Chapter Four
Blaster fire whizzed past Half-stock's cockpit, melting part of the transparisteel glass that separated her from the upper atmosphere of Formos. The security force pilots that were attempting to shoot her down were flying V-19 Torrents, leftover fighters from the Clone Wars. The t-shaped vessels were well armed, and Half-Stock was outnumbered, three to one. But she knew how they would attempt to gun her down. One of fighters would try to engage her directly while the other two flanked her from above and shot her down while she was distracted.
She knew that on a world like this the locals had probably hired former pirates, or possibly smugglers, to run security. It was a gig she had thought about doing herself some day. She didn't want to be a pirate forever. She banked her Cloakshape fighter into a hard turn, as the enemy pilot facing her did the same. The enemy fired off a couple of wild shots as they flew above the city. The two fighters flew at the opposite sides of an invisible circle, their banking too steep for either one to gain a shot. But unlike the security pilot, Half-stock was unwilling to fire off randomly. She preferred to save her energy for when she knew she would hit something.
Suddenly she bailed out of the circle, tumbling over into a barrel roll. Her instincts served her well...a volley of blaster fire from above filled the air her fighter would have occupied if she had continued her previous course.
She halted her roll and lost altitude, coming out of her dive just meters from the tallest rooftops of the city. All three of the enemy V-19's followed from above, but for some reason they refrained from firing on her. They could have shot her down...and then she got it.
They live in this city. If they fire wildly at me and miss, they would possibly be blowing up their own homes. Or the homes of their friends. She would use their reluctance against them.
"Cutter where are you?" She couldn't spare a glance at her sensor screen. A single distraction could send her into one of the communications relays that poked out from the rooftops. Or allow one of the enemy fighters to get directly behind her and shoot her down.
"Escorting the Flier," came Cutter's response over her comm. "Two mercenary medium freighters on our tail." She cut her fighter into a sharp turn, flying between two blocks of buildings and kicking up an enormous cloud of dust from the street, which streaked by just meters below the belly of her fighter.
Her route had taken her south of the ruined spaceport, which was still smoldering and belching out a column of thick black smoke. But she was now flying in a northern direction, just above one of the main thoroughfares in the city. The dust cloud her fighter kicked up was obscuring her from incoming fire enough that she could glance at her instruments and get a better feel for the situation. North of her, and to the east, was the cantina. The Flier had just completed a pass over the three story building, its laser turrets blanketing the street with fire. Explosions and clouds of shrapnel, undoubtedly from the armored speeders that had her friends pinned, flew into the sky.
Suddenly one of the V-19's got a little bolder. A stray shot, fired from above, struck her left wing, punching through her shields and nearly sending her into an uncontrollable spin.
"Okay, that's enough," she growled. She pitched her fighter up and killed her speed. One of the V-19's, oblivious of her maneuver due to the dust cloud, continued on. She waggled her fighter, pitching along her vertical axis until she got the nose of her fighter down.
She squeezed her trigger, sending out a stream of deadly energized plasma. The shots struck the enemy fighter in the rear, punching through its shields. The engines burst into flames, sending it tumbling. So close to the ground, it took only an instant for the ship to strike the surface, the cockpit crumpling into the street. The explosion sent shrapnel raining into the nearby buildings, while bits of the fighter continued to bounce down the street for hundreds of meters.
Half-stock didn't have time to admire the explosion. After burying her shots into the enemy she immediately jammed her stick to the left and pushed her accelerator to the max. She could feel her fighter's engines straining at her maneuver. While she was protected somewhat from the g-forces by her ship's inertial compensator, she was still pushed back into her seat.
One of the remaining V-19's flew past her, only able to get off a glancing blow that struck her wing while his friend still crashed and burned. The shot triggered alarms in her cockpit, which cried out in a deafening crescendo.
"Shut up!" she yelled, flipping a couple switches and silencing the alarms. She put her fighter into a steep climb, rising vertically through the thin atmosphere. She spared a glance at her flight computer, which told her that her right blaster cannon was offline.
The V-19 on her tail was rising in a spiral, firing off wild shots every time his vector brought her within view. Amatuer.
The pulled her flight stick back, looping over backwards in a u-turn and back towards the surface. She found the Blackpool Flier and Cutter on her sensors. They were taking lazy figure eights over the city, the two freighters flying a similar but opposite course. The four ships had just taken a pass at each other, one of the Flier's turrets nailing one of the cylindrical freighters, rocking the ship and sending black smoke billowing from it.
For a moment Half-stock felt a moment of panic, as there was only one V-19 on her tail. She had no idea where the other fighter was. That kind of poor awareness could get me killed. And then she found it on her sensors. It was high in the atmosphere, above the Blackpool Flier and Cutter.
"Cutter, watch out, there is a security fighter on you," she yelled into her comm. Cutter was focused on one of the mercenary freighters, pumping a volley of shots into and causing it to abandon another run on the Flier.
The V-19 hit him from above, burying a trio of shots on target. The first two of which were deflected by his shields. But third shot got through, striking directly into his cockpit. She knew he was killed instantly, and could see his fighter tumbling through the atmosphere like a leaf blown on the wind.
She watched the blip of Cutter's ship on her sensors as it slowly fell and slammed into a building.
"Damn," she yelled, bringing her shoulders forward and then slamming her body backwards into her flight chair. She wobbled her fighter side to side, avoiding a volley from the V-19 still trying to turn her into a heap of burning wreckage, just like what had become of her wingmate. She juked to the left, faking that she would turn and head back towards the ground. The enemy bought it, filling that empty bit of atmosphere with blaster fire.
Instead she pitched up into a loop, killing her speed and bringing her above the enemy. The V-19 bailed out, knowing she was trying to get on its tail. The t-shaped fighter spun and banked right.
She abandoned her earlier discipline, firing a couple shots even though she wasn't able to line up the V-19 in her sights. Her shots missed forward, the volley passing right before the fighter's nose. If her other cannon had still been online she would have scored hits. The V-19 dropped its speed and tried to bank in the other direction. The enemy fighter had a lot tighter turn radius than she did, so she let it go.
Instead of trying to stay behind him Half-stock increased her speed and continued forward. The two ships were now flying away from each other at a forty-five degree angle. She turned hard, flying upwards as the V-19 did the same. They were now pointed at each other.
Half-stock squeezed her trigger and held it down, sending out a constant stream of fire. The other fighter did the same. She compensated her aim, making up for the fact that she only had her left cannon, and drifted her fighter to the right. She struck the enemy fighter dead center, causing it to burst. But it struck her as well.
One shot sheared her tail fin in two, while another struck the belly of her fighter. She felt hot shrapnel bury itself into her legs, and felt her body get ripped around in turbulence as the transparisteel windshield tore itself away from the cockpit.
Her ship was tumbling end over end. Despite the searing pain threatening to envelop her, she gritted her teeth and leaned forward. Her ship had lost all power, knocking out every system, including the inertial compensator. She strained against her restraints, fighting the g-forces that now whipped her around. She almost welcomed the dizziness, but recognized that the black filling her vision would soon fill her existence if she gave up.
Half-stock reached out, blindly, until she felt the lever for her ejection seat. She pulled it back with everything she had, until she felt an explosion rock her body from below. As her flight chair flew up and away from her doomed fighter, she finally allowed herself to pass out.
oOoOo
Lokil watched from beneath a table as Koravin tossed his grenade out onto the street. A moment later a blaster shot struck the pirate in the shoulder. The devaronian cursed his stupidity. He should've taken more care not to alert the owner of Koravin's lifted shipment, Piouliac the Hutt. The Hutt lord had obviously sent his subordinates out to monitor the black market holonet, waiting until Lokil sent out inquiries. He just had no idea that the Hutt would be so swift and so bold.
As an explosion rocked the cantina Lokil wondered why in the galaxy the slimy Hutt hadn't waited until the pirates had gone into space before attacking. But he knew he had to act, unless he wanted to be dead along with Koravin's gang.
Fighting his instincts, which told him to continue hiding beneath his table, Lokil crawled over to Koravin, who was laying on his back, apparently passed out.
"Are you still alive?" Lokil asked, looking over the wound. The shot had nearly separated the pirate's arm from his torso. Lokil's nose curled up in disgust, as blood always caused him to feel nauseous. He reached over and put a finger beneath Koravin's chin. He could still feel a pulse, although it was weak.
A stray blaster shot ripped through the floor from below, missing Lokil by centimeters. The dark skinned devaronian hauled Koravin backwards until he could get his shoulder underneath him. He stood and walked backwards, straining under Koravin's weight. He made it to the stairs as the floor around him began to crumble and bits of ceiling fell to the floor. The flames were beginning to envelop the building.
Lokil maneuvered Koravin down the wide set of stairs. They reached the ground floor, where a handful of the pirates still survived. The twi'lek bartender was scattering flame retardant, attempting to keep the inferno at bay, even as the building began to crumble. Pleff spotted Koravin and Lokil, a look of horror and rage flashing across the Mon Calamari's face.
Lokil carefully hauled Koravin over to the back of the bar. Or what was left of it. He had only just placed Koravin onto the ground when he felt someone grab him by the shirt and haul him backwards.
"What did you do?" Pleff shouted. He placed his blaster underneath Lokil's chin.
"You think I would call this down onto my own head? I had no idea they were coming!"
"I mean what did you do to the captain?"
Lokil put his hands up in a signal of innocence. "I did nothing. He was shot and I grabbed him."
Pleff seemed about to pull the trigger on his blaster, and blow off Lokil's head, when his comm unit chimed, its volume maxed out in order for it to be heard over the noise of battle.
"This is the Blackpool Flier, if anyone is still alive down there grab some cover. Danger close inbound."
"Get down!" Pleff shouted. He threw Lokil aside and covered Koravin with his own body. Outside came a series of massive explosions, like the sound of rolling thunder. The view from inside the bar was hazy, as the room was filled with smoke and fire. The remains of the bar shook as the Flier, with Cutter following behind in his Cloakshape fighter, blanketed the street with fire from their blaster cannons. The mercenaries, completely absorbed with their battle with the pirates on the ground, were helpless.
Two of the armored speeders erupted in a shower of super-heated metal, wiping out the mercenaries around them in a cloud of smoke and blood. The front of the bar collapsed in the explosion, bringing down part of the roof.
Inside the bar Lokil coughed as he attempted to avoid breathing in the cloud of dust and smoke that permeated the building. The blaster fire coming in from the street had halted, although they were far from escaping danger yet.
He could hear footsteps approaching from across the room, although he could see only a handful of meters in front of himself. He grabbed Pleff by the shoulder.
"We have to get out of here! I know a secret way."
"Show us, and I might change my mind about killing you," Pleff answered back. Together they hauled Koravin to his feet, each one putting a shoulder beneath his arms.
The Elarza sisters emerged from the dust, each one dripping blood from their foreheads.
"Walaa?" Pleff asked.
They both shook their heads, their expressions a mix of anger and sorrow.
"This way," Lokil said, steering Pleff towards the back of the bar. They had to step over the body of the twi'lek bartender, who had been struck in the head by shrapnel. They stepped through a back room, and then proceeded down a short flight of stairs. The smoke was less thick here, and all of them began to breathe a little easier.
The group reached a narrow door, which was locked by a security terminal. Lokil motioned one of the sisters to take his place, exchanging his position propping up the unconscious pirate captain with her.
He typed in a series of commands through the keypad, which responded by chiming in acceptance. The door, reinforced from their side by durasteel plates, folded out. The thick smoke inside the hall was pushed back by an influx of fresh air. Pleff was about to stepped out when Lokil held him back.
"Wait a moment," Lokil said. He turned from the doorway and groped around the wall, finding a recess. He pulled out a small medical kit. "Lay him on the ground."
Pleff and Elarza laid Koravin down, allowing Lokil to begin wrapping the pirate's wound with gauze. After finishing the wrap he sprayed the bandage with a special sealant.
"Okay, get him up." Pleff seemed displeased at taking orders but obeyed. They stepped out into the alleyway.
Debris littered the space between the Black Spike cantina and the neighboring building, which had caught fire as well during the battle. The group began to move towards the street when Lokil grabbed Pleff by the arm.
"No, this way," he shouted over the sound of the fire.
"Why should we trust you?" Pleff shouted back.
"This Hutt death squad has killed my friends as well as yours. They would've killed me along with you!" Lokil answered.
The sound of a fighter passing overhead, one that belonged to the local security, drowned out any immediate response Pleff could muster.
"We should follow him," the other the sister, the one not helping to carry Koravin, suggested. "And if he tries anything, shoot him," she added, gesturing with her rifle towards Lokil.
"Fine, fine!" Lokil agreed, raising his hands in a display of helplessness.
Together the group, followed Lokil through the alley and away from the burning cantina.