Summary: Rogue Squadron heads back to Hoth to defend an Intelligence Unit. But they get more than they bargained for.

Disclaimer: Star Wars, Rogue Squadron, and the rest are not mine. I write this
for my own amusement. Jesina is my own, original creation.

A Note: This story is part of my Jesina Dreis series, falling between "A New Path" and "Inner Demons, Outer Evils." They can, more or less, be read alone – as evidenced by the fact that I'm writing them all at the same time. But it'll probably all make sense in the end.

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Chapter 1: Hoth

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Wedge Antilles sighed. He could foresee how this briefing was going to go. Not well at all would be putting it mildly. "We've got a new assignment, and I warn you in advance, you're all going to hate it." He exchanged glances with Tycho Celchu, and both of them glanced at Wes Janson and Hobbie Klivian. "Some more than others." There was no joviality in his tone.

Hobbie merely shook his head and slouched in his seat. "What are you doing to us now?"

Wedge held up his hands defensively. "I'm not doing a thing. I tried like hell to get us out of it. This is all command – and, for once, it's not Cracken who's screwing us over." He gestured to Tycho, wishing again he'd had the opportunity to brief Janson and Hobbie privately. "Turn on the holoprojector," he told him, keeping his eyes fixed on Wes and Hobbie.

Toward the front of the room, an image of a blue-white planet appeared, and Hobbie and Janson's expressions changed instantly. Janson's jaw hit the table he was sitting behind, and Hobbie was unable to keep the shock off his face. "No way, Wedge." There was no laughter in Janson's voice. The protest he'd just lodged was deadly serious.

Hobbie looked shaken. "Who's sending us there, Wedge?" he asked slowly.

Wedge looked at him with concern. He'd expected the man to take it badly, but this was worse than he'd thought. "Ackbar, primarily. It's because of information Cracken's outer-rim agents picked up, but he's actually on our side on this. He wants someone else sent. But Ackbar wants a small group out there that can be relatively self-sufficient, militarily speaking."

"Why?" Hobbie's voice was very quiet.

"There's been a lot of activity in and around the system. It's not specifically Imperial activity, but it is, at least, according to Intelligence, financed by the Empire." He paused and sipped from a bottle of water. "Cracken's personnel assigned to that region are based out of a rebuilt section of Echo Base, and they want some military presence there without it being overt. They're also sending a Victory-class that is scheduled to arrive just after we do, but that ship will not actually be in the system.

"So the idea is that we're there, on the base, in case someone realizes that NRI has people there and tries to make a move against them? To hold off any attack until the Vic can get in system?" Corran asked.

"And as an added fighter complement once they arrive," Tycho replied. "They'd send the Vic in itself except that there's been activity in the system itself, and Cracken wants to find out what's going on. He doesn't want to scare them off."

Wes, still angry, spoke up again. "How are we getting there, and when are we leaving?"

"We're getting there via a borrowed Corellian Corvette that was secured thanks to Karrde. It's intended to give the impression of smugglers or pirates passing through the system, in case anyone is there to be watching. We'll remain on board until we can be reasonably sure that we're the only ones in system."

"And when do we leave?" Wes asked again.

"Forty hours from now, and 0600. The Corvette is supposed to rendezvous with Mon Remonda by 0400 hours. It's piloted by a borrowed New Republic crew," Wedge answered. He made a mental note to talk to Wes privately – and Hobbie, too, for that matter – before they left for Hoth. "Anything else?"

"Cold weather gear?" Inyri Forge asked.

"Pack warm clothing. It's cold there anyway, but where the base is located is actually in the winter season right now. It's my understanding, though, that anything we'll really need in the way of actual gear specific to the weather is already on-planet courtesy of NRI." He paused before asking again, "Anything else?"

When no one spoke, he ended the briefing with, "Get some sleep. And if you feel like partaking in the ship's amenities – namely, having one last drink and hoping it'll keep you warm for the duration of our stay – do it tonight. No alcohol after 1400 hours tomorrow." He knew his pilots well. "Dismissed."

As the group broke up, they began to talk among themselves. But more than one pair of concerned eyes watched as Hobbie wordlessly left the briefing room, Janson right behind him.

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Rather than calling Wes into his office the next day, Wedge stopped by his friend's quarters that night. The man didn't look very happy to see him. "How are you doing?" he asked, sitting down after Wes had dropped into a chair.

"Oh, I'm just great!" he snapped.

"Wes, I fought this for six hours this morning. I had Leia on my side, Bel Iblis on my side, Cracken on my side – though I'm not sure if I want to know why. But Ackbar wanted someone who knew the region and a squadron that has a lot of experience taking on numerically superior forces alone." Even to his ears, it sounded like a poor excuse for something that he wasn't being told – which is what he expected was going on here.

"There are NRI people there. They know the system. They could help whoever was sent there. And they could send Cracken's Aces. Why us?"

"This was Ackbar's decision. I don't know why. But we have to live with it."

"Tell that to Hobbie. I'm sure it'll be a great comfort to him," Wes retorted.

Wedge sighed. He'd known that the other pilot was the source of Wedge's hostility. "How is he?"

"How do you think?" Wes was on his feet now. "He died, Wedge. Except for how blasted cold it was, he wouldn't have survived to make it into bacta. The cold froze his body so we were able to save him. But for however many minutes he was out there, he was dead. And now he's being sent back. How do you think he's doing?!"

Wedge could imagine exactly how Hobbie was doing. And Wes knew it.

"Wes, this isn't my fault. I did everything I could. Do I look like I'm happy about it?"

With that, the Tanaabian seemed to deflate. "No. I know. It's just so aggravating." He kicked the chair he'd been sitting in a few moments earlier.

"I know."

Wes looked thoughtful now, though the anger was still hard to miss. "You think something bigger is going on." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, I do," Wedge replied, glad to see Wes acting rationally again. "Ackbar was dead set on us going, and no one else, with no good reason. Cracken was dead set against us going. He even suggested sending the Aces. Something's up, and they won't tell me what."

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Inyri walked into the Mon Remonda's lounge. Glancing around as she made her way to the bar, she caught sight of Hobbie Klivian, sitting by himself at a table against the far wall. Remembering his reaction in the briefing earlier that afternoon, she decided that maybe his being alone wasn't the best idea. She changed course and headed over, taking in the sight of the empty glass and nearly empty bottle of bad Corellian ale sitting on the table in front of him. He was leaning his head back against the wall, and his eyes were closed. As she got closer, she was hit with the smell of the alcohol, and wasn't sure if it was coming from the bottle or his breath. As she slipped into the booth, she decided it was probably the latter. "Hobbie?" she asked gently.

He straightened slightly – as much as he probably could given his current state – and opened his glazed eyes. "'Nyri?" he slurred.

"Yeah, it's me. How you doing?" She could hear the worry in her own voice. She'd seen just about every Rogue drunk before – had a few of those nights herself, as a matter of fact – but she'd never seen Hobbie like this. She waved over a server droid as he leaned back again without giving her an answer. "How long has he been here?"

The droid glanced at the chrono on the wall. "Fifty-six minutes."

Inyri's eyes widened as the server moved on. She wondered if that was some kind of record, even for the Rogues. "Hobbie, can you walk?"

He sat up again and looked at her for a second. "Dunno," he mumbled, shaking his head.

She sighed. Not that she'd expected any other reply, but it would have been nice. She stood up and walked around to his side of the booth. Grabbing his hands, she tried to pull him up, finally accepting help from a lieutenant who walked by and observed her struggle.

"Can you manage?" the unnamed lieutenant asked.

"Yeah. His quarters aren't too far," she replied. She wasn't sure exactly which unit was his, but she'd figure it out when she got there. If she couldn't, she'd comm Wes. He'd know. So would Wedge and Tycho, but she didn't want to have them see Hobbie like this. Though maybe that would be a good idea. Something was clearly very wrong.

She struggled down the corridor with an arm around Hobbie's waist, and his arm over her shoulder. He mumbled a few incoherent words, and then fell silent. He was a lot heavier than she'd figured. They reached the turbolift – barely – and Inyri was glad to be able to lean him against the wall. She didn't dare let go, though, for fear that he'd either slide or fall to the floor. And then she'd never get him up again.

The door slid open on the deck where the Rogues had been assigned quarters. "Come on, Klivian," she muttered, pulling him along with her.

She got him down the corridor to their section and looked at the doors in dismay. "Hobbie, do you know which room is yours?" No response. "Hobbie, what's your access code?" No response. "Damn."

She glanced down the corridor toward her own room. She doubted that Wes would know the code to Hobbie's. She could always get Wedge or Tycho to override the lock. But she wanted to give Hobbie a chance to sober up before he saw either of them. "Let's go. Just a few more meters." She led – dragged, more like – him toward her quarters.