Freedom's Fire Box Set: The Complete Military Space Opera Series (Books 1-6)

by Bobby Adair

  I see two flashes of blue pulse out of a hunk of wreckage. I max grav toward it. “I’m coming.”

  Far away, the Rusty Turd’s forward section erupts from an explosion, and the door on the forward airlock flies off into space. Seconds later, orange suits pop out in rapid succession, all glowing blue from hard g as they try to distance themselves from the dying spaceship.

  I reach the hunk of bridge I think Penny is trapped in, grab onto a piece of jagged metal and peek down inside. It’s all steel, bent loosely like a ball of foil. I look and shift, turn on my light, trying to make sense of the jumble of metal, trying to guess which piece was where on my bridge, trying to see down into its core. “I’m here.”

  And then I spot her.

  Penny looks up at me, and I see fear in her eyes. She’s already assessed the situation. She thinks she’s done for.

  I move to another gap, another perspective, to see what I can see. “Phil?” I ask.

  She shakes her head.

  Dead? Or does she not know what happened to him?

  “My legs are jammed under the console.” She doesn’t mention the instrument panel pushing against her chest.

  “Can you breathe alright?”

  She smiles weakly.

  “Are you injured?”

  “My suit didn’t rupture,” she says.

  “Can you move?”

  She waves her free arm, but winces with a pain. Her breathing comes in short gulps, and that’s when I notice blood bubbling in her nostrils. “I’ll get you out.” It’s a lie, but one I’m determined to make true. I climb around the hunk of bent metal to find a way to her.

  “We’re out,” Brice comms in.

  “Casualties?” I ask.

  “Me, Silva, Peterson, and Lenox made it.”

  “The others?”

  “Crushed by the gun when it broke free of its mounts," Brice explains. “And we got Phil’s dink.”

  “Nicky?”

  “You know another one?”

  “Jablonsky and Tarlow are dead,” I tell him. “We took the hit just aft of the bridge. I can’t find Phil, and I’m with Penny now.

  “Where are you?” he asks.

  “Big hunk of the bridge.” I look around to get my bearings. “Two klicks up from you, coming your way.”

  Chapter 32

  Fifty percent?

  Sixty?

  I’ve lost most of my crew. It’s the Arizona Massacre all over again. Only it’s intensely personal this time.

  Brice and the others are working at the six-ton clump of metal keeping Penny pinned inside. They’re prying and pulling, hacking out hunks with disruptors, talking about trying a C4 charge to crack it open, and discarding the idea because the explosion will kill her. We’re desperate. The bridge section is getting closer to the atmosphere. We have only minutes.

  Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I turn to see a damaged tug limping across the sky, and I guess where it's going. It's chasing the forward section of the Rusty Turd. "Dammit. I thought they were both dead."

  Lenox is moving toward me across the hunk of wreckage, and she turns to see what I’m looking at. She guesses the same. “They’re going to try and salvage what’s left of the Turd.”

  “I don’t know what we can do about it,” I tell her, my brain still too saddled with the shock of loss to lead like a good commander should.

  “We’re all hurting,” she tells me, guessing my problem.

  I’m still staring at the tug, watching it slowly close in on the Turd. As if of their own volition, words come out. “We can’t let the plasma gun fall into their hands.”

  Switching to a private link, Lenox tells me, “Penny isn’t going to make it.

  Brice and Silva are working together now, alternately chopping at a section of the bridge’s forward bulkhead, making headway.

  “We have to get her out,” I tell Lenox, wondering why I didn’t start with the disruptor as soon as I found Penny.

  “That’s not what I’m saying,” she tells me.

  That captures all of my attention.

  “Her d-pad,” says Lenox. “I accessed her med functions.”

  “The d-pads,” I tell her. “You can’t trust ‘em.”

  “Penny is not going to make it.”

  I want to argue. I have to. I don’t want to see another friend die, but I know Lenox is right. I knew it from the moment I saw Penny’s face. Penny knew it, too. I raise a hand to Lenox and open a private comm link to Penny. “I—”

  “I know,” she whispers, because she doesn’t have the strength for stronger words. She sniffles. “I know.”

  Tears well up in my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I did what I did. I wanted to be out here.”

  “I wish—”

  “All that freedom bullshit.” Penny coughs. “We all share the dream, Dylan. This isn’t your fault.”

  “I—” I don’t know what to say.

  “Get off the line,” she tells me. “I want to talk to Brice.”

  “Penny—”

  “This isn’t your thing,” she says. “Just say goodbye. And Dylan, don’t give up. Please?”

  “We’ll get you out.”

  “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “I know,” I say. “I won’t.” I kill the link, and turn to face Lenox, knowing she can see the tears gathered up around my eyes, making everything blurry. Damn zero-g. “You ready to fight?” I ask.

  Lenox nods, and I see all the pain she feels turn to determination. She’s ready to kill something. So am I.

  I turn to the ship closing in on the Rusty Turd, trying to match speed with it. “I’m taking that tug. You comm the others, see who’s coming with. Brice will do what he needs to do.” I don’t wait for a response, I jump away from the hunk of bridge metal, amping up my grav, blinking my eyes free of tears, and letting them burn with vengeance so hot it’ll make me stupid. I don’t care. I’m attacking a space ship with a railgun, a disruptor, and a few hand grenades, I’m going to need some stupid on my side.

  Chapter 33

  But not too much stupid.

  I kill my grav as soon as I think I’m on a ballistic intercept path. I know there are Grays on that ship, and if I blaze in too hot, they’ll see me coming. I know, because I sense three suits coming behind me, each following when they felt the moment was right, leaving Brice and Penny to spend their last moments in solitude. “Off with your suit grav,” I tell them. “We want to surprise these bastards.”

  I see the tug sidled up next to the Turd, matching its slow spin.

  Trogs are hurrying out through one of the crew doors just behind the bridge. They're carrying tools and dragging rigging cables to work on attaching the tug to my ship. Not one of them thinks to look around. They don't have much time to secure their prize before Jupiter's gravity and atmosphere make the task impossible. I imagine I hear the telepathic shouts of their Gray masters, cajoling them to hurry their lazy Neanderthal asses.

  “Ignore the Trogs outside,” I tell Lenox, Peterson, and Silva. “It’s the ship we want.”

  “10-4, chief,” says Lenox.

  The ship is looming large in front of me, and I pulse just enough power through my grav plates to make a touchdown on the side of the tug beside the maintenance door. Like all human-designed airlock doors, this one doesn’t lock in the secure sense, at least that's not its default state. It can be locked from the bridge, but you have to go out of your way to do it. I punch a big glowing button and it opens up. It doesn’t need to cycle; it contains no atmosphere because the Trogs left it that way. I step inside, and wait.

  Closing my eyes to focus on the subtle gravity of bodies moving through atmosphere, or sitting at control consoles and ship helms, I try for all I’m worth to match Phil’s super-human sensitivities.

  In my mind, I see an internal hangar bay lies just to the left of the airlock
door. The density of metal machines has a peculiar glow that’s different from thin air. I feel the flow of air through the ship’s ventilation system and the pulse of heat transfer liquid through its reactor core. I feel every one of the ship’s grav plates finessing the boxy craft against Jupiter’s incessant pull, trying to hold it in place beside the Rusty Turd while the Trogs out on the hulls do their work.

  The more I focus, the more I see, and the wicked shapes of three Grays on the bridge come into view, each having a density unlike any other material, living or dead. They seem to sponge grav waves from the ether, making them almost black to my grav bug. I know the black color is an artifact of the visual processing centers in my cortex, interpreting the grav input from my bug in the only way it knows how, as color.

  Two Trogs stand on the bridge. They’re armed, and I figure I’m seeing the Gray’s M.O. for ship control, a few of them driving the ships, a few favored Trogs standing nearby with weapons in case the onboard slaves find inspiration to mutiny.

  Another six Trogs are moving inside the hangar, doing what? Who the hell cares? I just want them to catch my railgun slugs when I fire them their way.

  Lenox alights in the airlock, floating through the open door like a fairy who’s been flying her whole life.

  Silva grabs the door as she arrives and swings herself in. Peterson hits the door and climbs through. Not one of them used their grav plates for deceleration so close to the tug. They're following my orders to the T, not wanting to risk alerting our enemy.

  Silva pulls the outer door closed, and I cycle the airlock.

  I hate pinning anything on hope, but that’s all I’ve got. I’m hoping the idea of Trog workers coming back inside will make our quick trip through the airlock pass the notice of the Grays on the bridge.

  “Ship’s grav is set to ten percent earth g,” I tell my team. I point in the direction of the hangar bay, “Lenox, you and Peterson go left when you exit. You’ll come out at the front corner of an open hangar. Lots of machinery around. You’ll see six Trogs inside. None of them is armed with a railgun. Two are carrying disruptors. They all seem to be working on the cable system that locks the tug onto its load. None of them has defensive suit grav activated. Start shooting as soon as you have your shots lined up, before they know what’s happening.”

  “With surprise on our side,” says Lenox, “we can take them.”

  “How do you know their suit grav is off?” asks Silva.

  “I’ve been taking lessons from Phil.” A half-lie is the best I’ve got. To Silva, I say, “We’ll go right. Two meters down, there’s a ladder to the left. Another two meters up will put us in a stubby hall that leads onto the bridge. The door to the bridge is closed, and I can’t tell if it’s locked.”

  “You have been taking lessons,” she smiles, but she’s got killing on her mind, and looks like she showing me fangs, rather than teeth.

  “We’ll try the door once, if it opens, we go in shooting, if not, we blow it.” I scan across their eyes. “Ready?”

  Shit.

  I missed something. “Where’s Nicky?”

  “Brice has him,” says Lenox.

  Perfect. I don’t say that, but I know Brice knows we can’t allow the Grays to capture Nicky. He’ll kill the Tick before he lets that happen. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 34

  Lenox and Peterson are through first.

  I jump out, bounce off the wall, grab the ladder after one long, low-g step and fling myself up. In two breaths, I have a grip on the handle to the bridge door. Silva is right behind me, and before I can ask whether she’s ready, the pulse of grav-drive railguns hits my bug, and I know Peterson and Lenox are shredding their targets. I turn the door handle and throw my shoulder against the door. It doesn’t budge.

  “Pull!” shouts Silva.

  Doh!

  Surprise is gone, thrown away on a stupid mistake. I pull the door open and Silva slips past, rifle firing before she’s even through. Following behind, I see what had to be the Gray captain, with a ruptured head, drifting toward the observation windows. Silva goes left, so I go right. One Gray and one Trog are on my side of the bridge. The Gray is slow to react and pays for it when a spray from my railgun turns his head into a puff of sap and little pieces. The Trog on my side has powered up his defensive grav and is pulling out his disruptor to face me.

  I don’t aim at his chest, I see the strong grav from his main plate generating a field that’ll deflect my rounds. I blast away at his feet and knees, shredding them into useless tangles of tendon as the Trog falls. Jumping across the bridge, I land near him, pulling my disrupter out as I come down to finish him off. As I turn, I see that Silva’s already handled her Trog. The Gray is on its feet, staring at her with its unreactive face. A few rounds from my railgun puts an end to that.

  “Lenox?” I call over the comm.

  “Clear,” she tells me.

  “You and Peterson alright?”

  “Not a scratch.”

  “Get up here,” I tell her. “You’re the most experienced pilot we have.” We have left.

  “They’re coming,” says Silva. She’s searching for the controls to secure the airlock’s outer doors.

  Without looking up, I know she’s right. I feel the grav plates in the Trogs’ suits outside powering up. I can’t tell if they know what just happened—they know something did. “Most of them are armed.”

  Chapter 35

  Silva has the tug’s outer doors locked by the time Lenox puts herself into the pilot seat. “Orders?”

  "Max grav to drive the Rusty Turd into the atmosphere. We need Jupiter to burn up the ship so the Grays don't get their greasy little hands on it."

  “Aye Aye, Sir.”

  Before I have a chance to roll my eyes, I feel the tug push, slowly ramping up to max grav. Lenox knows her stuff. Penny taught her well. Metal grinds metal as the tug pushes against the Turd.

  Silva powers up the tug’s monitor screens, providing a video feed of the ship’s full exterior. It’s something the Grays would never use. They depend too much on their innate grav sense to perceive the world. “I have Trogs on airlock two,” she says. “Disruptors out, hacking at the door. They’ll be through before you can think of something snarky to say about it.” She looks at me with a smile. “More on airlock one and three.”

  “C4.” I smile back. “You and Peterson. Do it quick. In the center of the inner door on each airlock. Set them all to blow simultaneously.”

  Silva is on the comm to Peterson, coordinating. They have three airlocks to attend to quickly—one port, one aft, and one on the stern, just to the side of the main hangar bay door.

  “That last Arizona class is going to come for us,” says Lenox.

  “I know,” I tell her. “Keep an eye on it and let me know as soon as you see a reaction.”

  “Right now it’s offloading its platoon onto the cruiser.”

  “Can you raise Madsen or Punjari?”

  She cocks her head to the left. “Comm panel is over there.”

  I don’t need to be told twice. “I’m on it in a flash, and see immediately a handful of railgun rounds have ripped the guts out of it.” I try my suit comm on all channels. “Madsen, Punjari? Anyone on the cruiser?” I wait, and call again to no answers.

  “Too far for suit comm,” says Lenox. “Too much metal between us. I’m sure they know by now the Trogs are onboard.”

  “A hundred?” I ask, trying to guess how many Trogs they had packed in the tugs when they offloaded troops onto the cruiser’s hull before I attacked them. And a full platoon off the Arizona class that was still out there, the one that killed my ship. “How long to get the Rusty Turd in position?”

  “It would be easier if we had Phil.”

  “I know.” I try not to think of Phil. Penny’s death is still tugging at my attention, urging me to grieve. “Best guess?”

  “Three minutes, but it’ll be rough getting back out ag
ain. Momentum and all.”

  “You understand the importance of keeping that ship out of their hands.”

  “I do. I won’t let you down.”

  “Charges set,” Silva tells me.

  “Get back up here as fast as you can, both you and Peterson. The bridge is our Alamo.”

  Our big windows are starting to glow. I glance at Lenox, not sure that I’m seeing what I’m seeing. It’s so faint, so transient.

  “Atmosphere,” she tells me, as the glow steadies into blasts of wispy fire.

  Through the glass, I see the rough edges of the Rusty Turd pushing sideways through the atmosphere. They start to burn, with streaks of plasma flowing off.

  Silva and Peterson rush onto the bridge. Silva takes up a position in front of the ship’s monitor screens without any instruction from me.

  “As soon as they breach the outer airlock doors,” I tell her.

  “Can I wait until they’re inside the airlocks?”

  “Use your judgment.”

  The fire around the ship is rapidly growing.

  “We’re losing Trogs,” says Silva.

  I glance over to see bodies flying away from the ship. They can’t hold on with the atmospheric drag increasing exponentially by the second.

  I feel the ship lurch.

  “They’re in,” says Silva.

  I know the Trogs have to be cramming themselves inside the airlock to move out of the atmosphere. Any that don’t might as well be dead.

  “One more moment,” she says, glued to her monitors. “They’ll be in airlock number two.” Silva hits the detonation button to blow the inner airlock doors. The ship quakes so hard I think it might break up.

  “This is exciting,” says Lenox, wrestling the controls to keep us on course.

  “Any word on that Arizona class?” I ask. It’s a stupid question, with the atmosphere turning into a fireball around us, the ship’s sensors are as blind as I am.

  “Another thirty seconds,” says Lenox, “and we can head back up.”

  “If we can head back up,” says Peterson, not a complaint, more a dark, Brice joke. Silva and Lenox laugh. So, why the hell not? It’s funny enough for me to shake off some of the despair I feel over having just lost half my crew.