Fighting the Silent (The Dark Sea War Chronicles Book 1)

by Bruno Martins Soares

  “Priority signal, sir.”

  The Admiral called:

  “What is it, Mr.Iddo?”

  I straightened myself up and looked at him, timid.

  “Priority signal, sir.”

  “Yes?”

  I hesitated.

  “Spit it out, man!” shouted the Q.

  “It’s war, sir,” I said. “Torrance declared war on Axx.”

  They all looked at each other, startled. Admiral Hedde leaned back.

  “Well…” he said. “There it is.”

  *

  “Are we at war?”

  Lara’s beautiful face showed her fear and worry on the screen. The war had been announced to the fleet a few hours ago. But only now had I been able to call her.

  “No, not yet,” I answered as calmly as I managed. “Torrance is our friend and ally, but neither the President nor the Council have made that decision.”

  “But they will, won’t they?”

  “I don’t know, Lara. I don’t know. For now, I think we’re spectators.”

  “But are we still going to Torrance?”

  “I don’t know. The Admiral is maintaining course… I think he’s waiting for orders.”

  She gave me a sad little smile and was as beautiful as ever. I wished I could just raise my hand and caress her soft skin, remove the stray hair from her forehead, raise her chin and kiss her pink almost-trembling lips. Her voice sighed through the channel.

  “So there’s not going to be a ball, is there?”

  ‘A ball’… What a lovely girl… It was not the enemy she worried about.

  “I don’t think so, Lara.”

  She lowered her eyes, with true sadness.

  “Oooh…”

  *

  “So? Where’s the buoy?”

  The Admiral’s voice echoed through the bridge. Zell looked at me, uncomfortable. Everyone looked at me.

  “Do you have it, Mr.Iddo?” asked Zell.

  “Negative, sir. Silence all around.”

  You might think from books or fictional recordings that an asteroid belt is a compact agglomerate of rock dangerously bumping against each other and getting you in trouble. In reality, it’s more like a sea with a light population of icebergs, where you spot one or two rocks once in a while. However, it forced passing ships to change course several times and, at first, many would get lost as navigation became difficult and many of the minerals in the rocks themselves would interfere with some sensors. Using the sun for reference didn’t always work, and many times travelers would come out of the asteroid belt in a very different spot than what they originally estimated, facing the sun but far from course. If fuel had been carefully rationed for a specific trip, it could turn a regular travel into a nightmare. And so, Webbur had set a string of navigation buoys on the Mirox asteroid belt, as did Torrance on the Eeron. Following those buoys’ signals, any traveler could maintain course within the belt and come out where they should on the other side, along the path from Webbur to Torrance and back. Equipped with sophisticated pulsar navigation, the 2nd Fleet hardly needed the buoys, but still, it was procedure to use them whenever the course made it convenient. Yet, the first buoy seemed to be missing.

  “Are the calculations correct, Mr.Zell?” asked the Captain. Everyone was on the bridge for the entrance into the Mirox. “Do we have the correct contact codes?”

  “Yes, sir.” Stated my C.O. without a doubt in his voice. “All calculations were rechecked and verified by Navigation. The buoy should be here.”

  The bridge was silent for a few moments. Finally, the Admiral spoke:

  “Then can we find the next one, please?”

  “Set your course, Mr.Tumm,” said the Captain.

  “Sir!”

  I felt relieved by Zell’s statement. He had trusted me and defended me without hesitation. In a moment, everyone stopped looking at me, and I could breathe again. What if I had made a mistake? Was that possible? I couldn’t imagine how. But where was the buoy? There was no signal anywhere.

  “Rock, sir. 10-and-7.” Said Orta, who was on the lookout for asteroids. Although ships could sometimes be confused with asteroids, most of the time the rocks had a particular signature. When crossing a belt, there was always a man on the special scanner fixed on Level 7 probes used to find them. This time it was Orta.

  “Rock. 10-and-7.” Repeated Zell, out loud.

  “Compensate starboard.” Said the Captain.

  “Yes, sir.” Said Tumm.

  The Magnar continued on course for a while, to where my calculations indicated would be the second buoy. But… nothing. Nothing was there.

  “Mr.Iddo?” asked the Admiral.

  “Still nothing, sir.”

  “Are we in the right place? What does the PTS say?”

  Tumm, in Navigation, turned to junior officer Rumens, who was in charge of the Pulsar Triangulation System. Pulsars have very stable positions, so they’re perfect as navigation references.

  “We’re in the right place, sir.” Relayed Mr.Tumm.

  “So where the hell is the damn buoy?” The Admiral got up from his chair.

  I couldn’t answer that question. No one could. I heard someone whispering something in the back and realized Mr.Orrey must be conferencing through the closed channel with the Captain and the Admiral. This went on for a few minutes. Finally, Captain Simmas ordered: “Mr.Tumm, full speed ahead towards the third buoy, if you please.”

  “Sir!”

  “Mr.Zell, report any contact whatsoever, please.”

  “Sir!”

  I couldn’t understand that last order. It was not a custom for the Captain to give redundant orders and that was obviously a redundant order. I had my eyes glued to the screens and my ears wide open to the head set. Of course, I would report any contact. What was that all about, anyway? Maybe they didn’t trust me. Maybe they wanted Zell to check the sensors as well. But he didn’t seem to be looking at the console. He was looking out into space, deep in his thoughts. And a quick glance showed me the Admiral and the Captain frowning, worried. What were they expecting? Suddenly, I got it. They were expecting foul play. They were expecting to learn that someone had been destroying, dislocating or stealing the buoys. The Silent, that is… They were expecting the Silent. This was a battle! Declared or not, we were at war already!

  “Rock.” Said Orta. “12-and-1.”

  “Rock.” Repeated Zell. “12-and-1.”

  “Compensate port.” Said the Captain.

  “Yes, sir.” Said Tumm. “Compensate port.”

  A green blink on my console!

  “Contact!” I shouted. “Navigation buoy number 3! 1-and-2, sir!” (Meaning forward-right-high).

  “Range?” asked the Captain.

  “20-measures, sir!”

  “Navigation?”

  “We’ll reach it inside an hour, sir,” Tumm responded.

  “When’s the next batch due, Mr.Zell?” asked the First Officer.

  “122 minutes, sir.”

  A ship can’t launch probes in the middle of a fight. If a fight prolongs too much beyond the deadline for a probe batch launch, the ship could become long-distance blind very quickly. And a few minutes before the deadline the probe net would be already beneath 100% capacity, as some probes would already have dropped back and out. But if a batch was launched too close to the moment of contact with the enemy, the probes might not have time to lock in their paths before the ship started its combat maneuvers and might get lost in the process, escaping into deep space or even crashing against other probes or other obstacles. And the enemy didn’t have the habit of announcing when it was coming into contact…

  Then…

  “Sir!” I shouted. “I’ve just lost contact, sir! The buoy! I don’t have a signal anymore!”

  Whispers filled the bridge. The Captain ordered:

  “Mr.Tumm, set course for the fourth buoy, please. Full speed.”

  “Sir!”

  And then the Admiral:

 
“Mr.Zell, send a signal to the fleet, if you please. Get me the destroyers’ and frigates’ probe report, on the double.”

  “Sir!”

  After a couple of minutes, Zell reported back.

  “The Orink and the Dolymph have the lowest count, sir. 61 and 69. All the others are above 100.”

  “Very well. Signal the Kark, the Lion, the Carba and the Friel to go ahead at full speed and find the fourth buoy. Tell them to clear the boards as they do so and exercise caution.”

  “Yes, sir,” responded Zell.

  Destroyers and frigates were much quicker than tier-one warships, so the Admiral was sending them ahead on a hunt. I felt cold sweat. This was exciting. This was a battle!

  “The Lion is asking for ROE, sir.” Said Zell.

  “Free to engage, Mr. Zell.” Answered the Admiral. He was not kidding around.

  “Free to engage, yes sir.”

  “They’re not going to play with us on this side of the Mirox, that’s for sure.”

  I looked at Orta, he looked at me. The Admiral had given the order to engage. He was not kidding around! The whole bridge seemed to burst into excited whispers.

  “BE QUIET, MEN!” shouted the First Officer. “This is the Admiral’s bridge!”

  We were supposed to be examples. We were supposed to be disciplined men. I forced myself to look at my screen. This was a battle! The system had been at peace for 60 years! And now we were at battle! War was coming! The older officers would have been in the Pirate Wars, but if the Admiral was right and the Silent came from Axx, well… these were no pirates…

  *

  The next couple of hours were tense. The fleet kept moving towards the sun and the fourth buoy.

  “Signal from the Lion, sir.” Started Zell.

  “Go ahead.” Said the Admiral.

  “They reached the buoy, sir. It’s exactly where it’s supposed to be. No other contacts, sir.”

  “Ok,” nodded the Admiral. “Tell them to launch an extra batch and keep the boards clear. How much time until we reach them, Mr.Tumm?”

  “About an hour, sir.”

  “Very well.”

  The whole bridge had entered a special focus of some kind where no one seemed to be distracted by anything. Everyone was there, present, going about their tasks in a quiet, confident manner.

  “Probes, Mr. Iddo?” asked Mr. Zell.

  “Probes ready, sir. Launch in 20.”

  “Proceed.”

  Zell looked up, to the Constellation, and I followed his eyes for a second. The fleet was cruising in a diminished ‘spine formation,' with the three big battleships in the center, one behind the other, and the bulky Warhog and the discreet Pleeto a bit lower in the back. The Orink was a bit behind and starboard, closing the formation, and the Dolymph, a frigate, was ‘on point,' up ahead, along with the Syrius.

  I looked at my console and announced:

  “Probe launch in 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1. Launch.”

  We felt a slight vibration going through the ship, as dozens of probes left their launch tubes and found their way into deep space.

  “Rock.” Said Orta. “11-and-8.”

  “Rock.” Repeated Zell. “11-and-8.”

  “Compensate starboard.” Said the Captain.

  “Yes, sir.” Said Tumm.

  “Mr.Zell.” Then started the Admiral. “Please ask the Dolymph and the Syrius to keep inside the circle, if you don’t mind. Let’s not widen the formation too much.”

  (Orange light!)

  “Yes, s…”

  “CONTACT!” I shouted. “Level 9! 9-and-10!” (Left and high!)

  Everyone seemed to jump in their seats. Everything got quiet for half a second.

  “Image?” asked Zell.

  “No image, sir.”

  “Where’s she heading?” asked Orrey.

  “No vector, sir.”

  “Clear the boards!” ordered the Captain.

  And suddenly, everyone seemed to be speaking to someone else and doing something urgent.

  “On the MID, if you please, Mr.Iddo,” asked the Admiral, behind me.

  “Sir!”

  I sent the signal to the mimic display. But then…

  “Contact! Level 8! 9-and-9! No image, sir!”

  Everyone looked out there, to the signal. I heard the Admiral whispering:

  “What’s he doing?”

  But we only had to wait a couple of minutes. Then I was shouting again.

  “Red flag! Level 7! 8-and-8, sir!”

  The Silent was approaching and quickly descending towards our bellies and backs. I could almost see the Admiral frowning behind me, trying to figure out the enemy captain’s move. He said quietly: “She’s coming for a fight. Put them to work, Captain.”

  “Battle stations!” shouted the Captain. “Get all odds ready, Mr.Vallard!”

  “Sir!”

  “Quickly, Captain. Quickly.” Said the Admiral.

  “20-degrees port, Mr.Tumm!” ordered the Captain. “Battle speed, if you please!”

  “Sir! Battle speed!”

  “Rock!” Called Orta. “1-and-5!”

  “Ignore it!” Said the Captain. “Keep turning!”

  “Mr.Zell, the Dolymph and the Syrius to circle port. On the double.” Said the Admiral.

  “Sir!”

  Through the Constellation, I could see the Magnar leaning left and speeding up, although the gravity controls made us believe it continued straight and slow.

  “Contact! Level 7! 8-and-7!”

  “I don’t think she’s coming for us.” I heard First Officer Orrey say. The Silent was still getting back and lowering the horizon.

  “DAMMIT, MR.VALLARD!” shouted the Captain. “WHERE ARE MY WEAPONS?”

  “All odds ready, SIR!!” responded the W-Comm.

  I looked at the Constellation. The fleet was now getting in a line, gaining speed and curving to the left. All ships were battle ready. Only the Dolymph and the Syrius were far to the right, out of the Constellation display.

  “Get us a target, if you please, Mr.Iddo.” Said the Admiral.

  “Doing my best, sir!”

  I looked at my console, scanned the probes. Nothing. Where was she? There!

  “Level 5! 8-and-7, sir!!”

  “She’s heading astern, sir!” said Orrey. “She’s going for the butt.”

  “She’s going for the Warhog.” Said the Admiral.

  The supply ship! Of course! Without a supply ship, the fleet could never get to Torrance. It would have to turn back. But the butt of the fleet… The Orink was back there! Lara was back there!

  “Get me a vector, Mr.Iddo!” said the Captain. “I need a solution!”

  I looked at the Constellation. The Orink was on the starboard side of the fleet. On the other side of the Warhog. So far, away from the threat.

  “MR.IDDO! VECTOR!”

  “No image, Captain! Only a blink! Too fast for triangulation, sir!”

  “She’s at Level 5, Dammit! How close must she get?”

  “The last batch didn’t lock, sir! We’re not at full capacity!”

  “Then tighten the levels, lieutenant! Get me a vector!”

  “Just keep turning, Captain, keep turning.” said the Admiral. “Mr.Zell, do we have the Dolymph and the Syrius?”

  “4-and-3, sir! Heading right for us.”

  “Tell them not to wait for orders. Just attack. Clear us from the top, get to the target and attack!”

  “Sir!”

  “Mr.Orta,” called Orrey. “Keep looking for rocks, if you don’t mind. We wouldn’t want to be crashing against an asteroid at this point, would we?”

  “Sir! All clear, sir!”

  And I shouted again:

  “Level 4! 7-and-7, sir!”

  “She’s diving fast.” Said the Admiral.

  “Mr.Tumm!” called the Captain. “20-degrees port, 30-degrees-down. Let’s get our bow deep, if you please!”

  “Sir!”

  “We’re going to lose her.”
Said the Admiral. “She’s going to get us before we circle.”

  And then Orrey:

  “We need the Orink, sir.”

  My heart missed a beat. The Orink… But Admiral Hedde still had some ideas.

  “Captain, fire blind.” He ordered.

  “Mr.Vallard, blind solutions. All odds, two tubes per battery.“ Said the Captain. “As close as you can to that red flag, please! Half a measure forward.”

  “Sir! All odds ready, sir!”

  “Fire!”

  “Fire!”

  The whole ship trembled as 120 HCHE missiles left their tubes in odd hulls 1 to 11. We looked to the left and saw the white tails of the missiles as they traveled towards the black space.

  “The Viker is firing as well, sir.” Said Zell. “Blind solutions.”

  I looked back and saw the Viker firing and the tails of white smoke flying at 75,000 miles an hour towards the empty space.

  “The Taurus is firing, sir.” Said Zell. “Blind solutions.”

  We couldn’t even see the tails of our missiles anymore, and then we lost sight of Viker’s and Taurus.’ And then the explosions, far away. A series of small orange balls of fire surging here and there. But the area was too large. At this speed, the area got too large. The last missiles hadn’t even exploded yet, and the Admiral was already issuing the order.

  “Mr.Zell, signal to Captain Turrell that the Orink must get in there. Protect the Warhog at any cost.”

  “Sir!”

  At any cost. No… Lara… And I looked at the Constellation and saw that the Orink was already moving, not waiting for orders, just speeding up and heading for the Warhog almost as if she was going to ram her or board her. And then I saw it. The sign. The warning sign. In my panel. I shouted.

  “TORPEDO!”

  ‘Torpedoes’ are missiles that are at first propelled by invisible gas and laser catalysts until they are close enough to the target, undetected, and then they’ll fire up the engines to accelerate and zero in and make sure the target doesn’t escape. And they are powerful. Very powerful.

  “Dammit!” Said the Captain.

  “Torpedo! Another one, sir!! Heading for the Warhog, sir!!”

  “What’s the Orink doing?” Said Orrey.

  The past few hours had been amazing. Incredible. Literally incredible. As if I was watching some big special effects movie somewhere. Maybe in my mother’s couch, laughing loud with my friends, drinking soda and eating chips and popcorn. Like I wasn’t there, living all these exciting, scary adventures. Like the danger was somewhat of a joke some big clown was playing on us. The last few hours had been something of a blur. I moved as I was trained. I called it as I was trained. It felt unreal. But nothing as amazing as what happened then, in the next few seconds. A sight I would never be able to erase from my head. Everything like a dream. An amazing dream. A bad dream.