Star Wars - Darth Plagueis

None of the membersof Alpha Squad had any intention of being reduced to automata. If that was what the Empire really wanted, let them use droid pilots and see how well that worked.
    His musing was interrupted by the small jolt of the cycling rack below the gantry kicking on. Vil’s ship began to move toward the launching bay door. He saw the tech slip his own helmet on and lock it down.
    Already the bay pumps were working full blast, depressurizing the area. By the time the launch doors were open, the air would be cycled. Vil took a deep breath, readying himself for the heavy hand of g-force that would push him back into the seat when the engines hurled him forward.
    Launch Control’s voice crackled in his headphones. “Alpha Squad Leader, stand by for launch.”
    “Copy,” Vil said. The launch doors pulled back with tantalizing slowness, the hydraulic thrum of their movement made audible by conduction through the floor and Black-11’s frame.
    “You are go for launch in five, four, three, two … go! ”
    Outside the confines of the Star Destroyer, the vastness of space enveloped Lieutenant Vil Dance as the ion engines pushed the TIE past the last stray wisps of frozen air and into the infinite dark. He grinned. He always did. He couldn’t help it.
    Back where I belong …
    The flat blackness of space surrounded him. Behind him, he knew, the Steel Talon was seemingly shrinking as they pulled away from it. “Down” and to port was the curvature of the prison planet. Though they were in polar orbit, Despayre’s axial tilt showed more of the night side than day. The dark hemisphere was mostly unrelieved blackness, with a few lonely lights here and there.
    Vil flicked his comm—though it came on automatically at launch, a good pilot always toggled it, just to be sure. “Alpha Squad, pyramid formation on me as soon as youare clear,” he said. “Go to tactical channel five, that’s tac-fiver, and log in.”
    Vil switched his own comm channel to five. It was a lower-powered band with a shorter range, but that was the point—you didn’t want the enemy overhearing you. And in some cases, it wasn’t a good idea for the comm officer monitoring you back on the base ship to be privy to conversations, either. They tended to be a bit more informal than the Empire liked.
    There came a chorus of “Copy, Alpha Leader!” from the other eleven pilots in his squad as they switched over to the new channel.
    It took only a few seconds for the last fighter to launch, and only a few more for the squad to form behind Vil.
    “What’s the drill, Vil?” That from Benjo, aka ST-1-2, his second in command and right panelman.
    “Alpha Squadron, we have a Lambda -class shuttle captured by prisoners. They are running for hyper. Either they give up and come back, or we dust ’em.”
    “ Lambda -class? That’s one of the new ones, right? They have any guns?”
    Vil sighed. That was Raar Anyell, a Corellian like Vil himself, but not somebody you’d want to hold up as a prime example of the human species. “Don’t you bother to read the boards at all, Anyell?”
    “I was just about to do that, sir, when the alarm went off. Was looking right at ’em. Had the latest notices right in my hand. Sir.”
    The other pilots laughed, and even Vil had to grin. Anyell was a foul-up everywhere except in the cockpit, but he was a good enough pilot that Vil was willing to give him some slice.
    His sensor screen pinged, giving him an image of their quarry. He altered course to intercept.
    “Anybody else behind on his homework, listen up,” he said. “The Lambda -class shuttle is twenty meters long, hasa top speed of fourteen hundred g, a Class-One hyperdrive, and can carry twenty troops in full battle gear—probably a couple more convicts in civvies.
    “The ship carries three double-blaster cannons and two double-laser cannons. It can’t accelerate worth a wheep and it turns slower than a comet, but if you get in its sights, it can blow you to itty-bitty pieces. It would be embarrassing to have to inform your family you got shot apart by a shuttle, so stay alert.”
    There came another chorus of acknowledgments:
    “Copy, sir.”
    “Yes, sir!”
    “No sweat.”
    “Anyell, I didn’t hear your response.”
    “Oh, sorry, sir, I was taking a little nap. What was the question?”
    Before the squad commander could reply, the shuttle suddenly loomed ahead. It was running as silently as possible, with no lights, but as its orbit