"Break off, Luke," ordered the deeper tones of Blue Leader. "We've hit too

much interference here. Luke, I repeat, break off! I can't see him. Blue Two, do

you see Blue Five?"

"Negative," Wedge replied quickly. "There's a fire zone here you wouldn't

believe. My scanner's jammed. Blue Five, where are you? Luke, are you all

right?"

"He's gone," Biggs started to report solemnly. Then his voice rose. "No,

wait…there he is! Looks like a little fin damage, but the kid's fine."

Relief swept the war room, and it was most noticeable in the face of the slightest,

most beautiful Senator present.

On the battle station, troopers worn half to death or deafened by the concussion

of the big guns were replaced by fresh crews. None of them had time to wonder how

the battle was going, and at the moment none of them much cared, a malady shared by

common soldiers since the dawn of history.

Luke skimmed daringly low over the station's surface, his attention riveted on a

distant metal projection.

"Stick close, Blue Five," the squadron commander directed him. "Where are

you going?"

"I've picked up what looks like a lateral stabilizer," Luke replied. "I'm going

to try for it."

"Watch yourself, Blue Five. Heavy fire in your area."

Luke ignored the warning as he headed the fighter straight toward the oddly

shaped protuberance. His determination was rewarded when, after saturating it with

fire, he saw it erupt in a spectacular ball of superhot gas.

"Got it!" he exclaimed. "Continuing south for another one."

Within the rebel temple-fortress, Leia listened intently. She seemed

simultaneously angry and frightened. Finally she turned to Threepio and muttered,

"Why is Luke taking so many chances?" The tall 'droid didn't reply.

"Watch your back, Luke," Biggs's voice sounded over the speakers, "watch your

back! Fighters above you, coming in."

Leia strained to see what she could only hear. She wasn't alone. "Help him,

Artoo," Threepio was whispering to himself, "and keep holding on."

Luke continued his dive even as he looked back and spotted the object of Biggs's

concern close on his tail. Reluctantly he pulled up and away from the station surface,

abandoning his target. His tormentor was good, however, and continued closing on

him.

"I can't shake him," he reported.

Something cut across the sky toward both ships. "I'm on him, Luke," shouted

Wedge Antilles. "Hold on."

Luke didn't have to for very long. Wedge's gunnery was precise, and the Tie

fighter vanished brightly shortly thereafter.

"Good shooting, Wedge." That was Biggs again. "Blue Four, I'm going in.

Cover me, Porkins."

"I'm right with you, Blue Three," came the other pilot's assurance.

Biggs leveled them off, let go with full weaponry. No one ever decided exactly

what it was he hit, but the small tower that blew up under his energy bolts was

obviously more important than it looked.

A series of sequential explosions hopscotched across a large section of the battle

station's surface, leaping from one terminal to the next. Biggs had already shot past

the area of disturbance, but his companion, following slightly behind, received a full

dose of whatever energy was running wild down there.

"I've got a problem," Porkins announced. "My converter's running wild."

That was an understatement. Every instrument on his control panels had abruptly

gone berserk.

"Eject—eject, Blue Four," advised Biggs. "Blue Four, do you read?"

"I'm okay," Porkins replied. "I can hold her. Give me a little room to run,

Biggs."

"You're too low," his companion yelled. "Pull up, pull up!"

With his instrumentation not providing proper information, and at the altitude he

was traveling, Porkins's ship was simple for one of the big, clumsy gun emplacements

to track. It did as its designers had intended it should. Porkins's demise was as

glorious as it was abrupt.

It was comparatively quiet near the pole of the battle station. So intense and

vicious had been Blue and Green squadron's assault on the equator that Imperial

resistance had concentrated there. Red Leader surveyed the false peace with

mournful satisfaction, knowing it wouldn't last for long.

"Blue Leader, this is Red Leader," he announced into his mike. "We're starting

our attack run. The exhaust port is located and marked. No flak, no enemy fighters

up here—yet. Looks like we'll get at least one smooth run at it."

"I copy, Red Leader," the voice of his counterpart responded. "We'll try to

keep them busy down here."

Three Y-wing fighters dropped out of the stars, diving toward the battle-station

surface. At the last possible minute they swerved to dip into a deep artificial canyon,

one of many streaking the northern pole of the Death Star. Metal ramparts raced past

on three sides of them.

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