He Who Dares: Book Two (The Gray Chronicals 2) (5 page)

“We work on a much more informal basis on this duty, Mr. Standish.”

“So I have been informed by Mr. Adams and Mr. Bushman, sir.”

“You had the chance to talk to them then?”

“Yes, sir, my first stop was in the yard and your office, and I met them.”

“Good, so you can see the problems we face.”

“Indeed, sir.  Having Mr. Kincaid to get a haircut would be the one of the first things on my list.”

“Pull up a chair, and grab yourself something to drink.”

“A Whisky would be great.  If I might venture that?”

“You may, but I’m sorry to say, my stock doesn’t expend to that yet, coffee and Brandy mostly.”

“Then, if I may be permitted, I’ll like to add to your inventory.”  He reached down into his ditty bag and pulled out three dark bottles of something.

“Highland Whisky, sir, a present from my paternal Grandfather, Lord Philip Duncan of Glen Ross, on my last visit.”

“Thank you Leftenant,” Mike paused as he accepted a bottle, “you wouldn’t be related to a Leftenant Ross by any chance?”

“Good heavens, yes, my cousin.”  That made Mike smile.  “This your first command, Leftenant Gray?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Correction, sir, this is your second command.”  Conner Blake murmured as he accepted the two bottles.

“What was your first, sir.”

“By misfortune, I took charge of a, um, a sort of rescue mission.”  Hearing that Standish snapped his finger.

“Of course, Mike Gray, double VC gong, the young Ensign that took over command after his Captain was unfortunately killed.”   He grinned.  “Brilliant piece of work, sir, if I may say so, but why the boneheads at the Admiralty would send a rust bucket of an assault shuttle to do the job is beyond me.”

“Thank you Mr. Standish.”  He was sure that Conner would fill him in on the details later.  We have pressing business to take care of first.”

“Please call me Peter, sir.”

“Very good, now to business.”  For an hour, he went over the problems they faced, filling in the gaps where he could.  Standish sipped his drink and nodded occasionally, but didn’t take any notes.  He nodded as Mike made a point about something, committing it to memory.

“So, chasing down the equipment would be the item of top priority,”

“No, I’ve been repeated told that they would be here when needed.”

“But that was last week.”

“Not quite, but critically close.”

“It's more a question of rounding up all the necessary supplies and ancillary equipment that worried me more.  I’ve been around the Ministry of Supply three times, but it's like shouting down a dark well, all you get back is an echo.”

“I might be of some help in that department, sir, I do have a little experience.”

“I hope so, as nothing we’ve done so far works.”  Later, when Mike had a chance to check his record, he found that Pete Standish’s last post was supply officer on a Battleship.  Mike breathed a sigh, at least they had one senior officer with some experience.  If Peter couldn’t get what they needed, he doubted anyone could, or so he thought.  The work went on, but now Mike had a chance to stand back a little and see it happen.  One change that came to Mike’s direct attention, was one he was intimately familiar with.

“Excuse me, sir, can I have a word?”  Gable asked, sticking his head into Mike’s office one morning, snow dusting his cap and shoulders.  He walked in and closed the door, shutting out at least some of the noise from the yard.

“Yes, Gable, what’s up?”

“It's about the location of the main communications and sensor arrays.”

“Okay, shoot.”  He punched up a plan of the flat screen on the wall of Mike’s office, and stabbed his finger at something.  Mike immediately recognized it, the long-range communications array.

“Well, sir, for some time, it's bothered me that the whole damn thing is stuck up in the air, so to speak, above the hull, and usually one of the first things that get hit.”

“Tell me about it, on my last mission that was one of the first things to go.”

“Oh, didn’t know that, sir, but yes, the enemy knows this, and the mast sticks up so high that it’s near the weakest part of the shield.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“They deliberately target it to disrupt communications between eliminate of the fleet, reduce the efficiency of a combine attack.”

“Or a call for help.”

“Precisely, sir.  Disrupting communication between ships of a fleet could be the winning move, what with the time lag between ships in battle.”

“So, what did you have in mind?”

“To start with, we could mount much of the associated sensor equipment on the flat surfaces of the Forward main battery.  They're heavily shielded and that would help protect them.  In that position, it would work better.  Less interference.”  He added.

“Okay, I agree, what else?”

“I’d like to mount the navigation and long range sensor plates along the transom of the ship, and more than just the four we use now.”

“Don’t see why not, it's just a case of obtaining additional units and wiring them.”

“Agreed, sir, I’ve already spoken to the Yard Foreman, and he doesn’t have a problem with it.”

“Are you sure you can get the same coverage from mounting them in this configuration?”  He asked, tapping the drawing.

“Oh, yes, sir, a much better coverage and not so many holes in the field.  This is something I’ve been working on for some time.”  It was clear now why the Admiralty had shunted Gable off to a dead end position.  His suggestions were a radical departure from standard Navy design and some Captain might feel threatened by that.

“Anything else, while we’re at it?”  Mike asked, half jokingly.  Gable took him seriously.

“I like to mount our real time monitoring equipment in the hull itself at various points, with at least two, if not three redundant backup systems.”

“Again, no argument there, can it be done?”

“Yes, sir, I have already talked to Adam and the Yard Electrical Foreman, and they both agree.”

“Good, but what about the main communication antenna?”  Hearing that, Gable’s usually dower face took on and shy expression.

“I’d like to bury it in the keel, sir, with a backup along the port and starboard transom.”

“Ummm, that’s a drastic change, how do you know it will work there?”  For a moment, Mike saw the long-range communication array of the assault shuttle go floating off into space.  If he’d had it, would it have changed his course of action on the rescue mission?  It was a moot point now.

“I’ve all ready tried it, sir, but only on a small scale so far.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, sir, an experiment of my own, some time ago with a shuttle craft.  We can bury the antenna just below the surface of the keel in a shielded groove, then fill it with armor seal to bring it flush.  No one would even know it’s there.”

“So, you intend to keep the standard communication array.”

“Yes, sir, but mainly for looks and as a diversion.”

“Um,” Mike pondered the implications for a second.  “It would mean lifting the hull off the ways about three feet for the cutting machine.”

“Yes, sir, and I already check, and the Yard Foreman tells me he can do it.”  Mike didn’t insult Gable’s intelligence by asking if it would work, as he obviously put a lot of thought and testing into the idea.

“Go for it, but don’t add that to the drawings just yet, let’s keep that as much of a secret as possible for the moment.”  Mike cautioned, but he couldn’t say why, just a hunch.

“Yes, sir.”

“The Bureau of ships is going to have a fit about what we’ve already done.”  Gable grinned and left the office, beaming like a schoolboy.  He was right, the Bur Ships would have a baby when they found out.

The days turned colder, with freezing rain slanted down out of a slate gray sky, coating everything with ice.  Now, just getting to the slip was a major operation.  No sooner had he settle after a hair-raising drive one morning, when one of the fitters came in and handed him a note.  Before Mike could ask him who it was from, he slipped away around the corner and vanished.

The note simply said
.
‘Meet me at slip 19 in two hours’
, there was no signature. He showed it to Conner, and he looked at it dubiously, ever suspicious.

“I take it, you will be going, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Good, I’ll leave now, sir.”  Reaching inside his jacket, Conner pulled out his side arm and checked it.  Mike hadn’t even realized that he was carrying, nor how long, and it made him think about carrying one himself.

Pulling his out of his hold all, he checked the charge before slipping it back into its holster and bucking it around his waist.  The message could be quite innocent, but Conner’s attitude started him thinking in different terms.  Something about this assignment wasn’t exactly by the book, so erring on the side of caution wasn’t out of place.  Making his way to Slip 19, the Land Rover skidded from side to side, as wind gust pushed back and forth over the slick road.  Luckily, he’d learned his way around the sprawling base, and only got lost twice.  He made it to slip 19 ten minutes after the two hour deadline, but the slip itself was empty.  A cold wind whipping off slate gray sea cut through his winter jacket like a knife, chilling him to the bone and for a moment he wondered if who sent the message had left.  The only buildings were a group of work sheds, and pulling the Land Rover up close he stopped and got out.

“One person inside, sir, no one else around.”  Conner whisper in his earpiece.  He didn’t acknowledge, or indicate he understood, and Conner wouldn’t expect him to.

“Didn’t think you were going to show.”  A female voice spoke to him from the deep shadow inside one of the buildings.

“Got delayed by the ice.”  He recognized the voice.  It was Cynthia.

“Why all the cloak and dagger stuff, Cynthia?”  He asked as he walked in.

“You tell me!”

“I don’t follow.”

“I receive an unexpected visit today, from a man who says he’s from the Bureau of ships.”

“Sound impressive.”

“So were his credentials, Chief Inspector, Investigations Division.”

“Ummm, that doesn’t sound good.”

“You’re telling me, I’ve had them around before, but not someone this high up.  They are usually here checking for pilferage, or missing equipment.”

“What did this man want?”

“He asked to see my repair schedule, then asked pointed questions about what else I was doing.”

“You think he was asking about my ship?”

“That’s the impression I got.  He told me in no uncertain terms, that if he caught me working on any other project than the one’s on my list.  His Majesties Government would prosecute anyone and everyone involved to the fullest extent of the law, as he put it.”

“But my ships on the schedule!”

“No, it's not.”

“What!”  Cynthia looked a little sheepish.