Living in Freefall (Living on the Run Book 1) (15 page)

“Take her in, sis.
Freefall
can wait.”

“Roger that, Archer . . . uh,
Riley
.
Straight to Coredei it is. Hopefully that Confed fleet will think we’re from
there.”

“Good call. Let’s do it.”

Ericca held her course and speed, and the fleet faded into
the distance, but never altered course. “I love a star-filled sky on a clear
night, Riley. But there’s nothing more breathtaking than being out here in it.”

Riley glanced around. “Straight is the course, and long is
the journey at any speed, sis. Trust me. You’ll grow bored with this view
before long.”

Ericca sat back to relax as
Viper
sped on. “I don’t
mind. Right now I’ve had my fill of excitement.”

Riley chuckled.

“Yeah, Riley? What’re you finding funny?”

“Our call signs. Rachel started this with her wanting to be
called Race.”

“Yep.”

“Have you noticed Josh won’t play?”

“Yes,” Ericca mused aloud. “He’ll only call her by her given
name.”

“That’s because she calls him Chisel, a play on his last name,
and—”

“And he
doesn’t
like it,” Ericca said. “And for good
reason. It’s a stupid handle. If Rachel wants him to call her
Race
,
she’d better wise up and stop calling him a tool.”

“Yep.”

“Have you told her that?”

Riley laughed. “Why would I do that?”

“She’s your best friend.”

“I’m staying out of it. I’d rather they worked it out for
themselves.”

“Smart.”

“It is funny though. Worth a few chuckles while it lasts.”

“You certainly
are
ornery, Archer, uh, Riley.”

“I can be.”

This was going to be another long, boring stretch with
nothing to do. The temptation to taunt his sister was just too much for Riley
to resist. And besides, there was still this business of her sullen behavior.
If he could only get her to talk about what had gotten her down.

He reached up to give her hair a tug.

Before he could touch it, her zipgun appeared over her
shoulder. It aimed squarely at his face.

Blast!
thought Riley. “Who put eyes in the back of
your head?”

“I didn’t have to look back, little brother. I know you.
Care to lose that eyebrow after all?”

“No, no. I’m good.”

“You better be.”

Eleven hours later, Riley saw something in his scanner’s
scope. “Seems to be flashes. Cannon fire, maybe? I’m not sure.”

“Direction?”

“Actually, Cap, it’s on our current flight path.”

“Understood, but let’s keep a close eye on it. These are
pirate’s waters.”

Riley smirked. Sounded like a silly way to put it. “Waters,
sis?”

“Yeah. It’s something Dad used to say. It beats saying
‘these are pirate’s vacuums.’ Though technically accurate, sounds stupid. And
me? I’m all for opting out of sounding stupid.”

“Umm,” Riley chuckled. “Too late, sis.”

“Just keep your eyes on what’s ahead, Archer, umm, Riley.”

Ericca wasn’t beyond sounding stupid at times. In fact, she
chose her words carefully just to sound lame now and again. It was comic relief
she and Riley would use once they were back with the family.
The family
.
Well, he saw everyone aboard
Freefall
as his family whether they were
blood related or not. Captain and Mrs. Kori did their level best to make the
crew feel that way.

Riley smiled to himself. He liked the idea of being a
comedian. He enjoyed giving everyone a good laugh. Laughter was greatly needed
from time to time, especially out here in the void.

To travel from one planet to the next could take days, even
weeks. To tell a tale or spin a yarn was a welcomed relief from the monotony. Riley
was good at it. With his unbridled antics, he made family and friends roll with
laughter; sometimes they laughed so hard their ribs would hurt.

And he knew his sister. He knew why Ericca said what she
said when she said it—that is, before this little bout of moodiness she had
given herself over to. Before Miss Serious took control of Ericca’s brain, she
and Riley would play and banter with each other often. With her at his side
partying used to be fun. Working together, he and she could really make a party
a party. But now Riley didn’t know what to think. Perhaps at their next
get-together he would see then if Miss Playful had vanished completely.

If Riley was in a festive mood, what he saw up ahead utterly
squashed it.

This was pirate territory, and in
Viper
, as wounded
as she was, their turn to miss a fight was well overdue. But they were Lilia and
Stan (Swift) Archer’s kids, after all, and as such they had resigned themselves
to help others when and wherever they could. This all too often meant to fight
a good fight even when they were too tired to do so.

As they drew nearer, they saw that a very real battle raged,
but whom did it involve?

“Alright,” Ericca finally said, “shall we investigate or
just leave them to their selves?”

“I am pretty tired,” Riley confessed. “What say we do a
fly-by just close enough to check out the sitch, then get to Coredei for
repairs? This ship won’t take much more battering.”

“Roger, little brother. Sounds like a plan.” And with that, Ericca
altered course slightly as Riley studied his scanner.

As they drew nearer, Riley made out some of the greater
power spikes. “Sis, I’ve got Confed engine signatures. The Confederation’s
probably fed up with the pirate stronghold—their meddlesome interference and
all.”

Ericca snarled but, even in that, her tone was blasé.
“Great! Bad guys against bad guys. Gee, which side do we root for?”

“Well, since we need Coredei intact to make repairs . . .”

“Right. A part of me wants Coredei thrashed, though.”

“Just stay clear of the fight,” Riley said. “But I say the
pirates had better win this one. Confederates on Coredei won’t make our
repairing
Viper
easy.”

She began to arc back around to leave the area and head
toward the pirate planet.

Riley perked up. “Wait! I’ve got something, Ericca. Turn
back.”

Ericca turned back toward the conflict. “What do you see, Archer?”

“There’s a Providence ship in the mix, sis. Look! Another.
And another! Hey, a Providence fleet is mixing it up with the Confederation!
Yeehah!”

“Alright!” Like the thrill of a long-awaited sporting
event’s arrival, a shiver ran up her spine. But to Ericca this was even more
than that. Unlike a common fan, she could run down to the field and join the
players up as one of them. “Now we have someone to root for. Let’s go and lay
some serious whoopin’ on the bad guys.”

“In a wounded ship? Are you nuts?”

“I have a plan.”

Archer took an unenthusiastic breath. “Roger that, Cap,” he
said, pushing aside his trepidation. “I’ll trust you do. Hang in there,
Providence. Here comes the cavalry.”

“Yeah!” Ericca brought
Viper’s
throttle up to full.
She loved Rachel’s creation more than
Freefall
itself. The little
Viper
was her baby, and she felt more secure in its tight cockpit,
battered ship
or not
, than in
Freefall
’s spaciousness.

Fact was
Freefall
didn’t need her at all. Jordon had
often piloted the ship from the lounge or even from his bedroom by simply
calling out commands. But to pilot this craft, the little two-seat
Viper
was for the most part hands-on.

Ericca settled down in her well-cushioned leather seat and
tabbed her console. With a mechanical hum, a joystick ascended in front of each
hand. Fashioned for her hands alone, the leather stretching tightly over the
molded titanium grip was cool to the touch.

She glanced at Archer and saw his lack of enthusiasm. “You
okay?”

Ericca couldn’t miss the weary look in his eyes.
Viper
may have been a battle hungry monster, but its gunner had had a belly full of
riding the edge. He needed rest. So did she.

“Yes. Sure. It’s serious battle time. Yeehah.” He settled
back in his own posh seat and pressed a button. Before each hand arose his own
joysticks—seven buttons on each grip brought control of all the weapon’s to his
fingertips.

A short while ago, Mara thought they needed a shuttle.
Something small that Ericca and Archer could use for reconnaissance. Its
purpose was to supplement
Freefall
when they needed to be in two places
at once.
Viper
, Ericca’s then worn and weary puddle-jumper, served as
the foundation and framework for Rachel’s custom components. Her enhancements
modified this ship well enough to make
Viper
deadly. In Rachel’s mind,
once modified,
Viper
fit the bill perfectly. Mara was satisfied. Rachel
was proud. The Archers were elated.

Presently, both fleets stubbornly faced off with neither
side willing to give an inch to the other. The Confederation fleet outnumbered
the Providence ships by a good fifty percent. After all, this was their
territory, and it was clear they meant to keep it.

However, the Providence ships were of the latest technology
and design. They were better able to take a hit, as well as dish up some
battle-tested meanness of their own.

If not for two Confed carriers, both forces were pretty
evenly matched. Four Talon squadrons—
naturally considered the tiebreaker
—promised
the Confederate fleet a swift victory. Ericca and Archer believed the
Providence fleet was about to get the whooping of a lifetime.

Just about two years ago, sixteen-year-old Rachel took one
look at
Viper
, and worried the little puddle jumper could no longer get Ericca
and Archer from point-A to point-B safely. So she tackled the issue the only
way she knew how. Gadgets. With her modifications,
Viper
could now very
well turn the tide . . . had, of course, the little spacecraft not
already been wounded.

Closer and closer, the tiny two-man
Viper
screamed
toward certain peril. Perhaps the saying is true. Maybe only fools rush in
where angels fear to tread. Maybe this is what really differentiates men from
angels to begin with. Firemen dash into burning houses, believers cling to
their faith even in the face of lions, and Ericca and Archer face down Confed
Talons even when the odds are clearly against them. Ericca’s heart leapt at
this chance. For her, to join the good guys in their struggle against bad was
what she lived for. But why?

The Providence military had never before crossed the
Confederation border uninvited. The Union’s policy, up until now, was to
strongly defend its own boundary. Never before had the Providence Union of Planets
used its forces to be the aggressor, so, in Ericca’s mind, it was a sure bet
that they had good reason to do so this day.

She remembered that certain feeling she got when she was a
child when Daddy finally came. It was a particular kind of joy and excitement
that overcame her. That same feeling overtook her now, the moment she saw the
Providence flag painted across the conning tower of some of these vessels.
Providence had breached the tyrant’s wall to come to someone’s rescue. As far
as Ericca was concerned, to join them in their effort—to actually be here when
history started to unfold—elated her no end.

“I can’t say why, sis, but I don’t think I’ve ever been more
nervous. I’ve never fought alongside Providence ships before. I’m reluctant to
do so with a hurt ship. What’ll keep them from firing on us? Should I radio our
approach?”

“Leave that to me, Archer. We won’t announce ourselves just
yet.”

“Have you ever fought alongside Providence ships, sis?”

“Actually, I have. Well, not me
per se
, but Mom and
Dad have. That was a long time ago though, and I was just along for the ride. I
remember in our old freighter they were scared—
really scared
—though I
don’t remember why.”

“So, what’s protocol in a situation like this? If we don’t
announce ourselves, what will keep the good guys from shooting us?”

Ericca glanced at her monitor. Archer definitely looked
anxious. She was tempted to tease him a bit—
tempted
—but the unction to
do so was fleeting. He was ornery at times, a bit of a rascal when he tugged
her hair or said things just to annoy her. Sometimes he even played a practical
joke or two, but he was never truly mean or hurtful; she had to give him that.

“Archer?”

“Yeah, sis?”

“You’re going to do just fine.”

“Yeah?”

“How many teenagers get to play with the big boys? We play
this right, you might even save a life or two. Who knows?”

“It’s just that . . .” He dropped his gaze.

“Yeah?”

“Well, I’ve never distrusted
Viper
before. She’s
wounded, and I don’t know how well it’ll hold together. Another blow or two . . .”

Her smile, though faint, was a smile nonetheless. “
She
will do just fine, little brother. She’s a battle hungry monster. You know
that. I pity the fool that finds himself in our crosshairs.”

Her brother was all of seventeen, almost a man really,
almost
,
but not quite. There was a difference between what they had done and this.
Before playing cat and mouse with the Confeds was dangerous, but they weren’t
obliged to stick around when things got hairy. This though. What they were
about to do in this current battle was jump headlong into danger and stay there
until the job was done.
Viper
was already hurt. Archer’s confidence in
the little ship hung by a thread.

Admiral Theodore Hammond, aboard his flagship,
Noble Sun
,
leaned forward to study the large viewer. He had a keen eye for detail.

The enemy wasn’t about to let him pass without an argument.
That
,
he expected. So, although he faced two carriers protected by a compliment of
ships that outnumbered his own, a fight he would give them.

Everyone that knew Hammond called him “the Hammer,” and for
good reason; when this Hammer struck, the impact broke or bent whatever stood
in his way. His crew knew that. Did the enemy?

The two carriers promised that the new Cougar-class Talons
would also be in the mix. The little snots were small, fast, and difficult to
hit. Like flies, Talons were an annoying irritant that, if used properly, could
split Hammond’s focus. Once launched, they’d weave in and amongst the
Providence ships to draw fire away from the Confed’s bigger vessels. With half his
ships’ barrage turned away toward the lethal Talons, the Confederate Battle
cruisers, less opposed, could mount a concentrated assault and turn his advance
back in short order. In this battle, Talons were the Confederation’s advantage.

Or were they?

The Talons had
yet
to be launched.

With no carrier under Hammond’s command, there was little he
could do against the small ships. So he looked for weaknesses he could exploit.
Every ship, every tactic had them. Finding them was key.

Like football, this was his team against theirs. As coach,
he had trained his ship commanders to coordinate as a unit. And to make sure
that, as a team, his ships functioned smoothly and seamlessly together, Hammond
had each captain command the ship he was best suited to. As in football,
Hammond had his offensive guards, offensive tackles, running backs,
quarterbacks, and so on, so to speak. When he called a play, he expected his
ships to form up and strike accordingly, and that was Hammond’s advantage in
every conflict.

However, in every fight, a plan only works until it’s tried.
In battle, soldiers must adapt quickly to meet the ever-changing demands of
combat.

Hammond unconsciously furrowed his brow as he studied his
opponent. He turned to his First Officer. “Cdr. Chase, who’s running the show
over there?”

“That would be the Confederate 3rd fleet, sir. Admiral
Sebastian Talbot commanding.”

“What kind of a tactician is he?”

The exec shook his head. “He’s a butcher, sir.”

“So this isn’t going to be pretty, huh?” Hammond leaned back
and stretched stiff neck muscles. “What should I expect from him?”

“Talbot will treat his ships and crewman like he has an
endless supply, sir. There’s no evidence he understands actual tactics.” Chase
clenched his teeth.

Hammond recognized that look. Like every good Providence
officer, his exec had disdain for butchers, Confed officers who cared little
for their own men.

“The man has more ships at his disposal than do we. Boat for
boat, he should be able to hold us at bay. But . . .”

Hammond turned from the screen to clear his mind. “I’m
certain Talbot’s men are willing to die for king and country, but why is this
idiot so intent on making them do just that? What will their dying in vain
prove?”

Talbot’s flagship, the
HMS Prince Michele
, was the
largest Battle cruiser in the Confederation. Maybe he felt superior because of
it.
Maybe
. But whether or not that was true, Hammond was wise enough to
know he himself shouldn’t be overly confident. There was always a chance Talbot
would pull a few surprises of his own.

In all seriousness, any other Confederate fleet commander
would have sent his Talons into the thick of battle from the get go, but what
was that
Fasech
doing? His tactics—
nearly nonexistent
—were blunt,
clumsy, and ill organized.

“Why is Talbot holding his fighters back?”

Commander Chase stepped next to the Admiral to speak in low
tones. “He wants a bigger take, sir. He wants this ship.”

“Oh?” Hammond said, feigning surprise. He glanced at Chase.
His first officer knew what he was talking about. Hammond could count on that
as fact.

“Yes, sir. In every conflict Talbot has used his Talons as a
direct assault on his opposition’s flagship. Wait and watch. They will skirt
the fleet to reach us straightaway. Intel says he’s gunning for a Senate seat,
sir. If he takes the
Noble Sun
, he may very well get what he wants. This
ship is famous throughout the Confederation for our victories at Goshen, Prith,
and the Straits of Gilead. I have no doubt he means to take her captive and
bring her back to Parandi in one piece.”

“Possibly, Commander. This may yet work to our advantage.
Alert the perimeter ships to focus on the Talons—make the little buggers spend
a bit of fuel dodging our guns as they come around.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Hammond set his jaw. Like his First officer, he had no love
for butchers either, and presently this Talbot idiot topped his “Public
enemies” list.

“Commander, the line is drawn here. We bring an end to his
killing his own men once and for all.”

“Understood, sir.”

The two fleets engaged and pummeled one another for a good
half hour before Talbot made his move. He launched his Talons and just as Chase
had said, they skirted the perimeter of the Providence fleet.

“So he wants this flagship, does he?” Hammond shook his head
in disbelief.
Nobel Sun
was a war machine well suited to defend herself.
Certainly Talbot knew that. And even if this ship should fall in battle, Hammond’s
men knew who would next call the shots.

“Helm, back us away. Defense posture Omicron Beta. He wants
to sack the
Noble Sun
itself. Let’s make him believe he has a chance.”

“Aye aye, Admiral. Defense posture Omicron Beta.”

The admiral then turned to the communications officer. “Get
Bixby, Saunders, and Torrington on the com.”

Each captain on his own ship’s bridge, appeared one beside
the other on Hammond’s split screen. “Capt. Torrington. I want the
Long Bow
on an outside run. Your target is the
Tolamain
, and I want it brought
down. Saunders, you and Bixby are to get Torrington past this battle and around
the enemy fleet.
Mighty Mo
and
Armstrong
are to fly cover.”

“Aye, Admiral,” said each man in turn. With that, their
images were instantly replaced by the tactical map. Of Hammond’s team of
well-trained players: the
Long Bow
was his running back, a fast,
well-armed cruiser. Capt. Torrington’s job was to bring the
Long Bow
quickly around the outside, guarded by the muscular
Mighty Missouri
and
the
Armstrong
. The rest of Hammond’s ships would push hard through the
middle. If he read the Confederate fleet correctly they would in force press
back against his center assault, and leave the Confed carrier
Tolamain
vulnerable to the
Long Bow
.

Of Hammond’s players at the assault’s point, the
Dauntless
pressed through the middle. Its powerful shields, protecting the large gunships
to its right and left, allowed those ships to put more power and punch into
their Neutrino-cannons.

To either side of the
Dauntless
, metal began to tear
away from the Confederation’s double-hulled battle-cruisers. The cruisers
replied with their big Diridium guns, but the
Dauntless
’ shields held.

Mighty Mo
and
Armstrong
hit the Confederation
ships hard, as the
Long Bow
came around on the outside to pass them
unhindered.

Under tremendous pounding, the
Dauntless
’ shields
finally came down, and when it started to take direct hits, it pulled back into
the pocket—a protective bobble of friendly ships.

Fire Archer
quickly took its place to hold up its
shields.

With that, the Confederation’s Admiral Talbot pressed his
ships forward all the more.

Hammond gritted his teeth. “Damn fool. We pull a ship back,
and he thinks that ship has left the fight.”

Now, in the pocket and safely surrounded by her fleet, the
Dauntless
repair crews worked hard and fast to bring it back on line. This tactic of
Hammond’s, to pull ships from the battle before they were wrecked, worked well.
Doing so kept fresh ships in the fight. In time,
Steel Nova
replaced
Fire Archer
.
Dauntless
would rotate back to where it had started
only after it was repaired and well ready.

Talbot mistakenly kept his ships in the mêlée and gave them
nowhere in which to retreat. He created this circumstance on purpose to force
his ships forward, always and only forward. And so they went; meeting Hammond’s
guns head on until they were burning masses of metal and flesh. Unlike
Hammond’s lead ship, Talbot’s were doomed to die . . .

. . . but not if Hammond could help it.

Adm. Hammond returned to his seat and glanced at Chase.
“It’s exasperating fighting such people. In Talbot’s way of thinking, there
being no God to answer to, he throws the lives of his men away as only so much
rubbish. I can’t stomach this.”

Hammond and Chase watched the screen in disgust and with a
tad bit of despair. It disheartened both of them to know that if Talbot was
left to his own devices he’d reduce one Confederate ship after the next to
flaming funeral pyres. Neither Providence officer wanted to just stand by and
watch man and boat fall away as only so much worthless debris, but what could
they do? There was no hope that the person commanding such action would change
his way of thinking or concern himself with the fact that human beings were,
indeed, dying at his hand.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Hammond said. “For the sake of
those men, we need to intercede.”

“How do you mean, sir,” asked Cdr. Chase.

“If we do nothing, with each ship we destroy, hundreds of
men will lose their lives just to prove their loyalty to the Confederation . . .
and to Admiral Talbot. We’re going to have to break ranks.”

“What? But, sir, we can win this.”

“We’re not conceding victory, Commander.”

“Sir?”

“Once an enemy ship has lost its guns, let it through our
lines. We’ll rescue as many of their crewmen as is possible.”

“And what’ll prevent any of those ships from ramming ours?”

“In a last ditch effort to impress Talbot, maybe they’ll try
to do just that. But if any of Talbot’s men are to survive we’ll need to take
that chance. Once they’re through our lines target their engines, and stop
their advance with tractor beams. No boarding parties. They’re to surrender
themselves before we offload their survivors.”

Chase shook his head. “Damned ironic . . .”

Hammond studied his friend and first officer for a moment.
“Ironic? How so?”

“You care more for the lives of his men, sir, than does he.
It’s a shame, really, but this uncaring mindset is what we are fighting
against, isn’t it?”

“As long as the Confederacy appoints politicians to the post
of admiral instead of military men, we’ll face this lunacy.”