead-end for waging open warfare, but they were the best tool available for planetary militia and defense dealing with marauders and pirates and smugglers. The second-most common deployment for pre-war militia was the two-ship element. A leader and a wingman.” He tapped another button, and the image zoomed in on one of the four-ship groups. “The wingman is responsible for the leader, but the leader is also responsible for the wingman. The actual role of leader and wingman can shift in combat, based on positioning and situation.” He looked from the hologram to the pilots. “In a two-ship element, the wingman is far more active and looser than in a three-ship element. The wingman is unlikely to be shooting at the same target as the leader.”
“Which reduces firepower on target,” Hobbie commented.
“Right, but we’re focusing on fighter-to-fighter combat,” Luke said slowly. “We don’t need more than one X-wing’s worth of guns pointed at a TIE fighter. Even if the wingman isn’t shooting at all, a twelve-ship squadron flying three-ship elements means it has four tactical units on the board. A twelve-ship squadron flying two-ship elements has six.”
“And the wingman is looser,” Wedge agreed, “which means, with practice, you can do a lot more combined maneuvers. We’ve practiced basic tactics like bracketing an enemy element with two of our own to force them to commit; under two-ship elements, a single element would do the same thing with just two fighters instead of six.”
Hobbie frowned. “What’s to stop an Imperial from splitting up his three-ship group to focus two fighters on one of ours and one on the other?”
“In theory, nothing.” Wedge acknowledged it with a nod. “The difference is that we’re actually training for this, not improvising it.”
Luke rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And you put two flight elements together?”
“For mutual support, yes, and for combining fire when we need to hit bigger targets: freighters, corvettes, space stations.”
“And if leader and wingman are responsible for each other,” Mara said slowly, “someone attempting what Sarkli did at Ralltiir would be caught out without luck.”
“That’s the idea. I hope we never have to test that in practice.”
“Still twelve fighters. Just arranged differently.” Luke was clearly intrigued. “This is a big break from standard Alliance Starfighter Command doctrine.”
“General Merrick and Commander Dreis put the standard doctrine in place, but they were doing what almost everyone does. Preparing to fight the last war.” Wedge shrugged. “I won’t pretend this is straightforward or necessarily better. But I’m not asking Colonel S’man for permission.” He locked eyes with Luke. “Commander, I’m asking your permission.”
“You can train it?” Luke asked cautiously.
“I’ve been working through the basics of how I think it should work,” Wedge hedged, “but yes, I think we can train it.”
“If we do this, how long is it going to take? And how do we pair pilots?”
That question brought Hobbie and Mara’s attention squarely on Wedge. “I don’t know how long it will take,” he admitted. “The more time we can carve out, the better, but this is experimental. Weeks, minimum. Months, more likely, if we’re going to do it properly. And even then, we’re going to make mistakes and have to adjust.” He shrugged. “As far as pairing pilots, that’s what training is for. We’re going to need to cycle pilots together to see who flies well with whom. I don’t even have a tentative roster on that right now.”
Luke’s eyes were bright. “Then let’s experiment. How long will it take to finish familiarization with our newer pilots on the X-wings?”
Wedge shrugged. “Probably two days of intensive sims for everyone currently on the roster. I’ll have a better idea on Celchu once we’ve had time to run him through a sim tomorrow.”
“Not tomorrow. Tonight,” Luke corrected.
“What’s the rush?” Hobbie asked.
“Rieekan is desperate for pilots, and we’re racing against the clock to build something new.” A smile touched Luke’s lips. “And a week of being stuck on the Independence has been enough to make me want to volunteer to fly patrols for S’man. I want to get back in my X-wing, not just a simulator, but if we’re doing that we’ll want to take everyone on the roster.”
Wedge nodded. “Familiarization, then the real thing.”
“Exactly.”
Mara was studying the formation closely. “I like this,” she said at last. “Mutual support and accountability.”
No more missions like Ralltiir, Wedge interpreted.
“I’ll write something up for Rieekan,” Luke said. “It’ll tide him over until we have this built and tested.” His smile now was broad. “Great work, Wedge.”
“Thanks, Luke,” Wedge said with a dip of his head and relief unclenching his chest. This is the tool Rogue Squadron needs, he told himself. The tool for the war we’re fighting.