SPECTRUM IS WHITE
A “Captain Scarlet & the Mysterons” novel
By
December 2048.
Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, Southeast of
Bermuda.
“Captain! The ’copter’s approaching!”
Charles Gray left the
captain’s cabin – his cabin for a few weeks now – in a hurry. Mustn’t
keep the old man waiting, he thought, coming up the ladder to the
bridge. That wouldn’t look too good
from a brand-new ship’s commander who had just received his commission… Especially when you are still considered a
snot-nosed kid by the majority of your peers.
It wasn’t easy for Gray, age 29, to prove himself in the British Navy.
It was a time of
difficult conflicts around the world and that certainly gave him the
opportunity he needed. As officer on
board different ships, he was involved with problems in South-East Asia, and
with that dispute over territorial rights in Iceland. And then came that Panama thing, where the British Embassy had
been taken over by the local rebels.
One hundred and three British nationals had been taken hostage,
including the ambassador himself, and the ship on which Gray served at the time
had been sent to try to reach the coast, then to serve as an operations centre
for the rescue team. But then, the
Panamanian rebels engaged the ship, and the captain was killed during the
battle. As first officer, Gray had taken
command. He had held on long enough for
the rescue team to come back with the hostages, had even destroyed two enemy
ships in the process, and then was able to bring everybody back safely to
England.
That daring escapade,
along with many others that had followed, had contributed to his promotion to
captain with command of his own ship.
At the time, some had said that his promotion was simply an indication
that the British Navy was in dire need of new blood; and he was even considered
too young for the job. He had let his
deeds speak for themselves. Now the
disrespectful remarks were few, and almost everybody considered him more than
fit for command.
He was wondering now
what Admiral Matheson wanted from him.
The day before, he had received a coded message announcing that the
admiral was coming to see him in person.
That was odd, thought the young captain, and certainly not according to
procedure. But then, there was so much
turmoil in Britain. People were
demanding that the Militarist Government step down and give up their political
power. Many wanted Britain to finally
join the World Government, as it should have done years earlier. These demands
would not have been unreasonable, if it weren’t for the way some people were
making them: riots, protests marches, those were the more benign aspects; armed
uprisings, bombings and terrorist attacks were much more serious.
It was no wonder some
military people, like Admiral Matheson, took additional precautions, thought
Gray as he watched the helicopter descending to its pad.
Standing by the
captain’s side, his first officer, Commander Jackson Bennett, was waiting as
well. Bennett was a lot older than
Gray, and the captain was always willing to listen to his wise advice.
“What do you make of this,
Bennett?” Gray asked when the helicopter finally touched down. “What brings an admiral of the High Command
to see us in the middle of the ocean?”
“Can’t be anything
good, Captain,” Bennett murmured sombrely.
“But it’s bound to be something highly important…”
“I suppose we’ll know
soon enough.”
Gray hurried toward
the helicopter, from which an elderly man, wearing the insignia of a full
admiral on his shoulders, and a very large cluster on his chest, was
emerging. The young captain noticed
that the helicopter pilot, after shutting down his craft completely, was also
stepping out. Gray gave him just one
glance before saluting the admiral.
“Welcome aboard the Sir Francis Drake, Admiral Matheson.
It’s an honour…”
Matheson shook hands
with the younger man, grinning broadly. “The honour is mine, Captain Gray. The Drake
already has a glorious history to its name…
And you as well, I hear.”
Gray had to make a
supreme effort not to redden.
Compliments from his elders always embarrassed him. Fortunately, Matheson had turned to beckon
the pilot closer. As he approached, the
pilot removed his helmet. “I believe you know my pilot, Captain?”
Gray stiffened in
surprise on seeing the now uncovered face of the pilot; the older man glanced
at him with a twinkle in his eyes, eyes as blue as the captain’s, and, after
having tucked his helmet under his left arm, gave him a smart salute. What is HE doing here? a perplexed Gray
thought. Serving as pilot to an admiral isn’t his regular job… It took a few seconds before Captain Gray
actually came out of his surprise and returned the salute. “How are you, Flight Sergeant?”
“Very well, thank you,
Captain,” the pilot answered.
Gray smiled;
forgetting protocol for an instant, he shook the hand of the man standing in
front of him. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Too long, I’m
afraid,” the pilot agreed. “But then again, I know how busy you are… Captain.”
Gray shook his head.
“Still, a man should never be too busy to at least write to his father.”
“I believe my son
would say the same.”
Gray stared at the
pilot, who gave him a faint, but rueful smile.
Yes, it had been a while since he had seen him, his own father, the Air
Force Flight Sergeant. The man who had
brought him up almost single-handedly since the day he had been born. Charles’ mother had died a couple of months
after giving birth to her only son. Her
husband, Alexander, didn’t know much about childcare and education, but with
some help from well-intentioned aunts – mostly in the beginning – he had done
his best with what little he knew.
The rest looked a lot
like day-to-day life and training on a military base. It was certainly not easy being the son of a notably harsh drill
sergeant, who expected nothing less than perfection and total obedience. Still, it served to form Charles’
character. He had the same volatile
temper as his father, and living with him, putting up with him, had taught him
to keep it in check. They often
clashed, especially since the day Charles had reached the age of twelve and had
decided to show his father that he also had a mind of his own, and that he was
not about to let him decide what he should do with the rest of his life. Alexander wasn’t totally displeased, in
fact, that his son stood up to him.
There weren’t many men who would actually do that, even superior
officers would often approach him with a certain caution.
As it was, Alexander
actually expected his son to be able to face him without looking down. Just as he expected him to eventually join
the military life. Not to become a
simple sergeant, like his dad… He knew
Charles had the stuff to be a high ranked officer. So he gave him the opportunities to aspire to that and sent him
to receive the best education possible, in some of England’s most prestigious
colleges and universities. Charles
never disappointed the expectations of his father, always being the best in all
academic fields… there was only one thing Alexander Gray hadn’t counted on:
when the time came for his son to enlist in the Military, he chose to join the
Navy instead of the Air Force.
For some time,
Alexander Gray did nothing to hide his dismay and disappointment over his son’s
choice of career. It didn’t last long,
however, and Alexander was now very proud of Charles’ accomplishments, as he
quickly climbed the ladder of success, gaining promotion after promotion, until
he reached his present position. A
highly renowned Navy man, commander of his own warship, which in turn had one
of the most prestigious names in the British Fleet.
“My first officer,
Commander Jackson Bennett,” Charles presented suddenly, noticing the man who
had just arrived next to him.
“My respects,
Admiral,” Bennett said, saluting Matheson.
“Jack, this is my
father. Flight Sergeant Alexander
Gray.”
“Oh!” Bennett squeezed the pilot’s hand. “I
thought you were a drill sergeant for new recruits.”
“I re-enlisted as a
helicopter pilot, some months ago,” the older Gray replied. “That was my first
love, anyway… Well, not counting
Charles’ mother, I mean.”
“Shall we go to your
cabin, Captain?” Admiral Matheson then said. “We can discuss business
there. Your father will join us. You will be able to catch up with him,
then.”
Charles kept himself
from blinking. Curiouser and
curiouser. Since when was a simple
helicopter pilot allowed to attend official military meetings between superior
officers? Or maybe there was nothing
official about all this. However, it
was noticeable how Matheson had casually left Bennett out of his invitation.
“Of course,
Admiral. If you’d follow me… Commander Bennett, take the bridge. I’ll call for you if necessary.”
“Aye,
aye, Captain.”
“This way, gentlemen,
if you please…”
Charles guided his
father and Admiral Matheson to his cabin where he offered them coffee. He noticed how uneasy his father seemed in
his presence and tried to make him as comfortable as he could. Matheson joined in with some banter of his
own. Before long, the three men were
tackling different subjects, most noticeably reminiscing about their respective
home towns. The three had not been in England
for a long time, and missed their country a lot. Charles didn’t even know that his father had re-enlisted as a
helicopter pilot. They hadn’t seen each
other for months.
“I knew you wanted to see
some more action,” Charles said to his father, “but I didn’t know you were back
as a pilot.”
Alexander scoffed.
“Don’t see much action flying superior officers around… Isn’t that right, Admiral?”
“Oh, I don’t know,
Alex… I expect action to be on our doorstep
pretty soon…”
Charles almost
frowned. It was pretty obvious his
father was something of a confidante to the admiral. Since when was he his pilot, anyway?
“Speaking of action,”
Matheson added, “I have something for you, Captain.”
He searched in his
jacket pocket and produced an envelope, closed with the seal of the Ministry of
Defence. He handed it to Charles. “I believe these are your new orders…”
Charles conspicuously
eyed the envelope before taking it, not without thanking Matheson with a nod. Seeing the younger man hesitate, the admiral
gave him a nod of his own. “You can
open it right away. I already know
what’s in it, anyway.”
Matheson took a sip of
his coffee and Alexander looked down at his own cup. What’s going on here? Charles thought, glancing at his elders. He quickly broke the seal, took the letter
from the envelope, and unfolded it. He
began to read silently.
It took him a second
quick reading to really understand the implications of the orders contained in
the letter. He looked at Matheson and
his father; both men were staring at him, apparently watching his
reaction. He ignored his father and
turned to the admiral. “Is this some
kind of joke?” he asked bluntly.
Matheson shook his
head. “No. No joke,” he said quietly,
taking another sip of coffee. “That comes directly from the Ministry of
Defence.”
“Yes, I saw that,”
Charles replied, more impatiently that he should have. “But I can’t believe…” He stopped, looking back at Alexander, who
was still staring at him, and hesitated.
Matheson cleared his
throat. “You can talk in front of your
father.”
“You know what’s in
this letter?” Charles asked his father, frowning again.
“I know,” Alexander
replied calmly.
Charles looked at him
in disbelief; he was troubled. His
father was a simple pilot; what was in that letter was certainly far too
important for him to know about. How
could he have learned about it?
Probably from Matheson, who had said that he knew all about it, which in
his case was not really surprising. But
why would he have told Alexander Gray?
“I take it you’re not
happy with your new assignment?” Matheson asked.
“Not happy?” Charles almost snapped, turning toward the
admiral. “Sorry, Sir, and without
meaning any disrespect, it can’t be serious!”
“But it is, Captain
Gray. Deadly serious!”
“So perhaps I don’t
understand the letter correctly.”
Charles raised the paper to show it to the admiral. “The Ministry orders me to sail to the
Orkney Islands, where it is believed a base has been installed by
‘rebels’. They ask me to join the
search to seek out where those ‘traitors to our country’ are hidden… To seek them out, demand their immediate
capitulation… and destroy them and their installations if they refuse… With extreme prejudice.” Charles spat out the last words in disgust,
and then looked straight into Matheson’s eyes.
“Who are these rebels, sir?”
The admiral’s glance
was very quiet. “Opponents of the Military regime,” he answered. “Nothing more… nothing less.”
“Are they the
terrorists wreaking havoc in England?” Charles asked.
Matheson shrugged. “I
know they’re not from the same group…”
“So they may not be
terrorists at all. Are they even
armed?” Matheson did not respond. Charles continued: “Are they even posing a
real threat to National Security?”
“Most probably,” the
admiral answered. “They have ideas that
may be threatening enough. And even if
they’re not from the same party as those terrorists you were just talking
about, what difference could it make?
The Government considers all these groups as one and the same. All rebels.
All traitors.”
“There is a big
difference between traitors and opponents.
Some of these people have very valid points…”
“Be careful what you
say, Charles,” Alexander advised his son.
“YOU already know what
I think about all this,” Charles almost snapped at him. “I may not have been in England for quite
some time, but I know what’s going on there.
I know the people have had quite enough of the Military regime. I know the majority of them want to join the
World Government. Some of them have
even left Britain. France and the
United States have actually welcomed some of them. What’s Britain going to do about that? Declare war on the rest of the world so our people don’t try to
escape?”
“Charles,” Alexander
tried to warn his son again.
“I don’t know about
these people in the Orkneys,” Charles continued, not even hearing him. “And
frankly, I don’t much care if they are armed or not. ‘With extreme prejudice’?”
He angrily flourished the paper again. “These are British citizens, for
Heaven’s sake… Probably have innocents
with them. Elders, women, children… and their alleged base is situated in
British territory, where there’s bound to be civilians, not even aware of
what’s about to drop on their heads. We
can’t fight ideas with weapons. And
certainly not reasonable ideas.”
“Do you realize what
you’re saying, Captain?” Admiral Matheson asked him sternly. “Your words could be interpreted as
treason.”
Charles stiffened. He
looked stonily at the two men staring at him.
His father had grown very quiet.
“I’m not a traitor,”
Charles replied in a harsh tone. “I love England. But I hate what the Militarist Government is doing to it.”
“You’re military…”
“But I’m not without
conscience, and that may be the difference between me and those in power. Admiral…”
Charles hesitated one moment, looking straight at his superior. “…I
would have thought the Government would listen to reason and heed the will of
the people. Instead, it’s trying to
stifle anyone whose opinion differs from it.
What impact is that going to have on our image to the world at
large? These orders…” - he screwed the
letter into a ball - “…are garbage.”
He tossed the ball
onto the table in front of the admiral.
The older man looked at it quietly, then gave a thoughtful look at the
young captain standing in front of him.
There was still fire in his eyes.
“I take it you refuse
to follow those orders?”
“Do what you wish with
me,” Charles declared. “I will not become a murderer to satisfy the ego of
power-hungry despots.”
“These are your last
words on the matter?”
“They may not be my
last words, Admiral… But I’ll stand by
them every step of the way.”
Matheson looked a long
time at the younger man who stood at ease in front of him, waiting for the
consequences of his statement. The
admiral blew out a sigh. “You were right about your boy, Alex. He has yet to learn to control his temper.”
“I’m afraid he got
that from me,” Alexander replied, in a quiet tone that made Charles
twitch. There was no emotion whatsoever
apparent in his father’s voice. Doesn’t he care that I just put myself in
deep trouble right now? Doesn’t he
realize my career may well be finished and that I may be court-martialled? There is no way Matheson will overlook such
blatant insubordination and disregard for direct orders…
“All right, Captain,”
Matheson sighed again. “Since you feel so strongly about this… I have new orders for you. And I’m sure you realize that they might
have a tremendous impact on the rest of your life.”
“I’m listening, sir,”
Charles answered gloomily.
“You’ll sail this ship
to the Orkney Islands, as the Ministry ordered you to…”
Charles looked in
dismay at the man. Hadn’t he listened
to a single word he had said? “Admiral…”
“Let me finish!”
Matheson almost barked, drawing the younger man to immediate attention. “You
WILL sail the Drake there, locate the
rebel base… and do whatever you have to, to protect it from any attempt by the
British Government to attack it.”
Charles blinked in
surprise at those last words. He looked
in perplexity at Matheson who nodded quietly. “You’re right. If the Militarists attack that base and kill
those people, that will have tremendous impact with the World Government. It could even result in a war that nobody,
with any sense at all, would want.”
Another perplexed
look; Charles frowned deeply. “What are you trying to say, Admiral?” he
murmured.
“Charles,” Alexander
said gravely, making his son turn to him, “this whole situation has gone on
long enough. Before it goes any further
and becomes really bad, somebody must do something to stop it.”
“Yes, this must be
resolved,” Matheson agreed. “Once and
for all.”
Charles stared at the
two men, with a deeply puzzled look. Something was beginning to sink into his
mind, but he wasn’t sure if he should trust his instincts. “You know who those
people hidden in the Orkneys are,” he said, more as a statement than a
question.
Matheson nodded. “Yes,
we know. It’s a coalition, formed of
some very driven, but reasonable, people.
They feel it is time for the Militarist regime to step down, and give
the governing powers back to the people.
So all these conflicts, all these tensions, in Britain will finally
stop.”
“How… do you know all
that?” Charles asked.
“There are members of
the military amongst these people,” Matheson explained. “Civilians as well, and
dignitaries of the British government.”
“Military?” Charles
repeated, troubled.
“Yes, quite a
few. Some pretty high ranked: generals,
air marshals… Admirals.”
“Oh, my God…” Charles
stared at Matheson and then at his father. “You’re in this too, aren’t you?”
Matheson nodded
quietly. “Yes, we are. We’re part of
the Coalition.”
“Oh, God!” Charles
repeated, throwing his arms in the air.
He looked down at Alexander, with disbelief in his eyes. “Father, how
the Hell did you find yourself involved in this?”
“Not easily, I assure
you,” Alexander answered. “It took me a long time before actually joining the
cause. I had to do a lot of thinking. Your arguments often came to my mind, you
know. All those discussions we used to
have about the validity of Military in politics… After taking a good look at what was really going on all around
me, I realized you were right about a lot of things. The military has no business in politics. The government should belong to the people.”
“Why didn’t you tell
me about this?” Charles sighed.
“Do you think I didn’t
want to?” His father’s answer came rather harshly. “It wasn’t just my secret,
Charles. There were other people
involved. All of us, especially the
military, we have to live with the secret, keeping our convictions to
ourselves, to escape whatever means of retaliation the Militarist regime might
bring against us… and those close to us.”
“You’ve known of my
feelings about all this for a long time, Father,” Charles retorted. “Why are
you telling me now? You were afraid I
would denounce you? My own father?”
“What was I supposed
to think, Captain, when my own son has become the Navy’s most celebrated and
decorated hero of recent years?
Wouldn’t he be more inclined to side with his superiors in the
Militarist regime, who had awarded him all these promotions and rewards, or
with me, his father, who had decided to support the so-called rebels?”
“I…” Charles stopped
suddenly. He sighed and sat down. “I
don’t know what to say, actually.”
“Well, then,” his
father said with a faint smile. “That is something unusual, coming from you.”
Charles frowned. “And
I don’t know what to do. What do you
want from me?”
“Exactly what I have
told you already,” Matheson said. “Protect the rebel base in the Orkneys. At all costs.”
“You said it is of
tremendous importance. That if this
base should be destroyed and its people killed, it could start a disastrous
war… What do you mean?”
“Aside from the bad
image of British government it would send to the rest of the world?”
“There is something
else, isn’t there, Admiral?”
A hesitant Matheson
exchanged glances with Alexander.
Seeing the pilot nodding confidently at him, he cleared his throat. “As I have told you, the Coalition in which
your father and I are involved is composed of some very important people. Some of these people have officially made
contact with the World Government to ask for its support against the Militarist
Government… and eventually, bring Britain into the World Government.”
Charles’ eyes widened.
“And has World President Bandranaik agreed to give his support?”
“He has, though not
officially yet. He wants to make sure first that it is actually the will of the
British people to overthrow the Militarists.
He also wanted to know that the Coalition wasn’t some terrorist group,
like those so-called ‘Freedom Fighters’ who’ve been planting bombs all around
England these last weeks.”
“How did you convince
him it was not the case?”
“The representatives
we sent were pretty convincing. They
were people whose reputations are beyond doubt. Air Marshal Weston was amongst them. Admiral McCarthy… And
even some ex-Militarists, who’ve been brought into the cause, like old General
Metcalfe.”
“Samuel
Metcalfe?” Charles scoffed. “That old goat must be over eighty, and
stubborn as a mule. It must have been
an exploit in itself to convince him to come out of retirement and actually
join your Coalition.”
“Old Sam Metcalfe has
a son, Arthur, who in turn has three sons,” Alexander said. “The four of them are strong supporters of
the cause. Fortunately, the boys are as
stubborn as their grandfather. They
somehow convinced him.” A smile crossed
the elder Gray’s features. “I think the eldest has your name, Charles… Must be about your age, too… married, with a
young boy of his own.”
Charles frowned. For a few years, his father had been bugging
him about getting married and having children.
The old man had grown fond of the idea of having a grandchild or
two. Unfortunately for him, his son
didn’t share his feelings.
“When will President
Bandranaik make his support official, Admiral?” Charles asked, quickly changing
the subject.
“His representatives
are presently at our base…” Matheson responded. He looked Charles squarely in the eyes. “…in the Orkneys.”
“Good Lord,” Charles
murmured. “If there is a British attack
on that base and the World Government officials are harmed in any way…”
“Now you understand,”
Matheson nodded slowly. “That’s why you
must go there, Captain. There are
already other British ships on their way, and they will search for that
base… And unlike you, their commanders
may not hesitate before actually following orders and destroying it.”
“I see why you seem so
desperate for my help,” Charles mused. “Do you know how many ships there are?”
“Three ships.”
“Three ships, really,”
Charles muttered. “And naturally, you want me to oppose them if it comes to
it.”
“That’s why we’re
asking you to go there, Captain.”
“And who’s in charge
of the search operation?”
“Captain Renfro.”
Charles, who was about
to take a sip of coffee, stopped his cup halfway to his lips. He looked at Matheson in disbelief.
“Renfro? You want me to engage the Horatio Nelson? PLUS two other ships?”
“Would that be a
problem?” Matheson asked innocently.
“Sir, you know as well
as I do that Renfro is the best commander in the Fleet. As for his ship…”
“I believe the Drake has nothing to envy the Nelson,” Matheson interrupted quickly.
“Nothing, Charles. Not even her
captain…” He shook his head. “The only thing Renfro has more than you is
years of experience. YOU are the best
commander in the Fleet, Captain Gray, despite your young age. Only you can hope to engage Renfro and come
out victorious.”
“The Nelson and two other ships,” Charles
continued to muse. “Those odds are…”
“Not nearly as
desperate as when Captain Francis Drake actually had to face the entire Spanish
Armada,” Matheson remarked, smiling.
“I wouldn’t go that
far in comparison. Beside, Drake had a
storm on his side.” Charles stared at
Matheson. “Why me?” he asked, frowning deeply.
“Your convictions make
you the only man for the job,” Alexander remarked.
Charles sighed. “I’m still not sure… I have to think about this. And it’s not the kind of decision I can take
on my own. I’ll have to consult my
staff.”
“Do whatever your
conscience tells you,” Matheson said, nodding.
“But you shouldn’t spend too much time thinking. We’re running out of
time, Captain. And… be careful with your
first officer.”
“Bennett?”
“He is well known to
be a confirmed Militarist, with a loyalty to the Government bordering
fanaticism.”
“I’ll keep that in
mind, Admiral.”
Matheson reached into
his pocket and pulled out another letter he handed to the young ship’s
commander. “Here. You’ll find in there
the co-ordinates to contact General Weston.
When you have reached your decision, and if it’s the one we’re hoping
for, contact him. He’ll give you the
exact position of the rebel base.”
Charles eyed the
letter with a thoughtful look. “You take a great risk, Admiral, handing me this
information. How do you know I won’t
use it against you and your cause?”
“I trust you not to
betray our confidence in you, Charles.
Even if you don’t give us your support.” Matheson got to his feet, promptly imitated by Alexander. “Weigh
your options, but do it carefully and swiftly.
I can’t tell you how important it is to take quick action…” He hesitated a couple of seconds. “Captain,
I must make you aware of something: if we are successful in this, we have much
to gain. Britain will finally be free
of the military despotism under which it’s been kept for too long. She will probably join the World Government. If, however, we fail… the consequences on
all our lives will be disastrous. We’ll
be considered traitors to our own country...”
“I’ve never been
afraid to face the consequences of my acts, Admiral,” Charles answered
calmly. “If I do help you, it won’t be
any different.”
“You are a wise young
man, Captain Gray. If we are successful, and I have a strong feeling we will
be, I’m quite sure you’ll have a bright future under the new order.”
Charles tilted his
head to the side. “I assure you, sir, that if I give you my help, it won’t be
in exchange for any reward or promotion.”
Matheson smiled and
nodded his understanding. “We’ll go now,” he said. “I’m expected in London this evening, by the High Command. It wouldn’t be safe to make them wait, would
it, Alex?”
“Certainly not,
Admiral,” Alexander agreed quietly.
“You have a fine lad,
here, my friend,” Matheson continued, addressing his pilot. “I know a lot of
men who would be proud to call him his son.”
Charles felt a bit
embarrassed over the compliment. He
cleared his throat and gestured toward the door leading out of his cabin. “I’ll
escort you to your helicopter, gentlemen.”
He preceded the two
men through to the helicopter pad.
Matheson shook his hand one last time before taking his place in the
craft. Charles then turned to his
father who was following behind.
“You really look
great, Charles,” the older man said, gazing at his son.
“You look great too,
Father,” Charles responded with a faint smile. “How do you find not having to
bark at any more young recruits?”
“It’s done my voice a
lot of good!” Alexander laughed softly. “And it’s a wonderful feeling to be
back in action.” He shook his head.
“You know, the admiral is right. We
often had a stressful relationship, you and me… Especially when you decided to
join the Navy instead of the Air Force…”
“Father…”
“…But it’s true, you
know?” Alexander interrupted his son.
“I’m really, really proud of you, and of your accomplishments.”
Charles frowned
mockingly. “Are you trying to make me blush in front of my entire crew, Flight
Sergeant Gray?”
“Now, that would be a
really funny sight, Captain!”
Alexander came to
attention and saluted his son; the latter brought his hand to his brow to
respond and then hesitated; he reached for his father and hugged him in his
arms, thumping his back. “It’s been
good to see you, Dad.”
A bit surprised by
Charles’ gesture, for he had never been particularly demonstrative, Alexander
squeezed him back against his heart. “Yes.
It’s been good for me too… Take
good care of yourself, will you?”
“I will… And you be careful.”
Alexander nodded quietly. He broke their embrace and strode toward the
helicopter where Admiral Matheson was patiently waiting. He took his seat at the helm and started the
engine. The rotor began to turn,
gradually picking up speed. People on
the helicopter pad stepped back, including Charles who was still looking in his
father’s direction. He snapped a
military salute at the pilot who answered smartly. Then the helicopter lifted, and left the deck of the Sir Francis Drake warship.
Captain Charles Gray
climbed up the ladder to the upper bridge surmounting the helicopter pad and
then thoughtfully followed the craft as it pulled away from his ship. He was still pondering what he had just
learned from the two men onboard when he noticed Bennett’s absence from his
side. He saw the man below, also
watching as the aircraft departed.
“So, Captain, it’s not
every day we get to receive a full admiral on board, eh?”
Charles Gray glanced
at the man who had approached him on his left, to address him with his very
recognizable Irish brogue.
Quartermaster Greg Dooley had served onboard warships far longer than
Gray himself had been in the Navy. Even
if there was a definite difference in age and rank between the two men, Charles
had always felt friendly toward the other man, and thought of him as probably
one of his most loyal crewmembers. He
wondered now how deep his loyalty to the British Military regime really
was. Irish people didn't have the reputation
of being very fond of it, but Dooley’s service record was flawless.
The helicopter was
about three hundred metres from the ship and Captain Gray was about to turn
away to go down to his cabin, when the aircraft violently exploded in a giant
fireball. About everybody on deck
instinctively ducked down, Charles amongst them. Petrified with horror, he could only look as the wreckage of what
was once the helicopter plunged down into the sea.
Total confusion now
reigned on the ship. There were shouts
of surprise, and murmurs everywhere.
Those who had not witnessed the blast came over to find out what had
happened. Charles quickly strode across
the bridge, his eyes riveted on the flames spreading on the water’s surface, at
the spot where the main piece of the helicopter had fallen.
“Dear sweet Mother of
God!” he heard a man whispering near him. “Those two guys… They had no chance.”
Shaking all over,
Charles grabbed the railing. His father
was gone. In a matter of seconds, he
had disappeared in a fiery explosion, at the helm of his craft. Emotions washed
over the young captain as he stared in disbelief at what was left of the
scene. He felt desperate and useless,
to have seen it all and been unable to do anything to prevent it.
Dad… What had
happened? What went wrong?
Frustration took hold of him. Standard
procedure demanded that any helicopter touching down on a ship should be
checked by the onboard team of aviation mechanics, to make sure it was in
perfect order for its eventual departure.
The regulations on the Drake
were no different from any other ship.
And Charles was one hundred percent certain the job had been done in
this instance, like in any other.
Something else had occurred.
Charles’ trembling
eyes then found one man, who, amidst all the confusion on the deck, was
standing still in one place, looking up impassively at him. The young ship commander stared back at the
man, and then understood almost instantly that the explosion was not an
accident.
Captain Charles Gray
had the deep conviction that Commander Jackson Bennett had somehow sabotaged
the helicopter he knew was transporting two dedicated opponents of the British
Militarist government.
How much does he actually know about the real reason
for their presence here?
Gray thought as he looked down with contained fury at his first officer. Quite a lot, by the way Bennett was staring
at him, as if to challenge him.
No. Not to challenge him, Charles realized, but
to warn him. It was so clear… Bennett was only the messenger. It was a message from the High Command. Not to go further. Not to get involved.
And to stop his
involvement, the powers-that-be had murdered his father. Charles had tremendous
difficulty keeping his turmoil, anger and pain in check as he stared back at
the man. His hands squeezed tightly
around the cold metal of the railing.
So tightly that his knuckles turned white.
There was a time for
justice and revenge, he thought, and a time for mourning. Soon, very soon. But not now.
Now was the time for
duty. And if he had had doubts as to
where his duty and loyalty lay before, Captain Charles Gray had no such
hesitation anymore. Britain was in dire need of help and he intended bringing
it to her.