Ghost Fleet

by D. A. Boulter

  The boy, only three years younger than Krirtol’s twenty-two, tried gamely to return her smile. It didn’t really work too well.

  “Check the navcomp. It’s almost time for a course change, Sub.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Keep him busy, Krirtol thought. Don’t give him time to think. As soon as he’d completed the check, not realizing that she watched his work from her own screen, she told him to order the change in course. She tried to keep from laughing as she saw him brace himself, then call out the order.

  “Aye, sir,” Spacer Tumjut, now on helm, replied without batting an eye. He, too, knew how vulnerable such a youngster could be. “Steady on new course, sir.”

  “Very good,” Parenner granted. Tumjut choked back a laugh.

  “Sir, new message. From Tempest to Lormar Prime Alpha: ‘Last of shuttles leaving Asteroids for liners. Eight Tlartox warships dropped. Am engaging.’”

  “Captain to bridge.”

  TEMPEST, TRIDEX ASTEROIDS

  “Action Stations!” The gong sounded throughout the ship. Taglini looked at his screen. Eight modern Tlartox frigates. He shuddered. At least no cruisers backed them.

  “Send message to the liners: ‘As soon as shuttles on board, jump!’”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Taglini went to Tween-ship. Gentlemen, we will engage the enemy. Squadron maneuvers.”

  “Captain Fronel, are you ready?”

  “Aye, sir. Weapons free-fire?”

  “Weapons free-fire, Captain.”

  Lowegtoten caught that and selected his primary and secondary targets. He grimaced at the screen. Definitely no shortage of targets. Now, doing them any real damage was another matter. His gunners reported ready. They stood by in case the targeting computers failed. He looked up to see the Commodore and Captain relaxed as if this were an everyday occurrence. Maybe they did have a chance.

  “Squadron at full speed, Commodore, closing the enemy.”

  Taglini nodded, suddenly caught by the memory of the painting in Admiral Knerden’s Flagship—the one showing Starburst in action at Plillinth. Ship to ship battle, in general, took place at a distance. Having two vessels in the same painting stretched the imagination. The five vessels in Knerden’s painting strained credulity. It was, however, as he’d noted at the time, a stylized vision. He wondered if a Tlartox commander would commission a similar painting after this battle.

  “Begin course changes.”

  All five of Taglini’s ships synched to Tempest’s navcomp and followed her course changes instantly.

  “Twenty degrees to port,” Taglini ordered. Five seconds later, “Five degrees starboard, five degrees rise.”

  At these distances, only precisely aimed weapons had a chance of hitting their targets. A quickly jinking course made it near impossible for an enemy to hit them. Their computers, would, however, calculate patterns, their guns firing in salvos. Taglini hoped to keep changing course unpredictably as rapidly as possible to keep the Tlartox off balance.

  On the flip side, their own guns would also have little chance to hit the enemy. Weapons took time to train and his rapid course adjustments, now that he’d engaged the random number generator, came too quickly for this.

  Gunnery Lieutenant Lowegtoten swore under his breath.

  “Guns,” the Captain’s voice was soft.

  “Sorry, sir.” Apparently he’d not sworn as quietly as he’d thought.

  “Guns.” More insistent this time.

  “Sir?”

  “Go to manual control. Near misses will suffice. Anything to keep them interested.”

  Lowegtoten smiled. “Aye, sir. Weapons, manual control.” He took personal control of forward weapon alpha.

  * * *

  The Confederation ships were mad, Captain Tlerenca decided. What else could account for the wild star dance she witnessed? She split her force into two hands of four and tried to box the enemy in, but even that proved difficult. Tlerenca could discern no pattern, no reason for the course changes, other than to confuse her gunners.

  “Blast!” One of the three liners had winked out. Now it made sense. They only tried to delay her.

  “Flen’s Claw, take the liners,” she ordered the other hand-leader. She bared her teeth. Suddenly the Confederation ships entered more of a pattern, trying to keep themselves between the liners and her ships. Full fire streaked from Flen’s Claw to one of the Confederation ships and it fell out of formation.

  “Torpedoes!” Tlerenca’s detection officer cried out.

  “Signature!” Tlerenca ordered.

  “Confederation type 39.”

  Tlerenca relaxed. Not a problem. She glanced at the screen. Her pupils slitted. Something was amiss. These torpedoes moved too slowly for type 39s. Some had already been destroyed when a bloom caught her eye.

  “Type 60s,” screamed her detection officer.

  “Evade! Full defensive fire.”

  Too late. The crafty Confederation humans had sent type 60 torpedoes with maskers to simulate type 39s. Half way to their targets, the maskers detached and the type 60s fully engaged.

  Compensators failed as her ship went on wild gyrations that made the Confederation ships’ maneuvers look tame by comparison. A quick glance at her screen showed Flen’s Claw dead in space, tumbling end over end. Two other of her ships suffered major damage, one declaring itself out-of-action.

  “Kill them,” she raged. Their torpedoes expended, these old hulks could not match their powerful Tlartox adversaries. “Close range and kill them.” She glowered as the second freighter winked out.

  * * *

  It was like a ballet, Taglini thought, though of an untamed sort. His squadron, now minus Tornado, jinked and twisted through space. The Tlartox danced in counterpoint, a more sedate movement. Weapons fire glittered between them, tying the two together.

  He wondered briefly about Mesicsah, one time lover and now grandmother, captain of the disabled ship. She had not, Taglini noticed as his head rocked with the newest course change, declared her ship out-of-action. All comm dead, no doubt.

  “Engineering reports all systems in red.”

  “Remind Engineering that we are in a bit of a do.” Fronel remained Fronel, even in this situation.

  Taglini felt useless. While the random course generator controlled the vessels, a Commodore had nothing to do. The Captain had his ship to fight, each of the crew their jobs. He just went along for the ride.

  “Enemy fire in-coming!”

  Tempest rocked with a hit that killed its shields. It was only a matter of time, Taglini realized. Only a matter of time. But the grand old ladies of his squadron remained nimble and Tlartox frustration grew. One of their number tried to get too close, and fire from Cyclone and Tempest smashed into it during a split second when they synched, straight and level.

  Lowegtoten alternately swore and laughed, blaspheming with fluidity or crowing as his shots missed or hit their targets. Captain Fronel said nothing, merely sat watching and giving the occasional order, and Taglini intervened in the computer’s random course changes only when they took them too far out of line from the freighters.

  “Galley reports that if we keep this up supper will be late, sir!”

  They still had it in them to laugh, and Taglini joined in. So many good men and women. He kept his attention on his screen, ready to take back command from the computer at a moment’s notice. The squadron turned back on itself, momentarily losing their Tlartox pursuers.

  “Battery Bravo down, sir.”

  “Very good.”

  Everyone ignored Tornado, drifting disabled in space. The squadron rocketed past her with four Tlartox frigates in hot pursuit. Tornado’s weapons came to life smashing through a frigate’s shields and blasting holes in her hull.

  “Yes!” Taglini yelled with a wild elation that evaporated as Tlartox beams cut Tornado to pieces. Taglini looked up straight into Fronel’s eyes. Their gazes locked momentarily, then both looked away.

  The
third and final freighter winked out, and Taglini’s squadron was free to run. But the luck which had sustained them ran out. Cyclone caught a blast that killed her engines, sending her spinning on her final trajectory. Only three left, Taglini thought.

  “Forward detectors out.”

  An alarm screamed. “Hull breach.”

  “Squadron released!” Taglini ordered and each ship was now on its own, each captain able to do what he or she could to escape.

  Typhoon made an impossibly sharp turn and aimed itself at the Tlartox frigate that targeted the helpless Cyclone. Taglini closed his eyes. A suicide run, he knew. But Neco could not stand by and watch Llemartol’s ship die alone.

  “Aft guns out of action,”

  “Very good. Helm, try and keep our bow to the enemy, if you will.” With more than one enemy, Helm wondered how he was going to accomplish that.

  “Typhoon hit.”

  Taglini opened his eyes and stared at the screen. Neco and Typhoon would not die unwitnessed. Neco had Typhoon’s weapons set on full pulse, and fire poured between the Tlartox frigate and her. The range point-blank, both ships took mortal blows and Taglini felt the tears coming to his eyes. It just wasn’t fair. Class-C frigates shouldn’t have to do this duty. Only a day ago, Neco had told him about how his children—the newly graduated spacers—had performed, how proud he was of them.

  The tears rolled down Taglini’s cheeks. He, too, was proud, proud of all of them. More than could be reasonably asked, he thought.

  “Sections five, six and seven sealed.”

  “Engineering reports two engines down.”

  Typhoon broke into two pieces.

  “Hurricane hit, sir.” Taglini couldn’t take his eyes from the scanner, but he no longer saw it. In his mind he saw the pages of his yearbook, the scroll of dead men and women.

  “Ships dropping!”

  “Ours or theirs?” Captain Fronel remained calm and in control.

  “Not ours.”

  “Make signal to Lormar. ‘Freighters away. Overwhelming odds. All the best.’”

  Taglini closed his eyes again. They had done their duty. More than could be reasonably asked. It was over.

  SEARCHER

  Lieutenant-Commander Mart Britlot sat stone-faced as he received the final transmission from Taglini’s squadron. Now Searcher stood next in the line between the Asteroids and Lormar. He called upon his crew for greater vigilance.

  “I’ll take the con,” Lieutenant Weytok told him softly. She knew that if anyone had been a father figure for Britlot, it had been Taglini. Taglini had believed in him enough to send him out with a brand new scoutship, even if he hadn’t believed in the mission. Now, Taglini was dead or captured.

  “You have the con,” Britlot agreed, his voice devoid of emotion. He stumbled from the bridge and headed for his cabin. Once inside, he lay on his pit and stared at the ceiling.

  Britlot didn’t know how long he lay there before he fell to sleep. Sleep didn’t help. Troubled dreams of dying ships filled it. He woke to Lieutenant Krirtol’s voice. “Captain to the bridge.”

  Krirtol stood and vacated the Captain’s chair as Britlot stepped onto the bridge. He looked like hell, she thought. Not enough sleep and what sleep he’d had had been in his clothes. Even his face appeared rumpled and creased.

  “Report.” His voice, at least, remained calm, untroubled.

  “Three blips, sir. They are riding the path between the Pensor system and Lormar,” Krirtol answered him.

  “Probably the converted freighters Taglini saved.” Britlot surmised. “Send a signal to Lormar. Check if they want us to shadow them or remain here.” He waited while Dhine sent the signal. “They’ll want us to remain here,” he predicted. “Lormar can handle those three, even if they are enemy.”

  The three showed no beacons, keeping their profiles as small as possible. Britlot didn’t blame them. He’d have done the same in their position.

  “Signal from Lormar.” Dhine handed the stick to Krirtol.

  “You were correct, sir. We remain on station.”

  Britlot nodded. He made rounds of the bridge and then, with nothing for him to do, he left for the galley. He could stand a bite to eat.

  * * *

  Krirtol finished her watch and handed over to Sub-Lieutenant Parenner. She headed for the galley.

  “Lieutenant Weytok, how’s lunch?”

  “Good, as usual, Natya. Have a seat.” The food was nothing special, but Weytok noticed Tetjuin in earshot and made her comment accordingly. “Anything new?”

  “Nothing since the liners.” Natya glanced around. They were alone now. “How’s Mart, Feneya?”

  “Took it hard. He’ll recover. He has to. I remember when he was at the ...”

  “Action Stations!” Sub-Lieutenant Parenner’s nervous voice came across the ISB moments before the alarm sounded.

  The two Lieutenants sprang from the table and entered the bridge only moments before Britlot came in on the fly, his jacket still open.

  “Who called Action Stations?” he demanded.

  Krirtol and Weytok looked at each other then to Parenner, who confessed, “I did.”

  “Report, Sub.”

  “There’s a whole lot of blips coming our way fast, sir.”

  “I see.” Britlot made his way to a detector. The Subbie made no error. He counted forty-plus blips there and more appeared as time passed. “Very well, Sub, I have the con.”

  “You have the con, sir.”

  “Secure from Action Stations.”

  “Secure from Action Stations, aye.”

  Sub-Lieutenant Parenner looked mortified. “Sorry, sir,” he mumbled.

  Britlot put a puzzled look on his face. “Sorry for what, Sub? You made a decision based on your experience. Oh, I see,” he interrupted himself. “Sorry for waking me. Can’t be helped Sub. That’s why I get paid my king’s ransom every month. Lieutenant Weytok, a signal to Lormar Prime Alpha would be in order. Helm, keep us ahead of them and on the same course. No need to ask their heading, I suppose.”

  “Direct to Lormar,” Tumjut replied.

  CHAPTER 21

  LORM, LORMAR

  Smoke rose from the burning buildings, and Relnie Fronel closed the curtain against the sight. The sun lowered, and the evening breeze carried the aroma of blooming flowers from the garden. Luck had them upwind of the burning buildings. Before the winds shifted, she had remained inside with all the windows closed. Relnie checked the perimeter intruder alarms. All remained quiet.

  During construction, Relnie had thought Lemm paranoid. Now she blessed his foresight—and him, wherever he might be. The not knowing wore her down, as it had before Lemm retired. She looked to the sky. Soon the stars would appear and she would commune with them, as she did every night he remained away.

  “Mom, news is on the vid again,” Colli sang out.

  “Be right there,” she called back, not wanting to but knowing that the family wanted her presence. Little Melsie was already in bed. What a world to grow up in.

  The news repeated what they all knew, reporting on more riots and looting. However, as the people began to accept the fact of abandonment, they showed more sullenness and less violence. A curfew had been set and most citizens obeyed it. Even so, they heard whispers of martial law.

  “And this just in,” the announcer spoke. “Fleet has successfully evacuated the miners and their families from the Tridex Asteroid Mining Consortium. They escaped, however, by the skin of their teeth. Here’s Captain Nrentol of the Liner Nralhorn.”

  A portly man wearing a peaked merchant spacer cap appeared on screen. His chins bobbed when he talked. “The last shuttles carrying the miners had almost reached Nralhorn when Tlartox warships dropped in-system. Our escort went out to meet them, giving us our chance to load and escape. We saw a furious fight. At least one of our ships was crippled.” His nervous aspect betrayed his unease in front of the cameras.

  “Do you know which ship, Captain Nrentol? Can you
tell our viewers anything more?” Relnie hated this obsequious type of reporter.

  “I’m afraid not. We jumped before the fight ended. However, I’m happy to tell you that we brought away every single person from the Asteroids—all alive and well.”

  “Thank you, Captain, for taking such good care of them. Tell us, where are you off to now?”

  “We shall leave for Krevost immediately.” He looked more relieved to be at the end of the interview than to be leaving Lormar space.

  “Thank you, Captain. Back to the studio.”

  “Fleet confirms they fought an action at the Asteroids, but has maintained silence as regards its outcome. We can only suspect the worst.”

  Relnie slipped from the room. Lemm had slyly intimated that Fleet had assigned his squadron the Asteroid duty. She began to pray.

  * * *

  Rear Admiral Cenet prepared to leave Lormar Prime Alpha for Honor. He had deployed his fleet to protect the four Prime stations as best it could, but any fight would be short and one-sided. Britlot reported sixty-plus vessels incoming. He had forty-three old frigates plus Honor to meet them. In the Prime, a mad rush ensued as technicians swarmed aboard available transport to get out before the Tlartox arrived. Panic would better describe the situation, Cenet thought grimly.

  He had recalled the two modern frigates, Telprist and Renvolt. They might arrive before the Tlartox fleet, but likely not. He had the emergence beacon moved again. Commodore Prusnol’s squadron guarded the zone. As if the Tlartox would be so foolish as to drop there.

  Cenet grimaced as he entered the shuttle. Another three days and they might have completed the evacuation. Another three days and this battle would have proved unnecessary. His fleet could have retreated, the Primes destroyed. Now he would have to fight. However, instead of evacuating the technicians to Krevost, they now headed to the surface of Lormar. Not exactly what the techs desired.