“Gunners, check six,” commented Brian.
“Six is clear,” came the reply.
“Target One locked.” Santine touched the color MFD Multi Function Display screen on the graphic of the missile he was assigning to that target. “Target Two and Three locked... Four is being stubborn... he's obscured by the others.”
“Maybe we'll get a twofer...” said Brian, lining up. “If we have to, we'll come back for another pass.”
“Preparing to fire.”
“Right. Kill em....”
■ ■ ■
The hover tanks came to a stop, settling to the ground a stone's throw from the base of the tower, their turrets fanning left and right. Jack saw a glint of something far up the valley, a miniscule, momentary fleck of light, but it was gone as fast as he caught it, lost in the deep shadows. “We might want to step away from the windows, boys...” His eyes searched to catch the light again.
“Uh, Skipper...” Sergeant Draza Mac had grabbed him by the shoulder, pointing at the open hatch on the top of the first tank, a figure's head and shoulders appearing in the opening.
Steele's earpiece crackled, “Skipper, this is Charlie Six. Friendlies! I say again, friendlies!”
Without effort or conscious control on his part, Steele got the distinct feeling that time was slowing down, the things around him almost coming to a stop, his new left eye zooming in on the top of the first tank. He was aware of hatches on the second and third tank opening up, but his eye was feeding him information on the first tank he had never experienced before, and his mind sped ahead of the events. Son of a bitch, he thought, where did Bravo Squad get hover tanks..? “Zulu One, Zulu One..! Break off! Break off!” Sound and other movement came rushing back at him in a blurred wave. “Zulu One, did you copy? Break off!”
The Zulu's dark, wicked shape abruptly appeared, screaming low overhead, flashing out of view over the top of the terminal, the windows bowing with the shock of a thundering sonic boom, the Marines ducking out of reflex. There was a quick shout in Steele's headset that ended with a light clatter before it cut short with a brief amount of static.
“Zulu One, copy. Holy shit, that was cutting it awful close...”
“I don't think Bravo is going to appreciate how close...” breathed Jack.
“You have no idea, Skipper...”
■ ■ ■
By the time Charlie Six made it down off the roof of the terminal building, everyone had gathered around the hover tanks sitting near the tower. He wandered out across the concrete and stood next to Jack, his hands on his hips, looking a little dazed and a little miffed. “I have a bone to pick with your flyboys, Captain...”
Steele turned to look at him, his face was bloodied and he had no helmet, his eyes looked a little unfocused. Jack raised an eyebrow, “What happened Corporal?”
The Marine blinked hard, looking momentarily up at the sky as if he expected the Zulu to suddenly return. “Bastard almost sucked me off the roof,” he mumbled, waving one arm expansively.
“Where's your helmet, your weapon...?”
The Marine Sniper wobbled a little like he was drunk, “Gone,” he replied, waving again. “Sucked it right off my head along with my earpiece...” He shrugged loosely, his hands slapping his armored thighs, “Couldn't hold onto my weapon... I was too busy trying not to die...”
“Think we can find it?”
“I dunno. Probably halfway between here and that town to the East...”
Jack slung his own carbine, trying not to smirk. It was kinda funny. Sort of. He waved a medic over to them, “Take care of the Corporal here, make sure he's OK.”
“Aye, sir.”
■ ■ ■
Bravo Squad reported a massive multi-level subterranean complex akin to a small city under the surface facility, a good portion of it decidedly military. They found bunkers, offices, living quarters, weapons, equipment and ammunition stockpiles. All completely deserted. Or at least what they'd been able to cover so far. It wasn't clear yet whether it was the hardened underground facility, or some kind of signal dampening that affected the teams' communications. They'd been able to stay in contact within the team as long as they remained on the same level. Much like the control tower on the surface, the subterranean levels had some sort of self sufficient power grid, though they had yet to locate a source.
While Alpha, Bravo and Charlie Squads got some shuteye for their little jaunt in the morning to the capital city, the relief squads Delta, Echo and Foxtrot would be patrolling, guarding and exploring the entire Air and Space Port.
The sun dropped below the crest of the valley's ridge, the last of its golden light turning to orange, red and purple, reflecting against the bottom of the sparse, scattered clouds. Steele was standing at the windows on the second floor of the Airside Terminal Four, overlooking the tower and the concrete below where a group of Marines from one of the relief Squads were getting a briefing beside the parked hover tanks. Running his hand through his hair, he nudged his armor to one side with the toe of his boot and stretched. It felt good to be free of it. “Say, Dayle?”
“Yeah, Skipper?” He was reclined in one of the contoured lounge chairs, his eyes closed.
“Are there any women in the Marines?”
“A few... not many. Why?”
“Do we have any in our squads?”
Dayle Alaroot straddled the seat and planted his feet on the floor, sitting up. “Not that I can recall...”
“OK...” To Jack the form in the armor below, looked female. Or at least maybe a slender feminine male. No, the form moved like a woman.
Then Dayle was standing next to him. “Which one?”
“Mmm, third one in from the right...” Jack pointed.
“Sure moves like a woman...”
“That's what I was thinking,” commented Jack. “Wait, is that a sword?”
“Sword? Where?” Dayle was peering through cupped hands on the glass to cancel out the reflections from behind them.
“Strapped to her, er, his - uh, whatever. Strapped over the back. See the grip sticking up over the shoulder?” To him it looked like the grip and pommel of a samurai sword.
“Yeah...” said Dayle slowly, “it does. We don't carry long blade weapons.” He turned around and pointed to three members of Charlie team who hadn't shed their armor yet, “C'mere you guys. I need you to go fetch someone for me...”
■ ■ ■
Standing near the food court in the main hub, away from the Marines resting in Airside Four, away from prying eyes and ears, Steele was standing with his hands on his hips, having difficulty keeping his anger in check. “What in the hell are you doing? Have you lost your senses?” His voice was strained but purposefully forced to a lower tone. “What were you thinking?” He paced restlessly back and forth.
Dressed in full Marine armor, a carbine and sword slung over her shoulder, Alité shifted uneasily, her helmet dangling from her left hand. “Are you speaking as my husband, or my Captain..?”
Steele stopped pacing abruptly, gesturing widely, “Does it matter? You didn't listen to either one of us!” He rubbed his forehead. “How am I supposed to deal with this...?”
“I don't know how to answer that. What are you asking me?”
“Well you're my wife, but we're not sitting in our quarters; after you burned the meat loaf...”
“Meat loaf..?”
He sighed, his jaw muscles working. “We're not in our quarters, this is not a domestic issue. We're here on a military mission and you have inserted yourself into it... which means I should treat you like someone who has disobeyed orders - which you have, or risk looking like I'm playing favoritism.”
“They would understand,” she said softly, moving forward. He wondered how she managed to still be seductive even in full body armor. How was that even possible?
“Ooh, no,” he said backing up, hands outstretched, “no, no, no, lady. That's not gonna work here...”
“In case you've forgotten,
this is my home... And this is as much diplomatic as it is military. I happen to be the diplomatic part.” She stood with her hands on her hips and her feet apart.
“That doesn't give you the leeway to do whatever you want, whenever you want... You're starting to act like Maria...” He winced mentally as it came out of his mouth, the words slipping past the idiot filter. He had just lost control on a slippery slope.
“You didn't just compare me to Maria...”
“Uhhh...” The wheels were spinning but he wasn't getting any traction, his mind blank, like white powdered snow over black ice. Once the slide started, sometimes all you could do was close your eyes and hang on till it was over.
“Let it go, Skipper...” came a voice from the semi-darkness in Airside Four.
“Kiss and make up...” said another. Light laughter filtered through the darkened terminal, broken by scattered clapping.
Bastards. Steel sighed and shook his head, the slide had come to rest against the proverbial guardrail. “I need to get some sleep.”
“I'm going with you tomorrow...”
Dammit, she just wasn't going to let this go. You had to pick your fights and know which hill to make a stand on... this wasn't it. Steele had pretty much conceded to that. “Yeah, I know.” Alité unslung her carbine and handed it to Jack, then began releasing the fasteners on her armor as they walked back toward Airside Four. “I gotta ask,” he started, “what's with the sword?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
VELORIA : THE HILLS HAVE EYES
Having to clear the terminal and set up the tower as a base of operations had set them a full day behind schedule, but it was a necessary task. At least it was liveable now... with breathable air. Steele was sure they still hadn't explored all of the facility's nooks and crannies. There were undoubtedly more things to discover, but where to start looking was an open-ended question.
Jack stood at the windows of Airside Four, looking at the long, early morning shadows extending across the facility and the deep emerald valley. Along the edge of the farthest runway, a hover tank patrolled slowly, its turret scanning the tree line. The sky had interesting streaks of pink fingering into the deep blue of twilight as the sun rose from behind the building. It was definitely a beautiful planet...
Several of the Marines were up and moving about, and over in the food court someone was making what smelled like coffee and breakfast. He glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping men, stretched out in the terminal's comfortable recliners. He was surprised to be awake so early, he was not a morning person, never had been. Never quite understood the fascination of it. But it had its moments... like now for instance. There was something oddly calming about it.
He looked down at the sword in his hands, still in its scabbard, rolling it over in his hands, studying the ornate detail on the pommel, the grip, and the cross guard. He pulled firmly and the sword popped from the scabbard with a gentle click. Sliding it out, revealing about six of its twenty-eight inches, he examined a delicate, detailed engraving of an angel in a flowing gown carrying a shield and sword like the one he held in his hands. He turned it into the light, the polished blade reflecting the pink and lightening blue sky outside. The wavy, frosted temper line on the blade reminded him of a samurai sword. It certainly looked as sharp. He knew better than to touch the edge to test it. He slid it back into its sheath and examined the intricate coat-of-arms, inlaid with color on the pommel. This was not an ordinary weapon. No, this was a sword for someone special. Someone from a royal family. She was carrying it as an identifier. He wondered if she...
“You're wondering if I know how to use it...”
He thought he could feel her there. “Well, yeah,” he admitted, not looking back.
She stood on her tiptoes looking over his shoulder, her breath in his ear, speaking softly. “It was given to me on my sixteenth birthday, to replace the smaller one given to me on my tenth birthday. I practiced two hours a day from the time I was ten, until shortly before I was taken by the pirates.”
“Wow. Sooo... either you practiced a lot because you were really good, or because you really sucked...” he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.
“I'll have you know,” she said tugging the hair on the back of his head, “that I was considered a gifted student...”
“Oh you're gifted, alright... but it doesn't have anything to do with swords...” he chided.
She pulled his hair again, “You're sooo bad...” She leaned up against him, her 2ndSkyn seductively sliding across his.
He could feel her breasts and nipples through the sheer, skintight fabric, rubbing across his back. “It's been a while since you've practiced then...”
She rested her chin on his shoulder. “Yeah. No real room to do my paces. I'm probably a little rusty... but I'm sure it would come right back to me. I still keep it thoroughly clean and oiled though...”
“Come right back to you..? Thoroughly cleaned and oiled?” His mind slid right down into the gutter. Truthfully, it was a short trip. “You're killing me woman...”
■ ■ ■
Sharing the Freedom's bridge and command duties with Commander Edgars, Commander Paul Smiley was holding a quiet meeting with a few of his pilots in the Captain's ready room attached to the bridge. The Freedom had picked up two Vulcans, four Lancias and four Cyclones bound for Veloria's military from the UFW Carrier Conquest. They had been stored down in the ship's cargo hold along with a supply of parts and ordinance. With the consideration that no sense of military or stability seemed to exist on the surface, those birds, for the moment, were staying right where they were. But, in support of the Marines on the ground, it was unanimously agreed that for the quickest response possible, a flight of armed fighters, pilots and support staff should be based at the Air and Space Port.
Paul sat on the Captain's desk facing the room, an e-Pad resting on his thigh. “Santine, Taylor, I want you to each pick a wingman...”
“I pick you,” quipped Duncan Taylor.
“Don't brown-nose me, son.” Paul fought back a smirk and there was no ire in his voice. He glanced briefly down at the e-Pad and back up. “Pick one of the new guys. The four of you will be stationed on the ground until further notice. A ground crew will go with you.”
“What can we expect?” asked Santine.
“No idea. You'll be on-call for the Skipper's boys, I suggest you fly in pairs rather than a four bird flight so you can provide continuous cover if need be.”
“High cover?”
“We're not going anywhere and we'll still have birds in high atmosphere. I suspect the Zulu will still be doing survey runs. Fully loaded if you need the additional help for ground missions.” He flipped a couple pages on the e-Pad. “As of yet, they haven't encountered one single person.”
“Birds?”
“Cyclones. I've ordered two air-to-air and four air-to-ground missiles per bird. The crew will bring some supplies and additional ordnance with them.” He stood, laying the e-Pad on the desk. “Get your gear and get going. Dismissed.”
Aye, sir.” They saluted and left.
“Mike, I need you to fill the Air Boss slot while I'm up here... think you can handle that?”
Mike nodded, “Sure, will do.”
“Good... Derrik, patrol scheduling is on you. Lean on Brian here, if you need some help. I'll fly if I'm free, but don't count on me.”
“Right-o...”
“We might want to rotate our flights in pairs instead of wings of four, or we're gonna burn these guys out fast.”
“No problem, Pappy,” said Brian.
“OK, let's get to work...”
■ ■ ■
The Marines of Alpha, Bravo and Charlie squads were fed, geared up and ready to roll, taking their positions in the hover tanks and transport trucks they'd be using for the twenty-odd mile trek to the capital city. The long, crack-of-dawn shadows had shortened some, as the planet's sun broke free of the horizon, the sky a crisp blue. A few wispy, se
mi-transparent clouds drifted lazily across the sky.
“Captain..?”
Steele paused and turned on his heel. “Lieutenant..?” Alité stood next to her husband, absentmindedly adjusting her armor.
“Zorvano, sir. Delta squad.” He almost saluted but caught himself.
“Thank you, Lieutenant Zorvano...”
“Sorry, sir. Hard habit to break. I had Delta up on the hill past the power station last night; we were able to see lights in the distance toward the direction of the city. I can't swear to it, but it looked like there was movement out there...”
“Vehicles or people..?”
“At that distance it was impossible to tell. It could have been air currents, it was very vague...” Steele nodded his understanding. “Two other things... Echo found a couple more hover tanks, so we have armor for the base. And the tower heard from your ship, they're sending down a flight of fighters so you have instant air, if you need it.”
“Good deal, anything else?”
“No, sir. We will of course, continue to explore the subterranean levels and the rest of the hangars and buildings...”
“Sounds good,” replied Steele. “One more thing, keep at least two people staffing the tower. Have them scan the planetary frequencies if they've got nothing else to do... no telling what might turn up.”
Jack took the opportunity of the long walk from the terminal to the waiting convoy to discuss with Alité the thing that had been playing in his mind for a long time... the death of her sister, Docaline and brother, Mozelle. But even as long as he'd been thinking about it, he still hadn't figured out how to broach the subject delicately. Probably because he had stored it away in the back of his mind, hoping all these months, it was a topic that needn't be discussed... To tell her their death wasn't an accident, an unforeseen circumstance, an equipment failure... That it was deliberate. It was murder. Although he couldn't be positive, he strongly suspected the culprit was LaNareef - but with his timely death, the subject seemed to be a dead end. The Freedom was a safe haven, she had no safety concerns there, so why open the wound? But now they were in the Land of Nod, an unknown, unpredictable place, with a familiar but lying face.
Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2) Page 28
