XII

LEIA ORGANA SAT SILENTLY BEFORE the huge display screen on which Yavin and its moons were displayed. A large red dot moved steadily toward the fourth of those satellites. Dodonna and several other field commanders of the Alliance stood behind her, their eyes also intent on the screen. Tiny green flecks began to appear around the fourth moon, to coalesce into small clouds like hovering emerald gnats.

Dodonna put a hand on her shoulder. It was comforting. “The red represents the progress of the Imperial battle station as it moves deeper into Yavin’s system.”

“Our ships are all away,” a Commander behind him declared.

A single man stood alone in the cylindrical hold, secured to the top of a rapier-thin tower. Staring through fixed-mount electrobinoculars, he was the sole visible representative of the vast technology buried in the green purgatory below.

Muted cries, moans, and primeval gurglings drifted up to him from the highest treetops. Some were frightening, some less so, but none were as indicative of power held in check as the four silvery starships which burst into view above the observer. Keeping a tight formation, they exploded through humid air to vanish in seconds into the morning cloud cover far above. Sound-shadows rattled the trees moments later, in a forlorn attempt to catch up to the engines which had produced them.

Slowly assuming attack formations combining X- and Y-wing ships, the various fighters began to move outward from the moon, out past the oceanic atmosphere of giant Yavin, out to meet the technologic executioner.

The man who had observed the byplay between Biggs and Luke now lowered his glare visor and adjusted his half-automatic, half-manual gunsights as he checked the ships to either side of him.

“Blue boys,” he addressed his intership pickup, “this is Blue Leader. Adjust your selectors and check in. Approaching target at one point three …”

Ahead, the bright sphere of what looked like one of Yavin’s moons but wasn’t began to glow with increasing brightness. It shone with an eerie metallic glow utterly unlike that of any natural satellite. As he watched the giant battle station make its way around the rim of Yavin, Blue Leader’s thoughts traveled back over the years. Over the uncountable injustices, the innocents taken away for interrogation and never heard from again—the whole multitude of evils incurred by an increasingly corrupt and indifferent Imperial government. All those terrors and agonies were concentrated, magnified, represented by the single bloated feat of engineering they were approaching now.

“This is it, boys,” he said to the mike. “Blue Two, you’re too far out. Close it up, Wedge.”

The young pilot Luke had encountered in the temple briefing room glanced to starboard, then back to his instruments. He executed a slight adjustment, frowning. “Sorry, boss. My ranger seems to be a few points off. I’ll have to go on manual.”

“Check, Blue Two. Watch yourself. All ships, stand by to lock S-foils in attack mode.”

One after another, from Luke and Biggs, Wedge and the other members of Blue assault squadron, the replies came back. “Standing by …”

“Execute,” Blue Leader commanded, when John D. and Piggy had indicated they were in readiness.

The double wings on the X-wing fighters split apart, like narrow seeds. Each fighter now displayed four wings, its wing-mounted armament and quadruple engines now deployed for maximum firepower and maneuverability.

Ahead, the Imperial station continued to grow. Surface features became visible as each pilot recognized docking bays, broadcast antennae, and other man-made mountains and canyons.

As he neared that threatening black sphere for the second time, Luke’s breathing grew faster. Automatic life-support machinery detected the respiratory shift and compensated properly.

Something began to buffet his ship, almost as if he were back in his skyhopper again, wrestling with the unpredictable winds of Tatooine. He experienced a bad moment of uncertainty until the calming voice of Blue Leader sounded in his ears.

“We’re passing through their outer shields. Hold tight. Lock down freeze-floating controls and switch your own deflectors on, double front.”

The shaking and buffeting continued, worsened. Not knowing how to compensate, Luke did exactly what he should have: remained in control and followed orders. Then the turbulence was gone and the deathly cold peacefulness of space had returned.

“That’s it, we’re through,” Blue Leader told them quietly. “Keep all channels silent until we’re on top of them. It doesn’t look like they’re expecting much resistance.”

Though half the great station remained in shadow, they were now near enough for Luke to be able to discern individual lights on its surface. A ship that could show phases matching a moon … once again he marveled at the misplaced ingenuity and effort which had gone into its construction. Thousands of lights scattered across its curving expanse gave it the appearance of a floating city.

Some of Luke’s comrades, since this was their first sight of the station, were even more impressed. “Look at the size of that thing!” Wedge Antilles gasped over his open pickup.

“Cut the chatter, Blue Two,” Blue Leader ordered. “Accelerate to attack velocity.”

Grim determination showed in Luke’s expression as he flipped several switches above his head and began adjusting his computer target readout. Artoo Detoo reexamined the nearing station and thought untranslatable electronic thoughts.

Blue Leader compared the station with the location of their proposed target area. “Red Leader,” he called toward the pickup, “this is Blue Leader. We’re in position; you can go right in. The exhaust shaft is farther to the north. We’ll keep ’em busy down here.”

Red Leader was the physical opposite of Luke’s squadron commander. He resembled the popular notion of a credit accountant—short, slim, shy of face. His skills and dedication, however, easily matched those of his counterpart and old friend.

“We’re starting for the target shaft now, Dutch. Stand by to take over if anything happens.”

“Check, Red Leader,” came the other’s reply. “We’re going to cross their equatorial axis and try to draw their main fire. May the force be with you.”

From the approaching swarm, two squads of fighters broke clear. The X-wing ships dove directly for the bulge of the station, far below, while the Y-ships curved down and northward over its surface.

Within the station, alarm sirens began a mournful, clangorous wail as slow-to-react personnel realized that the impregnable fortress was actually under organized attack. Admiral Motti and his tacticians had expected the rebels’ resistance to be centered around a massive defense of the moon itself. They were completely unprepared for an offensive response consisting of dozens of tiny snub ships.

Imperial efficiency was in the process of compensating for this strategic oversight. Soldiers scrambled to man enormous defensive-weapons emplacements. Servodrivers thrummed as powerful motors aligned the huge devices for firing. Soon a web of annihilation began to envelop the station as energy weapons, electrical bolts, and explosive solids ripped out at the oncoming rebel craft.

“This is Blue Five,” Luke announced to his mike as he nose-dived his ship in a radical attempt to confuse any electronic predictors below. The gray surface of the battle station streaked past his ports. “I’m going in.”

“I’m right behind you, Blue Five,” a voice recognizable as Biggs’s sounded in his ears.

The target in Luke’s sights was as stable as that of the Imperial defenders was evasive. Bolts flew from the tiny vessel’s weapons. One started a huge fire on the dim surface below, which would burn until the crew of the station could shut off the flow of air to the damaged section.

Luke’s glee turned to terror as he realized he couldn’t swerve his craft in time to avoid passing through the fireball of unknown composition. “Pull out, Luke, pull out!” Biggs was screaming at him.

But despite commands to shift course, the automatic pressors wouldn’t allow the necessary centrifugal force. His fighter plunged into the expanding ball of superheated gases.

Then he was through and clear, on the other side. A rapid check of his controls enabled him to relax. Passage through the intense heat had been insufficient to damage anything vital—though all four wings bore streaks of black, carbonized testimony to the nearness of his escape.

Hell-flowers bloomed outside his ship as he swung it up and around in a sharp curve. “You all right, Luke?” came Biggs’s concerned query.

“I got a little toasted, but I’m okay.”

A different, stern voice sounded. “Blue Five,” warned the squadron leader, “you’d better give yourself more lead time or you’re going to destroy yourself as well as the Imperial construction.”

“Yes, sir. I’ve got the hang of it now. Like you said, it’s not exactly like flying a skyhopper.”

Energy bolts and sun-bright beams continued to create a chromatic maze in the space above the station as the rebel fighters crisscrossed back and forth over its surface, firing at whatever looked like a decent target. Two of the tiny craft concentrated on a power terminal. It blew up, throwing lightning-sized electric arcs from the station’s innards.

Inside, troopers, mechanicals, and equipment were blown in all directions by subsidiary explosions as the effects of the blast traveled back down various conduits and cables. Where the explosion had hulled the station, escaping atmosphere sucked helpless soldiers and ’droids out into a bottomless black tomb.

Moving from position to position, a figure of dark calm amid the chaos, was Darth Vader. A harried Commander rushed up to him and reported breathlessly.

“Lord Vader, we count at least thirty of them, of two types. They are so small and quick the fixed guns cannot follow them accurately. They continuously evade the predictors.”

“Get all TIE crews to their fighters. We’ll have to go out after them and destroy them ship by ship.”

Within numerous hangars red lights began flashing and an insistent alarm started to ring. Ground crews worked frantically to ready ships as flight-suited Imperial pilots grabbed for helmets and packs.

“Luke,” requested Blue Leader as he skimmed smoothly through a rain of fire, “let me know when you’re off the block.”

“I’m on my way now.”

“Watch yourself,” the voice urged over the cockpit speaker. “There’s a lot of fire coming from the starboard side of that deflection tower.”

“I’m on it, don’t worry,” Luke responded confidently. Putting his fighter into a twisting dive, he sliced once more across metal horizons. Antennae and small protruding emplacements burst into transitory flame as bolts from his wing tips struck with deadly accuracy.

He grinned as he pulled up and away from the surface as intense lines of energy passed through space recently vacated. Darned if it wasn’t like hunting womp-rats back home in the crumbling canyons of Tatooine’s wastes.

Biggs followed Luke on a similar run, even as Imperial pilots prepared to lift clear of the station. Within the many docking bays technical crews rushed hurriedly to unlock power cables and conclude desperate final checks.

More care was taken in preparing a particular craft nearest one of the bay ports, the one into which Darth Vader barely succeeded in squeezing his huge frame. Once set in the seat he slid a second set of eye shields across his face.

The atmosphere of the war room back in the temple was one of nervous expectancy. Occasional blinks and buzzes from the main battle screen sounded louder than the soft susurration of hopeful people trying to reassure one another. Near a far corner of the mass of flickering lights a technician leaned a little closer to his own readouts before speaking into the pickup suspended near his mouth.

“Squad leaders—attention; squad leaders—attention! We’ve picked up a new set of signals from the other side of the station. Enemy fighters coming your way.”

Luke received the report at the same time as everyone else. He began hunting the sky for the predicted Imperial craft, his gaze dropping to his instrumentation. “My scope’s negative. I don’t see anything.”

“Maintain visual scanning,” Blue Leader directed. “With all this energy flying, they’ll be on top of you before your scope can pick them up. Remember, they can jam every instrument on your ship except your eyes.”

Luke turned again, and this time saw an Imperial already pursuing an X-wing—an X-wing with a number Luke quickly recognized.

“Biggs!” he shouted. “You’ve picked one up. On your tail … watch it!”

“I can’t see it,” came his friend’s panicked response. “Where is he? I can’t see it.”

Luke watched helplessly as Biggs’s ship shot away from the station surface and out into clear space, closely followed by the Imperial. The enemy vessel fired steadily at him, each successive bolt seeming to pass a little closer to Biggs’s hull.

“He’s on me tight,” the voice sounded in Luke’s cockpit. “I can’t shake him.”

Twisting, spinning, Biggs looped back toward the battle station, but the pilot trailing him was persistent and showed no sign of relinquishing pursuit.

“Hang on, Biggs,” Luke called, wrenching his ship around so steeply that straining gyros whined. “I’m coming in.”

So absorbed in his pursuit of Biggs was the Imperial pilot that he didn’t see Luke, who rotated his own ship, flipped out of the concealing gray below and dropped in behind him.

Electronic crosshairs lined up according to the computer-readout instructions, and Luke fired repeatedly. There was a small explosion in space—tiny compared with the enormous energies being put out by the emplacements on the surface of the battle station. But the explosion was of particular significance to three people: Luke, Biggs, and, most particularly, to the pilot of the TIE fighter, who was vaporized with his ship.

“Got him!” Luke murmured.

“I’ve got one! I’ve got one!” came a less restrained cry of triumph over the open intercom. Luke identified the voice as belonging to a young pilot known as John D. Yes, that was Blue Six chasing another Imperial fighter across the metal landscape. Bolts jumped from the X-wing in steady succession until the TIE fighter blew in half, sending leaflike glittering metal fragments flying in all directions.

“Good shooting, Blue Six,” the squadron leader commented. Then he added quickly, “Watch out, you’ve got one on your tail.”

Within the fighter’s cockpit the gleeful smile on the young man’s face vanished instantly as he looked around, unable to spot his pursuer. Something flared brightly nearby, so close that his starboard port burst. Then something hit even closer and the interior of the now open cockpit became a mass of flames.

“I’m hit, I’m hit!”

That was all he had time to scream before oblivion took him from behind. Far above and to one side Blue Leader saw John D.’s ship expand in a fiery ball. His lips may have whitened slightly. Otherwise he might as well never have seen the X-wing explode, for all the reaction he displayed. He had more important things to do.

On the fourth moon of Yavin a spacious screen chose that moment to flicker and die, much as John D. had. Worried technicians began rushing in all directions. One turned a drawn face to Leia, the expectant Commanders, and one tall, bronzed robot.

“The high-band receiver has failed. It will take some time to fix …”

“Do the best you can,” Leia snapped. “Switch to audio only.”

Someone overheard, and in seconds the room was filled with the sounds of distant battle, interspersed with the voices of those involved.

“Tighten it up, Blue Two, tighten it up,” Blue Leader was saying. “Watch those towers.”

“Heavy fire, Boss,” came the voice of Wedge Antilles, “twenty-three degrees.”

“I see it. Pull in, pull in. We’re picking up some interference.”

“I can’t believe it,” Biggs was stammering. “I’ve never seen such firepower!”

“Pull in, Blue Five. Pull in.” A pause, then, “Luke, do you read me? Luke?”

“I’m all right, Chief,” came Luke’s reply. “I’ve got a target. I’m going to check it out.”

“There’s too much action down there, Luke,” Biggs told him. “Get out. Do you read me, Luke? Pull out.”

“Break off, Luke,” ordered the deeper tones of Blue Leader. “We’ve hit too much interference here. Luke, I repeat, break off! I can’t see him. Blue Two, can you see Blue Five?”

“Negative,” Wedge replied quickly. “There’s a fire zone here you wouldn’t believe. My scanner’s jammed. Blue Five, where are you? Luke, are you all right?”

“He’s gone,” Biggs started to report solemnly. Then his voice rose. “No, wait … there he is! Looks like a little fin damage, but the kid’s fine.”

Relief swept the war room, and it was most noticeable in the face of the slightest, most beautiful Senator present.

On the battle station, troopers worn half to death or deafened by the concussion of the big guns were replaced by fresh crews. None of them had time to wonder how the battle was going, and at the moment none of them much cared, a malady shared by common soldiers since the dawn of history.

Luke skimmed daringly low over the station’s surface, his attention riveted on a distant metal projection.

“Stick close, Blue Five,” the squadron commander directed him. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve picked up what looks like a lateral stabilizer,” Luke replied. “I’m going to try for it.”

“Watch yourself, Blue Five. Heavy fire in your area.”

Luke ignored the warning as he headed the fighter straight toward the oddly shaped protuberance. His determination was rewarded when, after saturating it with fire, he saw it erupt in a spectacular ball of superhot gas.

“Got it!” he exclaimed. “Continuing south for another one.”

Within the rebel temple-fortress, Leia listened intently. She seemed simultaneously angry and frightened. Finally she turned to Threepio and muttered, “Why is Luke taking so many chances?” The tall ’droid didn’t reply.

“Watch your back, Luke,” Biggs’s voice sounded over the speakers, “watch your back! Fighters above you, coming in.”

Leia strained to see what she could only hear. She wasn’t alone. “Help him, Artoo,” Threepio was whispering to himself, “and keep holding on.”

Luke continued his dive even as he looked back and spotted the object of Biggs’s concern close on his tail. Reluctantly he pulled up and away from the station surface, abandoning his target. His tormentor was good, however, and continued closing on him.

“I can’t shake him,” he reported.

Something cut across the sky toward both ships. “I’m on him, Luke,” shouted Wedge Antilles. “Hold on.”

Luke didn’t have to for very long. Wedge’s gunnery was precise, and the TIE fighter vanished brightly shortly thereafter.

“Thanks, Wedge,” Luke murmured, breathing a little more easily.

“Good shooting, Wedge.” That was Biggs again. “Blue Four, I’m going in. Cover me, Porkins.”

“I’m right with you, Blue Three,” came the other pilot’s assurance.

Biggs leveled them off, then let go with full weaponry. No one ever decided exactly what it was he hit, but the small tower that blew up under his energy bolts was obviously more important than it looked.

A series of sequential explosions hopscotched across a large section of the battle station’s surface, leaping from one terminal to the next. Biggs had already shot past the area of disturbance, but his companion, following slightly behind, received a full dose of whatever energy was running wild down there.

“I’ve got a problem,” Porkins announced. “My converter’s running wild.” That was an understatement. Every instrument on his control panels had abruptly gone berserk.

“Eject—eject, Blue Four,” advised Biggs. “Blue Four, do you read?”

“I’m okay,” Porkins replied. “I can hold her. Give me a little room to run, Biggs.”

“You’re too low,” his companion yelled. “Pull up, pull up!”

With his instrumentation not providing proper information, and at the altitude he was traveling, Porkins’s ship was simple for one of the big, clumsy gun emplacements to track. It did as its designers had intended it should. Porkins’s demise was as glorious as it was abrupt.

It was comparatively quiet near the pole of the battle station. So intense and vicious had been Blue and Green squadrons’ assault on the equator that Imperial resistance had concentrated there. Red Leader surveyed the false peace with mournful satisfaction, knowing it wouldn’t last for long.

“Blue Leader, this is Red Leader,” he announced into his mike. “We’re starting our attack run. The exhaust port is located and marked. No flak, no enemy fighters up here—yet. Looks like we’ll get at least one smooth run at it.”

“I copy, Red Leader,” the voice of his counterpart responded. “We’ll try to keep them busy down here.”

Three Y-wing fighters dropped out of the stars, diving toward the battle-station surface. At the last possible minute they swerved to dip into a deep artificial canyon, one of many streaking the northern pole of the Death Star. Metal ramparts raced past on three sides of them.

Red Leader hunted around, noticed the temporary absence of Imperial fighters. He adjusted a control and addressed his squadron.

“This is it, boys. Remember, when you think you’re close, go in closer before you drop that rock. Switch all power to front deflector screens—never mind what they throw at you from the side. We can’t worry about that now.”

Imperial crews lining the trench rudely awoke to the fact that their heretofore ignored section of the station was coming under attack. They reacted speedily, and soon energy bolts were racing at the attacking ships in a steadily increasing volume. Occasionally one would explode near one of the onrushing Y-wings, jostling it without real damage.

“A little aggressive, aren’t they,” Red Two reported over his mike.

Red Leader reacted quietly. “How many guns do you think, Red Five?”

Red Five, known casually to most of the rebel pilots as Pops, somehow managed to make an estimate of the trench’s defenses while simultaneously piloting his fighter through the growing hail of fire. His helmet was battered almost to the point of uselessness from the effects of more battles than anyone had a right to survive.

“I’d say about twenty emplacements,” he finally decided, “some in the surface and some on the towers.”

Red Leader acknowledged the information with a grunt as he pulled his computer-targeting visor down in front of his face. Explosions continued to rock the fighter. “Switch to targeting computers,” he declared.

“Red Two,” came one reply, “computer locked in and I’m getting a signal.” The young pilot’s rising excitement marked his reply.

But the senior pilot among all the rebels, Red Five, was expectantly cool and confident—though it didn’t sound like it from what he murmured half to himself: “No doubt about it, this is going to be some trick.”

Unexpectedly, all defensive fire from the surrounding emplacements ceased. An eerie quiet clung to the trench as the surface continued to blur past the skimming Y-wings.

“What’s this?” Red Two blurted, looking around worriedly. “They stopped. Why?”

“I don’t like it,” growled Red Leader. But there was nothing to confuse their approach now, no energy bolts to avoid.

It was Pops who was first to properly evaluate this seeming aberration on the enemy’s part. “Stabilize your rear deflectors now. Watch for enemy fighters.”

“You pinned it, Pops,” Red Leader admitted, studying a readout. “Here they come. Three marks at two-ten.”

A mechanical voice continued to recite the shrinking distance to their target, but it wasn’t shrinking fast enough. “We’re sitting ducks down here,” he observed nervously.

“We’ll just have to ride it out,” the old man told them all. “We can’t defend ourselves and go for the target at the same time.” He fought down old reflexes as his own screen revealed three TIE fighters in precision formation diving almost vertically down toward them.

“Three-eight-one-oh-four,” Darth Vader announced as he calmly adjusted his controls. The stars whipped past behind him. “I’ll take them myself. Cover me.”

Red Two was the first to die, the young pilot never knowing what hit him, never seeing his executioner. Despite his experience, Red Leader was on the verge of panic when he saw his wingman dissolve in flame.

“We’re trapped down here. No way to maneuver—trench walls are too close. We’ve got to loosen it up somehow. Got—”

“Stay on target,” admonished an older voice. “Stay on target.”

Red Leader took Pops’s words like tonic, but it was all he could do to ignore the closing TIE fighters as the two remaining Y-wings continued to streak toward the target.

Above them, Vader permitted himself a moment of undisciplined pleasure as he readjusted his targeting ’puter. The rebel craft continued to travel a straight, unevasive course. Again Vader touched finger to fire control.

Something screeched in Red Leader’s helmet, and fire started to consume his instrumentation. “It’s no good,” he yelled into his pickup, “I’m hit. I’m hit …!”

A second Y-wing exploded in a ball of vaporized metal, scattering a few solid shards of debris across the trench. This second loss proved too much even for Red Five to take. He manipulated controls, and his ship commenced rising in a slow curve out of the trench. Behind him, the lead Imperial fighter moved to follow.

“Red Five to Blue Leader,” he reported. “Aborting run under heavy fire. TIE fighters dropped on us out of nowhere. I can’t—wait—”

Astern, a silent, remorseless enemy was touching a deadly button once more. The first bolts struck just as Pops had risen high enough to commence evasive action. But he had pulled clear a few seconds too late.

One energy beam seared his port engine, igniting gas within. The engine blew apart, taking controls and stabilizing elements with it. Unable to compensate, the out-of-control Y-wing began a long, graceful plunge toward the station surface.

“Are you all right, Red Five?” a troubled voice called over the intership system.

“Lost Tiree … lost Dutch,” Pops explained slowly, tiredly. “They drop in behind you, and you can’t maneuver in the trench. Sorry … it’s your baby now. So long, Dave.… ”

It was the last message of many from a veteran.

Blue Leader forced a crispness he didn’t feel into his voice as he tried to shunt aside the death of his old friend. “Blue boys, this is Blue Leader. Rendezvous at mark six point one. All wings report in.”

“Blue Leader, this is Blue Ten. I copy.”

“Blue Two here,” Wedge acknowledged. “Coming toward you, Blue Leader.”

Luke was also waiting his turn to report when something beeped on his control board. A glance backward confirmed the electronic warning as he spotted an Imperial fighter slipping in behind him.

“This is Blue Five,” he declared, his ship wobbling as he tried to lose the TIE fighter. “I have a problem here. Be right with you.”

He sent his ship into a steep dive toward the metal surface, then cut sharply up to avoid a burst of defensive fire from emplacements below. Neither maneuver shook his pursuit.

“I see you, Luke,” came a reassuring call from Biggs. “Stay with it.”

Luke looked above, below, and to the sides, but there was no sign of his friend. Meanwhile, energy bolts from his trailing assailant were passing uncomfortably close.

“Blast it, Biggs, where are you?”

Something appeared, not to the sides or behind, but almost directly in front of him. It was bright and moving incredibly fast, and then it was firing just above him. Taken completely by surprise, the Imperial fighter came apart just as its pilot realized what had happened.

Luke turned for the rendezvous mark as Biggs shot past overhead. “Good move, Biggs. Fooled me, too.”

“I’m just getting started,” his friend announced as he twisted his ship violently to avoid the fire from below. He hove into view over Luke’s shoulder and executed a victory roll. “Just point me at the target.”

Back alongside Yavin’s indifferent bulk, Dodonna finished an intense discussion with several of his principal advisors, then moved to the long-range transmitter.

“Blue Leader, this is Base One. Double-check your own attack prior to commencement. Have your wingmen hold back and cover for you. Keep half your group out of range to make the next run.”

“Copy, Base One,” the response came. “Blue Ten, Blue Twelve, join with me.”

Two ships leveled off to flank the squadron commander. Blue Leader checked them out. Satisfied that they were positioned properly for the attack run, he set the group to follow in case they should fail.

“Blue Five, this is Blue Leader, Luke, take Blue Two and Three with you. Hold up here out of their fire and wait for my signal to start your own run.”

“Copy, Blue Leader,” Luke acknowledged, trying to slow his heart slightly. “May the force be with you. Biggs, Wedge, let’s close it up.” Together, the three fighters assumed a tight formation high above the firefight still raging between other rebel craft of Green and Yellow squadrons and the Imperial gunners below.

The horizon flip-flopped ahead of Blue Leader as he commenced his approach to the station surface. “Blue Ten, Blue Twelve, stay back until we spot those fighters, then cover me.”

All three X-wings reached the surface, leveled off, then arced into the trench. His wingmen dropped farther and farther behind until Blue Leader was seemingly alone in the vast gray chasm.

No defensive fire greeted him as he raced toward the distant target. He found himself looking around nervously, checking and rechecking the same instruments.

“This doesn’t look right,” he found himself muttering.

Blue Ten sounded equally concerned. “You should be able to pick up the target by now.”

“I know. The disruption down here is unbelievable. I think my instruments are off. Is this the right trench?”

Suddenly, intense streaks of light began to shoot close by as the trench defenses opened up. Near misses shook the attackers. At the far end of the trench a huge tower dominated the metal ridge, vomiting enormous amounts of energy at the nearing ships.

“It’s not going to be easy with that tower up there,” Blue Leader declared grimly. “Stand by to close up a little when I tell you.”

Abruptly the energy bolts ceased and all was silent and dark in the trench once again. “This is it,” Blue Leader announced, trying to locate the attack from above that had to be coming. “Keep your eyes open for those fighters.”

“All short- and long-range scopes are blank,” Blue Ten reported tensely. “Too much interference here. Blue Five, can you see them from where you are?”

Luke’s attention was riveted to the surface of the station. “No sign of—Wait!” Three rapidly moving points of light caught his eye. “There they are. Coming in point three five.”

Blue Ten turned and looked in the indicated direction. Sun bounced off stabilizing fins as the TIE fighters looped downward. “I see them.”

“It’s the right trench, all right,” Blue Leader exclaimed as his tracking scope suddenly began a steady beeping. He adjusted his targeting instrumentation, pulling his visor down over his eyes. “I’m almost in range. Targets ready … coming up. Just hold them off me for a few seconds—keep ’em busy.”

But Darth Vader was already setting his own fire control as he dropped like a stone toward the trench. “Close up the formation. I’ll take them myself.”

Blue Twelve went first, both engines blown. A slight deviation in flight path and his ship slammed into the trench wall. Blue Ten slowed and accelerated, bobbed drunkenly, but could do little within the confines of those metal walls.

“I can’t hold them long. You’d better fire while you can, Blue Leader—we’re closing on you.”

The squadron commander was wholly absorbed in lining up two circles within his targeting visor. “We’re almost home. Steady, steady …”

Blue Ten glanced around frantically. “They’re right behind me!”

Blue Leader was amazed at how calm he was. The targeting device was partly responsible, enabling him to concentrate on tiny, abstract images to the exclusion of all else, helping him to shut out the rest of the inimical universe.

“Almost there, almost there …” he whispered. Then the two circles matched, turned red, and a steady buzzing sounded in his helmet. “Torpedoes away, torpedoes away.”

Immediately after, Blue Ten let his own missiles loose. Both fighters pulled up sharply, just clearing the end of the trench as several explosions billowed in their wake.

“It’s a hit! We’ve done it!” Blue Ten shouted hysterically.

Blue Leader’s reply was thick with disappointment. “No, we haven’t. They didn’t go in. They just exploded on the surface outside the shaft.”

Disappointment killed them, too, as they neglected to watch behind them. Three pursuing Imperial fighters continued up out of the fading light from the torpedo explosions. Blue Ten fell to Vader’s precision fire, then the Dark Lord changed course slightly to fall in behind the squadron commander.

“I’ll take the last one,” he announced coldly. “You two go back.”

Luke was trying to pick the assault team out of the glowing gases below when Blue Leader’s voice sounded over the communicator.

“Blue Five, this is Blue Leader. Move into position, Luke. Start your attack run—stay low and wait until you’re right on top of it. It’s not going to be easy.”

“Are you all right?”

“They’re on top of me—but I’ll shake them.”

“Blue Five to Blue pack,” Luke ordered, “let’s go!” The three ships peeled off and plunged toward the trench sector.

Meanwhile Vader finally succeeded in hitting his quarry, a glancing bolt that nonetheless started small, intense explosions in one engine. Its R-2 unit scrambled back toward the damaged wing and struggled to repair the crippled power plant.

“R-2, shut off the main feed to number-one starboard engine,” Blue Leader directed quietly, staring resignedly at instruments which were running impossibilities. “Hang on tight, this could get rough.”

Luke saw that Blue Leader was in trouble. “We’re right above you, Blue Leader,” he declared. “Turn to point oh five, and we’ll cover for you.”

“I’ve lost my upper starboard engine,” came the reply.

“We’ll come down for you.”

“Negative, negative. Stay there and get set up for your attack run.”

“You’re sure you’re all right?”

“I think so … Stand by for a minute.”

Actually, it was somewhat less than a minute before Blue Leader’s gyrating X-wing plowed into the surface of the station.

Luke watched the huge explosion dissipate below him, knowing without question its cause, sensing fully for the first time the helplessness of his situation. “We just lost Blue Leader,” he murmured absently, not particularly caring if his mike picked up the somber announcement.

On Yavin Four, Leia Organa rose from her chair and nervously began pacing the room. Normally perfect nails were now jagged and uneven from nervous chewing. It was the only indication of physical unease. The anxiety visible in her expression was far more revealing of her feelings, an anxiety and worry that filled the war room on the announcement of Blue Leader’s death.

“Can they go on?” she finally asked Dodonna.

The General replied with gentle resolve. “They must.”

“But we’ve lost so many. Without Blue or Red Leader, how will they regroup?”

Dodonna was about to reply, but held his words as more critical ones sounded over the speakers.

“Close it up, Wedge,” Luke was saying, thousands of kilometers away. “Biggs, where are you?”

“Coming in right behind you.”

Wedge replied soon after. “Okay, Boss, we’re in position.”

Dodonna’s gaze went to Leia. He looked concerned.

The three X-wings moved close together high above the battle station’s surface. Luke studied his instruments and fought irritably with one control that appeared to be malfunctioning.

Someone’s voice sounded in his ears. It was a young-old voice, a familiar voice: calm, content, confident, and reassuring—a voice he had listened to intently on the desert of Tatooine and in the guts of the station below, once upon a time.

“Trust your feelings, Luke,” was all the Kenobi-like voice said.

Luke tapped his helmet, unsure whether he had heard anything or not. This was no time for introspection. The steely horizon of the station tilted behind him.

“Wedge, Biggs, we’re going in,” he told his wingmen. “We’ll go in full speed. Never mind finding the trench and then accelerating. Maybe that will keep those fighters far enough behind us.”

“We’ll stay far enough back to cover you,” Biggs declared. “At that speed will you be able to pull out in time?”

“Are you kidding?” Luke sneered playfully as they began their dive toward the surface. “It’ll be just like Beggars Canyon back home.”

“I’m right with you, Boss,” noted Wedge, emphasizing the title for the first time. “Let’s go …”

At high speed the three slim fighters charged the glowing surface, pulling out after the last moment. Luke skimmed so close over the station hull that the tip of one wing grazed a protruding antenna, sending metal splinters flying. Instantly they were enveloped in a meshwork of energy bolts and explosive projectiles. It intensified as they dropped down into the trench.

“We seem to have upset them,” Biggs chortled, treating the deadly display of energy as though it were all a show being put on for their amusement.

“This is fine,” Luke commented, surprised at the clear view ahead. “I can see everything.”

Wedge wasn’t quite as confident as he studied his own readouts. “My scope shows the tower, but I can’t make out the exhaust port. It must be awfully small. Are you sure the computer can target it?”

“It better,” Biggs muttered.

Luke didn’t offer an evaluation—he was too busy holding a course through the turbulence produced by exploding bolts. Then, as if on command, the defensive fire ceased. He glanced around and up for signs of the expected TIE fighters, but saw nothing.

His hand went to drop the targeting visor into position, and for just a moment he hesitated. Then he swung it down in front of his eyes. “Watch yourselves,” he ordered his companions.

“What about the tower?” Wedge asked worriedly.

“You worry about those fighters,” Luke snapped. “I’ll worry about the tower.”

They rushed on, closing on the target every second. Wedge stared upward, and his gaze suddenly froze. “Here they come—oh point three.”

Vader was setting his controls when one of his wingmen broke attack silence. “They’re making their approach too fast—they’ll never get out in time.”

“Stay with them,” Vader commanded.

“They’re going too fast to get a fix,” his other pilot announced with certainty.

Vader studied several readouts and found that his sensors confirmed the other estimates. “They’ll still have to slow down before they reach that tower.”

Luke contemplated the view in his targeting visor. “Almost home.” Seconds passed and the twin circlets achieved congruence. His finger convulsed on the firing control. “Torpedoes away! Pull up, pull up.”

Two powerful explosions rocked the trench, striking harmlessly far to one side of the minute opening. Three TIE fighters shot out of the rapidly dissipating fireball, closing on the retreating rebels. “Take them,” Vader ordered softly.

Luke detected the pursuit at the same time as his companions. “Wedge, Biggs, split up—it’s the only way we’ll shake them.”

The three ships dropped toward the station, then abruptly raced off in three different directions. All three TIE fighters turned and followed Luke.

Vader fired on the crazily dodging ship, missed, and frowned to himself. “The force is strong with this one. Strange. I’ll take him myself.”

Luke darted between defensive towers and wove a tight path around projecting docking bays, all to no avail. A single remaining TIE fighter stayed close behind. An energy bolt nicked one wing, close by an engine. It started to spark irregularly, threateningly. Luke fought to compensate and retain full control.

Still trying to shake his persistent assailant, he dropped back into a trench again. “I’m hit,” he announced, “but not bad. Artoo, see what you can do with it.”

The tiny ’droid unlocked himself and moved to work on the damaged engine as energy bolts flashed by dangerously close. “Hang on back there,” Luke counseled the Artoo unit as he worked a path around projecting towers, the fighter spinning and twisting tightly through the topography of the station.

Fire remained intense as Luke randomly changed direction and speed. A series of indicators on the control panel slowly changed color; three vital gauges relaxed and returned to where they belonged.

“I think you’ve got it, Artoo,” Luke told him gratefully. “I think—there, that’s it. Just try to lock it down so it can’t work loose again.”

Artoo beeped in reply while Luke studied the whirling panorama behind and above them. “I think we’ve lost those fighters, too. Blue group, this is Blue Five. Are you clear?” He manipulated several controls and the X-wing shot out of the trench, still followed by emplacement fire.

“I’m up here waiting, Boss,” Wedge announced from his position high above the station. “I can’t see you.”

“I’m on my way. Blue Three, are you clear? Biggs?”

“I’ve had some trouble,” his friend explained, “but I think I lost him.”

Something showed again, damnably, on Biggs’s screen. A glance behind showed the TIE fighter that had been chasing him for the past several minutes dropping in once more behind him. He swung down toward the station again.

“Nope, not yet,” Biggs told the others. “Hold on, Luke. I’ll be right there.”

A thin, mechanical voice sounded over the speakers. “Hang on, Artoo, hang on!” Back at the temple headquarters, Threepio turned away from the curious human faces which had turned to stare at him.

As Luke soared high above the station another X-wing swung in close to him. He recognized Wedge’s ship and began hunting around anxiously for his friend.

“We’re goin’ in, Biggs—join up. Biggs, are you all right? Biggs!” There was no sign of the other fighter. “Wedge, do you see him anywhere?”

Within the transparent canopy of the fighter bobbing close by, a helmeted head shook slowly. “Nothing,” Wedge told him over the communicator. “Wait a little longer. He’ll show.”

Luke looked around, worried, studied several instruments, then came to a decision. “We can’t wait; we’ve got to go now. I don’t think he made it.”

“Hey, you guys,” a cheerful voice demanded to know, “what are you waiting for?”

Luke turned sharply to his right, in time to see another ship racing past and slowing slightly ahead of him. “Don’t ever give up on old Biggs,” the intercom directed as the figure in the X-wing ahead looked back at them.

Within the central control room of the battle station, a harried officer rushed up to a figure studying the great battle screen and waved a handful of printouts at him.

“Sir, we’ve completed an analysis of their attack plan. There is a danger. Should we break off the engagement or make plans to evacuate? Your ship is standing by.”

Governor Tarkin turned an incredulous gaze on the officer, who shrank back. “Evacuate!” he roared. “At our moment of triumph? We are about to destroy the last remnants of the Alliance, and you call for evacuation? You overestimate their chances badly … Now, get out!”

Overwhelmed by the Governor’s fury, the subdued officer turned and retreated from the room.

“We’re going in,” Luke declared as he commenced his dive toward the surface. Wedge and Biggs followed just aft.

“Let’s go—Luke,” a voice he had heard before sounded inside his head. Again he tapped his helmet and looked around. It sounded as if the speaker were standing just behind him. But there was nothing, only silent metal and nonverbal instrumentation. Puzzled, Luke turned back to his controls.

Once more, energy bolts reached out for them, passing harmlessly on both sides as the surface of the battle station charged up into his face. But the defensive fire wasn’t the cause of the renewed trembling Luke suddenly experienced. Several critical gauges were beginning their swing back into the danger zone again.

He leaned toward the pickup. “Artoo, those stabilizing elements must have broken loose again. See if you can’t lock it back down—I’ve got to have full control.”

Ignoring the bumpy ride, the energy beams and explosions lighting space around him, the little robot moved to repair the damage.

Additional, tireless explosions continued to buffet the three fighters as they dropped into the trench. Biggs and Wedge dropped behind to cover for Luke as he reached to pull down the targeting visor.

For the second time a peculiar hesitation swept through him. His hand was slower yet as he finally pulled the device down in front of his eyes, almost as if the nerves were in conflict with one another. As expected, the energy beams stopped as if on signal and he was barreling down the trench unchallenged.

“Here we go again,” Wedge declared as he spotted three Imperial fighters dropping down on them.

Biggs and Wedge began crossing behind Luke, trying to draw the coming fire away from him and confuse their pursuers. One TIE fighter ignored the maneuvers, continuing to gain inexorably on the rebel ships.

Luke stared into the targeting device—then reached up slowly to move it aside. For a long minute he pondered the deactivated instrument, staring at it as if hypnotized. Then he slid it sharply back in front of his face and studied the tiny screen as it displayed the shifting relationship of the X-wing to the nearing exhaust port.

“Hurry, Luke,” Biggs called out as he wrenched his ship in time to narrowly avoid a powerful beam. “They’re coming in faster this time. We can’t hold them much longer.”

With inhuman precision, Darth Vader depressed the fire control of his fighter again. A loud, desperate shout sounded over the speakers, blending into a final agonized scream of flesh and metal as Biggs’s fighter burst into a billion glowing splinters that rained down on the bottom of the trench.

Wedge heard the explosion over his speakers and hunted frantically behind him for the trailing enemy ships. “We lost Biggs,” he yelled toward his own pickup.

Luke didn’t reply immediately. His eyes were watering, and he angrily wiped them clear. They were blurring his view of the targeting readout.

“We’re a couple of shooting stars, Biggs,” he whispered huskily, “and we’ll never be stopped.” His ship rocked slightly from a near miss and he directed his words to his remaining wingman, biting down hard on the end of each sentence.

“Close it up, Wedge. You can’t do any more good back there. Artoo, try to give me a little more power on our rear reflectors.”

The Artoo unit hurried to comply as Wedge pulled up alongside Luke’s ship. The trailing TIE fighters also increased their speed.

“I’m on the leader,” Vader informed his soldiers. “Take the other one.”

Luke flew just in front of Wedge, slightly to port side. Energy bolts from the pursuing Imperials began to streak close about them. Both men crossed each other’s path repeatedly, striving to present as confusing a target as possible.

Wedge was fighting with his controls when several small flashes and sparks lit his control board. One small panel exploded, leaving molten slag behind. Somehow he managed to retain control of the ship.

“I’ve got a bad malfunction, Luke. I can’t stay with you.”

“Okay, Wedge, get clear.”

Wedge mumbled a heartfelt “Sorry” and peeled up out of the trench.

Vader, concentrating his attention on the one ship remaining before him, fired.

Luke didn’t see the near-lethal explosion which burst close behind him. Nor did he have time to examine the smoking shell of twisted metal which now rode alongside one engine. The arms went limp on the little ’droid.

* * *

All three TIE fighters continued to chase the remaining X-wing down the trench. It was only a matter of moments before one of them caught the bobbing fighter with a crippling burst. Except now there were only two Imperials pursuing. The third had become an expanding cylinder of decomposing debris, bits and pieces of which slammed into the walls of the canyon.

Vader’s remaining wingman looked around in panic for the source of the attack. The same distortion fields that confused rebel instrumentation now did likewise to the two TIE fighters.

Only when the freighter fully eclipsed the sun forward did the new threat become visible. It was a Corellian transport, far larger than any fighter, and it was diving directly at the trench. But it didn’t move precisely like a freighter, somehow.

Whoever was piloting that vehicle must have been unconscious or out of his mind, the wingman decided. Wildly he adjusted controls in an attempt to avoid the anticipated collision. The freighter swept by just overhead, but in missing it the wingman slid too far to one side.

A small explosion followed as two huge fins of the paralleling TIE fighters intersected. Screaming uselessly into his pickup, the wingman fluttered toward the near trench wall. He never touched it, his ship erupting in flame before contact.

To the other side, Darth Vader’s fighter began spinning helplessly. Unimpressed by the Dark Lord’s desperate glower, various controls and instruments gave back readings which were brutally truthful. Completely out of control, the tiny ship continued spinning in the opposite direction from the destroyed wingman—out into the endless reaches of deep space.

Whoever was at the controls of the supple freighter was neither unconscious nor insane—well, perhaps slightly touched, but fully in command nonetheless. It soared high above the trench, turning to run protectively above Luke.

“You’re all clear now, kid,” a familiar voice informed him. “Now blow this thing so we can all go home.”

This pep talk was followed by a reinforcing grunt which could only have been produced by a particularly large Wookiee.

Luke looked up through the canopy and smiled. But his smile faded as he turned back to the targeting visor. There was a tickling inside his head.

“Luke … trust me,” the tickle requested, forming words for the third time. He stared into the targeter. The emergency exhaust port was sliding toward the firing circle again, as it had once before—when he’d missed. He hesitated, but only briefly this time, then shoved the targeting screen aside. Closing his eyes, he appeared to mumble to himself, as if in internal conversation with something unseen. With the confidence of a blind man in familiar surroundings, Luke moved a thumb over several controls, then touched one. Soon after, a concerned voice filled the cockpit from the open speakers.

“Base One to Blue Five, your targeting device is switched off. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Luke murmured, barely audible. “Nothing.”

He blinked and cleared his eyes. Had he been asleep? Looking around, he saw that he was out of the trench and shooting back into open space. A glance outside showed the familiar shape of Han Solo’s ship shadowing him. Another, at the control board, indicated that he had released his remaining torpedoes, although he couldn’t remember touching the firing stud. Still, he must have.

The cockpit speakers were alive with excitment. “You did it! You did it!” Wedge was shouting over and over. “I think they went right in.”

“Good shot, kid.” Solo complimented him, having to raise his voice to be heard over Chewbacca’s unrestrained howling.

Distant, muted rumblings shook Luke’s ship, an omen of incipient success. He must have fired the torpedoes, mustn’t he? Gradually he regained his composure.

“Glad … you were here to see it. Now let’s get some distance between us and that thing before it goes. I hope Wedge was right.”

Several X-wings, Y-wings, and one battered-looking freighter accelerated away from the battle station, racing toward the distant curve of Yavin.

Behind them small flashes of fading light marked the receding station. Without warning, something appeared in the sky in place of it which was brighter than the glowing gas giant, brighter than its far-off sun. For a few seconds the eternal night became day. No one dared look directly at it. Not even multiple shields set on high could dim that awesome flare.

Space filled temporarily with trillions of microscopic metal fragments, propelled past the retreating ships by the liberated energy of a small artificial sun. The collapsed residue of the battle station would continue to consume itself for several days, forming for that brief span of time the most impressive tombstone in this corner of the cosmos.