by Rob Buckman
“The courier who was supposed to transport the documents came down with the flu or something. Her ladyship then insisted on getting back to earth as soon as possible, and the Ambassador, bless his heart, gave her the dispatch case to carry, and I was stuck.”
“I don't follow?”
“He wasn’t in on the mission, and as you know, a Kings Messenger has complete priority over anyone else, and I couldn’t tell her what I was really doing.” He laughed at some private joke for a moment, then. “To make matters worse, the Lady Ann didn’t, and couldn’t tell me what she was doing there either, and I still don’t really know.”
“Good grief, I bet you got a rocket over that.”
“No, Laddy, no one has said a word about it thanks to you.”
“How come me?”
“The plan started to go wrong the moment we entered Sirrien space, instead of capturing us, the Captain of that destroyer started shooting instead.”
“I bet that upset you.”
“You could say that, I didn’t have my shields up and took a direct hit on the port side that damaged the thrust plate.” Mike knew how that felt from experience.
“My only chance was to run for it, thinking to abort the mission, but I with a damaged drive plate I just couldn’t shake that damn Destroyer.” Jimmy blew his cheeks out in exasperation as he sat back and relaxed, putting his clasped hands behind his head, looking completely at ease.
“Then the lifeboat trick.”
“Right, I ditched on the moon with plans to surrender to the local authorities, then get myself and the others out through the usual diplomatic channels and come home.”
“The procedure being?”
“Oh, the usual profound apologies for straying into a sovereign space, etc. etc. etc., but things got a little wild when the local militia turned up.” He paused a moment, and answered traffic control about change of flight plan before continuing. “Before we knew it, they started shooting, but as things turned out, they did capture us and got a look at the papers, or at least some of them.” He glanced at Mike and grinned.
“How was I to know they were supposed to look at them,” Mike said defensively, “as far as I knew they were top secret.”
“I had to laugh when I found out you burned them.” He chuckled softly.
“All those carefully prepared forgeries going up in flames, it was hilarious.” Mike had the grace to blush, making his gallant rescue more like a comedy.
“I’m glad you think so, did you know about the rescue operation?”
“No, not really, just that they were going to put on something to authenticate the papers. I will say, when you turned up it was a bit of a shock.”
“Really?”
“The only thing I could do was go along with it and pretend to be grateful for your efforts, which I am, by the way. Things were starting to get a little rough.”
“It does make the whole thing seem a bit melodramatic now, since you had a way to get home without it.”
“Don’t kid yourself, it would have been tough, especially after that dickhead, Prince Philip turned up.”
“Wish I’d killed the skinny twit when I had the chance.” Mike growled.
“And what of your Lady fair, Lady Ann?” Jimmy asked, looking sideways.
“Haven’t had a word from her since we got back, do you know what happened to her.” Mike wasn’t sure what to say, and tried to sound as offhand as he could.
“No, Laddy, the last I saw of her was being put aboard a shuttle and whisked off to Earth. I thought you were glad to see the last of her, after the way she treated you.” Jimmy flicked his eyes to Mike’s face, seeing his flush slightly.
“Yes... yes of course I was, she was... ummm, a real vixen, with a tongue like a knife.” He stammered, looking morose.
“Did you ever find out who that Hardwood character was?” He asked quickly, changing the subject.
“No, I asked, but no one would say a word, a bit of a mystery there.”
“Well, I suppose he died when the shuttle blew up.”
“Could be.”
“At least your story clears up a few mystery items.”
“Such as?” Jimmy asked.
“Like why the escape craft was out of fuel for one.”
“Damn! Didn’t think of that at the time, I wasn’t going to use the blasted thing again anyway, so why waste time scooping fuel.”
“It might have tripped up your story if Hardwood hadn’t blown it up.”
“Good point, will have to remember little things like that for the future, damn fine bit of detective work there, Mike.”
“Oh, don’t give me the credit, that goes to CPO Blake he spotted it.”
“Well, congratulation on the second promotion, you deserve it.”
“I’m not so sure about that now, not after what you’ve told me.”
“Laddy, you do. I got a firsthand account of your efforts on behalf of the Lady Ann, and I concur with the assessment of awarding you the VC.”
“Thanks Jimmy. But I still feel a little uneasy about accepting it.”
“Wear it with pride, Mike.” He reached over and squeezed his shoulder.
After that, they chatted about this and that, and Mike filled him in on what happened after they separated. Two hours later, Jimmy brought them into the landing into Portsmouth. After that, they parted company as he went off to deliver his dispatches, and Mike took the base shuttle bus to the posting office. He reported in to a harassed looking Second Leftenant, who didn’t seem to have any idea what he was supposed to do. He dug around in his desk for a moment, then handed Mike a sealed envelope and a data pad before turning to the next man in line. Finding the Officer Mess, Mike ordered a cup of tea and sat at a table in the corner, ignoring the babble of sound around him. The open Mess was full of Officers and rating of all ranks, coming or going to assignments, and opening the envelope, he wondered what his assignment would be.
To: First Leftenant Gray, Mike A.
From: Headquarters: Royal Navy
Ministry of Defense. London
By the authority of the First Sea Lord, you are hereby ordered to report to the
Naval Dockyards, Davenport and take up command of Admiralty Inspector as
of today. Hereinafter, you will inspect all dockyard repair work, and certify them
are completed as per Naval regulation and specifications. In additional,
you will complete all necessary work on any outstanding Naval vessel currently
under this command, and prepare the said vessels for space trials. Once
completed you will lift the said vessel into orbit and report to Admiral Rawlings,
Officer Commanding Earth Fleet for additional orders.
Signed: Markham A.J. Director Bue. Ships. R.N.
The document was also signed by a number of other signatures, one of which was Admirals Rawlings himself. A list of communication numbers he could use should he find himself in need of special assistance covered the second sheet. The envelope also contained an expense voucher and another for the ships, or Inspector’s fund. Both amounts were substantial. Mike read the document twice, making sure he was reading it right, then checked the envelope for additional information. There wasn’t any. It seemed odd they’d rush him down to Davenport on such short notice just to take over the job of naval inspector, and add finish building any ships lying around.
On face value, they’d given him command of a shipyard detachment, a little unusual for a First Leftenant, unless they were trying to get rid of him, there had to be a catch to it. In the end, he gave up trying to figure it out, and went to arrange for transport and for the posting quartermaster to hold his trunks until he had an address to send them to. Walking outside, a gust of cold wind cut through his jacket and he shivered. His first thought was to open his duffel bag and pull his flight jacket, but that wouldn’t look good. On impulse, he walked back inside and found the truck Snips provided and looked inside. He whistled in surpris
e, finding a complete wardrobe, and a heated winter overcoat. Snips had obviously checked the weather earth side and knew he’d need one. Shaking his head slightly at the man’s generosity, he put on the warm coat and buttoned it flicking the power switch to on. The sensor unit would automatically keep the inside of the coat warm and toasty no matter what the outside temperature was.
Davenport Navel Base wasn’t like the one at Portsmouth, with majestic warships arriving and departing. There were no bands playing here, just the screaming whine of plasma cutting torches and the hammering of countless machine tools. The sound overwhelmed everything, and the air tasted of rust and smoke. This was a refit yard with ships of every shape and size in need of some form of repair or refit, from battleships to patrol vessels. His first stop was the shipyard Superintendent’s office, but he got little help there, except a puzzled look and terse instruction on how to find his office. That turned out to be a dusty cubbyhole at the back of a warehouse up a flight of rickety wooden steps. One look told him that no one had used the office for a while, yet that didn’t make sense. Why send him to a posting if there was no one to relieve? Or hadn’t been for some time. Something was definitely out of kilter here. There was nothing for it but to dig in and try to figure out what he was supposed to do. His future prospect didn’t look good, and he had a deepening suspicion that they’d shunted off to this obscure position deliberately to get rid of him. Not that he should have expected anything better, but the prospect of spending the next ten-year rotting away here didn't appeal to him either. Maybe that was the point, to send him here to get him to quit. If that was the case, he wondered how long he could stand it before he did. With a sigh, he went back to town, and spent the remainder of the day looking for a place to stay. After a lengthy search, he found a small three room, furnished apartment for a reasonable price, and immediately moved in.
Rather than dwell on the impossibility of the task before him, he braved the wind and rain and brought a few supplies. He wouldn’t have to go out and eat all the time that way, and headed back to his new quarters. He did grab a quick meal before returning his rooms, but it wasn’t until later that night, after innumerable comm calls that he settled down to read. By chance, he passed an old bookstore on his way back, and glancing in the window. A complete, ten volume set of ‘History of Naval Warfare’ looked dusty and tired sitting there in the window, and after dickering with the bookshop owner, it was questionable who got the better end of the deal. By modern standards, the printed books were outdated, what with electronic data pads, but Mike had a thing about old book. Sometimes they contained far more information than data pad, information impossible to find without a lengthy search of databases. Much of the information he’d committed to memory at the Naval Academy, but not all of it. He re-consumed Volume One in less than an hour, and started on Volume Two, lost in a world of sea going ships a thousand years before. The ten volume set covered everything from Greek and Roman naval strategy and battles, through Drake and Frobisher, Nelson and Hornblower to surface and sub-surface action in the 20 and 21 Century. At first, he thought these particular sections had nothing to do with battles in space, but then saw startling similarities. The only difference was, surface ships fought in two dimensions yet the thinking and daring were the same. Subs did fight in three dimensions, and here he paid special interest. Some of the major and minor battles were a wonder, and the audacity of the Captains involved a marvel to read, then a knock at his door broke Mike’s train of thought. Raising his eyes, he looked at the door suspiciously. Few people knew where his lodgings were, and fewer still would come visiting at this time of night. Weapon in hand, he padded across the ice cold floor to the door, and standing to one side slipped the safety catch off.
“Who is it?”
“CPO Blake, sir.”
“Conner!” He jerked the door open, his face beaming. “Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes, Conner... I mean CPO Blake.”
“Whichever you want, sir, Conner or Chief.”
“Conner it is them, come in man.” He opened the door all the way and stepped back. “Damn! It's good to see you, but what brings you down to the wilds of Davenport on a night like this.” Conner eyed the blaster and nodded, a slight smile on his face. The kid was growing up fast, and careful, feeling a certain amount of pride in that as he dropped his duffel bag in the corner.
“You might say, reporting for duty, sir.”
“What!” Mike spun round, his leg in one pant leg, seeing Conner holding out a computer pad to him. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, sir, here are my orders, signed by the Admiral himself.” Mike sighed and sealing the front of his pants, he took the offered data pad.
“And what did you do now to warrant this assignment as punishment.”
“No, sir, nothing, I requested reassignment to your command.” Mike looked up from the pad, his eye hard.
“Then maybe I should put this blaster to your head and put you out of your misery.” He chuckled. “Who in their right mind would want this!”
“So far, sir, you haven’t let me down.”
“Chief, on this one I’m screwed.”
“How come, sir.”
“This is a nowhere assignment, a dead end.” The Chief said nothing, just raised one eyebrow.
“I’m the yards new naval inspector.” Conner’s eyebrow climbed a notch.
“That is odd.”
“How come?”
“The Navy hasn’t had an inspector in this yard for 20 years.”
“Say again?”
“It’s all done by computer, sir, from London.”
“Then I’m even more screwed.” Mike sighed. He sat down heavily in a chair by the table and rubbed his hands over his face.
“What means that this is even more of a nowhere job than I suspected.” Conner pursed his lips as he sat down, leaning his elbows on the table. His craggy face looked pensive as he contemplated the situation. At length he nodded, as if agreeing with himself.
“I’d say off hand, that this isn’t what it seems.” Mike stood up and went to put the kettle on for tea.
“I don’t see how.”
“What did the Admiral tell you, before you departed.”
“Um... nothing much, only,” he thought about it a moment, “just, that he thought that this would be an interesting assignment for me, but, thought that my somewhat dubious talents could be used better elsewhere.”
“I doubt the Admiral said dubious.”
“Well, maybe not in so many words.”
“Yet, he said interesting.”
“He did.”
“Then I’d say that there was more to this assignment than meets the eye.”
“Unless it's just a means to get me out of the way for a while.” Conner didn’t say anything, letting the wheels turn in his head.
All the odd bits of gossip below decks, half-heard conversation between officers while on watch. Offhand comments here and there all went into his thinking, and a picture began to take shape, a fuzzy one now, but a picture none-the-less.
“Well, sir, we’ll just have to make the best of it then, won’t we.” He smiled, trying to lighten his skipper’s beak mood.
“Too right,” Mike sighed, “Anyway, take your coat off and sit down,” Opened a draw, Mike took out a bottle of Brandy and found two glasses.
“Let have a drink to take this chill off,” shivering as he poured. “This damn country is freezing, and wet, no wonder my family left.” Conner chuckled and raised his glass in salute.
“Here’s to you, sir.”
“And to you Conner Blake, Call me Mike when we are off duty.”
“No, sir, can’t do that, wouldn’t be proper.” Conner shook his head as he downed half the contents of the glass.
“Oh come on Chief, we aren’t on the deck of a ship now.”
“No, sir, that doesn’t matter, you are my commanding officer, no matter where we are.” Mike could see Conner was dead serious, and with a slight sig
h, he accepted Conner’s statement.
“You’re a good man, Conner Blake.”
“And so are you, sir.” They toasted each other again, emptying their glasses. Mike busied himself making tea and setting out the cups, sugar and mikes, each deep in his own thoughts.
“Fresh tea in the pot Chief, help yourself and take a look at these orders and tell me what you think.” Conner did, after removing his topcoat and jacket. For a minute, he sat there reading them, trying to read between the lines. “What do you think?”
“I’m not sure what to think,” he muttered, looking puzzled.
“From what I see here, and out at the yard, I’d say this was a lot more than just running the naval inspection office. You don’t put a wet behind the ear First Leftenant in a job like this.”