Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2) (20 page)

“
Widespread destruction, a giant crater, piles of sticks, scattered bricks, pulverized glass dust, everything gone, vaporized, nothing left but scorched sand and a smoking hole in the ground...”

Jack stared at him, emotionless, one eyebrow raised, “You done...?”

“Barely made it out alive...” continued Paul, fighting a grin. “I guess the important thing is that your sister is safe...”

“
Seriously, stop...”

Brian sat down across from Jack next to Paul with his tray, a stack of steaming pancakes on his plate. “What are we talking about?” he asked, popping a piece of breakfast sausage into his mouth.

“Jack's house,” volunteered Paul.

“
Ew yeah,” said Brian before sipping his coffee, “I heard, lost it all, huh? Sorry to hear it Skipper, that was a nice place...”

“
Wait...”

Walt was walking by, headed back to the bridge with a breakfast pastry and a rather large coffee, “Jack, I'm sorry to hear about your place, so sad. It's a good thing your sister got out before an explosion like that though... Keep your chin up, eh?” he strolled off with a respectful nod.

Derrik Brighton and Duncan Taylor sat down at the table with their breakfast trays, “Sorry to hear about your house Captain,” offered Derrik, “stiff upper lip, mate.”

Duncan reached for the salt and pepper, “Why what happened to his house..?” He looked at Jack, “What happened to your house sir?”

“You didn't hear..?” asked Jack.

“
No sir.”

Jack looked at Derrik, “Who'd you hear it from?”

“Maria...”

He looked at Brian, “And you?”

“Seeta told me...”

“
Who told her?”

Brian shrugged, “Don't know, I didn't think to ask. One of the other girls, I guess.”

Jack looked at Paul, “How'd you hear?”

“
Myomerr told me - by way of Maria.” Paul smiled, “So I assumed there was a
little
exaggeration involved...”

Jack smirked, “You assumed right. Anyone else seeing a pattern here?”

Paul sipped his coffee trying not to smirk, “Is she still trying to get even with you for the whole
brig
incident...?”

Jack leaned back in his chair, “Arroyo...” he sighed, “ the girl just doesn't know how to let things go.” He leaned back forward again, “Maybe we need to arrange a return visit to the brig...”

Derrik almost snorted coffee through his nose, “You wouldn't...”

“
Yeah he would...” countered Paul.

“
He absolutely would, “ confirmed Brian.

“
Bloody hell,” said Derrik, his British accent getting heavier, “I had to listen to her bitch about that for weeks... I'd
really
rather not do that again”

“
We haven't had any drama lately,” said Paul, “this might be fun. What would you charge her with?”

Jack shrugged, “Would I
have
to charger her with something?”

“
It would look more official if there was a charge,” volunteered Duncan.

Derrik stood up from the table, preparing to leave.“Where are you going?” asked Paul.

Derrik held up his hands, “I want to honestly be able to say I didn't know anything about this...”

Jack shrugged, “Fair enough.” Waiting until Derrik cleared earshot, the others moved closer. “So what kind of charge?”

“How about sedition?” suggested Duncan, gesturing with his fork, “If you didn't define it, it's pretty generic, it covers a pretty broad spectrum of things that fall under the category. And it could be written off as a misunderstanding when you are prepared to let her off, so there's nothing on a permanent record.”

Paul grinned, “I like the way he thinks...”

“Me too,” Jack nodded. “Good job Duncan; you have a bright future as an advanced tactical bullshitter.”

Brian grinned, rubbing his hands together, “I want a ringside seat for this... how're you gonna do this?”

Jack rose from the table, “I have to go talk to a friend...”

“
The Marines?”

“
Something tells me Sergeant Alaroot might enjoy this,” he finished off his juice. “So where's Ms. Arroyo now..?”

Paul tapped his finger on the edge of his e-Pad, “I put her out on a patrol, she needed some flight time... should be back in an hour or so.”

Steele smiled wickedly, “Perfect. Anyone who wants to see this might want to pull up a chair on the flight deck when she comes in.”
 

■ ■ ■

“
Sergeant...”

“
Captain,” Sergeant Alaroot extended his hand and the men shook, “what brings you down here? C'mon in... just catching up on a little news...” he closed the InterGal News Network program he was watching on his comm-pad.

“
A couple things Dayle,” he handed the Sergeant an envelope, “your new markers came in, you've been promoted to Warrant Officer... congratulations.”

“
From Gunny to Warrant Officer?” he tore open the envelope and poured the contents into his hand, the collar markers dropping into his palm. “They skipped a few didn't they?”

“
Yeah, they want an officer in charge, shipboard. So you're it. I couldn't get them to go as far as a Second Lieutenant though, sorry about that.”

Dayle Alaroot frowned, staring at the markers lying in his hand, “This is legit?”

“One hundred percent,” replied Jack. “And you should take your old stripes and pass them on to one of your people, your choice. Let me know who, so I can update UFW Command and get the changes recorded.”

Dayle rolled the markers around in his hand, “Never thought I'd make officer, nice pay grade...” he glanced up, “it
does
come with the pay grade, right?”

Jack smirked, “Of course.”

“So, you said there was a
couple
of things...”

“
Yeah, a little favor...”

Dayle shook his head, “Here it comes... you've been promoted, now we're sending you to the pits of hellion...”

Jack laughed out loud, “Holy shit, that's funny.”

“
Glad
you
think so.”

“
Dayle, do you like practical jokes?”

Dayle's face went stone cold, “As long as they're not on me...”

“No it's not,” Jack waved him to sit down. “You know Lieutenant JG Arroyo, right...?”

“
Sure...”

■ ■ ■

To stay clear of any possible collateral damage, or actually
becoming
collateral damage, Derrik lead a patrol of four Lancias out towards the gate to Irujen. His flight launched about ten minutes before the previous flight was due to recover, a standard overlap for the Freedom's fighter umbrella.

Standing in the Freedom's flight tower overlooking the perpetual motion machine called the flight bay, Jack and Paul stood with their backs to the glass, reviewed the big map of the system they were in. Like many systems, Longreach didn't have any habitable planets. There may have been one sometime in the past, but in this system's life cycle, not any longer. As with the life cycle of deep space, it could develop a suitable planet in the future, but time out here was not measured in centuries, millennia or ages... it was measured in aeons.

“White Three and Four on final approach...”

Jack and Paul turned back toward the glass overlooking the bay as the two controllers running the tower directed flight traffic, “Copy, White Three and Four, runway is clear. Taxi left after touchdown.” The other controller pointed out their approach speed by tapping on the screen as he directed craft in the bay to the launch tubes. The first controller nodded, “White Three and Four, your approach is above velocity threshold, bring it down a bit.”

“Copy tower, too hot, reducing speed.”

The second controller directing the floor traffic was able to contact individual crewmen, calling them by the large numbers on the backs of their colored vests. “Thirty-Two, you need to clear equipment from that revetment, I'm going to need that space.” He got the affirmative wave he was expecting and moved on to surveying other movements.

The controller watching the landing approaches had a video screen showing the approaching craft and its relationship to the ship's fantail with an info graph overlay to prove proper alignment, speed and attitude. “Three, you are square and level...”

“
Copy tower.”

Looking over the controller's shoulder, Jack looked up from the approach screen to watch the Cyclone of White Three slide through the blue electric haze of the stasis field which rippled like water as the craft passed through it. The anti-gravity auto-adjusting, the skid plates on the landing gear sent a momentary shower of sparks skittering across the deck as the fighter slowed and turned off the runway, taxiing to a stop near the revetment nearest the elevator to the deck below. The canopy slowly opened upward and a ground crewman hooked a ladder to the side of the craft under the cockpit.

White Four slid through the stasis field much like White Three and after touching down, taxied over to the next revetment, coasting on anti-grav, settling to the deck as the pilot shut down the systems and opened his canopy.

“
Tower, White One and Two on final approach...”

“
Copy, White One, runway is clear. Taxi right after touchdown. White Two,
your approach is well above velocity threshold, back it down.
”

“
Copy tower, I have plenty of room...”

The two controllers looked at each other, baffled at Maria's response. “Screw it,” commented Paul, “make her go around.”

“Sure thing Commander.” He readdressed the stubborn pilot, “Negative, White Two,
go around
.
Repeat
, go around and re-approach.” White Two stubbornly continued her approach, with reduced speed but still above standards. “White Two, abort your approach, you are hot and off the square...” As a precaution he palmed the emergency button on the console, dropping emergency nets from the ceiling that stretched across the end of the runway to protect the tower and launch tubes.

The Cyclone of White Two passed through the stasis field nose high and off center slamming hard on the deck, then bouncing, a huge spray of sparks spreading out across the deck from the craft's skid plates on the landing gear, metal squealing. Sliding down the runway, White Two managed to stop with the very tip of her nose nudging the net. Rising off the floor on anti gravity, the Cyclone's nose swung to the right, taxiing toward the first revetment, ribbons of smoke trailing off the landing gear skid plates.

Jack and Paul looked at each other in disbelief. “What the fuck is wrong with her?” asked Jack.

Paul Smiley shrugged, “She's
your
ex-girlfriend...”

“
But she's one of
your
pilots,” countered Steele, “and possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“
Who's in
your
crew,” added Paul.

“
Dammit...” sighed Jack.

“
Sir...” The controller called their attention to the deck below, where three Marines stood next to White Two as White One coasted gently abreast of it, canopy open.

Steele snatched the e-Pad from Paul Smiley, “Sorry, gotta send a quick note...” He quickly typed a cryptic note and hit update, handing it back to Paul. He looked down at the deck below, the Marine in the middle raising his e-Pad to check the incoming message. He looked up at the tower and nodded briefly.

■ ■ ■

Marine Warrant Officer Dayle Alaroot stood flanked by two of his men, alongside of White Two, waiting for Lieutenant JG Maria Arroyo to climb down out of the cockpit of her Cyclone. At the top of the ladder a ground crewman helped her unbuckle and unplug from her bird.

“Could you believe that landing Sarge - er, sir?”

Dayle shook his head, “Pretty sketchy... she's not going to impress anybody like that...” He looked down at the vibrating e-Pad in his hand, flipping it over and pulling up the message. “Uh oh...” He turned back, looking up at the tower and nodded.

“What?” whispered the Marine Corporal at his side.

“
She definitely didn't impress someone...” He noticed her descending the ladder and halted the conversation.

Once at the bottom, the ground crewman unlocked her helmet from her suit and helped her remove it, saluting and walking away once she was free of it. She held the helmet tucked under her arm, looking at the armed Marines standing three abreast. “Uh, hello...” it didn't sound like a greeting, more like a question.