Red Group reverted from hyperspace at exactly twenty-one minutes, eight seconds.

Wedge double-checked his scopes reflexively. All six X-wings had successfully made the transition, and the Luminous was already a half kilometer ahead and below their formation. Luke led the formation in a leisurely cruise toward their destination, the Mon Calamari-built cruiser Independence. “Independence flight control, this is Massassi Red Group,” Skywalker’s voice crackled across the open channel. “We’re escorting transport Luminous with General Dodonna aboard. Requesting clearance for landing.”

“Stand by, Massassi Red Group,” a harried voice answered a few seconds later. “We’ve been overrun by evacuees here. Is there anyone behind you?”

“Negative, Independence. We were the last out of Yavin system,” Luke said.

Wedge switched his broadcast to squadron-only. “Red Group, report in by fighter status. We need any damage you’re aware of and remaining consumables.”

“Red Six,” Hobbie reported first, “no torpedoes left, fuel gauge is at sixty, and no major damage. Scoring on one of my s-foils but my droid says it’s cosmetic only.”

The rest of the group reported in, with Luke reporting last and Wedge taking notes on a datapad and beginning to plan.

“Massassi Red Group,” the flight controller called again, “transport Luminous is clear for docking in primary hangar. Fighter group, please redirect to Auxiliary Hangar Two. We’re broadcasting approach data now. We don’t have support crew in the hangar, but we’ll get them to you when we can. For now, get your fighters inside and shut it down.”

“Thank you, Independence. We’re beginning our approach now,” Luke replied.

Luke led the squadron through the requested approach to the designated auxiliary hangar, giving Wedge enough freedom to observe the star cruiser as they headed into safety.

Currently the largest cruiser in the Rebel fleet, the Independence was roughly three kilometers of Mon Calamari engineering. Originally built as a starliner, the Independence had been one of the earliest Mon Calamari ships refit for war. Refit with fabulous shields, armor, turbolasers, and capable of fielding ten squadrons of fighters, she was also theoretically the biggest weapon in the Rebel fleet. In practice, however, the Alliance simply couldn’t use the mighty warship to her full capabilities. Wedge knew from the Yavin IV squadron rotations that the Independence‘s practical air wing strength was four squadrons on its best day, but maintenance and pilot shortages meant three squadrons was a more realistic number. Her hull was capable of supporting far more Alliance personnel than the Rebellion could afford to post there, leaving large sections of the ship virtually empty.

That suited Wedge just fine.

Her sister ship, the Home One, was still undergoing refits at a hidden shipyard and was slated to take up the role of flagship. From what Wedge had gathered, most of the members of Rebel High Command were already there, protected both by the secrecy of the refit shipyard’s location and by the firepower and defenses of the headquarters vessel.

The Independence, along with the Defiance and Liberty, would no doubt vanish into the hyperlanes again now that the Yavin evacuation had been completed. Support ships cruised in a loose, slow formation around the warship. A trio of Corellian CR90 corvettes rode high cover, while a pair of Sphyrna corvettes held formation two kilometers on the other side of the Independence. Closer to the MC80a were a pair of Nebulon-B frigates, one equipped for war, the other configured as a medical support ship. A Quasar Fire-class light carrier was the final vessel in the task force, which struck Wedge as odd. Why have a starfighter carrier with the Independence when she already has more hangar space than she can use? This is why I stick to small-unit tactics and strategy.

Auxiliary Hangar Two was, as advertised by flight control, completely empty. The big hangar doors slid ponderously open as the X-wing squadron approached, internal lights brightening as they neared. Luke led the way into the empty hangar, Sarkli and Mara right behind him, then Wedge, Puck, and Hobbie.

The six X-wings looked small in the hangar. Wedge surveyed the space as his engines spooled down. Enough space here for two full squadrons in a pinch, he decided. Or one squadron comfortably. But we’re going to have to move fast.

The lack of ground crew was annoying when he popped the canopy and realized that also translated to a lack of a ladder. Grumbling under his breath, he swung out from the cockpit and slid down the fuselage, landing in a half-crouch on the hangar deck before rising to his feet. He glanced over and saw Luke already out of his X-wing and heading toward him, a smile on the Tatooine farmboy’s face.

Luke’s smile slackened when he saw Wedge’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to move fast,” Wedge said bluntly.

Skywalker’s smile vanished completely into a frown. “What’s wrong?” he repeated.

Wedge rubbed his face for a moment before answering. “The short answer is that we’re six pilots with six combat-ready X-wings and a provisional designation and an official roster that has two pilots on it, you and me. We don’t have a finalized roster, our base of operations is now in Imperial hands, and we just set down on a star cruiser with its own combat air wing that’s short on pilots.”

“You think we’ll get assigned to the air wing?” Luke asked dubiously.

“No, I think the air wing’s commanding officer, if he realizes we’re here, will use our pilots to fill holes in his squadrons, and without our pilots there is no squadron. We need to keep our people together and get our position cemented in place before the air wing comes looking for us.”

“We just pulled Dodonna off Yavin IV, and his name is on our authorization.” Luke shook his head. “I can’t imagine…”

“You need to be more imaginative,” Wedge said dryly. “Dodonna’s authorization doesn’t mean much here.” Wedge started walking toward one of the blast doors leading out of the hangar.

Luke fell into step beside him. “So what do we do?”

“First, we keep our heads down. The fact that we got diverted into this auxiliary hangar worked out in our favor. If we’d landed in the main bay where the Independence air wing operates, we’d already be fighting. If we move fast now, we can make this all work.” The blast door slid open and Wedge surveyed the darkened corridor. Perfect. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” He handed his datapad to Luke. “That has everyone’s status report post-engagement. You, Naeco, and Jade do post-flight work on all six X-wings. It doesn’t have to be fancy, but we need all of them ready to fly if we need to launch on short notice. Don’t tear apart anything you don’t have to. Don’t worry about torpedoes for now, and I’ll figure out how to get us fuel.” He waited until Luke took the datapad before continuing. “Hobbie and Sarkli are going to go find what we need: bedding, rations, caf, anything else we need to set up here and make this our own area.” He nodded at the darkened corridor. “This runs straight to Pilot Country on the Independence.”

“Pilot Country?”

Wedge gave him an exasperated look. “That’s right, you haven’t served on a cruiser yet. Any ship carrying embarked squadrons has, officially or not, a Pilot Country – quarters, briefing rooms, mess hall, usually a pilots’ lounge, and everything else the pilots and support crews need. It’s not exactly enforced, but it keeps any chaos from fighter pilots from boiling over into the rest of the ship’s crew. We want to stay out of it for now, because we don’t want the attention. We’re going to put our pilots in these rooms, right next to the hangar, and you and I are going to take the two rooms at the furthest end of the corridor. If someone comes walking into our area to try to reassign one of our people, you and I are in the way to stop them.”

“And what are you going to do?” Luke asked, clearly catching on.

“I’m going to see if I can find the ship CO and formalize our status here, including our current roster. If I can get him to sign off on us, whenever the air wing CO comes looking for us, we have paperwork to hide behind.” He pursed his lips for a moment. “Assuming you’re approving our current roster.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“Do you have any doubts about any of our pilots?” Wedge asked. “We were supposed to be flying an evaluation mission this morning, if you’ll recall. And then the shooting started.”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “No, I think after that they’re all on the roster.”

“I saw the hesitation. You and I are going to talk about what happened on Yavin, but after we make sure the air wing doesn’t pull us apart.” Wedge gave him a level look. “But that conversation’s later, not now.”

Luke winced. “I’ll give the orders. Go get us the paperwork we need.”

---

Hera Syndulla stood on the bridge of the MC80 cruiser Liberty with her arms crossed. “Check it again. Six X-wings and a GR-75 transport, the Luminous.”

The flight controller threw up his hands. “General, I can check it as many times as you want, but I don’t have any arrivals matching your description. None of the GR-75 transports I’ve got registered here are Luminous. Everything else was smaller, and we’ve had no X-wing groups arrive in the same time period that weren’t part of our air group.”

The Twi’lek general closed her eyes for a moment. They were in open space, they were clearly getting ready to jump. So why aren’t they…oh, stars, Hera. She gritted her teeth. “I never actually checked which rendezvous they were headed toward,” she ground out. “Sorry, lieutenant. They must have jumped to the Independence or the Defiance.” She turned, one hand gripping the other behind her back. “Comms, get me the Independence.”

The Mon Calamari officer at comms shook his head. “Sorry, General. Long-range communication is down. We can’t reach either the Independence or the Defiance. Either the Empire’s blanket-jamming, they’ve hit our comm relays, or…”

Or they were ambushed and destroyed, Hera finished silently. Unlikely, especially without them at least getting a distress call out.

She mulled her options for a moment. No long-range communication with the other task forces. I could take the Liberty directly to one of the other rendezvous points, but we’re under orders to scatter as soon as the evacuation is complete. I could order the Liberty task force to jump as planned and take the Ghost myself, but then I’m abandoning my command for a personal mission. Or I can follow the plan and abandon Mara. Hera considered that for a moment. This was so much easier a few years ago, when it was just Phoenix Group and Commander Sato. I wouldn’t hesitate. 

“Signal the task force,” Hera said slowly. “Evacuation is complete. We’ll be jumping to Point Baker. And keep trying to raise Independence and Defiance on long-range comms,” she added.

The noise on the Liberty‘s bridge rose as jump calculations began, fighter patrols were ordered to return, and support ships began maneuvering into their assigned positions for a jump.

It’s not abandoning Mara, she told herself. But when we get comms back up, I’ll find her. I’ll talk to Skywalker to make sure Mara is safe. And I am going to kill Wedge and Hobbie for not telling me they were recruiting her for Skywalker’s squadron. What were they thinking? Karabast, she’s just a kid.

And then the guilt hit her again. She’s older than Sabine or Ezra were when we started missions on Lothal. You told yourself you were going to do better keeping track of her after you found out Wedge and Hobbie had been training her for months. And she slipped through the cracks again. That’s not on Wedge, that’s on you. And now she’s in the middle of whatever Skywalker and Wedge are doing. So I’ll find her and, Force help me, if Skywalker’s doing something insane, I’ll drag her back to the Liberty kicking and screaming if that’s what it takes.

---

Luke was vaguely amused as he finished post-flight checks on Wedge’s X-wing. Wedge had noted a temperature spike on his lower starboard laser cannon. Luke had found the issue, a kinked coolant line, but had also discovered a power coupler installed backward. Written inside the cover panel with grease pencil was a note in Wedge’s handwriting: Installed backward on purpose. Works better this way.

He shook his head and finished fastening the cover panel back in place, glancing over to where Mara and Puck were working together to finish Hobbie’s X-wing. The T-65Bs had come through the engagement on Yavin IV admirably, and though they needed to be topped off with fuel, all six could fly if needed.

Luke could hear them coming before the hangar blast door opened, Sarkli in the lead pushing a repulsorcart, Hobbie right behind him with a second, and a third person walking side-by-side with Hobbie. Luke dropped his spanner in a toolbox and walked over to see what they’d brought back.

“Bedding for a squadron,” Sarkli announced as Luke neared. “Blankets, pillows, some sleepwear we borrowed. Also have some clean flightsuits and unmarked fatigues for shipboard use. I don’t know how well any of it will fit, but we weren’t exactly picky.”

“We’re lucky the ship was so overrun,” Hobbie commented. “The quartermaster barely looked at us. Don’t think he had any idea we were fighter pilots.” He jerked a thumb at his cart. “Ration bars, datapads, datacards, a caf maker, some power cells, a holoprojector, grease pencils, and a few other things that weren’t bolted down.”

Luke’s eyes fell on the caf maker; it bore painted text: Property Of Independence Air Wing. He raised an eyebrow. “I thought we were keeping a low profile.”

“Uncaffeinated air wing CO is going to have a harder time finding you,” the third person said cheerfully. Luke looked at him for the first time. No taller than Luke himself, brown hair, brown eyes, and a rakehell grin, he walked like a pilot. “You must be Commander Skywalker. I’m here to sign up.”

“Commander Skywalker, this is Lieutenant Wes Janson. If you’re not familiar with his exploits, he’ll tell you all about them,” Hobbie deadpanned.

Luke looked at Janson again. “Wedge told me about you. Said you were evacuated off Yavin IV before I arrived because of Hesken Fever. What squadron are you with right now?”

“None. I walked out of the med bay when I heard Hobbie complaining about the ration bars.” Hobbie offered a long-suffering sigh at Wes’s comment, but Wes ignored it. “I haven’t been on a flight roster since they shipped me off Massassi Base. Porkins took my slot and no one’s given me one since.”

“So I’m not going to make a new enemy by adding you to our roster?” Luke asked.

“You’ll probably get thanked by the medical staff,” Puck Naeco chimed in from behind him.

“So does this outfit have a name?”

“We’re working on it,” Luke said, offering a handshake instead of a salute. “Red Group is our temporary designation.”

Janson shook his head. “No squadron name? That won’t do at all.” His grin widened even further. “A squadron like this, personal command of the most famous pilot in the Alliance? Skywalker’s Angels has a great ring to it.”

Puck shouted, “Yes!” even as Hobbie, Sarkli, and a late-arriving Mara objected, “No!”

Luke sighed, even as the blast door slid open again to admit Wedge Antilles. “Commander, I think we’ve got our paperwork in ord…” his voice trailed off. “Oh, Sithspit, don’t tell me we’ve got Janson now?”

“The one and only, Captain,” Wes said brightly.

Wedge shook his head and jerked a thumb toward the hallway. “Let’s talk.”

Luke followed Wedge out into the corridor, doing his best to ignore Puck and Wes’s immediate cheerful dialogue and Hobbie’s pained, “Now there are two of them.” The conversation faded as Luke and Wedge headed down to the end of the corridor, to the rooms Wedge had earmarked earlier for the two of them.

“Okay, the official paperwork first. I talked to the ship command staff and they’re aware of our presence. We’re official with Dodonna’s name on our paperwork. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him directly. Apparently, the moment he left the Luminous he was pulled into some high-level planning session. The air wing commanding officer is one Colonel S’man, and he doesn’t know we’re here yet. I got Captain Verrack to sign off on requisitions for fuel and maintenance for our X-wings. We’ve got computer access codes approved, and Sarkli, Jade, Naeco, and Klivian are all officially on the roster now. When S’man comes looking, we’ve got enough leverage to keep the squadron intact, I think, though he’ll probably lean hard on Verrack to break us up.”

“So we stick with the plan,” Luke said, nodding. “We keep our pilots here. And we get Janson added to the roster, too.”

Wedge nodded in return. “I’ve got another pilot coming, too – a Z-95 Headhunter pilot who was escorting a supply ship into Yavin IV. The supply ship and most of her flight didn’t make it. Flight Officer by the name of Karie Neth. I pulled her service record while I was waiting to meet with Captain Verrack, and her simulator scores are very good. She’ll need to run through familiarization on the X-wing, but moving from a Headhunter isn’t a big jump. With Janson, that puts us at eight with six X-wings. If we hold things together, in a few days you can probably talk to Dodonna and requisition more X-wings. He’ll respond better to you, especially after you and Jade pulled him out of the Temple.”

Wedge’s voice went flat as he finished his last statement, and Luke winced. “I was wondering when we were going to get to this part.”

“Luke, as your executive officer, I have to ask: what the hell were you thinking?“

“I was thinking I wasn’t going to leave Dodonna behind to be captured,” Luke said dryly.

“Not that. Yes, it was stupid, but it was also the right thing to do.” Wedge looked at him evenly. “Dodonna gave the evacuation order. You took the seventeen-year-old pilot with you over your other wingman, who was a Pathfinder. Sarkli spent months doing exactly what you did. You could’ve taken both of them.” Wedge’s voice rose, some real heat in it. “Luke, we’ve spent the last couple months going over small-unit tactics. We talked about how important it is to use your people to their fullest, to take advantage of their abilities. Why did you take Jade over Sarkli?“

Luke hesitated, caught off-guard. “I…” he swallowed, considering. Why did I take Mara? Why didn’t I take Sarkli?

“A couple days ago, when we went over our recruitment roster, you were dead-set on adding Jade,” Wedge continued relentlessly. “You were also very hesitant about Sarkli. But the decision’s done at this point. You have to trust your people and use their strengths.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or is the decision not over?”

“No, the decision is made. You trust Sarkli, so I trust Sarkli,” Luke said. “And after that evacuation on Yavin IV, all four of them earned their place in the squadron.”

“So why did you do it, Luke?”

Luke pursed his lips before reluctantly answering. “I don’t know why,” he admitted. “In the moment, when Dodonna ordered us out, I made the decision to land and get him out instead of allowing him to be captured. And I knew I needed to take someone with me. I don’t know why I picked Mara instead of Sarkli. And now that you pointed it out to me, I’m going to be thinking about it all night.”

“No one besides me is going to ask,” Wedge said after studying Luke’s pained expression. “You got Dodonna out. Nobody got killed. But believe me, it has your entire squadron asking questions about your command decisions. Taking Sarkli wasn’t just the right decision, it was the obvious one. And now your pilots are going to look at that and wonder what they should do the next time you issue an order that’s obviously wrong.”

Luke closed his eyes for a moment. “So, as my executive officer, what do you suggest I do?”

“Figure out why you made the call you did. Talk to Sarkli and make sure he understands you trust him. And next time you issue an order, think before it comes out of your mouth. You could’ve gotten yourself, or Jade, or Dodonna killed with that call. Next time, maybe it’s the whole squadron.” Wedge’s expression shifted to something less frustrated and something more concerned. “Luke, command means every one of these pilots is your responsibility. It’s a heavy burden to carry, which is why it’s so critical you make the right call. And we’re going to take losses. Pilots are going to die flying under your command. It’ll be a lot harder to live with if they die because you made a bad call.”

“I’ll…think about what you said,” Luke said at last.

“That’s all I’m asking. Figure this out.” Wedge jerked a thumb back at the hangar. “Let’s get everyone assigned quarters and settled in for the night. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.”

Mara’s X-wing settled on its struts. “Keep the engines hot,” she ordered her astromech. “We won’t be long, and when we get back we’ll want to be in the air immediately.” She barely registered the R4’s answering whistle as she popped the canopy open and climbed out. Without a ground crew, there was no ladder available; she let herself drop until she held the edge of the canopy by her fingertips, then let go and dropped the rest of the way to the ground.

Smoke billowed from the Great Temple’s hangar. She glanced over at Skywalker’s X-wing. He was sliding to the ground as well, and he landed in a half-crouch before he rose. On his right hip, he wore a heavy blaster pistol, a Merr-Sonn knockoff of BlasTech’s popular DL-44. On his left hip hung a silvery cylinder that Mara recognized immediately as a lightsaber. Her mind flicked to the bottom of her pilot duffel in the X-wing’s storage compartment, to the cloth-wrapped—no, don’t even think about that, she interrupted herself. Instead, her hand fell to the butt of the BlasTech DL-18, worn low on her right thigh, the holster strapped on over her flightsuit. The grip was leather-wrapped and worn, but it fit her hand perfectly as she drew it.

Skywalker had his own blaster in hand, lightsaber still swinging from his belt. Wordlessly, he waved for her to follow as he trotted into the Great Temple’s hangar. Mara grimaced and followed. Why did he order me to follow him in and not Sarkli? she asked herself. A Pathfinder would have a lot of experience with this sort of fight. Or raid. Or rescue. 

The hangar was empty, Mara realized when her eyes adjusted to the relative darkness. The half-disassembled Y-wing she’d observed earlier was the source of the smoke, though whether it’d been set ablaze by Imperial marauders or a Rebel technician to destroy evidence was impossible to determine.

She finally caught up to him at a personnel turbolift. Skywalker glanced over his shoulder at her while waiting for the carriage to arrive. “We need to move fast. The command room where General Dodonna was coordinating was most of the way up the Temple. They’re probably pinned down on that level. Dodonna’s team should be the last people here, so the Imperials will be focused toward them, not us.”

“Just two of us against a few hundred stormtroopers?” Mara asked wryly.

Skywalker shook his head. “No, think about it. None of their transports got near enough to drop squads close to the Temple. Every drop ship that came within a couple kilometers of the Great Temple we destroyed. We also didn’t pick up any speederbikes or troop carriers down at ground level approaching during the battle, either. I bet this is a small team that inserted days ago and hiked in. The Empire knew when they tried a large-scale assault we’d evacuate whoever was left. This was probably a special team meant to catch stragglers.”

Mara grimaced again at the logic. It tracked clean. “So, not just regular stormtroopers.”

“No, I’d bet it’s a commando team. Small.” He offered a smile as the turbolift opened with a quiet chime. “We hit hard and fast and we run.”

She stepped into the turbolift behind him and didn’t return the smile. “Has anyone told you your planning is terrible?”

“Wedge. Frequently.” Skywalker considered. “Han, too. Artoo already told me this doesn’t qualify as a plan.”

Mara shook her head as the turbolift rapidly ascended through the Great Temple. “Not inspiring a lot of confidence here, Commander.”

He grinned. “At least this isn’t enemy territory yet. And just remember, even if it looks crazy, I’d come for you, too.”

“Stupid.”

“Maybe, but it’s the right thing to do.” The turbolift slowed and Skywalker moved to one side of the door, blaster in hand with muzzle pointed up at the ceiling. Mara moved to mirror him before the door slid open.

Two Imperial commandos, dressed in green-painted camouflage-patterned scout trooper armor, were already turning toward the unexpected sound. Skywalker’s shot took one; Mara blasted the other a quarter-second later. Both fell with a clatter that Mara barely heard, because Skywalker was already in motion and she fell in beside him, not a full sprint but faster than a jog. Over her own labored breathing, Mara could hear the report of weapons – the harsh, consistent chatter of the stormtrooper-favored E-11 rifle, but also the return fire of several distinctly different models of blasters, mostly the higher-pitched screeches of blaster pistols but occasionally the heavier boom of a Rebel-favored A280 longblaster.

Which means Dodonna’s team is still alive and fighting. Skywalker led the way into a long corridor, and the cacophony of the firefight grew, with the blaster reports echoing down the stone passage. At the far end, another pair of the camouflaged scout troopers had taken position on either side of a doorway, but they were both turned and focused toward the connecting chamber. They were taking turns leaning into the doorway at unpredictable intervals, firing at targets Mara couldn’t see, then withdrawing back into cover. Return fire splattered against the doorframe, and a stray bolt zipped down the corridor barely above Skywalker’s head. Skywalker didn’t flinch; if anything, his pace increased, and Mara was hard-pressed to keep up with him. The closer we get, Mara told herself, the better our shot. If we open fire here and don’t put them both down, we have no cover.

Skywalker apparently had the same idea, and he hit a full sprint – a pace Mara couldn’t match. Another wave of blasterfire splattered around and through the doorway, this time a stray bolt hitting the floor three meters in front of her. She pushed as hard as she could, preparing to stop and shoot the trooper on the right side of the doorway the moment Skywalker stopped to make his shot.

Except he didn’t stop.

He passed his blaster to his left hand and in one smooth motion as he closed the last few meters, the scout troopers’ heads both snapping around as they realized in the same breath there were enemies behind them. Even as blasters started to come up, his right hand pulled the lightsaber from his belt. The impossible-to-forget snap-hiss of ignition echoed down the hallway, and Mara saw Skywalker swing without breaking stride – a blue-white flash of light – and both troops went down, their chestplates streaked with a smoking, orange-glowing slash. The lightsaber shut off almost as fast as it had ignited, and Skywalker was through the door with his blaster back in his right hand and firing. Mara was still ten meters behind as Skywalker ducked to the left inside the chamber, vanishing from sight.

When Mara finally cleared the door herself, Skywalker had taken cover behind an overturned table eight meters inside – something crude built from the local Massassi trees and thankfully durable, judging by the charred and smoking surface. There were five Imperial troops still upright and firing, two of them at Skywalker and the other three at the other end of the chamber where Rebel officers were crouching behind a long, overturned stone table. Two more of the scout troopers were prone and unmoving, dead or near enough.

None of them were looking at the late-arriving Mara.

She fired twice, three times, and both the scouts who had been shooting at Skywalker went down in a flurry of sparks and acrid smoke. Skywalker rose immediately from cover and fired, sending one of the last three spinning into a boneless fall. The last two were caught in a three-way crossfire and died a few seconds later.

“General Dodonna!” Skywalker called.

The white-haired and bearded Commenorian rose from his cover stiffly. “Commander Skywalker. I may need to write you up for disobeying orders, right after I give you a medal for getting us out of here.” He paused. “You have an extraction plan?”

“Back to the hangar, sir,” Skywalker said. “The Luminous will pick you up. Our X-wings are waiting there.”

Dodonna’s eyes flickered from Skywalker to Mara, a brief puzzled look on his face before he turned back to Skywalker. “Thank you. Captain Derlin and I owe you our lives.” He gestured with his blaster pistol toward the door. “Lead the way, before more Imperial surprises arrive.” 

---

The VCX-100 freighter had not been built for war, but a decade of service to the cause of freedom, tens of thousands of credits, and some seriously deranged mechanics had turned the Ghost into a weapon of war.

Corellian Engineering Corporation had, of course, designed the diamond-shaped freighter to defend itself against pirates. The recommended factory equipment for the VCX line included a dorsal-mounted light laser cannon and an aft-docked, short-range auxiliary fighter-shuttle which provided tail-gun coverage. The Ghost had plenty of upgrades over the years; the forward observation bubble had been equipped with a nose-mounted twin laser cannon turret, the dorsal light laser cannon replaced with heavier twin cannons, proton torpedo launchers and magazines added at the cost of cargo capacity. Her engines had been rebuilt and tuned to allow her to keep pace with Imperial starfighters, her shield generators replaced with equipment fitting for a vessel three times her size, and her sensor jamming suite earned the freighter her name, allowing her to slip through Imperial customs without detection. The original Corellian-built auxiliary shuttle had been lost on a mission years before, and she instead carried an unorthodox, heavily modified Sheathipede-class transport shuttle.

And at that moment, the Ghost needed every one of its refits, additions, and rebuilds just to stay alive.

“Transport Shelterwind, you’re drifting,” Hera Syndulla barked over the convoy’s shared comm channel. “Viper Squadron, we’ve got another group of TIEs coming in and two seven four mark forty. Scatter them so they can’t hit the convoy together.” She barely heard the acknowledgement from the A-wing squadron’s commander, rolling the Ghost over the Shelterwind to get a clean shot on a trio of TIEs angling up at the vulnerable transport’s belly.

The nose gun barked, and the lead TIE fighter evaporated in a cloud of burning shrapnel. “They’re breaking off,” Sabine Wren reported, continuing to fire at one of the evading fighters.

A warbling complaint echoed over the Ghost‘s internal comm in Binary.

“Zeb, cover the rear!” Hera ordered. “More TIEs coming in behind for a run on the engines. Shelterwind, get back in formation!”

“Roger that, Hera,” the Lasat in the dorsal turret answered, laying down fire back over the Ghost‘s engines. The docked Sheathipede shuttle’s weapons fired, too, controlled by Chopper, the crew’s battered old C1 astromech droid. Another TIE evaporated, but the remaining pair pushed on, laying down fire on the transport, which was itself trying to maneuver back into formation with the other four Gallofree GR-75s clawing for open space, away from the Yavin IV moon.

A trio of X-wings flashed past, s-foils spread wide in attack posture and cannons blasting. The TIEs evaporated, buying the formation a moment of breathing room. “Thanks, Comet Leader,” Hera breathed.

“We’ve got your back, General,” the squadron commander replied.

The Twi’lek officer took advantage of the few seconds to evaluate the tactical situation.

Out of position and too far away for accurate targeting, a pair of Star Destroyers were keeping up harassment fire on the convoy, but they weren’t any real danger. Their inbound route to Yavin IV had clearly come on the major hyperspace route in, the same route flown by the Millennium Falcon months ago, and the Death Star that followed. The Rebel Alliance, however, had planned carefully for the evacuation with hyperspace navigation in mind. Three cruisers, the Defiance, the Independence, and Hera’s own Liberty were keeping station a mere twenty minutes away by hyperspace on different vectors, with routes held open by expensive s-thread boosters. The Empire would attempt a blockade, but evacuating Rebels could escape by temporary paths the Empire had no knowledge of. Hypercomm relays kept the three task forces and Massassi Base itself in communication, though long-range comms from the Yavin system had gone down when the Alliance evacuated the Great Temple.

Hera frowned as she studied the long-range sensor plots. Not all of the TIEs deploying from the Star Destroyers and their support ships were moving to engage the convoy; a surprising number were heading down to Yavin IV itself. That seems odd, unless…

As if cued by her thought, a new voice spoke in her ear. “Two Flight, break them up as they come in,” a young man’s voice ordered. “Deny them momentum and we’ll clean up the mess. Luminous, keep your throttle at maximum. We’ll keep up.”

That didn’t sound like any of the Independence‘s pilots, and I know all my pilots off the Liberty. Hera frowned and glanced at the comm board. Wait, that’s the Massassi fighter group channel. Is that…Skywalker?

“Copy, Lead,” Wedge Antilles answered, a voice Hera knew well from the months he spent with Phoenix Group before the disaster on Atollan. “Hobbie, Puck, loosen formation. Stay within five hundred meters, don’t break off a climbing vector, but take potshots. We need time and space, not kills.” Hobbie and Puck both answered in the affirmative. Hobbie, of course, had flown with Phoenix along with Wedge in Phoenix Group. Puck was likely Puck Naeco, who had a reputation. He’d been on Yavin IV according to some of her pilots, and she’d fielded several complaints from a squadron commander who classified Puck’s application of a high-temperature decal portraying a nerf to three X-wings as vandalism.

Hera looked over her sensor plots again and realized, belatedly, there was one more transport coming up from Yavin IV, six X-wings flying escort. She grimaced. I thought we had everyone. And Wedge has been flying with Skywalker for months now, so that was definitely Skywalker. But why was Luke Skywalker of all people still on Yavin IV?

“One Flight, same instructions,” Skywalker said, his voice surprisingly light given the number of TIE contacts descending on his formation. “Force them to break. If you score the kills, great, but the objective is to get General Dodonna out.”

“Killing them is breaking them,” a male voice Hera didn’t recognize answered.

“Accept that you’re not going to beat Antilles’ kill count,” a young woman’s voice answered dryly.

Hera’s heart stopped. “Is that Mara?!” Sabine immediately demanded on the internal Ghost comm. “That sounded like Mara!”

“More TIEs coming in!” Zeb growled. “Hera, fly!” The dorsal guns were already thundering, forcing Hera’s attention back onto the battle at hand. Three more vics of TIEs were screaming in on the transports from three wildly different vectors. Hera glanced at the Viper and Comet formations, gauged distances, and turned the Ghost into the path of the TIEs most distant from both fighter groups.

Chopper warbled protests as Hera continued to maneuver, both the dorsal and nose guns firing nonstop at the TIE formation. “No, Chopper, I don’t know what Mara is doing flying with Luke Skywalker,” she said through gritted teeth. “Wedge and I are going to have a talk about this when we get to the Liberty.” She switched comm channels to the formation frequency. “Transports, we’re twenty seconds out from jump. As soon as you can make the jump, do it. No waiting.”

TIE fighters flared into incandescence, but Hera barely noticed, too much of her attention focused on the X-wings and the Luminous, now just clearing atmosphere, red and green bolts being hurled between Rebel and Imperial fighters.

“Mara, scissor port,” Skywalker called, removing any trace of a doubt whose voice the Ghost crew had heard.

“I’ve got her,” the unidentified male pilot said. “Your tail’s clear, Three.”

“Thanks, Sarkli,” Mara said. “Lead, do you have coordinates?”

“Artoo’s calculating it now. We’ll send jump data to the entire group. Stay focused. Luminous, jump as soon as you’re clear.”

Hera couldn’t see them with her naked eye, but she could see the evidence of their ascent – long-range fire from the Star Destroyers, inaccurate but harassing; sensor traces; the occasional explosion bright enough to look like a flickering star.

Ahead of the Ghost, transports began to flicker with pseudomotion and vanish into hyperspace. “Comet Leader, Viper Leader, get your squadrons home,” Hera ordered.

“Are we going back for Skywalker’s fighters?” Zeb asked.

Hera pursed her lips for a moment. “No,” she said reluctantly. “They’ll be clear before we do anything more than cause a distraction.”

“Why is Mara flying with a Massassi Base squadron?” Sabine asked. “I thought she was on the Liberty.”

“So did I,” Hera said softly, the old guilt welling up. “But I never actually checked. I told her weeks ago that we were moving there. I just assumed…” she shook her head. “We’ll straighten this out on the other end of this jump. Let’s go.”

The Ghost rolled onto the same vector the transport group had used. X-wings and A-wings were vanishing into hyperspace around them. Hera hesitated one moment longer before engaging the hyperdrive, the Ghost vanishing like her namesake into the ethereal swirl of hyperspace.

The gas giant was barely rising above the horizon, casting an orange glow across early morning on Yavin IV. The shriek of sublight engines split the air as mechanics and pilots ran X-wings through preflight checklists.

This isn’t the sort of training I had in mind, Luke thought wryly. But the war isn’t waiting for us to be ready.

The members of Red Group were gathered in a loose semicircle, with Mara being the last to join, dropping her pilot’s duffel – popular among Alliance pilots due to its size fitting well in the small belly cargo compartment of an X-wing – on the floor next to her.

Luke looked around the group. “Everyone’s bag packed?” he asked. “Once we launch, we’re not coming back.” A chorus of affirmations answered his question, and he took a moment to look at each of the pilots to evaluate readiness.

Puck was standing furthest to Luke’s left, practically bouncing on his heels. He had a smile on his face, and there was no sign of strain in his eyes. His duffel was slung over his shoulder, his hair tamed enough to suggest he’d been awake for a while before the evacuation order had arrived, and he’d been making a joke at Hobbie’s expense a few moments before. He’s ready to fly, Luke confirmed to himself.

Hobbie was next to Puck. His countenance was serious, a step up from the dour look he normally wore. He carried no bag; Luke suspected Hobbie had already stashed it in his fighter. Half his hair was matted flat, while the rest stood on end, evidence that he’d been awoken by klaxon and hadn’t bothered looking in a mirror yet. Still, his flight suit was pulled on and zipped, his eyes were alert, and his hands were wrapped around a half-finished cup of caf. He’ll be okay.

Sarkli stood between Hobbie and Wedge. He looked ready to take a holo for a recruitment poster, eyes sharp and measuring, hair immaculate, a half-smile, half-serious expression on his face. Unlike the rest of Red Group, he didn’t have a pilot’s duffel; instead, he was wearing a camouflage bag on his back, an agrinium-framed pack popular with the Pathfinders. Unlike most of the pilots, he had an A280-CFE heavy blaster pistol strapped to his hip. The blaster could quickly be built out into a rifle with a detachable barrel and stock, and Luke had no doubt those components were stashed in Sarkli’s pack. He’s ready for air or ground, Luke noted. He probably has more experience in commando operations than the rest of us put together.

Wedge had his arms crossed, his expression carefully composed, his duffel on the hangar floor at his feet. Luke had known Wedge long enough now to see the weariness in his eyes and the concern tugging the corners of his mouth downward. Covering evacuation wasn’t what either of us had in mind, Luke thought at his friend and executive officer. But there’s nothing to be done now but fly. And tired or not, Luke had no doubt that Wedge would tear up the sky the moment Red Group left the Great Temple.

Mara, too, had her face schooled into something unreadable, and Luke didn’t know her well enough to pull details from her stance. She, too, had her arms crossed like Wedge, and her hair was pleated tightly against her head – no doubt to allow her flight helmet to fit more comfortably. She wore a light DL-18 blaster low on her hip, the holster tied tightly around her thigh over her flight suit. Those brilliant green eyes showed no trace of worry or weariness, and her posture only told Luke she thought she was ready to fly. It’ll have to do.

Luke opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the roar of engines as the last squadron from the Liberty began launching from the hangar. Luke waited precious seconds for the X-wings to launch, leaving only Red Group’s six fighters and pilots. A half-disassembled Y-wing and the hulk of a Z-95 Headhunter were the only other remaining fighters, and no doubt would be left behind by the evacuating Alliance forces. When the din finally faded, Luke tried again. “This was supposed to be a training flight,” he began ruefully, “but the Empire is pushing hard enough that Command has decided to issue the final evacuation order. We’ve got several squadrons in the air right now from the Independence and Liberty that are intercepting TIE squadrons in upper atmosphere and orbit. We’re going to provide close support for the final evacuation. In less than thirty minutes we’ll be off Yavin IV for good.”

He glanced among his pilots, and noted all five were paying attention. Good. “Standard three-ship flight elements,” he continued. “I’m Red Leader and leader of One Flight. Sarkli, you’re Red Two and on my starboard wing. Jade, Red Three and port.” He waited until both gave an acknowledging nod. “Red Four is Wedge and leader of Two Flight. If something happens to me, he has command of the squadron. Red Five, Puck, on starboard. Hobbie, Red Six, on port.” Another trio of acknowledgements. “Our goal is to keep the Empire off the Great Temple long enough to complete the evacuation. We’ve got a handful of Gallofrees and shuttles finishing loading right now. Remember to stick together; we’re not chasing kills, we’re buying time. And be ready for the plan to change. As soon as the last transport is off the ground, we’re up to orbit and escaping. Independence, Defiance, and Liberty are all twenty minutes away by hyperdrive. We link up and we get out of here. Questions?”

“What do we do if one of us goes down?” Sarkli asked.

Wedge grimaced. “Don’t. We have no search and rescue team and no window to extract a downed pilot. If someone goes down and survives, capture is inevitable. And that’s better than wandering around the jungle. Lot of things down there will eat a downed pilot if you try to get clever.”

Luke looked around at the squadron. “Mount up. We need to be in the air five minutes ago.”

Ground crews had already scattered away from Red Group’s X-wings. Luke hit the ladder and vaulted into his cockpit, his own pilot’s duffel already stashed behind his command chair, though it was nearly empty – a few changes of clothes, civilian and military, and almost nothing else, given that he’d left Tatooine with only the clothes on his back. His lightsaber – his father’s lightsaber, passed on to him by Obi-Wan Kenobi – bounced on his left hip, and a heavy blaster pistol rode on his right. R2-D2 was slotted in behind the X-wing’s cockpit, and he beeped an all-clear as Luke strapped into the harness. The astromech whistled a longer query, and Luke glanced at the translation scrolling across the X-wing’s displays before answering with a smile. “Yes, this isn’t training, but at least it’s not a Death Star.” He flicked the X-wing’s comm open to the Massassi Base fighter channel. “Red Group, report in with readiness. Red Leader, ready to fly.”

“Red Two,” Sarkli answered, “all green and ready to fight.”

“Red Three, green,” Mara said.

“Red Four, four lit,” came Wedge’s check-in.

“Red Five, all lights green, though I feel like this callsign should be retired,” Puck said helpfully. “Or maybe you should have both Leader and Five, boss.”

Luke snorted.

“Red Six, nothing’s gone wrong yet,” Hobbie said dryly.

“Red Group, launch,” Luke ordered, bringing his X-wing up on repulsorlifts and sliding out of the hangar. As soon as he had cleared the Great Temple, he punched the sublight drives in, and the X-wing rocketed up into the air. Sarkli settled in beside him and Mara joined them a moment later.

Luke took a moment to study his X-wing’s scopes as Two Flight settled into position four hundred meters aft and to starboard, evaluating the tactical situation the way Commander Narra with Renegade Squadron and Wedge had both been teaching him. TIE formations were far overhead, trying to punch through the defending fighter screen, but the on-station squadrons – X-wings and A-wings from the Independence and the Liberty – were putting up a terrific fight. Trios of TIEs were slipping through piecemeal, with a handful of Imperial transports, mostly Gozantis, circumnavigating the edge of the fight to try to descend toward Yavin IV. The Gozantis were an immediate danger to the evacuation; even at a distance, Luke could tell they were carrying AT-ST and AT-AT walkers, and no doubt had holds full of stormtrooper squads. If they manage to drop troops outside the Temple, they’ll pin everyone left inside.

“Massassi Base, this is Red Leader,” Luke reported in. “We’re going to hit those incoming drop ships. If something slips by, call it out so we can cover the evacuation.”

“Red Leader, Massassi Base,” General Jan Dodonna’s voice answered. “Confirmed. Buy us the minutes we need.”

“Copy, General.” Luke switched to transmitting only on Red Group’s frequency. “Alright, squad, let’s hit those transports. Sarkli, Mara, stay tight with me so we can focus firepower and burn down the drop ships faster. Two Flight, keep those TIEs off us. S-foils to attack position.”

---

Wedge rolled inverted and pulled back on the stick, the X-wing accelerating through a split-s to drop him behind a trio of TIEs clearly aiming to intercept Luke’s flight. Hobbie and Puck slid back into formation behind him, Puck lagging a half second behind Hobbie. Sloppy, Wedge told himself, but we haven’t had time to train together. “Two Flight, fire in two, one…” The three X-wings opened fire together. Wedge’s target, the TIE formation’s leader, vaporized instantly. Puck’s target caught a full burst on its hexagonal radiator panel, promptly catching fire and spiraling out of formation toward the jungle far below. Hobbie’s target shuddered from the hit and dropped away, but it was a controlled evasion, not a kill.

“Let him go,” Wedge ordered, already scanning for the next threat.

A kilometer away and three hundred meters lower, Luke’s trio hit a Gozanti transport like a pack of Corellian slice hounds pouncing on a bageraset. A dozen Taim & Bak KX9 laser cannons spat hard red light, shredding through the drop ship’s shields seemingly without effort, and a moment later the transport’s port and center engines both erupted in flames. It began to drop toward the surface when a proton torpedo from Sarkli’s X-wing hit the Imperial ship dead-center, sending fire and debris in all directions. A pair of AT-AT walkers began a long, uncontrolled fall toward the Yavin IV surface, several thousand meters below. Wedge’s grin was a hunter’s carnivorous smile. Better than dealing with those monsters on the ground.

“Transport Luminous is taking fire,” the Massassi Base channel called urgently, Dodonna’s voice filling Wedge’s ear. “Enemy armor advancing on their position.”

Wedge led Two Flight in a banking turn, looking to his scopes and then out his cockpit canopy to fill in the battlefield’s details.

Luminous was one of the Alliance’s ubiquitous Gallofree GR-75 medium transports. 90 meters of off-white hull, a trio of engines, and an inherited reputation for poor reliability, Luminous was visually indistinct from any of her siblings, but she was impossible to miss against the green vegetation of the jungle. Parked at one of the smaller temples a kilometer away from the Great Temple, she was no doubt loading support staff and equipment; Wedge had no idea what that particular temple had been hosting for the Rebellion. But coming out of the jungle and into the clear-cut zone around the temple was a pair of AT-ST walkers and squads of stormtroopers, converging rapidly on the evacuating Rebels.

Wedge glanced around at the skies. TIE escorts for the drop ships Luke was targeting were scattered, but the skies were hardly clear. “Red Leader?” Wedge asked, trying not to grit his teeth. He’s the commander. Let him make the tactical decision.

“Go, Wedge,” Luke said. “Two, Three, loosen formation. Keep any TIEs off me while I keep hitting the transports. Two Flight’s off screening duty.”

Wedge finished his turn and firewalled his throttle. “Five and Six, stay with me. Target the walkers, one proton torpedo apiece. I’m going to suppress the troops.”

“You left me one of the fun targets,” Puck chimed in cheerfully.

“One pass, Puck,” Wedge warned, arming his own proton torpedoes. “A-Three, set torpedoes for impact detonation. We’re firing blind.” The X-wings rapidly crossed the battlefield, maintaining altitude until they were nearly in weapons range before Wedge pushed the stick forward and led Two Flight into a dive.

The AT-STs were firing, blaster cannons chewing away at Luminous‘s armored hull. Wedge grimaced, forcing himself to focus on the stormtroopers as he picked his target point. While Hobbie and Puck’s targeting computers could no doubt identify the AT-STs as a recognizable target, with durasteel armor, power cells, blaster cannons, and heat dissipation, a starfighter’s sensor package wasn’t built to pick out individual sentients as a target, let alone provide weapons lock. “Firing in three, two…”

Wedge waited until pink cones flashed past his cockpit on both port and starboard before he fired his own. Hobbie’s torpedo hit first, and his targeted AT-ST vanished into a silvery ball of fire and smoke. Puck’s torpedo detonated a heartbeat later, and Wedge caught a glimpse of AT-ST debris scattering from the shockwave, the “head” of the walker tumbling back into the jungle. Then his own torpedo hit, well ahead of the walkers, a third ball of fire and shockwave to scatter stormtroopers, leaving a four meters-deep crater in the clearing where it had exploded.

A shriek of warning from his astromech was just enough warning for Wedge to slam his control stick to the left and jerk back. Green laserfire hammered at his rear shields, a glancing blow that made his X-wing shudder even as he pulled back harder through the turn. “Hobbie, Puck, pincer!” he called, continuing his turn as both wingmates broke off. The trio of TIEs that had been pursuing them broke – one peeling off after Puck, the other two after Hobbie. Wedge grimaced as he completed his turn, evaluating the situation for only a moment. Puck had pulled his pursuer into a flat scissor, attempting to force the TIE to overshoot and spoiling his aim. Hobbie, on the other hand, was pinned by two fighters and in a worse position. Hobbie first.

Even as Wedge watched, Hobbie pulled his X-wing through a spiraling loop, trying to force an overshoot. The TIEs didn’t bite, apparently content to hold their advantageous position for a few moments longer and wait for a cleaner kill. Unfortunately for them, however, Wedge was already climbing back toward Hobbie. The X-wings pulled a head-to-head pass, Wedge’s canopy less than ten meters from Hobbie’s belly as their flight paths crossed; Wedge fired almost without thought as the pursuing TIEs crossed his gunsights. His lasers sheared off one of the TIE’s panels, and the fighter began to tumble uncontrolled toward the jungle below even as the second TIE broke off.

“Luminous is lifting,” Dodonna’s voice crackled over the command frequency. “Imperial stormtroopers are advancing into the temple and we’re cut off from the transports. We’re discontinuing transmission and retreating into the temple. Finish evacuating, Red Group, and get out of here. Massassi Base out.”

Wedge pulled up on Hobbie’s wing, even as the other man vectored after the escaping TIE; the hunter was now the hunted.

“We’ve got to get the General out of there,” Luke’s voice crackled on the squadron channel. “We’re not going to let him be captured. Mara, follow me in. Sarkli, join Two Flight and cover the evacuation.”

“You won’t stand a chance,” Sarkli protested. “I’m coming with you.”

“We’ll be fine. The evacuation needs you more,” Luke replied evenly.

Hobbie was maneuvering on the TIE, its pilot only now realizing he was moments from death. Wedge focused on staying on Hobbie’s wing even as he listened to the exchange on the comm. Luke, what are you doing? Sarkli’s a Pathfinder. He should be going into the Temple with you!

“As you wish, Commander Skywalker,” Sarkli finally said, his tone flat and devoid of emotion.

Hobbie fired, and the TIE evaded. Wedge contemplated countermanding Luke’s order even as he held position to cover Hobbie. What is he thinking? Months of tutoring Luke on small unit tactics and how to use people under his command to their fullest abilities, and he picks the seventeen year old girl to charge into a temple full of stormtroopers instead of the trained soldier. 

Sarkli had already pulled away from Luke and Mara even as their X-wings accelerated fast and dropped low, skimming treetops with s-foils locked closed. Sarkli was pulling up, angling toward Puck, who was still trading lead and pursuit positions with his Imperial opponent, neither able to get a clear shot on the other.

Hobbie fired again, this time his cannons finding their target. The TIE exploded, a fireball in the hard blue sky even as Luke and Mara’s X-wings vanished from scopes as they set down in front of the Great Temple. “Red Group, we continue screening,” Wedge called as Hobbie dropped back to his proper position on Wedge’s wing. “We hold the Empire back until our pilots are out of the Temple.”

The refectory on Yavin IV was usually crowded at the evening meal, and that night was no exception. Wedge Antilles picked up a tray of food that looked only marginally more inviting than ration paste and paused just inside the doorway, scanning for a place to sit.

At least twenty pilots were already eating, along with another dozen support personnel Wedge recognized – some by name, some only by sight – as the ground crew who kept Massassi Base’s snubfighters flying in spite of impossible odds, indifferent supply chains, and machinery that ought to have failed days ago. Most of the pilots were drawn from the Independence and the Liberty, temporarily rotated down to Yavin to bolster security and cover an evacuation if the Empire made a stronger push on the moon.

He could have sat with any of them.

He knew perfectly well where he was going to end up.

At the far end of one of the long refectory tables sat the pilots of Luke and Wedge’s provisional squadron, still saddled with the painfully temporary name of Massassi Red Group. Luke’s long-suffering silence and Puck Naeco’s cheerfully relentless tone carried above the general noise of trays, utensils, and conversation. Wedge considered turning around.

Then he caught Mara Jade’s expression from across the room – flat, unimpressed, and carrying the distinct promise of violence held in reserve – and, reluctantly, decided his commanding officer probably needed support.

He slid onto the bench at the end of the table. Hobbie immediately shifted over to make room, which bumped Puck down the bench in turn.

“…is the most important defining trait of a squadron,” Puck was saying, with the air of a man delivering doctrine to the less enlightened. “We have to have a memorable name.”

“Memorable,” Mara said dryly, “is how they’ll describe your memorial.”

Sarkli chuckled into his drink. Luke, seated across from Wedge, simply closed his eyes for a moment as though appealing to powers higher than High Command.

“Captain Antilles,” Puck said brightly, “I’m glad you’ve joined us. I was just explaining to our new unit how important it is to have the proper name.”

“I’m assuming, Naeco,” Wedge said, setting down his tray and poking at something that might have once aspired to be meat, “that this is all prelude to suggestions.”

Puck’s face lit with vindication. “You are an officer after my own heart.” With a theatrical flourish, he produced a datapad from under the table. “I spent an intense seventeen minutes compiling a litany of possible squadron names. I now present them for review.”

Luke covered his eyes with one hand.

Mara did not bother disguising the look she gave Puck.

Hobbie kept eating with the grim focus of a man who had survived too many mess halls to care.

Sarkli, to Wedge’s surprise, looked genuinely interested. “Let’s hear them.”

“From best to worst,” Puck said. He cleared his throat. “At the top of the list: Skywalker’s Angels.”

Luke actually choked.

Hobbie thumped him once between the shoulder blades without looking up from his tray.

“After all,” Puck pressed on, “our commander is the most illustrious pilot in the Alliance, so it stands to reason that a formation of elite fliers under his…”

“No,” Mara, Hobbie, and Wedge said together.

Luke was still coughing. “Absolutely not.”

Puck nodded thoughtfully, stylus poised over the datapad. “I’ll mark that down as a maybe.”

“You do that,” Mara said.

“Next: Echo Squadron.”

“Taken,” Wedge said at once.

“Viper Squadron.”

“That’s an A-wing unit off the Independence,” Sarkli said. “So also taken.”

“Black Squadron.”

“We are not changing one color for another and calling it originality,” Wedge said.

Puck frowned and made a note. “Fine. Phoenix Squadron. Symbolic, dignified, evocative. We’re rebuilding from the remains of Massassi Base’s Red Squadron. Rising from the ashes and so forth.”

“No,” Mara said, and there was enough edge in it to make the table go briefly still.

Puck glanced sideways at her, curiosity flickering across his face, but she offered nothing more.

Wedge grimaced faintly and looked back down at his tray. After the attack on Lothal, I don’t blame her.

“Crimson Squadron,” he offered instead.

“There are already two variations of that in circulation,” Hobbie said. “At least. There was a group called Crimson Fury, unless they got folded into something else. There’s also a mixed-type squadron called Crimson Phoenix flying now.”

“Really?” Puck looked offended by the galaxy’s refusal to preserve names for his personal use. “How does the Alliance have this many squadrons and still no decent naming oversight?”

“Poor central administration,” Hobbie said.

“Shocking lack of imagination,” Sarkli said.

“Too many pilots with too much spare time,” Mara muttered.

Wedge glanced at Luke. “No comment?”

Luke lowered his hand from his face and sighed. “I already figured out that speaking only encouraged him.”

“Wise,” Wedge said.

Puck ignored them all. “Very well. Dragon Squadron.”

“Taken,” Wedge said.

“Nomad Squadron.”

“Taken,” Hobbie said.

“Star Squadron.”

“That is barely even a name,” Mara said.

“It says what we do.”

“We fly starfighters,” Wedge said. “By that logic we may as well be Pilot Squadron.”

Puck stared at him. “That’s terrible.”

“Thank you.”

Puck scrolled farther down the datapad, muttering to himself. “Lancer. Sabre. Meteor. Comet. Thunderbolt.”

“Taken, taken, probably taken, definitely taken, and sounds like an escort frigate,” Sarkli said.

“You are all very negative,” Puck informed them.

“We’re experienced,” Mara said.

He sat back and drummed his fingers on the datapad, thinking. Around them, the rest of the refectory carried on: laughter from another table, the scrape of benches across stone, the low constant murmur of tired people eating before the next round of duty. Someone from maintenance shouted for more caf. The place smelled like overcooked protein, damp uniforms, and engine grease that no one ever fully got out of their hands.

For a moment, despite himself, Wedge felt the shape of it settle around him, the ordinary noise of a base still functioning, still alive. Too many empty seats elsewhere. Too many pilots gone from rooms like this forever. But here, for the moment, there was Luke trying not to smile, Hobbie pretending not to enjoy himself, Sarkli leaning in like this was high drama, Mara looking as though she’d rather be anywhere else while also very clearly choosing not to leave, and Puck somehow treating the naming of a half-assembled squadron like a matter of galactic consequence.

It was absurd.

It’s also, Wedge thought, exactly what they all need.

Puck straightened suddenly. “I have it.”

Luke groaned quietly. “That sentence has never once led to anything good.”

Puck pointed at him. “You lack vision. Listen: Skywalker’s Angels, but in Aurebesh.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Mara set down her utensil with exaggerated care. “Naeco.”

“Yes?”

“If you say that again, I’m going to help history lose your records.”

Sarkli laughed outright. Hobbie finally snorted into his food. Even Luke, against all reason, cracked.

Wedge looked across the table at him and shook his head. “Remember, Skywalker – you wanted this. A new fighter squadron. Command. All of it.” He gestured once at Puck with his fork. “This is on your head.”

Luke rubbed both hands over his face. “I know.”

Puck brightened. “So we agree the burden of naming authority rests with command.”

“No,” Luke said.

“But…”

“No.”

“Then perhaps,” Puck said, undeterred, “we should at least establish a shortlist.”

Mara closed her eyes.

Hobbie leaned back on the bench. “This is how a squadron’s reputation is stillborn.”

“This,” Wedge said, finally taking a bite of the dubious contents of his tray, “is how officers start drinking.”

Luke looked from one face to the next, then exhaled and surrendered to the inevitable with the expression of a man accepting a doomed attack run.

“Fine,” he said. “A shortlist. But if ‘Skywalker’s Angels’ is on it, I’m transferring Puck to sanitation.”

Puck grinned. “I knew you’d come around, Commander.”

---

The main hangar in the Great Temple was quiet in the hours after the evening meal. Though it meant natural lighting was minimal and glowlamps were required, Mara long preferred quiet over bright when she was working on her X-wing.

She was elbow-deep in the guts of the lower-starboard Incom 4L4 fusial thrust engine, determined to fix the issue bothering her for the last three patrols she’d flown. At standard cruise throttle, seventy percent of full, there was a consistent vibration in the spaceframe; not critical, nothing that affected combat performance, but clearly wrong. The Massassi Base ground crew had pulled the engine twice and stripped it for examination, finding no issues. They’d hooked it up to a diagnostics computer and it declared the engine function nominal. Her astromech, R4-MS, found nothing wrong with the engine, though it did detect the spaceframe flutter at cruise throttle. The crew chief himself had looked over all the reports and told Mara, in no uncertain terms, that the engine was within tolerance and she needed to move on.

Mara had not moved on.

Within tolerance was not, to Mara’s mind, the same as correct.

So now, working with the light of a handheld glowlamp, she traced connections – fuel line, coolant line, control lines, sensor traces – looking for the problem.

This time, Hera might actually murder Wedge and Hobbie, she thought idly as she followed one of the connections with a fingertip. Though she’s the one who told them to treat me like a real pilot. Real pilots get assigned to squadrons, even high-profile ones. And anything with Skywalker leading it is going to be high-profile, at least inside the Alliance.

She allowed herself a chuckle as she tugged a hair-thin sensor trace; the connection was firm in place, unlikely to be the source of the vibration. I should’ve told Hobbie no when he suggested I apply for Skywalker’s squadron. This is going to end badly, if any of the rumors floating around are true. She grimaced. And I already know at least some of them are true. The Empire is going to come looking for him. I should be far away. Flying in his squadron is visible, too visible. I should turn down the slot, transfer to an air wing.

And then she found it – the coolant feed. Like all the connections she was tracing, it was secured inside the engine in several places. On the third bracket, she found a bit of play, perhaps a millimeter worth of wear between the line and the bracket. It wasn’t enough for the line to come loose, but it was enough for the line to move, and perhaps, under cruise conditions, it was enough.

Don’t reach out. Don’t flare. Don’t listen. Visibility is death, Mara. She’d heard those words, repeated, varied, and drilled into her for eight years. Yet here she was, joining a squadron with the most visible man in the Rebellion. Even as shut down as she kept it, walls fortified, ignoring instead of listening, she had felt it when he came down the ramp of the Millennium Falcon on Yavin IV months ago, following the princess. Felt him. Like he was unafraid of what the Empire would send after him.

She fumbled blindly in her toolbox before coming out with a series of split-ring shims. One by one, she tried them on the coolant line, looking for one that would slip between the bracket and the line to firm the connection and eliminate the vibration.

If the Force was an ocean, she’d built dams around her mind. It was an incomplete metaphor but it worked well enough. Still, the pressure was greater than it had been since Lothal, as if the Force itself was more insistent. Or maybe it was Skywalker’s presence. Another reason this is a bad idea, she told herself as she picked the shim that felt best by hand and began properly securing it in place. Visibility is death.

With the shim locked in place, she began closing up the engine again. She’d need to fly a patrol to know for sure whether the vibration was gone, but she was fairly certain the issue would be fixed. Tomorrow, I’ll know for sure. Training flight with Skywalker’s group.

She pondered that as she finished closing the sublight engine panel, securing it in place before turning to clean up her tools. Eight years as the shadow of a shadow. Maybe I can actually belong here. Be a combat pilot the way Wedge and Hobbie trained me. Belong to a squadron that lasts. Make a difference. She almost laughs at the last thought. Yeah, Mara, make a difference. Not just watch while other people die around you, trying to keep you alive. Maybe be worth the sacrifices other people made for me. Or maybe I’ll be vaped in our first real mission and none of it will have been worth it at all.

“Need help?” Hobbie’s voice interrupted her thought.

“No, I’m just finishing up,” Mara said, shaking her head and refocusing outside her own head. “I think I found the vibration in the number three engine.”

“What was it?”

“Bracket on the coolant line is worn enough there was play. I shimmed it. I’ll see tomorrow if I still pick up that flutter at cruise.”

The dour pilot nodded. “That’s the sort of thing the ground crew overlooks if the line and bracket are both still inside spec.”

“Right, but together, they don’t fit right anymore.” Mara stretched as she rose to her feet. “I should get some rest. Training flight tomorrow.” The pendant hanging on a loop of leather around her neck had slipped out from concealment when she had been lying prone under the engine; she tucked it back under her tunic.

“Mara,” Hobbie said, voice soft. She froze. “I talked to Wedge.”

“About me,” she said flatly.

“Yes. Either you earn your place in the squadron, or you don’t. It’s you, either way. Not Syndulla.”

An exasperated sigh escaped. “Hobbie, you don’t get to…”

“Skywalker told Wedge he didn’t care about the politics,” Hobbie said dryly. “It’s driving Wedge up a wall. He wants you in the squadron, and his compromise with Wedge was tomorrow’s training flight before making it official. Wedge is ready to chew through a bulkhead.”

Mara couldn’t help but laugh at the image. “You think Skywalker’s the real deal?” she asked after a moment. “He’s not going to put me on the roster as a mascot or to curry favor with Hera? And he’s not going to ground me or kick me off the roster for the same reason?”

“I know you haven’t gotten to know him yet, Mara, but Skywalker doesn’t play games.” Hobbie shook his head. “I’ve never seen an officer like him in the Empire or the Rebellion. Everyone learns to play the games to get promotions; Skywalker flew exactly one mission before being put in command track, and he acts like it.”

“That one mission was blowing up the Death Star.”

“Exactly.” Hobbie offered her a rare smile. “He thinks you have the chops for this. Tomorrow will prove it. And you’re in. Welcome to whatever comes next.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’m voting for myself. Training you was my idea, after all.”

“Wedge says it was both of you.”

“I let Wedge think that.” Hobbie offered her a more sober nod. “You earned this, Mara.”

---

The azure glow of the lightsaber painted the room in blue highlights. Luke flicked the blade up to guard position, as Ben Kenobi had taught him, attempting to stretch out with his feelings.

The first dart from the hovering target remote took him in the thigh. Luke yelped and stumbled back, his guard dropping, and the second bolt took him in the shoulder before he got the humming lightsaber back up in position. Focus, he told himself as he reset his stance and tried stretching out again.

He could feel it, then – a trickle of energy on the edge of his senses, like he was standing next to a high-voltage power cable. This would be easier if I had more time to train. Or if I still had a teacher. His hands moved on instinct, and he batted away a pair of stingers in quick succession. But there’s not time. There’s never time, and there’s no one to teach me.

The next bolt drilled him in the hand, and he nearly dropped the lightsaber altogether. “Shavit,” he growled aloud, before he forced the frustration out with a breath and tried to stretch out again.

But his mind wasn’t focused on the exercise – it was focused on the new squadron. After the battle of Yavin, he’d been given his promotion, put on the command track, and then he and Wedge had pulled a number of missions: diplomatic, yes, but plenty of flight missions with Commander Narra’s Renegade Squadron to tutor him on command and combat tactics. Flying the T-65B X-wing was far more natural than this lightsaber exercise, but flying wasn’t the same as commanding. Rebel High Command clearly had leadership in mind for him, but they weren’t so foolish as to put him in position before he was ready.

And now I’m in that command position, and I’m still not sure I’m ready. The lightsaber picked off another stinger, Luke’s conscious thought never interrupting the movement. At least I have Wedge.

And with that, he began considering his squadron, such as it was.

Wedge Antilles had become a fast friend. Two years older than Luke, Imperial Academy-trained, Corellian, and level-headed under fire. Corellians are all supposed to be hot-headed and reckless, like Han, Luke reflected, but Wedge doesn’t fit that at all. Without him, this squadron won’t work. I just hope I can learn enough from him before the Alliance needs him to command his own squadron. Wedge understood paperwork and procedures in a way Luke suspected he himself never would.

Derek Klivian struck most people as the silent type, but Luke saw something else in him – the quiet skeptic who thought before he spoke, and didn’t use a lot of words. Hobbie was a survivor, an Imperial defector, and Luke suspected he’d be a cornerstone of the squadron.

The lightsaber moved, again almost of its own volition, picking off another pair of bolts.

Puck Naeco was going to drive Hobbie up a wall, though. The Denon pilot’s squadron name ideas at supper had taken Luke entirely off-guard. But if this squadron gets used the way Wedge thinks, we’ll need pressure relief. He’s the relief valve. Skywalker’s Angels is a ridiculous name, but if the squadron can laugh, they can survive.

Sarkli, though… Luke pondered his unease, the lightsaber picking off another stinger. Wedge thinks he’ll work out. Maybe I’ll have more of an opinion after I’ve flown with him. I need to give him a fair shot. He was a Pathfinder, he’s been in Alliance service a lot longer than I am, and we could really use his skills. 

And then there was Mara Jade. A stinger bolt finally slipped through his guard, catching him in the ribs. Luke hissed in pain, finally shutting down the lightsaber and surrendering the exercise. On paper, a good-but-not-great pilot. Wedge and Hobbie had trained her. Hobbie had talked to him, privately, to vouch for her. On paper, she was a questionable decision if Dodonna started throwing combat missions at them sooner than he expected. Yet the same part of him uneasy about Sarkli was bedrock certain he wanted her in the squadron.

That led to a whole different chain of uncomfortable thoughts. After the Death Star, after trusting the Force and his feelings to make an impossible shot, it’d be easy to reassure himself that it was more Force-driven intuition. And the moment I start doing that, I could label any impulse I have as coming from the Force. But I’m not a Jedi, and if I’m leading a squadron into battle, me deciding every idea is from the Force is going to get a lot of people killed. So, I evaluate Sarkli and Mara, and if they make the cut, they fly with us. If they don’t, I don’t argue with the results. I can’t afford to delude myself if I’m going to be a good squadron commander.

Luke clipped the lightsaber back to his belt and picked up the deactivated target remote. I need to make more time for this, he chided himself, or I’m never going to get better. Wedge would tell me to put in the time and commitment, not make excuses. He’d be talking about flying, but if I want to learn about the Force, it’s no different.

Tomorrow, we’ll fly and we’ll make decisions.

Luke Skywalker didn’t expect the Rebellion to involve paperwork.

Months ago, he had destroyed the Death Star over Yavin from the cockpit of a T-65B X-wing. The Rebel Alliance had kept him in the cockpit since, helping fend off Imperial patrols and run scouting missions while the Alliance’s leadership decided on a course of action – evacuate, which was sensible, or hold the line at Massassi Base for as long as possible to declare to the galaxy we are here and the Empire is not invincible.

Luke had no doubts about his ability to fly. Biggs’ confidence in him had always been a cornerstone, and during the battle of Yavin he had engaged and shot down TIE fighters – military-trained pilots both capable and dangerous, flying the best front-line starfighters the Empire could field. What he hadn’t been certain of was his ability to lead – he may have practically grown up in a skyhopper, but he hadn’t spent those years formation-flying and engaging in small-group combat tactics.

Which is why General Dodonna gave me Wedge. He knew I would need the help. I couldn’t do this without Wedge. He knows all these pilots.

Luke’s eyes flicked back to the roster. He and Wedge had been poring over the records of all available Alliance pilots: defecting TIE pilots who needed to be checked out on an X-wing, trainees who hadn’t been blooded in combat, and survivors from squadrons shattered by engagements between Rebel and Imperial forces at Eadu, at Scarif, at Yavin.

So far, they’d assembled a handful of pilots: besides Luke and Wedge, three more pilots on the roster – an uncomfortable number. According to the starfighter doctrine laid down by General Antoc Merrick – the last leader of the Rebels’ starfighter corps, dead months ago at Scarif – X-wings deployed in three-ship elements. Ideally, they’d build the new squadron out to twelve pilots total, but six would be a solid start.

Which is why he didn’t understand why Wedge didn’t want him to recruit the last pilot on his short list. But before they fought that battle, Luke wanted to review the rest of the list first.

“Sarkli,” Luke started with.

“Pathfinder,” Wedge supplied as he looked over his own datapad. “Expert in survival. Transferred to starfighter corps when he moved here to Yavin. Good simulator scores, and he’s been good on patrols according to the pilots he’s flown with.”

“A lot of ego,” Luke pointed out. “I’ve looked over some of those after-action reports, too. He’s got a tendency to chase kills instead of the mission. I’ve heard plenty of bragging  over drinks here in the Temple, too. He’s good, but he wants to be seen as good.”

“Ego is hardly uncommon in fighter pilots,” Wedge retorted. “You know that as well as I do. You have to have plenty of ego to convince yourself you’re better than any Imp pilot you’re going to run into. Some of us just control it better than others. And one of us has a Death Star kill and doesn’t need to brag.”

“That wasn’t…” Luke flushed.

“No, but he’s sharp and we need him. I wish he were more polished, too, but we’re not exactly spoiled for choice and he’s good enough to survive the sort of missions you and I have been talking about.”

Luke shook his head. “I know. I think I want to interview him before we finalize him, but he’s on the roster.” He picked up his datapad. “Hobbie. Do we need to talk about Hobbie?”

Wedge smiled. “No.”

“He’s hard on equipment,” Luke pointed out. “I’m not telling you that we shouldn’t put him on the roster, but he’s got a reputation for losing starfighters. His record doesn’t exactly contradict the reputation, either. But the fact that he’s survived every one of those losses does make me feel a bit better about it.” He looked at his datapad again. “Puck Naeco.”

“Naeco’s an interesting one,” Wedge admitted. “He flew with a rebel cell out of Denon for a full year before the Rebel Alliance was officially formed. R-22 Spearhead pilots, with more hours than anyone else on the shortlist. He’s technically a double-ace in the Spearhead, too – eleven TIE fighter kills. But things were different then. The Empire was still treating resistance cells like a policing problem, not a military problem, and we both know the average Imperial garrison pilot is nothing like the Imperial Navy’s TIE pilots.”

“Why hasn’t anyone else picked Naeco up?”

“Medical and personality,” Wedge said dryly. “He put an R-22 down badly a week before the battle of Scarif and broke his left ankle in two places. With medical shortages, no one wanted to dump him in bacta to recover when we needed it for a lot of pilots in a lot worse shape. He was still healing during Yavin. Since then, he’s been a terror in the simulators, beating up on the new recruits, and making an absolute menace out of himself. The squadrons rotating off Independence, Liberty, and Defiance all dealt with his pratical jokes here and decided they didn’t want to keep dealing with him.”

Luke’s smile was wry. “Lucky us.”

“Lucky us,” Wedge echoed. “He’s going to drive Hobbie up a wall between missions, but he’s all business when we’re in the cockpit. He won’t say it out loud, but I think he’s a lot less certain about himself than he lets on. If Sarkli had eleven TIE kills, we’d never hear the end of it. Puck usually brushes it off.”

“That’s three on the short list,” Luke said. “So…do we talk about the snorbal in the room?”

Wedge grimaced. “I already know where this is going.”

“Let’s start with her service record,” Luke said, ignoring Wedge’s expression. “She’s been officially part of the Alliance for two years now, and was part of a resistance cell before that. She did her initial flight training on R-22 Spearheads, and then trained on X-wings – according to the flight records, by you, Wedge, and Hobbie. Her simulator scores are good, and your own evaluation on her test flights gave her high marks.”

The dark-haired pilot nodded. “Yes. And she’s a damned fine pilot. Has great situational awareness and tracks what’s going on in a fight well. If she survives, she has the potential to be one of the best, but she’s not anywhere close to that right now.”

“So why are you telling me not to bring her in?” Luke asked.

“She’s young,” Wedge pointed out. “Seventeen, more or less – she has no documentation on her birthday.”

“Wedge, I’m not even twenty yet. You’re twenty-one, and you were younger than me when you flew your first combat sorties. And the Alliance has put pilots younger than she is in a cockpit before.”

The executive officer shifted uneasily in his seat. “She’s been through a lot.”

Luke pulled the appropriate page of flimsiplast from the stack. “I saw that. Flew as part of General Syndulla’s attack group on Lothal a year, year and a half back and was shot down but survived. Flew with Blue Squadron at Scarif. Most of her squad made it through the shield gate and ended up trapped down on the surface and destroyed. She was at the back of the formation, didn’t make it through before the gate closed, and fought in the orbital fleet battle. Two TIE kills, and just surviving that engagement means she’s good.” Luke laid the page back down. “That’s more reason to bring her in, not less. She’s got combat experience in some ugly battles and survived it. I should at least interview her.”

Wedge’s lips compressed into a line. “I think it’s a bad idea,” he said at last.

There’s something you’re not telling me, Wedge, Luke observed silently as Wedge’s jaw clenched and unclenched. The two men had formed a fast friendship, and Wedge had been open and honest about his evaluation of all of the pilots they’d recruited so far – and those they had decided wouldn’t work with the squadron they were trying to put together.

“I want to meet her,” Luke said aloud.

Wedge sighed and picked up his comlink. A flick of the thumb, a single call, and he laid it back on the desk between them. “She’ll be here in a minute.”

Luke spent a moment studying the other man. “So, we interview her, and then we make a decision. Not before. We need the pilots, Wedge, if we’re going to make this work, and our options are limited.”

Wedge shook his head. “No, you and I are going to disagree on this. I already know it.” He offered a small smile. “You’re the commander.”

A chime at the door, and Luke raised his voice. “Come in.”

The door slid open, and the pilot stepped in – a slip of a teenage girl, dressed in the orange flightsuit favored by most of the Alliance’s starfighter pilots for both its comfort and visibility in case of ejection, flight boots not unlike Luke’s own, and a pendant around her neck, mostly but not entirely concealed. A DL-18 blaster with a well-worn grip rested in a low-tied holster over her flightsuit. Her posture wasn’t entirely relaxed, though she tried. Her expression was guardedly neutral, she looked very young, and her striking green eyes betrayed experience that was incongruous with her youth.

Her red-gold hair was vivid even against the flightsuit.

“Flight Officer Mara Jade, reporting as ordered for interview for the new unit.”

Luke waited until the younger pilot settled into the salvaged Y-wing ejector seat sitting opposite his makeshift desk. “Thanks for being so quick,” he said congenially.

The young woman offered a nod and nothing else, her eyes sharp and observant.

“Wedge and I are putting together a squadron,” Luke said without preamble. “I already looked over your record, such as it is. I’m not much for paperwork,” he added with a small smile. “You’re not officially on any active squadron after Blue Squadron was disbanded. Are you interested in joining a new unit?”

“If it means I’m flying, yes,” Mara said. Her voice was clipped and tight.

Controlled, Luke corrected himself. Tightly controlled. “And why do you fly?” He hesitated for a moment. “No. Why do you want to fly after Scarif?”

That question got a reaction, but not the one he expected; her face blanked for a moment into something unreadable. “It’s the only place my head is quiet.”

“Most of your unit was wiped out at Scarif,” Wedge noted. “How did you survive it?”

“Couldn’t make it through the shield gate. I was at the back of the formation when the gate started coming back online. Knew I couldn’t make it and if I pushed it, I’d die.” She offered a small shrug. “After that, I stayed alive.”

Luke studied her, but Mara’s eyes could’ve been blindfolded for all they told him. “Any problems flying with a wingman in the past?”

Mara shook her head slightly. “No. I keep up.”

Definitely not the talkative type. “And if I offer you a position in the squadron we’re putting together, what do you need from your commanding officer to do your job?”

“Clear orders.” She seemed to consider for a moment. “If I’m in your squadron, I follow the orders you give me and no one else’s.”

Wedge shot Luke a concerned look across the desk but didn’t speak.

That was…specific, Luke thought. “I’ll want to evaluate your flying before we make any final decisions,” he said slowly. “I’ll let you know as soon as we can get a training flight scheduled. Thanks.”

Mara stood smoothly, offered another nod, and walked out of the makeshift office without looking back.

Luke looked at Wedge after the door shut. “So, are you ready to tell me the whole story? Because I’m ready to put her in a cockpit and see how she flies.”

Wedge hesitated. “Mara is…complicated.” 

“So make it simple,” Luke replied.

“She’s one of Hera Syndulla’s,” was the reluctant reply.

Luke picked up the flimsi off his desk again. “General Syndulla led that attack on Lothal where she was shot down,” he noted. “But that’s the only record I have of her flying as part of Phoenix Squadron. For that matter, your record shows a lot more time with Phoenix at the base on Atollan than Jade’s record.”

“Because she wasn’t part of Phoenix. She was part of the Ghost crew.”

Luke set the flimsi back down. “Syndulla’s personal ship? That VCX freighter?”

Wedge nodded. “Mara was part of the Ghost crew when I first met her. While I was with Phoenix, I was aware she existed, but Hera always kept her away from anything public, and Mara wasn’t the sort to volunteer for missions. I didn’t really get to know her until after I transferred to Massassi Base, when Hobbie and I caught her moping around the hangar. It was Hobbie’s idea to teach her to fly, because she clearly didn’t have anything else to do. I thought Syndulla was going to flay us alive when she found out, but at that point we’d been training Mara for months. Hera looked over the records, made us swear that we were going to treat her like a real pilot and not some kid mascot shavit, and then let it go.” Wedge shrugged. “She’s good, Luke, don’t get me wrong, but…”

“But you’re worried about Syndulla,” Luke finished.

“You haven’t dealt with her,” Wedge said wryly. “She’s a fine officer and squadron commander, but she gets very protective about her crew.”

Luke leaned back in his chair and considered. Political and personal stakes with people I don’t know yet. “So we don’t make a final decision yet,” he said aloud. “Let me fly with her and evaluate her myself. If I don’t think she can fit with the unit we’re building, it’s not an issue. If she does fit, we’ll figure out how to handle any personal complications.”

Wedge grimaced, but nodded. “I’ll get everything lined up for a training flight tomorrow. We’ll bring in the whole shortlist and run a patrol.”

Luke nodded. “Tomorrow, then.”