Ghost Fleet

by D. A. Boulter

  “Not to worry, Lieutenant,” Commander Jaron quietly told her. “Just do better next time. That’s all the Captain expects. No one gets it right first time, every time.”

  Somewhat relieved, Brilth straightened up and manned her station. This time she would do better, she vowed.

  Jaron looked to Fronel and received a millimetric nod. One couldn’t push youngsters like this too hard. Bad enough they had to fight in obsolete ships. Still, they had to learn.

  Three more exercises followed, the bridge officers striving to improve their facility with their new ship (even if only in simulation). Finally the day ended.

  A tired Lemm Fronel joined the other captains in the Commodore’s day room.

  “Congratulations, Gentlemen, Ladies,” Commodore Prusnol greeted them. “An admirable display. If you can handle the real thing as effectively, Fleet will be happy.”

  Ulla Thugan took the compliment with a hefty dose of scepticism. “We did okay,” she admitted, “but only that. How long to make our ships and crews ready for duty?”

  Prusnol’s smile faded. “Not as much as we had hoped. The Tlartox are moving quickly. That’s one of the reasons that we’ve changed course.”

  The five captains stilled, waiting for the word.

  “We’re now heading for Spacedock Bravo II where they have crews working overtime refitting your ships. We need you there to hurry the process. Sorry about leave.”

  Bad news. Fronel appreciated the Commodore’s giving it to them straight. No playing seek-and-destroy about the four moons of Jenthop for this man.

  “And our crews?” Fronel asked.

  “I fear you will receive them piecemeal, as they become available.”

  “Good.” Ten Llemartol smiled. “We won’t have a whole lot of know-nothings confusing the issue. The ‘old hands’ will educate the newer ones in manageable numbers.”

  Vella Mesicsah ran her fingers through her hair. “And what will that ratio be?”

  Lemm leaned forward. Outside of his XO, his bridge officers lacked experience. This would tell the tale.

  Prusnol clenched his famous square jaw. “About one in seven, I’m afraid.”

  Vella closed her eyes, possibly in prayer. Lemm shook his head gravely. He had suspected he would not like the answer.

  In the wardroom, the other officers discussed their day.

  “I thought Captain Mesicsah was going to have an attack when I ordered the turn,” Lieutenant Pars Rethor grimaced. “How could I know that these old ships can’t take a turn like that?”

  “You could have read the book,” Lieutenant-Commander Lerti Silmar told him gently. As XO of Typhoon she had immersed herself in the ship’s specifications.

  “At least we have heavier armor than the newer ships,” Lieutenant Avar Grevtol of Hurricane said, grinning. “We should be able to take heavier fire from the enemy.”

  Commander Jaron was about to explain that the heavier armor, which explained the larger turning radius, wouldn’t compensate for the poorer shields, but thought better of it. They’d find out soon enough. He caught Lerti Silmar’s eye; she nodded.

  “Attention, everyone. A drink on the Number Ones!”

  A cheer erupted and everyone stepped forward to fill their glasses.

  “To the Confederation!” Lieutenant Wira Brilth called out loudly.

  “The Confederation!” the reply resounded.

  “And confusion to the enemy,” Rop Jaron responded after they’d all taken a drink. “We’ll need it,” he added quietly to Silmar, who nodded in agreement.

  SPACEDOCK BRAVO II

  Captain Benteel signed the final recommissioning slip and declared Tempest fit for service. Her bridge officers and a skeleton crew had arrived and worked with the dockers to finish the job. The transition went very smoothly, possibly because of Commodore Taglini’s presence. Ordinarily he did not involve himself so fully. Had he received negative reports on other vessels they’d refitted? She resolved to ask him.

  Sighing, she stood and left her office for Number 4 Spoke, at the end of which lay Tempest. ‘Fit for service’, she thought. But what sort of service? Tempest, once a modern frigate capable of taking on anything that sailed the stars, was now a relic. Under-gunned and underpowered for today’s modern fleet, she would not last long in battle—a veritable deathtrap.

  Originally a flagship, Tempest boasted quarters for a squadron commodore. Flag to a group of equally antiquated warships. A Fleet Squadron in name only.

  Benteel shook that thought from her head and stepped into the airlock. Commodore Taglini had boarded her earlier and, after meeting with him, she’d see just what was what. Strange that he hadn’t approached her personally with complaints. He had never before done anything behind her back. The airlock cycled her through.

  “Spacer Chief, have you seen the Commodore?”

  “In the Flag cabin, sir.”

  She walked inboard and pressed the door chime. Inside, the Commodore sat at the desk, looking through a bound book.

  “Ah, Captain Benteel, just the person I wanted to see.”

  “Commodore.” She braced herself.

  “Your people have done a wonderful job here, Listra,” he addressed her familiarly.

  “Thank you, sir. We do our best. Any complaints with the recommissions?” Best to get it out in the open.

  “No.” Taglini seemed puzzled, then his face cleared and he smiled. “No, indeed. In fact I’ve received nothing but compliments on the work Bravo II has done.”

  Captain Benteel had no time to pursue her puzzlement as the Commodore called her over to look at the book. It lay open to a page containing rows of faces. Young men and women. Taglini pointed at one.

  “Del Lieren,” he said with a sad smile. “Used to have us in stitches back at the academy. If not for him, several of us, me included, would have dropped out. Del was Executive Officer of Thunderer.” Taglini sat back in the chair and looked at the Confederation insignia on the bulkhead. “Thunderer met four ships of the Combine. They attempted to intercept a convoy. Thunderer placed herself between the convoy and the strike force. The convoy escaped.

  “Karva Mortok.” His finger pointed to another face, this one a woman with dark hair and eyes. A cute girl, Benteel thought; she looked far too young to belong in Fleet. “Karva was Lieutenant of Gunnery on Thunderer.”

  “Tils Navoni. Survived the battle of Artine III without a scratch, though his frigate was shot to pieces. Took leave and a horse kicked him in the skull.

  “Vreen Vrender. On patrol in Kaltor. Kaltor disappeared with all hands fifteen years ago. We still don’t know exactly what happened, though no one doubts that the Combine got her.”

  The Commodore turned the page back and pointed out other faces, some of whom Benteel knew, most she did not. She noted that he skipped over the familiar face, below which the name Jens Knerden was featured. She’d have to ask him about that sometime.

  “So many gone, Listra; so few of us left.”

  Comprehension dawned. Benteel took a quick look around and saw a picture of a Class B frigate on the bulkhead. It had been Taglini’s first command.

  “You have orders,” she whispered, shocked.

  “She’s my flagship, Listra. I’m going back out there—along with Cyclone, Hurricane, Tornado and Typhoon. Recalled to service with all the other greybeards,” he chuckled.

  “Tag, I heard nothing of this. Where are you posted? Convoy duty?”

  “No, Listra, the squadron will be employed in the defense of Lormar.”

  “Lormar?” Her eyes widened. Lormar was bound to be the Tlartox fleet’s main objective. With Fleet Headquarters situated there, where else would they go?

  “Something is in the air, Listra. Something big. And it looks like I’ll be in the thick of it.” He smiled. “Don’t look so funereal. This is why I joined the Fleet.” He stood and stretched.

  Listra couldn’t smile back and Taglini’s own smile soon faded. She waited him out.

 
“When it comes right down to it, Listra, I find I don’t want to die. This hero thing is for the young. I only hope I don’t break, embarrass myself and my command.”

  Listra Benteel rushed to hug him. “You won’t break, Tag. You’re the bravest man I ever met.” She felt a sob catch in her throat. Life just wasn’t fair. She held him even closer and felt him begin to respond.

  “There just happens to be an empty cabin through that door, Listra. They made it ready for me. Shall we?” Taglini asked. “There’s not many about.”

  “Lead on, Tag,” Listra smiled gently. It had been a long time and it might never be again with him. She’d make sure it was a good one.

  The two warriors, well past their prime, slipped through the door to Taglini’s private bedroom, hand in hand.

  “I never told you I loved you, did I, Listra?”

  Listra laughed softly. “No, Tag, you never did. But I’ve known it for years.”

  “Ah, that’s good.” Taglini cupped her face and looked her in the eyes. “I love you, Listra.”

  “It is nice to hear it, Tag.” She kicked the door closed with her foot.

  TLARTOX HOME PLANET: COMMANDO BARRACKS

  Group Leader Rai Tlel snarled as the four sections of her group formed up. “Listen up, you flea-bitten excuses for Commandos: Now we do it for real. And if you perform as pathetically as yesterday . . .” She let her voice die away. An unnamed threat always sounded worse than a named one.

  Excitement ran through the group. Ears cocked forward and pupils slitted. They waited. Rai Tlel let them wait several long moments before turning to her Assistant Group Leaders. “Dismiss them. Be ready for transport to the lift-off site in two hours.”

  “Group: We transport in two hours. Full kit. Dismiss!”

  Sar Krinth felt her stomach doing weird things. With shaking hands, she prepared herself for her first time in space. She buckled her weapons belt about her waist, enjoying its familiar weight.

  “Not now,” Squad Leader Rel Tjenor told her. “You’ll wear a pressure suit at lift-off. Full gear only after we get into the pod. Put it in your pack.” Tjenor moved to the next commando.

  Sar’s ears went back in embarrassment. She knew that. Why had she forgotten? Her embarrassment was lost in the rush. With time to spare, the one hundred commandos of the 3rd Group, Sixth Command, 3rd Commandos stood ready to go. Landcruisers arrived, and the commandos boarded.

  Actual lift-off made their simulator practices feel like nothing. Then came the weightlessness before the shuttle’s gravity cut in. One of the commandos vomited into the bag provided. Sar gave thanks to Tlar it hadn’t been her, for her stomach felt very poorly as well. She glanced around quickly, wondering at the nonchalance of the more experienced. This was space! She felt eyes upon her—Group Leader Rai Tlel. Sar held the Group Leader’s gaze for a moment before turning her head back to the front. Did she stand out as a newcomer? She had replaced Ren Frey who had taken maternity leave. How many sets of eyes would be watching each thing she did?

  * * *

  “All right, Group, into the pod!” Rai Tlel watched her commandos move past her and into the docked pod. Beyond lay the orbital station. Nearby floated the other seven pods of Sixth Command. Her eyes bright, she moved into line and took her position in the cramped pod.

  “Equipment check in ten minutes,” she called, and a bustle of activity followed as commandos helped each other prepare. Tlel watched her timepiece.

  “Section Leaders, check your Hands!” Every section leader checked her two hands of five commandos, then reported to their squad leaders who reported to her. All stood ready. She glanced again at her timepiece. Now, if the fleet pilot could get them where they were going, they’d see what her Commandos had learned.

  The pod jarred as it took a hit, and Tlel wondered how they’d simulated that. A few eyes turned to her, then away. Another hit, then another. The pod spun, then corrected.

  “Thirty seconds!” the pilot shouted over the broadcast. Precisely thirty seconds later, a heavy thump sounded as they hit the station.

  “Prepare the burn!” Tlel yelled. A hissing vibration reverberated through the pod.

  “Burn complete,” reported Tjenor.

  “Fire the charge!”

  The pod echoed to the clang of the charge going off.

  “Check seal.”

  “Seal holding, pressure within tolerances.”

  “Go!”

  The hatch opened, and 3rd Group boiled into the station. Three defenders, caught in the blast, lay on the deck, stunned.

  Tlel signaled a Hand and pointed. “For interrogation.” The five commandos secured the three and transported them into the pod.

  “Heavy resistance!” the call came back, and Tlel moved forward. They overcame the resistance with grenades, and the commandos moved forward until they met the yellow line signifying the edge of the exercise area. Mop-up operations began, with the commandos searching every compartment, wary for traps and ambushes. Finally they finished. Station Broadcast came to life and called a halt.

  “This is Group Commander Scairnth. All Group Leaders report to Conference Room Seven. The rest of the Command will assemble in Docking Bay One after releasing all ‘prisoners’. Good work.”

  Sar Krinth bared her teeth. She had done it. Her first live training exercise in space and she’d made no mistakes. No bad ones, at least. Along with the other commandos, she formed up and marched to the Docking Bay to await transport to the planet. Behind her the heavy airtight doors closed over the blown bulkheads and the station workers welded the burned slabs back into position for the next exercise.

  To her great surprise they were not returned planetside, but instead taken to the Troopship Trenth’s Fang where the rest of the division mustered. Only one reason could exist for that.

  CHAPTER 11

  ADIA

  An errant breeze brought the scent of blooming flowers to him on the way to the building, and Britlot savored it. Inside, flowers on the conference room table caught his eye. Their unregimented beauty in the midst of uniforms and protocol took him aback. He would have preferred a more austere setting, but the Adians seemed comfortable.

  “Commander Travlot tells me you dropped right into the Phenomenon, Lieutenant-Commander.” The Admiral removed her cap and leaned back in her chair. Probably a beauty in her day, Britlot thought, and she remained strikingly handsome.

  “Yes, Fleet Admiral, we did. Our probe indicated no danger, but we dropped into chaos.”

  “So, tell us, how did you escape—ship intact?”

  “We brought one engine on line—manual—and did a blind jump to hyperspace.”

  “Quick thinking,” Commodore Cetph complemented him. “We lost several ships there, during the Migration. You did well to get out.”

  “Sir, if I may, I’d like to ask about the ‘migration’. Records from Begoine suggested that the Phenomenon destroyed the entire fleet and convoy. Word from Begoine’s few survivors confirmed the story. How did the rest escape?”

  The naval officers deferred to the Foreign Minister.

  Jalketh began slowly. “Our ancestors wanted to leave Lormar and the Confederation, as you know. Word of a newly discovered planet turned that desire into reality. We left with Begoine holding the rearguard position.

  “You know the difficulties of long-range navigation in hyperspace, and how recalibration of instruments can only take place in normal space.”

  Britlot nodded. Early in their history, ships had disappeared, or gone far off course, by not dropping to recalibrate.

  “However,” Jalketh smiled, “dropping hundreds of ships at once can result in quite a jumble. It would take days to sort out the mess and get under way again, and that’s a best case scenario.”

  Britlot nodded again. “Worst case would have ships colliding with each other. A naval fleet of that size, trained in formation jumping, would be bad enough, but civilian ships dropping together sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

&
nbsp; “Agreed. Thus the leaders of the Migration decided that only a few ships would drop each time. The remainder would move away slightly and wait for the chosen few to jump back up.

  “Those ships passed their recalibration data to the others and, although not precise enough for accurate recalibration, it sufficed.” He paused as Commodore Cetph rose and opened a window. A breeze entered and Britlot found himself breathing in deeply. The others smiled at his obvious enjoyment of the fresh air.

  “It has been a long time,” he explained. He took a moment to enjoy the air, using the time to glance around the room. It surprised him to see how much wood the Adians used. The floors, walls and furniture displayed various woods to advantage. The table, a beautiful round affair with the grain brought into wonderful relief by the stain, took center stage. A star holo sat quiescent on another table in the corner. The sun provided the light through the large windows, which took up most of one wall.

  Britlot suddenly realized the others awaited the return his attention. He saw no signs of censure. All had taken extended space trips—with the possible exception of Jalketh. No, a Foreign Minister needed to . . . now, there was a thought. ‘Foreign Minister’ meant Adia had relations with someone else. Who? On this planet, or elsewhere? He looked closely at Jalketh, who resumed.

  “Our probes reported it safe, too. When the ships which dropped did not forward data, nor respond to requests, another vessel dropped, with all Comm open. In the short time that Comm remained open, the rest of the Fleet discovered that it wasn’t safe at all—as you yourself discovered. The Fleet could do nothing to help. They moved on. Begoine, to their knowledge, just disappeared. Though following at some distance, our records show that she had received warning. Why she dropped, no one knows. Perhaps her Captain decided to attempt a rescue.”

  “I see.”

  “So, Lieutenant-Commander, tell us about the Confederation. We are very interested in what has been going on these past centuries.”