Introduction and Welcome

The Battle of Yavin: Black Six

FAN FICTION DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fan fiction using characters, vehicles, worlds, and situations from the Star Wars galaxy, which are trademarked by Lucasfilm and Disney. The story I tell here is my own invention for entertainment only, and it is not purported or believed to be part of the Star Wars canon. I have not, and will not, profit financially from this story. I would like to thank George Lucas, and everyone involved in creating the official and unofficial films, books, comics, games, and art that make up the rich Star Wars universe.

SUMMARY

During the Battle of Yavin, the notable turning point of the Galactic Civil War, the Imperial Navy leadership commanding the deep space tactical battle station Death Star failed to recognize the attack by the Rebel Alliance force of thirty single-seat fighters as a threat. As a consequence, only nine Imperial fighters, out of the thousands aboard the station, scrambled to meet the Alliance raiders. Only Darth Vader’s personal squadron, the 61st “Black” Squadron, engaged the enemy on that occasion. Much has been written about Darth Vader’s element, consisting of him and his two wing seconds, “Mauler” in Black Two and “Backstabber” in Black Three, but scant attention has been devoted to the actions of the other six TIE/LN fighters that launched that day. This is the story of ace and element lead Danellen Taila who piloted Black Six during that fateful engagement.


The Battle of Yavin: Black Six

     “What a load of gundark dwang,” exclaimed newly minted Lieutenant Commander Danellen Taila at the claim made by the the gray-suited space trooper who sat across the table. He wore the insignia of first sergeant, which gave him privileges in the officer’s mess.
     The first sergeant smiled while he chewed on a rather large bite of potam. He exuded a confidence that she hadn’t expected from a ground-pounder. Though, to be fair, she hadn’t spent much time in their company. 
     “I was down there, ma’am,” he said, stabbing at his chest with his thumb. “I got the order myself.”
     “The way I heard it,” Commander Marsten Rim, Taila’s flight lead, spoke up. “The 501st troopers balked. Let the rebel commandos spring a prisoner and escape. Made a mess of the cell block too.”
     “Hardly.” The old trooper took another bite and chewed slowly, eyeing Lieutenant Commander Taila, then Commander Rim. Steel gray, close-cropped hair rippled at his temples as he ate. He eased his gaze to take in the rest of the 61st “Black” Squadron officers with disdain.
     Taila feigned a grin. “So you’re telling me that your orders were to flush the rebel group back to their ship and, what, let them go?”
     The sergeant growled through gritted teeth, “That’s exactly it, ma’am.” 
     “Ha!” Taila scoffed. “That's why I don't believe it. Orders or no, you put a rebel in my sights and I’ll hose ’em every time.”
     The sergeant leaned in with a menacing expression. “Maybe so, ma’am. That’s the difference between us in the 501st and you flappers. We fight with honor and discipline. We follow orders.”
     “Orders?” Lieutenant Junior Grade Caleb “Teb” Tebrath asked as he approached the table. “What orders?” He radiated his usual jocularity, which seemed out of place in the current atmosphere at the table. JG Teb slid his tray onto the plastene table next to Taila’s and sat with a thud that shook the whole bench, eliciting a few grumbles of complaint down the line. “Sorry, mates,” he said with a  salute of his fork.
     “These knuckle draggers are trying to tell us that they were under orders to flush the rebel commandos to their pirate ship -- unharmed. And, get this, let them go,” Taila said, rehashing the gist of the conversation for JG Teb’s benefit.
     “Well, yeah,” Teb clipped with his Inner Core inflection, taking another bite of shule nef.
     “Sorry, come again?” Taila asked, surprised at Teb’s nonchalance. 
     The first sergeant nodded from across the table. “Damn straight.”
     Having missed the previous discussion, Teb glanced around to assess the mood. “Listen, a bloke I know in the 24th was flying on sentry station at the time. They got a priority signal during intercept with the retreating pirate craft—” Teb glanced around and lowered his voice. “A signal from Station Actual." He nodded and continued. "Yeah, Tarkin himself. Get this. They were told to make a few gun runs at it, but to let it go."
     Conversations stopped and all eyes fell upon the junior officer as he took another bite.
     "Let it go?!?" Commander Rim echoed. “No way! Not possible!”
     "I swear," Teb looked up and met his commander's gaze. "That's what the guys said."     
     Lieutenant Commander Taila shook her head with a scowl. “Ban-tha-shit,” she said, enunciating each syllable.
     Teb grinned and raised his right hand. “By the Sith! I’m not kidding. All four of the 24th pilots survived, too.”
     “I don’t believe a word of it.” Taila said. “Why would they do something so reckless and stupid?”
     The master sergeant folded his arms. “Orders, ma’am.”
     JG Teb shrugged pointing toward the first sergeant. 
     The 501st trooper stood and lifted his tray. “Just speculation, ma’am. But where do you think we been headin’ these past sixteen hours if not following a tracker on that pirate boat?” He nodded and said, “Good day, ma’am. Sirs.” Then turned and strode away.
     “He’s right, you know,” said Teb. “We spooled up the hyperdrives not five minutes after the Alliance ship jumped.”
     “Guess that’s true,” said Commander Rim, sloshing his drink around in the cup and finishing it off in one final swig.
     “Hey,” said Teb, elbowing Taila changing the subject. “Your pass come through yet?”
     Taila pulled a chit from her shirt pocket with a bit of flourish.
     Teb laughed out loud. “Had it on you?!”
     “Not really. I had just checked in at Billet before mess call. Read it and weep.“ She flicked the card down in front of Teb. “Seven glorious days doing not a single thing anywhere within a ten-sector of our next port of call.” 
     Teb whistled and nodded in a comical show of approval. “So where you goin’?” 
     Even the stoic Commander Rim perked up and leaned in.
     “Couple of days on Sacorria visiting the folks, then I’ve got some time scheduled at a Corellian resort.”
     “Corellia,” exclaimed Teb. “How’d you swing that?”
     Taila shrugged. “Friend of the family.”
     “Oh ho! I bet—” Teb’s retort was interrupted by a shrill whistle, indicating command traffic over the station-wide intercom. 
     ACTION STATIONS. ALL HANDS GENERAL QUARTERS. THIS IS AN ALERT 15. REPEAT, ALERT 15 THROUGHOUT THE STATION.”
     “Here we go,” said Commander Rim. He set down his cup and stood. “Suit up.”
     JG Teb leaned back and yawned stretching his arms with a great pop of his spine.
     “Don’t let us interrupt your dining,” Taila clapped him across the shoulder from where she stood.
     “Ma’am,” Teb said with a half-salute. He stood slowly, shoveling another bite into his  mouth.
     Taila turned to catch up with the commander. “I still don’t know what I’d do with a crazy order like that,” she said.
     “You’d follow it, obviously,” Commander Rim slurred with a smile.
     “Yes, sir. To perfection, sir,” she said mimicking his tone. As Black Six, Taila wasn’t exactly senior, but she was an element lead and a proven warrior with 11.12 victories, according to the computed tally. As such, she enjoyed a camaraderie with Commander Rim and the other element leads.
     Like most elite units, Black Squadron was a tight-knit bunch, but Lord Vader did things differently with his personal squadron. When he flew with them, which wasn’t often these days, he took as his wing men both members of the lead element, Captain Ventik “Mauler” Mithel and Commander Aurelius “Backstabber” Starfallen. He did this to maintain flight element integrity. In other words, Lieutenant Commander Taila retained her position as element lead with JG Teb as her wingman. Order and efficiency were Sith Lord's bywords.
     Lord Vader didn’t care much for the tallies, either. “To the mission at all costs.” If that meant ignoring all fighter entanglements on that particular day, so be it.  Besides, as Mauler was fond of saying, usually after he’d bagged a few and everyone else came up dry, “There just aren’t enough pirates and rebels to go around.”
     “Mauler” Mithel was the stuff of legend.  Hand picked by Lord Vader as the leader of Black Group, Mithel had personally etched twenty-seven victories on the hull of his TIE/LN fighter. Both Mauler and Backstabber were a breed apart form the rest. They rarely ate with the squadron or hung out with them in the ready room. The orders came from one or the other, and they led the flights, but that was usually the limit of their interaction. This arrangement had the effects of keeping the squadron members in awe and fighting discipline tight.
     After suiting up, the 61st Squadron pilots sat in the ready room along with the pilots of 24th Squadron while the fitters “lit” the TIE fighters, charging all systems for launch. The 24th shared hangar space with the 61st in this section of the station, and the two squadrons often operated together.
     The regular hum of the hyperspace drive wound down, replaced by the deeper thrumming of the sublight engines.
     The Command Intercom blared again. “THE REBEL BASE WILL BE IN RANGE IN THIRTY MINUTES.” 
     “What’d I tell you,” said JG Teb, grinning.
     “I’ll be damned,” Taila said. She turned to Teb smiling sweetly. “But I believe it was the good sergeant who speculated about the tracker.”
     “Nutters,” said Teb with a wave of his hand. He looked up and called out, “Hey Lithal! What’s the score, chappy? We goin’ in or what?”
     The leader of 24th Squadron, Captain Kell Lithal, walked over and grasped Teb’s hand. “Nope. We’re sitting this one out. Word is the Alliance fleet hasn’t been able to muster since the defeat at Scarif. Sensors detect a small group of fighters about 30 strong.  That may be all they can put up. Looks like this might finally be the end of that little chapter, my friend.” He put up a fist at a casual angle and Teb bumped it with his own fist.
     “Omega strike, then?” asked one of the 24th squadron pilots. Omega was the code name for the massive super laser deployed by the deep space battle station.
     Captain Lithal fingered his mustache. “Looks that way. But I think the planners, bless’em, hadn’t counted on Yavin Prime knocking us out of hyperspace this far out. It'll take some time to maneuver.”
     “So we’re just to sit here?” the young pilot grumbled.
     “Like I said, without an enemy fleet to attack, there’s nothing to do.” The captain shrugged. ”I’m surprised the brass ordered ALERT at all.”
     JG Teb made a rude sound with his mouth.
     A few minutes passed and the intercom blared again. “WARNING. WARNING. THE STATION IS UNDER ATTACK. ALL HANDS, ACTION STATIONS.”
     The pilots stood and gathered their gear, but Commander Rim came in. “Relax everyone. We’re still on ALERT ONE FIVE. The attack isn’t a threat.”
     “But still, “ said Taila. “Doesn’t make sense to let them come in unimpeded. Shouldn’t we intercept?”
     The commander grunted. “Meh. I hear the senior commanders don’t want to bother with launch and recovery. They figure the gun crews can hold off the raiders until we bring the main weapon to bear.”
     “Hell,” complained Lieutenant Zerrid Creel, pilot of Black Five. “I’m beginning to think this is a bum assignment. I’d almost rather be on a destroyer.”
     “I can arrange that,” Commander Rim said, cuffing Creel, his wing second, on the shoulder and smirking a good-natured grin. 
     “So what are we supposed to do, sir?” Lieutenant Creel asked.
     “Sit tight. I’ll check on the crews and keep you posted.” Commander Rim turned for the exit.
     They heard a series of booms echo through the bulkhead, followed by an enormous thud that shook them in their seats. The usual banter and laughing ceased, though a few muttered quiet expletives.
     The duty officer scanned the frequencies listening to the chatter. “Two hangars have already been knocked out,” he said.
     “C’mon.” Lieutenant Taila said. “We gotta launch!”
     Another distant explosion shook the room.
     “BREACH BREACH BREACH” blasted over the intercom followed by the klaxon. “ALL  HANDS LEND ASSISTANCE. SECTIONS SEVEN-ZETA-ALPHA THROUGH ONE-SIX-SIGMA-BETA.” 
     Just then the commander ran back into the room with a wide grin and slapped the wall. “Black Group scramble! Let's go."
     Black Squadron pilots whooped and grabbed their gear. 
     “Stay put, Two Four! We have no orders—” Taila heard Captain Lithal shout to his pilots in the ready room as she pelted down the corridor to the fighter pens.
     She met Commander Rim at the door to the tubes. “ALERT FIVE?” she asked prepping her helmet. That meant sweating in the cockpit, suited up, and standing by. Miserable work.
     Commander Rim paused. He held his helmet suspended in both hands ready to put it on. “No,” he said with a grin. “Immediate battle launch. Already cleared.” He jammed his helmet on, gave it a tug, and sealed the neck ring. He pumped upward with his index finger in the sign to take flight, then turned for the door. 
     Taila quickly sealed her own helmet and followed. She past the commander’s fighter pen marked Black Four, noted that Black Five and Black Seven were ready for launch, then swung around the stanchion to the Black Six portal.
     She lept to the ladder, wrapped the arch of her boots onto the outside rails, squeezed the the palms of her gloves against the metal, and slid the seven feet into the waiting maw at the top of the late model TIE/LN space superiority fighter.
     The fitters had everything up and humming. She sealed the cockpit, then scanned systems while fastening the harness. Guns approached overcharge, but not yet in the red -- might not have to dump energy to recharge depending on how the fight played out.
     The launch beacon was lit and flashed the scramble code. Everything was set. They would clear comms later during form-up.
     Taila glanced up from the checklist to see Lieutenant Creel in Black Five launch, followed closely by Rim and Teb in Black Four and Black Seven. With mounting anticipation, she hit the square Release button on the starboard console and felt the usual kick in the pants before the dampeners caught up with launch acceleration.
     Taila’s eyes adjusted as her craft cleared the hanger shield. She noted from the scope that both Black Eight and Nine had launched seconds behind. No need for orbit.
      “Black Group, Black Four. Combat formation,” Rim called out. ”I want to bracket them. The jamming should allow us to catch'em napping.” The element leads keyed their comms in response causing a ripple sound in the headsets.
     “Scratch one raider,” a distant voice crackled over the Guard frequency -- the gun crews claiming a kill.
     Good for them, Taila thought. With only six TIEs scrambled, Black Group would need all the help they could get.
     The formation drifted into wide combat spread. Commander Rim’s voice rang clear over the headset. “Five-to-one the hard way so make this first pass count. Green it up. Thirty seconds.”
     They all knew the drill. Each fighter would attack singly rather than in elements for the first pass, then form up for mutual support. They needed to break up the attack, not get into a turning fight. Unfortunately, cat-and-mouse was the worst kind of mission in an “Eyeball” designed for one thing: to turn with the enemy and lay down a barrage of fire to overwhelm the target’s shield generator and shatter the hull. 
     In silence, Black Group climbed over the horizon directly into the tail end of a flock of raiders. Taila closed with a Y-wing, holding off until the ugly nacelles filled her viewscreen. Like some kind of insect gone wrong, she thought. When she opened up with the twin lasers of her L-s1 cannon, the Alliance craft split in half. It erupted in an orange fireball as she scooted past. Glancing forward through the viewscreen, Taila saw Commander Rim flame a pair of close-formation T-65s in a single pass.
     “Black Four, smoke two,” Rim called over the Victor frequency for Black Group’s ears only.
     Five destroyed, two damaged in the initial pass. Not perfection, but not bad, Taila thought.
      Craft turned, dove, and skidded in every direction. Taila kept up a system of scanning the scopes to avoid target fixation -- certain death for a TIE driver. Out of habit she auto-locked the nearest bandit, then banked hard to pick up another Y-wing as it passed in front of her right to left. She racked the retros to keep from overshooting, getting thrown forward in the straps, then pulled tight to get lead on the enemy craft. When the targeting computer buzzed, she squeezed the trigger and hosed down the starfield in front of the Y-wing forcing the craft to fly through the barrage for a perfect deflection shot. Unscathed at first as green laser bolts sparked blue against the ray shield, the Y-wing continued forward until receiving a full burst that shredded the port nacelle.
     The enemy pilot ejected as the spacecraft entered a violent spin and disintegrated into a mass of bits and charged particles. Oddly, no explosion. As she darted through the debris Taila saw the orange head of an R4 astromech unit fly past her craft — like a flickering, flashing child’s toy spinning through space. The whole disintegration had lasted less than 1.5 seconds, but her mind captured it in detail. One of the stranger things she’d seen out in the black
     Taila called “smoke two” but had to dodge red-orange laser bolts that flashed past her viewscreen. She immediately hit the target lock to track the attacker and corkscrewed the little fighter into the enemy’s flight path to decrease her time in the cross-hairs. Once clear of fire, she threw everything over, reversing her turn. The red-striped snout of a white T-65 flew past and banked directly across her reticle. Correcting slightly, she unleashed the rapid-fire laser. Astonishingly, the hits went straight into the hull without shielding, similar to her previous attack on the Y-wing. Pieces flew off the craft and the top, port-side engine spit out a long flame of plasma. A split second before the engine exploded, Taila saw the canopy jettison, then a fireball engulfed the enemy fighter. No time to see more. She flipped upside down and pulled hard to avoid the debris. 
     “—aft shields are down!” She heard over Victor freq when her hearing and sight came back into focus. Inertial dampeners allowed G loads not sustainable by the human anatomy, but fighter maneuvers could overwhelm the tech, especially in a 19 G drop-kick Koiogran turn.
     “I say again, hit from behind. Aft shields are down. It’s a Traladon shoot!”
     That explains it, Taila thought. Configured for strafing attacks with their shields double front the Alliance pilots had been caught with their pants down, and Black Group was taking full advantage. 
     She keyed her comm. “Black Group, Black Six. Smoke three.” 
      Glancing up, both fore and aft scopes displayed a cluttered mess of red and green symbols indicating she was in the middle of the furball surrounded by friendlies and bandits alike. Not the place one wanted to be in an unshielded fighter.
     JG Teb’s voice cracked over Victor. “Black Seven. Got a brace of ‘em cornered. Bullseye two-six-one.” Her wing second’s way of calling for assistance. 
     “Black Six,” she responded, then acked her mic and started a turn toward the coordinates.
     Just as Teb’s TIE came into view it exploded from a very lucky long shot dead astern. No eject beacon.
     Her heart sank. It can't be! The kid just bought it.
     The T-65 Teb had been chasing banked allowing the X-wing he hadn't seen to cut the corner and join up. The “lucky” X-wing passed high to her 12 o’clock just out of range. “Not for long, you bastard,” she said slamming the throttle forward.
     “Black Group, Black Six. Teb’s been hit. Anyone see if he got out?” Taila called to the group.
     “Negative,” a voice cracked over victor. “No beacon.”
     No shit, whoever-you-are. “Any visual?” Silence. She felt her throat tighten. "Dammit, Teb," she breathed as she chased the enemy fighter. 
     Before she could accelerate to full speed, another TIE/LN jumped the X-wing. She couldn’t make out the TIE’s markings. Black Eight, maybe? The X-wing twisted and flipped, but the TIE stuck with it. A thing of beauty. Only a matter of time.  She anticipated adding her own fire to the fray.
     Taila felt the thump of a laser bolt. The stick shuddered and the little fighter skidded. Alliance laser fire engulfed her TIE as three X-wings came up from the surface -- twelve heavy cannon. Firepower equivalent to a frontal assault by a Nebulon-B frigate. 
     Taila slammed the stick into her gut and barrel-rolled, letting off a few wild shots as her craft cleared the danger and forced the three enemy fighters to overshoot. She then kicked left to turn in directly behind. They flew straight on without changing course as if undecided which way to break. 
     “Bad formation, boys,” she said to herself. Monologuing was a known vice among single-seaters. “Too tight. You’re more worried about colliding than the bastard on your six lighting you up.” She punctuated her little speech with laser fire raking the raiders from port to starboard across the whole formation. Energized splats of shield hits met her shots. The jig was up. The raiders had wised up and reconfigured their shields for full coverage — dogfight mode. She’d have to work for the next kill.
     “Black Group. Black Four. Smoke five,” Taila heard over the Victor.
     The commander was on a roll. 
     Before Taila could correct for another shot, the trio split-up twisting in three directions. Muscle memory pushed the stick to port and she stuck to the fighter breaking left. 
     As she angled in on the enemy ship, Taila heard the familiar triple-click of a squadron mate acking their comlink, then a bright nova lit up her viewscreen to starboard. It had come from where Black Eight had engaged the raider that had hit Teb. She expected to see the X-wing flying apart, but the actual scene took a moment to sink in.
     Two X-wings crossed nose-to-nose through the wreckage of Black Eight like a stunt maneuver at a flight show. As the X-wings diverged from the plasma afterglow the fighter heading in Taila’s direction rolled around its horizontal axis before banking up and away. Cocky, she thought, stealing a glance across her scope, then back to the T-65 she still pursued.
     Taila sensed that the enemy pilot was about to break. Maybe a telltale wobble or shake of the craft telegraphed it. Whatever it was, she lightened her grip on the controls in anticipation. Sure enough, the X-wing flipped over and skidded hard to starboard.
     She fired a salvo that went wide as the craft flashed through her gun site. Taila pulled up and rolled over the top to the outside. A hard turn to port put her inside the enemy’s turning arc. A second more and she would have a shot.
     “Black Group, Black Lead. Maintain top cover. My element will take the bombers.“ 
     Vader? That was a surprise. Not that the Sith Lord didn’t relish a good fight, but with a regiment under his command, the Dark Lord usually occupied the war room rather than the cockpit. The thought ran through the recesses of Taila’s mind that maybe the situation was more dire than the brass were letting on.
     Beeeep! The lock from the targeting computer brought her attention back to the task at hand. She fired. The salvo slammed home throwing sparks of energy off the fighter's shielding. Immediately, the enemy craft nosed down, then reversed up into the perpendicular plane. By the time Taila reacted, the T-65 was off her starboard rear quarter tracking and firing. 
     "Holy shit!" Flying by scope after losing visual, she rolled her light fighter around the enemy fire, then pulled tight to starboard. She felt a violent THUMP against the hull, like a kick in the ribs, then everything lit up. Warning lights, verbal advisories, and alarm klaxons blared at once. Switching hands on the control column to hold the turn, she smacked the damage symbology button with the back of her right hand. 
     Dammit all.
     The console flashed red around the starboard panel. The ion engine indicator showed a thirteen percent drop, and the gun charge system blinked OFF LINE. But, the guns held their charge. She was still in the fight.
     “I’ll take them myself. Cover me,” Vader’s mechanical voice droned over the comm.
     Taila ignored the call and turned to bring the X-wing back into her sites as she passed astern. The T-65 reversed, angling for another shot. She reversed as well, then rotated to point the top of her TIE toward the enemy to present a smaller profile. Again and again they passed and reversed in a Rolling Scissors. With each iteration Taila’s trusty little Black Six eased into the advantage, enjoying a tighter turn radius than the gawking Rebel fighter. Two more cycles and she would be in firing position. “C’mon,” she muttered against the strain.
     On the next iteration the X-wing executed a 90 degree hook and went for separation. The enemy craft came into Taila’s viewscreen at the far edge of range pulling away due to her damaged panel. An easy shot, but as the distance increased few of her long range shots hit home and the craft continued on.
     Her lock warning screeched. She automatically broke to port and scanned her aft scopes thinking the threat was behind. A flash to the right caught her attention. The X-wing Taila had been chasing nosed over revealing two blue streaks tracking toward her, coming in fast. 
     A gutsy tactic. An enemy craft beyond Taila’s visual range had fired torpedoes through the flight path of its squadron mate to obscure the launch. A desperate move, because the timing had to be perfect to avoid fratricide, but effective. Had Taila been closer by half, exactly where she would have been if not for Black Six’s damaged thrust system, the force of two exploding warheads at that proximity would have been impossible to avoid.
     Taila immediately auto-targeted the closest torpedo and executed a 90 degree whip turn up into the vertical plane to force the projectiles into spending energy. After two counts, she reversed, pulled, then continued in an ever-tightening spiral across their path. The maneuver should press the torpedoes to overshoot or lose lock.
     “Black Six, defending,” she grunted. With her wing man, JG Teb, out of the fight maybe Commander Rim’s flight element could assist.
     “Unable,” crackled over the comlink followed by a series of clicks. She was on her own.
     One of the projectiles detonated. Luckily for Taila her immediate evasive maneuvering had cleared enough space between the TIE and the proton torpedo to escape damage. 
     She corrected and pulled hard to put the remaining projectile off the nose. Once turning with the torpedo she could stay in behind it as the TIE/LN could maintain a tighter turn radius than the MG4-A. 
     Designed to take on capital ships and stationary targets, the MG4 series Proton Torpedo could not turn-and-burn with maneuvering fighters. The catch: Taila had to track with the projectile until it burned out, or risk the homing torpedo coming back at her. The process could take 30 to 50 seconds, an eternity in the midst of a furball. Taila executed random vertical Yo-Yo’s during her turn to spoil the aim of any hostile pilots trying to sneak in a shot while she turned against the projectile.
     Sure enough, red plasma bolts lit the darkness around her. “Bastard!” she exclaimed, pulling tighter, then dumping the nose and scanning between HUD and forward scope to reacquire the torpedo. Once back in the saddle, she continued her circuit.
     “Next time,” she muttered. “One more turn.”
     The horizon of the Death Star passed through her viewscreen. According to the HUD readout, Taila’s maneuvering had taken her 3.74 klicks away from the surface. She switched back to dogfight symbology, now safely ignoring the spent projectile, and locked the closest raider who angled for another pass.
    “Easy ... ” she breathed. “Just wait.” Taila visualized the enemy’s viewpoint and loosened the turn a bit. Draw him in. She could feel the bandit’s guns covering her. Her gut screamed to make a break for it, but that would be certain death. Wait.
     Time slowed and everything came into hyper focus: the scopes, the HUD, the twisting starfield outside the viewscreen, her light touch on the control column, the back pressure of the control pedals on the balls of her feet, even the flashing damage indicators. She took it all in and choreographed it.
     The threat warning screeched and flashed on her HUD, but she had already anticipated this moment. Past the point of good sense. Past the point of panic. Break too soon and the raider would be able to correct and take her. Wait too long and it’d be over before it began. 
     Rotate. Pull. Relax on the controls. Draw the raider in. Bastard thinks he’s got me.
     The enemy’s barrage came in a fury seeking her destruction. Instantly, but with precision, Taila threw the stick over and rolled upward, then snap rolled back the other way, finger already depressing the trigger. “Betcha didn’t see that coming.”
     The rapid pulse of charged energy erupted all around the enemy’s cockpit draining the deflector shields with each hit. The enemy craft jinked and rolled causing shots to slip wide. Taila let up on the trigger, reacquired, then unleashed another torrent. The X-wing turned, spun, but she kept the guns on target, as if tethered to the enemy by a pulsing, green cable of energy.
     Suddenly the hits changed to blasts against the raider’s hull, then back to the bluish streaks of shield again as the enemy pilot adjusted deflectors. Then her gun charge indicator flashed red and a mechanical voice came over Taila’s headset. “WARNING WARNING.” 
     “C’mon, c’mon,” Taila muttered. After all that work she was going to have to let this one go! Worse, she would be out of ammo, out of speed, and shit out of luck. She had no choice, then. If the guns failed, there would be no escape for her wounded fighter.
     Taila kept up the barrage, barely aware of the slight pressure on her face as the air handlers in her suit spun up to compensate for the sweat trickling across her brow. 
     One bolt passed through the X-wing’s shields. Then another. Taila immediately shifted fire and sliced through top and bottom starboard engines. The Incom 4L4 power plants exploded sending the craft into a violent skid spewing radiation and debris as the retros flared in a vain attempt to true the dying T-65. She pumped fire into the craft until her cannon fell silent. A moment later the enemy pilot ejected, tumbling past her viewscreen.
     Taila slammed the stick over while simultaneously keying the comlink. “Black Group, Black Six. Smoke four!” she yelled over Victor. To hell with calm professionalism! Two-to-one against her, completely alone in a damaged crate, fighting a worthy adversary who had shown excellent tactics and flawless combat maneuvering.
     “Shit hot,” Commander Rim’s voice crackled over the headset. It was high praise.
     Lieutenant Commander Taila acked her mic, still grinning.
     Commander Rim’s element of Black Four and Black Five joined up flashing a lock spike across her HUD.
     “Black Six, say levels.” Rim had obviously noticed the damage.
     Taila read the engine and gun energy levels. “Eighty four, falling. Zero zero, down.” Meaning, energy output of the twin ion engine was at 84% of normal and bleeding off. Guns empty, and not charging.
     “Acknowledged, Six. RTB,” the commander's voice sounded in her ear. Return to base. Not that Taila had much choice.
     Commander Rim continued. “Five, take point and clear a path. I’ll take the perch.”
     Taila saw Black Five zoom ahead while Rim in Black Four dropped back to escort position.
     A glance at the  console display showed the nearest enemy out of range at 1.87 klicks, and moving away. 
     Out of danger for the moment, Taila took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She looked down, bemused that her pinky finger twitched involuntarily on the stick. Through the whole ordeal her hand had stayed steady. Now that the action was over, the same gloved hand gripped the control column like a quaking claw.
     Just then something caught her eye through the viewscreen. A sudden brightness like a primary star cresting during orbital sunrise. Disoriented, she instinctively looked in that direction. The incomprehensible scene that met her eyes froze the pit of her stomach.
     The leading shock wave from the exploding Death Star covered the 3.03 kilometer distance faster than her brain could make sense of the event.
     “Oh--,” escaped her lips, the expletive cut off by a violent surge, then darkness.

Epilogue

     "Of course, you didn't feel any of it," the medic said. "The telemetry readout showed a spike in the accelerometer just as the shock wave hit leading to sudden onset G-LOC." The medic was an older man, maybe mid-forties. Wisps of gray hair flowed around his temples. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he smiled and continued. "Your fighter's port panel sheared, but the starboard one wrapped around the hull acting as a shield against the forces at the edge of the blast radius. Take a look." He held a holo for her to see.
     She watched  as the robotic arms of the rescue tug drilled open the hatch at the top of the spherical hull and extracted the grey and black flight suit that contained her lifeless body. Her eye flicked to the red, bird-like insignia near the tug's cockpit windows.
    "We were amazed you survived that long out there in the black," the medic said as he switched off the holo and placed it in the pocked of his medical smock. "Your craft has only a 48 hour reserve in fail safe mode."
    Taila struggled to speak.
     "Hold on," the medic said. He set the holo on the bedside table and held up a cup of clear liquid. "Drink," he said, placing the cup in her hand.
     She tried to lift the cup, but found her arms pinned to her side by a cord that wrapped around the small of her back. This left her hands free from the elbows forward, but restricted other movement. The medic frowned and gestured, leaning his head to one side, showing her how it was done. She  reached the straw with her mouth and took a long draft of the cool liquid.
     After a few swallows the dryness in her throat abated, and Taila heard her own raspy voice utter, "How long?" She felt a heavy clasp around her right ankle. A probing kick told her she was fastened tightly to the berth.  She looked up and noticed two Marine soldiers standing near her berth.
     "You had been floating out there for the better part of a standard week," the medic said with a smile. "A miracle, really. When our sensors scanned a life signal in the wreckage we couldn't believe it. Wasted time running diagnostics against the scanner. We hadn't recognized the debris as the remains of a fighter until we were right on top of you. Your comatose state neared stasis enough to keep you alive all that time. Though I have to say, you didn't have much time left when we found you, Lieutenant Commander Taila."
     "You know who I am?" she asked with some effort, taking another sip from the straw.
     The medic smiled and exchanged glances with the guards. "Yes, of course. You are my patient, after all."
     "And may I ask who you are -- and where I am?"
     Smiling, the medic held out his hand. "Commander Roget, CO of the 4077th Alliance Medical Contingent, at your service. You are at the Alliance base on Yavin 4. The very outpost your high command so recently targeted for annihilation."
     Taila gripped his hand hesitantly. "So it's true then? They're all gone?" She turned away feeling heat rise around her eyelids.
     Commander Roget released her hand and placed his on her shoulder as he stood. "For you this must be terrible news, but I hope you can understand the relief it is for those of us around here." He remained motionless for a moment. He smiled slightly, then turned to check the readout of a nearby monitor. Clearing his throat he said, "Now, I am very sorry to say I must step away for a moment as I have a prior engagement that is, unfortunately, mandatory. If you need anything, the guard is authorized to contact me or one of my subordinates." He turned to the soldier who stood closest to the bed and nodded. "Chief." The marine snapped a salute, which Roget returned casually. He gave Taila one last smile, then turned for the stone archway that lead to the corridor.
     Taila looked around the room, and gave a sarcastic shrug as she met the marine's grim expression, as if to say, "What are you looking at?" At the far side of the room an FX-7 medical droid stood motionless against the backdrop of a dim bacta tank. Silence permeated the infirmary underscored by the hum of equipment and the intermittent ping of the vitals monitor.
     From the corridor a distant cheer startled her, followed by what sounded like the rushing of water until she identified it as the sound of applause from a thousand people.

THE END

Introduction and Welcome




Welcome to Myth & Memoir, the home for short stories, creative nonfiction, and other works by Ethan Vaughn.




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