First Comes Duty (The Hope Island Chronicles Book 2) Page 2

  CHAPTER 2

  Body and spirit I surrendered whole to harsh instructors — and received a soul. Rudyard Kipling, ‘The Wonder’, Epitaphs, 1919 AD.

  Date: 8th September, 321 ASC.

  Position: Monitor Corps Fighter Training School, Minos, planet Crete, Athenian core systems.

  Status: Metier Training. Downtime.

  Nathan stepped from the simulator training building into bright afternoon sunshine. The early spring breeze carried a biting edge common for the planet’s southern hemisphere at this time of the year. The blue sky was clear except for the occasional high-altitude vapor trail from a training flight. Taking a sharp left turn at the administration building set him on a course for the junior officers’ quarters.

  The day after graduation he and Livy, now free of academy restrictions, had married. Nathan had been deeply touched that the one hundred and twenty Kendo team members had delayed their furloughs by a day to form an enormous arch of raised swords to greet the newly married couple as they exited the chapel.

  His nine months at Minos had rushed by with unnerving pace. Every year, the school accepted a mere one hundred and ten of the academy’s best into their advanced training course, Metier. Officially attached to Training Command’s Flight Training Center, Metier compressed a two-year flight training schedule into a highly intensive twelve months.

  On the morning of his first day on Minos, he reported to the base infirmary for his communication implants.

  Moe had needed to restrain him when one of the quacks said the words guaranteed to boil his blood.

  “Don’t worry, this won’t hurt a bit.”

  Quick and painless, the quacks said. A week after the “painless” procedure, all of the trainees were having difficulty swallowing and some continued to suffer from ringing in the ears. The experience did nothing to lessen Nathan’s hatred of medicos.

  At the base administration building, he was assigned to a training flight. Fortunately, Monitor Corps believed in keeping a working team together. Nathan and three of his teammates who had distinguished themselves while serving aboard the monitor Truculent were assigned to Epsilon Flight. The rest of the team comprised star students from the academy’s Kendo teams, all of them known to him.

  Initially, the Epsilon students did cartwheels when they heard Commander Henry Worsfold, call sign “Skipper”, had been appointed as their senior training officer. Athletically lean and slightly taller than Nathan, with gold wings on his flight suit, he was a giant in the trainees’ eyes. The commander had once skippered a monitor. Nathan could not help wondering what could possibly have induced a man like Worsfold to relinquish command of his own boat for the mundane duties of Chief Flight Instructor.

  The trainees’ celebration quickly dissolved into a state of sour incredulity.

  Worsfold’s ludicrously cautious attitude began to wear thin with both students and instructors alike. Ensign Gillespie finally tagged the commander with the secret call sign “Wary Worsfold”. No one openly disagreed with the assessment. Other teams were getting further ahead of them, which did nothing to improve their sour mood.

  Nathan could not understand how someone of Worsfold’s background, a former fighter jock and monitor captain, could have become so circumspect. Monitor skippers were renowned for their aggression. They were said to have “fangs”. Thus far, Worsfold had acted like a mother hen with a brood of chicks rather than a warrior bent on producing offspring of similar persuasion.

  Next week they would say farewell to the routine of ANS Base Minos for three months. This section of training contained the most rigorous pressure of all: fail carrier qualification, and all the work done before counted for nothing. Nathan could hardly wait.

  He rounded the corner into the area set aside for the junior officers’ married quarters. The drab practicality of the base facilities fell away before uniformly neat rows of small bungalows. Complemented by white picket fences and modest garden plots, the bright white color of the buildings made the area feel as though it belonged in another reality.

  Entering the mundane billet, he once again marveled at what Livy had done with the place. As countless wives before her had done, she had taken the basic accommodation package and turned it into a home. Colorful curtains hung from the windows, pictures of family and friends festooned the living room, with a couple of spirited tapestries draped over the dreary walls. As usual, she hunched over the kitchen table, marking homework on her computer. For a time he felt content to simply take in her thick chestnut hair and fine lines.

  “Hello my darlin’.” He hugged her around the shoulders.

  Livy leaned against his chest and sighed. His kiss lingered on her lips briefly. She had trained him not to interrupt her during work hours.

  “How was your day?” Nathan asked.

  “Good, and yours?”

  “Same old, same old. How have the mini-monsters been treating you?”

  “My students aren’t monsters,” she said, rising to the bait. “They’re adolescents.”

  “Same thing.” He grudgingly broke contact. “Is she up yet?”

  “No, so don’t disturb her. You know what you’ll have to do if she doesn’t get her sleep, don’t you?”

  “Yes, dear,” he said, talking through his nose. “I’ve got Kendo classes tonight, so I’m going to grab a quick shower and head out.”

  “Again?”

  “That’s the price of popularity.”

  Nathan knew he shouldn’t, but couldn’t resist checking in. He opened the nursery door so quietly no sound came from the old hinges. With all of the stealth of a monitor he crept to the edge of the bassinet and peered in. Ellen Bernice Telford lay in the crib surrounded by white sheets and a menagerie of soft animal toys. Although she was only six months old, he could tell that she would develop her mother’s thick, lustrous hair. The fine-boned features were her mother’s, but she was most definitely daddy’s girl. He reached down to brush a strand of hair from her sweet little face, but resisted the urge. If she awoke now, she would awake again in the wee hours of the next morning and he would need to attend to her. Not that he minded.

  Nathan forced himself to leave and hit the shower. Two minutes of hot water followed by two minutes of cold swept away most of his fatigue. Dressed in a fresh flight suit, he grabbed the duffel containing his fighting suit, light armor and sword.

  Passing the nursery, Nathan checked in on his girl again. He tiptoed inside and stared into the bassinet, to be greeted by two large, grey eyes. The obscured blue flecks behind those eyes said better than anything else that they belonged to a Telford. Ellie squealed with delight as he scooped her up. Holding her at arm’s length, he recited the old song: “Hellooo baaaby!” She gurgled her approval, then went quiet when he held her close to his beating heart. Whenever he held her in his arms, he felt as if his heart would break from pure joy. Like mother, like daughter.

  The exercise would cost him sleep at some obscene hour of the following morning, but at the moment he could not care less.

  CHAPTER 3

  Date: 8th September, 321 ASC.

  Position: Monitor Corps base Minos, Planet Crete, office of the commanding officer, Flight Operations.

  “You’re kidding!” Captain Palter blurted.

  Worsfold grinned and shook his head.

  “He dodged the bullet in the ambush scenario, then brought his damaged boat into the boat bay sternward? How could he do that with his flight controls out? You did cut his flight controls?”

  “I took his mag plating first, then his engines, one at a time, then his thrusters. I thought I had him.” Worsfold took a sip of his coffee and snorted. “The young buck saw me coming and rerouted stern thrusters to a silent relay.”

  “Didn’t you keelhaul him for not aborting?”

  “I tried to, but he talked me out of it.”

  Palter chuckled.

  “I swear, for a moment I thought he was going to take a swing at me.”

  “Who is th
is kid?”

  “Oh, Rosie, you should see him: fire and passion clamped down by an iron-willed determination. He’s the best natural pilot I’ve ever seen.”

  “Better than Jenny Teal?”

  Worsfold nodded slowly, staring into his coffee mug.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Henry.”

  “I pushed her too hard.”

  “You push them all hard, that’s your job.”

  “There’s a line you’re not supposed to cross with grommits. I pushed Jenny over that line, and it killed her. I don’t ever want to do that again.”

  “But you will, Henry,” Palter said, her voice turning appropriately formal. “Our sole purpose is to prepare these kids for the real thing, to push them to their limits before they go into a shooting match.” She hated having to say the next words, but as commanding officer, Flight Operations for Minos, being a hard case came with the job. “If you can’t give these kids your very best, you might want to consider taking a shore posting. With Peggy gone these last five years, I’m sure your kids would be pleased to see more of you.”

  Worsfold stared at her without blinking for far too long, then broke eye contact to take a sip of coffee. “Perhaps,” he finally whispered.

  Palter leapt from her chair. “Perhaps, bullshit. Henry, you’re the best CFI and best individual flight instructor I’ve ever worked with. You have consistently turned out the best-trained pilots in the school’s history. And now, because you see a young officer who reminds you of a lost chick, you want to throw it all away. That’s an obscene waste of talent. If this kid … what’s his name?”

  “Nathan Telford.”

  “If Nathan Telford is as good as you say he is, then it is your duty, Commander, to avail him of the most stringent training you can provide. Anything less is inexcusable. Bad for you, bad for him, bad for the Corps. Now wake up to yourself or I’ll have you relieved of flight operations.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “You’ve been dragging your feet ever since Jenny made a very human mistake and got herself killed. It was a tragic accident that you’ve allowed to shackle your better judgment. I’ve reviewed your training schedule for Epsilon Flight, and a blind rat could tell you’ve been playing it safe with these kids. Two weeks of safety protocols before you let them in the sims? That’s crazy! They barely made it through section three, no thanks to you. And you’ve been way too soft on them. That will not do. I’ve let things slide long enough, Henry, but now is the time for you to decide whether you still want the responsibility that goes with this job or whether it’s become too much for you. Don’t make me decide for you.”

  “I can handle the responsibility just fine … Captain.”

  Palter softened her manner and resumed her seat. “We go back a long time, Henry. Remember, we were JGs together on the old Vanguard.”

  “I remember.” Worsfold’s smile was reminiscent, yet bleak.

  “Do you think I enjoyed talking to you this way?”

  “I guess not.”

  “I’m concerned about you,” she said, looking at him fondly, “you dope.”

  His tight smile was forced; she knew he carried a deep and enduring pain.

  “Tell me more about this wonder boy of yours.”

  The spark returned to his features. “He’s got monitor commander written all over him. He keeps a lot of himself hidden, even from his friends, but the natural talent and commitment is there. Telford has a singular quality, a certain indefinable something that marks the exceptional from the talented. Like Waugh.”

  “You’re comparing Telford to Donatella Waugh?” Palter’s tone held a note of hushed reverence. Waugh stood as an authentic living legend who had rewritten the book on operations along the northern frontier.

  “I think so. He’s got the moves and the guts to back them up.”

  “I suppose, if you think Telford’s that good,” Palter mused aloud, “then it would be prudent to confirm if he can handle the pressure. If he can’t, then the potential will be lost. Don’t you agree?”

  She could tell from his sardonic expression that her less-than-subtle approach had gotten his attention.

  “I agree that you play the part of the hard bitch really well.”

  Palter smiled sweetly, retaining eye contact. “Who says I’m playing?”

  Worsfold chuckled noiselessly. “All right, you’ve made your point. I’ll think about what you’ve said.”

  Palter sent him her best commanding officer stare. “Don’t think for too long, Henry.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Date: 19th September, 321 ASC.

  Position: Training Ship Chiron. Two AUs inside the aphelion of the Ithacan system, Athenian core.

  Status: Flight Training, Section four: Carrier Qualification.

  With a displacement of one point six million tonnes, Chiron did not, in any way, resemble a monitor. She could accommodate twenty TF-51s at a time and currently held boats from both Epsilon and Kappa Flights. Mistakes could be made on Chiron that would be disastrous to a tiny monitor escort boat.

  Among the many dangers that tested a young pilot, landings rated among the most potentially deadly.

  With the rigorous level of instruction meted out to the trainees, and computer-guided approaches (coming in on the beam), Chiron’s safety record had been unblemished during her eight years of service.

  Chiron came equipped with three purpose-built landing bays, each specifically designed to test a pilot’s ability to trap aboard a monitor. The landing regime came in three specific phases: the Roof, the Maw and the intimidating environs of the Needle.

  Trapping aboard ship was an undeniably vital component of their training, but by no means the only area of expertise required for pilots to gain their wings. Together with traps were the trickier aspects of both N-space and hyperspace navigation, space-capable combat sorties and low-level atmospheric exercises. Simulated combat sorties and one-on-one fighter duels known as Hares and Hounds were prized by the trainees, but were nevertheless a strictly controlled part of their overall performance evaluation.

  A dramatic shift in priorities had taken place in the last fourteen days. It appeared to Nathan as if the spirit of a deranged Olympian deity had possessed their previously timid CFI. Except for fleeting lapses into humanity, his smile had turned cold and his manner uncompromising. The students’ hidden inclination to consider him in any way “wary” had disappeared in a blink.

  Worsfold had also taken a keen interest in Nathan, who felt flattered that the CFI would allocate so much of his precious time to a single student. However, thus far, nothing Nathan did was good enough for him. If Nathan did something wrong, he got hammered. If he did something right, the commander chose not to comment. Worsfold appeared determined to keep him in a state of perpetual stress.

  Why is he gunning for me?

  “Epsilon One, you are slightly high on the beam. Adjust your approach.”

  “Roger, LSO,” Nathan said. Damn, where’s my head?

  Nathan made a fine trim adjustment that brought his TF-51 onto the beam.

  “Epsilon One, I see you inbound and on the beam at two thousand meters out.”

  “Thank you, LSO.”

  “What happened back there?” Lieutenant Hinton occupied the back seat today, while Worsfold harassed some other unfortunate soul.

  “Sorry, Lieutenant, it won’t happen again.”

  “See that it doesn’t.” Her disapproving tone lacked teeth, probably because it was his first lapse in concentration.

  Nathan had left the holding pattern behind him, and the enormous ship nearly filled his forward view panels. The green crosshairs projecting onto the center of his forward holo panels showed his position in relation to the Roof. If he dropped below his glide path, the horizontal green line would dip and glow red. If he strayed off the beam, the vertical marker would act the same way. Simple, really.

  “Epsilon One, LSO, you are on the beam and in the groove,” the LSO droned.

&nbs
p; “LSO, Epsilon One, roger.” In the groove indicated a distance to the ship of one thousand meters or less. With skids lowered, he committed himself to the landing.

  The deck of the Roof rushed at him, the white center line directly between his legs. The port and starboard skids struck simultaneously a fraction of a second before the nose skid. A second later, his fighter plowed into the arrester field, jolting to an abrupt stop.

  “Epsilon One, LSO. You were right on the center line and you snagged the third wire. Not bad for a grommit.”

  “Thank you, LSO.”

  Nathan normally had little time for tradition, but he made an exception to the rule with carrier qual. After a week of training, he had established himself as the “Top Hook”, the student with the best landing grades. According to the research he had done during his third year at the academy, in ancient times when ships were of the wet kind, bringing a craft aboard the ship could at times be an extremely perilous venture. Craft landing on ships had their momentum stopped not by arrester fields, but by wires strung across the deck and snagged by a hook attached to the tail of the fighter. Current fighter pilots had a reputation for being a little crazy, but compared to their heroic forebears they were pussycats.

  Chiron’s decks did not have wires strung across them. They did, however, have sensor strips embedded into the deck which recorded how well, or badly, a student trapped aboard. Yet another example of the traditional vernacular slipping into the current naval lexicon.

  Four sensor strips ran from the leading edge of the fantail forward and were numbered one to four starting at the stern. Snagging the first wire was the worst possible result, indicating that the pilot had dropped dangerously below the glide path and was in danger of striking the ship. The computers, the LSO and especially the instructor in the back seat would never allow that to happen. The second wire confirmed a satisfactory trap. Snagging the third wire was ideal, the very best. Picking up the fourth wire was considered an overshoot, the fighter in danger of missing the arrester field.