by P J Strebor
The transmission went mute for a few seconds. The captain's voice returned, laced with suppressed amusement. “I will make sure to keep the shocking news from her.”
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Nathan glanced at Moe. Her smug expression had distorted into one of dismay. She pointed a shaky finger at the clear overhead view-plate. Nathan leaned across and followed the unsteady finger. A jolt of electricity dashed down his spine.
Crack!
One sound this time but significantly louder than the others.
“Mister Telford, are you still with us?”
“Please stand by, captain, we have a problem.”
“Standing by.”
The line etched its way across the overhead view-plate starting at the top corner where it joined the hull. A chunk of high-speed debris had missed the view-plate by millimeters but the kinetic force had crushed the upper housing in several places and sent a concussion wave through the clear composite. It resembled a spreading spider web across the plate. Fine delicate lines in some spots but critically deep in others. Total decompression loomed if the plate blew out.
“It will hold till we get back to the boat.”
“Yeah,” Moe agreed, “no problem.”
If my expression matches Moe's face then we're not fooling anyone.
“Any sealer left?” Nathan asked.
“I think we used it all."
“Better find some more don't you think?”
Moe sprung from her seat and rushed aft.
The light from Truculent's boat bay glowed in the distance. Having built up sufficient momentum to coast home, Nathan shut down the engines.
Crack! Crack!
“No more sealer,” Moe shouted through the hatchway.
Nathan cleared his throat. “See if you can find a magnetic patch or something.”
“Right.” Moe stepped through the hatch into the cabin. Nathan closed the hatch and set the lock.
“What are you doing?” she screamed over his ear-piece.
“Get everyone strapped in. We're doing a fast trap.”
“Oh shit.”
“Truculent, I am declaring an emergency. Flight deck decompression is imminent. I am bringing the craft in manually for a fast trap. Please initiate all emergency procedures. I'm coming in hot.”
“This is O'Donnell in the LCC. Follow my instructions and we’ll get you down in one piece.”
Nathan glanced to where his helmet rolled around the deck. He could not take his hands from the controls to retrieve it. “Roger, sir. If I do not respond to your signals it means I am unable to do so. Do you understand my meaning?”
“Roger.”
Crack! Crack!
Nathan could see the boat bay clearly now, a single source of light glowing in the endless darkness. Truculent had shut down her engines to avoid any possible interference from her backwash. She had come about to point her stern directly toward his damaged craft. He started hyperventilating. Don’t hold your breath or you’ll rupture your organs.
“You're on the beam but high,” O'Donnell said “Drop your nose.”
With the grav plating torn from the hull Nathan used what remained of the thruster controls to adjust his approach. Small careful thrusts, gentle and considered.
“Still high.”
He hit the attitude thrusters three times while increasing his rate of hyperventilation.
“Your approach is good but you are drifting to starboard.”
The boat came tantalizingly close. A few more seconds and ...
CRACK!
The view-plate exploded. Nathan closed his eyes and averted his face. Shards of shattered plate blew out into space but some ricocheted off the boat’s interior and into his headhunter armor and lowered face.
Nathan slowly expelled air from his lungs. With the air in his bloodstream he could remain conscious for about ten seconds. The cold struck him like a million icy needles. He blinked rapidly to prevent his eyeballs from freezing.
“Veer port! Veer port!” O'Donnell shouted.
If Nathan could, he would have cursed. He had slid way off the beam and was in danger of running down the starboard side of the boat; or into it. The image of the boat bay faded in and out of his focus as unconsciousness threatened. He kicked the unruly thrusters and the boat slid to port. Bad angle, bad angle. The monitor rushed at his forward view-plate.
Then something happened. It felt like a balloon popping inside his head. He adjusted the LB's pitch minutely, squaring the craft just enough. It was if he had done it a thousand times before.
The craft flew into the boat bay at the right height to avoid disaster but way off the center line. The port skid struck the deck with a bone jarring impact and snapped off. The craft careened off the port-side bulkhead and skidded across the boat bay at an oblique angle. When the boat slammed into the arrester field Nathan was pushed into his harness. He gratefully took a full breath of clean monitor air.
A thin dribble of blood slithered across his cheek.
CHAPTER 67
Date: 17th August, 320 ASC.
Position: Monitor Truculent, En route to the Francorum border.
Status: Alert stand down.
Commodore Waugh marched into the boat bay and stopped in her tracks. The stolen headhunter landing boat lay where it had, for lack of a better word, landed. She walked slowly around the old boat running a critical eye over its battered hull. With the grav plating ripped away and most of the thrusters disabled, she wondered if she would have been able to bring the craft home. Stopping before the blown out view-plate she shook her head.
“That’s got to be the lousiest landing I've ever seen.” O'Donnell said. “But considering…”
Yes, considering. With the vacuum of space having cut off his air, unconsciousness looming and his eyes threatening to freeze shut, Telford had pulled off a miracle. Waugh left the wreck and strode into the hangar.
Due to the large influx of wounded, Doctor Kelso had set up a temporary triage in the portside hangar. He plucked a piece of view-plate from Telford’s head and dropped it into a bowl.
“How are they Doc?” Waugh asked.
“They'll live,” he said, continuing his examination. “Kaspowitz has a fractured clavicle, but a little rest and she'll be fine. When I get space in the infirmary I'll reset her shoulder. Telford here has a few cracked ribs and they all have various degrees of bruising and lacerations. Nothing serious.” Doctor Kelso stepped back from Telford and eyed him critically. “You’ve taken quite a beating young man. Light duties for the next few days. Oh, and try to refrain from chopping off any heads until your ribs heal.”
The middy nodded. For the first time since coming aboard he did not meet his captain's eyes. They all deserved the highest accolades for their service to the Corps this day. Nonetheless, they had disobeyed orders and Waugh could not allow that to pass unanswered.
“Get yourselves cleaned up and have something to eat. I shall need to speak with each of you later.” She turned to go then reconsidered. “You did good work today. Well done.” Waugh walked away before any of the stunned group could reply.
***
An hour had passed since the Doc had cleared them to return to light duties. Nathan spent most of the time under a steaming hot shower trying to wash away the foul stench of the headhunter armor. The steaming hot water had failed to wash away the numbing fatigue and his mounting emotional turmoil.
“Hey cookie,” Nathan said, “what poison is on the menu today?”
“Whatever you want, Mister Telford." Chief Balski said.
“Well, let's see.” Nathan commenced the ritual. “A nice thick steak with lightly steamed vegetables and a fine mushroom sauce would be fine.”
Balski’s grin broadened when he produced the meal from a heated serving receptacle and placed it on a tray before him. Nathan's eyes bulged. The steak lapped over the sides of the plate, the mushroom sauce releasing a mou
th watering aroma.
Balski’s hands went to his hips. “The Corps takes care of our own. I had a suspicion you might order something like this. Enjoy, Mister Telford.”
Nathan stared at the superb meal lost for words.
“Knowing cookie’s reputation the beast is probably shockingly undercooked,” Moe said from behind. “But it's not likely to jump into your mouth on its own.”
Nathan cleared his throat picked up the tray and searched the crowded wardroom for a seat. ‘Auntie’ Barbara Grimmett, true to form, patted the space beside her. After taking his seat he noticed all of the meals were of the same gourmet type.
“The skipper always rewards a successful mission,” Auntie reminded him.
Nathan nodded but wondered where his mind had been. The wardroom’s wonderful scent should have alerted him. Two days without sleep and two bloody battles must have taken their toll on him after all. Nathan picked up his utensils and examined the meal.
“Watch out everyone,” Auntie yelled. “Telford's got a knife in his hands.”
The back of his neck burned as the wardroom filled with laughter. Nathan offered Babs a short smile before hoeing into his meal. He finished the superb feast, leaned back and sighed contentedly. The weariness threatened to engulf him so he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again the wardroom was empty. He rubbed his face vigorously in a futile attempt to clear the fatigue.
Nathan’s feet dragged along the deck. His bleary mind still struggled with questions and roiled with confusion. The rage and the killing didn't feel as he thought they should. How the hell had he landed the damaged enemy craft? Nathan considered himself to be a fair pilot but by all rights they should all be splatter marks on Truculent's hull. Somehow they survived.
There remained the other matter. After ten years of fighting the ghosts from his past until they no longer tortured him, they had unexpectedly returned. ‘You’re weak, boy, weak. Coward!’ Each word bowed his shoulders and cramped his stomach. “Why now?” he whispered. He staggered against a bulkhead his hands covering his ears in a futile attempt to block their accusations. Stop, for God's sake, please stop.
Nathan felt himself falling, losing grip of his stubborn resolve. He desperately needed to sleep. Perhaps after a long rest he could silence the contemptuous voices and make sense of all this. Trying to push the unsettling thoughts aside he squared his shoulders as his quarters came into view.
***
Moe sat alone in their quarters bent over the computer. With twenty-three guests aboard, most of the officers were doubling up. Nathan's quarters corralled all four middies. Earlier she had spoken to Meta and Ozzie about her plan.
“Nathan has always been a little … different,” Ozzie said. “But it’s part of what makes him such an outstanding leader.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Meta said. “I guess spending six years as a Pruessen slave would have done some damage. But Ozzie’s right. He’s always been an odd duck. Don’t get me wrong, we all like him.” She smiled reminiscently. “It’s kinda difficult not to like him. But what happened on Picaroon is a completely new level of weird. ”
“Have you noticed over the years, that every so often he will slip and say something he shouldn’t know?” Moe asked.
“Yeah,” Ozzie said. “Now and again he’ll state some fact that the rest of us don’t know. Something not in the manuals or intell readouts. Something that doesn’t make a lot of sense. I thought he still suffered from northern amnesia.”
“I’ve had my suspicions about that for years,” Meta said. “He’s said he has flashes of remembrance but these flashes are bloody convenient. So what’s going on with Nathan Telford?”
“What indeed,” Moe said. “But that’s not the issue at the moment. I’ve known Nathan since we were kids and I’m telling you something happened to him today. I need to find out what.”
“You’re taking a big chance, Moe,” Meta warned. “You know what happens to him when he gets a full head of steam.”
“Yeah, Moe, watch yourself,” Ozzie added.
“He won’t hurt me.” Confronting him in his current state of mind carried risks, even to her. For seven years she had awaited this day and was determined to do whatever was required to help him. She loved him; as her best friend of course. Moe could not dismiss the notion that under Nathan’s civilized shell dwelt an enduring pain. For the sake of her friend she must risk awakening his inner demon.
“So,” Meta said, “what are you going to do?”
“Fly by the seat of my pants and see where it lands me,” Moe said.
“Make sure it doesn’t land you in the infirmary,” Ozzie warned.
“He won’t hurt me,” Moe repeated forcefully. “Now, you two bugger off for a while. I’ll comm you when it’s time to return.”
While Moe awaited Nathan’s return she scanned the casualty reports. She was about to log off when a late input scrolled onto the screen. She bit her lip.
When hatch opened she ran a sleeve across her face to wipe away the tears.
“What's happening?” Nathan dropped his rack into place and sat heavily.
Moe cleared her throat before answering. “We’re off duty until yellow watch.” She sat on the edge of her rack facing Nathan. Her head fell into her hands.
“Talk to me,” Nathan said.
“Iris Ahrens just died. She was wounded during Gamma Team's attempt to neutralize the dampener.”
"I’m so sorry, Moe." He rested a hand gently on her shoulder. The silence lingered for some time. “We all liked Iris.” He snorted. “Remember the time Tivendale put us into the reclamation bins for some alleged offense. Iris showed up and lied through her teeth to get us out.” His hand remained on her shoulder. “I know what you’re going through so if you need to talk …” Nathan apparently perceived her reticence and sighed deeply. “Who else?”
“Sal Rocca.”
“But I saw him after the battle. The big galoot had taken a hit but was joking with everyone.” He shook his head.
“He was one tough bastard all right. Some kind of complication set in on the way back to Truculent. He was gone before anyone knew it.” They fell silent for a short time. “But we did our duty, didn't we?”
“You bet.”
“All that blood.”
“It was a messy business all right.” He stared into the distance his eyes dull. “Nothing morally ambiguous about today.” He rubbed his reddened eyes. “Have we heard anything from the skipper?”
Once again he diverted the conversation to spare her feelings. Always it was Nathan protecting his friends. Always there for others. But who was there to spare his feelings?
“Nothing,” Moe said. “I suppose she has other things on her mind.”
“I guess.”
The fatigue etched into Nathan’s face told Moe his mind was turning to mush. Even so he still showed some presence of mind.
“Where are Meta and Ozzie?”
"I asked them to give us some space." Moe leaned forward. "We need to talk."
Nathan nodded but chose not to speak.
Nothing new there. "What happened to you on Picaroon?"
"I'm not sure.” He rubbed the bump above his right eyebrow, shrugged and said, “I guess I just got mad."
It was a true indication of how much he had changed in the last few days that he abandoned his usual evasiveness.
"I've seen you angry before and it's not a pretty sight. But this was different. The way you ran down those fleeing headhunters, it was …" she shook her head. "I've never seen that side of you before. I'm concerned for you, Nate."
"You know me, Moe. I've got a nasty temper at times." He punched her playfully on the arm. Moe didn’t change her expression so he tried a different tack. "Something changed in all of us today. People who had never taken a life before stepped up to the challenge and it is only because of their commitment that we won the day. As for me? Something took over
for a bit. But it’s a good thing. It gave me an edge."
Moe’s jaw dropped. "Nathan, you jumped into a nest of eighty headhunters with a sword in your hand. You don't find that a tad excessive?"
"They killed Leo."
His sudden rush of anger made Moe blanch.
"Look Moe, I got mad, that's all." Irritation ate around the edges of his words. "I hate Pruessens. You of all people should know why. I guess I went overboard a bit. It's no big deal."
Moe saw in his eyes the waging of a battle. He fought the emotion, struggling to push it aside. For the first time in his life he was losing the fight. She leaned closer to him.
"Going overboard I can understand. But that's not the worst thing that happened today, Nate."
"Very well, great sage, what’s the worst aspect of today's little exercise?"
"You enjoyed it."
"Yes, I did!" He spat the words into her face, so close his hot breath brushed her cheek. "Damn right I enjoyed it. And I can hardly wait to kill more of the bastards." Moe gapped at his sinister grin. "If I could get away with it I’d break into the brig and kill the prisoners, slowly, with a knife. How dare you judge me! While you were sunning yourself on peaceful Kastoria my family was going through every kind of living hell imaginable; courtesy of the empire." His eyes widened in fury. "You have no idea what we had to do to survive. You don't know what I …"
"Nathan …"
"Shut the fuck up," he screamed into her face. "Shut up! Shut up or I'll fucking well k…"
The words caught in his throat, ending with a strangled cry. Nathan clapped his hands to his mouth. A shudder ran through his body and his breathing became labored. He squinted as if in pain then his head slumped onto his chest.
Holding her heart in her mouth Moe leaned forward.
"If I don't know what you've been through," she said softly, "it's because you've never shared your grief with me."
He refused to meet her eyes.
"I've never pushed you to talk about your past but now is definitely time to do so, Nate." She took his hands and cradled them in her lap. "Whatever burdens you've been carrying all these years are too much for one person to bear. Even you have your limits, you know."