Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  “It's not,” offered Alité. “The ocean there at its deepest, is about a mile deep. The station is, or was, two miles tall from tip to tip and about a mile across. For it to have a thousand feet sticking out of the ocean means it's crushed against the bottom.”

  “Is it possible it had a controlled descent, Admiral? I'm expecting it should have burned or broken up in the atmosphere...”

  “It is possible Mr. Steele,” volunteered Gantarro. “There are several factors that might account for it making it down relatively intact, deceleration, limited control, shield viability...”

  “I don't think,” interrupted the Admiral, “that the how is as important as the why. Why it came down is the question I want answered.”

  “Understood, sir,” replied Steele. “We will be heading to the capitol city tomorrow at first light. I am hoping you can send us additional Marines to maintain the port in our absence?”

  “Done. You'll have them in a few hours, Captain. Commander Edgars, can you handle those arrangements for us? I'm going to be a little busy updating the Directorate on what we've found so far.”

  Walt Edgars puffed on his pipe, clouds of sweet aromatic smoke floating around him. “I'd be delighted, Admiral.”

  ■ ■ ■

  Steele had just pushed away from the console in the administrator's office when the comm system chimed again, the UFW screen showing the silhouette of the Freedom and its designation number. He punched the button, and the screen flickered, making its video connection. “What did you forget Walt?” he asked looking away momentarily.

  “Did you just call me Walt? Is there something wrong with your video..?”

  “Lisa?” His attention snapped back to the screen. “Are you on the Freedom?”

  “No, no,” she waved her hand, “they're relaying my signal...”

  “Oh,” he nodded, somewhat disappointed, still smiling, “It's good to see you, kiddo. So, hows things?”

  “Things are OK,” she shifted trying to look around him, seeing the darkness out the window behind him. “Where are you?”

  “On Veloria, Alité's home planet...”

  “I think that's where we're headed.”

  Steele raised an eyebrow, “You're coming here? Why?”

  “Well I think it has something to do with the company of Army engineers we picked up from Blackmount Station. We're escorting another ship that's carrying all their equipment.”

  “What kind of equipment?”

  “No idea, I didn't see any of it.” Lisa broke out in a huge smile. “But I did get a chance to walk around the station for a couple hours... Holy crap. Talk about culture shock, my God...”

  Jack started laughing... “Yeah, it's an adjustment alright. So, are you getting used to it?”

  “I guess you could say that. But not as good as Nina, she's got a girlfriend already.”

  “Really? That's nice... Wait, you meant boyfriend, right?”

  Lisa just shook her head. “Girlfriend,” she said slowly.

  Jack rubbed his forehead, “Yeeaaah, I don't even know how to respond to that.” He pushed back from the console. “But, I think this is a good stopping point, we have a ton of work to do here...”

  “Wait, one more thing... I'm worried about mom and dad.”

  “Why...? he said suspiciously.

  Lisa ran her fingers through her hair. “I don't know how I know; I just think they need our help...”

  “You're starting to sound like mom.”

  “Don't even go there, Jack. But let's face it, they hunted you, they hounded me and Nina... if we go by their track record alone, those pricks are bound to pull the same shit with mom and dad.” She leaned forward, her voice lower, quieter, “They're not safe, I can feel it.”

  Jack didn't have to ask who they was; he knew full well they were. The alphabet soup agencies. The government. Growing bolder, getting more invasive, constantly pushing to expand the limits of its power and influence, incrementally trampling the rights and freedoms of the people they swore to serve. Dammit...

  ■ ■ ■

  Warrant Officer Dayle Alaroot stood his carbine up in the corner before dropping himself heavily into a chair at the console. “Man, it is humid out on that concrete.” He pulled his helmet off and sat it on the console eyeing the dark haired Captain staring pensively out the big windows of the control tower. “Something wrong, Skipper?”

  “Huh?” Steele looked over at him, blinking his thoughts away.

  “You had a two-thousand-yard stare goin' on there,” he said, circling Jack's face in the air with his index finger. “Something wrong?”

  “Nah... yeah, well maybe. I don't know, I'm not sure.”

  “Good committed answer,” Dayle kidded sarcastically, “you gonna stick with that?”

  Steele cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow, “You always been a smart-ass, Dayle?”

  “One of my life's great goals, sir. I'm a perfectionist; it takes a lot of practice...”

  Jack couldn't help but crack a smile. “Well I think you can stop practicing, you've reached your ultimate goal of being a world-class pain in the ass.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate you noticing.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “So, out with it, what's got you buggin?”

  “You mean, other than the fact the station that's supposed to be in space is buried in the ocean and we haven't seen a sign of life since we've gotten here, save the birds..?”

  “Yeah, besides that...”

  “My sister's coming in on the UFW77. They're bringing a company of Army Engineers and escorting a ship full of equipment from Blackmount.”

  Dayle leaned forward putting his hands on his armored knees. “That should be a good thing... So what's the catch?”

  “The women in my family have a thing...” said Jack, watching Dayle's curious expression. “They have this ability to know certain things, feel things. And despite the fact that nobody ever wants to acknowledge it, they're usually right.”

  Dayle rubbed his forehead, “Hellion, Skipper, just spit it out already.”

  “She's under the distinct impression that my folks might be in trouble.”

  “The whole sneaky government thing again?”

  Jack inhaled deeply, letting it out slow. “Yeah. Like a dog with a bone.”

  “That's some fucked up shit, Skipper,” said Dayle dropping his eyes. He looked back up, “We'll just have to go get them once we get this shit straightened out,” he thumbed over his shoulder indicating the world outside. “Maybe give your pompous bureaucrats a little schooling on manners.”

  “I appreciate that Dayle...”

  “Hey it's what we do. Give em a swift kick in the nads, get their attention. Inform them their behavior is unacceptable. If that doesn't work, we hurt them for real. Break their shit, take their toys away. Eventually they figure it out... they can't behave like assholes and expect everyone else to tolerate it.” He looked out the tower's slanted windows at the rest of the base then back at the captain. “I'm not saying we go out of our way to interfere, but it wouldn't be the first time we educated a government on proper behavior...”

  “That's a nice way of putting it...”

  A Marine Private stepped through the doorway, standing rigid. “Sarge wants to know if you guys are just gonna sit up here in the cool air or actually come down and do some work... sir.” Dayle turned around in his chair and stared at the private without saying a word. “Er, sirs.” Added the private. “Sorry, sirs, not my idea...”

  “Sergeant Mac?” asked Jack.

  The Marine was still motionless, not having moved a muscle. “Yes, sir.”

  “Relax Private, he's having a little fun at your expense. And so were we. Anything to report?”

  The private pulled off his helmet, his blue-black hair, cut high and tight in a bristling crew-cut. “We've found some decent vehicles to make the drive to the capitol tomorrow... Hellion, they're all over the place. Alpha Squad has found deceased civilians scattered t
hroughout the terminals and Bravo Squad has found a subterranean level that looks like it spreads under the entire facility. Sarge says that will probably take a while to explore. Most of the standard air craft out there on the concrete and at the terminal air-docks look operational.”

  “Have we been able to check all the hangars?”

  “No, sir, haven't even touched on that yet. This place is huge, there's a lot to cover.”

  “No argument there, Private. On those deceased civilians, did Alpha have any thoughts on their demise?” Jack was sincerely hoping it wasn't some form of illness or disease.

  “The Lieutenant said most of them looked to be injured and left behind.”

  Jack pursed his lips, “Mmm, panic. Maybe stampeding. What's the one thing we're missing around here, guys?”

  Dayle leaned forward, “What, Skipper?”

  “This is an Air and Space Port. We have vehicles in the parking lot... overflowing the parking lots, parked up the road, on the highway, in the fields... We've got air-worthy planes all over the place. But there's nothing left here that will take you off world. This was a mass exodus... fleeing in panic.”

  “From what?” asked Dayle.

  “And to where?” asked the Private.

  “I don't know...”

  “You're doing that two-thousand-yard stare again Skipper.”

  “Yeah,” he said standing, blinking it away. He picked his helmet up off the desk behind him and scooped up his carbine. “C'mon, Dayle. Private, I'm sure you won't mind sitting up here in the nice cool air and monitoring the tower communications for us? We are expecting some additional troops, just bring them in.”

  ■ ■ ■

  Dropping out of the scattered clouds, the early morning sun played alternate stripes of shadow and golden light across the terrain below. Maria could see the entire facility, over two miles wide and two-and-a-half miles long, sitting at the end of a shallow valley of emerald green. In the distance beyond the Air and Space Port, a town sat atop one of the many low rolling hills, surrounded by what looked like active farmland.

  It seemed silly landing on a five-hundred foot wide runway with a shuttle; it was like landing a child's toy airplane on a four lane highway.

  “Freedom Shuttle to Veloria Tower, three shuttles on final approach...”

  “Copy that, Freedom Shuttle. Clear on runway thirty-two left, exit right on your first opportunity and move to the skirt near the tower.”

  “Roger Tower...” Maria reached forward, switching on the anti gravity, pulling the throttle back and rotating the grip to increase power to the anti-grav to compensate. The shuttle began to descend flatly, lined up on the runway center line, the other two shuttles dropping to her left and right in a delta formation. “Gear down...”

  “Gear down,” replied Myomerr extending the landing skids. “Five hundred feet...”

  “Gather your gear, folks,” announced Maria, “we're down in five...”

  ■ ■ ■

  The main terminal was effectively planned, an efficient people mover, stretching out like an elongated octopus, each arm reaching out to an airside terminal. With elegant sweeping designs, it was luxuriously appointed with polished marble and steel, reflective glass and exotic wood... Its opulence and beauty was rudely interrupted, disrupted by abandoned luggage scattered about, assorted litter and general widespread disarray. Then there were the bodies. Abandoned souls left to die of their injuries... and the foul stench of death. The clouded air in the terminals required personal filtration breathers to function as the Marines of Charlie Squad carried the rotting bodies out to the tarmac on the far side of the terminal, rows of lifeless forms laying in the shade.

  “Alpha Lead to Charlie Lead...”

  “Go ahead Alpha.”

  “I think we've found a power hub that supplies the base...”

  Steele paused, sitting down on an aircraft towing mule. “That's great... where are you?”

  “About six clicks north of the base. It has a series of solar collectors piped to this station and everything looks intact. We're going to try to boot the system up and see what happens...”

  “Do it. Let's see if we can get this facility up and running. Air circulation would be a blessing...”

  “Aye, sir. Stand by...”

  Jack looked over to Dayle Alaroot who was coming out of the terminal. “Mr. Alaroot...”

  “Sir?” he replied strolling over, pulling off his breather mask.

  “Dayle, have you heard from Bravo at all?”

  “No, sir. Not a peep. It's been awhile, hasn't it...” It was more a statement than a question. “You worried about them?”

  “Just wondering what they've gotten themselves into...”

  “I just think they're hiding so they don't have to do this job,” he thumbed toward the rows of dead bodies.

  “Pretty grim,” nodded Jack.

  “Tower to Captain Steele.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Shuttles are down and troops are boots on the ground.”

  “On my way Private, thanks. Clear the shuttles for takeoff and let them head out...” Jack rose and locked his breather back into place, “OK Dayle, once more into the breach,” he stepped past the Marine and headed for the terminal service door.

  “Skipper...!”

  Jack spun on his heel at the urgent call, to see Dayle Alaroot backing toward him, focused and pointing toward the hangars on the east side of the facility. He followed the pointed finger. “Is that a... tank...?” It sort of looked like a flattened tank body and turret without tracks or wheels, sitting on an oblong disk.

  They both began retreating toward the door, glancing behind them, then back to the topic at hand. “That's two tanks...” the Marine replied, as another tank appeared behind the first. More a reflex than anything else, Jack unslung his carbine and Dayle steered him roughly towards the door. “That won't even scratch the paint. Move!”

  Almost colliding with two Marines coming out as they were scrambling in, they secured the access door behind them as if it would be substantial enough to repel a tank's formidable bulk, or the destructive power of its ordinance. Bolting up the ramp to the airside terminal level, the four men ran across the terminal to the other side, oblivious to the fact that the lights were now on and the air systems were doing their best to clear the putrid, clouded air. “Do we have anything to kill a tank?” huffed Jack, through his breather.

  “Tank?” asked the Marine running next to him.

  “Hover tanks,” replied Dayle, “as in plural.”

  “That's not good...”

  “Ya think? Charlie Leader to all units,” huffed Jack, “get all units off the field, get inside somewhere... get those shuttles off the ground...”

  “Shuttles are airborne, sir. What's going on...?”

  “Tanks!”

  “Tanks?”

  “Hover tanks!” yelled Dayle into his mic. “Big armored things with big fucking guns! Everybody find a hole!”

  “This is Charlie Six; I have eyes on, looks like we have four hover tanks... They're heading around the end of Airside Terminal Eight; I'm guessing they intend to go all the way around to the tower...” The sniper peered through his scope from the roof of the terminal building. “Don't see any markings...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Making long, lazy survey passes around the sunken space station, Ensign Santine looked over at Brian Carter in the pilot's seat from the tactical station. “Did you catch that?”

  “Sure did...” nodded Brian, leaning the flight stick over in the opposite direction, breaking away from their task. “Let's go.” He shoved the throttle forward, instantly leaving a massive sonic boom behind the Zulu gunship, splitting the surface of the water below them. He pulled up towards the clouds, leveling off at about four thousand feet and headed across the ocean for the valley.

  Santine's fingers danced across the controls, switching from survey instruments to tactical systems, the screens winking from one set of informa
tion to the other. “Weapons live and online... turrets manned.” He checked over his shoulder getting a wave from the gunners in the tail and the dorsal. The chin turret was controlled by whoever was in the tactical seat next to the pilot, and Santine tested the controls, watching the gun camera move with his joystick. “Five minutes to target Lieutenant...” Brian nodded without speaking and nudged the throttle. “Four minutes then,” corrected Santine.

  ■ ■ ■

  The Marines poured into the terminal and the tower leaving the field vacant. Any equipment they had to deal with the tanks would probably leave one, possibly even two intact enough to fight, and that was unacceptable. They stood in the terminal overlooking the field below as the four tanks navigated around Airside Terminal Four, headed for the tower, their turrets swinging right and left searching for targets. Moving along inside the terminal en masse, the Marines followed along with the tanks which paused momentarily, their guns swinging up toward the terminal.

  As a reflex, the men backed away from the windows. “They can't see us, can they?”

  “Reflective glass,” replied Steele, “the sun's on this side of the building, all they see is their own reflection in the gold glass.”

  “Unless they're using thermal,” commented Draza Mac.

  The turrets turned away and the tanks moved on, eliciting a collective sigh from the men. “I think the thermal would pick up their own reflected heat,” said Jack.

  “I sure hope so...”

  “This is Zulu One, we're three minutes out, comin' in hot and loaded. Stay tucked in and out of sight.”

  “Zulu One, you have four targets,” replied Steele, “They're about a hundred yards off the terminal... so don't miss.”

  “Wouldn't think of it, Skipper.”

  ■ ■ ■

  Brian throttled back, dropping the Zulu down into the long, deeply shaded, emerald valley leading to the Air and Space Port. “Sixty seconds to target...”

  Santine was busy at the tactical station. “Sensors dedicated to tactical... Four armored targets confirmed...”