A Blow for the Rebellion: Return

by Michael 'Majick' Chalk

(As always, my thanks to George Lucas and Lucasfilm for allowing me to play in this universe. I don't get any profit from this story, but I do get enjoyment out of writing it. If you enjoy reading it, let me know.)

I took a short spell of compassionate leave after Hoth. Following that, I put in for, and received, a transfer to test piloting. The Commander I'd met after Derra IV, Ackbar, had been promoted to Admiral of the fleet. One of the things he'd done on his promotion had been to pump credits into researching new fighter designs, and my experience in combat was viewed as an excellent credential for putting the new designs through their paces.

The first new design I flew was the W-Wing prototype, which placed the pilot in the centre of the 'W' shape, with the wings sweeping forward and then back around him. It was a clumsy bomber, with the stress on the wings often leading to fractures and, in one case, complete disintegration of the fighter around me.

Back to the drawing board.

Next up was Ackbar's own B-Wing fighter. Mightily powerful, with strong shields, and the speed and maneuverability of an X-Wing, it was an impressive fighter, but I saw a lot of accidents resulting from pilots forgetting exactly where the stem of the fighter was, in relation to their cockpit. Though it passed all the tests, it was classified as being most suitable, at least initially, for new pilots, or expert pilots. Pilots of ordinary skill consistently had problems adapting to the rotating framework, especially in combat.

In answer to the problems the airspeeders caused us on Hoth, Rebel R&D came up with the V-Wing. Fast and maneuverable, the nature of the engines limited its flight ceiling. Ground defence craft, then, but no use against the majority of Imperial craft.

I was growing tired of testing. There was nothing that could become of widespread use throughout the fleet, with the possible exception of the B-Wing. I lamented the poor state of the Rebellion's future. If all we could rely on were the X-Wing and Y-Wing, the Empire would eventually die.

Die from laughing at our increasingly feeble attempts to beat them.

This fear was intensified by the latest efforts rolling off the Empire's production lines. TIE bombers had graduated to full use throughout the Imperial Navy. Carrying more than a dozen warheads, faster, and more maneuverable than a Y-Wing, though lacking its shielding, it was an impressive vehicle.

Worse, though, was the news of the improved TIE fighters, the Interceptor-class. Based on Darth Vader's own prototype that he'd flown at Yavin IV, the Interceptor had four laser cannons, was faster and more maneuverable than an X-Wing, and had a better visibility range. The only thing it lacked was shielding, but, then, you don't need shields if you can't be hit.

I bemoaned the obvious fate of our fleet to an Incom executive I'd cornered when they bought a slightly improved V-Wing to us for testing. Cranking it right up, we took it to a half-klick flight ceiling, but that was still feeble.

"The problem lies in the engines. If you want hyperdrives, you have to use fusial thrust engines, and we can't tweak them enough to give you more than about 95 k per minute," he explained.

"Have you tried?" I asked, staring down at the smaller man.

"Of course. We've been working on a smaller craft, lighter frame, less weaponry, weaker shielding, but the problem with that is that we can't get more than two engines on the frame. That limits speed to an X-Wings, at most."

"Not good enough. How maneuverable is it?"

"Same as a TIE fighter. If we could get past the speed issues, you'd have a viable alternative craft to the new Interceptors Sienaar are producing. It'd only have two lasers, but would have missiles and shielding. Same speed, same maneuverability, but we can't work out how to tease that extra performance from the engines."

I slept that night with dreams of lasers chasing me, but my being too fast to catch. I tore through the heart of an Interceptor squadron, cannons blazing, missiles spraying away from my ship, the Interceptor's return fire impacting harmlessly on my shields.

It was a dream that looked certain never to come true.

What didn't help was the news that gradually trickled back to us at Test Home. While we could use the Imperial Holonet under our front as an Incom test post, we were only able to gain pro-Imperial news from it. Sometimes they would talk of difficulty suppressing the Rebel's, and this was good news. For the Holonet to put up any news of that sort meant that the Imperial's had been beaten so badly there were no survivors

However, it seemed that things had cooled off. What little we learnt indicated that Luke and Leia's search for Han Solo, our most charismatic leader, had stalled. Without that trio, the Alliance seemed to be licking its wounds. The Empire pounced on their lack of personal involvement, claiming it as the first sign of mynocks leaving a breached freighter.

Thankfully, our contacts at Incom and Koensayer, the two big ship manufacturers, believed our alternative view on the progress of the war. They continued to turn out prototypes, some better than others, some as useful as a powered down Headhunter. The belief that they were on the verge of a breakthrough inspired us all.

I carried on testing, proving the defects in designs for ships that were codenamed F-, H-, and T-Wings, among others. I pondered the identity of the person who'd seen the similarity to the letter J in Incom's first craft, a podracer ironically renowned as one of the fastest vehicles ever in that sport.

One day, I arrived at the testing base to find a new craft scheduled for testing: the A-Wing. I sighed, but noticed it was another of Incom's efforts. I wondered if this were the lightweight machine that the exec had been touting to me weeks earlier.

At first glance, it appeared to be nothing special. A slim, arrowhead shaped craft, it looked graceful, and simple. All too often, Alliance-affiliated designers had forsaken simplicity in favour of complex, unwieldy design features.

This ship, in contrast, looked sleek, smooth, almost fluid. I climbed aboard, and noted that it even required a very rounded helmet. Strapping, in, I realised there was no astromech behind me, as there is in a Y- or X-Wing. I flipped the switches for the twin engines, and jumped as I realised they were positioned almost directly behind me.

"Control, what's the story with this ship?" I asked over my comm unit.

"One, Incom claims this ship has an approximate speed improvement of 15% over the X-Wing. It matches the Interceptor for maneuverability, and carries 10 concussion missiles."

"I hear you, Control. I don't believe you, but I hear you. Taking her out."

I eased forward on the throttle, and noticed that there was in fact an improvement in speed over the X-Wing. Pushing through the magcon field of the hangar, I angled the A-Wing up towards the atmosphere of the asteroid that Rebel R&D called home.

Past the atmosphere, I opened up the throttle, heading for the nearby asteroid field that our home had once been a part of. Chopping the throttle back to half, I flew into the field, moving the lightweight craft dangerously fast through the spinning rocks.

The A-Wing reacted smoothly to my every command. It was certainly more maneuverable than the X-Wing, and, while I had a feeling the Interceptor may have shaded it in that area, it was certainly better than the standard TIE starfighter. Wanting to check the shielding, I allowed a few of the smaller rocks to impact on the shields. I was gratified to notice that, while weaker than an X-Wing's shields, they held better than I might have expected.

The guy from Incom hadn't been messing around. This was a viable alternative to the Interceptor.

With the development of the B-Wing and the A-Wing, the need for research into new fighters dropped. Funding for R&D dried up, diverted to producing the ships we'd helped perfect. With flying the only thing stopping me from going mad without Javi, I knew there was only one thing I could do.

Two months after leaving Test Home, and after re-qualifying as a combat pilot, I arrived aboard Home One, the Rebel flagship, I was greeted by my old friend Wes Janson. I'd missed him following the events of Endor, as he and his fellow Rogues had been involved in the defence of the Rebel fleet, something I'd been uninterested in taking part in. He greeted me with a backslapping hug, and steered me to the pilot's lounge, where he and Hobbie Klivian, his partner-in-crime, reinitiated me into the ranks of the rebel pilots.

Waking the next day, I looked around my bunk room, that I was sharing with another A-Wing pilot, a Devaronian called Divarr Targon. Lean and red skinned, he was constantly fiddling with a coin, which he'd insisted on pressing against my forehead when I'd limped back to my room the night before. He'd said it would bring me luck with the healing I'd be undergoing that morning. Strangely, my hangover did vanish fairly quickly, but I attributed that more to my going straight out into space, rather than any lucky coins.

To introduce the A-Wing officially to the New Republic military, we would fly a simulated mission against Rogue Squadron. My A-Wings tore into the unprepared flyboys, but a quartet of the flyboys, the whole of their One Flight, in fact, survived. They worked instinctively, even going without communications, and tore our own squadron apart. Eventually, the time limit ran out, with two A's left against the four X's. I clambered from my fighter to congratulate the pilots, and was shocked to find Wes and Hobbie had been Three and Four.

"You've been working hard," I said, shaking Wes' hand.

"Well, between the daiquiri's and the massages from the Twi'lek nurses, I managed to sneak in a little flying time, yeah," he said, deadpan. I snorted.

"What madman let you into the elite squadron, though? I know we were short at Hoth, but this is just silly."

"That would be me," said a dark haired man, his flightsuit tied around his waist, and sweat rings evident on his shirt. "You fly well," he added, offering me his hand.

"Wedge!" I said, with a smile. "They made you Captain?"

"Once Luke left, someone had to command the squadron. Wedge is a good combination of pretty face and serious outlook," Wes said, a broad smile not hiding the pride he felt in his friend.

"I don't think you know my friend Tycho," Wedge added, waving the last of the surviving Rogues forward. The blonde haired man shook my hand firmly.

"Quite a ship your boys are flying," he said, his eyes gleaming.

"Well, if you didn't fly with the antiques shop that Rogue Squadron has now become, you could probably hook up with us, Tycho. You look like a hot hand on he stick."

"Actually," Wedge said. "Tycho is just guesting for us right now. I did want to talk to you about a permanent transfer, Tycho…"

Tycho didn't hear him. He was pondering the prospect of flying the A-Wing.

We sat in the briefing room aboard the Home One. Around us, the great and good of the Rebel Alliance had gathered. I sat with my squadron -Polearm- and the Rogues, waiting nervously.

For the last few weeks, we'd been hearing of the possibility of the Empire having constructed a new weapon of mass destruction. Rumours had spread like wildfire: It could kill stars, it could kill planets, it could certainly kill ships.

Mon Mothma waked to the centre of the briefing room and began to speak. Our worst fears were realised. The Empire had begun work on another Death Star, more powerful than the first.

"Most important of all," she concluded, "we've learned that the Emperor himself is personally overseeing the final stages of the construction of this Death Star. Many Bothans died to bring us this information."

Standing aside, Mon Mothma beckoned Admiral Ackbar forward. He covered the mission: a ground team would take down the Death Star's shields, while the fleet would engage the Imperial ships. Lando Calrissian, a handsome, dark skinned man, would be leading the attack. As we filed out to the hangar, I heard him agree to fly Han Solo's own Millennium Falcon into battle. While I didn't know Solo personally, his possessiveness over the ship was legendary. As much as anything, this made me realise the importance of the battle.

The shuttle carrying the commando's lifted off, giving us a scant few hours to rest while they attempted to bring down the Death Star's shields. I watched until it faded from sight, then appearing again briefly as it flashed into hyperspace.

The next day, we climbed over each other in the rush to get to our ships. Some of the squadrons, notably the older Y-Wings, were flying cover for the fleet as it sped through hyperspace towards the moon of Endor. The newer ships, more suited to the task at hand, were protected in the belly's of the carriers. With minutes to go to reversion to realspace, we strapped ourselves in to our cockpits, and closed the hatches. Looking across the hangar, I could see the Rogues beginning their power up checks, and my fingers flew across the control panel of my A-Wing as I did the same. Looking to my right, I saw Tycho performing his own checks, and I heard a faint tapping over the comm as he drummed his fingers on the wooden panels his ship, alone of all the A-Wings, sported.

"Green Flight, come in," I called over the comm. As the best of the A-Wing pilots, and the only one with any real combat time, I'd been made leader of the combined A-Wing flight of Polearm, Blue, and Honour Squadrons. The B-Wings of Green Squadron would be accompanying us, and we'd deferred to their name as being more recognisable in the furball we anticipated.

The forty plus pilots reported in. I felt a duty to them, to Ackbar, to the whole of the Alliance to finally strike a blow for the Rebellion. I'd failed singularly in the last two engagements, and this would be my big chance

The fleet dropped out of hyperspace, and we received our 'Go' order immediately. I goosed my throttle to full, blasting out of the hangar at the head of Green Flight. Tycho pulled up alongside me, acting as my wingman for the battle ahead.

"Ready to go, boss?" he asked over the comm.

"Ready and willing," I replied. In the middle distance, I could see the Death Star, slowly moving in its geosynchronous orbit over Endor's moon. Between us and the half finished battle station, however, was the Imperial fleet.

"S-foils to attack position," I called over the comm. The twelve pilots of Green Squadron replied in the affirmative, and we prepared to unload on the incoming starfighters in order to clear a path for them to the capital ships beyond.

Selecting concussion missiles, I brought my targeting system online. Dropping the crosshairs over an oncoming TIE Interceptor, I grimaced as it jinked suddenly out of the way. I realised that the ship had a warning system, and resigned myself to a long fight.

"Lead, go evasive!"

The call made me dive and twist without registering in my conscious mind. In my peripheral vision, I saw a strange TIE blasting past me. At the same time, a TIE Starfighter crossed in front of me, and I squeezed the trigger on instinct, sending a missile into it's engines, and making the ship explode.

I accelerated through the fireball, imagining I could feel the heat. Over the comm unit, I could hear the latest news: The Death Star's shield was active. Solo and the other members of his team hadn't yet completed the mission.

"I hate slugging matches," I murmured.

The snubfighters formed a screen around the capital ships, stopping as many of the Imperial fighters getting through as possible. Occasionally, I would see one of the strange TIE's blasting through the battle.

"Lead to Greens," I called. "What are those new TIE's?"

"Lead, Honour Three," one of my pilots came back. "I had a tangle with one of them earlier. I've never seen anything like them, but they seem to have three Interceptor wings. They're as fast as an Interceptor, and have six lasers. They seem to be experimental craft. Good news is, Command says there's only a few of them. Worst news of all, though, they've got shields."

"Three, Lead. Next time, better news, okay?"

"Sure, Lead."

I sighed. Shielded TIE's were the worst nightmare of most Rebel pilots, and by the sounds of it these combined all the things we feared the most. I wondered what chance we would possibly have of winning.

Then one of the capital ships exploded.

The blast sent me spiralling away from the ship, out of control as the explosion shook my ship. I managed to right it in time to hear Calrissian and Ackbar issuing new orders.

"Attack the Star Destroyers!"

What!?!

Then I realised. The Death Star's superlaser was operational, and hammering away at the Rebel fleet. In the few seconds it took me to catch on, the laser hit one of the medical frigates, vaporising a ship meant only for healing the wounded, not for fighting.

I felt sick to my stomach. Whoever was ordering the targets for the laser must have known what sort of ship they were firing on. I settled into my ejector seat, my muscles relaxing from their hypertensive state. Now, more than ever, I needed to fly at my absolute best. I focussed again, and noticed an X-Wing being strafed by an Interceptor.

I goosed my throttle upwards, and sped to the rescue. Firing twin concussion missiles at the Interceptor, I had the satisfaction of seeing them slash through the fighter's wing pylons, before exploding and shredding the cockpit into tiny fragments.

"Thanks, A-Wing," came a tight voice over my comm. Despite myself, I grinned.

"Wes? That you buddy?"

"Cynde! Thanks. The Death Star laser missed me, but I got caught in the turbulence, and it knocked me silly."

"Sillier than normal, you mean?" I asked as I dropped in on Wes' wing.

"That's right. Anyway, that charming gentleman you just vaped decided to bring me breakfast in bed to wake me up."

"But a diet of quad laser blasts isn't good for you."

"Would have given me a bad case of heartburn, I reckon." I could almost see Janson's goofy grin as I looked over at his cockpit. We neared the Star Destroyers, which until now had sat aloof from the battle, and prepared to attack.

"See you later Wes," I called as we split either side of the prow of one of the giant ships.

"I owe you a drink," he replied, as he vanished from view.

I flew an insane terrain following course along the outer hull on the ISD. Painting the surface with multiple laser blasts, I scored black marks all over the previously pristine white surface. I knew that my weapons lacked the punch to penetrate deep into the hull, however, and prepared the assault the other pilots and myself had conducted at length in the sims.

As the Destroyer's command tower came in view, I hauled back on my control stick, pulling my A-Wing into a steep climb. With the nose pointed at the sensor globe, I poured blast after blast from my lasers into it, eventually making it explode.

Banking sharply, I pulled away from the half-blinded ship, and headed for my next target.

I realised with a gasp that the next ship was the Imperial flagship, the giant Star Destroyer known as the Executor.

I sped along the hull of the eleven mile long ship. Even at top speed, I still felt like I was crawling. I poured laser blasts continuously into the ship, but the shields held. Checking my scanners, the shield seemed even stronger than the worst case projections for this class of ship. I sighed, and resigned myself to trying to evade the hundreds of turbolasers on my way out from the ship.

"Green Lead, is that you crawling like a morrt on the Executor?"

I glanced at my comm unit, registering the speaker as Green Five, the B-Wing's comm specialist.

"It's me Green Five. Can I help you in any way?"

"Target the bridge, and transmit your firing solution to the rest of the squadron. We'll do the rest…"

I grinned. The B-Wings were carrying proton torpedoes, and a load of them dropping on the Executor's bridge would punch a hole in the shield. I opened up my targeting system to the fleet frequency. To be sure, I targeted the bridge, and punched my throttle up to full, transferring power from lasers to push the engines past factory specs.

Then a TIE fighter dropped in on my tail. I checked my sensor logs, and realised it was one of the tri-winged craft I'd seen earlier. Someone had tagged it as a Defender, a name I smiled grimly at. It seemed far too passive for this good a craft.

Diving was out of the question. I was too close to the hull of the Destroyer, and hitting at that speed would have left me flatter than a Chadra-Fan in a fight against a Gamorrean. Weaving was out, too. I was penned in on both sides, and a stray hit from the Defender could knock me even further off course.

That left up.

I pulled back on the stick, getting a great view of the bridge as I climbed. At this speed, my inertial compensator was overrode, and I felt the immense G's I was pulling press me into my seat. I was going much too fast to get a lock, but I fired my missiles anyway. They impacted uselessly against the bridge shield, and I continued my loop.

Halfway through the loop, upside down, relative to the Executor's hull, I chopped back on the throttle. Increasing the A-Wing's maneuverability, I spun through a full 360º loop, dropping on the Defender's tail.

The pilot threw his craft into a violent spiral, and I followed. He dove towards the Executor's hull, and I followed, trying desperately for a lock on him with my missiles. Realising he was skittering too wildly for a missile lock, I shunted power back into my lasers, and waited impatiently for the laser banks to recharge. In the meantime, to keep him honest, I fired twin concussion missiles directly towards his engines, though from far enough away that it was the easiest thing imaginable for him to dodge. I couldn’t help but grin as I realised they were on a direct line for the bridge.

Then my laser banks flashed green, with enough energy for me to trigger a barrage at the starfighter. So I did.

The laser bolts flashed across the space between us. I saw one hit home, chewing into a pylon, and out through the wing panel, but the Defender seemed undamaged. I realised it had been unshielded, and assumed it had traded shield power for speed in order to follow me.

My laser panel flashed red, suddenly, and I realised the barrage had drained the laser banks again. Swearing, I switched to missiles. Looking up, I realised the Defender had been damaged worse than I thought. It had slowed right down, and I was almost on top of it.

I dumb fired the missiles, half grinning as they slammed into the Defender and exploding. Then my A-Wing was engulfed in flame as I entered the explosion. System panels flickered and failed around me as my craft was buffeted from side to side. My shields collapsed, and I felt the inertial compensator begin to fail.

My A-Wing shot out the other side of the fireball, and I heard a keening sound above all the others. I recognised it as being the missile lock sound, and knew my targeting system had locked on something. Looking ahead, I realised it was the Executor's bridge. As my craft began to heel over, I heard a barrage of launch recognitions, and watched as the bridge shield bloomed fiery pink. Then it collapsed, as mine had. It began to dawn on me I was on a direct line for bridge.

My mind flashed back over my years in the Rebellion. That first mission with Janson and Porkins. Hearing of the deaths at the first Death Star. The joy of victory, tempered by the sorrow of loss.

Onwards to my time with the Yellow Aces, the victories and defeats we'd shared, and the decommissioning of the unit after Derra IV. Joining, briefly, the Rogues during our time on Hoth.

The thought of Hoth bought Javi to mind. My eyes burned with tears at the though of her. I choked them down, knowing I'd be with her soon.

My inertial compensator was gone, and the spin I was in had pinned me to my chair. I couldn't right the spin, and wasn't sure I would have if I could. My ship was pointed at the unshielded bridge of the Imperial flagship.

It had all begun with a man in a cantina, and it will end here, above the forest moon of Endor. My name is Manne Cynde, and I'm about to strike a blow for the Rebellion.

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