Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2) (50 page)

His responses sounded far away, broken and full of static, but her best understanding was to stay in the seat. Then there was nothing. No static, no visibility, no Jack, just the driving rain and the sensation of falling. There was no sky, no horizon, no ground, just the howl of the wind and the feeling of weightlessness. When the seat fired and deployed the parachute, it took her by surprise and she yelped, looking up at the unfurling canopy. She found herself clenching the harness that held her in her seat. She couldn't remember ever feeling so alone. Or terrified.

■ ■ ■

Red flight leveled off over the angry tempest at about ten-thousand feet, their sensors sweeping to the curvature of the planet in all directions. “Red Leader to Tower, we've lost all signals. We're not seeing any pings or signals...” Mike Warren eyed the lightning dancing through the clouds below them.

“We've got your altitude and position, Red Leader, any chance of surface scans?”

“
Negative, Tower. We can't read a thing though that mess. And judging by the Skipper's last report, we can't drop into this stuff either.”

“
Copy that. How long can you stay on station?”

Mike checked his fuel status, “An hour, tops.”

“Copy Red Leader. Return to home plate for refueling, we'll get you back out there as soon as we can.”

■ ■ ■

Timmian stuck his head into the doorway of Sy Setzel's office, “You ready to go sir?”

Sy was emptying the office safe into his bag and he never looked up, cursing under his breath, “I'll meet you at the shuttle. I can't believe that bastard left without picking up our load...”

“Well he
was
under fire...” offered Timmian.

“
Coward,” muttered Sy, “we'll never make our quota now.”

Timmian shook his head and headed down the corridor, there was no pleasing Setzel when he was in a frenetic episode. He snagged his bag from where he left it and headed out into the pouring rain, running across the concrete apron to the waiting shuttle, a hundred yards out, the pilot already inside.

“Where's Mr. Setzel?” asked Digger, double-checking his systems.

Timmian shrugged, “You know Sy, he'll get here when he gets here.”

The pilot hung his head and sighed. “No fighter cover, the UFW flying around, and he wants to play games.

“
The fighters are gone?”

Digger lit his cigar, “Well the transport created this hellstorm when she jumped out. I have no idea if the fighters survived or not. I can't read through this stuff,” he waved, indicating the angry swirling clouds.

“The employee shuttle leave already?”

“
Yep, we're the only ones left. And if he doesn't get his skinny, paranoid little ass in here, I'm going to leave that fucking freak here by himself.”

Timmian stared at the remote control in his hands, fingering the buttons, impatiently waiting for Sy Setzel.

“A week's salary if you push the button...”

Timmian locked eyes with the pilot who didn't blink. “But Sy is still in there...”

“Uh-huh. You fancy going to prison or dying for him?” The pilot adjusted the shuttle's sensors.

“
No, but...”

“
Didn't that fruit bat shoot you a couple weeks ago?” Digger let out a halo of smoke.

Timmian nodded, “Well, yeah, but...” The pilot cocked his head to one side, searching the mine manager's face for a reaction. There was none. There was still none when the mine entrances exploded, one by one in a violent chain reaction sequence, tons of rock collapsing, sealing the mine, a shower of gravel reaching across the concrete towards the shuttle. The belching dust dissipated quickly in the downpour. Timmian smirked and tossed the remote out onto the ground and pulled the door shut, latching it.

“Feels good, don't it?” the pilot grinned. The shuttle lifted off the ground and accelerated away, leaving Mine 02 behind. And Sy Setzel sealed inside by several hundred tons of rubble... with four thousand angry slave miners.

■ ■ ■

Reiger Dantos swung his heavy departure bag up into the cargo compartment of the waiting shuttle, “Did you set all the charges?”

“
Yep,” his aide grunted, chucking the heavy weapons case through the hatch. “The entrances are blocked with the heavy equipment and the charges are set on a delay. It'll bury everything after we leave. The employee shuttle just took off.”

“
Good.” He looked around, adjusted his eye patch and stroked his beard. “Dammit, this was the most productive mine I've ever had... I hate to let it go.” He turned and climbed into the shuttle, “Maybe we'll get to come back when things quiet down,” he mused. “Let's get the hellion out of here.”

As the shuttle lifted off, Reiger looked over his shoulder at his aide, “If the UFW doesn't catch our little friend, I'm gonna hafta kill him...”

“Setzel?”

“
Yeah, him,” said Reiger with distaste. “And I'm gonna make it slow...”

“
Sorry boss,” commented the pilot, pointing the shuttle toward the airport, “I'm afraid you won't get the chance...”

“
What? Why?”

“
Digger gave me the details when he notified us of the alert. He didn't have to prod Timmian too hard; he pushed the button on the little freak himself. Sealed him in.”

“
No shit! Good for him,” nodded Reiger. “I guess he earned himself a spot on our crew then, huh?”

His aide chuckled, “I guess he was still sore about that whole
shot in the foot thing...”

The pilot eased he throttle back as they approached the vacant airport. “And getting Digger on Sy's staff was a stroke of genius, boss. It really saved our asses here. Gave us time to get our shit and get out.”

“It took a little scheming to get him in, but it always pays off to have ears inside.” He wiped the sweat off his shining head. “Worked out good for us.”

His aide unbuckled as the shuttle touched down and settled on the landing pad. “Not so good for his original pilot though... poor bastard.”

They all chuckled.

Reiger checked his chronometer, “How far out is Digger?”

“Ten minutes and we're outta here,” replied the pilot, “I've never known him to be late...”

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

VELORIA :
REMORA ONE - HOSED, PRANGED AND PUNCHED OUT

After punching out, there was nothing to do but hold on and wait it out; the seat would do the rest, in space or in atmosphere. There was no controlling the canopy or the descent in the near gale-force winds. Steele was at the mercy of the weather. He looked up and watched the red and white striped chute undulate and ripple like a jellyfish in the water, the ejection seat swinging like a pendulum. He tried calling Lisa but the comm in his helmet only produced a soft static hiss. He couldn't believe he was thinking of it, but his mother would kill him if anything happened to his sister.

He watched the swirls below him, searching for some indication of how high he was, but between the movement of his chair, the streaks of rain across his visor and the darkness that surrounded him, that was proving impossible. He turned up the airflow on the oxygen bottle attached to the seat to fight the nausea caused by the wild ride. It was just a glimpse but he thought he caught a low ridge line to the East, but then it was gone.
Did he really see that?

The wind threatened to collapse the canopy, folding it, twisting it, the seat standing out horizontally... When he slammed down into the water it took him by surprise, the seat landing on its side on a pendulous downswing, stunning him. The canopy and lines collapsed around him, still partially inflated, dragging him and the seat down as it quickly began to sink. Fighting panic and disorientation, his gloved fingers struggled with the harness release, finally opening the latches as the water crested over his sealed helmet.

Reflexively, Steele held his breath, forgetting his suit was sealed and he had air, though not more than a minute or two once his umbilicals disconnected from the seat. It sank away as he pushed off, only to be caught in the canopy lines and the sinking chute itself, dragged down by the ejection seat as it disappeared below him. The watery world around him darkened and the canopy clung to him, dragging him down as he struggled to get free.
No! No, not like this..!
The panic attempted to override his cognitive mind, triggering one of his deepest fears, drowning. The fight for life, for breath, denied by a force that was all-enveloping, cold, crushing, terrifying.

The survival knife came cleanly out of its sheath. He slashed at the material and the lines, trying to cut himself free in the darkness. He was not wet but he was suddenly aware of the extreme cold that surrounded him as breathing became more labored. Was he rising? He couldn't tell, there didn't seem to be any
up
or
down
.
Dammit all to hell!
His heart thudded in his ears, he couldn't tell if he was free of his entanglements or not and continued to kick as he felt around himself for clutter. It was difficult to feel with the gloves and the cold. His joints felt stiff and his mind was getting foggy, he had used up all the oxygen and he knew it... Had his vision gone gray? It was almost impossible to tell. Was it getting lighter, or was that his imagination? Was hypoxia affecting his judgment already? His eyelids were heavy and his lungs ached, crying for oxygen, his muscles exhausted almost to the point of failure.
Good God, where was the surface?

■ ■ ■

Lisa Steele's ejection seat swung between the trees about thirty feet off the ground, her red and white canopy caught on the limbs far above her. She looked down at the ground as she swayed in the wind.
Terrific. What the hell am I supposed to do now?
“Jack, are you out there..?” There was nothing, not even a hiss.
Fuck
. She would take her helmet off if it wasn't for the hail clattering down on it, mixed in with the rain. The motion of her seat gave her an idea and she began flexing like a child on a swing, increasing the pendulous arc. If she could reach the nearest tree branch, she might be able to get herself down.
Just a little more... Got it!
But the weight of the seat tore it out of her hands.
Fuck! Shit!
She examined the harness clasps as she continued to swing, having to rebuild her momentum. She'd have to time it right or the seat would likely dump her out, and that was a
long
fall. She really didn't see any other options.

The branch was easily in her reach, next cycle. Here it comes... on the forward swing she released the buckle, tossing the straps aside, reaching out, the seat slamming her painfully against the branch before swinging free, leaving her clinging weakly to the tree, her umbilicals tugging on her as they disconnected from the seat with a
pop
.

It was deceiving how strong the wind was while she was swinging in the ejection seat, but the hand of God that swept her free from her perch made it perfectly clear. She bounced and grabbed at branches on her way down, attempting to slow her decent, tumbling, bouncing, blown free, hitting the soggy, muddy, forest floor with a mind-numbing, star-producing, squishy thud. She lay there on her back for some time, gasping for breath, unable to move.
Oh good, I'm so glad the ground was here to break my fall...
Laying there, pins and needles shooting through her entire body, she watched the empty ejection seat sway in the wind above her as she wiggled her toes and fingers to see if everything was still attached. She weakly reached up and released her visor, cracking it open and sucking in the fresh air, as the rain dripping onto her face. Thankfully, the hail had passed.

The hooded face that appeared above her set her rigid, startling her so badly she yelped. He leaned over and looked down at her with a weathered, aged face, filled with warmth and kindness. “Lisa,” he said pleasantly, “you really ought to get up now...” His voice was deep and penetrating, grandfatherly. She blinked at him, watching the rain fall
through
him. “Really dear,” he urged,
“now
would be a good time...” Her mind was stuck on the fact that the rain seemed to be falling though him. “
MOVE NOW!”