He Who Dares: Book Two (The Gray Chronicals 2)

by Rob Buckman

“It would help if we can get the rest of the ship buttoned up and shipshape before we go into space.” Pete commented dryly. “There’s also the question of supplies, Skipper, we still don’t have any.”

  “Sir, if I may suggest,” Conner cut in, “what about the de-commissioning yard in Plymouth?” Pete and Mike looked at each other.

  “Now that’s an idea, what better place to hide a ship.”

  “Good thinking, Chief, XO, set a course for the scrap yard, keep her as low to the water as possible.”

  “Aye-aye, sir the scrap yard it is.”

  Twenty-five minutes later, Sergeant Rice looked around with a bored expression on his face that belied the tension behind his eyes and wondering if the Skipper managed to get the ship out of here in time. At the sound of vehicles approaching, slipping and sliding up the slight rise, and sighed. If the Skipper hadn’t got the ship out of here by now, the game was up. Four Naval Police Cruisers came to a stop behind the Inspector, and a Major got out of the first car. He spoke to the Inspector for a moment, then walked over. Sergeant Rice came to attention and saluted.

  “Morning, sir, what can I do for you?”

  “Get this fucking road block out of the way for one, and second, give me the name of your Commanding Officer.” His tone was hard, and he wasn’t about to put up with any nonsense about a restricted area.

  “Aye-aye, sir,” Rice snapped, and keyed his comm unit, “move the road block, on the double.”

  Even so, the pilot of the scout car took his time, feigning engine problem, and going through every single item on his pre-flight check-off. The Major stood with his fists on his hips, fuming, knowing he was doing it deliberately. At last, the car lifted and the road was clear, but that gained them an extra ten minutes. The Major motion the Inspector's car forward, and after writing down the name Rice gave him, then, stepping into his car he followed the rest over the rise and down to the slipway. Rice flicked channels the moment he pulled away.

  “Load up, and let’s get out of here, on the double people.” Climbing aboard the air car he tapped the driver on the shoulder, and he immediately took off and headed for the shuttle. As a precaution, Rice had parked this behind a small hillock, and the moment everyone was aboard they lifted and headed inland towards the yards, vanishing among the buildings. With the Naval Police in tow, the Inspector stormed into the building and skidded to a halt. The hanger was empty, except for a group of fitter sitting around drinking beer and singing.

  “What the hell is going on here?” He demanded. “Where’s the ship?”

  “Who are you, and what ship are you talking about?” An old man with a shop steward badge on his cap asked.

  “I’m the Chief inspector.” He said, flipping out his identification wallet.

  “I demand to know where the ship that was here went, right now.” His face got red, and he had a tendency to splutter when he was angry.

  “You can demand all you want, Chief, won’t do you no good, we ain’t in your Navy.”

  “Tell the Chief Inspector what he wants to know, if you know what’s good for you!” The Major, snapped, walking up to stand beside the Inspector, a hard look on his face.

  “And what you going to do if I don’t?” The shop steward demanded belligerently, as several of the yard crew came over and stood behind him, most with something potentially lethal in his hand.

  “Place you all under arrested, that’s what?”

  “Oh, on what charge?”

  “Obstructing justice!”

  “That’s it!” He whipped his comm unit it, “as chief shop Steward Able Marsh. I’m calling a strike! Attention to all shipyard personnel belonging to Local Union 395. I’m here by calling a walkout and a strike!”

  “You can’t do that!” The Inspector yelled.

  “Oh, can’t I! Just did it tubby, you don’t come in here in the middle of a Birthday party and threaten to arrest us!” There was a chorus of ‘right on Able – you tell ‘em’

  “Birthday party?”

  “Yeah, what the bloody ‘ell do you think we was doing, working on one of your ships! We are celebrating Mike Farrel’s 49 birthday, as per our union contract.” He poked the Chief Inspector’s ample stomach with the point of his pencil for emphasis.

  “Contract?” The Chief Inspector winced and stepped back away from the sharp point. Suddenly felt he was out of his depth, he hadn’t read the union contract, and had no idea if they could do that or not.

  “Why are you on the base, then, if this is a Birthday party?” The Major demanded, eyeing the surly looking group. They outnumbered his small police detachment five to one, so trying to arrest anyone right now was out of the question, not that he had the authority to arrest civilian personnel unless they were in the commission of a crime on naval property.

  “So the other crews can come in and celibate during the shift change, it's all in the contract. Article 5, Section 12, sub-paragraph 6, line seven, if you’d bothered to read it.” The Major looked around the hanger and sighed. The evidence was all around that they’d been working on something, but how long ago it was hard to tell. His sixth sense told him he was being conned, but where was the ship the Chief Inspector was on about? It wasn’t something you could hide in your pocket.

  “I’m sorry, Chief Inspector, there not much we can do, there’s no ship here, and we can’t arrest them for something they aren’t doing.”

  “But... but I know there was a ship, here!”

  “Oh, how do you know that porky?” The Shop Steward asked. The Inspector’s ears got red, as no one dared call him that to his face. Able March looked at him and grinned, knowing he’d touched a nerve.

  “I... I...” He spluttered, rage making his spit even more. “Someone in authority informed us you were all working illegally on a ship, hull number 696.” His fat jowl quivered with rage and turned an unhealthy shade of red.

  “696 did you say? Don’t know where you got that from mate, someone must be pulling your leg.” Able scratched the back of his head with the pencil. He pulled a pad out of his front bib pocket and looked at it, slowly going down the list with the point of his pencil. “No, no 696 on my list, you sure you don’t mean 969? Have that.”

  “969? I didn’t know there was one.” The Chief Inspector spluttered.

  “Yes, she as sanitary scow, in for refit, you want to go check that out, seems more in your line of work, and check your bloody paperwork.”

  “See here...“

  “Take a hike fattso and stop bothering me.” He sniffed and turned his back.

  Together the crew went back to their celebration, a sense of pride and accomplishment adding to their festive mood. They’d done it. They’d finished her and got her out of here before they could stop them this time. In the end, the Chief inspector and the Naval Police beat a hasty retreated. The Major went looking for the Marines, but they were gone as well. He then checked the ship and Captain’s name the Sergeant had given him, but found neither in the database. They’d been had, royally, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. However, that posed the question, if indeed there was a ship as the Chief Inspector claimed, where was it? Or was it really a case of a paperwork foul-up? He did report the matter, but without evidence to back it up or a name, it was like chasing a ghost. In the end, they dumped the whole mess and put down to a paperwork error in reversing the ship number. He had more serious crimes on his hands that needed his attention, but there was still left the unanswered question of what the Marines were doing there in the first place. No one wanted to go poking about in Marine Corps records, it was akin to poking a stick into a wasps nest. That satisfied the Naval Police, but not the Inspector, or his boss.

  * * * * * *

  “What do you mean there is no ship?” Was the first question he was asked.

  “That’s what I said, sir, no ship.”

  “That’s impossible, that ship was there, and you couldn’t find it?”

  “No, sir.”

  “If I may.�
�� A tall, distinguished looking man sitting in one of the easy chairs reserved for VIP visitors interjected.

  “Yes, Sir Arthur?” He dismissed the luckless Inspector with a wave of his hand, and the man departed rapidly, despite his bulk. The distinguished looked man waited until the door closed behind him before continuing.

  “It could be that our informants were in error, and the ship wasn’t as disabled as they reported.”

  “We know the virus disabled the operating system, so what are you suggesting, that they carried the ship out of that hanger, and if so, where did they hide it?”

  “I cannot answer either of those questions, and I’d only like to add that we may have underestimated the resourcefulness of this Leftenant Gray.”

  “You think he may have managed to get the system up and running and get that ship out of there?”

  “That looks like a distinct possibility.”

  “The question is, where would be go?”

  “That I can’t answer, except, he has to supply the ship, and take on stores and munitions at some point, and when that happens, we’ll know and be able to grab him and the ship.”

  “That would mean he has to go to Gosport and the Royal Clarence Victualling Yard in Portsmouth. We can put a watch on both of them.”

  “True, however, we have no idea what sort of ship he built.”

  “No matter. If it was anything like the original vessel, it’s not exactly something our mutual friends have to worry about, now is it.”

  “No, one fast attack destroyer isn’t going to upset the balance of power.”

  “If any other Admiral happens to see her, or the Admiralty demands we built more, I’m sure you can get it killing in committee.”

  “True, very true. The Naval Appropriations committee can bury any such request, much as they did the last time.”

  “Excellent, I’ll relay your assurance to the appropriate people.” He started to stand, then saw the worried look.

  “Something else?”

  “No, not exactly, only...“ He paused for a moment. “Did you see this article in the news Fax?” He handed over a new flimsy. The distinguished looking man read the article and looked up.

  “So, our original plan failed.”

  “Yes, I believe so, but I have no way of knowing if this is true.” He said, tapping the newssheet.

  “The police report?”

  “Uninformative to say the least. According to them, the sword Master cut the man’s arms off in a training bout.”

  “But, you think otherwise.”

  “I do. I suspect, but won’t know for sure until he is out of the regeneration tank, that is was Leftenant Gray that actually disabled him.”

  “Yes, the Sensei had no reason to fight our man, and if he is as good as reported, that shouldn’t have posed a problem.”

  “This Leftenant Gray is full of surprises.”

  “Yes, don’t forget, he did win, not one, but two Victoria Crosses.”

  “I thought they were more for show than anything.”

  “I doubt the King and the Prince of Wales would cheapen such a reward just for show.” The distinguished man touched his upper lip with a perfectly manicured finger.

  “It does give one cause to think.”

  “Yes, I think we’d better start taking Leftenant Gray a little more seriously in the future.”

  “I don’t see what one man can do to change the course of events!”

  “Do I need to remind you of Cromwell, Disraeli, and Churchill, to name just three?”

  “Point taken.”

  The distinguished looking man departed and exited the building feeling somewhat relieved he didn’t have to spend longer in the man’s company. The policeman on duty waving his diver through the roadblock and turned into traffic onto Parliament Street away from 10 Downing Street.

  * * * * * *

  Later that same day, two men entered the Dojo in Devonport, on the same quest, and with the same questions.

  “Good evening, I’m Lord Seaforth, and this is the Duke of Cardiff.” Both bowed slightly to the Sensei, who returned it.

  “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

  “We are here seeking information, unofficial of course, about the um, accident a few weeks ago.”

  “I have nothing to add, other than what I told the police.” Seaforth and Taffy looked at each other and nodded.

  “Told you.” Taffy interjected.

  “You have some additional interest in the injured man?” The Sensei asked, seeing the immediate look of distaste cross both the young men’s face.

  “Hardly. It’s a pity we have regeneration is all I can say.” The Duke of Cardiff muttered.

  “Taffy, be kind.” Seaforth scolded.

  “How can I be of service to you?”

  “It’s more a question of a certain young man, a Leftenant Gray that we are more interested. We were informed that he was here on the evening the accident happened.”

  “Yes?” The Sensei wasn’t giving them anything to work with.

  “Well, we, and a few others were wondering if he might have been injured.”

  “The young man in question has practiced here a few times, but on the evening of the accident, he departed early, and wasn’t here.”

  “I see.” Seaforth looked around the Dojo a moment. “I take it you teach an Oriental form of sword fighting.”

  “I do, would you be interested in taking lessons?” They both knew the answer to that question.

  “No, I use a fencing style myself.”

  “This is good for a stabbing attack.”

  “True. So I take it, Leftenant Gray was leaning your style of fighting?”

  “By no means.”

  “Pardon?” Taffy looked baffled.

  Mr. Gray is a Master himself, and other than offering some small service for him to practice, I could offer little in the way of instruction to improve what is all ready perfect.” Seaforth head snapped around, and he locked eyes with the Sensei for a moment, clarity dawning.

  “If such a practice bout in which the man was injured took place between Mr. Gray and him, would he have had any trouble defeating him?” The Sensei smiled and shook his head.

  “If such a bout ever happened, I suspect the young man would have met the same feat.” Seaforth bowed again then held his hand out. “Thank you Master, we are much obliged for your time.”

  “Huh?” Taffy asked. Seaforth took him by the arm and led him outside. “What! We didn’t get a thing out of him.”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “Oh, right, you are a mind reader now.” He grumbled.

  “In a way. I can tell you this, Mike did fight that piece of garbage, and he did lop off his arms.

  “But the old boy said...“

  “Nothing.”

  “Then how?”

  “It's what he didn’t say.”

  “Now you are getting down right cryptic.” Seaforth pulled him into a nearby pub and brought him a drink.

  “Here, this should clear your fuzzy Welsh brain a little, think about what the old boy did say.” Taffy looked morass and downed half his drink.

  “Yes, I see. He couldn’t very well change his story now could he.”

  “No, he reported to the police that he did the lopping during a practice bout.”

  “And we do know that...” he took a swallow of his drink as if even thinking about the man’s name brought a rotten taste to his mouth, “... you know who only fights for money.”

  “And usually at the behest of someone who wants someone else dead.”

  “That doesn’t get us any closer to whoever paid him to kill Mike.”

  “Tried and failed to kill Mike you mean.”

  “Aren’t you glad you didn’t cross sword with our Leftenant Gray.” Taffy chuckled.

  “Shut up Taffy and buy me a drink, it’s your turn anyway.” Taffy laughed and did as ordered.

  “You gentlemen on your way to the shipyard, then?” The bartender ask
ed as he sat the drinks down in front of them.

  “No, we are just visiting.”

  “Oh, thought you might be part of the crew, or whatever, of that Naval Inspector.”

  “Which Naval Inspector?” Seaforth added a hundred credit note to the money Taffy put on the bar. The bartender looked at it for a moment, then it vanished.

  “The one that use to come in for a drink once in a while.”