Ark Royal 2: The Nelson Touch (2 page)

“Pleased to meet you,” he said.  “You have some big shoes to fill.” 

He pasted a smile on his face.  Whatever else could be said about her, Commander Williams was definitely one of the Royal Navy’s rising stars.  Her career path would probably have led her to carrier command within a couple of years anyway, although command of any other carrier was something of a poisoned chalice under the circumstances.  During the Battle of New Russia, the aliens had gone through modern carriers like knives through butter.

“Thank you, sir,” Fitzwilliam said.  “I believe you know my senior crew?”

Ted smiled, more openly this time, as he nodded to his old subordinates.  Most of them had been dedicated lifers, spending their time in an endless struggle to keep the old carrier up and running when the Admiralty didn't give a damn what happened to her.  They’d learnt more about splicing together components and systems from a dozen separate interstellar powers than anyone else, which had helped when the time came to capture an alien starship and press it into service.  A quarter of his former engineering crew, he knew, had been reassigned to either work on the captured ship or assist the joint defence effort.  It would have been more if he hadn't put his foot down on the matter.  The Old Lady needed her unique engineering crew to remain functional.

“It’s a pleasure to see you all again,” he said.  “And I hope that fame hasn't gone entirely to your heads.”

They smiled back at him, a little ruefully.  No one had paid attention to them when they’d been drifting in orbit, part of the naval reserve no one ever expected to be called into action.  Now, they were not only famous, but rich.  The combined world governments had poured out reward money for the captured alien ship, enough to give even the lowliest crew a sizable bonus.  And the fame had made them heroes.  Not all of them had handled it very well.

He paused long enough to exchange a few words with men who were friends, even if he outranked them, then Fitzwilliam dismissed the greeting party and escorted Ted up through the starship’s long passageways towards the bridge.  As before, Ted couldn't help noticing that the decks looked cleaner than ever before, although the telltale signs of constant maintenance were everywhere.  A number of panels were open, with crewmen working on the starship’s innards or carefully replacing worn components.  Every day, Ted knew, a handful of older components failed.  The Royal Navy’s response to the problem, back in the days
Ark Royal
had been a frontline carrier, had been to build a massive amount of redundancy into the system.  Modern carriers had fewer maintenance problems ...

His lips twitched, humourlessly.  Modern carriers were also strikingly vulnerable to alien attack.

“We've effectively completed the refit,” Fitzwilliam said, as they stepped through the armoured hatch and into the bridge.  Buried towards the prow of the vessel, it was almost impossible to disable without blowing the entire starship apart.  “I think I can honestly say that the Old Lady has never been in a better state.”

Ted nodded as he surveyed the bridge.  The old consoles had been replaced with gleaming new systems, although they too were already showing signs of wear.  He’d kept up with the readiness reports from the carrier and he’d been pleased to note that Fitzwilliam – and Commander Williams – had maintained his draconian training regime, even while the ship was at rest.  There was no way of knowing, after all, when the much-dreaded attack on the Sol System would materialise.  The Old Lady might have to move from her anchorage and go to war without any real warning.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said.  The bridge seemed to have something missing.  It took him a long moment before he realised that he was missing the bridge.  The compartment wasn't
his
any longer.  He looked towards the massive command chair, then kicked himself mentally.  It was Fitzwilliam’s command chair now.  “You didn't change the chair?”

“I thought it was part of history,” Fitzwilliam said.  “And I didn't want to change it.”

Ted nodded, feeling an odd lump in his throat.  The command chair hadn't been replaced since the carrier had last been on active duty.  He’d never felt the urge to replace it – and now, Fitzwilliam was right.  It
was
part of history.  One way or another, the Old Lady had definitely earned her place in the history books.  But would their writers be humans ... or aliens?  The war was far from over, even if the aliens had been suspiciously quiet for the last three months.  Ted knew the planning staff suspected the aliens were preparing a final offensive.  He tended to agree with them.

He followed Fitzwilliam into the ready room – it had once been Ted’s ready room – and sat down on the sofa.  When he'd been Captain, he’d slept in the room more than once, catching up on his sleep while remaining close to the bridge.  Now, he would have to sleep in the Admiral’s quarters near the CIC ... and he would never command the ship in combat again.  Indeed, even issuing commands to the crew could be construed as infringing on Fitzwilliam’s authority.  His lips twitched, remembering command exercises at the Academy.  They’d been warned, more than once, to try to avoid stepping on one another’s toes.

Fitzwilliam poured tea from a china teapot, then passed the cup over to Ted, who examined it with some interest.  The fine china was probably expensive enough to swallow half of his paycheck for the month, he decided, if it could be replaced at all.  It felt more like an antique than anything mundane – or Royal Navy issue.

“My ... one of my ancestors commanded a ship during the Second World War,” Fitzwilliam explained.  “His wife, who didn't have a very practical turn of mind, sent him this as a present, apparently in the expectation that he would find a use for it.  After he returned home, it was placed into storage.  My uncle thought I might find it useful.”

Ted had to smile.  “And what if it was destroyed?”

“I would presumably have other things to worry about,” Fitzwilliam said.  The younger – much younger – man leaned forward.  “How was Earth?”

“Mostly discussions about the aliens and their technology,” Ted said.  It had rapidly turned into a waste of time, at least for him.  He might have seen the technology in action, he might have a good idea of just how the aliens used it, but he knew nothing about how it actually worked.  The engineers could crack the secrets of the alien battlecruiser, given time, yet Ted himself couldn't help them.  “And speeches to every last part of the world.”

He made a face as he took another sip of tea.  The human race had been on an emotional rollercoaster since the dawn of the war – the First Interstellar War, as some wags were already calling it.  There had been the shock of first contact, the horror and terror after the Battle of New Russia, the delight when
Ark Royal
had won the first of her victories against the aliens ... the entire population seemed torn between hope and dread.  The future no longer seemed quite so full of promise.

“They gave you one of every medal in the world,” Fitzwilliam said.  “They must like you.”

Ted snorted.  It was an exaggeration, but not by much.  Every spacefaring power on Earth had given him a medal, including several that had never been awarded to foreigners beforehand.  Each award ceremony had forced him to make another speech, followed by answering questions about the Old Lady and the alien battlecruiser, half of which he couldn't answer.  It had almost been enough to drive him back to drink.

No
, he told himself, firmly.  Fitzwilliam had risked his career to save Ted from the consequences of his drinking.  Ted would not let that go to waste. 
I will not go back to the bottle
.

“I think they just wanted someone to show off,” he said.  He placed the cup down on the table, then leaned forward.  “I got the basic engineering reports, of course, but I’d like to hear from you.  Are we ready to return to war?”

Fitzwilliam paused, contemplating his answer.  “I believe so,” he said.  “We have repaired the damaged armour, replaced the destroyed weapons and improved our defences.  We’ve mounted enemy-level plasma cannons on our hull, loaded new bomb-pumped laser missiles into the tubes ... in short, we’re as ready to go as possible.  All we really need are replacement flight crews.”

Ted nodded.  Half of
Ark Royal’s
surviving pilots had been reassigned, either to the Academy or other carriers that might soon be going into action.  They would be recalled, of course, or replaced, but until they arrived
Ark Royal’s
striking power would be very limited.  But then, compared to the rest of the fleet, she was practically an armoured colossus.  Her fighters, missiles and mass drivers gave her a striking power no modern carrier could match.

“I believe they will be reassigned here in a week or two,” Ted said.  He smiled, rather dryly.  “The Admiralty has been holding high-level discussions with the rest of the interstellar powers, considering our best course of action now the aliens seem to have been knocked back and taught to fear human weapons.  We may well be going on the offensive.”

Fitzwilliam smiled.  “That would be good,” he said.  “Better to wage war in their systems than ours.”

Ted nodded in agreement.  The aliens had occupied twelve human systems, three of them with large human populations.  Reports from the planetary surface suggested that the aliens were largely ignoring the humans, which was interesting.  They didn't seem inclined to either enslave the humans or exterminate them.  But they had wiped out the population of smaller mining colonies ...

He shrugged.  It was tempting to believe that the aliens were merely biding their time ... or, perhaps, that they’d realised they might not win the war after all and they’d decided not to commit any atrocities.  Or, perhaps, they had their own codes for treating prisoners of war, codes not too different from those followed by humanity.  After all, some human enemies had been downright barbaric to their prisoners.  It made the aliens look surprisingly civilised.

“There will be a ceremony in one week,” he said, changing the subject slightly.  “I believe we will be playing host to the Prime Minister himself, as well as a handful of foreign dignitaries.”

Fitzwilliam looked worried.  Ted didn't blame him.  A serving naval officer would understand that perfection was a hopeless pipe dream, but a politician without any military experience might question an unwashed deck or something else that looked slapdash.  It could ruin an officer’s career, no matter how promising it had seemed before the politicians boarded the ship.  But it couldn't be helped.  If nothing else, they would finally be briefed on whatever operation the joint command had had in mind since
Ark Royal
returned to the solar system.

“I’d better get on with preparing for their arrival,” Fitzwilliam said.  Politicians couldn't be fed naval rations, even though the crew had to make do with them.  They’d need to get some prepared food from Earth and perhaps hire an extra cook or two.  “Wonderful.”

“It could be worse,” Ted reminded him.  “We went from a laughing stock to the flagship of the fleet.  It's worth having a dinner with politicians to remind us that we’re no longer a joke.”

Fitzwilliam hesitated, then nodded in agreement.

Ted smiled.  “And how is Commander Williams shaping up?”

“I think I understand how you must have felt,” Fitzwilliam confessed.  “She’s brilliant, very capable ... and ambitious as hell.”

“A common failing,” Ted observed, dryly.  “But can she handle the job?”

“I believe so,” Fitzwilliam said.  “She isn't another Farley.”

“Good,” Ted said.  Abraham Farley had somehow managed to become XO of a carrier without revealing the soft panicky centre at his core.  But when there had been a nasty accident and he'd inherited command, he’d panicked and almost lost the entire starship.  “I think you should be fine.  But keep an eye on her anyway.  No one reveals what they are until they are truly tested.”

Chapter Two

“Getting what you want,” Captain James Montrose Fitzwilliam’s mother had once told him, “comes with a price.  You get what you want.”

It hadn't made any sense to James at the time.  Like most children, he’d liked the idea of getting what he wanted.  Sweets or chocolate when he was a young boy, a role in the school play or promotion in the Combined Cadet Force when he was older ... when he’d wanted something, he’d worked towards getting it.  But now, with the full weight of command settling around his shoulders, he understood precisely what his mother had meant.  He was solely responsible for
Ark Royal
and her crew.  If anything happened to his ship, he would bear full responsibility.

He stood and watched as the two shuttles settled down in the landing bay, one by one, feeling tension gripping at his heart.  He’d grown up in the aristocracy, he had plenty of experience dealing with men who’d inherited or earned their titles, yet he was also very aware that the aristocracy
talked
.  A mistake someone like Admiral Smith could shrug off would haunt James for the rest of his life.  But then, the aristocracy was supposed to be a cut above the common man.  The British Aristocracy had come far too close to extinction during the troubles and it had no intention of repeating the experience.

A dull thump echoed through the hull as the second shuttle landed, followed by a dull hiss that indicated the landing bay was being pressurised.  James waited until it was safe, then nodded to his small party and led the way into the landing bay.  They’d been told to keep the reception low-key, but that was relative.  There was no way a visit from the Prime Minister of Great Britain, the Vice President of the United States and several senior military officers could go completely unremarked.