Ark Royal 3: The Trafalgar Gambit

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I do not believe you would seek to resign without cause,” the Captain said, as he sat down facing Kurt. “Why do you want to leave the service?”

  “My children are in a refugee camp,” Kurt said, slowly. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to tell the Captain anything, but if he was refused permission to resign his only choice would be desertion. In times of war, it carried the death penalty. “They’re ... not in a good state.”

  “Few people are, these days,” the Captain said. “Do you think you can take care of them on the ground?”

  “With all due respect, sir,” Kurt said, “you don’t have children.”

  “I do understand the impulse,” the Captain said. “And I understand your desire to protect your children at all costs.”

  “My wife is dead and my children are in a fucking prison camp,” Kurt snapped, before he could stop himself. The tidal wave of bitterness threatened to overcome him. “I can't leave them there!”

  The Captain leaned forward. “Do you think you’re the only naval officer with family in refugee camps?”

  “They should be doing something about them,” Kurt said. “I ... I can't think for worrying about my family. They’re all I have left.”

  “It has only been two weeks since the battle,” the Captain said. “I believe they’re planning to separate confirmed family and friends of military personnel, but right now the system is utterly overloaded. People are dying because we can't get medical supplies from one place to another ...”

  “Which is why I have to take care of them,” Kurt insisted. “Who else is going to do it?”

  The Captain met his eyes. “If you are discharged from the Royal Navy, you will promptly be conscripted into one of the semi-volunteer units fighting to keep as much of the country intact as possible,” he said. “You may wind up operating a refugee camp. Or you may be ordered to help dig ditches or fill sandbags or something else that will take you away from your family once again. I hear that even prisoners have been forced into helping with relief efforts.”

  And if I desert, I might wind up helping anyway, Kurt thought, recognising the unspoken warning.

  “And you cannot really be spared,” the Captain added. “You are one of the most experienced CAGs in the navy, certainly the most experienced officer on Ark Royal. I cannot replace you before we depart for ...”

  Kurt stared. “We’re leaving? Again?”

  “Yes,” the Captain said, flatly. “Do you make a habit of interrupting your commanding officers?”

  “No, sir,” Kurt said. He’d known Captains who would have blown a fuse at the mere thought of being interrupted by one of their subordinates. “I ...”

  “Quite understandable,” the Captain said, blandly. He took another sip of his tea, then looked up at Kurt. “I can arrange for your children – and anyone else you wish to name – to be moved to a better location, if you like. They will be cared for. But I cannot accept your resignation right now. The country needs you.”

  “The country needs to take care of my children,” Kurt muttered, sourly. “I was promised ...”

  “I don’t think anyone anticipated such a staggering attack,” the Captain said. “Everyone assumed we would have to deal with a few thousand wives and children who had lost their husbands and fathers. We could have handled that, if necessary.”

  Kurt couldn't disagree. One of the few advantages to being part of the Naval Reserve was having a guaranteed pension for his wife and family, if he died while serving in the navy. It was a far from perfect arrangement, but it would have helped Molly avoid an immediate financial crisis while she looked around for work for herself. But the system had been crushed below the tidal waves that had ravaged the coasts of Britain and Ireland. It was unlikely his pension would ever be paid now, if he died on active service.

  “I will have your family moved, if you send me the details,” the Captain said. “I’m due to visit Earth in a couple of days anyway, so I’ll have it done then. In exchange, I want you to get back to your duties and carry them out in a professional manner.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kurt said. He felt a little reassured. “Are we actually planning to depart in a fortnight?”

  “The Admiralty’s orders admit of no flexibility,” the Captain said, flatly. “I expect we will be carrying repair technicians and shipyard drones with us when we finally weigh anchor and make our way towards the tramline. It will be a far from easy voyage.”

  Kurt nodded and finished his tea, then put the mug to one side. The Captain’s steward would pick it up for washing, if he hadn't already been assigned to repair work. Maybe that was why the Captain had produced the tea himself, unless the Captain had wanted time to think and gather himself. Kurt’s request to resign had to have surprised him.

  “Get your flight crews ready as quickly as possible,” the Captain ordered. He tapped a switch, activating the holographic starchart. Far too many stars gleamed red, signifying alien occupation. “You never know when the aliens might put in an appearance.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kurt said. The aliens hadn't bothered to try to hold the Terra Nova system, but they still had a strong presence at New Russia. They might be planning another attack at any moment. He rose to his feet, then strode over to the hatch. “And thank you.”

  He stepped through the hatch and made his way slowly back to Pilot Country. Several new pilots had been assigned to Ark Royal since their return from alien-controlled space, although they’d simply been slotted into pre-existing squadrons rather than used to build up entirely new formations. Adding two new squadrons ... he’d been too distracted to pay much attention to the paperwork, but he had the very definite impression that most of them were new pilots, just recently graduated from the Academy.

  Wonderful, he thought, as he reached his office. Just like Prince Henry.

  “Kurt,” Rose said, as the hatch closed behind him. “What did the Captain say?”

  “Get back to work, you slacker,” Kurt said. He smiled, despite feeling no sense of humour at all. “Or words to that effect.”

  Rose’s eyes narrowed. She was far from stupid and knew when someone was trying to distract her. “And what did you say to him?”

  “I told him I wanted to resign,” Kurt said. He felt another stab of guilt at the brief flicker of pain that crossed her face. “He told me I couldn't – but that he’d help with the children.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rose said. Her voice was curiously flat. “But at least the children will be safe.”

  She looked ... torn. Their affair, which had been born out of the certain knowledge neither of them would see Earth again, hadn't faded away when they’d returned to their homeworld. She’d come to have feelings for him, Kurt knew, and he’d come to have feelings for her too. And yet, it was something they could never admit, not openly. Their affair was still in direct breach of regulations.

  “I hope so,” Kurt muttered. The Captain was well-connected. But even the aristocracy had taken a beating when the tidal waves had washed over Britain. It was quite possible the Captain wouldn't be able to do anything to help his children. “But we have work to do.”

  Rose stood, walked behind him and pushed him down onto the deck. “First, you need to relax,” she said, firmly. Her hands started to massage his back, kneading out the aches and pains that had been tormenting him since he’d learned what had happened to his family. “And then you can get back to work.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I say, my boy,” Uncle Graham said. “You look like a drowned rat. And smell like one too.”

  Captain James Montrose Fitzwilliam sighed as he stepped into the library. There was at least one over-bred idiot in every aristocratic family, the result of too much inbreeding or a complete lack of discipline when they were children. Uncle Graham had been an idiot when James had been born and he hadn't really improved since. But then, he’d never been forced to actually work for a living.

  “It happens to be raining out there,” James said, with as much patience as
he could muster. It wasn't much. Winchester Hall had escaped the tidal waves, but the never-ending rain had ruined the gardens and turned the grass into a muddy ocean. The refugee camp established on the fields outside the walls only made matters worse. “And I didn't have an umbrella.”

  “I know, laddie,” Uncle Graham said. “We haven’t been able to play cricket for weeks.”

  James sighed, again. There were times when he understood just why the republicans wanted to get rid of the aristocracy. If people like himself genuinely earned their places – and he recalled how he’d tried to gain command of Ark Royal and shuddered – there were quite a few aristocrats who did nothing to make themselves worthy of the rights they claimed from the British State. Uncle Graham should have been sterilised as soon as it became clear that he wasn't going to improve. Fortunately, no one had expressed interest in marrying him.

  He strode past his uncle and into the next room. Uncle Winchester was seated at his desk, going through a large stack of paperwork. Beside him, his secretary took notes, her face illuminated oddly by the firelight. The flames burning in the fireplace, James decided, were almost hypnotic. It was enough to make him want to forget the disaster that had struck the country outside the walls.

  “James,” Uncle Winchester said. He nodded to his secretary, who stood and walked out the door, closing it firmly behind her. “You’re late.”

  “The roads were completely flooded,” James said, shortly. He’d been in combat. He wasn't going to be intimidated by Uncle Winchester. “I had to divert quite some way before I got to the estate.”

  “You should have taken a shuttle,” Uncle Winchester said. He looked James up and down, then nodded shortly. “Take a seat, please.”

  James sat. “The shuttles were required for distributing emergency supplies,” he said, curtly. “I was damned if I was going to take one away from its duties just to get here on time.”

  Uncle Winchester didn't bother to argue. “I got your request,” he said. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

  “Yes, Uncle,” James said, firmly.

  He sighed. The CAG wasn't the only officer or crewman with family in refugee camps. A quick check had revealed over three hundred registered dependents in various camps, along with several thousand deaths. He’d asked Uncle Winchester to take the Kurt Schneider’s family into his home, but also to ensure the remaining family members were protected. It was his duty as a commanding officer to take care of his men.

  “It has been done,” Uncle Winchester said. “The young girls have been given rooms in the Hall; the young man has insisted on remaining with the volunteers. And everyone else has been placed on the priority list for transport elsewhere.”

  James nodded. Thankfully, large parts of the country remained untouched by the tidal waves, allowing the government to start setting up proper holding facilities for the refugees. It would be a long time before they had anywhere decent to live – abandoned and second homes were already being tapped under the Disaster Relief Act – but they would be safe, at least.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “This leads to another question,” Uncle Winchester said. “Do you want them to be added to the Emergency Evacuation List?”

  “What Emergency Evacuation List?” James asked. “If this building comes under attack ...?”

  “No,” Uncle Winchester said. “The list of people we plan to take away from Earth if the war is not concluded soon.”

  James stared at him. “Uncle ...?”

  “Formidable was just commissioned at the Britannic Yards,” Uncle Winchester said, slowly. “She was originally intended to be named Prince of Wales, but the Admiralty wanted a replacement for the carrier they lost at New Russia. Unfortunately, she isn't any better armoured than her namesake. Putting her in the line of battle, here and now, will simply give the aliens more targets to engage. We have other plans for her.”

  “Other plans,” James repeated, feeling a sinking sensation in his chest. “Do I want to know?”

  “We also rushed two large colonist-carriers through their trials,” Uncle Winchester continued smoothly. “They were intended for the Boer Republic, but we seized them for ourselves. They’re both designed to set up a separate colony without the need for supplies from Earth ... I believe the Boers intended to pull a Heinlein and just vanish from the rest of human space.”

  James put two and two together. “And that’s what you intend to do too, isn't it?”

  “Correct,” Uncle Winchester said. “Formidable will escort both ships, crammed with our best and brightest, through the tramlines and as far away from the aliens as possible. All three ships are designed for several years of independent operations, so they should be able to get quite some distance before they start looking for a new world to settle. Once they do, of course, they will start building up a force that can retake human space.”

  “Or simply avoid the aliens indefinitely,” James observed.

  “In the long run, that is unlikely to be possible,” Uncle Winchester said. “We have no idea how fast the aliens intend to continue their expansion, but eventually they will discover the colony. There are plans to build a colony without any form of high technology, yet even that would eventually be detectable. Ideally, the colony will develop new weapons and technologies that can be used to take the war back to the aliens.”

  James swallowed. The aliens had shown themselves to be innovative, first in creating weapons intended to scythe through humanity’s most modern starships and then, when confronted with Ark Royal, building weapons that had blasted their way through the Old Lady’s armour. Somehow, he doubted humanity’s enigmatic opponents would sit on their hands and stagnate while the refugees rebuilt a technological base and advanced well ahead of them. They’d certainly have far more resources than a single planet settled by a few hundred thousand humans.

  “Chancy,” he said, finally. “And what happens if they do stumble across the colony?”

  “The colonists die,” Uncle Winchester said. He sighed, loudly. “Given five or ten years, James, we’d kick their assess. The boffins are going nuts over all the discoveries from the alien battlecruiser you captured. Genuine original science is being performed. Some of them are even talking about ways to duplicate the tramline effect or use gravity-based drives to power missiles and starships. But we won’t have time to put more than a handful of new weapons into production before we get crushed by the aliens.”

  He sighed, again. “Right now, humanity’s entire fleet is down to twelve carriers, not counting Ark Royal or the modified freighters. We’re making some progress on protective armour that will stand up to alien weapons, but it will still take months to get it into production and use it to coat the remaining ships. We have more frigates and destroyers, yet they’re not enough to make a difference. The bottom line, James, is that we are on the verge of losing this war.”

  James leaned forward. “We don’t know how badly the aliens have been hurt,” he said, slowly. Ark Royal’s various missions had taken out at least twenty alien carriers, although post-battle analysis had suggested some of them might be repairable. “For all we know, we might have seen the worst they can throw at us.”

  “But we don’t know,” Uncle Winchester said. “Have we taken out their entire fleet – or have we only scratched the surface?”

  “I don’t know,” James said.

  He recalled the projections the analysts had devised when they’d discovered and attacked Target One. They’d pointed out that Target One couldn't have produced carriers for itself, suggesting there were other shipyards located somewhere deeper in alien space. But where were the shipyards? If they could be destroyed, the war might come to an end.

  “We do have the vague hope of contacting another alien faction,” Uncle Winchester said. “But if it fails, we have to plan for the worst.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” James said.

  “This plan must remain a secret,” Uncle Winchester warned. “There will be panic if a
ny word gets out.”

  “That’s why the media has been discussing Prince Henry, despite the floods,” James said, in sudden understanding. “You’re using it as a distraction.”

  “Essentially,” Uncle Winchester said. “The floods themselves are one hell of a distraction, of course, but the media is helping by trying to” – he smirked – “distract people.”

  James snorted. He’d reviewed the datanet channels while the car had made its slow way to the house and most of them had been broadcasting entertainment programs from a bygone age. Soap operas had always disgusted him, but maybe he just wasn’t the viewer demographic they were made for. But if they showed mundane lives ... their viewers, surely, would have mundane lives.

  Or maybe he was just missing the point.

  “Most people just want to relax and forget their woes, or wallow in woes belonging to other people,” Uncle Winchester added. “Or some of them want to feel reassured that life will return to normal.”