Back In Blue

by G R Matthews

  We who are about to die will make your life as difficult as we can.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Abrahams and I got a meal in the mess and turned in. My room was small. Little more than a bed, a wardrobe and a washbasin. The showers and toilets were communal, though for proprietaries sake they were sectioned off into male and female area.

  I woke in the morning and missed my hangover headache. I'd woken with one for more years than I wanted to remember. They told me I was alive and punished me for all the mistakes I’d ever made, and there had been a lot of those. It was a relationship I was fully committed to. Now, this morning, nothing.

  The clock on the screen showed it was early. Way too early, but this was the navy and it operated on different times than civilian life. As I swung my legs out of bed and winced at the touch of the cold floor, it surprised me how easily I'd already adjusted. A couple of days and my body had reset its clock.

  It is insidious, military life. Before you know it and without realising the part of you that craves order takes over. You sink into the hierarchy. The timings and regularity of life become the norm and you find yourself, against all good sense, being happy. Not me. Not now and not back then. If you know what to look for, the little tricks and traps the life sets for you, they are easy to avoid.

  I splashed water on my face, cold and fresh, and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. Running a shaver over my chin and cheeks I cleared the stubble out of the way and saw clean cheeks for the first time in, well, a long time.

  Drawing the uniform out of its shrink wrap, I laid it out on the bed. Dark blue and made of a thick, hard wearing material. The trousers ended in elastic cuffs and there were large pockets on either leg, deep enough for tools or a packed lunch. The thought of food made my stomach rumble. Lifting them from the bed I noted that they had already stitched my name on the right leg, just below the hip pocket. That would stop those devilish trouser thieves the navy was famous for.

  The tunic was a simple zip-up affair. Much like a civilian jacket, but this had a fold down collar and my name, in big green letters was stitched above the chest pocket, on the left this time. I suppose it made sense. If my right side was burned to a crisp then the label on my left would confirm my identity, and vice versa. The navy, they think of everything. The tunic had more pockets, the navy clearly liked you to carry things, and there was space on the collar for my rank insignia.

  I clambered into the trousers, feeling the bite of the elastic ankle cuffs, and pulled the belt comfortably tight. The tunic, I shrugged my way into, shifting and rolling my shoulders to get comfortable. My white, navy issue, t-shirt protected my delicate skin from the rough material.

  One last task. The small black box on the bed held my rank insignia. I'd got my orders and hadn't read them. The officer handing them to me had told me enough to find my transport. Never put off till tomorrow what you can avoid for the rest of your life. Well, the rest of my life was in that little box and the old-fashioned envelope which contained my orders. From now till I died or the war ended, the former being the more likely outcome, my life was the navy's. They weren't going to have it without a fight. I've got some self-respect. If you never fight the Kobayashi Maru, you never get the chance to leave them with a busted nose. There's a mixed metaphor in there somewhere, but even words have sharp edges which can cut deep.

  I sucked navy air into my lungs and held it there as I opened the box. A single silver bar peeked out of the soft black velvet. A promotion gained on my discharge from the navy. A last thank you for the job done. Bet they never thought I'd ever have the chance to use it. I took the silver pin and attached to my collar. Another rested below it and I unzipped my tunic, attaching the second pin to the name tag the right-hand side of my chest. Lieutenant Corin Hayes ready for duty. Well, Lieutenant Junior Grade anyway. I didn't want the power going to my head straight away.

  A breakfast of hot porridge and coffee in the mess and I joined the rest of the unit in the briefing room. Abrahams, his double silver bars shining bright under the strip lighting nodded to me as I entered and I slid into the chair next to his.

  "Hayes," he greeted as he looked me up and down. "You didn't bother ironing the uniform?"

  "Abrahams," I nodded back. "I am aware of ironing as a concept, not as an activity."

  "I hear the Commander is a stickler for the rules and proper dress," Abrahams said with a tilt of his head in the direction of Commander Anderson who stood on the small stage glowering at me.

  "Right," I answered and gave Anderson a little nod of greeting. The glower ratcheted up into a look of disgust. He'd give into my charm one day.

  Norah was last in, her pink hair tied in a ponytail and with a nervous, almost awkward gait as she found a chair at the front. I saw her sweep her gaze around the rest of the unit, around twenty men and women, all dressed in the blue and with a variety of rank insignia upon their collars.

  Abrahams held the highest rank apart from the Commander himself. The others were Ensigns, probably fresh from the naval schools, Warrant and Petty Officers who, despite their lower rank, were more experienced than most of the others sat in the room. They would follow the orders of an Ensign if that officer wasn't an idiot or do their own thing if they were. It was a brave Ensign who challenged a Warrant Officer.

  No one reached the rank of Warrant without putting in a lot of years, spilling a lot of blood and learning one hell of a lot. A good line officer would listen to every bit of advice they gave and the ranks below respected them even more than the Admirals at the top of the naval food chain. You knew a Warrant held that rank through experience not from the happenstance of once wearing the same school tie as the officer promoting you. Most Warrant Officers learned their lessons from the good old university of life and school of hard knocks. You didn't graduate, you survived.

  "You any the wiser about our recall?" I leaned over to Abrahams and tried to keep my voice down.

  "They must be desperate," Abrahams replied.

  "You noticed that you've got the highest rank in here?"

  "Yeah, I saw that. You noticed who's next in line?" he whispered.

  I cast another look around, trying to pick out the rank insignia on everyone's collar. "Shit."

  Abrahams stifled a laugh. "Took you long enough."

  "How desperate are they?"

  "Quite a bit by my reckoning."

  "I'll have to talk to Commander Anderson. This can't be happening."

  "He isn't going to listen," Abrahams said, the memory of a smile still on his face. "Told you. He's one for the rules."

  "I am not team leader material. I'll follow, but I can barely look after myself."

  "Best you change that," Abrahams said in a monotone. "There's a lot of kids in this room and a lot of experience too. They'll both want you to keep them alive. The kids will follow no matter what, it is how they've been trained. The Warrants, well it’s not unknown for bad officers to not return from easy missions."

  "Are you trying to build my confidence or scare the shit out of me?" I accused him.

  "You told the girl on the boat you were already scared so it can't be that."

  "You're doing bugger all for my confidence," I said in return.

  "Not that either, Hayes," Abrahams answered. "Looks like, if Anderson follows the regular navy way, there'll be two teams at least. No one wants to die and everyone wants to get back to base in one piece. You'll have a lot to say in that. Listen to the others in your team, but the decisions are yours. You're a good man, Corin. A little disorientated at times, but you'll do the right thing I hope."

  "I am not built for command. I'm built to give command a hard time."

  "Change comes to us all, Hayes. Even you."

  "I've had my fill of change, Abrahams. I just want to live a quiet life."

  "You fuck up out there," he waved a vague hand at the walls, but I took his meaning, "and you'll find quiet all right. Quiet that'll last you an eternity."

  "That doesn't scare me,"
I said. "It’s the way in which it comes that worries me."

  "Won't just be you though will it?" he said, turning to face me and giving me a direct look. "It'll be everyone who is with you."

  I took another look at the crowd. The old veterans and career soldiers knew the risks and, to a degree, welcomed them. All the others were kids. At the end of their teenage years or in their early twenties. Babies being sent to war. Even with the best commander some wouldn't be going back to their parents, and I knew how that felt.

  A shiver ran up my spine.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Commander Anderson stepped up to the podium and rapped his knuckles on the moulded plastic. The noise brought the attention of the assembled personnel onto him and a wave of silence rolled out from the stage. The various ranks all settled into their chairs and ceased fidgeting.

  "Here it comes," I whispered to Abrahams and drew a sharp narrowing of the eyes from Anderson.

  The lights dimmed and a large screen sprung to life beside Anderson. If anything, the quiet reached a whole new level of silence. One that sucked every last wave of sound from the room, an audio black hole. I bit my lip, determined not to say anything. It was a hard fight.

  On the screen a map of the ocean floor came into focus and it took me a moment to locate it. The border between NOAH and VKYN, a line that stretched from the old coast of North America to the Mid-Atlantic ridge and beyond. VKYN owned, controlled, the northern waters. Rich in minerals and the swelling currents of nutrient rich water which, since the bleaching of much of the world’s coral, harboured a lot of the ocean’s biodiversity.

  "For four months, since the illegal and unprovoked incursions of VKYN forces, NOAH has held the front line along the agreed border. Diplomatic options have been explored and remain our preferred means of resolving this conflict. However, two days ago VKYN declared a formal state of war existed between our two corporations. This news will be released to the general public this evening now that all diplomatic efforts to stave off this state affairs have been unsuccessful," Commander Anderson said into the quiet.

  It wasn't really news. We'd all assumed we were at war even without the political niceties having been observed. There'd be some that hoped for a peaceful resolution, me amongst them, but it wasn't to be. War is just another form of negotiation and compromise. Weapons not diplomats do the talking and each concession is purchased with a life.

  "Initial skirmishes have been small scale in nature but with a declaration of war we can expect those to escalate." Anderson paused to look around the room, letting his gaze rest on each person for a second before moving on. The view on the screen changed to highlight a smaller section of the frontier. "Our area of operations remains under threat. Our job is to ensure, with the regular navy and other specialised units the safety and security of this city and its surroundings."

  SIDS. The proper, technical designate for the units. Not one that ever filled me with much in the way of confidence. SIDS always sounded like that uncle you had when you were young. The one who unfailingly overstayed his welcome, had bad teeth, awful breath, and always wanted to give more cuddles than were appropriate.

  Submarine Infiltrate and Destroy Systems. Some consultant had been paid a fortune to come up with that acronym which did no justice to the Fish-suit nor its pilots. We, the actual pilots and crews, had a different acronym which we used. GIFTs - Get In and Fuck Them up. To make it sound better we dropped the U obviously.

  "We've four pilots," the Commander continued, "and a full support crew including the systems specialists sat here. With that in mind, we will be running two teams. One will be operation ready at all times, the other to be on call."

  Which cleared that up. Abrahams would take the first team and, barring any sudden promotion, I would lead the second. Great.

  "Lieutenant Abrahams will lead Team One. Ensign Roth," and Commander Anderson beckoned a fresh-faced Ensign to stand, "will be the second pilot."

  Abrahams turned in his seat and nodded to Roth who returned the gesture.

  "Lieutenant Hayes," and I was sure he grimaced as he said my name, "will lead Team Two and be partnered by Ensign Copeland."

  I gazed around looking for the poor sod who had drawn the short straw and a heavy stone settled in my heart when Norah, the young woman with the pink hair stood up. I gave her a sickly smile and she returned one of utter trust. My heart sank further, through the floor and down towards the sea bed.

  There is nothing wrong with women in the Navy. I don't care who pulls my ass out of the fire. All the female troops I've worked with have been a damn sight more competent than me. Calmer and colder too when the shit hits the fan. What worried me was being responsible for someone else, someone who was too young to know what I knew.

  When I'd been a parent, I'd spent every moment worrying, over-thinking and imagining all sorts of bad things that could happen. In the end I hadn't even guessed at the half of it. No parent should outlive their child. It tore your heart to pieces, your mind apart, and left you with an eternal pain that nothing, not even alcohol could truly dull. And now, I was responsible for another young woman's life. Who was to say I wouldn't fail again.

  "All of your suits have been delivered to the base and are currently being upgraded to full military specification," Commander Anderson said and my hand went up. He paused, sighed and said, "Yes, Lieutenant Hayes?"

  "Sorry to interrupt," I said even though I wasn't, "however, I am sure we've all put a lot of time into adapting and personalising our systems. That's a lot of work to undo and might compromise out readiness if we have to relearn it all again."

  From the corner of my eye I saw Abrahams nod.

  There was a moment of silence from the lectern and I watched as Anderson swiped left a few times on the screen in front of him.

  "All civilian settings have been recorded and the main processing unit and memory have been backed up and stored in a secure location. These will be reinstalled at the conclusion of your service should they be required."

  Which I heard as, 'should you survive.' I raised my hand again and Anderson nodded.

  "In that case, Commander, what system is being installed?"

  "Military specification, Hayes," he replied. "Since your last tour of duty concluded the processing systems have been updated and upgraded. You'll find them easy to use and have access to the full range of the suit's capabilities."

  "Thank you, Commander," I said, but I was disappointed. Military menus and systems were designed, built and rolled out by committee and therefore useless.

  We'd all be spending days, maybe weeks, tweaking, changing, altering and rebuilding the suit and its operating system to actually do what we needed it to do. My suit had years of personalisation. In the water it was an extension of me, or me of it. Even at the conclusion of the war, I'd more months of work to do, to put it all back the way I wanted it.

  "If there are no more questions," Anderson paused for, at most, a second before continuing. "Today will be spent meeting your teams and formulating individual strategies to adapt to the new systems which have been installed. Team leaders will present, to me by nineteen hundred hours tonight, a training plan for the next week. This sector is currently without SIDS protection and that is a situation which cannot be permitted to exist. Tomorrow, no matter what state the suits are in, we are an operational unit."

  The crowd sat silent. We knew a unit needed a whole month of lead-in time to be fully operational and a year or two to be working efficiently. That we had a day told us way too much about the state of the war. It was a depressing end to the first briefing.

  "In two weeks we are expected to be at full operating strength and efficiency. Fish-Suit units are in short supply and in high demand."

  "Commander?" I raised my hand again.

  "Yes, Lieutenant," he replied and I saw him stifle a sigh.

  "Does that mean we could be sent on mission out of this area?" I glanced at Abrahams and saw the nod. "We're not good for security. Sensor
s are short range, weapons are limited. Fish-Suits are good for infiltration and destruction of enemy assets and infrastructure."

  "That is interesting, Lieutenant Hayes. I suggest you keep such thoughts to yourself outside of this briefing room. Dismissed," Anderson said and we filed out in silence.

  "Shit," I muttered. So, almost in silence.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Admittedly, to myself anyway, I didn't look too bad in the skins and t-shirt which I wore down to the airlock. For a man my age, and given the amount I tend to drink, a well-earned beer belly and jowls just beginning to sag would not have been out of place.

  I've seen the old clips of the pre-flood times. A lot of them made in the mystical fantasy land of Hollywood. All those movies where the hero was a toned Adonis and every other person stretched their clothes to the limit. I'd sat with drool running down my chin when they’d go into a restaurant and order food. Or those shows where some supposed chef toured a country sampling the delights on offer. Every plate overflowing with meat, vegetables, grease, butter and other delicious foodstuffs guaranteed to paint the inside of your arteries with more fur than a seal's pelt.

  Here and now, under the ocean our diet had improved immeasurably and despite the dangers coronary disease caused by the ingestion of fatty foods was becoming rarer. Crushed by the pressure. Drowning. Dying in a stupid accident caused by the inattention of a work colleague. They were the killers we all feared. I shook off the guilt.

  The need to keep in shape. The effort of forcing the thick QxyQuid in and out of my lungs. The struggle to move my limbs at the depths and with the equipment I used in my day to day work kept me fit. There would be nothing worse than finding out I was too fat to clamber into the Fish-Suit. That would be embarrassing and career delaying, if not ending. And with no career, and let's be honest, no savings, my life would be over.

  Norah stood at the door to the airlock, her legs already in her Fish-Suit and her techs checking and re-checking the systems as she suited up. Her hair, still non-regulation pink was tied into a tight pony tail. She nodded as I closed in on the group. Her fingers fluttered at the suit in a sign of nerves.