Wings of Steele 3: Revenge and Retribution

by Jeffrey Burger

  ChekMate Solutions was one of those on the lower side of the quality scale, a private security and communications company run by a couple of former special operators who broke away from another company. They had never been in the real military and hadn't the discipline required of true leaders. A minor Department of Defense contractor, they were someone to do the dirty work for the government, giving them culpable deniability... They went rogue, hoping to get the technology for themselves...

  Yeah sure. More likely they were working on a government-paid bonus plan if they secured the package to complete the mission. A politically correct way of issuing a bounty. There are plenty of legitimate uses for defense contractors; hunting American citizens on their own soil isn't one of them.

  And some people might like to think Steele went too far when he used the information he received from the small handful of survivors to track down and illustrate that point. By destroying everything that company owned, a veritable operational military base and training center in the Arizona desert. Helicopters, trucks, Humvees, MRAPs, warehouse, hangars, office buildings, barracks, runway... all while their personnel stood out in the field in their underwear, watching a live demonstration on the topic of scorched Earth.

  Maria and Derrik contributed their spy skills and hacked ChekMate's bank account, clearing it of all funds. A news story the next morning talked about the generous anonymous donation of ten-million dollars to the Injured Warriors Foundation. There were others less famous, or perhaps less publicized, but the money all went to places that could do better things with it.

  Some talking heads in the news called it retribution, others called it a step too far, too violent, an invasion. It depended on the station and which way they leaned, left or right. As far as Steele was concerned, when someone tries to kill you or your family, you don't hold hands with them and sing kumbaya. You kill them. And you do it in such a way as to convince anyone who might think to follow in their footsteps, that treading that path would be an unwise and unhealthy choice, with permanent life altering or life ending consequences. Fine, let them sing kumbaya like a bunch of sheep, he preferred the Battle Hymn of the Republic.

  Not wanting to ignore the government's participation in this massively aggressive fiasco, Steele struggled with a course of action that wouldn't ultimately boomerang back onto the American people, either in a loss of security or a loss of tax dollars to pay for replacement of... whatever. He considered a little visit to Eagle Mountain, Utah and the NSA's Camp Williams intrusive data collection center. But mired in all the deceitful things they do there, were also things that helped prevent terrorism. Though he had to admit that margin might be pretty slim.

  The thought had come to mind about erasing the UN presence from American soil, which would probably bring joy to millions of Americans, but he expected the government would just spend more tax money to replace the building.

  With great power comes great responsibility... for the government, its agencies, its leaders, and him. Just because he could doesn't mean he should. Even though he really really wanted to.

  Steele wished the government and its agencies had as much restraint, but there was a cancer at its core, eating at it from the inside. The designed checks and balances had been eroded, lines of conduct blurred, power corrupted. He remembered discussing that very thing with Boney in his kitchen; power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. And in the case where that power is corrupted with evil from the very beginning, enemy operatives embedded in key positions, the results would be catastrophic if left unchecked. He saw the resulting magnitude of chaos on Veloria first-hand. Government and infrastructure wiped out, millions dead... he shook the images of the tattered, starved, forlorn citizens, emaciated slave-miners and advanced cities turned to rubble, out of his mind.

  With a far larger population, the loss of life would be catastrophic on Earth, the survivors subjected to the free market slavery trade. The entirety of Earth's culture, art, music, religion and history would most certainly be wiped from existence.

  The conversation with Chase Holt, Dan Murphy and a member of the Commandery about the Knights Templars and the Commandery's network was both informative and impressive. Jack had been completely unaware they were as capable and intricately prepared as they had proven to be. Their ability to move, hide and protect his parents had shown substantial resource, stunning imagination and major sacrifice. Would they have the manpower and ingenuity to provide stability and guidance to a nation, a world, needing leadership? Time would tell.

  He sure as hell hoped so...

  EPILOGUE

  TASK FORCE LANCER, UFW CONQUEST : OPERATION MAGIC PAWN

  Reflecting on it, Operation Magic Pawn was going to create one hell of a mess... And it more than irritated him, it infuriated him, when he learned the entire scope of the operation. When he learned HE was the Magic Pawn. When he learned that the operation had been planned long before he was awarded his Admiralty. That Derrik Brighton had known from the very beginning of the plan's inception. The entire thing blindsided him, and that pissed him off even more.

  Was it a necessary operation? Looking back at Veloria and seeing how bad Earth was at this moment, he'd have to agree. But this was not going to go smoothly, not by any stretch of the imagination. And he didn't want to have to be the one to execute it. But there he was, the Magic Pawn.

  It had been an exhausting two weeks of intelligence gathering, espionage, secret meetings, and even a few abductions. Some with the assistance of a few choice agencies, some without. Derrik's connection with MI6 and the British had been very helpful, as was Kyle Steele's friend, FBI Agent Phil Cooper. Knowing the FBI was ahead in the game, gave Maria leverage to convince her old boss at the CIA, Director Stephen Miles, to cooperate. With the CIA and MI6 involved, they used their combined connections to reach out to their counterparts in Australia, Israel, Germany, France and Canada to bring them to the proverbial table.

  To bring a planet and its civilization to its knees, requires destroying its key pillars of freedom to initiate the collapse. It may take years, decades, and in some cases, centuries to create a permanent fall. Primarily because the people who enjoy freedom, guard it carefully, jealously, vehemently, courageously. But time and complacency are their greatest enemies. Plainly said, previous evils are forgotten from one generation to another and the enemies of freedom are, if nothing else, patient. Patience, infiltration and slow incremental changes from within, are the key tools, because an outright attack like that of the Nazis in WWII is too obvious and meets determined resistance.

  Dressed in the guise of safety and security, people remain blind and deaf to craftily designed, silent, incremental losses even when they're occurring all around.

  Judging by all of the indicators set forth by the Galactic Intelligence and Military Intelligence Services, Earth's collapse was close at hand, far closer than many realized. With unrest, conflict and fires burning all over the world, Steele found it impossible to ignore and was baffled by the self-imposed blindness.

  ■ ■ ■

  Looking less like a grunt and more like an officer in his dress uniform, Marine Warrant Officer Dale Alaroot stuck his head into the armory, “Admiral, they're ready... We've got all the satellites locked in, waiting for our transmission.”

  “Are the new members of our task force in formation?”

  “Yes Admiral. The Archer and Westwind are on our flanks, the missile destroyer, Dark Star is running escort off our stern with the troop transport and the supply ships, the Revenge is on point.”

  Steele took a deep breath and smoothed his uniform, “Alright, Dale, let's do this...”

  “You nervous, boss?”

  “I'd be lying if I said no... I've never talked to an entire planet before...” They headed out of the armory, down the corridor toward the flight deck. “Has Lisa given them the timeline of events?”

  “History from the day your group disappeared, yes sir. Miss Lisa did a fine job too.”

&n
bsp; The flight deck was uncommonly well lit, rows of chairs overflowing with people, a wide unobstructed aisle down the center from front to back, standing room only, nearly three-hundred people in attendance including the commanding officer of each ship in the task force. Armed Space Marines in dress uniforms dotted the sides of the group, standing unobtrusively off in the shadows to prevent anyone from wandering away and getting into something restricted. Fighter craft sat in the launch racks and pilots milled about beyond the area set up for the conclave.

  Making his way to the podium set up near the bay's forward bulkhead, the logos of the Conquest and squadrons painted there, faded away as the temporary holo-screen wavered to life, obscuring the art. Oohs and ahhs washed across the crowd as the live image of Earth came to clarity, giving the perception that the wall had disappeared and you could walk right out into space. Fleet and command officers sat in rows on either side of the podium.

  “Attention! Vice Admiral on deck!” The UFW officers stood and saluted smartly, Steele returning a sharp snap. The officers returned to their seats.

  Acknowledging friends and family with a nod, Steele looked out at the throng of news crews, dignitaries and staff from different countries, ambassadors, a few congressmen and senators braving the visit, not to mention the intelligence operatives and military representatives. As much as he didn't like the idea, if this was to succeed, he was going to need the intelligence communities' cooperation and participation. The silhouette of a man in a long, hooded cloak stood in the shadows near a launch rack, looking over the shoulder of a Marine Sentry. Voorlak. In hindsight Jack thought he'd felt his presence. It made him smile inwardly, not having seen the old man in quite a while. He wondered if this is what he had meant about being special, chosen. There you are old man, I thought you'd forgotten me...

  “My prodigy? No. I've been around here and there. The queen of Veloria sends her love...”

  Steele looked out over the audience and the television cameras, “Good evening ladies and gentlemen, I am Vice Admiral, Jack Steele, welcome aboard the UFW carrier, Conquest. I thank you all for being here with us... even if a few of you needed a little more, encouragement, than others.” There was some light, polite laughter. “I'm sure you won't regret being here tonight...” He looked into the cameras, “Oh, and a quick thanks to my friend, Sargent Bobby Fortuno on the Chicago PD, he was very helpful during my recent visit there.” He looked over his shoulder at the image of the blue and green marble, the moon peeking out from behind it. “Quite beautiful, isn't she?” He looked back at the group, the cameras broadcasting live on nearly every television channel on the planet below, as well as every comm on the ships in the task force. “It could just as easily look like this...” The image morphed into a lifeless desert planet, swirling winds blowing angry red and gray clouds of dust into the thin atmosphere over its endless badlands. “Or this one...” The picture morphed again, to what the Task Force encountered in the Gedhepp System, the fifth planet merely dust and pieces floating in space. The gasps in the audience were what he'd hoped for.

  An impeccably dressed attractive blond woman with piercing blue eyes raised her hand from the third row, “Admiral, is that real or are we looking at computer generated images?”

  “And you are..?”

  “Dr. Michelle Fabry, Director of Green Bank National Radio Observatory.”

  “These are real images, Doctor, of real planets that this task force has visited en-route to Earth.” It switched back to the image of Earth. “They used to look like this...” He glanced down at the notes on his e-Pad. “Abraham Lincoln said; 'America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we lose our freedoms it will be because we destroyed ourselves.'” He looked back up “I think the same thing can be said for Earth itself. The deaths of these planets aren't a result of natural progression or natural disaster... There have been no apocalyptic volcanic occurrences, no rogue asteroids... These planets were killed. Murdered. Intentional extinction level events caused by man.”

  Steele stepped out from behind the small podium, needing to walk, his leg stiff. “Let me tell you a little story about a planet called Veloria, I'll keep this short and sweet. It's a smaller planet than we have here, beautiful, clean, a much smaller population, but advanced, spacefaring people. Immigrants from another planet. Their government was a Royal Oligarchy, but very benevolent. The government did what it could to help its people. As in any society, there were malcontents, outcasts, intentionally jobless, homeless. It is a problem that is not unique to Earth. Instead of letting things work themselves out naturally, they constantly tried to placate those who didn't contribute and produce by taking from those who did. As you can imagine, as a spacefaring society, this information goes a lot further than physical borders. And more malcontents arrived for free support. This was quite a burden on the government and the citizenry who produced.” He held his hand up in the air, “Anybody recognize this scenario yet..?” He saw many hands and satisfied with the response, dropped his.

  “But the far more insidious reason some of these people were there for; to intentionally destabilize the government and the economy. More than one person of like mind worked their way into the government and provided flawed ideas and guidance, corrupting the system. The end result was a collapse of society, the government and its infrastructure. The reason? Power and resources.” He ticked them off on his fingers; “If you control the resources, you can control the people. If you control the people, you can control the planet...”

  “So they want our resources?” asked a voice.

  Steele nodded. “Yes, Earth holds enormous wealth; water, metals, diamonds, oil, gas, food, slaves...”

  “I'm sorry Admiral,” interrupted a man with a distinctly British accent, “I just don't see that happening on Earth...”

  Steele laughed out loud, a laugh of derision. “Then you're sleeping. Wake up, it's already happening! The plan is almost seventy percent complete! And believe me when I say the last thirty percent will go very quickly.” He pointed at the man, “You have neighborhoods in London your citizens can't walk in because of the invasive immigrant population that runs the neighborhoods with Sharia law. And you let them! So don't tell me this can't happen, it IS happening. And you looking away and saying it isn't so, won't make it go away.” Steele regained his composure. “It's happening all over the World and your governments are letting it. Have you thought to ask why? Because a compliant citizenry is a live, working population. It's still useful.”

  He got closer to the British man, his voice low, foreboding, still heard by everyone in the group. “The really scary part? They're not the truly dangerous ones...”

  “Who should we be looking at then, Admiral?” asked a female reporter for a major network in the second row.

  “The ones who look like they belong, but sound like the enemies of free people...” replied Steele.

  “I'm not sure I understand, Admiral.”

  “In general; stark hypocrites in positions of power and money. People who propose something grandly beneficent, while in the same breath trying to convince you that giving up your freedoms is worth the reward; tangible or intangible, like safety and security.”

  “That's a lot of people...” said someone from the crowd.

  “Yes it is...” agreed Steele. “Commander Brighton...” called Jack.

  Derrik Brighton stood from his seat to the right of the podium, “Yes Admiral.”

  “Folks, this is Commander Derrik Brighton. He moved to London with his uncle at the age of eighteen. He served and flew with the RAF before joining MI6... He looks like you and me, anyone else you'd meet on the street, wouldn't you agree?”

  A wave of nods passed over the crowd, Steele remaining stoic, “His real name is Colonel Durock Brithauz and he is with the GIS, Galactic Intelligence Service. Some of you may remember his uncle, Professor Walter Edgars. He famously taught history and anthropology at Cambridge University. Walter Edgars also worked for the GIS. The Galactic Intelligenc
e Service is our equivalent of the CIA, MI6, etcetera.”

  “So... you're an alien, eh?” asked a man with a Canadian accent in the front row.

  “Correct,” replied Derrik. “I was not born on Earth. Though my physiology is the same as yours.” He sat back down.

  “How can your physiology be the same?” asked the Canadian.

  “Because, all of humanity across the Universe,” explained Steele, “has come from the same place, moved and transplanted over and over again, across the stars for thousands of years. You will see some differences here and there, adaptations for new environments... Like our Lieutenant Myomerr over there...” he indicated Myomerr sitting elegantly with her legs crossed at the knee, who smiled and waved, her feline fangs showing.

  “So... that's... not a costume or something...” a cameraman stuttered.

  Steele smiled crookedly, glad the broadcast was live and direct so no editing or tampering could be made. “No. And herein lies the danger. Anyone that looks like they belong here on Earth, good or bad, can blend in quickly once they learn the language. They're smarter than you, have more experience than you, and are more advanced than you. And please believe me when I say, they walk among you, and have been for a long time, in nearly all walks of life, good and bad.”

  “Can you name someone we might know?”

  Steele ticked a few on his fingers, “Einstein, Nicola Tesla, Houdini, Amelia Earhart...”

  There was a wave of muttering before it quieted down again. “Was she really lost? Amelia Earhart, I mean...”

  Steele shook his head, “No. She was rescued.”

  There was another wave of muttering before it quieted down again. “Anyone bad?”

  “Hitler, Heinrich Himmler, Joseph Stalin, Pol Pot... there are hundreds, but we're not here to talk about the dead ones...”