Wings of Steele- The Series, page 153
part #1 of Wings of Steele Series
Lisa wrinkled her nose, “It can be pretty... in a rugged sort of way but if I had my druthers, it would be something with trees and water. Too many rattlesnakes and scorpions down there for my taste.”
“You like it colder?”
“Lisa adjusted the throttle, slowing their approach to the waypoint, “Only for short visits. I grew up in the snow, it kinda wore out its welcome. I prefer something a little more tropical, nowadays.”
Draza Mac tapped his sensor screen, “I have four new bogies coming off the ground to the west of us.”
“Crap that's Area 51. Where are the others?”
“Seven-hundred miles behind us, I think we'll be long gone before they reach us. But these four are pretty close... Uh, oh. OK, I have four more. Different location a little south from the ones out of Area 51. This area's going to get hot pretty quick.”
“There are military bases all around out here... Landing zone coming up...” announced Lisa, “Switching to ARC.”
■ ■ ■
Having reached the coordinates, Brian leaned forward, concentrating on the big screen, “On the mark... Helm take us down.” A series of live-feed video squares appeared along the bottom of the big screen, showing different angles on the ground and horizon around the ship. “Landing party ready for deployment?”
“Aye sir, and the Admiral is with them...”
Brian leaned back, and shot a glance past Maria, “Geez, I didn't even see him leave.”
“Reaper off the port bow, ARC system active,” called Maria. “We've got four, low and slow, coming from the Area 51 in the west. I'm reading two Blackhawks and two Apache gunships. Four F-16s coming in from the south. All gunners stay alert.”
“Looks like we've got one vehicle on the ground... five people,” noted Brian. “Ready gear for severely uneven terrain...”
“Aye, gear deploying, set for auto leveling. We won't set full weight, Commander; I'm adjusting antigravity for seventy-five percent.”
Jack's voice cut in on the comm, “EWO, jam the signals on that AWACS...”
“Aye, Admiral,” she replied, initiating the touch screen she had readied, “jamming active.”
■ ■ ■
Standing there, stunned into inaction, Chase Holt was not aware his mouth was hanging open until the cloud of dust and grit that blew past them like hot wasteland entered his mouth, making him gag and turn away, the ground rumbling beneath their feet as the black ship settled to the desert floor less than a hundred feet away. The only person who seemed to be more excited than awed, was Dan Murphy, clapping his hands in approval, Dancing Rain hidden behind him.
Karen hid from the sandstorm behind the back door of the pickup truck and Jesse ducked behind the driver's door while Chase spit sand and grit out of his mouth, his back to the ship and drifting microdust.
Karen's wail hit Chase like an air raid siren and a quick glance told him she was truly terrified, peeking above the rear door glass, her eyes wide with terror. He spun on his heel, a squad of heavily armed mechanical men thundering down a short ramp into the sand, breaking left and right, their feet making a hollow metallic clom, clom clom as they ran, watching the desert in a semi-circle, scanning the horizon through their weapon sights. He was mesmerized by the fluidity of their motion and almost human gestures. He stepped around from in front of the driver's door to snatch her from where she stood, petrified like a statue, into his arms, holding her close, “It's alright...” although he wasn't so sure himself, his heart pounding in his ears with a deafening thrum. There was a lot of yelling and waving but he understood none of it, sounding metallic and distorted. Allie and DOG, Rain's Coyote/Wolf hybrid were out of the cab circling, barking at everything and nothing. There was a man standing at the top of the ramp yelling in what sounded like English, waving them in, but it was all such a blur when one of the machines jumped to its feet and tromped toward them, waving, pointing toward the ship.
There was no sound when the mechanical unit crouched behind the one approaching lost his weapon, the mangled thing flipping out of his hand in slow motion, something heavy hitting the truck to Chase's right. He caught the deformation of the driver's door out of his peripheral vision as an explosive splash of red and metallic whang cut through the pickup truck, exiting out the other side. He didn't have to look to know Jesse was dead, cut in half by the round.
A .50 caliber Barrett does that... Sound, smell, taste, heat, electricity, all came rushing in at once, military conditioning flooding forth, “SNIIIPERRR!” Snatching Karen around her waist he yanked her off her feet, sprinting for the ramp, looking over his shoulder at Dan and Rain. “Move! Move! Move! Allieeee...!”
The ship's main guns pummeled the ridgeline nearly a mile away as an Apache passed over the ship into view, the chaingun on the chin tracking the commotion on the ground. The armored unit that had run towards Chase and Karen spun on it's heel, planted it's feet and unleashed a long burst of fire on it, the gun sounding like a cross between a Gatling and a laser, the rounds punching holes through the armored helicopter which immediately began to smoke heavily, turning away and heading for open desert, a swirling ribbon of black marking its retreat.
Forming a shifting line of protective armor, the machines provided a wall to the ramp allowing Dan and Rain to run across the open toward the ship, each outside-end machine peeling off one-by-one as they moved back themselves.
■ ■ ■
The waist door closed and sealed, the Revenge lifted off the floor of the desert, a low-grade hum filling the bay, the deck rumbling underfoot. Ignoring the chatter, the crying women and the circling pack of dogs running about, Steele grabbed his stunned friend by the elbow, “Chase... Chase! Where are they? Where are we going?”
Chase blinked mechanically, pulling a paper map from his back pocket, pointing to his notes, “Just outside of Kingman, Arizona...”
Jack stepped away from the low din and cupped his hand over his ear, reading the coordinates to Brian on the bridge.
“Copy that, Jack. We'll be there in about ten minutes...”
Rain was on her knees wailing, Dan trying to console her, “What about Jesse?” she cried, “We need to go back for Jesse.”
Still in his armor, Dale Alaroot dropped to one knee with a muffled clank, machine gun cradled across his body in one arm, his visor up, “I'm sorry for your friend ma'am, there's nothing we can do for him...”
She recoiled in fear, able to see the face peering out of the metal man, unable to understand him. Seeing this, Steele stepped back to the four humans huddled together, “He said he's sorry, but there's nothing we could do for him.”
“What are they?” Rain whispered, her eyes shifting nervously from one Marine to the next.
“People in armored suits. They're Space Marines.” He looked over at Dale, “You guys OK to do this one more time?”
Corporal Dunnom held up his mangled carbine, “I need another pea shooter...”
Dale Alaroot smiled, “Sure. That went too quick, we were just getting warmed up...” His face shifted to serious, “Sorry about the kid though, I don't think he was the target...”
After a few words with the Marines, Steele returned to the traumatized group. “Let's get you guys up to the infirmary and then...”
“Jack,” urged Chase, “We need to go back, we left our packs and bags...”
“And our laptops,” reminded Dan.
“Yeah...” continued Chase. “We have nearly twenty grand in cash in our gear bags. It's all we have to survive...”
Jack shook his head with an interrupting wave of his hand. “Guys, we're not going back. You're not going back...”
“We have work to do... a mission...” interrupted Dan.
“Getting killed isn't a great career choice, my Brother.” He shifted his eyes around the group, “I know this is a lot to absorb. I know it's all foreign and weird...” He pointed at Fritz, Allie and DOG sitting in a row, watching their humans converse, “Take their example; remain calm. Try to take it in stride.” He pulled TESS' holo-screen up to check the progress to the coordinates and closed it again, seeing the startled looks. “This will all make sense soon enough. I have to stay down here for the next jump off, but you need to go to the infirmary and get translator discs, it'll help you understand what's going on around here...”
“How do we find it? Are we just going to wander around?”
“Fritz will take you up there, just follow him...”
Chase frowned, “Are you serious?”
“Fritz, please take them up to the infirmary for translator discs,” waved Jack.
The Shepard rose and strolled up to the group, rubbing Jack's leg and touching his hand with his nose as he passed. “Sure. OK, everybody follow me.” He walked past, heading to the elevator, slowing to look over his shoulder, “C'mon, follow me. Stay together.”
■ ■ ■
The heat was staggering, a wind blowing across the desolate terrain like an unrelenting blast furnace. A range of purple mountains shrouded in heat waves stretched across the backdrop and flat-topped buttes jutted out of the desert floor. Kyle Steele stood next to a barrel cactus in jeans and a loose white t-shirt looking bronzed, nearly sunburned. His t-shirt flapping in the breeze, he scoured the horizon with binoculars, “Lynette... Lynette!”
The big helicopters were back again, but this time they weren't searching the desert in long sweeping patterns, they were headed straight for the house. For at least a week they had been searching the desert, the canyons, the ranches. He hustled back to the house, his aching knees preventing him from a real run. Past the large angular boulders bordering the rock garden, past the pool, over the deck, almost colliding with his wife as she strolled out through the french doors, dishtowel in hand.
“What on Earth are you shouting about?”
“Military helicopters.” Kyle steered her back through the doors, into the modern adobe ranch house built partially into the side of a foothill, the only structure for at least five miles. “They're headed here...” He pulled the cheap cell phone Phil Cooper had given him for emergencies out of his pocket and flipped it open, texting 911 to the only number programmed into the phone. He had taken to carrying with him wherever he went the day the helicopters first appeared. Jamming it back in his pocket as soon as the message sent successfully, he continued to steer her. “Pete? C'mon Pete! Where is...”
The Black Lab trotted out of the kitchen, his tail swaying, looking up at Kyle, water bowl drool running down his chin.
“What do we do?”
“Storm shelter...” he replied, guiding her through the house across the Mexican tile floors, Pete following closely behind.
“You know how I hate that thing. Have you cleaned out all the scorpions yet?”
“Yes, yes...” he said tediously, passing a native Indian totem pole carved into one of the house's main support posts. Once in the dual purpose, man cave - office, he pulled on the wall-sized media center and it swung smoothly away from the wall, mounted to a door, suspended mere millimeters from the surface of the floor. Ushering her in, Kyle pulled the heavy vault door closed behind them and turned the manual locking wheel, sending the pistons into the surrounding steel and concrete frame.
“I always feel like I'm going to suffocate in here,” complained Lynette looking around the darkened concrete room lined with shelves of food and water, bunk beds lining another wall. Pete walked around sniffing the floor, inspecting each and every corner.
Kyle didn't offer a reply, flipping on a switch, lighting the windowless but sizable room. At twenty-five feet by thirty feet, it was comfortable, holding enough food and water for several months. At the back of the house, tucked completely into the hill and sitting on bedrock, the room remained a constant seventy degrees, the previous owners having used it as a wine cellar. Air vents hidden above them at the top of the hill in the low trees, scrub and rocks, provided filtered, fresh air. Kyle had added a coax cable and a camouflaged Ham Radio antenna rigged to the trunk of one of the trees, its top hidden in the leaves. He moved to the small desk and flipped on the Ham Radio...
■ ■ ■
Marine Warrant Office Dale Alaroot locked the heavy armored torso to the frame tabs sticking out of the waist, the legs and torso now powered as the system connections linked up. “Boss are you sure you want to do this? I told you we'd handle it for you...”
“I know...”
“What changed your mind?”
Steele shrugged inside the suit, the armored shoulders moving up and down, “I don't know Dale, it just feels like something I should do.”
Dale held up Steele's TRS brace, “You sure you're not going to need this thing?”
“I'd wear it but it doesn't fit in here...”
Dale hung it on an empty armor rack, “The suits are pretty snug. I'm glad we had one that fit you... But don't make me regret taking you along, I don't want to catch flack from Doc...”
“Let me worry about Doc. He said I couldn't fly, he didn't say I couldn't walk.”
“Or shoot?”
“Right, or shoot.”
Dale locked Steele's helmet in place, “Systems and HUD up?”
Jack scanned the information on the heads-up display that positioned itself in front of his eyes no matter which way his head moved, visor up or down. “It's a lot like our flight helmets. Yep, everything seems to be good.” He accepted the carbine, attaching the sling to his shoulder mount. He noticed when he looked at the other Marines, a No Shoot and X appeared over their target outline. Nice.
“Bridge to Admiral Steele, sixty seconds to ground. We have targets on the ground and in the air. Sending images to your TESS.”
TESS' holographic screen appeared above his armored wrist, live video of three desert camouflaged helicopters, one on the ground, two in the air, men moving about and two desert camouflaged armored vehicles on the dirt road, a Humvee and an MRAP.
“If they engage us, shoot them down,” he ordered.
“Aye, sir.”
A red light near the ship's door frame winked to yellow, “Popping seal!” yelled a deck hand.
■ ■ ■
With the ARC system on, Lisa eased up within a hundred feet of one of the helicopters hovering a football field's distance from the house on overwatch, swinging her nose to bear on the cockpit from an angle, the pilot in the crosshairs of her gun pipper. “Mac, where did those F-16s go?”
“One of the security flights from the Conquest is running them ragged. There are two other flights in the area, F-35s and they're busy too. We have one flight in reserve about ten miles from here.”
The Revenge came screaming in from her left, behind the helicopters, skimming the undulating dessert terrain, a massive cloud of dust behind her. Her nose reared up as she came to a hover, settling level and descending to the sand, an armor plate on her waist popping open and sliding up the side of the hull, revealing the reinforced door within. Lisa saw the moment the pilot she was watching noticed the intrusion and she switched the ARC system off, the Reaper slowly appearing like glitter in the sun, toggling her shields on, the hum of her shield generator whining up.
“Door gunner just woke up...”
“I see him.” The pilot's head whipped around on the gunner's call and the surprise on his face quickly turned to determination. She shook her head in an exaggerated no, “Don't do it buddy...”
The door gunner let loose, the heavy machine gun rounds splashing on the shields as the pilot swung the nose.”
“He has rocket pods...”
Lisa squeezed the trigger, the turret's Cryo Gauss Guns rattling a burst of frozen exploding metal spikes through the armored skin, heavy Lexan cockpit perspex and pilot, who completely disappeared in an obscene splash of red slop. It blew the gunner out of the helicopter door and he hung unconscious in his harness as the mangled bird dropped out of the sky and crushed itself into the desert below, creating a miniature sandstorm.
She watched a little too long, seeing the Marines drop down the Revenge's ramp to the sand, passing into the dust storm, fire and smoke. The clattering of hammer blows on the Reaper's hull illicited a simultaneous slew of profanities as she cranked the antigravity actuator, vaulting her ship straight up out of the line of fire, nudging the throttle.
“Break! Break!” The Reaper leaned over and the artificial gravity generator struggled to keep up with the demand when Lisa punched the throttle, pilot and EWO grunting under the pressure. “Firing decoys,” gasped Draza Mac. The missile detonated harmlessly near the second decoy, Lisa pulling the throttle back into the negative, sliding the Reaper flatly around over twenty miles away from their starting point. She bought the nose around and the moment the gun pipper passed over the computer's outline of the chopper she squeezed the trigger, the ammo chain feed rattling as the guns chattered, rewarded by an instant fireball. “Prick...” she hissed, easing the throttle back up. “Damage?”
“Shield loss was momentary, all systems running normally.”
■ ■ ■
In response to being fired upon, the Revenge's defensive miniguns were clattering away as the hull door opened, cutting the helicopter that was sitting on the ground in half. It fell apart like someone had sawed it into pieces. Stepping out onto the ramp was a dicey proposition as a rain of helicopter parts fell from the sky, a smoking fuselage slamming into the ground a hundred feet away with a crushing thud. Debris and sand splashed against Steele as he tromped down to the rocky sand, his visor down, the helmet's visual pickups allowing him to see through the blowing smoke and debris.
What looked like soldiers in full desert gear poured out of the house and had already positioned themselves outside their vehicles along the gravel road to the house. Small arms fire erupted from multiple angles, forcing the armored UFW Marines to engage with brutal superior force.
