by PJ Strebor
“Care to make a wager on your estimates, Ensign?”
Nathan was temporarily struck mute by Bradman’s radical change of tone.
“As the captain pleases.”
“A week’s wages, perhaps?”
Nathan considered the wager. “With the small fortune paid to captains, and the meager pittance granted to lowly ensigns, it hardly seems fair. However, I would be willing to wager a week of my pay against flight time for the pilots, Sir.”
Bradman actually chuckled.
What’s gotten into the old man?
“Done. D-O, you’re my witness.”
“Aye, Sir.” Toni sounded as bemused as Nathan felt.
“Very well, people, same as before.”
Following their short hyper jump, the convoy came to a dead stop at the inner marker three minutes and fifty four seconds later. Bradman chose to make no further comments on the subject of the wager. Following the same uncompromising protocols, they egressed into N-space.
“Captain, egression attained. We have crossed into N-space. Maintaining dead slow ahead.”
“Maintain,” Bradman said. “Tactical, full active scan.”
Moments later Vasquez reported. “Captain, I read five heavy battleships, Hammond class, all pinging Royal Navy IFF signatures.”
“Very well. D-O, advise Kymu to egress.”
“Captain,” Vasquez said, “the picket has actively scanned us and gone to action stations.”
Bradman snorted. “Whoever is in charge is running drills on incoming shipping even if they’re authorized. Damn good idea.”
“Cimmerian harbormaster,” Toni said, “this is Athenian warship Insolent, escorting Nihonese vessel Kyushu Maru.”
Tied in to the command frequency, Nathan counted the lag time before the reply came through.
“Insolent, Cimmerian harbormaster.”
“Harbormaster, Insolent and escort request permission to enter the shipping lanes for approach to Cimmerian orbit. Please advise us of any conditions applicable to our entry.”
“You’re in luck, Insolent. No outward traffic at this time. You may proceed to the channel.”
“Thank you, harbormaster, proceeding. Insolent out.”
“Helm, recommended approach course.”
Having prepared in advance, Nathan displayed the third of his options onto his navigation screen. He made certain to take into account Kymu’s extreme momentum and Tunguska’s unique compression barrier. He suspected the skipper would already have run the numbers.
“Sir, recommend the Kymu proceeds at full ahead, maintaining for four hours. At that time she will reduce speed to one quarter for three hours, before cutting forward thrust to zero. Compression resistance will bring her to dead slow by the time we arrive at the Grand Channel. Helm will match speed while maintaining a separation of twenty clicks from the freighter. Sir.”
“Very well, helm. D-O, send same to Kymu.”
The back of Nathan’s neck warmed. Instead of the expected disagreement, the captain’s confirmation was as close to a compliment as he would get.
The journey toward the planet dragged, but this close to the primary, no vessel could hyper into Cimmerian near-orbit and survive the gravitational shear. He kept his attention on his readouts. Nathan did not expect the drones aboard Kymu to do anything but rigidly adhere to the escort boat’s instructions, but kept an eye on her anyway.
Thirty minutes from orbit, he could not help but be struck by the scale of the Massey Archipelago and the enormous planet it encompassed.
The Bretish picket sat well out from the stable asteroid field. Insolent had been within their weapons envelope for an hour.
“Captain, I have an incoming comm from the commander of the inner marker squadron.”
“Put it through,” Bradman said.
“Insolent, this is Captain Blake, Royal Navy battleship squadron 244. Welcome to Cimmeria.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“How was your trip, Steven?”
“Uneventful, thank you, Toby. I’m surprised to see you on inner picket duty. I thought you were slotted for the outer defense post.”
“Ah, yes, well, we’re under new management, so to speak. Commodore Dilley has been assigned to that post.”
“Whose brilliant idea was that?”
“Admiral Grace was appointed two months ago to oversee the finality of the King Charles project. He brought the commodore with him.”
“Grace? Some nitwit appointed Grace? My Lord, I thought you Brets had more common sense than that.”
“It is not my place to make such assumptions, Steven. Excuse me for a moment.” Following a short pause, Blake continued. “The task force commander would like a word with you.”
“Put her through.”
Nathan could hear the grin in his voice.
“Good morning, Captain Bradman.” The female voice was welcoming and devoid of arrogance.
“Good morning, Admiral Barrington.”
“So, Steven, I see you’re still maintaining your standard operating procedures?”
“You can never be too circumspect, Jemima. I see Toby is still running drills. Damn good way to maintain a taut picket.”
“Indeed so, Steven. I only wish I could convince Commodore Dilley to do the same.”
“Ah, Jemima, you’re the task force commander. Ever consider ordering him to do so?”
“Many things have changed since your last visit, Steven. Dilley reports directly to Grace. I’ve been cut out of the loop.”
“Just the sort of brilliant thinking I’d expect from some political pencil pusher like Grace.”
“I cannot comment on the actions of my commanding officer, as you know. But if you could read my mind, you would be shocked.”
Bradman laughed. “So Jem, what’s the task force commander doing on picket duty? You haven’t been ruffling feathers again, have you?”
“Why Steven, I have always been the soul of polite discretion. And as for my presence here? My backside was getting numb from sitting at a desk, so I thought I’d check in with my old squadron. Besides, I like to be here to welcome you Athenians. Especially you monitor types.”
“Flattering as always, Jem.”
“There’s a reason for my being nice to you.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I’ve finished my inspection and I need to head back to my flagship. Any chance of giving me a ride?”
Bradman chuckled from the back of his throat. “I’m sure we can manage something.”
“How generous of you, Steven.”
Nathan could hardly miss the wryness in her tone.
***
Bradman finished tying the black cravat in place and took a step back from the full-length mirror. His dress uniform still fitted well, for a man of his years. He scowled as he noted the grey at his temples, which appeared to grow with each deployment. The captain tugged at his waistcoat and stood to attention.
“Not too shabby for an old fart,” he told his reflection.
His comm beeped.
“Captain.”
“Captain, Landing Boat One has just come aboard,” Lieutenant Reiffel said.
“Very well, D-O, secure the boat bay and prepare to get underway.”
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
Bradman brushed at an imaginary speck on his collar. Instead of thinking about the pleasantness of his forthcoming meeting with Jemima, he had Telford intruding into his thoughts. The last time Esther Chappell had joined him for their weekly dinner, she could not stop talking about him. She was the best fighter operations officer he had ever worked with. She would occasionally compliment a pilot of “Dash” Valetta’s competence, but the praise heaped on Telford was uncharacteristic. Donny Waugh had had similar flattering comments to make, and Telford’s record from fighter training school spoke volumes as to his natural ability. Bradman’s better self wanted to trust the young pilot.
<
br /> Damn, get him out of your head, Bradman.
His comm beeped. “Captain, Admiral Barrington has arrived and would like a word with you.”
Antonia’s wry tone did not sit well with Bradman.
Well, Bradman, if you don’t want the attitude problem, then stop acting like a horny midshipman in front of your crew.
“Show her into the briefing room, D-O.”
“Aye, Captain.”
As he stepped from his quarters into the briefing room, the hatch snapped open. Bradman subdued a smile.
“Admiral Barrington, Sir.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. We’ve met.”
“Jemima,” he said, embracing her briefly, “always lovelier in the flesh.”
“So to speak, Steven?” she said with a coy inflection.
While they shared a laugh, Reiffel stood to attention to one side, her face carefully set in neutral.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said, by way of dismissal.
“Sir, Captain Kondo wants to know when we’ll be getting underway.”
“Tell Captain Kondo to … tell the good captain we will proceed when the escort commander is good and ready.”
“In those words, Captain?”
“You’re the boat’s D-O, last time I checked,” he growled. “Use your initiative.”
He caught the barest tish-tish from Jemima, and sighed.
“Do what you have to, Antonia. I’ll be out in minute.”
“Aye, Sir.”
When the hatch closed, he sniffed the scent of something new. “Have you done something with your hair?”
“Oh, Steven, you always try so hard, don’t you?”
The scent was unmistakable, and her hair did look different, but it was the same flaming red he loved to run his fingers through.
“Oh, great. I try to pay you a compliment and get patronized for my trouble. Thank you, so much.”
She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.
“You old troll, I was only teasing.”
“Hey, watch it with the old. You’re no spring chicken yourself.”
Ouch! That one will cost you.
Although middle aged, she maintained her firm body with the same vigorous calisthenic workout he did. A truly formidable woman who had never relied on her beauty.
“A complaint, Steven?” Just enough censure to make her point.
“You know I’ve always been a sucker for a beautiful woman in a uniform. And a superior officer to boot. Yum.”
Her full-lipped smile told him he had dodged the pulsar bolt, this time. Reluctantly he disengaged from the embrace.
“So what’s happening with Admiral Grace?”
“Nice way to spoil a good mood.”
Bradman maintained his hard-set expression.
“He was appointed two months ago. I retain the position of task force commander, but he is in overall command. Apparently someone back home thought his appointment was politically appropriate.”
“Another great piece of bureaucracy.”
“Can’t be helped.”
“Well, enough of this, I’ve got a boat to run. Would you care to join me on the bridge?”
“What a splendid invitation.” She smiled lasciviously, stepped closer. “And later?”
“Absolutely. But for now, behave yourself.”
Jem pursed her lips, then gave his face a dainty slap.
They stepped onto the bridge, once again in the guise of professional naval officers.
“D-O, report.”
“Standing by to get underway, Sir. Captain Kondo is unhappy with the delay.”
“Well, I certainly don’t want to upset a sweet fellow like Kondo. Helm, both ahead one-quarter. Take us in.”
“Aye, aye, Sir, answering both ahead at one-quarter,” Telford responded.
Jem leaned in to his ear. “Your helm’s a little young, isn’t he?”
“Ensign Telford has recently been awarded the Ellison trophy. If you’re nervous, go and ride his wing.”
She nodded, then strolled forward until she stood by Telford’s right shoulder. Bradman caught Telford’s nose twitching.
Ha. So she has done something with her hair.
***
Nathan heard the soft footfalls and sniffed the sweet scent.
“Good morning, Ensign.”
From a peripheral glance, he saw gold stripes on her lower left sleeve.
“Good morning, Admiral.”
“So, Ensign, is this your first deployment to Cimmeria?”
“Or anywhere else, Ma’am.”
“I see.”
Nathan checked the stern scans. Kymu followed in their wake. Ahead, the first of four huge vessels entered the channel. Over the command frequency he heard Toni’s next transmission.
“Cimmerian harbormaster, this is Athenian warship Insolent. Awaiting clearance.
“Insolent, this is the Cimmerian harbormaster.” A frustrated sigh came over his audio implant. “I’m afraid we’re running a little behind schedule today. Please take up position two hundred kilometers astern of the Francorum convoy. We will get you through a-sap.”
“Harbormaster from Insolent. Transmission received and understood. Taking up position two hundred clicks astern.”
Nathan started to carry out the order, then paused. Would Bradman want him to…
“Helm, did you hear the last transmission?” Bradman asked.
“Aye, Sir.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
The captain’s order, you old…
“Aye-aye, Captain.”
Nathan maneuvered the boat into line as the second Franc ship entered the Grand Channel. He could not imagine how ships had breached the Massey Archipelago before the construction of the channel. A clear area of space one kilometer square and two deep, it was the only safe passage into Cimmerian orbit. The texts he had studied considered the channel to be the most remarkable engineering feat in the history of Tunguska. The simultaneous destruction of asteroids together with the placement of massive force field emitters ensured no stray debris wandered into the channel.
“Captain, the boat answers dead stop, two hundred clicks astern of tail-end-Charlie.”
“Very well. Maintain.”
“Aye, Sir.”
After checking on Kymu, he leaned back and rotated his head until the kink in his neck popped.
Care to give a harassed helm officer a neck rub, honey?
“Tail-end-Charlie?” The admiral’s cool voice nearly made him jump. “What a quaint old Bretish saying.”
He cleared his throat and glanced at her. For an older woman, she was damn attractive. Despite her beauty, the flint in her pale blue eyes spoke of an officer he would not care to cross.
“I read a lot, Ma’am.”
“I see.” Her sly smile suggested more went on behind those startling eyes. “So, what do you think of the eighth wonder of the modern era?” Her head inclined to his readouts.
“It’s quite an achievement, Ma’am.” He checked his readings, noting the third ship in the Franc convoy had entered the channel.
“Yes, it certainly is.” Her eyes narrowed. “Ensign, your name is Telford?”
“Aye, Ma’am?”
Crap, here it comes.
“Why does that name sound familiar to me?”
“I wouldn’t know, Ma’am.”
“Hmm.”
The final ship in the Franc convoy entered the channel.
“Excuse me, Admiral.” He focused on his readouts.
“Certainly, Ensign,” she said, and walked off as his comm beeped.
“Insolent from Cimmerian harbormaster.”
“Insolent,” Toni responded.
“You are cleared to proceed into the Grand Channel. Lock on to the guidance beacon and do not deviate from it.” The harbormaster’s bored monotone must be the result of having g
iven the instructions a thousand times before. “Do not exceed dead slow speed. After you exit the channel, the guidance beam will disengage. You must immediately alter course hard to port and take up station in the holding pattern. Acknowledge.”
“Insolent acknowledges.”
While Toni informed the Kymu, Nathan locked his navigation controls on to the beacon, then pushed the throttles forward one notch. He double-checked the lock-on which would guide the boat to the exact center of the channel. Even the slightest impact with one of the powerful force field emitters could damage or possibly destroy the boat.
“Captain,” he said, “course locked on to the beacon. The boat is answering to both ahead dead slow.”
“Very well.”
The denseness of the archipelago blocked most of the light from the distant sun, turning his visual readings into a murky wash. Through the gloom, the mammoth form of the King Charles Battle Platform obscured part of the planet beyond. From this distance, the KC resembled a great rectangular column resting on its side.
Now that is sizable.
Exact intel on the battle platform remained classified, but if even the wildest rumors proved to be accurate, the KC could destroy an armada. Two kilometers long, one wide and four-tenths deep, it was the largest military platform within League space. She sat twenty thousand kilometers ahead, halfway between Cimmerian orbit and the Grand Channel.
The guidance beam disengaged, and Nathan hauled the boat over to port with the Kymu following. Well to either side of the KC, high Cimmerian orbit was awash with a multitude of huge orbital complexes. Large industrial landing boats created a continuous flow of traffic between the facilities and the surface. Here and there a waiting freighter docked to take on cargo. A hectic and potentially dangerous environment. In the distance was the high orbital holding area for commercial and military shipping.
His readings showed that the KC tracked Insolent’s every movement with dozens of pulsar turrets. Ignoring the lethal slab, he set course for the anchorage.
CHAPTER 33
Date: 19th March 322 ASC.
Position: Insolent, in holding pattern, high Cimmerian orbit Bretish Commonwealth space.
Status: Alert stand down.
