Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  “Hang on, looking...” The co-pilot rotated the FLIR camera around searching the scene as they approached. “The fire looks like it was a vehicle. I've got bodies on the ground between it and the house to the south of it. I also have one... no, make that two figures at the side of the object... looks like a door or something. We also have what looks to be civilians up the beach and on the edges of the residences...”

  “Idiots, go back in your houses...”

  “Yes sir. And at the top of the street, we have a large group of folks that look to be emergency response personnel... ” He inspected the shape on the shore, “I still can't tell what the hell that thing is though...” He knew. They all knew. But nobody wanted to say it. As if not saying it could prevent it from being true. It would only delay the inevitable realization that they were in way over their heads... no training taught them how to deal with this.

  “I want to keep a little distance, put some light on it.” The pilot had swung wide and they had passed around it on the water side. The pilot pivoted the helo around to make another pass, allowing the gunners to observe as well.

  “Got it... spot is on.” He waved at the dash of fluctuating gauges, “Did you notice the gauges?”

  “Yep, just light up the target.” The co-pilot manipulated the control and the spotlight lit up a large section of the alien ship's hull.

  “Holy fuck...”

  “Yeeeaaah... any chance they just stopped to ask directions...?”

  ■ ■ ■

  F-16s are commonly referred to as Flying Falcons but the pilots who fly them refer to them as Vipers. It had taken a couple minutes to scramble, but once off the ground it had only taken the four F-16Cs of the 93rd Fighter Squadron about a minute to climb to ten-thousand feet where they could surpass the speed of sound without severely rattling the windows of every house they passed over. Coming from Homestead Air Force Base at better than Mach 1, the Ft Myers area would be about a ten-minute flight. Looking down there was only darkness as they passed over the Everglades and Big Cypress National Preserve.

  The Major checked his watch, “Makos are five minutes to target...” He was truly curious, he'd been out on a UFO hunt twice before and seen nothing, but when the NSA places the call, there was a whole different world of legitimacy to it. Armed with four air-to-air AIM 120 AMRAAMs missiles per bird, the Viper pilots were ready to do business.

  “Homestead tower, copy Mako Lead, good hunting.”

  With nothing on Radar and no direct communication with anyone in the Ft Myers area, the Viper drivers were going into an unknown situation. Nothing new really, but there were supposed to be other air and sea units in the area and a communications blackout was not a good sign. Speed is life. They would go in hot, access the situation as they exited the target zone, then swing back to engage if necessary.

  ■ ■ ■

  With Nina holding a flashlight, Lisa Spun the three-spoke locking wheel on the inside of the safe room door, unlocking it manually with a gentle clank. “I don't get it,” started Nina, “Batteries seem to be OK,” she emphasized by wiggling the light in her hand, “but all the systems are down.”

  “Jack mentioned something about shielding” replied Lisa, heaving on the door without budging it.

  “But the little comm unit you have worked...”

  “I know,” replied Lisa going to the back wall and cranking on the manual wheel to move the door, “that comm unit was made by them, its electronics are shielded so it functions,” she panted, cranking away. The heavy door moved slowly, the manual wheel winding the roll-chain under the floor. The cranking got easier the door moving faster, approaching the point where Lisa couldn't keep up with wheel and let it go, stepping back and looking out through the opening, seeing a rather large arm pushing in on the outside of the door. Gus stuck his nose through the opening, snuffling and Lisa drew her Glock, “Who are you?”

  “Name's Truck, I'm from the 77. Captain Steele sent us...” he grunted, pushing harder, “we need to hurry, it's getting really busy out here.”

  Lisa holstered her Glock and cranked on the manual wheel as fast as she could, the light from Truck's helmet mini-light illuminating a portion of the room. At about twenty-four inches he stopped, standing back to let them out through the opening. Dressed in jeans, and tomboy clothes, Lisa and Nina dragged out two deployment type military-sized duffel bags they had found in the garage and packed with clothes and personal items. Both of them were wearing their sidearms and extra magazines, ready to fight. Gus followed them closely but seemed indifferent to the big man in armor with the machine gun slung across his chest. Truck bent down and grabbing both bags by the straps, hefted them easily one handed. “OK, let's go...”

  “Holy shit he's big,” whispered Nina in awe.

  Lisa shook her head, “You may not be able to understand him, but he can understand you... and you're not whispering all that quiet.”

  Nina shrugged, “Sorry, I wasn't trying to be disrespectful...” her voice trailed off when they entered the kitchen from the hallway. Three NSA agents lay propped against the wall together, the furniture destroyed, the sliding glass doors gone, glass everywhere, the walls riddled with bullet holes. “Are they d-d-dead?” she stammered.

  “Nah,” replied Truck, “just phased out.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said they're phased out - I think it means knocked out...” answered Lisa.

  “Exactly right,” confirmed Truck, tossing the Duffel bags out on the deck. “OK, it's time to go...”

  Lisa eyed the mess and scowled at the agents. “Can they talk? Can they understand?”

  “Speech and listening are two different brain functions” replied Chief Petty Officer Layora Cress. “They can hear and understand. Talking coherently won't happen for about another ten minutes...”

  “Wish I knew which one was in charge...” the three agents looked up and their heads wobbled, their eyes swimming, but the one on the end was the only one who tried to speak. It sounded mostly like babble but they were more likely just disconnected words.

  “My guess would be that one,” offered Truck.

  “We don't really have time for this Ms. Steele,” advised the Chief.

  “This will only take a minute.” Lisa crouched in front of the agents looking the end agent in the eyes, grabbing him by the vest, “And you government folks wonder why people hate the government, well look around you, you fucking asshole... this is why. You were more interested in finding this little gizmo,” she held up her comm-pad, “than you were in protecting us. Guess what, after all this you're still not getting it. And I'm leaving the planet to get away from you pricks. That's right,” she added, poking him in the forehead with her index finger, “you heard me. And I've got one final piece of advice for you; put this house back in the condition you found it in. Or Heaven help you... if you think this is bad, wait till my brother comes back, this will look like a walk in the park. By the time he gets finished with you fucks, your dead ancestors will come back just to bitch-slap your mothers for having you...”

  “Bridge to Chief, you have ground threats inbound, on the street and spreading out between the houses... we also have fast air units inbound, ETA ninety seconds... get them out now! ”

  The Chief grabbed Lisa by the arm, pulling her to her feet, “Gotta go Missy...” She pushed Lisa toward the glassless sliding doors, “wait on the deck, you too,” she pointed to Nina. “Truck, see if you can slow them down... and try not to kill any of them.”

  He was headed for the open front door, which hung crookedly on his damaged hinges, when he stopped to look over his shoulder, “Try not to kill... oh for the love of the Gods, how am I supposed to slow them down then? Harsh language and bad words? I'm sorry; I left my rainbow gun in my other suit...”

  “You'll think of something...” she turned and motioned her people out, “Let's go, let's go! Six to egress!” she announced on her mic. “Don't take too long Truck!” she called back.

  T
ruck peeked out of the doorway, looking up the street, “Yeah, yeah, I know...” There was movement in the darkness on both sides of the street headed toward the house but he couldn't see any of them clearly. “Hmm, let's provide some light...” switching to a left hand grip to stay protected in the doorway, he shouldered the light plasma machine gun and took aim at the stalled black SUV in the street, a block up. A three round burst of hot magenta plasma through the front of the vehicle and it exploded much like the first - in spectacular fashion, showering the surrounding houses with fragments and debris, flaming bits and pieces floating through the air. A lone burning tire rolled lazily down the street, losing momentum and dropping over on its side, a thick column of choking black smoke rising above it, carried up the street by the on-shore breeze. Return fire was not immediate, but it did come and it was a mixture of sounds; loud, quiet, popping, cracking... and the splatter of the rounds hitting the outside of the house, chipping away at the masonry. He took his phase pistol out and reaching out the doorway, fired blindly up the street, the blue-white streaks reaching out in a flat trajectory until they met something to stop them, cars, trees, houses, people...

  The Chief's voice came through his headset, “C'mon Truck..! Quit fooling around!”

  “Yeah, just having a ton of fun up here,” he backed away from the doorway, closing the battered door, wedging the shattered hallway table under the doorknob. Trotting though the kitchen he waved at the agents sitting propped against the wall, “Bye fellas.” He hustled out onto the deck and turned toward the 77, seeing the orange and white Coast Guard helicopter for the first time as it circled above his ship, the rotors producing a steady thump, thump, thump. The helo's spotlight was focused on the Chief's group on the beach as they neared the ramp, clouds of sand swirling from the rotor wash. “Isn't that nice,” he muttered, running, “he's lighting their way...” Looking at the helicopter's left side, Truck saw the flickers of light through the cockpit glass and the fountains of sand dancing between the group and the ramp before he could hear the staccato of machine gun fire, the sound distorted by the helo's rotor wash. He realized the gunner wasn't trying to kill them, the shots were far too controlled and perfectly spaced between the landing party and the ramp, but he couldn't allow that to happen again. He slid to a stop in the sand, slung the Plasma machine gun and drew the phase pistol, showering the side of the helicopter with shots that, while not debilitating, were colorfully illuminating as the static charge danced across the aluminum skin. Blue tendrils spread outwards like a spider web, disrupting gauges, communications and low amperage systems. All of its lights went out, pitching hard to the right, passing over the 77 and out over the water, disappearing in the darkness. Truck was already running full stride, cradling the plasma machine gun under his right arm.

  A series of sonic booms and the roar of jet engines passing overhead masked a flurry of gunfire coming from between the houses as NSA agents, Sheriff's Deputies and local police opened fire on the crew scrambling across the sand. Civilians watching up and down the beach were horrified, screaming and running for their homes as the beach turned into a crisscross of fire and return fire, the sharpshooters at the top of the 77's ramp protecting the landing party as best they could.

  Reaching the bottom of the ramp, the Chief turned back to cover Truck as her team hustled Lisa, Nina and Gus up and into the ship. Getting to the top of the ramp and safely inside, Lisa turned back to see Truck pitch forward twenty feet short of the ramp, fountains of sand dancing around him.

  “Help him!” she screamed, pushing the team member closest her back toward the ramp. Additional team members came running from the dark red shadows of the hold behind them, carrying phase rifles. Going prone along the top of the ramp the volume of small arms firepower coming from the ship tripled within a couple of seconds.

  “Bridge to Chief, we need to lift off now!”

  Truck rolled over on his back and pulled his plasma machine gun out of the sand, spread his legs and began firing between his feet. The Chief had made her way to him and was trying to drag him back, but he was far too heavy. The Coast Guard helicopter appeared back over the hull of the 77 and swung into place over the beach, halfway between the houses and the ship, the machine gunner opening fire on the ramp...

  Lisa jumped and ducked all at the same time as two of the 77's defensive gun turrets roared to life and opened fire on the helicopter, their flashes illuminating the beach like daylight, instantly turning the helicopter into a twisted, flaming field of debris, raining down on the sand below, scattering pieces for hundreds of feet. Its destruction created a momentary respite from the gunfire and Truck got to his feet assisted by the Chief and two other members of the team, half walking, half dragging him to the ramp. Once on the ramp, it began to pitch upward, easing them inside. “Chief to Bridge, shields up, we're in!”

  They eased Truck to the floor and he lay on his side... “Shot in the fucking ass...” he complained, “this is embarrassing...”

  The Chief knelt down alongside him as the medic stuck him with a lancet. “To be honest Truck,” she examined the many dents in the back of his armor, “that's not the only place they hit you...”

  The doors had not completely closed when the static hiss of the ship's shields made Lisa and Nina's hair stand out from their heads and they giggled with the strange tingling sensation. As the doors fitted together the feeling subsided, stopping altogether when they locking rams sealed them tight. Lisa moved over to where Truck lay and knelt next to him, “I'm sorry Truck...”

  He patted her hand with a gloved hand three times the size of hers, “Why, you didn't shoot me... did you?” He raised an eyebrow, “Did you...?”

  “No,” she chuckled. “I'm sorry you got hurt. I never expected it to get like this, this was insane!” She looked around at the others standing around. “Thank you... all of you. I can't believe what a mess this was... I can't believe what they did to my brother's house...” She took a deep breath, “He's gonna kill me...”

  “Chief Petty Officer Layora Cress,” she pulled off her glove and stuck out her hand, shaking Lisa's hand. “Since you're a civilian, you can call me Layora...”

  “Lisa Steele, and this is my friend Nina,” she pointed at the dog who sat sedately nearby watching the conversation, “and that's Gus.”

  “So, that was Captain Steele's house?” Lisa nodded and the Chief shook her head, “I am sorry, please tell him...”

  “Not your fault Layora,” she ran her fingers through her hair, “Jack will know that, it's why he needed to get me out. He knew they wouldn't stop.”

  “What was this all about..?”

  Lisa smirked, “It's a long story...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Commander Renae Ribundell went from pacing the stations to her seat as soon as the shields went up, eyeing the lights for the waist doors and ramp. “Helm, take us up, three hundred feet. Set a course for our entry point...” The view on the big screen swung from shore and dropped away, the anti-gravity system propelling the ship flatly upward. The lights on her console winked out, letting her know the hull was sealed. As the 77 rose, the Coast Guard cutter below, completely lost power, the blackout area on the coast widening. Only the F-16s, now flying at five-thousand feet above, were unaffected. “Helm, ease us out...” she didn't want to damage the ship below. The 77 left the shore at about two-hundred miles per hour, passing the motionless cutter in an instant.

  Lieutenant RyeCyn was watching the F-16s on the tactical scanner, “The air units were waiting for us to clear the shore. They're off our stern, ten miles and closing...” he adjusted his scan resolution, “they're firing! I'm tracking four missiles inbound... thirty-one-hundred miles per hour...”

  “Helm, get us clear!”

  “Yes ma'am...” The helmsman nudged the throttle forward taking the UFW Corvette to over five-thousand miles per hour in about 10 seconds. The Aim 120 AMRAAMs chased their target to the extent of their designed range and having lost any type of target lock,
dropped into the Gulf of Mexico after running out of fuel.

  The Commander exhaled, twisting her head to pop her neck, “Helm, take us up and out.”

  ■ ■ ■

  Lisa and Nina sat on twin-sized beds facing each other, about four feet separating them. The room had everything; beds, a desk, bathroom, shower... but it was, well... compact. Though thankfully much more comfortable than Jack's zombie room. Nina leaned back against her duffel bag, rubbing her neck, “That thing hurt when she put it in.”

  “I think you're just being a baby, it didn't hurt when I had mine... she numbed it didn't she?”

  “Yeah, but I don't think she waited till it was actually numb.”

  Lisa stroked Gus' ear, “Well put the cream on it, she said that would help...” A light musical chiming sound got their attention and they looked at each other curiously. “Did you hear that?”

  Nina nodded, “Yeah, what is that...?”

  Lisa stood up and looked around, “I don't know, sounds like my cell phone when I get a message...”

  Nina stood up as did Gus, “Well that's not possible...” she waved her hands, “there it is again!”

  Lisa stood in the middle of their quarters, her hands on her hips, “What the fu...” the door to their quarters swished open, Chief Petty Officer Layora Cress standing in the corridor, her hands clasped behind her.

  “So you're just going to leave me standing out here...?” She folded her arms across her chest, “It's actually considered polite to answer the door when someone rings,” she chided.

  Lisa and Nina looked at each other “The doorbell...” they said together, feeling a little stupid. It was definitely a forehead slapping moment. There was a flurry of apologies before inviting the Chief in.