by PJ Strebor
“God help us,” Nathan said, “Blass is cooking again.” He turned and examined the crew. “Well, nobody’s keeled over yet so I might get lucky. What manner of poison are you serving today?”
“Stew, my mum’s secret recipe.”
Nathan curled a lip.
“It’s that or the sauerkraut.”
“I’ll take my life in my hands and try your mum’s stew.”
The steaming bowl landed on the bench. It was brimming with red meat, potatoes and an assortment of vegetables. The aroma made Nathan’s mouth water. He took an exploratory sip and tried not to smile.
“Blass, I’ve eaten food on both sides of the frontier and I’ve got to say that is the most nauseatingly foul mess I’ve ever tasted.”
A nervous smile briefly tugged at Blass’ face. Some traditions remained the same in any navy.
He approached Commander Bessell. He too had opted for the stew. “Mind if I join you?”
Bessell looked up from his meal and shrugged. “It’s your boat, so you can sit wherever you want.”
Baby steps. Nathan took a bench seat opposite him and began eating his meal. It was one of the finest navy meals he had ever eaten and he finished it quickly. At no point during the meal did either man speak to the other. Nathan stepped to the cleaning area and placed his bowl and utensils into the cleaning cabinet.
“Not like that,” Bessell said. “They’ll clean better if you angle them, like this.”
“Thanks,” Nathan said. A very small step, but a step nonetheless. “You’re off-duty, aren’t you, Commander?”
“As much as I can be on this undermanned boat.”
“I’m in the mood for a drink,” Nathan said. “How about you?”
“Consorting with the enemy?” No smile from the Commander but a lighter inflection than usual.
“Why not? We could all be dead tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
Okay? He recognized the expression from any number of old vids. It hadn’t caught on within League worlds.
E 692’s former Captain had a particularly well stocked bar in a corner of his quarters. Nathan selected a bottle of top-end whisky and two glasses then joined the commander in the adjacent briefing room.
“No ice?” Bessell grumbled.
“The icemaker’s broken down,” Nathan said. “According to the COB there’s no one aboard who can fix it.”
“I’ll take a look at it when I can spare a minute. A man can’t drink good Caledonian whiskey without ice. It’s uncivilized.”
They both drank, in silence. Nathan had been sensing concern from the chief engineer which came across stronger than that of the rest of the crew.
“You’ve got something on your mind, Commander, so why not spit it out.”
Bessell emptied his glass and stared Nathan in the eye.
“We can’t run this boat with a crew of twenty,” Bessell said. “You got lucky with Traunstein but that target wasn’t a warship. We need more bodies.”
“Yeah,” Nathan said. “I’m open to any suggestions you might have.”
“There’s a Pruessen Naval prison on Atrius,” Bessell said. “If we make a course correction now, we can be there in four days.”
Nathan looked it up on his computer then stared at his Chief Engineer.
“A plague planet?”
“Yeah.”
“Want another drink?”
Bessell shrugged. “Why the hell not?”
CHAPTER 56
Date: 24th October, 326 ASC.
Position: E 692, approaching planet Atrius. Northern Quarantine Zone.
Nathan had gleaned all the data he could find on the planet Atrius and its prison. A barren rock, once favored for the mining of precious metals, but now an abandoned wasteland and the last refuge for one hundred and fifty-seven of the worst scum in the Pruessen navy.
Nathan brought the boat into geosynchronous orbit above the underground complex.
Commander Bessell sat in the Captain’s chair with Ensign Winkler beside him at the XO’s station. Nathan adjusted his external comm.
“Winkler, hail them as we practiced,” Nathan said. “Then it’s up to you, Commander.”
Bessell nodded.
“Naval prison eight-niner,” Winkler said, “this is Pruessen naval warship, E 692. Respond to my signal.”
A long pause. “This is prison eight-niner. What can we do for you?”
“I am Captain Bessell, master of this boat. We have been in action with a PLF warship and have sustained damage. We request permission to dock at your facility to make repairs.”
“Hold one, E 692.”
Several minutes passed. “Captain Bessell, I am Captain Clement, administrator of this facility.” Another pause. “Are you aware that this planet is infected with the Derwent Plague?”
“Yes, Captain, I am aware of that,” Bessell said. “But your facility is the closest friendly port. Our vessel urgently requires time to make repairs. I don’t think we’ll make it to another planet, not with a damaged nav-comm.”
More pausing. “Very well, Captain, you have permission to dock. I am sending exact coordinates now. Be advised that we adhere to an ultra-strict policy regarding quarantine procedures. Once you have effected repairs your crew will be quarantined aboard your boat for the prescribed forty-five days. Understood?”
“Understood. I assume you will decontaminate my boat after we land?”
“Affirmative.”
“I appreciate your cooperation. I’ll thank you in person, shortly. E 692, out.”
Bessell looked at Nathan. “How’d I do?”
Nathan smiled and applauded, then turned his attention to the helm.
As the boat passed into atmosphere Nathan reached out with his senses. His back wasn’t aching as it would be if he were flying into danger. Presently, the entrance to the complex came into view. His scans showed a weapons lock on, but no screaming came from his Prep.
“Bessell, ask them why they’ve locked us up.” Still no danger from the base.
“What?” Bessell yelled. “Why don’t you take evasive measures?”
“Why don’t you do what I asked?”
Bessell grumbled but carried out his order.
“Prison, this is E692. Why have you locked your weapons onto my boat?”
“Don’t worry, Captain,” Captain Clement replied. “It’s SOP until we get confirmation that you are who you say you are. We have that now and am standing down.”
“Very well,” Bessell said and keyed his comm off. “Vogel, how did you know we were safe?”
“I’m a little busy at the moment, Commander.”
Nathan brought the boat down to ground level, slowed his approach to hover the boat. The hangar doors slowly opened. The hangar area had been designed to accommodate an industrial-sized landing boat rather than an E boat. Nathan edged the boat inside with barely an arm’s length between the hull and the hangar’s walls. He gently dropped her onto her skids and began shutting down systems.
“E692, do not open any external hatches until decontamination is complete,” the prison officer said.
Winkler acknowledged.
Nathan checked his sensors. The hangar had been transformed into a huge vacuum chamber. The ultimate in decontamination for visiting vessels. They took regulations seriously and kept the area under vacuum for three minutes before restoring standard atmosphere. From an airlock, two personnel emerged wearing V suits and carrying scanners. They began examining the boat from bow to stern.
These people are positively anal.
Once the inspection was completed, they were hailed.
“E692, you are cleared. Welcome to prison eight-niner.”
“Shall we go meet our hosts?” Nathan asked.
“Captain,” Bessell said. “You’d better call me Captain.”
Nathan nodded and turned to Winkler. “While we’re away you are in charge. No one leaves the
boat. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve cleared one hatch, as ordered, and the COB is posted there.”
“Good,” Nathan said. “Carry on.”
On the way to the midships lift he said, “He’ll be a good young officer one day.”
“He’s got a lot to learn,” Bessell said.
Exiting the lift on deck three they made their way to the port midships hatch. Good as his word, CPO Kellerman stood guard.
Nathan nodded to the COB, stepped aside from the hatch and ushered Bessell through. “After you, Captain.”
They took the ramp down to the hangar deck. To aid their deception, Nathan had changed into a fresh uniform with Lieutenant’s bars attached. A hatch opened and an officer approached them.
“Captain Bessell?”
“Commander, when I’m off my boat.”
“Of course, sir. Would you come with me?”
Bessell nodded, and together the three of them took a meandering path through the facility, finally stopping at a door marked Administrator.
Nathan’s back flared. Before the officer could touch the admit button Nathan hit him hard across his jaw.
“What the fuck?” Bessell snapped.
“They’re onto us. We’ve got to get some weapons.”
Nathan jogged down the corridor, his senses seeking out danger.
“How did you -”
“Not now, Bessell.”
He rounded a corner to be greeted by two guards. Nathan smiled and waved.
He grinned at Bessell. “You take the one on the left.”
Bessell smiled back and nodded as the distance closed.
“Excuse me gentlemen,” Nathan said, as they slowed, “could you tell me where the armory is?”
“Sir?”
He turned to look at the other guard. Nathan hit him hard under the jaw. The Commander did the same to his target. They staggered to the deck but did not pass out. Relieving one guard of his sidearm Nathan stunned them both. He and Bessell strapped on the sidearms. Nathan pushed down on the weapon releasing the locking device so that the pistol hung loosely in its holster. Bessell heard the click and did the same.
“What now?”
“I’m playing this by ear.”
In truth Nathan had no clear idea what to do next. The armory perhaps?
They continued along the corridor passing many hatchways, none of which said armory. Then an alarm blared.
Shit.
As they moved forward Nathan could sense the danger all around them, converging on their position. Being a prison it would no doubt have high-level surveillance.
Nathan reached out, trying to find an escape route. He found only danger, getting closer. Not wishing to fight on all sides he selected the least dangerous path and began running toward it. Grinding to a halt at a corridor intersection, he waited. Muffled voices coming closer. He gestured to Bessell to hand him his sidearm. The Commander frowned but complied. With a pistol in each hand he waited until the squad was almost on top of him.
Stepping into the corridor Nathan fired both weapons. The astonished guards weren’t prepared for such a reckless attack and all five dropped to the deck. He had exhausted his power pack and slapped a fresh magazine into his pistol. Striding to the fallen guards he took their extra magazines and an additional pistol. Bessel and he strapped them on and proceeded forward, which appeared to be relatively safe. Nathan could sense the other groups of guards who continued to close in on them, rapidly.
They jogged on but guards continued to close with them. By a wild turn of circumstance they found themselves back at the administrator’s office. Danger behind the door but not as much as before. Three men clumped together on the other side of the hatch. Nathan hit the admit button and as the door opened he fired. Two guards went down, their weapons half-raised. The element of surprise had worked again. He and Bessell stepped inside.
“Captain Clement?” Nathan asked.
A curt nod. Nathan holstered his sidearms and held out his hand.
“Your sidearm, Captain.”
Clement stood, unbuckled his weapon and dropped it onto the desk.
“Keep an eye on him, Commander.”
“Right.”
Nathan examined the only hatch leading into the room. He couldn’t find a locking mechanism.
“Captain, lock the hatch.”
Another grim nod from the Captain. Clement activated a panel on his desk.
Nathan’s back flared. He reached for his pistol.
The stun field covered the entire room except for the administrator’s desk area. Blinding pain tore through Nathan’s body for three seconds. When the field dropped, his legs buckled and merciful unconsciousness ended his agony.
CHAPTER 57
Date: 24th October, 326 ASC.
Position: E 692, planet Atrius. Northern Quarantine Zone.
Ensign Winkler said. “He’s an hour overdue for his check in. Does he strike you as the sort of man who would do that, COB?”
Chief Petty Officer Kellerman didn’t care for the Athenian, but had to admit that he’d kept them alive for longer than he expected.
“No,” Kellerman replied.
“So, what’s going on? What do we do?”
“You’re in charge, Ensign.”
“COB, you have twice my experience. I’m asking for your help.”
Kellerman leaned back in the Captain’s chair and briefly considered the situation.
“It’s possible that they’re onto us, in which case we’re fucked. Hmm, if we had weapons I’d say let’s go get him, but we don’t. One thing’s for certain. We’ll never get out of here without our pilot.”
“Then what do we do?” Winkler asked.
“How many naval personnel on the base?”
“Eighty-two. Fifty-six of them are guards, the rest admin and services staff.”“Hmm, fifty-six against eighteen. Not good odds.”
“Eighteen? Don’t you mean nineteen?” Winkler said.
“Someone has to hold down the fort and you’re it.”
“I want to help.”
“Have you ever killed a man?” Kellerman asked.
Winkler shook his head.
“Well, most of the crew have. Especially Hoppe. And he’s the biggest brawler in E boat command.”
“Very well, COB, what’ve you got in mind?”
An hour later Kellerman and Hoppe left the boat and made their way to the nearest airlock. They’d stopped off at Kellerman’s quarters to pick up weapons they weren’t supposed to have.
Kellerman hit the admit button and the hatch slid open. Two guards sprang to attention and leveled their rifles at the two of them. The COB held up his hands and laughed.
“Hey guys, take it easy. We’re all in the same navy, right?”
He followed the guard’s eyes as they tracked to where their sidearms would normally rest. They relaxed, lowering the rifles. Internally, Kellerman shook his head.
“You can’t come onto the base,” the larger of the two guards said. “Captain’s orders.”
“We can’t even use your mess?” Kellerman asked. “Our cook’s a shocker.” He took a casual step toward them.
“Sorry Chief, I’d like to help you out but the Captain would skin me alive.”
Kellerman was almost close enough. His shoulders slumped feigning defeat and he turned to Hoppe.
“See, I told you they wouldn’t let us in.” Hoppe shrugged. “You’re a fuck-head, Hoppe.”
As agreed Hoppe hit him and he fell back into the two guards. As he fell he drew his knife from the sheath jammed into the small of his back and stabbed it into the guard’s throat. Hoppe hit the other with enough force to brain him. He followed up with a brutal kick to the throat, ending any further threat. He grinned like a crazy man.
“So,” Hoppe said, “Only fifty-four to go.”
They relieved the guards of their weapons. Kellerman called the boat.
<
br /> “All good to send the others over, Lieutenant.”
“They’re on their way.”
CHAPTER 58
Date: 24th October, 326 ASC.
Position: Pruessen Naval prison eight-niner. Planet Atrius. Northern Quarantine Zone.
Consciousness returned slowly, and with each new breath Nathan discovered another part of his body that screamed in pain. He’d been stunned before but this was at another level of mind-numbing agony. The anguish seared into his muscles and even his bones. Breathing deeply, he recited the mantra.
“It’s nothing, it don’t mean a thing.” Slowly, so slowly, he started to move until, with a final hissing breath, he sat upright with his back against the wall. He lay on a narrow and none too comfortable bunk, within a small cell. A table stood in the far corner, coffee water and condiments strewn across it.
Commander Bessell lay comatose on the other cot.
Lucky him.
He took in the surroundings and as he expected a monitor blinked from above the only entrance.
The pain continued to run throughout his body like a million slivers of razor-sharp ice.
It’s nothing, it don’t mean a thing.
Flexing his muscles he tried to generate some blood flow. It slowly started to work. So, what to do? Call the boat for help? They’ve taken our external comms. And what can nineteen unarmed sailors do against a place designed to keep people in. Escape?
A locked hatch barred any escape attempts. He assumed it was locked, but wasn’t capable of walking the short distance to check it.
Bessell groaned. Nathan fell to his knees and somehow made it to the Commander’s bunk. “Bessell, breathe through it. Try flexing your muscles. Get some blood flow.”
The Commander groaned with the effort.
Nathan slumped to the deck.
***
Kellerman led his team of eight deeper into the prison. So far they’d relieved six more guards of their weapons and their lives. Only forty-eight to go. Being outnumbered by odds of nearly three to one, Kellerman decided that no quarter could be given to any guard in the prison. He couldn’t afford to leave his flanks exposed so had no real choice.
