He Who Dares: Book Two (The Gray Chronicals 2) (22 page)

“No explosives, sir.”

“All right, open it, but carefully, just in case.”  Conner did, revealing a CPU, memory crystal, hard drive, several electronic cards, and a stack of data chips.  The moment he’d pronounced them clean, Susan Beckman came over and took a close look.

“Good lord, that crystal is identical to the ones we use at the lab.”  Opening the second package, Mike held them side by side for a moment.  The logo and ID number were identical on the both blocks of crystal, the girl was right.  Somehow, the opposition knew their every move.

“And another virus, I bet.”  Conner muttered.

“Right, I bet the lady in there was supposed to give us this package, and we go merrily back to the ship and install it.”  Just then, a vehicle pulled up out front and they all heard doors slamming.

“Time to go, Chief.”

“Right, sir.”

“Thanks for the package, Miss Beckman, but it's better if we weren’t seen here.  I suggest you give the phony package to your security.  Maybe they can track down how someone managed to duplicate the drive crystals right down to the ID numbers.”

“I think I agree.”  On impulse Mike took her hand and kissed it.

“You took a great risk, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Miss Beckman, good luck.”

“You too Leftenant Gray.”  As she turned to let the men knocking on the front door in, Mike and his men slipped out the back and vanished into the darkness.

*  *  *  *  *  *

Everyone on the Bridge held their breath, as Janice Fletcher tapped Grace Goldman on the shoulder.  Grace took a deep breath and hit the power on switch, her eye quickly flicking down the screen as the main frame booted up.

“So far so good.”  She muttered.

The boot instruction cascaded by as one sub-routine after the other came on line, navigation, environment, helm, and weapons, and so on down the line without a glitch.  Throughout the ship, the crew saw various systems come on line as the computer took over the function of running the ship, and began clapping and cheering.

“She’s clean, Skipper, no virus.”  She sighed, letting out a pent up breath.

“Great, start a diagnostic on each system and test it.”  Mike ordered.  “I want this ship fully functional in six hours or less.”  He tried to look calm, yet his insides felt like jelly, thinking he still might have picked up the wrong package.

“Aye-aye, Skipper.”

“Pete, you have the Bridge, I’m going to take a walk around the ship and check on a few things, and CPO Conner you are with me.”

“Aye, Skipper - Loftland, you have the helm.”

“Aye-aye, Chief, taking over the helm.” Cindy Loftland replied in a firm voice”

“One more thing, Pete.  We need darkness to cover our departure.  The less people who actually ‘see’ us the better.”

“Aye, aye, sir.  I’ll see what I can do.”  Conner and Mike toured the ship, starting in the forward torpedo room and working their way back to engineering.  Pete looked frazzled, but gave Mike a thumbs up as he and Conner walked in.

“Found the problem, Skipper.”  He announced, walking over while wiping his hands on a cleaning rag.  “One of the particle beam guns was out of alignment by just a fraction.”

“How soon can you fire her up?”

“Have to charge the power packs first, Skipper, as we drained them getting here.  As soon as they are charged, say six hours, I’ll have sufficient power to initiate the startup firing sequence.”

“Let’s just hope we don’t run into any more problems.”

“No, Skipper.  I checked all fourteen guns and they are all aligned.”

“Great job.  Carry on, Pete.”

Slowly but surely, the crew and the remaining civilian fitter buttoned her up, and she was beginning to look like a warship.  Mike knew there would be bugs to work out of the system, but by now the crew knew every nut, bolt, screw, and washer in her.  Now it was just a question of finding the bugs and fixing them.  Thankfully, the imprint team had finished, and gave Mike the all clear signal.  His last stop was the Marine deck, hearing Sergeant Rice calling them to attention as he came in.

“Captain on deck!”  Everyone present shot to their feet and stood at attention.

“At easy people. Thought I’d drop in to see how you were doing and say well done.”

“Fine, Captain.”  Rice said with a smile.

“You’d say that if you were up to your shorts in fire ants fighting a grizzly bear, in three feet of snow.”

“Yes, sir, there’s some truth to that.”  Rice chuckled.

“I’ve got some news for you to help you cut the boredom.”  Rice cocked an eyebrow at him; he’d heard that one before.

“Yes, sir, anything to help, sir.”  He lied cheerfully.

“As of now you don’t stand guard on hatchways except at action stations. Your primary function from now on, beside any ground action, will be as weapons crews.”

“Weapons crews?  We aren’t trained for that, Skipper.”

“I know, but we are so short handed that it's the only way we can make this a functional warship.  I have the necessary people to train you, if you are willing, that is.”  Rice looked around at the rest of the Marines.  Many of the Marines looked at one another, some thinking it a little funny that the Skipper would ask them, instead of just ordering them to do it.

“Well, you heard the Skipper, you want to be gunners as well as Marines?”  Rice barked.

“SIR, YES SIR!”  They all chorused.

“Hell, it beats standing guard duty on some dumb hatch.”  Someone in the back commented.

“Thought you’d like the idea, carry on.”

“Attention!”  Mike saluted and left.

“You think they can handle it, sir?”

“I know they can, Conner, it's just a matter of training them.”  Seeing the look Conner gave him.

“It’ll be the first time in an age, sir.”

“I know, Marines haven’t been used as gunners for centuries.  You know why we have Marines on board, Conner.”

“To repel boarders and take care of ground actions, sir?”

“Partly, but their original function was to protect the officers in case of a mutiny.”

“Really?  What happened if they went over to the mutineers?”

“Never happened Conner, not in the history of the Royal Marine.”

“So you are going to change history?”

“Why not, I doubt in the modern age that the crew is going to mutiny.  I know from personal experience, one of the biggest problems they have is fighting boredom, standing endless watches on the Bridge and other places.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

Five hours later Pete Standish called down to his cabin to announce the ship was ready to lift, looking pleased they’d done it in under the six hours Mike asked for.  Mike entered the Bridge and sat, his eye flicking from station to station. Environmental on his right, then engineering, navigation, and over to weapons, communication and tactical on his left, each station was active and manned, or womanned to be exact and ready.  Pete Standish sat in his seat just below his, behind the helm control.

“All stationed reporting that they are manned and ready, Skipper.”

“Signal for engines.”

“Aye, sir.  Engines on line.”  Mike breathed easier hearing that.

“Where to, Skipper?”

“Back to Devonport for the moment.”

“We have darkness as you requested, Skipper, and no moon tonight.”

“Great.”

“We added an additional bonus to your request, Skipper. We ordered up a blinding snowstorm and a force 8 gale.  Will that do, sir?”

“Very nice, Number One, how do you do it?”

“Charm, sir.”  That brought a chuckle from around the Bridge.  For the past eight hours, he’d been like a bear with a sore head.

“Good, let get out of here.”  Mike tapped up his outside screen, and for a moment thought, he had a glitch in the system.  The screen was solid white.  Then it dawned on him that Pete was telling the truth.  There was a force eight gale and a snowstorm in progress.  He switched the screen into digital mode and the snow vanished.

“All divisions reporting ready.  All outer hatches sealed and crosschecked.  All indicators in the green, Captain.”  Pete reported.

“Very good Number One. Lift ship - Com, ask for clearance to proceed up the estuary to Devonport.”

“Aye, sir.  Lifting ship - helm, lift the ship.”  The strident alarm bell sounded, warning all hands, they were lifting, and the electronic telegraph sounded as Conner Blake signaled for engines.

“We have clearance, Skipper - sending course to the helm.”

“Very good, Com - Helm, take us out.”

“Aye-aye, Skipper, taking her out.” 

She lifted smoothly, then swung round and headed up out of the scrap yard into the military traffic lane.  Mike sat, relaxed at last, listening to the back and forth chatter as each station went about its normal duty.  Communications contacted traffic control with the ships false I.D. code and obtained a course to the Yard, immediately replaying the information to the XO and the helm.  Janice Fletcher worked the tactical station, relaying she had a clear screen.

“Anywhere in particular you’d like to sit her down, Skipper?”

“No, just take her slow, I’m expecting a call.”  That reminded him and he tapped his comm unit.

“Sergeant Rice here.”

“Tommy, I need someone to go and pick up some items for me.”

“What do you need, Sir?”

“A scout car should do it.”

“Can do, Skipper.  I’ll have the duty pilot get her in the air right now.”

“Sounds good.  I should be getting a call soon, and I’ll relay instruction to the scout car.”

“I’ll send it out now.”

“Thanks.  Tell the pilot to head slowly towards the main gate at Devonport.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The trip was uneventful, and an hour later they approached Devonport. Just then, Mike porta-comp pinged with an incoming message.  Flipping up the cover, he saw Jenks looking back at him, half frozen from the look on his face.

“Hello Jenks, where are you?”

“Outside the flipping main gate, Sarg.  Had a dickens of a time getting here.”

“I’ll bet in this storm.  Stay there, I have a scout car on its way to you right now, and thanks again, Jenks.”

“Copy that, Sarg.”  With that, he cut the connection.

“What next Skipper?”  Pete Standish asked.

“Hold on a sec,” he keyed the internal comm system, “Sergeant, Rice?”

“Rice here, sir.”

“Who’s driving the scout?”

“Corporal Andrews, sir.”

“Thanks.”  Mike switched frequencies.  “Corporal Andrews, do you copy?”