"We're going in," Luke declared as he commenced his dive toward the surface.

Wedge and Biggs followed just aft.

"Let's go—Luke," a voice he had heard before sounded inside his head. Again

he tapped his helmet and looked around. It sounded as if the speaker were standing

just behind him. But there was nothing, only silent metal and nonverbal

instrumentation. Puzzled, Luke turned back to his controls.

Once more, energy bolts reached out for them, passing harmlessly on both sides

as the surface of the battle station charged up into his face. But the defensive fire

wasn't the cause of the renewed trembling Luke suddenly experienced. Several

critical gauges were beginning their swing back into the danger zone again.

He leaned toward the pickup. "Artoo, those stabilizing elements must have

broken loose again. See if you can't lock it back down—I've got to have full

control."

Ignoring the bumpy ride, the energy beams and explosions lighting space around

him, the little robot moved to repair the damage.

Additional, tireless explosions continued to buffet the three fighters as they

dropped into the trench. Biggs and Wedge dropped behind to cover for Luke as he

reached to pull down the targeting visor.

For the second time a peculiar hesitation swept through him. His hand was

slower yet as he finally pulled the device down in front of his eyes, almost as if the

nerves were in conflict with one another. As expected, the energy beams stopped as

if on signal and he was barreling down the trench unchallenged.

"Here we go again," Wedge declared as he spotted three Imperial fighters

dropping down on them.

Biggs and Wedge began crossing behind Luke, trying to draw the coming fire

away from him and confuse their pursuers. One Tie fighter ignored the maneuvers,

continuing to gain inexorably on the rebel ships.

Luke stared into the targeting device—then reached up slowly to move it aside.

For a long minute he pondered the deactivated instrument, staring at it as if

hypnotized. Then he slid it sharply back in front of his face and studied the tiny

screen as it displayed the shifting relationship of the X-wing to the nearing exhaust

port.

"Hurry, Luke," Biggs called out as he wrenched his ship in time to narrowly

avoid a powerful beam. "They're coming in faster this time. We can't hold them

much longer."

With inhuman precision, Darth Vader depressed the fire control of his fighter

again. A loud, desperate shout sounded over the speakers, blending into a final

agonized scream of flesh and metal as Biggs's fighter burst into a billion glowing

splinters that rained down on the bottom of the trench.

Wedge heard the explosion over his speakers and hunted frantically behind him

for the trailing enemy ship. "We lost Biggs," he yelled toward his own pickup.

Luke didn't reply immediately. His eyes were watering, and he angrily wiped

them clear. They were blurring his view of the targeting readout.

"We're a couple of shooting stars, Biggs," he whispered huskily, "and we'll

never be stopped." His ship rocked slightly from a near miss and he directed his

words to his remaining wingman, biting down hard on the end of each sentence.

"Close it up, Wedge. You can't do any more good back there. Artoo, try to

give me a little more power on our rear reflectors."

The Artoo unit hurried to comply as Wedge pulled up alongside Luke's ship.

The trailing Tie fighters also increased their speed.

"I'm on the leader," Vader informed his soldiers. "Take the other one."

Luke flew just in front of Wedge, slightly to port side. Energy bolts from the

pursuing Imperials began to streak close about them. Both men crossed each other's

path repeatedly, striving to present as confusing a target as possible.

Wedge was fighting with his controls when several small flashes and sparks lit

his control board. One small panel exploded, leaving molten slag behind.

Somehow he managed to retain control of the ship.

"I've got a bad malfunction, Luke. I can't stay with you."

"Okay, Wedge, get clear."

Wedge mumbled a heartfelt "Sorry" and peeled up out of the trench.

Vader, concentrating his attention on the one ship remaining before him, fired.

Luke didn't see the near-lethal explosion, which burst close behind him. Nor

did he have time to examine the smoking shell of twisted metal, which now rode

alongside one engine. The arms went limp on the little 'droid.

All three Tie fighters continued to chase the remaining X-wing down the trench.

It was only a matter of moments before one of them caught the bobbing fighter with a

crippling burst. Except now there were only two Imperial pursuing. The third had

become an expanding cylinder of decomposing debris, bits and pieces of which

slammed into the walls of the canyon.

Vader's remaining wingman looked around in panic for the source of the attack.

The same distortion fields that confused rebel instrumentation now did likewise to the

two Tie fighters.

Only when the fighter fully eclipsed the sun forward did the new threat become

visible. It was a Corellian transport, far larger than any fighter, and it was diving

directly at the trench. But it didn't move precisely like a freighter, somehow.

Whoever was piloting that vehicle must have been unconscious or out of his

mind, the wingman decided. Wildly he adjusted controls in an attempt to avoid the

anticipated collision. The freighter swept by just overhead, but in missing it the

wingman slid too far to one side.

A small explosion followed as two huge fins of the paralleling Tie fighters

intersected. Screaming uselessly into his pickup, the wingman fluttered toward the

near trench wall. He never touched it, his ship erupting in flame before contact.

To the other side, Darth Vader's fighter began spinning helplessly.

Unimpressed by the Dark Lord's desperate glower, various controls and instruments

gave back readings, which were brutally truthful. Completely out of control, the tiny

ship continued spinning in the opposite direction from the destroyed wingman—out

into the endless reaches of deep space.

Whoever was at the controls of the supple freighter was neither unconscious nor

insane—well, perhaps slightly touched, but fully in command nonetheless. It soared

high above the trench, turning to run protectively above Luke.

"You're all clear now, kid," a familiar voice informed him. "Now blow this

thing so we can all go home."

This pep talk was followed by a reinforcing grunt, which could only have been

produced by a particularly large Wookie.

Luke looked up through the canopy and smiled. But his smile faded as he

turned back to the targeting visor. There was a tickling inside his head.

"Luke…trust me," the tickle requested, forming words for the third time. He

stared into the targeter. The emergency exhaust port was sliding toward the firing

circle again, as it had once before—when he'd missed. He hesitated, but only briefly

this time, then shoved the targeting screen aside. Closing his eyes, he appeared to

mumble to himself, as if in internal conversation with something unseen. With the

confidence of a blind man in familiar surroundings, Luke moved a thumb over several

controls, then touched one. Soon after, a concerned voice filled the cockpit from the

open speakers.

"Base One to Blue Five, your targeting device is switched off. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Luke murmured, barely audible. "Nothing."

He blinked and cleared his eyes. Had he been asleep? Looking around, he

saw that he was out of the trench and shooting back into open space. A glance

outside showed the familiar shape of Han Solo's ship shadowing him. Another, at

the control board, indicated that he had released his remaining torpedoes, although he

couldn't remember touching the firing stud. Still, he must have.

The cockpit speakers were alive with excitement. "You did it! You did it!"

Wedge was shouting over and over. "I think they went right in."

"Good shot kid." Solo complimented him, having to raise his voice to be heard

over Chewbacca's unrestrained howling.

Distant, muted rumblings shook Luke's ship, an omen of incipient success. He

must have fired the torpedoes, mustn't he? Gradually he regained his composure.

"Glad…you were here to see it. Now let's get some distance between us and

that thing before it goes. I hope Wedge was right."

Several X-wings, Y-wings, and one battered-looking freighter accelerated away

from the battle station, racing toward the distant curve of Yavin.

Behind them small flashes of fading light marked the receding station. Without

warning, something appeared in the sky in place of it, which was brighter than the

glowing gas giant, brighter than its far-off sun. For a few seconds the eternal night

became day. No one dared look directly at it. Not even multiple shields set on high

could dim that awesome flare.

Space filled temporarily with trillions of microscopic metal fragments, propelled

past the retreating ships by the liberated energy of a small artificial sun. The

collapsed residue of the battle station would continued to consume itself for several

days, forming for that brief span of time the most impressive tombstone in this corner

of the cosmos.

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