The Space Navy Series Books One & Two: Including the Kindle novellas Josiah Trenchard and the Might of Fortitude & Josiah Trenchard and the Morgenstern

by Jonathon Fletcher

  ‘Suit your-self,’ said Trenchard, grabbing his jacket from off a hook on the wall and heading out of the hatch, whistling a happy tune. ‘I’m going to visit Pugh and Cox and then I have a debriefing with Admiral Fife. After that I’ll be in Mike’s.’

  Noir stared after him as he left. It was as though the man she had just been talking to was a completely different person to that which she had first met. She had decided that Trenchard was grumpy and annoying. Now she had seen a different side to his character. Maybe she had misjudged him?

  The naval medical facility on Cairn was immaculately clean and orderly. White covered beds were arranged in neat, military lines along a pristine white ward. The injuries of the troopers in here were mostly from insurgent’s I.E.D.s. Many of the troopers had lost limbs. The replacement limbs that the navy could afford were basic. Trenchard stared at Pugh’s state-of-the-art leg in awe as a nurse cleaned the seam where the appendage met raw flesh.

  ‘How’s your leg?’ Trenchard asked as delicately as he could muster.

  Pugh grinned and rapped his knuckles on his left leg producing a hollow metallic sound. ‘Good as new Sir,’ he said, smiling.

  Trenchard looked up at the nurse questioningly.

  ‘He’s still on the happy pills that Papaver prescribed him and also a pretty high dose of Morphine. I don’t think that he even realises properly what’s happened yet,’ she explained. ‘I’m all done here. Don’t be too long, he needs his rest.’

  Trenchard nodded and turned back to Pugh as the nurse walked away. ‘That was a damned brave thing that you did Pugh,’ he said. ‘If it was up to me you’d get a medal.’

  Pugh grinned inanely back, his eyes glazed and his pupils wide. ‘I’m just happy to be alive Sir,’ he said, ‘back to fight another day!’

  ‘You sure you’re okay?’

  ‘I will be Sir, soon as I get out of here. The food’s terrible,’ he said, winking conspiratorially. ‘But don’t tell the pretty young nurse that I said that.’

  Trenchard looked over towards the bed next to Pugh where Cox was lying comatose. His arm was bandaged, but he looked strangely calm.

  ‘Do you know how Cox is?’ Trenchard asked.

  Pugh shrugged. ‘They’ve had to keep him sedated,’ Pugh explained. ‘Every time he wakes up, he just starts screaming and shouting. He’s such a young lad and I think the shock of the battle really screwed him up. He’ll need some psyche evaluation but I think he’ll be alright.’

  Trenchard nodded and then something caught his eye. As he leaned closer he saw a small patch on the back of Cox’s head that had been shaved completely bare. There was a small scar about an inch long at the base of his skull.

  ‘I don’t remember Cox hitting his head, do you?’ Trenchard asked.

  Pugh looked over. ‘It got confusing for a while back there. He could have had his head banged when he was carried away.’

  Trenchard nodded his head, seemingly satisfied with the explanation. ‘Well you rest up mate. Fife will want to send us out on another mission very soon. Until then, make the most of the company,’ said Trenchard, nodding his head towards the young nurse.

  Pugh smiled. ‘Don’t worry Sir. I’ll be back on my feet soon, ready to rock!’

  Trenchard smiled, stood and walked away. Pugh might be physically fine now, but he would need some psychological support himself when the drugs wore off. Losing a limb was no easy thing. Trenchard wouldn’t be surprised if he would be looking for a new warfare officer soon. He hoped not. Pugh had begun to shape up to be a solid officer. Only time would tell.

  CHAPTER 23 “A DRINK AND A THINK”

  ‘…and then Papaver showed up and his fancy security team turfed us off the station,’ said Trenchard as he finished his story. ‘You know the rest.’

  Fife sat back in his chair and arched his fingers together across his lap. Then he let out a long sigh through his nose and stared at Trenchard.

  ‘You’re pissed off with me,’ he stated in a matter of fact tone.

  Trenchard had done reasonably well to conceal his feelings up to now, but somehow Fife could see through his thick skin.

  ‘Yes Sir,’ he replied.

  ‘You do know that the order came down from Adisa directly? I had nothing to do with it.’

  Trenchard remained stubbornly silent for a moment. Then he let out a burst of anger.

  ‘Then what was the fucking point of sending us on that mission? What were we, dispensable?’

  Fife sighed.

  ‘Half of my job is politics, Captain Trenchard. The other half is trying to do right by the ship Captains under my command. Papaver holds a great deal of sway over the navy. His company builds all our weapons and spacecraft. We have contracts with him that run into hundreds of trillions. He’s reliant on us for business, but conversely, we are dependent on him for everything. He could withhold vital supplies at any moment.’

  ‘So we’re puppets of Pap-Corp now?’ Trenchard snarled.

  ‘No, but we have to occasionally accede to some of his wishes,’ Fife snapped back. ‘His ship was across the galaxy on other business when the space elevator was destroyed. That abandoned facility in the Kuiper belt suddenly became a vital war asset. He asked Adisa directly for help to secure the facility until such a time as he could arrive and take over.’

  ‘We were caretakers then?’

  ‘If you want to put it that way, yes,’ Fife grudgingly agreed. ‘The point is that you did your job and then his people took over. There’s more in that facility than you realise. Papaver is developing new weapons all the time in order to keep one step ahead of troublemakers like the insurgents. The stuff stored there is above top secret and that’s why you were “turfed off”, to use your colloquialism.’

  Trenchard fell grumpily silent as he digested this. Then he looked back up at Fife and asked the question that had been eating away at his insides.

  ‘What about Bird?’

  Fife sighed again and rubbed his aching brow.

  ‘That’s the most troublesome part of this. It’s just like him to think up a scheme like that; to fake his own death and return under the guise of Captain Raven. He’s clever and dangerous. That’s why I’m ordering you never to speak of this outside of this room.’

  ‘What?’ Trenchard asked in extreme puzzlement.

  ‘The thought of Bird’s death at the hands of Captain Smiler was bad enough. But if word gets around that Bird has defected and joined the pirates because he doesn’t agree with the decisions of the United Worlds government…’

  Fife tailed off, clearly troubled.

  ‘The situation is getting worse. None of the veteran troopers like Chang very much or agree with his politics. I can’t say I blame them. Sympathy is growing for the insurgents. But we must remain united at all costs. If Bird’s mutiny and defection becomes public knowledge, it could persuade others to do the same. We could be facing a deep split in the ranks and maybe even a military uprising against Chang’s leadership. That can’t happen, at least, not until the time is right.’

  Trenchard studied Fife carefully.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  Fife fixed him with a stony glare.

  ‘There are many ways to influence politics, Trenchard. Chang is bad for the United Worlds, but a bloody coup would be catastrophic at the present time. Suffice it to say that a lot of people don’t like Chang or what he stands for, but the time is not right to depose him. News of Bird’s defection could ruin everything. Forget Paul Bird and forget everything I’ve just told you. Go and have a drink. Then tomorrow, carry on as if you never saw Bird alive on that pirate ship. That’s an order!’

  Trenchard glared back at Fife and narrowed his eyes.

  ‘Yes Sir!’ he said with a low growl.

  Mike’s Bar was rowdy as usual. Trenchard entered the door of Cairn’s favourite pub and paused for a moment, taking it all in. It had been a long time. The air smelled of stale beer, sweat and bodily gasses. It was like perfume to Trenchard
. The lighting was dim and the floor sticky with spilled drinks. Along one wall was the bar, which was made to look old fashioned even though it was constructed from modern materials. The optics shined with different coloured spirits and the traditional hand pumps poured a frothy selection of real ales that the owner Mike brewed in a micro-brewery on the premises.

  Trenchard pulled a packet of cigarettes out from his jacket pocket, lit one, looked about and found some of his crew sitting around a table in the far corner. He went over to the bar and bought a pint, before heading over towards the table. At the sight of Trenchard, Kittinger stood up and tried to perform a drunken salute. Trenchard waved him back to his seat, taking a deep drag of his cigarette and blowing a smoke ring.

  ‘Sit down man. My rules…’ he paused to make sure that everyone was listening, ‘…in here we’re all equal. Rank doesn’t apply when you have a drink in your hand.’

  Kittinger gingerly smiled and sat back down again. It was most unusual for your commanding officer to sit and drink with the lower ranks so casually but Trenchard wasn’t your usual Captain. Trenchard took a seat and looked around the table. Most of the control room crew and some of the troopers were here, with the notable exceptions of Commander Noir, Stofan and the red-head Cochran. By the looks of the empty glasses and bottles piled into the middle of the table, the rest of them were all half cut already.

  ‘Where are the others?’ Trenchard enquired gently.

  ‘On their way,’ replied Lieutenant Commander Sivia, sipping on a Coke. He didn’t usually drink alcohol and was the only sober one here.

  ‘Where’s Commander Noir?’ McGagh asked, swigging down a large glass of Irish whiskey.

  ‘On the ship, finishing up,’ said Trenchard. ‘She’ll be down here soon.’

  Chertok leaned forwards across the table and spoke to Trenchard. ‘How are Pugh and Cox?’ he asked with a slur in his voice, his Russian accent thicker than usual.

  ‘Pugh seems fine,’ Trenchard explained. ‘We’ll know better when the drugs wear off. Cox was out cold when I saw him. The nurse said that it’ll be a few days before I can speak to him.’

  ‘A toast!’ said McGagh, standing up and looming over the table. ‘To Lieutenant Commander Pugh; never a braver man sailed the black void!’

  Trenchard met McGagh’s eyes with a steely glare. ‘I’ll drink to that,’ Trenchard said and bashed his glass into McGagh’s. There was a round of cheering and clinking of glasses. McGagh nodded to Trenchard confidentially as he sat back down as if to say “everything’s alright now”. Pugh’s act of bravery had obviously settled his debt to the crew.

  ‘Well, it’s about fuckin’ time you showed your sorry arse in here again!’ a broad Geordie voice suddenly barked from directly behind Trenchard.

  Trenchard turned abruptly to find his old buddy Dasilva standing right behind him with a smug grin across his face. Trenchard pulled a couple of notes from his jacket pocket and threw them onto the table, turning to his crew.

  ‘The next round’s on me. I have to catch up with my old ship-mate here.’ Then he nodded and accompanied Dasilva over towards the bar where a couple of empty stools were waiting. It was pointless to sit at a table when he was drinking with Dasilva, they got through the rounds too quickly. It was simpler to just sit right at the bar itself.

  It was dark in the hospital. All the patients were asleep, many troubled by dark nightmares; most were heavily sedated. A figure in a red lab coat walked silently down the rows of beds and stopped beside Pugh and Cox. She bent forwards into the soft night light that shone gently onto Cox’s face, brushing her dark brown hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. She reached inside a pocket and took out a small device.

  Looking around her to make sure she was unobserved, the woman placed the device next to the fresh scar on the back of Cox’s head. She pressed a control and a light on the device started blinking. Cox’s eyes flickered open and he stared, unseeing, straight at the ceiling. The woman deactivated the device and straightened up, smiling to herself. Then she pulled a long needle from her top pocket and gently took hold of Cox’s unresisting hand. Carefully she pushed the needle into the soft muscle of Cox’s palm at the base of his thumb and straight out the other side. Cox didn’t even wince or struggle. He just lay there with a blank expression on his passive features. Satisfied, the woman pulled the needle out and placed it back into her pocket. Then she took a small communicator from another pocket, dialled a number and held the device up to her ear.

  After a few seconds, a thick French voice said, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Sir,’ the dark-haired woman said quietly. ‘It’s Elaine. The Providence chip has been activated successfully!’

  ‘So, how’s things with you?’ Trenchard asked as he settled onto the stool, holding up two fingers to the barkeeper Mike in order to buy another round.

  ‘Not bad,’ replied Dasilva. ‘Same shit, different day. Admiral Turner has us training the new recruits. It’s some grand idea of Vice President Chang’s. Since President Smith was assassinated and the space elevator dropped in the ocean, he’s started recruiting like fuckin’ crazy. Chang says he’s going to wipe out the insurgents. Can’t see it ever hapenin’ though, I mean, how do you fight a guerrilla force that’s hidden in small numbers across every populated system?’

  Trenchard nodded with understanding as the two beers were duly delivered. He took a long swig before replying. ‘If Chang keeps it up, he’s going to piss off every veteran in the navy. They were going to send us straight out again, after we’ve only just returned from the last mission. Our wounded haven’t even been properly rested yet, for Christ’s sake.’

  Dasilva gulped his pint down in one and ordered two more. ‘So, how does being a Captain of a star-ship suit you?’ Dasilva asked with a grin before belching loudly. ‘It must be champion being your own boss out there?’

  Trenchard smiled at Dasilva’s Geordie accent which was becoming broader and broader the more he drank.

  ‘It’s not all it’s cracked up to be mate, believe me. My crew are eager, but they’re mostly inexperienced youngsters. Then when you think you’ve got enough trouble with pirates shooting your bollocks off, the damn Papaver Corporation forgets to tell you they have a homicidal robot on ice in the middle of your combat zone.’

  Dasilva’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Papaver?’

  Trenchard looked around nervously to make sure that he wouldn’t be overheard. ‘This is classified mate, so don’t go spreading this about…’

  Dasilva made a motion as if zipping his lips shut.

  ‘We were supposed to be protecting a facility that makes cables for the new space elevators that Chang wants built. It turned out to be an experimental weapons dump for Papaver.’

  Dasilva pulled a sour face. ‘That fuckin’ French twat!’

  Trenchard nodded. ‘There was some kind of robot or cyborg on ice there. It was activated during the battle and went crazy, I have two troopers in hospital, and poor Pugh has lost a leg.’

  Dasilva turned to look at the table where the crew of the Might were drinking. ‘Jim’s brother? Has anybody told Jim yet?’

  Trenchard shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. Pugh’s still recovering on drugs. Barely knows his arse from his elbow.’

  ‘I’ll tell Jim what happened,’ said Dasilva, taking a long deep drink of his beer. ‘That slimy bastard Papaver! I don’t trust anything that he does. You know that he killed my brother?’

  Trenchard gently put his hand onto Dasilva’s shoulder. He remembered only too well when Dasilva had received the news of his brother’s death, killed by a prototype rifle that had exploded in his face. The Papaver Corporation built all the navy’s weapons. Dasilva held Papaver personally responsible.

  ‘Well, there’s definitely something shifty going on. That robot was designed to kill indiscriminately. There would be no other use for it. It just went berserk. What would Papaver want with a weapon like that? Certainly, the navy would never use it.’

&n
bsp; Dasilva raised an eyebrow. ‘You think not?’ he said. ‘I think those arseholes in High Command would do anything if it saved them some money. They’re probably desperate to replace us with fucking robots. Mark my words, if Papaver is playing about with killing machines, then it’s only a matter of time before us poor fuckin’ munters pay the price!’

  Trenchard stared fixedly into his pint. It was dark and swirling, just like his future. He didn’t want to believe it, but he couldn’t help but feel that Dasilva was right. Chang’s regime was becoming more and more militaristic every day. The navy were no longer peacekeepers; they weren’t policing the colonised systems; they were subduing them under martial law. The one thing that kept the balance was people like him and Dasilva. They had minds of their own and wouldn’t follow orders blindly or without question. If they could be replaced by obedient machines then there would be no stopping President Chang from clamping down on the entire United Worlds, a military dictator in charge of cowering and terrified subjects.

  Trenchard shook his head to clear the dark thoughts and held his hand up to get Mike’s attention. ‘Two double rums please Mike,’ he asked.

  Tonight, he was going to get steaming drunk.

  In a darkened cabin aboard the Might of Fortitude, a slender female hand operated a small electronic device. The tiny hologram communicator was cutting edge technology, far beyond anything the navy or any of its recruits could afford. The small rectangular device was held flat on the woman’s palm and a flickering full colour hologram blinked into existence above it. The face of the man in the hologram beamed broadly as he flicked the mop of untidy dark hair out of his eyes.

  ‘Bonjour mademoiselle. I was waiting to hear from you. I take it that you are alone?’ said Claude Papaver in his thick accent.

  There was a pause.

  ‘Quite alone,’ a soft feminine voice replied.

  ‘I congratulate you on the success of your mission. The test was extremely successful. The Morgenstern operated better than could have been expected.’