The Chimaera gun crews responded with a withering hail of laser fire. The Assault Frigate tried to swerve away; but even as it turned, its entire starboard side seemed to flash with vaporized metal. The weapons from that section, which had been firing nonstop, went abruptly silent.
“Excellent,” Thrawn said. “Starboard tractor crews: lock on and bring it in close. Try to keep it between the damaged shields and the enemy. And be sure to keep its starboard side facing toward us; the port side may still have active weapons and a crew to use them.”
Clearly against its will, the Assault Frigate began to move inward. Pellaeon watched it for a moment, then returned his attention to the overall battle. He had no doubt the tractor crew would do the job right; they’d shown a remarkable increase in efficiency and competence lately. “TIE Squadron Four, keep after that B-wing group,” he instructed. “Port ion cannon: keep up the pressure on that command center.” He looked at Thrawn. “Any specific orders, Admiral?”
Thrawn shook his head. “No, the battle seems to be progressing as planned.” He turned his glowing eyes on Pellaeon. “What word from Cloak Leader?”
Pellaeon checked the proper display. “The TIE fighters are still engaging the various escort ships,” he reported. “Forty-three of the mole miners have successfully attached to target ships. Of those, thirty-nine are secure and making for the perimeter. Four are still encountering internal resistance, though they anticipate a quick victory.”
“And the other eight?”
“They’ve been destroyed,” Pellaeon told him. “Including two of those with a spacetrooper aboard. One of those spacetroopers is failing to respond to comm, presumably killed with his craft; the other is still functional. Cloak Leader has ordered him to join the attack on the escort ships.”
“Countermand that,” Thrawn said. “I’m quite aware that stormtroopers have infinite confidence in themselves, but that sort of deep-space combat is not what spacetrooper suits were designed for. Have Cloak Leader detail a TIE fighter to bring him out. And also inform him that his wing is to begin pulling back to the perimeter.”5
Pellaeon frowned. “You mean now, sir?”
“Certainly, now.” Thrawn nodded toward the viewport. “The first of our new ships will begin arriving within fifteen minutes. As soon as they’re all with us, the task force will be withdrawing.”
“But …”
“The Rebel forces within the perimeter are of no further concern to us, Captain,” Thrawn said with quiet satisfaction. “The captured ships are on their way. With or without TIE fighter cover, there’s nothing the Rebels can do to stop them.”
Han brought the Falcon as close as he could to the Frigate’s engines without risking a backwash, feeling the slight multiple dips in ship’s power as Luke repeatedly fired the quads. “Anything?” he asked as they came up around the other side.
“Doesn’t look like it,” Luke said. “There’s just too much armor over the coolant-feeder lines.”
Han glanced along the Frigate’s course, fighting back the urge to swear. They were already uncomfortably close to the perimeter battle, and getting closer all the time. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. There’s got to be some way to take out a capital ship.”
“That’s what other capital ships are for,” Wedge put in. “But you’re right—this isn’t working.”
Han pursed his lips. “Artoo?—you still on line back there?” he called.
The droid’s beeping came faintly up the cockpit corridor. “Go through your schematics again,” Han ordered. “See if you can find us another weak point.”
Artoo beeped again in acknowledgment. But it wasn’t a very optimistic beep. “He’s not going to find anything better, Han,” Luke said, echoing Han’s own private assessment. “I don’t think we’ve got any choice left. I’m going to have to go topside and use my lightsaber on it.”
“That’s crazy, and you know it,” Han growled. “Without a proper pressure suit—and with engine coolant spraying all over you if it works—”
“How about using one of the droids?” Wedge suggested.
“Neither of them can do it,” Luke told him. “Artoo hasn’t got the manipulative ability, and I wouldn’t trust Threepio with a weapon. Especially not with all the high-acceleration maneuvers we’re making.”
“What we need is a remote manipulator arm,” Han said. “Something that Luke could use inside while …”
He broke off. In a flash of inspiration, there it was—the thing that had been bothering him ever since they’d walked into this crazy battle. “Lando,” he called into the intercom. “Lando! Get up here.”
“I’ve got him strapped in,” Luke reminded him.
“Well, go unstrap him and get him up here,” Han snapped. “Now.”
Luke didn’t waste time with questions. “Right,” he said.
“What is it?” Wedge asked tensely.
Han clenched his teeth. “We were there on Nkllon when the Imperials stole these mole miners from Lando,” he told the other. “We had to reroute our communications through some jamming.”
“Okay. So?”
“So why were they jamming us?” Han asked. “To keep us from calling for help? From who? They’re not jamming us here, you notice.”
“I give up,” Wedge said, starting to sound a little testy. “Why?”
“Because they had to. Because—”
“Because most of the mole miners on Nkllon were running on radio remote,” came a tired voice from behind him.
Han turned around, to see Lando easing his way carefully into the cockpit, clearly running at half speed but just as clearly determined to make it. Luke was right behind him, a steadying hand on his elbow. “You heard all that?” Han asked him.
“Every part that mattered,” Lando said, dropping into the copilot’s seat. “I could kick myself for not seeing it long ago.”
“Me, too. You remember any of the command codes?”
“Most of them,” Lando said. “What do you need?”
“We don’t have time for anything fancy.” Han nodded toward the Frigate, now lying below them. “The mole miners are still attached to the ships. Just start ’em all running.”
Lando looked at him in surprise. “Start them running?” he echoed.
“You got it,” Han confirmed. “All of them are going to be near a bridge or control wing—if they can burn through enough equipment and wiring, it should knock out the whole lot of them.”
Lando exhaled noisily, tilting his head sideways in a familiar gesture of reluctant acceptance. “You’re the boss,” he said, fingers moving over the comm keyboard. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. Ready?”
Han braced himself. “Do it.”
Lando keyed a final section of code … and beneath them, the Frigate twitched.
Not a big twitch, not at first. But as the seconds passed, it became increasingly clear that something down there was wrong. The main engines flickered a few times and then died, amid short bursts from the auxiliaries. Its drive toward the perimeter fighting faltered, its etheric control surfaces kicking in and then out again, striving to change course in random directions. The big ship floundered almost to a halt.
And suddenly, the side of the hull directly opposite the mole miner’s position erupted in a brilliant burst of flame.
“It’s cut all the way through!” Lando gasped, his tone not sure whether to be proud or dismayed by his handiwork. A TIE fighter, perhaps answering a distress call from the stormtroopers inside, swept directly into the stream of superheated plasma before it could maneuver away. It emerged from the other side, its solar panels blazing with fire, and exploded.
“It’s working,” Wedge called, sounding awed. “Look—it’s working.”