Tramp Wars: The Enemy

by Larry Roberts

  The ability not to use them had just changed as the Vice Admiral had already realized as soon as the Captain had said the words. The English Home Fleet was headed into a battle outnumbered against an enemy that was famous for killing and enslaving captured crews as well as repairing ships to use again and at a larger rate than previously thought. Letting the English Home Fleet get Captured and then the crews killed only to have the ship used against England was not going to happen. The last Comm from the French had assured that. The fact that the two Battleships that the French Squadron had found before the survivors retreated to the French planet had been English Battleships lost missing during the Russian War while on their way to reinforce the fleet after being repaired. Both in different locations and times. The two battleships along with the 30 some other English ships now identified as pirate ships put paid in both Admirals minds.

  “Very well Vice Admiral Edwards. Make that an immediate State wide order to all Fleets and commissioned ships.” Shaking his head sadly. “No ship is to leave dock from now on without the charges with the upgraded AI’s.”

  The Vice Admiral pulled out his PDA and started issuing orders.

  Turning to the Captain still a lot pissed. “Captain. The Vice Admiral has been badgering me for a month now about your suggestions and you have made your point. Though I am loth to start sending Tramps into suicide missions, I can see that we may have to go that way unless I can find a better way. But rebuilding the French fleet as well as recommissioning and expanding our own fleet again will be our priority and costly even with bringing decommissioned ships back into the Fleet. I will think about giving you enough weapons to upgrade one ship to prove your theory and see if the ship can survive for a year. Pick the ship wisely and get back to me.”

  "No Admiral. One ship is not enough and a year is too long. Especially in the beginning stages. The chances of the first or even one ship surviving one year even with the upgraded weapons is impossible without a lot of Tramp ships diluting the enemy Pirate pool. I need at least a dozen ships for the pilot program if you want one of the Tramp ships to last a year. As I said only one out of ten stand a chance of lasting that long in the beginning which is the standard survival rate for tramps but a dozen have a good chance of several surviving and of taking out more Pirates in the first year than your whole French campaign has up until know.”

  "Well, ONE is all you're getting Captain and make it one that already has proved itself by up grading some of its own weapons already instead of one of the failed impounded ships that are too stupid to even help themselves. That is if I approve the program to begin with or should we just forget it?"

  "No sir. I will find a ship that can do it alone." But she knew no matter what ship she chose, if she up gunned it enough to survive the eventual multi pirate ship attacks as well as corrupt or even desperate governments needing cash or food: that ship would be seen as rich enough to be noticed and worth taking even if it took an army or mob of thousands or the pirates a fleet to do it. It would be a suicide mission. But maybe with Godstar's help and with the right crew, a big enough crew and enough weapons to take on several pirate ships and weapons well enough hidden not to call attention to the tramp and a Captain smart enough to know when to sit on his hands as well as when to fight and definitely when to run, they just might survive.

  Not that she cared for the innocent Tramps and their families. She would sacrifice a dozen Tramp ships for even one Pirate ship. She was just worried that the single Tramp ship the Admiral was allowing her to arm would die before they could kill any Pirates. She just wanted it to survive long enough to take out enough pirates to buy her a larger program with a dozen Tramps. Then those survivors to buy her an even larger program of hundreds and then thousands of Tramps. All sacrificing themselves in the battle against Pirates.

  Chapter- 4 Death of a Trampship

  It was not the first time he had been beaten up by Chet and his cronies. Mark half blamed himself for the beating since he had insisted on taking time to have some fun with Chet's families truck. But then he had to do something after what Chet had done to the boy David. He could only guess what the pervert would have done to the little girl. He had heard the rumors. Since he knew he could do nothing directly to help the boy after they had left. At least until he saw the boy’s father again. He had done the next best thing even though the boy would probably never know about it. Then Mark heard the sound of lift fans screaming through the busses hatch and he suddenly felt much better bringing a smile to his lips as he waited for his body to recover. Finally able to control his emotions at the sound of the screaming fans, he turned and started doing yet another pre-trip on the bus even though he had just done a post-trip as soon as he had landed before going inside the junk deck to their Clubhouse.

  Calming down he suddenly started feeling the kicks and bruises and cuts across his face as he made the pre-trip. Finely back in the pilot’s seat, feeling his lip he found blood on his finger and turned to look in the big mirror pointing back down the passageway between the seats. His face had several cuts on it that he knew would also turn into bruises in another few hours. And then Chet and his asshole friends would really give him a bad time when they hunted him down on the mess deck just to rub the beating in even after being gone a few days. That is if they ever left. Making him smile again.

  Digging into his left cargo thigh pocket, he dug out his first aid kit and took a couple of paper towels and sanitation wipes from the bus dispensers and started cleaning his face off. While the normal wound medicine he had stolen out of the emergency first aid kits for the Gunboats, helped seal the minor cuts, one cut was too deep for it to close on its own. Rummaging in his other thigh pouch he pulled out the small tube of super glue he had used on Chet's airtruck and smiled as he used it to smoothly close the deep cut stopping the bleeding.

  Putting the tube away his hand brushed against the torch sitting in his thigh pocket and suddenly realized he could have used it to defend himself and just as quickly revolted from the idea. The last thing he wanted to do even to them, was cut one of their legs off or even kill them. And he still may not have prevented them from knocking his glasses off his face and then it would have been easy for them to take the torch away from him and use it cutting off his own body parts. Suddenly feeling sick at the thought of them cutting his arms and legs off as well as killing one of them especially after a part of him had liked the idea for a half a second.

  Suddenly hearing the airtrucks fans screaming deep into the RPM red as it tried to take off again made him smile. The thumps of the air capitation bubbles over the blades and the tips going supersonic echoing out of the Junk Deck was very satisfying. Turning back to the mirror he started applying the anti-bruising, healing cream he had gotten from the marines workout Gym to each spot on his face he had been hit and a few other places on his body. Somehow he was getting used to being beaten up by assholes like Chet, which there were far too many of around the ship including the engine rooms and truck decks where he took turns working afternoon's as part of his school classes. Though most of the time it was just verbal abuse. Though usually not from the crews he worked with directly. There were still too many people that took one look at his glasses and immediately decided the retard was fair game.Mark looked at himself in the mirror and suddenly felt tired and sad. His black plastic framed glasses had so many repairs and glue marks from being fixed that he had lost count. He was sick and tired of his glasses making him a perfect target every time some creep decided it was time they needed to take their frustrations out on someone.

  He was long past having to run to his mother crying for her to sooth and talk him into believing that he was a good boy for not getting angry at other people's stupidity. That everyone was not like that. She would spend hours telling him how nice other people had been to him and were treating him and how the bad guys always treated others just as bad. Reading and showing him news about how bad guys always paid in the end even if it took some time. That he just had
to be patient and they would get treated just as bad as they had treated him and others. Telling him over and over again how proud she was at him not taking out his frustrations and temper on other innocent people. Though he had a few times without thinking and then felt even worse after words. She was right that most of the crew treated him well and most of his direct school mates where friends but still he was sick and tired of those that weren't. All because of his glasses.

  His mother was the ships Chief Psychiatrist even though he never thought of her as one. He had not even really known what it meant until high school. But he went out of his way not to tell her that over the years he had learned how to get some retribution back at Chet and the rest by pulling stunts like he had just done. Usually without getting caught or them finding out about it. Thinking back about the stunts that had gone off better than he had expected and the whole ship had noticed to his tormentors dissatisfaction and dismay without them finding out it was him, made him smile again. He was getting good at making them pay at least a little in his cat and mouse games. But it did bring up again the cause of his pain as he looked at the now multicolored plastic framed glasses in the mirror.

  Maybe he did need to figure out some way to get rid of them or he would be doing this for the rest of his life. Maybe they would run into a decent planet or even back here in six months and he could try again to get implants. Maybe even afford a better set of implants with him working full time now. Though he did not have a clue what that would be since eye implants were not something you saw a lot of advertising about and most of the ones in medical articles concentrated on the military and trying to make them look more natural and last longer. That last statement worried him. He knew one thing for sure, he would never be able to afford a set with much of a computer in them though all were supposed to be semiautomatic. He was even having a hard time finding out what that meant. There did not seem to be any galaxy wide standards concerning eye implants.

  Looking down caressing the pilot's controls around the cockpit, he smiled as his thoughts turned to flying through the air on a golden set of wings. No, the surgery could keep him from flying ever again. Maybe he would just forget about the damn implants period. The truck division was starting to accept him for what he could do. Maybe if he could find a pair of glasses that did not stand out like these monsters he would not be such a target. Getting up he decided to pre-trip the bus again just to make sure everything went well.

  Ten minutes later Mark stood on the Star Queen's Aircar ramp/cargo hatch, hanging out the side of the ship some 650 feet up from the floor of the landing / launching pit, leaning against the nose of the bus. Bored after pre-tripping the whole bus for the third time, he stood waiting for the kids to show up while trying to stay out of obvious sight without having to go back into the bus. His pride forcing him to stay out in the open not far from the edge of the ramp to show Chet he was not afraid of him but his fear forcing him to stay in the shadows somewhat hidden. The sound of a fan truck trying to take off came from the hold again. The growling of the fans biting into the air turning into a roar as the truck refused to take off as Chet kept adding power.

  A ship taking off from the middle of the port miles away drew Mark's attention for a few seconds drowning out the scream of the fans. He could not help seeing the beauty of a ship reaching for the stars but it was old hat to him and he quickly looked elsewhere. The landing streak from the south west of a distant ship leaving an exhaust trail dropping toward the City's tall towers rising above the horizon 50 miles away and some other Star Port followed by a sonic boom was only briefly noticed. Again it was just an old hat. Shaking his head in confusion; his helpless shame slowly receding as his pride continued to reassert itself for being chosen for the mission.

  His confused nerves were still trying to beat his heart out of his chest as he watched an enraged Chet throwing a tantrum around his father’s airtruck with the girls in sight looking on dismayed. His pride forcing him to step halfway out in the open even if he was still in the shadow at the front of the bus, just to make sure Chet could see him if he looked hard enough even if he did not know Mark was the cause of his problems. Fingering his thick lensed glasses out of habit. Then finally remembering and patting the torch in his pocket making him feel a little safer even if he was not sure he would use it. If he could use it to defend himself. If he remembered it this time. But realizing that out here on the ramp, it would be all too easy for Chet and his thugs to throw him over the side even with the safety net around the edges if they did find out he was the source of their problem and then claim, as he had heard before that it was his fault or that he committed suicide. His mind started trying to figure out how to make the torch a weapon with a longer reach than 6 inches knowing that if they got that close they could knock his glasses off and he would be dead seconds later.

  That was a shame since he was good in the self-defense class he had to take as a cadet and those new senses that had expanded his situational awareness around him was proving intriguing if he could incorporate that into his defense. He had become good at taking on two and three opponents at one time in hand to hand matches with the marines. But then he did not have to worry about losing his glasses with the safety helmet holding them on. Then a thought came to him as he remembered the super glue. Checking to make sure it was still in his pouch he decided that if they headed his way he would try super gluing his glasses on and see if that helped even things up a bit. He started trying to figure the best way to glue them on.

  He suddenly found himself hopping they would try something just so he could try it, just to find out if it and his new found senses worked. The likely hood of him getting beaten again lost with the possibility of finally getting a chance to actually successfully defend himself or at least getting in a few good punches first.

  Thinking about it for a few seconds he realized that he was feeling brave from the adrenalin still pumping through his veins as his mother had explained to him many times before. After being terrified during an attack he had a habit of doing or saying something stupid as the ass holes were leaving only to get beaten up again by the same bully's. He tried his best to stay put even though he desperately wanted to go and boast to Chet that he was the cause of his problems and tell him to take the damn cable off. Partially to gloat and partially because he hated hearing a good piece of equipment being abused. Closing his eyes he turned to look out across the space port to get his mind off of Chet and the abused airtruck who’s screams of agony were eating at his sole. He could not afford to get into another fight with Chet right now. He had a bus to fly.

  The Spaceport of England Prime had almost a hundred Starships sitting in landing pits spaced out to the horizon as far as the eye could see even from some 600 feet in the air like a huge city full of tall buildings spread out in front of Mark. Quit a few close enough to watch cargo being unloaded and loaded with the big tall gantry cargo handling towers standing next to the ships. Nothing he had not seen a thousand times before in as many star ports.

  Shaking his head Mark sighed. Gantry cargo loading towers were something his Trampship, the Star Queen, (like most Trampships) could ill afford. Having to use her own trucks and hatch lifts as well as her large crew to load and unload cargo. The Tramp section of the Star Port did not even have the cargo tunnels running to them forcing tramp ships to depend on their own air-trucks or pay for an airtruck company to move cargo to and from the distant warehouses. If the tramp trucks didn’t just take the cargo directly to its destination while picking up new cargo to ship. Allowing the pit fees to be dirt cheap and giving Tramp ships a marketed advantage over Company ships in general that had to ship threw the port warehouses even if the big companies owned said warehouses.

  Most of the ships in sight to the south in the main part of the port where bigger than the Star Queen and newer and in better shape without the rust streaks running down the sides. He surveyed the ships trying to pick the one he wanted the Star Queen to buy to split the crew into when th
ey finely had the credits. But then the Queen had been trying to earn enough credits to buy a used ship for 30 years, long before he was born. But could not even afford to keep its rust streaked hull painted anymore.

  Mark suddenly realized that a ship was landing as he became conscious of the roar he had been hearing for a good minute as the ship fell from the sky and was now settling the last 1,000 feet into its pit. Wondering how he could have missed the sonic boom that always preceded a landing ship before it dropped below the speed of sound when it neared a port?

  Turning, his mouth dropped open as he saw smoke pouring from a hole in the side of the ship as it touched down hard beyond the outer perimeter of the Port. Only one of many holes scattered over the ship. The thick black smoke streamed out with bright flames visible inside the hold was a shock to Mark. The Trampship's half dozen 5inch short barreled 21 caliber hull guns he could see on that side of the ship sat amongst hundreds of black splotches from 3 inch shell impacts. The knocked out guns sat hanging on the side of the hull pointed in different directions with the gun shields blasted away on many of them. The open lifeboat locks the guns were attached to, were just black holes. Though as he looked he thought he could see orange suits laying inside some of them. He noticed what looked like several ant sized bodies in brightly colored space suits sitting behind several of the make shift shields still in their gun directing seats on the guns where they should have been destroyed from the supersonic air and heat of a normal reentry. Which meant it had dropped strait down after slowing down in orbit first to reduce the strain on the ships damaged hull. Costly in fuel but sometimes essential.