"Michael Stackpole "The Bacta War"" - читать интересную книгу автора

He knew it shouldn't be at all out of the ordinary, but he couldn't escape the
feeling that something odd would happen. He felt it was not because of any
unknown factors attached to the mission, because there really were none. Their
intelli-gence about the bacta convoy had been very good and double-checked. The
squadron should be able to hit it and get away well before Iceheart could mount
any sort of rescue operation.
Corran's uneasiness came from the fact that in this mis-sion he was being asked
to do something against which he had fought ail his life. His father and
grandfather had fought against it all their lives. Even Nejaa Halcyon had
ventured out against pirates who preyed on, interstellar convoys. Cor-ran, who
had once been an officer in the Corellian Security Force's antismuggling
division, had become a pirate.
Rationalizing and justifying what he was about to do was simple in the extreme.
Elscol Loro had said from the start
that getting Isard angry was important, and stealing a convoy of bacta certainly
would do that. It would also force her to devote some of her resources to
safeguarding future convoys. Even if Rogue Squadron never engaged any of Isard's
troops, the sheer volume of runs the destroyers would have to make would tax the
crew and the equipment, forcing her to obtain more supplies from the black
market at inflated prices.
All the while wearing her down for us.
The counter in the upper corner of his screen spun down to zero, then the white
tunnel outside his cockpit shattered into pinpoints of light that resolved
themselves into stars. Out ahead of him, the yellow sun at the heart of the
Chorax sys-tem took up a quarter of the sky, while the single large planet in
the system stood silhouetted against it like the pupil in some huge yellow eye.
Streaming away from the planet like tears, the ships of the bacta convoy headed
out, their exit vector identical to Rogue Squadron's entry vector. Though
closing fast with them, Corran could not make out any visual detail on the
Thyferran ships, yet Whistler flashed a schematic of them on his screen in short
order. Three hundred meters in length, from prow bridge to hyperdrives, the
bacta tankers had an almost insectoid feel about them. The ship's central
section had two parts, each of which held six cargo cylinders. In the various
systems where the convoy stopped, smaller ships would fly up to the convoy,
tease one of the cylinders free from the tanker's belly, then slip a return
cylinder into its place. The returned cylinder might be empty, but most of them
contained the world's native goods, to be sent back to Thyferra or traded yet
further along the line.
Corran keyed his comm unit. "Nine here, Rogue Leader. The convoy is right where
it is supposed to be. No hostiles yet."
"I copy, Nine. Stand by." Wedge's voice broke for a mo-ment, then flooded
through the helmet speakers. "Bacta con-voy, this is Wedge Antilles. Prepare to
alter course to coordinates I will supply you."
A new voice came back on the comm unit. "Antilles, this
is Thyferran Convoy Delta-Two-Niner. We do not recognize your authority to give
us orders."
"You will. Two flight, make a run."
"I copy, Rogue Leader." Confidence bubbled through Tycho's voice. "Eight, Nine,
and Ten on me. Lock S-foils into attack position."
"As ordered, sir." Corran nudged his stick to the left and pushed the throttle