Title: Touch and Go
Chapter: Part Two: "Gyndine"
Author: bactaqueen
Author's e-mail:
Category: New Jedi Order, EU
Keywords: Jaina Solo, Jag Fel, NJO
Rating: PG
Spoilers: New Jedi Order up to Balance Point
Summary: Space battles, pilot banter, and pre-romance interaction. After Ithor, Rogue Squadron was deployed to the warfront in the company of Spike Squadron. What happened between Jaina Solo and Jag Fel?
Disclaimer: "Star Wars" is copyright George Lucas and Lucasfilm, LTD. Jagged Fel belongs to Michael A. Stackpole. No profit is being made from this writing. It is purely for entertainment. As his own people put it, the sandbox belongs to Mr. Lucas. I'm just playing in it.
Part Two: "Gyndine"
Warning sirens wailed, shocking Jaina out of a dreamless sleep and nearly out of her rack and onto the deck. Little more than an arm's reach away, her bunkmate and wingmate was as startled as she was. It took a moment for groggy minds to grasp the meaning of the noise, and no longer after that to locate the voice amid the rhythmic shrieking, and discern the message.
"Pilots to ships," it repeated, over and over again, in the same calm female voice.
All at once, bodies moved. Blankets were tossed away to land atop footlockers, and clothes were located as legs were swung over the sides of the bunks. Legs were shoved into flightsuits, and feet were encased in standard-issue black boots. Knees and elbows collided as women sprang up, pushing arms into the sleeves of garish orange flightsuits. Curses were uttered. Someone's hand slapped the panel to open the hatch, and both pilots were scrambling into the corridor, sealing flightsuits as boots pounded the deck to propel them toward the turbolifts and, ultimately, the main belly hangar.
Even at a dead run through the sterile corridors of the Ralroost, they weren't beating anyone; in fact, since all Rogue lieutenants and flight officers slept on the same level, eight orange-clad pilots shared a lift, and eight no-longer-groggy flyers spilled into the main bay.
Their superior officers were already there, Colonel Darklighter sealing his own flightsuit with one hand and in the other holding a datapad. The majors were listening to him as he spoke, and Captain Nevil was reading his own datapad. He looked up, and nudged Gavin, and as soon as the Rogues skidded to a stop, the briefing began.
"All of you are here," he began, with a quick nod, and looking grim. "And quickly. That's good. Here's the deal." He tapped his datapad, and had to raise his voice to be heard over the launching fighters. "The fleet showed up a little earlier than we expected. The bridge says they slipped in without a trace, and they've already begun bombarding the planet. What we have is a situation like Dubrillion, but we expected that. Unfortunately, we didn't have time to lay our ambush. Therefore, the battle plan is revised: cover the refugees, stall the fleet, protect your wingmate. We don't have time for questions people."
They were dismissed.
Jaina hauled herself up the waiting ladder to her own cockpit, and signaled her thanks to the mechanic disengaging the fuel hose from her fighter. She scooped up her gloves and helmet, dropped into the cushioned ejection seat, and began flipping the switches to initiate a condensed start-up even before she landed. She yanked on the flak vest, the life support monitor, helmet, and gloves even as Sparky kicked the repulsors to life. As the canopy began its slow descent, Jaina looked up, and found Spike Lead across the hangar, his own canopy closing. Jaina froze when Jag made eye contact. He nodded once, and then both canopies were closed, and the darkness of space beyond the magnetic containment field filled her view. She shrugged off the chill, and wrapped a hand around the flightstick. She'd wonder about Jag Fel and her reactions to him later; right now, she had a mission to fly, and innocents to protect.
Jaina dropped in up and to the left of Rogue Twelve as the squadron formed up. Along an established perimeter, the rest of the fleet's starfighters lined up, ready to meet the enemy. Between the first line of defense and the maneuvering capital ships lurked the mid-sized gunboats, the frigates, and the med-evac units.
Her forward scope lit up with a cloud of red, and then slowly, as they came closer, the blips broke apart. The coralskippers had been deployed. A burst of static filled her cockpit, and then her commander's voice made itself clear.
"Break by pairs, fire at will, and may the Force be with you all."
The battle for Gyndine had begun.
Sparky made an observation, and Jaina tore her attention away from her target long enough to see that her droid was right. She keyed her comm.
"Enemy flight inbound, vectoring for the latest refugee ship. Twelve, are you free?"
Jaina stuttered her own laserfire, letting the skip's dovin basal eat up her shots. She matched her speed to the enemy's, and waited... there. A quick quad burst of lasers, and one of her shots was eaten; the other three shredded the seed-shaped vessel from aft to stern. Jaina pulled back on her stick.
"Almost..." Her wingmate's voice came strained, and Jaina wondered if Xada had remembered to dial up her inertial compensator. The Coruscant native currently occupied with the wingmate of the skip Jaina had just killed had a habit of dialing her comp down past ninety percent. Colonel Darklighter had made it an order that she bring it at least to ninety-one. He didn't want his newest pilot to black out in the middle of battle.
Xada's mark exploded spectacularly, and Rogue Twelve's X-wing joined Jaina's.
"Shall we?" Jaina asked.
Xada's grin was evident even over the garbled, sub-space comm. "Let's."
Rogue Twelve took the lead, angling in for the six Yuuzhan Vong coralskippers harrying a light freighter, loaded down with approximately a hundred Gyndine refugees. The pilot was doing his best to avoid the magma missiles and plasma jets; the living weapons were hitting the freighter, though, and even the weak dovin basals the small fighters used for protection and propulsion were enough to tug at the larger ship's shields.
Red bursts of laser energy-the freighter's defense-were being sucked in by the minuscule black holes.
"Save your torps," Jaina reminded her wing. A double-click confirmed her memo.
Xada throttled forward, ahead of Jaina, lasers blazing, and doing a fine job of creating a diversion. Rogue Twelve was good at that. Jaina followed more discreetly. Surely she showed up on the radar, but Xada's show would distract them long enough for Jaina to get a kill... And bring the odds down from three-to-one.
Not that three-to-one odds were bad. After all, she was a Rogue, and Rogue Squadron appreciated odds like that. It meant that it wasn't five-to-one, or twelve-to-one.
'Odds are for people who can't take the heat.' Her dual-linked shots tore through the skip she was aiming for before it registered her approach. Xada had already gotten one, as well; now, it was two-to-one, and the freighter was a little bit closer to the jump point.
"Sticks, break port! Mark!"
Without thinking, Jaina reacted, yanking her stick to the left and flooring the rudder. A plasma bolt cruised by, to be engulfed by the dovin basal off the starboard side of the skip Jaina had been pursuing.
"Thanks, Twelve."
"No problem."
Once again, Xada's X-wing shot past, chasing down the skip, pouring weak lasers into its dovin basal, and waiting to ram her fist down its throat.
Jaina looped around to get back on the tail of her target, and someone swore over the comm.
"Emperor's black bones!"
There, too close to the planet to have come from hyperspace, hung what could only be described as a destroyer. As big as an ImpStar Deuce, according to the readings, with enough weapons to rival the capital warship. Jaina's sensors started screaming; the ship had just opened up a rather large black hole.
Sparky let out a low moan. The Vong ship angled for the planet, and the skips started to fall back, taking potshots at the evacuation ships as they passed.
"Colonel-?" Jaina began.
Gavin's voice was forbidding. "New orders, Rogues. We're retreating. There's another one of those things behind Gyndine's moon. We're covering the refugees and the retraction of the short-range fighters. Once they're aboard, the fleet will jump. We're to stay for two minutes, cover our own retreat, and then jump to the rendezvous. Gyndine is lost."
Gyndine is lost. As Jaina double-clicked her comm to confirm their orders, her heart sank. They were losing planet after planet to the Vong and their unanticipated tactics.
And this one was just a short hop away from Corellia. They were going to lose the Run.
The Vong fighters were no longer engaging the New Republic forces; the fleeing ships were no longer being hassled. Still, orders were orders; Rogue Squadron covered the retreat and retrieval, and Spike Squadron did the same. They were helpless to watch as the Vong ship began drawing Gyndine closer and closer. Somewhere nearer the planet than the X-wings or clawcraft, Ace's A-wings were hauling ass back to the fleet. They'd managed to take out one of the corvette-sized cruisers at the edge of the Vong fleet. Not a devastating blow, but a blow.
"Jumping now," came the announcement from the Ralroost's nav officer. Rogue, Spike, and Ace squadrons began their retreat in earnest, heading back for the jump point. The blue dots that indicated friendly ships vanished; in her viewport, she saw the Star Destroyers, the battle cruisers, the frigates, and the four corvettes disappear.
Jaina fell in behind Rogue Ten, and saw on her aft sensor board that Xada slid into the wingmate position, lower and to Jaina's port. She kept an eye on the long range surveillance, for any hint of pursuit. There was none.
Finally, the tone sounded for hyperspace, and she pulled the lever. The stars elongated, spun, and before her stretched the tunnel of hyperspace. The rendezvous point was dead ahead, and Gyndine was dead behind.
It was a short jump, but Jaina had time to sink back into her ejection seat and breathe. She also had time to think. It didn't do much for pilot morale-at least for her own-to know that every battleplan had the retreat. For each system visited, for each engagement, fallback coordinates were dumped into their astromechs. It seemed a defeatist attitude, even if it was realist. Realism had kept them alive so far, but it was still there, lurking at the back of her mind: We can't save this planet or these people, and we know that. That's why we've got a contingency.
'Always the contingency.'
Jaina sighed. She still loved flying. She didn't think there was anything in the galaxy-or beyond, for that matter-that could diminish her love of combat flying. The thrill was just too great. And she liked even more flying for Rogue Squadron. She liked that she was something more than just a Jedi Knight, just a Solo, just a girl.
But she was getting tired.
Or maybe... Maybe it was just the lack of sleep. Jaina sat up straight, and nodded. That was it. Lack of sleep. Twelve hours ought to cure this weary frame of mind.
Besides, she couldn't be tired. She still had a bet to win.
The tone sounded, and the one-minute-to-realspace countdown started on her HUD. Jaina rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension. She had to stop thinking so negatively.
Those planners might be defeatist, but she wasn't. She was, after all, a Jedi Knight and a Solo. 'I don't believe in defeatism.'
The swirl of hyperspace turned itself back into a starfield, with huge shadows blocking the light of some constellations.
All around her, Rogue Squadron's X-wings reverted to realspace. Off to port, the Chiss clawcraft of Spike Squadron were holding their course toward the Ralroost, and to starboard, even Ace's ships looked relieved.
"Hey, Rogues, how does sleep sound?"
Major Alinn Varth answered before any of the younger pilots had a smart remark. "Like paradise."
The whine of her engines powering down was a welcome sound. Jaina tugged her helmet off, and left it hanging on the flightstick in front of her. Her gloves she left on the targeting computer as she untangled herself from her crashwebbing. Colonel Darklighter had promised sleep, and she wasn't about to miss out on any of it.
She didn't wait for the mechanic to roll a ladder her way. They had more important things to do than help some Rogue out of her fighter. Jaina vaulted over the side, and landed smoothly. She shook her head, tossing her sweat-soaked hair out of her face, and made a beeline for the main exit.
"Lieutenant."
The clipped word stopped her, and the sound of boot heels against the deck made her turn around. Even as she did, she knew who it was. She offered a tight smile.
"Colonel."
Jag came to a halt in front of her. Jaina couldn't help but notice that he didn't look as if he'd just spent three hours confined to very small quarters. She wondered if anything ruffled him.
"Good flying today," he said simply, meeting her gaze. "And congratulations on your kills. Four?"
"That's right. Congratulations to you, too." Jaina glanced over at the clawcraft his people flew, and didn't find another Spike in the hangar. They were fast. "How many did you get?"
She saw his wince, and for an instant, wondered at that. Then his mask of self-possession was back.
"Six," he said.
Jaina grinned. "Always gotta outdo me, don't you, flyboy?"
Jag's smile was small, but evident. "That's right."
"You can't win every time, Colonel."
"Yes, I can."
Jaina tapped a fist to his chest. "We'll see."
With that, she turned, and exited the hangar.
She didn't see that he simply stood there staring after her for a few seconds, and she certainly didn't see the easy smile that inched its way onto his face.
Ah, the things you miss when your back is turned.