Stretched thin as a veil, a formation of spacecraft now occupied space between Klauskin’s formation and every reasonable exit path away from Corellia. It was on the same course as Klauskin’s fleet, a higher orbit, its vehicles and vessels traveling much faster than Klauskin’s in order to maintain the same relationship to the world below and Klauskin’s fleet in between.
The admiral could not tell, just by eyeballing, the makeup of the intruder fleet; at this distance, all he could determine was that each of the scores or hundreds of vehicles and vessels had green running lights, an impressive visual formationwide show of unanimity. He wished he’d thought of it for his own formation.
He became aware that his bridge crew was talking, shouting over the threat alarms, doing their business. Words intruded on his shock: “… formed up on the far side of Crollia or Soronia and jumped in …”
“… no hostile moves …”
“… communicating among themselves, but haven’t opened comm with us …”
Klauskin finally regained control of his voice. “Kill the alarms,” he said, his voice, to his own ears, sounding weak. “We already know they’re there. Composition?”
“Working on it,” his chief sensor operator said. “They have nothing in the size class of Dodonna, but they have Strident-class Star Defenders and a large number of frigates, corvettes, patrol boats, gunships, and heavy transports. Mostly Corellian Engineering Corporation, of course. They must have lifted every half-finished frame, every rusted hulk, and every pleasure boat insystem to have pulled this off.”
Klauskin smiled mirthlessly. “Our sensors can’t tell us which are the rusty hulks and which are the shipshape vessels of war, though, can they?”
“No, sir, not at this range. We also count at least a dozen squadrons of starfighters, possibly more-a tight grouping at a distance will sometimes return a signal as a single medium-sized ship. We suspect they’re mostly older fighters. Kuat A-Nines and A-Tens, Howlrunners, various classes of TIE fighters.”
“With crazed Corellian pilots at the controls,” the admiral said.
“Yes, sir.”
Klauskin’s unobtrusive aide Fiav decided to become more obtrusive, stepping up beside the admiral. “Sir,” she whispered, “have you revised orders for the operation?”
“Revised orders?” Klauskin’s mind went oddly blank as he considered that question. It was an unsettling feeling, especially in one for whom decisiveness had always been a career hallmark.
Ah, that was the problem. Revised orders should be issued to enable his formation to accomplish its goals despite the complication that the Corellian formation posed. But that was now impossible. The overriding goal of this operation was to use a show of force to induce fear, awe, and consternation in the Corellians.
But he could not do that now. They had matched his first move with an equal move. At this point, they could not be awed by the forces arrayed against them. They could be defeated … but a bloodless victory was out of the question.
He had failed. Less than five minutes into his operation, he had failed. His thinking processes became attached to that notion and could not pull free of it.
“Orders, sir?”
Klauskin shook his head. “Continue with the operation as per existing orders,” he said. “Redeploy half our starfighter squadrons to positions screening the capital ships. Do not initiate hostile actions.”
He turned his back on the Corellian fleet and stared down at the planet’s surface, at the gleaming star-like patterns of nighttime cities, at the brightening crescent ahead of the daytime side of the world. Dimly, he was aware that his new orders hadn’t accomplished much, and certainly wouldn’t do if the Corellians had any more surprises for him.
This was a problem he had to address. He’d get right on that.
VibroSword Squadron launched, a typical fast-moving stream of Eta-5 interceptors. As they poured out of Dodonna’s forward-port-flange starfighter hangar, Lysa saw the distant thrusters of Luke Skywalker’s Hardpoint Squadron far ahead. Already the Jedi X-wings were roaring down toward the atmosphere for their mission, which would begin on Corellia’s day side.
Then Lysa became aware of all the green running lights in the port-side distance. She turned and stared. “Leader, we have a problem …” Her voice mixed with others, a sudden babble of alarm across the squadron frequency.
“Maintain course and speed.” V-Sword Leader’s voice, as ever, was calm, reassuring. This time, at least, it wasn’t mocking. “Correction. Stay on me.” With that, V-Sword Leader and his wingmate rolled over and looped back almost the way they’d come, heading back toward Dodonna but swinging out a bit from the carrier. Once they were parallel to the carrier but out several kilometers, he brought them around again on a course paralleling the capital ship. “‘This is our new station,” he said. “Keep your eyes open for aggressive action by the Corellians.”