Wings of Steele - Destination Unknown (Book 1) (64 page)

Harassed,
damaged, and low on shields, the remaining UFW vessel fired as it
retreated, trying to outrun the fighters and reach the safety of the
approaching cruisers. The stern shields flared and the Freedom shook
hard. Then shook again. "Hull breach! Hull breach!" Alarms
whooped
throughout the ship and the Freedom's speed began to dwindle.

"Son-of-a-bitch,"
snarled Jack. He keyed his comm mic on the fighter's frequency.
"Don't let that bastard get away, Pappy!"

"Not
a chance," came the answer. A moment later the remaining ship
split in half, spreading debris and spilling its crew into space.

The
Freedom had dropped to about one quarter speed. "Trigoss,
what's happening back there? What's going on?"

The
reply was laced with static and background noise. "Not now,
Jack,
we're
kinda busy..." the connection fading away.

"Commander
Edgars to the bridge," paged Jack. "Raulya, shields
down,
recharge all guns. I'm going down to engineering to see if I can
help. Mr. Ragnaar, you know where we're going, point us there. I'll
see what I can do about more speed." Still wearing his comm,
Jack left the bridge and hustled down the corridor.

■ ■ ■

The
pilots had no problem catching up with the Freedom and could
have
easily found it without their sensors. Once they were in clear
visual range they were stunned by what they saw. "Holy shit..."
muttered Mike.

"My
God..." added Brian.

Paul
reached through his open visor with a gloved hand and wiped
the
sweat from his brow. "Son-of-a-bitch," he whispered. At
least one third of the Freedom's port engine was missing. Forward of
that was a gaping hole in the hull of the ship, twisted and jagged,
exposing deck two or three. Maybe both. The remains of the port
engine trailed anonymous vapors, assorted bits of debris and giant
gobbets of fire foam. The wound in the hull bled streams of
atmosphere vapor leaking from damaged safety doors.

Derrik
shook his head. "Bloody horrible little bastards. Look what
they've
done to our pretty ship."

Walrick
and LaNareef said nothing.

"We'd
better get back and see if we can lend a hand," volunteered
Brian.

"Good
idea," began Paul, "besides, we might be having more
company. W
e
need to restock and refuel these birds." The pilots called for
and received clearance to land, strung out in three pairs.

As
they neared the stern in formation, Mike spotted a strange
glow
ahead and to the right of the Freedom. "Hey, Pappy, what the
hell is that?"

Paul
looked to the Lancia on his left and followed Mike's point to
the
distant glow, which could only be described as being on the horizon.
The pale blue and purple haze glowed and pulsated, seeming to
undulate like waves of water. "Don't know kid, maybe we should
take a look... Flight Leader to tower, Flight One is breaking final
approach, Two and Three will recover..."

"Negative,
Leader," replied flight control, "Recover as planned."

Paul
shrugged to himself, "Roger, tower."

"Commander?!"
LaNareefs voice seemed strained.

"Go
ahead," coaxed Paul.

"I
have two large ships appearing on the rearward edge of my sensor
range..."

■ ■ ■

Steele
jogged down the corridor towards the stern on deck two,
slowing
as the smoke grew thicker. Despite his caution, he stumbled and fell
across someone laying on the floor. He crawled over on his hands and
knees to the prone form and dragged him to clearer air. The crewman
was blackened by smoke and unrecognizable. Jack rose and opened an
emergency panel on the wall, extracting an air bottle. He slid the
plastic mask over the man's face and opened the valve. After two
gulps of air, his eyes popped open and he sat upright, gasping.
"Easy," said Jack, holding him by the shoulders, "breath
easy. You're Ok." He slid the man against the wall and pulled
another bottle down for himself. "Stay here, someone will come
for you." He turned away and fingered the mic on his comm,
"Fire control teams to port engineering, deck two! Medical
team, deck two!" He slid on his own mask, slung the bottle over
his shoulder by its strap and turned on the valve as he crawled into
the biting smoke on his hands and knees.

Blinded
by the smoke, his sensitive nose scorched by the heat and
acrid
smoke, Fritz had to feel his way backwards down the corridor while
dragging his burden. Blood ran from the swollen lining of his nose,
but the dog refused to release his grip and take even one breath
through his mouth. After weaving his way through the port engine
room, he proceeded down the corridor in search of assistance, using
his tail as a feeler.

Unable
to even see his hand in front of his face, Jack advanced
on
hands and knees with his eyes closed, tears streaming down his
cheeks from the stinging smoke. He rammed something soft with his
right shoulder, toppling himself over. Whatever, or whomever it was,
grunted. He righted himself and reached out, searching. He found
thick fur and a tail. "Fritz?" The Shepherd snorted in
response, blood spraying from his nose. He choked but did not
relinquish his grasp. Jack felt forward and realized the dog was
dragging a crewman. He grabbed the collar of the uniform tunic and
pulled, sliding the form across the carpet. "Let go,"
urged Jack, "I got em." Fritz growled, refusing. Together
they dragged the unconscious crewman to clearer air where Jack had
previously left the other man. The air bottle remained but the
crewman was gone. Presumably moved to the infirmary. As soon as they
reached the clearer air, Fritz dropped to the floor, exhausted,
still gripping the man's arm in his mouth. Jack instantly understood
why Fritz refused to let go of the crewman, his arm was missing
below the elbow. The Shepherd was trying to keep him from bleeding
to death.

Jack
pulled off his air bottle and laid it on the floor. "It's Ok,
Fritz,
let him go..." Jack slid off the dog's squadron scarf and
wrapped it around the man's arm, tying it off above the dog's grip.
Fritz unmouthed the crewman and rolled on his side, hacking up blood
and the blackness he'd been breathing. Jack turned on the air valve
and moved the bottle in front of Fritz's muzzle who drew it in
open-mouthed. Taking the abandoned bottle, Jack placed the face
piece over the mouth of the wounded crewman, then tightened the
scarf around his arm like a tourniquet.

"Bridge,
this is Steele, get some more people down here on Deck
Two...
we need some help!"

"Right
you are, Jacko," replied the Professor. He issued a page over
the
comm system. "How bad is it, Jack?" asked Walt after the
page.

"I
don't know if there's fire, but the smoke is pretty thick. Look,
find
the Doc, will ya? I got a guy missing a hand down here." The
Professor acknowledged and signed off. Steele cradled the injured
man in his lap and held the tourniquet tight. Fritz was breathing
easier and he could see again. "Good job, Fritzer,"
commented Jack, "you probably saved his life." He wanted
to reach out and touch the dog, but his arms were full. Fritz wagged
his tail.

Jack
jumped when Trigoss suddenly appeared through the smoke. "Well
it's
finally out..." his uniform was scorched and charred, he didn't
even have an oxygen bottle. "Hate that taste." He spat on
the floor.

"What
was burning?" asked Jack.

Trigoss
coughed once and spat again. "Tyrillium bulkhead..." The
sound
of many running feet echoing down the smoky corridor, interrupted
their conversation.

Several
crewmen wearing complete breathing gear ran past,
disappearing
into the acrid clouds. Paul, Mike and Brian, tromped to a stop,
still in flight gear. "You Ok?" asked Brian.

"I'm
ok, help me get this guy to the infirmary, I don't know
where
the Doc is..." Jack started to rise.

"He's
coming," said Paul, "we just passed him." The pilot
thumbed
over
his shoulder. "It looks bad from outside, Jack. How bad is it
really?" Paul didn't frown much, but this was an exception.

"Bad,"
answered Trigoss. "We're down to one engine."

"Damn..."
Paul rubbed his chin. "Y'know we're leaking all sorts
of
stuff too..."

The
Chief Engineer nodded and spat. "Fuel, atmosphere mostly. Got
several
doors leading to the damaged area that buckled. They're leaking. We
can seal them though."

"That's
the least of our problems," added Mike, "we got more
company
coming..."

"What?"
Steele sat rigid as CABL M7 bought the gurney to a stop next
to
him. "Who? Where?" They all helped lift the unconscious
crewman onto the gurney.

"They're
coming from behind us," answered Brian, fastening a strap on
the
gurney. "They're big
and
fast."

"How
long do we have?" Jack handed M7, control of the tourniquet.

Paul
shrugged. "At this speed? Maybe twenty minutes."

Jack
turned to Trigoss. "Chief, we need that other engine."

Trigoss
made a face and shook his head. "If it was run-able, which
it's
not
,
and we directed
all
the ship's power to warming the burners, it would take at least two
hours before I could ignite it..."

"Geez,
isn't there any way to do a cold start?"

"Well,
yes, but in its present condition, the best it will do is
make
it look like this one." Trigoss indicated the mess behind them.

"There's
no
chance of success?"

"None.
Think of something else..."

"Maybe
we should get ready to launch," suggested Brian.

"Bridge
to Captain Steele..."

"Now
what?" Steele clicked on his mic, "Steele, go ahead."

"Jacko,"
started the professor, "we got on
e
hell
of an ether storm
brewing
out here... quite colorful actually..."

"A
what?!" exclaimed Jack, cutting him off.

"An
electrical ether storm, sir," explained Ragnaar over the comm.

Jack
looked at Trigoss "A storm? In space?"

The
Engineer nodded. "Pretty common."

"I
think we're out of ruddy luck, Jack. Those cruisers are coming
up
fast, and this front is too big to go round..."

"Go
straight through it," whispered Trigoss. Jack looked at him
sideways.
The Chief Engineer nodded confidently, and his hand sliced through
the air in front of them. "Right through the middle."

"Head
straight for it, Walt," advised Jack. Not so sure himself.

"Right.
Consider it done..." The comm connection ended.

Trigoss
proceeded to explain his idea. "Sensors are pretty much
useless
in plasma and ether storms. And visibility is close to nil but..."

"So
we'll be navigating blind," interrupted Jack.

"More
or less," continued the Chief. "But the cruisers won't be
able
to see either. The trick is to plan out your course changes before
you get to the storm. Once inside you execute maneuvers at set
times. The cruisers will try one of two tactics, either they'll try
to track you, which is next to impossible, or try a standard search
pattern."

"Won't
they be able to follow all that debris we're trailing?" asked
Paul.