"Aaron Allston "Iron Fist" (STARWARS. X-Wing #6)" - читать интересную книгу автора

Wedge considered it. "That could work, but you'd have to maintain the computer breach or execute another one just a few minutes later when we sort out our escape vector."
"True."
Dia said, "I vote we wait until we can be sure there's no
cross traffic nearby and no one observing them-"
"Which means waiting until we also know they're not in communication with someone else over their headsets," Kell said.
"mand just step out and shoot them. Two shooters, no waiting. Run out, grab them and haul them back beside the building, substitute a couple of us for them. Then take as long as we need to get their access keys and codes and go in."
Wedge shook his head. "Sounds too simple." Then he re-considered. "On the other hand, that's probably a virtue. All right, we'll do it that way. But first, Runt, can you find out whether those two are broadcasting? Search nonstandard fre-quencies in the Imperial ranges and look for low-powered sig-nals; if they're just chatting, they're not going to be on the usual bands."
Runt nodded and, from a belt pouch, brought out the field
dispatcher's comlink that was among the latest toys the New
Republic had given him when he volunteered to be the squadron's
new communications specialist. The item looked like a slightly
bulkier datapad. It had nowhere near the range of features of
the field communications unit their former comm specialist,



Jasmin Ackbar, used to carry, but it was the biggest comm unit they could carry inconspicuously while in stormtrooper armor.
Runt tapped through a series of functions, grew impatient with the device, and traded places with Wes. There, he could set the device on the ground and protrude its nose just beyond the building corner. Finally he nodded. "We have it," he whis-pered back at the others. "Their signal sounds like dispatch information, but it is confusing. Set your coralinks to oh-three-oh-seven-four if you want to hear."
Wedge did so, and immediately picked up the two guards' traffic.
One of them, his voice a mellow bass, said, "Light assault vehicle twelve to block alpha two."
The other, whose hoarse voice probably started in the baritone range, replied, "TIE four to block delta sixteen."
"That's outside your range."
"It is not."
"So you're crossing through the plasma wall and explod-
ing? Nice of you to concede a piece that way."
Uh... make that TIE four to block delta twelve."
"Heavy eraplacement one fires on TIE four. Scratch TIE
four."
"Damn. Target-paint heavy emplacement one."
Wedge switched off the channel and looked at the others.
"Anyone recognize that traffic ?"
Dia nodded. Wedge imagined that she had to be quite un-comfortable with her brain tails stuffed up in her stormtrooper helmet, but she hadn't made a noise of complaint. She said, "It's called Quadrant. It's a game out of the Imperial Academy. An old game, but it has recently become all the rage."
Wedge asked, "Runt, is there a data transmission accom-panying that vocal signal?" Runt shook his head.
Wedge snorted. "They're playing just by visualization.
Wonderful. We get the hangar guarded by intellectuals. All
right, here's how we play our game. Wes, Donos, you're
our shooters. Wes, march around to the far front corner
and situate yourself. We're not going to use a comlink
signal-it might be picked up. We'll time it. You two set your

blasters to stun. Sync your chronos and fire at three minutes from sync... unless you hear or see anything anomalous, in which case you duck under cover and try again at six min-utes. If no opportunity presents itself by six minutes, scrub the mission and get back here. Tainer, you go with Wes to haul off the other guard; Phanan, you take the place of the other guard. Runt, at this end you'll haul off the unconscious guard; Face, you'll take his place."
It was a long three minutes. Halfway through it, a flatbed skimmer hauling two stormtroopers and some sort of laser ar-tillery piece cruised by the hangar. Wedge and the others flat-tened themselves against the building wall, but the skimmer's occupants didn't even glance in their direction.
Wedge saw Donos keeping a close eye on his chrono. At twenty seconds of three minutes, Donos pulled his helmet off. At fifteen seconds, he checked his blaster rifle to make sure it was switched to stun and ready to fire. At ten seconds, he peeked around the corner, and did so again at five seconds. Then, precisely on cue, he stepped around the corner.
The sound of the stun blast was impossibly loud; Wedge was sure it could be heard off in the city of Hullis. Wedge stayed flat against the wall while Runt and Face ran past him. Only then did he peek around the corner, his own blaster ready in case his squadmates needed cover.
Runt almost tripped as he skidded to a halt over the un-conscious form of his target; he picked the man up with inhu-man ease, slung him over his shoulder, and came charging back toward Wedge. Beyond him, Kell arrived from the far corner, repeated his action with less speed and less pure strength, but was still swift. He arrived mere seconds behind Runt, his un-conscious cargo bouncing painfully across his shoulder.
Now there were just two guards in front of the hangar, an-gled toward one another, at attention. Wedge checked his chrono. Fifteen seconds had passed, and the world was, cos-metically at least, the same as it had been at the start of those brief seconds.
"Castin," he said.