Alarm of War

Gur looked at the Sensors Officer, who shook his head. “No beacon, skipper. Give us a minute and we’ll have him on radar.”

Gur frowned again. “Skiffington, turn on your distress beacon so that we can find you.”

“Negative, Yorkshire, we disabled the beacon because the London is in enemy hands and we don’t want them to know where we are.”

Beside him, Benny Peled gasped in shock. Gur leaned forward. “Lieutenant, what-”

“Yorkshire, there’s no time for this! Get a tractor beam on us and bring us in! Yorkshire, it is imperative that you do not make any more radio communications at all. And arm as many of your crew as you can. You are about to be boarded by a large group of Tilleke commandos.” There was a pause. “And Yorkshire, I know who killed the Sussex. Skiffington out.”

Captain Gur blinked twice, then shook his head in wonderment. “Get him on board, Benny,” he told his XO. “This kid is either our bloody savior, or he is barking dog mad and I’ll have him shot.”

Chapter 30

The H.M.S. Yorkshire

In Tilleke Space

The escape pod hatch opened with a hiss of over-pressurized air escaping. Cookie and Grant stepped out, blinking in the harsh lights of the Yorkshire’s landing bay. A slender, refined looking man stood there, flanked by four Marines. The Marines were armed with fleshchette pistols, all in hand, though pointing down at the deck.

“I’m Commander Peled, the XO,” the tall man said. “Please come with me, the Captain is anxious to speak to you.”

One of the Marines, a sergeant, stepped forward and spoke to Cookie. “Safe that weapon, soldier, and give it to me. No arms allowed on the bridge.”

“Bugger me! I’m not going anywhere without my weapon,” she bristled. “We had to fight our way off the London. Don’t you guys get it; they’re boarding our ships with commandos!”

“All I know,” the sergeant snapped, “Is that we’ve got an AWOL Marine and some junior officer who ought to be at their posts on the London, but instead ran away in an escape pod. Now put your weapon down or-”

“Belay that, Sergeant!” Grant ordered coldly. He turned to Cookie. “Corporal Sanchez, give me your weapon and go fetch our guest.”

Cookie hesitated, then thrust the rifle into his hands, glared coldly at the sergeant, then turned on her heel and disappeared back into the escape pod. Commander Peled watched impassively, but the Marine sergeant glanced warily at the pod’s hatchway. “I don’t like this, sir. What if she’s getting a weapon in there?” But as he spoke, Cookie returned, walking backwards and dragging the body of the dead Savak commando, which left a long blood smear behind it. She dumped the body at the feet of Commander Peled.

“This is a member of the Tilleke Emperor’s Guard, a creche-born Savak,” Grant said coolly. “We think there are a hundred more like him right now on the London. The London is in enemy hands, Commander. We don’t have time to waste playing silly buggers because there are at least two Tilleke ships out there right now about to put more of these bastards on the Yorkshire.”

Peled studied him for a long moment, taking in the bloodied clothing and the too bright eyes, then glanced down and saw the head wound on the Savak’s body. He looked at Cookie, grimly holding her Bullpup.

“Sergeant Zamir,” he said calmly. “Open the arms locker and distribute arms to as many people as you can. Perhaps the Corporal here will be good enough to assist you in planning a defense against any commando attack. I daresay she has valuable expertise to share. And you,” he said, turning to Grant, “will please accompany me to the bridge.” He smiled. “You may keep your weapon.”

A wave of relief and utter fatigue washed over Grant as he followed Peled out the door. Behind him he could hear Cookie: “…nasty motherfuckers…you’ll need grenades, as many as you have. And they’ve got these fucking swords…”

In contrast to Commander Peled’s urbane dignity, Captain Gur was a short, barrel chested man who looked like he’d been in his share of barroom brawls. His nose had been broken more than once and there was a white scar above his eyebrow that stood in sharp relief to his swarthy complexion. He had hard, shrewd eyes that only a day before would have made Grant nervous.

“Well, Lieutenant,” Gur said coldly. “We are in the middle of a battle in which we are getting our asses kicked. The flag ship of the Victorian task force, led by your father, is sitting in space with its thumb up its ass, and you just dropped by in an escape pod. Now would you be so kind, Lieutenant, as to tell me just what the fuck is going on?”

Grant had to fight the fatigue that wrapped his head in wool and dulled his mind. Part of him wanted to laugh; part of him feared he was going to cry. Without asking the Captain’s permission, he collapsed into a chair and scrubbed his face with his hands. Gur’s face flushed at what he took to be a sign of disrespect.

“I asked you a question, Lieutenant!” he snapped.

Grant nodded wearily. “I am trying to think of a way to explain it that you will understand, sir.”

“Well think fast, mister, because I am just a heartbeat away from having you tossed out the airlock for cowardness and desertion in the face of the enemy,” Gur replied angrily, his chin thrust out and his eyes flashing.

Grant’s face flushed with anger. “Then here it is, Captain. Our fleet was ambushed by a combined force of Dominion and Tilleke ships. Those Duck ships we rescued were a set up. It was a ploy to get them into our formation where they could hurt us once the shooting started. The London was boarded by a hundred or more commandos and is now in enemy hands. And right now, Captain, there are two enemy ships just a few miles away from you. If I’m right, and I know I am right,” Grant said flatly, “a bunch of very bad-ass Tilleke commandos are going to board the Yorkshire in the next few minutes and slaughter every one of you.”

“We don’t have any ships that close on our sensors, Lieutenant. How do you explain that?” Gur demanded.

“I don’t know, sir. But I do know the Tilleke put at a least a company’s worth of troops on the London and we never had a clue. I was sitting right on the bridge; we never saw it coming.”

Commander Peled cleared his throat. “Ah, Captain, the Lieutenant here had a very convincing corpse on the escape pod with him. Commando style battle gear, but most definitely not a Victorian Royal Marine.”

Gur raised an eyebrow in question. Peled nodded. “I am having arms distributed now, sir.”

Grant never felt so frustrated in his life. He knew what was coming, just not what to do about it. He rubbed his eyes. He could hear Emily Tuttle’s voice: I tried to figure out what Grant would want to do, and how Hiram would do it. So, first things first.

“Sir, they hit us first in the Engineering Room.”

“How did they get to Engineering without passing through other ship spaces?” Gur snarled.

Grant shook his head. “I have no idea, sir, but our Mildred did not give us any warning of hull breaches.”

Commander Peled’s normal look of casual indifference was replaced by a sudden look of alarm. “Sir, we’ve heard reports for years that the Tilleke were researching teleportation.”

“Teleportation is a fairy tale!” Gur shot back. “Our best scientists have spent years poking at it and have gotten nowhere.”

“I don’t know how they got on board, but they did,” Grant said softly. “We had fifty Marines on the London, and they overwhelmed us. The Savak are good, and there are a lot of them. You’ve got what, twenty, thirty Marines for the entire ship?” Gur nodded. “We need something better than shooting