Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2) (33 page)

“
Admiral,
we're
being painted!”

“
What? From where!?
Go to red alert,
go to red alert!”
he thundered.

■ ■ ■

Jack recognized the schematic on his sensor screen and felt a bit relieved. “They're flying Warthogs, ladies. We're faster and more maneuverable but they can take a beating, so hit them solid. They can also deliver a wallop so stay moving. Ready, Pappy?”

“
Ready, Skipper.”

“
Let's do it then.
All
Freedom flights, hit and run. On my mark...
three, two, one, mark!”
In unison, every Freedom pilot activated shields, weapons and ident signals. “Lock em and pop em guys...
Tally Ho!”

■ ■ ■

Hanging in the ion wash and energy wake of the larger of the two ships, Blue Flight caught up quickly, undetected by maintaining a minimal signature. On Steele's command they initiated their shields, weapons and idents, unfolding their closely stacked single file line to a V formation. Laser targeting and quickly locking onto the carrier's stern, Mike touched his targeting screen, moving the reticule over the port engine. “Blue Flight, we've got big momma locked...”

“
One pass and keep going, Blue Leader,” advised Steele. Throttling forward he locked a leading Warthog fighter, closing in, waiting for that definitive solid tone generally meaning
no escape
. Having selected one of the four missiles hanging from his wings, his thumb rested on the firing button, his heart racing, his fingers tightening... The lock indicator on the HUD around the target grew spikes on the corners and the tone growled deep and steady,
there it is...
”Fox T...”

“
Hold fire! Hold fire! DISENGAGE! DISENGAGE!”

“
FRIENDLIES, FRIENDLIES!”

“
I've got FRIENDLY idents!”

“
Break! Break! Break!”

The calls came in from all around, the fighters from both sides breaking off in every direction as the flights approaching from the carrier lit up on sensor screens with friendly identification signals. The already spectacular backdrop of the white flecked blue atmosphere of New Vanus was instantly transformed into a grand fireworks display, hundreds of floating decoy flares, and winged comets streaking out in all directions, breaking free of the head-on engagement.

The carrier missed a highly inconvenient encounter with Blue Flight by the narrowest of margins when they aborted their attack run, literally screaming between the giants on full afterburner, the fighters weaving between them like lunatic motorcyclists through traffic, creating their own lane. Shooting out of the gap was like clearing a canyon for open terrain, breathing a sigh of relief without realizing they were collectively holding their breath.

Having rolled and gone under the melee, Jack centered his flight stick, stopping his spiral. Looking back over his shoulder, having cleared the chaos behind him, he keyed his mic, “All Freedom flights, check in! Check in! Everybody OK?” He circled back towards the Freedom to regroup, while one by one, all the pilots checked in. He flipped over to an open broadcast channel “You Warthog pilots OK over there?”

“This is Commander Sloane of Raefer Flight, that's an affirmative... Who are you guys?”

“
Captain Jack Steele. We're off the jump carrier, Freedom, Commander.”

“
Jump carrier? Never heard of that type...”

“
It's a new classification the UFW came up with to describe the Freedom. She's considerably smaller than that monster you guys are on...”

“
The Conquest is a tough old gal,” admitted Sloane. “Stop by, I'll buy you a brew and show you around.”

“
I might have to take you up on that, Commander.” The name of the ship sounded vaguely familiar, but Jack brushed it aside for the moment, concentrating on getting his flights back to the Freedom. Buzzing with an overload of adrenalin, it took far more concentration to fly calmly, sedately in a steady, straight line than in a wild dogfight where weaving and dancing across the sky was the norm. It was evident by the loosely spaced formation, heading back to the Freedom.

■ ■ ■

Standing on the deck at the base of the boarding ladder to his Lancia, Steele stripped off his gloves, tugging on the fingers to get them off. Picking his helmet up off the wing-root of the fighter, he stuffed the gloves inside, walking calmly toward the tower. He paused, waiting as a Cyclone from Blue Flight taxied past, its paint looking haggard and rough. He hung his head as he strolled past behind it, meeting Pappy, Mike and Brian at the base of the tower. “What the hell did you guys do to those things?”

“
Sorry, Jack,” apologized Mike. “It's a long story.”

“
It's not
that
long,” offered Brian, smirking, “we hid in a gravel field...”

“
Gravel field? Is that like hiding in a briar patch?” joked Steele. “Man, your Chief is going kick your ass.” He leaned in on Paul, his voice barely a whisper, “How'd Maria do?”

“
Just fine, she stuck right on Duncan's wing, even through the craziness.”

“
I think that has to be the title of the official report,” snickered Jack, “this event will be officially known forever as,
the Craziness...
” The three pilots laughed, passing into the tower and the pilot ready room where they would strip themselves of their flight gear and return to uniforms.

“
White flight do OK?”

“
Yep,” replied Paul, pulling on his uniform tunic. “Derrik, Santine and two of the newer guys.”

“
We need to learn their names and stop calling them the newer guys,” observed Jack, “they've been with us for what, a month now?”

“
Well, to be fair,” said Mike, “they're still the FNGs.”

“
Yeah, I know, but...”

“
Captain Steele to the bridge. Captain Steele to the bridge, please...”

“
Why is Walt paging you...?”

“
Uh oh, what did I do with my earpiece..?” muttered Jack, patting himself down. After checking his locker without success, he finished tucking in his tunic and slung his holster around his waist, transferring the hybrid 1911 from his flight suit to the thigh rig, strapping it securely around his leg. “No idea what happened to it...”

“
Jack's in trouble,” joked Brian, “Uncle Walt is calling him to the Professor's office...”

“
Not as much trouble as you guys are gonna be in for scratching the hell outta those birds.” Jack closed his locker and headed for the exit, “I'm getting out of here before the Chief finds you guys...”

■ ■ ■

The five ships floated motionless against the breathtaking backdrop of New Vanus, a couple fighter patrols roaming the system around them. With fifty-some miles separating the ships, their commanders met on their bridge big screens via a video conference.

“
Mr. Steele, how good to see you again.” There was a touch of sarcasm to the greeting and it took a moment before Jack recognized the vaguely familiar face, his eyes widening. “Ah, you
do
remember,” added the man.
 

Oh, THAT Conquest,
thought Jack, staring at the Admiral's collar pips. The ship's name had sounded familiar but it wasn't until now that all the pieces came flying together with a sudden rush. Which bought a vivid flashback to that painful and terrifying encounter in the Calo Alto system, the video playing in his mind of the running battle, the Archer and Bowman pursuing the Freedom... right into the grasp of the carrier Conquest. But by the grace of God, fooling the carrier commander long enough to escape into the massive swirls of the ether storm. Memories of the carrier that continued to hunt them while they hid in the reclamation depot at Geo Zee... Rescuing the abandoned Duncan Taylor, having been left for dead. “Admiral...” he said slowly, shaking off the images.

“
Pottsdorn,” volunteered the Admiral.

“
Of course, Admiral Pottsdorn... congratulations on your promotion, sir...”

“
I'm going to be honest with you, Steele, I don't like you.”

“
Sir, I...”

“
No, not at all,” continued the Admiral. “I don't like what you did in Calo Alto, don't like how you seemed to have weaseled your way into the UFW, how they've awarded you rank, or how they've pardoned the pirate scum you call a crew... don't like it a bit.” He seemed to pause only to take a breath, “And I don't like how you conduct your patrol operations, flying with no ident beacons, skulking around like you've got something to hide. Terribly suspicious. I don't trust you...”

Steele had been watching the faces of the other ship commanders during the Admiral's rant and no one seemed to be taking him all too seriously, least of all his own battleship Captain. Maybe it was because he wasn't aiming his ridiculous assertions at them. He'd had enough, but it was almost impossible to know where to start.
“Sir!
May I remind you, that
your entire column
was running with idents off.” He continued even though the Admiral attempted to interrupt. “I might
also remind you
that my pilots chirped you an ident ping without receiving a reply.” The battleship commander was now nodding silently. “And they didn't ping the ident once,
but three times
without a reply, Admiral.”

“
Of course not, Mr. Steele, we had no way of knowing who you were, we anticipated one of those loathsome pirate traps...”

“
Thus the reason for the
discreet ident ping
...” said Jack with exasperation. He caught Kelarez palming his face and shaking his head.

“
No, Mr. Steele,” countered the Admiral. “We have no idea who might have stolen the ident signal codes...”

Jack looked at Kelarez on the screen, “What? That's quite possibly one of the dumbest things I've ever heard... How do I respond to that...?”

“Admiral,” began Vice Admiral Kelarez, our task force always runs with idents broadcasting, though many times our fighters will not if in hostile territory. It is a UFW accepted tactic. And for reasons of security, the codes are updated regularly, you know that...”

“
I will not be preached to, Kelarek...” erupted the Admiral angrily.

“
That's,
Vice Admiral Kelarez
, Admiral,” he replied angrily. “And it is also an accepted practice to
respond
to a ping inquiry. Any failure to respond means any incidental damage or casualties as a result, would be on your head and your responsibility.”

“
Acceptable sacrifices,” waved the Admiral.

Steele's ire rose to a level he found difficult to contain. “Accept... accept...” He had to take a deep breath and slow down to get it out.
“Acceptable sacrifices? Seriously?
Whose? Your pilots?
My pilots?
Because I sure don't see
your fat ass
at risk, sitting up there on your ivory bridge,
you lunatic fuck
...”

“
Steele..!”
Kelarez shot the Captain an angry look over the video comm.

The Admiral's brow furrowed, his head tilted slightly to one side, suddenly calm. “Mr. Steele, you will surrender yourself to your next in command, you are under arrest for insubordination to a superior officer. I will take command of your ship...”

“What?” laughed Jack. “You can have my ship when you can waddle you loony ass over here and take it from me...”

“
Admiral!”
Vice Admiral Kelarez cut in rather abruptly, “Captain Steele and his ship is under
my
command. If you have an issue with that, I suggest you discuss it with UFW Directorate. You have no claim here.”

“
Kelarek
, you can also consider yourself insubordinate...”

Jack stepped closer toward the screen, “Listen here, you
crazy fuck,
I'm not a psychologist, but I know crazy when I see it, and
you are
certifiably nuts.
I feel sorry for your pilots and crew... having to put up with such an unbalanced, unhinged, lunatic. ”

“
Listen here, Captain...”

“
Not done yet, Pottsdorn,” continued Jack. “You ought to thank your stars you haven't been shot, blown up, poisoned, thrown out of an airlock, locked up for insanity, or at least relieved of your duties. Because I can't believe you have
any
friends over there...”