Wraith Squadron Read Online Free PDF

emissions are much more contained than they used to be; external visual beacons are lit off only when landing craft need them.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “We need the extra security, what with Zsinj’s raids increasing in frequency and boldness … and with occasional lapses such as your own pilot, Erisi Dlarit, turning out to be a traitor—”
    Wedge reined in another flash of anger. “I should point out that she was placed in Rogue Squadron for political reasons, not recruited by me. And so far as we have seen, her controllers kept the information she sent them about Folor Base to themselves, not sharing it with renegades like Zsinj. And now they’re dead.”
    “Whatever. We still need the improved security. So long as this is border territory, we’re vulnerable to assaults like the ones Zsinj is so fond of making. All your pilots are being brought in without knowing where they are; the washouts will go out the same way.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Very well.” Suddenly Crespin looked inexpressibly weary. Wedge wondered how many officers regularly brought him arguments and back talk—even when it was as polite and well reasoned as Wedge’s. “Dismissed.”

3
    “You look like you’ve fought a few rounds with a rancor.”
    “Thanks, Wes. I’m sure General Crespin will appreciate that comparison.” Wedge sat back in his chair with a sigh, put his booted feet up on his desk. His office was a former storeroom with dismal lighting and not even a holoscreen to display a soothing picture of some faraway vista. His chair was a recycled ejection seat mounted on a heavy spring and a cross-brace. His desk was a section of metal bulkhead suspended between two low filing cabinets. It was all typical of the decor in underfunded Folor Base. Janson sat in a similar chair against the wall, and a third ejection seat was situated opposite Wedge’s.
    “We have pilots today?” Wedge asked.
    “We have pilots, possibly the last group, if some late arrivals make it in.”
    “Let’s get started. Who’s first?” Since the first day of evaluations, Wedge had followed a simple interview pattern: Janson kept the data on the pilots, allowing Wedge to meet each one without any foreknowledge. It gave him a better opportunity to consult his gut with respect to each candidate.
    Janson consulted his datapad. “His name is Kettch, and he’s an Ewok.”
    Wedge came upright. “No.”
    “Oh, yes. Determined to fight. You should hear him say, ‘Yub, yub.’ He makes it a battle cry.”
    “Wes, assuming he could be educated up to Alliance fighter-pilot standards, an Ewok couldn’t even reach an X-wing’s controls.”
    “He wears arm and leg extensions, prosthetics built for him by a sympathetic medical droid. And he’s anxious to go, Commander.”
    Wedge slumped and covered his eyes with one hand. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
    “Of course I’m kidding. Pilot-candidate number one is a human female, from Tatooine, Falynn Sandskimmer.”
    “I’m going to get you, Janson.”
    “Yub, yub, Commander.”
    “Show her in.”
    Late in the day, Wedge looked over the list of candidates processed so far.
    A Tatooine woman with excellent flying marks, already an ace, but a career in the incinerator because of what was listed as “chronic insolence.” An inability to keep scorn out of her voice when dealing with superior officers she didn’t respect. Failure to maintain military discipline. Wedge wondered how badly this would have affected her record a few years ago, when the New Republic was the Rebel Alliance and the military was a looser, rougher organization where rugged individualism was the norm rather than a common exception.
    He wondered, too, whether Falynn Sandskimmer’s attitude toward a certain Hero of the New Republic had contributed to the two demotions that had canceled her two promotions. Asked about Luke Skywalker, she’d said, “Can you imagine being compared to him all your adult life just because you’re