The Hope Island Chronicles Boxed Set

by PJ Strebor

  Leo stared at him for a long moment. “He is the MTO so I can’t overrule his decision. But I will have a word with him and see what I can do.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you didn't interfere.” Leo’s startled expression told Nathan to soften his harsh tone and force a smile he did not feel. “I thank you for your concern but I’ve had to deal with Tivendale's type before. I don't want you or anyone else getting caught in the cross fire. Please say nothing to him. All right?”

  Leo sighed. “Are you sure?”

  Nathan nodded.

  “Very well. Is there anything I can do for you, middy?”

  “As a matter of fact there is a small matter I would like you to run past Commander Demianski.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Nathan leaned against the bulkhead outside the wardroom hatch. In the twenty minutes since Tivendale had summoned him, several officers passed by, their expressions curious. When Commander Demianski stopped before him Nathan snapped to attention.

  “What are you doing here, mister?”

  “Waiting for the Midshipman Training Officer, sir.”

  “Can't you wait inside the wardroom?”

  “That would undoubtedly be the sensible thing to do, sir, but the MTO has ordered otherwise.” Nathan caught the barest twitch at the corner of the commander's eye before he entered the wardroom.

  Less than a minute later the middies spilled out of the wardroom. They pinned themselves against the wall next to Nathan. Moe rolled her eyes. Tivendale stepped through the hatch still licking his lips.

  “One of the best meals I have ever had,” Tivendale said. “Pity you missed it, Midshipman Telford.”

  You petty little rodent.

  “You have something …” Nathan pointed to Tivendale’s mouth. As the lieutenant checked for refuse clinging to his teeth, the middies drew on their years of self-control training to maintain neutral expressions.

  “Today, middies, I will show you how a monitor works. Pay close attention and do not touch anything. Follow me.”

  Tivendale stepped through the first pressure hatch headfirst. The clod stumbled over the coaming and barely retained his balance. Meta held her thumb and forefinger slightly apart. Nathan cleared his throat. After a few near falls Tivendale took the lift to deck three. They arrived at the entrance to the maneuvering department. Tivendale entered the security code, opened the hatch and stepped inside.

  “Maneuvering,” he said, with a derisive snort. “On a proper Service warship this would be called by its correct name. Engineering. Why would anyone call it maneuvering?"

  “It's a tradition dating back to the old Earth wet-navy days,” Ozzie said. “In those times a type of stealth ship had its engineering area called maneuvering because – ”

  “If I wanted a history lesson I would ask for it,” Tivendale snapped.

  Some of the crew shot the group inquisitive glances as Tivendale led them toward the reactor room. A short woman with hard-boned features blocked his path.

  “What can I do for you, lieutenant?” Her tone told Nathan she wanted nothing to do with him.

  “Nothing, thank you, Commander Chanderpaul,” Tivendale said. “I am showing the middies around the ship and thought I would start here.”

  “Think again,” the senior engineer snapped. “It is customary for the MTO to request a time to tour his middies rather than stumbling into my department unannounced. Your blatant disregard for professional courtesy aside, there is the larger issue. This boat is currently transiting through hyperspace. The last thing I need is a bunch of grommits cluttering up my department.” The commander softened her tone as she addressed the middies. “We egress to N space in two hours. Have your running mates contact me for an appropriate time to tour the department. But one at a time. Later, I will have time to give you a proper overview.” Her scowl reappeared when she turned on Tivendale. “For now, lieutenant, take yourself and your middies out of here.” She stalked off.

  Tivendale bounced on the balls of his feet before clearing his throat noisily. “Apparently we are not welcome here.” The middies maintained neutral expressions. “Does anyone have a preference for what we see next?”

  “I'd be pretty keen to see Damage Control, lieutenant,” Moe said, exaggerating her lazy Kastorian accent.

  “Yes, lieutenant,” Meta added pleasantly, “let us check out DC.”

  “I have always been fascinated by the workings of Damage Control,” Ozzie said.

  Tivendale's face darkened. Not surprisingly, they did not end up in Damage Control. They spent the next three hours in the supply department hand counting inventory.

  Back in the wardroom they sat and drank coffee.

  “I'd be pretty keen to see Damage Control, lieutenant,” Nathan mimicked, causing subdued chuckling from the middies. “You shouldn’t antagonize Tivendale like that,” he said, addressing them as one.

  “Look who's talking,” Moe said. “We could hear the blast he gave you through the bulkheads. What did you do to upset such a sweet fellow?”

  “I told him thanks very much but I'm seeing someone at the moment.”

  The middies roared with laughter.

  “Hey, Moe,” Nathan said, “you're the one who keeps telling me to lighten up.”

  “Yeah, life is so unfair,” Moe said.

  CHAPTER 28

  Sergeant Redpath was a marine not a nursemaid. He examined the last middy's v-suit and was pleased, though surprised, to find a fault.

  “Do you want to suck on vacuum, girlie?” he growled. “Tighten your O ring.”

  “It’s Miss Kaspowitz to you, sergeant,” Meta snapped.

  Redpath’s face hovered millimeters from the middies. “Tighten your O ring, Miss fucking Kaspowitz.” To her credit she did not flinch and dutifully tightened her O ring.

  Lt Jakovich stepped in and finished off. “On this boat middies do not rank this sergeant.” She set her grim stare on each of them. “Am I being clear, people?”

  “Aye-aye, ma’am.”

  “Very well. Let's take in the neighborhood.”

  Lt Jakovich led the middies into the starboard airlock with Redpath bringing up the rear. The sergeant made one last check to ensure suit integrity before nodding once to the officer. If one of these academy kids gets spaced it will seriously bugger up my day.

  “What is the number one rule for dealing with a serious suit breach?” Jakovich asked.

  “Don’t hold your breath,” the middies recited.

  Redpath had seen professionals panic during a suit breach. Those who followed protocols stood a chance of living through the experience. Those who panicked and held their breath died or survived with severely ruptured organs. In either event they never went into space again.

  Depressurization went smoothly, the hatch was cracked and the middies followed the LT as instructed. Although they had undergone v-suit training at the academy, Hayden’s pale face and labored movements caught Redpath’s attention.

  They walked ‘up’ the hull to the topside following the running lights to the midships position above the bridge before heading toward the bow. The group kept well clear of the shield blisters. When they reached the leading edge above the torpedo bays they fanned out. In the blackness of interstellar space reading their faces became difficult. Redpath kept close to Hayden. The forward shields flared occasionally as minor spatial debris impacted.

  “Lieutenant Jakovich, we are ten minutes from ingression.”

  Redpath recognized the voice as Cmdr Demianski. A good man.

  “Thanks for the heads-up, commander,” Jakovich replied.

  She’s a good man too. She should be. After all, he had taught her everything she knew. Well, almost everything. Still, Jakovich had saved his third stripe after the unfortunate, semi-violent incident at the Iguana Bar on Carina. With his ill-deserved reputation he would be lucky to be a lance corporal if she hadn’t run interference for him over the years. Yeah, she’ll
do.

  The six figures leaned forward as the boat slowed for ingression. Then Redpath heard the sound he had been dreading. The great pre-transit yack.

  Young Hayden doubled over as the nauseating sound of vomiting echoed through their earpieces. Redpath had once seen an entire squad of grommits set off by a single yacker. One of Hayden’s teammates broke ranks. The lieutenant beat Redpath to the punch.

  “Hold your position, Mister Telford.”

  Redpath edged toward the stricken middy. “Come on laddie, follow your training,” he said to the heaving middy. Redpath did not touch him or tell him how to clear his helmet. As a senior midshipman he should know the routine by heart. Within seconds the heaving subsided and the foul mess flushed into space. Hayden breathed normally and his visor was clean again. Such could not be said for his reputation. The other middies would terrorize him for embarrassing the team. In front of the marines no less.

  The marines would not be involved in this training if the middies had a half-competent Midshipman Training Officer. Telford had asked his running mate if they could undergo EVA orientation and his running mate asked the MTO. Tivendale said he did not care one way or the other as long as he did not have to participate. Mister Saunders referred the matter to the D-O who asked Lt Jakovich, who said yes. With Mister Saunders and the other running mates at duty stations the task fell to the marines.

  “Very well, lieutenant, time to bring your lambs home,” the D-O said.

  “Shall do, commander,” Jakovich replied. “Sergeant, take up the rear, thank you.”

  “Aye, LT.”

  Redpath closely examined Hayden as he passed. His face was pallid and drawn but the color was slowly returning. Telford fell back far enough to check on his friend. They touched helmets, to speak confidentially. Hayden's helmet nodded and they continued on their way back into the boat.

  CHAPTER 29

  Shortly before midnight Nathan entered the Environmental Control Center. Tivendale had posted an amendment to his running sheet. ECC substituted for the more stimulating environment of bridge orientation.

  The environmental control officer looked up from her console.

  “Welcome to my parlor of miracles,” Cmdr Barbara Grimmett said, spreading her arms wide to encompass her domain. She sat comfortably before a huge instrumentation console spread across the starboard wall from deck to overhead.

  “Thank you, ma’am. I'm pleased to be here.”

  “Rubbish.” Her good-natured smile set his mind at ease. “You young people want to be anywhere else on the boat except boring old ECC. But thanks for the polite bull.”

  Her accent definitely came from a colony world. A large, solid woman of late middle age, her robust physicality evoked images of a kindly aunt with a killer right cross. Her eyes checked his nametag. “So handsome, you're the one who's been upsetting our supply officer?”

  “I couldn't help myself, your honor.”

  Grimmett roared with laughter.

  “Come over here, sit on my lap and tell me all about it.”

  She adopted a grief-stricken expression when he declined her kind offer and took the only other chair in the room.

  Grimmett chuckled occasionally as he recounted his tale. “I assumed you were asking a rhetorical question,” she parroted. “I bet you're going into flight training after you graduate.”

  “Cor-rect.” He frowned. “How did you know that?”

  “Figures. Fighter pilots, all balls and bravado and little in the way of common sense. My third husband was a fighter jock. Magnificent bastard.”

  “What boat is he on now?”

  “Got killed, eight years ago. Headhunter wolf-pack on the frontier. But he nailed the bastard before they got him. A genuine hero.” Her eyes bore into him with an intensity that surprised him. “But the silly bugger didn't stop to consider the odds he was facing.”

  Her attention returned to her readouts. “You need to watch your step around Tivendale. The prick can be a nasty bit of business. His record is one of unbridled ambition punctuated by fits of sadism against anyone he perceives as a threat.”

  “So I've heard,” Nathan said.

  “And why am I telling you this?” Grimmett asked.

  Nathan suspected this too was a rhetorical question.

  “Bottom line son, he is a commissioned officer and you are a midshipman. So do not antagonize him further, no matter how much fun it is. I can get away with it, you can't.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Don't take on an opponent who outguns you. It could kill your career.”

  Nathan managed to nod.

  CHAPTER 30

  Date: 6th June, 320 ASC.

  Position: Monitor Truculent, en route to the frontier. Officers Wardroom.

  Status: Morning Mess.

  “Mornin’, Mister Telford.” Chief Belsky said. “And what gastronomic feast can I tempt you with today?”

  Nathan had repeated this ritual every day since coming aboard.

  “Gastronomic feast, Belsky? Rumor has it you can burn water. But no matter. I’ll have three eggs, sunny side up, three prime rashers of bacon, a beef sausage, toast and a jug of Kastorian coffee.”

  “Certainly, sir.” Belsky slid a bowl onto the counter. It contained neither eggs, bacon, toast nor anything else distinguishable as food. K ration packs were one of the biggest drawbacks for crews serving aboard monitors.

  “I think I’ll try something else,” Nathan said.

  A rumor had been circulating throughout the Corps for years. The story told of a monitor captain in a desperate fight against overwhelming odds. With the boat at condition Winchester, all torpedoes expended, the situation looked dire. In an act born of desperation, the skipper loaded all six forward tubes with Monitor Corps porridge and fired them at the enemy. The salvo, so the story went, created such a foul layer on the hulls of the enemy vessels that they broke off the engagement and fled back across the frontier.

  Nathan poked his spoon into a bowl of the legendary porridge staring as the spoon stood by itself. The attending officers chuckled at Nathan's perplexed expression.

  No matter how much milk he added, the ferro-crete-like compound refused to soften. Nathan spooned the pasty yellow porridge into his mouth and sighed with relief. It tasted nowhere near as bad as its reputation suggested. Just like Rhodesian snails.

  When one ate K-pack supplement thirteen – colloquially referred to as bog stew – five times a week, the temptation to assassinate the blameless cook grew in the minds of the crew.

  Leo and Allan sat across the table from Nathan. Moe took the seat next to him with her running mate, Ensign Iris Ahrens, beside her.

  “How was your watch?” Leo asked.

  “Illuminating,” Nathan said.

  “ECC was illuminating?” Moe said, wrinkling her nose.

  “It's all part of the great mosaic that is duty aboard a monitor. Besides, Commander Grimmett is a riot. She’s forgotten more about the ECC than I will ever learn. Grimmett has done everything on a boat worth doing, short of captain. I can learn so much from her.” Nathan prepared to spoon another portion of the gluey porridge into his mouth. “How about you?”

  “Great,” Moe said. “Commander Matrakas ran a simulated torpedo loading with an emergency jam in the number two tube. The weapon's crew is so good, fast, unfazed by anything. Real professionals.” She glanced at Leo, “I suppose the crew has been handpicked by the commodore?”

  “For the most part,” Leo said.

  “Leo and I came aboard at the same time,” Ensign Ahrens said. “I still feel like a bit of an outsider, but as Leo said it's to be expected.”

  As they contemplated the thought the hatch opened.

  “Good morning everyone.”

  Every head turned as a short, elegantly fit woman stepped into the wardroom. Her long, blonde hair was tied back in the regulation manner but tufts of unruly strands hung loosely to frame a pair of inscrutable, pale blue eyes. The officers re
sponded while the two middies sat in open-mouthed awe. Nathan recovered quickly, leaned across and tapped Moe's mouth shut.

  The commodore filled her mug and faced the crew. “Bucking for a medal, Mister Telford?”

  Nathan fought to maintain an unfazed expression. “Captain?”

  “Your first deployment and you're trying the porridge? Action above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “I live for danger, ma’am.” Beside him Moe wriggled nervously.

  Waugh’s strong Athenian inflection remained but had evolved into a type of trans-Republican accent. Years of working with predominantly colonial crews had to have some positive upshot.

  “That's the spirit,” Waugh said, holding Nathan’s eyes for a few seconds. She glanced around the wardroom. “Where are the other middies?”

  “They’re on yellow watch, ma’am,” Nathan answered.

  “Why?”

  “Respectfully, ma’am, you will have to ask the MTO.”

  “What a splendid idea.”

  Waugh held her hand to her right ear and keyed her L-M. “Supply - captain.” A short pause. “Mister Tivendale, I am in the wardroom and am missing two middies.” For nearly a minute the commodore sipped coffee and with a steady cadence tapped her foot onto the deck. “You are aware of the regulations concerning midshipmen aboard this boat so comply with them. I expect all middies to be back on the same watch by 1200 hours. Captain out.”

  During the exchange the commodore never raised her voice or adopted a threatening tone.

  “Mister Telford, you are currently assigned to ECC are you not?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I'm back on duty during blue watch.”

  “Watch out for Auntie Babs. She has a reputation for deflowering young middies.”

  Moe giggled like an adolescent.

  “I’m quick on my feet, captain.”

  He expended enormous effort to prevent his bottom lip from quivering.

  Waugh chuckled before turning her attention to Moe. “And how are you finding life on a monitor, Miss Okuma?”

  Nathan nudged Moe under the table when she failed to respond. “Ah, fine … just fine. Ah commodore, captain … ma’am.”