Ghost Fleet

by D. A. Boulter

  “Yeah, it looks like Fleet is abandoning us ... and it stinks!” Growls of agreement rose. “Nennor, you said that my family is Fleet. Well, perhaps we are. However, we are as able to leave as you are. The way I see it, the next best thing is to provide Fleet with the best weapons possible—if not for the sake of the regulars, then at least for those poor slobs in their antiquated museum pieces.” He looked around, finished. He could do no better. Nennor cleared his throat and Jol stiffened.

  “Okay, boys, let them riot in Prenoria. Here we build torpedoes—for the poor slobs.”

  A laugh went up and Jol breathed a sigh of relief. He’d won; they’d all won. For the moment.

  “Rensol, I apologize for the tone I used on you a few minutes ago.” Jol held out his hand. Nennor took it and they shook.

  “I guess I deserved it,” Nennor grinned sheepishly, “but we can’t do double shifts, not and prepare our families, too.”

  “I know. I’m off to talk to management, now. I’m in the same boat, you know. We’ll work something out.”

  Jol walked slowly to the plant manager’s office. His victory wouldn’t help if management didn’t come onside. He found Trel calmly waiting for him.

  “Good job, Jol. I couldn’t have done it.”

  “They’ve just cause for complaint, Trel. What will you do about that?”

  “I know, I know. I’ve been on the line to Fleet and they’ve offered a piecework bonus.”

  “That won’t be enough,” Jol interrupted.

  “Which I turned down,” Trel continued as if Jol hadn’t said anything. “I held out for a shipment of 90 day emergency packs, two for each employee. They’ll deliver them to us within the week and the Company will ensure they are delivered wherever the employees want them delivered. That should help their preparedness state, relieve some of the stress they feel about their families.”

  “That I can take back to the floor, Trel. I think they’ll go for it.”

  “And we’ll take fifteen percent of the shift off of 60s and put them on 39s. It’ll mean we just make quota on the 60s—no bonuses there—but we’ll be able to go with short overtime shifts instead of long ones.”

  Jol sighed with relief. For the first time, it seemed, the company worked with him, instead of against him. “I’ll take that back to the floor.” He stopped just inside the door. “Better put a rush on those emergency packs, Trel. The situation worsens by the day.”

  SEARCHER

  “Captain, we’re receiving comm on Fleet Channel One!”

  Britlot looked up, holding his own excitement in check. Since meeting the Phenomenon they had not heard from Fleet. He wondered how Fleet would react to their sudden reappearance after months of silence. “Decode and put it through to my screen.”

  Dhine bent to his job, then straightened. “Captain, I regret to inform you that I cannot decode the message. The cipher has changed.”

  Britlot had expected that, but found it disappointing, nonetheless. They had been gone a long time.

  “Very well, Mr. Dhine, send an in-the-clear signal to Spacedock Bravo II and tell them we are on the way home.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  To Britlot’s surprise, after a curt acknowledgement of his signal the channel remained silent. By the end of his watch, the atmosphere on the bridge was decidedly strained.

  “Captain. I understand we’ve made contact.” Weytok intercepted Britlot on his way from the wardroom to his cabin.

  “Aye, Lieutenant, we did.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. No reply.” He moved to continue to his cabin, but Weytok didn’t move aside.

  “Captain ... Mart, what’s wrong. You’ve been distant since we left Adia. I see it; the crew sees it. We need a Captain.”

  “Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

  Weytok clenched her jaw. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Alone in his cabin, Mart opened the Britlot Family Tree and began to read once more.

  CONFEDERATION CRUISER STARBURST

  Vice Admiral Knerden called them aboard his flagship, the cruiser Starburst, for the debriefing. He had changed his flag from Honor when the newer cruiser became available after completing repairs. Knerden looked altogether too pleased with himself, thought Commodore Taglini as the Vice Admiral bade him enter.

  “Congratulations, Tag,” the Vice Admiral smiled and rose to shake his hand. “You have no idea what a morale booster your little raid on Tlenfro was. And two supply ships. Well done, well done.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Taglini replied, not finding it difficult to restrain himself. “My captains did good work. I’d appreciate it if you mention Captains Thugan and Llemartol in dispatches. Without their good work, Tlenfro would have been a disaster.”

  “Of course, Tag, of course. Consider it done. But let’s not have any disaster talk. Our plan is working. Scouts report a definite reduction of Tlartox Fleet strength as they deploy vessels to guard their bases, outposts and supply lines.” Knerden seemed very proud of the fact. He gazed at the photos on the wall.

  Taglini followed his gaze. Like most officers, Knerden had pictures of his commands. A bold painting depicted Starburst in action at Plillinth with Combine ships glowing red from internal fires. He must have commissioned it immediately after the battle for it to be on his wall so soon. And that said all that needed to be said about Vice Admiral Knerden, thought Taglini.

  The chimes rang, and Knerden’s Flag Lieutenant ushered in the other captains and commodores. Besides his own, seven captains and two commodores back from various missions took places. From the looks on their faces—carefully controlled—Taglini figured that things had not gone so smoothly elsewhere.

  Captain Tetwucan of Foremost looked especially bitter, not bothering to disguise his anger. “One cruiser,” he reported, “one lone cruiser destroyed our squadron. Our first two targets didn’t expect anything.” He smiled without humor. “We dropped and killed three supply ships at the first outpost and shot up their long range detectors some for good measure. Our second drop caught a small escort by surprise. We killed her and a supply ship recalibrating. A quick jump and then their Outpost 18, if you remember, Admiral. But the Tlartox reacted quickly to our little forays. This time it was we who weren’t expecting it.” Again the ironic smile. “We dropped and walked right into a cruiser. It appeared from behind the moon on the other side of Outpost 18 and she hit us before we could even think of jumping. Four minutes and four frigates dead, sir. It was murder, sending these old ladies against a modern cruiser.”

  Knerden’s warm smile disappeared. “Thank you, Captain Tetwucan. We have to expect some losses. However, those supply ships could make all the difference.”

  Tetwucan’s face became an expressionless mask. He stood quietly while the others made their reports, but Taglini felt the man’s anger even through his shields.

  “Thank you all.” Knerden stood and prepared to dismiss the conference. “I can tell you that Fleet Headquarters is pleased with your work. However, our war has reached a new level, so you’ll receive new orders soon. Dismissed.”

  The officers turned and left.

  “Commodore Taglini.”

  Taglini slowed his pace, and Captain Tetwucan caught up and got in step. “I noticed Tempest is in Prime Alpha for repairs.”

  “Yes, we had a hull breach. Just minor, but three men died. Shouldn’t be in there too long.”

  “Three men,” the bitterness came through clearly, “I wish I could say the same. They shot us up. I lost fifty. Foremost is in the dock next to Tempest.”

  They walked on quietly. As they approached the shuttle’s air-lock Tetwucan spoke once more. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me for a drink at the Club.”

  Taglini relaxed. He had wondered if Tetwucan was going to be able to get around to it. The man needed to talk, and all his peers were dead or captured. Taglini nodded. “Of course. We’ll be on the same shuttle boat back, so we can go directly. Actually, I’m meeting my captains there,
too. Join us—or I can put that meeting off until later.”

  “No, I’d appreciate the company.”

  * * *

  “Did you hear him? Four filthy supply ships could make all the difference? Condescending bastard. Forty might make a difference in a long campaign, but if it keeps going like this, we’ll not have a long campaign.” Tetwucan tossed back the remainder of his drink and signaled for another.

  “They cut us to pieces, Tag. Our poor old shields aren’t strong enough to stop their fire and our weapons can’t get through theirs in time.” Tetwucan turned his head slowly from side to side, trying to escape the memory of those awful four minutes. “How did you do it, Tag? They said you shot up the base at Tlenfro. How did you do it?” The desperate longing in his voice caused the others to look away.

  Taglini had used his rank to secure a large table in a corner of the Club. The lighting was on the dim side, and low music played, mostly drowned out by the din of conversation.

  Commodore Prusnol and three other captains had joined them, making it a table of eleven. All other officers gave them a wide berth, the unwritten rule of such navy clubs all over the Confederation, giving them some privacy even in public.

  “Only luck, Daahl. We dropped so close to the base that every shot we made hit. They didn’t have time to shoot up all our torpedoes and the combined force of fifteen or twenty impacting at the same time allowed some of our fire to get through.”

  “What type torpedoes are you getting?” asked Prusnol.

  “Type 39s,” spat out Neco. “If we’d had 60s, we would have taken out that base.” He exaggerated, but the point came across clearly.

  “We’re getting 39s as well. Old ships and old stockpiled munitions.”

  “And children.”

  “And children,” confirmed Prusnol. “However, I must say that those ‘children’ did a damn fine job.” A murmur of agreement went round the table. “So, what do we do? Tenth Fleet can’t take this kind of casualty rate for long. Someone has to talk Knerden out of sending the old ladies on this sort of mission. Tag, you went to the Academy with him. Can’t you do—”

  Taglini interrupted him with a snort of laughter. “No one can talk Knerden out of anything. But I don’t think we’ll have to. Headquarters can read between the lines of the status reports. No matter how he presents it, they’ll have to see that Tenth is getting murdered.”

  Grim looks around the table showed that they hoped this was so. Yet who knew what admirals would find important? They might yet sacrifice Tenth.

  “Room for one more?”

  Taglini peered up to see a captain he’d not yet met. “Sure, have a seat.” The others made room and the newcomer dragged a chair over and sat down. No one spoke until the server had brought the next round, then the group relaxed again.

  “Captain Voerneus, Ronis,” he introduced himself.

  “Ronis. That’s a Class-B frigate, isn’t it?”

  “Correct. Still underpowered and under-gunned, but she’ll pay her way—if I can get those dockies to get a move on. Took a few hits on my last old sally-forth.” Voerneus wore a heavy black beard and his dark eyes gleamed out from under heavy brows.

  “Overheard that last bit. Don’t think you need worry. The Vice Admiral has been shown the light. No more convoy raiding for the old girls,” his deep voice rumbled out.

  The others leaned forward, eager to get new information. At a base like this, everyone always seemed to know what was going on before any official word came down. One only needed to separate fact from rumor.

  “Go on.”

  “Sorry, don’t know much more. Was in the signals room, sending messages to family of those I lost.” Nods around the table. They’d all been there, one time or another. “Saw a signal recalling a couple of squadrons.” He grinned. “Got the ‘eye’, you know.” He joined in the laughter.

  “I’d just like to get my crew some leave planet-side,” Tetwucan muttered. “They need the distraction but bloody Ops won’t allow it.”

  Voerneus looked at him strangely. “Don’t want your boys and girls going down there,” he warned.

  A couple nodded, but most heads turned, questioning.

  “Civvie morale is shot. Been some riots. Seems like Fleet Headquarters is preparing to evacuate, and word got out—how’re you going to stop it?” Voerneus waited for the shock to fade. “Even heard they’re checking out the demolition circuits on the four Primes.”

  “As my Helm would say, ‘Relk’s Bones!’” Captain Fronel had sat quietly at the table, saying little of anything. He’d stuck to juices while his compatriots had started with wine, some graduating to spirits. “If we don’t stop them here, where will we stop them?”

  Desultory talk continued, but a real damper had been put on the conversation. Each officer was too busy dealing with his or her inner thoughts. One by one they drifted off until only Taglini, Fronel and Tetwucan remained.

  “Come on, we’ll walk you back to your quarters,” Taglini told Tetwucan.

  “Not as drunk as you think,” Tetwucan replied, but graciously allowed them to do just that.

  “Fifty dead,” they heard him mutter as they closed the door behind them and began the walk back to Tempest. “Fifty dead.”

  * * *

  Lemm Fronel paced in front of the tele-vid screen. Too long a delay, he thought. Finally it flickered to life, the face of his wife, carefully set, replacing the blackness. The guarded expression changed in a moment to a welcoming smile. With a sinking feeling, Fronel knew what she had been expecting. The waiting must take as much out of her as the fighting did to him. Probably more. He wondered how often she’d waited like this, for word of his death.

  “Lemm! Where are you?”

  “Hello, Relnie, I am upstairs, enjoying the solitude of the stars. Very relaxing, I must say.”

  Relnie’s face took on a decidedly wicked cast. “Come down here and I’ll relax the betnry out of you.” She paused, “No, don’t.”

  Lemm’s smile died. “Reasoning?”

  “You’re not very popular at the moment. The neighbors are quite annoyed.”

  “I see.” And he did. Relnie was using the simple code they had developed to express things which might not be appreciated by the powers that be in a wartime situation, and the comm was undoubtedly monitored. The rumors of riots, and anger expressed at the Fleet were true, then.

  “How are the children?”

  “The children are fine. Your granddaughter has something to say to you.”

  “Melsie is there?”

  The small girl’s face replaced Relnie’s. “Hi Grandie, when are you coming home?”

  Lemm smiled at the small blonde head with the dimpled cheeks. “As soon as I can, Melsie, but I have some work to finish first.”

  “Bring me a present?” She looked very serious.

  “Always, Melsie, always.” The girl looked relieved.

  “Okay, Grandie, mom says I have to go to bed now.”

  “Hi, dad,” Colli’s face replaced the child’s and once again Lemm marveled that he had sired such a striking daughter. “It is good to see you. Jol and I are over visiting mom. Pel and Jerinth are here, too.” She gave a quick grin, but her heart wasn’t in it, Fronel thought. “I know how much these cost, so I’ll put mom back on.”

  “Okay, you take care of my granddaughter, now.”

  “I will, dad.”

  “Everyone is fine, Lemm. You take care of yourself, too, my man.” Relnie’s face returned to the screen.

  “Any chance of a family holiday?” Lemm asked.

  Relnie looked slightly bitter. “No, Lemm. That is for the very rich only. And the Fleet.”

  “I might be able to arrange something.”

  “No,” she uncharacteristically interrupted him. “That would just prove the point, wouldn’t it?”

  “Aye,” he agreed. “I suppose it would. Be well, my love.”

  “Be well.”

  The screen went dark. Troubled, it to
ok Lemm Fronel a long time to achieve sleep.

  * * *

  “I’ve never seen dockies so truculent,” Taglini admitted to Captain Fronel as they inspected Tempest’s repairs. “Even Fleet personnel seem jumpy.”

  “Let us go to the wardroom and I’ll tell you of a very disturbing tele-vid I made last night.” Taglini looked at his subordinate curiously, but Fronel would not divulge any more where they could be overheard.

  “Better, let’s go to my office.”

  Taglini led the way into the Commodore’s cabin and gestured Fronel to a seat. “You said something about a tele-vid?”

  “Yes. I made a call to my wife last night. She’s down on Lormar. She, my children and granddaughter are forted up in my retirement home, Commodore. I stocked it well, so they will not have to go out but occasionally.”

  Taglini frowned. “I didn’t realize your family lived here. Forted up?”

  “They did not lead us astray when they told us of the dissension down below. Fleet Officers have been moving their families off Lormar for the past several months. The wealthy are relocating as well.” He reached for the dish of nuts which Taglini offered and popped a few in his mouth. “To say civilian morale is low is overstate it. They know Fleet is abandoning them and are rightfully unhappy.” He studied his fingernails. “To be truthful, I’d feel just the same. Anyway, our uniform is not the most popular on Lormar at present.”

  “I’m afraid I saw this coming, Lemm. The Vice Admiral has the necessity of it down pat. When the fleets return from the Combine sectors, we’ll retake this area.” Fronel could tell Taglini didn’t believe this would be anytime soon. “We obey our orders, Lemm, and do our best.”

  “Just between you and me, Tag,” Fronel lapsed into the familiar for the first time Taglini could remember, “I will not be leaving the sector if ordered to pull out.” He waited for Taglini to say something, but the commodore didn’t speak. “They are my family, Tag.”

  “I have no family, so I don’t pretend to know how you feel. However, I’ll worry about you when the situation occurs—if we still live.”