Living in Freefall (Living on the Run Book 1)

by Ben Patterson

  But he had seen similar technology exhibited before. A small craft with like abilities had terrorized the fleet just days ago. He and his people could not imagine so much power in such a small vessel, but there it was. They believed that the previous little ship that had attacked the fleet near Grenadier was just something new the pirates had developed. Because it didn’t stick around, the Confederate executive offices figured the little craft could only expend that much energy in short bursts. They believed that a vessel wanting to spend that kind of power for any practical length of time would need huge battery stores or massive fuel tanks. That small craft had neither. Its behavior, quick hit and run tactics, was all the evidence they needed to support that specious theory anyway.

  Bennington remembered trials using Radical Ions as a fuel, but the stuff proved too volatile. The technology just to contain the unstable plasma didn’t yet exist and was years . . . even decades away.

  Behind the Talons the rebel fleet advanced fast, coming at the Dark Horse in force. Bennington’s gunners answered the onslaught with heavy fire, but without scanners to aim with, their fire-by-sight gunnery was madness.

  The rebels gave back and pummeled what they aimed for. With its shields down, the Dark Horse suffered the direct hits without argument. Missiles and cannon fire opened it up—portions of hull exploded as internal air pressure, brutal and violent, found its way out and into the vacuum of space, taking with it huge chunks of metal and ill-fated crewmen. His cannons, ripped from their places, flew into the void as only so much worthless scrap. One by one, Dark Horse’s weapons grew cold. The engines shut down. The lights dimmed. Helpless to stop it Adm. Bennington watched his command draw its last breath and die. There was but one thing left to do.

  He turned to his second in command. “Commander Lefson, you have the con.”

  Turning away he entered his office, closed the door behind him, took a seat at his desk, and pulled his pistol from a drawer.

  Just as he was about to place the pistol’s barrel in his mouth he heard his bridge crew abruptly cheer. Bewildered, he put his pistol away and went back out to the bridge which was now completely dark. “What’s going on?”

  “Sir,” said his exec, “Battle cruisers! Just before the main screen died, Battle cruisers appeared on the horizon. They’re coming over the Saigus field, and heading straight for us.”

  “Yes, but are they ours?”

  “I believe so, sir. Fulvus must have radioed for help before his ship . . . well, he must have called for help.”

  Bennington now understood his crew’s newfound hope. There was still some chance they could survive this battle. Their odds just jumped from none to slim; but he’d take it.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Josh and Jordon turned to meet the newcomers. The nearest cruiser, HMS Javelin, like Dark Horse, allowed their approach go unopposed. Targeting its shields and scanners, the little Talons fired. Javelin fell surprisingly fast. Mistaking the Talons as friendlies in retreat instead of for the very real danger they posed was indeed costly, but how far could Josh and Jordon press their luck in doing this? Apparently not as far as Josh would have liked.

  The third cruiser Joshua approached must have gotten word somehow. As soon as the little ships came within range, the cruiser opened up on them with everything it had. A barrage of heavy fire forced Josh and Jordon to not only dodge every shot but retreat for safety sake. Despite Rachel’s enhancements, their little Talons were no match for the big war ship. For them the war was over.

  Skillful pilots could’ve weaved their way through the firestorm, found their marks, and destroyed them before heading on toward their next victim, but neither Josh nor Jordon had such talent.

  For the rebel fleet following them it now became a serious fight. To win this battle the rebels would have to return hit for hit, bullet for bullet, and blood for blood.

  Then one well-placed shot tore Captain Gentry’s ship in half, and Joshua’s stomach instantly twisted.

  To plan and strategize was one thing, but in actual battle one had to expect death and be prepared for it. Chits on a map. Diagrams on a chart. This was nothing like that at all. Josh knew Captain Gentry. During his tenure with Buck, Gentry and Josh had become close. The old man had taken Josh fishing and hunting in Rhone, and he talked often about his philosophies of life in ways Josh could relate to and appreciate.

  It was from him that Josh learned that the rebels didn’t aim to take life at all. Instead, they simply sought to render their enemy unable to fight. Men would die. Sure. But Gentry said there was no reason to be vicious about it. With his heart shattered, Josh suddenly saw this . . . this philosophy as ridiculous. Adrenaline had done its best to change Joshua’s mind on that matter. He wanted these men stopped. He wanted them dead. He took a healthy breath to calm himself. Why not? he thought. They wanted him dead.

  Blasted Buck! When Josh was with him, Capt. Buckhannon French always preached mercy, and right now those arguments were at odds with Joshua’s urges. He wanted revenge. He didn’t want to bridle his hatred. He wanted to unleash his fury on those who were killing his friends.

  So here they were, a ragtag militia engaging the Confederate’s military might. His side had done well up to this point, but now the beast before them was wounded, determined to survive . . . and deadly. Josh knew the creature would now lash out at them with greater ferocity. He took a breath, pushed aside his fears, and turned back toward the cruiser.

  Of what was left of the Confederation fleet—fifteen large ships—the battle cruisers clustered together to combine their firepower. But wait! One ship was missing. Which one?

  Flying headlong into that firestorm, Joshua’s Talon got clipped and spun wildly. It took everything he had to recover control, but nearly dying woke him up. Josh realized that it was asking too much of either Captain Kori or of himself to get through the enemy’s guns. Wisely, reluctantly, he and Jordon turned away. In retreat, Joshua’s Talon was hit again, and all of his ship’s power instantly dropped away.

  Captain Kori pulled up alongside him. Guessing what had just happened, he immediately dropped back to cover Joshua’s rear. Helpless to do otherwise, Josh watched Jordon position his Talon between him and the raging enemy fire.

  “Blast!” he muttered. In this crippled ship he was a sitting duck. The position Jordon had taken had made him one as well. Working to reignite his engines, Josh heard something strange. In his headset he heard Capt. Kori say, “Freefall, it’s time.”

  Time? Time for what?

  Suddenly another ship appeared on the horizon. A bright energy ball flashed from it and tore through the rebel fleet. Three ships vaporized.

  Another flash. Two more vanished.

  The rebels hurried to separate.

  A concussion rocket exploded between the two Talons. Jordon’s ship was hit and flipped nose over tail right back toward the large enemy ships. The concussive force knocked Joshua’s Talon forward and away from danger.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Buck slammed a fist down on his command chair’s armrest. “What just happened?!”

  His helmsman looked back at him and shook his head. “The Prince Rutherford, sir. She’s packing a wallop.”

  “I see that! What happened to the Talons?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. Jordon Kori’s Talon has been hit. It was friendly fire.”

  “And Joshua Chisholm, where is he?”

  “The kid, sir? His Talon is there. It looks dead and is drifting.”

  “Into danger?”

  “No, sir, back toward open space away from the big ships. Sir, he’s near enough. We can pick him up.”

  “Do it. And get me to Jordon as soon as you can.”

  “Sir, Kori is in the Rutherford’s flight path. If we don’t do something now, his Talon will be crushed by the cruiser.”

  “Let Josh be for now. Get us to Kori before anything else.”

  “Aye, sir,” said the helmsman.

  Like before, the xebecs led
the way as the rebel fleet dove at the Confed ships. Gunfire, cannon, and rockets filled the sky. Capt. Chonri’s previously crippled corsair, Zion’s Prize, exploded as two well-placed torpedoes speared its hull. The explosion knocked Jordon’s Talon clear of the big ship’s flight path. Muncy’s ship, flying too close to Zion’s Prize, bucked and spun as it took the brunt of the concussive force. Shrapnel tore through its hull. Then, bleeding power, it quickly went black, lifeless. One rebel ship after the next fell to the Confed guns. Rutherford was taking out two and three at a time. To avoid it, the rebels sped to use the other Confed ships as cover. It had suddenly become too much to take, Buck ordered retreat.

  He rubbed his knit forehead. This fight, turning on a dime, quickly became a disaster. With the cruisers bunched together and covering each other’s flanks, there was no way to get at them short of suicide. “We’ve lost,” he said under his breath. “Back off and let them pass.”

  Freefall suddenly appeared from the asteroids and moved to recover Jordon’s Talon.

  Solaris moved in to capture Joshua’s craft, and then beat a hasty retreat into the asteroid field.

  The Rutherford fired on Freefall. Too near to avoid the shot, the direct impact disintegrated Freefall’s shields, ripped open a side panel, and shattered her port engine. Badly wounded, Freefall still managed to withdraw back into the asteroids behind Solaris.

  “Too damned close,” Buck muttered, and thanked God for Jordon’s super-shielding. His sister had taken an awful chance to save Jordon. But how did she know he was in trouble?

  Suddenly a fresh ship screamed into the mix. Sleek and agile, it leveled cannon, rocket, and torpedo on the Confed ships. Dodging every shot, it pounded the fed ships, then banked and sped away.

  “What the . . .?” asked Jennings, the man who had replaced David Courtney as First officer. “Who are they?”

  The cruiser came in again, fired on the Fed ships, and again sped off before they could respond.

  “Its name?!” Buck shouted. “What’s its name?”

  The helmsman studied his monitor. “Its prow says . . . ERICCA, sir”

  The sky was thick with gunnery. At Ericca’s arrival, the rebels reinterred the frey.

  The Prince Rutherford rounded the Confed ships and turned toward the rebel fleet, it’s maw toward Buck’s ship. He could see straight down its gullet as deep inside it began to glow as it prepared a fresh charge. His ship didn’t have Freefall’s shields. In fact, wounded, Adventurer barely had any shields at all. A bright glow started at the distal end of Rutherford’s cavernous belly. Despite the helmsman’s efforts, Adventurer was moving too slow to get out of the way.

  A blinding white ball appeared deep inside the Rutherford, and began to grow like the sun as it advanced toward the ship’s mouth.

  “God, save us,” Buck muttered.

  Suddenly the Rutherford burst apart. The Confed ships nearest it glowed for a moment, then slowly faded until they were no more than wisps of smoke.

  Buck stared in dismay.

  “What’s going on?” the radioman said. “Sir, what’s happening?”

  A touch of nervous laughter couched his words. “I wish I knew. Where is that new arrival? Where did the Ericca go?”

  In response to the massive explosion, the few remaining Confed ships hurried to distance themselves from the Prince. As they moved away from the flashpoint, they moved away from each other, and this gave the rebels an opening.

  Too wounded to take advantage, Buck ordered his fleet back. The Ericca, however, moved in mercilessly to light up shields and tear away chunks of the enemy vessels.

  Abandoning the fight, the remaining Confed cruisers regrouped and, in a cluster, headed for open space.

  The Ericca followed.

  “Sir,” the radioman said, “Solaris has recovered Joshua. He’s okay.”

  Buck barely heard him. With his anger flaring, he slapped his armrest again. “Rhone will soon be discovered. We’ll have to find a new home, a new hiding place, some other hidden refuge. Blast this war to hell!”

  Seeing no one move he turned to the radioman. “Send out the word. Orders are to begin repairs. Those that can are to look for survivors.”

  The radioman nodded.

  The helmsman turned the ship and, with what remained of the rebel fleet, moved away to a safe distance. They had taken a disastrous beating. Disheartened, Buck saw a bleak future. Even with Jordon’s upgrades it was clear now that there would be no winning this war if Providence failed them.

  Buck felt sick. If Jordon didn’t make it, Buck’s sister would be devastated. His niece, Rachel, already fatherless, would be shattered. Jordon had said his tech wouldn’t save anyone. Deep down Buck knew that Jordon was right. His nephew’s advanced technology served only to swell the insatiable greed of ambitious men.

  The Confed fleet, the few remaining ships, accelerated and disappeared into the distance.

  “Contact Freefall,” Buck said. “Let’s pray the man is still alive. And find out who owns that other ship. They saved our collective butts.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  “Sir,” the radarman shouted. “I see flashes!”

  “Where?”

  “It’s the remaining Confed ships, sir. Someone has engaged them.”

  “Settle down. They’re probably shooting off some guns just celebrate their escape. Have Josh shuttled over here, and let me know when he’s aboard.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Buck pushed to his feet and retired to his cabin which was just off the bridge. With exhaustion finally taking its toll, he fell into his bunk fully dressed, sighed heavily once, and fell asleep.

  A knock on his door roused him. He rubbed his face, and sat up. “Come!”

  The door hissed open. Jennings, stepped into the room. “Sir, Doc says Joshua Chisholm is battered, but he’ll recover.”

  “Well, finally some good news. And Jordon Kori; any news?”

  “Nothing yet, sir.”

  Buck nodded.

  “Sir, there’s something else. A Providence fleet, Admiral Hammond commanding, has arrived. They engaged the Confeds but didn’t finish them off.”

  Buck grimaced at that. “Stupid retards.” There was little love between him and the slow-on-the-uptake Providence military. He knew that asking them for their help was an idiot’s move the moment he did it.

  “Thirdly—”

  “Thirdly?”

  “Yes sir. His Highness, so-called, King Blackhart has come here in force, sir. He commands better than sixty ships. He requests permission to come aboard.”

  “Requests permission?” he said in dismay. He flicked a dismissive hand. “Sure. Why not? Grant it. He wants my surrender, and we’re in no position to fight. So, fine, send him in.”

  Buck and Jennings went down to the Cargo bay to greet Blackhart.

  Buck never thought he’d see this day, but here it was. Known for having a heart of tar, Saundler Blackhart was scum, worse than scum, ruling the most vicious people in the galaxy. If Buck had thought about it he would have strapped explosives to his own chest to rid the universe of this plague calling himself King. He ground his teeth as the Royal shuttle settled among the crates and boxes. The side hatch opened, and guards stepped out to look around and secure the area. With a gesture they Okayed the bay as clear of threats, and Tyson Blackhart stepped out.

  “Tyson?”

  “Captain French.”

  “I, uh, whu . . .”

  “You were expecting dear old Dad perhaps?”

  “I was. I was informed that King Blackhart was coming aboard.”

  “And so he has.”

  Buck’s brows raised in surprise. “Seriously? So the old man is no more?”

  “Died two years back. So I’m the big cheese now.”

  “I suppose you want my sword?”

  “No. I came to offer my assistance. Is there a place where we can speak privately?”

  “Sure. My cabin is up this way.”

  Buc
k led Tyson and his guards to the lift, through the bridge, and into the Captain’s cabin. Settling the king into a comfortable chair, Buck sent for tea, and the two men talked.

  “I’ve sent my people into the asteroids,” Ty started, “to recover the living and whatever bodies there might be. I see you’re people have taken quite a beating.”

  “I thought we’d fair better. If we could have only held off until Hammond arrived . . .”

  “Hammond’s fleet was surprised by those Confed cruisers’ big guns. I’m told they were a handful for him and his ships.”

  “They were for us, as you can plainly see.”

  “I wish you’d have sent word to me.”

  “I would have, had I known. I didn’t want my dire situation coming to the attention of your father.”

  “That is understandable.”

  “Is Ericca yours?”

  “I’m hopeful.”

  “Huh?”

  Just then the door chimed.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  “Jordon what? He what?” Buck staggered at the news.

  “I’m sorry, sir. That is the word from Freefall.”

  Tyson rested a hand on the rebel leader’s shoulder. “Buck, we’ll take my shuttle. Radioman, inform Hammond of this development and have him meet us on Freefall.”

  “Aye, sir,” the com-officer said before keying in a direct line to Noble Sun. “Admiral Hammond, sir, I regret to inform you that Jordon Kori did not survive this battle. His sister informs us that her brother died before Freefall could get to him. King Blackhart and Captain French are shuttling to Freefall to pay their respects. You are welcome to join them there.”

  “Understood,” came the reply. Shortly after, the Providence fleet took a position just outside the asteroid field. Noble Sun sent one shuttle into the field.

  After dropping Buck off on Freefall, Tyson returned to his own ship to fetch a few more folks.

  There were times—not many, but a few—when Ericca was glad to be in the company of her enemies. As she stepped from Tyson Blackhart’s shuttle, it struck her that this might be one of those times.