by Rob Buckman
“Damn it! I was wondering how long it would take before at least one cadet figured out a way to beat the Marines. Congratulation cadets.”
“What! I mean, pardon, sir?”
“As you so cleanly pointed out. This exercise was rigged from the start. It was designed more as an object lesson in what happens should you be captured by enemy forces. As such, there are no rules to the exercise. You both passed with flying colors.” The Admiral held his hand out and shook each of them. “Your three day pass will be waiting for you in the guard room on Friday evening, dismissed.”
“Thank you, sir!” They both put the caps on and saluted with vigor. The Admiral winced, hearing the ‘whoop’ of joy as they hit the courtyard and smiled to himself. Not exactly proper for naval cadets, but understandable under the circumstances.
* * * * * *
“So, gentlemen, our final selection for the senior class.” The Rear Admiral Bishop murmured, putting his teacup down. “As you all know, our orders from the First Sea Lord is to graduate as many students as possible.”
“That’s a tall order, sir, some of them just don’t measure up.”
“I realize that, Captain Duggan, but their Lordship’s at the Admiralty see war coming, and we need to train officers to fill the post on the new ships coming off the ways and fill the available billets on existing ships of the line.” It was clear many around the conference table didn’t feel the same way.
“Lord help Earth if we have to rely on some of these.”
“Mr. Carstairs, I understand your misgivings, and as a civilian instructor, you are at liberty to express your opinion. As a serving naval officer, I am not.”
“No disrespect to you, sir, but graduating some of the cadets as officers would, in my opinion be a mistake.”
“Your reservations are noted, Mr. Carstairs, shall we proceed?”
The commanding officer looked around the table at his training staff for a moment, as if impressing on them his initial words. They began working their way down the list alphabetically, each department giving his or her evaluation of the student in question. It could be said, that on the whole none of the students were a washout at this point in the training, but more than one was questionable as to the kind of officer he or she would make.
“Fletcher, J?” The Admiral said, ticking off her name.
“An excellent candidate, sir, one of the best.” The Chief instructor said immediately.
“Any dissenting comment for the record?”
“Not dissenting, sir, but I’d like to see her name earmarked for a fast track to a command seat for the record.”
“That will be up to their Lordship’s, but I will make a note for the record.”
“Heartmore, J?” The name brought silence around the table. “Nothing? Someone must have something to say about him.”
“From where I sit, I gather that on one here wants to say anything about this obnoxious young man.” Carstairs commented as he looked around the table.
“Come, come, gentlemen. There must be so comments, positive and negative?” Silence met his question.
“It's more a question of being noncommittal, Carstairs.”
“Fear of retribution I suspect.” Carstairs mutter. He was more than correct. James Heartmore was a powerful man in Parliament, and a force within naval circles. No officer, except those at the very end of their career wanted to run afoul of the Heartmore clan.
“I take it that I should put his name forward for the fast track to commend then?” The Admiral looked around the table, seeing many of them nod.
“Excuse me, sir, but I think we have skipped one.”
“Skipped one?” Rear Admiral Bishop looked up and down his list. “I don’t see…”
“Yes, Cadet Gray, M.”
“Oh yes, I was going to leave him until last.”
“Why is that, sir. He is an excellent candidate for command.”
“He is a colonial, gentlemen, you can’t expect much from them you know.” There were a few knowing looks and nods around the table.
“Third officer on a supply ship would be more up to his capabilities, don’t you think?” One senior officer put in, smiling slightly as he said it.
“No, sir, I totally disagree!”
“How so? He did completely foul up that critical convoy simulation.”
“No, sir, he made a human error, nothing more.”
“As cadets go, he seems to be two people, on some things he shines, on others he appears to go out of his way to foul up.” Another instructor puts in.
“Yes, I noted the same thing, it’s as if he’d not sure of himself, or unwilling to fully commit.”
“You mean he’s unfit to be an officer?”
“No, Admiral, I didn’t mean that. It's as he’s afraid of something.”
“Being injured? Killed?”
“No, sir, nothing like that, more like someone who’s been thrown from a horse, badly, and is back in the saddle, but not sure he’d not going to be thrown off again.”
“Hmm, not exactly something I can put down on his fitness report, is it.”
“It could be just a matter of time, of gaining confidence in himself.” Another added.
“I’ll pass him then, but not for fast track. We’ll let nature take its course on this one.” More than one person around the table sighed. It was almost a death sentence. Once in the grind of day-to-day naval existence with no way to shine, he would soon find himself in some out of the way, non-contributing post. He’d stay there, forgotten until his service ran out, or he resigned.
At last graduation day came, three years and eleven months and 29 days after they had arrived. By the end of the second year, over half of the people who had arrived with him had gone on to different training schools, yet they never offered any reason why. Obviously, the instructors and the review board had determined their abilities were better suited in other areas of ship handling, engineering, navigation, weapons, environmental or damage control. In time some or all might sit in the Captain's chair, but they would need to gain experience in other area's first. In the end, it came down to fifty out of the hundred and thirty-two who had originally arrived here who would graduate as potential bridge officers. Janice and Mike look great in their dress blue uniforms, and took turns brushing each other down, between kiss and other thing.
"If we don't stop young lady we are going to be late for the parade." He said kissing her again.
"All right, you stop first." She replied.
"You started this."
"I did not, I distinctly remember coming back from the shower to get dressed, and you attacked me."
"Attacked you!” Mike protested. “Who insisted on my drying her back?"
"That's a poor excuse for taking advantage of the situation, no gentleman would do that."
"Whoever said I was a gentleman?"
"It said so on your graduation certificate, it said you were an officer and a gentleman."
"So it lied."
"Huh! I knew it, a cad and a bounder, as we Brits like to say." She giggled.
"I wonder what a bounder is." He mused.
"Oh, shut up and kiss me."
"Would you two love birds pack it in, you'll be late for passing out parade." PO Wilson said in a half-serious half-joking voice.
"Thank Chief, we’re ready and on our way."
"Yeah, the trouble is I wonder if the bloody fleet is ready for you two.”
"If you say so, sir." Mike said, smiling, setting his cap on at a rakish angle. Janice just smiled and finished straightening her blouse one more time.
The passing out parade went off like clockwork, as did the graduation ceremony and the presentation of commissions. Amid a cheering crowd and flying caps, Mike turned and kissed Janice again in congratulation received the congratulation of his classmates, some shook hand, other bowed, and a few even kissed him.
“I wonder how soon they will have the posting up.” Someone asked.
"I persona
lly don’t care, as long as it's after tomorrow, as tonight, I'm going to celebrate and get blind, falling down drunk, you’re up for it?"
"Why not. Drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die."
"Now you've got it. Let’s go."
“Fair maid would you be interested in joining me in a bacchanalia on the town tonight. He asked.
“Indeed, good sir, I’d be delighted." Arm in arm they walked back to the barracks to get their coats and heading out for a night to remember, and it was. Mike didn’t remember much after midnight, nor how he got back to the barracks. He awoke with a pounding head and a mouth that felt as if a troop of monkeys had slept in it.
“Rise and shine Ensign Gray, coffee?” Janice called in a sweet voice.
“How on Earth can you look so great first thing in the morning, especially after being out on the town all night.” He groaned.
“It comes from clean living and a virtuous soul.” She smiled, holding a large mug of coffee just out of reach.
“Woman, you are a sadist, but I’ll take your word about having a virtuous soul, now give me the damn coffee.” He groaned again as he sat up, seeing the room tilt and a herd of elephant’s stampede through his head, trumpeting as they did.
“The postings are up, if you’re interested.”
“Right now they can post me to the graveyard.” He muttered sipping the reviving brew. It was strong, hot and sweet, too sweet for Mike’s taste, but he drank it anyway. “Where are they sending us?”
“For our Middy cruise, you’ve been assigned to the Battleship ‘Victoria’ and I’m off to the heavy Cruiser ‘Endeavor’.”
“Oh, I thought we might get posted together.”
“So did I, Mike, but that’s the Navy for you.” She sighed, sounding sad.
“We’ll see each other again.”
“Yes, we will.” They both knew the chances of that were slim. They would meet on leave, or during their duties, but it would not be the same. Whatever they had had over the past year or so was over. It was sad, yet they had expected it.
“When are we supposed to report?”
“Not for three weeks, they’d given us leave until then, are you going home?” Mike thought about it, then shook his head. There wasn’t time. It would take almost two weeks just to get there, beside that, there were un-resolved issues back there he didn’t want to face right now.
“No, don’t really have the time.” He lied.
“Come home with me, Mike.” Janice said on impulse.
“And what would your parents say to that?”
“Oh, don’t be so sensitive, Mike, they’d welcome you with open arms.” She smiled. It was a tempting offer, and he was just about to agree when the door open and in walked James Heartmore. It was as if someone threw a wet blanket, as even Heartmore’s pretend smile couldn’t hide what he really felt.
“Jan, you up for the ball this weekend?”
“No, hadn’t thought about it really.” She hadn’t, and hated Heartmore for reminding at that particular moment.
“Oh come on, how often do you get an invite to a Royal Ball.” Mike turned away and said nothing. It was clear that he was not invited. Heartmore saw the motion. “I suppose we can sneak Mike in by the back door.” He chuckled.
“Jimmy! You are such an asshole sometimes.” Janice snapped.
“It was a joke, Jan, no offense meant.” Mike turned back and looked at him. A year ago, he would have punched him out and risk the pain, but not now. His Naval career hinged on making as many friends as he could, or better still less enemies.
“You go Jan, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll go home.”
“Mike, you don’t have to, my offer still stands.” She looked between the two men, seeing the enmity between them. No matter what Mike did, he would never make Heartmore his friend.
“Offer, what offer was that, Jan?”
“Nothing that concerns you, James.”
“You are going shooting with us next week, aren’t you?” There was something between these two that he meant to nip in the bud. Janice had forgotten about the shooting party and blushed slightly.
“No, I didn’t forget.”
“Good, you know how our parents like to see us together and all that.” Mike grabbed a towel and headed towards the door.
“Have fun, Jan, and I’ll see you sometime.” He said over his shoulder, feeling his heart sink. Janice stood there and watched him leave, knowing that whatever they had was over.
James Heartmore had seen to that with his carefully veiled comments. She turned away to hide the tear that ran down her cheek, suddenly hating Heartmore, and what he stood for. For a brief moment, she understood some of the hell Mike must feel at such treatment. Mike stayed out of her way until she left, not even bothering to hug and say goodbye. He was a colonial, she was from one of Earth upper crust families, and never the twain shall meet. She’d probably made the offer for him to stay with her during their leave in good faith, but Heartmore had ruined that. It was clear that he did not belong, and never would. Slowly the rooms emptied until he was the last one there and silence descended. For a while, he walked about the buildings, impressing them on his memory, feeling the sense of history in the place. From here, so many young officers had gone out into the world to make their mark. Some had failed; other succeeded; yet, all had contributed to the history of the Royal Navy in one way or another. Duty, honor, dedication, courage, and that something else. Something they called ‘The Nelson touch’. That's something that took them beyond just being good officers. As he walked, he remembered the battles, small and large that the same cadets had played a part in. Now it was his turn to step into the breach. Could he give as much as they had? Could he rise to the occasion, as they say? He didn’t know, only that he would try. In the end, he rented a small boat and loading it with supplies sailed along the South Coast. He stopped at all the old, tiny fishing ports, soaking up the history of the region. From Plymouth, Drake had sailed out to meet the Spanish Armada; from Southampton they had launched the greatest sea-born invasion ever assembled across the channel on D-Day, the 6th. of June.
It was relaxing, peaceful, and gradually he began to see what his instructors were talking about. Had Nelson or Drake felt this way, that great things were about to happen? What were they thinking as they sailed out to meet the enemy? Yet in all the time since then, little had changed, you accepted the responsibility and did the best you possibly could, no matter what the circumstances. It did not matter that he was not born on Earth, only that he had agreed to fight for her. Walking around with a chip on his shoulder just because of a few wouldn’t get him anywhere. By the time he returned three weeks later and tied up at the rental dock, he come to terms with it, feeling at peace with himself at last. Now he looked to the future, and what it might bring. For good or bad, he had enlisted in the Royal Navy, instead of Avalon’s, but it made little difference. Avalon was loyal to the Crown, and by accepting the King’s commission, he was duty bound to do the best he could, no matter what the circumstances. For a moment, he thought of his grandfather, who resigned in disgrace, yet never said a word about what he had done. It didn’t matter as Mike was determined to erase whatever dishonor there might have been.
CHAPTER FOUR: Frying pans and fires
The teeth-rattling blast wave vibrated through the ship's hull, tossing the shuttle around like a leaf in a storm. Lights and monitors flickered before going dark, plunging the crew into heart stopping darkness until the emergency light came on. A moment later everyone heard the grinding screech of rending metal as angular momentum tore something off the ship.
"Oh shit! There goes the main array." The communication rating shouted over the bedlam of alarm noise as his long-range comm unit went dead.
The main control panel flickering back to life like a Christmas tree gone mad, warning lights flashing red as the main screen came back on, alarm buzzers adding to the din. The shaking and bucking continued as another missile penetrated the ECM and ECCM envel
ope and exploded near the hull. At least the flares and chaff worked well enough to confuse the incoming missiles and keep them from impacting on the hull itself.
"Helm - maintain evasive maneuvering!" Ensign Mike Gray wheezed, trying to drag something akin to oxygen into his burning lungs.
Choking, eye-burning smoke from smoldering electrical circuits filled the flight deck, overloading the air recycler. To make matters worse, the automatic fire extinguishers ignited, threatening to drown them in fire suppression foam.
The tiny moronic brain of the ECM & ECCM pods did their work, sending out radar ghosts and false signals or offsetting the shuttles EM signature by several degrees, randomizing it so the enemy fire control couldn't find a pattern. As old and outdated as the units were, they still protected them like some electronic guardian angel, but it couldn't fool them all completely. Sometimes a little is enough, as the electronic countermeasures forced the missile warheads to detonate a few thousand yards short of the hull. Thankfully, they didn’t have a capital ship on their tail as there was no way they could escape the blizzard of torpedo and missiles, something larger than the two patrol boats on their tail could put out.
