General Rieekan himself escorted Tycho Celchu to Rogue Squadron.
Remember, these are the people who pulled you off Dantooine, Tycho told himself as he followed the general through the corridors of the Mon Calamari cruiser. Make a good impression.
He didn’t find his own direction to be convincing, most likely because he didn’t really feel anything at all. Not anger, not rage, not despair, not sorrow – just an all-consuming numbness with a touch of unreality.
Tycho’s surreal feeling wasn’t helped by the flimsiplast sign posted at the end of a corridor with handwritten block letters: ROGUE TERRITORY, with a smaller add-on in a different set of handwriting underneath it scrawled Trespassers will be mocked.
He stopped for a moment and re-read the sign. What sort of unit am I signing up for? he wondered, then caught a hint of a smile on Rieekan’s face.
“At this point, the air wing commander is trying to keep Skywalker’s unit quarantined away from his pilots,” Rieekan said dryly.
“I can only imagine,” Tycho said, shaking his head. “If someone had put up a sign like this on the Accuser, he’d be on report before the day was over.”
“You’ll find we do things differently. Though how much of that is Commander Skywalker’s idea, and how much of it is Lieutenant Naeco and Lieutenant Janson, remains to be seen.” He gestured to Tycho. “Let’s meet your squadron.”
The corridor had four doors on either side of it, with handwritten nametags, a clear indication that the rooms beyond were quarters for members of the squadron. The doors nearest the flimsiplast sign showed Skywalker and Antilles. Next in line was a tag that had been blacked out; across the corridor from it was Klivian. Further down, Jade and Naeco, then Janson and Eirriss. Then the corridor ended in a much larger room with a jumble of furniture: an overstuffed sofa, mismatched chairs and tables, an entertainment holoprojector, and a caf maker clearly labeled Property of Independence Air Wing space-taped to the wall. Three more corridors branched away from the common room, running in different directions; one clearly terminated in a hangar, with the nose of a starfighter visible perhaps fifty meters away through an open hatch.
A handful of Rogue pilots were present in the common area: a Twi’lek woman glued to a datapad but engaged in a barbed exchange with a handsome, loudmouthed pilot whose dark hair was too shaggy for Imperial regulations; beyond them, sitting at a table with an unmistakable smirk, was a third dark-haired man watching the pair with clear interest. The dark-blond pilot from the U-wing – Hobbie, he wanted to be called Hobbie – sat on the sofa with a cup of caf in hand and an exasperated look on his face. Next to him, her expression focused as she reassembled a blaster currently lying in pieces on a side table, was a girl with red-gold hair and green eyes. No, not a girl. Young woman. She’s the one from Dantooine, he realized belatedly.
The shaggy-haired man and the Twi’lek were arguing. “No, I did not replace your political treatise with Fifty Shades of Ryloth. Yes, it’s funny, but I don’t have a copy!”
General Rieekan cleared his throat.
Pilots turned, jumped to their feet, snapped salutes.
Rieekan gravely returned the salute. “Where are Skywalker and Antilles?”
Hobbie spoke, his tone flat. “Hangar.”
Rieekan frowned and continued through the Rogues’ lounge, Tycho in tow.
Skywalker and Antilles were indeed in the hangar, standing over a green-and-white R5 astromech. A blue-and-white R2 unit was nearby, its whistling completely indecipherable to Tycho but carrying a tone that he’d swear was unhappy. Nearby were two more pilots Tycho didn’t recognize: a woman perhaps a year or two older than the young woman on Dantooine, and an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and the weight of at least a decade of flying on his shoulders.
All four of the pilots snapped to attention when they spotted Rieekan.
“Commander. Captain.” Rieekan nodded at each in turn. “Lieutenant Tycho Celchu, formerly of the Imperial TIE corps.”
The younger of the two men, tanned, blond, slim, blue-eyed, but with the sort of muscular physique visible even under the loose uniform that spoke of hard manual labor, stepped forward and offered a handshake instead of a salute. “Luke Skywalker,” he identified himself. “I’m glad to finally meet you. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself when we got you back to the Independence.”
Tycho took the offered handshake. “The pleasure is mine, Commander. I owe you for getting me off Dantooine.”
Skywalker shook his head. “The information you brought was more than enough payment for that.” He met Tycho’s gaze evenly. “TIE pilot? Have you flown anything Incom?”
“Not much,” Tycho admitted. “We trained and flew Z-95 Headhunters in the simulators on Prefsbelt IV, but that was part of a familiarization exercise so we understood how our opponents flew and maneuvered. I haven’t sat in a real Incom cockpit.”
“We’ll have some familiarization work to do, then,” the other young man said, his accent Corellian. Tycho studied him for a moment, and the Corellian caught him looking. “Do I look like the wanted holos?”
Tycho snorted. “I wouldn’t know. I heard your name, and Klivian’s, plenty of times after you jumped ship at Skystrike. I used to think you took the coward’s way out.” His expression hardened, but no ache surfaced, just the all-consuming numbness. “Then Alderaan happened.”
Antilles nodded. “Sometimes the truth is hard to swallow because you’re too invested in the lie,” he said quietly, no condemnation in his tone. “I had no real love for the Empire when I signed up, and the few people left in my life told me it was a bad idea. I get it.”
“You want to fly with Rogue Squadron?” Skywalker asked, a quietly hopeful note audible in the question.
“I’d like to fly,” Tycho said, “and General Rieekan thought I would fit here.”
“We’ll need to get you checked out on the sims and run you through an X-wing familiarization program,” Antilles noted, “but we could use you. We’re still building the squadron out to full strength, and a veteran pilot would be a great help.”
Tycho hesitated a moment. “My Imperial background isn’t going to be a problem, is it?”
Antilles snorted. “Hardly. Don’t misunderstand; most of the pilots in the squadron have personal reasons to dislike the Empire, but they’re not going to take it out on you.”
“You’re fighting for your own ideals now,” Skywalker added. “It will feel different. It will take time. But we’re glad to have you.”
Tycho nodded slowly. “I guess we’d better get me assigned quarters and introduce me to the rest of the squadron.”
Rieekan looked at the green-and-white astromech, then back at Skywalker. “This is a training droid, isn’t it?” he asked. “Are you having trouble getting proper astromechs requisitioned for your squadron?”
Skywalker shook his head. “The Rogues have been grounded for a week,” he said. “Yes, we’re short on droids, but Wedge and I were discussing a training flight. Live flight, not simulators,” he clarified. “Given the security review and what happened with Sarkli, Colonel S’man was unhappy with the first training plan we filed with the Independence traffic controllers. We were looking at restricting our X-wings to a training setup for our first exercise – laser cannons on low power, no torpedoes, and training astromechs without long-range nav capability.”
Rieekan grunted. “That would prevent just about anything short of a pilot trying to ram someone with their X-wing.”
“Simulators are all well and good, but the Rogues are climbing the bulkheads,” Skywalker said with a small smile.
Rieekan frowned. “You don’t answer to S’man, Commander.”
“No, but we’re operating off the ship where he’s responsible for ensuring traffic safety,” Skywalker pointed out. “A little compromise here won’t hurt us and maybe earn us some goodwill. Colonel S’man isn’t our enemy, General, not really.”
Tycho felt a small pang of confusion. I can’t imagine a squadron commander in the TIE corps making changes to his training plans to accommodate someone completely outside his own chain of command. How does the Rebellion fight like this?
“Proceed as you see fit, Commander Skywalker, but if you need me to push back to ensure your squadron can train, let me know,” Rieekan said at last. “The new tactics you and Antilles are suggesting look promising. I’m not convinced your squadron can actually fight this way, but I do think it’s worth the attempt.”
“Thank you, General,” Skywalker said. “Wedge, do you want to get Tycho set up with quarters? I’m going to take Zev and Karie over to the simulator bay.”
Antilles nodded. “Come with me, Lieutenant,” he said. “We’ll get you settled in and sweep your quarters for sabotage.”
Tycho raised an eyebrow. “Sabotage?”
“Naeco,” Antilles said dryly, as if the name explained everything. “I’ll catch you up on what you need to know about your new squadron before we run you through X-wing orientation tomorrow.”
The simulator pod was convincing enough that Karie Neth felt like she was really strapped into the cockpit of a T-65 X-wing.
“This is the last mission in your familiarization sequence,” Commander Skywalker’s voice said calmly in her ear as the displays lit, surrounding her with a simulacrum of hyperspace. “Zev, are you online?”
“Waiting, sir,” Zev drawled calmly.
“Your final mission for the familiarization run is the three-to-one odds dogfight against TIE fighters,” the commander’s voice continued. “But with Rogue Squadron modifications. You’ll be flying as a two-ship element instead of a three-ship. You’ll be engaged by six TIE fighters. Destroy both TIE elements and survive. You have command of your element.”
Karie swallowed. “Why not a three-ship element?”
Commander Skywalker sounded amused. “Life is change, Karie. You’ve got thirty seconds before reversion.” The channel clicked and the commander was gone.
I have command. She swallowed again. “Blue Leader, Blue Two, report status,” she said with only a bit of waver.
“Blue Two, Blue Leader. Fully armed and ready. Shields green. Weapons green. What’s our play?”
Karie watched the seconds tick down on her in-flight clock. “This sim throws the TIEs at us in waves, not all six at once. Proton torpedoes for the first wave,” she decided. “I break left, you break right. We target the TIE on our side of the formation. Whoever the middle TIE turns toward turns away. The unthreatened X-wing goes for the kill.”
“Copy, Blue Leader.” Zev’s tone was unflappable.
Karie closed her eyes and willed some of her wingmate’s steadiness into her own brain.
The timer hit zero, and hyperspace dissolved into star lines, then small, pinprick stars. Her astromech whistled a warning, painting TIEs on her HUD. “First wave, twenty seconds out,” Karie warned. “S-foils to attack position. Remember, break and bracket their formation.” Her actions followed her words, her X-wing cutting to port for several seconds even as Zev broke to starboard, putting hundreds of meters between them before they reoriented on the TIEs.
The TIE formation had shifted, all three of the fighters orienting on Zev. Karie shifted her weapons control over to proton torpedoes, the targeting computer flickering and beeping as it tried to lock onto her selected TIE. The reticle finally turned red and she fired, loosing one warhead toward the TIE formation.
A split-second later, Zev also fired a proton torpedo, then turned, his engines flaring brightly as he firewalled his throttle. The TIEs banked after him, their formation losing some of its cohesion through the maneuver.
Karie’s torpedo caught her target squarely in the middle of its right solar array, the panel shattering before the explosion consumed the fighter. Zev’s torpedo, unfortunately, overshot its target, banking around as it tried to maneuver back into a collision.
She glanced at her rangefinder and allowed herself a wince. Bracketed too wide. This shot is going to be long. With no better option available, she settled her target pipper on the lead TIE and squeezed the trigger. The X-wing’s guns fired in rapid staccato sequence, unleashing an intimidating hail of red laserfire. The lead TIE broke away, off of Zev’s tail; his wingman followed, still holding formation.
“Zev, reverse,” Karie called. “They’re coming around.”
“Twenty seconds to next wave,” Zev said tightly, his X-wing banking hard, shedding speed to bring the nose around more quickly.
The lead TIE settled in for a head-to-head with Karie. “Shields double-front,” she ordered her droid, nudging her sights onto the TIE. At maximum range, she started firing again, a steady-but-inaccurate rain of deadly plasma.
Return fire from the TIEs splashed against her shields, but the doubled-up protection deflected it away long enough for Zev’s tardy torpedo to finally catch up with the wingman. The TIE exploded in an argent ball of fire, and the third TIE, buffeted by the blast, tried to break away. Karie pounced, closing to nearly point-blank range as the TIE tried to slip past her but instead got a full burst from her X-wing’s guns at eighty meters away.
“Second element is on us!” Zev called, strain in his voice.
Karie banked after him, saw his X-wing dancing among an emerald firestorm as all three of the TIEs opened fire on him. Karie firewalled her throttle, X-wing leaping forward, closing fast.
Too fast.
She managed a snap shot on one of the TIEs, the blast shearing through a strut and sending the Imperial fighter spiraling away, out of control and out of the fight, but then she was past them. Both TIEs broke off of Zev and latched onto her tail. “Zev!” she called tightly, a cry for help in only one word, as she banked her X-wing port and starboard, trying to force the TIEs to overshoot.
A stray blast caught her X-wing, and a whine ran through the spaceframe, more felt than heard. “Shields double aft,” she bit out. Stupid, didn’t correct them before I engaged. A red light blinked on her board; the lower starboard laser cannon showed a fire control malfunction. No time for that.
One of the TIEs finally overshot, but it was in and out of her gunsights too fast for Karie to squeeze the trigger. The other exploded; Zev came up behind her, settling in on her wing.
The last TIE ran.
Karie stared at the retreating dot for a long moment. “Let it go,” she decided. “Arfive, give me our return hyperspace nav.” She brought the X-wing around, Zev on her wing, onto the appropriate course and engaged the hyperdrive. Instead of stars stretching into starlines, however, the canopy went black and, a moment later, rose to admit the harsh light of the sim bay.
“Sim complete,” Commander Skywalker said with a smile. “Good improvisation. And good instincts not to chase.”
“Did I pass?” Karie asked.
The commander laughed. “Yes, I’d say you passed. You did a great job adapting when I changed the parameters of the mission.” He offered her a sunny smile, and it occurred to Karie that he was no older than she was. “We’ll be going out in the real thing in a day or two. You’re ready for it.”
“Commander, why the change from a three-ship element to two-ship?” Zev asked from the next pod over.
“You saw the work Wedge was doing during lockdown,” Commander Skywalker said. “The X-wing versus TIE scenarios on the table? We’re going to train in two-ship elements, not three-ship.”
Karie frowned. “That’s not standard.”
“No, it’s not,” the commander admitted. “But Rogue Squadron isn’t a standard unit. We’re going to try new tactics and doctrine, figure out what works and what doesn’t, and hit the Empire with new strategy that they’re not ready for.” He smiled broadly. “Being able to think on your feet and adapt quickly will keep you and your squadron alive.”
Carlist Rieekan leaned back in his chair, fingers laced together, hands in his lap. “What do you think?”
The officers’ mess was nearly empty at the late hour, offering the two generals a modicum of privacy. Jan Dodonna was still studying the proposal intently. “Skywalker and Antilles continue to surprise,” he grunted, finally looking up. “After the battle of Yavin, I figured Skywalker could put together a decent squadron if he had Antilles to ground him in the procedure and paperwork that militaries run on. But I wasn’t expecting this.”
“The history portion of the proposal is definitely Antilles,” Carlist said. “That sort of military analysis looks more like Skystrike Academy than Tatooine farmer.”
“Agreed,” Jan said, “but some of the notes on this are definitely Skywalker. Antilles is a by-the-book pilot, even if that means he’s rewriting the book. This section on the trust requirements between pilots, and the importance of putting complementary pilots together is Skywalker. He’s got more of an eye for people than Antilles does.”
“Captain Antilles is learning that,” Carlist said.
“Oh, I’m aware. Antilles is under the impression that the only reason I assigned him as Skywalker’s executive officer is because Skywalker is inept at records and requisitions. But Skywalker inspires his people to do their best, and Antilles is learning that from Skywalker while Skywalker is learning structure and discipline from Antilles.” Jan offered him a smile. “I’m sure General Merrick wouldn’t be happy with this proposal.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t. But Antilles is persuasive.”
“So, you’re going to let them proceed with this experiment?” Jan asked.
“With your approval, yes.”
“You hardly need my approval.”
“Technically, no. But you know both Skywalker and Antilles better than I do, and you were the one who authorized the creation of this Rogue Squadron.”
Jan laughed, finally setting the datapad down. “Is Colonel S’man still fuming?”
“He’s filed three separate complaints about the unit since his first encounter with them.” Carlist smirked. “Insubordination, threatening a superior officer, immediate harm to discipline and morale.”
“Is that all?” Jan asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, no, that was just the first complaint. The second was quite a bit meatier after the debacle with Lieutenant Sarkli and the disaster at Ralltiir.” Carlist rubbed his eyes wearily. “The security review cleared Skywalker’s unit without me having to put a thumb on the scale, though some of Skywalker’s command decisions have been unorthodox.”
“Unorthodox?” Jan asked.
“The oddest was during the evacuation of Massassi Base. When he landed to come back into the Great Temple to get you out, he took Flight Officer Jade with him instead of Lieutenant Sarkli.”
“After what happened on Ralltiir, that hardly seems odd.”
“But how did he know?” Carlist asked. “Sarkli’s record was as a Pathfinder. Skywalker had no reason not to take him – he was right on Skywalker’s wing opposite Jade. Hell, he could’ve taken both of them.”
Jan studied his glass, swirling the contents idly. “He’s a Skywalker, but he’s not a Jedi. At least not yet. But maybe…”
“The Force?” Carlist asked with raised eyebrow. “I’ve considered it. And maybe he did know at some level. But I don’t know how that works.”
Jan studied his glass longer, taking a drink before answering. “I knew some Jedi during the Clone Wars. They issued orders that didn’t make sense sometimes. But afterward, when the smoke cleared, we could see that the Jedi made the right call.”
“So what? We trust Skywalker’s judgement blindly?”
“No,” Jan said immediately. “It won’t come to that. Antilles will keep him in line.” He smiled again. “So yes, I’d say you authorize their experiment. Their arguments aren’t without merit, but we won’t know for sure until it’s tried in combat.”
Carlist nodded. “I’ll approve their training exercises, then.” He yawned. “Tomorrow they’ll be running Celchu through an X-wing familiarization course. The day after they’ll likely be running exercises in real space. Skywalker and Antilles are both eager to get back in the real cockpit.”
Jan snorted. “They’re pilots. That’s hardly surprising.”
“Skywalker signed off on the two pilots I recommended, so they’re en route now. They’ll be here in less than a week.”
“They’re going to need time to train,” Jan pointed out.
“I’ll give them what I can afford,” Carlist answered. “But the Alliance needed them active a week ago already.”
“They’re forging a new blade. If you don’t give them time to temper it properly, it’ll shatter when stressed.”
Carlist frowned. “A pretty metaphor, but we’re also fighting a war. I need them combat-ready.”
“Then give them time to become the weapon you need,” Jan urged.
“I’ll consider it.” He took the datapad back from Jan, affixed his signature, and transmitted the approval.