“You impugn my integrity, Majesty!” Wicklow said, his voice rising. “I have friends at court who will stand by me on this, influential people held in high esteem by the Queen’s brother.”
In the silence that followed, Emily thought she could hear her own heartbeat. She looked anxiously from Wicklow to the Queen, then to Hiram. Hiram allowed a very small smile.
“As it happens, Captain Wicklow,” Queen Anne said coolly, “I have no brother.”
Captain Wicklow looked flustered. “My apologies, Your Grace, I referred to your mother, Queen Beatrice, and to the Duke of Kent.”
Anne leaned forward, speaking coldly and deliberately, as if to a malicious child who has just strangled the family cat.
“Queen Beatrice is dead, Captain Wicklow. The Duke of Kent is dead. All of the people you would count on to protect you are dead. You must now stand on your merits, Captain, without the benefit of friends in Court who owe you favor.” She cocked her head. “Do you understand now, Captain Wicklow?” She rose to her feet, her armsmen immediately forming up behind her. “Captain Rowe, assign a captain to the New Zealand and prepare your ships for departure.” And then she swept from the room.
Captain Rowe stood. “Prepare your ships,” he ordered the captains of the Coldstream Guard. He did not look at Captain Wicklow. He motioned to Alex Rudd and Emily. “You two stay behind.” When the room was clear he gave each of them in turn a hard look.
“Okay, listen, you two. Normally I would simply assign the New Zealand to the next senior officer, but we don’t have the time for a new captain from outside to get to know your crew and the ship. And anyway, you two make a good team.” He looked at Rudd.
“Alex, you are the most senior officer on board, so I should turn the ship over to you, but these are not normal times and from what I’ve seen, Miss Tuttle here has been in de facto command since the first attack on the Dominion supply ships. If we have to fight the Dominion ships in our rear, any mistakes we make could kill us, all of us. So I am asking you, Alex, no bullshit, should I give command of the New Zealand to you or to Emily?”
Emily almost blurted out: Give it to Alex. But Rudd spoke first.
“Sir, I am good, pretty damn good, in fact, but I’m not as good as she is. Keep me as the XO and make her interim captain of the New Zealand. I confess I’m a little jealous, but I can live with it.”
Rowe wheeled on Emily. “Lieutenant Tuttle, do you agree with Lt. Commander Rudd’s assessment?”
All I ever wanted to do was be a historian, she thought fleetingly, and I never want to send a man to his death again.
Then, despite herself, she nodded to Captain Rowe, already thinking of what she had to do next.
Rowe studied the two of them for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay, then. Thank you both for acting like adults about this. I am authorized to give you both field promotions to full Commander; you’ve earned it. When this is over, I’ll speak to Admiral Douthat and we’ll see if you can keep it.” He took a deep breath, and Emily thought he suddenly looked very tired. “Return to your ship. The rest of the Home Fleet sorties in a little less than five hours. Two hours after that, I want the Coldstream Guards ready to go. I will contact you with your specific assignment.”
“What about the Yorkshire, Kent and Galway from the Second Fleet?” Emily asked.
“They’ve been assigned to us, bringing us up to twelve operational ships,” Rowe said. “Good thing, our ships are pretty beat up.”
Hiram Brill was waiting for her in the corridor. Emily grinned at him. “So, had a good debriefing with Cookie, did you?” To her surprise, Hiram stepped forward and gave her a hug.
“Thank you, Em,” he whispered. “Thank you.” He let her go and stepped back. “Bring her back, Emily,” he pleaded. “When she’s in full macho mode she takes stupid chances. Please, do whatever you can. Just bring her back.”
Emily felt her stomach drop. “I’m not in charge of the Guards, Hiram, and Cookie will be on the Yorkshire, not the New Zealand,” she protested. Part of her wanted to scream.
Hiram smiled and shook his head. “You really don’t see it, do you? Emily, haven’t you noticed that ever since the Dominion freighters pulled off that sneak attack, you have somehow managed to be involved in every important decision in every important battle? You may want to be a historian, Emily, surrounded by books in some dusty library, but the gods of war have other plans for you. You’re a warrior; it’s your curse.”
“Hiram, I — “
He held up a hand to stop her. “When the time comes, do what you can, Em. That’s all I ask. I’ve waited my whole life for her, just do whatever you can to bring her back.” His com buzzed and he looked at it. “They’re waiting for me. Good luck to you, Em.” And then he was gone.
Emily made her way back to the repair bay, where workmen swarmed over the New Zealand. She could see missiles and kinetic munitions being loaded on by forklifts and gravity pallets. She wondered briefly if they had enough food, but then realized in a day they would either be in Refuge or dead.
She walked slowly, thinking about Hiram’s words. If the last few days were any indication, she was good at warfare, perhaps even very good. And she had to admit that she liked the contest, the anticipating what the enemy would do and how best to beat him. But the deaths, Gods of Our Mothers, all the deaths. She was honest enough to admit she didn’t really care about the enemy deaths, but she wailed inwardly when her own people died, and she cringed in shame as she thought again at how many had died because she of her orders.
At the entrance to the New Zealand, a Marine guard in full battle rattle stiffened to attention and saluted as she boarded. “Morning, Captain!” So word was already out. Probably Alex Rudd had alerted everyone on board that she would remain as captain.
“Captain?” It was the guard. “There is a visitor waiting for you in your day cabin.” Emily focused on him for the first time. He was very young. Had he been through Camp Gettysburg? Had he fought at Killarney Bridge?
When she reached her day cabin, she found a hard-looking Marine Corporal. “Cookie!”
Cookie laughed as Emily hugged her. “My, oh my, how you have come up in the world, girl. Once a dumb recruit at Camp Gettysburg and now eatin’ truffles and drinkin’ champagne on your own ship! Who would have guessed?”
Emily eyed her. The flashing-eyed girl from training camp was gone, replaced by a confident woman with lines that only hard experience can bring.
And two red tears tattooed under her left eye.
Emily reached out and rubbed the tears with the ball of her thumb. “They don’t come out,” she murmured.
“They ain’t never comin’ out,” Cookie said solemnly. “And I hope to hell I’m never in a situation to get me a third one. The first two damn near killed me.”
“Bad?” Emily asked, knowing the answer.
Cookie told her about the Tilleke commandos, the teleportation device, the bloody fights through dark corridors, the desperate race to get off the London, and the repeated boardings of the Yorkshire. Emily looked at her incredulously.
“You’ve got three of these machines, these transporter widgets?
“Yep,” Cookie answered, and grinned wickedly. “And they work, too.”
“What?”