Battlecruiser Alamo: Ghost Ship

by Richard Tongue

   “You’re resigning from the UN Fleet?” Shaking his head he said, “If you join us…”

   “I will lose my pension, my citizenship, my retirement stipend, what little property I have back on Earth. People will whisper that I was always a traitor, and blame me for any reverses that took place within a dozen light-years. I am aware of what this will cost.”

   “Then why do it? I could ask for volunteers to fill this role, I’m sure someone…”

   “Someone else might not be good enough, or might be needed elsewhere. I have many virtues, Captain. I could talk about my training and experience as a peace-keeper, I could mention my knowledge of diplomatic protocols, but it comes down to one area in which I excel. I am expendable.”

   “No man is expendable.”

   “I’m an old man, who should have retired years ago if he hadn’t blindly held on to some ideals without realizing they had long ago been shattered into dust. I will never command another battle formation, and my reputation back on Earth is such that this will be my last tour of duty. I would rather it ended well, having accomplished at least one thing that I can be proud of, instead of fading away without even that to cling onto.”

   “If you are serious, Colonel, we can always use experienced officers in training commands. I can guarantee that we will find a way to make use of your talents. You don’t have to exile yourself to this world.”

   “Ah, but I am the expendable man, remember? You are surrounded by your brave and loyal crew, who have stuck with you during a voyage through hell, when from one day to another you did not know whether you would ever make it back. These are people you can trust and depend on. To you, I am a stranger.”

   “Colonel…”

   “There are things taking place back home that worry me. Nothing specific, just a general mood that makes me believe that right now, you need to keep the people you trust around you, keep them where they can do you the most good.” Gesturing at the planet below on the viewport, he said, “That is where my destiny lies now, Captain. Down there with those people.”

   Marshall shook his head, and said, “There isn’t a chance in hell that the Senate will ratify your appointment. In a matter of weeks, you will be replaced.”

   “I understand that as well, but by then, you see, I will be an expert of sufficient worth to justify my retention with your staff here.” He rose, then said, “I cannot force you to leave me behind, I cannot order it. I merely ask it, one officer to another.”

   “One officer to another,” Marshall replied. “Make sure that I don’t regret this, Colonel.”

   “That much I can promise you, Captain. Though I do not believe that title belongs to me any more.”

   Nodding, Marshall said, “Then, Mr. Singh, I’ll sign off on your proposal. I presume that no-one will try anything stupid knowing that there is a fleet on the way, but I can’t afford to leave anyone behind to guard you.”

   “That is not necessary. Indeed, I think it might be counterproductive. They know that the Triplanetary Fleet possesses overwhelming force; you have amply demonstrated that. Now they need to know that it can also be a peacemaker, as well as a warmonger.”

   “I’ll see that you get a seat on one of the shuttles taking the wounded down the surface, and arrange a letter of introduction for you.”

   “Most kind, Captain,” he replied. “A set of civilian clothes will also be needed. I haven’t worn them for some time.” He turned to the door, then paused, beginning to laugh. “Have you stopped to consider that the Cult of Holy Earth was quite correct in their beliefs?”

   “What do you mean?”

   “I was born on Earth, as was Captain Winter. If I remember my intelligence briefings correctly, so were you. Where was Captain Cunningham born?”

   “Somewhere in New Zealand, I believe. I can…,” he stopped, then said, “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

   “They believed that Holy Earth would send heroes to save them, to end the war and provide security for their people, lead them back to the galaxy again. It would appear that they were quite correct in every detail.”

   “I’ll be damned.”

   “Unlikely, Captain,” Singh said. “I don’t think that fits the story. May I wish you a safe voyage back home?”

   “And the best of luck to you, on the surface.”

   Marshall watched Singh purposefully stride out of the office, and briefly envied him. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, now ticking down the moments until they left the system, and smiled. One last step, and they were home.

  Chapter 26

   Marshall fidgeted with his hands while he waited for the countdown to run out. Bradley was at the helm, setting up her emergence sequence for the tenth time, Cooper – decidedly contrary to normal practice – was standing over her shoulder, looking out at the screen. Behind Marshall, Cunningham and Orlova stood at parade rest, and Quinn had displaced Prentis from the Flight Engineering station after a failed argument that he should take the helm.

   He looked up at the status board, and smiled; this was the first time in months that he hadn’t brought the crew to alert stations before a return to normal space. The first jump they had made since they left Spitfire Station where they knew they could expect safe haven when the arrived.

   “California, here I come, right back where I started from,” Caine sung from the tactical station, before turning across to Marshall. “Sorry.”

   “All stations ready for emergence, Steele?” he asked

   With an uncharacteristic smile on her face, she turned back to him, and replied, “All decks are clear for return to normal space, Captain. Clear and eager.”

   “I’ve lost count,” Orlova said. “I’ve lost track of how many jumps we’ve made since we left.”

   “Enough to set a few new records,” Cunningham replied. “Enough to make this the longest continuous patrol in the history of the Confederation. I hope all of you have paid attention during your cruise; people are going to be asking about this one for years.”

   “I don’t expect to pay for a drink in a bar for a while, John,” Caine said with a smile. “Want me to get the missile tubes ready, for form’s sake.”

   “Why not,” Marshall replied, a little niggling doubt beginning to sound in the back of his mind. They’d been gone for a while, and even Logan – standing at the back of the bridge, his face still bandaged, and his team left the station almost three weeks ago. If the Cabal were going to start anything, Spitfire Station would be the place to go first.

   “Relax,” Cunningham said, looked down at his frowning face. “This is the big one, Danny. The last leg of your journey home. Five days for the crew to get a bit of leave in the local bars, and then off to Mariner Station for medals all round.”

   Nodding, Marshall said, “I know. Quite right. It’s just a bad habit, I guess. I’m used to emergence giving something new a chance to wreck my ship.”

   “Paranoia isn’t an unhealthy trait for a starship captain,” Cunningham replied.

   “One minute to emergence, sir,” Bradley said in lilting tones. She seemed optimistic enough.  Marshall tried to relax in his chair, to get used to the idea that they were heading for safety, instead of back into danger, but he couldn’t. Not until he had reported in, not until someone had told him that it was over; he was still turned on, on his own personal readiness for action. He glanced around the bridge, looking at the familiar faces surrounding him, and tried not to think about the others who hadn’t made it. Too many people wouldn’t be coming home, but they’d done what they did to make sure that everyone else would make it. That was important.

   “Thirty seconds, Captain. All systems ready.”

   “Very good, Bradley. You have the call.”

   “Aye, sir. I have the call.”

   She’d be on her way to her wedding in a matter of hours, then on her way to Flight School, her new husband heading to
Officer Candidate School. He smiled at that bit of planning; the two training bases were only three floors apart on Carter Station. They’d have plenty of time for each other, and they had certainly earned it. Hell, the whole crew had earned everything that was coming their way.

   “Emergence, sir,” Bradley said with forced calm, and with a blinding blue flash, Alamo leapt out into normal space. The tactical display immediately lit up with Kumar, and Spitfire Station orbiting it, exactly as planned. He smiled, then started to frown. There was an awful lot of traffic in the system, and a lot of ships seemed to be changing their target aspect. He turned to Caine, cursing under his breath, about to order the ship to action stations, when Spinelli interrupted him.

   “Sir,” he said with wonder in his voice, “It’s the whole damn fleet!”

   “What?”

   The technician manipulated controls, and zoomed into a section of space ahead, bringing the ships into stark relief. Marshall rose to his feet, his mouth wide, as he looked across the vessels arrayed across the stars. It was like an image in a reference book; four battlecruisers of two different types in formation, riding over one of the vast carriers, a smaller assault carrier holding just behind it, a dozen scouts of three different designs between them, auxiliaries and tankers.

   “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Cunningham said with reverent awe.

   “Fighters launching from the Wright, sir,” Spinelli said. “Intercept course. I think they’re going into formation with us.”

   “We are cleared to parking position, Captain,” Weitzman said from the communications station, “And I have Counter-Admiral Tramiel for you, urgent.”

   Nodding, Marshall took a deep breath, and said, “Make sure all of this is piped across the whole ship, Spaceman. They’ve all earned it. Then put the...Admiral...on.”

   “I never thought he’d accept a promotion,” Cunningham said, shaking his head. “Ten times they’ve tried, and ten times he turned them down. I guess getting a full-size fleet did the trick.”

   “Make sure all our data is on its way to the Wright,” Marshall said.

   “In works, Captain. The Admiral’s on now, sir.”

   A familiar image appeared on the screen, the craggy features of the old flag officer as he looked at Marshall with a smile on his face, then at the rest of the crew on the bridge. Behind him, a fleet operations room was in full operation, the duty crew pausing to look out at Alamo’s crew.

   “Lieutenant-Captain Marshall, of the Battlecruiser Alamo, sir. Reporting mission accomplished.”

   “Mission accomplished?” Tramiel said, shaking his head. “If the data I’ve seen is anything to go by, you haven’t just accomplished your mission, you’ve exceeded any expectations we might have had of what you would bring back.” He waved around, and said, “I thought we’d arrange a welcoming party for you, something to pipe you home. Get yourselves to the station; the drinks are all lined up at the bar.”

   A cheer sounded across the flight deck, and Marshall found himself struggling to reply through the noise, “Bradley, take us to parking position and then execute station-keeping. Mr. Cunningham, I think we can start a rotation for shore leave as soon as we dock.”

   “I’m coming over to speak to you, Danny,” Tramiel said. “I’ve got a present for you.”

   “We’re always glad to welcome you on board, sir,” he replied. “I’ll have an honor guard…”

   “To hell with that. You meet me. I’ll be over there in twelve minutes. Tramiel out.”

   The screen flicked out, the view of the approaching fleet revealed on the display, and Marshall rose to his feet, gesturing to Cunningham to take the command chair.

   “Take her in, John. I’ll be in the hangar bay.” He walked over to the elevator, paused, then said to the bridge, “Each and every one of you has gone above and beyond the call of duty time and again during this cruise. I don’t know what’s going to come next, but I do know that it has been an honor and a privilege to serve with each and every one of you.”

   Spinelli, looked across from his display and said, “I think I can speak for the crew when I say, sir, that the honor is ours, and that we’d all go back out with you again if you asked.” Glancing around with a smile, he continued, “I think we’d all like a little rest first, though.”

   There was a faint chorus of laughs around the bridge, as Marshall clapped the technician on the shoulder, stepping into the elevator as the doors closed. He looked out for one time, and it occurred to him at the back of his mind that it might be the last time he ever stood on the deck as Alamo’s captain.

   After a few short minutes, he stepped out onto the hangar deck, a hive of activity as technicians hurried to prepare the shuttles for launch, crates of captured material ready for transfer, a few bits and pieces that the Buchanan had left behind. One of the crewmen belatedly saw Marshall step onto the deck, and snapped to attention; the rest of the deck gang followed suit, saluting in unison.

   Returning the salute, Marshall replied, “Thank you all. Carry on, I don’t want to hold any of you up.”

   “We’ll save a place for you at the bar, skipper!” one of them yelled.

   “I damn well hope so,” he shouted back as he stepped into the unused deck office. He smiled as he sat down in the chair, listening to the squeak; at some point he really should have assigned someone to this station. Too few officers and too many jobs to fill, the curse of any commander throughout history.

   He waited as patiently as he could for the Admiral to arrive, his thoughts running back over the last year. The battle with the pirates here at Spitfire that had started them off in the first place, racing deep into the Cabal to rescue his father and recapture the Hercules, then the desperate chase that followed. The death of Hercules, and later, the death of his father. All of it was beginning to sink in, to seem horribly real to him.

   It was all over, though. The mission complete. They’d returned to the Confederation, and Tramiel had brought the fleet out to meet him. Which meant that they would be reinforcing Hydra Station. Alamo didn’t need an escort of six capital ships to get home, not now. At least he didn’t have to worry about that any more. In a few weeks, the newest addition to the Confederation would be fully-defended, and the last few members of his crew would be on their way home.

   The door slid open; Tramiel’s shuttle had docked without him even noticing, so deep he was in his reverie. With a smile, he stepped into the office, shaking his head at the mess, and perched on the edge of the desk.

   “I guess you never did replace that thief, did you?”

   “Never got around to it.”

   He took a deep breath, and said, “I’ve read the reports you sent back on the Buchanan. Do you realize what you have committed us to? Another station, a new supply route, all of which is going to be defended?” Shaking his head, he said, “No doubt something will need to be done about Haven as well.”

   “Just another fleet base, Admiral.”

   “I should take the money for all of this out of your wages,” he replied. “We sent you out to get information about the Cabal, and you come back with enough to settle the whole thing, as well as a peace envoy. Good God, Danny, you hit the jackpot this time.”

   “It cost a lot of lives. And a good ship.”

   Nodding, he said, “We already held the inquiry about Hercules. Lieutenant Orlova’s getting a Red Shield, and you’re getting a letter of commendation. Just for that part of the mission; I think you’re up for a Shield yourself. Not to mention a unit citation for Alamo.” Looking across at the hangar deck, he said, “It was worth it. Just from where I’m sitting, it was worth it.”

   “When we get back, I’ve got some people to visit,” Marshall replied. “I want these letters to be hand-delivered.”

   “That’s going to have to wait, Danny. Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

   “Get the bad news out of
the way. Ten years of sub-committees?”

   “Nothing so ghastly as that.” He pulled a box out of his pocket, and passed it to Marshall, “You are hereby promoted to full Captain, with seniority going back to the start of your cruise. That’s a unanimous decision by the Combined Chiefs, by the way, and getting something like that is like herding cats. As a result, you are relieved of the command of the Battlecruiser Alamo, effective immediately.”

   “I’d expected as much, sir. The relief if not the promotion.” He looked at the golden insignia, and said, “Could this be postponed until we get back to Mars? I’d like to bring Alamo home myself.”

   “Under normal circumstances, I’d be only too happy to oblige you, but we haven’t covered the good news yet. Out there is the biggest fleet we’ve ever assembled. I’ve spent a year putting it together to take action against the Cabal, and I intend to use it. I’ve got all the authority I need, right from the top.”

   “To reinforce Hydra Station?”

   “Yes and no. Half the fleet’s going out through the Shrouded Stars, but I don’t want to leave anything in our rear. We need to push the front lines of any war as far away from our space as we can, and you have some unfinished business.”

   Marshall looked up, and said, “The fueling station. Hades.”

   “We’re going to take it, Captain Marshall. Take it and hold it. Alamo’s going home, Captain, but you’ve got one more job to do yet.” He paused for a moment, and said, “Under the circumstances, I don’t think it’s fair to make this an order…”

   “You don’t have to, sir. I volunteer.”

  Thank you for reading ' Ghost Ship'. For information on future releases, please join the Battlecruiser Alamo Mailing List at http://eepurl.com/A9MdX for updates. If you enjoyed this book, please review it on the site where you purchased it.

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  Look out for Battlecruiser Alamo: Take and Hold, coming in March 2015...