Ghost Fleet

by D. A. Boulter

  “Ex-marine?” Britlot asked. The woman had given him the knowledge he needed without excess or leaving out anything important.

  “Yeah, did a tour maybe fifteen years ago. Some things you just don’t forget.”

  Britlot gave her a smile and clapped her on the arm. “Well, what you didn’t forget probably saved us a lot of casualties. Our thanks.

  “Lieutenant. Take five marines and follow this woman to the other entrance. Don’t try anything stupid. Just guard the entrance and if you can take some shots without grave risk, do it.” Britlot turned and pushed his way into the line slipping through the door to the dock.

  Someone had been careless. A dead Marine lay just two steps inside the bay. Others slowly infiltrated forward, just as they’d done during exercises. Britlot saw some looking back, covering their rear in case any Tlartox appeared on the catwalk above and behind them. He moved off to the left, wanting to get more information from whoever led the spacers.

  The level of weapons fire increased as more of his marines entered the action. Someone let out with a blood-chilling scream. He couldn’t tell if it was Tlartox or human. A shot hit just above his head and sent him to the deck, breathing hard.

  Side arm out, he made his way around a machine, watching every direction at once, or as close to that as he could. A man stood suddenly, loosed several shots, then disappeared. Britlot made his way in that direction. The man was obviously not trained in close quarters fighting and had forgotten everything they’d taught him back in his Academy days.

  “No! Down!” Britlot yelled as the man reappeared in the exact same position. Too late. A Tlartox sniper’s shot flung him backwards.

  “Here. Stay down.”

  This man, in the light blue of the Confederation navy, motioned him over. Britlot moved quickly to him. The man raised his eyes only above his protection, fired three shots, ducked and moved. There was something familiar about him.

  “Well met, cousin,” Coll Britlot rasped out.

  Commander Mart Britlot stared at him, trying to remember.

  “Major Coll Britlot, Adian Marines,” he reminded the other.

  “Of course, that last day. Glad to see you and your friends.” Six more marines had snaked their way through the maze and joined them. “They surprised us,” Mart admitted.

  “They’ve been doing that to us for hours now,” Coll Britlot chuckled. “How many of them are in here? Best guess.”

  Mart pulled his hand-held from his belt. “Lieutenant Krirtol, how many in the bay now?”

  “Captain, detection has counted at least two hundred to this time.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. Well, you heard. Two hundred. And they are well ensconced.”

  Coll Britlot looked across the bay to the ship docked there. He could read the name: Searcher. A sudden gleam came to his eyes.

  “Can you get the ship’s screens repeated to you?” he asked.

  Mart understood and gave a slow Britlot smile. “I think that is possible.” He spoke for a time into his hand-held and then tuned it. “Here we are. Lieutenant, please follow the Major’s directions.”

  Major Coll Britlot had Krirtol run the scan over the bay, noting where everything was and the most likely spots for the Tlartox to hide.

  “Can your ship fire her weapons?”

  “In here?” The man was mad. Completely out of his mind. Mart told him so.

  “Smallest weapon, minimum energy?” Coll laughed at the disbelief that manifested itself on Mart’s face. Then he became serious. “See, it’s either that or we hunt them down one at a time. That will take hours we don’t have and result in heavy casualties. Right now, thanks to your people’s quick action, we have them in a limited area. Several quick small bursts will dishearten them, boost our morale, and give us cover as we make a rush. We absolutely cannot allow them control of the bays. Light casualties or heavy. Your choice.”

  “Lieutenant Krirtol, were you listening?”

  “Aye, sir.” She sounded as shocked as he had been.

  “Are the weapons back on line yet?”

  “Aye, sir, they are. Just give me the targets and we’ll have a party,” a man’s voice came through.

  “Thank you, Gunner Dorvon. Major?”

  Major Coll Britlot listed four targets and Dorvon replied that he had them locked in his sights. “Just give me the word, but don’t rush in before I’m done. This’ll be no summer walk on Adia, Major; it will be spectacular. Glad I’m in here and not out there.”

  Major Britlot took his own hand-held out and dialed his company’s frequency. “All Marines, attention. The scoutship Searcher is about to fire on the following targets.” He listed them. “Immediately after the fourth bolt we attack. Do not anticipate. Searcher has warned us that this will be quite spectacular.” He received affirmatives from all his officers and pointed his forefinger at his Confederation cousin. He jabbed it down, crouching as he did so.

  Mart Britlot had been busy on other frequencies warning the spacers of the upcoming festivities. He shook his head at the major and lay right down on the deck. “Now, Dorvon!” He placed his hands over his ears.

  The roar was incredible and pieces of machinery flew all over. It seemed that the bolts charged the very air with electricity and Major Coll Britlot felt every hair on his body stand up. It was not a feeling he wished to repeat, but repeat it did—three times.

  “Urrah!” The shout rose through the sudden quiet of the bay, and the marines attacked. Mart Britlot followed Coll, and together they ran from cover to cover.

  The four great blasts had torn the heart out of the Tlartox defense, and commandos rushed from the bay, not wanting to face that sort of firepower again. Those who couldn’t escape fought ferociously, once they recovered.

  Mart looked at Coll, amazed. The man fought with a cold fury, seemingly reckless. In actuality he calculated his every step and took no needless risks.

  Then came hand-to-hand and there were claws and knives everywhere. Blood covered the floor and Mart had only time to shoot and move, not think. He was swept up in something he knew little about and he found the fear exhilarating.

  It ended.

  Mart checked himself over. He still lived, unwounded. He looked around. Many were not. Tlartox Commando and Adian Marine lay side-by-side, one on top the other, dead and dying. He saw gore everywhere and heard agonized screams of pain as the victors did what they could for the wounded of both sides. He brought up his lunch. Then Coll stood at his side, the Adian holding his right forearm with his left hand. His fingers were bloody.

  “I think I misunderstood the exact meaning of ‘spectacular’, Commander.”

  Mart looked at him, and dredged up a smile, a far cry from the Britlot smile. “I think I may have misunderstood the term ‘light casualties.’”

  Coll Britlot laughed harshly. “This? Yes, well,” he shrugged. “I have to go. Thanks to you, we have them on the run. Better to not let them get set up again.” He patted Mart on the arm and strode off, yelling for his company to reassemble; ordering a patrol to harass the Tlartox, and calling for medics.

  Mart closed his eyes. His hands shook so badly he could barely hold his side arm. With great care he placed it in its holster and made his way back to Searcher.

  He had no need to ask if they had seen. Pale faces met him. He turned and headed for the heads. He didn’t have as much to bring up this time, so he had to endure the dry heaves. Finally he finished and stepped out.

  Feneya stood there, came forward and threw her arms around him. “Oh, Mart, Mart. I saw it. I, I thought...”

  “Hush.” He held her tightly, wanting to never let her go.

  CONFEDERATION PARLIAMENTARY CHAMBERS

  Mart Britlot was not the only person to lose the contents of his stomach. Down on Lormar and on forty or more different planets, Confederation citizens watched, grey of face. Many, as had been prophesied, had turned off their screens. Many, many more had not. The Chamber of Parliamentarians debated the wisdom o
f allowing the channels to remain open.

  “The Minister of Defense suggests that we cannot allow our citizens to be exposed to these graphic vid-records. Secrets are being broadcast. And, worse still, already a backlash develops. Our people have never seen such things.”

  “Does the Minister desire that his name be on the document which orders closure of the channels?”

  No one spoke. The cries of censure, which would arise, would deafen them. No one with his name on the order would survive the next election.

  “Then let us deal with items on which we have a choice.”

  No one liked that statement, yet no one was willing to argue with it.

  WINTER SKY

  “Hard a-starboard,” Captain Rellos ordered and Winter Sky came about in a tight arc. Tight for her, but not for the Tlartox who cut inside and opened her hull. Hull Breach alarms screamed, then were cut.

  “Section eighteen open to space and isolated, sir.”

  “Very good. Gunner, do something about that frigate.”

  “Torpedoes fired, sir. They are too close to get away.”

  On the screen, the Tlartox frigate turned sharply and hit her thrusters. It was no use. The torpedoes struck and her shields buckled. Other torpedoes ripped her into pieces.

  Rellos smiled without humor. He had saved his torpedoes for just such an eventuality. The Tlartox, having noted that torpedoes were no longer being fired, had become careless. Even so, that wouldn’t have mattered without the updated guidance heads which defied Tlartox jamming. He sent a mental thanks to the factory people who had worked almost until they dropped, replacing them.

  “Lieutenant Kellnel, get me a damage report.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Sir?”

  “Lieutenant Sharden?”

  “Prime Delta reports that it is falling to the Tlartox. Heavy casualties on both sides, but the enemy vastly outnumber our people. Our forces are retreating to starboard side upper.”

  “Understood.” Rellos looked at Sharden’s pale face. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  “They request that we fire on them, Starboard side mid, to relieve the pressure.”

  Rellos checked the screen. Now the Tlartox fleet protected Prime Delta. They’d shifted more of their ships to the battle for the station, probably when they learned that the fight within went well for their side.

  Winter Sky was in the unfortunate position of being the closest warship to Delta at the moment.

  “Drive straight for them, helm! Gunnery, as soon as we are within range. One salvo, and then we’re out of here.” If the Tlartox would let them go—which he doubted.

  “In range, sir, firing.”

  “Get us out of here.”

  PRIME STATION DELTA

  Group Leader Rai Tlel pushed her group onwards. They’d taken only a short sleep break before rejoining the fight. Just a quick push and it would be over, she thought sarcastically. Fleet Admiral Tlomega should be here, trading blood for blood with the Confederation soldiers and their Adian allies.

  “Let’s move. Group Commander Scairnth reports the humans in full retreat.”

  Her group moved forward carefully, knowing that humans cut off from their retreats tended to fight rather than surrender. No one wanted to die from carelessness.

  “Take a short squad and check that corridor,” Rai ordered Squad Leader Rel Tjenor.

  The rest of the group passed though an open airtight. All but eight of them had passed through when the station rocked and the terrible hull breach klaxon went off. The airtight slammed shut, trapping the others behind it, even as the section was exposed to hard vacuum. Rai closed her eyes in pain and placed her hand against the airtight. “Go to Tlar, honored comrades. Go swiftly and sure.”

  * * *

  Rel Tjenor had run into a small band of humans and the weapons fire rose in tenor. Then came the blast and they had just two seconds to react. Rel and three of her short squad made it through an airtight before it slammed shut. Now they were locked in with the humans. Weapons spoke loudly.

  A dying hiss told of vents closing. Rel turned her head to look at the Commando next to her. They all knew what that sound meant. They were isolated, with only the air inside the compartment. She swallowed hard. Almost of its own accord the firing between the two sides died.

  “Hey, you Tlartox!”

  Rel tried to recall the Confederation Standard she’d had to learn. “Hear you,” she replied, still crouched low.

  “How’s about a cease fire? We’re all done for, anyway.”

  She shook her head. Sar Krinth translated. Rel hadn’t known Sar knew Standard. She looked at the other three. It just didn’t seem to matter any longer. The human likely spoke truth. By the time either side made it to the compartment they would be out of air.

  “Agreed, human,” she yelled back. She heard low voices speaking, then one of the humans stood up. A brave or reckless one. He righted a tipped over chair and table, pulled out a deck of cards and began dealing a solitary game.

  If it was a trap, it was a trap. This also, didn’t seem to matter. Rel stood also.

  “Know Jaggar?” she asked the human. That one slowly bared his teeth and gathered up the cards.

  “Sure do,” he replied and pointed to another chair. Rel moved over, picked it up and sat down.

  “Good. Not play Jaggar ... oh, four year.”

  “Anyone else?” the human called out.

  Slowly, four more humans and her three commandos stood up and gathered round. Fighting seemed without meaning, now.

  The two sides watched each other suspiciously, but nothing happened as the human dealt the cards. Rel took hers up and saw that she had a chance at making a quick score. She played a low one to see what he would do. He fell for it.

  “Say, any of you have a Leiseth bar?” a short, black-haired human asked. “Heard they were pretty good.”

  Sar translated and the four Tlartox looked at each other in disbelief. Rel reached into her ration pocket and pulled out one of the vile dried ration bars and handed it over. The human ripped it open and took a bite. His eyes widened in surprise, but to his credit he kept chewing and swallowed. “Damn, but that packs a kick,” he exclaimed. He took a wondering look at the bar and, to the further amazement of the Tlartox, took another bite. They began laughing, soon joined by the humans.

  “Don’t think badly of us,” a tall yellow-haired one spoke, “Phirin’s been known to eat anything. Rest of us have taste.”

  “Taste? How your ration taste?”

  “Like shit,” replied the dealer. He reached into his own pocket and pulled out an Adian bar. Rel accepted it, took a small bite and chewed. Her eyes slitted and ears folded back. The three other Tlartox convulsed.

  “Bad as ours. Why they feed us ... shit?” She copied the human word, not knowing its exact meaning, but getting the gist well enough. That cracked up the humans.

  * * *

  In the vid control center, Communications Major Leth Rostel caught the exchange.

  “That one goes out,” he ordered.

  “Are you sure?” His Confederation host seemed to think it a bad idea.

  “Very sure, Commander. They’ve seen enough gore for the moment.”

  The Confederation Commander didn’t think it a good idea. Command didn’t approve of fraternization. On the other hand, were he there he would do the exact same thing.

  “Major, Commander. We’re evacuating—now! Tlartox right behind us.” A Marine stood at the door, waving them out urgently.

  “You heard him. Everyone out!” ordered the Major.

  A mad scramble ensued and Major Rostel hesitated long enough to throw the switch transferring control of the monitors to Station Alpha. The few moments it took made them the last in his life as a group of Tlartox commandos spilled into the hallway, killed the marine by the door and then came after him.

  “Hope you enjoyed the show,” the major spoke for the vid he knew was going to Alpha. “Sorry to leave in the m
iddle of things.” A commando poked her head around the open door and Rostel got off two shots before dying. Neither shot hit his target. The commando stepped into the room warily, then her eyes went wide open as she saw the monitors.

  “Get the Group Leader here immediately,” she called to her comrades in the hallway.

  Rai Tlel was similarly impressed. She summoned a tech and, with the aid of what the vids showed, they made their plans for the final assault on the station’s defenders.

  PREDATOR

  Sab sniffed curiously at the undertone of blood in the ship’s air, noting once again that the Captain did them proud. Blood in the air was a trigger, pushing Tlartox senses to their limits, exciting and dangerous. The crew went to fever height. They preferred battle, even at poor odds, to almost anything else. But the odds would not be poor.

  The hunt had gone well. Prime Delta belonged to them, except for a small band of humans who fought on, trapped in one small corner of the station. Prime Echo would be theirs soon. Tlomega had shifted the weight of the fleets so that they covered the two stations which they owned, denying reinforcement to the Confederation and allied troops.

  The Confederation and Adian fleets now protected Primes Alpha and Bravo with their remaining ships. Over half of the enemy’s ships floated adrift, dead. Even now, Tlomega prepared plans for the destruction of those remaining. The crews, excepting those on small forays, rested, waiting for the final offense. Sab, however, had had enough.

  She’d seen, at close hand, the fight for Prime Bravo. The brutal pummeling which Vindicateur had taken without trying to escape or surrender had impressed the Tlartox Admiral. She had put up a valiant but futile fight, Sab had thought. Three of their best cruisers—including Predator—had closed in on the old battleship. Tlomega had wanted to be there for the finish.

  Then that Confederation cruiser had drifted by, dead by all detector reports. Suddenly space near the cruiser Tlyneet had come alive with torpedoes and the enemy cruiser had returned to life. Tlyneet, traveling slowly to keep the battleship engaged, could not avoid the torpedoes. They had taken down her shields and smashed her engines.