Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2) (39 page)

“
Sergeant Mac?” asked Jack.

The Marine was still motionless, not having moved a muscle. “Yes, sir.”

“Relax Private, he's having a little fun at your expense. And so were we. Anything to report?”

The private pulled off his helmet, his blue-black hair, cut high and tight in a bristling crew-cut. “We've found some decent vehicles to make the drive to the capitol tomorrow... Hellion, they're all over the place. Alpha Squad has found deceased civilians scattered throughout the terminals and Bravo Squad has found a subterranean level that looks like it spreads under the entire facility. Sarge says
that
will probably take a while to explore. Most of the standard air craft out there on the concrete and at the terminal air-docks look operational.”

“
Have we been able to check all the hangars?”

“
No, sir, haven't even touched on that yet. This place is huge, there's a lot to cover.”

“
No argument there, Private. On those deceased civilians, did Alpha have any thoughts on their demise?” Jack was sincerely hoping it wasn't some form of illness or disease.

“
The Lieutenant said most of them looked to be injured and left behind.”

Jack pursed his lips, “Mmm, panic. Maybe stampeding. What's the
one
thing we're missing around here, guys?”

Dayle leaned forward, “What, Skipper?”

“This is an Air and Space Port. We have vehicles in the parking lot... overflowing the parking lots, parked up the road, on the highway, in the fields... We've got air-worthy planes all over the place. But there's nothing left here that will take you
off world.
This was a mass exodus... fleeing in panic.”

“
From what?” asked Dayle.

“
And to where?” asked the Private.

“
I don't know...”

“
You're doing that two-thousand-yard stare again Skipper.”

“
Yeah,” he said standing, blinking it away. He picked his helmet up off the desk behind him and scooped up his carbine. “C'mon, Dayle. Private, I'm sure you won't mind sitting up here in the nice cool air and monitoring the tower communications for us? We are expecting some additional troops, just bring them in.”

■ ■ ■

Dropping out of the scattered clouds, the early morning sun played alternate stripes of shadow and golden light across the terrain below. Maria could see the entire facility, over two miles wide and two-and-a-half miles long, sitting at the end of a shallow valley of emerald green. In the distance beyond the Air and Space Port, a town sat atop one of the many low rolling hills, surrounded by what looked like active farmland.

It seemed silly landing on a five-hundred foot wide runway with a shuttle; it was like landing a child's toy airplane on a four lane highway.

“Freedom Shuttle to Veloria Tower, three shuttles on final approach...”

“
Copy that, Freedom Shuttle. Clear on runway thirty-two left, exit right on your first opportunity and move to the skirt near the tower.”

“
Roger Tower...” Maria reached forward, switching on the anti gravity, pulling the throttle back and rotating the grip to increase power to the anti-grav to compensate. The shuttle began to descend flatly, lined up on the runway center line, the other two shuttles dropping to her left and right in a delta formation. “Gear down...”

“
Gear down,” replied Myomerr extending the landing skids. “Five hundred feet...”

“
Gather your gear, folks,” announced Maria, “we're down in five...”

■ ■ ■

The main terminal was effectively planned, an efficient people mover, stretching out like an elongated octopus, each arm reaching out to an airside terminal. With elegant sweeping designs, it was luxuriously appointed with polished marble and steel, reflective glass and exotic wood... Its opulence and beauty was rudely interrupted, disrupted by abandoned luggage scattered about, assorted litter and general widespread disarray. Then there were the bodies. Abandoned souls left to die of their injuries... and the foul stench of death. The clouded air in the terminals required personal filtration breathers to function as the Marines of Charlie Squad carried the rotting bodies out to the tarmac on the far side of the terminal, rows of lifeless forms laying in the shade.

“
Alpha Lead to Charlie Lead...”

“
Go ahead Alpha.”

“
I think we've found a power hub that supplies the base...”

Steele paused, sitting down on an aircraft towing mule. “That's great... where are you?”

“About six clicks north of the base. It has a series of solar collectors piped to this station and everything looks intact. We're going to try to boot the system up and see what happens...”

“
Do it. Let's see if we can get this facility up and running. Air circulation would be a blessing...”

“
Aye, sir. Stand by...”

Jack looked over to Dayle Alaroot who was coming out of the terminal. “Mr. Alaroot...”

“Sir?” he replied strolling over, pulling off his breather mask.

“
Dayle, have you heard from Bravo at all?”

“
No, sir. Not a peep. It's been awhile, hasn't it...” It was more a statement than a question. “You worried about them?”

“
Just wondering what they've gotten themselves into...”

“
I just think they're hiding so they don't have to do
this job,”
he thumbed toward the rows of dead bodies.

“
Pretty grim,” nodded Jack.

“
Tower to Captain Steele.”

“
Go ahead.”

“
Shuttles are down and troops are boots on the ground.”

“
On my way Private, thanks. Clear the shuttles for takeoff and let them head out...” Jack rose and locked his breather back into place, “OK Dayle, once more into the breach,” he stepped past the Marine and headed for the terminal service door.

“
Skipper...!”

Jack spun on his heel at the urgent call, to see Dayle Alaroot backing toward him, focused and pointing toward the hangars on the east side of the facility. He followed the pointed finger. “Is that a...
tank...?
” It sort of looked like a flattened tank body and turret without tracks or wheels, sitting on an oblong disk.

They both began retreating toward the door, glancing behind them, then back to the topic at hand. “That's
two
tanks...” the Marine replied, as another tank appeared behind the first. More a reflex than anything else, Jack unslung his carbine and Dayle steered him roughly towards the door. “That won't even scratch the paint.
Move!”

Almost colliding with two Marines coming out as they were scrambling in, they secured the access door behind them as if it would be substantial enough to repel a tank's formidable bulk, or the destructive power of its ordinance. Bolting up the ramp to the airside terminal level, the four men ran across the terminal to the other side, oblivious to the fact that the lights were now on and the air systems were doing their best to clear the putrid, clouded air. “Do we have anything to kill a tank?” huffed Jack, through his breather.

“Tank?”
asked the Marine running next to him.

“
Hover tanks,” replied Dayle, “as in
plural.”

“
That's
not good...”

“
Ya think? Charlie Leader to
all units
,” huffed Jack, “get all units off the field, get inside somewhere... get those shuttles off the ground...”

“
Shuttles are airborne, sir. What's going on...?”

“
Tanks!”

“
Tanks?”

“
Hover tanks!”
yelled Dayle into his mic. “Big armored things with big fucking guns! Everybody find a hole!”

“
This is Charlie Six; I have eyes on, looks like we have
four
hover tanks... They're heading around the end of Airside Terminal Eight; I'm guessing they intend to go all the way around to the tower...” The sniper peered through his scope from the roof of the terminal building. “Don't see any markings...”

■ ■ ■

Making long, lazy survey passes around the sunken space station, Ensign Santine looked over at Brian Carter in the pilot's seat from the tactical station. “Did you catch that?”

“
Sure did...” nodded Brian, leaning the flight stick over in the opposite direction, breaking away from their task. “Let's go.” He shoved the throttle forward, instantly leaving a massive sonic boom behind the Zulu gunship, splitting the surface of the water below them. He pulled up towards the clouds, leveling off at about four thousand feet and headed across the ocean for the valley.

Santine's fingers danced across the controls, switching from survey instruments to tactical systems, the screens winking from one set of information to the other. “Weapons live and online... turrets manned.” He checked over his shoulder getting a wave from the gunners in the tail and the dorsal. The chin turret was controlled by whoever was in the tactical seat next to the pilot, and Santine tested the controls, watching the gun camera move with his joystick. “Five minutes to target Lieutenant...” Brian nodded without speaking and nudged the throttle. “Four minutes then,” corrected Santine.

■ ■ ■

The Marines poured into the terminal and the tower leaving the field vacant. Any equipment they had to deal with the tanks would probably leave one, possibly even two intact enough to fight, and that was unacceptable. They stood in the terminal overlooking the field below as the four tanks navigated around Airside Terminal Four, headed for the tower, their turrets swinging right and left searching for targets. Moving along inside the terminal en masse, the Marines followed along with the tanks which paused momentarily, their guns swinging up toward the terminal.

As a reflex, the men backed away from the windows. “They can't see us, can they?”

“
Reflective glass,” replied Steele, “the sun's on this side of the building, all they see is their own reflection in the gold glass.”

“
Unless they're using thermal,” commented Draza Mac.

The turrets turned away and the tanks moved on, eliciting a collective sigh from the men. “I think the thermal would pick up their own reflected heat,” said Jack.

“I sure hope so...”

“
This is Zulu One, we're three minutes out, comin' in hot and loaded. Stay tucked in and out of sight.”

“
Zulu One, you have four targets,” replied Steele, “They're about a hundred yards off the terminal... so don't miss.”

“
Wouldn't think of it, Skipper.”

■ ■ ■

Brian throttled back, dropping the Zulu down into the long, deeply shaded, emerald valley leading to the Air and Space Port. “Sixty seconds to target...”

Santine was busy at the tactical station. “Sensors dedicated to tactical... Four armored targets confirmed...”

“Gunners, check six,” commented Brian.

“
Six is clear,” came the reply.

“
Target One locked.” Santine touched the color MFD
Multi Function Display
screen on the graphic of the missile he was assigning to that target. “Target Two and Three locked... Four is being stubborn... he's obscured by the others.”

“
Maybe we'll get a twofer...” said Brian, lining up. “If we have to, we'll come back for another pass.”

“
Preparing to fire.”

“
Right. Kill em....”

■ ■ ■

The hover tanks came to a stop, settling to the ground a stone's throw from the base of the tower, their turrets fanning left and right. Jack saw a glint of something far up the valley, a miniscule, momentary fleck of light, but it was gone as fast as he caught it, lost in the deep shadows. “We might want to step away from the windows, boys...” His eyes searched to catch the light again.

“
Uh, Skipper...” Sergeant Draza Mac had grabbed him by the shoulder, pointing at the open hatch on the top of the first tank, a figure's head and shoulders appearing in the opening.

Steele's earpiece crackled, “Skipper, this is Charlie Six.
Friendlies!
I say again,
friendlies!”

Without effort or conscious control on his part, Steele got the distinct feeling that time was slowing down, the things around him almost coming to a stop, his new left eye zooming in on the top of the first tank. He was aware of hatches on the second and third tank opening up, but his eye was feeding him information on the first tank he had never experienced before, and his mind sped ahead of the events.
Son of a bitch,
he thought,
where did Bravo Squad get hover tanks..?
“Zulu One, Zulu One..!
Break off! Break off!”
Sound and other movement came rushing back at him in a blurred wave. “Zulu One, did you copy?
Break off!”

The Zulu's dark, wicked shape abruptly appeared, screaming low overhead, flashing out of view over the top of the terminal, the windows bowing with the shock of a thundering sonic boom, the Marines ducking out of reflex. There was a quick shout in Steele's headset that ended with a light clatter before it cut short with a brief amount of static.

“Zulu One, copy. Holy shit, that was cutting it awful close...”

“
I don't think Bravo is going to appreciate
how close
...” breathed Jack.

“
You have no idea, Skipper...”

■ ■ ■

By the time Charlie Six made it down off the roof of the terminal building, everyone had gathered around the hover tanks sitting near the tower. He wandered out across the concrete and stood next to Jack, his hands on his hips, looking a little dazed and a little miffed. “I have a bone to pick with your flyboys, Captain...”

Steele turned to look at him, his face was bloodied and he had no helmet, his eyes looked a little unfocused. Jack raised an eyebrow, “What happened Corporal?”

The Marine blinked hard, looking momentarily up at the sky as if he expected the Zulu to suddenly return. “Bastard almost sucked me off the roof,” he mumbled, waving one arm expansively.

“
Where's your helmet, your weapon...?”

The Marine Sniper wobbled a little like he was drunk, “Gone,” he replied, waving again. “Sucked it right off my head along with my earpiece...” He shrugged loosely, his hands slapping his armored thighs, “Couldn't hold onto my weapon... I was too busy trying not to die...”

“Think we can find it?”

“
I dunno. Probably halfway between here and that town to the East...”

Jack slung his own carbine, trying not to smirk. It was kinda funny. Sort of. He waved a medic over to them, “Take care of the Corporal here, make sure he's OK.”

“Aye, sir.”

■ ■ ■

Bravo Squad reported a massive multi-level subterranean complex akin to a small city under the surface facility, a good portion of it decidedly military. They found bunkers, offices, living quarters, weapons, equipment and ammunition stockpiles. All completely deserted. Or at least what they'd been able to cover so far. It wasn't clear yet whether it was the hardened underground facility, or some kind of signal dampening that affected the teams' communications. They'd been able to stay in contact within the team as long as they remained on the same level. Much like the control tower on the surface, the subterranean levels had some sort of self sufficient power grid, though they had yet to locate a source.

While Alpha, Bravo and Charlie Squads got some shuteye for their little jaunt in the morning to the capital city, the relief squads Delta, Echo and Foxtrot would be patrolling, guarding and exploring the entire
Air and Space Port.

The sun dropped below the crest of the valley's ridge, the last of its golden light turning to orange, red and purple, reflecting against the bottom of the sparse, scattered clouds. Steele was standing at the windows on the second floor of the Airside Terminal Four, overlooking the tower and the concrete below where a group of Marines from one of the relief Squads were getting a briefing beside the parked hover tanks. Running his hand through his hair, he nudged his armor to one side with the toe of his boot and stretched. It felt good to be free of it. “Say, Dayle?”

“Yeah, Skipper?” He was reclined in one of the contoured lounge chairs, his eyes closed.

“
Are there any women in the Marines?”

“
A few... not many. Why?”

“
Do we have any in our squads?”

Dayle Alaroot straddled the seat and planted his feet on the floor, sitting up. “Not that I can recall...”

“OK...” To Jack the form in the armor below, looked female. Or at least maybe a slender feminine male. No, the form moved like a woman.

Then Dayle was standing next to him. “Which one?”

“Mmm, third one in from the right...” Jack pointed.

“
Sure moves like a woman...”

“
That's what I was thinking,” commented Jack. “Wait, is that a sword?”

“
Sword? Where?” Dayle was peering through cupped hands on the glass to cancel out the reflections from behind them.

“
Strapped to her, er, his - uh, whatever. Strapped over the back. See the grip sticking up over the shoulder?” To him it looked like the grip and pommel of a samurai sword.

“
Yeah...” said Dayle slowly, “it does. We don't carry long blade weapons.” He turned around and pointed to three members of Charlie team who hadn't shed their armor yet, “C'mere you guys. I need you to go fetch someone for me...”

■ ■ ■

Standing near the food court in the main hub, away from the Marines resting in Airside Four, away from prying eyes and ears, Steele was standing with his hands on his hips, having difficulty keeping his anger in check. “What in the hell are you doing? Have you lost your senses?” His voice was strained but purposefully forced to a lower tone. “What were you thinking?” He paced restlessly back and forth.

Dressed in full Marine armor, a carbine and sword slung over her shoulder, Alité shifted uneasily, her helmet dangling from her left hand. “Are you speaking as my husband, or my Captain..?”

Steele stopped pacing abruptly, gesturing widely, “Does it matter? You didn't listen to either one of us!” He rubbed his forehead. “How am I supposed to deal with this...?”

“
I don't know how to answer that. What are you asking me?”

“
Well you're my wife, but we're not sitting in our quarters; after you burned the meat loaf...”

“
Meat loaf..?”

He sighed, his jaw muscles working. “We're not in our quarters, this is not a
domestic issue.
We're here on a military mission and you have inserted yourself
into it
... which means I should treat you like someone who has disobeyed orders - which you have, or risk looking like I'm playing favoritism.”

“
They would understand,” she said softly, moving forward. He wondered how she managed to still be seductive even in full body armor.
How was that even possible?

“
Ooh, no,” he said backing up, hands outstretched, “no, no, no, lady. That's not gonna work here...”

“
In case you've forgotten, this
is
my home... And this is as much diplomatic as it is military. I happen to be the diplomatic part.” She stood with her hands on her hips and her feet apart.

“
That doesn't give you the leeway to do whatever you want, whenever you want... You're starting to act like Maria...” He winced mentally as it came out of his mouth, the words slipping past the idiot filter. He had just lost control on a slippery slope.

“
You
didn't
just compare me to Maria...”

“
Uhhh...” The wheels were spinning but he wasn't getting any traction, his mind blank, like white powdered snow over black ice. Once the slide started, sometimes all you could do was close your eyes and hang on till it was over.

“
Let it go, Skipper...” came a voice from the semi-darkness in Airside Four.

“
Kiss and make up...” said another. Light laughter filtered through the darkened terminal, broken by scattered clapping.

Bastards
. Steel sighed and shook his head, the slide had come to rest against the proverbial guardrail. “I need to get some sleep.”

“
I'm going with you tomorrow...”

Dammit, she just wasn't going to let this go.
You had to pick your fights and know which hill to make a stand on... this wasn't it. Steele had pretty much conceded to that. “Yeah, I know.” Alité unslung her carbine and handed it to Jack, then began releasing the fasteners on her armor as they walked back toward Airside Four. “I gotta ask,” he started, “what's with the sword?”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

VELORIA :
THE HILLS HAVE EYES

Having to clear the terminal and set up the tower as a base of operations had set them a full day behind schedule, but it was a necessary task. At least it was liveable now... with breathable air. Steele was sure they still hadn't explored all of the facility's nooks and crannies. There were undoubtedly more things to discover, but where to start looking was an open-ended question.

Jack stood at the windows of Airside Four, looking at the long, early morning shadows extending across the facility and the deep emerald valley. Along the edge of the farthest runway, a hover tank patrolled slowly, its turret scanning the tree line. The sky had interesting streaks of pink fingering into the deep blue of twilight as the sun rose from behind the building. It was definitely a beautiful planet...

Several of the Marines were up and moving about, and over in the food court someone was making what smelled like coffee and breakfast. He glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping men, stretched out in the terminal's comfortable recliners. He was surprised to be awake so early, he was not a morning person, never had been. Never quite understood the fascination of it. But it had its moments... like now for instance. There was something oddly calming about it.

He looked down at the sword in his hands, still in its scabbard, rolling it over in his hands, studying the ornate detail on the pommel, the grip, and the cross guard. He pulled firmly and the sword popped from the scabbard with a gentle click. Sliding it out, revealing about six of its twenty-eight inches, he examined a delicate, detailed engraving of an angel in a flowing gown carrying a shield and sword like the one he held in his hands. He turned it into the light, the polished blade reflecting the pink and lightening blue sky outside. The wavy, frosted temper line on the blade reminded him of a samurai sword. It certainly looked as sharp. He knew better than to touch the edge to test it. He slid it back into its sheath and examined the intricate coat-of-arms, inlaid with color on the pommel. This was not an ordinary weapon. No, this was a sword for someone special. Someone from a royal family. She was carrying it as an identifier. He wondered if she...