Echo of Tomorrow: Book Two (The Drake Chronicles) (7 page)

That was until people started arriving from Japan and England and they discovered there was a religion called the Church of England, and Judaism, and Shinto, Buddhist, Catholic, Mormon, and others. An instructor walked in just as the recruit was kneeling to pray, and the look of fury on the petite corporal’s face turned them instantly to stone. She hadn’t said a word, just walked up behind the unfortunate man, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and dragged him into the toilet. Whatever she said to him in there they never knew, the young man refused to say, but he never again prayed where anyone could see him. They understood very quickly about religious tolerance, as they did about color and gender, and for some it was a hard lesson. Marine instructors had no patience with the trainees when it came to the subject of color and gender and had about as much tolerance and compassion as an exploding volcano.

After dinner, the party moved to another room, Scott ordered the smoking lamp lit, and his steward passed out cigars and brandy. Thankfully, they found a few secret cigar smokers in Cuba of all places.

“How’s the rest of the ship, Jack?” Scott asked as he lit up, savoring the taste of a real Cuban cigar again.

“Good, sir,” Jack Bingham answered with a smile. “Everyone is breathing a sigh of relief and all the messes are having a party of one sort or another.”

“Probably having more fun than we are, I bet.”

“Yes, sir. I hear the marines in particular are, umm … partying hard.”

“I bloody well hope so.” Scott motioned CPO Hardwick over.

“Yes, sir,” he murmured in a soft voice.

“I hope my show of appreciation found its way into the right hands?”

“That it did, sir. And welcome it was.”

“Good.”

Over in one corner, the ship builders had added a simulated piano, and it wasn’t long before someone was tinkering with the keyboard. A quick look showed it was Devon Hawking, his ship designer. Scott invited Devon and his people to attend the after-dinner party. It wasn’t out of disrespect, but there just wasn’t sufficient places for everyone, plus Devon and his crew were still working a few bugs out of the system. Scott walked over and shook hands all around.

“She’s a great ship, Devon.”

“Yes, she’s not bad for a first effort, considering the time restraints.”

“Think you can do better?”

“Oh yes. We haven’t even started to delve into the technology available. Who knows, next week we’ll find something new and build you a ship twice as powerful.”

“I won’t say we don’t need it, since I know in the near future we will.”

“Yes, especially when you take the fight to the enemy.”

“By the way, what’s that you’re playing? It sounds familiar.”

“An old song, at least by my count it is. Heard it while I was looking through your new database.” He chuckled. “You do have a wide assortment of material in there. Never saw a Bugs Bunny cartoon before. My god I thought I was going to have a heart attack laughing so much.”

“Yeah, he does have that effect on people.” Scott felt a momentary stab of nostalgia, and Saturday morning cartoons with his children flashed across his mind.

“I downloaded a copy of the song, want to hear it?”

“By all means.” Devon launched into a version of “The Last Farewell,” and Scott remembered. In some way the song was sad, especially for someone who understood the real meaning, and he stood staring into his drink while Devon played.

After that, he quickly launched into a very funny song about the London Double Decker Omnibus, and even if many people didn’t understand the references, it still made them laugh the way he sang it. Scott circled around as the music played, bumping into Kat on more than one occasion. She used the close quarters to rub up against him, looking innocent when he gave her a sharp look.

“Something you
need
, Admiral?” she asked in a sweet voice as she moved away.

“My hand and your backside!” he murmured in her ear when she came back around. She looked at him wide-eyed and bit her lower lip to suppress a giggle.

As the evening wore on, the music got livelier, and a few people started dancing. Scott used the excuse to snuggle up to Kat for a while. Gradually, the party wound down and Devon started playing the more nostalgic tunes. Some of the older people knew them and joined their voices to others. It was the last tune that got Scott, and even he joined in.

The minstrel boy to the war is gone,

In the ranks of dead you’ll find him;

His father’s sword he hath girded on,

And his wild harp slung behind him;

“Land of Song!” cried the warrior bard,

“Tho’ all the world betrays thee,

One sword, at least, thy right shall guard,

One faithful harp shall praise thee!”

The Minstrel fell! But the foeman’s chain

Could not bring that proud soul under;

The harp he lov’d ne’er spoke again,

For he tore its chords asunder;

And said no chains shall sully thee,

Thou soul of love and brav’ry!

Thy songs were made for the pure and free

They shall never sound in slavery!

As sad as it was, Scott felt better after hearing the last verse, one he’d never heard before.

The minstrel boy will return one day,

When we hear the news, we will cheer it.

The minstrel boy will return we pray,

Torn in body, perhaps, but not in spirit.

Then may he play his harp in peace,

In a world such as Heaven intended,

For every quarrel of Man must cease,

And every battle shall be ended.

“Damn!” Scott muttered. “Thomas Moore wrote that in 1852, and I hope like hell that’s true.”

He and Kat didn’t manage to get a few hours sleep, and he didn’t get to spank her delicious bottom, citing the lack of energy as his excuse.

“I’ll have to see what I can do about that oversight, my admiral,” Kat whispered.

* * * * * *

“Incoming message from picket ship
Christchurch
sir,” the communications officer sang out. Everyone on the bridge held his breath, including Scott.

“What’s the message?” Captain Bingham asked.

“Enemy vessels sighted, I repeat, enemy vessels sighted.”

“Captain. Execute Alpha One,” Scott ordered.

“Aye, skipper, executing Alpha One.”

“Time stamp on the message, comm?” Bingham asked.

“It’s thirty-two minutes old, sir.”

“Not good, but not bad either. We can still intercept before they reach Earth orbit, Admiral.”

“Jack, let’s see if we can get into position a little sooner.” The captain looked a bit puzzled for a moment, then smiled and nodded to the Operations Officer, Gary Stuart.

“Aye-aye, sir,” Stuart said. Scott sat back after that and let the captain do his job, his stomach tightening. This was going to be their first real test.

“Comm, relay same message to all units. Enemy sighted, execute Alpha One,” Bingham ordered

“Relaying message sir!”

“Yeoman, signal the crew to come to yellow alert, I repeat, yellow alert.”

“Aye-aye sir. Yellow alert.”

“Have the heading, sir,” Dan Foster on navigation called out.

“Relay to all ships: helm come to new course.”

“Helm, bring her round to new course and come up to full power on the drives.”

“Aye sir, setting new course and bring her up to full ahead,” the chief helmsman sang out. As this was going on, Bingham reached over and activated a unit on the arm of his chair.

“You awake, Charlotte?” he asked.

“
I’m always awake, my captain,
” a cultured female voice answered.

“Interlink with all units, enemy sighted and moving to intercept, Admiral,” Bingham said.

“Thank you, Captain,” Scott said.

“
All units responding and interlinked.
”

“Thank you, Charlotte,” Bingham said.

“So you have one as well,” Scott commented, admiring the captain’s cool efficiency.

“Yes, Charlotte’s the best idea anyone had, it’s the only way we can act as a combined unit.”

“I’m glad somebody thought of it.”

“The old man who designed this ship got the idea from one of the destroyer captains after the first battle.”

“Well fancy that,” Scott said, trying to keep a straight face.

“Comm: has the full report been downloaded yet?” Bingham asked.

“Yes sir, it will show up on your side screens any moment now,” comm replied. Scott looked down at his screen, seeing the full report.

The alien mother ship, five cruiser-size warships, and ten smaller ships had appeared out of the warp point, and set a course directly for Earth. What appeared to be a fighter force had launched the moment they were clear of the warp point, breaking up into fifteen smaller units, and attacked the picket ships. As ordered, the pickets ran as far and as fast as they could in whatever direction they were pointed. As luck would have it,
Christchurch
was running in the general direction of Mars, so she had the honor of relaying the message.

“Send a message, comm,” Scott ordered. “Signal: Well done
Christchurch
, the drinks are on me, signed Admiral of the Fleet, Drake.”

“Aye-aye, sir!” the comm officer answered with relish.

“Thanks, Admiral,” Bingham said, “should have thought of that myself.”

“Don’t sweat it, Jack, and for Christ sake stop calling me Admiral. Call me Scott, Boss, or skipper. We haven’t got time for all that in battle,” he added, smiling.

“Thanks, skipper, I’ll remember in the future to send a thank-you.”

“Took me a while to remember,” Scott commented offhandedly, so Bingham wouldn’t feel so bad about forgetting.

“ETA to intercept?” Bingham asked.

“At this speed, seven hours six and a half minutes, sir,” Bill replied.

“Position at intercept?”

“On the board now, sir,” Bill answered, and the captain and Scott looked at the tactical display on the screen behind the holotank. It showed the relative position of the fleet, and the estimated position of the alien group, showing them descending from solar north in a long spiral toward Earth. They would intercept the alien fleet at 46,435,000 miles, or half an astronomical unit (AU) from Earth at their present speed.

“That’s still a little close for my liking, Captain,” Scott said. “Ask engineering if they can goose the squirrels and give us a few more knots. I’d like a little more maneuvering room, Jack.”

“Aye-aye, Admiral. Comm, relay the order, helm, bring us up to flank ahead and tell engineering to red line it.” Bingham looked at him a moment, puzzled. “Goose the squirrels?”

“I’ll explain it later.” Scott smiled.

“Aye, skipper, flank speed it is.”

“Nav? ETA to intercept at new speed?” Bingham said. Bill Foster crunched the numbers as they reached their new speed.