"Bloody Rebels..." muttered the Imperial captain, as he adjusted his cloth cap, attempting to mop his damp brow with limited subtlety. "Draw our fighters in close. Form a protective screen around us." he declared, shouting to his nearest officer, who complied with a nervous squeak. Meanwhile, the captain fought to repress his anxiety: there had been no response from either the mining base, nor the Admiral's flagship. He had the terrible feeling he'd been abandoned, left to die having outlived what little usefulness he had once offered. Not today, he vowed. Today he would emerge victorious. Perhaps it was time he earned that promotion after all.
"It's no use!" Wes exclaimed as he broke off from his latest attack. "The eyeballs are too densely packed. Can't get a lock on one without becoming a target for two more."
"So, you admit defeat, youngblood?" scoffed Dak, as he too spun off in a barrel roll to avoid enemy fire.
"I don't see you doing any better." Wes replied, struggling to dodge a flurry of green energy bolts.
"I'm in the bomber, not the dogfighter. What's your excuse?" said Dak, taking aim at the nearest TIE, though his shots missed his target by a wide margin.
"Enough!" declared Wedge, angrily. This was no time for bickering. Their window of opportunity was ever decreasing, and they needed to break this deadlock now. He considered their options, various coordinated formations that could mitigate the TIEs' collective advantage. Even if he could rely on his wingmen to pull together, which seemed unlikely, they would still lose out on numbers. But, he thought, there was one option that could work...
"I have a idea, but you're not going to like it Dak." stated Wedge, bristling in anticipation of the reply.
"Oh, this'll be good." Dak replied, cautiously.
"I want you to fly directly into the centre of their fighter group."
"And what might you two be up to while I'm flying into certain doom? Or is just an excuse to get rid of a troublemaker?"
"Wes and I will approach from the sides. As you draw near the fighter group, loose a couple of proton torpedoes into their centre. Either they hold position and get fried, or they bolt, allowing us to mop up while you get a crack at the freighter."
"Just like hunting swamp duck on Vindal." said Dak as he considered Wedge's proposal. He'd spent a few days on Vindal some years ago, while on a poorly judged job for one of the Hutt cartels, and had happened to witness a group of hunters in action. They ventured in groups of about two dozen, lead by a point-man. When they found a suitable location, the point-man would fire a warning shot, the sound of which would startle the resting flock and cause them to scatter, allowing the remaining hunters to pick off as many as they could in the confusion. Dak didn't like to dwell on that particular adventure however, as it had ended with him being chased by one such hunting party across half a continent.
"Fine." he said, after a few moments of contemplative silence. "Suicide missions are kind of my specialty."
"Just try not to get blown up on your approach." Wes added, displaying a brief flash of genuine concern before once again slipping behind his mask of flippancy. "It'd be far too boring without someone to constantly harass my abilities."
"Wes, even if I die, I'll make it my solemn duty to haunt you for the rest of your days. Someone has to keep your ego in check." Dak laughed, before saying, "Right, making my attack run now. Better get in position and prepare for fireworks boys."
From behind his cockpit, Dak's astromech droid, R3-T3, warbled an anxious beep.
"Don't worry, little guy." he said, reassuringly, "We've been in worse situations."
R3 issued a deep, terse, tone of derision.
"Well that's not fair!" protested Dak, while he diverted all shield power to the forward generators. "Besides, I replaced your dome with a shiny new green one, didn't I?"
The droid replied with a cacophony of digitized profanity.
"I said I was sorry, alright? Look, when we get back to the base I'll book you in for an oil bath. How about that?"
R3 blooped quizzically.
"Yes, IF, we get back to base." Dak sighed, while R3 chirped with mirth. "Divert all excess power to the engines, and ready the torpedo launchers." he commanded, as he began his attack. The TIEs quickly spotted his lone approach, and turned to face this new assault. He'd barely begun before hearing several frantic beeping alarms blaring simultaneously: multiple missile locks on his Y-Wing.
Dak immediately instigated evasive maneuvers as several silvery projectiles streamed forth from the gathered TIEs. He had to maintain his trajectory if this plan was to succeed, which hampered his defensive options. Behind him, his droid screamed in alarm.
"Relax, buddy. I've got this." he said reassuringly, his hands dancing across the controls like a musical maestro mid-concerto. This was his element, one of the few places he could find respite from the dark dreams and remorseful regrets which preyed upon his weary mind. A lifetime of melancholic memories dulled only when he found himself in the heat of battle or at the bottom of a bottle. In such moments, he operated on instinct and adrenaline, where moments of time slowed and stretched before him. The missiles streaming toward him seemed to crawl forward, as easy to dodge and avoid as static objects. Dak let out an enthused cheer while closing in on the TIE group, until R3 chirped another warning.
"Yeah, that was too easy, even for me." he quipped, locking his jaw with mild frustration. On the sensor screen, he watched as the missiles began to turn and re-aim toward his Y-Wing.
"Homing missiles, I see it R3. Deploying countermeasures, you just make sure my torpedoes are ready."
Hundreds of shining metallic squares blossomed from the Y-Wings twin engine cores, forming a protective cloud of chaff in its wake. The reflective debris acted to break the missiles homing lock and provide an alternative target. Dak watched his instrumentation light up as missile after missile detonated in the silvery cloud behind him. All but two of the rapidly approaching projectiles were destroyed, but two was still two too many. Dak's mind raced, trying to figure his next move, until his R3-unit uttered a determined series of squeals. On the craft's central body, directly behind the astromech droid slot, a creaky turbolaser cannon jerked into life. A relic of the Y-Wing's history as a two pilot craft, this cannon would typically be operated by the gunner, allowing 360 degree motion at the cost of reduced firepower. While Dak had long since modded out the second seated position, the cannon itself remained in place, operable by an astromech navigator, an opportunity R3 always relished.
"No pressure R3, but those missiles are gaining on us. Feel free to fire, anytime." Dak said with trepidation, as he tried to coax more speed from his screaming engines. The droid replied with a low toot that could have been considered condescending, before firing the turbolaser. His first shots struck true, destroying the leading missile in a burst of purple fire, though the second (and last missile) soon took it's place. The droid's second shot went wide, leaving the remaining missile unscathed.
"R3, you're a better shot than that. I should know, I programmed your combat modules.", chided Dak. The droid's response was enough to make Dak wince. "Unfortunately, I also removed your profanity filters. That hurt, by the way."
With a final determined burst of searing red laser fire, the last trailing missile vanished from the Y-Wing's tail. R3 beeped with relief and no small amount of smugness, which Dak failed to listen to as he was focused on the TIEs ahead.
"Nearing range. Switching to torpedoes now." he declared, as he sped into targeting range. "Here goes nothing, Wedge. Hope your plan works." With a strong, determined click of his joystick trigger, two glowing spheres lept from the nose of his fighter and arced towards the group of TIEs. The two fighters nearest the launched torpedoes immediately fled outwards, away from their position guarding the transport. The remaining three jittered in place, unsure whether to hold the line or evade the attack. One unfortunate pilot had a momentary, if fatal, lapse in judgement and belatedly tried to bank away from the projectile. In his confusion, he cut into the path of one of his remaining allies. In the ensuing collision, one craft lost its hexagonal wing, sheared off at the strut while the cockpit spun off to crash in The Narrow. The other mostly held together, though the cockpit window shattered, venting its pilot into the cold vacuum of space.
"Like a gundark in a womp rat nest!" Wes yelled, surveying the chaos unfolding before him.
"Gotta hand it to you Wedge, it worked." Dak admitted, begrudgingly.
"Don't celebrate yet. You still need to disable the freighter. Wes and I can handle the few remaining eyeballs."
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