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Zusatztext An outcast band of rogue pilots recruited for the deadliest X-wing adventure yet! Informationen zum Autor Aaron Allston was the New York Times bestselling author of thirteen Star Wars novels as well as the Doc Sidhe novels, which combine 1930s-style hero-pulp fiction with Celtic myth. In addition to being a writer, he was a game designer, and in 2006 he was inducted into the Academy of Adventure Gaming Arts and Design Hall of Fame. Allston died in 2014. Klappentext They are the galaxy's most elite fighting force. And as the battle against the Empire rages, the X-wing fighters risk life and machine to protect the Rebel Alliance. Now they must go on a daring undercover mission--as the crew of an Imperial warship. It is Wedge Antilles' boldest creation: a covert-action unit of X-wing fighters, its pilots drawn from the dregs of other units, castoffs and rejects given one last chance. But before the new pilots can complete their training, the squadron's base is attacked by former Imperial admiral Trigit, and Wraith Squadron is forced to swing into action--taking over an Imperial warship and impersonating its crew. The mission: to gain vital intelligence about Trigit's secret weapons, to sabotage the admiral's plans, and to lure him into an Alliance trap. But the high-stakes gamble pits Wraith Squadron's ragtag renegades against the Empire's most brilliant master of guile and deception. Are they up to the challenge? If not, the penalty is instant death. (r), TM & (c) 1998 Lucasfilm Ltd. All rights reserved. Used under authorization. Leseprobe Twelve X-wing snubfighters roared down into the atmosphere. The world below, Coruscant, former throne world of the Empire, was an unbroken landscape of urban construction, a vast city reaching from pole to pole, blanketed by gray clouds shot through with white and yellow flashes of lightning. The squadron commander, piloting a black fighter with an incongruously cheerful green and gold checkerboard pattern on the bow, shook his head over the grim vista of the world below. Even after all the time he'd spent here--even after the crucial role he'd played in conquering this world for the New Republic--he still could not get used to the arrogance of Coruscant. It was a world that could only rule or perish, for it produced nothing but soldiers, officers, and bureaucrats, and could not feed its population without importing massive quantities of food from around the galaxy. He took a visual scan of his immediate surroundings. "Rogue Three, tighten up. We're putting on a show here." A green X-wing closed in tighter to the formation. "Yes, sir." Though distorted by the comm system, the voice sounded indulgent rather than military. "That's 'Yes, Wedge' until we're formally returned to duty." The commander smiled. "Or perhaps, 'Yes, Exalted One.' Or 'Yes, O envy of all Corellia.' Or--" A chorus of groans interrupted him. The voice of Nawara Ven, the squadron's Twi'lek executive officer, cut through it: "Stop complaining. He's earned his little vacation from reality." Then the voice of Tycho Celchu, Wedge's second-in-command, sharp and military: "Sensors register a squadron of fighters rising toward us. Speed is X-wing or better; sensor profiles suggest X-wings." "Maintain formation," Wedge said, then switched his comm unit over from squadron frequency to New Republic military frequency. "Rogue Squadron to approaching X-wing formation, please identify yourselves." The voice responding was brisk, amused, and familiar. "Wrong designations, sir. We're Rogue Squadron. You're simply a rogue squadron. But for the next few minutes we'll do you the courtesy of designating ourselves Red Squadron to avoid confusion. We're your escort." "Hobbie? Is that you, Lieutenant Klivan?" "That's Captain ...
