Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  “I think we used too many of them,” grunted Dunnom picking himself up off the floor.

  Steele looked back over his shoulder, “Ya think?” he joked, taking a deep breath. “Holy shit... Everybody OK?” He ran his fingers through his hair.

  “I think I'm going to be blind for awhile,” muttered Lisa, rubbing her eyes, still harnessed into the rear turret.

  Warning lights across the console blinked red, and they did a quick assessment of the damage. There was a vertical stabilizer missing, the forcing cones on the main engines were toasted, the sensors were half blind, and all but one of the landing gear was missing. All-in-all, still flyable... Though landing might be problematic.

  ■ ■ ■

  Mike Warren was twisted in his cockpit, looking back over his shoulder to determine the source of the exploding sun. “Christ Almighty, what the hell was that?”

  “Something on the edge of my scope,” replied Santine, “that carrier maybe?”

  “Whoa!” shouted Mike, there goes another one, near the gate. Not as big as the first, though...”

  “Not important right now. Not our job... These guys are our job...” Commander Paul Smiley was watching the fifty-six incoming fighters in fourteen neat formations of four, streaking into the fight. “Sign in, who has ammo or ordinance left..?”

  Out of the fifteen remaining fighters off the Freedom, only four had any ordinance left and most that had guns requiring ammunition were extremely low. Only two of the four light fighters off the Archer and Bowman had survived, and had attached themselves to the Freedom's flights.

  Pappy took a deep breath. “OK then, stick with rechargeable guns. Ammo only for a kill shot. Same with the ordnance, make sure you have a solid lock.” He nudged his throttle forward, “Conserve your fuel, stick together. We need to give momma time to jump, she can't take any more...” He looked out over his port wing at the Freedom, except for her engines, she looked nearly dead. He was stunned that she was still whole. Her main forward turret on the port side was completely missing, a giant empty socket with guts hanging out. On the starboard turret, giant holes were punched through it, the gun barrels missing. Point defense turrets were missing or destroyed, there were gaping holes across her hull, streaming atmosphere... Blast holes along the bridge had fractured her there, the bridge now dark. Only the two stern turrets, one on either side of the hull were still operational.

  He swallowed hard, it made him sick. And angry. The fresh carrier and battleship were closing in on the fight from the rear, the pirate cruisers were flanking around from the sides, and the fighters were sweeping in for the kill. He watched the Freedom for a moment longer as a bubble formed amidships, tendrils of color and light creeping across her hull. Good luck... Paul closed his visor. “Let's go boys...”

  Paul's comm pinged. “Thirty seconds to intercept,” commented Mike.

  In stellar Pappy fashion, he keyed his mic on an open channel, “This is Commander Paul Smiley, of the UFW jump carrier, Freedom...” his voice calm, professional. “You are entering restricted space. Turn back or face destruction.” He looked over his shoulder when he caught the flash of the GOD jump, only to see the Freedom still there. The jump had failed, the rear gun turrets now firing at the approaching cruisers. Dear God, give me strength... He steeled himself and flipped the safety cover off to fire his last missile at the lead fighter, the lock tone growing more solid...

  “Good afternoon, Commander Smiley...” the voice was rich and warm, somehow familiar. “This is Commander Dar Sloane of the UFW carrier, Conquest...”

  The sensor screens on every ship in the conflict lit up, awash with UFW ident pings. “We heard you boys were having a party over here, we thought we'd come and play... Hope you don't mind, we brought some party favors and noise makers...”

  On the next full sensor sweep, the Conquest and her battleship escort appeared in full detail, along with her flood of rampaging heavy fighters, bringing joy and relief to every UFW heart in the system. And adversely, bringing fear and terror to everyone else.

  “Sloan,” called Pappy, “you're my new best friend.” He leaned the flight stick over, rolled his Vulcan and pulled hard, looping under. “Let's go ladies; we've got a score to settle. Let's make some NOISE..!”

  EPILOGUE

  VELORA PRIME : CONQUEST – IT ISN'T JUST A NAME

  It had been a costly engagement for both sides, more so for the pirates, but it came dangerously close to going the other way. In fact it should have, but by the grace of God... Or was it fate? Maybe fate was one of God's tools... Or maybe it was predestined, written down somewhere on some ancient scroll, or in some dusty book.

  Voorlak had once told Steele he was special but he didn't feel very special at that moment, he had lost the Freedom and thirty-nine people. His people. And that cut into his gut like a knife.

  The Pirates lost three destroyers, a carrier, a battleship, and some forty-odd fighters. Remarkably, all four of the cruisers managed to jump out, as damaged as they were. He estimated two of the four would need to be abandoned if they survived their jump-transit. The final remaining destroyer, successfully got himself turned around and back through the gate on one engine, with a handful of fighters following behind. Jack figured their losses easily approached three thousand lives.

  But that didn't add up to thirty-nine people he knew the names and faces of.

  Beyond the point of recovery and repair, the Freedom defied all mechanical explanations, remaining structurally in one piece despite her staggering damage. That very fact saved the rest of her crew as she did her best to protect them. It seemed a fitting end to send her into the Velorian sun. A Viking's funeral of sorts.

  Standing there in the muted light, he stared at himself in the mirror, his left arm still in the short cast, struggling one-handed with the buttons on his tunic.

  “Let me help you...” Alité's face appeared in the mirror behind his shoulder and her left arm reached around him and acted as his other hand, helping him button. The cast on her right arm, immobilizing her broken wrist, wrapped around his waist.

  Task finished, he turned and held her tight, not speaking, trying not to think of what would have happened if he had lost her. “Look at us,” she said quietly, holding up her casted arm, “we look like a pair of bookends...” He squeezed her tight and kissed the top of her head. “OK,” she wheezed into his shoulder, “need to breathe now...”

  “Sorry,” he whispered, relaxing his embrace. “I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost you...”

  “You would have hunted them down, and killed them all,” she smiled, “and they would have deserved it.”

  “You're too funny...” he mused.

  “And you're crushing my ribs, sweetie.”

  “Oh, sorry.” He let her go and stepped back, staring into her eyes. “But you're the most precious thing in the World to me...”

  “Just the World?” she teased.

  “The Universe...” he added, smiling weakly.

  “Are you going to be OK with us staying on Veloria while you're gone?”

  He sighed, “Yeah, I guess so.” He shook his head, “No, not really... I'm gonna miss you.” He shifted uneasily looking down at his feet, not liking the thought, that as much as he wanted to, he couldn't be there 24/7 to protect her. “I think you'll be safer at home,” he admitted. “The Directorate is going take a considerable interest in Veloria, I don't think they realized how valuable it was... until now. I think you're going to have a lot more support from the UFW than you ever thought possible...”

  “I hope they respect the limits of our sovereignty.”

  “That will be up to you and Boney to maintain control...” A sound like a light, tinkling bell caused them both to pause and look around for the source. “What the hell..”

  “Ahhh, two of my favorite people...”

  “Voorlak?” He had never appeared to them when they were together before.

  The Ancient held up the little brass bell in the dar
kness. “Jack, I bet you thought I'd forgotten our last conversation... Better?”

  Jack smirked, “Thank you, old man. Very nice. But I was beginning to think you'd forgotten me...” He glanced over at his wife, “Us.”

  “Not likely. I've been around, you've just been a little too busy to notice.” He pulled the hood of his cloak back. “Your sister noticed, though...”

  “The man in the forest...”

  Voorlak waved, “She needed a bit of encouragement. Poor girl was scared to death. She's a real fighter though, she never once thought about giving up.” He tilted his head, stroking his gray beard, “Reminds me of her brother...”

  Jack nodded, “Yeah, she's a real pistol.”

  “Well, I just thought I'd stop by to let you know, both of you, that we're very proud of you. The Universe has put you two together for a reason, and you have its blessing...”

  “Its?” frowned Jack.

  “Its. Ours. Kind of synonymous,” chuckled the old man. “I any case, we're very happy with your progress.”

  “Well, I'm not too thrilled,” sighed Jack.

  “Hmm,” nodded Voorlak, “your people. I understand. Quite well as a matter of fact. But you need to understand the life force of the Universe, as a whole, revolves around the flow of energy created by life and death. It is, for a lack of a better explanation, the heartbeat that keeps it alive.”

  “Somehow, that's not very reassuring...” said Jack with a scowl. “It makes it sound like a war where thousands of people die is a good thing...”

  “I suppose you could see it that way, but no. That would be an aberrant view. A time will come when you will understand...” He sipped what Jack instinctively knew, was Diterian Brandy, from a snifter that wasn't there a moment before. “Just know that the lives of your people were not given in vain, and their energy lives on, which will create new life,” added the Ancient, waving the snifter through the air.

  Jack's eyes narrowed. “Like the phantoms on the Oceania?”

  “That is energy, yes. But a much different form... that is not new life. I'll have to explain that another time,” he pointed at the door, “I believe you have a pressing engagement...”

  The door chimed, on cue, diverting their attention. When the Captain and his wife looked back, the Ancient's form was gone. “Go visit your parents, Jack...” The Captain and his wife exchanged glances before returning their attention to the door.

  “It's open,” called Alité.

  A young ABS stood in the doorway, saluting. “Sir, Your Majesty, your presence is requested on the bridge.”

  ■ ■ ■

  The bridge of the Conquest was much different than that of the Freedom, or any other ship Jack had been on. It was expansive, incorporating the bridge and all of its normal stations, as well as flight operations, flight control and the flight tower itself, on a level a few steps below and behind the operational bridge. From the bridge itself, one could look down to the lower level, through the tower glass and see the flight deck below. It was quite a sight.

  The Conquest had no cumbersome launch tubes. She had launch racks, lining both sides of her 1,987 foot hull, sixteen on either side, each with an independent door. Thirty-two fighters could be launched individually or simultaneously. Reloading the racks with another set of fighters took as little as five minutes. The launch deck was below, separate from the active flight deck, meaning the flight deck was also clear to launch over the fantail if need be, either fighters, rescue and recovery craft, or mid-sized transport craft.

  Hand-in-hand, Jack and Alité Steele, stepped onto the bridge of the Conquest, she, looking especially stunning in a gold gown, he, looking properly military in a UFW Space Services uniform. Fritz appeared stealthily, sitting at his side, leaning against his leg. The Shepherd reached up and nuzzled the hand above his head for a quick scratch, oblivious of Jack's cast it was more to let his human partner know that he was there.

  “Captain on deck!” The bridge crew stood, and saluted in unison before returning to their duties. On the big screen's backdrop of Velora Prime and the Earth-like marble of Veloria, several video insets were already present, preparing for the video conference. Surrounded on the bridge by the Freedom's senior officers, Jack was unsure of what to expect though their presence was reassuring. Jack caught the eye of Brian Carter on his video inset from the bridge of the Revenge, exchanging a barely perceptible nod.

  “Incoming comm, Captain...”

  The carrier's Captain acknowledged, ordering the connection. A video insert of three people sitting on high-back leather chairs in what looked to be a well-appointed executive office, winked into existence in the center of the screen, the other video insets moving to the sides, out of the way.

  “Hellion,” someone whispered, “it's the Directorate...”

  “Good evening ladies and gentlemen,” began the man on the left, ”I'm Fleet Admiral Warn Higdenberger. The gentleman on the far side is General of Ground Forces, Mihale Sterne, and the person between us is Madame Directorate, Karyne Tioor...”

  Being the skilled diplomat she was, the Directorate rose gracefully from her chair, knowing exactly what to say and how to say it. “I think, first, we'd like to offer our deepest condolences to your Majesty,” she gestured, “for the terrible events on your planet and the loss of your family... We deeply regret that we were unable to respond sooner, and we will do our utmost to supply you with whatever is needed for a swift and healthy recovery. If there is anything you require, please know that my office is at your disposal.” She sat back down demurely.

  “Thank you, Madame Directorate...” began Alité, slowly. Jack gently squeezed her hand to remind her not to say what she had really wanted to say. “We appreciate your sentiments and we look forward to working with you,” she added.

  He took a deep breath, relieved.

  “And Captain Steele,” said the Admiral, rising, “our deepest condolences for the losses your crew suffered and the loss of your ship. I trust the funeral services, with honors, were adequate...”

  “They were. Thank you, sir.”

  “Good, good,” he nodded solemnly. “And as we promised when you and your crew signed on to work with the UFW, their families will receive all due pay, any current account balances, as well as a death stipend.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate you taking care of the families.”

  “No, Mr. Steele, thank you. For exemplary service by you, your crew, your pilots, and the entire task force. You are all to be commended. Your group has achieved far more than we had anticipated for this experiment, and proven some tactical theories that were in serious debate here,” he shot a glance at the Madame Directorate. “As you can imagine, it has caused a few shakeups... But that doesn't concern you,” he waved. “It's more about how we address things here... though some of your tactics will be employed in other parts of the fleet... It's hard to argue with success.”

  “What it means most,” said the General, interrupting, “is we have more freedom to do what the military does best - exercise the use of superior firepower to deliver pinpoint accuracy, reducing our adversaries to their inherent atoms.”

  “To accomplish that,” continued the Admiral, smirking, “we've made some changes, both operationally and tactically.” He picked an e-Pad off of a side table, tapping on the display to bring up the file he was looking for. “Aah, here it is... Vice Admiral Kelarez.” He looked up at the big screen, “Your Task Force will report to UFW Phi Lanka where you will turn in the Archer and Bowman...”

  Admiral Kelarez looked suddenly stricken.

  “Vince,” continued the Fleet Admiral, “I know when we first discussed this assignment, your rank was temporary, pending review... Well I'm happy to say your rank is now permanent. You, Captain Gantarro, and your crews will be acquiring two brand new jump carriers, patterned after the Freedom. They are redesigned, more advanced, and stocked with thirty fighters each. Including pilots, of course.

  “Of course,” interjected Ke
larez, absorbing it all, a bit stunned.

  “Commander Ribundell's UFW77,” continued the Admiral, “will become a permanent part of your group, now designated, Task Force Archer. The Archer and Bowman will be repaired, refitted, restaffed and relaunched. You will be getting one of those back upon their completion.”

  “What about... Captain Steele, sir?”

  “Well, he doesn't have a ship, does he...” It was more a statement than a question, the Fleet Admiral looking down at his e-Pad. “In case no one has noticed, Admiral Pottsdorn has been, well, retired from duty. It was long overdue.” He looked back up, “Steele, I've got two basic options for you. We've all agreed that at the very least, we owe you a ship. So, we can replace your ship with a new jump carrier and you can stay with the Vice Admiral's task force... unless you decide to stay a freelancer...”

  “Or..?” asked Jack.

  “The Conquest is one of our oldest carriers...”

  Jack's eyes went wide. “You're offering me the Conquest?” he interrupted.

  “No. No, of course not. Don't be ridiculous.” The Fleet Admiral folded his hands in front of him, the e-Pad tucked under his arm. “I'm offering you the task force, Steele. The Conquest and all the fighters she can hold, the battleship Westwind, either the Archer or Bowman as soon as they are complete. And your frigate Revenge, of course.” Admiral Higdenberger stood patiently, letting that sink in.

  Jack was dumfounded, the bridge around him ghostly silent, the ringing in his ears only interrupted by the pounding of his heart in his head. Alité squeezed his hand.

  “There is a catch to that offer, Mr. Steele...”