Imperium: Revelation: Book Two in the Imperium Trilogy

by Paul M Calvert

  Both Captains shook their heads, for as Commodore Skye had anticipated, they had already come to the same conclusion and whilst they didn’t like it, they knew it was in the best interests of everyone.

  “Thank you both. In the absence of any questions, that will be all.” Skye waited until both Captains had cut their connection, then let out a suppressed breath, relieved it was done.

  Her First Officer came over once the privacy screen faded, eyebrows raised in query as to how the call went. “Easier or harder than you thought?” Jill asked quietly, reaching Skye’s command chair.

  “No, about the same. They are both good Captains, so I expected nothing less, although I feel sorry for them, especially Captain Bolt as he’s had command of his ship for five years.” Skye looked down at her screen for a moment, then back to Boyce. “When do you think Admiral Charalambous will make his next move?”

  Boyce opened her mouth to answer, but the AI interrupted her before she could say anything.

  “Incoming missile swarm detected, eta fifteen minutes. Standard countermeasures initiated. Awaiting additional instructions.”

  “Damn,” she said to herself, resisting the temptation to say it out loud, knowing everyone was watching her reactions to this latest attack. Skye turned to her First Officer, “Jill, we need options; something new and unexpected to get us out of our current predicament...something that will give us an edge. Sooner or later we are going to be cornered or outgunned and that will be an end to it. Is there anything we have on board any of our ships that we can use and might have been overlooked?”

  Commander Boyce slowly shook her head as she interrogated the fleet’s manifests again, looking for anything she might have missed the first time, then stopped, a slight smile beginning to crease her lips. Noticing the smile, Skye looked at her, her raised eyebrows signalling an unspoken question.

  “Not something, Skye, but someone. If the manifests are accurate, we have Professor Richard Lucking on board INS Brightstar, designer of the standard fighter template and any number of other weapon systems. Apparently, he had stopped off on Ragnar to visit family, on his way to Capital for an investiture or to pick up an award.”

  “How did he end up on one of our military ships?”

  Jill’s smile broadened further as she replied, “He’d missed his original transport and just before the attack had secured himself a lift to the Jump Station on INS Brightstar, using his name and position to secure a seat. Obviously, the ships AI recognised him and agreed to the Professor’s temporary passage. He was then trapped onboard when the fighting started. I’ve no idea what he’s been working on recently as our records are somewhat vague, but if anyone can help come up with something to help us, it’s him. Bring him over?”

  Skye nodded in agreement. “Assign both ships AI’s to make the arrangements, once we have dealt with this latest attack. Make sure anything he might need is ready for when he arrives. Accord full honours and make a fuss of him just in case he’s touchy about status.”

  She looked at the three-dimensional display hanging in the middle of the Bridge and watched, with a sinking feeling, as her ship’s AI tracked the current position of the incoming missiles and time to impact with their projected targets. “Admiral Charalambous has changed tactics,” she thought to herself, noting how the missiles were now all focused on one ship situated at the rear of her fleet. Skye checked to ensure instructions to close ranks and provide additional protection had been sent to the ships closest to the target.

  “I just hope this Professor Lucking’s reputation is deserved.”

  Scene 19, The Smoke, 1940

  The next few days passed by in a blur of new experiences for Alexander. The short sea voyage to England, landing in Ramsgate and being processed along with thousands of other returning soldiers, had been a real learning experience for him. The British soldiers, tired, dirty and inordinately grateful for being back home on English soil, were soon processed and, if required, arranged temporary accommodation until it was time for them to go home or back to what remained of their regiments. Alexander sympathised with the French soldiers who had managed to escape alongside them, like him, strangers in a strange land that most of them had never visited before and finding themselves unable to speak the language. They could be seen in small groups, identified not just by their different uniforms but also the way they looked askance at the food provided, huddling together with their fellow countrymen for company and support, smoking foul-smelling cigarettes.

  Sergeant Streeton had been as good as his word, ensuring Alexander was able to stay with the able-bodied men from his company while he spent two days in the local hospital having his wound checked. Temporary papers had been arranged for Alexander, along with the other French soldiers, and he’d been left very much alone to fend for himself during the day. When told he would have to attend an Alien Registration meeting he was momentarily concerned until the meaning had been explained properly. At the meeting he had been nervous about giving himself away, but with the aid of Vimes and some coaching from the soldiers, had been able to bluff his way through. Mentioning he was a trained pilot got the questioner scribbling furiously, probably helping his case. The questioning had been brief, but thorough, and Alexander thanked Vimes for having suggested he seek out the local library and read up on France and Algeria beforehand, along with several books on flying an aeroplane. The library was set back a short distance from the dock and the red brick building had been a warm place to spend some time in between going to the temporary mess tent and the hospital to see the Sergeant.

  Eventually, and after a relatively short time considering the confusion still going on around them, Sergeant Streeton and his remaining men that were fit enough to leave, had received their orders along with news on some of the others they had left back in Dunkirk. All had safely made it back to England via Dover and Folkstone and the orders were for the regiment to have some rest and recuperation until called back to the barracks in London.

  Alexander had been offered a place in a transit camp along with the other French soldiers but Sergeant Streeton was having none of it, insisting he come home with him to London, at least until either Alexander or the Government had decided what to do with him. That had been yesterday and today Alexander found himself travelling at a slow speed through the English countryside in a train carriage that smelt of smoke and unwashed bodies. It rattled and creaked alarmingly, the clackety-clack of iron wheels on the track providing a regular and somewhat hypnotic beat. His seat fabric was rough and had sagged in several places, evidencing where years of heavy bottoms had won their war with the springs and horsehair inside.

  He’d been allowed to sit by the window and was gratefully taking in the view. It was completely different to anything in his experience and Alexander found it fascinating. Travelling through deep cuttings overshadowed by large, mature trees, the train would suddenly emerge into the sunlight, passing through open fields lined with hedgerows. The train regularly passed through numerous small villages and neatly kept train stations, often with many people lining the small platforms to welcome back their loved ones from war or to simply show their support for the soldiers that even now still crammed the carriages. Red, white and blue flags were waved by numerous children, the boys in short trousers and the girls in colourful dresses.

  His neck a little stiff from having spent so long looking out of the window at an angle, Alexander leaned back and looked at his travelling companions. Sergeant Streeton sat opposite him, sucking on an unlit pipe he’d managed to buy in Ramsgate, occasionally glancing across to Alexander, his sharp eyes still taking in everything he did.

  “He likes you, that’s for certain,” commented Vimes for the first time since he’d boarded the train, “but he’s picked up that not everything is straight forward. I think you are still being tested. He feels he owes you, but he won't hesitate to take action if he thinks you mean his country any harm or gets too suspicious.”

  “I agree, Vimes, but
I don’t blame him one bit. He’s been watching me carefully since Dunkirk. He’s a good man and I think someone I might be able to trust.”

  “Just be careful, Alex,” replied Vimes, before fading back and leaving Alexander alone with his thoughts again.

  Outside the window, the open countryside and small villages began to fade as they approached London, leaving the trees of the countryside behind. Around them, uniform houses began to line up in ranks, huddling ever closer to the railway tracks. Stations became more frequent, less picturesque and more business-like. In the near distance, Alexander could see a yellowish tint to the skyline, which his nose indicated were pollutants from the numerous chimneys of coal burning fires. In the carriageway outside their train compartment, anticipation and noise grew, as the soldiers began collecting their dark green kit bags from racks or where they had been left propped up in the walkways. Even though he wasn’t going to have a loved one waiting for him at journey's end, Alexander could feel the other soldier’s excitement as they began anticipating seeing wives and children again after so many difficult months away.

  “Ah, it’s good to be back,” commented the Sergeant, taking a deep breath and looking out of the window as the train pulled into a dark and noisy station, full of steam and the smell of soot. He looked across at Alexander,”Back there, outside Dunkirk, there was a time I didn’t think I would ever get back.”

  “Come on Sarge, you’ll live forever, the Devil himself doesn’t want you telling ‘im what to do,” piped up one of the soldiers who'd been asleep for most of the journey and had miraculously woken up the moment the train entered the station. Everyone in the carriage laughed, their relief obvious at finally being back in familiar territory. The worries of the past few weeks and months were slowly beginning to fade into the background of their thoughts, just as a bad dream is quickly forgotten yet lingers in the mind for a while.

  With a jolt and a shaking of the carriage, the train finally stopped, immediately followed by the slamming open of heavy doors as the soldiers piled out onto the platform. Sergeant Streeton indicated to everyone that they should let the initial crush go first and it wasn’t long before the train was mostly empty, at which point he nodded and everyone shot off, but not before hurried goodbyes were exchanged, along with promises to meet up soon for a beer or back at the barracks. Alexander carried Bill’s kitbag and helped him down the steep carriage steps. By now a porter was hurrying along the platform, slamming the open doors closed as he reached each carriage, getting the train ready for its return journey back to Ramsgate to pick up more soldiers. At the ticket barrier they were nodded through by the inspector, who gave Alexander a look before going back to reading his copy of the Sporting Life.

  The station concourse was awash with people going about their business, but mainly soldiers being greeted by their wives or family who had been advised what trains their loved ones would be on by their Regiments. Scenes of joy and happiness were everywhere and for a second Alexander felt quite homesick, wanting nothing more at that moment than to be home with his own family. Bill must have picked up something of his mood, as he turned to Alex and asked, “You OK, lad?”

  Alexander nodded, smiling, “It reminds me of my own family, Bill, that’s all. Is is still alright to call you that, isn’t it?” he asked.

  Bill laughed, “Of course it is. Now, help me over towards the exit. We have a couple of trams to catch and then we’ll be safely home. ”

  Not knowing what a tram was, but assuming it was some form of primitive transport not unlike the train he had spent the last hour or so travelling on, Alexander nodded and resigned himself to another uncomfortable journey. He therefore wasn’t surprised when the tram was yet another vehicle that ran on rails but was pleased it took motive power from overhead cables rather than the sooty steam that had belched from the train and slowly crept into the carriage, making his eyes water and mouth burn. The smell of burnt hydrocarbons and coal was now a constant for Alexander and together with the noise of the trams and people, it forcibly reminded him just how alien and primitive everything was here on Earth, but even so, he much preferred it to France where the smell of cordite or the stench of rotting bodies lingered in the nose for hours.

  The journey through south London necessitated two changes of tram, but fortunately, the wait for them wasn’t too long, as Alexander had begun noticing several open stares, first at his height and build, then at his skin colour. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable again and Bill, with his eagle eyes, quickly picked up on it.

  “It’s something you’ll need to get used to, Alex, what with your height and colour,” the older man said to him after two young women did a double take as they walked past. “There're not many darkies here, but I daresay things will change once the Empire troops start arriving.”

  “Darkies?” Alexander rolled the word around in his mind, then mentally shrugged it away. “I take it this society is very homogeneous and people of differing ethnicities are unusual?” he asked of Bill.

  “Well, not sure about the words you are using but if you’ve just asked if we don’t get many dark skinned foreigners around here, you'd be spot on. Don’t let it get to you, Alex. Once the people who live local know what you did for me and the boys, they’ll accept you.” Bill paused for a moment, “Or they’ll be trouble. Come on, look lively, here’s the number 38 tram. Not long and we’ll be home. Ena will be surprised at seeing you.”

  Alexander paused, not understanding. “Who exactly is an Ena, Bill?” he asked, assuming it was a family member but not totally sure.

  “It’s my daughter, Ena. You know, the one I gave you the letter for in case anything…you know,” replied Bill, a little uncomfortably. “She’s a good girl and has looked after me since the wife died. I don’t know what I’d have done without her, Alex, truth be told.” Bill looked up at him. “She’s tall; not like you, though, but she’s got a few inches on me and her cousins who take more after me in height.” Bill chuckled. “You know what, if she didn’t look so much like me I’d swear she was the milkman’s.” Bill chuckled, fondly recalling the memories of his wife he carried around in his head, gone now these past ten years.

  Alexander was thoroughly confused but didn’t want to cause offence by asking what a milkman was, especially if it had anything to do with reproduction. He’d noticed how men here were deferential to women, giving up their seats on the tram so the women could sit and how doors were held open for them, but not necessarily for other men. It was a strange place, full of contrasts and inconsistencies. He mentally shrugged his shoulders and made a note to discover exactly what a milkman was and what it entailed. He looked around him. The tram was slow, stopping frequently to allow people to get on and off and Alexander noticed how worn and poor everyone seemed to be the further they travelled from the train station. It wasn’t long before Bill tapped him on the shoulder and pointed towards the exit.

  “Alex, you're taller than me, ring the bell, will you please,” asked Bill. He noticed the panicked look on his face and pointed to the thin wire running the trams length. “Pull it, go on, it don’t bite.”

  Alexander reached across and tugged on the cable, causing a bell to ring behind the driver. He assumed it was some kind of signal to tell him they wanted to get off and was pleased with his deductive powers when the tram clanked and rattled to a stop. Alexander hopped off at the rear of the tram and extended an arm to Bill who gratefully took it and lowered himself off the platform onto the road, still wary about the stitches across his stomach. With a cheery ding-ding, the tram jerked forward and began accelerating away, through the cars and horse-drawn carts that made up the bulk of the day's traffic.

  “Fancy a pint before we go home?” asked Bill, motioning towards a large pub opposite. Having been treated to several rounds of beer while back in Ramsgate, Alexander was no stranger to what the building and its colourful sign represented. Two road signs indicated they were on the Old Kent Road, facing Commercial Way.

  “Wha
t’s a Kentish Drover?” asked Alexander, reading aloud the words on the sign and above the pub entrance. “Anything to do with those animals on the sign and that we are on the Old Kent Road. What’s a Kent?”

  Bill sighed, “Be careful how you say that, especially with your French accent. I’ll explain after a pint, Alex. Come on, help me across the road, that’s a good chap.”

  Inside the pub, the dark interior smelt of stale beer, and the yellow, nicotine stained walls and ceiling indicated it probably hadn’t had a good clean for many years. A number of men were dotted around the stained tables, some alone, others in groups of two or three. Young women were noticeably absent, although two elderly ladies sat in one corner, nursing their halves of some dark beer. The barman, standing behind a long wooden bar, had been wiping dry a stack of glasses which had been cleaned by the potman and was carefully placing them on a shelf above the wooden bar. On seeing Bill and Alex walk in, he put down his blue and white towel, nodding his head in recognition.

  “What you having, gentlemen?” he asked.

  “Two pints of Double Diamond,” said Bill, eagerly watching the beer being pulled from the pump before downing his almost in one go.

  Alexander found the beer to be nutty and flavoursome, so much so that he persuaded Bill to get another, not that he’d needed much persuading. Bill asked Alex what he thought of London beer and was pleased to see he’d enjoyed his first pint.