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checkoutmybookshelf · 7 months

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The Boys are Back in Town

Most of the X-Wing series focused on either Wraith or Rogue squadron in their full capacities and on standard missions. That is NOT this book. This book focuses on Wedge Antillies, Wes Janson, Tycho Celchu, and Derek "Hobbie" Klivian as they slide inexorably from a diplomatic mission to something that Padme Amidala would unquestionably describe as "aggressive negotiations." Let's talk Starfighters of Adumar.

When you have a planet that has evolved outside of either imperial or republic influence that reveres pilots to an arguably unhealthy degree and you can't drag Luke Skywalker out of whatever he is currently doing, you get Wedge "I blew up two Death Stars, you don't scare me" Antilles. Wedge then puts together a crack team of his three best pilot buddies to hammer out a treaty between Adumar and the New Republic (I'd be LYING if I told you I was picturing anything other than Adam Sandler casting his best friends and taking them on epic vacations and incidentally making a movie for this bit).

As per usual, things go pear-shaped basically before they even get boots down on Adumar, because among its other problems, Adumar loves the HELL out of dueling. To the death. Usually with starfighters. Some asshole decides to try to increase his personal clout by shooting Wedge down as they fly in. This doesn't work, but hot damn does it set the tone...

The toxic dueling culture is not limited to snubfighters, however. Cheriss ke Hanadi (the undisputed queen of duels with blastswords) guides Red Squadron through the twists and turns of Adumari culture. That does not stop Wes from getting in a duel at the diplomatic reception, though. This duel is incredible because it's Wes giving an object lesson in how to humiliate the living hell out of an overly cocky opponent with a blastsword while functionally unarmed. This fight is glorious, and it's a beautiful follow-up to the "getting ready for the ball" scene our boys get to have where Wes lights up like a kid at Christmas when he discovers that blastswords are basically "blaster[s] that you have to hit people with."

Cheriss gets done a wee bit dirty by this book, because she basically develops a crush on Wedge, and when she finds out that he and Iella have gotten together, she sets herself up to get murdered by fighting a stupid number of duels in a row. The rest of Red Squardon steps in though, and as an added bonus, the New Republic medics give her a medication for her chronic vertigo to allow Cheriss to become a pilot. This series literally is not here for anyone who isn't a New Republic pilot, so I don't love Cheriss's arc, but honestly it could have been a lot worse, so I'm not complaining too hard.

The draw for this book though, is unquestionably the character work in our four protagonist pilots. The plot of the novel is pretty simple, all things considered, so Allston takes the opportunity to really dig into character for our boys, and getting to follow them on a somewhat nontraditional mission and using their skills as best they can is just FUN. As a friend says, this book is delicious candy fluff, and the characters are the candies.

Even when the mission goes directly to hell and Red Squadron has to run the gauntlet for their lives, the choices and twists and turns are largely character-driven. That makes what could have been a run-of-the-mill climactic escape into a really tense, well-constructed series of choices and consequences that are just FUN because of the characters who have been dropped into the situation.

There's objectively not too much substance to this book, but it ties Wraith Squadron as my favorite X-Wing book because of the character work and focus on the top four New Republic pilots. Plus, it's a little adorable that this is where Wedge and Iella really get together, and I am HERE for legends continuity legacy families.

#star wars #star wars books #star wars eu books #starfighters of adumar #wedge antilles #wes janson #tycho celchu #hobbie klivian #x wing #x wing fighter #x wing pilot #sci fi #science fiction

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masterjedilenawrites · 7 months

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Broken Wings - Part Two

What's this? A second chapter one year after the first? More fic writing from me in the same week? Idk guys, I'm just riding the motivation wave as far as it'll take me...

Thrawn x pilot!reader | 2.5k words

Content warnings: Cursing, only a little Thrawn/reader interaction (slow burn anyone?), also I gave the reader tattoos for funsies

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Hangar 12 was massive. Not even the largest rebel hideout could equal this space you found yourself in. TIE fighters hung from their docks in the ceiling while larger transport ships were lined neatly along the slick floors. And there was still plenty of room to spare. Room to reconfigure the ships in a thousand different formations and never run the risk of them crashing into each other.

Thus, the set up of a little podium and rows of chairs in the middle of the hangar was comical. It looked like furniture for a dollhouse. The pilots milling around the chairs seemed tiny, too, the details of their faces and flight suits barely remarkable when compared to the expanse of metal and space surrounding them.

You stood by one of the entrances to the hangar, having just emerged from a hallway into the location you were instructed to be in this fine morning. Well, a biological morning, anyway. Here there were no suns, no atmospheric skies with clouds or stars, no indications of whether you should be awake or at rest. Here, time did not exist. The viewport at the end of the hangar boasted of a vast outer space, likely deep within the Empire's control, far from the places you were used to. And yet, it still stirred that itch within you, the desire to go into it. To explore. To fly.

"Oh good, you've made it."

A flash of blue and white appeared in your periphery. You quickly closed your eyes, as if by not seeing him, he couldn't see you in return. You'd been dreading this moment, but your damned curiosity compelled you to show up anyway.

"I will introduce you to your squadron," Thrawn spoke to you anyway, not commenting on your lame attempt to hide from the situation. "They are among the Empire's best pilots, though still not close to your level of expertise. For now you will set the standards for their training, help them understand what is required. But I expect to see intensive training within the cockpit soon."

There was a pause before he spoke again, one simple, inquiring word. "Captain?"

You opened your eyes. Everything from before was still there: the ships, the tiny pilots, the viewport into darkness. But now added to the view was the imposing form of the Grand Admiral, looking down at you with those piercing red eyes, waiting for you to agree to being on board.

"I didn't realize titles transferred across war lines," you said in response.

Thrawn did not seem phased by the venom you put behind your words. Or perhaps you hadn't put in enough for him detect. You weren't exactly in pique form at the moment, your body still feeling like it'd been wrung through a trash compactor a few times. The rest and rehab you'd received the day before was far from rejuvenating your fighting spirit.

"The goal is to have you become Flight Commander for the squadron. But we'll retain your title of Captain for now, until you prove yourself. Even if it creates more paperwork for my staff."

He nodded slightly behind you and you turned to find a few officers standing nearby.

"This is Officer Amara Tilde, the fleet's logistics liaison. And Sergeant Lou Mam, from the Chimaera's tactical division. They'll be overseeing the training and provide assistance where needed."

While you were arguing against the small voice in your head that sounded strangely like your mother's, telling you to be polite and smile or nod at the two in acknowledgement, Thrawn continued.

"But for all intents and purposes, the squadron will report to you. As their leader."

"Like it or not," you heard Sergeant Mam mutter under his breath.

If Thrawn also heard, he ignored it, instead turning to indicate he was ready to proceed with this grand plan of his. "If you are ready, Captain, we'll begin."

"And if I'm not ready?" you couldn't help but ask.

One corner of Thrawn's mouth twitched upward. "Then you'll have roughly a hundred meters to gear yourself up, Captain."

And with that, he set off, striding confidently into that dark and massive hangar, his staff members falling in to flank him on either side. You found your feet guiding you to follow along, making you ponder with each step what you were doing here and how you could possibly get free.

"At attention!" called out Sergeant Mam as they approached the group of pilots.

There was a rustle of boots, with a small squeak or two, as the pilots hurried into proper standing positions in front of their chairs. Thrawn and his two officers strode past them toward the podium, but you chose to hang back just behind, out of view. For one, you were still in denial and any little thing you could do to delay the inevitable, be it closing your eyes or pausing in your steps, you would shamelessly do. But for another, that short trek from the door to the middle of the hangar already had you beat. Your body had not fully healed from your crash just a few days ago, and what little rehab you'd done so far to gain mobility back did not prepare you even for a walk. Your body felt flushed, heated, and you were pathetically out of breath.

"At ease," the Sergeant stated as he took his place behind the podium. Thrawn and the other officer stood off to the side, the former giving you a questioning look that you didn't know how to answer from this distance.

The pilots relaxed into their chairs at the command.

"As you all know, you have been selected as the top graduates from the Academy to serve in this special training unit aboard the ISD Chimaera...."

As the Sergeant spoke, you couldn't help but unzip the top of your flight suit and shake at the fabric a bit, trying to get a breeze onto your sweating skin.

"Training?" one of the pilots interrupted, apparently interpreting the at ease command a little too loosely. "We were told Special Forces Unit."

"Indeed, you will become a force to be reckoned with. But first we must train you to get there."

There were grumbles and whispers but you weren't focusing too much on the scene. You still felt too hot. Confined. Trapped. Screw it, you thought, and pulled the zipper all the way down and shimmied out of the sleeves. The top of your suit now hung at your waist, leaving your top half in only a black tank top. Your tattoos would be showing now, as well as the many bruises and barely-scarred wounds you'd recently sustained. Even amongst the rebel forces you'd be considered indecent. But at least you now felt just a little freer.

"With all due respect, sir," another pilot spoke up, "we already received our training, at the Academy."

"Yeah," a third chimed in. "We're enlisted soldiers now. Not cadets."

"And not only that, we're the best," said another. "You said it yourself. Top of our class. What else could we possibly have to learn?"

You couldn't see their faces but you could hear their smirks. Oh, these were cocky SOBs. Something stirred in you at their behavior, very similar to the feeling you got whenever you looked up at the sky or out the viewport into space. In fact, one could argue the two feelings often went hand-in-hand. You had an insatiable desire to fly, yes, but also to prove others wrong. These smug pilots, fresh from the Academy, with their clean suits and fresh haircuts, thought they were on top of the world. But they didn't know what it was like to be in an active war zone. To feel pressure in the cockpit. To be faced with impossible decisions. They had a lot left to learn.

Thrawn chose this moment to step forward, and the murmuring of the crowd quieted down.

"The Academy has prepared you well enough," Thrawn addressed them with that quiet confidence you'd already grown used to. "But we can no longer afford to settle for only enough. The Rebels are growing in their strength and number, and most importantly, in their skill. Do you know who the best fighter pilot is at the moment?"

There was a silence as the pilots looked around to each other. One happened to catch you from the corner of his eye. He frowned in confusion at your presence before turning back around.

"A Captain in the Rebel forces," Thrawn answered his own question, following it up with your name. There was murmuring as some seemed to recognize the name. You weren't sure if you should feel flattered that your reputation preceded you.

"Can any of you confidently say you are better than her?" Thrawn threw out another question but this time didn't wait for a potential response. "No. You are not the best. But, you can be trained by the best. And then there may be hope for the Empire yet."

The pilot who'd noticed you before swung back around to look at you, starting to piece two and two together. You figured this was about as good a time as any to finally push yourself forward.

The whispers returned as you came into view, shuffling amongst seats to get a better look at your disheveled appearance. Or perhaps just your presence in and of itself. They were in as much disbelief as you were over the situation.

One pilot was a little slower than the others and called out, "Who the hell is this?"

Thrawn cooly responded, "The best," before stepping back to give you room.

You took in a deep breath, mostly to get your panting under control, and a little to calm the nerves. You were surrounded by enemies, you reminded yourself. These pilots meant nothing to you. You had nothing to prove to them.

And yet, the itching inside continued.

"Is this a joke?" You recognized the voice as the first pilot who had spoken up. He was a handsome guy, round face and clear skin. His smirk was as mischievous as you'd pictured it earlier.

"I wish it were," you said, hating how your voice betrayed your physical exhaustion.

The pilot didn't seem to know how to respond to that, so the one sitting next to him spoke up instead.

"So you're telling me this Rebel twat knows more about flying than we do?" She seemed to be questioning one of the officers or Thrawn himself, but her eyes were fixed on you.

"There's no need to be vulgar, Heva," the one who'd noticed you earlier spoke up, albeit in a soft tone. "She is the best..."

"For a Rebel," Heva scoffed, settling back in her seat with arms crossed. "Which isn't saying much, now, is it?"

You desperately wanted to scratch the itch, to put these MF-ers in their place, but you'd need to pace yourself. Battles weren't won in a day, as you unfortunately knew firsthand.

"Test me," you said, straightening up a little.

This earned you a mix of snorts and incredulous smirks.

"Alright," Heva sniffed. "How do you reprogram a misaligned targeting system mid-flight? Smoke is coming from the underside of a TIE starfighter cockpit, what has been damaged? Do you use concussion missiles or proton torpedoes against a particle shield?"

You noted her questions were specific to Imperial tech, things you would likely not know about. But even if you did, they were hardly the most important things to be quizzed on, so you didn't feel particularly demeaned like she probably hoped.

You hummed. "I confess, I don't know."

Heva wore a self-satisfied grin while a few snickered around her.

"Now let me ask you something," you continued, not letting them enjoy their petty victory for long. "You're flanked between two enemy crafts and no wiggle room on either side. Ahead is a building, or some other obstacle, where impact would be fatal. What do you do?"

Some of the pilots seemed to be considering the question while others, like Heva and the pretty boy next to her, were more reluctant to play along.

"How far away?" asked the soft-spoken one.

You looked out across the hangar. "Let's say... from here to the viewport. A hundred meters?"

"Wait them out" said the pretty pilot, and it was then you noticed he had some chewing gum in his mouth, further accentuating his blasé attitude. "The enemy craft won't risk a collision either. As soon as they peel off, you follow."

"They're Rebels," you pointed out. "Some of the crazier ones. Flyers who know how to bank last minute and won't let you breathe for an inch. You can wait to bank with them, but if you're even a hair's length out of sync, you'll collide."

"Pull up sooner," someone shouted out.

"Collision," you asserted. "They're flanking, not mirroring. You won't fall far enough back before they do, too."

"Alright then, Best Pilot in the Galaxy," sneered Heva. "What do you do? Or are you trying to use a trick question to make yourself sound smarter?"

You took in a measured breath to maintain your composure. "You drop. Kill the engine, drop a few meters, fire it back up in time to bank."

There were even more scoffs and snorts than before.

"That's not... you can't..." the soft-spoken pilot's face was screwed up in deep thought, trying to make sense of your outlandish idea. "I mean, the physics of it alone... How could you even calculate the timing of it?"

"A situation like that, there's no calculating," you agreed. "There's no recalling a classroom lesson or reciting a manual. There's only feeling."

You hadn't exactly held their respect before, but now you'd really lost them. You were preaching about feelings, to a crowd who didn't think they needed to be taught anything in the first place. The looks on their faces, the not-so-polite words they were sputtering at a not-so-subtle volume, were proof they found you ridiculous.

You risked a glance back at Thrawn, whose expression was deadpan and gave away nothing of how he perceived this whole exchange. Not that you needed his approval. But he'd staked a lot in this plan of having a captured Rebel pilot teach an Imperial squadron; you were nervous about the consequences of failing him.

Your gaze shifted from his apathetic eyes to a starship just behind him. A TIE Interceptor by the looks of it. There wasn't much you envied about the Empire, save for this one vessel. The itching intensified; you were practically chomping at the bit now that the idea popped into your mind. A way to kill two birds with one stone.

You steeled yourself with another breath and turned back to face your disgruntled audience.

"...it's just not possible," someone was saying.

"It is possible." You raised your voice to be heard over their ruckus. Whatever fatigue your body had been suffering was now muted as adrenaline began to ramp up inside you. "I've done it before."

This hushed them up a bit, though skepticism was still written across their features. You couldn't help but grin in response.

"Would you like me to do it again?"

~ ~ ~

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#star wars #grand admiral thrawn #mitt'raw'nuruodo #thrawn x reader #pilot!reader #x wing pilot #rebellion #empire #eventual romance #slow burn #soft side of the force #mini series #i know nothing about flying #except what i remember from top gun maverick #this mini series may end up growing into something longer #we'll see

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