Luke and Wedge stood shoulder-to-shoulder just inside Auxiliary Two.

Two rows of six X-wings, a full twelve for a squadron. Gone were Luke and Wedge’s old Red Squadron markings, though the new red stripes were reminiscent of the Yavin group’s livery. The remains of other squadrons, of mismatched hull plates, all had been replaced by clean off-white paint with carefully applied red stripes up the fuselage and markings on the wings.

Luke sipped at the cup of caf, an unfortunate decision; it had cooled enough that now he could taste it. Still, the bitter taste did nothing to dispel the small but growing sense of admiration. We actually look like a squadron. Surprise warred with an unexpected pinprick of loss. My kill markings. He took another sip of the caf. I can always paint those back on.

“So when did it happen?” he asked conversationally.

“Last night, sometime after Hobbie left the hangar at 2200.” Wedge rubbed his jaw as he looked at the fighters.

“And you don’t know who did it?”

“Well, after I finally convinced S’man to check work orders for me to eliminate any of the maintenance crews, I narrowed it down to the squadron.” Wedge shook his head. “None of the astromechs had any knowledge of it. Or if they did, they’re keeping it to themselves.” He shot Luke a glance. “Your Artoo unit was not chatty.”

“I’m not sure if Artoo is trying to protect me or the X-wing,” Luke said dryly.

“Hobbie said he went to sleep, and I believe him. This is also far too much work for him to do on a whim; if he were going to paint the fighters, he’d recruit help.” Wedge’s recitation was clearly from memory. 

He already worked all this out, Luke thought. Let’s see if he drew the same conclusion I did.

“Puck and Janson are both out,” Wedge continued. “If they had done it, at least one, if not all, of the X-wings would’ve been painted something ridiculous. Pink and green candy striping, maybe. Or bright orange from nose to tail.”

“That makes sense to me,” Luke agreed.

“Also not Eirriss’s style. She could give us an impromptu twenty-minute lecture on the symbolism of the squadron and particular markings, but she’s not going to sacrifice a night of sleep to make it happen just because she thinks it’s a good idea. Neth is too new. She’d be worried about how you and I would react to it, even if she thought it was a great idea. And Senesca isn’t the sort who’s worried about appearances. If he thought paint would keep one of our pilots alive, he’d be first in line with a brush and masking tape, but he’s too seasoned for that.” Wedge glanced at him again. “It wasn’t me. And it wasn’t you.”

“You’re sure?” Luke asked, hiding his smile behind the caf.

“Luke, your concerns are the pilots and the missions and the people we’ve saved. I think you like the squadron’s new paint, but you weren’t the one who did it.”

His grin didn’t fade. “Sometimes, Wedge, I’d swear you’ve known me for years, not months.”

“You’re not much for subtle or symbolic, Luke,” Wedge said dryly. “So that leaves…”

“Mara,” Luke finished. “That was my immediate thought when you told me someone had done unauthorized maintenance on the X-wings.” He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t put that on any report, did you?”

Wedge snorted. “Like I’d want to give Colonel S’man another concussion missile to fire at us.” He hesitated for a moment. “She painted over your kill markers. Including the Death Star marker.”

“I noticed.”

“And you’re okay with it?”

Luke hesitated before answering, marshalling his conflicted feelings and thoughts. “Every pilot who walked by my fighter saw that marker, Wedge, and knew exactly who and what it meant. The Hero of Yavin.” He made the epithet sound like a curse. “But Rogue Squadron doesn’t need the Hero of Yavin. We’re not trying to build a vanity project or a parade unit. And my X-wing doesn’t look like Red Five, the fighter that killed the Death Star; it’s Rogue Leader, and it belongs with the squadron. I’m a part of the squadron, not the whole thing.” He gestured broadly. “And these X-wings, including mine, all look the part now. We need the squadron, not the symbol.”

Several of the Rogues walked into the hangar, past Luke and Wedge – Hobbie, Mara, Cesi, and Wes.

“Mara,” Wedge said aloud. All four of them stopped. Wedge gestured with one finger, and Mara walked over while the other three continued further into the hangar, to the X-wings.

“Yes, Captain? Commander?” Mara said, tone both polite and questioning.

Wedge raised an eyebrow, looked at the X-wings, and back at Mara.

Mara looked at him guilelessly.

“You?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Why?”

“They looked unfinished.”

Luke tried to hide his smile.

“How many maintenance lockers did you raid for supplies for this little unauthorized art project?”

Mara’s expression was hard to read. “Two. First one didn’t have enough pigment.”

Wedge looked past her at the X-wings for long seconds, long enough for the silence to stretch into discomfort. Finally, his eyes came back to Mara. “They look good. Professional. Next time, requisition the supplies first.”

“The paint and tape were both already in the Aux Two maintenance lockers,” she had the gall to say.

Luke had to turn away and cough to keep from laughing. He could feel Wedge glaring at him while trying not to laugh himself.

“All right,” Wedge said after a moment. “One more thing, Flight Officer.” He leaned toward her, voice dropping. “You’ve still got a little red paint on your left hand. Clean up better after yourself. And next time, ask permission. Commander Skywalker would have given it to you.”

“Yes, sir,” Mara said, her tone uncertain. 

She’s not sure whether she’s being praised or disciplined, Luke thought, doing his best to keep his face unperturbed and knowing he was likely failing.

“Dismissed,” Wedge said. When Mara had moved out of earshot, he shook his head and a chuckle escaped.

“We deserve this, Wedge,” Luke said, his mouth finally curving up at the corners. “We did name the unit Rogue Squadron.”

---

Immediately after the security lockdown lifted, a runner had delivered a datacard to Mara in Rogue Territory. She’d slipped it in her pocket and it had sat there like a ten-kilo stone. She’d tried to ignore it while doing some basic work on her X-wing and astromech, just a systems check to make sure no new problems had arisen during the week the T-65Bs had been parked. In the cockpit, she was tempted to pull it out and examine the contents, but she resisted. I already know what’s on this.

She decided not to put it off any longer and, when Wes started in on a story about the Tierfon Yellow Aces, she slipped back to her quarters.

In the Rogues’ common area, the lockboxes they’d used for personal effects and weapons were stacked up on a table. Mara snagged the one she had sealed herself and retreated into her quarters. Inside, she locked the door before setting the lockbox on her bunk and opening it with her thumbprint.

Her DL-18 blaster came out first, holstered and wrapped in her belt. She checked to make sure the blaster would slide free, checked the charge, and finally tucked the bundle under her bunk within easy reach if she were lying down.

The only other item in the box was the lightsaber. I expected questions about this. What does General Rieekan know? she wondered uneasily. Or Skywalker?

She bit her lip. Sooner or later, someone is going to start asking questions. Or someone will come looking. She opened a drawer, pulled out her pilot duffel, found the oiled cloth, wrapped the hilt, and tucked it all away again. I don’t know why I keep this. It’s nothing but trouble.

Mara shook her head. You know exactly why you haven’t gotten rid of it, or even given it to Hera to hold onto. 

Her effects resecured, she finally pulled the datacard out of her pocket, slotted it into her datapad and found exactly what she’d expected: a holographic message, hidden behind an encryption code. It didn’t take long for Hera to find me. I’m surprised she hasn’t parked the Ghost in Aux Two.

Mara keyed in the decryption key shared by the Ghost crew and, a few moments later, the hologram hummed to life over her datapad.

Exactly as she expected, the image was of Twi’lek hero, Rebel general, resistance pilot, and self-appointed guardian, Hera Syndulla. “Mara,” the pre-recorded hologram greeted her warmly. “I’m sorry I lost track of you during the Yavin evacuation. I was even more surprised when I heard your voice on the fighter comms, flying with Wedge’s new squadron.” Her voice hardened. “I expect he and Hobbie are still holding to the terms we agreed on for training you.”

The Twi’lek hesitated for a long moment. “General Rieekan sent me a message asking for details about you and your service with the Rebellion and Phoenix. I gave him what he needed, and I personally vouched for you.” A smile touched her lips. “I doubt any of this surprises you.” The smile faded. “I understand you’re flying with Luke Skywalker. He’s a good man. Kanan would have liked him. But Mara, if the new squadron is too much, too…visible…” Hera’s voice trailed for a moment, “just say the word and I’ll accept your transfer to the Liberty‘s air wing. You can fly here, too, if you’d like. You can be closer to family.”

Visible, the word echoed in Mara’s mind. A memory, unbidden, floated up from the vaults she tried to keep locked. On Atollon, at Chopper Base, the Imperial blockade, the ground assault, and Grand Admiral Thrawn himself walking into the command center with a blaster trained on them as he’d looked at the gathered Rebels. “A pity Commander Sato did not survive for this moment. He was a worthy adversary.” His eyes flicked between them. “General Jan Dodonna. One of Commenor’s finest.” To Kanan. “The Jedi who has caused much consternation.” His eyes flickered past Mara, then back, with something like recognition in those alien red eyes. “The lost asset.” Finally, he looked to Hera herself. “And now, Captain Syndulla, I will accept your formal surrender. Or you will watch your friends perish, one by one, beginning with the Jedi.”

The lost asset.

Visibility is death, Mara.

“It’s your decision, Mara, but we’re here if you need us,” Hera finished. “I’ll be in touch when I can. I hope I hear from you soon.”

The image flickered and vanished.

Mara breathed, low and slow, eyes closed. “I’ll reply later,” she told herself quietly. “Not now.”

It was easier to tell herself later than maybe.

---

The afternoon was growing late when the four pilots gathered in the Rogues’ makeshift briefing room.

The chairs were uncomfortable, decoration was lacking entirely, but most importantly for Wedge’s purposes, the room featured a large holoprojector. Centered in the middle of a loose half-circle of chairs, the unit was likely older than any of the Rogues except Zev Senesca, but it was a high-resolution model suitable for detailed imaging.

The discussion was Wedge’s brainchild. He already knew the conclusions he had drawn, but this was about the squadron, not just himself.

Luke Skywalker was sitting closest to the holoprojector, unsurprisingly. He’s the unit commander and one of the best pilots I’ve ever met. He’s the most important person to convince, Wedge told himself. Skywalker is more instinctive than methodical. If I’m right, he’ll grasp this immediately and see the benefit.

Next to Luke was Derek Klivian. Hobbie’s been through the thick of it with me. He also trained at Skystrike with me. If there’s a weakness I’ve missed, he’ll see it.

And finally, next to Hobbie, was Mara Jade. And she’s here because of Ralltiir.

“What’s this about, Wedge?” Luke asked informally.

Wedge smiled. “Always good to have a shill in the audience.” He flicked the holoprojector on, the unit humming, image distorted as it warmed. “I’m pretty sure you can get credits for that in the civilian job market.”

“Not on my homeworld,” Luke deadpanned.

“We’re here to talk about fighter doctrine. Squadron doctrine. Engagement doctrine.” Wedge forced himself to focus and pace his words. Make the case. Don’t rush it. 

The hologram finally settled into coherence, almost laughably simple: three simple triangles, arranged as a three-ship element. Wedge glanced down, tapped a button on his datapad, and three more elements appeared, twelve triangles in all, arranged line abreast. “Standard starfighter combat doctrine,” Wedge said. “A standard squadron size for the Rebel Alliance and the Empire alike is twelve fighters. During the Clone Wars, it actually varied depending on the unit, anywhere from nine to twenty-one fighters. The Separatists liked larger squadron sizes.” He looked from the hologram to the pilots. “This is the basic doctrine all pilots train, Imperial and Rebel alike. Hobbie and I have gone through both.”

Hobbie grunted an assent.

Wedge zoomed in on a single three-ship element again. “The basics are simple. An element leader at the point, one wingman to port, one wingman to starboard. The leader picks a target, all three fighters fire on it. It’s proven, it’s standard, and it’s horrible for our purposes.” He didn’t give it time to sink in. “Ralltiir showed us how fragile it is.”

He looked straight at Mara, who had gone motionless.

The image shifted, a larger cylinder added with the triangles. “On Ralltiir, because of the limited number of fighters available, Commander Skywalker bent the doctrine a bit. Instead of a proper focused fire, he assigned both wingmen a zone to protect on the run out of atmosphere. It was a clever solution for the problems imposed by the limitations of only having a single element. But it broke because one of the wingmen turned traitor.”

He looked at Mara again. “The Bright Wake should’ve been hit and forced down. As a wingman in the element, what was your job?”

“To keep position and take targets as assigned,” Mara said flatly.

“Yes. That was Sarkli’s job, too. And Luke’s job was to position the entire element appropriately and issue orders.” Wedge shook his head. “And no one had the responsibility of keeping an eye on the wingmen. They should call for help as needed, but no one’s actively covering them.”

“I saw Sarkli’s nose turn in,” Mara commented. “It looked wrong, and I was already reacting when he fired the torpedoes.”

“Right,” Wedge agreed, “but that wasn’t your job. I’m grateful you caught it, and everyone on the Bright Wake owes you their lives because you saw it in time. But that was chance, and we can’t build a squadron out of chance.”

“If the three-ship element is so bad,” Hobbie said slowly, “why does everyone use it?”

Wedge snorted. “The fourth day of working on this was when I figured that out. From the history I learned at Skystrike, I had assumed it went back to the Clone Wars. Turns out, it was maybe fifteen years before that.” He looked down at his datapad but didn’t manipulate the hologram. “Back in the last few decades of the Old Republic, some of the biggest corporations and trade guilds and unions were running their own private militaries. Droid starfighters were extremely popular at the time because they didn’t require paying pilots. The whole system was designed around central computer control.”

Luke frowned. “So it was…what? Easier?”

“More efficient. I found a surviving manual on it in the Independence‘s databanks. Running three droid starfighters in a three-ship formation required something like fifty percent less processing power than running them as three separate fighters. Plus, a three-droid element was enough firepower to bring to bear on targets of the era to ensure a quick kill.” Wedge shook his head. “Corporate efficiency built the fighter doctrine everyone is still using.”

“And it survived the Clone Wars?” Luke asked, some interest bleeding into his voice.

Wedge couldn’t help his own smile. Get the farmer talking about fighter combat and he’s all-in. “The Separatists were relying on droid starfighters and never adjusted the programming. The Republic built its flight elements the same way. For almost all of the Clone Wars, fighters were used as force multipliers in fleet engagements. The focus was on warships and dreadnoughts, not fighter-scale engagements.”

“But that’s not how the Alliance fights,” Mara said slowly. “Rogue Squadron has been flying unsupported missions. The only time the Rebellion has brought capital ships to a brawl was at Scarif, and that was a disaster.”

“Right,” Wedge agreed. “We only have a handful of Mon Calamari cruisers, and they’re almost impossible to replace. We don’t bring them to an engagement unless we have no other choice.” He looked down at his datapad again. “Which means we’re still flying a doctrine for the last war, not the war we’re actually trying to fight.”

“What’s the alternative?” Luke said, more than a bit of eagerness in his voice.

Wedge smiled and tapped a button. The image shifted, all twelve triangles on display again. Another button press later, the twelve rearranged themselves; instead of four three-ship elements, they resolved into six two-ship elements. The elements themselves paired off; two elements, or four ships, at each point of a triangular formation.

“At Skystrike we studied fighter deployment theory,” Wedge continued. “Before the Clone Wars, starfighters were considered a dead-end for waging open warfare, but they were the best tool available for planetary militia and defense dealing with marauders and pirates and smugglers. The second-most common deployment for pre-war militia was the two-ship element. A leader and a wingman.” He tapped another button, and the image zoomed in on one of the four-ship groups. “The wingman is responsible for the leader, but the leader is also responsible for the wingman. The actual role of leader and wingman can shift in combat, based on positioning and situation.” He looked from the hologram to the pilots. “In a two-ship element, the wingman is far more active and looser than in a three-ship element. The wingman is unlikely to be shooting at the same target as the leader.”

“Which reduces firepower on target,” Hobbie commented.

“Right, but we’re focusing on fighter-to-fighter combat,” Luke said slowly. “We don’t need more than one X-wing’s worth of guns pointed at a TIE fighter. Even if the wingman isn’t shooting at all, a twelve-ship squadron flying three-ship elements means it has four tactical units on the board. A twelve-ship squadron flying two-ship elements has six.” 

“And the wingman is looser,” Wedge agreed, “which means, with practice, you can do a lot more combined maneuvers. We’ve practiced basic tactics like bracketing an enemy element with two of our own to force them to commit; under two-ship elements, a single element would do the same thing with just two fighters instead of six.”

Hobbie frowned. “What’s to stop an Imperial from splitting up his three-ship group to focus two fighters on one of ours and one on the other?”

“In theory, nothing.” Wedge acknowledged it with a nod. “The difference is that we’re actually training for this, not improvising it.”

Luke rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And you put two flight elements together?”

“For mutual support, yes, and for combining fire when we need to hit bigger targets: freighters, corvettes, space stations.”

“And if leader and wingman are responsible for each other,” Mara said slowly, “someone attempting what Sarkli did at Ralltiir would be caught out without luck.”

“That’s the idea. I hope we never have to test that in practice.”

“Still twelve fighters. Just arranged differently.” Luke was clearly intrigued. “This is a big break from standard Alliance Starfighter Command doctrine.”

“General Merrick and Commander Dreis put the standard doctrine in place, but they were doing what almost everyone does. Preparing to fight the last war.” Wedge shrugged. “I won’t pretend this is straightforward or necessarily better. But I’m not asking Colonel S’man for permission.” He locked eyes with Luke. “Commander, I’m asking your permission.”

“You can train it?” Luke asked cautiously.

“I’ve been working through the basics of how I think it should work,” Wedge hedged, “but yes, I think we can train it.”

“If we do this, how long is it going to take? And how do we pair pilots?”

That question brought Hobbie and Mara’s attention squarely on Wedge. “I don’t know how long it will take,” he admitted. “The more time we can carve out, the better, but this is experimental. Weeks, minimum. Months, more likely, if we’re going to do it properly. And even then, we’re going to make mistakes and have to adjust.” He shrugged. “As far as pairing pilots, that’s what training is for. We’re going to need to cycle pilots together to see who flies well with whom. I don’t even have a tentative roster on that right now.”

Luke’s eyes were bright. “Then let’s experiment. How long will it take to finish familiarization with our newer pilots on the X-wings?”

Wedge shrugged. “Probably two days of intensive sims for everyone currently on the roster. I’ll have a better idea on Celchu once we’ve had time to run him through a sim tomorrow.”

“Not tomorrow. Tonight,” Luke corrected.

“What’s the rush?” Hobbie asked.

“Rieekan is desperate for pilots, and we’re racing against the clock to build something new.” A smile touched Luke’s lips. “And a week of being stuck on the Independence has been enough to make me want to volunteer to fly patrols for S’man. I want to get back in my X-wing, not just a simulator, but if we’re doing that we’ll want to take everyone on the roster.”

Wedge nodded. “Familiarization, then the real thing.”

“Exactly.”

Mara was studying the formation closely. “I like this,” she said at last. “Mutual support and accountability.”

No more missions like Ralltiir, Wedge interpreted.

“I’ll write something up for Rieekan,” Luke said. “It’ll tide him over until we have this built and tested.” His smile now was broad. “Great work, Wedge.”

“Thanks, Luke,” Wedge said with a dip of his head and relief unclenching his chest. This is the tool Rogue Squadron needs, he told himself. The tool for the war we’re fighting.

Wedge Antilles was seldom surprised by the antics of his pilots.

He had grown up on Corellia. His parents had owned a fueling depot on the Gus Treta station in the Corellian system. His family had maintained quiet business relationships with a number of smugglers, like Booster Terrik and his daughter Mirax, and his formative years were spent hearing stories of the ridiculous misadventures of miscreants operating outside the law.

Later, his brief stint in the Imperial academy had adequately demonstrated that, outside of a uniform, plenty of the Empire’s own pilots were no different; only fear of official recognition and punishment for misdeeds kept most of his fellow pilot cadets in line. And later still, after defecting to the nascent Rebel Alliance, Wedge had seen plenty of fellow Rebel pilots and soldiers get into trouble for ill-considered actions while on leave. Wes Janson, in particular, had twin reputations as a joker and a cantina brawler that would’ve gotten him drummed out of Imperial service, but the Rebellion needed good fighters more than they needed perfect discipline.

And yet, as Wedge sat in the Rogues’ common area with a bowl of mystery grain porridge, Puck Naeco’s question took him completely off guard.

“So, Captain, who snapped and painted the X-wings?”

Wedge blinked, reached for his caf, and took a swallow while he tried to assemble Naeco’s words into a question that made sense. He failed. “What?”

Puck grinned. “I need to know who won the betting pool.”

That statement made more sense. “What was the bet?”

“Who was going to snap first under the security lockdown.” Puck reached for Wedge’s caf, saw Wedge’s expression, and decided he was better off getting his own mug. “Hobbie’s running the ‘who gets cleared first?’ pool, but all the smart money is on Skywalker.”

Wedge shook his head. “Back up. What do you mean, painted the X-wings?”

“You know, X-wings. The starfighters we fly. Built by Incom.” Puck considered. “Well, not anymore, since the Empire nationalized Incom. Designed by Incom and built elsewhere.”

“Painted the X-wings,” Wedge repeated, enunciating slowly. “Painted. What are you talking about?”

“All of them,” Puck said, nodding. “Brand new, matching paint on all twelve. Even painted over the kill markers. I wanted to see Commander Skywalker’s reaction first, but I found you and not him.” Puck’s face was merry. “No more Death Star kill marker.”

Wedge took another drink of caf, trying to decide if he was still asleep. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure I’m awake. “What does it look like?” he asked, hoping irrationally that Puck was making some sort of joke that he didn’t understand.

“Professional. White base, red striping. Matching all the way down. They actually look like a squadron now.”

Wedge shook his head. “If they look that good, it had to be the ground crew. Any of you jokers would have either vandalized two or three of them, not done a professional job on all twelve. Maybe Rieekan ordered it.”

“You really think the ground crew would’ve painted over the kill markers?” Puck snorted.

He blearily rubbed his face with one hand and looked around at the present Rogues. As Puck had noted, Luke was absent, as were Janson and Karie Neth. The rest were scattered around, sitting in various poses with caf, breakfast bowls, or both. Given the security lockdown, the mess in Pilot Country had been delivering a cart with food three times a day, and this morning’s selection had been the porridge or a reconstituted protein bake that could probably double as crash padding. He looked past Cesi Eirriss, engrossed in her reading as usual, and Mara Jade, who looked half asleep, until he finally caught Hobbie’s attention. “Klivian!” he called. “Is Puck trying to pull something over on me?”

Hobbie offered a dour look. “My kill markers are gone, too. I have to repaint them all.”

“This time you can paint as many as you want and no one can argue with you about the tally!” Puck said cheerfully.

Wedge thought for a moment, drinking more caf. This caf is probably a war crime itself. He shook his head, turning it over. Would Luke have had the X-wings painted without telling me? Honestly, that sort of job seems like something he’d ask me to schedule with a maintenance crew. Though he’s probably going as stir-crazy as the rest of us and just hides it better.

“You know anything about it?” he directed at Hobbie.

The other man shook his head. “Happened during the night. I was in the hangar with my astromech before I turned in last night. Everything was normal at 2200 when I left.” He offered a sarcastic smile. “Maybe Colonel S’man had them painted as a gesture of goodwill.”

“Not unless he thinks we’re getting assigned to the air wing,” Wedge groused. He gave up on the porridge, pushing the bowl away.

Puck grinned. “You’d think if we’re in a security lockdown there’d be a lot less access to our hangar, wouldn’t you?”

Wedge shook his head. “This mystery can wait until I’m awake enough to deal with your nonsense.”

“But I need to know who won the pool!” Puck’s tone was far more amused than concerned.

“Keep it up, and the first pilot who snapped will be me.” Wedge crossed to the caf maker, shook his head at the Property of Independence Air Wing text that none of the Rogues had bothered to obscure, and refilled his mug. “I’m twenty-one,” he muttered, “and somehow I feel like I’m the father figure half these idiots should have had.”

---

Luke’s quarters in Rogue Territory were sparse. He had left Tatooine with two droids and the clothes on his back, and in the months since he had hardly accumulated much. The civilian clothes he’d worn back then were laundered and tucked away, and here on the Independence he’d acquired a few sets of shipboard greys that were uniforms in all but name. A flight jacket and his flightsuit hung from a hook in the corner. He had a pair of static holograms on top of the heavy, squat dresser: one featuring Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru on Tatooine, the other an image of Luke himself with Princess Leia, Han Solo, and Chewbacca after the award ceremony on Yavin IV. The medal from the award ceremony was tucked away as well; Luke didn’t care to look at it. A mass-manufactured chair, lightweight and cheap, was tucked under the desk attached to the wall. The only other notable furniture in the room was a heavy shipboard bunk, hauled in while he was on a mission and magnetically clamped to the floor.

He’d fashioned a stand for his lightsaber, but his father’s weapon, along with his service blaster, were currently in the hands of Alliance Security. The training remote he’d been using to practice with the lightsaber and the Force had also been confiscated.

The security lockdown, now in its seventh day and hopefully ending soon, was the longest Luke had gone without trying to train. And without the lightsaber and training remote, his options were limited.

Which led to him now sitting cross-legged on the floor in his quarters, his back against the bunk.

Ben understood me even better than I realized at the time, Luke thought as he closed his eyes. He saw that the best way for me to connect to the Force was through action. That’s why he started me with a lightsaber on the Millennium Falcon. He told me about meditation, but he knew that wouldn’t be my first choice.

But now, I don’t have other options.

He calmed his breathing, counting seconds as he breathed in, held it, and breathed out his stresses. Slowly, the worries about the security review, the concerns for his pilots, the nagging worry that he wasn’t worthy of the trust the Alliance had invested in him with Rogue Squadron, calmed into background noise. Stretch out with your feelings, he heard Kenobi’s voice.

It felt, at first, like the faint tingle he remembered from a malfunctioning moisture vaporator with its plating removed. The hair on his arms stood up, but Luke didn’t open his eyes. Trust your feelings.

He tried, he pushed, trying to sense things beyond his quarters. It was an odd sensation, like he was squinting to see through the gloom on Tatooine after the twin suns set, but it felt…murky. Was there someone moving past his quarters in the corridor? Maybe? I’m not sure, he thought. Frustration threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed it back down.

Luke thought back on Ben’s words to him on Tatooine. It’s an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us, it penetrates us, it binds the galaxy together.

“The Force is everywhere,” he murmured, eyes never opening. It binds the galaxy together. Does that mean it connects us, then? 

He frowned as he considered that idea, the faint staticky hum of the Force in the back of his mind, a persistent tingle across his skin. It’s worth a try. 

Luke relaxed, breathing out the distractions again, and the tingle, the hum grew stronger. This time, instead of trying to just stretch out his senses, he focused in one particular direction. Wedge, he thought, focusing on the Force and on his friend.

It wasn’t like a flare lighting in the dark, but as he focused on his friend, and as the Force grew stronger around him, he realized he had a sense of where Wedge was. Not far, in all honesty, and if Luke had to put the sensation to words he’d have described Wedge as probably being in the small room he’d claimed as an office, perhaps forty meters away. Of even more interest, as Luke focused, he could feel that Wedge was concentrating on something, with a mix of uncertainty and determination. He’s…trying to figure something out? Something with the security review? But the sensation didn’t become any clearer, and the Force didn’t offer him any further insights.

Luke let the connection ebb. That was…something new. I bet if I practice, it’ll get stronger. Maybe.

Yet again he wished wholeheartedly that Ben had not died on the Death Star at Darth Vader’s blade.

Buoyed by the success, he tried stretching out again. Hobbie. He didn’t know the Ralltiir pilot as well as he knew Wedge, of course, but they’d flown together under intense conditions and Luke had no doubt that Hobbie considered him a friend – or as much of a friend as his commanding officer could be. He focused, and slowly, his sense of Hobbie clarified.

In the hangar again, Luke decided. He’s focused on…something. Something with his hands. Working on his X-wing again? Underneath Hobbie’s focus was a tangle of emotions Luke took a moment to sort through. Concern. Worry. Some of it is here, but some of it is far away.

Ralltiir. The name came not from the sensations in the Force but from Luke’s own head making the connection. Hobbie’s from Ralltiir. He asked me what the city looked like from the sky after we got back. I didn’t know why until Wedge told me later. He’s worried about the people at home.

Luke let the sensation fade, choosing to turn his focus elsewhere. Zev, he told himself, stretching out.

He found the older man, he was fairly certain, but the sensation was muted and muddied. Like a poor radio transmission. Or a poor connection. I barely know Zev, so it’s harder to connect to him. He tried to get a sense of what the man was doing, where he was, but the sense was so vague he could’ve been doing anything, anywhere within a hundred meters.

Abandoning the effort, a bit discouraged and vaguely aware he was tiring, he decided to try once more. Mara. He stretched out again, the tingle stronger this time as he poured more focus and strength into the effort.

For a long moment, Luke sensed nothing, not even the vague and indecipherable impressions he’d gotten from Zev Senesca. It wasn’t at all what he expected, given the missions they’d flown together – Yavin, Dantooine, Ralltiir. The nothing was concerning enough he had a brief, irrational pang of worry that Alliance Security had arrested Mara during the night and dragged her to a holding cell elsewhere. Mara? he wondered, still searching and pushing in the Force.

And then he finally found her, not far away; his impression was that she was less than thirty meters away, probably closer, most likely in her quarters. But where he had a bright sense of Wedge, a dimmer but still vivid sense of Hobbie, and a hazy sense of Zev, from Mara he got…

He fumbled for an adequate description, and finally settled on an eclipse. He almost couldn’t perceive her at all, but bits of light leaked around the proverbial moon between Mara and himself. From those bits he could sense weariness and fear and determination.

Luke finally let the Force connection go, the tingle fading from his skin and the hum from his mind. Did I do something wrong? Maybe I don’t know her well enough to connect.

I wish Ben were here to explain this to me. To teach me.

Darth Vader had many crimes to pay for.

---

It was early afternoon when Rieekan summoned Luke and Wedge for a meeting.

The summons were terse, but Wedge had no doubt the meeting was about the security review.

It was the first time he’d left Rogue Territory in a week, and being escorted by Alliance Security was somehow both comforting and ominous at the same time. I feel like we’re being walked to an execution, as ridiculous as that sounds.

Luke looked completely unbothered.

General Rieekan’s office was three decks up, with an antechamber as big as the Rogues’ common room. Three different desks crowded the room, all of them occupied by analysts in fleet uniforms. Two R3 astromech droids were plugged into computer terminals as well, no doubt providing extra analytic capability for Rieekan’s people. Wedge took in the details at a glance and then focused on keeping pace with Luke.

There was no delay at Rieekan’s office door; he was clearly waiting for them.

Luke and Wedge both came to a halt in front of his desk and offered salutes. Rieekan returned it. “Sit down,” he said, though his tone was more casual than strict.

When the Rogue pilots had settled in their chairs, Rieekan picked up his datapad and glanced at the content. No doubt he already knows everything on his pad, Wedge thought.

“Your security review is complete,” Rieekan said without preamble. “The short version is that everyone in your squadron has been cleared. You’ll be returned to active duty tomorrow.”

“The long version, sir?” Luke asked.

Rieekan grimaced. “Let’s start with Lieutenant Sarkli, Commander,” he said grimly. “Security swept his quarters, your squadron’s berthing, your hangar, his computer access, everything. Ultimately, we found nothing.”

Luke’s lips compressed into a tight line. “So he wasn’t an infiltrator.”

“We don’t actually know that,” Rieekan cautioned. “There’s reason to think he might have been. Did Sarkli disclose to either of you that his uncle is an Imperial fleet captain?”

Wedge’s eyes bulged. “No,” he and Luke said together. They exchanged glances, then back at Rieekan. “No,” Wedge said again, “Sarkli never mentioned any family connections at all.”

Rieekan’s smile was faint and humorless. “Captain Firmus Piett, commanding officer of the Imperial Star Destroyer Accuser.”

“The Star Destroyer over Ralltiir,” Luke said.

Rieekan nodded. “And the Star Destroyer that Celchu served on before his defection.”

“That’s circumstantial evidence,” Wedge felt the need to point out. “Sarkli might not have mentioned it because he knew what sort of attention it’d bring. He had every reason to believe the Rebellion wouldn’t trust him if we knew he had ranking Imperial fleet officers in his family.”

Rieekan nodded. “Though the alternative isn’t really a better look for him,” the general said. “Commander Skywalker, I’ve been over all the reports about your squadron from when you and Antilles were putting together a squadron. Some of your command decisions have been highly questionable.” He held up a hand to forestall comment. “That said, the proper response to concerns about a superior officer isn’t to try to sabotage a mission and defect to the Empire.” Rieekan’s expression hardened into stone. “Given the implication that Sarkli was highly unstable, I’m even more concerned about Alliance screening practices. I don’t blame you two for accepting him into your squadron, but if he wasn’t an infiltrator and really was that volatile, I would’ve expected someone to flag him before it exploded.”

“So you think he was an Imperial plant?” Wedge persisted.

“I would like to. I don’t have enough hard evidence to stamp it as such.” Rieekan looked tired. “Sarkli had been with the Rebellion long enough that he might never have been properly screened. I sent a message to General Cracken, to see if Alliance Intelligence can give me something more firm, but with long-range comms down the request went by courier and I’ve had no reply yet.”

“What about the rest of the squadron?” Wedge asked. “Anything concerning?”

“Most of your pilots are concerning,” Rieekan said dryly. “If you weren’t, you probably wouldn’t be flying starfighters for a rebel insurgency. Some of you have serious holes in your files that can’t really be accounted for, like Commander Skywalker.” He nodded at Luke. “But in your case, you blew up the Death Star. Senesca had a couple different officers in Supply vouch for him as a long-time smuggler before he joined the starfighter corps. General Syndulla vouched for Jade in spite of her file being almost completely empty and threatened me for even asking about her. Cesi Eirriss’s university files were purged by the Empire, but one of our officers talked to her doctoral advisor and a few of her university roommates.” He shook his head. “But we didn’t find any unexpected Imperial connections, nothing we didn’t already know about.”

Wedge settled back into his chair. “So what happens now?”

“Now, we tighten security around your unit,” Rieekan said. “We’re implementing improved screening practices. Celchu is being transferred to your unit tonight, though Intelligence isn’t happy that I’m turning him over to you this quickly. That should put your unit back at ten pilots, and I took the liberty of reviewing several more candidates for your unit.”

“You want us back in action,” Luke said.

“Yes,” Rieekan said simply. “Your squadron did three missions in three days that saved a number of lives.”

“It also broke us,” Luke pointed out. “We need time to train.”

“I know you need some time to run basics,” Rieekan said with a frown. “Celchu will need to be checked out in an X-wing, and you’ll need to complete familiarization with several of your later additions. But you’ve been getting trained pilots for your squadron, not rookies.”

Wedge leaned forward, shaking his head. “General, we need time to train because we’re going to try something experimental.”

“Experimental?” Rieekan’s eyebrows raised. “I don’t need experimental. I need a functioning squadron. What does this experiment look like?”

Wedge and Luke exchanged looks. “Give us a week, General,” Wedge said. “We’re still working out details. But give us a week to try it. We’ve been in lockdown with no access to simulators.”

“A week,” the Alderaanian repeated, clearly considering. “Alright. A week. It’ll take that long to finish filling your roster, even if you approve the candidates I’m suggesting for your squadron.” He offered a wry smile. “If I gave you any more of Colonel S’man’s pilots, he’d probably approve of Sarkli’s actions on Ralltiir.” He nodded at Luke and Wedge. “We’ll talk in a week. In the meantime, start using the mess hall in Pilot Country. They’re not a delivery service. And don’t antagonize S’man more than you have to.”

Luke and Wedge rose to their feet, recognizing the dismissal. A week, Wedge thought. A week to build a new doctrine that doesn’t break like the three-ship element broke on Ralltiir.

I wonder what tastes worse: the fuel we put in our X-wings, or this caf? Luke wondered. Serves the same purpose, I guess. He glanced at the caf maker, which still bore the handwritten text “Property of Independence Air Wing”. Good thing no one is allowed in here right now during the security review. Colonel S’man would be even more unhappy if he knew Hobbie and Sarkli had made off with their caf maker.

The thought soured his mood even more than the lack of sleep and the bad caf.

Resigned to the fact that he couldn’t put it off any longer, he headed to his makeshift office in Rogue Territory where Rieekan awaited.

The makeshift desk of crates had been replaced while he was on the Ralltiir mission with a basic premanufactured plastoid desk that, Luke suspected, predated the Clone Wars. Three mismatched chairs rounded out the furniture; one was a Headhunter ejection seat, the second a seat from a passenger shuttle, and the third (and most comfortable) was clearly a public seat from any one of a thousand starports, a ubiquitous dirty orange adjustable chair that somehow managed to be moderately comfortable.

Rieekan was sitting in the starport chair, behind the desk; Luke took the Headhunter ejection seat.

“General,” Luke said.

“Commander.” Rieekan quirked a smile. “Glad you could join me. I wanted to talk about the security review.” He held up a flimsiplast sheet.

Luke frowned. “It’s barely started, hasn’t it? It’s been, what, twelve whole hours since we called you in?”

“Not about the results. You’re right, we’re still in the early stages.” He grimaced. “It doesn’t help that secure long-range communications are still down. I sent couriers this morning to the Defiance and the Liberty and the Mako-Ta shipyards where Home One is undergoing refit, but it’ll take days to get data back. This sheet is the inventory of personal effects that your unit turned in.”

“So we’re stuck waiting,” Luke said.

“Essentially, yes. Some of your pilots have full records here in the Independence‘s computer systems, but some of them don’t. I was hoping Antilles’ records would help, and they do, but a few pilots are basically empty files.” Rieekan leaned back in his chair, his hands folded in his lap. “And after what happened with Lieutenant Sarkli, I can’t take any chances, even if I know what the results will look like.”

“Sir?”

Rieekan shook his head. “Never mind that for now. That’s a battle at my pay grade, not yours.” He shifted in his seat. “I need to know something, Commander. Are you still committed to this?”

“To Rogue Squadron?” Luke asked, eyebrows raised. “Of course I am.”

“There are members of High Command who think you would be more useful elsewhere. Destroying the Death Star has made you a symbol. Princess Leia trusts you.” He glanced at the flimsiplast sheet on the desk and offered a small smile. “And there aren’t many people running around with a lightsaber on one hip and a DL-18 blaster on the other.”

“General, I’m not a symbol,” Luke said, shaking his head. “I’m not a diplomat. I certainly don’t belong in High Command. And I’m not a Jedi, sir, or at least not yet. I’m a starfighter pilot, and a good one. It’s the one place I can do something that matters to the Rebellion.” He frowned. “DL-18? I carry a Merr-Sonn Model 57.”

Rieekan glanced at the flimsiplast and frowned. “One of the new security transfers must have made an inventory mistake. Do you remember the conversation we had after you retrieved Lieutenant Celchu, Commander?”

Now it was Luke’s turn to shift in his seat uncomfortably. “You proposed attaching Rogue Squadron to High Command.”

“Yes. And I’m telling you now that if you’re committed to this fighter squadron, it needs to happen.”

“Sir?”

“Skywalker, Colonel S’man is already calling for your unit to be disbanded.” Rieekan leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. “If we attach Rogue Squadron to High Command directly, you are removed from the immediate political danger, though I have no doubt S’man will do his best to make you uncomfortable. I can also start feeding you the resources you are going to need to fight the war ahead.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

“If you’re committed to it, I will back it,” Rieekan continued. “I can get you X-wings, supplies, pilots. And frankly, your unit flew three missions in three days with little time to rest and rebuild, completing all three missions. I want to help you succeed, Commander, but you have to let me.”

“And if I don’t agree?”

“Rogue Squadron continues to exist in limbo,” the general said bluntly. “Which lasts until Captain Verrack gets tired of Colonel S’man’s complaints and moves you over to the air wing. And then…”

“S’man picks us apart,” Luke finished. He shook his head. “Not much of a choice.”

“Not if you want to keep your squadron together.” Rieekan looked haggard for a moment. “And if you can continue to provide results like these, it’s worth keeping your squadron together.”

Luke nodded slowly. “Then I accept. Let’s attach Rogue Squadron to High Command.” He smiled faintly. “I guess that means we’re your personal fighter squadron now, General.”

“I’m not the only one who will want to use your unit,” Rieekan said wryly, “but I do have plans for you. Before we can worry about that, we need to get your squadron through this security review, get you properly outfitted, and finish filling out your roster.”

Luke rose, offering a salute. “If we’re done, sir, I need to check on my people.”

Rieekan returned the salute. “Take care of your squadron, Commander. I’ll take care of High Command.”

---

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you study a hydrospanner that hard. Well, not when you’re sober, anyway. Have you been holding out on us?”

Wedge glanced over his shoulder at Wes Janson and rolled his eyes, then turned back to the table in the Rogues’ common area. “Do you need something, Janson? Besides kitchen duty?”

“Entertainment,” Wes said cheerfully, flopping down on a stool nearby. “What is this?”

A number of objects rested on the table. An oversized hydrospanner was the largest, and a set of three empty shot glasses were off to the left. Across the table from Wedge sat Zev Senesca; in front of Zev were nine droid restraining bolts, arranged in three triangles of three bolts apiece. Karie Neth sat next to and a bit behind Zev, studying the table intently with wide eyes.

“Training,” Wedge said with a frown.

“I know everyone’s going a little crazy after two days of lockdown, but I’m not following,” Wes said, his tone turning curious.

“Ralltiir,” Zev grunted.

Wedge nodded. “We’ve been going over Skywalker and Jade’s reports from the mission.” He picked up the hydrospanner. “The Bright Wake. The goal is to get it out.” He pointed at the trio of shot glasses. “A standard three-ship element. Zev is running standard Imperial TIE doctrine on the other side, with the goal of shooting down the Bright Wake.”

“So you’re running a tactical simulation with a hydrospanner, shot glasses, and restraining bolts,” Wes said dubiously.

“Mostly our brains. These are just to make sure we both understand what’s happening.” Wedge’s frown deepened. “Okay, Wes, you tell me. How does a standard engagement play out?”

The Taanab native hesitated for a moment. “The Rebel flight leader picks a target. Wingmen focus on keeping flank position so they can cover him on the attack.” He gestured across the table. “The Imperials do the same.”

“Or the flight leader releases the wingmen to hit targets,” Wedge murmured. “And you have three pilots going after three targets.”

“But then they’re unsupported,” Wes said. “And if you’re focusing on a target, it’s easy to get fixated until someone is on your tail lighting up your shields.”

“Right.” Wedge slid all three shot glasses forward together. “So the formation stays together.”

Zev responded, sliding a trio of restraining bolts forward, but separating them well apart. “But the Imperial formation doesn’t. And now you’ve got three TIEs shooting at your formation. And they’re spread out far enough your formation can’t stay together and fire back at all three.”

“So my formation has to split, too,” Wedge murmured, spreading the shot glasses in turn. “And now instead of any element cohesion, it’s turned into three separate one-on-one dogfights.”

“Until one of the TIEs goes down,” Wes argued. “Then you’ve got a floating X-wing to help one of the other fighters in his element.”

Wedge reached out and flipped one of the shot glasses over. “Unless the TIEs score the first kill. Now it’s three TIEs against two X-wings, stuck in two different engagements and not mutually supporting each other.” He glanced at Wes, then across to Zev. “Why a three-ship element?”

“Because that’s the standard,” Zev said. “That was what the Republic found worked during the Clone Wars. General Merrick wrote it into our doctrine when he was made the head of Alliance Starfighter Command.”

Wedge’s lips compressed into a line. “We’re not fighting the Clone Wars.” He could feel Wes’s eyes on him. “Yes?”

“You don’t like it.”

“Because it breaks.” He reset his side of the table, moving the three glasses back together and setting the flipped one upright again. “Commander Skywalker, Sarkli, and Jade. Sarkli,” he said slowly, flipping a glass over again, “turns traitor and fires on the corvette. Skywalker doesn’t see it in time to do anything about it. Why not?”

“He doesn’t see it because it’s not his job,” Karie spoke up for the first time. “He’s supposed to be looking at the wider tactical situation. His wingmen were supposed to be covering him.”

“And the only reason Sarkli didn’t put the Bright Wake down was because Jade caught him turning in,” Wedge murmured. “She got a glance that looked wrong, and that wasn’t even her job.” He looked around. “Who’s supposed to be watching the wingmen?” His eyes darted from Karie to Zev and finally to Wes, but none of them answered. “Well?”

Zev finally answered. “No one. Wingmen are supposed to be communicating by comm. Calling out if something is wrong.”

“And that’s where it’s fragile,” Wedge said with grim satisfaction. “Sarkli stabbed us in the back, yes, but he damn near got away with it because there’s a blind spot in the flight.”

“Captain, if we can’t trust the other pilots in our element, we’re in all kinds of trouble,” Wes protested. “And besides…what’s the alternative?”

“I’m still figuring that out.”

---

Luke found Mara standing just inside the entrance of the Rogues’ hangar, studying the X-wings.

Nine days ago, six Massassi Red Group pilots had flown X-wings off Yavin IV and ended up in the Independence‘s Auxiliary Two hangar. Four pilots had joined, one pilot and his X-wing were gone. Rieekan had promised Luke that morning that Tycho Celchu would be added to the Rogue Squadron roster when the security review was completed. And now, under careful instruction from the Independence‘s ground support staff, seven more X-wings were ferried into the hangar.

“Security review will be over soon,” Luke said. “Then we can get back to building the squadron.”

Mara didn’t startle; she’d clearly been aware of his approach. “They look wrong,” she said.

Luke frowned and looked at the X-wings. “How so?”

The younger pilot shook her head. “You and Captain Antilles? You’re still flying with Red Squadron markings. My X-wing is striped for Blue Squadron. Hobbie and Naeco’s X-wings are painted for one of the Defiance‘s squadrons. These other X-wings? They look like they came off a bone pile somewhere and got patched back together.” She gestured at the nearest new addition, which had just been settled in place, the tug now moving back toward the magcon field and open space. “Take that one. There are at least three hull plates from three different fighters. I bet they pieced that together from four or five different wrecks.”

“That’s the Rebel Alliance,” Luke said ruefully, rubbing his neck. “Sort of how we’re building Rogue Squadron, too.”

“Are you going to put me on report?” Mara asked abruptly.

“For what?” Luke said, confused by the sudden change in subject.

“I disobeyed orders. Sarkli took the shot and I went after him. You ordered me back.” Her voice went monotone as she recalled the fight. “I ignored your order. I chased Sarkli and didn’t even kill him.”

Luke shrugged uneasily. “You did disobey orders,” he said slowly. “And maybe I should. But I’m not going to.”

“Why not?” Mara still stood with her back to him, watching the busy hangar. “Seems straightforward. I screwed up.”

“Because we were both thrust into a situation we weren’t prepared for and weren’t trained for. It was the third mission you and I had flown in three days, and then our third pilot betrayed us in the middle of the fight.” He shook his head. “Are you going to do it again?”

“No, because you’re going to put me on report and then I’ll be out of your squadron.”

He frowned. “I’m not following.”

She gestured at the hangar. “I don’t belong here. I proved it over Ralltiir.”

Luke snorted. “Hardly. You also helped me get Dodonna out of Massassi Base. You and Hobbie got Celchu off Dantooine. You survived that dogfight with Sarkli and made it back alive. I’m not going to drum you out of the squadron because you made a bad call.”

“I disobeyed orders,” she said, her tone reminding Luke of Aunt Beru explaining simple logic to him as a child.

“Look at me,” Luke said quietly, waiting until she finally turned to face him. He couldn’t read her expression at all, and her brilliant green eyes were full of…something. “Sarkli hit you with everything he could think of to make you react. Yes, you reacted. You also survived the fight, you came back, and we succeeded. I lost one pilot at Ralltiir. I’m not losing two.” He locked gazes with her. “I saw how you flew both at Yavin and at Ralltiir. You belong here.”

Mara broke the stare first, looking back into the hangar. “Hera’s going to come looking for me, after all this.”

“Good thing Rogue Squadron is attached to High Command, then,” Luke said dryly.

She spun back on him. “What?”

“Rogue Squadron is attached directly to High Command now,” he said. “We’re being tasked by General Rieekan, but we’re mostly outside of regular Alliance Starfighter Command now.” He smiled briefly, but it faded. “Mara, do you want to transfer out?”

She hesitated for a long moment, and Luke tried to read her face, but it was a complicated mix of hope and fear and determination and pain. “No,” she said at last. “No, I don’t want to transfer.”

“Then you’re a Rogue.” Luke looked out at the hangar. “And when this security review is done, we’re going to have a lot more work to do.”

---

By 2300 hours, Rogue Territory had gone nearly silent. Eight pilots had retreated into their quarters and were asleep or pretending to be.

Mara Jade was not.

There was something she needed to do.

The idea had been born after her discussion with Skywalker that morning. She’d done her best to discard it, but the idea had festered and grown.

Better to ask forgiveness than permission.

Twelve X-wings now filled Auxiliary Two. A mismatched collection of Incom T-65s, drawn from broken squadrons and refurbished from scrapped wrecks, pieced back together and now assigned to a squadron led by an Outer Rim farmboy and a Corellian who had entirely too much faith in paperwork.

Mara crossed the hangar briskly, heading to the maintenance lockers, knowing exactly what she was looking for and where it should be. She was not disappointed in the efficiency of the Independence‘s maintenance crews.

There was really only one place to start, and that thought intimidated her as she moved down the line of X-wings to the fighter nearest the magcon field protecting the hangar from vacuum. Any other choice would show something less than full commitment to the task she was about to undertake.

Sabine would have seen these X-wings as blank canvases. She’d have freehanded all of this with the aerosols she almost always carried. They’d have been twelve unique works of art, beautiful and horrifying with all sorts of meaning I don’t understand.

Mara started with a roll of painter’s tape. A meter and a half strip, the end torn off neatly, positioned on the fuselage of Luke’s X-wing. She stepped back, evaluated. Moved back in and adjusted it a centimeter downward, evaluated again. That will do. Then she shook the can of paint she’d taken from the maintenance locker and started to work, Alliance white as a base, and then proud red stripes up the fuselage.

She hesitated under the cockpit canopy. Skywalker’s kill markers were there, including the unmistakable rounded, grey-and-black Death Star. I can’t believe I’m doing this. And then she did it anyway, laying on fresh paint straight over the kill markers, obliterating them entirely.

She patterned the s-foils with a pair of red stripes parallel to the fuselage out near the laser cannons, a diagonal stripe running from the sublight engine intake to the end of the wingtip laser cannon, and a single stripe running alongside but not on the trailing edge of the wings, leaving room for numbered markings. There was little doubt that Luke’s X-wing would be marked with a single stripe as Rogue Leader or Rogue One, but for now, she left it blank. Strips of marking tape, carefully sprayed paint, tape removed, she worked a meter and a half at a time.

When Mara had finished, she stood back and studied the effect. A bit like Red Squadron, but it’s definitely not. Perfect.

She checked her chronometer. It had taken her an hour to set up and paint Skywalker’s fighter, but now she knew exactly how she was going to do the rest.

Her own X-wing was next. Then Captain Antilles’ fighter, then Naeco’s, then Hobbie’s. And then down the row she worked, moving quickly but precisely, positioning tape, painting confidently, and peeling the tape back when she was done.

At 0520, she was done.

The remaining paint went back to the maintenance lockers, as did the pitiful remains of the roll of masking tape. The used tape went in a waste disposal, and Mara found some solvent to get the splatter from her hands and forearms, though she suspected the shipboard tunic she wore would be a complete loss.

Her mind finally quiet, she stopped one last time at the hangar entrance to look back at the X-wings. Rogue Squadron. We’re Rogue Squadron, and those X-wings are ours.

And when Mara finally fell into her bunk, sleep came quick and dreamless.

Wedge sat in a folding chair in the Auxiliary Two hangar with a datapad in hand, reviewing his notes on the morning’s simulator scores. The work kept him focused. Because if I don’t keep working, I’m going to fantasize about hanging Luke by his ankles off the nose of his X-wing. Taking just Sarkli and Jade to crack an Imperial blockade was insane. Didn’t even talk to me before they launched. He tried to focus on the datapad again. Tatooine farmer blows up a Death Star with a lucky shot and thinks he’s invincible. Even if somehow he is, Sarkli and Jade aren’t.

A brief image played in Wedge’s head, a nightmare that he’d had twice now since leaving Yavin IV: General Syndulla, arriving on the Independence, then ordering him out an airlock.

Focus on the datapad.

An alert klaxon blared, then a voice on the loudspeaker. “Clear Auxiliary Two. Fighters incoming. Clear Auxiliary Two.”

Wedge ignored the command to clear the hangar, instead waiting and watching as two X-wings breached the magcon field, came down on the hangar deck with a jarring bounce on their landing struts, rougher than he would’ve expected from any of their pilots.

Two.

Wedge dropped the datapad on the chair and started running to the X-wings. Who didn’t come back?

Luke’s canopy was open and his helmet was off, and he was already dropping to the hangar deck before Wedge could reach him or the ground crew could bring a ladder.

“What happened?” Wedge asked.

“Call Rieekan. We need a full security lockdown immediately.” Luke’s jaw worked, teeth grinding. “Sarkli betrayed us at Ralltiir. We got to Derlin’s corvette, started punching our way out, and he tried to put a pair of torpedoes into its engines.”

Wedge stared, jaw slack.

“Wedge, focus,” Luke said. “Security lockdown, now.”

The Corellian snapped into motion, his hand fumbling in his pocket for his comlink. “What happened after?” he asked as he tried to find it.

“Mara shot down the torpedoes and went after him. I barely kept the TIEs off the Bright Wake. Sarkli got away, the Bright Wake took a pounding but got out, and Mara and I jumped after.” His shoulders were tense and raised, and Wedge saw real anger in his friend’s eyes. “We need to lock down now. There’s no way to know if he left us any unpleasant surprises.”

Wedge finally found his comlink, brought it up and adjusted the frequency to connect to Rieekan’s office. “That’ll be a full security sweep,” he warned Luke.

“I spent the whole flight back thinking about that,” Luke said impatiently. “Make the call, Wedge.”

Wedge looked over, saw Jade still sitting in her X-wing with helmet off and her red-gold hair a sweaty, matted mane. “General Rieekan, this is Captain Antilles,” he said. “We need a full security lockdown for Auxiliary Two and Rogue Squadron’s berthing immediately.”

---

Within fifteen minutes, the members of Rogue Squadron were gathered in their common area, and security personnel from the Independence were crawling all over their territory.

Wedge surveyed the Rogues as they arrived: Hobbie, dour as usual; Puck Naeco, his usual charm and good humor muted by confusion and concern; Wes Janson seemingly unaffected by Alliance Security as he joked with an unamused lieutenant about the required bribe to overlook a still that Wedge was pretty certain didn’t exist; Karie Neth, pressed into a corner while she seemingly tried to track everyone at once with her eyes; Zev Senesca, arms folded as he leaned against the wall next to Neth, expression unreadable; and Cesi Eirriss, sitting on the overstuffed couch, her lekku wrapped around her shoulders as she tapped through her datapad, apparently unconcerned. Mara arrived next-to-last, her face pale. Wedge suspected she was still shaken from the betrayal.

Luke arrived last with General Rieekan.

“Rogue Squadron, listen up,” Luke said, his voice tight. “We’re under lockdown while General Rieekan’s staff conducts a security review. In short, while we were on a mission to Ralltiir, Lieutenant Sarkli betrayed us to the Empire. Flight Officer Jade and I escaped, and we got the Alliance personnel we were sent to rescue out, too. But we don’t know if Sarkli left any surprises behind, and I’m not going to risk any of your lives on the assumption he didn’t.” He paused for a moment, his blue eyes sweeping the room to make contact with each of the Rogues in turn. “I’m sorry. I barely know some of you, and I’m going to fix that, but for now we’re confined to our territory here on the Independence. No flight operations, no leaving marked Rogue Territory, no outside communication, and unfortunately, no simulators since they’re several corridors away in Pilot Country.”

Wedge couldn’t help but grimace. So much for training. If we had access to the sim bay, we could at least put the downtime to good use.

Hobbie raised a hand. “What’s this security review going to look like?”

General Rieekan cleared his throat. “We’ll be reviewing your service records, communications records, and doing a full sweep of all of Rogue Squadron’s quarters, supply rooms, and the hangar. For your safety and the safety of Alliance Security, you’re required to turn over any and all personal weapons as well. I apologize in advance, but for the safety of you and your fellow pilots, you’ll have no real privacy for the duration of the review.”

Wedge caught a glimpse of Mara by chance; her expression was unreadable, but her skin was as pale as flimsiplast. He felt a pang of sympathy. She’s probably never been through one of these. He managed to keep his expression neutral as the next thought followed. Syndulla may be throwing me out an airlock sooner than I expected.

Senesca asked, “How long will the review take?”

“Depends on what we find,” Rieekan grunted, “but if I were you I’d assume at least a week.” The general looked around at the Rogue pilots. “You don’t have to be happy about it. I’m not happy about it. But before Rogue Squadron can resume operations, we need to make sure your unit is secure.”

Janson raised a hand, and Rieekan ignored it. The general has clearly met Janson before now, Wedge mused.

Luke stepped forward again. “If you have any questions, find me or Wedge.” He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll both be here, too, undergoing the same review. We won’t be hard to find.”

Rieekan gestured, and an Alliance security agent stepped in from the doorway, pulling a repulsorcart stacked with boxes. “Security lockboxes for your personal effects,” he said, “including any weapons. We’ll screen the contents and return the boxes to you when we’re done. Key it with your biometrics and only you and Alliance Security’s override code can open it.” He glanced around at the pilots. “We’ll make this as quick and secure as we can. The Alliance needs you.”

---

Wedge caught up with Luke in his quarters a few minutes later.

Luke had a security lockbox and was studying it intently.

“It’s unkeyed right now,” Wedge said without prompting. “Press the release button and hold it. After a couple seconds, it’ll beep at you, you press your thumb against the lock, and it keys to your biometrics a couple ways.” He frowned. “Thumbprint and genetic, I think. It might store more.”

Luke nodded and did as Wedge had directed. The box popped open and Luke glanced inside to ensure it was empty.

“So, do I get the full story?” Wedge asked.

Luke unholstered his blaster, a Merr-Sonn Model 57, and laid it gently in the lockbox. “Rieekan came to me with a mission. Tight window, because the Empire was already closing on Derlin’s corvette and the people he went to Ralltiir to retrieve. We only had three X-wings ready to fly, and the general said if we waited for the others, it’d be too late.”

“So you took Sarkli and Jade and left?”

“You already know that,” Luke pointed out. “But yes. And in hyperspace…” he hesitated for a long moment as he unhooked the lightsaber hanging from his belt, studying it for long moments before laying it in the lockbox. “In hyperspace I kept thinking that something was wrong. That someone was going to die.” He winced. “The thought I had was ‘Someone isn’t coming back.’ So I pulled diagnostics on all the X-wings, planned our tactics for the fight. Everything looked good.”

Wedge frowned. “Why did you think that?”

Luke shrugged uneasily, freeing a sheathed vibroblade from his belt and adding it to the lockbox. “Gut feeling, I guess. Maybe because we hadn’t had time to do a proper test flight of the X-wings right after a new ground crew had their hands in them.”

“The Force?” Wedge asked quietly.

“Wedge, I don’t know what I’m doing with that,” Luke said helplessly. “I’m not a Jedi. I want to be one. Ben Kenobi showed me how to start. But now he’s gone, and I don’t have anyone to teach me.” He smiled self-deprecatingly. “I thought about that already, too, you know. But I don’t know how it works. Maybe the Force was trying to warn me. But I don’t know enough to claim that, and if I start labeling every feeling as a premonition from the Force, I’m going to get everyone killed.” He raised an eyebrow at his XO. “One of the reasons Dodonna assigned you as my executive officer is to keep me honest.”

Wedge nodded slowly as Luke closed the box, latching it securely. “So nothing looked wrong on the run in to Ralltiir,” he prompted.

“Right. We came out of hyperspace, and the Imperial blockade was configured how we expected. I picked a target, a Raider corvette, and we hit it with torpedoes on the way in to punch a hole. I signaled Derlin, and he brought the Bright Wake out from under cover to start his escape run. I led Sarkli and Mara down, we set up a loose escort, and I was focused on the TIEs coming to attack our corvette. Artoo warned me about a torpedo launch, but I was positioned too far forward to see it.”

“Sarkli’s attack on the Bright Wake.“

“Right. Mara saw it in time and shot down the torpedoes and went after Sarkli.”

Wedge frowned. “You had a ship full of people depending on you to get them out and you sent Jade after Sarkli?”

Luke winced. “I didn’t send her. She went after him.” His voice quieted even further. “I ordered her back and she kept pursuing. I couldn’t do anything about it because I was trying to keep the Imp fighters off the Bright Wake.“

His stomach dropped. “She disobeyed orders?”

Luke shrugged, a slight motion. “Yes. She did break off and reform with me, just before the Bright Wake jumped out. But I covered Derlin for most of the extraction by myself. Barely got them out.”

Wedge rubbed his eyes wearily. “So Jade disobeyed orders during the fight.”

The Tatooine farmer offered a weary smile. “Depends. Is this going in your official report?”

“I don’t have an official report. I wasn’t there.” Wedge raised an eyebrow. “I’m trying to figure out if we need to scrub her from the roster.”

“I don’t want her off the roster,” Luke said immediately.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

Wedge waited for Luke to elaborate further, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry. “Why?”

Luke had a distant look. “I’m not sure. Call it a gut feeling.”

“That’s not good enough,” Wedge disagreed. “If you want to keep her on the roster, we can. The entirety of the Rebellion is short on pilots…” his smile was faint and ironic, “…and we just lost another one. But I want more than your gut.”

Luke’s blue eyes turned icy. “My gut was to distrust Sarkli, too,” he said stiffly.

Wedge’s brown eyes narrowed in return. “We had no reason to distrust Sarkli.”

“Two proton torpedoes, an open-air transmission, and a missing X-wing say otherwise.” Luke’s lips compressed into a thin line. “Wedge, you were wrong about Sarkli.”

“I was operating on the best information I had,” Wedge protested, heat creeping into his tone. “I had no reason to think he wasn’t on the level.”

“Paperwork doesn’t tell the whole story, Wedge. You were relying on the service history paperwork and ignoring the man. You flagged me for my call on Yavin and ignored his response to it, and you never talked to him about it afterward, did you? I did, and I knew something wasn’t right. And I sat on my own instincts because you wanted him in the squadron.” Luke grimaced and seemed to deflate. “I’m sorry. That’s not fair. We made the decision together.”

Wedge tried to settle his own anger. I’m not angry at Luke. Not really, he realized, as he examined his own emotion. I’m feeling guilty, because Luke’s right. I did push for Sarkli to be on the roster.

“So, was he an Imperial plant from the beginning?”

Luke shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe he really felt that betrayed by my command decisions.” He hesitated. “I tried talking to him after Yavin, but it didn’t feel like I got through to him. And when he betrayed us on Ralltiir, he got personal. Implied I was a terrible commander. Mocked Mara on open comms. I think he was trying to get her to break off and chase him.”

“And succeeded.”

Nodding, Luke said, “With just me covering the Bright Wake, Derlin almost didn’t make it out. And Mara nearly lost her fight with Sarkli.” He offered another shrug. “We’ll see what Rieekan’s security review finds. Maybe he’ll have an answer for us.”

Wedge leaned against the wall of Luke’s quarters. “So what do we do with Jade?”

“She stays on the roster,” was Luke’s immediate response.

“Until General Syndulla shows up and drags her out of Rogue Territory,” Wedge grumbled.

“She’s a Rogue until she doesn’t want to be or until she proves herself unfit.” Luke shook his head. “Sarkli knew exactly how to manipulate her. Whatever he was at the beginning, he planned on betraying us at Ralltiir. I’m going to talk to her and make sure that she doesn’t repeat what happened there, but I’m not going to hold that engagement against her.”

Wedge blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “This is going to give Colonel S’man all kinds of new ammunition.”

“I have no doubt,” Luke said dryly. “But I called for the security lockdown. We’re working with Rieekan. This is survivable.” He hesitated. “Right?”

“I think so.” Wedge shrugged. “Rieekan seems interested in keeping us around. I don’t think we’re done yet.”

“Good.” Luke picked up the lockbox and nodded toward the door. “Let’s go patch up morale for the squadron, then.”

---

“Why me?” Wes complained. “Seriously, Wedge, why not Hobbie?”

“Because Hobbie is helping Skywalker make rounds,” Wedge said dryly. “And I need someone I can trust to help me pull files.”

Janson rolled his eyes. “I’m Wes Janson, ace pilot, not Wes Janson, clerk.”

“I’m seeing Wes Janson, sanitation in your future,” Wedge said dryly. “If you’d prefer, I’m sure S’man would accept your transfer.”

“Keep up this sort of flimsiplast nonsense and I might take him up on it,” Wes grumbled.

“Rieekan wanted me to pull all our roster files,” Wedge explained. “Everything Luke and I have on flimsi, to make the initial security review faster. I need help, and that means I pick someone who I’m pretty sure will pass the review. With our current roster, that means me, Skywalker, Hobbie, and unfortunately for both of us, you.”

“What about Naeco? Or Jade?”

“Jade’s a mess after Ralltiir, and I don’t know Naeco well enough to be sure there isn’t something to flag about the Denon cell.”

“Wonderful,” Wes muttered. “And why isn’t this all on the computer system already?”

Wedge dropped a stack of flimsiplast in front of Wes. “Because these were the notes Skywalker and I were using to screen for pilots. And then the evacuation happened a lot faster than we intended, and I’ve been busy trying to keep S’man from disassembling our squadron, and then recruiting pilots, and now preparing for a security review. So you get to help me key all of these into the system so we still have copies when Rieekan makes off with all my flimsiplast.”

For a few minutes, they worked in companionable silence, Wes taking half of the stack of paper while Wedge worked on the other.

“So what happens now?” Wes asked, his tone not quite casual. “We wait for Rieekan to finish the review, you recruit some more pilots, and we start flying more missions?”

Wedge paused and frowned. “Not exactly.”

“Meaning?”

The executive officer hesitated. “It’s too early to know for sure. But we need time to train. Luke flew three missions in three days. No one can manage that pace indefinitely, and if we try to do that with a whole squadron, pilots are going to die.”

“I’m not a fan of that part.”

“Me, neither. So I’m going to push hard to get a training window first. Three months would be ideal.”

Wes laughed aloud at that suggestion. “Three months? Wedge, I started with the Tierfon Yellow Aces. We were rookies and we had less than two months of training before we pulled our first mission against an actual Imperial target.”

“I never said we were going to get three months, but I’m going to push for as much as I can.”

“And how do we keep this from happening again?” Wes asked, the subject implied.

“I’m still trying to figure that out. Better security screening on new pilots would be helpful.”

“I’m sure it would.” Wes flashed one of the flimsiplast pages at Wedge. “Flight Officer Jade’s file. A whole lot of empty here. No homeworld, no next of kin, hell, not even a birthday. Hard to do proper security screening with no data, Wedge.”

Wedge frowned, lips compressed. Of course, General Syndulla vouched for Jade personally, and that carries her past the paperwork stage. But that doesn’t guarantee security. “I guess Luke and I are going to have to figure out something else,” he said at last. “Something that doesn’t just rely on Alliance Security to screen properly. I’m sure Sarkli was screened, too, and he made it through.”

Wes nodded. “Whatever you come up with, I’m sure Rogue Squadron won’t be the only unit that will want it,” he said. “And whatever it is, I’d prefer it doesn’t require more adventures from Wes Janson, clerk.”

Luke studied the X-wing’s tactical displays as the trio of fighters hurtled through hyperspace toward Ralltiir.

“A concentrated strike,” he said aloud, half to himself and half to his astromech. “Six proton torpedoes, fire synchronized. If the Raider doesn’t have time to turn, that much firepower in one spot should penetrate the shields and knock out the main sublight engine. If it does manage to turn, at least two proton torpedoes should still impact the hull. Probably not enough to destroy it, but it’ll be enough to cripple it.”

Artoo whistled approvingly from his slot behind the cockpit.

The sinking feeling refused to go away. Someone isn’t coming back. The thought was intrusive, his mind putting words to the feeling.

“Pull the diagnostics again,” Luke ordered. Artoo whistled a protest, but Luke shook his head. “I know you’ve pulled them twice already. Do it again. The ground crew just finished a major overhaul on all three X-wings. If they made a mistake, I don’t want us to find out by having an engine failure in the middle of a dogfight.”

The astromech’s tone was begrudging, but diagnostic data from all three X-wings began to scroll over a secondary monitor.

Nothing. Everything looks fine. We have a plan to open a hole for Derlin. Luke drummed his fingers on his leg. It’s just nerves, right? We’re going in hot with a small strike package against a blockade and almost no time to think or plan. But I have a solid team. Sarkli’s great. Mara won’t let me down. The X-wings are in great shape. We’re combat-ready, with a full load of fuel, Tibanna gas, and proton torpedoes.

So why do I feel like one of us isn’t coming back?

Luke turned back to the tactical display. “Run scenario four again,” he ordered.

Artoo’s tone was outright irritated, but Luke ignored it. “Worst case,” he murmured. “The Accuser shifted its orbit after Derlin’s last transmission, and it’s directly in front of us when we drop out of hyperspace. So we revector…” He continued on, half-mumbling, half-thinking, keying corrections into the battle plan, plotting six different attack vectors the three-ship Rogue flight element could use, depending on where and how the Accuser‘s support ships were positioned. He finally finished the contingencies, added the new set to the existing tactical scenarios he and Artoo had been building for the last hour, and sat back in his cockpit.

The sinking feeling remained.

He opened the comm. “Rogue Flight, we’re just a few minutes out. Report with combat readiness.”

“Rogue Two,” Sarkli reported, his voice as calm and flat as a pane of transparisteel. “All systems green. Deflectors online. Laser cannons charged and ready. Proton torpedoes configured to fire in pairs for the initial strike. Ready to cut to sublights.”

“Rogue Three,” Mara added after a short pause. “Green here, Commander. Shields, lasers, torpedoes all nominal. Ready on sublights.”

“My astromech is transmitting our battle plan and contingencies,” Luke said, trying to shake the gut feeling. Someone isn’t coming back. “Your astromechs should filter based on the Imperial blockade’s actual configuration and position when we come out of hyperspace. We hit a soft part of the formation with coordinated fire, punch through, link up with the Bright Wake, and keep the TIEs off her until we’re back through the blockade. We don’t slow down, we don’t turn back, and we don’t chase kills,” he continued, emphasizing the last part.

“Yes, Commander,” Sarkli said, his voice now with a trace of both eagerness and irritation.

“Here we go,” Luke said, watching the timer tick down. “Sixty seconds from realspace. Stay in attack formation and we’ll get through this.”

Someone isn’t coming back, the thought repeated, and Luke hated it. We’re fine, he reassured his own gut. We have a plan. We’ll execute it. It’s overwhelming odds, but we’re not staying to fight everyone. Just open a hole, help a blockade runner slip out, and jump back to the safety of hyperspace.

But someone isn’t coming back.

---

The hypnotic blue-white mottled swirl of hyperspace gave way to stars and darkness and a planet.

Mara was already hitting switches in the cockpit before Skywalker’s voice crackled in her ear. “S-foils to attack positions. No TIEs in immediate threat range. Shields double-front for our initial attack run, then even out coverage. We’re scenario two. Accelerate to attack speed, full throttle. Don’t give them time to think.”

Her systems panel was full of green lights as she jammed the throttle forward, a half-second behind Sarkli and a full second behind Skywalker. “Arfor,” she murmured, “give me the long-range tactical.”

A wireframe grid of the planet painted her main display, with a giant red triangle indicating the position of the Accuser and a scattering of red dots advertising smaller support ships. The Accuser was directly over the capital city, Cambrielle, with its support ships positioned in a far-ranging grid. Or a net, she corrected herself. To catch anyone attempting to flee.

“Broadcasting missile lock now,” Skywalker continued. “Use my data so we sync fire.”

The tactical data moved to a secondary display, and her primary monitor lit with Skywalker’s targeting. A Raider-class corvette filled the display, one hundred and fifty meters of Kuat Drive Yards engineering built specifically to screen Star Destroyers against snubfighter attack. It was the Empire’s response to the lessons of the Clone Wars, where swarms of cheap, fragile, and fast droid starfighters could overwhelm a capital ship’s point defenses at knife-fight ranges, duck inside deflector shields, and sting repeatedly with laser cannons.

X-wings weren’t cheap or fragile, the Rogues were not targeting the Accuser, and Luke Skywalker had no intention of a close-in attack.

“Fire, fire, fire,” Skywalker ordered.

Six torpedoes flashed out from the trio of fighters. Over five kilometers ahead, the Raider sat in orbit, nose pointed down at Cambrielle, its sensors no doubt focused forward as it waited for the Bright Wake. Mara watched, a cold smile on her face as she monitored the tactical plot. To the naked eye, it was tiny, but the subsequent explosions of multiple torpedo hits over the course of a full second were bright enough to catch her eye against the grey-brown planet below.

“Broadcasting escape vector to Derlin now,” Skywalker said. “Looks like a patrol group of TIEs vectoring in from ahead and to starboard. Follow me.”

Mara nudged her stick through the turn, keeping pace with his X-wing and peripherally aware of Sarkli doing the same far to starboard. Her monitor lit with a target, fed to her by Skywalker’s astromech.

She kicked her X-wing further out to port. No sense drawing any stray fire toward Skywalker.

The distance closed rapidly as the TIEs chose a head-to-head attack on the Rebel interlopers. In theory, we have the advantage with our deflectors. Doesn’t mean we automatically win.

The trio of TIEs ahead opened fire at maximum range. Mara jinked left, right, left, and threw in a bit of nose drift along with it. A couple of bursts caught the very edge of her deflectors, but at maximum range, they did little damage. She rode through the fire, closing with her target, waiting for the opportune moment.

The moment came two seconds later. Skywalker’s target, the Imperial element’s leader, exploded under a precise burst. Mara’s target flinched, his weapons suddenly tracking a hundred meters away from her X-wing as the pilot reflexively ducked away from the explosion. Mara pounced, her targeting reticule dropping directly on the TIE’s cockpit glass. She squeezed the trigger reflexively, a hail of red laserfire converging on the TIE. Fire and smoke erupted, and her target spun away into atmosphere, clearly out of control.

The third TIE, Sarkli’s target, aborted its run, accelerating away from the X-wings on a perpendicular course.

“Let him go,” Skywalker said. “Bright Wake is launching. We rendezvous with it, reverse our course, and climb back up the gravity well and get out.”

“Copy,” Sarkli said.

“Copy.” The X-wings roared down into atmosphere. Mara spared a glance at her tactical plot, finally remembering at the same time to even her shield coverage out to cover her tail. The Accuser had not changed position from the heart of the Imperial net, but the scattering of smaller capital ships was maneuvering, attempting to close the hole the Rogues had opened. Skywalker had anticipated that in the tactical planning he’d broadcast to Mara and Sarkli; by trying to plug the obvious hole, the Empire was opening more gaps. Her R4 beeped as it highlighted the most likely extraction route.

Down, down, down the X-wings dove. Mara could only stare in horror at the landscape below as it began to resolve into detail. Ralltiir had been under Imperial occupation for over a year. From orbit, she’d assumed the planet was naturally a mottled brown-grey. Now, closer to the surface, she could see that much of the color was from damage. Fires had clearly burned large swathes of land; fields that should have been growing crops lay fallow. How they’ve managed to resist at all is beyond me. 

Below and ahead, the glimmering shield dome over the battered city of Cambrielle flickered and vanished, and in the same heartbeat a CR90 Corellian corvette appeared, already picking up speed. “Form up,” Skywalker ordered. “We keep the Imperials off the Bright Wake and punch our way out.”

Skywalker led the Rogues in a high-speed pass, flashing by the Bright Wake before bringing them around in a fast, tight turn to position them above and behind the corvette. “Rebel fighters, this is Captain Derlin,” a voice crackled on an Alliance frequency. “Give us our exit track.”

“Transmitting now,” Skywalker said. “Rogues, loosen formation. We’ve already got TIEs starting to vector on us. Two, stay low-starboard, Three, low-port, and I’ll stay high-center. Call for help when you need it. Don’t chase kills.” Skywalker’s confidence buoyed Mara’s grim skepticism as Arfor painted Imperial fighter squadrons on her tactical plot.

She looked up from her tactical displays, visually orienting on Skywalker’s X-wing, on the Bright Wake, and out of the corner of her eye, saw the nose of Sarkli’s X-wing begin to bank to port, toward the corvette itself.

---

Luke glanced down at his tactical display as Artoo screeched an alarm. “Proton torpedoes?” was all he managed to say before the whole thing went straight to hell.

He caught the glimpse on his rear scope, two torpedoes closing fast on the Bright Wake‘s engines. He did not have time to comprehend they’d been fired by Sarkli before red laserfire from Mara’s X-wing intercepted the warheads, the shockwave from the detonation buffeting all four ships.

“Imperial forces, this is Lieutenant Sarkli of Rogue Squadron.” The voice was composed but cold on the open channel. “The fleeing Rebel corvette is carrying a military research team. Intercept and destroy. I am broadcasting my own IFF codes. Please do not fire on me.”

“Sarkli, what are you doing?” Luke managed.

“Choosing the winning side, Commander.” Sarkli’s laugh was mirthless. “If you’re the best the Rebellion has to offer, the war will be over in six months.”

“Go to hell,” Mara’s voice was low and full of cold fury.

Sarkli was already breaking off, his attack thwarted by Mara’s intervention. Luke barely had time to register what was happening; TIEs were already closing from above, ranging fire lancing down at the accelerating Bright Wake.

And then Luke realized, to his horror, that he was alone. Sarkli was diving away, and Mara was diving after him.

“Rogue Three, break off!” Luke called urgently as he began spraying fire at the first element of TIE fighters. “Rogue Three, do not pursue!” One of the TIEs caught an unlucky shot and exploded; a second, rocked by the detonation and unprepared for atmospheric interference, fell out of formation. Not dead but out of the fight for the moment. He tried to focus fire on the third fighter from the trio, and the Bright Wake‘s guns opened up as well, but two more TIE elements were two kilometers behind and closing fast.

“The squadron mascot thinks she has teeth,” Sarkli spat.

Luke could barely spare a glance backward. Already falling behind in the Bright Wake‘s desperate climb, he could see the other two X-wings tied in a twisting, rolling fight, with red laserfire exchanged but no hits. Then his attention was forward again, laser cannons cycling as more TIEs came into range, the deeper thundering booms of the corvette’s cannon audible even over the scream of his engines and the lighter report of his weapons. “Rogue Three, come back!” Luke said again, trying to keep despair from tinging his voice. “Rogue Three, Bright Wake needs cover!”

Mara did not answer.

---

Dimly, Mara registered Skywalker’s order to break off. It did not enter her tactical calculations as she pursued Sarkli, trying to get the target solution she needed to kill the traitor. Cold rage consumed her mind, and she was not inclined to take control back.

Sarkli was laughing. “Go home,” he taunted, his X-wing twisting around her sights and rolling into a banking dive.

Mara followed, aware that every second she continued the pursuit, more distance opened between her and Skywalker and Bright Wake. But it didn’t matter. She was going to kill Sarkli.

“Skywalker’s pet,” the traitor said. “You’re a child in a cockpit on the losing side, following a man who’s going to get you killed. Give up, Jade.”

She tightened the bank, shedding speed to try to get enough lead to take a shot. A moment later, she fired a quad-burst, all four cannons firing together. Only one bolt impacted, a glancing hit off Sarkli’s rear shield. He responded immediately, the roll turning into a split-S as he completely inverted and pulled back on the stick to send him rocketing over Cambrielle. He leveled off for a brief second. Mara pursued, her maneuver more ragged but not enough for Sarkli to shake her off. She came out of the dive firing, trying to split Sarkli’s X-wing with hard light.

Her weapons fire filled empty air, Sarkli breaking hard to port. “Fine, little mascot,” he said, the X-wing rolling and banking back to starboard as Mara followed, engines roaring as she tried to keep up. “Then we end this.” He cut back to port.

Mara followed, laser cannons firing in vain. Skywalker’s voice was in her ear, but she ignored him. Her astromech was warbling something at her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Sarkli’s fighter long enough to read the translation scrolling across her display. Another cut to starboard, then back to port, and Mara registered she was losing ground.

It was only then, when she realized Sarkli was slipping away, that clarity entered. And in that half-second of clarity, three important, related thoughts blossomed together in her mind.

The first was that she was low in atmosphere over Ralltiir, isolated, with the only friendly ships in range moving away and climbing. If she stayed in this fight for another ten seconds, she was going to be trapped by the TIEs even now trying to paint her with target locks, too deep to escape back to Skywalker and the Bright Wake.

The second was that Sarkli had pulled her into the same flat scissors he had used to kill a TIE over Dantooine while she’d watched from the copilot chair of the U-wing transport. She was losing ground every reversal, and she was a few more turns away from being forced fully defensive.

The third, and the hardest thought to swallow, was that Sarkli was better than she was. She had started the fight with Sarkli fully on the defensive, and she was now on the verge of losing.

Cold rage demanded she finish the fight and kill him. Logic informed her that continuing the fight now was death.

“Arfor, next torpedo, detonate at one hundred and fifty meters,” she snapped, flipping weapons control from lasers to proton torpedoes. As her nose came back around, she fired blind.

A heartbeat later, the torpedo detonated; fire and smoke filled the sky, blinding her and buffeting the X-wing. Mara rolled inverted and pulled back hard on the stick, dropping two hundred meters of altitude but accelerating away from the fight. She risked a glance at her rear scope.

“Run, mascot,” Sarkli said coldly. His X-wing was banking away, not trying to pursue. “Follow after Skywalker like the good little pet you’ve been. The Empire will come for all of you.”

“Rogue Three,” Skywalker’s voice was in her ear again. “Mara, come back.“

“I’m coming,” she managed through gritted teeth. “I’m coming, Lead.”

Ahead, she could see the Bright Wake and Skywalker’s X-wing, both trailing smoke, still rising as fast as the corvette’s engines could push it. The task force, trying to close the hole the crippled Raider had opened, had inadvertently created a new gap in their net, and the Bright Wake was slipping through.

“Don’t wait for us,” Skywalker called. “When you can jump, Derlin, do it.”

“Roger that, Skywalker.”

Mara had barely slid into place on Skywalker’s port wing when the corvette’s engines flared and it vanished into hyperspace. More TIEs were accelerating along the edge of Ralltiir’s atmosphere, clawing too late for their prey.

“Together, Rogue Three,” Skywalker said, and Mara’s R4 chimed with the receipt of hyperspace navigation data.

Stars stretched into lines, and the X-wings vanished into hyperspace. And only in the safety of faster-than-light travel did Mara force her grip on the stick and throttle to loosen.

Her hands were shaking.

---

Luke slumped in his cockpit. Half a dozen red lights flashed on his status displays, warning of an overheated laser cannon, a cracked shield projector, hull damage, and several less critical failures.

One of us isn’t coming back. He closed his eyes, trying to marshal his thoughts. I knew something was wrong. Sarkli stabbed us in the back. Why?

That thought was a cold knife in the gut.

We got the Bright Wake out. Mara got out alive. Derlin and the people he went to get all made it out. We lost an X-wing and a pilot.

He keyed the comm open by touch. “Rogue Three,” he said without opening his eyes. 

“Here, Leader.” Mara’s voice was clipped, short.

“Are you okay?”

“My X-wing is fine.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Luke said.

Mara hesitated for a long moment. “Fit to fly.”

That’s as much answer as I’m getting right now. “Copy. Rest while you can.” He keyed his comm off.

One of us isn’t coming back. How in the hell am I going to explain this to Wedge?

Luke found Hobbie and Mara first.

The borrowed U-wing had already been ferried back to the Independence‘s main hangar, leaving Auxiliary Two feeling oversized for the half-dozen X-wings taking up space. We have ten pilots now, Luke noted, and six X-wings. I hope Rieekan comes through on the rest of the fighters we need. The idea of the squadron being filled to its paper-promised twelve pilots brought a smile to his face.

The two pilots were sitting on the port s-foil of Hobbie’s X-wing. An access panel on the upper laser cannon was open, and they were clearly in discussion about it.

“…know that Wedge has it installed backward. And I know he claims it works better that way,” Mara was saying, tone cross. “I also know that is not the Incom spec, and there is zero reason it’d work better reversed.”

“You’re going to argue that Wedge is wrong?” Hobbie asked doubtfully.

“No, I’m just taking Incom’s side in the argument.”

“Good evening,” Luke said mildly.

Both heads turned to look. “Commander,” Hobbie said.

“I’m checking in on everyone who flew today,” Luke said easily. “Nothing formal.” He frowned for a moment. “I thought we were finally getting a maintenance crew in tomorrow to work on the X-wings properly. Why are you two working on Hobbie’s fighter now?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Mara said briskly. “I bet the air wing has an emergency tomorrow and needs them instead. Wouldn’t put it past S’man.”

Hobbie snorted.

“I wanted to ask you two, since you flew the transport: what did you think of Tycho Celchu?”

Hobbie shrugged. “Hard to get a read on him. Don’t doubt the defection is real. He’s hurting, real bad, from losing Alderaan. Told me he was talking to his family on the HoloNet when it happened. But I didn’t get any feel for what he’ll be like in a month when he’s had time to sit with everything.”

Luke nodded as he filed the observation away. “Mara?”

She looked uncomfortable for a moment. “He’s observant. Smart. And he definitely has no loyalty left for the Empire. Outside the pain I have no idea what drives him.”

“And you two? Anything I should know?”

They both shook their heads, and Hobbie added, “We’re all green here, Commander. I’d rather be in my X-wing the next time, though.”

Luke suspected there was something being left unsaid, but he decided to let it go for now. “No one has to do the scut work every mission,” he reassured him. “Any idea where Sarkli and Puck are?”

“They talked about hitting up the simulators with the newcomers,” Mara volunteered.

“I’ll start with the sim bay, then. Thanks.” Luke offered a casual nod, then headed out of Auxiliary Two and to the simulator bay.

The walk from Rogue Territory to the simulator bay wasn’t long, but it did mean entering Pilot Country proper. Luke passed a number of air wing pilots along the way, with mixed reactions. Some he clocked as admiration and surprise, but some expressions flashed irritation or even outright contempt. He chose to ignore it all. Celebrity doesn’t keep pilots alive, and while S’man may not like the Rogues, he does care about the air wing. I’d bet every credit I have that the air wing pilots are loyal to him. He frowned to himself as he neared the simulator bay. Wedge might not like it, but we’re going to need to figure out how to work with him. We have enough enemies shooting at us that we don’t need enemies inside the Alliance, too.

The simulator bay was a larger chamber than any the Rogues had claimed, save the Auxiliary Two hangar itself. At a glance, Luke estimated at least fifty simulator pods filled the room in paired rows, with the pods grouped by type. The X-wing simulators were easiest for him to pick out, both due to his own experience training in the T-65 simulators and the presence of a group of his Rogues, including Sarkli and Puck. He didn’t hesitate before heading over to his pilots.

Only two of the X-wing pods were active, and the master control panel showed the occupants were running through familiarization training. Luke had a twinge of recognition. Those were the first sims I flew, before the Death Star arrived. Only when Luke was within earshot of the Rogues watching the display could he make out the Aurebesh notation that the current pilots were Zev Senesca and Karie Neth.

“…is decorative,” Puck was saying cheerfully. “The scorch marks make it look faster.”

“Absolutely,” Wes Janson agreed. “When Hobbie’s fighter has them, it’s usually going really fast into the ground.”

Sarkli shook his head. “Naeco, I thought a man with eleven kills would be more aggressive. The whole mission to Dantooine and you only scored a single kill.”

“The kills weren’t the point,” Luke said mildly as he stepped into the circle of pilots, which also included Cesi Eirriss. Several of the Rogues stiffened at his unexpected arrival. “At ease,” he added.

“Commander, the kills are absolutely the point,” Sarkli said, still stiff. “We’re fighter pilots. The four TIE pilots I vaped over Dantooine are neutralized. They’ll never threaten Rebel forces again. The Empire has to spend credits and time to replace them and their ships.”

Luke smiled reprovingly. “The extraction was the point,” he corrected. “When we climbed out of the canyon, you were right to engage that element coming after the U-wing. You led with a proton torpedo, which was a great tactic. But if you’d aimed at the leader instead of the wingman, you’d have broken the element and you could have extracted cleanly. If they’d tried to pursue when you were on the climb, Puck could have covered you. Instead you took on all three by yourself.”

“I didn’t need Naeco,” Sarkli said. “I put all three of them down.”

“Yes, you did,” Luke agreed. “And your flying was phenomenal. But you left Naeco alone escorting the U-wing instead of operating as part of a team.” He lost his smile. “Red Squadron lost almost everyone at Yavin. Wedge and I want to build a squadron that does better than that. And that means relying on each other, even when you’re sure you can handle a fight yourself.”

“What about you, Commander?” Puck asked, oddly serious for once. “You jumped out in front and tangled up with the TIEs that were dropping on us from altitude.”

“I did, yes, because we were short on options and I knew you two were both climbing after me. If it turned bad, I was certain I could survive long enough for you two and the U-wing to reach me.” Luke shrugged. “I won’t pretend there’s always a clean answer, but we need to trust each other.”

Sarkli bristled, but closed his mouth firmly.

Luke nodded at the simulator pods. “Who’s been training?”

“I’ve been beating up on the newcomers,” Wes volunteered. “Senesca insisted on running Neth through the early training. Something about making it fair?”

“Wonderful,” Luke said dryly. “Wedge and I will put together a training schedule when we can stop and take a breath, which probably means tomorrow. Tonight, though, I’m just checking on the pilots who flew today.” His eyes landed on Puck. “How are you doing, Puck?”

“Well, I joined your squadron three days ago. I’ve flown two combat missions since. This is the most excitement I’ve had since I left Denon.” His smile came easily, though Luke could see a bit of fatigue in his eyes. “I’m sure the maintenance crew will complain about the beating my X-wing took the last few days, but I’m good, Commander.”

Luke nodded, then turned. “Sarkli?”

Sarkli’s expression was composed, now, a mask over the irritation Luke knew he had to be feeling. “I’m ready to fly whenever you need me, Commander.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Luke offered him a reassuring smile. “The next time the call comes, I’ll need you on my wing. You’re a great pilot, Sarkli.”

“Thank you, Commander,” he said, tone flat.

Luke decided not to press any further. “Don’t forget to get some sleep, Rogues,” he said lightly. “Maintenance crews will be going over our X-wings tomorrow, and we’ll be hitting the simulators hard. We’ve gotten lucky so far. Two missions with no casualties, but no training as a squadron. I don’t want luck to carry us any further.” He offered a casual nod instead of a salute as he turned to leave. “I’ll see you all in the morning at 0700 for breakfast in the mess in Pilot Country. And if you’re not there, I’m sure Wedge will get creative.”

---

A kilometers-long warship like the Independence did not truly sleep, but it did operate on a standard 24-hour Coruscant day. For eight hours of the day the ship’s lighting in non-critical sections was dimmed. Silence did not settle, but the ambient noise was usually quieter. Most of the ship’s occupants rested or slept.

Mara could not sleep. Celchu’s question still echoed when she tried to quiet her mind. You’re from Alderaan? And some part of her wanted to answer. No, I’m not. It’s complicated. But that was more than what she’d tell Wedge or Hobbie, let alone a defector she’d just met. So why did it bother her so much?

The mess in Pilot Country wasn’t staffed during ship’s night, but shelf-stable food was available and caf dispensers offered the dark liquid with a flavor only moderately worse than usual. Mara didn’t particularly care for the caf, but a warm mug in her hands felt more comfortable than the caf was palatable, so she sat at a table with her back to the bulkhead and mug held firmly.

A handful of ship crew came through the mess while Mara stewed over her mug: a few starfighter technicians, a pair of patrol pilots from the air wing, and a Mon Calamari in a fleet lieutenant’s uniform that Mara suspected was more smuggler than Rebel officer. It came as a surprise, then, when an older man with greying hair wearing a pilot’s jacket without a unit patch approached her table, his own mug of terrible caf in hand.

“May I?”

Mara looked around at the nearly-empty mess hall. “I suppose it would be impolite for me to say no, given how crowded it is.”

He laughed once, though it sounded genuinely amused as he sat himself down opposite her. “Usually it’s the squadron leaders in here this time of night,” he commented. “Not flight officers.”

“I aspire to leadership,” Mara said dryly.

“Interesting way to go about it,” he said agreeably. “I heard that a young combat pilot from Skywalker’s squadron pointed a blaster at Colonel S’man this morning. She didn’t even have the decency to wear a uniform while she was doing it.”

Mara’s lips quirked upward in spite of herself. “I was holding it, not pointing. And it was early.”

The older man laughed again, longer this time. “I can see why S’man was filing complaints,” he chuckled. “Mara Jade, right?”

“Yes,” she said. He clearly already knows who I am. “And you are…?”

“Hal,” he said.

Mara paused for a moment to study him. The hair wasn’t prematurely grey, she concluded, and even in the dim lighting she could see the age in his skin. The hazel eyes had some sparkle of energy, but not the vigor of youth. And a closer look at his flight jacket showed traces of old insignia that had been removed in the varying discoloration, barely visible in the darkened mess hall. He’s seen some battles, she concluded.

“And what do you want?” she asked, deciding on the direct approach.

Hal paused for a moment, taking a sip of his caf. He didn’t wince at the burnt flavor. “I like meeting interesting people. You strike me as interesting.”

“Interesting? How?”

“You’re the youngest combat pilot on the Independence,” he noted, then waved dismissively when he saw her expression. “I’ve known younger, though. And you’re part of the squadron Skywalker and Antilles are putting together. Rogue Squadron,” he said, barely smothering another chuckle. “S’man was furious when he saw the paperwork for the official name. But you, you don’t fit.”

“Don’t fit how?”

“The same way Skywalker doesn’t fit,” Hal said with a wave of his hand. “Too young. Not enough combat hours. But maybe that’s what the Alliance needs. Young pilots who come in without the baggage of us old veterans, officers who might see new things that we retirees can’t anymore.”

Mara lifted an eyebrow. “You’re retired?”

“Do you see a rank insignia?” he asked rhetorically.

“A three-kilometer-long Mon Calamari warship is a hell of a place to retire.”

“If I stay long enough, maybe it’ll turn back into the luxury starliner it used to be,” Hal answered cheerfully before taking a drink of his caf.

Mara took a drink from her own mug and only mostly managed to hide her grimace. This stuff is practically a solvent. I bet the maintenance crews use it to clean their tools.

“Rogue Squadron,” Hal mused aloud. “I’ve seen a few units like it before.” His eyes flicked up and met Mara’s, seeing the unasked question. “Sometimes a squadron like this is a vanity project. Skywalker’s a big hero after the Death Star, and sooner than later the Empire will know who he is because the political opportunities for Mon Mothma are too good. And honestly, it’s too big to keep secret forever, so using it makes sense. Now, most of the time, that sort of squadron becomes a parade unit. Flashy, but in real operations, average at best. But neither Skywalker nor Antilles strike me as the type that would be satisfied with that.” He smiled at her knowingly. “And you’re not the sort who gets picked for those units. Pointing a blaster at a colonel would be rather frowned on.”

“Holding, not pointing.” Mara shook her head. “Who are you? Really?”

“Told you. I’m Hal.” He rose to his feet, both knees cracking. “I’m sure I’ll see you around. Mess hall is quiet this time of night. Good place to clear my head.” He smiled. “And I really like the caf.”

“No one likes this caf.”

“It’s better than the water, not as good as the whiskey.” He grinned. “Good night, Mara.”

She shook her head. “Good night, Hal.”

Mara watched as the man vanished through the mess hall door before deciding she should make another attempt at sleeping. Morning would come all too soon.

---

It was nearly time for the midday meal when Luke’s plan for the day, such as it was, fell apart.

The ground crew from the main hangar had been smaller than expected, with Colonel S’man co-opting some of the assigned technicians to his own emergency maintenance. Mara hadn’t bothered with an “I told you so”, but her expression wore it nonetheless. Wedge had been exasperated, Luke had decided it wasn’t a battle worth fighting, and together over breakfast they’d sketched a quick new plan for the day. Wedge had taken the four Rogues still waiting on a spaceframe, along with Hobbie and Puck, to start running pilots through the simulators.

Luke, Sarkli, and Mara had returned to Auxiliary Two after breakfast to oversee the maintenance work on their fighters. The mechanics had grumbled, but Luke’s misspent youth in a T-16 Skyhopper with no credits to pay a mechanic left him with a distrust for flying a fighter he hadn’t touched himself. And what the ground crew lacked in enthusiasm for pilot oversight, they made up for in thoroughness. With their reduced complement of mechanics, they had opted to work on three X-wings at a time. Proton torpedo magazines were unloaded, Tibanna gas cartridges removed, fuel drained, power cells pulled, and then a full teardown of the major systems. The sublight engines were gutted, checked, and rebuilt; laser cannon components were pulled and scrubbed clean of corrosion before reassembly; even the proton torpedo alleys were polished clean.

Unhappy or not, the maintenance crew was thorough. The three Rogues found nothing to complain about; even Artoo-Detoo, who had a reputation for demanding standards for Luke’s X-wing, warbled approvingly.

With just rearming and refueling left, most of the maintenance crew descended on the remaining X-wings, starting with the engines. A handful of junior team members and a binary loadlifter droid restocked torpedo magazines and fueled the completed X-wings. On Yavin IV, fighters wouldn’t have been fueled and armed until a mission was imminent; the Independence, however, had standing orders to keep all fighters ready to fly at a moment’s notice. 

And then General Rieekan stalked into the hangar, a single aide trailing him.

Luke saw Sarkli’s gaze catch first, and followed his line of sight until he saw the general.

“Commander Skywalker,” Rieekan called, his voice gravelly. “We have an emergency.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “General. I’ve got more pilots than fighters and we’re in the middle of a maintenance cycle.”

Rieekan approached him, showing him a hand-held holoprojector. When he’d closed the gap, he powered the device up. “I apologize, Commander. I know you’ve flown two sorties in two days, and this will be three. I already spoke with S’man, and the air wing is already committed to an emergency operation elsewhere, and he’s looking at a twelve-hour delay.”

The smile on Luke’s face was grim. “What’s the situation?”

The hologram finally shimmered into existence between them. “Ralltiir,” Rieekan said. “We’ve been debriefing Lieutenant Celchu. He’s an observant man and has a good head for prioritizing sensitive information. The Empire had an operation planned to seize a civilian research and engineering team on Ralltiir under the guise of nationalization. They’re a specialist group working on a new model of planetary defense shields.” Rieekan glanced around. “The Imperial military has been cracking down harder on anything with military implications every week. They’re trying to prevent the next Mon Calamari or Incom incident.”

Luke studied the hologram. A Star Destroyer was visible in orbit, along with a number of smaller symbols representing support ships: Gozanti freighters, Raider corvettes, Arquitens light cruisers, Nebulon-B frigates. “If that’s an orbital blockade, it’s configured wrong,” he said slowly.

“The pending seizure on Ralltiir was the first topic Celchu brought up,” Rieekan said. “That Star Destroyer is the Accuser. Captain Derlin volunteered to take a team to recover the specialists. The Corellian corvette Bright Wake left thirteen hours ago. Derlin made contact with the research team and they chose to come to the Alliance, but it took time to gather their research material and families. Before the Bright Wake could launch, the Accuser and its task force arrived.”

“That’s why it looks wrong,” Luke said, still studying the hologram. “A blockade usually is built to keep ships away from a planet so no supplies can reach it. Here, they’re trying to keep Derlin from escaping.”

“Correct.” Rieekan shook his head. “Ralltiir is about ninety minutes away for your X-wings. Derlin’s last transmission, before the Accuser started blanket jamming, reported the Bright Wake was safe for the moment under a city-wide shield generator prototype the development team was testing. Standard Imperial tactics in this situation will land ground teams with heavy armor to move in, penetrate the shield, and bring it down.”

“General, you can’t possibly think my squadron can defeat the blockade by ourselves,” Luke commented with a raised eyebrow.

“Not defeat, no. Derlin doesn’t need the blockade broken. He just needs a seam.” Rieekan tapped a button on the holoprojector, and the image magnified. “He had enough foresight to include the Bright Wake‘s sensor data of the orbital picture. If your X-wings can open a hole by pulling one or two of the Accuser‘s support ships out of position, and then provide some cover from TIEs, the Wake can punch through the orbital blockade and escape. CR90s are nicknamed ‘Blockade Runners’ for a reason, and the Wake‘s crew is very good.”

“How soon?”

“Thirty minutes ago.”

Luke shook his head. “The mechanics have three of our X-wings pulled apart. We need at least three hours to put them back together, then more time after that to fuel and arm.”

Rieekan folded his arms. “Three hours is too long. If we give the Empire that much time, the Bright Wake will be caught by ground forces or, if they take off, caught in the air by the Accuser‘s task force.”

Luke studied the hologram again. “How many?” he asked quietly.

“Commander?”

“How many people?”

Rieekan looked at him askance for a moment. “Forty-nine crew on the Bright Wake. The Ralltiir research team was twenty-two people, but I have no idea about their families. Fifty? Sixty?”

Luke chewed his lip. “I can have three X-wings in the air in less than twenty minutes. It’ll have to do.” He glanced at the general. “If we’re going to keep doing this, Rogue Squadron needs more ships. And we need time to train. I know lives are on the line, General Rieekan, but we’ll start losing pilots if we keep going like this.”

The Alderaanian officer had enough humility to look abashed. “If I had somewhere else I could go, Commander, I’d be there.”

“Sarkli, Mara,” Luke called loudly. “Start preflight on your X-wings. We’re skids-up in fifteen!” He dropped his voice. “Send over all the orbital data, raw, to my astromech. We’ll figure out our plan in hyperspace.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

“We’ll get our people out alive, General,” Luke said, wishing he felt nearly as confident as his tone sounded as he turned toward his own starfighter. Wedge is going to kill me if this mission doesn’t first.

Mara had managed to wrangle her own thoughts and fears down into something more manageable fifteen minutes into the hyperspace jump when Hobbie started unclipping his flight harness. She glanced over at him with a puzzled look.

“Gonna talk to Celchu,” Hobbie explained simply as he reached forward and keyed primary control of the U-wing over to Mara’s side of the cockpit. “You’ve got the ship.”

“I’ve got the ship,” she echoed, hands still off the yoke. At faster-than-light speeds, the transport practically flew itself, but it was best practice to keep a pilot in the cockpit.

Hobbie doffed his flight helmet, stood, and dropped the helmet back in his chair.

Mara didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but the U-wing was cramped and hardly designed with privacy in mind. The empty, hard interior allowed voices to carry easily, and the rumble of the hyperdrive was low enough that it didn’t obscure their voices at all.

“You need to give me your blaster,” Hobbie said without preamble, and apparently as greeting.

“Seems a bit late to worry about disarming me,” Celchu said dryly. “Should’ve done that before I got on the transport.”

“I don’t want you to get shot by security on the Independence when we open the door.”

There was a faint rasp of metal on cloth, presumably the Alderaanian defector drawing his blaster.

“Thank you,” Hobbie said.

“You’re Derek Klivian, aren’t you? Deserted at Skystrike Academy?” Tycho’s voice was tired but held a note of genuine curiosity.

“There are only two kinds of people who call me that,” Hobbie said soberly. “Imperials who are trying to kill me, and my mother. Everyone else calls me Hobbie.”

Mara could barely hear a chuckle. “I’d best call you Hobbie, then.” There was a beat of silence as the former Imperial recalibrated. “So how did you do it?”

“Under fire from a very unhappy flight instructor, with Wedge Antilles and a Mandalorian infiltrator named Sabine Wren. She was a former Imperial herself, and walked back in like she belonged there to find us and get us out.” Mara could hear the faint pop of a cracked joint. “It was a messy few days. You?”

“The Accuser put in at Commenor, and I went dirtside for shore leave. Walked away after I made contact with an Alliance operative who put me in contact with someone further up the chain. Used every credit I had to get a seat on a transport to Dantooine.”

There was a long silence, long enough that Mara spared a glance back. Hobbie was sitting beside Celchu on the troop bench, both of them leaned back against the backrest. Celchu looked haggard, no doubt exhausted now that the adrenaline from the escape was ebbing away.

“So what was it?” Hobbie asked at last.

Tycho didn’t ask for clarification. “Alderaan. My family, my fiancé, they all…” his voice trailed off, and the silence lingered uncomfortably while Celchu struggled to compose himself. “I was talking to them. On the Holonet. When it happened.” The words came out haltingly. “I wasn’t blind. I didn’t think the Empire was great. But I thought it could be changed. After that, though…”

Hobbie grunted in acknowledgement. Mara fingered the pendant under her flightsuit.

“What’s going to happen now?” Celchu asked.

“Debriefing, I suppose,” Hobbie said. “General Rieekan will want to squeeze out everything you know and make sure you’re not a security breach in progress. After that, with your skills, I’d guess they’ll want to put you in a starfighter. Maybe even our squadron. We’re a new squadron and we haven’t even filled our roster yet.”

“Rogue Squadron,” Celchu said. “The kid up in the cockpit said you’re Rogue Squadron.”

Mara smothered the brief spike of irritation. If Rieekan puts him in a cockpit, he’ll learn quick enough I’m not some kid mascot for the squadron.

“Hardly a kid,” Hobbie said dryly. “She’s young, but she’s been training off and on for two years now as a combat pilot. Four confirmed TIE kills. And yesterday she was in a firefight with stormtroopers on Yavin IV.” He paused for a moment. “‘Course, this whole squadron looks pretty crazy.”

“Anyone else I might know?”

“Antilles is the executive officer.”

“He’s on more wanted posters than you are,” Celchu said dryly, his voice steadier now that the conversation was on professional ground. “Who’s the CO?”

“You wouldn’t know the name, but you’d know the reputation. He’s the one who made the kill shot on the Death Star a few months back.”

The silence stretched long enough that Mara risked another peek back. Celchu’s face was surprised as he processed the information. “That wasn’t Antilles? Or Garven Dreis? Or Antoc Merrick?”

“Wedge was wingman for that run. Dreis died a minute or two earlier after he missed the same shot. Merrick had died a week or so before at Scarif.” Hobbie shook his head. “No, the pilot who made the shot was an Outer Rim farmer. Nineteen years old. First time in a starfighter was the Death Star engagement, and his first time in a sim was just before that. His name’s Skywalker.”

Celchu’s mouth fell open. “An Outer Rim farmer blew up the Death Star.”

“The longer you think about it, the crazier it gets,” Hobbie said dryly. “Probably the best natural pilot I’ve ever met. Practically grew up in a T-16 Skyhopper, to hear him tell it, and it’s like he was born to fly.”

“You’re putting me on, aren’t you?” Celchu said after another pair of heartbeats.

Hobbie smiled at that. “No, no I’m not. Welcome to the Rebellion, Celchu.”

---

Luke Skywalker led the small formation of Rogues – three X-wings and a U-wing – through the magnetic containment field and down onto the deck of the Auxiliary Two hangar bay. New scorch marks decorated Puck’s fighter, though Luke was grateful the U-wing did not appear to have picked up any damage on the run. Colonel S’man was already fit to be tied. I can only imagine how much worse he’d be if we broke one of his ships.

“I’ll be back to handle post-flight, Artoo,” he told his astromech as he popped his canopy. One of the ground crew was already moving a ladder to his X-wing, but he waved it off and slid down from the fighter to land half-crouched on the deck, standing quickly.

General Rieekan and his security team were already marching into the hangar. Captain Bren Derlin was marching beside him, and they were trailed by a pair of aides in fleet lieutenant uniforms. Luke couldn’t identify either by name, but he was fairly certain at least one of them had been in the Great Temple on Yavin IV when he and Mara had gone back in for General Dodonna. Half a dozen men in security uniforms completed the group, each armed with an A280 blaster rifle.

The U-wing took a moment before the troop compartment door slid open, long enough for Luke to reach the craft. A blond man, maybe a few centimeters taller than Luke himself, led the way out, his hands clasped in front of him and his holster conspicuously empty. Hobbie was on the man’s left, and Mara was on his right, both flanking him a single step behind. He glanced over at Luke and offered him a nod before reorienting on General Rieekan and his team, walking at a steady pace that neither lingered nor appeared hasty.

“I’m Lieutenant Tycho Celchu,” he identified himself, “formally requesting asylum with the Rebel Alliance.”

Rieekan looked the man over, his expression sober. “General Carlist Rieekan,” he said in return, his tone formal. “Lieutenant Celchu, we will debrief you and question you before we adjudicate your asylum request.” The formality broke just a bit. “But unofficially, as one Alderaanian to another, welcome to the Rebellion. We have a lot to talk about, son.”

“Yes, we do, sir,” Tycho said with a nod.

Rieekan gestured, and Derlin stepped forward. “If you’ll follow me, Lieutenant,” he said. Tycho fell into step behind him, and the Alliance security personnel fanned out beside and behind him.

Luke waited until the general turned to him. “Mission successful,” he said.

“Any complications?” Rieekan asked.

“The Empire was on Dantooine and looking for Celchu. Hobbie had barely parked the U-wing when we had TIEs all over us. We extracted under fire, ran through some local canyons to the east of the rendezvous to shake pursuit, then burned for high orbit and jumped before the Empire could hit us with anything heavier than a few TIEs. We picked up at least one escort frigate and two corvettes in orbit, but they weren’t in position to intercept us.” Luke shook his head. “Not as clean as I would have liked, but we didn’t lose anyone and we got your defector out.”

“Thank you,” Rieekan said with a nod. “And I will stand by my word. Colonel S’man has been trying to cause trouble for you while you were gone, but he’s not getting much traction. Antilles has been recruiting more pilots for your squadron, too.” He frowned for a moment. “This Rogue Squadron you’re building. You had Dodonna’s approval and blessing. What are you trying to accomplish with it?”

Luke pursed his lips for a moment as he marshaled his thoughts. The topic wasn’t unfamiliar; he and Wedge had spoken about it long before he’d put forward a proposal for Dodonna. But how do I explain it to a senior officer who’s not a pilot?

“The Death Star battle was a disaster,” Luke said slowly. “Of the thirty fighters that went up, just three came back. Ninety percent casualties. And no one blinked, because we had to win that fight, or the war was over. What Wedge – Captain Antilles – and I want to build is a squadron that can tackle those critical missions for the Alliance without everyone paying in blood. It’s easy to say we want to build the best fighter squadron in the Alliance, but that’s not really the truth of it. We’re trying to build the squadron that can go anywhere, do anything that the Rebellion needs. So the next time there’s a threat that has to be handled right now, the mission isn’t accomplished by sacrificing a wing of pilots.”

“And how do you accomplish that?” Rieekan asked. “By poaching the best pilots in the Alliance? Weakening other squadrons?”

Luke shook his head. “No, sir. I mean, yes, we need very good pilots. But we want to try new tactics. New fighter doctrine. Maybe even cross-training on other starfighters. But if we’re doing all that, we need very good pilots, pilots who can adapt on the fly, or every experiment that doesn’t succeed ends in blood.”

Rieekan’s eyebrows lifted. “Commander, existing fighter doctrine was developed by veteran pilots who have seen more combat hours than your entire unit.”

“With respect, General, existing fighter doctrine hasn’t changed since the Clone Wars. And two decades ago, the war was two massive governments with major industrial bases with clones on one side and droids on the other. We’re fighting an insurgency with different fighters and people.” Luke shook his head again. “If there’s a better way, Wedge and I will find it.”

Rieekan studied the younger man for a moment, and Luke wondered if he’d overstepped. Then Rieekan offered the smallest of smiles. “I don’t know whether you’ll succeed, Commander, but I could use a squadron that’s willing to adapt to do whatever needs to be done. Now, officially, your squadron is still attached to Massassi Base under Jan Dodonna, but that won’t last much longer before the data catches up with it. You need a new chain of command for Rogue Squadron. Colonel S’man will, no doubt, push for Rogue Squadron to be moved to the Independence air wing. After all, for now at least that’s your base of operations.”

Luke nodded, finding no fault in Rieekan’s words.

“What I propose is to instead reassign Rogue Squadron directly to Alliance High Command. Which would mean you answer directly to me as a representative of High Command.” He turned and gestured around the hangar. “I don’t see any reason to pull you out of this hangar. You’d remain operationally independent of the air wing. I’m sure S’man will be unhappy about it, but as long as your squadron is making itself useful, his complaints won’t get anywhere.” Rieekan stared at the young squadron commander directly. “I want to make this clear, Skywalker. I’m not threatening your unit or your command. I think you and Antilles have potential to do important things for the Alliance, and this is a clean way to keep you and your squadron out of political infighting. But I’m not going to reassign your squadron without your go-ahead, because I don’t want to be fighting Princess Leia in council meetings because Commander Skywalker is unhappy.”

Luke’s lip twitched at that. “I doubt Leia would be concerned about that.”

“You’d be surprised, Commander,” Rieekan said dryly. “Take the night to think about it. Talk to Antilles. We’ll speak again tomorrow. I need to make arrangements to get your squadron more X-wings, anyway.”

“Sir?”

“Talk to Antilles,” the general repeated. “He’s been busy while you were gone.”

---

Rogue Territory had changed while Luke’s team was gone. Some of the empty crates had been replaced with real furniture, and a glimpse inside Luke’s own quarters showed the cot had been replaced with a larger-but-still-cramped bunk. Progress, he thought. More like actual assigned quarters than squatting.

Wedge was waiting for Luke in the Rogues’ common area. It now featured a pair of small tables, a mismatched set of chairs that included a Y-wing ejector seat that Luke was fairly certain he’d last seen on Yavin IV, and a stained, overstuffed, overlong sofa that absolutely had no place on a warship. Wedge was sitting at one of the small tables with a pair of pilots whom Luke didn’t recognize. Wes Janson was sprawled on the sofa with a satisfied grin. The new pilot, Karie Neth, sat on the floor with her back against the sofa, reading a datapad.

“Commander,” Wedge said, rising to his feet and offering a formal salute.

It was enough to bring a touch of blush to Luke’s cheeks. You’re an officer in the Rebel Alliance, Luke. Act like it. He returned the salute. “Captain.”

The other two pilots had risen and were saluting as well. Wedge turned. “With your approval, Commander, two new pilots for Rogue Squadron. Janson actually made himself useful and helped me sort through the ship’s records to find unassigned pilots.”

Wes’s lazy smile grew wider. “The last time Colonel S’man came stomping in here, we got a squadron name out of it. I want to see what we get next time.”

Luke studiously ignored him. “Who do we have, Captain?”

“Lieutenant Cesi Eirriss,” Wedge nodded first toward the green-skinned Twi’lek woman. “She’s made herself an absolute menace to the Empire.”

“And that was before I trained to fly X-wings, Commander,” the woman said slyly.

“Eirriss has the dubious honor of holding a doctoral degree from the University of Chandrila in political science,” Wedge said dryly. “The Empire was not a fan of her thesis.”

“One of the reasons I’m here,” Eirriss said. “Education is all well and good, but having knowledge isn’t worth much if I don’t put it to use.”

Luke returned her salute at last, studying the woman: attractive, green-eyed, cheerful, but clearly steel-spined. “Glad to have you, Lieutenant.”

“Most squadrons end up calling me ‘Doc’. I’m sure you can figure that out,” she said, her voice as dry as Tatooine sand.

Wedge gestured to the second pilot. “Lieutenant Zev Senesca.”

Luke returned his salute immediately, taking a moment to evaluate him. Wrinkles had started to tug at his skin, and his salt-and-pepper hair was clean but hardly youthful. His eyes make him look even older, Luke decided. He’s seen some action.

“Senesca spent some years gun-running for the Rebellion,” Wedge continued. “But he’s more interested now in active combat operations. He’s cleared his certification for the T-65, but his combat hours so far are all in Headhunters.”

“Glad to be here, Commander,” Senesca said, his voice having just a trace of roughness that Luke associated with either age or cigarros. “I’d like to have a permanent squadron for once.”

“My best friend spent plenty of time running guns. If you fly like a Rogue, I’m glad to have you,” Luke said with a smile.

Wedge offered a smile to the two new pilots. “We’ll start simulators soon, hopefully tomorrow. Your training and combat records look great, but we want to evaluate everyone and make sure they fit before we finalize the roster.” He spared a glance at Luke. “Though finalize sounds more formal than it is, given that we’ve been handed two combat missions in two days.”

Luke realized, for the first time, how tired he was. “Simulators tomorrow sounds great, unless we get handed another mission. But for now, welcome to the squadron.” He caught Wedge’s eye and jerked his head toward his office. “Chat?”

Wedge nodded and followed. “How did the mission go?” he asked quietly.

“Everyone came back intact. We got Celchu out. Some damage to Puck’s fighter.” He grimaced. “Sarkli chased kills during extract. We got out clean, but it could’ve been cleaner.”

“We’ll work on it,” Wedge promised. “You have to remember, Luke, the squadron’s been together less than a week. Even with veteran pilots, we need time to train before we can act like a squadron, and we’ve been in firefights twice in the last two days.” He shot Luke a sideways look as they entered the office. “How’d Jade do?”

“Fine,” Luke said with a shrug. “She let Hobbie do the talking on the comms. I don’t know much more than that, really. You’d have to ask Hobbie about it.” He offered a small smile. “Are we going to keep doing this?”

“Until we’ve actually had time to train the squadron, probably,” Wedge said with a wince. “You’re still not sure about Sarkli, and I’m still not sure about Jade.”

“Then we keep doing this in private until we’re both convinced.” Luke shrugged. “I’m trying, Wedge. And I know you are, too.”

“So what did you want to talk to me about? I assume there’s more than Sarkli on your mind.”

“We’ve still got S’man and the air wing hanging over our heads,” Luke said bluntly. “And Rieekan offered to solve the issue permanently for us.”

“Permanently?” Wedge frowned. “How?”

“Attaching Rogue Squadron to Alliance High Command, tasked directly.”

“Meaning we’d get orders directly from Rieekan.”

“For now, yes,” Luke agreed. “Though I have to imagine that would change.”

Wedge considered for a few moments. “That solves the immediate threat from S’man, more or less,” he said slowly. “Though it means we’d be more exposed politically. If High Command decides we’re not worth the resources, they dissolve us directly. No one in the chain of command to deflect and keep us intact. Did you take his offer?”

“Not yet. I wanted to make sure you and I agreed before I made any decisions. Rieekan said he’d talk to us about it again tomorrow.”

“So we don’t make any decisions right now, but you and I meet and discuss this first thing in the morning,” Wedge said. “Luke, I signed up with the Rebellion to fight the war. But I’m a pilot, not a politician. If Rogue Squadron is attached directly to High Command, the politics might become inevitable.”

“Maybe. But that’s not really any different than our existence right now,” Luke pointed out. “Rogue Squadron exists because you and I blew up the Death Star and survived. When we asked to build a new squadron, they weren’t going to tell us no.”

Wedge grimaced.

“So, we sleep on it and decide tomorrow,” Luke agreed. “And if we agree, we go into it with eyes open. There’s always a string attached.”

“Sleep?” Wedge asked, his smile sardonic. “You actually do that?”

“Not very much,” Luke admitted. “I need to check on everyone who flew today’s op before I go pretend to sleep, anyway. You coming?”

Wedge waved him off. “You’re the boss. Just let me know if you need any follow-up from me.” He smiled. “I’ve got more datapad work to do. We’ve got a maintenance crew coming from the main hangar tomorrow to evaluate our X-wings. I swear, Skywalker, the next time we have a mission, I fly it and you can stay behind and fill out flimsi forms.”

“Wedge, Wedge, that’s what an executive officer is for.” Luke grinned. “See you in the morning, Captain.”

The blue-white veil of hyperspace ripped open, revealing a blue-green and golden world against a dark blanket of stars. Dantooine, Luke thought. It looks beautiful from here. Too bad we can’t stay and enjoy it for a bit. “Rogue Group, check in,” he ordered.

“Rogue Five, looking forward to boredom,” Puck said cheerfully.

“Rogue Six, still alive,” Hobbie said dryly, “though I’d feel better if this U-wing had ejection seats.”

“Rogue Two, all green,” Sarkli reported in, “but my astromech is reporting Imperial IFF contacts on long-range.”

Luke straightened in his cockpit. “Five, Six, confirm Imperial IFFs,” he ordered. “Artoo, transmit our pickup code.”

The blue-and-white astromech blatted irritably, a moment later confirming with a low whistle. Luke drummed his fingers on his leg and waited.

“Rogue Three, confirming multiple Imperial IFFs on long-range,” Mara’s voice crackled over the comm from the U-wing’s copilot seat. “Looks like an Imperial Nebulon-B Frigate and two Raider corvettes. I’m not picking up TIEs or shuttles, but that could just mean they’re either parked or they’re down in atmosphere.”

“Which means they’re probably looking for Tycho,” Luke said grimly, running the numbers in his head. The Imperial Nebulon-B was a more heavily-armored, slower version of the Rebellion’s cut-down frigate. It wasn’t directly a threat to the Rogues – the nimble X-wings could easily stay out of range, and even the U-wing should be able to manage it – but the vessel could field a squadron of TIE fighters and a handful of support vessels or heavier TIE models, giving the Empire at least a four-to-one advantage in a straight fight. The Raider corvettes could also be carrying three TIEs apiece, though most of the Empire’s hunter corvettes carried none at all. In the worst-case scenario, three Rogue X-wings could be dealing with eighteen TIE fighters and three to six heavier ships, most likely TIE bombers or small boarding craft.

Very ugly, Luke concluded, but we’re not here for a straight fight. We’re here to get to one person and get him out.

“Artoo, do we have a confirmation?” he asked. His main display shifted into a wireframe of the planet ahead, with a pulsing green point. “Thanks, Artoo. Transmit to the squadron.” He switched back to external comm. “Alright, Rogues, we’re going in fast and low-profile. Celchu transmitted the confirmation. We stay away from the Empire’s big ships, drop in fast, make the rendezvous, pick up our defector, and get out. If we let the Empire draw us into a long fight, we’ll get pinned by that frigate or the corvettes, and we lose. Five and Six, stay on me until we run into TIEs. Call for help if you need it, and we keep the U-wing alive.”

“I appreciate that last part,” Hobbie said.

“Follow me in,” Luke said, opening his throttle and pointing the X-wing’s nose down at the planet. “Artoo, keep an eye out for Imperial fighter traces.”

Fire licked the nose of his X-wing as they descended rapidly through Dantooine’s atmosphere. It was possible, of course, for the Rebel team to take a slower, stealthier approach to the mission. But the Empire’s already here and looking for their missing pilot, Luke concluded. Speed gives us a better chance to get him out. Move faster than the Empire can react.

---

Mara eyed the U-wing’s long-range sensors from the copilot’s seat, trying to ignore the U-wing’s insistent bucking protest at the high-speed atmospheric insertion. Hobbie has it under control, she told herself. Just…ignore Hobbie’s reputation for crashing. 

She couldn’t help but keep at least one hand on the controls.

Mara had never flown a U-wing before, though she had on occasion ridden in one. With the stabilizer foils locked forward for the insertion, the transport was almost twice the length of her X-wing. The tandem pilot and copilot seats made for a cramped cockpit, and with Hobbie next to her she felt nearly as enclosed as she would in her snubfighter. The controls, however, were strictly Incom-standardized; the layout was nearly identical to her X-wing’s, and her muscle memory served her well. In theory, the U-wing could be flown by a single pilot, but a two-pilot team could divide the task load, not unlike the X-wing’s astromech droid taking on a number of the jobs necessary to keep a fighter in the sky.

“Coordinates locked,” Mara reported out loud as Hobbie leveled the transport off, their altitude less than five hundred meters. “We’ll be there in three minutes.”

Hobbie grunted an acknowledgement.

“Rogue Two, Rogue Five, loosen formation,” Skywalker ordered over the comm. “Maintain escort on Rogue Six. I’m going for an advance sweep.”

Sarkli and Naeco’s X-wings banked away enough to open several hundred meters of air between themselves and the U-wing, Sarkli to starboard and Naeco to port. Skywalker’s fighter accelerated out ahead, rapidly outdistancing the U-wing as he headed straight for the agreed-upon rendezvous point with the defector.

Mara stayed quiet as the U-wing approached the coordinates Rieekan had provided. As they neared, she could start to see details. An old farmhouse was clearly their destination, but on closer view she could see the disrepair. Some of the windows were instead black, gaping eyes; the roof was not uniform, but checked with missing tiles. The painted walls were faded and sun-streaked, and as Hobbie brought the U-wing in to a gentle landing, she could see visible scorch marks on the walls. Whoever lived here didn’t leave peacefully, she thought. Several other outbuildings were within fifty meters, all collapsed, save one that had been burned to the ground with only a few soot-stained uprights remaining. Green growth was steadily reclaiming the ground, indicating the fire had happened months before.

“Five minutes,” Hobbie said as the U-wing settled onto its struts. “I’m staying here and keeping the engines hot. Go find Celchu.”

Mara nodded and shrugged out of her flight harness, pulling off her flight helmet as she stood, leaving it on her seat. The DL-18 was in her hand when she reached the small troop bay and slapped the release on the door.

A rank stink assaulted her nose when she took a breath of Dantooine air. She took a moment to catalogue it as something unpleasantly botanical, then ignored it and headed straight for the farmhouse. The ground was covered in low growth, soft and muffling her footsteps as she approached. “Celchu!” she called before she reached the door. “Alliance retrieval team! Come out unarmed!”

Silence lengthened half a dozen heartbeats before a male voice finally answered. “You sound very young.”

“I am young. Come out with your hands empty.” She chewed on her lip, pushing down nervousness.

The man who appeared in the doorway had his hands up and empty, though a blaster was holstered at his hip. He was dressed in nondescript civilian clothes, grey trousers and a brown tunic that would fit in on a thousand Outer Rim worlds. He was of average height, older than Mara but probably no older than Hobbie. His blonde hair was greasy and unkempt. His face, at a glance, could’ve belonged to a planetary aristocrat, but exhaustion and pain robbed it of any sort of haughtiness. “A shot that destroyed a world,” he said.

“And a shot that rocked the galaxy,” Mara countersigned. “Tycho Celchu?”

He nodded. “Formerly of the Star Destroyer Accuser, 252nd TIE wing, second squadron.” His lips twisted into a facsimile of a smile. “You’re late. Rieekan sent you?”

“We came when we got the mission,” Mara countered. “We were a little busy evacuating Yavin.”

Tycho’s eyes widened. “Rieekan’s last transmission said he’d be sending a team to take me there. Where are we going?”

“Elsewhere,” Mara said dryly, pointing at the U-wing with her free hand. “That’s our ride out of here. There are Imperial ships in orbit looking for you.”

Celchu winced as he started walking toward the waiting transport. “That smuggler that gave me a ride from Commenor to here must have sold me out.”

“Or maybe you were spotted at a starport. Or maybe they’re actually looking for your smuggler buddy. A hundred things could have gone wrong,” Mara pointed out, walking beside him with blaster in hand but not pointing at him.

The defector shook his head. “Who are you?”

“Flight Officer Jade, Rogue Squadron.”

Celchu frowned. “Rogue Squadron? Never heard of it.”

Mara offered him a predator’s smile. “You will.”

They stepped into the U-wing, and Skywalker’s voice crackled over the comm. “Do you have Celchu? We’ve got multiple contacts coming in now. Six, I need you in the air now.”

Hobbie was looking back and Mara gave him a thumbs-up as she slapped the control to close the troop bay door. The engines whined as Hobbie started feeding them more power. “You’re going to want to strap in,” Mara said, pointing at the back-to-back benches normally used for hauling squads of troops. “Extract might get a little rough.”

Tycho nodded, then peered closer at her. “That’s Alderaanian,” he said. “You’re from Alderaan?”

Mara glanced down and saw the pendant had worked its way out from under her flight suit. She jammed her blaster in its holster, then reached up to tuck the pendant away. “No,” she said shortly. “Strap in. I’d hate for you to break your neck when the shooting starts.” Without a further word, she turned her back and stalked back to the copilot’s chair, feeling the U-wing rise and shift beneath her as Hobbie took off.

Klivian glanced over at her as she strapped back in and slid her helmet on. “Everything okay?”

Mara merely shook her head.

---

“Five, Two, report,” Luke ordered over the comm, his X-wing’s etheric rudder whining faintly as he snapped his tail straight. A squeeze of the trigger sent four laser bolts flashing through the Dantooine sky, and the TIE in his sights, two hundred meters ahead, detonated instantly.

“Five here,” Puck answered immediately. “Still flying. We’ve got TIEs converging on us from north and south. I think they knew where our defector was.”

The third TIE exploded, this one close enough to rattle Luke’s X-wing. “Two,” Sarkli said calmly, as though he hadn’t just hit a four-hundred-meter deflection shot. “Six TIEs from the north, six from the south, and three vectoring from high orbit.”

“They knew exactly where he was,” Luke said grimly. “Hobbie, can the U-wing pick up the Raiders or that Nebulon on long-range?”

“Negative, boss,” Hobbie answered a moment later. “We’re too deep in the soup.”

“Artoo, give me a local topography map,” Luke said, glancing down at his main monitor. There. “We run straight east. Two kilometers out and we drop into a series of rough canyons. The X-wings and the U-wing can handle that at speed better than the TIEs, and their sensors hate ground clutter. We shake them off, get some distance, and then climb for orbit. Go, Five, go!”

The U-wing’s drives flared at full thrust, fast but not nearly as quick or nimble as an X-wing. In orbit, or ducking through an asteroid field, the TIE fighters trying to converge on them would be much faster than the Rebel craft and as nimble as the X-wings, but deep in atmosphere, Incom’s insistence on all-conditions performance meant the X-wings and U-wing would have a sizable edge in maneuvering compared to Sienar’s vacuum-focused TIEs.

Luke firewalled his throttle, blasting past the U-wing and leading the way toward the canyons, trusting Puck and Sarkli to fall into rear escort positions. A glance at his rear scope showed them forming up in good fashion even as Hobbie swung the U-wing’s long s-foils into their forward-locked position, narrowing the transport’s profile and reducing the chance of a wingtip catching a canyon wall. Eyes back forward, Luke led the way, diving into the first canyon.

He pulled back his throttle, and the X-wing slowed. I could take the canyon at full throttle, but I don’t want to leave the transport behind. Rocky walls rose on either side of his wingtips; beneath him stretched a long, wide, lazy river. The distant TIEs vanished from his scopes, their sensor contacts obscured by the terrain. Come and find us if you can, Luke thought with a smile on his lips as he glanced back to see the rest of the Rogues follow him in.

The canyon narrowed, and Luke rolled his fighter, water off his port wing and empty sky to starboard. He threaded the narrow gap easily, then reversed to choose the southern fork when the canyon branched into two. “Broadcast our course, low-power, back to the rest of the squadron, Artoo,” he ordered. “Let’s not make them guess or stay so close they have to maintain visual.”

The blue-and-white astromech droid whistled, and Luke continued through the canyon. Another sweeping turn, faster than prudent but slower than Luke would’ve taken it if he’d been flying unencumbered, and suddenly there was green laser fire blinking at him from five hundred meters ahead. Artoo screamed a warning warble, and Luke shoved the stick forward, sending the X-wing perilously close to the tranquil river.

Another warning screech from Artoo, and Luke pulled back, climbing this time. A concussion missile flashed past, hit the water below and behind his X-wing, and exploded.

TIE bomber, Luke managed to identify, his guns already answering. The ponderous bomber somehow rolled between Luke’s probing shots and in a moment they were past.

Can’t turn back, got to warn…

---

Mara reacted instinctively, reaching for the controls as Hobbie banked the U-wing into the canyon. Skywalker’s voice burst from the comm. “Ambush! TIE bomb…” was all Mara registered before she saw it, closing head-to-head, her thumbs already depressing the firing studs on the yoke.

The U-wing’s twin nose-mounted laser cannons roared, and suddenly the TIE bomber was falling toward the canyon floor in two smoking halves. Hobbie spared her a glance. “Nice reflexes.”

“Thanks,” Mara managed, fully aware the only reason her hands weren’t shaking was because she was gripping the yoke. Was that…? No, it wasn’t. I didn’t reach. Didn’t flare. Visibility is death. Just reflexes and pattern recognition.

Skywalker led the way through another series of twists and forks until abruptly his X-wing rose, standing on its tail and riding a trail of fire toward space. Hobbie followed, the U-wing’s engines at full thrust. Ten thousand meters above them, clearly visible on sensors, a trio of TIEs were patrolling and spotted them, beginning to descend toward the Rebel formation.

Three TIEs jumped them the moment they rose above the canyon walls.

Mara barely registered the Imperial fighters, the U-wing’s shields sparking as laser fire impacted. “Five, stay with Six,” Sarkli called. “These are mine.”

She could only watch the scope as Sarkli’s X-wing inverted and dove, trading altitude for speed. Hobbie had the sublight engines at full throttle, clawing for space with no intention of turning back to dogfight. A U-wing transport simply wasn’t built for that sort of knife fight. The TIEs began to bank, clearly intending on making another pass on the climbing, vulnerable U-wing. The TIEs were below the U-wing, and their next pass would require them to climb to intercept. Sarkli’s quick maneuver had left him even lower than the TIEs but faster, and their turn robbed even more of their airspeed.

Sarkli’s first pass took one of the wingmen with a proton torpedo. The shockwave clearly buffeted both of the surviving TIEs, and his pass caught the second one with a clean, surgical burst of laser cannon fire. The remaining TIE snap-rolled as Sarkli flashed past, trying to settle onto the X-wing’s tail. The TIE’s airspeed disadvantage was temporary; even in atmosphere, a standard TIE line fighter could out-accelerate the X-wing in a straight line. They continued like that for two seconds, the TIE sliding into kill position on Sarkli’s tail as both fighters accelerated at full thrust.

The TIE pilot managed one burst, a glancing hit on Sarkli’s tail, before the X-wing pilot cut the X-wing hard to port, then back to starboard. The TIE tried to follow him into the flat scissors, but with the thick atmosphere dragging at his maneuvers, he lost more ground through each rapid turn. To his credit, the TIE recognized he was losing the scissors. In a few more turns, Sarkli would be on his tail. The Imperial tried to take the fight vertical, breaking out of the flat turn and climbing for altitude.

Sarkli pounced in an instant, clearly having been waiting for the maneuver, and fired. The TIE died, a quick explosion punctuating the end of the fight.

“Six, as soon as you break atmosphere, make the jump,” Skywalker ordered. Mara looked ahead and could see, distantly, he was tangling with all three TIEs. How he’d prevented them from bypassing him on their dive and pouncing on the U-wing, she didn’t know; she’d missed the start of Skywalker’s skirmish while watching Sarkli below.

“Copy, Lead,” Hobbie replied. He glanced over at Mara. “Coordinates set?”

Mara’s fingers flew over the navicomputer. “We’re not coming out where I expected,” she said shortly. “Getting adjustments to the calculations now.”

Hobbie nodded, and the U-wing flashed past Skywalker’s X-wing and the three – no, now two TIEs. More distantly in orbit, with less atmosphere to interfere with the U-wing’s sensor package, Mara could make out both Raider corvettes at full acceleration, trying to cut them off. But they’re too late, she mentally calculated.

Puck had settled in off their starboard wing. “You know, I could get used to this,” he said conversationally. “Let Lead and Two do all the work. I’ll escort you all the way back to the Independence and look like the responsible one. You’ll tell the XO I stuck with you all the way, right?”

Hobbie snorted. “I’m sure he’ll be impressed, Naeco.” He glanced over at Mara.

“Coordinates set,” she confirmed as the U-wing cleared the gravity well, the Raider corvettes both too far out of position to stop them.

Hobbie merely grunted, and then the stars stretched into lines, leaving Dantooine behind.

Mara’s eyes snapped open when she registered the muffled shouting from the corridor. Groggily, she rolled off her cot – acquired by Hobbie and Sarkli in lieu of proper bunks – and stumbled to the door, shaking her head and trying to force herself to alertness as she hit the release. The door hissed open, allowing her to finally make sense of the shouting.

“…isn’t a civilian cruise ship! And then I find Wes Janson released from the medical bay and promptly vanished into this forsaken corridor that isn’t even cleared for occupation!”

Mara squinted against the harsher light of the corridor. What time is it, anyway? She glanced back into her room where a chronometer glowed in subdued red numbers. 0541. Kriff, it’s too early for this. She turned back to the escalating argument outside in the corridor.

Luke Skywalker and Wedge Antilles stood shoulder-to-shoulder, clearly blocking the path. Opposite them was another man – human, or near enough – who towered a solid thirty centimeters taller than either Skywalker or Antilles, and was at least fifty kilos heavier, a mountain of a man whose face was currently red enough to be a Zeltron. “We have authorization from Captain Verrack,” Wedge calmly answered. “I talked to him less than an hour after we landed…”

“I’m the commanding officer for the Independence air wing,” the man snarled. “All fighter operations report to me, not to Captain Verrack.”

Colonel S’man, Mara thought. He found us faster than Wedge thought he would.

“With all due respect,” Skywalker said, “you’re not in our chain of command. We’re not assigned to the Independence. Our chain of command runs through General Dodonna to High Command.”

“Your little vanity group was assigned to Massassi Base, which is now in Imperial hands,” S’man ground out. “Your base of operations is now the Independence, which puts you under my purview.”

By this time, more hatches in the corridor were sliding open. Mara turned enough to see that Hobbie, Sarkli, and Puck had all become aware of the argument; and further down, Wes Janson leaned into the hallway, his expression more asleep than awake.

S’man picked it up immediately. “Lieutenant Janson!” he shouted. “Report to the main hangar at 0700. You’re slotted for the bomber squadron.”

Mara glanced back down the corridor and saw Wes offering a jaunty smile and wave.

“No, he’s not,” Wedge said smoothly. “He’s assigned to our squadron. It’s already recorded with Captain Verrack, along with our authorization to occupy these quarters, approved requisitions for fuel and munitions for our X-wings, and scheduled maintenance for our fighters and astromechs. If you don’t like it, take it up with Captain Verrack.”

S’man turned on Wedge, his face now a match for the stripes on Wedge and Skywalker’s X-wings. “Listen here, Antilles! Your little rogue squadron may be squatting in my auxiliary hangar for now, but all fighter operations run through me. This is my air wing, and you won’t be setting up your own kingdom on the Independence like the rules don’t apply to you!”

“Colonel, if you have a problem with our authorizations or activities or roster, I’d suggest you take it up with General Dodonna,” Skywalker said mildly. “We’re operating under High Command’s authority. Or perhaps you’d like to appeal to High Command directly. I’m sure Mon Mothma and Princess Leia will gladly set aside their critical work keeping the Alliance together to deal with your complaints about the squadron that pulled a general off Yavin that had already been left for dead. We did commit the crimes of parking in an auxiliary hangar, servicing our own X-wings, and sleeping.”

The colonel stared daggers at Skywalker and Wedge in turn. “This isn’t over. I’ll have Janson back on my roster before the day’s over, and filling the holes in my fighter wing is far more important to the war than keeping your little group together.”

Wedge crossed his arms. “We’re not going anywhere, Colonel. But I’d be surprised if anyone at the command level is eager to disband the Hero of Yavin’s own squadron, the day after we saved General Dodonna’s life.”

“I’ll be back after I’ve had your authorizations revoked,” S’man hissed. His glare slid past Skywalker and Antilles to the pilots in the hallway, though his face twisted into surprise when he spotted Mara. Then he turned and stormed away, two aides in his wake.

Mara rubbed her face tiredly, looking down at herself and belatedly realizing she was only half-dressed in sleep clothes and barefoot, her pendant exposed instead of tucked away. In her right hand she was gripping her DL-18. Oh, that explains the look.

Skywalker and Wedge turned back toward the corridor and their pilots: eight in total with Karie Neth finally joining them. Unlike Mara, she’d taken the time to get dressed before exiting her quarters. Probably better that S’man didn’t know Wedge had signed up one of the escort pilots, too, Mara decided.

“That went well,” Skywalker said dryly.

“As expected,” Wedge answered just as dry.

Skywalker grinned, and Mara wanted to shoot him on principle. No one should be that cheerful at this forsaken hour.

“I like it,” he said.

“It does have a ring to it,” Wedge agreed.

“What does?” Mara finally found her voice, raspy from sleep.

“Rogue Squadron. It’s definitely going to be in S’man’s written complaint.” Skywalker’s grin broadened. “He meant it as an insult. Let’s make it ours.” His gaze shifted down and around the corridor at each of the pilots: Hobbie, Sarkli, Karie, Wes, Puck, and finally Mara.

“Rogue Squadron,” Puck repeated thoughtfully after a moment. “It’s no Skywalker’s Angels, but it has a ring to it.”

Smiles began to spread up and down the corridor as each of them considered it, and Mara felt her own lips tug upward as well.

Wedge crossed his arms. Even his expression had cracked its usual serious mask. “Rogue Squadron it is.”

---

The cluster of rooms and cargo bays attached to the Auxiliary Two hangar was extensive and, thankfully, almost devoid of any stored goods. Wedge had already earmarked empty rooms for a squadron lounge and a briefing room, with two smaller rooms marked with flimsiplast signs as the CO and XO offices. One of the pilots, almost certainly Puck or Wes, had strung together a flimsiplast banner at the end of the corridor declaring the entire area “Rogue Territory.”

Luke had merely smiled and let it go. “Good for morale,” he’d told a disapproving Wedge. “It doesn’t affect squadron discipline in any real way.”

“Are you sure you want to thumb your nose at S’man like that?” Wedge had asked.

“We just adopted ‘Rogue Squadron’ as our moniker. I doubt the flimsi is going to make it worse.”

Wedge had vanished into the Independence proper to continue his datapad war with Colonel S’man, and Luke had dragged a few empty crates into his designated office for temporary furniture. A trio of large crates pressed together formed a makeshift desk, and he sat on a smaller crate with its twin sitting across from the desk as a guest seat. It was moderately ridiculous, but it gave Luke room to spread out several datapads and a stack of datacards. Before disappearing, Wedge had pulled the most recent list of stray pilots littering the Independence after the evacuation of Yavin. If we’re lucky, we can fill out the rest of the squadron before S’man snatches them all up.

Luke was deep in the roster when a knock echoed from the hatch. He looked up just before it slid open.

“Commander Skywalker,” Sarkli said from the doorway.

“Sarkli,” Luke answered with a nod.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. Please, sit.” Luke offered a self-deprecating smile. “Don’t worry, my chair isn’t any better than yours.”

The Pathfinder sat down on the crate, looking slightly ridiculous. Luke was sure he didn’t look any better. “I aspire to having actual furniture for the squadron,” he said dryly. “Though this probably fits our new name better.”

Sarkli smiled faintly but waited without speaking.

Here it goes, Luke thought grimly. “I assumed you’d want to talk to me about what happened on Yavin.”

“Respectfully, Commander, we got the Luminous and General Dodonna out,” Sarkli said flatly. “The mission was a success.”

“Yes, it was,” Luke said steadily. “But, as Captain Antilles and I discussed, success isn’t the only measure of command decisions.”

A trace of irritation crossed Sarkli’s face. “Permission to speak freely, Commander?”

“Granted,” Luke said, deliberately setting his hands on his makeshift desk, defying his instinctive desire to cross his arms.

“You had a Pathfinder on your wing when we were covering the Luminous. The mission changed and required a ground extraction, and when you made the call for someone to accompany you, instead of the Pathfinder – me – you took Flight Officer Jade with you. And I’d like to understand why.”

And there it is, Luke thought. At least Sarkli’s willing to approach it directly. “You’re a better flier than Jade. I ordered you to continue covering the evacuation. When we got Dodonna out, clear skies were critical for survival.”

“With all due respect, that’s bantha droppings,” Sarkli said, a little more heat edging into his voice. “Captain Antilles and Two Flight were already providing high cover.”

“Sarkli, your experience as a Pathfinder is valuable,” Luke said steadily. “It’s one of the reasons Captain Antilles recommended you for the squadron. Your simulator scores were very good, and that earned you a training flight so I could evaluate you. Our training flight turned into a combat mission and you did well and followed orders. That earned you a slot in the unit.”

“Then why didn’t you take me?” the other man asked, his voice tightly controlled.

“Because I made a snap judgment call in the middle of a combat zone,” Luke answered. “It was the call I thought was our best chance of getting Dodonna back and the Luminous safely away from Yavin.”

“That’s not an answer,” Sarkli said.

Luke shook his head. “It’s not the answer you want.”

“It’s not an answer at all.”

Luke took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and let it out before he spoke again, forcing his own irritation down. “You’re right.”

Sarkli froze at that.

“On paper, you were – are – the obvious choice for that scenario,” the commander continued. “You have ground combat training. You have experience in commando operations. If Captain Antilles had made the call, you would’ve gone into the Temple with me. And if we had planned for that operation, rather than it being forced on us, I would have assigned you to the role.” He kept pushing through, even as Sarkli’s eyes narrowed. “But it wasn’t planned, and Captain Antilles didn’t make the call. When the moment came, I made the call and I chose Jade. We got Dodonna. We got out. All of us made it off Yavin.”

“Sir, success doesn’t mean a call was right,” Sarkli said, heat back in his voice.

“You’re right, it doesn’t.”

For the first time since he’d entered the makeshift office, Sarkli looked uncertain.

“I own that call, Sarkli. Not Captain Antilles. Not Flight Officer Jade. Not you. Me. If it had gone wrong, it would be a reflection on my command, nobody else.”

“And what happens the next time?” Sarkli asked.

“The next time, I expect you to follow orders,” Luke said. “Even if they don’t make sense to you. Even if you think I’m wrong.”

Sarkli’s chin lifted. “I followed orders over Yavin.”

“I know you did.”

“I also expect my commanding officer to use my skills appropriately.”

“So do I,” Luke said, meeting Sarkli’s gaze.

The silence stretched uncomfortably before Sarkli answered, his tone chilly. “Understood.”

“I’m not blind to what you bring to the squadron, Lieutenant,” Luke said after another moment. “You have valuable training. Valuable experience. Valuable skills, both developed and natural. I have no doubt we’ll have missions, sooner than I’d like, where you will be the difference between success and failure.” He hesitated. “I understand you disagreed with my orders. It matters to me that you followed your orders far more than whether you agreed with them. The next time you disagree with one of my orders, though, bring it to me directly. Not over the squadron comm while we’re in the thick of combat.”

“Yes, Commander,” Sarkli said stiffly, hearing the dismissal in Luke’s tone and rising to his feet.

“And Sarkli,” Luke added, “don’t take what happened on Yavin as a lack of trust. I wouldn’t put you on my wing if I didn’t trust you.”

The Pathfinder nodded, tightly controlled, and left.

Luke felt like he’d taken a surprise test and failed.

---

Wedge was happy to see a trio of ground crew in the Auxiliary Two hangar when he arrived. Fuel umbilicals, connected to the Independence‘s internal distribution network, sprawled across the hangar decking to the six X-wings standing ready. The fighters looked too small, too few to be occupying the hangar alone. There will be more soon, Wedge told himself. Even if S’man is going to fight us tooth and claw for every spaceframe and astromech.

Behind the X-wings, Wes, Sarkli, Hobbie, and Puck were sitting on crates around a large, empty wire spool. Card game, Wedge identified it from a distance. Probably sabacc. Three meters beyond them, leaning against the bulkhead, Mara and Karie were deep in a discussion of some sort. Judging by Karie’s hand motions, Wedge suspected Karie was explaining a recent combat mission, possibly her most recent that had left her squadron-orphaned and now a member of Rogue Squadron.

Rogue Squadron, Wedge laughed to himself. S’man is probably chewing metal shavings right now off the bulkhead. He glanced around, looking for Luke.

As if summoned by the thought, Luke’s voice called from behind him, coming through the same corridor Wedge had just trod. “Captain!”

Wedge turned and froze. Skywalker wasn’t alone. Accompanying him was an older man in an Alliance general’s uniform, fair-skinned with dark brown hair that hadn’t yet begun to grey. “General Rieekan,” Wedge said, snapping into a salute.

“Captain Antilles,” Rieekan answered soberly. “I was looking for you and Skywalker both.”

“You have us both now, sir,” Wedge said. “Is this about Colonel S’man?”

“Indirectly.” Rieekan went silent for a moment, giving Wedge a moment to evaluate the Rebel officer.

Carlist Rieekan was a well-known officer in the Rebellion. He’d entered the Republic’s Judicial forces, and after the declaration of the New Order, he’d shifted his allegiance to his homeworld of Alderaan. When Bail Organa began building the resistance on Alderaan, Rieekan had been one of his founding members. Bail had died only a few months ago on Alderaan when the Death Star attacked, but Rieekan had been offworld on a mission for the Alliance. And now, at least according to scuttlebutt, Rieekan was maintaining what was left of Organa’s network.

“I understand your Red Squadron caused quite a stir with the air wing,” Rieekan said at least.

“Rogue Squadron,” Luke corrected.

Rieekan’s smile was genuine. “I heard about that, too, though I didn’t know if you were actually adopting it.”

“It was that or ‘Skywalker’s Angels’,” Wedge deadpanned. Luke shot him a betrayed look.

“Then I need Rogue Squadron for a mission,” Rieekan said, as though making a decision. “How many pilots can you put in a cockpit right now?”

“Six,” Luke answered. “The six of us that flew coming off Yavin. Lieutenant Janson is on our roster now, but he’s not quite recovered from Hesken Fever, and we’re short on X-wings anyway. Flight Officer Neth needs a familiarization course on the T-65 and we need to put her through an evaluation sim even if I had a Headhunter for her to fly.”

The general shook his head. “Five of you, then.”

“Sir?”

“I have a son of Alderaan waiting on Dantooine. Tycho Celchu, formerly of the Imperial service as a TIE Interceptor pilot on the Star Destroyer Accuser. He deserted while on shore leave on Commenor after Alderaan was destroyed. I’ve been exchanging brief encrypted messages with him on the old Fulcrum communication network. We were supposed to send a pickup team for him yesterday, but then we were forced to evacuate Massassi Base. Colonel S’man claims he can’t spare any pilots for at least three days.”

“We’re not equipped for a pickup,” Wedge said cautiously. “We’re an X-wing unit.”

“If you can be off the Independence in an hour, I’ll have a U-wing ready to fly. Your people will need to fly it.”

Wedge considered for a moment. UT-60D is an Incom ship. If we can fly X-wings, we can fly a U-wing. “Best to run with a pilot and copilot,” he said to Luke.

Luke was clearly turning over the implications himself. “Four X-wings,” he said aloud. “Me, you, Sarkli, and Puck. Hobbie as the U-wing pilot. He’s got some Y-wing experience, too, and that U-wing won’t be as nimble as one of our fighters. Mara as his copilot. He trained her, so they already know how to work together. Any other pairing we put in the U-wing won’t work as well.”

The flaw was immediately apparent to Wedge. “Three X-wings. Someone needs to stay here to make sure S’man doesn’t disassemble our squadron while we’re gone. Neth is too new, and Janson’s not the sort to leave in charge.”

“You,” Luke said.

“Me,” Wedge agreed.

Rieekan smiled faintly as the two pilots planned the mission right in front of him. “I have coordinates for a rendezvous. He’s already there and waiting. If we take too long, the Empire will probably find him first.” His already small smile faded into a hard look. “There’s already too few Alderaanians left. Celchu will have current intelligence on the latest Imperial deployments and tactics.” He paused for a moment. “If you can safely get him back to the Independence, I’ll give you first crack at him once we’re done debriefing. I know you’re already talking to evacuation pilots. S’man’s complaints have been thorough. If you want Celchu as an X-wing pilot and he’s willing, he’s yours.”

“We’ll get him back, General,” Luke said, his voice firm.

He’s already decided, Wedge noted. Not that I disagree.

“If you get Celchu back,” Rieekan said, “I’ll keep S’man off your back. Your squadron will be more useful outside of the air wing’s bureaucracy.” Rieekan nodded at both pilots. “I’ll have the rendezvous data delivered to you in half an hour. Good luck, Rogue Squadron.”

Red Group reverted from hyperspace at exactly twenty-one minutes, eight seconds.

Wedge double-checked his scopes reflexively. All six X-wings had successfully made the transition, and the Luminous was already a half kilometer ahead and below their formation. Luke led the formation in a leisurely cruise toward their destination, the Mon Calamari-built cruiser Independence. “Independence flight control, this is Massassi Red Group,” Skywalker’s voice crackled across the open channel. “We’re escorting transport Luminous with General Dodonna aboard. Requesting clearance for landing.”

“Stand by, Massassi Red Group,” a harried voice answered a few seconds later. “We’ve been overrun by evacuees here. Is there anyone behind you?”

“Negative, Independence. We were the last out of Yavin system,” Luke said.

Wedge switched his broadcast to squadron-only. “Red Group, report in by fighter status. We need any damage you’re aware of and remaining consumables.”

“Red Six,” Hobbie reported first, “no torpedoes left, fuel gauge is at sixty, and no major damage. Scoring on one of my s-foils but my droid says it’s cosmetic only.”

The rest of the group reported in, with Luke reporting last and Wedge taking notes on a datapad and beginning to plan.

“Massassi Red Group,” the flight controller called again, “transport Luminous is clear for docking in primary hangar. Fighter group, please redirect to Auxiliary Hangar Two. We’re broadcasting approach data now. We don’t have support crew in the hangar, but we’ll get them to you when we can. For now, get your fighters inside and shut it down.”

“Thank you, Independence. We’re beginning our approach now,” Luke replied.

Luke led the squadron through the requested approach to the designated auxiliary hangar, giving Wedge enough freedom to observe the star cruiser as they headed into safety.

Currently the largest cruiser in the Rebel fleet, the Independence was roughly three kilometers of Mon Calamari engineering. Originally built as a starliner, the Independence had been one of the earliest Mon Calamari ships refit for war. Refit with fabulous shields, armor, turbolasers, and capable of fielding ten squadrons of fighters, she was also theoretically the biggest weapon in the Rebel fleet. In practice, however, the Alliance simply couldn’t use the mighty warship to her full capabilities. Wedge knew from the Yavin IV squadron rotations that the Independence‘s practical air wing strength was four squadrons on its best day, but maintenance and pilot shortages meant three squadrons was a more realistic number. Her hull was capable of supporting far more Alliance personnel than the Rebellion could afford to post there, leaving large sections of the ship virtually empty.

That suited Wedge just fine.

Her sister ship, the Home One, was still undergoing refits at a hidden shipyard and was slated to take up the role of flagship. From what Wedge had gathered, most of the members of Rebel High Command were already there, protected both by the secrecy of the refit shipyard’s location and by the firepower and defenses of the headquarters vessel.

The Independence, along with the Defiance and Liberty, would no doubt vanish into the hyperlanes again now that the Yavin evacuation had been completed. Support ships cruised in a loose, slow formation around the warship. A trio of Corellian CR90 corvettes rode high cover, while a pair of Sphyrna corvettes held formation two kilometers on the other side of the Independence. Closer to the MC80a were a pair of Nebulon-B frigates, one equipped for war, the other configured as a medical support ship. A Quasar Fire-class light carrier was the final vessel in the task force, which struck Wedge as odd. Why have a starfighter carrier with the Independence when she already has more hangar space than she can use? This is why I stick to small-unit tactics and strategy.

Auxiliary Hangar Two was, as advertised by flight control, completely empty. The big hangar doors slid ponderously open as the X-wing squadron approached, internal lights brightening as they neared. Luke led the way into the empty hangar, Sarkli and Mara right behind him, then Wedge, Puck, and Hobbie.

The six X-wings looked small in the hangar. Wedge surveyed the space as his engines spooled down. Enough space here for two full squadrons in a pinch, he decided. Or one squadron comfortably. But we’re going to have to move fast.

The lack of ground crew was annoying when he popped the canopy and realized that also translated to a lack of a ladder. Grumbling under his breath, he swung out from the cockpit and slid down the fuselage, landing in a half-crouch on the hangar deck before rising to his feet. He glanced over and saw Luke already out of his X-wing and heading toward him, a smile on the Tatooine farmboy’s face.

Luke’s smile slackened when he saw Wedge’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to move fast,” Wedge said bluntly.

Skywalker’s smile vanished completely into a frown. “What’s wrong?” he repeated.

Wedge rubbed his face for a moment before answering. “The short answer is that we’re six pilots with six combat-ready X-wings and a provisional designation and an official roster that has two pilots on it, you and me. We don’t have a finalized roster, our base of operations is now in Imperial hands, and we just set down on a star cruiser with its own combat air wing that’s short on pilots.”

“You think we’ll get assigned to the air wing?” Luke asked dubiously.

“No, I think the air wing’s commanding officer, if he realizes we’re here, will use our pilots to fill holes in his squadrons, and without our pilots there is no squadron. We need to keep our people together and get our position cemented in place before the air wing comes looking for us.”

“We just pulled Dodonna off Yavin IV, and his name is on our authorization.” Luke shook his head. “I can’t imagine…”

“You need to be more imaginative,” Wedge said dryly. “Dodonna’s authorization doesn’t mean much here.” Wedge started walking toward one of the blast doors leading out of the hangar.

Luke fell into step beside him. “So what do we do?”

“First, we keep our heads down. The fact that we got diverted into this auxiliary hangar worked out in our favor. If we’d landed in the main bay where the Independence air wing operates, we’d already be fighting. If we move fast now, we can make this all work.” The blast door slid open and Wedge surveyed the darkened corridor. Perfect. “Here’s what we’re going to do.” He handed his datapad to Luke. “That has everyone’s status report post-engagement. You, Naeco, and Jade do post-flight work on all six X-wings. It doesn’t have to be fancy, but we need all of them ready to fly if we need to launch on short notice. Don’t tear apart anything you don’t have to. Don’t worry about torpedoes for now, and I’ll figure out how to get us fuel.” He waited until Luke took the datapad before continuing. “Hobbie and Sarkli are going to go find what we need: bedding, rations, caf, anything else we need to set up here and make this our own area.” He nodded at the darkened corridor. “This runs straight to Pilot Country on the Independence.”

“Pilot Country?”

Wedge gave him an exasperated look. “That’s right, you haven’t served on a cruiser yet. Any ship carrying embarked squadrons has, officially or not, a Pilot Country – quarters, briefing rooms, mess hall, usually a pilots’ lounge, and everything else the pilots and support crews need. It’s not exactly enforced, but it keeps any chaos from fighter pilots from boiling over into the rest of the ship’s crew. We want to stay out of it for now, because we don’t want the attention. We’re going to put our pilots in these rooms, right next to the hangar, and you and I are going to take the two rooms at the furthest end of the corridor. If someone comes walking into our area to try to reassign one of our people, you and I are in the way to stop them.”

“And what are you going to do?” Luke asked, clearly catching on.

“I’m going to see if I can find the ship CO and formalize our status here, including our current roster. If I can get him to sign off on us, whenever the air wing CO comes looking for us, we have paperwork to hide behind.” He pursed his lips for a moment. “Assuming you’re approving our current roster.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“Do you have any doubts about any of our pilots?” Wedge asked. “We were supposed to be flying an evaluation mission this morning, if you’ll recall. And then the shooting started.”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “No, I think after that they’re all on the roster.”

“I saw the hesitation. You and I are going to talk about what happened on Yavin, but after we make sure the air wing doesn’t pull us apart.” Wedge gave him a level look. “But that conversation’s later, not now.”

Luke winced. “I’ll give the orders. Go get us the paperwork we need.”

---

Hera Syndulla stood on the bridge of the MC80 cruiser Liberty with her arms crossed. “Check it again. Six X-wings and a GR-75 transport, the Luminous.”

The flight controller threw up his hands. “General, I can check it as many times as you want, but I don’t have any arrivals matching your description. None of the GR-75 transports I’ve got registered here are Luminous. Everything else was smaller, and we’ve had no X-wing groups arrive in the same time period that weren’t part of our air group.”

The Twi’lek general closed her eyes for a moment. They were in open space, they were clearly getting ready to jump. So why aren’t they…oh, stars, Hera. She gritted her teeth. “I never actually checked which rendezvous they were headed toward,” she ground out. “Sorry, lieutenant. They must have jumped to the Independence or the Defiance.” She turned, one hand gripping the other behind her back. “Comms, get me the Independence.”

The Mon Calamari officer at comms shook his head. “Sorry, General. Long-range communication is down. We can’t reach either the Independence or the Defiance. Either the Empire’s blanket-jamming, they’ve hit our comm relays, or…”

Or they were ambushed and destroyed, Hera finished silently. Unlikely, especially without them at least getting a distress call out.

She mulled her options for a moment. No long-range communication with the other task forces. I could take the Liberty directly to one of the other rendezvous points, but we’re under orders to scatter as soon as the evacuation is complete. I could order the Liberty task force to jump as planned and take the Ghost myself, but then I’m abandoning my command for a personal mission. Or I can follow the plan and abandon Mara. Hera considered that for a moment. This was so much easier a few years ago, when it was just Phoenix Group and Commander Sato. I wouldn’t hesitate. 

“Signal the task force,” Hera said slowly. “Evacuation is complete. We’ll be jumping to Point Baker. And keep trying to raise Independence and Defiance on long-range comms,” she added.

The noise on the Liberty‘s bridge rose as jump calculations began, fighter patrols were ordered to return, and support ships began maneuvering into their assigned positions for a jump.

It’s not abandoning Mara, she told herself. But when we get comms back up, I’ll find her. I’ll talk to Skywalker to make sure Mara is safe. And I am going to kill Wedge and Hobbie for not telling me they were recruiting her for Skywalker’s squadron. What were they thinking? Karabast, she’s just a kid.

And then the guilt hit her again. She’s older than Sabine or Ezra were when we started missions on Lothal. You told yourself you were going to do better keeping track of her after you found out Wedge and Hobbie had been training her for months. And she slipped through the cracks again. That’s not on Wedge, that’s on you. And now she’s in the middle of whatever Skywalker and Wedge are doing. So I’ll find her and, Force help me, if Skywalker’s doing something insane, I’ll drag her back to the Liberty kicking and screaming if that’s what it takes.

---

Luke was vaguely amused as he finished post-flight checks on Wedge’s X-wing. Wedge had noted a temperature spike on his lower starboard laser cannon. Luke had found the issue, a kinked coolant line, but had also discovered a power coupler installed backward. Written inside the cover panel with grease pencil was a note in Wedge’s handwriting: Installed backward on purpose. Works better this way.

He shook his head and finished fastening the cover panel back in place, glancing over to where Mara and Puck were working together to finish Hobbie’s X-wing. The T-65Bs had come through the engagement on Yavin IV admirably, and though they needed to be topped off with fuel, all six could fly if needed.

Luke could hear them coming before the hangar blast door opened, Sarkli in the lead pushing a repulsorcart, Hobbie right behind him with a second, and a third person walking side-by-side with Hobbie. Luke dropped his spanner in a toolbox and walked over to see what they’d brought back.

“Bedding for a squadron,” Sarkli announced as Luke neared. “Blankets, pillows, some sleepwear we borrowed. Also have some clean flightsuits and unmarked fatigues for shipboard use. I don’t know how well any of it will fit, but we weren’t exactly picky.”

“We’re lucky the ship was so overrun,” Hobbie commented. “The quartermaster barely looked at us. Don’t think he had any idea we were fighter pilots.” He jerked a thumb at his cart. “Ration bars, datapads, datacards, a caf maker, some power cells, a holoprojector, grease pencils, and a few other things that weren’t bolted down.”

Luke’s eyes fell on the caf maker; it bore painted text: Property Of Independence Air Wing. He raised an eyebrow. “I thought we were keeping a low profile.”

“Uncaffeinated air wing CO is going to have a harder time finding you,” the third person said cheerfully. Luke looked at him for the first time. No taller than Luke himself, brown hair, brown eyes, and a rakehell grin, he walked like a pilot. “You must be Commander Skywalker. I’m here to sign up.”

“Commander Skywalker, this is Lieutenant Wes Janson. If you’re not familiar with his exploits, he’ll tell you all about them,” Hobbie deadpanned.

Luke looked at Janson again. “Wedge told me about you. Said you were evacuated off Yavin IV before I arrived because of Hesken Fever. What squadron are you with right now?”

“None. I walked out of the med bay when I heard Hobbie complaining about the ration bars.” Hobbie offered a long-suffering sigh at Wes’s comment, but Wes ignored it. “I haven’t been on a flight roster since they shipped me off Massassi Base. Porkins took my slot and no one’s given me one since.”

“So I’m not going to make a new enemy by adding you to our roster?” Luke asked.

“You’ll probably get thanked by the medical staff,” Puck Naeco chimed in from behind him.

“So does this outfit have a name?”

“We’re working on it,” Luke said, offering a handshake instead of a salute. “Red Group is our temporary designation.”

Janson shook his head. “No squadron name? That won’t do at all.” His grin widened even further. “A squadron like this, personal command of the most famous pilot in the Alliance? Skywalker’s Angels has a great ring to it.”

Puck shouted, “Yes!” even as Hobbie, Sarkli, and a late-arriving Mara objected, “No!”

Luke sighed, even as the blast door slid open again to admit Wedge Antilles. “Commander, I think we’ve got our paperwork in ord…” his voice trailed off. “Oh, Sithspit, don’t tell me we’ve got Janson now?”

“The one and only, Captain,” Wes said brightly.

Wedge shook his head and jerked a thumb toward the hallway. “Let’s talk.”

Luke followed Wedge out into the corridor, doing his best to ignore Puck and Wes’s immediate cheerful dialogue and Hobbie’s pained, “Now there are two of them.” The conversation faded as Luke and Wedge headed down to the end of the corridor, to the rooms Wedge had earmarked earlier for the two of them.

“Okay, the official paperwork first. I talked to the ship command staff and they’re aware of our presence. We’re official with Dodonna’s name on our paperwork. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him directly. Apparently, the moment he left the Luminous he was pulled into some high-level planning session. The air wing commanding officer is one Colonel S’man, and he doesn’t know we’re here yet. I got Captain Verrack to sign off on requisitions for fuel and maintenance for our X-wings. We’ve got computer access codes approved, and Sarkli, Jade, Naeco, and Klivian are all officially on the roster now. When S’man comes looking, we’ve got enough leverage to keep the squadron intact, I think, though he’ll probably lean hard on Verrack to break us up.”

“So we stick with the plan,” Luke said, nodding. “We keep our pilots here. And we get Janson added to the roster, too.”

Wedge nodded in return. “I’ve got another pilot coming, too – a Z-95 Headhunter pilot who was escorting a supply ship into Yavin IV. The supply ship and most of her flight didn’t make it. Flight Officer by the name of Karie Neth. I pulled her service record while I was waiting to meet with Captain Verrack, and her simulator scores are very good. She’ll need to run through familiarization on the X-wing, but moving from a Headhunter isn’t a big jump. With Janson, that puts us at eight with six X-wings. If we hold things together, in a few days you can probably talk to Dodonna and requisition more X-wings. He’ll respond better to you, especially after you and Jade pulled him out of the Temple.”

Wedge’s voice went flat as he finished his last statement, and Luke winced. “I was wondering when we were going to get to this part.”

“Luke, as your executive officer, I have to ask: what the hell were you thinking?“

“I was thinking I wasn’t going to leave Dodonna behind to be captured,” Luke said dryly.

“Not that. Yes, it was stupid, but it was also the right thing to do.” Wedge looked at him evenly. “Dodonna gave the evacuation order. You took the seventeen-year-old pilot with you over your other wingman, who was a Pathfinder. Sarkli spent months doing exactly what you did. You could’ve taken both of them.” Wedge’s voice rose, some real heat in it. “Luke, we’ve spent the last couple months going over small-unit tactics. We talked about how important it is to use your people to their fullest, to take advantage of their abilities. Why did you take Jade over Sarkli?“

Luke hesitated, caught off-guard. “I…” he swallowed, considering. Why did I take Mara? Why didn’t I take Sarkli?

“A couple days ago, when we went over our recruitment roster, you were dead-set on adding Jade,” Wedge continued relentlessly. “You were also very hesitant about Sarkli. But the decision’s done at this point. You have to trust your people and use their strengths.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or is the decision not over?”

“No, the decision is made. You trust Sarkli, so I trust Sarkli,” Luke said. “And after that evacuation on Yavin IV, all four of them earned their place in the squadron.”

“So why did you do it, Luke?”

Luke pursed his lips before reluctantly answering. “I don’t know why,” he admitted. “In the moment, when Dodonna ordered us out, I made the decision to land and get him out instead of allowing him to be captured. And I knew I needed to take someone with me. I don’t know why I picked Mara instead of Sarkli. And now that you pointed it out to me, I’m going to be thinking about it all night.”

“No one besides me is going to ask,” Wedge said after studying Luke’s pained expression. “You got Dodonna out. Nobody got killed. But believe me, it has your entire squadron asking questions about your command decisions. Taking Sarkli wasn’t just the right decision, it was the obvious one. And now your pilots are going to look at that and wonder what they should do the next time you issue an order that’s obviously wrong.”

Luke closed his eyes for a moment. “So, as my executive officer, what do you suggest I do?”

“Figure out why you made the call you did. Talk to Sarkli and make sure he understands you trust him. And next time you issue an order, think before it comes out of your mouth. You could’ve gotten yourself, or Jade, or Dodonna killed with that call. Next time, maybe it’s the whole squadron.” Wedge’s expression shifted to something less frustrated and something more concerned. “Luke, command means every one of these pilots is your responsibility. It’s a heavy burden to carry, which is why it’s so critical you make the right call. And we’re going to take losses. Pilots are going to die flying under your command. It’ll be a lot harder to live with if they die because you made a bad call.”

“I’ll…think about what you said,” Luke said at last.

“That’s all I’m asking. Figure this out.” Wedge jerked a thumb back at the hangar. “Let’s get everyone assigned quarters and settled in for the night. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.”