Wings of Steele 4: Dark Cover, page 5
“The Red Moon is a fast delivery and recovery ship, Commander. Speed and our GOD drive are our weapons.”
Tibby glanced over at Grinah, recalling a fateful day not so long ago in Haruna Tier when the UFW caught their Captain's cruiser in an energy depleted state and literally blew the ship out from underneath their feet. It was a miracle they survived that encounter... many of their shipmates didn't; including their Captain.
Commander Yafusco rubbed his forehead with his fingertips in consternation, “Ms. Portwin...”
“Lieutenant Commander Portwin,” she reminded him.
“Yes, of course... Lieutenant Commander. Look,” he waved dismissively, “I don't know what kind of assignments or missions you've taken, but...”
Aleese Portwin raised her hand, “Let me stop you right there, Commander Yafusco, this is not our first extraction and it won't be our last. While I appreciate your concern, your condescending attitude is rather offensive.”
“In case you haven't noticed,” growled Tibby pointing in the direction of Earth, “there's a UFW Task Force out there...”
“I'm fully aware of the situation, Commander Yafusco...” Aleese said defiantly, her hands on her hips.
“What you may not be aware of,” he interrupted, “is this may be the same Task Force that laid waste to our assault fleet in Velora Prime. I've been tracking them for months.”
“During the hunt for the Freedom? Is the Freedom in this Task Force?”
Tibby shook his head, “I don't know. There is a ship that fits the Freedom's profile, but there's no way to be sure. It was never confirmed whether she survived or not...”
“We need to find out,” urged Aleese Portwin, “the Council will want to know...”
“The Council no longer cares,” countered Tibby. “They learned a very costly lesson in Velora Prime. The bounty has been rescinded.” He waved off being sidetracked, “The point is, getting past this group blockading the planet has an extremely low probability of success. Getting annihilated has an extremely high probability...”
“Unless you have a GOD drive,” countered Aleese Portwin.
“Yeah,” waved Tibby dismissively, “we saw how well that worked out when they blew a battle cruiser out from under our feet. And for that jump-freighter we met up with in Zender's Trek.” He glanced at Grinah, “Remember that one?”
She nodded in agreement, “Shot full of holes.”
Lieutenant Commander Aleese Portwin waved both hands, “Enough. The Red Moon can GOD jump from here to the atmosphere above any set of coordinates and sit down, shields-up. Without armaments we have a much larger power cache, heavier shields, faster engines. If the assets are in place and ready for pickup, we will spend minimum time on the ground. My crew and I are aware of the risks... and the reward. The Council has offered quite a handsome bonus per body...”
“Alive I hope,” offered Kindre Thurmer.
“Of course...”
“Sir!” Tibby's tactical officer turned in his seat, “Our remote sensor has been discovered by a UFW fighter patrol... Aaand it's gone. Sensor destroyed.”
T. B. Yafusco winced, “Dammit.” He looked up at the screen, “Forward the last known coordinates of all the UFW ships and flights to the Red Moon.”
Aleese Portwin nodded, “Thank you, Commander... Helm, prepare for GOD jump.”
■ ■ ■
The dark, relatively featureless shape of the Red Moon swung away from the DD217 and the DD62, the two destroyers hung motionless in Saturn's shadow, its outer rings sweeping past behind them.
Lieutenant Commander Aleese Portwin settled into her command chair, “Helm, take us to a safe distance to initiate GOD...”
“Aye, moving off...”
“Navigation?”
“Plotting course to our first stop Commander.”
“Good.” Aleese Portwin keyed her mic to the recovery deck, “Team ready?”
“JRT, Jump Recovery Team, ready Skipper,” came the voice in her earpiece.
“Remember team, if they're not on the list, they don't board. No exceptions.” Aleese released her mic button. “We don't get paid for excess baggage...” she breathed.
“Initiating GOD drive, Commander. Atmospheric control canards extended, bubble forming...”
“Shields?”
“Charged and standing by, Commander.”
Aleese Portwin knew she didn't need to emphasize how crucial the shields were once they cleared the jump corona. This wasn't their first dance. “Initiate jump.”
■ ■ ■
The air exploded over West Virginia's Jefferson National Forest, halfway between Eagle Rock and White Sulphur Springs, flattening trees in a mile circumference, creating instant thunderstorms which sprawled out in all directions, spawning violent tornadoes. The town of Covington, just a couple of miles north, was laid to waste, flattened by the onslaught of chaotic weather.
The Red Moon appeared from the storm, its dark shape racing away from the epicenter, arcing to the northwest. It descended as it crossed interstate I-64 and dropped out of the sudden torrents like a ghost, scattering people below in the parking lot, running from the alien object and spikes of lightning. Straddling the Greenbrier Hotel's front lawn, reaching across the parking lot and into the golf course, the Red Moon settled to the surface, crushing parked cars, splintering trees and destroying the golf course's pro shop.
Seated at his desk in the lobby, the man with the neatly-cropped salt and pepper hair on the phone with his wife, was the Concierge for the hotel. He stared out of the lobby windows in disbelief as people poured in through the entrance, “Honey, I think I'm going to have to call you back...” he hung up the phone without taking his eyes off the windows. Once a Marine, always a Marine... As he dug into his daily carry pack stashed under his desk, two security agents hustled past headed for the door, guns drawn. Pushing past his home-made lunch and locating what he was searching for, the Concierge withdrew a Glock 21 and two spare mags which he slipped into his pocket. Doing a quick press-check as he rose, he strode purposefully toward the commotion, dropping his gun hand, hiding it low and behind him. “What in the Sam Hell do we have here?” he wondered aloud. “These folks must be lost,” he commented casually. “Sally, call the Sheriff...” he calmly instructed the desk clerk.
■ ■ ■
The President's Senior Adviser brushed her dark hair off her face with the back of her hand, her decidedly Arabic features spattered with blood, her dark eyes admiring her handiwork. “That's the last one...”
The President stepped gingerly over the body of the dead Secret Service agent at his feet on the floor of the train car, “Did we have to kill them all?”
“We?” she snorted derisively, “I don't remember you having a hand in any of this.” She glanced around at the bloody carnage, the bodies of the agents scattered around. Their body armor offered no real resistance to her pulse-laser and she'd completely surprised them, shooting several in the back. Pointing at the nuclear football she fired the last pulse left in her pistol, effectively destroying the unit and preventing anyone tampering with their command orders. She tossed the pistol aside and searched the nearest corpse, recovering a Sig Sauer handgun. “Let's go,” she hissed, shooting him a look of distaste. As far as she was concerned, his assignment was over; he was merely baggage at this point... She didn't like it, but maybe he still had some use – if nothing else it would save her from having to create a lengthy detailed report about why she didn't bring him back.
“What about my family?”
“They're not part of the mission,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“But...”
She stopped mid-stride and turned, pointing the muzzle of the gun at his chest, “I'm only going to say this once, so listen carefully; they were window dressing, bought and paid for. They have no value. That greedy mooch caused more problems for us than she was worth, dragging those kids all over the planet. Stupid bitch didn't know the meaning of subtle or low profile... good riddance.”
■ ■ ■
The Concierge watched the Greenbrier 's security agents engage the alien assault team, fire crisscrossing the front lawn and portions of the parking lot as the agents swung left along the parked cars for cover. Many of the rounds fired by the security agents did little or nothing, the alien armor deflecting much of it, producing an occasional stagger.
Two more of the Greenbrier 's security agents exited the building taking up positions behind the concrete pillars at the hotel's entrance, firing from concealment.
Hmm, more cannon fodder... The retired Marine stepped from behind one of the concrete pillars and moved right, stopping to line up his sights, one-handed, old-school, Camp Perry style. The Glock 21 jumped slightly, the .45 slug punching a hole through the visor of his first target fifty yards away, the alien assault trooper crumpling to the ground. Every target has a weakness... He sidestepped shots in his direction and began to walk forward, carefully taking shots, always at the visor. When his slide clacked open he thumbed the release, the empty magazine dropping to the grass, his free hand feeding in another with a positive slap. It was at that moment he realized he was hit, his hand slick with blood. He was unconcerned and unrattled; this was not his first rodeo.
Thumbing the slide release, he took aim and continued to fire, moving forward with purpose. He felt the hit in his gut and grit his teeth with a grunt, taking a painful step sideways, shooting the trooper in the face straight through his visor. He felt a hit in his back and it spun him...
“Allahu akbar!” screamed the President's Senior Adviser as she ran up behind the man in the Concierge's uniform.
She was so close the Marine swung his fist and connected solidly with her face, laying her out on her back, her nose broken, her face bloodied. When he saw the muzzle of her gun move there was no hesitation, just reflex. The Glock 21 vibrated in his hand and her head exploded across the grass. “Aloha snackbar, bitch,” he growled, turning back to the action. When the President ran past him toward the alien ship he barely took notice, only vaguely aware of his narrowing vision. Executing another magazine change, the Marine set his jaw against the pain and pushed forward, unwavering, determined to take advantage of the target rich environment.
■ ■ ■
The President placed his hand on the glass plate, the e-Pad scanning his hand, the Red Moon's officer passing a device over the back of the man's neck. The RFID implanted there gave up its information and serial number. “Identity confirmed,” reported the officer into the comm. “Welcome aboard, agent Oroterra,” he nodded.
Lieutenant Commander Aleese Portwin keyed her mic, “What about the other operative?”
“Dead, Commander.”
“Dammit,” she hissed. “Did we lose any team members?”
“Yes Ma'am. Five killed and four wounded.”
Aleese Portwin felt the flush of anger race across her face. “What the hellion were they using?”
“Projectile weapons...”
“By the Gods,” she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose, “damn antiques... Helm, next stop.”
“Aye, Commander, twenty-one minutes.”
■ ■ ■
His left uniform pant leg and dress shoes red with blood, the Concierge turned over the closest body over with his foot, grunting from the pain. “Hmm, one of them aliens I suppose...” he commented, admiring his marksmanship, the visor splintered, the face of the man in the helmet unrecognizable.
One of the security agents appeared at his side, “Gunny, you're hit pretty good, why don't you sit down...”
The Glock 21 dangled in the Marine's right hand, his trigger finger resting on the frame, at the ready. He glanced up at the empty sky where the ship had disappeared, the rain having lightened considerably, the worst of the weather having moved on. “Damnedest thing I ever did see...” He took a deep breath and swayed where he stood, “Actually feels good...” he said blinking away the wetness. “Nah, I'll be OK,” he waved, unaware that the security agent was supporting him around the waist.
A string of blue and red lights flickered along the main road and up the lengthy drive to the hotel, sirens wailing, “Sheriff's here, Gunny. Stand down.”
“On time, just as always,” remarked the Marine in the Concierge's uniform. “I'm being fucking sarcastic of course...”
“I get it, Gunny.”
The Marine wobbled, “Y'know, I think I will have that seat, I'm feeling a little light-headed...”
“Semper Fi, Gunny.”
CHAPTER FOUR
UFW CARRIER, CONQUEST : THE SKY IS FALLING
“Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your seats..!” With the television cameras rolling again, Ensign Lisa Steele stood at the podium and watched a pair of Space Marines escort a small group of key people her brother had requested, to the bridge of the Conquest.
“Ensign,” called a newswoman from the front row, standing and adjusting her red blazer, “what is all that noise? What's going..?” The rail guns fired, cutting her off, their roar reverberating through the hull of the ship like a drum, the deck vibrating.
“What you're hearing is our rail guns. It appears the criminals on the e-RIPs you've been given,” Lisa held up her electronic Report In Progress device, “have taken this opportunity to initiate a nuclear response to being captured...”
A wave of disruptive cross-talk swept across the audience...
“What does that mean?”
“What are we going to do?”
The sound of the rail guns momentarily silenced the group and Lisa jumped in before she could be talked over. “We are attempting to neutralize the threats in the most expedient way possible, while minimizing the risk to Earth's population. The military and intelligence people you saw leave your group may be able to assist us with that task...” She paused as the rail guns fired again and she looked into the cameras, “We ask that anyone who can still see or hear our broadcast seek shelter. Try to stay with us. We will do our best to keep you up to date...”
■ ■ ■
Standing in the center of the command deck, Captain Anthony Ryan had never had so many people on his bridge; with nearly three times its normal crew compliment it was utter chaos. Many stations were double-staffed to keep up with the activity along with the visitors from the planet's surface pitching in at tactical, communications and cyber-warfare. He understood why the Admiral requested the presence of these extra bodies but he was more concerned with them getting in the way than actually having any useful participation.
“Captain, port-side guns are nearing overheat levels...”
Captain Ryan pursed his lips, “Mmm. Weapons; shut them down and let them cool. Alert the starboard turrets we're performing a combat roll.” Ryan set his hand on the shoulder of the helmsman, “Combat roll, bring our starboard turrets to bear.”
“Combat roll, aye.”
“Admiral, comm coming in from White Flight...”
“On screen,” acknowledged Steele.
A video square appeared, the colors muted and dull from the darkness of space, Lieutenant JG Nera Margareth's face showed, illuminated by her instruments, her eyes glowing eerily in the night vision image. “White Leader, sir; we've located and destroyed a passive remote sensor probe hidden in the asteroid belt beyond the fourth planet.”
“Good job, Lieutenant.” Steele glanced over at Captain Ryan, “Our hunch was right, we're not alone in the system...” He turned back to the screen, “Stay alert White Leader, resume your patrol.” The Ketarian pilot saluted and the square winked out as the image on the main screen rolled, the blue and green planet trading sides on the panoramic screen before them.
With a minor pause in the firing order, the rail guns resumed their targeting and fired as the starboard turrets came into play.
“Captain, the Westwind just took a rail gun hit from the surface...”
Steele stepped forward, “Damage?”
“No Admiral, her shields held. It doesn't look intentional, probably a miss on a warhead.”
“Who the hell has rail guns?” asked Jack, glancing in Chase's direction.
“The Navy,” replied Chase. “But I didn't know they had any operational. Kind of like the lasers, they were in development and trial.”
Steele stared at the big screen, mesmerized at the comet-like fireballs and multi-colored streaks of light crisscrossing the planet below, hot flashes of light punctuating the insanity. “Well they're in operation now...” he mumbled. He felt numb, disconnected, helpless, angry... He wanted to do something to make it stop. Anything. But it was a runaway train of chaos with no conductor. Oh, to be Superman and fly around the world against its rotation and reverse time, or to have Rod Serling's magical time controlling stopwatch... A sharp jab in the ribs brought the chaos rushing back in at him, “Huh?” he blinked. Chase simply motioned with his eyes toward the tactical station, the tactical officer staring back at them.
“Admiral... the satellites have started shooting at each other...”
Steele's eyes widened, “Say what now?”
“Operation Blind Side,” confirmed the US Air Force General standing at the tactical station. “It was a lead program to Project Zenith and Project Ascension.” He motioned toward the big screen, “Which of course, you've already encountered. This mess must have initiated US Space Command's first-strike protocol.”
“Can you stop it?”
The General shook his head, “No Admiral, we cannot. It was designed as a total space superiority protocol. Once initiated there is no pause, no turn-back. With the X-37B Ascension birds, our web of first-strike satellites will attempt to wipe out all opposing space borne hardware. Starting with opposing aggressor hardware.”
“They have killer satellites too?”
