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  The last three months had been open warfare in the north. No cities had been lost yet, but there were daily updates on the skirmishes, the feints and aborted attacks. The death toll was rising and like every war, the first to die were the soldiers. If it went on much longer the civilian deaths would start to mount up.

  Now that I'd been recalled it seemed obvious that the war was escalating. A Fish-Suit, a nickname rather than the long-winded title and alpha-numeric sequence, was designed for one thing in wartime. To infiltrate and destroy. Getting out was a bonus. Planned for but not always expected. The navy wanted me, and probably a lot of other reserve status pilots, for some underhanded missions.

  There was a silver-lining, a Fish-Suit is expensive and training pilots is doubly so. The dropout rate was astronomical and we were, despite the years between my training and now, still rare. The truism that the rarer a thing, the more valuable was my one comfort. A Fish-Suit pilot was always and only sent on the most important missions. We weren't thrown away needlessly. Though the Navy and I might argue about the relative merits of need.

  "Excuse me," a soft voice said from close by.

  So much for peace, quiet and the contemplation of my upcoming demise.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I turned for the second time on this voyage and bit back the words I was going to say. The young girl, the seaman with the pink hair I'd seen in the mess hall last night was standing next to my chair. She had nervous eyes, but there was a strong set to her jaw as if she'd steeled herself to do something and would give herself a damn good talking to if she didn't carry it through.

  "Hello," I said, trying for a smile and only achieving a look the village idiot would be proud of.

  "I saw you last night," she said and I saw her teeth nibble her bottom lip.

  "In the mess hall," I said, reaching out with my free hand. "Hayes."

  "Norah," she replied.

  "First or second name?"

  "First," she replied with a small smile and some of the nerves faded from her eyes. "What about yours?"

  "Second," I said. "Corin Hayes, but I answer to both or neither, it depends."

  "On what?"

  "Who is chasing me," I said. A quick glance at the collar of her uniform told me she wasn't a Seaman, but an Ensign. An officer. Admittedly at the lowest rank, but who was I to complain.

  "You get chased a lot?" One eyebrow raised in question.

  "More than I'd like and always by the wrong people. What are you doing on this sub?"

  "Been deployed to a new unit," she said and a guarded tone entered her voice.

  "Me too," I said.

  "You're not in uniform." She made the statement sound like a question.

  "I'm in disguise," I answered with a smile and rubbed the stubble on my chin.

  Her face froze for a moment as if she could not decide whether to laugh or be offended that I had been so flippant. I saved her the trouble of making the decision.

  "My commission has been reactivated. I'm heading to my unit and, probably, a bit of re-training. Can't say I am particularly excited about it."

  "Why not?" There was an innocence to her question and her voice. She'd never seen war, not even the tail end, or met the veterans who could tell stories that would twist your guts and bring bile to your throat. The sad fact of it being the stories were all true. People who'd been in combat rarely saw a reason to lie about its realities. Nothing they could make up could be any worse than the reality and that was beyond the imagination of most people.

  "I thought I'd fought my war," I said, taking a gulp of coffee.

  "But they attacked us," she said, a small pout appearing on her face.

  "And no doubt they say the same about us."

  "They're lying. We have to defend ourselves."

  "We do, and they might be, but it won't matter. People will get killed and a lot of them never wanted a war, certainly never wanted to fight in one. It is what war is." I tasted the bitterness on my tongue.

  "It doesn't sound like you want to protect your home," she accused.

  "I'd protect it with my last drop of blood, Norah. I don't want to, but I would. I'd give my life to have those I love kept safe and sound, believe me." A rasp at the back of my throat and catch in my voice caught her attention and her lips thinned in thought. "But it doesn't mean I want to go and kill people. People I've never met at that. There are enough people I've actually met that I'd willingly consign to the mud on the sea floor without adding all those I've never met to that tally."

  "You're scared." Another statement turned question with a deep overtone of accusation.

  "You’d better believe I am," I answered and I allowed myself a smile. "I've got good reason."

  "What?"

  "I was there at the end of the last one," I said.

  "Are you sure you're an officer?"

  "Norah, I wake up every morning with a headache, a belly ache, back ache, and the solemn conviction that I am definitely not an officer." Sadly, the commission papers in my bag, currently stowed in the overhead compartment hinted the opposite was true.

  Another figure, the blonde-haired muscle man she had dined with last night, appeared at her shoulder. "Come on, Norah. Leave the old man alone."

  "No offence taken," I said, looking up and up and up into his eyes. He was taller than I remembered and even his muscles appeared to have developed their own muscles. In fact his right bicep could have been a country in its own right, it was that big. The left was another and only the inability to bring his arms together due to the gigantic size of his pectorals prevented a world war erupting.

  "Yeah, whatever," he said, dismissing me in single gaze. Another Ensign by the insignia. No unit badge, same as her, and no ribbons of service.

  "Well, it has been pleasant talking to you, Norah." I favoured her with a smile. "Your muscles, forgive me, your boyfriend is right. You don't want to be speaking to me not when there is such scintillating company to be had."

  "What?" he said. Eloquent.

  "Maybe I'll see you around, Corin," she said, ignoring the man next to her.

  "Maybe. Stay alive, Norah."

  "You too."

  "Come on, Norah," the man said, tugging on her arm.

  She resisted for a moment, snatching her arm back. "You too."

  In her own time, despite the glowering of her companion, she turned and headed back to her seat. His forehead wrinkled, or tried to, even that had muscles which bunched and rolled in waves of anger and he gave me his best 'you just watch out' stare. It was a good one, but I'd been intimidated by better so I smiled back at him.

  "Run along." I made a little shooing movement with my free hand. "I'm trying to drink my coffee."

  His hands clenched into fists and I saw red wash up his neck into his cheeks. A few veins bulged on the back of his hands and he leaned forward, looming over me.

  "You..." he snarled.

  "Might well outrank you," I finished, not bothering to move or look away. "And the moment you raise that fist you'll find yourself serving out the war in prison. At least you'll live through it, but the dishonourable discharge will do you no favours in the future."

  "I..." he growled.

  "Should listen to the advice. Know your enemy, young man, only then can you defeat him on ground of your choosing." I’m sure I heard someone say that at some point. Probably in an old clips show. I had a momentary vision of a flashing sword.

  "What?"

  "Don't bring a water pistol to a gun fight," I said, and that felt much more natural.

  "If you think..."

  "I do think," I cut him off again. "It's a habit that has kept me alive all these years. Learn the skill and you might make it through the war."

  Of course, thinking was anything but my strong point, but I was back in the navy and back in a hierarchy. I wasn't my own boss any longer and it always paid to know your place within it. In the box, the law of the street and the actual law might protect you. In the navy you relied on the
man or woman next to you. All I could hope was that it was never to be him. Unless I could hide behind him, there'd be a lot of room and muscles that thick would absorb a lot of bullets.

  Without another word he turned and stomped back to his own seat. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Still making friends the old-fashioned way, Hayes."

  I heard the voice from the seat behind me and twisted on my cushion to peer at the speaker.

  "Abrahams?"

  "Still alive and kicking," Abrahams, Lieutenant at our last meeting, said in return. "You've made an enemy already. That's pretty quick even for you I seem to remember."

  "It's a skill," I said, reaching out to shake the man's offered hand. "You get recommission as well?"

  "Yeah," Abraham's said. He'd been in my unit at the end of the war. In fact he'd been there when I joined. Taller than me, older with thick hair, greying at the temples. "Though I reckon I'm too old for this shit."

  "You and me both," I said. "Seen any of the others."

  "Not yet," he said. "You know much about this war?"

  "What's to know? People will fight, people will die, eventually peace will break out and we'll all be thinking it wasn't worth it."

  "Cheerful," Abrahams grunted.

  "Only way I know to be."

  "Think we can get a drink?"

  "On a Navy boat?" I shrugged. "Not likely. Not unless you've been promoted since we last met?"

  "Not me," Abrahams shrugged. "How about you?"

  "No idea," I answered. "They gave me the envelope with my orders, a shrink-wrapped uniform and box with my badge and insignia."

  "And?"

  "Haven't looked at them. Until we dock at the base, I am going to savour the last few moments of being a civilian." I peered at his collar, noting the rank insignia. "Still a Lieutenant."

  "Yep."

  "Not at the bottom and far enough from the top to not carry the can for all the fuck ups that are bound to happen," I noted.

  "The way of the world, especially the military."

  "Solidly average. The best way to get through life."

  A beep sounded over the speakers and a tinny voice followed it. "Docking in two hours."

  "Helpful," I said, nodding towards the speakers.

  "Yeah," Abrahams agreed. "How's life been with you? Heard about your girl. Bastard been caught yet?"

  CHAPTER SIX

  Talking about her death was never easy. My psychiatrist, back when the court mandated I had to see one, had tried to convince me that opening up about that night and all those that followed would be good for me. Every conversation left me raw, bloody and in need of a drink. In the end, burying the pain and guilt seemed the better option. I still had the alcohol and my silence was often enough to push away those that cared and all the nosey buggers that just pretended to. They got off on suffering, as long as it wasn't theirs and the early days had been full of them. Crowding round, offering a sympathetic ear when all I wanted was a chin to hit.

  Abrahams deserved better and as we'd be in the same unit, there really aren't that many Fish-Suit pilots out there, maybe three or four full units, he deserved to know. Not everything. No one needed that laid upon their shoulders, but I gave him a little bit more than the minimum.

  "Bloody hell, Hayes," he said at the end, shaking his head. "When you find the bastard, give me a call. I want to be there when you deep six him."

  "I will," I promised with no intention of following through. When I found the man who'd killed Tyler, the pleasure of his painful death would be all mine. Derva might talk about the due process of law, the judges and waste barges. He'd die the same on a barge, poisoned by the radiation, or by infection from the rotting waste. It would be demeaning and painful, but I wouldn't be there to see it, and it wouldn't be at my hand. It had to me, I had to watch him die.

  We fell into a companionable silence until the last beep and announcement told us we'd be docking in a few minutes. The tone of the engines, a bass hum throughout the journey, changed in pitch and there was the slight sway of the boat turning. All around the eager sailors began to gather up their stuff, packing their rubbish into bags and the conversation grew louder. Neither Abrahams or I moved. A few rows ahead another veteran sat motionless.

  There was no shame in being last off a boat. Eagerness got you assigned to some stupid mission and likely killed. Volunteer for nothing had been my motto and the fact I was still here bore out the usefulness of that guide to everyday life.

  A clank and a hiss sounded followed by a light tremor which ran through the floor beneath my feet. The young and eager, they'd learn, started to make their way towards the docking airlock.

  "Better get your stuff together, Hayes," Abrahams said.

  "One bag and a toothbrush," I said.

  "Travel light," Abrahams agreed.

  "Makes it easier to run," I added.

  I stood and dragged the little bag out of the overhead locker. Inside the zipped, and slightly bulging pack, were a few changes of underwear, a pair of pants, my new uniform, still in its vacuum-packed bag, a toothbrush and the little box of rank insignia. Crumpled under the uniform was the envelope containing my orders. I hadn't read them, I didn't need to.

  The cheerful navy man who had raised me from my dreams told me where I was going, shoved the envelope and box in my hand and took me down to collect the uniform. He hadn't left my side until I'd boarded the sub. Probably fearful I'd do something intelligent like run away and hide.

  I sighed and, slinging the strap over my shoulder, followed Abrahams along the aisle to the airlock. The veteran from the front of the sub had managed to get behind me and would, apart from the crew, be the last of the boat. He was my hero.

  The airlock door was already open and we stepped over the raised lip of metal which kept the freezing sea water out. A rush of warm air and the scents of oil, sweat and machinery swept across my face. A hubbub of sound and activity, so different from the relative quiet of the submarine, caught my ear.

  At the opposite end of the short airlock an MP, the red band around his arm and helmet marked him out, held out a PADD and I swept my wrist across it. The MP pointed over to a small cluster of uniformed figures. Abrahams was already on his way to them so I grunted in acknowledgement and followed. The crowd parted a little and I noticed Norah, the Ensign with the pink hair, was stood with them. Another pilot, I was impressed, she didn't look old enough.

  I cast my gaze around looking for her muscle-bound friend and spotted him with another knot of people. They were all his size or larger, and two of them sported the red band of the Military Police. Well that was great. I'd already insulted an MP. Those bastards had ways of getting back at you. Mind you, a sudden leak in your sleeping quarters courtesy of a Fish-Suit cutting torch could be deadly too.

  He caught my eye and a grimace passed across his face. I waved and smiled. It didn't hurt to make friends with the police, but I could see my gesture had been misinterpreted as sarcasm when his frown deepened and pristine white teeth appeared from behind thinning lips. Some people are so suspicious. I winked at him.

  "You Hayes?"

  The interrogation came from a burly officer with Commander pips on his shoulder and a Pad in his hand.

  "That's me," I answered.

  "Sir," he corrected.

  "Commander," I said.

  He didn't smile, just looked down at the PADD one more time.

  "Warrant Daniels," the Commander nodded towards another officer at his side, "will escort you to your quarters and see you settled. Unpack and get appropriately dressed," he eyed me as he said it. "There is a short briefing and orientation at eighteen hundred. After that you can eat and get ready for tomorrow. Any questions?"

  No one put their hand up and though I was tempted, I knew better. The Commander nodded and gestured to me. I followed him a few steps away from the rest of the troops.

  "Hayes," he said in a controlled, calm voice.

  "Yes," I agreed.

  "Sir,"
he said again.

  "You don't need to sir me," I said with a smile.

  "I know," the Commander said. He pointed at his chest. "Do you know what it says here?"

  "Yes."

  "Sir," he automatically replied and his eyes narrowed into a frown. "It says my rank, Commander, and my name, Anderson." He raised a hand. "Don't speak." I stayed silent. "Now you can respond to me with Sir or Commander. If you're feeling particularly ebullient you may want to say Commander Anderson. Those are your only options. Failure to follow this simple etiquette of naval life will see you assigned to the worst duties I can come up with on a daily basis.”

  I nodded.

  He took a deep breath.

  "I've read your file, Hayes and I argued against your recommission."

  "Thank you, Commander Anderson." I forgot myself for a minute, but his gesture really touched something in my heart.

  "However, someone higher up thought you would be a good addition to the unit." He shook his head and sighed again.

  "If you give me their name, I'll make sure they never make that mistake again, Commander." I was warming to him even if he clearly held no love for me.

  "We're stuck with each other, Hayes. We don't have to like it, but we have a job to do. I expect you to do your best and to cause as little trouble as you can manage. That is an order."

  "Of course, Commander." Sir was probably going a little too far at the moment. Respect the rank, not the man I'd been taught during my initial service. There were a few officers who had earned my respect, but a hell of a lot more of the enlisted ranks. They're the ones sent out to die and do so with few complaints. An officer will complain if his coffee is served lukewarm. A Seaman would come back with one arm, a tourniquet preventing his life from spilling all over the med-bay floor and with a giant smile on his face. Of course, the hefty dose of pain medication might go some way to explaining the smile.

  Anderson stared at me for a long, drawn out moment before turning and marching back to my fellow pilots and support crew.