The Ghost Fleet

by Trevor Wyatt

  “What are you waiting for?” Colonel Zel says, “Fight to the death!”

  Everyone screams and cheers.

  I hear Mailyn’s scream before I see his blade falling towards my throat. My blade intercepts barely two feet away from my face. Sparks fly around. While they do, I whip my legs around, striking the Sonali on the face and getting to my knees on the bench.

  The Sonali staggers backwards, dazed for a short period of time.

  I stay where I am, not taking advantage.

  Mailyn recovers. Now, he’s furious. He screams again and rushes towards me. I leap into the air, perform three flips in mid-air over the man’s head and land in his back, even before the Sonali has the chance to turn.

  My blade goes right through the base of his neck and shoot out of his neck, spilling blue blood all around the ground.

  The crowd goes mad. I force a smile, though a fire burns within me. A fire of hate. A fire of hatred against all the Sonali hold dear. Hatred for this war that has turned brothers against one another. Hatred for this war that has made rapists out of our soldiers, murderers out of men, and making genocide something to be commended.

  This anger is ablaze in me, causing my smile to turn into a frown. I jerk out the blade and Mailyn falls to the ground. Then I swing the blade once more, lumping off his head.

  The head lands on the floor and rolls until it stops by my head. I look up at Zel. He has a satisfied smile on his face. Across the distance and regardless of the deafening scream of triumph that has engulfed the mess hall, I see through my brother’s smile the monster that he truly is.

  I let the sword drop to the ground as I am rushed by my comrades who lift me into the air and hail me for my patriotic act. As I am bobbing in the air, I am struck with the insensibility and unreasonableness of these people. When did killing your fellow man become patriotic? When did compassion and love and kindness become a crime?

  When did we stray so far from the light that we not only live in darkness but require it to survive?

  Are we truly the monsters a Terran mother would tell her child? Do we not land on their planets and water their crops with their own bloods?

  We, the Sonali, did not pick this fight, true—it was picked for us. Nevertheless, do we not have a responsibility to pursue peace and not war? Can we not rise above unnecessary scuffles? If the Terrans can’t see past their ignorance and bashful pride, then is it not our duty as the more superior race of the two to consider their handicap?

  I force my way to the ground and begin to walk away.

  “Alright everyone!” Colonel Zel begins to say, “Enjoy your night and prepare to make blood rain tomorrow night! Terran blood!”

  The scream that follows this is so deafening I can’t help but bring my hands to my ears as I walk out.

  I wander aimlessly through the transport vessel for a long time before finding my way back to the accommodations. Since this is really a transport vessel used for transporting soldiers, we don’t get quarters. Only Colonel Zel and some other officers get separate quarters, aside, of course, from the crew of the ship.

  The accommodations are a series of large halls with bunk beds arranged in rows and columns. Each bunk bed is equipped with its own atmosphere and shielding. As I walk into accommodations C4, I am besieged with a multitude of moaning and groaning. Many of the soldiers have managed to return to the accommodations to have sex.

  I feel disgust shoot through my throat.

  The bunk bed allows you to shield your bed space as well as block outside view. It also allows you to mute your space, keeping others from being disturbed by your snores or anything else.

  It seems that many soldiers like to forget they can do this, when they’ve been able to score one of the female warriors or members of the crew. There are about fifty beds in a particular accommodation room. Out of these fifty, ten are shielded and darkened and emitting high pitched moans and intermittent screams and the occasion flares that show someone inside is pounding on the shield.

  I walk past a few of those, doing my best not to get riled up as to pound against the shield and yell for them to be quiet. The Terrans have a phrase that is apt here. It goes…shut the fuck up.

  When I get to my bunk space, which is on the other side of the accommodations room, I meet two people groping each other.

  I almost yell at them, when the male turns and I see it’s my brother, Colonel Zel. The female is half naked, her breasts bare before me, her nipples standing as stones. She screams and leaps out of my bed, grabbing her breasts in one hand, her blouse in the other, and running away.

  “Let’s meet in my quarters in ten,” Colonel Zel calls after her.

  “Okay,” her reply returns, faint.

  I remain silent, looking from my brother to my ruffled bed back to my brother. I can’t believe it.

  “What?” he says with a sheepish smile. “We waited for you. And when it comes, you must go with the flow.”

  I don’t know which is worse, that my brother is a xenophobic zealot whose hatred for Terrans is unparalleled or he’s a hopeless sex maniac.

  War does many things to many people.

  “Why are you here?” I ask.

  “I came to make sure you understood why I did what I had to do,” he says.

  “I understand,” I reply. Anything to get him the heck away from me as soon as possible.

  He shoots to his feet. Before I can react, he grabs my shirt and says, “Do you?”

  Though his breath is thick with rakjtag, his eyes are alive with threat.

  “I do,” I reply, my voice grave.

  “Good.” He lets me go. He looks me over.

  “You may think what I do to you is harsh,” he says, “But believe me when I say I do everything to protect you. Many believe I am soft on you. You don’t want them believing that for too long. I can only protect you for too long.”

  I don’t reply. I won’t be fooled by my brother’s deception, neither will I be party to his desire to rationalize his wicked and twisted nature.

  “Get some sleep,” he says. “Or go have some fun. Tomorrow, we fight.”

  He walks away without another word. I take his first advice and go to sleep. According to our code, on the day of an incursion, we have time to ourselves and anyone can do whatever they want with their time. Nevertheless, two hours before leaving the ship everyone is to report to their platoon for further instruction and so on.

  I set my bunk bed system to put me to sleep and only wake me up one hour before I am supposed to report to the main command. Then I activate the shield, the screen block and the mute functions.

  I lay on my hardly soft bed in silence. A sweet smelling savor wafts into my nostrils. Seconds later, I am lost in the infinite reals of unconsciousness.

  A mild electric jolt brings me to consciousness. I jerk to an upright position, my heart beating fast in anticipation. My body is hot from sweat, in spite of the cool temperature in my bunk, and my mind is groggy as it tries to fill the several hours of gap it was unconscious.

  I have a strong feeling that I have something urgent to do, but I can’t quite figure out what it is. I look around my bed, cobwebs and darkness covering my memory.

  I take deep breathes and swallow hard.

  “Private Groyt, report to main command,” says a voice in my bunk bed space. “Private Groyt, report to main command now.”

  Then it hit me like a shuttle at maximum speed. I am a soldier onboard a transport vessel carrying troops from the Hell Fire Brigade of the Sonali Army. My brother is sub-legate and last night he made me kill another Sonali. In a few hours we will be landing on a border colony called Beruit. I will have to kill people, whether they are armed or unarmed. It will be a massacre.

  I deactivate the shield and jump out of my bunk bed. I am the only one in the room. The others are already assembled in the shuttles, receiving last minute instructions. I make a run to the adjacent shower stalls and take a shower. No, I don’t fancy being smelly even though I
’m going to fight, not after last night’s panoply of immorality and seediness.

  I change into my uniform, attaching my access card to my shirt. Then I hightail it to the armory, where other soldiers are picking their fill of weapons.

  The Hell Fire Brigade is an unorthodox army unit. There are no rules of engagement or code of conducts. Neither are we bound to use a certain type of weapons. Although we all take a rifle or pistol, we also take other weapons, especially axes, massive hammers and blades to main, cripple, and behead.

  It is where the fun is—the slaughter.

  I grab a pistol, then a small blade. I holster the pistol on my right hip and sheath the blade on my left thigh.

  I head on to the lower decks, where the main command is located, which is also where the soldiers find their platoons and are shipped down to the planet. We still have two hours to engage, which could mean that we were already in orbit and are already bombarding the planet’s defenses, like security posts, escape shuttles and generators.

  The main command is filled with CNC crews and Lieutenants, who are also platoon leaders, in the Brigade. There is a large holographic projection hovering in the center of the colony. The colony is being divided according to the platoon leaders.

  I remain at the back of the room, watching as the Sonali soldiers plan to level a defenseless, farming colony.

  It’s even worse as I realize that it’s a farming colony with no armed presence. Then again, I wonder why the Terrans would set up a defenseless colony so close to us and expect us not to attack.

  Maybe they have faith in our morals—because really, what race would attack a defenseless planet?

  Well, it’s too bad for these ones. Their government failed them.

  I begin to prepare my mind for the horror I am being compelled to wreak on this planet. It’s not my fault, I tell myself. It’s the way the universe is.

  “How long before Terran reinforcement comes?” I ask aloud, drawing the room’s attention to me.

  It is the legate that answers, “We estimate three hours. Our intelligence assets suggests that there is a battle group currently headed for the border. They are planning to attack one of our soft targets. By the time we begin our approach, they may divert that battle group to come to the aid of this planet.”

  “I highly doubt the Terran Armada would send their starships to a worthless planet,” Colonel Zel says.

  “If it’s worthless, why are we attacking it, then?” I blurt.

  Colonel Zel flashes me a surly look.

  I remain impassive. I know I am walking a tightrope here. My question can easily be misconstrued as sympathetic.

  I add, “What strategic significance is accorded to us if we destroy that planet?”

  The looks on the faces in the main command turn from confusion to comprehension. I get some nods.

  Colonel Zel says, “Panic Campaign. When the Terran Armada loses half of its colonies, they will realize the error of their ways and beg us for forgiveness. Then we will strike at their home world. We will kill that beast of a President they have and disband the Terran Council. And if we feel like it, we will occupy their world and claim it as ours.”

  There is a silence. I am struck to my core with terror. How did we come to this point as a society, where men like my brother become leaders?

  Is all truly fair in war?

  “Okay, get to your ships,” Colonel Zel says. “Let’s go kill us some Terrans.”

  By the time I am strapped in to the shuttle, the transport vessel begins bombardment. I remain in the relative darkness of the hull of the shuttle, shoulder to shoulder with thirty other soldiers, hearing the thunderous explosions that follow missiles being launched planetside.

  The soldiers begin to chant their ear chant in anticipation. Soon, we are given the go signal and we lift off the shuttle bay. We join numerous other shuttles to enter the atmosphere of Beruit.

  I shut my eyes and begin to imagine what it must be like now on the ground. I imagine a small child looking up at the night skies and seeing hundreds of shuttles raining down from the sky, filled with men who don’t give a damn about your age or gender, who will kill you all the same. I try to imagine the terror they must feel.

  Colonel Zel, who’s right beside me, grabs my hand, and says, “If my men notices any crack, they will take their shot. You will die. So, what’s it going to be? Will you kill or be killed?”

  I don’t reply, neither do I open my eyes. My brother knows that I’m a Terran sympathizer at heart, not because I have any particular love for the people (they did start the war, after all), but because I find that war is fruitless. It is pointless. It is utterly useless.

  The shuttle touches down with a jerk. Our straps release us automatically, even as the shuttle door opens. With impressive war cries, the soldiers empty the shuttle rifles ablaze and blades held up, Colonel Zel leading the charge.

  I hear the screams of the victims soon enough. I rise to my feet, fighting against my ethics. It takes the very thought of death to push me to the open shuttle door. I pull out my gun and blade and jump down onto the dirt.

  We have landed in a large village. The houses are well built, though outwardly resemble huts. Already littering the floor are dead or dying bodies of men, women and children. Every one of them are unarmed. The ones that are armed are armed with hoes, cutlass and other farming tools.

  Everything is like slow motion to me. I move slowly through the village, shooting and shooting and shooting. Every one that rushes to me gets shot in the head. Those that are running away get shot in the back. Now, it’s either me or them, and I must choose me.

  Must you? Says a voice that stops me in my tracks. It’s Father’s voice. And all of a sudden, my mind is flooded by overwhelming guilt and shame.

  If father were still alive and saw me, would he be proud of my actions?

  A girl’s scream pulls my attention to a small house to my right. I walk right into the small living room to find a young girl and her brother cornered by one of the soldiers. He’s reaching for his pants latch.

  I go mad with rage. I raise my gun, aim and shoot. The Sonali crumples to the ground.

  “What in the name of the Goddess…”

  I turn to see my brother in the doorway, looking at the dead Sonali. The moment he looks up at me, I am aiming at him.

  His eyes widen with fear.

  “I’m sorry brother,” I say, “but I didn’t sign up for this.”

  Before Zel can bring up his blaster, I shoot him in the chest. He falls outside and out of sight. I know I should feel terrible for killing my brother. But I don’t feel such. I feel relieved. I feel a little redeemed.

  There is nothing I can do to make up for what I’ve done in the past, but I know that I am doing the right thing.

  I look at the terrified duo.

  “Go,” I say. “Go and hide somewhere safe. Hide where no one will see you.”

  They only look at me strangely.

  I realize that they don’t understand what I’m saying. I motion with my hands. They get my gesture and run out of the house, giving me a wide berth.

  All is not fair in war. The ends do not justify the means. Every acts we have committed, we will be required to give account of it one day. It may not be to the government, it may not be to a military tribunal. Indeed, we may have forgotten, when we shall be called upon to pay. But one day. Surely, one day. Every creature will be required to give account of what he has done.

  I hear a voice behind me. It’s Terran speech.

  I turn to see why the boy has returned when I feel a powerful energy tear through my body. I see the gleeful look in the boy’s eyes and he releases three more shots, drops the blaster, and runs away.

  I fall to my knees first, the life draining from me. Then I collapse on my face, bleeding out.

  My final thoughts are disarrayed, but I find that I am not enraged by the boy’s action. If anything I am liberated and no longer bound by guilt. I also feel a great sense of
pity for the universe I’m leaving behind, for the children who are being raised in the Terran Union and in the Sonali Combine because of the cruelties of this horrible war.

  I should have been a scholar.

  Alas, all is not fair in war.

  Article X1

  I know I’m dreaming because life is not as beautiful like how I see it in my dream. I am on a pastoral land in the summer. It’s breezy but quiet.

  I am free of worry that a political rival may be plotting my downfall or fear that the Terran Council may not pass my Intergalactic Water Transportation Bill or distrust for my advisors who I am beginning to suspect may be saboteurs. I am not weighed down by the pressures of the most important office in all of the Terran Union.

  I am most importantly not bogged by the Outer Colonies, who seem to be itching for another round of engagements.

  In this dream, I am just Joshua Harmon…not President Joshua Harmon.

  Just Joshua Harmon.

  I am standing barefoot in the soft shrubby hilly area, looking through the lowly cut meadow at a barn. I am dressed like a farmer in a button down shirt made with a cotton material that allows the air to seep into my pores. My pants are baggy and rolled up to my shins.

  My heart is full of joy and happiness, and the sun shines down upon me with kindness.

  “Honey,” calls a voice behind me.

  I turn to look behind me, where a huge forest spreads across the lands until the horizon is covered. My wife Sarah Harmon is standing at the edge of the trees, looking as though she’s about to do something terrible or have something terrible happened to her.

  I feel a frown spread across my face and squeeze off the look of happiness that had previously dominated my expression. There is something foreboding about this forest. As this thought takes root in my heart, there is a strike of thunder that causes me to go for the ground. I look up as I go down, seeing the streak of lightning across dark skies.

  Shock pierces through into my heart. I turn to see the meadow and the barn, but instead, all I see are ghostly apparition wadding through a sea of blood towards me. They heft sharp objects, their eyes glazed over as though in death. They are uncountable, every one of them heading to my direction like zombies with only one goal; to kill me.