Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  “Fair enough.”

  The Admiral drained his coffee, “OK folks, let's call it. I don't know about you, but I need some rack time.” He checked his chronometer, “Good, time enough for some solid sleep before we hit Irujen. Archer, out.” The screen winked and the Admiral's side of the screen went dark, leaving Gantarro still in conference.

  “I know you want to say something Gant,” commented Jack, “you've been silent through this whole meeting.”

  Gantarro smiled, “He's being cautious. He knows there's risks to everything, but I don't think he's convinced that this would work. He's got to weigh the risk versus gain of this venture. He's concerned about losing an important member of this task force - as he should be. I don't think you realize how much of a key figure you've become, to this task force and to the UFW. They are learning from you folks, watching your tactics and your successes. I think if they lost you, it would be a hyper-critical blow. And as resourceful as I know you are, Jack, I have to think there's got to be a way involving less risk.”

  Jack looked at the others standing around the room, listening silently. He looked back at the screen, “I get that. But can you imagine what kind of victory we'd score if we found just one of their bases or stations? It would be epic. Hell, I think we should go back to the salvage yard in the Tulochah system at Geo Zee. I'm betting we could score a few kills there... maybe even get a surrender - that would be big, to take one of their ships. Then before we leave, wipe out the yard.”

  “Take away their resource...” volunteered Gant.

  “Exactly. I'm sure it's not the only one, but still, it'd be a nice takeaway. We need to be more aggressive. I know we're hunting and that idea is new to the UFW who's used to playing defense, but playing nice isn't working out so well for them.”

  “Gant nodded, “Preaching to the choir, my friend...”

  ■ ■ ■

  “Five minutes to Irujen, Captain.”

  Jack was standing over the holo-chart in his ready room, alone, except for Fritz who was curled up on the sofa. “Copy that Stacell. Who's in the lead?”

  “The Bowman, sir. We're abreast of the Archer about a minute back.”

  “All stations manned and ready?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you.” He examined the route to Veloria for the umpteenth time, as if he would suddenly see something there that he had missed all the times he'd looked at it before. He keyed his mic,”Bridge to tower,”

  “Tower, go...”

  “Ready to launch?”

  “Yes, sir standing by...”

  “Good... As soon as you have clear sky...”

  “Understood.”

  Steele stared at the holo-chart for the umpteenth and one time. It wasn't like Veloria was off the beaten path or anything. It was a space faring world with stellar trade, military and off world travelers. Steele was worried about what they might find there... or might not find. What kind of planet wide cataclysm could have occurred...? Surely a civilization as advanced as one that had grown to achieve deep space travel would be equipped to divert any kind of heavenly body falling from the sky and creating an extinction level event... But what about something on the planet? Could something like a super volcano or massive planetary quakes have been the cause? Veloria was a Class 014 type planet, like Earth but much smaller. At a circumference of 17,025 miles, it was a little larger than Mars in the Terran system, with a reported population of about two billion people.

  The lights in his office flickered red an instant before the battle stations klaxon sounded. “Red Alert! All hands to battle stations! All hands to battle stations! This is not a drill!”

  Jack turned from the table and was out on the bridge in a second, the doors barely opening fast enough to allow his passage, the Shepherd on his heels. He slid and dropped into his command chair, the mini screens winking on as his fingers danced across the controls. “Report...” the nose of the Freedom was just entering the swirling halo of color of the gate into Irujen.

  “The Bowman is under attack, sir...” reported Stacell.

  “Open a line...” ordered Steele.

  ■ ■ ■

  The Bowman shuddered, “Shields fifty-two percent, Captain...”

  “Incoming signal from the Freedom, sir...”

  “On screen,” urged Gantarro. The floor vibrated as the main guns on all four turrets fired, the zwump - zwump, reverberating through the hull, over and over. The constant chatter of the Bowman's smaller defensive guns clacked and whined incessantly, a hail of destruction spreading outward through space.

  Steele's face and the bridge of the Freedom appeared in an inset on the forward vid-screen, “Talk to me Gant...”

  “Hurry up Jack, or you're going to miss the party..!”

  “Shields forty percent, Captain...” The bridge shook and for a moment the communications blurred.

  “Hold on, we're right behind you! Thirty seconds...”

  “They're all over us Jack, there's got to be a hundred of them...” the screen distorted as the ship shook, the bridge crew holding onto their stations to stay in their seats.

  “What are we up against?”

  “Damn things are like a swarm of bugs, Jack. We're damaged, they hit us before we were clear of the gate, we've got a little more than half power. Some kind of fighter drones... They can't take a hit though, no shields... but there's so damn many of them...”

  “Shields at thirty percent, sir.”

  ■ ■ ■

  Jack watched the video distort and shake as the Bowman took hits all across her hull, the vid-link suddenly disconnecting. “Helm, get us out there!”

  “Clearing the gate now, sir...” The cloud of color and electric tendrils slid back off the hull and the view screen was instantly sharp and clear, the beleaguered Bowman ahead of them, a gray giant surrounded by a cloud of swirling silver lightning bugs. She was damaged, trailing atmosphere, debris following in her wake. It was impossible to tell how much of the destruction behind her was hers, or destroyed drones, it all drifted together like dust and glitter. Streaks of red laser fire reached out in all directions, crisscrossing the sky, searching for the drones that swirled about her, stabbing at her with their own boron lasers with bright green slashes. An occasional flash marked the demise of one of the fragile drones, their debris mixing into the the trail of destruction left in the Bowman's wake.

  The shields came up and the Freedom's guns cut loose, the floor vibrating from the main turrets, the staccato of her defensive Gatling lasers singing through her hull, a shower of fire reaching out, the flashes almost blinding in their combined intensity. The floor shuddered as two Lancias launched, their trails arcing low and away. It was at that moment when the drones left the Bowman en-mass... and headed straight for the Freedom, head-on, their guns blazing.

  “Forty-seven targets, sir...”

  “Bridge to tower, hold launches, repeat hold launches...” It would be like a plane taking off through a flock of birds... large metal birds.

  “Copy that, Captain, holding all launches... two Lancias ready, standing by.”

  “Red Leader to Freedom, let's see if we can mop some of those up for you...”

  “Negative, Red Leader, stay clear... we're OK.” Steele could see the problem the Bowman was having right away; the drones were small, about a third the size of a manned fighter, and extremely fast. On occasion too fast, as they would crash into the Freedom's shields, their little bodies blowing apart like a fragile glass hitting a concrete floor.

  “Red Leader to Freedom... uh, I have a cloud of bad news coming...”

  “A cloud, Red Leader?”

  “The group is so dense I can't pull up an individual ID... I'm guessing about a hundred more of those little fighters...”

  “Crap,” groaned Steele running his fingers through his hair.

  “Vampire drones, Captain...” commented Ragnaar, “there's got to be a drone carrier somewhere controlling them...”

  “What's th
eir range, Mr. Ragnaar?”

  “Could be anywhere in the system if they're using signal relay buoys...”

  Steele pinched the bridge of his nose, “Great...”

  “They usually carry about three-hundred drones,” continued Ragnaar. “ With a good crew they can launch a hundred units an hour...”

  “Do you have any good news Mr. Ragnaar?”

  “Yes sir. It's a symbiotic relationship. The drones cannot function without the carrier and the carrier cannot survive without the drones. If you destroy a relay buoy you cut them off from each other, the carrier can't call them back for defense, or control them for an attack. The carrier isn't totally defenseless, but our fighters would make short work of it. If the Freedom or one of our cruisers catches it, it wouldn't stand a chance without drones...”

  “Thank you Mr. Ragnaar, that was quite helpful.” Steele keyed his mic, “Freedom to Red Leader, avoid contact with those drones. See if you can get a vector on their approach origin... there's a drone carrier out there somewhere and we need to find it, fast. They may be using signal relay buoys, if you find one, take it out...”

  “Copy Freedom.”

  The surviving drones of the initial flight, continued to swirl around the Freedom, their numbers dwindling. Their effect on the Freedom was minimal at best in their current level of force, more a nuisance than a threat. The Archer had taken the lead, firing a system probe halfway through Irujen, hoping to catch a glimpse of the hiding drone carrier. The Freedom advanced to parallel the Bowman as the task force left the gate behind.

  “Captain,” began Raulya, “approximately one-hundred targets inbound... they're so close together, it is hard to tell exactly... two minutes.”

  “Helm, bring us forward of the Bowman to give her cover...”

  “They're not headed for the Bowman sir,” corrected Raulya, “they're vectored on us...”

  “Bridge to tower...”

  “Tower go,”

  Jack's mind was racing ahead, “Can you launch two over the fantail in the next two minutes?”

  “Yes sir, I have two Cyclones ready to go, sixty seconds...”

  “Good, do it and button us back up... we have company coming.”

  ■ ■ ■

  The tower controller punched the buttons for the stasis field and the main doors at the fan tail, the warning klaxon sounding on the flight deck, the lights around the doors flashing yellow as the doors began opening. He looked down over the flight deck and keyed the address system that would reach everyone's earpiece on the flight line. “Prepare to launch over the fantail... repeat, fantail launch.” Faces turned and looked up at the tower waiting for details. “Cyclone - revetment three, Cyclone - revetment four, launch in thirty seconds!”

  Their helmets and gloves already on and sealed, Lieutenant Brian Carter and Ensign Santine sprinted across the deck from the base of the tower towards the waiting Cyclones, the ground crews swarming over the fighters to disconnect the umbilicals and clear equipment out of the way. Brian hit his Cyclone's boarding ladder at the third rung, racing up and dropping into the cockpit. Assisted with his connections and strapping in, Brian was quickly going through his pre-flight checklist, flipping on his pre-start systems.

  Knocking on his helmet, the flight line assistant indicated that the Lieutenant was ready to go. Brian nodded, and switched on the anti-grav, the Cyclone becoming weightless and lifting off the deck. “Santine, you hooked in yet?”

  “Yes, sir,” he waved.

  Brian saw the boarding ladder disappear and pulled the lever to lower his canopy, nudging the flight stick and moving the Cyclone slowly out of the revetment, guided by hand signals from the lineman on the deck. “Remember, Santine, anti-grav and maneuvering thrusters only, until we're at least a couple clicks out.” He checked his canopy seal and satisfied, headed his Cyclone down the runway.

  “Copy, Lieutenant, shields, burner and guns are outside toys only...”

  Brian smirked as his Cyclone slipped through the stasis field and out into the starry blackness, the gate back to Longreach visible in the distance. Clear of the ship, he toggled off the anti-grav and toggled in the landing gear, which bumped gently as it locked up into the fuselage of the fighter. Spinning up his engines, the startup rumble vibrating through the frame of the fighter, a deep thump signaled the ignition of the burners. Nudging the throttle forward and swinging right, he looked over his shoulder and could see Santine's Cyclone coming up behind him. The Freedom's stern bay doors were already closing and in another few seconds the Freedom began to shrink as they arced around to join the two Lancias of Red flight in search of the drone carrier. “Blue Leader to tower, we're clear and in-route to our search grid...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Studying the sensor scan, Jack watched the approaching cloud of fighter drones on a collision course with the Freedom, when a thought suddenly struck him. Tapping on the flat glass keyboard, he pulled up the tactical weapons and armament information and paged to the torpedo specifications data on a separate screen... Torpedo triggering event settings: Contact, Delayed Penetration, Proximity or Manual Detonation. “Nice.” He pulled up the two launch tubes and selecting the graphic of the left torpedo, adjusted the setting of the MK*73 to proximity. Because the fighter drones were too small of a target for a sensor lock, he set the trajectory of the torpedo to pass through the center of the drone cloud. “Torpedo One, firing,” he tapped launch, and the outer door slid open automatically, the MK*73 torpedo streaking away, a brilliant fireball propelling it across the darkness. The auto-load system sealed the outer door and began the process of reloading the tube with the next available torpedo from the feed rack.

  “Sir, the MK*73 is not really designed for targets that small... I don't think you're going to be able to hit one of those things.”

  “Don't need to hit one, Mr. Ragnaar, just get close... I hope,” he added quietly, mostly to himself.

  The drones were so close to the Freedom the swarm could be seen on the view screen as a glittering, shimmering, shifting mass. They appeared to spread out as the MK*73 neared, opening up to allow the torpedo clear passage through their midst, easily avoiding the giant ship-killer. As it passed through, a brilliant flash and a lightning-fast shock wave swelled in a sphere, devouring the fragile fighter drones, tossing them aside like leaves in a gale, shattering them with its brutal storm. Only a small handful escaped the massacre by being on the outer fringes of the swarm. They advanced towards the Freedom, streaking mindlessly through the darkness, unthinking, unfeeling, oblivious of the destruction of the others, leaving a glittering, drifting cloud of dust and debris behind.

  A gentle wave of applause swept across the bridge but they all knew it wasn't quite over yet...

  ■ ■ ■

  Lieutenant Mike Warren adjusted the scan range and sensitivity of his Lancia's Radar system, eyeing the planet off in the distance about thirty degrees to his right. Mike looked left over his wingtip at Duncan Taylor's Lancia, keying his mic, using his wing man's call sign, “Nineteen, you picking up anything on LIDAR?”

  “I've got nothing, Mad Dog,” came the reply over local channel, “you picking anything up on Radar?”

  “Negative...” Mike switched over to a broad encoded channel. “Red Leader to Blue Leader, are you picking anything up?”

  There was a momentary silence. “This is Blue Leader... we've got a ping, it's really small - probably just debris, but we're headed to check it out...” he forwarded the coordinates for reference, “sending you the coordinates now.”

  “Good call, Blue Leader, it could be a relay buoy. Keep us apprised.” Mike switched back to the local channel he was previously on. “OK, Nineteen, let's go see what's behind that planet.” Mike swung the nose of his Lancia thirty degrees to take them to the planet in question, Duncan Taylor's fighter pacing alongside.

  Beyond the marbled grayish, dusty looking planet, the system's sun glared in their eyes and Mike Warren squinted, lowering his tinted visor to cut t
he effect. It helped... a little. “Damn that's bright,” he muttered.

  “Nineteen to Mad Dog, my LIDAR sensors just went blind... I don't think switching to LADAR will be any better...”

  “It won't,” replied Mike, “Switch to SPD,” Scanned Phase Doppler Radar, “I'm running MPB,” Magnetic Pulse Beam Radar.

  “Nineteen copies, switching to SPD Radar.”

  ■ ■ ■

  Steele was pacing the bridge stations, “Are we clear?”

  “Clear, sir,” replied Raulya from the tactical station, “all drones destroyed.”

  Jack keyed his mic, “Bridge to tower, we're clear for launch. Four to CAP task force, ready both Zulus.”

  “Tower copies, two launching now...” the floor rumbled as the two Lancias waiting in the launch tubes that were originally to be the second half or Red Flight, thundered out into the darkness, suddenly visible on the forward screens as they lit their engines and streaked upward and away. “Tower to bridge, two clear, two loading. Zulus prepped and ready in less than five...”

  “Understood.” Steele stood, arms folded in the center of the bridge, “Ms. Stacell, open a line to the Bowman.”

  “Aye, Captain, on screen...”

  Gantarro's face appeared as an inset video on the big screen, “How're you folks holding up, sir?” asked Jack.

  “We got hit hard before we could clear the gate and get our shields up, Captain. We lost our communications array and won't be able to reach anything beyond the task force. Our sensor array was heavily damaged... we're pretty much blind except for magnetic Radar.” He reviewed the reports on his e-Pad, glancing down, then back up, “Seventy-five percent of our shields are at one-hundred percent...” The litany of damage continued to include the loss of a main generator, severe damage to her main starboard engine and enough damage to one of her main gun batteries to make it inoperable. It was interesting to note, that while there were a few injuries, there were no crew casualties.