Leaving the H.M.S. London
In Tilleke Space
The Savak on top of Cookie grabbed her by the throat and began to beat her head against the deck. Cookie clawed at his face, ripping off his helmet. Choking, frantic with the need for air, she jammed stiffened fingers into his eyes, hard. His grip loosened for a second.
“Do something! Grant!” she croaked.
Groaning with the effort, Grant sluggishly pulled himself up, grabbed the Savak around the neck, stuck his pistol in the commando’s ear and pulled the trigger. Blood sprayed everywhere, covering Grant’s face and chest. He flopped back down on the deck, gasping for air. The Savak collapsed sideways, eyes bulging from the hydrostatic effect of the bullet. Cookie stared at the body, feeling a shock of recognition as she realized he looked identical to the five Bobs she had killed on the London just minutes earlier. Bugger me, how many times do I have to kill you? She heard a noise and looked up.
Grant Skiffington was sitting up against one wall, arms hugging himself. His teeth chattered. His eyes blinked furiously. Cookie crawled to him and put her arms around him. “You are a complete and utter fuck-up, Skiffington, but you did good. Real good.”
Grant tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sob. “I–I don’t know what-”
“Takes some gettin’ used to. No shame in it.” She wearily leaned her head against the bulkhead. For the first time, she thought she truly understood the blood tears tattooed on Sergeant Capezzera’s face.
• • • • •
Thirty minutes later, Grant could see the London receding in the distance. “Look,” he said, pointing. “They turned on the navigation lights. They’re blinking.”
Cookie joined him, leaning over his shoulder to see the video display. “There’s another ship over there with blinking lights.” She adjusted the camera. “But that one over there doesn’t have its nav lights on.”
“Then that’s the one we head to,” Grant said. “According to the sensors, it’s the Yorkshire. Hmmm…a Third Fleet ship. What the hell is it doing over here?” He adjusted the course and goosed the thrusters.
“What’s that?” Cookie asked, and pointed to a shadow sitting several miles from the Yorkshire. “See, something just drifted in front of that star.”
• • • • •
Captain Yossi Gur was unhappy. No, he was pissed off. The Yorkshire was a sitting duck, all alone four hundred miles in front of the confused remnants of the vaunted Second Fleet. Ships were milling around accomplishing nothing much at all. Since their orders from the London, they’d received no other instructions. There was some sparse radio chatter on the net, but mostly nothing. Two other Third Fleet ships, the destroyer Rutland and the cruiser(E) Kent were moving slowly up to take position with him, thank God. For all he could see, they were all that was left of the two Battle Groups of the Third Fleet assigned to this fiasco. Three ships out of forty. He grimaced inwardly, remembering the shock and total confusion after the Sussex blew up. Suddenly ships were being hit all around them, but they couldn’t find anyone to shoot back at. At a total loss for what to do, he had taken the Yorkshire vertical for one thousand miles, which seemed to take it out of the enemy’s kill zone. A few others had escaped as well, but most had become separated, so he had plotted a course to the London, arriving just in time to be ordered to take the van.
His XO, Benny Peled sat down beside him. “Rutland and Kent are both calling in, wanting to know what’s going on.”
“Don’t we all,” Gur replied sourly.
“Captain!” the Com Officer called. “Someone is hailing us through a com laser. Says it is an escape pod off the London. He’s demanding to talk to you, sir.”
Captain Gur frowned. An escape pod? He glanced at the holo display. It showed the London perfectly intact, just four hundred miles away. He gestured irritably to the Com Officer. “Put it on.”
“This is Captain Gur of the H.M.S. Yorkshire,” he said. “State your identity.”
“This is Lieutenant Skiffington, personal aide to Admiral Skiffington of the London,” the voice came back. “I am in an escape pod abut thirty miles from you. I need you to bring me aboard as quickly as you can.”
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.”