TEST OF WILLS
Myn Donos, the X-wing squadron commander, looked around in confusion. This wasn’t right. He’d been through this already. This mission could only lead to …
Death.
The ambush. They were all about to die.
“Talon Leader to squad, break off! Omega Signal!” He rolled up on his port wing and curved in a tight arc. Away from death.
The other Talons did not follow. They sped down their destined path toward annihilation.
“Leader to group! Break off! Follow me!”
A woman’s voice: “Can’t do it, sir.”
“Follow me. That’s an order!”
“No sir. What does it matter whether I die down there or on the way out?”
Donos continued his arc until he completed a full circle. He now sped on in the wake of his pilots, heedlessly rushing toward their doom. He felt an unfamiliar weight crushing his chest. It wasn’t acceleration; it was the inevitability of those pilots’ needless deaths. “Please.”
“Don’t ‘please’ me, Lieutenant. You don’t care enough about yourself to live. So you don’t give a damn about us.”
“You’re wrong. Turn back.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear it! Turn back!”
The canopy of his X-wing went black and the roar of his engines died.…
STAR WARS: WRAITH SQUADRON
A Bantam Spectra Book / February 1998
SPECTRA and the portrayal of a boxed “s” are trademarks
of Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc.
®, TM & © 1998 by Lucasfilm Ltd.
All rights reserved. Used under authorization.
Cover art copyright © 1998 by Lucasfilm Ltd.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and
retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address: Bantam Books.
eISBN: 978-0-307-79649-3
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada.
v3.1
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks go to:
Tom Dupree, Pat LoBrutto, and Michael A. Stackpole, for the opportunity;
Steven S. Long, Bob Quinlan, and Luray Richmond, my “Eagle-Eyes,” who protect me from the worst of my mistakes;
Michael A. Stackpole, Kathy Tyers, Dave Wolverton, and Timothy Zahn, from whose fiction I have been able to draw details and inspiration;
Shane Johnson, Paul Murphy, Peter Schweighofer, Bill Slavicsek, Bill Smith, Curtis Smith, and Dan Wallace, for the invaluable resources they have written;
Sue Rostoni and Lucy Wilson, for making the approval process a pleasure;
Quel Richmond, for being inspirationally big, handsome, and cowardly; and
Denis Loubet, Mark and Luray Richmond, my roommates, for not casting me out into the cold when writer’s mania and deadline pressures made it an appropriate option.
Contents
Cover
Test of Wills
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Dramatis Personae
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
About the Author
Also by this Author
Introduction to the Star Wars Expanded Universe
Excerpt from Star Wars: Iron Fist
Introduction to the Old Republic Era
Introduction to the Rise of the Empire Era
Introduction to the Rebellion Era
Introduction to the New Republic Era
Introduction to the New Jedi Order Era
Introduction to the Legacy Era
Star Wars Novels Timeline
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
The Wraiths
Commander Wedge Antilles (human male from Corellia)
Lieutenant Wes Janson (human male from Taanab)
Lieutenant Myn Donos (human male from Corellia)
Jesmin Ackbar (Mon Calamari female from Mon Calamari)
Hohass “Runt” Ekwesh (Thakwaash male from Thakwaa)
Garik “Face” Loran (human male from Pantolomin)
Ton Phanan (human male from Rudrig)
Falynn Sandskimmer (human female from Tatooine)
Voort “Piggy” saBinring (Gamorrean male from Gamorr)
Tyria Sarkin (human female from Toprawa)
Kell Tainer (human male from Sluis Van)
Eurrsk “Grinder” Thri’ag (Bothan male from Bothuwai)
Rogue Squadron Support Personnel
Cubber Daine (human male from Corellia, squad mechanic)
Chunky (Tyria’s R5 unit)
Gadget (Phanan’s R2 unit)
Gate (Wedge’s R5 unit)
Shiner (Donos’s R2 unit)
Squeaky (3PO unit, squadron quartermaster)
Thirteen (Kell’s R2 unit)
Vape (Face’s R2 unit)
New Republic Military
General Edor Crespin (human male from Corulag)
Captain Choday Hrakness (human male from Agamar)
Lieutenant Atril Tabanne (human female from Coruscant)
Dorset Konnair (human female from Coruscant)
Tetengo Noor (human male from Churba)
Zsinj’s Forces
Warlord Zsinj (human male from Fondor)
Admiral Apwar Trigit (human male from Coruscant)
Captain Zurel Darillian (human male from Coruscant)
Lieutenant Gara Petothel (human female from Coruscant)
1
Twelve X-wing snubfighters roared down into the atmosphere.
The world below, Coruscant, former throne world of the Empire, was an unbroken landscape of urban construction, a vast city reaching from pole to pole, blanketed by gray clouds shot through with white and yellow flashes of lightning.
The squadron commander, piloting a black fighter with an incongruously cheerful green and gold checkerboard pattern on the bow, shook his head over the grim vista of the world below. Even after all the time he’d spent here—even after the crucial role he’d played in conquering this world for the New Republic—he still could not get used to the arrogance of Coruscant. It was a world that could only rule or perish, for it produced nothing but soldiers, officers, and bureaucrats, and could not feed its population without importing massive quantities of food from around the galaxy.
He took a visual scan of his immediate surroundings. “Rogue Three, tighten up. We’re putting on a show here.”
A green X-wing closed in tighter to the formation. “Yes, sir.” Though distorted by the comm system, the voice sounded indulge
nt rather than military.
“That’s ‘Yes, Wedge’ until we’re formally returned to duty.” The commander smiled. “Or perhaps, ‘Yes, Exalted One.’ Or ‘Yes, O envy of all Corellia.’ Or—”
A chorus of groans interrupted him. The voice of Nawara Ven, the squadron’s Twi’lek executive officer, cut through it: “Stop complaining. He’s earned his little vacation from reality.”
Then the voice of Tycho Celchu, Wedge’s second-in-command, sharp and military: “Sensors register a squadron of fighters rising toward us. Speed is X-wing or better; sensor profiles suggest X-wings.”
“Maintain formation,” Wedge said, then switched his comm unit over from squadron frequency to New Republic military frequency. “Rogue Squadron to approaching X-wing formation, please identify yourselves.”
The voice responding was brisk, amused, and familiar. “Wrong designations, sir. We’re Rogue Squadron. You’re simply a rogue squadron. But for the next few minutes we’ll do you the courtesy of designating ourselves Red Squadron to avoid confusion. We’re your escort.”
“Hobbie? Is that you, Lieutenant Klivan?”
“That’s Captain Klivan … again, just for the next few minutes.”
The other X-wing unit rose into view, gradually attaining the altitude of Wedge’s squadron. Wedge was startled to see that the dozen snubfighters were painted in Rogue Squadron’s traditional red stripes and twelve-pointed insignia. “Hobbie, explain this.”
“No time, sir. We have a course change for you. High Command has decided to broadcast this entire event across the HoloNet—”
“Oh, no.”
“—so set your new course to ninety-three, follow my rate of descent, and we’ll get you there in one piece. After that, you’re on your own.”
Within moments their destination was clear: Imperial Plaza, a ground-level ferrocrete circle so broad that in spite of the surrounding skyscrapers, it could be seen from high in the air at angles other than directly overhead. The plaza was packed with spectators; even at this altitude Wedge could see banners and fluttering haze that looked like chaff but had to be some sort of celebratory confetti.
A speakers platform had been erected on the plaza’s west side, with barricaded open areas north and south of it—obvious landing zones for the two squadrons.
As they descended toward the plaza, Wedge flipped his comm system back to the squadron channel. “Once around the park, outbound port, return starboard, at five hundred, Rogues. They’re here for a show; let’s give them one.”
Immediately he heard Hobbie’s answer on the same channel: “Same, Reds, but starboard to port return at six hundred meters. Sloppiest flight group buys drinks.”
The two squadrons parted, circling the plaza at its perimeter, the wingtips of the X-wings sometimes only meters from the faces of admirers piled up against the skyscraper windows. The squadrons crossed one another’s positions on the far side of the plaza and rejoined at their first position, then spiraled down toward the landing zones.
Rogue Squadron angled toward the northern area, Red Squadron toward the southern. At three hundred meters, Wedge said, “Landing gear and repulsorlifts, people,” and both squadrons began the safe, vertical descents allowed by the snubfighters’ antigravity engines.
Wedge smiled. “Your Red Squadron looks pretty good, Hobbie. A pity you haven’t had time to teach them anything about precision flying.”
“What?”
“Rogue Squadron, Three Diamonds Parade Formation, execute!”
After a moment’s hesitation—it had been some time since the unit had practiced the intricate parade formations—the Rogues split into their three flight groups, each group maneuvering into a diamond-shaped formation—one X-wing forward, one back, the two others side by side in the middle—with Wedge’s group forward and the other two side by side behind, making a triangle of diamonds, all facing eastward.
Even over the sound of the repulsorlifts, Wedge could hear the cheers from the crowd.
Hobbie’s voice came back immediately: “Red Squadron, same maneuver, but one-eighty to their orientation.” He sounded amused rather than angry. And in moments his squadron was in the same Three Diamonds Formation, but his X-wings faced west.
More cheers—the crowd was going wild over the aerial demonstration.
“A little wobbly, Hobbie.”
“We haven’t been together that long, Wedge, but we still know a few tricks. And you started this. Red Group Three, deny Rogue Group One!”
The three-fighter triangle to Hobbie’s starboard rear broke away from the Red Squadron formation, sideslipped and reversed orientation while maintaining the same internal order, and came into position a mere ten meters beneath Wedge’s group, descending toward the spot where Wedge would have landed.
“Not bad, Hobbie. Rogue Group Two, deny Red Group One!”
Corran Horn, in his green X-wing with the black and white trim, led his group in a similar maneuver and positioned them directly beneath Hobbie Klivan’s group.
“You mynock. Red Group Two, deny Rogue Group Three!”
“Rogue Group One, substitute Red Two!”
The two squadrons’ flight groups crisscrossed above the speakers platform as they descended, a dazzling display of precision flying, until, when all were a mere ten meters above the ground, Rogue Squadron was reassembled over the southern landing zone, Red Squadron over the northern. The two dozen snubfighters set down within moments of one another.
Their pilots climbed down from their cockpits into a whirlwind of celebration: New Republic diplomats and old friends dragging them up onto the speakers platform, clouds of confetti raining down from the skyscrapers ringing the plaza, roars of appreciation and exuberance from the thousands in the plaza. Wedge managed to get handshakes and backslaps from Hobbie and Red Squadron’s second-in-command, Wes Janson, before being dragged into line formation with all the pilots; the crowd’s roar was too overwhelming to allow them to hear one another’s words.
At the front of the platform, at the speakers lectern, stood the New Republic Provisional Council’s best-loved speaker, Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan. Unlike most of the New Republic’s representatives present, she was dressed simply, in a belted robe of senatorial white. She caught Wedge’s eye and gave him a smile and half shake of the head, acknowledging their mutual dislike of public spectacles such as this, then turned back toward the crowd.
With a few waves of her hand she managed to reduce the crowd’s roar to the point her amplified voice could be heard above it. “Citizens of the New Republic, I present to you Rogue Squadron!” Another protracted roar, and then she continued, “Before I bring Commander Antilles up to speak, I think I should put the squadron’s recent accomplishments in perspective. With their efforts, we now have, once again, a steady supply of bacta—a supply sufficient to stamp out the last lingering effects of the Krytos Plague. With their efforts—”
Wedge tuned her out. This was all old news to him. Weeks before, he’d led Rogue Squadron—the true Rogue Squadron, the men and women now in civilian dress—on a mission that the New Republic military command could not support. Resigning their commissions, the members of Rogue Squadron and a handful of professional insurgents had mounted a civilian action against the new government of the world of Thyferra, the world where the overwhelming majority of bacta, the miracle medicine, was produced. That new government was headed by the Empire’s former espionage leader, Ysanne Isard, and could have become the core of a reunited Empire.
But now Ysanne Isard was dead, and Rogue Squadron’s resignations had apparently been creatively misfiled—meaning that they were never civilians—meaning that, with the mission’s success, the New Republic was retroactively making the Thyferran mission an officially sanctioned operation.
None of which explained the presence of a new Rogue Squadron flying the unit’s traditional colors. Wedge traded places with Tycho, his second-in-command, to stand beside Hobbie Klivan. “So tell me about this ersatz Rogue Squa
dron.”
The pilot with the perpetually mournful face shook his head. “It’s not ersatz. Just sort of auxiliary. For morale purposes, the Alliance needed a visible Rogue Squadron while you were off playing pirate. So they brought me and Wes back from training-squad duty to cobble together a temporary Rogue Squadron.”
“Temporary.”
Hobbie nodded. “We brought in some Rogue Squadron veterans—Riemann, Scotian, Carithlee, several more—and a couple of new pilots each out of Gauntlet and Corsair Squadrons. Now that you’re back, they all return to their original units. Except—”
“Except what?”
“Except me and Wes. We’re back for good. Subject to your approval. That’s the reward we were unofficially promised by High Command.”
“Well, I’ll think about it.” At Hobbie’s stricken look, Wedge smiled. “I’m kidding you. Welcome home. Is Gauntlet Squadron active? I thought they were still in diapers.”
“You’re behind the times. Corsair was our first squadron, Gauntlet our second, and our third, Talon, was just commissioned.”
“Who’s commanding?”
“Lieutenant Myn Donos. A good pilot, smart—”
Lieutenant Wes Janson, still baby-faced despite his years flying for the Alliance and New Republic, leaned in grinning from Hobbie’s other side. “Smart, egotistical, self-centered, arrogant, insufferable—you know, a typical Corellian.”
“As a fair, broad-minded officer, I should ignore that. But as a Corellian, of course, I’ll manage some sort of revenge.” Wedge turned back to Hobbie. “Before your Rogues are disbanded, I want to see their personnel files.”
“Of course. Why? If I can ask.”
“You can. I have an idea for another new X-wing unit … something based on our experiences taking Coruscant and Thyferra.”
“You’re going to form a new squadron?”
Wedge nodded.
“Just like that? Wave your hand and it appears?”
“Well, I thought I’d tell High Command so they’ll know what they need to give me.”
Hobbie shook his head. “Wes, you were right. All Corellians are like that. Oh, Wedge, the princess—”
Wedge realized belatedly that Leia had called his name and was beckoning to him. He put on his meet-the-crowd smile and advanced, stopping a pace short of the lectern, taking Leia’s outstretched hand.
Star Wars: X-Wing V: Wraith Squadron Page 1