Fighting the Silent (The Dark Sea War Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  Ploom smiled.

  “Oh, never mind that. Just tell me about Lara!”

  *

  Most of the ship’s inner corridors were well lit but narrow. Yet in a day like Launch-Day, even the wide main grid corridors were difficult to walk in, and everyone bumped into everyone. And just as the rest of the ship, the Tower was full of chaos and confusion on the corridors and escalators. There is a regular joke among space-sailors: «It’s not by chance it’s called L-Day.» This is because about 60 to 70% of all the confusion going on in the last few days before a launch is caused by Logistics crew members running around all stressed up. At any other time, they would be as active as anyone else. But just before L-Day all the pressure is on them, making sure everything is on board and in the right place. As I made my way up to S-Comm HQ, I kept dodging L-guys left and right, and I swear that up to this day I don’t know how these guys don’t get hurt more often with the speed they run all over the place on L-Day.

  I finally got to Signal-Command HQ and found out Commander Zell, the C.O., was not in.

  “Admiral’s quarters,” they told me.

  Good. That would give me time to look at the last signals coming in and get some work done.

  *

  Zell leaned back from his desk and finally looked at me in his quiet manner. This was the first time I was his first lieutenant. The previous one had been promoted to a senior post in a warship of the 3rd.

  “Had a nice leave, Mr.Iddo?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  “Had a chance to look at the signals?”

  “Yes, sir. Nothing major, sir.”

  “I need you to update the buoys’ codes.”

  “Done that, sir.”

  “Then you need to figure out the compensation for the software upgrade and check in with Navigation.”

  “Done that as well, sir.”

  Zell raised an eyebrow. I smiled inside. It wasn’t easy to impress him, and it felt really good.

  “And…?” asked the C.O.

  “I’m sorry, sir?”

  “What did you get? What was the compensation?”

  “Minus 1, sir.”

  Zell raised the other eyebrow and looked at his tablet on the desk.

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Minus 1?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He twisted his mouth, satisfied.

  “That’s not bad.”

  “No, sir.”

  He kept looking at his tablet, checking the numbers.

  “They verified the calculations?”

  “Not yet, sir.”

  “Tell me the minute they do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He leaned back again and looked straight at me, once more.

  “Nice leave, then?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Don’t expect another one for a while. Not until we get to Torrance, anyway.”

  “I won’t, sir.”

  “The fleet will launch at 1800 hours. You’re dismissed, Mr.Iddo.”

  “Sir!”

  *

  “Viker is clear to launch, sir,” I announced. “That’s the last one.”

  “Very well, Mr.Iddo,” responded Zell, then turning to the Admiral. “All clear to launch, sir.”

  The Main Bridge is a very special place. It usually accommodates around 18 crewmembers. It has 5 Weapons stations, 3 Navigation, 3 Signals, and 3 Technical. And also the L-commander (we called him the quartermaster, or the Q.) or his substitute. Then there are three high chairs, each one behind and above the other: the First Officer’s chair, the Captain’s chair, and the Admiral’s chair. Officially, the ship was commanded by the Captain, leaving the Admiral to command the fleet. But nobody had any doubt it was Admiral Hedde who actually headed the Magnar. Hedde had risen through the ranks and never really gotten over the pleasure of leading a battleship. And Captain Simmas was happy to abide, as he deeply admired and trusted the Admiral.

  “Ok,” said the Admiral, a small solid looking man with impeccable white hair and red and gray uniform. “Tell them to launch, Mr.Zell.”

  “Signal to launch, Mr.Iddo.”

  “Yes, sir! Launch, launch, launch!” I gave the orders to the other ships of the fleet, while I heard the Admiral calmly order:

  “You can launch, Captain.”

  “Sir.” Nodded Simmas, and then to Navigation: “Half speed ahead, Mr.Tumm.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the N-Commander “Half speed ahead, Mr.Ploom.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Ploom.

  And the engines started to roar,the whole ship trembled, and we started to move.

  What makes the Main Bridge of a warship a really special place to anyone who knows it is the surroundings. Even though we’re in a solid wall armored sphere inside the ship, the walls all around us mimic the surroundings picked up by the sensors of the ship so, in fact, the bridge’s stations’ platform seems to be suspended in space, with nothing holding us. If you look up, down, left, right, forward or backward, you will see the space around the ship, the stars, the planets and the other ships. And the rotating stations are used to do just that: look everywhere. To someone not used to it, it gives you nausea, disorientation, and chills. But after a while, it grows on you, and it fascinates you. Especially when the whole fleet is starting to launch next to your home planet, and the movement becomes apparent. It’s a fine spectacle. We called it a mimic display, or MID, for short.

  I looked up and to my left, to a 3D hologram of the whole fleet suspended above my head. It was called the FCD, the Fleet Constellation Display, or simply the Constellation. It showed at each point the relative position of each ship in the fleet. I looked at the image of the Orink and imagined Lara looking at Webbur from a destroyer’s watch as it flew by in lovely colors. I looked back at the starboard and believed for a moment I could see a glimpse of the real destroyer, guarding Taurus’ flank.

  After a few minutes, the Admiral got up, straightened his uniform and left, saying:

  “The ship is yours, Captain.”

  “Sir!”

  The Captain waited a bit more, then exchanged some words with the First Officer and finally said:

  “You have the ship, Mr.Orrey.”

  “Sir!” And the Captain left, and Mr.Orrey turned to the rest of the bridge. “Officers are free to resume shift schedule.”

  And all the senior officers responded: “Yes, sir!”

  And Zell turned to me and Dalto, the other Signals’ junior officer on duty on the bridge (a new man, focused face, brown curls), and said:

  “I’ll be retiring now. Mr.Iddo, you wait until we clear the last moon and then you can go. Mr.Dalto will do first shift. Mr.Orta will relieve him afterward. You all have the shift schedule in your duty folders already. Mr.Dalto, anything you need, first talk to Mr.Iddo and then me. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Carry on, then.”

  *

  Things started to go awry 6 days after L-Day. I was doing the graveyard shift on the bridge. Tumm, the N-Comm, a baldy and experienced officer everyone respected, was in the First Officer’s chair, handling the bridge. And there were only 4 more people around: 2 in Navigation, 1 in Weapons and 1 in Technical.

  For many, space traveling can be boring. It’s always the same view, mainly black, with a starlight fabric on the immense horizon. Nothing really changes for many days in a row. But I liked it. It’s peaceful. Quiet. Gives you time for yourself, your thoughts, and to breathe. The quiet hours on duty on the bridge, for me, were always a treat.

  We were heading towards the Dark Sea. That’s the vast empty space between the Mirox asteroid belt and the Eeron asteroid belt, towards the sun and the inner solar system, where Torrance and Axx faced each other. The Dark Sea was a dangerous place for many, where only pirates and bold merchants and armed supply convoys ventured, away from the influences of the armed forces of the different planets. It was also the 2nd Fleet’s Area of Operation
s, where we were sent most of the time, to catch some overachieving pirate or assert Webbur’s influence in the region.

  I was minding my own business, looking at the empty, maybe thinking of Lara, when an orange sign popped up on my console. It was a warning from a Level 8 probe. I straighten up on my chair.

  “Contact, sir. Level 8, 10-and-10, sir.” (Meaning forward-left-high.)

  Tumm looked at me.

  “What kind of contact, Mr.Iddo?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I can’t see it. But it’s popping up on my screen. Two probes. Level 8.”

  “But you can’t see it?”

  “No, sir.”

  Rumens was on point at Navigation, so Tumm turned to him.

  “Where are we, Mr.Rumens? Is it a rock already?”

  “No, sir. We’re still a day away from the Mirox.”

  We were all quiet for a few minutes. Nothing happened. Tumm turned to me again.

  “How much time until you have to send another batch out, Mr.Iddo?”

  “78 minutes, sir.”

  The Magnar and the fleet surrounded themselves with 12 levels of probes. Level 1 was the nearest one, the last-resort level, where the most immediate threats would be detected before reaching the sensor level of the ships themselves, 0-Level. And then there were 11 consecutive levels of probes, until the 12th, the farthest from the fleet. Probes were Signals’ responsibility, along with communications. As they all had limited fuel and speed, they would be left behind after a while, and we needed to periodically send out another batch of football-size probes.

  My console was silent. I could sense that Tumm was intrigued and uncomfortable. Two contact warnings from two different probes at Level 8 could hardly be a mistake, even though the probes seemed unable to show us anything. But Level 8 meant whatever it was had passed undetected through three levels of detection. One would be normal, two acceptable, but three? Maybe it was one of those strange natural phenomena space sailors are always rumoring about.

  Then, another flag popped up on my screen.

  “Contact, sir! Level 6, 10-and-10! No image!”

  No one said anything, but I could hear Tumm touching his buttons, no doubt calling for higher rank officers on the bridge. After just a few minutes, several people started coming in. Young officers started to man their stations. Zell came in as well. He didn’t speak. He just sat down beside me and looked at the screens. Finally, First Officer Orrey came in and sat on the Captain’s chair, looking at his screens.

  “Where are we, Mr.Tumm? Is it a stray rock?”

  “Still a day away from the Mirox, sir.”

  “Very well. The ship is mine. Resume your duties.”

  “Sir! First Officer has the bridge.”

  Tumm left the First Officer’s chair and went back to his N-Comm station. Orrey was in command. Everyone on this bridge was a well-respected and hand-picked experienced officer, but Orrey was a special one. Commander Zell had once told me he would be a brilliant admiral, one day.

  “Mr.Zell, would you please get word from the Kark and the Lion to what they are seeing?”

  Kark and Lion were the two destroyers on the fleet’s larboard flank. As I was on ‘probe duty,' Zell contacted the ships himself.

  “They confirm contacts, sir. No images.”

  Then the Captain got in and said.

  “I have the bridge.”

  Orrey immediately got up and sat on his own chair, saying:

  “The Captain has the bridge.”

  Simmas sat on Captain’s chair, and everyone was silent while he got up to speed reading his screen.

  “Red flag!” I almost shouted. “Level 5, 10-and-10! No image, sir!”

  ‘Red Flag’ meant a linear movement through three levels of probes, signaling there was a definite movement towards the fleet’s ships. And there was still no image showing up on the screen. I had an irrational burst of shame for the probes not being able to see the contact, but it was easily overcome by a slight burst of fear and excitement.

  “The Kark is clearing the boards, Captain,” said Zell.

  “Ok,” responded the Captain. “Clear the boards.”

  ‘Clearing the boards’ was a first alert procedure. It meant all non-essential activities going on or planned for the next few minutes would be postponed or canceled. Nothing should be on the Boards of Activities but what the bridge would order. Everyone on the bridge got suddenly very busy calling everyone else on their Commands.

  Orta, a brown hair nice guy who was my colleague in S-Command, finally got here and took his place. I glanced at Zell’s screen and saw the signal: «To the fleet: Magnar is clearing the boards.»

  We waited. Then I heard a calm voice coming from behind and above me.

  “Mr.Iddo, put the flags on the MID, if you don’t mind.”

  I looked and saw Admiral Hedde looking at me.

  “Sir!”

  I sent the four warnings from the probes into the mimic display, for all to see. The little flags seemed to appear in the middle of the void, out there in the dark. They had all turned red, of course, showing the linear movement.

  “So the last was 8 minutes ago?” asked the Admiral.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I see. So we don’t know where it is, could be anywhere. Captain, get the alert up a notch, will you?”

  “Yes, sir. Battle stations, Mr.Vallard,” ordered the Captain to W-Command. “Mr.Zell, send the signal.”

  “Yes, sir. Mr.Orta, battle stations everyone.”

  “Sir!”

  Orta began sending signals to everyone in the ship, while Zell sent the signals to the fleet. «To the fleet: Magnar called battle stations.» And then the Admiral spoke again.

  “Mr.Vallard, get all odds ready, if you please.”

  “Yes, sir! All odds ready!”

  ‘Odds’ meant all port-side HCHE and projectile-defense missile batteries. From 1st Hull to 11th Hull, on the left, the W’s would be ‘cocking’ their guns.

  “Odds ready, sir!” announced Weapons.

  “Thank you,” said simply the Admiral.

  And then Zell:

  “All vessels called battle stations, sir.”

  “Very well.”

  Everyone was focused on their consoles. For a few minutes, nothing happened.

  “Anything, Mr.Iddo?” asked Mr. Zell, at half voice.

  “Negative, sir.”

  We kept waiting. Several minutes went by. The Admiral asked:

  “How far are we to the Mirox, Mr.Tumm?”

  “A day, sir.”

  “Hmm… Too far…”

  We waited a bit more. The Admiral gave another order.

  “Get the Syrius to circle port, please, Mr. Zell.”

  “Sir!”

  Zell sent the signal, and the fast courier-corvette went on patrol on the larboard side of the fleet. After several minutes, Zell spoke again.

  “Syrius is signaling no-contact, sir.”

  “Very well. “

  The quiet wait went on for almost an hour. I kept looking at my console, but no new lights showed up. Nothing. And then the Admiral said:

  “Ok. Signal to free the boards, Mr.Zell.“

  “Sir!”

  And a signal was sent to resume all activities.

  “Whatever it was, it’s not there now.” Added the Admiral, getting up. “Mr.Orrey, please get everyone downstairs. We need to talk about this. “

  “Sir!”

  *

  I was invited to go as well. There was always a junior officer from Signals in a special C-Team meeting so that external communications could be monitored from within the room. Now that I was second to Commander Zell, I was the one in. The Admiral headed the C-Team HQ conference table, and the Captain and First Officer were there, as well as all main Commanders (with the exception of Commander Mahar, from Technical, who had the bridge at this time). I was in a corner, manning the Signals’ station.

  “Well,” started the Admiral. “What just happened?”
r />   Everyone stayed quiet for a moment until Mr.Orrey said what most of us were thinking.

  “I would say a Silent, sir.”

  ‘Silent Boats.' That’s what we called the sneaky invisible little ships pioneered and developed to perfection by the Axx Republic. Many had them. There was even the rumor of one or two falling into the hands of pirates. But only Axx had them in number and relied on them the most.

  Commander Torney, the Quartermaster, a skinny man with a razor sharp nose, made a nauseated face.

  “That’s impossible. No Silent can be out here in the middle of nowhere, stalking us. Not on this side of the Mirox, anyway. It wouldn’t have the range.”

  Orrey twisted his mouth.

  “That we know of…”

  Captain Simmas cleared his throat.

  “Mr. Zell, could it be a pirate ship? Supplied somewhere within the Mirox belt?”

  Zell shook his head.

  “The last reports tell us of no pirate activities from here to the Raven dwarf planet, sir. The Dark Sea buccaneers have been especially quiet, we’re not sure why. ”

  Orrey spoke again:

  “Of course, they would be especially quiet if there was unusual military activity in the region.”

  “What kind of unusual military activity? Whose?” asked the Q, frowning.

  “I think we all know what Mr.Orrey is talking about,” intervened the Admiral. “If it was a Silent, she had to be from Axx.”

  “But that’s impossible, sir.” Returned the Q. “We’re too far.”

  “They’ve found a way,” continued the Admiral. “Does anyone have any other possible explanation for what happened?”

  No one said a thing. The Admiral nodded.

  “I can’t imagine any reason for a pirate ship to threaten a Webbur fleet like this, can you?”

  “Defiance?” suggested Tumm. “For some of these lads, it’s a way of living.”

  “They would defy us by attacking a convoy and looting tourist ships. Not coming into this side of the Mirox and menacing the 2nd Fleet.” The Admiral waved his hand. “No. It was a Silent, for sure. And it was a military one. And that means someone is flexing its muscles. And I would say it’s Axx.”

  The room went quiet again. And at that precise moment, as if on cue, I got a signal on my screen. A priority signal. And I froze. I read it once and again. And finally, I got up, approached the table and said to Commander Zell’s ear.