Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  The Major took a step back, “Torture is forbidden by the UFW. I don't want to see any torture in there...”

  “Then I suggest for your sake, Major, don't watch.”

  ■ ■ ■

  “Who's there..? Who's out there?”

  “My name's Lisa...”

  “What do you want?” the gruff voice from the house interrupted.

  No longer under the luminous canopy of leaves, Lisa squinted but could not see the man's figure in the darkness. “I'm looking for my brother...”

  “He ain't here.”

  “You didn't even ask me his name,” called Lisa.

  “What's his name?”

  “Jack Steele...”

  “He ain't here.”

  Lisa sighed, “Look, I'm sorry to bother you, but I need help. I'm lost, I'm thirsty and I'm hungry...”

  A spotlight came on, flooding the grass with light, searching for her. “Step into the light...”

  So you can shoot me? I don't think so. She stayed crouched, hidden as best she could in the bushes along the gravel road.

  “Who is it Nevin?”

  “Stay in the house, Helen. Some girl, says she's lost, looking for her brother...”

  “Well darnit, Nevin, let the poor thing in, you know those recruitment patrols never had no girls in them...”

  “You can't be too sure, Helen...”

  A large rectangle of warm, interior light appeared in the darkness, a plump woman's form silhouetted in it. “They wouldn't want your scrawny old ass anyways... C'mon in dearie,” she waved an invitation, “I won't let him hurt you. And turn off that light, Nevin; you're probably scaring her half to death...” In the back somewhere, the put, put, put, put, of a generator droned on.

  Lisa stood, the searing pain in her thighs stabbing her sharply. She slid the carbine to her side in an attempt to make it less visible, her hand still on it. She walked slowly toward the house, the warm glow of the interior splashing out across the porch and the grass. She suddenly became self-conscious of the fact that she was covered in dried mud from head to toe. Nice first impression...

  ■ ■ ■

  Nevin was a tall lanky man of about seventy with a perpetual frown on his face who never seemed to take his eyes off Lisa. In total contrast, Helen was a smiling round woman with sparkling blue eyes like tropical water. “I hope the shower was warm enough... A piece of pie, dearie?” Helen slid a plate with a generous slice in front of her. “So how in heavens did you get so black and blue? You look like you've been in a terrible fight.”

  The pie was still warm and the intensity of the fruit was almost thrilling, making Lisa smile out of reflex. It was a little slice of heaven. She pulled the robe around her, its softness comforting. “I fell out of a tree... a really tall tree.”

  “Oh my. What were you doing up in a tree?”

  Lisa explained the story. The pursuit across the ocean, the transport ship jumping out causing the storm, the fighters that tried to shoot them down, having to eject from their crippled craft, pretty much everything up to the present... including how amazing the pie was. Helen beamed at the compliment.

  And for the first time, Nevin seemed to lessen his frown. “So you were lookin' for those bastards who run the mine, then. Your brother was trying to catch them...”

  “Nevin, language...” corrected Helen.

  “Yes, sir. He's a UFW Captain, his ship is in space. They...” she shrugged, realizing she was a part of it too, now. “We are here to try to help Veloria.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Well I got here yesterday, or was it the day before...” she stared at her plate for a moment, then shook it off. “Anyway, the task force has been here a week or two I guess. I really can't say for sure.”

  “Task force?” Nevin's eyes lit up.

  Lisa nodded, “There's five ships up there now...”

  For the first time, Nevin cracked a smile. “I knew there was something going on... the air traffic hasn't been the same lately. Didn't I tell you, Helen?”

  “Yes you did, Nevie. Now I think we ought to let this young lady get to bed, she looks absolutely exhausted.” With grandmotherly care, Helen helped Lisa to her feet, guiding her back upstairs, tucking her into her daughter's bed, laying her equipment and weapons on the floor. Helen laid out some of her daughter's clean clothes for the morning and was going to say goodnight but realized the young woman was already asleep.

  Nevin poured himself another cup of coffee and sat back down at the kitchen table. “She's a good, sturdy girl...”

  Helen sipped from her cup. “I can't believe how black and blue she is. I'm surprised she can walk at all, much less six miles through the forest.”

  “In the dark,” added Nevin looking up from his coffee. “She's gonna be awful sore tomorrow.”

  “I slipped some Pattahoolia powder into her milk, it should help some. Maybe she'll sleep better too.”

  “Let's hope so. Well, I ought to get to bed too,” he stretched, “I'll crank up the radio in the morning and see if a few of the boys will take their skimmers out. See if we can find this fella.”

  ■ ■ ■

  “Who are you?” sneered the mine boss, his hands shackled through a hoop on top of the stainless steel table. The mine's shuttle pilot sat to his right, shackled in the same manner, coolly eyeing the new player in the room.

  “I am Doctor Nitram Marconus,” said Boney, setting his medical bag on the table. “I'm not particularly interested in your names, I'm here to check on your health and see if you boys have been treated according to United Federation of World, protocols.”

  “Really...?” It was a mixture of curiosity and distrust. The pilot remained silent.

  “Of course. We can't have you dropping dead in an interrogation, it wouldn't look good.” He strolled around behind them, seeing their ankles shackled to the legs of the stainless steel chairs. Taking out a package of carefully wrapped medical devices, he set about the task of unbuttoning the miner's shirt, taping electrode patches on his chest, neck and down his stomach to his belt line.

  “What the hell is all this for?”

  “So I can make sure you'll remain alive during questioning.”

  “Pssch,” the man shrugged, “you might as well take all this crap off, I ain't saying nothing anyway.”

  “Interesting,” nodded Boney, “a double negative. Not the brightest light bulb in the mine, I take it...”

  The Pilot cracked a smile without speaking, watching Boney apply electrode pads to the legs of his chair, his stomach near his belt line, one over his heart and one on the underside of the chair below his groin. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Boney pulled a bottle of his wine and two glasses out of the bag, laying a corkscrew on the table. Then a bottle of water, a glass tumbler and a remote control with more than a dozen buttons on it

  The shackled men exchanged curious glances, the miner scowling at the doctor. “Are you nuts or something?”

  “Or something,” responded Boney, winding the corkscrew into the bottle's cork. You see, as a doctor, I have an extremely unique set of talents and experience suitable for getting anything out of you two, that I want...”

  “Yeah, like what?” asked the pilot.

  “Like being able to inflict any number of painful treatments on you, kill you, then revive you so I can do it all over again. All without leaving a mark.” He poured a glass and a half of wine, keeping the full glass for himself and sliding the other within reach of the miner's shackled hands. He poured a tumbler full of water and slid it in front of the pilot. “Care for a final drink?” He up-ended his wine glass, draining it, pouring himself another.

  “What the hell? Water? How come I don't get wine?” asked the pilot, sarcastically.

  “Because I like him better.” Emotionless, Boney grabbed the large tumbler of water and sloshed it in the pilot's lap, soaking his pants, leaving him sitting in a puddle of water.

  “Hey! What the fuck..
.?” He turned to the miner, “He is nuts!”

  Boney looked the miner square in the eye, “Will you drink with me?”

  “Fuck you,” he replied, deadpan, flicking the glass off the table, smashing it on the door behind the doctor.

  The door behind Boney opened, “Everything OK in here?”

  “We're fine. Having a little drink,” he held up his wine glass. The Major's face skewed into perplexity. “You're really going to want to leave now, Major,” suggested Boney, calmly picking up the remote control. “I'll come out when we're done....” The door closed as he sipped his wine, “Mmm, you really don't know what you're missing, this is truly delicious.”

  “Fuck yo...”

  Boney squeezed one of the buttons on the remote in his hand, firing voltage through the pads on the miner's body, his muscles contracting violently, curling him, slamming his forehead on the stainless table with a blinding impact. The man sat back up, dazed. “Wow, that looked like it hurt...” he said calmly, sipping his wine. “Now just so you know, nobody's coming in here to save you. Nobody cares. It's just you boys and me.” He held up the remote, “And these are fresh batteries, I can do this all night. Can you?”

  “You bastard,” breathed the miner.

  “Ever wonder what a heart attack feels like?” Boney held the button for the chest pads only, sending a current across the chest through the heart, watching the gasps of agony on the man's face. He let the button go when the man went pale and slack, his lips turning blue, the pads auto-firing the pacemaking pulse to restore his natural rhythm.

  He gasped and sat back, the color returning to his face, his eyes rolling around. “But you didn't ask me anything,” he panted.

  “Well you said you wouldn't say anything, so I didn't ask,” replied the doctor, pouring himself some more wine. “I was taking you literally, at your word. You're such a tough guy, so I figured you'd stick to your word.”

  “I demand to talk to the Major...” ordered the pilot.

  “Not an option,” he chose the button, stabbing it once, the pilot momentarily flexing plank-rigid as the voltage passed between his stomach and the underside of the chair, kicking him in the family jewels, eliciting a sharp verbal bark. “Ooh, good, we have enough water.”

  “You can't do this,” moaned the miner, “this is torture, the UFW doesn't allow torture...”

  “You are of course right, my friend, they don't.” He looked around the room. “But as you can see, the UFW isn't here, it's just the three of us...” He laid the remote down and sipped his wine. “The UFW also doesn't allow slavery, but that didn't stop you clowns, did it?”

  The pilot's reactions were more measured, more controlled, but the mine boss was an emotional man. Someone who had difficulty controlling his temper... and his mouth. “I demand to see counsel...”

  “Aah, also not an option I'm afraid...” Boney reached down and mashed the button of the remote on table and the man doubled over, slamming his face against the table again, a spattering of blood appearing on the stainless table. “Ooh! That's gonna leave a mark. I know that had to hurt.” The man sat up, his nose crooked, his eyes rolling, blood covering the lower half of his face. “Now see,” he pointed, “I'm a doctor, I can fix that for you...”

  “What do you want...” asked the pilot, eyeing the miner without really looking.

  “I want the coordinates for all of the mines. I want to know how many of my people you have, who the mine owners are, and who started this mess on my planet. I want to know everything.”

  “I don't know...”

  Boney didn't wait for the full denial, he mashed the button and held it, the pilot screaming in agony as his body locked into a near-fetal position in the chair, his gonads in gut-wrenching, explosive pain, his heart pounding, his breath locked in an exhale. When the doctor finally released the button, the man's head dropped heavily to the table, gasping for air, moaning in residual agony, drenched in sweat.

  “He won't be able to talk for a little bit, so now I'll ask you...”

  The miner looked wide-eyed at the pilot. “I can't...” His face suddenly skewed into a lopsided grimace, a guttural low scream coming through his clenched teeth.

  “That's what an embolism and brain aneurism feels like together. Interesting, isn't it?” He let go of the button and the man collapsed on the table huffing. “Now, I can combine that with the heart attack... might kill you though.” He shrugged, “That's OK, I can bring you back...” He sipped his wine. “Mmm, you know, I'm actually enjoying our little talk here. But I feel like I'm doing all the talking. I think it's your turn. I know, let's see if we can make you boys scream in harmony. Won't that be fun...” he poised his thumb over the remote.

  “Wait,” breathed the pilot, “wait... please,” he squeaked.

  ■ ■ ■

  When the doctor walked out of the interrogation room, bag in hand, jacket draped over his arm, he handed the Major a sheet of paper with the coordinates of all the mines on it. “The entrances have been purposely sealed... we have people inside. Almost ten thousand by their estimation. My people. They've been using them as slave labor...”

  “Good God...” The Major glanced at the windowless door. “Are they still alive?”

  Boney nodded, “Yep. Not that I wouldn't have loved killing them, but then I'd just have to revive them again.” He rubbed his chin, “Might be an interesting sport for scum like that, though...”

  “What's that?”

  “Seeing how many times I could kill them and bring them back before I got bored and just left them dead...”

  The Major did a double take, not sure if he really heard what he thought he heard. Deciding not to comment, he called the base control room on his comm, “Sergeant, I want two loaded and equipped shuttles ready to go within the next thirty minutes,” he eyed the Prime Minister, “twenty men each, for a rescue dig.”

  “Copy that, sir.”

  “Thank you, Major,” Boney extended his hand and they shook. “I appreciate your cooperation. And the people of Veloria are grateful.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  FT. MYERS BEACH, FLORIDA : BROTHERS IN ARMS

  “So how're you doing, Brother?” Chase Holt tossed the tennis ball for Allie, the Shepherd sloshing ankle deep in the water. Flat, even waves, ebbed and receded on the sand, the surface of the Gulf nearly featureless. He adjusted his sunglasses, the sun dropping to the surface of the shining water.

  Sitting next to him on the sand, Dan Murphy stopped picking at the label of his long-neck beer and took a swallow. “Not too good. I'm getting nowhere...”

  Chase watched a bead of condensation roll down the side of his bottle before taking a swallow. “I hate to say it, but I think you're beating you're head against a wall, Dan. The fact that Caroline got as much as she did was pretty astounding... they screwed up and she caught them big-time because they never saw her coming. I don't think that's likely to happen again, they know your end game and they've buttoned everything up tight.

  “I need to know who took her from me...”

  “We kinda know who did it...”

  “I want to know specifically... so I can beat him with a baseball bat until his head splits open like a rotten pumpkin. ”

  Chase tossed the ball for Allie again. “You know as well as I do, that's not gonna happen, Brother. It's too complicated. You're just gonna bring a ton of shit and grief down on you and everyone around you... Shit rolls downhill and as far as those fucks in Washington are concerned, us little folks are at the bottom of the proverbial hill. And none of that will bring Caroline back.”

  Dan downed a couple swallows of his beer, letting the frosty suds slide down his throat. “And Washington never gets its hands dirty...”

  “No, of course not.” Chase gave Allie's rump a pat as she plopped down on the sand next to him. “They never do their own dirty work. They always have culpable deniability.” He took a swallow of beer, deciding where to start. “Look, the government, specifically the Ai
r Force, was responsible for all UFO investigations starting way back in 1947. It went through a couple iterations until the program officially became known as Operation Blue Book in 1952, which ran until 1970. The Roswell crash in July of '47 was probably the catalyst for the initial program called Project Sign which only ran about a year until the Roswell dust cleared...”

  “Didn't they attribute that crash to a weather balloon...?”

  Chase chuckled, “Yeah. They made up some official sounding classified program called Project Mogul. The poor Army Lieutenant, tasked with issuing the press release stepped on his own dick by actually describing what he saw; a flying disk and alien bodies... instead of the cover story of a high-altitude classified balloon. It ruined his career.”

  “Thrown under the bus to keep their hands clean...”

  Chase rubbed Allie's ears. “Yep, pretty much. I don't see a weather balloon being able to scar the land in a crash like they showed in the photos. Anyway, in '48 they decided maybe there was a continued need and the program rebooted under a new name and structure in '49, called Project Grunge.”

  “So where was this all going?”

  “Well, they wouldn't have been spending time, manpower, resources and money on UFO investigations, if there wasn't something they were concerned about. Or some kind of payout. The Air Force consulted with the FBI for assistance in the investigations and the two entities worked together for awhile until the Air Force investigators were better trained. By the time Operation Blue Book was born the FBI was out of it, consulting on rare occasions only when the flyboys needed their investigatory tools. Ultimately, when Blue Book matured, they developed their own networks and tools, and the FBI was out of it altogether.