Wings of Steele 3: Revenge and Retribution

by Jeffrey Burger

  “Your sentiments are appreciated, Mr. Ryan. Now they...” Steele caught himself, “we, must look to the future.”

  Anthony Ryan nodded solemnly, “Sometimes I forget, not only are you an Admiral, you are a King...”

  “Mmm,” nodded Steele, “I have to remind myself sometimes. Not something I am totally comfortable with yet.”

  “The Admiral or the King part?” mused the Captain.

  “Take your pick...”

  ■ ■ ■

  This was something new for Mike Warren, he had never seen this many civilian ships in a system at one time, his scope dotted with idents of all sizes. He keyed his mic on an open broadcast, “Unidentified freighter, one-five-seven-three-three-six, why aren't you broadcasting an ident? Identify yourself, please.”

  It took a moment before the response crackled in, a distinctly female voice, “Who the hellion is asking?”

  “UFW Conquest, Black Flight Leader, Lieutenant Commander Warren. Now please activate your ident beacon...”

  “Oh...” crackled the stunned reply. “Sorry, Commander... Our communications mast was damaged salvaging some mining equipment. Our ident beacon is not functioning; we're operating on a secondary array... We're with Omni Salvage and Transport.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “The only place with the parts and an interior bay where we can make the mast repairs; Rikovik's Reef...”

  ■ ■ ■

  As Captain Ryan explained it, the Imperator of Rega was like the President of the planet. Immediately, with the Imperator's flamboyant mannerisms, wild hair and garish clothing, Steele got the impression he was meeting a circus barker. It was almost uncomfortable to watch.

  “Greetings, Captain! Ooh, I see Admiral Pottsdorn is no longer with you... Whom do we have here?”

  “Imperator, this is Admiral Steele...”

  “Welcome, Admiral Steele!” exclaimed the man on screen, his arms spread wide. “Welcome to Ossomon and welcome to Rega! We hope you get a chance to stop at Rega Pinnacle Station, we're sure you will enjoy yourselves.”

  “Thank you, Imperator...”

  “Oh, you are quite welcome, of course. Will you be staying with us long?”

  And there it is... nervous concern. He wants me to say no, we're just passing through... “Maybe a couple of days, Imperator.” Steele caught the Captain's shocked sideways glance out of the corner of his eye, but he was more interested in the Imperator's reaction. It was subtle but it was there. He did not want them there. Or maybe someone else didn't want them there. In either case he was worried. Truthfully, a UFW Task Force sitting in a system with mixed company might make a lot of people nervous. Screw it, let them be nervous.

  “Well,” smiled the Imperator, nervously rambling on, “you are of course welcome to stay as long as you want... If there anything you require, please do not hesitate to ask. Maybe we can get together...”

  ■ ■ ■

  With the communication concluded, Steele and Ryan walked toward the holographic chart table near the rear of the bridge.

  The Captain glanced in his mug, “Well that was... interesting...”

  “That was disturbing...”

  “Probably a better word...” nodded Ryan. “I've never seen that behavior from him before.”

  Leaning with his back against the chart table, his arms casually folded across his chest, Steele cocked his head to one side, “Mr. Ryan, that was probably the longest five minutes I've ever had the displeasure of enduring...”

  The Captain sipped the remnants of his coffee, “He was nervous, very nervous. Almost frenetic. He's always been a bit... effervescent... ”

  The word struck him as funny and Steele laughed out loud. “The guy reminded me of a Muppet...”

  “Muppet?”

  Steele nodded, “A special type of puppet. They're famous back home.”

  Ryan raised one eyebrow, his expression dubious, “Famous puppets?”

  Steele stroked his mustache in thought, “Yeah, I'm not sure I can explain it, but they're pretty funny.”

  “Hmm.” The Captain looked unconvinced, motioning toward the screen with his empty mug, “So what do you want to do about our friend here?”

  Steele was silent for a moment, formulating his thoughts. “Nothing.” He turned around and pulled up the system map on the holo-chart; planets, moons, stations, sun and gates floating above the table. “What's your SOP in this system?”

  Anthony Ryan set his mug on the console and called up the navigational history, the holographic image of their last visit displayed on the chart, colored lines snaking around the system, illustrating all ship movements and patrols. “This is pretty typical. The blue lines show the patrols we had out here, here and here,” he pointed. “This blue line was our route through the system, and here is where one of our patrols engaged a pirate freighter smuggling contraband.”

  “First thing I'm noticing,” began Steele, rotating the chart image around, examining it closely, “is there was a lot more ship traffic in this system on your last visit than we're seeing now...”

  “Yes, sir. Considerably different...”

  “What do you make of that?”

  Captain Ryan pursed his lips in contemplation, “I honestly don't know, Admiral. I've been through this system about a dozen times, this is probably the quietest I've ever seen it.”

  “Could someone have tipped off the locals we were coming?”

  “Anything's possible, sir. The transporter that Black Flight encountered was deadheading to Rikovik's Reef for repairs on a comm mast they claim they damaged while salvaging mining equipment. The closest mining operation would be the one back in the Gedhepp System...”

  “The fifth planet... Or what was left of it,” said Jack, correcting himself.

  “Exactly. They came here to deposit their load and will likely head back to Gedhepp after their repairs.”

  “So we may not have been alone in that planetary debris field.” Steele rubbed his chin contemplating their next move. He couldn't see anything happening at this juncture. It was a cat and mouse game; the task force was the cat and they had come late to the party. The mice had already scored their prize and successfully made away with it. Whether they had cleared the system or gone to ground to hide didn't matter, they had the time to wait the cat out. The Imperator, aka; the Big Cheese was nervous because a bunch of hidden mice could do a lot of damage if they got bored or resentful if their host wasn't graciously keeping them occupied. Whether he was a willing participant or simply tolerant of their presence was the question of the day. Steele suspected it was symbiotic relationship, a trade off of good and bad; their presence was bad, their money and trade products were good. It seemed clear the only result of remaining in the system would be to exacerbate the problem for the Imperator.

  “Run the standard operations, Mr. Ryan. Let's head the task force to the nearest gate that puts us back on course for the Terran System. We've lost the element of surprise, we're not going to gain anything by hanging around or searching. We'll be back through here; maybe we'll have better luck next time.”

  “Aye, Admiral.” The Captain left the chart table and headed for his command chair, holding up his empty mug, “Somebody bring me some coffee, please..?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  FREERANGER – DD217, OSSOMON SYSTEM : MOUSE CHASE CAT

  “Rega Pinnacle Control; FreeRanger DD217, you are number three in line for docking, the carousel is currently full. Please maintain your traffic pattern.”

  Commander T. B. Yafusco paced the middle of the bridge in-between the stations, “Rega Pinnacle Control, we need supplies and we need to make this quick, we're in the middle of a military mission.”

  “We sympathize with you 217, but we're a whole day behind in operations. I've bumped you up in priority three spots, I'm sorry we can't do any better than that, but...”

  Commander Yafusco turned to his communications officer, making a slashing motion across his throat and she abru
ptly cut the comm connection. The square with Rega Pinnacle Station's traffic officer winked out, replaced by the view of a very busy space station and a line of ships snaking around the planet of Rega.

  “Find us a comm to the Imperator.” He strolled back to his command chair and unceremoniously dropped into it, barely containing his ire. There wasn't a single FreeRanger ship in the waiting roster, they were all commercial ships. The Imperator was forgetting his place, neglecting the debt he owed to the FreeRanger Council. Military ships were supposed to come first. But then again that ridiculous buffoon had never served, he was a greedy politician, a charlatan.

  “Comm up...”

  “On Screen,” barked Tibby, sliding out of his chair, standing in the center of the bridge, hands on his hips.

  The Imperator of Rega sat behind his desk, hands folded calmly, looking fairly presidential despite his brightly colored clothes and wild hair. “Hello, Commander, how can I be of service to our FreeRanger friends?”

  “Get me a spot on Pinnacle's docking carousel. Now.”

  “I'm sorry my dear boy, that is quite impossible, we...”

  “BOY!?” erupted Yafusco, closing in on the big screen, “You'd better check yourself, you pompous windbag!”

  “My apologies,” waved the Imperator, attempting to placate the angry Commander. “We have a considerable backlog, as you can see. It is true they have placed you as number three in line, but we will have three docking spots opening nearly simultaneously. So you see, moving you up in the roster would do little to speed things up for you. We are doing our best, I can assure you.”

  “We are...”

  “In a hurry, I understand completely,” nodded the Imperator, interrupting. “If you would care to send your supplies list to the tower, we can help expedite things by organizing your order and having it ready to load when you get to the dock. That should save you quite a bit of time.” He smiled, anticipating a positive response. Getting nothing but an icy stare, he waved an electronic stylus at the screen, “I heard you're on a mission. Might I inquire...”

  “No you may not.”

  If nothing else, the Imperator was persistent. “It wouldn't have anything to do with the UFW group that passed though here, would it?” He watched Yafusco's expression change. “Might I say, Commander, you are a bit, um, unprepared to meet them?”

  Yafusco didn't respond to the comment, remaining stone faced. “Tell me about the group, what kind of ships were they?”

  “There were three ships; a carrier, a battleship and a frigate - not a type I'd ever seen before. And fighters, lots of fighters.”

  “What type of carrier?”

  “An Oijin Class. And the battleship was a Chimera Class,” he added with a knowing nod.

  Yafusco paced, his head down, thinking. An Oijin Class was a heavy carrier, there wasn't anything bigger that he could think of. It was an older design; many of the newer types were smaller, lighter, faster... but with the fighter payload she carried, an Oijin could own a system. And with a Chimera Battleship, she didn't need to be fast. There weren't many around but the Chimera firepower was legendary. Could these be the ones from Velora Prime that came to the defense of the Freedom? It made sense. Commander Boxxe had said there were nearly a hundred fresh fighters coming into the fight; that certainly described the capabilities of an Oijin Carrier. What about the frigate? Could it be the same one Boxxe's DD158 was attacked by? Tibby had never heard of a Halceón until Boxxe mentioned it and the one in this UFW group remained unidentified by Rega Pinnacle Station. Coincidence? That was too many coincidences for Tibby's taste.

  “What else do you remember?” probed the Commander.

  The Imperator steepled his fingers, resting his chin there for a moment, “Well, the carrier and battleship have been through here several times before, but the little frigate is a new addition... Hmm... Oh yes, and the group has a new Admiral, I guess the old one retired or something.”

  Tibby stopped in his tracks, “New Admiral..? Name, name! What's his name?”

  “Steele. Why, do you know him?”

  “No. We've never met... but I've heard the name...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Grinah strolled into the galley and slid into the booth next to Tibby, staring at his plate as he ate. “Slow down or you're going to make yourself sick.”

  He paused between fork-fulls, “I wanted to finish before they were done with our cargo...”

  “Too late,” she smiled, “the boys are securing the hull now. We'll be ready to go in just a few...”

  “Commander Yafusco to the bridge, Commander to the bridge.”

  Grinah giggled lightly, glancing up at the comm speaker, “And there it is.” She stayed Tibby's fork hand, “Slow down. Eat your meal, mister. Lieutenant Zarney is fully capable of clearing us from the station.”

  Tibby stared into her eyes for a moment before setting his fork on the plate and keying his mic, “Take us out, Dash. Best speed once we're clear.”

  “Aye, sir,” came the response in his earpiece. “Also wanted to update you, the DD62 has arrived in system; she's been directed to follow our lead.”

  “Excellent, that's Kindre Thurmer's ship; she's a good skipper. Have them fall into formation, I'll be up after dinner.”

  “Aye, Skipper. Take your time.”

  Grinah tilted her head, “Who's Kindre Thurmer?”

  Tibbe resumed eating at a more leisurely pace, “The DD62 is in system; they're joining up with us. I know Kindre from my Academy class, she's a good skipper. One of only a handful of women going through command class at the time.”

  “An old flame?”

  “By the Gods, no.” he laughed.

  “So she's hideous then?”

  Tibby had the distinct feeling she was toying with him. Like a cat toys with a mouse. “No, just way out of my league.”

  “You underestimate yourself,” she said wryly, her eyes boring into his.

  “No... you've never seen her...”

  “So she's beautiful then?”

  Yafusco could see where this was leading, and he had no exit strategy. “I really don't want to have this conversation, Grinah...”

  “Is she more beautiful than me?”

  Dammit. “No one is more beautiful than you...” It was the only logical answer he could think of.

  Grinah leaned back against her seat, “Good answer,” she teased. “You do know I'm not the insecure type, don't you?” She touched his hand, “Stop sweating, dear, I'm just playing with you.”

  ■ ■ ■

  The conference comm in the Captain's ready room between the two destroyer commanders, lasted about fifteen minutes. Enough for a thorough situation report, with plenty of time left over for some friendly chatting and reminiscing. And more than enough time for Grinah to become uncomfortable. It was obvious Tibby approached Kindre Thurmer with a friendly professionalism, there was nothing that hinted at anything more. But there was something about that woman that told Grinah she would take more if she thought she could get it. She looked like a maneater, dangerously beautiful.

  Grinah was still staring at the blank screen when Yafusco turned around, “You OK?”

  She blinked away the image burned into her eyes of the striking platinum blond with the short hair. “Uh, I'm OK,” she blinked, her eyes shifting to Tibby, “Alright, I might be a little insecure...”

  He sat next to her, “She's not my type... You're my type.”

  “Pssch,” snorted Grinah, “She's not my type either, I don't go that way. But by the Gods, I'd make the exception. Just so I could stare at her...”

  “That's the problem,” explained Tibby, “she's too attractive...”

  “Sure, because too attractive is the new ugly,” countered Grinah sarcastically.

  Tibby burst into a belly laugh. “I don't know how to explain it,” he said, taking her hand. “It's like she's so beautiful, it's distracting. She's so beautiful, looking at her makes my head hurt...”

  “Stop say
ing so beautiful, you're going to give me a complex.”

  “OK. How about this, last one; she's so beautiful it scares me. You're so beautiful I fell in love with you.”

  Grinah laughed a short, unladylike snort, covering her mouth in embarrassment, “I can live with that one.”

  “Y'know, I could probably get you together with her,” he teased, “I heard she likes women too...”

  She shot him a sideways glance, “So you could watch? You'd like that wouldn't you...”

  He shrugged, grinning, “Not my thing, just trying to keep my girl happy...”

  “You are so full of it,” she shot back playfully. “That's every man's thing...”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  UFW CONQUEST, RANGILEUR SYSTEM : THE REAPER COMETH

  “Lt. Commander, Mike Warren, and Flight Cadet, Lisa Steele; report to the Admiral's office...”

  Sitting in the crowded galley cafeteria, Lisa Steele glanced up from her breakfast and

  the e-Pad she had been studying. She looked around, “Did they just call me?”

  Commander Dar Sloane sat down across from her, setting his loaded tray on the table, “Yep, that's you, Cookie. What did you do?”

  “Lt. Commander, Mike Warren, and Flight Cadet, Lisa Steele; report to the Admiral's office, on the double!”

  Lt. Commander Mike Warren stood up on the other side of the room, slugging down his juice. “Let's go, Steele!” he shouted, leaving his tray on the table. Lisa jumped up and with one last inquisitive look at Sloane, began making her way toward the exit.

  “Good luck, Cookie!” Dar called over his shoulder.