Fireball: The Enigma Series Part Two Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Dedication

  Get Drone Man

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Buy Part 3

  Get Drone Man

  Author's Note

  Fireball: The Enigma Series,

  Part Two

  Andrew C. Broderick

  Copyright 2017,

  all rights reserved

  Cover art by Andrew C. Broderick

  For those who

  find themselves

  truly alone.

  Should one man be judge, jury and executioner? Lee Savage plots the perfect crime: hunt and kill his sister’s murderer using an armed drone. How will he cope with the diabolical situations he finds along the way, and will he kill the man responsible?

  Drone Man IS A FREE EBOOK SHORT STORY. CLICK THE LINK AND CLAIM IT:

  http://andrewcbroderick.com/dronemanbookfree

  THANK YOU FOR READING!

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Michigan morning sun, sliding down through the leafless trees, still carried some warmth. But fifteen-year-old Storm was still glad he was wearing insulated camouflage gear and ball cap. He stood at the tailgate of the family station wagon as Rick Kovacs opened it.

  “So, boys,” their father said, “I guess you’re wondering how you going to hunt with no rifles, huh?”

  “Yes, sir,” Drew replied.

  “Well, wonder no more.” Rick pulled back old blankets to reveal two black rifles. “Remington 783s. They’re yours.”

  “Wow!” Storm picked up one lethal-looking black gun with a telescope site and examined it closely.

  “When did you get these, Dad?” Drew asked, picking up the other one.

  “Other day. I figured you could use them.”

  “I… don’t know what to say,” Storm said.

  “We’ve got a full day ahead of us. Get your packs and we’ll get going.”

  “Yes, sir.” Drew said as they grabbed the shoulder-slung camo packs from the rear of the car.

  “Trail’s that way”—Rick nodded in the direction of the woods—“We’ve got a two-mile hike ahead of us. Don’t forget, these are public hunting grounds, so don’t do anything stupid like getting shot.”

  “I won’t,” Storm said. With his camouflage, rifle, and buzz cut, he looked every inch a soldier. Drew, by contrast, was six inches taller, partly because he was a year older, partly because of his lankier build. He didn’t fit his gear nearly as well, and he handled his rifle more gingerly.

  “Don’t worry, boy, it’s not going to go off in your hands,” Rick chided.

  “I know, sir,” Drew said, his expression darkening.

  The trio stalked down the narrow trail, under a tunnel of bare branches, leaves rustling underfoot.

  “What if there’s already someone in our blind, Dad?” Drew said.

  “I’ll tell him to get lost,” Rick said. The boys knew he meant it.

  After half hour of striding quickly to keep up with their father, they arrived at the familiar tree, with its strong, thick trunk. Old, weatherbeaten pieces of timber nailed to it horizontally formed a ladder twenty feet in height. Rick led the way up, stepping nimbly from the the top onto an enclosed wooden platform that was to be their home for the day. Drew followed him up, Storm followed, and they crouched in the blind. Storm exhaled heavily, a cloud of frost forming in front of his face.

  “You never fired a bolt action before, so let me show you how it’s done,” Rick said. He took his own rifle, a superior model but of the same basic type as he’d given his sons, and pulled the bolt back and locked it in place. “There’s the chamber there, see,” he said, sliding open the cover on the barrel. “Now, you insert one of these cheap Wal-Mart rounds into there, like that, see,”—he put it into the chamber—“close the cover, release the bolt like this, and you’re ready to fire. I already set the trigger pressure to the full five pounds, since I don’t want one of you amateurs firing too early. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” the boys replied in unison.

  “Good. Now let me see you load yours,” he said, handing them both a round of ammunition. Drew managed the operation easily, to an affirming nod from his father. Storm fumbled with the bolt action, not quite managing to lock it in place.

  “Want to help him out with that?” Rick said to Drew.

  Drew’s face lit up at the prospect of another chance to please his father. “Yes, sir.” Storm’s face turned a deeper shade of red as Drew loaded his rifle, too, without a word, and handed it back to him.

  “Now we’re ready to bag us some venison,” Rick said.

  The boys put the rifles through tall slots in the wooden shield in front of them, aiming with precise, lethal destruction at any animal unfortunate enough to wander into their sights. They scanned the small patch of ground that they could see through the openings, seeing only red and brown leaves and trees already bracing themselves against the coming blast of a northern winter.

  Both boys’ bodies pumped with adrenaline at the thought of being the first to take the prize.

  ****

  “Can I go down to stretch my legs, Dad?” Drew asked.

  “No. We need to stay as still as possible, or we’ll spook the deer.”

  Storm thought of his mother and the warmth of their house. She’d given him a gift for just such an occasion, and slipped it into his pack to be only used if absolutely necessary. He rummaged around in his pack and made sure to grab two objects at the same time: a sandwich, and his disposable hand warmer. He turned to face away from his father, who sat between him and Drew, and gently squeezed the warmer, a gel pack the size of a large cellphone, to activate it. He then shoved it up his camo jacket, making sure his t-shirt, the only other layer he was wearing, was between it and his skin. Storm knew Rick would think he was a pussy for using the warmer, but he was now cold enough to risk it.

  Having eaten lunch, the trio continued to survey the land in front of them. It was a clearing, less than 100 yards long, with a stream out of sight off to their left and oak trees to their right. The footprints and droppings made it clear that the deer regularly wandered through this area, eating acorns, nuts, and plants, and washing them down with fresh, clear water.

  And then it happened. Two does and a pair of bucks entered their field of view. Drew was yawning and rubbing his hands, not paying attention, but Storm saw them immediately. He had to be first at any cost.

  “Right now, boys, right in front of you,” Rick said quietly and urgently. As Drew was snapping back to reality, Storm was already looking down his rifle’s telescopic sight, leveling his crosshairs on the larger buck. His head swam with excitement, and he squeezed the trigger hard. A bang echoed through the woods. There was a rustle of wings as birds took flight, and the deer scattered.

  “You only wounded it, you idiot!” Rick spat, turning on his son. “You got it in the hindquarters. All you did was piss it off and scare them away. Now we’re going to have to wait even longer.”

  “Good job,” Drew muttered.

  “I… I’m sorry. I tried, Dad,” Storm protested.

  “You should have let me take it, Storm,” Drew said. “We’d be looking at a steaming hole in a carcass right now if you had.”

  “The last time I checked, we both had guns so we could both shoot,” Storm retorted. Rick merely grunted with displeasure and resumed looking through his sight.

  Storm felt blessed warmth radiate from his insides right through to his fingers and toes as he consumed a cup of coffee from a thermos after lunch. Combined with a hand warmer, this w
as the best he had felt physically for hours. I’m gonna get a buck even if it kills me, he thought. All he had to do was maintain his focus and concentration for long enough to beat Drew to the kill shot.

  The sun had already passed its apex and was now slanting down through the branches of the canopy. There’s absolutely nothing and nobody out here, Drew thought. Can somebody explain to me why were doing this again? Oh that’s right, for Dad.

  Storm kept his eye on the clearing, surrounded by tall birch trees, and scanned slowly back and forth through the gathering gloom. His right eye grew tired from the constant peering into the scope. Eventually he felt his focus drift. And then he saw it: a big buck, with at least ten antler points. He grabbed his rifle tightly, aiming carefully, trying not to let his hard breathing or the pounding of his heart rob him of the shot. He was no longer aware of anything except the task at hand. He placed his crosshairs on the slow–moving animal’s neck, and there was a loud crack as he pulled the trigger.

  Another boom issued from the other side of the platform, as Drew’s bullet also sped towards the beast. Its jerked as the bullets struck, then its long legs gave way and it collapsed, sending the rest of the herd fleeing.

  “Yes!” Drew shouted, as he punched the air.

  “Sweet!” Storm shouted. “I don’t know where your bullet landed, Drew, but I got it in the neck.”

  There was a short pause. “No, I got it in the neck. I don’t know where the other shot hit…”

  “The other shot hit it in the belly,” Rick said. “The neck was the kill shot.”

  Storm felt prickly red heat across his whole body. His hands involuntarily clenched into fists. “That was my shot. I hit it in the neck.”

  “No, that was mine,” Drew said. “You got the other one.”

  “I was watching through my scope, and the next shot hit right when Drew fired, so the kill goes to him,” Rick said.

  “We fired at exactly the same time!” Storm protested.

  “Better luck next time,” Drew taunted.

  “I said, Drew got the kill shot,” Rick said, in a don’t-question-me tone. Storm’s cold-ripened cheeks went an even deeper shade of red.

  “No time to waste here. Sun’s going down and we still have gut the kill and get back to the car.”

  “Yes, Dad,” Drew replied. The trio silently gathered their belongings and climbed down from their hideout, rustling their way through the fallen leaves, 100 yards to where the fallen animal lay. Steam rose from the two bullet wounds in the rapidly cooling air. Rick drew a large hunting knife from his pack, unsheathed it, and plunged it into the animal’s underside, beginning the long, disgusting process of removing all but the meat.

  As Storm aided with the gutting process, the hand warmer fell from his shirt onto the leaves.

  “Your mother gave you one of those, I see,” Rick said.

  Storm nodded.

  “Can’t take the cold, eh?”

  “No, sir,” Storm admitted.

  “Well, you’re gonna get plenty warm in a few minutes, when we cart 200 pounds of carcass back to the car.”

  Storm was not looking forward to this at all.

  ****

  “We’re real hunters, huh boys?” Rick said as he turned back to look at the car, with the carcass strapped to the roof.

  “I reckon so,” Drew smiled at their dad as they entered the old diner.

  Halfway through their meals of bacon, eggs, and pancakes, the awkward silence was broken when another patron walked in, an elderly gray-haired man. “Well if it isn’t Wild Bill,” Rick said in greeting.

  The man’s wrinkled face lit up on seeing the threesome. He ignored the server before she could ask him where he wanted to sit, and headed over to their booth.

  “I see you guys bagged yourselves a nice buck, a ten-pointer,” he said, in a voice that was rattly from years of smoking.

  “Sure did,” Rick said. “And this is my main man, right here,” he said, nodding in Drew’s direction. “Felled it with one shot, right in the neck.”

  “I helped too,” Storm protested. “He wasn’t the only one that hit it.”

  Rick nodded dismissively.

  “All me, buddy,” Drew mouthed silently across the table.

  Storm glared back. He sighed and nodded. Yeah, all you, he thought. All you.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Present day

  “What the hell?” Chris said. “They can’t order all the other ships to leave. We have as much right to be here as they do.”

  “Damn straight,” Drew said.

  “We need to record everything from now on,” Holly said. “It might be needed as evidence someday. Plus that way the government can see what we’re up against.”

  “Good idea,” Achilles said. “Livestream it—well, as live as you can get from seven light hours away.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do,” Drew said. “I’m not leaving. There may be a bully on the playground now, but they’re not going to dislodge us.”

  “That’s Chris’s decision in the final instance,” Holly said.

  Chris’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to back down and leave just like that. I’ve half a mind to stay even if ordered to come home by NASA. We represent America and the free world, and we’re not going to let the Russians push us around.”

  “You have one hour and forty-five minutes left,” came General Matrushkin’s voice from the comms.

  “Or else?” Chris said. “Actually, I might have to just ask them that.”

  “Don’t do it,” Drew said. “They’d love to draw us into whatever games they’re playing. We stay, but we stay quiet. We should talk only to the other friendlies, and on secure channels. And if I’m honest, I’m a little worried about my brother.”

  “Understandable,” Holly said. “He’s your brother.”

  “No, I’m worried about what he’ll do: He’s a bullheaded son of a gun, so I don’t imagine him leaving either and that puts his crew in danger. He’s a lunar citizen aboard a lunar-registered ship, so the Russians’d have far less compunction about screwing with them than they would us.”

  Achilles nodded.

  “This is the Solar Conveyor 4, hailing every ship that’s not Russian. I’m sorry, but we’re out of here.”

  “Okay, SC4,” Holly said. “We understand. Safe travels.”

  She muted the comms, and turned back to the others. “Now what?”

  “Now we wait and see what they do next.”

  ****

  “One hour to go until deadline, and only one of the ships has left,” General Matrushkin said to the eleven other white-flight-suited occupants of the Vasily Korolev. The balding, sandy-haired man bore a deadly serious expression.

  “Then it may be time to send them a message,” said Sergey Petrov. “I was thinking for a start we could cut off that thrust harness they affixed to the rear of the object.”

  Matrushkin chuckled slightly at the younger man’s suggestion. All the others listened, rapt.

  “It’s a good idea.” He stroked his chin. “I like it. It will also dissuade them from continuing to try to capture it.”

  “Speaking of which, I have an idea about that, but we can talk about it later.”

  Matrushkin nodded, and turned to the only woman on board, a beautiful blonde. “Irina, take charge of the cutting. Then blast it into deep space.”

  “The robot arm?” Irina said.

  “No, just a blast from a thruster will do,” Boris Zolotov, the ship’s pilot offered. “I can do it from comms.” Irina nodded.

  “Both of you get to it then.”

  “Yes, Sir,” they replied in unison.

  “Meanwhile, Sergey, as Task Force Chief, it’s your job to lead the expedition into the object. You should start gearing up to go in.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Irina propelled herself up to what would normally be the ceiling of the oversized ship’s large work space, and touched a panel, which opened a display in front of her. It s
howed a crosshair, currently trained on nothing but stars. “Boris, turn the ship 180 degrees.”

  “Okay.” Boris headed to the cockpit and touched several virtual buttons. “Hold on.”

  The white walls moved slowly around the small crowd as stars seen through the virtual windows drifted slowly by.

  “I have to say, I was hoping we wouldn’t have to use force,” Irina said.

  “This is nothing,” Matrushkin replied, ever stern.

  The ship completed its turn and Irina was now looking at a closeup view of the Enigma’s rear end, with the spindly white umbrella structure attached. She zoomed and aimed with a few swipes in the air. Then, a spot near its connection with the Enigma turned into a miniature sun as it was melted by a powerful laser. The crew’s eyes were on the display.

  A few moments later, the cutting light went out, and a star could be seen where the trunk had been.

  “Good riddance,” General Matrushkin said.

  Sergey nodded. “Now, let’s see what that posse of whiners has to say about it.”

  ****

  “What the hell?” Storm blurted.

  “What?” Desira shouted, speaking over him as her brow furrowed. She followed his gaze to the rear of the Enigma. “Oh my God!”

  “Are you kidding me?” Dmitry spat.

  They remained transfixed as the thrust structure was separated from the Enigma, and began to drift away.

  “They’re making good on their threats,” Storm said darkly.

  “They haven’t made any threats yet,” Dmitry said.

  Storm gave Dmitry a cutting gaze. “They’ve got a general on there and they told all other ships to clear out.” Dmitry just shrugged.

  “Still sure you want to stay here?” Desira asked Storm.

  He rubbed his forehead. “After that little display, maybe not.”

  “Wish there was a way to hide in there,” Dmitry said, jerking his thumb towards the Enigma.

  “You guys are gonna have to make your minds up real soon,” Jane interjected. “I’m leaving within the hour, with or without you.”