The Ghost Ship (MOSAR Book 3)

by C. R. Turner

  When we break through the clouds, Emerson levels the ship out, and the planet’s surface comes into view. It’s a morbid scene: treeless, a black rocky surface with lush green grass and moss everywhere. Light rain peppers the windscreens. There are no major cities, roads or any other signs of an advanced civilisation, just stone buildings that look like they’re thousands of years old dotting the landscape. As we follow the coastline, an angry ocean crashes against the rocky cliff face, spraying water high into the air. Fishing trawlers sit moored in a sheltered bay by a small village. Dark stone houses overlook the ocean, smoky columns rising from their chimneys. The entire sky is blocked out with grey cloud, a depressing scene.

  “Welcome to Blackrock,” Bradley says in a sarcastic tone I’ve rarely heard him use. “The permanent cloud cover produces such a high suicide rate, the planet’s caught in a never-ending dark age.”

  It’s kind of pretty, in a gothic way, but I believe Bradley; living under the permanent cloud cover would cripple the soul.

  “What are you thinking?” Bradley asks.

  “They say environment is the incubator of evil. I’m not surprised this place produced the Butcher. But I am surprised it produced just one.”

  Emerson finds a relatively flat mile of ground and puts the Timberwolf down. Taylor is staring at her console with her eyebrows almost touching.

  “Taylor, what’s wrong?” Bradley asks.

  She reads her Core-link, looking bewildered. “Sir … the data burst from Terra Primus is dated two months from today.”

  Everyone stares at her.

  “I was afraid of that,” Marcus says. “We must have experienced time dilation on the Cosmic Origin when the Timberwolf travelled through the Bridgeport because of our proximity to the black hole in the Tet system.”

  “So that time stamp’s correct?” Bradley asks.

  “Pos, sir,” Marcus replies. “I reviewed the footage we captured of the Timberwolf arriving, and the Bridgeport connection from Tet to Barchee was open, from our perspective, for roughly ninety seconds. That would have dilated time in the Barchee system a couple months.”

  A solid vertical line forms between Bradley’s eyebrows. “Does that mean we’ve moved forward in time by two months?”

  “Negative. The opposite actually,” Marcus replies. “Terra Primus would have moved forward two months, but we would’ve only aged a few days.”

  Bradley shakes his head as though clearing his confusion. “Alright, we might as well wait for reinforcements to arrive before heading out.”

  Waiting for reinforcements to arrive is excruciating. Every minute that passes, the Butcher could be getting away. The team are sitting at their consoles, Bradley with his feet up.

  “Sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take a closer look at the weapons systems to familiarise myself with them,” Sam says.

  “I like your line of thought, Miller,” Bradley replies. “Marcus, Emerson, go with Miller and see what you can learn of the Timberwolf’s weapons. We should try to prepare the ship in case the Butcher gets any crazy ideas.”

  Bradley gets up and heads down the ramp from the flight deck to where Hawkins and I are standing.

  A voice with a northern accent comes over the Core-link. “SF Mustang Prime Stiles, SF Raptor, contact?”

  Bradley presses the button on his earpiece. “Prime Bradley, good you could join us, Stiles.”

  “Where the hell have you guys been? I take it that behemoth is yours?”

  A Tusky catches my eye as it circles the bridge. The Union infantry starship is roughly five hundred feet long and covered in weapons – designed to carry a thousand infantry soldiers, two Firestorms and armoured personnel carriers. The black “TPU” lettering on the side is a comforting sight after we’ve travelled to the furthest reaches of the galaxy and back.

  “That’s a long story, and yes, it is. You can dock in the fighter bay,” Bradley says.

  “Fighter bay, you say …”

  Bradley and Stiles chuckle.

  Half an hour later, Bradley returns to the bridge with SF Mustang and a striker scout. Sam, Emerson and Marcus leave the weapons consoles and we congregate on the flight deck. It’s the first time Sam or I have seen SF Mustang off-world since Hikaru, where Jade was attached to Stiles’ team, and I’m wondering what Sam’s thinking. They’re all heavily armed and carrying enough gear to start a small war.

  After we all say our hellos, the teams disperse into smaller groups and separate conversations fill the bridge. I’m standing just close enough to hear Hawkins and Striker Scout Kelly. I listen and watch on, curious. Kelly looks nothing like what I’ve stereotyped a striker scout to look like. He’s my height, young, maybe late thirties, clean shaven, has a neat appearance and is smiling a lot. From what I can hear, he’s well-spoken too. Hawkins brings Kelly over and introduces us.

  Kelly extends his arm. I’ve never had to greet a striker scout before and reluctantly accept to unite arms.

  “So, you’re the one who keeps the team together when things hit the fan?” Kelly asks.

  I give a half smile.

  Kelly asks in a soft voice, “This is your canine?”

  “Yeah,” I reply.

  “He’s impressive. My father used to ride in the MOSAR.”

  I think if I met Kelly in civilian clothing on the street, the last thing I would think he did for a living was a striker scout.

  “Alright, people,” Bradley calls out, and we gather around. “SI has positively identified the person in the footage as the Butcher of Blackrock. The Firestorm crew are unloading and setting up the RASB. It’ll be another twenty minutes before it’s fully operational. I know I don’t need to tell you, but I’m going to say it anyway. Use extreme caution when you’re out there. The target would love to take a bit out of a striker force team. We’ll be heading out in three groups: Hawkins and Stinson on the canines; myself, Taylor, Kelly and Scott will be in one Hurricane; Stiles and the rest of SF Mustang will be in the other. We’ll stay together initially, but we’ll probably have to split up. Chordus Emerson will take command of the Timberwolf with Miller and Marcus while we’re gone. Any questions?”

  “Sir, what are our rules of engagement?” Hawkins asks.

  “Our primary objective is to apprehend the target. If lives are at risk, you’re authorised to use deadly force.”

  “What are our chances of contact with locals?” Kelly asks.

  “From memory, the locals are pre-industrial and peaceful, so you’re unlikely to be met with any significant hostility.” Bradley glances between us. “Alright, we move out in fifteen.”

  As we break, people scatter in all directions. Hawkins and I lead Max and Jade up to the Hurricanes with all our gear. Hawkins opens the rear doors and grabs the handle of a long black plastic box. When he cracks the lid, the smell of gun oil and gunpowder hits me. The tactical artillery sixty-calibre rifle is ridiculous overkill, but I’ve seen it in action and its long range has a marked advantage over our Ashras. Hawkins pulls the nearly five-foot-long TA-60 from its case, his ripped arms flexing under the weight.

  “Have you ever shot a person with your TA-60?” I wonder aloud.

  I immediately regret asking because a shadow falls over Hawkins’ face. “Once.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t—”

  “Don’t worry about it … it was a long time ago,” Hawkins replies sombrely.

  I grab an ammunition box and load the massive brass cartridges into a magazine while Hawkins loads another. Each round is close to the length of my hand and goes in with a hefty clunk.

  Taylor walks up behind us. “I’ve uploaded the topography scan and marked the Timberwolf’s location. Any targets you acquire with the G-ray Tag will automatically upload to our Core-links.”

  Sam joins us in the centre of the bridge. “Good luck. Be careful.”

  Remembering our conversation about not showing her affection, I decide to come out of my shell a little and hug her. “We will.”

  H
awkins slings his giant rifle over his back, alongside his backpack, and picks up his Ashra. “You ready?”

  I put my paramedic’s backpack on, sling my Ashra over my shoulder and give him a nod. We mount up and join the rest of the team. Just as the lift starts to descend, I catch a glimpse of Sam returning my wave. The hardened look on her face burns into my mind. I know she must be sick to her stomach, knowing who we’re going after. She’s such a strong soul, not once discouraging me when I’ve stuck my neck out to help others, or when I suggested forming the striker pursuit teams. Sam’s so much stronger than me.

  When the shaft doors open, we’re hit by a blustery squall and an ice-cold rain coming in sideways. Wisps of clouds float past the dark hills as we head out. I take a deep breath of the fresh moist air. Water droplets run down my face. Yeah, I can see this getting old fast.

  Hawkins reads his Core-link and takes the lead. I nudge Max into a trot with the Hurricanes behind us. Water beads cover Hawkins’ face and the shaven scalp either side of his short razorback haircut. He rides straight-backed, surveying the land. The terrain’s a mix of large black rocks and small loose stones and dirt. There’s barely a blade of grass to be found, only moss.

  We climb a hill for better elevation, and clouds skim just a few hundred feet over our heads. The squall subsides to a drizzle, giving us a spectacular view of a valley cut through by a snaking river and flanked by treacherous mountains covered in jagged black shale. We trot Max and Jade down the other side of the hill, their feet skidding in the loose soil while the Hurricanes rumble down behind us.

  When we reach the river, I slow Max to a walk. Bradley gives me the thumbs up. The water’s not running fast, and by midstream, the water only reaches Max and Jade’s bellies. Safely on the other side, we turn around to watch the Hurricanes cross. Bradley drives in first, the water reaching halfway up the doors. The wheels are barely visible, but with the snorkels extending as high as the roof, the Hurricanes cruise across with ease.

  Flanked by mountains, we follow the river upstream for miles as it snakes its way through the valley floor. The mountainous terrain eventually gives way to rolling hills as the river widens and branches out tree-like into dozens of smaller streams.

  Hawkins pulls Jade up and looks over at me with a frown. We wait for the Hurricanes to catch up, and everyone climbs out. We group around Bradley, as Taylor studies her Core-link.

  “Which way, Taylor?” Bradley asks.

  “Sir, I’d recommend splitting up. Straight, north and south,” Taylor says, finally looking up.

  “Alright. Stinson, Hawkins, you guys take the canines up the hill. I’ll take our Hurricane north. Stiles, you take the rest of your team south.” Bradley reads his Core-link. “We’ll give it another hour or two, then head back to the Timberwolf. I don’t want anyone left outside after dark. Remember, this is the target’s home ground, so watch each other’s backs.”

  Half an hour later, the two Hurricanes are nowhere to be seen, and the light is fading. It’s still drizzling, and I start to randomly shiver.

  I rib Max to catch up with Hawkins. “What’s the range on the G-ray Tag?”

  Hawkins’ words are buffeted by the wind. “Miles. Its range is really only affected by how steady you can hold it.”

  Hawkins slows Jade to a walk and reaches for his Ashra. I follow his stare and spot a starship parked up half a mile away. It’s kind of hard to miss, a hi-tech starship sitting in a primordial landscape.

  Hawkins glances over. “Grab the G-ray Tag out of my backpack.”

  I manoeuvre Max over to Jade’s side until our legs are sandwiched between the canines, lean over to pull the heavy device out and hand it to him. Hawkins places his Ashra in his lap, powers up the G-ray Tag, and waits for it to do its thing. He aims it and starts targeting.

  “Can you see him?”

  “No … I’m just targeting the ship … just in case. We’ll need to get closer to target the Butcher,” Hawkins replies.

  When he finishes, we head closer.

  Hawkins presses the button on one of his earpieces. “Hawkins, Bradley, contact?”

  Bradley’s voice comes through the Core-link. “Bradley, go ahead, Hawkins.”

  “We’ve targeted a starship and are heading in for a closer look.”

  “Do you need backup?” Bradley asks.

  “Neg, sir. We’ll see if there’s anyone around, but it’s getting too late to start anything now.”

  “Can you identify what class of starship it is?”

  “Negative,” Hawkins replies. “It looks completely alien, most likely from Te Enthai. I’d say it’s the target’s.”

  “Confirmed last,” Bradley replies. “We’ll see you back at the Timberwolf. Keep your heads down.”

  As we get closer, I notice the starship has a platform lowered from its belly and someone is driving a vehicle off it. I do a double take. To my surprise, the vehicle’s an older model Union four-wheel drive.

  Freezing cold and wet, my shiver sets in. “Is that him?”

  Hawkins looks through the G-ray Tag. “I think so. It’s hard to tell … ah yep, it’s definitely him.”

  I clench Max’s reins tight as Hawkins targets him. Only a quarter of a mile from the Butcher, I suddenly realise how exposed we are. I pull my Ashra off my back, set it to blast and shoulder it. Both Max and Jade stand at attention, ears pricked, looking in the same direction. My heart’s racing. I still can’t believe the Butcher of Blackrock is real. But here he is, in the flesh.

  “Now what?” I ask.

  Hawkins pulls on Jade’s reins to turn her around. “We get out of here. We’ll hit the target first thing in the morning.”

  “We’re going to let him get away?” I ask.

  “Stinson,”—Hawkins fixes me with a hard look— “you don’t murder hundreds of highly trained soldiers and live to tell the tale by being bad at what you do. We need to be careful … we’ve got him targeted … we’ll catch up with him.”

  Hawkins has been doing this a lot longer than me, and I trust him with my life, so I show him the respect he deserves. “Pos, sir.”

  Chapter 8

  The night sky is pitch black, and all the lights in the bridge are off as the team sleep in their swags. Hawkins and I stand together monitoring two red crosshairs on the holograph’s topographic scan – the Butcher and his ship. Separated by fifteen to twenty miles, they haven’t moved for hours.

  I step closer and stare at the northernmost target. “Why does the northern target say T1 and T2 when the southern target only says T3?”

  “It’s over-spray.”

  I stare at Hawkins, blank.

  “When I targeted the Butcher with the G-ray Tag, I mustn’t have been holding it steady, so it’s over-sprayed, hitting his four-wheel drive as well. When there are two targets on top of one another, you only see one crosshairs, but it displays the target numbers separately. T1 is the primary target, T2 is the four-wheel drive and T3 is his starship.”

  “Ah, okay.”

  As we’re talking, the southern target turns grey and begins flashing.

  My heart skips. “What happened?”

  “The G-ray Tag only lasts a few hours on non-organics.”

  I study the remaining targets. “How long do organic targets last?”

  “Up to eighteen hours.” Hawkins reads his Core-link. “We’ve got plenty of time. You should hit your swag. Try to get some sleep.”

  “Pos, sir.”

  When I wake, it’s light and everyone’s already up. I read my Core-link – six hours of sleep.

  “Where’s Sam and the canines?” I ask.

  Bradley looks up from his Core-link. “Miller and Taylor took them for a walk. You should get something to eat. We’ll be heading out in an hour.”

  “Pos, sir.”

  Satisfied that the primary target is in the same spot on the holograph, I grab some breakfast and look out over the bow of the Timberwolf while I eat. It’s stopped raining, and the clouds have l
ifted a thousand or so feet, exposing snow-capped mountains in the distance. Still no sign of blue sky though. I can’t image living here. I don’t think I’d ever get used to the doleful atmosphere.

  After my meal, I get ready to head out. Sam and Taylor return and hurriedly prepare. Hawkins and I saddle Max and Jade and grab the rest of our gear. Hawkins picks up his rifle and slings it over his back.

  “Alright, people. Gather around,” Bradleys calls. “The targets are on your Core-links. The secondary and tertiary targets’ last-known is accurate as of eight hours ago, but they’re unlikely to have moved because the primary target’s location hasn’t changed. We’ll move out in the same three teams as yesterday. We’ll follow the same path Hawkins and Stinson took, using the tertiary target as a waypoint. We’ll set charges in the hull of the ship, then head north. The two Hurricanes will flank the primary target from the northeast and northwest while the canines drive directly up from the south.”

  Bradley turns to Emerson. “You’ll take command of the Timberwolf with Miller and Marcus again. If the primary target slips past us and tries to leave, you’re to detonate the charges on his ship. He’s not to get off this rock. If for some reason the charges don’t detonate and the target tries to flee, you’re to blow him out of the sky with the Timberwolf’s graviton cannons. We move out in five. Understood?”

  “Pos, sir!” call a dozen voices as we break.

  I mount Max, listening to Emerson calling the Firestorm crew at the RASB, asking them to prepare for flight. When he finishes his transmission, he turns and gives me the thumbs up. It’s unlikely we’ll need the Firestorm for just one person, but it’s good to know it’s there.

  Drizzle peppers my face as we leave the Timberwolf’s shadow. If it’s not raining full-on, just wait five minutes. Hell, this place is becoming a drag. Hawkins doesn’t talk much and rarely smiles now, so I suspect he’s feeling it as much as me. The subtle lines on his face seem more pronounced, as if they’re exaggerated by dread.

  I pull my MOSAR scarf up over my chin so that it’s covering my face, unfurl the collar of my jacket and nudge Max. As we trot along beside Jade and Hawkins, I read my Core-link to get a fix on the Butcher – no change from last night.