The Price of Freedom - William R Forstchen, ebook
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The Price of Freedom
Wing Commander
Book V
William R. Forstchen
&
Andrew Keith
Content
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Prologue
Major Tom Vale toggled his navigation plot to the Nephele system and smiled as the system diagram
appeared on his heads-up display. The convoy, made up of three small freighters and his escort of four
lightweight Arrows, would arrive at the jump point late, but well within acceptable parameters.Unless, of
course, one of the old transports blew another engine. That land of delay would kick his entire schedule
into a cocked hat.
He traced his finger along the patrol route. His Arrows had to escort the convoy to the jump point, but
the patrol legs through the system could be trimmed if he needed to make up time. He leaned back in his
seat, glad he'd solved the toughest problem he was likely to face all day.
The circuit was a typical Nephele milk run—long and boring. He had survived twelve years of fighter
combat against the Kilrathi, and two more of rough-and-tumble peace on the frontiers. Thecommand of a
patrol squadron on a third-rate system was the perfect assignment for him to coast out his career and
retire .
He grinned happily. He was entitled to be bored, he even enjoyed it. He made it a point to complain
regularly to the personnel office, however. The rear echelon bastards at Central Casting would have
collective apoplexy if they thought an officer was happy in an assignment.
The section's leading element, made up of Tiger and her wingman, Sparrow, pushed ahead of the
convoy's main body. One fighter remained above each flank of the leading transport, ready to intercept
targets closing on the convoy from the front. He glanced back at his own wingman. Scarman kept loose
station on his port side, behind and below the civilian ships.
He opened the squadron's common channel and cleared his throat. "Fuel check," he said.
"Eighty-three percent," replied Tiger.
"Seventy-two," from Sparrow.
"Eighty-six," answered Scar.
Vale nodded, satisfied. Wingmen usually used more fuel than their primaries, and Tiger had been
keeping Sparrow busy. He remained cynically amused that his ability to bring fuel home found such high
praise in his Officers Efficiency Reports. His superiors, all combat veterans whom he felt should have
known better, wrote more on his OERs about his ability to husband scarce resources than they did on
how well he trained his squadron or led it in combat. Ah, the peacetime fleet, back to polishing brass,
kissing butts, and fighting against nothing more dangerous than boredom.
The Kilrathi War was less than two years over, and it seemed to him that the navy was already busy
forgetting everything it had learned in three decades of conflict.
He knew he really shouldn't have been surprised at how quickly the emphasis had changed after the war.
Fleet construction provided jobs, and could be justified toa Senate intent upon rebuilding the
Confederation's shattered economy. Military supply, combat readiness budgets, and training funds didn't
contribute as visibly to local employment and could be easily, and often, pared. The result was that an
officer who could save money was more competitive for promotion than one who could save lives. It was
a truism that hadn't changed in centuries.Unfortunately.
Tiger's voice crackled across his radio as she instructed their resident rookie on the finer points of leg
patrols, the "burn-and-turns" that were the daily bread for a system defense squadron. Marlena had done
wonders in bringing the squadron's newest member up to speed in such a short time. He was glad he'd
gone out on the limb for her. Her mouth had hopelessly damaged her prospects for promotion, even
during the war.
He listened to her issue brief instructions to Sparrow, then make gentle corrections as the rookie
attempted to execute them. Her usual sarcasm vanished as she worked with the younger pilot. He
grinned. He hadn't expected her to be such a strong trainer. He made a mental note to add a line of
praise to the "Comments" section of Tigers OER. A kind word from him in the "plays well with others"
section might be enough to convince a board that she was ready to put on captain's pips. Otherwise, she
would be dismissed at years end for "excessive time in grade."
Sparrow, the rookie, had a fine hand, good instincts, and a reasonably good eye for deflection shooting.
He would be a fine asset to the squadron once his training was complete. His attitude needed work,
however. The kid had visions of daring missions from strike carriers dancing in his head. The reality of
duty on a backwater like Nephele was hard for him to bear, especially as a lone "newbie" in an outfit full
of jaded veterans.
Vale knew the kid chafed at not having been born early enough to "do his bit" in the war against the
Kilrathi. He reminded Vale of all the young hotshots whose dreams of glory all too often ended in an
empty casket shot into space. Their "glory" usually turned out to be a name engraved on a beer glass in a
pilots' bar, and a medal mailed home in lieu of a casket.
His tactical plot chirped, drawing him away from his mental meanderings. TheAshiri Maru was drifting.
Again. He selected theMaru's channel from the comm menu.
"Aces leader toAshiri Maru ," he said, hoping his voice didn't betray his irritation.
His comm-screenflickered, the channel menu replaced by theMaru's master, a hatchet-faced woman he
knew only as Frost. "Now what d'yawant ?' she asked in a sullen, exasperated voice. Her expression
made it quite plain that he'd interrupted her in the middle of a critical ship's operation. He guessed from
the filth he saw on the bulkhead behind her that cleaning wasn't a high priority on her ship.
"Adjust course to conform to the convoys movements."
hesaid. He thought he sounded a bit imperious, even to his own ears. He tried to soften his tone. "You're
drifting again. I told you before that we can't protect you if you wander too far."
"An' as I've told you, General," she replied, scratching her armpit, "what you going to protectus from ?
There ain't nothing here in Neph', 'ceptin' you an' us. I dunno why you war-boys keep harassin' honest
folks. The fighting's over, right?"
Vale sighed. The A.Maru's master stared defiantly back at him. It was times like this that he actually
missed the war. Then he could have invoked the Emergency Decrees for failing to comply with military
 authorities and blown the smirking bitch into next week if she so much as looked at him cross-eyed.
Martial law, he mused, had its good points.
He was still trying to frame a civil answer to her when Sparrow cut into the channel."Sparrow to Knave."
Vale smiled indulgently at the kid's excited voice. "I got something on my scanner. One red pipper…
Wait, it's gone now."
Vale frowned at his tactical display. A free comet or garbage sack shouldn't have vanished like that.
Vale guessed the boy was jumping at shadows.
"Roger, Sparrow," he replied, "maintain surveillance. Call me if you get a repeat." He tapped his control
yoke in thought. Sparrow was, ahead of the transports and on the port side, with Tiger to starboard. It
was barely possible that Sparrow might read a scanner signal that was just out of Tiger's range.
He switched channels to Marlenas frequency, "Knave to Tiger."
Tigers face appeared in his screen, her head moving back and forth as she scanned the area around her.
"I know what you're going to ask, boss," she said. "No, I didn't see it." She paused a moment. "Do you
want him to intercept? It'd be good practice."
Vale considered it. "No, we'd best not. Fuel allocation's been cut once this quarter already. We need the
gas more than he needs the practice."
Tigers face clouded."Parsimonious bastards. The ink wasn't even dry on the treaty before they cut the
budget."
Vale said nothing. He agreed with her, but wasn't about to let himself get caught criticizing his bosses on
an open channel. There were far too many unemployed majors flying bar stools for him to have any
illusions about his indispensability. "Keep an eye on it," he said. "It was probably a sensor artifact or a
spurious contact, but you never know."
"Roger," Tiger replied.
He tried to ignore the sense that something was wrong. Sparrows contact troubled him. The kid's
scanners were new, in good shape, and decently maintained. Anomalies weren't unusual, of course, and
there was a lot of junk floating around to give a momentary reflection, but something just didn't seem
right. Nephele was as predictable and as boring as mess-hall eggs. Odd events just didn't happen there.
Vale shook his head. The kid had gotten worked up over nothing, and was now making the whole flight
jittery. It was probably nothing.
The pilot waited patiently while the convoy appeared on his long-range scanner. He counted seven craft,
just as he had been told to expect. They were late, a fact that disturbed his sense of order, but which had
no relevance on the outcome.
He checked his Kilrathi-style cloaking device. It was working, rendering him invisible to both their
scanners and the naked eye.
He waited for the ships to wander into visual range. Four early-model Arrows hovered in a sloppy
formation about their three charges. He frowned slightly. He had expected better escorting tactics from
Confederation pilots. The Fleet had let things slide since the peace.
 He smoothed his facial features, mastering his expression and his feelings. Emotion impaired judgement
and efficiency. He struggled to purge himself of all feeling— the better to do what was needed. When he
cued his wingman's frequency, his voice was as cold and still as a winter morning.
"Seether to Drakes," he said. "The old man was right. Targets sighted.Lets do it." He checked the
raiders' coded transponders to ensure all four ships were in their correct positions. Two hung off of each
bow of the convoy, for now matching their course and speed with the freighters like sharks after a school
of fish. He sent his wingman the preset code to attack, then goosed his throttle and aimed for the convoy.
"Remember,"he said, "no survivors."
He checked his ship's status,then switched his ready ordnance to an IFF missile. It was a
"fire-and-forget" weapon, one that required no further attention from the pilot once it was launched- The
missile would lock on a target's electronic signature,then would follow it until it ran out of fuel or was hit.
Drake Two dropped out of cloak to his right, firing a dumb-fire missile as he bored in on the first
transport. The dumb-fire was a powerful, unguided rocket that probably wouldn't get a kill on the
freighter, but would certainly shake it up.
He followed Two's lead, dropping his own cloak as an Arrow grew in his sights. The Confederation
fighters exploded into action, scattering like startled quail as the lead element of Drake flight appeared
literally out of nowhere and ripped through the center of the formation. Drake Two broke hard to the
right and opened up on the leading pair with his tachyon cannon, rifling shots around the Confed fighters.
The Arrow on theconvoys starboard bow heeled sharply over, accelerating away in a complicated
corkscrew maneuver.
Seether smiled grimly to himself, his mask of indifference slipping. The Arrow pilots were better than
their formation flying had suggested. He licked his dry, thin lips. Good, he thought, his people could use
some live-target practice.
Vale was just about to order Sparrow back to the convoy when he caught a glimpse of movement out of
the corner of his eye.
He was just turning his head towards it when a single red dot appeared on his tactical display, flickering
into existence on theconvoys starboard bow. A second red pipperappeared, this one to port. It took him
a moment to realize the significance of the red dots as… enemy. "Tallyho!" he yelled, cuing the
squadron's general circuit."Bandits! Vector one-zero-one degrees and three-three-zero, Z plus forty.
Tiger section, break and attack!"
"I copy, Knave," Tiger replied, "we'lltake the bandit on the left." Vale saw her accelerate towards her
target. Sparrow followed a second later, angling back towards his wing slot from his advanced position in
front of the convoy.
He caught quick acknowledgments from Scarman and Tiger, then a beat later from Sparrow as each
reported weapons readiness. He knew that doctrine called for aggressive intercept as far from the
vulnerable transports as possible. He just wished he'd had more time to intercept.
Vale hauled his own control yoke to the right, nearly standing the nimble fighter on its tail as he hit his
afterburners and turned to attack. Scarman turned smoothly with him, the plume of his afterburner
glowing white as he matched his burn to Vale's.
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