Chapter 38: Guardians of the Trenchrunner
Alone, cold and for the first time in a while doing something he didn't have a bad feeling about, Han Solo gripped a hard wire-case strut for just a moment and veritably flung himself into his ship's pilot's seat. Admittantly, the lack of bad feeling was probably due to the fact that there was to much adrenaline running inside him, to much cold to be burst though without, but this was feeling more like a flight thrill than an absolutely insane attempt to 'save the galaxy'.
He glanced sideways at the computer layout, then brought up a flatscreen display and began to read through records. A scowl and a twist of a dial; there it was, the few years' back Rebel briefing, and there was the schematic spies had died for. He shrugged off sour old guilt and made to start the engines.
Footsteps clattered on the ramp. Han stood up and shouted; "Who's there?"
Quicker than logic dictated Kit Fisto appeared at the cockpit hatch, his shoulders heaving. Han hesitated.
"Thanks for the ride." Kit said without invitation, and slid into the seat behind Han's.
Han took the opportunity to get back to his preparations, silently admiring the Nautolan's style, and a few seconds later the boarding ramp folded back into its place and blue drives melted the raw ice of Echo Base's floor. The Falcon soared out the gigantic entranceway and turned diagonal to move through the canyons.
"Dark Jedi." Kit said, either for explanation or in exasperation, after a moment.
"Well, that seems to have been taken care of." Han brought the ship down near the Rebel's entrenched position, scattering troops from both sides. Kit got up with a weary but bright smiling look and left without hesitation. Han bellowed, "Chewie!" and the Wookiee's answering roar came through clearly. Han leaned back in his chair, laced his hands behind his neck, and kicked the lever that switched the dual lasers into cockpit control. Chewbacca ducked the doorframe and growl-muttered something; Han said, "Well buddy, some days are like that." while refiring the drives.
Like this, Chewbacca sarcastically asked, complete with breaking-down speeders, snowblindness, and stormtroopers?
"Yes." Han said. "Some days."
"You're good to go." Corran Horn looked up from the gara-katte cockpit and eased the ship out of the Death Star's main bay, guiding it in first two steps and then rocketing out of the bay shields. Outside was a flurry. Somewhere out there was Paqs Patra, and all around before Corran's eyes and senses were fights to the death between TIE fighters and Rebel X-wings, patched-together uglies, or freighters. He avoided the bursts of lasers and twisting trajectories of spacecraft that his flyer's instinct painted as sure as any navicomp system; this was not his destination any more.
Get there quick, trenchrunner.
Whoever was going to attempt this stunt was no Luke Skywalker, but he sure should be. All Rebel hopes, again, rested on the fact that even after the victorious Battle of Yavin and its discovered agenda the trench vents had not been well protected. Imperial cockiness, Corran scoffed. The gara-katte made full speed for atmosphere.
It was Luke he was seeking now, he on whom the Maw Installation mission rested, while he pleaded that the Force would keep the team safe. He cared for all of them more than he thought he did...even rude De'shar had some charm about her when she was in imminent danger.
Luke was nowhere. To far away, or too long dead, he could not tell which. But another Force-signature glimmered on the plains of the planet below, where his scopes and blurry memory said Echo Base should be, so he angled toward it.