Wings of Steele - Destination Unknown (Book 1)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  The patrol vessels crabbed sideways to divide the Freedom's firepower and move to her more vulnerable flanks. But they didn't count on Mike and Paul, who after passing earlier, had come around and coasted up behind them, engines off. Masked by the energy wakes of the patrol ships, the two fighters went undetected.

  Extremely maneuverable, the UFW patrol vessels attempted to circle around the lethargic cruiser like a boxer looking for an opening. Had it not been for the fighters, it would have been a short match. Determined and unwilling to back off, the Commanders of the UFW ships took their licks and hung in there. Their heavy guns took a quick toll on the inadequate shields of the Freedom and kept the fighters maneuvering defensively.

  "Forward shields at sixty-five percent," shouted Raulya. The ship shuddered under another blow. "Port mid shields down to fifty-five percent and port quarter to thirty-five percent!"

  Jack keyed his mic. "All ahead FULL Chief!" The ship lurched a moment later as the main thrust burners ignited.

  "Sir!" Shouted Stacell, "I just intercepted a message. There are two UFW liberator-class cruisers on their way. They're about thirty minutes out!"

  Jack wondered if it could get any worse. The Freedom took another blow along the bow and shuddered. “Forward shields sixty percent and holding, port stern down to fifteen percent!" The patrol craft crossing the Freedom's bow, disappeared in giant chunks as the Freedom’s port, main gun battery blew huge holes in its hull. Constant hammering from the fighters had depleted its shields. A quick cheer rolled across the bridge. "Most forward gun batteries have exhausted their energy pods," reported Raulya.

  Harassed, damaged, and low on shields, the remaining UFW vessel fired as it retreated, trying to outrun the fighters and reach the safety of the approaching cruisers. The stern shields flared and the Freedom shook hard. Then shook again. "Hull breach! Hull breach!" Alarms whooped throughout the ship and the Freedom's speed began to dwindle.

  "Son-of-a-bitch," snarled Jack. He keyed his comm mic on the fighter's frequency. "Don't let that bastard get away, Pappy!"

  "Not a chance," came the answer. A moment later the remaining ship split in half, spreading debris and spilling its crew into space.

  The Freedom had dropped to about one quarter speed. "Trigoss, what's happening back there? What's going on?"

  The reply was laced with static and background noise. "Not now, Jack, we're kinda busy..." the connection fading away.

  "Commander Edgars to the bridge," paged Jack. "Raulya, shields down, recharge all guns. I'm going down to engineering to see if I can help. Mr. Ragnaar, you know where we're going, point us there. I'll see what I can do about more speed." Still wearing his comm, Jack left the bridge and hustled down the corridor.

  ■ ■ ■

  The pilots had no problem catching up with the Freedom and could have easily found it without their sensors. Once they were in clear visual range they were stunned by what they saw. "Holy shit..." muttered Mike.

  "My God..." added Brian.

  Paul reached through his open visor with a gloved hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Son-of-a-bitch," he whispered. At least one third of the Freedom's port engine was missing. Forward of that was a gaping hole in the hull of the ship, twisted and jagged, exposing deck two or three. Maybe both. The remains of the port engine trailed anonymous vapors, assorted bits of debris and giant gobbets of fire foam. The wound in the hull bled streams of atmosphere vapor leaking from damaged safety doors.

  Derrik shook his head. "Bloody horrible little bastards. Look what they've done to our pretty ship."

  Walrick and LaNareef said nothing.

  "We'd better get back and see if we can lend a hand," volunteered Brian.

  "Good idea," began Paul, "besides, we might be having more company. We need to restock and refuel these birds." The pilots called for and received clearance to land, strung out in three pairs.

  As they neared the stern in formation, Mike spotted a strange glow ahead and to the right of the Freedom. "Hey, Pappy, what the hell is that?"

  Paul looked to the Lancia on his left and followed Mike's point to the distant glow, which could only be described as being on the horizon. The pale blue and purple haze glowed and pulsated, seeming to undulate like waves of water. "Don't know kid, maybe we should take a look... Flight Leader to tower, Flight One is breaking final approach, Two and Three will recover..."

  "Negative, Leader," replied flight control, "Recover as planned."

  Paul shrugged to himself, "Roger, tower."

  "Commander?!" LaNareefs voice seemed strained.

  "Go ahead," coaxed Paul.

  "I have two large ships appearing on the rearward edge of my sensor range..."

  ■ ■ ■

  Steele jogged down the corridor towards the stern on deck two, slowing as the smoke grew thicker. Despite his caution, he stumbled and fell across someone laying on the floor. He crawled over on his hands and knees to the prone form and dragged him to clearer air. The crewman was blackened by smoke and unrecognizable. Jack rose and opened an emergency panel on the wall, extracting an air bottle. He slid the plastic mask over the man's face and opened the valve. After two gulps of air, his eyes popped open and he sat upright, gasping. "Easy," said Jack, holding him by the shoulders, "breath easy. You're Ok." He slid the man against the wall and pulled another bottle down for himself. "Stay here, someone will come for you." He turned away and fingered the mic on his comm, "Fire control teams to port engineering, deck two! Medical team, deck two!" He slid on his own mask, slung the bottle over his shoulder by its strap and turned on the valve as he crawled into the biting smoke on his hands and knees.

  Blinded by the smoke, his sensitive nose scorched by the heat and acrid smoke, Fritz had to feel his way backwards down the corridor while dragging his burden. Blood ran from the swollen lining of his nose, but the dog refused to release his grip and take even one breath through his mouth. After weaving his way through the port engine room, he proceeded down the corridor in search of assistance, using his tail as a feeler.

  Unable to even see his hand in front of his face, Jack advanced on hands and knees with his eyes closed, tears streaming down his cheeks from the stinging smoke. He rammed something soft with his right shoulder, toppling himself over. Whatever, or whomever it was, grunted. He righted himself and reached out, searching. He found thick fur and a tail. "Fritz?" The Shepherd snorted in response, blood spraying from his nose. He choked but did not relinquish his grasp. Jack felt forward and realized the dog was dragging a crewman. He grabbed the collar of the uniform tunic and pulled, sliding the form across the carpet. "Let go," urged Jack, "I got em." Fritz growled, refusing. Together they dragged the unconscious crewman to clearer air where Jack had previously left the other man. The air bottle remained but the crewman was gone. Presumably moved to the infirmary. As soon as they reached the clearer air, Fritz dropped to the floor, exhausted, still gripping the man's arm in his mouth. Jack instantly understood why Fritz refused to let go of the crewman, his arm was missing below the elbow. The Shepherd was trying to keep him from bleeding to death.

  Jack pulled off his air bottle and laid it on the floor. "It's Ok, Fritz, let him go..." Jack slid off the dog's squadron scarf and wrapped it around the man's arm, tying it off above the dog's grip. Fritz unmouthed the crewman and rolled on his side, hacking up blood and the blackness he'd been breathing. Jack turned on the air valve and moved the bottle in front of Fritz's muzzle who drew it in open-mouthed. Taking the abandoned bottle, Jack placed the face piece over the mouth of the wounded crewman, then tightened the scarf around his arm like a tourniquet.

  "Bridge, this is Steele, get some more people down here on Deck Two... we need some help!"

  "Right you are, Jacko," replied the Professor. He issued a p
age over the comm system. "How bad is it, Jack?" asked Walt after the page.

  "I don't know if there's fire, but the smoke is pretty thick. Look, find the Doc, will ya? I got a guy missing a hand down here." The Professor acknowledged and signed off. Steele cradled the injured man in his lap and held the tourniquet tight. Fritz was breathing easier and he could see again. "Good job, Fritzer," commented Jack, "you probably saved his life." He wanted to reach out and touch the dog, but his arms were full. Fritz wagged his tail.

  Jack jumped when Trigoss suddenly appeared through the smoke. "Well it's finally out..." his uniform was scorched and charred, he didn't even have an oxygen bottle. "Hate that taste." He spat on the floor.

  "What was burning?" asked Jack.

  Trigoss coughed once and spat again. "Tyrillium bulkhead..." The sound of many running feet echoing down the smoky corridor, interrupted their conversation.

  Several crewmen wearing complete breathing gear ran past, disappearing into the acrid clouds. Paul, Mike and Brian, tromped to a stop, still in flight gear. "You Ok?" asked Brian.

  "I'm ok, help me get this guy to the infirmary, I don't know where the Doc is..." Jack started to rise.

  "He's coming," said Paul, "we just passed him." The pilot thumbed over his shoulder. "It looks bad from outside, Jack. How bad is it really?" Paul didn't frown much, but this was an exception.

  "Bad," answered Trigoss. "We're down to one engine."

  "Damn..." Paul rubbed his chin. "Y'know we're leaking all sorts of stuff too..."

  The Chief Engineer nodded and spat. "Fuel, atmosphere mostly. Got several doors leading to the damaged area that buckled. They're leaking. We can seal them though."

  "That's the least of our problems," added Mike, "we got more company coming..."

  "What?" Steele sat rigid as CABL M7 bought the gurney to a stop next to him. "Who? Where?" They all helped lift the unconscious crewman onto the gurney.

  "They're coming from behind us," answered Brian, fastening a strap on the gurney. "They're big and fast."

  "How long do we have?" Jack handed M7, control of the tourniquet.

  Paul shrugged. "At this speed? Maybe twenty minutes."

  Jack turned to Trigoss. "Chief, we need that other engine."

  Trigoss made a face and shook his head. "If it was run-able, which it's not, and we directed all the ship's power to warming the burners, it would take at least two hours before I could ignite it..."

  "Geez, isn't there any way to do a cold start?"

  "Well, yes, but in its present condition, the best it will do is make it look like this one." Trigoss indicated the mess behind them.

  "There's no chance of success?"

  "None. Think of something else..."

  "Maybe we should get ready to launch," suggested Brian.

  "Bridge to Captain Steele..."

  "Now what?" Steele clicked on his mic, "Steele, go ahead."

  "Jacko," started the professor, "we got one hell of an ether storm brewing out here... quite colorful actually..."

  "A what?!" exclaimed Jack, cutting him off.

  "An electrical ether storm, sir," explained Ragnaar over the comm.

  Jack looked at Trigoss "A storm? In space?"

  The Engineer nodded. "Pretty common."

  "I think we're out of ruddy luck, Jack. Those cruisers are coming up fast, and this front is too big to go round..."

  "Go straight through it," whispered Trigoss. Jack looked at him sideways. The Chief Engineer nodded confidently, and his hand sliced through the air in front of them. "Right through the middle."

  "Head straight for it, Walt," advised Jack. Not so sure himself.

  "Right. Consider it done..." The comm connection ended.

  Trigoss proceeded to explain his idea. "Sensors are pretty much useless in plasma and ether storms. And visibility is close to nil but..."

  "So we'll be navigating blind," interrupted Jack.

  "More or less," continued the Chief. "But the cruisers won't be able to see either. The trick is to plan out your course changes before you get to the storm. Once inside you execute maneuvers at set times. The cruisers will try one of two tactics, either they'll try to track you, which is next to impossible, or try a standard search pattern."

  "Won't they be able to follow all that debris we're trailing?" asked Paul.

  "Nah," claimed the engineer, waving his hand, "the storm'll sweep it all away."

  "Well, the problem is gonna' be beating them to the storm," commented Jack. He turned to Trigoss, "Think we can push number three a little more?"

  "I'll try..." The engineer turned and headed back into the dwindling smoke. "But don't expect too much..."

  Jack, Paul, Brian and Mike, strode up the corridor towards the bridge. "Will Fritz be Ok?" asked Brian after some silence.

  Jack nodded, "Doc says it's basic smoke inhalation and nasal swelling from the irritation. A few hours of medicated oxygen treatment and he'll feel much better."

  Paul smirked, "Saving a guy's life by holding his arm just right to keep him from bleeding to death and dragging him two hundred feet to safety while blinded by smoke..." he suddenly realized he was thinking out loud and stopped.

  "Freakin' dog deserves a medal," concluded Mike, finishing Paul's sentence.

  "It was pretty incredible, wasn't it?" agreed Steele.

  The ship shuddered, the men missing their footing on the moving floor and bouncing against the padded corridor walls. "What the hell was that?" shouted Paul, bracing himself.

  "I don't know," said Jack, breaking into a cautious run. The Red Alert klaxons sounded as another shudder shook the floor beneath their feet and Mike hit the floor. The others ran on as Mike scrambled to his feet, eerie red light bathing the corridors.

  "What the hell is going on?" screamed Jack, as he burst onto the bridge followed by the three pilots.

  "They're firing at us long-range," explained the Professor.

  "You mean they're in range already?" Jack plopped into his command chair and switched on the console.

  "Not quite," continued Walt, "they're trying to convince us to surrender. They'll be in range in thirty seconds."

  "You're kidding..."

  "No. These are a brand new class of UFW cruisers..."

  Jack didn't listen to the rest. "Trigoss," he shouted into the comm, "can we get any more?"

  "We're at top, Jack. In fact, she's starting to heat up already... ten minutes, fifteen tops, then we're dead in the water, as you would say."

  "Keep it going," instructed Jack. He turned off the comm. "How long to the storm front, Lieutenant?"

  "Eight to ten minutes, sir," replied Ragnaar. "The front surges, so the time is variable."

  "We're in their range in five seconds..." announced Walt.

  "Helm, evasive action!" Jack knew it would be useless to return fire, the Freedom's guns had only about half the range.

  "Jack!" shouted Paul, "let us launch!"

  "NO!" He swiveled his chair. "Lieutenant, cut power to all non essential systems, that includes all gun pods," the ship shuddered as the first in-range volley from the cruisers, missed. "Route all extra power to stern shields," he continued. Raulya nodded and went to work, her fingers dancing across her console as fast as she could.

  "I know what you're trying to do, Jack," shouted Paul from the upper level behind him, "but it aint gonna' work this time..." The pilot was remembering the maneuver Jack used in the B25 when he entered the cloud bank over the Bermuda Triangle back at home. "Let us go," he urged, "we can slow them down!"

  Jack ignored him. "Helm, nose down!" Quixetta keyed in the command and the coming volley passed close over the Freedom. "Level off."
>
  "Incoming message, sir..."

  "On screen, Stacell." The face of a determined young Captain appeared on the main screen.

  "I am Captain Kelarez of the UFW cruiser, Archer. You are commanded to surrender."

  "I'm sorry," apologized Steele, "I can't do that..."

  "Word is," interrupted Kelarez, "you're a dangerous man, Captain. But surely you must realize," he continued, "your ship is in no condition to outrun either of our ships. The Archer and the Bowman were specially built for pursuit. And you surely couldn't hope to outfight us. So do us all a favor, Sir, surrender."

  As long as he's talking, thought Jack, he's not shooting. "Sir," he began, "I am Captain Jack Steele of the cruiser Freedom. Earth is our home planet and we are allied with the UFW."

  "Your ship does not meet any recent profiles on current ships operating in UFW space," said Kelarez.

  "We defeated a raiding party of pirates and confiscated this ship for our own use. Our rank was issued us by the UFW directorate, so it's all very official."

  “I'm sure it is..." injected Kelarez politely.

  "But you folks don't seem to want to be bothered with those kinds of details," commented Jack. "We have been attacked not only by pirates, but by UFW vessels as well." Jack folded his Arms across his chest. "So tell me, Captain, why should I choose to trust you? Does the UFW treat all their new allies like this?"

  Captain Kelarez pondered this for a moment before he spoke, his handsome face bent in a frown. "I am truly sorry your travels have been troublesome. But I am afraid it will get worse before it gets better. I am a Captain, not an Admiral. And as such, I must follow orders. They are, to capture your ship and crew, then provide escort back to the UFW facilities on Phi Lanka, where this would all be investigated and hopefully straightened out..."

  "There is a federation prison there..." whispered Ragnaar.

  "Barring that," continued Kelarez. "I would be required to destroy your ship and crew. Frankly, I would like to avoid that unpleasantness. I would prefer to escort you. Especially if this all turns out to be just a complicated screw-up of some kind."