First Comes Duty (The Hope Island Chronicles Book 2) (46 page)

He hit a tab. A line running from the enemy boat led into the atmosphere of Cimmeria.

“If he ejected, which I believe is likely, this is the path his escape sphere should have followed. If he survived the explosion, and reentry, and had the juice for a controlled landing, he should be somewhere within this area.”

“That’s a lot of ifs, Ensign.”

“Yes, Sir, but I learned about the power of ifs from Nathan. He wouldn’t surrender his life if there was any way to avoid it. Nathan Telford is nothing if not a survivor. You, better than most, should know that, Sir.”

“D-O?”

“I agree that it’s a long shot, but if there’s a chance in a million that he’s alive, we should check it out.”

“He’s survived greater odds than this, Skipper,” Whitney added.

More than either of you could imagine.

He nodded slowly. “Very well, D-O, what do you recommend?”

***

For three hours the landing boat had searched the grid coordinates, without success. Toni Reiffel stepped up to the flight deck. Endless ocean stretched in all directions.

“Whitney, I know you want to—”

“Ma’am, let me try one more pass. I have a hunch.”

“Hunch away,” she said, around a sigh. “But make it your very best hunch. All right?”

“Aye, Ma’am.”

Garrison Whitney was not the same young man who had left the boat six days ago. This young officer had a focus and determination not seen during the deployment.

With every hour that passed, Toni Reiffel’s faith waned. Could he still be alive? How much time, valuable time with the boat in need of her attention, could she spare on this most unlikely of— 

“Got him,” Whitney yelled.

Toni ran to the flight deck. “Where?”

“We’ve got something, Lieutenant. Not sure what,” CPO Ritchie said.

“What’s happening? Have you found him?” Carpov asked.

“Yes,” Whitney said.

“Maybe,” Ritchie countered.

Whitney brought the boat down to a less-than-smooth landing and was first through the hatch. Nathan’s escape sphere sat upright, as it was balanced to do. Clambering onto the sphere, he frowned.

“The hatch has been forced open. He’s not here.”

Carpov examined the surrounding ground. “Tracks, leading this way.”

“Let’s go,” Whitney said, striding into the jungle.

“Stop!” Reiffel ordered.

“What?”

“If we do this, we do it in a considered manner. Not tearing off into the jungle without thought. Ritchie, you and Doctor Ning stay with the boat.”

Ritchie looked devastated, but nodded reluctantly. 

“He might be in need of medical attention,” the doc suggested.

“Very well.”

“You’ll need a marine, in case you run into trouble,” Carpov said.

“You’re not leaving me behind,” Whitney said.

“Careful, Ensign, don’t push your luck.”

She had no way of stopping him, or the rest for that matter, so Ritchie drew the short straw and would remain with the boat.

“Carpov, take point; the rest form up on me. Keep your eyes open and your mouths shut.”

A worn path led into the jungle, and after a few minutes they came to a village. Basic agrarian living, water tanks, generators and, by the lack of smell, some form of working sanitation. Following the sound of many voices raised in celebration, they came to the village square.

It appeared as if the bulk of the population had assembled in the square. On a short dais, village elders congregated. In the middle of the group sat Nathan Telford. His shirt hung open, his bare feet propped onto a stool. 

A few of the villagers took close note of their weapons. An elder, spotting the new group, spoke to Telford. He grinned at them and waved. He slapped the elder on the shoulder, and they supported one another as they got unsteadily to their feet.

“Hey, guys — and Lucky, you made it!” Nathan said around a drunken grin. “This is my new friend, Cyril. He’s the head man here. Cyril, meet my friends.”

“Any friends of Telford are welcome in our village.” Cyril appeared to be as unsteady on his feet as Nathan.

Doctor Ning ran a scanner over Nathan. “How are you feeling?”

“Alive. I wouldn’t be if my new friends hadn’t pried the hatch open and gotten me out. I was pretty out of it, but I’m fine now.”

“Doc, how is he?”

Ning snorted. “He’s healthy enough. Although his blood alcohol reading is off the scale.”

“Come,” Cyril said, “join us in celebration.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Toni said. “Nathan, we need to get back to the boat.”

“No,” Cyril cried, “you must join us as our honored guests.” He clapped his hands, and places were made available for them, food and drink on offer. Carpov and Whitney stepped forward without further encouragement.

“Thank you, Cyril, but we…”

Nathan stepped close, his breath stinking of the local brew. “Toni, if you don’t accept their hospitality, you will insult them.” He slapped the boat’s D-O on the shoulder. “Think of this as an exercise in cross-cultural diplomacy.”

“We celebrate the return of the sun,” Cyril said, pointing to the clear blue sky. “Telford has not only vanquished our enemies, but he is the bringer of light.”

Nathan grinned foolishly and shrugged.

Reiffel did not have the heart to tell Cyril that the asteroid field would be drawn back into orbit within months, and the blue skies of Cimmeria would once again return to the perpetual twilight of yesterday.

“Very well,” Reiffel said, “for the sake of amity, we’ll stay for one drink.”

***

Captain Bradman stepped into the boat bay. The landing party, with the exception of a particularly glum CPO Ritchie, were very much the worse for wear. He stood, arms akimbo, examining the swaying group. Floral arrangements adorned their heads. Telford’s open shirt exposed multicolored medallions hanging from his neck. Bradman wanted to laugh out loud at the ridiculous sight. But as captain—

“D-O, I sent you down there to find Telford and you return in this state. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Captain,” she slurred, “we were engaged in—” She belched, sending the rest of the group into hysterics.

“What she’s trying to say, Skipper,” Telford said around a chuckle, “is that we were engaged in cross-culture, ah, you know, stuff. For the betterment of relations, Sir.”

Bradman turned his attention to the boat’s medical officer. “I expect little else from the youngsters, but you, Doctor Ning? A man of your age should know better.”

Ning leaned close to his captain and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Skipper, you had to be there.”

“You tell ’im, Doc,” Whitney slurred.

That sent them into another fit of laughter.

Bradman coughed to cover a laugh of his own. He shook his head in disapproval.

“I will speak further with each of you, later. For now, get a shower and hit your racks.”

CHAPTER 72

Date: 29
^th
March 322 ASC.

Position: Office of the Athenian Ambassador. Cimmeria.  

Status:  Negotiations underway. 

“He destroyed the bloody King Charles Battle Platform.” Ambassador Eaton-Jones paused to catch his breath. Ambassador Eileen Trumper took another sip of coffee.

“Not only that, he also destroyed the only way into or out of this planet and created a debris field covering the approach to the inner marker. And you call him the savior of Cimmeria?”

“Hugh, a man of your age shouldn’t allow yourself to become so agitated,” Trumper replied. “It’s not good for your health.”

“My health. My health? Once our courier boat delivers news of this disaster to Bretain, my health will be the last of my concerns.”

“So, ten days there, ten days back, and whatever amount of time is needed to allocate blame, ah, excuse me, digest the information.”

“Someone will have to pay, Eileen. A multi-billion-dollar, state-of-the-art facility has been destroyed. By one of yours.” He pointed a finger at her.

“If that monstrosity is what you Brets call state of the art, it might need redefining. It was compromised and thousands of your brave girls and boys lost their lives.” She motioned the Bretish ambassador to resume his seat. He did so, exhaling an exhausted sigh.

“I’ve been following the progress of the KC up to and after Admiral Grace was placed in command of the project. Do you want to know what I’ve found, Hugh?”

A dejected shrug was his answer.

“Very well. Flagrant disregard of security measures. Grace was told by Captain Cowdry that the KC was invulnerable, and he believed it because he wanted to believe it. I have reams of reports from Admiral Barrington warning of just this sort of possibility. Putting the station in the hands of a largely untested AI? That was pure politics on the part of Grace, not sound military thinking. Admiral Barrington said as much and was ignored.”

“Grace has friends, Eileen.” He shrugged. “Totally out of my hands.”

Trumper shook her head. “Someone’s got to pay for this disaster. Your words, not mine. All right, if you want an appropriate scapegoat, Grace fits the bill perfectly.”

“I don’t see that happening.”

“Well, something needs to happen, Hugh. Sitting governments have fallen for less than this right royal fuck-up.”

“Yeah, when the news reaches the media, it will be a feeding frenzy. You are correct, however. I don’t see the government surviving a catastrophe of this magnitude. How could this have happened?”

“According to Ensign Telford—”

“
Ensign
Telford — you’re listening to that saboteur?”

Trumper took a short breath. “According to Ensign Telford, Captain Cowdry had been compromised, and through him the KC. Telford believes that—” 

“Christ, Eileen, you’re taking the word of some rookie kid?”

Trumper’s jaw tightened. “Telford believes that some kind of advanced mind alteration technique was used on him. Hmm, what did he call it? Ah, brainwashing.” She snorted.

“Humph, does Telford get all of his intel from old vids?”

“Ensign Telford has a minor in ancient history from the academy. He specialized on the mid-twentieth to twenty-first century, old Earth calendar. Such things happened in those times.”

“Come now, Eileen, do you really believe the ravings of some boy who’s trying to save his own neck?”

“That boy, as you called him, almost single-handedly saved this world. And, Hugh, he has the full backing of this office.”

“Wonder how long that will last once Athens gets wind of what’s happened here.”

Trumper wondered that too.

CHAPTER 73

Date: 29
^th
March 322 ASC.

Position: Aldershot ship yards. Cimmeria.   

Status:  Monitor
Insolent
undergoing repairs. 

Nathan left the repair efforts on
Insolent
, washed the grease from his hands and arms and dried them before pulling his sleeves down. He marched through the vast shipyard and stopped at the hatch assigned to the skipper. The hatch opened to his request, and he snapped to attention before the man behind the desk.

“Captain, reporting as ordered, Sir.” Somehow he managed to keep his voice steady, although nervous anticipation churned in his stomach.

“Have a seat,” Bradman said. “I thought you might like to know that we recovered the logs from your combat sphere.” A smile darted onto his face. “Including footage from your gun camera.”

Nathan swallowed.

“Your tally is two E-boats and a partial on one other. Plus three kills on fighters and partials on three others.” Bradman looked up from his DRP. “That’s pretty impressive.”

Nathan cleared his throat as the back of his neck started to sweat.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Plus, let me see, what was it? Oh yes, one Bretish battle station and the Grand Channel.”

Shit
.

“It was a defective battle station, Sir.”

“And a killer to boot. Your report on the sabotage of the KC is fairly complete; however, you omitted a few details. Namely, the destruction of a destroyer and a fleet of battleships.” He smiled. “The Brets sent scouts out to the area and recovered large chunks of debris.”

Nathan had nothing to say. 

“Your actions probably prevented the planet from being taken. My report will reflect not only that fact, but the enemy’s attempt to destroy Cimmeria. Both incidents prevented by your actions. Well done.”

Nathan cleared his throat. “Thank you, Sir.”

“However, I’ve gone over your report with regard to the battle of Cimmeria, as the local media have dubbed it, and your actions in orbit. I find your report to be lacking.”

“Sir?”

Bradman examined his pad. “I aided Captain Bradman and the crew of Insolent to defeat the enemy forces.” He dropped the pad onto his desk. “That’s it?”

“Essentially correct, Sir.”

“You took on three E-boats and their escorts, initially by yourself. Better people than you have been sectioned for psych evaluation for less. What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t have time to think, Sir. I saw a problem. I attacked it.”

“Yes, you did, didn’t you?”

Nathan’s eyebrows rose as Bradman chuckled. 

“You’re no slouch yourself, Skip. I’ve never seen such accurate shooting. Knocking down that torpedo heading for the planet. And from that range. Wow. Then you take out eleven torpedoes before they reach Insolent? That’s freakishly good. Almost too good.” He paused for a moment. “May I speak candidly, Sir?”

Bradman nodded.

“When I was at fighter school, the CFI, Henry Worsfold, said that I had a knack for flying. A gift, if you will. He also said that such a talent had not been seen from another student in over thirty years. I’ve checked your record, Captain. Thirty-two years ago, you were attending fighter school. The CFI at the time was Constance Kondrachev.”

Bradman’s sly smile said all he needed to hear. “What’s your point, Nathan?”