“You’re safe now,” Colin said. “Welcome home.”
Tobias coughed, then blacked out.
***
“Admiral,” Richardson said. “I think they’ve caught on.”
Susan nodded. “But they were fooled just long enough.”
She allowed herself a moment of relief as she calculated the vectors again and again. The decoy fleet had won her just enough time to extract her ships, then race for the tramline - and New Washington - before the enemy fleet could slam the door shut once again. They’d already fired off most of their missiles, ensuring they couldn’t do much more than annoy her as she ran. She knew she was leaving too many dead behind, along with a handful of ships that could no longer move under their own power, but ... it was better than the alternative.
Unless they have a third fleet, somewhere ahead of us, she thought, grimly. It didn’t seem likely. The virus wouldn’t have needed to pull so many ships off the front lines if it had more ships to spare. We should be well on our way home.
The virus evidently agreed. Its fleet slowed, taking the time to pick off the stragglers and start recovering its starfighters. Susan winced, knowing there was nothing she could do to save the wounded ships. They’d evacuated some of their crews, but ... she shook her head. The virus had won the engagement, even if it hadn’t managed to destroy the fleet. There was nothing to be gained from pretending otherwise.
And yet, it allowed itself to flinch, she thought. If the virus had kept its nerve, it would have run the engagement outright by destroying her fleet. Why did it allow itself to be fooled?
The thought tantalised her as the fleet picked up speed, heading straight for the tramline. It was reluctant to risk serious losses, she thought. The virus had always been cold and calculating, willing to sacrifice starships and squadrons without hesitation if it seemed necessary. Could it be that it doesn’t have the ships to spare?
She knew it might be wishful thinking, but the thought refused to go away. If we can take advantage of their sudden reluctance to risk everything, she asked herself, can we win the war?
Chapter Thirty-Nine
New Washington looked busier than Mitch recalled, he noted, as the shuttle made her way towards Thunderous. The Americans had been astonished when the remnants of the multinational fleet had limped through the tramlines to safety, but their astonishment hadn’t stopped them from hastily putting together a major attack on the next system. The virus hadn’t bothered to put up much of a fight, suggesting that rumours of its weakness were far from exaggerated. The Americans had chased the enemy fleets out of the system, destroyed everything that couldn’t be moved in a hurry and hit the planet with BioBombs. A new sense of optimism was starting to spread through the human worlds.
The shuttle docked. Mitch allowed himself a tight smile as the hatch opened, revealing a welcoming party. He stepped through the hatch, returned the salutes from a dozen officers and marines, then allowed himself to be escorted through a series of corridors to the admiral’s office. He was mildly surprised she hadn’t greeted him herself, although he knew she had a great deal of work to do. The milksops back home had taken five minutes to cheer for victory, then gone back to complaining about the cost. He snorted in disgust. They’d be complaining a great deal more if the fleet had been destroyed. If, of course, they’d lived long enough.
He braced himself, then saluted as he stepped into the admiral’s office. She stood and returned his salute, before indicating he should take a seat. Mitch sat, gratefully accepting a mug of coffee from the admiral’s steward. The admiral took a mug herself, then sat facing him. Her face was calm, very composed.
“I’ve recommended you for the Navy Cross,” she said, without preamble. “I have no doubt there will be people back home who’ll complain you disobeyed orders, which you did, but no one can quibble about the results. I don’t know, yet, if you’ll actually get the medal - I don’t know how much influence I have, right now - but it should be enough to answer any stain on your record.”
Mitch nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The admiral couldn’t be sure of her standing, not after the mission had nearly turned into a complete disaster. It was unlikely the allied navies would be happy leaving her in command of the fleet, or what remained of it; it was unlikely the Admiralty would accept her recommendations without question. But, even if he didn’t get the medal, the fact she’d put his name down for it would work in his favour. It had been her orders he’d disobeyed, after all.
“Without you, the fleet would have been destroyed,” the admiral said. “I think we can afford to show a little gratitude.”
“As long as I don’t get promoted,” Mitch said. It wasn’t really a joke. He wanted to stay on Unicorn. “The medal will be gratitude enough.”
The admiral smiled. “I quite understand,” she said. “We’ll see what the Admiralty has to say.”
Mitch nodded and sipped his coffee. He’d taken one hell of a risk - two of them, really - but it had paid off. The fleet had been saved ... he supposed there were officers who wouldn’t be able to see past the simple fact he’d disobeyed orders, yet the majority of those officers had been killed or reassigned during the early years of the war. And besides, his commanding officer was in his corner. She could easily punish him by sentencing him to frigate command. Anyone who understood it wasn’t much of a punishment would also understand that he didn’t really deserve punishment.
“I’ve also forwarded your survey reports and your tactical concepts,” the admiral continued, calmly. “The alien homeworld, if indeed it is the alien homeworld, will be attacked as soon as possible. That may be quite some time.”
“Even if we go with my plan?” Mitch leaned forward. “At the very least, we’d put the virus on the defensive again. It would buy us time ...”
“I intend to make that case to the Admiralty,” the admiral said. “I’ve been recalled to Earth, as have you and Captain Hammond. You may be called upon to make your case to the Admiralty.”
Mitch smiled. “I don’t mind if I don’t get the credit, Admiral.”
The admiral grinned. “You’re the highest-ranking officer who laid eyes on the alien world,” she pointed out. “Never mind that your sensor records are already being studied on Nelson Base. Never mind there’s nothing you can tell them that they don’t already know. Never mind that the media wants to lionise you as the saviour of the fleet ...”
“Ouch.” Mitch stared at his hands. “Is that a good or bad thing?”
“It depends.” The admiral was suddenly very serious. “Having the media on your side can be very helpful, if - when - you run into trouble. It saved my career a couple of times. On the other hand” - she met his eyes evenly - “reporters are like vampires. They can never be trusted. They’ll suck you dry and then discard you. They’ll raise you high and then drop you like a stone, the moment you don’t meet their expectations. “
She shrugged. “You want my advice? Watch your back.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Mitch said.
He felt an odd little thrill. He’d never wanted promotion, not beyond command rank, but he did want fame and fortune. Military heroes had been rock stars - real heroes - since the Troubles, when Britain had learnt to respect her fighting men again. The idea of being lionised, of having his praises sung to the entire world, was seductive. His family would be pleased. No one would be able to shuffle him to the side again. Ever.
The admiral smiled. “For what it’s worth, you have my gratitude,” she added. “And that of the fleet’s commanding officers. That may - or may not - work in your favour.”
Mitch frowned. “How so?”
“I committed mutiny,” the admiral said, flatly. “I had good reason. I saved the ship and the fleet. I made the right choice. Every commanding officer in that fleet agreed with me. But that made it harder for the Admiralty to decide what to do. If they rewarded me, it might be seen as giving in to international pressure; if they punished me, they might be seen as insulting
their allies. It wasn’t easy for them to steer a path through the storm.”
“You did the right thing,” Mitch said.
“Tactically, yes,” the admiral agreed. “Politically ... that depends on your point of view.”
She finished her coffee. “Go back to your ship,” she ordered. “We’ll be departing shortly.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
Mitch stood and allowed himself to be escorted back to the shuttle. It was hard not to be excited about the chance of winning the Navy Cross, even though the admiral had warned him that nothing was certain. And yet ... the mere fact he’d been nominated for the medal worked in his favour. It would make him look very good indeed. He wondered, idly, what Charlotte would make of it. The message she’d sent him had been exciting, and erotic, but short on actual detail. Mitch didn’t mind. He wanted to see her again. No, he wanted to sleep with her again. He was sure she felt the same way, too. She’d already invited him to stay at the manor ...
He allowed his smile to get wider. The future looked bright and full of promise.
***
“I’m starting to hate sickbay,” Tobias muttered. “Can I get out of here now?”
Doctor Haugen shrugged. “I’m starting to think you don’t like me,” she said. “I am very hurt.”
Tobias flushed, then realised he was being teased. “I like you, but I don’t like sickbay,” he said. “I don’t want to be here.”
“A very common attitude,” the doctor said. She looked him up and down, then nodded. “You’ll be pleased to hear I’m discharging you today. I’ve repaired the damage, and there shouldn’t be any risk of long-term issues, but I expect you to take care of yourself. I’ve already spoken to your commanding officer. You’ll be on light duties for the rest of the month. I suggest you spend the time studying.”
Tobias frowned. “It isn’t as if there are any more gunboats ...”
He winced. Only two gunboat pilots - Marigold and himself - had survived the final desperate battle. None of the gunboats themselves had survived. He couldn’t help feeling guilty for not knowing the gunboat crews a little better ... he cursed under his breath as he wobbled to his feet. He’d have to empty their drawers himself, unless Bagehot had already done it. Marigold was still in the regeneration tube. The doctor had told him it would be at least a week before she could be discharged.
“Light duties,” the doctor repeated. “You should be fit to return to duty by the time we reach Earth.”
“Just in time to go on shore leave,” Tobias said. “Wonderful.”
“You’ll have fun, I’m sure,” the doctor said. She waved a hand at the hatch. “Good luck.”
Tobias nodded and stepped through the hatch. The majority of the evacuated crewmembers had been sent elsewhere, or so he’d been told, but the corridors outside sickbay still looked a little scruffy. Bagehot would have thrown a fit if the gunboat pilots had left their wardroom in such a state. Tobias grimaced, despite himself. He hadn’t shared the military obsession with neatness until he’d joined the navy himself and discovered its value. A spacer or a soldier who didn’t take care of his equipment would find himself unable to rely on it.
Don’t shit where you eat, Tobias remembered. One of his gym teachers had said that, during a forced march that had been a foretaste of hell. And don’t crap on people, because they might crap on you.
The thought made him scowl. Colin had saved his life. Colin ... the thought of being grateful to Colin was thoroughly unpleasant, even though Tobias knew Colin had grown up a lot in the past few months. They might never be close friends, but ... he shook his head, reminding himself that Colin had saved Marigold’s life, too. He owed the bastard that, if nothing else. It wasn’t as if there were any other girls who’d ever shown any interest in him.
He reached the wardroom and stepped inside. Bagehot was kneeling beside one of the bunks, unloading the contents of the drawers onto a cardboard box. Tobias opened his mouth to object, then remembered that the former occupant was dead. She’d deserved better. They’d all deserved better. And ... he stepped forward, peering into the box. There was little personal about the contents. There was nothing to suggest anything about its former owner.
Bagehot looked up. “Do you want to help?”
Tobias shrugged. “Would it do any good?”
“There’s a pile of old uniforms over there,” Bagehot said, curtly. “Take some, if they’ll fit you. Or put them aside to go back into general use. Anything that isn’t on the naval list is to go back to the families.”
“I see,” Tobias said. He’d been told that starfighter pilots generally left their possessions to their surviving peers, but gunboat pilots didn’t have to follow that tradition. “I … fuck it.”
“It’s healthy to grieve,” Bagehot said. “No one will fault you for it.”
“I’m not grieving,” Tobias said, a little sharper than he’d intended. “I didn’t know them well enough to grieve and I feel guilty and ... fuck it!”
“It’s never easy to cope with loss,” Bagehot said. He picked up the box and pushed it into Tobias’s hands. “But you have to learn.”
Tobias stared into the box. A handful of datachips. A couple of pictures. A single set of civilian clothes. Nothing else, not even ... he shook his head, feeling tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. A life had been reduced to nothing and less than nothing ... he wondered, suddenly, what Bagehot would say when he wrote to the pilot’s parents. The truth? Or just boilerplate?
“Yes, sir,” he said, finally. “I’ll do my best.”
“Take some leave, when we get home.” Bagehot stood and patted Tobias on the shoulder. “You and Marigold can have fun, somewhere. And then you can consider taking my place.”
Tobias smiled, although it wasn’t funny. “Am I supposed to put a knife in your back?”
“No,” Bagehot said. “But the gunboat program is being expanded. It’s only a matter of time until someone gets promoted into my place. You might have a decent chance at the post, if you start studying now.”
“If I want to spend my life in the navy,” Tobias said, quietly.
“If,” Bagehot agreed. “Look at it this way. You’re enlisted for five years - or the duration, whichever one is shorter. You can keep flying gunboats, but there’s a reason most starfighter pilots rarely stay more than two or three years in the role. Even if the odds don’t catch up with you, and you wind up blown to pieces, you’ll find you start losing your touch. And then the odds will catch up with you.”
He shrugged. “And besides, retiring at a higher rank means a higher pension.”
Tobias shrugged. “I’ll give it some thought,” he said. “Really.”
“You should,” Bagehot agreed.
***
“We cannot afford to relax,” Bowman said. “The mission may be over, but we are far from safe.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Colin said. He couldn’t disagree. New Washington might be heavily defended, but it was on the front lines. The Americans had shoved the virus back, yet no one expected it to stay on the defensive forever. “We’re still running drills and suchlike.”
He nodded In some ways, the mission had been a little disappointing. He’d hoped for planetary invasions and boarding missions ... he’d have settled for counter-boarding operations. He knew he should be glad the marines hadn’t been deployed as often as he’d wished, but ... he shook his head. No one joined the marines to do damage control duties or SAR missions. He could do them, but ... it wasn’t what he’d signed up for.
Bowman leaned forward. “We need to talk about Kevin,” he said, and smiled as if he’d just said something funny. “There will be plenty of report writing in your future, I’m afraid, but for the moment ... how is he coping?”
Colin took a moment to consider his answer. The sergeant wouldn’t penalise him for telling the truth, or bawl him out for not being diplomatic, but ... Colin was uneasily aware his words were likely to be sent up the chain. He might get in real tr
ouble for mishandling the situation or just disagreeing with a politician he didn’t know personally ...
He braced himself. “On the surface, he’s coped admirably. Perhaps more than merely admirably, as he is an alien amongst aliens. The environment must disturb him at a very primal level, yet ... he copes. His training is good, he held up well ... there are none of the issues that would come with training to integrate a Tadpole into the platoon. The only downside is that he’s too stubborn to confess to injury or ignorance. That’s not uncommon, of course, but we don’t have any real baselines for his biology. We don’t know what might prove a hindrance, in the long run.”
“His biology is hardly a secret,” Bowman pointed out, stiffly.
“No, Sergeant,” Colin agreed. “However, it is very different from ours. It isn’t easy to say, in the middle of a battle, what’s lethal and what can be safely ignored. There will also be problems using human-keyed medical kits to tend to him, if he gets wounded. Our painkillers are useless to him. If they were injected by accident, he’d be killed.”
Fighting For The Crown (Ark Royal Book 16) Page 38