Vanguard (Ark Royal Book 7) (4 page)

Vanguard
was massive, she noted; the files stated that the battleship was five kilometres long from prow to stern.  It was easy, as the shuttle flew closer, to pick out the four immense turrets towards the prow of the ship and, in the distance, the four
rear
turrets.  She’d served on
Warspite
, with its immense plasma cannon, but
Vanguard’s
main weapons were much nastier.  She doubted that anything could survive long enough to ram the ship, if the captain directed every turret that could bear on the approaching vessel.  The smaller weapons and point defences studding the hull looked almost like afterthoughts.

“She looks like a dumbbell,” one of the spacers said, behind her.

It wasn’t inaccurate, Susan thought.  The giant battleship
did
look like a dumbbell; indeed, she had to admit the ship looked even uglier than the old
Ark Royal
.  But then, beauty was of no concern, not when survivability was far more important.  The fleet carriers that had fought in the Battle of New Russia had been pretty ships, designed to impress the viewing public, but they’d failed their first combat test rather spectacularly. 
Warspite
hadn't been very pretty either.

She drank in the details as the shuttle approached the airlock hatch.  The hull was covered with plates of armour, each one three or four times the size of the shuttle; if they were damaged, according to the files, they could be easily replaced with new panels drawn from the starship’s stores.  A boffin had taken the solid-state armour that had protected
Ark Royal
and improved on it, producing a compound that was both immensely tough and far more flexible than its predecessors.  And lighter too, if she recalled correctly. 
Ark Royal
had about the same grace and agility as a pig in mud - she’d often been outraced by alien starships - but
Vanguard
should have no difficulty keeping up with the rest of the fleet.  Her drives were so powerful, according to the notes, that they’d almost torn the ship apart, the first time they’d been powered up.  She couldn't help thinking that was a problem that should have been corrected a long time before the navy actually started
building
the ship.

But we’ll probably be glad of the extra speed if we run into real trouble
, she thought, morbidly.  There were two known alien races out in the darkness and one of them, at least, was very definitely on the same level as the human race.  And if there were two races, there would almost certainly be more. 
Lose half the engine rooms and Vanguard can just keep going
.

A dull thump ran through the shuttle as she docked with the battleship, followed by a flicker in the gravity as the two artificial gravity fields merged.  Susan rose to her feet at once - as the highest-ranking officer, she was entitled to embark and disembark first - and strode towards the hatch, which hissed open.  She made a mental note to review procedures, even though it should be perfectly safe.  There was a
reason
starships had airlocks, after all.

“Commander Onarina,” a familiar voice said.  “Welcome onboard HMS Vanguard.”

Susan smiled as she saw Lieutenant-Commander Paul Mason.  “Paul,” she said.  “It’s been a long time since
Warspite
.”

“It has indeed,” Mason said.  He snapped off a salute, then relaxed.  “I hear you’ve been promoted?”

Susan smirked.  “Who let the cat out of the bag?”

“I believe it was mentioned in dispatches somewhere,” Mason said.  He’d always been a joker, although several years as an officer had tempered him somewhat.  “Captain Blake wishes to see you at once, Commander.  Then I have to show you to your office and answer your questions.”

Susan nodded.  “You’ve been filling in for Bothell?”

“Yes, Commander,” Mason said.  He didn’t sound annoyed, although Susan would have been surprised if he hadn't been a little irked by the whole arrangement.  Mason would have been acting XO for three weeks, only to be pushed back when his new superior arrived.  “I have a briefing for you personally, once you’ve spoken to the captain.”

“I see,” Susan said.  It was never easy to meet a classmate from the academy when one was of superior or inferior rank.  They’d started out as equals, after all.  Hell, she was mildly surprised that Paul hadn't been promoted ahead of her.  “Please will you take me to the captain?”

“Of course, Commander,” Mason said.  He nodded to the plaque on the bulkhead - the image of a roaring lion, with the words
We Lead
written underneath - and then led her towards the intership car.  “I believe he’s actually been looking forward to meeting you.”

Susan frowned.  It had barely been five hours, if that, since she’d accepted the posting.  Even if Sir Travis had contacted Captain Blake at once, he wouldn't have had long to anticipate her arrival.  Of course, he
might
have been sent a list of prospective XOs and ordered to pick one ... she shook her head.  There was no point in worrying about it.  Captain Blake had probably served with Commander Bothell long enough to be annoyed at someone else coming in and taking the posting.

I’ll have to review their files
, she told herself.  They wouldn't tell her everything, but at least they’d give her a starting point. 
And then interrogate Paul when I have a moment
.

“This is the bridge,” Mason said.  “And the Captain’s Ready Room is right here.”

“Thank you,” Susan said.  She pressed her fingertips against the scanner.  “I’ll meet you here, afterwards.”

Chapter Three

Captain Sir Thomas Blake looked ...
nervous.

Susan studied him, as closely as she could, as she waited for the captain to stop flicking through pages on his datapad and look up at her.  He was handsome enough, she supposed, for a man in his late forties; his short brown hair had yet to turn grey, while his face was lined enough to give a hint of maturity without displaying his age.  The uniform he wore was expertly tailored, giving an impression of strength without revealing any paunch he might have had.  And yet, there was something about his bearing that belayed his appearance.  It wasn't something she could put her finger on, but it was there.

She hastily reviewed what little she knew about the captain, silently cursing her decision to study the starship itself rather than her new commanding officer.  She’d read everything she could find about HMS
Edinburgh
, from her post-commissioning reports to her personnel files, but she just hadn't had time to do the same for
Vanguard
.  Offhand, she honestly couldn't recall any officer being given so little time to prepare for a new assignment, although she knew it must have happened in the past.  Commander Bothell would hardly be the first officer to fail to report back to duty.  An accident on shore leave ...

The Blake Family was well-connected, if she recalled correctly; they enjoyed the honour of having two of the Royal Navy’s former heroes among their family.  Maybe they weren’t a first-line aristocratic family like the Fitzwilliam Family, but they definitely had connections at the highest levels.  Wasn't there a Blake on the Privy Council?  She rather suspected there was, although she had no idea just how closely related the councillor was to the captain.  It was quite possible that one was from a cadet branch of the family.  But whatever connections he had, they had proved enough to grant him command of
Vanguard
.  The giant battleship was hardly a garbage scow.

“Commander,” Captain Blake said.  His voice was flat, rather than the commanding baritone prospective officers had been taught to use at the academy.  “I must say I was expecting Commander Bothell to return from Earth.”

“Yes, sir,” Susan said, puzzled.  Surely Captain Blake
knew
that
something
had happened to his XO.  The Admiralty wouldn’t have forced a new XO down his throat unless his chosen XO was unavailable for some reason or another.  “I received this assignment on very short notice.”

“Commander Bothell was a good man,” Captain Blake said.  It took her several seconds to realise he was talking about his former XO in the past tense, as if the officer was dead and gone.  “You have a pair of very big shoes to fill.”

“Yes, sir,” Susan said. 
Was
Commander Bothell dead?  If so, how did Captain Blake know what had happened?  Or was the Captain merely treating him as if he were?  It was something to raise with the Admiralty, if she had time.  “I look forward to serving as your XO.”

“A very good man,” Captain Blake continued.  “He knew what he could handle on his own, without input from me.  I shall expect the same from you.”

“Yes, sir,” Susan said.

“Your file is quite bland,” Captain Blake added, after a moment’s pause.  “Why
are
you qualified to serve as my XO?”

“I was in line for
Edinburgh
, sir,” Susan said, unsure if she should feel insulted, embarrassed or concerned.  “I already had my promotion.”

“But you have not served as an XO previously,” Captain Blake said.  “Commander Bothell was my XO on
Thunderous
, prior to our joint transfer to
Vanguard
.”

Susan puzzled over it for a long moment.  It was rare, very rare, for a command team to remain in place for over two years, let alone survive a transfer to a new ship.  The only time she recalled it happening had been Admiral Smith and Captain Fitzwilliam and
that
had been in wartime.  There were simply too many opportunities for favouritism or for one career to overshadow the other.  Had Commander Bothell deserted because he’d felt his career had stalled?  It was far from impossible.

“No, sir,” she said.  Captain Blake had started to look impatient.  “I don’t pretend I know everything, sir, but I am willing to learn on the job.”

“You
have
to learn on the job,” Captain Blake said, curtly.  “If you fail to satisfy me, Commander, you will be returned to Earth once we complete our exercises with the Americans.”

“I understand,” Susan said.  She could see his point, but there was that undertone of ...
something ...
that bothered her more than she cared to admit.  “I will do my best to satisfy you.”

“Very good,” Captain Blake said.  “I believe Commander Mason has a briefing for you.  He worked closely with Commander Bothell, so he is best-placed to bring you up to speed.  Add your name to the watch roster, but make sure you are supervised for the first couple of watches.”

“Aye, sir,” Susan said, tightly. 
That
was an insult, although she had a nasty feeling the captain could have justified it if she’d called him on it. 
She
was no midshipwoman, fresh out of the academy and barely able to tie her shoelaces together;
she
was a naval officer with fifteen years of service under her belt.  “I’m sure Commander Mason will be happy to provide supervision, if necessary.”

She swallowed her irritation with an effort.  “Is there anything else I need to know, sir?”

“You’ll be serving on the bridge with me, rather than operating the secondary bridge,” Captain Blake said.  “I like having my XO where I can see him.”

Her
, Susan thought, silently.  What the hell was going on?

“We are currently waiting for two new middies,” Captain Blake concluded.  “Once they are onboard, I’ll be inviting my new officers - including yourself - to dinner prior to our departure.  I trust you will be able to attend?”

“Yes, sir,” Susan said.  The odds of any officer
declining
a dinner with his commanding officer were about as low as the Admiralty promoting a midshipwoman to Grand Admiral as soon as she graduated from the academy.  “I would be delighted to attend.”

“Very good,” Captain Blake said.  “Dismissed.”

Susan saluted, turned and marched out of the cabin, her mind spinning.  What was
wrong
with Captain Blake?  And why were all of her instincts twitching in alarm the moment she turned her back on him?  She could understand a senior captain being concerned about an untrained XO - although she had served as
Cornwall’s
XO for two months when her superior had had to leave the ship for a brief period - yet his conduct had been far from professional; indeed, it had been outright insulting.  Just what had happened between the captain and his former XO?

“Commander,” Mason said, as she stepped onto the bridge.  “Do you want the grand tour or should I show you directly to my - your - office?”

“I think it would be better if you showed me to my office,” Susan said.  She needed a stiff drink - and a chat, where no one else could hear.  “I assume it’s near the bridge?”

“Near the
secondary
bridge,” Mason said.  He led the way through the airlock and down into Officer Country.  “You’ll discover that a great many cabins and offices are actually scattered through the hull, Commander, rather than concentrated in one place. 
Vanguard
is built to take a shitload of damage and keep going.  There’s no prospect of a single hit managing to take out the entire command crew.”

Susan snorted.  “Does that actually happen outside bad movies?”

“
Aliens
were fictional only fifteen years ago,” Mason reminded her.  “And so were space pirates.”

“I suppose,” Susan conceded. 

She rolled her eyes as they reached a stairwell and walked down to the lower decks.  The idea of space pirates had been the stuff of trashy romance novels ever since humanity had advanced into space, rather than a real-life problem.  It was impossible to keep a small starship operating without a nation or a very large corporation providing backing.  And yet, on her first voyage,
Warspite had
run into a small group of pirates.  It was unlikely there would be any others, she was sure, but the threat had been noted.

And it helps convince Parliament to increase the military budget
, she thought, cynically. 
As if there weren't enough real threats out there
.

“This is your office,” Mason said, opening a hatch.  “As you can see, Commander Bothell ran a very tight ship.”

Susan shook her head as she took in the scene.  The office wasn't just clean and tidy, it was organised to sheer perfection. 
Everything
had its place, from the terminal on the desk to a handful of pens, a drinks machine and a large painting of the Battle of Pegasus, a copy of an original Justin Adams.  She’d actually seen the original, she recalled, when it had been hung in
Warspite’s
wardroom, two years after the battle.  Her first commanding officer had been adamant that they hadn't been
that
close to the Indian carrier.

“He was a little OCD,” Mason commented, as the hatch hissed closed behind them.  “I was surprised when he failed to return from his shore leave.”

“So was the captain,” Susan commented.  She sat down on one of the uncomfortable chairs and motioned him to take the other one, facing her.  “Paul ... can we talk bluntly, off the record?”

“Of course,” Mason said.  “Naval Regulation 538-362-3273 clearly states that two officers who shared a class at the academy may speak freely to one another, regardless of their formal ranks.”

Susan smiled.  “There’s no such regulation.”

Mason looked downcast.  “You’ll be astonished how much you can get away with just by quoting non-existent regulations.”

“I would be astonished if
anyone
fell for
that
one,” Susan said.  She shook her head.  “It’s practically a licence for the breakdown of naval discipline.”

“Perhaps,” Mason said.  “But it’s also useful to have an informal connection, from time to time, even if it
was
shaped in the academy.”

Susan shrugged.  “What’s wrong with the captain?”

Mason gave her a long look.  It was, she knew, an awkward question.  Asking a junior officer to pass judgement on a senior officer was a breach of naval etiquette, even if it went no further.  A captain might pass judgement on an admiral, if he or she served on a court martial board, but anyone junior?  It simply didn't happen.  Hell, even if it was perfectly legal to report one’s superior officer for misdeeds, it wasn’t impossible that the whistleblower’s career would come to a screeching halt.  Betraying one’s senior officers, for whatever reason, wasn't something that endeared a person to his future superiors.

“You don’t need to answer,” she said, “if you don’t want to answer.”

She kept her expression blank with an effort.  Paul Mason had been more than
just
a joker, he’d been the most outgoing person in their class.  She still smiled at the thought of how he’d made a pass at her, then befriended her when she’d shown no interest ... and at how he’d constantly pushed the limits, just to see how far they could go.  Hell, he’d cheerfully bragged of having a foursome in New Sin City.  She found it hard to imagine
anything
that could silence him.    

“I haven’t actually had much contact with him,” Mason said, finally.  He glanced up at the ceiling, as if he was suddenly unwilling to meet her eyes.  “Commander Bothell handled almost everything, Susan.  He was practically the
real
commanding officer on the ship.  The captain would come onto the bridge, but he wouldn't stand watches or
anything
unless there was something important, like a visit from a visiting dignitary.  Princess Elizabeth visited us for the launch ceremony and the captain was practically kissing her ass in public, yet the moment she departed he went back to his ready room and Commander Bothell resumed command.”