CHAPTER NINETEEN
Interviewer: "Xim wrote that all warriors fight for someone or something. What do you fight for, Commander?"
Commander Antilles: "…I fight because it's what I can do."
Interviewer: "Is that the only reason?"
Commander Antilles: "No, but that's all I'll tell you."
—From The Antilles Interviews
with Commander Wedge Antilles, NRN, MIA
Hoth, Outer Rim, 0 ABY
Wedge Antilles climbed into his X-Wing, slipping his flight helmet on while Lieutenant Thorne strapped him into his flight seat.
Within minutes of Thrawn's speech, and the receipt of the following orders, the entire strike-fighter compliment of Dorn Base was in various stages of readiness. The sound from their engines was nearly deafening.
Lieutenant Thorne finished strapping Wedge down, and saluted. "Ready to go, sir."
Wedge nodded. He wanted to say something, anything, to her, before she climbed down the ladder. It might be the last time he saw her, and…
"I'll be back," he said, returning her salute, feeling foolish for saying something as simple as that.
She stared into the darkened visor of his helmet for a moment, making him uncomfortable. "I'll hold you to it, Wedge Antilles," she said. Before he could say anything else, she was gone, climbing down the ladder.
He swallowed, then toggled a switch. The cockpit canopy dropped down around him, sealing him off from the noisy hanger deck.
He gave a thumbs-up to the tractor operator, and the man nodded in return. The operator moved his tractor ahead, and the X-Wing rolled forward as it followed the chugging machine to the lift.
Rogue Squadron fit in its entirety on the lift, and Wedge nodded to his squadron-mates. When they hit the flight strip, cold-suited deckhands maneuvered the X-Wings into takeoff positions.
The open mouth of the enclosed landing strip was in front of his ship, at the mouth of the strip, and he could see snow being driven by the wind outside.
The voice of the Flight Deck Officer came over Wedge's comlink, "X-Wing one-niner-two, clear forward, nav green, interval check, thrust positive and steady. Good hunting, Wedge."
The landing strip blurred around Wedge for a moment, and then he was in the open air. He toggled his engines wide-open and made a graceful arc north as he gained altitude. His squadron launched one by one behind him.
Hoth Orbit, Outer Rim, 0 ABY
"The Rebel orbital defense craft have exited the system, sir," a staffer on the bridge of the Resolute reported from his sensor station.
"Very well," Captain Wren said, cursing the misfortune of coming out of hyperspace on the wrong side of the planet to catch the Rebel fleet. They could have smashed every one of the Rebel ships.
Admiral Fletcher shrugged at the report. The orbital defense craft would have only been a small prize. "Move us into position over the base, and begin the bombardment," Fletcher ordered.
"Aye, sir," the tactical officer responded.
The admiral and captain watched the massive bolts of plasma smash into the surface of the planet. The Rebels would soon be no more.
Wren smiled, perhaps a quick end to the Rebellion would wipe Colonel Flynn's permanently-smug smile off of his face…though it might add to it, as Flynn would doubtlessly take credit for the operation.
Minutes slid by slowly, and the rain of plasma continued. Bolt after bolt slammed directly into the base, each shot turning into a flash of light as it impacted a shield. The onslaught could have slagged a star destroyer, but the Rebels' shield held.
Fletcher sighed, they were going to have to do it the old-fashioned way; that was obvious. The two legions of Stormtroopers—who had been assigned to Colonel Flynn and the ISB—would be very useful. "Prepare for ground assault," Fletcher ordered the communications staffer, "And inform Colonel Flynn that we'll need to steal his troopers."
Hoth, Outer Rim, 0 ABY
"Let's see if this works," Ackbar said quietly, as the rain of plasma ceased suddenly. He tapped his comlink. "Breakout One is a go."
Two transports lifted up out of the hanger, and quickly accelerated away, slashing through the frigid atmosphere at dangerously high speeds as they climbed into the sky.
Per Thrawn's unspoken orders, Senator Mothma was aboard the first available transport, and Ackbar's eyes followed it as it clawed for altitude as quickly as possible.
Hoth Orbit, Outer Rim, 0 ABY
Flynn sat beside Wren and Fletcher on the bridge of the Resolute, watching the billowing clouds of steam from where the Rebels' shield generators were venting excess waste heat.
"Two contacts, separating from the base," a staffer reported. "Exiting the atmosphere and heading relative north at high speed."
"Evacuation transports," Flynn deduced rapidly. "Destroy them," he ordered calmly.
Wren and Fletcher both bristled at the sudden order, but no man, regardless of noble blood or connections in the Admiralty, defied the ISB. "Yes, Colonel."
Turbolaser Turret 32 turned silently to face the planet below, twin barrels glaring at the icy surface. The gun captain barked an order, and two massive bolts of plasma lanced away as the turbolasers crashed backward in their gun carriages.
Two gas canisters flew out of the rear of the turbolasers, slamming into the bulkheads of the turret.
"Load!" the gun captain barked, his voice rough from the lingering smell of tibanna gas, and unnaturally loud in the tight confines of the turret.
The gun crew lifted two fresh canisters, and when they began feeding them into the turret the overhead lighting cut out suddenly. For a moment they froze in the darkness, before the emergency lighting finally kicked in.
The dull red of the emergency lightening flickered on, in the bridge.
"What happened?" Wren snarled at the nearest staffer.
The staffer's computer console was dead, and the staffer could only guess while his computer reset itself. "It could be a reactor failure, sir," the staffer said, swallowing. "Or an ion weapon."
Wren's teeth clicked audibly.
Flynn sighed. "How soon can we get main power back online?" he asked.
A staffer who served as the liaison between the bridge and engineering shifted under Flynn's gaze. "Maybe a half an hour, Colonel," the staffer said nervously. "If it was an ion weapon, it'll be a lot longer."
Wren snarled. "What can we do without main power?" he demanded.
"We can launch our fighter compliment," Flynn said, stating the obvious, beating Admiral Fletcher to it. Flynn's patience with the noble captain was wearing thin, "And our landing shuttles should still be operational."
Hoth, Outer Rim, 0 ABY
One of the evacuation transports blossomed into a ball of flame, as twin turbolaser bolts sliced through its shields instantly. The second transport rocked in the shockwave, but survived.
No further plasma bolts came, and the remaining shuttle rushed through the atmosphere, climbing higher all the while.
"What happened?" Ackbar asked, his tone focusing all of the rage he felt toward the nearest staffer.
The staffer swallowed, but met his gaze levelly. "There was a power fluctuation, sir, in the ion cannon fire control circuits." He swallowed again. "It took them a moment to get it tracked down…they did manage to disable the Imperial dreadnought."
Ackbar nodded, closing his eyes. Well over a thousand men were dead, vaporized by the bolts of plasma that had torn their transport apart, and there was nothing he could do to bring them back.
"Understood," he said finally. He took his comlink out again. "Breakout Two is a go," he added flatly.
Two more shuttles roared out of the hanger.
Hoth Orbit, Outer Rim, 0 ABY
The crippled Resolute hung in orbit, running lights off, as thousands of engineers labored feverishly to get main power online again.
Twelve-hundred specks detached from her hangers, streaming out into space, like water from a fountain. The specks organized themselves into flights, then squadrons, then wings, as the hundreds of TIE Fighters steadily drove toward the surface of the planet, trailed by a swarm of landing craft…
Hoth, Outer Rim, 0 ABY
"Hostiles have entered the atmosphere, sir," the ground operations command officer reported to Thrawn.
Thrawn nodded, his eyes fixed to the tactical displays of the command center, "Understood," he responded. "Get me a line to General Trantor."
"Aye, sir."
The holographic representation of the Army general rose out of the holo-emitter. He was in full combat gear, but that was to be expected; he was near the first defensive line. "Imperial troops will be landing momentarily, General," Thrawn informed him.
An explosion rocked the ground around Trantor, but he nodded calmly. "Their air cover's giving us some difficulties right now, Admiral, but we'll be ready."
"Very well."
The holographic representation flickered, then died as Trantor cut his end of the line with a salute.
"Line from Admiral Ackbar, sir."
"Put it through," Thrawn ordered.
Another figure rose out of the holographic display. "Admiral," Ackbar said. "I don't dare launch another pair of transports," he said. "Imperial fighters are everywhere."
"I understand, Admiral," Thrawn responded. "How many Breakouts were successful?"
"We've evacuated all unarmed Navy personnel, and twenty-eight percent of armed Navy personnel," Ackbar reported.
"Excellent," Thrawn nodded.
Ackbar glanced at something beyond the field of the holographic pickups. "We lost one transport in the first Breakout," he said quietly.
Thrawn was deathly silent for a moment. "Which?" he demanded.
"I don't know Admiral," Ackbar said simply.
Thrawn was silent again. "Understood."
Ackbar nodded, and the holographic display powered down.
Thrawn turned to the nearest communications officer. "Scramble every airspeeder and have them link up with our air cover," Thrawn said, his voice colder than Mandalorian steel.