“Ah, I hear you did well for yourself after all,” a voice said. “Good show!”
James turned to see his Uncle Winchester, a retired naval officer of fifty years experience. The grizzled old man had been one of the prime influences on his life, James had to admit, although he hadn't listened to everything the older man had taught him. Trying to force his way into command of Ark Royal was something certain to annoy Uncle Winchester… and the fact it had blown up in James’s face certain to amuse him.
“Yes, Uncle,” he said, remembering the models of carriers and escort vessels his uncle had given him as a child. Some of them had been remarkably impractical, others prospective designs for future naval development. Uncle Winchester, if he recalled correctly, had actually had a hand in developing the modern carriers the aliens had torn apart. “I have learnt a great deal from Captain Smith.”
“Glad to hear it,” Uncle Winchester said. He placed a hand on James’s arm, half-pushing him towards a side room. “You have to learn to walk before you can run.”
The sound of the band cut off the moment the door closed. James hesitated, then turned to face his uncle. The side rooms were often used for backroom dealing between people who could never be seen together in public, although there was no reason he couldn't speak to his uncle anywhere. But then another door opened and the First Space Lord entered the room.
“Be seated,” the First Space Lord ordered, shortly. “We don’t have much time.”
James swallowed and obeyed, feeling suddenly very unsure of his own ground. He’d used the Old Boys Network to push the First Space Lord into promoting him, only to discover that his pressure only went so far. In hindsight, he knew, Captain Smith had been entirely correct to point out that James was hardly ready for command of a modern carrier, let alone an ancient ship held together by improvised fixes and scrounged spare parts. But it would be years, he suspected, before he was ever allowed to forget that he’d tried to snatch command out of the hands of his current CO.
“I need to ask you a question,” the First Space Lord continued, once he'd taken a seat facing James. Uncle Winchester sat to the side, his eyes never leaving James’s face. “Is Captain Smith suitable for command?”
James stared at him, unable to keep his shock off his face. Asking an XO to comment on his Captain’s fitness for command was a severe breach of naval etiquette. If the CO found out, it would shatter the trust between him and his XO, trust that had already been weakened by James’s attempt to snatch command for himself. There were situations when an XO could legally relieve the Captain of command, but they tended to result in the XO’s career coming to a screeching halt. If the Admiralty had their doubts, they should have sent in an investigative officer.
He realised, suddenly, just how poor the Admiralty’s position actually was. They’d found it impossible to push a knighted officer into early requirement, so they’d given him Ark Royal and left him to his own devices. Instead of drinking himself to death, Smith had kept Ark Royal functional; the starship had barely needed a month of intensive work to return to full combat-worthy status. And then Smith had pulled off a victory that had made him the world’s man of the hour. The media was already comparing him to Drake, Nelson, Cunningham and Singh. If the Admiralty had wanted to relieve him of command, they would have to explain it to the media… and to politicians, eager to make political hay at the Admiralty’s expense.
Smith had been lucky, James knew, feeling an odd flicker of amusement. The reporters had dug up some of his file, including his drinking problem, but they’d spun it into a morality tale about a hero overcoming his issues and defending Britain against outside attack. And it wasn't just Britain either. Smith was a hero right across the world. Maybe, just maybe, the media would sour, but until then Smith was politically untouchable. The consequences of relieving him could be dire.
Uncle Winchester coughed. “I feel, Farnham, that the boy is confused.”
James flushed, brightly. “I’m not twelve any longer, uncle!”
“Learn to keep your face under control,” Uncle Winchester lectured, sternly. He looked over at the First Space Lord. “This is an invidious line of questioning, Farnham.”
“You know better, I think,” the First Space Lord said. “Commander Fitzwilliam, I do need an answer.”
James winced. If he answered the question, it could utterly destroy his professional reputation. No one would ever trust him again. They’d think of him as a sneak, a coward who didn't even have the nerve to stand up and relieve his CO of command. But if he didn't answer the question, it could impact his career too. The First Space Lord had no shortage of places to assign officers who had annoyed him. It was darkly amusing to realise that Ark Royal had once been one of those places.
“It won’t go any further,” Uncle Winchester assured him. “Will it?”
“No,” the First Space Lord said.
James gathered himself. “Since I have served on Ark Royal, the Captain has not — to my knowledge — touched a drop of alcohol,” he said, firmly. “Furthermore, he has handled my education in the carrier’s mechanics, the integration of the new crewmembers and our first real deployment with exceptional skill. He has, after all, had years to think of the best way to refit his ship for combat. And he has successfully pulled off our first real victory.”
The First Space Lord looked unconvinced. “But he could backslide at any moment…”
“I have seen nothing to indicate that he will,” James said, sharply. It crossed his mind, a second too late, that he had interrupted the senior uniformed officer in the entire navy, but he forced the thought to one side. “My ambitions aside, there is no good reason to relieve him of command.”
He wondered, absently, just what the First Space Lord had in mind. There were ways to put someone on the beach while seemingly rewarding them. It was why, he suspected, there were so many Admirals in the Royal Navy. Not all of them were assigned to fleet or squadron commands — or naval bases. Smith’s promotion to Admiral would be greeted with raptures by the media, who wouldn't recognise that he was being promoted into obscurity.
Or maybe they would, he thought. By now, they expect Captain Smith to take command of the next unified defence force.
“I expect you to keep a close eye on him,” the First Space Lord said. “How does he work with the crew?”
“Fatherly, rather than dictatorial,” James said. He'd served under a CO who’d been a tyrant, although he’d had the advantage of not caring about James’s family. James had actually found that somewhat refreshing. “He’s friendly and caring… it helps, it think, that most of his senior crew served together on Ark Royal while she was in the reserves. They’ve had plenty of time to build up a relationship.”
The First Space Lord leaned forward. “No improper relationships?”
James scowled. If the Captain had any relationships — or relations — away from Ark Royal, James had never seen anything of them. But then, the Captain hadn't taken any leave for years, according to his file. Had he simply become an introverted hermit on Ark Royal? Or had he formed a relationship with one of the supply crewwomen? Or crewmen?