Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  Ms. Stacell, wide-eyed, turned in her seat away from her communications console, “The Archer is reporting two additional enemy ships coming in through the gate...”

  “Bollocks, this is getting rather dicey...”

  “Gogol fighters inbound, on us!”

  “Pardon? What the bloody hell is a Gogol fighter?”

  “Sending you the schematics...”

  Walt pulled up the information on his remaining screen, studying the statistics and technical graphics. What he saw was not comforting, a heavily armed, foreign craft, exclusively flown by Gogol mercenaries. Mercenaries meant money, they didn't fight for free. And to survive as a merc, you had to be good, or you didn't eat, much less survive. The whole fact that the entire fight seemed to revolve around the Freedom was making more sense. And it was terrifying... she was being hunted. Retreating toward the gate to the New Vanus System seemed like a viable choice.

  “Sir,” called Stacell, “some of our flights are reporting low fuel status...”

  “We are in no position to take them in. Tell them to do the best they can... they may have to head for Veloria.”

  The bridge rocked sideways, throwing most of the bridge crew to the floor in the sudden near-darkness, lights flickering, the main screen out, low ambient lighting from a few surviving systems screens. Choking dust hung in the air and there was a vicious hissing sound as an alarm klaxon sounded a hull breach.

  “Everybody off the bridge! Now!”

  “Hull breach! Everyone down to engineering!”

  The last one off the bridge, Walt palmed the emergency panel on the wall in the corridor, sealing the compartment doors. The bridge crew pounded down the corridor as the ship pitched from one side to the other, taking multiple hits, bouncing them off the walls as they ran.

  Hecken Noer and his engineers were controlling the ship from main engineering when the bridge crew arrived to take over.

  “All shields are down, Commander. We took several direct hits and have multiple hull breaches. We've lost the port forward turret.”

  “Can we get it back on line?”

  “No, Commander. When I said lost, I meant gone – it is no longer attached to the hull.”

  Walt was fighting panic. “Engines?”

  “Still running, sir.”

  “Good, I think we're going to have to make a run for it... Have we evacuated all personnel from the decks?”

  “Yes, Commander,” replied the Chief Engineer. “They are in the flight bay and the cafeteria...”

  “Oh my God...” whispered Ensign Katja, “oh my God...”

  Walt stepped over to her console, and placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder, “Easy, Kat, we're going to be OK... what do you have?”

  The Ensign turned in her seat, looking pale. “We were blind; I just got some of our short-range sensors back on line... There's a carrier and battleship coming up behind us...” Walt could feel her shaking. “The sensors aren't giving me anything else, we're too damaged.”

  Their retreat to New Vanus was blocked. Walt took a deep breath. “Stacell, inform the Admiral...”

  “Communications are down, Commander.”

  Walt grimaced internally, forcing calm. “How much time do we have, Ensign?”

  Ensign Katja examined the speed, vector and figured in the common range for ships of that type. “We'll be in range of the Betty's guns in approximately ten minutes. Their fighters will be here in less than five...”

  Walt could feel his heart pounding and he was fighting the desperation that was washing over him, a chill racing up his back. “How many fighters?” He was absolutely sure he didn't want to know.

  “At least fifty, sir.” She looked like she was going to be sick.

  Without fuel and ordnance, the Freedom's fighters wouldn't have a chance. Walt knew he was going to lose the Freedom, but he'd be damned if he was going to lose all his people. “Prepare to evacuate all non-essential personnel. Set evac pod geometry for Veloria's first continent near the ASP. Direct our fighters to the planet's surface. I'm going to need volunteers to stay...”

  “Suggestion, Commander?” offered Hecken Noer, interrupting.

  “What have you got, Chief?”

  “We have plenty of power; I believe I can initiate a short Gate On Demand jump before we're overrun...”

  “A GOD jump? With what?” asked Walt, incredulous.

  “The unit we got off the wrecked destroyer in Irujen...”

  Walt blinked hard. “I thought that unit was inoperable.”

  “Well it was... but we've been tinkering on it ever since...”

  “Tinkered..?” Walt shook his head, “I don't want to risk all these lives on a salvage yard reject part that may or may not...”

  “You forget,” reminded the Chief, waggling his finger, “this entire ship was rebuilt with them. She was one, once herself. And has done remarkably well...”

  “Yes but...”

  “Trust me, Commander,” said Hecken warmly, a broad smile reaching across his narrow face.

  “But you haven't even tested it... what if it fails..?”

  ■ ■ ■

  The closest and juiciest target Steele could see, was the carrier back beyond the gate to Cariloon, with the fighters stacked up, waiting to land. She was actually sitting still, like a big, fat, duck.

  “We can't let them rearm...”

  “What d'you have in mind?” asked Maria, shifting in her seat.

  Jack turned and looked over his shoulder, “How many of those party favors did the boys at ASP give you, Dunnom?”

  The Corporal took a quick look around to account for all the units, “Ten.”

  “How good are they?”

  “These are some serious, no joke, I shit you not, super-novas in a box...”

  “Can you throw them?”

  “Sure, grab it by the handle and wing it. The cases are ruggedized and waterproof, so the electronics are safe. The mix itself is inert until triggered...”

  “Can they be opened and deactivated?”

  “Not likely. They'll die trying...” he laughed. “What do you have in mind?”

  Steele glanced over at Maria and back over his shoulder at Dunnom. “She's a regular carrier, open at both ends, recovering and relaunching. We fly in, drop a few off and fly out... Simple.”

  Maria rolled her eyes, “Sure, what could go wrong with that plan?”

  “You have a better idea?”

  “We have three missiles. Use them...”

  “Which may, or may not go off,” countered Jack. “We have to shoot from a distance, their point defense has time to take them out, they may not penetrate the shields... I think this has a better chance. They won't shoot at us inside or while we're mixed in with her fighters...”

  “The fighters can shoot at us...” chimed Lisa.

  “On approach, it's guns off, shields off, main engines off... I'm counting on the element of surprise and confusion...”

  “You're counting on a lot,” retorted Maria. “But hey it's your life... Oh wait,” she continued sarcastically, “NO, it's not,” she pointed around the interior of the Invader, “there are other people here.”

  “No ma'am,” came a voice from the back, “not people, Marines...”

  “AahWoo! Go bold, or go home... AahWoo!” they chanted.

  “What do you think, Dunnom, twenty seconds?”

  “Sounds about right. How many should we set up?”

  “Five?”

  “Five it is,” agreed the Corporal. “Should create some serious carnage, maybe some nice secondaries. Especially if there's fuel and ordinance around.”

  Jack angled the invader for the line of fighters stretched out behind the carrier, making sure his ident beacon was off. “Lisa, rear turret, think you can work it?”

  She unbuckled herself and made her way toward the back, “I'll try.”

  “There is no try, there is only do...” he said in a strange voice.

  “What the hell was that?”


  “Only one of the most recognizable movie characters ever...” Jack sighed, “Never mind. If it shoots at us, just shoot back.”

  “Got it.” She sat back in the padded body-formed seat and harnessed herself in, initiating the gun systems, watching the screen wink on and the reticule come to life, floating in mid-air in front of her, inside the turret bubble. That's cool. “Ready.” She called, swinging the turret ball around, surprised at how easily and quickly it moved.

  Two Marines were harnessed on tethers to the frame near the door to provide cover fire while the other two assisted Dunnom with setting up the small satchel charges. “We're all set, Skipper.”

  “Almost there...” Steele nudged the throttle forward.

  “Uh ohhh...”

  Steele looked over at Maria at the tactical station. “What, uh oh?”

  “We're being hailed by the carrier... and we have two Gogol fighters coming in hot, above us...”

  “Answer the carrier, just stall for time, we're damaged we need repairs, whatever... I'll handle the fighters. We only need about thirty seconds.”

  She shot him a dubious look and decided there was little else to do but comply, replying to the carrier's inquiry, doing her best to offer believable, world-class bullshit. “Their point defenses are tracking us...” she whispered.

  “Uh huh,” muttered Steele, switching channels. “As long as they're not shooting.” He found the channel he was searching for, “I hope this is the right channel...” He keyed his mic, “Ģreirggådariopshé senvou mé, I uso té strument Ö té cōnstruktures, as markez Ö té antiqos arkuitekos...”

  “What the hell did you just say?” asked Maria, looking at him quizzically. “My translator couldn't make heads or tails of that...”

  There was an instant flash of light and shape as the Gogol heavy-fighters split, screaming past the Invader on either side of her at full throttle, disappearing in a blink below them, only to reappear, re-joined, side-by-side in a graceful upward arc on the starboard side, nearly twenty miles away. “Nãt uestro kömbaat, Ģ~lüc...” said a gruff voice over the cockpit comm.

  Maria leaned forward, watching the fighters disappear in the dark. “They're leaving? What the hell did you say? And you understood them...” she said, raising an eyebrow, baffled. What did they say?”

  Jack shrugged, “I said; Greg sent me, I wear the tools of the builders, marks of the ancient architects... I wasn't sure I was going to get the diction right, but...”

  “I can't believe you speak their language...” She waved her hands, “Wait, what did they say?”

  “Not our fight, good luck...”

  “Who's Greg?” she frowned.

  “As it turns out, a friend...” smiled Jack, rolling the Invader. They swept into the line of fighters approaching the stern of the carrier, at easily five times their speed. “Here we go, on your toes, folks. They're going to figure out we're up to no good any second now...”

  “Jack,” Maria pointed at her sensor sweep, “we have two Pirate destroyers coming through the gate...”

  “Can't worry about them right now...”

  Maria flipped the switches for the nose turret, activating the gun systems and flipped on the shields, the ship's generators instantly spinning up. “Systems, one-hundred percent.” She pulled the targeting screen closer, swinging the turret around to track the fighters they were passing.

  “I got some coming in, back here!” called Lisa. “They just lit up!”

  “Shoot!” yelled Steele. “Don't wait!” Someone on the carrier decided their story didn't match their actions and their defense turrets began firing.

  Lisa picked a Fallken and following the gun pipper's lead, moving the reticule to overlap before squeezing the trigger. The three-gun turret fired each barrel in succession, creating a three-round burst, an odd bwat-bwat-bwat sound that vibrated the controls in her hands. “Ooo, purple... pretty.”

  Steele would have laughed if he hadn't been so busy dodging the carrier's somewhat reckless, point-defense fire. The Fallken fighters, so neat and orderly, were breaking formation, scattering in all directions like a flock of pigeons startled off the pavement - except pigeons don't have to worry about avoiding their own point-defense fire and some maniac in an Invader, with fully active gun turrets and shields. Jack rocked the ship hard, trying unsuccessfully to avoid shattered remnants of two Pirate fighters coming together in traffic, taking a jarring hit to her shields. “Damage?”

  “Just a shield hit. Fifty percent, regenerating. We're good.”

  “We're going in, get ready..!” he shouted.

  Coasting over the fantail of the carrier on final approach, the Fallken pilot had no idea he was about to get an enema, as Maria strafed his unshielded engines, sending him into a panic acceleration. He tried to pull up, only succeeding in crushing his fighter into the carrier's hull, an explosion littering parts across the deck, inside and out. Steele yanked the throttle back to apply full braking jets, and pieces rained across the hull as Maria dropped the shields to allow the waist door to open. Gear down and anti-grav on, the Invader slid through the blue-green curtain of the stasis field, bouncing on the deck, a shower of sparks from her skid plates startling ground crews into a sprint to get clear of the unwanted visitor.

  “We're in! Go, go, go!”

  The Invader's waist door popped open, the top half sliding up over the hull, the ramp dropping outward without extending. Dunnom flung the first satchel charge out the door, starting to count out loud as it bounced then slid across the deck, disappearing into a parking revetment. “Twenty, nineteen...” The Invader continued down the runway and he flung out another, and another. The third slid under a parked fighter with a loaded missile cart sitting next to it. “Sixteen...”

  Small arms fire erupted in the flight bay as security forces came running out of every nook and cranny, their rounds hitting the hull and cockpit glass from almost every angle.

  “Fifteen...”

  “Shit! Shoot anything that moves!” Steele maneuvered around equipment parked about the deck, only to be blocked by a group of fighters more than halfway down the runway, taking on fuel and ordnance.

  “Fourteen...”

  Jack shifted the ship laterally from side-to-side but couldn't find a way to squeeze past them.

  “Thirteen...”

  The Marines were firing back from the doorway, trying to keep the security teams away from the Invader and the satchel charges. “Keep going Skipper!”

  “Twelve...”

  “We're blocked in!”

  “Eleven...”

  “Dammit, MAKE a FUCKING hole!”

  Jack turned to Maria, “You heard the man...”

  Maria thumbed off the ordnance safety and mashed the button, a live missile dropping off the belly of the Invader, landing on the flight deck with a resounding clang. Then nothing. It laid there like a dead fish. “Oh, fuck!”

  “Ten...”

  “TODAY, Skipper!”

  With its canopy still open, the fighter in the center of the group lifted off the deck, a blue glow under its landing gear, thrusters rotating it in their direction. “Oh that's not good...”

  “His weapons are on-line...” warned Maria.

  “Nine...”

  “Then shoot him..!”

  Maria squeezed without hesitation, catching him mid-rotation, the guns of the nose turret blasting holes through the fighter's stubby wings, shoving him sideways, shearing off the canopy. The Fallken crashed into another fighter parked in a revetment, starting a fire, sending ground crew running for their lives.

  “Seven...”

  “I still have two more of these things back here!” yelled Dunnom.

  “Then get rid of them! Hold on everybody!” Jack kicked the rudder pedals, the maneuvering thrusters spinning the Invader around, the stern connecting with something solid, dumping over a robotic trolley full of missiles on the deck with a deafening clatter, the unit struggling to right itself amid a sprawl of loo
se ordnance.

  Dunnom took the opportunity to fling a charge out the door, seeing it skitter across the deck towards the group of fighters blocking the lanes. And then they were moving again, back the way they came in and he heaved the last one out, not waiting to see where it went. Dooby yanked one of the Marines back inside as he leaned out to fire and slammed his palm on the door switch, the door sections sliding together, fitting in, locking tight.

  “Five...”

  Lights on the console noted the hull was sealed. “Gimme shields,” commanded Steele, through clenched teeth, wrestling with the controls. Weaving the Invader through the bay, avoiding heavy fuel and ordnance vehicles, lesser equipment bounced off the shields, out of the way, skittering across the deck.

  “Four...”

  Lisa caught the image out of her peripheral vision, the soldier with the shoulder fired launcher... she swung the turret as she squeezed and held the trigger, the gun's bwat-bwat-bwat continuing in a steady stream, punching holes in whatever the purple lances touched, sweeping the full width of the bay. Something on the far left, near her intended target, vaporized, the fireball spreading across the deck, pieces of metal ricocheting off the ceiling and flying across the bay, parts and equipment flying through the air.

  “Three...”

  A Fallken was heading in to bar their escape as the Invader headed out over the fantail, shields up. Steele shoved the throttle to the far stop, an enormous comet tail reaching halfway down the carrier's runway behind them. Maria squeezed the trigger and the guns in the nose turret hammered the Pirate fighter's shields, exchanging shots, his ion blasters splashing around their cockpit, rocking them hard. Hearing a lock tone, she thumbed a missile, hitting him almost point blank, turning him into scrap metal, the Invader flying through the fireball and debris that clattered on the Invader's now unshielded hull like steel rain.

  “Two...”

  Jack thumbed the boost button as massive flashes of light raced through the hanger and flight deck of the carrier, illuminating the darkness in front of them with the eye-searing intensity of a small sun. And then it was gone. The light, most of the carrier, most of the fighters... Jack released the boost button. “Hold on to something...” The shock wave crashed over the Invader like a tsunami, carrying it, rolling it and then dropping it again as it raced past them, out into space.