Harry Heron: No Quarter

by Patrick G Cox

  A Marine officer interjected. “According to Sub Lieutenant Trelawney’s report, you provided the design for a rig that enabled your party to sail a converted cargo hulk to Pangaea City.”

  “Yes, sir, it was a relatively simple task and one we were able to complete fairly quickly with the help of friendly settlers. The voyage itself was straightforward, although it would have been better had we had proper charts and instruments for navigation.”

  “Thank you, Mr Heron,” said the judge. “I believe we can obtain the rest of that from the report and from your fellow travellers. I can see that recounting your situation in the laboratory has taken a considerable effort on your part.” She glanced at the other members of the bench, who nodded their assent. “You are excused and may stand down.”

  COMMODORE HERON MET HARRY AT THE DOOR. “You did magnificently, but you look as if you need to recover.” Holding the door, he motioned Harry inside. “I’ll get us some refreshments.”

  “I am most sorry if I have caused you embarrassment, sir.” Harry swallowed hard and accepted the tea. “I am ashamed of what was done to me. I can only think the Fleet will not wish to retain me now they have seen the experiments.”

  “Good God, what the devil gave you that idea? From what we’ve just seen, you did damned well to survive at all. What they did was forced on you, and we’ll make them pay for every bit of it. Is that what worries you?” Harry shrugged listlessly, not a gesture he normally proffered. “Well, put it aside,” affirmed the Commodore.

  Harry sighed, his anxiety plain. “I cannot tell you how much I wish my mother, father, and brother had been here with me today.” His voice choked with emotion. He took a quick swipe at his wet eyes and soldiered on. “Besides the dread of this enquiry, Ferghal and I have had to cope with certain ungentlemanly midshipmen at the College who delight in calling us fossils and other names. It is very tiresome and distracting, being mocked day after day. It is said we are nothing but curiosities — and that the Fleet indulges us because of you and our family’s connections.”

  The Commodore was stunned at this flood tide of emotion. “Harry, put one foot in front of the other with your eyes set firmly on your aspirations. It matters nothing what offensive names others may call you. What matters is how you rise above that to be a man of integrity and honour, something you have already proved to be. Your father and mother would be proud of you, as am I.” He gripped the youth’s shoulders and squeezed gently.

  That broke Harry’s resolve, and all the tension of the day came out in a moment of quiet weeping.

  Chapter 17 – Back on Track

  The return to the College was a strange experience. Elize’s gasp of astonishment brought instant silence to the class lounge. She was out of her seat and running toward Harry before she realised what she was doing, and almost reached up to wrap her arms around his neck in a welcoming hug but caught herself just in time. “Harry! Ferghal! We were told you guys were killed. We saw the news shows! But we’re so glad you’re alive, and then we heard you were giving evidence . . . what the hell happened?”

  Harry smiled, happy at her exuberant welcome. “I’m afraid reports of our death were a trifle premature, and perhaps a bit dramatic. You’ll have to blame Fleet Security for that and our miraculous resurrection. So here we are again, we Fossils of the Fleet, at your service, milady.” He bowed dramatically.

  His quip broke the tension. Laughing, their friends gathered round them, bombarding them with questions, and Elize smiled and said, “Go on, you!” before getting that quick hug she wanted, as did Harry, though he would never admit it. His lingering look into her eyes before joining in the group camaraderie told her as much.

  Keiron walked in just in time to catch the tail end of the raucous greeting. “So it’s true.” He grinned. “Barclay and his cronies are looking sick as dogs. Helping Security find answers, I think the word is.”

  “That calls for a celebration,” one of the others cut in. “But why?”

  Glancing at Harry, Keiron grinned. “It’s on the news. Something to do with someone finding a list of Consortium collaborators, agents, spies, informants.” His grin widened. “There’s hell to pay in all the member states’ capitals. Just about every contractor providing services from security to operational support is on that list. They’re all Consortium fronts and surrogates.”

  “Barclay is implicated?” Frowning, Harry worked this out. “Oh. You mean he is being questioned by Security. But why would he be involved? Was he also among those named?”

  “Not directly,” Howie interjected. “But he, Laschelles and Miles have been under suspicion for a while, and their families are on the list.” He grinned. “Who cares? With you guys back, the Regatta’s up for grabs again.”

  “Hell, yes!” said Ferghal. “Do the Dreadnoughts know? Let them try to beat us. I can’t wait to put them in their place.”

  “I heard that,” said Keiron. “They’ve been counting on taking the sailing and rowing events to save face after we beat them in drill and the obstacle course run, but that’s not happening. I can’t wait to see their reaction.”

  DEEP IN THOUGHT, FERGHAL HURRIED ROUND THE CORNER and only just avoided walking straight into Eon Barclay.

  “Watch where you’re going,” snarled the bully. He was having a very bad day. While it was obvious Fleet Security had nothing concrete they could pin on him, they obviously knew something, and equally, made no secret they knew that his uncle was on the Board of the Consortium. He recognised who he was addressing — one of those damn fossils. “You lower deck scum. You don’t even belong here at the College, and yet here you are getting in everybody’s business, you and your ‘Master Harry’ Heron, you suck-up. I don’t know what you told that stupid enquiry, but it’s got my family into a load of trouble. I’d like to kick your ass four hundred years back to where you belong.”

  Bristling, Ferghal stood his ground, his fists clenched. “We’ve told them nothing but the truth. If that has damaged your family, then so be it. Raholp may mean nothing to you now, but it is not forgotten by me or by Harry.”

  Barclay’s temper snapped. He’d only just learned recently about the enmity between the Barclays and the Herons over a parcel of land at Raholp in County Down, and he didn’t like the accusation, true though it was. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he swung a punch.

  Ferghal reacted faster. His punch connected solidly while Barclay’s went adrift. Eon Barclay measured his length and slid several yards down the corridor, coming to rest on his back and out cold, his nose squashed and bloodied.

  Appalled, Ferghal left his equipment where he’d dropped it and hurried to where Barclay lay. Having ascertained that his victim was unconscious, he quickly turned him on his side and placed him in the recovery position. Then he called for a medic. The corridor was deserted, not even an android present as a witness.

  Ferghal contemplated his next move. He touched his comlink. “Lieutenant Haäkinen, please.”

  “Haäkinen.”

  “Sir, Midshipman O’Connor. I have to report that I have knocked Midshipman Barclay unconscious.”

  “Was it an accident?”

  “No, sir. I hit him when he attempted to strike me.”

  For several seconds there was silence. “Where are you? Have you called a medic?”

  “The Study Flat, sir.” Looking at the door label, Ferghal added the level and door number. “I’ve called the medics, sir.”

  “Very well. Stay there. I’m on my way.”

  “O’CONNOR DEFENDED HIMSELF, COMMANDER. Nothing more. He reported himself and called the medics, even attended to Barclay while he waited.”

  “Even so, Mr Haäkinen, he hit Mr Barclay.” The Head of School scowled. “God knows Barclay’s been begging for it, but we can’t condone it.” He hesitated. “Since there were no witnesses, we’ve nothing to go on. Barclay maintains it was an accident and refuses to make a complaint — probably doesn’t want to admit he bit of
f more than he can chew — and O’Connor has admitted the incident, which puts us in an awkward position.”

  “May I suggest, sir, that you leave it to me to deal with O’Connor. I think I know exactly how to punish him for his part, and I’ll have a word with Barclay’s Divisional Officer, and let him deal with that side. Between us we can sort it out without endangering discipline.”

  The Commander considered this. “Do it, Jaako. I’ll put it on file. Make sure they know it is part of their permanent records.”

  “GEEZ, THAT NAVIGATION PAPER WAS A KILLER.” Keiron plopped down next to Elize in the student lounge, and Ferghal sat next to him.

  “You really hate writing papers, don’t you Keiron?” Ferghal shoved his friend’s shoulder playfully, but as usual, with a bit more force than he realised.

  “Well, what’d you think of the Nav Paper, Bruiser?”

  Ferghal grimaced. “I got there in the end, but I had to recalculate the final result twice! Hey, why are you rubbing your arm like that? Does it hurt?” He grinned.

  Keiron made a great effort at rubbing the soreness out of his upper arm. “You’ve got a mean right hook, Fergie. Why don’t you sign up for boxing classes and get it out of your system already?”

  Everyone laughed and looked up as Harry walked in.

  “So, how’d you do on the Nav paper, Heron old boy?” said Howie.

  “It wasn’t too difficult. I think I managed well enough.” Harry grinned. “I struggled with the theory of artificial gravity, but you sailed through that one.”

  “True.” Howie wouldn’t admit how brilliant he was, and how easily all their subjects came to him. “Hey, at least all those dreaded papers are behind us now.”

  Elize changed seats to a comfortable chair, and Keiron moved down the sofa to make room as the rest of the Yotties joined them. “Finally we can forget about all this boring classwork and concentrate on lifting the Class Cup in the Regatta. That baby is ours, my friends!” He stood and made a great show of wielding a hefty trophy for a photo op, and he got the laugh he was going for.

  Harry said, “When is the runoff for the Field Gun Run?”

  “We’re drawn to run against the Hood Class in the semis, and we’re up on Friday.” Keiron looked round. “Which means we need to get our final practice runs in today and tomorrow, team.”

  “The sailing is on Monday fortnight in the afternoon, and pulling is in the morning.” Harry consulted his timetable. “Unless you wish to run a Field Gun practice, Keiron, we’ve time for some sailing practice this evening. Ferghal? Howie? Elize? Are you in?”

  “Sounds great!” said Elize.

  “Count me in,” said Howie.

  Ferghal stood and stretched, easing the tension out of his broad back. “I’m always ready for a bit o’ sailin’. You can get me out on the sea any time!”

  “Oh really?” Elize said in a friendly tease, winking at him in good fun, which elicited Ferghal’s hearty laugh, and Harry shot her a jealous look.

  “That’s settled then,” he said, all brisk and full of business. “I’ll round up the others.”

  He didn’t see Elize’s small smile as she watched him depart, and admired for the thousandth time his tall frame and confident masculine stride.

  THE FIELD GUN EXERCISE FASCINATED HARRY because it reminded him of being on the gundeck of the Spartan during the sea battle with the French, but without the fear for his life. He watched as Keiron and his team hauled on the trace lines to bring the specially adapted gun carriage and its limber into the start position.

  “Ready?” he asked as Keiron resumed his position after checking once again that the eighteen members of his team knew exactly what to do.

  “Ready.” Keiron and his team took their starting stance.

  Harry dropped his arm and started the timer.

  The team responded like a well-oiled machine, racing to the first obstacle — a five-foot-high wall — to the turn at the end of the course. Hoisting the entire rig over the wall, they regrouped and raced to the turn. Now the second run began, back to the wall and then the “chasm” to be crossed. Up went the stay mast as the team stripped the wheels from the gun carriage. With the transfer wire rigged, Keiron and Howie shipped the “traveller” on the wire. The first pair, each carrying a wheel, travelled across, leaping off as the traveller reversed direction, and the next group slung the gun carriage from it and rode it across the gap.

  As soon as it returned, the gun itself — all 900 kilograms of it — was whipped across again with more members of the team, and then the second set of wheels, followed by the limber, and the rest of the team. Now they raced away with gun and limber to the firing point, first passing the whole through a gap in another wall, then they separated the limber, turned the gun and went through the motions of loading and firing. Now with extra zeal, they reversed the process, with the manoeuvre of having to pass the gun through the gap then cross the chasm again, this time dismantling the spars and stays before scaling the final wall and clambering down the other side, back at the start point.

  Harry stopped the timer as the gun passed him.

  “Faster than your previous best.”

  Flushed and panting, Keiron nodded. “Not fast enough. The Engineers are faster.” He addressed the team. “We need to improve our time on setting up and taking down the transfer stay, people. We lose time on it.” He wiped the sweat from his face with his arm and grinned. “Still, we can beat just about everyone else. If we beat the Hoods, then we’ll be up against either the Scheers or the Drakes, and the final round will be against the winner of the match between the Tirpitzes and the Engineers.”

  “We’ll do it,” Ferghal told him, flexing his shoulders. “Never you fear. I’m ready. I could do it again now. I’m not even tired!” Everyone laughed and gathered round the water canteen to slake their thirst.

  FERGHAL’S PULLING TEAM WERE IMPRESSIVE in their racing whaler. The large six-oared boat —a “proper boat,” as Ferghal called it when he laid eyes on it — skimmed through the water under his coaxing. With Keiron on the stroke and Ferghal as coxswain, the boat powered through the water, the mix of human and Lacertian crew a powerful one.

  Harry’s sailing team, with Ferghal as his helmsman, was generally thought to be the best the College had seen in a very long time.

  Returning from their final practices, the Yotties gathered in their lounge. “It’s all or nothing now.” Elize joined the group. “I’ve heard they’re tightening security for the Regatta. We’re already swarming with Red Caps. Hope they’re not going to spoil it.”

  “No chance of that. We’re going to rewrite the record books.” Howie threw himself into a chair. “Especially if Captain Bligh here sails our sloop as hard as he did on our last training run.”

  Harry coloured. Younger than everyone else, he sometimes adopted a very autocratic approach, something his companions teased him about. The insistence on perfection and instant responses to orders on the sloop was a touchy point with him. He’d learned aboard the Spartan the importance of a crew being able to perform tasks in all conditions and under all pressures by touch and feel as well as by knowledge. In that spirit he’d planned, rehearsed and practiced until everyone in the crew could perform his or her assigned tasks instinctively. Though they teased him about it, they had begun to appreciate his reasoning.

  Now he retreated into defence. “If we want to win, we have to be disciplined on board.”

  Elize laughed. “You make that plain, Captain.” She gave him a playful push. “Relax. We trust your judgement, Harry. None of us can make the boat do what you can. She responds to your touch better than anyone’s,” she added with a sweet smile, and enjoyed watching him blush again.

  Elize was aware that Harry found her attractive, and she enjoyed the rather old fashioned and courtly attention he paid to her. She had a fondness for him and his proper manners, something rare in a man these days, she mused as she watched him. Like the others, s
he’d at first not understood his insistence that she be able to adjust the foils the boat sometimes flew on without the assistance of the automated system. Now she could do that with expertise, and she knew exactly how to do it in an emergency — as did everyone else, and every other task necessary to “flying” the boat under all conditions.

  Unaware of Elize’s scrutiny, Harry studied his programme. “We’ve to return to the DGK for the firing exercise we missed. It’s programmed for two days before the Regatta. That will give us little time for our final training.”

  “True,” said Keiron, “but it will have the same impact on everyone, so we’ll just have to make the best of it. At least the exams are over!”

  Chapter 18 – Firing Exercise

  “All hands to stations for the live firing exercise.”

  The announcement sent the trainees scattering to their assigned positions throughout the ship.

  “What are we going to do, Eon?” Laschelles asked as he and Barclay followed the rest of their class to the Damage Control Station.

  “Nothing. Just keep quiet and act normal. They can’t prove a damned thing, and if you hadn’t lost the bloody neural disrupter I gave you, they’d have even less.”

  “But they suspect us. I heard Lieutenant Grossman talking to one of the Commanders. They don’t know I speak and understand German. Anyway, they found DNA on that thing—”