The Price of Freedom

by William R. Forstchen

  Blair used another quick Immelman to reverse course and duck back into the valley shelter. Burning rockets tumbled out of the caisson, detonating in turn and spewing burning fuel onto a second launcher. It burst into flames a moment later, its own missiles chain-detonating and expanding the inferno. High explosives added their punch, momentarily snuffing the flames and casting fuel and explosives over a broader area to reignite. The trees surrounding the site caught fire, ignited either by sprayed fuel or from the intense heat as plastics and flammable metals caught fire.

  Blair took a long look at the site as he brought his Hellcat up out of valley and slowly orbited. Bodies lay strewn across the woods. The wounded, some on fire, lay writhing in the open. Many of the other crewpeople, seemingly unhurt, wandered aimlessly around the periphery of the flames or fled the inferno.

  He looked at the dead, troubled by the sight of human bodies. He'd spent too long considering humans as allies for him to be easy seeing them dead by his hand, regardless of the reason.

  His radio came alive with the chatter of pilots engaging targets. He listened a moment, following the course of the action. His suppression section appeared to be doing a good job of eradicating the Border Worlds defenses. Two other Sprint sites' graves were marked by plumes of ugly black smoke. Road networks, the local runway, and even the nearby town's power grid were all under attack. The assault transport paced back and forth, covered by two of Maniac's fighters, waiting for Blair's all clear to begin their attack run.

  He pulled his Hellcat out of its orbit and aimed it back towards the main complex.

  "Gamble to all Colors," Naismith said, his voice scratching in Blair's ears as the atmosphere weakened the Lexington's signal. "Telemetry indicates all primary targets destroyed. Proceed to Phase Two."

  Blair waited for the Marines and Maniac, Red and White respectively, to respond. "Green Leader," he said, "proceeding with Phase Two."

  Blair switched channels to the Marines' main tactical frequency. "Green Leader to Blue Transport Five-Three-Five," he said, "defenses suppressed. Beginning landing zone prep on Objective Blue."

  The transports pilot clicked her mike twice, indicating she'd heard the transmission. The assault ship veered towards the compound. Maniacs two Hellcats hit their afterburners and blasted skyward, rising vertically on columns of thrust.

  Blairs communications scanner locked on Maniac's tactical channel. "Colonel," Marshall said, "I got trouble. I got lots of Border reinforcements inbound. It looks like older stuff, Ferrets and some Rapiers. We can hold 'em, but don't waste any time. Okay?"

  Blair watched as one flight of Hellcats continued their low orbits over the complex, patrolling the air against low level aggressors or ground targets. He picked up his own flight over the assault transport and led them in towards the landing zone.

  The designated LZ proved to be a landing pad set between the three buildings made of reinforced thermo-crete. The complex didn't look overtly military to him, but it had the universal gray, dismal look of government construction done on the cheap.

  Hellcats dropped out of formation to attack the ground targets, blasting anything of even marginal military value with lasers and missiles. Blair hit two unoccupied ground-based lasers in quick succession, destroying both, then killed an unarmed atmospheric shuttle parked unobtrusively by one building. His laser bursts smacked into the shuttle and the building beyond, collapsing one corner of the structure. A giant explosion bloomed to his left front and a quick whoop of victory followed from Green Three. Flames from the burning woodline joined the dozen-odd fires and greasy-black columns that smudged the sky.

  The assault transport swept through the rising smoke, banking hard towards the landing zone in the plaza between the complex's buildings. Laser fire licked out from its upper and lower turrets at likely looking hulks, clumps of vegetation, or whatever seemed the slightest bit threatening to the gunners.

  Long plumes of sparks sprayed out from underneath the landing skids as the transport's pilot made a fast-in combat landing. The transports rear ramp dropped while side doors dilated open. Door gunners sprang into operation, joining the turret gunners in hosing the walls of the surrounding buildings with heavy fire.

  Blair smiled as he heard the Marines' recorded bugle call sounding the charge. He watched the first squads sprint down the ramps and take up circular positions around the ship. The grunts quickly opened fire, their laser rifles and heavy weapons joining the landers turrets in raking the buildings' walls. Teams carrying rocket-propelled grenades deployed from the transport and fired their ordnance against the weakened structures. The heavy fire tapered off as the RPGs blew gaping holes in each of the three buildings.

  Heavily-armed assault parties then streamed down the ramp and entered the damaged structures, firing their miniguns and flechette launchers as they went. Blair's scanner locked on the Marines' frequency. He was appalled at the heavy volume of fire he heard crackling in the background as the non-coms directed their forces. The noise gave every indication that the grunts were racking up a serious body count. He hoped they didn't kill the diplomat, or the mission would fail.

  "Objective Blue secured," a female voice said after what seemed like an eternity, "We're bringin' her out. She's in good shape."

  Blair grinned. All they had to do was to get the hostage back on the assault transport and go home. Then it would be over.

  A second Marine's voice crackled in his headset. "Objective Red secured and sterilized." Blair felt his heart flip-flop. Objective Red? What the hell's Objective Red? He flipped through his briefing book and saw no reference to an Objective Red. "Objective Gold secured," snapped a third trooper a second later, "preparing charges."

  Blair tried to suppress his anger. The mission specified a single objective—freeing the diplomat. Obviously, the Marines had more in mind than a simple rescue. Eisen, he thought furiously, is going to hear about this.

  He monitored the ground force's tactical channel as the Marines began to retreat towards the transport. Blair saw one cluster of grunts in haze-gray camouflage surrounding a woman in bright blue. They quickly led her on board the transport while the balance of the force pulled back to a tight perimeter.

  "This is Landing Craft Five-Three-Five to Blue Leader. We got the package. Get us out of here, Colonel." Blair looked down at the landing zone as the rear guard ran up the ramp. The shuttles hatches closed. Its idling drives spooled up, throwing clouds of concrete dust and debris across the landing area.

  "Five-Three-Five to Puller. All present and accounted for. Casualties light. No friendly KIAs."

  "Roger, Three-Five," Blair heard the Puller respond, "initiate mission closure." The pilot responded with two clicks on her radio. She lifted the shuttle vertically, turning it as it rose to orient onto its new course. One building slowly folded in on itself, its outer walls falling inward like a collapsed house of cards. He realized after a moment that the collapse had been caused by a demolition charge, rather than battle damage.

  The assault transport flared upward, using small expendable rockets to help it achieve escape velocity. Blair assembled his four fighters tightly around it as protection from any Sprint sites that might have escaped detection.

  The second flight of Hellcats formed behind them, making a dense double diamond around the transport. He switched channels to Maniacs frequency and nearly cursed as the welter of excited voices filled his ears. Marshall's forces were mired in a pitched battle just outside the planets atmosphere. A second group of signals indicated that the Lexington's ready group had already been committed to the fray and that Eisen was preparing to commit more reinforcements.

  Blairs arrival with the transport redoubled the battles intensity. The Border Worlds fighters fought bitterly, hurling themselves with reckless abandon against the Confed strike force as they attempted to pierce the defensive wall to attack the shuttle. Blair felt heartsick as his pilots burned down the obsolete fighters.

  Eventually, even ferocity had to giv
e way to firepower. The arrival of the Thunderbolts and their heavy forward armament finished the Border Worlders' attack. Most of the Colonial fighters could outrun the heavy T-bolts, but with the shuttle as their target, they had to run a crushing gauntlet. Six fighters tried and six died. The Border Worlds forces sullenly withdrew from the T-bolts' range. They continued to harass the trailing Confed ships until the Lexington fired a few warning shots from her defensive batteries.

  Blair toted up his losses while he waited to enter the landing cycle. The wing appeared to have lost only five ships: a Thunderbolt, a Hellcat, and three Arrows. He guessed the Colonial losses at about two dozen, not counting those who would limp home but never fly again.

  The Lexington's search-and-rescue shuttle had launched at once to begin pilot recovery operations. Blair was gratified to see the SAR ship tractoring in both Confed and Border pilots.

  The Marine transport raced towards the Puller, closely shadowed by Maniacs half-squadron. It landed on the Pullers oversize recovery deck, then was quickly tractored inside. The Agamemnon, a Confed heavy cruiser detailed to guard the transport, closed up quickly. The two ships, in close formation, immediately boosted away from the task force and towards the out-system jump point.

  "Hellcat One-One-Three-Seven," Blair said, "request landing instructions."

  "Copy, Three-Seven," flight control responded. "We show all systems green. You are first in the chute."

  Blair exited his holding pattern and lined up with the rear of the portside fighter bay. He saw the distant blinking lights that marked both the runway and the edge of the bay itself.

  "Three-Seven on final," Blair announced as he touched the landing configuration toggle. He checked the telltale to ensure the gear was down and locked. "Gear green."

  He twitched his control yoke to the right, nudging the fighter onto the correct glide path and lining up with the landing bay. He felt the sweat bead on his forehead as he over-controlled and drifted towards the ship's drive exhaust. He nudged the throttle back to the left, slowing his velocity and pulling back onto the correct glidepath. He held his breath as the landing patch centered itself directly ahead.

  "Call the beam," the flight officer said.

  Blair nodded in satisfaction as the crossing network of tractor beams caught the Hellcat, causing it to buck and rock. "Roger beam," he replied. He relaxed his grip on the control yoke and cut his main drive. 'Thrust zero, controls zero." He kept his hand poised over his throttle control. Tractor beams were temperamental creatures. A pilot caught short when one failed would end up embarrassed, if not dead.

  "Three-Seven," the flight officer intoned, "I copy zero-zero. Your vector is good, velocity 125 KPS relative. Happy landings."

  "Three-Seven to Control," Blair answered, completing the ritual, "thank you."

  The computer-controlled landing system held the fighter within the beam until it was correctly positioned relative to the flight deck, then released it. Newton's Second Law took over, gliding the fighter onto the deck. The front of Blairs ship flared briefly as the static discharge from his phase shield reacted with the landing bay's force curtain.

  He touched his reverse thrust as his rear landing gear made contact, slamming the front wheel onto the deck. The bay's magnetic repulsion fields snapped up, slamming him into his restraints as the Hellcat's inertial dampers were overwhelmed by the Lexington's magnetic field. The interlocking internal network of tractors caught him a second later, jerking the fighter to a stop. Blair tasted blood inside his mouth, then realized he'd bitten his lip.

  All in all, he was satisfied. It was his first serious combat mission and live carrier trap in two years, and both he and the ship had survived the experience intact. He licked the blood off of his lip and waited for the magnetics to disarm. They snapped off, freeing the ship to taxi to the recovery elevators.

  He felt the ship's gravity a moment later, and heard the whoosh-hiss sound as air flooded the bay. He boosted his throttles slightly, just enough to give him steerage way to the elevator. He was surprised at how loud his engines sounded in the confined space.

  Lieutenant Naismiths voice rang through the bay. "Secure from recovery operations. Crash crews to stand down. Captain passes to all hands a Bravo Zulu—good job, folks."

  Blair waited until the fighter was safely in the recovery elevator and descending to the maintenance bay before he popped his canopy and shut off his engines. He took a deep breath of the Lexingtons air, tasting its dominant scents of oil, smoke, and lubricating fluids. The air, redolent of ship's odors, was somehow reassuring to him.

  Maniac waited for him as the lift opened onto the maintenance bay. He stood casually, hip-shot, with his helmet and pressure vest slung over his shoulder. "A little out of practice, aren't we?" He touched his finger to his lip, then mimed pulling away blood.

  Blair held himself in check, unwilling to rise to Maniac's bait. He dabbed at his lip, wincing a little at the pain. "A little," he admitted, "but I'm sure that'll pass." Major Marshall, Blair noted wryly, might be a few chips shy of a logic board, but there was nothing wrong with his ability to land either a fighter or a cheap shot.

  "Colonel," Maniac said, abruptly changing the subject, "I need to show you something." He laid his finger alongside his nose, indicating the need for secrecy, and beckoned Blair to follow him.

  Blair, torn between annoyance and curiosity, removed his flight helmet and climbed out of the cockpit. He tossed his helmet to his crew chief, whose name he still hadn't learned, and walked after Maniac.

  Marshall led him to his own Hellcat, then climbed the roll-away platform and into his cockpit. Blair leaned over the canopy and watched him place his helmet between his knees. Blair looked questioningly at Maniac, who responded by reaching under his console and popping the small black flight recorder out of its slot. He fished a short wire bridge out of his pocket and used the alligator clips to secure the bridge to the recorder. He plugged the assembly into his helmet speaker.

  "Listen to this," Maniac said, "I picked this up while you were comin' up the gravity well. It's low band stuff, on a civilian radio. I could only hear one side of it."

  Blair leaned close to listen as the tiny helmet speakers crackled and popped. "… no," the soft voice said, "it was definitely Confed forces… Hellcats. They took out all of our SSMs, SAMs and fighters… death toll is.about sixty, so far, but we haven't started recovering casualties." Blair squeezed his eyes shut, jolted by the sudden pain. The Border Worlds had been their allies, once, and many Colonials had been his friends.

  "It gets better," Maniac said. Blair leaned closer as the recording grew scratchier. "They went for the infirmary, the data core, and the holding area…" Static blotted out what followed "… they killed the medical staff, lined 'em up and shot 'em. They also got their agent out… No, they blew up the records area. I don't think we're going to recover either the data files or any of the bio-weapon samples we captured. At least we got her before she could spread the stuff."

  "Bio-weapons?" Blair asked. "Did he say, 'bio-weaps'?"

  Marshall shrugged noncommittally and pulled a tiny spanner out of his pocket. He removed the alligator clips, then laid the spanner across the recorder's poles. Blair heard a soft "crack," and caught a whiff of ozone.

  "Damn cheap black boxes," Maniac said, "they're always shorting out." He grinned slightly as he reached back under his console to replace the recorder.

  "Why'd you show me this?" Blair asked.

  "Just thought you ought to know," Maniac replied. Blair stood back as he made to exit the cockpit. Maniac's crew chief approached, her expression curious as she looked from one senior officer to the other. "Check the cockpit," Marshall said, his voice as smooth as glass. "I caught a whiff of burning circuits as I landed." She dipped her head as Maniac led Blair towards the pilots' debriefing area.

  Blair looked at Maniac. The man was a cipher to him. They had spent nearly their entire careers together, soundly disliked each other, and yet somehow managed
to work together when the need arose. Maniac had survived in combat through his sheer unpredictability, a characteristic he carried with him into the wardroom, as well as the cockpit. Blair stared at him, trying to divine the man's motivations.

  Maniac stopped him just outside the debrief area. "Rumor says we're jumping into the Masa system to join the Third Fleet."

  Blair felt his eyebrows arch up. 'The whole Third Fleet? That's a lot of ships."

  "Don't forget that's Tolwyn's old force." Maniac scratched his nose. "An' Petranova's a Tolwyn wanna-be. She'd kill her own mother to get a third star."

  Blair looked at him a long moment, then made the decision to gamble. 'This whole operation has an odd feeling about it," he said, watching Maniac for a response.

  Marshall looked around, seemingly unconcerned. "Oh, how so?"

  Blair pressed on. "The captain's been acting strange. I don't recall seeing him this nervous before, and his behavior at the briefing was definitely odd. I can't help but wonder what he's keeping bottled up."

  "I wouldn't worry about it," Marshall said, dismissing Blairs concerns. Blair started to say more, but held his tongue when Maniac opened the door to the debriefing area.

  "Shall we, Colonel?" Marshall said, effectively ending the conversation.

  Blair rubbed his still damp hair as he slid in next to Maniac and the squadron commanders on the Lexingtons embarkation area. He glanced around, noting that all of the carrier's division and squadron officers were present. "What's up with the dog-and-pony show?" he whispered. "I was in the shower when I got the all-call."

  "We got us a visitor," Maniac whispered, "a VIP shuttle inbound from the flagship." He paused. "I'm betting it's some kind of official greeting now that we've joined the Fleet. Eisen's not saying a word, but he did call for a formation." Blair swivelled his head to see the captain step from the lift and walk towards the formation. Blair thought he looked worn and drawn. I wonder when he last slept? Blair thought.