Christopher Nuttall - Ark Royal

They stood together, looking down through the observation blister at Ark Royal’s dented launch tube. The shipyard workers were already at it, removing the damaged components and rapidly replacing them with devices built from scratch. Given a week, Ted had been promised, the carrier would be as good as new. He hoped, devoutly, that they were right.

“We did well, sir,” Fitzwilliam said, finally. “I received a v-mail from Major Parnell. He and his men are being feted all over Hereford.”

“I know,” Ted agreed. Hereford was the home of the SAS, still the best special forces unit in the whole damn human sphere. For the Royal Marines to be feted so openly meant that they’d done something truly extraordinary. But then, who else had captured an alien ship? “He’ll be back soon.”

He smiled at the thought. The Admiralty had handed out promotions all round, although most of the senior crew had refused to leave the carrier. Given their fame, the Admiralty hadn't bothered to argue. Besides, who else was more experienced with the ancient carrier?

His smile grew wider. The aliens probably knew Ark Royal now, knew her and feared her. For a ship that had come alarmingly close to being scrapped, it was no small achievement.

And for a drunkard, the medals on his chest — from every spacefaring human power and some of the ones that remained trapped on Earth - were no small achievement either.

“Yes,” he said, finally. “We did very well.”