“Mayday! Mayday! This is Pappy, I'm in trouble. Mayday! Mayday!"
Jack made a tight right hand bank, shouting, "Cover fire! Cover fire!" Jack locked onto the destroyer and thumbed two missiles. Mike looped back hard and, sighting upside down on the destroyer, fired his last two missiles. Dense laser fire reached out toward the two pilots who had turned back to protect their friend. "Break! Break!" They swung outwards, away from each other. Heavy streaks of red and green passed between them.
"Mayday! Mayday! I can't hold her together..."
"Eject, Pappy! Eject!" shouted Jack. He searched the sky to his right to pinpoint Paul's craft. "Where is he?" asked Mike.
Jack was about to answer when a brilliant flash made him jump in his seat. A small sphere of debris expanded silently outwards. Jack suddenly felt drained, he let his body go limp, letting the Lancia fly itself. No one spoke for some time. "Pappy..." muttered Mike. Jack's eyes burned.
The other fighters had vectored to the retreating Freedom as ordered, only Mike and Jack remained. The carrier motionless, the destroyer damaged enough to deter pursuit, only the cruiser remained untouched. But its Captain had chosen to remain with the carrier.
"I'm on bingo fuel, Skipper," mumbled Mike.
They had won the fight, but Jack felt like he had lost something greater... a part of himself. "We'd better head back," said Jack quietly.
"Shuttle One to Leader One..."
"This is Leader One," answered Jack lethargically, edging the throttle forward.
"We're picking up a beacon off your starboard bow."
Jack throttled back and glanced down at his scope. There was a green blip with a blinking green ring around it, signifying a distress beacon. He looked up. It was right about where Paul's fighter disappeared. "I see it too..."
"Roger," answered the shuttle. "Then we're moving in, to intercept and recover."
Jack saw a green blip appear as the shuttle emerged from the edge of the debris field surrounding the Velorian freighter. "How long have you been out here, shuttle?"
"Just got here," lied the pilot.
"Uh, huh," agreed Jack, unconvinced. Jack turned to Mike, he could see him across the forty or fifty feet of space between their cockpits. "Head back Mike, I'll hang with the shuttle."
Jack could see Mike shaking his head. "No way," he objected. "If that's Pappy out there, I'm stayin'."
Jack was worried Mike would run out of fuel. "Boogie Lieutenant, that's an order."
"Yes, sir!" The reply was curt, if not downright contemptible. Jack ignored it. He knew how Mike felt. In fact, he was cutting it pretty slim too. He watched the Warthog accelerate away and swung the Lancia's nose toward the emergency beacon.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
BAHIA, TWO SECTORS FROM DEBRIS FIELD: RESCUE & RECOVERY
Derrik glanced over his left shoulder through the cockpit perspex at his port engine. The forcing cone gone, large sections of plating and cowling missing, it drooled long strings and gobbets of gooey foam. It was messy, but he was still alive. Had he shut down the engine before blowing the canister of fire foam, the back feed of fuel would have pulled the burner flame into the fuel tank. Instead, it pulled in the thick, gooey substance, sealing the fuel line.
Funny, he thought, that was the same side that his Harrier got hit on in the Falklands. Though this time, he had not been injured. He said a private thanks.
Derrik refocused his attention on the Freedom's bay as he neared its stern. The Freedom had slowed to recover fighters, but she had put a good distance between her and the pirates. Derrik flipped the switches for gear and anti-grav. He was surprised when the indicators showed both systems operative and responsive. Even the braking jets were still working properly. He breathed easier. The runway lights illuminated, clearing his final approach. Two nets hung before the tower in case he developed problems... he hoped he wouldn't need them. Walrick, who had escorted him back, had landed first.
The damaged Warthog passed through the stasis field and touched down nicely, splashing huge blobs of gooey foam all over the deck. "Sorry about the mess, tower. Had a bit of a row with the neighbors." He fired braking jets and more foam slopped and gushed, making a gooey trail down the runway. As he taxied toward the Warthog's parking revetment, he popped the canopy and pulled off his helmet, laying it in his lap. The rush of air felt more than just good. "Ahh, home sweet home..."
■ ■ ■
Professor Edgars was afraid if he went too much further, the fighters would run out of fuel before they reached the Freedom. "All stop, helm."
"Yes, sir."
"Tower, how many craft are unaccounted for yet?"
After a quick count, the tower replied. "Well, sir, Lieutenant Carter is on final approach, so that leaves two Warthogs, one Lancia and shuttle number one."
"What the hell is a shuttle doing out there? Who took it out?"
"Ensigns Myomerr and Arroyo," replied the tower.
Walt slammed his hand down on the console. "Arroyo's supposed to be in sick bay, dammit!" He rubbed his forehead. "Tower, prep two Lancias and put them in the tubes. Tell Walrick and Carter they're on standby, those stragglers might need some protection." The tower acknowledged. "Helm," he continued, "bring us around, then full stop. Raulya, drop shields. Transfer power and recharge all guns."
Brian touched down and a lineman directed him to taxi directly to a prep skirt in front of the tower. After a quick inspection and finding no damage, a ground crew swarmed around the Lancia and began to refuel and rearm it. Brian laid his helmet on the dash as a Crew Chief climbed the ladder. "What's going on Chief?" The pilot pulled off his gloves.
"You're on standby," he began, "until the others return." He started unbuckling Brian's harness.
"Should I stay in the cockpit?"
“Nah. Just don't wander off, Lieutenant."
As soon as it was finished, Brian's Lancia was moved back into the launch tube.
Mike was so low on fuel when he landed, that when he fired braking jets as he entered the bay, they fizzled out mid-burst. He quickly flipped off the anti-grav and the Warthog dropped to the deck with a thud, screeching down the runway on its skid plates. It came to a stop with its nose, just inches from the safety nets before the tower. Mike pulled the lever, popping the canopy, "Man, what a landing," he announced. "Am I fucking good, or what?!" The lineman, climbing the boarding ladder, pointed out the burn marks and blast holes in the Warthog's left wing without saying a word. Mike's eyes widened, then narrowed. "I said I was good," his voice was more humble now, "not perfect." He sat quietly and let the crewman unbuckle his harness, standing on the seat and stretching after he was finished. "Boy, almost three hours in that cockpit..." He dropped his helmet over the side to the crewman on the deck.
Derrik and Brian approached from the pilot's ready-lounge at the base of the tower on the other side of the grab net. "Where's Paul? What happened out there?" called Derrik.
Mike had turned around to descend the ladder. "Haven't you heard from them yet?" He asked, looking over his shoulder.
"We're on radio silence," said Brian, clinging to the grab net. The two pilots looked like people watching a softball game through a mesh fence.
"Damn..." said Mike, stepping to the deck. He walked to the net shaking his head, "I'm not sure exactly what happened, we got separated." Brian and Derrik pulled up on the net, lifting the bottom edge off the floor. Mike ducked underneath to their side. "We split to evade some inbound stuff," he began, walking with them back to the lounge. "The next thing I know, I got two bandits on my tail and I can't shake `em. All of a sudden, two of those new birds," he points to a Lancia, "come out of nowhere..."
Brian was nodding, "That was me and Jack..."
Derrik was nodding too. "Don't feel bad, same thing happened to me." He pointed to his Warthog sitting in its revetment. "That's mine."
Mike made a face like he'd swallowed bad medicine. "What's all that white shit?"
"Fire foam."
"Geez, what a mess," sympathized Mike. "So," he said, changing the subject, "did you get him?" He was looking at Brian.
"Yeah, sort of. I had to chase him clear round the other side of that floating junkyard out there. I took his shields down, so he tries to shake me by taking a left into the debris... smack!" Brian clapped his hands together. "He crashes right into a huge piece of scrap." He shook his head. "What an idiot... end of story, film at eleven." He shrugged.
They entered the lounge and threw themselves on the loungers, stretching out. No one spoke for awhile. "Do you think he made it?" asked Derrik. It was a disjointed question but they all knew he was talking about Pappy.
Mike shook his head slowly, he had been trying not to think about it. "I don't know... I hope so." He fidgeted. "There was a beacon."
"That's a good sign," said Brian. "Right?" He looked at Derrik.
"Could have been automatic..."
"Maybe..."
"Think so?"
It grew quiet again. Until the announcement from the tower, "Craft on final approach, recovery crews stand by." The three pilots jumped to their feet and ran for the door. They didn't stop until they reached the net. Mike's Warthog had been moved and the runway was clear. They waited. "Well?" said Brian. He tapped his foot in mock anticipation, trying to disguise his concern.
Barely visible outside the bay, Jack's Lancia suddenly popped into view as it slowly passed through the blue veil of the stasis field. The fighter moved lethargically as it touched down, moving down the runway as if it was in slow motion. "What's he doing?" asked Mike. No one had a clue. His canopy popped open and rose quietly as he neared the safety net and swung off, taxiing to the skirt where the Lancia coasted to a stop of its own volition. The three pilots exchanged confused glances as Jack descended the ladder from his cockpit. Where was the shuttle?
With a loud whoosh, the shuttle passed through the stasis field at a speed more normal to landing spacecraft. It braked hard and touched down halfway to the tower, coasting to the net before stopping. Jack walked to its side entrance and waited for the hatch to open.
"Is Pappy Ok?!" shouted Mike. Jack cupped his hand around his ear to show he couldn't hear Mike, who was becoming visibly more anxious. The three pilots lifted up on the net and scooted underneath as the shuttle's hatch and ramp opened. "I said," yelled Mike, trotting over to where Jack stood, "is Pappy alright?" Jack looked sullen or tired, Mike couldn't tell which.
"I'm fine kid..." Paul stood in the shuttle's doorway, grinning from ear to ear, his helmet dangling from his left hand. He strolled casually down the ramp.
Mike met him halfway and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Man, am I glad to see you! I thought you were a gonner..."
"So did I. In fact, I almost was..." Jack slapped him on the back as he reached the bottom of the ramp. There was a round of handshaking and backslapping as the five pilots released the tension of uncertainty and gave private thanks for getting their friends back in one piece.
"What about me?" Maria descended the ramp, her arm linked with Myomerr's arm for support. Paul turned around and, with arms opened wide, hugged them both. "Why did you wait so long to eject?"
"Well," said Paul stepping back. He suddenly had a full audience. "I couldn't punch out too close, I woulda' been toast. I had to wait till I got clear. I figured if I timed it right, they'd think I went up with my bird and wouldn't come looking for me. I had to hope y'all would find me first." He hugged Maria and kissed Myomerr full on the lips. "Good eyes kids."
"You!" said Jack, pointing at Maria, "should be in bed."
"I can fly, I just can't stand. Besides, I couldn't let her go out alone, you need at least two for recoveries." She wiped the sweat off her forehead. "If we hadn't been out there, Paul would still be out there." She pointed at Myomerr, "We were the only two who were free to go... everyone else was at battle stations."
Jack smiled and scooped her up because she was beginning to wobble. "Well you did a fine job. Now it's back to bed with you." The group moved off the runway together and headed for the ready room to remove their flight suits. "Chief!" shouted Jack, still carrying Maria.
The mechanic stopped his work on the shuttle. "Yeah?"
"Close up the bay and the tubes. Call a stand down, we're done for the day."
"What about that cruiser out there?" asked Derrik.
Paul shook his head. "Gone."
"Where'd it go?"
"To that big cruiser Heaven in the sky," he said, waving his arms expansively, his helmet still in his left hand.
Mike's eyes narrowed, "Huh?"
They all started walking again. "Wait'll I tell you this," joked Paul, "this is gonna' kill you..."
■ ■ ■
Paul kept them in suspense until they had all cleaned up. Jack had checked in with the bridge and now they were all seated together on the floor of Maria's suite. LaNareef, feeling stronger now, was there with Walrick. Alité was there with Jack, Myomerr with Paul, Seeta with Brian and Mike was with a cute little porter named Tilee. Jack was surprised, he had no idea Mike was seeing someone. Food and wine had been provided by Marna's culinary wizardry.
Maria was tucked comfortably in bed. She lay on her side, facing the group and absentmindedly played with Derrik's hair. He was sitting on the floor with his back against the side of her bed. The rest of the group, mostly boy-girl couples, sat on the sofa or gathered around the coffee table where the platters of food sat and chatted as they ate. For some of them, it was the first decent meal they had eaten in ten hours. Jack stared into Alité's eyes as they ate, they were pale lavender now. Every time he looked at her, she seemed to get more beautiful, more alluring. She was wearing a sheer white leotard with a matching knee length bloused gown that was both low cut and slit up the sides. He couldn't take his eyes off her, he wished they were alone.
"Alright," said Brian, after sipping his wine, “tell us your story..."
Paul held up one hand. "Ok, Ok." With his other hand he poured wine for Myomerr. He picked up his wine and watched the burgundy liquid swirl around. "Once upon a time..."
"C'mon!" interrupted Mike, "quit goofin' around..." Tilee pulled on his arm to let him know he was embarrassing her.
Failing at begging, Fritz took advantage of the various distractions and stole food off the table. Seeta tweaked his nose in reprisal and shooed him away with his prize.
Paul got serious. "Ok.” It took him a second to decide where to start. "Well, we did some pretty serious damage to that carrier, pretty much tore the bow off of her and crippled her launch capabilities. We took the fight out of her but good. But in the exchange that caused that damage she got a couple missiles out.” He adjusted the way he was sitting and leaned forward. “I get hit by one of those inbounds from that carrier and it tosses me, end over end. By the time I get it back under control, I'm somewhere between that destroyer and carrier gettin' the shit kicked outta' my bird. My shields are gone, so I cut off my guns to keep them from pulling power, and I make a bee-line for the first empty patch of sky I see." He takes a sip of wine. "Well, these guys are throwing everything they got at me and my bird is flopping around like a kite in a hurricane. I'm getting the hell beat outta' me cause I'm slamming all over the place..." He pulled the collar of his shirt aside to show the purple bruises over his shoulder from the harness straps.
"Those are worse than mine," commented Derrik.
"Hurt too," added Paul. "So anyway, every warning light in the cockpit is screamin' at me, no shields,
inbound alert, flame-out, fire, hull breach... and probably a few I didn't notice. I wait as long as I can... hoping I'm clear... and I punch out." He sipped his wine, "Just in time too. She blows, right under me..." He holds out one hand. "I know what all the scientists say, there's no sound in space... bullshit! Cause I swear I could hear it! Well, I must have blacked out for a minute from the concussion, cause when I woke, I could see the shuttle coming - I hadn't seen it before that. But then I see the cruiser is coming too!" There wasn't a sound as he told the story. "I bet that Captain was good and mad by now... he wanted us. Bad. Then, I see this lunatic," he pointed to Jack. "He goes screamin' in. Guns going like crazy, flinging missiles... he buzzes around that cruiser like a pissed off hornet! Probably drives the Captain nuts. Well it works, cause for some reason he forgets us and decides to chase Jack..."
"It's because he was calling him names on an open channel..." added Maria.
Brian looked at Jack. "You called him names..? Like what?"
Jack shrugged, "I don't really remember that.,” he smirked, handing an after dinner pastry to Fritz who was quietly nudging his elbow. "Whatever came to mind... I guess."
"Dickbreath," said Maria laughing, "asshole, chicken-shit..."
"What's chicken-shit? whispered Alité.
Jack almost snorted a mouthful of wine through his nose. "I'll tell you later," he promised.
"So anyway," continued Paul, "Jack heads for the freighter, and the cruiser follows and launches two fighters. The girls pick me up and we head out for the Freedom. Well, Jack suckers the fighters and the cruiser into the debris. They can't even touch him, he's all over the place. The fighters are shooting at him, the cruiser's shooting at him, not a scratch. The cruiser blows up one of their own fighters, the other crashes into something in the debris field. Jack takes off. So the cruiser plows through the debris and stops next to the freighter and just sits there..."
Wings of Steele - Destination Unknown (Book 1) Page 37
