Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  Oh for God's sake, shut up. Who cares? His vision wavered and he backed himself against a tree to steady himself, sinking into a crouch, his left arm still cradled in his shoulder holster's strap. He was working to mentally block out the aching tingles that throbbed in that side from his elbow to his fingertips.

  Steele studied the seat while fishing through his pockets one-handed until he found the last power bar, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth. It was possible some of the effects he was feeling were from a lack of food, not having eaten anything substantial for, what, thirty-six hours? He tried to do the math but his mind refused to cooperate.

  The power bar was more nutritious than delicious, but at least it was something to quiet the grumbles in his stomach. Hmm, advanced technology, space travel, alien cultures, exotic foreign foods, and still, nobody could make a nutrition bar that didn't taste like honey-covered tree bark.

  The crunching of the power bar had a stereo accompaniment somewhere on the forest floor and it stopped Jack in mid-chew. The footfalls sounded sizable but slow, and the spike of adrenalin cleared his vision, sharpening his senses. He rose slowly, quietly, to a standing crouch, the empty food wrapper drifting silently to the ground. Deftly, he released the snap on the shoulder holster with a gentle pop, the 1911 charged particle blaster, sliding out into his hand, his heart thudding in his ears. It, whomever or whatever it was, seemed to be coming from the forest beyond the ejection seat. Was it the pilot? Steele carefully picked his way back around the tree, watching his foot placement, being as quiet as possible. Ninja-quiet would have been nice, but it simply wasn't possible in flight boots. The sounds of movement paused and he peeked cautiously around the tree, his left eye zooming in and scanning the shadows and foliage. Nothing. Then a few steps and movement... the sounds separating. There were at least two and they were both being cautious, although stealth was not one of their strong suits. He backed away from the tree, watching his feet, to the next tree, skirting quietly around it, looking around and up. There was nothing climbable, even with two good arms, the lowest of branches at least ten feet off the floor of the forest. Even so, what would that get him? Cornered.

  When they moved, he moved, when they stopped, he stopped, a nerve-wracking game of live chess. Were there three of them? He had the distinct impression he was being hunted...

  ■ ■ ■

  “Orders coming in from the Archer, Commander. Sending to your console.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant” replied Brian. The image popped up on his left screen. “Looks like we have a little scouting to do,” he said, reading the outline of star systems. “Send an acknowledgment, please.”

  “Already done, sir.”

  Brian sent the list to Ragnaar at navigation. “Recommendations Mr. Ragnaar?”

  “Stand by...” He reviewed the star chart on his center screen, rotating the image back and forth, examining the statistics, viewing the reach of the GOD drive system in comparison. “Cariloon is the next system by gate, but Zender's Trek is actually closer. It would be more expedient to GOD jump from here to Zender, then to Cariloon, than it would be to go to Cariloon first...”

  “Good. Let's hit those two first before planning anything else.”

  “Aye, Commander, laying in coordinates for Zender's Trek.”

  “Time to system?”

  “Just under three hours.”

  Brian nodded and keyed the ship's address system, “Preparing to initiate GOD jump, everyone be on your toes.” Brian glanced around the bridge, “OK, Mr. Ragnaar, let's do this.”

  “Aye. Initiating GOD drive...” replied Ragnaar, narrating the steps. Barely audible, a deep hum started, smoothly increasing in pitch like a turbine as the drive spun up to speed where the sound all but stopped. “Drive at speed, initiating jump bubble... twenty-five percent...” Electric tendrils of shimmering color began to appear over the ship like liquid lightning, visible through view ports and the bridge's view screen. “Fifty percent.” As the tendrils began to multiply, filling in the spaces between themselves, the reflected color filled the bridge. “Seventy-five percent...” It was like looking through a transparent ball of colored plasma, the swirling cocoon of color surrounding the ship completely. “Jumping...” In a moment the color withdrew, disintegrating into random particles, the flecks of light blown away like dust in the wind, the familiar starless, satiny silver lining of a jump tunnel appearing, replacing the jump bubble. “Jump successful,” grinned Ragnaar, “Zender's Trek in two hours and forty-seven minutes.”

  A first for all present, it seemed like everyone on the bridge sat back momentarily and took a deep breath before resuming their duties. “That was cool,” breathed Brian.

  Without turning from their stations, both Ragnaar and Raulya were nodding in agreement.

  ■ ■ ■

  The Army Sergeant had his hands cupped over his ears, trying to hear the Major in his comm piece, over the roar of the bulldozer, jackhammers, generators and air machines. “Yes, sir, the collapse was intentional. It buried the mine's equipment in the mouth of the entrance... Yes, sir, on purpose. Probably to prevent the miners from using it to get out and prevent rescuers from using it to get in.”

  He looked back over his shoulder at the work the engineers were doing. “We're making good progress, sir. We've created an opening at the top and we're pumping in fresh air. When it's big enough, we'll send a hover probe in with live video and see what the conditions are inside. Maybe we'll make contact with survivors.” He winced as a boulder rolled off the pile, slamming to the ground, a small landslide following suit. “The Lieutenant took Shuttle Two over to the registered mine on the third continent. No, sir, I haven't heard from them. I expect they will report in to you as soon as they arrive...” He glanced up at the transmission antenna on the cargo shuttle which was using the Freedom as a relay to reach around the curvature of the planet. “They have to set up their gear before they can transmit, Major. As long as that jump carrier stays put, we're golden.” He nodded, “Yes I agree, we need some relay satellites, but where are we going to get them from?” He wanted to slap his forehead. “No, sir, I don't think that's a good idea... because it's under water. That station cannot be stable. It crashed from space; anything on it is going to be worthless junk!”

  The Sergeant sighed, trying to maintain his composure. “Get me the materials and we'll build relay towers on a few choice peaks around the globe and we're done.” He raised one eyebrow, “We power them with solar collectors, they're everywhere on this planet... No, once we set them up, they're automated.” He watched the bulldozer muscle the fallen boulder across the ground and out of the way, the turf beneath his feet vibrating. “We don't need that many, they use Atmospheric Bounce Technology... we could probably cover the whole planet with six towers.”

  A soldier ran up with a field ruggedized e-Pad and showed him the atmosphere quality report from the electronic probe they'd fired into the mine's opening. No explosive gasses, Co2 levels falling, oxygen content at acceptable levels, dust levels low. He nodded and the soldier ran off. “Sir, I really need to get back to my team... Yes, sir, as soon as I have some more information.” His earpiece chirped as the connection ended. “Aaauurggh!” he bellowed.

  “Problem, Sarge?” shouted one of his men over the machinery.

  “I want to know whose brilliant idea it was, to put a neophyte administrator in charge of an engineering company...”

  “Bad?”

  The Sergeant snorted, “Next to worthless.” He stopped mid stride, waving his hands, “Y'know he had the audacity to suggest we salvage parts and materials from the space station?”

  “The one, under water?” laughed the Corporal. “Yeah that's not too bright...”

  The Sergeant resumed walking, “There's a reason they call us engineers and not fish,” he grumbled. “Stupid people piss me off...” He pointed at the blockage as they neared, “OK!” he shouted, “Let's get some small shaped charges on some of these bigger pieces and see if we
can nudge them off...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Steele was about fifty yards from the seat, listening intently, peeking around a sizable tree, the 1911 secured back in its holster so he could use his free hand to help him make his way through the undergrowth. He seemed to have created some distance from who or what, was stalking him. A little breathing room. Something off to the left, motion, caught his eye but he couldn't separate the form from the shadows, even zooming in with his left eye, the streaks of sunlight and dark breaking up any shapes.

  Until something moved on the other side of the ejection seat. He flicked his attention, focusing, holding his breath, waiting as the shadow moved around the seat, slowly, cautiously. Light streaming in from the hole in the forest canopy caused by the ejection seat and the parachute, was enough to silhouette him as he completely blocked out the seat. Slivers of sunlight played on his reddish brown fur, his head turning left and right, his nose testing the air. Light played across his face and Steele caught a flash of red from the animal's eyes, creating a sharp spark of adrenalin. The words he remembered seeing on ancient navigational charts drawn by early sailors, popped into his head, “Here there be monsters...” he exhaled, trying to control his breathing. The thing locked eyes with him and he remained motionless, holding his breath again, praying he was invisible in the shadows.

  When it looked away, it began to circle the seat, sniffing the ground, and Steele breathed, fighting the panic. It was the biggest wolf he'd ever seen. Or dreamed of. Easily four feet tall at the shoulder. He could confirm one, with probably two more. He started to shake and his vision blurred, forcing him to take a deep breath. As silently as possible. He almost wanted to cry... For God's sake, not now! Taking a quick peek he backed away from the tree, retreating yet again, being as silent as possible.

  The howl took him by surprise and chilled him to the bone, his hair standing on end, quickening his pulse to a thundering drum solo. He swallowed dryly, his mind racing. The first howl prompted a reply from the left. Then the right. Then two more farther out on the flanks. There were five of them. Stay calm, they're trying to flush you out and get you to rabbit... He looked around, there was simply no defensible position. Defensible, that's a laugh. “I need a bigger gun,” he breathed.

  You need a tank... “Shut up, you're not helping,” he whispered to himself. Could he make it to the beach? If he did, there was no real advantage there, except that he'd be able to see them coming. The water was of no help, they could probably swim better than he could. An unobstructed field of fire was the only upside... he just hoped the charged particle blaster was substantial enough to take one down. Five. He'd have to take five down. He didn't think much of his odds.

  ■ ■ ■

  “Missy!” shouted Nevin, holding up the radio mic, “Hutthorn's calling...”

  Lisa paused and the dog stopped, standing in the gentle surf as it rolled in, cooling his feet. He took advantage of the short respite to lap up some water. “What does he want?” she shouted back.

  “The fisherman's place is about another two or three miles from here. He says he hasn't seen your brother. He must've left the beach and gone inland somewhere.”

  “Son of a bitch...”

  “He still walking here,” said Fritz, sitting in the cool water.

  “You're sure?” asked Lisa. “We haven't missed him?”

  He blinked, not sure which question to answer first. “Not missed.”

  “We gotta keep going,” she called back, trusting the dog's judgment.

  Nevin nodded and spoke into the mic before moving the skimmer forward again. “He says they have a Gogol pilot though.”

  Lisa looked over her shoulder, “Not interested in him, just my brother.”

  Corporal Dunnom touched her elbow, “The Gogol pilot may have seen your brother...”

  Lisa sighed, “Fine, whatever... c'mon Fritz.” The Shepherd trotted off with Lisa close behind.

  The Corporal signaled to Nevin to radio Hutthorn back, then notified the Invader they would be needed for a prisoner pickup. “Don't worry, Ms. Steele, we'll find him,” he said, catching up.

  “Please, no platitudes, Corporal. You know as well as I do, things don't look good...” She cleared her throat, her eyes welling up, “But if anyone can find him, Fritz can.”

  ■ ■ ■

  The Volkens were having as much trouble seeing their prey in the splintered light and shadow as he did seeing them, but they had picked up his scent, and now they were tracking him. As they got closer, their eyes picked up the heat signatures of his footprints, places where his hand touched a tree, where he brushed up against the leaves of a bush. He would not be able to hide from them. They were nearly infallible hunters... the closer they got, the more vivid the heat signatures. Their eyes didn't work that way in open sunlight, but here in the forest the trail was unmistakable. The prey was winding its way through the trees, forcing them to slow down to navigate their bulky frames through the narrow clusters of timber. They caught a flash of red as his body passed between the trees, running all-out, spiking their chase and kill reflex. They could now smell him without having to resort to tracking his trail. Flooded with intense brain-induced stimulants, barking, growling, snarling, they would run their prey down. Their short huffing howls were filled with wild enthusiasm, exciting one another to new heights of hunting euphoria. They thundered through the forest, bouncing off trees they could not weave past, ignoring the impacts, accelerating...

  ■ ■ ■

  His body functioning on pure adrenalin, Steele released his arm from the sling to help him run better, oblivious to the pain. Powerful adrenalin was pumping raw energy throughout his entire body like high octane fuel, supercharging his muscles. Ignoring the burn and approaching fatigue he pounded across the turf well beyond his normal physical limits. His mind was sharp and clear, the world reduced to slow motion, the wind whipping past him, driven forward by the relentless killing machines behind him gaining with every step. Like some nightmare that leaves the dreamer running in slow motion, legs made of lead, unable to run fast enough to escape a relentless pursuer, he wished for wings.

  ■ ■ ■

  “VOLKENS!” screamed Lisa, hearing the howls, “Watch the trees!”

  “What's a Volken..?” asked Corporal Dunnom.

  “Four-legged, evil, demon werewolves from hell..!” she said, checking her carbine.

  Jack burst from the tree line at a full-out run, like a wide receiver heading for the end zone... Absolutely, lit-on-fire, levitating off the ground, flying. “Oh my God, it's Jack!” she yelled. She brought the weapon and the sight up to bear as she ran forward, followed by the Corporal and his squad of Marines.

  Jack was running blindly, his brain on adrenalin overload. He hadn't seen them and her screams to him were unsuccessful in turning him.

  When the Volkens cleared the tree line, the underbrush literally exploded outward, a shower of branches and leaves fluttering through the air as they rampaged through like a runaway train. Before Lisa could even think to respond, Fritz launched like a rocket, fearlessly heading straight for the monsters that were easily ten times his size.

  “Fritz, NO!” she screamed, “NOOOO!”

  Corporal Dunnom broadened his stance, flipping off his carbine's safety. “Marines! COVERING FIRE!”

  “Don't hit Fritz!”

  Her heart pounding in her chest, Lisa sighted in on the Volken closing in on Jack and squeezed when the reticule lit him up, the gun vibrating on full auto in her hands, stitching the animal down the entire length of his body, rolling him at a full run, his body crashing in a wild tumble.

  Fritz screamed in on their flank, launching himself through the air, landing on the back of the closest animal he could reach, sinking his teeth in the neck, with a snarl of his own, tearing its flesh open, springing off at they rolled, sprinting off after another.

  The howls, cries and fury attracted more Volkens and they poured from the forest, filled with the hunting f
renzy, some, more than willing to cannibalize their own. The Marines were firing furiously, some of the larger animals so filled with their own stimulants, they were the fighting dead, their bodies riddled, nearly bloodless before they finally fell without an ability to get back up.

  “Reloading! Reloading!”

  “I'm out, cover me!”

  “Left flank! Watch the left flank!”

  The machine gunner's barrel was glowing red...

  “Where's Jack?” called Lisa. “Where's Jack? Where'd he go? I lost him...” She sighted in on another animal at a full charge and unloaded an entire magazine before it nosed over, rolling headlong in the sand. “Reloading...!”

  ■ ■ ■

  Moving up the beach to pick up the Gogol prisoner as requested, the Invader slid silently overhead, twenty feet off the surface of the blood-stained sand, Volkens pouring out of the tree line. Not having any communications with the ground team other than the call for the prisoner pickup, Lieutenant Maria Arroyo was stunned at what she saw, the line of Marines fighting against waves of massive wolf-like creatures, the beach crisscrossed with laser and charged particle weapons fire. Quickly activating the Invader's weapons, she flipped off the safeties and cut loose with the chin turret's twin boron autocannons, swinging their fire along the tree line, the rapid zwug, zwug, zwug, zwug, pulverizing everything in its path to a nearly molecular level, vaporizing trees and foliage, Volkens becoming nothing more than a pinkish-red mist floating in the air. After clearing several acres of forest and nearly a hundred Volkens, the smoking ground yielded no more movement.