YOU’RE WEAVING THROUGH a chaos of men, women, and droids. They scramble across the rebel base, gathering up sensitive materials, readying ground weapons, and preparing transports for the evacuation. The base is as frantic as a beehive that’s been kicked. Footsteps echo on the hard floor, engines fire and die and fire again. You can smell the gaseous fumes of the generators, working on overdrive to keep the shields up. The odor reminds you of your uncle’s workshop on Tatooine.

To your left, Han is eyeing the lifters of his faithful ship, the Millennium Falcon, with guarded optimism.

“Okay, Chewie. Try it now.”

Up in the spacecraft’s cockpit, the Wookiee flips a switch. A spark flies from the lifters, like a blaster being fired by a drunk. Han ducks and covers his head. He straightens up, stares at his “faithful” ship balefully, and curses.

You walk up beside him. “Looks great,” you say.

“Stow it, kid.”

After another moment of baleful glaring, he turns away from the Falcon.

“Well,” you nod, “take care of yourself.”

“You okay to do this?” Han asks.

The effects of the cold, and of being kidnapped by a wampa, have pretty much worn off. Your heart beats like a military march now, and your senses feel quick and keen. Battle is coming. And you are ready. You tell Han all of this with just a flash of your eyes.

“Be careful out there,” he says.

“You, too.”

You exchange one more glance with Han. He grins at you, and nods. And in that moment you realize that, sometimes, you don’t have to be a Jedi to communicate without words. Sometimes, all it takes is being friends.

In a distant wing of the rebel base, Leia is briefing a group of fighter pilots. They wear bright orange jumpsuits, like they’re inmates in the coldest prison on earth. Also the coolest, because in this prison, you get to fly spaceships.

“All troop carriers will assemble at the north entrance,” Leia is explaining. It’s not clear who put her in charge of the X-wing briefing. But Leia’s the sort of gal who doesn’t need anyone’s permission to take charge. “The transport ships will leave as soon as they’re loaded. Only two fighters per escort.”

A young pilot laughs. “Two fighters against a Star Destroyer? We’re toast. Burnt toast.”

Leia has a way of looking at someone that makes them feel very small and very stupid. “Thanks for your input, Hobbie. Your tactical opinions are always invaluable.” The other pilots laugh. Leia goes on. “You have cover from the ion cannons on the ground. They’ll clear your path.” Hobbie looks at his comrades. They’re nodding. “Once you pass the destroyers, get to the rendezvous point. Understood?”

“Understood!” the pilots bark. Except for Hobbie, who mutters, “This is suicide.” Leia does not hear. Which is lucky. For Hobbie.

The princess dismisses the pilots and makes her way to the command center, past the hustling soldiers and engineers, the beeping droids and whirring machines. The general’s old, gray eyes are scanning readings on a screen.

He knows she’s there without turning around. You might say that Leia has presence. General Rieekan says, “The Empire has moved a destroyer directly into the path of the transports.”

Leia nods. “So be it. We should let the first transport go.”

The general hesitates, his eyes fixed on the Star Destroyer on the monitor. It is just one of many surrounding the planet. Beyond this cordon of ships waits one more Destroyer—the largest he has ever seen, in fact. The flagship of the Empire.

Rieekan says, “We have shoulder cannons and rocket launchers set up around the perimeter.” He is almost pleading. “And Skywalker is readying a squadron of snowspeeders.”

Leia’s voice is a gentle rebuke. “General, you know we can’t hold off the Imperial forces if they invade by ground. No matter how brave Luke is. No matter how brave any of us are. If we stay and fight, we’ll be killed. We’ve got to launch the transports.”

The general sighs, nods. His gray eyes look sad. Another base lost. Another position abandoned before the overwhelming might of the Empire. “Prepare to open the shield.”

Leia turns to the shield operator. The evacuation coordinator is waiting beside him. They both wait for Leia’s command. The princess merely says, “Go.”

For just an instant, there is no defensive shield around the rebel base on Hoth. Three crafts—a transport and two fighters—catapult into space.

A Star Destroyer stands directly in their path.

The scene is approximately like three mice running at a tiger. The odds aren’t good.

The Destroyer lowers its shields and readies its tractor beam to bring them in. The tiger is licking its lips.

The transport and two fighters approach the Destroyer.

In the rebel command center, General Rieekan wipes his gray brow, and then dries the back of his hand on his sleeve. A droplet of sweat falls to the floor. In a moment, it has frozen.

The tractor beam locks on the transport.

The tiger’s claws are out.

“Fire!” Leia bellows. A rebel ion cannon—heavy and huge and deadly and half buried in the ice of Hoth—sends two red blasts up into space, straight over the transport’s bow. The blasts roar past the rebel ship and continue straight for the destroyer. The Star Destroyer that has lowered its shields.

The ion blasts smash into the Star Destroyer’s central tower. A tiny lightning storm erupts in the Destroyer’s electronic epicenter, which sends shock waves out through the complex of wires that twine through the vessel like veins. The great ship pitches to one side.

The mice, it turns out, had a gun.

In the rebel command center on Hoth, a cheer erupts from every throat. The general sighs and warily eyes the princess. She is smiling at him. Reluctantly, he smiles back.

The transport and two fighters speed by the lurching Imperial ship.