Takes place during Chapter 10 of Episode IV. Vader's POV during the Death Star battle.
Vader flung her modified TIE fighter after the Rebel Y-wings as they dove into the trench on the surface of the Death Star. Tarkin was such an idiot; if he survived this she would take great pleasure in personally crushing his windpipe. That he had left such a gaping design flaw in the battlestation's plans, and then allowed those plans to get into Rebel hands, was unforgivable.
She took aim at the lead Rebel and fired, smiling in satisfaction as the ship exploded. Squeezing the trigger again, she took out the second ship, then the third. This was not even a challenge.
Another fleet of Rebel ships arrived, this one made up of the more maneuverable X-wings. She flexed the fingers of her flesh hand, then her prosthetic, wrapping them both around her controls, ready to fire. Three of the Rebel ships dropped into the trench, and she followed them, taking two out in quick succession. The third managed to fire a torpedo at Tarkin's asinine exhaust port, but it exploded on the surface with minimal damage to the battlestation.
Shaking her head at the near miss, she followed the X-wing out of the trench, but then let it go as her instruments picked up three more entering the trench behind her. She wheeled around and followed. These three were coming in hot, screaming down the trench at top speed. Fools or highly skilled pilots, but most likely fools. Another TIE delivered a glancing blow to one of them, and the small ship peeled off into space, leaving two.
She dropped in behind them, and targeted the nearest one. His ship went up in a fireball, and a surge of intensely powerful pain and anger came to her through the Force. The remaining pilot was Force-sensitive! Just as quickly as it appeared, the anguish was pulled back, subsumed under a sense of duty and purpose that reminded her sharply of Obi Wan. Could it be…?
She pulled her ship back a little, reaching out with her Force senses. This was not Prince Alaric, and yet, there was something achingly familiar about this presence. To her, the small ship glowed with raw power as it sped through the trench. A fierce certainty rose up within her: this was one of her children.
Firing on this last ship was unthinkable, but even as she watched, one of the two TIEs in her escort surged toward it. No! She reached for her trigger, but Captain Solo's ship soared in, dwarfing the tiny fighters, taking out the TIE that threatened her child. An unaccustomed feeling of gratitude filled her, and she shook her head sharply. The other TIE fled the Falcon's powerful guns, and she followed.
Behind her, she felt the torpedoes reach their target, and she smiled. While she wouldn't get the chance to personally kill Tarkin, her child had done it. And that was just as good.