Introduction

Introduction to "Venom Squadron".

Qo Asha

Qo Asha popped her cockpit hatch and slid down the ladder onto the flight deck. She yanked off her helmet to reveal the red buzz-cut she’d had ever since Dantooine, and wiped the sweat from her olive skin. Before she could hand off the flight log to the crew chief, the booming baritone of the deputy wing leader’s voice echoed through the hangar.

“Front and center, Cadet!”

Asha froze and saluted, the ghost of a smile hovering just short of insubordination as Lieutenant Erik Strom pushed his dark brown face right up to hers. He looked about as annoyed as any officer would who had just watched a vital training exercise go bust�"all the more so when the order to advance on the Imperial Fleet might come down any day.

“What in the three suns did you think you were doing out there, Cadet?”

Asha hesitated as pilots exited the ships all around her. The expressions on their faces ranged from annoyance-the outsider was causing trouble again?-to professional interest: How was their by-the-book commander going to handle the latest infraction by the squadron’s problem child? She met Strom’s eyes, and grinned.

“Completing the mission successfully, Sir.”

“Successfully? The computers say different. You were destroyed. Along with half the squadron.”

“Sir, we scored three hits on the Star Destroyer.”

“Except that wasn’t a Star Destroyer. That was a bunch of drones in space simulating the position of a Star Destroyer. And you broke formation to score those hits. After which you got annihilated.”

“With due respect, Sir, the calculations the wing leader sent in were off.”

“And after less than fifty hours you’re an expert at flying a B-wing? This isn’t the same as smuggling off Coruscant, Cadet. When we go into battle it won’t be against some local security cruiser. We’ll be facing the Imperial Navy.”

“Well you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

A moment of astonished silence. Then Strom drew in a deep breath to cite Asha for an inevitable disciplinary infraction. But before he could speak:

“That’s enough.”

Wing Commander Zavier Fox strode over to them both. Rotund and tan-faced, he made up for his lack of warrior physique with reflexes and mental agility. He was known across the fleet as a first-rate leader of pilots. Yet right now, it was all he could do to keep them from killing each other.

“I’m going to pretend the last five seconds never happened,” he said. “Because the cadet’s right. My numbers were off.” Qo Asha started to reply, but Fox cut her off: “But instead of showboating , you should have told us what you were doing first.”

“Sir, I didn’t have time-”

“Then make time.” He said it with such steel that Asha knew better than to question him. “The whole point of a B-wing squadron attack is that the combined ships act as a force multiplier. If we integrate our attack vectors, we have a far better chance of finishing the mission successfully�"and alive. Understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“I don’t think she understands at all,” Strom muttered.

“She did get the job done, Lieutenant; nobody ever said this war was going to be easy.” Fox turned back to Qo. His black eyes reminded her of her old mentor, Bart Quinx. They had that same look of disappointment that set a lump in her throat. “This is not your personal war, Cadet. If I thought it would do any good I’d revoke your flight status right here and now, but frankly we don’t have enough pilots as it is.” He pitched his voice a little higher, letting it ring out across the hangar floor. “As it stands, I’ve just received our orders from Admiral Ackbar. Tomorrow’s the big show. The fleet moves on Endor. But we won’t be participating in the main assault. We’ll be safeguarding the fleet’s lines of communications and guarding the rear�"”

“Rearguard?!?” Asha couldn’t hide her disappointment. “I didn’t come all this way just to-”

“Enough, Cadet! We have our orders. Dismissed.” Fox turned on his heels, and strode off the flight deck. He had mixed emotions that the squadron wouldn’t be going into the kill-zone. On the one hand, he longed to strike a blow at the Empire. But, much as he hated to admit it, the squadron just wasn’t ready. And as for Strom-he meant well, but frankly he was trying way too hard. Which was to be expected; Strom was a former Imperial Naval officer who was used to strict discipline and the chain of command. What he needed to realize was that the Alliance did not have the same resources to train its pilots. Most of them had never flown a snubfighter before in their lives. Hell, most of the new flight cadets were from backwater worlds with little to no military experience.

Case in point, one Qo Asha. Like so many others who flocked to the Rebellion, she had no formal training and had learned to fly on smuggling routes off Coruscant. Asha might have a standing aversion to rules and regulations, but there was no denying she was an amazing pilot. Certainly better than himself, maybe almost as good as Wedge Antilles.

Fox couldn’t help but smile as he considered the true reason for the friction between the two pilots. They thought they had been so careful, but Fox was nothing if not perceptive, and had seen chemistry flare between them from the moment they first laid eyes on each other. Whether or not they had taken things any further than that-well, it was none of his business. Relationships with subordinates were unheard of in the Imperial Navy, but matters were a little more lenient in the midst of the Rebellion, where there were no such restrictions beyond what wing commanders were willing to put up with. And not only did Fox have bigger things to worry about, he wasn’t about to invoke a double standard. Everybody on the squadron grapevine knew how smuggler captains were cavorting around with princesses, and if anything the Rebellion was the stronger for it. Illicit relationships in his squadron weren’t Fox’s problem; training was. His people were still green. Still scared. He’d been the same, not too long ago. When the Battle of Hoth began, he’d had less than one hundred hours of flight time and yet they expected him to help run the blockade with his X-wing. It looked like a suicide mission but he’d somehow soldiered on, and survived. What he hadn’t counted on was his wife’s transport being destroyed by the Star Destroyer blockade as it took off. But after that, Fox wasn’t afraid anymore. He didn’t feel much of anything these days, truth be told. And he was fine with that. He lay down on his bunk, knowing that there was no way he’d get any sleep before the operation tomorrow. He knew exactly where his dreams were liable to venture, and figured no dreams at all was better than dealing with ghosts of the past.