Uncommon Purpose (The Hope Island Chronicles Book 1)

by P J Strebor

  “Not as rapidly as I would have liked to, sir.”

  “Never mind, it all comes with time. And I think the crew could manage without you for a while.”

  “I dare say they'd struggle by.”

  “You have another six days with us so perhaps you might pick up a few tips?”

  “I'm sure I will.”

  “Good. Now you may as well get back to your quarters. I will see you back here at 0600 hours on the dot.”

  “Aye-aye, sir.”

  Nathan retraced his path down the drop shafts, but at deck two he kept going. With the residual adrenaline in his system he was unlikely to get back to sleep. It had been a drill but he didn’t know it at the time. At any time of the day or night he may need to react to a genuine threat.

  When he stepped into the supply office, he noted CPO Argento’s absence. She must still be at her combat post in Damage Control. He slid behind the desk, activated the computer and examined the records. Heather had far more experience in supply than he, but had patiently listened to his suggestions, accepting some rejecting others and making her own practical recommendations. Between them they had devised a plan to tackle Tivendale’s disaster. Although it entailed many hours of hard work the benefits were beginning to show.

  Heather stepped into the office. “Checking on me, Nathan?”

  “You bet. Since I was already up I thought I would see how things were progressing.”

  “What do you think?”

  “It's coming along nicely. I hope Moe isn't getting under your feet?”

  “Moe’s been great. She was happy to pick up where you left off.”

  “Sounds like Moe,” Nathan said, rising from the chair. “Have you heard anything from your esteemed leader?”

  “Surprisingly not. Tivendale has lost all interest in his department. Hasn't even tried to put me on report this week.”

  Again, the odd stirring of guilt. “Very well, Heather, I will leave you to it."

  “Call in any time, Nathan.” The return of her sultry smile had Nathan wagging his finger at her.

  The hatch opened and Moe stuck her head in. “What's happening?”

  “Midshipwoman Okuma. I was about to pay you a visit.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Two months on station without enemy contact, had Waugh pacing the briefing room like a caged tigress. Her wretched mood had gotten the better of her and she caught herself nearly snapping at her crew. This would not do. It had been years since she walked the boat but perhaps it would help to clear her mind.

  Waugh began her walk in the Maneuvering Department. The senior engineer, Cmdr Chanderpaul, was still on duty.

  “Good morning, Jocelyn.”

  “Good morning, skipper,” Chanderpaul said. “Is there anything I can do for you, ma’am?”

  “How’s everything going?”

  Jocelyn’s eyes narrowed for a moment.“Are you walking the boat, skip?”

  Waugh cleared her throat.

  “You haven’t done that in years.”

  “Hmm.”

  Chanderpaul leaned in close. “Truculent’s luck has to change soon,” she whispered. “Why, right now there could be a big juicy headhunter on her way to us.”

  “Nice thought. All right, Jocelyn, I’ll leave you in peace.”

  “Enjoy your walk, skipper.”

  Half a minute later Waugh slipped from the drop shaft into the boat bay. She froze at the sight before her. Half an hour after stand down Telford and Okuma were still up, which surprised her far less than what they were doing.

  Telford drew back on the bowstring and as soon as the weapon reached eye level, he fired. The arrow flew the full length of the boat bay striking the holo target dead center of the bulls-eye.

  Okuma took the next shot, her fast firing technique identical to Telford’s. Her arrow landed fractionally off center. Telford slapped her on the back. He noticed the commodore approaching. Before they snapped to attention she waved them down.

  “Good morning, middies.”

  “Good morning, captain,” they responded. They make an odd couple these two. Waugh found it odd how life-long friends stood out from the crowd. All of the middies were friends but these two displayed a deeper, more profound familiarity.

  “Don't you two ever sleep?” she said cheerfully. “I do not recall seeing two more hard-working middies. What do you do for fun?”

  They exchanged wry smiles before transforming back into respectful young middies. Waugh sighed internally. Surely I was never this young?

  “We like going to the movies, ma’am,” Okuma volunteered.

  “So do I. Did you catch last night's flick?”

  “No, ma’am,” Telford said. “We had a gouge session.”

  “Academy gouge sessions.” Waugh felt a reminiscent warmth. “I am pleased to see you are not ignoring your studies.”

  “No ma’am,” Telford answered.

  “What's your favorite movie, Mister Telford?”

  His forehead creased. “It's hard to say, ma’am.”

  “Try.”

  He rubbed at his right eyebrow. “Well, the Sea Hawks comes to mind.”

  “Ah yes, Errol Flynn. Great fun.”

  “And the good guys always win.”

  “Unlike real life?”

  “As you say, ma’am, great fun.”

  “And you, Miss Okuma?"

  “Anything with Laurel and Hardy. They break me up, ma’am.”

  “Yes, I have always found them to be dryly amusing.”

  “I can’t believe the vids are more than five hundred years old,” Okuma said.

  “Quite amazing isn’t it? They only came back into vogue thirty odd years ago and the effect they’ve had on the idiom has been remarkable. Subtle but remarkable.” She thought of explaining to the young officers just how much the movies had changed the speech patterns within Tunguska since she was their age, but assumed that another lecture from the old lady would put them to sleep.

  Waugh extended her hand to Telford. “May I?” Holding the bow in her left hand she pulled on the draw string. It took all of her effort to pull it all the way back. Light glanced off the smooth polished wood. She returned the bow, noticing for the first time the calluses on his index and middle fingers. No fancy shooting gloves for these colonials.

  “Keeping your eye in?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Telford said. “We get in what practice we can manage.”

  “I have seen archery contests during the Olympics. Those archers raise the bow the way you two do but hold, aim carefully and fire. I have never seen your technique before.”

  Telford glanced at his friend.

  “Well, ma’am,” Okuma said, “when you've chased your quarry through the rain forest for two hours and are ready to drop from exhaustion you don't have time to consider Olympic etiquette. You usually have only one shot at your prey.” She appeared pleased at the commodore's interest. “A bull's eye won't see you coming and go to ground.”

  “I see. So were you two sports hunters on Kastoria?”

  Okuma glanced at Telford. “No, ma’am, when we hunt we do so either for food or to rid ourselves of a rogue animal. Usually a plains buffalo or wild boar that’s wandered onto our plantation. They can do a lot of damage if left unchecked. Of course these are target bows and not the type we use back home. We had to save our pennies for two years to afford these babies.” A smile formed as she examined the bow. “Apart from loving archery we are hoping to be considered for Kastoria in the Olympic team trials in twenty-three. Nathan has won a number of archery contests but I’m starting to catch up with him so we think we might have a chance. And by then we will be representing the Corps as well as the Republic.”

  “Outstanding.” Waugh was relieved to see such fine young people were the real future of the Corps. Whether they could counter the other more negative influences infecting the Service would be decided by their future endeavors. “Well
, I shall leave you to it for now.”

  “Aye-aye, ma’am.” They successfully fought the urge to snap to attention.

  CHAPTER 40

  Date: 11th August, 320 ASC.

  Position: Pruessen Headhunter Picaroon. Within League space.

  Status: Operation ongoing.

  Orson followed Bannister onto the bridge.

  “Very well, lieutenant,” Bannister said, “you say everything’s ready, so let’s run one final test.”

  “Aye-aye, commander.”

  Orson sat before the EDF console and prepared to dazzle his superior. “Initializing EDF test field, now.” He flipped the switch. Nothing happened. Orson flipped the switch again, then once more to be certain. No lights registered on his panel. “Fucker,” he whispered. “Everything was in the green when I checked it yesterday.” From over his shoulder Orson heard the barest sigh from Bannister. “We will need to overhaul the entire system and do a complete diagnostic.”

  “Not so fast, Saxon,” Bannister snapped. “You know how touchy this technology is. We’ll first check out the hardware in the EDF transmitter compartment.”

  “Sir, I guarantee it isn’t a hardware problem,” Orson said defensively.

  “We’ll see about that.” He stroked his chin, his eyes revealing genuine concern. “If we can't get this buttoned down quickly we may have to abort the mission."

  “A problem gentlemen?” Captain Foss asked.

  “A glitch, captain,” Bannister said.

  “Should we return to Imperial space while you fix your glitch? I don't like the idea of running into an enemy patrol if this thing is going to blow up in our faces.”

  “Yes, captain,” Bannister said, his voice laced with a poisonous inflection, “that wouldn't look good on your record would it?” Orson followed him from the bridge.

  Two bored guards waved them through the hatch. The ship's crowded engineering deck stank worse than the rest of the ship. If that were possible.

  Bannister strode to the stern of the reactor room and into the compartment assigned to the EDF transmitter. For a few minutes Orson checked the external leads and relays.

  “Lieutenant?”

  Bannister had an unusually dangerous lilt to his tone. The Advocate motioned him to the transmitter. Orson followed his pointing finger. Behind the recently removed cover plate a small feeder conduit hung loosely from its fitting. This single conduit threatened to terminate their glorious mission.

  His jaw tightened. He stared at Bannister.

  “Well?” Bannister asked.

  Orson's mind raced. Could he have missed it? He had run exacting checks of the systems to ensure something like this never happened. When he examined the locking clamp his heart raced. The scratch marks around the receiver had not been there yesterday.

  “Someone's fucking with us!” Orson spat.

  Bannister’s face hardened.

  Orson breathed heavily to control his rising fury. “Some motherless piece of headhunter shit has sabotaged the transmitter. Why? Why would anyone do such a thing?” He shook his head. “I don't care who did it. And damn the clan mentality. When I find the fucker I will kill him with my bare hands.”

  “Control yourself, lieutenant Rank has its privileges. The kill is mine. Now pull yourself together. Remember who you are and who you serve.”

  Orson sensed the presence of someone behind him. In four broad steps he marched to the hatch and dragged the crewman inside. If Orson’s anger had not gotten the better of him he would have sensed him earlier. Control, must have control. He pinned the crewman to the bulkhead locking a thumb and forefinger around his windpipe. The scum tried to knock his arm away so Orson kneed him in the crotch. All resistance drained from the headhunter. Orson loosened his grip to let him breathe.

  “What are you doing here you piece of filth?”

  “Nuttin’ sir, nuttin’.”

  “You were listening to us, weren't you?”

  “No sir, no sir,” he squeaked, “I didn't hear nuttin’.”

  “You're lying to me you shit eater.” Orson hit the man squarely in the nose causing an immediate bloody response.

  Through tear soaked eyes the pathetic animal bleated for his life. “Honest sir, I was just passing by, that's all, sir.”

  “Lying dog.” Orson knew he had to dial it down a notch. A dead suspect would do them no good. Control.

  “What's going on here?” Cmdr Weiss said from the hatchway.

  Before Orson could spit out a vile reply Bannister stepped to the hatch. “Someone aboard this ship has sabotaged the EDF.”

  Cmdr Weiss smirked. “And you think this pathetic fool is responsible?” His snigger made Orson’s blood boil. “This weedy creature is the captain's steward. He's not capable of sabotaging anything short of the captain's dinner.”

  Bannister locked eyes with the scrawny headhunter and held his terrified gaze for a short count of ten.

  “Let him go.”

  Orson released his grip on the crewman who slumped to the deck.

  “Someone on this scow has been in this compartment without authorization.”

  “The crew was ordered to avoid this area, commander,” Weiss said. “You must be mistaken.”

  “I see.”

  How the Advocate could maintain his control at times like this constantly amazed Orson. Bannister shouldered past Weiss and Orson followed. Bannister examined the congested engineering department. A crowd had gathered to see what the fuss was about. The curious onlookers became the immediate focus of Bannister’s attention. Like an arsonist who lingers after a fire, the culprit might be among these putrid crewmen.

  Some of the crew avoided eye contact. Others stared back, daring him to confront them. After scrutinizing the group for a full minute Bannister’s attention focused on a single crewman. His finger struck like a javelin.

  “You!”

  The headhunter jumped as if the finger had impaled him.

  Bannister strode toward the crewman, a murderous blaze in his eyes. With the crowd packed tightly around him the crewman could not escape. He slid a long bladed knife from his boot. The surrounding crew frantically tried to distance themselves from their shipmate.

  Banister calmly stepped sideways as the knife thrust at his chest. Using the crewman’s momentum he snapped the crewman’s arm across his knee. The crewman shrieked as his elbow shattered. Bannister flung him to the deck and pressed his foot on his neck.

  “Look at me, fucker.” Finally he released some of his pent-up rage. When the crewman failed to respond Bannister stomped onto his shattered elbow. The headhunter’s shriek echoed around the engineering deck. Orson smiled.

  “Look at me,” Bannister repeated, through set teeth.

  The whimpering crewman complied. Bannister held the crewman’s gaze for half a minute.

  “I know you did this. You will tell me why you did this. I promise you.” He turned to Orson. “Lieutenant, take this piece of garbage to the brig then report to the bridge. Contact me when you arrive and we’ll try the EDF test again. I will run a hardware check from the EDF compartment.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Orson was none too gentle with the saboteur en-route to the brig. He hoped Bannister would let him participate in the interrogation.

  Arriving at the bridge Orson opened the channel to the EDF compartment. “Commander Bannister, I am at the EDF console. Ready to proceed.”

  “Very well. Everything here appears to be in order,” Bannister said. “I have reattached the conduit and it’s looking good. Commence the initiation sequence.”

  “Aye sir, commencing initiation sequence.”

  The flow regulators displayed the minimal amount of energy flowing into the transmitter.

  “We are green across the board, commander.”

  “Very well,” Bannister said. “Charge up the capacitors and see how we go.”

  “Aye sir, feeding mains power to capacitors.�
��

  The flow rates were nominal and the capacitors slowly filled with the power required to initiate the transmitter.

  “Commander, capacitors filling, flow rates nominal. Do you wish to conduct a comprehensive test of the system?”

  “Negative,” Bannister said. “I believe we’ve solved our problem. And we have unfinished business to attend to do we not, lieutenant?”

  Orson smiled at the prospect. “That we do, sir.” Through the speaker he heard a loud clang. “Everything all right, commander?”

  “Hold on.”

  Coldness settled onto Orson’s stomach. The seconds ticked by interminably.

  “We not only have a saboteur onboard but a clown. Someone's locked me in.”

  Orson shook his head. If this were my crew … bile stung his tongue at the thought of what he would do to these dogs.

  “Everything looks good here," Bannister said. "How about at your end?”

  “All green across the …” What was that? A flicker from the number two inlet gauge.

  “Lieutenant?”

  Then the universe went mad. Feedback from the capacitors flowed into the reactor. Alarms wailed throughout the ship.

  “Commander …”

  “I see it. And I see what's causing it. Damn.” Bannister’s voice grunted from the speaker as he grappled with the problem. “We need to eject the power build up from the capacitors. I tried doing it manually but it’s non-responsive. Damn.”

  Orson's gut twisted. If we fail to stop the feedback it will overload the reactor. The ship will disappear into a fiery ball. The only way to stop the reaction is to discharge the excess energy into the EDF compartment.

  “Captain Foss,” Orson yelled. “Get someone in engineering to unlock the door to the EDF compartment.”

  “Weiss, get the hatch open,” Foss barked.

  “Already tried, captain,” Weiss said. “The engineers mate reports the hatch has been jammed solid. He is about to cut through the lock and release Commander Bannister.”

  “Belay that order commander, there is no time.” Not the slightest timbre of regret or fear entered Bannister's voice.