星球大战 第十二章(7)
Red Leader hunted around, notice the temporary absence of Imperial fighters.He adjusted a control and addressed his squadron.
"This is it, boys. Remember, when you think you’re close, go in closer before you drop that rock. Switch all power to front deflector screens—never mind what they throw at your from the side. We can’t worry about that now." Imperial crews lining the trench rudely awoke to the fact that their heretofore ignored section of the station was coming under attack. They reacted speedily, and soon energy bolts were racing at the attacking ships in a steadily increasing volume.
Occasionally on would explode near one of the onrushing Y-wings, jostling it without real damage.
"A little aggressive, aren’t they," Red Two reported over his mike.
Red Leader reacted quietly. "How many guns do you think, Red Five.?" Red Five, known casually to most of the rebel pilots as Pops, somehow managed to make an estimate of the trench’s defenses while simultaneously piloting his fighter through the growing hail of fire. His helmet was battered almost to the point of uselessness from the effects of more battles than anyone had a right to survive.
"I’d say about twenty emplacements," he finally decided, "some in the surface and some on the towers." Red Leader acknowledged the information with a grunt as he pulled his computer-targeting visor down in front of his face. Explosions continued to rock the fighter. "Switch to targeting computers," he declared.
"Red Two," came one reply, "computer locked in and I’m getting a signal." The young pilot’s rising excitement marked his reply.
But the senior pilot among all the rebels, Red Five, was expectantly cool and confident—though it didn’t sound like it from what he murmured half to himself: "No doubt about it, this is going to be some trick." Unexpectedly, all defensive fire from the surrounding emplacements ceased.
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