Ark Royal 2: The Nelson Touch (17 page)

“Understood,” Fitzwilliam said.  He changed the subject, carefully.  “Admiral, please make sure you get some rest.”

Ted scowled.  He would have preferred never to leave the CIC, at least until they returned to Earth.  But he knew it was impossible, no matter what stimulants he took.  He’d just grow more and more exhausted until he started snapping at officers, or collapsed or the ship’s doctor relieved him of command.

“I’ll be in my office,” he said.  At least he’d had the foresight to have a comfortable bed installed in one corner of the compartment, even if it was a little undignified.  “And make sure you get some rest too.”

“I will,” Fitzwilliam promised.

Ted smiled.  No doubt Commander Williams would make sure of it.

Chapter Thirteen

“People are getting a little short-tempered, sir,” Rose observed.  “The rooks aren't used to this sort of stress.”

Kurt sighed, inwardly.  He rather wished he’d been able to invite Rose alone, rather than Rose and the other Wing Commanders.  They could have found their own way to relieve stress.  But there had been no real alternative to inviting them all.

“They’ll have to get used to it,” he said.  Three months of intensive training wasn't enough to prepare the rooks for being separated completely from Earth.  They'd have enough problems learning to live without the datanet or a few days of leave at Sin City without adding in any others.  “We can’t go back just because they feel uncomfortable.”

It was hard to blame them, really, he knew.  The fleet was crawling through a system that might – or might not – have a strong alien presence.  Not knowing was worse, in a way, than picking up a swarm of incoming alien fighters.  The latter, at least, would give them something to hit.  Instead, they just had to pray the system was unoccupied and keep practicing every hour they could in the simulators.  If nothing else, he had to concede, the rooks had improved remarkably since the Admiral had explained their mission.

“Of course not,” Paton agreed.  “But we really need to find something else for them to do.”

Rose leaned forward.  “Like what?”

“Maybe get them exercising with the Royal Marines,” Paton suggested.  His brother
was
a Royal Marine.  “Or get them some more time in the entertainment suites.”

“There’ll be a mutiny,” Kurt predicted, dryly.  “The rest of the crew would rise in revolt and the Captain would chop off my balls.  There isn't enough time in the suites anyway.”

“True,” Rose agreed.  “They’re booked solid for the next three weeks.”

Kurt rolled his eyes.  There were only two entertainment suites on
Ark Royal
, a legacy of the day when she’d had only a skeleton crew.  Now, they were booked up for weeks and the rest of the crew was getting restless.  But there weren't many other means to entertain themselves, apart from portable terminals and the prospect of a relationship with someone outside their chain of command.

We're not really giving them time to mingle with the rest of the crew
, he thought. 
Maybe we should do something about that too
.

“We could organise a game of football,” Kurt said, after a moment.  “Or basketball.  It might keep them busy ...”

Rose’s communicator buzzed.  She looked down at it in surprise, then keyed the switch.  “Go ahead.”

“This is O’Neil,” a voice said.  “There’s been a fight in the barracks.”

Rose stood.  “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, and headed for the hatch.  “This will need to be handled at once.”

Kurt followed her.  He had a nasty feeling he knew precisely who had been involved in the fight.  Wondering just what was so important about the young pilot, he allowed Rose to lead him into the Alpha Squadron barracks and saw two pilots lying on the ground, one with O’Neil sitting on him.  It was definitely Charles Augustus, Kurt realised, as he saw the young man.  His face was almost as red as his hair.  The other pilot was Ken North, one of the more boisterous types, who was currently nursing a black eye.

Rose’s gaze moved from one to the other.  “And why,” she demanded coldly, “were you fighting in the barracks?”

The two fighters looked embarrassed, but declined to answer.

O’Neil stood, carefully.  “I believe they were having a disagreement over the most recent simulated battle,” he said.  “The argument grew louder, then they were throwing punches.”

Rose and Kurt exchanged looks.  Arguments were one thing, fighting – and sexual relations – were quite another.  A fight could take one of the pilots out of the cockpit, weakening the overall squadron.  And the bad feelings they caused could be just as bad, particularly when the rest of the pilots started to take sides.

“On your feet, gentlemen,” Kurt snapped.  Normally, he would have handled the matter himself or left it in Rose’s hands, but he had a feeling there was something
political
hidden from view.  One of his comrades from his first squadron had turned out to be the Duke of New Glasgow’s youngest son, who’d kept his identity a secret.  “I think both of you would benefit from a chat in private.”

Ordering Augustus to remain in the side room, he dragged North into his office and glared at him until he snapped to something resembling attention.  Making a mental note to work on their salutes as well as their flying skills, Kurt took a long breath and demanded to know, acidly, just what had happened to start the fight.

“We were ... discussing the simulation,” North said, after a long moment.  “It went badly because of him.  And then ...”

Kurt leaned forward.  “The discussion went badly too?”

“Yes, sir,” North said, after another pause.  “He threw a punch at me.”

“I .. see,” Kurt said, drawing out the two words long enough to make North eye him fearfully.  “I do not expect to see my pilots fighting when we are in the middle of a war.”

North, thankfully, had enough sense not to argue.  “Now, if you feel there is a problem with another pilot, you take it to the Wing Commander or me,” Kurt continued.  “Pilots are a prideful breed.  The last thing you do is rub his face in his own screw-up.  That’s my job.”

He met North’s eyes.  “If I catch you doing anything like this again, I’ll dock your salary,” he added.  “Go.”

North left, looking both relieved and furious.  Kurt sighed, then tried to decide what to do next.  Any normal pilot could be chewed out at leisure, but Augustus ... just who the hell was he?  Kurt hesitated, then tapped a note for the Captain and then went to call Augustus into his office.  The Captain could decide if anything else needed to be done.

“Augustus,” he said, when Augustus had straightened to attention.  Oddly, his pose more suited a Royal Marine than a pilot.  But his file hadn't implied that he'd joined the Marines, only to be rejected or dismissed.  “Why exactly did you throw a punch at your fellow pilot?”

Augustus met his eyes.  That too was odd; Kurt had had real problems meeting his Wing Commander’s eyes, back when he’d been a rook himself.  And the thought of someone like the Captain taking a personal interest in him would have been horrifying.  But Augustus seemed to have no problems facing someone who could damn his career with a single carefully-written report.

“He called me a glory-seeker, sir,” Augustus said.  “And said I was to blame for losing the battle.”

Kurt frowned.  Augustus was clearly used to concealing his thoughts and emotions, far more than Percy had ever managed, but there was something there ... abruptly,  Kurt realised that Augustus believed that North had been right.  And yet he’d thrown a punch at the other pilot.

“I see,” Kurt said.  “And was he correct?”

Augustus didn't show any emotion on his face, but Kurt saw a faint trace of ... something pass through his body.  “He might have been, sir.”

“He might have been,” Kurt repeated.  “I reviewed the battle personally.  You flew out of formation, despite orders to hold the line.”

“Yes, sir,” Augustus said. “The target was too tempting.”

“Yes,” Kurt agreed.  “The target was
meant
to be tempting.  It was intended to break up your formation and it succeeded perfectly.  You leaving formation caused enough chaos for the aliens to take advantage of it and get their starfighters into attack range.  North was correct, wasn't he?  Your actions cost us the battle.”

Augustus bit his lip.  “Yes, sir,” he said.  “It was my fault.”

“Normally, I would see if you repeated the same mistake,” Kurt said.  “These simulations are intended to allow you to make mistakes without disastrous consequences.  In some cases, they are actually designed to
encourage
you to make mistakes, to act without thinking and see the results of your carelessness.  But I cannot tolerate you fighting with your fellow pilots, Mr. Augustus.  Verbal disagreement is one thing, physical damage quite another.”

He met the young man's eyes.  This time, Augustus seemed to have difficulty staring back at him.  “You will be docked one week’s pay, Mr. Augustus, and you will spend some time assisting the maintenance crew cleaning the landing decks.  And you will apologise to Mr. North.”

Augustus looked sullen, but nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

Kurt sighed.  The young man's emotions were odd.  Percy would probably have raged over the unfairness of it all, Penny would probably have sulked, but Augustus seemed torn between maturity and a childishness more suited to a preteen than an seventeen-year-old.

“I will be reporting this incident to the XO,” Kurt continued.  “I would advise you to remain out of trouble in future.”

He looked down at his terminal as a message blinked up.  “And that might just have become impossible,” he added.  “You’re ordered to report to the Captain, at once.”

Augustus looked, for the first time, openly shaken.  “Will ... will he fire me?”

“I think he’ll probably yell at you for an hour,” Kurt said.  A pilot or junior crewman who attracted the Captain’s attention was in deep shit.  “I suggest you actually
listen
to him.”

He watched Augustus leave his office, then tapped the terminal, requesting an appointment with the Captain at his earliest convenience.  Whatever was going on, he wanted an explanation before it blew up in his face.  And he couldn't escape the morbid feeling that an explosion was precisely what was about to occur.

***

James had privately expected to meet with Prince Henry at some point, no matter how determined the younger man was to succeed on his own merits.  The file he’d read had made it very clear that the Prince had a chip on his shoulder the size of the carrier, which practically guaranteed that he would be in trouble sooner or later.  Perhaps, James had told himself, they could head off any trouble before it turned into a major problem.  Judging by the incident in the barracks, it was quite possible he was wrong.

He nodded in approval as the Prince marched into his cabin and saluted, smartly.  One of his bodyguards had been a Royal Marine, James recalled from his readings, probably the person who had put the idea of joining the military into the Prince’s head.  He couldn’t help wondering why the Prince hadn't gone into the Marines, then decided that someone had probably reasoned that flying starfighters would be safer.  It was probably a sign that no one had known about the aliens until Vera Cruz.

“Stand at ease,” James ordered.  The CAG had already chewed out the Prince; perhaps, instead of yelling at him, James could give some good advice.  “Precisely what were you thinking?”

“Captain?”

James held onto his temper with an effort.  “Let's not bullshit around,” he snapped.  The office was soundproofed, fortunately.  “You are Prince Henry, perhaps the first in line to the throne.  I am perfectly aware of both your true identity and your brains.  What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I wasn't thinking at all,” the Prince said, woodenly.  Clearly, the CAG had already hammered his failure into his head.  “I was just angry.”

James lifted his eyebrows.  “At what?”

The Prince sagged.  “At a very accurate comment made by someone I thought was an idiot,” he confessed.  “It was my mistake that cost us the battle.”

“I see,” James said.  He’d taken the time to review the simulation before calling the Prince to his office.  North’s pithy observation had been largely correct.  “And why did you make the mistake?”

“I saw an opportunity and took it,” the Prince said.  “I was wrong.”

“So you were,” James agreed, dryly.  “But I suggest, for the moment, that you focus on why you made that mistake.  Or should I tell you all about it?”

The Prince said nothing, so James continued.

“I reviewed the files carefully,” James said.  “Every starfighter pilot builds up a vast file while they're in training, including constant evaluations of their developing skills and personalities.  As you can imagine, you received more scrutiny than most.”

“I won’t ever get away from it,” the Prince said.  “Will I?”

He stared down at the deck, sullenly.  “I never
asked
to be a prince!  Everything I get is the result of favouritism, every time I screw up its a world-class disaster.  I ...”

“Apart from one officer, there was no one at the Academy who knew who you were,” James pointed out, smoothly.  “Everything you earned, you earned through being yourself.”