The Hope Island Chronicles Boxed Set

by PJ Strebor

  CHAPTER 43

  Date: 23rd March 322 ASC.

  Position: Monitor Insolent, one click from the northern frontier.

  Status: Awaiting rendezvous.

  Captain Bradman sipped his coffee and winced. “All this time in uniform,” he whispered, “and I still haven’t gotten used to this swill.”

  The hatch slipped open and Antonia stepped into the briefing room. Bradman had come to accept that she had worked out well, despite his initial misgivings. Growing a set along the way had not hurt her, either.

  “Coffee?” he offered.

  “Oh God no, Sir.” She took her usual seat to his right.

  “Anything yet?”

  “We’re still scanning across the Rio Grande, but nothing so far. Two days now, Sir. I thought these spooks were reliable.”

  “They generally are, but collecting intel from the north is an extremely high-risk undertaking. I think we can forgive them for being a little late to their rendezvous.”

  “Aye, Sir.” Her eyes took on the thousand-meter stare. “I wonder what’s happening back on Cimmeria.”

  Bradman snorted. “Where Telford’s involved, anything’s possible.”

  “I’d hate to think of him, ah, any of our crew, dying on that world.”

  Me too, but what can I do? “I’m sure they’re fine. I don’t think even a troublemaker like Telford could get into any more strife than he’s already in.”

  “You’re probably right, Skipper, but I can’t help—”

  The Alert Condition One alarm sounded. They both leapt from their chairs and dashed onto the bridge.

  “Report,” Bradman demanded.

  CPO Rawlins, who covered the operations station, said, “Outrider Two reports a contact. Hyper perforation formed thirteen seconds ago directly ahead of our position.”

  “Very well.”

  Seconds dragged into minutes.

  “Captain, incoming message from O/R Two. Contact made with the bogie. Verification code has been received from the vessel. Contact is inbound to our position.” A long pause, then, “And she’s got company.”

  “What?”

  ***

  “Landing Boat One has secured the package and scanned the contents. The information package is intact; readings confirm zero plague contamination.”

  “Very well, D-O, bring the LB aboard and prepare to get underway.”

  “Aye, Sir. I have visual on the ships, Sir, transferring to your console.”

  She’s getting better at reading my mind. “Do we have any idea who they are?”

  “Not at this stage, Captain. We’ll know shortly when they come into clear comm range.”

  Bradman nodded. He examined the real-time image on his console. Apart from the fast little transport used by the covert intel officer, three other vessels filled his readout. How the hell had the three civilian vessels escaped the north? In time, the communications gap closed.

  “Comm coming in, Captain,” Toni said. “For commanding officer only.”

  Bradman wiggled his finger back and forth between them. By now, his D-O should know that it meant, “Listen in anyway.”

  “Let’s have it.”

  “Allied warship, this is Roland, five-niner-two.”

  “Yes, Roland,” Bradman said, “your cleared status is confirmed. What’s going on?”

  “Firstly, Sir, I must report that the Talgarno system has surrendered to a Pruessen invasion.”

  “Yes, we know. What about the civvies?”

  “You know — but … no matter. I ah, bumped into the civvies on my way here. They’ve been dodging the Pruessens for months. They are seeking asylum within League space. They’re Talgarnos, Sir.”

  “Very well, Roland. They can join the other Talgarnos on Cimmeria.”

  “Other Talgarnos?”

  “Yes, we have the remnants of Talgarno’s fifth fleet sitting outside—”

  “That’s impossible, Captain. The fifth Talgarno fleet, together with all Talgarno military forces, surrendered to the Pruessen Empire, over two months ago.”

  “How accurate is your intel, Roland?”

  “I was there, Captain.”

  Dear mother of God.

  CHAPTER 44

  Date: 23rd March 322 ASC.

  Position: Open space, ten light years from the Cimmerian exclusion zone.

  Status: Talgarno battleship Serenity’s Spur. Alert Condition Two.

  The heavy units of Talgarno’s seventh, ninth and fourteenth fleets sat hidden within dead space. Thirty-six of the most powerful warships ever constructed. For anyone to find their widely dispersed vessels within this much nothingness would be a miracle. Admiral Braun again shook his head. Whoever had dreamed up this operation was either a genius or a madman. He had to admit, however, that the captured Talgarno capital ships were as fine a group of warships as he had ever seen. Serenity’s Spur, the largest battleship in his attack fleet, was as magnificent an example of high technical achievement and sledgehammer offensiveness as Braun had ever commanded.

  The first stage of the bold plan had been accomplished. Captain Matthes’ force was in place. It had been all too easy. The next step would be the hardest. With the massive King Charles Battle Platform still in enemy hands, the entire operation would fail.

  CHAPTER 45

  Of all the keys to success in war “unexpectedness” is the most important. By it a commander, whether of an army or a platoon, can often unlock gates which are impregnable to sheer force. Captain Sir Basil Liddell Hart, Thoughts on War, 1944.

  Date: 23rd March 322 ASC.

  Position: Talgarno battleship Righteous Hand.Cimmerian outer marker.

  Status: Awaiting orders.

  “Flash feed from Commodore Becklin, Captain.”

  “Let’s have it, Lieutenant,” Captain Matthes said.

  “Attack code received, Captain.”

  “Very well. Flash feed to the squadron. All ships stand by to go to Condition One on my mark.”

  “Aye, Captain, message sent.”

  His XO nudged him softly with an elbow. “We’ve been practicing this for two months, Skipper. If the Brets are as slack today as they’ve been since we got here, they won’t even see it coming.”

  “I like your optimism, Willi.” He took a deep breath. “Comm, flash feed to the squadron. Engage Condition One, ten seconds from my mark. Mark!”

  “EDF field is disengaged. Weapons coming online. Buffers firming up. Fifteen seconds to full shield status.”

  ***

  Flag Captain Reid noted the tactical officer’s back straightening.

  “Commodore Dilley, I’m getting some strange readings from the Talgarno ships,” the tactical officer of HMS Buckingham said.

  “Oh, really?” Dilley sipped his tea.

  “Sir, they’ve raised their shields.”

  Reid examined the tactical readouts. “Confirmed, Sir. I suggest we go immediately to action stations.”

  “Don’t be so hasty, Captain,” Dilley said. “They’re probably running some tests on their systems.”

  “Sir, I’m reading massive weapons signatures from all Talgarno ships.”

  “Impossible,” Dilley said, and took another sip of his tea.

  “Confirmed, Commodore, they are armed. Urgently recommend we go to action stations.”

  Dilley sat with his teacup frozen below his lips.

  “Commodore Dilley!” Reid shouted.

  “Ah, yes, action stations, at once, Captain.”

  Dilley jumped when the alarm blared throughout the ship.

  “Comm, send the command to the squadron,” Reid barked.

  “Aye, Sir.”

  Dilley snapped out of his stupor. “Captain, the bridge is yours. I will be in the tactical bunker.”

  Reid spared Dilley a cursory glance as he fled the bridge. “Helm, stand by for evasive maneuvers.”

  “Comm, signal to squadron: come abou
t and form up on the flagship.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  “Helm, hard about. Weapons officer, lock on to the lead ship and prepare to engage.”

  Reid glanced at his readouts. Shields at forty-two percent. Weapons still not online. Too slow, way too slow. Damn Dilley for not letting me run more drills.

  “They’ve painted us, Sir,” the T-O said.

  “Jack?” Reid asked the weapons officer.

  “Countermeasures online. Anti-torpedo pulsars online. Offensive weapons will be available in ninety seconds.”

  “The Talgarnos are bow-on to us, Sir,” tactical reported. “The squadron has assumed position on the flagship.”

  “Very well.”

  “They are preparing to fire, Sir.”

  Reid glanced back at his readouts. Shields at forty-eight percent. Offensive weapons online in seventy-five seconds. It’s not enough.

  As slow as Buckingham was coming to action stations, the other vessels in the squadron were slower. Some ships had not fully raised their shields.

  “They’ve fired, Sir. Six hundred and fifty nuclear warheads inbound.”

  “Any pulsar heads?”

  “Negative.”

  Anti-torpedo missiles streaked from the Buckingham’s bow. Half hunter-killers, half countermeasures. No other Bretish ships had fired.

  “Jezzus. Second salvo fired. All high-grade pulsar heads. Five hundred and fifty–plus.”

  The kill shot.

  Of the six hundred and fifty torpedoes in the first salvo, four hundred and seven evaded the pathetic number of countermeasures, hunter-killer torpedoes and pulsar batteries. They specifically targeted Jutland and Cromwell. A massive wash of nuclear energy tore through their half-formed shields. Explosions erupted along Cromwell’s keel, great gouts of flame gushing into space. Then, she just vanished. Beside her, Jutland heeled over, her shields destroyed and her innards open to space.

  Valiant and Hastings were pushed out of formation by the twin explosions. Their weakened shields were still firming up. Valiant finally fired. Seconds later Hastings also fired.

  “Jack, where the blazes are my torpedoes?” Reid yelled.

  “Coming online … now, Captain,” the weapons officer said.

  “Concentrate all batteries on the lead Talgarno warship.”

  “Locked on to the lead Talgarno, Captain.”

  “Fire!”

  Five hundred and sixty torpedoes streaked from Buckingham’s tubes.

  “Fifteen seconds till second enemy wave.”

  “At least we’ll take some of the bastards with us,” Reid growled.

  CHAPTER 46

  Date: 23rd March 322 ASC.

  Position: In high orbit above Cimmeria.

  Status: Kamora test flight.

  “Weee-haaa!” Nathan yelled.

  The Kamora streaked out of the seven-gee turn and straightened up with enough force to pin Nathan to his seat.

  “What a brute,” Nathan said. “I think I’m in love.”

  “Typical man,” Eleanor said from the rear combat sphere.

  “I knew this boat would have some moves, but holy cow, Eleanor.”

  “Well, I’m not the sort of person to say I told you so, but…”

  “Consider it said.”

  “Probably a good idea to alter course, Nathan.”

  “Roger that.” In the far distance, the King Charles Battle Platform filled a small portion of his forward view-plate. The Kamora carried IFF frequency identifying her as friendly, but why tempt fate? Nathan stared at the great monolith, his sense of unease returning.

  He brought the boat about with another high-gee turn. The Kamora was full of tricks that only a fighter of her size could accommodate, including an extremely impressive weapons package.

  After three hours flying this extraordinary craft, Nathan had a good sense of the Kamora’s capabilities and limitations. Although she could never out-turn a Specter, her wealth of weaponry made her a boat not to be underestimated.

  “About time to head back, Nathan,” Eleanor said.

  Nathan felt as if he were a kid being denied playtime.

  “Roger that.” A thought came to him. “Eleanor, on the way back, do you mind if I take her across the southern end of the continent? Just to see how she performs in atmosphere.”

  “Boys and their toys.” She chuckled throatily. “All right then, but take it easy.”

  “Absolutely,” Nathan lied.

  Nathan snuggled into the broad combat chair. Designed for a Cimmerian pilot, the size had initially caused him some difficulty. A major adjustment to the restraining straps kept him in place.

  The combat sphere, obviously of Athenian design, had undoubtedly been procured via a political deal in order for Athens to curry favor with the corrupt Cimmerian regime. Similar armrest controls dotted the oversized panels, but were familiar enough for Nathan to adjust to. The biggest surprise was the primary attitude controls. Nathan caressed the wheel-style yoke tenderly. This is how a fighter should be set up. It touched a part of Nathan which longed for a time when such simplicities were the norm. Tied into the Kamora’s control systems, the stick could do everything that touch controls could do, but do it in — it seemed to Nathan — a more natural way. It felt … right. The steering wheel yoke was dotted with touch tabs and firing buttons for the plethora of onboard weapons. As with a Specter, the rudder pedals tied into the maneuvering grav plating and thrusters. Oh, you sweet, sweet girl.

  The Kamora broke through the planet’s inversion layer high above a dusky tinted ocean. Nathan set course for the tip of the southern continent while dropping down to the deck. Through the bottom of the sphere he saw the supersonic wake churning the ocean into white spray.

  “Nathan,” Eleanor warned.

  “What?”

  “Not so low, all right?”

  “Hey, trust me. I’ll probably never get another chance to fly this brute, so let me have a little fun, will you?”

  “Just take it easy, please.”

  “Nervous, Eleanor?” he teased.

  “Get stuffed.”

  Nathan displayed the geographical map for the continent. A large settlement on the coast loomed directly ahead. He changed course to run down a huge and largely uninhabited valley. The vast cliffs streaked by to either side, the ground a blur of brightly colored vegetation.

  “Dammit, Nathan, get some air under your wings.”

  “My, you are nervous, aren’t you?”

  “Climb to at least five hundred meters.” Eleanor’s urgent tone and the growing pain of Nathan’s Prep urged him to comply.

  Although he leveled off at five hundred meters, the pain persisted.

  “Talk to me,” he said.

  “See that formation up ahead? There on the right side, angling out from the cliff face.”

  “Yes.”

  “It is composed, primarily, of a gigantic lump of pure coltak. If you get too close to it, the attraction will pull you in like a magnet. I suggest you go higher.”

  Nathan maintained his altitude but pushed the Kamora to the left side of the valley. The warning pain between his shoulder blades lessened, but did not abate. As the great outcrop of negatively charged coltak approached, he prepared to take immediate evasive action, if necessary.

  Four kilometers from the coltak, the interference became less subtle. He corrected for the anomaly’s pull to starboard, which increased as he got closer. Because of Eleanor’s warning, his continual adjustments brought the Kamora safely past the potentially lethal disturbance.

  “Thanks for the heads-up,” he said.

  “No problems.” Eleanor’s more relaxed tone indicated her palpable relief. “That was a nice piece of flying, for an outlander. But watch out for the next one.”

  “There’s more?”

  “The valley extends for nine hundred kilometers, and is dotted with such outcrops. So have your fun, but watch for the signs
.”

  Nathan did.

  Forty minutes later, he taxied the Kamora into her hangar. The skipper has got to agree to a match-up with a Specter. With all systems shut down, he tapped the retrieval tab. His combat chair did not budge. He keyed his helmet comm.

  “SMC, check combat chair retrieval status.”

  “Retrieval mechanism inoperative.”

  “Suggestions?”

  “Analysis indicates a hardware difficulty. Suggest manual activation, or repairs may be required.”

  Nathan ignored the computer and brought the fighter’s power back online. He sent a surge of energy into the retrieval buffer, then hit the tab. His chair moved, about a hand’s width. Nathan pushed additional power into the buffer, released it in one surge, then hit the retrieve tab. His chair slowly elevated toward the iris. The cover plate slid aside, the iris dilated and his chair slowly emerged from the sphere with a labored, jerky motion.

  After removing his gloves and helmet, he unbuckled before stepping onto the gantry. The rear combat chair had not emerged.

  “Oh dear, Eleanor will not be at all happy about that,” he whispered.

  His comm beeped and he activated the Cimmerian headset.

  “Telford.”

  “Nathan, have you retrieved?”

  “With difficulty.” He explained how he had extricated himself, and shortly after, Eleanor’s chair jerked to a halt with a shudder. Nathan helped her to remove gloves and helmet. She unbuckled and got to her feet.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Excuse me for a moment. I have a chief petty officer to murder.” She sprinted down the steps and strode across the hangar. “Harrr-per!” she bellowed. “Get your lazy, incompetent bum out here, right bloody now.”

  CHAPTER 47

  Date: 23rd March 322 ASC.

  Position: Royal Navy battleship squadron 244 at Cimmerian Inner Marker.

  Status: HMS Barnham. Picket duty.

  “Unauthorized hyper egression, Captain,” Captain Toby Blake’s flag officer said. “She’s squawking friendly IFF, but all attempts to hail her have failed.”