Wings of Steele: Revenge and Retribution

by Jeffrey Burger

  Professor Walt Edgars stepped out of the terminal onto the concrete apron below in the shade of the building. He paused, turned and looked up, waving at the fourth floor executive conference room, unable to see through the gold reflective glass. No matter, Jack waved back. “Goodbye Commander,” he muttered, watching him get into a waiting hovercar. He understood Walt's desire to retire and move on. The destruction of the Freedom hadn't been his fault and everyone told him as much, but he took it personally and carried it with him anyway. His heart was heavier for it. If you can't let us forgive you, then forgive yourself, Jack had told him. The Professor had been a great officer, a good friend and everyone was going to miss him.

  Jack wondered how they would get along without Walt's unique brand of wisdom and insight. He had the distinct feeling that because they no longer had the Freedom, that Walt no longer saw a need to stay. The carrier, Conquest, had a full crew, there was no place for him there. It simply wasn't so, Jack had fully intended to put him on the bridge of the cruiser that would later be added to their task force.

  But the Professor decided to stay on Veloria. He saw it's unexplored history as an unpainted canvas, a place where he could go back to being a paleontologist, chiseling away at rocks and fossils, discovering ancient history. It's what he loved. He even discussed teaching again if Veloria added a school of higher learning. Jack was sure Alité would create the school just for him if he wanted it.

  Jack was happy to see Walt's nephew, Commander Derrik Brighton, had seen fit to stay on with the Conquest... The Conquest, that was going to take a while to get used to.

  No more Freedom. She was gone now... it felt like a part of him had been ripped away, torn from his heart when they sent her into the Velorian sun... He was fairly sure there was some psychobabble, mumbo-jumbo about assigning human properties to inanimate objects or machines, but the Freedom did seem to have a personality and a soul.

  They had pulled her from the ashes, figuratively, when she was in desperate disrepair and gave her new life. She had been restored, reborn, given new purpose and been a home. He had always looked forward to returning to her... He hated being away from her when duty took him off the ship... And now they had returned her to the fire, back to molten slag, back to the base elements she was born from. It only seemed fitting; a Viking's funeral. There would remain no trace of her existence or her death – only the stories of her exploits. The pirates would forever chase a ghost, a phantom. She would haunt them... He would find a way to see to that.

  Task Force Vice Admiral... my God. Steele was having his doubts. Did he bite off more than he could chew? He wondered if he should have taken Fleet Admiral Higdenberger's offer for a new Freedom jump carrier. Maintain the status quo. It would have been a simpler life.

  Simpler, that was almost laughable. There was nothing simple about life in space, or on the Freedom. On the surface it all looked easy enough, but nothing could be farther from the truth. In comparison, the existence he left behind, his life on the beach shuttling planes around; schedules, travel, business, taxes, friends, relationships... something that had felt so complex, now seemed so mundane. So ordinary. He decided simple was a matter of perspective.

  So, by that reasoning, difficulty or complexity would be a matter of perspective as well. That was one of his core strengths, being able to see things from more than one perspective. He wished he'd had that time to reflect before answering the call to becoming a Vice Admiral... But all things happen for a reason and he had to believe this was his intended course, like it or not.

  Staring out the window at nothing in particular, he blinked away the dryness when the conference room door opened, turning to meet the guest. “Lieutenant Commander Walrick...” he smiled.

  “Admiral.” The pilot stuck out his hand and Jack took it, shaking briefly.

  “Are you all squared away?” Steele asked, motioning to chairs at the conference table.

  “Yes sir,” replied the pilot, taking a seat.

  “Y'know, we're going miss you... you're a good pilot...”

  “Thank you sir, but as a Velorian, I felt it was my duty to stay with the Queen.”

  “No need to explain, I understand completely,” waved Steele. “In fact, I feel better knowing you're here. I wish we had some other pilots for you though...”

  Walrick nodded. “I wish we hadn't lost LaNareef, he was such a good pilot...” His expression reflected some distress, “I don't think I ever apologized for that...”

  Steele lifted an eyebrow, “Why would you feel the need to apologize for that? He tried to kill me and Alité, not you. I never held his actions against you...”

  “And I thank you for that, sir. But there is something you might not know...”

  “What's that?”

  Walrick had struggled with this decision for some time and it showed in his face. “He was... my brother...”

  Steele's eyes widened with surprise.

  “I was the one who told your security officers something was wrong... I only wish I'd been able to catch it sooner. I'm not really sure what happened inside his mind. He had been such a dedicated pilot.”

  The only thing Steele could think of was radicalization. At least that's what it sounded like when LaNareef had confronted him and Alité on the beach at the Tonturin Spindle Spaceport. The pilot had expressed a fierce hatred for the then-Captain, and the perceived affront to the Velorian people for engaging in a relationship with Princess Alité and damaging her purity... That encounter was more than two years ago but the conversation was still fresh in his mind. Like it was yesterday. But retelling it would serve no purpose now. “I really don't know, Commander. He really didn't say much. I'm sorry, I wish there was something I could add, something more I could tell you... But thank you for doing the right thing, I can only imagine how difficult it must have been.”

  “Sometimes duty is difficult,” replied the pilot.

  “And command doesn't make it any easier...” added Steele. “Are you up for this?”

  The Lieutenant Commander nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you for the promotion and the chance to prove to you that I could do it.”

  Steele smirked, “Let's see if you can still say that a year from now...”

  “I guess it doesn't get any easier...”

  “You guessed right,” chuckled Jack, leaning back. “I find myself making decisions every day that I never imagined I'd be forced to make. And they seem to get tougher and tougher.”

  “Well when you put it that way...”

  “You'll do fine, Walrick,” said the Admiral, rising from his seat. “Just don't let the base commander push you around. The Major's a stickler for protocol and this is his base, but this is your squadron. And you still work for me.”

  “Understood,” said Walrick, rising, shaking hands with Jack.

  “If he gives you any problems, or you need anything... don't hesitate to let me know.”

  “Thank you, Admiral. It was an honor flying with you...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Back at the conference room's fourth-floor windows, Steele was reviewing his notes for the new Velorian squadron, or more precisely, the equipment for it. With the addition of the Freedom's fighters, the Conquest was a little overcrowded, so Jack decided to reassign twelve of her Warthogs to the ASP for a much-needed defensive squadron. Or the start of one at the very least. Now they needed pilots. There was a small handful coming in on a transport at the end of the week, new graduates from the Flight Academy on Phi Lanka that were all as green as could be. But it was a start. And Walrick had proved himself a good tutor and instructor with the new cadet graduates the Freedom had received. That young man had a hefty responsibility handed him... Steele almost felt sorry for him. Until he reflected on his own new duties. Ugh.

  The Conquest was nothing like the Freedom, she was a behemoth in comparison, and it would be Jack's turn to feel like a freshman in a new school, wandering her corridors. The difference being, it was good to be an Admiral. Absolutely no o
ne was going to give him a ration of shit for getting lost.

  The conference room door opened again, Lieutenant Commander Brian Carter came strolling casually in. “What's up, big guy?” he grinned, glancing around to make sure they were alone.

  “Hey, Bri. Listen I've been going over our roster... are you OK on the Revenge?”

  Brian froze with apprehension mid stride. “Yeah,” he replied slowly... “why?” Please don't take it away, he thought.

  “I was just wondering,” replied Steele. “Wanted to make sure you were comfortable. Make sure you wouldn't rather be in a cockpit or something...”

  “No way,” waved Brian, relieved. “The Revenge is awesome!”

  “Alright, good to hear. You'll have a full crew now... though I might rearrange a few people when we pick the Archer or Bowman back up. Not sure how much crew they'll send along with it when we get it back.”

  “Who are you going to assign as her Captain?”

  Jack turned away from the window and laid the e-Pad on the table, leaning his elbow on the back of one of the table's high-back chairs. “I don't know... I guess we'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “Maybe you should take it,” offered Brian.

  “Nah, I want to be able to fly, can't do that from a cruiser.”

  Brian frowned, “That's kinda risky ain't it? Flying I mean? For an Admiral...” He cracked a goofy smile, “Dude, you're a freaking Admiral,” he laughed.

  “What's so funny? You think because I'm an Admiral I suddenly forgot how to fly? I fucking fly better than you do!”

  “No, it's just weird... an Admiral... I never woulda' thought...” Brian's face broke into a frown, “Wait, you think you fly better than me?”

  “Uhhh, yeah.”

  “In your dreams, Jack.”

  “Who's dreams are doing what now?” asked Paul Smiley, strolling into the room. Mike Warren was right behind him.

  “Captain Smiley,” began Steele, “please remind our deluded friend here, that I am a better pilot than he is...”

  “Would if I could, Skipper,” shrugged Paul, “but I can't...”

  “You are so full of shit, Pappy,” snapped Jack.

  “They are actually pretty well matched,” volunteered Mike, trying to help.

  “We are not,” interrupted Steele. “Hell, I'm almost as good as Pappy...”

  “Oh now you are dreamin'...” countered Mike.

  The four men broke into simultaneous laughter.

  “Sounds like a party in here,” announced Maria, walking in. Members of the Freedom's command staff and pilots filed through the door, mixed with members of the Revenge crew.

  “The Skipper was just entertaining us with a few jokes,” offered Pappy.

  “Anything you can repeat in mixed company?” asked Maria.

  “Not really,” replied Steele, shooting Pappy, Mike and Brian a shut the hell up, look. “Coffee, juice and pastries are along the far wall,” he announced, pointing across the room. “Everyone find a seat, we have a lot to cover...”

  Lisa made her way through the crowd to her brother in a fresh UFW uniform, cadet pips on her collar. “Admiral,” she saluted.

  Steele returned the salute and pulled her close, “No formalities in these meetings, kiddo...” He motioned to the refreshments, “Grab us some breakfast?”

  “Sure,” she nodded, heading across the room. Jack decided it best to give her an official position as his aide, allowing her full access, removing the restrictions imposed on her as a civilian. So far she had been studying hard, learning as much as she could about the ships, fighters, shuttles, ranks and protocols.

  It was a Cadet crash-course of sorts. As she was showing a real interest in flying, he gave her free rein to use the simulators or do ride-alongs in the shuttles. Twice she rode second seat, once with Maria who handed her control for a while. Two days later and Lisa was still talking about that... He wondered if her intense focus had anything to do with the loss of Nina Redwolf, they had become quite close. Nina's body had never been recovered. Like many others who perished on the Freedom, she was probably lost when the area she was in suffered a hull breach, simply disappearing out into space.

  As people found their seats and the banter calmed down, they held a moment of silence for all the friends they had lost, Steele standing at the front of the room, leading them in a short prayer.

  As he completed the prayer, the group rose to their feet, holding up their cups and glasses, “Remember the Freedom...” they toasted.

  ■ ■ ■

  Two hours into the meeting and it became obvious that the absence of the Professor had not gone unnoticed.

  At the head of the table, Jack eyed the room. “And as you all know, Walt Edgars won't be going with us,” he announced. “He has elected to stay here on Veloria to study and take a break from command life...”

  “Will we be seeing him before we leave?” asked someone from the group.

  “No,” replied Jack, “he thought it best to let me say goodbye for him...”

  There was a murmur that swept through the group before Walt's nephew, Derrik Brighton, rose from his seat at the table. “Maybe I can clarify?”

  “Feel free, Commander,” prompted Jack.

  “Uncle, er, Commander Edgars, thought it would be less disruptive this way. He wishes each and every one of you good health and long life. He is very fond of everyone he's served with over these last two years and holds you all in the highest regard. But he is a man who is not comfortable with long goodbyes or outward shows of emotion. He thought this would be easiest for everyone...”

  “I hope he understands how much we all love him and how much we'll miss him,” said Maria, choking up a little. She looked like she was fighting back her emotions.

  “He does,” replied Derrik. “And that is the reason he felt comfortable parting in this manner. Let's not forget if someone feels the need to contact him - for whatever reason,” he eyed Maria, “he will only be a GalNet call away...”

  “As soon as they get Veloria back on the network,” added Steele.

  “Of course,” nodded Derrik, sitting back down.

  Steele ran his fingers through his hair. “Ok then. Does everyone understand their assignments and duties...?” There were a lot of faces exchanging wordless glances. “Is anyone unhappy with their assignments or promotions?” He watched the same actions mirrored about the room. “Because now is the time to speak up, before it becomes official. While I can still make changes. Anyone feel shortchanged?” Silence. “Well alrighty then,” he grinned, rubbing his hands together. “Time for a new beginning! Paul, as we discussed, you are our new CAG.” Commander Air Group. “You will also, with Mike and Derrik as your lead instructors, initiate our very own Top Gun program. As soon as we get back to the Conquest, get it started. Some of the Conquest pilots showed solid talent, but they've been rather oppressed by past leadership... which shall remain nameless.”

  There was a light wave of chuckles that passed over the group.

  “So we have to fix the morale problem.” he continued. “The current CAG is due for retirement, we're going to initiate that early, he may be part of the problem.”

  “What about the Captain?” asked Paul.

  “Captain Anthony Ryan... I've talked to him at length,” replied Jack. “He seems solid and capable enough. But I think past circumstances held him back from doing his job effectively. He knows the Conquest like the back of his hand, so I'm pretty much going to give him the reins and let him do his job for once.” He looked around the room. “I'm relying on all of you to keep your eyes open. Low morale can cause all sorts of behavioral problems. If we have someone who is broken I need to know about it. ASAP. We will do our best to fix them, but we don't have unlimited time. We saw what the Pirates are capable of, we need our crews with their heads screwed on straight. Anyone who can't cut it gets bounced.”

  “Does that include us?” asked someone from the back of the room.

&nbs
p; Steele wasn't sure if the inquiry was an attempt at lightening the mood or serious. “That includes anyone who insists on being a screwup,” he replied. A few laughs rippled across the group. He looked down at the new data device strapped around his wrist like an oversized watch, called an eGo. Its curved two inch by four inch screen was basically a miniaturized e-Pad. “Ok folks, if there's nothing else...” he looked up at the faces around the room.

  “The Freedom...” he stopped mid sentence, catching his momentary lapse. “The Revenge, is due off-surface in one hour. So get yourselves together and get going.” Chairs shuffled as people rose from their seats. “Who's my ride back to the Conquest?”

  “Me,” said Maria raising her hand.

  “We lift off in four hours,” he pointed at her. “I have a few other things to take care of before we go. Anyone heading to the Conquest can lift off the same time as the Revenge. If you're short on seats, we have room on Maria's ship. Lisa, you're with me.” Lisa nodded silently.

  Steele raised his half-empty glass of juice, “Remember the Freedom.”

  “Remember the Freedom...” they replied in unison.

  The double doors to the conference room opened, framing his wife, Alité Galaýa Steele, Queen of Veloria, in the doorway. She was flanked by the Prime Minister, Nitram Marconus, on one side and several Peacekeeper Officers on the other. She was dressed in a gauzy-white suit with flowing sleeves and pants, resembling a tuxedo with tails, albeit with a very feminine flair.

  Steele glanced over his shoulder to find out who had entered and was a little surprised to see her at the meeting. She wore her royal sword in its sheath slung over her shoulder against her back, and by the hang of her jacket he could tell she was sporting a sidearm.