The little ship that had so wounded this fleet, found refuge on one of the ships, and then made off so speedily—as far as Fulvus could tell—was neither Freefall nor a party to its whereabouts. He vowed that finding it would be his next quest, after, of course, he captured the Ghost Ship, slept in its beds, and returned to Confederate H.Q. victorious.
The many ships under Fulvus’s command approached the Saigus asteroid field cautiously. The sheer size of the rings that encircled the Saigus sun took his breath away. The signal came from a known point, but that was well within it, and out of his reach. Freefall’s captain couldn’t have chosen a better place to hide. To lure the ghost out of the asteroids would be difficult if not impossible. As always Fulvus balanced his desires with his guarded approach to everything. It was clear he had to go in to get the ghost, but exactly how and with what, was the question. Skirting the upper flat of the ring, Fulvus ordered his ships to hold position as near the signal as was possible, which was still deep within the field, a mere fifteen-hundred miles inside.
Senator Carringer had recommended Fulvus to this post, and had suggested he take Commander Johnston as his First Officer, telling him to seek Johnston’s advice for military matters. Despite the senator’s suggestion, Fulvus didn’t know Johnston well, if at all. To date, Fulvus had trusted no one’s council but his own and that of the senator. Still, Fulvus looked upon what the senator advised, and what advice Johnston could give, with suspicion. Men, all men, were devious. Finding the truth through all the lies was tough, but not impossible to do. Fulvus believed he had the knack.
Johnston seemed an able officer who could probably lend proper and secure advice, but Fulvus would have to stoop to openly ask for his opinion. He didn’t like to stoop, so for the time being he’d just ponder the situation alone.
He called for tea in his quarters as if it were now time to indulge this noble banality, and called for Johnston to join him. With a coffee table between them, Fulvus and Johnston took to cushioned chairs Fulvus thought he’d never use.
Fulvus assumed that the other ship captains would curse and spit at his plan. Given the chance any one of them would turn on him just to see his face when he fell. Therefore he would watch his back, he, and his man Sgt. Thuggins. Treachery was commonplace and nobility was more a title than a state of the heart. He learned early on how to rise to power, but did they, those who’d just as soon see him dead?
He set his tea down. “Cdr. Johnston, send half the fighters around to the bottom of the ring. Once they’ve positioned themselves under the tracker’s signal have them move up through the asteroids to converge on the signal. Their job is to cut the Ghost ship off from any possible retreat and chase it up to us. Tell the pilots their very lives dangle on their success. We will blockade the field at this end and capture our prize as it comes out.”
“That should work, sir. I’ll get the fleet right on it. By your leave, sir.”
The admiral turned to the large flexi-clear window and, in it, saw his own reflection. A fine cut of a man, he thought.
“Commander, you may go.”
Johnston turned to leave but Fulvus’s hulking guard blocked half the doorway. The commander nodded, “Sergeant.”
Thuggins smirked, “Commander,” he answered, but he didn’t move.
Johnston leveled his brows. “Stand aside, Sergeant.”
Thuggins didn’t move.
Had Johnston been a lesser man he might have timidly squeezed by. But Johnston would have none of Thuggins’ nonsense. “Don’t test me, soldier. You won’t appreciate—”
“Sergeant!” Fulvus snapped without turning. “Step out of his way.”
Thuggins dithered, then moved to one side.
Johnston glanced back at his commanding officer. He was certain Fulvus would want a ‘thank you.’ Maybe one day Johnston would give it, but it wasn’t likely. In order to properly straighten Thuggins out, Johnston knew he’d have to catch the man alone. Only after would the sergeant’s smug attitude change to something more agreeable.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Buck positioned his rebels strategically throughout the Saigus asteroids. In times past, his people had set a trap here or there to capture a Confederate ship or two, but never for an entire fleet, and never so close to home.
If Ericca’s reconnaissance intel was correct the number of ships coming for them far outnumbered his own. To some this seemed a fool’s errand, but Jordon and Buck’s plan was simplicity in the extreme. They would lure as many of the big ships into the asteroid field as were willing to enter. The unwieldy Confederate cruisers would find it nearly impossible to maneuver within the rocks, giving Buck’s group the advantage.
While Buck waited, Jordon and Josh headed out to join him. Contrary to Joshua’s self-assessment, his ability to pilot through the asteroids was quite good, actually, very easy and smooth.
As Jordon studied his crewman he realized that Josh was doing exactly as Jordon had guessed he would. The boy seemed to sense everything around him all at once and move accordingly. That was impossible of course, but in scanning the field Joshua seemed to take in everything, calculate the movements of every asteroid, and avoid each and every one. As he grew accustomed to the rock field, to his ship, and to the wingman beside him, Josh began to accelerate. Jordon had never seen anyone grasp the concepts of Astro-navigation as swiftly as Josh was doing then and there.
“Let’s head back,” Jordon radioed. “No reason to burn up all our fuel.”
“Yes sir. Heading in.” Josh turned back toward Rhone.
After dodging countless asteroids his scanners pinged. “What the . . . ? We’ve got incoming,” Joshua announced. “And from every side.”
He accelerated around and between the asteroids and headed for the trap. If the other Talon pilots happened to spot his and Jordon Kori’s ships, they’d see them as others of their own kind, hopefully. Beating the Talons to the trap, Josh and Jordon ducked into the shadows. Josh checked his scanner. The enemy Talons, still well behind him, started to form up in a straight line as they neared the bait.
Chapter Forty
Aboard the flagship HMS Homanju, Admiral Fulvus, peered over JD’s shoulder. He leaned close to deliberately breathe down the com-officer’s neck.
JD, aware of Fulvus’s presence, was ill at ease and moved stiffly. When he glanced up at Fulvus he jumped with a start, unnerved by just how close the admiral stood.
That’s the response I want, Fulvus thought, taking a certain satisfaction in the radioman’s misery. Fulvus’s ability to make those around him nervous thrilled him. In his mind it spoke of his clout. The officer’s guilt or innocence on any matter wasn’t in question. Fulvus held every man’s life in his hands and wanted those around him to see it as such. With impunity, at his word a guiltless man could be put to death. His people knew it, and that, he believed, was power.
The radio came to life with the voice of the Talon leader, “Come in, Capital. This is Vanguard. We have a strong signal, Ghost seems adrift dead ahead. I request clearance to approach. Over.”
JD swallowed hard and tabbed the com. His voice quivered; his hand shook. “Vanguard, approach with caution. Over.”
Fulvus straightened then turned to the screen. The ship’s floodlights pushed back the darkness, but only to a point. The nearer asteroids slowly tumbled and rolled. At the light’s distant edge shadows crossed only briefly like specters in the dark. Goosebumps ran up Fulvus’s spine. Just asteroids, he told himself—not really believing his own counsel.
“Capital, Vanguard requests clearance to make first contact. Over.”
“Roger, Vanguard. Wait for orders.” The officer turned to the admiral. “Sir?”
Fulvus glanced at the man and gave a halfhearted nod with a slight dip of his head.
“Vanguard, you are cleared for first contact. Proceed with care. Over.” With that order the first few Talons to arrive were to fly by the aging spaceship close enough to provoke a response from it. Long moment
s passed.
Fulvus sat down in the command chair and thrummed the armrest with a repeating roll of his fingertips. He studied his bridge crew. They were as nervous as he, but for reasons of their own. Moments ago when he and Thuggins first stepped onto the bridge, the crew, in fear of his wrath, scrambled to organize their stations; they hurried to stow reading materials, drinks, and food—all, that is, except Johnston. Fulvus found Johnston’s cool attitude provocative. Even in Fulvus’s presence the commander was comfortable with himself. Fulvus wanted to change that. His crew’s nervousness was evidence of his dominance, his power. Even if Johnston wasn’t afraid he should at least have the good sense to play along and set the example. Gods forbid his self-assured attitude spread to the crew.
Sergeant Thuggins waited indiscreetly at the lift’s door with his Mouzer cradled at the ready. The boss wanted the bridge crew nervous—for whatever reason—so here he stood to do his part.
Impatient, Admiral Fulvus slapped the armrest.
THWACK!
The crewmen jumped, then froze in their seats.
Abruptly Fulvus stood and paced a step or two. At the light’s edge shadows ducked in and out, niggling his imagination, and stabbing at his apprehension.
“Capital, come in. Over.” Vanguard’s voice, no doubt hindered by the many asteroids, was scratchy.
Fulvus stiffened and scowled at the com-officer.
“Go ahead, Vanguard. Report, please.”
“Capital. We have—” The com went dead.
Fulvus glared. “Well! What are they waiting for! Get it out here!”
The com-officer flinched, touched the com, but hesitated.
Johnston stepped forward and patted the com’s shoulder to calm the man. “Tell them Delta formation, JD. All due haste, please.”
“But their signal went dead, sir.”
“Assume they can still hear us, soldier. Tell them.”
JD nodded and, with shaky hands, tabbed his console. “Vanguard. Delta formation. Bring her in with all due haste, please.”
Chapter Forty-One
To create a box trap inside the asteroid field, Buck cleared asteroids from a spherical area large enough to hold a good number of Talons. Some of the asteroids were huge and required the combined efforts of several ships expending great energy to pull them aside. He then attached the tracker found on Freefall to a decoy buoy and placed it at the vacant space’s center.
Jordon then encapsulated the buoy in a holograph image of Freefall and went further by making it project false but believable censor readings. The buoy slash faux spaceship was enticing bait for the Talons.
On most of the larger rocks men attached Zero-point energy emitters. Once activated the rocks would connect one to another with bands of energy that looked like writhing blue snakes. Together they’d form a spherical energized web—an inescapable trap—to imprison the Talons for as long as needed.
Waiting in the shadows off to one side Josh, in his modified pseudo-Talon, sat near Jordon Kori’s ship. He looked on as the enemy’s lead ships entered the void and approached the faux Freefall centered there.
The first Talon cautiously approached the fake Freefall ship. Leary, he circled the spacecraft, which didn’t move.
“I don’t get this,” he said over his short-range ship to ship to the other pilots.
Tuned to the same frequency, Josh and Jordon heard every word. But at seeing Freefall most of the Talons followed the first into the open area like moths to a flame. They encircled the bait.
Sensing trouble, a few of the last-in-line Talons veered away from entering.
Remotely Josh triggered the snare. The web came to life. Like a thousand snakes pouring from a thousand nests, bands of blue energy stretched from one asteroid to the next to encompass the Confed fighters. The ghost vanished to reveal the buoy, which, after its rockets fired, jetted out of the field. Josh recovered it to place in the next trap.
The few that escaped now circled the sphere’s outer perimeter looking for a way to breach the net to rescue those now trapped within. Those inside looked for a way out as well. But webbed tightly, there was no breach, brake, or passage for them to find.
One nervous pilot fired a rocket at an emitter. The asteroid it was attached to exploded into gravel and dust. But the remaining emitters, programmed to compensate and close the holes, instantly reattached to the functioning energy projectors nearest them. Doing so pulled the asteroids closer together and the sphere shrank a little.
“No! Wait!” their leader shouted. “We’ll need to think this through.”
Panic was no friend to a Talon pilot. If, in their efforts to free themselves they fired on several more energy-web emitters, the field would shrink further. As soon as one emitter failed those nearest it would reattach to others and draw the noose tighter. Any more of this, and they’d hang themselves.
“Stay calm, men,” the leader said. “No prison is impossible to escape from. We just need to keep cool heads and think this through.”
“Blast!” Josh cursed. At seeing what had happened his brilliant mind instantly ran the numbers. If just a few more emitters were destroyed the rest would pull the remaining asteroids into a tightening, shrinking ball. Once the massive rocks were close enough to each other, gravity would take over and there would be no stopping the collapse. The Talons inside would be crushed.
The three remaining Talons who had earlier escaped, circled the trap once then turned away to leave the area for help. But before they got far a hidden Corsair’s rockets found them.
In the dead silence of space Josh watched the explosions in astonishment, and a sick feeling twisted his stomach into a knot.
“What in freaking flames did we just do?” he whispered into his mic.
“Take it easy, son,” Jordon said. “No one could have predicted this.”
“But sir?”
“This is war, Josh. It’s never clean and bloodless. Death will always be a part of it.”
Chapter Forty-Two
The com-officer tabbed his console. “Come in, Vanguard. Come in. Vanguard, repeat message. Over.”
Nothing.
Fulvus stepped closer and peered at the com’s console. He didn’t understand the muddled mess of instruments, but his crew didn’t know that, or so he thought.
“Vanguard, repeat. Over.” Again – nothing. JD looked up at the admiral. “We’ve lost contact, sir. There’s no signal from any of them.”
Fulvus glanced toward the view screen. The shadows tumbled disinterested in his affairs. He took a labored breath as a shiver crawled up his spine to bristle the hair on the back of his neck.
The stresses of command were best left to soldiers, and he was no military man. Like most of his contemporaries, he took this job just to advance his political ambitions. It was said that the moniker of ‘Admiral’ pinned to his name would lend him stature among the politicos, or so the argument went. Why did he let himself get talked into this? He could see now that not one of those smiling faces had his best interests in heart. And it was funny that even his predecessor, old Adm. Harrow Carringer, had pressed him hard to take this gods-awful job. “Don’t worry,” the newly appointed senator had said. “The people under your command will do the military stuff. All you have to do is stroll the decks and look commanding.”
Liar!
No one said his men would actually look to him for leadership. Seven hells, how did he fall into this trap? Fail to lead and be thought the fool. Lead and be exposed as incompetent. There was a trick to this, to leading military men, but blast if he could find it.
Then it occurred to him. This is where promising young men were sent to prove themselves. Without instruction, swim or sink, one had to work his way through the quagmire of leading. How did the others like himself find their way through? Perhaps they had something innately inside them, an instinct for survival that only blossomed in a harsh environment. Who knew?
This certainly was a devious way to get rid of up and coming po
litical opponents. Maybe that was Carringer’s actual intention? Did he see Fulvus as a threat? If Fulvus actually did well and got through this unscathed, would Carringer be the first to pat his back?
Well, boohooing in his soup wasn’t going to get him anywhere. It was time to get a grip, get serious, and get mean. Mean was easy. Mean he could do. Mean was what he lived for.
Chapter Forty-Three
Surrounded by guards and with her hands cuffed behind her, Ericca marched down the corridor toward Viper. Stopping some distance away, one guard put his pistol to Ericca’s head.
With her life fully in her brother’s hands Ericca grinned slightly and dipped her head to the determined teen intent on rescuing her.
Riley nodded in response, and then dropped his eyes to the man pinned under Viper’s nose. “They’ve put a gun to my sister’s head. Imagine that.” He let Viper’s bow press down a little harder.
Torrington grunted. “Stop!” he gasped.
“Listen up, chooch. I’m simply not going to fool around. Get that through your head. Either I get what I’ve asked for or I give what I’ve promised. Do we have an understanding between us?”
Torrington nodded.
Riley relaxed the pressure somewhat.
“They will kill her, Riley. Is that what you want?”
Riley looked up at the soldiers. “Do it! Put a bullet in her head and see what happens!”
“Don’t say that! They will, you fool. Stand down or she’ll die.”
Riley increased the pressure on Torrington’s chest once again.
The man screamed in pain.
“Put a bullet in her head,” Riley said coldly. “Do it. And then suffer the consequences of one angry teenager in a hardcore fighting ship.”
Living in Freefall (Living on the Run Book 1) Page 21