Captain Okun Duff tugged at his flight yoke, banking the assault gunboat around in a sharp turn. As his targeting reticule settled over the distant specks that had just appeared from hyperspace, he flipped the selector switch over to MISSILES.

"Tau One to Tau Wing. Look sharp, everyone, we have Rebels entering the area."

He barely heard the chorus of acknowledgements from his wingmen, focusing instead on his CMD. The screen showed the magnified image of his target, a Rebel A-wing, heading at him straight on. Duff took a deep breath of the filtered air inside his helmet, watching the range count down rapidly.

His target box began to blink amber. Duff held his course, waiting for an answering paint from the A-wing; it didn't come. Stupid Rebel, he thought. The crosshairs went red, a solid tone sounded, and Duff pulled the trigger. Two orange streaks leapt from the sides of his craft like hunting beasts given their freedom.

Instead of taking evasive action, the Rebel pilot began firing at extreme range. A desperate maneuver, Duff thought, as he began to push his gunboat's nose down and out of the line of fire.

There was a sudden bright explosion. Duff's instincts screamed, and a moment later his conscious mind caught up with them: the blunted arrowhead was still untouched on his CMD. Not stupid, not stupid at all. The Rebel had managed to shoot down the incoming concussion missiles, and now...

The Imperial pilot cursed and pulled up again, trying to swing around behind his opponent. The heavy gunboat handled a bit sluggishly, and the A-wing was in and out of his sights before he could pull the trigger. His scope showed a random jumble of red and green dots; both sides were thoroughly entangled in a furball.

Another A-wing zoomed past his nose, offering a target of opportunity. Duff turned to follow. He flipped the switch back to lasers and was about to take a shot when his own fighter was jolted repeatedly by hits on his rear shields. He broke hard to the right and reinforced the shields with gun power, but the pursuer stuck with him, a single green blip centered in his scope.

His shields went amber, then red, then vanished entirely. Duff pulled frantically at the yoke, trying to escape, but more bolts sliced through the gunboat's armor and severed the right wing, sending the fighter into an uncontrollable spin.

"AAAAAAHHH--!"

The explosion ended his scream.

Kyp keyed his mike as he banked away from his kill. "Red Two, one fighter down. You guys think you can handle the other two?"

"No problem, Kyp," Rapier answered, working the throttle constantly to stay on the tail of another gunboat without overshooting. "Get going, you have a corvette to inspect."

With a parting "Be careful," Kyp disengaged from the fight. The heavens wheeled past the A-wing's canopy as he turned the speedy little interceptor toward the Dargo and reset his ELS. The hum of the two massive engines behind him increased until it was the loudest sound in the cockpit.

He took his hands off the controls long enough to flex them. His sensors had already identified three "brights" - T/As - in close-escort formation around the corvette. He'd have to face them, alone, before confirming that Spectre was aboard. And then there was the real wild card of this mission, the Iron Fist. Another squadron was making a terrible sacrifice on their behalf. Good pilots were going to die today. Kyp mourned them, and hoped it would be enough to delay the Star Destroyer while he and the other Reds completed their mission.

This was going to be a hard fight.

Spectre was alone in the dimly lit interrogation room. The room was actually little more than a large closet. He had lost all track of time since ejecting from his X-Wing. He had no idea if days, weeks, or months had passed. All he knew was, he had never been in so much agony in all his life.

The Imps had decided that no medical care, food, or water was the best form of torture at the moment. His right arm had been injured in the ejection, and now he'd lost all feeling below his elbow. Spectre figured in all likelihood the lack of attention meant that he would never use his right hand again. His entire body ached with fatigue. All he wanted to do was eat a hot meal and then sleep for at least a week.

Suddenly, the door opened. An Navy officer entered, a Lieutenant by the rank insignia on his uniform. He had a datapad in one hand. Spectre noticed two guards outside in the corridor. They stayed outside as the door closed again. The Imperial looked at him and smiled slightly, causing a chill to run up Spectre's spine.

"Well Commander, it looks as if you are in fine shape today," the officer said. "My name is Lieutenant Gorin. I will be conducting your... questioning," he continued, turning on his datapad. "I've come to get a few of the preliminaries out of the way, you know, the administrative details," the lieutenant said. Spectre stared back in silence, mustering all the determination he could find within his battered soul.

"I will tell you nothing, nothing," Spectre finally rasped. The effort of speaking seemed to require energy he no longer had.

"Please, Commander, you know full well that resistance is futile and pointless." The lieutenant sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. "We will break you, and you will tell us what we want to know. This process can be swift or slow, it's all up to you," Gorin said matter-of-factly. Spectre remained silent, trying to project an air of strength and defiance. Inside, he felt weak and vulnerable, a fact that the interrogation process would soon reveal.

"You Imperial scum will learn nothing of use from me. I will not betray my comrades to you. I will die first," Spectre responded. Gorin laughed evilly.

"You Rebels are so pathetic," Gorin said, rising from his chair. He was silent for a moment, continuing to stare at his captive. "You are right about one thing, Commander; you will die. But I promise you, it will not be swift. I had hoped you would be more sensible and realize the hopelessness of your situation. I should have known better," Gorin concluded, looking very disappointed. "We will continue this conversation shortly."

The lieutenant left the room, leaving Spectre alone to contemplate his fate.

Kyp smirked as the T/A in his sights started to turn just as two missiles caught up with it from behind, blowing right through its shields and instantly turning it into a fireball. Less than a minute ago, he had destroyed the unfortunate Imperial's wingman with the exact same tactic. "The Empire must be letting anybody fly a TIE Advanced these days," he tsked.

Ignoring the third and sole remaining member of Omega Flight for a moment, Kyp focused his scanners on the nearby corvette. As expected, its transponder signal identified it as the Dargo. What made Kyp whoop in triumph, however, was the line of text on the bottom of his screen. Somewhere on that ship, a tiny transceiver sewn into a Rebel flight suit had responded to the sensor ping with a low-power signal of its own. Spectre's uniform was aboard; Kyp just hoped he was still in it.

Green laser lines flew past his canopy from behind as the last T/A pilot reminded Kyp of his presence. Kyp went evasive, hoping that the Y-wings would arrive soon. He turned upwards in a classic immelman, bringing him face to face with his foe.

The Imperial pilot opened fire, forcing Kyp to use a corkscrew maneuver to evade. Some laser fire splashed against his shields as the two fighters passed one another. Kyp cursed. "This guy knows what he's doing." Just as he entered an upward climb to reacquire his quarry, a voice came over his comm channel.

"Red Two, this is Rainman. Keep that Imp busy, we're three klicks out and we're starting our run on the Dargo." Rainman announced.

"Copy Rainman," Kyp answered, while lining up on the T/A pilot.

Three Y-Wings bored in on the Corvette. Two of the fighters launched a pair of proton torpedoes to bring down the Dargo's shields. Then they all opened up with their ion cannons, walking blue energy bolts down the length of the ship. The Dargo's gunners barely had time to return fire before all electrical power aboard the ship was lost.

Spectre was on the edge of passing out again when suddenly the room around him rocked so violently that he was thrown out of the chair he was sitting in. He grunted as he hit the floor. Something had hit the ship.

Just as he gathered his strength and attempted to sit up, he was plunged into complete darkness. A few seconds later, the darkness was replaced by the dim red glow of emergency lighting. Instinctively, Spectre knew what had happened. This was no power failure: someone had just disabled the ship. And the only reason for that was... a rescue.

No sooner had he reached that conclusion than the door opened again. The guards rushed in and hauled him roughly to his feet, bringing him face to face with Lieutenant Gorin.

"It seems your friends have arrived," Gorin observed with crisp displeasure. "However, I have no intention of letting them have you back." He drew his sidearm and leveled it at Spectre's head. Spectre held his breath, trying not to flinch.

After a tense moment, the Imperial officer holstered his blaster again. "Unfortunately, my orders are quite clear. The information you have is too valuable to kill you. Therefore, you will come with me to an escape pod." To the guards, he added, "Bring him."

Spectre was marched out of his cell and down one of the corvette's spotless white corridors. "A Star Destroyer will be arriving at any moment and I am sure they will be able to deal with your comrades," the lieutenant boasted. "Once we are safely aboard, you and I can continue our 'discussion' without any more interruptions."

"Swell," Spectre groaned, his head bobbing with every step.

As Wildcat and Rainman turned almost gracefully away from the disabled corvette, a series of tones from Kyp's console informed him of new arrivals. He looked back over his shoulder just in time to see two X-wings streak in and slow to cruising speed. The rescue shuttle was right behind them.

"Good," Kyp murmured, setting his CMD to map mode. So far, the mission was going smoothly and on schedule. The Dargo was dead in space, with all of its escorts destroyed or driven off; the final T/A, shieldless and scorched by a double missile hit, was running for its jump point now. Meanwhile, the only casualty on the Red side was Gargoyle, who had to retreat after his Y-wing took a few too many hits from the corvette's turbolasers.

And then, predictably, things got more complicated.

Another red blip appeared on Rapier's scope, rapidly brightening and separating into three targets. A quick look out the canopy told him everything he needed to know. "Jed, look out! More gunboats coming in!"

Every alarm in Redjed's cockpit seemed to be going off at once. "I'm locked, I'm locked!" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, a missile hit his A-wing from the side with a terrible crunch. Half his panel shorted out, but the LOCK indicator stayed lit and he could see two more missiles boring in. His hand found the ejection lever and yanked it.

The cockpit exploded around him - for an instant, Mark thought he was too late. Then he was floating free among the stars. Below was an expanding cloud of smoke and light that had been his fighter. He quickly sealed his flight suit and hoped the shuttle would get to him before the Imperials did.

Kyp saw Redjed go down and was moving to assist Rapier when he heard Zoom's voice in his ear. "Two, this is Five. Do you need help?"

"Negative, Five, stay with the shuttle. We'll handle these Imps."

"Yes sir."

Kyp dove into the furball, and the next several seconds were pure reflex. Meanwhile, Zoom circled the Dargo with Ranger, watching the shuttle settle into place at the corvette's boarding lock. Rainman and Wildcat, their task completed, followed Gargoyle into hyperspace.

Ranger had just completed another lap around the corvette when his R2 began hooting frantically. He didn't check the translation; the familiar grey wedge that had appeared in the distance spoke for itself.

"Captain!"

"I see it. Red Five to Red Group. Iron Fist has arrived."

Sergeant Rylo Gunther, leader of Commando Team Delta, sat quietly in his seat as the rescue shuttle touched down above the Corvette's exterior docking hatch. He had conducted a final run through of the boarding plan with his ten member team while their shuttle was in hyperspace. Nothing remained to be said, the moment was at hand.

Upon confirmation from the pilot that the docking was complete, Gunther and his team went into action. Since the Imps were not waiting with open arms, one of the soldiers used a fusion cutter to carve open the corvette's exterior hatch. When the panel fell away, Gunther pulled a fragmentation grenade out of his pack, set the delay for 4 seconds, and tossed the device into the corridor below. The grenade exploded with a muffled thump. For good measure, Gunther threw another grenade in, this time down the corridor in the opposite direction. Always first into battle, he thumbed the safety of his DH-17 blaster pistol to "off" and jumped down through the open hole.

He hit the floor and went into a crouch. Smoke from the grenades filled the corridor, but was clearing. The grenades had done their job. Two Imperial guards lay dead in the corridor ahead of him, Gunther checked the other direction and saw no one. He looked up and gave his second-in-command the all-clear signal. One by one, the commandos dropped into the corridor. They organized themselves into two five-man teams and then split up to commence their search.

The corvette was a small ship, and it was plain to Lieutenant Gorin after he heard two muffled explosions from further ahead that the Rebel dogs would be there in seconds. The guards hauled Spectre along behind him as he hurried down the long corridor leading to the escape pod bay.

"Sounds like your rescuers are here, Commander. Too bad for you that they won't find us in time."

Spectre wanted desperately to get in a comment about Imperial overconfidence, but decided against it. Instead, he prayed silently that the lieutenant would be proven wrong.

As they reached the end of the corridor and turned right, Spectre's prayers were answered. A three-man damage control party, running headlong down the corridor in the opposite direction, collided head on with the lieutenant. The four Imperials crashed into the floor together. In the resulting confusion, the two guards holding him released their grip and Spectre tumbled to the floor. The guards rushed ahead and tried to help the fallen to their feet.

Gorin cursed the damage control team for their incompetence, threatening all three of them with slow death. Spectre thought that the situation would have been pretty humorous if the circumstances had been different. As he lay there on the floor, he wished he had the strength to run, but he couldn't even move.

Meanwhile, Gunther and the four commandos with him had run into some resistance as they swept through the corridors of the Dargo. However, it was dispatched relatively quickly. One of his team had taken a blaster hit to the left arm, but was still in the fight.

As they reached an intersection, Gunther heard commotion from further ahead and ordered his team to halt. He listened carefully and heard muffled curses and shouting. Motioning his team forward, he proceeded down the hallway. It ran on for about five meters before turning right. In the dim red light, Gunther saw shadows on the wall. He silently told his team to stop again as he proceeded the rest of the way down the corridor. Very cautiously, he followed along the wall.

When he reached the end, he turned and snapped a glance around the corner. What he saw surprised him. Apparently there had been a collision between two groups running in opposite directions. Just beyond the tangle of Imperials picking themselves up off the floor, he saw a Rebel flight suit. He turned back and motioned his team to join him. When they arrived, he counted to three and swung himself out into open view.

Gorin saw a green-uniformed figure step out from around the corner ahead. He shouted a panicked order to the guards behind him, but it was too late. Blaster fire filled the air - very precise and deadly. Gorin felt a sudden hammer blow to his chest, followed by an intense burning sensation. His vision blurred, and he was plunged into blackness.

Spectre lay completely prone as the commando team made short work of the Imperials. He heard footsteps come running towards him. He opened his eyes to see the familiar face of Sergeant Rylo Gunther, leader of the commando team often attached to the Regis. He gasped in recognition and relief.

"Hello, Commander," Gunther said with a smile. "Glad to see you're still in one piece." Two of his team came up and scooped Spectre up. "Now, let's get you the heck off this tub."

"Here they come!"

The six T/Is began firing, fingers of green light reaching for the X-wings. Then their tight formation burst apart like an unfolding flower, each dagger-winged fighter veering off in a different direction. It was a beautiful demonstration of precision flying, but the Rebels had no time to admire it.

Two to six, thought Zoom as he aimed his nose at a squint and squeezed the trigger. The T/I, caught in the center of his quad lasers, exploded instantly: a clean kill. Zoom selected the next closest target, then changed his mind as he saw another T/I chasing and firing at Ranger. His first snap shot was a glancing hit on the right wing. The squint pilot kept firing, intent on his target. It was his last mistake, as Zoom blew him into particles a moment later.

Sounds about fair, Zoom concluded.

While Ranger and Zoom dealt with the Iron Fist's fighters, Kyp and Rapier were mopping up the gunboats. The first wave of reinforcements had been destroyed, only to be replaced by another set of three coming out of hyperspace. Kyp had taken a missile hit, but his doubled shields held and the gunboat responsible fell to his lasers soon after.

The angry throb of Kyp's lock warning stopped, started again, then cut out for good as Rapier finished the gunboat tailing him. Kyp leveled out from his evasive jinking and lined up on the last gunboat. Selecting his one remaining missile, he waited for a red lock. The gunboat broke off its attack and turned to run.

"Smile," Kyp whispered.

With a brief, violent flash, the gunboat ceased to be. Kyp checked his sensors as his A-wing soared through the debris cloud. There was the corvette, with the rescue shuttle still docked to it; and there was a pair of faint green sparks in a cluster of equally dim red blips.

"Five, this is Two. What's your status?"

"My machine is clean, sir!" Zoom reported cheerfully. "Ranger's fine too. We're getting a lot of target practice here."

"Copy that," acknowledged Kyp with a smirk. "On our way." Rapier formed up on his wing and both fighters turned toward the far-off ISD.

A new voice spoke. "Rescue Riker to Red Two."

"Two here, go ahead Riker."

"We have the package and are leaving the party now. We'll pick up your other man on the way out."

Kyp leaned forward in his seat. "What is the package's condition, over?"

"Package is a little torn, but the contents are intact."

Kyp felt a wave of cool relief wash over him. "Thanks for the good news, Riker. May the Force be with you. Two out." Switching frequencies, he relayed the information to the rest of the squadron. "Which means we are done here, gentlemen. Finish those squints and get clear."

"Aye, sir."

[Two days later, aboard the Regis...]

Evening, ship's time. Kyp stopped at the doorway to the recovery room, announcing himself quietly to the sole occupant.

"Jeff? It's me."

His commander, his friend, looked so frail lying there in the hospital bed. The clean white gown hid most of his injuries, but there was no covering up the worst: Spectre's right arm from the elbow down was smooth, hairless, and a slightly different shade of pink. It lay at his side, with diagnostic equipment plugged into an open jack at the wrist.

Spectre turned his head and smiled wanly. "Hey." He beckoned to Kyp with his other hand. "Just the man I wanted to see."

"How do you feel?" asked Kyp as he sat down in a nearby chair.

"Lousy." Spectre sighed, then managed another smile. "But I'm alive, and not a prisoner anymore. I hear you led the rescue mission. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Kyp took Spectre's good hand and clasped it firmly. "Everyone in the squadron is pulling for you to get well soon."

Spectre closed his eyes, looking pained. Kyp leaned closer. "You okay?"

"Yeah... fine." Jeff opened his eyes again and met the other man's gaze. "Listen, there's something I need to talk to you about..."

A half hour later, Zoom knocked on the doorway. "Sirs? You sent for me?"

Spectre and Kyp looked up. "Yes, Captain," the latter confirmed. "Come in, please."

Zoom entered, but did not sit. Concern and sympathy were plain on his face as his eyes scanned once over the bed, then focused on the CO.

"Zoom," Spectre began, "there are going to be some changes in the squadron. I've decided to step down as Red Leader."

Zoom's eyebrow's shot up. "Sir? Why?"

Spectre frowned and held up his new right arm. "Well, for starters, I can't fly with this patched-up wing. Not now, and maybe not ever. The 2-1B says that it may take weeks or months for me to regain full function. And if I can't fly, I'm not much good to the squadron."

"But..."

"Red needs a CO who can lead them into combat. Sitting behind a desk isn't my style, never was; you know that. It was always the part of the job that I liked the least."

"I understand, sir." Zoom glanced over at Kyp. "I guess that means you'll be Red Leader, sir?"

Kyp shook his head. "I'm staying in the XO spot. That's where I'm most comfortable."

"Then who...?"

Spectre smiled broadly. "Actually, Zoom, I was wondering if you might be interested in the job. I think you'd be perfect."

"ME?"

"What do you think, Rob?"

"I think you're right, Jeff. He'll make a fine Commander."

"C-Commander?" Zoom stammered.

"The rank comes with the position of squadron leader," Kyp observed with a chuckle.

The object of the discussion took two steps back and dropped into a chair, looking as if he'd been hit in the chest with a blaster bolt. Spectre glanced over at him. "Well, don't just sit there with your mouth open, St.Clair. Say something."

Zoom's head was spinning, but he forced words out. "I... would be honored, sir."

"Good. I'll make it official in the morning. Congratulations, Kelly."

"Thank you, sir."

With a night's sleep under his belt, Zoom was much more composed. He strode into the briefing room with head held high, command pips pinned to his flight suit... and stopped.

The other pilots were already there, sitting in neat rows. They all stared at him. No one moved. No one spoke.

Zoom swallowed.

In the silent room, the sudden applause was deafening.

As one, the pilots of Red Squadron rose and gave their new leader a standing ovation. When it finally ended, Zoom had to blink away tears before continuing.

"Thank you. I swear that I will do everything I can to repay your trust in me. Knowing, all the while, that I have a high standard to live up to."

"And now, the bad news. We are completely out of bacta. Spectre needed all of our remaining untainted supply. Which means the situation is more desperate than ever. Fortunately, the Alliance has finally been able to arrange another shipment."

Zoom turned to the holomap, which lit up with the usual grid. It rotated and swiftly zoomed in on a group of cargo containers. "The Xucphra Corporation has agreed to sell some bacta to us. The exchange will take place at a secret location somewhere near the Thyferra system. Red Squadron will provide cover for this operation."

A pair of corvettes flew in from offscreen and came to a halt next to the containers. "Once the contents of the containers have been verified, Corvette Group Flaak'ra will hyper in and begin loading the bacta."

Redjed, in the back, raised his hand. Despite his brief exposure to space, the young pilot was none the worse for wear. "What if it's another trap, sir? Like the Solace?"

Zoom sighed. "Frankly, at this point, we have to take that chance. A lot of people need this bacta. And Intel says we can probably trust Xucphra to hold up their end of the deal. Still, that's why we're sending in fighters to ID the containers first."

"What we really need to be concerned about is Imperial interference. Although the location of the transfer is supposed to be secret, the ISD Wisp has been reported in the area. You may run into one of their patrols, so stay alert."

The container icons vanished and the two corvettes moved off the screen, accelerating as they went. "We have to have the whole shipment, so make sure both corvettes make it out with the bacta on board."

Zoom let the map loop back to the beginning as he turned to face the seated pilots. "This is the kind of mission the A-wing was designed for, so that's what we'll be flying. There'll be three of us; enough to provide security, but not enough to scare off the Xucphra people if they're still around when we arrive. Because of the importance of this mission, I've decided to lead it myself... my first official act as CO." He smiled, a bit sheepishly. "I'll also need two wingmen."

As expected, every hand went up. Zoom took a deep breath before making his choices. "Okay. Rapier... and Ranger. I'll see you on the flight deck in fifteen minutes. Everybody else, I appreciate it. Dismissed."