“No, actually, you won’t,” Hiram replied shortly. He was more relieved than he cared to admit that the Marines had finally showed up. “See this braid, Major?” he asked, gesturing to the scarlet braid he wore over his right shoulder. Donaldson nodded glumly. “This braid means that I am on the Queen’s personal staff and that I speak with her authority. The Queen outranks both Colonel Wesseling and Captain Wicklow, and she and Admiral Douthat are waiting right now to debrief Lieutenant Tuttle on the results of her mission. In case you’ve forgotten, Admiral Douthat is the senior Admiral of the Home Fleet. So, Major, I will be taking Lieutenant Tuttle with me to meet with Queen Anne and Admiral Douthat, and I have asked Lieutenant Hunter and Sergeant Nici and their charming companions to ensure that you do not interfere. In the name of Queen Anne, I hereby order you to stand down. Is that understood?”
Donaldson worked his jaw for a moment, staring hard at Hiram. He didn’t like what was happening…but he hadn’t much liked it when Wesseling had told him to turn over the prisoner to Wicklow, either. He had the unpleasant feeling that he was missing something important.
“I acknowledge your orders, sir.” He motioned to the two MPs holding Emily and they let go, one looking relieved and the other thoroughly pissed off.
“And Major,” Hiram said pleasantly. “You should know that although Captain Wicklow claimed Lieutenant Tuttle demonstrated cowardness in the face of the enemy, the ship’s log shows that in fact she led the Coldstream Guards into an attack when she was outnumbered three to one. The other Coldstream Guard ship’s logs show the same thing. Those are the logs you were supposed to remove and hand over to Captain Wicklow, if I recall correctly, rather than give them into the custody of the Fleet Judge Advocate General. Curious, isn’t it, Major? And also, you should know that Colonel Wesseling is Captain Wicklow’s brother-in-law. Food for thought, Major, in case you receive any more unusual orders today.”
Hiram turned to Rudd and Gibson. “Gentlemen, I am hereby ordering you to seal your logs in preparation for a national security investigation being conducted by the Queen. Communicate this order to the other ships in the Coldstream Guard. If the MPs show up demanding access, you should immediately contact Lieutenant Hunter here, and in the meantime you are authorized to use force to protect the ship’s log from being seized.” He turned to Hunter and Nici. “Now, gentlemen, if you would be kind enough to escort us to Queen Anne and Admiral Douthat, we are late for a debriefing.”
They walked for several minutes in silence, then Emily blurted: “How did you know Wicklow was-”
Hiram laughed ruefully. “I didn’t. I thought you were dead. Wicklow had told a story of treason and cowardness, but while the picket was escorting you in, Captain Rowe of the Bristol contacted me. Seems someone was using a C2C connection to try to edit the Bristol’s log of the events with Wicklow. I looked into it and discovered that Wicklow had talked to Colonel Wesseling and that Wesseling had essentially delegated the entire investigation of the charges against you to Wicklow. Pretty damn unusual. We did some more digging and found out they were going to arrest you and interrogate you on the Gloucester instead of at the Detention Facility. So I thought I would meet you at the docking bay, just in case.” He shook his head. “Wicklow is turning out to be a real head case, and not too bright to boot.”
“And you can do this? I mean, you can just whistle up a squad of Marines and take me away from the MPs?”
Hiram grinned coldly. “I am one of the Queen’s personal advisors; I can do pretty much whatever I please, as long as I’m careful not to abuse it.”
Emily smiled, a little bit uncertain and a little bit astonished. This wasn’t the same Hiram Brill she knew at Camp Gettysburg. “Are we really going to a debriefing?”
“Absolutely, but not for another two hours. I just wanted to get you away from the MPs. But, yes, there is a debriefing of you and the other Coldstream Guards captains. Admiral Douthat is very anxious to learn what you know. In just a few hours we are going to be making the last push to Refuge and we need to know any insight’s you’ve learned.”
Emily suddenly remembered. “Hiram, listen, there is someone I need you to talk to right away. It’s important, but I would prefer you meet them in your quarters rather than at the Fleet Intelligence Offices.” Hiram looked at her, obviously bewildered. “Trust me,” she pleaded. “I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think it was really urgent. Please.”
“Okay, okay. Send them to my cabin.” He gave her the address.
Emily opened her tablet and typed out a message, then attached that message to an email and sent it with a ‘Priority 1 Special Order’ status. That should do it, she thought.
She felt very pleased with herself.
On board the Yorkshire, Cookie was in the machine shop, working to make a coupling that would allow them to pressurize the air cylinders the dead Savak had been using.
“That should do it, Corporal,” the rating said cheerfully, holding up a brass fitting. He screwed it into the end of an air hose, then clipped the other end onto the intake valve of the cylinder. He rolled the cylinder in his hands. “Huh, no sign of a pressure gauge.” He hefted it. “Pretty light. No idea what pressure it’s designed to take?”
Cookie shook her head. “We tested them all. Some were empty, one still had seven hundred and fifty pounds in it and it had clearly been used.”
The rating whistled. “Well, stronger than it looks, then.” He stroked his chin. “So, let’s clamp it down so we don’t make a rocket out of it by mistake, and take it up to a thousand pounds and see what happens.” He smiled brightly, looking all the world like a high school kid in a science fair.
Ten minutes later the cylinder was pumped up and Cookie gingerly snapped it onto the Savak assault rifle. So far so good. She clipped on the magazine of pellets, worked the action and took aim at a wooden target she’d made, which was backed by fifty pound bags of flour and beans. She squeezed the trigger and the gun made that curious ‘popping’ sound that she was all too familiar with. The wooden target shivered. Cookie and the rating looked at each other, then walked to the target and inspected it. The pellet had punched through three inches of wood and had finally lodged in the third layer of flour bags.
The rating grinned. Cookie smiled back, then handed him the rifle. “Start shooting. Mark how many shots it takes before you can’t put the pellet at least half an inch into the target.” Then her comm buzzed. She flipped it open and found a text message.
“To Corporal Maria Sanchez
Priority 1 Order — Upon receipt of this Order, report immediately to Cabin 714B on board Atlas Station for debriefing regarding recent actions. Action Immediate. Anyone wishing to counterman this Order must first report to Tuttle, (Acting) Captain, New Zealand. Upon entering Cabin 714B, you are to open the attached message and comply with the Orders therein.
Signed: (Acting) Captain Emily Tuttle, (Acting) Commander Coldstream Guards.
Cookie frowned, glanced at her stained uniform and shrugged. “Action Immediate” left no room for discussion. She took thirty seconds to splash water on her face and check to make sure her uniform was at least buttoned properly, then walked briskly to the main hatchway and across the gangway into the Atlas ship yard bay. Hopping onto one of the passing autocabs, she gave the address and soon found herself at an elevator bank that took her to the seventh level of an apartment block reserved for officers. A minute later she was standing outside of cabin 714B. She pushed the bell, then braced to attention.
The door opened and Hiram Brill stood there, his tie loosened and a tablet in one hand. “Yes, may I-” He stopped and stared at her.