The Imperial freighter most closely resembled a flying brick, with short, stubby wings at the rear of the craft, tapering off towards the bridge located at its nose, giving it a thin, triangular profile from above. Each wing housed an embedded engine core, whose apertures were approximately the same diameter as the wingspan of an X-Wing. Extending vertically below each wing were three small tubes, each connecting to a docked TIE fighter, giving them the appearance of chicks protected by a mother bird. The entire design of the transport was purely functional. The engines seemed tacked on almost as an afterthought, while the fighters were protected from stellar winds and cosmic dust collisions only by the forcefield of their parent craft. Such vessels were not designed for military combat; as such they relied on a minimal fighter screen, a moderate shield generator and a thick hull to repel pirates and other attackers. It was a product of minimised costs and maximised profits, reflecting the economic heart of Imperial control. This vehicle was strictly utilitarian, far removed from the intimidating war machines built to instill fear in the denizens of the Galaxy and soothe the overcompensating egos of Imperial Moffs.
Wedge watched with mounting anxiety as the freighter drifted ever closer to his hidden vantage point. He had to wait for the optimal moment to launch the assault: too soon and the transport could turn tail, yet too late and the Imperial base below would have time to scramble reinforcements. With each passing moment, the chances of a rebel fighter being detected by passive scanners or even visually grew larger. As a Corellian, Wedge never much cared to hear the odds of a scenario, yet he could not escape the rising tension. He wiped a bead of sweat from his determined brow as the vessel drew in line with his position. It was now or never.
"Red Group, time to engage." he said, giving the signal to his two wingmen. He flicked several switches in quick succession; firing up the main power circuit, priming engines, disengaging maglocks, cycling shields. His X-Wing drifted lazily from the asteroid it had been perched on, until his engines burst into life. With a hard left pull of his flight stick, he spun himself around to face the incoming freighter.
"Lock S-foils in attack position." he ordered, toggling his own wings into their split, combat ready, form which gave an X-Wing its signature silhouette.
"I don't have S-foils. Please advise." Dak added, in a tone which put the smug into smuggler.
"Not the time, Gramps." Wes bit back, before asking, "What's our first target, Wedge?"
"First pass, we go for the docked TIEs, maybe get the Imps with their trousers unbelted." Wedge declared, as he led the attack run. Wes and Wedge were both approaching the vessel from the same side of The Narrow, with Wes trailing slightly, while Dak's Y-Wing was on the far side of the transport.
The freighter's bridge was a frenzied flurry of frantic energy. Multiple voices called out, speaking over each other, relaying status updates from various subsystems.
"Captain, enemy starships detected."
"Proximity alerts port and starboard, sir."
"Sensors indicate three snubfighters."
The captain of the vessel stood firmly at the fore of the bridge, surveying the vista beyond the transparisteel window. He shifted uncomfortably, trying vainly to redistribute his corpulent bulk within the confines of his overly constricting uniform. His bushy moustache twitched involuntarily, as he wondered whether the attackers were pirates or rebels. Not that it would matter, he supposed. Either way, the end result would be the same.
"What are you bloody waiting for, an invitation?!" he barked to his subordinates, "Raise the shields, launch all TIEs. And somebody contact the admiral!" He continued to stare outwards at the planet Andriss, his sharp tone and steely gaze in sharp contrast to the fear growing in his core. This wasn't the life he wished to live. He wasn't built for combat, it's why he'd refused himself promotions, sabotaged his own results, maintaining a carefully curated level of mediocrity to ensure he never rose above his current rank. Captaining a transport afforded him all the benefits of authority, without the tedious politics of the Imperial Court, or the responsibility or risk of commanding a militarized vessel. He vowed that these rebels, or pirates, or whatevers, would pay dearly for ruining an otherwise agreeable morning.
"Making my attack run." Dak said, lining his crosshairs against the middle of the three docked TIEs on his side of the freighter. With a short squeeze of the trigger, he unleashed a burst of scarlet plasma bolts at the TIE, and waited for the satisfying cloud of a vaporised enemy.
"Karabast!" he exclaimed, angrily, as he pulled away from the transport. "Their shields are already up. I can't penetrate it."
"I've heard that before. Leave it to the young and virile." Wes quipped.
"Charming." replied Wedge. "OK, Wes, front TIE, on my mark. Synchronous fire." Given their guerilla tactics and limited resources, Rebel strategists had to be particularly inventive with methods of waging war against a vastly superior foe. Wedge was more than just a skilled pilot, he had an instinctive tactical grasp and had a created a number of unique maneuvers, including a method of piercing the shield of a capital ship. Multiple fighters could synch their targeting computers, allowing them to focus all their firepower on a single point. Both X-Wings fired simultaneously, each laser striking the shield at the same exact location. Under such sustained fire, the shield flickered, momentarily. Just enough to allow a couple of blasts past the defences. Wes hollered with delight as the first TIE exploded in a shower of smoke and shrapnel.
"Nice move boys, but don't get cocky." Dak said, swinging his Y-Wing around for a second run. "You've just woken the hive." The remaining TIEs began to detach, entering the fray.
"We won't be able to focus on disabling the freighter with eyeballs on our tail." Wes warned, as he looped away from the transport.
"Then choose your targets, fire at will. We have to clear this space before the freighter gets away." Wedge ordered, as he twisted his X-Wing towards the nearest enemy fighter. This was the moment he lived for. All three of them did. The exhilarating thrill of combat, flying by instinct alone, free from life's distractions, pinning your life on the strength of your skill. Nothing gives a rush quite like a dogfight, which explains why the life expectancy of a pilot is one of the lowest in the entire Alliance.
Dak watched as a TIE came into his view, banking to the right across his cockpit canopy. He toggled his throttle, matching its speed, and fired in its direction. His plasma shots overshot by a large margin. The TIE turned suddenly, angling upwards to escape. The pilot was panicked, Dak thought, exactly as he'd planned. He cut his throttle and pulled his flight stick forward, killing his forward momentum and allowing him to maneuver tightly. He primed his trigger as he drifted on his axis, waiting to line up with the evasive TIE. Dak chose his moment, and loosed a single shot which tore through the hull of the unshielded TIE, shredding the cockpit as its wings spun off in opposing directions, propelled by the rapidly expanding cloud of gas and fire blooming from the destroyed cradt.
"One down, four to go!" laughed Dak, as he accelerated through the vaporised remains of his target. Never one to leave a pithy comment unsaid, Wes responded, "Good job with the straggler, fancy giving us a hand with the rest?"
"If you ask nicely, I'll consider it." Dak said, with a wry smile blossoming on his bearded face.
"So glad you two are getting along, but need I remind you that time's running short?" Wedge sighed, feeling like a substitute instructor trying to manage an unruly classroom.
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