The Black Ships (26 page)

UNS
Ares

February 5
^th
, 2028

M
ike coasted down out of the room that sat at right angles to the
main command deck and into the combat information center, nodding an
acknowledgement to the captain on duty. Though his own action station, known as
the hole
, was in the strange opening in the middle of the ceiling, this
large area contained the communications section and he was being given a last
chance to talk to his cousin before the fleets went into a communications
blackout. 

The
Ares
, along with the other
ships, had been equipped with a pared-down version of the laser communications
system that the ships of the electronic warfare squadron carried. At this
distance from Mars, there was no chance of the enemy intercepting the
uni-directional signals.

Mike was filthy and had a three-week growth
of beard. For the last few weeks, the bridge crew and the analysis cell,
accessed by a hatch through the floor, had been quarantined at their action
stations. An outbreak had struck the
Ares
one week out of Earth
perihelion and most movement throughout the ship had been severely curtailed.
The spread had been checked by the end of the second week but by that time
almost half the crew had fallen sick. The ship’s medical facilities were set up
for combat injuries and were woefully inadequate to deal with an outbreak of
infectious disease.

By the end of the fourth week, it had
become clear that the disease had a fifty-percent mortality rate. It had spread
mostly in the areas associated with the hangar deck and a quarter of the ground
crew and more than half of the ship’s infantry had been infected. The projected
losses were depressing, especially so in a fleet that couldn’t hope to
replenish its numbers. By some miracle, the
Ares
was the only ship in
the fleet affected by the outbreak.

Admirals Gao and Towers had spent hours on
the communications system discussing the problem. They had decided to wait
another three weeks to ensure that the plague had run its course and then
transfer every available infantryman and marine from the frigates of the fleet
to the
Ares
. They would have one week to train with their new comrades
before the fleet hit the thin Martian atmosphere. No communications were
allowed with Earth, as it carried the possibility of warning the enemy of their
approach. Nobody knew what might await them when they returned home.

“Sir, you have five minutes allotted,” the
signals officer, a lieutenant from the French navy, explained to Mike as he
arrested his motion via a bungee strap on what passed for a ceiling. “We start
the blackout in one hour - twenty minutes before our flight profiles separate.”

Mike used the handgrips to position himself
on a chair mounted in front of a terminal and strapped himself in. The monitor
in front of him showed a series of gray buttons with ship’s names in them. He
felt a catch in his throat as he saw the one green button labeled
UNS
Willsen
. He touched the button and the screen was replaced by the face of a
young sailor. “This is Major Mike Willsen calling Major Michelle Willsen.”

Not for the first time, he was glad of the
brevet ranks that Colonel McCutcheon had arranged for them. It made life on a
military vessel more bearable and it also lit fires under people who might
otherwise be inclined to question a civilian specialist. Having the same name
as the young sailor’s ship might have also been a factor because his eyes
widened a little as he acknowledged. “Yes sir, the major is standing by, wait
one.” The screen went blank and Mike thought he had been cut off, but then the
screen blinked on again and Mickey was there.

“Pretty good transmission, huh Mike?”
Mickey asked. “Even for the low-rent version we put on the
Ares
it’s
almost HD. What’s with the crew-cut?”

“Micks, we don’t have a lot of time,” Mike
warned, glancing at the timer. It was down to four minutes. “Stay safe out
there. Your folks would never forgive me if you didn’t make it home.”
What
do you say to your cousin before going into combat?

“If anything, I probably have the safer
job,” she replied. “We bounce off the edge of the atmosphere and make it look
like an accident, then we turn around and use our engines to slow down. We’ll
be so far out of range, and so quickly, they won’t even worry about us. They’ll
just assume we screwed up on navigation.” She paused. “I’m kind of worried
about what you guys are going to be doing. It sounds completely insane.”

“Things haven’t exactly been sane for a
couple of years now,” Mike said quietly. He smiled, a little embarrassed at his
tone. “Sorry, haven’t seen Keira for a while but it looks like she’s going to
pull through.”

Mickey gasped. “We haven’t been given a lot
of information over here; I had no idea she caught the plague.” Her shoulders
relaxed a bit. “Thank God she’s OK. You must have been going out of your mind.”

“What about you?” Mike leaned in. “What’s
the story with you and Rob?”

“Rob?” She sat back a bit, frowning. “We
just work together. I don’t think he sees me that way, Mike.” She seemed
genuinely surprised that Mike had even brought it up.

“But you see him that way?” For some
reason, the military was like an incubator for relationships.
Must be the
constant contact and the danger
, Mike thought.
Either you end up hating
each other or you wind up planning weddings.

She shrugged. “I suppose I could, under the
right circumstances,” she said, qualifying her admission. “He’s smart; looks
good in a uniform.” She grimaced at her cousin. “Mike, we’re just coworkers
with a shared interest in building gadgets.”

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” Mike
began with the standard disclaimer used by all who spill closely-guarded
secrets. “Wes told me that his nickname is
The Monk.
The last girl he
showed an interest in was three years ago. He doesn’t date just for the fun of
it, so when he meets someone he likes, he has no idea of how to move things
along.”

Mike paused for a moment.
I’ve already
started; I might as well finish
. “Evidently, it was some kind of major
miracle that he ever got around to asking her out but they dated for a couple
of months before she got arrested for holding up a bank in Mexico. Rob drove
down to Ensenada and broke it off with her after she was convicted.”

“Mike, this is all very interesting,” she
sighed and leaned on her hand. “Why are you telling me all this right now?”

“Because I’ve seen how he looks at you when
he thinks nobody is watching him,” Mike answered. “Nothing creepy or anything
but it’s pretty obvious that he finds you attractive. I wasn’t sure at first
but that briefing you did on the alien system left me with no doubt.” He looked
around the CIC before going on. “Mickey, he’s known you for months now so it’s
more than just a physical thing. I figured you should know. Who knows what
might happen a month from now, and besides,”  he leaned in as close as
possible to the screen before continuing in a low voice, “you wouldn’t want to
look back on this and regret missing out on all that zero G has to offer.” Ten
seconds left on the clock.

Mickey tilted her head and frowned at her
cousin. Suddenly, his words made sense and her eyes almost popped out of their
sockets. “Eww, Mike!” She considered for a second. “Wait, does that mean that
you guys…” The signal cut off as the timer ran out. Mike reached up to the scar
on top of his scalp where he had struck a bulkhead. One of the ship’s medical
staff had shaved his head before stitching his wound and it was a scar that
Mike would always remember fondly.

Twenty minutes later, the massive array of
Grocholski Fission-Fragmentation engines went quiet. The fleet had reached its
programmed speed. Any faster and they would be unable to remain in orbit on
their arrival. Within the hour, they would turn those engines toward Mars and
begin to decelerate until they reached the edge of the engagement zone. Once
they reached that line, they’d be pointing their main armaments forward again.

The huge reactors took up most of the rear
quarter of the vessel and Mike had forgotten how much they contributed to the
background noise. It suddenly felt like a ghost ship.

I suppose there are a few thousand
ghosts on board thanks to the plague.
Mike sat
strapped to his chair, sipping water from a plastic bladder.
Three more
weeks of quarantine for Keira.
He smiled at his screen.
 I wonder
what’s going to happen over on the
Willsen
now that she knows about Rob.

150,000 km outside of Mars Orbit

March 12
^th
, 2028

“T
hey’re moving to intercept,” a young lieutenant announced.

Mickey looked over at the wall display,
seeing that two of the six triangular ships had broken off from the main group
and were moving out of orbit to meet the small incoming squadron. Shadows
drifting across a rising sun. Oddly, the risk of imminent death only made the
spectacle even more beautiful. The display indicated that their present course
and speed would bring them across the squadron’s path ten minutes too late.

“Their current vector presumes a braking
evolution on our part,” the young officer continued. “By the time they realize
their mistake, we should be well clear of them.”

“Reading massive electromagnetic signatures
from both ships,” Lieutenant Commander Kelvin called out from the sensor
coordination cell. “Profile is consistent with rail gun mechanisms, but we see
no turrets.”

“Could be a traverse, mounted inside the
vessel,” suggested one of his analysts.

“Waste of space,” countered the officer.
“They probably don’t use turret mounts because they would get in the way of
docking with the mother ship but that won’t mean they want to use up major real
estate to swing a gun
inside
the hull.” He thought for a moment, then
nodded to himself. “I think they have to swing the entire ship around to bring
those guns to bear.”

As if in answer, brilliant plumes of plasma
erupted from the bows of the two alien ships as the projectiles exited the
barrels. Two pencil-thin lines seared their way across the black nothing of
space as the ionized gasses trailed the incoming masses. Mickey felt a moment
of terror as she realized that they were coming under fire. In a matter of
seconds, she and everyone on this ship could be blasted out into the
unforgiving darkness.

“Projectiles are in a direct line with the
ships’ axes,” the operator confirmed. “Looks like you called it, sir.”

The lieutenant commander leaned over the
operator’s shoulder. “Based on the spike we saw just before they fired, it
looks like they need a few minutes to recharge,” he said, looking up at Captain
Logan. “They thought we’d be slowing down and fired at where we should have
been if we were going to slip straight into orbit,” he added. “We can’t count
on them making the same mistake again. “They’ll get off another volley about a
minute before we hit atmo.”

“Very well,” the captain said calmly as he
activated his headset, opening a radio channel to the other two ships. It
allowed ship-to-ship coordination by encrypted burst transmissions. “Echo
Whiskey Squadron, this is Commodore Logan. All vessels weapons free; good
hunting, out.” He deactivated the headset as he turned to the fire control
cell. “Start shooting,” he growled. “I don’t care if you have a solution or
not; just start sending metal their way. We might not get a chance to use our
guns again.”

Though modified to carry the communications
gear, the three ships of the EW Squadron were still frigates and the frigates
were originally designed for one purpose - to pour fire on the enemy. The
Willsen
still carried fifty five guns of varying size, ranging from 30 mm Gatling
guns to 155mm smoothbores.

Mickey felt a low rumble through the ship
as the turret mounts rotated to bear on a point near the enemy ships. At this
speed, they had to trail their targets in order to have any chance of impacting
them. The fire control team used some of the most powerful computers Earth
could provide in calculating the outbound trajectories.
Just like the army
used ENIAC for the same thing in the forties,
she realized,
 except
it wasn’t done in real time.

A drum-beat of distant explosions began to
sound throughout the ship. Though the turrets were soundproofed, some sound
always found its way into the ship and the shock of the recoil was partially
translated throughout the vessel’s bulkheads. A constant buzz came from the
twenty Gatling guns as they spit out a hail of 30 mm depleted uranium rounds.
It sounded like a swarm of giant hornets had infested the ship. Though nobody
had any idea whether the outgoing ordinance would have an effect on the enemy,
it made the crew feel better to be firing back.

“One-minute countdown to atmospheric entry
on my mark.” A navigation officer held up his hand as he watched the screen.
“Mark.” A sixty-second timer appeared on every screen throughout the ship.

Mickey reached out and dragged the timer up
to the top right corner of her touch screen before tightening her restraints
for the fifth time in seven minutes. She double-checked the transmitter
diagnostics and tried not to think about what was coming.

“Electromagnetic spike,” the sensor
operator yelled.

“Fire control, all Vulcans to fire directly
at the enemy vessels. Disable the trailing calculation, NOW,” the captain’s
grim face brooked no argument from fire control and they adjusted accordingly,
despite their blank looks. “Seal bulkheads and brace for impact,” he announced
calmly over the intercom.

“Thirty seconds to atmo,” the navigation
officer announced, sounding like he was talking about nothing more important
than a minor dip in the NASDAQ.

Who the hell would be crazy enough to
want a job like this?
Mickey’s eyes were riveted to
the display showing the alien ships. A rash of reddish orange dimples started
appearing around them.

“Looks like energy shielding. None of our
rounds are penetrating,” the sensor officer commented. “Now the question is,
can they fire while they have shielding active?” His answer came almost
immediately as the rounds started impacting the ships directly. Clouds of
plasma erupted from the enemy bows yet again and everyone held their breath.

“For what we are about to receive…”
muttered the communications officer to Mickey’s right.

There was a brilliant flash just over five
hundred kilometers from the
Willsen
and the fire control officer looked
at the captain with an admiring shake of his head. “Quick thinking, Sir. The
incoming projectile must have impacted a round from one of our Vulcans.”

At 6,000 rounds per minute the twenty
Vulcans that had visibility on the target had been able to put a deadly haze of
more than 100,000 depleted uranium rounds between them and the enemy. Designed
as a close-in weapon system for use against incoming missiles, it was a miracle
that they had proven effective against the higher-velocity round from the enemy
rail-gun. The two projectiles had met at a combined speed of almost twenty
thousand kilometers per hour and little more than vapor remained. Unlike their
radar-aimed cousins on Earth ships, these guns had been used to throw out a
random defensive screen and it had worked - this time.

“The
Morse
has been hit,” the sensor
coordinator announced. “It looks like she’s been completely broken up: we read
nothing larger than a few meters across.” Logan clenched his fists but said
nothing.

One hit and the Morse disintegrates?
Mickey shivered.
Why exactly did I insist on coming along for
this? Name one ship after me and I get delusions of grandeur…

The counter on her screen reached zero and
she looked expectantly around the room. Nothing seemed to be happening. She was
just about to remark on it when a slight moan ran through the ship. Another
followed and then a series of almost imperceptible shudders. The disturbances
began to grow and Mickey soon felt as though she was sitting in the back of a
pickup as it drove over a rough track. The screens showing the enemy ships went
blank.

“We’re blind for the next five minutes
until we bounce back out,” Lieutenant Commander Kelvin, the intelligence
officer, announced. He nodded to one of his men and the main screen showed a
replay of the enemy ships during the brief shield-drop. The results were
unmistakable, without their powerful shields the enemy ships were horribly
vulnerable.

“Mix of kinetic and HE,” the officer said
with relish, looking over at Logan. “The 155mm uranium tears open a hole and
the high explosive rounds rip out their guts once they make it inside. Contact
was drifting off station as we lost visual and there is no evidence of an
electromagnetic buildup.” He crossed himself as he stared up at the screen. “I
think we crippled her.”

“And the other ship?” Logan asked quietly.

“Can’t say,” Kelvin answered simply. “They
could be lining up a shot on us right now while we’re blind.”

“Or they could be turning to face the other
sixteen ships that are still on their way.” Logan sounded confident in his
assessment. “We may be blind but they aren’t and they have to know by now that
our current speed and trajectory will fling us out of the atmosphere on the
other side of the planet and leave us out of the fight for now.”

“I figure the chances are roughly even, but
that means they might get one more shot at us.” Kelvin shrugged. “Good thing we
still have two ships.”

“You know, I think the galley switched from
grounds to crystals last week,” the captain mused. A few of the bridge crew
chuckled. “Miracle of modern science,” he went on. “I hear the UN spent
millions to develop a zero-G coffee maker and what does Bob do? He gives up
coffee.”

The chuckles grew as Kelvin smiled and
played along. “You might be happy drinking out of a colostomy bag but I’ll wait
till we get home, thanks.”

Mickey thought they had completely lost
their minds but then she looked at the faces in the CIC. Men and women whose
faces had shown fear a moment ago were now smiling at the ridiculous banter of
the two officers. It was completely out of character for them but they were
putting on this show to take the crew’s minds off the even chance of gruesome
death. She marveled at the kind of officer that could come up with something
like that, knowing he may never see his children again.

“Coming back out,” announced the nav
officer.

“Very well,” Logan answered, triggering his
headset. “All hands, stand by for maneuvering.”

The turbulence trailed off and suddenly the
screens came back to life as the
Willsen
lifted her bow out of the
plasma flare.

“Where is the contact?” Logan asked calmly.

“Out of sight behind the planet.” Kelvin
was hovering over his operator’s shoulder. “Looks like we’re on our own for the
moment. The
Bell
went a bit deeper into the atmosphere than us but she
should bounce out any minute.”

“Very well. Helm, bring us about and set
the engines to full military thrust.” He touched his headset. “All hands, set
condition two throughout the ship. Brace for maneuvering.” The maneuvering
thrusters fired and he lurched against his restraints as he looked over at
Mickey. “Well, Major, in another fifteen minutes, the spotlight shifts to you.
I hope this works.”

You’re not the only one,
  she thought as she checked the diagnostics again. She felt a
flutter in her stomach.
Because of you, they built this squadron and now the
crew of the Morse will never see their families again.
She forced herself
to snap out of it.
If this works, sixteen other crews have a much better
chance of making it home.