The Hope Island Chronicles Boxed Set

by PJ Strebor

  “Action stations. Comm, signal to fleet: full defensive posture. No offensive weapons.”

  “What now?” Tom whispered to her. “We can’t fight that thing.”

  “So we will make a tactical withdrawal.”

  “You mean run.”

  “As fast as we can.” Barrington rubbed her chin. “Comm, send to all civilian vessels: withdraw to far side of the planet. Do so with the greatest urgency. This is not a drill.”

  “Christ almighty,” the T-O said. “The KC is rolling over.”

  “Captain, Commodore Roussel wishes a moment.”

  “Put it through to the Admiral.”

  “Barrington.”

  “My tactical officer tells me—”

  “Yes, Commodore, the KC has gone rogue.”

  “My God.” He paused. “Admiral, the stands ready to assist.”

  “Good. I need you to cover the civvies. Get them to safety on the far side of the planet. We’ll do all we can to stop any ordnance getting through, but it’s almost certain that some will get past us.”

  “ will stand between them and the civilian ships.”

  “Thank you, Commodore. Barrington out.”

  “She’s completed rollover. All of her weapons are active.”

  “Comm, put me through to Captain Cowdry,” Fowler snapped.

  “She’s painted us,” the T-O shouted.

  “Grimshaw, get a grip on yourself.”

  “Sorry, Sir.”

  “I’ve been trying, Captain,” the comm said. “The KC is not responding.”

  Barrington checked her plot. Her fleet of five squadrons consisted of five battleships, five battle cruisers, five heavy cruisers and ten destroyers. They were all in their assigned slots, but she doubted if it would be enough. In order to keep her weapons package at maximum, her fleet had to stay bow-on to the attack. Unable to employ her main engines, she had to rely on her maneuvering thrusters. Even if she burned them out, it would take precious time to clear the KC’s attack envelope. She tried not to think about how many of her ships, how many of her people, would fall to the coming onslaught.

  “KC has fired a full salvo.” Grimshaw’s mouth silently counted. “Four thousand torpedoes inbound. A mixed bag of high-yield nukes, pulsar heads and decoys. Impact in fifty seconds … mark.”

  “Weapons officer, confirm launch package.”

  “Captain, all tubes loaded with high-yield nukes. Proximity triggers on all warheads. Ready to fire at your command.”

  “Fire,” Fowler ordered.

  “Helm,” Barrington said, “time to clear the KC’s torpedo envelope?”

  “Sixteen minutes at current speed, Admiral.”

  Now we’re for it.

  CHAPTER 51

  Date: 23rd March 322 ASC.

  Position: Athenian embassy, Cimmeria.

  Status: Uneasy.

  The eastern sky lightened as dawn approached. From the embassy’s balcony, Nathan stared into the still-darkened sky to the west. Multiple explosions lit up the darkness, akin to a macabre fireworks display. With every colorful flash, people died. How much more of this can the Brets take? Did Barrington heed my warning?

  “Those poor bastards must be taking a dreadful pasting,” Ritchie said.

  “Hmm.”

  Nathan could no longer bear witness to the dreadful spectacle. He slumped onto the lounge and touched the side of the coffee urn. Still hot. Nathan rested his coffee mug on the table, rubbed at his bump while trying to work the problem.

  Who were the attackers? What were their motives? Would additional enemy ships arrive? What battle tactics could counter the KC monster turned loose?

  Nathan addressed them in order.

  Who? Only Pruessen would be so bold.

  Motives? Hmm, a tough one. Even if they captured the planet, they could not hope to hold it for long. A massive commerce raiding party? Intel indicated that Pruessen’s reserves of trephine crystals were running low. A simple smash and grab exercise? Perhaps the Talgarno warships were captured. All the better to disguise Pruessen’s involvement in this attack.

  Additional enemy ships? Possibly. Although with the KC in their hands, would they need backup? Escorts, perhaps, for captured bulk carriers?

  Tactics against the King Charles? Nathan drew a blank. Except for a notion that resembled more crazed fantasy than sound tactics. Perhaps today is the right day to throw the tactical book out the window.

  Walking to his quarters, he lay on his bed and began his deep breathing exercise. In a meditative state, he ran the facts, possible strategies, arguments and counter-arguments over and over again though his mind. At the end, only one conclusion made the slightest sense. It’s crazy. Nathan thought back over his studies of ancient history and how the most hopeless dilemmas were often resolved by people considered, at the time, to be insane.

  An hour later, he stepped into the embassy’s comm room.

  Lizzy Griegs leaned back in her chair and smiled. “Two visits in the one day, Nathan. Could my luck be changing?” She noted his stern expression. “You’re going to get me fired, Nathan. I know all this is hush, hush, heavy security, but—”

  “The King Charles Battle Platform is in enemy hands. They have fired on Admiral Barrington’s picket. I believe this to be a prelude to a full-scale invasion of Cimmeria.”

  Lizzy’s jaw sagged open. She pulled herself together with remarkable aplomb. “What do you need?”

  ***

  “You know this is crazy, right?” Lucky said.

  “I never said it wasn’t.” Nathan continued to tear his footlocker apart. Finally he found the harness. Strapping it on, he retrieved his knives and slid them into the scabbards attached to the webbing. His bow stood to one side. He had just managed to squeeze his V-suit and helmet into a backpack.

  “It’s a good thing Insolent sent down our gear before she left,” Carpov said.

  Nathan offered a token “Hmm” as he strapped his sidearm onto his left hip.

  He stood for some time, contemplating his operation. This is nuts, will probably get us all killed, and may make no difference in the end. Yet it was not in Nathan’s nature to sit and do nothing. Doing something, regardless of its relative sanity, would always be preferable. So many strands of his hastily conceived strategy could unravel.

  Everyone assembled in the foyer, fidgeting with last-minute adjustments to their equipment.

  “May I have your attention, please,” Nathan said. “I want to state, again, that you are all taking a dreadful chance by joining me. Think about it. You could be court martialed for what you’re about to do.”

  “And you,” Doc Ning added.

  “I’d just like to say that I think this whole plan is seriously loopy,” Lucky said. “But if you think it has a chance of making a difference, then I’m with you.”

  “And I,” CC said.

  “And I,” added Ritchie.

  “Might as well count me in,” Doc Ning said. “Let’s hope my medical expertise won’t be needed.”

  Nathan nodded, resisting the urge to gulp down his embarrassment. “Well then, we’d better get moving.” Around a wry smile he added, “We have promises to keep and miles to go before we get into more deep shit than we could imagine.”

  The group stopped at the embassy’s foyer.

  “We move fast, into the ground car and out to the spaceport. No stopping for anything. Got it?”

  “Aye-aye, Sir.”

  Nathan swung the heavy front door open. Captain Haynes blocked the exit, his sidearm in hand. A dressing covered most of his forehead, and his right ear was heavily bandaged.

  “Back up, outlanders,” he shouted.

  “Do as he says.”

  Haynes glanced over his shoulder as he closed the door. The guard captain holstered his sidearm. “I need to speak with you, Telford.” He ran his eyes over the other Athenians. “Alone.”

  Lucky cupped his hand a
round his right ear. “What’s that, Captain?”

  Haynes darkened. Nathan shook his head, nodded to Haynes and together they walked to an adjoining room.

  “I have been ordered, by King Everett in person, to place you under arrest.”

  “Any charges, or is he making this up as he goes?”

  “Indefinite detention, pending a hearing. A long, long hearing. It’s as good as a death sentence for an outlander.”

  “I will resist any attempt to take me from this embassy, Captain.”

  He snorted. “Yes, I thought you’d say that. However, I am bound by my oath to my sovereign to obey his commands. There is no way around my duty. As a man of duty, you understand my position?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. Then, under the authority granted to me by his most Royal Majesty King Everett the First, I place you under arrest. I order you to accompany me to the palace.”

  Wanna bet.

  “Unless,” Haynes added with a wily smile, “you overpower me and escape.”

  Nathan was caught speechless for a moment. “Why are you doing this, Captain?”

  “Telford, you bested me twice in battle, and on each occasion you spared my life. You know why I’m doing this. It’s the honorable thing to do. Wouldn’t you say?”

  Nathan smiled at his former enemy. “Did you bring backup?”

  “No, but there are crowds outside. I had to make it look real. You understand?”

  Nathan nodded.

  Haynes braced himself. “So, overpower me. You could use a heavy bar to knock me out. Or perhaps a—”

  Nathan shot Haynes in the chest. As he fell, Nathan grabbed him by his jacket and eased him to the stone floor.

  He stepped back into the foyer. “This is a jail break, so act accordingly.”

  “Huh?” Lucky said.

  “Everyone follow me. And act as if you’re in danger.”

  “Act?” Ritchie asked.

  “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 52

  Date: 23rd March 322 ASC.

  Position: Royal Navy fleet, in high Cimmerian orbit.

  Status: Action stations.

  On the bridge of HMS Tudor Rose, a thin veil of smoke lingered in the air. Captain Thomas Fowler glanced up as Barrington stifled a sneeze.

  “We’ve cleared the King Charles’ torpedo envelope, Captain,” the helm officer reported. “We are now hidden on the far side of the planet.”

  “Very well, helm,” Fowler said, “maintain position.”

  As the helm officer acknowledged, he joined the admiral, who had her console tied into the damage control and tactical analysis readouts.

  “It could have been worse,” he said.

  “Six ships, Tom, six of my command lost. Nine thousand lives extinguished because I couldn’t anticipate the danger.”

  “No one could anticipate the impossible,” he whispered. “At least the civvies were spared the assault.”

  “But all of those lives were my responsibility, Tom.”

  “Stop it, Jemima,” Tom snapped. “Despite your concerns, you were repeatedly told that nothing could breach the KC’s security. Well, someone managed that little trick, so you have nothing to reproach yourself for. This disaster is on Grace, not you.”

  She nodded, her face cast in misery. “On the plus side, things would have been far worse if young Telford hadn’t given us a warning.”

  “Yes, I’d be interested to know how he did that.”

  “Me too.”

  “Oh, speaking of Telford, we received another message from him. Would you care to hear it?”

  Barrington nodded. “I wonder what that young firebrand has up his sleeve this time.”

  CHAPTER 53

  Inexperience is what makes a young man do what an older man says is impossible. Herbert V. Prochnow (b. 1897) US writer. Saturday Evening Post (1948).

  Date: 23rd March 322 ASC.

  Position: Kingsford Spaceport, Cimmeria.

  Status: Armed and abandoned.

  Nathan stared into the empty, ramshackle hangar, his mind turning to mush. Yesterday it had housed a serviceable fighter; today, nothing. What now, genius?

  Ning sidled up beside him, speaking in a whisper. “It was a decent plan, Nathan, but what do we do now?”

  Nathan had no answer. Then he heard a vehicle approaching.

  “Take up defensive positions,” Nathan ordered.

  The five Athenians pinned themselves against the wall adjacent to the main entrance. Nathan heard slammed doors and at least one raised voice.

  Four Cimmerians entered the hangar, two of them familiar to Nathan. He stole a peek outside. Only an empty ground car greeted him.

  “And another thing, Harper,” Eleanor Worrell said, turning to face him. Her next words choked in her throat at the sight of five outlanders with guns pointed at her.

  “Holster your weapons,” Nathan said. “Good morning, Eleanor.”

  “Good morning, Nathan?”

  Taking in the abandoned hangar, he asked the obvious question.

  “What’s going on?”

  Eleanor’s face soured. “The King decided that, under present circumstances, he would not allow his project to be endangered by substandard security. So, he took the second prototype of my Kamora.” She stifled the first curse, but not the second. “Fucker.”

  Nathan rubbed at the bump above his right eye.

  “Where is it now?”

  “Deep within the royal compound. Why?”

  “I need to borrow it.”

  “You want to borrow…” She shook her head. “Nathan, my friend, if I had control over my creation, I would be happy to let you go for a joy ride. But I don’t, and you’d need an army to get past the security to get to it.”

  “Hmm, an army, you say?”

  Everyone stared at him.

  ***

  The journey by ground car to their landing boat was made without incident. On hearing Nathan’s crazy plan, Eleanor Worrell joined his group. They boarded the small craft and strapped in. Nathan dropped his backpack, jacket and weapons webbing onto the deck.

  While Ritchie went to the flight deck, Nathan pulled the AG sleeve from a locker and pulled it over his legs, securing it firmly around his shoulders, waist and chest. He dropped into the left seat and started running a hasty preflight check.

  “Remember,” Eleanor said, “this close to the royal exclusion zone, if you get above thirty meters—”

  “The Cimmerian military will detect us on sensors and shoot us down,” Nathan finished. “Got it, El. Now buckle in, please.”

  She huffed and took her seat.

  “Ready?” he asked Ritchie.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Nathan engaged thrust engines, turning the LB on a course inland. The journey to the refugee camp took only minutes, unlike their last long, bone-jarring trip. During the short flight, Nathan never exceeded an altitude of ten meters. As soon as her skids hit the ground, he turned and addressed the cabin.

  “Everyone out,” Nathan yelled. “You too, Ritchie.” The CPO opened her mouth to protest. “No arguments, Ritchie, I’m not in the mood.”

  “Mister Telford, I was only going to say—”

  “I know what you were going to say, and the answer is no. I can fly this jalopy by myself. Now, out.”

  Ritchie left the LB, closing the hatch behind her.

  Nathan took off, covered the distance back to the spaceport, then began a gradual climb. As he passed through five hundred meters, he slid the boat in a rough heading toward the camp.

  “Now, if they’re on their guard,” Nathan mused, “it should take them a minute to spot me, another minute to get authorization to fire and possibly as much as thirty seconds to lock on to me. Say two minutes? Yeah, close enough.”

  Nathan began a steady count down. At the two-minute mark, he turned the craft ballistic. Hopefully those on the ground would assume he was
trying to escape into orbit. With subtle adjustments, he nudged the craft closer to the refugee camp. “If they think we’re dead, they’ll stop looking for us.” He checked the elapsed time. “Two minutes, thirty seconds. Come on people get your act togeth—”

  His proximity alarm screamed, as did the pain in his back. Two ground-to-air missiles inbound. Pitching the LB over, he feigned evasive maneuvers, taking him closer to the camp. “Okay, that’s quite close enough.” The missiles had acquired lock-on and were no more than twenty seconds from destroying his craft. Nathan engaged the autopilot and ran to the back of the LB. Through the open hatch, he saw twin vapor trails approaching from astern, far closer than he expected. “Shit.” Nathan leapt from the LB, falling toward the earth on his back. He counted to eight before the first missile struck his craft, then the second.

  Still falling, he rolled onto his stomach and used his pitching arms and body to move closer to the camp. His eyes watered, but he could see the massive escarpment running from the camp all the way to the Royal Palace.

  The ground sped toward him at a blinding pace. Not wanting to be spotted on sensors, he waited, the surface rushing closer and closer, waited, waited, then hit the anti-grav’s activator. The bone-jarring deceleration dug the sleeve into his flesh and muscles, making him grunt. From twenty meters up he saw the refugee camp, less than two clicks away. An adjustment to the harness controls brought him gently back to “earth”.

  He set a steady pace that soon brought him inside the cavern with his friends. Yes, they are my friends. Only friends would follow me on this fool’s errand.

  “You cut that a bit fine, didn’t you?” Lucky said.

  “Hmmm,” Nathan replied.

  “Just can’t keep away from me, can you, Sylvester?” Doctor Doucet said as she stepped onto the loading dock.

  “Nothing new there, Corinne.”

  Nathan set his gaze upon the Franc doctor as he strode up the ramp. He drew close to her, speaking in a hushed tone. “Doctor, we need to have a seriously frank conversation.”

  Her eyebrows arched in apprehension.

  ***

  Nathan navigated through the never-ending tunnels, the old lamp borrowed from Doucet lighting his way. Deeper into the vast mountain range, the growing interference played havoc with devices using any form of energy output. He had been making good time, but the sweat on his brow and his labored breathing called for a break. His companions were ready to drop.