The Nelson Touch

Chapter Four

“I couldn’t help noticing,” Ted said, as he stepped into the First Space Lord’s groundside office, “that London seems to be darker these days.”

The First Space Lord nodded as they shook hands, then waved Ted and Fitzwilliam to chairs facing his desk. “Between the war and the government’s emigration policy,” he said, “the city has lost quite a bit of its population. People are thinking that they might be safer well away from large cities.”

Ted nodded. The government, which owned the entire Britannia System, had been offering very generous settlement grants to prospective emigrants. If they chose to take the government’s offer, they would be assigned land on Britannia to develop how they chose or a homestead among the asteroid belts. The policy, he knew, had helped swell the new colony world’s population remarkably. In the long run, the projections suggested, Britannia would expand rapidly. The planet’s birthrate was already considerably higher than its founding country’s birthrate.

Probably end up with another revolution on our hands, he thought, cynically. Britannia already had representation in the Houses of Parliament — there was no point in repeating the mistakes that helped start the American Revolution — but some of its settlers wanted more autonomy. But they already had more than anywhere else in Britain, being so isolated from the mainstream.

He pushed the thought aside as the First Space Lord placed his fingertips together. “You’ll be pleased to know that we have a rough idea of Task Force Nelson’s size and composition,” he said. “Apart from Ark Royal herself, the Royal Navy will be providing two modified bulk freighters that will serve as escort carriers. Each one can carry and support a squadron of starfighters, giving you some additional punch. There will also be nine frigates that will provide an escort for the fleet.

“In addition, the Americans have volunteered three carriers, while the French and Japanese are providing one apiece. The Americans will also be providing the lion’s share of the ground combat element. This means, I’m afraid, that they’ve demanded the right to nominate both your deputy and the ground combat commander. Under the circumstances, we can’t really argue.”

“They’re providing three carriers,” Ted mused. “I’m surprised they didn’t demand overall command as well.”

“Luckily for us, you’re a hero in America,” the First Space Lord said, dryly. “And both the Chinese and Japanese refused to serve under American command. I doubt the French were too enthusiastic about serving under our command, but they’re bringing only one carrier to the party.”

Ted wasn’t surprised. While Britannia and Washington were on the other side of Earth from New Russia, New France and Edo were both closer to the front lines. Cutting loose a carrier apiece had to have worried their defence planners, even if they did want to make the joint defence of humanity’s space work. Battles had been won or lost before, based on the presence or absence of a single ship.

“So we’ll have six carriers,” Ted mused.

“The Americans and Chinese are both sending twelve frigates,” the First Space Lord added. “In addition, there will be a large transport element for the ground troops and the fleet train. You should be capable of sustaining your operations for close to a year before returning to human space.”

“Assuming there’s any human space left to return to,” Ted said, darkly. “Where do we stand on new weapons and starships?”

“We’ve finally managed to get a design worked out for a battleship,” the First Space Lord said, “one armed to the teeth with mass drivers and missile tubes. But we’re looking at around two years before the first one can enter service. By then, we should have standardized technology throughout human space, allowing our ships and components to become interchangeable. As for modified carriers…”

He shrugged. “Building another Ark Royal seems a waste of time,” he added. “But we have a plan for a carrier that combines the best of Ark with the modern designs. Still, we’re looking at two to three years before we have a working model. We’re sheathing the modern carriers in armour in the hopes of providing some additional protection.”

“That will be interesting to watch,” Ted mused. “How well does it work?”

“It should give them some protection,” the First Space Lord said. “But it hasn’t really been tested in combat.”

“Nor were the modern carriers,” Ted pointed out. The designs had looked good, on paper, and he had to admit that they were faster and more capable than Ark Royal. But their lack of armour had doomed them when the aliens had attacked. “And starfighters?”

“We’re finalising a unified starfighter class for humanity’s starships,” the First Space Lord informed him. “The best of British, American and Japanese technology, combined with everything we’ve learned about our enemies in months of war. Ideally, we should be able to operate from other carriers and vice versa once the starfighters enter service.”

Ted nodded. Some components and supplies from different nations were compatible, but others couldn’t be forced to work together for love or money. An American carrier might not be able to handle British starfighters and vice versa. If that problem could be fixed, the number of deployable carriers would rise rather sharply. He made a mental note to ensure that supplies were passed around, particularly French or Japanese supplies. It wouldn’t do to lose the starfighters if they lost the carriers.

“The good news is that we finally have a working plasma system of our own,” the First Space Lord added. “But you can read about that in your briefing notes.”

“I hope it doesn’t have the same problems as the alien systems,” Ted said. Fitzwilliam had already briefed him on the new systems — and their limitations. “We used EMP to disable them, once upon a time.”

“It does,” the First Space Lord confirmed grimly. “We won’t be switching completely to plasma weapons, even if we could afford it. We’ll be keeping both old and new systems for quite some time.”

He leaned back in his chair. “I have every faith in you, Admiral Smith, to handle the international aspects of the mission without problems,” he said. “We cannot afford to lose this war.”

Ted couldn’t disagree. The one conflict humanity had engaged in after the discovery of the tramlines had been brief, with nothing more than a few shots fired before the diplomats had sorted out a peace treaty. Now, humanity faced a foe with unknown motives, but the evidence suggested that — at best — the aliens intended to deny space to the human race. And, at worst, they might have extermination in mind.

“Yes, sir,” he said. He, Fitzwilliam and Lieutenant Lopez had gone over the intelligence summaries with a very critical eye. They hadn’t been able to find anything that disproved the suggestion that the multi-tramline nexus would be important to the aliens. But there was a difference between knowing the base was there and being able to reach it. “We won’t let you down.”

He wondered, suddenly, just how many doubts the First Space Lord had about him personally. There was no denying that he’d been a drunkard, or that he still felt the urge to take a drink from time to time. Medical treatment had helped with that, of course, removing the addiction that had driven him forwards — and so had the fact he’d found something useful to do with his life. But there was a vast difference between commanding an old carrier and a fleet of six carriers, only one of them British. How tempted had the Admiralty been, he asked himself, to suggest to the Americans that there would be no resistance if they demanded command of the operation?

“I’m glad to hear it,” the First Space Lord said. He paused, then leaned forward. “There are, however, political issues involved. Local political issues.”

Ted exchanged glances with Fitzwilliam, who looked blank. On one hand, this war had few political issues; the aliens weren’t inclined to talk, so it was kill or be killed. But, on the other hand, support for the war depended on local politics, both in Britain and all over the world. If the general population believed the war was lost…

The First Space Lord smiled, humourlessly. “Have you been following the debate in the online forums?”

“No,” Ted said. Earth’s datanet didn’t even reach to the moon, let alone Ark Royal’s current anchorage. Even when he’d been on Earth, he’d had no time to browse the forums. “What sort of debate?”

Fitzwilliam cleared his throat. “The one about Prince Henry?

“Indeed,” the First Space Lord said.

He met Ted’s eyes. “Prince Henry has… for want of a better word… pushed his way into the accelerated starfighter training program,” he said. “It was always his ambition to become a starfighter pilot, continuing the proud tradition of the younger scions of the Royal Family serving in the military. However, when it was agreed that he could attend the Academy, there wasn’t actually a war on.”

Ted blinked in surprise. “We didn’t start running the accelerated training program until after the war had started,” he said. “How…?”

“There were… political issues,” the First Space Lord conceded. He spread out his hands, grimly. “Put bluntly, Admiral, there is a strong feeling among the general public that the Royal Family should take part in the war. At the same time, with the position of the Prince… uncertain, quite a few officers were resistant to placing him in actual danger. In the end, he effectively forced Buckingham Palace to give him a chance to train under an assumed name.”

Ted had spent far too much of his career on Ark Royal, but he knew something of the tangled politics surrounding the Prince. Prince Henry was the firstborn son of King Charles IV, but he wasn’t the firstborn child. Technically, being born male jumped him ahead of his sister in the line of succession. The law was ancient, but it had never actually been taken off the books. Traditionalists insisted that Prince Henry was the first in line to the throne. On the other hand, it was the 23^rd Century. Why should the Prince succeed his father when he was not the firstborn child?

“What a mess,” he said. “How did he force the Palace to concede the point?”

“He threatened to publically abdicate his position,” the First Space Lord said. “I do not believe he enjoyed a very happy childhood.”

“No,” Fitzwilliam agreed. “He would have no privacy at all, would he?”

“There have been scandals,” the First Space Lord agreed. “Nothing major, nothing we would hold against anyone else, but in his position… well, it makes the monarchy look bad.”

Ted frowned. “As interesting as this is,” he said, “what does it actually have to do with us?”

The First Space Lord looked embarrassed. “The Prince has managed to get himself assigned to Ark Royal,” he explained. “Still under a false name…”

Ted stared at him. “Sir,” he said, “you do realise there’s a very good chance that we may lose him?”

“I know,” the First Space Lord confessed. “But we are in a very poor position.”

“No, we’re not,” Ted said, firmly. “He’s an officer in the Royal Navy. His job is to follow orders. Assign him to a home defence squadron, if he must fly starfighters, either here or on Britannia. And, if he makes a fuss about it, tell him we can send him to an isolated mining camp instead.”

“It isn’t that simple,” Fitzwilliam said. He looked up at the First Space Lord. “Is it?”

“No,” the First Space Lord said. He produced a sheet of papers and passed them over to Ted, who flicked through them carefully. “His scores at the Academy were very good — and, as he was under a false name, there was no risk of favouritism. I believe his training instructors included a few of your former crewmen. There are no grounds for denying him an assignment to a carrier that won’t stink when they are dragged out into the public eye. And I am damn sure, Admiral, that they will be dragged out. The media will make sure of it.”

“Operational security,” Ted muttered. The scores were very good. Poor marks for discipline, he noted, but nothing bad enough to merit being booted out of the training program. “Tell them we don’t give out personnel details and leave it at that, sir.”

“It won’t work, not for the Prince,” the First Space Lord said. He sighed. “You know, I believe, just how close the monarchy and the aristocracy came to being legislated out of existence. Right now, the Royal Family cannot afford to look like they’re shirking their share of the military burden. Perhaps, if he’d started when he’d intended to start, it wouldn’t be such a problem. Now, even if we rated him as such a high performer we could justify assigning him to a training slot, Ted, it would look very bad. There would be questions asked in the Houses of Parliament — both Houses of Parliament.”

He shrugged. “I can’t see the remainder of the aristocracy taking it lightly either,” he added. “People like Captain Fitzwilliam” — he indicated the Captain with one hand — “take the same risks as everyone else in the Royal Navy. Aristocratic rank sometimes serves as an entree, but it isn’t allowed to take someone further than they deserve. But this… it could undermine the monarchy itself.”

“But if we put him on Ark Royal,” Ted noted, “we run the risk of losing the heir to the throne. There is no way we could protect him if the aliens came swarming, sir.”

The First Space Lord sighed, again. “Then we have a solution to the problem of just which of the King’s children will inherit the throne,” he said, coldly. “Between the Prince’s determination to do something useful with his life, something he earned on his own merits, and the political problems involved in preventing him from serving on the front lines, we have been backed into a corner. The Prince must serve on Ark Royal.”

Ted managed — somehow — to keep from muttering something uncomplimentary under his breath. The tradition of aristocrats changing their features and assuming false names to serve in the military was relatively new, but it made sure that the training officers and drill instructors didn’t know their charges were anything other than common recruits. Anything they earned, they earned on their own merits. And if they got booted out, no one raised a fuss. There were plenty of places to exile unworthy aristocrats too.

But losing the Prince, even if he wasn’t supposed to know the Prince was serving under his command, would be more than a little embarrassing. No doubt the politicians, having created the problem in the first place, would swoop down like vultures, trying hard to place the blame on the sitting government. In turn, the government would blame the Royal Navy — and Ted, the officer who had been in command at the time. There was no way he could see it working out well, yet he knew there was no way out, short of resigning his commission. And he couldn’t bring himself to do that, not when the Navy was his life.

“Fine,” he said. He knew his tone was disrespectful and didn’t really care. “But he won’t get any special treatment.”

“I believe that is what he wants,” the First Space Lord said, mildly. “No special treatment at all.”

He paused for a long moment. “I understand how you feel about this,” he added. “And I will try to minimise any… interference from other parties.”

Ted nodded, sourly.

“One good thing from all of this,” the First Space Lord added. “You can bar reporters from Ark Royal.”

“Good,” Ted said, remembering the reporters he’d been saddled with during the first advance into alien-held space. The best of them had had some experience as an embed, fortunately, but the others had been idiots. He was still mildly surprised none of them had actually managed to kill themselves during the voyage. “Can I bar them from the entire operation?”

“I believe there may be some American embeds on the American carriers,” the First Space Lord said. “But you don’t have to say anything to them if you don’t want to.”

“An excellent bribe,” Ted said, lightly.

“I know exactly how you feel,” the First Space Lord said. “I’ve tried to find the Prince an assignment that looks dangerous, but with very little real danger. I found nothing that would pass muster with the media, let alone their tame military experts. There’s no politically acceptable alternative.”

“I understand,” Ted said. He looked at Fitzwilliam, then back at the First Space Lord. “If he wants to be anonymous, that’s precisely what he will get. His identity will not be disclosed any further.”

“Good,” the First Space Lord said.

He smiled, changing the subject. “I believe the remainder of your fleet will assemble by the end of the week,” he said. “I will expect a full report after you meet with your new subordinates.”

“Yes, sir,” Ted said. At least his new subordinates wouldn’t be princes in disguise. “I’ll keep you informed.”

He paused. “Are there any other surprises for me?”

“None,” the First Space Lord said. “You can go see your family, if you wish, or enjoy a brief walk around London before you return to your ship. I believe there are some people waiting to see you, Captain Fitzwilliam. You should talk to them before you go for a wander yourself.”

Ted scowled, catching the underlying subtext. The First Space Lord hadn’t said it out loud, but the conclusion was very clear. It might be his last chance to see London before he died.

Maybe I’ll go take a look at Buckingham Palace, he thought. He’d been there twice since his return to Earth, both times for award ceremonies he would have preferred to avoid. See what the Prince is trying to escape.