Reading Room
StarWars FanFiction
POV: Freedom's End (II)
By Daniel "Drake" Sutherland Copyright © Daniel Sutherland 2000-2001.
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II

[Imperial prison camp, Hekram III]

The prisoner groaned as the announcement he had been dreading for the last twenty minutes was made:

"Breakfast's over! Get to work!"

And with that, it was time to join the next shuffling march, the one that led through the sterile, gleaming corridors to the open, dim, damp and cold caverns. Despite the warm coveralls, the prisoner shivered as he stepped through the airlock and into the caves. No matter how long you stay here, you never get used to these caves.

The grey-clad line split up and its elements began to slowly walk to their own respective workplaces. The prisoner made sure his walk was slow, his back stooped, his head down. Any sign of defiance or arrogance, and they would try and break you. Even a lift of the head could signify it, to some of them at least. So he kept his head down and pretended he was as tired and desperate and hopeless as everyone else.

His body was past its prime, it was true, and he was on the wrong side of middle age, but he was careful, very careful, with his body - not to injure himself at work, not to get in fights, as some of the other more aggressive prisoners sometimes did. No, his body was his only possession - that, and his mind - and so far the Empire had failed to break either, although they had come dangerously close to doing the former when he first got here. But his body, and his mind combined, they were his only weapons to use against the Empire. And one day, he told himself, one day, he'd get to use them.

[Wolfeye Ready Room, Strike Carrier Wolf's Lair]

Flight Officers Jesse "Firestorm" Garrison and Lee "Hawk" Birdine sat easily in their chairs, their orange flight suits hanging open at their chests, and two steaming mugs of caff set on a table between them. A holovid was playing in front of them, although the two had both seen it several times and both were only half watching it, occasionally talking to break the boredom.

"Ain't Ready Five fun," Firestorm commented dryly.

"Absolutely," Hawk agreed. "But at least we can sit comfortably down here while the others have to sweat it in mess uniforms under the colonel's watchful eye up in the wardroom." This earned him a grin from Firestorm.

"Well, that's true," one of Wolfshead's newest pilots agreed. "And this caff is pretty damned good."

"Spare a thought for Granite, dude," Hawk continued with a smile of his own. "He's got to sit there all by himself." Firestorm winced.

"No doubt he enjoys that," he said, his face locked in a grimace. "It's the only time he can play his bagpipes…"

"You think?" Hawk asked. "He-" His voice was cut off by a loud tone which sounded from the wall intercom unit. The two pilots traded looks. This was certainly unexpected - normally nothing happened on Ready Five unless they were involved in an operation. But the Wolf's Lair's current mission was a simple patrol. Hawk went over to the comm and opened the channel.

"This is Wolfeye Ready Room, go ahead."

"Wolfshead, this is the Officer of the Watch, Lieutenant Freese," a male voice filtered through.

"Flight Officer Birdine, sir, with Flight Officer Garrison on Ready Five," the Wolfshead pilot reported.

"Very good. Sensors show a small convoy entering the system," Lieutenant Freese informed them. "You two and the Ready Five Bravo are to go out and take a look. Just a routine inspection. Look and leave."

"Copy that, Bridge," Hawk said, and made a face at Firestorm. Well, at least it beats sitting here.

"Launch immediately, Wolfshead. Bridge out."

The two pilots began to fasten their flight suits and grab their helmets. Although Wolfshead Squadron had recently been reorganised - yet again, some of the pilots would say, with rolled eyes - and no longer had dedicated groups that flew different fighters, the original Wolfeye, Wolffang and Wolfclaw Ready Rooms had still survived. In this way, pilots flying A-wings all prepped in the same room, as they did for the other fighter classes in use. Certainly, Raiven and Drake had virtually taken over the Wolffang Ready Room, turning it into a kind of private den which they decorated in their own (somewhat eccentric, it was widely believed) tastes. They had taken Spook, one of the newest members of the squadron, under their shared proverbial wing, and were doing their best, as Raiven put it, "To educate, entertain, awe and corrupt the lad". In any case, all of the Ready Rooms had taken on their own distinct flavours over the preceding few months, depending on the pilots who regularly flew from them. Right now, though, the posters decorating the bulkheads in the Wolfeye Ready Room were of much less interest to the Ready Five pilots than the situation at hand.

"Could be worse," Hawk opined.

"Yeah, we could be flying escort for a garbage scow," Firestorm suggested, his voice heavy with irony.

[Approaching convoy, Jalus system]

"Take it easy, boys," Hawk warned as the range to the nearest freighter clicked down through five clicks on his CMD. "They may look like any other convoy, but that doesn't mean anything."

"Aye, lad," Granite said, his heavily accented voice losing none of its sarcasm over the comm, "and they'll probably have an Imperial lurking in every cargo hold, waiting to blast us with makeshift missile launchers." Hawk didn't bother to reply. He agreed with Granite's sentiments, but as the patrol leader he had to act responsibly - which was something that he wasn't used to, he admitted to himself. Usually one of the flight leaders, or one of the second lieutenants at least, would lead a patrol like this - but today it was one of the more junior members of the squadron in the hot seat. In fact, all three of the pilots on patrol were relatively junior in rank - due, no doubt, to the Mess Dinner currently being held in the Wolf's Lair wardroom. On such occasions, the most junior officers could be expected to get extra duties. It was both a blessing and a curse, and a fact not lost on any of the three pilots who flew the Ready Five patrol.

As the range to the lead convoy ship, a bulk freighter, clicked down to three and a half clicks, Hawk keyed his mike.

"Freighter Bountiful, this is Wolfshead Fourteen of the New Republic," he intoned formally, carefully watching the approaching bulk of the freighter lest he slam into it by accident while carefully reciting his communications. "You are passing through New Republic space and as such we are going to inspect you. Please maintain your present speed and course."

Having made his transmission, Hawk tensed in his seat and let his thumb rest lightly on the trigger set into his stick. If these guys aren't who they pretend to be, he thought grimly, then we're gonna find out now.

"Wolfshead Fourteen, this is Bountiful," a metallic, but still clearly male human, voice came back at length. "We understand, and will maintain present course and speed. However we do have a schedule to maintain, so if you could be quick that would be appreciated." Hawk relaxed. Hell, he thought, they're courteous. Unusual for merchants out in the Rim.

"We'll do our best, Bountiful," he answered, then switched back to the squadron frequency.

"Thirteen, you ID the freighters, Fifteen and I will handle the transports. Piece of cake, we'll be done in five minutes."

"Copy, Fourteen," Firestorm acknowledged.

"As ordered, Fourteen," Granite's brogue came over the comm. The three fighters broke formation, each peeling off and heading for a different part of the convoy formation, which consisted of four freighters and eight transports.

Granite cruised over the lead freighter, the Bountiful, and grunted with satisfaction as he read nothing threatening on his CMD. The freighter was carrying food, clothes…standard cargo for a merchantman. Without another thought he targeted the next freighter and headed for it.

Satisfied, he hit the switch to cycle through to the next target - or thought he did. Having intently been watching the formation through his cockpit window, he'd hit the reverse cycle switch by mistake. He frowned in irritation as his display again showed the Bountiful. He was about to cycle forward again when the totally unbelievable happened.

The target went red in his display and on his radar.

He was about to raise the alarm when it went blue again. Puzzled, the Caladanian keyed his comm.

"Fourteen, I seem to have a sensors glitch here, laddie," he noted. "I'm just running a diagnostic now." Two clicks acknowledged his report as he set the sensors self diagnostic in motion.

Again, the target flashed red, then blue again. Granite's brow furrowed further as he keyed his comm to talk to the Bountiful, then thought better of it. Bringing his B-wing around in a wide arc instead, he angled in for a closer look at the cargo ship. It looked like an ordinary bulk freighter, sure enough, but-

Wait. Those odd bulges along the midsection…and were they?

Yes! Doors!

"Fourteen, I don't think that these lads are all they pretend to be," Granite offered, instinctively switching to his proton torpedoes and selecting dual fire. "They have-" He stopped as his B-wing completed its self-diagnostic and pronounced itself fully operational.

"Fourteen, Thirteen," he began. "They must be-"

"Imps!" Firestorm finished the sentence for him as around them, eight TIE fighters suddenly appeared from nowhere.

"Eyeballs! I make it eight of them, must've launched from the freighters," Hawk said, quite unnecessarily. "Engage at-"

"And the transports, lad!" Granite interrupted him. "They're powering up and coming after us as well!"

"We'll take the eyeballs, then," Hawk decided. "You take care of the transports. Get it done as quickly as possible, because we're gonna disable those freighters before they get to the nav buoy."

"As ordered, Lead."

"Copy, Lead."

Unwittingly, the two other pilots had slipped into calling Hawk "Lead" - no doubt due to their "routine patrol" suddenly turning into a combat situation. In combat, taking orders from a "Lead" just felt better.

Granite thumbed the trigger and watched with satisfaction as two proton torpedoes jetted out on streaks of blue flame, almost instantly colliding with the transport in front of him and destroying it. He dove through the resulting fireball with a whoop, and destroyed another transport fifteen seconds later.

"Like shooting ducks in a barrel," he observed gleefully.

"The eyeballs aren't much better," Firestorm added, as he finished destroying his third.

"Somehow I don't think they actually imagined that their little deception would be discovered," Hawk ventured dryly. "But we'll discuss it later. For now, just get the threats neutralised so we can put the freighters to sleep."

He juked violently to avoid the two TIEs on his tail, then rapidly cut his throttle and performed a lightning fast split S, putting him on a direct course for his erstwhile pursuers. The laser cannons of Hawk's A-wing blazed, and one of the TIEs disintegrated as the other broke off hurriedly, the A-wing in hot pursuit.

Firestorm sideslipped left and right, trying to shake the two TIEs off his tail, but they seemed stuck there. He pulled the stick tight into his stomach, letting the A-wing pull up vertical, then almost immediately pulled his throttle down to zero. The two fairly inexperienced TIE pilots shot straight past him, and Firestorm's A-wing was already picking up speed as it acquired one of them. The young Wolfshead pilot fired three times, the third set of laser blasts catching the twin ion engine that gave the fighter its name, and turning it into a fiercely burning fireball that Firestorm neatly slipped around, pulling his A-wing into a tight turn to follow the obliterated TIE's wingmate.

"There goes another of them," Granite's voice came over the comm, as Firestorm flicked his weapons selector over to concussion missiles. The TIE seemed to dance around on his CMD, which he'd now configured for targeting mode. The green blip slid around the display as the pilot kept delicately trimming the stick, trying to get it dead centre. Finally, it lingered in the crosshairs for a moment, and Firestorm's onboard computer rewarded him with the tone that indicated it was acquiring a missile lock. He stayed on the TIE's tail, following it through a simple corkscrew maneuver, then caressed the trigger as soon as the blaring missile lock tone sounded. With a dull roar the missile leapt from the A-wing in a streak of orange flame, following the TIE into its clumsy turn and taking its portside solar panel off. The missile exploded, scattering debris, and the remains of the TIE fighter spun wildly, finally careening into one of the freighters and exploding on impact. Firestorm allowed himself a grin.

"Scratch two," he informed his squadmates.

"All the transports and TIE escorts are down," Hawk noted as his scope cleared to show just four red blips, although the freighters were surely heading at maximum speed for the nav buoy to try and jump to safety.

"Okay, boys," Hawk ordered quickly, "let's put these freighters to sleep. I don't want a single one to make it to that buoy."

"Copy, Lead," Firestorm acknowledged.

"You got it, Lead," Granite said, his voice grimly determined.

The three fighters strafed the lead ship, the Bountiful, and Granite put two torpedoes into her to help soften up the shields. Under the combined guns of the three fighters, her shields quickly dropped, and Granite's ion cannon soon reduced her to a floating brick. Two minutes later, all four sat dead in space, and Hawk finally relaxed a little, and switched frequencies on his comm.

"Wolf's Lair, this is Wolfshead Fourteen," he began.

"Roger, Wolfshead Fourteen, this is Lair," the duty communications officer's voice came back.

"We have positively identified and disabled four Imperial freighters," Hawk reported next. "They were carrying TIE escorts and were accompanied by armed transports, but all escort craft have been destroyed." There was what might have been a stunned silence for a few seconds, then came the response.

"Copy, Fourteen. Maintain covering patrol and stand by to protect boarding transports."

"As ordered, Lair. Fourteen out."