Jon Merz - Raider X

Thatcher knew the Archimedes didn’t have any sort of armament to defend itself with, but perhaps that was the point. If there had been a chance that she’d fight back, Raider X would simply sink her. Perhaps Hewitt had reasoned that Schwarzwalder might be more inclined to rescue prisoners from the ocean if the ship was completely unarmed. The passengers, after all, weren’t combatants.

Thatcher would have to play that role up if he was indeed plucked out of the sea by Raider X. He was young and fit and obviously of fighting age. The Germans would want to know why he wasn’t in the service and his presence would likely trigger immediate suspicion. Thatcher took a moment to think about what he could tell them when the questions inevitably arrived.

What sort of ailment would disqualify Thatcher from service? Hearing loss was the most applicable to Thatcher at the moment. He could feign deafness in one ear and that might do it. But then Thatcher chastised himself. What was the point in lying about it? Why not simply tell the Germans the truth? After all, it would be relatively easy for German spies to find out that Thatcher had been a criminal who was due to be executed. Thatcher could then say he’d simply escaped and made his way to the south where he boarded the Archimedes knowing it was bound for Portugal. Once in Portugal, he would be free to start a new life under an assumed name.

The more Thatcher thought about it, the more he liked that plan the best. It was, he decided, better to base his lie on a foundation of truth. That way, even under interrogation, it would hold up. Plus, if they did check him out, the German spies would confirm his story. That would give Thatcher more credence than if he had simply said he was deaf in one ear.

Thatcher nodded to himself and a smile crossed his lips. He wasn’t crazy about being on the ship at the moment, but who knew how this would all play out? There was still a chance that Thatcher could turn this situation to his advantage. He just had to be cagey about it. And that was something he knew how to be quite well. Play along with Hewitt for the time being and then make his move when it was most advantageous. Hewitt, after all, would have no way of knowing if Thatcher would even survive Raider X sinking the Archimedes.

It occurred to Thatcher just how much of Hewitt’s plan was dangerously reckless. There were no guarantees at all that it would work out for the best. Hewitt had simply placed Thatcher into the breach with the hope that it would. It was an interesting realization, Thatcher decided. And he wondered just how many of Hewitt’s other operations were planned like this.

Then again, Thatcher might well have been the first to be sacrificed in this fashion. He smirked. I’m not dead yet, he thought.

The crew member reappeared and set several heaping plates before Thatcher. Eggs, bacon, toast, sliced fruits, muffins and more piled high on the plates. Thatcher looked at it all and felt a rumble in his belly as he nodded his thanks and then set about tackling the feast before him.

“That’s a rather formidable meal you’ve got for yourself there. Is anyone else joining you? Perhaps a marching band?”

Thatcher smiled as he looked up into a pair of the most exquisite eyes he’d ever seen. And when he saw the rest of her face, he forgot about the feast sitting in front of him.

“I could use some help,” he said then.

It was, Thatcher decided, perhaps the purest shade of black that he had ever seen in the woman’s hair. It was styled in a simple bob that fell to just above her shoulders and framed her face perfectly, giving her eyes a a facial point that immediately drew him into them where he gladly would have stayed had it not been inappropriate to simply gawk at her.

“May I?”

Thatcher nodded for her to sit and as she did, he couldn’t help but appreciate the curvaceous styling of her dress that accentuated her bust and hips, slowly drawing his gaze to her shapely calves. She looked like she stayed active but Thatcher wasn’t entirely sure what she might have done to do so. Perhaps she’d been an Olympian? He didn’t know.

He looked down at his plate and felt rather gluttonous. “You’ll have to forgive me for looking as though I’m engaging in one of the seven deadly sins at the moment.”

The woman smiled and leaned back appraising him. “From what I heard about you falling out of the sky last evening, I’d say it’s not only warranted, but mandatory.”

“Even still,” said Thatcher. “I could use a little moderation.” He glanced around. “Have you eaten yet? I could easily ask the waiter to bring a plate over?”

She held up her hand. “I dined earlier when the rest of the passengers ate. But I had to come back and introduce myself to the brave pilot who was shot down yesterday.” She smiled again and held out her hand. “My name is Cyra.”

Thatcher took her hand and felt its warmth. He held it a moment longer than a simple introduction as he smiled at her. “I’m Harrison Thatcher. It’s a pleasure, although I’m not a pilot. Just an unfortunate bystander if I’m being honest.”

He released her hand and she brought it back to her lap. “You don’t sound quite like a Brit. There’s enough of an accent there, but you’re not British, are you?”

“Guilty,” said Thatcher. “I’m American. From Boston.”

“You don’t have a Boston accent, either,” said Cyra.

Thatcher grinned. “Blame my father for that. When we were growing up he was determined that none of his children would ever have a telltale accent.”

“Interesting,” said Cyra. “And how did he go about achieving such a peculiar goal?”

“We studied multiple languages. Romance, Germanic, plus exposure to as many cultures as we were able to travel too. Which was plenty given the fortune my father inherited. It was a pleasant childhood.”

Cyra’s eyes bore into Thatcher’s. “So what happened to bring you across the ocean to this part of the world where war is just a heartbeat away?”

Thatcher ate his breakfast and took a sip of the juice. He shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t satisfied with being a trust fund baby. I think there was part of me that wanted to earn my own way. So I left it all behind.”

“All of it? As in you could never go back?”

Thatcher shrugged. “Oh, I’m fairly certain if I made amends, my family would welcome me. But to be honest, I don’t know that I ever want to go back. I like the unpredictability of my life these days.”

“Well, sure, who wouldn’t enjoy being shot down over the English Channel?” Cyra smiled again as she mocked him.

“Fair point,” said Thatcher. “But you can’t say it was boring.”

“Indeed.” Cyra glanced around before looking back at Thatcher. “And what will you do now that we have plucked you from the ocean? Will the captain turn this ship back to port to return you to England?”

Thatcher smiled. “Believe it or not, I was supposed to be aboard this ship in the first place.”

“How is that?”

“A friend of mine insisted on having someone fly me down to the port and that was when my world got turned upside down. I don’t imagine he thought I’d be going into aerial combat, but alas, that’s exactly what happened. When the captain had me radio back this morning, he was nearly beside himself with worry.”

“You must have interesting friends,” said Cyra evenly.

Thatcher took another sip of juice. “He’s recently gotten a promotion in the army. More of a desk job, but it did enable him to pull a few strings on my behalf. I told him it was completely unnecessary, but I think he was enjoying his bit of administrative power, if I’m being perfectly honest with you.”