Fighting For The Crown (Ark Royal Book 16)

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  He put the thought out of his head as he keyed his terminal, bringing up the operational plan. It was surprisingly simple, for a concept devised by a desk jockey. Thomas guessed that Admiral Onarina had outlined the basic idea, then given it to her staff to develop. There were a number of question marks - the outline was honest about the things the planners didn’t know, starting with how many ships would be assigned to the mission - but there were no obvious flaws. The notes insisted that the entire operation had been wargamed, with the good guys winning more often than they’d lost. Thomas wasn’t impressed by that. There were so many unknowns, particularly on the far side of enemy-held space, that the wargame parameters were little more than uneducated guesses. For all he knew, the virus was fighting on multiple fronts and the fleets humanity had destroyed were little more than a drop in the bucket. There was just no way to be sure.

  Not until we go find out, he thought. If they’re building catapults on such a scale ...

  “This should be fun,” Captain Campbell said. “A strike right into the heart of the evil empire itself.”

  “No doubt,” Thomas thought, with a flicker of irritation. He just didn’t like the younger officer. “And total defeat staring us right in the face if we lose.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Wake up,” Marigold said, urgently. “We’ve arrived.”

  Tobias gritted his teeth as he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The barracks hadn’t been comfortable. He’d never liked sharing a compartment with his fellow gunboat crew, let alone a bunch of strangers from a dozen different military branches. And being in the male barracks had been the worst of it. Marigold had been on the other side of the complex. Tobias understood the logic, but it still galled him.

  He felt oddly naked even though he was in his shipsuit. His carryall had been lost in the hotel, contents thrown into the fire rather than decontaminated and returned. He hadn’t had much with him, beyond several sets of clothes and a couple of souvenirs that hadn’t been worth the money he’d paid for them, but it was still annoying. Thankfully, his uniforms had been left onboard ship. He could purchase most of what he needed when he returned to the planet ...

  If I ever do, he thought, as they headed to the airlock. I might not come back.

  He tried not to think about it as the gravity field twisted under his feet. The air smelt familiar, as if he were coming home. Lion wasn’t his home and yet, in a way, she was. He flew his gunboat away from the battlecruiser and then returned to a welcome bunk and a rest before doing it again and again ... he shook his head. He’d been told it would be a while before the Royal Navy put more missile-heavy battlecruisers into production, even though Lion had proved herself. He was quite likely to spend the rest of his career on the battlecruiser.

  The thought mocked him as he stepped into the checkpoint. A pair of marines stood there, wearing masks and spacesuits. Tobias tensed, recognising Colin even through the mask. He knew his old bully too well to mistake him for anyone else, despite the protective garb. It was all he could do to stand still as Colin pressed a sampler against his neck, then did the same to Marigold. Tobias had to fight not to say something in protest. Colin was only carrying out his orders ...

  He’s grown up, Tobias told himself. Colin and he had reached an understanding, he supposed, and yet ... there were times when he wished he’d taken the shot that would have blown Colin into atoms. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t have gotten away with it. There’d been so much confusion that it was unlikely anyone would have realised the accident hadn’t been an accident at all. He’s changed, for the better.

  “You’re clear,” Colin said. The voice was the same, even though the suit. Colin’s insults had never been very clever, but they’d never had to be. “I have orders to see you two to sickbay.”

  Tobias nodded, not trusting himself to speak. There’d been a time when Colin would have happily humiliated him in front of Marigold. The only reason Colin hadn’t done it in front of his girlfriend at school was that he hadn’t had a girlfriend. There was nothing like being a useless cowardly wimp to convince the girls to look somewhere - anywhere - else. Now ... Tobias tried not to flinch as they started to walk. The starship was clearly preparing for a hasty departure. Hundreds of crew - and yarddogs - thronged the corridors, carrying out repairs or transporting spare parts to the hold. Tobias stepped to one side as a trio of marines ran past, carrying a device that looked like a portable mecha. He hadn’t seen anything like it outside a video game.

  “We’ve been placed on twenty-four-hour warning to depart,” Colin said. He sounded a little calmer now they were alone. “Did you hear the news from London?”

  “We were there,” Tobias said. He wondered, suddenly, how many people Colin had killed. Hundreds, probably, if not thousands. He’d bet good money Colin slept well, too. Tobias had had nightmares about the man he’d killed, even if it had been in self-defence. “It was pretty bad.”

  “No way!” It was hard to be sure, but Colin sounded impressed. “Really?”

  “Yes.” Marigold’s voice was flat. “We were there.”

  Tobias said nothing as they reached sickbay and stepped through the hatch. The air was bright with UV lights, his skin itching under the glare. Doctor Patty Haugen waved to them, then pointed to a pair of chairs. She didn’t seem to be taking the risk of infection seriously, Tobias decided, although he supposed she had a point. There was no reason to think that either Marigold or himself were infected. Their wristcoms certainly hadn’t signalled an alert to anyone.

  “I’ll see you later,” Colin said. “Good luck.”

  “Yeah,” Tobias said. “Later.”

  The doctor tested their blood, then nodded thoughtfully. “Clean,” she said, as she pushed more sensors against their bare skin. “No hints you might have been infected, or otherwise influenced. Quite clear, all things considered.”

  Tobias breathed a sigh of relief. He’d known he hadn’t been infected ... no, he hadn’t really known. How could he? It wasn’t as if it was something he could control. There was no way he could have been entirely sure he was uninfected. A person could become contagious long before they started to show symptoms, spreading the disease without ever knowing what they were doing. His blood ran cold. The virus had found a way to speed the infection up. What if it had found a way to slow things down?

  “Thank you,” Marigold said. “Are we really going to depart tomorrow?”

  “We’ve been placed on alert, but it’s meaningless,” the doctor said. “Realistically, we could be leaving any time from tomorrow to next week. I suspect it means the brass themselves aren’t sure when we’ll be leaving.”

  “Hurry up and wait,” Tobias said.

  “Quite,” the doctor agreed. “Better to be ready to go - and not need to go - then to be unready to depart.”

  She made a shoeing motion at the hatch. “I’ve performed the basic scans. There’s no hint you need anything more complex for your routine physicals. I’ll be seeing you again, but right now you’re at the back of the list. Hopefully, nothing will happen to change that.”

  Tobias nodded as he stood and headed for the hatch. He’d never liked the routine medical examinations that had been a part of his life since childhood, even when they’d been conducted by professional doctors rather than underpaid nurses. The school had always been more interested in boys who were fit enough to play football and other games ... he shook his head. It had been pointless then and it was even more pointless now. Colin had been a sporty bastard at school, and what had he become? A Royal Marine! Tobias would have been more impressed if he hadn’t been sure Colin had been conscripted into the bootnecks.

  “It could be worse,” Marigold said, as they walked down the corridor. “If either of us had been infected ...”

  “I know.” Tobias didn’t want to think about it. “We were lucky.”

  He shivered, again, as they reached gunboat country. The compartment seemed largely empty, somewhat to his surprise. They’d taken the
early shuttle, but he’d always had the impression that half the squadron had remained on duty. The bunk beds looked unclaimed, the nametags on the headboards blank ... he shrugged as he put his jacket on the bunk nearest the washroom, then headed down to check the storage compartment. His handful of possessions should have been left there.

  “Tobias,” a voice said. “And Marigold. Welcome home.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Tobias said. Colonel Richard Bagehot - they shared the same first name, but Tobias was sure no one had tried to make fun of the colonel’s name - was an odd duck, a strange mixture of drill instructor, cheerleader and father-figure. He could switch from being warm, friendly and approachable to stern and cold in the blink of an eye. “What happened to the others?”

  “The squadrons are being reorganised,” Bagehot informed him. “Two-thirds of the original group have already been reassigned, to share their knowledge elsewhere. You two will be in charge of the new pilots, when they arrive. I expect you to show them the ropes.”

  “We’ll do our best, sir,” Marigold said. “Does the assignment come with extra pay?”

  “No, but it does come with a commendation for good work,” Bagehot said. “If, of course, you do a good job. You’re not going to replace me - at least, not yet - and we’re not asking you to train new pilots from scratch, but we do want you to answer the questions your instructors didn’t know to ask.”

  Tobias smiled to hide his consternation. “What is the price of sliced ham, per portion?”

  Bagehot fixed him with a stern look. “Relevant questions.”

  “We’ll do our best,” Marigold said, again. “When will the newcomers arrive?”

  “This afternoon, unless their shuttle gets retasked again on short notice,” Bagehot said, a hint of irritation entering his voice. “There haven’t been any formal orders, not yet, but - from what I’ve heard - we’re going to be departing in a fortnight. And we’re not the only ones. Flights from Luna have been rescheduled or cancelled or ...”

  He shook his head. “That’s well above your pay grade,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. Get some rest, spend some time thinking about what you wish you’d known, when you became gunboat pilots. Make sure you add it to your reports, too. People who’ve never flown a gunboat in their lives are so ignorant that they’re ignorant of their own ignorance. You have to make sure they know, at least on paper, what to expect.”

  Tobias frowned as Bagehot left the room, the hatch hissing closed behind him. “What do we know that we don’t know?”

  “I don’t know.” Marigold laughed. “What do you wish you’d known before you started?”

  “I don’t know!” Tobias shook his head. “But seriously ...”

  He considered it for a long moment. He wasn’t sure what he could tell the newcomers that they didn’t already know. They’d slept in barracks while they’d been at the academy, unless they’d been permitted to commute from Clarke or one of the other lunar cities. It didn’t seem likely, somehow. Luna Academy was on the moon, but not of it. Flying gunboats? The new cadets would have practiced on simulations based on their first missions. Relationships with the rest of the ship’s crew? Somehow, Tobias doubted his experience was the sort of experience the newcomers should emulate. What were the odds of another bullied schoolboy finding his bully assigned to the same ship?

  Not as low as one might wish, Tobias thought. It wasn’t as if the navy gave much of a damn about our childhoods.

  “My mind has gone blank,” he confessed. “I can’t think of anything worth mentioning.”

  “We can show them around our compartment, if nothing else,” Marigold said, after a moment’s thought. “And we can show them how to tend to their craft.”

  Tobias nodded. Gunboat maintenance hadn’t been part of the training course. They’d had to pick the basics up from the engineering teams, when it had become apparent that the starship’s crew would be overstretched. Tobias knew he couldn’t build a drive system from scratch or repair a targeting system, but he could replace a damaged section - if he had a spare component on hand - or jury-rig a spare part intended for the battlecruiser if there was no other choice. Everything was designed to be modular anyway. And, in theory, he knew how to do a great deal more.

  In theory, he reminded himself. You’ve never done it in the real world.

  “True,” he said, finally. “And their questions might lead us to the answers.”

  He keyed the wall-mounted terminal, checking for orders. There were none, beyond the command to prepare for departure. Anything else was clearly classified well above him ... probably. It was unlikely Captain Hammond or his XO would have decided to prepare the ship for a hurried departure on a whim. The wear and tear on the equipment, and the crew, would be quite substantial.

  “No orders,” he said. “Where do you think we’re going?”

  “I have no idea,” Marigold said, primly. She picked up a datapad and looked up the records from the first few weeks onboard ship. “And, right now, I think it isn’t our problem.”

  ***

  “I trust you had a good leave?”

  Corporal Colin Lancaster straightened to attention as he followed Sergeant Ron Bowman into the officer’s compartment. It belonged to Captain Curt McConnell, but there was no sign of their superior officer. Colin was still very new to the Royal Marines - he was surprised he’d been allowed to keep his stripe, which he’d earned on his first deployment - yet he’d seen enough to be sure the ship was preparing for something important, perhaps even decisive.

  “It was ... interesting, Sarge,” Colin said. He’d resisted the temptation to go home, after discovering what had become of his old school friends. Cronies, as Tobias would probably have put it. “I went mountaineering instead.”

  “A good idea,” Bowman agreed. “And did anything interesting happen?”

  Colin smiled. “I rescued a girl called Clementine from certain death. She was very unhappy and said she didn’t need my help. But her father treated me to enough drinks to make up for it, so I went climbing with him the following day instead.”

  Bowman laughed. “Next time, tell a more convincing lie, or at least come up with some more interesting bullshit,” he said. “I know the song too.”

  “I met a mountaineering band,” Colin said. “It was one of their songs.”

  “Good, good,” Bowman said. He met Colin’s eyes, signalling they were about to get serious. “We don’t have any solid confirmation yet - everything keeps being changed - but it looks as if we’re going to get a full company of marines. The unit will end up at full strength, when all the movements have been completed. A handful of sections will be rotated out to share their experience. It’s quite possible we will be hitting another alien world.”

  Colin grimaced. “Shit.”

  “Quite.” Bowman looked him in the eye. “If everything goes as the CO plans, your platoon will be - technically - detached from the rest of the company. On paper, you’ll be a reserve unit. In practice, you have a very special duty.”

  “I see,” Colin lied. It wasn’t like the sergeant to dance around the subject. It suggested bad news. Ceremonial duties? It didn’t seem likely. Colin knew he wasn’t very photogenic. The guards outside Buckingham Palace, he’d been told, had all been chosen for their looks as well as their fighting skill. “Sarge ...”

  “You’ll have to integrate a very special soldier into your platoon,” Bowman explained. “And treat him as one of your own.”

  Colin blinked. “A foreigner?”

  It was possible, he supposed. American and French officers had been integrated into British military formations before, and vice versa. He’d never heard of one being integrated into the Royal Marines, although he supposed it was possible. Foreign officers and soldiers had been trained in British facilities ... he doubted, somehow, that the newcomer was American or French. They had their own training facilities. An Arab? That was going to be interesting.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Bowman s
aid. He picked up a datapad and held it out. “His real name is something none of us can pronounce, but we’re calling him Kevin.”

  Colin stared as he opened the file. The face wasn’t human. Very definitely not human. “A Vesy?”

  “Yes,” Bowman said. “Kevin - and no, I don’t know who suggested the name - has been assigned to the ship. There’s a complicated political quid pro quo involved, from what I’ve heard. He’s trained on human equipment, tactics and protocols ... according to the paperwork, he’s no better or worse than the average boot who’d just completed commando training.”

  “Fuck,” Colin said. “How the ...”

  “Read the file,” Bowman said. “Kevin has been assigned to your platoon. He’ll get a taste of modern war, without being expected to do anything too important. If things go well, it will prove that Vesy can handle modern society. If they don’t ...”

  “Fuck,” Colin repeated. “With all due respect, Sergeant, we’re heading into harm’s way.”