Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2) (70 page)

“Just a shield hit. Fifty percent, regenerating. We're good.”

“
We're going in, get ready..!” he shouted.

Coasting over the fantail of the carrier on final approach, the Fallken pilot had no idea he was about to get an enema, as Maria strafed his unshielded engines, sending him into a panic acceleration. He tried to pull up, only succeeding in crushing his fighter into the carrier's hull, an explosion littering parts across the deck, inside and out. Steele yanked the throttle back to apply full braking jets, and pieces rained across the hull as Maria dropped the shields to allow the waist door to open. Gear down and anti-grav on, the Invader slid through the blue-green curtain of the stasis field, bouncing on the deck, a shower of sparks from her skid plates startling ground crews into a sprint to get clear of the unwanted visitor.

“We're in!
Go, go, go!”

The Invader's waist door popped open, the top half sliding up over the hull, the ramp dropping outward without extending. Dunnom flung the first satchel charge out the door, starting to count out loud as it bounced then slid across the deck, disappearing into a parking revetment.
“Twenty, nineteen...”
The Invader continued down the runway and he flung out another, and another. The third slid under a parked fighter with a loaded missile cart sitting next to it.
“Sixteen...”

Small arms fire erupted in the flight bay as security forces came running out of every nook and cranny, their rounds hitting the hull and cockpit glass from almost every angle.

“Fifteen...”

“
Shit!
Shoot anything that moves!”
Steele maneuvered around equipment parked about the deck, only to be blocked by a group of fighters
more than halfway down the runway, taking on fuel and ordnance.

“
Fourteen...”

Jack shifted the ship laterally from side-to-side but couldn't find a way to squeeze past them.

“
Thirteen...”

The Marines were firing back from the doorway, trying to keep the security teams away from the Invader and the satchel charges.
“Keep going Skipper!”

“
Twelve...”

“
We're blocked in!”

“
Eleven...”

“
Dammit,
MAKE a FUCKING hole!”

Jack turned to Maria, “You heard the man...”

Maria thumbed off the ordnance safety and mashed the button, a live missile dropping off the belly of the Invader, landing on the flight deck with a resounding clang. Then nothing. It laid there like a dead fish.
“Oh, fuck!”

“
Ten...”

“
TODAY,
Skipper!”

With its canopy still open, the fighter in the center of the group lifted off the deck, a blue glow under its landing gear, thrusters rotating it in their direction. “Oh that's not good...”

“His weapons are on-line...” warned Maria.

“
Nine...”

“
Then
shoot
him..!”

Maria squeezed without hesitation, catching him mid-rotation, the guns of the nose turret blasting holes through the fighter's stubby wings, shoving him sideways, shearing off the canopy. The Fallken crashed into another fighter parked in a revetment, starting a fire, sending ground crew running for their lives.

“Seven...”

“
I still have two more of these things back here!”
yelled Dunnom.

“
Then get rid of them! Hold on everybody!”
Jack kicked the rudder pedals, the maneuvering thrusters spinning the Invader around, the stern connecting with something solid, dumping over a robotic trolley full of missiles on the deck with a deafening clatter, the unit struggling to right itself amid a sprawl of loose ordnance.

Dunnom took the opportunity to fling a charge out the door, seeing it skitter across the deck towards the group of fighters blocking the lanes. And then they were moving again, back the way they came in and he heaved the last one out, not waiting to see where it went. Dooby yanked one of the Marines back inside as he leaned out to fire and slammed his palm on the door switch, the door sections sliding together, fitting in, locking tight.

“Five...”

Lights on the console noted the hull was sealed.
“Gimme shields,”
commanded Steele, through clenched teeth, wrestling with the controls. Weaving the Invader through the bay, avoiding heavy fuel and ordnance vehicles, lesser equipment bounced off the shields, out of the way, skittering across the deck.

“
Four...”

Lisa caught the image out of her peripheral vision, the soldier with the shoulder fired launcher... she swung the turret as she squeezed and held the trigger, the gun's
bwat-bwat-bwat
continuing in a steady stream, punching holes in whatever the purple lances touched, sweeping the full width of the bay. Something on the far left, near her intended target, vaporized, the fireball spreading across the deck, pieces of metal ricocheting off the ceiling and flying across the bay, parts and equipment flying through the air.

“
Three...”

A Fallken was heading in to bar their escape as the Invader headed out over the fantail, shields up. Steele shoved the throttle to the far stop, an enormous comet tail reaching halfway down the carrier's runway behind them. Maria squeezed the trigger and the guns in the nose turret hammered the Pirate fighter's shields, exchanging shots, his ion blasters splashing around their cockpit, rocking them hard. Hearing a lock tone, she thumbed a missile, hitting him almost point blank, turning him into scrap metal, the Invader flying through the fireball and debris that clattered on the Invader's now unshielded hull like steel rain.

“Two...”

Jack thumbed the boost button as massive flashes of light raced through the hanger and flight deck of the carrier, illuminating the darkness in front of them with the eye-searing intensity of a small sun. And then it was gone. The light, most of the carrier, most of the fighters... Jack released the boost button. “Hold on to something...” The shock wave crashed over the Invader like a tsunami, carrying it, rolling it and then dropping it again as it raced past them, out into space.

“I think we used too many of them,” grunted Dunnom picking himself up off the floor.

Steele looked back over his shoulder, “Ya think?” he joked, taking a deep breath. “Holy shit... Everybody OK?” He ran his fingers through his hair.

“I think I'm going to be blind for awhile,” muttered Lisa, rubbing her eyes, still harnessed into the rear turret.

Warning lights across the console blinked red, and they did a quick assessment of the damage. There was a vertical stabilizer missing, the forcing cones on the main engines were toasted, the sensors were half blind, and all but one of the landing gear was missing. All-in-all, still flyable... Though landing might be problematic.

■ ■ ■

Mike Warren was twisted in his cockpit, looking back over his shoulder to determine the source of the exploding sun. “Christ Almighty, what the hell was that?”

“Something on the edge of my scope,” replied Santine, “that carrier maybe?”

“
Whoa!” shouted Mike, there goes another one, near the gate. Not as big as the first, though...”

“
Not important right now. Not our job... These guys are our job...” Commander Paul Smiley was watching the fifty-six incoming fighters in fourteen neat formations of four, streaking into the fight. “Sign in, who has ammo or ordinance left..?”

Out of the fifteen remaining fighters off the Freedom, only four had any ordinance left and most that had guns requiring ammunition were extremely low. Only two of the four light fighters off the Archer and Bowman had survived, and had attached themselves to the Freedom's flights.

Pappy took a deep breath. “OK then, stick with rechargeable guns. Ammo only for a kill shot. Same with the ordnance, make sure you have a solid lock.” He nudged his throttle forward, “Conserve your fuel, stick together. We need to give momma time to jump, she can't take any more...” He looked out over his port wing at the Freedom, except for her engines, she looked nearly dead. He was stunned that she was still whole. Her main forward turret on the port side was completely missing, a giant empty socket with guts hanging out. On the starboard turret, giant holes were punched through it, the gun barrels missing. Point defense turrets were missing or destroyed, there were gaping holes across her hull, streaming atmosphere... Blast holes along the bridge had fractured her there, the bridge now dark. Only the two stern turrets, one on either side of the hull were still operational.

He swallowed hard, it made him sick. And angry. The fresh carrier and battleship were closing in on the fight from the rear, the pirate cruisers were flanking around from the sides, and the fighters were sweeping in for the kill. He watched the Freedom for a moment longer as a bubble formed amidships, tendrils of color and light creeping across her hull.
Good luck...
Paul closed his visor. “Let's go boys...”

Paul's comm pinged. “Thirty seconds to intercept,” commented Mike.

In stellar Pappy fashion, he keyed his mic on an open channel, “This is Commander Paul Smiley, of the UFW jump carrier, Freedom...” his voice calm, professional. “You are entering restricted space. Turn back or face destruction.” He looked over his shoulder when he caught the flash of the GOD jump, only to see the Freedom still there. The jump had failed, the rear gun turrets now firing at the approaching cruisers.
Dear God, give me strength...
He steeled himself and flipped the safety cover off to fire his last missile at the lead fighter, the lock tone growing more solid...

“
Good afternoon, Commander Smiley...” the voice was rich and warm, somehow familiar. “This is Commander Dar Sloane of the UFW carrier, Conquest...”

The sensor screens on every ship in the conflict lit up, awash with UFW ident pings. “We heard you boys were having a party over here, we thought we'd come and play... Hope you don't mind, we brought some party favors and noise makers...”

On the next full sensor sweep, the Conquest and her battleship escort appeared in full detail, along with her flood of rampaging heavy fighters, bringing joy and relief to every UFW heart in the system. And adversely, bringing fear and terror to everyone else.

“
Sloan,” called Pappy, “you're my new best friend.” He leaned the flight stick over, rolled his Vulcan and pulled hard, looping under. “Let's go ladies; we've got a score to settle. Let's make some
NOISE..!”

EPILOGUE

VELORA PRIME :
CONQUEST – IT ISN'T JUST A NAME

It had been a costly engagement for both sides, more so for the pirates, but it came dangerously close to going the other way. In fact it should have, but by the grace of God... Or was it fate? Maybe fate was one of God's tools... Or maybe it was predestined, written down somewhere on some ancient scroll, or in some dusty book.

Voorlak had once told Steele he was special but he didn't feel very special at that moment, he had lost the Freedom and thirty-nine people.
His
people. And that cut into his gut like a knife.

The Pirates lost three destroyers, a carrier, a battleship, and some forty-odd fighters. Remarkably, all four of the cruisers managed to jump out, as damaged as they were. He estimated two of the four would need to be abandoned if they survived their jump-transit. The final remaining destroyer, successfully got himself turned around and back through the gate on one engine, with a handful of fighters following behind. Jack figured their losses easily approached three thousand lives.

But that didn't add up to thirty-nine people he knew the names and faces of.

Beyond the point of recovery and repair, the Freedom defied all mechanical explanations, remaining structurally in one piece despite her staggering damage. That very fact saved the rest of her crew as she did her best to protect them. It seemed a fitting end to send her into the Velorian sun. A Viking's funeral of sorts.