“Indeed, ma’am.” Harry realised that some explanation was called for. “It is an adaptation of the semaphore used to communicate overland between the Admiralty and Plymouth, Portsmouth and other ports. This system was in use when I first went to sea and continued for many decades thereafter. We have adapted it so a signaller may perform the motions.”
The Brigadier shook her head in befuddled amazement.
The Commander chuckled. “You’ll be telling us next that you took on the Brigadier’s troops with cannon and swords. My God, Harry, you just don’t think like one of us, do you?”
It was Harry’s turn to look nonplussed. He was trying to think of a polite response to what he felt sure was a criticism when Maddie said, “But he did, sir — he and Mr. O’Connor and Mr. Rasmus dreamed up explosives and bombs — had us all making mortars, grenades and rockets.”
“Thank you, Hodges, that will do,” said Harry. “As a matter of fact, we have some cannon, and a few more missiles besides.” He had been watching the assembly of troops behind the Brigadier, and now said to Maddie, “Signal Mr. Winstanley to take charge of the prisoners.”
The Commander’s head jerked up. “Did you say Mr. Winstanley? The Chief Master Warrant? He survived?”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “The same. He has been most helpful and a stalwart throughout our difficulties. Why do you ask, sir?”
“I was told he had died, that he was seen to be killed.” The Commander’s frown betrayed anger. “I’m going to have a very serious interview with someone. Now then, Lieutenant, what are your intentions?”
“With respect, sir, I will secure our prisoners. Hand over control of this Base to the landing parties when they arrive.” Harry hesitated. “If those are your instructions as senior officer, sir.”
It was the Brigadier’s turn to chuckle as the Commander’s face registered his surprise. “Oh? Yes, of course.” The Commander recovered. “Since you’ve got us this far, Mr. Heron, what do you suggest?”
“May I suggest that you take charge here, sir?” He paused as Maddie responded to a signal from somewhere out of the Brigadier’s line of vision. He listened briefly to a whispered message then studied the expression on a senior Consortium officer’s face. “It appears that some of your people failed to obey your order, ma’am,” said Harry. “That is most unfortunate since it reflects upon your honour as their commander. Equally unfortunate for them, it appears they have encountered one of our minefields and a company of our forces at the same time. Their escape has been thwarted, and I have ordered them to be returned here.” To the Commander, he said, “With your approval of course, sir.” He gave a stiff bow to acknowledge the Commander’s seniority.
The Brigadier shook her head. “It seems that you have managed to outwit us again, Lieutenant.” She turned to the Commander. “I’ll join my staff if you have no objection, Commander Nielsen.” To Harry, she said, “I wish you every success, Mr. Heron. I am only sorry we have to be enemies. I could have wished you were on my staff.”
Chapter 30 — Subterfuge
Commander Nielsen watched the approach of the Fleet Landing Force with professional interest. They were taking no chances, and approached fully prepared for battle. Taking a leaf from Harry’s book, he ordered, “Mr. Van der Pelt, you and I will go out to meet them.”
The Lieutenant saluted. “Yes, sir.”
“Make sure our people are clearly visible and identifiable as Fleet personnel. Keep our prisoners safe and quiet.” He paused at the door. “Better bring a white flag. I don’t want some trigger happy Marine burning me away at this point in the proceedings.”
Stepping out of the damaged HQ dome, he walked to the gate, the Lieutenant joining him with a large white cloth tied to a long metal rod. “Best we could do, sir. Hope they saw the one the Brigadier put up.”
“Looks like it.” The Commander indicated a vehicle detaching from the main force and approaching. “That looks like an assault command vehicle.” He stopped and waited as the unit halted, then several armoured troops deployed and an officer followed. Recognising the insignia of a Colonel, he saluted. “It’s good to see you, Colonel. Commander Nielsen, Senior Officer, NECS Daring. Brigadier Newton, her staff and the surviving members of her garrison are confined to the barrack dome and Officer’s Mess.”
Returning the salute, the Colonel offered his hand. “You were responsible for this?”
“Lord no. I am — was — the senior POW. This—” he indicated the damaged structures “—is the work of Sub-Lieutenant Heron and his men plus his, ah, allies, the Canids.”
The Colonel frowned. “So who is in command here now?”
“I am, sir. Mr. Heron accepted the surrender and has gone ahead of you toward the second Base to the south. He left this for you.” He handed over a carefully folded sheet of stiff paper. “It’s a route map. Apparently, his people mined the normal route. This will enable you to avoid the traps and find the quickest way south.” He watched the Colonel signal his own people forward. “I’ll take you to Brigadier Newton and her staff as soon as you’re ready, sir. They surrendered to Mr. Heron a half hour ago.”
“That will be helpful.” The Colonel grimaced and indicated the damage around them. “What the hell did they use against this place? It looks almost as if it got hit by a meteor strike on what must have been the landing and launch field.” Handing the map to his adjutant, he followed Commander Nielsen.
“From what I’ve been able to piece together, ignorance on the part of the Consortium of a very old and rather simple explosive and a lucky hit by one of Mr. O’Connor’s rather erratic rocket bombs did all this.”
“Ignorance?”
“It seems they were stockpiling ammonium nitrate and a rather interesting perchlorate for shipping off-world, and when they needed space to store fuel cells — well, they put the two together. According to the scientist who’s been working with Heron’s people to make their explosives, a rocket must have ruptured a fuel cell and started a fire. The rest, as they say, is scattered all over the landscape.”
“We saw it as we came down. Our scanners couldn’t identify it either. So it was just an accident?”
Anders Nielsen grinned. “Yes, but young Heron had the balls to pull off the biggest bluff of all. He convinced the Brigadier he had another device in place and that he would blow us all away if she didn’t surrender.”
The Colonel laughed. “She won’t have been happy when she discovered the bluff. I hope I’ll get to meet this officer of yours — he sounds like a man who’s not afraid to use his initiative. But how has he survived and kept his people alive this long? This place isn’t exactly suited to humans, and from what my briefings say, there isn’t a lot we can eat here either.”
“I haven’t got the full story yet,” the Commander acknowledged. “From what I have learned from the men he left here as a garrison, they seem to have been living as the guests of the locals and some sort of alien life form. It provided everything they needed and sheltered them through the winters. Furthermore, it has infiltrated all the Base AIs and coms — so it knows everything on those systems, which means Heron and O’Connor know it as well.”
“How the hell?” the Colonel began. He shook his head in amazed disbelief. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll keep my systems well isolated. Now, to business — the Fleet has taken off in pursuit of the enemy. We have a couple of cruisers and their escorts riding herd aloft, but essentially we’re on our own until Admiral Heron returns. Are your people able to help the defence if we’re attacked?”
Rear Admiral Heron studied his battle plot. “Admiral Enescu is trying to swing back toward Lycania. Set up a course prediction based on her evasions. I want to get ahead of her if we can.”
“They’ve detached several ships, apparently to repair facilities or because they are unable to keep up, sir,” reported the Tactical Officer. “Two of the cruisers detached are disabled and unable to transit. They’ve been left in stable orbi
ts in the Tacitus system to wait for retrieval and repair. Three more have been damaged, with our frigate groups maintaining contact.”
“Good, so we’re eroding their strength.” The Admiral scanned the plot display. “It looks as if they are planning to swing back along this track.” He frowned. “Why? It makes no sense — unless they are setting up a trap. Where would be a good place to hide an ambush? It has to be somewhere our scanners will have difficulty identifying it.”
“Here, sir,” Captain Grenville interposed. “The radiation from the decay of the supernova and the shockwaves in the debris cloud in this region will set up background noise the scanners will take time to sift through and filter.”
James Heron nodded. “I agree. Contact the C-in-C and Vengeance. I think they may be planning a major engagement there. It has all the hallmarks of a trap. We’ll have to make sure it isn’t.”
Harry led his group into the pass, alert to any possible enemy ambush. Just ahead, where it narrowed through a single defile, his people had set a trap for any vehicles moving through it.
“Signal from the scout party, sir. The trap caught a Con scouting formation. They abandoned their vehicles and retreated.”
“Good. Where are the abandoned vehicles?”
“Just beyond the next bend, sir,” a Corporal reported. “Our mines have made a mess of them. A couple are on their backs — the rest half buried or completely disabled. There don’t seem to be any survivors, so perhaps they’ve taken them with them.”
“Very well, we’ll work our way past them and see how far they’ve gone. The weather looks set to change, and it would be unwise to remain in the open. We’ll need shelter if it does.” He wondered how many had been killed and how many injured in this trap, then put these thoughts aside as the Sergeant approached.
“We knocked out everything but two of their vehicles, sir. The survivors managed to get clear and work their way out to rescue some of the casualties. They got away on the surviving transports.”
“Very good,” acknowledged Harry. “Our own Landing Force will be coming this way, so we must ensure the Consortium forces cannot reciprocate against our people.” He stopped as a voice called from the small ravine beside the road.
“Sir! There’s a survivor here, an officer. He’s trapped and injured,” called a TechRate. “We’ll need some grunt to get him free.”
“On our way,” Harry replied. “Sergeant, detail some men to assist, then take your people up the pass to ensure it remains clear — but beware, there is a storm in the making. I can feel it, and our host warns of it.” Sliding down the slope, he ducked to peer into the interior of the vehicle. Hands joined his, and as the face turned toward him and became clear, recognition caused him to exclaim.
“You!”
His face bloodied and distorted by pain, Eon Barclay managed to gasp, “Bastard.”
“Not according to convention. My parents were duly joined in matrimony at the time of my birth. Corporal, give me the medical pack. I’ll try to deal with this man’s injuries while you free him.”
It took almost an hour to extricate Eon Barclay, secure his broken legs and get him up to the roadway. By now, the storm was almost on them, and they barely had time to reach shelter in a shallow cave before it burst over them in fury.
Leaving what had been the Consortium Brigadier’s office, now used by Commander Nielsen and the Marine Colonel, Harry almost walked into Lieutenant Clarke. As the Lieutenant jumped back, Harry threw up a salute.
“Sir! My apologies, my mind was elsewhere.”
Aral Clarke returned the salute, a sneer twisting his face. “Still aping the savage, I see. I hope you’re satisfied. You almost killed us in your insane assault! What were you thinking of, setting off a bomb like that?”
“Winning an uneven fight,” Harry snapped before he could control himself. “Sir!” Fighting down his temper, he added, “The Fleet Landing Force needed a distraction, and my intent was to obtain the liberty of all officers while preventing their strike craft from intervening against the landing force. Do you believe that we should have left your own safety to the mercy of an enhanced and prepared force?”
Outraged, Aral Clarke tried to assert his authority. “Show some damned respect! Your behaviour is totally unacceptable, and as for the outfit you persist in wearing—”
“Since I did not have the luxury of fresh clothing supplied at regular intervals, and still do not, I will, with Commander Nielsen’s approval for myself and my people, continue to dress in this fashion, sir. It is functional, comfortable and at least free of any taint of collaboration.” Harry wrinkled his nose as if spurning a foul odour.
“How dare you!” Clarked spluttered.
“With every right, Mr. Clarke!”
“You could at least get a haircut, you filthy heathen. You’re a disgrace to the Fleet.”
Commander Nielsen stepped between them. “You have a task, Mr. Heron. Get on with it. I will talk to you about this later. Mr. Clarke, step into my office. I have some serious matters to discuss with you.”
Harry, idle for the first time in the months he had been on this planet, had taken a shower and relished every minute of it. He had forgotten how restorative it felt to be truly clean. His confrontation with Lieutenant Clarke had upset him, and he’d been willing to admit his fault and accept the reprimand from the Commander. Word of the confrontation had got around due to its having been overheard by Maddie Hodges, who’d warned the Coxswain.
Still wearing the Canid outfit with his long, uncut hair styled to resemble the Canids’ mane, he went in search of the Coxswain and Maddie to set about the task he’d been given. Like Harry, they were still wearing their Canid clothing as there was, at present, no spare capacity to provide uniforms for them.
The irony of the twist of fate that had seen him instrumental in rescuing Eon Barclay struck him. He realised he no longer despised Barclay, his old nemesis from Fleet College, but instead felt rather sorry for him. He understood some of the reasons that drove Barclay to such churlish bullying. It prompted him to wonder if the same things might have been the cause of the earlier Barclay’s attitude on HMS Spartan all those centuries ago.
Eon Barclay had been irritable but reluctantly grateful to his rescuers, and was now in a med-unit recovering from two broken legs and other injuries. Just before he was handed over to the MedTechs, he asked to speak to Harry privately and confided that his commanders were expecting a large force to come to their rescue.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this — but I owe you for saving me, damn you,” he told Harry. “Admiral Gratz has a scheme for exchanging his ships for others. That’s why our transports haven’t come to take us off. I think there’s a plan to trap your ships somewhere and blow them to hell. So we’ll probably be back in charge by the time I’m out of this med-unit.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Harry said, and conveyed the information to Commander Nielsen at the first opportunity.
“Better send that to Fleet, Harry. Immediately.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
It felt very strange to no longer be in command, though he had new responsibilities that interested him. Harry was trying to discover what messages might be passing through the Consortium’s signal emitter. He stiffened when he heard one in particular.
Why was a passenger liner requiring information on their ship movements? He tracked the signals through the network, and what he discovered electrified him and sent him hurrying to find the Commander.
“Sir,” he said, having found Commander Nielsen just leaving his office. “I have been listening to our enemy’s signal traffic, and I think they have launched a subterfuge to trap our ships.”
“How—?” the Commander began then changed direction. He remembered that Harry and Ferghal were linked to something he and the Marine Colonel had only just begun to get to grips with. “What have you learned?”
“Sir, as I was listening to their signals, I
realised the deployment and movement signals are being sent from a passenger liner, not from their flagship. All the ships addressed are cargo liners or passenger vessels, but they request intelligence on the positions of our Fleet, and most peculiarly, the liner Archimedes asks for information from the Commander now in what they term the Sinclair Garrison on the minelayers and sweeper craft detached by Admiral Heron.”
“The hell they are!” The Commander considered this. “Harry, transmit everything you’ve just given me to HQ. Repeat it to Vanguard and Vengeance.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Harry paused. “Shall I add that the Archimedes and a large number of others are en route to a rendezvous with an Admiral Enescu?”
“If you’re certain of that, yes, tell them. Monitor everything and pass it on.” He waited, but Harry had no reply and a rather blank expression on his face. “Is there anything else you need?”
A smile flickered across Harry’s face. “Nothing, sir. If you will pardon my silence for a few minutes, I can do it from here.”
“Then go for it,” the Commander ordered. “Let’s hope we are in time.”
Chapter 31 — Clash of Titans
Harry’s signal was greeted with initial disbelief. A check confirmed enough to cause Admiral Hartmann to summon her staff. “We’re going in. I want to hit any warships hard — but warn all Commanders there are freighters and cruise ships among them. I plan to disable them on a single pass and follow straight on to join up with Admiral Heron here.” She touched the display map. “Once we’ve joined forces, we’ll take on their combined fleet here.” She stared at the display. “This time we will make sure of it.”
The Flag Lieutenant interrupted. “Admiral Heron online for you, Admiral.”
Savage Fugitive Page 29
