Ark Royal 2: The Nelson Touch

by Christopher Nuttal

  I’m one of them, he thought, bitterly. But the bastards won't even talk to us.

  “If,” he said. “Admiral, there's one hell of a lot of work to do.”

  “No arguments there,” Admiral Smith said. He paused, then smiled. “How are you enjoying command?”

  James hesitated. “It’s a huge responsibility,” he said. “But I will cope with it, sir.”

  “I hope so,” Admiral Smith said. “And our royal passenger?”

  “Seems to be among the better rooks,” James said. “I read his file, then reviewed his progress in the training simulators. He definitely has talent, Admiral; he’d probably go far if he wasn't a prince. But, at the same time, he’s got a temper and a massive chip on his shoulder. That will get him into deep trouble one day, sir.”

  “Almost certainly,” Admiral Smith agreed. “If he’d gone through the normal course, he would either have been forced to straighten up by one of the upperclassmen or would have been regretfully sent back to civilian life. Hell, his attitude would make him an ideal Marine, once the chip was hammered off his shoulder. But he’s through the course and talented enough to be worth saving. If we can save him.”

  James remembered his childhood and winced, remembering precisely what sort of little boy he’d been until his father had hammered some sense into his head – and the First Space Lord had chosen to deny his manipulations. His sense of entitlement hadn’t been fully abandoned until he’d realised just how close he’d flown to absolute disaster. In hindsight, he couldn't help wondering if his family and the aristocracy had given him enough rope so he could hang himself with it.

  “I can speak to him,” he said, softly. He could certainly muster a lecture for the young man who might be King. “Or I can bring Amelia and Commander Schneider into the secret. One of them could help to keep him in line ...”

  “No,” the Admiral said. He sounded firm enough that James decided it wasn't worth trying to change his mind. “We don’t want to share the secret any wider than strictly necessary, James. The more people who know, the greater the chance of rumours leaking out.”

  “We should be telling everyone,” James said, tiredly. “Let them all see that Prince Henry is on the front lines.”

  He shook his head. “But then the Opposition would accuse the Government of trying to create a martyr,” he added. “Or of using Prince Henry for propaganda. Or of trying to pander to the people who think aristocracies are inherently evil.”

  “It would also make it impossible for the prince to have anything resembling a normal life,” Smith said, quietly. “You know how crawling some people can become, don’t you?”

  James flushed, embarrassed. “Yes, sir,” he said, quietly. His career had included quite a bit of nepotism. “But Prince Henry won’t have any real power, even if he becomes the King.”

  “A word in the right set of ears can be quite effective,” Admiral Smith pointed out. “And not everyone really grasps how little formal power the monarchy has, even today.”

  He met James’s eyes. “If worst comes to worst,” he said, “you can have a long chat with him and make him realise that if he wants to have his career, he has to damn well live up to it. And if that fails ... well, there’s always the brig.”

  “Sir?”

  “I read up on Prince Henry after this bombshell was dropped in our laps,” Admiral Smith said, darkly. “I have a certain amount of sympathy for his position, but not enough to overlook any major disciplinary problems. And I’m damned if I’m risking lives just to let him play at being a starfighter pilot. He had his chance to walk away and blew it.”

  James nodded. Traditionally, after the first month of military training, recruits were offered the chance to leave. Prince Henry – Charles Augustus, he reminded himself sharply – had chosen to stay. He could take the consequences of his decision.

  Admiral Smith stood. “I’ll discuss the remainder of the training schedule with the rest of the officers,” he said. “Thankfully, none of them seem to want to stand on ceremony. Once we’re done, I think we’ll set our departure date as one week from now, as the Admiralty wants. And pray they don’t want us to leave sooner.”

  “Understood,” James said. He changed the subject, slightly. “The drive modifications have been completed, at least.”

  He winced at the thought. It would be hard for the aliens to burn through Ark Royal’s armour, but they would have no difficulty shooting off the modified drive systems which would allow the carrier to use the alien tramlines. Once they were gone, Ark Royal would be stranded deep within alien-controlled territory, dependent on searching out human-usable tramlines to escape. Somehow, he doubted the aliens would let them escape a second time.

  “Let us hope that some of the promise really comes true,” Smith agreed. “If they do, the universe will change completely.”

  James smiled. The human race had never really realised that the tramlines could be manipulated, but the aliens had developed their own systems for doing just that. Now that an alien drive system was in human hands, they were already talking about ways to improve on the alien tech, even perhaps manipulating a tramline so anyone coming down it arrived at a preset point. That alone, he knew, would change the face of modern warfare. Knowing precisely where the enemy would materialise would be a colossal advantage.

  “I could use some of those promises,” he said. If they came up with something the aliens had missed, it would give them a very bloody nose. “But, for the moment, we have to play with what we have right now.”

  The Admiral nodded, then walked towards the hatch and slipped out of the cabin. James felt an odd mix of wistfulness and guilt; once, his cabin had belonged to the Admiral. And he, like Prince Henry, had tried to get into Smith’s position through family connections. But the Prince had tried to hide his identity. It spoke well of him. James hadn't come to realise the dangers in having so many connection until he was much older.

  Poor bastard, he thought. He was honestly unsure which of the two he meant; himself ... or Prince Henry. But at least he’s trying more than I ever did.

  With that, he picked up the terminal and went back to his paperwork.

  Chapter Eleven

  “So you’re ready to depart,” the First Space Lord said.

  “More or less,” Ted agreed, trying to project confidence. A week of intensive exercises had managed to get the new pilots into fighting trim, although they were still a little rough around the edges. Ted still dreaded the first encounter with the aliens, knowing that they would slaughter hundreds of his pilots, along with the capital ships if they got too close. “We should be ready to go now.”

  He sighed. He’d known there was a great deal of organising in any fleet deployment, but Ark Royal’s cruise to New Russia had been simplicity itself, compared to deploying six carriers, assorted smaller frigates, Marine transports and fifty freighters. Ted was uncomfortably aware that losing more than a handful of the freighters could doom their mission, or leave them helplessly exposed to alien attack. If the aliens realised their weakness and targeted the freighters specifically, Ted would have no choice but to withdraw.

  “The politicians are keen for you to depart now,” the First Space Lord said. His image flickered slightly as he spoke. “They keep looking at the latest reports from New Russia and fretting about what’s likely to be coming straight at Earth.”

  “Maybe we should launch a spoiling attack,” Ted said.

  “It would be right into the teeth of a large enemy fleet,” the First Space Lord reminded him. Ted guessed there had been hundreds of arguments over the last few weeks, discussing the wisdom of each and every plan to launch a counterattack. “And even if it succeeded, it would be very costly.”

  “True,” Ted agreed. If the aliens attacked Earth, they would be in for a series of unpleasant surprises. There were thousands of starfighters guarding the planet, along with mass drives, orbital weapons stations and nearly half of humanity’s remaining carriers and frigates. And, the l
onger the aliens delayed, the stronger the defenders would become. “But letting them pick the time and place of attack is also dangerous.”

  The First Space Lord nodded. “I expect you to succeed, Ted,” he said, suddenly. “The human race needs another victory, desperately.”

  “I understand,” Ted said. “We won’t let you down.”

  “Just consider yourself lucky you don’t have any reporters on your ship,” the First Space Lord reminded him. “At least that’s one hassle you won’t have to handle.”

  “I know,” Ted said. He knew the importance of good relations with the media – the PR officers had beaten it into his head more than once – but he preferred to have relations with them at a distance. Having reporters on the flagship was a recipe for trouble, if not outright disaster. “The Americans are welcome to them.”

  “They’ll also take all the credit,” the First Space Lord countered. “Not, in the end, that it will matter if we lose the war. The alien historians will probably sneer at how poorly we organised our defence.”

  Ted nodded. At least military officers had enough in common that they could work together, despite serving different nations. Politicians seemed torn between supporting the common defence and weakening it, depending on who was assigned to hold command. And then there were the politicians who were more interested in their own advancement than defending the human race. Some of them even saw the unified defence command as a chance to claw even more power for themselves out of their governments.

  “Good luck, Ted,” the First Space Lord concluded. “And watch your back. The aliens won’t hesitate to stick a knife in it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ted said. They’d be passing though uncharted and unsurveyed space, space that could play host to alien fleets or defence stations that would be completely undetectable as long as the aliens took a few basic precautions. An alien fleet could pick them up, shadow them and attack from the rear when they were entering the alien star system. “We will be very careful.”

  “And some officers might stab your back too,” the First Space Lord added. “You do have political enemies, Ted.”

  “Idiots,” Ted muttered. He’d lucked into command, first of the one starship that could actually stand up to the aliens and then of the deep strike fleet. Quite a few officers, in and out of the Royal Navy, were already muttering that he’d been promoted too far, too fast. But then, he’d spent enough time in grade to be automatically promoted to Commodore when the time came, even though he'd spent all his time on one ship. “Don’t they know there’s a war on?”

  “And you have the most prestigious command in the navy,” the First Space Lord said. “To glory you steer – if you return, alive.”

  He shrugged. “Try not to fuck up too obviously,” he added. “Goodbye.”

  The image vanished. Ted let out a sigh, wishing he dared take a drink, then stood and walked towards the hatch. Like the Captain’s Ready Room, the Admiral’s private office was positioned right next to his post, the Combat Information Centre. Outside, he nodded to the pair of Marines on guard duty and stepped through the hatch into the CIC. It had been frantically reconfigured in the wake of Ark Royal’s return to Earth, with a handful of newer systems coexisting oddly with the older systems that made up the bulk of the carrier’s network. Getting everything to work together had been a major chore.

  At least we had all the assistance we needed this time, Ted thought, as he stepped up to the holographic display. The last time we did any major refit, we had to bribe civilian contractors to help us.

  He studied the display for a long moment. The six carriers were spread out, escorted by their frigates and the ever-present Combat Space Patrol. Behind them, surrounded by two additional squadrons of frigates, were the transports and supply ships. They’d be hidden under the best stealth systems humanity could produce when they left explored space, Ted knew, although he had his doubts about their ability to remain hidden indefinitely. Not for the first time, he cursed the lack of hard intelligence on some alien capabilities. If their stealth systems were staggeringly advanced, what about their sensor networks? They’d have a better idea of what they were looking for than human researchers.

  “Contact the fleet,” he ordered, without taking his eyes off the display. “Inform them that we will depart for the tramline in two hours.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Lopez said.

  Ted eyed the display for a long moment, then turned and walked to his command chair. The CIC was starting to fill with crewmen, almost all complete newcomers to Ark Royal. Ted couldn't help thinking that he’d lost something with his promotion, even though he’d had no reason to complain about the newcomers. The sense of trust and camaraderie that had bound Ark Royal’s pre-war crew together had faded with the influx of outsiders.

  He keyed a switch. “James,” he said, when Fitzwilliam’s head appeared in the display. “Are we ready for departure?”

  “Yes, sir,” Fitzwilliam said. “The fleet is fully at your command.”

  Ted nodded. It was hard, so hard, not to pretend he was still the commanding officer of Ark Royal, even after spending more time than he cared to think about on Earth. But she was Fitzwilliam’s ship now, and Fitzwilliam had a new XO to supervise. Ted’s former XO didn't need him peering over his shoulder while he tried to master his new command. Maybe the months on Earth had been a blessing in disguise. Nothing irritated a Captain more than having an Admiral take matters into his own hands that were rightfully the Captain’s.

  “Excellent,” he said. He felt a dull quiver running through the ship as the main drive came online, ready for departure. The damaged components from their desperate running battle had been replaced, even though some of the older systems had been completely irreplaceable. “Then let us hope for a willing foe and sea room.”

  ***

  It was funny, Kurt decided, as he entered his office and shut the hatch firmly behind him, just how much the carrier had become home. The barracks were far from comfortable, there was very little privacy and he had to keep his affair with Rose under wraps, but it still felt more welcoming than his home on Earth. But maybe it wasn't surprising. There was a simplicity, a rightness, about the military life that was missing on Earth. As an investment banker, he'd been called upon to compromise his morals more than once. But as CAG, he wasn't required to lie or cheat to keep his job.

  The thought made him grit his teeth, remembering just how much he hated his old job, now he'd tasted being a military officer again. His boss hadn’t been as bad as some – Kurt had heard horror stories about some of the more aggressive bankers out there – but he had insisted that Kurt keep his mouth shut about certain matters. Maybe he’d meant well, when an honest answer would probably have cost Kurt his job, yet it hadn't felt right. Being in the military was so much simpler than being a civilian.

  He winced as he sat down, wondering, once again, what he would do after the war. As a military officer, he'd been given treatments that would keep him fit and relatively healthy for years to come, but he was damned if he wanted to go back to the bank. And yet, he would certainly have to support his children, unless they managed to land high-paying jobs for themselves. Maybe he could find a posting on a civilian interstellar freighter. Former military officers were often headhunted by interstellar corporations, particularly those with experience of operations in deep space. And Rose could come with him, if she didn't want to stay in the military. It was rare for a starfighter pilot to remain in active service longer than five years ...

  That may change, he thought, dryly. We all signed up for the duration of war, if war broke out on our watch.

  Bracing himself, he pressed his fingertips against the terminal’s sensor and accessed the mailbox. Inside, there were a handful of messages from both Percy and Penny ... but nothing at all from Molly. A message from an unknown address revealed itself to be from Gayle, who seemed to be worried about how the kids were coping with the new situation. Kurt cursed his lack of foresight – he could h
ave asked the nanny to keep an eye on Molly for him – then scanned the message quickly. Both of Kurt’s children were worried about how their parents had fought, even though they hadn't been there. Kurt guessed that Molly had given them her version of the story first.

  Carefully, he opened the message from Penny and read it, quickly. His daughter didn't seem to know what was actually going on, but she did want to see her father again. Percy seemed a little more perceptive, yet even he wasn't sure what was happening. Kurt nodded in bitter understanding. Children – even teenagers – were often unaware of emotional undercurrents between their parents, even if they knew about such things in the abstract. He wondered, absently, if their school had ever discussed separation with them, then pushed the thought to one side. There was no time to fret over it, not now. The fleet was due to depart in less than an hour.