The Trafalgar Gambit (Ark Royal) (2 page)

But it isn't her service that brings her to London now
, Ted thought, as he helped her to her feet.  The fire had gone out of her when she’d discovered her lover was dead – and who he’d really been. 
And I wouldn't have brought her here at all, if it had been up to me
.

“Come on,” he said, gently.  “It’s time to face the music.”

The hatch opened, revealing puddles of water gathering around the shuttle.  Ted hesitated, then let out a sigh of relief as a pair of armed soldiers appeared, one of them carrying a spare umbrella.  Ted took it, then used it to cover both himself and Janelle.  The soldiers looked thoroughly wet and miserable as they beckoned Ted to follow them towards the terminal buildings.  He couldn’t help noticing that the spaceport was largely disused, despite the urgent need to bring supplies into the city.  Two of the terminals seemed to have been converted into makeshift refugee camps.

“There’s a VIP transport for you, sir,” one of the soldiers said, once they’d checked IDs against a central database.  He pointed to a large black car, waiting just outside the terminal, with an armed escort on either side.  “You’ll be taken directly to Downing Street.”

Ted swallowed as he saw the soldiers.  “Is it really that bad out there?”

“It’s worse,” the soldier said.  His voice was dead, as if he had been pushed to the limits of his endurance and there was nothing left, but duty.  “If the flood levels keep rising, we’re going to have to move millions more people out of London to higher ground.  Damned if we know how we’re going to do that, sir.  We had a riot in Soho yesterday that saw several thousand people dead.  We had to stack the stiffs in a pile and use lasers to burn the bodies to ash.”

Ted nodded, unsurprised.  There was no way that millions of dead bodies could be stored for later identification, not now.  Hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of people would never be accounted for, their fates utterly unknown.  The prospect of never knowing what had happened to his family gnawed at him, yet he knew there was no choice.  Thousands of decomposing bodies would spread disease at horrifying speed.

He climbed into the rear of the car, then settled down and watched as the driver started the engine and followed the soldiers out into the streets.  London was awash with water, even on streets he would have thought immune to flooding.  It had been years since he’d driven in London, but he was fairly sure the driver was taking the long way round.  But then, if some streets were impassable he would have no choice.

“My God,” Janelle said.  It was the first thing she’d said since boarding the shuttle.  “
Look
at it!”

Ted followed her gaze.  It had once been a park, he was sure, a place for young children to play while their parents watched.  Now, it was a muddy refugee camp, with prefabricated buildings providing limited shelter against the rain.  The refugees themselves were largely older citizens, young women or children.  The young men, Ted knew, would have been drafted to help with the floods.  Many of the refugees had torn clothing, nothing more than whatever they’d been wearing when the attack began.

“We’ve been having some problems feeding them all,” the driver said, as he drove past the camp and down towards Downing Street.  “I believe there are plans to move them all to Scotland, but no one really knows if it will ever happen.”

Ted shuddered, remembering some of the disaster management plans he’d seen during his stint at the Admiralty, after his promotion.  None of them had made encouraging reading – and, judging from the scene before him, they’d simply been swept away by the pressure of events.  Some of the plans had even talked about triage, about allowing the elderly to die while lavishing what resources were left on the young men and women who would be required to rebuild the world.  He couldn't help wondering if the system was no longer capable of even separating out the younger men and women and sending them out of danger.

But there is nowhere safe these days
, he thought, morbidly. 
The aliens could return at any moment to finish the job
.

The thought was a knife in his heart.  Operation Nelson had been a success, tactically speaking. 
Ark Royal
and her multinational task force had hammered the aliens, smashing dozens of alien starships and occupying – for a few long days – an alien world.  It had been a tactical masterpiece.  But they had returned home to discover that Earth had been attacked, millions of humans were dead and that the war might be on the verge of being lost.  A second attack on Earth might prove disastrous.

He frowned as the car turned into Downing Street, catching sight of the protestors at the far end of the road. Some of them waved banners demanding more food or supplies for the refugees, others preached genocide and demanded attacks on alien worlds.  Ted understood what they were feeling; he had to admit, in the privacy of his own thoughts, that he shared the desire for revenge.  But he also knew that mutual destruction would be pointless.

But how can we come to terms
, he asked himself,
when they don’t even talk to us
?

The car came to a halt outside Ten Downing Street.  Armed policemen, their faces grim and pale, checked their IDs again before allowing them to exit the car and run up the steps into the very heart of British Government.  Inside, it felt curiously musty and abandoned, as if the vast army of civil servants who made the government work had been withdrawn.  It was quite possible they had, Ted knew.  The contingency plans had insisted on establishing a command and control centre some distance from the disaster zone, even if the Prime Minister and the Monarch remained in London, symbolically sharing the plight of their people.  But it wasn't quite the same.

“Admiral Smith,” a voice said.  Ted looked up to see a man in an elegant black suit.  “I’m Giles Footswitch.  The Prime Minister is waiting for you.”

Ted placed the name as they passed their coats to the equerry, then followed Giles Footswitch through a solid metal door and down a long flight of stairs into the secured bunker that served as the Prime Minister’s command and control centre.  Cold air struck him as they reached the bottom of the stairs and passed another pair of armed guards.  Inside, the conference room was nearly empty.  The Prime Minister sat at one end of the table, staring down at the latest set of reports.  His face was so pale that Ted couldn't help wondering just how long he’d been hiding out in the bunker.

“Prime Minister,” he said, carefully.

“Admiral Smith,” the Prime Minister said.  He rose, then stepped slowly towards Ted.  “I must apologise for the welcome or lack thereof.”

“I understand,” Ted said.  The normal ceremonies when an Admiral visited Downing Street had to be put to one side, under the circumstances.  “I ...”

“Take a seat,” the Prime Minister interrupted.  He turned, then returned to his seat.  “The others will be here soon, I think.”

Ted obeyed, motioning for Janelle to take the seat next to him.  The Prime Minister’s eyes rested on her for a long moment, then he looked away with a very visible shrug. Ted understood.  Normally, the lover of Prince Henry would be a subject of considerable political importance, but now it hardly mattered.  Millions were dead, millions more were missing ... there was no time to worry about the Prince’s former girlfriend.  And the Prince himself was dead.

“I wanted to thank you for your service,” the Prime Minister said, quietly.  “It may have been overshadowed, but I still want to thank you.”

“Thank you, Prime Minister,” Ted said.  “We did our duty.”

“Others will disagree,” the Prime Minister said.  His voice betrayed no trace of emotion, beyond a deadness that was more worrying than outright hatred.  “You should be ready for it.  Love can turn so quickly to hate.”

Ted nodded.  He’d been a complete unknown before the war.  After the first battles, he’d become a household name all over Earth.  His fame had been great enough for there to be no other prospective commanding officer for Operation Nelson, despite having a reputation as a drunkard.  Indeed, he’d
beaten
alcohol’s grip on his mind.  But now ... there was no hiding the fact he’d been hundreds of light years from Earth when the planet was attacked.  It was quite possible that the men and women who had loved him before the start of Operation Nelson now hated him for not being there.

He looked at the Prime Minister and sighed, inwardly.  The man was utterly exhausted, sitting in a bunker, cut off from half of his staff and struggling to cope with a crisis that could bring Britain to her knees.  That had
already
, in many ways, crippled the entire country.  Ted was tempted to suggest that the Prime Minister took a nap, perhaps with a sedative pill, but he knew the Prime Minister wouldn't want to do anything of the sort.  He was just far too aware of his role as elected leader of the country.

“The bunker network was badly damaged by the flooding,” the Prime Minister said.  It was such a total departure from the previous line of conversation that it made no sense.  “We worried that the entire network would be flooded before realising that it was largely safe.”

“Yes, Prime Minister,” Ted said.

“I stay here because of the danger,” the Prime Minister added.  He sounded almost as if he were pleading for understanding, or forgiveness.  “No one has ever presided over such a disaster, not ever.”

Ted shared a long look with Janelle.  The Prime Minister sounded as if he were losing the ability to think clearly under the pressure. It would be hard to blame him, Ted knew, but right now the country needed clear-sighted thinkers, not tired politicians.  But there was no way he could say that out loud, not to the Prime Minister. 

“Prime Minister, the latest figures are in,” Giles Footswitch said.  “I ...”

“Leave them,” the Prime Minister ordered, quietly.  There was no room for dispute in his tone.  “We can go over them later.”

Ted felt the silence grow until it felt truly awkward, but held his peace.  The Prime Minister clearly agonised over each and every death, asking himself if there was something he could have done to prevent the slaughter.  Even now, more men and women – British citizens – were dying, some though starvation, some through being caught looting. By contrast, Giles Footswitch didn't seem to understand that each of the figures had a name and story behind it, or maybe he’d just chosen not to think about it.  At some point, the numbers became so high that they were just ...
statistics
.  It was impossible to truly comprehend the sheer weight of the losses the country had suffered overnight.  To try to understand was to court madness.

He looked up as the door opened, revealing the First Space Lord and a man wearing a General’s uniform.  Ted didn't recognise him.  Both of the newcomers looked tired; the First Space Lord, in particular, wore an expression of numb shock. Ted couldn't help fearing for his life, once the immediate crisis had come to an end.  It was the Royal Navy that was responsible for protecting Britain from attack and it had failed.

“Gentlemen,” the Prime Minister said.  “Please, be seated.”

He sounded more in control of himself now, Ted noted, as a handful of other men and women entered the bunker.  The Leader of the Opposition – Deputy Prime Minister, for as long as the War Cabinet remained in session – sat facing the Prime Minister, the others took whatever chairs were available.  Janelle shifted uncomfortably beside him, clearly unhappy at being at the same table as so many high-ranking politicians and military officers.  But there was no time to move her out of the room.

“General Steward,” the Prime Minister said.  “You may begin.”

“I’ve been in worse places,” Wing Commander
Kurt Schneider said, just loudly enough to be heard.  “Haven’t I?”

“It sure isn't the Academy,” Rose pointed out.  His lover looked visibly ill-at-ease, something she’d never shown before.  “This is a foretaste of hell.”

Rain crashed over the ATV as it crunched its way towards the refugee camp.  The camp itself looked alarmingly like a POW camp, perhaps one of the detention centres that had been set up during the height of the troubles and used to house everyone the government of the time hadn’t liked.  It was surrounded by barbed wire and guarded by armed soldiers, none of whom looked very pleased to be standing in the mud, rain dripping off their uniforms.  And, behind the wire, there were a dozen prefabricated colonial buildings, providing emergency shelter for thousands of refugees.