Time Commander (The First Admiral Series)

by Benning, William J.

  Karap Sownus, sitting at the Candidates Table, was feeling just as anxious as Billy, and becoming slightly annoyed with his pacing. The Candidates Table was long and narrow; able to seat five down each side, but only one at the top. It lay at a ninety degree angle to the Adjudication Table, giving the whole structure a “T” shape. At the base of the “T” stood a solitary low-backed chair, which was intended for the Candidate. To the left of the Candidate’s Chair, Karap Sownus sat on one of the other ten chairs provided. It was classic intimidation design. Having been kept waiting in the Adjudication Room for almost twenty minutes, another piece of psychological pressure, Billy Caudwell knew that at any moment, the door behind the thrones on the far left of the room would open and the Adjudicators would walk in with his fate in their hands. The part of his mind that was Teg Portan already knew that this was all elaborately staged to put Billy at his maximum discomfort. Despite that knowledge, Billy still found himself unable to shake off or avoid that feeling of unease and anxiety.

  Then, as they sat waiting and wondering when the Adjudicators would likely be arriving, a blue-robed figure passed through the Tele-portal to the rear of the three thrones.

  Finally, Billy Caudwell considered, ushering Sownus to stand up as a mark of respect.

  The three Adjudicators filed silently into the room from the door behind the raised dais. Tiba led the way, followed by Bellor in the centre, with Arrad bringing up the rear. All adorned with full formal robes, the three Adjudicators stood in front of the thrones that had been allocated to them by their rank and status. When in position, the Adjudicators bowed. Billy and Sownus bowed in response as the Adjudicators sat down. Still standing, Billy waited expectantly for the judgement of the Adjudicators. Feeling like a criminal before the bench, Billy felt his mouth start to dry and his palms begin to feel clammy. The sick, queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach doubled in the spilt second it took for the Adjudicators to appear from nowhere.

  “Candidate William Caudwell.” Bellor read from a prepared text in front of him. “By your skill and courage, you have earned the right to undertake the Time Warrior ritual, the only legally recognised method of selecting a new Emperor, as set down in the time of Ganthus the First. Are you prepared to accept the challenge that the Adjudicators are here to set you?”

  “I am, Grand Adjudicator.” Billy’s voice was calm and clear.

  “Very well, to claim the Crystal Throne of Ganthus, you must undertake the challenge of fighting, and winning, a battle that, in the history of your people, was lost. After much deliberation, we have chosen for you to refight a battle that took place in the southern part of the continent you call Africa.” Bellor paused for effect.

  “On the twenty-second day of the month you call January, in your Earth year of eighteen hundred and seventy-nine…” Bellor announced.

  “Isandlwana,” Billy said softly to himself. He remembered something about an old movie that he had seen back on Earth when he was younger.

  “The forces of the Zulu Empire under their Emperor Cetewayo defeated and wiped out a force from the British Empire under a warrior named Pulleine, at a place called Isandlwana. We will set you the Time Warrior Challenge of reversing the defeat suffered by the British Empire soldiers at the battle of Isandlwana.” Bellor finished his prepared text. “Do you still accept this Challenge, First Admiral Caudwell?”

  “I accept your Challenge, Grand Adjudicator,” Billy replied coolly.

  As if some massive weight had been lifted off his shoulders, Billy, for the first time, felt a sense of relief. Now, he knew exactly what he had to deal with. There was no more second guessing or speculating about what the Adjudicators were likely to select. Having trawled through the database himself, Billy had expected something from the Afghan Wars, the Indian Mutiny or, perhaps, from the American Revolutionary War. Isandlwana had been one of the top four of the battles he had speculated. Well, now that he knew what he was facing, he could get into the research in earnest.

  “In accordance with the Time Warrior ritual, you will have two days of preparation time, before undertaking a further two days of solitary, spiritual reflection and preparation known as The Contemplation, upon the moon of Ganthus called Chronos. At the end of the fourth day, you will present yourself, alone, at the Time Warrior Arena on Chronos to undertake the ritual, do you understand what is expected of you, First Admiral?” Bellor asked.

  “Yes, Grand Adjudicator, I shall be there,” Billy said.

  “Then we wish you good fortune, First Admiral.” Bellor completed the proceedings and stood up from the ornate throne, followed by the other two Adjudicators.

  Once more, the Adjudicators bowed and were responded to with a bow from Billy and Sownus, before they filed out through the Tele-portal door, leaving the room as still and quiet as if they had never been there. For a few seconds, Billy Caudwell stood in silence, contemplating what had just been said to him.

  “You ever heard of this Isandlwana?” Sownus promptly rose to his feet and headed for the door, trying his best not to show his anxiety.

  “Yes-s-s-s.” Billy unleashed a drawn-out sigh as he followed his Intelligence Officer. “Zulu war of eighteen seventy-nine, a British Regiment got cut to pieces.”

  “And, can you win it?” Sownus asked.

  “Of course I can,” Billy lied smoothly, “every schoolboy in Britain knows how the British Army should have fought that battle.” He patted his Intelligence Officer’s back as he left the Adjudication Room.

  Let’s hope that it’s not that difficult.

  Chapter 19: The Universal Alliance Legation, Ganthus City

  For Karap Sownus, there was no such thing as an ordinary work day. The role of the Senior Intelligence Officer was broad and varied, requiring a whole range of skills and abilities, not the least of which was to keep a watchful eye on all parts of his wide-ranging responsibilities. In that role, he had to be a spymaster, investigator, policeman, interrogator, military and political analyst, and, at times, even a fortune-teller. To Karap Sownus, the fortune telling role was the one he liked least. Piecing together the myriad of tiny pieces of intelligence data to make some form of educated guess about the intentions of a potential enemy for a senior officer was the most uncomfortable of tasks for Sownus.

  This particular day, he had in front of him the report from the covert, and highly illegal interrogation of a Ganthoran, who had turned out to be a Junior Intelligence Officer in General Avavid Kallet’s Frontier Fleet. It had come as rather an unpleasant surprise to Sownus. One of Sownus’ paid Observers in Ganthus City had bribed one of his contacts to find out who had delivered the Welcome Hampers to the Alliance Legation. That particular conversation had produced the name of a petty-criminal and small time informant in the Ganthus City underworld. A meeting had been arranged with the named individual, and an Alliance Tele-Port Technician had neatly, professionally and clandestinely spirited the individual aboard the Star Cruiser Aries right under the noses of the Imperial Guard Cruiser cordon. After spending several hours complaining, pointlessly, in one of the small Holding Cells aboard the Aries, he had been sedated and drugged prior to his interrogation.

  What the report of that interrogation showed confirmed one of Sownus’ main assumptions. The assassination of Ambassador Nicx, had, in reality, been an attempt on the life of First Admiral Caudwell. The assassins had been thwarted by sheer random chance, and the poison had found its way to the Alliance’s ambassador instead. It was indeed a cruel, bitter, and ironic blow. Sownus was angered at the death of Nicx, but relieved that First Admiral Caudwell had survived.

  Reading through the transcript of the interrogation, Sownus saw the orderly and systematic manner in which the interrogator had slowly and carefully picked his way through the cover story of what had appeared to be a petty criminal, but had turned out to be a young Lieutenant in General Kallet’s Fourth Frontier Fleet. The young Lieutenant was part of an ongoing covert operation in Ganthus City to give Kallet a clandestine presence in t
he Capital City, and the capacity to influence political matters with direct action, such as assassination attempts.

  Setting down the blue Personnel folder next to the interrogation report, Karap Sownus opened the folio and tapped the surface of the report inside. Immediately, a three-dimensional, head and shoulders, holographic image of Frontier General Avavid Kallet sprang from the flat folio surface. Scrutinising the face with the clear brown skin and the sharp, angular, almost predatory features, Sownus noticed the deep brown, utterly soulless eyes. Reading the dossier on General Kallet, Sownus decided that this was indeed one of the most evil sociopaths he had ever had the misfortune to become aware of.

  Kallet, according to the report before him, had no regard for the lives of others, recognised no real authority other than his own, and was in effect, as a Frontier General, a law unto himself.

  Looking at the image, Karap Sownus felt the anger well up inside him again. This was the one ultimately responsible for the death of Sarkor Nicx, and the attempt on First Admiral Caudwell’s life. He had failed, so like most evil tyrants, he would most likely try again. Karap Sownus knew that this individual had no conscience, and recognised no boundaries other than his own. He was going to be a difficult person to stop, but Karap Sownus knew that he had to stop this dangerous maniac; by any means necessary.

  “Oh yes...” Sownus stared intently at the image being cast above the top of his desk. “We know how to deal with mad dogs like you, Kallet.”

  Chapter 20: The Star-Cruiser Aquarius

  “Isandlwana,” Billy Caudwell mused softly to himself in the soft, darkened gloom of his Private Quarters.

  Sitting on the sofa against the wall of the cabin, behind the clear-topped table, he nursed a large grey mug of a warm soothing drink that tasted to him of hot chocolate. It was called Thallar, and came from a planet that had just recently voted to join the Universal Alliance. Whilst the drinking of chocolate products of Earth made him sleepy, the Thallar had a harsh, bitter aftertaste that kept him alert after the drink’s initial sweetness. Scattered haphazardly over the table, lay dozens of folios and folders; dragged from the deepest bowels of the historical database, related to the battle of Isandlwana. This was what Billy Caudwell was calling his personal “Homework Time”.

  The shallow, lazy “S” of the clear-topped table; that neatly hugged the shape of the cabin wall and the sofa, was strewn with folders and folios. There were red ones, blue ones, yellow ones and each folio from different parts of the historical database. The Garmaurians had kept quite an extensive observation on planet Earth. Being one of the planets used to dump their failed genetic engineering experiments, they kept a wary eye on the development of some of the species that were left there to fend for themselves. The Ganthorans also had military files on Earth’s battles for the Time Warrior ritual, gleaned from the databases of many of the species they had come into contact with over the millennia.

  Now, Billy Caudwell was alone in his Private Quarters, dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, poring over the information and images in those folders. The Garmaurian-blue Personal Environment Suit was clumsily draped over one of the short-backed chairs that stood on the other side of the clear-topped table. The cabin was warm and comfortable enough to keep Billy alert and functioning, but not too warm as to make him tired and drowsy. Billy had been tempted to wear the PES whilst studying to take advantage of the special properties of the mind link technology built into the uniform. It would have been much better at keeping him alert, increasing his brain function appreciably, and giving him far better memory recall. However, Billy realised that during the actual Time Warrior ritual he would not have the benefit of the PES. Therefore, he concluded that it would be best to do his learning the old-fashioned way.

  Now, in his gloomily darkened Private Cabin, he devoured the contents of the multi-coloured folders and folios beneath the harsh orange glare of his personal reading lamp. Built into the cabin wall behind the bench-like sofa were small, diamond-shaped light sources that extended forwards on flexible, dark-grey stems; they could be drawn out from the wall and positioned anywhere within the limit of their base. Billy Caudwell preferred his reading light to be directly above his head, and had angled the lamp stem accordingly. The incredibly powerful light source made Billy Caudwell cast eerie and disturbing moving shadows in the gloom of his cabin, as he moved around on his sofa and shuffled the folios and folders in front of him.

  Getting back down to the business of his investigation and revision of the battle, he quickly found his assumptions and prejudices challenged by the material before him.

  Like most schoolboys, he had seen a movie; in the local flea-pit of a cinema, made in the 1960’s about the heroic defence of a Missionary station in Natal called Rorke’s Drift. The initial scenes of the movie had indicated the disaster at Isandlwana before launching into its own narrative.

  It was the usual blood-stirring, flag-waving, hurrah-for-our-side tale of brave white men in gloriously pristine uniforms standing resolutely, shoulder to shoulder against the suicidally brave Zulus. By their courage, discipline, determination, an awful lot of gunfire, some close harmony choral singing, and a great deal of luck, they had finally driven the blood-thirsty natives off.

  The origins of the Anglo-Zulu War of 1879 were shrouded in the mists of claims, counter-claims, and argued opinions of later historians that made up the political skulduggery of the Victorian Colonial Era. The British, in a well-established, but poorly defended colony in Natal, were bordered to the north by the powerful and aggressive Zulu Empire. Since the early part of the 19th Century, the Zulu had been hungrily absorbing the other, smaller, tribes of the area into their empire; usually by military force.

  Whether it was a combination of good old-fashioned British Imperial expansionism, the nervousness of a powerful, threatening army on the border, or just senior officers and officials seeking personal glory; Lieutenant-General Frederic Augustus Thesiger, the 2nd Baron Chelmsford was sent into Zululand in early 1879. Chelmsford; an experienced and competent officer, had led three columns into Zululand. It was the central column; which had crossed the Buffalo River into Zululand that had camped in the shadow of the mountain of Isandlwana on the evening of January 21st, 1879.

  The following day, Chelmsford made the major error of splitting his forces whilst in enemy territory, taking more than half of his troops on a wild goose chase in search of the Zulu army to the west of the Isandlwana position. The Zulu army was, in reality, prowling the hilly country to the east of the Isandlwana position. Upon discovery by a British cavalry patrol the Zulus had attacked the Isandlwana camp immediately, ensuring that they had the all important element of surprise. Despite outnumbering the British forces by about sixteen to one, the initial Zulu attack had been contained. However, the British line eventually faltered, allowing the Zulu to invest the camp and all but wipe out the British contingent. Of the fifteen hundred British soldiers who fought at Isandlwana, only fifty survived the disaster.

  The part of his mind that was Teg Portan quickly saw the flaws in the British positions. There was no defensive perimeter at the Isandlwana camp. From the description of the battle, Teg Portan would have noticed that the British firing line was spread too thinly over too much ground. The advantage that the British troops had was their superior technology in the shape of their firearms. The British had rifles that could kill or maim an enemy at over one thousand yards. The most effective strategy, to Teg Portan, would have been to pack the ranks of British soldiers close together and shoot down the Zulu as they attacked.

  By cold mathematical logic, the British riflemen; firing ten to twelve rounds per minute, should have inflicted such high levels of casualties on the Zulus that they would be compelled to withdraw, in under ten minutes. A confused command structure in the camp also contributed to the disaster.

  Chelmsford had left a Major, named Pulleine, nominally in charge of the camp. However, the arrival of a Lieutenant-Colonel named Durnford; who
seemed to have the same gung-ho streak of perceived personal invincibility that George Armstrong Custer had possessed, added confusion to the mix. From the battle narrative, it appeared that the collapse of Durnford’s forces on the right wing of the battle was what allowed the Zulu to shatter the British lines. The more that Billy read of the battle, the more that the patriot within him had to acknowledge that the military realist; Teg Portan, was right. The British troops had simply been out generalled by a native army that their commanders had very badly underestimated.

  Setting the folio down on the table, Billy sat back on the sofa and began to outline his Time Warrior strategy. Taking a long sip of Thallar, Billy knew where the British commanders had gone wrong and he knew how to correct those errors. There would be no “Washing of the Spears” as the Zulus had called the bloodbath at Isandlwana that day, not this time.

  Not if Billy Caudwell had any say in the matter.

  Chapter 21: The Waldorf=Astoria Hotel, New York City

  “Now remember, it’s only dinner,” Elizabeth Caudwell nervously smoothed the imaginary creases out from her bright-red evening dress.

  Standing in front of the full length mirror in her plush New York hotel suite, she surveyed the result of almost five hours of preparation for an evening meal with a man she had met only the day before. The dress, which had cost over four hundred dollars, fitted her so perfectly that it could almost have been made for her. Whoever had made it had been a genius, it accentuated her breasts and hips, but drew attention away from her midriff. It had taken almost two hours of viewing dresses that appeared to have been spray-painted onto those stick-thin models in the fashion house, before she had chosen this particular creation, along with four other similar gowns.