Warrant Officer Cochran - Weapons Fire Control
Cochran at least he knew a little about. She was very young and very keen. Her bright red hair had earned her the nickname “Scarlet” among the male members of the crew, with whom she had quite a fan club. There was nothing wrong with her but she was a little green and lacked experience. Like most of the crew, she was fairly fresh out of officers training at the academy. He still had to see how she would react under any real pressure.
Lieutenant Commander Sivia - Chief Engineer
Here was someone that Trenchard did know reasonably well. Sivia, the Might’s only serving Sikh, had aided Trenchard when the pirates attempted to steal the Might of Fortitude. He had managed to send a distress message which had saved them all. Trenchard owed his life to this man. His actions had earned him a promotion at the recommendation of Trenchard.
Chief Petty Officer Schmidt - Navigation
Lieutenant Commander Pugh - Warfare Officer
Trenchard’s eyes hovered over the last two names and he scowled. What to do with these two, he thought? They had both sided with Captain Bird in the mutiny that had nearly lost the boat to the pirates. They were obviously deeply misguided but Admiral Fife had insisted that neither were to be officially reprimanded. He had left their punishment and rehabilitation down to Trenchard. The crew had been particularly hard on these two and he knew that Pugh was at breaking point. If the haranguing from the crew wasn’t enough, then today’s refusal of Pugh’s squad to obey orders had been the final straw. Trenchard sipped at the coffee, wishing that it was rum. He still had no real idea how to proceed. He took a cigarette from a crumpled packet in his inside pocket and chewed on the end reflectively. He wouldn’t be able to light it aboard the boat, smoking was only allowed in designated areas on larger vessels, but it helped him to think. He sat for a while, pondering as he flicked the lid on his matt black Zippo lighter open and closed rhythmically.
(Position Vacant)- Executive Officer
Trenchard took another gulp of the particularly bad, plastic cup full of coffee that was burning his finger tips and he grimaced. Even three sugars had done nothing to sweeten the bad aftertaste. The cup almost tasted better than the coffee it held. Trenchard had himself been Captain Bird’s X.O. and Admiral Fife had promised a replacement officer over three days ago. So far, he had heard nothing. They were bound to be sent out on a mission soon. The navy couldn’t afford to leave ships lying idle, especially not in the present political climate. Who would Fife choose? Would they be any good? Could Trenchard rely upon them? Too many questions; it was out of his control for the time being. He snapped the Zippo shut and set it down on the table top, then he stared at it for a while hoping for inspiration. Trenchard’s deep introspection was disturbed a moment later by a tentative knock on the wardroom hatch.
‘Come,’ he called, without making any effort to rise.
The space in the wardroom was limited at best and Trenchard was wedged in at the top of the long oak table that served for meals and officer’s meetings. The hatch opened and Chief Petty Officer Kittinger stepped in, saluted and then stood to attention. He was the boat’s primary radar and scanner watch-stander. He stood for a moment just outside the hatch looking slightly awkward.
Trenchard smiled, ‘Sit down man, there’s no need for ceremony.’
Kittinger broke a quick smile and shuffled along the bench seat towards Trenchard.
‘You’re the first,’ Trenchard observed. ‘Good. I value punctuality.’
Kittinger nodded curtly. ‘Thank-you Sir. The others are on their way.’
Trenchard nodded and studied Kittinger. He was an American by birth, if such things mattered any more. Medium build, medium height, brown hair. Nothing about him seemed to be extraordinary.
‘Kittinger… any relation to Colonel Joe Kittinger?’ asked Trenchard as he chewed on his unlit cigarette.
Kittinger’s eyes suddenly brightened. ‘Yes Sir, he’s an ancestor of mine on my father’s side.’
Trenchard smiled warmly. He’d found something to connect with the man.
‘Damn brave man that…’ he said with a grin. ‘…the first man to leave the atmosphere of the Earth and enter outer space. And he did it in a balloon of all things. Then to top it off he returned to Earth by jumping off with a parachute!’
‘Yes Sir. Fell to Earth at nearly supersonic speed and he did all that with a ripped glove in his pressure suit; nearly lost his hand,’ grinned Kittinger. ‘All of our family knows the story Sir. I’m surprised that you do. It was such a long time ago.’
‘I studied everything about the space race when I was a child. I had posters all over my bedroom walls of the Apollo missions, the first lunar base and the crash of the Westerhope.’ Trenchard paused for a moment as he remembered his childhood. Then his face cleared. ‘Balls of steel that man,’ Trenchard praised eagerly. ‘I trust you’ve inherited the family jewels?’
Kittinger chuckled. ‘I do my best Sir.’
‘That’s all I can ask of anyone,’ Trenchard replied.
There was a moment of genuine warmth between the two officers. Trenchard had only known the crew for a little under a week. He was still finding his feet with them all. This was a good start.
Just then, the hatch swung open again and the rest of the officers filed slowly in. Pugh and Schmidt were noticeably last into the room and sat as far away from Trenchard as they could manage. Trenchard stared hard at them both. Neither one could meet his gaze, which was hardly surprising. When they were all seated, Trenchard cleared his throat and began.
‘Okay. Let’s get on with the mat-stat briefing then. As you are no doubt aware, we haven’t received any orders yet as to the next mission. Nor have we received a replacement X.O. In the meantime, I expect all of you to keep the crew on their toes. We may be called in to action at any moment. I’ve scheduled another round of training in the simulator down on Cairn for this afternoon.’
Trenchard looked at the officer’s faces. They were downcast and introspective, as they had been since the death of their revered Captain. He paused and took a deep breath. He was not looking forward to broaching the next subject but it had to be done.
‘Look… I know that you’re all grieving for Captain Bird,’ he said. The sentence hung in the air like an unwanted bad smell. No-one could meet his gaze as it travelled around the table. ‘I understand that he was killed by one of Harlequin’s men and that you’re all thirsting after revenge.’
Harlequin was the infamous and elusive leader of the pirates. It was a subordinate of Harlequin, only known as “Smiler”, who had killed Captain Bird in cold blood. The pirates had jettisoned Bird’s body and so the crew had been denied the chance for a descent funeral. The crew had not had the proper chance to say goodbye to their Captain and it had left a haze of disquiet hanging over everyone’s heads.
‘I promise you that when the time comes you will have your revenge!’ said Trenchard as forcefully as he could muster. ‘I’d like to rip off Harlequin’s head and spit in the hole myself, believe me!’
There were a few eyes raised to meet his gaze. A few corners of mouths began to lift hopefully.
‘But for now, I need you to shelve your grief and pain and save it for later. We have a job to do. We’re about to be sent out on another mission, god knows where. I need you all to be sharp, professional. When the time comes, and it will, Harlequin will wish that he’d never pissed off the crew of the Might of Fortitude and he’ll wish that he’d never been born!’
Trenchard let his words soak in. Then after a suitable pause, he looked towards the S.E.O., Lieutenant Commander Devinder Sivia. As the vessel’s Space Engineering Officer, Sivia was responsible for everything from the nuclear engine to the laundry.
‘How are we coming with the repairs?’ he asked.
Sivia nodded his black turban-covered head towards his Captain. ‘Everything’s done bar the damage to the outer hull from the Onibaba scraping along as she made her getaway and that would require a s
tint in dry dock to repair properly. It’s not structural, so there’s no real problem. I’ve had the junior snipes replacing the stealth tiles and painting the hull in E.V.A. suits for the last three days. It’s nearly done.’
Trenchard grinned. “Snipes” was naval slang for the engineers that worked in the dingy and cramped crawl spaces of the vessel. The juniors wouldn’t have appreciated the painting duty but at least it kept them busy.
‘How’s McGagh liking his spell with a paint brush?’
Sivia laughed, idly stroking his beard. ‘He grumbles a lot, but he’s actually doing a good job. I think his bark is worse than his bite.’
Trenchard nodded. ‘Just make sure that if he shits on the floor, you rub his nose in it. He needs to be taken down a peg or two,’ he said, continuing the canine analogy. Then he turned to Van Allen. ‘What about the tactical simulations that I requested?’
A chime from the control panel on the table in front of Trenchard interrupted him. He reached forwards irritably and pressed a control.
‘Yes?’
A young woman’s voice answered him. ‘Communications here Sir, petty officer Hartmann on watch. We’re picking up a breaking news report transmitted from Earth, Sir.’
Trenchard rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t think a news report is worth interrupting a mat-stat briefing for, Hartmann,’ he snapped. ‘Save it to the data store and we’ll catch up when…’
‘Pardon me Sir, but I think this is important!’ Hartmann interrupted urgently.
Hartmann’s voice sounded stressed, almost panicked. Trenchard stiffened up. Something was wrong. ‘On screen,’ he commanded.
With a burst of static, the whole of the wall at the far end of the table became a holographic screen showing an Intergalactic News Network report. The camera was shaking, hand held and pointing at a young female reporter who was hanging, half out of the open hatch of a shuttle that was flying over wide, rolling blue ocean.
‘…can’t believe what we’re seeing,’ the woman screamed over the noise of the shuttle’s whining engines and the rushing wind. There was another noise in the background, a deep ominous rumble, unseen for the moment but deeply unsettling. ‘The cables are falling thousands of miles from space, coiling up as they drop and smashing the terminal building on Konstantin Island into dust!’
The camera panned to the side. In the middle of the churning ocean stood the artificial island that had been built as the anchor for the Earth’s one and only space elevator. From there, immense cables went straight up through the atmosphere into space and were tethered to a space station in orbit. This allowed huge payloads to be hauled into space for a fraction of the expense of rocket fuel. But something was wrong, seriously wrong. The cables were falling. Smashing down upon the island and turning the concrete buildings into dust.
‘Oh god!’ Cochran whispered, deeply shocked, voicing the thoughts that were going through everyone’s mind.
All eyes were fixed steadfastly on the screen. A deathly hush had descended on the room.
‘There’s no possible way that everyone managed to evacuate the island,’ cried the reporter. ‘There are thousands of people… Oh no… I can see shuttles being smashed down as they try to escape, boats in the water being dragged down beneath the seething waves...’
Huge plumes of dust spread out across the ocean, partially obscuring the view like a sinister, choking fog. The scene resembled a great Kraken waking from the oceans depths, flailing its tentacles at anything that moved. For a second the camera zoomed in to a landing platform on the island where a dozen people were desperately trying to cram themselves into an already packed shuttle. A coil of cable fell straight on top of the shuttle and all was obscured by a thick dust. Burning debris began to fall from the sky, trailing plumes of fire and smoke like meteors.
With a noise like an atomic bomb going off, the last of the massive cables smacked into the turbulent waves. The sea level dipped alarmingly as the suction from the mighty cables pulled it down. Then slowly, like a titan rising from the deep, the ocean welled up into a massive tsunami, hundreds of meters high. The waves spread out in a concentric ring and gained speed as they travelled towards the distant shores of several continents.
The camera panned back to the reporter’s ashen face for a moment. ‘I’m getting word… there has been a statement. The outer-system insurgents, known as the Rubente Dextera, are claiming responsibility. They’re calling it a strike for liberty…’ The reporter’s face fell and she dropped the microphone to her lap in shock, tears rolling down her ashen face. She could just be heard whispering a single word, ‘bastards!’
‘Turn it off!’ snapped Trenchard, his voice breaking.
The hologram blinked off. For a moment, no-one moved or even spoke. Each person was in a very dark place of their own, imagining the horrors that were unfolding even now on their home planet of Earth. The news footage would have been sent by a standard signal, hours ago. It had taken that long to reach the Might in orbit of the naval base on planet Cairn. What was happening on the Earth right now, nobody could bear to imagine. Trenchard looked up at his officers and cleared his throat, trying not to give away any emotion.
‘Get to your stations. The crew will need you. They will all see that report sooner or later. They all have family and friends back home. From this moment, we are on red alert; crew to general quarters.’
The officers silently shuffled out. Cochran was the last and she paused by the door.
‘Cochran?’ Trenchard said softly.
Warrant Officer Cochran turned and stared at her Captain. Her face was pale and white and she was trembling. She looked Trenchard deeply in the eyes for a moment and then said in a quiet voice, ‘My brother works as a baggage handler on Konstantin Island…’
Without another word, Cochran turned and left the room. Trenchard sat for a long while, stunned into inaction. He didn’t know what the hell was going on but he knew one thing for certain. In the instant that the space elevator had crashed into the ocean, everything had changed forever.
CHAPTER 15 “GENEVIEVE NOIR”
A few busy hours later, Trenchard was once again sat in the wardroom staring at the hologram screen, only this time it was a one-to-one conversation with Admiral Fife. Unlike the news broadcast, the naval communication and intelligence network or N.A.C.I.N., was carried by a series of way stations that transmitted the data via similar technology that allowed the larger space-craft to travel faster than light. Communication was almost instantaneous within a single solar system, with slight delays when transmitting between different systems that were light years apart.
Fife was a dour Scot if ever there was one, but he was fair and dependable. He had helped Trenchard ease into his role as Captain of the Might of Fortitude after the untimely death of Captain Bird. Trenchard believed that he could trust Fife. He had been given no reason to doubt that trust so far. It was almost as though Fife had taken a special interest in Trenchard but he could only guess as to why. Fife had been filling Trenchard in on the recent events surrounding the destruction of the space elevator with a grim expression on his stony face.
‘We still don’t know the full extent of the devastation, but it is worldwide,’ said Fife seriously. ‘The tsunami caused by the cables falling into the ocean has killed thousands all around the Atlantic rim. It’s a global catastrophe, coming so close to the assassination of President Smith.’
‘Smith’s dead?’ Trenchard spluttered in shock.
‘You haven’t heard?’ Fife’s face was a picture of amazement.
‘I’ve been too busy with the ship and the crew for the last few days to watch the news reports and keep up with gossip.’
Fife looked slightly affronted. ‘Maybe you should start to take a greater interest in current affairs Captain,’ said Fife with a clear undertone of displeasure. ‘You’re a Captain in the Space Navy now. You represent the United Worlds when out on mission. You’ll find that politics plays as much of a part in naval matters as does oi
ling weapons and swabbing decks!’
Trenchard remained tight lipped. He was just beginning to realise that he was now playing a completely different game. Fife had just given Trenchard a verbal slapping down and it smarted.
‘President Smith was killed by a roadside I.E.D. It was a mining charge that has been traced back to thefts made by Martian pirates working within the asteroid belt.’
‘Harlequin?’ ventured Trenchard.
Fife nodded grimly. ‘It appears that they sold the explosives on to the insurgents who have already claimed responsibility for both terror attacks. They’re demanding independent rule for the outer systems and proportional representation in the United Worlds government. Otherwise they’ve threatened to continue to target public heads of state and vital installations.’
‘Jesus…’ Trenchard swore under his breath.
The announcement from the insurgents amounted to an all-out declaration of war.
‘Who’s standing in for the President?’ he asked. Although he already suspected the answer, he was still dreading hearing it out loud from Fife.
‘Vice President Chang has temporarily assumed power,’ Fife confirmed grimly.
The sentence echoed in Trenchard’s mind like the heavy lid of a coffin slamming shut. Chang was, in Trenchard’s own opinion, a vicious little prick. Chang had been responsible for Mars during the uprising. It was his policies that had brought back the death sentence for terrorists after centuries of clemency. It was his influence on Smith that had ramped up the pressure on the insurgents and had, in Trenchard’s opinion, antagonised them into such desperate measures. Chang was dangerous and unpredictable. He had all the hallmarks of a military dictator in the making.
‘Chang’s pissed off,’ Fife announced with absolutely no humour in his voice. ‘He made a public announcement that there are going to be two new space elevators built to replace the first. He’s already made a deal with the Papaver Corporation to build more military star-ships, bigger and meaner than before. He’s cracking down hard on the outer systems. Several colonies have already been placed under martial law and he’s increased security at all government buildings. The Hunter and Wolverine patrols have been put on constant revolving shifts with all leave cancelled.’
The Space Navy Series Books One & Two: Including the Kindle novellas Josiah Trenchard and the Might of Fortitude & Josiah Trenchard and the Morgenstern Page 13
