Wings of Steele - Destination Unknown (Book 1)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  All around the perimeter of the depot, the Freedom's fighters maneuvered into the shadows of the larger vessels and shutting down their systems, clung to the darkened hulks like a flea to a dog. Only their comm units would stay on, the pilots would breathe and be warmed by the two hour reserve of their flight suits.

  The Freedom herself appeared to be a hulk, showing no signs of life. Her crew would breathe bottled air if needed, when the static supply ran low. This was the third time in as many weeks this exercise had to be used. The first two times to remain undetected by the UFW carrier which seemed to be so bent on their capture. Now from a pirate patrol. Playing possum as Pappy called it, would continue in strict radio silence until an all clear could be called.

  Paul had latched his Lancia onto a derelict ore freighter of simply enormous proportions. He could see the two ships approaching through his cockpit perspex and they were coming right at him. Even though he knew he was literally invisible to them, he felt uncomfortably exposed. The pirate cruiser slowed as they approached, but the smaller of the two, which Paul's computer had identified as a small, fast, armed supply vessel, continued its egress. The cruiser slowed to a stop just short of the depot perimeter, but Paul experienced a chill as he realized the supply ship intended to enter the depot, presumably to scrounge for parts. He held his breath and watched as the ship passed close enough for him to see the lights of the bridge.

  Brian was on the opposite side of the depot two hundred miles from Paul and had a different view. He could not see the pirates, but he could see something else, and he could tell no one... the UFW carrier was back.

  ■ ■ ■

  The lights flickered and went dim, staying at half power. "What's going on?" asked Jack.

  "We must be going to battery backup," answered Alité.

  Jack propped himself up on one elbow. "But why?"

  "That pesky carrier keeps looking for us, he must be back again. It's ok though, we're safe. The Commander puts us on complete blackout status and that stupid carrier just wanders by. Paul calls it playing possum."

  Jack smiled and nodded. "Of course he does."

  ■ ■ ■

  "Starboard turret five to bridge."

  "Bridge," answered Walt.

  "Pirate supply vessel is visible about twelve miles off starboard stern quarter. It appears to be shutting down."

  Walt Edgars sat back in his chair after acknowledging the gunner's report. "That's just bloody wonderful," he said to no one in particular. "Just how long do they intend to stay?" The same gunner called back some moments later to inform the bridge the vessel had just launched what appeared to be two shuttles. Commander Edgars was not pleased.

  ■ ■ ■

  Brian watched in absolute horror as the carrier slowed and began to launch fighters outside the edge of the depot. He was too far to actually see the fighters clearly, but he could easily see the bright flares of light as each ignited its engines upon clearing the tubes. He was half tempted to switch on his computer to find out what type of fighters they were, but he knew this would broadcast his presence. He counted the flares as they appeared, ten fighters in all, grouped in two formations of five each. He lost them as they turned towards him, their engine flares no longer visible. What should he do? He fidgeted nervously and craning his neck, searched the darkened hulls around him. Can anyone else see them? He wondered if his hiding place was dark enough to hide him from the close scrutiny of a fighter. Then suddenly they were there, entering the depot... ten top of the line Vulcan fighters.

  Paul was twisted as far around in his seat as humanly possible, looking to see where the pirate's supply ship had gone to when he spied the shuttles gliding across the depot. To him it looked like they were angled toward the Freedom. "Oh for the love of God," he whispered to himself, "don't do that, pleeease." Then he looked around but could see none of his flight members. Just everybody stay put... he thought.

  ■ ■ ■

  The gunners relayed through the Freedom's intership comm, the shuttles' movements. "Starboard turret five, they're passing right underneath me now. They're armored shuttles, good size, probably a 30 man shuttle at least."

  "Port turret four, I see them now. They're really giving us the once over."

  "Port five, looks like they're trying to find a place to board..."

  ■ ■ ■

  The chills gave Brian the shakes as his body filled with adrenaline. He felt as obvious as an eleventh hour pimple - the one a teenager gets in the middle of the forehead an hour before a big date. The closest UFW fighter was only about a hundred meters away, close enough for Brian to see the figure of its pilot bathed in the glow of his electronics. Brian Carter forced his head back against the headrest and fought to control his breathing and the nervous energy which demanded to be let loose. The Vulcans slowly passed the Lancia, invisible in the shadows of the ruined tanker.

  ■ ■ ■

  "Conquest to Flight Leader, progress report."

  The flight leader of the Vulcans thumbed the comm button, "Flight Leader to Conquest," he hissed, "why don't you just take out an ad in the interstellar news and tell everyone where we're at?" He released the comm button and shook his head. What an idiot he thought. The Vice Admiral would surely get them all killed eventually. They had been out to this location five times this month without seeing a thing. The Vice Admiral was so obsessed with finding this rogue cruiser he was chasing that he was taking risks and making mistakes that went beyond simple stupidity.

  They were in pirate territory, alone, and navigated about recklessly and predictably, inviting a pirate task force ambush. He put it out of his mind and turned his attention back to the matter at hand, sneaking up on that cruiser... hopefully it would be the right one and they could soon go back to regular duty.

  ■ ■ ■

  Paul wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead as he watched the pirate cruiser angle towards him and the depot. He had lost the shuttles as they disappeared behind the Freedom, he hoped the pirate cruiser wasn't thinking of joining them. Then a sudden rush of fear swept him when fighters emerged from under the nose of the cruiser. "Oh God, we're in it now..." He flipped the safety covers off the engine igniters and locked them in the on position. He would do a cold start. He wondered just how fast he could get all his systems running, detach from the freighter, and get his shields up. More fighters emerged. Paul rolled his head around to loosen the muscles of his neck and held his thumb poised above the comm button. Ok boys... he thought.

  ■ ■ ■

  "Bridge to all stations... status, can anyone see what they're doing?"

  "This is port turret three, they're not doing much of anything, sir. They stopped next to us and it looks like they've shut down."

  The Professor sat back in his command chair and rubbed his chin. "I don't get it. Do you, Lieutenant?"

  Ragnaar turned in his seat. "They could be waiting to ambush someone, sir..."

  "Starboard turret six to bridge, fighters!" She was watching through hand viewers. "Coming in hot from the stern... Two flights of five!" She added, after counting. "They're headed right for us!"

  "Bridge to all stations," announced Walt, "stand by to power up on my command..." He turned to Raulya, "Full shields too, my dear."

  "Sir..!" Ragnaar's voice snapped the Commander around. "Sir, we have six more fighters, coming in from ahead!"

  Walt rose from his seat. "All stations..."

  "WAIT!" Everyone turned to the voice. Jack Steele stood in the doorway of the bridge, dressed in uniform and warmed by a flight jacket draped across his shoulders. Alité stood under one arm, keeping him steady on his feet. "If they were a threat to us," he continued, "they would have already hit us by now. Wait it out..." They watched in silence as th
e two flights of UFW Vulcans screamed over the top of the Freedom's hull then angled off to engage the approaching pirate fighters.

  "How could you have been so sure?" asked Walt.

  Jack shrugged weakly, "I wasn't - not a hundred percent anyway." He eased to the floor with Alité's help. "Whew... that was a long walk, I need a rest."

  ■ ■ ■

  Paul took a deep breath and tried to swallow his heart when he saw the Vulcans. He was relieved and concerned at the same time if that was possible. It meant the Freedom hadn't been spotted, but for how long? He would just have to wait and see.

  Fighters from both sides raced back and forth through the depot, zig-zagging around the wrecks held in stasis, the dogfight raging in tight swirls and running pursuits. Pirate after pirate fell to the guns of the UFW Vulcans. One hot pirate pilot managed to escape destruction by weaving his Falken fighter through the exposed engine supports of a rusting tanker. The pursuing Vulcan pilot wasn't lucky enough to make it through, his only legacy, a blackened smear on the tankers hull, pranged engine supports and some twisted, floating debris.

  The pirate fighters were no match for the UFW Vulcans and even after launching additional fighters, could do little more than play hide and seek in a game of tag that encompassed the entire depot. Seeing the difficult position of his fighters and their dwindling number, the Captain of the pirate cruiser chose to withdraw and abandon his charge, the supply ship. Maybe he was actually hoping to draw off the carrier and let the smaller ship escape. In either case, the result was the carrier discarded its position of anonymity and took chase.

  The Flight Leader of the UFW Vulcans caught the departing of his carrier on his sensor scope and broke off pursuit on a sure kill allowing the pirate pilot to escape death. "Leader to all Conquest birds, disengage! Repeat, disengage!" He wrenched the stick to avoid the hull of a darkened cruiser and did not notice the two shuttles hiding in its shadows.

  "The Admirodope has moved base," announced the flight leader, annoyed. "Base is mobile! Form on me!" He knew all flight communications were recorded, but at this point, he did not care. Nine of the ten original Vulcans broke free of the depot and resumed formation to pursue their carrier, which was dogging the pirate cruiser at full speed. The carrier had quite a lead on the fighters and wasn't slowing. The Flight Leader edged his throttle further. "Dammit! Why doesn't he just launch more fighters?" The Vulcan flight would be low on fuel when they overtook the Conquest and would be unable to land at that speed. The Flight Leader decided he would slow it down with laser fire if necessary. Then he would have a personal little chat with the Vice Admiral.

  Shortly after leaving the depot, one of the Vulcan pilots began experiencing mechanical difficulties due to battle damage. The Flight Leader directed him back to the depot. He felt he would be safer hiding there than drifting out in the open and promised the young Ensign they would be back for him promptly. The Flight Leader didn’t know it then, but he would never see his younger brother again.

  As soon as the Vulcans had cleared the depot, the pirate shuttles returned to the supply ship with haste. As did the three remaining pirate fighters, landing carefully in the crowded little landing bay. The Captain of the supply vessel decided there was nothing here worth his ship or his life and made a rather reckless departure, obviously unnerved at the thought of having a UFW carrier returning to clean up any survivors. The pirates had lost nine fighters, the UFW lost one and one damaged.

  ■ ■ ■

  "We're all clear gents," called Derrik over his comm. From his position perched atop the bridge of a derelict destroyer, he had a pretty good view of most of the altercation. He watched over his shoulder through his canopy as the engine flare of the supply ship became a small white dot in the distance. The Freedom's fighters began checking in one by one from all over the salvage yard. He flipped the switch for his anti-grav and it bounced his Lancia off the derelict's surface. He flipped it back off and pulled in his landing gear, initiating his systems and lighting his engines.

  "Bridge to all flights..." the tired voice made its way to the ears of all the pilots scattered around the salvage yard. "Nice job keeping it all together kids... C'mon home everybody, dinner's on the table."

  Brian knew that voice."Skipper?"

  "Yeah, Bri, it's me."

  Brian popped off the tanker hull and accelerated away with a snap roll. "Yes!"

  "Mad Dog to Freedom, I have a single small inbound," Mike had just detached from the wreck of a rusting salvage carrier when his sensors' view cleared the bow. "Looks like a damaged Vulcan and it appears he's got no power. No engines."

  "Copy, Mad Dog," replied Jack. "Keep him in view, we'll send out a shuttle for recovery." Pappy stayed with Mike and the rest of the fighters returned to the Freedom, passing an outgoing shuttle.

  ■ ■ ■

  Ensign Duncan Taylor was a promising young UFW fighter pilot with three kills to his credit, but the fact that his beloved Vulcan was smoking like a chimney was not a reassuring sign and the likely prospect of having to eject was not an appetizing thought either. Life support in the fighter would run on batteries and continue from twenty four to thirty six hours. If he had to leave the cockpit... two, three hours tops. He tried to decide which was worse, the incessant smoke pouring from the electronics consoles or the fact he no longer controlled the craft. He had vented the cockpit and discharged the extinguisher canister but the smoke persisted. The only thing left was to open the canopy and deprive it of oxygen. He decided to wait until he reached the depot which loomed ahead, but it was getting more difficult to see what was actually outside. He was hoping to coast to a stop, open the canopy and stay in the cockpit tied into the craft's support system.

  ■ ■ ■

  "Doesn't look like he's got any control," commented Paul.

  "If he doesn't, he's going to hit that ore freighter," answered Mike.

  Myomerr had pulled the rescue shuttle abreast of the two Lancias and watched the stricken Vulcan. "Isn't there anything we can do?" She felt horribly useless at that moment.

  As the Vulcan grew closer, the canopy lifted up, followed by a brief puff of smoke, then nothing. The craft, canopy standing open, sailed straight toward the wrecked freighter, certain to be dashed into scrap. "C'mon, buddy," urged Mike under his breath, "eject... C'mon, any time now... eject damn you, eject!"

  “He's trying to stay with his bird for the battery supply to run his suit.” Paul looked to his left at the waiting shuttle. “Myomerr, flash your flood lights and move forward...”

  “Copy that, Pappy.” She moved the throttle forward and the Lancias slid ahead with her as she strobed the shuttle's floodlights. There was no way to know if the pilot had seen them. “C'mon buddy, see the pretty lights? Push the button, out you come...” She switched the color on the lights from white to amber. “Pretty lights coming to help you... get out of that piece of junk...”

  They were close enough to see the pilot fairly clearly, and it appeared he was struggling with his harness. Finally wrenching himself free, he stood on his seat, ripping his plugs and lines free from the crippled Vulcan, climbed out and with his legs crouched, sprung off the side of his cockpit like a cliff diver trying to clear the rocks below. The fighter coasted unmanned and crushed itself against the stern of the hulking ore freighter, bouncing slowly away, looking like a tumbling, crumpled piece of tin foil. The pilot sailed free above the freighter's hull, waving his arms at the shuttle.

  Myomerr nudged the shuttle's throttle forward. "Shuttle Three, the pilot is clear. I'm moving in for recovery."

  ■ ■ ■

  Jack eased himself back into his command chair and relaxed. "I think we should pull out, Walt..."

  "We're not quite finished yet, Jack. Another day or two and everything wil
l be one hundred percent shipshape..."

  Jack nodded slowly. "I know, Walt, and from what little I've seen, you've accomplished just short of a miracle. I'm amazed. And I'm sorry I wasn't here to help you."

  The professor raised an eyebrow "It wasn't me, lad, they didn't do this for me - they did it for you. Let them finish."

  "I just don't think we have the time, Walt. That was a pretty close call. My little voice is telling me that carrier will be back. If he's the same one that we ditched in the storm, you can be certain of it. We can't afford to be caught here. You saw how good those pilots were, and that carrier's got to hold at least forty or fifty fighters. They'll go over this depot yard with a fine tooth comb."

  The professor nodded, he had learned to trust Jack's intuition. "I see your point. He's been here a few times, and they've launched fighters before, but they never got this close. He probably thought that pirate was us..."

  Jack looked over the systems on his command screens and marveled at the extent of the improvements. He paged through the stats and system readouts, shaking his head in amazement over the changes. He reviewed the operational output for the rebuilt engines and the new generators, noting that they stood almost twenty percent above factory-new specifications. "Let's have Trigoss warm up the mains..." His voice trailed off when he realized his mistake, Trigoss was gone. He bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry, Walt. Maybe you'd better do this." He began to rise from his command chair.