Fighting the Silent Read online

  The Dark Sea War

  Chronicles

  Volume I

  FIGHTING THE SILENT

  BRUNO MARTINS SOARES

  Copyright © 2017 Bruno Martins Soares

  All rights reserved.

  For Tiago, my nephew (a.k.a. Shorty).

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to all my friends and partners who helped me so much, including:

  Luís Madeira Rodrigues

  Célia Cambraia

  Nuno Madeira Rodrigues

  Leonor Hungria

  Cláudio Jordão

  Rodrigo Martins Soares

  Rodrigo Rahmati

  Susana Almeida

  And many others!

  INTRODUCTION

  Kaptin Worf Tinnzer scratched his itchy beard as he waited for his crewmen to complete their tasks on the bridge of S62.

  Usually, no one shaved in the service. The Styllmarinne was an elite service unlike any other in the Riggsmarinne, the fierce Space-Navy of the republic of Axx. Silent Boats, or Styllebuutz, were out in deep space for much longer stretches than average ships, supplied out there by special vessels, pirate traders, occasional merchants and lonely outposts. They were isolated for a long time. So the men didn’t shave. At one point, the Addmiralis had tried to introduce shaving machines in the service, but no one actually used them. It had become an honor thing, a badge of the bravest, the famous beard of the Styllemarinners. They wouldn’t wash either, so after a day or two, there would be this characteristic omnipresent stink. So omnipresent, in fact, that they would fail to notice it at all.

  He thought of his wife, Sondra, and of his young son, Worf. He hoped they would be okay. They were far from any important target down there, in the castle, the thousand-year-old family home in the middle of the woods. As safe as they could be.

  Worf looked through the visor from his seat in the center of the bridge. Silent Boats didn’t have scanners all around because they messed up the refracting camouflage. They had typically three probe levels with very small probes circling around the vessel. The captain’s visor was a bulky face-covering helmet Worf had to slide down pushing a button on the arm of his chair. As his left fingers managed more buttons, the chair was made to rotate, giving him the view of Space around the Silent.

  “Kapt, a message from S60, she’s here as well.”

  “All right.”

  That was the third boat. They were ready. It was time. Worf looked at the enemy. More than 40 vessels. A loaded convoy.

  “Has 63 set the time?”

  The instructions were that the first boat on the scene would take point and coordinate the attack.

  “Just a minute, Kapt.”

  “Ask them about the position as well.”

  “Yes, Kapt.”

  “As it is, might as well follow them all the way to Webbur.” Said Rukt, the Navigator.

  S62 had been in position for over 20 hours, now. If this were a normal operation, the attack would have occurred many hours ago. Worf knew the men were starting to get impatient. He pushed the button, and the helmet went up, freeing his head.

  “Might as well service our ship in the Brury moon also” continued the Nav.

  People laughed. Worf’s calm, cold voice, crossed the bridge:

  “That’s enough, Rukt.”

  They all settled down. They waited. Finally, the Comms Officer looked at the Captain.

  “Time set to 30 minutes, Kapt.”

  “Alright. They gave us position?”

  “Position B. Starboard side.”

  “Alright.”

  Lüivettenand Urster smiled as he approached with a tea cup in his hand.

  “It seems they’re going to chain us up out here as well. Ver-Kaptin. I’d rather we were free as before” he whispered.

  Worf sipped the tea. Urster had spiked it, as usual.

  “We’re at war. We have to be effective.”

  “What would they know about that?”

  Worf was displeased with the comment. He lowered his voice so only Urster would hear him.

  “Careful, Urster. This is no place for politics.”

  “My point exactly.”

  Worf clinched his teeth.

  “Enough. I’ll put you in the brig myself. This is not politics, it’s good tactics.”

  Since Urster’s brother had disappeared in the Tribunal’s Seichr prison, the officer’s remarks had become more and more bothersome. Every time he opened his mouth, Worf feared for him. Even on a small ship like this where the crew was tighter than family, there were people loyal to the regime. They could all get in trouble, if Urster didn’t stop his dangerous comments.

  For now, Urster backed off. The Engineer, Karolu, entered the bridge. Worf knew something was wrong. What would he be doing here as they were minutes away from action?

  “Ver-Kaptin.”

  “What is it, Karolu?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, but I need to warn you.”

  Worf sighed.

  “The reactor?”

  “Yes, Kapt. It’s fine now. But if we need to fight…”

  “How much time would it run if it cracks?”

  “One hour, one day, one week. Not sure, Kapt.”

  Worf thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders.

  “Nothing we can do now. We’re committed. Just take care of it the best you can. If all goes as usual, we won’t have to fight.”

  “Nothing usual with this operation, Ver-Kaptin” said Urster.

  Worf looked at his second, raising his eyebrow.

  “We’re committed” he repeated.

  “I’m just saying. Anything could happen.”

  “We’re committed” said Worf once more. They all paused. Finally, both Urster and Karolu backed down.

  “Yes, Kapt.”

  “Yes, Kapt.”

  Worf finished his tea in silence, while the whole crew prepared for the attack. There was nothing more he needed to do. They all knew very well the business of the day. Finally, Urster looked at him.

  “We’re ready, Kapt. ‘T’ minus 5 minutes.”

  Worf looked up, nodded, sat back on his chair and pushed the button, so the helmet descended on his head. In seconds, he was looking outside. Black all around. Through the zoom and the enhancement protocol, he could pick up the ships on his bow.

  “All right” he said, with his head inside the helmet. “Do we have the targets’ ID confirmed?”

  “Yes, Kapt. Merchant ship Solio, 800k, and merchant ship Harvy, 700, are the first.”

  “Escort?”

  “The nearest threat is the Nyban, a Corvette. Old class. Not much firepower.”

  “All right.” Worf’s helmet showed him the enemy vessels. “Let’s not push our luck with the reactor. We get the first two merchants, and we leave.”

  “Yes, Kapt.”

  “Time, sir.”

  “All right. Increase to covert attack speed. Torpedoes?”

  “Ready, Kapt.”

  “63 is engaging, Kapt. Position A.”

  “All right. Rukt, we’re deviating. Get us on target.”

  “Yes, Kapt. Sorry, Kapt.”

  Worf rotated his chair to look at where S63 should be at that point. He had no visual on the other ship, but the friendly ID signal was pulsing a blue dot inside his helmet, so he knew where the other ship was. And also... In a strange move, an enemy ship was getting in an awkward position. It was decreasing speed and falling behind.

  ‘What is that frigate doing?’ thought Worf.

  EPISODE 1 – FIRST SHOT

  “Look at that! What a sight!” Lara was looking down through the glass towards the surface of Webbur and the rotating spaceport. What a sight! I thought, bu
t I was looking the other way. The fleet was already quietly assembling in formation, getting ready for the voyage. It was beautiful. It was in a ‘spine formation.’ A beautiful slick formation. (Little did I know it would soon become obsolete.) I looked at Lara. She was still sighing at the planet. Her lovely petite ear sliding out from beneath the smooth blond hair with a little help from a finger. I smiled to myself and looked back at the fleet. The courier-corvette was climbing at a steady acceleration rate towards the big ships. The 2nd Fleet of the Webbur Union. One of the strongest in the system. The 1st Fleet, the First Admiral’s fleet, also known as the Home Fleet, stayed close to the planet. The 3rd Fleet, the Outer Fleet, patrolled the vast desert frontier to put in check the menacing fleets of the Cold Empire. And the 2nd Fleet, my fleet, the Inner Fleet, controlled everything from here to the sun. No one else had such imposing ships. Not even the Kingdom of Torrance, with its magnificent legacy, and certainly not the Republic of Axx, for all its might. (Little did I know that would also change.) And there she was. At the fleet’s center, my ship. Admiral Hedde’s ship, the W.S.Magnar, a 120-battery 1st class Battleship. You could hardly take your eyes off her when she was like this, her flank to the sun, surrounded by her subjects.

  “I was talking about Webbur.” Lara was looking at me, a smart smile across her face. I jumped inside. Not because she caught me looking the wrong way, but because she smiled at me and, for some reason, it always made me jump inside, surprised.

  “Y-Yes, I know.”

  She smiled and, through the window behind her, I caught a glimpse of two more of the Fleet’s Colossus: the W.S.Taurus, a 90-battery 2nd class Battleship; and behind her, the W.S.Viker, a 70-battery 3rd class.

  “Is it true they give astonishing balls at the Magnar?” she said.

  I blushed.

  “Sometimes.”

  I looked out the window once more. Around the big ships, three destroyers were getting into a flank-protection position, and a fourth was on point, ahead of the Magnar. Two small 32-battery frigates traveled ahead and Syrius¸ the small but fast courier-corvette, was transporting us in. The 10 billion-ton bulge supply ship W.S.Warhog, and the smaller repair ship W.S.Pleeto completed the fleet, traveling behind and below the Taurus. 12 beautiful green-red-and-gray ships that spread wonder and might across the whole system.

  “When’s the next one?”

  I was having a hard time thinking. Lara and I had been getting closer and closer these last few days, and the thought of leaving her at her post on the W.S. Orink, a 4th class 50-battery destroyer, flanking the Magnar, and not be with her for weeks, kept me in a constant state of shock. We had written many messages to each other, said many things online. But only in the last few days had we really been together, physically and mostly alone. And it still made me nervous. And it also made me excited and air-headed. And that had to stop really quickly because a Webbur warship is not a place to be nervous or air-headed. Or excited, for that matter. The problem was: I didn’t want it to stop.

  “Well,” I said uncomfortably (I was still uncomfortable). “I suppose when we arrive in Torrance, an allied planet, with all fanfare, the Admiral will want to give a ball. I suppose…”

  “Would a cute little nurse like me get invited?”

  “If she was asked by a steady flagship junior officer like me, she would.”

  “Well…”

  (Oh! Her smile… Her smile…)

  “Should I be preparing for it, then?” She tilted her head, provokingly. (Oh! She tilted her head…)

  “I guess you should…”

  “Mr.Iddo, this is you, I believe” interrupted the master-of-the-corvette, warning me to get ready to leave and board the approaching Magnar.

  I looked at Lara. She looked at me. It was a look of small desperation. She smiled. Joy and sadness in a smile. We looked around, trying to spot any on-looking eyes, and then we managed a fast, faint and intense kiss.

  *

  15,000 people lived and worked on the Magnar. It was an impressive beast. It was made out of 12 different huge compartments, called hulls, with six ports and six starboards. Each hull was basically independent and could be isolated from the rest. It had its own hospital, cafeteria, sleeping quarters, gym, working areas, warehouse, armory, and gravity controls. Each hull harbored about 1,000 crew members. If attacked or depressurized, a hull would be blocked, cut off from the rest of the ship. It was calculated that the Magnar could lose 5 or 6 hulls before the ship became inoperable. The hulls were numbered: odds for port and even for starboard. So 1st Hull was at the bow on the left, and 2nd Hull was at the bow on the right, and 3rd Hull was on the left behind the 1st Hull and so on.

  Besides the functions the hulls divided between themselves, like launching spacecrafts, managing the engines or conducting research, each hull was also responsible for 10 ten-tube High-Caliber High-Explosive missile batteries. The tubes could be fired in rapid succession so at any one time the Magnar could have on course the massive number of 1200 HCHE missiles. Together with the Taurus and the Viker, the big warships of the fleet could fire more than 3 thousand warheads at one time. Not counting destroyers and frigates. This was mighty power indeed.

  The Main Bridge tower was a different ship segment than the main hulls. It lived for the Bridge. Even though every hull had its own commander, its own master and its own way of living, the Tower (as it was known) harbored almost a thousand people simply concerned with managing the whole ship, the whole fleet, and answering to the Admiral himself. It hosted more commanders, senior officers and junior officers than the whole of the ship combined, besides the Admiral, the Captain, and the First Officer. The commanders and officers of the main Commands and the C-Team, all lived there. Just above the living quarters were 5 Command HQ’s, each made of a common working area and an office for the Commanding Officer. And the C-Team HQ, which had three offices: for the Admiral, the Captain, and the First Officer. Above the HQ’s, was the Bridge. And above that, with a breathtaking view and already out of the protection of the armored main hull, was the Admiral’s dining room, rarely used except for impressing special visitors. Then, the Captain’s observation deck, for looking with naked eye at the ship and fleet, on the rare occasions it was needed. And finally, upstairs were the main upper deck sensors and antennas, with the occasional T-guy poking around.

  *

  I put my bag in my locker next to my bunk and looked in the mirror. I wouldn’t stay in the cabin long, I’d rather present myself for duty as soon as possible, and one does not present oneself to senior officers in a slack uniform.

  “Hey, Byl! Glad you’re back.”

  I smiled, turned around and grabbed Ploom’s hand. I shared the cabin with three other junior officers, and Ploom and I were the oldest ones in the flagship.

  “Hi, Ploom. What do you say? Tight ship?”

  “Yep, seems tight so far.”

  “Juniors?”

  “Tight. No sissies or assholes.”

  “What does the master say?”

  “Not much, so far.”

  “That’s good. Who’s this?”

  Behind Ploom’s large smile came a dark-faced shy boy, the youngest possible, trying to get into the pea-like cabin.

  “This is Gaddy. He’s with the T’s.”

  Technical-Command, or T-Comm, was one of the five commands that made up the Captain’s team on the bridge. The other four were Navigation, Signals, Logistics, and Weapons. Ploom was with the N’s, and I was with the S’s. We both belonged to the C-team, and that’s why we had accommodations in the Main Bridge tower, just below the center of command, ready to get to our posts at a moment’s notice.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr.Gaddy.”

  “Please, call me Tym.”

  “A T’s Tym,” joked Ploom.

  The fourth bunk in the cabin belonged to Hekk. He was a Marine lieutenant, a W., the Marine liaison on the bridge. If I knew him at all, he would be at the gym right now. In a few hours, I might be able to join him for some m
artial arts training.

  “So,” said Ploom, closing the door of the cabin. “Are we going to war?”

  I sighed while I closed the top button on my uniform.

  “Why would we be going to war, Ploom?”

  “Oh, don’t give me that, Byl. Axx is a hair away from getting up Torrance’s ass. And Torrance is our ally. If they go to war, we won’t be far behind. Isn’t that the reason we’re going on this trip? Letting the blue-eyes’ know the torries won’t stand alone?”

  “If you say so, Ploom.”

  His face had a red surge of irritation. Of course, he was right. And I was in a better position to know because I belonged to S-Comm. All intelligence came through me. And I could tell him because he was C-team. He would be on the Admiral’s bridge and had clearance. But Gaddy didn’t. He worked at the T-Comm HQ, down in the belly of the beast, not up in the upper tower. And if Ploom was enough of an idiot not to care about it, I wasn’t. So I stood ground and faced his stare until he backed down.

  “Mr.Gaddy!” a strong voice came from the corridor. It was Sandars, the master-of-the-tower. His head popped inside. Gaddy turned his head.

  “Hmmm? Sir?”

  “Don’t «Hmm-sir» me! You’re not a God damn cow!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “And don’t call me «sir»! I work for a living!”

  “Yes, Master Sandars!”

  “You’re a Tech-boy, aren’t you, Mr.Gaddy?! I’d think you lads would have the sense to check your SCD’s once in a while!”

  Embarrassed, Gaddy turned on his Ship-Communication-Device, forgotten on his collar.

  “They’re calling you down below on 2nd Hull, if you please! On the double!” roared Sandars. Gaddy stormed away. The master looked at me and nodded. “Glad to see you on board, Mr.Iddo.”

  “Glad to be here, Mr.Sandars.”

  As they left, I turned to Ploom.

  “Don’t go around talking about war like that, Ploom! It’s a hot topic, and not everybody has clearance. We need to be careful.”

  Ploom smiled.