It had come as a bit of a shock to the system for some, but on the whole the captain thought they had a crew to be proud of. He did of course think they had been lucky in that though.
“My first ship was HMS Plymouth, one of the old Leander class frigates,” the captain recalled. “My first cruise was the Falklands Task Force, a hell of an initiation that was.” He sipped at the tea a steward had set before him, remembering the Argentinean Sky Hawks defying the tracer and missiles to bomb the ships. His own frigate had a Bofors, world war two anti-aircraft technology manned by eighteen-year-old ratings that had been the highest single source of scorers against the fighter-bombers. Strange how their courage and motivation had not been universal.
“I remember being quite gob-smacked that anyone in the service would try to leave on the grounds that they hadn’t joined the navy to fight. Some did though when it became clear that we were going to war, and I remember some technicians refused to go ashore after the landings at San Carlos Water. They were radar bod's and never expected to be so close to the fighting, but at the end of the day they had made a commitment to their country in return for food, lodging, wages, training and a skilled job they could later use in civilian life, and then they welched on the deal.”
The First Lieutenant stirred his own tea.
“What were your feelings toward them at the time sir?”
“I was younger then, I would have thrown them over the side.”
His subordinate smiled. “And now that you are older and wiser, sir?”
The captain also smiled, looking around at each of the officers as he replied.
“Now that I am older, as the First Lieutenant has so kindly pointed out, and wiser in the ways that make for an efficient military unit, I’d shoot the gutless little shits in the knees before sending them over the rail.” The smile did not exist in the captain’s eyes; he knew that for the ‘lack of moral fibre’ in one individual’s character, countless others could die. “Gentlemen… .” he continued. “… someone once said, ‘Courage is being the only one around who knows that you are afraid’. Now I don’t know who it was who said that, but he wasn’t a politician. We either have a crew who are very good at doing that, or a crew of psychopaths, and I know that I for one am not a fearless warrior, however, stresses and strains will wear anyone down, given time, so I want you all to keep an eye on the men.”
The conversation moved on to the intentions of the PRC, and the North Koreans, who had as yet to make an offensive move above mobilising the reserves. The captain held the opinion that they had not rolled south because China wanted their neighbour uncommitted militarily; a ready reserve and a flank guard for the PRC. Hood’s engineering officer had a different theory however. “Rumour has it that they have in recent years undergone a famine that wiped out millions, and now that they have called up the reserves there are too few left in rural areas to get the next harvest in. So if I were running things there, I wouldn’t want my army engaged elsewhere when the old brain washing breaks down and the populace say enough is enough.”
The engineer had little love for the North Koreans; his father had been in the 1st Battalion, Gloucestershire Regiment during the Korean War. That single battalion which had held the ridge above the Imjin River from 22nd April to 25th April 1951 against 27,000 Chinese troops. When the ammunition ran out the 589 survivors of a once 1000 strong unit, had dispersed into the countryside, to escape and evade its way south, but his father had not been one of the 63 who had made it back to friendly lines, he had the misfortune of being captured by the North Koreans, rather than the Chinese.
In the engineer’s opinion, anything bad that happened to a people who had tortured his father to death had to be a good thing.
A steward brought in cold cuts and sandwiches, the same fare that the rest of the crew were eating today, but the meal was interrupted by the captain being summoned to the control room.
HMS Hood was on the trail of the Xia.
In a drab and colourless neighbourhood of Moscow, the description of which quite frankly mirrored ninety percent of that capital, a worried young man awoke after too little quality sleep, and too much cheap vodka.
Computer audits were unannounced events within the KGB, and something like volcanoes or earthquakes by their indiscriminate nature. Nobody, no matter what their rank or standing was immune to their effects. They had access to all areas of a departments systems, even the files on politburo members while they were checked for who had accessed them, and when.
For Udi, the dreaded audits had become the next Kyoto quake in that it was not so much imminent as much as according to predictions it was overdue.
He crawled out from under the covers, shivering in the frigid air as he fumbled with the single bar electric fire that served as his apartment’s sole dedicated source of heating.
There was less of a chill in the air of the other room, owing to the warmth emitted by an impressive computer set-up. Udi as a rule kept his system running for no more than six hours a day, more than that and his electricity bill made inroads into his less than generous wages, he was dreading the next one.
Only by uninstalling a large number of other programs, had Udi Timoskova been able to free up enough memory for his system to filter out the jamming on the disc. It had taken three days just to obtain the images he now had, and the quality was not the best.
So far he had blurry and distorted visuals of the dachas hallway, and no sound at all. He would leave the program running on the hallway and stairs download, before moving on to the upstairs room.
The only way he could do this was in stages, images first and then the sound, until he had a crystal clear article, and could see everything, and hear every word that been spoken in the dacha that night. He did not dare approach his boss with anything less, but time had to be running out before the unreported jamming that night was discovered, and when that happened Udi had better be ready.
Udi went to the bathroom and grimaced at the man that stared back at him, his skin looked almost grey. Running some water he quickly washed and shaved before pulling on some clothes, breakfast would have to wait until he got to work.
Leaving the program running, Udi put on his coat and left, carefully locking up behind him.
Admiral Gee, his aides and the President’s advisors stood as the chief executive entered. The relocation from Haddon’s Rock had been difficult, due to a broken helicopter, which had delayed occupation of this new site by almost twenty-four hours. However, the President had gotten to walk in the sunlight and breathe fresh, unfiltered air for the first time in weeks whilst awaiting a replacement aircraft to pluck him and his Secret Service detail from the midst of a curious, yet patently un-awed field full of dairy cattle.
The President had not been out of contact with the chain of command, he knew that the convoy had survived the night but not the details; this meeting was to bring him back up to speed.
“Sit down please ladies and gents.” He noticed a face that he had not seen since before the outbreak of hostilities, that of the FBI Director and he wondered what had brought Ben Dupre all the way out here.
Crossing to his own seat he paused and addressed the admiral.
“Don’t get me wrong Admiral, I think you are doing a stand up job… but where the hell is Henry Shaw?”
“Sir, he is still meeting with the various general staffs of the NATO countries.”
The president grunted.