Wings of Steele: Revenge and Retribution

by Jeffrey Burger

  “I was never really clear on that, who is Homeland Security?”

  Allie was sitting with her rump on the back seat, her front feet on the floor, her chin on the armrest between the front seats. She nudged Chase's elbow and he scratched her head. “DHS is pretty much everybody that's not military... they've all been lumped together under one umbrella - a domestic army. The administration has been working very hard to wear our traditional military down... constant deployments, budget cuts, reductions of support and recruiting... all the while strengthening DHS with more people, gear, weapons, authority...” He thought for a moment, “Look at what people put up with at the airports from the TSA; groping little children and grandmothers, crotch inspections, strip searches... what the hell is that crap? Then letting people who actually look like terrorists walk right through, because, heaven forbid, we wouldn't want to upset those people, it might be racist. It makes me sick.”

  He waited until Karen completed her pass on an eighteen-wheeler, the big truck's engine noise fading behind them. “Under the DHS umbrella, the government has militarized the IRS, the EPA, Social Security Administration, Federal Reserve Bank, Parks and Wildlife officers and even Property Code Enforcement teams... supplying them with weapons, and even SWAT teams. The IRS and Federal Reserve aren't even true government entities, they're basically private contractors. The EPA? Social Security? Really? What the hell do they need SWAT teams for? It's frightening.”

  “Karen reset the cruise control. “So what do you think will happen, then?”

  “There is a growing group called Oath Keepers; people in law enforcement and the military that have sworn to disobey unlawful orders. Not sure what that will entail... Will they refuse with violence? Will they fight? I don't know. There will be plenty of men that will simply follow orders, do what they're told.” He rubbed his face, “And the government won't play fair, they may use unconventional tools. Things they can deny or call an accident; like chemical, biological or weather.”

  “Did you say weather?”

  “Yeah...” he waved dismissively, “but the real wild card is the people. With about eighty-million lawful firearm owners, they are the largest standing army on the planet... If they stick together. And judging by what's going on in some states, the people are just about fed up...” He looked down at his hands in contemplation, momentarily seeing the dried blood and powder-like Afghanistan dust covering his combat gloves, hearing the engine of the Humvee. He blinked it away. “Too many distractions...” he muttered.

  “What?”

  “Too many distractions,” he repeated. “This administration operates like a shell game; every time something important comes up they distract from it with something else. And the media isn't doing its job either; they're complicit in all of this...”

  Karen checked her mirrors and speed, “By the looks of it the house and senate aren't doing much either...”

  “Yeah, don't get me started on that bunch, they're too busy stuffing their pockets to give a damn about the little people.”

  Karen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I'm liking this idea less and less. In a minute or two I'm going to start hating it.” She shot him a sideways glance, “You want to explain to me why the hell we're going to this place? Isn't this the type of crap we're running from..?”

  “I don't think we can run away from this anymore, Karen...”

  “What are you saying, Chase? Exactly, I mean... is this some kind of combat mission for you..? I'm... I'm...” her voice quivered, “I want my old life back...”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  UFW CONQUEST, TRANQUIL ECHO SYSTEM : SCHOOL DAZE

  Lt. Commander Mike Warren paced in front of the class of twenty pilots, a large holo-screen behind him playing videos of their previous day's flights and maneuvers. “I think we made some good progress yesterday, and I want that to continue but we're going to study tactics and maneuvers in the classroom today.” He pointed at the big screen, “We've seen some blatant mistakes that could get you in trouble so we're going to review video playback and see what you were thinking while you were doing it. Each pilot is going to give a verbal description during his video...”

  There was a unified groan from the class.

  Mike stopped pacing, his hands on his hips, a scowl, staring down the entire class. “Listen up boys and girls, when I want your opinion, I'll give it to you. Understand?” The group fell silent. “You are improving but some of you are sloppy and some of you are inexperienced... that will get you dead. A decent Pirate pilot, and we've seen some pretty good ones, would have owned half of you in a one-on-one confrontation. That's unacceptable. You should be able to handle two or three of them...” He folded his arms across his chest, his feet shoulder-width apart. “If there's someone here that can beat me in a one-on-one, I will sign off and dismiss you from the class...” He scanned the faces exchanging silent glances around them, a pilot in the back row finally standing up confidently.

  “I can, Comman...”

  “No you can't” waved the Lt. Commander dismissively, “sit down.” He looked around, “Anyone else?” There were no other challengers, their confidence level wasn't such that they actually believed they could. He expected that near the end of the training if he asked the same question three-quarters of the class would stand up. Satisfied no one else was feeling bigger than their britches, he continued. “Good. Because you'd be wrong. It's OK to be confident,” he indicated the pilot who had stood up, “but don't be overconfident. Don't let blind pride write a check your skills can't cash. Be realistic with yourself, know your strengths and weaknesses. Play on your strengths and practice to improve on your weaknesses. That's what this training is going to do, it's going to force you to focus on your weaknesses and improve.”

  He stepped away from the podium and held up his hand, “How many people here have had to eject or had ejection and recovery training?” He looked around the class, spotting Lisa Steele's hand in the air. “Anyone else?” He dropped his hand to his side, “Alright then, we have an exciting afternoon planned. After we review our flight videos, we will be practicing ejection and recovery survival...”

  The pilot sitting next to Lisa had yellow eyes like a cat and short cropped blue-black hair. “You've had the ejection training?” he whispered, leaning in close.

  Lisa shook her head curtly. “No, had to eject when we lost a wing over a planet,” she whispered back out the side of her mouth.

  “Were you scared?”

  Lisa widened her eyes and nodded affirmatively without speaking, watching the first video start, the pilot narrating.

  ■ ■ ■

  Considering she was the most junior pilot on the ship, Lisa had made a pretty decent showing. Nothing fancy, nothing spectacular, but she had hung with the instructor, taking his lead, doing what she was instructed without any preconceived notions or bad habits to have to break. She didn't want to end up in the dubious position of teacher's pet, but she didn't want to be catching any flak for being at the bottom of the class either. Mike's teaching style wasn't overly complimentary, probably a good thing, but he had a way of conveying he was pleased without being overt. Equally, he had the ability to be critical without tearing down any progress that had been made and Lisa felt comfortable trusting everything he said, absorbing it like a sponge. Almost to the point of overflow. Thank God for the occasional break and a day off... if she wasn't flying she was studying, running or working out.

  The days were blurring into each other and at times it was difficult to keep track of them. She showed up more than once for training on her off day, standing in an empty classroom. She couldn't remember working so hard for anything in her life. It was exhausting, nerve-racking, mind-numbing, but thrilling and exhilarating all at the same time.

  “Lisa Steele...”

  Waiting her turn in the ante-room to the ejector seat training module, Lisa looked up when the pilot with the dark hair and yellow eyes nudged her elbow. “You're up, they just called your name
.”

  She blinked away her thoughts and rose, her helmet in her hand, “Thanks.”

  “Good luck,” he smiled weakly, obviously nervous.

  “No luck involved,” she commented, pulling on her helmet. “Strap into the seat, hold on for dear life and try not to puke in your suit...” His face was pinched, almost dour, looking unconvinced. Lisa wasn't sure what he was worried about, Ensign Dado was one of the best pilots in the class; a fearless risk taker with fast reflexes and a fast mind, able to predict and mirror the instructors' maneuvers. Surely someone of his caliber shouldn't be bothered by a controlled ejection exercise with recovery birds waiting close by.

  She shrugged it off, the heavy blast door to the training module sliding open with a hydraulic hiss. She stepped over the threshold and paused as directed at the hashed yellow line, the door closing behind her, the lock mechanism ominously winding heavy bolts that extended into the outer frame. The room, barely ten-feet by fourteen-feet, had one wall curved, from ceiling to floor, the room narrowest at the top. A door to her left opened slowly, a heavy robotic arm reaching into the room, clutching an ejection seat. Rotating precisely, the arm locked the seat down on the empty pedestal before releasing its grip and retracting, the door closing again. Then it hit her, she was ejecting into space. On that. She jumped when the bulky metal figure against the far wall moved.

  “This is the outer wall of the ship,” it commented with a metallic female voice, tapping on one of the room's exposed ribs. “Well the inner wall at least; there's two other layers and about two feet of armor.”

  Lisa stared at the figure, trying to see through the reflective glass visor.

  “Step to the green box, Cadet,” it said, pointing at a worn green square painted on the floor in front of the ejection chair.

  “I'm an Ensign,” Lisa corrected her, stepping forward.

  “Good for you, sweetie,” the figure replied flatly. “Inspection,” it announced, checking Lisa's suit and helmet seals, moving her around. It paused for a moment, nearly visor to visor, staring back. “You can stop eying me, there's no one in here...” the visor flipped open and Lisa recoiled, her head hitting the padding inside her helmet. She was looking at a gaping hole filled with electronics, optical sensors and an array of lenses. It turned away to look at its own hand as it held it up in front of Lisa, wiggling padded, skeletonized metal fingers. “You didn't notice these?”

  “No, sorry, I didn't.”

  “Oh.”

  It wasn't urgent but Lisa's nervousness probably prompted the feeling. “I don't suppose I could hit the head...”

  “Oh sure, we have time,” the robot responded flatly.

  Lisa was relieved. “Really?”

  “No.” It pointed behind her, “Sit.” The robot went about adjusting the seat's curvature and bolsters to fit Lisa's size and shape. “Comfy?”

  “Comfy,” replied Lisa, reaching for her belts.

  “Don't help,” corrected the robot, brushing her hand away. “Just sit and relax. I need to complete and confirm all steps in the process.” Tasks executed, it stepped away to review its work; “Belts – secure. Restraint tension - within parameters. Umbilicals - secure and locked. Oxygen system - on and delivering. Climate control – active. Beacon – active. All systems functioning and stable...”

  Lisa gripped the armrests, anticipating what would come next, her heart racing. Its visor closed again, the robot stepped back toward her and taking the pilot's arms by the wrists, crossed them over her body, “Grip your restraints, Cadet. You would normally eject with your hands on the launch loop between your knees. Your arms and hands should always be inside the armrests. A cockpit is narrow...” she made a cutting motion with her skeletonized fingers across her opposite metal arm as she stepped back to her original position near the outside bulkhead. “Stay in your seat and wait for recovery.” The robot flipped a safety cover open and pushed the button it protected, a hatch in the ceiling above the chair blowing open, the atmosphere in the room exiting with an explosive roar. “Remember to breathe...” said the robot's metallic female voice in Lisa's headset. It flipped the cover on the remaining button...

  Screaming.

  Screaming seems to be one of the most natural responses for that first head-over drop on a roller coaster, the slingshot ride at the county fair, bungee jumps, skydiving, and, oddly enough, having the equivalent of a howitzer shell going off under your ass, blasting you and your seat out into the black void of space. The heavy frame of the hatch flashed past Lisa's eyes, a nanosecond later the darkness filled her view, the Conquest quickly shrinking below her. Being in a fighter in space, the vista surrounding the cockpit was awe inspiring. Being out there alone in a seat with an unobstructed view of nearly 360° was terrifying.

  “Miss Lisa... Miss Lisa...”

  “TESS?” gasped Lisa.

  “Breathe, Lisa. You're holding your breath and your heart rate is at 142. Deep breaths.”

  Lisa forced herself to suck air in, she hadn't been aware that she was holding her breath. “Oh my God,” she whispered, looking around. The ship had dropped below her, little more than a speck. Sensing a safe distance, the seat automatically fired deceleration thrusters to stop its momentum. The weightlessness immediately became apparent to Lisa, who had perceived gravity as the acceleration kept her backside planted firmly in the seat. It was a strange sensation but not altogether foreign as she recalled ejecting in the atmosphere over Veloria. The momentary weightlessness as her seat reached the pinnacle of its ride before plummeting back toward the surface of the planet was similar but short-lived.

  “That's better,” said TESS, “deep breaths... stay calm.”

  Lisa became a little braver, releasing the vice grip she had on her restraints, twisting from one side to another to look all around her. “I don't see anything around us...” She looked over the side below her, finding the speck that was the Conquest, and a flare halfway between her and the ship, moving upwards. “That must be Ensign Dado. I wonder if he's screaming... TESS, did I scream?”

  “Like a banshee.”

  Lisa rolled her eyes, “Swell. I hope no one else heard it...” She tracked the flare as it rose, then suddenly going dark as it continued to shoot upwards. She lost it in the background of stars until the decelerators fired. “There he is...” she pointed, remembering there was no one there to share it with. Honestly, having TESS on her wrist made it easier, she didn't feel quite so alone. In retrospect, it would have been nice to have her along when she got stranded on Veloria.

  The comm in her helmet crackled like an open mic somewhere, a voice suddenly breaking through the hiss. “Recovery Three to Ensign Steele, what's your status?”

  “Awake and still breathing...”

  There was a pause before the voice broke through the hiss again. “What is your system status?”

  Duh... If Lisa could have facepalmed, she would have. Feeling a bit amateurish, she flipped open the panel on the armrest, reading her seat's power and system stats. “All in the green - top of the graphs.”

  “Copy that. We will be passing you to pick up Ensign Dado first, he seems to be having some system problems...” About a mile away, the recovery ship shot past on her left side, arcing in towards the area where she lost the spec that was Dado in the spread of stars.

  ■ ■ ■

  The dinner rush was over but the ship's galley was still relatively busy, Nina Redwolf dropped into the seat across the table from Lisa with half of the volume of food on Lisa's tray. “Good God, woman...”

  Lisa shrugged, “For some reason, that last exercise gave me a hellatious appetite.”

  “Ya think?” Nina poured dressing over her salad. “What exactly was the last exercise?”

  “Ejection training. They put you in a seat and eject you out into space...”

  Nina's fork stalled halfway to her mouth, “Say what?”

  Lisa nodded, chewing, “Biggest rush I've ever had in my life... unfucking believable.”

&n
bsp; “Weren't you scared?”

  “To death... but it was soooo cool!” She paused for a moment staring at her plate in thought, “I never got the attraction of roller coasters, I hated them,” she said looking back up, “I understand it now. What a ride...”

  Nina shook her head, finally getting to her salad. “It's like I don't even know you anymore. You're like this warrior chick or something...” She stared at her friend across the table, “It's kinda hot,” she smirked.

  Lisa stopped mid chew, pointing her empty fork at Nina, “Behave yourself, you randy bitch.”

  “Greetings,” said Ensign Dado, appearing at the end of the table, tray in hand. “Do you have room?”

  “Sure,” replied Lisa. She slid down to the next seat, dragging her tray along the table, giving him space.

  He set his tray down and leaned across offering his hand to Nina, “Hi, I'm Torn Dado...” he shot Lisa a glance, “but she calls me Tornado. Not sure what that means, I guess I'm going to have to look that up.”

  Nina shook his hand, “Nina. Just Nina.”

  “OK, Just Nina,” he joked, sitting down, a sparkle in his yellow-amber eyes, studying her satiny auburn hair and her fine features.

  “So what happened to you out there, Tornado?” asked Lisa, sipping her drink.

  “No idea. Something with the seat's air supply failed almost immediately on launch. I only had about five minutes of air. I remember seeing the rescue bird coming before blacking out, then nothing until we got about halfway back to the ship.” He stirred his soup, “I didn't see you, when did they pick you up?”

  “You were on Rescue Three. As soon as they got you aboard they headed straight back here,” she tapped her plate with her fork. “Rescue One picked me up about ten minutes later...”