The room was dark, no light penetrating it’s gloomy recesses as he walked in.
Nothing stirred.
“You will tell us what you know!”
The shout came from nowhere, faint at first, but getting louder as the man’s sentence progressed.
“No...”
A loud crunch sounded.
“You will tell us what you know! We know what you were doing, now tell us, now!”
“I know nothing...”
Another crunch.
An image burst into his mind, exploding in a cascade of colour and blinding white light.
A man sat in a chair, arms tied behind his back in what appeared to be a white strait jacket. He had black hair, short, with multiple cuts down one side of his face. The other was horribly burnt and scarred, healed over with time.
Another man stood over him, shouting in his down-turned face.
“Tell us, now!”
“No...”
Everything went white as another crunching sound emanated from the restrained man’s head.
When he re-appeared, blood was slowly trickling down his cheek from around his right eye.
The man leaning over his retreated, turning away - but he did not look at him as he walked past.
“Very well... we shall see what you can become...”
The sound of a heavy instrument being lifted reached his ears.
The man in the chair looked in the direction the man had walked.
“Oh... no... no! Alright, alright, I’ll tell you all I know! Please, please no!”, he screamed, recoiling in his seat, leaning away from the other man - now walking back into view, hands behind his back - to the extent that he fell off the chair with a painful thump.
“Okay”, the smartly dressed man said, “Tell us then.”
Whiteness filled his vision, the image blurring, then returning.
“It’s the government, alright? The public knows nothing...”
“Hmm...”
“It’s the truth - I swear. It’s all I know. They didn't tell me much, just what I’ve told you.”
“You’re lying.”
“What?!”
“You are lying!”
“I am not! No, no I am not!”
The man grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him to his feet in a split second.
“You know more than you want us to, don’t you, Fascist!”
“I swear I don’t! You have to believe me!”
The restrained man looked him straight in the eye.
“You have to believe me, sir. You were there - it makes sense, doesn’t it?! I don’t have anything to do with it, other than collecting technology for...”
“Shut up and don’t talk to him, I am the one who you talk to!”
The restrained man whimpered slightly.
He knew his fate was sealed before he had entered the room.
He just wasn’t ready for it.
“Sit, now!”, ordered the man, pushing him back onto the chair.
“Please!”, sobbed the man, “I beg of you.. don’t... please... don’t...”
His cries for mercy quickly turned to screams of pain as the man reached into his pocket and pulled out an unusually large, three-tipped syringe and plunged it through the restrained man’s chest, the clear fluid inside ejecting as soon as the needles hit home.
They ignored the screams until the syringe was empty.
Throwing the implement to the floor, the man turned to face him.
“Let’s get out of here.”
He followed the man out, not daring to glance back at the man now writhing on the floor beside the chair, his veins and arteries quivering as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
The heavy steel door was slammed shut behind them and locked, three metal bars sliding across as the guard pushed a lever beside the door.
The next few minutes could not be erased from his memory, as the detail from the previous scenes had.
He knew what was coming.
The man began to scream.
His voice box wavered as his scream of pain and agony continued, endlessly, for at least a minute, far exceeding a human’s lung capacity.
A loud bang shook the door, a small dent appearing in the middle of the metal frame.
He remembered shutting his eyes at that point.
His imagination, however, had other ideas.
An inhuman roar erupted from the room, the sound of clothing being torn apart to a joyful sobbing and yelling.
The diabolical laugh, mixed in with the cries of the dying human mind trapped in another being’s body, unable to do anything to prevent it from ripping him apart.
Deep-throated coughs, followed by shouts and barks announced the final sequence of events.
Laughing.
Yelling.
Shouting.
Crying.
Another loud bang sounded.
Then silence.
They waited another few minutes.
The man walked towards the door, the guard removing the locking mechanisms as he reached for the door handle.
The door immediately buckled as the man inside smashed it from the hinges embedded in the wall, sending the metal sheet flying through the door, crashing into the far wall... the man smashed along with it.
The man now looked him dead in the eye once more; it’s bulging, black eyes staring into his soul, long claws attached to blackened skin flashing in the overhead lamps as he... it, lurched forwards, grabbing at his throat...
Three cold droplets of sweat fell from Edward King’s forehead as he sat bolt upright, gasping for breath. His bedclothes were soaked with sweat, the thin duvet provided by the ship’s captain drenched in his terror. His eyes stared straight ahead. He half expected the images to return, to fulfil the past as it had been only a month previously.
The nightmares did not stop.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, walking across the small cabin towards the sink, where he stared at his own image in the mirror. He felt defenceless without his military uniform. Choosing not to splash his face with water, he walked over to the small mini-fridge included in the room, removing a small glass bottle from the side compartment. Unscrewing the cap, he tossed his head back, swallowing the thick green-brown, foul tasting liquid. Coughing slightly, Ed returned the cap and replaced the bottle in the fridge and closed it.
There was a knock at the door.
Ed reached for the blue dressing gown on a hook beside the bed, sighing with frustration, then walked over to the door.
Yanking the door open, he was surprised to see who it was.
“Delegate Willis, can I help you?”
The MI6 representative stood in full secret police uniform - black clothing, black boots, the Union Jack embroidered on his left breast pocket - along with a small, yellow folder tucked smartly under his right arm. His eyes were cold and hard as he stared the Defence Minister in the eye.
It reminded him of something else...
The haunting image flashed only once in his mind.
“I have more information you may wish to discuss, Minister.”
Ed looked at him, then understood.
“Right, give me two minutes and I will be with you.”
Closing the door, he stripped himself of the dressing gown and nightclothes and, as fast as he could, donned his normal military uniform. He left his cap - he wouldn’t need it inside the ship, after all. Quickly checking all his badges were as he had left them the night before, he opened the door.
Willis stood in exactly the same pose as before. He handed over the folder as King locked the cabin door, tucking the key on its small chain into his inner breast pocket.
“What is this?”
“More information, as I said.”
King opened it and read the papers as he followed Johnson down the narrow corridor.
“We were not noticed leaving port?”
“No, sir. At least, not that we know of; the entire Battle group sailed from Portsmouth under blackout conditions. Only when we were twenty miles out to sea were lights allowed to be activated once more.”
“Good...”
“I trust your flight from London went well?”
King looked up, not surprised at the remark, but certainly taken aback for a moment or two.
“Yes, thank you... Slightly bumpy flying out into the channel, but nevertheless efficient.”
Willis nodded.
King stopped barely a second later.
“Submarines?”
“What about them?”, Willis replied, as if there was nothing wrong.
“They’ve sent four of them ahead of us?”
“Yes?”
“Why? Are they going to start the bombardment before us, soften them up for diplomacy?!”, Ed said, his voice forceful.
“They are there so that if they are needed, they are ready!”
“Why, has MI6 completely ruled out diplomacy with these Americans?”
“We both know what the UFSA is capable of”, Willis said, “Why the hell do you think they called themselves the United Fascist States of America?!”
“So we’re going to blast our way through to their leadership as we did before, then?”
The Delegate took a step closer to Ed.
“We both know what is at stake here, you more than anyone!”
Those words were like a dagger through King’s heart.
“If anyone finds out what was going on behind closed doors”, Willis continued, “We will all be on the firing line!”
“Don’t you mean what is going on?”
Willis paused.
“What was going on.”
The conversation degraded for a few moments.
“Are the SAS men on board?”, King said quietly.
“All are present and accounted for - 200 men, heavily armed and ready within four minute’s notice.”
“Good”, Ed said as he started to walk once more, his eyes skimming over the file he held in front of him.
“The Captain wishes to speak with you, as does the Admiral.”
“Where are they now?”
“The Bridge, I believe.”
“Lead the way, Delegate.”
H.M.S. Ark Royal was the Royal Navy’s state-of-the-art Sigma-class Super Carrier, over 750 feet long and carrying up to sixty long-range aircraft. It’s twenty seven decks of reinforced steel and aluminium was home to more than eight thousand crew and three hundred airmen and women. The two bridges - each twenty metres apart from one another on the flight deck - allowed for two aircraft to be launched at any one time from its three massive runways, leaving one available for landing.
It had been in service longer than the Defence Minister had been on this Earth.
It had seen the world plunged into hell and back.
It had seen America before.
The loud, rumbling thuds of helicopter rotors passed as they headed up the four-floored forward control tower towards the bridge. The tower was chilling, the metal walls and floor making the bitterly cold wind outside all the more potent. Only at the hatch leading to the steps onto the bridge did the air begin to warm.
A man stepped forwards at the top of the stairs, looking down at the two men climbing the steps.
“Mr King, it’s good to see you again.”
Ed glanced at the man silhouetted against the dull, cloud-filled background of the windows, “Admiral Albert Jenkins! I never thought I’d see you here!”
“Now now, Ed, you knew my ambitions from the start, did you not!”
Ed laughed as he shook Albert’s hand, “I guess I should have listened to you in the dormitories at Sandhurst, every once in a while!”
Albert shook his head with a smile, “It’s good to see you again, sir.”
“Gentlemen...”
They both looked at Delegate Willis, standing alongside them, his facial expression showing his clear disliking for this unexpected - and unneeded - reunion between the two military commanders. The Admiral smiled at him, turning round and leading them to the port side of the bridge.
“You requested my presence?”, King asked.
“Ah, yes - I wanted to check with you the overall plan of this mission, and what role my Battle fleet will play in this operation”, Albert began. He stopped at a large, square-shaped table in the middle of an open space devoid of the numerous panels of equipment and systems on the surrounding walls, “Although I would rather discuss that matter in the main map room, after a general course review here.”
“Of course. Please proceed.”
Albert moved round the table slightly, grabbing a pointer from a small groove beside the map stretched across the surface. “This is our current position, as centre of the battle group. We are making a steady speed, with our escorts matching our course corrections whenever we make them...”
“When will we arrive?”, Johnson interrupted.
The Admiral stared at him, as if deciding to challenge this act of defiance, as he saw it.
He then remembered what he was talking to.
He stood up, back straight, holding the pointer in one hand, while allowing the other end to jab the palm of his right hand until the skin turned pale.
“Three days - minimum, providing we do not encounter any adverse weather conditions, otherwise the journey will take about four or five.”
Willis’ smile lasted as long as his request.
“Very good, Admiral. I will be discussing your own personal achievements when we return to Britain, and the way you conduct yourself on the bridge, in front of your crew and officers.”
Admiral Jenkins’ cockiness vanished in an instant, knowing full well what the man really meant.
A shout from the other side of the bridge broke the silence that had fallen upon their discussion.
“Delegate Willis, sir!”, shouted a young officer - no more than twenty years old, by the looks of him - stopping at the top of the steps, “The hanger crews wish to see you to discuss the loading operations. They said they had been told to consult you before they began to organise the procedures.”
Willis nodded once, “Very well.”
He turned back towards King, “I will rejoin you shortly.”
They watched as the Delegate descended the steps, waiting for the clunk of the door shutting before they continued.
“MI6 is running this, then?”
“Of course”, Ed said, neither complaining nor praising, “How many troops do we command, anyway?”
“Almost two hundred thousand, excluding the SAS and MI6 people.”
“Two hundred thousand?!”, Ed whispered in disbelief. He had no idea it would be that many...
“I know, I had the same reaction. Look, let’s go to the map room - we can discuss it more there, in private.”
King nodded, and followed Jenkins back down the stairs, turning right into a relatively large room behind a heavily locked and sound-proof bulkhead. Albert stepped aside, allowing King to enter first. The room was square-shaped, with a massive four-metre wide table, similar to that on the bridge, filling the centre of the room. Comfortable chairs encircled the map table on three sides, while one wall contained locked boxes, each holding a detailed map of a specific part of the world.
“No assistance required, Harrison”, Albert said as he sealed the bulkhead, locking the mechanism with a loud bang.
Clearly someone had offered to help.
They would not be looking at the maps.
“How are you feeling about this, Ed?”
Edward turned to face him.
“I am fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
The Minister sighed.
“You’ve had the nightmares again, haven’t you?”
“What the hell is that supposed to...”
“Don't try and make it into an argument, Ed, we both know what this task means, what it involves. It’s obvious this will trigger them again.”
Ed released a long, ragged breath as he clutched his sinuses.
“Why did you agree to come, if you knew it would start all over again?”
“I have the medication with me, I will be fine!”
“No, you won’t be!”, shouted Albert, “You will go down the same route as you did before, I was there with you, we both know what will happen!”
“Well what do you expect me to do, then? There’s no way I can go back - I will be sacked. I am the best person for this assignment; you know that, the PM knows that, everyone who knows enough about me knows it!”
“If this ends like Sandhurst, this mission won’t stand a chance.”
“It won’t end up like Sandhurst, Alb', I’ve changed - we’ve all changed.”
“No, it won’t end like Sandhurst, because there won’t be an ambulance to call to take you to a mental institute for five weeks again!”
“Don’t remind me...”
“You shouldn’t have come here, Ed, we both know that!”
“The last time I checked, I was higher in rank, not you”, Ed said, standing tall and staring the Admiral in the eye, “You do not give me orders.”
Albert stared at him for a moment.
“You’re turning just like them, you know. I recognised it as soon as you stepped aboard, but I hoped that it was not true. Clearly I was hoping too much.”
Albert turned and walked back towards the door.
“Albert...”
“No! If you remembered even one thing I did for you while you were locked in that padded cell, you wouldn't have said what you just did.”
“I’m sorry, Alb, it’s been...”
“Forget it.”
The Admiral unsealed the door and stepped out into the corridor.
The hatch was left open.
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