The cloak was the reason that Harper had a love-hate relationship with the Robin Hood. Not because there was something sneaky, or indeed un-gentlemanly about an invisible ship, though the old fashioned, traditional, hidebound part of him felt there was. The hate he felt for this amazing ship stemmed from the cost.
A company that had been bought out by CELL had built the ship. The cloak had doubled the price of the vessel and the ship had come in significantly over budget. The Robin Hood and its two sister ships had significantly contributed to the financial strain that had forced Britain to sell its navy, which, despite its size, was arguably the best in the world. CELL had squeezed and squeezed the Admiralty, and then the Treasury and then the government. That was why Harper found himself hating the ship, despite how hard its capabilities tried to woo him.
The bridge was in the centre of the ship. It contained a series of dark carbon-fibre workstations illuminated by the holographic projections from the various departments: helm, weapons, engineering, communications, navigation etc.
Lieutenant Commander Samantha Swanson didn’t seem surprised to see the Captain, despite it being her watch.
‘Captain on the bridge,’ she announced, saluting. Harper returned the salute. She relinquished his raised leather swivel seat, which allowed a commanding view of the bridge, and stood with her arms behind her back by the navigation area. She was too professional to question or even show any reaction to his presence, though Harper guessed that Stevens almost certainly would have spoken to her and she would be aware of the Robin Hood’s orders.
Harper had worked with Swanson before, and had found the tall, sandy-blonde-haired woman to be a capable officer. He had recommended her for XO of the Robin Hood, which might have resulted in her eventual captaincy of the vessel but politics, and it was starting to look like corporate rather than Admiralty politics, had resulted in Stevens being foisted on him.
‘Navigation, plot a course to the west end of Long Island Sound, please. Engineering, enable the cloak. Helm, I want you to remain steady at twenty knots. Let’s see if this cloak can do everything they say it can. We are going to be giving our new employers a demonstration of their stealth technology.’
‘Sir, should we make Liberty Station aware of our new heading?’ Midshipman Walters, the head of comms, asked. Liberty Station was the CELL installation at New York that was ostensibly in command of the Robin Hood at the moment.
‘The purpose of this exercise is to test the Robin Hood’s stealth capabilities. We are going to see how close we can get to New York without being detected. Comms discipline will be maintained.’
‘Aye sir.’
Swanson glanced at the Captain but said nothing. She knew he was disobeying orders, and those that knew the purpose of the Robin Hood’s mission out here also knew that they could bombard the rebel positions in Yonkers from over a hundred and fifty miles away if they so wanted. A few people swapped glances but nobody raised any objections.
He felt rather than heard the background hum of the cloak as it initialised. The ship changed course. Even on the choppy sea the ship’s ride was so smooth it felt like they were sailing silently across silk.
They passed the lights of New London, New Haven, Bridgeport, Norwalk and they were heading towards Stamford on the northern, Connecticut shore of Long Island Sound. To the south, Long Island itself was dark. After the Ceph incursion and CELL’s aggressive land grab, real estate prices had plummeted horribly. Now the wealthy neighbourhoods like Port Jefferson and Whitestone had been abandoned. Empty mansions were homes for the displaced poor from the city, rats and wild dog packs.
Despite the tension that he could feel in the bridge, Captain Harper was appalled at how easy this was. Particularly as by now CELL must know that the Robin Hood was missing.
‘Mr Hamilton, will the East River provide you with any significant problems?’ Harper asked.
‘Er . . . no, sir,’ Lieutenant Hamilton said, not sounding entirely sure of himself. Harper had never worked with the plump moustachioed man before, but he had reviewed the navigation officer’s record and it had seemed more than adequate. You had to be something of a high flyer to have been posted to the Robin Hood.
Closer to the city, more and more of the surrounding habitation had been abandoned. There was mile after mile of dark empty buildings that used to be some of the most desirable real estate in the world. Now they were ghosts of suburbs and, as they got closer to the city, the neighbourhoods of New York. The only light or movement was from the occasional CELL patrol vehicle or helicopter, their searchlights lancing through the darkness.
What had once been a very busy waterway was now all but empty. The patrol vessels they did see in the distance, mainly CELL but some were US Navy, they gave a wide berth to. Nobody challenged them. Nobody even noticed them. The stealth field was working perfectly.
‘This is obscene,’ one of the ratings in the comms section muttered before being shushed. Harper wasn’t sure that he disagreed.
As they entered the East River, New York was a faint glow to the southwest.
Inside the bridge the silence was only broken by the occasional quietly spoken instruction. The tensest moment came when they passed within two hundred feet of a patrol vessel. The craft’s searchlights were being played across the dark riverbanks on either side of the river. They were presumably looking for resistance fighters. Lieutenant Chalmers, who ran the weapons section, glanced up at Harper but the Captain said nothing. He wasn’t even sure what he was going to do if they were discovered. Would he fight or surrender? If he fought would the crew follow his orders? The searchlight must have shone straight through the Robin Hood but the patrol craft did not notice them.
How can they not be aware of something this size so close to them? Harper wondered. Can’t they feel us?
‘Helm, bring us to within five hundred feet of the northern shoreline,’ Harper ordered. To the south of them was Rikers Island, the infamous prison now abandoned following the attack on New York. Information was exchanged rapidly, verbally and electronically, between navigation and the helm. Harper felt the ship change direction. ‘Hold position here. Lieutenant Commander Swanson, the planning room, if you will.’
The captain stood up and headed to the room adjoining the bridge. Swanson followed him. The room contained a conference table with a holo-projector in the centre and workstations around the side. Other than a picture of HMS Hood the room was bare.
‘Sir?’ the lieutenant commander asked, barely suppressed curiosity written all over her face.
‘I’ll be blunt, are you prepared to follow my orders?’ he asked.
‘Are these in contravention of our orders from CELL?’ she asked, equally bluntly.
‘I will say no, they are not,’ he lied, and he lied obviously. Understand what I can’t come out and say, he willed her. Take the word of your Captain when he lies to you. This would be the only protection she would get. It probably wasn’t enough. He saw the understanding on her face.
‘You can trust me, sir,’ she told him. He nodded, believing her.
‘I am going to be leaving the ship,’ he told her.
‘Sir . . .? Why?’ Her surprise was visible.
‘To gather intelligence.’
‘Sir, we have people . . .’
‘I . . . we need to make an informed decision. It needs to be me, I’m afraid.’
Now the young Lieutenant Commander looked less sure.
‘Does that change your decision?’
Swanson gave it some thought.
‘No, sir, I don’t believe it does,’ she told him, resolved.
‘You know, with me gone there will be a lot of pressure . . .’ She just nodded. ‘Very well. My standing orders are to remain here and remain hidden until I return.’
‘And if you don’t, sir?’
They now had eight hours before they were due to fire on Yonkers.
‘Then I am afraid the decision will be down to you,’ he told her. He left out
that it would come down to her conscience. He left out that regardless of her decision it would haunt her for years. He knew Swanson to be twenty-eight years old, young for her rank. Too young for a decision like this, he thought.
She swallowed but nodded.
‘Rules of Engagement, sir?’
‘You will only fire if the lives of the members of this crew rely on it. The emphasis is on being sneaky.’
‘The ghoul? I mean Commander Stevens?’
‘He remains confined to quarters. If he gives you any trouble then put him in the brig.’ She nodded. ‘Anything else?’
‘No sir.’ She went to leave but hesitated. She turned back and offered her hand. ‘Sir, it’s been an honour.’
Harper looked down at the hand.
‘I am intending on coming back,’ he told her, smiling. She nodded and went back to the bridge.
Lieutenant Talpur’s cabin-come-office was next to the bunk area for her marines and it was tiny. This wasn’t too much of a problem for the Lieutenant as she was quite small. It was unpleasantly cramped for the Captain.
The Lieutenant handed the Captain a mug of tea.
‘I’ll be blunt. Can I trust you?’ the Captain asked. Talpur’s presence during Stevens’ insubordination earlier had soured his view of the marine officer. She sighed.
‘That it has come to this,’ she muttered.
‘Lieutenant, we don’t have a lot of time.’
‘It never occurred to me that I would ever disobey an order from the Captain of a ship that I was stationed on. The problem is, our chain of command has changed.’
‘An officer still has the right to refuse to follow orders for reasons of conscience.’
‘Until the terms and conditions of our contract are changed, and then their career will be over.’
‘Do you want a career in this service?’
The Lieutenant looked at the Captain, holding his eyes for a long time, measuring him, trying to decide what to say. She rubbed her face tiredly. ‘No.’ The Captain started to say something. ‘But I want to put food on the table for my family. I’m not sure that I have the luxury of your principles, sir.’
Neither do I, Harper thought as his heart sank. Although small in number, the marines would be crucial in maintaining control of the ship.
‘So I can’t rely on you, Lieutenant?’
‘No, sir, I’m sorry.’
She slid a piece of paper across the table. Harper picked it up and read the list of six names on it. Lieutenant Talpur’s was at the top.
‘Lieutenant?’
‘You need to relieve me of command and confine these men to quarters, as they all have dependents and quite frankly too much to lose. Sergeant Martin is unmarried with no children that he is aware of. He is also an outspoken critic of CELL . You can rely on Sergeant Martin, sir.’
‘The men won’t like that.’
‘And women. It’s been discussed, sir.’
Harper looked at the list and then back to the Lieutenant.
‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’ Talpur just nodded. ‘There is one other thing, Lieutenant. Do any of your men . . . people . . . have criminal records?’
Talpur looked pained.
‘Sir, a number of my people are in due to the Offenders Conscription Act. What do you need?’
‘A car thief, ideally.’
‘A Liverpudlian, then? I have just the man.’
It had been incredible, Harper thought. The inflatable raiding craft had been lowered between two of the trimaran hulls. Looking up and around him he could see the composite carbon-fibre of the ship’s structure. As the coxswain had taken the boat out from under the Robin Hood’s superstructure Harper had felt a moment of ionisation as they had gone through the lensing field. He glanced behind him and the Robin Hood was nowhere to be seen.
The other three people didn’t seem to be enjoying his moment of wonder as they made their way slowly and quietly towards the dark Bronx shoreline. The coxswain was intent on piloting the boat. Private Fry, more frequently known as Scouse, was manning the MMG at the prow of the small craft. Corporal Fenn, a tough young woman from rural north Yorkshire, had her SCAR assault rifle at the ready and was scanning the surface of the river as they headed towards the Bronx shoreline.
Harper knew that the Bronx borough of New York used to have a fearsome reputation for crime, particularly the South Bronx. Now all they would have to worry about was the occasional groups of homeless, even more occasional CELL patrols, and wandering dog packs. Though there were rumours of leftover Ceph bioforms. Despite having seen the whole thing on the news and acting as part of the rapid response force formed as a result of the alien incursion, Harper still had problems crediting the whole thing. Aliens on the streets of Manhattan still seemed too much like science fiction to him.
With a navigator’s eye Harper had used landmarks on the surrounding riverbanks to triangulate the position of the Robin Hood for his return journey. He was carrying a GPS device and had memorised the co-ordinates of the ship but he would not input them until the last minute in case someone got hold of the device.
They had come in under a rotting pier. Harper had told the coxswain to wait there for eight hours or until they returned. They had found a ladder that didn’t look too rotten and headed up into the eerily quiet borough.
A four-wheel drive vehicle would have been more useful, but the only thing that Private Fry had managed to find and get working was a compact. They had siphoned as much fuel as they could find whilst Corporal Fenn watched over them. In the distance they could hear the howls of a hunting dog pack. Further afield they could see lights in the sky. A CELL helicopter, heading towards Manhattan and whatever it was that CELL was doing there.
The sound of the compact’s engine starting up seemed incredibly loud amongst the dark, empty streets.
With two big marines and their weapons, the interior of the compact was quite cramped. Both the marines, like Harper, were out of uniform, wearing what dark-coloured civilian clothing they had found. They were still wearing their webbing, however.
‘I think it only fair to warn you that if we’re caught in civvies we may be executed as spies. If either of you want to back out, I’d understand,’ Harper told them. Fenn said nothing.
‘I hope we see one of these Ceph,’ Fry said in his strong Scouse accent as he flipped the night vision goggles down over his eyes. ‘I’ve never seen an alien before.’
Fry had studied the map, and many of the old street signs were still present. The Scouse marine had adeptly navigated through the abandoned city. They’d had to detour around rubble, push burnt wrecks of cars out of the way and, with an eye on the deadline, their journey had seemed horribly slow.
Harper had visited New York on a number of occasions. The place had always seemed teeming with life. This ghost husk of city he found impossibly eerie.
They had caught sight of Manhattan on several occasions. It was lit up, but lit up like a construction site. Much of the most famous skyline in the world was dark and broken-looking from damage received during the Ceph invasion. Harper could see new structures going up but struggled to make out what they were from this distance.
They saw nothing on their journey, not even wild dogs, the only movement the lights in the sky from the helicopters over Manhattan.
They crossed over the Bronx River and into Southeast Yonkers. The city was built on a number of hills rising from the Hudson River in the west. Like everywhere else, it seemed deserted. They were travelling along a wide road lined with empty apartment buildings and deserted businesses.
‘Sir?’ Fry asked.
Harper knew that the Resistance had spread out across the city in a bid to avoid making themselves one big target. Harper knew that this was one of the areas where CELL’s Archangel orbital weapons platform had found heat readings.
‘I would imagine they should find . . .’
Headlights dazzled them. The glare momentarily blinded Fry, and he cried out as he simultaneo
usly tried to push the NVGs up and bring the car to a halt. Harper was thrown forwards but was aware of Fenn bringing her SCAR up to bear. Fry was reaching for his weapon.
‘Wait! Stand down!’ Harper shouted. Some kind of aging armoured vehicle had been pulled across the road in front of them. There were dark figures running towards the car. The car doors were yanked open and Harper found himself face down on the tarmac, his hands being cable tied behind his back.
Harper felt that his explanation, that he was the captain of a stealth missile destroyer well within firing range of them and that he needed to speak with their commanding officer, lost something of its import when delivered through a black hood.
They had been searched, searched again, searched one more time in a way that bordered on violation, and marched to a number of different places before finally being tied to chairs. Harper’s hood was removed and he found himself sat on a chair in a basement that had several inches of water covering the floor. Fenn and Fry were on either side of him, still hooded.
There were three people in here, all male. The first was a stern looking Caucasian man in his early sixties wearing urban pattern combat fatigues that looked very worn but still serviceable. He was in excellent physical condition for his age. His arms were crossed and he looked less than pleased to see Harper and the marines.
The second man was Hispanic. His hair was closely cropped, and he looked to be in his early thirties. He wore sleeveless jungle pattern fatigues under body armour and had an enormous Majestic revolver holstered at his hip.
The third man was sat opposite Harper. He had no hair and was thin, verging on the gaunt. He looked to be in his eighties but in very good shape for it. His eyes seemed younger, somehow. They were very much alive. He looked familiar to Harper, like someone he had seen on television.
‘Do you know who I am?’ the man asked. He had a strong German accent. Harper finally placed the man.
Crysis: Escalation Page 13