Despite the fact that the Corellian fleet continued to pace and, by its very presence, taunt the GA fleet, no units had moved out against Luke’s X-wings. But now Mara’s voice came across squadron frequency: “We’ve got some distant activity, looks like fighter swarms rising to meet us from Coronet.”
Luke checked his own sensors. They did show a couple of fuzzy signals from ahead, but to his eye they could have been two cargo craft launching, or a swarm of airspeeders punching up above approved travel routes. Mara, designated sensor officer for this mission, had a more capable set of sensors than Luke did.
Mara’s voice came back: “Confirmed two squadrons. Probably some class of TIE, based on their movement patterns. We’ll be within maximum laser range in two minutes.”
A pity. Luke looked off to port, down at the planetary surface. Here, it was all green forest separated from blue sea by thin lines of sandy golden beach. Such a pretty world. It was a shame that they had to send flaming starfighters and their pilots crashing down onto it.
A new voice came across the comm: “Attention starfighter flight approaching Coronet from course three-five-seven. This is Corellian Defense Force Headquarters in Coronet. You are classed as a hostile. Identify yourself or return to space.”
Luke switched his comm unit to broadcast on the same frequency. “This is Hardpoint Squadron of the Galactic Alliance Second Fleet, Luke Skywalker commanding. If your transponder hasn’t recognized US as a legitimate GA unit by now, it’s faulty. I’m transmitting you our ID … and your orders. Stand down.” He switched off the speaker and added, “Artoo, send the package.”
Artoo wheetled, the sound emerging from the cockpit speakers, acknowledging that the data package was away.
The land below was becoming less forest, more irrigated fields. Luke could see sailing craft, excursion boats, out on the water.
The Corellian comm officer’s voice came back after a moment. “I’m sorry, but Corellia does not recognize the authority claimed in these orders. Turn back or be fired upon.”
Luke shook his head and did not reply; he reset his comm board to squadron frequency. On his sensor board, squadrons of incoming craft were clearly visible, arriving from two different vectors. Ahead, he could see the near edge of the city of Coronet … and, above it, the two units of incoming fighter craft that looked like Corellian attack fighters. He counted eighteen of them on his sensor board, and that just wasn’t enough to pose a serious threat to a squadron of ten Jedi pilots.
Then the incoming squadrons turned aside, one to starboard and one to port, at right angles to Hardpoint Squadron’s course.
Luke felt a trickle of alarm. “Roll out!” he shouted, and followed his own orders, snapping his X-wing into a port roll. He was aware of Mara keeping close to him, just behind and to starboard.
An explosion shook his snubfighter and rattled his teeth. R2-D2 howled but immediately began putting diagnostics up on Luke’s data screen.
Luke ended his roll a quick kilometer lower than his original position. Explosions continued to batter at his eardrums, but nothing as close as the first one. He glanced between his sensor board and the skies above.
The skies were filled with puffy gray clouds. They looked benign, but each was the lingering evidence of an explosion-results of a ground-based antispacecraft barrage.
Luke counted ten X-wings still flying. He breathed a sigh of relief. Then his breath caught. There should be eleven craft. “Chandrila Skies?” he asked.
“Took a direct hit,” Mara said. “She’s gone.”
The skies ahead of Hardpoint Squadron began to fill up with gray clouds, and beyond them two squadrons of Corellian attack fighters danced around, waiting.
“Three, inform Dodonna of our situation,” Luke told his communications specialist. “See if they have updated orders to offer. Meanwhile, we’re going in. If we can’t get another shuttle, we’ll bring our Jedi off Corellia if we have to land one by one and stuff them into our cargo hatches.”
“We have telemetry on CEC-One,” Fiav said to Klauskin, giving this operation’s designation for the nearest of the Corellian Engineering Corporation’s orbital shipyards. The course followed by Dodonna and the rest of her group would eventually bring her up on CEC-One. “It’s protected by a large number of starfighters and a handful of frigates. And there’s the likelihood that, as we approach, units from the main Corellian fleet will close.”
“Acknowledged,” Klauskin said. He kept his attention on space dead ahead, where, eventually, CEC-One would be close enough for him to make visual contact.