A Ghost
22 May 2022MdN
Preface to: Death of a FriendIt was Alioth at the height of its war for independence. A pair of Federation Vipers patrolled above Wicca's World helping to enforce security between it and the Coriolis star port of Aachen Town orbitting above. Fighting had been fierce for a few days with both Alliance and Federal forces taking key objectives planetside, but Aachen remained firmly under Federation control. The last day or so had seen a lull in hostilities, the calm before the storm perhaps, or just exhaustion on both sides.
"Red flight, Aachen control," a female voice crackled over the lead Viper's comms. It was flight control operating out of Aachen Town.
"Aachen, go ahead."
Red flight was tasked with intercepting any Alliance traffic in the sector. They were coming to the end of their patrol. It had been a quiet one, Red One thought. 'Thank God,' he caught himself muttering, the entire squadron needed a rest.
"We've just lost contact with a pair of heavies in sector 2. They're about 500Ls from your position, en route from Alioth 1. Please investigate, over."
"Heavies" meant Type 9s. Packed to the brim with supplies, the Federation operated a steady logistics chain of those big ugly brutes around the clock. That would be a juicy target for any Alliance forces in the area, but Red One didn't expect there to be any. No fighter escort though, he shook his head, that decision had been taken above his pay grade. The briefing had made it clear that the trade route security patrols were intended to negate the need for wasteful individual escorts. Crazy he thought, strategic minds not recognising tactical realities. It was a long way from Alioth 1 to Wicca's World, over 4kLs. He knew there were big gaping holes in the security patrols along the route.
Red One took a quick glance at his instruments, the fuel gauge was getting low and the intercept would move them further from Aachen's fuel terminals.
"Aachen, we'll soon need to RTB for refuelling."
"Just a quick look around, Red One. You're all we have available in that area."
They could spare a few minutes to look around, he conceded. It was likely to be a comms malfunction anyway, something about the star's cycles had become notorious for interference lately. The tech guys were scratching their heads for the cause, but these things happened everywhere.
"Copy that, Aachen. We can afford the detour."
"Thank you Red one. Be careful out there. Aachen out."
They'd been patrolling in super-cruise, checking out every contact that blipped on the scanner. The two heavies were well outside sensor range so they'd seen no sign of them. He turned to look at his wingman's bright blue streak keeping pace with him in the not quite reality of super-cruise.
"Two, heading reference is 340. Firewall this one, and let's get it over with."
"Two, Copy"
In unison the two fighters accelerated towards their new destination. The only other contacts showing on sensors were green and thus identified as friendlies.
"So did you hear the rumour?" asked Two to kill time during the short hop.
Not another rumour thought Red One, these young kids these days do nothing but gossip: "About what?" he groaned.
"About the Ghost," clarified Two. "Heard he shot down six of our ships in less than 48 hours." Red One had heard the stories already. It was the same during every conflict, fighter pilot mythology. A phantom enemy used as an excuse for being careless. "Some mysterious black ship that doesn't show up on scanners, the guys say he can't die!"
"Right ..." he hoped he sounded sufficiently unimpressed. "I don't believe in ghosts, and I've never met a ship I can't kill," that bit wasn't entirely true, even Red One had run away occasionally. Not without causing damage though, wasn't that the point? "Now cut the slack and stay focused."
It wasn't long before they reached the coordinates.
"One, I have a very feint signal source."
"Two, Copy. let's drop in and take a look."
'It was feint as well,' thought One. His wingman had done well to spot that. They dropped out of supercruise simultaneously, Red One couldn't resist a smile at his young protege's progress. He was turning into a damn good flying officer, he knew.
"Two, do you see anything?" asked Red One. Nothing showed up on his scanners. Wreckage normally would do, and two Type 9 heavies would definitely leave a trace.
"Nothing yet, but something made that signal. Should we spread out to scanner range and execute a search grid?"
'It would be good practice for the young pilot if nothing else,' thought Red One.
"Two, roger that."
They set out in the standard Federation Navy search and rescue search grid. That put a few kilometres between the two ships, but allowed a greater area to be searched quickly, and they were low on fuel.
Suddenly an unnerved voice cackled over the comms: "One. I have visual on single band-err-buddy at my 4 o'clock."
"Where did he come from?" asked Red One, peering at his sensor screen. Still nothing shown.
It wasn't lost on Red One that his wingman's instinct was to designate the newcomer 'bandit' without confirmation. Tales of that damn ghost were making the squadron jittery.
"I don't know. It just appeared from nowhere. I have no radar contact."
Red One hit boost to quickly close the distance to his wingman.
"It's black as the night," Red Two gave the description while holding station. "I only saw it when the star light reflected off it."
"Something's not right," said Red One as he arrived on scene. "I get no sensor return from it, but I can bloody see it."
The almost invisible black ship was like a shadow. When they approached, it moved away, but held its distance. A vague outline that obscured the stars behind it, but of itself, little could be seen.
"Aachen, Red One," he reported back to the star port now some distance away. "Have visual on possible hostile in the SAR area."
"Red One, you're breaking ..." the reply cut out with static.
"Aachen? Aachen this is Red One, say again." There was no reply, not even the cackle of static.
Sometimes that just happened.
"Two, can you get a VID of that ship?"
The Viper broke formation to get a different angle on their mysterious neighbour.
"One. Best guess for unknown ship is Cobra Mk 3. No markings visible."
Well a Cobra Mk3 wasn't going to put up much of a fight against two navy Vipers. Odd that it just floated along next to them though.
"Two, hold station. Let me take a closer look," Red One said as he rolled the Viper over the bigger ship.
"One, roger that."
As he moved closer to the Cobra, it repeated it's earlier reaction of moving away almost in time.
'This is like magnetic repulsion,' he thought outloud. 'The more I push closer, the more he pushes away.' Unusual behaviour to say the least.
"Unidentified Cobra, this is Federal navy patrol Viper," he resorted to comms to get answers. "You are in a conflict zone, identify yourself."
He wasn't surprised to get no response.
"One, now you've moved him a little the star light is reflecting off multiple impacts over his hull."
Red One zoomed his cameras in for a closer look, but the Cobra was just a black shadow from his position.
"In fact, there's a gaping hole into the cargo bay," his wingman's voice was getting excited now. "This bird's in a bad way, maybe its comms are bent, let me get a look at the cockpit."
Red Two flew his Viper in front of the Cobra, but quickly realised his mistake. Red One saw a flash that lit up the hull his camera was zoomed in on, but just for a moment. It was pock marked with impact craters from cannon fire and scorched with thermal burns consistent with laser weapons.
"My God, he ..." Red One heard nothing else but static.
"Two?"
Nothing.
"Two, come in?"
Still no response. He looked at his sensors and saw a field of grey contacts indicating many small metalic objects in place of his wingman. He didn't notice the invisible shadow on the camera screen slide from view to be replaced by the blackness of space.
He spun the Viper on its axis to investigate, already knowing the worst. The carnage of a missile strike lay before him. Flames still burned through what remained of Red Two's fuel tanks as hull plates crashed into his shields.
'Shields,' the thought occurred to him, 'how did a single missile penetrate his shields and destroy the ship in one hit?"
Those thoughts were replaced by another thought: 'The Cobra.'
"Shit," he screamed, where had it gone? Sensors still showed no contacts, how could that be so? Even silent running had its limitations, but this thing, it was like a ...
Red One was an experienced fighter pilot, a veteran of many conflicts that the Federation had sent him to. He didn't panic in combat, others did, it was involuntary, some were just overcome, but not him. He knew experience and training would get him through any situation - it always had so far.
But this ship really was like a ...
He couldn't let that word manifest itself in his mind. He gripped the stick and threw the Viper around in a desperate attempt to spot the mysterious shadow again. Or was it just to distract him from the word that was forming, dangerously taking shape. He could feel the sweat in his flight suit, feel the adrenaline building inside.
'Find the damn ship,' he told himself silently. 'Focus on those words,' he knew he was losing his nerve. That word must not form.
He flicked off flight assist and hit boost while tugging on the stick. Bracing himself against the resultant G-forces as the Viper spun over and over, faster and faster. His eyes darting everywhere for a trace of that black shadow. But really, he knew he was just preventing that word from forming.
Then he found it. Or it found him. The huge black shadow engulfed him suddenly and he ducked instinctivly in his flight seat as it passed overhead close enough to touch. He braced for impact, there wasn't one.
'It truely is a GHOST,' the word popped out, his guard defeated. He was defenceless. He was at its mercy. He couldn't even see what was attacking him. How could he fight a ghost.
The Viper sat stationary, its pilot's mind frozen, confused.
"You are a combat veteran!" he yelled at himself in a desperate attempt to pull himself around.
"Beep beep beep," a piercing shrill came from the sensor suite.
Between the two his focus returned. His training knew how to handle an inbound missile, his fighter pilot instinct again took over.
"Oh shit, missile launch!" he yelled to no one in particular. "Break, break!"
Another boost and the ship lurched violently forwards once more. He yanked hard on the stick and it flipped over almost immediately. His fingers danced over the controls popping chaff as the Viper defied G-force to out turn the approaching instrument of death.
It screamed past him in the silence of space illuminated by brightly burning decoys.
"Aachen, Red One!" a desperate plea unlikely to be heard. "I'm being engaged by the ghost!"
Hopefully someone would hear his cry for help. He wasn't hopeful.
"Bullseye 131 for 96," he yelled out coordinates from his target search location. There was no one coming to save him, he realised.
Instinct guided his moves. The missile launch gave away his assailant's position. Red One pointed his Viper where he would have been if the tables were turned.
There! Dead ahead, the star field disappeared behind a sea of nothingness. The black shadow.
"Don't lose it now," he ordered himself. "Keep that bastard in view."
It was a shape, nothing more. His weapons wouldn't lock to it, and it's distance was just a guess.
"Die you bastard!" he screamed, shocked by his own emotion.
Two missiles were unleashed in its direction. Their fiery tales blinded his eyes for an instant, and he panicked when he thought he'd lost sight of the shape.
But it was still there, right ahead of his missiles.
"Hit it, damn you!" he screamed. And they did. Two small explosions as the missiles disintegrated against the hull of the Cobra. No fireball, no trigger of the warheads that he'd sent on their kill mission.
"Oh no," he said, as realisation dawned.
Electronic counter measures, the Cobra had simply fried the missiles' circuits during their approach and rendered each one useless. The small explosions just high speed collisons between metalic objects.
"Aachen, please respond!" tears now. Sobbing over comms was common during conflicts. It made for sober lessons in training. You think you're tough? You think you're a hard combat pilot? Think again. Facing death will break any man.
It was still there, floating in front of him. He still had visual. It was spining around to head towards him.
"Okay, you bastard," tears streaming down his face now. A wild look in his eye that no one would see. They went head to head. Like jousting knights of old. The Viper's beam laser pointed forth like a sharpened lance. Both steads galloped towards each other at full speed.
He watched the Cobra's shields flair as the beam's energy was soaked up. A full salvo of pure energy hit those shields, they held. The Viper's energy banks were drained, he had nothing left for a second pass. He put the ship into a wide arc back towards the Cobra anyway.
He missed the lack of response from the ghostly shadow.
Suddenly more beeping. A missile locked him up from behind.
"Who the hell is this guy?"
More evasive manoevures. He popped off another half dozen chaffs to brighten up the sky. But still the missile came.
"Come on. I can't shake him!"
A last minute jerk on the stick rewarded him with the view of a burning missile flying over his cockpit. More beeping. Another missile.
"Second missile! Breaking right." Training told him to call the threats, instinct made it happen. There was no one to listen.
Another tight turn while popping numerous chaff. He must be nearly out, but for now he had some. He got lucky, the chaff confused the second missile. It continued straight ahead, ignoring the Viper's turn.
He caught a glimpse of his foe as the star reflected off it for an instant.
"He's coming around," he noticed, "trying to get on my six." He had a plan for this move. It was his signature piece that always left his trainees dumbfounded.
"Come on, get a little closer!" the Cobra was now tight to his tail, expecting an easy kill shot.
He knew it was coming, his hands were poised over the controls waiting for the beeps.
"Now!" he drowned out the missile warning alarm. Familiarity took over. Reverse thrust slammed him against the straps as his hands gripped the stick, pulling and twisting while fighting for conciousness against the high G's. Any semblance of ship stability lost by the violent move. The Viper barrel rolled around the missile, too close to adjust its path. The Cobra shot past too.
He forced his eyes open. Vision blurry. In his sights as expected: the Cobra.
"I've got you." the missile lock flashed red on his hud.
"I've got tone - Fox two," as the missile shoots forwards. Too close this time to activate ECM, this one would hit. His beam laser once again lanced forwards too. A double whammy.
The Cobra had other ideas. A sudden vertical climb matched Red One's impossible stunt. His missile flew past as the beam fizzled against its shields again.
"You've got to be kidding me!"
'We're finishing this, right now,' he said to himself. As the Cobra went up, he pushed his stick down. They were locked in a loop battle in opposite directions that would end with a head to head shoot out. The more agile Viper would exit the loop first and thus have more time on target.
"Let's see what you're made of."
He was getting good at spotting the shadow against the star field behind. Besides, he now kept the camera view locked on his prey. This was it, this was the end, one way or another.
"I ain't afraid of dying," he screamed to convince himself. His prey wasn't listening.
"I ain't afraid of any ghost," owning the word he'd dreaded just moments before.
The two ships approached the bottom of their respective loops. Did the Cobra know what would be facing it? If it did, there was no sign of concern. Red One stared straight ahead, watching the larger ship slide towards his targetting reticle. Fingers twitching on triggers in anticipation of the kill.
Finally the time had come.
"Eat this!" he screamed as he squeezed three triggers at once. The beam laser burnt into the approaching shields but this time assisted by the multi-cannon and a pair of missiles. This was his last chance, and he was damn well throwing everything at the kill. The shields held for a while, but fell weaker and weaker as the two jousters approached for their re-match.
Still the Cobra didn't fire.
Just as the beam laser started to stutter, its energy supply running short and components starting to melt from the excess heat, the Cobra's shields finally crashed. Red One just caught sight of numerous impacts as his multi-cannon punched holes along the length of the wedge shaped hull.
As his Viper flew past he saw a glimpse of smoke escaping from it. He flicked the camera view to port which happily informed him of a kill. The smoking Cobra, spinning and tumbling out of control into the distance behind him.
"Splash one - yeehaaaaaa!" he yelled with a fist pump.
He allowed himself a victory roll as he sat back in the chair, closed his eyes and took a giant deep breath. That had been the closest call of his career.
"Aachen, Red One. I'm Bingo and RTB," another attempt to contact flight control. "Aachen, are you out there?" There was still no response. Exhausted, he allowed himself a few minutes to sit and get his heart rate under control.
Beep beep beep!
"What the hell!"
He was jolted alert again by another missile threat. This time a ship flashed red on his scanner, the HUD reported a Cobra Mk3. The white marker of a missile was screaming towards him.
Boost.
Chaff.
A yank on the stick.
More Chaff.
But this time there was no chaff and the missile followed the tight curve of the Viper.
The beeping got more intense as the distance closed between ship and destruction.
It didn't hit.
It didn't have to.
It reached a pre-specified distance from the ship and simply exploded.
The pressure waves did the rest.
Red One was slammed against the straps of his seat, but was already dead. The pressure hitting the cockpit crushed the hull, and turned his body to a bag of mush. Red One was no more. Fires burst out all over the Viper as oxygen met accelerant and scorching hot steel. What was once a Viper, hung burning in space. The flames would soon die as the gasses escaped into the vacuum leaving nothing to burn. An empty hulk of steel.
"Red One, Aachen," came a familiar voice over the radio. Red One would never hear it. "Do you copy?"
There was silence over the airwaves.
"Hang on Red One, rescue is on the way."
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A dark shadow slowly floated beside the broken shell of what was once a Viper. The shadow was not quite a mat black Cobra Mk3. It was slightly bigger and had a number of protrusions the standard ship would never bear. The special mat black paint absorbed most of the light shone at it, leaving a hole where there was in fact a ship. Against a black background, it was nigh invisible.
Its pilot looked out at the crippled Viper, not with pleasure or joy, but with sadness.
'A fine pilot,' he thought as he watched the tomb float away, 'an unecessary death.'
He looked at the instruments, still concerned by the level of hull damage to his ship.
"Minerva," he asked, although he was alone onboard, "are you sure the hull's okay?"
"Of course, Richard," came the reply, and after a brief delay calculated to instill confidence in the response. "5% integrity but all of our essential systems are fully intact - you're in no danger."
Sometimes Richard de Nigh wondered if the ship was out to kill him.
"Well, let's head back to Olgrea and book you in for repairs," he said. "Our work here is done, for now."