On a Pale Ship

  On a Pale Ship

  Jamie McFarlane

  Fickle Dragon Publishing

  Copyright © 2017 by Jamie McFarlane

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Preface

  Introduction

  1. Disrepute

  2. Thief

  3. Fallen

  4. Little Deuce

  5. Killer

  6. Fools

  7. Watery Grave

  8. Baron Serikov

  9. Regret

  10. To Blood

  11. Dirty Hands

  12. Mostly Dead

  13. Deadly Secrets

  14. Feeed Me

  15. Burdened

  16. No Plan Survives

  17. Cost of Honor

  18. Pecking Order

  19. Wakey Wakey

  20. Honor's Pledge

  21. A Promise is a Promise

  22. Day Jobs

  23. Pale Fury

  24. Maiden Voyage

  25. Storm Anchor

  26. Spy in the Ointment

  27. Lines are Drawn

  28. Point Grünholz

  29. Bang

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Jamie McFarlane

  Preface

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  Introduction

  On a Pale Ship is the first book in a new series by the same name ‘Pale Ship.’ And, while this new series occurs within the Privateer Tales universe, the story lines are independent.

  Insofar as you might have read Privateer Tales, however, it is interesting to note that On a Pale Ship starts chronologically after Buccaneers - Privateer Tales #8.

  Now on with the story.

  Chapter 1

  Disrepute

  System: Tipperary, Planet: Grünholz, City: Nuage Gros, Population 80,000

  "Commander, bogey squadron on scope." Lieutenant Brighton's voice was tight with excitement.

  Captain Lucien Gray didn't need the rookie's announcement. He'd already brought the loose group of three civilian transports onto his forward display. Two ships were strictly freighters while the third was an aggressive, combat-ready ship. The trio had ignored the cloud city, Nuage Vert's, call for identification.

  "Stay tight, Brighton," Gray commanded. "Emilie, take us in on standard approach."

  "Copy that, Commander," Lieutenant Emilie Bastion replied crisply. In the five-fighter squadron — with the exception of Gray — Bastion was the senior-most member by at least a standard year.

  "Identify ships and search criminal activity logs," Gray ordered the always listening AI (Artificial Intelligence).

  "Ships are registered to the Ève Corporation, Sandlot Enterprise," the AI announced. "Heavy Fighter class A12 is equipped with two four-hundred fifty thousand joule blaster turrets. As equipped, it is required to submit to Nuage Air Defense turret lock-down. Request has been …"

  "Cease," Gray snapped.

  The sharp-looking, golden ships his squadron flew were well-equipped and meticulously maintained, but the A12 carried enough fire power to easily punch through their armor.

  "Sandlot Enterprise convoy, this is Nuage Air Defense. You are required to submit to a turret lockdown and make way to the port of Nuage Vert for inspection," Gray called over the comm. With a flick of his thumb, he switched to squadron comms. "Emilie, back us off to five kilometers. That fighter is heavily armed."

  "Copy that. Brighton, back in formation!"

  It wasn't the first time the young pilot had deviated from protocol during a hostile confrontation. The last time, Brighton had endangered himself and the unit. Gray had initiated administrative action, only to have discipline rescinded by his superior who’d argued youthful exuberance and a general lack of qualified candidates.

  "Dakshite, Brighton! Back in formation or I'll have your wings," Gray growled into the squad comm. He'd no more finished the order when a bolt of plasma pierced the space between the two groups of ships and tore through Brighton's patrol craft.

  "Commander, I'm hit!" Brighton’s terrified scream turned into a gurgle. A blast wave rocked Gray's ship as the Falcon brilliantly exploded.

  "Defensive Protocol Eight," Gray ordered, a lump forming in his throat. Focusing on the death of his fallen charge would endanger three other lives. Combat was a cruel teacher from which you either learned lessons quickly or ended up dead.

  With a shoulder shrug, Gray pulled the combat scope up so it dominated his visual field. The Falcon's design was a few centuries old, but what the craft sacrificed in sophistication, it made up for in reliability. With his thumbs, Gray flicked the safety covers atop his flight yoke up. He was now in weapon's hot status.

  "Sandlot ships, stand down," he ordered, knowing full well no such order would be followed.

  As if in response, the A12 fighter peeled away from the freighters and fired twice more at the three repositioning Nuage ships. It was one thing to take a shot at an unsuspecting ship, but another entirely to hit combat trained pilots who've just seen one of their own taken out. The Tipperary star glinted off the brightly colored Falcons as they dodged incoming fire.

  Gray slammed the throttle down and rocketed toward the Sandlot A12. The hostile fighter had jumped out in pursuit of the three Falcons. To be fair, they did seem to be retreating quickly from the scene. A few well-practiced moves later and the A12 suddenly found itself sandwiched between two groups of experienced fighters. Luc, not in a mood to mince words, opened fire with dual, semi-fixed turrets mounted on the front of his Falcon. At one hundred-fifty thousand joules combined, his weapons didn't have anywhere near the power of his opponent’s, but Gray was only getting started. There were a few lessons a good pilot learned time and time again. Destructive power in combat was a desirable quality, as was the element of surprise. The third bit of knowledge, however, was simply that a powerful ship alone was not sufficient to overcome a well-trained squadron.

  Defensive Maneuver Eight had been designed to confound a lesser-trained opponent into doing exactly as the A12 had — give chase. High altitude, atmospheric battles required split second decisions and he’d forced the A12 to make a stupid one. The pilot had committed to the attack and now Luc's job was to disable, destroy, or at the very least, punish the aggressor. He took no joy in the attack. He'd seen too many conflicts, lost too many comrades, and taken too many lives. Today’s action, however, was an easy decision: put down a killer and prevent more attacks. Gray’s aim was true as he stitched a line of destruction along the ship's exposed flank.

  The heavily armored A12 turned toward Gray's Falcon as the freighters nosed over, making a break for cover in the clouds below. The damage Gray had inflicted — if anything — only slightly slowed the ship’s pursuit of the squadron.

  "Wolf Pack Formation," Gray calmly directed as he dove beneath the turning ship. The ‘Wolf Pack’ directive gave the remaining squadron members permission to attack on individual vectors. It was a formation Luc had personally invented and trained his squads on. Inspiration for the battle style had come from watching vids of its namesake — wild predators which originally hailed from Earth. Wolves first separated an individual animal from a herd of prey and then conserved energy by sending attackers in one by one until the prey
no longer had the energy to defend itself.

  In the case of the A12, Luc knew that one Falcon couldn't hope to take the fighter on. As a pack, they’d nip at the ship’s vulnerabilities until it was finally brought down. He peeled off to the left as he pulled back on the throttle. Predictable flight was a great way to allow an enemy AI to lock on weapons. Luc had an instinct for just how much randomness he needed to inject into his own flight to avoid being targeted.

  A red line on his scope showed the path of Alex Ouvrard's fire as he took first in line at a strafing run. Alex was an excellent pilot and it was a fight for which they'd constantly trained.

  "Contact!" Alex exclaimed, flying at high speed past the starboard side of the heavy fighter. He had taken the fastest possible run, working to paint a line of destruction across the side of armored ship. The goal was not to finish the job in a single pass, but to bleed out their prey.

  The A12's captain was quick to recognize his ship’s peril and put on speed, attempting to move out of the kill box. He hastily tried to turn and join the freighters on their dive toward the cloud cover below.

  "I'm in," Emilie Bastion announced. Luc's eyes searched the scope for the senior team-member's position in the airspace. Bastion was lined up well for an attack, but the A12 was too close to the heavy clouds that encircled Grünholz.

  "Pull off, Emilie!" Luc called. He banked hard, laying fire across the A12's bow, but he was too far away and his weapons had little effect. While they were still well within Nuage airspace, the clouds presented extra challenges. Their dense blanket could hide any number of complications and he had no interest in adding something new to the fight.

  Air combat, unlike ground combat, was usually measured in seconds rather than hours or days. Emilie, being a senior pilot, should have responded immediately, but she was willing to risk a delay of three seconds if it would allow her to fire cleanly on their wily prey. Luc searched his scope for new dangers, knowing there wasn't sufficient time to call off his subordinate a second time. His heart sank as he caught the telltale of a thick, dark gray fin slicing through the top of a nearby cloud on an intercept course with Bastion's Falcon.

  "Evasive action," he ordered, turning toward the stealthed ship. "All ships disengage immediately."

  Emilie Bastion's turret fired a long burst and shots impacted in a perfect line above the engine cowl of the A12. She yelped in excitement as her shots found their mark and she was rewarded with a bright plume of white smoke. The sounds were cut short, though, as the hidden fighter poked above the cloud cover and fired mercilessly at Bastion's craft. The once proud Falcon listed as the port-side wing bent and tore from the craft, sending the ship on an accelerating spin.

  "Eject, Bastion! Command override," Luc instructed the AI. He tensely followed the progress of the spinning ship, finally breathing a sigh of relief as a puff of white smoke was followed by the ejection of his pilot. Vital information showed she was unconscious but alive.

  Gray’s attention shifted to the second fighter, now exposed by its attack on Emilie’s ship. It was slightly smaller than the Sandlot A12 and showed no registration. More importantly, the ship had left itself open to his fast approach. Gray rolled over hard, turning his Falcon's belly to the Tipperary star. He pushed the old-fashioned flaps up, rapidly slowing the ship to drop him in behind the fighter. From the moment Luc’s turret could reach the fighter, the AI let loose a constant stream of fire.

  A whoop sounded in Luc’s ears as the remaining two squadron ships buzzed across his field of view and lit into the fighter. Luc’s AI automatically stopped firing as each ship crossed in front of him.

  Consistent with most of Luc’s other combat experience, the end came abruptly. The unidentified fighter burst into flames, lost maneuverability, and sank into the clouds.

  "Sandlot Enterprise fleet, this is Squad Commander Luc Gray. You will submit to turret lockdown protocol and divert to Nuage Vert on the following path. You have five seconds to comply," he said. "Delay on your part will result in the destruction of your remaining ships."

  "This is Sandlot Freighter Belarus. Will comply." The voice bore a heavy Russian accent.

  "Commander, we should finish these bastards," Utenser said. "They killed Brighton and Bastion."

  "Stand down, Utenser," Gray replied. "We have the data streams, so these guys aren’t going anywhere and Emilie ejected. She’s still up."

  "They're Oberrhein; you heard the guy's accent. While we mess with these guys, Oberrhein will be searching for Emilie and you know how they’ll treat her," he said.

  The complaint echoed a concern Luc shared. The cloud nation of Nuage shared the planet Grünholz with the much poorer, monarchy-ruled Oberrhein nation. Utenser had a point. If the crew were citizens of the Oberrhein nation, it was possible the Nuagian government, in order to keep the peace, would just release the ships regardless of the crimes committed.

  "I understand. We also have a duty to fulfill," Gray replied, unwilling to bend from his sworn oath to uphold Nuagian laws. Nuage and Oberrhein had once gone to war, very nearly wiping each other out. It was only through a tenuous peace that both nations continued to exist.

  "Commander Gray, this is Air Defense Control. Do you copy?" Gray recognized the voice as belonging to Sergeant Marie-Ange Carré. She was a mousy woman whom Luc had met in person only a few times at holiday celebrations. He had, however, spent countless hours talking with her while on patrol. She was one of the few women he considered to be a real friend. Her formal address, using his rank, put Luc on guard. Something was up and she was warning him.

  "Copy that, Control," he replied.

  "Commander, you've been ordered to Nuage Gross. Report directly to Admiral Marsh," she said.

  "Understood, Control. We're currently escorting a criminal convoy to Nuage Vert and have a pilot down on the surface of Grünholz," Luc replied. "I'll make way to Gross as soon as we've retrieved our comrade and completed our mission."

  "Negative, Commander. Blue squadron is a hundred kilometers out and will take over the escort mission."

  "Roger, wilco," Gray replied. "Alex, you've got command until Blue Squadron arrives."

  "Luc, Utenser is right. We can't leave Emilie behind," Alex replied immediately.

  "Do your job, Alex," Gray replied and cut the comm.

  "Track Bastion's beacon and provide route," Gray ordered his AI. He slid the combat scope aside, allowing for a much wider peripheral view. On his personal HUD, a blue contrail showed a path arcing gently back and down toward the planet’s surface.

  The Falcon rattled as he dropped into the heavy storm clouds. Lightning flashed and rain deluged his small craft's canopy. Designed for highly efficient operation in the upper atmosphere, the Falcons were poorly equipped for the demanding conditions nearer to the surface of the heavy-gravity planet.

  The blue contrail his AI drew was Luc’s only lifeline through the soupy mix and he used it to fight disorientation in the roiling clouds. His flight experience consisted almost entirely of flying above the clouds where there were always hundreds of kilometers of visibility.

  It was a race against time to recover his downed pilot. While the planet was large, the Oberrhein nation was spread out on the surface of Grünholz in nearly a mirror image of the Nuage cities above. In fact, it was by design that the Nuage cloud cities were anchored above the largest landmasses. The original settlers had planned for trade and cultural exchange. While some trade did take place, cultural exchange was the furthest thing from the minds of most Nuagians. Where Nuage promoted artistic expression, free trade, and the pursuit of freedom, Oberrhein had emerged as a nation of thugs who elevated a few and enslaved the remainder.

  A bright flash of lightning was the first clue that Gray had exited the clouds. The light momentarily illuminated the outline of the city of Cauldron. Like all Oberrhein cities, Cauldron was ruled by a khan appointed by King Kostov. Gray knew little about Cauldron's khan, Eduard Leonidovich, beyond his reputation for being equal parts sh
rewd and vicious.

  Gray suddenly felt small in his two-man Falcon as he flew past Cauldron’s dark gray walls bristling with turrets. His displays lit up as the city acquired a myriad of targeting locks, but he continued, focused on the position of Emilie Bastion's beacon. He blew out a hot breath as he identified three broad-decked ships already at her location.

  "Incoming hail," Gray's AI announced, just as he popped out of the clouds at fourteen thousand meters above the planet's watery surface.

  "Accept. This is Squad Commander Gray," he answered.

  "Commander Gray, you are in violation of Oberrhein air space. You will turn back immediately or be fired upon." The haughty voice communicated a sneer.

  "In accordance with the treaty between our two nations, I'm on a humanitarian mission to retrieve a downed pilot."

  A surface battery launched a stream of laser bolts which ripped through the rainy atmosphere close enough to the bow of his ship that he was forced to roll hard to starboard or risk being torn apart. Gray cursed under his breath. Bastion had the bad fortune to have fallen only twenty kilometers from the coast of the Oberrhein fiefdom.

  "Cease fire!" Gray replied.

  "Fly away, Pigeon, or we will be pulling a second dead birdie from the mud today."

  "Shite!" Luc's frustration boiled over as he slammed his hands on the console of his Falcon. "Her escape pod deployed. She was alive." In the chaos of entering the stormy atmosphere, Luc had lost track of Emilie Bastion's bio feed, which was disconnected. By itself, disconnection wasn't a pronouncement of death. "AI isn't showing death. It's just disconnected. Let me find her."