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Isard's Revenge

Michael A. Stackpole

  Isard’s Revenge

  By Michael A. Stackpole

  X-wing - Book 8

  X-wing Series

  01 - Rogue Squadron

  02 - Wedge’s Gamble

  03 - The Krytos Trap

  04 - The Bacta War

  05 - Wraith Squadron

  06 - Iron Fist

  07 - Solo Command

  08 - Isard’s Revenge

  09 - Starfighters of Adumar


  To Peet Janes and Peter Schweighofer

  Thanks for providing me the opportunity to play in this universe in new and wondrous ways.


  The author would like to thank the following people for their various contributions to this book:

  Janna Silverstein, Tom Dupree, Pat LoBrutto, and Ricia Mainhard for getting me into this mess.

  Sue Rostoni, Allan Kausch, and Lucy Autrey Wilson for continuing to let me work in the Star Wars universe.

  Peter Schweighofer, Peet Janes, Bill Slavicsek, Patty Jackson, Dan Wallace, and Steve Sansweet for material they created, ideas they encouraged, and advice they offered.

  Aaron Allston and Timothy Zahn for letting me play with characters they created.

  Paul Youll for another stunning cover.

  Lawrence Holland and Edward Kilham for the X-Wing and TIE Fighter computer games.

  Chris Taylor for pointing out to me the ship in which Tycho was flying in Star Wars VI: Return of the Jedi. (It was the 2nd A-wing that flew out of the Death Star to lead off some pursuit.)

  My parents, Jim and Janet; my sister, Kerin; my brother, Patrick; his wife, Joy; and Faith, my niece; for their encouragement and support.

  Jennifer Roberson and especially Elizabeth T. Danforth for listening to bits of this story as it was being written and enduring such abuse with infinite patience and grace.

  Dramatis Personae

  The Rogues

  Commander Wedge Antilles (human male from Corellia)

  Captain Tycho Celchu (human male from Alderaan)

  Flight Officer Lyyr Zatoq (Quarren female from Mon Calamari)

  Lieutenant Derek “Hobbie” Klivian (human male from Ralltiir)

  Lieutenant Wes Janson (human male from Taanab)

  Lieutenant Gavin Darklighter (human male from Tatooine)

  Lieutenant Myn Donos (human male from Corellia)

  Lieutenant Khe-Jeen Slee (Issori male from Issor)

  Lieutenant Corran Horn (human male from Corellia)

  Lieutenant Ooryl Qyrgg (Gand male from Gand)

  Lieutenant Asyr Sei’lar (Bothan female from Bothawui)

  Flight Officer Inyri Forge (human female from Kessel)

  Lieutenant Nawara Ven (Twi’lek male from Ryloth)

  Support Personnel

  Gate (Wedge’s R5 unit)

  Whistler (Corran’s R2 unit)

  New Republic Military

  Admiral Ackbar (Mon Calamari male from Mon Calamari)

  Colonel Kapp Dendo (Devaronian male from Devaron)

  Captain Page (human male from Corulag)

  New Republic Intelligence

  General Airen Cracken (human male from Contruum)

  Iella Wessiri (human female from Corellia)

  Ciutric Hegemony Forces

  Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel (human male from Corulag)

  Ysanne Isard (human female from Coruscant)

  Crew of the Errant Venture

  Booster Terrik (human male from Corellia)

  Crew of the Pulsar Skate

  Mirax Terrik (human female from Corellia)

  Chapter One

  Sithspawn! When his X-wing reverted to realspace before the countdown timer had reached zero, Corran Horn knew Thrawn had somehow managed to outguess the New Republic yet one more time. The Rogues had helped create the deception that the New Republic would be going after the Tangrene Ubiqtorate Base, but Thrawn clearly hadn’t taken the bait.

  The man’s incredible. I’d like to meet him, shake his hand. Corran smiled. And then kill him, of course.

  Two seconds into realspace and the depth of Thrawn’s brilliance became undeniable. The New Republic’s forces had been brought out of hyperspace by two Interdictor cruisers, which even now started to fade back toward the Imperial lines. This left the New Republic’s ships well shy of the Bilbringi shipyards and facing an Imperial fleet arrayed for battle. The two Interdictors that had dragged them from hyperspace were a small part of a larger force scattered around to make sure the New Republic’s ships were not going to be able to retreat.

  “Battle alert!” Captain Tycho Celchu’s voice crackled over the comm unit. “TIE Interceptors coming in—bearing two-nine-three, mark twenty.”

  Corran keyed his comm unit. “Three Flight, on me. Hold it together and nail some squints.”

  The cant-winged Interceptors rolled in and down on the Rogues. Corran kicked his X-wing up on its port S-foil and flicked his lasers over to quad-fire mode. While that would slow his rate of fire, each burst had a better chance of killing a squint outright. And there are plenty that need killing here.

  Corran nudged his stick right and dropped the crosshairs onto an Interceptor making a run at Admiral Ackbar’s flagship. He hit the firing switch, sending four red laser bolts burning out at the target. They hit on the starboard side, with two of them piercing the cockpit and the other two vaporizing the strut supporting the right wing. The bent hexagonal wing sheered off in a shower of sparks, while the rest of the craft started a long, lazy spiral toward the outer edges of the system.

  “Break port, Nine.”

  As the Gand’s high-pitched voice poured through the comm unit, Corran snaprolled his X-wing to the left, then chopped his throttle back and hauled hard on the stick to take him into a loop. An Interceptor flashed through where he had been, and Ooryl Qyrgg’s X-wing came fast on its tail. Ooryl’s lasers blazed in sequence, stippling the Interceptor with red energy darts. One hit each wing, melting great furrows through them, while the other two lanced through the cockpit right above the twin ion engines. The engines themselves tore free of their support structure and blew out through the front of the squint, then exploded in a silver fireball that consumed the rest of the Imperial fighter.

  “Thanks, Ten.”

  “My pleasure, Nine.”

  Whistler, the green and white R2 unit slotted in behind Corran, hooted, and data started pouring up over the fighter’s main monitor. It told him in exact detail what he was seeing unfold in space around him. The New Republic’s forces had come into the system in the standard conical formation that allowed them to maximize firepower. Thrawn had arrayed his forces in more of a bowl shape, with Interdictor cruisers ringing the outer edge, preventing retreat and promoting containment. The Imperial forces also appeared to have very specific fire missions and were working over the smaller support ships in Ackbar’s fleet.

  Corran shivered. And even if we were to punch through the Imp formation, we’d still have to deal with the Golan Space Defense Stations protecting the Imperial shipyards. Thrawn, genius that he had proved himself to be, had set a perfect ambush for the New Republic. The Bilbringi shipyards were crucial to the Imperial war effort since they were a major supplier of ships, and their loss would strike a major blow against Thrawn’s effort to destroy the New Republic.

  Of course, Thrawn figured that out himself and knew we’d be here. Until Thrawn slithered in from the Unknown Regions and began his drive to reestablish the Empire, Corran had allowed himself to believe the tough battles had already been won, and all the New Republic had left to do was to mop up the last of the Imperials. Now it seems the hard battles are here and waiting to be lost.

  With a flick of his thumb, Corran evened his shields out fore and aft, th
en throttled back up and slashed in at a pair of Interceptors making a run on a New Republic Assault Frigate. He slid his crosshairs over on the trailing Interceptor as it began its shallow glide along the Frigate’s hull. His quad burst caught most of the port wing, liquefying it in an instant. The molten metal froze in a long black tangle of ribbonlike shards trailing after the damaged fighter. The pilot juked his ship to the right to escape Corran, but that flew him straight into a burst from one of the Frigate’s turbolasers, vaporizing the squint in an eyeblink.

  The lead Interceptor rolled to port and cut down past the curve of the Frigate’s hull. Corran caught a flash of red on one of the Interceptor’s wings and nodded. “Looks like he was once part of the One Eighty-first Imperial Fighter Group. They used to be feared. Maybe I ought to see why.”

  Whistler sounded a mournful tone.

  “Yes, I know what I’m doing.”

  The droid blatted harshly at him.

  “Yes, I’ll be careful. Neither one of us wants to know what Mirax will do to the survivor if we die.” Corran winked at the holograph of his wife fixed to a side panel in his cockpit, then rolled his X-wing and cruised down after the squint. He threaded a path through the turbolaser blasts the Frigate was pumping out, then swept past the ship out near its engines

  Even before Whistler could hoot a warning, the hiss of lasers splashing themselves over his aft shields caught Corran’s full attention. His secondary monitor showed the Interceptor dropping in on his tail. Must have throttled back and hovered near the engines, waiting. This guy is good.

  Pumping more energy into his shields, Corran rolled the X-wing right, up onto the S-foil. He pulled back on the stick to start a loop and held it for three seconds, then cut his throttle back and inverted. Pulling back harder on the stick, he completed a fast loop, then throttled up through the end of it and rolled out right.

  As his fighter’s nose came to point at the Interceptor, the Imp pilot rolled his craft and dove away from Corran. The Corellian pilot started down after him, but cut back to 75 percent of his speed. As he anticipated, the Imp cut his speed as well, hoping Corran would race past him. Instead Corran triggered one quick burst of fire that hit high on the Imp’s port wing, burning a black hole through the red stripe. He then stood on his right rudder pedal, keeping his guns on the squint, and poured another quad burst of laserfire into the Interceptor.

  All four ruby darts drilled through the port wing, then stabbed deep into the cockpit. A bright light flashed through the hole the lasers had opened, and Corran expected the ship to explode, but it didn’t. Instead it began to come apart, with bits and pieces of it whirling away as if the bright flash had disintegrated all the rivets and welds used in its manufacture.

  Corran looped his X-wing away from the dying squint, but before he could vector in on another Interceptor, he heard Commander Wedge Antilles coming through on the squadron’s tactical channel. “All Rogues, come about on a heading of one-two-five, mark one-seven. That Golan Space Defense Station is designated Green One. It’s ours.”

  “Ours, Commander?” The same surprise Corran felt in his chest came flooding through Gavin Darklighter’s voice. “That’s a pretty tough target.”

  “We’ll just have to be tougher than it is, won’t we, Six?” Wedge’s reply came loaded with grim irony. “If we can get into the shipyard, the Imps will have to think about more than just pounding our fleet. Besides, we have friends coming out. One Flight is on me. Five, you have Two Flight. Nine, you have Three.”

  “As ordered, Lead.” Corran brought his fighter around on the appropriate heading and locked the target into his computer. “Estimated time of arrival at missile range is forty seconds. Let’s move, Three Flight.”

  Ooryl pulled his X-wing up on Corran’s starboard wing. Inyri Forge brought Rogue Twelve up on Corran’s port wing and Asyr Sei’lar, in Rogue Eleven, hung back off Inyri’s port wing. Corran goosed his ship a bit forward and shifted his attention toward their target, trusting the others to keep him informed if Imps were vectoring in on them from behind.

  Not likely, though, since they’ve got plenty to keep them busy. Throughout the bowl into which the New Republic’s fleet moved, massive salvos of energy shot up and down and side to side, filling the area with a dazzling light show. Corran would have been more than content to watch the turbolaser bursts flow back and forth, but the fact that they were lethal was more than enough to keep him from finding much beauty in them. Behind the squadron, Y-wings, A-wings, and B-wings mixed it up with Interceptors, TIE fighters, and Bombers, punctuating the light show with brilliant explosions.

  The larger ships, when hit hard, didn’t explode as quickly. Instead their fire-blackened bulks drifted through the battlefield, atmosphere burning off as it leaked out of broken hulls. Some turbolaser blasts were enough to peel back armor plates and reduce them to floating metal globules that hardened in the vacuum of space. In other places the shots holed the ships through and through or vaporized things that should have been there, like superstructures or a bow.

  The Golan Space Defense Station loomed larger. Lights blinked placidly at the various corners, almost inviting inspection. Over two kilometers long, about half as wide and tall, it bristled with turbolaser batteries, proton torpedo launchers, and tractor beam stations. It massed more than an Imperial Star Destroyer and, while it wasn’t as heavily armed, the proton torpedo launchers gave it the ability to inflict serious damage in a hurry. It could easily put down any of the New Republic ships that made it through the Imperial formation.

  Corran flicked his weapons-control over to proton torpedoes and linked fire so two would go with a single pull of his trigger. Whistler brought up the heads-up targeting display and the HUD fixed a green box around the space platform. The droid began to beep insistently as it tried to get a target lock; then the HUD went red and Whistler’s tone became constant.

  “Nine has a firing solution, transmitting now. On my mark, Three Flight. Three, two, one, mark!”

  All four of the X-wings fired their proton torpedoes at one time, using Whistler’s targeting solution to guide them. A battle station like the Golan sported very powerful shields and individually fired proton torpedoes would have been unable to pierce it. Eight torpedoes coming in at the same time, aiming for the same point, would overstress the shields, draining them of energy. This would create a critical time window in which the shields would be weakened, or would totally fail, and have to be regenerated.

  Whistler sounded another long, strong tone. “Three Flight, second salvo. On my mark. Three, two, one, mark.”

  Eight more proton torpedoes streaked out from the incoming fighters before the first set had hit. The first eight torpedoes detonated against the station’s top-port shield. The shield itself went opaque, taking on a milky-white hue as it attempted to dissipate the torpedoes’ energy. But sparks shot from the shield projectors rimming the station’s middle and a roiling ball of plasma bounced across the hull, scorching gray paint as it went.

  The next eight missiles hit in a ragged sequence and exploded brilliantly along the station’s middle. Flames vomited into space as a blast opened a hole three decks deep and vented atmosphere. Armor plates whirled into space, half melted and twisted. Turbolaser batteries split apart, leaving blackened holes and warped metal where they had once been grafted to the station.

  Corran juked his fighter up and away from the station, then inverted and watched turbolaser fire shoot beneath his canopy. For a half second he thought the Golan’s gunners were terribly shaken by the squadron’s attack, hence their misses, then he glanced at his rear sensor display. He smiled and keyed his comm unit. “We softened them up for you…”

  “Appreciated, Rogues, now let us do our jobs.”

  Two New Republic Assault Frigates, the Tyrant’s Bane and Liberty Star, cruised in toward the Golan station. Though each ship was less than a third as long as the station, they bristled with fifty laser cannons and poured terajoules of coherent light into the Go
lan. Scarlet bolts lanced through the station’s collapsed shields and bubbled up chunks of the metal hull. Stanchions wavered and wilted beneath the blistering assault. As they collapsed, turbolaser batteries sagged and dipped, then melted into slag.

  The troops aboard the Golan fought back valiantly, but found themselves at a gross disadvantage. Proton torpedoes exploded, shaking the station. The troops fired in vain at the fighters, then concentrated their fire on the Frigates. While the larger ships made for better targets, their intact shields provided them with protection the station lacked. With each salvo fewer and fewer of the Golan’s weapons fired back. A brilliant flare flashed on the station’s port side, then it went black.

  Power couplings must be down. That half of the station is dead. Corran keyed his comlink. “Three Flight, with me, we’re past the station and in on the shipyard. Now the Imps have to move to catch us.”

  Corran tried to force confidence into his voice. Racing a starfighter through a shipyard, shooting up targets of opportunity, would be fairly easy, but he didn’t want to kid himself about the chances that such an assault would force the Empire to break off its attack on the Rebel fleet. Thrawn might not like what the Rogues are doing, but he can deal with us later, when he’s killed all the other ships.

  Tycho’s voice poured through the comm unit. “Lead, Two here. I show the Imperial formation breaking up.”

  “What?” Corran stabbed a button and shifted the display on his primary monitor over to a system-wide scan. The Imperial bowl, which had been contracting around the Rebel cone, was beginning to come apart. The Stormhawk and the Nemesis were moving to secure an outbound vector for the fleet, while Thrawn’s flagship, the Chimaera, swung about to discourage pursuit of the fleet’s smaller ships.