Christopher Nuttall - The Nelson Touch

The Nelson Touch is Book II in the Ark Royal series, following on from Ark Royal . A free sample of Book I can be downloaded from my website (www.chrishanger.net) and then purchased from Amazon.

Historically speaking, this book starts roughly six months after the conclusion of Ark Royal .

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From:Commodore Timothy O’Neal

To:Admiral Sir Thomas Hanover, First Space Lord

Thomas

It has been eleven months since the attack on Vera Cruz both introduced the human race to the existence of aliens and started the First Interstellar War. Since then, we have learned a great deal about our enemy and how he responds to our weapons and tactics. In particular, the capture of an alien battlecruiser by Ark Royal was very helpful.

Most of my study group’s recommendations are included in the detailed report, but there are certain issues I wished to bring to your attention personally. In particular, I must caution you against assuming anything about our foe. We are still faced with an enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a riddle; we know nothing about his internal command structure, internal politics or — most importantly of all — just why he chose to start the war. Our attempts to crack the captured computer system have yielded no data that might allow us to build up a picture of how our foe thinks. All we have are deductions from his actions.

They clearly took some time to study us and gear their forces to take advantages of our weaknesses. The plasma cannon system alone devastated our formations, allowing them to score a major victory over New Russia that came alarmingly close to shortening the war. If we hadn’t possessed Ark Royal , with armour that made her largely immune to alien weapons, we might well have lost the war within six months. However, we still lack any insights as to why they actually started the war in the first place.

My team has speculated wildly, using human history as a baseline. Their government may well be expansionist, bent on conquering or exterminating all other forms of intelligent life. Or they may view us as a potential threat and see advantages in curbing our own expansion. Or they may believe that we started the war. The discovery of artefacts from the long-lost Heinlein on Alien-1 raises a number of uncomfortable questions. Did the Heinlein Colony mission accidentally start a war with the aliens?

But all of this leads to yet another mystery. Why don’t they talk to us? They have not even attempted to demand unconditional surrender, even though it could shorten the war, let alone open up diplomatic channels. And, so far, every attempt to establish communications with the aliens has ended in failure.

We accept that the aliens have physical problems speaking in human tongues; indeed, that we will have similar problems in trying to pronounce their words. However, given their obvious skill at technology, it is unlikely that they have any real problems producing equipment that will allow them to bridge the gap. For that matter, we have no difficulty in doing the same — and yet the alien POWs steadfastly refuse to talk to us. I have had to dismiss two operatives from the research team for allowing their frustration to impede their professionalism.

In short, we have no way of ending this war, save by outright victory.

Towards that end, sir, I have a few suggestions…

“Sir?”

Admiral Sir Theodore Smith jerked awake in the shuttle’s uncomfortable seat. Lieutenant Janelle Lopez, his Flag Lieutenant, was looking down at him, an expression of worry crossing her beautiful dark face. Ted couldn’t tell if she was worried about him or the effects on her career of awakening her Admiral from an unsound sleep, but it hardly mattered. A glance out the porthole showed their destination coming into view.

“I’m awake,” he said, crossly. His mouth felt like sandpaper and he swallowed, hard. There were water supplies on the shuttle, but he hadn’t bothered to take a drink since they’d departed from Nelson Base. “Were there any further updates?”

Janelle shook her head, pushing her hair back into her ponytail. She looked absurdly young for her position, but Ted had insisted on having her assigned to him as a reward for believing in Ark Royal when the Old Lady had been nothing more than a drifting hulk orbiting Earth, nothing more than a reserve for officers and crew the Royal Navy couldn’t be bothered to discharge. Now, with Ark Royal the most important ship in the fleet, the competition for postings to her — and her Admiral’s flag staff — was intense. But Ted was determined that those who had shown faith would have first choice of slots behind her massive sheets of armour.

He smiled at her tiredly, then turned to peer out of the porthole. Ark Royal was lit up from prow to stern, shining out in the inky darkness of space like a beacon of hope. She was ugly — even her fiercest defenders would never call her beautiful — yet there was a quiet elegance to her stubby lines that caught his eye and fired his imagination. As they came closer, he saw the makeshift sensor blisters, point defence cannons and missile tubes mounted on her hull, ready to defend her from all enemies. It was ironic, he knew, that the Old Lady had once been considered obsolete. But with alien starfighters armed with plasma cannons out there, hunting for targets, the only real defence was layers of solid-state armour. The loss of twelve modern carriers in the First Battle of New Russia had proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

“Preparing to land,” the pilot called from the cockpit. “I believe they’re putting together a ceremony for you, sir.”

Ted groaned, so quietly that only Janelle heard him. Ceremonies were a very important part of the Royal Navy’s traditions, but they hadn’t featured in his life until Ark Royal had received a new lease on life. Since his promotion to Admiral, he’d been forced to endure more ceremonies, speeches and formal dinners than he’d had to attend in his entire life, prior to the war. The thought of returning to the Old Lady with such elaborate formality seemed absurd. And yet he knew there was no choice. Ark Royal was no longer his command, even though he was her Admiral. He would be a guest on the ship he still considered to be his own.

He leaned back in his seat as the shuttle entered the landing bay and settled down on the deck. A faint queasiness ran through his body as the shuttle’s gravity field slowly merged with the carrier’s own gravity field. Bracing himself, he stood and started to walk towards the hatch. Outside, he knew, the landing bay would already be closed, with a breathable atmosphere being pumped into the massive compartment. It was a necessity for the Royal Navy’s ceremonies.

Wouldn’t do to have the Admiralty step out into cold vacuum , he thought, snidely. And until someone invents a forcefield to keep the atmosphere inside the ship, that’s precisely what they would do if they didn’t wait to repressurise the bay .

He sucked in a breath as he caught sight of his own reflection. Somewhere along the way, he’d picked up more than a few white hairs, although his body was as healthy as years of naval food and a forced program of exercise could make it. The perfectly-tailored Admiral’s uniform still seemed odd on him, after being a starship commander for so long. His blue eyes looked tired, but bright. The thought of returning to action was galvanising in a way endless meetings could never be.