Red Leader hunted around, notice the temporary absence of Imperial fighters.

He adjusted a control and addressed his squadron.

"This is it, boys. Remember, when you think you're close, go in closer before

you drop that rock. Switch all power to front deflector screens—never mind what

they throw at your from the side. We can't worry about that now."

Imperial crews lining the trench rudely awoke to the fact that their heretofore

ignored section of the station was coming under attack. They reacted speedily, and

soon energy bolts were racing at the attacking ships in a steadily increasing volume.

Occasionally on would explode near one of the onrushing Y-wings, jostling it without

real damage.

"A little aggressive, aren't they," Red Two reported over his mike.

Red Leader reacted quietly. "How many guns do you think, Red Five.?"

Red Five, known casually to most of the rebel pilots as Pops, somehow managed

to make an estimate of the trench's defenses while simultaneously piloting his fighter

through the growing hail of fire. His helmet was battered almost to the point of

uselessness from the effects of more battles than anyone had a right to survive.

"I'd say about twenty emplacements," he finally decided, "some in the surface

and some on the towers."

Red Leader acknowledged the information with a grunt as he pulled his

computer-targeting visor down in front of his face. Explosions continued to rock the

fighter. "Switch to targeting computers," he declared.

"Red Two," came one reply, "computer locked in and I'm getting a signal."

The young pilot's rising excitement marked his reply.

But the senior pilot among all the rebels, Red Five, was expectantly cool and

confident—though it didn't sound like it from what he murmured half to himself: "No

doubt about it, this is going to be some trick."

Unexpectedly, all defensive fire from the surrounding emplacements ceased.

An eerie quiet clung to the trench as the surface continued to blur past the skimming

Y-wings.

"What's this?" Red Two blurted, looking around worriedly. "They stopped.

Why?"

"I don't like it," growled Red Leader. But there was noting to confuse their

approach now, no energy bolts to avoid.

It was Pops who was first to properly evaluate this seeming aberration on the

enemy's part. "Stabilize your rear deflectors now. Watch for enemy fighters."

"You pinned it, Pops," Red Leader admitted, studying a readout. "Here they

come. Three marks at two-ten."

A mechanical voice continued to recite the shrinking distance to their target, but

it wasn't shrinking fast enough. "We're sitting ducks down here," he observed

nervously.

"We'll just have to ride it out," the old man told them all. "We can't defend

ourselves and go for the target at the same time." He fought down old reflexes as his

own screen revealed three Tie fighters in precision formation diving almost vertically

down toward them.

"Three-eight-one-oh-four," Darth Vader announced as he calmly adjusted his

controls. The stars whipped past behind him. "I'll take them myself. Cover me."

Red Two was the first to die, the young pilot never knowing what hit him, never

seeing his executioner. Despite his experience, Red Leader was on the verge of

panic when he saw his wingman dissolve in flame.

"We're trapped down here. No way to maneuver—trench walls are too close.

We've got to loosen it up somehow. Got—"

"Stay on target," admonished an older voice. "Stay on target."

Red Leader took Pops's words like tonic, but it was all he could do to ignore the

closing Tie fighters as the two remaining Y-wings continued to streak toward the

target.

Above them, Vader permitted himself a moment of undisciplined pleasure as he

readjusted his targeting 'puter. The rebel craft continued to travel a straight,

unevasive course. Again Vader touched finger to fire control.

Something screeched in Red Leader's helmet, and fire started to consume his

instrumentation. "It's no good," he yelled into his pickup, "I'm hit. I'm hit…!"

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