The Space Navy Series Books One & Two: Including the Kindle novellas Josiah Trenchard and the Might of Fortitude & Josiah Trenchard and the Morgenstern

by Jonathon Fletcher

  Stofan suddenly shouted out, ‘Lieutenant Commander!’

  Pugh looked over in alarm. ‘What is it Stofan?’

  Stofan pointed excitedly to a pile of metal crates that were stacked against one wall.

  ‘These are marked property of the Papaver Corporation but they’re not parts or materials for nano-tube manufacture. They’re not even supplies for the crew of the station. I think that they’re weapons of some kind. Should they be here?’

  Pugh rushed over. The crates did indeed look very out of place. They were cordoned off from the rest of the boxes and cargo. All these crates looked much more secure and well-built than the rest. Pugh even recognised some of them as the same storage boxes that held ammunition and missiles aboard the Might of Fortitude. Two crates in particular, caught his eye. They were metal containers about seven feet tall, shaped disconcertingly like coffins. They had clear plexi-glass covers that were frosted inside with ice. On the front of the containers were hand shaped palm-control devices, cutting edge technology for the time that the space station had been mothballed. The shapes inside the containers were instantly recognisable. There were humanoid figures inside the crates and just about where the heart should be, there was a steady glowing red throb inside one of the crates.

  ‘Big fuckers aren’t they,’ McGagh observed as he peered through the plexi-glass cover of one of the crates and instinctively moved his hand up towards the palm control device.

  ‘DON’T,’ Pugh shouted.

  McGagh’s hand froze in mid-air and he met Pugh’s steely gaze. Pugh looked deadly serious and McGagh brought his hand back down again, grinning mischievously all the way.

  ‘Sir,’ Stofan said quietly. ‘This one has leaked something…. nasty.’

  They all looked down. On the floor in front of one of the cases was a pool of liquid that was even now, thawing from its long freeze in the cold depths of space. The liquid was viscous, dark green and had one other identifying feature.

  McGagh wrinkled his nose. ‘It stinks!’ he said, backing away and holding his hand over his face. ‘Awwww! It’s all over my boots! It’s worse than nappies and fish guts!’

  Stofan pointed. ‘The seal has been broken, must’ve been faulty. Look!’ she said.

  Pugh gingerly reached forwards with his gloved hand. He placed his fingers gently onto the rim of the cover next to where the green slime was leaking. With a sudden rush of movement, the cover unexpectedly swung forward under its own weight and crashed onto the floor, ringing like a bell. All three jumped back as something heavy, wet and smelly, fell forwards and slopped onto the floor. McGagh, Stofan and Pugh stared in horror at what lay on the floor. Whatever it was had now become a mass of mixed up components, covered in a thick dark green slime that stank to high heaven. Rigid structures stood out, gleaming under the slime; reminiscent of human bones but made from highly polished metal. Right in the centre of the stinking heap was one item that looked out of place, even though it was partially hidden by the sludge.

  ‘What is that?’ said Pugh with horrid fascination across his face.

  McGagh pulled his combat knife from its sheath on his belt and leaned forwards. Carefully he pushed the blade into a recessed hole on the object and gently lifted it from the sloppy mess. As it was raised into the air in front of them, trailing thick strands of rubbery green slime, all three gasped in astonishment.

  ‘Is that?’ tailed off Pugh.

  ‘Yep!’ replied McGagh in a matter of fact tone. ‘Some poor fucker’s skull, or what’s left of it. The jaw’s missing…’

  In addition to the jaw being missing, the top of the skull had been cut off in a clean circle, leaving the deep bowl that would have held the exposed brain. The brain had long since rotted away. As the three stared at the grimacing skull held by McGagh’s knife which was plunged through the eye socket, the skull began to fizz and pop. Before their eyes the bone simply melted away to leave a thick, black goo dripping from the end of McGagh’s shining blade.

  ‘Damn I could have used that!’ grinned McGagh mischievously. ‘Halloween’s coming up. I needed something to scare away the trick-or-treaters.’

  Stofan rolled her eyes and sighed. Pugh brought his wrist up to his mouth and pressed the communicator button on his cuff-link.

  ‘Pugh to Trenchard,’ he said, a slight quaver in his voice. ‘I think we found what you’re looking for. Over.’

  Behind Pugh, his squad’s omni-bot zoomed in onto the second metal coffin.

  ‘What the heck is that?’ said Chief Petty Officer Kittinger, staring at the scanner control station aboard the Might of Fortitude. He was receiving information directly from the two omni-bots, straight to his station.

  Commander Noir walked towards him and leaned over. ‘What are you getting?’ she asked quietly.

  Kittinger screwed up his face. ‘Hard to tell,’ he said. ‘There’s the usual tell-tale chemical signature from the stored explosives and solid fuel but the tall box in the middle has some kind of cryogenic system in operation. Whatever is in there has been put into deep freeze.’

  ‘Right,’ said Noir.

  Bingo, she thought. This must be the stash that Papaver was so worried about the pirates getting a hold of.

  ‘There’s one odd reading,’ added Kittinger. ‘I’m picking up a life sign inside the box. It’s very faint and it’s centred at the top of the box, but there’s definitely something alive in there.’

  Commander Noir straightened up with a worried expression on her face. ‘Morgenstern…’ she whispered softly to herself.

  ‘What sort of weapon has Pap-Corp built that has a life reading?’ Kittinger enquired with a crumpled forehead.

  Trenchard had just received the message from Pugh. He straightened up and spoke urgently into his communicator.

  ‘Trenchard to Pugh. Do NOT touch anything! Place a cordon around those boxes and touch NOTHING! Understand? Over.’

  Pugh’s voice came back over the cuff-link communicator. ‘Roger that Sir. WilCo and out.’

  ‘Sir!’ Cox shouted abruptly across the control room. ‘Look!’

  Trenchard turned his head towards the direction that Cox’s outstretched arm was pointing. Outside, through the plexi-glass window, in the huge space where the carbon nano-tubes were constructed, something was moving. It was black, almost invisible against the darkness of space in the unlit area in the central void of the space station. It shifted almost imperceptibly like a leviathan waking in the darkest depths of the sea.

  Trenchard hurriedly looked down and scanned the control panel in front of him. ‘Lights, lights, lights… come on!’ he muttered desperately to himself.

  Then he found the control that he was looking for and slapped the button down hard. Instantly, the central void was filled with searing bright white light from powerful spotlights. Illuminated at the centre was the ugly, black, leech-like shape of a pirate battle cruiser. The instant the lights came on, the cruiser began to build speed, heading out into open space.

  ‘Bastards!’ shouted Trenchard. ‘They must have been here all the time, powered down.’ He slammed the control on his wrist communicator. ‘Commander Noir!’ he shouted.

  Noir was already strapping herself into the leg braces of the V.R. Conn.

  ‘I’m already on it Captain!’ she shouted as she lowered the black visor down across her eyes and metal electrodes extended and contacted her temples. Suddenly, the ship around her disappeared and she was plunged into a virtual world. It was as though she became part of the Might of Fortitude. Looking around her she saw the space station, now spinning slowly to produce gravity. From out of the central void the pirate cruiser blasted at full speed. Several gun turrets on the pirate ship swivelled towards the iceberg where the Might was hiding and fired. They already knew where the Might was concealed. Glowing balls of green plasma were thrown towards the Might of Fortitude’s hull by powerful magnetic coils. The searing plasma simply melted holes through the ice without diminishing speed.

  ‘Helm,
evasive!’ she screamed.

  The Might of Fortitude lurched to port, just before the plasma could hit the hull. Noir moved her hands in front of her in the virtual world, feverishly operating controls.

  ‘Steer thirty-five degrees port, down twelve degrees, full thrust.’

  ‘Aye, aye Sir!’ shouted the Planesman and Throttleman together.

  Noir grabbed icons that represented the targeting for the Might’s own plasma cannons and dragged them across towards the virtual image of the fleeing pirate ship. The target indicators changed from green to red as they locked on.

  ‘Rig for red. Sound General Quarters. Weapons fire control; fire for effect!’

  The lights in the control room dimmed and were replaced by a dim red glow.

  ‘Aye, aye Sir,’ shouted Warrant Officer Cochran. ‘Firing now.’

  The Might leased off a series of plasma burst from her forward cannons. The green plasma spun through space in a spiral due to the spinning motion of the Might of Fortitude. Most of the rounds missed the pirate ship which dodged and weaved between the floating chunks of ice.

  ‘Tactical, compensate for spin and plot a course to bring us alongside the bandit.’

  ‘Aye, aye Sir,’ confirmed Van Allen, feverishly operating his station.

  The Might of Fortitude began to move parallel to the slower pirate ship, ramping her engines up to full speed. Her forward and rear canons swivelled towards the starboard side preparing for a broadside. The ship’s computers calculated the spin of the vessel and prepared to fire the canons in sequence.

  ‘Fire at will,’ Noir commanded, grim determination in her voice.

  ‘Aye, aye, Commander. Target locked,’ confirmed Cochran. ‘Firing now!’

  Each of the cannons of the Might of Fortitude now fired in rapid sequence as she spun through space like an arrow in flight. As each cannon revolved around with the hull and was brought to bear on the pirate ship, it released a deadly barrage of plasma. It then ceased firing as it spun out from line of sight, only to be replace a second later by the next cannon. Wave after wave of deadly green death flew across the void, smashing through ice chunks and ripping into the hull of the fleeing pirate ship.

  The space station floated alone in the darkness, her lone guardian now far away, chasing the pirate cruiser. From deep within an immense ice cavern, in a nearby mountain of frozen methane, several lights blinked on. A massive dark shape crept forwards from the cavern towards the now unprotected station. It was at least four times larger than the Might of Fortitude and the entire hull was packed with weapons. The grim helmeted skull and crossed rifles of the Martian space pirates was painted boldly across the front of the ship. Within minutes, the large ship had crossed the void to the station and had begun docking, its clamps grasping onto the station like the clawed legs of a mighty black spider.

  Trenchard was hectically working his way through the control panel, gradually switching all the systems back on line. He threw the last switch and all the station’s lights came on, chasing the remaining shadows away. He relaxed for just a moment. He was convinced that Noir could handle the relatively small pirate cruiser. The Might would be back soon and the station would be fully secured. Time to find some coffee he thought to himself. That was assuming they hadn’t cleared out the supplies completely when they had abandoned the station.

  He was disturbed from his thoughts by his wrist communicator beeping urgently. He brought it up to his mouth and pressed the button. ‘Trenchard here. What’s up? Over.’

  The voice that came back over the radio was Chertok’s Russian accent and it sounded worried.

  ‘Sir. Have you looked out of a window recently? There’s another pirate ship. It just appeared out of nowhere. It’s massive, like a destroyer! It’s docking! Over.’

  Trenchard paused for a moment before replying, his mind racing.

  ‘Trenchard to all troopers. Prepare to be boarded. Set up defensive positions at all airlocks. Out.’

  Trenchard turned towards Cox, who looked completely terrified.

  ‘What do we do now Sir?’ Cox asked, his voice trembling.

  Trenchard took a deep breath. ‘We fight!’ he said simply.

  CHAPTER 18 “QUOTH THE RAVEN”

  Trenchard had returned to the airlock where he had originally entered the space station, but the right way up this time. The station was now comfortable; warm, well-lit and had gravity. That was the end of the good news. The drop-ships had been ordered to run. They were no match for the massive pirate cruiser. Trenchard had instructed them to wait at a safe distance, out of range of the weapons of the pirate vessel. The troopers had dragged several crates and tables into the airlock area to provide some cover but it wouldn’t be much use if the pirates had high power rifles. It was more of a psychological prop than anything else. Trenchard knew that the same thing was happening at all the other airlocks in the station. The pirate ship could only dock at one of them but the pirates were quite capable of space-walking in E.V.A. suits to any of the airlocks to attempt to gain entry.

  The troopers waited tensely. They were extremely nervous. For many of them this would be their first time in real combat rather than simulated. These pirates would be flesh and blood, not tricks of the light in the combat zone on Cairn. Trenchard studied the young lad Cox who was kneeling next to him. He was sweating. Looking down, Trenchard could see the boy’s hands were trembling as he gripped his rifle. Trenchard caught Cox’s eye with a wave of his hand.

  ‘Toughen up there Cox,’ he said with a wink, ‘this’ll be a piece of piss!’

  Cox smiled back and relaxed ever so slightly. His smile faded quickly as a loud clang echoed down the corridor. It was the pirate ship docking. It sounded like the single, mournful, toll of a graveyard bell. The noise sent a shiver down Trenchard’s spine. The station shook and vibrated slightly until the computers compensated for the extra mass attached to the outside hull. Then they adjusted the rotation of the station and the tremors ceased. Trenchard tensed as he heard the hiss as the airlock cycled and pressurised.

  ‘This is it,’ he shouted. ‘Short, controlled bursts. I don’t want any loose cannons! Wait for my order to fire.’

  The airlock hatch hissed open. There was only darkness beyond. Trenchard gripped his rifle hard and his finger tensed upon the trigger. There was movement. Several space-suited pirates walked through the hatch into the light. As usual their helmets were spray painted with grisly skull designs and images of snarling animals and demons. Trenchard studied them closely through narrowed eyes. They were unarmed and one of them was waving a piece of white cloth.

  ‘Hold!’ Trenchard instructed as he raised his hand.

  The pirates stopped just inside the hatch area and stood stock still. The man at the front, whose helmet was painted to resemble a bull, rounded on Trenchard and stared at him. Trenchard cautiously stood up and carefully lowered his rifle. He walked a couple of paces forwards and stared at the leading pirate who was holding the white flag of truce.

  ‘Well?’ he asked impatiently.

  ‘We have you outnumbered,’ said the bull pirate simply, his voice distorted by the speakers of his E.V.A. suit’s communication system. It wasn’t a threat, just a statement of fact. ‘Our Captain doesn’t want unnecessary bloodshed. He requests that your commanding officer comes aboard to negotiate terms.’

  ‘Negotiate?’ Trenchard spat the word. ‘Pirates don’t negotiate. You’re a load of bloodthirsty murderers! Why should I trust you?’

  The pirate made no movement, although Trenchard got the distinct impression that the man was studying him.

  ‘You have no choice. Resist and there will be a battle, which we shall inevitably win. Most of your lot will die and we’ll get what we came for anyway.’

  There was a long, cold silence. Trenchard had to admit to himself that the pirate had a point. He turned to Lieutenant Chertok.

  ‘Chertok, I’m going aboard with bully boy here and leaving you in command of the squad. S.T.F.B. Hold
your fire unless they try to board. If they do… give ‘em hell!’

  Chertok smiled. ‘In Russia, we have a saying. If you are going to die, die with music!’ he said with a wink. ‘We’ll give ‘em hell alright Sir, you can count on that!’

  The Might of Fortitude raced through the Kuiper belt at full speed. The smaller pirate cruiser was crippled and the Wolverine was moving in for the kill. Commander Noir shouted to Cochran at the weapons station.

  ‘Cochran, target their engines and prepare to fire heat-seekers.’

  ‘Aye, aye Sir,’ Cochran replied.

  ‘Sir!’ Kittinger announced from the Scanner Control. ‘Their E.C.M. system has just failed and the blocking signal has dropped. I’m now scanning the ship interior. I can’t find any life signs. They must be controlling the ship remotely from a source near to the space station.’

  Noir grimaced underneath her black visor.

  ‘Merde! It’s a decoy.’ She turned her head instinctively towards where she knew Schmidt and Van Allen were seated. ‘Schmidt, plot the quickest course back to the station. Van Allen, I want a tactical simulation of the whole area by the time we get back there. Kittinger, begin scanning for other enemy ships near the station. Cochran…’ Noir paused and gritted her teeth. ‘Fire fox two!’

  A single heat-seeking torpedo burst from the forward tubes of the Might of Fortitude. It circled around in a wide, graceful arc, before locking in on the engines and explosions that were breaking out along the broken hull of the unmanned pirate cruiser. The missile ploughed headlong into the cruiser and it disappeared in a flash of blue and white light.

  Trenchard allowed himself to be led into the bowels of the massive pirate cruiser by the pirate with the bull design on his helmet. It was surprisingly tidy and organised for a privateer ship; however, the whole ship looked like it had been put together from salvaged junk. No two bulkheads looked the same and every hatch was slightly different. Spot repairs and patches covered every piece of equipment and the whole ship had the feel of a mechanic’s pit; dirty, greasy and dark.