Scout Pilot Of the Free Union

by Will Macmillan Jones

  I watched the instruments.

  “Can you evade?” he asked.

  “Watching the numbers…” I replied.

  “Taking up attack position…”

  “Right.” I triggered the remaining space mines and the Viper had to avoid them, losing the attack position.

  “Torpedoes!”

  I triggered the hyperdrive switch and the Speedbird fled the star system, leaving the Viper class Imperium scout ship and the torpedoes behind. I relaxed, and Rosto slumped against the bulkhead.

  “For a moment there, I thought you didn’t know what you doing,” he said.

  “Never a moment’s doubt,” I lied. “So, will you tell me yet what all that was about?”

  “Would you say that this Speedbird is, well, a bit past its sell by date?” asked Rosto.

  “Held together by spit and gaffer tape and luck, I suspect.”

  “That’s what this was about. We’ve just signed a contract with The Merchant Princes to supply The Free Union with a replacement fleet of more modern scout ships. That’s why Colonel Starker was trying to stop us.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say to that. But Rosto clapped me on the shoulder. “Just think, you are going to be a hero!”

  “A hero?”

  “Yes. You might even get a day off as a reward. I know I need one.” Rosto left the flight deck, and by the time I had completed the flight checks needed to get us safely back to Star Fleet Base, he was sleeping. In my sleeping pod, of course. With the private thought that being a hero was uncomfortable, I dragged the blankets off the sleeping spy and made myself a sort of bed on the floor of the living quarters and went to sleep.

  Chapter eight

  Safety in Numbers

  The Commander of the Reconnaissance Unit flung open the door and strode to the front of the briefing room, slapping his briefcase onto the desk when he arrived there. In common with my fellow officers, I stood politely. We all saluted.

  “The Free Union!” cried the Commander, and we echoed his salute. “Sit down, men. And ladies.” The Commander gazed around the room at his force of fifteen scout pilots, who returned his gaze with varying degrees of enthusiasm. “You are probably wondering why you’ve been called here.”

  There was a certain level of muttering that the Commander took as assent.

  “Star Fleet has decided to put on a show of strength on the border with the Imperium.” He took a handful of manila envelopes from his case and handed them round.

  “You mean a show of weakness,” came an unidentified voice from the rear of the group. It wasn’t me, honest.

  “Strength!” insisted the Commander, glaring at us. “Now, since this is going to be a Star Fleet operational mission with serious ships involved, we are called upon to provide a screen for the Task Force.”

  There was a silence in the room. No one needed to be told that we were to be sent ahead of the other ships to sniff out trouble, and by extension to make them feel safer by being the first to be shot at by a hostile force. One pilot raised her hand.

  “Yes?”

  “Sir, what is the latest political position with the Imperium? Are we still in a position of volatile hostility?”

  “She means, are we going to be shot at?” added a second pilot helpfully.

  “And if so, can we fire back?” a third wanted to know.

  “These are legitimate questions, and I am glad that you have raised them,” lied the Commander. “Moving on, I have the mission coordinates here. This force is to assemble at 0700 Local tomorrow. We will then adopt the formation you will find in your briefing pack, and proceed on the course indicated. The Task Force Commander will be Rear Admiral Doyle, and you will be under the tactical direction of Captain Russell.”

  I had been partly dozing in this briefing, but awoke very quickly at that point.

  “Captain Russell has prior experience in this role.”

  That was news to me, as was in fact to everyone else in the room.

  “Captain Russell, please remain behind for a mission specific briefing. The rest of you assimilate the information in those packs and go and prep your ships. I will see you back here for debriefing in three days, on your return.”

  The rest of the Reconnaissance Unit saluted, and wandered out of the briefing room as instructed. The Commander perched on the edge of the desk. “Russell, I hope you are pleased to be assigned to this duty.”

  “Pleased, sir?”

  “It is a sign of favour, I think, by Star Fleet. Perhaps your recent record has told in your favour in the high places.” The Commander leant towards me and lowered his voice. “Personally, I think you are a low-life scumbag chancer, but I’ve been over ruled on this one.”

  I had no idea how to respond to that one, so I followed a time-honoured tradition and kept my mouth shut.

  “Make sure that you don’t mess this one up, Captain. There are a lot of people watching you.”

  “Sir.”

  The Commander stood up and walked off without saluting, so I didn’t salute back. Instead I sat back in the chair and thought furiously. I knew that I was still in disgrace with the Star Fleet senior officers – or was I? Maybe there was a chance that I could get posted out of this dreadful unit and back into a more prestigious command. Fortunately, a more normal state of paranoia returned quickly – it was much more likely that I was being set up for something. Either way, there was nothing much I could do about it.

  And since there was realistically only one thing that I could do about it, I did it. I headed for my Speedbird and prepared for launch.

  Flight Control cleared me to depart suspiciously quickly, and I found that most of the other Reconnaissance Unit pilots had already left and were waiting for me at the departure zone. Also in the departure zone, to my alarm, were a battlecruiser and a large flotilla of frigates.

  “Speedbird Six Sixty-six, this is Wanderer Leader,” announced the commscreen.

  I hastily riffled through the mission paperwork. Wanderer was the code allocated to this mission, so Wanderer Leader was going to be the superior officer.

  “Wanderer, this is Speedbird,” I acknowledged.

  “Speedbird Six Sixty-six, have your unit assume formation for departure on mission. Advise on arrival at the rendezvous point and the main force will follow.”

  I checked the vidscreens; the remaining Speedbirds were arriving on station.

  “Speedbirds, Bell formation and load coordinates for flight,” I ordered rather self consciously. I had never tried to order my fellow Reconnaissance Unit pilots around – we were more normally operating singly than as a scouting force for a whole flotilla. Luckily the Unit had a few standard formations programmed into the Speedbird flight computers, and Bell was one of these. It positioned the space craft in a sort of inverted bowl, with the Formation Leader in the centre. Reluctantly the other pilots made the rough shape required, and we set off.

  Before long we reached operating velocity and engaged hyperdrives. By the time I had made a coffee, the flight console was warning me that we were approaching our destination. The Speedbird dropped out of hyperspace, and all the alarms went off at once.

  “I’m hit!” shouted an unidentified voice over the open comm channel.

  “I’ve hit something!”

  “Missile lock! Taking evading action!”

  “We’ve been jumped! Break formation!” shouted a voice I recognised – it was mine.

  “Taking hits, screens failing!” came across the comms, followed by an explosion.

  “Return fire!” I ordered. Immediately the proximity alarm on my flight console started screaming, followed by an enormous crash. The Speedbird slewed around, a manoeuvre for which it was not designed, throwing me from the pilot’s chair. As I struggled up from the floor, the damage assessment screen showed that the rear left pod had taken major impact damage. I looked at the vidscreen: I was spinning madly, and there was the cause of the impact – a now heavily damaged scout ship that I had rammed b
y mistake. I could not see if it was ours or theirs – and who were they?

  That question was answered as I fought to regain control of my craft and saw an Imperium scout ship flash across the front of my ship. I used the momentum of the spin to turn and follow, engaging the weapons systems as I did so.

  “I’ve lost power!” yelled one of my compatriots.

  “There’s too many of them, I can’t…” that voice cut off in mid sentence.

  It was taking all my concentration to hold the Speedbird in an attack position on the Imperium scout, and I didn’t notice that another was dropping into an attack position behind me. The Speedbird was vibrating badly, and holding a course was becoming impossible. The damaged rear left pod was on fire and the position/ attitude control jets were operating randomly. At the only moment that the Imperium ship ahead of me passed into the trajectory of the weapons systems, I fired everything I could and left my Speedbird to its own devices for a moment, and chopped back the power to the engines.

  The damaged ship promptly rolled and twisted, which made me feel violently sick. Though probably not as sick as the Imperium ship behind me that had just fired its missiles and lasers, and saw the ship I had been following vanish in a blast as both our weapons hit home and overwhelmed its defense screens.

  The comms system crackled. “Speedbird Six Sixty-six from Wanderer Leader. Are you established at the rendezvous location?” It was the Wanderer flotilla. Reinforcements!

  “We’ve been jumped! In combat with a superior force!” I shouted, and fired at the Imperium ship that had just overtaken me as the Speedbird slowed unexpectedly. I had a momentary missile window – not a proper missile lock - and fired; grinning widely as I saw the Imperium scout’s defense screens sparkle and fizz as they tried to contain the energy. The scout changed course abruptly, smoke billowing from the engines. I lost sight of it as I let my craft spin again.

  One vidscreen showed an explosion, rolling lights, fire and debris stunningly beautiful against the starlit background; but I couldn’t see what sort of ship had just exploded.

  “Wanderer is enroute in support!” burbled the comms system.

  “I feel so much safer!” shouted an unidentified voice. At least it wasn’t mine. I tried to gauge how the battle was flowing. The wild rotation of the Speedbird gave me confused images from the vidscreens, and the shouting and cursing from the comm system told me only that I was not the only Free Union pilot alive.

  “Keep fighting, Speedbirds,” I shouted, and fired almost randomly at two Imperium scouts that passed in front of me, a Speedbird chasing them and an Imperium three crew frigate behind the Speedbird, firing indiscriminately at all three spacecraft ahead of it. Using the rotational force from the damage, I turned to port as tightly as I could, and so avoided meeting some missiles that had been travelling towards me from the back quarter. All I could see from the glimpses I could get was a confused, milling mass of ships as everyone tried to get into a firing position on an enemy and several dark, drifting vessels that were clearly out of combat for good.

  The damage assessment system was telling me forcefully that the rear pod was now blazing badly, so I decided I had to deal with that as a priority. The automated fire control had either failed or been badly shot up when the defense screens had been overwhelmed and I was going to have to hope that I was left alone while I attended to it. How to hide in a battle? Pretend to be dead. I cut the engines completely and turned off all the internal and external lights, using the override to turn off the internal emergency lighting. I drew a deep breath and dropped the defense screens that still worked and let the Speedbird drift, dark and silent.

  “I think the Captain’s gone!” someone shouted through the comm system, but obviously I didn’t reply.

  Reluctantly, in fact quite terrified, I left the flight deck and ran through the living quarters which were filling gradually with an acrid black smoke. I slid down the ladder into the entry hatch, and found a space suit with breathing gear. That was very bulky, but probably my only hope. There were two fire extinguishers clipped to the wall, so I took those, and with some difficulty climbed back up into the living quarters.

  I could hear the comms system yelling at me through the open door to the flight deck; I ignored it and pulled on the breathing system and turned it on. Only as the clean air flooded my lungs did I realise how bad the atmosphere inside the ship had become. Opening the door to the engine bay was a frightening prospect, but I told myself that survival lay that way. But I couldn’t make myself open the door. There was a small window let into the door, and all I could see was darkness.

  The ship lurched under the impact of more firing and I was thrown against the door, which obligingly opened and allowed dense smoke to pour into the living quarters. As it went, it cleared the bay and the emergency lighting started to have an effect. As I could not see any fire, I advanced into the engine bay and moved around the squat bulk of the hyperdrive. Between that and the main engines lay a narrow space which gave access to the two side pods that contained a lot of advanced circuitry and the positioning/attitude control jets. And, as I had not forgotten, rather a lot of very flammable fuel.

  Gingerly I touched the access door of the damaged pod. Even through my glove it was burning hot. I drew a breath, opened the door and set off the first fire extinguisher. By the time it had fizzled out, nothing much had happened but I could see the blaze a little more clearly. I dropped the cylinder, and operated the second extinguisher. This time I was able to direct it more accurately at the base of the fire. That the fire was located beside a fuel tank for the auxiliary jets gave me a feeling of urgency. And terror, of course. I sprayed the foam at the fire and felt a sense of satisfaction as the fire started to die away. Typically for me the extinguisher died away faster than the fire. In exasperation I threw the empty canister at the burning flames and turned away. Wait – there were more extinguishers in the main engine bay. I ran as fast as I could to the bulkhead where three more canisters were clipped. I dragged one free and panting hard, aimed the foam spray at the remaining fire. There was a loud bang as the cylinder I had thrown at the fire exploded, and flew out of the door. It clipped me on the head as it went past, and my vision blurred. The extinguisher I held finally gave out as roughly the same time as the fire and I decided to show some empathy for them both and joined them. I slumped to the floor and passed out.

  *

  “I think he’s coming round, sir,” said a voice I did not recognise. Carefully I kept my eyes shut. The next words were vitally important. If I had fallen into the hands of the Imperium, they were likely to be unpleasant, probably leading to a violent interrogation. If it was my superior, I feared it would be even less pleasant than that.

  “Good.”

  Bad. It was the Reconnaissance Unit Commander.

  “He’s a hero, don’t want to lose him, do we?”

  I must be dreaming, I thought. But it seemed worth the risk so I opened an eye.

  “Captain Russell!” boomed the Commander. “Welcome back! We were worried we might have lost you when your ship was finally found. But here you are, large as life and no damage done in the end!”

  My head hurt so much that I was unsure of the accuracy of that comment.

  A doctor’s face came into my field of vision. “You took a nasty head injury, Captain. But there’s no real damage. Some smoke inhalation, nothing too serious. You’ll be up and about in a day or two.”

  “Good!” yelled the Commander. “I want him back on duty as soon as possible!”

  I groaned. “Sir, my ship was damaged too badly for that, surely.” I was hoping that the loss of several of the Speedbirds in the action might mean that the Reconnaissance unit had to close down. No such luck, of course.

  “Oh yes,” agreed the Commander, still at parade volume. “But the new scout ships we negotiated with the Emporium will be along soon, and we need our heroic Captain Russell to start Type Conversion Training as soon as possible.”

 
I used my one operating eye to give him a baleful stare, which he either misinterpreted or ignored. The Commander gave me a formal salute. “The Free Union, Captain Russell!” he cried.

  “F U too, sir,” I responded.

  Captain Frank Eric Russell will be back.

  Look out for his next adventures:

  Infinity is For Losers

  Rogue Pilot

  Interstellar Mercenary

  Coming soon from Red Kite Publishing Ltd

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Will Macmillan Jones lives in Wales, a lovely green, verdant land with a rich cultural heritage. He does his best to support this heritage by drinking the local beer and shouting loud encouragement whenever International Rugby is on the TV. A fifty something lover of blues, rock and jazz he has just fulfilled a lifetime ambition by filling an entire wall of his home office with (full) bookcases. When not writing, he is usually lost with the help of a SatNav on top of a large hill in the middle of nowhere, looking for dragons. He hasn’t found one yet, but insists that it is only a matter of time.

  He is known locally as a poet and oral storyteller, specialising in ghost stories and traditional tales, some of which can be found on YouTube and are now available on CD from his website.

  His major comic fantasy series, released by Red Kite Publishing, can be found at:

  www.thebannedunderground.com

  and information on his other work and stuff in general at :

  www.willmacmillanjones.com