Rebel pilot Wedge Antilles scanned the darkened cockpit of his T-65 X-Wing fighter, checking that its systems were operational for the third time. Even in the best maintained starships, a single overlooked error or minor mechanical fault could spell death, and the Alliance operated well below ideal conditions. The majority of their fleet was comprised of craft discarded by the rest of the galaxy as junk, held together with salvaged spares and wishful thinking. This wasn't the Imperial Academy, where pilots could jump into any homogenised TIE fighter and have it perform identically to the simulators. Rebel fighters were practically unique, each one handling subtly differently, each with its own particular quirks and weaknesses. The best pilots knew as much about their ships as the mechanics and droids who repaired them. And Wedge wasn't just one of the best. Through countless hours, he'd learned to become one with his X-Wing. He knew how and when to brace during rapid maneuvers, to account for the delay in its inertial dampers. He had learned to compensate for the slightly off centre firing pattern of its quad-cannons.
Finding that everything was exactly as he'd found it not five minutes prior, Wedge sighed as he glanced at the planet Andriss, suspended in the stellar backdrop above him. A minor mining world, one of thousands of similar backwater colonies scattered across the Outer Rim, though even among such planets, Andriss was unremarkable. Its mineral deposits were primarily comprised of common ores of middling quality, trapped in tough, unyielding rock. The planet was surrounded by a dense asteroid field, a natural barrier with a small gap through which the system's meager transport was funneled, known locally as "The Narrow". Wedge's fighter clung to the underside of one of the asteroids at the edge of The Narrow, like a Nuba bird awaiting its prey, along with a second X-Wing and an older Y-Wing bomber. The ships were in low-power mode, to minimize their profile from enemy sensors.
"Stand by, Red Group." Wedge announced into his local comlink to his wingmen. "Report in." Instantly, the bold voice of Wes Janson chimed back.
"Sir, yes sir! This is Red Six, standing by! Sir! Ready and willing to lay down my life for the cause, sir!"
"Cut the chatter, Red Six. We're on assignment." Wedge replied, exacerbated.
"Wedge, there's only three of us on this mission, loosen up. Besides, we've been waiting for over an hour for the Imps to show up. I've got to let off steam somehow." Retorted Wes.
"Which means the target cargo freighter is due any moment. Save your energy for the fight."
"Actually, I'm with Wes on this one." came a third, older voice. "We're Rebels who can't even keep an entire squadron flying simultaneously. We hardly deserve the formalities of an actual unit."
"Red Two, Gramps is agreeing with me and I don't like it. Permission to vaporize him?" Wes asked, feigning panic.
"Denied." Wedge replied, tersely.
"Permission to vent myself into the void then?"
"Also denied. Can you both just try and get along, at least until this mission is complete?"
"Wes started it." added the third voice, gruffly. "It's not my fault he's a hot headed jockey who doesn't know how to keep quiet for more than a few seconds." Wedge closed his eyes and counted to five, while wishing he was dealing with literal children instead. Or trying to herd gundarks. Anything other than trying to deal with these two would have been preferable. After finding a shred of inner calm, Wedge spoke.
"I said, that's enough. Wes can be a bit, talkative, but I expected a man like you to act your age, Dak."
"Ooh, boss called you old, Gramps." Wes cooed, before adding, "You sure you've still got the reactions for this? You are almost as decrepit as that rust bucket of a Y-Wing, after all."
"With me piloting, this rust bucket could fly rings around you anytime." boasted Dak, laughing. Before Wes could come back with another remark however, Wedge's astromech droid began a flurry of frenzied beeps over the comlink.
"Slow down, R4." Wedge said to his droid, as he scanned the translated output on his monitor. "R4 has detected a trace of Hyperspace activity at the edge of the system. Our target is on the way." he added, for the benefit of his comrades.
"When do we go hot, Red Two?" Wes asked, all traces of levity removed from his tone.
"Too busy talking through the briefing?" Dak commented, smugly, before being silenced by Wedge. Wedge sighed again, inwardly as he reflected on his wingmen. Janson had a way of needling his way underneath anyone's skin, true, but at least he knew when to stop. Dak on the other hand, was either to old to care or too old to change, possibly both, Wedge thought. That was the trouble with smugglers though, most of the ones Wedge had met were too independent and head-strong to work as team players. Sadly, the Alliance couldn't afford to turn away anyone who dared stand against the Empire.
"Just so we're ALL clear on the plan," Wedge stated, with particular emphasis, "Wait for the transport to approach The Narrow. As it does so, we detach and strike the cruiser. Delay it until orbital drift moves The Narrow out of the transport's trajectory, that'll also slow any reinforcements from the planet below. Wes and I will deal with the fighter escort..."
"Allowing me to swoop in and disable the transport. What these Y-Wings lose in maneuverability, they more than make up for with firepower." Dak interjected. Wedge coughed abruptly before speaking over the smuggler's comments.
"Then, I signal our support ship to jump in and board the Imperial transport, they relieve the Imps of precious supplies, and we jump away before they can retaliate."
After a moment, Wedge spoke again, his voice as cold as the void beyond his cockpit canopy. "And Dak? Any further insubordination and you will be facing a demotion at best. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal." Dak replied, lightly. If he was concerned by the ultimatum he'd received, he certainly didn't show it.
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