Star Wars Character Cafe - The Floating Fortress Part 5

THE FLOATING FORTRESS

25. Go, Go, Go (Assault Chronometer: 00hr 17min 43sec)

Wedge Antilles and the gaggle of pilots stumbled from their hiding places, and sprinted for the airspeeder terminals. The explosion had shaken the halls of the trans-continental terminal – and yet, it wasn’t quite as impressive as expected.

Wedge felt his comlink buzz, and quickly brought it to his ears. The speaker was Eva Pah’ker.

“You’ve got less than five minutes. Get out of here now,” she said sternly. Her voice immediately faded to static. There was something about her tone of voice that seemed urgent – a kind of no-arguments command, vital to their survival.

He switched the comm frequency to the squad channel, and shouted loudly – just so there was no confusion – “Go, go, go!”

26. You Might Want To Strap In (Assault Chronometer: 00hr 17min 51sec)

“What about Janson, and the wounded?” Clip called to Eva as they ventured warily into the blackened, chaotic landing bay. In front of them stood the Eva After, looking like a martyr in his final defiant, glorious moments.

“Don’t worry – I don’t think the explosion will reach Janson from here. It’s the airspeeders we have to worry about. We’ll give them as much time as possible, and then we pull the pin,” she said casually, slapping a clearance code into the landing ramp control panel.

The ramp gave an almighty hiss, and extended slowly toward the ground. Eva raised her blaster, and walked quickly but cautiously inside. Clip followed her aboard, his own blaster gripped shakily in a two-handed grip. The ramp made a similarly slow ascent, and closed tightly into place.

He hoped, like nothing else, that no Stormtroopers happened to be aboard the ship. It was illegal for them to be there without permission or warrant in any case – though he doubted that counted for much in the circumstances. He edged around a corner, blaster ready, and declared it “Clear.”

“No-one this way, either. Alright, come on,” Eva ordered, making for the cockpit.

The cockpit of the Eva After was more or less like the cockpit of the Raging Cusper, only bigger. Old food wrappers were discarded on unused surfaces, crumbs littered the floor, and there was a familiar ‘someone has slept here’ smell about it. Two frayed blankets covered the pilot’s seat, which Eva promptly tossed under the consoles.

“Right, it’ll take me a minute or two to set this up. You go and get on the belly gun and make sure no-one comes up that ramp,” she said, sliding easily into the co-pilots chair. Clip nodded, and immediately made for the gun – then stopped dead.

“Where is it?” he asked quickly.

“Straight out there, and down the ladder. It’s a dual gat-cannon, so don’t go draining the batteries while the engine isn’t running.” She explained, not looking up. Clip turned and made for the ladder, which took him to the gunner’s station directly beneath the cockpit. The pair of gat-cannons lay quietly on the bubble-mount, which would give 180 degrees of free movement.

Clip had never used a gat-cannon before, but guessed it couldn’t have been much different to the turbolasers on the Pulsar Skate. He thumbed the battery-backup switch, and the electric mount hummed to life. Clip’s insides burned with anticipation and nervousness.

This was going to be loud.

Eva’s voice floated through the crackling the comlink. “You know how to operate those things?” she asked absently, obviously still working the consoles.

“They’re just guns, Eva,” he answered proudly, setting himself into position at the controls. There were two handles – each with a large red trigger on the underside – which controlled the movement of the guns as a single unit. It couldn’t be that hard.

“Just make sure you’ve got the cut-out switch covered,” she said.

Clip glanced suspiciously at the small control board, wondering which of the few buttons left could possibly be a safety cut-out. Just as he was about to ask Eva, he noticed a white blur sprint into the landing bay. Behind it, several more blurs followed.

They were coming.

Clip rounded the guns, and tightened both fingers around the stiff triggers. He squinted his eyes as the pair of guns began the requisite warm-up rotation, and braced himself for the loud explosion of energy…

The guns continued to spin soundlessly.

“On the floor, Kid!” Eva cried from the cockpit. Surely enough, a floor-pedal was positioned between a large power cable and the gun mount. He slammed his foot to the floor, and tightened down on the triggers again.

The guns exploded with red bolts of energy. The five barrels of each gun spun perpetually faster, spitting the red bolts out at an amazing rate. The first volley of shots slammed into the hangar doors, scattering troopers trying to enter that way. Clip adjusted his aim to focus on the small group that was edging closer to the ship, and fired.

The white figures were lost in a burning plume of white heat and chunks of decking as the myriad of bolts connected with their targets. When the smoke had cleared, all that was left was a large patch of blackened decking, smouldering earth beneath it, and traces of Imperial armour strewn about. It was enough to sicken Clip, though he couldn’t concentrate on that right now.

He shifted focus again, and showered the doors with another flow of scarlet death. Several troopers had taken up positions under cover, and were firing aimlessly at the source of the bolts. He took note that the blast shielding on the small turret was worn, and probably wouldn’t last too long under a mildly heavy barrage. He changed his priority targets to ‘troops that are shooting me’, and fired accordingly.

His fingers were beginning to stiffen from holding the stubborn triggers down. The intense heat from the guns was beginning to scorch his face and hands – sweat trickled down his forehead freely, evaporating by the time it reached his chin. He was certain the guns would overheat at any moment.

“Hows it going Eva?” he asked, trying to yell over the hammering guns.

“About thirty second and we’re set. Watch your battery power, kid,” she reminded him. “Give me ten more seconds and then get up here.”

Clip answered, though he was certain she couldn’t have heard him. One glance at the battery lights showed the guns were in the orange – which meant red wasn’t far off. He eased off the triggers for a moment, trying to choose his targets more carefully.

The troopers were starting to become easier to spot, as the metallic-grey backdrop of the landing bay had been charred to the colour of deep space. The contrasting armour against the black walls lent the most surreal quality to the scene – he felt like he was acting in an art-house holovid.

Only a much more terrifying one.

Before today, he had never killed anyone. It was an odd feeling, ending another person’s life. It was empowering, certainly – what greater power was there than the ability to deal out death?

It was also unnerving. He had to keep himself in check constantly, suppressing any feeling of enjoyment or satisfaction from his mind. He did not enjoy this. This wasn’t entertainment, this was war. Any second now, one of those Troopers could get lucky, and sneak a shot through the weakened duraplast shielding. Then there would be no more for Clip Argentsson.

He didn’t feel sorry for the troopers, but neither did he hate them. In a strange way, it reminded him of performing menial tasks that nobody likes. He was obligated to do it, but hated the obligation at the same time.

Things were so much simpler before today.

His thoughts were shattered a split second later as a crimson blaster bolt slammed into the blast shielding. It gave a straining crack noise that he had never associated with anything good.

“Ok kid, that’s enough. Get up here now,” Eva said quickly. The guns immediately silenced, and clip hurled himself at the ladder. He marvelled at how basic things – like climbing ladders – became so much harder when gunshots were involved. Step by step he forced himself upward, and soon stood at the entrance of the cockpit.

“Alright, let’s go!” he said quickly, throwing himself into the pilot’s chair.

“Almost there. And get the hell out of that seat,” she said sharply, rising from the co-pilot’s seat. Clip did as requested, and they swapped positions. “We’re just waiting on the green light for the engines, and then we’re gone. You might want to strap in,” she suggested.

Clip reached over his shoulder, and found nothing. He checked the sides of the seat – nothing there either. On his left side there was a fastening clip, though from the looks of things, it had been useless for some time.

Troopers and security guards began pouring into the hangar. There had to be at least fifty or sixty of them now. Some stood by in covering positions, others maintained steady firepower to the engines of the ship, trying to disable it. They needed to go now, before some wise soldier decided to shoot out the cockpit.

“Ahhh…?” he said, still searching for a strap of any kind. Eva glanced over.

“Oh yeah, I forgot that was missing,” she said casually.

“So what do I do now?” Clip asked, raising his eyebrows. In front of Eva, a small green light flicked on. She noticed it, and smiled back at Clip – a scary, sardonic smile. He’d learned that to be something of a trademark.

“Hang on tight,” she said.

Clip’s heart leapt into his throat. He only just managed to fiercely grip the sides of the chair before Eva yanked back the lever that would send them kilometres into the sky. He felt a distinct tug from under him, followed by a split second total silence.

And then the entire cockpit compartment wrenched. Clip felt his fingers would break off under his tight grip on the seat. They both gritted their teeth tightly as the compartment hurtled skyward, pinning them to their chairs.

“One thousand metres!” Eva yelled over the rocketing engines. Clip tried hard to swallow, but couldn’t. The g-forces made the slightest movement a great effort. Breathing was becoming difficult, too.

“Two thousand metres! We should start to slow down now! I’m going to blow it!” Eva yelled again. She reached out for the comlink – how she managed it, Clip had no idea – and sent a single click along the preset frequency.

Still immersed in the roaring engines, Clip assumed that the Eva After had just blown to pieces.

27. May The Force Be With You (Assault Chronometer: 00hr 18min 11sec)

Generally, Airspeeders held four passengers and one driver. That meant that they would need – approximately – five airspeeders to get to Gavorr Government House. Wedge Antilles had found his way to a fairly up-market sports model that would serve his need for speed quite well, and began tearing open the console housing.

The group had split into five; each headed by a member who had experience in hot-wiring speeders of some kind – a skill more common than absent in alliance troops. Wedge had set them a time limit of two minutes to board the speeder and make off with it – any longer would be cutting it too fine with Eva and Clip’s distraction.

Behind the console housing were a large jumble of wires, most of which wedge could identify easily. The main capacitor was encased just beyond the steering circuitry, and beyond that was the ignition receptor. All he needed was an electric pulse on that receptor, and the speeder would start.

From his top pocket he pulled a small set of clippers. He fished around the jumble of wires, until he saw the main line that powered the blinkers. Well, I doubt I’ll be using those. He cut through the wire, and removed the sheath on the loose end. Carefully, he slipped the end of the wire into the ignition receptor, and turned on the left indicator.

The airspeeder roared to life with a throaty grunt, and Wedge replaced the console housing. He turned to the group of soldiers waiting patiently for him to finish, and nodded his head. “We’re ready, get in,” he said quickly.

The four pilots stumbled into the open-roof vehicle, and drew their blasters. The plan called for the speeders to wait until the entire group was ready before they headed to the government house, and so Wedge began a long, lazy arc to check on the other’s progress.

Fifty metres from the edge of the wall, the pilot to directly behind Wedge cried: “Stormies! To the right!”

He wasted no time. Wedge brought the speeder around to give the pilots clear shots at the troopers, and slammed it into full gear. They closed the fifty-metre gap in seconds, and soon red laser bolts were being traded between the two groups.

“Pilots, we have six troopers at the eastern docking ramp access. Hurry up and get clear,” Wedge ordered down the comlink. He glanced nervously at his chronometer – one minute and ten seconds. They had fifty seconds to power up and lift off.

Just as his message went through, two airspeeders rose from their docks, and sped to aid in covering the troopers.

Only two to go.

Wedge raised his own blaster and fired in the general direction of the troopers, keeping the bulk of his concentration on flying. He made them a much harder target by cutting the repulsorlifts in and out at random times, bouncing the speeder violently.

“Better strap in!” he yelled after a particularly dangerous drop.

The fourth airspeeder lifted from the ground, and moved to join the other three. Now with twenty different blasters firing at various times, the troopers were having a hard time of getting any shots off at all.

“Grounded speeder, what’s the hold up?” Wedge demanded.

“No hold up, sir – we’re almost there.”

Wedge glanced at his chronometer, and his voice increased a pitch or two. “You have got ten seconds to be in the air, or you’ll blow up with the rest of this spaceport,” he shouted. Even as he did, though, the speeder blasted quickly out of it’s docks, and sped away from Gavorr Inter-Continental.

“Alright pilots, we’re moving out!” Wedge shouted into the comlink. With a final passing shot, Wedge turned tail, and hit the accelerator again. The other pilots followed suit, and soon there was unmistakable formation between them, cruising at top speed for Gavorr Government House.

Wedge, in his jet-black recreational speeder, took the lead. “Stay in formation, people. Gavorr Government House is due east of Gavorr Inter-Continental. I’m putting a call through to the commander now,” he reported.

Just as he went to switch comlink frequencies, the came a tremendous crack from behind them, and a bright flash. Wedge looked around, and saw the result of Eva and Clip’s distraction – a brilliant jet of flame shot upward from the spaceport. He whistled to himself, marvelling at the savage beauty of the scene.

And then his conscience clicked, and he remembered something important.

“Janson, come in – are you alright?” Wedge asked quickly. The response was immediate.

“I’m getting a refund on these earplugs,” he said gingerly. Wedge smiled.

Trust Janson. He’d probably been within five hundred metres of a reactor eruption, and he still found time for wisecracks. Of course, he’d been stowed away in an underground storage tank, but noise from a blast that big had a tendency to penetrate walls. He’d have to have himself irradiated when he emerged, but that wasn’t a problem.

“Have you had any contact from the commander yet?” Wedge asked.

“No, Wedge,” Janson answered, shouting. “I’ll let you know when the Femme Fatale is away,” he said.

“Affirmative,” he answered, and switched the frequency “Commander, this is Antilles, come in.” He felt as though he was trying to do a hundred things at once. Fly his airspeeder, receive orders, coordinate a flight of rag-tag machines, plan ahead… starfighter command was tough.

“I hear you Wedge,” he answered.

“We are clear of Gavorr Inter-Continental, Commander. En route to Government House, awaiting fresh orders,” he reported dutifully. There was a crackle from the comm, and Wedge had to listen very carefully for the response. Between static on the line and the wind rushing past his ears, listening was proving impossible.

“Only if you’re done blowing up spaceports, Antilles. When you get to Government House, you’ll need to identify a man called Christof – he’ll be in Trooper armour – and offer as much assistance as possible. The Grand Admiral is at government house, Wedge. Christof and his mercenaries are there to make sure that he doesn’t leave, if you get my meaning,” Cracken said.

“Hard to miss, Commander,” Wedge replied.

Despite himself, wedge felt a gush of ambivalence – a combination of anxiety and excitement. On one hand, the idea of taking on a division or more of Stormtroopers with twenty x-wing pilots seemed suicidal. On the other hand, the very idea that Cracken knew what was going on was heartening and loaned him a confidence he wouldn’t otherwise have known.

“Good. I’m about to signal Janson to initiate the Femme Fatale. I’ll call again before we drop. If all goes well, I’ll see you in about half an hour’s time,” Cracken said plainly. Wedge snorted a quick laugh – the absurdity of the situation had finally caught up with him. Three men were about to scuttle a star destroyer and a band of pilots and mercenaries were about to assassinate a Grand Admiral.

And the Grand Admiral was none the wiser.

“May the Force be with you, commander,” Wedge said quickly.

“The Force be with you, Wedge.”

28. Rumbled (Assault Chronometer 00hr 22min 12sec)

The illustrious court of Government House was teeming with Stormtroopers, each moving within their own details and positioned to both look as organised as possible and to provide best covering positions for each other. There was no doubt the Grand Admiral leading these men was a perfectionist, a master of precision.

And still, sticking out like a sore thumb to a trained eye, the four Guard Troopers stood watch on either side of government house. They surveyed the scene with anxious composure, keeping tabs on each detail of troops and taking a mental count every few minutes.

Each count returned a rough figure of about forty-two troopers. That was worrying.

Where the hell were Cracken and his men?

In that instant, the heads in Gavorr Court all turned as one to the west. Something had just happened…something that wasn’t exactly right. There had been a flash, or something similar, followed by a deep kind of vibration.

In that moment, all the Stormtroopers began altering their routine. They unshouldered their rifles and held them ready, moving into loose combat formations. Their movements quickened, and they began calling out on their comm units regularly.

Something was wrong.

A group of four troopers approached the doors, and marched right by the ersatz guard detail. As they did, their helmet microphones broadcast perfectly their words. And they were bad words. Very bad words.

“…the Admiral and load him back onto the transports. He should be back at the ship, it was stupid to come here in the first place…”

Where the hell were Cracken and his men? If they didn’t get here soon, this could well turn out to be a suicide mission. The Imperials knew they were in trouble, and they outnumbered their enemies ten to one.

If help didn’t come soon, they were rumbled.

29. Goodbye, Fair Lady (Assault Chronometer: 00hr 24min 21sec)

Unscathed by the devastating detonation of the Eva After, the Femme Fatale lifted easily from the landing bay. Controlled effortlessly by remote, it slid around to take a new bearing. The repulsorlifts shuddered slightly, struggling with the weight of the thermex on board.

Then the engines cut in, and the bulk carrier was jetting off, nobly accepting it’s final mission. Janson, safely underground at the spaceport, stared at the view screen of the remote terminal. His face twisted into a sardonic smile.

“Goodbye, oh noble Femme, oh Fair Lady,” he said dramatically. The wounded pilots he shared the storage tank with groaned at him, and he couldn’t help but laugh. He’d been waiting for this opportunity all day long.

It would not be long now. Then, maybe he and the injured pilots could get out of the stinking storage tank.

30. Nerfs in a Barrel (Assault Chronometer: 00hr 25min 42sec)

“Over there, Booster,” Cracken said quietly, pointing at the bulky outline of the Femme Fatale. It moved slowly, and resembled something more like a flying shipping container than an actual ship.

“I got it. So now what?” Booster asked, settling the Pulsar Skate in to follow the floating bomb.

“Get in front of it. We have to keep the Conquistador’s guns away from that thermex at all costs,” Cracken explained. Booster glared at him from the pilot seat. The man was crazy.

“We’re going to run interference for a flying bomb, against an Imperial Star Destroyer, in atmosphere, in a freighter designed for deep space transport?” Booster asked incredulously. Cracken smiled assuredly.

Utterly crazy.

“It’ll be fine, Booster. Their Admiral isn’t aboard, so they’ll have a long debate about whether or not they should fire at you. They’ll eventually decide yes, but you’ll have that much of an advantage,” he went on. Booster shook his head.

“You’re crazy.”

Cracken shrugged apathetically, and leaned back in the chair. “As long as you keep us moving, we’ll be fine. There is one other thing you need to try and coordinate, though,” he said.

“I thought there might be. What?” Booster asked.

“You have to be in a position to drop us off near the engines of the destroyer within about twenty seconds of the blast from the Femme Fatale. Their sensors will be useless that long after the blast, and I doubt anyone will be on their feet to read them, anyway. Then we drop in, set the charges, scuttle her, and swim to shore,” he said resolutely. Booster snorted a laugh.

Crazy damn Rebel.

Booster set himself in the pilot’s seat. He hadn’t done this kind of suicidal flying since his younger days.

Hope I can remember how it’s done.

“Alright then. Tell your other two to strap in – we’re about to do our best impression of a nerf in a barrel. But if my ship gets blown up, Cracken – I’ll kill you myself.” Cracken looked at Booster, relating his appreciation with his eyes.

“Ackbar was wrong when he said there’s no honour among smugglers,” he said.

“You’ve mentioned him twice now. Who the hell is Ackbar?”

31. Finding the Means (Assault Chronometer: 00hr 25min 42sec)

With a final spluttering cough, the repulsor coils died five metres from the ground. The small pod, once the cockpit of the Eva After, fell to the ground with a sharp, jolting crash, sending a bolt of pain through Clip’s head. He must have hit his head on the roof.

In a half daze, he was dimly aware of Eva cracking open the vacuum seal and stepping out into the suburban district they had landed in. He followed suit, sucking in oxygen, trying desperately to ignore the dull aching tormenting his head. If that was the worst of his injuries, though, he had nothing to complain about.

“Are you ok?” Eva asked, pointing to blood trickling from underneath his hair, and down his left cheek. He wiped it with his hand, spreading it across his face messily, and nodded once.

“That’s the second sithing time today that’s happened! Why can’t landings go smoothly?” he said angrily, wiping his face again. He took a deep breath, and looked up again. “Do you think Wedge got away alright?” he asked. Eva looked away for a second, then back.

“He’s a rebel, they always get away. But if you really want to know, I can call in and ask,” she said, extracting her comlink.

Oh yeah – comlink.

“We need instructions on where to go next, don’t we?” he reasoned.

“Alright, give me a sec,” she agreed.

All around them, people were emerging from their houses, probably wondering what the huge crash had just been, and whether it had been connected to the large explosion a few minutes ago. Clip surveyed them silently.

They looked afraid – scared that they might be involved in something that was above and beyond them, something that they didn’t care for; and scared that what they were involved in could kill them. Their glares bored into him, some of them pleading, some of them accusing, some of them hateful.

It was a surreal moment.

It hadn’t been an hour since Clip had last felt like they did. Ever since he’d arrived on this damned planet he wished he’d just pulled those hyperspace levers instead of trusting Booster. Sure, he might have died, but at least he would have died a smuggler. Not like now. Like it or not, he was a Rebel – and that was probably how he would die.

And hour ago, it would have bothered him. Since then, he had been shot at, blown up three or four times, killed… it did wonders for a young man’s sense of perspective. Once you realise how high the stakes are, you realise that, like it or not, if you’re part of this galaxy, you’re part of this war, he thought.

Now, to see those old feelings reflected in other people, Clip felt a rush of sympathy. It was a terrible idea that higher powers were waging war around your home, and if you happened to be struck with a stray blast, it was but one more statistic to write up.

The only problem with those feelings was that they were ignorant. Terrible or not, the war was being waged, between two sides with different ideals. These civilians had to make a choice.

Of course, the easiest path to take was do nothing, and by doing so declaring they wish to remain under the rule of the Empire. With a human population in majority, that path was probably the likely one. And if that happened, well…

They would have to trust their Emperor.

“Yeah, Antilles?” Eva’s voice said loudly.

There was an inaudible mumbling shrouded in static. Clip moved closer to try and hear. “…away, and we’re inbound on Gavorr Government House. If you have the means, try and meet us there. Our ETA is about three minutes,” Wedge was saying. He had to shout to be heard over the background noise. Clip guessed he was probably in an open-roof airspeeder.

“And if we don’t have the means?”

“Find the means,” Wedge insisted.

“Alright Antilles. We’ll be there. Our ETA is sometime in the near future. See you soon,” Eva answered.

“May the force be with you,” Wedge said finally. The comlink buzzed offline, and Eva returned it to her pocket. She looked confused, or something like it. She was probably deep in thought, trying to figure out how to get to Gavorr Government House without having to run the whole way.

Vader knows I’ve done enough running.

“Any ideas?” she asked hopefully. Clip shook his head – he had no clue.

“I suppose we could ask some of these gawkers if we can borrow their speeders,” she suggested. She turned to face a particularly large concentration of civilians, and raised he voice. “Hey! We’re in a bit of a fix here. We need to borrow somebody’s land or airspeeder immediately. Anyone interested?”

Not quite so surprisingly, nobody answered.

“Look, people – if we don’t get a speeder, some friends of ours will die,” she insisted.

Again, silence.

And just as Eva was about to take another breath – and undoubtedly unleash a string of expletives to make a Gran Mobster blush – Clip was struck by inspiration. It was so obvious in hindsight, he nearly slapped his forehead.

“Eva,” he said quickly, tapping her on the shoulder. “I need to borrow your comlink,” he said.