Fighting For The Crown (Ark Royal Book 16)

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  He took a breath. “The platoon treated him as the average FNG. There was a little hazing, as always, but I was careful not to let it get out of hand. That we were separate from the rest of the company, perhaps a little detached from it, probably helped. We were allowed a great deal of latitude. How well this would have worked if we’d been expected to pull our weight as part of the overall company I don’t know. It might not have gone so well.”

  “Perhaps not,” Bowman agreed. “On the record, the decision will be made well above our pay grades. Off the record ... do you think we could accept more Vesy recruits?”

  Colin frowned. The question sounded casual. He had the feeling it was nothing of the sort.

  “There would be issues,” he said, finally. “Kevin is alone. He had to work hard to fit in with the rest of us. There was no shared society. If we added others, however, it would be harder to integrate them. They might even have problems getting along, if they happened to be of different castes or nationalities. Something that would appear to be nothing to us might be very serious to them. And if we made allowances, it would damage our cohesion in other ways. In short, Sergeant, I don’t know.”

  Bowman nodded. “You can continue to work with Kevin and the rest of the platoon until we return home,” he said. “At that point, I’m afraid the formal assessments will begin. Think about what you’re going to say, before they start shouting questions at you. And pray you actually get some shore leave, in the midst of everything. The admiral is, apparently, already planning our next move. Rumour insists she intends to hit the enemy homeworld with a massive fleet.”

  Colin looked up. Rumour was normally unreliable, but if Bowman was repeating it ... “Will there be a role for us?”

  “We don’t know,” Bowman said. He grinned, showing his teeth. “But I hope so.”

  Chapter Forty

  “And you’re saying the alien artefacts are useless?” Admiral Hanson sounded thoroughly displeased. “That all the effort we expended on bringing them home was wasted?”

  Susan bit down on her annoyance. The Royal Navy - and GATO - had every right to thoroughly investigate every last aspect of the mission, from the successful attack on the infected worlds to the near-disaster just two jumps short of New Washington. She’d spent a sizable portion of the voyage home writing detailed reports, reading the responses from the Admiralty and writing even more detailed answers to the questions they raised. She had the nasty feeling that GATO was breathing down the Admiralty’s collective neck, demanding answers from her even as it sought insight from the foreign officers attached to her command. It would have been nice to have a few days of shore leave, before the Admiralty convened a formal Board of Inquiry, but ... it was not to be.

  “The artefacts are clearly from a more advanced civilisation than our own,” she said, keeping her voice under tight control. “It cannot be denied they have an effect on the virus. That was confirmed when one of the artefacts was moved to the Biological Research Centre and exposed to viral matter. We don’t know how they work, not yet, but knowing that something is possible is half the battle. We have every reason to think that, sooner or later, we will successfully duplicate the effect ourselves. Furthermore, their mere existence is proof that there is a more advanced society out there. We will not be surprised when we encounter it.”

  “A society that might have been responsible for creating the virus in the first place,” Hanson pointed out. “Do we want to encounter them?”

  “With all due respect,” Susan said, “we may not have a choice.”

  Admiral Jackson cleared her throat. “Admiral, there is some feeling in GATO that the operation was a failure,” she said. “How would you respond to that?”

  Susan took a moment to organise her thoughts. Admiral Jackson was a pen-pusher, but she was charged with overseeing international cooperation and - as such - had probably taken the brunt of the international response. It remained to be seen just how serious it was. Her officers agreed the operation had been largely successful, but that wouldn’t stop the foreign politicians from trying to use their doubts for political advantage. Susan would have smiled, if the situation hadn’t been so serious. Who would have thought that foreign politicians would have had so much in common with their British counterparts?

  “I would say, were I asked, that there are several points that need to be brought to their attention,” Susan said. She made a show of ticking points off on her fingers. “First, we succeeded in keeping the virus from using catapults to hit us here. A direct strike on Earth would have been disastrous, even if it was beaten off. That alone made the operation worthwhile.

  “Second, we successfully struck deep into enemy space and destroyed two major industrial nodes. We proved the BioBombs are devastatingly effective against worlds so heavily infected that the biospheres themselves are compromised beyond repair. We also proved that the virus is incapable of keeping the counter-virus from spreading, not without severely hampering its own effectiveness. In short, we did a great deal of damage to the virus’s industrial base. It must have noticed.”

  She smiled. “Third, we located their homeworld - or, at the very least, a third major industrial node - without them realising what we have done. We have already started devising ways to hit the system, to harass the enemy even if we cannot destroy their facilities immediately.

  “And fourth, in the middle of extracting the fleet from a trap, we proved that the virus is showing a marked concern for losses. It could have won the engagement, and dealt us a devastating defeat, if it had had kept its nerve and thrust in for the kill. It did not. Indeed, when the Americans attacked from New Washington shortly after we made it back to safety, the virus withdrew rather than making any serious attempt to fight. Why would it have conceded a gateway system that opens up all sorts of possibilities, for us, if it felt it had a choice?

  “I think the virus has finally been forced to take us seriously. We have hurt it, perhaps badly; we have done enough damage, I think, to force the virus to go on the defensive. This may well be our only chance to launch war-winning offensive of our own. At the very least, crippling or destroying the system we discovered will weaken the virus still further. I submit to you that we must move as quickly as possible. There may be no time to waste.”

  Her words hung in the air for a long moment. She waited, trying to gauge their feelings. She was a Lady Commander of the Garter, and yet she’d always been an interloper amongst them. She knew there were admirals and politicians who would sooner see her take early retirement than rise to the very top, even though they knew her to be a competent and experienced officer. They’d never seen her as one of them.

  “We will consider your suggestion,” Admiral Hanson said, finally. “However, it may be difficult to convince GATO - and our alien allies - to gamble everything on another deep-strike mission.”

  “Perhaps impossible,” Admiral Jackson said. “It is unlikely the operation will be launched under our command.”

  “It does not matter, as long as it is launched,” Susan said. She would have liked the command, but ... she could give it up, if it meant the operation would go ahead. It wasn’t as if it was hers by right. “Time is not on our side.”

  “We do understand,” Admiral Hanson said. “For the moment, however, we suggest you take a week’s leave.”

  Susan nodded, recognising the dismissal. It wasn’t anything like as kind as it sounded. A week of leave for her would be followed by a month of interrogations, if the Admiralty found it politically expedient to throw her to the wolves. She wasn’t alone - she had a number of high-ranking supporters - but they’d be pressured into remaining quiet if the operation was branded a failure. Her lips quirked, as she saluted and left the chamber. Captain Hammond had invited her to his estate. She’d have a chance to lobby some of the political and aristocratic leadership in person.

  She sighed, inwardly, as she made her way down to the entrance hall. She knew she’d been lucky. The operation had come far too clo
se to disaster. If Captain Campbell had obeyed orders ... she kept her face under right control as she stepped into the lights. A small horde of reporters was standing on the far side of the road, pointing everything from cameras to distance microphones at her. Thankfully, a car was already waiting for her. Susan ignored the reporters as she climbed inside, then closed the door. The reporters wouldn’t follow her, not yet. They were still waiting for their editors to decide how she was going to be handled.

  As long as they let me have a week to breathe, she thought. I’ll be back soon enough.

  ***

  Mitch waved, as cheerfully as he could, as he made his way past the line of reporters and clambered into the limo. The news media had been telling the story of his exploits for weeks, ever since the first reports had been declassified. Mitch was mildly amused at just how much they’d gotten wrong, or blown out of all proportion; they’d - somehow - managed to run a story written by a girl who claimed to have dated him back in school. It hadn’t taken the more cynical news sites long to work out that the dates didn’t quite add up, but Mitch found it hard to care. Being a hero certainly had its advantages.

  He smiled at the reporters as the limo roared to life and glided onto the streets. The admiral had warned him that it wouldn’t last, and the hotel hadn’t been too pleased to discover a small army of reporters on the doorstep, but he intended to enjoy it as long as he could. He’d already hired a publicity expert, just to make sure it didn’t come back to bite him later. It was astonishing what people would tolerate in their heroes, as long as they remained heroes. He settled back in his seat and poured himself a drink as the limo picked up speed. The party was due to begin shortly.

  His datapad vibrated, alerting him to new messages. Interview requests, party invitations, even marriage proposals ... Mitch flickered through the latter, unsure if he should be amused or horrified. He’d never heard such blunt invitations in real life. The photographs attached to some of the proposals veered from tasteful images of girls wearing formal dress to outright pornography. He hoped - prayed - that the girls had at least consented to have their photographs sent to him. A handful of proposals hinted they’d actually been sent by the parents. He felt a stab of sympathy for their daughters. He’d often complained about his parents, but they’d never done anything like that.

  He was still reading the messages when the limo reached the estate. This time, there was a formal gathering to welcome him. Captain Hammond didn’t seem too pleased to see Mitch - he looked as if he’d bitten into something sour - but Charlotte winked at him as her husband turned away. Mitch told himself to be patient as he moved from guest to guest, shaking hands with people who hadn’t so much as known his name the last time he’d visited the estate. They all seemed to want to speak to him, yammering endlessly about nothing in particular. He found himself getting antsy as the day slowly turned to night. He hadn’t come to talk to people who wanted to look down their noses at him.

  “I think Admiral Onarina did a good job,” he said, when a particularly annoying armchair admiral questioned Admiral Onarina’s tactics. “She handled her fleet well, she took advantage of the opportunities presented to her and she managed to get the majority of her fleet back to safety.”

  He regretted it, moments later, as a small army of armchair admirals and generals surrounded him. Some had actual military experience - one looked so ancient it was easy to believe he’d served alongside Lord Nelson himself - while others were clearly poseurs, unable or unwilling to put themselves in harm’s way. A couple knew what they were talking about - they spoke about Theodore Smith in a manner that suggested they’d known him - while the others were ignorant idiots, unaware of the realities of naval combat. They wanted his opinion, as long as it accorded with their own. It was striking, really, just how many of them disliked Admiral Onarina. Mitch hated them for it. The admiral had saved their bacon from the wolves.

  Charlotte rescued him, just in time to save the fools from a display of his temper. “How are you coping?”

  “Poorly.” Mitch felt his heart begin to race as she led him upstairs. “Do they really think they know what they’re talking about?”

  “Politics,” Charlotte said. “As long as we keep them sweet, they’ll vote the way we want them to.”

  She led him into a small bedroom and closed the door with a kick, then pressed her lips against his. The kiss was so greedy that Mitch was lost, his hands fumbling with her dress as he felt her undoing his trousers and pushing them to his ankles. She kissed him, time and time again, as they stumbled towards the bed. It was all he could do to keep from exploding as he started to thrust inside her ...

  It crossed his mind, just for a second, that they were taking an immense risk. The dinner party hadn’t been formally dismissed. They’d sat through all the speeches, and socialised, and yet ... he smiled as he started to move faster and faster. The risk was part of the thrill. He hadn’t felt so excited since his teenage years, when he’d kissed and groped his first girlfriend in her shop, in the certain knowledge that her father would beat them both bloody if they were caught. Finding a place to do it in relative privacy hadn’t been anything like as fun.

  “Don’t stop,” Charlotte breathed. “Don’t stop.”

  And Mitch was lost in her.

  ***

  “Admiral Onarina did well,” Thomas said. He had his own doubts about her tactics, but they were better discussed in private. The Admiralty would not thank him for badmouthing an officer in front of a bunch of gossipy armchair admirals. “I feel she coped admirably.”

  He sighed inwardly. The armchair admirals wanted to talk about the operation, while the armchair generals wanted to ask about the Vesy. Thomas had kept his distance from that particular affair on Charlotte’s advice, knowing that there was no way it would make him look good. Better to let a junior officer do all the work and reap the rewards, if there were . Thomas wouldn’t begrudge him the credit. The risks were just too high.

  “I must say, using alien troops in combat does not speak well of us,” another armchair general insisted. “We should have the courage of our convictions and put ourselves at risk.”

  Thomas bit down on a sharp response. Where the hell was Charlotte? She was supposed to save him from idiots who could barely string a coherent sentence together. Thomas allowed his eyes to roam up and down the bastard’s outfit. The uniform was completely fictional, as far as he could tell. The wearer was so overweight that he’d be laughed out of a recruiting office, if he actually tried to put his arse on the line. The nasty part of Thomas’s mind suggested that if he charged the enemy, the enemy troops would be paralysed with laughter.

  That happened in Stellar Star, he reminded himself. But it wasn’t laughter that made them so stiff ...

  He smiled at the terrible joke, then composed himself. “I believe the idea was to introduce them to modern technology and tactics,” he said. “As such, it was a success. I don’t think there are any large-scale plans to import Vesy to serve as soldiers, or work on Earth.”

  “That didn’t work out very well last time,” the armchair idiot said.

  “And who’d want a Vesy to serve as a nanny?” Another man guffawed. He’d clearly had too much to drink. The poor woman beside him looked as if she wanted to die from embarrassment. “Can you imagine those claws picking up a baby? The very thought!”

  Thomas snorted, then turned and walked away. He was just ... sick of them. There was no point in pretending to like them. They were so dependent on him that he could make them jump through his hoops for his approval and they’d like it. Or say they liked it. His eyes swept the room, spotting a handful of senior military officers and politicians ... even a particularly irritating scion of royalty. But there was no sign of Charlotte. His wife had vanished.

  He hailed a maid as he left the hall. “Where’s my wife?”

  The maid flushed. “I ... ah ... I think she went to her rooms.”

  Thomas blinked. Charlotte loved parties and gathe
rings and social events where people with more money and rank than sense showed each other up. The idea of her leaving ahead of time was just absurd. There were hours yet, before the hosts formally withdrew and the guests could leave without giving serious offense. Not that Thomas, at least, would have given much of a damn. He turned and strode away, leaving the maid behind. She was probably new. It was rare for maids to last longer than a couple of years. They tended to move on to higher-paid jobs elsewhere.

  He walked up the stairs, silence falling around him like a shroud. Charlotte really didn’t like leaving early, unless she felt unwell. No, that wasn’t like her at all. She rarely got sick. Her family had splashed out on all the latest genetic modifications, ensuring she never suffered from anything more unpleasant than the common cold. The virus might be able to bring her down. He couldn’t think of anything else that could.

  A flicker of unease ran through him as he reached the corridor leading down to his wife’s suite. There should be two maids on duty at all times, but there was no sign of them. They wouldn’t have been sent to help downstairs. Charlotte would sooner go hungry than stop keeping up appearances. He stopped, dead, as he heard a moan. It sounded like ...