Chapter 78: Joys, sorrows (IV)
The holoprojector on the Millennium Falcon flickered, and the figures projected on the display briefly froze in place. Leia glanced over at her husband.
Han turned his gaze away, feigning indifference. Beside him, Rogue Squadron's commander, Wedge Antilles, diplomatically pretended he wasn't involved in the unfolding situation.
The Alderaanian princess sighed and gave the device a light tap on the side. Nothing happened.
"A bit harder," Han suggested, still staring intently at the ceiling of his ship's wardroom.
"Or," Leia countered, "you could just fix it."
"Well, that's an option too," Han responded, his voice holding a hint of diplomacy. Chewbacca, standing in the passage between the cockpit and the wardroom, growled softly. The Wookiee approached the malfunctioning device and gave the opposite side a powerful smack. Wedge winced audibly. Han flinched, as if feeling the impact in his teeth. Leia smiled as the image of Mon Mothma flickered to life above the holoprojector.
"Thanks, Chewie," Han muttered.
The Wookiee growled something in response. Han didn't reply, instead waving a dismissive hand as if to say, What can I do with you?, before heading back to the cockpit to prepare the Falcon for departure.
"One of these days, he's going to break your ship," Wedge remarked quietly.
** The commander of Rogue Squadron, Wedge Antilles **
"Never," Han shot back, grinning as Wedge blew a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "Maybe you should think about getting a haircut."
"Later," Wedge replied, waving him off. "First, we finish this mission, get back to Coruscant, and maybe—just maybe—I'll take a break from my X-wing."
"Do you even believe what you're saying?" Han asked, giving him a sidelong glance.
"I'm just trying to reassure everyone around me," Wedge shrugged. "There's already talk that I sleep in my pilot seat."
"That's not a rumor," Han remarked dryly. "When we were chasing Zsinj, I saw it with my own eyes... more than once."
"Ah, so it's you who spread that around? Thanks a lot!" Wedge said with mock indignation.
"What's the problem?" Han asked, feigning innocence. "You love that X-wing. Just like Luke does. I'm sure you've taken apart every bolt and wire by now."
"Well, I know a retired general who does the same thing with his freighter," Wedge retorted with a bright smile. "But at least you've got a family and kids..."
"Kid," Han corrected tiredly. "One day, I'm going to wring your neck."
"That'd be treason," Wedge said in mock seriousness. "I'm the commander of an elite squadron. Neck-wringing is strictly prohibited."
"Even if I'm a former general and it's for your own good?" Han asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Han, you're only eight years older than me," Wedge sighed. "And you act like a mother hen."
"Did you eat today?" Han teased.
"And I even cleaned my blaster," Wedge replied, playing along. They both fell silent, only half-listening to Leia and Mon Mothma's conversation. After a while, Wedge turned to Han again. "Han..."
"What?" Han kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, already knowing where the conversation was headed. He braced himself, knowing full well that Wedge was not one to back down easily.
"You should come back," Wedge said gently, his eyes full of concern.
"I'm not going anywhere," Han replied firmly. He knew better than to try and brush Wedge off. The man had a knack for talking people into things—it wasn't for nothing that he'd managed to dodge so many promotions over the years. There was even a running joke: if you saw Admiral Ackbar fuming, it meant Wedge had just turned down another offer for a general's commission. The Mon Calamari could boil with frustration...
"You know what I mean," Wedge sighed, still wrestling with his unruly bangs. "You should return to your general's rank."
"No," Han answered firmly. "It's suffocating. I can't breathe with those stars pinned on me. I always feel like Fey'lya is right behind me, breathing down my neck... sly, waiting for me to trip so he can tear me apart. And after me—Leia."
"Fey'lya's occupied for now," Wedge said, sharing some insider information. "He's whispering in Mon Mothma's ear and doing his best to rile up Ackbar. It won't be long before he pushes him too far. And when that happens, we'll lose one of the few remaining people who can still fight the Empire."
"Power down your reactor, kid," Han said suspiciously, glancing at Wedge out of the corner of his eye.
"Han, I'm thirty years old..." Wedge tried to argue.
"But never mind," Solo said.
"I'm a fighter pilot," Antilles reminded him. "I don't need it."
"In that case, you'd be flying an A-wing," Solo retorted, "not an X-wing."
"Point taken," Wedge sighed. "Can't argue with that."
Pilots of the RZ-1 A-wing interceptors—commonly known as "Ashkis" among pilots—had a reputation for being thrill-seekers who loved breakneck speeds, but weren't always the sharpest. Of course, A-wing pilots themselves denied these accusations, but the X-wing pilots knew better...
"Was it Ackbar who asked you to start the 'bring-Han-back' campaign again?" Solo asked, though he already suspected the answer.
"No, Fey'lya," Wedge replied with a mischievous grin. "He said General Solo's a genius for getting rid of Zsinj so smoothly... though it did take two tries, plus some help from Skywalker."
The usually talkative pilot fell silent as he met Han Solo's less-than-encouraging glare.
"Yeah, it was Ackbar," Wedge admitted, hanging his head, sticking out his lower lip like a chastised boy. Solo shook his head in disbelief. This "youngster" had more kills to his name than entire squadrons. To his pilots, he was a father figure—knowledgeable and capable. But when he was among close friends, the Corellian ace couldn't resist being a bit of a clown.
"Ackbar wants to form a squadron to hunt down the Imperials responsible for the mess here," Wedge explained.
"Wasn't one hunt for Zsinj enough?" Han sighed. "We got ourselves into plenty of trouble thinking we'd destroyed him and his Super Star Destroyer. If not for that escape hatch and the situation with the Hapans, Zsinj would've regrouped on Dathomir and taken us down on day one."
"But he didn't," Wedge pointed out.
"Because Luke was with us," Han muttered.
"Ackbar hinted that if you came back, Rogue Squadron would be under your command," Wedge said, pretending to inspect his fingernails.
"Tempting, but no, kid," Han said firmly. "You can take the promotion and lead the strike squadron yourself."
"No, no, no," Wedge replied, his face suddenly filled with panic, as if he had seen Darth Vader himself. The mental image of Vader, flying his favorite TIE, chasing Wedge—who's trying to escape in a canoe, rowing with a broken oar against the current—seemed all too real. "I'm a fighter pilot, through and through! I'm not cut out to command from the bridge of a ship with more than one sentient on board."
Han squinted. "Did Ackbar tell you he'd promote you whether you liked it or not?"
Realizing he'd been caught, Wedge nodded glumly.
"And you thought persuading me to take the job would get him off your back?" Han continued, his suspicions growing.
Wedge hesitated, then blew some air to push his bangs out of his eyes. He glanced at his fingernails, scratched his nose, then went back to inspecting his hands.
"Wedge, I swear, I'm going to wring your neck!" Han threatened.
"I've got two options," Wedge admitted, surrendering. "Either accept the promotion and lead the strike squadron or convince you—or maybe Lando—to take the heat. Ackbar promised that if you or Calrissian agree, he'll stop nagging me for a couple of years."
Han sighed, shaking his head in disapproval. "Wedge, you'd be better off filling your hold with vacuum than spice when meeting clients." He wasn't truly angry with his old friend for trying to maneuver him into the situation. Wedge was simply desperate to keep flying his beloved starfighters, and Han was his only real hope. It wasn't as though Lando would be an easy sell.
"Kid," Solo said, more gently now. "In different circumstances, I might've agreed. But... I've got a pregnant wife, Chewie, and the Falcon. As one of my smuggler friends once said, I've gone soft, started a family, and become respectable. You'll have better luck with Lando. He's the altruistic type."
"Unfortunately, Lando's not an option either," Leia's voice interrupted. Her tone suggested she wasn't in the same confident mood as earlier. The situation had clearly deteriorated.
"What's going on?" Han asked. Wedge, snapping out of his playful mood, straightened up, looking serious.
"It's bad," Leia said. "Han... we have to go to the Sluissi sector."
Wedge managed a grin, but his eyes betrayed the same dissatisfaction. He knew it meant another long trip across the galaxy, and there was only one reason for it.
"The Empire's struck again," Han guessed. Leia, resting her hand on her stomach, nodded.
"The Sluissi sector?" Wedge asked. "There are at least three or four of our bases besides Sluis Van there..."
"The commandant at Sluis Van didn't respond to the Imperial attack," Leia explained. "He feared it was a diversion, like what happened in the Dufilvian sector. So, he kept six Mon Calamari star cruisers and about thirty smaller ships stationed at the base. Meanwhile, the Imperials destroyed our base on Innton II, using proton torpedoes to turn it—and over two thousand personnel in the underground levels—into a slab of molten rock. In the Bpfassh system, they didn't achieve as much, but..."
"But?" Wedge prompted.
"The Orto system," Leia continued. "The Imperials wiped out the local garrison, landed troops, requisitioned every ship they could, and destroyed the rest."
"I don't understand," Wedge admitted. "Why?"
"Orto supplied fuel and minerals to the shipyards at Sluis Van," Leia explained. "The Imperials hit the system with a medium Strike-class cruiser, followed by a Star Destroyer and two more cruisers. They took control of over a dozen cargo ships filled with fuel and minerals. After that, they blew up the fuel plant and destroyed the ships they couldn't take. That's all we know—except for the fact that the mines and plasma rigs are now either radioactive or completely destroyed. No one can get close enough to assess the damage."
"Hutt slime!" Han cursed. "Everything's contaminated now."
"The Ortolans evacuated the area, but they're furious no one protected them," Leia sighed. "We're heading to Sluis Van to repeat what we did here. Wedge and his pilots will be accompanying us. General Cracken's on his way from Coruscant to investigate the commandant's actions—Fey'lya demanded it. The military's outraged. Rumors of treason are swirling. The Bothan lobby is pressuring Ackbar, accusing him of issuing vague orders, which allowed the fleet commander at Sluis Van to hide behind inaction. It's... chaos, Han. Absolute chaos."
"And we're supposed to be right in the middle of it?" Han asked. Leia nodded. Han got up from his chair. "I'll get the Falcon ready."
Without another word, he headed to the cockpit.
"I'll brief the squadron," Wedge said, activating his comlink.
"Wait," Han paused, turning back. "You said Lando wouldn't agree to return to duty. Why not?"
"Because the Star Destroyer that led the attack on Orto hit Nklonn first," Leia explained. "They looted the planet and caused significant damage. The fleet commander at Sluis Van refused to send ships to help pull Lando's operation into orbit and repair it, even though Calrissian, like the Ortolans, was a key supplier for the shipyards. The local command thought it was just another diversion."
"So, if we hurry, we might be able to help Calrissian," Han said. "The Falcon can't do much for his plant, but if I pull a few strings and requisition some ships..."
"Han," Leia said wearily. "There's no need to rush. The Nomad burned up in the local star's rays over a day and a half ago."
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