Story By Simon H. Lee shl10@cornell.edu Every pilot carries a little luck (or The Force) with them whenever they fly... even if they don't believe in it. by Simon H. Lee (shl10@cornell.edu) Copyright disclaimer: Star Wars and its related entities upon which this story is based are the property of George Lucas and Lucasfilm Ltd. The unique characters and scenario of this non-profit story belong to Simon Lee. WIDOWMAKER IPHUS TWO WEEKS AFTER THE BATTLE OF ENDOR The piper's final note faded away across the quietly-rip- pling water, signaling the attendants to tip up the end of the bier. Sliding from the framework, the cloth-shrouded body of Lieutenant Novi Kazais fell into the Ivizan Ocean and sank with barely a bubble to mark its passage. The funeral party broke up then, obligations to the de- ceased fulfilled. Commander Ortic Madiol turned away from the boat's railing sternly and considered the range of customs that different groups of humans used to mourn their dead--several of which he had participated in over the last few weeks. *This is the last of our casualties from Endor to be put to rest,* he reminded himself. *Good luck to all of them wherever they've gone to.* Looking to his left, he watched Kazais's re- placement, Lieutenant Giren Ridusil, exchange a few words with the dead officer's family. *And good luck to the rest of us.* Early the next morning, the members of 13th Fleet Star- fighter Squadron (Silver Sabers) who had attended the funeral prepped their A-wing fighters to lift off from Iphus, one rather reluctantly. "But from what I've heard, this ship's had more pilots die in it than any other fighter in the squadron," Ridusil protes- ted. "It's a widowmaker. Bad luck." "Luck's not good or bad," replied Captain Cloyce Hajan, the squadron's executive officer. "It seems to just...happen." He tightened down on the engine retainer bolt he was replacing-- just in case. "Which doesn't mean I don't believe in it," he finished. He decided not to mention just how many pilots had been killed in the cockpit of that fighter: Jovo's ejection seat had apparently misfired while she was in hyperspace, Movzn had been decapitated in a collision with a TIE's solar panel, Celinaru's life-support system had given out due to battle damage, and of course there was Kazais... "So can I get another ship?" asked the twenty-one-year-old Ridusil, his pale skin blushing slightly. "As the captain pointed out, luck is luck," answered Lt. Siel Vdren as he eased his long, birdlike frame from the cockpit of his fighter. "You'll have to take your own chances if you are going to fly with us. When Command frees us some more sup- plies, Dorne will fix your seat." Something in the A-wing's frame creaked as he sat down and dangled his legs over the side of the sleek gray and white ship. He patted it lovingly. "Yeah, well..." Ridusil's voice trailed off for a moment, then he brought up another concern. "But what about my ejection seat? There's still no jettison charge in it--how am I supposed to get out if I've gotta pop the easy chair?" *Well, that's the spot where the shot that killed Kazzie went in,* Hajan thought to himself. "Until it's fixed...don't get into a position where you'll have to punch out." *Probably better for you anyway, considering what happened to Jovo.* "That's a bit harsh," Madiol observed as he entered the hangar bay, helmet cradled in the crook of his arm. "Giren--" *hmm, he still doesn't have a callsign yet--* "Everything will be fine. Remember your training and stick with us." He tried to ignore the fact that Ridusil had only barely had any actual time in combat. "It's not likely that we'll run into much trouble on the way back to the Fleet anyway," Hajan added. Ridusil nodded and brushed a hand through his closely- cropped blond hair. "Yes sir. Um, when do we leave?" Madiol pointed a long gray finger at the shuttle which had accompanied the four A-wings to Iphus. "Within the hour. Get it done." He walked off to his own fighter. When the unit lifted off from Iphus, Hajan tapped the can- opy rail with his forehead as he always did before getting in his fighter. *Since when does a fighter pilot not believe in luck?* Ridusil slid the hyperdrive lever forward and brought the A-wing out of hyperspace. The TIE fighter pilot in front of him was as surprised as he was. "What in--" He rolled his craft away from the TIE, which was blown away an instant later by a pursuing X-wing. "Looks like somebody's still got hurt feelings," Hajan quipped to himself. "All sorts of eyeballs 'n stuff at nine high," he reported over the squadron channel. "Motherbird at my ten," added Vdren. He regarded the big, vulnerable Escort TIE Carrier with contempt, and the two Vic- tory-class Star Destroyers flanking it with slightly less con- tempt. Not far behind the A-wings, the Calamari cruisers of the task force were pounding away at the Imperials with their turbolasers, lighting up space around them with scarlet flashes. Madiol noted the voices of his pilots and concentrated on the brief report he was receiving from the cruiser _Starfury_. "Sabers, we just missed most of the action, but they'd like whatever help they can get sending these Imps home. Form up." The A-wings turned and made a right-angle approach on a flight of TIEs. "Two on two, nothing fancy," Madiol ordered. "Soarer, go wide, take the far pair." "Copy," replied Vdren. "Giren, stay with me." The TIEs, spotting the onrushing A-wings, turned and stayed in formation, apparently trying to close and do as much damage to Madiol's element before Vdren could loop around. They hadn't counted on the Lafrarian's deadly long-range gunnery. Loosing a quick salvo, he blew the trailing TIE apart and seriously damaged his wingleader. Madiol's first shot finished the job on that one. The undamaged pair of TIEs broke right and tried to pull away. Madiol weighed going after them against a flight of four squints--TIE Interceptors--coming in from the direction of the first four eyeballs--meaning that they were running from the Rebel fleet. And, he noticed a tenth of a second later, the rest of the Silver Sabers. "Group, let the eyeballs go, we've got squints on our three low and closing." "It'd be nice if we could catch them between you and us, sir," chimed in Lieutenant Rhiescu in Saber Nine. "Just what I was thinking, Dart." Madiol and Hajan turned to intercept the squints. "Hey, Giren, what's going on?" The rookie's fighter was still following the TIE fighters. "I can't turn!" he shouted back. The Interceptors were closing fast. "Soarer, stay with him," Madiol commanded. "Ice, let's give ourselves a little more time." Before he even finished, another TIE joined up with the fleeing pair, and then the three all reversed direction, lining up on Giren's fighter. "Damn ship," he muttered to no one in particular as he tried to figure out the problem. He knew that he could still increase speed to the point where the TIEs would only have a chance for one or two passing shots at him, but that would put him dangerously close to the Imperial capital ships. "Vent the thruster charge in the system and try again," Vdren suggested as he pulled ahead of Giren. "That'll take a few sec--okay, sir," Ridusil answered. Vdren and the TIE pilots opened fire on each other at the same time. He managed to nick all three of them, but not very seriously, and lost a significant percentage of his forward shields--which had not been quite fully-charged when the battle began--in return. The TIEs split three ways, two pulling high and low, the third breaking right. Vdren ran the throttles up and narrowed his eyes, drawing a bead on the level TIE. His shots ripped across its path a moment later, collap- sing the port solar panel and blowing off the back half of the cockpit. The TIE rolled away lazily, spitting out burning com- ponents. Vdren quickly turned his attention to the lower TIE, which jinked just enough to keep it out of his firing circle. "Come here and take it..." he whispered, pitching his nose down slightly, compensating for his target's maneuvers-- The eyeball burst in a flash of light. "Get this guy off me!" yelled Ridusil. The topmost TIE had circled around and was now coming in from the rookie's high six o'clock--the kill position. Vdren swiveled the A-wing's cannons up, tracked, and fired in an instant, but not before the Imperial got off a shot of his own. Ridusil's scream was one of surprise more than pain as the shots struck his fighter just behind the canopy. The TIE was a rapidly-expanding ball of gas now, but Vdren only saw the puff of frost behind Ridusil's fighter that marked a loss of atmos- phere from cockpit depressurization. "Giren!" There was no response for a moment, then the A-wing banked and turned back toward the Rebel fleet. "I'm okay, sir," came Ridusil's voice, sounding scratchy and filtered. "Lost pres- sure, but the helmet sealed just in time. Now *that's luck." "I still want another fighter," Ridusil protested mildly. The squadron was standing in the _Starfury's_ hangar, going over their exploits in the battle and watching Dorne, the squad- ron's chief tech, go over Ridusil's A-wing. "I can have everything fixed by tomorrow morning," Dorne said, ignoring Ridusil's comment. "Bad luck still wins out?" Hajan asked, folding his arms across his chest. "Even with the fact that your helmet sealed up nice and tight and the shot didn't take your head off?" "You bet," Ridusil shot back. "Luck?" Dorne asked. "Take a look at this, everyone." The squadron crowded around the Bith tech as he pointed at the back of Ridusil's ejection seat. Amidst the scorched metal and plastic, a deeply-dented plate, roughly in line with where Ridusil's head would have been, marked the near-lethal accuracy of the last Imperial gunner. Dorne's knobby fingers slid across the plate and pointed at several others similar to it, barely visible between the seat and the cockpit bulkhead. "I put these plates on the seat to cover up the spots where the ejection charges should be," he said. "Well, then if the charges were in place, I would've been blown up, right?" Ridusil asked, becoming slightly paler. Dorne nodded. "Maybe. But this plate--" he indicated the burnt one-- "this plate isn't supposed to be here. I just tacked it on because I had a little extra." He pulled it away with surprising ease. "If this hadn't been there, there would have only been a half-centimeter of plate and some cushion be- tween your head and the big green beam. This is the very top of the ejection seat." Ridusil stared at the pathetically-thin layer of protection his head *should* have had and paled even more. "I guess your call sign's gonna be 'Chance,'" Hajan sugges- ted. "Still want another ship?" Madiol asked. "Chance" sat down on the hull of his fighter, mouth hanging open. "No, sir, I think I'll try my luck with what I've got." THE END -- ___ ALL DONE! BYE BYE! (___ * _ _ __ _ "...then I touch that button, ___) | | | | (__) | \ and pray very very fast."