“Listen here, old man...” started Whitman.
Kyle raised one eyebrow, recognizing the voice from the phone call. And that was as far as the agent got, his face meeting with Kyle's sizable fist as it shot out from his shoulder like a cannon shell. “I told you once not to call me that,” he breathed, “I don't like repeating myself.” Whitman went down like a felled tree, bouncing on the deck with a red splat on his face, semi-conscious. “You need to learn some manners...” Kyle shifted to Mooreland, “You got something to say, be quick about it and be gone.”
Mooreland put his hands out in front of him in a neutral posture. “Believe it or not, we're not your enemy Mr. Steele...”
“That's a matter of opinion... and as far as I'm concerned, your opinion doesn't matter. So get to the point or get lost.”
“First, I wanted to say, to my knowledge no one from my unit had anything to do with the accident with the newswoman...” He could tell Kyle wasn't convinced, but it was worth a try. “And, it seems we've worn out our welcome with the Sheriff. Our unit has been asked to leave...”
Kyle grinned evilly, “You've been thrown out of the county, how nice. Kudos to the Sheriff for his show of balls.”
“But I'm sure we'll see each other again,” said Mooreland, attempting a friendly posture. “I'm really hoping I get to meet your son, Jack, some day...”
“I'd be careful what you wish for, if I were you,” sneered Kyle.
“I would just like to meet him,” promised Mooreland, “we missed him when his ship picked up your daughter...”
Kyle raised one eyebrow, “You do understand what you're dealing with, don't you?”
“Of course...”
“I don't think you do...” Kyle responded, “You are out of your league, Mooreland... way out. That wasn't my son's ship, that was much too small.”
“Really?” the agent's brow furrowed. “Interesting. You saw the video, how big did that look to you?”
'Three-hundred feet or so.”
“Good estimate,” confirmed Mooreland. “So your son's ship is bigger... how big are we really talking then?”
“Think aircraft carrier,” replied Kyle. “Think total and absolute destruction of anything in orbit, in the air or on the ground. At will. And without opposition. Think scorched earth.” Mooreland didn't reply, just stared at Kyle, with a deer in the headlights look. “So you might want to rethink your approach, your attitude, your actions... because the meeting you seek might come in a form you, your agency, or this government, are not ready to experience.”
Whitman sat up covering his bloody face with his hands, “I think he broke my nose, Doug...”
“Shut up, Pete.” He redirected his attention back to Kyle, the enormity of what he was hearing numbing him. He did think for a moment that the old man might be toying with him, feeding him a line of bullshit, but all his training told him that what he was hearing was the truth. And that kind of worried him. “So... whose ship was it then?”
“Another ship in his fleet. Someone he trusted.”
“Fleet?!” The agent's eyes went wide with surprise. The thought of an entire fleet had never occurred to him. And worried started shifting towards frightened.
“Fleet,” replied Kyle, matter of factly. “Again, you're in so far over your head...”
“Yeah, I get it.” But it was still sinking in.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FREEDOM, VELORA PRIME SYSTEM: BOOTS ON THE GROUND
In between meals, the galley was empty and Jack sat alone except for Fritz, his back against the wall in the corner with his feet up on a neighboring chair. His e-Pad on his lap, he reviewed the gear and personnel logs for the ground mission to Veloria. Two flights of four fighters went out ahead of the task force to scout the sector and the planet, while the Archer and Bowman launched their unmanned scout drones. They were going to be stationary for a while, flying a slow orbit around Veloria and they needed eyes on whatever came into the system early. Surprises could prove fatal if they were caught, what combat pilots referred to as, low and slow.
And then there was the message that Duncan Taylor had brought back with him from the Conquest... His brother Alex had heard a rumor of a bounty offered by the pirates. But it wasn't clear who the bounty was for. The task force? Admiral Kelarez? It might explain some of the direct confrontations with them. Normally, they hit soft targets, they didn't go out of their way to engage military targets, there was no profit involved with that...
“Pudding?”
“Huh?” His attention snapped from his thoughts, Jack looked up at Marna, the Freedom's Chef, standing with two cups of pudding in her hands. “Chocolate?” he asked.
“Is you favorite, is it not?” Marna was a rather small, odd looking woman with shiny gray skin and deep-set glassy eyes. And she could cook like the dickens.
“You bet,” he replied with a grin, his mouth already anticipating the creamy dessert as she slid the cup and spoon over in front of him.
Fritz sat in expectation, his tail swaying, brushing back and forth across the floor. His head tilted to one side, “Mine?”
“Yes, Mr. Fritz,” she replied, stooping to hold the cup for him, “this one yours.” His tongue worked better than any spoon and his eyes closed as he methodically lapped the creamy pudding from the cup. “He likes, very much...” commented the Chef. “unusual, no?”
“No,” replied Jack shaking his head as he licked his spoon clean. “He likes everything,” he chuckled.
Jack's earpiece chirped in his ear. “Jack, you got your ear on?”
“Excuse me Ms. Marna...” he said pointing at his earpiece. She nodded and playfully patted the Shepard on the head, clearing the empty cup off the table, heading back to her food preparation. “I'm here, go ahead Walt.”
“Have you seen the patrol report updates?”
“No, what's up?”
“The sectors are clean so far, but there's something odd about Veloria...”
“What's that?” he asked, paging to the incoming patrol notes on his e-Pad.
“There's supposed to be a station in this system, and by all accounts it's supposed to be near the planet...”
Jack found what he was looking for and began to review the notes. “And they can't find it... that's not good.”
“Understatement of the year, my boy.”
“Well, how big was it? Was it a mobile station, like Resurrection? Could it have been towed away or drifted off position? ”
“No, it was a marketing and trade station with repair docks, warehousing, residential suites and military offices...”
“No debris fields anywhere?”
“Nothing found so far.”
Jack sighed. “OK... keep me up to date.” The earpiece chirped again as the connection ended. Things seemed to be getting stranger, more complicated and he didn't like the fact that nothing seemed to have a pattern. There was no trail and there didn't seem to be any clues as to what brought them to the current situation. He was thinking like a cop again, analyzing a crime, but he had a handful of puzzle pieces with no matching edges. His little voice was trying to say something but he couldn't quite make it out yet. Which he found annoying because on most occasions it was pretty clear. As odd as it sounded, sometimes he thought better when he wasn't thinking about it. “OK dog, let's go get some shuteye; I'm going to have a busy day when we get there.”
■ ■ ■
When Alité entered the darkened Captain's quarters, Jack was napping on the couch in the salon, the view screen playing a soft beach scene with waves rolling in and out, the sun setting. Their son Colton was asleep on his chest and Fritz lay curled up on the floor next to them. Though he lay motionless, the Shepard's eyes were open, aware the moment the door moved. She smiled at them and Fritz's tail thumped appreciatively on the floor, eyeing her as she moved quietly through the suite.
Jack opened his eyes when she lifted the sleeping infant off of his chest and out of his arms. “Hi,” he whispered.
“Huh?”
“Around Veloria. We're in orbit.”
“Oooh,” he groaned, swinging his legs off the couch. It seemed like he had just fallen asleep a few seconds ago, his mind still groggy. “Did they find the station?”
“I don't think so,” she replied, laying Colton in his crib. He stirred momentarily but slid right back into his dreamworld. “I don't think they've found anything at all in the system. It's completely empty.”
“Yeah, that's been bothering me,” he leaned his head forward, rolling it to crack his neck. “When we don't see anything in an empty system, it doesn't bother me much, but here... it's giving me the creeps.” His little voice was chattering again, but he wished it would say something intelligible. “Well, I guess I'd better get going, I have a meeting to attend.” He rose unceremoniously from the couch and picked his hybrid .45 pistol and holster off the end table, slinging it around his waist.
She put her arms around him and kissed him. “I want to go too.”
He shrugged, “Sure if you want to. Probably going to be boring though, we're going to cover the patrol notes and check our gear...”
She stared into his eyes. “No, to the surface...”
“Oh, hell no! No way... You're staying here where I know you're safe...”
“But...”
“No,” he shook his head, watching her eyes water, “absolutely not. We have no idea what went on, or what is going on down there. I'm gonna have enough to worry about without having to worry about you.”
“But this is my home, I can help you...”
“You can help me by staying here, where it's safe,” he countered, watching the tears stream down her face. “Look...” he took a deep breath, “if, and that's a big if, we can determine it's safe for you to come down, then it's fine with me. But I'm not letting you go down into a possible war zone. Clear?”
She nodded, “Clear.”
He looked around, “Now, dammit, where did I put my earpiece...?”
“You're wearing it,” she giggled, wiping the tears off her cheeks.
■ ■ ■
Steele had a brief meeting with Walt and some of the senior bridge staff before heading down to the flight bay to meet up with the Marines and the pilots. He wanted to cover some situational variables, some possible or probable scenarios and a few ideas for handling unforeseen circumstances, discussing what their collective responses might be to those various what-ifs. The real truth though is, there was no plan flexible enough, broad enough or detailed enough that could cover every possibility. You could plan for those general, predictable uh-oh moments, but when it came right down to it, more often than not, the best response was a seat of the pants, something is better than nothing, Hail Mary shot, that pulled your ass out of the fire. But everybody felt better when there was a plan, even though they weren't worth spit when the shit hit the fan.
Although there was a flight of four Cyclones already out on patrol, the flight bay was a flurry of activity with three shuttles sitting off on the port side of the flight deck, one from each ship, assault gear stacked around each one. The Freedom's lone remaining Zulu was coming up on the lift from the deck below, fitted for the mission with a selection of ground capable equipment and armament.
Though it was well beyond its capacity, the best place for the meeting was the briefing center at the base of the flight tower. Filled with pilots and a ten-man squad of Marines from each of the three ships in the task force, it was standing room only to review the reconnaissance information from the patrol flights. Jack made his way through the crowd, moving to the front of the room where Commander Paul Smiley waited to conduct the initial part of the meeting. “Pappy...” he nodded, sitting in the only available seat in the front row.
“Skipper...” he acknowledged, lighting the vidscreen behind him at the front of the darkened room. “OK, boys and girls, let's get started, we have a lot to cover...” The room grew quiet and whether standing or sitting, all eyes were on the images displayed on the video playback. “Veloria is a Class 014 type planet, with a circumference of 17,025 miles and a reported population of about two billion people. Mean average temperature is a very comfortable seventy-six degrees across her three main continents. All water on the planet is what is commonly called fresh water, and unless polluted in some fashion, is generally safe to drink.”
The images behind him faded from one to another, showing views of the planet from space. “There is no moon here but there is, or rather, should be, a fairly sizable space station. We've been unable to find any traces of it in the Velora Prime System... and that concerns the hell outta me.” There were a few short chuckles scattered through the group. “Our flights did not enter the atmosphere,” he continued, “but they did make some low orbital passes...”
The subsequent images elicited some surprised responses from the group. “As you can see, we recorded some rather widespread destruction in a few of the major cities that we passed over. The best description I can come up with is a war zone... and it seems to reflect a global pattern but without boots on the ground we can't be sure the extent of the conflict or who the clashing parties are. That's where you folks come in. We didn't encounter any ground to space sensor activity, but that doesn't mean it's not down there.” He turned to Jack. “Skipper, you want to jump in here?”
Jack rose from his seat, trading places with the Commander at the podium. “Gentlemen...”
Initiated by Marine Warrant Officer Dayle Alaroot, the Freedom's Marines saluted their Captain in the most flattering way they knew how, barking the Space Marine greeting - a hefty guttural, “AahWoo! AahWoo! AahWoo!” It was a shortened version of the attack call used by the Jalezian Timber Wolf, a particularly intelligent and fierce predator that used advanced cooperative-pack hunting tactics to conquer larger and superior prey. The bark had been adopted by the Marines nearly five centuries ago and became ingrained in the military way of life.
A Marine Sergeant off the Archer leaned close to Dayle Alaroot, “Is he a Marine?” he whispered.
Dayle shook his head almost imperceptibly, “No, but he damn well fights like one...”
“AahWoo!” replied Jack. “Thank you Marines.” The next image on the vidscreen was a map of the proposed landing area, an Air and Space Port about thirty clicks southeast of Veloria's capital city. “We don't have any reconnaissance on this area or the capitol. But we're hoping if there is a surviving stronghold, the capitol would be it. We're going to take and secure the Air and Space Port first, before striking out toward the capitol. We'll be going in at night, and we're going in slow...” A light wave of groans filtered through the group. “I know, I know,” he said holding up his hand. “But if they really don't have any sensor capabilities, we'd only be illuminating our arrival by going in hot.” He switched images on the screen showing the ocean between the continents. “We'll come in over the ocean on the equator and flying nap of the terrain, we'll head northwest to the landing zone.”
“What if we encounter birds in the air or ground to air?”
“Good question,” replied Steele. “There will be one flight of four fighters flying with the task force, another flight flying escort with our shuttles and a third flying high cover that can assist either of their sister flights. A fourth flight will be available for immediate launch if needed.” The image on the screen went back to the Air and Space Port map. “We will be landing in the spots you see marked on the map, converging on the main terminal...”
“What if we encounter resistance?”
Steele paused and looked up from his notes, scanning the group. “You're Marines. What the hell do you normally do when someone shoots at you...?”
“AahWoo!” was the group reply, obviously appreciating his answer.
“What's our ultimate objective, sir?”
“To find out why Veloria has fallen off the UFW communications grid and get them back on line if possible. There was
no warning to my knowledge, and it was some time before the UFW Directorate decided to investigate, so a considerable amount of time has passed. We have no way of knowing what has transpired since then. This might be a rebellion, an invasion, natural disaster... we need to go in eyes open.”
“Isn't Veloria run by a monarchy?”
Jack stepped out from behind the podium. “Yes it is. An absolute monarchy... for the whole planet. My understanding is, that was becoming an issue of late, some rumors of rebellion were heard before their disconnect. I'm hoping we're not stepping into a civil war...”
“If we are?”
“That call is beyond my pay grade,” he joked. “We'll have to address that when we come to it... if we come to it.” He looked around the darkened room illuminated only by the images on the big screen behind him. “Any other questions?” He waited but there didn't seem to be anything additional. “OK, Marines, gear up... AahWoo!”
“AahWoo!” It was a pretty satisfying response, fairly unified and not just limited to the Freedom's Marines.
“I need the pilots to stay for a few more minutes, please,” called Steele, “there are a few more things I want to cover...”
The Marine Sergeant off the Archer filed out of the tower behind Dayle Alaroot, “He keeps saying, we, like he's going to be down there risking his ass with the rest of us,” he grumbled.
Dayle looked back over his shoulder, “That's because he is.”
The Sergeant's face screwed into a look of distaste, “I don't count flying escort on our shuttles...”
Dayle halted, whirling around, the other Marine almost bumping into him. “Let me stop you before you say something stupid, Sergeant. That man will be dressed in the same armor as we are, standing on the same dirt, carrying the same gear.”
Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2) Page 25
