XI

The snowstorm was fading slowly, but the wind was still strong. It froze Moose's face, but he practically didn't feel the cold. He remained crouched, with his blaster aimed at the upper hatch of the downed AT-ST expecting for it to open. If any of the occupants came out armed, he would find himself with a shot between the eyes. Moose waited for almost five minutes before deciding it was safe to lower his weapon. From where he was, he couldn't make out any sign of life in the walker's cockpit, but that didn't mean there were no survivors. He'd have to inspect it closely, but that could wait. Now he needed to embrace Foxfire more than ever. He got up slowly, barely conscious of the new aches that had just been added to his already pained body. Turning his back toward the smoking remains of the AT-ST, Moose holstered his blaster and walked toward his friends. Foxfire now sat on the snow, while Rooster immobilized her arm and improvised a temporary bandage and a sling. She saw Moose approaching and smiled faintly. Moose returned the smile, but, before he could cover the short distance that separated them, a laser bolt passed barely ten centimeters over his head. Moose ducked instinctively, and that saved his life. The next shot came half a meter lower.

"Who's shooting, Avery?" he shouted.

"I don't know!"

"It came from up there!" Rooster shouted. "Somewhere behind that elevation."

"All right! You two stay where you are and don't show your heads!"

"Haven't you been the hero enough for today?" Foxfire cried out.

"It was you who said that your aim's not good with your left hand, remember? And Rooster won't shoot!"

"I'll do it if I must!"

"I appreciate that, but I bet that your aim will be even worse with both hands!" Without waiting for an answer, Moose drew his blaster again and started to slither on his stomach, advancing slowly toward their invisible attackers.

Sdermila saw two people on the ground, leaning on a rock half covered by snow. She hurried her pace and forced the kalahorse to follow her. "Come on, old beast, we might be needed. Don't protest any more and be warned, you might have to carry some weight, so...." The sound of what she had learned too well to recognize as laser weapons startled Sdermila and made her stop. The two people she had just spotted took cover behind a rock, although one of them seemed to be struggling with the other to rise. Sdermila considered if it would be prudent for her to duck on the ground. She couldn't see any of the shooters from where she stood, so they probably were on the other side of this crest. "What do I do? What do I do? Old beast, what would you do? No, don't tell me, you sure would flee as soon as I loosed the reins. But any of those people might be injured or something."

One of the two people, a woman for her voice, shouted in Basic in Sdermila's direction. "Hey, you, take cover right now!" She saw how the woman accompanied the words with insistent gestures of a hand, indicating her to crouch down. "On your knees, old beast, on your knees! Oh, Taigor, why am I doing this?"

Ignorant of the arrival of the Balanish woman, Moose was busy enough just avoiding having his head ripped off by a laser bolt. Spouts of snow rose at his back where the energy discharges hit, barely half a meter behind his legs, which he contracted as much as he could. Part of the vaporized snow froze almost immediately and fell upon him like a myriad of gelid drops. Moose was starting to think that he had run out of luck when he noticed a pause in the shower. However he kept hearing the persistent hum of the blaster shots. They are shooting at someone else, Moose thought with sudden apprehension. That couldn't be other than Foxfire and Rooster. Clenching his teeth and hardening the grip on his weapon, he risked a look toward the place Rooster had indicated. He did it right in time to see someone else opening fire against their aggressors, somewhere to his right and closer to them. The presumed Seibergians started to shoot in return. Moose was momentarily confused. Could Foxfire have reached that position in so little time? But no, there she was, behind the same rock he had seen her and Rooster before being forced to duck. Whoever it was, the help was more than welcome. Moose used this opportune distraction to run to a new position where he could help his unknown ally. Before he had to launch himself on the snow again, he caught a brief look of the enemy: three or four stormtroopers in winter armor, some eighty meters from where he had taken cover. A long shot for a blaster, but not an impossible one. He counted to ten and then jumped forward, shooting repeatedly towards the place where he had seen the stormtroopers. He rolled on the snow to avoid the response fire and shot again. This time he managed to hit one of them. His hidden friend shot down another, before his companions made Moose take cover. In that moment new laser bolts passed two meters over Moose's head, homing in on the enemy's position. Foxfire's left hand, Moose thought, almost amused in spite of his concerns. An instant later a whine was heard. When Moose rose his head, he saw a speeder bike disappearing in the distance, rode by two stormtroopers. I'd say that being shot at from three different sides is not their idea of controlled situation. Moose got up and shot at the fleeing soldiers several times, but they were too far away already.

"Huttspit!" he exclaimed aloud. "I think I'm starting to understand why so few people choose Seibergia as a holiday destination."

"Are you OK?" Foxfire shouted from behind him.

"Yes, I am. Someone has been helping us!" Although he couldn't be sure about it, his guess was that it was only one person. Moose believed that he had not heard more than one weapon shooting at once. He looked in the direction he supposed his rescuer should be, but he could not see anybody. Maybe he or she was trying to hunt down the Seibergian. Or maybe there are still enemies around, and doesn't want to show up yet. Moose went back cautiously, not daring to walk fully upright, and keeping the blaster in his hand. He reached Foxfire and Rooster half a minute later, just as an old woman joined them. She was pulling what seemed to be the living version of an AT-AT, only not so big--by a long distance--and a lot more hairy. Moose recognized the species from the images Ibero had shown him.

"Moose, this is Sdermila," Rooster said. The Lumi was fastening the bandage on Foxfire's arm, which she had not finished when the shooting began. She applied a spray on both sides of the bandage, which made it become rigid to prevent the bone from moving from its place. "Sdermila, this is Moose."

Moose took a look at Foxfire, who reassured him with a wink. I'm fine, her glance said. "Glad to meet you, Sdermila," he said to the old woman.

"I'm glad to meet you too," Sdermila answered in a decent standard Basic. The Balanish woman tried to smile, and Moose immediately liked her. She was obviously frightened and tired, but she was forcing herself to be courageous. Moose deduced that the old woman was traveling with the refugees caravan they had spotted from the air. But, what was she doing here alone? Rooster answered his unspoken question.

"Sdermila saw the shuttle fall and came to see if she could be of help." Moose opened his eyes widely. An old woman, probably just thrown away from her home, alone, disarmed. And she still came to help unknown people, under a snowstorm and in the middle of a lightfight. Extraordinary. Moose decided that he liked her even more.

"Maybe she can actually help us," Foxfire said from the ground, "or more exactly, that beast of hers."

"It's a kalahorse," Moose said, getting a mild surprised look from Rooster and Foxfire. Sdermila on the other side didn't react to Moose's knowledge exhibition. How could anyone not know what a kalahorse is?

"It's old," she said, "but he sure could carry you. You don't seem to be too heavy a load."

"It's not for me," Foxfire said. She couldn't help a half amused smile when she heard herself described as a "not too heavy a load". "Our doctor is still inside the ship. He is trapped."

"I don't think a kalahorse could move that thing," Sdermila answered looking dismayed, "not even a young one. But let's go down there and see what we can do."

"Wait," Moose said. He directed his macrobinoculars toward the place where the Seibergian troopers had been shooting from. "I can't see anything, but that doesn't mean we're safe yet. Not to mention the AT-ST over there, which we haven't inspected yet."

"The doctor," Rooster urged. "He can't wait for us to be certain that there's no more enemies around. We'll have to take the risk."

"We'll keep our eyes open," Foxfire said getting up. "You and me."

"All right," he accepted unwillingly. "But you all take cover immediately if you hear just a single shot."

The Wolf's Lair's gunners did their best to defend the ship using all the means at their disposal. Their quad laser batteries and warheads launchers shot incessantly, mainly against the enemy X-Wings. Occasionally, their effort was rewarded by the vision of one of the starfighters retiring damaged from combat or blowing into pieces. But one after another, the Strike Carrier's weapons were being hit and destroyed, some times along with the lives of those who manned them. More and more the Corellian pilots found breaches in the defenses that they could use to launch their concussion missiles unimpeded.

"Brace for impact!" Ensign Proteys warned not for the first time. The bridge was shaken by a new explosion, far stronger than any of the precedent ones. Although the viewports were covered by their durasteel shutters since the beginning of the combat, Lieutenant Colonel Wumb didn't need the view to know what had happened.

"There it goes our ion cannon," he said aloud, and nobody was surprised. It was a question of time. After the temporary disabling of the Sovereign, the enemy had concentrated their fire on this weapon, with the hangar as secondary objective. "Now the First Citizen and the Independent will come for us."

"Why have they waited for so long?" Lieutenant Commander Dey'jaa asked, leaning on Wumb's command chair to get up. His long black beard was stained with blood. The explosion had made him fall on the deck, and he had involuntarily pierced his lower lip with one of his fangs. "They should know that we wouldn't be able to shoot a new burst with the cannon without turning our bow at them, and not without sacrificing what remains of our shields. It would be suicide."

"You're the Intelligence Officer and psychological analyst here--you tell me."

Dey'jaa seemed puzzled for an instant, but then the understanding came to his eyes. "The Rebel Alliance has made a lot of sacrifices in the past. They must think we might be willing to die if there's a chance to neutralize another of their cruisers along the way."

Wumb nodded. "And I'd order exactly that if I thought that we have such a chance." If that affirmation startled Dey'jaa, the Bothan didn't show it, which earned Wumb's secret approval. "There's no way we could recharge the cannon's capacitors so soon, not even redirecting to it all the ship's energy, not only our poor shields. We'll have to keep fighting with the rest of our weapons, although this ship was never designed for this kind of close combat."

"They never are," Dey'jaa said with a half smile. Wumb looked at him with curiosity. No, he is not frightened at all, although you can never know for sure what these Bothans are thinking. Our situation is desperate, and he knows it almost as well as I do. After all, he was onboard the Wolf's Den, too.

"Sir, two of their frigates are about to surround us!" Ensign Proteys exclaimed, his salmon skin visibly darkened by the stress.

Before Wumb could check for himself the enemy vessels position on the tactical screen, he felt another blast somewhere on the middle side of the hull. A second impact followed, this time closer to the stern. Dey'jaa took a grasp on Wumb's seat to avoid falling again. An alarm sounded.

"We can't run any more", Wumb said. "Maybe you should go to a place where you can strap yourself, Lieutenant Commander." Without pause, the Sullustan continued giving orders. "Lieutenant Vaiwahannen, drive us between the First Citizen and the Independent. Let's see if we can make them shoot at each other while they try to crush us."

"That would make being crushed a bit less disgusting, sir," the Twi'lek snarled. Nobody laughed.

"I'm fine here," the Intelligence Officer answered courageously to Wumb's previous suggestion.

"If that alarm means what I fear, we might lose the artificial gravity at any moment. Fire control, prepare to open fire against their cruisers. We'll show them that we can bite, too."

"At your order, sir!"

"I think Lieutenant Vaiwehannen won't mind if I take his position while he is busy piloting the Lair." Dey'jaa said, reconsidering his position.

"Very well, Lieutenant Commander. Engineering, this is Lieutenant Commander Wumb. Tell me the bad news."

"Engineering here," Lieutenant Boradelis' voice was heard. "You sure have noticed, sir. We've just lost the starboard upper engine, and we'll probably have to shut down the port one before it blows up by itself. Furthermore, there are several breaches in the outer hull at decks three, four and... Oh, what now?"

"The shields have fallen!" Someone shouted on the bridge. Wumb closed his eyes for an instant.

"Sir, we just..."

"I know, Lieutenant Boradelis. Keep that engine working while you can, that's all I ask you. Wumb out." While he saw the space turn as the Wolf's Lair changed course for what probably would be her last attack, the Sullustan wondered how it was possible to feel as calm as he felt, knowing with certainty what was about to happen. It was like being on board the Tannia or the Wolf's Den again, but without the anxiety nor the fear. Maybe you can get used to this sensation, after all. Perhaps that means this time is going to be the one. No save in the very last moment. No more rescues. Well, I'm ready, and here we go.

"New readings, sir," Ensign Proteys said. "It's..."

"A STAR DESTROYER!!!"

Vyper felt his blood freeze in his veins when he heard the cry on the intercom coming from half a dozen throats. Just when I thought things couldn't be worse...

"Wolfshead Leader, this is Lieutenant Colonel Wumb, can you copy me?"

"Yes sir."

"Choose two of your remaining pilots and send them in different directions. I want them to jump out of the system and fly as fast as they can to New Republic space. With the Corellians' interference field I don't think our messages are getting through. It's of vital importance that someone knows what's hap..."

Suddenly a new and amazingly potent signal overpowered the transmission coming from the Wolf's Lair, making it impossible for Vyper to continue listening to Lieutenant Commander Wumb. The incoming broadcast was unencrypted, and, as Vyper hastily verified, it was being sent through a wide range of channels. Every ship in the area, New Republic or Corellian, was forced to receive it. Soon a human female voice was heard with perfect clarity, a voice that conveyed peace and serenity, but also command. The voice of someone accustomed to giving orders and having them accomplished. Even if she had not identified herself, Vyper and surely many others would have recognized her. His mouth opened widely in astonishment.

"This is Councilor Leia Organa of the New Republic, aboard the Star Destroyer Liberator. All New Republic ships, cease hostilities now. Corellian commanders, order your crews and pilots to cease the fire too. I'm commissioned from Mon Mothma, the President of the New Republic, to start immediate negotiations with you here and now. I repeat. All New Republic ships, cease hostilities now. Corellian commanders, I'm waiting for your answer. Don't reject my offer to talk: there's been enough bloodshed today."

Arachnoid leaned on his seat, closed his eyes and allowed a sigh of relief to escape from his mouth. He had never felt so tired. The battle had come to a stop in less than a minute after Princess Leia's and the Liberator's arrival. Then the survivors of the squadron had followed the indications to approach the hangar using the starboard entry. The port one was out of order. From the thick smoke that he had seen during the landing, it was not hard to guess that one or more warheads had penetrated through the exhausted shields and exploded inside the hangar. But the smoke had also prevented him from appreciating the real extent of the damage. The sound of powerful turbines coming to life made him open his eyes. Black dots clouded his vision. Why, what's this? He blinked several times and shook his head. For an instant, he had felt as if he was about to pass out, but the unpleasant sensation had disappeared already. The noise came from the compressors that were now infusing clean air into the hangar at their maximum capacity. The smoke cloud was clearing slowly before his eyes, revealing the mess that the missiles had made of a third of the flight deck. The port side was where the transports and shuttles used to be parked. For all he knew, Rooster had taken the Compassion out to Seibergia, on a mission to the Balanish Country. But the Lynx Commando's ships had been less fortunate. A pile of wreckage was all what remained of the Unicorn, one of the two Delta Dx-9 transports. Its twin ship, the Bear, seemed affected too, although at least it was in one piece. The Lambda Class shuttle, the Troubadour, seemed deceitfully intact, seen from her port side. A second look allowed him to notice that the starboard and upper wings had more holes than a Sullustan cave. Plates had been torn off from big sections of the ceiling. Burned conducts, power lines and communication cables hung everywhere, some of them still producing sparks that rained on the deck below. Everything looked scorched, except those places covered by foam.

"What a disaster," Arachnoid said aloud while he opened the cockpit. There was no one there to bring him a ladder, so he jumped to the flight deck. Through the sole of his boots he felt the heat. Suddenly wearing the flight helmet seemed unbearable any more, so he removed it hastily and threw it back into the cockpit. The first person he saw was Hawk, although he had to look at him twice before recognizing his partner under the layer of ash that covered him from feet to head. It blackened not only his supposedly orange flight suit, but every piece of exposed skin and hair. The pilot was sat on a crate, still holding an empty chemical fire extinguisher.

"Hawk, it's that you?"

"Guess so," the other answered without looking, obviously not willing to talk. Arachnoid heard quick steps on his back and turned in time to see Solo approaching him.

"What were you thinking?" the Corellian pilot yelled stopping merely centimeters from Arachnoid's nose. His usually kind expression had disappeared. Instead, Solo's face was a mask of fury when he took his flightsuit in his hand and pulled Arachnoid toward him. His next sentence was more spat than spoken. "Sacart never had a chance."

"I'm sorry for him," Arachnoid said sincerely, but bothered nevertheless by Solo's tone and the accusation implicit in his words. "What did you want me to do?"

"To wait for the rest of the squad to support us, that's what! Not to start a battle on your own, that's what!"

"You're crumpling my flightsuit."

"I'm going to crumple more than that, you stupid hotshot!"

Arachnoid prepared himself to evade Solo's punch and respond with one of himself, but someone took the Corellian's arm from behind.

"Enough of this, Solo," Vyper said in a cold tone. "We've suffered enough casualties today, don't you think so?"

"And he's the one responsible for that," Solo replied, trying to liberate his arm.

"Let him try if he likes," Arachnoid said.

"Don't make things worse, and don't make me think you're as stupid as he seems to believe," Vyper snapped. Arachnoid went quiet, taken aback by Vyper's retort.

"That's better. Now you listen to me. Both of you. Maybe if Arachnoid had waited for us to get there, Sacart and the other would be here with us, or maybe not. Maybe the Corellians would have decided to shoot you all down while they could, instead of waiting for you to get any aid, or maybe not. This is not the time nor the place to decide that, and at any case others will do that for us."

"Had we kept a tighter formation, we'd have been able to protect each others a lot better." Solo insisted, although less violently. "But you had to order to break in pairs."

"That was the only way we could fly evasive and win some time. In close formation they'd have pushed us out of there even more easily."

"You were dying to start the shooting--don't try to deny it. To make the Corellians pay for all the...."

"I said enough of this," Vyper interrupted Solo. "Now go and take a cold shower. That applies to the rest of you, too," he said to the bunch of pilots who had come following the shouts and now surrounded them. "We don't know when we'll have to go out again, but it could be soon. I'll talk to you all later. Dismissed!"

"A shower will be good," Solo agreed, and turned toward the only operative turbolift, not without a last bitter look at Arachnoid.

"Yes, a shower will be good," Arachnoid repeated, feeling how his last strengths were about to abandon him. He saw the black dots again, but he stubbornly ignored them. It has to be the tiredness. There was something worse than this sensation of physical weakness, though: Solo's words piercing through his anger and his pride to make him doubt. 

Vyper watched Arachnoid and some other pilots leave. Among them he saw Spook, who had returned apparently unharmed from his first combat mission with the squad. Others could not say the same. Vyper took a mental note to talk to him later and commend him for his performance, but that had to wait. Now there were a whole lot of urgent things he had to do before granting himself a single second of rest. First, he needed to know how bad the situation was and how many pilots had been lost. For obvious reasons, communications had been restricted to a minimum since the end of the combat. Let the Corellians guess what the New Republic losses were. But now Vyper needed that information, and not only for its military interest: there were friends out there.

After that, and as bad as he probably would feel, he'd have to work hard to keep the squadron as operational as possible. For all he knew, a new war had started. In spite of the momentary truce Princess Leia had just gotten, they could be ordered to go out and fight again at any moment. Vyper panted. He rose a hand to his forehead, wiping sweat off with his sleeve. The task ahead seemed tremendous. I don't even know where to start from, he thought. Morale is low and that is bad enough. Some pilots look depressed, and others too aggressive, especially Arachnoid. I can understand them. How couldn't I, as I feel like them? But if we're not able to get over all this, we're as good as dead already. I'll have to talk to them, but what can I say? Foxfire is a lot better at this kind of thing. Why did she and Moose have to go to ground? They could be useful here, even if they can't fly. If Gen'yaa doesn't object, I'll call them back. And Rooster. Just when we needed her and the Compassion the most. Damn, our luck is definitely rotten. In front of him, several fighters were being hastily loaded on the elevators to the storage area. Most of them showed visible damage. Vyper snorted. Now that was something to be handled first of all. Repairs and refit must start as soon as possible. Virtually every one of their remaining ships needed the hands and expertise of Mar Hanniuska's team. The noise made by a B-Wing stabilizer falling to the deck echoed through the hangar bay. "Some desperately," Vyper said aloud, and then he froze. Mar had to be in the hangar when the concussion missiles impacted. He hoped that she and her crew were all right. Vyper looked around, but he couldn't find the chief technician nor any of her group. Then he noticed Hawk, still sat where they had found him, seemingly too tired even to simply stand up.

"Hawk, are you all right?"

"Yes, Boss," the pilot nodded. "I'm not injured, just dirty."

"Glad to know. Have you seen Lieutenant Hanniuska?"

"Hmmm, no. That is, I don't know. Things have been confusing here."

"What about Sparks? He came more or less after you. With all this chaos I can't find his fighter."

"That's because the tractor beam brought it in to land on the port side." Noticing Vyper's dismay, Hawk hurried to finish his sentence. "No, well, they had already evacuated him to the medical bay when we were hit."

"To the medical bay? Is he injured, then?"

"I suppose so, but I didn't see him closely. I'm sorry."

"Are you asking about Sparks?" Ibero asked approaching. He came accompanied by Raiven, and both of them looked deadly serious. Considering the present circumstances, that didn't surprise Vyper. He remembered that the X-Wings had been the first craft to enter the hangar.

"Do you know something?"

"Yes. I've called to the medical bay. Sparks suffered a sort of heart attack."

"A heart attack?" Vyper asked in disbelief, while Hawk summoned at last the strength to get up.

"Yes, that's what the droid I talked to told me. It seems that his fighter received a heavy ion blast. The shields absorbed most of it, but some residual charge penetrated the cockpit, and he was almost electrocuted. He is out of danger now, though. This is all I know."

"Oh my. What about the others? Have you talked to the bridge, too?"

"I tried, but nobody answered my call. Michael."

"They must have their hands full up there. Let's try again and see if there's any good news." Vyper took his comm-link, raising a hand to ask Ibero to wait. "Bridge, this is Major Stauber, calling from the hangar. Do you copy me?"

"Affirmative, sir," an exhausted female voice answered this time. "This is Ensign Sarago."

"Can you tell me if any of my pilots has been recovered?"

"Negative, sir. The Brave Soul launched several search and rescue shuttles, but they were late. The Corellian boats arrived first. If there were survivors, they are now in their hands."

"Copy that, Ensign," Vyper snorted. "Stauber out. You heard that?"

"Yes, Michael."

"So we can't know for sure who was killed and who was not. Damn."

"Michael, there's more."

"Maybe all of them survived," Vyper continued, while Hawk nodded in agreement. He had heard Ibero adding something, but he was not really listening any more. He couldn't think of anything but the pilots who had not returned. I hope they all ejected in time. That they are safe onboard a Corellian ship. The four might be dead, though. Damn, damn, damn… There must be casualties here too. I should have asked the Ensign. This fire, and the impacts on the hull... Vyper shook his head. He had to keep his cool. Gen'yaa and Wumb would care about the Wolf's Lair and her crew. He had to focus on the squadron. "Exactly, how many pilots are missing? Sacart, Gandalf, Torpedo, Iceman… Someone else?"

"Yes," Raiven said. "Moose, Foxfire and Rooster, along with doctor Al Saruff."

"What?"

"That's what Ibero here was trying to tell you. The Compassion was shot down over the Balanish Country. Drake and I didn't even see what hit them. Drake is now reporting directly to Lieutenant Commander Wumb. That's why he's not here." Now Vyper was all ears. He waited in silence for Raiven to continue. He looked at Ibero, and this nodded. "We could detect no traces of life from the air. We were ordered to leave before being able to take a closer look, but they're probably dead."

Vyper felt his stomach turn upside down. Almost half the squadron had disappeared in the last hour. Among them there were practically all his oldest living friends, with the only exception of Granite. Now he and I are all of what remains from the old times.

"Michael, are you OK?"

"Err? Ah, yes, don't worry about me. Our first priority is our comrades, so let's see....Yes, Ibero, no need to tell me. The Admiral has just forbidden flights into Seibergian space, but I don't care if....Damn, we don't even have any transport available." Vyper made a gesture toward the smoking ships near the port exit.

"The Brave Soul and the frigates have shuttles;" Ibero proposed. "We'll make sure that one of them goes looking for the Compassion as soon as possible."

"I'll get that organized. You two go and get some rest. It's what I've said to the others as well. I'll stay for a while and will see if I can find Hanniuska."

"You sure?"

"Yes, yes." Go and leave me alone, please. "I'll call you later, Ibero. Hawk, pay a visit to the medical bay. You've probably breathed too much smoke, even with the mask."

"I will," Hawk promised.

"Michael, if you need me...." Ibero started.

"Later. I'll call you later."

"All right. Raiven, Hawk, let's go."

Vyper waited until the three had left the hangar, then he walked to the crate where Hawk had been sitting before. Putting all his frustration into the move, he hit it with his hands and feet until he was gasping for air. He winced at the pain in his knuckles, but another kind of pain, more subtle and twisted, was just starting to burn through him. It was the pain caused by a sense of loss and failure, of grief mixed with self recriminations, while the faces of those who were probably gone - still he insisted on using the word 'probably' in his thoughts - came to his mind, on and on.

Solo was in the medical bay when Ibero and Raiven arrived. They had come accompanying Hawk, expecting to have a chance to see Sparks, but the medical droid in charge wouldn't allow it. "This is a mess," Solo explained. "There are dozens of wounded here, mainly from the hangar, but also from other parts of the ship. Decks three and four had been seriously affected. There was a breach on the outer hull and several people were sucked out. And you would never know who had just been brought in. Arachnoid," he said without pausing. "He fainted in the turbolift. I've heard one of Al Saruff's assistants saying that it seemed a clear case of extreme exhaustion. And I was about to give him a punch down there...."

"I saw it," Ibero said.

Solo shook his head. He had to recover some self-control before accusing anybody else of losing his nerves. "Drake has been here, too, just a moment ago. He came after talking to Lieutenant Commander Wumb, when he learned that Sparks was here. He's told me about the Compassion. Raiven, please, go and see that he is alright, will you?"

Raiven nodded. "Of course, mate. I think I know where to find him."

"How much time has it been?" Ibero asked after Raiven left. "Five months since Razor's death?"

"Something like that," Solo agreed. "He saw how her girlfriend was murdered in front of his eyes and couldn't do anything to prevent it. Then the prison camp. What wouldn't he see there before escaping? And now this. A shuttle with some of his good friends aboard is shot down, not a hundred meters from him, and again he can't do anything." The Corellian pilot sighed. "Well, Raiven is his best friend here. He'll know how to cheer him up."

"I really hope so. How are you?"

Solo blinked at the unexpected change of focus in the conversation. Yes, how I am? "Not bad, I guess," he said after a short pause, trying to sort out his thoughts and feelings. He had feared this was going to happen for weeks, and had tried to guess how it would affect him, what he would do. Now he knew. He had behaved in combat as if the enemy in front were Imperial pilots, not possible friends from his childhood. And he had tried to guess what he would say if someone asked how he felt. Still he didn't know very well how to put it in words. "I suppose that when I left Corellia for the first time and started to fly everywhere, I became a sort of citizen of the galaxy." Bullshit, Solo thought. It had sounded like an essayed answer, and that was what it was. "I mean, I'm a Corellian, I feel like a Corellian, but I wholeheartedly believe in the New Republic. If I'm forced to fight against other Corellians, I can manage it. But I don't like it a single bit, of course."

"Of course."

What he had just said was true, but it didn't really answer Ibero's question. Probably nothing he said would. Solo couldn't tell from his partner's expression whether he believed that this was all about it or not, but at least he didn't seem inclined to keep asking questions. Or more probably he has his own concerns. And I think I know what they are. "What about you?"

"Me? What do you mean?"

"You were hit during the battle. I can see you're not injured, but...."

Now Ibero was the one who looked surprised for an instant, but then he nodded. "I didn't know you were such a mind reader."

"Your look. It gets lost from time to time, for the briefest instant. Like if you were thinking of something else, but tried hard to push it out of your mind."

Ibero arched an eyebrow. "I thought Drake was the ex policeman here, but you're a fine observer, too."

"I just like playing sabacc."

Ibero let a short laugh escape, but his expression remained serious. "Yes, they gave me quite a fright. I've been hit before, you know, and I even had to spend a few days in a bacta tank after Mon Calamari. But," Solo nodded, encouraging Ibero to continue, "it's not the same since my daughter was born. Only to think that I might not see her nor my wife again, that Lucia would grow up without a father--I have to fight constantly to not get frozen by that fear." An involuntary shudder accentuated Ibero's last sentence. Solo pursed his lips. He could understand that. Having a family of his own was a luxury for a fighter pilot in times of war, and most of them didn't even seriously think of it. Ibero was the only exception in the squadron, and Solo could see now that it was not easy for him. If going out to combat was always terrible, it had to be a lot harder if you had someone waiting for you at home. That was what Solo imagined, but he couldn't be certain. He didn't even have a place he could call home. When he joined the Alliance, he was implicitly renouncing returning to Corellia, at least while the Galactic War continued. Ibero lowered his gaze, and Solo felt suddenly uneasy. He now regretted asking.

"You manage very well," he said, just to break the silence. "I guess that...."

 "Lieutenant Commander Tengroth?" A voice sounded at Solo's back. The Corellian turned to find Lieutenant Commander Dey'jaa's hairy face in front of him. "Ah, Ibero, I'm glad to find you here, too."

"Hello, Mesch," Ibero said with a nod, returning quickly to his more usual self-confident attitude. "Can we be of help?"

"Yes, you can. I was looking for Lieutenant Commander Tengroth, but I don't object if you're present." Solo got immediately tense. Ibero and Dey'jaa talked to each other with familiarity, but the Bothan had addressed him formally, using his rank. Even Ibero looked suspicious. I saw it coming. I've become a security problem in their eyes. I've just shot down two Corellian fighters, but that won't prove anything. I'll be lucky if I'm confined to my quarters instead of being sent directly to a cell, just in case. "Counselor Organa will be meeting the Corellian Admiral within the hour, on board the First Citizen." Dey'jaa continued, seemingly unaware of Solo's concerns. "Negotiations will start immediately, and I don't need to tell you how serious things are. Before she departed, Colonel Gen'yaa talked to me about an idea she had, and I promised her I'd work on it. The present situation has made it of the utmost importance to put her plan into practice. For that I need you, Lieutenant Commander Tengroth."

Solo was astonished, but he answered without hesitation. "Of course. What is it all about?"

"We'll talk more comfortably in my quarters…" Dey'jaa seemed to notice the two pilots' appearance for the first time, still wearing their flight suits and their life support equipment. "Not immediately, of course. Can you be there in ten minutes?"

"You bet," Ibero answered. With that, both men raced out of the medical bay.

Mar Hanniuska stood on the flight deck regarding the destruction that surrounded her with unseeing eyes. A lonely tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a clearer streak on her blackened face. Hanniuska's look was fixed on a Verpine, as covered by grease as she was, working industriously on a crippled A-Wing. That was how Vyper found her.

"Mar? Are you all right?"

"No, I'm not." Vyper followed her look to the busy Verpine, who seemed not even to notice the presence of the two humans. Vyper remembered the names of the four Verpines who worked in Hanniuska's team, Phasx, Meggo, Detrs and Kllips, from a stupid song someone invented, probably Hardrive or Drake, around the woman's most obvious charms. The chorus was catchy, virtually impossible to forget once you had heard it once.

There it was again, and now it would be hard to get rid of it. Vyper would have laughed at himself if the situation were not what it was. Venting his frustration against the crate had helped, but he was far from feeling good. Nevertheless, the silly verse kept repeating in his mind while he watched the Verpine. Phasx, Meggo, Detrs and Kllips. Yes, he knew their names, but that didn't help him to distinguish one of the Verpines from another, something that seemed so easy for Hanniuska. It would be easy for me, too, if I had been living with them for years.

"Where are the others?" He had not finished his question when he understood the mistake he had just made.

"Detrs and Kllips are dead. Meggo is in the medical bay, seriously injured. He is waiting for his turn in the bacta tank, but he may not live to see it. Of the rest of technicians, seven are dead and five more are injured, although not as badly as Meggo."

Vyper bit his lower lip. "I'm sorry."

Hanniuska nodded. "Phasx has decided that work is the best thing to do, provided he can't do anything to help his brothers nor his friends. These Verpines are so practically minded… He is probably right, but, I don't thing I could...." Hanniuska interrupted herself, as if she had suddenly remembered something. "I saw Sparks. How is he?"

"I've been told that he will make it."

Hanniuska looked at him, probably noticing the bitterness in his voice. "And the rest of the guys? Not all the fighters are here…"

Vyper returned the look. "We've lost Torpedo, Sacart, Iceman and Gandalf. We don't know for sure if any of them survived. The Corellians recovered all the ejected pilots. And I've just learned that the Compassion was shot down on Seibergia with Rooster, Moose, Foxfire and Doctor Al Saruff on board."

"What? The Compassion too?" Dismayed, Hanniuska lowered her look. "I had to imagine. Things out there must have been tough, too."

"A real hell. And it may not be over yet."

The woman nodded in silence. A new tear traced a second streak on her cheek. She got along very well with the pilots, and some of them were close friends for her, especially Rooster. Vyper regretted having come looking for Hanniuska so soon, without finding out first what the casualties among her crew were. He had just made her grief worse with his news. He waited, expecting Hanniuska to break down crying at any moment, but that didn't happen. Instead, the dark-haired woman took a hydro-spanner from her tool belt and climbed to the ship adjacent to the one Phasx was working on. "I'll see that these cans are back in combat condition when you need them," she said, "but Vyper?"

"Yes?"

"Next time shoot down a couple of those bastard Corellians for me."

Vyper left without answering, feeling his uneasiness grow. Hanniuska's reaction had proven something that worried him the most, now that he thought of it. Before the recent battle, the immense majority of the New Republic people would have said that they didn't want a war against the Corellian worlds, and they would be sincere. Those same people, at least on board this and the rest of the ships that had taken a part on the fight, were now thirsty for revenge. It's easy to assume that it will be the same among the Corellians. We all have suffered losses today, although ours have been probably worse. I don't imagine how they are going to keep that from ruining any attempt of negotiation. Vyper took a deep breath. Good luck, Princess Leia. You sure are going to need it. And if there's actually such a thing, may the Force with you.

"I don't know how we are going to get him out of here." Moose shook his head coming out through the emergency hatch. "The access to the cockpit is definitely blocked. We'd need a laser torch to cut it open."

"There must be some other way," Foxfire said. "We can't leave him here. Who knows when help will come."

"If it ever does," Moose replied. Noticing Foxfire's admonishing look, he decided to elaborate more. "I mean in time. Another of those chicken walkers could come, and we sure wouldn't be so lucky. Those troopers we saw, they must be calling for reinforcements right now."

"Do you think they are part of a Seibergian offensive? We had never detected Seibergian heavy vehicles this far from the frontiers before. We've got to get access to a communications unit…"

"Please, think of something," Rooster pleaded appearing behind Moose. "I think the doctor was right. There must be some kind of internal damage. I think he's about to slip into a coma."

Sdermila watched the New Republic people coming in and out of the crippled ship wondering how she could be of help. More of the refugees had been arriving since the shooting had ended, although most of the group stood on the path. She saw Deveralia and her sons there, and waved at them to make them know she was there and that she was safe. Deveralia answered raising timidly a hand, which she lowered immediately. Sdermila turned toward the spacers. For what she had heard and seen, it seemed that they were unable to take their doctor out. She walked around the ship with her kalahorse in tow, trying to have a look at the cabin. It was then when she noticed the damaged windscreen.

"Excuse me, ma'am," she called the woman with the arm in a sling, the one who had introduced herself as Foxfire. "Have you tried to break the windscreen?"

"The windscreen?" Foxfire repeated. "It's made of transparisteel. Even fractured as it is, there's no way we can break it. Moose there has already tried in vain."

"But if there were a way, wouldn't that harm the man trapped inside?"

"We could cover him with some blankets… Why, do you have an idea?" the woman asked suddenly, disbelief and hope mixed in her voice.

"Maybe. Or maybe not, if that thing is as tough as you say."

"How?"

"My kalahorse could do it. I believe."

The woman didn't stop to ask details. She ran towards her partners and told them something. They both entered hastily the ship again. When they came out, less than a minute later, the woman went back.

"Do you need something? We have some tools…"

"No, no, just stay behind me." Sdermila pulled the reins forcing the kalahorse to move. "Come on, old beast. Let's see if there's still some of your bad temper inside that ugly body." She made the animal to turn until its rear quarters were in front of the damaged viewscreen, less than a meter from the place where its right side sank in the snow. Then she let the reins drop and walked back some steps. The kalahorse now seemed calm enough. Sdermila crouched down and took some snow in her hands. She got up rounding the snow into a ball, and then launched it at the kalahorse's rear side. The startled beast kicked back with all its strength, hitting the viewscreen with both hooves at the same time. The transparisteel cracked almost without noise. The kalahorse made an attempt to run, but already Sdermila was recovering her grip on the hanging reins. An old man approached her, limping, and helped her to hold down the animal.

"It will be enough!" The big spacer, Moose, exclaimed with satisfaction. "Rooster, help me out here!"

"Sshhh. Calm yourself, old beast," Sdermila muttered close to the kalahorse's ear while she caressed the fur on its neck. "You've done a good work. I'm glad with you."

"It's still a good kalahorse," the old man commented in Balanish.

"Thank you very much, Sdermila," Foxfire exclaimed. "That...kalahorse? Yes, that kalahorse of yours may have saved our doctor's life."

Sdermila nodded, feeling a tear fighting to roll down. Foxfire said, "I'm sorry, have I said something wrong?"

"No, you don't," she answered recovering the composure. "And you're welcome."

Foxfire smiled and walked back towards the ship.

"You see, Taigor," Sdermila said to herself, in a barely audible tone. "The old beast has redeemed itself. It killed you, but know it has saved a man's life." In that moment, Moose came out through the broken windscreen, pulling a blanket with considerable difficulties. Rooster held as best as she could the other end, her face red with the effort. Two Balanish women went to help them. Sdermila first thought that the New Republic doctor had to be very big, very fat, of both things at once. But when she had a better look at the body that laid on the blanket, she gasped. "Maybe not exactly a man's life, Taigor," she corrected herself, "but someone's life anyway."

Doctor Al Saruff was accommodated as best as possible on a floating stretcher, which Moose and Rooster had managed to remove from the shuttle's cargo compartment. Evidently, these Balanish had never seen an Ithorian before because his appearance caused no little sensation. The first person to recover from the surprise was that old woman, Sdermila, who was now helping Rooster to apply bacta patches on several places on the doctor's body. Under Foxfire's direction, some of the sturdiest women had made a human chain to recover as many things as possible from the Compassion. Most of the containers had resisted the crash without suffering serious damage, but some of the most valuable items, like the two food processors and the first-grade energy generator, couldn't be extracted through the narrow emergency hatch. They had no time to try to dismantle them, and even if they did, they couldn't carry too much stuff with only a handful of kalahorses. They had to content themselves with what they could get. It would be much better than nothing.

While Moose watched the surroundings, dozens of sealed boxes of food and medicines, packed tents and other various supplies were passed from hand to hand, from the interior of the shuttle to the exterior, where Foxfire classified them. Moose lowered the macrobinoculars and took a look at the piles of stuff recovered already. Soon they would have all that they could carry. Moose hesitated. He wanted to inspect the AT-ST before leaving, but on the other hand he didn't like the idea of lowering his guard. So far, he had been unable to find any trace of more troops around, but that didn't mean there weren't any. There were a hundred places where a pair of stormtroopers could be hidden with an E-Web or a portable launcher. But if that was the case, what they were waiting for before attacking them? He called Foxfire's attention and pointed at the walker. She nodded and patted the holster of her blaster. Moose smiled. Sometimes he still was amazed at how well they understood each other, even without words. He started to walk towards the AT-ST.

He opened the upper hatch with the utmost care, ready to shoot his blaster at the first sign of movement. His caution proved to be superfluous: the two occupants of the walker were dead, as he had already suspected. One of them had his skull broken. His helmet was sunk above his forehead by the impact against the viewport. The man had been careless or stupid enough to not correctly fasten his restraints. The other puzzled Moose at first. He didn't wear his helmet, which rested in front of him on the crippled control panel. His head fell lazily on his chest, giving him the look of a deactivated droid, but there were no blood nor signs of fatal injuries. Moose moved his face looking for a clue, and then something fell from his mouth. It was a small jewel, hanging from a necklace the man was wearing under the armor. When Moose, intrigued, inspected it, discovered that the jewel concealed a little compartment under its rear face. It was open and empty. "Poison," he said aloud, "it had to be some kind of poison." There was no way he could be sure, though, without an autopsy of the corpse or an analysis of the jewel's interior. There might be some microscopic remains of what it had contained. He decided to check if the other man carried his own necklace, too. Removing carefully the helmet, and getting his hands soaked in blood in the process, he confirmed his suspicion. Moose passed the necklace with its unopened jewel around the soldier's smashed head and dropped it into one of his pockets. Before getting out of the walker's cockpit, he searched the soldiers' armor. He took their blasters and their personal datapads, which might store some valuable data. When he finally came out, he thanked the cold blow of wind that greeted him. It cleaned away the smell of death from his nostrils.

Meanwhile, Rooster and Sdermila had tied the floating stretcher on which doctor Al Saruff lay to the old woman's kalahorse. The things they had salvaged from the Compassion were now carried by the remaining kalahorses and the refugees themselves. The column was ready to move.

"We'll be travelling with them," Foxfire explained. "They are heading to our camp, so we can give them some protection."

"And we can conceal ourselves among them," Moose said in a low voice, so Rooster couldn't hear him, "in case there are any undesired observers along these mountains."

Foxfire nodded. "That too. What did you find in the walker?"

"The pilots are dead. One of them by the crash, the other committed suicide." Foxfire looked at him, arching her eyebrows. "He poisoned himself. Both of them wore one of these," Moose said showing her the collar. "The jewel conceals the poison. At least I'm sure it's not a condiment for their lunches."

"Why do you think they'd be so fearful of being captured?"

"I don't know. Perhaps they've done so many atrocities that they think the Balanish will torture them if they're caught."

"Can you imagine these women, children and old people torturing anybody?"

"No, I can't, but maybe the local guerillas are another thing."

"Maybe. One of the refugees has mentioned that they encountered them last night. They recruited all the non incapacitated men and parted. They left a young boy behind to serve the remaining refugees as a guide."

"A guide boy? Where is he?"

"He went ahead to explore, I've been told. Maybe he was the one who was shooting at the Seibergians a while ago."

"That would explain it. Without his help, I doubt we'd have been able to make them flee. But why he didn't show up after?" Moose stopped at mid sentence. For Foxfire's look, the same thought had occurred to her. Moose ran toward the place where he believed his ally had been hidden.

And there he found him. A laser bolt had penetrated his throat and destroyed most of the boy's neck, almost tearing apart his head. He couldn't be more than fifteen years old. Moose felt suddenly very sick and very angry.

"There's nothing we can do," he said to Foxfire and Rooster, who had come at Foxfire's request carrying a salvaged medpac.

"Poor kid," Foxfire said. Rooster winced and looked at the other side.

"Now that we're here, I may as well take a look," Moose said. "I'll be back."

Foxfire shook her head and returned with Rooster, while Moose walked, not without caution, toward the elevation from whichthe Seibergians had been shooting. There he found a dead stormtrooper and a speeder bike, with the engine pierced in two places by blaster impacts. Half buried beside it, there was a sniper blaster, which Moose took. The weapon had a thermal sight installed. The snow had no doubt being confounding the device, attenuating the readings it could get and preventing it from acquiring targets. That had probably saved Moose's life. That and the boy there. Moose noticed then uneven footsteps moving away. Some stains of blood, almost swallowed by the snow but still visible, sprinkled the ground here and there. One of them was injured. He couldn't use the speeder bike, so he had to escape on foot. Moose took some steps following the prints. Some meters away, their owner had fallen. From there the footsteps were more irregular. He is half crawling. Can't be too far.

Holding the sniper blaster at ready, Moose followed the footsteps as fast as the snow layer allowed.