The sky was full of fireworks: bright bursts of glittering motes that had, moments before, been living beings and their machines. Laser bolts drew deadly lines through space, adding their festive hues of neon red and acid green to the display. Swift starfighters darted this way and that, hunter and hunted.

Kelly "Zoom" St.Clair, Fool Five, pushed the stick and the nose of his Headhunter hard over to starboard, trying to avoid the emerald bolts that flashed past his bubble canopy. He guessed there were at least two TIEs on his tail, and a glance at his rear scope confirmed it. But there was no point asking for help: all of his comrades were in similar straits, or worse.

"They're all over me! I can't - AAAH!" The panicked scream of Fool Ten cut off at the same instant that his blip vanished from sensors. Kelly had never known the man's name. Ten was one of the new pilots, assigned to fill vacancies in the roster left by those who had stayed behind instead of joining the Alliance.

Next to speak was Karin "Comet" Halli, leader of Fool Squadron. "Fugazi, we're getting cut to pieces out here. Where the hell is Bantha Squadron?"

Kelly dimly heard an acknowledgment from the frigate, but his attention was focused on staying alive. He rolled to port until his Z-95 was inverted, then pulled back in the tightest loop the old starfighter could manage, looking for a target. A TIE swooped in front of him; he fired reflexively, blowing a ragged hole in one of its hexagonal solar panels. The wounded fighter went evasive. He pumped a few more missed shots into the space around the weaving, rolling TIE, then had to break off without a kill as another hit on his aft shields rocked him in his seat. He cursed and transferred power from the lasers to reinforce them.

One squadron of semi-trained misfit pilots in Headhunters and Y-wings, against two dozen TIE fighters and another of the new dagger-winged interceptors. That wasn't just foolish, it was suicidal. But that was the mission they'd drawn, when the Alliance frigate and the convoy it was escorting came out of hyperspace to find a Star Destroyer waiting for them.

The ISD Immortal was still out there, confident in its invincibility as it stood off and let its fighters and bombers destroy the outnumbered Rebels. It was the first time the Fools had actually seen a Star Destroyer. For most of them, it would be their last.

Fool Four: Zeek "Pops" Waylan. He got three kills, his gunner one, before a pack of interceptors caught up with them and blew their Y-wing apart.

Fool Eleven: Hew "Nerf" Tello, the newest and youngest of the Fools. In the thick of the battle, he collided with a similarly inexperienced TIE pilot. Their mutual explosion sent tiny pieces of starfighter spinning off into space.

Fool Nine: Case "Droid" Dorter, a veteran pilot named for his almost mechanical calm. He vaped TIE after TIE until finally his Headhunter couldn't take any more. With shields blown and controls dead, he punched out of the doomed fighter. An instant later the expanding fireball consumed him, seat and all.

The backdrop for their deaths was the freighters of the convoy exploding one after another as the blue tracks of proton torpedoes found their marks. Fountains of fire blossomed along the flat flanks of the plodding ships, the impacts against their shields making them shudder. Then a second salvo would hit and the whole ship would go up like a big bomb. Yet at this distance, it all seemed to happen in eerie silence.

Kelly dodged the disintegrating remains of the squint he'd been chasing and found himself with a moment to breathe, rebalance his shields, and look around. It didn't look good. Bantha Squadron's X-wings had joined the fight, but they were split between engaging the fighters and trying to interdict the dupes. Half of the convoy was gone and one of the corvettes was dead in space, its engines on fire. It began launching escape pods as he watched. Apparently the crew preferred probable capture by the Empire to death by burning or asphyxiation.

"Fool Lead to any Fools, need some help. Is anyone still out there?"

"Fool Three here, Boss. I'm tied up - sorry."

"Five here, One." Kelly turned his Headhunter toward the blip his sensors tagged as Fool One. It was several kilometers away, almost on the other side of the battle. "On my way."

"Better hurry, hon. I've got so many eyeballs on me, Pol's having to beat them off with a stick." Pol Jatsen, a tall thin man who barely fit into a Y-wing's back seat, was Halli's fiancee as well as her gunner.

A TIE dove in on Kelly and he had to jink out of its line of fire, almost too late, as green bolts stitched black space. Moments later there was a flash behind him; he glanced back in time to see a Bantha X-wing roll up on its starboard S-foils and bank away. Murmuring thanks for the save, Kelly diverted his remaining laser power to engines. He had visual sighting of Karin's fighter now, a tiny shape being harried by four dancing dots.

He saw the flicker of the explosion at the same time as he heard the crackle in his earphones. His heart leapt into his throat - but Karin's voice spoke again, coughing. "I'm hit... smoke in the cockpit. Pol, are you all right?"

The Headhunter's engines roared in his ears. The wounded Y-wing and its pursuers seemed to crawl closer against the fixed stars. He willed his fighter to go faster, to outrace death.

"Pol, answer me!"

The lead TIE opened fire. Fool Leader, her fighter and her betrothed became a flaming cloud of vapor and metal fragments. Kelly's finger mashed down uselessly on the trigger. Nothing happened: his lasers were dry.

"Fugazi to all fighter groups, break off. Omega signal. The convoy's gone and we're getting out of here. Fool Squadron, get back here fast - your ride is leaving."

There were TIE fighters in his gunsights. He wanted to kill them all. But his Z-95 had no hyperdrive. If he didn't break off, he'd be left behind to die. And he had a duty to his friends to stay alive, even if that tore at him worse than the pain of their loss.

Without changing his power settings, he wrestled the Headhunter through a looping turn until it was pointed back toward the Fugazi...

And ran away.

Kelly jerked awake, not knowing where he was. The room was dark and square shapes loomed up around him. Blue light came from one side; turning his head, he saw it was the swirling radiance of hyperspace.

Memory returned. He was aboard the shuttle Ryll, on its way home to the Regis with the extra supplies he had managed to coax out of the Salvation's quartermaster. These included the pile of freshly-laundered uniforms he'd been sleeping on, as well as the crates stacked around his improvised bed. Rob Cashman, his XO and co-pilot on this run, would be up in the cockpit watching the controls.

Kelly sighed, letting his head fall back against the cold-weather parka that was his pillow. He'd worn one like it on Hoth. Hoth... I'll be dreaming about that next, probably. Defeats on parade. His pessimistic turn of thought was the result of the recent death of one of his pilots on a personal mission, as well the loss of their training platform two weeks before. They'd taken casualties there also.

We win one battle against the Empire and lose two more. War of attrition. We can't go on like this.

Giving up on getting any more sleep for the moment, Kelly pushed himself to his feet and made his way forward. Rob looked up as his commander dropped into the seat next to his. "Sleep well?"

"Not really," Kelly muttered, studying the board in front of him. His tone made it clear that he didn't want to discuss it further.

"Well, at least you've got good timing. We'll be coming out of hyperspace in about three minutes. I thought about waking you."

"Mm."

"Be good to see the old girl again."

"Mm."

Rob took a breath. "It wasn't your fault, y'know."

Kelly turned on him. "What wasn't my fault, Rob? Vape? I knew she couldn't do it alone, but I let her go anyway, against my better judgment. Or maybe you mean Dragon? Or Chief Arvis? What about Cool Head and the other cadets we lost? Not to mention the entire flaming platform!"

"Hey!" Instead of backing down, Rob met Kelly's gaze and matched him in volume. "I was there, remember? And I seem to recall we had some uninvited guests at that party. Guys in grey uniforms and black flightsuits, lots of them. I think they had something to do with it too." He held the stare a moment longer, then turned back to the console, lowering his voice as well. "So if you want to blame someone, blame the Empire. They're big enough to take it."

A full minute passed before Kelly found words again. "I'm sorry."

"Now you know why I didn't want the job." Rob gave him a no-hard-feelings smile. "As a matter of fact, I've been thinking about going back to being a full-time computer and comms officer for the squad. Give someone else a shot at being second in command."

Kelly sighed but smiled faintly back. "Did you have anyone in mind?"

"Well..." Rob was interrupted by a blinking light at his station. "Better strap in, we're about to drop out." As Kelly quickly drew a belt across his lap in case of a rough hyperspace exit, Rob counted down. "In four... three... two..."

But starlines snapped back to distant pinpoints with hardly any fuss, and Ryll emerged into normal space a relatively short distance from a blue planet daubed with splotches of red as well as the more familiar green and tan. Centuries after it was first settled and finally abandoned by an inward-turning Old Republic, the battle between Tuskoon's scarlet native vegetation and imported plantlife still went on.

Orbiting the planet, along with its single moon, was what had brought the Rebellion to this all-but-forgotten world: a repair yard, stripped and abandoned in place long ago. It had been visited only by the occasional spacefaring scavenger until an Alliance scout, following up a reference in old records, found it and reported it salvageable. The facility had since been restored and put back in service. Remote as it was, it was perfect for the Alliance's needs.

The shuttle's comm system whistled with an incoming hail. "Shuttle Ryll, this is Yard Control. Please hold your course and transmit your verification."

"No problem, Control." Rob pressed a button, and Ryll's computer exchanged codes and countersigns with the repair yard. When the controller spoke again, he sounded much less suspicious and more cordial.

"That's confirmed. Welcome to Tuskoon. You are cleared for docking aboard the Regis."

"Thanks, Yard Control. Ryll out."

The Nebulon-B escort frigate Regis was the only starship in dock at this time, although a pair of Corellian corvettes and a bulk freighter, as well as an assortment of supply containers, floated along in the same orbit as the station. As the shuttle drew nearer, both pilots could see the familiar shape of their home ship within the curved ribs of the repair dock. Regis had spent the last three weeks here, being patched up from her latest scrap, and now she was ready to return to the fight.

While Rob guided the shuttle through the dock's framework, Kelly's attention was on the planet turning slowly below. He sighed. "I almost wish the work wasn't finished yet. We could use a few days of leave, and this looks like a good place to take it."

"I know what you mean. Been a long time since I tasted unrecycled air or felt grass under my feet." Rob smiled. "I hear the new command base is a pretty nice place. Big cave on some forest world... Abra or Arba or something like that."

"Has to be better than the old snowball." Kelly turned away from the planetary vista to watch the frigate's hull sliding by on the other side. The shuttle was passing the forward end of the connecting boom and the main hangar was just ahead. He reached for the lever that controlled the position of Ryll's wings, but Rob had already pushed it up. So there was nothing to do but sit back and watch as the hangar and its glowing outline grew before him.

Moments later, after the shuttle had settled into its usual berth and powered down its engines, the two pilots made their way out of the cockpit and down the boarding ramp. That's when they noticed that an unfamiliar face was waiting for them amid the bustle of the deck crew preparing for departure. The stranger had short sandy blonde hair, about the same shade as his Alliance uniform tunic. The rank plate on his chest bore a Commander's pips. An astromech droid, white and silver with blue trim, stood nearby in a watchful posture.

The newcomer saluted, a gesture that Kelly and Rob automatically returned. "Commander St.Clair?"

"That's me." Kelly looked at the man again. He was sure he recognized him from somewhere...

"I have sealed orders for you and your squadron, direct from Alliance High Command. I'd like to go over them with you in your office."

"Of course." Suddenly, he had it. "Commander Skywalker?"

As Rob stared, first at Kelly and then at the other officer, Luke Skywalker smiled faintly and nodded.

Chapter 2: Son of the Suns

Luke removed the tamper-seal wrapping from the datacard and slotted it into the office's small projector. "Lately, we've all noticed an increase in Imperial activity. Now we have reports that not all of it is directed at us. It seems half the Imperial Navy is chasing one of their rogue admirals around the Rim."

The lights dimmed and a hologram sprang into existence above Captain Daly's desk. It was a portrait of a hard-faced man with brown hair going silver at the sides, probably somewhere in his fifties. His eyes were dark, his nose sharp. He wore a grey uniform with an admiral's badge and rank cylinders. He was not smiling.

"Admiral Zaarin," Luke said to his audience of three, as personal data began to appear alongside the image. "Graduated from the Academy two years after the Emperor came to power. Exemplary service record. Navy liaison to Sienar's TIE research and development program. He was thought to be next in line for a Grand Admiral-ship, but that never came through. A month ago, he broke away from the Empire and formed his own faction."

"Are we looking at another Harkov here?" Rob asked.

Luke shook his head. "Admiral Harkov wanted to defect to the Alliance. Zaarin has made gestures in our direction, but Intelligence says that what he really wants is to be the new Emperor. After his coup attempt failed, he gathered a fleet of his supporters and fled to the Outer Rim. Since then, he's been hitting TIE Advanced factories all over the Empire - factories he used to be in charge of."

"Sounds like he's trying to corner the market on brights," Kelly observed.

"That would fit his profile. He was one of the men who pushed for the Advanced TIE project in the first place. He said the Empire needed to reclaim the technological advantage. And there are rumors that he's testing new TIE variants even now."

"Great," Rob said. "So what are we going to do about him?"

"For now... nothing." Luke sighed. "High Command thinks that the best thing to do is let Zaarin and the Empire fight it out. They don't think he has a real chance of unseating the Emperor, but he'll weaken the Empire trying."

"What do you think, Commander?" Kelly prodded.

"What I think doesn't matter. I'm just the messenger." Luke's jaw tightened. "Command has me on a pretty short leash lately."

Daly quickly stepped in and changed the subject. "What are our orders, then?"

Luke touched another control and the Admiral's image was replaced by the majestic spiral of the Galaxy. Stars were represented by blue dots, shading to white near the core. Red icons indicating Imperial squadrons and battle groups began to appear, vastly outnumbering the few green Alliance markers. The magnitude of their struggle was clear to everyone present. A new addition to the strategic hologram was a scattering of purple icons, most of them only outlines with question marks beside them.

"You can see how the Empire has pulled ships away from the Core Worlds to increase their presence in the Outer Rim. So instead of staying out here, where they're looking for us... you'll be going there."

The Galaxy expanded, its arms fading out as they passed beyond the volume of the holoprojector. Trade routes appeared, connecting the dots, as the scale continued to shrink. In moments, the three officers were looking at systems whose names were known by every schoolchild: Corellia, Kuat, Alderaan, Chandrila, Duro... and in the middle of it all, the shining jewel of Coruscant. Rob whistled; Kelly stared, fascinated. Daly only nodded, his face unreadable.

"As far as we can tell, the Empire thinks that they crushed us at Hoth and now it's just a matter of hunting down what's left. Their overconfidence is their weakness, and it's one that High Command hopes to exploit."

Rob frowned. "So what's our target? Please don't tell us we're supposed to attack Kuat or something."

Luke shook his head. "The major systems and military installations are too well-defended, even now. You're going to do what the Rebellion has always done best: raid Imperial commerce, hit and fade, gather intelligence and make a big mess. Then get out. Avoid direct engagements if possible."

"Okay," said Kelly, beginning to warm to the audacious plan despite the odds against them. "What kind of operational support are we going to have?"

"All I can tell you is what I was told," Luke replied. "You aren't the only people being sent in. This is the closest to a real offensive the Alliance has ever mounted. But you're all going to be deep in enemy territory and security has to be tight, so that one leak or capture won't wreck the whole operation. If you need to yell for help, there's contact information on the datacard. Other than that, you're on your own."

Kelly chuckled. "Nice. Well, I always wanted to see the Core."

"Why do I have the feeling this little joyride was thought up by a Corellian?" Daly wanted to know.

"Hey, what about our Training Wing?" Rob asked. "We've got what's left of them and their fighters on board, but it's going to get pretty crowded soon, especially on the hangar deck. Are we going to be taking them with us?"

"Well, I can solve at least part of your problem. The ship I arrived on, the corvette Summer, has been assigned as a support craft for your frigate. It's been refitted to carry a few snubfighters in the cargo holds; you could put your cadets in there. Like I said, it was supposed to be your new combat auxiliary, but now..." Luke let the sentence hang, not wanting to say out loud what they all knew.

"Right," Kelly said. "Thank you, Commander. I'm sure it'll be a big help."

"I'd recommend that you leave your trainees behind," Luke added, "but it's your squadron and your call. I talked to some of your other pilots while I was waiting, and I hear they did good in their first real fight."

"That's true." Kelly grinned. "And I seem to remember reading about a certain rookie who made a VERY impressive kill on his first sortie."

Luke had the grace to blush. "Beginner's luck," he offered weakly.

"Luck or not, you set quite an example for the rest of us," Rob noted. "We get kids all the time who say they want to be the next Luke Skywalker. I bet if you went down to the Mug right now, you'd have a dozen screaming fans begging for your autograph, just like Wynssa Starflare."

"No, don't say that." Luke shook his head, looking more and more agitated. "I mean it. I'm not anyone special. I'm not a hero. My father..." He stopped short of what he'd been about to say. "My father was just a navigator on a spice freighter," he finished quietly.

A long silence followed the unexpected outburst. Kelly fell back on protocol, keeping his voice neutral. "Anything else we need to know about the mission, sir?"

"No... no, not really." Luke suddenly looked like a much older man. He reached over and turned the projector off. "It's all on the card, encrypted to your command codes. Use your discretion in how much you tell your people. Other than that, be careful. Don't get in over your heads."

Daly nodded, rising from his seat. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have more work to do before we get under way."

"And I should make sure that we're stocked up on consumables and warheads," Rob said. "Wouldn't want to run out when we're hip-deep in Imperials." He saluted Daly, then Luke. "Commander, it was an honor to meet you."

Luke smiled wanly, returning the salute. "Thank you, Mr. Cashman. May the Force be with you."

"And with you, sir."

In the corridor outside the captain's office, Kelly turned to Luke. "Sir, before you go..."

"What is it, Commander?"

Kelly cleared his throat. "Commander Skywalker, I may be the last person who should be asking this, but you seem wound awfully tight. Is something wrong?"

Luke let his breath out in a long sigh. "Yes. Everything." Seeing the other man's look of concern, he waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Personal problems."

"Yeah, they seem to be going around. Anything I can do?"

"Not really. My life's just been... turned totally upside down lately."

Kelly nodded. "I understand. Look, I don't know about anyone else, but I never blamed you for that Shira Brie thing. I read the after-action report, and it sounded like a nightmare: enemy and friendly TIEs all around, no IFF... talk about an accident waiting to happen." He almost said it wasn't your fault, but the words, so recently spoken to him, got stuck in his throat.

Luke laughed hollowly. "Well, there was more to it than that. But I can't talk about it."

Kelly raised an eyebrow. "Classified, huh?" Luke nodded, offering no further comment.

"Huh. Okay." Kelly blinked as a thought struck him. "Wait a second. Maybe there is something I can do for you while you're here. You're still qualified on X-wings, right?"

"Yes, though it's been a while since I flew with Wedge and the Rogues. Why?"

Kelly grinned. "How would you like to fly with Red again? We even have your old number available, and I'm sure we could dig up a spare X-wing somewhere."

"You don't say?" Luke murmured. His eyes got a faraway look, and Kelly could tell he was strongly tempted. But Luke finally shook his head. "I'd love to, but... I can't. I've got too many responsibilities now. I really should be getting back to headquarters."

Kelly nodded, feeling a little disappointed as well. "All right. It was an idea, though." He extended his hand. "Clear skies, sir."

Luke took the hand and shook it. Kelly was surprised at the strength of his grip, and grateful it wasn't any tighter. "Thanks, Commander. You too."

[An hour later...]

"What happened to you?" Rob asked. He'd tracked his CO down again in his quarters, only to find Kelly lying on his bunk with a chillpak pressed to his jaw.

"Yale happened," Kelly replied. "I picked a bad time to tell him and Leo about Vape, and pow. Never even saw it coming. He's good."

Rob got very serious. "Do you want him put in the brig?"

"No, we straightened things out after ... ow. I'll be fine. Good to fly."

"Well, okay." Rob waved the datapad he was holding. "Guess what? New orders just came in for the new guy, Miller. He's being transferred to another squadron."

"Already? That was fast." Unlike most of their cadets, "Eggman" Miller was already an experienced pilot when he came to Red Squadron. During their short time aboard Salvation, he'd breezed through the last qualifications for combat duty. Now it seemed that others had noticed his talents. "Maybe he's got a friend on the Admiral's staff. Have you told him yet?"

"Yes, and he seemed pretty happy about it. He's leaving on the next shuttle; probably packing and saying his goodbyes right now."

Kelly nodded, then frowned. "You didn't tell him about our next assignment yet, did you?"

"No, why?"

"Oh, maybe I'm just being paranoid, but... we shouldn't brief the squadron until after we're in hyperspace. Less chance of it getting out that way."

Rob nodded understandingly. "You've been talking to Major Faulkner about spy stuff again, haven't you?"

"Actually, it was something Yale said. Right before he hit me." Kelly smiled and worked his sore jaw. "A painful lesson, but then, most of them are. Anything else?"

"Well, we have some new cadets on board. I ran into Ranger in the hall; he said he'd be by to talk with you about that." On cue, the door beeped for attention. "That'll be him now."

Kelly sat up, setting the chillpak aside. "Come in."

As Rob had predicted, it was Neill Magill, the squadron's training officer, who entered. He tossed a quick salute to both officers and asked, "Commander, what's this about a new ship for us?"

"One of those corvettes out there has been attached to the Regis," Kelly explained. "The CRV Summer is equipped to carry a half squadron of starfighters - perfect for the Training Wing. Just in time, too, as I hear we have some new additions?"

"That's right, a whole bunch of them." Neill looked at his own datapad and read the list of names. "Keith 'Nash' Rikli, Nathan 'Souvrin' Carr, Jason 'Jace' Carrillo, Steven 'Schmitty' Michadick, and Garm 'Sentinel' Damos. And Rikli's ready to graduate; I spent most of the morning in the simulator with him."

"Good. We'll find a space for him in the Combat Wing. The rest can bunk over on Summer for now. One more thing..." Kelly caught the eye of Rob, who nodded. "Would it surprise you to know that Rob's been thinking of stepping down as Exec? And that your name has come up as the best man to fill that position?"

Neill blinked. "I... I guess it would, sir. I'm flattered. But I'm already the TO."

"Given that Red is a training squadron, I would say that the duties of the TO and the XO are compatible," Kelly said. "It would mean some extra responsibility, but I'm confident you're up to it. What do you say?"

Neill thought a moment. "May I ask why you're stepping down, sir?"

Rob shrugged and smiled. "Just tired of it, I guess. I'm not the ambitious type, I don't really want to be in command. But Zoom's right: you're a go-getter, and you've done a great job with the cadets. Some of them are in the Combat Wing now, and they're used to taking orders from you."

Neill nodded. "All right, I'll do it. Thank you."

"Thank you," Kelly replied. "I'll announce it later... at the funeral." He sighed, then added, "Then there are some things you need to be brought up to speed on. I hope you weren't planning on going to bed early."

"Not much chance of that, sir."

Kelly checked his wrist chrono. "Rob and I have to go suit up; we're flying the Missing Man with Yale. Looks like you get to be master of ceremonies, Ranger. You up to it?"

Neill nodded solemnly. "Like you said - I trained her. It's the least I can do to honor her memory."

The torpedo burst soundlessly in the void, a glorious display that faded all too briefly. Yale's voice crackled over the radio: "Peace be with you, Vape, wherever you are."

In his own cockpit, Kelly took a deep breath and wiped at his eyes. He was no longer just a pilot, but a leader of others; being seen with tears on his cheeks was not allowed. Soon he would have to put even grief behind him. They would be in enemy territory, and any weakness or hesitation could be fatal. Feelings were one of the first casualties of war. Innocence was another.

He wanted the war to be over, and feared that at this rate, it might soon be. Not for the first time, he wondered if theirs was a doomed cause. The Empire's strength seemed inexhaustible, its grip on the Galaxy unbreakable. The Alliance had been hunted and on the run for almost as long as he'd been a part of it. He knew that he'd picked the right side in this civil war, but had it been a Fool's choice after all?

This deep raid seemed to offer a hope of much-needed victory, but it could just as easily turn into one of Yale's suicide missions. Kelly recalled that early in Red Squadron's history, the original Red Leader had led the squadron on a similar raid ... from which none ever returned. It was up to him to keep history from repeating itself.

He could only pray, to the Force or whatever else might be listening, that he was equal to that task.