Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  “Anything we can do for you?”

  “Not at this point, we need a repair station.”

  “Understood,” replied Jack, “stick with us, we'll do our best to keep you covered. In the meantime, we will link up and feed you our sensor information, the more eyes, the better...”

  “Thank you Mr. Steele, Bowman out.”

  The floor rumbled as a brace of Cyclone fighters stormed out of the launch tubes into the darkness, their engine plumes streaking off to the left to join the two Lancias on CAP. “White Leader to Freedom, we now have four on fleet CAP.”

  Jack recognized Lieutenant JG Walrick's voice. “Understood, Lieutenant. Carry on.” He paced back to his command chair. “Ms. Raulya, please set up a continuous sensor feed to the Bowman,” he dropped himself heavily into his chair.

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Ms. Stacell, is there any way we can boost their communications strength?”

  “Negative, sir. The best we can do is to keep an open relay so they can piggyback on our comms.”

  “That'll have to do then, I want them aware of all communications.” He studied the Freedom's status on the three semi-transparent mini-screens mounted to his command console. “Let's stand down the gun crews and give them a break, keep us at yellow alert.”

  Aye, sir. Yellow alert.”

  Warning lights all over the ship winked from red to yellow as Jack rose from his chair, the Shepherd jumping up to stand with him. “Walt, you've got the bridge, I need to go down to the flight deck for a bit.”

  Walt nodded, “Quite. I'll hold down the proverbial fort, my boy.” Jack wasn't sure if he was just used to hearing it or if Walt's British accent was fading somewhat. He shrugged mentally and headed for the bridge door. “What're you working on Jack...?”

  “I'm going to see a man about a Rhino,” he replied passing through the bridge doors.

  ■ ■ ■

  Steele's discussion with his Chief Engineer, Hecken Noer didn't go quite like he'd hoped. It wasn't horrible mind you, it wasn't a total loss, but it confirmed some of his doubts and reinforced some of his expectations. The Rhino had been reprogrammed and was completely functional now - ready, willing and able to render all types of repairs. The problem lay in its location. The Freedom had it but the Bowman needed it. While the Rhino did have a ballistic leap ability that could safely allow it to cover a couple miles of open space, tethered or untethered, the ships needed to be at a dead stop to accomplish that maneuver. Attempting a leap-transfer at speed, would end with the same result as flicking a cigarette butt out the window of a car moving at highway speeds. The Rhino being the butt, of course.

  Hecken Noer patted the nose of the Rhino, “Sorry for the bad news Captain, but we don't want to risk valuable equipment...” He turned back toward Jack, “If we get to a point where we can make the transfer safely, I'm sure the Rhino can do some real good on the Bowman.”

  “Don't apologize, Chief,” replied Jack, “I wanted the truth.” He gestured toward the Rhino, “I know it can weld and probably seal the Bowman's hull... any chance it can make repairs to the forward turret or the starboard engine?”

  The Chief shrugged, “No way to tell till I get it over there and see the videos. It's possible. No guarantees though. I would recommend we shoot for the hull repairs first.”

  “Thanks Chief. I don't feel safe doing it now, but if we get a chance at an all stop, I'll try to give you some lead time to set up the transfer.”

  “Aye, sir. It's all charged up and ready, all we need to do is get it to the fantail. I'll only need about five minutes.”

  Jack nodded, “Good deal.” He headed out of the revetment toward the base of the tower, crossing the flight deck, Fritz trotting along side. Jack's earpiece tweeted in his ear and he keyed it, “Steele, go ahead.” Fritz looked up at him as they walked, his ultrasonic hearing picking up the signal.

  “We've got an incoming signal from Red Leader...”

  “Thanks, Ms Stacell, hook me in.”

  “Aye, sir, your mic is live.”

  ■ ■ ■

  On their approach to the gray planet, Lieutenant Mike Warren and his wingman, Lieutenant JG Duncan Taylor, took an approach to, in effect, put the planet between them and the system's sun. They also intended to get as close to the planet as possible before moving around it, in the hopes of disguising their approach and surprising whatever or whoever was hiding behind it.

  Chatting on a low gain, short range channel, the two pilots discarded formalities. “Nice, the LIDAR can see again...”

  Mike slid his visor up as they lined the planet up with the sun, blocking its glare. He blinked hard, “Ahh, that's better.” The planet looked like at some point in its life it was a fertile world with oceans, rivers, continents and mountains. But the only things left were vast stretches of gray-brown wastelands, raging dust storms and angry rainless clouds.

  “Remember, we have to stay out of the atmosphere, or we might as well erect a giant billboard telling 'em we're coming...”

  “Got it... Wait, what's a billboard?”

  “A giant sign.”

  Duncan Taylor nodded inside his helmet, “Ahh, gotcha.”

  Miles eyes narrowed as he looked at his Radar screen, “Speaking of giant signs, are you picking this up on LIDAR?” He looked up over the nose of his fighter at the left hemisphere of the planet near its equator.

  “Left side of the planet near the equator?”

  “Yeah, I count about fifty...”

  The LIDAR was a little more precise and Duncan was busy adjusting the sensitivity. “I'm picking up more than that... a lot more than that.”

  “I'm switching to LADAR...” Mike adjusted the sensors and pulled up the resolution to reveal more detail than the Radar would allow. “Holy crap, are there two flights there?”

  “One behind the other, that's why it looks so clouded. And they're moving fast...”

  “What's your best guess, Dunc?”

  “Two-hundredish. They're vectored past us.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that, that's what I get too.” He laid his hand on the throttle, “we're going to break right and throttle down till they pass. Then we're going around the right side of the planet, try to come up on them from behind.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Break right and twenty-five percent throttle on my mark, three, two, one, mark...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Jack was headed across the flight deck at a dead run, the Shepherd keeping pace. “How many, Red Leader?”

  “Three-hundred total, plus or minus, Skipper. Two flights, one behind the other, with a third trailing about a minute behind the other two.”

  Dammit, thought Jack. “There's got to be more than one carrier out there... do you have eyes on them yet?”

  “Negative. We've reached the planet; we're attempting to approach from behind.”

  “Stay clear of the drones, concentrate on the carriers.” Jack passed through the doors at the base of the tower and headed for the locker room.

  “Not a problem, they went by us like we weren't even there. They're vectored straight for the task force.”

  Jack pulled his flight suit from his locker. “OK, keep us up to date Red Leader...” He began pulling on the legs, zipping them up and sealing them to his boots. “Bridge, take us back to red alert. Tower, launch the Zulus for task force CAP. As soon as they're on station, release White Flight to join Red Flight...” The alarm klaxons temporarily cut Steele off, the flashing red lights bathing every wall and corner of the ship in their eerie light. “Tower, I'll be taking one of the Vulcans, see if Commander Smiley would be interested in accompanying me...”

  “Meet you on the deck, Skipper,” came Paul Smiley's response.

  ■ ■ ■

  Red Flight was closing on the carriers, the task force was closing on the planet, the drones, three-hundred of them, were closing on the task force and all contact had been lost with Blue Flight. Things were about to get ver
y hairy... and despite the cool air washing over him, Jack was sweating a little as he went through his pre-flight in the cockpit of the Vulcan. His bird locked onto the launch sled, the ground crewman snapped him a salute which he returned. The curved aircraft-sized door of the tube slid upward from the floor and sealed his craft into the tube. The blue glow of the stasis field halfway down the tube and his instruments were the only light in an otherwise pitch-dark world. He pulled his gloves tighter and checked his restraints.

  The comm in his helmet buzzed lightly for a second. “Launch systems ready. Birds ready. Tubes ready. Personnel clear... Launch in three... two... one... launching.”

  The stasis field flashed past in a nanosecond, the long tube giving way to the blackness of space as he rocketed into the void, experiencing a sudden feeling of uninhibited exhilaration. No walls, no ground, no sky... no limits. Jack lifted the safety covers on the two engine switches and toggled them on, the covers locking the switches in place. The engines fired, spinning up smoothly and he felt a kick as he slid the throttle forward, moving in alongside Paul Smiley. “You have the lead Pappy.” Jack punched the buttons activating the Vulcan's shields and flipped the toggles powering up its gun systems. “Shields on, weapons systems live...”

  “We need to stick with guns Skipper; our missiles won't be able to turn with them.”

  “Understood.” Steele followed Paul's Vulcan through a sweeping right bank that would take them to the flank of the approaching drone swarms. There was no way of telling if the drones would turn to fight if attacked, but they had to attempt to thin the drone numbers, or the sheer volume could overrun the task force. The Zulus were in position on the leading edge of the group for support gunnery and two more Cyclones were launching to join them.

  ■ ■ ■

  Commander Walt Edgars didn't need the sensor scan any longer. The enormity and density of the drone swarm could only be described as an onrushing silver cloud. The entirety of the drone fleet was vectored right to the Freedom's bow. As Jack had done previously, Walt pulled up both launch tubes and set the MK*73 torpedoes in them to the proximity setting and set their trajectories to pass through the center of the drone cloud.

  “Engagement in ninety seconds, Commander, “reported Raulya from her tactical station.

  It was the sliver of information he was waiting for. “Torpedo One, firing,” he tapped launch, and the outer door slid open automatically, the MK*73 torpedo streaking away, a brilliant fireball propelling it toward the swarm. He stared at the timer on his right mini-screen counting down from ten seconds to allow spacing between the detonations. His hand hovered over the glass keyboard, his finger poised above the launch marker. “Torpedo Two, firing,” he tapped launch, and the second MK*73 followed the track of the first.

  “Both torpedoes tracking straight and true... Torpedo One contacting in five, four, three, swarm separating...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Jack and Paul were wide on the right flank of the approaching swarm, watching the two torpedoes streak toward the forward edge of the drone fleet, ready to sweep in on the survivors after the torpedoes had done their work. “Here it comes...” Jack flipped his helmet's tinted visor down. From their perspective, the first MK*73 went straight through the center of the swarm, passing almost half way through before detonating. A brilliant white flash and blue-white shock sphere swelled outward but it seemed the drones had learned and adapted from their earlier encounter and given the torpedo an extended buffer zone. “Son of a bitch...!” It had taken out ten drones at best. Not sensing anything inside its proximity parameters, the second MK*73 passed straight through the split drone formation without detonating and continued on its course without deviation.

  One hand on the flight stick the other on the throttle, Jack shoved the throttle to the far stop and squeezed the boost button in with his thumb. “Green Flight engaging...” he grunted, as the Vulcan's acceleration pressed him into his seat, the scream of the twin engines mixed with the roar of the boosters. A quick check to his right confirmed Paul Smiley was right there on his wingtip.

  Commander Smiley had recognized that they had suddenly switched roles and he was now the wingman, but this was neither the time nor place to discuss it. Adrenalin does amazing things and he realized Jack was probably swimming in it.

  They closed on the flank of the passing fleet of drones in a blink and Jack had to release the boost button and snatch the throttle back to zero to keep from colliding with the passing herd of stampeding drones flashing past. “Guns, guns, guns...” he squeezed his trigger and held it, kicking his left rudder pedal which jetted his fighter's nose smoothly to the left with thrusters. The twin six-barreled Gatling lasers mounted on each side of the fuselage below his cockpit, whined, as alternating blue and red streaks reached out, creating a set of blurred purple lines hammering anything in their path. There was an additional set underneath him that seemed to pass from his right to his left. His Vulcan's momentum continued to carry him and the flat turn slid him sideways like a car on ice, except he still had complete control. A trail of broken and shattered fighter drones trailed behind the group. He let go of the trigger when the power pods ran dry and his guns stopped firing, the weapon generators racing to re-power the pods.

  As well as sliding forward and back to control the main engines, the horizontal grip of the throttle rotated like a motorcycle throttle to control directional thrust. Paul had anticipated Jack's maneuver and brought his fighter to pass underneath Jack's. A forward twist on the throttle handle fired jets along the top of the fuselage, allowing him to dive flatly without having to move the nose, which allowed him to maintain his shooting attitude and not lose sight of the drone field. Their first pass destroyed about ten of the automated fighters.

  Great, thought Jack, only about a hundred and eighty to go... He shoved the throttle to the far stop again, chasing the back end of the silver cloud.

  “Still got another hundred coming up behind us Skipper...”

  Fuck thought Jack, readjusting his math, two-hundred-eighty...

  It appeared the drones had no other target in mind except for the Freedom, leaving the wounded Bowman and Archer totally unmolested. The Admiral had ordered the two cruisers to flank the Freedom and give support fire.

  “Yellow Flight, engaging...” The two Zulus and two Lancias at the front of the task force, ploughed through the charging drones, guns blazing.

  Streaks of fire from the main guns of all three ships, reached out to hit the swarm before they spread out, joined by the crisscrossed lines drawn in the blackness by the defensive guns looking like some bizarre, apocalyptic fireworks display. The Freedom almost disappeared completely in the cloud of silver drones, swarming around her like bloodthirsty mosquitoes.

  Jack and Paul swept it on the outer edges of the fight, dodging defensive fire coming from the Freedom and the cruisers, weaving around and picking off the drones as they circled, one here, one there, chipping away at their numbers.

  “Yellow Two, they're all over me..! Help!”

  Jack pulled up and away from the melee, snapping a look over his left shoulder, spiraling the Vulcan to get a better view. The Zulu wasn't so much besieged by the drones as it was immersed in their overwhelming tide. “Yellow Two, you're too close! Get out of there! Climb, Two. Climb!”

  Both of the Zulu's turrets were tracking and firing on targets, the gunners doing their best to give the pilot room to move. The boosters lit, their flares reflecting off of the silver drones swirling around, ejecting the Zulu from the mayhem, leaving a brilliant comet-like tail behind it. “Yellow Two, my shields are...” the comm cut short when the Zulu collided with one of the drones diving in on the Freedom from the third wave, tumbling it end over end through the confetti that was previously the unmanned fighter. Its boosters still lit, the damaged Zulu cartwheeled into the path of a second drone that slammed into its left wing and collected a third then a fourth as it came apart, taking drones with it as it dismembered itself.


  Shit... Jack winced and turned back into the melee, guns blazing.

  ■ ■ ■

  “Third wave coming in, Commander...”

  Walt Edgars bit down on the stem of his unlit pipe. “I see it. Keep them moving and firing...” The main guns vibrated the floor and the sound of the point defense guns was almost constant. Walt flipped his command screens from system to system looking for unnecessary power drains that he could route to shields and weapons.

  “Shields fifty percent...”

  “ Communications are breaking up but we have an incoming message from Red Leader...”

  “Let's hear it.”

  “ ed Lead r to bridge, two h dred rones vectored to y u.”

  Walt looked around the bridge, “Did he say what I thought he said?”

  “Two hundred drones?” asked Stacell.

  Walt keyed his mic, “Red Leader, did you say two hundred drones? Please confirm...”

  “Affirm ive. T o hund d.”

  Two hundred more drones... Walt took a deep breath, “Have we heard from Blue Flight?”

  “Negative, sir. They're still out of contact.”

  “Keep trying.”

  “Aye sir...”

  “Shields, forty percent...”

  Walt pulled up navigation on one of his command screens to check time to the Longreach gate behind them. Maybe retreat was the better option in this case.

  “Commander, gate event off our stern port quarter!”

  Walt's heart skipped a beat, “Oh bloody hell!” He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, “Stern turrets swing to rear targets. Request the Bowman to do the same. Any ID yet?”