Chapter Ten

Wedge stood with a shoulder leaning against the port landing strut of his X-wing, watching as Thras Nyl approached his own fighter, not more than twenty meters away. The new Rogue was wearing the typical orange flightsuit that most of the other Rogues wore, instead of his original dark blue one, an obvious attempt to blend in and become part of the group. The former Imperial ran his fingers along the underside of the port S-foil, stopping to peer into the lower of the two engines on that side. Seeming satisfied with a quick inspection, he moved over to and started up the ladder resting against the side of the ship.

It must still be strange for him to be flying our fighters, Wedge reflected, continuing the observation of one of his newest pilots. This would be the first time that he would have to trust Nyl in combat, and he was surprised at the flutter of nerves in his stomach that came with that realization.

As Nyl made it half way up the ladder, he paused to run a gloved hand over the smooth, gray skin of his fighter, beneath the lip of his cockpit. On every other X-wing in the squadron, this was the area where the pilot's kill silhouettes were displayed; there were none on Nyl's ship. Until now, all of the fighters he's shot down were ours, Wedge thought. Maybe even friends of mine.

Refusing to let his thoughts continue further down that particular space lane, Wedge headed up his own ladder and jumped onto his pilot's couch. Dropping into a seated position, he picked up his helmet from where it was perched in front of him, towards the nose of his fighter. He shoved it onto his head, fastened the strap snuggly under his chin, and then pulled on his gloves, wriggling his fingers to make sure he had a full range of motion. It was a routine he knew well, and settled the uneasy feeling in his gut. He glanced to his right and saw Tycho, sitting in his own cockpit, looking over at him.

Has he been watching me this entire time? Wedge wondered, trying to convince himself that there was nothing to feel guilty about. He smiled over at Tycho, and was relieved when the colonel smiled back, then gave him a thumbs-up just before his canopy descended to seal him in.

As Wedge began his pre-flight checklist, Gate whistled a question at him. Wedge sighed. "Not you, too. I was not spying on him!"

There was another series of tones, the translation scrolling across Wedge's secondary screen as his fighter powered up. "Yes, yes, you were captured along with me by the Imperials, and yes, that was a terrible thing. But it has nothing to do with any suspicions I have about Nyl. And I was only watching him while he-"

This time the whistles and beeps had a decidedly sarcastic tone to them. "Fine, don't believe me," Wedge grumbled. "Just start the warm up."

He flicked a couple switches, lights flashing on and off on his console. He stopped for a moment, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. "You know, I have to wonder..." he mused, the engines of the fighter beginning to thrum behind him.

Gate trilled a note, asking a question. Wedge smirked. "I was just wondering if it wasn't time for the Rogue astromechs to have their routine memory wipes."

Gate was sullenly silent after that.


As usual while sitting in hyperspace, heading for a possible battle at Srelbin IV, Tycho had no one to talk to but his droid, Marca. But even that conversation had ended pretty quickly when the R-5 reminded Tycho of his losses at the sabaac table the night before, playing against some of the engineers and techs on Starlight. He was fully aware that he was an awful player; he just didn't need to be reminded so frequently of the fact.

Laying his helmeted head against the back of his pilot's couch, Tycho closed his eyes and tried to relax. His thoughts wandered in various directions, from one topic to another, seemingly unrelated to one another. A vision of Winter surfaced, and he smiled, but the happiness he felt when he thought of her was tinged with loneliness and regret. It had been more than three months since he'd last heard from her, and even longer since he'd actually seen her.

They had a strange relationship, frequently separated for months, sometimes for more than a year, by either his duties as a pilot or hers as personal aide and friend to Chief of State Organa Solo. And although he had no doubt that he and Winter were in love and devoted to one another, he had to question what direction their relationship would or could take in the future. He honestly hoped that they could keep from drifting apart permanently, but with such long separations, he wasn't sure if their relationship could survive, never mind thrive. They had a lot to talk about at their next meeting, whenever that was. For the moment, he missed her terribly, and had to be content with the memories.

Tycho's droid moaned quietly, interrupting his introspection. "What is it, Marca?"

After a singsong of tones and whistles, Tycho smiled as he read the translation. "I'm not mad at you, or ignoring you. I was just thinking about something."

Again, Marca asked a question. Tycho's smile slipped into a frown. "What do you know about it?"

This time Marca had a lot to say, his trilling starting out low and eventually running through several scales up into a higher range. "Gate told you all that? How does he know about it? What does he think about it?"

Tycho frowned at himself as Marca's reply sprang up. I'm asking a droid about gossip? Have I fallen that far? At that point, something Marca said caught his absolute attention. "Wait a minute, Marca, back up a parsec. Why did Gate say that?"

There was a quick whistle, raised at the end indicating that it was a question. "The part about 'General Antilles not operating according to optimum human specs' or something along those lines."

Tycho waited patiently as Marca, in typical astromech fashion, went through several issues before getting to the point that interested his pilot. Sometimes he wondered why droids were bigger gossips than most humans. "Really? I didn't know about that. There've been a couple of things recently though that had me wondering if his capture hadn't affected him more than even he realizes."

Marca tootled. "Yes, that's one of them. This worrying about Thras Nyl is another. And now Gate wondering about his performance, and he's in a position to know. Almost conclusive, I'd say." Marca gave an indignant hoot. "No, I'm not suggesting that I wouldn't have believed Gate."

Tycho tried not to get aggravated. Why did he have to get stuck with a droid with an inferiority complex? "I'm just saying that I've seen some things as well that would make me wonder. Why don't you concentrate on your job and run a systems check to make sure that everything is in working order, and I'll do my job, which includes worrying about Wedge, ok?"

As Marca whined and set to his task, Tycho looked out through his canopy, his eyes losing focus as he watched the shifting colors of the light show that hyperspace provided. Wedge was out there, the man he thought of as not only his commanding officer and wingmate, but best friend as well. Wedge had stood by him through all kinds of adversity, even when most others had given Tycho up for a traitor or worse. Wedge had never lost his faith or trust in Tycho.

Trust. Tycho considered the word for several heartbeats, mindlessly watching lights flash on and off in his cockpit as Marca finished up the systems check. The more the word sunk in, though, the more he realized that it had been bouncing around in the back of his brain for the last few months. Now it had crystallized into an important concern at the front of his mind: he was worried about Wedge on both a personal and professional level. The whole business with Thras Nyl was what had finally tipped Tycho off that there was a serious problem. He had never seen his friend react negatively like that to anyone, ex-Imperial or not. There was always a sense about Wedge that no matter what was in the person's past, no matter what anyone said about that person, they always got at least one chance to prove themselves to Wedge. His creation of Wraith Squadron was proof of that, since he'd purposefully found pilots with blots on their records, who weren't trusted or wanted by other commanders. Instead of letting them be washed out of Starfighter Command, Wedge had given them one last chance to prove themselves. He'd put his trust in pilots when they didn't even trust themselves anymore.

"You're right, Marca, and so is Gate," Tycho admitted, feeling the need to voice his concerns, even if it was only to his droid. The person he would usually talk to was the person he was worried about. "Ever since the Arramsetti thing, he's been a little different. Not too noticeable at first, but it's all adding up to something we can't help but notice and can no longer ignore. I don't know..."

Tycho let his words trail off, but his thoughts continued on. He knew that Wedge had almost died twice on Arramsetti, and that alone would skew most people's point of view slightly. But Wedge had also been put through days of horrific torture, just because of who he was and what he had done for the New Republic. Tycho had been tortured in the past as well, but he didn't remember most of it, being drugged and comatose through the majority of the sessions, spread out over several weeks. And he had never been so badly tortured that he had been close to death. Sith, who knows what that does to the mind.

Somehow, though, Wedge seemed above all that. Tycho groaned, rolling his eyes when he realized he was doing what so many others had done before him. He was seeing his best friend as Wedge Antilles, Hero of the Rebellion, not as the human being, the flesh and blood he really was. Just like everyone else, Wedge was susceptible to failure, anxiety, suspicion, doubt, even fear. What had happened to him was bound to leave more than just physical scars.

A shiver ran down Tycho's spine. He wasn't sure that what had been changed in Wedge could ever be repaired, and he was very sorry for that. Can Wedge ever be the man he was before, or have we lost him for good? Tycho shook his head. If that were the case, then the Empire had possibly won a victory without even knowing it. They may have killed Wedge Antilles.

Marca whistled to get his attention. Glancing at his main screen, Tycho saw that they were just five minutes away from reverting to real space. Pulling himself fully upright, he straightened his helmet and pulled at his gloves, preparing himself for the possible battle that lay ahead.


"Is Nefarious in position, Larrdin?" Rozrrom asked from his command seat on the bridge of Inferno. He loved the smaller ship, feeling that it better represented him than his Star Destroyer. Small, yet venomous. Unremarkable to look at, but deadly.

"Yes, sir," the colonel replied, standing at his commander's right hand. "In position, as per your orders."

"Excellent," he responded, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "All we need now is for their fleet to arrive, and then we crush them once and for all. Assuming the information our spy sent is correct. I would be extremely disappointed if I've gone to all this trouble for nothing."

Larrdin wondered what kind of death Rozrrom would visit upon the spy should the New Republic ships not appear from hyperspace. A number of theories flittered through his mind just before the sensor officer signalled from his position at the sensor console. Unlike on the much larger Star Destroyer, the bridge crew on the Lancer were on the same level as their commander, sitting below the semi-circle of forward viewports.

"General, ships exiting hyperspace, heading point five-oh, mark six."

Rozrrom was on his feet in an instant. "How many, Givel?"

"Five larger ships, sir, and forty-eight fighters. A-wings and X-wings, sir. Confirmed, they match the profile of the fleet we're waiting for."

Rozrrom resumed his seat, lacing his fingers together and settling his hands on his stomach. "You know what to do, Gher."

"Aye, sir." Larrdin turned towards the dark haired woman in charge of communications. She was on her feet, bent over the panels she was responsible for, giving Larrdin an admirable view of various parts of her body. "Lella, send the order releasing the TIEs, both ship-board and ground-based. Bring Nefarious around to course nine-eight mark twelve, Inferno to one-three mark two-one. Open fire as soon as the gunships and Mon Cals are in range."

"Yes, Colonel," she replied, her fingers dancing over the keys as she took her seat.

Larrdin tore his eyes off her and returned his attention to his commander. "Fighters released, General." He consulted a tactical screen. "Republic ships will be within our firing range in thirty-eight seconds.

"Good. Contact Querulous and have her stand by to make her jump should it look like they'll retreat."

"Yes, General."


"This is not going well," Wedge grumbled, an understatement of staggering proportions. He inverted his fighter and dove, narrowly missing a TIE fighter pursuing Rogue Ten. He passed it so quickly he didn't get off a single shot.

"I think we ought to get out of here, Lead," Tycho's strained voice replied on their private channel. Wedge couldn't see his wingman-in a fight as unexpected as this one, wingpairs often got split up-but his scanners and tactical screen told him all he needed to know. Enemy fighters surrounded Tycho, as well as Wedge and the other forty-four remaining fighters in their group. Enemy fighters numbered one hundred and seventeen at last count. Wedge didn't know how Rozrrom had been able to gather together this many TIEs, though not much surprised him when it came to the Corellian general. During his years as a smuggler, the leader of the Inexorables had no doubt assembled a sizeable number of contacts and suppliers. Not to mention favors due.

There was one thing that did surprise Wedge, however. So far, only Nefarious and Inferno were in-system, letting loose at least three quarters of the fighters they now faced, the rest coming up from Srelbin IV. There was still no sign of Querulous.

As it stood, the New Republic fleet outmatched the capital ships that Rozrrom had arrayed against them in terms of firepower, with only the TIEs presenting a serious threat as they outnumbered Wedge's forces by more than two to one. Because of that fighter superiority, Wedge's group wouldn't be able to help take out the Inexorables' capital ships, and in the end that tilted the odds in Rozrrom's favor.

"You think she'll be here?" Wedge asked Tycho, evading the increasingly accurate fire from the TIEs on his tail. There were so many of the angular fighters buzzing around that there were continual flares from his shields. Gate was pulling power from almost every system in the ship to keep them from failing.

There were a few moments of silence before Tycho came back. "You'd think so. Be stupid not to bring her in, try and-" There was a muffled explosion in Wedge's ear, then just static on the frequency.

"Two?" Wedge asked. There was no reply. "Rogue Two, can you hear me?"

Wedge's stomach flipped, and not because of any problem with his inertial compensator. He checked his screen and saw that Tycho's ship was still out there somewhere, he just didn't know if the pilot inside it was okay. "Rogue Two? Rogue Leader to Rogue Two."

"I'm here, Lead," Tycho answered after what seemed like an eternity. "Something got through my shields and knocked out my primary comm unit. Switched to secondary unit once I got rid of the TIE. Shields back up to 62%."

"Then can you spare a minute to help a wingmate?" Wedge hinted.

"I may be convinced to forgo my caf break, if you insist."

"Believe me, I insist," Wedge replied, throwing his ship to the left, then a sharp turn to the right. To some people, this kind of banter could seem hideously out of place in a space battle, but somehow it seemed normal for the Rogues, even expected.

Wedge's fighter jarred violently and the webbing of his restraint harness dug into his shoulders as he was tossed forward. Gate screamed then went very quiet. "Gate?"

"Lead, are you all right?" Tycho asked, an edge of anxiety in his voice this time.

"I am," Wedge replied, checking his instruments and readouts. "But I think I just lost Gate."

"I'm right above you, Lead. Looks like Gate's still there, but more than a little carbonized. Make a sharp left on my mark and I'll slip in behind your TIE."

"Copy, Rogue Two." Wedge dodged right before dipping below his previous line of flight, his ship spiralling along its axis. "Just be quick about it," he grumbled to himself.

"Three, two, one, mark!"

Wedge tossed his stick to the left, green laser fire passing through the area of space he had just occupied. He corkscrewed, continuing left in a tight loop that forced him deeper into his pilot's couch. He caught an X‑wing in his peripheral vision, hopefully Tycho, opening fire on the enemy fighter. There was a bright flash.

"Lead, you're clear for the moment," Tycho announced.

"Thanks, Rogue Two," Wedge answered, followed by a quick sigh of relief. But it was short lived, since there were still about a hundred TIEs swarming around them. He punched a button on his console, taking him to the Rogue tactical frequency. "Rogue Control, any word from the Admiral?"

"Nothing yet, Group Leader," Nawara replied. "Starlight is taking quite a bit of fire from Nefarious."

"Patch me through to Starlight, Control." Nawara didn't reply, but there was a short squawk from the comm, a telltale sign that there had been a change in channels. Fedra's voice came across next.

"Starlight here, Group Leader."

"We're overwhelmed out here, Admiral. We either need to retreat, or you break off from the capitals and give us some cover." Wedge dodged another TIE, Tycho picking it off from behind and below him, but they seemed to be coming at him from all directions at once. And without Gate, even a minor malfunction could have him out of the fight in a matter of seconds.

"We can take the two capital ships, General, if you can hold out a little longer. If Querulous isn't going to jump in, this may be our best chance to get him."

Wedge fought against the anger building within him. He reluctantly had to concede that Fedra was forced to look solely at numbers, and the very real possibility of being able to end the battle once and for all with only the loss of some pilots and their ships. But Wedge saw it from a completely different point of view-from a cockpit. He was one of those pilots who might be an 'acceptable loss' in a report.

"You might be able to take on Nefarious and Inferno, Admiral, but we can't beat back over a hundred TIEs while you do it. And once they get past us, you'll be in trouble. With all due respect, I suggest we withdraw."

There was what sounded like a sigh from the comm unit, followed by the thump of a small explosion. "I concede the point; sending the order to withdraw."

Wedge exhaled a long breath. Fedra sounded hesitant, but he had seen reason anyway, saving countless pilots. Only a few seconds later, the retreat code went out, and what was left of the four fighter squadrons came around towards their exit vector, speeding after and catching up to the outbound capitals. At virtually the same time, Querulous jumped into the system.

Not even the brilliant green flash of a laser bolt, less than a meter away as it pierced his shields and whizzed past his canopy, could tear Wedge's eyes from that Star Destroyer. He thought seeing the holo image of the former Imperial ship had prepared him, readied him for the feelings that would surface when he saw her again-the first time he would see her with his own eyes since his capture. But it hadn't. A sudden fear gripped his heart, stole the breath from his lungs, and bile boiled in his belly. A sympathetic twinge of pain spread across his back as time seemed to slow to a crawl, the ships flying around him twisting into a bizarre dance of slow motion movement. His chest burned, crying out for oxygen, for life, for escape!

He suddenly gasped for air, one hand reflexively reaching for his throat. There was a buzzing in his ears that sluggishly formed into words.

"Group Leader, respond."

You, that's you! Training and instinct finally took over from conscious thought. Only about four seconds had passed on his chronometer, but in the midst of a dogfight, that was an eternity. When he found his voice, it was rough. "Group Leader here."

A pause, then Nawara was back. "What are your orders for the fighters?"

Wedge lowered a shaky hand back to his throttle control. He spotted a TIE about to cross his path and took a shot at it, quad lasers flashing to life. He winged the tiny fighter, but it continued on, wobbly but intact.

"Continue with the withdrawal. Order all fighters to protect the caps while they make their run to lightspeed, then we follow them out. Get everyone out of here!"

"As ordered, Lead."

Wedge took a deep breath then went after a TIE making a run on Eclipse Eight.