Chapter Fourteen
Captain Atril Tabanne sat back in her chair, her legs crossed as she examined the plot. There were her allied ships: the Interdictor cruiser Corusca Rainbow, which was effectively blocking off the hyperlane to Ukio, its powered gravity wells rudely yanking any vessels attempting to transit through it back into normal space. Four Mon Calamari cruisers and the Star Destroyer Freedom were escorted by five Katana Dreadnaughts led by Garm Bel Iblis' old flagship, Peregrine. Most important of all was the newly arrived Endurance, first in a class of new fleet carriers and commanded by Admiral Bell. Endurance would likely play host to most of the fleet group's starfighters. Atril felt a momentary pang at the idea of losing the Rogues and having to break in a less-experienced squadron and CO.
Her gaze moved past the friendlies to the unknowns. They'd stopped a dozen freighters in the last six hours. Any supplies that could be used to reinforce Ukio's defenses, or construct a new planetary industrial base, were forfeited and the ships turned around. Any Imperial vessels were impounded.
Ukio was an agri-world. For the last few thousand years, it had been one of the primary food production sites in the Albrion sector. That had made it Grand Admiral Thrawn's primary target during the second phase of his war against the New Republic; while Thrawn's armies of clones had not needed training, they did need to eat. But its strict specialization in agriculture meant the planet had little other industry, and had long been reliant on galactic trade to maintain its prosperity.
Atril didn't like the idea of squeezing around the planet's neck until the Empire agreed to let it go, but at least the people of Ukio wouldn't starve for it.
Her sensors officer, the Togorian Traks'zim, examined the plot with her, examining the reports that came in as the A-wings and inspections teams submitted them. "[All independent shippers]," he hissed. "[None of these are Imperial freighters.]"
"I can't say I'm surprised," she replied, tapping her lip with her forefinger thoughtfully. "We've been here a while; Imperial ships are probably taking the less explored, riskier routes to Ukio now. And that attrits them considerably."
Their first day they'd captured a Star Galleon, one of the Empire's preferred military transport designs. The ship had refused to go down without a fight, leaving it little more than a wreck once the battle was done; it's stubbornness had cost two of their pilots their lives. Large enough to be a capable freight hauler, and well enough armed to not need an escort, the versatile craft had been loaded with industrial equipment that could've been assembled into a small factory for the production of blaster and laser parts. It wasn't enough to produce new weapons, but it would've been enough to produce plenty of spare parts for when the weapons the Ukio garrison ran down through hard use.
Since then, they hadn't caught much.
"[What do you think the Empire will do now, Captain?]"
Atril shrugged. "For the moment, we're in a stalemate. They can't break our blockade, but we also can't take Ukio, not with its planetary shields intact. Not without doing a lot of collateral damage, anyway. Even if we took out Rogriss' Star Destroyers, we'd just be stuck in orbit. But every time they come out to fight us, we've kicked them around like we did at Hishyim."
Traks'zim hissed unhappily, his large feline eyes refocusing on the display.
The gravelly voice of her Bothan communications officer, Hiacun, drew her attention away from it. "Captain, General Bel Iblis has called a staff meeting aboard Orthavan, and requests that you, General Antilles, and Colonel Celchu attend," Hiacun reported with his typical Bothan briskness.
She frowned. "Have the shuttle prepared, and inform the Rogues." She frowned deeper, murmuring, "I wonder if I still have my dress uniform" under her breath.
She did not. Or at least, she couldn't remember where in her small quarters and locker she had stashed it, but no one else was wearing theirs. Another small perk of being on the right side, Atril mused.
Garm Bel Iblis wasted no time. "We've found Invidious," he said, crossing his arms across his chest. He stood at the end of the long conference table. On one side of the table were some of the commanding officers of the squadron's capital ships: the Mon Calamari COs of Orthavan and Ivardal, Captains Irraerl and Sulkials, both looked distinctly uncomfortable in the drier air of the conference room (even the portable humidifier Bel Iblis had brought in wasn't helping much) though Captain Sair Yonka of Freedom and Admiral Areta Bell of Endurance both looked happy enough.
On the other side of the table sat Bel Iblis' long-time personal aide, Sena Midanyl, flanked by Wedge and Tycho with Atril herself off to the side. Atril was by far the lowest-ranked person at the briefing, and she knew it.
"Are we going after her?" Wedge asked.
"No," Bel Iblis groused, his voice gravelly with annoyance. "She's in the only Imperial system nearby that's better fortified than Ukio. Intelligence reports that Invidious has been spotted undergoing repairs at the Imperial repair yard in the Linuri system."
"Does that mean we've confirmed that Invidious is now under Rogriss' command?" asked Tycho.
"Not exactly," said Midanyl, her calm, professional voice taking over for Garm's darker, slightly hoarse one. She was younger than Bel Iblis, but not by very much; her once raven hair now matched the General's grey. Atril also knew that Midanyl had recently become a grandmother, which probably explained some of her tiredness. "NRI hasn't been able to confirm a formal transfer order for Invidious, and her status within the Imperial fleet is still uncertain. However, given our most recent discussions with General Cracken, we have to operate under the assumption that Invidious has been assigned to Rogriss."
"Which means," Bel Iblis took back over, "that we need to assume that Cracken's Drall prisoner is now working for Rogriss. Which means we need to assume that all of our communications are potentially compromised." He scowled. "As of now, all squadron vessels are forbidden from using the HoloNet except for absolutely vital communications. All communications that do use the HoloNet are to be encrypted up to maximum available standards, but assume that even that won't keep their contents confidential."
The room was grim. Sair Yonka's expression in particular was dark with frustration.
"This gives the Empire a significant strategic advantage," Areta Bell said. The red-haired Corellian was one of the longest-serving members of the New Republic fleet (Wedge and Luke Skywalker had escorted her freighter to safety at the Battle of Hoth), and for that service she'd been given one of the most coveted positions in the fleet, command of the brand new Endurance.
"Yes, it does," Bel Iblis agreed. "Which is why we need to dismantle this Imperial fleet as quickly and as thoroughly as possible."
That sent a ripple of surprise through the room. "We're going to attack?" asked Tycho carefully.
"Not right away," Bel Iblis said reluctantly, his tone making clear he wished they could attack right away. "Not with the intent to take the planet, anyway. We're still expecting more reinforcements, and General Cracken informed me in his final HoloNet communication that he's sending help to deal with Ukio's shields, but that it may take some time to get here. In the meantime, we need to do as much as possible to keep the Empire off-balance." He nodded at his fleet commanders. "Which is why we're going to perform a hit-and-fade on Ukio later this week."
Midanyl manipulated her datapad, and in the middle of the table a hologram of the Ukio system appeared, five planets orbiting around the star. "The Imperials have one in-system facility outside of Ukio's planetary defense shields," she explained, and the map zoomed to present a close-look at the fourth of the five planets, a large, ringed gas giant. "A space station orbiting the system's largest gas giant, Suwen, which produces small amounts of Tibanna gas. Intelligence reports suggest the Imperial forces are attempting to enlarge the platform's extraction capabilities in order to reduce their reliance on imported Tibanna for their blasters and turbolasers. We want to get in, knock out the station, do as much damage to Rogriss' fleet as we can, and get out."
Bel Iblis smiled thinly. "I've sent couriers to the remainder of our fleet. This operation will require very careful timing without the HoloNet to coordinate, so we'll be mounting the attack in precisely three days at eleven-hundred hours, galactic standard. That timetable cannot be changed." He turned to look at Atril. "You, Captain Tabanne, will be responsible for taking advantage of the chaos to hit as many Imperial freighters present in-system as possible."
"Yes, sir," she replied. A risky assignment, given how many ships would be flying around in-system…
"What's Rogue Squadron's status, General Antilles?" Bel Iblis asked.
"We'll be back up to near-optimal strength by then," Wedge said confidently. Atril couldn't help but notice Tycho giving his boss a slightly skeptical look, but Wedge's XO didn't verbalize whatever concerns he apparently had. His posture eased once Wedge sent him a cheeky grin.
"Good," Bel Iblis replied. Apparently for him Wedge's word was enough. "For the moment I'm going to leave Rogue Squadron aboard Ession Strike. Rogue Squadron and Strike have formed a good team in the past, and it'll be your job to see to it that none of Rogriss' logistics vessels escape."
Wedge and Tycho both winced. Atril tried not to take it personally; if she was still flying she'd prefer to be stationed on Orthavan or Endurance too.
"If there are no more questions," Bel Iblis said, "that concludes the briefing. Get in, hit them so it hurts, and get home. We just need them off balance, understood?"
His subordinates pushed back their seats, rose and saluted. "Understood sir," said Atril and Antilles in unison.
"Good. You're both a credit to the Republic. Don't get killed. Dismissed."
"So, are you planning to tell me why you're so cheery about our status?" Tycho asked as soon as they were out of the briefing room. Orthavan's corridors were busy with officers and crew going about their usual business, and Atril and Wedge squeezed against the side as a cargo repulsorlift was ushered down the center of the walkway. "You realize that we're still down five birds and two pilots, and I know what Emtrey says about small craft replacement," his XO called over the sounds of warming repulsors.
The repulsorlift passed, leaving only the background noise of a battleship in its wake. "Yes, I know," Wedge replied at a normal volume, the corner of his mouth tugging for a brief moment. "And no, I'm not going to tell you. It's a surprise. General's prerogative."
"Oh no," Tycho groaned, rubbing his forehead as Atril quietly settled in for a show. "Wedge Antilles planning surprises. Is this going to be like the time you tried to cook Tauntaun for Luke's birthday on Hoth? You pirated Alliance flight roster flimsi and emergency flares for confetti and just stood there as Janson hijacked the sound system with the theme from 'The Littlest Lostest Nerf'? As I recall we all ended up with confetti everywhere for a week."
"You exaggerate. It was only a few days. And no. It's better."
Tycho raised a very aristocratic eyebrow and launched another sally as Atril fought to keep her expression businesslike. "Is it going to be like the time you spent the better part of a month faking an exotic Ewok pet rescue so you could prank Janson into thinking the Wraiths had recruited an Ewok pilot?"
"You're forgetting that I also managed to convince him that he needed to find the Ewok who had gotten loose on Mon Remonda, but he could only do so if he was in his skivvies and smeared with Ewok food. And no," Wedge said calmly.
Atril laughed. "That was funny. Shalla said Janson wouldn't look any of you in the eye for a fortnight, and the holo Squeaky took made that rear of his Fleet Group Famous."
"This one is still better," said Wedge, smirking at the memory. "You're going to have fun with it, Tycho." They stepped into the main axial lift, which started moving them towards Orthavan's main hangar, where their shuttle back to Ession Strike waited for them.
"Then it must be like the time you and I set up that ambush at Yag'Dhul station for Lusankya and humiliated Isard. You remember—Booster Terrik ended up coming out of it the private owner of a Star Destroyer, which he's spent the last few years using to terrify the galaxy and our Internal Revenue Department?"
Wedge scoffed. "Hardly terrify, Tycho. Errant Venture has taught Booster more about the market for Star Destroyer spare parts than he ever really wanted to know. He probably should've sold it to the New Republic and bought something more economical, but you know Booster, bigger is better. And no. It's better than that."
The lift doors slid open, and the trio stepped into the hangar, Wedge and Tycho in front, Atril following behind.
"Well if it's not like any of those times, then I suppose it'll be like the time you didn't tell the rest of the Rogues you called for reinforcements during their covert ops on Coruscant, and I showed up out of nowhere with half a squadron of Z-95s to save your rear at exactly the right moment?" Tycho said a bit petulantly.
Wedge smiled. "Yes, Tycho. I'm expecting it to be exactly like that. You'll even get to be all snootily superior and Alderaanian about it."
Eighteen hours later, Atril was beginning to think that Wedge might've cut the margin on his surprise a little too close when Ession Strike's board lit up with alarms from both her sensors and the fighters on CAP. "[A vessel just dropped out of hyperspace! It looks like a Quasar Fire-class bulk cruiser,]" announced Traks'zim, the Togorian turning his chair to look at the detailed readout appearing on his monitor. "[I can't tell if it's a bulk freighter variant or a starfighter carrier variant,]" he added, sounding a bit disgusted.
The ship's alarm sounded, men and women hurrying to their posts.
"It doesn't look like it's spoiling for a fight," Atril observed, stroking her chin with a finger. "And usually a Quasar Fire won't travel unescorted. Do we have it's IFF yet?"
Wedge's voice startled her. She'd heard the rest of the bridge crew scramble in, but hadn't realized he'd been among them. "Don't bother. She'll ping as Uthorrferrell from the Eiattuan system defense forces," he said, offering a grin at her surprised look. "First rule of being a General, Atril," he said. "Always maintain your own supply lines. It helps if you have some favors to call in when the official channels get, well, excessively official." He nodded. "If I may, please authorize them to approach when they provide the countersign, and have your helmsman accommodate them into the formation. They're going to have some supplies and personnel to shuttle over."
Wedge and the rest of the Rogues assembled in the hangar. Tycho wore an expression of amused acceptance; the rest of the squadron wore looks of confusion. "So, Boss, are you planning on telling us what's up, or is this a Tauntaun Stew event?" asked Hobbie, his hands pushed into his orange flightsuit.
"Ask Tycho," Wedge said.
"Apparently," Tycho said, already distancing himself from the fallout, "it's more of a me on Coruscant kind of thing."
Hobbie and Janson, both of whom had been on training duty during the Rogues' mission on Coruscant, looked at each other in confusion, then both looked at Tycho. "So, what, does that mean Wedge called up Winter?" asked Janson. "Or did the Princess send us a resupply?"
Tycho shook his head. "No, sadly."
"He means that we're about to be surprised with some unexpected reinforcements," Corran Horn answered their persisting question. "Tycho came out of nowhere with fighters we could fly."
Wedge snapped and pointed at Corran wordlessly.
"Oh no," Janson said in faux-whisper. "Wedge thinks he's being clever."
"We're doomed," added Hobbie.
Wedge just stood there and mock-glowered at them both as the hangar bays aligned.
One of the deck officers came over and waved them back, and the squadron pushed until they were nearly snug against the far end of the hangar. Ession Strike was a tiny ship to carry a full squadron of fighters, and there wasn't a whole lot of space left.
Through the vacuum-seal came four X-wings; three under tractor, one under power. The first was painted in Rogue Squadron colors; the remaining three were unpainted, as if they'd come right off the factory floor. The deck officers waved them down, and the Rogues could see that the latter three fighters were each being piloted by their astromechs.
The piloted snub popped its canopy and its pilot stood up. She was impressively tall for a human, easily the tallest member of the squadron, and powerfully built. As she took off her helmet, her thick blonde hair remained plastered to her head in a functional crown braid. "Plourrie!" Janson yelped excitedly, jogging forward ahead of the rest of the squadron to greet her as she climbed down the ladder. "How are the kids?"
Isplourrdacartha "Plourr" Estillo hit the deck, ignored Janson, and smiled at Wedge, firing off an artfully sloppy salute. "Congratulations on the promotion, General, it's about damn time," before pretending to notice Janson as Wedge acknowledged her salute with parade-ground precision and Janson with a tilt of the head.
Plourr immediately dropped her salute, reoriented, and made to greet the troublesome Tanaabian. Janson, expecting a friendly embrace, found himself instead locked in her headlock. No slouch at unarmed combat himself, and a born entertainer, Janson only made token resistance inside the grip of her arm. He squirmed, more to make a show of it than anything, and began issuing complaints that reached a shrill whine on a live flight deck.
She talked over Janson's protests. "My children are fine, they love that Littlest Bantha holoshow you sent and the water pistols. And so does my consort. My government, not so much. They were ambushed by armed toddlers last week. But I'm guessing you didn't think about that, did you?" She sighed theatrically, equalling Janson's drama, and her gaze found Tycho. "I'm disappointed Tycho, you let Wes out of his cage," she said cheerfully, hauling the Taanabian to and fro with alarming ease. "Where do you keep it? I'd be happy to huck him back into it for you."
It took Janson only a few minutes to talk himself loose, and then the squadron reunion had begun in earnest. Most of Wedge's pilots knew Plourr from past service, and they'd introduced her to those she didn't know and exchanged stories before getting down to business. Ession Strike's forward lounge was a poor excuse for a briefing room, but Wedge had seen far worse.
Plourr hadn't changed that much since the last time Wedge had seen her. A long-time Rogue before she'd been lured into other duties, Plourr was the angriest, most physically intimidating human who'd ever strapped on a Rogue Squadron flightsuit. When Wedge had first recruited her, she'd also been constitutionally incapable of not using that size and strength to beat the stuffing out of at least three people in every bar she walked into. (Admittedly they always had it coming, and she'd never complained about the subsequent mess duty.)
She'd mellowed some in the last few years. Becoming Queen Plourr the First of Eiattu likely had a lot to do with it.
"So you found Tavira," Plourr said as she straddled one of the chairs, resting her elbows down on the table. The other Rogues present gathered around. "She's up to no good again, I assume." Plourr clasped her hands together in a manner that was more than vaguely menacing. "We should have squashed her on Eiattu, before she could run riot around the galaxy."
"You're not going to get an argument from me, Plourr," Wedge said.
"Tavira has come into possession of three things: a Star Destroyer, the Invidious, which is currently under repairs at the Imperial repair yards at Linuri—" Tycho began.
"We hit it with a bunch of proton torpedoes, but we didn't have enough to close the deal," Janson put in.
Tycho nodded. "But we did enough damage to hurt it, which is probably why it's in for repairs now."
"Are we going after her?" Plourr asked, her expression one of hungry anticipation. Leonia Tavira had been Moff of Ado Sector, and her capital world had been Eiattu. Plourr's Eiattu. "Tavira dragged Eiattu through misery in her quest to squeeze as much wealth and power out of it as she could, and as the woman who has been left picking up the pieces, I very much want a piece of that dicred-ante Isard. Hopefully this time we'll get her."
"Sorry, Beneficent Majesty, but not yet," Tycho replied. "Linuri is well fortified, with Golan platforms and two Vicstars on station to back them up. To hit Linuri we'd have to take our eyes off Ukio, and we can't do that."
"If we were to let up on Ukio, the Imperials would bring in more supplies and make its eventual conquest even more difficult," Wedge explained with a sigh. "Once we take Ukio we can move on Linuri, but until then Ukio is our first priority."
Plourr frowned, then offered a grudging nod. "Fine. So we need to take Ukio before we can take Tavira." She waved her hand in a small circle, beckoning Tycho and Wedge for more information. "What are the other two things Tavira has come into possession of?"
"A Force user," Tycho said, glancing at Corran.
"That's about all we know," Corran said with a frown. "He was armed with a lightsaber and was good with it. Better than me, which isn't saying much, but still he can bounce back blaster bolts and lift things. Thankfully we didn't get too close, or…" he glanced uneasily at Tycho and Wedge, "I suspect not all of us would have made it off that landing pad."
Plourr's frown was deepening. "That's alarming," she conceded. "Looks like we should try some Jedi countermeasures. What's the third asset?"
"We think she is working with a slicer who can penetrate the HoloNet," Tycho finished. "The extent of his abilities are unclear, but the situation is dire enough that General Cracken is sending out alerts to key facilities, instructing them not to send any vital information over the HoloNet, even under high encrypt."
Plourr's frown had vanished into a cool, calm expression Wedge didn't remember from her squadron service. "That's very alarming," she said after a moment. She leaned back in her chair, folding her well-muscled arms across her chest. "I'm pleased you called me, Wedge. So, we have a plan, I assume? Even if that plan is just to fly in and start shooting?"
"How long do we have you?" Wedge asked. "I know you can't be away for too long."
"I shouldn't be away at all," Plourr said sadly. "But things aren't as uncertain back home as they used to be. There are multiple heirs to the throne now, and if anything happens to me their father can avenge my death and take over as Regent; he does most of the day to day as it is."
Janson's eyebrows arched mischievously. "Is Thorr walking yet?"
Plourr beamed. "Hurtling. Everywhere at full acceleration. He enjoyed chasing down my ministers with a water pistol, which I have to admit was the funniest thing I've seen in years. The twins are stumbling quickly. Combat should be nice and relaxing with a pleasant sleep schedule compared to that and court life."
"Did Rial finally talk you into actually marrying him?" asked Tycho, grinning.
The Queen of Eiattu laughed. "Oh, no. We're still just engaged. He wants to scandalize everyone and elope on a galactic vacation with me and the babies. I have no patience for a court wedding, and frankly you know I despise most of the planetary nobility anyway." She rolled her eyes. "They know it too, but it's their own fault for trying to kill me that one time."
Janson was hopping from foot to foot, wearing an expression that gleamed with and glee. "Plourr, if four years ago I'd had to pick the Rogue least likely to settle down and start a family, I would've picked you. And here you are! The first of us to have kids! Kids you told to call me 'Unca Wes!'"
"Not the first," Tycho put in. "Beruss and Ardele had a child around the same time. Just a few weeks before Plourr's first, if I recall."
Janson waved his hand at Tycho. "They don't count. Everyone knew they were settling and sending lifeday cards. But Plourr! Our Plourr! And she has three kids!"
"Wes, I'd threaten to thrash you, but at this point we all already know about your masochistic tendencies." His face fell, and Plourr continued, "I guess I'll have to get back into condition with a spar tomorrow. I wonder where I can find a partner for that." He brightened theatrically and Plourr sighed, shaking her head. "But really. Tycho, Wedge, it's been this long and he's still running around with the maturity of a caffeinated adolescent? Where does he find the energy?"
"Just be glad he's not the one who had kids first," Wedge said dryly. His heart was warm at how clearly happy Plourr was, and at the reunion. It was too rare for ex-Rogues to get together, and he wished that this reunion was for its own sake, and not because they needed Plourr and the fighters she had brought. "We'd have more than one Janson running around."
"Can you imagine?" Tycho asked with a sigh. "But I suppose he'd have to find someone who would put up with him first," the Alderaanian added.
"Just what we need, an authoritarian female Janson," Plourr added, grinning wickedly at Wes.
Janson folded his arms across his chest. "Now you're all beating up on me," he complained.
"Yes, but you make it so easy," Plourr laughed.
"Come to think of it," said Hobbie mischievously, speaking up for the first time to land a precise volley, "I'm surprised you two never tried dating." he said, head tracking back and forth between the erstwhile queen and aspiring jokester.
Plourr and Wes glanced at each other, recoiled and glared at him, mock recrimination written on their faces while a ripple of laughter ran through the rest of the Rogues.
"Well," Plourr said, standing "I should probably get some rack time so I can be haunted by tall, pale and gloomy's storytime." She held her hand out to Wedge, who took it in a firm grip. "Rogue Eleven, reporting for duty, General."