Wings of Steele - Destination Unknown (Book 1) (70 page)

The
pirate fighters were no match for the UFW Vulcans and even
after
launching additional fighters, could do little more than play hide
and seek in a game of tag that encompassed the entire depot. Seeing
the difficult position of his fighters and their dwindling number,
the Captain of the pirate cruiser chose to withdraw and abandon his
charge, the supply ship. Maybe he was actually hoping to draw off
the carrier and let the smaller ship escape. In either case, the
result was the carrier discarded its position of anonymity and took
chase.

The
Flight Leader of the UFW Vulcans caught the departing of his
carrier
on his sensor scope and broke off pursuit on a sure kill allowing
the pirate pilot to escape death. "Leader to all Conquest
birds, disengage! Repeat, disengage!" He wrenched the stick to
avoid the hull of a darkened cruiser and did not notice the two
shuttles hiding in its shadows.

"The
Admiro
dope
has moved base," announced the flight leader,
annoyed.
"Base is mobile! Form on me!" He knew all flight
communications were recorded, but at this point, he did not care.
Nine of the ten original Vulcans broke free of the depot and resumed
formation to pursue their carrier, which was dogging the pirate
cruiser at full speed. The carrier had quite a lead on the fighters
and wasn't slowing. The Flight Leader edged his throttle further.
"Dammit! Why doesn't he just launch more fighters?" The
Vulcan flight would be low on fuel when they overtook the Conquest
and would be unable to land at that speed. The Flight Leader decided
he would slow it down with laser fire if necessary. Then he would
have a personal little chat with the Vice Admiral.

Shortly
after leaving the depot, one of the Vulcan pilots began
experiencing
mechanical difficulties due to battle damage. The Flight Leader
directed him back to the depot. He felt he would be safer hiding
there than drifting out in the open and promised the young Ensign
they would be back for him promptly. The Flight Leader didn’t
know it then, but he would never see his younger brother again.

As
soon as the Vulcans had cleared the depot, the pirate shuttles
returned
to the supply ship with haste. As did the three remaining pirate
fighters, landing carefully in the crowded little landing bay. The
Captain of the supply vessel decided there was nothing here worth
his ship or his life and made a rather reckless departure, obviously
unnerved at the thought of having a UFW carrier returning to clean
up any survivors. The pirates had lost nine fighters, the UFW lost
one and one damaged.

■ ■ ■

"We're
all clear gents," called Derrik over his comm. From his
position perched atop the bridge of a derelict destroyer, he had a
pretty good view of most of the altercation. He watched over his
shoulder through his canopy as the engine flare of
the
supply ship became a small white dot in the distance. The Freedom's
fighters began checking in one by one from all over the salvage
yard. He flipped the switch for his anti-grav and it bounced his
Lancia off the derelict's surface. He flipped it back off and pulled
in his landing gear, initiating his systems and lighting his
engines.

"Bridge
to all flights..." the tired voice made its way to the ears of
all the pilots scattered around the salvage yard. "Nice job
keeping it all together kids... C'mon home everybody
,
dinner's on the table."

Brian
knew that voice.
"Skipper?"

"Yeah,
Bri, it's me."

Brian
popped off the tanker hull and accelerated away with a snap
roll.
"Yes!"

"Mad
Dog to Freedom, I have a single small inbound," Mike had just
detached
from the wreck of a rusting salvage carrier when his sensors' view
cleared the bow. "Looks like a damaged Vulcan and it appears
he's got no power. No engines."

"Copy,
Mad Dog," replied Jack. "Keep him in view, we'll send out
a
shuttle
for recovery." Pappy stayed with Mike and the rest of the
fighters returned to the Freedom, passing an outgoing shuttle.

■ ■ ■

Ensign
Duncan Taylor was a promising young UFW fighter pilot with
three
kills to his credit, but the fact that his beloved Vulcan was
smoking like a chimney was not a reassuring sign and the likely
prospect of having to eject was not an appetizing thought either.
Life support in the fighter would run on batteries and continue from
twenty four to thirty six hours. If he had to leave the cockpit...
two, three hours tops. He tried to decide which was worse, the
incessant smoke pouring from the electronics consoles or the fact he
no longer controlled the craft. He had vented the cockpit and
discharged the extinguisher canister but the smoke persisted. The
only thing left was to open the canopy and deprive it of oxygen. He
decided to wait until he reached the depot which loomed ahead, but
it was getting more difficult to see what was actually outside. He
was hoping to coast to a stop, open the canopy and stay in the
cockpit tied into the craft's support system.

■ ■ ■

"Doesn't
look like he's got any control," commented Paul.

"If
he doesn't, he's going to hit that ore freighter," answered
Mike.

Myomerr
had pulled the rescue shuttle abreast of the two Lancias
and
watched the stricken Vulcan. "Isn't there anything we can do?"
She felt horribly useless at that moment.

As
the Vulcan grew closer, the canopy lifted up, followed by a brief
puff
of
smoke, then nothing. The craft, canopy standing open, sailed
straight toward the wrecked freighter, certain to be dashed into
scrap. "C'mon, buddy," urged Mike under his breath,
"eject... C'mon, any time now...
eject
damn you,
eject
!"

“
He's
trying to stay with his bird for the battery supply to run his
suit.” Paul looked to his left at the waiting shuttle.
“Myomerr, flash your flood lights and move forward...”

“
Copy
that, Pappy.” She moved the throttle forward and the Lancias
slid ahead with her as she strobed the shuttle's floodlights. There
was no way to know if the pilot had seen them. “C'mon buddy,
see the pretty lights? Push the button, out you come...” She
switched the color on the lights from white to amber. “Pretty
lights coming to help you... get out of that piece of junk...”

They
were close enough to see the pilot fairly clearly, and it appeared
he was struggling with his harness. Finally wrenching himself free,
he stood on his seat, ripping his plugs and lines free from the
crippled Vulcan, climbed out and with his legs crouched, sprung off
the side of his cockpit like a cliff diver trying to clear the rocks
below. The fighter coasted unmanned and crushed itself against the
stern of the hulking ore freighter, bouncing slowly away, looking
like a tumbling, crumpled piece of tin foil. The pilot sailed free
above the freighter's hull, waving his arms at the shuttle.

Myomerr
nudged the shuttle's throttle forward. "Shuttle Three, the
pilot is clear. I'm
moving
in for recovery."

■ ■ ■

Jack
eased himself back into his command chair and relaxed. "I
think
we should pull out, Walt..."

"We're
not quite finished yet, Jack. Another day or two and everything
will
be one hundred percent shipshape..."

Jack
nodded slowly. "I know, Walt, and from what little I've seen,
you've
accomplished just short of a miracle. I'm amazed. And I'm sorry I
wasn't here to help you."

The
professor raised an eyebrow "It wasn't me, lad, they didn't
do
this for me - they did it for you. Let them finish."

"I
just don't think we have the time, Walt. That was a pretty close
call. My little voice is telling me that
carrier
will be back. If he's the same one that we ditched in the storm, you
can be certain of it. We can't afford to be caught here. You saw how
good those pilots were, and that carrier's got to hold at least
forty or fifty fighters. They'll go over this depot yard with a fine
tooth comb."

The
professor nodded, he had learned to trust Jack's intuition. "I
see your point. He's been here a few times, and they've launched
fighters before, but they never got this close. He probably thought
that pirate was us..."

Jack
looked over the systems on his command screens and marveled at
the
extent of the improvements. He paged through the stats and system
readouts, shaking his head in amazement over the changes. He
reviewed the operational output for the rebuilt engines and the new
generators, noting that they stood almost twenty percent above
factory-new specifications. "Let's have Trigoss warm up the
mains..." His voice trailed off when he realized his mistake,
Trigoss was gone. He bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his
nose. "Sorry, Walt. Maybe you'd better do this." He began
to rise from his command chair.

Walter
Edgars was not just any Professor, he held seven degrees
ranging
from interstellar history to general medicine, and he knew the best
thing for Jack was to get him back in the saddle. He put his hand on
Steele's shoulder. "It's Ok, Jack, you'll do fine. Besides
it'll do them good to hear your voice." Jack sighed heavily and
allowed himself to slide back into the seat. Alité stood
behind his chair and watched her husband work through the pain.
"Bridge to engineering," she heard him say.

"Engineering,
Toncaresh here, go ahead..."

Jack
smiled, happy to hear a familiar name. "Hello, Toncaresh."
His
voice
was friendly, warm. "This is Captain Steele, would you be so
kind as to warm up the mains."

"Yes
sir,
Captain!" The ABS's reply was almost jubilant. "How are
you
feeling, sir?"

"I
have a headache my friend... but I'm glad to be vertical again
."

"It's
good to hear your voice, sir." Jack could actually hear him
smiling.
"Warmup will be complete in a little over two hours."

Jack
pensively rubbed the patch over his left eye socket, "any way
to
cut that shorter? We really need to pull out as soon as possible."

There
was momentary silence before Toncaresh spoke again, a light hiss in
Jack's earpiece. "Well, we could shove off on thrust engines
while we're warming - those we could light and bring online in about
ten minutes... we'd be moving right away.
Also,
we could warm one main engine at a time, that would cut warmup down
to about twenty-five, thirty minutes. The other two we could warm
and ignite while under way..."

Jack
glanced at the Professor who commented, "Splendid idea, simply
right
on,” he nodded. “Sharp lad..."

Jack
turned back to his console and keyed his mic. "Good idea Mr.
Toncaresh. Do it."

■ ■ ■

UFW
Ensign, Duncan Taylor, was just happy someone was there to pick
him
up. He marveled at his luck. But where did the shuttle come from? To
which ship did it belong? To which
side
?
The round, red and gold logo of the flying horse against a rising
sun, meant nothing to him, and the name Freedom didn't ring a bell
either. But alive, he reflected, was of course, after all, better
than dead.

Myomerr
was piloting the shuttle alone, as Maria had been used for
fighter
patrol, but she found the two ground crewmen assigned to her for
rescue, competent and eager. The first, poked his head into the two
seat cockpit. "He's clean, Ms. Myomerr, and we're resealed and
ready to go."

"Thanks,
Dooby," she replied, calling him by his nickname. "Ask him
if he'd like to sit
up
front with me..." She turned back to the controls as Dooby's
head disappeared and announced her return to the Freedom while
nudging up the throttles. She pulled off her helmet and laid it on
the floor beside her seat.

Ensign
Taylor stood in the doorway of the shuttle's cockpit. "Excuse
me,"
he said politely, "your crewman said it was Ok to sit up here?"