The port shields of Mon Mothma collapsed and plasma punched through the hull like a fist through flimsiplast. At the point of impact, matter became ions, and supersonic droplets of molten hull metal sleeted through the next four decks, arriving before the sound or vibration of impact, shredding the frail life-forms within before their nervous systems had time to register anything amiss. Behind that came a shock wave of superheated air expanding with such fury that blast shields bent and warped, and the wave-front swept the decks end to end, searing everything in its path. Two hundred sentient beings winked out in an instant, and a hundred more in marginal areas fell—perforated, burned, or both.
Then, like a giant taking back its breath, space sucked everything out through the gaping hole, leaving vacuum behind, and quiet.
At the helm of the Star Destroyer, it was far from quiet. Claxons blared and panicked young officers stuttered through emergency procedures. Simulated gravity vanished, and someone shrieked.
Wedge Antilles closed his eyes as the illusion of weight faded and reasserted itself.
I’m so tired of this, he thought.
He opened his eyes to a barrage of smaller plasma blasts aimed directly, it seemed, at his face as a squadron of Yuuzhan Vong coralskippers made a run straight at the bridge. Turbolasers flared three of them into debris. The rest peeled away at the last instant to avoid impacting the still-functioning bridge shields.
Wedge didn’t even blink. The skips weren’t their problem right now. That would be the Yuuzhan Vong Dreadnaught analog that had just popped into existence and blasted a hole in their side.
“Twenty degrees starboard and twelve above horizon,” Wedge commanded. “Now. Commence firing.”
He swung on the lieutenant at tactical. “What else has joined our little party?” he demanded.
“Four frigate analogs, sir,” the lieutenant told him. “Coralskippers—we’re not sure how many flights, yet. And of course, the Dreadnaught. Sir, I’d say the Yuuzhan Vong reinforcements have arrived.”
“Yes. We’ll wait a bit to see if there are any more. Tell Memory of Ithor to watch our wounded flank. We’ll have to slug this out.”
His whole body itched at the prospect. In his heart and in the caves of his reflexes, Wedge was a starfighter pilot. Sure, capital ships had firepower, but they were so slow maneuvering. He’d feel a lot better in an X-wing.
He’d feel better without the weight of dead crew on his shoulders. Losing a wingmate was hard enough. Losing two hundred …
But he wasn’t in an X-wing, and when he’d come out of retirement as a general, he’d known what he was getting himself into. So he watched, lips pursed, as the monstrous ovoid of a ship swung into view, as the Mothma’s turbolasers razoring toward yorik coral returned blossoms of plasma. Most of the lasers arrowed straight, then abruptly curved into sharp hooks and vanished as the tiny singularities the Yuuzhan Vong vessel projected pulled the light into them. About every third beam went through, however, scribbling glowing red lines in the coral hull.
“Sir, the Memory is unable to come to our aid. She’s engaged with one of the frigates, and she’s taking quite a beating.”
“Well, get somebody there. We can’t let them hit us in that flank again.”
The controller looked up from his station. “Sir, Duro Squadron is requesting the honor of protecting our flank.”
Wedge hesitated infinitesimally. Duro Squadron was a bit of a wild card, a collection of pilots—some with military experience, some without—dedicated to the liberation of their home system.
The fact that it was precisely that system they were fighting in right now could be a problem, for various reasons.
But it didn’t look like he had any other choice.
“Tell them yes, without our thanks,” Wedge said.
“Three more ships just reverted, sir,” Lieutenant Cel informed him, a catch in her voice that might be the start of panic.
“That’s it,” Wedge said. “Or it had better be. Get me General Bel Iblis.”
A moment later, a hologram of the aging general appeared.
“The reinforcements are here,” Wedge told him. “Listening posts have them coming through the Corellian Trade Spine, so they’re most likely our buddies.”
“Is it too many to handle, General Antilles?” Bel Iblis asked.
“I hope not, sir. Is your force ready?”
“We’re on our way. Good luck, General.”
“And to you.”
The image vanished. Wedge set his mouth grimly, watching the battle reports.
They had already spent a standard day in heavy fighting, driving through the outer defenses of the Duro system in a matter of hours. The inner system had put up more of a fight, but they’d been close to mopping up when Yuuzhan Vong reinforcements arrived.
Wedge had been expecting the reinforcements—counting on them, really—but they’d hit hard and fast. A reassessment of the situation put the odds marginally in favor of the Yuuzhan Vong, which again was no surprise.
It was also okay—they hadn’t come here to win, but they couldn’t leave yet, either.
“Prepare interdiction,” Wedge said.
Four more Yuuzhan Vong frigates jumped into the Duro system, changing the odds yet again.
“Sir?”
“Interdict,” he said.
The great ship’s gravity-well generators came on-line, as did those of Memory of Ithor and Olovin.
Positioned as they were around the Yuuzhan Vong force, they would prevent the Vong from leaving the system, at least until the interdiction perimeter was reduced to dust.
Of course, none of the Galactic Alliance ships could leave, either.
“Break off the attack and form up in containment positions,” Wedge said calmly. “I don’t want any of those ships reaching hyperspace.”
“What about Duro, sir?” Cel asked.
“Duro is no longer our concern, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir,” Cel said, clearly baffled.
Good. If his own people were confused, hopefully the Vong were more so.
The Alliance ships broke off their push toward the planet and retreated into a broad hemisphere, putting the Yuuzhan Vong fleet with the planet at its back, handing them back the defensive advantage that Wedge’s earlier push had taken from them, but also trapping them more securely in the system.
“Hold the line,” Wedge commanded. “We stick here.”
Spreading the battle group so thinly gave the Yuuzhan Vong an obvious advantage, but the Vong ships seemed to hesitate, perhaps suspecting another of the traps they had been so often led into lately.
Still, caution was not natural to the Yuuzhan Vong, and they now clearly had the advantage in numbers. Several destroyers began forming up for an assault on the wall the Galactic Alliance had built.
“Do they have any interdictors of their own?” Wedge asked.
“No, sir.”
“Good.”
“Yes, sir. Sir, Commander Yurf Col is requesting communication.”
Wedge repressed a sigh. “Put him on.”
A moment later a holo of the Duros commander appeared. His flat face was unreadable in terms of human expression, but Wedge had enough experience with Duros to know he was radiating a cold fury.
“Commander,” Wedge said, nodding.
The Duros came bluntly to the point.
“What in the space lanes are you up to, General Antilles? I’ve lost good pilots today, and now it appears you’ve given up our target.”
“I’m sure you are as aware of the situation as I am, Commander,” Wedge said. “The reinforcements make further assaults untenable.”
“Then why are you interdicting? That makes no sense. I happen to know that we have twice as many ships in reserve. Summon them, and let’s finish this.”
Patience, Wedge thought.
“Perhaps you aren’t aware that the Yuuzhan Vong have means of tapping our communications,” he said mildly.
“Perhaps it hasn’t occurred to you that you might have just passed on important intelligence to the enemy.”
“If we obliterate that enemy, what they learn will be of little consequence. I don’t know why you want to hold them here. They still don’t have a decisive advantage—we can win this, if we attack instead of—whatever you’re doing. And with a few reinforcements, we could certainly prevail.”
“Commander, I understand this is your home system. I understand that for you, this fight is personal. That is, in fact, one of the many reasons I am in charge of this operation and you are not. You agreed to fight under my command, and you will do so. Do you understand?”
“I understand you have bungled this from the start. We could have won in the first few hours if you had followed my advice.”
“That is your opinion,” Wedge replied. “It is not mine, and mine is the one that counts right now.”
The Duros’s eyes narrowed. “When this is over, Antilles—”
“I suggest you worry about the present, Commander. The Vong are trying to punch through and open two fronts. If they succeed, this reduces our future options considerably.”
“You are the one limiting our options. Two more frigates—”
Wedge cut him off. “Get used to this idea, Commander,” he said, “and get used to it quickly—there are no reinforcements. Nor am I yet prepared to abandon this system. Do your part, Commander, and everything will go well.”
Col remained unconvinced. “I warn you, General Antilles,” he snapped, “if you don’t explain this to me, I will force your hand.”
“You will follow your orders, period,” Wedge replied.
“General—” the Duros began, but Wedge waved the contact off and studied the reports. The attack looked like a feint to draw his net tight in one place while they hit it in another. But where?
The battle computers searched for the answer. By Wedge’s reckoning, unless the Yuuzhan Vong pulled off something amazing, he would be able to hold them off for five or six hours without significant losses. That should be enough.
He studied the on-spec chart their sensors were building of the system—after all, the Yuuzhan Vong had occupied it for more than two standard years now, which meant his intelligence of it was probably a bit behind, to say the least. At this point, an unfortunate surprise was the last thing that interested him.
When the surprise came, it came not from some hidden Yuuzhan Vong trap, but from within his own ranks.
“Sir,” control reported, “Dpso, Redheart, and Coriolis have broken formation, as has all of Duro Squadron.”
“Have they.” Wedge took a deep breath. “Get me Yurf Col again, immediately.”
A few moments later, the Duros’s hologram reappeared.
“Commander,” Wedge said, trying to keep his tone even, “there must be a glitch in our communications. You seem to be forming an assault wedge when you were ordered to hold position.”
“I have removed myself from your command, General Antilles,” Col replied. “I will not have my people sit idle in their own system, not without a good explanation. You have refused to give me one. If you will not sustain the reconquest of Duro, I am forced to do it myself.”
“You’re committing suicide and placing this entire mission in jeopardy.”
“Not if you join me.”
“I won’t.”
“Then our deaths will be on your head.”
“I’m not bluffing, Commander Col.”
“You laid this course, Antilles.”
“You cut me off earlier. I return the favor. Join us or not.”
The connection ended, and Wedge watched helplessly as the Duros ships dropped out of the perimeter, formed up, and drove straight for the largest concentration of enemy ships.
“Sir,” Cel said, “the Duros ships are taking heavy fire.”
“I can see that,” Wedge told her.
“Sir, what are they doing?”
“They’re trying to make me attack,” Wedge said.
“Then it’s a bluff, sir?”
A lightning storm was raging between the Duros ships and the Yuuzhan Vong vanguard. “No,” he said, “it’s not a bluff.”
He turned to control. “No one else breaks formation,” he said. “No one.”
“Sir, they’ll be slaughtered.”
“Yes,” Wedge said, gruffly, “they will.”
One by one, over the course of the next few hours, the Duros ships vanished in bursts of plasma. Three hours after the last was gone, another message came over the comm board. Wedge gave the order to cease interdiction, and the Galactic Alliance ships jumped, leaving Duro once again to the Yuuzhan Vong.