Wings of Steele- The Series, page 159
part #1 of Wings of Steele Series
One word stood out above the rest, “Did somebody say nukes?” he asked.
■ ■ ■
Vice Admiral Jack Steele stepped away from the podium and urgently waved Lisa to his side, turning his back on the audience and news cameras.
“Talk to me,” she said, getting close.
Steele glanced around, “I need you to keep these people occupied. I don't care how you do it; maybe tell them about flying in a fighter, show them some flight videos of the systems we've been through. Or you could even take them to the galley and feed them. But don't release the satellites. We want to maintain control of the signals...”
“Won't we lose viewers?”
Steele pinched his lower lip for a moment, “Not if we have communications play an InterGal News broadcast until we get this handled and get back on the air...”
The holo-screen on Jack's eGo-H popped into existence floating above the unit that encircled his wrist. The Tactical Engine Synthetic Service animated character, TESS, appeared on screen. “Admiral,” she began in a very human female voice, “the bridge is forwarding a communication from Red Flight Leader...” TESS's image shrunk and moved to one side, Commander Dar Sloan's face appearing from the cockpit of his Lancia fighter.
“Admiral, we've got incoming; two birds. I don't recognize them and there's no computer ident of any kind...”
“Where are they coming from, Commander?” asked Steele.
“The surface, sir. I was pretty sure I remember you saying your planet didn't have any spacecraft to speak of.”
“NASA shuttles...” countered Jack, “but I thought the program was canceled.”
Eavesdropping, Chase Holt trotted over from where he'd been standing. “The shuttle program is dead, Jack. They might be X-37B Spaceplanes, we saw two of them leave Area 51.” He pointed at the holographic screen, “What do they look like?”
Steele grabbed the corner of the free-floating hologram and turned the screen toward Chase, as Commander Dar Sloane shared the target's profile provided by his fighter's computer. Chase nodded, “Yeah, that's an X-37B alright. They're unmanned but they're not unarmed. I don't think they could offer any real threat to your fighters though...”
Jack raised an eyebrow, “What kind of weapons do they have?”
“As far as we know, it's a smaller version of the lasers you guys destroyed on the ground. Templar Commandery's intel says it was developed to take out enemy satellites.”
Steele raised an eyebrow, “I wonder if they're thinking of using them against those nukes...”
Chase shook his head, “No idea if they're capable of that or not...”
Jack went back to TESS's screen, “Commander, give them a wide berth but keep an eye on them. Keep us apprised.”
“Aye, Admiral. Red Leader out.” His face vanished and the screen closed on its own, disappearing.
Steele slapped his friend on the shoulder, “Chase, you're with me...” Heading to the elevators, Jack waved at Commander Derrik Brighton, the GIS, Galactic Intelligence Service agent whose real name was Colonel Durock Brithauz. He called him by the name he knew him best; “Mr. Brighton...!”
■ ■ ■
Side by side, Fritz and Allie trotted effortlessly to keep up with their human's long hurried strides, heading up the corridor toward the bridge of the Conquest. Vice Admiral Steele was absorbed in thought, torn between the press conference and the fact that the surface of Earth had taken that moment to erupt in random acts of highly destructive violence. He had to remind himself that the actions were likely diversions of the criminals they sought. Chaos meant time, time to disappear. “Mr. Brighton, these latest developments are seriously disturbing. Did you have any idea nuclear responses were likely?”
“Our intelligence... Well, these situations are rarely predictable Admiral...”
“I don't hear a no in there Mr. Brighton...”
“I'm sorry sir, these things are difficult to foresee...”
Steele raised an eyebrow in aggravation, “So this has never happened before?” He glanced at the Commander who was slow to answer. “Uh, huh,” snorted Jack. “Again, not hearing a no in there. Y'know, a little warning might have been nice. A little heads-up on someone possibly pulling a nuclear trigger so we could have been prepared for it...”
Walking on opposite sides of the Admiral, Derrik shot Chase Holt a glance, hoping for some kind of diversion or break. Chase gave no indication of that, instead just listening to the conversation. Or verbal beating, if you will.
“Look, Admiral, these people have been in play for a long time, some for decades. Their plans have suddenly come to an abrupt end and they don't know what to do about it. They're desperate, they may be looking to misdirect our action so they can make an exit...”
Steele stopped abruptly in the corridor, the two German Shepherds trailing behind them nearly crashing into his legs, Chase Holt and Derrik Brighton stopping a few steps beyond him. “That's not what you said before we started this thing,” Jack scowled. “I remember it very clearly, you said many of these people would go underground and hide... you never said anything about nuclear launches.” He started walking again, “Dammit, this isn't some geeky socioeconomic science experiment,” he waved angrily, “it's my fucking home. There's over seven billion people down there. Don't you think nuclear chaos and mass incineration of millions of people should have been something you should have mentioned...?”
“Honestly, Admiral, our intelligence indicated...”
“Fuck your intelligence, it was wrong. I expected better from you, mister. As a member of this task force and a member of my crew, I expected you to look out for my best interests. That includes information that you are privy to, that you think may or may not be applicable to our situation. I want your insight, your instincts, your experience, historical relevance and any other damn tidbit of information you can possibly think of. Do I make myself clear...?” He resumed his stride toward the bridge.
“It's my home too, Admiral,” objected Commander Brighton, turning to keep up with the Admiral as he passed.
“No it's not, you don't have anything invested in that planet,” commented Steele. He clenched his teeth, “We would have been better off sending down extraction teams...”
“Are we past that?” asked Chase, keeping pace.
“We are well past that, my Brother.”
■ ■ ■
Steele knew he was demanding a lot of Commander Brighton, Colonel Brithauz, for information that the GIS was probably withholding, closely guarded. But at this point, Jack was not interested in playing their stupid need to know games, and he didn't give a shit if it put the Commander in a tight spot. Conflict of interest be damned, he wanted to know everything he needed to put an end to this insanity they had dubbed Operation Magic Pawn before his planet imploded. The Admiral snapped a return salute to the Marine at the entry to the bridge as he passed through the doors.
The bridge was a flurry of activity, all the stations full, the lights muted, extra personnel doubling up to coordinate information between the ships of the task force and the Conquest. Captain Anthony Ryan hazarded a quick salute, “Admiral.”
After years of military service some habits die hard and Chase Holt saluted out of sheer reflex, shrugging it off with a sheepish look.
“Captain,” replied Steele saluting back, ignoring his friend's faux pas. “Give me a sitrep.”
“The missile fired by Iran had a very low trajectory, Admiral. It gave us no chance to mitigate its destruction with altitude. The warhead went live as soon as it entered Iranian airspace. We shot it down and the nuke detonated over open desert in Iraq, about fifty miles from the Jordanian border. Sensors indicate there were no population centers affected...”
“There may be fallout...” countered Steele. “What's closest to the detonation?”
“Ramadi in Iraq and Aman in Jordan, and they're well over a hundred miles away.”
Steele nodded, “Continue.”
Captain Ryan waved them over to the holographic chart table, the Earth suspended in detail, Green icons floating around it. “I have taken the liberty to spread the Task Force around the planet, assigning zones for best coverage. The ships are sharing real time sensor data...”
“North Korean warhead reaching its apex, Captain,” called the tactical officer. “Its payload is active...”
“Is it clear of the atmosphere?” asked Steele.
“Yes, sir.”
Captain Ryan pointed at the bridge's floor to ceiling holo-screen that wrapped around the room, a green diamond with notations to one side, a glittering speck in the center. “The Revenge is in position, she's locked on...” A quick streak of magenta triggered a brief but intense yellow-white flash that made Steele and everyone else on the bridge squint.
“Target eliminated,” announced the tactical officer.
Steele let out a sigh of relief. Maybe cooler heads...
“Uh... Captain?”
“Go ahead Ensign,” said Captain Ryan stepping back toward his command chair.
“Sir, we have a huge spark in activity...”
“What kind of activity?” interrupted Steele.
The tactical officer looked over his shoulder at the Captain and Admiral, “It looks like
launcher activity... lots of them...”
“Launch!” called an Electronics Warfare Officer at a sensor station. “Active launches! I have one, two, no three... make that five... Iran and North Korea again.”
“Shoot them down,” ordered Steele, “now...!” A proliferation of little red dots appeared on the holo-screen spreading across the globe, hundreds if not thousands. The United States, Russia, Europe, Great Britain, China, Israel. “What the hell is that?”
“Active launch systems sir,” came the reply.
“What the hell could they hit without the GPS satellites?”
Chase leaned close, “It's called math, Jack. They have lists of targets with coordinates, fuel loads, travel times and flight paths all pre-calculated. GPS gives them pinpoint accuracy, within feet. These are nukes, they could be several miles off target and it wouldn't matter...”
“Good point...” acknowledged Jack, smoothing his mustache.
“Revenge and Westwind are firing... ” indicated Captain Ryan, pointing at the big screen. Magenta streaks reached out from the ships, just icons on the screen, toward the planet below.
The communications officer turned in his seat, “Captain we have a heavily encrypted message coming from the surface...”
“Decrypt and report,” ordered Captain Ryan.
“It may take a while sir, this isn't our code. I've never seen it before...”
Anthony Ryan spun his seat to face Jack, “Think there's someone else out here Admiral?”
“Mr. Smiley!” shouted Steele, “Get some extra birds out and scrub this system!”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Flight operations, mere feet away down a short flight of stairs at the rear of the bridge, made electronic communication slower than simply shouting. Commander of the Flight Group, Captain Paul Smiley, tapped the launch alarm putting the pilots and their fighters in motion, “White and Yellow Flights, prepare to launch!”
■ ■ ■
On the deck below, the launch horn sounded briefly as the pilots lingering near their fighters scrambled up the ladders to their cockpits, stunned news crews and visitors watching in awe from the forward area of the bay. The interlocking steel doors in front of the fighters sitting in their launch racks, were suddenly obscured by a translucent blue stasis fields winking to life. As soon as the stasis fields were stable the doors parted across the middle, hydraulic pumps thrumming, a toothy maw opening up to the darkness of space, the flicker of stars visible beyond the wavering blue veils.
The visitors stood open-mouthed, fascinated by the machinations. Just seconds before the lights above the doors winked green, Lisa Steele got to the podium mic, “Ladies and gentlemen, you might want to cover your ears...”
The launch-ready lights above the doors flashed green and the catapults fired, their sleds slamming to their stops, flinging White and Yellow Flights into the void. Almost immediately, the elevators in the center of the bay dropped out of sight, creating two huge holes in the floor, only to return moments later carrying fighters from the hangar deck to load the empty launch racks.
The launch doors closed, the stasis fields winked out and the visitors continued to stare in disbelief, watching the sudden activity all around the bay. Lisa tapped on the mic “Ladies and Gentlemen... you can uncover your ears now...”
■ ■ ■
“Targets destroyed, Capt... Waaait...” cautioned the tactical officer, interrupting himself.
“What?” asked Steele suspiciously, stepping toward the center of the bridge to survey the big screen. The kachunk and accompanying vibration of the launch racks as they slingshot the fighters into space, first from one side of the ship, then the other, preceded arcs of light that raced away from the Conquest like comets.
The Tactical Officer began marking icons on the big screen from his control panel, “Pre-launch indications across the globe...”
“How can you tell?” queried Steele.
“Thermal sensors and electronic surge sensors.”
Steele pointed at the big screen, “All ships target and destroy any ICBM with engines on... get them in the silos before they're...”
“We have launches, Admiral...”
“...in the air,” finished Steele. “Dammit. Shoot them down. Get them while they're low and slow...”
“Units firing...”
Even the guns of the Conquest were engaged, the ships main rail guns blasting away with a rumble and vibration Steele had never felt before; long, flaming steel alloy projectiles racing across the darkness down toward the planet below. The other ships in the fleet were newer ships with newer weapons and systems that were more graceful and reliable than the old noisy rail guns on the Conquest. What the rail guns lacked in targeting range and service life, due to their wearable components, they made up for in close quarters combat, dishing out brutal, hull-crushing, hammer-of-God penetrating power.
“We have launches all across the globe... United States, Russia, China, Great Britain, Israel... now Pakistan and India...”
Steele's mouth was suddenly dry, his stomach in knots. He was watching the end. “Shoot them all,” he croaked. “Once we have the air clear, start killing the ones in the silos...”
“Even if they're not pre-launch?”
“Even if they're not pre-launch,” he confirmed. “These morons can't be trusted with a match and a can of gasoline,” he growled.
Chase Holt leaned in, “Jack, don't forget about subs and planes with nuke payloads...”
Steele rubbed his face, “Christ, I forgot all about them...” He swiped at TESS on his left wrist, “TESS; Lisa Steele...”
TESS's holo-screen popped into existence above his wrist, “Contacting Lisa Steele.”
Lisa's face appeared in the holograph, “Go ahead Admiral.”
“Lisa, there are few people from that group that might be helpful up here on the bridge...”
CHAPTER THREE
TERRAN SYSTEM : FREERANGER DESTROYER DD217
Having pulled back, concealed in the massive shadow of Saturn, FreeRanger destroyers DD217 and DD62 were closely monitoring the events on Earth with a remote sensor hidden in the asteroid belt beyond Mars near the dwarf planet, Ceres. Avoiding discovery by the roaming UFW fighter patrols scouring the system was critical if they were going to be of any use at all to the FreeRanger operatives on the blue and green planet. It wasn't the first time a man-made near extinction event was used as an exit strategy, though it was generally a last resort.
Commander T. B. Yafusco had never been fond of the highly controversial tactic that was neither approved nor condemned by the FreeRanger Council. Taking the neutral position of don't ask-don't tell, the Council maintained a level of innocence and plausible deniability of events where their freelance operatives were engaged. But by the same token, they realized a heavy liability existed if those operatives were captured by the UFW even if the agents didn't know their employers were actually the FreeRanger Economic Consortium. Shell corporations working under the guise of free enterprise isolated the Consortium to some extent, but discovery meant jeopardizing many of their legitimate contracts involving the UFW, which would certainly dissolve, creating heavy economic hardship for the FreeRanger network. Even legitimate companies used operatives like the ones currently on Earth, working hand-in hand with the Economic Consortium subsidiaries. It was business after all and profit was king.
But everyone knew what the UFW's super-secret GIS, Galactic Intelligence Service, was capable of... most operatives would crumble under their investigation and interrogation. Which meant getting them the hellion off the planet was imperative. Unfortunately, Commander Tibby Yafusco was fresh out of spare assault fleets to take on what the UFW had in place around the planet.
Tibby stopped pacing around his ready room and stared at the holo-chart, his hands on his hips, Commander Kindre Thurmer gazed at him from the screen of the monitor on his desk. His bridge officer and fiancee, Ensign Grinah stood with her arms folded across her chest, leaning against the bulkhead, quietly monitoring the conversation, his first officer, Lieutenant Dash Zarnev sat casually on the sofa, his legs crossed at the knee.
Tibby leaned on the edge of the chart table with both hands, letting his head drop, stretching his neck muscles, “I am not sacrificing our ships for these people... because that's what it would be, suicide.”
“Agreed, Tibby,” nodded Kindre Thurmer. “It would be a waste... and nothing would change, the agents would still end up in the hands of the UFW.”
“We wouldn't make it half way,” added Dash, “much less make it out.”
“What about after the event?” asked Grinah. “Think the fleet would go down for aid and recovery?”
