Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  Helen waved it off, “It's nothing I wouldn't do for my own children.” She pointed at the pitcher, “And drink as much of that juice as you can, because what the cream does on the outside, the juice does on the inside.”

  ■ ■ ■

  Nevin swung the farmhouse screen door open, strolling in, “Well good afternoon, sunshine.”

  Lisa looked up with alarm from her breakfast, “Afternoon?”

  “Stop it Nevie,” scolded Helen. “He's teasing you, dearie. He loves to poke fun at anyone who gets up later than dawn...” She poured him a cup of coffee. “Find anything?”

  “Found where she came down,” he said, indicating Lisa. “That was quite a walk young lady. If you had chosen any other direction, you would've either walked into the ocean or would still be out there somewhere. You're very lucky you found us, lots of wilderness out there...”

  “And lots of wildlife,” added Helen.

  “Anything dangerous?” asked Lisa. Nevin and Helen looked at each other for a telling moment, before looking back at her, giving her a chill. “Really? Anything I couldn't kill with my carbine?”

  “I suppose,” replied Nevin. “If you have enough ammunition.” He sipped his coffee, “You almost ready to go?”

  “Where are you headed now?” asked Helen.

  “The boys want to meet in town and we'll fan out inland of where our young lady landed, check the washes and canyons...”

  “How about the shore?”

  Nevin shook his head, “Hutthorn and his boy were goin' that way and his skimmer broke down. Soon as he gets it runnin' again, he'll head that way and radio us if he finds anything.”

  ■ ■ ■

  The skimmer was a utilitarian looking machine, resembling a Jeep with no wheels, an anti-gravity hovercraft of sorts, propelled by directional air jets. Despite it's obvious age and rather rough, homemade, work-weary appearance, the ride was smooth and fast, though not the quietest.

  “How fast will it go?” shouted Lisa over the engine noise while adjusting her goggles.

  Nevin didn't take his eyes off the gravel road. “On a flat, like this road, an open field or water, two-hundred or so. The only drawback is, she don't stop so fast.”

  “What do you do, if you have to stop fast?” she shouted.

  “Crash...” he hollered back.

  That was not what she wanted to hear. “Swell,” she muttered, checking her safety harness.

  “Don't worry, young lady,” he hollered, glancing in her direction, “I haven't had a crash in over twenty years...”

  “That's just not reassuring,” she shouted, watching the fence posts whip past along the side of the road.

  ■ ■ ■

  “ Lieutenant, you have a scrambled comm coming in from the Archer...”

  Brian rose from the command chair, “In my ready room, please. Ragnaar, you have the bridge. Tusker, take my seat, keep an eye on the scans.”

  Hustling into the Revenge's ready room, Brian logged on, the screen winking to life with a video conference of all the task force's ship commanders. “OK, that's everybody,” said Admiral Kelarez. “Lieutenant Carter, where are we on the search for Mr. Steele?”

  “We've just reached the last known coordinates of the Remora, Admiral. We've initiated search patterns for Red Flight, Zulu One and the Revenge...”

  “Anything to report at this point?”

  “No sir, we literally just began our search patterns...”

  “What type of patterns are you using?”

  “The birds of Red Flight are flying individual overlapping parallel sweep patterns, and with the Zulu's advanced sensors, she's flying a sector search over the top of them...”

  “Sounds pretty thorough,” commented Gantarro.

  “Agreed. Good patterns,” added Paul Smiley.

  The Admiral looked like he was struggling with his conscience. “Any way to hasten our results?”

  Brian found the question out of place. “Sir?”

  The Admiral pursed his lips, his brow furrowed, aging his face. “Intelligence reports reflect a higher than normal volume of pirate traffic in our sector... Much higher.”

  “How far out, Admiral?” asked Gantarro.

  “Three and four systems,” he replied. “With an increase in numbers.”

  “D'you think they're assembling a fleet, sir?”

  “The intelligence is limited and inconclusive, but my gut tells me that it's a distinct likelihood...”

  “Is the UFW Directorate aware?”

  “Yes, of course. And as soon as I saw the reports I requested additional ships, but I don't know that any of our ships are within immediate reach. It appears the lines of conflict have shifted, and we are now on, or very near, the front lines.

  “What's our time frame, sir?” asked Paul Smiley.

  “Inside, a couple of days. Outside, a week.”

  Commander Renae Ribundell was leaning casually back in her seat with her arms crossed. “What else is your gut telling you Admiral?”

  “That they want whatever is on this planet, back. That we're the target...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Lisa was stunned by the generous turnout of the farmers and ranchers in the area, all working to help find her brother, who none of them knew. Unbelievably, some of their skimmers looked rougher than Nevin's. In fact, some of them looked like a patchwork of parts held together with scraps from a junkyard, spare screws and tape. But they ran... most of them like a bat out of hell. They met in town and set up a search plan, splitting up in pairs to search the expanse they called the Wilderness, and the canyons inland. There were twelve skimmers, each with at least two occupants, six search teams in all. About an hour after they left town, Nevin's neighbor, Hutthorn and his son radioed to let the teams know he was back in service, they had managed to get his skimmer running again and they were headed to the coast.

  The Wilderness seemed endless... rolling hills, forests, lakes and valleys. The other skimmer on their team was barely visible off to their left, occasionally dipping out of sight and reappearing as they navigated the undulating terrain.

  Nevin pulled the throttle back, letting the skimmer coast, the air jets redirecting to slow them down.

  “Did you see something?”

  Nevin pointed ahead “The Wilderness ends up here, beyond it is the Unexplored... very rugged, can't cross it in a skimmer. Need wings.” The skimmer coasted to a stop near the edge and they unbuckled, climbing out. Walking to the edge of the tall grass, the ground dropped off nearly a thousand feet to a rugged valley below. A muddy brown river with sparse green along its edges wound its way through the valley's canyons.

  “What do we do now?” asked Lisa.

  “Nothing,” replied Nevin. “We're almost a hundred miles from where you came down, and I sincerely doubt he would have landed this far from you. If he did come down out there,” he waved, “he's already dead. Nobody survives out there.” He lifted a pair of scanners to his eyes and adjusted the magnification, studying the valley floor and the slopes of the valley on the other side nearly six miles away. There was nothing but rock and scrub.

  A whistle from the other skimmer got their attention, one of the occupants standing in his seat with a rifle, pointing at the tree line off to the right of Nevin's craft. Nevin took a fast look through the scanners. “Get in the skimmer, quick!”

  Lisa broke into a sprint, “What is it?”

  “A pack of Volkens!”

  Lisa vaulted, clearing the side of the skimmer and ducked under the roll cage, dropping into her seat. The name Volkens had no meaning, but pack was something that generated visions of being torn apart by something vicious. A streak of magenta sizzled close by on its way toward the tree line, smelling like burnt air. She could see them coming, six of them, howling, barking snarling... it made her blood run cold. They were big and fast. Very fast. “C'mon Nevin!” she screamed, snatching her carbine off the floor and standing up on her seat. They looked a little like wolves but as large
as a bear, with saber teeth. “Jesus,” she breathed. Another shot passed her and one of the Volkens stumbled and rolled, getting back to his feet, continuing to charge. She shouldered the carbine and rested its hand guard on the top of the windshield frame, clicking off the safety. When the sight picked up the first target, it instantly outlined it in red. She squeezed the trigger and it vibrated in her hand, releasing a three-round burst. The lead Volken nosed over into the dirt and rolled, coming to rest in a heap. Dead.

  The skimmer dipped as Nevin climbed in, not bothering to belt himself in. “Hold on, young lady!” The vehicle swung around, rotating on its own axis, and he slapped the throttle, dropping Lisa unceremoniously into her seat, tightening her grip on her weapon, lest she lose it.

  She looked over her shoulder and realized the Volkens were not giving up; they were gaining on the skimmer, close enough that she could see the color of their eyes. “Faster Nevie!” she yelled, rotating in her seat to face backwards. Kneeling, she wrapped her arm around the seat for support, resting the carbine on the top of her headrest, and glancing down, thumbed the selector to full auto. Flicking her eyes back up, she realized she didn't have time to aim; he was inches from the back of the skimmer and his eyes locked with hers. Time slowed down, she could see the muscles in his shoulders flexing as he ran, the wetness of his nose as his nostrils flared, drool trailing out of his mouth between his teeth, his eyes narrowing as he focused on her, preparing his leap... she squeezed the trigger, letting loose with a spray of full-auto fire. It passed him, grazing his shoulder, hitting a trailing Volken, and she adjusted mid-fire watching the streaks cross him as he went airborne for her. He took a hit square in the face as his paws landed on the skimmer, nails extended, a red mist blooming as his head twisted around and he fell loose, tumbling off, cartwheeling through the grass to a sprawl. Another beast stumbled and slowed, limping heavily. She realized as time came rushing back, that she was still holding the trigger but the carbine was silent. She fumbled with the mag release and dug for another magazine as the empty clattered hollowly on the skimmer's metal floor. Pulling a new one free she slammed it home into the receiver, charging the gun. She sighted-in, but as the skimmer picked up speed the remaining Volkens fell behind, finally giving up the chase. She realized she'd been holding her breath and gulped air, the picture of their piercing green eyes burned into her brain. Clicking the safety back on, she rotated her body and slid back into the seat, panting. “How fast were we going...?”

  “They kept up with us until we passed about eighty.”

  “Holy shit,” she huffed. “So that's what you meant when Helen said wildlife...”

  The other skimmer pulled abreast of them a hundred yards off and they exchanged waves. “That was some mighty fine shootin', young lady.” Nevin adjusted his goggles and gave her a smile. “Saved our butts. Yeppir. Wait'll I tell momma how you did!” He let go of the controls momentarily to fasten his harness. “That'll get your blood pumpin', won't it?” he added, adjusting the throttle.

  “Yeah, wonderful,” she muttered weakly, fastening her harness. Now if I could get my hands to stop shaking and swallow my heart.

  ■ ■ ■

  The radio call from one of the search teams pulled Nevin and Lisa off their search route to a place called Glitter Canyon. Nevin explained it was because the rock had been superheated, probably millions of years ago and turned the rock surfaces into glass. In the sun, the faces and edges of the canyon glittered and sparkled.

  Lisa sat on pins and needles all the way there, her stomach doing somersaults, not knowing what to expect, what they would find. As they entered the canyon, they passed bits and pieces lying about, fresh crash debris. The high sun angle caused a million points of light all across the rock walls. Further down the canyon she could see a tail and a wingtip sticking up into the air, two empty skimmers parked around the wreckage.

  As they approached, Nevin wound them slowly past the boulders, scrub trees and debris, passing an intact landing leg standing in the sand on its own. Her heart pounded and she felt nauseous.

  There was a friendly wave from a rancher standing atop the partial fuselage of the wrecked fighter. Nearing the largest mass of the wreck, most of it dug into a trench that scarred the floor of the canyon, Nevin brought the skimmer to a stop and they climbed out, Lisa leaving her carbine on the floor between the seats. “No Volkens here, right?”

  The old man shook his head as they walked over toward the wreck, “They don't come here to the canyons, it's too sparse for them. They like the forests.”

  “Anything like the Volkens here?”

  “Nope. Some big lizards and snakes...”

  “Big, as in Volken big? Or big, as in you need boots to squish them, big?”

  Nevin chuckled, “You can stomp on most of them.”

  “We saw part of a wing about five miles from here,” said the rancher from on top of the wreckage, “so we knew there had to be more of it around somewhere. He never made it out,” he added, pointing at the shattered canopy. The limp form of a pilot hung in his harness at an angle, the ship lying mostly on its side. There seemed to be blood inside the face shield of his helmet.

  Lisa wanted to look more closely, but she abruptly realized it was a single seat fighter craft. “It's not him!” She felt nearly elated they hadn't found him, a swell of relief washing over her. “It's not him...” she repeated. “Bastard,” she stomped angrily, “Where the hell is he?”

  Nevin was busy describing the encounter with the pack of Volkens to the others like a proud papa, and Lisa was doing her best to be humble while the others offered congratulations and praise. Like she'd done something heroic. Hell, she was simply trying her best not to be lunch.

  “Nevie!” called a farmer standing next to his skimmer on the far side of the wreck, “Hutthorn's on the radio...!”

  ■ ■ ■

  The peal of the church bell in his head matched his heartbeat, bringing Steele to the realization he wasn't dead. He blinked, trying to clear his mind, taking a mental inventory of his body. What the hell am I looking at? He fought to focus through his fractured visor, a spider web of lines spreading out from a hole off to one side. Rocks. He was lying on rocks... big rocks. Boulders. He was draped like a discarded beach towel over a boulder the size of a small car. With his survival knife still clutched tightly in his right hand and his left arm folded numbly underneath him, he rolled gently over, laying back, staring through his broken visor at a beautiful sky with more blue than clouds. Holy shit, how long have I been here? He locked the knife back in its sheath and flexed his stiffened fingers.

  His aching muscles protested as he worked himself into a sitting position one-handed and scooted himself off the rock, dropping to the beach. A dizzying move. On weak knees he raised his visor and sucked in as much fresh air as he could get, like a thirsty man gulping water. His left arm was so numb it felt like it wasn't attached. He attempted gentle testing but it refused to operate as ordered. Dammit, it was broken. As far as he could tell it was the Ulna, about halfway between the elbow and wrist. He hung his left hand gingerly against his body in the strap for his shoulder holster and let it relax. For now that would have to do. His favorite watch was crushed beyond repair; he removed it carefully from his left wrist and tossed it on the sand.

  He left the scarred and battered helmet sitting on the rock like some kind of odd memorial, it was of no use to him any longer. It had done its job. Divine providence had seen fit to rip him from death's bosom and toss him to safety, albeit none too gently. But, he reasoned, had there not been a break in his visor he would have died a quiet death, slipping into fatal hypoxia. And he had probably been quite close as it was. A broken arm was a cheap price to pay for life. Now if he could only find Lisa safe, he and the mystical powers that be, could stay on friendly terms.

  Feeling overheated from lying in the midday sun in the dark suit and helmet, he knelt at the water's edge and slurped the cool, fresh water from his hand, dousing his head and n
eck thoroughly to cool himself. Standing slowly, he unzipped the flight suit to his waist.

  By his guesstimation, since she had ejected first, Lisa should have come down a little farther south of his position, maybe a little further east - inland. The tree line stood about a half a mile from the beach, the rest open flat grass and sand. His artificial eye zoomed in as he scanned, hoping to see some sign of her. He stopped and listened, hearing only the sounds of nature, the waves washing ashore, the breeze and an occasional bird. No man-made sounds... he didn't know why he expected any, there were no signs of life on the first continent until they ran into Boney's farm. Hmm, that was a thought, keep an eye out for a farm. He headed south along the coast.

  ■ ■ ■

  Hovering on anti gravity about fifty feet off the surface of the ocean, the sleek, black frigate, Revenge, was using its sensors and downward looking cameras to scan the depths of the water. Using MRS, Magnetic Resonating Sensors, they located a fairly large section of the Remora in three hundred feet of water. The 3D imaging showed the canopy missing, and an empty cockpit. It was evident both seats had ejected from the craft before it crashed. Other pieces of it were scattered for some distance across the floor of the ocean and they followed the direction of the debris trail. They eventually found an empty ejection seat three miles farther down the coast, a half mile off the beach, in about a hundred feet of water. 3D imaging showed the seat was empty.

  Brian looked up from the images on his screens. “Any way for us to tell if that's the front or rear seat?”

  “No, sir.”

  Brian sighed, “Dammit, where do we go from here?”

  “Zulu One, to Revenge...”

  Brian keyed the comm, “Tell me you have some news, Zulu One.”

  “Yes, sir. A downed ejection seat in a heavily wooded area. No occupant.”

  “Can you put down anywhere, Zulu? Check out the area?”