Ark Royal 3: The Trafalgar Gambit

by Christopher Nuttall

  He looked at Janelle. “Did either of you discuss the future?”

  Janelle shook her head, staring down at the floor. “No,” she said, quietly. “We knew we could die at any moment.”

  Ted winced, inwardly. Shipboard romances were hardly uncommon – and far from forbidden, as long as regulations were honoured – but they rarely lasted long. The sheer intensity of a sexual affair between two young people under constant threat of death didn't always survive when they returned to Earth or resigned from the military. Ironically, he knew, if they’d met before the war, their romance might have survived. Ark Royal had been held in a stable orbit near Earth. The crew had never expected to do more than maintain the ship. They’d certainly never expected to go to war.

  The Princess snorted. “You just made love to him without considering the future?”

  “I’m not trapped in a goldfish bowl,” Janelle snapped, showing a flash of fire. “I didn't even know it might be a concern.”

  Ted winced. That had been a low blow. The Princess couldn't have an affair with anyone, male or female, without the media turning it into a circus. Her lover’s life would be dissected ruthlessly, anything he had said or done in the past would be used against her ... and the relationship would probably shatter under the pressure. The Princess could never afford to relax, let alone have a relationship that she knew might never go anywhere. It would wind up becoming a nightmare, even if her partner had been everything she wanted in a man.

  “But it has become a concern,” the Princess snapped back. She glowered at Janelle. “Are you pregnant?”

  Janelle spluttered. “What?”

  “All naval personnel have contraceptive implants,” Ted said, quickly. “No one can get pregnant on a naval starship.”

  “But there are already speculations that you are carrying Henry’s child,” the Princess insisted. “Your life will never be the same.”

  “Then they will have to swallow their words when they see I am very clearly not pregnant,” Janelle pointed out.

  “Then they will start claiming that you have had an illicit abortion,” Princess Elizabeth said, darkly. “They have already claimed that I have had five different abortions in the past.”

  Janelle recoiled, shocked. “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” Princess Elizabeth said. “And apparently I’ve had twelve different lovers.”

  She snorted, rudely. “I must have been asleep,” she added, “because I can't remember any of them.”

  The King cleared his throat, loudly. “I would have liked to welcome you to the family formally,” he said, addressing Janelle. “I believe you would have added something we desperately need. But it would probably be best for you if the whole ... affair was forgotten as quickly as possible.”

  But it wouldn't be forgotten, Ted knew. Janelle had become a Public Interest celebrity the moment someone had revealed her relationship with Prince Henry to the media. Short of changing her name, or at least shipping back out as quickly as possible, there was no way the media would ever let her rest. At least Ted had managed to bar reporters from Ark Royal, despite objections from the Public Relations Department. No one wanted them to tell the universe just how badly the Old Lady had been damaged by the aliens.

  “I agree,” Janelle said.

  Princess Elizabeth leaned forward. “Did you love my brother?”

  “I ... I don’t know,” Janelle confessed. “We were happy together, but ...”

  Oddly, Ted noted, the Princess seemed happy with the answer. Or perhaps it wasn't odd at all. There were no shortage of social climbers who would happily claim to love the target of their affections, even when it was blatantly clear they had no interest in anything beyond the title and the prestige that came with it. But the media would tear their lives apart anyway, looking for something they could use to shock and beguile the British public. Janelle might have had a very lucky escape.

  But that shouldn't be a problem now, he thought. The country has far more serious matters to worry about.

  “I have reviewed the files,” the King said. He looked directly at Ted. “I do not believe that you – or any of your crew – can reasonably be held responsible for my son’s death. He wanted to live the life of a starfighter pilot, without using his rank to his advantage, knowing the risks that he would face. His death ...”

  He broke off, clearly upset. Ted remembered the files and understood. The King had opposed his son going into the military – and then into the line of fire. It would have been relatively simple to assign Prince Henry to one of the squadrons defending Earth ... although that might have been a mistake. Those squadrons had taken more than 80% casualties when the aliens had attacked. Henry had followed the path he’d chosen, the path that had allowed him to earn rewards – and punishments – without his rank being taken into consideration and, in the end, it had killed him. But he’d died bravely and well.

  And they will use it to bolster the position of the Royal Family, he thought, cynically. Buckingham Palace employed a small army of PR experts, hoping to shape the narrative before hostile editors – or merely ones looking for a scoop – started to try to shape it for themselves. Henry’s death will make it seem as though they are sharing the same risks and burdens as everyone else.

  “There will be no Board of Inquiry,” the King continued. “I believe, in any case, that you will be leaving Earth again, far too quickly.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Ted said.

  He sighed, knowing the King wasn't speaking his own words. It was quite possible the King felt otherwise, that he wanted his son’s death investigated carefully before passing any kind of judgement. But the decision would have been taken by the War Cabinet and the King would have had to follow orders, particularly now. The country couldn't afford an open squabble between the King and Parliament.

  “I wish you the very best of luck in talking with the aliens,” the King continued. “It may be our only hope of a lasting peace.”

  He looked at Janelle. “I am truly sorry for pulling you into our lives,” he said. “I have no doubt that, if my son had survived, he would have taken steps to ensure you were protected or simply never identified. Henry, whatever his faults, was a decent person.”

  “That is beyond doubt,” Elizabeth said, frostily.

  “You are free to call us at any time, should you wish to chat,” the King continued. “And please know that we do not blame you for anything.”

  “Thank you,” Janelle said.

  “But it won’t be an easy few months for you,” the King warned. “It has always been so for those who come too close to the Royal Family.”

  He rose to his feet. “You would be well-advised to remain on the carrier for the next few months, if possible,” he added. “There are few other places the media won’t go – and they’re searching for a distraction. If they think your life will make a good distraction ...”

  “They already have,” Janelle said, bitterly.

  “She will be safe on Ark Royal,” Ted said. He stood, then saluted the King. “Thank you for your time, Your Majesty.”

  The King snorted. “Good luck, Admiral,” he said. “Make peace with the aliens, if you can; if not, make them pay for everything they’ve done to us.”

  Chapter Six

  “We have two new squadrons of pilots joining us this afternoon,” Rose said, as the shuttle landed neatly in the shuttlebay. “They’ll need to be brought up to speed on carrier procedures as quickly as possible.”

  Kurt barely heard her. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the refugee camp and the refugees, trapped behind the wire like prisoners. The reports they’d picked up as they made their way back to the spaceport had been far from reassuring. At least one camp had collapsed under the rain, drowning hundreds of refugees, while the supervisors of another camp had been arrested for abusing their charges. The sooner he got his children – and Gayle – out of the camps, the better.

  Rose elbowed him. “You’re not listening to me!”
<
br />   “I was,” Kurt protested.

  “I just told you I was planning to hold an orgy in the briefing room with all the new pilots and you agreed,” Rose said. “Or should I let you explain it to the Captain afterwards?”

  Kurt sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. He’d zoned out completely. “I’ll try to pay attention in future.”

  Rose eyed him for a long moment. “There are two new squadrons of pilots joining us this afternoon,” she said. “Did you hear that part?”

  “Yes,” Kurt said. “I ...”

  “Then you know we also have to work them into the ship’s training cycles,” Rose said. “All of which have to be worked in around the repair work. And then they have to be checked out on the simulators ...”

  Kurt rose to his feet as the hatch opened. “Deal with it,” he ordered. “I hereby appoint you acting CAG, to hold the position until relieved or confirmed by the Captain.”

  Rose stared at him. “Kurt ...”

  “I need to speak to the Captain,” Kurt said. He walked through the hatch and stepped down onto the solid deck. “You can handle the new pilots, can't you?”

  “Kurt,” Rose said, “I can handle it, but it’s your job.”

  Kurt understood. Rose loved flying. She was in line for a post as CAG, but it would have taken her off the flight roster permanently, at least unless the carrier needed an extra pilot more than it needed a flight supervisor. Few pilots considered seeking promotion until their reflexes started to dull, while they came up with inventive excuses to avoid promotion as long as possible. It never failed to confuse anyone working their way towards starship command.

  “I need to speak to the Captain,” he said. He wanted to take her in his arms, but he knew he didn't dare, not when the shuttlebay was full of spacers and yard dogs from the nearby shipyard. There were just too many witnesses. “You can handle it, can’t you?”

  “I can,” Rose said. “But you’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

  “I’m a CAG,” Kurt pointed out. “Stupidity is abolished when one is promoted out of a cockpit.”

  Rose rolled her eyes, then strode past him and through the hatch that led down towards Pilot Country. Kurt smiled at her retreating back – starfighter pilots tended to act like overgrown children until they were on the verge of burning out – and then turned and made his way towards the hatch leading up to Officer Country. The starship’s metal corridors were jam-packed with spacers and pallets holding dozens of spare parts, several brought out of long-term storage for the Old Lady. Others, he knew, had to be specifically reengineered for the ancient carrier.

  He nodded to a pair of Marines as he strode past, who nodded back. Most of the Marines assigned to the Royal Navy had been redeployed down to the ground, reinforcing the military units struggling to cope with the sheer scale of the crisis, but Ark Royal’s Marines had remained onboard as part of the ship’s damage control teams. Part of the reason the Old Lady had such a large crew was to keep up with repairs, if necessary. The modern carriers had indulged in more automation than some officers suspected was healthy.

  It took longer than he'd expected to reach Officer Country. The laser warheads the aliens had used – they’d stolen the idea from humanity, something that bothered him more than he cared to admit – had done considerable damage to the interior of the starship and several sections had been closed down entirely while the repair crews worked their magic. Kurt wondered, absently, what they’d do about the armour plating, before dismissing it as something outside his remit. The Captain and the XO had to worry about repairing their ship. Kurt only had to worry about his pilots.

  He felt a flicker of guilt as he passed through the hatch and into Officer Country, making his way up to the Captain’s cabin. Rose was perhaps the most experienced officer, save himself, left on the ship. Once Kurt left, it was quite likely she would be pushed into taking on the CAG job, no matter her personal preferences. He knew she’d hate it – and hate him for leaving her. But his family came first ... he gritted his teeth, silently promising to explain everything to Rose after he’d spoken to the Captain. He owed her an explanation.

  The hatch opened when he pressed his hand against the sensor, revealing the Captain and the Chief Engineer standing in front of a holographic display. Kurt shook his head as he stepped into the cabin and realised that the display showed just how badly Ark Royal had been damaged. Most of the internal damage could be repaired fairly quickly, he was sure, but it was the armour that posed a real problem. It was just unlike anything the Royal Navy had produced for over fifty years.

  “We’re going to have to slim down armour from these sections,” Chief Engineer Anderson said. He sounded pleased, despite the situation. His expertise with one particular starship, and none whatsoever with the more modern starships, had ensured his career had stalled until Ark Royal had been called into battle. “We can use the armour plating to patch the holes in the hull here, here and here.”

  He jabbed at the display as he spoke. “I’m hoping for some additional armour plates from Mars, but they’re stalling on delivery,” he added. “And we might have to reshape them ourselves when we get them anyway.”

  Captain James Montrose Fitzwilliam nodded, thoughtfully. “Draw down the armour,” he ordered. “The Admiralty wants us gone in a fortnight at best.”

  “They’ll be lucky,” Anderson predicted, dourly. “I’d honestly prefer to replace at least half of the ship’s systems with completely new gear.”

  “And we don’t have the time,” Captain Fitzwilliam said. “Do your best, please.”

  He looked up at Kurt. “One moment, Commander,” he said. “We’re just finishing here.”

  Kurt nodded. Captain James Montrose Fitzwilliam had, according to scuttlebutt, tried to use his connections to edge Captain – now Admiral – Smith out of command when the war had begun. The Admiralty, in an unusual display of perceptiveness, had left Smith in command, but assigned Fitzwilliam to him as his XO. Somehow, the two men had learned to work together and Fitzwilliam had replaced Smith as Captain of the Old Lady when Smith had been promoted to Admiral and put in overall command of Operation Nelson. The doubts some of the crew had once had – Fitzwilliam was young, handsome, rich and aristocratic – had faded when they’d seen him in action. He was a competent commanding officer.

  “We’re getting emergency supplies rushed to us from Britannia, but we really need some of the older Chinese shit,” Anderson continued. “Half of our modern systems don’t talk to the older stuff we use as the backbone for our systems; hell, we really should modernise the whole ship, but we just don’t have time.”

  “I’ll speak to the Admiralty,” the Captain said. “They can trade with the Chinese.”

  Anderson smiled, then switched off the display. “I’ll keep you informed, Captain,” he said. “But I honestly doubt we will be ready to meet our scheduled departure date without slimming the repairs down to the bare minimum.”

  Kurt swallowed. Ark Royal’s one great strength was her solid-state armour, the walls of metal that had protected her when more modern carriers had simply been ripped apart within seconds by alien weapons. If that armour was weakened ... but the aliens, he knew, had already found a way to break through the armour. They’d be building more such warheads even now, he was sure, and arming their ships in readiness for the final thrust towards Earth.

  “Thank you,” the Captain said. He watched the Engineer stride out of the cabin, then turned to Kurt. “What can I do for you?”

  And it had better be important, hung in his voice.

  “Captain,” Kurt said. For a moment, his nerve almost failed him – and then he remembered the refugee camp and gritted his teeth. “I would like to submit my resignation.”

  The Captain studied him for a long moment. “Denied,” he said, finally. “You can take it to the Admiralty if you like, but I don’t believe that any resignations are being accepted at the moment.”

  Kurt felt cold des
pair – and rage – boiling up inside of him. “Captain,” he said, “I would ask you to reconsider.”

  “And I would tell you the same thing,” the Captain said, evenly. He pointed Kurt to the sofa, then turned and walked to the drinks dispenser. “Do you take milk in your tea?”

  Kurt blinked. “Captain?”

  “I want to know if you take milk in your tea,” the Captain said. He poured a mug of tea for himself, then turned to look at Kurt. “Do you?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Kurt said. The Captain serving him tea? It was unprecedented in his career. Had he entered the twilight zone? “Sir ...”

  The Captain passed him a mug. Kurt studied it, trying to keep his eyes away from the Captain’s calm gaze. It was branded with Ark Royal’s pennant and, below, the ship’s motto. Zeal does not Rest. At one point, it would have seemed an absurd motto for the ship, but now it fitted perfectly. Ark Royal had carried almost the entire weight of humanity’s war effort within her solid-state hull.