Wings of Steele 3: Revenge and Retribution

by Jeffrey Burger

  “Doesn't make sense though,” said Tibby, shaking his head. “There's nothing in Elyse Core. The Terran System beyond that is populated but they aren't spacers yet, and you have to go two more systems from either one of those to find...”

  “You said yourself they've been unpredictable,” interrupted Grinah, “isn't this unpredictable?”

  Yafusco stared at the chart and scratched his head, “So now we're trying to predict unpredictability..?”

  “You have a better idea? Because sitting here isn't doing anything for us.” She pointed her finger at him, “You know I'm right.”

  He slipped his arm around Grinah's waist and pulled her close, kissing her forehead. “Yes, dear,” he smiled. “Dash, make for Elyse Core as soon as the Commander gets back to the DD62.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Kindre, it was good to see you again... you're welcome to tag along, but I understand if you decide to turn back...”

  Commander Kindre Thurmer shook his hand and gave him a quick hug, keeping in mind Grinah was watching closely. “The 62 will be right beside the 217. We're in it for the adventure.”

  “And the mission stipend...” teased Yafusco.

  Kindre smiled, “The stipend doesn't hurt.” She turned to Grinah and shook her hand. “Good to meet you. Take care of each other... Let's go Mr. LeStarn.”

  “Yes Ma'am...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Lieutenant Dash Zarnev poured himself a cup of coffee, to accompany his late night snack.

  “You still awake?”

  Dash glanced up, “Skipper,” he acknowledged. “Can't sleep.”

  “You have Kindre on the brain..?”

  The Lieutenant nodded uncomfortably, “Yeah, how did you know?”

  Yafusco grinned, “I've seen it before. In the academy we used to call it Thurmer fever.”

  “I don't think I've ever seen a woman that beautiful... can't seem to get her out of my head.”

  “Shake it off, Mr. Zarnev. She'll chew you up and spit you out. And you won't even enjoy it...”

  Dash cocked a curious eyebrow, “Is that the voice of experience?”

  Tibby poured himself a cup of coffee, “Not personally. But I've seen the aftermath. The wreckage isn't pretty.”

  Dash laughed, “Guess I don't need that.”

  “No. No you don't.”

  “So where are we headed?”

  Tibby blew the steam off the coffee in his mug, “I've been thinking about your station...”

  “The one around the fourth planet?”

  “Yes. We're going to do a close pass on our way to Elyse Core, see if it's occupied.”

  “You want to ask if they've seen anything...” pointed Dash.

  “It had occurred to me...”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  UFW CONQUEST, ELYSE CORE SYSTEM : THE HOME STRETCH

  Admiral Jack Steele pulled the canopy release as his Lancia coasted across the deck, angling towards a rearmament stall. The canopy seal popped like a cold beer, lifting up with hydraulic arms, the warm smells of the flight deck mixing with the cold wash of the fighter's air system. He slid his visor up as he systematically went through his shutdown procedures, miniature holo-screens automatically folding in and tucking away. The Lancia settled to the deck softly and the twin engines whined down as he began to unbuckle himself.

  “Getting in some flight hours I see...” said the Crew Chief as he climbed the boarding ladder, his head appearing over the left side of the cockpit. “How was your flight Admiral?” He busied himself with removing the pilot's connections and harness, re-pinning the safety on the ejection seat.

  “Good, Chief. Thanks for asking.” Free of his connections and belts, Steele handed his helmet to the Chief before standing in the cockpit to climb over the side.

  Dropping to the deck below, the Chief waved at the tower with his free hand, returning the Admiral's helmet as he stepped off the ladder. “Hold on sir...” he pulled his e-Pad out of his cargo pocket, the screen instantly waking up. “Tower wants you to see this,” he said, paging to the report. “Near perfect gunnery score, ninety-nine percent...” he smiled, “looks like you ain't too rusty just yet.”

  Jack reviewed his gunnery stats with a smirk, “Good to know...” He tapped on the screen, “Though I gotta work on my time a bit...” He handed it back to the Chief's waiting hand.

  “Better than Miss Kitty,” he whispered nodding in the direction of the Ketarian Lieutenant climbing down from her Lancia in the next stall.

  “How'd she do?” asked Jack leaning in to get a look at Nera Margareth's score.

  The Chief tilted the screen for him to see, “Ninety-four percent...”

  “That's nothing to sneeze at, Chief...” The man shot him a questioning look and Jack realized it didn't translate well. “That's nothing to be ashamed of...”

  The Chief nodded his understanding, paging through a few more reports. “Thought you'd like to see this one too... Miss Lisa did really well for a young'un. Ninety percent.”

  Jack edged in to see the screen, “What was she flying?”

  “Says here, the Reaper, that new two-seater for the Revenge... No one in the back seat though, she was alone.” He tapped on the screen, “They had her flying flight lead. Green Flight.” He slid the e-Pad back into his pocket, “That's impressive that they put her in as a flight leader...”

  Steele wedged his helmet under his arm as he tugged on his gloves while they walked. “Agreed. Personally I would have waited a bit, but Captain Smiley and Commander Warren know what they're doing...” He wondered who was in her flight and how they did overall. He headed for debriefing.

  ■ ■ ■

  Still in flight gear, Steele grabbed an empty seat next to Nera Margareth. “Lieutenant...”

  “Admiral,” she acknowledged, her eyes reflecting surprise. “Didn't expect you to be here...”

  “Why not? It's flight debriefing, isn't it?”

  “Well yes, but...”

  “Have they read any of the scores yet?”

  Nera looked at him with glass-like green eyes. “No, the Commander hasn't started the meeting yet.”

  Steele smiled at her warmly, disarming her visible discomfort. “So how did you like being our flight leader?”

  She looked him up and down, “Can I be honest, sir? Off the record?”

  “Sure. Off the record.”

  “I don't like flying with you. Sir. You make me nervous.”

  “Why is that? Do you think maybe I'm rusty? Can't cover your wing?”

  Nera's ear twitched nervously. “No, sir. I felt like you were watching everything I was doing. Looking over my shoulder.”

  Steele chuckled, “As your wingman that was kinda my job.”

  “Maybe,” she admitted. “But I felt like you were grading everything I was doing.”

  “That's not my job,” he nodded toward the podium, “that's their job.” He turned in his seat and casually crossed his legs at the knee, leaning closer. “I get the feeling you don't trust too many people on your wing...”

  Nera shot a quick glance in Lisa's direction two rows over, “Why, what have you heard?”

  Steele schluffed it off, “Nothing. Just my personal observations. Like your constant speed and attitude adjustments; either you were testing my competence or you're a nervous pilot. I sense a high level of confidence in you, so I have to figure it's the first option.”

  “Are you thinking of filing a report?”

  “I hardly think that's necessary, do you?” She remained unresponsive, watching his eyes. “You're a good pilot, I saw your score and...”

  “What did I get?” she interrupted.

  “Ninety-four percent...”

  “What did you get?”

  “Ninety-nine.”

  Nera's eyes narrowed, “I was sure I did better than you...”

  “Look, Lieutenant,” he began in a hushed tone, “this is not a competition. It's a way of staying sharp and gauging who's in need of
skill improvement. From what I saw tonight, there isn't anyone I wouldn't trust on my wing. Whether you're a flight leader or just a wing leader, you have enough to worry about without having to fly for your wingman too. Let your wingman do his job.” He looked around, “Is there anyone here that you wouldn't fly with? Someone whose scores you don't think were good enough?”

  Nera looked around, pausing briefly on Lisa and a couple of the newer pilots.

  Steele took the non-answer as mistrust. “Let me ask you a question, what do you think the lowest score was?”

  Her eyes shifted around the room, eying the newer pilots again, “Seventy Percent...”

  “And what would you say is an acceptable score? One that would allow you to concentrate on your job and let your wingman fly with trust?”

  “Ninety percent,” she shot back without hesitation.

  “Honestly? You can't do better than that?”

  She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “OK, eight-five percent. That's as low as I can go.”

  “I can live with that,” grinned Steele. “I've got a wager for you; for each pilot with a score under seventy-five percent, I'll buy you a steak dinner. And, you won't have to fly with anyone with a score lower than eight-five percent... ”

  “Deal...”

  “Waaait... there's a catch.”

  Nera rolled her eyes and folded her arms, “Of course there is.” I'll have to fly with your sister no matter what...

  “Since eight-five percent is acceptable, and you won't have to fly with anyone below that, no more screwing around. Do your job, let your wingman do his job.”

  She eyed him suspiciously, “What's in it for you?”

  “Peace and harmony. Everybody's happy.”

  “Deal...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Nera waited outside the briefing room, her flight helmet dangling from her hand, watching the pilots file out in clusters, chatting amongst themselves. When the Admiral appeared, his sister at his side, she intercepted them. “Admiral, Ensign,” she acknowledged. “Admiral, I feel like I owe you a steak dinner, nobody was under eighty-five percent.” She tapped Lisa on the shoulder in an uncomfortable attempt at camaraderie, “Congratulations,” she added awkwardly, “ninety percent... that's... a really good score.”

  “Thanks,” replied Lisa, a little taken aback. “Of course not as good as Torn Dado, our class star. Ninety-four percent...”

  “Why don't you come to dinner with us, Lieutenant?”

  “Thank you Admiral, but...” as inclined as Nera Margareth was to decline, she couldn't for the life of her, think of a good reason not to. “Sure, thanks. Steak?”

  “Whatever you want, Lieutenant. It's on me.” She shot him a questioning glance. “I'm buying,” he clarified.

  ■ ■ ■

  Watching the big screen intently from the back of the bridge, Steele was leaning against the holo-chart table, his arms folded, watching the Captain and the Conquest's bridge crew work like a well-oiled machine. He was happy to have been right not to replace him. Free from the madness of Admiral Pottsdorn, Anthony Ryan had quickly reverted back to the command officer he needed to be.

  On the big screen the splash of hypnotic, abstract color swirled in the center of the gate, undulating like a living, breathing, liquid kaleidoscope. Tendrils of color reached out their dancing fingers toward the approaching Conquest.

  “Entering gate corona, Captain.”

  “Maintain course and speed. Where's the Revenge?”

  “She's through, sir. Commander Carter's reporting all clear.”

  Lisa leaned close to her brother, “I don't get it, you've seen this dozens of time, why are we up here?”

  “Hold on...” He leaned around the corner to his left looking down the steps to the flight tower. “Pappy, you seeing this?”

  “Yes, Admiral...”

  Jack leaned back, whispering to his sister, “Don't you think it's beautiful?”

  “Well yeah, but they all start to look the same after a while. Don't you think?”

  “Don't be so jaded... they're all a little different. Some are more beautiful than others...” he never took his eyes off the screen. “Each one seems to be more beautiful than the last. This one seems to be the most beautiful of all.”

  She raised one eyebrow, “You feeling alright? Because you're sounding a little weird.”

  The Conquest pushed through the iris of the gate leaving the silver lining, entering a star-filled sky with a purplish-blue planet prominent as the wash of colors slid off her hull, dropping behind. Two inset comm squares appeared off to one side on the big screen, the Captain of the Westwind in one, Brian's face in the other.

  Brian saluted, “Welcome to the Terran System everyone. People from around these parts call it the Solar System. Damn it's good to be home!”

  Lisa discreetly elbowed her brother in the ribs. “Nice. Could've told me! Dick...” she whispered.

  Steele smiled an evil little grin. “Go pack. We're moving over to the Revenge. We're going to be over there for our duration here in the system. Gus, Fritz and our gear can go over in a shuttle. Who do you want as a rear seat for the Reaper?”

  “Sergeant Draza Mac. He's already on the Revenge.”

  “Good deal, we'll call Maria for a pickup when we're ready... You and I will fly the Reaper over.”

  Lisa indicated the big screen, “What planet is that?”

  “Neptune.” He pointed off to the right, “Pluto's out over that way somewhere. We have to go all the way across, Earth is on the other side of the Solar System right now.”

  ■ ■ ■

  Jack's impromptu meeting in the Admiral's ready room was attended by; Paul Smiley, Mike Warren, Derrik Brighton and Captain Ryan. “OK guys,” began Steele, I know I'm not the only one here that might have unfinished business or loose ends that need to be taken care of...”

  “Yeah, I skipped it last time,” volunteered Mike, “but I'd really like to see my folks if I could. Let them know I'm... well, not dead. They're about twenty miles outside Fort Dodge, Iowa...”

  “There's only my Mum,” offered Derrik. “She knew I was leaving with Uncle but he only told her we were traveling abroad... She's in Vauxhall London, Borough of Lambeth.”

  Steele raised an eyebrow, “That's a mouthfull...” He turned to Pappy, “Paul..?”

  “I'm good, Jack. There's nobody, really... Mom and dad are gone, just a few cousins and we were never close. Jill's the only one of any importance and I'm sure she's moved on...”

  “Wife?”

  “No, no,” waved Pappy, “best girl. We were sort of engaged...”

  “How can you be sort of engaged?” asked Steele. “You're either engaged or you're not. Kinda like being sort of pregnant...”

  “Nothing official,” waved Paul, chuckling. “No ring, just a promise... If I went back to see her I'm sure it would only disrupt the life she has now...”

  “Are you positive?”

  “I'm positive,” nodded Paul. “You know Myomerr's my girl. I wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardize that... She's the future, everything else is just the past.”

  “Alright. Then I guess you won't mind coordinating the visits for whoever needs to go?”

  “Done,” agreed Pappy.

  “Brian and Maria might be in the mix somewhere as well; I'll discuss it with them when I get over to the Revenge. I would suggest any shuttle going down get an armed escort. Or simply let them go down in fighters...”

  “Don't sweat it. I'll handle it. I'm more concerned by your visit; yours have a history of being a bit more complicated...”

  Sitting behind his desk, Steele put his feet up, casually leaning back. “I'm going to check on mom and dad real quick and then see if I can scare up a meeting with one of the Florida senators I've had some contact with.”

  “I know Admiral Higdenberger and the Madame Directorate wanted you to approach Earth about being a UFW Alliance member, but do you really think they're ready?”

>   “Only one way to find out, Pappy,” shrugged Jack.

  “Do you have a plan?” asked Mike. “You can't just walk up to the White House and knock on the front door...”

  “I'm working on it...”

  “Oh, we've heard that before,” groaned Pappy. “I didn't like it then either...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Lisa Steele adjusted the airflow to the rear cockpit as she reviewed the Reaper's sensors and turret controls. “I thought this was my bird, why do I have to sit in the back?”

  “It's your bird unless I'm flying it,” retorted Jack.

  “Funny, I don't remember seeing that provisional clause in my contract...”

  Completing his preflight, Jack flipped the anti-gravity on and the Reaper bounced a few inches off the flight deck. “Exactly the reason I don't do contracts...” he snickered, “I can make it up as I go along.”

  “You're an ass...”

  “I thought that was the very definition of a big brother...” He got the nod from the lineman on the deck and slid the two-seat fighter sideways out of its revetment. Not configured or designed for the launch racks, he would launch manually over the Conquest's fantail.

  “It's sometimes difficult to tell whether you're my brother the ass, or my commanding officer the ass, “ she quipped.

  “OK then, I'll do my best to clarify. Commanding officer; check six, tell me if we're clear and if the shuttle has launched or not...” He watched her check over her shoulder in his canopy mirror. “Brother; you're doing it wrong, use the turret camera.”

  “Mmmm,” she growled. “Six is clear, shuttle is out the door.”

  “Tower to Reaper; traffic pattern is clear, you are free to launch. Happy Trails, Admiral.”

  “Thank you tower.” Steele rotated the fighter on its own axis until it faced the stern, the static blue haze of the stasis field wavering and shimmering. He returned the lineman's sharp salute and accepted the launch wave, nudging the throttle. In a few mere seconds they passed through the wash of blue into the inky blackness of Earth's Solar System, the stars of the Milky Way a spectacular backdrop. “Gear up, AG off,” he announced. “Vector to Red Flight's patrol?”