Ghost Fleet

by D. A. Boulter

  “Navigation!”

  Lieutenant Wira Brilth didn’t need to be told. Their lives depended upon speed, and her frantic plotting occurred on all five ships of Taglini’s squadron. The navcomp spit out its figures.

  “Nine nine decimal nine nine, sir!”

  “Helm!”

  Helm hadn’t waited for the order. He was already adjusting course to match the figures Navigation had transferred to his screen.

  “Good work, Lieutenant.” Fronel nodded at Navigation even as he waited impatiently for them to arrive on station.

  Lieutenant Brilth flushed with satisfaction. A ‘well done’ from the Captain was a rare event.

  “In position, sir. Four nines.”

  “Gunnery, power up all weapon systems.”

  “Gunnery, aye, sir.” Lowegtoten scanned his console. All weapons showed green; torpedoes loaded and ready, beams charged.

  “Typhoon reports in position and ready, sir.”

  “Very good.” Fronel glanced to Taglini and caught his nod. Nothing to do now but wait.

  Taglini leaned against a console, quietly gazing at a monitor. He gave the appearance of having not a care in the universe. Inside he counted the seconds. How fast would the Tlartox react? How many ships awaited?

  “Commodore, sir. Cyclone and Hurricane in position.” A two second pause. “Tornado ready.”

  Taglini opened his Comm line. “Good luck, Captains. Drop!” The three electronic signals disappeared from the monitor.

  * * *

  “Starfire!” The nearness of the mining way-station startled Captain Thugan. A zero point one out and Hurricane would have dropped right into it. They quickly slipped into a matching orbit. “Guns. Fire all weapons.”

  “Weapons firing, sir.”

  “Detectors?”

  “No sign of enemy vessels, sir. Could be some behind the moon, though.”

  “Thank you, we shall hope not.”

  “Squadron from Tlenfro Base on the move, sir.”

  Hurricane’s shields flared slightly as the way-station returned fire with its puny armament.

  “Helm, full speed.”

  “Aye, sir.

  “Comm, make to other vessels, ‘Let’s not be greedy.’”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The three frigates accelerated away from the badly damaged way station. Cyclone hit an orbiting satellite as she escaped the orbit of Tlenfro’s moon. Hurricane shook as her aft shields took another hit from the way station.

  “Guns?”

  “Should be out of effective range ... now.”

  “Engineering,” Thugan thumbed both the Internal Ship Broadcast and the Engineering Comm channel, “now!”

  All power but emergency back-up went off-line, leaving Hurricane hurtling dead through space. Silence filled the bridge as the crew looked at each other—the station could still manage a lucky shot. Ten long seconds passed.

  “Engines back on-line, sir. Shields up.”

  “Full power to engines,” Thugan ordered. The ship surged and even the compensators could not keep the crew from being jolted.

  “Enemy squadron closing rapidly.”

  “Thank you, Grevtol.” Guns looked worried, Thugan thought. And he had every right. Any one of the four vessels chasing them could wreak havoc upon their little threesome.

  “Weapons ready,” Grevtol reported, relief evident in his voice.

  “Fire a spread of torpedoes. Keep them interested.”

  “Aye, sir.” Grevtol knew they had virtually no possibility of scoring a hit from this distance. The Tlartox would swiftly dispatch the torpedoes when they came within range. Still, it felt better than doing nothing. “Torpedoes away.”

  “Tornado jumping, sir.”

  “Very good.” She looked at the figures on her screen. “Engineering, emergency full speed, if you please,” Thugan calmly voiced her order as a request.

  Grevtol had his eyes glued to his detectors. “Enemy squadron still closing, though less rapidly. Estimate we’ll be within their range in two more minutes. Torpedoes destroyed.”

  “Comm, send on emergency band to Cyclone, ‘It has been fun, good luck.’”

  “Cyclone replies, ‘Good hunting’, sir. Cyclone jumping, sir.”

  “Very good.” The Tlartox would hear the in-the-clear message and know what it meant for Hurricane.

  Thugan looked around her bridge. Every man and woman stood by their stations, tense and ready for anything. She glanced again at the diminishing range figures. Soon.

  Captain Llemartol had made the last minute suggestion. The Tlartox would be suspicious when the decoy ships didn’t jump back to hyperspace, he reasoned. However, if one of the vessels took a few hits and then had a power outage, the Tlartox would have their answer: the Confederation ships did not jump because one of them could not jump. Hot for revenge, they’d throw caution to the solar winds, leaving the Base undefended. So went the theory. It appeared to have worked. Cyclone and Tornado had jumped as the Tlartox vessels neared them, leaving only poor Hurricane, who could not jump, behind. Or so it seemed.

  “Ten seconds, sir.”

  “Make to Tempest, ‘All yours’. Drop shields and jump!”

  Hurricane winked out of normal space. Thugan could almost hear the growls of rage from the Tlartox warships. She sighed in relief. Now it would be Taglini’s turn.

  * * *

  “Drop!” Taglini ordered, and Tempest and Typhoon dropped into normal space.

  “Gunnery Officer, fire at will,” Captain Fronel said calmly as he studied his screen.

  “Weapons free-fire, sir. All weapons firing. Torpedoes away.”

  “Helm, full emergency power to engines.”

  “Helm, aye, sir. Relk’s Bones!”

  Tempest shuddered violently under a hit from Tlenfro Base’s heavy armament.

  “If you please, Helm, a little dignity.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Taglini snorted at the man’s disbelief at the reprimand.

  “Torpedoes destroyed, sir. No hits. Weapons fire not getting through their shields.”

  “Gunnery Officer, see if you can concentrate fire on their main battery. It is making it somewhat uncomfortable for Helm.”

  “Second flight of torpedoes away, sir. Targeting their main battery.”

  Commodore Taglini watched his monitors closely. The crisscrossing trails of beam and pulse fire mesmerized him. They caused no damage at all, it seemed. Typhoon loosed a wave of torpedoes from excessively close range. Blast Neco, anyway. He risked too much.

  “Captain, Tlartox defense squadron approaching rapidly.”

  “Commodore, I think we’ve worn out our welcome, sir.”

  “I believe you’ve nailed it, Captain. Please ask Typhoon to accompany us. It would be lonely without her.”

  The bridge crew stared at them as if they were mad. Tempest rocked under the hits, her shields on the verge of collapse, and the Captain and Commodore exchanged banalities?

  “A hit, by Felson’s Arse, a hit!” Gunnery Lieutenant Lowegtoten shouted.

  “Guns,” Captain Fronel remonstrated.

  “Sorry, sir. Torpedo hit on base main battery, sir.”

  “Very good, Gunnery Officer. Please inform Helm the moment we are out of range. Helm, waste no time in jumping, if you please.”

  Taglini shook his head. If he’d had any doubts about Captain Fronel before, this had dispelled them.

  “Shields down,” reported the Damage Control officer as Tempest took another hit.

  A siren sounded.

  “Hull breach, sector four. Sector four isolated.”

  “Defense squadron almost within range.”

  Taglini nodded to Captain Fronel’s raised eyebrow.

  “Jump,” he ordered.

  In the sudden quiet of hyperspace Taglini heard the sighs of relief from the bridge crew. He calmly walked to his flag chair and sat. He studied his screens, hoping that no one had noticed his legs shaking. Had he not sat down he probab
ly would have collapsed. He placed his hands carefully placed on the arms of his chair, gripping it just tightly enough to disguise the tremors. He was, he decided, getting too old for this sort of excitement.

  “Proceed to the rendezvous, Commodore?” Captain Fronel asked.

  “Proceed to the rendezvous, Captain,” Taglini agreed. Thanks be to Chaos for hyperspace, he thought. It made accurate detection of ships difficult, engaging them in battle problematic—and battles in hyperspace tended to cause heavy loss to both sides. They were safe—for the moment.

  PREDATOR

  “Drop to normal space,” Fleet Admiral Tood Tlomega hissed.

  Eyes all over the bridge turned to the Admiral. Only the Predator’s captain seemed to have what it took to question the Fleet Admiral.

  “Without dropping a probe first?” Blontera asked calmly. Fleet Admiral or no Fleet Admiral, Predator was her ship and she wasn’t going to risk it on a mistake.

  “Without the prawlten probe,” Tlomega growled. “I want to catch those cowards this time. They sniff a probe and they jump as soon as we drop. Not this time!”

  Sab Tlorth stood behind her Comm Officer. “Send the word upon my mark, Lieutenant. Mark!”

  The huge Tlartox Fleet dropped into normal space. On every bridge, prayers rose to Tlar. No one wanted to find their ship suddenly inside an asteroid. It would ruin a perfectly good day.

  “Detectors!”

  “Eight, no, twelve Confederation ships. Readings coming in, Fleet Admiral. Four cruisers and eight frigates. Holding position.”

  “At last!” Victory sharpened Tlomega’s voice. “I knew they couldn’t give up this outpost without a fight. We have them.” Tlomega spun around and glared at Tlorth. “Take them!”

  Star Admiral Sab Tlorth issued the orders and the mighty Tlartox Fleet divided into sections and swung about to englobe the Confederation vessels and outpost. Ships picked up speed and weapons consoles lit with ready signals. Not dropping the probe turned out to be fortunate. As it was, they had emerged quite some distance from the Confederation outpost; the probe would have given the humans too much time to react.

  “Enemy firing torpedoes,” Weapons Officer Krolltec reported.

  “Those furless cowards must be defecating on the decks,” Tlomega laughed harshly. “At this range?”

  “Torpedo signature, Confederation Type 60.”

  “Their very latest,” Star Admiral Tlorth mused.

  “This must be a squadron from First Fleet. Take no chances,” Sab ordered, “destroy the torpedoes at maximum range.”

  The Tlartox Fleet veered away from the Confederation torpedoes and brought all weapons to bear. Thirty miniature stars appeared one by one and then blinked out. The Confederation first defense had failed.

  “Squadrons one through four, fast attack.”

  The squadrons turned rapidly and headed directly for the Confederation ships. The range rapidly closed and then there was ... nothing. The Confederation squadron blinked out of normal space.

  Tlomega’s pupils narrowed to slits. “I’ll be in my cabin,” she snarled as she strode across the bridge. “Let me know when it is over.”

  Star Admiral Sab Tlorth issued orders for the fleet to regroup. In the meantime, Squadrons One through Four continued on to neutralize the outpost. As they closed, weapons fire began, but Sab knew that the station weapons fired on automatic. A computer guided the defense of the outpost; no one remained within.

  They had seen the same at Confederation Outpost 4. The station appeared alert; weapons fire beginning as soon as the Tlartox ships came into range. At Outpost 4 the Tlartox made a daring assault: four frigates covered the commando pods while a cruiser loosed its full fire at the station’s batteries. Rather than responding to the greater threat of the cruiser, the Outpost had targeted the closer frigates and two had been lost before the shields collapsed and the commandos boarded. Shortly thereafter, the cruiser destroyed the station’s weapons.

  Sab still shuddered inwardly when she thought of how Tlomega had reacted when she heard the news. To lose two ships to an automated defense! This time would be much different.

  “As we planned, then,” Sab gave the order. Cruisers opened fire from extreme range, concentrating on destroying the Outpost’s weaponry, downing its shields. She bared her teeth.

  Analysis of the Outpost 4’s hard drives had given them the answers they needed. They now knew the weakness of the computer defenses. She glanced at her screens. No more surprises, she thought. Sab sighed and made her way to report to Tlomega.

  “The same as the others.”

  “Furless cowards are running without even pretending to fight. What kind of a hunt is this?”

  “Perhaps they are unwilling to face the mightiest Tlartox fleet in history, Fleet Admiral.”

  Tlomega glared. “It is more than that. Every time we drop it takes time to reassemble. They buy time. One day, though, we’ll catch them.”

  “Yes, Fleet Admiral, we will.” The reassurance placated Tlomega, who dismissed her. Yes, the humans bought time, not that it mattered. The fall of Lormar could not be avoided. Sab checked in on the bridge, saw everything proceeded as usual, and left the Captain to begin the reassembly of the fleet.

  Four days later they hit another outpost. By now Tlomega’s temper sat on a knife’s edge. Sab stiffened her ears as she went to report.

  “They did it again!” were the first words out of Tlomega’s mouth, said before Sab could get all the way inside the Fleet Admiral’s cabin. “Furless cowards!”

  “Perhaps, Fleet Admiral, yet they will have to fight eventually. It is either that or give up Lormar.”

  Tlomega’s ears came forward a little, reassuring Sab that she had taken the right tack. “They have almost nothing left between us and Lormar. Unless they want to hand over their great naval base, they’ll fight.” Sab showed her teeth. “They will fight and they will lose and we’ll have avenged Tlenfro.”

  “It’s not enough,” Tlomega growled. Sab’s eyes widened. “They insult us at every turn. They send away their fleets to the Combine sector. They deploy old crates against us as if we were not worthy of their notice. Their First Fleet plays catch-the-tail with us, never deigning to meet us as warriors should be met, and they leave computers to fight us.” Tlomega’s own tail swished at every point.

  “Pinpricks. They hope to stop us with pinpricks.” Tlomega closed her eyes. “What are they doing, Sab?”

  At last. She was calming. “I’m not sure, Fleet Admiral. Perhaps they’ve suffered some disastrous defeat from the Combine that we haven’t heard of. It doesn’t matter. Once Lormar is ours they will beg for peace.”

  “No!”

  Sab stepped back from the force of the word. It took every whit of her control to not allow her fur to rise. “No, Fleet Admiral?”

  “No. Lormar will not satisfy the Tox. The Confederation navy is a joke. They no longer have the courage to fight. We have the power. We shall take the Confederation! Once we have their bases, their fleets will have nowhere to go and will exhaust their supplies without hope of replenishment. Their planets will have no choice but to bow to the inevitable.” Tlomega pointed her ears forward as she gazed at the star-holo. “Begin plans for a multi-pronged attack, Sab.”

  “Fleet Admiral?” Dividing their forces could lead to tragedy, and that worried Sab.

  “I know, Sab. But to begin, we destroy First Fleet—in hyperspace, if necessary.”

  Sab shuddered. In hyperspace, without shields, both sides would take devastating blows.

  CHAPTER 17

  LORM, LORMAR

  The meeting spun out of control, with too many people talking at once and no one listening. Jol Drendol held up his hands and waited for silence. He waited a long time but, one by one, the voices quieted. One by one, faces turned to him—angry faces. Finally silence reigned.

  “You have our attention, Jol,” Arnth Breston spoke into that silence. He stroked his heavy moustache. “If you have something
to say, say it.”

  Slowly Jol lowered his arms. “I know how you feel.” He paused a second. “I feel the same way.”

  “Then we strike!”

  “Then we don’t strike!” Jol boomed out, scowling at Rensol Nennor, the sharp-faced, short man who had just spoken out. “Where is the profit in striking? How does it improve our situation?”

  “It’ll show Fleet that we can’t be pushed around!” Nennor again. A murmur of agreement rose.

  Jol hated to do it, but there was nothing else for the situation. Nennor would have them in an uproar in a few moments. He allowed his voice to drip sarcasm. “You poor fool. You believe that denying Fleet needed weapons will help them defeat the Tlartox and rescue us? Given that we are correct, of course? Use your brains, Nennor, if you have any.” He looked around. “Who else believes a strike will help Fleet win the war?” Faces looked away. Nennor glared.

  “Then what do you suggest, Jol?” Arnth asked him, eyes angry. “Fleet is abandoning us, abandoning Lormar. They may be able to get their families away, but we, and our families, have to stay here. We need time to make our families as safe as we can, and we can’t do that working extra shifts.”

  “Why listen to him?” Nennor sneered. “His family is Fleet, too.”

  Jol wanted to pick the small man up and thrash him, but he could not solve this through violence. He had to appeal to their intelligence.

  “Nennor is correct. My father-in-law is Fleet.” He glared around, daring any to interrupt. No one spoke, so he raised his voice. “Lemm Fronel was a retired captain; they called him back. Right now, right now he is out there in a one hundred and fifty year old frigate, prepared to give his life—his crew prepared to give their lives—for us.” The silence deepened as Jol forced the reality of situation upon them. Even Nennor listened. “And he is not the only one. Fleet has been recommissioning those old frigates as fast as they can. How would you like to face a Tlartox cruiser in one of them? Relk’s bones, some of them haven’t even been upgraded to carry type 60s! And that is why they are asking us to put on an extra shift to provide upgraded guidance heads for type 39 torpedoes.