by Kelly "Zoom" St.Clair

[Focor, the Colonies]

It was a cool evening in the city of Jiaja, summer's heat fading quickly with the coming of night, when two sleek shapes came hurtling out of the clear purple sky. They came in low and fast, following the terrain as they flew almost wingtip to wingtip. Those wings swung open as they neared their first target, the power station on the outskirts of town.

The power station was a large building with thick sloped walls, set between gentle hills with its back to the city it served. It had been evacuated because of a bomb threat called in to the local authorities a half hour ago. Several police speeders, some with their warning flashers still on, formed a cordon around the main entrance. The bomb disposal team had just arrived and were preparing to enter the building when a pair of blue meteors whistled over their heads and slammed into the front of the power station about halfway up its angled face. Speeders rocked and officers fell to the ground or dove for cover as flames and fragments blew out from the shattered wall. Gravel and fist-sized chunks of permacrete were just beginning to rain down on the parking lot when another pair of torpedoes streaked into the center of the inferno, setting off an even larger explosion that knocked over the few still on their feet. A huge fireball rose majestically from the remains of the power station, cooling from bright orange to red to black. The roaring flames briefly illuminated the bellies of two split-wing snubfighters as they roared past, headed for a city that had just been plunged into darkness.

Jiaja's main industry was munitions. The I'att Armaments factory, which took up several square blocks near the heart of the city, was mostly dedicated to producing the new and improved M-s8 concussion missile. At this hour it was nearly empty except for a few watchmen and a small army of simple droids going about their automated tasks. Despite the factory's value to the Imperial military, Jiaja was not seriously considered a target for anything but worker unrest; its protection was left to the planetary garrison, over forty kilometers away. Its air defenses were limited to a handful of laser towers scattered about the city at strategic locations. The first warning of the attack came when one of these evaporated under a burst of quad laser fire.

As alarms sounded and the distant garrison began to stir with almost-forgotten purpose, the intruders flew low between buildings silhouetted against the night, over streets no longer illuminated by streetlamps or traffic signals. The pilot of the lead X-wing rechecked his targeting computer as the range to target counted down swiftly. Reaching the end of the street, he hauled back sharply on his stick and popped up above the rooftops to let his sensors have a good look at the I'att complex just ahead. The computer compared this data to what was stored in its memory and presented him with a selection of targets. He lined up on the most tempting of these, the large cube of the final assembly area, and let two more proton torpedoes fly.

If the power station was built like a bunker, the factory was a fortress. It had been designed to keep volatile components separated and fires and explosions contained. It was not, however, designed to withstand a precise and sustained starfighter attack. By the time a squadron of T/Fs approached from the east, the entire complex was ablaze and the X-wings were strafing the wreckage. Instead of fleeing cravenly into the night, as expected, the Rebels formed up and blasted through the center of the oncoming formation, sending three TIEs down in flames and winging a fourth. By the time the new flight leader got the rest of his now blooded squadron back in formation and in pursuit, the X-wings had diverted power to engines and were out of range, racing for the upper atmosphere.

Kelly read the after-action report with satisfaction. One Imperial arms factory blown up, much confusion sown, and minimal civilian casualties: just the way they'd planned it. Operation Blue Harvest was off to a good start.

He scrolled to the next item on his desk terminal, which was a list of other potential targets prepared by Major Faulkner. The major and his aides had been locked away in his office since the Regis arrived in the Core a week ago, poring over scandocs and intercepts and advisories from other sections of Alliance Intelligence. Food, secure transmissions, and nearly toxic pots of caf went in and summaries like this one came out.

His brows drew together sharply as he came to an item about halfway down the list. He read it intently, then skimmed the rest before coming back to the one that had caught his attention. By the time he shut down his terminal and rose from his seat, his good mood had been replaced by a grim resolve.

[Two hours later]

"Slaves." Kelly let the word fall from his lips like a proton bomb. The effect on his audience was immediate: they quieted down, set aside their datapads, and sat up a little straighter. "Outlawed by the Republic, but the Empire not only allows slavery, it practices it on hundreds of worlds. Entire species and populations, including our Mon Calamari allies, have been put under the Imperial yoke. They are imprisoned and sold and taken from their families and worked until they die. Of the many crimes of the Emperor, this ranks right up there with the murder of Alderaan."

From his position at the briefing podium, Zoom surveyed the reactions of his pilots, thinking once again how young most of them were. Some looked uncomfortable, others angry. Michadick sat near the back with the other cadets, his expression an unreadable mask.

"Today, we have a chance to do something about it." At the touch of a button, a space platform flickered into existence above the holoprojector and began to slowly rotate. "Bitterroot Station is located in deep space in the next sector over. It's a major transfer point for slaves coming into the Core Worlds. Imperial transports and independent slavers drop off their 'cargoes' here, to be sold at auction or taken further into the Core by other vessels." The station shrunk as the display widened to show freighters marked in Imperial red and neutral blue.

"In fourteen hours, we're going to hit them and hit them hard. Everyone flies." Rebel snubfighters began to appear on the perimeter of the hologram. "We'll be using two flight groups, six fighters each. The Y-wings will soften up the platform for the transports and disable any other ships in the area before they can get away. Full or empty, Imperial or neutral, it doesn't matter. The X-wings will cover the Y-wings, take out the fighter defenses, and do anything else that needs doing. The Regis and the Summer will be backing us up."

Zoom turned his attention back to the pilots as the briefing map continued to cycle. "Taking the station is only the beginning. The command staff and I have been in touch with the local Alliance cells. They'll be readying every freighter and transport they can put into space. Once we give the confirmation signal, those ships will begin arriving within the hour. Between our allies and any vessels we manage to capture in the initial assault, we hope to get most or all of the slaves away from Bitterroot and on their way to safety."

"We intend to hold the station for as long as possible, until word gets out and reinforcements arrive. In the meantime, any other slave ships that show up will be stopped and their cargoes liberated as well." Zoom stepped in front of the projector to command the full attention of the pilots. "I'm not going to pretend this one mission will stop the slave trade, but maybe we'll put a nice dent in it. Maybe we'll get some good holos to slice into the newsnets and make some people think. And most importantly, while we may not be able to free all the slaves of the Empire..." His gaze met and held Schmitty's. "We can free these slaves. And to them and their families, that's everything."

Schmitty nodded and raised his hand as the other pilots made noises of agreement. "Commander, what about us trainees? What's our role going to be?" It was obvious that he didn't want to be left out.

"Like I said, we need everyone for this one. You'll be paired with Combat Wing pilots. Most of you will be in the back seat of a Y-wing, getting some gunnery practice against big slow targets. Think you can handle that, Flight Cadet?" Zoom asked with a grin.

"Yes, sir!"

"All right, then. Yale, Kiki, you two have the next patrol. The rest of you, study the mission details and get some rest. I want everyone sharp and ready to go in twelve. Any other questions? Good. Dismissed!"

Fifteen hours and thirty-two minutes later, business as usual at Bitterroot Station was interrupted by the arrival of a dozen Rebel starfighters with a pair of small warships close behind. The business conducted there was not without risk, however, and so the operators of the platform were not completely unprepared. It was only seconds before the first challenge came.

"Rebel squadron, hold your positions and explain what you're doing here." Bitterroot's comm officer had a coarse Core accent that made him sound thuggish. Zoom ignored him, concentrating instead on the map on his CMD. There was the station, with a flight of T-wings turning their way. Another group, probably Headhunters, had just launched from the platform. Two ships, a freighter and a cargo ferry, had powered up engines and were making a run for it; a third, a modular conveyor, seemed to be awaiting the delivery of one more container. Of more pressing concern were the two Imperial corvettes almost directly ahead. The Y-wings would have to avoid them while making their attack run on the station.

"Rebels, stop now or we'll open fire."

By way of answer, Zoom switched over to the squadron's tac frequency. "Lock S-foils in attack position," he ordered, reaching up to do the same himself. Across the formation, X-wings scissored open and targeting sights came to life.

"Have it your way," the voice of Bitterroot snarled. "Nightshades, take 'em out."

Almost immediately, amber warning lights began to blink on the consoles of the Y-wings. "Stay on target," Kyp told his fellow pilots.

"What about those missiles?" Nash asked, glancing nervously between the warning light and the visor-like targeting scope. The range to target displayed in the latter was reeling down swiftly. His thumb hovered over the selector switch; if a missile came his way, he'd have to abort his torpedo run to shoot it down...

"Red Leader's got us covered - see?" As if on cue, the X-wings - which had pulled ahead of the slower bombers - swung in between them and the oncoming T-wings. Twenty-four laser tips spat ruby light in pairs, quads, or singly. Two concussion missiles exploded in this web of fire, followed immediately by the fighters that had launched them. The survivors went evasive, breaking high and low, drawing X-wings after them.

Now the wire-frame outline of the station began to flash and beep in Rebel targeting scopes. "Now remember, no more than four torps each," Kyp reminded. "We want to disable the platform, not destroy it." Scattered turbolaser fire from the corvettes fell among the Y-wings as they flew underneath, buffeting them but doing no real damage; the gunners were probably rookies. "Wait for it... wait... fire!"

Ranger watched a Headhunter come apart under his lasers, shedding wings and pieces of fuselage before vanishing entirely in a ball of gas and bright particles that faded as quickly as it was born. Banking away from the kill, he was pleased to see a stream of torpedoes heading for the platform, twinkling blue against the starfield. He didn't have the luxury of following them all the way to their target, however, for at that moment Sek twittered to inform him that a second wave of T-wings had just launched from the platform. He could barely make them out at the edge of his unaided vision: four of them, still in tight formation. Ranger automatically balanced out his shields, feeding them a little power from the laser capacitors to bring them up to full strength, and headed in that direction.

[Aboard Imperial SHU Gloom]

"Can't this thing go any faster?"

Lieutenant Sadler gritted his teeth and tried not to snap at the Captain that it couldn't, even though he'd been asking himself the same thing. The Captain and his party had the misfortune to be on the station, inspecting the new merchandise, when the Rebel attack had started. Now it was his job to get them all back to the Fate as quickly and safely as possible.

A buzzer sounded in the cockpit. Sadler cursed. "What's that?" the Captain asked, pointing at the new flashing light.

"Looks like one of the Rebels has taken an interest in us. Hang on..." Sadler twisted the control yoke, slewing the shuttle to port. The Captain and the rest of his staff grabbed for handholds or straps as the maneuver overtaxed the craft's inertial compensator. The buzzer flickered, then cut out completely. Moments later, an X-wing flashed past the cockpit windows to starboard.

"Well done, Lieutenant," the Captain gulped, regaining his equilibrium and his seat.

"Don't thank me yet, sir." Sadler peered at his sensor display. "I think he's coming around for another pass. Everyone strap in; I'm advising the Fate that we're coming in hot." The corvette was just a few kilometers away now. It was going to be close.

The buzzer went off again as the X-wing's targeting sensor painted the shuttle. Sadler held his course, bringing the Gloom up and over the stern of the corvette. Seconds dragged by and they still hadn't been fired upon. What's he waiting for? Sadler wondered. Does he just want to intimidate us? He looked down at the Fate's topside turbolaser turret, willing it to drive off their pursuer. But there was no fire from that quarter either; the gunner was probably afraid of hitting them.

The buzzer changed its tone to a rapid pulse, increasing in frequency. The Rebel had fired missiles at them, or maybe torpedoes. At this range the flight time would be measured in seconds. He just had time to turn his head and tell the Captain, "I'm sorry, sir." Then the shuttle lurched forward and everything went blinding white.

"Curse you, Rebel! You'll pay for that!"

Assassin chuckled at the offended Imperial officer - the new acting captain, probably - as he pulled up and away from the corvette. For a moment he considered putting his remaining torpedoes into the Fate to bring down its shields and make it easy for the Y-wings to disable. The corvette's gunners were firing at him with added enthusiasm now, though, and would probably shoot down his warheads if he tried. With a mental shrug, he asked his astromech (also called "Fate") to find him another target.

While the X-wings of Red Squadron tangled with Bitterroot's fighters, the torpedoes fired by the Y-wings began to hit the station. Each explosive hammerblow weakened the platform's shields until, by the time the last one struck, their strength was a mere 11% of normal. The Y-wings had followed their warheads in and used their lasers and ion cannons to strip away the rest of the station's defensive mantle. Accurate fire from the station's turbolasers forced Kyp, Yale and Kiki to break off their attack, but by the time they'd rebalanced shields and looped around for another go, their comrades had silenced those guns. Ion discharges crackled and arced between external fixtures like the comm antennae and the landing platform vanes.

"That takes care of the platform," Kyp announced. "Let's get those freighters." The nearest of these, FRT Luchre, was only a few kilometers away. He lined up on it and switched back to torpedoes. "Attack my target - ions only, got it?" As the rest of his flight acknowledged, his sights went red and he lobbed another four torpedoes at the flying box.

"Red Group, be advised we are launching transport Crown to capture the station. Watch out for it, will you?" On the heels of McCall's request, the troop transport emerged from the Regis' hangar and headed for Bitterroot, fully loaded with boarders.

"Copy that," Zoom acknowledged. "Six, Seven, head back toward the Regis and cover that transport." Jo beeped for attention, printing out a short message on his translation screen and highlighting a new set of contacts that had just dropped out of hyperspace. "And here comes another one. Freighter Starborn, cut your engines."

Several seconds passed, during which time Zoom and Rapier finished off another Z-95. Finally Starborn responded: "Rebels? Hey, look, we don't want to get involved..."

Zoom cut him off. "Well, you're carrying slaves, so you're involved." It was a guess, but one he felt safe in making. "Now cut your engines!"

"Like hell!"

Zoom shook his head. Why can't they ever make it easy? "Kyp, can you get him?"

"Sure, Lead. Almost done here..." Luchre came to a dead stop as the Y-wings' relentless barrage finally overwhelmed its power systems. Kyp skimmed over the top of the freighter, between its double hulls, peering at his scanners. "Looks like this one's empty. Oh well. Form up on me and we'll take the next one. Thirteen, Fourteen, I want each of you to lay two eggs on FRT Starborn."

"Copy that, Four."

"Sir, that freighter has some fighters flying escort," Schmitty reported from his backseat position. "I read four R-41s at 320."

"I see them," Kyp confirmed. "The X-wings are still busy, so we'll have to take them ourselves." He glanced back over his shoulder. "You okay back there, Cadet?"

"Just give me something to shoot at, sir."

That's it for this chapter. While you're waiting for the second chapter of this part, why not go fly the mission, now available on the Flight Deck in the XvT section?