Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2) (2 page)

Jack reflected on the ship's recent history. All-in-all, considering what she'd been through and her previous condition, there were only a few minor repairs needed to the Freedom's hull... Hecken Noer's people had done some pretty extraordinary work by hand, using powered jumpsuits, hand cutters and hand welders while in the pirate-owned salvage yard at Geo Zee. To top it off, Hecken Noer was currently visiting with the Blackmount technicians, amazing them with his engineering changes on the Freedom's electronics, engines, and her increased performance statistics. Jack was pretty sure the engineer was going to become a bit of a legend, but was hoping the UFW wouldn't try to steal him away for
bigger things
.

Eyes closed, Jack could hear the robotic workers moving on the outside of the hull, and the mechanics working on the starboard gun battery below and forward of his office. It was interesting listening to the different noises, the ship half empty, a good portion of her crew enjoying a little rest and relaxation on the station. Jack heard and felt two soft but distinct thumps, as the burner warmers kicked on, keeping the main engine cores at a temperature that would allow instant start-up if necessity dictated. Not like he expected anything to happen here, heck they were in secure UFW territory. Any pirate wandering around in this sector of space would have to be on a suicide mission.

It had been a long seven weeks since they'd left Earth's solar system,
or wait, was it eight now?
He counted backwards to be sure,
yes seven was right
... and Lieutenant JG Maria Arroyo was still being a little bit pissy. OK, he got it... Ordering her locked in the brig was a mistake, a bad decision, not one of his most stellar moments in decision-making history, but he was acting on information he didn't know was incomplete... 20/20 hindsight. He probably should have waited until he knew more. But in retrospect, the real kicker was probably that he'd totally forgotten her there for a day or two. OK, three... and a half.
Mea culpa, mea culpa
. It wasn't like she went unfed or anything, she had whatever she needed, he had just forgotten to get back to her to find out what the deal was with her secret lives back home -
of which there were several,
and whose side she was really on.
Seriously
, let's face it, how do you decide where your loyalties are when you need a scorecard and cast members list, just to keep track of your own life? How do you tell the truth from the lies and whom you're telling which? That scorecard's gotta start looking more and more like a damn spreadsheet. The talk, when he finally did get around to it, didn't go exactly as he'd planned. OK, OK, it didn't go
anything like he'd planned
... it was hard to have any kind of meaningful dialogue when you were dodging plates, cups and silverware, much less trying to decipher
Spanglish
with long strings of epithets and profanities laced throughout. Thank goodness the mark from that cup had finally disappeared from his forehead. The second attempt at talking had gone much more smoothly... primarily because he'd had Doc lace her food with enough sedative to keep her on an even keel
and just short of unconsciousness
. He decided it was mostly her fault anyways for not being forthcoming in the beginning, with all the circumstances of her life... Cuban immigrant parents, Russian uncle
in the KGB,
clandestinely recruited into the CIA while she was in college, sold into marriage to a Colombian drug lord by her KGB uncle -
encouraged by the CIA,
who was using her to spy on the KGB
and
the drug cartel, while her uncle used her to keep tabs on the cartel
and
gather intel on the CIA, as her new Colombian husband wanted her as a bargaining chip if things went South,
all
of them feeding her disinformation to misdirect the others. This was the stuff of legendary plot lines, you just can't make these kind of stories up,
and this was her life
... destined to become the nucleus of an international catastrophic meltdown of epic proportions. It was no wonder she was happy to be off the planet, she didn't have to live her life using a spreadsheet anymore. All-in-all he'd felt sorry for her being the pawn in a sloppy international chess match with no rules. But that empathy quickly disappears when someone keeps throwing things at your head...

The comm chimed and he activated his earpiece without opening his eyes, “Steele...”

“Captain, the
Marines
are here...”

Thank God, someone to protect me from Maria...
Jack remained relaxed and reclined, “Thank you Ensign,” he replied. “Have the quarters we discussed on the cargo hold level been prepared? I think those'll give them plenty of room for their gear...”

“
Sir,
” interrupted Myomerr, whispering, “protocol dictates you meet them at the gangway...”

“
Ah, of course,” he replied, rising from his desk, “on my way...” Jack shook his head - he was not fond of the military pomp, but he understood the need to keep up traditions. He did an unconscious tuck and primp as he belted on his thigh rig and sidearm, heading for the door to the bridge. Running his fingers through his hair, the door disappeared into the wall with a swish. The bridge only had a few crew members on duty, monitoring communications and other critical systems.

■ ■ ■

Twenty-seven Marines,
two squads
,
stood to the side of the open gangway leading from Blackmount station through the open airlock on the Freedom's flight deck. They stood in formation, two straight lines, their commanding officer out in front.
“Atten
tion!”
They snapped from an at-ease stance to full attention in unison, the commanding officer saluting. Myomerr stood casually to the right of the open airlock across from them, with another member of the Freedom's security team, both of them with sidearms.

Jack returned the Marine's salute smartly, “At ease gentlemen.” They dropped to an at-ease stance with the same sharpness as they went into attention. Jack eyed their gear; hard composite body armor, visored helmets, assault rifle type blasters and one man in each squad had what looked to be a light machine-gun type of weapon. A neat stack of duffel bags and several crates stood behind them. “Welcome to the jump carrier, Freedom.” Jack reached out to shake the commanding officer's hand, “Lieutenant...”

“Giardo, sir.” The Marine shook his hand, “ Thank you Captain Steele. I'm Lieutenant Lelyo Giardo, we are 3
rd
Battalion 374
th
Platoon and we've been assigned to the Freedom as her security and troop contingent. Do you have a billet set up for us sir?”

“
We do...” Jack turned to Myomerr, “Ensign, would you like to show our Marines their quarters?” He turned back to the Lieutenant, “We can get together later, after you and your men have settled in and get your bearings...” They exchanged salutes before Jack turned and headed back to the bridge.

Myomerr strolled over with an electronic notepad tucked under one arm. Her shining platinum eyes regarded the Marine Lieutenant carefully as she brushed curls of her charcoal mane aside, her little black nose twitching, “Yes sir, of course.” She motioned to the Marine Lieutenant, “If you and your men will follow me please...”

The Lieutenant turned to his men, “You heard the Ensign,
FALL OUT!
Grab your gear
ladies
, let's go!”

The Ketarian walked with the Lieutenant, heading for the freight lift used to move aircraft between the cargo deck and the flight deck. The rest of the Marines trailed behind in two neat lines, weapons and duffel bags slung over their shoulders, their boots clomping on the deck. She pulled up the ship's deck layout on the notepad for the Lieutenant to see as they made their way to the lift. “Lieutenant, you and your men will be set up down on the level below us,” she pointed to the layout on the screen, “You of course, will have your own quarters. Your squad leaders will share quarters and the rest of your platoon will share three to a room. I hope that's acceptable...”

Lelyo Giardo grinned, “Ma’am, we're Marines, anything above a muddy hole in the ground and cold rations, is not just an improvement, it's paradise.”

■ ■ ■

As Steele had expected, the Freedom had been able to retire the four aging Warthog fighters from her inventory in favor of some superior new replacements. Unfortunately, only two of the six fighters she received were the new top-of-the-line UFW Vulcan birds... they got two more of the Lancias and two more of the Cyclones - neither a poor choice, but not quite the same category as the Vulcans. But, with the other additions it did give her a total of sixteen fighters, plus two Zulu gunships and two Invaders for spec-ops. Add in her two recovery shuttles and you had a pretty full boat. They got a full load of assorted missiles for the birds as well as a nice supply of torpedoes for the Freedom's two launch tubes - something she hadn't had in her inventory since the days she'd been known as the Ynosa. Something else she hadn't the luxury of in a long time, a full fuel load to keep the fighters fed. And last but not least... a full crew. They were up to one-hundred-ninety-seven crew members now, not including the Marines on board.

Sixteen of those new crew members were pilots. Granted a few of them were fresh out of the academy, but, Jack was sure Commander Paul Smiley would be able to sharpen their skills considerably.

The last several weeks on their way to UFW Blackmount in the Feerocobi System brought them no action whatsoever - it was like the pirates had packed up and left, simply disappeared. It was a bit disappointing actually, constantly chasing ghosts. Patrols had found signs of their presence... or
someone's presence
, but the trail was always cold by the time they'd found it. Jack, Gantarro,
Captain of the Cruiser Bowman,
and Rear Admiral Kelarez had several discussions over dinner on the Admiral's cruiser the
Archer
within the last several weeks about tactics... About what it might take to lure the pirates out, to track them, to find their hiding places, to beat them at their own game. The Rear Admiral was a sharp officer with an open mind and was willing to listen to things that were contradictory to current tactics, unconventional, maybe even controversial. Things the UFW Directorate had never considered in their rigid,
inside the box thinking
, not wanting to
break the rules
. Rule number one in war,
there are no rules
. Fight to win or go home. Rule number two, if you find yourself in a fair fight,
cheat like hell
.

Even though he had never met the members of the UFW Directorate, Jack knew the type; the ones who would rather play it safe, see how it goes, tiptoeing around the truth and making tentative efforts so it actually looked like they were doing something, when
all the while they were losing the battle for the lack of guts it would take to risk going all-in and actually winnin
g. Couldn't have that, things might get a little messy, we might get our hands dirty. Politicians - they infected everything they touched with bullshit and uncertainty, walking around with blinders on, lest they see something distasteful. Jack despised people like that, who can't get their heads out of their asses long enough to actually make a decision.

But Jack had to hand it to Kelarez, however he did it, the Rear Admiral was able to straddle the fence between warrior and politician to speak their language and get through to them. Steele would've liked to have been a fly on the wall to hear
that
conversation, it must've been some
pretty spectacular bullshit
because it seemed the UFW Directorate was giving the go-ahead to use whatever means Kelarez wanted, for his task force. He wondered offhand if there was a plausible deniability clause to that agreement.

A step in the right direction thought Jack, standing in front of the holo-chart in his office. He was studying their route and the notes hovering over some of the locations like little electronic Post-It Notes. If you reached out and
touched
the notes, they would open, giving a detailed report, then dissolve back into the little footnotes that they were. There were a few new ones too, information updates forwarded to them through UFWs SecureNet, about activity other convoys and task forces had encountered. He made himself a mental note to discuss SecureNet with the Rear Admiral to find out more about its access and security protocols - that could be a serious risk if it wasn't handled properly...

The door to the bridge slid open with a hiss and Myomerr stepped into the Captain's ready room, her electronic notepad in hand. “Excuse me Captain...”

Steele looked around the room and then back at her, “It's just us...” he smiled.

“
Jack,” she smiled back, her feline fangs making an appearance. “It's the Marines, they are so regimented, so proper - it's got me a bit on edge...”

He nodded, “They're like that back home too, it's hammered into them from the day they step off the recruitment bus. It's OK, they'll relax a little when they get to know us.” He pointed to her pad, “Watcha got?”