by PJ Strebor
He scooped her up, resting her on his hip. “Simone Garneau, how are you today?”
“I'm good, Captain Nathan,” she said. “And how are you?”
“I'm fine, thank you.” He surveyed the crowded bay. The children each stood by their father’s gurney waving at him, some less shyly than others. Their mothers, who suffered such vile abuse on Picaroon, had been evacuated earlier. Their physical symptoms had been treated and from those they would make a full recovery. Their shattering psychological and spiritual trauma would take much longer to heal.
“Captain Nathan?”
“Yes, Simone.”
“Thank you for saving us.”
He smiled and bowed his head. “You’re very welcome.”
A Franc attendant pushed a gurney to where Nathan stood. On it a man of early middle age sat up.
“Daddy, this is Captain Nathan,” Simone said.
Nathan placed the child next to her father.
“Nathan Telford,” he said touching his right hand to his heart and bowing slightly in the Athenian manner. Even after fourteen years Nathan could not bear to shake hands with a Franc.
“I am Jules Garneau.” The Franc’s hand, which had been in the process of rising to shake his, fell back onto the gurney. “I wanted to thank you personally for saving my daughter from those vile creatures.” His expression adopted mild surprise to find, upon meeting the man who had rescued his child, not a tall, lantern-jawed hero, but a twenty-year-old midshipman.
“My pleasure, Mister Garneau.” For the sake of the child he kept his tone more or less affable.
The Franc was no fool and apparently sensed his loathing. “Simone darling, time to go now.”
“Awe daddy,” she whined.
“Go on now. I need to talk with, ah, Captain Nathan.”
She waved to Nathan as she ran to join the rest of the children, who were being herded into the landing boat by attendants.
“Our two societies have not always seen eye to eye. But regardless of our differences, I have to thank you.”
“I was doing my duty.”
“I can see you are not as fond of adult Francs as our children. But no matter. You and your colleagues risked your lives to rescue us, for which I shall always be indebted. But you, you went back for our children and brought them safely home to us. I shall never forget what you did. I’m a wealthy man. If there is anything you desire, if it is within my power, it is yours.”
Nathan did not trust himself to speak.
“Mister Telford? I meant you no offense but I have apparently done so. I only wished to express my gratitude.”
“Very well, Franc, if you want to do something for me, here it is.” Nathan fought to keep the emotion from his voice. “The next time you get the brilliant idea of wandering around the edge of the frontier in an unescorted freighter make sure you leave your family at home.”
Garneau winced. “You are an extremely hard man for someone so young. However, you make a valid point.” Garneau sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know how else to express myself other than as I have. Again, thank you for my family.”
Nathan nodded curtly and marched toward the waiting group.
***
Nathan followed Cmdr Demianski through the hatch with the Tackies following. They took their places around the briefing table. No white tablecloth and silverware adorned the table today. The captain wasted no time.
“Very well, Nathan,” Waugh said, “you were the ranking officer on this little jaunt so let's hear it.”
“The decision was mine alone, captain. The others followed my lead.”
“We did so gladly, captain,” Moe added.
“You disobeyed orders,” the commander snapped.
“Not in the strictest terms, sir,” Ozzie said.
“What?”
“We were ordered to wait for the landing boat,” Ozzie continued. “We followed our orders. We were just a little late getting there.”
“You could have gotten yourselves killed.” The commander directed his irritation at Nathan.
Nathan sensed the blood rushing to his face. “You know what those animals would have done to the children. The opportunity to stop that from happening presented itself and I took it. And sir, given the same circumstances, I would do it again in a heartbeat.”
“We couldn't leave the kids behind when there was a chance of rescuing them, sir,” Moe said.
Commodore Waugh remained silent for a short time before speaking again. “I’m not entirely certain what I'm going to do about this. On the one hand you did disobey orders. On the other hand you rescued six civilians and aided in the destruction of a headhunter warship.” She set her eyes on Nathan. He struggled to meet her appraising gaze. “What would you do in my position?”
Nathan cleared his throat. “To use the old expression, the buck stops with you, captain.” He sighed deeply and stared into the captain’s eyes. “Acting or not, I outranked everyone on the team.”
“Hold on a minute – ” Moe started to object but was stunned into silence by Nathan's glare.
“You don't speak for the others on this matter, Moe,” he snapped. “It's not just you and me this time. They have great careers ahead of them. As do you.” He turned to the captain. “They missed the rendezvous because they followed me. I made the first move. They would not have stayed if I hadn't. As you so correctly pointed out captain, I was the ranking officer.”
Someone would have to hang for disobeying the captain's orders.
“Does anyone else have anything to say?” the captain asked.
“With all respect to the captain,” Dearkov said, “I think these people deserve medals. I hope you're not going to be too harsh on them, ma’am. They, we, did our duty.”
“I haven't decided what sort of action I will take.” The captain glared at each of them individually and finally as a group. “But I assure you, it will be apt.”
CHAPTER 69
Date: 23rd December, 320 ASC.
Position: Mount Kratos.
Status: Commissioning Day.
Not a single stone of the academy’s main parade ground was visible through the great mass of bodies milling across it. The commissioning service having concluded, families and friends mingled with the newly commissioned officers, their tutors and a smattering of visiting brass.
Nathan took pictures in his mind's eye and stored them away. Moe’s mother, father and three older brothers had made the journey from Kastoria and were talking with other parents. Caleb and Bernie chatted with Admiral Ponsford. The old warhorse and the two proud parent eagles.
Lucy, resplendent in her class A grays, held the rapt attention of several young men from her year. His kid sister had matured into quite the young lady.
Lewis of all people had taken a shine to Meta Kaspowitz. She caught Nathan staring at them and smiled as if she were responding to one of Lewis' remarks.
Nathan shook his head ever so slightly and took two glasses of white Retsina and one of red from a passing steward. Plus a glass of water.
Abner Lawrence could not attend but had sent a short note of congratulations and good wishes. Someone, he explained, had to stand guard over the abandoned Penkovsky and Okuma plantations.
Livy and her mother Finella stood in the mild sunshine wearing lightweight summer clothing in soft pastels, and matching broad-brimmed hats. They could easily be mistaken for a pair of heavenly sisters.
“It's a nice place you have here,” Livy said, “but the service is dreadful." Her eyes begged a question.
“What?” he asked, as he passed glasses to mother and daughter.
“You don't see it, do you?” Livy cast her gaze to the surrounding crowd.
Middies passed by, their young faces glowing with awe. Even some of the senior instructors nodded respectfully.
“I'm trying to ignore it,” he muttered.
“Might be difficult with that weighing you dow
n,” Livy said, pointing to the medal.
Nathan fingered the solid silver medallion hanging from his neck. His reward for killing without compunction.
“It's nothing, a piece of metal. Unlike this,” he said, placing his hand gently on Livy's enlarged stomach. At six months, she showed.
Livy rested her forehead against his shoulder, sighing contentedly.
“Don't you two ever take a break?” Moe said, jostling through the throng. “I hope you’re taking care of my Godchild?” Livy nodded wearily. “Good. For now I need to borrow your man for a while. Nathan, your presence is required.”
Nathan excused himself and followed her into the great swarm of bodies. After battling through the sea of humanity they reached the edge of the square, where the crowd thinned. Moe leaned into to his ear.
“So ends the reign of Aletheia's Friend,” she whispered.
Nathan held his finger to his lips. “Shhhh!” When he had chosen to tell her everything it meant absolutely everything. “And you said I didn't have a sense of humor.”
“No,” Moe retorted, “what I said was your humor is at times inappropriate.”
Two ensigns wearing new, dark blue uniforms greeted them.
“Come on, Nathan,” Ozzie said, “you're holding up the show.”
The official vids of the platoons and squads had been taken yesterday after the Graduation Parade. A separate shot was made of the Kendo team. However, Moe wanted one more reminder of their time together on Truculent. Not to mention their rewards.
The newly commissioned ensigns were thrilled to receive such high recognition for their actions. The copper-coated Distinguished Service Medals were something officers spent years aspiring to. Not even Admiral Waugh had received such a high accolade whilst a lowly midshipwoman.
Nathan had garnered the higher award: the silver Achilles medal for conspicuous gallantry. In reality the medal he received back on Truculent meant a whole lot more to him. Hastily prepared by the senior officers, the WLE medal of excellence held a special place in his heart. The oversized, tasteless slab of material celebrated the Worst Landing Ever aboard a serving monitor. He would forever treasure the gaudy tribute to his good fortune.
They posed for the vid then shook hands and congratulated one another. They’d had little time to socialize since returning from Truculent. Intense study for final exams had filled most of their time. Like the rest of his friends, Nathan was grateful to have had the opportunity to graduate.
Commodore Waugh never said another word about the Tackies 'missing the boat' and had apparently decided to disregard the entire incident. Except, of course, for her recommendation to cite them for gallantry. However, she did not tell them of her decision until they arrived back at base. This created a state of nervous expectation for nearly two weeks. In Waugh’s mind the fortnight of sweat would undoubtedly work as a sufficiently unpleasant punishment. She had been right.
“Nathan.” Moe jerked her head to his left. The new officers snapped to attention.
“At ease,” Captain Jakovich said. Her left arm hung loosely at her side. The medicos had managed to save the badly damaged arm and three months convalescence had done the rest. “Thought I’d find you pirates congregating together.”
“Good to see you again, captain,” Nathan said, extending his hand. “Your recovery goes well I trust?”
“As well as can be expected.”
“And I'm just fine,” Sergeant Redpath said.
Nathan had a silver star on his epaulet and an Achilles medal hanging from his neck and it didn't faze the marine NCO in the slightest.
“I’m sure that nothing short of a direct torpedo hit would stop you, Sergeant Redpath.”
Redpath shook Nathan’s hand, the craggy lines on his face softening to a smile.
“I suppose you’re all looking forward to your month's furlough before being posted,” Jakovich said.
They all agreed.
“Of course,” Moe said, “we have one last duty to perform before we head off.” The marines’ questioning expressions prompted her to add, “Ensign Telford is getting married tomorrow.”
“Congratulations Nathan,” the captain said, once again offering her hand.
“Thank you, ma’am. I would be pleased if you and the sergeant would attend. Naturally, if you have other plans I will understand.”
“Will there be booze at the reception?” Redpath asked.
“Heaps.”
“Thank you for your generous invitation, Nathan,” Jakovich said. “I’m certain that I speak for the sergeant when I say we will be delighted to attend.”
Nathan nodded. Sometimes, life works out for the best. And as for the future? As long as the Pruessen Empire exists I will work toward its destruction. I have no other option.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialog are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 P J Strebor
Published by Space Dock
www.space-dock.co.uk
Critiqued by J Scott-Marryat and my friends at sffchronicles.com
Edited by Sam Primeau
Cover Art by Gary Compton
First Comes Duty
by
P J Strebor
Book Two
Hope Island Chronicles
Published by Space Dock
FIRST COMES DUTY
CHAPTER 1
Ensign Nathan Telford shut down his crippled port engine, lessening the vibration that churned through his controls. Thirty seconds remained for him to lock his boat on to the guidance beam. Failure to do so would force him to abort the landing. With enemy fighters closing fast from astern, it would mean the end of him.
His damage control menu confirmed what he’d been sensing.
“What a mess.” He wished he could wipe the sweat from his upper lip.
The surprise attack had severely damaged his Specter fighter. Only a few maneuvering thrusters remained. The instruments flickered between green and red, indicating a hit to his shipboard management computer. With a damaged SMC, none of his readings could be trusted.
Nathan manipulated the remaining thrusters, forcing his fighter to acquire the beam for a straight-in approach to Chiron. Shutting down his engine, he applied full power to his forward thrusters to slow his approach. After a few seconds, an alarm wailed as the thrusters quit. A thin chance of getting back aboard remained if none of the others failed.
If not, he could skip past the boat bay. The other, less pleasant, options included crashing into the bay or colliding with the ship’s engines.
“This is bad. Bad,” he whispered.
“Ensign Telford,” Chiron’s landing signal officer said, “we show you in the groove and on the beam. But you are coming in too fast. Slow your approach or abort your landing.”
That’s it. He shook his head, but knew he had no option. Endangering Chiron to save his own neck would never be acceptable.
His hand hovered above the attitude controls. A tingling ran along his fingers from the maneuvering control pad. The sensation traversed his arm and neck and struck a spot in his mind that screamed, wait. In a moment of crystal clear revelation, he knew the remaining controls would fail.
Nathan took a short breath. Of course they will.
Engaging the fighter’s port thrusters, he pushed the boat through her lateral axis. A counter-blast from the starboard thrusters steadied the craft. The fighter fell toward the boat bay, stern first. Rotating the combat chair one hundred eighty degrees gave him an unobstructed view of the fast-approaching boat bay through the stern view plates. Initializing his remaining engine, he pushed the throttle to half power. For a few hopeful moments, his spirits lifted as the Specter’s speed dropped. Then the alarm blared. Shutting down the damaged engine silenced the alarm. The sanctuary of the Chiron’s boat bay was less than a kilometer ah
ead, a beacon of welcoming light in the darkness. Although his forward momentum had been cut, he still streaked toward the ship at a dangerously high approach speed.
If he followed the book, now would be the time to abort. However, his better instincts told him this could be done.
Nathan brought the two stern thrusters back online and applied a five-second burst at full power. His speed fell to nearly match Chiron’s velocity, but retained sufficient momentum to bring him aboard.
Stern-first, his Specter passed through the environmental force field, dropped onto its skids and slid gently into the shimmering arrester field.
Although only a simulated training exercise, the advanced sim could mimic any conditions a pilot might encounter. Including sweat-inducing anxiety.
Nathan closed down all systems before constricting his throat with a short swallowing motion to key his larynx mike.
“Pier commander, pilot. Permission to retrieve?”
“Iris area is clear, Sir,” Petty Officer Forglor said. “Permission to retrieve granted. LSO wants a rapid retrieval.”
Of course the prick does.
“Roger.” Nathan took a deep breath. “SMC – Telford.”
“SMC,” the computer replied.
“SMC, prepare for rapid retrieval on my mark.”
“Standing by,” the SMC said.
His body tensed, fighting his efforts to relax. “SMC, mark.” The combat chair rocketed upward toward the top of the combat sphere. The clear panel slid aside, and the iris dilated.
When the combat chair cleared the upper hull, the iris snapped shut. Nathan caught his stomach as it threatened to keep going, and swallowed hard till the slight nausea passed.
PO Forglor assisted him to remove his gloves and helmet. Nathan wiped perspiration from his face with the offered towel.
After the recent excitement, the atmosphere in the fighter training simulation room had a hushed reverence akin to a wake. Around the perimeter of the iris, the other nine trainees of Epsilon Flight stared at him. Their expressions spoke of respectful, yet awed, disbelief. The back of his neck started warming up. Moe’s lopsided smile was accompanied by a slow shaking of her head. Nathan almost returned her smile, until he noticed that the senior officer present did not share her opinion of his capabilities.