Fear God and Dread Naught

Fear God And Dread Naught

(Ark Royal, Book VII)

Christopher G. Nuttall

Book One: Ark Royal

Book Two: The Nelson Touch

Book Three: The Trafalgar Gambit

Book Four: Warspite

Book Five: A Savage War of Peace

Book Six: A Small Colonial War

Book Seven: Vanguard

Book Eight: Fear God And Dread Naught

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Cover by Justin Adams

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Cover Blurb

On her last cruise, HMS
Vanguard
- the most powerful battleship in the Royal Navy - barely survived her encounter with a deadly new enemy.  Now, with her commanding officer accused of everything from mutiny to dereliction of duty and her crew under a cloud, the Royal Navy doesn't quite know what to do with her.

But there’s still a war on.  And
Vanguard
must return to the front lines.

Assigned to a task force heading to assist humanity’s alien allies,
Vanguard
and her crew find themselves caught in a deadly alien trap.  Can they survive to turn the tables on their enigmatic foe ...

... Or will their next encounter with the new enemies be their last?

Author’s Note

Fear God and Dread Naught
is the direct sequel to
Vanguard
, but it calls upon a handful of characters from the previous two trilogies - and one of them, Prince Henry, plays a fairly major role.  All you really need to know about him is that he was a starfighter pilot during the First Interstellar War (with the Tadpoles) who got captured and played a major role in peace talks.  Since then, he has been assigned to Tadpole Prime as Earth’s Ambassador.

As always, reviews, comments and suchlike are warmly welcomed.  Please feel free to forward spelling corrections and suchlike to me.

Finally, please follow my blog and/or mailing list for future releases.  I’ve discovered that Facebook doesn't share my posts with
all
of my followers.

Thank you

CGN

Prologue

Published In
British Space Review,
2216

Sir.

In their recent letters, the Honourable Gordon Cameron and General Sir David Anilines (ret) both asserted that Britain - and humanity - has no legal obligation to go to the aid of the Tadpoles, even though human ships were attacked and destroyed during the Battle of UXS-469.  They claim that we can pull back and allow the Tadpoles to face the newcomers on their own.

I could not disagree more.

The blunt truth is that the newcomers attacked a joint task force composed of ships belonging to both ourselves and the Tadpoles.  They made no attempt to open communications; they merely opened fire (which is, in itself, a form of communication).  Their attack came alarmingly close to capturing or destroying over thirty warships from five different nations, including the Tadpoles.  They followed up by invading a number of Tadpole-held star systems, culminating with a thrust at a major colony that would, if captured, have opened up access to tramlines leading towards Tadpole Prime.  Those are not the actions of the innocent victims of unthinking aggression.  They are the actions of an aggressor.

We do not know - we have no way to know - what our new opponents are thinking.  They may be so xenophobic that an immediate offensive is their only possible response to any alien contact, although the proof that we are in fact facing two unknown races seems to render this unlikely.  Or they may merely be an aggressive, expansionist race taking advantage of the contact to snatch as much territory as possible.  Given their technical advantages, we dare not assume that the whole affair is a simple misunderstanding.  Nor do we dare assume that communications have merely been poorly handled and the matter will be solved through simple negotiation.  We are at war.

From a cold-blooded perspective, fighting the war well away from the Human Sphere has a great deal to recommend it.  Human colonies and populations will not be at risk.  We can and we will trade space for time, if necessary; there will certainly be no messy political repercussions from military missteps so far from Earth.  Keeping the war as far from our major worlds as possible cannot do anything, but work in our favour.

But there is another point - one of honour.  We gave our word to the Tadpoles that we would uphold the Alien Contact Treaty.  Are we now to welsh on the treaty we proposed and drafted?  Are we now to confirm to the Tadpole Factions that humans are truly untrustworthy?  And should we write off the deaths of over thirty thousand human spacers we can ill afford to lose?  Their deaths cry out to be avenged. 

No one would be more relieved than I, should we find a way to communicate with our unknown foes.  But I have seen nothing that suggests that communication - meaningful communication - is possible.  We may be dealing with a mentality that will refuse to negotiate until they are given a convincing reason
to
negotiate or we may be dealing with a race that we
cannot
talk to, whatever we do.  The only way to guarantee the safety and security of the Human Sphere is to assist our allies and make it clear, to our new foes, that human lives don’t come cheap.  And if we are unable to convince them to talk to us, then we must carry the offensive forward and strike deep into their territory.

The galaxy is a big place.  But it may not be big enough for both of us.

Admiral Sir Tristan Bellwether, Second Space Lord (ret).

Chapter One

“Henry,” the First Space Lord said.  He rose to his feet as Henry was shown into his office and held out a hand in greeting.  “It’s been a long time.”

“Longer for you than for me,” Ambassador Henry Windsor said.  He hadn't visited Nelson Base since the endless series of debriefings, after he returned from Tadpole space.  “It’s been quite some time since we served together on
Ark Royal
.”

“True,” the First Space Lord agreed.  He shook Henry’s hand, then motioned him to take a comfortable chair.  “I remember when you were just a fledgling fighter pilot.”

“And I remember when you were a mere captain,” Henry said.  He smiled, rather tiredly, as he took his seat.  “It's definitely been a very long time.”

He studied his former commanding officer thoughtfully as the First Space Lord ordered tea and biscuits.  Admiral Sir James Montrose Fitzwilliam had been a dark-haired young man - some would say an overambitious young man - when he’d talked his way into the XO slot on HMS
Ark Royal
.  His dark hair had shaded to grey and there were new lines on his face, but Henry still had no trouble seeing the face of the man he’d liked and respected, even when he'd been called out on the carpet for hiding his true identity from his lover.  And yet, there was a strain there that Henry found somewhat disconcerting.  Admiral Fitzwilliam had commanded the task force that had recovered the Pegasus System and defeated the Indians seven years ago, but it had been too long since he’d stood on a command deck.

“You’ve been back on Earth for a month,” the First Space Lord said.  “How are the kids?”

“Safe on my estate,” Henry said, bluntly.  “They’re complaining about being prisoners, but at least they’re safe from the parasites outside the walls.”

“The media,” the First Space Lord agreed.  “And to think I thought the King intended to welcome them at court.”

Henry shook his head.  “Over my dead body,” he said.  “None of the girls are going to grow up in a goldfish bowl, certainly not without any real reward at the far end.”

“A commendable attitude,” the First Space Lord said.  “But what are you going to do about their education?”

“I’ll hire tutors,” Henry said.  He looked up as the aide reappeared, carrying a tray laden with tea and biscuits.  “They’re certainly not going to boarding school.”

He sighed inwardly as the aide poured them both a cup of tea then retreated, as silently as she had come.  Paeans had been written to the British Boarding School - he had a sneaky feeling that the people who’d written them had never actually been there - but his three daughters were not going to attend.  He didn't remember his school years very fondly and he’d had the advantage of being a strong boy, with unarmed combat training from a couple of his bodyguards.  Being sent away from home had left scars that had never truly healed.

And it was worse for my sister
, he thought. 
No wonder she clings so hard to the throne
.

He took a sip of his tea - it was excellent, of course - and then leaned forward, resting the cup on the armrest.

“I assume you know why I’m here,” he said.  “It certainly took a while to secure an appointment.”

The First Space Lord didn't bother to dissemble.  “Susan Onarina.”

“Correct,” Henry said.  He met the older man's eyes, reminding himself - sharply - that they were no longer senior officer and junior officer.  “My contacts inform me that no final decision has been reached on her case.”

“That is correct,” the First Space Lord said.  He shifted, uncomfortably.  “There have been issues ...”

“It’s been a month,” Henry interrupted.

“Collecting evidence for the Board of Inquiry can sometimes take much longer, as you well know,” the First Space Lord said.  “This is a question of mutiny in the face of the enemy.”

“Bullshit,” Henry said.

The First Space Lord lifted his eyebrows.  “I beg your pardon?”

Henry stared back, evenly.  “Should I have said bovine faecal matter?”

He plunged on before the First Space Lord could say a word.  “Let us be blunt, Admiral,” he insisted.  “Susan Onarina assumed command of HMS
Vanguard
in the middle of a battle.  I do not believe that fact is in dispute.  But it is also clear that the battleship’s former commander, Captain Sir Thomas Blake, froze up in the middle of
two
consecutive combat operations.  If she had not taken command, in the manner she did, we would be mourning an additional fifteen
thousand
spacers.”

“That’s one interpretation of the data,” the First Space Lord said, icily.

“It isn't just
my
interpretation of the data,” Henry noted.  “The Yanks have ...
requested
... permission to award her the Navy Cross for her actions, which saved the lives of several thousand American spacers too.  Captain Owen Harper - they’ve bumped him up to Rear Admiral now - has considerable reason to be annoyed at her, but his report - which
accidentally
found its way across my desk - praises her to the skies.  You
know
how touchy the Americans are about placing their ships under outside command.”

He took a breath.  “I believe the only other naval officer with that honour, in recent memory, was Theodore Smith.”

Something
flickered
in the First Space Lord’s eyes.  “The Americans do not dictate what we do - or don’t do - with our personnel.”

“No, they don’t,” Henry agreed.  “But sooner or later, they’re going to actually want to award her that medal - and it will be pretty
fucking
embarrassing if we have to explain to the media cockroaches that she’s in Colchester awaiting court martial.”

He picked up one of his biscuits and dunked it in his tea as he spoke.  “And, by law, formal court martial proceedings have to be public,” he added.  “It will set the government up for a disastrous political catfight at the worst possible time.”

“She does have the option of retiring quietly,” the First Space Lord pointed out.

“Which is as good as an admission that there’s no real case against her,” Henry snapped.  “I have the recordings, sir; I have the data records.  Blake was a crawling sycophant who should never have been promoted above Midshipman, let alone put in command of our largest and most powerful battleship!  He was damn lucky that Admiral Boskone didn't realise just how badly he screwed up during the war games or he would probably have been brutally strangled on his own command deck.”

“Blake was a good officer, once,” the First Space Lord said, quietly.

“He wasn't when he assumed command of
Vanguard
,” Henry said.  He made an effort to moderate his tone.  “I’m not going to second-guess the officers who put him in charge, sir, but my reading of the situation is that his former XO was covering for him.  It would have taken a toll on anyone.  I’m not surprised that he deserted.

“And if
that
gets out,” he added, “all hell is going to break loose.”

“It may still break loose,” the First Space Lord admitted.  “Blake ... had a number of friends in high places.”

Henry groaned.  “And they’re the ones pressing for court martial,” he guessed.  “Because heaven forbid that such illustrious personages ever make a fucking mistake!”

“You’re an illustrious personage,” the First Space Lord snapped.  “You are still first or second in line to the throne ...”

“I took myself out of the line of succession,” Henry said.  “And I have
never
knowingly promoted someone above his level of competence.”

“Neither did they,” the First Space Lord countered.  “This was a terrible surprise to them too.”

“So they’re going to destroy an innocent woman, a woman we should be hailing as a hero, to cover their arses,” Henry snarled.  “And you are going to let them get away with it.”

He felt anger rising and choked it down, savagely.  It was the arrogance of the aristocracy that had driven him away from it, the arrogance of people who knew they held very real power and the will to use it.  And he, the Crown Prince of Great Britain and her Colonies, would have inherited nothing, if he’d taken the throne.  His role had been to be nothing more than a figurehead.  He honestly didn’t know why his father had chosen to stay on the throne for over thirty years.  Henry knew
he
would have gone stir-crazy within the month.

“I have very little choice,” the First Space Lord said.  “I ...”

“Bullshit,” Henry said, again.  “What happened to you?”

It was a struggle to keep his voice even, but he managed it.  “What happened to the commander who saw fit to ignore his instructions and save his superior’s career?  What happened to the captain who stood up to his admiral and told him to keep his nose out of command business?  What happened to the admiral who plotted the defeat of the Indian Navy and then carried it out?”

The First Space Lord slapped his desk, making the teacups rattle.  “I will not be spoken to like this.”

“Then it’s high time you remembered your duty,” Henry said, sharply.  “Your duty is to the men and women under your command, the men and women wearing naval uniform and risking their lives in combat.  Or have you been behind a desk long enough to forget what is really important?”

He leaned back in his chair, deliberately presenting a relaxed demeanour.  “The facts of the whole affair
will
get out, sir,” he warned.  “And when they do, the government will wind up with a shitload of rotten egg on its collective face.”

“I see,” the First Space Lord said.  “Is that a threat?”

“Merely a statement,” Henry said.  “There isn't a naval force in the Human Sphere that doesn't have copies of the combat records.  I’m surprised they haven’t leaked already.  And those combat records include statements from Captain Harper and myself.  Once they leak ...”

He leaned forward.  “Once they leak, everyone will see the government covering its arse at the expense of a genuine naval heroine’s career,” he added.  “God damn it, sir; you
know
how fragile the government’s position is right now.  The Opposition will not hesitate to take the whole affair and use it as a stick to beat the government to death.  And then we will run the risk of losing the right to promote our own officers without obtaining governmental permission, in triplicate.

“And you, the person who should be defending her, is sitting on the sidelines muttering about politics!”

“I cannot afford to risk my position, not now,” the First Space Lord snapped.  “If I ...”

“And what,” Henry asked, “would Admiral Smith think of
that
?”

The First Space Lord glared at him, his jaw working incoherently.  Henry watched him, wondering absently if he was about to be kicked out of the older man’s office.  The First Space Lord was no coward, whatever Henry might have implied.  His pride might lead him into a damaging political fight with no clear winner - with no
possible
winner - if he listened to it, rather than Henry.

“I suspect he might have changed, if he’d had to do battle with this job and its excessive paperwork,” the First Space Lord said, rather coldly.  He picked up his cup and took a long sip, clearly calming himself.  “What do you propose?”

Henry carefully hid his smile.  He’d won.

“I assume you know who backed Blake for command of
Vanguard
,” he said.  “Get them up here and explain, as thoroughly as you can, that Blake screwed up twice - and, the second time, he got a great many people killed.  There’s no way they can pin it on poor Susan Onarina.  They may destroy her career, if they try, but the facts
will
come out and Blake
will
be turned into a scapegoat for the entire battle.”