Chapter 4

The sudden jolts that shook the Enforcer had startled Tilyer, but the call to scramble the fighters shocked him even more. At first he thought a stray asteroid or perhaps even another ship had struck the corvette, but all such notions were immediately dispelled as he rushed for his fighter. He and Lieutenant Del'Goren had already donned their flight suits as they had done at least half a dozen times before, only to wait out the duration of real space flight without incident.

This time alarm klaxons blared throughout the hanger, red strobe lights bathing the ship in a shade of red that felt like vibroblades stabbing into his eyes. His heart pounded furiously as he was lowered into the TIE's cockpit. Gabel leaned in, attaching his oxygen lines and booting up vital systems.

"All systems are operational!" he shouted so that Tilyer could hear him. He slapped Tilyer's helmet, grinning stupidly, "Be careful out there, and knock 'em dead!" He retracted from the opening, sealing the hatch with a hum as the magnetic locks activated.

The young flight officer sighed, trying to calm his nerves. He reached out and grasped the steering yoke in front of him with both gloved hands and gently rested his feet upon the rudder pedals below, eagerly wriggling his fingers and toes in anticipation.

Lieutenant Del'Goren's voice crackled over his helmet's integral commlink, "We've got four ships bound for the planet. Sensor analysis has identified them as a pair of Y-wings and a pair of YT-1300 freighters. They just made an attack run on the Enforcer, probably hoping to disable us before they made their run to the planet's surface. Our orders are to capture freighters, if possible, but use of lethal force has been authorized."

Tilyer's breath caught in his throat, "YT-1300?" After the victory at Hoth, Lord Darth Vader himself had issued a notice to all imperial forces to be on the lookout for a heavily modified YT-1300 that was rumored to be transporting high-ranking rebel officials.

Del'Goren seemed to read Tilyer's mind, "No telling if they're the ones Lord Vader is after, but there is only one way to find out. Remember your training, and stay on my wing."

If the Lieutenant said anything else, Tilyer didn't hear it because the TIE rack suddenly cycled forward. The deafening clank of machinery reverberated through the fighter's tiny compartment, drowning out all other sound until the TIE hit the bay containment field. The expanse of stars before him wavered as the fighter hit, energy crackling around the hull before the sudden feeling of weightlessness took hold of Tilyer's body.

He fought to control the frantic pace of his breath as the sudden coldness of space gripped his body like a vice. It was simply exhilarating. Del'Goren was right. Tilyer had experienced space flight before, but this was totally different. It was his first mission as full-fledged Imperial officer. Pride and anxiousness swelled in his chest, but he tried to fight those extraneous emotions down as the Lieutenant's voice emanated from his commlink.

"Our targets are at heading zero three mark two seven seven. Get on my wing and stay there for the approach. We hit the fighter escorts first, and then move in after the transports."

"Understood, sir," Tilyer intoned.

He pushed the throttle to the maximum as the pair of TIEs made a sharp turn, racing off after the fleeing ships. His fighter's twin ion engines roared behind him, filling the cockpit with a low rumble that vibrated within Tilyer's chest and only served to increase the tension in his body.

"We're almost on them," Lieutenant Del'Goren said mechanically.

Tilyer could make out the shapes of the Corellian transports, gray disks framing the blazing azure fires of the ships' engine wash. Four bright orange dots signified the Y-wings as their engines howled furiously to escape the ever-gaining TIEs.

"Two clicks out and counting," Del'Goren announced. "Line up your shot on the closest fighter, but don't fire until you reach optimum range."

Tilyer allowed his targeting hairs to drift over the Y-wing, watching as each individual engine, the cockpit, even the carbon scoring across the ship's surface became visible. The blue targeting reticule on his HUD suddenly flared as his computer squealed a lock.

"Wait for it . . . wait for it . . . "

His finger tightened on the trigger, heart beating frantically.

Y-wing began to pull up.

Tilyer started to panic. His breathing increased almost to the point of hyperventilation.

"One more second."

He wanted so badly to stab at the trigger. It seemed like forever. Why wouldn't Del'Goren give the order?

"Now!"

Tilyer thumbed the firing stud without hesitation. As the flurry of emerald green bolts flashed toward the arcing fighter, he suddenly understood the lieutenant's hesitation. With the panicked maneuver, the Y-wing's pilot had actually exposed his broad top side to the approaching TIEs. The rapid stream of laser bolts first struck against the cockpit, dissipating against the craft's shields. Tilyer relentlessly held the trigger down, watching eagerly as the Y-wing's shields went down with a flash. Molten armor plates spun off into space as the beams of green energy stitched a burning line across its fuselage. The fighter began to rotate trying to throw off Tilyer's aim, but it couldn't prevent the inevitable. Several bolts hit the narrow spine that connected the port side engine to the rest of the fighter. An internal conduit exploded, tearing the engine from the rest of the body. A short moment later, another internal explosion went off that consumed the rest of the Y-wing like a hungry rancor.

"Break right!" the lieutenant barked.

Tilyer didn't stop to think. He stomped the rudder pedal and pulled back on the yoke. A split second later, ruby laser bolts sliced through the space his fighter had just vacated. He frantically looked to his sensors. The other Y-wing had broken off to attack the TIEs and was now embroiled in an intense dogfight with Lieutenant Del'Goren's craft.

"I'll take this one." the lieutenant shouted, "You go after the transports!"

Tilyer didn't question the order. "Understood, sir." He swung his craft around and shot off after the transports.

It didn't take long for him to catch up with them. As far as freighters went, YT-1300s were fast, but TIE fighters outmatched them by far in speed and maneuverability. Tilyer rapidly tapped commands upon his systems console. He opened a broad channel over all commlink frequencies. "Rebel freighters: cut your engines and prepare to be boarded. Failure to comply will be met with lethal force." He paused only long enough to fire a quick laser burst over the bow of the trailing freighter. "The next shot will not miss."

Nothing happened. Very well. They had their chance. Now they had to face the consequences.

Tilyer stabbed the trigger. The deck plating beneath his feet thrummed as the TIE's paired lasers spewed green death out into space. Bolt after destructive bolt dissipated against the freighter's shields as the enemy pilot pulled his craft up and angled away from the planet

"They're trying to make it to deep space!" he called out into the tactical frequency.

"Destroy them before they can make the calculations for the jump to hyperspace!" Lieutenant Del'Goren shouted

Tilyer quickly closed the gap on the fleeing ships, tucking in behind the trailing freighter. He took care to line up his shot, watching the crosshairs on the HUD burn with azure fire. His finger moved to squeeze the trigger.

But he never completed the motion. Several large squarish objects suddenly filled his cockpit window, streaming out of the YT-1300's opened bay doors. One of the objects scraped over the top of the ball cockpit, another missing entirely, but one clipped the TIE's starboard solar panel. It splintered apart, filling the area with black metallic objects that bounced and clattered off of the TIE's hull. Tilyer could only watch helplessly as the transports suddenly accelerated and then disappear entirely as they made the jump to hyperspace.