Tales of the Federation Reborn 1

by Chris Hechtl

  She scratched her head. “I did forget that.”

  “So? She's a better shot. We need to conserve ammunition. She's not a natural pilot, but I can shoot if I have to.”

  “I'm not that great at The Lady's systems, Dom,” Caitlin warned.

  “You will be,” Dom said, eying her. She nodded.

  “Hell, I could take the shot if I had a heavy enough rifle,” Ed muttered. They turned to him. “Get me the right rifle, and I can set up on a hillside where the plane passes over. It can be when it goes in to land or when it is just flying around. I can shoot the sucker down.”

  “We can look into that too,” Caitlin said with a nod as she turned to Dom. “I know where we can find some heavy rifles in a ranger armory. They were put there for hostage rescue, but I think we can use them for that.”

  “And save fuel, ammunition, and wear and tear on the bird,” Jo said happily, clapping her hands in appreciation.

  “Only if it works and he doesn't get caught,” Dom warned, holding up a cautionary finger.

  “Oh ye of little faith,” Ed snorted.

  >}@^@{<

  Raiding the nearest armories proved a mixed blessing. They did it under the cover of a storm, waiting until the storm was about to hit before they hit the armory. Ed shot the two guards outside smoking cigarettes, and then Caitlin got them inside where they dispatched the final guard after sniffing her out.

  The dead were stripped of their gear and made to disappear. The small concrete building was quickly stripped of everything portable. They even took the toilet and furniture, using dog sleds to move the gear out. The Neodogs who pulled the sleds were amused at being put to the task but didn't complain.

  There were no sniper rifles however. The armory had been almost stripped before they'd arrived, apparently by the quislings themselves. “That explains where they got some of their weapons,” Caitlin growled.

  “Okay, so now what?”

  “Use what we've got after Corgi sweeps it. Then we hit other places. We clean them out.”

  “If we do this in order, they are liable to expect it, Dom,” Ed warned.

  “Can we hit more than one place at a time?” Dom asked, turning to Caitlin. She frowned and then nodded. “Okay then, set it up. She nodded.

  >}@^@{<

  During the following series of raids, they picked up two sniper rifles and boxes of heavy caliber ammunition. Then Ed set himself up with Arturo as his spotter on a hill near the spaceport. It took days of patient waiting before they had the shot he wanted.

  >}@^@{<

  “We need to get everything in and under lock and key,” Colonel Paulings said, shaking his head. “These raiders have to be stopped or at the least marginalized.”

  “I agree. But we can't keep everything concentrated. That is just invitation for a disaster. Instead,” General Busche frowned thoughtfully. “I want a base set up here,” she said, pointing to a point on the map. The colonel came over to her side and looked at it. He frowned pensively. “It's a mining town in the hills; yes, I know. It'll make a nice training base. We can put conscripts there. They'll have no place to run to. We'll control everything going in or out.”

  Slowly the colonel nodded. “It will take a major diversion of manpower, ma'am. The basing, the fuel, the materials to keep the people warm …”

  The general chuckled. “That's where you are wrong, Colonel; we use the mine shafts themselves!” he blinked at her. She smiled. “The mines don't change in temperature. Set it up. Take Captain Lan with you. Get on that while I work on setting up a few traps. We'll lay the bait, and when they hit the next armory, we'll blow them apart,” she growled.

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  >}@^@{<

  “Well, it was fun while it lasted,” Caitlin said, watching a crew load weapons at a targeted armory cache. Her crew impotently watched as the cache was cleaned out over the course of several hours.

  “We should follow them,” Jo murmured, watching through a set of binoculars. “Hit them where they stop or along the way,” She urged.

  “No way. Not going to happen,” Caitlin said. “They are on the road, which means they'll have a drone watching them overhead,” she murmured, pointing to the sky. “Just because we can't see it doesn't mean it's not there,” she warned.

  “Damn it,” Jo muttered.

  Dom was still working with the machinists to find a way to adapt one of the stolen machine guns to work with the aircraft. The two guns were short ranged though, under two hundred meters and rather light caliber so therefore hardly worth the effort.

  But something was better than nothing, Caitlin reminded herself. “I know we didn't leave any heavy weapons in the outback. No, this is a bust,” she said. She watched as one of the soldiers rigged something to the door then gingerly closed it. “And now they are laying booby traps,” she said. “I pity the poor person who goes there seeking shelter,” she said, shaking her head.

  “We can't disarm it either, not without letting them know we did. Setting it off would let them know we've been there,” Jo murmured.

  “We leave it. Spread the word in the area it's booby trapped, but walk away,” Caitlin said, backing off the ridge they'd been laying on. She brushed snow off her gear. “Come on; we've got to get out of the area,” she said. Jo nodded and followed her.

  >}@^@{<

  On a crystal clear day, Ed lined up his shot. He rehearsed the movements several times until he was sure he had the timing right. The sniper rifle had five shots, each round longer than his index finger, designed to punch through the air at long distances and take a target down hard and fast.

  If the first three rounds didn't do the job, K'r'll had modified the next two with explosives. Those rounds made him nervous; they hadn't test fired the damn things.

  “It's coming back around,” Arturo said. “You ready?”

  “Ready as I'll ever be,” Ed breathed, lining the shot up. He had a point in the sky bracketed where the drone would have to rise over a series of hills and large rocks before it dipped down into its final approach of the spaceport. They'd timed it to the second; the bird flew for ten hours, six if it was bad weather. When it was stormy, the pirates didn't fly it at all. They were very protective of their assets.

  Just shooting the bird down wasn't enough. Unless it was totally torn apart, the pirates would recover it and put it back together again. So, he had to do enough damage to take it out if possible.

  Hence, the explosive rounds.

  He was temped, sorely tempted to switch them out for the first rounds. Unfortunately, he only had the two, so he had to make them count. They were precious, precious like gold nuggets it seemed.

  “Here it comes,” Arturo murmured. “Three … two …”

  “One,” Ed murmured as the glitter of the long winged aircraft came into his scope. He followed it carefully. It was a fixed-winged craft, long narrow wings straight out to maintain flight in slow speeds, with a bulbous head and a dome under the belly to look around at targets below.

  He didn't bother to glance at the sketchbook to confirm his target. He moved down the fuselage to line up on where they thought the fuel was fed into the jet engine, right at the base of the wings. Dom thought the wings, filled with fuel, had self-sealing tanks to keep them from leaking if they were struck. But the fuselage was different.

  “Winds out of the north–northeast. Two clicks,” Arturo murmured, sighting on a streamer they'd left out below the craft's anticipated flight path.

  Ed made the adjustments, went up just a hair, then slowly let out his breath and squeezed. The buck and slam of the shoulder stock into his shoulder was a surprise. The round tore through the air but the aircraft didn't react.

  “Miss I think. It's hard to tell,” Arturo said, squinting into the scope.

  “Frack,” Ed murmured, already chambering a round by feel. His eye was still locked on the bird. He fired a second shot, this time leading the target a bit more. This time he could see the spang where the round hit. T
he bird started to wobble in the air as he chambered a third round. This one he ejected, going straight for the gold.

  “What are you …”

  “Shut up,” Ed muttered, chambering the first explosive round. He led the craft more, trying to anticipate its movements. When he fired, he caught the bulbous nose. “It didn't …,” he snarled as he chambered the last round.

  “It didn't go off,” Arturo murmured.

  “I know that,” Ed growled. The drone lined up on its final approach, and the gear came down. He lined up once more and pulled the trigger for the last time.

  The round should have missed, but Lady Luck was favoring him. The plane wobbled into the rounds flight path at a 58-degree angle just behind the bulbous nose. This round went off, tearing the head of the drone off and igniting the fuel. The aircraft exploded in the air, making everyone look up in alarm and surprise.

  “Damn good shot,” Arturo breathed as they grabbed their gear and got the hell out of dodge.

  “One in a million,” Ed said, snagging the round he'd ejected as well as his hot brass. The heat seemed to suck into his gloves, but the warmth was a comfort as they ass slid down the slide they'd prepared and got out of the area.

  >}@^@{<

  “That was no gremlin, no malfunction!” Captain Alegra stormed as he surveyed the wreckage. When the man in white came limping up, he turned his angry look to the interloper. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he demanded.

  Arkangel poked some of the still smoldering wreckage with his cane. He frowned thoughtfully and then groaned slightly as his cane tip found a hole. “Just as you suspected, Captain, it wasn't. It looks like it was shot down,” the man in white observed, drawing the captain's attention to the hole. “The question is, by whom?”

  He turned to survey the hills around them. The captain did as well. “I know I'm feeling a bit exposed here, but I doubt they are still around. They are most likely long gone,” the man in white said.

  “Right,” the captain drawled. “And next you'll tell me it was the tooth fairy,” the Horathian growled.

  “No, I'd point you in the direction of Ranger Bob. This was done with a high caliber weapon. Most likely one taken from one of his armories recently,” the man in white said. His breath clouded around him as the captain frowned thoughtfully. “Good luck explaining this to the baroness. I'm certain they can be found … eventually,” he said.

  “Damn you,” the captain growled as Briggs limped away. He saluted the captain with his cane then climbed onto the back of the snow mobile his assistant had used to get him to the crash site. She smiled coyly to the captain before she revved the engine and took off.

  “Not nice teasing them like that, Alicia,” Briggs warned, “nor wise come to think of it. I think it's time I had a face-to-face with Dom.”

  “Yes, sir. Arranging it will be tough though,” she warned.

  “I'll leave that in your capable hands,” he said simply. “We have several Neos and aliens who have proven useful to us. Find one who knows the area and give them a message. Tail them if you think you can but make sure they get to where we believe Santini is hiding.”

  “Yes, sir. It will be done,” the blond said.

  Good help was hard to find, but when one found it, you treasured and cultivated it carefully Arkangel thought. But you had to be careful, and if necessary, hard enough to dispose of the help if you had to.

  After all, you could always find more if need be.

  He had a weakness for beautiful women. They were desperate and needed a place to go, a place to be protected from the barbarians outside. He had his own harem, growing weekly it seemed, each he bedded to wed them to his side, then trained to make them useful to his cause. These women he established in each of his bases to be his hands, eyes, and ears, women who were utterly loyal because they owed him for saving them. It was thrilling to see the network building. Thrilling and dangerous, but that threat just added to the thrill.

  Hopefully, he wouldn't have to find more ladies, but he knew he would.

  5

  Winter inevitably led to spring. With it came the thaw, the floods and muck, and mixed news of other groups working against the pirates, forming their own resistance groups. There were also awful tales of refugees who had starved or gone primal in the wilderness. The news wasn't good. Dom kicked himself. He should have expected it; people were unprepared to live in the wild, especially in the depths of winter. The environment couldn't support such numbers either and of course any who tried to crawl back to the towns and villages were dead. They knew that. Some had tried and died anyway. They'd fled one form of death only to suffer another, one of bitter cold and suffering.

  He didn't want to know the numbers. He just knew one was too many, and they were well, well past that.

  And the worst of it was, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

  One of their human contacts in Menifee, a small ranch town near Hemet, brought them word that someone wanted to meet them. Dom was suspicious, but he met with Zelma. The older woman ran a trade goods store, A to Zelma. She was quite the character, what with her orange sweaters and thick horn-rim glasses. “The woman was dressed in white from head to toe. She knew I was in contact with you,” Zelma said, shaking her head. “I don't like that,” she said.

  “And what did this woman in white have to say? Is she running with another resistance group?” Jo asked hopefully.

  “That's the thing. She said her boss wants to meet. She said you know him,” Zelma said, eying Dom.

  Dom frowned thoughtfully.

  “Said his name is Briggs. I don't know a Briggs,” Zelma said peevishly.

  “I'm … the name is ringing distant bells, but I've dealt with a lot of people in my time,” Dom said.

  “Well, next time clear them with me first. I damn near had a heart attack when the woman met me!” she said.

  “Okay. Did she say where?”

  “She said he'd make it worth your while. He'll give you something in return for meeting him.”

  “But not where?”

  “No. She left that up to you,” she said.

  Dom frowned then nodded. “I think you'll see her again, Zelma, most likely soon. You know the hunting lodge near Lake Mead? The one in the fire zone?” She nodded. “Tell him I'll meet there in a week … no, make it ten days,” Dom said.

  She grimaced. “Do I have to?” she asked.

  “If she doesn't show, don't worry about it. But,” he held up a restraining finger. “We meet alone, no weapons,” he warned. “I see him come in with anything nasty, and I'm out of there,” he said. She nodded.

  “Good luck,” she said dubiously.

  >}@^@{<

  “Do you think this is wise?” Jo asked.

  “Just get in there and be quiet,” Dom said. “Where's Ed?”

  “Oh, around,” Jo said impishly. He shook his head. They'd gotten word that visitors had gone to the cabin. He'd had his people mount a watch and had even gone out when one had stayed overnight during a storm. But when he'd received word from Arturo that it had been a woman not a man, he'd backed off.

  The mention of the woman in white had finally clicked with the name. Briggs. A shady character despite his fetish for white attire. He would indeed meet with Arkangel, but that didn't mean he would trust him.

  His people had brought back stories from refugees they had encountered in passing or had taken in temporarily or permanently. They told stories of people in white, most of them female. Sometimes they helped, but if a Horathian was around, they would turn on the Neos. They weren't certain what to think of such two-faced antics.

  Dom wasn't either. He did want to find out.

  Their agreement had been to come alone. However, Jo and Ed scouted the cabin days ahead of time. They found a bolt hole behind a book case next to the fireplace when they were setting it up. They planned to hide at least one person inside. Dom hadn't known until the last minute that Jo had intended that person to be herself.


  She'd been wise to keep it to herself until that moment.

  He turned away as she ducked into the bolt hole and then went about getting ready.

  He had a weapon taped to the underside of the table just in case. More weapons and ammunition were secreted in different places by Jo. He had at least two exits.

  “He's on the final approach,” Arturo reported over the radio. “Ten minutes out, give or take a minute or two.”

  Dom clicked the radio twice, then shut it off and hid it under a pillow.

  When Dom had entered the cabin, he had noted the bottle along with the load of gear in the corner, but he hadn't touch them. He did kneel and start the fire in the fireplace to warm the hunting lodge up. He'd just gotten it going to a good crackling roar when the doorknob rattled. He turned to see the man in white standing on the other side of the glass.

  “It's open!” Dom called out, straightening as he dusted his hands off.

  The door opened, and Dom nodded to the man in white. “Briggs?”

  “Why, yes. I know we've met before. Michael Coldsmith-Briggs the XXX. Call me Arkangel,” the man in white said, taking his hat off and putting it on the coat rack by the door as he closed the door. He hung his cane from his elbow crock as he held out his right hand to Dom.

  Dom looked at it but then took it and shook it. It felt cold, not terribly surprising since it was a cold brisk day outside.

  “I'm your contact,” Dom said.

  “Dominic Santini, yes, we've met,” Arkangel said. He pointed the tip of his cane at Dom's gut. “You, my friend, are a hard man to find!” he said with a smile. “But,” his smile fell to a stern expression. He shook a finger at Dom. “You owe me an apology,” he said. “The last time we met you nearly killed me,” he said indignantly. “After everything I've done to keep you and your niece alive!”

  “If I'd wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Considering all the people you let die, I think we're even,” Dom said, crossing his arms. He wasn't willing to admit he hadn't known Briggs had been in the convoy. The question was, which one?