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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