A CAPTAIN SCARLET AND THE MYSTERONS STORY
“It is a mistake to
try to look too far ahead. The chain of destiny can only be grasped one link at
a time.”
Sir Winston Churchill (1874 - 1965)
This is the background to Captain Indigo as imagined by me, it is
of course not the proper background. It would be an honour if Indigo as he is
here, appears elsewhere but if not then it was an honour writing this. Maybe
this will be a cult classic.
My good friend Chloe from
Boston, Mass.
MATTHEW CROWTHER
"Spectrum Cloudbase,
2068"
Darkness
had fallen when Colonel White got to the last folder of his pile. He rubbed his
blue eyes and drank from his cold coffee. At his console, Lieutenant Green
stifled a yawn and glanced at Lieutenant Peach as the latter entered the control
room. The two junior officers changed over so quietly, White hardly noticed them
do so. His eyes settled once more on the cover of the cream coloured folder. The
label on it was in copperplate font and neatly typed.
CAPTAIN INDIGO.
Just that simple,
Captain Indigo, two words that in the real world had little significance but
to Colonel White had meaning. White thought back to the events of yesterday, the
attempted assassination by Indigo’s Mysteron double. Young Indigo murdered by
former Spectrum agent Captain Black. Colonel White sighed as he opened the
folder and stared back at the black and white headshot of Indigo. His uniform
immaculate and hair combed neatly. The details and case file stretched across
four pages in neat text. The Spectrum administration staff as ever efficient.
Colonel White picked up
his fountain pen and went to the fourth page, below the last paragraph he put
pen to paper. The nib scratched across the paper like fingernails on skin.
Captain Indigo served
with exemption, a credit to the organisation. His loss has been a great blow and
he will be remembered with honour.
White lifted his pen, the
words a dark blue against the white paper. He then produced the first page of
the file and over the headshot of Indigo scrawled one word.
DECEASED.
White settled his pen
down and picked up the sheet; wordlessly he put it back down and began to read
the file. It would be the last time.
"San Francisco, North
America, 2038"
Michael Flaherty revolved his rickety executive
chair in his third floor office of the San Francisco branch of the North
American Adoptive Agency. Flaherty was an Irish-American and forty years old
with fair hair that belayed his age.
His gaze fell finally upon the nearby Transamerica
Pyramid, beyond the sixty-seven year old building was the glittering bay
bracketed by the Golden Gate Bridge and San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge.
Flaherty tapped his desk with his pen and started
as his intercom chimed, pressing the speak button with his pen he said with a
New York accent, "Yeah?"
"The Richmonds from Britain are here to see
you,
Mike," came the voice of his secretary.
"Send them in Martha, if you will."
Flaherty stood from his chair to greet Roger and
Anne Richmond as they entered his office. Both were in their mid-thirties and
had dark hair, both were successful surgeons based at Guy's Hospital in London.
"Welcome to the NAAA, please have a seat."
Flaherty proffered beverages but the Richmonds
declined and he shuffled a folder on his desk, he opened it and smiled.
"Your details checked through and I'm pleased to
tell you that we're able to accept you as parents for this child."
"Thank God," Anne Richmond said with a sigh.
"We're unable to have children and this is a relief."
"We'll raise him as best as we can," Roger added.
Flaherty stood. "Andrew is waiting downstairs.
Please follow me."
In the NAAA building’s basement nursery that was
well lit and air conditioned, the young toddler by himself stared intensely at
the Lego building before him. After silently debating for a few seconds he
proceeded to deconstruct the house, brick by brick.
Andrew Laurence had been orphaned two months ago
at the age of two when his parents had been killed in an air crash at Boston's
Logan Airport.
The supersonic Boeing 847
‘Speedbird’ had been on a routine approach from its three-hour flight from
Australia when, during the proceeding storm, a freak bolt of lightning blew its
first engine nacelle and subsequently disintegrated the entire aircraft.
Andrew’s parents had been well-known forensic
experts, also specialising in ballistics. They had lived with Andrew in Boston.
Andrew was taken into care and placed on an
adoption list, he had had no other living kin.
The Richmonds who lived in London were keen to
adopt him, unable to have children through complications.
Anne Richmond scooped Andrew into her arms and
nestled him close, the child regarded her with interest. Standing a few feet
away Roger smiled.
“He seems fine.”
“He should be,” Flaherty said hands in pockets. “A
Remarkable child shows keen interest in things around him. I
shouldn’t be surprised if he makes something for
himself in the future.”
A day later, the Richmonds took Andrew back to
London and legally changed his name. Andrew Laurence would be as he was born,
but Denton Richmond would be his identity for life.
“Imperial College
University, London, 2056”
The campus for forensics was also the same one as
that of regular medicine.
Denton Richmond ran a
hand through his tousled brown hair and clasped his books tighter; learning both
medicine and forensics was not for the faint hearted.
“Hey, Dent!”
Denton stopped by the campus exit at South
Kensington near Princes Gate and the Royal Albert Hall, his friend Bradley
Maxwell jogged up to him. Maxwell was a handsome twenty-year old who entertained
the reputation created by others, of being a ladie’s man.
Like Denton, he was studying forensics. However, he could not understand
why Denton would want to do forensics and medicine, it didn’t seem practical to
him.
“What can I do for you, Max?”
“You left the lecture early, something up?”
Denton grunted, resuming his walk, with Maxwell
joining in step and heading towards the city.
“This time Phelps has it wrong.”
“How do you know this?”
“My father did the same thing, post-mortem
examination by scans and was able to do it better than Phelps suggests.
Remember, my parents were leading in that field.”
“I recall that. Say, while we’re out lets grab a
drink.”
“Lead the way.”
The Boston Inn was a quaint little pub that had
survived the past decades in the London borough of Marylebone in northwest
London near the ever-thriving Marylebone Road.
Inside it was reminiscent of those days when
people risked their lives to get to the New World, particularly the Irish
immigrants.
Denton was an immigrant of sorts –having been
American born and found some comfort away from ICL in the pub.
Roger and Anne Richmond revealed his past when he
was twelve and although it bore some shock, Denton had dealt with it ably.
Denton lit a cigarette and flicked the match into
a pot on the table.
He pulled across the table towards him, a book
that had been lying idle in his suitcase since moving into Imperial as an
undergraduate student.
Forensics: The Real
Truth
by John Laurence.
He flicked it open and
read it as the pint of Guinness was placed by his elbow.
Two
hours later Bradley Maxwell sat down at his table.
“Thought I’d find you
here, Dent.”
“Brad,” Denton closed
the book. “You were meant to be here with me anyway, but you disappeared.”
“I was on a mission of
sorts.”
Bradley ordered a
Guinness and took the book in his hand, his eyes roving over the cover.
“Your fathers’ book?”
“Yes.”
The blond-haired
Londoner was the only one at Imperial who knew of Denton’s background. It was
not something the quiet student broadcast.
Denton had shrugged. “They’re my parents.”
Bradley’s drink came
and he sipped it, smacking his lips nosily.
“You are a fool,”
Denton muttered.
“Ah, but who is the
fool? The fool or the fool who follows?”
Denton took the book
back. “What’s up, as it were?”
Bradley raised his
eyebrows. “I, sir, have found a date for you.”
Denton groaned. “No
Brad. Not again.”
“She’s by the door.”
Out of curiosity
Denton glanced past Bradley, at the door were two women. Their attire was casual
and they looked like students. One had blonde hair and the other a molten red.
Both were slim and of average height.
“Which one?” asked
Denton, experience showed that what Bradley thought was Denton’s perfect girl
was in fact Bradley’s.
“The redhead.”
Denton coughed. “I
don’t know, Brad.”
Bradley became more
serious. “Come on, Dent, you’ve been burying yourself in books this past week.
We’re here four years and you’re acting as if you have four weeks. Live a
little.”
“We’ve been here half
a year; I want to make a good start.”
“Then have some R&R,
as my father, the admiral, always says – idle work for idle hands.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Did I mention he was
an admiral?” Bradley said offhand.
Denton groaned. “You
may as well introduce me.”
“That’s it, the old
Dunkirk spirit.”
“Bradley, stop
watching war movies.”
Bradley led Denton
over to the women who turned to face them, their conversation halted by the
arrival of the men.
Bradley gestured to
the blonde with one hand. “Denton, this is Sally.”
Denton shook hands and
turned his attention to the red haired woman.
“Denton, Jennifer.”
Denton bowed slightly
at the waist. “Evening.”
“Bradley’s told me
quite a bit about you, Denton. You study forensics right?”
“Yes, I do.”
“That’s fascinating,
so do I.”
Denton frowned. “I
haven’t seen you in classes.”
“Portsmouth
University.”
“Ah.”
A silence followed and
Bradley clapped his hands. “Shall we head off? I got tickets to that new James
Fordham play at Shaftsbury Avenue.”
“Will wonders ever
cease?” murmured Denton and following Bradley to Shaftsbury Avenue.
After the play, the
group – in a good-natured mood - moved on to a restaurant just off Piccadilly
Circus. By now the sun had set and Piccadilly had become a kaleidoscope of
colours due to the advertising boards that had been around for almost a century.
“So, how did you come
to meet Bradley?” Denton asked his companions as Bradley went to order drinks
from the bar.
Sally answered. “I
went to school with his sister in Portsmouth. We know each other and he said
that if I’m ever in London to bring a friend and here I am.”
“Sounds like Brad,”
murmured Denton and glanced at Jennifer. “Did you like the play?”
“Rather.
Dawn at Midnight
is a metaphor for our times, intelligent, complex
and with some humour. Rather fascinating.”
Denton smiled. “I thought so. Say, are you in
London long? There’s this lecture by a leading forensics expert who worked with
my father, at Kensington. Do you wish to come?
I know it’s not
exactly a party or a bash, but I thought you might want to.”
Jennifer returned the smile, displaying even white
teeth.
“To the first question, I’m in London for the next
two days and to the second - I’d love to.”
At this point Bradley returned depositing drinks.
“Meals will be here shortly.”
“Nice one, Brad.”
“Thanks Dent. I aim to please.”
A half-hour later in the restaurant, a band began
playing music from the late twentieth century at the far end of the restaurant
by an empty dance floor. Some couples stood to dance.
The group had finished their meal and were talking
amongst themselves.
Cigarette in left hand, Bradley watched the floor
and then nudged Denton speaking quietly towards his ear.
“Why don’t you take Jenny?”
“I have two left feet.”
“Pish, old chap.”
Denton stood quickly and extended his hand towards
Jennifer. “May I?”
“Certainly,” replied Jennifer taking his hand and
walking with him to the floor. He stood there awkwardly, just then the band –The Barry Gray Tribute
Band
- struck up Glenn Miller’s
In the Mood.
“Ah, first class,” murmured Denton and took her
hands. “Bear with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
They danced as fluently as the other dancers could
let them.
At the table, Bradley had his arm around Sally’s
shoulders looking at the couple on the dance floor.
“Sometimes, even I underestimate my powers.”
“Look at them; they seem oblivious to what’s going
on.”
Indeed, Denton and Jennifer were dancing quickly –
a fair imitation of Fred Astaire and Ginger Roberts. The band reacting to this
and playing a number of jaunty songs.
It went on past midnight.
“Kensington,
South London”
The forensics
lecture was in the old Science Museum, still fascinating children with its
history of science.
Denton Richmond, in his black top and jeans waited
patiently at Princes Gate for Jennifer. She arrived after ten minutes and he
smiled.
All night he
thought of her and found himself giddy with excitement at meeting her. But he
checked himself on leaving his residence at Imperial, no sense in letting
himself get too far ahead. Denton ran a hand through his brown hair and then
cleared his throat.
“Morning, Jennifer.”
“Morning, has the lecture started yet?”
“Not yet,” Denton reached for the nearby door to
the Science Museum and opened it. “After you.”
“Ever the gentleman.”
Inside the main area was thronging with people,
mainly students and not just from London. The lecture would be held on the
second floor arena.
Denton and Jennifer joined the crowd as it moved
upstairs.
“Recovered from last night?” she asked.
“A little,” Denton replied. “Rather exciting.”
“It was, I hope we can do it again.”
Denton smiled inwardly and thought ,
did it mean we as in himself and Jennifer or with Brad and Sally?
It mattered little now.
“Please take your seats and Doctor Lewintz will be
here in a few minutes,” said a smartly dressed man by a lectern behind which was
a computer generated aerial image of London.
“You know, Sherlock Holmes aids greatly in
forensics. I mean, how Holmes develops and uses his methods.” Denton murmured to
Jennifer from their third row seats.
“The fictional detective?”
“Yes, his methods are a little dated in this age
of ours but it can work still. Clues matter.”
“Of course they
do, but how can 19th century detective methods be applied to 21st century
crimes?”
Denton shrugged. “You change them slightly, but
Holmes’ method such as in
Study in Scarlet
where he scours the entire crime scene can still
work quite well today. Technology has overridden the basics. Fine we still do
scour the crime scene, but sometimes with all this technology you can miss
something that good old fashioned methods will find.”
“Wouldn’t get Holmes’ method used on
CSI: Futura,
would you?”
Denton chuckled. “I guess not.”
Silence fell as a white-haired man took to the
lectern, glasses perched on a bulbous nose. A German accent buffeted the hall.
“Good morning all.”
There was a wild outburst of clapping, Lewintz was
highly respected and had at one point, been Denton’s father’s colleague.
Lewintz held his hands up silencing the crowd.
“Thank you, it is nice to know I am liked in London.”
Polite laughter.
“I am not here really to lecture, I am here to
gather your thoughts. What are you all thinking about forensics? Has technology
overtaken our thirst for the real truth? Yes, young man.”
Jennifer started as she realised it was
Denton standing. He gripped the back of the chair in front.
“Morning, sir. Would it not help, occasionally
using old methods that don’t involve technology to uncover clues?”
The German smiled good-naturedly, his image
showing on a large screen TV to his right.
“Ja,
Ja.
What is it you have in mind, young man?”
“Well, Sherlock Holmes.”
Polite laughter and again Lewintz halted it. “The
famous detective, it is nice to know we still read him. Yes, or methods of the
crime fighting authorities in the main part of the twentieth century. What is
your name, young man?”
“Denton Richmond, Imperial College. You knew my
father at one point.”
“I am not familiar with any Richmonds.”
Denton shrugged. “That is because his name was
John Laurence.”
Lewintz gasped in realisation and muttered. “Of
course, John. Yes I remember now, I worked with him in Boston. I heard of his
death, I am sorry, Denton.”
“Thank you,
Herr Doktor.” Denton sat.
Denton had decided to tell the professor, as the
German had been a close working colleague of his fathers who had fallen out of
touch after John Laurence’s death.
“The works of John Laurence are to be remembered,”
Lewintz gripped his podium. “This is a man who worked to the bare bones of
forensics. His son will do just as well, I’m sure.”
Denton nodded
graciously at the German and found Jennifer reaching for his hand. He glanced at
her and returned her warm smile.
“Anyone else has a question?”
“Hyde
Park, London”
That afternoon
was as brilliant in terms of weather as the morning was.
Denton and Jennifer left the lecture just after
two and walked up Princes Gate and across Kensington Road –past the Royal Albert
Hall- onto Hyde Park from its southern approaches. They were silent, Denton
agreeably in his own thoughts –muddling through whether he should say or do
anything to Jennifer. The attractive red-haired woman took the initiative as
they sighted the Serpentine that was dominant in this area of the park.
“That was interesting, especially when you queried
Doctor Lewintz. How is it your father has a different surname to you?”
She heard Denton’s intake of breath. He took her
arm gently, he guided her to a bench near the lake’s edge. Close by a young boy
under the watchful gaze of his father, placed a model sailing boat on the lake.
It might be the latter half of the twenty-first century, but some things were
everlasting.
“I was born Andrew Laurence, to John and Mary
Laurence in America. My parents died when I was a few months old, I was adopted
by my parents.” He winced as it suddenly sounded weird. “I became Denton
Richmond, I was too young to know of course and I grew up as such. They told me
when I was twelve, and I chose to study forensics. I might not become an expert,
but you never know.”
Jennifer nodded in understanding. “I see, it must
be hard not knowing your real parents.”
“It was, but I never knew them well enough. The
people I know as my parents now, will always be my parents to me.”
“My parents are my parents,” she said and winced
herself. “That was rude of me.”
“No matter.” He tried smiling. “Come on, I’ll buy
you a drink.”
“That is a deal.”
Bradley waited at the Boston Inn that night,
expecting Denton to show up. But the brown-haired young man was nowhere to be
seen. It depressed Bradley a little, for Sally had declined to see him tonight
in favour of getting an early night before returning to Portsmouth.
No word on Jennifer; it didn’t quite cross his
mind what she might be doing.
Denton woke that early morning, noticing the cold
and then the form in the bed beside him. At first he sat up and simply rubbed
his eyes, not quite believing that Jennifer lay there. His mind –sluggish at
best this time of morning - recounted how, after the drink, they came here and
things took their own course. The blue duvet covered her up to her neck and her
flaming red hair spread across it like a lava field.
Denton got out of bed and checked his bedside
clock – 0740 - he looked back to Jennifer and gently rubbed her shoulder.
She groaned in protest.
“What? Leave me alone.”
“It’s twenty to eight, your train’s in
half-an-hour.”
Jennifer turned over clutching the duvet to her.
“Okay,” she whispered quietly.
They dressed silently, both accepting that for now
it was over and both hoping that they would have again the moment and
opportunity to be together. Once changed, they walked out of the apartment in
Boston Place, and he flagged down a taxi. Before long, they were speeding
towards Waterloo Hyper Station across the river.
Jennifer wiped tears from her eyes and pressed a
slip of paper into his hand as he sat next to her on the back leather seat of
the taxi as it joined the fast one stop lane on Baker Street.
“Here, my contact details. Don’t stay a stranger,
Denton.”
“That goes for you too, Jennifer,” Denton replied
holding her hand that held the slip of paper. Jennifer leant her head against
his shoulder.
As the taxi stopped before the Hyper terminal, he
helped her out and there, standing beneath the archway was Sally –she had
Jennifer’s bag with her.
Denton and Jennifer embraced. He held her at a
brief distance. “I will miss you, Jennifer. It’s been brief but fun.”
“Yeah, it’s been brief and fun. I want to see you
again.
Maybe it’ll be sooner than you think.”
They kissed and then she left him.
With tears now openly running down her cheeks she met Sally, who silently handed
her bag, and together they walked into the station, soon absorbed into the
sweltering masses. They left behind Denton Richmond, hands by his side one
holding the slip of paper and a sullen expression upon his face.
“You okay, Jen?” asked Sally as they threaded
their way through commuters for platform fourteen. Her eyes frowning upon her
teary eyed friend.
“Sure, just mild hay fever that’s all.”
Sally didn’t press it, she also didn’t want to
make her friend elaborate. Sally concentrated on looking forward to returning to
Portsmouth.
“Portsmouth,
Hampshire, July 2059”
Twenty-three year old Denton Richmond once more
ran a hand through his brown hair as he stepped from the monorail at Portsmouth
Harbour. The station was set into the harbour by the bus terminus, so the smell
of saltwater was strong in the air.
Denton blew his nose in a handkerchief, replacing
the hankie; he shouldered his holdall and walked down the platform. Once out of
the station, he noticed the old iron warship HMS
Warrior
to his left. Even after two hundred years the
Warrior
looked as beautiful as ever. But, this was not
Denton’s first trip to the historic coastal town in the south of England. Since
that time in 2056, he had been to Portsmouth almost a hundred times –even if
weren’t that, it felt like it. He waited by the curb outside the station, his
lift should be here soon.
His eye fell on the dockyards just beyond –by a
few dozen yards- towering above the structures were the black masts of Nelson’s
HMS
Victory.
But across the black gates, that once permitted wartime sailors to enter the
docks –was a recruitment poster for the British Navy.
Anyone can join the BRN- why not you?
The British Royal Navy was the new name for the
old Royal Navy, traditions in Britain are hard to bury - even if a country’s
past is not quite perfect.
Denton saw a car pull up, it was a saloon with a
shark-like fin above the rear. In the driver’s seat was Sally Holden, the blonde
waved Denton in. He threw his holdall in the rear and shut the door. “Denton, we
meet again.”
“Our meeting is to be much more permanent, I have
now graduated from ICL.”
“Brilliant, Bradley was saying that you had.”
Bradley had left ICL a few weeks ago.
He had continued a relationship with Sally despite the fact there was a subtle
distance difference. Bradley had made use of his degree and doctorate in medicine and forensics
to become a doctor in Portsmouth. As things stood, he was one of the
south’s rising stars.
As for Sally, the attractive woman had graduated
from the University of Portsmouth around the same time as Bradley. Sally worked
in the local media with aims of greater things, for now she was content with
Portsmouth.
Sally chatted to Denton as she drove the Saloon
Car deeper into the area of Portsmouth towards the harbour front known as Old
Portsmouth. This area dated back before Nelson’s time. The old cathedral stood
proudly, having survived the
Blitz
of 1940 and the much more subtle enemy – age.
The saloon eventually stopped before a seafront
flat that looked upon the Old Roundfort. This also formed part of the area known
as Old Portsmouth and offered a view of the Solent and beyond that the Isle of
Wight from Fishbourne through Ryde to Bainbridge. The Solent was calm today and
dotted with small sailing craft and two high-powered catamaran ferries.
Denton entered the apartment and smelt coffee, the
regular drink for a student and even though students no longer lived here –the
occupants would forever in their hearts be students. Denton settled his bags by
the door and heard feet thudding down the steps, he was almost knocked down as
somebody leapt on him.
Jennifer planted wild kisses on his face and he
placed her down. “Steady on, Jen.”
“It’s been so long!” she said and hugged him.
“Well, I’m all finished in London now.
So here I am.”
They sat down together and Sally quickly returned
brandishing coffee. “Here you go, Denton.”
“Thanks, Sal. Where’s Brad?”
“Practice,” Sally replied.
“He’ll be home soon. Probably been quite a lacklustre day. You know he’s been
offered a place in Washington.”
“Up north?”
“No, America,” Sally said sarcastically and Denton
laughed.
“Good for Bradley, nice to see he is not confined
to England. If only that were true of me.”
“Nonsense,” Jennifer said hugging him on the sofa.
“You’ll make it big.”
“Notoriety is only part of what I wish to achieve,
I want to emulate what my parents had done. They both would have wanted that.”
“I assume they would have wanted you to do
whatever makes you happy,” remarked Sally as she drank her coffee. Denton nodded
musingly and took Jennifer’s hand.
“That they would.”
The door opened a few moments later and Bradley
Maxwell walked in. “Denton! Nice to see you, pleasant trip down?”
“Pleasant enough, you look well.”
Bradley tossed his white coat onto a vacant
armchair and sat by Sally. His arm went around her and the other smoothed his
hair. “I am a doctor, here about my DC offer?”
“Yeah, you are going to take it?”
“Perhaps. Sal how do you like the idea of
America?”
Sally looked uncomfortable at being thrust into
the spotlight so suddenly and shrugged. “I’d love it I suppose, you still have a
little while to decide don’t you?”
“A week or so, that’s what I call a little while.”
“No need to be picky,” said Denton leaping in as
he had often done. Bradley launched a cushion at his friend. “Thanks Denton,
what are you up to down here? Now that you’re here?”
Denton shrugged and reached for his own coffee, he
caught sight of seagulls flying by the window.
“Not much, just spend some time with Jen.”
Jen grinned and huddled closer, Denton fixed
Bradley with an indifferent look. The taller man smiled in response. “I see,
well I had a sailor as a patient today. I say sailor, he works in the BRN’s
admin.”
“What of it?”
Bradley chuckled. “Hang on a moment, old chap. He
says they’re looking for top notch CMOs, Chief Medical Officers, old chap.”
“Really?
I never knew that,” Denton replied dryly.
“Sarcasm, cute,” Bradley coughed. “You see they’re
bringing in a new class of cruiser and the local admiral is to commission her,
he’s some bigwig and the crew’s incomplete and to add to this –the maiden voyage
is scheduled for October of this year.”
“What are you implying?” asked Jennifer, even she
had inkling – as Denton had - of what Bradley was getting at.
“That Denton joins the British Royal Navy as an
officer and becomes a CMO, it’s a start, old chap. You can still do forensics.”
“The two don’t –and shouldn’t- go hand in hand
Bradley.” Denton pointed out to his friend. “Why the navy?”
“It’s a start,” Bradley Maxwell emphasised. As
Denton did not reply, Bradley clapped his hands together. “Now what’s for
dinner?”
“You idiot,” murmured Sally shaking her head
before being tickled by Bradley.
That night, Denton held Jennifer in her bed on the
top floor of the Old Portsmouth apartment. The window offered a supreme view of
the Solent as well as the Isle of Wight and a small portion of Gosport. With no
lights on, the only source of illumination was the moon and it cast a single
finger of light into the bedroom.
“What do you think about Brad’s suggestion about
the BRN?”
“A bolt out of the blue,” admitted Jennifer.
“I’d say,” Denton exhaled. “Of all the things to
suggest.”
“Well you are in some kind of limbo; you’ve just
left university with no definable idea for the future as of this moment.”
Denton dipped his head to fix her with a stare.
“That’s quite profound, Jen. Am I to assume by that you think I should join up?”
“Yes, and thanks.”
“Thanks?”
“For saying it was profound. On the navy itself,
you’ll blow their socks off.”
“Now, I thank you for your confidence in me.”
Jennifer reached for his chin and kissed him. He
pulled the duvet up and the rest was their moment.
“Plymouth
Naval Base, Devon, July 30 2059”
Rain lashed the seafront of
Plymouth as the Saloon Car wound its way along the promenade road. The landscape
was dark and broody beneath the mournful clouds. Lightning flashed out to sea
where a cruiser sat waiting.
Through beating wipers
Denton Richmond stared moodily at the clouds and the rain streaking the cars’
windscreen. Beside him Bradley Maxwell changed gear and swore.
“Bloody weather, and its
supposed to be bloody summer.”
“Do you know any other
adjectives?” grumbled Denton. “Idiot.”
“Touchy, sure you don’t
want to walk?” Bradley said as he paused behind a blue and white lorry. Behind
Bradley, Jennifer and Sally exchanged amused glances.
“I won’t be walking if I
go out, I’ll be swimming.”
During the hundred and
thirty so miles from Portsmouth along Britain’s southern coast, Denton’s mood
had been broody and subdued. It had bemused the others to no end, added to that
the fact it was raining.
“That will be part of
your training,” Bradley pointed out as he drove the rest of the way to the naval
bases gates. The rain was still hard and BRN Military Police in plastic coats
waved them in. There were
other cars stopping further ahead. The Saloon Car parked, Denton wrestled his
holdall from the boot and with the others walked into the main building. The
noise inside was buzzing, families and candidates standing around. Denton stood
by a Union Jack on a flagpole by the doors.
“Nice set-up, makes me
wish I weren’t a doctor,” Bradley murmured towards his friend.
“This is the British
Royal Navy, Bradley.” Denton murmured back with a deal of patience. “I would say
that’s a little different to the medical profession.”
“Only little, you are
applying for medical officer, right?”
“Bradley,” moaned Denton,
“shut up.”
Bradley held up his hands
and grinned at Sally. A loud voice broke the crowd’s talking, Denton saw a man
in uniform standing towards the rear of the reception. He wore a white cap, on
either sleeve at the wrist were three gold braids.
“Morning everyone, hardly
the best of mornings but this is Plymouth after all.” There were some murmurings
of laughter. “I’m Commander Alan Collins, the Chief Training Officer here at
Plymouth. As trainees, I’ll train you all. Training will last two months and
there’ll be additional training for those wanting specific jobs. Lieutenant
Brady here will call you off.”
The names were rattled
off by a well-spoken younger officer until finally.
“Richmond, Denton.”
Denton hoisted his bag
and kissed Jenny and looked at Bradley and Sally. “See you around.”
Denton walked through the
crowd to the front. The caller was thin, wearing two braids backed by a broken
up third braid. “I’m Lieutenant Commander George Brady, BRN, go aft with the
others, Richmond.”
Denton took that to mean
go behind
and did just that, passing through a door he found
himself following others down a corridor walled on the left side by windows.
Here was a more panoramic view of Plymouth Sound battered by strong waves. Not
for the first time since looking into the stormy channel, did Denton wonder why
he was joining the navy.
Those waves are sure as
heck big, that ship’s bobbing around
something chronic.
Denton walked into the
back of the man before him, he hardly noticed – and listened to Commander
Collins say. “…bunking in this main building.”
“Will it all take place
here, sir?” someone asked.
“Besides some water
training at Portsmouth,” Collins answered. He pointed behind him. “This way to
the
Victory
Bunks.”
Denton once more lifted
his holdall and followed the others. This could become quite interesting before
the two months were out.
Commander Alan Collins
stood on the edge of the swimming pool, the pool’s water lapped bare feet. He
held a whistle in his left hand.
“Standby… ABANDON SHIP!”
Denton and four other
cadets wearing blue swimming shorts, grabbed edges of the day-glo orange
inflatable life raft with its peaked roof. They jumped into the pool, as did the
two other five-man groups that formed the class. Hitting the water, Denton
gasped as ice-cold water pressed against his shorts and stabbed his entire body.
Talk about making it realistic, this was as cold as the North Atlantic. He
scrambled into the life raft and helped his team get in; the water was uneven
with the activities of the BRN cadets. The whistle went again.
“Good job chaps. That
took ten seconds this time.”
“N-n-not again,”
stammered Denton as he shook violently.
Collins smiled as he
heard Denton. “No Cadet Richmond. Not again. This concludes your emergency
training,” Collins paused for shivering laughter to die out. “Next we move onto
Portsmouth for other training, this’ll last a couple of days and then into the
Thursday War.”
A few minutes later,
standing under warm water in the changing room, Denton reflected on how fast
training had passed, three weeks which time he –and the other cadets- had been
ye-yawing between Plymouth and Portsmouth in emergency training. This included
evacuation drills –in facilities-, repairs whilst the ship flooded –also in
shipboard facilities-, fire training and other procedures –again in shipboard
facilities.
The Thursday War was
something going back almost sixty years, when ships would train out a war
between each other. The recent Atomic War and British Civil War had heightened
the need for this, for the Royal Navy had been a vital tool in both wars. Britain was –and would remain- an island
nation, her navy mattered.
“Dent,” called Donald
Marsh from the side of the shower.
“What?” called back
Denton as he shifted his head beneath the warm water.
“Have you still got your
training manual for the Thursday War?” Marsh queried, his voice touched with a northern accent.
“Somewhere, getting
anxious about
actually
being on water?” grinned
Denton.
Marsh switched his shower
off. “No, but I’d like to know what we’re expecting.”
Marsh was training –like
Denton and a couple of others- to be an officer. Whereas Denton was training to
be a CMO, Marsh was training to be a weapons officer. It was likely that they
would train in their posts onboard ship.
Denton and Marsh dried
and changed into uniforms, dark blue trousers and a lighter blue shirt with
their names stitched onto the right breast pocket. They couldn’t leave the base
due to regulations for the time being.
Denton found the Thursday War guide for Marsh and then checked his
officer’s manual. It had become known to Commander Collins and his subordinate
Lieutenant Commander Brady that Denton was aiming to serve on the new flagship
Hood
in October. The
Hood
was the leader of a new class of cruiser,
built on a catamaran principle, with an arrowed bow and a distinctive sleek
look. The flag commander for Britain would be on the maiden voyage, there were
those eager to be on this voyage to impress him.
Denton was studying the manual at a table in
the mess room. Designated to
the fifteen cadets, it had a homely feel to it and dealt with many examples of
home life including beverages but not alcohol. Portraits of various sea battles
including Trafalgar, Jutland and
Bismarck
adorned the wall. This
room itself was known as the
Victory
Mess Room.
“Cadet Richmond,”
Collins’ brusque voice made Denton snap to attention in his seat. The commanding
officer with dull red hair laughed lightly. “As you were.”
Collins sat down at the
table opposite Denton, his hands clasped on the table. Alan Collins was a
married father of two. At one
time the commander of the submarine
Winston Churchill, he left the submarine
service despite being recommended for promotion to captain and became the CTO at
Plymouth. He was a strict officer but, like some here at Plymouth, able to
unwind and have a joke with fellow officers and trainees alike.
“Found training hard?”
“Hardly, sir.” smiled
Denton.
Collins fixed Denton with
a gaze. “I’m keen on you progressing in the officer’s course, I’m sure that
you’ll do your absolute best to do so. Following the Portsmouth training and the
Thursday War you’ll be put into the officer’s course. This’ll last two weeks and
you’ll train in weapons and the like, you’ll be posted to a ship for a short
time to train as a medical officer and then, hopefully, you’ll be made a Chief
Medical Officer…” Collins licked his lower lip. “…and then CMO of the
Hood.”
“Thank you, sir.” Denton
felt the excitement brimming to his head.
“Don’t be so hasty,”
Collins warned holding a hand up. “You’re on a shortlist of five men including
two CMOs from other ships. There’ll be some time.”
Denton swallowed and made
himself less heady with excitement. “I understand sir. The navy is a fickle
thing.”
“Something like that,”
murmured Commander Collins.
Collins shortly excused
himself and left Denton at the table. Denton closed the manual and sat back, a
little happier than he had been and certainly warmer than the swimming pool.
“Plymouth
Sound, September 2059”
Cadet Denton Richmond,
British Royal Navy, clapped his hands together where he stood on the fo’clse of
the destroyer
Folkestone
where it sat on the
Plymouth Sound off Devon coast. The
autumn wind was driving lightly across the Sound but enough to make it seem much
colder than it actually was. The fo’clse was on the bow of the ship, in this
instance the
Folkestone’s
fo’clse was barely big
enough for the ten cadets selected from the class of fifteen. The cadets all
wore regular styled uniforms, Denton and Donald Marsh wore officer caps.
“Standby to receive
officer commanding
Folkestone,” called someone unseen
to Denton. The cadets snapped to attention, Denton was the nearest to the ships’
port side and broke a crisp salute. The captain of the
Folkestone
firstly saluted where on older ships, the quarterdeck would be – towards the
bridge - and then returned Denton’s salute. He eyed the brown-haired man up and
smiled thinly; the cold was affecting him as much as Denton.
“Officer in training,
hmm? Who are you, exactly?”
“Cadet Denton Richmond,
sir, medical.”
The quick and snappy
reply made the captain’s smile deepen. “Ah, a doctor. Welcome aboard the
Folkestone,
Richmond.” the CO took a step back and eyed the ten cadets. “I’m Commander
Wilkins; let’s make this Thursday War count. To your stations.”
Denton and Marsh parted company, the latter
going to his weapons station on the bridge and Denton below decks to the
sickbay.
The
Folkestone
was a converted Type 42 destroyer, originally built in 2000 as HMS
Portland, it was updated in 2015
and was present in the recent wars as
Folkestone. The sickbay was at the
forefront of ship-based medicine, four biobeds hooked up to computers showing
reports above the beds.
Commander Manfred Owen
was the ship CMO; he was in his forties and had vibrant red hair. nodded as
Denton came in, the latter placing his cap on a peg by the door. The expansive
sickbay beckoned to Denton, for him to get stuck in.
“We’ll be moving soon.”
On cue, the
Folkestone
shuddered as her engines started and she moved off. The CMO stood by a biobed.
“They’ll be no real casualties, but everything is in this main room. We operate
here and heal here.” He forced a smile. “No dying, not now anyway.”
Denton swallowed. “How
many Thursday War’s have you done?”
“Enough, it’s just an
excuse for taking these things out. During the last war, it was the real thing.”
Denton didn’t ask about
Panama, he was more concerned with the here and now. The future, whatever that
would bring was more important to Denton than a past war or conflict.
For two hours as the
Folkestone
pitched in light swell with the Red Fleet, it was quiet in sickbay. Manfred Owen
showed Denton how to work the new hypospray that was replacing needles on ships,
simply press against the skin and then you’re done.
A seaman, on an errand
for the captain, came down to sickbay and informed the two medical officers that
Blue Fleet, spearheaded by the cruiser
Hamilton, had sunk the
Folkestone’s submarine escort
Rodney. In reality, the
Hamilton
had merely lit up the
Rodney
by sonar and declared a
hit. In fantasy, the
Rodney
was now on the bottom of
Plymouth Sound.
Denton sat on the biobed
and as he did the overhead intercom came into life.
“This
is the captain speaking; four Arrow jets are inbound from the Blue carrier.
Standby for immediate action.”
Owen glanced at Denton
from the sickbay door. “This is it, they’ll strafe us.”
Denton gulped, real or
not he felt a little fearful all of a sudden.
Launched from the Blue
Fleet’s aircraft carrier
Winston Churchill, four Westland Arrow
jets screamed low over the English Channel speeding towards Red Fleet on
Plymouth Sound. The Arrow was a Vertical Take Off and Landing aircraft.
Mainland Plymouth lay
about three miles behind Red Fleet, despite this distance it was visible to the
Arrow pilots. The destroyers Farnborough
and
Middlesex
bracketed the Folkestone, on cue the escorts
began splashing the Arrow jets with ‘hits.’
One Arrow pilot scowled in
despair as his radar screen went red, this meant he was dead and so he pulled
away from his comrades. They were flying through dense flak that was not visible
to the eye but simulated.
The Arrows screeched over
the fo’clse of
Folkestone
and hurtled towards
Plymouth.
Below decks, in the
sickbay –Denton heard the alarm sounding General Quarters sound. It was higher
in pitch than Battlestations and it was quickly followed by Commander
Wilkins’ voice.
“The
Arrows have struck, damage fore of the smoke stack. Casualties, medical team to
the bridge.”
Owen grabbed a medical
bag and tossed it to Denton. “You go; they’ll be coming in here as well.”
Denton took the bag and
grabbed his cap, as he left the sickbay seaman trotted past him. One grinned at
him. “Broken legs.”
“What?” scowled Denton
momentarily thrown. After climbing several ladders, Denton reached the bridge.
There was no damage, in fact Commander Wilkins was drinking tea and seemed
amused to see Denton. “Ah, Cadet Richmond. The, ah, casualties are in the radar
room.”
Denton slipped through
the right side-door at the rear of the bridge; the radar room was dark and was
also the sonar room. Here, the crewmen wore blue overalls with white flaps
around their necks. It was a uniform stretching back centuries in the navy.
Four seamen were sat on a
table by the computerised plot chart. Their faces were smiling and one raised
his hand. “Morning, doc. We’re the designated injuries.”
Denton placed his bag on
the table by the speaker. “I did drama at school; shall we make a little
production out of this?”
The speaker, a seaman by
the name of Thurmsby snickered. “Sure, my arm’s been blown off at the elbow.”
Denton looked at the
right arm. “Right, okay…”
He was cut off as a voice
shouted from the bridge. “Inbound!”
The deafening roar of
jets drowned out any further voices. After they had faded to a mute whine,
Wilkins announced glumly. “There goes
Middlesex
and ourselves. Signal
Plymouth,
Middlesex
listing and sinking
rapidly.
Folkestone
going by the head.”
Commander Wilkins
appeared in the radar room. “Okay chaps, we’re sunk. We’re now heading back
home; beers are on the Blues today.”
“Hell’s teeth,” grumbled
Thurmsby and slapped Denton’s arm. “Sorry, doc.”
“No problem.”
Denton closed his medical
bag and returned to sickbay.
Two weeks and two Thursday Wars
later, Denton Richmond found himself in the sunny climate of Gibraltar.
Gibraltar still flew the Union Jack, despite centuries of dispute with Spain,
the British held Gibraltar firmly.
The weather was hotter
than it had been in Plymouth, this a welcome relief to Denton who had seen
nothing but Plymouth for all his training –with the obvious exception of
Portsmouth. Denton had been posted to the
Folkestone
as the junior medical
officer, he had been officially deemed an officer and his training declared over
following his first Thursday War. The reason for this quick change of plan being
that Wilkins needed someone else in sickbay,
Folkestone
was too big a ship for
one MO and needed two. Denton was now Lieutenant-Commander Junior Grade Denton
Richmond, British Royal Navy, and listed on the crew complement as, ‘Night CMO.’
Whatever his position and
rank, Denton took time to enjoy Gibraltar. He spent time with Commander Owens on
shore, Owens’ grandfather had married his grandmother whilst on leave here.
Denton returned to the
ship one night to find he had been summoned to Wilkins’ cabin below the bridge.
The Commanding Officer had largely been nice to Denton, maybe he was breaking
his coda and giving Denton a good rollicking over something or other.
Taking off his cap,
Denton knocked on Wilkins’ door and entered. The cabin was spacious and
decorated as comfortably as could be on a seafaring vessel. The Royal Navy
ensign sat in one corner by a portrait of the battlecruiser
Prince of Wales
in 1941.
Wilkins sat behind his
desk and was filling a pipe. “Close the door and take a pew, Denton.”
Denton upon closing the
door, took a seat before his CO’s desk. Wilkins’ black hair seemed lighter under
the glare of his lights, his blue eyes twinkled with hidden humour. There was
silence as Wilkins lit his pipe and the smell of strong tobacco wafted Denton’s
way.
“How do you like Gib?”
asked the CO, two strong puffs of smoke.
“Quite strongly, sir,”
Denton was tight-lipped. It was best not to get carried away with words lest he
muddy what future he had in the BRN.
The puffs of smoke
strengthened and decreased abruptly as the pipe was removed from the mouth,
Wilkins leant forward and smiled. “Word’s come down from Pompey.” Wilkins
paused. “Concerning you.”
Denton saw the smile –
like a wolf - and the mention of Portsmouth and his own name, had the junior MO
abruptly worried. “Me, sir?”
“Yes you, Denton,”
Wilkins’ tone was neutral.
“Well, I’d appreciate if
you would say what it is, sir. I’d like to know if I’m going home or what. Sir,”
Denton’s tone was now hardened and wary.
“Relax, they’re transfer
orders to the
Hood.”
The sudden statement cut
Denton, as an axe to his belly would. For a while he sat there with open-mouthed
astonishment at his captain, the CO smiled back and puffed comfortably on his
pipe.
“That’s right, Denton.
You’re now the current Chief Medical Officer of the brand new BRN flagship
Hood. You take up your
position in three days, September 30.”
“We can’t get home in
three days, sir.” Denton pointed out.
“Arrow jet from
Gibraltar,” answered Wilkins. He shook his pipe out into an ashtray and extended
his hand across the desk, standing as he did so.
“Congratulations, Lieutenant-Commander.”
Denton, feeling as if he
was flying in the sky, returned the handshake.
“Thanks very much,
Commander Wilkins.”
Outside, the sun set
behind the Rock of Gibraltar.
“Portsmouth,
September 30, 2059”
Stepping down the
gangplank from the carrier
Winston Churchill, moored at the quayside
in Portsmouth Harbour, Lieutenant-Commander Denton Richmond, BRN, couldn’t
believe his luck. A new posting and it was raining cats and dogs. Denton had
been flown from Gibraltar to Portsmouth at a speed that a migrating bird would
have been jealous of. As the dockside was busy at Portsmouth, the Arrow settled
on the
Churchill. It was fortunate that
the Arrow retained Vertical Take Off Landing, otherwise it would have been a
tricky landing on a slick deck.
Water dripped off the
brim of his officer’s cap as he met the quayside. He walked northwards, deeper
into the harbour in the general direction of Southampton. Training here showed
Denton that Portsmouth natives disliked Southampton with an intensive feeling
that was led to the greatest rivalry in the world.
At the top of the harbour
sat the cruiser
Hood, based on a catamaran design. The double hull
was not visible, as it was below the quayside. The ship looked entirely modern,
a superstructure that sloped backwards from the point on the bow. It then –after
running flat- sloped downwards near the stern. Flags rippled on the mast lines
across the superstructure.
The bow was raked and
added to the ships’ general sleekness, a gangway was propped against her side
with BNS HOOD in thick stencil letters on its side.
Denton bounded up the
gangway and was saluted by a seaman who had just popped out from the side of the
superstructure below the bridge screen.
“Morning sir, bloody wet
isn’t it? Let me take your bag, sir.”
Denton blinked and
shrugged. “Great, can we get inside?”
The seaman nodded and
they went inside where it was warmer, and thankfully drier. Denton was led
through a maze of corridors to the rear of the superstructure where his cabin
was, two doors down from the CO’s cabin. The seaman kicked the door open and
dumped Denton’s holdall and satchel on the bed.
“On behalf of the
captain, sir. Welcome aboard the cruiser
Hood,” the seaman saluted and
left.
Denton took off his cap
and walked to the window of the cabin. Not a porthole, but a wide window that
offered –currently- a view of Portsmouth Harbour, broody under a black sky.
Ten minutes later, as
Denton was finishing unpacking the tannoy sounded.
“All senior officers,
please report to the bridge.”
Denton grabbed his cap
and opened the cabin door, he walked a few paces when suddenly a door was flung
open and another officer walked straight into him. The two men stopped and there
came a flurry of apologies.
The other officer got the
upper hand. “No, look, my fault. Head over heels,” his voice was classy and
halting. The officer looked at Denton. “You wouldn’t have to be our new CMO,
would you?”
Denton saluted.
“Lieutenant Commander Denton Richmond, sir.
Your new CMO, at your
service.”
The other officer slapped
Denton’s shoulder. “Excellent, I’m Commander Willy Atkins, the first officer
-XO. Come on, we’re going to be late.”
They walked in step to
the bridge, the bridge was a ladder up from the officers quarters and spacious
with the CO’s chair suited centrally. A man with four braids on his wrist smiled
at the new arrivals. “Just in the nick of time, Willy.”
“Sorry sir, this is by
the way, our new CMO.”
“Denton, welcome.” The
captain shook Denton’s hand. “We’re awaiting the flag officer. By the way,
Captain Michael Portal.”
Portal was six foot with
snow-white hair, blue eyes and a strong build. As opposed to his number one, for
Atkins was around five eight with black hair, green eyes and a thin figure.
Denton met the chief
engineer, weapons officer and junior officers before they were herded onto the
deck by the gangway. The rain was harder yet and Denton grunted, could this
get any worse?
A black Range Rover
reached the base of the gangway, out stepped a tall heavyset man with officer’s
cap and admiral braids visible. He stomped up the gangway quickly, below the
Range Rover drove off in a flurry of spray.
Captain Portal saluted
the admiral as he stepped onto the
Hood, as he did so the admiral saluted the Union
flag and then the quarterdeck before returning Portal’s salute.
“For those of you who
don’t know,” the admiral began haughtily, “I am Admiral Richard Lines, and I
served in this man’s navy for damn near forty years. This maiden voyage is going
to be successful and you will make it so. My quarters, if you will, captain.”
The last part snapped at
Portal made Denton flinch as if slapped. The CO coolly directed Lines’ attention
to a waiting seaman, drenched and looking as calm as he could despite the
wetness. “Seaman Briggs will take you to your cabin, sir.”
The officers all saluted
as Lines departed and then they went back into the superstructure for the
bridge. Denton heard Portal grumble to Atkins.
“Would have to be Dicky
Lines, wouldn’t it?”
“Hmm,” grunted Atkins,
“tell me about it.”
“Begging the captain’s
pardon,” Denton said loudly. “What is the problem with the admiral?”
The officers all halted
and the superior officers fixed Denton with a look.
“You’ve never heard of
Dicky Lines?” asked Commander Atkins.
Denton felt his cheeks
heat. “Not quite, sir.”
“He’s a Panamanian Crisis
hero,” Portal answered. “He’s known for being a… you know, and well, he’s as
bossy as they come. ‘Cause, officers should be, but he takes it to the brink of
madness.”
On cue, Seaman Briggs ran
breathlessly into the bridge. “Captain, sir. The admiral wants to leave
immediately.”
“Christ,” swore Portal.
“Fine, chief…”
At the mention of his
rank, the chief engineer nodded and headed below to warm the engines up.
“And so it begins,” mumbled Atkins in Denton’s
ear.
The Atlantic.
Denton Richmond entered
the wardroom situated a deck below the superstructure, the evening sun was
visible above the dark sea as it settled. Willy Atkins brandishing two glasses
of water approached him.
“Here you go, Denton. You
need it.”
“Well thanks, sir.”
Atkins chuckled and then
glanced across the room to where Portal sat by himself at the head of the table.
“Poor man, after what happened in Portsmouth.”
Denton nodded
remembering.
He had been present on
the bridge when Admiral Lines came to oversee the departure of the
Hood. Captain Portal got the
cruiser away from the quayside well enough, it was not the first departure he
had oversaw. Yet Lines was watching keenly and when Portal had the ship moved
into the open harbour, the bow aiming for the harbour entrance, Admiral Richard
Lines than shouted.
“Watch your stern,
captain!”
Portal looked confused at
Lines. “Sir?”
“Your stern, you might
hit another ship.”
Portal had exchanged
looks with Atkins. “But sir, I am and there is no shipping. We’re steering with
our bow not our stern.”
Silence save for the
beeping of consoles on the bridge. Denton held his breath as Lines replied.
“That matters little, you
must always be aware of your surroundings.”
“Ahead fifteen,” ordered
Portal.
Yet Lines kept making
small comments that undermined Portal’s orders. Eventually the admiral was the
one who took the
Hood
out of Portsmouth, around Gosport and
eventually into the open Atlantic.
“He wants to be a modern
day Nelson,” commented Atkins as he swilled his water in the glass. “Don’t they
all?”
Denton didn’t answer, not
in words, instead he sighed heavily and drank his sparkling water. The
Hood
was still steaming westwards, for now the routine was to play around in the
Atlantic. Not that playing was to be allowed, but the captain would need to know
–and the navy command- what the
Hood
could do. Denton hadn’t been into the open
Atlantic before, going to Gibraltar had merely involved hugging the Spanish
coast.
“Attention to deck!”
called Seaman Briggs in his Class-A seaman’s uniform by the door.
The officers present
snapped to attention as Admiral Richard Lines entered, he gave a cursory glance
to them all before nodding slightly. “As you were.”
Yet, even as they
relaxed, the officers felt more on alert than they had before he had entered.
Denton was aware of Lines giving Captain Portal a wary look as he moved to the
bar where Seaman Briggs had hurriedly moved.
“Brandy Briggs,” ordered
Lines and sat on a stool.
Portal moved to where
Atkins and Denton stood. “I like Briggs, I know he’s the admirals’ aide on ship
but this takes the bloody biscuit.”
Briggs served Lines,
Denton exhaled. This was both awkward and a little dull, he had a sudden urge to
go on deck. As he moved towards the door, Lines swung around on his stool.
“Where do we go to next,
captain?”
Portal shifted from one
foot to the other. On the spot by Lines once again.
“We’ll steam towards
Greenland, test the ship in this weather and adaptation to the cold.”
Michael Portal, BRN, had
been a junior officer on the frigate
Falklands
during the Icelandic
Crisis of 2042; in the subsequent Panama-Isthmus Rebellion he took command of
the destroyer
Wiltshire
in Captain Charles Gray’s
flotilla. He became the
Wiltshire’s captain proper, ranked
only commander. Portal was recommended for medals five times by 2050 for several
actions. By this year of 2059 he had accepted a promotion to captain, commanded
a carrier and
been
chosen over six other candidates to command the
Hood.
He hadn’t counted on Admiral
Lines.
“Surely Iceland would be
better?”
Denton moved back into
the room. “How does it matter, Admiral? As long as the
Hood
is tested in the cold
weather and waters, than surely it doesn’t matter whether it’s Greenland or
Iceland.”
The silence that had
lingered since Lines’ entrance now went to a depth deeper than the Atlantic
itself. Lines’ face reddened and Briggs, behind the bar, swore to himself under
his breath.
“What’s that, commander?”
“Iceland or Greenland,
matters little,” Denton shrugged. “I’m the CMO; all I worry about is treating
people.” Denton’s manner suggested a bored indifference, this made Lines
stand his face now quite red.
“Dismissed, doctor.”
“Sir,” Denton saluted and
left, heading for sickbay.
Two hours later, as the
shipboard clock chimed eleven at night, Denton Richmond yawned in sickbay. He
had quit rolling a penny on his desk and now simply sat there. Shortly after the
chimes faded into silence, the doors to sickbay parted.
Captain Michael Portal
paused in the doorway and winked at Denton.
“Nice one, Denton.”
With that he left a
shocked Denton behind and vanished.
“Denmark
Strait, October 7, 2059”
Historically, the Denmark
Strait didn’t strike Denton as the best place for the cruiser
Hood
to be parked. Somewhere near here, after a brief battle with the battleship
Bismarck, the last ship named
Hood
was sunk with the loss of all but three men. It might have been one hundred and
eighteen years since then, but it didn’t make Denton feel any better.
The ship had ploughed
northwards, nearing the strait the cruiser had been shunted by hard waters and
ice had formed on the deck. Ice was still being scraped off the deck, even after
the waters had calmed. The
Hood
sat between Greenland, just north of Iceland
and near the Greenland Ridge.
Denton stood as a seaman
from the weapons room came in, he was pale and holding his arm. Denton met him
and helped him onto a bed.
“What’s the problem,
Seaman Welch?”
Welch was getting as pale
as his protective headgear. “Fell and bumped my arm.”
Denton rolled up the
right sleeve and winced, on the elbow was a pus covered cut.
“It’s infected, when did
you do it?”
“Near the canteen, this
morning,” Welch replied through clenched teeth.
“I’ll remove the pus and
then bandage it. I’ll also
give you some painkillers. Should’ve come sooner, Welch.”
“Sorry and thanks, doc.”
Denton was seeing to the
wound when Willy Atkins entered, he was wearing winter clothing and gave Welch a
good look over. “What you done now, Welch?”
“Banged it, sir,” grunted
Welch as Denton removed the pus and cleaned the wound. After this, he gave Welch
some painkillers from the sickbay’s medical cabinet and then addressed Atkins,
the first officer now sitting on the edge of a biobed. The XO was running a hand
through his hair.
“What’s the problem,
number one?”
“Lines,” grunted Atkins
letting his hand drop. “He’s virtually taken over the ship, Mike’s being run
ragged. It appears nothing that our CO does is too good for the wannabe Nelson.”
Richmond tapped Atkins’
arm. “Never mind, maybe next time.”
“Suppose so,” grunted
Atkins and walked out.
Michael Portal was seated
in his command chair watching the horizon; a low mist had blanketed the nearby
coast of Iceland and visibility was down to a few metres. Around him his bridge
crew went about their work. He had decided to move the
Hood
towards Nova Scotia, but he really wanted to test her engines and pound all out
southwards down the Atlantic towards
Antarctica. The mission specs had been simple from the Admiralty.
Test the endurance of
ship to maximum.
He was distracted when
weather officer Arnold Meyer approached, holding sheets.
“What is it, Snowball?”
The small joke made Meyer
smile a little but the smile vanished when he showed the captain one the sheets.
It showed a circular shape and inside the circle was a small cube shape marked
HOOD.
“What’s this?”
“This is a storm that’s
going to hit us in an hour’s time, sir, equivalent to a force five hurricane,”
Meyer intoned.
Portal started. “Force
five! But that’s the most powerful ever.”
“Damn thing is, sir. It’s
picking up speed coming southeast from Greenland. This is going to make us bob
like a duck in a kiddie’s pool.”
It wasn’t quite the
analogy Portal would have used to describe it, but Meyer came close. Portal gave
a look through the bridge windows and could only see whiteness.
“What’s in this storm
anyway?”
“Snow, rain. Mainly
snow,” shrugged Meyer. “There’ll be no point in running, sir. The waves are
going to be high.”
“Hell’s teeth,” mumbled
Portal and handed the photo back. “Thanks, Meyer.”
Portal stood and walked
to the console before his chair, he plucked the intercom phone and held it to
his ear. He pressed a button and began speaking.
“Attention all hands,
this is the captain speaking. A force five storm is about to hit us. I want all
watertight compartments closed, all hatches buttoned down and all hands on
readiness. This is the test we’ve been waiting for. Things are going to get rough so make sure you’re not caught
off guard.”
Five minutes after the
message echoed down corridors, the crew of the
Hood
went to work. There also
formed a steady line of seamen obtaining seasickness tablets from sickbay.
Even sailors could be
seasick, especially during a storm.
The deck pitched
violently to port as Denton clambered through the corridor. Red lights blinked
and the ship groaned as she then lurched to starboard. Denton cursed as he was
thrown into the corridor wall and stayed there even as the ship’s pitch returned
to normal.
It was 1955hrs, almost
nine hours since the storm – dubbed Storm Alice - had smashed into the
Hood. She had pitched this
way and that in the storm, waves crashing over her bow and stern. Snow blitzed
the
Hood
like enemy shells, except these shells were
colder than anything possessed in any country’s arsenal. By the time of 1800hrs,
Storm Alice had been downgraded to a force three but it was still enough to make
the
Hood
bob like a crazy man.
Denton made a run for the
wardroom; he’d rather slide into it then crash through the door. He made it to the double doors just as
the cruiser pitched again and a loud boom rumbled as a wave slammed into the
ship. Atkins caught him as he tottered into the room.
“Are we really going to
eat on a deck like this?”
“Dunno,” Atkins replied.
Lines came in five
minutes later, followed by Portal and a moment later by Briggs. They all took
their seats at the table except for Briggs, who positioned himself by the door
at ease. Denton and Atkins were seated two seats down on Lines’ right side.
“Excellent chicken, not
related to you, Portal?” guffawed Lines.
Portal merely ate, Atkins
and Denton watched Lines as he tucked into the chicken. Somehow, not even the
pitching put anyone off.
Although the chief engineer spilled water as he poured it. Amazingly, the
rest of the dinner went without incident.
The bang was short and
sweet, Denton paid it no heed as he turned over in bed dreaming of Jennifer in
far off Portsmouth. The deck had stopped pitching as Storm Alice subsided,
although the aftershocks of the storm would hit them lightly during the night.
Hushed voices sounded but Denton still slept; then a heavy thumping shook the
door.
“Denton! Wake up!” came
Atkins’ voice.
Denton grumbled as he
swung out of bed, he wore pyjama trousers with a naval t-shirt. He opened the
door and blinked in the glaring light of the corridor; in uniform stood Wily
Atkins - looking as worse for wear as Denton felt - next to him was Master at
Arms Lieutenant Commander Hansen.
“Get dressed and get next
door,” ordered Atkins.
Denton did so and once in
his uniform, he went next door to Admiral Lines’ quarters. Standing by the
inside of the door was an ashen Seaman Briggs.
The lights were on and
Denton took a short while to adjust. When he did look, he saw the quarters’
floor covered in sheeting and pillows. Atop the unfurled bed was Lines, his
right leg draped onto the sheet. His pyjamas were a sky blue and above his right
breast was a dark red hole, a streak of blood ran the length of the pyjama top
and onto the floor.
“Christ,” swore Denton as
he moved to the body.
“You can say that again,”
quipped Willy Atkins as he stepped into the room. “The shot came five or ten
minutes ago, first on hand was Briggs who was down the corridor. No sign of an
attacker, although the state of the room suggests a struggle.”
“I studied forensics,
Willy. I can do some of it,” Denton said it politely.
“I know, old chap,” Willy
said quietly rubbing his temple. “Tell me this is a dream.”
Denton looked the body up
and down. He poked around and then faced Willy. “I need photos of the room done,
then the body taken to sickbay. I can have a report by sunup.”
“That soon?” asked
Atkins.
“Does the CO know?”
Denton answered with a question of his own.
“He’s on his way,”
answered Commander Atkins.
“Right, then I need to
get started. Briggs, camera.”
Briggs hurried past
Hansen. “Anything I can do, doctor?”
Denton shrugged. “Find
the killer perhaps?”
“BNS
Hood, Icelandic coast, October 9, 2059”
Sickbay was being guarded by
two of Hansen’s Marines. The doors were sealed and Denton had not permitted
entry to anyone, and that included Captain Portal and Commander Atkins. Denton
had moved the examining table at the rear of the sickbay to the middle, nearer
to his desk and equipment. Lines’ body lay stripped on the table, the bullet
wound cleaned. On the wall by the table were photos of the crime scene. For
that’s what it was, a crime scene.
Wearing surgical greens over
his uniform, Denton approached the body. Lines had been a little round in the
belly, his legs a tad stumpy. To Denton’s chagrin, Lines’ face was still set in
a scowl akin to one he had been giving Portal.
Denton took a scalpel from the
little metal dish by the examining table. He probed the bullet wound and then
gently cut a square around the wound. With gloved fingers, he peeled the skin
that he cut back and dug around the wound. When he first saw an autopsy at
Imperial College London, he had fainted dead away and so had Bradley Maxwell.
This was far beyond ICL now and hadn’t got Bradley making wisecracks.
A few minutes later, gloves
bloodied, he found the bullet close to the spine and using teasers, pulled it
out. When cleaned, the bullet glistened in the lights of sickbay. It retained
its shape save for the tip being blunted.
Denton placed the bullet on his
tray and was about to go back into the wound when there was a knock on the
sickbay doors. “Denton, Atkins.”
“Come in, Willy,” Denton
replied to the first officer.
Commander Willy Atkins slipped
inside and walked towards the examination table. When he paused, he hissed,
“Heck, ugly sod wasn’t he?”
Denton clucked his teeth. “Some
candour please, the man is dead.”
“Hmm, on that note. How?”
Denton sighed and looked at the
body. “From my first scans, the bullet killed him. It drilled right into the
body next to the spine. I would say
a heavy calibre weapon or a powerful weapon put it that way. Maybe a Luger.”
Atkins looked at Denton with a
look of shock. “A
German
Luger? Where on hell
can someone get a Luger on this ship? We don’t carry German weapons.”
“Perhaps not in the arsenal,
but someone’s personal possession.”
“Perhaps,” sniffed Atkins and
glanced at the wound. “When will your report be done?”
“An hour or so, I have some
more examinations to make and then investigation.”
“Right.” Atkins made for the
door. “I’ve got the quarters sealed. You can go in, if you want to.”
Denton grunted in response as
he went back to work.
An hour passed and Denton
placed Lines’ body back into one of the four corpse fridges in a smaller room.
He got rid of his gloves and greens before leaving sickbay. He reached Lines’
quarters; outside stood Seaman Briggs, complete with gun belt. It seemed
appropriate that the admiral’s onboard aide would stand guard. Briggs saluted the Chief Medical
Officer.
“As you were Briggs, I’m going
in.”
Once inside, Denton closed the
door. The VIP quarters were on the deck all officers shared. It was smartly
furnished with a starboard window that showed the brooding Icelandic coast. He
had the report done, but he had some things to check out. He wasn’t quite sure
when Captain Portal was wanting the result; he had heard only from Atkins since
Lines’ body had been discovered.
The room was quite how it was
when Denton left it in company of the body. The portraits of Admiral Hood and
the previous HMS
Hood
were untouched. But
the two pillows, duvet and upper sheet lay on the floor like the outstretched
wings of a swan. A white and blue swan at that. Nothing else was untouched, the
desk how it was and the sole bookshelf to the room’s right wall still containing
its books.
Just the bed.
This didn’t quite mean
anything, not at the moment. Denton pinched at his trousers and squatted; he
looked closely at the bed items and noticed some blood on the upper sheet. The
blood was also on the duvet that lay close to the blood-marked sheet. Standing,
Denton examined the bed itself. The bed was marked by blood, a steady line of
it. The wound had bled down the body and onto the bed, it had not bled onto the
sheet and duvet. The marks on the sheet and duvet, if placed back on the bed
would be on the wrong side.
Denton stepped back and hurried
back to sickbay; he looked at the photos and then got the body back out. He
looked for other marks and spent the better part of the day looking.
Denton Richmond then called for
his CO and XO, as well as Seaman Briggs.
Almost smugly, he realised he
had perhaps cracked the case barely hours after it had started.
Portal, Atkins and Briggs stood
by the examination table.
Denton stood the other side,
the body of Richard Lines, British Royal Navy, lay between them with a surgical
sheet covering the waist down.
“You’re gathered here, sirs, to
find out what happened to Admiral Lines last night.”
“You’ve got a result already,
Denton?” asked Captain Michael Portal, his face doubting Denton’s belief he had
reached a conclusion.
“Sir,” Denton answered. He
cleared his throat. “Admiral Lines was killed by a bullet to the chest; the
bullet was fired by a Luger hand gun with silencer. Despite it being a Luger, a
gun with an immense power, and held close to the chest – the wound on the
surface was small. The bullet itself largely undamaged.”
The three men nodded. “Time of
death,” Denton continued. “Zero one hundred hours, approximately. Willy, when
did you wake me?”
Atkins did quick thinking.
“Zero one oh five.”
Denton placed his hands on the
table by the body. “This gave the killer five minutes to flee, not to rid
himself of the murder weapon, but to simply flee. Willy, how do you recall that
morning?”
“I was coming off bridge duty;
it was just before zero one hundred and I was near the corridor – not within
visual sight - and then I heard a bang.
I broke into a jog and ran into Briggs, he said he’d found Lines dead.”
“That’s it?” asked Denton.
“Sure,” Atkins glanced at
Briggs next to him. The seaman’s face was neutral.
“Captain, your recollection,”
Denton said to the CO.
Portal shrugged. “I was in the
engine room with the chief, he wanted to brief me on the state of the engines. I
was phoned by Atkins.”
Denton sighed. “Lines was not
killed on the bed. The killer had entered the room, sometime before 0100hrs and
approached him as he slept. Presume the Luger is aiming for the admiral. Lines
hears a noise, turns the lights on and sees his killer. He flings himself from
the bed, the covers are knocked askew and he tackles his killer. The killer is
ready, he grabs either of Lines’ arms and they struggle. In this, the killer knocks Lines aside,
and shoots at the admiral. He wounds the admiral, the shot being fired close to
Lines’ body. Lines falls and strikes his right hand – flailing to catch himself
- against the desktop. This is the bang, for it breaks his hand.”
The three men were silent as
they waited.
“The killer hauls Lines onto
the bed and leaves him there, the blood from the wound has already marred the
duvet and cover but now also mars the bed. The pillows are knocked aside in this
instance, the killer holsters his weapon and leaves. He cannot hope to alter the
scene in time to make it look like something else. That is how Lines died.”
“Perceptive, Denton,” Atkins
said and shook his head. “Very imaginative also.”
“We’ll have to see how
perceptive, won’t we?” Denton’s eyes zeroed in. “Seaman?”
Atkins and Portal swung their
gazes to the seaman who flinched.
“Bloody hell!” remarked Atkins
and reached for his handgun.
“That won’t be quite necessary,
but captain, if you wouldn’t mind bringing in Master Hansen and his Marines,”
requested Denton. The captain swung
on his heels to the sickbay doors. Briggs remained silent.
“Where’s the gun, Briggs?”
asked Denton silently.
“Over the side, after I told
Commander Atkins I went on deck.”
Denton sighed, at this point
Portal returned with Hansen and his Marines.
“So the gun is now on the
seabed.” Denton shook his head. “Why did you shoot Admiral Lines?”
Briggs shifted from one foot to
the other. “He was discourteous to the captain, that is my single reason.”
“If that’s all it takes to get
you riled, Briggs, then remind me not to be near you when you are riled,”
remarked Portal. “I sense there’s more to it, though.”
Denton nodded but it was Briggs
who spoke next. “My father was a captain. About ten years ago, Lines took over
my father’s vessel; he drove my father insane with his orders and all that. Dad
shot himself, so when I found about Lines coming here, I took a Luger that one
of my relatives had brought back from Germany and shot him.”
“Too simple, isn’t it?” said
Commander Atkins to Lieutenant Commander Richmond.
Denton nodded in reply. “It was
rather elementary.”
The Marines led Briggs to the
brig.
The case was over, in a brief
amount of time.
“The Falkland Islands, October 15, 2059”
The casket draped in the naval
White Ensign was carried by the Marine Honour Guard down the gangway and onto
the quayside at the Falkland Isles. The islands were covered in low cloud and it
had been raining for several days. The Guard marched the casket into a Range
Rover, after some ceremony it was driven off by Naval personnel to the RAF
airfield for an immediate flight home. The Honour Guard trooped up the gangplank
and back into the
Hood
watched by Hansen
who then followed them.
Upon the solving of the case by
Denton, the
Hood
sent a signal to the
Admiralty informing them of the incident. Without waiting for a reply, Portal
ordered them to steam south. The Admiralty’s reply stated that the body would
have to be brought home; unable to comply, Portal stated that he would deliver
it to the Falklands. They had arrived after six days, the weather having got
worse after leaving the Denmark Strait.
Onboard the
Hood, Denton had been dubbed Sherlock Hood. A poor
joke perhaps, but one that made him the crew’s own. As for Briggs, the seaman
was to be charged on the Falklands and taken to Britain.
The
Hood
could now continue southwards, for the final
test of the ship.
“Portsmouth,
New Year’s Eve, 2060”
Fireworks began exploding across the dark sky
even though it was still half an hour to New Year’s Day and the brand new year
of 2061. Silhouetted against
the lit backdrop of Gunwharf Quay stood BNS
Hood. The ship had returned from a year’s voyage
for a well-earned rest.
Lieutenant Commander
Denton Richmond took Jennifer Kline’s hand as they walked the sea front. The
Solent was dark and the Isle of Wight virtually invisible against the sky save
for the odd twinkle of lights. Jennifer paused the walk and stepped onto the
beach, it was pebbles and their feet scrambled over them., She led him to the
rise where the beach abruptly fell a couple of feet and spread out towards the
crashing surf.
“Isn’t it great?” she
said and hugged against him.
Denton held her with one
hand and smiled. “Sure is. You should see the South Pole though. Absolutely
smashing.”
“When do you go back?”
“Not for a while.”
A breeze whipped across
the beach and ruffled her hair; he could feel its softness against the exposed
part of his neck. Bright fireworks then began exploding across the Solent
somewhere near Ryde. Jennifer suddenly felt Denton move away and looked at him.
His face was dimly lit by the nearby streetlights.
“Something wrong,
Denton?”
“No,” he answered and
then fell to one knee. Pebbles slipped from beneath him as he raised something
from the right pocket of his uniform, she could make out a box and then he
raised the lid. “Jennifer—“ he began as she gasped in realisation.
“Denton, I…”
“Will you marry me?” he
asked, his voice cracking a little, either from the cold or nervousness.
Jennifer took the box and examined the ring, even in the night light she could
make it out and then she knelt before Denton and embraced him. Her tears
splashed against his cheeks.
“I will.”
Around them, a spectrum
of colours and the ringing of far off church bells shattered the night sky.
The bedside phone rang
shrilly and right next to Denton’s head, his hand knocked the receiver in its
process of bringing it to him. Beside him Jennifer stirred, it was past nine in
the morning and both had been asleep for less than three hours.
“Yes?” he mumbled as he
pinched his nose with his free hand.
“Lieutenant
Commander Richmond, BNS
Hood?” came a crisp authoritative accent.
“Yes?” he said again.
“You’re
to report to your ship, which is leaving for the Far East in two hours. It is
imperative you be on ship by eleven hundred hours,” the line went dead.
Denton hung up and
glanced at Jennifer. “What is it?”
He sighed. “I’m shipping
out.”
“Already? Where to?”
Jennifer sprang up in the bed, as Denton hurriedly got dressed.
“Far East, don’t quite
know where.”
“Be careful,” she said.
Denton, already dressed adjusted his officer’s cap and leant over to kiss her.
“I will be, keep some champagne on ice.”
Jennifer watched him
leave, the sound of the door shutting and the clattering of shoes on the cobbled
street outside as he left for his ship. Then she laid back and wept quietly.
Commander Willy Atkins
caught Denton’s duffel bag as he threw it up to the deck and leapt from the
moving gangway onto the
Hood.
“What happened to the two
hours?” Denton said breathing heavily.
“Skipper got orders to
move out,” Atkins replied giving the duffel to a seaman waiting nearby. The
Hood
continued to back into the harbour, the tugs at her bow guiding her as a mother
hen would her chicks. Atkins slapped Denton’s shoulder as they walked into the
ship.
“Uprising in Hong Kong,
they want independence from the Asiatic Government and want some kind of treaty
with the World Government.”
“Let me guess,” smiled
Denton. “We’re putting it out?” he said in reference to the uprising.
“Not quite, old chap,
we’re to stop the Chinese from putting it down. Thus the urgency.”
Ten minutes later, the
Hood
left Portsmouth, went to full speed and was joined by her two sisters
Renown
and
Prince of Wales
as well as the carrier
Winston Churchill. A day later they sped
southwards bound for Hong Kong.
“Hong Kong, January, 2061”
Shells whistled over
Denton’s head as he sat in the
Hood’s launch. In reply rockets whooshed off the
deck of the
Hood,
replying to the Chinese destroyer’s attack.
Water sprayed the landing
party as they neared the metropolis that was Hong Kong. Fires were dotted here
and there in Hong Kong. Across the water travelled the sounds of gunfire, a
steady popping noise. Denton wore a white helmet akin to those worn by British
soldiers in the Great War almost a century and a half ago. His had a red cross
on it, directly above neatly printed letters reading CMO. Beside him in the
launch sat Master-at-Arms Hansen; the commander of the Marine detachment held in
his hands a machine gun.
Denton wiped saltwater
out of his eyes and gripped the medical bag harder. The orders from Captain
Michael Portal had been simple:
help the citizens of Hong Kong if they need help.
WHOOSH!
More rockets and
splashes; the Chinese destroyer swung around away from the
Hood. The Chinese had not
been happy that for the first time since 1997, the people of Hong Kong wanted
something different to Beijing.
“We’re about to beach!”
shouted Hansen. He stood as bullets whistled from the direction of the quayside
that they were landing on . As the launch thumped against the concrete quayside,
Hansen and four Marines leapt from the bow onto the quayside; the bullets were
coming from a single wooden hut marked simply as QUAY NUMBER FOUR.
Denton scrambled onto the
concrete and watched as Hansen sprayed the hut with his gun. The unseen enemy
sprayed back and Hansen crouched; he flicked his right finger up. One of the
Marines ran forward and chucked a grenade. It rattled on the quayside against
the hut and exploded; the front of the hut fell forward in a brief spurt of
flames and groaning of wood.
Four Orientals staggered
from the hut, wielding guns.
“Halt!” ordered Hansen.
Whether they understood
the word or its meaning, the Orientals raised their arms, dropping the weapons.
They were led into the launch by two Marines.
Hansen beckoned to Denton.
“This way, doc.”
Denton followed
dutifully; at the end of the
quayside was a naval detachment from Singapore erecting a roadblock. Hansen and
Denton jogged through the city; most of the buildings were undamaged by the
battle. The rebels were keeping their efforts for the Chinese. Eventually they
reached the British Consulate where the Union Jack hung limply on a flagpole
extending from over the front.
Inside, Commander Willy
Atkins was standing, talking to a
man in a suit. As Denton and Hansen neared, the
Hood’s number one was
finishing.
“I don’t give a damn how
long it takes, get the staff out of here.”
Atkins faced Denton. “Good to
see you, skipper send you?”
“Yes, anyone I have to
see?”
Atkins glared at the
consulate man, the latter scurried off into the consulate. “Now that you’re
here, one of our chaps took shrapnel from a Chinese bomb.”
Denton went into the
consulate’s ballroom; the area was large and crammed with natives as well as a
small contingent of uniforms.
Denton recognised
Midshipman King on a cot by the door, his left leg was naked –the trouser rolled
up to the knee. A gaping cut at least fifteen centimetres long below the knee
beckoned.
Denton knelt by the cot,
he placed his medical bag down and smiled at King. The Midshipman was twenty-one
and from Milton Keynes in deepest England.
“Does it hurt, Mid?”
King smiled bravely,
sweat shining on his forehead. “A little. Number one used his morphine pack but
it hurts still.”
Denton produced a swab.
“I’m cleaning the wound, and then I’ll give it some painkiller and stitch it
up.”
“Thanks, doc,” King
stammered. He paled as Denton
cleaned the wound, the swab coming away a yellowy red colour. Atkins came in at
that point, his face ashen. He forced a smile and looked down at King as Denton
produced a small needle.
“Hang in there, King.
We’ll be going home soon.”
Denton jabbed King and
then began stitching the wound up. King fainted just after he started, the first
officer squatted by the doctor. As the ballroom turned dormitory was quiet, he
whispered. “Will he be fine?”
“Sure, what’s the
problem?”
Atkins exhaled. “The
Chinese want to negotiate a peace, but the Hong Kong Rebel leader wants
independence from China and allegiance to the World Government.
Hood’s in the thick of it
too.”
“Am I the only one that
finds this situation both confusing and bizarre?”
Atkins smiled at Denton
as he threaded the wound. “Nope, the CO’s a little confused too. But we’re
awaiting word from home, they’ll have something.”
Atkins left Denton, the
doctor finishing the stitching and then going on to treat other wounded.
“Torpedo, torpedo!”
Michael Portal’s head
snapped up as the cry came in from the sonar room. “Torpedo bearing green
four-oh, bearing straight.”
The captain quickly
worked out that the Chinese destroyer from earlier must’ve loosened a shot off
from where it waited two kilometres away. “Helm, hard starboard maximum speed.”
As the
Hood
sped to starboard, a white trail appeared on the surface. The sonar screen began
going red, the distance decreasing rapidly. The chief sonar officer pulled his
headphones off.
“It’s going to hit.”
Denton was wrapping a
boy’s leg in plaster, watched by the boy’s mother, when he heard boots thumping
on the cold marble floor of the front area. He paid it no heed, not even as
Willy Atkins ran down the makeshift dorm. Denton smiled at the mother.
“He’ll be fine, the leg
will heal in a week or two.”
Atkins came to a sudden
stop by Denton who looked at him with a frown.
“Something wrong, Willy?”
“They’ve got the
Hood,” Atkins said
breathlessly chest heaving with exertion.
“What?” Denton said as if
not hearing Atkins.
“She’s been torpedoed.
You’re needed back on her.”
Denton grabbed his
medical bag and followed Atkins.
The
Hood
sat atop the water at Hong Kong at an odd angle, she was down at the stern with
water mere inches from the lip of the deck. A list to port produced more of the
starboard side than would normally. Rope netting had been flung over the side.
Denton clambered onto the
deck of the
Hood
with Akins after being delivered by launch. He
was led onto the bridge where a dazed looking Portal was speaking into a bridge
telephone.
“Good, chief, keep
trying.”
Portal hung up and smiled
wearily. “Back already, Denton?”
“I heard there was a
party someplace,” said Denton. “Where to, sir?”
“The water’s come up to
deck ten, we’re flooded aft from ten to fifteen. Some crew are trapped in the
aft auxiliary room on deck eleven, get down there and see to them.”
Denton tossed off a loose
salute. “Aye, sir.”
With Willy Atkins he went
down through the maze of corridors and ladders to get to deck eleven. The deeper
they went, the dimmer some of the lights were. Although engineering was
unaffected by the flooding, the power was beginning to drain. As emergency crews
went about their work, the
Hood
continued to gently sink. They reached deck
eleven virtually in a straight line beneath the bridge, here the deck tilted.
Atkins led the way along the corridor heading aft. Further aft the deck not only
tilted to the left but also sloped downwards. Water was seeping from beneath the
door in the aft section of deck eleven marked AFT AUXILLIARY CONTROL.
The cruiser had two
auxiliary rooms, one fore and one aft. This was if one area was damaged or
flooded, the other could be used to control the ship if need be or control
damage repairs from the room.
“The door’s firmly
sealed, water is flooding the room,” Atkins said to Denton. “We need to get the
door open and then you can see to the men inside.”
“I’m pretty useless
here,” Denton pointed out to Atkins. “I could be used elsewhere.”
Atkins gripped Denton by
his right arm. “Just bloody help, okay?”
Denton nodded and dropped
his medical bag by the side. “What to do?”
Atkins shrugged. “Get it
open, any which way we can.”
The two officers took off
their headgear and went about trying to open the door. As they did so, the water
began to become more fluid and faster. A few minutes in, Denton went to his
medical bag. As Atkins grunted, his hands trying to pull the doors handle along,
the CMO returned.
“Stand aside, Willy.”
Atkins did so and watched
with incredulity as Denton began using a syringe to squeeze liquid onto the
doors seal. “What the hell are you trying to do?”
“Watch, I use this
sometimes for emergencies,” Denton said and finished squeezing the liquid onto
the seal. As he stood by, the section of the seal where the liquid had been
applied turned brown and a hissing noise hence followed. The metal seal wore
away; finally the brown vanished leaving a sizeable hole. Big enough for
fingers.
“Medical acid, for dead
tissue and the like,” Denton put the syringe away. “You can try now.”
Atkins dug his fingers
into the hole and tried pulling, after a few jerks he let go. “Can’t, give me a
hand.”
So they both tried, after
two hearty pulls the door groaned with a metallic groan. Water was now
surrounding the base of their feet, as they pulled harder. The door lurched back
a little, water poured through the gap from the bottom and eventually the door
gave way letting a torrent of water two-foot high flood past them before pipes
built into the sides of the corridor drained it away.
Inside the Aft Auxiliary
Control room, six sailors with drenched clothing looked up at the two officers
as they stood in the doorway; water was coming through the other side and
already beginning to deepen. One sailor grasped Denton’s proffered hand.
“Thanks, doctor.”
The six were helped out
and recovered, they stood with the two officers watching the water. “It’s
flooded the rest of the deck, at least aft it has,” said one.
“Is there anyone else
down there?” asked Denton.
“No,” said another.
A red-haired sailor
gasped. “Bloody hell! Joe and Mike, the torpedo room!”
Denton looked to Atkins.
“Where’s that again?”
“Two decks down, aft of
this aux room,” answered Atkins and swore. “That’ll be under.”
Denton turned on his heel
and began walking up the deck, the first officer called after him.
“Where are you going?”
Over his shoulder Denton
called, “To get them out.”
Around the crew, the Hong
Kong situation began to cool. The
Hood
had become a priority to
the British ships as she took another lurch to port. Although not in immediate
danger, the cruiser needed repairs and currently the nearest naval port was the
American port at Yokohama in Japan.
Denton climbed down an
auxiliary ladder onto deck twelve. Once here, he ran again aft. His boots soon
sloshed in water, the water was deeper the further he went aft and as it soaked
his trousers, a damn slight colder than he would’ve thought. With the water up
to his waist, Denton paused before a hatch marked TORPEDO SHAFT. This was where
torpedoes would be carried up by gurney to the upper deck and loaded into
mounted tubes. He gripped the centre of the doors and forced them open; water
drained from around him and dripped down the dark shaft. Denton hauled himself
through the hatch and swore savagely as he dropped suddenly down the shaft. He
landed seconds later in deep water and spluttered for breath. Somehow he
regained his breath underwater and kicked the hatch with his feet. In an
explosion of bubbles, the hatch opened and Denton followed the bubbles out into
the torpedo room. Banks of torpedoes greeted him, consoles flickered on and off
in the startlingly clear water.
He swam into the room and
behind a bank of four torpedoes, he saw a blue shirted seaman. His brown hair
was spread in directions as the water tugged it this way and that. As Denton
swam closer he saw the nametag on the seaman’s left breast pocket. J. PIKE.
Denton felt for a pulse,
he found one but it was weak. Denton grabbed Seaman Pike by the left arm and
tugged him towards the torpedo shaft. Somehow he bundled Pike inside, once Pike
was in Denton began pushing him up the shaft. It was heavy going and by now,
Denton was gagging for breath. Cheeks threatening to let in water, Denton pushed
Pike a little way past the deck twelve hatch so he could climb out and pull Pike
out. As water splashed onto the water in the corridor, Pike woke. Denton pulled
him out of the waist high water to the relatively drier deck. Wet and gasping
for breath, Denton managed to speak.
“Pike, where’s Mike?”
Pike was gasping just as
hard and spluttered water as he replied. “Went –to—get—help—thirteen.”
Pike fainted.
Denton jogged back into
the water and swam down the shaft –it had flooded since- to deck thirteen. He
swam through the torpedo room and reached doors that led onto deck thirteen’s
corridor. He forced them open and conscious of needing air, swam straight into
the wall opposite. Blinking he looked around, where would Mike be?
The entire corridor was
flooded and the interior lights were beginning to go. Swimming aft, Denton
reached a room that was the mess room for local seamen and officers down below
decks. Inside was a cabinet, the cabinet beside the drinks cupboard was open and
there were oxygen masks with a built in tank no bigger than a cigarette lighter.
Denton grabbed one and
switched the mask on, gratefully he drank in air and then looked around the mess
room. His heart hammered as he found the seaman.
Mike was wearing a mask
and grasping a telephone in his hand, the SPEAK light was flashing on the
cradle. Denton swam to Mike and felt for a pulse, but he found none. Denton
glanced at the nametag. M. ADAMS.
Denton noticed that
Seaman Mike Adams’ eyes were wide and staring at him. The CMO took off the mask
and closed them. He then began the process of taking Adams’ body up to deck
twelve.
When Denton emerged from
the water on deck twelve, he found Willy Atkins helping Joe Pike. The XO saw
Mike and sighed. “No good then?”
“He’s dead,” Denton
flopped down to his buttocks in the shallow water and took off his mask.
Sometimes, it was
impossible to help someone.
“Portsmouth,
May, 2061”
Bradley Maxwell leant
against the railings of the dry-dock as the British cruiser
Hood was slowly inched into
the dock by two pale yellow tugs. The moody May sky did nothing to improve the
image of the wounded British ship as it now came to a stop.
The Hong Kong crisis had been
resolved two months ago with Hong Kong joining the World Government and gaining
independence from the Asiatic Government.
As all this was
happening,
Hood
was towed to Yokohama and placed on large ship
carrier that took it to Portsmouth.
Bradley felt the presence
behind him and realised who it would be.
“Not nice to see her like
that, is it?”
Lieutenant Commander
Denton Richmond tipped his white officers cap back, revealing a dark lock of
brown hair. Quietly he replied. “No, it isn’t good to see her like that.”
“You’ve got a medal of
valour for what you did.”
Denton sniffed in
apparent contempt. “I didn’t deserve that, all I did was help rescue some men.
Unfortunately, one of them died.”
“You couldn’t help that,”
Bradley told his friend. Above seagulls screeched as they circled the dock.
“From the reports I’ve read, the water knocked him against the wall and killed
him straightaway.”
“Adams,” Denton muttered.
“Mike Adams was his name.”
Bradley didn’t answer
immediately. He bit his lip
and watched his friend who was still staring at the ship. The dock gates closed
with a dull thud, the effect lessened by the volume of water. The dull thud was
now followed by the sound of water draining from the dock and the ship settled
into place, ready for damage repairs. Bradley knew his friend was coping as best
as he could from the event, but it had been months now.
“Jennifer’s waiting;
she’s excited about seeing you.”
Denton sighed and closed
his eyes before opening them and glancing at Bradley.
“Where is she?”
“The house at Fratton.”
On the short leave where
Denton had proposed, he and Jennifer had settled upon a quaint house in Fratton
–the suburb of Portsmouth
. The house had been reasonably priced and was –in
her words- a great place to start a family.
“I’ll go there,” he
mumbled.
“Let me drive, I’ve got
Sally’s saloon.”
They walked the short
distance to where the Saloon Car –still a vibrant red - was parked by the
covered dock that housed Henry the Eighth’s Tudor warship, the
Mary Rose. They started off once in and were soon crossing the historic city.
All the while Denton
remained silent, his cap on his lap and hands interlaced. Despite staring out
the window, Bradley doubted whether his friend was seeing what was there.
Bradley checked his watch and sighed. Jennifer was as worried about Denton as
Bradley and Sally. The news from Hong Kong had been sketchy at best, the attack
on the
Hood
had been initially reported as ‘British
warship damaged in Chinese attack.’ For days the true identity of the cruiser
had been kept secret, Jennifer growing anxious all the while. Then when it was
revealed, complete with a picture of the stricken
Hood –reminiscent of HMS
Coventry
during the Falklands War- did Jennifer calm a little. There had been twenty
fatalities and they had been listed.
Upon entering Fratton,
Bradley steered around the revamped Fratton Park football stadium. The Union
Jack hung limp in the spring sunlight from a pole in the stadium. He parked
seconds later by a small house with the naval ensign in the upper floor window.
Bradley smiled; it had been Jennifer’s idea –to show her support for Denton.
Denton Richmond grabbed
his cap and left the car before Bradley could turn the engine off. Bradley
decided to remain in the car, watching Denton walk through the gate.
Denton knocked on the
door of the house, the knocker heavy against the wooden door. Denton placed his
cap back on his head, adjusting it square atop his brown hair. He didn’t knock
again, hearing the soft footfall beyond the door.
The door swung open and
then Jennifer propelled herself against him, wrapping her arms around him.
Denton’s cap was knocked back as he returned the embrace, for a few seconds in
the silence he simply held her, absorbing her softness and the hair brushing
against his face.
“Missed you,” she
whispered against his ear.
“Missed you too,” he
whispered back and pulled her gently away. Jennifer looked as beautiful as she
had that night back in London. “Can I come in?”
“Naturally,” she smiled
and wiped a tear from her eye. He followed her in.
Bradley started the
engine of the saloon and drove off.
“London,
December 2061”
The church bells rang
loudly and clearly on the crisp wintry morning in London.
Pigeons resting on the
nearby rooftops took to the pale watery skies in a cacophony of screeches. The
traffic passing by the church did not alter its pace; this wasn’t the first
wedding at this church.
Resplendent in a long
white gown, Jennifer walked out of Marylebone church. Her molten red hair
sprayed across her shoulders; in her hands she clasped the bouquet. To her left
stood Sally, to her right stood Denton and Bradley. The guests of the wedding
included university chums from both Portsmouth and Imperial College London. Most
importantly amongst the guests, beside Jennifer’s parents, were the Richmonds.
Roger and Anne Richmond were grey-haired now, they
looked at their son with obvious love. As the newly-weds posed for photos, Bradley Maxwell joined Denton’s
parents.
“I’d never thought I
would see this moment when I introduced them back in 2056,” Bradley murmured on
the step below the Richmonds.
Roger Richmond handed his
wife his handkerchief as he chuckled. “I bet you didn’t. I’m glad that I’m here
to see it, makes me feel old though.”
Bradley laughed in
response. “I wouldn’t say that, Mr Richmond.”
“Get ready!” Jennifer was
suddenly shouting, Bradley looked to see her grip the bouquet in a launch grip.
Sally was joining the throng of women at the base of the steps, Bradley groaned.
“This might get nasty.”
Denton moved to one side,
he was wearing his dress uniform complete with ceremonial sword.
Jennifer Richmond
squatted slightly before launching the flowers into the air. Everyone watched as
they arced downwards, Bradley narrowed his eyes not wanting to see something bad
happen. Three women reached for them as they came down and one grasped it
successfully. There were cheers and laughter.
Denton joined his parents
and best friend. His mother tearfully hugged him.
“I’m so proud of you,”
she said and hugged him again.
“Thanks, mother,” Denton
shook a gloved hand with his father. “Father.”
“That goes for me too,”
grinned Bradley and they hugged laughing. “Where’s the honeymoon to be?”
Denton tipped his cap
back. “America, we’re going to start off on the east coast and move westwards.
Might end up in Hawaii.”
“As west in America as
you can get,” Bradley said. “What about Arkansas?”
“I won’t be returning
there,” Denton said to Bradley.
“You were born there,”
Bradley pointed out. Across the steps the women were milling around Jennifer,
laughing and talking.
Denton looked at Bradley.
“Andrew Laurence was born there, Denton Richmond was not. I might not have
physically
been two people, but I am
mentally
two people. Andrew
Laurence is a baby that was orphaned at the age of two and Denton Richmond is a
naval officer brought up by loving parents,” Denton held a gloved hand up.
“Don’t get me wrong, Brad, I miss my parents but I’ve been Denton far longer
than Andrew.”
Bradley sighed and his
breath came in misty vapour in the December air. “Guess you’re right Dent. Say, shouldn’t we be moving onto
the reception?”
Denton chuckled. “Mm-hmm,
just have to wrench Jennifer free otherwise mom and dad will be coming on the
honeymoon with us.”
Laughing the two friends
went to the crowd.
“The
Admiralty Building, London, April 2062”
Captain Michael Portal of
the cruiser
Hood
pushed open to the door marked OFFICERS’ MESS
and was buffeted by warm air. He closed the door and smiled. The Officers’ Mess
at the Admiralty building perched on the corner of Trafalgar Square was
something of legend. Portal looked around the sizeable room and found whom he
was looking for, the man standing by a window looking down The Mall towards
Buckingham Palace.
Portal walked up to him
and nudged him on the shoulder, the white haired man turned with a smile.
“Michael.”
“Charles, it’s been a
while.”
“Not since after Panama,”
Charles said. “Grab yourself a tea, old man.”
The table was nearby and
Portal made himself a cup of tea and plunked two-sugar cubes in. He sat down in
a high-backed armchair opposite his old friend who sat in a similar chair by the
window.
Admiral Charles Gray was
the stuff of legend; involved in a series of actions that made him a public
hero, he had risen to admiral quicker than most men could make captain.
Portal had taken command
of the
Wiltshire
during Panama on Gray’s
insistence. He had done enough to start the road on which
Hood
eventually sat, even if that ship was still moored in Pompey waiting for a new
assignment.
“You did want to see me,
Charles? I hope I didn’t get the monorail from Portsmouth for nothing,” Portal
stirred his tea.
Charles Gray smiled.
“Hardly, Michael, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind answering some
questions.”
“Not at all, fire away.”
Portal sipped the tea and smacked his lips together quietly.
“Denton Richmond.”
Portal looked at Gray.
“Oh? What of him?”
“He is your CMO, yes?”
Gray looked impassive,
Portal nodded. “Yes, but if you know his name, I’m sure you know more, Charles.”
Gray placed his own tea down
and leant a little bit forward. “How good is he?”
Portal shrugged. “He’s a
first rate medical officer, he also knows a fair deal about ballistics and what
have you,” Portal paused on the general use of a figure of speech. He sighed.
“He’s good enough to get a medal, put it that way.”
Gray tapped his chin with
his right forefinger. “Okay. Is he trustworthy?”
“Most definitely.”
Gray raised an eyebrow.
“You answered pretty quickly, Michael.”
“That’s because I’ve
entrusted Denton with secrets that I know won’t be spread around the ship,
Charles.”
The two men stared at
each other; the faint whispers of smiles were evident but something lay beneath
those expressions. Gray reached for his tea and sipped it; all the while Portal
did not say anything.
“How does he view the
navy?” Gray asked.
Portal was wary but
answered strongly. “He serves it as any officer would. He’d do that little bit
extra if need be. What he did at Hong Kong is proof enough that he’ll go that
extra mile.”
“Would he take a bullet?”
The comment made Portal
visibly wince and this time, it was he who placed the tea down. It rattled on
the plate. “Good God, Charles what is it with these questions? Are you planning
on making him some daredevil gardener? Is retirement that boring?”
Charles Gray chuckled and
met Portal’s glare. “Not quite, I would tell you, Michael, but even to you I
can’t tell.”
With that, Charles stood
and moved to Portal’s side. He tapped the other man’s shoulder.
“But you’ve been quite helpful.”
That said, Charles Gray
disappeared, leaving Portal to look at the window and think.
“BNS
Hood, Portsmouth, September 2062”
Denton Richmond jogged up
the gangway to the
Hood
and saluted Seaman Hayes who met him. “Welcome
back, sir. How was the honeymoon?”
“Quite good, took a while
but there you go,” smiled Denton.
“Captain wants to see you
in his cabin, sir.”
Denton nodded. “Thank
you, Hayes.”
Hayes insisted on
escorting Denton and the CMO dutifully followed, but he frowned. Something
wasn’t quite right. He was sure he was about to find out what was wrong, if
anything, the moment he was inside the captains quarters.
“Welcome aboard, Denton.”
Captain Michael Portal greeted Denton as the CMO dipped his head beneath the
doorframe. “That’ll be all, Hayes.” the seaman saluted and walked off down the
corridor.
“Have a seat, Denton.”
Portal closed the door as Denton went to a seat by the cabin’s bed. “How was the
honeymoon?”
“Quite well, sir,
America’s fine I’ll say that,” Denton watched as the CO sat down pinching at his
trousers to avoid them riding up. “Is there anything wrong, sir?”
“No, don’t worry,” said
Portal. “You’re not being
transferred, it’s nothing too bad.”
“Then there is
something,” Denton pressed.
Portal shifted in his
chair. Behind him were a stack of
books of naval warfare and one, a history of the Royal Navy in the Second World
War. A framed portrait of HMS
Hood
was hanging by the cabin’s window; outside men
went about their work.
“Not quite, but I must
ask you this.” Portal reached to the table behind on which the books sat. He
turned to that so that he could get a pinch of brandy from the pitcher, he did
not offer Denton one. The CMO waited until the CO knocked it down and then
cleared his throat.
“Have you been approached
by anyone asking you questions?”
“How do you mean, sir?”
“Asking details about
your life and such.” Portal’s voice was hoarse.
Denton frowned. “No sir,
nothing out of the ordinary if that’s what you’re suggesting, sir.”
“Just that,” Portal
reached for his empty glass and looked into it as if expecting to find an answer
in the remnants. Denton rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“Has someone approached
you, sir?”
“Hmm?” Portal’s head
snapped up. “Oh, no there hasn’t been anyone. That’ll be all, Denton. Once
again, welcome home.”
Denton left not feeling
that convinced, he saw Commander Willy Atkins on his way to his cabin. “Willy,
CO’s been acting a little strange lately.”
“Not really,” Atkins
shrugged. “I’ve not seen him that much of late, to be honest.”
Denton nodded. “Thanks,
Willy.”
An interesting, if not
perplexing start to his new tour of duty.
In the next week, the
Hood
crossed the Atlantic to moor temporarily at Panama; the cruiser would then go
via the canal to the World Aquanaut Security Patrol’s post at Marineville on the
Pacific coast. The idea was for the
Hood
to do manoeuvres with the submarine prototype
Stingray.
“The
Hood, Marineville, late October 2062”
Denton Richmond left the
shelter of sickbay to join the other officers on the foredeck of the cruiser.
The Pacific coastline of America was close by, around the
Hood
were two WASP motorboats and a larger surface vessel. Denton stood beside Willy
Atkins, the first officer nudged Denton handing him his binoculars.
“Take a gander.”
Denton took the
binoculars and pressed his eyes against the glasses, on the shore he could make
out buildings. One of these had a round large section with three similar sized
boxes below it. He could also make out vehicles moving around.
“Incredible, definitely
not Pompey, hey?”
Atkins grinned and took
the binoculars back. “Definitely not. Should be hearing from the skipper soon.”
Denton looked at the
water, it was a lighter blue than that of the Solent back home. At this point
the tannoy whistled the captains’ signature, the officer’s stopped talking as
Portal’s voice came out.
“This is the captain
speaking, we’re shortly about to start an exercise with the WASPs, our part of
the FieldEx is ASW, so to your stations.”
“Anti-Submarine Warfare,”
murmured Atkins. “Must be that
Stingray
thing.”
Denton slapped Atkins’
arm and went below decks, he was walking to his sickbay when a klaxon began
hooting like an impatient seal.
“This
is the XO, all hands to battlestations! Enemy submarine reported in the vicinity.”
The throbbing of the
engines increasing and vibrating throughout the ship followed the klaxons.
Denton ran into his sickbay and prepped the sickbay remembering the first time
aboard ship back in 2059.
“WASPs,” he muttered.
“Green four-oh,” ordered
Portal.
The helmsman swung the
wheel hard over to starboard, the
Hood
leant into the water and followed the course
brilliantly. Atkins was watching the sonar screen in the radar and sonar room.
The dial kept sweeping over the radius and detected the neutral WASP ships.
Atkins rubbed his forehead, his fingers came away sweaty. He hated ASW,
technology had bettered since the days of when sonar was brand new and
occasionally ships had to ram the subs but submarines were still submarines. The
silent enemy.
“Captain, we might want
to slow a little.”
“The baffles,” said
Portal in response to Atkins’ suggestion. The baffles were the disturbance at
the rear of the ship created by the propellers. It was a place that most
submarines used to attack.
“Helm, slow to twenty knots.”
The brown-haired
commander of
Stingray
gently turned the wheel
and reached for the lever to slow his sub down. The black-haired number two
officer next to him watched the dark shape of the
Hood
through the spacious
front windows.
“They’ve slowed,” he
pointed out.
The CO sighed. “Baffles,
we’re going to have to do something different.”
He steered to starboard
and went away from the
Hood, his number two watched the instruments then
frowned as the CO banked hard to port.
“Skipper?”
“Relax,” the CO smiled.
“I’ve got a plan, give me top speed.”
“Torpedo! Torpedo!
Bearing green four-five!”
Portal ran to the
starboard side of the bridge and lifted his binoculars to his eyes, he couldn’t
make out a torpedo track.
“Speed of torpedo,” he
asked.
From the sonar room came
the reply. “Forty knots, sir.”
“Could be,” he murmured.
“Full stop.”
The
Hood
staggered to a stop, the sonar operator kept his commentary up.
“Distance 100 yards,
ninety, eighty…forty…twenty…ten. Collision course!”
Portal swore. They
weren’t meant to fire torpedoes.
Suddenly, a dark shape
leapt from the water and sailed across the bow of the
Hood, for a moment it seemed
to hang in the air above the
Hood. The top half was blue; a white number three
glistened in the saltwater. Then the shape shot into the water to the left of
Hood.
Portal wiped his eyes.
The communications officer was making a note and faced the CO from his console
on the left side of the bridge.
“Sir, communiqué from the
referee ship. Reads:
You’ve lost the wargame,
Stingray
has torpedoed you amidships.”
Portal nodded and
laughed. “Right, send reply.
Well done, drinks on us. Sign it CO
Hood.”
Portal looked at the
waters still broken by
Stingray’s aerobatics and laughed
to himself once more.
Commander Shore placed
the cigar into his mouth and shook Captain Portal’s hand.
“You’ve got a fine ship,
Captain,” he growled.
“You’ve not got too bad a
set-up, either sir,” Portal said and looked around the lounge in the control
building. His officers were in one corner, there were some junior officers in
the room but no sign of the
Stingray’s officers.
Shore was substantially
lower than Portal, owing to being in a hoverchair. It didn’t seem to bother
Shore much, but it made Portal uneasy being so tall and so he sat in a chair
near Shore. “Stingray
is a fine ship, sir.”
“Yes, not like the subs I
used to know but all the same she’s a beauty.”
A model of
Stingray
sat on the coffee table by the chairs.
The ship was sleek shaped, almost like a fish. One of the greatest ships ever to
grace the water.
The doors to the lounge
slid open and two officers walked in. As with Shore and the junior officers,
they wore silver uniforms with creamy-grey boots. They bore shoulder epaulets
denoting their rank, the brown-haired officer was a captain and the dark-haired
officer a commander. They walked over to where Shore and Portal were.
Shore gestured to them.
“Captain Portal, might I present Captain Bradley Holden and Commander Troy
Tempest.”
Holden and Tempest
saluted Portal. Holden spoke in a deep American accent.
“Good fight, sir, today
in the FieldEx.”
Was hardly a fight, over
before it began. Portal shrugged. “You win some, you loose some.”
There was polite
laughter, Shore puffed some tobacco smoke into the air.
“Brad’s moving on soon,
aren’t you, Brad?”
Holden smiled and looked a little uncomfortable at being put on the spot in
quite a manner. “Well, not for a few months, sir.”
“Where are you being posted?” asked Portal.
“Somewhere with a swimming pool,” laughed Bradley making the others laugh and
carefully avoiding the question. Portal didn’t press; Holden wasn’t under his
command, so it didn’t really matter to him.
Tempest’s blue eyes sparkled. “I hope to be the new CO of
Stingray
when Brad’s gone, she’s a fine craft.”
“Now, now Troy, patience,” Shore chided Tempest.
Portal smiled. “That was
some aerobatic you did with
Stingray,
captain.”
“Merely routine,” Bradley
grinned. “Bit risky, but simulates a torpedo well enough.”
“Quite,” Portal said.
After a while, the
conversation drifted enough for Holden to make good his escape and find a
British officer by himself. The officer had dark brown hair, a look upon his
face suggesting he would rather be anywhere but in the lounge. On his wrists
were two braids, one of the braids was a broken pattern.
“Hi, Captain Bradley
Holden. You’re one of the
Hood’s boys, right?”
The officer straightened
at noticing Holden.
“Yes, Lieutenant Commander Denton Richmond.
Hood’s CMO.”
The two officers’ from
different forces shook hands.
Bradley sat in a chair by Denton. The British officer regarded Holden curiously.
“Were you that guy at
Hong Kong?” Holden asked as simple as that.
Denton blinked.
That guy.
“If you’re referring to the incident aboard
Hood
at Hong Kong, then yes, I
am.”
Holden shook his head.
“Incredible, you have a degree of courage, lieutenant.”
“I wouldn’t quite say
that, but I come through in a pinch.”
Holden glanced at Denton.
“I’ve seen some things that most people wouldn’t believe, under the sea that
is,” the
Stingray
captain pointed a finger
down. “You’ve saved lives, you’ve helped people.”
Holden exhaled, Denton
waited for the officer to continue.
“Think there’s an
organisation where there might be a place for both of us? An organisation that
deals in saving lives and vanquishes enemies to save lives?”
The question caught
Denton a little off guard but the CMO met Holden’s gaze.
“There might be, if there
is I haven’t heard of it.”
“Me neither,” said Holden
turning his head away to watch Shore laugh with Portal.
“Me neither.”
The next day, a little
after 1200hrs Pacific Coast Time,
Stingray
accompanied
Hood
out of Marineville’s waters heading south back for Panama. After
Stingray
slipped beneath the waters and sped back home, Denton Richmond thought of the
previous night’s conversation with Bradley Holden. It seemed to link to what
Portal had said upon his return to
Hood
after his honeymoon.
Has anyone approached
you, sir?
Oh, no. There hasn’t been
anyone.
Denton frowned at his desk in sickbay and
rubbed his forehead. “Something could be afoot.” For now though, Denton decided to not let it bother him.
That’s if it was something to be bothered about.
“London,
February 2066”
Charles Gray was sitting
quietly at his desk in his office at the Universal Secret Service when there was
a quiet knock at the door.
“Enter.”
A dark-haired man,
dressed in all black walked in. He
had plain looks with deep brown eyes. He sat before the desk. Gray looked at him past a black
and white photo of his ancestor Commander Donald Gray in World War Two.
“Well?” Gray asked
quietly.
“Their training will
start shortly. That just leaves…”
Charles Gray sighed, he
pushed back from his desk. “Commander of Field Ground Intelligence: Spectrum.”
Conrad Turner, formerly
of the World Space Patrol and commander of Fireball XL3, smiled at his friend.
“Careful, Charles. The walls have ears.”
Gray pursed his lips
thoughtfully. “Sooner or later, people will know of Spectrum. We’ve got the
chief officers and pilots.”
“Fantastic group of
pilots if I do say so,” Turner sat back in his chair. “I’m glad we’re creating
the Guardian Angels, the base will need back up if the regular Angels are needed
elsewhere.”
“Conrad,” said Charles
with a slight warning tone. “The fact remains, we need someone for Field Ground
Intelligence. Someone who knows ballistics and forensics as well as the ins and
outs of intelligence.”
“When you put it like
that, I applaud the committee’s instincts in making you the commander of
Spectrum.”
“Droll,” Gray muttered.
“Ballistics and forensics.”
Turner stood. “I have to go, uniform
outfitting. I am after all Captain Black.
Think I should wear some long black cloak like Darth Vader?”
Gray waved Turner away;
the officer walked off, chuckling under his breath. Once Turner was gone, Gray
looked at his filing cabinets beside his desk. Standing, he went to one and
opened it. The drawer rattled on its bearings as he rifled through the files; he
didn’t quite know what he was looking for. Eventually he pulled a file out that
was marked under R.
RICHMOND, DENTON (LT.
CMDR. BRITISH NAVY)
The stamp was marked in bold
and underneath in larger font CLASSIFIED. Charles Gray walked to his desk and
sat down; he flicked the file open and looked at the headshot photo of Richmond.
Gray read the history he knew
already, right through to the recent years 2062-65 that saw Denton reach his
peak.
In the summer of 2063, Richmond –now twenty-seven- was given command of
Intelligence of the British Navy at the naval base of Portsmouth. This was upon
the suggestion of Captain Portal, and also to put him closer to his wife
Jennifer. In his tenure as Intelligence Chief of the BN –from July 2063 to
February 2064- Richmond was responsible for the successes of drug busts and
received a promotion to commander. In this rank in February 2064, he took over
as Naval Chief Medical Officer and taught forensics and ballistics at Dartmouth
Naval College and Imperial College London.
Currently serving Portsmouth.
Gray closed the folder; he had
known before that Richmond had what it took. He had heard about Richmond’s
involvement with the death of Admiral Richard Lines.
He replaced the file and grabbed his old naval overcoat; he left the office with
word to his secretary that he was going out of town. Within the half hour, he
was driving to Portsmouth.
Commander Denton Richmond looked over the pile of papers on his desk and growled
under his breath. After all he had done in this navy to get buried under
paperwork. Then again, most of the papers belonged to students in his
classes at Dartmouth and ICL.
Looking at his picture of Jennifer made him smile; the smile hardened though. At
the start of his tenure as Intelligence Chief of the British Navy –ICBN-
Jennifer suffered a miscarriage. Since then, they hadn’t attempted to start a
family.
There were moments, and there were moments he had discovered.
He scribbled some more on his report and then looked out the windows of his
Victorian building inside the dockyards of Portsmouth naval base. He could make
out the latest Hood class cruiser –Repulse - make her way out and
seamen training on the quayside.
“Happy days,” he murmured as the phone buzzed on his desk. He stabbed the
intercom. “Yes?”
His aide’s voice came through. “Admiral Gray to see you, sir.”
Denton frowned then his eyebrows rose. “Send him through, Fuller.”
“Very well, sir.”
A moment later, the wooden door to Denton’s office swung open and Denton stood
to greet the white -haired figure dressed in a long naval overcoat. He
recognised Admiral Charles Gray from books and TV shows. Denton saluted but
Charles Gray proffered his hand. After the handshake, both men sat.
“It’s an unexpected surprise, sir. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“In a way,” Gray’s voice was precise. His blue eyes were startling against the
snow white of his hair. “How is your posting as CMO/BN?”
Denton shrugged. “Can’t complain, a little slow at times but I make up for it by
teaching at DNC and ICL. I miss the days on the Hood, but this is my
posting now.”
“Quite,” Gray shortly fell silent. Denton felt awkward all of a sudden; Gray was
no longer an admiral, having dropped from public view some years ago. He was
somewhat of a celebrity in the navy and in the country.
“I’m about to tell you something that, for now, is highly confidential. I trust
your discretion.”
“You have that discretion,” Denton
replied.
Gray’s eyes twinkled with slight humour. “I know I do, and that is why after
I am here.”
Gray pushed back from the desk and stood, Denton watched him as he walked to the
window and harrumphed. “Portsmouth, changes little, doesn’t it?”
Denton didn’t answer.
Gray faced Denton from where he stood beside the window overlooking the harbour.
“The World Government have authorised the creation of an organisation that will
ensure the protection of the world from powers foreign or otherwise. This
organisation is called Spectrum; the base and officers have already been chosen.
Once activated, Spectrum will be Earth’s defender. You, Denton, are the final
piece in the plan, as far as personnel go. The others are in their training
phase now. You are, as I’ve
said, the final link.”
Denton leant back in his chair; it squeaked as it adjusted to his position. He
rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Is that all?”
“You will be Chief of Ground Intelligence.”
Denton looked at the photo of Jennifer on his desk. “What about my wife, sir?”
Gray sighed. “Unfortunately she must not know of this. As far as she’ll know,
you will be on long-term assignment for the navy.”
Denton sighed. “I see.”
Gray advanced on the desk; he placed a small card down on the desk before
Denton.
“Go to this address when you have made your mind up, I’m sure you’ll make the
right decision.”
Gray left. Denton took the card in his fingers and read the printed Copperplate
text on the card.
ANDERSON MANOR.
STONE POINT VILLAGE, DORSET.
Denton placed the card down and reached for his phone. “Fuller, get me the
Second Sea Lord.” As he waited for
Fuller to place the call to London, Denton pushed the card under a file.
“Stone Point Village, June, 2066”
Denton Richmond drove the naval
saloon through Stone Point Village with nothing short of wonderment. He had been
through Dorset on his way to Plymouth and had never even noticed any signs to
the village. Yet here it was, scattered houses and a petrol station. Half of the
station was covered in scaffolding with a banner declaring the construction
company’s name. He drove on, using the A-Z Dorset map on the passenger seat as a
guide.
He thought back to the conversation with Jennifer, he hadn’t quite told her why
he was going. Only that the navy needed him elsewhere and he would be away a
while.
A while. He sniffed as he drove; he would be away for a while. It had been four
months since Charles Gray had visited him at Portsmouth, in that time there had
been no word from Gray or anyone as Denton continued working at the base. Maybe
Gray had given up on him, or maybe it was something else. But Jennifer…
Jennifer had hugged him and told him to be careful, she’ll send some of his
effects on. He replied it wasn’t necessary, he’ll send an ensign. Thus he left,
his emotions conflicted.
The village fell away and he took
a dirt track down through willow trees, it grew dark enough for his headlights
to be brought on. He passed a lake and then sighted the manor house, a big
brooding place right out of a Dickens novel. The willows gave way to the dirt
apron before the house, a golden plaque on a signpost declared it as Anderson
Manor.
Denton switched off the engine and
stepped out of the car taking his cap out and placing it atop his head. He
walked towards the manor, his boots crunching the stones beneath of the apron.
When he reached the doorway, he pulled on the bell pull that hung by the wide
doorway.
A few seconds later the door swung
open to show an attractive blonde woman wearing all white. Her looks were strong
and distracting.
Denton cleared his throat.
“Commander Richmond, to see Admiral Gray.”
When she spoke, her accent was
French.
“The admiral has asked me to fly
you to the base.” The woman stepped out from the manor and passed Denton who
watched her with curiosity. He followed as she went to the rear of the manor; he
did a double take seeing a two seat Vertical Take Off and Landing jet.
The VTOL was white, no markings
save a deep black A on the tailfin. The wings stretched aft and had support
struts on the end of them. The fins added to its streamline profile.
“What is this jet?” he asked as
they reached it.
“Angel Interceptor, this one’s a
special two seat variant,” the woman reached into a hatch she opened where the
wing met the fuselage at its narrowest point. She threw Denton a flying helmet,
clear visor and radio attached. She shut the hatch and popped the cockpit open.
Without much ado, the two climbed into the jet. Denton strapped himself in as
the engines began to whine to a steady crescendo. He looked at the woman’s head
before him above the red seat, the blonde hair pressed against the helmet.
“I say, what is your name?”
The intercom crackled as the
engines now whined in steady pitch. “Juliet,” a pause and the voice took on
affectionate humour. “But you may call me Destiny.”
With that, they took to the sky
leaving Stone Point Village behind.
The aircraft kept rising at a
gentle gradient, the clouds thinning out until deep blue sky beckoned to them.
Denton had instruments on the rear of Destiny’s seat and saw that the altitude
was exactly 45,000 feet. He gulped, that was incredibly high for a jet wasn’t
it?
Destiny’s voice came into his ears
via the intercom.
“We’ll be landing soon, Colonel
White will want to see you when you land.”
Who in blue blazes was Colonel White? Denton thought, his eyebrows
knitted.
Wait, this outfit’s called
Spectrum and maybe the personnel are colour coded. Too many months on the beach
have left you a little slow, Denton.
“Right,” Denton grunted. He looked
around for something to land on and saw nothing. “Where do we land?”
Destiny’s voice was soothing.
“Relax, Commander Richmond, we will be all right.”
A tall cloud was before the jet as
it soared across the heavens, Denton ignored the nagging feeling in his head. A
feeling he had when swimming below the flooded decks of BNS
Hood
at Hong Kong. He shrugged it off when suddenly he saw a shadow near the
summit of the cloud. It was long and horizontal; that was all he could make out
at the moment.
The cloud thinned out and he saw a
structure. That was it, a solid structure
hanging
in the sky as
if on invisible strings. A ramp beside the rearmost fighter was raised on
hydraulic clamps. Attached to the rear of the runway was a control tower atop
two support struts. Across the control tower was the word SPECTRUM and present a
gold S fringed by black and central of a rainbow.
The jet banked under Destiny’s
steady hand and came to rest with a mute thud on the ramp that dutifully lowered
onto the deck. Denton almost yelped in surprise when his seat –and Destiny’s-
slid from the belly of the Interceptor into an orange warm looking room.
Stepping from the seat he joined Destiny as they were met by a red-haired woman,
her accent that of London.
“Good to see you, Destiny,
Commander Richmond?” at Denton’s dazed nod, the woman continued. “I’m Rhapsody.
This way, please. Colonel White is waiting to see you.”
It took them five minutes to get
to the control room, throughout the journey Denton was amazed; this ideally
suited for Spectrum. It offered security and privacy to the organisation
designed to protect the world from all dangers.
The control room was alive with
noises. A voice he already recognised came across the room.
“Get me London, Lieutenant Green.”
A dark-skinned man, wearing a
green jacket over a black pullover and green boots, nodded.
“SIG, colonel.”
Rhapsody led Denton to the end of
the aisle; the console before them was round and behind it wearing white on
black and white boots was Charles Gray.
Colonel White.
“Welcome to Cloudbase, Commander
Richmond,” Gray’s eyes swept to Rhapsody. “That’ll be all, Rhapsody, thank you.”
Denton sat on a stool before the
round console; he removed the flying helmet looking at it as if for the first
time. He placed it on the floor by his stool and spoke, his voice breaking a
little, “Excellent set-up, colonel.”
White nodded. “That it is. My number two described it as like an
aircraft carrier. Rather aptwouldn’t you say?”
Denton could only jerk his head in
acknowledgment. White clasped his hands together before him.
“I am glad you came, due to time
matters you’re training must begin this week. You’ll be trained by Captain
Black.”
Denton frowned inwardly,
Captain Black. That sounded sinister. Probably. There then came
the sound of hammering from within Cloudbase, White sighed. “We’re still working
on the base.”
“I am late then, am I sir?” asked
Denton.
“Rather,” said White with a polite
smile. “The others have reached the end of their training, they have some final
parts to do, but you have to start fresh.”
“When do I start?”
“Tomorrow,” White saw Denton’s
face and looked wry. “Sorry commander, but that’s the way things go.”
“I’ll say,” Denton clasped his
helmet tighter. “What am I to be called?”
“Captain Indigo.”
“Indigo,” Denton ran the word over
his tongue. “That’s a darkish purple isn’t it?”
Gray stood. “That’ll be all for
now, Denton. From now on you’re Captain Indigo. Commander Richmond is to be
forgotten,” Gray extended his hand. “Welcome to Spectrum.”
Denton shook his hand and then
saluted. “Thank you, colonel.”
Gray called past Denton.
“Lieutenant Green, please show Captain Indigo his quarters.”
Green stood and Denton followed.
“Cloudbase, classified location, June 2066”
Denton,
no Captain Indigo now, stared at the ceiling of his Cloudbase quarters
and listened to the steady pitch of the base’s engines. He had seen and been on
naval aircraft carriers such as the
Winston Churchill
and
could see the resemblance in Cloudbase.
The Spectrum logo was emblazoned
across his wardrobe doors and slightly smaller on the rear of his cabin door.
There was a knock at his door and
Denton groaned rubbing his forehead, he had a headache growing. “Yes?”
“Captain, Lieutenant Purple here
sir. I have your uniform here, sir.”
Indigo bounded to the door and
opened it, fortunately wearing Spectrum tracksuit clothes. Purple was holding a
box marked SPECTRUM APPARELL and handed it to Indigo.
“Here you are sir, and I’m to tell
you to meet Captain Black in the armoury at 1100.”
Purple walked off leaving Indigo
holding the box, he stepped back into the quarters and looked at the clock.
1032.
He quickly opened the cardboard
box and took out a cap, it was mainly indigo with black surround and a small
mike. The Spectrum logo central of the cap. Beneath that an indigo coloured
jacket with a zip on black and beneath that, a black polo necked top with the
logos on either cuff. To complete the ensemble, black trousers and indigo boots.
Moments later, he stood before the
full-length mirror in his room and adjusted the collar of his uniform.
“Captain Indigo, Spectrum.”
He left his quarters and reached
the armoury near the hangar bay before 1100. The armoury was spacious with walls
full of weapons from handguns to rifles and machine guns, from grenades to
mortars.
“Peaceful organisation,” he
muttered.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” said a
northern voice from shadows by the far wall.
Indigo started and saw a tall man
emerge from the shadows, his uniform was a mirror of Indigo’s but black with
white zippers as opposed to black.
“I’m Captain Black, your training
officer for the next couple months. Let’s start,” Black moved to a table beneath
the handguns and pulled one from tabletop, he tossed it at Indigo. The gun had a
smooth barrel, white handle and indigo across the top.
“That’s your side-arm. Do you know
how to shoot?”
Indigo nodded. “I did weapons
training at Plymouth with the navy.”
Black folded his arms. “Were you
good?”
Denton shrugged. “I could hit the
board, if you want to put it that way.”
“If someone is running towards you
armed with an axe, could you hit him between the eyes?”
Indigo felt his hands go cold. Had
he made a stupid comment that provoked Black into saying that? “No, sir.”
“Right. Let’s go into the range,
next door.”
Black went to a door in the
shadows and opened it, Indigo slid passed him and into a room with four galleys
with target boards at the end. It was rather old fashioned considering the
technology in this century, but sometimes-old methods were better than new. The
door closed behind Indigo and he was alone, one of the galleys lit up and showed
the targeting paper. The traditional black silhouette with numbered areas.
“Begin
when ready,”
came Black’s voice. Disembodied from the other room.
Indigo stood at the white line at
the first galley and from the tray before him, loaded his gun with six shells.
The gun now was heavier in his palm, he assumed a shooting stance and raised the
gun high. He fired twice; the gun coughed in his hand and was somewhat muted to
the weapons he had trained with at Plymouth Naval Base. Indigo raised the barrel
a fraction and emptied the remainder of the magazine.
With a click and whine, the target
board moved towards him. Captain Black entered the room and took the target
board before Indigo. His eyes narrowed as he read the board and smiled; he
showed Indigo the board.
The first two shots had hit the
throat and the remaining four had stitched across the face.
“Is this good?”
“Is it?” chuckled Black. “It’s bloody brilliant, there are only two others who have done it.”
Black folded the board up and
nodded. “We’ll leave weapons for now; basic training and the like to follow.
That was a flipping fluke, come with me now.”
Indigo followed Black from the
room; Black paused outside in the corridor.
“Go to the lounge, I’ll be with
you shortly.”
Indigo found the lounge well
enough having memorised a wall plan of the base the previous day. The lounge was
warm and well decorated, the windows offered a view of the horizon. Indigo
tugged on his jacket and headed to a table with mugs on it next to a coffee
machine. The mugs were different colours; Indigo pulled one off the rack that
was his colour and neatly marked INDIGO. He smiled. Was there nothing that
Spectrum didn’t do?
He poured the coffee and tasted
it, nope there wasn’t.
He was heading to a seat when the
doors opened and a dark-haired man in grey walked in. Their eyes met and the new
arrival smiled.
“Denton Richmond, I’ll be a son of
a gun!”
Indigo placed his mug down on a
nearby table and shook Bradley Holden’s hand with a broad smile. “So you’re in
this bunch too, huh?” Indigo said.
Holden smiled. “Captain Grey, at
your service.”
“Captain Indigo, pleasure to serve
with you.”
The doors opened again to allow in
two men wearing red and blue; the red officer had brown hair and had a distinct
English accent and the blue officer had an American accent with distinct blond
hair.
“Paul, Adam, this is Denton
Richmond. He just joined.”
“Captain Scarlet and Captain
Blue,” said Denton reaching to shake hands.
“Welcome aboard,” said Scarlet.
“You from England as well?”
“Yes.”
Scarlet went to the coffee pot and
poured some for himself and Blue.
Indigo regained his composure and sat down. Eventually Captain Black
walked into the lounge, the four men present stood. Conrad Turner waved them
down.
“Relax, gentlemen. I think I’ll
grab some char.”
Black made some tea and sat down
in a chair that formed part of a semi-circle with Scarlet, Blue, Grey and
Indigo. He drank from his tea and placed it down, bringing his black boots to
rest on the coffee table before him. He fixed Indigo with a look.
“We’ll go down to Stone Point
later today, you’re field training will begin during the night.”
Indigo nodded as Scarlet leant
forward smiling and eyes twinkling.
“Conrad…” he began and was cut off
by Black.
“Captain Black to you.”
Scarlet’s smile broadened to a
grin. “Let me come too on the FieldEx.”
Blue lifted his head in a blunt
nod. “Me, too.”
Black held up his hands palm
outwards. “People, this is Indigo’s Field Exercise not yours.”
“Come on, Black,” Scarlet said.
“You need the extra bodies.”
Black gasped sarcastically. “Do I,
Captain Scarlet? Very adroit of you.”
Grey chuckled. Scarlet shrugged.
“Come on, what good is Indigo if he’s solo?”
Black laughed. “Oh fine, you
pushed me.”
“Never takes much,” Scarlet
quipped.
Black shrugged. “You’re a card,
Paul,” Black glanced at Grey silent until now. “Brad?”
Grey shook his head. “No thanks,
you leave me out of this.”
Black smiled at Captain Indigo.
“Well, Captain, pack your bags.”
Colonel White gestured for Black
to sit as he walked into the control room; from elsewhere in the control bubble
came the sound of hammering and drilling. Cloudbase was not quite operational
yet. Black perched on a stool and
faced his friend.
“You’re taking Indigo on a
FieldEx,” said White in a murmur as he continued with his work.
Black shrugged. “I want him
trained soon. We’re going to be operational before long.”
White lifted his head and met
Black’s gaze. “I accept that, bear in mind that he’s a medical officer by trade.
He won’t exactly mould in at first.”
Black nodded. “I know, Charles, I
know. We’ll be back within the week.”
Black stood when White nodded in
response and headed for the hangar bay. He arrived in time to see Scarlet
throwing his bag into the SPJ’s hold, Blue and Indigo were inside. Black slapped
Scarlet’s back as he leapt into the passenger jet.
“Come on, Scarlet. Time we got moving.”
Minutes later the SPJ took to the
sky and bound for Stone Point Village.
“Stone Point Village”
Anderson Manor technically was
near Stone Point Village, the village itself was isolated and sparsely
inhabited. Even so, the manor was surrounded by a six foot high brick wall fence that had a security wire
running through it. There were defences inside the facility that only Black and
Colonel White knew of.
Boots crunching on the gravel
outside the manor, Black led the others into the building. Victorian in manner,
the building looked austere and classical.
Black led them upstairs, they all
carried holdalls with their colours on them and were brought onto a landing
overrunning the entrance. Black jabbed a finger into an open door.
“Scarlet.”
Captain Scarlet dipped in the
room, Black pointed to another as they moved along.
“Blue.”
“Indigo,” Black said stopping by
another room. Indigo stepped inside and dumped his bag by the bed, Black watched
him. “Get your tracksuit on, we’ve got training to do. Ten minutes, front
entrance.”
Nine minutes later Indigo joined
Black –also in tracksuit- by the main entrance. Black checked his watch. “We’ll
do a circuit around the manor’s estate, are you ready?”
“As ever I’ll be, sir.”
“SIG will do,” at Indigo’s frown
Black smiled. “Spectrum Is Green, essentially means everything is A-OK.”
“I’m still new to this outfit,”
Indigo grinned. “I’ll soon get the hang of it.”
“That’s right.”
Black checked his watch once more
and nodded. “Let’s do this.”
Indigo joined Black as the older
officer ran into the nearby woods, the pine trees taller than the manor itself.
They ran over uneven ground, tree branches scratching at them as they crashed
into them. Shoes skidded on wet rocks, the mud on them printing onto the shoes
and splashing up the trousers. Indigo was tired, his chest was heaving and his
throat was as raw as a cheese grater. His arms were heavy and his legs like tree
logs. Yet somehow he ran on through the estate, the manor behind him and always
visible.
It’s a start, you have to start somewhere. Bradley Maxwell’s words when,
six years ago, he was talking about the navy.
Some start, thought Denton.
Look where I am now.
Black splashed through a wide
brook, the water was shallow but it sprayed up over Indigo nonetheless. Indigo
wanted to fall there and then as his legs propelled him up the bank, the manor
now fell to Indigo’s one o’clock position. Black was making headway, Indigo dug
deep and staggered up the slope towards Anderson Manor’s east wing. Standing by
the manor was Scarlet and Blue still in their uniforms. Black came to a stop by
the captains and watched as Indigo ran up to him, legs akimbo and coming to a
stuttering halt.
Black waited for Indigo to catch
the most of his breath and then grinned.
“Now for the assault course.”
“You must be joking,” Indigo
gasped bent at the waist.
Scarlet, straight faced, replied
before Black. “We learnt that Captain Black never jokes.”
Battered, Indigo followed Black
behind the manor to where the assault course sat.
Later that night, Indigo slumped
gratefully into his bed. On his bedside were a small photo of Jennifer and his
battered copy of
The Complete Adventures of
Sherlock Holmes.
Darkness had settled over Stone Point and as he lay there, he heard something
barking from far off.
His mind fell away and he fell
into a deep sleep.
Indigo fell out of bed as he
started, next door there was the sound of someone being thrown about. Lamps and
cabinets crashed to the floor, muffled by the wall. Indigo scrambled for his
uniform and drew his pistol, running into the corridor wearing his boots and
trousers he saw the door of the next room lying across the floor.
Captain Blue’s.
Indigo pressed himself against the
door frame; he heard two men grunting as they scuffled. Indigo flung himself in
and assumed a firing stance.
Blue, wearing sky-blue pyjamas, was in the grip of an all-black figure
with matching ski mask. Blue’s blond hair was everywhere, his hands scrabbling
at the strong hold.
“Halt!” shouted Indigo. He felt an
idiot. Only TV cops said that. The black-clad man turned around, they faced
Indigo. ‘Ski Mask’ began backing towards the window, Blue choked out some words.
“Shoot.”
Indigo frowned. “I’ll hit you.”
Blue’s feet were skidding on the
carpet, Ski Mask – as Indigo thought him - drew Blue closer to the window.
Indigo licked his lower lip and fired, his bullet caught Ski Mask in the left
arm flinging both men out the window. There was a short cry and the crunch of
branches. Indigo ran to the window ledge and looked down. He could see two
figures moving away into the nearby wood; he scowled and retreated inside. He
holstered his weapon and went into Scarlet’s room, but both Scarlet and Black
were absent. Downstairs, Indigo found Destiny.
“What are you doing here?” he
asked.
“Mon
captain, you
are shirtless,” chided Destiny looking at Indigo. Indigo’s scowl deepened, he
knew he was shirtless - he hadn’t time to dress. He looked back at the French
pilot, wearing the uniform of the Angels and holding her helmet in one hand.
“Never mind that, why are you
here?”
“I came to provide transport home
for when you are finished.”
Indigo walked to the door of the
manor and turned. “Someone’s kidnapped Captain Blue and I cannot find Captains
Black and Scarlet.”
Destiny’s eyes widened. “My God.”
“Quite,” Indigo moved to the table
by the door on which sat a phone. “What should I do? Call Cloudbase or what?”
“You are the officer of higher
ranking,” Destiny said gently.
Indigo rubbed his forehead. “I’ll
call the Spectrum security forces.”
Destiny merely nodded.
Captain Indigo drank the cold
coffee in Anderson Manor’s spacious kitchen with Destiny; upstairs Spectrum
security officers checked for any clues. Indigo had stubble on his face, his
eyes rimmed red. The door to the kitchen was opened and in came Black and
Scarlet. Both men looked tired.
“Sir,” said Indigo coming to his
feet.
Black waved him down and stopped
at the end of the wooden table by where Indigo and Destiny were, to pour coffee
from the pitcher. Scarlet sat beside Destiny, taking off his cap and rubbed his
left arm. Black looked at Indigo from beneath the lid of his cap.
“Scarlet and I were outside when
we saw that guy make off with Blue.
We gave chase but lost them. We spent all morning looking for them and then
bumped into the security chaps.
That was a good call for you. Have you got in touch with Cloudbase yet?”
Indigo shook his head. Black nodded and sat down at the table’s
head.
“That’s good. We’ll find Blue. He
can’t have got far.”
Scarlet ran his hand across his
unshaven chin. “Who would have taken him?”
“Who knows?” shrugged Black.
Black finished his coffee and
clapped his hands. “Lets get outside.”
Indigo’s boots skidded on the wet bank of the brook; he
looked along the stream bracketed by trees and squatted. He picked from the
brook a wet piece of blue fabric, it looked like a piece of Blue’s pyjamas. He
frowned and pocketed it, he followed the water along. It wasn’t quite the open ocean that Indigo was used
to, but it might lead him to Blue.
At least, that was what he hoped.
Captain Black lowered the
binoculars and exhaled, his breath coming as steamy vapour from where he stood
on the upper floor balcony. He raised them to his eyes and exhaled once more. He
watched Indigo, visible in his uniform, pick his way along the brook through the
forest as the morning steadily brightened.
Boots crunching on leaves alerted
Black to Scarlet coming along the balcony.
“Bird spotting?”
“Hardly, Captain,” murmured Black. “Just watching our man Indigo.”
“I see, suspect him of something?”
said Scarlet standing back.
“I couldn’t imagine what you would suspect him of.”
“No I do not suspect him of
anything,” Black was tight lipped. “Do you?”
“Only of hogging the toilet,”
Scarlet smiled warily. “That’s all.”
Black dropped his binoculars,
ignoring the thump against his jacket, he turned inside with a brusque few
words. “Come with me, Scarlet.”
“A trip, I’m rather excited.”
“Shut up, Paul,” said Black and
led the way downstairs.
Indigo had found nothing and stood
on the green behind the manor looking up at the window where the assailant and
Blue had fallen. The ground below was pockmarked with uprooted grass and wet mud
from where they had landed. Footprints led towards the brook where they had ran,
or the assailant had ran and made Blue follow. Indigo was about to turn on his
heel when he heard the soft footfall from the side and saw Black and Scarlet
turn the corner.
“Have your skills led you to the
assailant and Captain Blue?” called Black.
Indigo shook his head. “Not yet,
but I’ll find them. But something doesn’t add up.”
“Explain, Captain,” Black stopped by Indigo arms folded. Scarlet stood to his
right, with a neutral expression.
“This whole thing doesn’t make
sense,” Indigo gestured to the brook. “Blue abducted during the night, guy
–assailant - gets shot and the drops out the window. No blood or anything, just
fabric from Blue’s pyjamas.”
Scarlet shrugged. “They could be
long gone by now, Spectrum security has expanded the scope of their search.
Relax.”
“No, I’m searching the brook
again.”
The two other captains walked off;
they were talking but Indigo didn’t hear them. However he noticed their boot
prints and then looked at the assailant’s prints. Frowning and his heart
skipping a beat, he placed one of his own boots inside the print of the man who
had dragged Captain Blue from the room.
It matched. Size and prints.
Indigo turned and ran towards the
manor. He was going to check
Scarlet and Black’s boots.
When he reached Black’s wardrobe
he fell to his knees and opened the wardrobe.
He fumbled through trousers and uniform jackets to find two pairs of
gleaming black uniform boots with white zippers. Indigo produced a pocket
magnifying glass from his uniform jacket breast pocket and studiously scoured
both boots. There was nothing on them, he then bundled them back into the
wardrobe and buried them beneath the uniform jackets. Indigo jogged into
Scarlet’s room next door. He could
hear Black and Scarlet outside their precise voices intermingling. Indigo dove
into the wardrobe, the red and black hurt Indigo’s eyes. Indigo now scoured red
boots; unlike Black Scarlet only had one other pair. These weren’t as gleaming
but Indigo didn’t care. He then made an excited noise; there was a gathering of
dry mud under one of the boots. On closer inspection there was some powder
evidence, from a gun perhaps but it wasn’t as noticeable as the mud.
Clasping the boot tightly in one
hand he hurried downstairs and ran up to Scarlet and Black; the two captains
whirled in some surprise.
“Denton, what are you doing with
my boot?” asked Scarlet, his dark eyebrow raised.
Indigo was out of breath and shook
it at the two captains.
“You were the one that abducted
Blue; this is all some kind of exercise!”
“Prove it, if that is the case,”
shrugged Scarlet. Black was silent.
Indigo caught his breath, a
feeling of resurgence pounding his veins. “They match the footprints beside
Blue’s when he was dragged from where he landed with the assailant, there are
also traces of mud and some powder. It could be gunpowder, but it’s too small.”
“Not proof enough,” murmured
Scarlet.
Black smiled and stepped past
Scarlet, he patted Indigo on the arm. Indigo frowned.
“Good work, Denton, but have you
got more than that?”
“I fired at the assailant, but
there’s no trace of blood. Judging from this, I had fired blanks. Tell me,
Scarlet, does your elbow still ache?”
Scarlet shrugged. “Sometimes, at least it was a plastic bullet.”
“The lack of security presence
after and communication confirmed some of this to me,” Indigo finished. He
smiled at Black. “So where’s Blue?”
“On Cloudbase. He thanks you for
your effort but next time he’ll elbow Scarlet in the stomach. Come on, Indigo.”
Black led him back to the manor. “You’re off to a good start.”
“Cloudbase, 2068”
Captain Indigo brought the racket
back and then with all his might smashed it against the oncoming ball, the
bright yellow tennis ball flew back towards Captain Grey. Grey, his t-shirt
stuck to his sweaty body, swore loudly as it ricocheted off his racket. The
tennis court of Cloudbase echoed to their grunts and shouts.
Indigo smacked it back with
tremendous force. “Ugh! You…!”
“Captain Indigo will refrain from
language,” Colonel White intoned on the umpire’s seat looking down. Scarlet,
Blue and Black watching laughed. White watched the game wearing his uniform,
whereas Indigo and Grey wore coloured shorts and white t-shirts. The two were
kindred spirits; both from a nautical background, they trained together and
formed a close friendship. Tennis could be taken too far, of course, and there
was never a better moment than before White.
The ball sailed past Grey and
smacked the wall. Scarlet
jogged for it and threw it lightly at Grey. Grey looked to White who said
calmly, “One point for Indigo to win.”
“Right.” Grey rose high to play
the ball. Indigo crouched, his backside wiggling a little as he got into place.
The ball came down straight at Indigo, the captain dove and smacked it upwards.
The ball hovered above the netting, Grey ran forward and smashed it down but it
bounced off Indigo’s racket. Indigo than deftly met the ball again to bring it
crashing into Grey’s side and winning the match in the process.
White climbed down to congratulate
Indigo who was shining with sweat. Indigo shook hands with Grey, they walked out
together with the other three trailing behind and for White to pack his things
together. It had been his rackets they had used.
Indigo paused and wiped his temple
with the back of his hand and looked at Black.
“When do you go to Glenn Field?”
Black shrugged. “Next week,
Wednesday.”
“Lucky swine,” Indigo muttered.
“Mars, where no man has ever gone. Or every man but me.”
They were good-natured chuckling.
Scarlet patted Black’s shoulder.
“Bring back a chunk of red rock
for me.”
“I’m investigating mysterious
signals, not touring the bloody planet.” Black scowled and swatted Scarlet but
they were having fun and so Scarlet swatted him back. Scarlet wrinkled his nose
at Indigo and Grey in sudden realisation. “Boy! You two smell like Adam’s stew!”
Two days ago, Captain Blue had
made some stew he claimed was an old family recipe. It hadn’t gone down too
well.
Blue frowned. “Thanks, Paul, nice
to know it’s appreciated.”
“Even so,” Scarlet smiled. “You
go, guys; I’m going to show Blue how to make Steak and Kidney pie.”
“Imaginative,” Black murmured
thoughtfully.
In the nearby changing rooms, Grey
and Indigo were putting on their uniforms fully refreshed after showering. Grey
was adjusting his shoulder epaulets and looked at Indigo.
“Does your wife know about you and
Spectrum?”
“Sort of, she knows what the
common folk know about it. I’m an officer in it, I’m doing it in segments. No
sense worrying her.”
“I see. Rather hard being
married.”
“I’m surprised Colonel White let
me join,” Indigo admitted.
“You’re here now, I’m sure you’ll
manage. You have done so far.”
Indigo collected his sports bag.
“You’re right, Grey.”
“SIG, Indigo,” Grey grinned. “Lets
grab a drink, I’m thirsty.”
“Right-y oh.”
“Some weeks later, 2068”
“As of yet, there has been no word
from Glenn Field on the Martian mission led by Spectrum’s Captain Black. The
Zero-X landed yesterday and it has been reported that Spectrum have been
summoned to Glenn Field.”
Captain Indigo muted the televisor
and looked at the table before him. The lab of the Spectrum Intelligence
Agency’s Weapons Development Facility –SIAWDF or SIA Weapons- was expansive and
the African location was excellent. But Indigo hadn’t been made head of
Spectrum’s Weapon development for sun and sand. He was here to help develop
weapons that would make Spectrum’s job easier. He did wonder though why Black
hadn’t reported to Cloudbase straightaway after his return from Mars.
It wasn’t like Black.
Indigo looked up to see his
colleague Doctor Sally Jensen walk in. She was tall and striking with long
blonde hair and distinctive Nordic facial features. She held a piece of paper.
“Communiqué from Cloudbase, for
you from Colonel White.”
Indigo raised his eyebrows. If it
were from White, it must be important.
Indigo’s eyebrows rose further
towards his hairline as he read the message.
Captain Black has gone AWOL. The captain was said to be acting strange by his crew. When
he returned to Glenn Field, he vanished. We’ve also received a message from a
race of aliens on Mars calling themselves the Mysterons. A race of aliens called
the Mysterons on Mars have threatened the World President after Black destroyed
their complex, they vow to kill the president in retaliation. It is my belief they hold Black under their
control. As yet, the reports are sketchy. Keep on your toes, Captain Indigo
Colonel White
“Hell,” Indigo breathed.
“Trouble?” asked Jensen as she sat
at her own desk and placed her feet on it.
Indigo sat down and placed his
coloured boots on his desk. “Of a kind, nothing that we can’t handle.”
“You say it like that, I bought
it.” Jensen reached for an apple and began to eat it. “A letter from Colonel
White isn’t something to sniff at, captain. The colonel is in charge of Spectrum
after all.”
“It’ll hold for now,” Indigo swung
his legs off and reached for the phone by the mighty pile of paperwork that had
gathered. He lifted the receiver and placed it to his ear.
“Spectrum
Africa,” a
crisp accented voice said.
“Get me Cloudbase, Colonel White.”
“Clearance
code please.”
“Indigo, two zero four zero four
six alpha beta tango.”
“Indigo,
204046ABT confirmed. One moment please, captain.”
Indigo glanced at Jensen; the
forensics doctor was looking at some notes. When he reached Colonel White,
Indigo talked for five minutes, getting details. It was then that he learned
that Captains Scarlet and Brown had been involved in a car crash but were now on
the way to New York. He had no inclination of what was going to happen later
that day.
“Cloudbase Medical Centre”
Wearing a doctor’s cloak, Captain
Indigo stood by Captain Scarlet’s bed and looked at Doctor Fawn. “This is most
remarkable. You say he fell from the Car-Vu?”
“That and being shot by Captain
Blue.” Fawn looked at Scarlet. “And he’s recovering.”
“What?” Indigo studied Scarlet and
then the computer over his bed; sure enough it was showing heart and pulse
rates. “Bastard,” he whispered. “How can that be?”
“I can’t explain it right now
Indigo. There must be something more behind this, maybe something the Mysterons
did.”
“Talking nonsense, Edward,” Indigo
shook his head. “This is beyond the realms of medicine, it’s even beyond the
realms of science fiction.”
Fawn smiled. “True, but it doesn’t
answer the fact that he’s coming back. Hopefully, he is free of the Mysteron
grip. As for Captain Black…”
“Rogue agent,” Indigo murmured and
checked the wall clock. “I have to see Colonel White.”
“See you later, Indigo. Have fun
with the colonel.”
Indigo ditched his cloak and
walked to the control room; when he got there, Colonel White was standing on one
of the observation tubes. Indigo paused by the colonel’s desk and coughed. White
turned. “Ah, Captain. Do sit.”
Indigo sat himself on one of the
stools that rose silently from the floor; White took his chair. “I’ll cut
straight to the chase, the Mysterons are raging a war of nerves on Earth. They
will go to any means to make sure we pay for attacking their complex.” White
paused. “In view of what we have witnessed thus far, the complex rebuilding and
Scarlet coming back to life. You and your colleagues at SIAWDF are now tasked
with developing a weapon that can bring down a Mysteron.”
“Kill, sir?”
“Just so.”
“But sir…” Indigo exhaled. “I
don’t have enough to go on.
Captain Brown blew up and Scarlet fell off a car park. There is no firm evidence
on how to kill a Mysteron. The threat is too new and recent, we’re starting from
scratch.”
“I appreciate your dilemma,
captain, but this organisation is hitting the ground running, either we stop to
catch our breath or we carry on and hit them where it hurts.”
Indigo nodded. “I understand,
sir.”
“Good, there is a SPJ waiting to
take you back to Africa. Good luck, captain.”
Indigo returned to Africa and
rustled the SIAWDF into a frenzy; at first it was stop start but then as more
events happened during the following weeks and months, they were able to start
building on it. In the heat, they worked tirelessly; Indigo conferred every now
and then with officers on Cloudbase via telecomm to discuss the updates. From
Blue, how the American had seen Scarlet fight a Mysteronised passenger jet in
his SPV before running it off the runway.
From Scarlet, how a Mysteron shouted ‘Die, Earthman’
before trying to blow up something or other. The files at the Weapons Facility
began to overflow; Indigo worked through the night. How could they defeat a
Mysteron? Bullets were not the most
effective way at stopping a Mysteron.
It was like Rasputin in
pre-revolution Russia; poisoned, drugged, shot and yet he died of drowning in
the Volga. But Rasputin hadn’t been
a Mysteron; and it wasn’t helping Indigo.
Then, one night as a sandstorm
battered the lab, there was the assassination attempt on General Tiempo.
“Africa, the SIAWDF”
Captain Indigo reread Captain
Magenta’s statement, then read Blue’s and Grey’s. How the electricity had fried
the Mysteron double of Doctor Magnus. It had taken raw electricity to kill a
Mysteron
for good and no hope of a return,
not bullets - but electricity. Indigo jogged into the main lab; on the green
board were sketches and notes. He took a rubber and began to wildly erase the
chalk; Jensen swore.
“What the hell are you doing,
captain?”
The others watched; some were
amused. Indigo liked to wind up Jensen and perhaps this was no exception. He
then, once the erasing was done, threw the statements onto a desk and reached
for the chalk. He began scratching away, the chalk falling like light snow.
“What in blue blazes?” Jensen
said.
ELECTRIC GUN.
“You’ve hit the Dr Pepper early,”
murmured one of the others.
Indigo turned, eyes blazing with
excitement. “Don’t you see? To bring down a Mysteron, you need electricity. An
electric gun will do the job, an Electrogun even.”
“By Jove, I think he’s got it.”
Sally Jensen folded her arms. “We
can do this?”
“We’ll have to. As far as I know,
we’re going to have to it show Colonel White and the World President.”
“God and God Junior,” murmured
Jensen and then with a thin smile. “Let’s do it.”
Brief applause broke out, Indigo
went to get his cloak.
It was time to show what this
department could do.
“The pack fits here.” Sally Jensen
slotted a battery sized electric pack into the back of the weapon that Indigo
held. They stood outside on the lab’s test range; at the far end of the sandy
valley stood a target board. Standing by the board only visible as red and
black, was Captain Scarlet down from Cloudbase to watch the proceeding of the
test fire.
The weapon was black and red, the
barrel –as it were - was narrow and fine to a point. It extended from a blocky
built with two cylinders beneath that at the end had firm parts so that it could
fit against a body. Indigo thumbed a switch and it came to life, humming
quietly.
“To fire, there’s a trigger
beneath the gun.”
Indigo smiled. “Say cheese, hey?”
“That’s the Mysteron Detector,
Indigo.”
“Sorry, a little joke.”
He raised the gun, his cap radio
fell down. “Are you ready, captain?”
Scarlet’s voice came back clear as
day. “SIG. Fire when ready.”
Indigo nestled the Electrogun
against him; he slid one finger at the trigger and licked his upper lip. The
Mysteron Gun – as it was also known - had a range of fifty yards; electrodes
were vital to his weapon working. Indigo tensed and fired.
There was no bang, merely a kind
of blipping noise. They heard Scarlet exclaim over the radio. “Bloody hell! Big
enough hole here!”
Indigo and Sally jogged up the
valley; dust coated Indigo’s boots but he didn’t care. They reached the board to
see a scorch mark across the surface.
“Some changes might be needed.”
“It does the job, Doctor Jensen,”
Scarlet said and glanced at Indigo. “It’ll work.”
Indigo nodded. “I guess we show
the bigwigs now?”
Scarlet grinned. “SIG.”
Later that day, Scarlet came to
Indigo’s desk and shrugged. “Looks like they want you to be at Safari Lodge when
Colonel White and World President Younger are there.”
“But I don’t necessarily need to
show it.”
“True, but Doctor Giadello wants
you there.”
Thinking of the man in charge of
SIA made Indigo smile. “Giadello wants me there, had somebody drug his tea?”
“Not quite,” shrugged Scarlet.
“But you’re there anyway.”
“What am I going to be, a flipping
bartender?”
“Spectrum Safari Lodge”
Captain Indigo pushed the tray of
drinks through the Hunting Lodge; the suit he wore with its purple shirt and
cream jacket and trousers clung to him like a limpet. He passed Captains Scarlet
and Blue – Panther and Bear for codenames - at a table; they had just came in
from outside and were talking amongst themselves. Indigo paused by General
Peterson who would be looking at the new equipment brought in by the SIAWDF.
“Drinks, sir?”
“No thanks.”
Indigo thought to himself that
there were better assignments than this. He moved the trolley back to the bar
and proceeded to clean glasses. There was the sound of a car from outside, the
rattling of the engine as it shut down and cooled, ticking like a fast beating
clock. Footsteps on the steps outside, steps that Indigo had climbed the day
before when bringing in the Mysteron gun. The door swung open and there stood
Colonel White.
“Hello, Tiger,” said Peterson in
that gravely voice of his. Indigo dipped his head when White looked his way. The
console atop the bar squawked.
“This is checkpoint control, all
points secure.”
“Acknowledged,” Indigo said. World
President Younger raised a hand.
“I think now is a good time to
start the conference,” Younger glanced at Indigo. “Captain.”
Indigo flicked a switch on the
console, with an electronic hum the lodge began to lower. The decorated walls of
the lounge were replaced by white and black squares, Indigo watched the walls as
the hum continued. Scarlet rubbed his nose and smiled at Blue. The lounge then
clicked into place, Younger once again looked at Indigo. “Thank you, Captain
Indigo.”
Indigo nodded. “Sir.”
He flicked the switch back and the
bar rose leaving the lounge below, when he reached the top the bar settled into
place. After the bar settled, a new lounge slid from the opposing wall and
slotted into place against the bar. Indigo smiled to himself and reached for a
glass, he cleaned it and prepared to pour a glass of water. He thought about the
meeting going on below, Giadello would demonstrate the gun and Mysteron
detector. Maybe not the gun, but definitely the detector. The detector was again
influenced by the Tiempo Incident on Cloudbase, created following the discovery
that the Mysterons were impervious to X-rays. It took a X-ray of a suspect and
if they were a Mysteron would come up as a photograph would. Indigo had spent
days and nights with his team at the Weapons Development Facility at making the
detector; it had taken patient hours to get it from taking photographs to
telling the difference between a Mysteron and a human.
Fighting a war of terror and nerves, or is it just a
psychological war?
thought Indigo, he smiled once more to himself and shrugged.
Either way, it was a war and Spectrum was on the frontline.
Indigo suddenly paused, holding
the glass in one hand. Outside was the sound of sand being crunched underfoot,
he frowned. Maybe it was one of the security guards; they always prowled around
here and it wasn’t unusual to see them up here.
The console squawked again and
Indigo pressed the speak button.
“Yes, sir.”
Giadello’s calm voice came
filtering from the radio. “Captain, could
you bring the detector down please.”
Indigo cursed himself; of course
the C38 detector had been left here. “Yes, doctor.”
Indigo reached into the cabinet
below the bar and took out the red detector; it was a light object and could be
carried by straps around the neck. As he was about to take the lift down, the
door to the lodge was flung open. Indigo whirled and gasped.
There, standing at the doorway,
clothed entirely in black, was Captain Black.
At least, it had been Captain
Black. His skin was a pale, dead white and his eyes dark and sunken. He raised a
gun – a Spectrum issue pistol.
Indigo was about to hit the alarm
when two bullets struck him in the chest. He dropped the detector upon the bar
and collapsed to the floor; his vision swarm. He could just make out the blurred
outlines of Black; the former Spectrum captain was saying something but Indigo
couldn’t hear. He felt fear and then saw Jennifer, floating into his mind.
No…
Then it went black.
The Mysteron Indigo walked out of
the lift into the conference area, the gathered men turned to see him. “Doctor.”
Giadello took the C38 from
Indigo’s hands and smiled at General Peterson.
“Allow me to demonstrate, Colonel
White, President Younger if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” White said standing
ready.
“Fire when ready, doctor,” Younger
said with a small grin.
Indigo stood by; he was feeling nothing intent on his
mission for the Mysterons. How to do it though?
This is Captain Black relaying instructions on behalf of the
Mysterons. Use the lounge to kill the Earthmen, we will be avenged.
Indigo thought back.
The Mysterons orders will be obeyed.
“Captain?”
Indigo was started by Peterson’s
voice. “Sir?”
He flinched as Peterson took a
picture, the Mysteron Indigo stammered. “Excuse me, sirs.”
He backed into the lift and sighed
as it took him upwards.
You must now complete your assignment and escape, Indigo.
Black’s words echoed in his mind,
Indigo ran to the console on the bar and removed the small key but only after
switching the lounge to DOWN. The lift was whirring, someone was coming.
Now I must go.
Stay and save them!
Came his voice.
It was different in that it was missing the dullness he had affected in
his tone. Could it be possible he was holding the spirit of the real Indigo?
No time for that, Indigo’s
doppelganger
ran for the door. He clattered down the steps and
leapt into White’s convertible saloon. He fumbled with the ignition and the
engine spluttered to life; he floored the accelerator and sped down the trail
towards the perimeter.
A minute later, he could see in
his sideview mirror a dust trail in the distance.
Someone was coming for sure, he
caught a hint of red against cream and thought it was Scarlet.
He neared the perimeter
checkpoint; a guard wearing his safari gear stood
out of the box with his rifle. Indigo swerved, the car bounced onto uneven
ground and spewed dust from under its wheels. Behind him, Scarlet had collected
the guard and was chasing. Indigo flinched, as rifle shots blew his right side
mirror. Another shot blew the windscreen into smithereens. Indigo lost control
of the car; the steering wheel spun wildly and he collided with a strong rock.
Indigo kicked open the driver’s door and jogged with his gun in hand behind a
large outcropping. As he hid, he heard the thud of car doors being closed and
Scarlet’s voice. He then saw the dark-haired captain appear, the Mysteron gun
around his neck. No sign of the guard.
Indigo fired shots at Scarlet; the
captain ducked but continued heading towards Indigo.
“Give up, Indigo!”
“Die, Earthman!” shouted back
Indigo.
Suddenly, Indigo felt a lancing
pain in his stomach. He looked down to see blood; feeling sick and out of focus,
Indigo collapsed against the outcropping. He watched through swirling focus as
the guard and Scarlet approached his position and talked; the guard’s voice was
definite assured that Indigo was dead, whereas Scarlet’s was more cautious.
Indigo fumbled for his gun, but as he sat up he felt another lance, but this one
different. An electronic sound.
Zeeeee-op!
With that, Indigo collapsed and as
the blackness raced in, he found himself wishing for someone named Jennifer.
Captain Indigo was dead.
“Safari Lodge, next day”
Doctor Fawn’s pale coloured boots
were marred with dust as he squatted by the fallen body of Indigo. This wasn’t
the doubles’ body but rather the real Indigo. The body had been found tucked
under the lodge after Scarlet had saved the President and the others. Indigo’s
skin had become grey, his eyes were closed, his stomach marked by two dull red
circles. Fawn looked over the body; the brim of his cap casting a shadow over
his face.
“Cause of death, bullet wounds to
his chest. Nothing anyone could’ve done,” Fawn said.
Standing next to Fawn, Captain
Scarlet made a note in a pad and nodded.
“Right.”
“Shame you know,” Fawn murmured.
Scarlet waved to Blue; the
American captain nudged the nurse that had accompanied Fawn down from Cloudbase
in the helicopter. They carried a stretcher between them, when they stopped
beside Scarlet they lifted the inert body of Indigo onto the stretcher. Fawn
sighed.
“Damn shame.”
“Cloudbase, that night”
Colonel White once again rubbed
his eyes and closed the folder of Indigo’s dossier. The man known as Denton
Richmond had died in the line of duty. White reached for his mug and swallowed
the remnants of his cold tea; he was placing his mug down when the doors at the
far end opened to show Captain Scarlet. Scarlet looked tired, but tried not to
show it as he walked up the control room past Lieutenant Peach. He finally
stopped before White and came to attention.
“Do sit, captain.”
“Thank you, sir.”
White blinked to sharpen his eyes.
“It has been a long two days.”
“That it has, sir, but at least we
have had a practical demonstration of the detector and gun.”
White nodded. “Yes, and now we can
expect to have the gun and detector as standard field equipment. Is there a
reason why you came, Captain?”
Scarlet nodded brusquely. “Sir.
Denton, I mean Captain Indigo, had a wife. Will we inform her of his death?”
White sighed and tapped the folder
where the word DECEASED stared back at him; he met Scarlet’s gaze. “What do you
think, Captain?”
“She can’t not know that he is
dead, otherwise in the future she will want to know where he is,” Scarlet
exhaled. “We have to tell her, but not the circumstances of his death.”
White nodded in agreement. “I
agree, Captain if you would fly down to Portsmouth tomorrow, I would appreciate
it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Portsmouth, 2068”
Scarlet drove the red Spectrum
Saloon Car into Old Portsmouth; it
was an area he knew little about and thus he had a map open on the passenger
seat. He searched the apartments that faced towards the Solent and finally found
the one he was looking for; he slowed to a stop beside a civilian saloon and
turned off the engine. He reached for something on the seat below the map,
unbuckled and stepped out. He walked towards the door of the apartment and rang
the doorbell.
From within, he heard the sound of
a baby crying and then silenced, a shadow appeared at the door and then it
opened. An attractive red-haired woman wearing jeans and jumper stood there.
“Yes?”
“I’m Captain Scarlet, from
Spectrum. Are you Jennifer Richmond?”
“Yes, how may I help you.”
“I have some news concerning your
husband, might I come in.”
Jennifer narrowed her eyes and
nodded. “Certainly, Captain.”
Scarlet thanked her and stepped
into the apartment; Jennifer Richmond shut the door behind him and smiled
apologetically. “If you excuse me, I’ve been trying to get little Alex to
sleep.”
Scarlet nodded and followed her
into the living room; he sat down
on the sofa and noticed a baby in a cot by the window. Jennifer went to the baby
and checked on him.
“He’s sleeping,” she sighed and
sat down looking at Scarlet. “What is it you want to tell me about Denton.”
“Well,” said Scarlet cautiously.
“This is what I have to tell you. I worked with him in Spectrum, I can’t tell
you what he did as it was top secret, but he was one of our better agents.”
Jennifer nodded gently. “Was, you
said was. What’s happened?”
Scarlet looked at the floor and
then at her. “I’m afraid that two days ago, Denton was killed by a Mysteron
agent.”
“Mysteron,” she murmured. “Those
aliens we heard about,” she buried her head in her hands and began to cry.
Feeling awkward, Scarlet stood and walked to her; he held her as she cried. Eventually her sobs stopped, her
body stopped shaking and she backed away from Scarlet. Her face was wet with
tears. “How?”
“He was shot,” Scarlet shrugged
politely. “I can’t tell you anything else.”
“What of his body?”
“It’ll be brought to Portsmouth
and you’ll be able to bury him here.”
Jennifer tapped his right hand.
“What’s this?”
“My CO thought it’d be best you
have this, it was amongst what possessions he brought to our HQ.”
Jennifer took it and unfurled it;
the fabric was red, blue and white as she further unfurled it, she nodded to
herself. Opened, it was a Union Jack with RICHMOND stitched across the
horizontal cross. “It’s his class flag.”
She wanted to cry again but held
her tears and grasped Scarlet’s right arm.
“Thank you, captain, it is nice to
know that someone cared enough to inform me of his death.”
Scarlet sighed. “I am indeed
sorry, I knew Denton well and he was a fine man.”
“That he was, I only wish he had
lived long enough to see his son.”
Scarlet glanced at the sleeping
baby and swore inwardly. “I see.”
A few minutes later he stood and
was seen out by Jennifer, he gave his condolences again and walked to his SSC.
He drove away, the first part of the return leg to Cloudbase.
A week later, Denton Richmond was
buried with naval honours at Portsmouth Cathedral. The man born as Andrew
Laurence might’ve died as Denton Richmond but had been an enigmatic figure
serving in the British Navy and Spectrum before his untimely death. Bradley
Maxwell read a eulogy and helped carry the casket to the burial place.
Amazing Grace
was played as it was lowered.
Little Alexander Richmond had no
comprehension of what was happening, but would within time.
After the funeral, the class flag
was raised above the apartment Jennifer still shared with Bradley and Sandy.
Denton Richmond was gone, but
would never be forgotten.
END
BACK TO “FAN FICTION ARCHIVES” PAGE
OTHER CAPTAIN SCARLET STORIES BY MATT CROWTHER
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