Bee-four knew that something was wrong. His human pilot had been very quiet since they’d made the jump. Too quiet. The other humans he had flown with usually chatted with him, talked about things. But this time there had only been ominous silence, broken occasionally with small sounds that Bee-four couldn't quite identify. Then there was the incident on the planet when the Flight had ordered him to do the take off. Granted, pilots didn't always do manual departures, but they at least gave the order... it wasn't usually the Flight... And they had jumped a full twelve seconds after the other pilot had given the order.

Something was definitely wrong...

Two minutes before his programming would normally notify his pilots that the jump was almost complete, he tried to rouse Hobbie. Time passed as he tried again and again, the jump co-ordinates growing ever closer. Finally a faint voice answered him, "Bee-twelve... What's up?"

Bee-twelve? Who was Bee-twelve? The little droid burbled, ignored the miscall and informed the pilot again that the jump was nearly complete. There was another silence, then the pilot answered, " Bee-twelve... You may have to... handle it... on the other side..."

The droid mewled. Hobbie focussed on the display, smiling slightly at the Artoo's question, "I'm in bad shape here... I might not be awake when we reach... the co-ordinates... I'll leave her in your... hands..." The Artoo unit threw another question onto the screen. Hobbie eased himself forward, trying to read the display, instantly regretting the movement. The drug Larne had given him was wearing off, pain beginning to niggle at his insides. Slowly, he collapsed back against the chair, "If you don't hear... anything from me, do what... what Lieutenant Commander Antilles... tells you. He'll... make sure we're okay."

Vader stood at the observation window overlooking the main hangar. The Rebels were being herded from the shuttles - fifty-two in all, mostly ground crew but there were two pilots. His attention rested on a man who had been separated from the rest, a Major who called himself Anders. That one he was most interested in, but any of the others could potentially provide him with the information he required. And should these people be unable to furnish him with Skywalker’s whereabouts, the Princess Leia and Solo would provide him with the bait to lure his son. The Avenger was currently searching for the Millennium Falcon and the rest of the Fleet would soon follow.

Jurgen walked along the corridor towards him, stopping a respectful distance away, “My Lord, the message has been dispatched to the appropriate systems. We should hear from the Bounty Hunters within the next few hours.”

Vader continued to watch the scene below, the prisoners being marched across the hangar. The Bounty Hunters were purely a last resort should all else fail. He may yet have no need to waste his time with them. There was something about this Major Anders... “Begin the interrogation of the Rebels immediately,” he ordered. “Start with the pilots and the Flight Engineer. Leave the others for the moment. I will attend to the Major myself.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Vader continued to gaze into the hangar for a moment as the man walked away. Finally he turned, the coms unit on the far wall surging into life. Deep in conversation with one of his officer’s, Piett was oblivious to his superior’s scrutiny until Vader spoke.

“Admiral.”

Piett jumped, turning towards his viewscreen, swallowing hard, “Lord Vader...”

“Recall the ground troops. Have them destroy what is left of the Rebel Base and execute their prisoners. Then set course to intercept the Avenger’s search area. Find the Millennium Falcon.”

Douwal, tension still knotted tightly in the pit of his stomach, acknowledged his Navigator's comment with a nod. The adrenaline rush of the escape, the flight past those Imperial ships still thrilled horror and anxiety through him, but four years of fighting the Empire had instilled an instinctive reaction of detached calm. It was too early for him to let go. His crew and his passengers were relying on him to remain unruffled and collected. If he showed how damned scared he really was, how much he needed a drink, everything could start falling apart. They had reached the rendezvous, but they weren't completely out of the slime-pit yet...

"The other ships have dropped their weapons lock, Sir," his Tactical Officer reported.

"Thank you, Mr. Tynn." The small view screen flickered on, huge in the cramped area of the bridge, throwing up the image of the other ships who had made it. "Take us in gently, Mr Barlock," Douwal ordered, turning to his First Officer, "Caeitrin, stand down the crew." He looked back at the view screen, continuing, "Then see if any of those ships need assistance."

"Sir," she acknowledged, toggling the intercom switch, "All hands, secure from jump stations. All hands..."

A chime pulled Pelin's attention back to the his data readouts, "Captain! Jump site forming directly behind us!" Douwal was already on his feet, striding the few steps to the Navigator as Pelin's strained voice confirmed, "It's small enough to be a fighter..."

The other officers exchanged glances, Barlock already beginning to change the huge ship's course. But the tension on the bridge jumped as Douwal swore, yelling, "Collision avoidance!" In normal space, a fighter travelled much faster than they did. Dropping in so close behind them it was likely to get caught in their exhaust trail... or hit them before the pilot even saw them. Either scenario would be devastating for something as small as a fighter.

"Manoeuvring starboard, Captain..."

"Cut the starboard engine!" the First Officer shouted to the Engineer, "Now!" She slapped the intercom switch, "All hands, brace for impact! All hands, brace for impact!"

A small nerve in Douwal’s cheek jumped erratically as he looked across at the view screen. The stars tilted and dropped away slowly as the transport began a ponderous climbing turn to the right. He returned his attention to Pelin's screen, sending a quiet prayer to the goddess.

Hands on his head, Yevl marched dully along the corridors of the Star Destroyer with the others, his mind numb to events and his surroundings. The fear of before had been replaced by a desolation that paralysed his thoughts leaving reality achingly blank. They reached the detention area, the Rebel numbers slowly dwindling as they were thrown into cells. The Imperial Officer stopped again, the prisoners stumbling to a halt behind him. He turned, motioning to the Stormtroopers who rounded up Yevl and the man beside him, pushing them towards an open cell door. Yevl obeyed almost automatically, allowing the stormtrooper to shove him into the cell. He missed his footing on the step, sprawling heavily on the floor as the other man walked down the steps behind him.

The door flashed closed, cutting them off and leaving them in darkness. The sudden change snapped him out of the daze, reality crashing in on him in a flutter of uncontrolled panic. Instinct for survival kicked in, drowning the suddenly mounting hysteria as the small voice in the back of his mind finally made him realise that if he lost his control now, he was definitely dead. He stayed perfectly still. The floor was icy cold against his hands and he was suddenly colder, lying here on the floor, than he had been while waiting in the snow on Hoth.

After a few moments the lights flickered into existence. The other man moved, dropping to his knees beside Yevl, “ Are you hurt?”

Yevl shook his head, “No.” He pushed himself into a sitting position, seeing the rank insignia on the other man’s jacket, “So what do we do now, Commander.”

“Damned if I know. Wait, I suppose... A person can do a lot of thinking if he’s made to wait long enough.”

Yevl said nothing, looking away. He shuffled away, backing towards the wall, sitting up against the bulkhead. Maybe that was the whole point, he thought. Leaving them alone with their terrors might be even more effective than torture itself. He closed his eyes, resting his head back against the wall and waited, wondering where the Flight was, wondering if Wedge had managed to get Hobbie through, wondering if any of the Rebel fleet had managed to make it safely away from Hoth. Thinking about anything other than what might happen to him in the next few hours.

The luminous corridor of hyperspace shattered into the star-dappled backdrop of normal space. The Artoo unit squealed at him as proximity warnings flashed across the data screen. Hobbie saw the immense bulk of the ship ahead of him and reached for the controls. Forewarned that Hobbie was in trouble, Beefour had already reacted. The fighter rolled, slicing past the transport, juddering and shaking as it caught the edge of the transport's exhaust trail. Pain swelled in Hobbie's gut as the shuddering of the fighter moved the wreckage against his ribs, grating metal against bone. He was vaguely aware of the glare of the other ship’s engines sliding past his port side, willing himself to remain conscious long enough to ensure that he wasn’t a danger to anyone else. But the pain swamped him as the transport’s wash hammered at the T-65, darkness drawing him down.

On the bridge of the freighter Tynn watched the tactical readouts. The tiny blip disappeared as the readings warped in the ship’s wash. He held his breath, gnawing on his lips as he slowly counted the seconds. "He should be through," he began softly, breaking the silence. Douwal moved to stand behind him, but he didn’t notice, his attention focussed on the display, “Damn it, where is he?”

“Easy, Mr. Barlock,” Douwal told his pilot quietly, dropping a hand onto his Tactical’s shoulder, glancing across at Barlock, "Keep bringing her round.”

“Aye, Sir,” the pilot answered calmly.

“Anything, Vaz?”

Tynn shook his head, “ Nothing, Sir... No! Wait...” His fingers jumped across his console, sharpening the image even further, “Yes! It's there, Captain...! And in one piece!"

"Captain...” Pelin announced, shakily. Douwal's smile faded, the nerve jumping in his cheek again, his stomach lurching at the tone of his navigator’s voice. He turned slowly to look at the younger man. Pelin was dragging information onto his screen, “There's another jump site forming..."

"How close?” Douwal demanded, knowing by Pelin’s reaction that it had to be too close for comfort. Fates damn it, they’d almost had one T-65 vaporised in their wake!

The audible relief in his Navigator's voice pulled away some of the pressure in Douwal's throat as Pelin continued, "Exactly the same co-ordinates as the last one, Captain. Might be a little bumpy through our wash, but they should be okay."

"Track it, Vaz," Douwal ordered, striding back to his command chair, "just to be sure."

Wedge punched into normal space - and yelped as he saw the transport almost directly ahead. Howling, his Artoo unit dumped proximity data onto the screen. "I see it! I see it!" Wedge roared back, hauling on the controls, pulling away from the transport at ninety degrees. Adrenaline pumped through him as the fighter bucked, thrown around as it rode the wash. That was too damned close...

His stomach flipped... Hobbie! Frantically, he searched the tactical data, but the only clear information was the transponder tag of the transport, the rest of the sensor readings scrambled by the transport’s engine emission. Desperation clawing at him he keyed the mike, "Aaron Demeris, this is Rogue Three, did a fighter come through before me?"

"Rogue Three, this is the Demeris. It came in right on our tail! Caught our exhaust, but made it out."

"Roger that, Demeris."

"Sir..."

Hobbie’s voice was weak and thready but Wedge still found himself grinning as he keyed the mike, "How you holding up, Kid?" The sensor readings were beginning to clear. A few more seconds and he'd be able to see him.

Hobbie dragged his eyes open, pain flaring with each breath, "Might... need some... help... here..."

Another voice cut in, "Rogue Three, Demeris. You got a problem there?"

"Affirm, Demeris, the pilot who came through ahead of me is injured..."

"Roger that, Rogue Three. Standby."

Standby, Wedge thought, Standby! They were doing their best, he understood that. But this was a little more serious... He punched the transmit switch, “Demeris,” he told them calmly and quietly, “he has a piece of wreckage stuck in his gut! He may not have time to standby!"

On the bridge of the Slivix, Loi-Tieb had been listening in to the conversation. She heard the undertone in Antilles’ voice and started issuing orders to her bridge officers, listening to the returned comments. Then she hit her transmit button. "Rogue Three, this is the Slivix, we copied your predicament. We're evacuating a cargo-hold to bring your pilot aboard, but they're not transponding. We can't get a fix to lock the tractor."

"Roger that, Slivix. Hobbie, you still with us?”

“Transmitting...”

"We've got him, Captain!" the Tactical Officer called as a tag blinked into existence beside one of the returns on the data screen in front of him, "Rogue Three's too close him. I might get them both."

Loi-Tieb hit the transmit switch again, "Rogue Three, back off. Otherwise we’ll catch you in the tractor."

"Copied, Slivix. Getting the hell out of the way."

Loi-Tieb glanced over at her First Officer, "Is that bay clear yet?" she asked.

"Sixty seconds, Ma'am. They're just getting the last of the personnel out now. And the medic's standing by," Edis told her.

"Lock the tractor, Ruick," Loi-Tieb ordered. She turned back to Edis, "Do we have enough room to bring Rogue Three in?"

He nodded slowly, “Might be a little tight, but as long as he can manoeuvre under his own power...”

"Tractor is locked," Ruick reported.

“I’m on my way down,” Edis told his Captain, running for the elevator.

Loi-Tieb nodded, gnawing at the inside of her lip as she turned back to the viewscreen. "In your own time, Lieutenant," she advised Ruick, aware that time could be running out for Hobbie and yet not wanting to unduly hurry her officer through such a delicate operation. "Gently does it...”

Still watching the screen, she toggled the switch again, “Rogue Three, we’ve got enough room to bring you along for the ride...”

The idea was tempting, very tempting. The painkiller was slowly wearing off, his shoulder injury already beginning to make itself felt. He knew he needed medical attention... But the possibility of these ships getting jumped by a Star Destroyer was still very real. They weren’t home and dry yet. And he had no idea how many others had made it here. He couldn’t afford the luxury of self-indulgence... not right now. He had to find Luke and put together some sort of plan. Dejectedly Wedge told the Slivix Captain, “Thank you, Ma’am. It’s appreciated, but I can probably do more good out here.”

“Roger that, Rogue Three.” She paused, then continued, “We’ll do our best for him.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. Rogue Three out.” He started scrolling through the sensor readouts, searching for the other Rogue ships. As if in answer to his unspoken question the little droid began to burble. Another female voice crackled in his earpiece, “Slivix, Rogue Five requesting permission to break off and join Rogue Three.”

Loi-Tieb smiled, toggling the switch, “Permission granted. And thanks for everything!”

“Thank you, Ma’am. Breaking off now.”

“Downhigher?” Wedge asked with a smile.

“The one and only, dropping in on your right. Don’t know how much help I’m going to be. My shields are almost gone. I’m running on minimum just to maintain them.”

Wedge looked round, watching the X-wing swing in behind him, settling on his right wing, “It’s good to see you. Has Commander Skywalker given any orders?”

There was a short, telling silence, then Alissha admitted, “You’re the first ranking officer that I know has made it through, Sir.”

A small, tight knot formed in the pit of Wedge’s stomach, sending a cold shiver up his spine. He forced the sudden, nagging doubt away, hiding it behind duty, “Then let’s start getting ourselves organised.”

The X-wing thumped heavily onto the hangar floor, engineers rushing in from either side. A tech hauled himself up the side of the fighter to hit the release button for the canopy. Slowly it slid open. Hobbie lay unconscious, slumped inside. Luscin turned, yelling for the medics as he moved onto the footholds. “Okay, son, we’ll have you out of there as soon as we can,” he reassured, reaching in to undo the pilot’s helmet straps, recoiling as he saw the metal sticking out through the pilot’s suit.

Pulling himself together he reached back in, undoing the clips as carefully as he could. Slowly he eased the helmet off Hobbie’s head, “I’ll take this as easy as I can, Son…” The pilot moaned softly and his eyes flickered but didn’t open. Luscin stopped, waiting until Hobbie had settled before pulling the helmet away and disconnecting it from the suit. Another tech had appeared at the other side of the cockpit. Luscin glanced up at her, “Looks bad. He’s got a bit of metal lodged in his gut.”

Mel nodded, pulling a mediscanner out of the MedPak, “Captain mentioned something about that.” She pressed it to Hobbie’s neck, frowning at the readings as she pulled it away.

“There’s a mobile platform somewhere against the side of the hangar,” Luscin suggested, “Might be better than carrying him down the side...”

“We’re going to need it!”

Luscin disappeared down the side of the fighter. Mel heard him shouting orders as she rummaged in the MedPak, pulling out a rehydration pad and pressing it to Hobbie’s neck. His blood pressure was far too low for Mel’s liking. She had to keep the shock at bay until they got him to a med centre. But with the amount of blood he was losing it was going to be difficult. Someone else appeared and she looked up. Edis was running a critical eye over the pilot, “Luscin says that the platform’s in the next compartment but it’s on the way…. God’s he’s in a mess. What can I do?”

“Cut through the restraints,” she told him, dropping the now empty rehydration pad onto the floor of the fighter and reaching into the MedPak again to pull out a laser knife and hand it to Edis. “Any idea what his name is?” She found another rehydration pad, pressing it against the pilot’s neck.

“Hobbs, I think,” Edis told her, cutting easily through the first shoulder strap and beginning on the next, “Or Hobby.”

“We’re going to make you feel a lot more comfortable, Hobby. Just hang in there.” She lifted the mediscanner again, checking Hobbie’s readings. The pilot’s blood pressure was slowly rising - a good sign - and his respiration was settling. It was still lower than normal but it was beginning to fall within acceptable parameters - but it wasn’t enough. His pulse was weak, heart rate elevated and irregular. Damn it, they needed to get the bleeding stopped or at least get fluids into him faster than they were doing. Mel frowned again, then asked, “Do we have any Bacta facilities on board, Sir?”

He switched the laser knife off. “If we don’t, I’ll find out who does,” he assured her, disappearing down the side of the fighter.

Mel stroked Hobbie’s blond, cropped hair. His eyes were puffed, his skin clammy. The second pad was already empty and as she reached for the third she knew, deep down, that they were going to lose him. Even with the Bacta there was only a slim chance that he would make it. But, damn it, she wasn’t going to let him go without a fight. She changed the pad again then reached for his hand. Pulling off the gauntlet she softly stroked his fingers, reassuring him that there was someone there, telling him, “It’s going to be okay, Hobby. You’ve just got to fight. I’m here, we’ll do this together.”

Arms crossed, Vaal Derlin paced slowly backwards and forwards across the breadth of the cell, walking his way through the pain from his ribs. And, he admitted, working his way through the niggling fear that threatened to rise and swamp him if he let it get a hold of him. When they'd taken him prisoner, he'd given the stormtrooper in charge a false name, telling them he was Elic Anders. Not that he actually expected it to work, but he'd had to make the attempt, however feeble. He had no misconceptions about what would happen if they discovered who he really was. Rebel Alliance officers did not usually receive beneficial hospitality from the Empire. His would be worse than most. They would, after all, be delighted to see him...

At least Rieekan and the Princess had managed to get away - his only consolation through all the misery he'd subsequently seen. Nothing had prepared him for the sight of the battle field as they'd dragged him outside: the snow blackened and pitted, bodies and wreckage strewn across the area, smoke dimming the already weak sun as the sky gathered itself to drop more snow. And just when he'd thought there was nothing left amongst all the death to shock him, he'd witnessed that one, last, chilling event - the black swathed figure of Darth Vader striding across the snow towards a waiting shuttle.

He stopped pacing and closed his eyes, leaning carefully back against the wall, thoughts returning to his own precarious position. Realistically he knew that it was only a matter of time before they discovered his true identity. He could picture the glee on their faces. An Imperial officer, defected to the Alliance, now back in the Imperial domain. Inevitably they would break him, as they did everyone.

He pulled himself off the wall, then regretted the abruptness of the action as pain stabbed through his chest. Clutching his ribs he started to pace again. So be it. Terrified and injured he may be, but they'd better expect a damn good fight for their credits.

“All of them?” Elhen Anders asked softly.

Standing beside her on the bridge of the Demeris, Douwal nodded, “The other ships confirm. The Princess Leia is missing as are Major Devrin and Major Tazhak, you said yourself that Karth is dead and General Rieekan’s still unconscious. We were one of the last ships to leave so, believe me, most of the ground forces were left on Hoth and none of their Captains made it. The Command structure has been destroyed. It’s not supposed to happen like that, but it has.”

Elhen sighed almost silently, taking a few seconds to herself. They were sitting at an intermediate rendezvous point, waiting for other ships that would probably never arrive. And now she had suddenly been thrown in charge of the whole operation and frankly that scared her to death. She glanced round the bridge aware of the tension, knowing that the scene would be repeated on all of the command decks on all of the ships. She wasn’t the only one who was scared and these people needed someone to make the decisions – someone to take charge of this whole mess and get them all to safety. They’d managed to get so many out... and yet they’d left so many behind. On the screen she could see the surviving X-wings starting to regroup. “Captain, if I were to assume Command...”

“I’d be right behind you...” He grinned, “You’re Intelligence... But what the hell.”

Elhen looked at him for a long moment then took a deep breath and began issuing orders, “Captain Douwal?”

“Commander?”

“I’ll need an open line to all the other vessels here. And get hold of Rogue and Delta Flights’ leaders.”

“Aye Ma’am.”

The atmosphere had changed from tension to calm expectancy. Her stomach flipped but she ignored it, “And I’ll need your navigator...”

Douwal’s grin widened, “Anything else?”

“Probably, but I’ll get back to you.”

Trying to ignore the uncomfortable ache from his shoulder, not wanting to admit that his hand and his arm were getting cold, Wedge glanced behind to the left then the right visually checking the surviving X-wings. Goddess was that all that had made it? And he could forget about Alissha, she was having enough problems just trying to keep her life support going let alone get her shields combat ready. Vaziilyi hadn’t fared that much better, but at least he wasn’t running on minimum…

He keyed his mike, an idea suddenly hitting him. The Slivix Captain had said there was enough room for him and Hobbie in the hangar… “Slivix, this is Rogue Five.”

“Rogue Five, Slivix, go ahead!” a voice answered.

“I’ve got a fighter running on minimum systems just trying to keep her life support going. Do you still have enough room for two X-wings in your cargo bay?”

The coms officer turned to Loi-Teb who glanced across at the Ops Officer. He nodded and Loi-Teb toggled the switch on her chair, “Rogue Five, that’s affirm.”

“Roger that, Slivix. Can Hobbie be moved so we can swap one fighter for the other?”

“Send your X-wing in,” Loi-Teb told him. “We’ll do our best.”

“Thanks, Slivix, standby. Ali?”

“Here, Boss.”

“Go back to the Slivix. Hobbie’s fighter didn’t take too much damage and we may still need everyone operational.”

“Roger that, Boss. On my way.”

“Slivix, Rogue Five?”

“Go ahead,” Loi-Teb answered.

“One X-wing inbound to you to swap with Hobbie’s fighter.”

“Copied,” Maggs acknowledged, then hit the intercom.

Ryinne sat on the cell floor, back against the far wall, arms folded on knees drawn up to her chest. Head resting on her arms, she shivered as she waited. She had no idea how long she'd been here and she no longer cared. Just as she should have been scared. In normal circumstances being left alone in an Imperial detention cell would have petrified her. But these were not normal circumstances. She had seen too much today. Her mind had acknowledged the death, the carnage, the horror... and part of her soul had died on Hoth.

It was quite simple, really. She would be tortured and then she would be killed. To begin with she had cried - silent sobs that had drained the last of her reserves, leaving her with no more tears. Emotions exhausted, her body remembered only the afterimages of the bone piercing cold they had been forced to wait in before the shuttle arrived to bring them here...

The cell door opened.

Slowly she lifted her head, looking up at the figure framed in the doorway. Recognition stunned her for a moment. Stunned her almost as much as it obviously shocked the Imperial Officer who now stepped, disbelievingly, into the cell. No longer shivering, she looked up at the man she had agreed to marry, aeons ago it seemed now. And the expression on his face tugged an impossible smile to her lips, "Hello, Jace."

Captain Jace Daevith stared in disbelief at the woman sitting on the floor of the detention cell - the Rebel prisoner he had been assigned to interrogate. And the woman he had planned to spend the rest of his life with before she disappeared without trace over twenty months before. "Ryinne?" he began finally, not wanting to believe what his eyes told him, "But..." He took another step into the cell, unable to fully take in the enormity of the situation, the door hissing closed behind him, "There has to have been a mistake..."

"A mistake!" she echoed, "No, Jace, there's no mistake..." She pushed herself to her feet, impulse drawing her shoulders back to stand to attention, even as her common sense told her this wouldn't do her any favours. She no longer cared, "Flight Commander Engineering Ryinne Larne, Rebel Allied Forces."

The confusion on his face turned slowly to deep, abhorrent anger. He stood for a moment, gathering himself then demanded, "Why?"

She looked back at him, a small spark of hatred lighting up otherwise dead eyes, "Why?" The anger faded almost instantly, her eyes going dead again, "Start with Alderaan..." she began then tailed off, saying nothing more. It hadn't even occurred to her that she could hurt him most by refusing to explain. It was simply that she could no longer find the energy to talk to him.

He stood for a moment looking at her, waiting for the rest of her explanation, the hate rising. Then he turned on his heel, striding up the steps out of the cell. She lifted her head as the door sliced closed behind him. The last of her strength failed and she slid slowly down the wall to sit on the floor. Arms folded on knees drawn up to her chest, head resting on her arms, she waited.

Edis took a deep breath then pulled himself up the side of the T-65. Mel held Hobbie’s hand, stroking the back of his fingers with her thumb, her other hand gently caressing his hair. She looked up as Edis appeared at the other side of the fighter. He shook his head, “I can’t find you any Bacta. And we need him out of the fighter. They need to swap...”

Mel nodded slowly then turned her attention back to Hobbie. His eyes flickered and he frowned, moaning softly. “Shh,” she told him, her voice not quite breaking as she finally admitted to herself that they weren’t going to be able to save him. He was so young, so dreadfully, appallingly young. His life should only just be beginning, not ending. “It’s okay,” she lied, “Everything’s going to be okay.”

He took an uncertain breath. And another, more shallow this time. Then the third seemed to catch in his chest. Mel swore as his body stiffened and she reached for another vial, slamming it into the hypodermic. But then he relaxed, sighed softly and was still. Edis stood watching the pilot for a moment, not realising that the young man had gone. Then he glanced across at Mel and saw the truth on her face. She had dropped the hypo and was pressing the mediscanner to Hobbie’s neck. She bit her lip, the readout confirming her suspicion. A tear coursed slowly down her cheek. Edis closed his eyes, groaning in dismay.

Mel ran her fingers through Hobbie’s hair one, last time. Then leant in to the cockpit, gently kissing the pilot on the lips. The Slivix’ First Officer took a deep breath, pulling himself back together and climbed down to the floor of the hangar. He turned to one of the ground crew, “My thanks to Luscin. Tell him there’s another X-wing inbound and they need this one.”

The man rushed away and Edis walked round to the other side of the X-wing, waiting for Mel to come down. There was a commotion at the hangar door and Luscin barged his way through the milling personnel, two technicians beside him, pulling the mobile platform behind them. Edis moved to intercept them, taking Luscin aside, telling him quietly, “We lost the pilot.”

Luscin swore. Edis pushed aside his own frustration at the pilot’s death, catching Luscin’s arm. “Gently!” he ordered, then continued more quietly, “You did your best.” He lowered his voice even further, “We couldn’t have saved him even with the platform. I don’t even think we could have saved him with Bacta.” He gave his words some time to sink in, then went on, “But… We need to get him out of the fighter. They’ve got a damaged one coming in and the pilot’s going to take this one. And as far as that pilot’s concerned, we got him out and he’s going to sick bay for treatment…”

Luscin looked at him, his eyes acknowledging Edis’ words as his senior officer continued, “They’re not to know…”

“I understand, Sir. Leave it with me.” He moved away, scrambling up the side of the fighter. Mel had opened a thermoblanket Pak and was gently arranging it around the pilot’s body as Luscin reached the top. He took hold of her hands, carefully stopping her and she looked up at him. “We’ll take it from here,” he told her. She said nothing, looking back at Hobbie, pulling her hand away from Luscin’s grip to stroke the pilot’s face with the back of her fingers. Then she started down the side of the fighter. Edis was waiting for her at the bottom. She looked at him, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. He put his arm round her shoulder, gently shepherding her from the hangar.

Vader strode through the corridors of the ship towards the detention areas, his mood dark. The Millennium Falcon had evaded the incompetent efforts of the Imperial fleet, eluding capture by disappearing into an asteroid field. There was still the possibility that they would capture the Falcon, the ship could not stay in the asteroid field indefinitely. Instinct, however, told him that Solo would simply evade them again. And so he had finally been forced to turn to the Bounty Hunters, running the risk that despite his warnings they would kill first and ask questions later.

However, there was still time before the last of the hunters arrived. A simple check had exposed the true identity of the man who was calling himself Anders but that interrogation could wait. The captured Rebel pilots and X-wing engineers would be able to corroborate the story that Tennan had given him and furnish him with additional information. However, his present interest lay with a Deck Officer. The man should be able to inform him of exactly who was on board the Falcon…

Officers stood to attention as Vader swept into the detention area. “A Deck Officer was taken!” he demanded.

One of them checked the screen in front of him, telling Vader, “Yannon Lourd, Sir. I’ll take you to him.” He moved round the console walking along the corridor to the appropriate cell. Vader followed, an interrogation droid humming into life as he passed it, floating down the corridor at his shoulder.

The door sliced open. Yannon lifted his head, looking up at the Imperial Officer. Then he scrambled to his feet, backing up against the wall in terror as the dark, ominous figure of Darth Vader appeared at the top of the steps, the cell filling with his presence. Vader observed the Rebel for a moment as the man’s fear rushed towards him. Then, slowly, he moved down the steps into the cell.

“Patching through now, Sir...”

Douwal turned, “You’ve got the link to the Delta and Rogue.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Elhen acknowledged, then asked, “Do all the ships have the next jump co-ordinates?”

“We’re just waiting for the confirmation.”

“Thank you.” She turned her attention to the screen, “Rogue Three, this is the Aaron Demeris.”

Wedge bit down on the pain from his shoulder, “Demeris, Rogue Three...”

Elhen recognised the young man’s voice, “Wedge, do your fighters have the next jump co-ordinates set?”

“Locked and loaded, Demeris.”

“Roger. The fleet will be ready to jump in fifteen. The X-wings will jump now to scout ahead and take care of any hostiles.”

Wedge couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing, “Ma’am, there’s only eight of us...”

Elhen closed here eyes and almost sighed before she remembered that the attention of everyone on the bridge of the Aaron Demeris would be on her. She toggled the switch, “Understood and acknowledged, Rogue Three, that’s why we need you to go through first. There are more Y-wings than X-wings. We can’t afford to wait here any longer. The Y-wings will ride escort for the fleet.”

Now he understood. Adrenaline began pumping again. He pushed the pain to the side, concentrating on the problem at hand and keyed the mike, “Roger that, Demeris. We’ll be ready to jump once Rogue Five is back on-line.”

“Roger that, Rogue Three. Report ready to jump.”

“Wilco, Demeris!” He switched frequency, “Okay everyone, listen up. The fleet will be ready to jump in fifteen. We go through first to scout the area and wipe out any Imperials. They need the Y-wings to ride escort for the fleet, so we’re on our own. If we meet anything on the other side we go for Attack Pattern Juliet. Understood?” There was a chorus of acknowledgements. Wedge toggled the switch again, “Paco?”

“Here, Boss.”

“You stay with Elyott. Lainey?”

“Here, Boss.”

“You’re with Janson. Vaziilyi?”

“Here...”

“You get Alissha. Which leaves you with me, Peete.”

“Copied.”

“Okay, people, form up!” He switched frequency again, “Slivix, this is Rogue Three.”

“Rogue Three,” Loi-Tieb told him, pre-empting his question, “your pilot’s loaded and starting her engines.”

“Thanks, Slivix. Rogue Three to Aaron Demeris.”

“Demeris here.”

“Rogue Squadron will be ready to jump in approximately two minutes.”

Wedge and the other X-wings punched through into normal space, edgy and ready to fight. But there was nothing threatening on this side of the hyperspace corridor. The sensors picked up nothing, showing the area clear for parsecs around. Wedge breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing slightly but still cautious, “Okay people, spread out - Border Patrol. We’ve got ten minutes then the rest of the fleet will be coming through!”

The X-wing pairs shot away, taking up position and Wedge swung his own fighter round into place, wingman on his tail. He felt a slow trickle of liquid seeping down the inside of the arm of his flight suit and knew that his wound had to be bleeding. The ache was growing, but he was managing to ignore it. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry, “Rogue Nine?”

“Here, Boss.”

“My arm’s beginning to play up. You may need to take point. I’ll give you the word.”

“Roger that, Boss. How bad?”

“Think it’s bleeding,” Wedge admitted, “and the painkiller’s wearing off.”

“Copied, Boss.”

“What happened?” Alissha asked, eyes never leaving the sensor readings on her display.

“Got caught in the same blast that took out Hobbie. Did you see him?”

“Nope,” she admitted, “they’d carted him off to sickbay.”

“Okay.” He checked his timepiece, “Six minutes. Keep your eyes open.”

“Nothing out here so far,” Elyott told him.

“Copied. Keep scanning.” The minutes dragged on. Wedge closed and stretched his hand into a fist, trying to get rid of the pins and needles that were rapping at his nerves. The inside of his gauntlet was wet and he knew that it wasn’t just sweat. He could feel blood trickling slowly from his shoulder down his side as well as down his arm, the pain beginning to build further as the shot Larne had given him really began to wear off. At least he had nothing more strenuous to do now than sit, wait and scan the sensors. “Two minutes,” he warned. “Anything?”

“Nothing, Boss,” they confirmed.

Finally the telltale ripple of an approaching jump point lit up the sensors. Wedge was already trying to plot it, swinging the X-wing round as Janson called, “Something coming through!”

“I see it!” The space ahead of him shimmered and moved. Wedge’s gut tightened, “Peete, stick like glue! Attack Pattern Juliet, people. But don’t jump at them until you have them identified! The fleet’s due right about now.” On cue, two pairs of Y-wings swept into normal space, closely followed by the rest of the surviving ships from Hoth. But they didn’t have time to wind down, Elhen Anders was already issuing new orders and co-ordinates from the Aaron Demeris.

“Rogue Squadron, next jump co-ordinates coming to you now. Report locked and ready to jump!”

“Wilco,” Wedge told her. “Bee-six, I need these plotted, now!” The little unit burbled, whistling softly to itself before, dumping the data onto the viewscreen on the console. Wedge checked it, “Okay, guys, report ready to roll!” His shoulder was on fire, knifing pain along his arm. If they met resistance on the next jump he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold his own. Janson was going to have to ride point.

One by one the X-wings checked in, confirming that the co-ordinates were set and finally Wedge acknowledged, “Aaron Demeris, Rogue Squadron ready to jump.”

“Roger, Rogue Three. We’ll be ready in five. Good luck.”

“Copied, Demeris. Jumping in sixty.” He switched frequency again, “Rogue Nine?”

“Here, Boss.”

“Take point. Peete and I will bring up the rear.”

“Roger, Rogue Three.” Janson frowned at the evident strain in Wedge’s voice, wondering just how bad he was. He couldn’t remember seeing Wedge injured when he’d broken regs and gone back down to Hoth, but they had all been more interested in Hobbie and Wedge hadn’t let him stay for long. He pushed the worry to the back of his mind. There was no time to ask. He manoeuvred his fighter forward, wingman following, did a final check on the calculations then hit the jump button. The stars shattered into the hyperspace tunnel and, content that Lainey was still with him, Janson settled down to ride out the jump.

Wedge braced himself as he hit the jump button. Although they were cushioned against the full forces of the acceleration into hyperspace, there would still be a jolt, an increase in pressure that pushed the pilots into the seat as they jumped. He was expecting the wave of pain. He just wasn’t expecting the magnitude. It tore through his shoulder, ripping down his arm and into his side. For a long, horrifying moment he thought he was going to throw up. Then, mercifully, he passed out.

Elhen sighed softly, finally beginning to relax as the fleet dropped out of hyperspace and the area was free of all but Rebel ships. The message she’d sent at the first rendezvous should have reached Admiral Ackbar and help would hopefully be arriving soon. The ships were cramped and overcrowded, people were injured and in shock, everyone was tense and there definitely weren’t enough supplies to go around – especially on the medical side. They had survived, but emergency field Paks could only do so much and casualties were already dying. Things were only going to get worse from now on.

“Aaron Demeris, this is Rogue Nine.”

“Rogue Nine, Demeris,” Douwal replied, “Go ahead.”

“We have a problem here. Rogue Three is no longer responding. He asked me to take point before the last jump because of an arm injury. I reckon it must be serious, there’s been no response since...”

“Janson!” he heard Alissha warn in his ear, “There’s something coming through!”

Janson swore, checking the data, banking the fighter towards the area indicated by the sensors, “Peete,” he ordered, “Form up on Rogue Five!”

On the Demeris, Eli Pelin also shouted a warning, “Captain, jump site forming! Point zero five by three five nine!”

Elhen was moving for the communications console. Douwal glanced at her as he ordered, “Get a tractor on Rogue Three’s X-wing and hold it out of the way. Those fighters may need all the room they can get!”

“Rogue Nine, identify your target before firing!” Anders was warning the X-wings, her voice tight with concern. “This may be our guys! Acknowledge!” Nerves were frayed and tension was running high again. If Janson and the others weren’t forewarned of the possible arrival of a Rebel ship, they might fire first and ask questions later. And there had been enough death today. “Delta Flight! Stay with the Fleet!”

If it isn’t our people, Janson thought, then we’re all dead. “Roger that, Demeris! Identify before firing!” He flipped the frequency, “This may be one of ours! Attack pattern Juliet. And wait for my order! Acknowledge!”

On the Slivix, Maggs Loi-Tieb forced herself to take calm, even breaths. Edis was standing at her side and in her peripheral vision she could see the knuckles of his fists standing out white against the rest of his skin.

Douwal stood up, ignoring the anxious glances of his bridge crew as he moved across to stand beside Anders, the starscape shimmering and shifting on the viewscreen. Elhen felt the tight nervousness contract in her stomach but refused to give in to the impulse to look at him. This was the help they were waiting for. It had to be.

The stars shimmered for a moment longer then the fluid, graceful shape of a Mon Calamari Star Cruiser shot into normal space. Douwal’s jaw dropped slightly as she slowed and he realised just how big she was. He looked at Anders, who was smiling, asking her “Do we have a Star Cruiser that size?”

She stepped down towards the screen, the smile growing into a wide grin, “Oh yes,” she breathed. “Yes we do!” She turned to the woman at the communications console, “Keddie, send the Home One our greetings and advise that the fleet is in need immediate medical assistance.”

“Patching through now, Ma’am.”

Ahead of the fleet, closer to the huge cruiser, seven X-wing pilots gaped at the ship. “Janson,” Alissha asked, not quite believing her eyes, “is that one of ours?”

Her question pulled him back to reality, “If it’s not we’re in trouble! Wait for my order!” His Artoo unit burbled at him, a transponder tag appearing beside the huge ship on his tactical display.

At the same time a voice crackled in his ear piece, “Welcome, friends, it is good to see you. Admiral Ackbar requests that you hold your positions for the moment. Help is already being assembled and will be sent to you shortly. We will contact each ship as soon as we can to deal with your individual problems. In the mean time, please have patience. And once again, welcome.”

Admiral Ackbar? Janson thought. Gods, was the Admiral himself here? From the bays of the cruiser, Janson saw a flurry of small dots appearing, fanning out into what was obviously a border patrol. One of them, however, was heading for the X-wings, growing larger and revealing itself as an A-wing as it drew nearer. “Rogue Squadron, this is Blue Leader, do you copy?”

“Blue Leader, Rogue Nine,” Janson answered, “Go ahead.”

“Roger, Rogue Nine, hear your Boss is in trouble?”

Janson hesitated a moment before answering, wondering whether she was talking about Wedge Antilles or Luke Skywalker. But before he could answer she was telling him, “Disregard last, Rogue Nine, seems one of your other ships has got it covered. Standby and we’ll get him aboard, then you guys can follow on. Anyone else in immediate trouble?”

“No, Ma’am,” he confirmed. Then added, “It sure is good to see you.”

“It’s good to see so many of you, Rogue Nine. Hold position then follow me in.”

Behind Janson, Alissha glanced across at her wingman then round at Elyott, not knowing quite what to do. Still on edge, not yet ready to admit that the danger was past, she watched as a small ship from the cruiser locked a tractor onto Wedge’s X-wing and slowly manoeuvred it towards the Mon Calamari vessel, guiding it towards the mouth of a hangar bay. She saw the fighter hesitate as another tractor obviously caught hold of it, then move cautiously inside the hangar. She saw other ships leaving the cruiser, racing across towards those that had escaped Hoth. And all the time she was waiting for a Star Destroyer to drop in on top of them, for something else to go wrong. Then she heard Blue Leader telling them they were cleared for their approach and followed with the others as the A-wing led them in towards their bay.

Wedge’s X-wing was already on the deck, canopy open, technicians swarming over it. The marshaller guided Elyott and Paco in. Then Peete landed. Then she was gliding in through the open bay doors, easing the X-wing forward, following the marshaller’s instructions implicitly. He held the batons crossed above his arms and she descended, feeling the gently familiar thump of the landing gear on the deck. Automatically she began the shut down sequence, hearing the engines spooling down, the canopy hissing open. A technician appeared at her side, shooting her a grin as he undid the restraints and flipped them away from her shoulders. She pulled the helmet off, dropping it onto the seat and standing up.

They were lifting Wedge from his X-wing. Paco, Elyott and Peete were all standing in the cockpits of their fighters, watching as the ground staff carefully laid Antilles on a stretcher on the mobile platform at the side of his fighter. Slowly, it started to descend. Alissha moved, turning and sliding down the ladder, racing over to where a medical droid had a scanner pressed to Wedge’s neck. He was unconscious. They had taken off his helmet, his hair matted on his forehead. She felt a hand on her shoulder and glanced round at Elyott. Paco was with him.

The first X-wings to leave Hoth on escort, they had both been spared the horror of watching the AT-ATs’ advance on the surface. But they had been the first to see the full terror of the massed Imperial Fleet. They had also been detailed to take out as many TIEs as they could after their freighter had jumped to safety, before escaping into hyperspace themselves. It had to have been worse for them, she supposed. They had had to sit and wait, wondering if anyone else was going to come through, wondering if the next ship they saw would be an Imperial Star Destroyer.

Their attention was on Wedge and she turned back, watching as the droid administered some sort of drug. Then it was moving to the exit, the stretcher hovering ahead of it. Alissha stepped forward, “How is he?”

The droid stopped, turning. “He will recover,” it told her, then continued towards the exit. Alissha nodded, saying nothing. She stood with the others, waiting for Janson, all of them wondering what they should do.

“I need a drink,” Paco announced.

“I need a shower,” Elyott countered.

Arms wrapped round herself, Alissha wandered through the bustle towards the mouth of the hangar, looking out at the ships that had made it from Hoth and beginning to wonder for the first time, now that she had nothing else to do, how many they had left back on Hoth. Zev, Luke... Goddess only nine of the squadron had made it. She didn’t even know what had happened to Gil. One minute he’d been there, the next minute he was gone. If this was Ackbar’s Fleet then his sister could be here... What the hells was she going to tell her?

“Ali?”

She turned. Janson was walking slowly across the deck towards her. She looked away, back out at the fleet. “They want us in debrief,” he told her as he reached her.

She nodded, then found herself asking, “How old are you, Janson?”

The question took him aback, “Why?”

“Because I’m going to be twenty-four next week...” He looked at her, not quite sure what to say. But then she switched track, “How many do you think we left behind?”

Janson let his breath out in a soft, melancholy rush, following her gaze. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly.

They stood in silence for a moment longer. Alissha was shaking and she knew that if she tried to turn, tried to walk away from this spot right now, she would collapse in an undignified heap. She needed to stay here for just a little while, needed time to pull herself together. Janson and the others would get themselves blind drunk later on, that’s how they would deal with it. Normally she would be joining them. But this time - this time she knew it wouldn’t work. She closed her eyes, telling Janson, “Wedge is going to be okay.”

“Yeh, I know. Elyott said.”

She couldn’t delay it any longer. They were wanted in debrief and the longer she waited before she went, the harder it would be. She took a deep breath, then turned, “We’d better go.” But as they walked past the X-wings she couldn’t help noticing that a team of strangers was working on her fighter.