“Yes, sir,” Henry said.
He closed the connection, then grinned. His wife smiled back. They were leaving Earth, again! No more confinement, no more reporters prowling outside the gates, no more threats of being assimilated into the Royal Family ... they were leaving Earth! And there would be new challenges on Vixen. Henry felt his smile grow wider. He was quite looking forward to them. They were off on a whole new adventure ...
And this time, Henry promised himself silently, we won’t be coming back.
Chapter Forty
Susan felt ... numb.
It wasn't something she knew how to handle, not really. She’d managed to get her ruined ship home, somehow; she’d visited her father after handing Vanguard over to the engineers; she’d even, in a blind rage, seduced Paul Mason and spent the night in his bed. But, in the end, she still felt numb. Vanguard had been her ship ... but now, Vanguard was gone.
She had been tempted, in truth, not to bother catching the shuttle to Nelson Base. It was unlikely she'd be offered another command, not after everything that had happened over the last three years. She could resign instead, perhaps, but a civilian life held no attractions for her. The Royal Navy had been her universe for the last ten years. Even the prospect of claiming land on Britannia wasn't enough to attract her. She didn't want to leave the navy ...
... But she knew, all too well, that the navy might no longer want her.
She waited outside Admiral Fitzwilliam’s office, feeling almost like a naughty schoolgirl who’d been sent to face the headmistress. She’d made sure to arrive on time, of course, but the admiral seemed to be delaying matters purposefully. Maybe it was a subtle sign that she was no longer in favour - as if she’d ever been. Or perhaps he wanted to make her squirm in her seat. Or perhaps she was just being paranoid. His last appointment might have overrun.
The outer hatch opened, revealing Admiral Naiser. He’d been promoted, Susan noted as she rose to her feet, trying to hide the flicker of resentment. Admiral Naiser was now a full admiral, although - if he was on Nelson Base - he hadn't been assigned a post yet. Could he go back to NGW as a full admiral? Or was he going to take command of Unity Station? Or ...?
“Susan,” Admiral Naiser said. “I’m sorry I didn't have a chance to speak to you at the funeral.”
“It’s all right, sir,” Susan said. She’d liked George Fitzwilliam, even though the poor midshipwoman had really been too inexperienced for her post, but she wasn't the only person who had died over the last six months. A third of Vanguard’s crew had been killed, yet only one of them had been honoured by the great and the good. “I had to speak to her family.”
She kept her face impassive with an effort. Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam had been stiff-upper-lip types, calmly accepting their daughter’s death in the line of duty, but their sole surviving daughter had been different. Anne Fitzwilliam had broken down when she’d realised her sister was dead. She might have tried to act like an adult - legally, she was an adult - but there was something oddly immature about her. Susan couldn't help wondering if Anne’s parents had been so determined to shape her in their own image that they’d done permanent damage to her psyche.
“You have my sympathy,” Admiral Naiser said. “That is never easy.”
The inner hatch opened. “Admiral Naiser, Captain Onarina,” Commander Sarah Outlander said. “Admiral Fitzwilliam will see you now.”
Susan exchanged glances with Admiral Naiser, then tailed him into the small office. Admiral Fitzwilliam was seated on a sofa, with Prince Henry sitting next to him in an overstuffed armchair. Commander Outlander produced a teapot and teacups, then retreated through the hatch as Admiral Fitzwilliam motioned for the newcomers to sit down. Susan would have preferred to stand - she was very much the junior officer in the compartment - but she knew she had to do as she was told. She couldn't help noticing that Prince Henry wore a sword at his hip.
“Thank you both for coming,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. He leaned forward and picked up the teapot. “Shall I be mother?”
“Please,” Prince Henry said. He sounded oddly impatient. “Or otherwise we will be here all day.”
“I have a meeting with Admiral Soskice in an hour,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “And while I’m sure he would be interested in this meeting, he may feel rather differently.”
He poured four cups of tea, then passed them round. “First things first,” he added, as soon as they all had a cup. “The Board of Inquiry completed its inquest into the destruction of HMS Formidable, the effective destruction of HMS Vanguard and the damage inflicted upon HMS King Edward, as well as various smaller ships. It was decided that no one was to blame for the lost starships. Both of you may be called to testify in other countries as their navies struggle to understand how and why their ships were lost, but His Majesty’s Government does not believe that anyone was at fault.”
Susan nodded, relieved. She would have made an excellent scapegoat, if the Royal Navy had decided it needed someone to blame. Why not? Depending on how one looked at it, she was technically a mutineer. Admiral Naiser had been in command, but throwing him to the dogs would have been politically difficult. The Admiralty would have hesitated even if he had been grossly incompetent.
“It was a formality,” Admiral Fitzwilliam added, after a moment. “But unfortunately the formalities often exist for a reason.”
“Yes, sir,” Admiral Naiser said.
“This leads to two separate issues,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “Admiral Naiser ... your name has been mooted as a possible First Space Lord, when my term in office comes to an end. I believe you are not already aware of this?”
“It is a surprise,” Admiral Naiser said.
“It shouldn't be,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “Those of us who have genuine experience in command - in all ranks - fight a constant running battle against those who don’t have such experience and don’t understand its value. The number of patently absurd ideas I have had to deflect, during my time in office ... you’ll discover that half of your time will be wasted keeping idiots from draining the navy’s resources.”
“You make it sound like a great job,” Admiral Naiser said, sarcastically.
“It has to be done,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “Your work as part of the Next Generation Weapons project has been noted in high places, particularly now that the face of war has changed once again. There are other possible candidates for the role, John, but you are the one with most recent experience. And you have some experience in battling bureaucracies and crazy intellectuals too.”
He sighed. “And while it should count for little,” he added, “you also enjoy the support of hundreds of officers and men.”
Susan nodded, wordlessly.
“War is changing,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “And we must change with it.”
“Yes, sir,” Admiral Naiser said. He leaned forward. “Frankly, sir, if we’d delayed the operation for six months we would have lost the war.”
Susan wanted to deny it, but she knew he was right. The Foxes had produced some very nasty surprises, ranging from a brand-new penetrator warhead to the gunboats and even faster missiles. Given six months to iron out the bugs and put the weapons into mass production, the Foxes could have smashed the entire task force effortlessly. The Royal Navy had copies of the weapons now, of course, but putting them into production would be difficult. In the end, they’d been very lucky.
“That is correct,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “And while you will no longer be directly involved with NGW, you will be responsible for picking and choosing which ideas get turned into hardware.”
“And God help you if you get it wrong,” Prince Henry put in.
“We’ll also need to work on the Jump Drive,” Admiral Naiser commented. “Everyone will be trying to build their own.”
“Now they know it’s possible,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “And, of course, we will be putting together our own FTL communications network.”
And dealing with the
changes that will bring, Susan thought. Perhaps Admiral Fitzwilliam is right to want to retire.
“If I am selected, I will do my best,” Admiral Naiser informed him. “But I have not yet received any formal notification.”
“You will,” Admiral Fitzwilliam promised. “Until then ... you’ll be kept busy with NGW.”
He smiled as he turned to Susan. “Captain Onarina. Susan. You must be wondering why you were called here today.”
“Yes, sir,” Susan said.
“It was decided, as I said, that you bear no personal blame for Vanguard’s sorry state,” Admiral Fitzwilliam told her. “That you managed to get your ship home under such conditions is something of a miracle ...”
“And a testament to her designers,” Admiral Naiser put in.
Admiral Fitzwilliam shot him a sharp look. “Thank you,” he said, darkly. He turned back to Susan. “I understand that you lodged a formal protest about Vanguard being struck from the Navy List, but under the circumstances your protest has been rejected. Frankly, the cost of repairs is too high for the beancounters to stomach.”
“Particularly as there are newer weapons and technologies on the way,” Admiral Naiser said.
Susan closed her eyes in pain, just for a moment. She’d known it would happen, but ... she’d hoped, against logic and reason, that it wouldn’t. That her ship would survive as more than a training hulk ...
She pushed the thought aside. They would understand her feelings of course. There wasn't a man in the room who wouldn't understand her feelings. But so what? Vanguard was beyond cost-effective repair. The beancounters had finally won.
“As an experienced naval officer, and one with command experience, there are a number of prospective paths open to you,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said, after a moment. “We do not have any large ships currently in need of a commanding officer, but we do have a couple of survey ships just coming into service. Given what happened at UXS-469, having an experienced naval officer in command might make the difference between peaceful contact and another interstellar war.”
“I don’t believe the survey officers made any mistakes,” Prince Henry pointed out. “They can hardly be blamed for running into trouble.”
“Perhaps,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said.
He sighed. “The second option is spending a term at the academy,” he added. “Your recent experience includes lessons we’d like to teach the cadets, both military and ... and otherwise.”
“When to relieve a superior officer,” Prince Henry said, dryly.
Susan felt her cheeks heat, even though no one could possibly notice. That was not a lesson, she suspected, anyone wanted the junior officers to learn.
But they might need to know it, she mused. I won’t be the last officer serving under a dangerously incompetent commander.
Admiral Fitzwilliam scowled. “Among other things,” he said. “We’re going to have to revamp the program - again.”
He shrugged. “Taking a year or so off to be an instructor is hardly a career-wrecker,” he added. “Your name will be added to the list of officers in need of ships. By that point” - he nodded to Admiral Naiser - “John will be First Space Lord. I’m sure he will remember you kindly.”
Susan kept her face tightly composed. Whatever Admiral Naiser might say, now or later, she understood the political realities. The only things she had in her favour were genuine command experience and a collection of various medals from seven different spacefaring nations. She didn’t have many political contacts, many admirers in high places ... and she certainly didn't have any powerful relatives. Command experience or no command experience, there was a good chance she would never sit in a command chair again.
Unless I take command of one of the survey ships, she thought.
She wasn't blind to the implications. Survey ships spent years poking through the tramlines, boldly going where no one had been before. Or no one human, at any rate. Humanity had stumbled across the Foxes, after all. There might well be other alien races out there, just waiting to be discovered. Part of her liked the idea. Being so far from Earth might work in her favour. There wouldn't be anyone looking over her shoulder ...
But it will also allow them to forget me, she added, silently. And survey service experience won’t count in my favour when a new battleship command comes along.
She sighed. It was the best she was going to get and she knew it.
“Choose one,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said.
“I’ll take the survey command,” Susan said. “I’ve always wanted to know what’s waiting for us out there.”
“Others do not, I suspect,” Admiral Fitzwilliam commented.
He sat back, sipping his tea. “I was twenty-nine when we heard about Vera Cruz,” he said, quietly. “To me, it seemed like an opportunity to jump ahead of my peers and gain a carrier command for myself. I tried to steal Ark Royal from Admiral Smith ...”
Susan felt her lips thinning in cold disapproval. Stealing a command was bad enough under any circumstances, but worse - far worse - when Admiral Smith was a legitimate war hero.
“I didn’t realise how much was going to change,” Admiral Fitzwilliam continued. “There was no way to know what would happen - or why. The Battle of New Russia, the Bombardment ... the death of Ark Royal. All of a sudden, the universe was different. And three years after that, we had a short war with India. The universe changed again. And then - now - we have a Second Interstellar War.”
He sighed. “Right now, there’s a strong feeling we shouldn't go provoking trouble,” he admitted. “I don’t know if the current political situation will survive the next election.”
“We may choose to ignore the universe,” Prince Henry said. “But will it choose to ignore us?”
“Probably not,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said.
He looked at Prince Henry. “I believe we have one other thing to do ...?”
“We do,” Prince Henry said. “My father wishes it to be done before I leave Earth.”
He rose, putting one hand on his sword. “Susan Onarina. Please kneel.”
Susan blinked as he drew his sword, then put her teacup aside and knelt in front of him. It felt strange to kneel in submission, yet ... he was knighting her? It changed everything. No one would question her past any longer if the king had ordered her knighted. And by his oldest child, no less.
Prince Henry rested the sword, very briefly, on her shoulders. “By command of my royal father, I dub thee Dame Susan, Lady of the Garter,” he said formally. “And I invest you Lady Companion to His Majesty.”
He paused. “Arise, Dame Susan!”
The End
The Ark Royal Universe Will Return
Soon
Afterword
And so we come to the end of the third Ark Royal series. If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review. It helps
But don’t worry. We Lead is not the end of the series.
My current plans - which have been known to change - involve two stand-alone stories, both set during the First Interstellar War. The Longest Day will be the story of the Battle of Earth, very different from the previous nine books in the series (in that it will follow an event, rather than a ship and her crew.) This will be followed by a story following a makeshift escort carrier, hastily refitted and sent out to serve as a stopgap measure in hopes of stemming the enemy tide until new purpose-built warships come online. This crew will be very unprofessional indeed, a rag-tag crew of misfits ...
Until then, I have many more books in the pipeline. Keep turning the pages for a free sample from Cursed Command, Book III of Angel in the Whirlwind.
And thank you for reading.
Christopher G. Nuttall
Edinburgh, 2016
Appendix: Glossary of UK Terms and Slang
[Author’s Note: I’ve tried to define every incident of specifically UK slang in this glossary, but I can’t promise to have spotted everything. If you spot something I’ve missed, please let me know and it will be inc
luded.]
Aggro - slang term for aggression or trouble, as in ‘I don’t want any aggro.’
Beasting/Beasted - military slang for anything from a chewing out by one’s commander to outright corporal punishment or hazing. The latter two are now officially banned.
Binned - SAS slang for a prospective recruit being kicked from the course, then returned to unit (RTU).
Boffin - Scientist
Bootnecks - slang for Royal Marines. Loosely comparable to ‘Jarhead.’
Bottle - slang for nerve, as in ‘lost his bottle.’
Borstal - a school/prison for young offenders.
Compo - British army slang for improvised stews and suchlike made from rations and sauces.
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