First Comes Duty (The Hope Island Chronicles Book 2) (11 page)

Bradman slumped into his chair with a bone-weary groan.

CHAPTER 16

Date: 6
^th
February, 322 ASC.

Position: Junior officers’ quarters (married), Sentinel Hector.

Status: Farewells.

Nathan, Livy and Ellen had arrived at Sentinel Hector two days earlier, and since then Livy had done wonders with the place. Junior officer married quarters were always basic, but here on the dead world of Thebes, with living space at an absolute premium, the challenges grew.

The planet carried a minus-four T-class rating, making it officially incapable of sustaining human life. An airless rock useless for anything except its strategic location.

Following an investment of billions of dollars and many years of painstaking excavation, life had once again returned to the dead world. Buried deep within a solid mountain range, Sentinel Hector represented an artificial environment within the planet, replacing the lost ecosystem that had once flourished on the surface.  

The base mirrored the tight constrictions of a monitor attack boat. Though it was even smaller than their quarters on Minos, Nathan and Livy still loved their little nook in the ground, because the three of them were together. While Nathan went out on patrol, Livy would take up her position at the base school. Trained teachers were always in demand on monitor bases.

Zero-five-hundred hours, and Nathan had been awake for an hour. Sleep had eluded him and restlessness drove him from their bed. He took a shower and partly changed into Class As, had a light breakfast and began to pack. His foot locker had been sent aboard yesterday. Nathan crammed an extra pair of socks into his duffel and glanced at the cylinder resting in the corner of the living room.

How many lives had he taken with the bow? Ten? Twenty? It didn’t matter. They were only Pruessens, after all, and headhunters to boot. He placed the bow case beside his duffel, then glanced at the time. Still too early to report aboard.

Nathan dropped onto the modest lounge. His mind wandered for moments before the demons returned to taunt him. They had not beset him in over a year, but chose now to burden him. Why now, after so long? The forthcoming deployment, perhaps? Nathan snapped awake, rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock. He had nodded off for an hour.  

Beside him, Livy sat with Ellen cradled in her arms. “You seemed troubled, so I thought I better wake you,” she said. “Are you all right?” 

He detested himself for making her worry. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He snuggled into her. “I should stop drinking service coffee. It always upsets my stomach.”

She mercifully said nothing. 

A little face poked out from the swaddle, hooked into Livy’s arm. Such a sweet little face.

“Are you sure you won’t change your mind?” Livy asked.

Nathan paused for a long moment. “I would prefer if you didn’t,” he said.

He hated farewells and had avoided them in the past. Welcome homecomings were great, but farewells left him feeling hollow. Nathan had witnessed his share of farewells over the years: buckets of tears from loved ones, fully complemented by an accompanying chorus of whining children and screaming babies. He did not want to see tears from either of his ladies.

Nathan remained within her gentle embrace, the wounded man and his two ladies, until the hour struck that would tear them apart. He kissed Ellen’s sleeping face, so gently it would not awaken her, and hugged Livy to him. One last, lingering kiss. Then he left his beautiful ladies sitting on the lounge. With a heavy heart, he left and did not look back. Never look back.   

He walked briskly through Hector’s myriad of catacombs, forcing his family to the back of his mind. For now he had to concentrate on the job ahead. He would be of no use to his family if he got himself killed because his mind wasn’t focused on his duty.

A spring returned to his step when he marched into the hangar. 

Insolent
sat on her skids surrounded by maintenance gantries sticking into her open hatchways like spears impaling a huge black tortoise. One of the smallest warships in the League, Monitor Corps “Black Boats” had a reputation far exceeding their diminutive size. Although twice the size of a standard attack boat, the monitor escort boat still ranked as a relatively small vessel when compared to the massive capital ships employed by the Athenian Naval Service and most other navies. 

After receiving his billet, he passed through the marine guard post and set course for his quarters. As with everything else on a MEB, the officers’ quarters were roomier than an attack boat’s, and the extra headroom came as a bonus. A lowly ensign did not rate his own room, so he would have to share with another officer. An hour after reporting aboard he had donned his one-piece black flight suit and soft-soled footwear and had just finished unpacking his belongings when the hatch chime sounded.

He keyed his LM. “Ad-mit.”

The hatch slid aside and a lean, robust young woman stepped inside. She had thick, dark hair, large, brown eyes and two more silver stars on her epaulet than he.

Stepping forward, she offered her hand. “Rowena Valetta, 2IC, 26
^th
fighter squadron. Call sign, Dash.”

“Nathan Telford, grommit. Awaiting call sign.” 

Rowena returned his smile warmly. “Are you settled in all right?”

“You bet.”

She checked the top bunk. “Have you seen your roomie today?”

He shook his head.

The hatch slid aside. On a vessel as small as a monitor, it was considered poor form to enter anyone’s quarters without first buzzing.

An enormous young man somehow managed to squeeze his broad frame through the hatch. Within the confines of the small room, he reminded Nathan of a cartoon gorilla jammed into a bird cage. Still clad in his Class A uniform, he eyed the two officers with apprehension before a wicked smile spread across his broad mouth.

“Oops, sorry. I guess I should have buzzed first. Would you like me to leave while you two…” —another idiotic grin— “finish up?”

“You would be Ensign Whitney, then?” Rowena’s tone hardened.

“Yes, that’s right. I’m the new hotshot from Southern Quadrant.” From his fondness at grinning at his own remarks, he apparently considered himself to be quite the wit. Nathan sighed inwardly. He would be sharing quarters with this … fellow for the next three months.

“You’re late.” Rowena did not appear to put a dent in his self-appreciation.

A huge bear of a lad, Whitney had thick blond hair, blue eyes and an irrepressible fondness for himself. Although he was about the same age as Nathan, something about him caused the hairs on Nathan’s neck stand to attention. 

“The FOO has called a pilots’ briefing,” Rowena said. “You don’t have time to square your rig away or change, so you had better come as you are.”

He stood in place without moving either his large body or the idiot grin. Nathan saw the back of Rowena’s neck prickle.

“Ensign,” she began in a measured tone, “we cannot leave until you shift your great lump of a body out of the hatch.”

Finally he got the point and used the manual override to open the hatch. While he squeezed through the hatch, Rowena rolled her eyes.

“So what’s the briefing with the FOO about?” Whitney asked. 

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to explain it to you,” she said.

Whitney grinned as if her words were a joke. “Aye-aye,
Ma’am
.”

She beckoned Whitney to lead the way.

Oh, shit.

CHAPTER 17

Date: 6
^th
February, 322 ASC.

Position: Approaching orbit. Planet Thebes.

Lieutenant Commander Esther Chappell, call sign “Boss”, glanced out the port view plate of her combat sphere and sighed. The grommit had strayed out of formation again. “Outrider Four, tuck it in,” she growled. “You aren’t on picket duty now, Whitney, this is an operational squadron.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Whitney promptly edged his fighter into the tight formation.

Glancing to starboard, she confirmed Outrider Five’s position, glued to “Dash” Valetta’s dorsal wing. At least one of her grommits could fly formation.

In a very short time she had discovered that Ensign Garrison Whitney did not possess a gram of outward self-doubt. Within the community of flyers, such blessedly rare individuals were known as a NAFOD. A pilot with No Apparent Fear of Death. The moment he stepped into the pilot briefing room, clad in his dress uniform, the Alert Condition One alarm sounded in Chappell’s mind. Another snotty-nosed kid who thought he was God’s gift to Monitor Corps, simply because he had passed through fighter training school with a reasonable rating. Although he had two years of colonial picket work behind him, that experience would in no way prepare him for a patrol out to the edge of League space.

During the pilot briefing, her experienced pilots had contemplated the overhead as Whitney expounded his great expertise.

“Twenty-sixth in my graduating year, Commander,” he said, with his enormous chest puffed out with self-pride. “Pretty good going for a man from the backwoods of Nea Kalkidon.”

Dash’s expression said she recognized blarney when she heard it. A damn good pilot, Dash. Pity she was a tourist. Once she qualified for command pilot status, she would not see the inside of a fighter’s combat sphere again. Yes, one day she would get herself a monitor of her own. Lucky girl. 

Lieutenant (JG) Jay Chai, call sign “Bird”, did not have the sort of attitude that lent itself well to sorting out Whitney’s type of problem child. Put him in a fighter and aim him at an enemy, and the usually placid young man turned into a killing machine.

Throughout Whitney’s discourse, Telford had sat without moving or speaking. Only his eyes roamed the room. A hunter surveying new terrain. A slight tic at the corner of his mouth indicated he had smelled a whiff of Whitney’s bullshit.

“I truly believe I can be a great asset to Monitor Corps,” Whitney droned on. “I wouldn’t be surprised if I became the youngest FOO in the history of the Corps.”

Whitney’s attitude did not sit well with Chappell. For the time being, she knew all she needed to know about one of her grommits. The other became more enigmatic by the minute.

Chappell had seen academy graduates who had passed through FTS before. On only one occasion had she served with a Metier graduate. Academy types were self-assured to the point of arrogance. The much-vaunted Metier graduates — who, in fairness, were the best-trained potential boat jockeys in the Corps — made the regular academy types seem humble. Although they never acted in Whitney’s childish manner, they carried themselves with a self-assurance that ran along the razor between insanity and cold blooded pragmatism. They knew they were the best and didn’t need to prove it to anyone. 

She occasionally paused to wonder if her irritation might be based on her own far different background. After years of fighting her way into the Corps, time and again Chappell had been passed over for promotion because of the unfair prejudice granted to those who wore the academy ring. Through all of the injustice she had persevered, trained and studied to add to her list of qualifications. She spent her leave time doing additional courses to improve her chances. In effect, she had married the Corps.

Her mind returned to the briefing room as Whitney finally paused to take a breath. Chappell jumped at the opportunity. “Ensign Telford, is there anything you would care to say?”

His neutral expression took on a token of animation as he shrugged. “I’m glad to be here, Boss. I hope to learn a lot during the deployment.” A wry smile creased the left side of his face. “Perhaps I could get some flying tips from Whitney. He seems to know a lot ... according to him.”  

The other pilots chortled, and despite herself, Chappell smiled.

“Ha! Ha! You are so funny, Telford,” Whitney said. 

Chappell had also examined Telford’s file and his actions spoke much more than his words. It told of an iron will wrapped in a soft coating of Thessaly chocolate. His conduct while serving on
Truculent
showed he had heart and smarts. However, in the aftermath, it also showed a pretty-boy show pony with a fondness for the news nets.

The squadron passed through orbit and into open space. Chappell had six hours before
Insolent
arrived and brought them aboard. She intended to put the time to good use.

“Outrider flight — FOO. Bird, take Outrider Four for evaluation. Dash, you’ve got Outrider Five. Any questions?”

“When do I get a call sign, Commander?” Whitney said. “I
am
flight-certified.”

“Telford, tell him when he’s going to get a call sign,” she said.

“When you’re good and bloody ready to give him one, Boss.”

Chappell grinned. She did not, however, allow the grin to seep into her voice. “Very well, ladies and gentlemen, do some good.”

***

“So what do you think, Bird?” Chappell asked.

Jay took a sip from his coffee mug, then leaned back in his chair. Six hours of intense evaluation had left the pilots fatigued. With the boat underway and blue watch half completed, the three of them had the wardroom to themselves.  

“If Whitney’s ego was any bigger, it would have its own orbital path.” The officers chuckled yet knew full well how quickly a bad attitude could get a pilot killed. “I don’t like to say it, Boss, but he’s not bad. He has a lot to learn, but his basic skills are sound.”

Chappell nodded slowly. “Dash?”

“Telford is exceptional,” she said. “I’m not just talking about him winning the Ellison trophy. He has a natural instinct for flying I wish I had during my first deployment. Telford could actually be the real deal. You know, what they used to call a natural stick and rudder pilot.”

“That good?” Chappell found it hard to keep the surprise from her voice. Dash had never given a pilot such a wrap.

“He needs seasoning, to be sure, but I think we’ve got a live one here.”