He Who Dares: Book Two (The Gray Chronicals 2) (18 page)

“Watch it, Cindy!”

“Sorry, Chief, difficult to balance all six Ag zones manually.”

“You’re doing fine, give me just a little more lift on the stern.”

“Aye-aye, Chief.

Cindy Loftland gently touched the keypad and watched the two monitors as the electronic ‘bubble’ came towards the center.  Once there she cut back on the lift and held her breath.  It steadied for a moment, then started to drift to the side. Normally the computer would have started compensating for that in a fraction of a second, but human reactions just aren’t fast enough.

“Cindy, use your senses, feel what the ship is doing, and don’t rely so much on what the read-outs tell you.”   Conner’s voice was soft, as he knew it would do go good to yell and snapping orders at her, that would only make her ever more nervous.  Mike and Pete sat in their respective seat and just held their breath and watched, this was all up to Conner and Cindy.

Either they could do it, or they couldn’t.  Gradually Conner fed power to the forward manoeuvring thrusters and the ship slipped silently backward down the ways and out into the estuary.  Here it bumped and slid into the snow bank on the other side, plowing a deep furrow through the spongy mass beneath.

“Hmm, got my nice shiny new ship dirty already, Conner.”

“Yes, sir,” he chuckled, “sorry about that, you want me to wash her off in the bay?”

“You might just do that, we wouldn’t want to turn up on parade with a dirty keel, now would we.”  That helped relieve some of the tension on the Bridge as everyone chuckled.

Conner pushed the nose round so they pointed down the estuary and started her moving.  The AG footprint depressed the water and ice below the keel and in a few placed exposed the mud flats beneath, then pushed them down as well.

“Where to, Skipper?”  Pete asked.

“That’s a good point, where do we go?”

“We need a place to hide for a few days, until we can get the operating system installed.”

“It would help if we can get the rest of the ship buttoned up and shipshape before we go into space.”  Pete commented dryly.  “There’s also the question of supplies, Skipper, we still don’t have any.”

“Sir, if I may suggest,” Conner cut in, “what about the de-commissioning yard in Plymouth?”  Pete and Mike looked at each other.

“Now that’s an idea, what better place to hide a ship.”

“Good thinking, Chief, XO, set a course for the scrap yard, keep her as low to the water as possible.”

“Aye-aye, sir the scrap yard it is.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Sergeant Rice looked around with a bored expression on his face that belied the tension behind his eyes and wondering if the Skipper managed to get the ship out of here in time.   At the sound of vehicles approaching, slipping and sliding up the slight rise, and sighed.  If the Skipper hadn’t got the ship out of here by now, the game was up.  Four Naval Police Cruisers came to a stop behind the Inspector, and a Major got out of the first car.  He spoke to the Inspector for a moment, then walked over.  Sergeant Rice came to attention and saluted.

“Morning, sir, what can I do for you?”

“Get this fucking road block out of the way for one, and second, give me the name of your Commanding Officer.”  His tone was hard, and he wasn’t about to put up with any nonsense about a restricted area.

“Aye-aye, sir,” Rice snapped, and keyed his comm unit, “move the road block, on the double.”

Even so, the pilot of the scout car took his time, feigning engine problem, and going through every single item on his pre-flight check-off.  The Major stood with his fists on his hips, fuming, knowing he was doing it deliberately.  At last, the car lifted and the road was clear, but that gained them an extra ten minutes.  The Major motion the Inspector's car forward, and after writing down the name Rice gave him, then, stepping into his car he followed the rest over the rise and down to the slipway.  Rice flicked channels the moment he pulled away.

“Load up, and let’s get out of here, on the double people.”  Climbing aboard the air car he tapped the driver on the shoulder, and he immediately took off and headed for the shuttle.  As a precaution, Rice had parked this behind a small hillock, and the moment everyone was aboard they lifted and headed inland towards the yards, vanishing among the buildings.   With the Naval Police in tow, the Inspector stormed into the building and skidded to a halt.  The hanger was empty, except for a group of fitter sitting around drinking beer and singing.

“What the hell is going on here?”  He demanded.  “Where’s the ship?”

“Who are you, and what ship are you talking about?”  An old man with a shop steward badge on his cap asked.

“I’m the Chief inspector.”  He said, flipping out his identification wallet.

“I demand to know where the ship that was here went, right now.”  His face got red, and he had a tendency to splutter when he was angry.

“You can demand all you want, Chief, won’t do you no good, we ain’t in your Navy.”

“Tell the Chief Inspector what he wants to know, if you know what’s good for you!”  The Major, snapped, walking up to stand beside the Inspector, a hard look on his face.

“And what you going to do if I don’t?”  The shop steward demanded belligerently, as several of the yard crew came over and stood behind him, most with something potentially lethal in his hand.

“Place you all under arrested, that’s what?”

“Oh, on what charge?”

“Obstructing justice!”

“That’s it!”  He whipped his comm unit it, “as chief shop Steward Able Marsh.  I’m calling a strike!  Attention to all shipyard personnel belonging to Local Union 395.  I’m here by calling a walkout and a strike!”

“You can’t do that!”  The Inspector yelled.

“Oh, can’t I!  Just did it tubby, you don’t come in here in the middle of a Birthday party and threaten to arrest us!”  There was a chorus of ‘right on Able – you tell ‘em’

“Birthday party?”

“Yeah, what the bloody ‘ell do you think we was doing, working on one of your ships!  We are celebrating Mike Farrel’s 49 birthday, as per our union contract.”  He poked the Chief Inspector’s ample stomach with the point of his pencil for emphasis.

“Contract?”  The Chief Inspector winced and stepped back away from the sharp point.  Suddenly felt he was out of his depth, he hadn’t read the union contract, and had no idea if they could do that or not.

“Why are you on the base, then, if this is a Birthday party?”  The Major demanded, eyeing the surly looking group.  They outnumbered his small police detachment five to one, so trying to arrest anyone right now was out of the question, not that he had the authority to arrest civilian personnel unless they were in the commission of a crime on naval property.

“So the other crews can come in and celibate during the shift change, it's all in the contract.  Article 5, Section 12, sub-paragraph 6, line seven, if you’d bothered to read it.”  The Major looked around the hanger and sighed.  The evidence was all around that they’d been working on something, but how long ago it was hard to tell.  His sixth sense told him he was being conned, but where was the ship the Chief Inspector was on about?  It wasn’t something you could hide in your pocket.

“I’m sorry, Chief Inspector, there not much we can do, there’s no ship here, and we can’t arrest them for something they aren’t doing.”

“But... but I know there was a ship, here!”

“Oh, how do you know that porky?”  The Shop Steward asked.  The Inspector’s ears got red, as no one dared call him that to his face.  Able March looked at him and grinned, knowing he’d touched a nerve.

“I... I...” He spluttered, rage making his spit even more.  “Someone in authority informed us you were all working illegally on a ship, hull number 696.”  His fat jowl quivered with rage and turned an unhealthy shade of red.

“696 did you say?  Don’t know where you got that from mate, someone must be pulling your leg.”  Able scratched the back of his head with the pencil.  He pulled a pad out of his front bib pocket and looked at it, slowly going down the list with the point of his pencil.  “No, no 696 on my list, you sure you don’t mean 969?  Have that.”

“969?  I didn’t know there was one.”  The Chief Inspector spluttered.

“Yes, she as sanitary scow, in for refit, you want to go check that out, seems more in your line of work, and check your bloody paperwork.”

“See here...“

“Take a hike fattso and stop bothering me.”  He sniffed and turned his back.

Together the crew went back to their celebration, a sense of pride and accomplishment adding to their festive mood.  They’d done it.  They’d finished her and got her out of here before they could stop them this time.  In the end, the Chief inspector and the Naval Police beat a hasty retreated.  The Major went looking for the Marines, but they were gone as well.  He then checked the ship and Captain’s name the Sergeant had given him, but found neither in the database.  They’d been had, royally, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.  However, that posed the question, if indeed there was a ship as the Chief Inspector claimed, where was it?  Or was it really a case of a paperwork foul-up?  He did report the matter, but without evidence to back it up or a name, it was like chasing a ghost.  In the end, they dumped the whole mess and put down to a paperwork error in reversing the ship number.  He had more serious crimes on his hands that needed his attention, but there was still left the unanswered question of what the Marines were doing there in the first place.  No one wanted to go poking about in Marine Corps records, it was akin to poking a stick into a wasps nest.  That satisfied the Naval Police, but not the Inspector, or his boss.

*  *  *  *  *  *

“What do you mean there is no ship?”  Was the first question he was asked.

“That’s what I said, sir, no ship.”

“That’s impossible, that ship was there, and you couldn’t find it?”

“No, sir.”

“If I may.”  A tall, distinguished looking man sitting in one of the easy chairs reserved for VIP visitors interjected.

“Yes, Sir Arthur?”  He dismissed the luckless Inspector with a wave of his hand, and the man departed rapidly, despite his bulk.  The distinguished looked man waited until the door closed behind him before continuing.

“It could be that our informants were in error, and the ship wasn’t as disabled as they reported.”

“We know the virus disabled the operating system, so what are you suggesting, that they carried the ship out of that hanger, and if so, where did they hide it?”

“I cannot answer either of those questions, and I’d only like to add that we may have underestimated the resourcefulness of this Leftenant Gray.”

“You think he may have managed to get the system up and running and get that ship out of there?”

“That looks like a distinct possibility.”

“The question is, where would be go?”

“That I can’t answer, except, he has to supply the ship, and take on stores and munitions at some point, and when that happens, we’ll know and be able to grab him and the ship.”

“That would mean he has to go to Gosport and the Royal Clarence Victualling Yard in Portsmouth.  We can put a watch on both of them.”

“True, however, we have no idea what sort of ship he built.”

“No matter.  If it was anything like the original vessel, it’s not exactly something our mutual friends have to worry about, now is it.”

“No, one fast attack destroyer isn’t going to upset the balance of power.”

“If any other Admiral happens to see her, or the Admiralty demands we built more, I’m sure you can get it killing in committee.”