The word “squaddie” was obviously meant as an insult. The pilots knew that troopers were proud of being navy sailors; matelots to the core. The noise of several chairs being pushed back echoed across the suddenly silent bar. A wide circle of empty space abruptly appeared around the four men. If someone had been playing a musical instrument, it would have chosen this moment to stutter to a stop.
Bird’s smile disappeared and was replaced by a stern grimace. ‘What it is to me buddy, is that the owner of this bar is a personal friend of mine and he’d rather not have it smashed up by a pair of visiting truck drivers. So why don’t you just sit down, relax and have a quiet drink before someone gets hurt?’
The scarred man swung at Bird. Bird ducked instinctively. Trenchard tried to move but took the full force of the punch to his eye and went skidding across the floor. Instantly, Bird brought his heavy boot up into the scarred man’s groin and he fell like a rotten oak in a storm. The man with the missing tooth grabbed Bird by the throat and began to throttle him with his arm locked around Bird’s neck. Trenchard shook off the punch as he felt his eye begin to close up. He scrabbled to his feet and punched the toothless man in his ribs.
The punch had little effect. The man with the scar was already recovering from being kicked in the happy sacks and was already half way to his feet. Bird was starting to turn blue in the face. Trenchard looked around. Everyone else was keeping well out of it. Brawling in a bar was frowned upon. Anyone caught by the M.P.s would find themselves on “nines” for two weeks. He had to end this quickly before someone called the police.
Trenchard stooped and picked up a chair. He swung the chair in a high arc and brought it down heavily onto the back of the man who was choking Bird. The big man crumpled into a heap on the floor, knocked out cold, leaving Bird clutching at his bruised throat and gasping for air. Then Trenchard turned, seething, towards the man with the scar and brandished the broken chair leg which he was holding high in the air.
‘Just try it, you filthy piece of shit!’ he spat angrily, baring his teeth and glaring through his one good eye.
The scarred man paused, about to leap from his position on the floor. He looked at the broken and splintered wooden chair leg. Nearby troopers were finally beginning to close ranks behind Trenchard and Bird to back them up. He seemed to think better of taking any more action and relaxed his shoulders, loosening his fists and holding his palms outwards in a pacifying gesture. Trenchard relaxed ever so slightly and looked across at Bird, who was still red in the face.
‘You okay?’
Bird nodded and assumed his position, shoulder to shoulder with Trenchard. The scarred man staggered to his feet and began to help his dazed colleague off the floor. Trenchard raised himself to full height, puffed out his chest and mustered what he could of his failing voice.
‘Now piss off back to where you came from and don’t come back!’ he shouted to rapturous cheers from the sailors around him.
Like Moses parting the sea, the crowd of onlookers made a corridor for the exiting cargo pilots who left to much jeering and shouting. Bird and Trenchard staggered back to their stools at the bar to be met with a huge grin by Mike who was already pouring them another shot of rum.
‘You boys are pretty handy in a fight.’ Mike said cheerily. ‘Consider the drinks tonight “on the house”.’ Then Mike leaned in closer and winked. ‘…and you can keep the glasses too. You’ve earned it. You’re both stalwarts,’ he said with a nod of his head before making his way out into the room to retrieve the broken pieces of chair and mop up the blood and spittle.
Bird looked at his friend. ‘You took quite a knock to that eye,’ he said. Then he stared at Trenchard’s neck with concern. ‘Hey, did you know that your neck’s bleeding?’
Trenchard shrugged. ‘It does that sometimes. Don’t worry about it. I’ll recover.’
Bird clasped a meaty hand onto Trenchard’s shoulder. ‘You’re a good mate Joe. You’re always there when I need you and you’re a damned good trooper! I just want you to know that I’ll always have your back.’
‘Thanks mate,’ replied Trenchard, wincing at the throbbing pain in his eye and holding the cold shot glass to his eyelid. ‘Same goes for me. Just try and keep us out of bar fights, would you? I get enough fighting when I’m on the job.’
Bird laughed. ‘I’ll drink to that,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘Here’s to fighting hard… and drinking harder!’
Trenchard raised his glass. ‘Here’s to good mates,’ he croaked, before downing the first of what would be many more glasses of rum that night.
CHAPTER 7 “THE ONIBABA”
As the Might of Fortitude coasted gently between the asteroids, inside one of the vast metal fins, Pugh had mustered the fifty troopers of the Might’s platoon into an inspection parade. They were standing on the metal deck beside one of the two ship-to-surface drop-ships that sat there patiently, like a brooding sperm whale waiting to dive out of the airlock hatch below. The troopers were lined up in two perfectly neat rows. Each trooper was immaculately turned out, not in fancy parade dress but combat armour, ready for battle. Black helmet and armour were worn over black combat fatigues and a cross-chest harness carrying ammo and grenades. Each trooper had their protective visor pushed up so that their faces could clearly be seen and each was carrying a shining Vicar rifle.
On away missions, Trenchard and Pugh would each command one squad of twenty-five troopers, but Trenchard had absolute command of the whole platoon. He was master of all he surveyed and he rather liked that fact. He’d spent years being bawled at by irate Commanders like Skelat. Now it was his turn to break in another new platoon.
As Trenchard approached with his hands clasped firmly behind his back, Pugh shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Platoon, ATTENTION!’
The fifty troopers snapped into a stiff attention, their pristine assault rifles clasped tightly to their sides.
Trenchard came to a halt beside Pugh and eyeballed the troops. His first impression was vital. ‘At ease!’ he growled, ‘…and take the helmets off. I want to see your faces.’
The trooper’s stance widened with their rifles relaxed to the floor and out to the side. Helmets were quickly removed and held under one arm. Well, at least they were well drilled, Trenchard thought, mildly impressed by their moves. Now let’s see what they’re made of. Without speaking, he walked over to the front row and began his inspection. Trenchard ran his eyes critically over each sweating trooper as he passed. He couldn’t help but notice that every single one of them was very young, much like the rest of the crew.
‘Pull that webbing tight!’ he ordered gruffly as he passed a young woman.
She immediately clasped a strap on her front and pulled the fastener that held her spare ammo and grenades.
Trenchard moved along the line, stopped by a lanky young man and stared straight into his eyes. ‘What the fuck is that?’
The trooper did well to retain his composure and kept his eyes fixed steadfastly forwards. ‘What the fuck is what, Sir?’ he shouted back.
Oh, a comedian, Trenchard thought. Time to have some fun. He leaned closer in. ‘The badge sonny,’ he snarled.
The lanky trooper had a small pin badge of a cute kitten attached to his webbing. He risked a glance down and then pulled his eyes back to the front again, a bead of sweat running down his forehead.
‘That’s fluffy, Sir! She’s my lucky mascot Sir! My girlfriend gave it to me just before I left for the academy.’
There was a wave of chuckling from the rest of the platoon. It stopped quickly with a glare from Trenchard. Trenchard growled deep in his throat as his eyes narrowed. ‘Are you fresh out of the academy son?’
‘Yes Sir, three weeks, Sir!’
‘No personal adornments are allowed on uniforms sonny, you know that. Pocket it now!’
Then the young trooper made his big mistake. He looked Trenchard straight in the eyes and spoke back. ‘But… Captain Bird says…’
Trenchard ste
amed. His eyes narrowed even further.
‘I don’t give a rat’s knackers what the Captain said son, this is MY fucking platoon! Pocket it now or I’ll have your balls for breakfast!’
Some of Trenchard’s spittle hit the trooper’s face and he cringed. The badge was removed quickly by the blushing young man. Trenchard took a step back and addressed the whole platoon.
‘You can forget whatever you were used to. I’m in charge now and in this platoon, my word is fucking law!’ he bawled. ‘What is my word?’
‘Sir. Fucking law, Sir!’ shouted the platoon in unison.
‘I’m sorry, but I seem to be suffering from a build-up of ear wax!’ Trenchard shouted, cupping his hand to his ear. ‘What is my word?’
‘SIR. FUCKING LAW SIR!’ bellowed every man and woman in the platoon at the top of their voices.
Trenchard smiled a self-satisfied smile and took a step back. ‘From now on, this trooper is to be referred to as “Mrs Fluffy Kitten”.’ Trenchard relished each syllable, like a wine connoisseur savouring an oak aged Chardonnay. ‘Anyone who does not, will be on nines for two weeks. Got it?’
‘AYE, AYE SIR!’ shouted the platoon.
The trooper’s face dropped and his cheeks flushed bright red. “Nines” was navy punishment; extra duties and leave cancelled. It could also include a fine. Nobody would be foolish enough to argue with that. Trenchard stepped close to the lanky trooper once again and pressed his nose close to his red face.
‘Any problem with that son?’
‘No Sir!’
‘Good. Because if you want sympathy, you’ll find it between shit and syphilis in the bloody dictionary!’
Trenchard stepped back and folded his arms behind his back. ‘Has anyone in this platoon been out of the academy for more than three weeks?’ he shouted.
There was a moment’s pause and then one solitary trooper stepped forwards, a suspiciously young woman with a closely shaven scalp. Her face immediately reddened like a beetroot. Trenchard walked over to her, subconsciously scratching at the scar on his neck. He was becoming irritated. There didn’t seem to be a single experienced hand in the entire platoon.
‘What’s your name trooper?’ he asked.
‘Lieutenant Ellen Stofan, Sir!’ the woman shouted back in a strong Scottish accent.
‘I didn’t ask for your first name love. This is not a fucking date!’
‘Sorry Sir.’
‘How long have you been on active duty?’
‘Almost two years Sir.’
Finally, thought Trenchard, someone with a little experience.
‘Where were you stationed?’
‘United Worlds H.Q. on Earth, Sir. Star-spires perimeter guard.’
‘For two years?’
‘Aye Sir.’
‘Have you ever been in action Stofan? Ever been in combat?’
‘No Sir, just guard duty.’
‘Guard duty? At the safest and most heavily guarded place in the whole of the United Worlds?’
‘Aye Sir.’
Stofan’s voice began to quaver.
‘Ever fired your weapon in anger Stofan?’
‘No Sir.’
Trenchard sighed. ‘Step back in line,’ he growled disappointedly.
The woman hadn’t done anything wrong but Trenchard had a sour taste in his mouth. There was nobody with any real experience in the whole platoon. He felt like he had been stitched up. Either things were so bad that there were not enough experienced troopers to go around anymore, or somebody deliberately wanted an ineffective fighting unit aboard this boat. Either way, the realisation made him nervous. His gaze wandered along the line. At the back, trying unsuccessfully to remain unnoticed, was a huge man that Trenchard was certain he had seen somewhere before. He looked older than any of the other troopers and his grizzled face had a multitude of battle scars. He must be a veteran. Surely he had some experience?
‘You there, tall fellow at the back,’ called Trenchard. ‘Step forwards.’
The tall man hesitated and then reluctantly stepped past his comrades and stood before Trenchard. He was nearly seven foot tall and broad with it. He had forearms the size of beer kegs and massive hands like dinner plates. As Trenchard studied the trooper’s hands, he could just make out tattoos on the knuckles of each hand that read “Drink” and “Feck”. Suddenly it all fell into place and Trenchard knew where he had seen the man before. His heart sank.
‘Patrick McGagh!’ Trenchard exclaimed. ‘I never thought that I’d lay eyes on your ugly face again. It’s been a long time since Mars. What are you doing in my platoon?’
The word, “you” was spat out by Trenchard with extreme bile. McGagh turned slightly and looked Trenchard directly in the face. He’d been bawled at by the best and Trenchard’s act didn’t impress him. He had a weathered face that looked like it had seen battle many times before. McGagh was clearly not afraid of a fight. He snarled as he spoke in a thick Northern-Irish accent that rattled like a bullet in a tin can.
‘Transferred here Sir, two days ago.’ McGagh’s voice also had an unmistakable undertone of hatred. Clearly there was no love lost between the two men.
Trenchard studied the big man and his gaze fell upon his rank insignia. ‘You’re still only ranked Leading Spaceman? Mars was four years ago for Christ’s sake McGagh. How have you managed to avoid promotion in all that time?’
McGagh’s face remained impassive. ‘Don’t know Sir. Must just have the knack for it, Sir.’
Trenchard leaned in closer and his eyes became suspicious slits. ‘Where were you transferred from McGagh?’ he asked.
McGagh paused and frowned. ‘Naval prison on Unity Island, Sir…’
Shit, Trenchard thought. Someone’s dumped this loose cannon onto me. The naval prison was where the worst repeat offenders were discarded. It was where the navy abandoned its problems.
‘What were you in there for, or shouldn’t I know?’ he asked carefully.
‘Drinkin’ and fightin’ Sir,’ said McGagh. ‘Put two officers into hospital Sir, on account of what they said about my mother.’
‘I’m guessing it wasn’t a first offence?’
‘No Sir. Not by a long chalk.’
‘So how did you end up here in my platoon?’
‘I was offered this posting or twenty lashes in Union Square.’ McGagh looked Trenchard squarely in the eye. ‘I had no choice… Sir!’
Trenchard screwed up his face in thought. ‘Who offered you this posting?’
‘Admiral Fife Sir,’ McGagh snapped.
Trenchard stepped back. Clearly this was a last chance posting for McGagh. If a trooper got lashes then the next step was being dishonourably discharged from the navy. But why had Fife offered McGagh the chance to serve aboard the Might of Fortitude? He must have had his reasons. Trenchard decided to shelve that thought for later.
‘You always were a vicious bastard McGagh,’ Trenchard observed.
‘Yes Sir,’ McGagh replied politely, although his eyes were burning with internal hatred.
Trenchard leaned closer. ‘You enjoy fighting a little too much.’ he whispered. ‘I won’t put up with any of your shit aboard this boat, trooper,’ Trenchard threatened. ‘You try anything like you did on Mars and I’ll have your nuts for cuff-links. Understood?’
McGagh eyeballed Trenchard for a long moment before replying through gritted teeth, ‘Understood, Sir.’
‘You’re going to wish that you took those lashes McGagh. Step back in line trooper.’
As McGagh stepped back into line Trenchard resumed his place next to Pugh and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘This is the worst bunch of fucking munters that I’ve ever seen. Why are there no experienced officers in the platoon?’
‘This is the best we could get Sir,’ Pugh whispered back, an edge of panic in his voice. ‘They can’t train recruits quickly enough. We were lucky not to get raw cadets.’ Then Pugh paused while he formed a pertinent question in his mind. ‘McGagh was a last
-minute addition though. What did McGagh do on Mars, Sir?’
Trenchard sucked air through his teeth. ‘Nothing good. I’ll tell you later. Better get this lot moving…’ Trenchard rolled his eyes. ‘Right then,’ he exclaimed as he turned to address the troops again.
‘Okay you lot. The first thing we’re going to do with you useless sons of bitches is get some E.V.A. suit training in. You’re going to need it if we’re in combat against pirates. I want every one of you suited up in thirty minutes and ready for inspection. Then we…’
…and then the whole ship was rocked by a massive explosion. Everyone was thrown off their feet as the deck shook violently. The explosion was so hard that the ship stopped spinning momentarily and for a brief second the artificial gravity failed. Anything that was not bolted down began to rise into the air and then as the gravity was restored, came crashing back down again. Red emergency lights flashed on and an alarm klaxon sounded.
Trenchard picked himself up off the floor and helped the stunned Pugh to his feet. ‘What the hell was that?’ he shouted above the alarm.
He got his answer from the shipboard Guardian computer a moment later.
‘RED ALERT. ALL PERSONNEL TO GENERAL QUARTERS. COMMANDER TRENCHARD TO THE CONTROL ROOM IMMEDIATELY!’
Pugh and Trenchard exchanged worried glances.
‘Get them into action stations,’ Trenchard shouted at Pugh, ‘and then meet me in the control room.’
‘Aye Sir!’ Pugh shouted as Trenchard ran at full pelt towards the control room.
Pugh turned and bawled at the squad, ‘Okay you lot, grab your rifles and load up. I want you standing ready with your rifles loaded in one minute. MOVE!’
The troopers began bustling about. Most of them looked unsure of themselves. Only McGagh readied his rifle in double quick time and then started to help others who were struggling with theirs. When he was sure that he was not being observed, Pugh moved over towards a metal locker on the far wall. Carefully, he opened the locker and reached inside. On a shelf inside the locker was a small metal canister with a valve on the top. Pugh quickly turned the valve on top of the canister until it was fully open and a sharp hissing sound began to emanate from the valve. With a quick glance around him, Pugh surreptitiously shut the metal locker again and followed Trenchard out of the hangar bay, carefully closing and locking the hatch behind him.
The Space Navy Series Books One & Two: Including the Kindle novellas Josiah Trenchard and the Might of Fortitude & Josiah Trenchard and the Morgenstern Page 7
