the others, then brought his snubfighter around toward the south. A visual scan showed the rest of Two Group maintaining their positions; sensors showed Wedge still on station and another blip, doubtless related to their objective, straight ahead klicks to the south.
Wedge’s voice broke over their comm systems. “Gentlemen, this is a simple strafing run exercise. The blip on your sensors is not your target. That’s Lieutenant Janson in the Narra , our shuttle. With the shuttle’s personnel retrieval tractor beam, Janson will be maneuvering a target, which will be about three hundred meters behind him. Five and Six will perform their run, then Seven and Eight thirty seconds later. Your orders are simple: Arm at two klicks, fire at a klick and a half, immediately disengage and return to base. There is now a governor on your comm systems; Five and Six will not be able to talk to Seven and Eight, and vice versa. If you hear ‘Abort,’ break off your attack and await orders; it probably means one of you jokers has taken a target lock on the Narra . Any questions?”
Kell said, “No, sir,” and heard Runt repeat it.
“Good hunting, then.”
Kell watched the numbers on the rangefinder spin down at a rapid pace, then saw the faintest shadow of a new blip begin to flicker in and out of existence a short distance behind the Narra . Moments later, he saw the Narra itself, a distant sliver of lightness against the backdrop of some of Folor’s mountains, and saw the target: a sail of reflective cloth about the size of the shuttle when fully deployed. It was not fully deployed now; it twisted and curled in the shuttle’s tractor beam.
With its shape and size continually changing, it would be a challenging shot at one and a half klicks. He addressed the R5 unit situated behind his cockpit: “Reset proton torpedo one to a ten-meter proximity fuse. Communicate with Six’s R2 and instruct him to do the same.”
The R5 beeped confirmation at him. Kell hadn’t given a name to the shiny new droid; that was the privilege of the firstpilot to be permanently assigned to this X-wing and its astromech.
At two klicks, he called, “S-foils to attack position.” He reached up and right to throw the appropriate switch, saw the strike foils to port and starboard part into the formation that gave the X-wings their unique profile.
As soon as they locked into place, his heads-up display faded. Kell had a clear sensor view of the target … and no way to lock on to it with his weapons.
“R5, what happened to my targeting?”
The R5’s confused whistle tweeted at him over the comlink, and the data board read UNKNOWN .
“Six, I have no targeting!”
“Five, we have no weapons systems. We have a general failure.”
“Dammit, dammit …” Kell’s guts were going cold so fast it was as though an overenthusiastic refrigeration unit had been installed there. He pointed his X-wing in as direct a path as he could toward the target, corrected to a couple of degrees port to account for the speed of the towing shuttle. With seconds remaining, he checked visually and by sensor to make sure that the torpedo wouldn’t come anywhere near the Narra .
The rangefinder’s numbers rolled down to one and a half klicks. Kell fired, saw the torpedo flash toward the target, saw it miss by forty meters or more. As he pulled up and began the long loop around to orient him back toward Folor Base, he watched the torpedo continue on its ballistic path, eventually slamming into the side of one of the distant mountains, illuminating the mountain slope with a brief, brilliant flash.
“Not too good, Five,” Wedge said. “Seven, Eight, begin your run.”
“Seven, affirmative.”
“Eight, affirmative.”
Kell frowned. Suddenly he could hear Seven and Eight again. Doubtless, since he and Runt were through with the run, Wedge had reenabled their ability to do so. “R5, can you give me views through their telemetry? Seven’s and
Wedge’s voice broke over their comm systems. “Gentlemen, this is a simple strafing run exercise. The blip on your sensors is not your target. That’s Lieutenant Janson in the Narra , our shuttle. With the shuttle’s personnel retrieval tractor beam, Janson will be maneuvering a target, which will be about three hundred meters behind him. Five and Six will perform their run, then Seven and Eight thirty seconds later. Your orders are simple: Arm at two klicks, fire at a klick and a half, immediately disengage and return to base. There is now a governor on your comm systems; Five and Six will not be able to talk to Seven and Eight, and vice versa. If you hear ‘Abort,’ break off your attack and await orders; it probably means one of you jokers has taken a target lock on the Narra . Any questions?”
Kell said, “No, sir,” and heard Runt repeat it.
“Good hunting, then.”
Kell watched the numbers on the rangefinder spin down at a rapid pace, then saw the faintest shadow of a new blip begin to flicker in and out of existence a short distance behind the Narra . Moments later, he saw the Narra itself, a distant sliver of lightness against the backdrop of some of Folor’s mountains, and saw the target: a sail of reflective cloth about the size of the shuttle when fully deployed. It was not fully deployed now; it twisted and curled in the shuttle’s tractor beam.
With its shape and size continually changing, it would be a challenging shot at one and a half klicks. He addressed the R5 unit situated behind his cockpit: “Reset proton torpedo one to a ten-meter proximity fuse. Communicate with Six’s R2 and instruct him to do the same.”
The R5 beeped confirmation at him. Kell hadn’t given a name to the shiny new droid; that was the privilege of the firstpilot to be permanently assigned to this X-wing and its astromech.
At two klicks, he called, “S-foils to attack position.” He reached up and right to throw the appropriate switch, saw the strike foils to port and starboard part into the formation that gave the X-wings their unique profile.
As soon as they locked into place, his heads-up display faded. Kell had a clear sensor view of the target … and no way to lock on to it with his weapons.
“R5, what happened to my targeting?”
The R5’s confused whistle tweeted at him over the comlink, and the data board read UNKNOWN .
“Six, I have no targeting!”
“Five, we have no weapons systems. We have a general failure.”
“Dammit, dammit …” Kell’s guts were going cold so fast it was as though an overenthusiastic refrigeration unit had been installed there. He pointed his X-wing in as direct a path as he could toward the target, corrected to a couple of degrees port to account for the speed of the towing shuttle. With seconds remaining, he checked visually and by sensor to make sure that the torpedo wouldn’t come anywhere near the Narra .
The rangefinder’s numbers rolled down to one and a half klicks. Kell fired, saw the torpedo flash toward the target, saw it miss by forty meters or more. As he pulled up and began the long loop around to orient him back toward Folor Base, he watched the torpedo continue on its ballistic path, eventually slamming into the side of one of the distant mountains, illuminating the mountain slope with a brief, brilliant flash.
“Not too good, Five,” Wedge said. “Seven, Eight, begin your run.”
“Seven, affirmative.”
“Eight, affirmative.”
Kell frowned. Suddenly he could hear Seven and Eight again. Doubtless, since he and Runt were through with the run, Wedge had reenabled their ability to do so. “R5, can you give me views through their telemetry? Seven’s and
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