The Ghost Ship (MOSAR Book 3)

by C. R. Turner

  Tears in my eyes, I ask Sam, “Where’s Jade?”

  “She’s been temporarily assigned to another MOSAR paramedic.”

  “Oh.” My heart saddens knowing that Max won’t get to lie around with Jade on our down time. “I suppose we’ll see her from time to time when we go back to the MOSAR barracks.”

  Sam gives me a half smile.

  “Are you sure you’re up for going back to Arcadia?” Bradley asks.

  “Yeah, we’ll be right, I’ve got my meds,” I reply.

  “I have a vague recollection … is that the same aircraft that brought me here?” I ask.

  Bradley grins. “Yeah. That’s the new Mechwing. Well, it’s actually about ten years old. When the pandemic hit, the Union halted production on them. None of them even made it into service until now. There’s only six in active service so far. They’re like the Makri’s Kyt, except jet-propelled and much faster. They’re men and material transporters. They were primarily designed to insert and extract troops and vehicles.”

  I smile. “It looks awesome. But hard to fly?”

  “Yeah.” Bradley grins. “The pilots say it’s like trying to fly two aircraft at once.”

  Sam returns my smile. I don’t share her same passion for all things tech or even the starships, but the smaller aircraft are fun to fly in.

  I give Bradley a cheeky smile. “Don’t suppose I could get a flying lesson in one?”

  “Yeah, no problem,” he replies.

  “What? Are you serious?” I stare at him incredulously. He’s joking, surely.

  I take in the new aircraft. It has a large fuselage with a rear ramp just like a Makri Kyt and could easily transport two Hurricanes and two dozen soldiers, but that’s about where the similarities end. It’s painted a light gunmetal grey with the black “TPU” lettering on the side and looks like a giant four-legged spider – each leg with an aerofoil shape and three joints that I suspect cushion the landing before lowering the fuselage to the ground. Built into each leg is a jet engine with well-protected exhaust vents – to reduce its heat signature, I guess. Rail guns are mounted to the belly and the roof – a serious piece of military hardware. It must be a formidable sight once airborne.

  As we walk up the rear ramp, I have second thoughts about going straight back to Arcadia. Even the shallow incline on the ramp is a challenge. I vaguely remember my trip here – the wires and hydraulic pipes running through the roof, at least. Once Sam and I take our seats, Bradley gets Max to lie down as the Mechwing pilot raises the ramp. The seats running down both sides all face forward, and we each have our own window. The cockpit looks high tech with all kinds of equipment surrounding the pilots.

  As the turbines start whining, I find myself grinning. I’d love to learn how to fly a Mechwing. I still can’t believe Bradley’s response. I watch as the exhausts on the inside of each of the legs throttle up and blast the concrete. The four legs lift the fuselage off the ground, seamlessly launching us. The legs then lift upward to form wings, and the last appendage, housing the jets, rotates rearward, propelling us forward.

  Sam and Bradley both smile when they see the big grin on my face. Max lies in the middle of the floor, ears pricked and looking forward. It’s amazing how fast your life can turn around. Just a few weeks ago, I was in the back of a Mechwing clinging to life.

  After a little more than an hour, Arcadia appears up ahead and we descend. I’m surprised to see everything covered in snow. I completely forgot about the effects of the black hole and us missing two months. I think back to when we were on Blackrock, and I was staring at the black floor of the Butcher’s house, picturing Arcadia. Nothing’s the same as actually being here. The pilot turns the Mechwing around to land in the field in front of the cabin. The legs extend out to make contact with the ground, causing the snow to melt and steam the windows.

  The pilot shuts down, and we make our way to the rear. When the ramp lowers, Max runs out, recognising he’s home, then stops and looks back with his ears pricked in excitement. I chuckle as I hobble down the ramp.

  “You sure about this, Stinson?” Bradley asks.

  “Positive. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to head back out.”

  “Alright … don’t overdo it. Kick back and let your body heal. Okay?”

  “Pos, sir.” I unite arms with Bradley.

  When Sam, Max and I finally make it to the veranda, Sam and I return Bradley’s wave, and seconds later, the Mechwing’s jets spool up. The jets blast the ground and it lifts into the sky. As it turns to fly away, the exhausts point in our direction. Bright blue flames burn up inside the engine’s exhaust and a crackling roar rattles the windows behind us.

  We enter the cabin to the rustic scent of timber and mud chinking. I take a deep breath. “I missed that smell.”

  Sam smiles as she dumps our gear on the table. Max trots over and lies in front of the fireplace.

  “Do you think he’s trying to tell us something?” Sam asks.

  “Do you mind lighting the fire for me?”

  Sam frowns. “No. Of course not. You need to rest.”

  I sit at the table feeling useless. Now we’re here, I don’t know what to do with myself. Max and I watch Sam as she scrunches up old papers and stacks a little pile of kindling on top. Once she has the fire going, she jumps up and smiles. I grin. I’m so lucky to have her in my life.

  I jolt awake under the cover of several thick blankets and scan the cabin. The sky is the beautiful colour of early dawn – deep blue and black. Sam is fast asleep, but Max is wide awake and staring at me. My heart rate slows as the nightmare fades. That’s the last thing I need, the Butcher of Blackrock in my head.

  I turn the blankets down and grimace when I prop myself up with my arms. The pain in my left hand is still excruciating, although I’m starting get some movement in my new fingers, at long last. I gasp when I swing my feet to the ground. The first time I bend my legs for the day is always the worst. I sit for a bit and catch my breath, then look over my shoulder to see if I woke Sam. She’s still sound asleep.

  I throw my deerskin jacket on and hobble over to the front door. Max leaps to his feet and follows. When I open the door, he trots off. I gingerly sit on the front steps and look up at the stars as they slowly fade. I love this time of day: the calm, the crisp air and the soft light. The freezing cold causes all my injuries to throb like hell, but I don’t care. I just sit and watch Max as he runs around crunching through the snow, sniffing everything and marking his territory. He brings me so much joy. I couldn’t imagine a life without him.

  After an hour or so, the stars are all but gone. Sam walks out with a blanket wrapped around her.

  She sits beside me and throws her blanket over me too. “Aren’t you cold?”

  I mash my lower lip into my top lip and nod. “Yeah.”

  “Couldn’t you sleep?”

  “I had a nightmare that I was still in the cave on Blackrock.”

  “What? What was it about?” Sam asks, gently rubbing my leg.

  “I’m walking through the caves, and I find myself lying on the ground. Then I hear a noise and the Butcher’s standing right behind me.”

  Sam frowns and shakes her head. “You need to rest, but I don’t think sitting around here for too long is the right thing to do. You’ll go crazy. How are your legs?”

  I wrap my left arm around Sam’s waist. “Okay. Just morning stiffness.”

  Sam drops her head onto my shoulder as we watch Hati rise. “I was so terrified when I couldn’t find you,” she says.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Sam lifts her head. “For what?”

  “I don’t know. I feel like I should have been more careful.”

  Sam shakes her head. “Don’t be silly. I feel like I let you down.”

  I squeeze her. “Don’t.”

  Sam gives me a sympathetic face and cuddles in.

  I watch Sam walk off into the bush with her bow and arrows, with Max leading the way. When they’re gone, I w
alk back inside and look around, bored. Two weeks back at the cabin, and I’m starting to go crazy. I never used to be like this. I suspect the constant adrenaline rush from going off-world has made it hard to sit still. I head outside and over to the chopping block, then look my hand over. “She’ll be right.” The stitches have been out for weeks, but the skin is still blue with black dots resembling a zipper where my new fingers have been attached.

  I grab the axe and a block of wood, and dust the snow off. The first swing ricochets off to the side. I gasp, wincing in pain as my hand throbs. Still good. I compensate and the next strike is a direct hit. Once I have a small pile, I load up my arms, carry the firewood over to the cabin and stack it on the side veranda.

  After a while, the pain in my hand is too much – blood is weeping out of where the stitches used to be. I head back inside, grab the first aid kit I keep under the kitchen bench and head over to the table. In the box, I find some thread and a needle. One or two stitches should do the trick.

  As I’m packing the gear back into the box, Sam walks in with a razorback hindquarter over her shoulder. Her eyes widen. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m just putting a couple of stitches in. It was bleeding.”

  “What were you doing?” Sam asks as she drops the hindquarter on the kitchen bench.

  I try to suppress my smile. “Chopping wood.”

  “Argh … you should be resting.”

  “I’m tired of resting. I can walk properly now and can run at a moderate pace. I want to get back to work … head off-world again.”

  Sam stares, then gives me the slightest shrug. “Okay. If you think you’re up to it.”

  “I can call Bradley then?” I say, sort of asking and telling her at the same time.

  “Yes. What will I do with this, then?” Sam smiles, pointing at the hindquarter.

  “Wrap it up, and we’ll cook it on the grill back at the MOSAR barracks and invite the team and your dad around.”

  Sam’s face lights up. I guess she’s just as excited about heading off-world again as me.

  Chapter 11

  A week after returning to the MOSAR barracks, I’m pacing back and forth, waiting for Hawkins to pick me up. Sam’s already left for the day, when I hear a Hurricane pull up and the heavy door slam.

  I open our front door. “Hey, Hawk.”

  “Hey, mate. Ready for your physical assessment?”

  “Yup.”

  Hawkins grins. “You won’t be so cocky once I’ve finished with you. You been doing your exercises?”

  I nod, feeling back to my normal self. “Yeah.”

  When we make it to the physical training complex, we head toward the gym.

  “When Sam and Bradley picked me up from the hospital, I asked Bradley if I could learn to fly a Mechwing. He said yes. Was he being serious?” I ask.

  “It’s not uncommon for striker force soldiers to receive pilot training,” Hawkins says. “It’d be a good skill to have. Alderson and I received training on the Kyts.”

  Hawkins opens the doors for me.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t get used to it, you’re mine for the next two hours.”

  “Hey … go easy,” I reply. “No one can keep up with you at the best of times.”

  We enter the gym to find several men-at-arms and a striker force team training, the clank of heavy weights and grunts filling the room.

  After an hour of strength assessment, we’ve completing a one-hour jog around the training complex, and Hawkins is leading the way back to the change rooms. I know the pace at which we’re jogging is just an idle for his long legs and athleticism, but I’m exhausted and in pain by the time he slows to a walk. He opens the door for me, and I shake my head.

  “What?” he asks.

  I give him a lopsided smile. “You’re not even breaking a sweat.”

  Hawkins grins.

  After having a shower, I sit on the timber bench in front of the lockers and run my fingers over the rough scars on my legs. I cover them up when Hawkins walks in with a towel around his waist, drying what little hair he has. His ripped body is covered in scars and tattoos.

  I get dressed, then wait on the bench while Hawkins laces his boots.

  “So how did I do?” I ask.

  Hawkins frowns. “You passed.”

  “Oh … excellent, I wasn’t sure,” I reply.

  He walks over and sits next to me. “You know that I have a great deal of respect for both you and Bradley.”

  I pull my head back in surprise. “What?”

  Hawkins adds, “You both have highly virtuous souls.”

  I’m moved by his kind words. I knew he was a deep thinker, but I never expected him to think of me that way.

  “When Bradley told me your story, about how your parents were murdered, and how you walked all the way from Bessomi to Arcadia, and how you saved the striker scout’s life even when you had every reason to want him dead, I told him, before we even met, that’s someone I’d like to work with.”

  Hawkins looks me in the eye. “The best test of a person’s character isn’t what they do with what they have, but rather, what they do when they have nothing. Even if Grand Master Nueran doesn’t give you the go-ahead to form the striker pursuit teams, you’ve gone well beyond your duty. I feel privileged to have served with you, and I’m proud to call you my friend.”

  I choke up, don’t know what to say. Hawkins gets up and holds his arm out. We unite arms.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  He slaps me on the shoulder. “Don’t mention it.”

  A couple days later, after taking Max for a ride, I look around at the other canines – each in their own yards – then, in the fading light, I fill Max’s trough. I love Arcadia, but it’s so nice being back at the barracks and having some routine.

  As I walk in our back door, I catch a glimpse of someone leaving through the front.

  “Was that your father?” I ask.

  Sam nods, eyes red.

  “What did he want? What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “We just had a heart to heart. Finally,” she says, hugging me.

  I wrap my arms around her and just hold her.

  She lets go. “The scars on Dad’s back … are from his time in prison. The Ollen-5 government tortured him … trying to get their hands on the Timberwolf.”

  I clasp Sam’s hand tight as she clears her throat.

  “He’s retired from the SESS.”

  I stare at Sam, open-mouthed. “What?”

  “He said he couldn’t take it anymore … feeling like the world has passed him by … that he didn’t belong.”

  I shake my head. “I feel bad for judging him so harshly. I should have known better.”

  Sam frowns. “Why?”

  “Because his actions are what people will remember. Your father wouldn’t give up the location of the Timberwolf even when he was ….” I take a deep breath. “And despite his coarse words … he played an instrumental role in the success of the mission. That’s what people will remember.”

  Sam rubs my hand with her thumb. “I feel like I’m finally going to have a proper relationship with my dad now … like it was before he left.”

  I give Sam a reserved smile. I can understand how Marcus must feel – alienated. It’s deeply saddening that someone with such a unique skill set would feel the only course of action is to withdraw from society. He’s one of a kind, that’s for sure.

  There’s a noise outside. Sam looks up, lets go of my hand and heads to the front door. I follow.

  As she peeks through the window, I ask, “Who is it?”

  There’s the familiar thud of heavy doors being slammed, and Sam throws me a frown as she opens the door. “It’s Bradley and Hawk.”

  “Stinson, you busy?” Bradley asks.

  Sam, like me, is still frowning – I guess also wondering why they would be here so late.

  “No, sir. What’s up?”

  Bradley looks at Sam. “We’ll have
him back in an hour or two.”

  We pull up at the Core and climb out, and I throw Bradley a puzzled frown. “What are we doing here?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Hawkins saunters along, not saying anything.

  When we exit the lift, all the lights are on, and the heating has the air at a pleasant temperature. Taylor is up ahead, sitting on the floor with her back against the wall. She jumps up when she sees us coming.

  “Stinson. That razorback was delicious,” she says. “Thank Sam again for me, will you?”

  “Yeah, no problem,” I reply. “Will someone tell me what we’re doing here?”

  Taylor deflects to Bradley, but he remains tight-lipped and leads us into a room where tables and chairs are set up like a training facility.

  My heart starts when Warain comes in behind us.

  “I see you all found it.” His voice is coarse, as though he’s been talking all day. “Has Prime Bradley brought you up to speed?”

  Taylor and I reply, “Neg, sir.”

  Warain looks me in the eye. “Stinson, how have you been?” His manner is short and sharp.

  “Fine, sir.”

  Warain takes a moment. “I owe you an apology, Stinson. I was under investigation at the time you approached me, and I let it cloud my judgement. For that, I apologise.” Warain stares me right in the eyes. “You ready for some action?”

  “Pos, sir. I’m ready, sir.”

  “Alright … it’s late, so let’s get to it. The government has given me an open coffer to create new teams within the Striker Division called”—he looks at me when he says this—“striker pursuit teams. The four of you will form the First Striker Pursuit. Emerson will be given command of SF Raptor and Miller is being reassigned to the Explorer development team.”

  My jaw drops and a dose of adrenaline makes my heart race. I can’t believe they went with my idea and that it’s happening so fast.

  “Bradley is being promoted to regulator and will lead the First Striker Pursuit, while the rest of you will be promoted to striker. Any Union war criminals will be brought back to Terra Primus to stand trial in the Union Prime Court. You will be trained by the Special Investigations Division to investigate war criminals; however, the striker pursuit teams will run completely independently. You’ll have full access to all SI files, but you won’t have to share any information about current investigations with anyone.”