Wings of Steele- The Series, page 36
part #1 of Wings of Steele Series
If Paul hadn't had his helmet on he would've liked to scratch his head. "You're kidding right?" Jack admitted he wasn't. "Well, maybe... I don't know," shrugged Paul. "Sounds kinda' lame, but we'll try it."
"Thanks." Jack wanted to avoid an engagement. Three to one was lousy odds, not to mention being severely short on crew and ship readiness. He dropped to the deck from the shuttle to see Trigoss and the ground crew, now loading it. "What are you doing?! We need to get out of here! Let's go!"
"Just another minute, Captain," said Trigoss, we're almost done. You go, we'll be alright."
Jack just then realized Brian and Walrick were nowhere to be seen. "Where'd they go?" He looked around frantically.
The engineer thumbed over his shoulder. "Took two Lancias and headed back, you should too..." He never stopped loading the shuttle. "Go on, get out of here. Myomerr's got the other one, I'll get this one." Jack looked up as the loaded shuttle lifted off the deck, Myomerr waved through the cockpit perspex before rotating towards the bay door.
Jack looked around at the fighters. "Which one?"
"That one..." Trigoss pointed at a Zulu gunship. "These two wouldn't start," he motioned toward the next two Lancias in line. "So we warmed up that one. Get going Captain."
Steele trotted across the bay to the boarding ladder hanging from the belly of the gunship. "Hurry up, Chief," he urged before ascending the ladder. The Engineer watched the ladder retract as he loaded the shuttle.
The Zulu had a two man cockpit but one man could fly it without any assistance. The second officer acted as an offensive weapons officer, and other two crewmen operated the defensive gun turrets. One turret was on the bottom at the stern of the ship, the other on the top of the hull, forward of the center.
Jack glanced around at the panels, all the systems were on and the engine burners warmed up. He flipped on the antigravity and started his taxi glide as he secured his harness. He steered clear of the parked Lancias and, pushing the stick forward, accelerated past the shuttle and toward the open bay door. Once outside, he retracted the gear, fired the four engines and headed toward the Freedom. As he cleared the debris field, he saw two fighters emerge from under the nose of the Freedom.
"Warthog Leader, this is Flight Two, vector us to your locale." Jack recognized Brian's voice.
"Roger, Flight Two, here are the co-ordinates..." Paul read off the numbers. "Where's Leader One?"
"He'll be along shortly," answered Brian.
The three ships had advanced about halfway into Paul's sensor screen and stopped. He contemplated contact to see if he could determine what their alliance might be. His identification screen gave him a technical two-view line picture, but it was in white which meant the computer received ambiguous information about the target's identity. He decided to wait.
Jack rounded the stern of the Freedom, lowered his gear and fired braking jets. "On my final approach, tower..." The tower cleared his approach.
"This is Shuttle Two," called Trigoss. "We're clear of the freighter and on our way back." The tower acknowledged the transmission.
"Well done, Chief," injected Jack, “did you remember to leave behind our party favors...?”
“That is affirmative...”
"Excellent. Hustle up, Shuttle Two, it's starting to warm up out here..." He passed through the stasis field, braked early and bounced hard on the deck. He quickly adjusted the pressure up on the antigravity, he'd forgotten this was a much heavier ship than the others.
"Warthog Leader to tower, one of these ships is a light carrier. It has just launched! Please advise!"
Jack tore at his harness and flipped off the Zulu's antigravity. He was out of his seat before it had stopped sliding on the deck. Popping the belly hatch, he slid down the ladder holding its sides and dropped to the deck. A crewman struggled to keep pace with the pilot's long legs as he ran towards the Lancia waiting on the port launch tube. "Tell him to engage!" shouted Jack as they ran. "Hit and run! We need time to recover the shuttle and take up the new heading!" The lineman repeated the orders into his headset as they ran, falling behind the faster pilot.
■ ■ ■
"Roger, Freedom." Pappy did a wing over and broke toward the enemy formation. "Let's go, boys. Time to mix it up." he throttled up to half, waiting for the others to group up. "Derrik, you're Leader Two, keep the fighters busy."
"Right-o."
"Mad Dog," continued Paul, "you're with me. We're going straight through to that carrier and ruin their day." Mike gave his wing leader a vigorous thumbs up.
Eight Fallken fighters spread out in a line abreast. Derrik sent the two Lancias wide, he stayed in the center. Paul and Mike, some distance behind him, were ready to take advantage of any hole in the line and dash for the carrier.
Derrik nosed up, rolled and increasing throttle, came down on the Fallkens from above. "Tally-Ho, boys! Give em' hell!" Brian and Walrick swung inwards and screamed in from the flanks, firing their laser cannons at range. Derrik switched to full guns and waited for the distance to close for his Gatling gun. He lead the first Fallken perfectly and hammered it soundly. It rolled to one side to evade, its shields utterly decimated.
Brian had hit the fighter on his end with four laser cannons. While not as powerful as the Gatling, they had twice the range. So by the time the Fallken was in range of Brian's Gatling gun, its shields were gone. The pirate turned his fighter away from Brian, offering an irresistible shot. Brian squeezed the trigger and watched the strikes walk down the side of the Fallken's hull. Tiny flashes of flame appeared, then disappeared, unable to burn on in space. Brian released the trigger only when he realized the guns had exhausted their charge. He winged off, disappointed to not see the pirate fighter die. It was only momentary. There was a brief flicker of light below him, and a lone Fallken wing sailed past. "Hasta la vista, dude..." He throttled up and headed back toward the melee.
Derrik had put some serious damage to his first strike-victim but couldn't seem to get behind him long enough to finish him off. He kept having to shake off other fighters. "I say, die you filthy little rodent!" He squeezed off a brief shot as the pirate zigzagged his damaged fighter.
Changing tactics, he backed off to get a missile lock. The sudden vibration coming from his stern told him he had other problems. He twisted around in his seat to see two Fallkens scissoring behind him. Laser streaks flashed by his cockpit. "Oh bloody hell!" He glanced down at his defense screen, his stern shield was gone. The computer toned, indicating a lock and he thumbed off a missile. At almost the same time, the Warthog bucked hard. Warning bells rang and he fought the stick as the Warthog spun flatly sideways. He thumbed the boost button and the instant thrust snapped him back into straight flight, blowing the forcing cone out of his damaged port engine. The middle of his engine glowed red hot as ruptured fuel lines sprayed fuel over the outside of the thrust burners.
Walrick was just behind the pirates on Derrik's tail but he couldn't get there fast enough. His heart sank as he saw the damaged Warthog spin away. He picked a fighter and locked on. Clearing the safety, he fired two missiles and broke off, winging after the second one. If Derrik was still alive, Walrick knew he needed to keep the pirates away. He chased down the second fighter and destroyed it with a long burst from all guns. The pirate made no attempt to evade, he foolishly tried to outrun the faster Lancia.
As Jack emerged from the Freedom's launch tube, he flew straight into the guns of an approaching Fallken. "SHIT!" He squeezed the trigger out of reflex and yanked back hard on the stick. His guns did nothing, he hadn't had a chance to arm them yet. But he felt the impact of the pirates lasers on his own shields. He thumbed the boost and reached for the gun switches.
The pirate didn't follow, instead he broke off and attacked the Freedom. Gun batteries opened up on him, drawing from their charges. Once empty, they would not be able to recharge, as all power would be dedicated to the ship's defensive shields.
Jack winged over, guns armed, pursuing the pirate low over the surface of the Freedom's hull. "Warthog One to Freedom, looks like they're launching a second wave..."
"Damn! Bridge, this is the Captain, take up the new course heading and shove off. Now!" Jack powered back and jinked to line up his guns. He squeezed the trigger and watched the Fallken disintegrate, its shields already damaged by the Freedom's gunners. "Clear!" He pulled back on the stick and looped back, heading toward the far side of the debris field. Jack looked at his watch, there wasn't much time left. He shoved the throttle open and fired boost.
Paul and Mike could see the first two Fallkens emerge from the center launch tubes on the pirate carrier as the cruiser and destroyer moved forward to protect it. Paul and Mike jinked and weaved their Warthogs through the increasing veil of laser fire. "I have lock, I have lock..."
"Then let `em go!" shouted Paul. Mike was slightly ahead of him. Paul watched as Mike fired missile after missile, with only a slight pause in between. Paul had lock now and was waiting his turn. "Inbound! Inbound! Break! Break!" The threat lamp was lit, the alarm whistling as the computer tracked two missiles on the screen. Pappy rolled left and Mike broke right, with only one of his own missiles remaining on each wingtip.
The in-bounds passed between, one going straight the other arcing to follow Paul's fighter. Paul boosted, cut a ninety degree turn and facing the carrier again, cut power. The inbound arced wide, searching for his exhaust heat. Paul got lock tone again and fired missiles at the carrier, four in all, before the advancing destroyer forced him to break off. When he boosted to evade, the inbound recognized his fighters profile and resumed pursuit. He jinked to avoid laser fire, but the missile detonated on the edge of his shields sending his fighter tumbling end over end. He wrestled control back somewhere between the carrier and destroyer. The defensive fire was thick enough to walk on and Paul's shields were almost non-existent. He flipped off power to his guns, hoping it would help his shield generator restore protection. He thumbed boost and held it down, ducking his head out of reflex. The Warthog bucked and rocked, he held the boost.
Mike was in a roll when the two Fallkens latched onto his tail. He'd shake one, only to regain the other. He looked for Pappy but couldn't see him anywhere. "This is Mad Dog, a little help out here...?"
"Cut power Mike, break right!" Mike did as he was told and the two pirates shot by him on his left, closely followed by a blurred Lancia, guns blazing. The rearmost Fallken blew in half, its wings spinning outwards. Another Lancia screamed by and peeled off to pursue the first pirate, out of Mike's line of sight. He swung his Warthog around just in time to see Paul's four missiles hit the front of the carrier, just as two more pirate fighters emerged from the launch tubes.
The first volley of missiles had dropped the carriers forward shields. The second, detonated against exposed plating and the open launch tubes, destroying the unprotected fighters being launched. Brilliant flashes, one after another in rapid succession, danced across the front of the carrier. The newly-launched Fallkens, consumed in the explosions, added their own fury to the force. Giant fireballs jumped from three of the four launch tubes. The carrier's nose was left a mass of burnt, twisted metal.
Secondary explosions ripped through the ship's forward torpedo bays, belching short-lived balls of flame into space. Steele was out of range of the destroyer's guns and throttled back, looking over his shoulder at the carrier. "Leader One to all birds... back to base." Jack searched the space behind him for Warthogs but could only see one. The destroyer was still firing at something between it and the carrier... "All Freedom's fighters back to base..." urged Jack, looking at his watch. They were running out of time. A heartbeat later, a blackened Warthog under full boost emerged from between the two ships. It made a straight-line, all-out run, for the safety of distance.
“Mayday! Mayday! This is Pappy, I'm in trouble. Mayday! Mayday!"
Jack made a tight right hand bank, shouting, "Cover fire! Cover fire!" Jack locked onto the destroyer and thumbed two missiles. Mike looped back hard and, sighting upside down on the destroyer, fired his last two missiles. Dense laser fire reached out toward the two pilots who had turned back to protect their friend. "Break! Break!" They swung outwards, away from each other. Heavy streaks of red and green passed between them.
"Mayday! Mayday! I can't hold her together..."
"Eject, Pappy! Eject!" shouted Jack. He searched the sky to his right to pinpoint Paul's craft. "Where is he?" asked Mike.
Jack was about to answer when a brilliant flash made him jump in his seat. A small sphere of debris expanded silently outwards. Jack suddenly felt drained, he let his body go limp, letting the Lancia fly itself. No one spoke for some time. "Pappy..." muttered Mike. Jack's eyes burned.
The other fighters had vectored to the retreating Freedom as ordered, only Mike and Jack remained. The carrier motionless, the destroyer damaged enough to deter pursuit, only the cruiser remained untouched. But its Captain had chosen to remain with the carrier.
"I'm on bingo fuel, Skipper," mumbled Mike.
They had won the fight, but Jack felt like he had lost something greater... a part of himself. "We'd better head back," said Jack quietly.
"Shuttle One to Leader One..."
"This is Leader One," answered Jack lethargically, edging the throttle forward.
"We're picking up a beacon off your starboard bow."
Jack throttled back and glanced down at his scope. There was a green blip with a blinking green ring around it, signifying a distress beacon. He looked up. It was right about where Paul's fighter disappeared. "I see it too..."
"Roger," answered the shuttle. "Then we're moving in, to intercept and recover."
Jack saw a green blip appear as the shuttle emerged from the edge of the debris field surrounding the Velorian freighter. "How long have you been out here, shuttle?"
"Just got here," lied the pilot.
"Uh, huh," agreed Jack, unconvinced. Jack turned to Mike, he could see him across the forty or fifty feet of space between their cockpits. "Head back Mike, I'll hang with the shuttle."
Jack could see Mike shaking his head. "No way," he objected. "If that's Pappy out there, I'm staying."
Jack was worried Mike would run out of fuel. "Boogie Lieutenant, that's an order."
"Yes, sir!" The reply was curt, if not downright contemptible. Jack ignored it. He knew how Mike felt. In fact, he was cutting it pretty slim too. He watched the Warthog accelerate away and swung the Lancia's nose toward the emergency beacon.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
BAHIA, TWO SECTORS FROM DEBRIS FIELD: RESCUE & RECOVERY
Derrik glanced over his left shoulder through the cockpit perspex at his port engine. The forcing cone gone, large sections of plating and cowling missing, it drooled long strings and gobbets of gooey foam. It was messy, but he was still alive. Had he shut down the engine before blowing the canister of fire foam, the back feed of fuel would have pulled the burner flame into the fuel tank. Instead, it pulled in the thick, gooey substance, sealing the fuel line.
Funny, he thought, that was the same side that his Harrier got hit on in the Falklands. Though this time, he had not been injured. He offered a private thanks to whichever God might be listening.
Derrik refocused his attention on the Freedom's bay as he neared its stern. The Freedom had slowed to recover fighters, but she had put a good distance between her and the pirates. Derrik flipped the switches for gear and antigravity. He was surprised when the indicators showed both systems operative and responsive. Even the braking jets were still working properly, prompting a sigh of relief. The runway lights winked into existence, clearing his final approach. Two nets hung before the tower in case he developed problems... he hoped he wouldn't need them. Walrick, who had escorted him back, had landed first.
The damaged Warthog passed through the stasis field and touched down nicely, splashing huge blobs of gooey foam all over the deck. He keyed his mic, "Sorry about the mess, tower. Had a bit of a row with the neighbors." Firing braking jets, more foam slopped and gushed, making a gooey trail down the runway. As he taxied toward the Warthog's parking revetment, he popped the canopy and pulled off his helmet, laying it in his lap. The rush of air felt more than just good. "Ahh, home sweet home..."
■ ■ ■
Professor Edgars was afraid if he went too much further, the fighters would run out of fuel before they reached the Freedom. "All stop, helm."
"Yes, sir."
"Tower, how many craft are unaccounted for yet?"
After a quick count, the tower replied. "Well, sir, Lieutenant Carter is on final approach, so that leaves two Warthogs, one Lancia and shuttle number one."
"What the hell is a shuttle doing out there? Who took it out?"
"Ensigns Myomerr and Arroyo," replied the tower.
Walt slammed his hand down on the console. "Arroyo's supposed to be in sick bay, dammit!" He rubbed his forehead. "Tower, prep two Lancias and put them in the tubes. Tell Walrick and Carter they're on standby, those stragglers might need some protection." The tower acknowledged. "Helm," he continued, "bring us around, then full stop. Raulya, drop shields. Transfer power and recharge all guns."
Brian touched down and a lineman directed him to taxi directly to a prep skirt in front of the tower. After a quick inspection and finding no damage, a ground crew swarmed around the Lancia and began to refuel and rearm it. Brian laid his helmet on the dash as a Crew Chief climbed the ladder. "What's going on Chief?" The pilot pulled off his gloves.
"You're on standby," he began, "until the others return." He started unbuckling Brian's harness.
"Should I stay in the cockpit?"
“Nah. Just don't wander off, Lieutenant."
As soon as it was finished, Brian's Lancia was moved back into the launch tube.
Mike was so low on fuel when he landed, that when he fired braking jets as he entered the bay, they fizzled out mid-burst. He quickly flipped off the antigravity and the Warthog dropped to the deck with a thud, screeching down the runway on its skid plates. It came to a stop with its nose, just inches from the safety nets before the tower. Mike pulled the lever, popping the canopy, "Man, what a landing," he announced. "Am I fucking good, or what?!" The lineman, climbing the boarding ladder, pointed out the burn marks and blast holes in the Warthog's left wing without saying a word. Mike's eyes widened, then narrowed. "I said I was good," his voice took a more humble tone, "not perfect." He sat quietly and let the crewman unbuckle his harness, standing on the seat and stretching after he was finished. "Boy, almost three hours in that cockpit..." He dropped his helmet over the side to the crewman on the deck.
