The Hope Island Chronicles Boxed Set

by PJ Strebor

  “I truly believe I can be a great asset to Monitor Corps,” Whitney droned on. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I became the youngest FOO in the history of the Corps.”

  Whitney’s attitude did not sit well with Chappell. For the time being, she knew all she needed to know about one of her grommits. The other became more enigmatic by the minute.

  Chappell had seen academy graduates who had passed through FTS before. On only one occasion had she served with a Metier graduate. Academy types were self-assured to the point of arrogance. The much-vaunted Metier graduates — who, in fairness, were the best-trained potential boat jockeys in the Corps — made the regular academy types seem humble. Although they never acted in Whitney’s childish manner, they carried themselves with a self-assurance that ran along the razor between insanity and cold blooded pragmatism. They knew they were the best and didn’t need to prove it to anyone.

  She occasionally paused to wonder if her irritation might be based on her own far different background. After years of fighting her way into the Corps, time and again Chappell had been passed over for promotion because of the unfair prejudice granted to those who wore the academy ring. Through all of the injustice she had persevered, trained and studied to add to her list of qualifications. She spent her leave time doing additional courses to improve her chances. In effect, she had married the Corps.

  Her mind returned to the briefing room as Whitney finally paused to take a breath. Chappell jumped at the opportunity. “Ensign Telford, is there anything you would care to say?”

  His neutral expression took on a token of animation as he shrugged. “I’m glad to be here, Boss. I hope to learn a lot during the deployment.” A wry smile creased the left side of his face. “Perhaps I could get some flying tips from Whitney. He seems to know a lot ... according to him.”

  The other pilots chortled, and despite herself, Chappell smiled.

  “Ha! Ha! You are so funny, Telford,” Whitney said.

  Chappell had also examined Telford’s file and his actions spoke much more than his words. It told of an iron will wrapped in a soft coating of Thessaly chocolate. His conduct while serving on Truculent showed he had heart and smarts. However, in the aftermath, it also showed a pretty-boy show pony with a fondness for the news nets.

  The squadron passed through orbit and into open space. Chappell had six hours before Insolent arrived and brought them aboard. She intended to put the time to good use.

  “Outrider flight — FOO. Bird, take Outrider Four for evaluation. Dash, you’ve got Outrider Five. Any questions?”

  “When do I get a call sign, Commander?” Whitney said. “I am flight-certified.”

  “Telford, tell him when he’s going to get a call sign,” she said.

  “When you’re good and bloody ready to give him one, Boss.”

  Chappell grinned. She did not, however, allow the grin to seep into her voice. “Very well, ladies and gentlemen, do some good.”

  ***

  “So what do you think, Bird?” Chappell asked.

  Jay took a sip from his coffee mug, then leaned back in his chair. Six hours of intense evaluation had left the pilots fatigued. With the boat underway and blue watch half completed, the three of them had the wardroom to themselves.

  “If Whitney’s ego was any bigger, it would have its own orbital path.” The officers chuckled yet knew full well how quickly a bad attitude could get a pilot killed. “I don’t like to say it, Boss, but he’s not bad. He has a lot to learn, but his basic skills are sound.”

  Chappell nodded slowly. “Dash?”

  “Telford is exceptional,” she said. “I’m not just talking about him winning the Ellison trophy. He has a natural instinct for flying I wish I had during my first deployment. Telford could actually be the real deal. You know, what they used to call a natural stick and rudder pilot.”

  “That good?” Chappell found it hard to keep the surprise from her voice. Dash had never given a pilot such a wrap.

  “He needs seasoning, to be sure, but I think we’ve got a live one here.”

  “Hmm,” Chappell said noncommittally.

  “Better be good to him, Boss.” Dash smiled mischievously. “You’ll probably be working for him one day.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “How did he trap aboard?” Dash asked.

  “Right on the center line and picked up the third wire,” Chappell said. She should be pleased that one of her new pilots showed competence.

  “And wonder boy Whitney?” Bird asked.

  “Slightly off center and picked up the number two wire.”

  “Hmm, room for improvement, then,” Bird said.

  The pilots chatted for a few minutes about the coming mission. The hatch slipped open and Telford stepped over the coaming. He stopped halfway inside the room.

  “Is this a bad time, Boss?”

  Yes, quick, very quick.

  Dash sported a lazy smile. “We stopped talking about you ages ago.”

  “Great,” Telford said, making his way to the coffee urn.

  The boat’s cook made an appearance. “Hey, Mister Telford, can I get you anything?”

  “No thanks, Cookie. I’ll wait till main meal for you to poison me.”

  “Only the best of my poison for officers.” He winked, then turned away.

  The three pilots continued their conversation, but their attention wandered irresistibly to the simple act of coffee preparation and Nathan’s choice of condiments. Pilots took their coffee black, almost by virtue of an unwritten dictum. Telford placed four satchels of sugar and a large glob of cream into his mug. He turned from the bench, catching three curious expressions focused on his activity.

  His forehead creased for a moment, then he glanced at his mug and back at the pilots.

  “My foster-father owns a coffee plantation on Kastoria.” He shrugged and smiled sheepishly.

  A muttering of understanding ended their fascination with the subject. Anyone raised on a world that produced the finest coffee in the League of Allied Worlds would find the standard-issue Corps coffee in need of attention. Nathan joined them and sipped his coffee, wincing minutely.

  “How was your first day?” Chappell’s curiosity got the better of her.

  He smiled. “Lieutenant Valetta showed me—”

  “Hey.” She pointed at her chest. “Dash.”

  “My first day. Hmm.” A tight smile stretched his lips. “Fighter training is one thing, but service aboard an operational MEB is something else. In a few hours, Dash showed me some moves you can only learn from experience.” He sat back and sighed. “It’s a whole new adventure.”

  “Not your first adventure,” Jay offered.

  Nathan’s forehead creased.

  “I think Bird is talking about your time on Truculent,” Dash said.

  His jaw tightened. “That was anything but an adventure.”

  “According to the news nets,” Chappell said, “you acquitted yourself well.”

  A sardonic grunt. “If you believe the nets, I single-handedly stormed onto the Picaroon, massacred a couple of hundred of those dastardly headhunters, rescued every one of the captives, then moseyed home, while patting myself on the shoulder.”

  Everyone chuckled. Chappell needed more.

  “The nets tout you as the hero of the Genevieve Incident. You did a lot of interviews, at the time.”

  His eyebrows locked together. “I hated every one of them. But Commodore — pardon me — Admiral Waugh told me if I tried to avoid them, it would create a feeding frenzy. I didn’t want those leeches getting anywhere near my family, so I took her advice. There were more than thirty of us on Picaroon, not just me. That’s what I told them, but they reported a completely different story. Lying bastards.”

  Chappell smiled inwardly.

  “Not a fan of the media, then?” Bird asked.

  “I get more honesty and common sense from a Gary Larson cartoon.”


  “Who?”

  “Gary Larson.” Blank stares. “A twentieth-century, old Earth cartoonist. Come on, you guys haven’t read Larson?”

  Shaking heads.

  “I’ll pop some into the boat’s data base. They’re insightful and hilarious.”

  “I’ll check it out. Oh, by the way, how are you settling in with your roomie?” Dash teased.

  “It’s not so bad.” He smiled ruefully. “I can only hope he doesn’t talk in his sleep.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Date: 12th February, 322 ASC.

  Position: Monitor Insolent, anchored in space, twenty light years outside the border of Athenian space (Eastern Quadrant).

  Status: Silent running.

  Marine Special Forces Corporal Carmen Carpov stood perfectly still. Sweat ran beneath her padded fighting suit. As with her opponent, she gave no outward indication of her impending exhaustion.

  At its heart, Aikido was an exercise in the art of patience. The one who waited patiently for the small opening usually won the bout. Her opponent shared this view and over the last six days had proven to be far more patient than she.

  Carpov would never admit that Nathan Telford had become a better exponent of martial arts than she. He compensated for his relative lack of experience by applying the patience of Job, together with the speed of a Corinthian cheetah.

  Peripherally, she noticed Lieutenant Morrella standing next to the FOO. Both parties had keenly observed the bouts between Nathan and herself. Carpov suspected money had changed hands, based on the outcome of each bout.

  She carried, on her shoulders, the honor of all Spartans. Carpov moved in on Nathan slowly, circling the fighting area, seeking weakness in his defense. He emulated her every action.

  Finally her patience wilted and she attacked. He backed away before her onrushing attack, then stopped suddenly, pulled away to the side and caught her in the chest with a deathly fast side kick. It spun her off balance and he came at her. Toe to toe, they traded blows until she caught him in the abdomen and he backed off. She pounced on her opportunity, kicked high, hitting his padded helmet, then dropped low and swept his feet from under him with a vicious roundhouse kick. When he struck the deck, she came in to deliver the coup de grace. Faster than she could see, he struck out at her exposed calf, and while she reeled from the blow he swept her legs from under her. Nathan did this while lying flat on the deck.

  Carpov hit the deck with a bruising thud, gasping as the air was forced from her lungs. Rolling away quickly to avoid being struck again, she leapt to her feet, while taking shallow breaths. Nathan sat on the deck. His legs were crossed, his hands rested in his lap and a grin decorated his face. The infectious expression soon turned into a chuckle. Dragging himself to his feet, he offered his hand. They finished the bout with the traditional bow.

  “That was a damn good sweep, CC,” Nathan said.

  “Likewise, Ensign.”

  Off duty, he was Nathan; on duty, the proprieties had to be observed. Carpov, as with most Spartans, had little time for swabbie officers. They sat in their precious monitors and sent the marines out to do their dirty work.

  “Ready to go again?” Carpov offered.

  “I’d love to, CC, but I’ve got a TFI exercise in an hour. Maybe tomorrow?”

  “You know where to find me.”

  Nathan slapped her on the shoulder and left. They were same age and around the same height and build, but the similarities ended there. He was a pilot, and from all accounts a good one.

  He showed a determination to learn all he could about everything that happened on board a monitor, including matching it with the marines. Mighty odd behavior. Still, as far as swabbies went, he was all right. What a damn pity he was an officer — and married.

  CHAPTER 19

  Date: 12th February, 322 ASC.

  Position: Monitor Insolent, anchored in space, twenty light years from the border of Athenian space (Eastern Quadrant).

  Status: Silent running. TFI exercise.

  With all emissions tuned down, Insolent had become all but invisible to the rest of the universe.

  During this state of virtual stand down, the FOO further evaluated the grommits’ performance, running them through regular TFI exercises. Simulated dog-fighting. Whitney kept getting splashed, but appeared to be incapable of learning from his mistakes. Chappell suspected that behind the bravado dwelt a child, too scared to admit a mistake and too insecure to either ask questions or listen to advice. How the hell had he been deemed extraordinary enough to be assigned to an operational boat?

  Nathan Telford could not be more opposite. Unlike Whitney, Nathan asked questions, continuous questions, and learned from his mistakes.

  During the exercises he had not only held his own against Dash and Bird, but recorded kills against each of them. A grommit should not be capable of defeating seasoned pilots. On the other side of the slate, he had been killed three times and had forced one stalemate. He had gone up against Whitney twice. Each time, Nathan caught him napping and splashed him with ease. This did nothing to improve Whitney’s overall attitude.

  With each passing day Nathan continued to improve, but he appeared to be baffled by his newfound status.

  Chappell determined to keep a close eye on this one.

  CHAPTER 20

  Date: 13th February, 322 ASC.

  Position: Monitor Insolent, anchored in space. The boat bay.

  Status: Kendo instruction.

  Nathan’s experience on the headhunter ship, together with his status as captain of the academy Kendo team, had marked him for recognition. All fighter pilots had experience in the art of two-handed sword fighting, and each had matches against Nathan. Within a few days, it became apparent none of them possessed his speed or skill. Recognizing his aptitude, the D-O appointed him as Insolent’s senior Kendo instructor.

  Whitney considered his skill base as extending into the area of Kendo. Dash tried to instruct him, without success. Trying to tell a person something became an impossibility if they thought they knew everything in advance. Nathan’s patience with Whitney had run dangerously low. If the young fool wanted to get himself killed, that would be fine; however, his attitude could cost lives. Someone needed to readjust his attitude, and soon.

  Both novices and trained exponents alike initially worked out with the shinai, the traditional bamboo swords used for training purposes. Some of the officers disliked the idea of starting from scratch, but accepted that their skill levels had dropped so dramatically that a refresher course in the basics was warranted.

  Two CPOs and a young rating accepted the challenge of basic training. What they lacked in experience they made up for with determination and courage. Kendo was not about chopping someone up, but a strict discipline requiring focus, commitment and iron nerves. The rookies took their lumps along with everyone else. They were coming along nicely.

  Whitney took his placement into the basic class as a personal slight. His mood did not improve after Nathan’s shinai left him with black and blue marks over his body.

  Nathan left the novices to attend to another matter with the intermediate class, and instructed the rookies to practice only the katas he had given them. After finishing with his suggestions to Dash’s intermediate class, he became distracted by a separate bout taking place in the far corner of the boat bay.

  Commander Chappell and the captain were at it again. For a couple of oldies, they were damn good. Nathan could not understand how someone of Bradman’s age could move so fast. He looked back to check on the rookies. His skin prickled with sudden rage.

  Whitney had the young rating under his shinai and had beaten her to her knees. No subtle technique here, just out and out brutality. While the blows rained down on the rating, Nathan crossed the distance between them. His helmet still hung from his webbing.

  Whitney raised his shinai to deliver another blow to the helpless rating. Nathan intercepted the strike and pa
rried the bamboo pole away. He nudged Whitney away from the rating with a heavy poke to his chest.

  “That’s quite a technique you’ve got there, Ensign. Want to try it on me?”

  Whitney froze. Nathan sneered at him in a way he knew would glean a predictable response. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

  He stepped aside as Whitney’s shinai sped past his head. In the same movement he swung the bamboo staff past Whitney’s guard and found his kidneys. Even with padding it would hurt for a week. Whitney took another swipe at his unprotected head. Nathan parried it aside and went to work on his larger opponent. Nathan continued his attack until Whitney’s back pressed against the bulkhead. He had to exercise restraint to resist hurting him permanently. As his final lesson, he pulled Whitney from the wall and rapped the back of his legs, hard enough to drop him to the deck. He raised the hard bamboo shaft and Whitney threw his shinai aside and tapped the deck. Nathan forced himself to check the next strike.

  Whitney removed his helmet and glared at him.

  “What’s your problem, Telford? I was just giving the kid some instruction.”

  “Then you have exceeded your authority, Ensign. Only instructors instruct, and last time I checked you were three lifetimes away from gaining such skills.”

  “Well, if the kid can’t take a bit of rough treatment, she’s got no business being on a warship.”

  Nathan could barely believe the gall of the lad. He fought to contain his rage and spoke through set teeth.

  “I don’t know what put the stick up your butt, but I’ve had it with you. If you want to strut around this boat like a prima donna, that’s one thing. Brutalizing a kid half your size is another.” He glared at him with a loathing he normally reserved for Pruessens. “Effective immediately, you are off the Kendo squad. Return your equipment to the supply officer and don’t ever step foot on my parade ground again.”

  Nathan did not trust himself to say anything further, and left Whitney where he had fallen.