Escape 2: Fight the Aliens Page 3

  Poindexter gave him a thumbs-up gesture, the casual nature of which surprised him. But her expression stayed command serious. “Your plan is fine by me. You and your buddies are still in the Reserve, so the DOD will do its thing and put you all on the Active Duty payroll. But that means you still need nine more special ops people to handle this covert infiltration of the Collector ships. Since you plan to stuff three people into each collector pod. Right?”

  “Right,” Bill said.

  The Air Force general looked aside to the JCS chair. “General McAuley, my OSI people report the saloon buddies of Chief MacCarthy include another retired SEAL, three Army Rangers, two Air Force Special Tactics folks, two Marine Special Operations people and a Coast Guard master chief. May I suggest we round up nine more folks from the Special Operations Command at MacDill? We can fly them to Denver in time to load onto this transport spaceship.”

  McAuley’s face had lost some redness as Jane moved to tactics and operational planning. The news that two retired Marines were some of Bill’s saloon buddies had earned Bill a positive look from the JCS chairman. McAuley nodded slowly. “Agreed. You run Space Command and this arrival of Alien spaceships fits your mission better than anyone else here. And infiltration of the enemy ships may result in America gaining its own space fleet.” The man did not repeat his demands to Jane, since he had now realized there were six spaceships in the bush that could be flushed into American hands.

  Poindexter kept her command manner intact even as Bill had a hard time keeping a grin off his face. “Good. I will contact MacDill and have them put out a call for volunteers.” She caught Bill’s attention. “XO MacCarthy, I will instruct the special ops folks we supply to follow your orders and those of Captain Yamaguchi. After all, you two have shown you know how to overcome Aliens inside their own ship! Is this acceptable?”

  Bill almost saluted the woman. “Very acceptable. Uh, our ship AI will send you the IFF transponder code for our transports and for Blue Sky so your pilots and ships won’t try to knock us down.”

  The black woman blinked. “Should have thought of that myself. Must admit that handling real space combat operations that involve thinking Aliens is a bit different than worrying about Hunter-Killer satellites.”

  Jane’s command manner had gotten stronger as tactical coordination was sorted out. “General, you have my sympathy,” she said bluntly. “Neither XO MacCarthy nor myself ever expected a weekend fishing trip in the Rocky Mountains to turn into a fight against slave-taking Aliens! It was . . . a shock to us. But our training got us through it.”

  Poindexter gave Jane a thumbs-up, an action that made all the chiefs smile. “Thank you, Captain Yamaguchi. I assume you and XO MacCarthy will take care of arming our infiltrators with those taser and laser tubes you captured in your takeover of the Blue Sky?”

  “We will,” she said, nodding Bill’s way. “Once the boarding team folks arrive on board, XO MacCarthy will show them the vidcam records of our ship takeover and instruct them on how to relate to the AI ship mind of the ship they enter. Gaining the help of each ship’s AI is vital to success. We will provide vacsuits for our boarding crews. And General, please advise your people they must avoid killing any ship crew! Bill and I learned that disabling ship crew was tolerated by our ship’s AI, but killing ship crew might force the AI into self-defense behavior.”

  The Air Force general looked thoughtful. “This wearing of vacuum suits is intended to invoke the Emergency Operations protocols that each ship AI is required to obey?”

  “Exactly,” Jane said, sitting back in her command seat. “Each vacsuit contains a comlink for talking to other folks and to the AI. While our people can be overhead on the comlink, still, wearing them is vital to forcing the AI to follow Emergency Operations protocols. Those protocols force the AI to open hallway hatches for them and to treat our people as if they were ship crew.”

  The Air Force chief nodded slowly. “Understood. Tell me about permissible combat operations within each Collector ship. The Aliens will try to kill our people, right?”

  “They will try,” Jane said, sitting back and looking relaxed. “But Collector ship crews are not used to coping with combat trained folks. Our boarders can taser zap the crew folks and put them into the Containment Unit cells meant for slaves. The lasers and ball bombs from our armory can be used against robots that might attack them. XO MacCarthy will cover all this in the training regime for our boarders. Which needs to start soon. We are one hour closer to Collector ship arrival.”

  Poindexter licked her lips. “Quite true. Does anyone here have an objection to Captain Yamaguchi’s plan for defending Earth and America?”

  McAuley gave her a thumbs-up. The Marine commandant, the Army general, the National Guard general, and the Vice Chair admiral all nodded agreement. But the Chief of Naval Operations raised a hand.

  “General Poindexter, I have an amendment to Captain Yamaguchi’s daring plan to capture the enemy ships. May I share my thoughts?”

  The black woman looked curious. “What is your amendment?”

  Vice Admiral Richardson looked at Poindexter. “In Stage One, Captain Yamaguchi’s forces will be outgunned at six ships against three. How about if we give her two more armed spaceships?”

  “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 travel
ing 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?”