Jonathon Fletcher's Blog: Captain's Blog - Posts Tagged "excerpt"
Chapters one & two from Josiah Trenchard Part One: The Might of Fortitude
This is the whole of the first and second chapters from my first novella "Josiah Trenchard Part One: The Might of Fortitude".
It is available now on Amazon.
Apologies for the formatting, this is the best I can do on Goodreads. All of my books are correctly formatted as per Amazon's guidelines.
I hope that you enjoy it!
Chapter 1 "Mars"
Bullets whined through the air like angry mosquitoes and the ground heaved as a massive explosion tore the Tarmac road into shreds. The sound of the explosion was deafening; even the rasping lungs of the two soldiers who were running for cover shook and rattled with the deep resonant boom. The air that they desperately tried to suck in smelled of sulphur and builder’s dust and the purple sky gave everything a sickly, pinkish hue. The ruined landscape of Mars’ largest city, Belatu-Cadros, was as close as they had ever come to the depths of hell itself.
The two troopers ducked behind the crumbling corner of a demolished building and covered their heads with their arms until the hail of dust and debris had subsided. When the explosion had spent itself, the younger of the two looked to his comrade and grinned, pushing up the protective visor of his black helmet to reveal clean eyes on a dirty face.
‘What’s pissed these guys off so much anyway!’ he called above the constant sound of gunfire, clearing his throat loudly and spitting thick, black mucus to the ground.
The older of the two soldiers squared his broad shoulders and grinned back at his comrade, snapping his visor up. ‘For god’s sake Trench, don’t you ever watch the news?’
A stray bullet pinged off the masonry above their heads and the two soldiers instinctively ducked. In the distance, someone was screaming. The sound ceased abruptly after a short burst of gunfire.
‘Politics bores the fuck out of me Bird,’ Trench replied, still grinning. ‘I don’t care why these fuckers are pissed at the government; I’m just here to make sure that they stop shooting at poor munters like me!’
A United Worlds attack gun-ship roared overhead, its deafening jet engines rattled the buildings as it passed slowly over and caused a thick dust to rain down. The gun-ship hovered for a moment in the purple sky while the gunners hanging out of the side strafed a nearby building with their mini-guns, decimating the structure and silencing the sporadic gunfire that was coming from the Insurgents within. As relative silence fell, the gun-ship sped off over the massive chimneys of the distant atmosphere processing plant and then dwindled slowly into a tiny dot against the vast extinct volcano of Olympus Mons.
‘Whatever the reason they started this,’ began Bird, ‘we have to find out where they’re getting their weapons from, and that means interrogating the Insurgent leaders.’
There was another erratic burst of rifle fire from a nearby building.
‘Come on Trench,’ shouted Bird above the din, waving his arm in the direction that he intended them to go. ‘Let’s move it. This low gravity is making me sick to my stomach. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can get back up to the ship for a shower and some scran!’
‘Sounds good to me,’ replied Trench eagerly.
The two soldiers snapped down their visors once more and dashed across a dangerous stretch of open ground, their black uniforms covered with dirt and thick orange dust. They reached the door to a large, officious looking building, and booted it open before carefully entering; rifles raised and torch beams dancing through the hazy air.
Bird lowered his rifle and let it hang from the strap while Trench covered the room. It was a large entrance lobby, deserted and covered with dust. Bird studied the display on his portable G.P.S. unit and once satisfied, raised his wrist towards his mouth and pressed the communicator switch on his bracelet cuff-link radio.
‘Lieutenant Bird to mobile command H.Q. Come in, over,’ he called.
There was a burst of static before the reply came through.
‘Mobile command H.Q. here. What is your status, over?’
Lieutenant Bird spoke calmly and clearly into the radio. ‘We have suffered heavy losses to our squad. Only Sub-Lieutenant Trenchard and I have reached the target building. What are your instructions, over?’
There was a pause while H.Q. passed the information up the chain of command.
After what seemed like an eternity, the very short reply came through ‘Backup unavailable at this time. Proceed as planned, over.’
Another gun-ship roared overhead, the vibrations from its engines dislodging a heavy rain of dust. Lieutenant Bird gave Trench a worried look. ‘Instructions confirmed, wilco. Lieutenant Bird out!’
Trench pulled a sour face. ‘They still want us to go in without any backup?’ he said incredulously.
Lieutenant Bird nodded grimly. ‘Looks like, yeah,’ he replied.
‘I swear,’ said Trench angrily as he activated the laser target pointer on the top of his rifle, ‘that if I get out of this alive, I’m going to stick my boot so far up the Captain’s arse that he will be able to taste the dog shit that I just trod in!’
Lieutenant Bird grinned and switched his own laser pointer on, the pencil thin beam of red light showing up clearly in the dusty atmosphere. ‘Lead on mate,’ he ordered.
Bird and Trench worked their way slowly and ever deeper into the structure. The room that they were looking for would be right at the heart, in the most protected underground bunker. They rounded a corner and found an inert body lying on the cold concrete floor, covered with blood. The young woman, barely a teenager, was dressed in the uniform of the local militia. Her hand still grasped her pistol and her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.
‘Another one!’ exclaimed Trench.
Lieutenant Bird knelt by the body to check for a pulse. The body was still warm, but quite dead.
‘Just like the others,’ said Bird softly. ‘Throat slit and left to bleed to death. It’s a very clean cut too.’
‘Special forces?’ asked Trench with a furrowed brow.
Bird thought for a moment. The wound was very long and precise. ‘No,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘This is more like an execution.’ Then he prised the pistol from the dead girl’s grip and examined it thoughtfully. ‘This pistol is Navy issue,’ he said with a scowl. ‘It’s an older model than ours, but it’s definitely military. Someone’s definitely supplying them with illegal arms.’
‘If the Insurgents are using those weapons on us, then who the hell is getting all Ninja on them?’ hissed Trench.
‘I don’t know,’ said Bird quietly, dropping the pistol and staring thoughtfully into the distant gloom ahead.
Trench gestured to the bloody boot prints that led off down the corridor in front of them. ‘Whoever it was has fucking small feet!’ he observed.
‘…and they’re ahead of us,’ said Bird, a dark, foreboding expression falling across his face.
The two soldiers instinctively dropped into a walking crouch and carefully made their way along the corridor, aiming their rifles ahead of them.
They found three more bodies along the route before finally arriving at the entrance to a control room, full of computers and other electronic paraphernalia. Carefully, they edged around the door, which was hanging off its hinges, blasted into pieces by an explosive charge.
The scene inside was carnage. Bodies lay everywhere, the command staff of the Martian Insurgents. Every single one of them was slashed and drained of blood, which pooled on the floor, resembling used engine oil in the dim red light of the bunker. In the very centre of the room, a slim figure dressed head-to-toe in black was finishing off the last of the unfortunate command staff with what looked like a short sword. The figure expertly slashed the terrified man from shoulder to gut, spilling his blood and internal organs onto the cold concrete floor. The man crumpled and lay twitching on the floor next to the disfigured bodies of his fallen comrades.
Trench and Bird inched gently into the room, the tiny red dots from their rifles aimed steadily at the black figure’s head and chest. The figure looked down and studied the red dot on its chest for a moment, cocking its head to one side inquisitively, before looking straight up into Bird’s eyes as if daring him to fire.
‘Don’t move!’ shouted Lieutenant Bird. ‘You are under arrest by order of the United Worlds peacekeeping force under section…’
The figure suddenly leapt, more quickly than it would seem a human was capable of doing. Bird and Trench reacted a moment too slowly and strafed the room with case-less rounds, attempting to keep up with the figure that leapt and dodged their every volley. With a sudden rush, the figure swung off a roof girder and lunged at Trench, catching him with its sword across his neck and chest. He dropped his rifle, clutching at his throat with his gloved hand in an attempt to stop the warm flow of blood that poured from the gash. Then he fell to the floor gasping for air.
Lieutenant Bird angrily attempted to zero in on the black-clad figure and managed to skim a bullet across its thigh. The figure howled with pain and anger. It brought the sword down hard in a wide arc that sliced cleanly through the metal barrel of Bird’s rifle. At the same time, the figure leapt feet first at Bird’s stomach. Bird’s broad frame crumpled like a squashed beer can and he whacked his head violently on the sharp edge of a console. Despite his helmet, he fell to the floor unconscious.
Trench couldn’t speak. The blood was filling his convulsing windpipe, bubbling and popping like a bowl of Rice Krispies. He was losing his grasp on his throat as well as on consciousness. The black-clad figure dropped onto its haunches beside Trench’s face and calmly wiped the blood off its sword on his uniform, before sliding it expertly into a sheath tied to its back.
As Trench slid into the numbness of unconsciousness, the figure brought its face, hidden under a stretchy black mask, close to Trench’s ear and whispered. The voice was soft, feminine, and had the slight hint of a chocolaty Japanese accent. ‘You’re lucky…’ she said as she pulled Trench’s dog tags out from beneath his uniform and studied them. ‘…Sub-Lieutenant Josiah Trenchard. My orders weren’t to kill United Worlds troopers. Catch you next time?’
Then the figure reached over and activated the inbuilt distress beacon that was part of Trenchard’s bracelet cuff-link radio, stood up, and raced away down the darkened corridor. The last thought that went through Trench’s oxygen starved mind before everything went black was… that bitch has a really nice arse!
Chapter 2 "A Man of War"
The heavy metal hatch screeched slowly open and Commander Josiah Trenchard stomped angrily down the creaking ramp. He stopped at the base and threw his heavy harness to the scuffed tread plate floor with a resounding clunk. He’d had a really hard day. He had a pounding headache, and was keen to get out of his sweaty, blood-stained uniform as quickly as was humanly possible. He looked down at his black sleeves, spattered with blood and bone fragments from troopers in his platoon; people he knew well, good friends. They would be coming back from that crappy little ice-moon below in a bag. That was if they could find all the bits!
He scratched irritably at the long scar on his neck that was just visible as it disappeared underneath his crumpled uniform. It always itched when he was sweaty and stressed. The underwater tunnels that he’d been fighting in had been hot as hell and humid to match. He was desperate for a shower but he had a job to do first. He needed to get this over with.
‘O.K., bring them down,’ he shouted impatiently to the waiting troopers inside the sturdy little craft, an edge of sadness and weariness creeping into his voice.
One by one, twelve dishevelled prisoners, brow beaten and manacled together, were ushered down the ramp by the battle weary United Worlds troopers. Trenchard studied the prisoners closely as he pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes out from his inside jacket pocket, lit one and took a long, satisfying drag. Hardly anyone smoked these days, but Trenchard had an addictive personality. Whether it was booze, coffee or nicotine, Trenchard usually required them in large quantities. He was getting some dirty scowls from the nearby Techs, but they could all fuck off! They hadn’t just been into battle. He needed this cigarette more than he needed air right now. He let the smoke linger inside his lungs for a long moment, savouring the head rush, before blowing the smoke out of his mouth to one side. Then he ran his grubby, yellow stained fingers across his greasy, shaved scalp and thought back on the day’s events as he took another long satisfying drag.
A stocky man strode over and stood by Trenchard. His insignia identified him as Trenchard’s Lieutenant Commander. He too was glaring angrily at the prisoners and then he spoke quietly to Trenchard through gritted teeth.
‘This should have been a straight forward mission, damn it boss! I’ve just about had enough of the bloody Insurgents stirring things up. What the fuck do they want with one of Jupiter’s moons anyway? I mean, Europa for fucks sake! It’s in the arse end of nowhere. There’s nothing of value here!’
Trenchard grunted in agreement. ‘I think these fuckers just like to cause mischief wherever they can,’ he replied.
Not much had changed since the Martian rebellion four years ago, Trenchard thought to himself, scratching reflectively at his scar again. It was a solid reminder of the uprising in Belatu-Cadros. That was where the Insurgents had first learned to fight, learned to make bombs, and learned to kill!
‘The Insurgent leaders must have persuaded the colonists on Europa to declare independence somehow. If there’s one thing that the United Worlds government hates, then it’s pokey little back water colonies trying to avoid paying their taxes by suddenly getting all holier than thou!’ Trenchard groused.
The massive star-ship that Trenchard was currently based upon, the “Hand of Valour”, had been sent to Europa to deal with the recent uprising. It had arrived in orbit of Europa and Trenchard’s platoon had been blasted towards the small moon, expecting an easy victory. He played back the journey from the Hand of Valour to the surface of Europa in his head, remembering the sudden thrust of acceleration as they blasted off. He recalled the shaking and jostling, as the tiny Space-Air-Water Drop-ship fell through the thin atmosphere of Europa. He could almost feel the sudden jolt of deceleration as the tiny ship plunged into the icy ocean and dived towards the atmosphere processor, deep beneath the ice on the ocean floor. That was where the trouble had really started…
‘I don’t understand it boss,’ said the Lieutenant Commander bitterly. ‘It should have been a piece of piss to gain entry to the atmosphere processor. These guys are supposed to be civilian engineers and technicians. It was a straight-forward op!’
Trenchard nodded. ‘It should have been,’ he agreed, ‘but that was before the fucking Insurgents armed the colonists and taught them how to make I.E.D.’s. They’re spreading their political hatred to as many people as will listen. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened. It’s fucking Belatu-Cadros all over again.’
The Lieutenant Commander gave Trenchard a respectful smile and a nod. Every trooper knew about Belatu-Cadros. It was where the war against the terrorists had really begun. In the early days the enemy were only fervent amateurs, and they had done enough damage as it was. Someone had obviously taught the Europan colonists guerrilla tactics. The bastards had started blowing up barrels of oil packed with nails and bolts as the troopers went into the airlocks. Trenchard shuddered as he felt the heat of the explosion in his mind. He could see the troopers falling all around him, feel their fear, and taste the air that was thick with smoke and the tinny smell of blood and burning flesh.
‘How many did we lose?’ asked Trenchard grimly.
‘At least half of the squad,’ replied the Lieutenant Commander, ‘mostly to deep tissue shrapnel wounds.’ He turned and spit onto the ground. ‘Bastards!’
Trenchard looked down at the deep, fresh wound on his own arm as he pulled back his ripped sleeve and scratched at it, wincing in pain, idly plucking out shards of metal from the wound. He would have another scar; another permanent reminder of battle and death. It had been a hard battle; too hard. He was remarkably pissed off!
‘I don’t know about you,’ said Trenchard, ‘but I feel like I want to rip someone’s head off and piss down their neck!’
The Lieutenant Commander grinned. All it would take was one more little push, and Trenchard might just forget that he was supposed to set a good example to the other troopers. The chained prisoners standing in a line in front of him were the ring leaders. Most of them were from other colonies, far away. They were Insurgent agitators, trying to persuade the people of Europa to revolt against the rule of the United Worlds. Well these guys would pay, thought Trenchard grimly.
‘Is that all of them?’ he asked his Lieutenant Commander.
The stocky man nodded and replied, ‘All present and accounted for Sir.’
Something caught Trenchard’s eye. On the other side of the vast hangar bay, other S.A.W. craft were returning from the frozen surface of Europa. Trenchard watched a couple of the missile shaped craft land with a thump and whistle of engines. Through the rectangular hole at the end of the runway, the white moon of Europa hung in the blackness like a well worn billiard ball, criss-crossed with dark scarlet cracks. He would be glad to see the back of that crappy little moon he thought, as he dropped the spent cigarette to the floor and stubbed it out with his blood splashed boot. He walked over to the prisoners and eyeballed them angrily before beginning his well rehearsed tirade.
‘You fuckers picked the wrong people to mess with today,’ he shouted.
In the background, another S.A.W.’s hatch opened and a weary trooper stomped out. He was wearing a scruffy red ribbon tied around his greasy dishevelled hair that he pulled off and wrung the sweat out of before replacing it onto his head. He saw Trenchard tearing shreds out of the prisoners and began to walk over, grinning broadly.
‘In case you hadn’t been watching the I.N.N. news reports recently,’ began Trenchard, ‘President Smith has just brought back the death sentence for terrorists,’ he continued, unaware of the approaching trooper behind him.
The grinning trooper stopped just behind Trenchard with his arms folded, seeming to take great pleasure in the entertainment.
‘Section forty two allows me to execute terrorists! I’d quite happily carry out the sentence right here,’ Trenchard threatened, dramatically drawing his pistol from its holster and clicking a round into the barrel.
‘Smith’s wrong!’ said one of the prisoners in a trembling, but determined voice. ‘You are wrong! We want freedom to self rule, not martial law forced on us by thugs like you!’
Trenchard narrowed his eyes and walked closer to the prisoner, who was defiantly staring at him with unbridled hatred in his eyes. Trenchard finally snapped. He’d had enough. He pressed the pistol hard to the man’s forehead. The man did a good job of putting on a brave face, but Trenchard could see the terror welling in his eyes.
‘Do you think that blowing up booby traps packed with sharp metal is the answer?’ he growled. ‘Do you think that it’s honourable or even fair? You might not like the United Worlds but at least we keep the peace. You lot would be kicking ten tons of shit out of each other if it wasn’t for us! Would you prefer that? Don’t you realise that we’re protecting you useless bunch of fuckwits?’
The prisoner’s face reddened, but he remained tight lipped.
‘Unfortunately, unlike you criminals, “thugs like me” have to follow the rules.’ Trenchard pulled back the pistol, disarmed the mechanism and slid it safely back into its holster. It had left a perfect red imprint of the barrel on the man’s forehead. ‘But mark my words. If any of you terrorist arseholes put so much as one bollock out of line, I will put you down like a fucking rabid dog! Understood?’
The prisoners remained solemnly silent.
Trenchard placed his hands behind his back and tried to relax his aching shoulders. ‘Take them away,’ he ordered, exhausted.
As the prisoners shuffled dejectedly away towards the holding cells to await transport back to Earth for trial, Trenchard became aware of childish sniggering behind him. He turned around to find the trooper with the bright red head band, leaning lazily on the butt of his rifle and chuckling with obvious glee.
‘Very impressive Trench,’ said the man in a broad Geordie accent. ‘You made them fuckers shit their pants all right!’
Trenchard scowled at the grinning trooper. ‘Haven’t you got something better to do Dasilva?’ he growled.
Lieutenant Commander Dasilva grinned and winked. ‘Whey aye, but I couldn’t miss the show man. It was champion!’
Trenchard looked around to make sure that the prisoners were out of ear shot, and then broke into a broad grin himself. ‘Piss off Eddie! Do you know how hard it is to keep a straight face with you pratting around behind me?’
‘Aye well, you seemed to manage all right enough,’ said Dasilva with a grin, then his face dropped, suddenly serious. ‘Did you lose many?’
Trenchard grimaced. ‘Twelve… you?’
‘Most of the squad,’ replied Dasilva, ‘just four of our lot made it back, and Commander Fisher took some shrapnel in his hand.’
‘Shit!’ said Trenchard as helpfully as he could. ‘How’s he taking it?’
‘Fisher?’ said Dasilva, ‘Ahh, he’ll be all right. The man’s as tough as old boots, got footballs for knackers! He’s more upset about losing good troopers. That prick reporter on the news is going to have a field day with this!’
Trenchard took another cigarette from its packet and offered one to Dasilva, who refused.
‘I just have this creeping feeling that maybe…’ said Trenchard in a soft voice that was almost a whisper. He tailed off, deep in thought. ‘This sort of thing used to be sorted out peacefully by the politicians. The United Worlds is supposed to be a democracy Ed. We’re meant to uphold the law and protect the people. Recently, things have been… different. High Command didn’t even give them a chance to negotiate this time; we just waded straight in feet first. This mission wasn’t honourable.’ Trenchard narrowed his eyes. ‘Know what I mean?’
Dasilva looked around nervously. ‘Yeah, I know mate,’ he hissed out of the corner of his mouth. ‘But keep it to yourself man, or Ciaputa will have you up on a subordination charge.’
Trenchard’s shoulders slumped and he sighed deeply. ‘Oh… I don’t know Ed. I’m probably just tired, but this doesn’t feel right anymore. It’s not what I signed up for.’
Dasilva gave a quick nod of affirmation. ‘You can’t do anything about it mate, other than vote that is. Smith and Chang are running things right now and they’re talking tough! Pretty soon there’ll be another election and the government will change again. Someone else will be in charge and they’ll try diplomacy again instead of the hard line. Trust me, you’ll see.’
Trenchard nodded knowingly. ‘I hope you’re right. I could do with a fuckin’ big drink,’ he sighed, stretching and clicking the bones of his neck.
‘With a bit of luck,’ said Dasilva, ‘we’ll all be back at base on Cairn soon and we should all be due some leave after that mess down there,’ he said, jerking his thumb towards Europa. ‘Fancy a pint in Mike’s and then a curry?’
Mike’s Bar was the local haunt for the troopers at their home base on Cairn. The thought of its sticky floor and sticky beer was very tempting. Trenchard was about to reply when the dull, toneless voice of the ship’s Guardian computer echoed over the tannoy system.
‘COMMANDER TRENCHARD, REPORT TO COMMODORE CIAPUTA ON THE BRIDGE IMMEDIATELY.’
Dasilva looked up and listened to the message with a puzzled expression. ‘What does that frigid old bitch want?’ he asked with more than a hint of bile.
Trenchard shrugged. ‘God only knows, but it can’t be good. I’ll see you later.’
With that, Trenchard picked up his heavy harness from the floor and trudged off towards the bridge, past the tail fin of the S.A.W. where the Navy’s proud slogan of “Honour, Strength and Unity!” was painted in bold white letters. It was a motto by which Trenchard had tried to live his life. Recently, it was becoming harder to adhere to.
As he left, Dasilva shouted cockily after him, ‘Keep your hands in your pockets mate, or she’ll freeze your bollocks off!’
The bridge was a dome that was built onto the outside of one of the massive rugby ball shaped habitation pods, that rotated continually around the hull of the Hand of Valour on giant metal spokes to provide gravity. The domed floor of the bridge faced space-side, with the main hull and engine core of the ship above the crew’s heads. An iris shaped hatch in the ceiling slid apart gracefully with the sound of grating metal and Trenchard was lowered down on a circular platform towards the deck below.
He waited respectfully at attention for a moment as he studied the bridge watchstanders busying themselves at various control stations set around the curved walls of the room. At the front of the bridge was a large reinforced rectangular window that gave a view of space ahead. Clustered around a large tactical hologram in the centre of the room were several high ranking officers.
Trenchard coughed politely and a female officer in her late forties who was wearing a bright scarlet immaculate uniform, seemed to notice him for the first time. By the look on her face, his presence seemed to annoy her somewhat.
‘Ahh, there you are Trenchard,’ said Commodore Constantine Ciaputa in a clipped, tight voice that sounded like the lid of a heavy wooden box snapping shut.
Ciaputa handed a tablet screen that she was holding to an aide who rushed over from one side. She shooed the aide away irritably and the young officer dropped his head and respectfully stepped away again.
‘You sent for me Sir?’ enquired Trenchard as politely as he could muster. He was tired, dirty and aching. He was in no mood for a telling off from his boss. Ciaputa was the worst kind of officer. She had worked her way up the ranks by doing as little as possible and brown-nosing her superiors. Trenchard severely doubted whether she had ever seen any combat action at all.
‘Yes Commander, I did,’ replied Ciaputa with a curled lip. ‘At ease.’
Trenchard relaxed his shoulders and placed his hands behind his back, widening his stance.
Ciaputa studied Trenchard as if he were something that she had found crawling around under a rotten tree stump. Then she seemed to come to some kind of internal decision. ‘I’ve had word from Admiral Fife at High Command. A new position has become available and you have been selected.’
‘Sir?’ said Trenchard with a raised eyebrow. He didn’t like the sound of this. He was comfortable aboard the Hand of Valour. The quarters were quite big compared to some of the smaller ships in the fleet. He had respect here. He had worked hard to get where he was and didn’t want to leave so soon. Had he done something wrong? Ciaputa seemed to be taking pleasure from Trenchard’s disquiet. She smiled a greasy smile as she continued.
‘The prototype Wolverine class vessel has just come into operation. Four of the hunter-killers are being sent into the Asteroid Belt on a seek-and-destroy mission. One of the Wolverines, the “Might of Fortitude”, is short of an X.O. It seems that the Captain of the vessel has specifically requested you to be his executive officer... although god only knows why?’
‘Thank you Sir,’ said Trenchard. It was astounding how Ciaputa could congratulate and belittle in the same breath.
‘The Breath of Vengeance is going to meet us when we dock at Cairn. You will transfer over to her immediately upon arrival. I’m afraid your leave is cancelled as the mission has been brought forwards and you are required straight away. That is all.’
And with that, Ciaputa turned back towards the glowing green tactical hologram. She snapped her fingers at the aide, who rushed back over and handed her the tablet screen once more.
Obviously the audience was over. For a moment, Trenchard didn’t move. He was still shocked by the sudden re-deployment.
Ciaputa glanced irritably back at Trenchard over her shoulder, seemingly annoyed that he was still here. ‘Dismissed,’ she said sharply and then turned back to her work.
Trenchard stepped back onto the elevator platform and left the bridge in an even worse temper than before. No leave, he thought angrily! Why the hell did the Captain of the Might of Fortitude need him so damn urgently anyway? The Wolverines were a little bigger than the old Hunter class, but they were still cramped fucking sewage pipes compared to the Hand of Valour. This day had started shitty and had just gotten worse and worse!
Deep below the rocky surface of the desolate planetoid Cairn was a blast shielded, circular bunker. Its twelve foot thick concrete walls were resin bonded and electronically shielded. The “War Room” could withstand any attack from orbit and all attempts at espionage. The room resembled a cave or basement. It had a clammy, dank feel and the atmosphere was oppressive and the lighting subdued.
The man in the centre of the room was clearly agitated; he paced back and forth with his hands clasped tightly behind his back and a tight lipped expression on his stony face. He wore the bright red uniform with four diagonal black stripes of an Admiral and he looked as if he had the worries of the whole navy bearing down upon his shoulders.
Suddenly the reinforced titanium blast door screeched open and another figure walked casually into the room. This second man was tall and broad shouldered. His face too was stern and had the polished ebony finish of an Afro-Caribbean lineage. His uniform was also bright scarlet but had a single downward pointing black V that ran from his shoulders towards his stomach. There was only one man in the whole fleet who had the privilege to wear that uniform; Admiral of the Fleet Adisa.
Adisa came to a halt in front of the first man, who had stopped pacing and was staring into Adisa’s eyes as if his life depended upon it.
“Well?” asked Adisa in a deep resonating voice, emphasised by the acoustics of the War Room.
The other man spoke in what could only be described as a dour Scottish accent.
‘The Breath of Vengeance is preparing to leave Sir. The Wolverines will be launched on schedule,” he said. ‘I will personally be overseeing the mission.’
‘And is your man aboard?’
The Scottish man nodded curtly. ‘He will transfer over in a couple of days once the Hand of Valour returns to Cairn. He’ll be meeting the Captain of the Might of Fortitude as planned.’
Adisa paused and screwed up his mouth, deep in thought.
‘This had better work Fife,’ he said. ‘We’re placing a great deal of trust in this man of yours. I checked his record. He’s not exactly an exemplary officer!’
Fife took a deep intake of breath before answering.
‘His mission reports are exemplary. He was fundamental in our victory in Belatu-Cadros on Mars, and on Horizon.’
‘Admitted,’ replied Adisa. ‘He also has seven reports for insubordination, four aboard the Hand of Valour, and several other disciplinary matters on his record. He smokes, he drinks…’
‘He fights hard!’ snapped Fife, cutting off Adisa in mid-sentence.
Fife was probably the only Admiral in High Command who would have dared to interrupt Adisa. Taking a deep breath, Adisa narrowed his eyes and fumed quietly for a moment with tightly drawn lips.
‘He might not be the most… conventional officer in the navy, but he’s a fighter! Don’t worry Sir. If anyone can pull this off, he can…’ said Fife firmly.
‘You had better be right!’ Adisa growled.
You can buy this book here:
http://www.amazon.com/Josiah-Trenchar...
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Josiah-Trench...
Also available are Part 2: Morgenstern, Part 3: Berserkergang, Part 4: Onamuji and coming soon is Part 5: Belatu-Cadros...
Jonathon Fletcher
It is available now on Amazon.
Apologies for the formatting, this is the best I can do on Goodreads. All of my books are correctly formatted as per Amazon's guidelines.
I hope that you enjoy it!
Chapter 1 "Mars"
Bullets whined through the air like angry mosquitoes and the ground heaved as a massive explosion tore the Tarmac road into shreds. The sound of the explosion was deafening; even the rasping lungs of the two soldiers who were running for cover shook and rattled with the deep resonant boom. The air that they desperately tried to suck in smelled of sulphur and builder’s dust and the purple sky gave everything a sickly, pinkish hue. The ruined landscape of Mars’ largest city, Belatu-Cadros, was as close as they had ever come to the depths of hell itself.
The two troopers ducked behind the crumbling corner of a demolished building and covered their heads with their arms until the hail of dust and debris had subsided. When the explosion had spent itself, the younger of the two looked to his comrade and grinned, pushing up the protective visor of his black helmet to reveal clean eyes on a dirty face.
‘What’s pissed these guys off so much anyway!’ he called above the constant sound of gunfire, clearing his throat loudly and spitting thick, black mucus to the ground.
The older of the two soldiers squared his broad shoulders and grinned back at his comrade, snapping his visor up. ‘For god’s sake Trench, don’t you ever watch the news?’
A stray bullet pinged off the masonry above their heads and the two soldiers instinctively ducked. In the distance, someone was screaming. The sound ceased abruptly after a short burst of gunfire.
‘Politics bores the fuck out of me Bird,’ Trench replied, still grinning. ‘I don’t care why these fuckers are pissed at the government; I’m just here to make sure that they stop shooting at poor munters like me!’
A United Worlds attack gun-ship roared overhead, its deafening jet engines rattled the buildings as it passed slowly over and caused a thick dust to rain down. The gun-ship hovered for a moment in the purple sky while the gunners hanging out of the side strafed a nearby building with their mini-guns, decimating the structure and silencing the sporadic gunfire that was coming from the Insurgents within. As relative silence fell, the gun-ship sped off over the massive chimneys of the distant atmosphere processing plant and then dwindled slowly into a tiny dot against the vast extinct volcano of Olympus Mons.
‘Whatever the reason they started this,’ began Bird, ‘we have to find out where they’re getting their weapons from, and that means interrogating the Insurgent leaders.’
There was another erratic burst of rifle fire from a nearby building.
‘Come on Trench,’ shouted Bird above the din, waving his arm in the direction that he intended them to go. ‘Let’s move it. This low gravity is making me sick to my stomach. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can get back up to the ship for a shower and some scran!’
‘Sounds good to me,’ replied Trench eagerly.
The two soldiers snapped down their visors once more and dashed across a dangerous stretch of open ground, their black uniforms covered with dirt and thick orange dust. They reached the door to a large, officious looking building, and booted it open before carefully entering; rifles raised and torch beams dancing through the hazy air.
Bird lowered his rifle and let it hang from the strap while Trench covered the room. It was a large entrance lobby, deserted and covered with dust. Bird studied the display on his portable G.P.S. unit and once satisfied, raised his wrist towards his mouth and pressed the communicator switch on his bracelet cuff-link radio.
‘Lieutenant Bird to mobile command H.Q. Come in, over,’ he called.
There was a burst of static before the reply came through.
‘Mobile command H.Q. here. What is your status, over?’
Lieutenant Bird spoke calmly and clearly into the radio. ‘We have suffered heavy losses to our squad. Only Sub-Lieutenant Trenchard and I have reached the target building. What are your instructions, over?’
There was a pause while H.Q. passed the information up the chain of command.
After what seemed like an eternity, the very short reply came through ‘Backup unavailable at this time. Proceed as planned, over.’
Another gun-ship roared overhead, the vibrations from its engines dislodging a heavy rain of dust. Lieutenant Bird gave Trench a worried look. ‘Instructions confirmed, wilco. Lieutenant Bird out!’
Trench pulled a sour face. ‘They still want us to go in without any backup?’ he said incredulously.
Lieutenant Bird nodded grimly. ‘Looks like, yeah,’ he replied.
‘I swear,’ said Trench angrily as he activated the laser target pointer on the top of his rifle, ‘that if I get out of this alive, I’m going to stick my boot so far up the Captain’s arse that he will be able to taste the dog shit that I just trod in!’
Lieutenant Bird grinned and switched his own laser pointer on, the pencil thin beam of red light showing up clearly in the dusty atmosphere. ‘Lead on mate,’ he ordered.
Bird and Trench worked their way slowly and ever deeper into the structure. The room that they were looking for would be right at the heart, in the most protected underground bunker. They rounded a corner and found an inert body lying on the cold concrete floor, covered with blood. The young woman, barely a teenager, was dressed in the uniform of the local militia. Her hand still grasped her pistol and her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.
‘Another one!’ exclaimed Trench.
Lieutenant Bird knelt by the body to check for a pulse. The body was still warm, but quite dead.
‘Just like the others,’ said Bird softly. ‘Throat slit and left to bleed to death. It’s a very clean cut too.’
‘Special forces?’ asked Trench with a furrowed brow.
Bird thought for a moment. The wound was very long and precise. ‘No,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘This is more like an execution.’ Then he prised the pistol from the dead girl’s grip and examined it thoughtfully. ‘This pistol is Navy issue,’ he said with a scowl. ‘It’s an older model than ours, but it’s definitely military. Someone’s definitely supplying them with illegal arms.’
‘If the Insurgents are using those weapons on us, then who the hell is getting all Ninja on them?’ hissed Trench.
‘I don’t know,’ said Bird quietly, dropping the pistol and staring thoughtfully into the distant gloom ahead.
Trench gestured to the bloody boot prints that led off down the corridor in front of them. ‘Whoever it was has fucking small feet!’ he observed.
‘…and they’re ahead of us,’ said Bird, a dark, foreboding expression falling across his face.
The two soldiers instinctively dropped into a walking crouch and carefully made their way along the corridor, aiming their rifles ahead of them.
They found three more bodies along the route before finally arriving at the entrance to a control room, full of computers and other electronic paraphernalia. Carefully, they edged around the door, which was hanging off its hinges, blasted into pieces by an explosive charge.
The scene inside was carnage. Bodies lay everywhere, the command staff of the Martian Insurgents. Every single one of them was slashed and drained of blood, which pooled on the floor, resembling used engine oil in the dim red light of the bunker. In the very centre of the room, a slim figure dressed head-to-toe in black was finishing off the last of the unfortunate command staff with what looked like a short sword. The figure expertly slashed the terrified man from shoulder to gut, spilling his blood and internal organs onto the cold concrete floor. The man crumpled and lay twitching on the floor next to the disfigured bodies of his fallen comrades.
Trench and Bird inched gently into the room, the tiny red dots from their rifles aimed steadily at the black figure’s head and chest. The figure looked down and studied the red dot on its chest for a moment, cocking its head to one side inquisitively, before looking straight up into Bird’s eyes as if daring him to fire.
‘Don’t move!’ shouted Lieutenant Bird. ‘You are under arrest by order of the United Worlds peacekeeping force under section…’
The figure suddenly leapt, more quickly than it would seem a human was capable of doing. Bird and Trench reacted a moment too slowly and strafed the room with case-less rounds, attempting to keep up with the figure that leapt and dodged their every volley. With a sudden rush, the figure swung off a roof girder and lunged at Trench, catching him with its sword across his neck and chest. He dropped his rifle, clutching at his throat with his gloved hand in an attempt to stop the warm flow of blood that poured from the gash. Then he fell to the floor gasping for air.
Lieutenant Bird angrily attempted to zero in on the black-clad figure and managed to skim a bullet across its thigh. The figure howled with pain and anger. It brought the sword down hard in a wide arc that sliced cleanly through the metal barrel of Bird’s rifle. At the same time, the figure leapt feet first at Bird’s stomach. Bird’s broad frame crumpled like a squashed beer can and he whacked his head violently on the sharp edge of a console. Despite his helmet, he fell to the floor unconscious.
Trench couldn’t speak. The blood was filling his convulsing windpipe, bubbling and popping like a bowl of Rice Krispies. He was losing his grasp on his throat as well as on consciousness. The black-clad figure dropped onto its haunches beside Trench’s face and calmly wiped the blood off its sword on his uniform, before sliding it expertly into a sheath tied to its back.
As Trench slid into the numbness of unconsciousness, the figure brought its face, hidden under a stretchy black mask, close to Trench’s ear and whispered. The voice was soft, feminine, and had the slight hint of a chocolaty Japanese accent. ‘You’re lucky…’ she said as she pulled Trench’s dog tags out from beneath his uniform and studied them. ‘…Sub-Lieutenant Josiah Trenchard. My orders weren’t to kill United Worlds troopers. Catch you next time?’
Then the figure reached over and activated the inbuilt distress beacon that was part of Trenchard’s bracelet cuff-link radio, stood up, and raced away down the darkened corridor. The last thought that went through Trench’s oxygen starved mind before everything went black was… that bitch has a really nice arse!
Chapter 2 "A Man of War"
The heavy metal hatch screeched slowly open and Commander Josiah Trenchard stomped angrily down the creaking ramp. He stopped at the base and threw his heavy harness to the scuffed tread plate floor with a resounding clunk. He’d had a really hard day. He had a pounding headache, and was keen to get out of his sweaty, blood-stained uniform as quickly as was humanly possible. He looked down at his black sleeves, spattered with blood and bone fragments from troopers in his platoon; people he knew well, good friends. They would be coming back from that crappy little ice-moon below in a bag. That was if they could find all the bits!
He scratched irritably at the long scar on his neck that was just visible as it disappeared underneath his crumpled uniform. It always itched when he was sweaty and stressed. The underwater tunnels that he’d been fighting in had been hot as hell and humid to match. He was desperate for a shower but he had a job to do first. He needed to get this over with.
‘O.K., bring them down,’ he shouted impatiently to the waiting troopers inside the sturdy little craft, an edge of sadness and weariness creeping into his voice.
One by one, twelve dishevelled prisoners, brow beaten and manacled together, were ushered down the ramp by the battle weary United Worlds troopers. Trenchard studied the prisoners closely as he pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes out from his inside jacket pocket, lit one and took a long, satisfying drag. Hardly anyone smoked these days, but Trenchard had an addictive personality. Whether it was booze, coffee or nicotine, Trenchard usually required them in large quantities. He was getting some dirty scowls from the nearby Techs, but they could all fuck off! They hadn’t just been into battle. He needed this cigarette more than he needed air right now. He let the smoke linger inside his lungs for a long moment, savouring the head rush, before blowing the smoke out of his mouth to one side. Then he ran his grubby, yellow stained fingers across his greasy, shaved scalp and thought back on the day’s events as he took another long satisfying drag.
A stocky man strode over and stood by Trenchard. His insignia identified him as Trenchard’s Lieutenant Commander. He too was glaring angrily at the prisoners and then he spoke quietly to Trenchard through gritted teeth.
‘This should have been a straight forward mission, damn it boss! I’ve just about had enough of the bloody Insurgents stirring things up. What the fuck do they want with one of Jupiter’s moons anyway? I mean, Europa for fucks sake! It’s in the arse end of nowhere. There’s nothing of value here!’
Trenchard grunted in agreement. ‘I think these fuckers just like to cause mischief wherever they can,’ he replied.
Not much had changed since the Martian rebellion four years ago, Trenchard thought to himself, scratching reflectively at his scar again. It was a solid reminder of the uprising in Belatu-Cadros. That was where the Insurgents had first learned to fight, learned to make bombs, and learned to kill!
‘The Insurgent leaders must have persuaded the colonists on Europa to declare independence somehow. If there’s one thing that the United Worlds government hates, then it’s pokey little back water colonies trying to avoid paying their taxes by suddenly getting all holier than thou!’ Trenchard groused.
The massive star-ship that Trenchard was currently based upon, the “Hand of Valour”, had been sent to Europa to deal with the recent uprising. It had arrived in orbit of Europa and Trenchard’s platoon had been blasted towards the small moon, expecting an easy victory. He played back the journey from the Hand of Valour to the surface of Europa in his head, remembering the sudden thrust of acceleration as they blasted off. He recalled the shaking and jostling, as the tiny Space-Air-Water Drop-ship fell through the thin atmosphere of Europa. He could almost feel the sudden jolt of deceleration as the tiny ship plunged into the icy ocean and dived towards the atmosphere processor, deep beneath the ice on the ocean floor. That was where the trouble had really started…
‘I don’t understand it boss,’ said the Lieutenant Commander bitterly. ‘It should have been a piece of piss to gain entry to the atmosphere processor. These guys are supposed to be civilian engineers and technicians. It was a straight-forward op!’
Trenchard nodded. ‘It should have been,’ he agreed, ‘but that was before the fucking Insurgents armed the colonists and taught them how to make I.E.D.’s. They’re spreading their political hatred to as many people as will listen. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened. It’s fucking Belatu-Cadros all over again.’
The Lieutenant Commander gave Trenchard a respectful smile and a nod. Every trooper knew about Belatu-Cadros. It was where the war against the terrorists had really begun. In the early days the enemy were only fervent amateurs, and they had done enough damage as it was. Someone had obviously taught the Europan colonists guerrilla tactics. The bastards had started blowing up barrels of oil packed with nails and bolts as the troopers went into the airlocks. Trenchard shuddered as he felt the heat of the explosion in his mind. He could see the troopers falling all around him, feel their fear, and taste the air that was thick with smoke and the tinny smell of blood and burning flesh.
‘How many did we lose?’ asked Trenchard grimly.
‘At least half of the squad,’ replied the Lieutenant Commander, ‘mostly to deep tissue shrapnel wounds.’ He turned and spit onto the ground. ‘Bastards!’
Trenchard looked down at the deep, fresh wound on his own arm as he pulled back his ripped sleeve and scratched at it, wincing in pain, idly plucking out shards of metal from the wound. He would have another scar; another permanent reminder of battle and death. It had been a hard battle; too hard. He was remarkably pissed off!
‘I don’t know about you,’ said Trenchard, ‘but I feel like I want to rip someone’s head off and piss down their neck!’
The Lieutenant Commander grinned. All it would take was one more little push, and Trenchard might just forget that he was supposed to set a good example to the other troopers. The chained prisoners standing in a line in front of him were the ring leaders. Most of them were from other colonies, far away. They were Insurgent agitators, trying to persuade the people of Europa to revolt against the rule of the United Worlds. Well these guys would pay, thought Trenchard grimly.
‘Is that all of them?’ he asked his Lieutenant Commander.
The stocky man nodded and replied, ‘All present and accounted for Sir.’
Something caught Trenchard’s eye. On the other side of the vast hangar bay, other S.A.W. craft were returning from the frozen surface of Europa. Trenchard watched a couple of the missile shaped craft land with a thump and whistle of engines. Through the rectangular hole at the end of the runway, the white moon of Europa hung in the blackness like a well worn billiard ball, criss-crossed with dark scarlet cracks. He would be glad to see the back of that crappy little moon he thought, as he dropped the spent cigarette to the floor and stubbed it out with his blood splashed boot. He walked over to the prisoners and eyeballed them angrily before beginning his well rehearsed tirade.
‘You fuckers picked the wrong people to mess with today,’ he shouted.
In the background, another S.A.W.’s hatch opened and a weary trooper stomped out. He was wearing a scruffy red ribbon tied around his greasy dishevelled hair that he pulled off and wrung the sweat out of before replacing it onto his head. He saw Trenchard tearing shreds out of the prisoners and began to walk over, grinning broadly.
‘In case you hadn’t been watching the I.N.N. news reports recently,’ began Trenchard, ‘President Smith has just brought back the death sentence for terrorists,’ he continued, unaware of the approaching trooper behind him.
The grinning trooper stopped just behind Trenchard with his arms folded, seeming to take great pleasure in the entertainment.
‘Section forty two allows me to execute terrorists! I’d quite happily carry out the sentence right here,’ Trenchard threatened, dramatically drawing his pistol from its holster and clicking a round into the barrel.
‘Smith’s wrong!’ said one of the prisoners in a trembling, but determined voice. ‘You are wrong! We want freedom to self rule, not martial law forced on us by thugs like you!’
Trenchard narrowed his eyes and walked closer to the prisoner, who was defiantly staring at him with unbridled hatred in his eyes. Trenchard finally snapped. He’d had enough. He pressed the pistol hard to the man’s forehead. The man did a good job of putting on a brave face, but Trenchard could see the terror welling in his eyes.
‘Do you think that blowing up booby traps packed with sharp metal is the answer?’ he growled. ‘Do you think that it’s honourable or even fair? You might not like the United Worlds but at least we keep the peace. You lot would be kicking ten tons of shit out of each other if it wasn’t for us! Would you prefer that? Don’t you realise that we’re protecting you useless bunch of fuckwits?’
The prisoner’s face reddened, but he remained tight lipped.
‘Unfortunately, unlike you criminals, “thugs like me” have to follow the rules.’ Trenchard pulled back the pistol, disarmed the mechanism and slid it safely back into its holster. It had left a perfect red imprint of the barrel on the man’s forehead. ‘But mark my words. If any of you terrorist arseholes put so much as one bollock out of line, I will put you down like a fucking rabid dog! Understood?’
The prisoners remained solemnly silent.
Trenchard placed his hands behind his back and tried to relax his aching shoulders. ‘Take them away,’ he ordered, exhausted.
As the prisoners shuffled dejectedly away towards the holding cells to await transport back to Earth for trial, Trenchard became aware of childish sniggering behind him. He turned around to find the trooper with the bright red head band, leaning lazily on the butt of his rifle and chuckling with obvious glee.
‘Very impressive Trench,’ said the man in a broad Geordie accent. ‘You made them fuckers shit their pants all right!’
Trenchard scowled at the grinning trooper. ‘Haven’t you got something better to do Dasilva?’ he growled.
Lieutenant Commander Dasilva grinned and winked. ‘Whey aye, but I couldn’t miss the show man. It was champion!’
Trenchard looked around to make sure that the prisoners were out of ear shot, and then broke into a broad grin himself. ‘Piss off Eddie! Do you know how hard it is to keep a straight face with you pratting around behind me?’
‘Aye well, you seemed to manage all right enough,’ said Dasilva with a grin, then his face dropped, suddenly serious. ‘Did you lose many?’
Trenchard grimaced. ‘Twelve… you?’
‘Most of the squad,’ replied Dasilva, ‘just four of our lot made it back, and Commander Fisher took some shrapnel in his hand.’
‘Shit!’ said Trenchard as helpfully as he could. ‘How’s he taking it?’
‘Fisher?’ said Dasilva, ‘Ahh, he’ll be all right. The man’s as tough as old boots, got footballs for knackers! He’s more upset about losing good troopers. That prick reporter on the news is going to have a field day with this!’
Trenchard took another cigarette from its packet and offered one to Dasilva, who refused.
‘I just have this creeping feeling that maybe…’ said Trenchard in a soft voice that was almost a whisper. He tailed off, deep in thought. ‘This sort of thing used to be sorted out peacefully by the politicians. The United Worlds is supposed to be a democracy Ed. We’re meant to uphold the law and protect the people. Recently, things have been… different. High Command didn’t even give them a chance to negotiate this time; we just waded straight in feet first. This mission wasn’t honourable.’ Trenchard narrowed his eyes. ‘Know what I mean?’
Dasilva looked around nervously. ‘Yeah, I know mate,’ he hissed out of the corner of his mouth. ‘But keep it to yourself man, or Ciaputa will have you up on a subordination charge.’
Trenchard’s shoulders slumped and he sighed deeply. ‘Oh… I don’t know Ed. I’m probably just tired, but this doesn’t feel right anymore. It’s not what I signed up for.’
Dasilva gave a quick nod of affirmation. ‘You can’t do anything about it mate, other than vote that is. Smith and Chang are running things right now and they’re talking tough! Pretty soon there’ll be another election and the government will change again. Someone else will be in charge and they’ll try diplomacy again instead of the hard line. Trust me, you’ll see.’
Trenchard nodded knowingly. ‘I hope you’re right. I could do with a fuckin’ big drink,’ he sighed, stretching and clicking the bones of his neck.
‘With a bit of luck,’ said Dasilva, ‘we’ll all be back at base on Cairn soon and we should all be due some leave after that mess down there,’ he said, jerking his thumb towards Europa. ‘Fancy a pint in Mike’s and then a curry?’
Mike’s Bar was the local haunt for the troopers at their home base on Cairn. The thought of its sticky floor and sticky beer was very tempting. Trenchard was about to reply when the dull, toneless voice of the ship’s Guardian computer echoed over the tannoy system.
‘COMMANDER TRENCHARD, REPORT TO COMMODORE CIAPUTA ON THE BRIDGE IMMEDIATELY.’
Dasilva looked up and listened to the message with a puzzled expression. ‘What does that frigid old bitch want?’ he asked with more than a hint of bile.
Trenchard shrugged. ‘God only knows, but it can’t be good. I’ll see you later.’
With that, Trenchard picked up his heavy harness from the floor and trudged off towards the bridge, past the tail fin of the S.A.W. where the Navy’s proud slogan of “Honour, Strength and Unity!” was painted in bold white letters. It was a motto by which Trenchard had tried to live his life. Recently, it was becoming harder to adhere to.
As he left, Dasilva shouted cockily after him, ‘Keep your hands in your pockets mate, or she’ll freeze your bollocks off!’
The bridge was a dome that was built onto the outside of one of the massive rugby ball shaped habitation pods, that rotated continually around the hull of the Hand of Valour on giant metal spokes to provide gravity. The domed floor of the bridge faced space-side, with the main hull and engine core of the ship above the crew’s heads. An iris shaped hatch in the ceiling slid apart gracefully with the sound of grating metal and Trenchard was lowered down on a circular platform towards the deck below.
He waited respectfully at attention for a moment as he studied the bridge watchstanders busying themselves at various control stations set around the curved walls of the room. At the front of the bridge was a large reinforced rectangular window that gave a view of space ahead. Clustered around a large tactical hologram in the centre of the room were several high ranking officers.
Trenchard coughed politely and a female officer in her late forties who was wearing a bright scarlet immaculate uniform, seemed to notice him for the first time. By the look on her face, his presence seemed to annoy her somewhat.
‘Ahh, there you are Trenchard,’ said Commodore Constantine Ciaputa in a clipped, tight voice that sounded like the lid of a heavy wooden box snapping shut.
Ciaputa handed a tablet screen that she was holding to an aide who rushed over from one side. She shooed the aide away irritably and the young officer dropped his head and respectfully stepped away again.
‘You sent for me Sir?’ enquired Trenchard as politely as he could muster. He was tired, dirty and aching. He was in no mood for a telling off from his boss. Ciaputa was the worst kind of officer. She had worked her way up the ranks by doing as little as possible and brown-nosing her superiors. Trenchard severely doubted whether she had ever seen any combat action at all.
‘Yes Commander, I did,’ replied Ciaputa with a curled lip. ‘At ease.’
Trenchard relaxed his shoulders and placed his hands behind his back, widening his stance.
Ciaputa studied Trenchard as if he were something that she had found crawling around under a rotten tree stump. Then she seemed to come to some kind of internal decision. ‘I’ve had word from Admiral Fife at High Command. A new position has become available and you have been selected.’
‘Sir?’ said Trenchard with a raised eyebrow. He didn’t like the sound of this. He was comfortable aboard the Hand of Valour. The quarters were quite big compared to some of the smaller ships in the fleet. He had respect here. He had worked hard to get where he was and didn’t want to leave so soon. Had he done something wrong? Ciaputa seemed to be taking pleasure from Trenchard’s disquiet. She smiled a greasy smile as she continued.
‘The prototype Wolverine class vessel has just come into operation. Four of the hunter-killers are being sent into the Asteroid Belt on a seek-and-destroy mission. One of the Wolverines, the “Might of Fortitude”, is short of an X.O. It seems that the Captain of the vessel has specifically requested you to be his executive officer... although god only knows why?’
‘Thank you Sir,’ said Trenchard. It was astounding how Ciaputa could congratulate and belittle in the same breath.
‘The Breath of Vengeance is going to meet us when we dock at Cairn. You will transfer over to her immediately upon arrival. I’m afraid your leave is cancelled as the mission has been brought forwards and you are required straight away. That is all.’
And with that, Ciaputa turned back towards the glowing green tactical hologram. She snapped her fingers at the aide, who rushed back over and handed her the tablet screen once more.
Obviously the audience was over. For a moment, Trenchard didn’t move. He was still shocked by the sudden re-deployment.
Ciaputa glanced irritably back at Trenchard over her shoulder, seemingly annoyed that he was still here. ‘Dismissed,’ she said sharply and then turned back to her work.
Trenchard stepped back onto the elevator platform and left the bridge in an even worse temper than before. No leave, he thought angrily! Why the hell did the Captain of the Might of Fortitude need him so damn urgently anyway? The Wolverines were a little bigger than the old Hunter class, but they were still cramped fucking sewage pipes compared to the Hand of Valour. This day had started shitty and had just gotten worse and worse!
Deep below the rocky surface of the desolate planetoid Cairn was a blast shielded, circular bunker. Its twelve foot thick concrete walls were resin bonded and electronically shielded. The “War Room” could withstand any attack from orbit and all attempts at espionage. The room resembled a cave or basement. It had a clammy, dank feel and the atmosphere was oppressive and the lighting subdued.
The man in the centre of the room was clearly agitated; he paced back and forth with his hands clasped tightly behind his back and a tight lipped expression on his stony face. He wore the bright red uniform with four diagonal black stripes of an Admiral and he looked as if he had the worries of the whole navy bearing down upon his shoulders.
Suddenly the reinforced titanium blast door screeched open and another figure walked casually into the room. This second man was tall and broad shouldered. His face too was stern and had the polished ebony finish of an Afro-Caribbean lineage. His uniform was also bright scarlet but had a single downward pointing black V that ran from his shoulders towards his stomach. There was only one man in the whole fleet who had the privilege to wear that uniform; Admiral of the Fleet Adisa.
Adisa came to a halt in front of the first man, who had stopped pacing and was staring into Adisa’s eyes as if his life depended upon it.
“Well?” asked Adisa in a deep resonating voice, emphasised by the acoustics of the War Room.
The other man spoke in what could only be described as a dour Scottish accent.
‘The Breath of Vengeance is preparing to leave Sir. The Wolverines will be launched on schedule,” he said. ‘I will personally be overseeing the mission.’
‘And is your man aboard?’
The Scottish man nodded curtly. ‘He will transfer over in a couple of days once the Hand of Valour returns to Cairn. He’ll be meeting the Captain of the Might of Fortitude as planned.’
Adisa paused and screwed up his mouth, deep in thought.
‘This had better work Fife,’ he said. ‘We’re placing a great deal of trust in this man of yours. I checked his record. He’s not exactly an exemplary officer!’
Fife took a deep intake of breath before answering.
‘His mission reports are exemplary. He was fundamental in our victory in Belatu-Cadros on Mars, and on Horizon.’
‘Admitted,’ replied Adisa. ‘He also has seven reports for insubordination, four aboard the Hand of Valour, and several other disciplinary matters on his record. He smokes, he drinks…’
‘He fights hard!’ snapped Fife, cutting off Adisa in mid-sentence.
Fife was probably the only Admiral in High Command who would have dared to interrupt Adisa. Taking a deep breath, Adisa narrowed his eyes and fumed quietly for a moment with tightly drawn lips.
‘He might not be the most… conventional officer in the navy, but he’s a fighter! Don’t worry Sir. If anyone can pull this off, he can…’ said Fife firmly.
‘You had better be right!’ Adisa growled.
You can buy this book here:
http://www.amazon.com/Josiah-Trenchar...
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Josiah-Trench...
Also available are Part 2: Morgenstern, Part 3: Berserkergang, Part 4: Onamuji and coming soon is Part 5: Belatu-Cadros...
Jonathon Fletcher
The Captain's Blog proudly presents: Free sample of Josiah Trenchard Part Four: Onamuji...
This is the Prologue and first chapter of my soon to be released fourth part in the Josiah Trenchard series. It pits the crew of the Might of Fortitude against savage space zombies and is due for release soon. I hope you enjoy this excerpt...
Prologue "Industrial Espionage"
The small holographic television screen in the corner of the laboratory, flashed up a breaking news report, making several of the white clad scientists look up from their work with mild interest. The Intergalactic News Network’s anchorman, Alexander Robertson, was talking excitedly over dramatic pictures of a smoking mountain.
‘…huge explosion has collapsed the top of the Olympus Mons volcano on Mars, where the reclusive scientist Farouk El-Baz’s high security laboratory was situated. El-Baz was renowned for some of the most advanced technological breakthroughs in recent history including the vaccine for the Rhinovirus, advances in cybernetic limb replacement and the design of the engines for the eagerly awaited “Kalpesh Vayu” star cruiser.’
Robertson looked into a different camera and cocked his head to one side.
‘Boy, would I like to get my hands on one of those puppies!’ he crowed.
‘Turn that rubbish off!’ snapped another scientist who chose that moment to walk into the room. He was clearly the boss. His voice was muffled by a thick rubber mask, which was stretched across his face. ‘Mr Nakamura is not paying us to watch television!’
As one, the Japanese scientists all turned for a moment and bowed respectfully to the three-dimensional holograph of the head of the corporation that was mounted on one wall. A small label at the bottom of the picture read “Proteus Pharmaceuticals Chairman - Akihito Nakamura”. On the wall above the picture was the logo of Proteus Pharmaceuticals, a three pronged trident painted in the style of Japanese lettering that was set on a yellow diamond surrounded by a red circle. The figure in the picture was an impeccably smart, ageing Japanese gentleman. He wore a dull grey tailored suit and an expression of restrained pride and calm superiority.
At that moment, an alarm began to blare loudly in the distance. All the scientists looked up with unease. Yellow warning lights began to flash on the ceiling of the laboratory and the floor shook violently as a distant explosion resonated through the rigid metal structure beneath them. The scientists stared at each other in shock and panic. One of them pulled his mask down and cried, ‘What do we do Sir?’
‘Save the samples!’ shouted the head scientist, scrabbling for a rack of glass vials filled with bright blue liquid that were standing on the desk top in front of him, ‘…and put your mask back on! Do you want to be infected?’
As the scientists tried desperately to stow the fragile samples into a cold storage safe, the door to the laboratory was suddenly wrenched off its pneumatic seals by another massive explosion. There was a brilliant flash of green light and debris flew in several directions as most of the scientists were thrown off their feet. A slender figure, clothed in black from head to toe and wearing a black facemask, burst through the door and levelled a small automatic pistol at the lead scientist. The man’s face drained of colour and he instinctively brought his arm up to cover his terrified face. With a click, the black figure strafed the room from left to right, cutting the unfortunate survivors of the explosion into two. Blood splashed onto the clean ceramic surfaces of the lab leaving patterns that resembled cherry blossom against a late spring snow.
When the firing stopped, the assassin thrust the smoking pistol into a large holster attached to its belt and made straight for the cold storage safe. It stepped carefully over the twitching corpses, white lab coats stained with crimson blood. Quickly, the black figure grabbed several vials and stored them carefully away in a pouch that was attached to their belt and then turned towards the door, ready to make good their escape.
The figure froze. Standing blocking the doorway were a dozen guards, armoured, helmeted, and carrying traditional Japanese Katana swords. This may have seemed strange for anyone who didn’t work for Nakamura. Not only was the boss a traditionalist, but also there was always something explosive in the laboratory that could be triggered by a stray bullet. Swords simply were more practical. The black figure dropped gloved hands to its sides and circled its head around tense shoulders, clicking the neck vertebrae into place one by one. After a short pause, the assassin politely nodded their masked face briefly before reaching up and around to a sheath tied to their back, pulling out a short Wakizashi sword. The figure lunged at the nearest guard, who parried and dove to the side. A second guard whirled his Katana through the air, to be met with a clang of sparks by the assassin’s flashing blade.
Wherever the assassin moved there was a ready blade waiting to meet its own. The combatants whirled and dodged in a sick parody of ballet, but the outcome was inevitable. The assassin was hopelessly outnumbered. With a sideways slice, the lead guard caught the assassin across the stomach, opening the flesh like a fishmonger filleting tuna. The black figure bent double in pain and then collapsed backwards onto the floor. One-by-one, the guards swiftly thrust their swords downwards, piercing every vital organ of the intruder. As the assassin haemorrhaged internally and coughed blood through the fibres of their black mask, the lead guard knelt and peered down into piercing green eyes that were narrowed and angry. Reaching forward, the guard grabbed the lightweight mask and ripped it off, to reveal the face of a young man with flowing locks of golden hair that cascaded to the floor only to soak up his own ebbing life-blood.
The guard grimaced and snarled at the dying man. ‘Mr Nakamura was very clear,’ he said with a hiss. ‘He will not sell Ōnamuji, nor will he allow it to be stolen!’
‘You fucking yellow son of a bitch!’ gurgled the man with the long golden hair and green eyes.
The guard smiled. ‘Racism will get you nowhere. You have failed!’
The dying man smiled as he coughed up the blood that was filling his lungs. He held up his right hand. One of the glass vials was gripped between his gloved fingers. The blue liquid within seemed to glow and shimmer.
The guard’s face fell. ‘You would not dare!’ he hissed through trembling lips.
‘Wouldn’t I,’ snarled the assassin. ‘I hold the power of life and death in my hands. That power elevates me above the gods!’
The guards all took a step backwards. ‘You’re insane!’ shouted the head guard who was beginning to panic.
‘Kutabare!’ growled the assassin, swearing in perfect Japanese.
The assassin closed his fingers abruptly, breaking the delicate glass vial and releasing the experimental Ōnamuji drug within. Instantly the liquid in the vial boiled away into the air and dispersed as a gas. The head guard jumped back, but it was too late. Infinitesimal particles of the gaseous drug spun through the air like dandelion seeds on a breeze and entered his lungs. He convulsed violently and screamed. Deep inside his brain a chemical reaction took place, accelerating faster than his body could cope. Suddenly, he blinked and his eyes became a deep glowing blue, the colour of shining sapphire. His skin softened and became translucent, revealing pumping blue veins beneath. Then his whole body took on a glow, almost as though his life force was shining through. Abruptly his face cleared and took on an expression of inhuman rage and aggression. He straightened up and turned suddenly towards his comrades, who were already backing, terrified, towards the door.
The guard snarled like an animal and leapt. In a second, he was upon them, biting, tearing and gnawing; a one man weapon of mass destruction. As the gas spread through the air, the remaining guards fell. As each inhaled, one by one they convulsed and rose a second later with eyes of flashing blue and waxen skin. As the alarm claxon sounded, the rampaging guards tore out into the corridor, smashing the bio-lock door to pieces and began to spread like a virus into the rest of the crippled ship.
Chapter 1 "S.O.S."
Extract from the Central Computer Network:
ccn.unitedworlds.co.ert/history/josia...
CAPTAIN JOSIAH TRENCHARD - THE FIXER:
Captain Trenchard and the crew of the Might of Fortitude had battled a vicious robotic weapon built by the Papaver Corporation (see Morgenstern), and then cut off the supply of deadly gas to the Insurgent terrorists. Trenchard had subsequently been promised by Admiral Fife that he would be sent back out into the Asteroid Belt to hunt down pirates once more. Unfortunately his eagerness to aid Captain Fisher, Jarvis and Kidd in tracking down pirate Captains Smiler, Raven and Harlequin, would have to wait. Trenchard’s reputation for going feet first into dangerous situations and kicking the enemy up the arse had spread beyond the military. He was becoming something of a minor celebrity, although his methods constantly gave his superiors cause to worry. Trenchard himself had become deeply concerned that one of his crew, A.S. Cox, had been imprisoned in a psychiatric institution and that another, Lieutenant Ellen Stofan, had been killed after being discovered as a double agent. The Might of Fortitude barely had time to re-supply after returning from Pazuzu, before a pressing emergency in the proximity of Saturn’s rings, drew Trenchard into a deadly struggle that would test his mettle to destruction, and beyond…
Trenchard was once again waiting pensively outside the conference room of the naval academy on the surface of the dwarf planet Cairn, where the United Worlds Space Navy’s main base was situated. It had been only a few days since their return from Pazuzu in the Sirius system, but Trenchard was eager to get back out into space again. The incident with Cox had deeply unsettled the crew and they needed a diversion.
The door to the conference room slid open and an elderly Japanese man in a grey suit exited the room at speed. He gave Trenchard a brief, but polite, bow from the waist as he passed. Then he rushed off down the corridor to be met by a worried looking middle aged Japanese man in a similar grey suit, and about a dozen armed guards. The guards were wearing a uniform that Trenchard didn’t recognise. He surmised that they must be some kind of private security. They were all wearing traditional Hachimaki headbands tied around their foreheads. Each was emblazoned with a trident symbol that Trenchard couldn’t quite make out.
Trenchard was pulled out from his introspection as his boss, Admiral Fife, appeared at the door looking stressed and beckoned him into the room. The conference room was long and had chairs arranged around an oval table and a huge holographic projector mounted on the far wall. A vast United Worlds flag bearing a yellow sun and several orbiting red planets hung from another wall, and opposite from that, the navy’s slogan “Honour, strength and unity!” was carved into the stone wall and picked out in gold leaf. Trenchard’s eyes hovered over the slogan. It had always meant a great deal to him. He was undoubtedly a man of honour. That didn’t always mean being polite or gentle, like a dashing knight of old. To Trenchard, honour was a crowbar that was used to beat off temptation and enabled you to stick to your own personal values. It was doing what was right, no matter what the consequences. Honour had been telling Captain Bird where to stick it when he had tempted Trenchard with mutiny. Strength he had plenty of, both physical and emotional. Unity, well that was another thing. He could do little about the state of the entire United Worlds which was being torn apart by a war against Insurgent terrorists. Neither could he watch over the entire Space Navy, where cracks were beginning to appear even now. All he could hope to do was keep his own crew working together effectively, something that he seemed to have done with reasonable success so far. The revelation that Lieutenant Stofan, one of his trusted troopers, had been a saboteur and traitorous double agent still stuck in his craw. It festered like a wound at the very heart of the crew’s morale.
Trenchard sat heavily on a chair and waited for Fife to start. Fife looked pensive as he settled into a chair, as if he didn’t want to say what was on his mind.
‘Are you well Captain?’ asked Fife in his remarkably dour Scottish accent. ‘That thing with Ellen Stofan can’t have been easy.’
He was straight to the point as usual; there was no drama with Fife.
‘I’m as good as I can be,’ replied Trenchard. ‘Being that we had a traitor on board and Cox was hauled of to the mental asylum at Bedlam, I’m just dandy!’
‘Good,’ said Fife ignoring the obvious dig. Fife had been the one that allowed Cox to be taken to the high security prison, something that Trenchard hadn’t forgiven him for. Then taking a deep breath, Fife began, ‘I’m afraid that you won’t be back out in the asteroid belt just yet Captain. Subduing the pirates will have to wait for a while longer. A situation has arisen which requires urgent attention.’
‘What’s the mission? I assume it’s somebody else’s fuck up that I’m sorting out, as usual?’ asked Trenchard, as direct as Fife.
Fife grinned a mirthless grin and snorted. ‘This morning there was a general S.O.S. sent out from the science vessel SS Seishi. She’s owned by Proteus Pharmaceuticals. Technically she’s a long line gas miner, but she was recently purchased by Proteus and converted into a floating laboratory. She’s in a tight orbit between the surface of Saturn and its rings.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘Nobody knows for sure. The scientists aboard were researching a number of top-secret drugs for Proteus, it’s possibly a biological outbreak of some kind, but it could be pirates, Insurgents, anything.’
Trenchard could smell a rat. He had developed a keen nose for bullshit, and it was screaming at him now, insisting that he was right in the middle of a field of diarrheic bulls that had just been given Vindaloo curry for lunch.
‘Why is the navy getting involved, surely Proteus has its own security vessels?’
‘Indeed they do, but we’ve received a personal plea for help from Akihito Nakamura, the head of Proteus. Do you have your zero gee sickness pills with you?’
Confused, Trenchard nodded and pulled the small bottle from his pocket. He always carried them. He hated zero gravity and the pills were the only thing that stopped him from constantly vomiting.
‘See the label?’ said Fife.
Trenchard studied the label. Printed on the side was the same trident logo that the guards in the corridor had worn on their headbands.
‘His company supplies a great deal of the medical equipment and drugs for the entire navy,’ explained Fife. ‘He could withhold supplies if he wanted to. It’s a very difficult political situation.’
‘But why is he asking for military help specifically, does he know something that we don’t?’
Fife took a deep breath.
‘One of his sons is on board that ship,’ said Fife. Then there was a long pause as he let this sink in to Trenchard’s mind. ‘Makoto Nakamura was touring the ship, inspecting her after the recent refit. Nakamura’s already lost a daughter, and that devastated him. He’s terrified that he’ll loose one of his sons. The request for help came directly to the office of Admiral Adisa and was passed down to me. I’ve just met Nakamura personally. He was very insistent that the Might of Fortitude carries out the mission. Apparently, word of your recent exploits is starting to spread. He’s convinced that you’re the best man for the job, the best chance of saving his son. It seems that you’ve made quite an impression on him… Fixer!’
Trenchard fumed. He hated the glib nickname that the I.N.N. anchorman Alexander Robertson had given him. He chose to ignore the comment and ploughed straight on.
‘Was that him that just left?’ asked Trenchard.
Fife nodded. ‘He came straight here from his meeting with Adisa at Star-spires with his other son Hitoshi. He’s very worried. He’s an old man now and he’s expecting to hand his company over to his two sons.’
‘I’ll try my best not to disappoint him.’
Fife slumped in his chair. ‘Thank you Jo,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I know this isn’t what you wanted, especially after losing Stofan and Cox the way you did, but it’s important for the navy.’
Trenchard’s face became stony. ‘I didn’t lose them, they were taken from me,’ he said simply.
Fife looked nervous for a moment and then reached forwards to a control on the desktop. As he operated the control, the door to the room locked with a resounding click. Fife glowered at Trenchard for a long moment before finally speaking.
‘I know you’re pissed at me for what happened to Cox, but it was beyond my control. I’m on your side Jo believe me! I looked into that prototype Kalpesh Vayu star-ship for you,’ said Fife in a quiet voice.
Trenchard’s ears perked up. The Japanese assassin whom he had been tracking for a while now used that ship. She was linked to the Papaver Corporation, the Morgenstern and the gas attack in Paris. She most probably was responsible for killing Stofan and she definitely gave Trenchard the scar on his neck, a permanent reminder of her sinister dealings. She was behind a trail of death and destruction that spread across the entire United Worlds. He was desperate to find her.
‘The Vayu model has had a number of contributors including Farouk El-Baz, Kalpesh and… the Papaver Corporation.’
Trenchard tensed, this was exactly the sort of lead that he was after.
‘Papaver designed and built the computer systems for the Vayu. It’s the most advanced ship of its kind anywhere in the United Worlds,’ continued Fife. ‘It hasn’t gone into production yet because of a fault with the hatch seal. Kalpesh built only one working prototype. He gave it to Papaver as a personal gift.’
Trenchard chewed over the information for a moment.
‘So Papaver must have given the ship to her!’ he said.
‘Possibly,’ replied Fife. ‘She could have stolen it. Who knows? I tried to get an answer from Papaver directly, but he’s not replying to any of my messages.’
Trenchard sighed. ‘So it’s another dead end,’ he growled.
‘Unfortunately yes,’ said Fife. ‘I’m afraid the only way that you’ll ever catch her is to physically entrap her. She has the best ship in the United Worlds that has obviously been retro-fitted with stealth capabilities. She doesn’t appear on the Facial Recognition Database, or any other database for that matter, and she seems to be expert at concealing her activities.’
Trenchard grunted. ‘Thanks for checking anyway. I appreciate it,’ he said.
Fife nodded. ‘Whatever I can do to help. I’d quite like a word with her myself; find out what she’s been up to and why.’
‘Why don’t you ask Admiral Turner directly?’ said Trenchard, rather bluntly. ‘You and I both know that Turner’s had meetings with her!’
Trenchard had seen the assassin enter a meeting with Admiral Turner with his own eyes. The direct question took Fife off guard. He blinked and inhaled deeply before replying.
‘I cannot ask another Admiral of the fleet if she is involved with a freelance assassin without proof. High command would have me demoted for the accusation at best!’
Trenchard came to the end of his patience and made as if to stand. ‘Right. Well if that’s everything, I’d appreciate you unlocking the damned door?’
Fife raised his finger angrily. ‘I haven’t finished yet Captain!’ he snapped. ‘Sit down!’
Trenchard grumpily sat back down again.
‘There’s one more thing,’ Fife said with narrowed eyes, ‘…and I’m afraid you won’t like it.’
‘So what else is new,’ said Trenchard.
‘Nakamura’s insisted that you take one of his people on board, a specialist.’
‘A civilian?’ said Trenchard alarmed.
‘She’s one of Nakamura’s top scientists. She was directly involved in developing a lot of the drugs that they were testing aboard the Seishi. If anyone knows anything about what you could come up against on that ship, it will be her.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Eiko Yasui. She’s waiting for you in the combat training zone.’
Ellen’s Story: Six Months Previously…
Lieutenant Ellen Stofan walked briskly along a corridor inside the U.W.S.N. headquarters of Star-spires, heading for a meeting. She was nervous as hell and could feel the sweat dribbling down her shaven scalp underneath her helmet. She had been a perimeter guard here at Star-spires for nearly two years now and in all that time had never been summoned to a meeting with anyone higher up the chain of command than a Lieutenant Commander. Suddenly, out of the blue, Admiral Turner had summoned Stofan to her office, high up in the gothic spires of the building.
Stofan reached Admiral Turner’s office and stopped. She prepared herself mentally for a moment. God, she hoped that she hadn’t done something wrong. She couldn’t think of anything she’d done wrong, but some of the top brass could be arseholes if you didn’t salute them properly. She reached out gingerly and pressed the door buzzer.
After a long moment, the heavy oak-panelled door swung open and she found herself facing a gaunt looking man. He was ranked as Commander and had thinning hair that was combed over a balding patch. His skin looked greasy and he had an unkind scowl on his brittle features.
‘Yes?’ said the Commander with a sneer.
Stofan looked up at him and saluted. ‘Lieutenant Ellen Stofan reporting as ordered Sir!’ she said curtly, snapping into a formal attention.
The Commander looked her up and down as if he were appraising a second hand car. ‘Ahh, yes,’ he said, his upper class accent only accentuating the disdain in his voice. ‘Come in. Admiral Turner is expecting you.’
The thin man stood aside and Stofan marched stiffly into the room, stopping a couple of feet before Admiral Turner’s desk. The man closed the door and stood behind Stofan, rather unnervingly a little too close for comfort. Stofan took in what she could see of the office from her strict attention posture. It was a large room; oak panelled and had a luxurious thick red carpet on the floor. There was one large window, a huge gothic arch that looked straight out across the courtyard below to the government buildings and the Pacific Ocean beyond. Admiral Turner was sat at a large oak desk with a built in touch screen computer and a holographic display. She was an older woman, maybe in her mid forties, and she had immaculately trimmed, short, slightly greying hair.
After a moment, Turner finished what she was doing and looked up at Stofan.
‘Lieutenant Stofan? Thank you for coming. You may stand at ease, and take off that helmet would you. It must be stifling under there.’
Stofan said a prompt, ‘Thank you Sir!’ and took off her helmet, holding it under her arm and relaxing her stance.
‘You’re probably wondering why I called you here?’ said Turner with a tight smile.
‘Yes Sir,’ replied Stofan.
Turner smiled, stood from her seat and moved over towards the arched window with her hands clasped behind her back.
‘You have an impressive service record Stofan,’ said Turner as she watched the distant waves. ‘You’re diligent, always obey orders and have advanced to the rank of Lieutenant remarkably quickly.’
Turner suddenly rounded on Stofan and stared deeply into her eyes.
‘You remind me somewhat of myself when I was a young officer.’
‘Thank-you Sir.’
Turner paused as if she was thinking about something difficult.
‘We need someone like you for a special assignment, one of the utmost danger and secrecy.’
Stofan reddened slightly. She had waited her whole life for this. Finally she had been noticed. She could almost smell the promotion.
‘What I’m going to ask you to do is vital for the future survival of the entire United Worlds Stofan, vital for the survival of our species. Do you understand?’
‘Yes Sir.’
Stofan didn’t quite understand, but she wasn’t going to argue with an Admiral.
‘If you agree to this, there is no going back. You will have nobody to turn to. You will be on your own.’
Stofan nodded.
Then Turner asked Stofan a question that took her completely off guard.
‘Is it true you have no dependents, no family, and no next of kin?’
Stofan wrinkled her forehead for a puzzled moment and then said, ‘Yes Sir. My family were killed when I was a teenager in an air-car accident. I was the only survivor. I have no close relatives. The navy is my home Sir.’
‘And there’s no-one waiting for you on the outside, no boyfriend, girlfriend?’
‘No Sir,’ said Stofan, growing more puzzled by the minute.
‘Good,’ said Turner and then nodded to the Commander who was standing directly behind Stofan. ‘Mabius!’
She felt Mabius’ breath on the back of her neck and then Stofan suddenly felt a slight prick at the base of her skull and then she blacked out.
Pain. Excruciating pain. There was a bright light somewhere above her. Stofan blinked her eyes and tried to focus. She was on some kind of bed or table, strapped down. Everything was white around her and she felt woozy, drugged. A face came into view, covered by a surgeon’s mask.
‘She’s responding nicely,’ said a voice with a thick French accent.
Another face loomed into view. Turner!
‘The chip’s in place?’ she asked.
The masked French man nodded.
‘Oui Madame. It is functioning perfectly.’
Turner looked satisfied.
‘Good. Knock her out.’
Stofan blacked out again.
Stofan suddenly felt cold; the sort of cold that you only get from a concrete floor.
Stofan grappled with consciousness like a greased pig. Slowly she became aware that she was lying in complete blackness on what felt like a bare concrete floor in a small room. She assumed it was small because there was no echo, but how could she tell? It was pitch black. She was freezing cold, shivering and felt like she was wearing something very thin and open at the back like a hospital gown? Her back and buttocks were pressed onto the cold floor.
Stofan struggled into a sitting position, resting her back against the wall and winced with pain. Something hurt like hell at the back of her head. She ran her hand over the spot and it felt wet and slippery. Bringing her hand in front of her face she smelled her fingers. They smelled tinny and metallic, like blood.
Suddenly a door opened and bright white light flooded into the room. The light stung her eyes and the pain in the back of her skull got worse. When her eyes had adjusted, she could make out a black figure standing silhouetted in the doorframe. The figure looked female and had her hands on her hips.
‘Lights!’ commanded a voice with just a hint of a Japanese accent.
The overhead lights blinked on and Stofan finally saw that she was in a cell of some kind. The woman at the door was dressed head to toe in black combat gear and had long dark brown hair tied back in a tight ponytail. She looked down at Stofan and smiled.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.
‘Like shit!’ croaked Stofan, looking up into the woman’s deep brown eyes.
‘You will do. You’ve had surgery.
‘Surgery!’ exploded Stofan. ‘What the fuck have you done to me?’
Suddenly Stofan’s energy returned and she jumped forwards at the woman. In a flash, the Japanese woman pulled a small device from her pocket and pressed a control. Instantly it was as if someone thrust a jagged knife into the back of Stofan’s skull and pushed it relentlessly behind her eyeballs.
Stofan collapsed in howling pain, cradling her head and yelling, ‘Please make it stop! Make it stop!’
The Japanese woman turned off the device and the pain subsided. She walked over to Stofan’s recumbent form and dropped onto her haunches, looking down with what resembled sympathy.
‘Look, I’d like to help you, but I can’t,’ said the Japanese woman. ‘They own you now, just like they own me. If you defy them there will be pain. If you don’t do what they want, there will be death... yours! They’ll ask you to do some horrible things. You will be forced to question your own morality.’
The Japanese woman drew closer to Stofan’s face. Stofan could feel her warm breath on her cheek.
‘I shouldn’t do this…’
The woman’s warm lips drew closer.
‘…but I can offer you a way out. This control,’ she said, indicating a large red button on the device, ‘is a kill switch. I can tell them that you jumped me and grabbed the device. If you press this, it will all be over. It will be painful, but at least it will be quick.’
The Japanese woman pressed the control device into Stofan’s shaking hands and then stood up.
‘Otherwise you’ll be slowly turned into a monster!’
When the Japanese woman spoke again it was almost a whisper.
‘Just like me…’
Stofan stared at the device in horror and then back up into the eyes of the Japanese woman.
‘I…. can’t!’ she said through tears and spittle.
The Japanese woman bent back down and retrieved the device. She walked back over towards the door and grabbed something, throwing it towards Stofan. It was a pile of black combat clothes, just like hers.
‘Don’t say that I didn’t warn you,’ said the Japanese woman. ‘You’re theirs now. They own your soul and there’s absolutely nothing that you can do about it.’
She turned to leave.
‘Get dressed. I have to take you home.’
‘Then what?’ asked Stofan in a quavering voice.
The assassin turned back and smiled. ‘Then you wait until your called to meet them,’ she said.
Part four is due to be released on Saturday 17th August 2013...
Prologue "Industrial Espionage"
The small holographic television screen in the corner of the laboratory, flashed up a breaking news report, making several of the white clad scientists look up from their work with mild interest. The Intergalactic News Network’s anchorman, Alexander Robertson, was talking excitedly over dramatic pictures of a smoking mountain.
‘…huge explosion has collapsed the top of the Olympus Mons volcano on Mars, where the reclusive scientist Farouk El-Baz’s high security laboratory was situated. El-Baz was renowned for some of the most advanced technological breakthroughs in recent history including the vaccine for the Rhinovirus, advances in cybernetic limb replacement and the design of the engines for the eagerly awaited “Kalpesh Vayu” star cruiser.’
Robertson looked into a different camera and cocked his head to one side.
‘Boy, would I like to get my hands on one of those puppies!’ he crowed.
‘Turn that rubbish off!’ snapped another scientist who chose that moment to walk into the room. He was clearly the boss. His voice was muffled by a thick rubber mask, which was stretched across his face. ‘Mr Nakamura is not paying us to watch television!’
As one, the Japanese scientists all turned for a moment and bowed respectfully to the three-dimensional holograph of the head of the corporation that was mounted on one wall. A small label at the bottom of the picture read “Proteus Pharmaceuticals Chairman - Akihito Nakamura”. On the wall above the picture was the logo of Proteus Pharmaceuticals, a three pronged trident painted in the style of Japanese lettering that was set on a yellow diamond surrounded by a red circle. The figure in the picture was an impeccably smart, ageing Japanese gentleman. He wore a dull grey tailored suit and an expression of restrained pride and calm superiority.
At that moment, an alarm began to blare loudly in the distance. All the scientists looked up with unease. Yellow warning lights began to flash on the ceiling of the laboratory and the floor shook violently as a distant explosion resonated through the rigid metal structure beneath them. The scientists stared at each other in shock and panic. One of them pulled his mask down and cried, ‘What do we do Sir?’
‘Save the samples!’ shouted the head scientist, scrabbling for a rack of glass vials filled with bright blue liquid that were standing on the desk top in front of him, ‘…and put your mask back on! Do you want to be infected?’
As the scientists tried desperately to stow the fragile samples into a cold storage safe, the door to the laboratory was suddenly wrenched off its pneumatic seals by another massive explosion. There was a brilliant flash of green light and debris flew in several directions as most of the scientists were thrown off their feet. A slender figure, clothed in black from head to toe and wearing a black facemask, burst through the door and levelled a small automatic pistol at the lead scientist. The man’s face drained of colour and he instinctively brought his arm up to cover his terrified face. With a click, the black figure strafed the room from left to right, cutting the unfortunate survivors of the explosion into two. Blood splashed onto the clean ceramic surfaces of the lab leaving patterns that resembled cherry blossom against a late spring snow.
When the firing stopped, the assassin thrust the smoking pistol into a large holster attached to its belt and made straight for the cold storage safe. It stepped carefully over the twitching corpses, white lab coats stained with crimson blood. Quickly, the black figure grabbed several vials and stored them carefully away in a pouch that was attached to their belt and then turned towards the door, ready to make good their escape.
The figure froze. Standing blocking the doorway were a dozen guards, armoured, helmeted, and carrying traditional Japanese Katana swords. This may have seemed strange for anyone who didn’t work for Nakamura. Not only was the boss a traditionalist, but also there was always something explosive in the laboratory that could be triggered by a stray bullet. Swords simply were more practical. The black figure dropped gloved hands to its sides and circled its head around tense shoulders, clicking the neck vertebrae into place one by one. After a short pause, the assassin politely nodded their masked face briefly before reaching up and around to a sheath tied to their back, pulling out a short Wakizashi sword. The figure lunged at the nearest guard, who parried and dove to the side. A second guard whirled his Katana through the air, to be met with a clang of sparks by the assassin’s flashing blade.
Wherever the assassin moved there was a ready blade waiting to meet its own. The combatants whirled and dodged in a sick parody of ballet, but the outcome was inevitable. The assassin was hopelessly outnumbered. With a sideways slice, the lead guard caught the assassin across the stomach, opening the flesh like a fishmonger filleting tuna. The black figure bent double in pain and then collapsed backwards onto the floor. One-by-one, the guards swiftly thrust their swords downwards, piercing every vital organ of the intruder. As the assassin haemorrhaged internally and coughed blood through the fibres of their black mask, the lead guard knelt and peered down into piercing green eyes that were narrowed and angry. Reaching forward, the guard grabbed the lightweight mask and ripped it off, to reveal the face of a young man with flowing locks of golden hair that cascaded to the floor only to soak up his own ebbing life-blood.
The guard grimaced and snarled at the dying man. ‘Mr Nakamura was very clear,’ he said with a hiss. ‘He will not sell Ōnamuji, nor will he allow it to be stolen!’
‘You fucking yellow son of a bitch!’ gurgled the man with the long golden hair and green eyes.
The guard smiled. ‘Racism will get you nowhere. You have failed!’
The dying man smiled as he coughed up the blood that was filling his lungs. He held up his right hand. One of the glass vials was gripped between his gloved fingers. The blue liquid within seemed to glow and shimmer.
The guard’s face fell. ‘You would not dare!’ he hissed through trembling lips.
‘Wouldn’t I,’ snarled the assassin. ‘I hold the power of life and death in my hands. That power elevates me above the gods!’
The guards all took a step backwards. ‘You’re insane!’ shouted the head guard who was beginning to panic.
‘Kutabare!’ growled the assassin, swearing in perfect Japanese.
The assassin closed his fingers abruptly, breaking the delicate glass vial and releasing the experimental Ōnamuji drug within. Instantly the liquid in the vial boiled away into the air and dispersed as a gas. The head guard jumped back, but it was too late. Infinitesimal particles of the gaseous drug spun through the air like dandelion seeds on a breeze and entered his lungs. He convulsed violently and screamed. Deep inside his brain a chemical reaction took place, accelerating faster than his body could cope. Suddenly, he blinked and his eyes became a deep glowing blue, the colour of shining sapphire. His skin softened and became translucent, revealing pumping blue veins beneath. Then his whole body took on a glow, almost as though his life force was shining through. Abruptly his face cleared and took on an expression of inhuman rage and aggression. He straightened up and turned suddenly towards his comrades, who were already backing, terrified, towards the door.
The guard snarled like an animal and leapt. In a second, he was upon them, biting, tearing and gnawing; a one man weapon of mass destruction. As the gas spread through the air, the remaining guards fell. As each inhaled, one by one they convulsed and rose a second later with eyes of flashing blue and waxen skin. As the alarm claxon sounded, the rampaging guards tore out into the corridor, smashing the bio-lock door to pieces and began to spread like a virus into the rest of the crippled ship.
Chapter 1 "S.O.S."
Extract from the Central Computer Network:
ccn.unitedworlds.co.ert/history/josia...
CAPTAIN JOSIAH TRENCHARD - THE FIXER:
Captain Trenchard and the crew of the Might of Fortitude had battled a vicious robotic weapon built by the Papaver Corporation (see Morgenstern), and then cut off the supply of deadly gas to the Insurgent terrorists. Trenchard had subsequently been promised by Admiral Fife that he would be sent back out into the Asteroid Belt to hunt down pirates once more. Unfortunately his eagerness to aid Captain Fisher, Jarvis and Kidd in tracking down pirate Captains Smiler, Raven and Harlequin, would have to wait. Trenchard’s reputation for going feet first into dangerous situations and kicking the enemy up the arse had spread beyond the military. He was becoming something of a minor celebrity, although his methods constantly gave his superiors cause to worry. Trenchard himself had become deeply concerned that one of his crew, A.S. Cox, had been imprisoned in a psychiatric institution and that another, Lieutenant Ellen Stofan, had been killed after being discovered as a double agent. The Might of Fortitude barely had time to re-supply after returning from Pazuzu, before a pressing emergency in the proximity of Saturn’s rings, drew Trenchard into a deadly struggle that would test his mettle to destruction, and beyond…
Trenchard was once again waiting pensively outside the conference room of the naval academy on the surface of the dwarf planet Cairn, where the United Worlds Space Navy’s main base was situated. It had been only a few days since their return from Pazuzu in the Sirius system, but Trenchard was eager to get back out into space again. The incident with Cox had deeply unsettled the crew and they needed a diversion.
The door to the conference room slid open and an elderly Japanese man in a grey suit exited the room at speed. He gave Trenchard a brief, but polite, bow from the waist as he passed. Then he rushed off down the corridor to be met by a worried looking middle aged Japanese man in a similar grey suit, and about a dozen armed guards. The guards were wearing a uniform that Trenchard didn’t recognise. He surmised that they must be some kind of private security. They were all wearing traditional Hachimaki headbands tied around their foreheads. Each was emblazoned with a trident symbol that Trenchard couldn’t quite make out.
Trenchard was pulled out from his introspection as his boss, Admiral Fife, appeared at the door looking stressed and beckoned him into the room. The conference room was long and had chairs arranged around an oval table and a huge holographic projector mounted on the far wall. A vast United Worlds flag bearing a yellow sun and several orbiting red planets hung from another wall, and opposite from that, the navy’s slogan “Honour, strength and unity!” was carved into the stone wall and picked out in gold leaf. Trenchard’s eyes hovered over the slogan. It had always meant a great deal to him. He was undoubtedly a man of honour. That didn’t always mean being polite or gentle, like a dashing knight of old. To Trenchard, honour was a crowbar that was used to beat off temptation and enabled you to stick to your own personal values. It was doing what was right, no matter what the consequences. Honour had been telling Captain Bird where to stick it when he had tempted Trenchard with mutiny. Strength he had plenty of, both physical and emotional. Unity, well that was another thing. He could do little about the state of the entire United Worlds which was being torn apart by a war against Insurgent terrorists. Neither could he watch over the entire Space Navy, where cracks were beginning to appear even now. All he could hope to do was keep his own crew working together effectively, something that he seemed to have done with reasonable success so far. The revelation that Lieutenant Stofan, one of his trusted troopers, had been a saboteur and traitorous double agent still stuck in his craw. It festered like a wound at the very heart of the crew’s morale.
Trenchard sat heavily on a chair and waited for Fife to start. Fife looked pensive as he settled into a chair, as if he didn’t want to say what was on his mind.
‘Are you well Captain?’ asked Fife in his remarkably dour Scottish accent. ‘That thing with Ellen Stofan can’t have been easy.’
He was straight to the point as usual; there was no drama with Fife.
‘I’m as good as I can be,’ replied Trenchard. ‘Being that we had a traitor on board and Cox was hauled of to the mental asylum at Bedlam, I’m just dandy!’
‘Good,’ said Fife ignoring the obvious dig. Fife had been the one that allowed Cox to be taken to the high security prison, something that Trenchard hadn’t forgiven him for. Then taking a deep breath, Fife began, ‘I’m afraid that you won’t be back out in the asteroid belt just yet Captain. Subduing the pirates will have to wait for a while longer. A situation has arisen which requires urgent attention.’
‘What’s the mission? I assume it’s somebody else’s fuck up that I’m sorting out, as usual?’ asked Trenchard, as direct as Fife.
Fife grinned a mirthless grin and snorted. ‘This morning there was a general S.O.S. sent out from the science vessel SS Seishi. She’s owned by Proteus Pharmaceuticals. Technically she’s a long line gas miner, but she was recently purchased by Proteus and converted into a floating laboratory. She’s in a tight orbit between the surface of Saturn and its rings.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘Nobody knows for sure. The scientists aboard were researching a number of top-secret drugs for Proteus, it’s possibly a biological outbreak of some kind, but it could be pirates, Insurgents, anything.’
Trenchard could smell a rat. He had developed a keen nose for bullshit, and it was screaming at him now, insisting that he was right in the middle of a field of diarrheic bulls that had just been given Vindaloo curry for lunch.
‘Why is the navy getting involved, surely Proteus has its own security vessels?’
‘Indeed they do, but we’ve received a personal plea for help from Akihito Nakamura, the head of Proteus. Do you have your zero gee sickness pills with you?’
Confused, Trenchard nodded and pulled the small bottle from his pocket. He always carried them. He hated zero gravity and the pills were the only thing that stopped him from constantly vomiting.
‘See the label?’ said Fife.
Trenchard studied the label. Printed on the side was the same trident logo that the guards in the corridor had worn on their headbands.
‘His company supplies a great deal of the medical equipment and drugs for the entire navy,’ explained Fife. ‘He could withhold supplies if he wanted to. It’s a very difficult political situation.’
‘But why is he asking for military help specifically, does he know something that we don’t?’
Fife took a deep breath.
‘One of his sons is on board that ship,’ said Fife. Then there was a long pause as he let this sink in to Trenchard’s mind. ‘Makoto Nakamura was touring the ship, inspecting her after the recent refit. Nakamura’s already lost a daughter, and that devastated him. He’s terrified that he’ll loose one of his sons. The request for help came directly to the office of Admiral Adisa and was passed down to me. I’ve just met Nakamura personally. He was very insistent that the Might of Fortitude carries out the mission. Apparently, word of your recent exploits is starting to spread. He’s convinced that you’re the best man for the job, the best chance of saving his son. It seems that you’ve made quite an impression on him… Fixer!’
Trenchard fumed. He hated the glib nickname that the I.N.N. anchorman Alexander Robertson had given him. He chose to ignore the comment and ploughed straight on.
‘Was that him that just left?’ asked Trenchard.
Fife nodded. ‘He came straight here from his meeting with Adisa at Star-spires with his other son Hitoshi. He’s very worried. He’s an old man now and he’s expecting to hand his company over to his two sons.’
‘I’ll try my best not to disappoint him.’
Fife slumped in his chair. ‘Thank you Jo,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I know this isn’t what you wanted, especially after losing Stofan and Cox the way you did, but it’s important for the navy.’
Trenchard’s face became stony. ‘I didn’t lose them, they were taken from me,’ he said simply.
Fife looked nervous for a moment and then reached forwards to a control on the desktop. As he operated the control, the door to the room locked with a resounding click. Fife glowered at Trenchard for a long moment before finally speaking.
‘I know you’re pissed at me for what happened to Cox, but it was beyond my control. I’m on your side Jo believe me! I looked into that prototype Kalpesh Vayu star-ship for you,’ said Fife in a quiet voice.
Trenchard’s ears perked up. The Japanese assassin whom he had been tracking for a while now used that ship. She was linked to the Papaver Corporation, the Morgenstern and the gas attack in Paris. She most probably was responsible for killing Stofan and she definitely gave Trenchard the scar on his neck, a permanent reminder of her sinister dealings. She was behind a trail of death and destruction that spread across the entire United Worlds. He was desperate to find her.
‘The Vayu model has had a number of contributors including Farouk El-Baz, Kalpesh and… the Papaver Corporation.’
Trenchard tensed, this was exactly the sort of lead that he was after.
‘Papaver designed and built the computer systems for the Vayu. It’s the most advanced ship of its kind anywhere in the United Worlds,’ continued Fife. ‘It hasn’t gone into production yet because of a fault with the hatch seal. Kalpesh built only one working prototype. He gave it to Papaver as a personal gift.’
Trenchard chewed over the information for a moment.
‘So Papaver must have given the ship to her!’ he said.
‘Possibly,’ replied Fife. ‘She could have stolen it. Who knows? I tried to get an answer from Papaver directly, but he’s not replying to any of my messages.’
Trenchard sighed. ‘So it’s another dead end,’ he growled.
‘Unfortunately yes,’ said Fife. ‘I’m afraid the only way that you’ll ever catch her is to physically entrap her. She has the best ship in the United Worlds that has obviously been retro-fitted with stealth capabilities. She doesn’t appear on the Facial Recognition Database, or any other database for that matter, and she seems to be expert at concealing her activities.’
Trenchard grunted. ‘Thanks for checking anyway. I appreciate it,’ he said.
Fife nodded. ‘Whatever I can do to help. I’d quite like a word with her myself; find out what she’s been up to and why.’
‘Why don’t you ask Admiral Turner directly?’ said Trenchard, rather bluntly. ‘You and I both know that Turner’s had meetings with her!’
Trenchard had seen the assassin enter a meeting with Admiral Turner with his own eyes. The direct question took Fife off guard. He blinked and inhaled deeply before replying.
‘I cannot ask another Admiral of the fleet if she is involved with a freelance assassin without proof. High command would have me demoted for the accusation at best!’
Trenchard came to the end of his patience and made as if to stand. ‘Right. Well if that’s everything, I’d appreciate you unlocking the damned door?’
Fife raised his finger angrily. ‘I haven’t finished yet Captain!’ he snapped. ‘Sit down!’
Trenchard grumpily sat back down again.
‘There’s one more thing,’ Fife said with narrowed eyes, ‘…and I’m afraid you won’t like it.’
‘So what else is new,’ said Trenchard.
‘Nakamura’s insisted that you take one of his people on board, a specialist.’
‘A civilian?’ said Trenchard alarmed.
‘She’s one of Nakamura’s top scientists. She was directly involved in developing a lot of the drugs that they were testing aboard the Seishi. If anyone knows anything about what you could come up against on that ship, it will be her.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Eiko Yasui. She’s waiting for you in the combat training zone.’
Ellen’s Story: Six Months Previously…
Lieutenant Ellen Stofan walked briskly along a corridor inside the U.W.S.N. headquarters of Star-spires, heading for a meeting. She was nervous as hell and could feel the sweat dribbling down her shaven scalp underneath her helmet. She had been a perimeter guard here at Star-spires for nearly two years now and in all that time had never been summoned to a meeting with anyone higher up the chain of command than a Lieutenant Commander. Suddenly, out of the blue, Admiral Turner had summoned Stofan to her office, high up in the gothic spires of the building.
Stofan reached Admiral Turner’s office and stopped. She prepared herself mentally for a moment. God, she hoped that she hadn’t done something wrong. She couldn’t think of anything she’d done wrong, but some of the top brass could be arseholes if you didn’t salute them properly. She reached out gingerly and pressed the door buzzer.
After a long moment, the heavy oak-panelled door swung open and she found herself facing a gaunt looking man. He was ranked as Commander and had thinning hair that was combed over a balding patch. His skin looked greasy and he had an unkind scowl on his brittle features.
‘Yes?’ said the Commander with a sneer.
Stofan looked up at him and saluted. ‘Lieutenant Ellen Stofan reporting as ordered Sir!’ she said curtly, snapping into a formal attention.
The Commander looked her up and down as if he were appraising a second hand car. ‘Ahh, yes,’ he said, his upper class accent only accentuating the disdain in his voice. ‘Come in. Admiral Turner is expecting you.’
The thin man stood aside and Stofan marched stiffly into the room, stopping a couple of feet before Admiral Turner’s desk. The man closed the door and stood behind Stofan, rather unnervingly a little too close for comfort. Stofan took in what she could see of the office from her strict attention posture. It was a large room; oak panelled and had a luxurious thick red carpet on the floor. There was one large window, a huge gothic arch that looked straight out across the courtyard below to the government buildings and the Pacific Ocean beyond. Admiral Turner was sat at a large oak desk with a built in touch screen computer and a holographic display. She was an older woman, maybe in her mid forties, and she had immaculately trimmed, short, slightly greying hair.
After a moment, Turner finished what she was doing and looked up at Stofan.
‘Lieutenant Stofan? Thank you for coming. You may stand at ease, and take off that helmet would you. It must be stifling under there.’
Stofan said a prompt, ‘Thank you Sir!’ and took off her helmet, holding it under her arm and relaxing her stance.
‘You’re probably wondering why I called you here?’ said Turner with a tight smile.
‘Yes Sir,’ replied Stofan.
Turner smiled, stood from her seat and moved over towards the arched window with her hands clasped behind her back.
‘You have an impressive service record Stofan,’ said Turner as she watched the distant waves. ‘You’re diligent, always obey orders and have advanced to the rank of Lieutenant remarkably quickly.’
Turner suddenly rounded on Stofan and stared deeply into her eyes.
‘You remind me somewhat of myself when I was a young officer.’
‘Thank-you Sir.’
Turner paused as if she was thinking about something difficult.
‘We need someone like you for a special assignment, one of the utmost danger and secrecy.’
Stofan reddened slightly. She had waited her whole life for this. Finally she had been noticed. She could almost smell the promotion.
‘What I’m going to ask you to do is vital for the future survival of the entire United Worlds Stofan, vital for the survival of our species. Do you understand?’
‘Yes Sir.’
Stofan didn’t quite understand, but she wasn’t going to argue with an Admiral.
‘If you agree to this, there is no going back. You will have nobody to turn to. You will be on your own.’
Stofan nodded.
Then Turner asked Stofan a question that took her completely off guard.
‘Is it true you have no dependents, no family, and no next of kin?’
Stofan wrinkled her forehead for a puzzled moment and then said, ‘Yes Sir. My family were killed when I was a teenager in an air-car accident. I was the only survivor. I have no close relatives. The navy is my home Sir.’
‘And there’s no-one waiting for you on the outside, no boyfriend, girlfriend?’
‘No Sir,’ said Stofan, growing more puzzled by the minute.
‘Good,’ said Turner and then nodded to the Commander who was standing directly behind Stofan. ‘Mabius!’
She felt Mabius’ breath on the back of her neck and then Stofan suddenly felt a slight prick at the base of her skull and then she blacked out.
Pain. Excruciating pain. There was a bright light somewhere above her. Stofan blinked her eyes and tried to focus. She was on some kind of bed or table, strapped down. Everything was white around her and she felt woozy, drugged. A face came into view, covered by a surgeon’s mask.
‘She’s responding nicely,’ said a voice with a thick French accent.
Another face loomed into view. Turner!
‘The chip’s in place?’ she asked.
The masked French man nodded.
‘Oui Madame. It is functioning perfectly.’
Turner looked satisfied.
‘Good. Knock her out.’
Stofan blacked out again.
Stofan suddenly felt cold; the sort of cold that you only get from a concrete floor.
Stofan grappled with consciousness like a greased pig. Slowly she became aware that she was lying in complete blackness on what felt like a bare concrete floor in a small room. She assumed it was small because there was no echo, but how could she tell? It was pitch black. She was freezing cold, shivering and felt like she was wearing something very thin and open at the back like a hospital gown? Her back and buttocks were pressed onto the cold floor.
Stofan struggled into a sitting position, resting her back against the wall and winced with pain. Something hurt like hell at the back of her head. She ran her hand over the spot and it felt wet and slippery. Bringing her hand in front of her face she smelled her fingers. They smelled tinny and metallic, like blood.
Suddenly a door opened and bright white light flooded into the room. The light stung her eyes and the pain in the back of her skull got worse. When her eyes had adjusted, she could make out a black figure standing silhouetted in the doorframe. The figure looked female and had her hands on her hips.
‘Lights!’ commanded a voice with just a hint of a Japanese accent.
The overhead lights blinked on and Stofan finally saw that she was in a cell of some kind. The woman at the door was dressed head to toe in black combat gear and had long dark brown hair tied back in a tight ponytail. She looked down at Stofan and smiled.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.
‘Like shit!’ croaked Stofan, looking up into the woman’s deep brown eyes.
‘You will do. You’ve had surgery.
‘Surgery!’ exploded Stofan. ‘What the fuck have you done to me?’
Suddenly Stofan’s energy returned and she jumped forwards at the woman. In a flash, the Japanese woman pulled a small device from her pocket and pressed a control. Instantly it was as if someone thrust a jagged knife into the back of Stofan’s skull and pushed it relentlessly behind her eyeballs.
Stofan collapsed in howling pain, cradling her head and yelling, ‘Please make it stop! Make it stop!’
The Japanese woman turned off the device and the pain subsided. She walked over to Stofan’s recumbent form and dropped onto her haunches, looking down with what resembled sympathy.
‘Look, I’d like to help you, but I can’t,’ said the Japanese woman. ‘They own you now, just like they own me. If you defy them there will be pain. If you don’t do what they want, there will be death... yours! They’ll ask you to do some horrible things. You will be forced to question your own morality.’
The Japanese woman drew closer to Stofan’s face. Stofan could feel her warm breath on her cheek.
‘I shouldn’t do this…’
The woman’s warm lips drew closer.
‘…but I can offer you a way out. This control,’ she said, indicating a large red button on the device, ‘is a kill switch. I can tell them that you jumped me and grabbed the device. If you press this, it will all be over. It will be painful, but at least it will be quick.’
The Japanese woman pressed the control device into Stofan’s shaking hands and then stood up.
‘Otherwise you’ll be slowly turned into a monster!’
When the Japanese woman spoke again it was almost a whisper.
‘Just like me…’
Stofan stared at the device in horror and then back up into the eyes of the Japanese woman.
‘I…. can’t!’ she said through tears and spittle.
The Japanese woman bent back down and retrieved the device. She walked back over towards the door and grabbed something, throwing it towards Stofan. It was a pile of black combat clothes, just like hers.
‘Don’t say that I didn’t warn you,’ said the Japanese woman. ‘You’re theirs now. They own your soul and there’s absolutely nothing that you can do about it.’
She turned to leave.
‘Get dressed. I have to take you home.’
‘Then what?’ asked Stofan in a quavering voice.
The assassin turned back and smiled. ‘Then you wait until your called to meet them,’ she said.
Part four is due to be released on Saturday 17th August 2013...
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