Star Wars
Epiphany at Endor
By A.P. Morin
Wedge Antilles hated being called a hero, not because he was humble or because he wanted to avoid drawing attention to himself; he hated it because it simply wasn't true.
Wedge was no hero. He was a survivor, and he had amassed the same two things as every other survivor: a long list of dead friends and the accolades that should have rightfully be laid at their feet. Rake Gahree. Garven Dreis. Hobbie Klivian. They had all fought harder and sacrificed more for the dream than Wedge. Why was he a hero and they just a footnote in the pages of Alliance history? The answer was simple: Wedge had been lucky enough to stay alive.
Although, Luke once told him: "there is no such thing as luck".
Luke Skywalker. Now there was a hero. A simple farm boy who, by his own skill and bravery, became an icon of the Rebellion. Peerless pilot. Fearless operative. Slayer of the original Death Star. Jedi knight. Luke's accomplishments drove everyone he met to give more, fight harder, to sacrifice everything. Luke gave them hope. Rebellions were built on hope.
And Wedge had left him to die in the space above Yavin. Even after four years, Wedge still dwelled on that moment. The grey walls of the Death Star trench closing in around him. His X-wing, damaged and losing speed. Biggs and Luke, pulling away. TIE fighters, seconds away from overtaking him. Wedge, making the choice to abandon his squadmates.
Yes, Luke had ordered him out of that trench, but Wedge did not need to obey. Luke had no authority over him. Biggs was the ranking officer at that point, but, even in those early hours, Biggs was wise enough to discern that Luke was the true leader among them. The cold hard truth was Wedge made a choice to obey Luke's order. He obeyed– and Biggs died. Biggs died buying Luke the time he needed to destroy that battle station. Biggs didn't abandon Luke in his time of need. But then, Biggs Darklighter was a hero, and that's what heroes did.
No one criticized Wedge's actions in the aftermath of the battle. Luke had even thanked him for following the order, although Wedge could never understand why. In the end, the only person who blamed Wedge Antilles for his actions at Yavin was Wedge Antilles.
During lonely hyperspace flights, like the one he was on now, Wedge would run alternate scenarios through his head. What if the Millennium Falcon hadn't saved Luke at the last second? What if Wedge and Biggs were the only ships there to protect Luke from Vader's attack? Could Wedge have bought him the extra time required if he'd just stayed in the trench? Wedge had pondered the puzzle for hundreds of standard hours. He never reached a conclusion that helped him sleep any easier.
Wedge and Luke had flown together on 127 different missions since the Battle of Yavin, but, no matter how many TIEs Wedge vaped or how many AT-ATs he downed, none of them managed to sponge away the ghosts of their first fateful battle. Wedge's career was as decorated as they came. He had killed enemies, protected the innocent, and, on a few occasions, even saved the Rebel Alliance itself. None of it ever managed to eclipse the fact that Wedge had come dangerously close to allowing a planet killing super weapon to continue wreaking havoc across the galaxy.
Wedge was tired. Tired of the guilt. Tired of the doubt. Tired of this war. Tired of watching so many good men and women die while he always managed to escape unharmed. His friend Wes Janson often joked that Wedge would not have survived this long if the Force didn't have some plan for him. Wedge never paid the jest any mind. He'd never been a big believer in the Force.
Each time Wedge entered his ship's cockpit, he silently wished for it to be the last time. He'd wish that somehow the upcoming battle would be the one to end this war. He never really believed the wish would come true, but it gave him hope. Rebellions were built on hope.
But today's battle was different. In just a handful of standard minutes, Wedge would exit hyperspace at Endor where a new Death Star was under construction– with the Emperor himself supervising the final stages. If they could carry the day, the Empire would be without its leader and its greatest weapon. Never before had the stakes been so high. Maybe this really would be the final battle.
Wedge surveyed the cockpit of his X-wing. There was no stronger evidence to support his belief than the condition of his ship. In all his time with the Rebellion, Wedge had never flown an X-wing that was in perfect working order. The Rebel Alliance simply did not have the manpower or resources to keep a fleet of star fighters operating at peak performance. There was always a shoddy stabilizer or a weak power supply unit. Pilots learned to work around their ship's deficiencies. Hell, the X-wing Wedge had flown at Yavin was almost falling apart.
That was not the case today. Today, his X-wing was running better than the day she stepped off the assembly line. Every facet of the ship had been tuned, fitted, and calibrated to perfection– right down to the fresh kill markers painted on the fuselage. Wedge looked at his weapons display and saw the number "six" illuminated on the panel. It was a beautiful sight. Six proton torpedoes– a full complement. In all the years Wedge had flown an X-wing, he'd only had a full payload maybe seven or eight times. The weapons were expensive and hard to obtain. Supplies were always strained. Rationing was required. They weren't rationing today.
There was a reason Wedge's ship, and all of the others in Red Squadron, were in top fighting order, and it wasn't because the Rebellion was flush with resources. On the contrary, they were still struggling to recoup their losses from Hoth and Derra IV. No, it was simply that the Rebellion was putting everything they had into this battle. Every ship. Every weapon. Every spare part stashed away for a rainy day. Even the Millennium Falcon had been completely repaired. The Rebel Alliance had pushed every sabacc chip they had to the center of the table, betting everything on this one hand.
Admiral Ackbar made the attack sound simple during his briefing. Once the shield was down the Rebel fighters would fly into the station's superstructure. One group would destroy the station's power regulator, while another blasted the main reactor. The elimination of both targets would cause a chain reaction that would destroy the station– just like the first Death Star.
But Wedge had a bad feeling about this. As his ship's chrono ticked ever downwards, something in his gut told him that this assault was not going to unfold as Ackbar predicted, and Wedge had learned to trust his gut a long time ago. Right now, it was telling him that the sabacc deck, which was supposed to be stacked in their favor, was actually stacked against them.
Sure, the Rebel Alliance had gone into similar situations and come out victorious, but each of those scenarios had one thing in common– heroes. Every time the Rebellion seemed on the brink of defeat, a hero rose up to keep the spark alive. But their heroes were all down on the Forest Moon, fighting to take down the Death Star's deflector shield. The fleet had no heroes. It only had Wedge Antilles.
#
Wedge had a bad feeling about the battle going in, but even he could not have imagined it would turn out this badly. Things had gone wrong from the moment they exited hyperspace. First, the entire fighter corps nearly ran headlong into the Death Star's still active energy field. Only quick thinking by General Lando Calrissian saved them from instant destruction. Then, the Rebel fleet found itself pinned between the second Death Star and the largest fleet of Star Destroyers Wedge had ever encountered. Clouds of TIEs swarmed around the Rebel fleet. A lot of good pilots died.
And that was before the Death Star opened fire. It was a weapon to which they had no counter. A weapon that was not supposed to be operational. In a matter of minutes, two of the fleet's prized MC80 star cruisers had been blown to dust. Wedge continued to dart around the battlefield, picking off TIE after TIE, but he knew it was only a matter of time before Admiral Ackbar sounded the retreat. What other choice did they have?
"Yes, I said closer!" shouted Lando over Wedge's comm. "Move as close as you can, and engage those Star Destroyers at point blank range!"
"At that close range we won't last long against those Star Destroyers," replied Admiral Ackbar.
"We'll last longer than we will against that Death Star. And we might just take a few of them with us."
There it was. They weren't going to retreat. Lando was making the ultimate gamble. He was willing to bet the entire Rebellion on Han Solo's ability to get that deflector shield down. Most folks would have called such a decision crazy. Wedge didn't. Han would take out that shield. He'd find a way. Han Solo was a hero. That's what heroes did.
There was a click on Wedge's comm as Lando flipped to the fighter corps' exclusive channel. "Gold Squadron on me! Target the two nearest destroyers." Wedge watched as the Millennium Falcon, turned to charge the massive fleet of enemy capital ships. Gold Squadron, made up of a mixture of A-wing and Y-wings formed up behind it.
"Red Squadron," Wedge broadcasted to his unit, "you heard the general. Let's back him up." Wedge wheeled his fighter around and set a course straight into the heart of the Imperial fleet.
Wedge was almost in range of the nearest Star Destroyer when his comm flared to life again. "Red Leader this is Gold Nine, do you read me?"
Gold Nine. Norra Wexley. She'd been a freighter pilot until a couple days ago– until Wedge had convinced her to pilot a Y-wing in the attack. Persuading her had not been easy. Norra was stubborn and made her unwillingness clear on multiple occasions. Wedge had persisted. Now he was glad he'd made the effort. Norra was an excellent pilot. She could make her cumbersome bomber dance in ways that defied explanation. In a fight like this, they needed good pilots like her.
"I read you Gold Nine," Wedge responded.
"Would it be too much trouble for you hot shots to give me some cover so I can blast those shield generators?"
"We've got you Gold Nine. Red Two, Red Three on me." Wedge glanced out either side of his canopy as two A-wings fell in beside his X-wing. Traditionally, Red Squadron had been exclusively an X-wing unit, but supply shortages had forced several of them to adopt A-wings for this battle.
Sila Kott, Red Three, was on his starboard wing. Like Norra, Sila had been a transport pilot until Wedge recruited her in the aftermath of the Battle of Hoth. She'd been hesitant to join a combat unit at first, but had hardened into a capable pilot and trusted squadmate over the last year.
Red Two was a newcomer to the squadron: Tycho Celchu. On principle, Wedge didn't like entering into battle with an untested wingman, but he and Tycho seemed to have an uncanny synergy with each other. Each pilot seemed completely in tune with the other, and they were already pulling maneuvers only a seasoned pair of pilots would attempt to execute.
The trio of fighters swooped in ahead of Norra's Y-wing, drawing turbolaser fire. Norra closed to within firing range and unleashed a salvo of missiles at the starboard shield generator. The ordinance ripped through the capital ship's deflector shields. The dome-like generator exploded into a ball of fire. Wedge expected Norra to pull up to avoid the column of flame pouring out of the wreckage. Instead, Norra pushed forward threading her bomber between the remains of the generator and the Star Destroyer's communications antennae.
"Nice flying Gold Nine," said Wedge over the comm. "Form up Red Squadron. We've got a lot more work ahead of us."
#
Wedge could not tell how much time had passed. His chrono had shorted out at some point in the battle, and, under the pressure of intense combat, time seemed to dilate and twist in peculiar ways. The only marker of time left to Wedge was the state of his squad.
Red Squadron had started with twelve pilots. Only five were left now. Tycho was still on Wedge's wing and had saved Wedge from certain death several times. Others were not so fortunate. Red Three was gone. When the Rebel flagship Home One's starboard shields began to buckle, Sila took on a full squadron of TIE interceptors single handed to buy them time to shore up their defenses. It was a suicide run, but Sila engaged without hesitation– because that's what heroes did.
The Rebel fleet was putting up a good fight. Several Star Destroyers were down, with several more seriously damaged. But the fleet was starting to fray. Casualties were mounting. More enemy ships were moving into position. Wedge's comm was a never-ending chorus of distress calls and death cries. Wedge glanced down at his own display. His shields were almost gone. He only had two proton torpedoes left, and those were reserved for the reactor run. Time was running out.
Wedge felt his gaze drift towards Death Star hanging in space before him. At Yavin, looking at the Death Star felt like looking at black hole; an infinite expanse of darkness that seemed to draw him in and crush his spirit. This Death Star was different. Wedge could still sense the darkness, the evil, but it was impure somehow; as if there was a bright light shining out from the heart of the abyss. Wedge reached out with his feelings, focusing on the light. It felt familiar somehow, as if he were looking into the face of a friend, as if he were looking at–
Luke
"The shield is down. Commence attack on the Death Star's main reactor."
The voice of Admiral Ackbar snapped Wedge out of his trance-like state. For a moment, Wedge did not believe what he just heard. Then Lando broke through on the comm and confirmed the good news.
"We're on our way," called Lando. "Red Group. Gold Group. All fighters follow me." Wedge felt a wave of hope surge through him. They had done it. The shield was down. Wedge depressed his X-wings right rudder pedal and fell in behind the Millennium Falcon. His ship plunged downward until the massive hull of the Death Star filled his field of vision.
#
As the fighters skimmed the surface of the second Death Star, Lando ordered Wedge to take the lead, citing the pilot's prior experience during the Battle of Yavin. Not that the experience helped Wedge all that much. The Empire had learned their lesson from the first Death Star and had tightened their turbolaser defense grid. Of the original twenty-four starfighters that made up Red and Gold Squadrons at the beginning of the battle, only six made it to the reactor shaft.
Wedge maintained his position in the front of the formation as he plunged down into the shaft's opening. He was followed in a line by: Gold Six in an A-wing, the Millennium Falcon, Tycho, Norra, and Keir Santage, call sign Red Nine, in an X-wing.
The trip through the superstructure of the station was the most dangerous portion of the assault, and the person in the lead was tasked with blazing a trail through the maze of struts, pipes, and bulkheads. As the senior-most pilot in the group, Wedge took that responsibility on himself. He would forge their path.
"Form up," he announced to the group. "Stay alert. We can run out of space real fast." It was perhaps the greatest understatement of his military career. This was, by far, the most difficult flying Wedge had ever attempted. The passage constantly shifted in terms of size and direction making it impossible to establish any semblance of a rhythm. Wedge never imagined a situation where he'd wish he was back in the trench of the first Death Star, but that was what he was doing now.
An explosion erupted behind Wedge. He could not spare a glance at his scopes to see what happened. Shrieking beeps erupted from Wedge's astromech droid, R5-G8. It was tough to discern what the droid was saying through its panicked binary warbling, but Wedge was able to understand enough. TIEs had followed them down the shaft, and one of them had just destroyed Red Nine.
Wedge's heart sank. He and Tycho were the only members of his squad left, and if things did not change soon, the two of them would not last much longer. Wedge remembered Yavin. He knew what happened when star fighters were trapped in a tight space with TIEs blasting away at their tails.
Wedge looked ahead of him. There was a fork in the corridor ahead. His instruments indicated the left path was the route to the core, but did the TIEs know that?
Lando seemed to read Wedge's mind. "Split up and head back to the surface," ordered the general. "And see if you can get a few of those TIE fighters to follow you."
"Copy Gold Leader," replied Gold Six, who began to swerve towards the right path.
Wedge's comm chimed. He could tell by the tone it was a private channel. "Wedge," came Norra Wexley's voice from across the hyperwaves, "let me stay with you and Lando. My Y-wing has the strongest shields. I can hold off those eyeballs until you reach the reactor."
Wedge processed the request in mere milliseconds. The Rebel fighters were picking up speed as they moved deeper into the core. Soon, Norra's Y-wing would not be able to keep up. It was a small miracle she's got the lumbering beast of a ship this far. Damn that woman could fly. But even Norra had limits and hers were rapidly approaching. Sticking with the assault was a death sentence.
"You're not going to be able to keep up," Wedge stated. "Break off."
"But I can–" There wasn't any more time to argue. Wedge broke in mid-sentence.
"Get clear Norra. You can't do any more good back there!" The words came from Wedge's mouth like a concussion missile launched straight out of the past. Suddenly, he was back at Yavin, hurling down the trench. But this time he wasn't pulling out. This time he was in the lead. This time he was Luke.
Wedge had always assumed Luke was angry or disappointed at his decision to break off from the trench run, despite the young man's public and private statements to the contrary. Only now did he realize how wrong those beliefs were. Only now did Wedge truly understand what Luke felt in the space above Yavin all those years ago as he waited for Wedge to acknowledge his order.
He'd been afraid. Afraid for Wedge's life. Afraid a pilot he was responsible for was too stubborn or too brave to know when they'd done everything they could. Afraid that another good man would die because he lacked the authority required to get them to obey.
Now Wedge was afraid, afraid for Norra. Norra, whose piloting skills were surpassed only by her stubbornness and courage. Norra, who was in this situation because Wedge had pleaded with her to fly. Norra, who had a son waiting for her to come home. Norra, whose very name seemed to stir something inside Wedge that he could not fully comprehend.
The woman only hesitated in responding for a fraction of a second, but to Wedge it felt like years.
"May the Force be with you, Wedge," she answered in a calm voice. Then she veered her ship to the right and followed Tycho out of Wedge's sight. Most of the TIEs followed them and Wedge hoped they would both make it to safety.
Wedge forced his attention back to the path ahead of him, Norra's words still echoing in his ears. He'd never been a big believer in the Force– until now. There was something about this time, this place that felt different, as if a set of scales were about to be brought into perfect balance for the first time in millennia. Maybe Norra and Wes were right. Maybe, in this moment, the Force was with him after all.
#
Wedge cleared the last obstacle and emerged into the Death Star's massive reactor chamber. After navigating such a tight series of passages, the sheer amount of open space made Wedge feel agoraphobic.
There were still two TIE Interceptors on Wedge and Lando's tail but the danger they posed was limited. The two Rebel ships had set such a furious pace at the end of the run that the TIEs could not take a clean shot. Wedge's ship was unharmed and the Millennium Falcon had only lost its radar dish. Even in the open space of the reactor chamber, the TIEs were well out of firing range. By the time they caught up, it would be too late.
"Alright Wedge," said Lando. "Go for the power regulator on the north tower."
"Copy Gold Leader," Wedge responded, "I'm already on my way out."
Wedge adjusted his throttle and switched his weapons over to proton torpedoes. He linked the tubes to fire two at a time and shifted his crosshairs over the target. Wedge held his breath, counting the seconds until the targeting indicator would confirm a lock.
Wedge's body began to quiver as emotion flooded through him. It would all be over in a few seconds. The Empire. The Rebellion. The war. It would all end now and he would be the one to end it. All of the anger, the fear, the regret he'd carried with him in the years since Yavin rose up, resounding through his soul like an infinite chorus. The targeting indicator turned from red to green.
Wedge fired.
The proton torpedoes flew forward and slammed into the delicate piece of reactor equipment dangling like a stalactite from the ceiling above. The torpedoes exploded in a cloud of orange flame as they tore through the power regulator's metal casing. The blast struck something flammable and the entire apparatus exploded in a ball of brilliant flame.
Wedge looped around the reactor core, turning his fighter to begin his approach back out of the Death Star. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Millennium Falcon launch a barrage of concussion missiles at the main reactor. There was a blinding flash of light and hell erupted behind Wedge's starfighter.
Even if Wedge hadn't seen the wall of fire through his rear scopes, R5-G8's cries of panic would have alerted him to the danger. The droid was screaming like a crazed mynock. Wedge tuned the droid out. The explosion was gaining on him. He needed to go faster. Wedge pushed his throttle to full. He wasn't sure he'd be able to maintain that speed and avoid crashing into a wall, but the alternative was to let the explosion swallow him whole. Either way, he was dying by fire.
Wedge's mind focused on the course ahead of him, blocking out any other aspect of his reality. He was no longer thinking, only feeling. He could feel the ship around him. He could feel the pathway ahead of him. He could feel his next maneuver even before it had begun to happen. The sensation crescendoed, becoming more and more acute has his fighter hurled towards the exit.
Wedge rounded the last bend and entered the final straight that would take him out of the station. Just ahead he could see the round portal that was the exit from this accursed place, and, beyond it, the cool empty blackness of space. It was the most beautiful thing Wedge had ever seen.
Wedge stared into the black void and, as he did so, a feeling of serenity flooded through him. It was a sensation so pure that Wedge had never experienced its like before and somehow knew he never would again. His ship drew closer to the exit and the blackness grew to encompass his entire vision. Wedge felt as if he were standing on the edge of some ethereal threshold. Wedge reached out with his feelings and took one step forward.
The blackness changed. Light spread across the void like the unfurling of an ancient scroll. Wedge stared into the light. It was like looking at an intricate tapestry, eternal in size and scope. An infinite weave of energy that bound him to every other organism in the universe. Everything was connected across space and time and life in a way that was more incredible than anything he could possibly imagine.
There were images in the light. Wedge could see them flashing before him. Places from his past. People. Old friends long gone. New images appeared; ones Wedge did not recognize. They began to change and flow together with increasing speed, blending until Wedge could only discern brief glimpses.
A celebration under the trees.
A damaged Super Star Destroyer plunging towards a desert world.
Norra
A planet engulfed by crimson fire.
Himself, as an old man, fighting alongside Lando over a storm strewn sky.
The vision lasted for a fraction of a picosecond. Then Wedge's awareness began to contract, as if the two ends of the scroll had begun to roll up; each starting at either side of infinity and moving together until they collided at this very moment. Wedge felt the connection break and was thrown back into his own consciousness with such force that he nearly pulled his X-wing off course.
Wedge didn't fully understand what he'd just seen, but he knew what it meant. It meant this wasn't the final battle. There was an even greater darkness on the horizon. A new order of evil that would seek to stamp out everything Wedge struggled to achieve. That evil would need to be fought. Wedge would need to fight it.
But he didn't have to. He didn't have to keep fighting. This could be his final battle. It would be so easy. He just needed to pull back on the throttle by a fraction of an inch. His ship would slow, the fire would overtake him, and the New Republic would remember him as the man who gave his life to destroy the second Death Star. It would be a good end, and he was so tired. Hadn't he done enough?
No. No he hadn't.
Wedge did not adjust his speed. He kept his X-wing pointed straight at the opening ahead until he passed beyond the portal and emerged into the vastness of space.
Wedge knew his work was not done. He didn't need the Force or some vision of the future to know that. He only needed to know himself. He was Wedge Antilles, and Wedge Antilles would keep fighting: heedless of pain, or exhaustion, or grief until the galaxy was finally free of evil– even if it took the rest of this life. That's what Wedge would do, because that's what heroes did.