Vader watched the Millennium Falcon disappear out of the hangar mouth then turned away. Luke was not on Solo’s ship, he could still sense the boy’s presence here on the planet. But there was no possible way of locating him in the chaos outside...

Issuing orders to have the Falcon tracked, Vader swept back through the ice corridors towards his shuttle, his mood settling even darker. Luke had evaded him yet again. He had been cheated of his prize by one man's audacity and self-righteous sense of superiority! If the fool Ozzel had not failed him, underestimating the extent to which the Rebels had organised themselves, his Son would have been within his grasp now! But the element of surprise had been snatched away and events had moved too swiftly for him to compensate.

Nor had he been successful in his attempt to hold the Millennium Falcon and its occupants! Yet another avenue leading to the boy had evaporated as he closed his fist around it! Another chance lost... and time was running out. This, in all probability, would be his last opportunity to get to the boy and conceal him from the Emperor before Palpatine discovered Luke's true identity.

Vader stepped into the freezing open air, crossing the ice plain to the waiting ship. Ozzel had paid for his mistake. But, the Dark Lord now considered, he had allowed the man to die too quickly...

Maggs Loi-Tieb, Captain of the Slivix, toggled the transmission switch, “Rogue Five, Slivix is locked, loaded and ready to lift.”

Alissha breathed a quick sigh of relief. At last! “Roger, Slivix, lift when you’re ready. We’ll cover you, then overtake you on the climb out!”

“Copied, Rogue Five.” Loi-Tieb turned to her First Officer, “You heard the lady, let’s get out of here.”

Another voice crackled in Downhigher’s ear, “Rogue Five, this is the Vixin.”

“What now?” she thought. Then she hit the transmit switch again, “Vixin, Rogue Five. Go ahead!”

“Rogue Five, we’re ready to lift and our escort hasn’t shown.”

Alissha took a deep breath. Two freighters… could she and Gil cover two freighters? There again, if they didn’t the Vixin would probably be taken out. There was nothing else for it, “Roger that, Vixin. Where are you located?”

“We’re lifting and can move to your position now if you can cover us?”

“No problem. The Slivix is just about to lift.”

“We’re on our way! Thank’s Five.”

“Gil, did you copy?” Alissha asked her wingman.

“Sure did, Boss. I’ve got the Vixin covered.”

“Copied!” Alissha watched as the Slivix lifted from the ice, turning ponderously. A shadow fell across the cockpit and she looked up. “Rogue Five, this is the Vixin. We’re right above you.”

“Roger, Vixin. Follow the Slivix.” She watched as the first freighter’s nose rose, steadied for a moment then began to accelerate away, the Vixin following behind. The gunners on a nearby AT-AT saw the movement and turned the walker, the head lifting as they targeted the lead ship. The walker bucked under Rebel fire, then the target lock on the freighter was broken as an X-wing sliced past the guns, moving too quickly for them to get a lock on it. Another X-wing shot passed and by the time the gunners had re-affirmed weapons lock on the freighter it was well out of range.

Alissha grinned as she raced after the ships, wingman right behind her. The X-wings swept towards the freighters and her wingman jinked away, passing along the far side of the Vixin as they overtook. The brightness of the sky faded rapidly towards darkness, indicating that they were reaching the outer atmosphere and Downhigher checked her tactical readouts, “Keep you eyes open, Gil. Looks like the place is swarming.”

“Copied, Boss.”

They broke free of Hoth’s frigid atmosphere… straight into a squadron of TIEs. Alissha swore, swinging her X-wing round and up, firing in the turn as the TIEs recovered and went after her and Gil. “Slivix! Vixin!” she ordered, “Break right to...” She checked the data, then glanced back to check her tail, a sixth sense telling her that there had to be an Imperial somewhere back there, “…point four zero three.” A hail of laser fire against her shields confirmed her suspicions.

“Breaking right now,” Loi-Tieb confirmed.

Downhigher pushed the nose down, kicking in the rudder, spiralling away. Killing her speed she pulled up and over, dropping in on the TIE from behind. Damn it, where was Gil? She lined up the Imperial and fired, watching as it disappeared in a ball of flame. Ahead of her now, the Slivix and the Vixin appeared and swept past the TIEs who had been turning to set Alissha up in their firing line. The Imperials, seeing better pickings, sailed round and began to follow. Oh no you don’t!

“Gil,” she called, pouring on speed, racing to intercept the TIEs, “Gil, talk to me?” There was no answer. Swearing she lined up the lead TIE and fired. It bucked sideways and slowed abruptly. The Vixin was also firing at the Imperial fighters. As Alissha rid herself of her wounded TIE and lined up her next kill, another Imperial fighter exploded. She grinned, pressing the firing button.

Two TIEs broke off from the main line, swinging round and heading towards her. Oops, she thought, taking avoiding action while still trying to remain with the freighters. Another shower of laser fire sparkled off her sheilds. She checked her console readings then looked up. A Star Destroyer was moving in from the left. Damn them, they’re trying to cut us off!

On the bridge of the Slivix, Loi-Tieb’s Tactical Officer had also seen the Destroyer moving in, “Sir, Star Destroyer at point eight four six, trying to intercept us!”

“How far to the jump point,” the Captain asked, her voice calm and measured.

“If they stay on their present course, we’ll have time,” her navigator assured her.

“They sure don’t want to make it easy for us,” Edis said quietly.

Loi-Tieb looked across at her First Officer, giving him a tight smile, “They never do, my friend. Ruick!” she ordered, turning to Tactical, “Track that Destroyer. If it alters heading or speed I want to know!”

“Sir!”

She gazed at the screen, watching the Destroyer edge closer, looking at the mess the Rebel Forces had managed to make of the Imperial Fleet. Someone, somewhere was going to have to pay dearly for this debacle. The Emperor was not exactly going to be pleased - a base that wasn’t even fully up and running and it had still managed to hold its own! She certainly didn’t want to be in any of those Admirals’ shoes tonight.

“Ready to jump in twenty, Captain.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Downhigher shot beneath the bulk of the Slivix pulling up hard and rolling the fighter round to skim across the freighter’s upper side. A TIE appeared ahead of her, moving in the opposite direction. She squeezed the trigger. The TIE pilot jinked left and right but one of the laser bolts hit home, shearing the panel from the main bulb, sending the TIE spinning out of control towards Hoth. The panel continued to head towards her, closing fast. Swearing, Alissha poured on the speed, unable to take the T-65 anywhere but up. At the top of the loop her X-wing bucked sideways. She flipped it over, searching for her assailant. Her droid mewled, telling her that her shields were at minimum.

“Rogue Five, Slivix. Ready to jump in fifteen.”

“Roger that, Slivix. See you later!” - if I ever manage to get this damned thing off my tail! Where in the hells is he? She searched behind her, seeing nothing, but the trail of laser fire told her he was still there.

“Downhigher! Need any help?”

Alissha almost screamed in delight, keying the mike, “Janson! Get this Bantha scum off my tail! I can’t see him!”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing and bank left on my mark...”

The Imperial hit her again. Alarm bells klaxoned. “Janson, my shields have gone! If you’re going to do something, do it now!”

“Just one... more... Left! Now!”

Downhigher pulled away, just in time to see both the Slivix and the Vixin accelerate away into hyperspace. Behind her an explosion announced that Janson had successfully managed to stop her attacker. Wreckage from the dead TIE hammered into her hull. She began shutting down non-essential systems, “Cee-eight, re-route power to the shields! And give me the jump co-ordinates.” Burbling, the little droid complied. “Janson?”

“Right behind you...”

“I’ve got minimal shields back. I’m jumping now.”

“Take it away, Ali, I’m watching your tail...”

“Haven’t a clue where my wingman is...”

“Just get out of here! I’ll deal with anything until you’ve gone!”

“Co-ordinates locked... and... Jumping now. Thanks Janson...”

Janson watched her go. Then on a sudden impulse and despite his orders to the contrary, he turned his fighter and started back towards the planet. The freighter he was supposed to escort had just jumped. Downhigher had nearly bought it because her wingman was gone. He hadn’t seen Hobbie since they’d been pulled out of the snowspeeders which meant that Wedge could be down there with no-one to watch his six on the way out.

"Sir," Tarras told them, "that looks like the Commander coming in now!"

Wedge looked up from the pad, watching the figure trudging through the snow towards them. He glanced back down at the calculations, then turned to Ryinne, "Flight, inform Commander Skywalker of our plans. Tell him that I'm almost done here and that he may as well get the hell out. No point in both of us staying."

Larne nodded, climbing to her feet and instructing Tarras to start up Skywalker's fighter before racing across the snow. "Commander," she began as she reached him, "We're just about ready to input the co-ordinates for the alternate rendezvous into the remaining droids. Eight pilots are no-shows and one other will be lifting shortly. Lieutenant Commander Antilles suggests that you get the hell out while you can, Sir."

"I can't leave while..." Luke began in objection.

"With all due respect, Sir," Ryinne interrupted, "I have to agree with the Lieutenant Commander." She ignored the look that he gave her, telling him, "Everyone knows that you're on the Empire's wanted list, Sir. If you get stuck here..." she trailed off, then grinned at him, "Any objection on your part to getting the hells out of here is likely to be met with a mutiny, Commander."

Luke glared at her, then across at Wedge's crouched figure, loathed to leave while people under his command were still here. But the Flight had made it clear that they wouldn't allow him to stay. And he knew her well enough to realise that she would countermand any orders and, if she felt it necessary, have him bodily dumped into his fighter. At the back of his mind he heard the thin echo of Ben Kenobi's voice, wisping memories of the vision he'd had on the snow plains beginning to surface again.

Turning his attention back to Larne he nodded, telling her, "I'd best get going then… Dak won’t be coming." She said nothing but nodded in acknowledgement, turning to move away. He laid a hand briefly on her shoulder, "Make sure Wedge gets out. And don't push your luck too far!"

She smiled, throwing him a quick salute "We won't, Sir. Force be with you." Then she was rushing back across towards Antilles.

Wedge glanced up as Larne dropped to her knees beside him, "That was quick..."

"I gave the Commander an offer he couldn't refuse. He decided to go gracefully... Anyway, I pointed out that you're almost done lousing it up and that he would just add to the general confusion."

"Thanks for you vote of confidence! Check these for me, will you while I get this stuff to my fighter?" he asked, handing her the data pad as he stood up, lifting a box turning towards the Commander's fighter. Concentrating on his calculations, she heard him yelling something about seeing Skywalker at the rendezvous.

"This is why we have an Ops section!” she muttered under her breath. “If I’d wanted to study navigation I’d have gone to flight school... I’m an engineer not.... Damn!” she grumbled as her calculations began to vary slightly from Antilles'. “What the hells…?" Behind her she heard the engines of Skywalker's fighter spooling upwards.

"What?" Antilles asked, sitting back down on the snow beside her.

"My initial vector varies from yours by about... Wait! I think I've found it..." Skywalker's X-wing lifted from the ground sending as slight spray of snow around her and Antilles. She brushed away the grains that settled on the display. Wedge covered it protectively with his hand, glancing back to watch Luke's fighter soaring away. He turned his attention back to Ryinne as she told him, "Damn it, I'm still getting a point two variance..."

"Let me see."

The sounds of the laser fire were drawing closer. The last two fighter pilots were strapped in, their Chief’s dropping to the ground and running for their transports. Ryinne glanced up, checking the sky. Apart from the two T-65s just lifting, it was ominously empty of Rebel forces. She looked back at the Lieutenant Commander, "They're not jumping any great distance. They won't end up too far from the rendezvous..."

He ignored her. She leant closer, warning softly, "Antilles, we're running out of time!"

"I know..."

She reached for the data pad, "Get to you're bird, Wedge. We'll deal with this."

"Wait! I'm nearly there..."

"Antilles!"

"Got it!" he told her, "Your figures are right, Ryinne, it's mine that are out." Another blast hit the top of the sand dune, spraying the area with snow and ice.

“Flight!” Larne looked round at Tarras who began running across the snow. Something moved at the edge of her vision and she turned, looking over to the area Tarras was making for. An orange clad figure was tumbling down the side of the snow dune. Swearing she pushed herself to her feet, running towards the pilot. Tarras had already reached him.

Hobbie lay for a moment, winded by the fall. “How bad are you hurt, Sir?” someone was asking. Hobbie turned his head opening his eyes. All he could see was a veil of red and his eyes began to sting so he closed them again. He heard another voice saying, “Lie still, Hobbie. We need to get your helmet off to see how bad that cut is.”

“Flight...?”

“Just lie still!”

Ryinne gently eased the flying helmet off and Tarras inspected the pilot’s forehead, “Looks worse than it is Flight...”

“Okay, we’ll get him across to the X-wing and deal with it there. You still with us, Hobbie?”

“I think so. What hit me?”

“Don’t ask! Can you see anything?”

“Blood...”

“Smart ass! You’ve got a bad gash above your nose, but nothing serious, it’s just bleeding a lot. We’ll get it cleaned up then get you into your X-wing. You should have kept your visor down!”

“Sorry, Flight. How’s Min?”

Larne and Tarras traded quick glances. “Min?” the Chief asked.

“Zsimin. He was right behind me.”

Tarras lunged upwards, scrambling up the side of the dune. Cautiously he lifted his head over the ridge then heaved himself over the top, crawling quickly across to where Zsimin lay in the snow. The blood told him everything he needed to know, but he still searched for a pulse. Then he turned, crawling back and sliding down to Hobbie and the Flight.

“Sorry,” Tarras told the pilot softly, “He’s gone.”

Hobbie swore. The two engineers hauled the pilot to his feet, guiding him quickly across the snow. They sat him down beside the nearest fighter, Yevl already appearing with a MedPak, breaking it open. Ryinne turned, looking for Wedge as Yevl began to wipe the blood away from Hobbie’s face. Yevl glanced up at her, and almost as if he had been reading her thoughts told her, “Antilles is inputting the co-ordinates into the rest of the rigs.”

On cue, Wedge walked round the nose of the fighter, “All locked and loaded, Flight.” He glanced at Hobbie, “How’s he doing?”

“Fine… Looks worse than it is. Once we’ve got him patched up we can get him into his fighter.” She turned, looking down at the pilot and Yevl. The Chief was pressing a dressing into place over the wound.

“Thanks, Chief,” Hobbie told him, cramming the helmet back onto his head, “Ready to go when you are, Sir,” he told Wedge.

Antilles gave him a tight smile, “Then let’s get out of here.”

The Imperial walker lumbered to a halt as it crested the snow covered rise and stood for a moment as if in quiet contemplation of the prize it had found. Nine Rebel fighters, all T-47 class, lay in a row below it, personnel busy about their duties. The head swivelled, the gunner lining up the nearest fighter in his sights.

"Flight!" Yevl choked in warning. Larne glanced at him then began to turn, following his gaze. Hobbie swore as he saw the AT-AT. Wedge turned, doing a double take at the walker silhouetted against the sky. Then Hobbie and Yevl were scrambling to their feet, the rest of them already running.

The targeted X-wing blew apart. The force of the blast knocked Larne off her feet, slamming her face down into the snow, driving the air from her lungs. Fire sliced across her upper arm. Debris splattered around her. She lay stunned, fighting to breathe. Then someone was trying to drag her up.

"Flight," Antilles yelled at her, hauling at her arms, pulling her to her knees, "Come on! Move!"

Another fighter exploded, driving her back into the snow. She lay for a moment, trying to determine which way was up, her ears ringing. Turning her head out of the snow, she concentrated on simply getting air into her lungs, trying to stop her head spinning. Something moved at the edge of her vision, something sleek and fast and she flopped over onto her back. An X-wing soared overhead. Intrigued, she turned her attention towards the fighter, watching as it banked, heading back towards the Imperial walker, guns blazing. For a moment the AT-AT resisted. Moving one of the rear legs into a more stable position it turned its head to target the Rebel ship. The fighter flashed past, then banked again, turning in for another run. The walker moved one of its front legs, the snow below it falling away. The X-wing fired again aiming at the crumbling snow below the walker’s front leg.

The snow gave way in a small, but ever growing, avalanche. The walker lost balance, front legs moving to try and find purchase but only succeeding in dislodging even more snow down the dune. With a shriek of over-strained metal the walker wobbled, slithering a few more feet as it attempted to find firm footing. The snow ledge finally gave way. Almost in slow motion, it toppled, crashing down the dune in a cloud of ice crystals. The X-wing looped round, blasting at the fallen Imperial machinery. With a hollow thwump, the walker exploded.

Larne closed her eyes as more bits spattered round her. Then she slowly remembered where she was, who she was and that someone had been trying to help her... Groggily she sat up. The X-wing that had just saved them was easing slowly towards the ground. Twenty feet away, Yevl knelt by Tarras' side. As she made it onto to her knees, the Chief looked round at her, shaking his head.

"Flight!" The word was short and sharp.

Ryinne turned towards the pilot. He was on his knees beside Hobbie who was still lying on his back in the snow. "Gods!" she breathed, scrambling across to them, "Antilles..."

Hobbie lay still, looking up at them, eyes wide in surprise and shock. Hands pressed against his belly either side of a glint of metal, the front of his flight suit was stained crimson. Ryinne swore, yelling for Yevl. But the Chief was already moving towards her. Hobbie was shivering, his teeth chattering. Gently, Wedge tugged at his hands, ordering quietly, "Hobbie, let me have a look."

"Flight," Yevl warned as he dropped to his knees beside Antilles, "you're bleeding…" He tailed off as he saw the blood on Hobbie’s suit.

"So's he," she told the Chief, as Wedge lifted the other pilot’s hands aside. A piece of wreckage was lodged against his ribs. She looked at Yevl, "Get a MedPak." He nodded, pushing himself to his feet.

"How bad?" Hobbie hissed through gritted teeth.

"Bad enough... But if we can stop the bleeding... Hells, Hobbie, we’ve only just patched you up!" She looked up at Antilles, seeing for the first time a patch of crimson that was slowly expanding on the Lieutenant Commander’s shoulder. “Wedge, you’re bleeding.”

“What?”

“You’re bleeding...”

“Hells... where?”

She stood up, moving round Hobbie, inspecting Wedge’s shoulder. There was a rip in the cloth and he caught his breath against the pain as she touched the piece of metal lodged in his shoulder. “Looks like you caught some wreckage too.”

“Brilliant,” he muttered. Now that she had pointed it out, the pain was beginning to expand through his shoulder, down into his arm.

Janson jumped the last few inches from the X-wing onto the snow, running across to where Larne and one of the Chiefs were kneeling beside two orange suited pilots… Janson had a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Wedge Antilles was one of the few pilots left with the X-wings… Praying that Wedge wasn’t injured, Janson stumbled toward them as the Chief pushed himself to his feet, racing towards one of the X-wings, opening the belly hatch.

Ryinne looked up as Janson dropped to his knees beside her, then turned her attention back to Hobbie. Wedge glanced over at the newcomer, "You're breaking orders, Lieutenant," he derided.

"Sorry, Sir. Thought you might need some help."

"Thanks, Janson, but we’ve got it covered. Get out of here!”

"The Imperials are getting awfully close!" Janson warned her, his voice quiet and far too calm.

Wedge lifted his head, fixing him with a level gaze, “Understood, Lieutenant. All the more reason you should get your butt out of here! So move it! That’s an order!”

Ryinne looked up at Janson, seeing the concern and terror on his face. But the pilot was nodding, pushing himself to his feet and racing back towards his fighter. Wedge watched him go for a moment, shaking his head, then turned his attention back to Hobbie. "If we can get him patched," he suggested, "and into a fighter, I'll stick with him to the rendezvous."

Yevl dropped to the ground on the other side of the fallen pilot, already rummaging through the medi-kit, pulling out a diagnostic, pressing it against Hobbie's neck. Wedge watched, fingers drumming against his leg in unconcealed tension, working through the ever-increasing pain in his shoulder.

Ryinne had reached into the med-Pak for a hypodermic. "This will help the pain,” she told Hobbie as she filled the syringe, “And hopefully delay the shock." She plunged the needle into the pilot's arm, carefully pressing the liquid out.

The young man said nothing for a moment, then his face relaxed and he sighed, "Wo-ow..."

Yevl smiled sadly, watching as Ryinne slowly withdrew the hypodermic. She looked across at him. "It's deep," he told her before she could ask, "We can't take it out here, he'll bleed to death..."

“He might do that anyway,” Antilles said softly. Then he looked at Ryinne, “Let’s get him to his X-wing.”

“First” Larne told him in her best no-nonsense voice, “we deal with you. Then you can get the Artoo unit to do the start up while the Chief and I bring him over..."

Wedge shot her a grin, “Fine... Ma’am.”

“Shut up!” she told him, loading another hypodermic and asking "You got the suit sealant there?" The Lieutenant-Commander nodded, retrieving the spray from a leg pocket. The Flight thumped the hypodermic into his uninjured arm. He winced, saying nothing as he sprayed the area around the needle, then slowly Ryinne pulled it out. The foam flowed on to seal the tiny hole.

Ryinne dropped the hypodermic back into the MedPak then took the sealant from him. Holding the flight suit away from his injury she sprayed along the line of the rip, waiting for a moment until the foam congealed before letting the suit fabric go. “That should do it.” She looked at the small canister for a moment, glancing at Hobbie. Then she handed the canister back to Wedge, “We can seal his suit once we’ve moved him. Go start your birds.”

"I'm on it, Flight," he told her, pushing himself to his feet then turned, racing across the snow towards his X-wing.

Janson turned the fighter as he lifted off the snow, eyes on the tactical display, “Command, this is Rogue Nine, do you read?” Nothing. Janson tried again, “Command, this is Rogue Nine, do you copy?” Again there was no reply. He lifted the fighter another few feet, just enough to see over the top of the dune.

“Rogue Nine, this is the Aaron Demeris. We’re loading the last of the ground troops and ready to lift. We have no fighter escort! Repeat, we have no fighter escort!”

“Roger, Demeris. Hit your transponder code.” A small flag began to blink on the tactical display. Janson looked up, trying to correlate the data with the scene before him. The Demeris was on the far side of the ice plain, beyond the rise at the South Entrance. Lying between him and the ship was a rank of Imperial walkers. He hesitated for a moment. The quickest way was straight across - which also meant that he could take some shots at the Imperials. But if they got lucky and took him out the Demeris would be on its own. On the other hand, the Imperial shuttle sitting outside the South Entrance was far too tempting a target for him to ignore... “Demeris, Rogue Nine, got you visual. I’m on my way.”

As he spoke, the shuttle eased gently off the ground, lifting vertically and turning, the tri-wing unfolding. Janson swore. If the shuttle turned any further it would see the Demeris. Targeting the shuttle he poured on the power, hitting the firing switch. The shuttle rocked under his fire, turning towards him. But he had already flipped the X-wing, pulling round into a climb to lead the shuttle away. Cutting the power he stalled the fighter into a turn, ready to set the shuttle up in his sights again…

Only it wasn’t where it ought to be. Dread slammed at his stomach as he checked the tactical readout then searched the sky for it. The shuttle had apparently ignored him. It was a small dark dot fading rapidly into the sky. Well I’ll be...

“Rogue Nine, Aaron Demeris. We’re stowed and ready to lift.”

Janson turned his mind back to more important matters, “Roger, Demeris, I’m right behind you.”

Larne looked across at Yevl, "Ready?"

The Chief nodded, "Sure. But you're still bleeding, Flight."

"We'll deal with that once we've dealt with him!" she countered, taking hold of Hobbie. Together they eased the pilot into a sitting position. They manoeuvred on their knees, draping his arms across their shoulders, grasping hold of Hobbie's flight suit. "After three," Ryinne ordered, "One... two... three..."

Hobbie made no sound as they stood up, hoisting him to a standing position. Then, hurriedly, they carried him across the snow towards the nearest fighter. Ryinne gritted her teeth against the pain that was beginning to thump through her arm with each heartbeat, the wound flaring heat. Not long, then she could deal with it... Ahead of them, Wedge raced across from his X-wing to the one they were heading for, scrambling up the side. As they reached the fighter he was sliding back down onto the snow, "Beefour, start her up!

" He turned to the approaching engineers, shouting, "Locked, loaded and firing, Flight! I've interfaced my com link with Beefour so that I can talk to him direct if necessary."

"Enterprising," she replied, caustically, "Now get to your own bird, Antilles!" He nodded, telling them, "Take it easy." Then he turned, running across the snow towards his fighter. "You go up to the cockpit, Chief," she instructed, knowing that she probably wouldn't have the strength to haul Hobbie up the side of the fighter.

"No problem, Flight."

Ryinne hugged Hobbie more closely to her, taking his full weight as Yevl clambered up into the cockpit. He reached down the side and Ryinne steadied the pilot against the fighter, changing her grip, heaving him up as far as she could. Yevl stretched down a little further, "Hobbie! Give me your hands!"

Senses dulled by the drug, Hobbie tilted his head back, looking up at the figure who reached down towards him. Slowly, he lifted his arms. Yevl grasped hold of him at the elbows, allowing Ryinne to get a hold of his legs, lifting him higher. Her arm was on fire, agony pumping through it in waves, her fingers beginning to go numb. "Chief," she admitted, "I'm not going to be able to hold him much longer..."

Yevl had grasped Hobbie’s flight suit at the waist, “This is going to hurt,” he warned.

Hobbie nodded vaguely, wrapping his arms round the Chief's neck. Yevl grinned, quipping, "Didn't know you cared!"

The pilot murmured something that he didn't quite catch. He ignored it, grunting as he hauled Hobbie up the side of the fighter into the cockpit. Turning awkwardly, he steadied the pilot, intending to step out onto the side to let the Hobbie sit down. But the grip round his neck slackened and he suddenly found himself supporting the pilot's weight as Hobbie lost consciousness. Swearing, Yevl dropped him gently into the seat, then clambered out onto the footholds. Larne was yelling orders at the Artoo unit who burbled in ascent.

Yevl reached into the pilot’s leg pocket, pulling out the sealant, spraying it over Hobbie’s wound and the rip in his suit, not waiting to see it congeal, reaching for the restraints. He locked them into place, then checked the sealant. Satisfied, he dropped to the ground, giving Ryinne a quick nod.

"Bee-four," the Flight ordered, "get him out of here!"

Yevl grabbed her, dragging her round towards the other X-wings. As the Artoo unit lifted Hobbie's fighter from the ground, he reached into the belly hatch, pulling out a med-Pak. Ryinne let him work on her injured arm, her head raised skyward as she tried to follow the two fighters climbing away, but they were lost within seconds. She turned her attention back to the engineer at her side. He tossed her a grin, warning, "This is going to sting..." He stuck a hypodermic into her arm, and slowly the pain began to fade, "Almost done..."

At the edge of her vision she saw movement beside the crashed Imperial Walker and looked round. Stormtroopers were flowing down the side of the snow dune towards them, rifles held ready. "We've got company, Chief," she told him, quietly.

He looked up, following her gaze, swearing softly before lifting a laser scalpel, sealing the edges of her wound. "Almost good as new," he said, pushing the med-Pak into the fighter and closing the hatch, "It'll throb for a while, though..."

The stormtroopers had surrounded them, "All right, you two! Move out!"

"Hobbie? Hobbie? Come on, Kid, talk to me!" Wedge waited for a few seconds as they soared towards the outer atmosphere, listening for a reply as he checked the sensors. Incredulity turned to disbelief as the instruments reaffirmed the data they had given him. The Empire was throwing some major heavy artillery at them. He gave a soft whistle of respect for the Rebel forces who had managed to cause this sort of chaos with so little fire power. "Hobbie! Hobbie, damn it! Answer me! Hobbie!"

"I'm here, Boss..." His voice was weak but alert.

"Empire's here in force, Kid. It's going to get hot..."

Hobbie looked at the readouts. Darkness began fluttering at the edge of his vision. He tried to blink it away, forcing himself to concentrate on the information displayed in front of him. The shadows receded, slightly. Conscience pushed at his common sense, forcing him to acknowledge that in the shape he was in he wasn't going to be able to do much. If they got into a firefight, Antilles was going to have to cover them both... Unless… "Boss, get out of here... I'll... cover you as long as I can..."

Antilles heard an undertone in the statement that he definitely didn't like. An undertone that implied that Hobbie would attempt some damn fool heroics to let the more senior pilot get to safety even if it got Hobbie killed. “Negative, Kid! Go straight through, no dodging about. If anything gets a lock, you leave it to me. Set up the jump co-ordinates now and be ready to hit it on my command. Understand?"

Hobbie smiled, the shadows beginning to encroach again, "Understood..." he confirmed, then added, "...Sir."

Wedge grinned. The sky had darkened, images of the Imperial ships sharpening into focus as the two fighters burst out of the atmosphere into space. TIEs swarmed in towards them. "You still with me, Kid?"

Silence.

"Hobbie?"

"I'm here..."

The TIEs were almost on them, already spitting blaster fire, "You got the jump set?"

"Yes..."

Wedge pulled up, circling in behind Hobbie, pouring on the speed to catch up with him, "Straight through, Hobbie! Go straight through."

"... copied..."

Taking a deep breath, Wedge pleaded silently, Just hang in there, Hobbie, and keep her straight and steady! Then he flipped the fighter into a level spin, corkscrewing round Hobbie’s rig, guns blazing. The TIEs kept firing but peeled away, wheeling round to drop in behind the Rebel fighters. Wedge killed the throttle, pushing the nose of the T-65 down, Hobbie’s fighter surging away from him. "Hobbie! Jump now! Jump now!" He hauled the fighter back up, pouring on speed as the TIEs shot past his nose. One of the Imperials exploded as his blaster fire hit its mark. Yawing slightly, he lined up a second target and cursed. Hobbie’s fighter was still there, shields flashing brightly as the Imperial fire hit them.

"Hobbie!" he yelled, firing at his target, "Jump! Jump now!" The TIE disappeared in a ball of flame, a second paring away. "Hobbie, damn it! Jump!" Wedge looked round, searching for the missing TIE. Two more seconds and it would have him lined up... Turning back, he saw Hobbie’s fighter suddenly accelerate away, disappearing into hyperspace.

A whoop of delight was cut short as his fighter bucked under Imperial fire, throwing him against the restraints, "Aw, come on... Give a guy a break!" Jinking out of the way, he pulled the fighter up and round. At the top of the loop he kicked the tail out, snapping into a roll that lost his persuer. Smirking, he risked a glance behind then hit the jump button.

The sky was heavy with snow. Large flakes began to fall again, the temperature dropping rapidly as they crested the top of the snow dune, pushed on by their escort. Ryinne paused for a moment, astounded at the scene of carnage spread out before her. Imperial AT-ATs strode across the ice plain, oblivious of the dying, the white ice blackened and melted, littered with wreckage. A rifle muzzle in the small of her back pushed her forward again as her eyes clouded with tears... Dear Goddess, what had they done to deserve this...

Yevl looked numbly at the ice plain as their guards herded them down towards the pitifully few survivors. He saw, but refused to acknowledge, the bodies of the ground forces strewn across the plain, dotted here and there by the orange flight suit of a pilot. On the far rise the wreckage of a speeder burned brightly, the glow of the flames reflecting off the remains of an Imperial Walker.

Tears slid down Ryinne's cheeks and she brushed them away before they froze against her face. Darkness was beginning to fall. She had almost pulled herself together by the time they reached the other survivors, held in two groups, all on their knees in the snow, hands on their heads. A stormtrooper with a red shoulder sash turned towards Ryinne and Yevl as they stumbled to a stop. "Name and rank?" he demanded.

"Ryinne Larne, Flight Commander Engineering."

He punched something into a note pad, then turned to Yevl, "Name and Rank?"

"Bern Eien Yevl, Chief Technician."

The stormtrooper noted it down, then pointed to one of the groups, ordering, "Take them both over there." The guards pushed them forward towards the smaller of the two groups.

Yannon Lourd lifted his head. Then closed his eyes for a moment in dismay at the sight of two more prisoners being shoved towards them. Concern rose as he saw the blood on the arm of Larne’s jacket. The stormtroopers forced the two ground crew onto their knees opposite him. Ryinne caught his gaze and for a long moment they looked at one another. Then she closed her eyes and he saw the tears spill down her cheek. He said nothing, not wanting to incur the stormtroopers’ wrath. He glanced across at Yevl but the Chief’s gaze was focussed a million miles away - or deep inside himself. Larne sniffed and Yannon looked back at her, asking softly, “You okay?”

She swallowed then nodded, closing her eyes again as she forced back the tears. There was no wind, she realised. Beyond Yannon she could hear the whine and thud of the Imperial walkers but apart from that there was no sound, not even the electronic voice of a stormtrooper - only silence. After a time she opened her eyes again. It was almost dark now. Beyond them the falling snow obscured everything, veiling the destruction and defeat. Over to her left there was a faint, flickering, orange glow as something continued to burn. She ran her gaze back towards Yannon. He looked up at her and she looked back at him, both of them drawing strength from each other. Behind her a light snapped into existence, flooding the area with brilliance, blinding them for a moment.

The night temperatures began to bite and Derlin found himself shivering. Overhead he heard the whine of engines and instinctively looked up, regretting the action as pain flared along his ribs, into his chest. Then the stormtroopers were ordering them to their feet and pushing them out towards the darkness. They trudged forward. Ahead of them a shuttle settled onto the ground, the ramp extending, throwing another, dimmer, light across the snow. Terror clawed at him briefly and for an insane moment Derlin considered running. Then his training kicked back in and he admitted that running wouldn’t do him any good. It wouldn’t even get him killed. They had been separated from the rest for a reason - the Empire would want them alive.

The troopers herded the Rebels up the ramp into the ship, forcing them down onto their knees again before securing their wrists with binders. A grey uniformed officer watched the proceedings from the door of the flight deck, shaking his head with an insolent sneer on his lips. Derlin looked away quickly, not wanting to invite trouble. Then the ramp as slowly closing behind them and the officer turned back to his duties.