First Comes Duty (The Hope Island Chronicles Book 2) (16 page)

“Outrider Four, respond to my signal.” He counted to three and tried again. “Outrider Four, respond to my signal.” Nathan recalled what oxygen deprivation did to a person: disorientation, lethargy and an overpowering desire to sleep.

“Whitney!” he shouted.

“Huh?” Everything else Whitney said came across as a jumble of incoherence.

“Ensign Whitney, snap to,” Nathan shouted.
Keep him awake or he’ll be dead by the time I get him back to the boat.

“Outrider Four,” Whitney said.

“Whitney, it’s Nathan. Report your condition.”

“Nathan?  Nathan is dat you?”

“Yes Whitney, it’s me. How are you coping?”

Nathan gave his thrust engines a tiny nudge and cleared the oddly shaped slab. The skids began to slip as he passed the huge, spinning rock. The big ones kicked out a lot of magnetic interference.

“Wrecked my boat, Nathan.” His words were slurred, but at least he was awake and talking. “Boss is going to be really pissed.”

“Your boat looks pretty good from out here. I’m sure your flight crew will have you back flying in no time.” No response. “Whitney, wake up,” he shouted. 

“I’m awake, I’m awake. I’m so tired, Nathan.”

“I know you are, but you have to hang in there. We’re on our way back to the boat. We’ll be there in no time.” Nathan bit back a curse when the skids slipped from Whitney’s fighter. He retrieved it quickly, but this exercise was taking too long. It had taken minutes to enter the heart of Triton. Getting out at dead slow speed would take far longer. Perhaps too long.

“Nathan Telford, Nathan Telford. The big gun. Ellison trophy winner. King of the academy. So what’s he got against me anyway? He’s always pickin’ on me. My father would be proud of Nathan Telford. Yeah, he’s a winner. Always goda be a winner son. No one members second place. Got to be the best or no one’s gunna to respec ya. Never say you’re sorry. Never give in. Just like a good marine. Just like Dad. Be a man. Shit, I was five years old. What di I know about bein a man?”

Whitney would not last much longer. If he passed out again, Nathan doubted he could wake him again. He pushed the throttles forward another notch and immediately lost grip on Outrider Four.

“Shit!”

“What? Wadda you mean, Nath’n?”

Reacquiring Whitney’s fighter, he realized his LM was active. “Shit, Whitney, that sounds tough. So your old man was a marine. What outfit?”

“Eleventh marine division. Killers every one.”  

“The eleventh, eh? Tough outfit. Where did he serve?”
Keep him talking.

“Cimmeria. Two and a half tours. Lost a lung in the last one and got an honorable discharge and a pension. A career marine pensioned out, just li dat. He used to be a good man, Nathan. A stric father but fair. But when he got back from Cimmeria he’d turned into a real mean drunk. He couldn unersan dat I wash jusss a kid Nathn.”

A huge boulder swung unexpectedly into Nathan’s flight path. Its massive interference tore the two fighters apart. Whitney’s fighter tumbled under it. Nathan pushed his fighter over the top to avoid a deadly collision.

“Hey, wash dat?” Whitney said. Then his signal went dead.

Nathan pitched his fighter over on her back and plunged across the other side of the huge rock to where Whitney should be. In the blackness of space, the tractor beam struck out with claws. Shutting down his infrared overview, he blinked several times to remove the blotches from his vision.

By the time his eyesight readjusted, Outrider Four had been tractored into
Insolent
’s boat bay. Bradman, Nathan had heard, was the best boat jockey in the Corps, but how had he gotten a boat the size of a MEB through the outer debris field so quickly? Nathan could detect no impacts to
Insolent
’s shields or hull.

He positioned his Specter astern of the monitor to observe the operation. Safely past the environmental force field and into normal gravity and air, the fighter slipped onto a mobile cradle. The crew clambered over the fighter, rigging an umbilical to provide onboard power. Then, with a few commands, the undercarriage lowered and Whitney’s combat chair sprang into view. The doc and medic droids stood by and had his helmet off and oxygen mask on in an instant. Nathan awaited permission to come aboard.

“Outrider Five, Insolent,” Toni Reiffel said. 

“Outrider Five.”

“We are leaving Triton and returning to the Kyushu
Maru.” An unaccustomed pause from the boat’s operations officer. “You are to maintain your current position with Insolent and match speed and course exactly. Confirm.”

“Insolent, Outrider Five. Message received and understood.”

Well, you had to expect it, Telford.
He had disobeyed orders, even knowing the skipper had been waiting for any opportunity to slap him down. So he would follow the boat back to the
Maru
and sit in her chop all the way. After enduring the lengthy and uncomfortable flight, he would trap aboard and the skipper would undoubtedly ream him to within a millimeter of his life.

CHAPTER 27

Date: 3
^rd
March 322 ASC.

Position:
Kyushu Maru
convoy, traversing Bretish, Commonwealth hyperspace. 

Status: Alert Condition Three. 

“Captain to the bridge,” Reiffel said. Standing directly behind the tactical officer, her gaze was fixed to the readouts.

Bradman strode onto the bridge. Reiffel stepped back to allow him to examine the readouts.

“What do you think, Vasquez?” he asked.

The tactical officer exhaled one enormous breath. “Might be a hyper echo, Captain.” She shook her head. “Or we could have company.”

“Assessment?”

“The object is nowhere near matching our harmonics, so there’s no immediate threat. And it
could
be an echo.”

“D-O?”

It pleased Reiffel that the captain followed procedure by deferring to her, but she still wondered if he trusted her opinion.

“I would err on the side of caution, Captain.”

Bradman nodded.

“Very well. Bring the boat to A-C One,” he said, “and put me through to the Kymu.”  

***

Nathan leaned back in his combat chair and yawned. The pilot rotation had placed him in the alert fighter seat: four hours of bum-flattening boredom.

He flinched as the Alert Condition One alarm ricocheted around the boat bay. His fingers flashed across the controls, bringing his systems to life. He slipped his helmet on and dropped into the combat sphere.

“SMC, Telford.”

“SMC,” the computer replied.

“Begin full start-up procedures. I want maximum power allocation to the buffers. All weapons online. Real-time imagery to all holo plates.”

“Confirmed.”

While the systems powered up, Nathan tightened his harness. Within three minutes, he had completed his checklist. Now only the waiting remained. Two minutes later he caught his fingers strumming against the side of his chair.

“SMC, has there been any deviation to Insolent’s course?”

“Yes, Sir, there have been two minor course corrections in the last eight minutes. The monitor has rolled over and is conducting full braking maneuvers. Estimate cessation of forward momentum in twenty-eight point three minutes.”

“Shit!”

“Pilot, please repeat your instruction.”

“Disregard last transmission.”
Turn your damn mike off.

“Outrider Five, FOO.”

Nathan took a deep breath before keying his LM.

“Outrider Five.”

“Outrider Five, just a heads-up. The boat is braking in preparation for egress,” Chappell said. “We have a possible contact and need to check it out. Should take about thirty minutes. It’s probably an echo, but we can’t take the chance.” Chappell’s silence confirmed to him what would come next. “Nathan, as alert fighter you will be on point.”

“Roger, Boss.” Nathan maintained a relaxed tone.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine, Boss, how are you?”

She chuckled lightly. “Everyone’s a bloody comedian.”

“Hey, Boss, it’s no biggie. I’ll go and shake the bushes, and if I find a snake, I’ll report same and skedaddle.”

“Just make sure you don’t get bitten in the process.”

Nothing further needed to be said. Nathan busied himself with check and counter-check of his systems. Every time he found his fingers strumming, he did another unnecessary systems check.

Waiting: the scourge of the soldier. He might soon be flying to his death, but first he had to wait.            

Nathan sensed through his bones the slight trembling that abruptly stopped.

“Outrider Five, D-O.”

“Five.”

“We are in position for egression.” Reiffel said. “Confirm status.”

"Aye-aye, Ma’am. Wait one.”

“Standing by.”       

He double-checked his LM to confirm it was off. “Come on, Telford, it’s probably nothing. Pull your shit together.”

His chair made a complete rotation to verify all hangar hatches were sealed and no personnel remained within the boat bay. When the main hatch opened, anyone caught in the bay would fry.

Nathan engaged the keel thrusters and, as his fighter lifted from the deck, retracted the undercarriage. While Outrider Five hovered at the dead center of the bay, he engaged his navigation shields. Within the close confines, full shields would scorch the nearby bulkheads. Nav shields would afford him little protection from the ravages of hyperspace. He had to react fast.  

“D-O, Outrider Five.”

“D-O.”      

“O/R Five standing by for departure.”

“Very well, Nathan. Good luck. Boat bay doors opening on my mark. Three,” —Nathan held one finger above the thrust controls— “two,” —his right forefinger waited by the shield controls— “one, mark!”

The doors snapped open, the brilliance of hyper flooding into the bay. Pushing the throttles into the red, he raised the shields to maximum as soon as his fighter cleared the bay. Behind him, the doors snapped shut. All within five seconds.

Nathan positioned his Specter above
Insolent
’s forward weapons array.

“Outrider Five, in position for egression.” Nathan closed his left eye. When he egressed, it would help him to adjust to the sudden darkness — an old pilot’s trick taught to him by Henry Worsfold.

“Very well, Outrider. Opening perforation, now.”

“Insolent, O/R Five, committing.”

Nathan engaged both stealth engines and pushed the throttles forward to quarter-speed. He would have a bumpy entry into N-space, but it would give him a small tactical advantage, if an enemy ship awaited him on the other side.

His collision alarm blared as he struck the relative solidness of N-space. The small size of his fighter made the jolting experience far easier to absorb than would be the case for a boat as large as
Insolent
. Within Tunguska’s distinctive continuum, size really did count for something. After all, if a bullet encountered far less resistance travelling through air than an aircraft, then the same principle applied to his small, sleek fighter within Tunguska’s environment.

The egression from the absolute brightness to the stark blackness of interstellar space caused spots to dance around his right eye. He opened his left eye, which functioned perfectly.
Nathan sent out a full-power active scan. Vision to his stunned right eye cleared by the time the results scrolled across his heads-up display. No contact readings returned from his scan. No inbound torpedoes to ruin his day. Exhaling through pursed lips, he ran another complete survey of the region, making a slow rotation through his axis while the active scan pinged away. Finally satisfied, he engaged his larynx mike.

“Insolent, Outrider Five.”

With the hyper perforation trimmed to a fine point, his transmission went through loud and clear.

“Outrider Five, Insolent
.
”

“Insolent, I detect no contacts within range of my sensors.”

“Very well, Outrider Five, we’re egressing now.”

Insolent
crawled through the perforation at dead slow speed. When the hyper perforation closed behind her, she did an active scan with her far more powerful sensor suite. The fighters leapt, one at a time, from her boat bay, taking up positions around her. In less than thirty seconds, the scan confirmed the region as safe. 

“All Outriders, FOO. Adopt standard patrol protocol. Remember, no open comms, people. We could have a bogie out there, so we do this by the numbers. Go.”

At flank speed, Nathan’s Specter reached its assigned patrol area in quick time. He formed one-fifth of the early warning envelope surrounding the convoy.

An hour later, Nathan shook himself as his concentration began to wane. Maintaining focus was the single most important aspect of escort fighter duty and one repeatedly drummed into pilots’ heads. A lapse in concentration, a gap inadvertently missed in the patrol envelope, could allow an enemy ship to slip through and surprise the convoy. Staring into the ebony environment for hours at a time could be likened to doing brain surgery in a dark room.

Nathan remained calm, although his instincts were stretched and alert. Then he caught a glimmer of movement at his ten o’clock position. At the same moment, his passive scanners beeped. Nathan set his Specter on an intercept heading and was prepared to flash feed
Insolent
, when the vessel took shape. Sure enough, the warship coasted on momentum, with little to give away her position.

He identified the ship as a light cruiser of the Coventry class, one of the older types of Bretish Royal Navy vessels. She should not have the same type of high-tech sensor arrays as a monitor. 

With careful bursts from his mag plating, Nathan brought his boat into position behind the aging cruiser while maintaining full stealth mode. The cruiser’s disinterest in him confirmed they had no idea his fighter sat on her six with his gun sights squared up on her engine nacelles. 

Selecting an open frequency, he keyed his larynx mike. “Unidentified warship, this is the Athenian naval escort vessel Outrider Five. Identify yourself.”