by Barney Broom
PODRIC
MOON
and the Corsican Tyrant
BARNEY BROOM
First published in Great Britain in 2018 by
The Book Guild Ltd
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Copyright © 2018 Barney Broom
The right of Barney Broom to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This work is entirely fictitious and bears no resemblance to any persons living or dead.
ISBN 9781912881093
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
In memory of my mother and father, without whom there would be no reality – ultimate, alternative or otherwise.
Origins of the name PODRIC
[B]Padraig is, of course, pronounced “Porrick” on BallyK; but the Irish golfer Padraig Harrington is called “Podrick” by all the commentators, including the Irish. Furthermore, the Irish patriot Padraic Pearse’s name is pronounced “Podrick” by the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem.
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Contents
Part 1: Discovery of Ultimate Alternative Reality
Prologue
1 The Loss
2 An Accident
3 Mind Dreams
4 The First Step
5 Outside-in Reality
6 The Meeting
7 Another Mishap
8 Agrolution
9 Alternative Reality
10 The Culprit
11 The World of UAR
Part 2: Life Inside the Game Combating Napoleon
1 Napoleonic Wars
2 Aboard the Agamemnon
3 London Rendezvous
4 10 Downing Street
5 Love And Longing
6 The Siege of Toulon
7 Lose or Leave
8 Back Home
9 Love Across Time
10 Impossible is not French
11 Troubled Realities
12 Dual Identity
13 A Gaming Bird
14 The Big Escape
15 Vaulted Walls
16 A New Player
17 Making it Right
18 Lies & Secrets
19 Back to Reality
20 An Important Guest
21 Living the Future
22 To Play or Not to Play?
23 Stresses and Strains
24 Deceptions and Disguises
25 Whose Game is it Anyway?
26 Gathering Up
27 All Aboard!
28 Waterloo
29 The Final Round
30 Farewell
Envoi
Acknowledgements
Part 1:
Discovery of Ultimate
Alternative Reality
Prologue
It was the trip of a lifetime.
His dad having organised him a ride in a Typhoon, Podric Moon sat in the instructor’s seat. The aeroplane pulling four and a half G banked hard over the coast and levelled out low over the grey North Sea below.
Not only was he flying in the type of fast jet his father flew – a T3, but in his dad’s actual plane and on his actual seat! It was blowing his mind.
The pilot of ZA119, Squadron Leader Ian Shawcross was both younger and junior to Podric’s father, Wing Commander Sean Moon, but the two men had been complicit in getting Podric his ride. It was his prize for the boy’s latest victory in computer games.
At a recent competition in London, Podric, nearly seventeen, had won the title of ‘Best under twenty-one player’ in Europe. In fact, he had played and beaten several of the top adult contestants in the world. Both Sean Moon and Shawcross were avid computer games aficionados and their interest in virtual reality formed a special bond between them and Sean’s son.
The flight, which was a regular training sortie, had been all too simple to organise and now as they climbed, bursting out through the clouds into brilliant sunshine, Podric knew this was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. One day he’d be in the front seat flying with his dad in this same jet.
“Want to feel the controls, Podric? They just about match the new Fastjet! game console.”
Podric could barely speak, he was so excited. Shawcross’s voice was calm, controlled and very RAF.
“I know you know what to do. You have control, Moon.”
***
The screen flickered into life and Sean Moon’s face appeared. The webcam image showed him dressed in his RAF flying kit, his helmet with its spotless visor visible beside him.
“Hi son. Going up in a few minutes, I’ve been thinking about our virtual reality chat. Technology’s going to fly—”
Sean laughed.
“Sorry. And lives are going to be oh so different. You know I’m the techiest geek around. It’s why I love your playing computer games. They’re smarter than some of the kit we use.”
Sean fidgeted in his chair.
“It fascinates me – all the stuff that’s going to be happening. Won’t be long now before we’re all tagged – shared information. It’s the coming world. I’ll be obsolete. You know the weakest link in the aeroplane I fly? Me. Terrifying, huh? On-board kit can outthink me and my body can’t cope with the strains the aircraft can.”
He sat back slightly.
“As for the ideas we’ve had for developing an alternative reality, you won’t need to move matter. It’s all in the mind. Never forget, Podric, whatever the future holds, it’s important to have an understanding of the past. Winston Churchill had a good line on it like he did most things, the cocky bugger. It ran something like, ‘if a man doesn’t have an understanding of history, he can’t begin to reckon with the present, let alone have any grasp on the future’. It’s true I think. And where we’re going in this crazy old world, a person will need all the sense of perspective they can get to help see them through.”
The ops room speaker system emitted some jarring squawk.
“Got to go, son. You know what it’s like here – duty calls! Love you all and catch you later.”
Sean’s hand reached forward to click off the webcam and for a second, his face filled the frame.
“This world and our virtual one, Podric – adventures are to be lived! Never forget that. Bye now.”
Just before the screen went blank, Sean winked.
1
The Loss
“He wouldn’t have known a thing. Death was instantaneous.”
It was only a few weeks after Podric’s trip and now his father was dead. The RAF Station Commander, a woman flight lieutenant and a man from the Ministry of Defence sat on the patterned sofa in the Moons’ living room. For several seconds, there was silence; grave concern on the service people’s part, di
sbelief on the woman’s.
“Your children – there’ll be counselling – for yourself too.” The flight lieutenant was solicitous.
“Thank you.”
Barbara Moon heard her voice strange and far away.
“Amy and… Podric, is it? I know your daughter’s at the junior school here, but your son’s away I believe – at school in Ireland.”
The MOD man was sombre.
“At his father’s old alma mater – Kilkenny College, I think it is…”
Group Captain Malinson’s utterance was sad.
“Sean wanted Podric to go there – he loved it so.”
The afternoon was getting to a point where no one quite knew what to say; the effect of commiserations ran deep.
“I believe Podric wants to join the service.” The MOD man looked around distractedly.
“I was with a girlfriend, painting in Ireland. We were in Kerry. Sean had started at Cranwell, but his mother being ill, he’d got home to Tralee for a long weekend. Into my landscape walks this beautiful trainee pilot. Kenmare Bay on a perfect summer evening is the most romantic place in the world…”
“Are you Irish, Barbara?” Flight Lieutenant Maureen Carpenter tried to keep her voice light.
“Me? No. I’m from Bradford!”
Minutes later they were gone. And Barbara Moon howled. Then she went numb. Then she howled some more. An hour or so later, a car pulled up outside and a young woman and a little girl got out. Running into the house, nine-year-old Amy Moon clutched some daubed paper. The youthful artwork was vibrant in its choice of colours.
“Mummy, mummy, Miss Smythe brought me home as a treat. Her car’s got heated seats and videos in the back.”
Jenny Smythe stood hesitantly in the doorway. She was a new teacher, attractive and slim.
“Would you like me to stay?”
Barbara, thanked her but declined.
“If there’s anything I can do – any help you need…”
For once Barbara was grateful she was in a service environment. The RAF station school was very good and while the tragedy that had befallen her was not common, it did happen occasionally. Barbara also knew there would be an infrastructure to support her for the short term at least; the service was proud of looking after its own.
It wasn’t till several days later that Barbara could travel to County Kilkenny and see her son. Podric obviously had to be told and this sad task fell on his headmaster, Mr. O’Connell. A striking man with a shock of unruly red hair, Bryan O’Connell was a popular head. He’d invited Podric to his study, and coffee and biscuits were brought in.
Podric Moon had a willowy physique but was tougher than his rangy frame suggested. Fair-haired, a mop of his own shaggy locks frequently fell across his eyes, causing him to push them back behind an ear. Without waiting for O’Connell to open his mouth, Podric said, “I know sir.”
O’Connell looked uncertain.
“You… know?”
“It was online and I’ve heard from someone on the base.”
“You’ve spoken to your mother then?”
Podric shook his head. The headmaster looked at his pupil.
“She’s coming over.”
Podric didn’t respond. Drinking coffee and eating biscuits, they spoke desultorily.
“You’re a computer games champion, aren’t you?”
“I’ve… won some things…”
“A bit more than that, I believe, Podric. Didn’t I hear you were the best under twenty-one player in Europe?”
“I’m joining the air force.”
“I know you’re down for it.”
O’Connell adjusted his blotter.
“There’s little I can say. It was a freak accident, I believe.”
Whilst details were still unclear, what little was known suggested that the Typhoon was on an extremely low flying exercise and had collided with a light aircraft which had somehow penetrated military airspace. The weather had been bad, but for the moment Podric intended on keeping his counsel as to the collision’s exact cause to himself. He finished his coffee.
“If there’s nothing else, sir…”
For once the charismatic headmaster was caught off-guard.
“No, well if you want to talk again, Podric – if there’s anything I can do…”
They both stood up and shook hands.
Two days later his mother arrived, accompanied by an Air attaché from the British Embassy in Dublin. Barbara had made the decision to bury Sean in his home country, and Podric would leave with her to attend his father’s funeral. As the term was nearly over, he was also granted an exemption for its remaining duration, travelling to England and their home on the RAF base for the school holidays.
On getting back to Coningsby, Podric went to see Ian Shawcross. The squadron leader, recently discharged from hospital, was on leave recovering from his injuries. Sitting in the Shawcrosses’ conservatory, rays of wintry sunlight casting late afternoon shadows over the Lincolnshire countryside, Podric studied the man who was his father’s closest service friend. Adjusting his body in a wheelchair, the normally exuberant Shawcross was withdrawn. Although only in his late thirties, he had aged visibly since the accident. His wife, Wendy, brought in tea.
“I hope your mother wasn’t upset I called you, but I found your text on Ian’s phone.”
“She didn’t mention it but it’s okay you did.”
“You still want to fly?” Shawcross’s croaking voice cut across the conversation. Podric nodded.
“Even now that Sean’s gone?”
The Squadron Leader’s vocal cords had been damaged in the crash and his rasping tone was bitter. Podric studied one of the two men he’d idolised more than any others in the world.
“You should stick to bloody computer games; more your sort of thing. Winning competitions and little trophies.”
These hurtful words caused Shawcross to start a spasm of coughing, and a short while later, Podric left. Wendy Shawcross was apologetic.
“He doesn’t mean it Podric, but… well, he blames himself for the accident.”
“It wasn’t his fault.”
“The preliminary findings at least suggest not.”
“It wasn’t his fault.” Podric was firm.
“Well no, but… you seem very certain?”
“I am. Dad told me.”
***
In the weeks that followed, Podric didn’t do much. Even virtual reality games didn’t hold any appeal. He just seemed to shut down.
His sister, Amy, was seven years his junior and to Podric, an irritating person. At first, she was hysterical when she learned about the loss of her dad, but after several days of uncontrollable emotion, Amy appeared to adjust, and returned to being the sunny child she was. It was difficult to predict what her long-term reaction might be but for Podric, things ran deep. Such was the intense bond he had with Sean; the loss of his aviator father left the boy bereft.
For their mother, the challenges she faced were even greater, if that were possible. Not only was she trying to come to terms with her own grief but she also had to make decisions which would affect her children’s lives. It was horrifying to realise how this tragic event caused such profound familial dislocation. Whilst the RAF were considerate, as the weeks went by, the matter of their accommodation inevitably came to the fore and Barbara Moon decided that she must move from their service home. It was at this point Podric announced that he had no intention of returning to his school in Ireland.
Though the ramifications of leaving Kilkenny at such a critical juncture in his schooling weren’t lost on Barbara, this decision didn’t displease her as much as might have been expected. After mulling things over, she decided it would be sensible to move somewhere in the vicinity of her parents. However, this decision was arrived at with considerable mis
giving.
Being a north-country couple, it was a mystery why Barbara’s mum and dad, Gerald and Oona Fosdyke, had retired to rural Hampshire. But then it was strange that Oona, the love child of artist Rempray McFarland, had ever married market gardener Gerald in the first place. Her husband buying himself a pet’s home, ‘The Fosdyke Pet Emporium’, only added to the contrariness of their existence.
After driving around her parents’ neighbourhood, usually accompanied by Amy, Barbara chose the village of Drinkwell some ten miles away. A pretty hamlet of historic significance, the Moons couldn’t afford any of the grander properties, but Briony Close, which had been built on the outskirts, would become their home.
Barbara’s next task was to find schools for her children and a job for herself. Podric’s refusal to return to his private academy in Ireland was in some ways a blessing. The monetary saving was not inconsiderable and his mother hoped that his being around would be company for her. Wendbury High provided the educational answer – Amy being enrolled in the junior school and Podric, the senior.
As to a job, sitting in Briony Close one evening surrounded by unopened packing cases, Barbara was sipping coffee whilst flicking through a free community newspaper when she spied an advertisement offering the position of PA to the managing director of a local business. The painter in Barbara had been hoping for something more artistic. When married, she’d had several exhibitions but money earned from her work was erratic and only occasionally supplemented Sean’s RAF pay. But in her new situation beggars couldn’t be choosers and the following morning Barbara called Tweeney’s Waste Disposal. After a few minutes conversation with the man himself, Ralph Tweeney suggested she came by for an interview and an appointment was duly made. The meeting was successful, and Barbara was hired to start work the following Monday.
The Sunday morning after they’d moved Barbara went into Wendbury shopping, leaving Podric and Amy supposedly asleep. It wasn’t long before the little girl came down and started watching a Shrek DVD. A drip dropping onto the doll she was dressing, Amy looked up to see a wet patch appearing on the ceiling and water running down the light cable. With surprising composure, she ran upstairs and opened the bathroom door. A plug left in the sink and a tap not properly turned off had caused the overflow. Amy managed to pull the plug out and water gurgled away. But the bathroom floor was flooded and grabbing some towels, she threw them on the floor.
