Escape 2: Fight the Aliens (3 page)

“What?” growled McAuley. “We have no armed spaceships to give this woman!”

Richardson smiled. “My submarines are air-tight and quite capable of working in airless space. With spare oxygen tanks loaded on board, they can spend days in space. I propose loaning Captain Yamaguchi the boomer
USS Louisiana
and the fast-attack sub
USS Minnesota
. The boomer is loaded with Trident II D5 missiles while the water torps and Tomahawks on the
Minnesota
will be replaced with Harpoons, ASROC anti-ship missiles and SUBROC nuclear depth charges from our thermonuke inventories.” The CNO looked to Jane. “Captain Yamaguchi, would the presence of these two subs improve your attack profile?”

Jane’s relaxed look changed to thoughtfulness. “They would, so long as their captains accept my orders. But your subs have no space propulsion ability. Correct?”

“Correct,” Richardson said. “But if your
Blue Sky
can lift them into orbit, they could serve as orbiting forts loaded with thermonukes!”

Jane smiled. “I have a better idea. How about if I give your subs the ability to move through space using Magfield spacedrives? Like those on
Blue Sky
and the transports?”

Richardson looked shocked. As did Poindexter and the other JCS chiefs. McAuley frowned. “Captain Yamaguchi, I do not recall you mentioning the presence of extra spacedrives on your ship.”

Jane folded hands on the lap of her blue jumpsuit. Her eyes sparkled. “This ship has some secrets we have yet to share. Most important, we have two spare Magfield spacedrives stored in our Transport Exit Chamber. When the Megun repaired the
Blue Sky’s
dead Magfield engine, and repaired our two transports, they offered me backup Magfield engines. In case of future combat damage. Of course I said yes.”

Richardson grinned. “Outstanding! Can you transport those two drives to Naval Station Norfolk at Hampton Roads? Both subs are there for refueling and rearming. I can move them to combat status and have all personnel pulled in from shore leave.”

“I can. I will also send along some gravity plates so your sailors will feel normal Earth gravity while in space,” Jane said, looking to Bill. “XO MacCarthy will go to Denver aboard the transport
Tall Trees
with pilot Builder of Joy, while pilot Learned Escape will bring the Magfield drives and grav plates to Virginia aboard the transport
Talking Skin
. As you may have noticed, Learned and Bright Sparkle wear shorts. I suspect a human-like Alien will be easier for your sub crews to relate to.”

Richardson nodded quickly. “That is thoughtful of you. Uh, regarding the Magfield drives, how will they be fitted to each sub? And what kind of controls can you provide our CIC people?”

Jane sighed, as if the stress of the JCS confab was finally getting to her. “Admiral Richardson, the Magfield drives are tubular in shape. They can be loaded onto your subs the way your torpedoes and SLBM missiles are loaded. Put them near the nuclear engines of each ship, as they will require nuke power. The grav plates should be placed on the lowest part of your sub and fed power from your reactor. As for controls, our ship AI will fabricate a wireless tablet the size of a large iPad for touch command of the drive. The tablet will be set to integrate with your onboard sub computers. And with our AI.” Fatigue showed on his wife’s face as she squinted. The lines on her face looked sharper than when he’d first met her. Then again, his brown chest hair had some gray in it. As did his short beard. The strain of months in space, battling Aliens and delivering captives to strange star systems had taken a toll on both of them. “Your subs should be able to rise to our orbit within ten hours. Once they are close to us, I will guide them in space vectors and integration of their ship sensors with combat targeting supplied by our ship.”

Richardson leaned forward, his expression intent. “Again, excellent. May I offer a suggestion on improving your coordination with our two subs?”

Jane blinked. Bill thought the man’s expression was too amiable. What surprise did the Chief of Naval Operations have in mind? He noticed that Poindexter herself was also looking intently at the CNO chief, as if she wondered the same as he did. “Captain,” Bill said quickly. “I’m willing to work with the sub captains on vector changes and—”

“Wait,” Jane said to Bill, gesturing to the CNO. “Admiral Richardson, what is your suggestion?”

“Allow
me
to come aboard your ship and work on your Command Bridge as liaison with our two subs,” the man said softly.

“What!” growled McAuley, his bushy eyebrows rising.

Poindexter shook her head, but stayed silent.

Jane glanced his way. “Bill, you will be loaded down with tactical training for the spec ops folks. It will take most of the 50 remaining hours to train your boarding teams in zero gee maneuvering, the wearing of ship vacsuits, how the tasers and lasers work, and how to use a red cube to open hallway hatches. Having someone up here, on Command Bridge, who knows sub operations would be useful. But you are my XO. What do you say?”

Bill bit his lip to avoid an impulsive reply. Controlling his impulses was one of the first things he’d learned during BUDS training. Another thing he’d learned was the importance of helping the team to succeed. While solo strikes were sometimes right for a SEAL team, the emphasis in SEAL teams was always on the team, and how everyone could pull together to accomplish the mission. He nodded slowly. “To accomplish this mission, we need more trained combat managers. More than you and me. Bring the CNO onboard. Let him manage a control pillar like the rest of us here on the bridge. His sub crews will be more comfortable dealing with him, and you and I can do what we do best. Which is scheme and fight and do the unexpected.”

Jane smiled tiredly. She looked back to the JCS holo in front of her. “Vice Admiral Chester J. Richardson, you are welcome to join my crew, so long as you accept any order I give you. Understood?”

“Understood,” the man said. The CNO stood up from the table and, catching Jane’s attention, gave her a salute. “Captain Yamaguchi, I will do all in my power to fight well, to follow your orders and to bring honor upon the United States Navy!”

Jane returned the man’s salute. Her fatigue was still there, but her mood was more upbeat. “Admiral, you are welcome to board my ship. Pilot Learned Escape will welcome you onboard his transport once the Magfield drives are offloaded. And . . . please thank your wife and grown children for the loan of their husband and father. I know what it’s like to be part of a military family. My Dad is a retired master sergeant with the Twentieth Air Force in Cheyenne.” Jane blinked at her family memory. “Growing up at Francis E. Warren base led me to join the Air Force.”

“For which we are most thankful,” Poindexter said. The Air Force chief looked around the table, catching the eyes of each service chief, then nodded to both the vice chair and McAuley. “As directed by JCS Chairman General Paul J. McAuley, the Air Force and I will be lead coordinator in the defense of America and Earth from attack by Collector ships. CNO Vice Admiral Chester J. Richardson will board the
Blue Sky
and be principal combat liaison with the submarines
USS Minnesota
and
USS Louisiana
. I will also direct our special ops teams to board your transport that brings down the drives, so they can come aboard with Admiral Richardson.” The middle-aged woman paused as she took a deep breath. “Command of all battle action above the atmosphere will be the duty of Air Force Captain Jane Yamaguchi. Command of all battle action within the atmosphere will be handled by myself in coordination with other service chiefs. This plan will be presented to the president, who will be the final approving authority. I expect her approval to happen within five hours.”

Around Bill the other crew folks reacted positively to the news that
Blue Sky
would not face the Collector ship attack alone. Those reactions were unique to each species. But Bill could understand them thanks to months spent working with his crewmates. Soon, there would be 18 new crew aboard the ship. Plus one new officer. He hoped the CNO could adjust to the reality of combat in space, a place of black emptiness where death came at you at the speed of light by way of lasers, by way of an antimatter beam, or by a sleet of deadly neutrons from a nearby thermonuke blast. He, the transport pilots, Jane and the other crew had all risked their lives during the battle of Kepler 443. Now, they would do it again. Only this time, the prize was the survival of Earth, a place where people chose the dangers of space travel in the hope of finding new friends, new worlds and new adventures. He made a mental note to himself. Sometime during the next 50 hours he would make a neutrino comlink call to Diligent Taskmaster and remind the giant cockroach of the vow he’d made upon first being captured.

“I will escape, take control of your ship and capture you!” he had vowed from the inside of an escape-proof containment cell.

Time to do it again.

CHAPTER THREE

Jack’s Deep Six saloon occupied a former Knights of Columbus building on Lowell Boulevard in north Denver, not far from where his sister Joan lived. The transport had dropped him off in the cul de sac that faced Joan’s apartment building, before heading off to hide in the woods next to Standley Lake. He’d spent an hour hugging Joan, telling her about his fly fishing, thanking her for paying the rent on his apartment, and then swiped her Jeep Wrangler to get to the saloon. Earlier, he’d iPhone-called his vet buddies from orbit and asked them to be at the saloon by eight tonight to hear about an amazing adventure he’d had. He’d told each of them to bring a travel bag loaded for back country travel as he hinted his surprise involved a trip to the forest near Boulder. That was the best he could do. He could not talk openly about Aliens coming to Earth until President Melody Hartman gave her nationwide address at midnight East Coast time. Which was also the time the Russian and Chinese bosses would make their national announcements.

Bill parked the Wrangler in the lot behind the saloon, grabbed his backpack and stuck his .45 into the shoulder holster under his Navy blue windbreaker. Getting out, he headed for the back door entrance to the saloon. Jack the owner had long ago grown used to the covert entry mode favored by SEALs like Bill. While he doubted the saloon’s owner would be occupying the back office, still, he liked being prepared for trouble. Which explained the .45. The back door was partly cracked to allow the cool night air into the saloon’s back room. Entering, he saw it was empty except for a stack of empty wine cartons, ten beer kegs and a crate of J&B Scotch bottles. Passing along the hall that contained the restrooms, he exited into the loud music and crack of cue balls as some customers worked the pool table in back. Moving past them he headed for the three tables stuck together that served as the sit down site for his buddies. The tables lay at the back of the large room, catty-corner from the bar island that was heavily occupied by local regulars. The tables were empty, except for the vet who always arrived early for their Friday night hangouts.

“You look tanned. Been traveling in sandy locales?” called Alicia Hoffman from where she sat with her back to the side wall, a position that gave her a clear view of the front entrance, the bar island and the restroom hallway. Like every SOF veteran, she believed in optimizing her tactical position.

Bill nodded to the pony-tailed Ranger and sat down at the end of the table cluster, in his usual spot in a corner formed by the side wall and the back wall. “Hey spook, nice to see you. Did your intel work say tanned guys always spent time in deserts? In truth, I got my color fly-fishing up at Eureka Lake. In the Sangre de Cristo range west of Pueblo.”

Alicia squinted at him, her mood tight. Which befit her black leather jacket, black jeans and black lineman boots. “You didn’t fly fish for the nine months you’ve been gone. And your sister Joan had no idea where you’d gone when Frank gave her a call.” She seemed more tense than irritated at him. Her soprano voice had not gotten low and guttural like when she was really pissed. “Anyway, my intel buddies have all been called in for late night work, is what!” she growled. “Including my partner Lorilee. Which kinda pisses me off, it being the start of a weekend and all.”

He slung his backpack on the back of his wooden chair, then shook his head at the curious look from Cheryl the bartender, who clearly was ready to bring him his usual mug of Coors. He nodded to his friend. The absence of Alicia’s longtime lesbian lover from their shared apartment would explain her mood. “You’re here early tonight. Been eyeballing the sheilas at the bar?” he teased.

“Piss off, Mr. Greenface,” she grunted. “Came early for the music. Staked out the tables to keep away the riffraff. You hear whether everyone is coming tonight?”

“They’re coming,” he said casually, folding his hands atop the scarred wooden table. “All of them. Gave them all a call. Like I did to you. Promised to tell them about the big time adventure that’s kept me away from here for the last nine months.”

Alicia swung her head his way. Her amber eyes fixed on him. Looking him over to read his body manner, she quickly turned thoughtful. “You’ve got a big secret there. It shows in your shoulders. What is it?”

Bill gave her a tight smile, then waved at Cheryl to bring his mug. Behavior that he knew would tell Alicia he was trying to avoid her probing. “Big secret yes. One you will have a hard time believing. And as much as I admire those tits of yours, I won’t say a word until everyone else is here.”

Alicia tilted her head, her expression bemused. “You don’t sex tease me ever. Not even after your live-in gal left you. Now you have my attention. Can I join you in a mug?”

Bill held up two fingers as Cheryl headed their way with a single mug. She turned back and drew another mug. As the bartender headed their way, Bill wondered if the loud country music echoing from the room’s rafters would be loud enough to cover what he had to tell Alicia and their buddies. “Join me. And you’re right, that was a piss poor diversion. Did you bring your travel bag?”

“Did,” Alicia said, elbow gesturing to her left. “Got my Sig Sauer in it. Will this surprise of yours require active shooting?”

“Not tonight,” Bill said. “Anyway, you’ll love the weapon I found for you. Better than your Sig Sauer or my Federal Ordnance .45.”

Alicia lifted a sandy eyebrow. “I’ll believe that when I see the weapon you ‘found’ for me. Uh, does this weapon come full auto, semi-auto? Domestic or overseas?”

“Neither, and it came from farther away than Israel,” he teased.

Alicia’s intense scan of him got even tighter. “Well, here come four of the guys. The rest can’t be far behind. You’ll talk then?”

Bill had noticed the arrival of four buddies from the corner of his eye. Ranger, Marine, Air Force and a SEAL. The three men and one woman thumped over to their cluster of tables, each shouldering a travel bag and curious looks. In their own manner, each gave him a Welcome Back nod, wink or grin.

“Well Bill,” called Cassandra Welsh as she sat down opposite him at the far end of the tables, “you been gone too long to be hunting pussy. What gives? Private contracting overseas?”

The three guys who knew him all too well laughed at Cassandra’s lewd tease, then sat between him and her on the side wall bench. They were Mark, Frank and Stefano, all retired from active work in the Rangers, Marines and SEALs. He blew a raspberry at mohawk-haired Cassandra.

“I’ve been traveling, yes. Private contracting no. The rest, you will have to wait to hear about until the other guys arrive,” Bill said, grabbing the mug of beer that Cheryl set down in front of him. He lifted it and took a long suck on it. Synthetic beer produced in the
Blue Sky’s
Food Chamber was okay, but nothing beat the fresh cool taste of beer straight from the tap.

His fellow SEAL fixed pale brown eyes on him. “You’re hiding something. Something bigger than a stay on the beach at Papeete or the coast of Queensland. As I’m sure Alicia noticed early on. You’ve never called everyone and told us to show up here with a travel bag and a promise of a wild adventure story,” Stefano Cordova said, looking him over while taking his own inventory of Bill’s body language.

He nodded. “You’re right, bud. I’m hiding something.” Bill waved at Cheryl to bring over some pitchers and mugs. “But like I’ve told Alicia, won’t say anything until everyone is here. It’s not something I wish to repeat five times over.”

“Why not?” called Frank Wurtzman, who they all called ‘Gunny’ thanks to his demob as an E7 Gunnery Sergeant from the Marines. The big barrel of a man shrugged wide shoulders that made a loose jumpsuit look tight on him. “We’ve all repeated our own fun-time lies lots of times. Part of drinking, being properly buzzed and trying out new lines to impress the sheilas.”

Cassandra and Alicia chuckled. They well knew the boisterous habits of their vet crowd, being made up mostly of men who’d seen too much action and too much death in far off places. The front door slammed open loudly, surprising two young sheilas at the bar island. In walked the remainder of his buddies. Catching sight of Bill and the rest, they headed straight for the table cluster.

“Now you’re in for it,” muttered Mark Neller as the heavy-set Ranger grabbed one of the beer pitchers delivered by Cheryl and began pouring foamy beer into the mugs of Alicia, Frank, Cassandra, Stefano and himself.

At the front of the saloon Bill was struck by how at ease the four men looked as they walked strung out sideways as if mounting a skirmish. Each took a seat on the bar-side of the table cluster, their manner casual, irritated, bored or pissed depending on whom he looked at. Chris Selva of the Rangers was the most casual of them, giving a nod to him, Alicia, Cassandra and the rest. Bob Milley, the group’s other Marine glared at him and sat down next to Cassandra, muttering something to her. Whatever it was, it was obscene enough to make her flip him off. Howard Dunford of the Air Force looked irritated. Master Chief Joe Batigula actually smiled at Bill as the overweight man sat between Howard and Chris.

Bill held up both hands in the surrender gesture, drawing surprised looks. “You’re all here. Which is great. And I promise I’ll not piss around with my secret adventure story.” He gestured at the three pitchers of beer that sat on the three tables. “Fill a mug, dump some tequila in it for a chaser if you wish, and gather round a bit close. Cause what I’ve got to tell you cannot go beyond this crowd. Leastwise, not before midnight.”

Stefano frowned as he lifted a mug of beer to his lips. “What happens at midnight? None of us have a curfew!”

“Damn right!” growled Bob, his bulldog face looking around. “Who’s got the tequila? I need a chaser.”

Alicia handed a hip flask to Bob, who grabbed with it a glare. The Ranger lesbian grinned, pulled down her black t-shirt to show some cleavage, and said “You’ll never get any of this!”

“Fuck!” grunted Bob, shaking his head. “You’d never spread it for any
real
man!”

Frank knocked his knuckles on the table loud enough to stop the byplay that had been part of the group’s chatter for the three years they’d been meeting every Friday night. “Enough bullshit and macho chatter.” The Marine Gunnery Sergeant looked his way. “Bill, glad to see you back after being vanished for nine months. You had Joan worried. Uh, what happens at midnight? And why does it relate to you spilling your story?”

Bill pulled out his iPhone 6 and laid it on the table. The action drew the attention of his nine buddies as they all knew how much he hated carrying mobile devices around, and how much teasing it had taken to get him to buy a smartphone. He tapped an app icon on the phone’s touchscreen.

“At midnight East Coast time, or 10 here in Denver, President Melody Hartman will make an address to the nation from the Oval Office.” He glanced at the faces of his fellow vets, people who had known danger, death and the idiocies of desktop generals. He loved them. They’d pulled him through when his live-in left him after one too many nights of her waking up with his hands around her throat as he relived an IED nightmare. They’d supported him when he got the news of his parents dying in a Louisiana bayou. And most of them had gone fly fishing with him on a creek up near Boulder. Two women, seven men, all retired from active duty but none of them able to leave the combat memories behind. Most were SOF-trained and all had dealt with deadly gunfire. They liked drinking together, playing rummy games, tossing darts in the back of Jack’s saloon, or joking about which sheila at the bar island might be a good fuck. The chatter and joking covered the reality that none of their relatives understood the work they had done, or the toll it had taken on each of them. Now, he was about to add to that toll. “The Prez is going to tell everyone what I’m about to share with you nine tonight.” He tapped the icon a second time, causing a blue and white image to fill its screen. Bill lifted the iPhone and angled it so everyone could see the image. “What does this look like to any of you?”

“Earth from space,” said Howard, his shaved head gleaming pinkly under the tube lights of the ceiling. “So what?”

“Wrong, Howard,” Cassandra said as she looked from the screen to Bill. “That is an orbital view of Earth taken from about 200 miles up, just above the equator. It’s similar to what can be seen from the ISS station. Right, Bill?”

“Very correct,” he said, tapping another icon on the iPhone to draw up a new image. He showed it around. It got lots of raised eyebrows. “Who are these folks?” he asked.

Alicia fixed amber eyes on him, her expression puzzled. “Those are the seven members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Our former service heads. They look to be seated at a display table in . . . in Building One of Peterson Air Force Base. I’ve been there! Why the hell were they at Peterson rather than at DOD in DC?”

“Yeah,” muttered Frank, raising thick black eyebrows. “Kinda strange for them all to be in this state. Is that image recent?”

“Yup,” Bill said, lowering the iPhone to the table and nodding to each of his buddies before returning to Frank. “Gunny, they were all here, today, at Peterson, to talk with me and the Air Force captain lady who I’ve been hanging with these last nine months. We called them from orbit.”

“Bullshit!” growled Bob, slamming his mug on the table hard enough to draw a quick look from Cheryl at the bar island. The man, who still wore a sidewall haircut, looked pissed. “Bill, you
hate
the brass. You’ve hated them ever since the sods took you off of SEAL field duty. You’re the
last
person to be chatting up the Chiefs!”