Ark Royal 3: The Trafalgar Gambit

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Oh,” Kurt said. He had no doubt that reporters would use bugs if they thought they could get away with it, but there were such things as privacy laws. Not, he suspected, that reporters thought they applied to them. But using them on a military warship was asking to spend the rest of the cruise in the brig. “And has it worked?”

  “The blackmailers haven’t contacted us to complain,” Parnell said, dryly. He mimicked an upper-class accent. “Dashed unsporting of them, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” Kurt muttered.

  They walked into the interrogation chamber and sat down. “We have monitored the access codes you sent them,” Parnell said. “There has been no attempt to use them for anything.”

  Kurt let out a long breath. “Why not?”

  “I have no idea,” Parnell said. “But they haven’t blown your cover, so I’d say they’re waiting for the best opportunity to use them. Which may be quite soon. My men are overstretched right now.”

  “Or they might be playing the long game,” Kurt said.

  “I doubt it,” Parnell said. He sighed. “Blackmail is a complicated tactic to use, Commander, and it can backfire easily. Normally, the blackmailers would work carefully to help you dig a deeper and deeper hole for yourself by supplying them with harmless pieces of information ... until the point they were not so harmless. It makes it impossible for you to go to your superiors and confess because, even if they were sympathetic about the blackmail or considered it unimportant, your later betrayals would be much harder to avoid taking into account.”

  “I’d be hopelessly compromised,” Kurt said, slowly.

  “Precisely,” Parnell said. “Honey traps are far from uncommon in the espionage world. I was on deployment to the embassy in China once and you’d be astonished how many Chinese girls thought a Royal Marine was hotter than hell. None of them were really keen on us, of course; they just wanted to get into our communication terminals.”

  “And did you keep them in your pants?” Kurt asked. “Or what?”

  “We were warned not to fraternise,” Parnell said. “Which isn't actually easy if you happen to be young, stupid and confident that no one will ever find out.”

  He shrugged. “I never heard anything from any of those girls,” he added, “but a couple of more senior diplomats received copies of interesting pictures and a note saying they could spy for the Chinese or their wives would be sent other copies. I think one of them sent a note back thanking them for the pictures and asking for more.”

  “Hah,” Kurt said.

  “Point is, you have to lure someone into betrayal,” Parnell said. “But in this case they pushed you into an outright betrayal far too quickly. And that implies they have a real time problem on their hands. Whatever they want to do, Commander, they want to do it quickly.”

  “I gave them the codes,” Kurt said. “What else do they want from me?”

  “Good question,” Parnell said. “And once you find out, you need to inform me at once.”

  “I will,” Kurt promised. He wanted to ask if he could talk to Rose, but he didn't dare. “And thank you.”

  Parnell met his eyes, evenly. “For what?”

  “For being understanding ...”

  “I know, better than you, just how stupid people can be when faced with the threat of death,” Parnell said. “I also know that you left yourself vulnerable after the threat of death was removed – and you wouldn't have come forward if you hadn't been urged to confess. Your carelessness got you into this mess, Commander. If you weren't vitally important, if we didn't need as many pilots as we could muster, I would have urged the Admiral to send you back to Earth on Holmes. Your conduct has been disgraceful.”

  “I know, sir,” Kurt said.

  “You also cheated on your wife and risked your children’s futures,” Parnell continued. “I know a little about the vetting process, Commander. A family history of adultery would prevent them from taking up any post that required a full security clearance. If the media got hold of it, and they would, because they think you’re a hero, they’d have to tolerate questions being asked in inconvenient places. Their lives would be ruined.”

  He took a long breath. “Frankly, my advice would be to do as you’re told until we get back to Earth, then take your discharge, change your name and go elsewhere,” he concluded. “If your kids – and Rose – want to go with you, you can take them – or let them go, if they don’t want to have anything to do with you. Your weakness will cost them dear in the future.”

  Kurt clenched his fists, feeling anger spilling up within him. He wanted to throw a punch at the younger man with the older eyes, even though he knew it would be suicidal. And yet he knew Parnell was right. He had acted badly.

  “Yes, sir,” he grated, finally.

  “Good,” Parnell said. “And one other thing?”

  Kurt leaned forward, curiously.

  “Watch your back,” Parnell said. “They’ve used you, Commander. They may now seek to discard you.”

  “I know,” Kurt said. “But would they discard me if they thought they might still have a use for me?”

  “Probably not,” Parnell said. “But as we don’t know quite what they want, it’s hard to know just when you’d outlive your usefulness to them.”

  ***

  “Still nothing from them,” Parnell concluded. “The blackmailers are biding their time.”

  “I see,” Ted said. “And we still don't know what they want.”

  He looked down at the surveillance reports. The Russians – and the other foreigners on the ship – weren't doing anything particularly suspicious. As far as the Marines could tell, the Russians were observing the negotiations and discussing the results amongst themselves in their cabins. But it was impossible to be sure. The Russians had swept their cabin for bugs the first day they arrived and repeated the process every few hours.

  “They may have orders to act only if certain conditions are met,” Parnell said. “I’ve had missions like that in the past, sir. Once we slipped fifty miles into hostile country, only to withdraw five days later as silently as we came.”

  “If that’s the case,” Ted said, “what conditions will activate their orders?”

  Parnell shrugged. “Impossible to say, sir,” he said. “Unless we want to try to take them now ...”

  Ted cursed under his breath. If they had proof – clear proof – that it was the Russians, they could have rounded them all up and locked them in a sealed hold until the ship returned to Earth. But now, without clear proof, it would cause a major diplomatic incident at a time the human race could hardly afford it. The alliance against the aliens was fragile enough, after the Battle of Earth, without him adding to the tensions threatening to rip it apart. He doubted the Prime Minister would thank him for starting a second war.

  “We can't,” he said. He paused. “Can we arrange a ... fake accident for our CAG? Something we can use as an excuse to put him in sickbay for a few weeks?”

  “Of course we can, sir,” Parnell said. “But that would also deprive you of his services over the forthcoming weeks.”

  “True,” Ted agreed. No matter how he looked at the situation, he saw no way to do anything, but wait for the enemy to make their move. And with aliens on his ship, another alien starship keeping them close company and a prince who might have been placed under alien control, there were just too many variables for him to keep juggling safely. “Bollocks!”

  He looked up at the display. The alien starship was holding position on one edge of the flotilla, out of plasma weapons range – he hoped. If the aliens intended an elaborate trick ... he shook his head. Unlike some human planners he could mention, the aliens didn't seem intent on devising the most complicated plans possible, simply because they could. It would have been far easier to simply shadow Ark Royal until a fleet was massed to smash her into rubble. And they’d have the advantage of knowing just where the carrier was going and what it would encounter.

  “Yes, sir,” Parnell sai
d. “I felt safer on Target One, knowing the enemy were just lurking below the waves.”

  Ted had to smile. “We’ll reach the destination the aliens have selected within nine days,” he said. The potential consequences nagged at his mind. If his calculations were correct, the War Faction would have time to prepare a warm welcome. And then there were the Russians ... if it was the Russians. His head hurt just trying to keep track of the different factions, human and alien, involved in the war. “And then we will see.”

  “Aye, sir,” Parnell said.

  He paused. “With your permission,” he added, “I'd like to run a series of counter-boarding drills for the Marines. It would mean sealing off several decks, but ...”

  Ted’s eyes narrowed. “Why ...?”

  “We need the practice,” Parnell said. “The aliens who boarded the ship didn't know where to go, I think; they had to make guesses about where to send their forces. And besides, we’re better soldiers than them, I think. They’re just not designed for fighting on dry land.”

  Ted nodded. “I’d hate to fight them in the water, though,” he said. “Even Mermen wouldn't be able to match them.”

  “True,” Parnell agreed. “I’d not expect anyone, even an SBS operative, to be able to keep up with them in the water, certainly not without specialist equipment. The aliens could simply out-swim them.”

  He paused. “Do you realise the aliens must know our biological requirements very well?”

  “They had captives,” Ted said. “I assume they must have dissected dead bodies too ...”

  “As far as we can tell, they provided their captives with a proper atmosphere,” Parnell said. “They didn't have any trace of anything, but a standard air mix in their bloodstream. And yet they managed to avoid the bends completely, sir. They couldn't have been more than a few metres below the water.”

  “They might have discovered the hard way how fragile we can be,” Ted said. Several alien captives had died in captivity, for reasons no human had been able to understand. Theories ranged from being lonely – which made more sense now – to simply lacking a trace element they needed to eat. But then, surely, all of the alien captives would have died. “Or maybe they were just careful.”

  “Maybe,” Parnell said. “But both captives thought they might be much further below the water than they were.”

  He shrugged. “A mystery we may solve when we talk properly,” he said. “Sir ...”

  Ted looked up, sharply.

  “Get some sleep,” Parnell said, bluntly. “You look like shit.”

  “Thank you,” Ted said. He had just too many pieces of paperwork to do. And then he had reports to read, review and sign. It never seemed to end. “But I don’t have time ...”

  “You need to be alert,” Parnell pointed out. He took a long breath. “Do what I was told to do on my first deployment as a Junior Lt.”

  “And what was?”

  Parnell smiled. “Leave the paperwork until we started home,” he said. “If you die on deployment, I was told, they won’t hire a medium to force you to finish it.”

  “That wouldn't be the strangest thing the government has invested in,” Ted said. “But I’ll do as you suggest.”

  He waited until Parnell had left, then walked over to the sofa and lay down. There was no point in going back to his quarters, not now. Besides, his quarters just felt odd these days, even though he wasn't sharing them with one of the ambassadors or another outsider. And he would be closer to the CIC.

  Sleep didn't come easy, despite his exhaustion. He was almost tempted to order a sedative, but knew he shouldn’t. He’d be asleep, dead to the world, if something happened. It wasn't something he could do without clearing it with both Captain Fitzwilliam and his XO – and perhaps the ship’s doctor. Sighing, he eventually fell into a fitful sleep.

  He was awakened, what felt like seconds later, by the howling of the GQ alarm.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “All right,” James said, as he took his command chair. “What do we have?”

  “Incoming enemy starfighters,” Farley said. Red icons appeared on the display, so close together that they threatened to blur into a shapeless mass. “I count nineteen of them, perhaps more. They’re flying in very close formation.”

  “Prepare to launch ready starfighters,” James ordered. He glanced at the link to the CIC, but Admiral Smith hadn't linked in yet. “And stand by point defence.”

  He gritted his teeth as a nasty thought struck him. “Get a line down to the diplomats,” he added. Once, they had been able to assume that all alien contacts were hostile. They couldn’t do that now. “Ask them to talk to the aliens and confirm the newcomers are hostile.”

  “Aye, sir,” Davidson said.

  James nodded, then glanced at the display. Nineteen starfighters ... so where was their carrier? Long-range sensors showed nothing. The carrier could be under stealth, but it would still have to be somewhere close by ... unless, of course, the aliens had managed to extend their endurance. But there were hard limits, even for them.

  “Enemy starfighters are reducing speed,” Farley said, suddenly. “They’re angling away from us.”

  James frowned. What the hell were they doing? If they’d hoped to get into attack range before he managed to launch his remaining starfighters – which was the only tactic he thought made sense – they should be charging in to attack, not angling away. Or had they suddenly changed their mind for some reason? It would be unlike the aliens, but they had to have taken a beating in the recent battles too.

  “CAG reports all starfighters ready to launch,” Davidson reported. “The diplomats have not yet replied.”

  “Tell them it’s urgent,” James snarled. Diplomats! They could talk all day about non-essentials before approaching the really serious matters. But he didn't have time for arguments over the shape of the conference table or how many assistants and aides each ambassador would be allowed. “We need an answer before the newcomers enter engagement range.”

  He cursed under his breath. Standing pre-war orders forbade him to open fire until the enemy opened fire or if he had a very good reason to believe there was an immediate threat to his command. It was easier to patch up a diplomatic misunderstanding if there were no casualties on either side. Now, he had clearance to engage the aliens wherever he found them, but good reason to think he should exercise a little caution. They were already at war with one alien faction. The others should be kept neutral, at the very least.

  “Captain,” Farley said, softly. “The CAG is requesting orders.”

  “Launch two squadrons of starfighters, then move the CSP into intercept position,” James ordered. He would almost have been happier with a swarm of enemy starfighters bearing down on his ship. At least he would have had good reason to assume hostile intent. “And hold the remaining starfighters at readiness.”

  The red icons flickered in and out of existence as they moved around the edge of the flotilla’s sensor perimeter. James frowned, wondering if the aliens were just trying to force the humans to exhaust themselves. He couldn't ignore the enemy starfighters, but he couldn't deploy too many of his own away from the ship. It could all be a costly diversion. Having his pilots flying constantly would drain them as surely as anything else.

  “Launch four ballistic probes, backtracked along the alien course,” he ordered. “If there is a carrier out there, I want to find it.”

  “Aye, sir,” Farley said. There was a long pause as he worked his console. “Probes deployed, sir; I say again, probes deployed.”

  “Good, James said.

  He nodded, tersely. Sensor stealth and even cloaking devices had their weaknesses. If the alien carrier was doing anything other than pretending to be a hole in space there was a very good chance the probes would pick up at least a sniff of its location. And then ... he scowled as he realised the diplomats had still not replied to his messages. There was no way to know if the enemy starfighters were friendly, neutral or actively hostile. Th
e only evidence he had that pointed to anything other than hostility was the simple fact they were holding outside attack range rather than closing in to engage the carrier.

  “The diplomats say the aliens insist the starfighters aren’t theirs,” Davidson said, suddenly. “They’re hostile.”

  “Good to know,” James said, dryly. The War Faction had shown its willingness to kill members of other factions before. Humanity would regard that as an act of war, but the aliens seemed to think differently. Or, he wondered inwardly, perhaps they had problems understanding the other factions. “Warn all starfighters that they are cleared to engage, if the aliens enter attack range.”

  Long minutes ticked by. The aliens held their position, neither moving closer nor moving away. James had never been a starfighter pilot – his family had flatly forbidden him to attempt to enter the Academy – but he was familiar with their logistic requirements. It was a rare starfighter that could handle more than an hour or two of flying time without needing its life support packs replaced. The alien starfighters seemed to have similar limitations.