- Ayona Berix (Bronze Leader, human, X-wing)
- Kimber (Bronze Two, human, A-wing)
- Roozal “Roo” (Bronze Three, Duros, A-wing)
- Goless “Goalie” (Bronze Four, Bith, Y-wing)
- Aldar (Bronze Five, Hapan, X-wing)
- Pollux (Bronze Six, human, A-wing)
- Sevra Brack/Kail Tremal (Bronze Seven, human, X-wing)
- Mazie (Bronze Eight, human, Y-wing)
- Nova (Bronze Nine, Twi’lek, X-wing)
- Gilmorruaam “Gil” (Bronze Ten, Wookiee, ARC-170)
- Bronze Eleven (human, X-wing)
- Bronze Twelve (human, X-wing)
She told the Rebels her name was Kail Tremal.
But she was really Sevra Brack,
TIE-XS75.
Some spies found working deep
undercover difficult. Sevra didn’t. The Empire built her for this, provided her
with training and an unbreakable loyalty to the Emperor and his great war
machine. When it was all over, when she helped the Empire vanquish the Rebels
once and for all, she’d step proudly back into her old life and serve the
Imperial Navy to the best of her ability.
She’d embedded herself within one
of the Rebels’ ragtag starfighter squadrons. Bronze Squadron was an unassuming
name for an undisciplined and poorly trained group of pilots. The unit’s disorganization
rankled her the most; pilots in an Imperial squadron all flew the same type of
ship. A TIE Interceptor group all flew Interceptors; a TIE Bomber squadron all
flew Bombers; standard TIE units all flew the Empire’s ubiquitous starfighter. Bronze
Squadron, on the other hand, included six X-wings, three A-wings, two Y-wings,
and, for some reason, an absolutely ancient and overmatched ARC-170.
Imperial units were disciplined
and uniform. Corellians flew with Corellians. Out of necessity, sometimes humans
from one world served with humans from a different world. Generally speaking,
the Empire kept like with like. The Rebels, on the other hand, insisted on
intermixing races. She had to serve with a Twi’lek, a Bith, a Duros, and a
Wookiee. Even one of the humans was a Hapan, some cowardly ideal of a man who
actually liked taking orders from women. The rest were unremarkable
humans from unremarkable planets, the least remarkable of them being their
squad leader, Ayona Berix from Chandrila, a planet filled with Rebel
sympathizers.
But Sevra had to push all that
out of her mind. She had a role to play—and important intel to gather.
The simple message went to her superiors.
Escort duty. High-ranking
Rebel Command, possibly MM. Home One.
The transmission, sent on an
undetectable microburst frequency, received a succinct reply.
Leave shuttle undisturbed. Confirm if MM. Flush out location of Rebel fleet before final offensive.
“Ease up, Bronze Seven,” Berix told Sevra over the radio. “You’re flying a little too close.”
Sevra backed off the throttle as
Bronze Squadron wrapped up its escort mission. Though the escorted party’s
identity remained classified, Sevra believed the shuttle held Rebellion leader
Mon Mothma. Rumors of her presence in the sector ran rampant on both Rebel and
Imperial channels. Sevra’s superiors wanted only to know Mothma’s whereabouts;
she was explicitly forbidden from eliminating her, a disappointing directive now
that she had the shuttle in her crosshairs.
She only needed to make sure the
transport reached the rendezvous point with Home One, the Rebels’
flagship. Her superiors wanted to know where the fleet planned to gather before
its “final offensive,” a curious choice of words. Why would the Rebels risk summoning
their entire fleet in one place? What intel indicated a “final offensive?” Did
they think they had a chance to defeat Imperial forces?
The Empire had no
vulnerabilities. It was indestructible. Sure, Rebels won the occasional battle,
but they could never beat the Emperor. The Empire stood for order in a chaotic
world, its principles as rock-solid as the mountains of Eadu. The upstart Rebels
stood no chance, although Sevra almost admired them for their
dedication.
“The shuttle is making its final
approach,” Berix said over the comm. “Steady as she goes.”
Sevra stayed with the shuttle
until it drew close enough to dock with Home One. “Shuttle has entered
the docking bay. Bronze Seven disengaging.” She peeled away from the Mon Cal
cruiser. She’d grown comfortable in the X-wing’s cockpit, but the ship still lumbered
when compared to a TIE. Her old Interceptor turned on a whim, sometimes with
dizzying results. Maybe she should’ve requested an A-wing, the Rebels’
speedier, more agile ship.
But Bronze Squadron needed an
X-wing pilot, and Sevra could fly anything. It didn’t hurt that she’d put in
time on every Rebel starfighter other than the B-wing. And the ARC—but no one
expected the Rebels to actually use one. Bulky and slower than a Y-wing, the
ARC shouldn’t have lasted long in a skirmish. She had to hand it to the Wookiee,
Gilmorruaam, for surviving his share of encounters. A devoted tinkerer, Gil
coaxed every bit of speed out of the archaic snubfighter’s engines. He’d
enhanced the shields and weapons.
There she was again, thinking of
that thing as a pilot. Giving it a name.
Embedding herself among the
traitors for a year and a half played with her mind sometimes.
She told the Rebels her name was
Kail Tremal.
But she was really Sevra Brack,
TIE-XS75.
“You put up an incredible score in the sim,” Goless, the Bith, said as Bronze Squadron gathered in the mess. Her squadmates called her Goalie. “It’s almost like you see three moves ahead of everyone else.”
“You just have to anticipate
things,” Sevra said. “Study a lot of training holos and pay attention to flight
recordings. You get to know how the enemy thinks. You internalize it, and then
you anticipate it. Before you know it, you realize you’re not even thinking
about your next move. You’re just doing it.” She squeezed some unappetizing-looking
gray paste out of the ration tube. To her surprise, it tasted like barbecue
prath ribs from back home. It sure as hell beat the Empire’s MREs (“engineered
for superior nutrition and hydration”).
“I think it’s damn impressive.”
The Duros, Roozal (“Roo”), scooted in closer. He was a cocky one, the type who
thought men and women from every species wanted to share a bunk with him. “You
really know how to handle a stick.”
“Give it up, Wonder Roo,” said
Nova, the Twi’lek. Though his people were known for their grace and sensuality,
Nova played against type. Sure, he knew he was handsome, but he didn’t flaunt
it and had a way of making people feel comfortable. Sevra would’ve found him
endearing if he were a human. “Those come-ons were old during Sith times.”
“For a Twi’lek, you’re a
gods-damn bore,” Roo shot back.
“For a Duros, you’re a gods-damn
whore,” Nova retorted.
“Fellas, fellas. Easy now.”
Pollux, Bronze Six, put his hands on the pilots’ shoulders. “When it comes to
stick handling, no one in this squadron can beat me.”
Roo broke out laughing. “I’m not
sure you meant what you think you meant.”
“I’m the best we’ve got.” Pollux
smoothed out his dark brown flightsuit. “Before you know it, I’ll be Bronze
Leader and you’ll do what I say. I promise I’ll be fair.”
“Of that I have no doubt,”
interjected Aldar. The Hapan always spoke with an aura of theatricality; his
deep voice and chiseled features had gotten many a pilot to shed their
flightsuit. Even Sevra admired his looks. “But the best pilots do not have to
tell you they are the best pilots. They display their ample skill on the field
of battle.”
“Are you saying I’m all talk?”
Pollux said.
“You have demonstrated
impressive skill on the battlefield, Pollux,” Aldar said. “I mean only to say
that perhaps you should let your actions speak for themselves instead of
informing all of us thusly of your great skill.”
Imperial pilots never shied away
from flexing their muscles in a group setting, and Rebels were no different.
Sevra didn’t, however, feel the intense sense of cutthroat competition that
ruled Imperial mess halls.
“Listen up, hotshots.” Kimber,
their second in command, slid into the spot next to her. “We’re going to need
everyone at the top of their game. Briefing in five.”
“You promised us we had time to
eat.” Mazie, one of the Y-wing pilots, carried two ration tubes in her left
hand and a bottle of some absolutely non-regulation glowing orange hooch in her
right.
“Things change in a heartbeat.
You know that.” Kimber gestured toward her ration tubes. “Besides, the food is
portable. You can savor it in the briefing room. And, um, leave the booze
behind.”
Mazie frowned. “This day just
keeps getting better and better.”
"We have a critical mission in the Outer Rim.” Berix, their squadron leader, called up a holographic map of the region. She had the bearing of an aristocrat, her chin always up. “As is usually the case, the details are highly classified. But I can tell you the Empire has hit multiple Bothan Spynet cells over the last two weeks.”
The pilots of Bronze Squadron
exchanged concerned looks; even Sevra knew Bothans kept their bases and
safehouses top secret. How had the Empire managed to pierce the storied Spynet?
She hadn’t received dispatches from other Imperial spies about any impending
operations. She’d make some inquiries.
“Vital intelligence must make
its way to Home One. The problem: the pilot carrying the information
can’t get past the Imperial interdictor Ardent,” Berix said. The holoviewer
changed to show the interdictor, which resembled a typical Star Destroyer with bulbous
pods on the top and underside to house its gravity well projectors. “We’re
looking for a single transport with two Bothan passengers and an astromech.
Nothing fancy, just a GAT-12h Skipray without a full crew to make it a viable
threat. It was on its way to Rebel Command when the Ardent’s interdiction
field stopped it by happenstance. The Imperials don’t know it’s there.”
Roo raised his hand and spoke
before Berix called on him. “Just standard escort duty, then? Keep the eyeballs
away from the ship until a corvette pounds on the interdictor long enough to
open a hyperspace lane? Sounds simple enough.”
Berix shook her head. “Under
normal circumstances, you’d be right. We’d have a capital ship jump in to
hammer the Ardent while we kept the heat off the transport. But we’ll
have to do this one ourselves.”
“Most honored captain, why can’t
we have a capital ship for support?” The question came from Aldar.
“Every available capital ship is
on its way to Sullust or already there. Time is of the essence, which is why
this briefing interrupted mealtime.” Berix directed her gaze at Mazie, who held
a ration tube high above her head and squeezed until the gray paste cascaded
into her mouth. “Simply put, Aldar, we can’t afford to wait. I have orders from
Admiral Ackbar himself to deliver this information at any cost.”
Sevra’s ears perked up at that.
Ackbar? Sullust? The whole Rebel fleet?
Interesting.
Very interesting.
“We’ll have to hit the Ardent
ourselves,” Berix said. “Bronze Nine will lead the assault.” The Wookiee
gave an enthusiastic rawhrrr. “Gil, you’ll put your modified ARC to good
use and hit the shields with your ion cannon to weaken them. Bronze Four and
Bronze Eight—that’s you, Goalie and Mazie—will target the gravity well
projectors with your Y-wings. With those disabled, the Skipray can make the
jump to lightspeed and deliver its critical intel to Rebel Command. The rest of
us will protect our bombers. I want Bronze Seven and Bronze Nine—that’s you, Kail
and Nova—shadowing the Y-wings.”
Berix crossed her arms. “The Ardent
is shielded and heavily armored. Bear in mind we’re not trying to scuttle
the whole ship—our aim is to take out enough gravity well projectors to bring
down the interdiction field and open the hyperspace lanes. The interdictor carries
at least two squadrons of TIEs, perhaps more. We need to be fast. The longer we
take, the more risk we incur.” She looked around at her pilots. “Once the
gravity well projectors are disabled, we’ll all take different escape vectors
to throw the Imperials off our trail.”
Sevra sent another message to
her superiors.
Heard we were hitting Spynet
targets. Can you confirm?
She waited several minutes for a
reply.
Bothan Spynet disabled.
Entire network destroyed.
The Spynet had been a thorn in
the Empire’s side for two decades. She mourned not its demise, nor did anyone within
Imperial Intelligence. She relayed details of her current mission.
Major operation. Outer Rim.
Skipray with vital information caught in interdiction field of Ardent. High
priority intel. Operation authorized by AA. Rebel fleet gathering near Sullust,
according to squadron leader.
That reply came noticeably
quicker.
Sullust intel received.
Confirmed by two other sources. General fleet unaware of current status for
Outer Rim op. Safety not guaranteed.
Safety not guaranteed? What did
that mean? She carried a chain-coded message from the Emperor himself granting
her unconditional protection from Imperial forces. She asked for clarification
and waited.
No response.
Sevra gripped the handrails for
the ladder leading to her X-wing’s cockpit.
“Kail! Hold on!”
Nova, the Twi’lek, waved to her
from the flightdeck. She jumped off the bottom rung. “What is it, Bronze Nine?”
“You saw our orders. We’re basically
wingmen.”
“From what I remember, Nova,
we’re the Y-wing’s wingmen,” Sevra said.
“We’re all in this together.”
The Twi’lek’s lekku twitched. If she’d cared to study an alien species’
tendencies, she would’ve recognized it meant something. Nervousness?
Excitement? Sadness? “We have a real chance to make a difference here. Bronze
Squadron drew the Rebellion’s most important mission.”
“The Rebellion’s most important
mission was Yavin.” Sevra gripped the siderails again and climbed toward her
cockpit.
“I just want you to know, I’ve
got your back. I’d appreciate it if you watched mine.”
Sevra gave him a mocking salute
and settled into the cockpit. She did her checks, tightened her flight gloves,
and secured her helmet. Her astromech, R9-F8, had already loaded the jump
coordinates. The stubborn droid refused to respond to its numbered designation
and insisted upon being called “Fate.”
“All fueled up.” Sevra eyed her
gauges. “We’re ready to go.”
Berix gave the word. Bronze
Squadron would determine the fate of the galaxy.
The same interdiction field they
needed to disable dropped Bronze Squadron out of hyperspace alarmingly close to
the Ardent. The wedge-shaped ship sat in the dead of space by itself.
“Look sharp, Bronze Squadron,”
Berix said. “Gil, make your first pass.”
The Wookiee roared over the
comm—Fate translated it as “Let’s go!”—and pounded the Ardent with ion
cannon fire. Goalie and Mazie trailed the ancient ARC-170, with Sevra and Nova
hanging behind them for support. Gil rawwhrred again; Fate translated it
as “Open hole.” The two Y-wings accelerated toward the interdictor and dropped
proton torpedoes on the starboard side gravity well projectors.
“The main batteries are powering
up,” Berix said. “Bronze Five and Bronze Six, see what you can do.”
“Copy, Bronze Leader,” Aldar
said. “They shall taste my fury and then Pollux will deliver unto them some
explosive news.” His X-wing accelerated toward the Ardent, with Bronze
Six’s A-wing following. Aldar strafed the closest batteries with blaster fire,
followed by concussion missiles from Bronze Six. “Pollux, I fear you are
drawing too close to the enemy.”
“Pull back, Bronze Six,” Berix
said.
“I’m fine, guys,” Pollux said
with typical cockiness. As he made a series of impressive maneuvers to evade
blaster fire, his engine stalled. Aldar tried to provide cover fire, but
Pollux’s A-wing sat exposed as the interdictor’s batteries tracked him. The
ship exploded in a brilliant show of orange, white, and red. Bronze Six blinked
off Sevra’s display.
Gil made a second run with the
ARC, weakening the shields near the next gravity well projector. Mazie and
Goalie pounded the Ardent with proton torpedoes, making a direct hit.
“TIEs are joining this party,”
Nova said. “I’ve got twenty-four marks. Looks like Interceptors.”
Sevra’s display showed the TIEs
on an intercept course with the Y-wings. Part of her wanted to let them pass.
“Bronze Seven and Bronze Nine,
draw their fire,” Berix ordered. Nova peeled off immediately, while Sevra
hesitated. “Go now, Kail. Go!”
She yanked her flight yoke left
and met the Interceptors. Fast, maneuverable, and nasty, Sevra loved the
things. This particular squadron featured a yellow stripe on its left wing, the
distinctive mark of the elite Flying Daggers. Nova took out a pair. She got a
clean look at the squadron leader but led it too far.
“Straighten those shots out,
Kail,” Berix barked over the comm. “Keep those things away from the Y-wings. I
want Bronze Eleven and Bronze Twelve to go in right now.”
The Bronze Eleven and Bronze
Twelve designations had shifted more than a few times since Sevra joined the
squadron. The pilots had a way of attracting enemy fire or encountering
untimely mechanical failure. Sabotaging X-wings was easy; those S-foils could
be notoriously fickle, after all, especially when someone frayed the main circuit
line after hours.
“Need a little help here, Bronze
Seven.” The plea came from Nova. He’d been a nice enough guy, for an alien.
Though a skilled pilot, he couldn’t shake the Interceptor on his tail. Sure,
Imperial starfighters didn’t have shields or hyperdrives, but Imperial aces
could absolutely space Rebels and their sturdier, more heavily armored
snubfighters. She rolled right and attempted, poorly, to get a lock on the TIE
harassing the Twi’lek’s X-wing. “Where are you, Kail? This guy’s close enough
to suck in my exhaust fumes. Kail? Kail?”
“Hold on,” Roo said over the
comm. “I’ve got him locked.” A second later, a concussion missile hit home, and
the Interceptor exploded. “You’re clear now, Bronze Nine.”
“Thanks, Roo. Bronze Seven told
me she’d have my back. Clearly, she was lying,” Nova said.
For reasons Sevra couldn’t fully
explain, the comment stung. She didn’t even like Nova. Or Twi’leks. Or Rebels.
Why did she care what he had to say? Why did the disappointment in his voice hurt?
“We’ve got five gravity wells
down, Bronze Leader,” Mazie said. “Can we get the hell out of here?”
“Negative,” Berix answered. “The
interdiction field is still in place. Time to hit the underbelly.”
“The Interceptors aren’t letting
us distract them anymore,” Nova said. “They figured out the game.”
“All wings, protect our
bombers,” Berix said. “Bronze Seven, that means you.”
Sevra didn’t even hear her.
Alarmed trilling from Fate broke her out of whatever trance she’d been in. An
Interceptor sprayed blaster fire in her direction, and her front deflector
shields were nearly depleted. Fate transferred some power from her rear
shields, but Sevra wouldn’t last much longer if she didn’t move.
She dove and went into a spin,
careful not to stall the engines as Pollux had. An X-wing couldn’t outrun an
Interceptor, but avoiding enemy fire would give her shields a chance to
recharge. The other pilot knew it, too, and peppered her ship with blaster
bolts to prevent her shields from regenerating.
“Bronze Leader, Kail has a nasty
pustule I’d like to remove,” Nova said. “Requesting permission to render aid.”
Berix hesitated for a second.
“Granted, Bronze Nine.”
Typical, weak, emotional Rebel
nonsense. They needed to protect the Y-wings, yet the damnable Twi’lek thought
it was important to save her. Sevra didn’t need saving. Never had. “Support the
Y-wings, Nova. I can handle this.”
“Your deflectors are almost
toast, and you can’t outrun an Interceptor,” Nova reminded her. “Come about,
and I’ll get rid of the problem. Then both of us can help the bombers.”
Sevra checked her scopes. She
had no desire to bite it and led the Interceptor right into Nova’s line of fire,
triggering an explosion that set off her proximity alarms. They formed up and
headed toward the Ardent’s underbelly, a chaotic gauntlet of crisscrossing
blaster shots and zigzagging ships.
Embedding herself with a Rebel
fighter squadron involved certain gray areas. The Empire valued the intel she
gathered, but she often ended up in active combat against Imperial forces. She
could only apologize for “missing” a shot a handful of times; when it came down
to it, she put her feelings aside and treated TIEs like enemy fighters because,
for Kail Tremal, they were. So when a pair of Interceptors got a little too
close to Bronze Four, she took them out.
“You got here just in time,
Seven,” Goalie said, the relief unmistakable in the Bith’s voice. “Bronze
Leader, dropping my last payload. We’d better hope it works because we both
know this old bird can’t outrun, well, pretty much anything.”
“Kimber, Aldar—stick close to
Goalie,” Berix said. “Mazie, what’s your status?”
“Not great, Ayona.” Mazie’s
invocation of Bronze Leader’s first name definitely broke regs. In an Imperial
unit, such a brazen breach of protocol would warrant a demerit. As for the
enemy, well, what good were rules for a bunch of Rebels? “I’ve got Interceptors
swarming the closest gravity well projector.”
“Let’s clear them out, shall
we?” Berix said. “Bronze Seven, Bronze Three, and Bronze Nine—form up at this
mark.”
Sevra checked her display. With Roo
and Nova as her wingmen, she amped up the throttle and plunged her X-wing
toward the TIEs. The Interceptors came in fast, but Nova picked off two of them.
She snap-rolled to avoid blaster fire and got a lock, blowing up a yellow-striped
Interceptor.
“My engines took a direct hit,” Roo
said.
“Are you dead stick?” Nova
asked.
“Not quite, but pretty damn
close,” Roo said.
“If you can move to the
coordinates I just sent, I can cover you,” Nova said.
“We’ve got to clear these TIEs,”
Sevra said. The Rebel weakness for compassion never ceased to amaze and
frustrate her. “The mission has to take priority.”
It took a few seconds for Nova
to reply. “I won’t leave Roo. I’m going in.”
“Nova, you Twi’lek bastard, the
Empire is a suffocating evil and we’ve got a chance to kill it,” Roo said. “That
means sacrifice, and it happens to be my turn. Clear the path for Mazie, you
gods-damn bore.”
The comm picked up Nova’s
frustrated, resigned grunt. “Sit tight, you gods-damn whore.” Nova swooped in
beside Sevra’s X-wing.
Finally, some people with sense.
She could’ve gone without the bro-tastic exchange, but it meant at least some
Rebels had the balls to do what was necessary. Sevra spun back toward the
gravity well projector and took out an Interceptor. With Nova beside her, they
cleared the field for Mazie’s battered Y-wing to lock onto the target.
“Torpedoes away, Bronze Leader,”
Mazie said, sticking to regs for once in her life.
“Rebel squadron, this is Scimitar,”
an unfamiliar voice said. “Our nav computer tells us the interdiction field is
down. We need a minute to make the calculations for our jump.”
“This is Bronze Leader,” Berix
said. “Work quickly. Bronze Squadron, tell your astromechs to calculate your
jumps along open escape vectors. Meantime, keep those Interceptors busy and
away from the Skipray.”
“I regret to inform you we just
lost Bronze Eleven and Twelve,” Aldar said. “I do not have Bronze Three on my
scopes. Has anyone heard from dear Roozal?”
“I’m sitting in a dead X-wing
pondering the essence of life, you moron,” Roo said. “I’d love to know why the
TIEs haven’t finished me off yet.”
To Sevra, it was no mystery. The
Imperials realized his ship wasn’t going anywhere. Prisoners were valuable and
often had plenty to say after an interrogation droid got to them. Hell, the
bots had such a grim reputation that merely threatening Rebels—even seemingly
strong-willed ones—could get them to talk.
Her head snapped up as most of
the Interceptors broke away from the Ardent to head toward the Skipray.
“The Imps spotted the new guy,”
Nova said.
“Come to this rally point near
the transport,” Berix said. “Protect the Skipray. Scimitar, do you have an
estimate on that jump?”
“Just another minute,” the
unfamiliar voice replied.
“You may not have that long,”
Berix warned.
Sevra came about and trailed the
Interceptor group with her throttle at three-fourths. Interceptors could hit
considerably faster speeds than an X-wing; she couldn’t catch them if she
tried. She got a lock on one of the TIEs and fired her last proton torpedo. The
explosion barely registered with the other Imperial pilots. She admired their
professional stoicism.
As always, the Empire brought
order to chaos.
“Coordinates locked,” Scimitar
said. “We are making the jump.”
“Let’s get out of here, Bronze
Squadron,” Berix ordered.
One by one, the remaining pilots
disappeared off her scopes: Bronze Two, Bronze Five, Bronze Four, Bronze Eight,
and Bronze Nine. She would wait until the rest of her squadron left and then transmit
her clearance code to the Imperials. They’d welcome her back into the fold and
she could finally learn whatever it was the Emperor had planned for the Rebels’
“final offensive.”
“Bronze Seven—Kail—what are you
waiting for?” Berix asked.
“Get clear, Bronze Leader,” Sevra
said. “I’m right behind you.”
“I don’t jump until everyone
else does,” Berix said. “You have your exit vector. Go. Now.”
Sevra tapped her flight helmet.
“I’ve got a hyperdrive malfunction, sir.” Fate, her astromech, trilled in
confusion and informed her that her systems were, without a doubt, functioning
at one-hundred-percent efficiency, something the droid noted was “remarkable”
given the intensity of the skirmish.
“A scan shows your ship is fine.
Get out of here.”
“What about Bronze Three?”
“A prisoner of war,
unfortunately,” Berix said. “The Ardent got him with a tractor beam.
Make the jump, Kail. That’s an order.”
Sevra activated her Imperial
transmitter. The microburst frequency looked harmless on Rebel channels, but
five-layer encryption would allow the TIEs to see who she really was. It worked
immediately—Interceptors rushed to her location.
“Seriously, Kail, what is the
problem? Those TIEs are coming right for you. Make the damn jump!”
Sevra stayed put, overriding
Fate’s repeated attempts to redirect the ship toward the escape vector. In just
a few seconds, TIEs would surround her and Berix would have no choice but to
escape. She could keep her cover and return to the Imperial fold. Good
spy craft required she quickly sever any bonds with Bronze Squadron.
Proximity alarms went off as the
TIEs fired on her ship. Fate beeped and blooped in protest. Why were her own
people attacking her? To make it look good? To make her look like an actual
Rebel?
Safety not guaranteed.
“Hold tight,” Berix said. “I’m
coming.” With remarkable courage and commendable skill, Ayona Berix guided her
X-wing into a swarm of TIE interceptors. She downed two, then three, then four.
The Imperials were quick to react and redirect their fire. Bronze Leader’s
shields failed, but Berix kept going. She took out another two TIEs before her
luck ran out. “I hope that intel is worth the—”
Radio silence. Bronze Leader
disappeared from her scopes for the last time. She would never know Kail Tremal
was really Sevra Brack, TIE-XS75.
A turncoat.
The TIEs again set their sights
on Sevra’s X-wing. Had the microburst transmission malfunctioned? Did they
misinterpret the meaning? She was Imperial Intelligence, a pilot embedded
within a Rebel unit. Her mission was at an end now. She wanted to return to the
Empire and serve the Emperor once more.
Safety not guaranteed.
She had a decision to make as
her shields took a pounding. She juked to avoid blaster fire, but there were so
many TIEs and so many skilled pilots. She sent the transmission again, which
only served to intensify their resolve. She’d been a loyal Imperial servant—why
were they trying to kill her?
“You’ve got that escape vector ready,
right, Fate?” Sevra asked.
The droid responded with the
spicy astromech equivalent of “you bet your ass.”
Alarms went off everywhere. Each
instrument reeled with bad news and systems on the edge of failing. In an
Interceptor, she could outrun anything. In an X-wing, she was simply a target.
Self-preservation took over, and Sevra found an opening. She threw down the
throttle and raced toward the gap, only for two Interceptors to cut her off.
Shields gone. Instruments going crazy. In just a few seconds, she’d be atoms, killed for reasons she didn’t understand by the very Empire she loved so much.
But then the two Interceptors
blocking her path disappeared in twin bursts of flame.
A Wookiee roared over the comm.
In her fever dream of a nightmare, she spotted an ancient, smoking ARC-170
before it disappeared in the distance. She didn’t interfere when Fate took over
and made the jump to lightspeed.
She told the Rebels her name was
Kail Tremal.
But she was really Sevra Brack, TIE-XS75.
Sevra again contacted her
superiors.
Sent coded message. Met
hostile response from Imperial Navy. Requesting immediate response regarding failed
extraction. Exit strategy urgently needed.
She waited for an answer.
And waited.
No response.
Safe aboard Home One and
still dazed by the encounter with the Ardent, Sevra gathered with
members of the Rebellion for a briefing she never saw coming. Not only had the
Empire successfully built another Death Star, but the Rebels had acquired the
plans and found a weakness.
Again.
Bronze Squadron’s brazen mission
allowed the Rebellion to obtain the information. Seven of the twelve members
remained, with the other five dead or captured. Other pilots would undoubtedly be
folded into Bronze Squadron for the final assault.
Even though she reported the
location of the Rebel fleet to the Empire, no Star Destroyers showed up to
annihilate it. Her Imperial contacts didn’t respond to her messages. The Empire
that brought order to chaos felt much more chaotic to her than ever before. She
didn’t understand.
This final Rebel assault would
give her another chance to get back in the Empire’s good graces. In whatever
way she’d failed the Emperor—and she didn’t know how or why she’d allowed it to
happen—she would make up for it. She’d help strike the final blow and end this
insipid Rebellion once and for all.
But then she looked across the aisle
at Nova. The Twi’lek, fatigued, looked thoroughly downtrodden, undoubtedly
reeling over Roo’s capture. He sat next to Aldar, the Hapan, whose usual
confident, easygoing manner belied his grief at the loss of Pollux. Goalie and
Mazie, the pilots of those battered and obsolete Y-wings, engaged in an animated
conversation about their mission, recreating their run on the Ardent with
enthusiastic hand motions.
Kimber, the new Bronze Leader,
watched with detached amusement, his thoughts clearly on Berix. He had been
certain she would make it back and even double-checked the flight recorders
just to be sure her X-wing really had been destroyed. Hope was such a useless,
fragile thing.
Then, she caught a glimpse of Gil.
She no longer saw him as some thing. The Wookiee and his Clone Wars-era
junker saved her life. Had he known who she was, what her real purpose had
been, would he have done the same thing? Would Berix? They probably would have; soft-hearted
Rebels made incredibly stupid decisions. They were immune to the cold, hard
calculations of the Empire.
Safety not guaranteed.
The Rebels filed out of the
briefing room and headed for their ships. With the odds against them, as
always, they would bet everything on their silly ideals. The Empire brought
order to a chaotic world. The Rebels, she realized, were the chaos.
She settled into her X-wing and
looked at the duty roster. To no one’s surprise, Bronze Eleven and Bronze
Twelve had new names. But so did Bronze Two, Bronze Three, and Bronze Six. With
her ship refueled and Fate recharged, she guided her X-wing out of the docking
bay and awaited the order to jump to lightspeed.
A funny thing happened once they
arrived at Endor.
She told the Rebels her name was
Kail Tremal.
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