First Comes Duty (The Hope Island Chronicles Book 2) (30 page)

Nathan nodded.

“Me too,” Lucky added.

Eleanor bared her teeth. “And what makes you think I give a good country shit what
you
do. None of you are authorized to be here. If you think a slimy little chimp like Honest John will get you special treatment, think again.”

“Aww,” John began, “but Ellie, I—”

“Don’t call me that,” she shouted. “We might have the same parents, but that doesn’t give you the right to bring strangers into my workplace. Now get out!”

Nathan could not help but like her.

“You heard the lady.” As they turned to leave, Nathan said, “You’re probably right, Carpov. That heap of nuts and bolts wouldn’t get off the ground.”

“What’d you say?” Eleanor roared.

“I’ve lived in quarters smaller than that great, clunking disaster.” Nathan forced his smile down.

“This great, clunking disaster could take out one of your Specter fighters with ease.”

Nathan and his shipmates threw their heads back and laughed. 

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Lucky said.

“I’m perfectly serious,” Eleanor said. “And I can prove it to you.”

With a slight degree of shame, Nathan thought,
Sometimes I don’t even have to try that hard.

Forcing the smile from his face, he extended his hand. “Nathan Telford, Monitor Corps.”

She eyed him speculatively before shaking his hand. “Doctor Eleanor Worrell.” A wry smile. “Chief designer of this great, clunking disaster.” 

***

Eleanor’s features were very much the norm for female Cimmerians: her forehead was broad, but not as broad as a male’s; her nose wide, but not as wide as a male’s. Eleanor was, for a Cimmerian, an attractive woman. In the same way as humans, Cimmerian females were a more gracious, genteel version of the species.

“You’re full of shit, Telford,” she spat.

“All right, Eleanor, don’t blow a conduit,” Nathan said. “I’ve already taken back my comments about your flying house, haven’t I?”

She nodded tersely.

“It’s a fine design, and you should be proud of your achievement. But don’t let your pride get in the way of common sense. There is no way that a Kamora could out-turn a Specter. In many other respects, a contest between the two would be an interesting proposition.”

“I would love to put my Kamora up against a Specter.” Her eyes shone above a hopeful smile. “Is that possible?”

Nathan had been waiting for the question all afternoon and into the early evening, after Eleanor invited him to dinner.

Frowning, he rubbed his eyebrow. “That would certainly be something to see. Hmm, I suppose I could run it past the skipper when Insolent returns from her assignment.” He shrugged. “Although I doubt that will happen. Athenians aren’t exactly your king’s favorite human beings at the moment.”

“Don’t worry about that idiot,” she snapped, then glanced about, nervously. “A contest between Cimmeria’s best and” —she smiled— “dare I say,
the son of
Telford
, would have the people cheering in the streets. The king is unpopular enough as it is. If he tried to stop such a contest, there would be…” Eleanor lowered her eyes to the table as the waiter served their meals. 

Nathan sniffed the thick broth. The rich aroma of meat, vegetables and mixed spices made his mouth water.

“What is it?”

“Don’t ask,” she said. “Some outlanders find the ingredients to be offensive.”

“Eleanor, I’ve eaten Rhodesian snails.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you later.” She winked.

The meal continued in the same friendly vein, the awkwardness of their first meeting forgotten. Nathan scoured the bottom of the bowl with a fresh bread roll and sat back with a contented sigh.

“Eleanor, I have to say, in all honesty, that is the best Cimmerian meal I’ve ever tasted.” He reached for his glass of robust red wine. “Why name your boat the Kamora?”

Lowering her voice, she closed the gap between them. “This does not leave the table, Nathan.”

Nathan nodded. 

“It’s from the old tongue of our people. Our original vernacular before the Brets
civilized
us. But it has been outlawed by the king. If he wasn’t such an idiot, he would know it came from the old language, meaning ‘flaming sword’.”

“Flaming Sword.” Nathan mused. “Great name.”

Eleanor beamed. 

“You’re none too fond of the king, are you?”

“I’m not alone in that.” Eleanor glanced around expectantly. “But we shouldn’t be talking this way in public. The king has spies everywhere.”

Nathan nodded and changed the subject.

“So this is the second production prototype? How did Everett get a hold of the first?”

“He decided he wanted
my
fighter, so he took it.” Although she shrugged, Nathan could tell from the coldness of her features that the king had committed an act of treachery Eleanor would never forgive.

“I must reiterate, Eleanor, the Kamora will be a great first step for your fledgling space navy.” He swirled the wine in his glass. “Were you serious about me taking her up for a spin tomorrow?”  

“Yes, but we’ll have to be careful. We’ll smuggle you in early and close off the hangar to nonessential personnel.” She stretched, yawned, then eyed him with predatory intent. “I like you, Nathan.”

“I like you too, Eleanor.”

“Well then, can you give me one good reason why we shouldn’t leave here and head back to my place?”

Nathan’s reply caught in his throat. It wasn’t the first time a woman had made the offer, but— 

“Eleanor, I am extremely flattered, and not just a little curious. But yes, I can give you one good reason.” While he talked, he reached for his DRP, displayed an enlarged holo of Livy and Ellen. “Two good reasons, in fact.”

She nodded in weary acceptance. “Yeah, it’s the same old story. All the good ones are married or gay.”

CHAPTER 42

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,

Who are as black as hell, and dark as night.

Sonnet 147. William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

Date: 24
^th
March 322 ASC.

Position: Cimmerian Outer Marker.

Status: Bretish picket squadron, on station. Alert stand down.

Commodore Dilley yawned, then stretched to relieve the kinks in his back. He found picket duty to be so boring. The same mind-numbing routine, day after dreary day. Ships arrived, he checked their credentials, and off they went, through the outer marker and on to Cimmeria. Part of him wished some enemy force would try to get past his squadron. Of course, the chances of that were next to nothing.

The only real excitement in the last two months had come two days ago when
Ascot
stumbled upon the Talgarno ships. Or what was left of them. Dilley had satisfied himself that the Talgarnos were what they said they were, even if some of his subordinates had their reservations. Despite their entreaties, he would not send his people onto a ship that could, for all they knew, be contaminated with the Derwent plague. The Talgarnos had been sensor-swept from stem to stern without detecting a single working weapon. After that minor piece of excitement, the dull routine had returned.

Dilley brought up the image from the stern feeds. The Talgarnos might have been quite a formidable presence in their time, but that time had long since passed. Now they were nothing more than the broken remnants of a once-powerful fleet, sitting in idle contemplation of an uncertain future.

***

Imperial Pruessen Navy Captain Matthes stepped onto the bridge of the Talgarno battleship
Righteous Hand
.

“Status, XO?”

Commander Harmon grinned as if he had won citizenship. “Not a peep out of them for the last day. They did their last scan at 0312 hours yesterday. Nothing since then.” He shook his head. “I thought the Royal Navy was one of the most professional outfits in the south. I at least expected them to send over a boarding party to check us out.”

Matthes allowed a rarely seen smile to slither onto his face. “Don’t make the mistake of judging all Brets by Commodore Dilley’s standards, or lack of them. We simply got lucky with this one.”

“Aye-aye, Skipper.” His grin softened marginally.

“Did the senior engineer clear up that problem with the EDF?” Matthes asked. 

“Yes, Sir. Our weapons systems remain shielded behind the energy dampening field. All we have to do is drop the field and, as they used to say, rock and roll. As far as the Brets are concerned, we are nothing more than five badly damaged, weaponless Talgarno ships. They won’t know what hit them.”

“Since the Brets have fallen asleep on the job, I think we’ll move up our schedule.” He turned to the communications alcove. “Comm, flash feed to Commodore Becklin with the armada. Message reads: Spearhead established at enclosed coordinates. Standing by for attack code.”

CHAPTER 43

Date: 23
^rd
March 322 ASC.

Position: Monitor
Insolent,
one click from the northern frontier.

Status:  Awaiting rendezvous.

Captain Bradman sipped his coffee and winced. “All this time in uniform,” he whispered, “and I still haven’t gotten used to this swill.”

The hatch slipped open and Antonia stepped into the briefing room. Bradman had come to accept that she had worked out well, despite his initial misgivings. Growing a set along the way had not hurt her, either. 

“Coffee?” he offered.

“Oh God no, Sir.” She took her usual seat to his right.

“Anything yet?”

“We’re still scanning across the Rio Grande, but nothing so far. Two days now, Sir. I thought these spooks were reliable.”

“They generally are, but collecting intel from the north is an extremely high-risk undertaking. I think we can forgive them for being a little late to their rendezvous.”

“Aye, Sir.” Her eyes took on the thousand-meter stare. “I wonder what’s happening back on Cimmeria.”

Bradman snorted. “Where Telford’s involved, anything’s possible.”

“I’d hate to think of him, ah, any of our crew, dying on that world.”

Me too, but what can I do?
“I’m sure they’re fine. I don’t think even a troublemaker like Telford could get into any more strife than he’s already in.”

“You’re probably right, Skipper, but I can’t help—”

The Alert Condition One alarm sounded. They both leapt from their chairs and dashed onto the bridge.

“Report,” Bradman demanded.

CPO Rawlins, who covered the operations station, said, “Outrider Two reports a contact. Hyper perforation formed thirteen seconds ago directly ahead of our position.”

“Very well.”

Seconds dragged into minutes.

“Captain, incoming message from O/R Two. Contact made with the bogie. Verification code has been received from the vessel. Contact is inbound to our position.” A long pause, then, “And she’s got company.”

“What?”

***

“Landing Boat One has secured the package and scanned the contents. The information package is intact; readings confirm zero plague contamination.”

“Very well, D-O, bring the LB aboard and prepare to get underway.”

“Aye, Sir. I have visual on the ships, Sir, transferring to your console.”

She’s getting better at reading my mind.
“Do we have any idea who they are?”

“Not at this stage, Captain. We’ll know shortly when they come into clear comm range.”

Bradman nodded. He examined the real-time image on his console. Apart from the fast little transport used by the covert intel officer, three other vessels filled his readout. How the hell had the three civilian vessels escaped the north? In time, the communications gap closed.

“Comm coming in, Captain,” Toni said. “For commanding officer only.”

Bradman wiggled his finger back and forth between them. By now, his D-O should know that it meant, “Listen in anyway.”

“Let’s have it.”

“Allied warship, this is Roland, five-niner-two.”

“Yes, Roland,” Bradman said, “your cleared status is confirmed. What’s going on?”

“Firstly, Sir, I must report that the Talgarno system has surrendered to a Pruessen invasion.”

“Yes, we know. What about the civvies?”

“You know — but …  no matter. I ah, bumped into the civvies on my way here. They’ve been dodging the Pruessens for months. They are seeking asylum within League space. They’re Talgarnos, Sir.”

“Very well, Roland. They can join the other Talgarnos on Cimmeria.”

“Other Talgarnos?”

“Yes, we have the remnants of Talgarno’s fifth fleet sitting outside—”

“That’s impossible, Captain. The fifth Talgarno fleet, together with all Talgarno military forces, surrendered to the Pruessen Empire, over two months ago.”

“How accurate is your intel, Roland?”

“I was there, Captain.”

Dear mother of God
. 

CHAPTER 44 

Date: 23
^rd
March 322 ASC.

Position: Open space, ten light years from the Cimmerian exclusion zone.

Status: Talgarno battleship
Serenity’s Spur
. Alert Condition Two.

The heavy units of Talgarno’s seventh, ninth and fourteenth fleets sat hidden within dead space. Thirty-six of the most powerful warships ever constructed. For anyone to find their widely dispersed vessels within this much nothingness would be a miracle. Admiral Braun again shook his head. Whoever had dreamed up this operation was either a genius or a madman. He had to admit, however, that the captured Talgarno capital ships were as fine a group of warships as he had ever seen.
Serenity’s Spur
, the largest battleship in his attack fleet, was as magnificent an example of high technical achievement and sledgehammer offensiveness as Braun had ever commanded.

The first stage of the bold plan had been accomplished. Captain Matthes’ force was in place. It had been all too easy. The next step would be the hardest. With the massive King Charles Battle Platform still in enemy hands, the entire operation would fail.