Christopher Nuttall - The Trafalgar Gambit

Kurt barely heard her. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the refugee camp and the refugees, trapped behind the wire like prisoners. The reports they’d picked up as they made their way back to the spaceport had been far from reassuring. At least one camp had collapsed under the rain, drowning hundreds of refugees, while the supervisors of another camp had been arrested for abusing their charges. The sooner he got his children — and Gayle — out of the camps, the better.

Rose elbowed him. “You’re not listening to me!”

“I was,” Kurt protested.

“I just told you I was planning to hold an orgy in the briefing room with all the new pilots and you agreed ,” Rose said. “Or should I let you explain it to the Captain afterwards?”

Kurt sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. He’d zoned out completely. “I’ll try to pay attention in future.”

Rose eyed him for a long moment. “There are two new squadrons of pilots joining us this afternoon,” she said. “Did you hear that part?”

“Yes,” Kurt said. “I…”

“Then you know we also have to work them into the ship’s training cycles,” Rose said. “All of which have to be worked in around the repair work. And then they have to be checked out on the simulators…”

Kurt rose to his feet as the hatch opened. “Deal with it,” he ordered. “I hereby appoint you acting CAG, to hold the position until relieved or confirmed by the Captain.”

Rose stared at him. “Kurt…”

“I need to speak to the Captain,” Kurt said. He walked through the hatch and stepped down onto the solid deck. “You can handle the new pilots, can’t you?”

“Kurt,” Rose said, “I can handle it, but it’s your job.”

Kurt understood. Rose loved flying. She was in line for a post as CAG, but it would have taken her off the flight roster permanently, at least unless the carrier needed an extra pilot more than it needed a flight supervisor. Few pilots considered seeking promotion until their reflexes started to dull, while they came up with inventive excuses to avoid promotion as long as possible. It never failed to confuse anyone working their way towards starship command.

“I need to speak to the Captain,” he said. He wanted to take her in his arms, but he knew he didn’t dare, not when the shuttlebay was full of spacers and yard dogs from the nearby shipyard. There were just too many witnesses. “You can handle it, can’t you?”

“I can,” Rose said. “But you’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?”

“I’m a CAG,” Kurt pointed out. “Stupidity is abolished when one is promoted out of a cockpit.”

Rose rolled her eyes, then strode past him and through the hatch that led down towards Pilot Country. Kurt smiled at her retreating back — starfighter pilots tended to act like overgrown children until they were on the verge of burning out — and then turned and made his way towards the hatch leading up to Officer Country. The starship’s metal corridors were jam-packed with spacers and pallets holding dozens of spare parts, several brought out of long-term storage for the Old Lady. Others, he knew, had to be specifically reengineered for the ancient carrier.

He nodded to a pair of Marines as he strode past, who nodded back. Most of the Marines assigned to the Royal Navy had been redeployed down to the ground, reinforcing the military units struggling to cope with the sheer scale of the crisis, but Ark Royal’s Marines had remained onboard as part of the ship’s damage control teams. Part of the reason the Old Lady had such a large crew was to keep up with repairs, if necessary. The modern carriers had indulged in more automation than some officers suspected was healthy.

It took longer than he’d expected to reach Officer Country. The laser warheads the aliens had used — they’d stolen the idea from humanity, something that bothered him more than he cared to admit — had done considerable damage to the interior of the starship and several sections had been closed down entirely while the repair crews worked their magic. Kurt wondered, absently, what they’d do about the armour plating, before dismissing it as something outside his remit. The Captain and the XO had to worry about repairing their ship. Kurt only had to worry about his pilots.

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.”