England Expects el-1

by Charles S. Jackson

  “That’s the range!” He exclaimed, lowering the unit once more. “That’s not yards though… metres?”

  “Very good,” Eileen nodded, obviously pleased. “Effective range up to twelve hundred metres, which should be more than sufficient for just about anything you need to do with the M107, and the batteries are good for about ten thousand range checks, although we’ll give you some spares all the same. I’ll teach you how to use the higher functions… at closer ranges it can even predict how much you need to adjust your aim at a given range to ensure a hit based on your weapon’s original zero. Think it might come in handy?””

  “I’m sure it’ll come in real handy!” Kransky stated with certainty, impressed. “How the hell does it work?”

  “Well,” Eileen began with a smile, “inside the unit is something known as a ‘laser’ — it’s what the scientific community in my time calls coherent light — light that travels in one direction, in parallel lines, rather than spreading out as it normally should. The word ‘laser’ is an acronym that stands for Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation.”

  “I’ll bet you say that to all the guys!” Kransky grinned sheepishly, his expression indicating that he had no problem with admitting the term had gone straight over his head.

  “Only the cute ones,” Eileen smiled back, intending her reply be lightly humorous, but the subsequent silence that followed those words was anything but light.

  “Are th-these lasers anything like the ‘Heat Ray’ in that War of the Worlds novel?” He asked with a slight hesitation, his embarrassment again making him desperate to change the subject all of a sudden.

  “Got it in one…!” Eileen beamed, impressed by the man’s unexpected leap of logic. Truth be told, she was also a little relieved the subject matter was moving on. “That’s pretty damn sharp, although I guess I should expect that kind of lateral thinking from an ex-journalist!”

  “Hey, that’s no fair,” Kransky protested lightly. “You know all about me, and I still know next to nothing about you.”

  “Actually, it’s Max who knows about you, mostly,” Eileen admitted, sounding a little apologetic as the American placed the rangefinder back on the bench beside the MP2K. “He’s more of a nutter for historical bits and pieces than I am.”

  “Oh, I’m ‘bits and pieces’ now… well that makes everything much better!”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, I can’t win, can I?” Eileen moaned theatrically, knowing Kransky was joking. “Hard as it must be for the ego of a man such as yourself to handle, the future of the world doesn’t actually revolve around you specifically.” That remark got her a chuckle. “While you apparently have some historical significance that Max is aware of, I honestly don’t know much more about you than what you’ve told me yourself…” she paused slightly “…not much more, anyway.”

  “…except…?”

  “Except that you’re honest and trustworthy to the core, an excellent guerrilla fighter and tactical planner, and are absolutely lethal with a rifle in your hands. Believe me, if I knew any more than that about you, I would remember it.”

  “Ahh…” That sobered Kransky somewhat — he was a little dismayed by the idea that this woman, whom he was starting to like a great deal, knew the kind of ‘work’ that he actually did. He’d been deliberately circumspect regarding what he did while ‘in the field’ in his conversations with the commander, as the subject matter wasn’t something he considered appropriate for female ears. What he did wasn’t something he actually felt proud of in the cold hard light of day, regardless of how good he was at it, or whether he considered it a necessary evil. The reaction didn’t go unnoticed with Eileen, and it wasn’t particularly difficult to guess as to the reasons why. She gave him a kind and sympathetic smile.

  “I don’t doubt what you do is unpleasant, Richard,” she began, her tone soft. “Nor do I think for a moment that you like what you do. Don’t think I think less of you for it either — don’t ever think that.” She stepped back apace, her senses telling her rather clearly that they’d hit on a subject that was very sensitive to him. She was also mindful that as a product of a far earlier age than hers, he was far less likely to deal readily with such issues as shame, embarrassment or emotions generally — issues still considered feminine things even in her supposedly more liberated times. Under the circumstances, instinct and intuition, female or otherwise, told her he needed a little ‘personal space’.

  “They’re… they’re not things you talk about to anyone, really…” He said softly, hesitant but wanting to believe her. “Especially not to a lady…” He shrugged. “I guess women of your time are much more intelligent and learned than they are…” he corrected himself as an unusual thought occurred “…than they mostly get a chance to be in mine.” He shrugged faintly. “You have this incredible knowledge of weapons and technology that’d put most scientists of my time — most men — to shame. These pieces of equipment you have for me — the rifle, the sights, this laser gizmo — are as much an example of how far apart we are as those aircraft outside. It just seems so unlikely that people who came from what must be such a wonderful, advanced society as yours would have much to do with the kind of violence I’ve seen…” And Eileen could ‘hear’ that sentence finish with ‘…and committed…’ in his face and in the silence that followed.

  The sentiment expressed in that statement made her feel more than a little sad for a number of reasons, and she turned slightly to rest her backside against the edge of the bench before them, her hands hanging by her sides as her shoulders sagged visibly. The serious turn of the conversation had started to affect her also, and over the weeks since their arrival there’d also been a build-up of feelings of loss and deprivation due to their displacement in the 1940s.

  Similar feelings were being felt by many of the Hindsight members to varying degrees, although being men, none would’ve been as likely to admit it, and despite the company of their own fellow team members, it was beginning to produce underlying sensations of loneliness and solitude which went well beyond something as simple as culture shock.

  In those moments following Kransky’s last sentence, she was also somewhat affected by his calling her a ‘lady’: possibly the first time in her life, having grown up in the late 20th Century and having spent her adult life in the military, that she’d ever actually been called a lady by anyone. The fact that it’d simply been an automatic assumption on his part somehow made it that much more significant, and his good-intentioned but misguided assumptions regarding the decency of the future they’d come from suddenly made her quite sad indeed.

  “I wish I could say we came from a perfect world… some beautiful ‘Utopia’ like the one Sir Thomas More wrote of,” she shook her head, “but I’d be lying through my teeth, and that’s the truth… the jet fighters out there on that flight line weren’t developed in a world that’s had any close association with peace of a lasting kind. I know you wonder about what it’s like where we came from, but it’s not the ‘wonderful’ place you imagine it must be.” She thought for a long time, staring at the concrete floor, and Kransky allowed the silence to continue, deeply interested in what she might say next.

  “I should be more complimentary about the Twenty-First Century, Richard — it’s given me a hell of a lot more than many women get, and more than any would be allowed in this era. I had the choice to be whatever I chose in life, regardless of who I am, who my parents were, or how much money they or I possess. I had the choice of deciding for myself who I married — or even if I got married at all — and my decision as to whether or not I have children as a result of those choices. If you lost an arm, doctors could sometimes sew it back on for you, and it’d often work again… on occasion they can make you a heart if yours fails — one that would last for a while, anyway…

  “Singers and musical groups all around the world organise concerts to raise money for starving nations, and media moguls allow the use of their satellites to televise those
concerts all over the world. You could fly from London to New York at a thousand miles an hour if could afford the ticket, and I could turn on one of those computers you’ve seen and receive mail in seconds from someone in Japan or Australia.” She shook her head again, and there was another solemn pause as she met his gaze once more, genuine sorrow in her eyes. By comparison to the era in which Eileen had grown up, she saw Kransky as something of an ‘innocent’, his own terrible war experiences notwithstanding, and there were almost tears in her eyes as she went on, thinking she wasn’t only painting a damning picture of her world but also shattering someone’s dreams into the bargain. “I already miss so many things from our old world, but was it a ‘good’ world…? No… far from it in truth…

  “The world I left was a sad, tired, jaded world: one that no longer possessed any naivety or any real honour either. There were corporations so powerful that their directors, unelected by anyone but their own shareholders, controlled the fate of countries by pure economic power alone. Poorer countries couldn’t even afford to make interest payments on loans from faceless monetary organisations, and their people starved as a result. Religious fundamentalists hijacked airliners and flew them into skyscrapers, killing thousands, while superpowers meddled in world affairs and manipulated the lives of millions.

  “Youth gangs in major cities killed each other for thousand-dollar pairs of sneakers or a leather jacket, and others killed time and time again simply for the thrill of taking a life. The populations of practically entire nations survived on profits made from the sale of illegal drugs to the affluent and the dirt poor of countries of the first world. People died by the millions every year from starvation, disease and deprivation while their own governments spent billions on killing machines just like the ones outside, and spent more training people to fly, shoot or drive them. I could go on for hours, and yet…”

  “…‘and yet’…?” He repeated, filling the pause and encouraging her to continue.

  “…and yet, I miss it so much!” She added, her voice almost inaudible as she whispered that admission. “I miss the cars and the freeways, the movies and the music… oh God, Richard, I miss the shops! I miss television and stupid soap operas and my BMW road bike…” Her voice trailed off a little, her expression one of uncertain guilt. “Am I being selfish… is it wrong to feel that way…?”

  “No…” Kransky answered with feeling after a long pause, thinking about his own life and the multitude of unknown pleasant experiences he must’ve missed due to the choices he’d made throughout it. “No, I guess I don’t think that’s wrong at all.” He felt a lump of emotion in his throat and it required a great deal of effort to maintain his outward composure. It was a long time since Kransky had allowed himself the luxury of thinking of anything deeper than pure survival in the world that normally surrounded him. The deployment to Hindsight had allowed him free time to think that he’d never allowed himself on the front lines of Manchukuo, Spain or France, and he had to admit that it seemed some of the heart and soul of the journalist he’d once been did still indeed exist within him, much to his surprise.

  He could also quite clearly see that Eileen was suddenly and rather unexpectedly on the verge of tears: something he wasn’t at all happy about. A decade of solitary life utterly devoid of long term companionship of any kind lasting beyond one battle to the next had ensured Kransky had never formed any real friendships at all, and although he might’ve originally begun to spend time with Eileen because of a purely sexual interest, he’d instead ended up starting along the road of forming his first real friendship in many years.

  He wasn’t consciously considering any of that of course, and education or not, the actual psychological mechanics of it all might’ve well been beyond him had he attempted to understand it. Kransky’s attention was instead completely consumed at that moment by the fact that he was standing beside a woman on the verge of tears that he cared something for (as had innumerable men throughout the ages), and in that moment he felt quite uncomfortable, completely useless, and had absolutely no idea what he might do to make her feel any better (again, much the same as all those innumerable men before him).

  In the end, the man’s actions were completely instinctive for, by his own admission, his life experience was far too lacking in the appropriate emotional areas for what followed to have been any kind of conscious act. In a single, smooth movement he reached out and gathered Eileen in a strong but completely innocent embrace, something deep in his mind telling him it was the only thing that might have a hope of making any difference. Judging by the way she wrapped her own arms around his waist and hugged him tightly in return, it certainly appeared in the very least to have not done any harm. She didn’t actually break into tears, but the heaving of her body against him suggested that it was perhaps a near run thing.

  The embrace seemed to last almost indefinitely, and was ultimately only broken as the sound of footsteps ringing on concrete heralded another’s approach. Eileen spent a second or two composing herself as they parted once more, and Kransky could see the unspoken thanks and appreciation in her eyes in that moment before they both turned toward the newcomer. He’d never have admitted it, but that single, silent ‘thank you’ made him felt better than any mere physical encounter ever could have, and he gave a nod in faint recognition.

  “Not interrupting, am I…?” Max Thorne called out as he drew near, the tone light and attempting to be humorous. although slightly inquisitive all the same. The general interaction between them had been clearly visible as he approached, and he was clearly curious as a result.

  “Not at all, Max… just showing Richard here some new toys he might find useful in the field.” There was something in her tone as she answered that Kransky hadn’t expected — something that almost sounded like guilt — although the man for the life of him couldn’t understand why that might be the case: the encounter had been entirely innocent as far as he was aware.

  Thorne raised an eyebrow. “You need to watch yourself, major: surround yourself with machine oil and military hardware and she’ll be putty in your hands!”

  “Did you actually want anything, or are you just looking for someone to annoy?” Eileen shot back with a sharp look of warning in her eye, seeming to Kransky to have taken the remark far more seriously than it’d clearly been intended.

  “Well, a bit from ‘Column A’ and a bit from ‘Column B’,” Thorne grinned broadly, showing no intention of heeding the early warning signs in Eileen’s tone and body language, although he was receiving them loud and clear. “I did want to remind you that we need to sit down with Hal regarding a proper review of British armaments production: it’s probably time we got our arses into gear over that.” The characteristic grin faded somewhat and his voice took on a far more kindly tone as he finally decided it’d serve no further purpose to continue annoying a close friend. “Other than that, I was just spare of something to do for an hour or so and thought I’d wander about spreading some good cheer.”

  “Can you be serious for once in your bloody life, Max?” Eileen snapped angrily in return, brushing past him and stalking away. The reaction left Thorne as stumped for an explanation as Kransky, and as they watched her storm off, the American turned his eyes back to his CO and found Thorne staring back at him with a far more serious gaze.

  “Just what did you do?” Thorne inquired thoughtfully, automatically deciding to accord blame elsewhere.

  “Not me, buddy,” Kransky stated quickly, shaking his head and raising both hands. “Everything was fine before you showed up.”

  “Yes… I saw how ‘fine’ things were,” Thorne agreed with a faintly sly smile, the tone indicating he’d taken the wrong inference from that remark, although it was unclear whether his misinterpretation was intentional. “Not that it’s any of my business,” he added quickly, his expression suggesting something otherwise “but what exactly was going on as I arrived…?”

  “She was a little upset is all,” Kransky replied, feelin
g slightly uncomfortable and exasperated rather than actually annoyed by the vague insinuation. “We got to shootin’ the breeze in general, and she started to think about missing the future you people left. She just got a bit upset,” he repeated with a shrug, trying to retain the appearance of innocence. He knew from observation that Thorne was also feeling some effects of stress for some reason or another, and decided to go ‘on the offensive’ just enough to force the other man into retreat. “You telling me you ain’t feeling like you’ve left somethin’ behind?” This time it was Kransky’s turn to raise an eyebrow as he put forward that friendly challenge.

  “Me?” Thorne affected to almost laugh at the idea, mostly managing to be convincing. “The only thing that annoyed me about leaving 2010 was that I’m not going to get to find out what happens to Sookie and Bill.” Although Kransky had no idea what the man was talking about, he could tell an outright lie when he heard one. He also knew that meant he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do in gently getting Thorne to back off, and as such he decided not to call him on it.

  “Taking into consideration nothing was going on here,” the American began after a breath, and Thorne’s expression became mildly expectant as he thought he saw what was coming, which he did. “Was there ‘someone’ she left behind in the future…?”

  There was a long pause as Thorne sized up exactly how to answer that one. There were a number of replies he could give, with varying levels of detail and honesty, but in the end he decided Eileen’s past was her own business. If she and Kransky were becoming friends, as it appeared they were, he might well find out a few things eventually anyway, but in Thorne’s opinion that was her choice to make, not his. That the option of remaining silent was also to his own benefit was of course of no consequence to Max Thorne as he finally spoke.