Monica perked up. “You heard something?”
“Nothing official, not yet, but the repairs are almost completed,” Richard said. “Do you think they’re going to let an assault carrier sit around doing nothing when there’s a war on?”
“I’ve already got ten pounds on us leading the assault into enemy lines,” Monica said. “Do you want to place a bet?”
Richard shook his head, firmly. Gambling had always been a problem on Royal Navy vessels, although senior officers tended to turn a blind eye as long as the stakes weren’t too high. They were also supposed to set a good example by not gambling themselves, at least not in public. Richard had no difficulty following that rule. He’d learnt the hard way that his luck didn’t cover gambling.
“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Monica said. “They’ll give us some time to get used to our new fighters before we go to war, right?”
“If they realise there might be a problem,” Richard said. The maggots - the new graduates - wouldn’t be a problem. They’d flown Hawks in the simulators, if they hadn’t actually taken them into deep space. The reservists, on the other hand, might need more time to brush up their skills. “We may be doing our training as we travel to our next target.”
He closed his eyes for a long moment. Invincible was an assault carrier. She wasn’t designed to sit around defending a fixed target. No, she was designed to go on the offensive. Richard had no doubt they’d be heading back to Alien-1 as soon as the ship was cleared to depart. And then ... he shook his head. He had no qualms about shooting enemy pilots, but he’d never contemplated facing enemy pilots who were nothing more than puppets for an alien virus. God alone knew how many unknown races had been woven together into a viral empire. Did the virus’s victims know they were enslaved?
It doesn’t matter, he told himself, firmly. You have to kill them or they will very definitely kill you.
His wristcom bleeped. It was time to meet the new pilots.
“Come on,” he said. “It’s time.”
Richard couldn’t help feeling a flicker of relief as he walked through the airlock into Pilot Country. It had been strange over the past few weeks, with him and Monica rattling around like peas in a pod; Invincible had felt almost like a ghost ship. It was a relief to finally have some new pilots and starfighters, even though the lack of experienced personnel meant that he was going to have to take more and more on himself until the reservists were up to speed. He’d already shovelled more of his work onto Monica than was good for him. If the XO had noticed and made a fuss ...
He put the thought aside as he strode into the briefing compartment, Monica right behind him. The pilots hastily put their eReaders, datapads and newspapers away and snapped to attention. Richard surveyed them for a long moment, easily separating the reservists from the newly-graduated. The latter looked too eager to be true. They hadn’t realised, not yet, just how poor their odds of survival were. The reservists, on the other hand, understood all too well.
“At ease,” Richard ordered. “Welcome onboard HMS Invincible.”
He waited for the pilots to relax, then leaned forward. “I won’t give you any bullshit, not while you’re under my command. Whatever you’ve heard through the grapevine or seen on the news, rest assured that the situation is worse. We’re going up against an enemy that can take over our very bodies, if it can get a grip on us. Thankfully” - he allowed himself a cold smile - “they can’t get to you in your cockpits. They’ll be trying to kill you instead.
“We don’t pretend to understand their thinking. There were times when they pushed the offensive against us, regardless of casualties, and times when they simply ignored us as long as we didn’t engage them directly. Given their nature, intelligence believes that we can expect to see suicide attacks as well as more ... conventional tactics. They are so alien, ladies and gentlemen, that their behaviour may be completely unpredictable. Even the Tadpoles, as weird as they are, use understandable tactics. These guys do not.”
He smiled, thinly. “They also use a mixture of spacecraft and weapons that range from the primitive to the frighteningly advanced. Their best starfighters appear to be slightly better than ours, their worst are nothing more than target practice. Again, we don’t understand why they haven’t upgraded or simply junked their older craft. It’s tempting to believe that they’re incapable of operating shipyards, and the starships we saw were all captured in battle, but that might be just whistling in the dark. There’s no reason to believe they cannot build and operate a shipyard if they feel the need. And they will feel the need.
“I expect each and every one of you to review the records from Alien-1. See if you spot any patterns, anything that might have been missed. Bear in mind that those records have been used to build simulator programs. What you see in the records is what you will be facing in the simulators.”
Richard took a long breath. “Are there any questions?”
“Yes, sir,” a newly-graduated pilot said. He didn’t look old enough to shave. “Why are reservists being pushed ahead of active-duty pilots?”
Monica snorted. Richard shot her a warning look.
“Ideally, there would be a cadre of experienced pilots on this ship and the reservists - and new pilots like yourself - would be slotted into place below them,” Richard said, with a patience he didn’t feel. “By the time a place ... ah ... opened up for promotion, you would know what you are doing. Instead, we have two experienced pilots and sixty newcomers who are either inexperienced or haven’t sat in a cockpit for years. The reservists are going ahead because they know their ass from their elbow. Alright?”
The newcomer flushed and sat down rather quickly. Richard concealed his amusement with an effort. He’d thought his high standing during basic training would translate into a higher position on his first ship too, although he hadn’t managed to put his foot in his mouth quite so badly. And his superiors had been very experienced. He felt a flicker of envy. He’d sell his soul for a dozen experienced officers who could take the younger ones in hand.
“We will be spending the next few days in the simulators,” he told them. “All of us. When we’re not eating or sleeping, we will be in the simulators. We’re going to go through everything before I let you take your starfighters out for a test flight - and fight. And then we’re going to drill and drill and drill until you can do everything in your sleep. By the time we encounter the enemy, I want to be ready.”
He made a show of looking at his wristcom and checking the time. “We’ll start drilling in ten minutes,” he said. “Go take a piss, if you need one, or just head straight to the simulators. I want you all in your cockpits and ready to go. Anyone who isn’t ready to depart will be in deep shit. Squadron commanders, remain behind; everyone else, dismissed.”
The briefing compartment emptied rapidly. Richard watched them go, wondering which of the pilots would become aces, which ones would cause him trouble and which ones wouldn’t survive their first encounter with the enemy. The reservists, at least, should be slightly more mature than the newly-graduated pilots. They’d have served on ships before returning to civilian life. He took a breath and turned to his new officers. If only they weren’t almost as green as their new subordinates.
“We’ll be spending a lot of time together over the next few days,” he said, studying the small group. “I hope you’re ready to do your duty.”
“I was called away from a comfortable armchair, sir,” Flight Lieutenant Gabby Rancher said, tartly. She was a slight woman, but her cold eyes suggested she wasn’t someone who could be messed with. “I hope this is not going to be a long deployment.”
Richard raised his eyebrows. “What were you doing back home?”
“Running a store, if you must know,” Gabby said. “It will all collapse without me.”
“I can’t make any promises,” Richard said. “It may be a very long deployment indeed.”
“They always are,” Flight Lieutenant Hamster Aberdeen said. He was mus
cular enough to pass for a Royal Marine - and bulky enough that Richard couldn’t help wondering how he’d fit into a starfighter cockpit. “Personally, I’m quite looking forward to it. Not being able to talk to my ex-wife is quite a pleasant thought.”
Monica leaned forward. “However did you get a name like Hamster?”
“My parents were sadists,” Aberdeen said. “They thought that a shitty name would force me to learn how to defend myself. I haven’t spoken to them in years.”
“My condolences,” Richard said. “Are you ready to take command of a squadron?”
“I’m going to give it the old college try,” Aberdeen assured him. “You do realise, though, that my only experience of squadron command lasted thirty minutes? Outside simulations, I mean.”
Richard nodded. He’d read the man’s record very carefully. Aberdeen had assumed command of his squadron after his CO had been killed, keeping the formation together until it could return to the carrier. Technically, Aberdeen should have stayed in command - it was practically tradition - but the CAG had put someone else in command instead. Richard had gone through the files with a fine-toothed comb, trying to see if there was any reason for the effective demotion, only to discover that nothing had been written down. Perhaps the CAG had a senior pilot who had more squadron experience.
It would still have been a slap in the face for Aberdeen, Richard thought. And it might have been why he left the navy the following year.
“You still have more experience than most of the newcomers,” he said, out loud. “And you’ll have a chance to get much more.”
He looked at Flight Lieutenant Regina Freehold. “And you? Are you ready?”
“I am as ready as I will ever be,” Regina said. She had an odd accent, one Richard couldn’t place. He made a note to reread her file. “But I have never commanded men in combat before.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” Monica said. “You just have to pretend you know what you’re doing until ... until it’s actually true.”
“We’ll all be in the simulators,” Richard said. “I'm not expecting wonders, but I am expecting you to set a good example.”
He glanced at his wristcom. “We have five minutes,” he said. “Dismissed. We’ll have a more formal chat later.”
Monica grinned at him as the reservists left the room. “It could be worse,” she said. “We could have nothing but maggots.”
Richard groaned. “Someone’s been watching Stellar Star XVI too many times.”
“It was very educational when I was a teenager,” Monica said. “And it helped me decide what I wanted to do with my life.”
“I don’t want to know,” Richard said. He held up a hand to ward off any further disclosures. “I really do not want to know.”
Monica shrugged. “More seriously, the maggots have nothing to unlearn. They have all the skills they need to get the experience that will keep them alive. The reservists ... well, they have something to unlearn. Hopefully, we can iron out all the bugs in their training before they actually take their craft into space. The simulator is a great place to make mistakes.”
“I know,” Richard said. Simulated disasters weren’t real, even if the instructors had chewed him out for mistakes that would - in real life - have killed him. “But we have to pretend that it is real.”
“So no letting them fly along a trench and blasting a torpedo into a concealed air vent,” Monica said. She looked thoughtful, just for a second. “You know, we could have done that with the Tornadoes.”
“If we didn’t mind being blown out of the air,” Richard said. He took a long breath. “You’d better get going. We have two minutes.”
“A girl is always fashionably late,” Monica said. She leaned closer. He could feel her breath on his face. “Do you regret saying no?”
Richard swallowed, hard. Monica had tried to seduce him, the night they’d returned to Earth. He’d turned her down, even though he’d been tempted. Very tempted. Monica was beautiful and fit and ... Parts of his body had been telling him what a fool he’d been for weeks. And yet ... she was his subordinate. He couldn’t sleep with her or they’d both be cashiered.
“No,” he lied. “I have a job to do. And so do you.”
Monica shrugged and walked through the hatch. Richard carefully averted his eyes as he sat back and surveyed the empty room. Sixty newcomers, almost all strangers ... they’d remain strangers too, at least until they saw the elephant. Richard had no illusions. Too many of the men and women under his command would die in the first engagement. He wondered, morbidly, which one would be the first to die. The man who looked as if he’d stepped off a recruiting poster? The pretty brunette? The young man who seemed to be desperately in need of a growth spurt? Or would it be one of the reservists?
He shook his head as he stood and walked out of the room. There was no point in getting close to any of them, not yet. Perhaps not ever. He hated to lose people under his command, but he knew he would. There was no way to avoid it. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he forced them to train, some of his pilots were going to die. The aliens would blow them out of space, killing them instantly. Only a handful of pilots had managed to eject while under enemy fire.
But I’ll do everything in my power to keep them alive, he promised himself. And bring them back home safely.
And yet he knew, all too well, that it was a promise he couldn’t keep.
Chapter Four
“The First Space Lord will see you now, Captain.”
Stephen rose and followed the midshipwoman through the door and into a large office. It was surprisingly bare for a room designed more for show than substance, although a large painting of HMS Warspite blowing a hole in an Indian carrier was mounted on the far wall, allowing the First Space Lord to turn and see his greatest triumph. A single desk sat in the middle of the room, flanked by a handful of chairs. Admiral Sir John Naiser himself was seated behind the desk. He looked up expectantly as Stephen was shown into the room.
“Captain Shields,” he said. “Please, take a seat.”
“Sir,” Stephen said.
He sat down and waited, keeping his face under tight control. Admiral Sir John Naiser was a legend. He’d flown starfighters, hunted renegade humans, discovered a whole new alien race and served in the brief Anglo-Indian War before commanding the task force that had put an end to the Second Interstellar War. They’d met before, of course, but Stephen’s admiration was undiminished. Admiral Sir John Naiser’s life read like a storybook. Only Theodore Smith could be said to stand above Sir John in the Royal Navy’s pantheon of heroes.
And Admiral Smith died in combat, like Nelson, Stephen thought. We never got to see him grow old.
“The Board of Inquiry has finished its deliberations,” Sir John said. “After much careful consideration - and study of the evidence, of course - they have decided that your actions, based on what you knew at the time, were completely justified. Some of them feel that you acted a little rashly at times, but - given that you had an urgent need to both gather intelligence and rescue your missing crewmen - the others overrode them. Accordingly, there will be no court-martial and you may return to your ship.”
Stephen let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. The Board of Inquiry had made the decision it had been told to make by its political superiors. And that meant ... what? Had someone decided there wasn’t enough evidence to make the charges stick if Stephen went before a court-martial? Or had Duncan and his allies made a string of backroom deals to ensure that Stephen wouldn’t be charged? It made Stephen’s blood boil to think that someone might have escaped justice because he had friends in high places, even though he had family in high places. If he were to be cleared of all charges, he would have been preferred to be cleared of all charges for the right reasons.
You should be grateful, he told himself, severely. A court-martial would look bad on your record even if you were cleared of all charges.
“Thank you, sir,”
he said, finally. “It was ... it was a concern.”
Sir John’s lips twitched. “I’m sure it was, Captain,” he said. “Unfortunately, there are other ... issues involved. I assume you’ve been following the news?”
“Yes, sir,” Stephen said. The news, and Duncan’s private briefings. “I’m not exactly flavour of the month, am I?”
“No, Captain,” Sir John said. “There are people - too many people - who blame you for the virus. No sensible person could reasonably blame you for its mere existence, but you know what they say about crowds. They’re only half as smart as the stupidest person in them. I believe it would be a good idea to get you and your crew out of the solar system - out of sight and mind - for a few months, just to let things cool off a little.”
“I see,” Stephen said, irked. Commander Daniel Newcomb had told him that Invincible’s crew hadn’t been allowed down to the surface, but he hadn’t realised it was more than just an ill-judged attempt to prevent infection. “Where do you want us to go?”
Para Bellum Page 4