The Trafalgar Gambit (Ark Royal) (9 page)

He felt a flicker of guilt as he passed through the hatch and into Officer Country, making his way up to the Captain’s cabin.  Rose was perhaps the most experienced officer, save himself, left on the ship.  Once Kurt left, it was quite likely she would be pushed into taking on the CAG job, no matter her personal preferences.  He knew she’d hate it – and hate him for leaving her.  But his family came first ... he gritted his teeth, silently promising to explain everything to Rose after he’d spoken to the Captain.  He owed her an explanation.

The hatch opened when he pressed his hand against the sensor, revealing the Captain and the Chief Engineer standing in front of a holographic display.  Kurt shook his head as he stepped into the cabin and realised that the display showed just how badly
Ark Royal
had been damaged.  Most of the internal damage could be repaired fairly quickly, he was sure, but it was the armour that posed a real problem.  It was just unlike anything the Royal Navy had produced for over fifty years.

“We’re going to have to slim down armour from these sections,” Chief Engineer Anderson said.  He sounded pleased, despite the situation.  His expertise with one particular starship, and none whatsoever with the more modern starships, had ensured his career had stalled until
Ark Royal
had been called into battle.  “We can use the armour plating to patch the holes in the hull here, here and here.”

He jabbed at the display as he spoke.  “I’m hoping for some additional armour plates from Mars, but they’re stalling on delivery,” he added.  “And we might have to reshape them ourselves when we get them anyway.”

Captain James Montrose Fitzwilliam nodded, thoughtfully.  “Draw down the armour,” he ordered.  “The Admiralty wants us gone in a fortnight at best.”

“They’ll be lucky,” Anderson predicted, dourly.  “I’d honestly prefer to replace at least half of the ship’s systems with completely new gear.”

“And we don’t have the time,” Captain Fitzwilliam said.  “Do your best, please.”

He looked up at Kurt.  “One moment, Commander,” he said.  “We’re just finishing here.”

Kurt nodded.  Captain James Montrose Fitzwilliam had, according to scuttlebutt, tried to use his connections to edge Captain – now Admiral – Smith out of command when the war had begun.  The Admiralty, in an unusual display of perceptiveness, had left Smith in command, but assigned Fitzwilliam to him as his XO.  Somehow, the two men had learned to work together and Fitzwilliam had replaced Smith as Captain of the Old Lady when Smith had been promoted to Admiral and put in overall command of Operation Nelson.  The doubts some of the crew had once had – Fitzwilliam was young, handsome, rich and aristocratic – had faded when they’d seen him in action.  He
was
a competent commanding officer.

“We’re getting emergency supplies rushed to us from Britannia, but we really need some of the older Chinese shit,” Anderson continued.  “Half of our modern systems don’t talk to the older stuff we use as the backbone for our systems; hell, we really should modernise the whole ship, but we just don’t have time.”

“I’ll speak to the Admiralty,” the Captain said.  “They can trade with the Chinese.”

Anderson smiled, then switched off the display.  “I’ll keep you informed, Captain,” he said.  “But I honestly doubt we will be ready to meet our scheduled departure date without slimming the repairs down to the bare minimum.”

Kurt swallowed. 
Ark Royal’s
one great strength was her solid-state armour, the walls of metal that had protected her when more modern carriers had simply been ripped apart within seconds by alien weapons.  If that armour was weakened ... but the aliens, he knew, had already found a way to break through the armour.  They’d be building more such warheads even now, he was sure, and arming their ships in readiness for the final thrust towards Earth. 

“Thank you,” the Captain said.  He watched the Engineer stride out of the cabin, then turned to Kurt.  “What can I do for you?”

And it had better be important
, hung in his voice.

“Captain,” Kurt said.  For a moment, his nerve almost failed him – and then he remembered the refugee camp and gritted his teeth.  “I would like to submit my resignation.”

The Captain studied him for a long moment.  “Denied,” he said, finally.  “You can take it to the Admiralty if you like, but I don’t believe that any resignations are being accepted at the moment.”

Kurt felt cold despair – and rage – boiling up inside of him.  “Captain,” he said, “I would ask you to reconsider.”

“And I would tell you the same thing,” the Captain said, evenly.  He pointed Kurt to the sofa, then turned and walked to the drinks dispenser.  “Do you take milk in your tea?”

Kurt blinked.  “Captain?”

“I want to know if you take milk in your tea,” the Captain said.  He poured a mug of tea for himself, then turned to look at Kurt.  “Do you?”

“Yes, thank you,” Kurt said.  The Captain serving him tea?  It was unprecedented in his career.  Had he entered the twilight zone?  “Sir ...”

The Captain passed him a mug.  Kurt studied it, trying to keep his eyes away from the Captain’s calm gaze.  It was branded with
Ark Royal’s
pennant and, below, the ship’s motto. 
Zeal does not Rest
.  At one point, it would have seemed an absurd motto for the ship, but now it fitted perfectly. 
Ark Royal
had carried almost the entire weight of humanity’s war effort within her solid-state hull.

“I do not believe you would seek to resign without cause,” the Captain said, as he sat down facing Kurt.  “Why do you want to leave the service?”

“My children are in a refugee camp,” Kurt said, slowly.  He wasn’t sure why he wanted to tell the Captain anything, but if he was refused permission to resign his only choice would be desertion.  In times of war, it carried the death penalty.  “They’re ... not in a good state.”

“Few people are, these days,” the Captain said.  “Do you think you can take care of them on the ground?”

“With all due respect, sir,” Kurt said, “you don’t have children.”

“I do understand the impulse,” the Captain said.  “And I understand your desire to protect your children at all costs.”

“My wife is dead and my children are in a fucking prison camp,” Kurt snapped, before he could stop himself.  The tidal wave of bitterness threatened to overcome him.  “I can't leave them there!”

The Captain leaned forward.  “Do you think you’re the only naval officer with family in refugee camps?”

“They should be doing something about them,” Kurt said.  “I ... I can't
think
for worrying about my family.  They’re all I have left.”

“It has only been two weeks since the battle,” the Captain said.  “I believe they’re planning to separate confirmed family and friends of military personnel, but right now the system is utterly overloaded.  People are dying because we can't get medical supplies from one place to another ...”

“Which is why I have to take care of them,” Kurt insisted.  “Who
else
is going to do it?”

The Captain met his eyes.  “If you are discharged from the Royal Navy, you will promptly be conscripted into one of the semi-volunteer units fighting to keep as much of the country intact as possible,” he said.  “You
may
wind up operating a refugee camp.  Or you may be ordered to help dig ditches or fill sandbags or something else that will take you away from your family once again.  I hear that even prisoners have been forced into helping with relief efforts.”

And if I desert, I might wind up helping anyway
, Kurt thought, recognising the unspoken warning.

“And you cannot really be spared,” the Captain added.  “You are one of the most experienced CAGs in the navy, certainly the most experienced officer on
Ark Royal
.  I cannot replace you before we depart for ...”

Kurt stared.  “We’re leaving?  Again?”

“Yes,” the Captain said, flatly.  “Do you make a habit of interrupting your commanding officers?”

“No, sir,” Kurt said.  He’d known Captains who would have blown a fuse at the mere thought of being interrupted by one of their subordinates.  “I ...”

“Quite understandable,” the Captain said, blandly.  He took another sip of his tea, then looked up at Kurt.  “I can arrange for your children – and anyone else you wish to name – to be moved to a better location, if you like.  They will be cared for.  But I cannot accept your resignation right now.  The country needs you.”

“The country needs to take care of my children,” Kurt muttered, sourly.  “I was promised ...”

“I don’t think anyone anticipated such a staggering attack,” the Captain said.  “Everyone assumed we would have to deal with a few thousand wives and children who had lost their husbands and fathers.  We could have handled that, if necessary.”

Kurt couldn't disagree.  One of the few advantages to being part of the Naval Reserve was having a guaranteed pension for his wife and family, if he died while serving in the navy.  It was a far from perfect arrangement, but it would have helped Molly avoid an immediate financial crisis while she looked around for work for herself.  But the system had been crushed below the tidal waves that had ravaged the coasts of Britain and Ireland.  It was unlikely his pension would ever be paid now, if he died on active service.

“I will have your family moved, if you send me the details,” the Captain said.  “I’m due to visit Earth in a couple of days anyway, so I’ll have it done then.  In exchange, I want you to get back to your duties and carry them out in a professional manner.”

“Yes, sir,” Kurt said.  He felt a little reassured.  “Are we actually planning to depart in a fortnight?”

“The Admiralty’s orders admit of no flexibility,” the Captain said, flatly.  “I expect we will be carrying repair technicians and shipyard drones with us when we finally weigh anchor and make our way towards the tramline.  It will be a far from easy voyage.”

Kurt nodded and finished his tea, then put the mug to one side.  The Captain’s steward would pick it up for washing, if he hadn't already been assigned to repair work.  Maybe
that
was why the Captain had produced the tea himself, unless the Captain had wanted time to think and gather himself.  Kurt’s request to resign had to have surprised him.

“Get your flight crews ready as quickly as possible,” the Captain ordered.  He tapped a switch, activating the holographic starchart.  Far too many stars gleamed red, signifying alien occupation.  “You never know when the aliens might put in an appearance.”

“Yes, sir,” Kurt said.  The aliens hadn't bothered to try to hold the Terra Nova system, but they still had a strong presence at New Russia.  They might be planning another attack at any moment.  He rose to his feet, then strode over to the hatch.  “And thank you.”

He stepped through the hatch and made his way slowly back to Pilot Country.  Several new pilots had been assigned to
Ark Royal
since their return from alien-controlled space, although they’d simply been slotted into pre-existing squadrons rather than used to build up entirely new formations.  Adding two new squadrons ... he’d been too distracted to pay much attention to the paperwork, but he had the very definite impression that most of them were new pilots, just recently graduated from the Academy. 

Wonderful
, he thought, as he reached his office. 
Just like Prince Henry
.

“Kurt,” Rose said, as the hatch closed behind him.  “What did the Captain say?”

“Get back to work, you slacker,” Kurt said.  He smiled, despite feeling no sense of humour at all.  “Or words to that effect.”

Rose’s eyes narrowed.  She was far from stupid and knew when someone was trying to distract her.  “And what did you say to him?”

“I told him I wanted to resign,” Kurt said.  He felt another stab of guilt at the brief flicker of pain that crossed her face.  “He told me I couldn't – but that he’d help with the children.”