IV

SIX OMINOUS SHAPES APPEARED IN the black space of the Hoth system and loomed like vast demons of destruction, ready to unleash the furies of their Imperial weapons. Inside the largest of the six Imperial Star Destroyers, Darth Vader sat alone in a small spherical room. A single shaft of light gleamed on his black helmet as he sat motionless in his raised meditation chamber.

As General Veers approached, the sphere opened slowly, the upper half lifting like a jagged-toothed mechanical jaw. To Veers, the dark figure seated inside the mouthlike cocoon hardly seemed alive, though a powerful aura of sheer evil emanated from him, sending a chilling fear through the officer.

Uncertain of his own courage, Veers took a step forward. He had a message to deliver but felt prepared to wait for hours if necessary rather than disturb Vader’s meditation.

But Vader spoke immediately. “What is it, Veers?”

“My lord,” the general replied, choosing each word with care, “the fleet has moved out of light-speed. Com-Scan has detected an energy field protecting an area of the sixth planet in the Hoth system. The field is strong enough to deflect any bombardment.”

Vader stood, rising to his full two-meter height, his cloak swaying against the floor. “So, the Rebel scum are alerted to our presence.” Furious, he clenched his black-gloved hands into fists. “Admiral Ozzel came out of light-speed too close to the system.”

“He felt surprise was a wiser—”

“He’s as clumsy as he is stupid,” Vader cut in, breathing heavily. “A clean bombardment is impossible through their energy field. Prepare your troops for a surface attack.”

With military precision, General Veers turned and marched out of the meditation room, leaving behind an enraged Darth Vader. Alone in the chamber, Vader activated a large viewscreen that showed a brightly lit image of his Star Destroyer’s vast bridge.

Admiral Ozzel, responding to Vader’s summons, stepped forward, his face almost filling the Dark Lord’s monitor screen. There was trepidation in Ozzel’s voice when he announced, “Lord Vader, the fleet has moved out of light-speed—”

But Vader’s reply was addressed to the officer standing slightly behind Ozzel. “Captain Piett.”

Knowing better than to delay, Captain Piett stepped forward instantly as the admiral staggered back a step, his hand automatically reaching for his throat.

“Yes, my lord,” Piett answered respectfully.

Ozzel began to gag now as his throat, as if in the grip of invisible talons, began to constrict.

“Make ready to land assault troops beyond the energy field,” Vader ordered. “Then deploy the fleet so that nothing can get off that planet. You’re in command now, Admiral Piett.”

Piett was simultaneously pleased and unsettled by this news. As he turned to carry out the orders, he saw a figure that might someday be himself. Ozzel’s face was hideously contorted as he fought for one final breath of air; then he dropped into a dead heap on the floor.

The Empire had entered the system of Hoth.

Rebel troops rushed to their alert stations as the warning alarms wailed through the ice tunnels. Ground crews and droids of all sizes and makes hurried to perform their assigned duties, responding efficiently to the impending Imperial threat.

The armored snowspeeders were fueled as they waited in attack formation to blast out of the main cavern entranceway. Meanwhile, in the hangar, Princess Leia was addressing a small band of Rebel fighter pilots. “The large transport ships will leave as soon as they’re loaded. Only two fighter escorts per ship. The energy shield can only be opened for a split second, so you’ll have to stay very close to the transports.”

Hobbie, a Rebel veteran of many battles, looked at the princess with concern. “Two fighters against a Star Destroyer?”

“The ion cannon will fire several blasts which should destroy any ships in your flight path,” Leia explained. “When you clear the energy shield, you will proceed to the rendezvous point. Good luck.”

Somewhat reassured, Hobbie and the other pilots raced toward their fighter cockpits.

Meanwhile, Han was working frantically to complete welding a lifter on the Millennium Falcon. Finishing quickly, he hopped to the hangar floor and switched on his comlink. “All right, Chewie,” he said to the hairy figure seated at the Falcon’s controls, “give it a try.”

Just then Leia walked past, throwing him an angry look. Han looked at her smugly while the freighter’s lifters began to rise off the floor, whereupon the right lifter began to shake erratically, then broke partially loose to swing back down again with an embarrassing crash.

He turned away from Leia, catching only a glimpse of her face as she mockingly raised an eyebrow.

“Hold it, Chewie,” Han grunted into his small transmitter.

The Avenger, one of the Imperial armada’s wedgelike Star Destroyers, hovered like a mechanized death angel in the sea of stars outside the Hoth system. As the colossal ship began to move closer to the ice world, the planet became clearly visible through the windows which stretched 100 meters or more across the huge bridge of the warship.

Captain Needa, commander of the Avenger’s crew, gazed out a main port, looking at the planet when a controller came up to him. “Sir, Rebel ship coming into our sector.”

“Good,” Needa replied with a gleam in his eyes. “Our first catch of the day.”

* * *

“Their first target will be the power generators,” General Rieekan told the princess.

“First transport Three Zone approaching shield,” one of the Rebel controllers said, tracking a bright image that could only be an Imperial Star Destroyer.

“Prepare to open shield,” a radarman ordered.

“Stand by, Ion Control,” another controller said.

A giant metal globe on Hoth’s icy surface rotated into position and angled its great turret gun upward.

“Fire!” came the order from General Rieekan.

Suddenly two red beams of destructive energy were released into the cold skies. The beams almost immediately overtook the first of the racing Rebel transport craft, and sped on a direct course toward the huge Star Destroyer.

The twin red bolts struck the enormous ship and blasted its conning tower. Explosions set off by the blast began to rock the great flying fortress, spinning it out of control. The Star Destroyer plunged into deep space as the Rebel transport and its two fighter escorts streaked off to safety.

Luke Skywalker, preparing to depart, pulled on his heavy-weather gear and watched the pilots, gunners, and R2 units hurrying to complete their tasks. He started toward the row of snowspeeders that awaited him. On his way, the young commander paused at the tail section of the Millennium Falcon, where Han Solo and Chewbacca were working frenetically on the right lifter.

“Chewie,” Luke called, “take care of yourself. And watch over this guy, will ya?”

The Wookiee barked a farewell, gave Luke a big hug, then turned back to his work on the lifters.

The two friends, Luke and Han, stood looking at each other, perhaps for the last time.

“I hope you make your peace with Jabba,” Luke said at last.

“Give ’em hell, kid,” the Corellian responded lightly.

The young commander began to walk away as memories of exploits shared with Han rushed to his mind. He stopped and looked back at the Falcon, and saw his friend still staring after him. As they gazed at each other for a brief moment, Chewbacca looked up and knew that each was wishing the other the best, wherever their individual fates might take them.

The public address system broke in on their thoughts. “First transport is clear,” a Rebel announcer proclaimed the good news.

At the announcement, a cheer burst from those gathered in the hangar. Luke turned and hurried over to his snowspeeder. When he reached it, Dack, his fresh-faced young gunner, was standing outside the ship waiting for him.

“How are you feeling, sir?” Dack asked enthusiastically.

“Like new, Dack. How about you?”

Dack beamed. “Right now I feel like I could take on the whole Empire myself.”

“Yeah,” Luke said quietly, “I know what you mean.” Though there were only a few years between them, at that moment Luke felt centuries older.

Princess Leia’s voice came over the address system: “Attention, speeder pilots … on the withdrawal signal assemble at South Slope. Your fighters are being prepared for takeoff. Code One Five will be transmitted when evacuation is complete.”

Threepio and Artoo stood amid the rapidly moving personnel as the pilots readied for departure. The golden droid tilted slightly as he turned his sensors on the little R2 robot. The shadows playing over Threepio’s face gave the illusion that his faceplate had lengthened into a frown. “Why is it,” he asked, “when things seem to get settled, everything falls apart?” Leaning forward, he gently patted the other droid’s hull. “Take good care of Master Luke. And take good care of yourself.”

Artoo whistled and tooted a good-bye, then turned to roll down the ice corridor. Waving stiffly, Threepio watched as his stout and faithful friend moved away.

To an observer, it may have seemed that Threepio grew misty-eyed, but then it wasn’t the first time he had gotten a drop of oil clogged before his optical sensors.

Finally turning, the human-shaped robot moved off in the opposite direction.