The Nameless War

by Edmond Barrett

  As she’d stepped through the airlock into Hurricane, a small red light on her helmet display had lit up, indicating air pressure outside had dropped below survivable limits. It was scarcely necessary, she’d felt her suit expand slightly as the airlock cycled. The inside of Hurricane was a dark and lifeless vacuum. Bodies had drifted, ghostlike, down twisted and torn access-ways. Worse were the crushed arms, legs and, on one occasion, a head protruding from the hatchway of a caved-in section.

  There had been no response to their calls but she had refused to give up. The metal structure of the ship, she’d reasoned, could be blocking the weak transmissions from their suit radios. At her order, they’d split up to search the wreck. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the ratings and officers accompanying her exchanging looks, clearly wondering whether to tell their commanding officer that it was hopeless. Then she’d heard a crackle on her radio that didn’t seem to be one of her people. Tracking back towards the source of the transmission she’d wriggled into a compartment that at first glance appear to have completely caved in

  Inside, were what was left of Hurricane’s crew, all twelve of them. Almost all them had been hurt. They’d seen the flash of the Home Fleet departing and known that they had been left behind. There, in the centre of the survivors, trying to turn three shattered escape pods into one working one, was Vincent. The way she threw her arms around him would have left an observer wondering who was rescuing whom. As the two commanders embraced, a cheer went up across the radio as the news that there were survivors filtered over to Hood.

  Although clearly close to a state of near collapse, Vincent had been the last to leave his ship and insisted that he be allowed onto Hood’s bridge, to watch as they finally put Hurricane down. There hadn’t been any explosion or even flash of atmosphere as Hood pumped a salvo into her, the little cruiser simply disintegrated; one moment a ship, the next an expanding cloud of fragments. Vincent hadn’t spoke, he’d just watched.

  When they’d returned to Earth, the wounded had been taken off. But there had been no orders for Vincent, leaving him to drift around Hood like a purposeless but very solid ghost. Willis spent as much time as she could talking to her friend, trying to help him through the guilt. There were still deep shadows under his eyes. For any captain to have their ship shot out from under them, was a terrible blow. She could only hope that Vincent would be given time to come to terms with it and time to silence the ghosts of the people he failed to bring home.

  "A shuttle is finally turning up to take me dirtside." He said sitting down on the bunk. "I should be out of your hair in half an hour."

  "Any idea what next?" She asked.

  "You mean after the court-martial?" He replied, just for a moment he looked as bad as he had when first brought aboard.

  "Vincent, they won’t blame you for not achieving the impossible."

  "You brought Hood home, Faithie. I couldn’t do the same for Hurricane, or most of my crew." He replied bitterly. "Most of them died directly because of my decision to ram."

  "I’m sorry Vinc, you had to-"

  "I don’t blame you, Faithie. I just wish…" He shrugged before picking up Laura Ermler’s file and looked at it distractedly. "We don’t even know who was on Hurricane, all the personnel records went up with her."

  "It wasn’t your fault." Willis told him quietly.

  Vincent waved the personnel file in his hand at her.

  "I’ve been hearing that a lot. It wasn’t your fault they died." He replied waving as the personnel files of Hood’s fallen. "Doesn’t make it any easier though does it?"

  They were both silent.

  "Commander Espey, please come to shuttle bay four. Commander Espey, please come to shuttle bay four." The intercom crackled with all the clarity of a railway PA system.

  "I’ve got to get the Chief to fix that bloody thing." Willis muttered to herself.

  "Well it sounds like you’ve got enough to keep you out of mischief. I guess I’d better go." Vincent said as he got to his feet.

  Willis got quickly up and placed and hand on his shoulder.

  "Make sure it’s not too long before we see you out here again Vinc."

  Vincent suddenly grinned like his old self, almost, and threw his arms around her.

  "Don’t worry, Faithie, I’ll be okay." He whispered before giving a peck on her cheek. On his way out he nearly walked into Guinness. He stepped aside to allow the Commander to pass before peering into the cabin.

  "Skipper, we’ve finished patching the centre line bulkhead. I’m just going off duty." He said his eyes not meeting hers.

  "Come in please Chief. We need to have a word."

  Guinness hesitated as a look of dread crossed his face.

  Willis waited until the hatch was closed and Guinness was standing at parade rest looking deeply uncomfortable.

  "I know we should have had this conversation days ago Chief, but-"

  "I’ll ask for a transfer Captain," Guinness cut in quietly, "or for discharge."

  "Why do you say that Chief."

  Guinness swallowed hard before answering.

  "I didn’t check the back up battery, skipper. I topped up the fluid level, but I didn’t stop the think why it needed topping up."

  "There was a leak?"

  "A crack right down the rear face. When I looked afterwards, the whole chamber was flooded in battery fluid. I don’t make any excuses Ma’am."

  "And nor should you Chief. We lost the computer at a critical time and it could have cost us everything. That kind of mistake generally costs an engineer their job, even in peace time." Guinness’s eyes remained fixed on the far bulkhead. "On the other hand, how long did we get to make this ship combat worthy?"

  "A few days Ma’am."

  "Yes, only a few days to turn a relic into a warship again. We succeeded, or at least you succeeded." For the first time in the conversation Guinness met her gaze. "This ship is obsolete, so is most of the equipment onboard. I can’t seriously hope to get another engineer who can match your familiarity with the technology. I don’t want you to leave Chief but if you feel you have lost the trust of the crew and myself… I will not block a transfer request."

  "With respect Ma’am, I don’t know how you could trust me after this."

  "Because I don’t think you’ll make a mistake again, not on my ship."

  "You’re right Ma’am, I won’t." Guinness replied his voice thick with emotion and an expression of open gratitude.

  "Alright Chief, you’re dismissed. I’ll see you in the morning."

  Guinness drew himself up and marched out.

  The small smile on Willis face lasted until she sat back down at her desk. She stared at the late Laura Ermler’s file for several minutes before starting the type again.

  Mr and Mrs Ermler

  By the time this message reaches you, you will already have received official notification of your daughter Laura’s death on the thirty first July twenty sixty six. So I write to you to personally express my sympathy. Laura served under my command for only a short period and I regret I did not personally get a chance to know her. I know that there is nothing I can write that will make the coming days and months easier for you, I can only hope that the knowledge that she died defending you, will offer some comfort and that as a person, as a professional, she will be missed.

  ___________________

  The sky about Dublin was a brilliant blue, the air was warm and dry; it was going to be a beautiful day. The first lump of soil hit the top of Vice Admiral Emily Brian’s coffin with a flat thump, slowly the mourners made their way past the open grave, each adding another handful of soil. With the funeral over, those gathered started to drift away; a few mourners headed for another one of the three other funerals being held in the fleet’s graveyard.

  Lewis stood under one of the trees some distance from the funeral. It had been made clear by Brian’s daughter, that his presence was unwelcome and much as that hurt, Lewis respected her wishes.

 
He waited until the young woman dressed in black had left before approaching the grave. His wife was still there and as he stopped beside her, she looped her arm through his. The two of them stood in silence for a time.

  That there was a body at all was due to the Samuel Clemens. The transport ship had picked up the beacon from Dauntless’s Black Box and came in looking for survivors. There was one. It wasn’t Emily.

  Above them, beyond the blue sky, the Home Fleet and the Second Fleet orbited the planet. Most of those ships that had fought at Alpha Centauri were now in dockyards. Putting right their wounds would need months in dockyard hands but those ships would remerge better prepared to fight this new kind of war.

  Immediately after the battle, Warspite and the other lightly damaged ships raced back to Earth. The rest of the fleet trailed back at the best speed they could manage. For nearly twenty hours after their return to Earth the Home Fleet had remained at high alert. Uncertain as to whether the advance of the Nameless really had been checked, they paused only to rearm, before standing ready to fight again. Crews, tired almost beyond human endurance, snatched sleep where they could before returning to their posts. The Nameless did not come. Instead, there was the welcome arrival of the Second Fleet. Finally, battered ships and their exhausted crews could stand down and allow others to take up the load.

  In the days that followed, the survivors of the Third Fleet started to arrive. Either individually or in small groups, often their ships barely holding together, they brought mostly tales of horror. But one, Deimos, brought news of her clash at Junction, news of the limitations of the Nameless’s jump drive. Now, dozens of officers and technicians were pouring over the cruiser’s radar and passive sensor logs, trying to make sense of what it meant.

  One of two hard learned lessons. As a consequence of the second lesson, a vast minefield was being laid in high Earth orbit, to give the fleet a safe harbour in which to rest and repair. The Nameless would be learning as well, and now that their opening move had failed, the race would be on to see who could learn fastest.

  There was a polite cough from behind them, Lewis turned, Sheehan was waiting in front of a staff car. His arm was still in a sling.

  "Sir, I’m very sorry to interrupt." He said apologetically.

  "It’s all right Tim, what is it?" Lewis replied.

  "The council is gathering sir, Admiral Wingate wants you there."

  Lewis nodded. "Alright." Before turning to his wife.

  "I know Paul," she said, "I’ll see you at home."

  Before he left the graveside Lewis knelt, picked up a handful of loose soil and threw it into his friends’ grave.

  ___________________

  Inside the Gemini construction platform, the shuttle glided slowly down the length of Deimos, inside Crowe stared through the viewport at the buckled hull plating and shattered weapons mounts. His crew were all off the ship now, he’d been the last aboard and once the ship was handed over there was no reason for even him to remain. Space-suited dockyard workers were jetting back and forth across the damaged areas, assessing, analysing, deciding how repairs could be affected and what improvements could be made. Crowe felt a stirring of pride in his ship, she wasn’t Mississippi, but she and her crew had achieved… greatness. Putting right her wounds would need months in docks, but if the past few days had taught him anything, it was that Deimos was a good ship, the right ship, a ship that would be in the thick of things, a ship he would continue to command. Now he had time to think and reflect on how much had changed in one year. He had taken out Mississippi full of optimism and innocence, now he brought Deimos home maimed. End of an era. A overused phrase but in this case, the only appropriate one. No longer would people look up at the stars to see beauty and mystery, they would see only a source of danger.

  "Pilot, you can take us down now." He ordered.

  As the shuttle pulled away from Gemini, Crowe leaned back in his chair, and pulled the blind down over the port. There was nothing out there he wanted to see, he’d be back soon enough.

  ___________________

  Flying Officer Alanna Shermer sat in terminal three of Dublin Airport. Around her humanity in all its forms rushed for their flights, mooched around the shops, talked, read, ate and drank. Many cast curious looks at her, sitting there in her Battlefleet uniform. A few had tried to talk her, to ask questions; they wanted to know if what they saw and read in the news was true. Her responses had been monosyllabic and after a few minutes most people gave up. Only one person got a serious response. A man in his twenties, he started ranting at her, calling her an imperialist warmonger. He had been at least thirty centimetres taller than her, out weighed her by perhaps half as much again, but when she rose to her feet, he saw her hands close into fists, he looked her in the eye and saw the violence there. He was wise and backed off.

  After the destruction of Dauntless the Nameless immediately left the area. For nearly thirty hours she waited in what was left of Caesar, beside the body of Dhoni. Once the Nameless had left, she activated the distress signal but there was no way to know whether the transmitter was sending anything. The air pressure inside the cockpit slowly bled away, and with every minute she grew a little colder, with every breath the air grew a little staler.

  The hours flowed into one another and after a while she stopped looking at her watch. Near the end the cold and the bad air started to affect her, she talked to Dhoni and even now, she could have sworn he’d replied.

  She woke in the Samuel Clemen’s sickbay. She’d been lucky, so they told her. The transport ship had heard Dauntless’s last desperate transmissions, they’d heard the chatter between Anton and Caesar and finally, they heard the carrier’s Black Box beacon go active. They waited for over twenty seven hours, waiting for the solar system to go quiet again. Only then did they dare approach.

  They found what was left of Dauntless and searched the wreck for survivors. They lingered far longer than was strictly speaking wise but recovered only bodies. They were about to leave when a radio operator heard a very faint signal. They could have ignored or disregarded it, instead they investigated and found her.

  Now, after several days in hospital, she was going home to see her parents. They given her fourteen days survivor’s leave and she had vowed to herself that she would enjoy those days, because then she would return to the fleet and after Alpha Centauri, she could not make herself believe that she would survive the war ahead.

  ___________________

  A police escort from the cemetery had been laid on, so within a few minutes Lewis was being driven through a rear entrance and down into an underground car park. With equal speed he was escorted up to Wingate’s office. It was the first time he’d landed since battle and those officers and ratings he passed in the corridor stepped respectfully aside. Some saluted him, a few cheered. Lewis acknowledged them with a nod but didn’t slow his pace

  As he entered the office Wingate stood, when Lewis saluted he offered his hand.

  "Paul, welcome home and congratulations." He said as they shook hands. "Sorry about having to sneak you in, the bloody press are crawling all over the front gate. We’ve already had a couple of dozen requests for interviews and two offers to help you ghost write your story about how you won the war."

  "Thank you, sir," Lewis replied as he took a seat, "but we know that the congratulations belong to someone else."

  Wingate gave a faint grimace,

  "She was a good officer, Paul."

  "One of the best, sir." Lewis replied quietly. "If Emily hadn’t… improvised…" He broke off and shook his head. "Well, we certainly wouldn’t be patting ourselves on the back."

  "We haven’t released many details to the press, with only one survivor from Dauntless’s group, they haven’t yet found out just how close it was." Wingate paused. "We always knew it was a flimsy plan Paul, it was based on intelligence that was poor at best. But it was enough." He slid a file across the desk to Lewis. "This arrived just in the last hour or so. We sent it up t
o Warspite but you’d left the ship by that stage."

  Wingate waited patiently as Lewis read. Finally he looked up with relief on his face.

  "So, now we know, sir."

  "Yes."

  There was a tap at the door before Wingate’s Staff Captain stepped in.

  "Sir, the council is gathering."

  "Thank you Anna, we’re on our way down."

  The last of the council holograms was just flickering online when the two admirals entered the room.

  "Gentlemen, please be seated, I expect we have a lot to discuss." President Clifton said as they both saluted.

  "Firstly, Admiral Lewis congratulations on your victory in Alpha Centauri. Possibly the greatest threat this planet has ever known has been turned aside by the bravery and skill of your crews. Please express both the council’s and my own gratitude to your crews."

  "Thank you Madam President." Lewis replied nodding slightly.

  "The next point however is, has it been enough to end this conflict?"

  "We have part of an answer for that." Wingate activated a display holo. "Before the engagement in Alpha Centauri, we deployed a number of couriers across the enemy’s probable line of advance. This was both to maintain contact with the enemy and in addition, regain contact with the retreating elements of the Third Fleet. Approximately thirty hours after the end of the battle, one of those couriers, located in system Alpha one, eight, three dash one, nine, one observed an enemy fleet jump-into the system, after refuelling they jumped out in the direction of Landfall. Many of these ships were visibly damaged and going on a rough number count this fleet represented an amalgamation of both enemy fleets engaged in Alpha Centauri."