by Rob Buckman
“Any name to go with a description?”
“I heard someone call him Leftenant Gray one time if that helps.”
“It does.”
“He came in here once in a while, usually early in the afternoon. Use to like to play the piano for a while.”
“Did he now?”
“Was he any good?” Taffy asked, getting a hopeless look from Seaforth. “The Lady Ann will ask you know.” He offered in his defense.
“Yes, actually, he was very good, a bit out of practice is all.”
“Have you seen him around recently?”
“Can’t say that I have...“ He stopped as a rather short older man came up beside them. “Evening Able.”
“Evening Harry.”
“These gentlemen were asking about Leftenant Gray.”
“Were they now, and what would be your interested in him, may I ask?”
“Friend, we haven’t been able to contact him for a while.”
“I see.” Able motioned them over to an empty table in the corner. “Friends you say?” He asked as they sat down.
“Yes, he was at a party with us and he had to take off rather suddenly on Christmas Day without saying goodbye. We were wondering if he was in some sort of trouble.” Able March took a swallow of his dark beer and placed the glass carefully on the table in front of him, and wiped his upper lip with the back of his hand.
“And where did you say this was?”
“I didn’t, but if you must know, it was at, um, Windsor Castle.” Seaforth was reluctant to say it, as he didn’t want to appear snotty. Working class man sometimes had an aversion to upper class people. Able just nodded, and looked at them a moment.
“That’s where Petty Officer Conner Blake said he was going.”
“Do you know where he is now?”
“Can’t rightly say, heard he was posted somewhere.” He smiled. “You know the Navy, one minute you’re here, the next half way across the Galaxy.”
“Posted?”
“Yes, posted.”
“What about the ship!” Taffy muttered as he carefully looked around the room. No one seemed interested in them, or their conversation.
“Ship? What ship would that be, sir?”
“The one he was building…” Taffy said under his breath.
“Building you say. No, not here, we only repair ships in Devonport nowadays.”
“Yes, of course, what were you thinking, Taffy.”
“Me?” He looked wounded.
“Yes, you. You know Mike was only the Naval Inspector here. Thank you for your time Mr. March, we are grateful for your assistance.
“Not at all. Sorry I couldn't be more help in finding your friend.” With that, he picked up his beer and left to join a group around the piano.
“So much for that.” Taffy murmured.
“I doubt we’ll get any more information around here.”
“Tight lipped lot, aren’t they.”
“You can thank your lucky star they are. I doubt that MI5 or naval intelligence will get any more out of them than we have without the use of brute force.”
“So, what do we know so far, not much from what I can see.”
“We can report to the Lady Ann, that Mike is alive and uninjured for a start.”
“I have the feeling that there is more going on between those two than meets the eye.” Taffy mumbled into his glass.
“Taffy, you are so dense sometimes, it amazes me that you’ve lived so long.”
“What did I say?”
“Of course, there is more going on between those two, silly, the Princess is in love with him.”
“Now you tell me!” He smiled, then winked, seeing Seaforth shake his head. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn on a stack of bibles that sometimes, Taffy was as thick as two short planks.
“So when?”
“My dear Seaforth, I suspected something when she arrived back for her, shall we say, adventure?”
“Yes, that’s one way of putting it.”
“But never mind, ours is not to reason and all that. Our job is to protect her to the best of our ability." Seaforth nodded. “As to our Mr. Gray, it looks as if he has finished building the ship, and is on his way somewhere.”
“Not without an operating system, food, stores and munitions he isn’t.” Seaforth mused. “But you have to wonder how he managed to fly that ship out of here without one.”
“Yes, that brings up a point.” Taffy agreed, scratching his chin in thought.
“I’m told the new operating system and hard drives are well in hand. It’s the supplies we have to concentrate on.”
“Yes, and do it without anyone finding out, and keeping Mike and his ship out of view.”
CHAPTER NINE:
“Over there, Chief, beside that light Cruiser.” Mike pointed over Conner’s shoulder at a spot on the view screen, barely visible through the swirling snow.
“Aye, sir, I see her.” As gentle as a thistle down, he maneuvered the ship into the shadow of the Cruiser and nodded to Cindy.
“Deploy landing sponsons.”
“Aye, sir, deploying sponsons.”
“Cut back on power and bring us to ‘all stop’ and lock it there.” The XO intoned.
“Aye-aye, sir.” This put the ship into a fixed hover three feet above the ground until the three sponsons landing pad extended and took the weight. They settled, and in the viewer, they saw the faded name on the bow of the old warship, H.M.S. Worcester.
“Finish with engines, helm.”
“Aye-aye, sir, finished with engines.” Conner brought the helm to a center position and signaled the engine room to ‘finished with engines’. The winsome sound of the electronic telegraph bells sounded and a moment later the answer by the telegraph repeater as the engine room acknowledging the order.
“Well, we’re down, Skipper, now what?” The XO asked, just as the engine room comm beeped.
“Bridge, aye.”
“I hope we’re here to stay, XO, the power packs are down to zero. All I can give you is light and some environmental till I get the power plants on line.”
“Tell the Chief Engineer to make that his Number One priority. Without them, we aren’t going anywhere.”
“Aye, Skipper.” Pete acknowledged and relayed the message.
“I need to get on the blower and find out where my operating system is, and where the supplies are, you have the Bridge, Number One.”
“Aye-aye, sir, I have the Bridge.” Pete Standish sat down in the Captain’s vacated chair and pressed the consult key for ‘All Station’. “Attention all hands, this is the XO, crack the hatches and get to work. I don’t know how long we’ve got to work on her, so I want any and all outside work done first, XO, out.” Much to Mike’s surprise, there were still a large number of civilian workers on board, mainly electricians and plumber, and he asked Conner about it.
“Too many critical systems weren’t finished, sir, so the civilian yard workers decided to stay on board to finish up.”
“They’re crazy, we could just as easily taken her into space!”
“They knew that, sir, but they seem determine to get her completed this time, no matter what.”
“All right, but I want our crew to take over as much of the grunt work as possible.” It amassed Mike. Why were these men so willing to work themselves to death getting this ship ready?
Had he delved deeper, he would have been surprised to discover that they were doing it for him, because they believed that he was worth the effort. That would probably have amassed him even more.
“Aye-aye, Skipper.”
“Wonder what the yard Forman’s going to say when he comes in after the holiday and finds us sitting here.” Conner chuckled.
“By that time I hope to be out of here, so let’s get to work.”
“Will do, Skipper.” Mike entered his cabin and dialed up Taffy’s comm number. Hopefully he has some better news. Getting the ship finished was one th
ing, but without the food, supplies, and ordinance she was useless.
“Mike, good to hear from you at last. How are things going?” Taffy beamed.
“We had to bug out, on manual I might add, and on battery power no less.”
“Good God! I would never have thought of that. Bet that was a bit hairy.”
“You could say that, how are you doing on my supplies?”
“Oh, I’m glad you called about that.” He moved closer to the pickup.
“We found a way to get you your supplies all right. But, we have a bit of a problem.”
“Anything I can do?”
“It’s just that I need a name of a ship to assign them to, and that poses a bit of a problem, as we can’t find a suitable candidate. No Corvettes or Frigates available that can’t be checked on.” He looked over his shoulder, as if to see if anyone was in hearing range.
“I can’t use any ships on the active list, that’s too easy to check. Same with any that are on extended patrol, or assigned to other stations.” Mike added.
“Right, and I just can’t make one up.”
“What about one of the ships here in the scrap yard?” Mike asked, thinking of the rusting hull around him.
“That’s an idea. Let me have a look at the ships list...” Taffy muttered to himself as he pulled up the ship's list. “Hummm have a light Cruiser...” he hesitated a moment, “several heavy Cruisers and a destroyer… hang on a minute. How about a Cruiser?”
“They take a lot more supplies than we do.”
“Yes, but what about armament, your main weapons and such.”
“My main battery usually fits on a Cruiser, so that would work.”
“Are your torps and missiles standard?”
“Yes, all standard”
“You might get a little more than you wanted, but I’m sure you can get it all in.” He laughed. “Now then, where should I assigned, or station her...‘ He fiddled with his porta-comp.
“Nowhere that can be checked easily.”
“True, but I’m more concerned with keeping your ship out of sigh.” He frowned in concentration for a moment. “How about this, I’ll have H.M.S. Sunderland, a medium Cruiser, that’s you, heavily damaged while on extended patrol.”
“Sounds good so far.”
“Oh, it gets better,” he chuckled, “you are so severely damaged, you had to put down on dark side of the moon for repairs, but you need to re-supplying while they are underway. Can’t wait, on a hush, hush secret mission and all that.”
“Excellent, which gets me my supplies, but what ordinance...“
“I’m coming to that, give a poor girl a chance.” Then he laughed. “Of course.”
“What?”
“The ‘Graviton’ R&D facility.”
“I don’t get it.”
“You will old son. ‘Graviton’ has an extensive array of weapons up there, some for testing, or new ones under development.”
“How will that help me?”
“Because, for several years, his Majesties esteemed Government has killed all new production of weapons.”
“So?”
“Graviton is privately funded, they don’t need Government approval for R&D.” The light dawned on Mike’s face.
“So they have all those munitions sitting up there in storage.”
“Right the first time. It should be a simple matter to get them to fill your ammo lockets.”
“Wait, how are you going to get a private corporation to supply me with weapons?”
“Michael, my old son, you don’t know the half of it. Just take my word, you will be given the red carpet treatment the moment you arrive.” The was no hiding his look of suspicion, and Taffy laughed.
“I just hope you are right, otherwise I’ll be stuck there.”
“Trust your uncle Taffy, he knows what he’s doing.” He tapped a few keys for a moment. “There.” Mike porta-comp ‘beeped’
“What’s this?”
“Your Ident codes and IFF for HMS. Sunderland, you’ll need them.”
“And the real Sunderland?”
“According to official records, she only recently arrived at the de-commissioned yard, in fact just before Christmas. Her crew are all on leave and the ship has been powered down. All com traffic is either being redirected to the individual crewmembers, while any Admiralty traffic for the ship will be redirected to you, as HMS Sunderland. As to the rest, I doubt anyone will notice that there are now two Sutherlands until after the holidays when the decommissioning yard crew come back.”
“How much time will that give us?”
“Oh, about a week I would imagine.” Mike digested the information. If they could stay ahead of any cross checks, or some nosy traffic officers, they should get what they needed and be in space, and out of reach.
“Got it.” Mike said, seeing the ‘download complete’ light come on.
“Good, I’ve activated the paper work and resupply orders, so all you have to do is call in for them. The yards at Royal Clarence Victualling Yard in Portsmouth re-supply depot will ferry them up to you.”
“Thank Taffy, you are an angle of mercy.”
“Just a sec while I get my halo out, it’s a bit rusty.” He laughed. “Get you gone young man, and sin no more.”
“Aye-aye, sir, will do the moment I get my operating system installed.” Taffy grinned at him.
“Hope you can stuff everything on the list inside your ship, Mike.”
“I’ll try, Taffy, thanks, bye for now.” Mike’s next call was to his contact at the Ministry of Supply.
“Captain Gray, good of you to call,” the dry looking man answered immediately.
“I need you to take a visit to the following location and pick up a personal package as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Sir.” Mike hit the ‘accept file’ key as his computer flashed an incoming email, and in a few seconds it downloaded a small file.
“This is a very critical item, very perishable and needs to be picked up in the next 48 hours by you personally, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think you will find that it contains everything you need for your upcoming fishing trip.”
“Good.” Mike answered, but he was talking to an empty screen, the man was gone.
A quick check showed that that file contained the name and address of a place in Guilford, about 40 miles away, and direction how to get there. With the secrecy involved, and the fact that he had to pick it up personal, it made him think. Someone at the R&D facility had obviously smuggled the operation system out, but what the hell was going on that he couldn’t pick it up directly from them.
“Marine shuttle coming in, Skipper.” Pete Standish called down from the Bridge.
“Good, send Sergeant Rice to me as soon as he’s docked.” Within ten minutes, Sergeant Rice knocked on his door.
Mike quickly explained the situation to him and told him to bring two Marines and have a scout car ready to lift in twenty minutes. It was only a precaution, taking the Marines with him, but whoever sabotaged the main frame originally, and tried to break into his security box knew they’d have to have a new operating system before they could lift into space. That meant the only place he could get it was the R&D facility. They would be watching that like a hawk, and possibly anyone who might be able to get it to him. If so, they might just try and stop him taking possession. He sat there, going through the list of items remaining for him to get into space. The another thought struck him. He dialed up a number on his porta-comp.”
“The Lion and the Unicorn Bar and Grill.” A woman answered, seeing a fuzzy image on his video screen.
“Hello, can I speak to Taffy or Jenks, please?”
“Who?”
“Um, I mean Mr. Jones or Mr. Silverman.”
“Oh them,” The woman laughed, “just a second ducky.”
“This is Mr. Silverman, how can I help you?”
“Jenks!” One look and Jenks face light up lik
e a fireworks display.
“My grief! Tug, where the bloody hell have you been hiding?” He turned away from the pickup. “Taffy, guess who’d on the blower.”
“Now how the hell would I know, man, I’m not a bloody mind reader.”