“Quite,” Bowman agreed. “Kevin is not onboard to serve as a diplomatic rep or anything other than a marine. He’s quite willing to go in harm’s way and understands that yes, he might not be coming back from this. I expect you to treat him as one of your own. If he does turn into a problem, or if you can’t integrate him into the platoon, he’ll be confined to quarters for the duration, but ... realistically, we expect you to handle him like any other boot.”
“Yes, Sarge,” Colin said, automatically. He had the nasty feeling he’d just been given a poisoned chalice. It was hard enough to integrate women, or foreigners, into a tight-knit military unit. Integrating an outright alien ... he wasn’t sure it could be done. The Vesy weren’t human. The reptilian face staring up at him was very inhuman. “Does he even eat the same food?”
“He eats the same as us, and quite a bit more,” Bowman said. “Good luck.”
“I think I’ll need it,” Colin said, darkly. “When’s he due to arrive?”
“Unless things change, again, you have a couple of days to read the file and make preparations,” Bowman said. “You’re keeping the rest of your platoon, so - if things go well - you’ll have an oversized unit under your command.”
Sure, Colin thought. It was a challenge. He wanted to succeed. But, at the same time, he was very aware of the risks. And if things don’t go well, I’ll find myself holding the bag.
Chapter Eight
“Overall, Captain, we’re ready to depart,” Commander Staci Templeton said. “When are you coming back onboard?”
Mitch felt a pang of guilt. The last two days had been hectic. They’d been back and forth between Earth and Nelson Base twice, moving between military and diplomatic conferences to private political briefings that didn’t - as far as he could tell - require his presence. The operation might have been authorised, according to the admiral, but it felt as though the politicians were having second and third thoughts about the entire thing. Mitch couldn’t believe it. The alien catapults were a knife pointed at their heart. They had to be taken out, at the very least. And the admiral’s plan to capture and use them instead appealed to his tactical mind. The human race was losing the war. It was time to stake everything on a single desperate gamble.
And that’s something Captain Hammond will never understand, he thought, sourly. There comes a time when prudence must be put aside.
He dismissed the thought with a flicker of irritation. “I’m hoping to be back onboard in a couple of days,” he said. He’d been meant to return to his ship yesterday. “Have you had any issues you can’t handle?”
“Well, I can’t carry out the coup without someone to launch a coup against,” Staci said, deadpan. “Other than that, we’re ready to go. We could leave tonight if we wanted.”
Mitch nodded. Staci was an extremely competent XO. She was also in line for command of the next frigate, when it was finally released into active service. It wouldn’t be that difficult a transition for her. Frigate crews had always had a degree of informality the larger ships lacked. She’d have more problems if she had to take command of a battleship or fleet carrier. Her role, and that of her new XO, would be far more sharply defined.
“I’m sorry to leave you in command,” he said. He meant it, too. It was one thing to put her in command when they were on active service, when she could gain valuable experience for her next promotion, but leaving her in command while the ship was floating in orbit wasn’t quite the same. It was more like leaving her holding the bag while he enjoyed a relaxing shore leave. “I’ll be back up as soon as possible.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Staci said. “We’ll try not to leave without you.”
Mitch laughed as he keyed the terminal, closing the connection. It was hard not to envy his XO. He was a captain, commanding officer of a starship, but here - in the Admiralty Building - he was one of the lower-ranked officers. It was hard to believe, yet it was true. The pen-pushers and data-miners infesting the building actually outranked him, when he wasn’t on his ship. A captain could issue orders to an admiral when they were on the bridge, but not on the planet. And it would be a brave or foolish captain who tried.
He smiled, humourlessly, as he made his way back into the conference room. He’d had the impression that only a few officers knew the whole plan, but ... it was clear that hundreds of personnel knew aspects of the truth. It didn’t strike him as being very secure. The MOD staffers might have passed repeated polygraph tests, just to make sure they were loyal, but the virus laughed at such precautions. A man could be turned into an unwitting traitor overnight and no one would so much as suspect a thing until it was too late. The latest reports from the viral attack were terrifying. If there was another attack in the heart of London, it was quite possible it could take out much of the government before anyone could react.
Which isn’t too likely to happen, he thought. But there’s no way we can be sure.
He sighed, inwardly, as he slipped back into his seat. An admiral - someone who’d never commanded a ship in battle, if Mitch was any judge - was discoursing rapidly on something he didn’t understand. Mitch tried not to look contemptuous as the desk jockey went on and on, feeling rather like a schoolboy forced to sit through a boring assembly. His old headmaster had been remarkably fond of the sound of his own voice ... no doubt, Mitch reflected, a legacy from his bid to become an MP. Thankfully, he hadn’t been elected. It had probably never crossed his mind that his constituents weren’t a captive audience.
I don’t need to be here, he thought, sourly. He really was a junior officer. Admiral Onarina and her staff would make the decisions, then send the orders to their subordinates. Mitch would snap to attention, salute and do as he was told. Why do they even want me here?
He tried not to sigh again as his eyes wandered the room. A handful of foreign officers, their faces masks that suggested they were as bored as he was; a cluster of British officers who were paying rapt attention. Captain Hammond was sitting on the other side of the room, his fingers dancing on a datapad. Taking notes, the little swot. Mitch knew he was being unfair, but it was hard to care. He really didn’t have a place in the chamber. He should be back on his ship, preparing for departure. His XO wouldn’t really mount a coup, but ... it looked bad to leave everything to her. There was nothing like arranging and supervising everything to give you a solid idea precisely how things stood upon departure.
Admiral Onarina called a halt, what felt like days later. Mitch stood and joined the exodus of officers, some not even pretending they weren’t hurrying to the toilets. His lips twitched in amusement. It really was like school. Leaving the assembly ahead of time was a serious crime, according to the headmaster. Bastard had never really considered that his pupils had small bladders and short attention spans.
His wristcom bleeped. Mitch glanced at the incoming message and blinked. An invitation to walk out of the Admiralty Building and meet ... meet who? His eyes narrowed. It wasn’t as if he’d expected to meet someone in London. It wasn’t as if he’d so much as known he’d be going back to London until the orders had arrived. He’d thought he’d be heading straight to his ship ... he frowned, turning the matter over and over in his head. Who had his private comcode? There weren’t many people who did, most of whom would sooner use the military net. Mitch’s family wouldn’t come to London to see him. And that left ... who?
A reporter, perhaps, Mitch thought. He wouldn’t put it past a particularly unscrupulous reporter to obtain his comcode, either from his family or one of his lady friends. Or ... who?
He was halfway towards the door before he’d quite realised he was going to meet the mystery person. It was something to do, something different before he boarded the shuttle back to his ship ... assuming, of course, he wasn’t recalled to London again. And again ... a flash of irritation shot through him. Spaceflight might be routine, these days, but it wasn’t as if travelling backwards and forwards wasn’t a major commitment. Nelson Base wasn’t in Tottenham Court Road, a sho
rt walk from Whitehall. He’d spent more time in transit than he’d spent doing something useful. He checked his schedule, just to be sure nothing was booked for later. The last thing he needed was for someone to declare him AWOL.
The streets were dull, the dark clouds throwing shadow over the city. The weather had never been quite the same since the Bombardment, Mitch had been told, although he’d read complaints about the English weather that dated all the way back to Julius Caesar. He glanced upwards, silently gauging the likelihood of rain, then hurried down the street. A dark car sat at the end, waiting for him. If it was a reporter, he could have the pleasure of telling him to fuck off. Politely, of course. The admiral would not be pleased if the reporter filed an official complaint. It wouldn’t look good on his record.
He slowed as he approached the car. There were no visible number plates, suggesting ... what? An official vehicle? Or ... or what? He didn’t know. Cars had to have number plates in clear view, if he recalled correctly. The window opened, revealing ... Mitch blinked in shock. Charlotte was sitting in the car, waiting for him.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Charlotte said. The door opened, revealing an interior compartment that seemed surprisingly roomy. “Come on in.”
Mitch had to smile as he climbed inside. The interior was larger than his first cabin, back when he’d been promoted to lieutenant. There was a single large sofa, a small drinks cabinet ... he shook his head in astonishment. It felt more like a luxury shuttle than a groundcar. The door closed behind him, the vehicle moving away from the curb. It crossed Mitch’s mind to wonder if he’d been kidnapped. He certainly hadn’t expected to meet Charlotte in London. He hadn’t expected to meet her at all.
He studied her as the vehicle picked up speed, passing through the security checkpoints and merging with the traffic without being stopped. Charlotte wore a long fur coat that rose from her ankles to her neckline, concealing everything behind a wall of white fluff. She looked as if she’d spent hours getting ready to come out ... she looked like a respectable lady, out for tea with her friends. Mitch had seen women like her, drinking daintily in teahouses as they alternatively welcomed their friends or cut them dead. He’d disliked and envied them in equal measure. And yet, Charlotte wasn’t quite what she seemed. How many others had lived a double life?
Mitch found his voice. “What are you doing here?”
Charlotte mimed being hurt. “And there I was thinking you’d be pleased to see me.”
“I am,” Mitch said, too quickly. He wasn’t sure that was true. He might not have anything on his schedule, now the meeting was over, but the admiral could call on him at any moment. She would not be pleased if he was unavailable. And yet, why would she want him? It wasn’t as if she needed his advice. “I’m just wondering ...”
“I came to London to shop,” Charlotte said, favouring him with a smile. “And I just thought it would be nice to see you again.”
Mitch had to smile. “It is” - he swallowed hard, suddenly unsure of himself - “it is nice to see you again too.”
Charlotte nodded and started to open her coat. Mitch stared, feeling his manhood stir as she undressed piece by piece. He started to fumble with his dress uniform, cursing - once again - the sadist who’d designed it. It wasn’t easy to undress in the car, but ... he couldn’t believe what they were doing. His heart raced as he glanced at the front. Making love on the backseat of a car was one thing - he’d done that when he’d been younger - but the car hadn’t been moving at the time. And he’d been the driver.
He indicated the front. “What about ...?”
“Brinkley won’t say anything,” Charlotte said. She pulled down her underwear and stood, magnificently naked, in front of him. “Come here.”
Mitch stared, drinking in the sight. She was ... she wasn’t the perfect girl of his imagination, when he’d been a teenager; she wasn’t the ideal woman of everything from adverts to porn films. She wasn’t ... and yet, he found her arousing beyond words. He wasn’t sure what drew her to him, what pushed common sense out of his mind. She knew what she wanted and she worked to get it, putting her dignity aside along with her clothes. Cold logic told him he was risking everything, by sleeping with an aristocrat’s wife. But cold logic was nothing faced with the reality of her body. He wanted her. And that was all there was to it.
He stood and stumbled towards her, feeling like a horny teenager again. Charlotte reached for him and pulled him to her. And then there was nothing but her ...
***
“The Tadpoles are due to arrive tomorrow,” Admiral Onarina said. They stood together in a small office, briefly assigned to the admiral. “Once they’re embedded in the formation, we’ll be departing.”
Thomas nodded, wondering - idly - where Captain Campbell had gone. The younger man wasn’t needed - Thomas himself wouldn’t be needed if he hadn’t had powerful connections - but it was still annoying not to have him around. The staff officers were starting to grate on Thomas’s nerves. They didn’t seem sure how they should treat him. And the officers who didn’t have any real combat experience were worse.
“It should be interesting, Admiral,” Thomas said. That was an understatement. Human navies shared the same command and control protocols, along with a great deal of technology. Three brutal interstellar wars had taught the human race the importance of ensuring their systems were as compatible as possible. But the Tadpoles weren’t human. Everything about them was different. “How are we going to get everyone moving in the same direction?”
“It won’t be easy,” Admiral Onarina said, grimly. “Even now that we know the stakes ...”
She shook her head. Thomas could fill in the blanks. The foreign governments weren’t entirely keen on their ships operating under British command. God knew the British government would feel the same, if things were reversed. There were times when it felt as if GATO, and the planned Amalgamation, was so fragile that the slightest misstep could bring the whole edifice tumbling down. There was no shortage of naysayers, just waiting for an excuse to say “I told you so.” The more Thomas thought about it, the more he wondered if they were right. Globalisation had led to a whole string of disasters, including some that had almost destroyed civilisation. Who could say Amalgamation wouldn’t lead to similar issues?
He banished the thought with a flicker of irritation. It wasn’t his job to question his political superiors, not in his role as naval officer. He had to carry out his orders to the best of his ability, or - if he found himself unable to do so - to resign. And yet, not for the first time, he found himself caught between two roles. Charlotte had been nagging him to resign from the navy and go into politics for years. Thomas knew he’d hate it, but he was starting to think it was his duty. The House of Lords needed naval officers who knew how things really worked.
And if Nelson himself had survived the years, Thomas mused, would his experience be any use to us now?
“I’ll be greeting the Tadpoles personally, in my role as Fleet Commander,” Admiral Onarina said. “We’ll depart immediately afterwards, as planned, and do most of the shakedown work as we head to the target star.”
Thomas grimaced. The individual ships were in good condition, or so he’d been assured, but none of the ships and their crews had experience working together. It would take time, and days upon days of exercises, to discover any problems and smooth them out. The idea of taking an unprepared fleet into battle chilled him to the bone. Under normal circumstances, they would have spent weeks getting to know one another, learning what their comrades could and couldn’t do. Now ...
He shook his head. There was no point in debating the issue. The fleet just didn’t have time to settle down, not when the enemy were preparing their final blow. They had to take out the catapults before it was too late or lose the war. There were no other options. Thomas would be surprised if there weren’t plans to preserve something of humanity, but such plans would be incredibly risky. There was no guarantee the human race would survive.
>
And the virus will just keep coming and coming until the entire galaxy is infested, he thought, grimly. There were people who thought the virus was a weapon of war, one that had escaped its creators and started to spread uncontrollably. Others thought it was laying the groundwork for its creators to take over, once all active spacefaring races had been infected and subdued. And still others thought it was just something truly alien. We have to win completely or lose.
“You’ll be the senior British officer, after me,” Admiral Onarina warned. “If something happens to me” - her dark eyes narrowed - “I want you to start thinking about contingency plans. The chain of command is clear, but ...”
Thomas nodded. The Russian and Chinese officers wouldn’t be happy serving under an American officer. The French - and the other lesser powers - wouldn’t be happy, either. Charlotte had told him just how much horse-trading had gone on, behind the scenes, to convince the world governments to accept Admiral Onarina as fleet commander. Hopefully, they wouldn’t make an issue of it if Admiral Onarina was killed in battle. They were all experienced officers. They should know better.
“Yes, Admiral,” he said. The admiral’s command staff might well be killed with her. Even if they weren’t, the fleet’s commander and second-in-command could hardly come from the same country. “I’ll be ready.”
Fighting For The Crown (Ark Royal Book 16) Page 8