Flying in a straight line is a dangerous business in combat, and cannons reach further than torpedoes. The leader rocked the ship, making it move as if on a stretched spiral, and the harassing burst passed him by. A bright flash struck Rimon's fighter, causing the shield to sag.
Rimon didn't keep the "Tie" waiting for a response and fired a few shots at the enemy ship's hull. Then, locking the fighter with the targeting system, he fired one torpedo and immediately swerved aside, evading possible capture.
The enemy tumbled through the plane, falling out of the line of fire, and sped towards the transport, leading the torpedo behind it. His partner, after firing at the leader of the attacking pair again, missed again and rushed after him, taking advantage of his fighter's speed.
Meanwhile, the two pairs of pilots were already locked in combat near the ship itself: the "reapers" were fending off the "fighters," staying almost close to the transport to compensate for the difference in speed and maneuverability – the Imperial ships had to attack in a wider arc than the defenders, and this made their advantage less obvious. The defense was holding for now, but with the approach of another pair of "Ties," the situation could change.
"Wingman – follow me," the wing leader said routinely and, making a turn, went after the departing "Ties." Rok followed him, gaining speed to close the distance with the enemy and trying to get behind him to fire a few shots.
The fire was successful, but not with the result Rimon expected. One of his shots shot down his own torpedo, which had been tailing the "fighter," and was now between him and the pursuers.
After that, the leader also opened fire; luckily, there was nothing left to shoot down. After a couple of hits, the wingman-Imperial went up in a shower of debris. His partner rushed to the transport, either trying to hide behind it or intending to send it to all the magisters under the guise of confusion.
Getting behind his "Tie," Rok methodically fired single shots at it. A couple of rounds that flew past splashed against the transport's shields, causing no significant damage, but the "fighter" got nervous, jerked back and forth a couple of times, realizing that it couldn't use the risk of hitting the ship as cover, and dived down, falling below the attack horizon. Now it was trying to get to the other side to get behind the massive hull of the transport.
A burst flashed at the ship's nose – the "Tie" and the "reaper" had shot each other down.
Rim flew over the transport, tracking the "Tie's" vector and speed, and calculating where and when it should appear in view. Then he launched a torpedo there, so that both the "Tie" and the torpedo would reach that point at the same time, and prepared to continue firing if his calculations were wrong.
Waiting at the speeds of space combat is a short affair; the "Tie" detected the unguided torpedo too late, and there was one less enemy on the battlefield. The remaining "fighter," in proud solitude, didn't want to test its luck fighting three opponents and retreated, heading towards the asteroid field from which it had emerged a few minutes earlier.
This was an excellent opportunity to take the first step towards the intended goal. Rimon broke formation and rushed after the departing "Tie" to catch up, get on its tail, and shoot it down with a few shots. There was no particular need for this; a single fighter wouldn't attack the transport with such a superiority of forces for the convoy. Neither in reality nor in simulation. But the fact that he shot down an Imperial fleeing the battlefield would be a definite plus in the eyes of his new comrades.
Convinced that he was being pursued and that escape without a fight would be impossible, the "fighter" turned around. Its speed allowed it to escape, but in the asteroids, it would inevitably have to slow down, and then the "reaper" would gain a serious advantage – it had shields. The computer deemed attacking more advantageous. A human could make a mistake that would allow them to win this battle.
The duel was short-lived – his leader flew up behind Rimon, and soon the "Tie" was just a cloud of dissipating gases and debris.
After that, the pilots returned to the transport and continued their movement to the delivery point. When the mission was completed, Rimon turned off the simulator and sat in the dark for a long time. In fact, for him, this was his first battle in formation, and indeed his first battle. Usually, all his skirmishes consisted of firing a couple of shots and then running away, through asteroid fields or other troubles, and jumping into hyperspace. But here... However, the first "combat" sortie could be considered, at least, successful.
The "Punishers'" command apparently thought so too, because at dinner, held in a small, dimly lit mess hall, he was singled out:
"Take an example, recruits. While you were wiping your pants behind the holovisor and playing Pazaak for slaps and cutlets, Rok was doing his job."
Gazes crossed Rimon – from admiringly respectful to openly hostile.
Burying his face in his portion, he merely smiled slightly: let them think he was pleased with the leadership's praise. His gaze swept across the hall, searching for Kailas.
His roommate was found a couple of tables away. He was eagerly wielding his fork in his plate, gesturing with his other hand holding a piece of bread, and recounting the plot of some holofilm:
"...and they answer him: "They broke three arms and two noses, bruised the scrotum, presumably with plaster, and left the room through a locked door with a padlock, having bitten through the shackle!""
"Bitten through with what – teeth?!" one of the listeners asked in astonishment.
"With wire cutters, you idiot," someone grumbled.
"And where did they get wire cutters?!"
"Hid them in the plaster," the recruit was told.
"Aaaah..." he said respectfully and buried his face in his plate.
So, his roommate was having fun, and the mention of the holofilm was directed at him... Immersing himself in the Force, Rok carefully scanned the people and non-humans around him for any special attention or strong emotion directed at himself.
The Force told him nothing special – the general emotional background drowned out all feelings addressed to him. No one nearby was trying to befriend him or hit him with a chair, and beyond that, only the satisfaction of hungry healthy men and the desire to relax and rest could be read.
"Well, then, I can allow myself to relax too," Rimon thought, smiling again. "However, what kind of people are these? They haven't done anything, and they already want to relax and rest again... Or did they do something, and they didn't tell me?"
Wiping his plates to a mirror shine, he got up from the table and decided to find at least Arcas: he needed to find out what they would fly to Carida on, or at least what he could do here besides shooting down "Ties" on the simulator. Although he still needed to practice planetary flight, just in case. But that would be later.
Arcas was not found on the base. No one from the leadership was found there at all, but the old guard was found, who, without further questions, sent Rok away again. This time – to the medical bay for sleeping pills.
Rimon decided to go where he was sent without delay, before going to the simulators again. The Academy on Carida was not such a trivial matter to simply sleep through the time before departure. Especially since he needed to hone his skills with a fighter. One training flight – was that really preparation?
In the medical bay, he was met by a slow and silent droid. After asking a couple of questions, it gave the smuggler a small tube with white pastilles, explained how to take them, gave a recommendation to lead a healthy lifestyle, and said goodbye.
Rok himself didn't say goodbye to the droid. Putting the pills in the inner pocket of his jacket, he decided it would be good to fly a little more, and then go to bed. With a brisk step, the contr headed back to the training hall, hoping that after being publicly praised, there would be free simulators.
Several mercenaries were milling around the trainers, peering into the capsules where someone was already sitting. They looked at Rimon and immediately cleared a space for him.
The training mode switch was found almost immediately. He was offered the opportunity to fly with other pilots against the computer, with the computer against pilots, or against everyone – alone.
As much as he wanted to spar against people, he would likely have more than one combat sortie with them, so there was no point in spoiling relationships with his posturing. Switching the training mode to cooperative against the computer, he patiently waited for a response.
One response came immediately: a pilot joined him – the indicator turned green, the second hesitated, and suddenly turned blue – he chose the "against all" mode.
"Well, it looks like I'll get to fly against a live opponent after all," Rimon said with a smile, adjusting the communication to the responding pilot. "This is Rok. How do you read, over?"
He was simultaneously setting up the battle mode – planetary, choosing something similar to torpedoing some complex.
His flight partner responded immediately; the connection was excellent – no noise, characteristic of real combat.
"Stopper," he introduced himself. "Shall we kick this show-off's ass?"
Rimon was immediately given a complex: the extensive territory was built up with buildings, hangars, and several slipways and landing pads were visible... A patrol wing of "reapers" was hovering in the air.
"You're celebrating too early, Stopper," Rok said almost inaudibly, but on the radio he said something else: "No problem."
To successfully complete the task, the main attack targets needed to be identified. Personally, Rimon would first destroy all air defense systems, then all communication systems, although, perhaps, communication systems should be destroyed simultaneously with air defense systems. Then he would need to fly over the hangars and destroy all fighters and assault ships on the ground. After that came the administrative building and residential areas. The thought of having to destroy people who wished him no personal harm made him feel disgusted. Even if it was just a simulation now. On Carida, there would be no simulation...
"Unsporting..." This word unexpectedly put him in his place. Yes, this was all not real, but there was no time to think and ponder, nor to chat.
"Stopper, will you be my wingman?" Rimon asked, preparing for battle as if it were real, simultaneously activating the sensors to identify the complex's air defense points and, if lucky, their type and range.
"Where else would I go," the partner's voice chuckled in his headset, having chosen a "reaper" like the leader. Their opponent was not yet displayed on the sensors – it was far away or delaying entering the battle.
Six active points were marked along the perimeter of the fortified base – heavy air defense turrets awaited uninvited guests there. Another was discovered above the administrative building. The patrol wing, having spotted the intruders, began its combat turn.
Rimon, estimating the approximate height from which the patrol would approach them, took a slightly lower course. The fighters were of the same type, although it was sometimes difficult to say that two Z-95s were of the same type. After exchanging a couple of shots, the machines split into pairs. Rimon, remembering his first flight, again launched a torpedo after one fighter, more as a psychological factor, then switched to the second machine. Stopper got on the tail of the second machine and methodically shot down its shield with short bursts. Estimating possible options, the contr decided that the enemy would most likely try to shake off the "tail" by going down, flew slightly below his wingman, waited for the enemy to descend, and finished off the fighter.
Almost simultaneously with the patrol, one of Rimon's wing's fighters flashed and disintegrated. While the two engaged wings, tumbling in the air, shot each other down, the air defense systems remained silent – the risk of shooting down their own was too high. When a blue dot appeared on the attacking wing's scanners, it became clear that not all turrets would be able to speak: moving at the minimum permissible altitude and at a speed indicating an experienced pilot, a V-19 fighter, identified as such, knocked out the supports of three turrets and fired a missile into the barrels of three ground hangars. It was unlikely that the equipment inside was seriously damaged, but it was unlikely that anyone would be able to fly out of there anytime soon.
Immediately after this, there was a turn without reducing speed, and the "Torrent" began to rapidly move away from the base.
Making a sour face, Rimon assessed the new balance of power. He hadn't encountered a V-19, but he had heard about them, and even seen them a couple of times in the outer regions. From a distance. The third player had a slight advantage in speed, which was compensated by the fact that the assault ship had no shields. Looking at the radar to see if anyone from the patrol was on his tail, and if his wingman had the same problem, Rimon assessed the "Torrent's" flight trajectory.
A couple of patrol ships had just pounced on the remaining pilot from a broken pair, the third one turned to make a wide turn, but somehow uncertainly, as if he couldn't decide what to do. The stormtrooper, having flown a respectful distance away, turned to the side, still almost scraping the bottom and wings along the surface. If there had been any unevenness in the terrain, he would have been collecting his wings... But there were no threateningly large unevennesses – the "Torrent" was entering a new attack, taking advantage of the turrets' helplessness against a ground target.
After a moment's thought, Rimon said a short "Finish him!" into the comms, transferring the target designation to the unsure pilot, and flew to intercept those who had landed on his tail. Taking a lead, he opened fire on the closest target to him, calculating so that the line of fire would not coincide with the trajectory of his computer comrade. It was illogical to go hunting for the "Torrent," which was busy demolishing the base.
Shtopor grumbled something like, "I'll get him...", broke away to the side, chasing after the patrol ship, and ran into a missile launched by someone from the turned pair. The lone pilot was a decoy, which Rimon's partner had fallen for.
The base perimeter bloomed with a couple of flashes – the V-19 turrets continued to pound away there.
Gritting his teeth, Rimon finished off the wingman of the enemy link. They were left two on two, not counting the V-19s. It was a shame to fall for such a trick. However, he could always justify it by saying that he had never piloted fighters at all, and had never participated in such battles. And for a rookie, it wasn't too bad.
Leveling the fighter, Rock mentally pictured the point where the two enemy fighters would be on the same attack line, then slightly changed his course, and then began to wait. When only fractions of a second remained until the wingman closed in front of the leader, he pressed the trigger, firing a burst.
The patrol ship didn't have time to react – it scattered, the leader shot off at full thrust, under the protection of the still-surviving turrets, but fiery trails struck him from the ground – the V-19, which everyone had somehow forgotten, took its revenge on the fleeing fighter.
The surviving players didn't get to figure out who was cooler – the simulator's virtual reality flickered, went into stripes, and a message appeared on the monitor: "Mission aborted." An alarm sounded in the headphones.
Taking off his headphones, Rimon immersed himself in the Force, trying to understand what exactly had happened and what was going on around him. No threat was felt. A slight surge of someone's concern arrived, footsteps rustled behind the capsule wall, a door opened and closed – the training room was empty. Getting out of the simulator, he peeked into the capsules: was the mysterious pilot who had put him in such an unpleasant position still here? But the gym was already empty.