Christopher Nuttall - Ark Royal

He watched the other pilots as they swept up the dust, removed the protective covers from the bunks and cleaned out the showers. Most of them seemed to accept their task willingly, but a handful were grumbling under their breath as they worked. One — a girl who would have been pretty, if she hadn't been scowling all the time — looked particularly annoyed. Kurt wondered, absently, if she had a reason to be annoyed, then dismissed the thought. If she hadn't wanted to go where she was sent, she shouldn't have joined the military.

You weren't much better when you were on active duty , he reminded himself. It was an uncomfortable thought. Were you?

Once the room was clean — or at least cleaner — he reached for his terminal and checked the duty roster. Neither he nor his pilots had been added to it — the XO presumably hadn't gotten around to it — so he told his pilots to get a few hours of sleep before time ran out. It wouldn't be long, he was sure, before they were put back to work. But it would be just long enough to write out a message for Molly and then work out what needed to be done to get the fighter tubes ready for their new craft.

James watched the newly-appointed CAG returned to his quarters — there was no hope of a separate set of quarters for the CAG, at least not yet — then pulled his terminal off his belt and glanced down at the list of tasks. The next flight of crewmen — engineering crew this time, thankfully — were due to arrive in an hour, giving him time to inspect the tactical section before they arrived. There was already a long list of improvements and modifications that had to be made, but he knew they were nowhere near the end.

He strode back through the network of corridors — Ark Royal was even more internally complex than the more modern carriers — and into the tactical section. Lieutenant Commander Keith Farley was already there, issuing orders to a handful of crewmen while watching a tactical simulation on the display. There was little data on the enemy forces — at least, not yet — but Ark Royal had quite a few surprises for any human starship that got too close. The rail guns and mass drivers might be outdated, yet they packed one hell of a wallop.

“We’re going to need a regular supply of projectiles,” Farley informed him. “I’d like to obtain a compressor — perhaps from an asteroid mining crew — and then use that to produce new projectiles upon demand. We may be operating some distance from regular supply services.”

James nodded, impressed. Mass drivers were powerful, but they burned through ammunition at a terrifying rate. It wasn't as if they were firing expensive missiles — the projectiles were nothing more than pieces of rock — yet even a carrier as large as Ark Royal couldn't carry an infinite supply. But a compressor would allow them to produce their own projectiles from asteroid materials, if they had time to pause to reload.

“Put in the request and I’ll countersign it,” he said. There shouldn’t be any problem arranging for a compressor, not when no one else would have a use for it. The only other ships that carried mass drivers were older ships from the lesser powers. “What about missiles and pulse cannons?”

“Missiles may be delayed,” Farley admitted, reaching for his terminal. “Everyone and their dog wants missiles right now and we’re down at the bottom of the priority list. The pulse cannons are on their way — thankfully, the other carriers already had theirs installed — and we should have them set up within the week. The real problem, of course, is going to be coordinating everything.”

James winced. Modern carriers were built to avoid friendly fire… but Ark Royal’s systems were less capable of separating friend from foe. Even with computers — no human mind could hope to handle the speeds involved — it was still difficult to be absolutely sure that a foe was being targeted before the opportunity vanished into nothingness. The engineering crew had promised that more modern sensors would be arranged, but they had problems interacting with the other systems. Given enough time, he suspected that Anderson would have preferred to rip everything out and start again with more modern technology. But that would have taken years.

“I’m currently working out ways to manipulate active sensor probes and passive sensor arrays to make it easier to provide full coverage,” Farley added. “However, if we were flying with more modern carriers, I would suggest tapping down our own sensors and relying on theirs.”

“Dangerous,” James observed. “I don’t think the Captain would approve.”

“Me neither,” Farley agreed. “It depends on just how the Admiralty intends to employ us.”

James sighed. After the first briefing, there had been nothing from the Admiralty — at least nothing concerning Ark Royal directly. There had been security alerts, warnings that peaceniks were already starting to protest against the war, and a handful of speculative papers on just what the aliens might have in mind, but nothing more specific. The media had been crammed with even more baseless speculation, ranging from horror stories about alien atrocities to suggestions that the human race had somehow provoked the war. But no one knew anything for sure.

“I believe that depends on how quickly we get ready for active service,” James said. He sighed, then looked up at the simulation. “Keep me informed of progress.”

Farley nodded, then returned to his work.

James’s terminal buzzed. “Sir,” Midshipwomen Lopez said, “the Royal Marine shuttle is requesting permission to land.”

“Oh,” James said. He glanced at his chronometer, then swore. The planned schedule had called for the Marines to arrive the following day, when Ark Royal was ready for them. If the Marines came onboard now… they would have to help set up their own gear. The crewmen didn't have the time to handle it. “Tell them to dock, then inform the Captain. I’ll meet them in the shuttlebay.”

“Someone seems to like us, sir,” Captain Reginald Jackson said, once the XO had shown them to the barracks and departed. “Only a little dust, smelly sheets… good god, they even gave us a shower!”

Charles snorted, unable to conceal his amusement completely. Compared to some of the places his commando had slept over the years, Ark Royal was paradise incarnate. Marine Country was always cramped, forcing the commandos to share beds from time to time, but that wouldn't be a problem on Ark Royal . Only 120 Royal Marine Commandos had been assigned to the ship under his command, which meant there was plenty of room for them to spread out in the vast barracks.

“It doesn't look like they set out to welcome us,” he agreed. Normally, Royal Marines and naval crewmen hazed one another mercilessly. Ark Royal’s crew clearly hadn't had the time, even if they’d had the inclination, to prepare an unpleasant welcome for the marines. But then, there was a war on. Even the pettiest of naval crewmen would have thought better of continuing the rivalry when they might have to rely on the marines to save their lives. “Get the bags unpacked, then we can inspect the training facilities.”

He watched his men preparing themselves, feeling a twinge of pride. The Royal Marines prided themselves on being the roughest and toughest British fighting men — a claim that was hotly disputed by other units that considered themselves equally tough — and no marine was ever allowed to wear an armoured combat suit without proving himself on the ground first. Training was harsh, unrelenting and sometimes lethal, but those who emerged from the experience were ready for anything. But they’d never seriously prepared for alien contact.