Chapter 15
His Majesty's Royal Resistance Headquarters
Inverness, Highlands Region, Scotland
United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland
10 February 2016 S.E.C
30 November 3058 I.S.C.
The chill winter of the Scottish Highlands had deposited snow on the ground in the city of Inverness. A small city of 100,000 in 2013, it had blossomed into the makeshift home of five times that number, stressing the local economy beyond endurance and requiring military rule as the refugees from England and the south of Scotland built more permanent homes for themselves. Nearby bases served as points from which anti-UN Britons could rally and do their best to arm themselves against the UN occupiers to the south.
Technically, most of Great Britain was not under foreign occupation. The UN forces had been "requested" by King George VII in early 2014 to counter violence between pro-UN and anti-UN forces. Since most of the UN's supporters were also republicans who wanted to abolish the monarchy, the UN had used this as leverage, forcing George to do whatever it was they felt was needed. Hence the reason that a million Britons were fighting their former allies and subordinates, the United States and Canada, in North America, and why some British advisors were aiding Indonesian and Malaysian forces in opposing Australia and her allies on New Guinea.
But millions more Britons preferred the uncertainty of a refugee's life in Northern Scotland, where the dissenters to George's actions had fled. What few Parliament members evaded UN arrest had coalesced first in Holyrood and then Inverness, with Scapa Flow serving again as a naval base for the "Free British" forces. Finally settled into Scotland, living in exile, they had elected re-elected Tory Englishman Sir Alexander Maxwell-Fyfe as Prime Minister, opposing the Socialist-Democrat and pro-Giuseppe Scotsman Andrew MacPherson that replaced him following the riots and violence of 2014. They had also stricken George of his crown, declaring him insane and unable to rule, and named his eldest child James as the new King. Prince James had also fled north, his younger sister Margaret having chosen to stay with their father, and while he did not accept the crown, he did allow the small Parliament to make him their sovereign.
The UN operation to take over the United Kingdom had not gone unopposed. The Royal Air Force had attempted a one-way nuclear strike on Geneva, a way of ending the war once and for all by annihilating Giuseppe, but it had failed, and most of the RAF was itself annihilated, in no small part because George had betrayed them. Some had said George was merely acting to prevent a devastating nuclear counterattack, but most people saw it as betrayal, and aside from a shrinking number of pro-UN Britons, all were in opposition to the foreign invaders. That Britain had at last been occupied by a foreign enemy was too much for their sensibilities, and from this discontent, this society-wide rage, a Resistance had been built.
Among that resistance was one of the survivors of the so-called "Channel Massacre"; Flight Lieutenant Andrew Jenson. He now stood before the headquarters of the Royal Resistance, in a warm parka jacket and pants, with a very special individual clinging to his left arm. Jenson looked down and over at his two year old daughter, Andrea, also tightly bundled up with the addition of a head cap and earmuffs. She looked back up at him, with the same almond-colored eyes as his and her mother's sweet nose and face, as well as her mother's rich auburn hair. "Papa, I wanna go home."
"I have something very important to do here today, Andrea. We can't go home. Not yet."
"But I'm tired."
Sighing, Jenson hefted his daughter into his arms, and felt a sharp pain in his soul. Crystal, the little girl's mother and Jenson's wife, had been one of the unlucky pilots of the Massacre. Shot down by a Flanker in front of Jenson's eyes, and splattered across the English Channel. He had only been married to Crystal for a year when she died, and much of that they had spent apart, with very little time to be to themselves. Andrea had still been a newborn when her mother had perished; she wasn't even sure yet what a "Mommy" was. She only knew "Papa".
Drawing in a breath, Jenson fought tears and stepped through the door. Armed guards in snow camo BDUs walked up from either side and checked his identification. "Um, sir, the little girl," one of them began to say.
"Corporal, I can either take her with me, or leave her with you," Jenson replied. "And she's a two year old. Think you can keep up with her?"
Jenson actually thought he saw the young Welshman shiver. "Okay, sir, you can go on ahead with her."
Walking beyond them, Jenson surveyed the "lobby" of what had once been the city hall. This was the new nerve center of the British Resistance. It was hard to believe sometimes. "Andrea, you have to be quiet, okay?"
"Okay Papa." She leaned against his shoulder and closed her eyes. Hoping she was going to take a nap, Jenson continued on. A new building, having been built just four years before, the city hall was three stories tall. While walking up to the elevator, Jenson noted the blank black board that had once listed the locations of the various offices. Now it was not needed, as anyone who had clearance to be in the building would know where everyone was anyway.
He stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button to go to the second floor. The door closed quickly and the cable pulley brought the elevator up the five or so meters to the next floor. A small maze of corridors with office doors appeared at Jenson's exit from the lift. He stepped to his right and walked to the end of the elevator corridor and then took a left. Another right brought him to a small corridor with the former office of the city's utilities manager ahead of him. He walked up to it and opened the door with his free hand.
A pretty brunette with the rank insignia of an Army Sergeant was seated at the desk. She looked up at him and seemed to grin. "Hello, Lieutenant Jenson. The Colonel is waiting for you."
"Good. And, do you have somewhere I can leave her?" He motioned to his napping daughter.
"Here." The secretary pulled up a chair with arms. Jenson kneeled over and left Andrea there. "I'll keep an eye on her, don't worry."
"Thank you, Sergeant." Jenson stepped through the door into the office of Colonel John Stewart. The British Army staff officer was seated at his desk, his bald crown partially reflecting the light from the ceiling. Jenson saluted sharply and pronounced, "Flight Lieutenant Jenson reporting as ordered, sir."
"Ah, welcome, Lieutenant," the man replied with a Cornwall accent. "Good to see you made it so quickly."
"I came as soon as the orders arrived at Lossiemouth. So, sir, if I may ask, what does the Army need with a pilot?"
"We need you to become a pilot for us, Lieutenant. Or should I say.... Captain?" Stewart handed Jenson an envelope. "Effective immediately, you are re-assigned to the Army and the First Special Training Battalion."
"Training for what?"
"BattleMech operation, Captain."
"What? You mean the walking tin-cans?"
A slight grin appeared on Stewart's face. "That's the sentiment anyone over the age of twenty has. But their effectiveness can't be overstated. And you, like many others, have passed the test."
"I take it this is cause for celebration?"
"Supposedly." Stewart picked up a tea pitcher and poured some into a small cup. "Tea? It's Earl Grey, hot."
"No thank you, Colonel." Jenson shifted in his seat, pondering the developments. "I will be training with others?"
"Yes, you are being considered for a company command, as your rank allows," Stewart answered. He took a sip. "Major Mulgrey will be your immediate superior. She is under my command, and the command of another."
"Yeah? Who'll be in charge?"
Stewart gave a sly grin. "Well, that's a bit of a surprise. But I shall spoil it."
"You see, Captain, you will be under the command of our supreme commander."
Jenson felt some surprise as he realized what Stewart was saying. "You mean.... him?"
"Prince James will be joining you, Captain," Stewart confirmed. "In fact, he should be here any time soon to meet you."
The surprise made Jenson's jaw drop slightly. The Prince of Wales, and declared by the exiled Parliament as the true sovereign.... joining them in training?! The man was not necessarily old, he was only forty-one, but still.... it had been nearly a hundred years since a man with a path toward the throne had engaged in battle with an enemy of the Kingdom.
Apprehensive, Jenson said, "I don't like this, sir. The Prince has to realize that he just can't lord it over us, or expect our loyalty right off. And he's not military even. He's never had military service, he went to bloody art school for Christ's sake!"
"He has spent nearly two years undergoing physical and combat training," Stewart replied. "He passed standard infantry training like any other soldier. Princes Edward and Henry just completed their's last month. And they will also be joining us."
Jenson frowned deeply. On top of the supposed heir to the throne, he had to deal with the man's kids. Teenagers, raised in the royal life. He harbored no illusions to how they would act.
And so he asked, "What kind of public relations stunt is this, sir? It was fine with James taking a back seat and letting the professionals run things, but we're actually going to get him involved in the thick of things? What if he screws it all up? This is bollocks, Colonel. You know that and I know that."
Stewart let out an exasperated sigh. "I knew you would be like this. But better you found out now instead of at the beginning of training."
"Well, how was I supposed to react?" Jenson threw a hand up in the air. "This isn't a game! We're not playing some silly little exercise, this is war! People are going to leave here and not come back, and they want to put those pampered royals in with us? They're better off staying here and being good little recruiters."
"Unfortunately, Captain Jenson, I have recruited all that I can."
The voice cut through Jenson's mind and make him draw a breath, as if he had just stumbled into a trap. Stewart looked behind him and stood, giving a respectful salute. "Your Royal Highness, welcome."
Jenson stood from his chair, turned, and saluted to the man standing in the doorway; Prince James William Windsor, the Prince of Wales and, with victory, the future King James III of Great Britain. Jenson tried not to show the "deer-in-the-headlights" feeling he knew he had at the sight of his leader. "Your Royal Highness," Jenson greeted him respectfully.
James was a man of some height, standing at about a hundred and eighty five centimeters, and a decent if not strong build. With well-cut brown hair, he at least gave the appearance of a military man. His eyes were similarly brown, with a small nose and a moderately-sized jaw. He was, like Jenson, clad in a uniform, albeit an Army one with a royal insignia on the rank portions. A stiff salute answered Jenson and allowed him to lower his arm. "Captain Jenson, a pleasure."
"The honor is mine, Your Royal Highness," Jenson said through the lump in his throat.
"I don't blame you," James said immediately. "I understand you don't have any trust in my ability to fight. That's why I'm here. I want to learn to fight."
"Why?"
"Because, otherwise, I'm no better than my father," James replied. "He takes our young people off the street and makes them serve a foreign tyrant, claiming it is to protect Britain from Giuseppe's wrath, yet he does not put himself at risk. He sits, quivering, in Buckingham Palace while MacPherson rules Britain with an iron fist in the name of another man who is equally cowardly but even more evil." James took a few steps into the door. "I have spent almost two years now urging Britons to oppose my father and side with us. To put what few freedoms they have left at jeopardy and fight what could be a hopeless battle with little gain to be had. I have had many answer my call to arms, but that has ended now. The UN and MacPherson has forced my father to act brutally to those who do defect, and their families, and my father also tempts those already here with reward if they give him information on this Resistance. Faced with Giuseppe's stick and my father's carrot, I must show an even greater devotion to the ideals I say I believe in. And that includes putting my own life on the line." James lowered his head and frowned. "If I am not willing to fight for British freedom, why should I expect others to do so as well?"
Jenson had to admit, James' words were well chosen. But they were still at their core platitudes, and platitudes could be quite empty. There was nothing tangible to grasp.
But then James provided it. "Captain Jenson, the little girl in the office, she is your's?"
With a dagger in his heart while thinking of Crystal, Jenson nodded in answer.
"I figured as much." James tried to grin. "I remember my sons when they were that old. But, I have to ask you this. Do you want your daughter to grow up in a world run by Armand Giuseppe and the Clans?"
"No, definitely not," Jenson replied angrily. The very thought filled his soul with hot rage, his little girl, becoming a mere pawn at the hands of a megalomanical tyrant. What they might do to her when she came of age, it was too horrible to contemplate. "I would rather die."
"I agree. My sons are not her age, but they are still my sons, and I want them to live as adults in a free world governed by law, not by Giuseppe's dictatorial fiat," James replied with equal venom at the idea. "I want my future grandchildren to not have to worry about any of this."
Again, Jenson could not disagree. And this time, James had struck a chord in his heart. His sovereign had gone above platitudes now, he had gone into something concrete and real for Jenson; fighting not for abstract ideals but for the future of their children. Now Jenson found there was something common between him and James, and what they wanted to accomplish. Now, perhaps, he could trust him, if just a little.
And when it came down to it, Jenson had little choice in the matter anyway.
"Well, sir, we can all hope, can't we?"
"Yes, we can."
"Where's the training going to take place?", Jenson asked.
James and Stewart exchanged a couple of glances. "There's only one place in the Highlands secure enough for this kind of training," Stewart said. "And that is the underwater facility at Loch Ness."
"You mean the one the government says doesn't exist?"
"It was first suggested during the Cold War," James said. "But only realized in the last ten years. We meant it as a place where Parliament, the Cabinent, and the Royal Family could be evacuated to in the event of imminent nuclear war. We've spent three straight months using what materials we can to add 'Mech docks and airlock facilities."
"BattleMechs, unlike tanks and other land combat weapons, are capable of underwater operation," Stewart explained. "Although the only weapons they can utilize underwater are lasers."
"So we'll be swimmin' them first?", Jenson chuckled.
"Yes and no. First are simulators, which arrived in the last DropShip shipment from the Inner Sphere," remarked Stewart. "The BattleMechs come after."
Jenson nodded in reply. James took a look at his watch and extended a hand for Jenson to shake. "It was an honor meeting you, Captain, and I look forward to fighting alongside. I'm sorry for leaving so soon, but I have to pick up my sons."
"They'll be joining us?", Jenson asked.
"Yes, they will be training as well." James' expression betrayed his own unease with this. "Today and tomorrow will be their last days of freedom before training officially begins, and they are taking the time to try and enjoy themselves." A frown crossed his face. "I can only hope that is all they do."
"Because they're typical teenage boys?"
"No, actually. Edward is quite settled and trustworthy." James shook his head and stepped toward the door. "Henry, on the other hand, does his best to make up for that. And considering their company, that could lead to problems."
Gymnasium, British Army Barracks
Inverness
The Gymnasium was a multi-purpose facility where military and civilians alike could partake in various athletic pursuits. Currently, a spirited basketball game had taken form on the court, a four-on-four halfcourt game that had drawn considerable notice simply from the team captains; the twin sons of the Prince of Wales.
Henry's disheveled brown hair resembled his father's. His blue eyes were from his mother, who's wide-bridged nose he had also inherited. The shorter of the fraternal twins, at one hundred and seventy six centimeters, he was well-built, an amateur rugby player and, had the war not come, he may have very well tried a professional career in the sport. Henry only wore a pair of red shorts that ended about three-quarters the way down his thighs, with white US Size 10 Nike shoes imported from America years before the war. He was now defending against his brother, who was dribbling the ball with a distinctive thump each time the orange-colored sphere hit against the hardwood floor.
Shirtless like his brother, and wearing knee-length white shorts and dark green US Size 10 Reeboks, Edward did not look as much the twin as some would expect. His hair was a distinct blond, his mother's hair color, with his mother's blue eyes. He stood at about a hundred and eighty centimeters, very close to his father in height, and had the same jaw and nose of his father. Athletically built, Edward was the stronger of the two despite external appearances, having benefited from more practical exercise and fight training, primarily in boxing and kickboxing. His arms, legs, and abdomen were better-developed, muscle-wise, than his top-heavy brother, who's strength was focused in the shoulders and upper chest. Possessing superior discipline to his impetuous twin, Edward moved with a fluid and almost graceful motion. A quick crossover dribble, something he had been working on since he was ten, allowed Edward to shoot past his brother. Before his brother's teammates could stop him, Edward had sliced through the "paint" and performed a quick layup that went through the net with a light swish.
Henry's teammates, a pair of English boys his age and a local Scot, each gave him a dirty look. Henry merely leveled an envious gaze at Edward as he exchanged a high-five with one of his own teammates. Aside from another local Scot, Stuart Robertson, and an Indian-descended young man, Edward also had the only female playing on the court. Standing at one hundred seventy-four centimeters, Diane Howard had the dubious distinction of being the youngest living Duchess in the United Kingdom, a title granted by James upon her recent eighteenth birthday because her family had been exterminated by Die Verteidiger der Ordnung for siding against George VII and for James. Dark raven hair was pulled into a pony-tail that went half-way down her back, which was mostly exposed by the tight gray sports bra she had donned to play. Sweat glistened on her light skin and reflected some of the gym's light. Diane's eyes were a bright blue, her face narrow and with a pointed chin. Like Edward, she had an athletic and properly proportioned body with a finely developed musculature and a bosom that was nicely sized for her body size and shape, although nothing remarkable. The cut on her jogging shorts was sometimes described as a "Daisy Duke" cut, exposing most of her curved legs, much to the delight of males on both sides of the ball. Even Edward, who prided himself on his control over his teenage desires, could not help but appreciate his teammate's appearance.
After clapping hands with Stuart, Edward noticed a sly grin on Diane's face. "That was a nice move, Edward," she remarked in a cheery English accent, a formal sounding one that did not quite fit her tomboyish personality.
"Thank you, Diane," he replied respectfully, his own accent just as formal sounding and well-pronounced as Diane's.
"Next time, though, give the ball to me," Diane said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "I've got a few moves of my own to show off."
"Aye, but that's not all that we want to see you show off," the young Anglo-Indian, Dhruvi, said with a mischievous grin.
"Well, that's for later," Diane answered with a grin that did more to speak of her wild nature than her mannerisms and body language.
"Brother," Henry's voice suddenly cut in, "we're waiting for you."
Edward nodded to his brother. Henry had stepped out of bounds, with the ball in his hands. He tossed it to Edward, who nodded and tossed it back, "checking" the ball in and allowing his brother to inbound it. He took a step back to allow Henry room to inbound it.
Henry began his dribble and immediately plowed into his brother. Edward had no warning and very little chance to try and set himself up to take a charge. He was still moving when Henry slammed into him with the full force of his upper body. The shock of the collision sent Edward flying backwards. He tripped onto his back and landed with a hard thud, his skull smacking up against the hardwood. He let out an involuntary cry and put his right hand up to the back of his head, gasping for air from the shock of the impact. As he did so, Henry raced past him and toward the basket.
As he began his jump to try and score, Diane slammed into him from the front, knocking the ball loose with her left hand.and both of them to the ground. She hid well the pain from the impact, allowing only a grimace to appear on her face as the reaction force from her impact against the larger Henry bruised her and almost knocked the wind out of her. The ball flew loose and Henry's teammates scrambled for it, but Dhruvi came up with it first. He immediately signaled a timeout to give the three people on the ground a chance to recover.
Diane was first on her feet, shaky but again hiding her pain. Henry scrambled to his feet behind her. "Stupid bitch!", he shouted. "That's a foul!"
"Like you running over Edward wasn't?!", she shot back. "Dumb arse!"
"His feet were moving, so if there's any foul, it'll be on him," Henry retorted.
"You want a foul, you ox, I'll give you a fuckin' foul!", snapped Diane.
"Please, both o' ye!" Stuart was kneeling beside Edward, who was still on the ground. "Eddie, ye okay?"
Groaning a little, Edward nodded. He could breathe again, although every breath taken brought a sharp pain in his diaphragm. A bruise was forming on his chest where Henry's shoulder made impact, and the back of his head was throbbing. "Just a little dazed," he lied, not wanting to admit how badly his brother had hurt him. Best not to let that kind of thing get to Henry's head, and now Edward decided he had to answer him yet again. "I'm ready to play."
"Well, now I get to shoot free throws," Henry said, stepping up to the line.
"Henry, I don't think so." Edward intercepted the ball as Dhruvi threw it toward Henry. He bounced it on the floor once and brought it up with both hands. "I committed a blocking foul, and you weren't shooting."
"Very good, Edward." Henry showed no sign of emotion as he stepped back toward the out of bounds marker. One of his teammates checked the ball in with Dhruvi and began inbounding it. Henry ran toward the basket and raised his hand to signal he was getting open. Stuart followed him and got a finger on the ball. It slipped under Henry's hand and bounced toward the boundary of the court.
Diane beat the ball to the line and quickly passed it back in before her foot hit the line. As she stumbled and began to trip, the ball landed in Stuart's hands, who quickly tossed it back out to Edward.
Wide open at the top of the 3 point arch.
Henry reacted quickly, and with another teammate charged his brother. But neither was fast enough, and by the time they reached Edward he had already released the ball. It bounced off the back of the rim, rolled for a moment, and then went in. "And now we're ahead by one," Edward said with a grin. He had worked on that shot before going into basic training, and had worried that he'd lost the touch.
While Edward was accepting high-fives from his team, Henry shook his head and picked up the ball. He had to admit, his brother was better in games like this. If it were rugby, though, or any sport where physical contact was allowed, Henry always did better. But that was how it always was. Henry was stronger, but Edward was faster and probably a bit more athletic overall.
Then there was Diane. Henry felt his heart pound and his blood boil while looking at her. They never stopped fighting, but even if he couldn't stand her personality, Henry would give up a great deal for a chance in bed with her. Unlike Edward, modest and almost Victorian in his manners, Henry was very modern, and he had an active and open desire for other girls, and particularly one as feisty and wild as Diane. Which was, admittedly, not something that helped him in his pursuits.
This time, it was Diane who stepped up to check the ball for Henry. "Let's see you try some of that shit with me," she muttered as she caught the ball and threw it back. "Check."
Henry grinned, taking it as a personal challenge. But instead of giving her what he wanted, he spotted Kyle, one of his English teammates, having slid between Edward and Dhruvi and now open on the other side of the court. He pulled back his powerful right arm and threw the ball over the head of Stuart and another of his own teammates. Kyle almost didn't catch it, but he managed to get a handle on it, and threw up a shot before Dhruvi could react. It was a bad shot, hitting the top of the backboard. Henry had returned to the court by the time the loud sound of the backboard strike hit their ears. Moving past Stuart, he pushed past Edward and knocked him down as he went up and performed a picture-perfect lay-up. Upon landing, with his brother sprawled out on the floor, he accepted a high-five from Kyle, briefly needling him for the bad shot, and turned back. "No harm no foul," he said to Edward.
Edward glowered back, but said nothing; like before his feet hadn't been set, and didn't feel like giving his brother the satisfaction of shooting a free throw. He merely turned away and prepared himself to check the ball in. Before he did, Diane smacked him on his shoulder. "Why don't you say anything to that overgrown ape?!", Diane asked in a demanding tone. "He's gunning for you! Stand up for yourself!"
"Let him gun for me," Edward replied in a soft tone. "Henry thinks of me as a rival, he always goes after me in everything we do, trying to prove himself better. I don't mind it."
"Edward, he's a bully! He's trying to do more than prove himself better than you. He's trying to hurt you for Christ's sake!" When Edward merely returned an empty glance, Diane's face twisted into a snarl of rage. "Bloody hell, he's too much of a boy and you're not enough of one! Fine, let me do this."
Edward nodded back non-committally. He'd heard this argument before. But to his mind, for him to act toward Henry as Henry acted toward him would be to vindicate, for Henry, the way he's been acting all along.
Besides, he didn't have to. Edward had always been the smarter of the two, and Henry's aggression tended to work in his favor as often as it worked to give him bruises. As he had done during the game, playing Henry to free up his team to play as well.
Henry stepped up and accepted the ball from Edward. "Come on Edward, let's see you do some more of your fancy moves, huh?"
"If you want, brother," Edward replied, accepting the ball back. But instead of inbounding it with a dribble, he brought it up with both hands and tossed it to Diane. She did not waist a moment, twirling around and releasing it. Within three seconds of having thrown in the ball, Edward and Diane had put their team back up on top.
Embarrassed a little, Henry did manage a chuckle. "She's sexy, isn't she?", he asked.
"I admit, she's a beautiful girl, but I think she'd rather remain a virgin than crawl into bed with either of us," Edward replied. Somehow, in his mind, he just couldn't see Diane making love with either of them. And, he had to admit, it was a little disappointing. Quickly, any teenage desire he may have felt was covered up by his self-control. Edward accepted the ball from Kyle, and gave it to Henry.
"Well, brother, let's end this game, shall we? Next team to score wins, what do you all say?" There was a chorus of agreement from the other players on both teams. Henry grinned and threw it back to Edward, a little too roughly. The ball hit Edward in the chest where Henry had earlier collided with him, and he grimaced from the impact against his growing bruise. Hiding his discomfort as best as he could, Edward tossed it back to Henry, who began inbounding it. The two brothers matched off evenly as Henry muscled his way into posting up. He continually pushed against Edward, who remained as close as possible. Henry kept dribbling, waiting for his chance...
Taking a gamble, Diane broke off of Kyle and went toward Henry from his blindside. His team shouted warnings too late to warn him, and by the time Henry looked in the right direction, Diane's hand had already slipped in between his hand and the ball as it was in mid-air. "Too slow, Henry!", she crowed with a wide grin, not seeing his angry scowl. She kept the dribble going, running out into the middle of the court and looking back in. Kyle and another player went out to face her, and she tossed it to Dhruvi, who was open. Henry got between Dhruvi and Edward, which mattered little as Dhruvi gave it right back to Diane, who was now past the double team and moving toward the basket. She caught the ball in mid-stride at about the three point line, dribbled it once, and leapt upward to lay it in.
Just as the ball left Diane's hand, Henry plowed into her. His shoulder caught her in the lower belly and his skull struck her directly in the middle of the diaphragm. Diane cried out and fell to the ground like a rag doll. Wide-eyed, Edward and some of the others, even Henry's teammates, raced to her as she writhed about trying to breathe again. Edward leaned over and took her hand for a minute. "Breathe! Come on!"
When she finally responded by taking in a gulp of air, Edward looked up at his brother in anger as Henry feigned concern, and then shrugged. "I guess I was going too fast, I was just trying to stop her from shooting," he lied.
"That wasn't necessary, and you damned well know it!", Edward shouted.
"I play hard, she knew that when she walked on the court. Don't blame me."
Edward stood to his full height and stepped toward his shorter and stocker brother. "I'm damned well blaming you! That was wrong, Henry!"
"So, what are you going to do about it, Edward?" Henry stepped even closer. "Are you going to hit me? You know you won't, Father won't like it, and you've always been a perfectly good...."
And then Edward hit him.
Boxing was one thing Edward was decent at, and a field where he and Henry were evenly matched, power versus speed. And it was the speed that allowed Edward to get in the right-handed blow on his brother before he could react. He wisely avoided striking knuckles against jaw, instead catching the jaw with his fingers between the knuckles and the joints. Henry fell backward from the force of the blow, landing on his posterior. Enraged at being struck, he quickly recovered and jumped up. He tackled Edward with enough force that Edward grunted. As both were dragged downward, Edward's left knee connected with Henry's stomach, sending a wave of nausea through him. Henry's return punch grazed Edward's right eye.
Before either could do any more damage, their teammates got in the middle and pulled them away. They struggled momentarily until a loud voice shouted, "What in the hell is going on here?!"
The twins grimaced and turned toward the north entrance. Their father stood before them, an expression of grave disapproval on his face. Beside him was Command Sergeant Major Anthony Murray, who looked as equally angry. "Attention!", Murray barked angrily. With the exception of Diane, the assembled saluted and stood at solid attention. Diane began to sit up. "Okay, which of ye is gaein' tae tell me and His Majesty what hus happened here?"
"Father, I..."
Before Edward could finish, James raised a hand. "I'd rather someone else did. Private Matheson?"
Kyle nodded. "Sir, we were playing basketball. Diane made a layup and Prince Henry collided with her while trying to stop her."
"That's a bloody lie!", Stuart shouted.
"And ye, Private Robertson," Murray turned his head to the younger Scot, "what wud ye say happened?"
"Sergeant Major, Your Majesty," Stuart began in a respectful tone, "Henry slammed into her on purpose because she made him look bad. Henry spent the entire game trying to slam into any of us that got in his way."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Henry protested.
"This is basketball, nae rugby," Stuart retorted.
"Henry, you will speak when you are asked to, not before!", James said in a stern tone. "Diane, are you going to be okay?"
Now on her knees, Diane was still trying to shake off the effects of the hit when she got on her feet. Edward and Dhruvi offered her a hand, but she refused them. James repeated his question in a softer tone. Still rubbing the back of her head, where she had impacted it against the hardwood floor, Diane began to nod. "I'll be fine," she replied. "Just a little stunned." She took the time to level an angry gaze at Henry.
"Well," Murray stepped forward with a predatory glint in his eye. "We still huv tae ken... why did this lead tae ye fighting?", he asked Edward and Henry.
"Better yet, who threw the first punch?"
"I did," Edward answered his father, lowering his head. "I was angry with Henry for hurting Diane. He did it in purpose and didn't have the courage to admit it." Henry nearly rolled his eyes when he thought better of it. "So I punched him."
"Ah. And you, Henry?" James looked to his other son. "What do you have to say about that?"
"Father, you know me. I play hard, it's the only way I know how to. She was going for the winning points and I tried to stop her. I didn't mean to hit her so hard." Henry resisted the temptation to turn his head toward his brother. "Edward got sensitive and decided to play white knight again."
One of Henry's teammates inadvertantly chuckled before a glare from Murray silenced them all. "Well, now that we've gotten this thing settled, Your Majesty," Murray looked over to James, "they're all your's."
"Edward, Henry, one hundred laps around the gym. Now. I trust the Command Sergeant Major will be able to keep count."
"Aye. And Ah'll make sure they do all hundred of 'em." Murray looked to them and barked, "Now, get started!"
James watched for a moment as his sons broke out into a jog, beginning at the end of the court and working their way clockwise around the rectangular gym. "Diane, I'd like you to come with me." James was about to add "to the infirmary", but knew she'd never accept it. Not in public. She was too strong-willed to let anyone see her hurt in public. "I'll be waiting for you outside of your locker room. Make sure you bundle up."
Diane nodded and walked toward the exit slowly. The others dispersed to go find something else to do.
James led Diane out of the infirmary and found himself looking up at a sunset hanging over the Scottish hills. Diane followed him out, wearing a heavy Army jacket and trousers with matching boots. Her hair had been released from the ponytail she used and was now hanging loose down her back to below her shoulders. "Do you think Henry meant to hit you like that?", James asked.
"Yes, I do, Your Majesty."
"Please, you can call me James too," he reminded her for about the hundredth time.
"Tell Murray that. Everyone in BT insisted I call you 'Majesty'." Diane grinned. "You're not the kind of man your father is, James."
A dark expression crossed the older man's face. "I know. I know all too well. Your grandfather and parents knew that as well."
A dagger was thrust into Diane's heart, and a thousand unwelcome images flashed through her mind. "I..." Tears began forming in her eyes and Diane could not control them. "I still remember that night."
"I know you do." James lowered his head. "I greatly admired Duke Gregory. He was a strong man for his age. I'm sad I only got to know him just before my father betrayed us all."
"I think he'd like what you're doing here," Diane replied. "And I know Mum and Dad would be happy that I'm staying with you. They used to say you were a worthy heir, even with that question of Edward and Henry's legitimacy."
"Yes, that." James did not speak of the matter. He could only feel the aching loss in his soul, having lost the mother of his sons so early into their loving relationship. And the sting of rejection from those who denounced his sons, his beloved sons, as bastards, and sought to strip them of their future. "Diane, I have to ask, are you sure this is what you want?"
"Yes, this is what I want." Diane went to the passenger side of the car James was using, while he got on the other. In the driver's seat, a Lance Corporal looked back and nodded to him. James told him to wait a moment, as Edward and Henry would probably be back soon. "And it's not like I have anything worth returning to. An empty mansion haunted by my family's ghosts?"
"Diane, I will remind you that you're not just a normal young girl anymore. You're a..."
"A Duchess. I know. And you know I'm not supposed to be. I was never meant to be." Diane sighed. "You gave me the title to honor Grandpa Greg, I know, and I'm thankful for it. But, you also gave it to get at your father, who declared the Howard line dissolved."
"My father did that on MacPherson's orders, I'm sure. He and Gregory were friends."
"Some friends, considering he signed my family's death warrants." Diane clenched her fists. "You don't want me on the frontlines, do you?"
"If something were to happen to you, or Heaven forbid, you were to be taken prisoner, it would be a blow to your family's supporters," James replied. "You're very important to everything, Diane. To me, to the Resistance, and I think, to Edward and Henry as well."
That drew a derisive snort from Diane. "Your sons consider me important?"
"Putting the earlier incident today aside, Henry has respect for you, and is more than a little taken with you. Edward considers it a duty to protect you."
"I can protect myself."
Diane's defiant boast went unanswered. "Because of today, I know I can't put Henry and Edward together in a room for a short while. When they have these fights it tends to take them a while to make them up."
"I remember what happened at their seventeenth birthday," Diane said, "so I know. And Edward is always the one to apologize first."
"True. Henry's pride refuses to let him do so." James let out a sigh, having been down this road far too many times. "You have all been quartered at the Royal Highland, right? Who are you quartered with?"
"Mary Austin," Diane answered. "A girl I met in BT. She passed the neuro-test and will be joining us for training. She's a sweetie from Ayrshire."
"Sweetie?"
"Like sunshine, Prince." Diane smiled a little. "She was my roommate at BT. She's a very sweet girl, nice, innocent, that kind of thing. Certainly not like me."
James had no choice but to grin at that. "And she's there?"
"Probably. She volunteered for a couple of days at one of the daycares, to help take care of all the little kids they've got around here now." Diane's smile disappeared. "And I know what you're thinking. You want me to switch rooms with Henry, right?"
James did not respond immediately. "Yes, that's what I'm asking. I know you and Edward can get along. And Mary sounds like a girl who could work with Henry."
"Yes, because unlike other girls, she won't kick him in the arse after he makes a pass at her," Diane remarked. "The boy's got too many hormones, and Edward doesn't have enough."
James chuckled to himself for a moment. "I sometimes get surprised at just how different my sons are from each other." He looked out the window and toward the door to the gymnasium, and the aforementioned sons exitting in heavy jackets and trousers. "And they're coming. Not a word of this for now. We'll let them know when we get there."
The bus slowed to a stop with a loud whine. Jenson pulled his army jacket tighter, disliking the cold, and reminding himself again why it was better to leave Andrea at a care center. He watched the bus disgorge it's contents. Most were Resistance personnel, heading to billets in preparation for aiding, in some way, with 'Mech training. They did not yet know what Jenson knew, that they would be serving in one of the most advanced underwater facilities in the world, a facility large enough to house a small city if absolutely necessary.
An RAF Flying Officer, now a Lieutenant, stepped out, and Jenson walked up to him. The Officer's short-cropped black hair was kept under a beret. His brown eyes turned toward Jenson and a smile crept across his face. "Andy!"
"Marcus, glad to see you made it."
Jenson shook hands with his RAF wingmate, Marcus Carter. Carter maintained the enthusiastic handshake for a moment and asked, "So, where's the little firecracker?"
"Andrea is in a children care center for now," Andrew answered. "The base is off-limits to civilians, you know that. It took me a fuss just to bring her with me when I went and saw Colonel Stewart."
"Ah, Ol' Baldy." The mischievous grin on Carter's face was infectious to Jenson, and he couldn't help but emulate it. "So, we get to become mud sloggers now, huh?"
"Yes and no. I doubt piloting sixty ton war machines is the same as infantry work, but it should be an interesting change."
"Yeah, and fun. At least we don't have to worry about not getting our flying hours or having to break off because of the fuel shortages. I hear these things run on some small kind of fusion reactor."
"Somehow, Marcus, that doesn't make me feel better," he replied.
"Well, maybe not. So, what are you doing tonight?"
"Nothing to do, I've got bunking at a local family inn with Andrea."
"Ah, well, I did bring something to watch at least."
Jenson shook his head. "Thanks to you, Marcus, I have watched every episode of Babylon-5 and it's spinoffs at least twice."
"No, you haven't." Carter pointed a finger toward him. "You only saw 'The Gathering' once. And you slept through half of it. Of course, that's because you tried to watch it the morning after you and Crystal conceived Andrea."
It was meant as a light-hearted joke, but Carter immediately wanted to retract it when he saw all of the jolliness in his friend disappear. "If Crystal were here, she'd want you to be happy," he said, and immediately hit himself mentally for such a corny statement.
"If Crystal were here," Jenson began, "I wouldn't be. Here, that is. I'd be with her and Andrea."
"Andy, why don't we go have a pint before you go home? I'll buy," Carter offered.
Jenson nearly refused. But after a moment, he decided he needed the pint. "I'll take you up on that."
The Royal Highland Hotel in Inverness was a posh and grand hotel which had attracted worldwide guests and celebrities in the pre-war years, but like many other buildings, it had now been commandeered to be used by the Resistance, primarily for quartering of higher ranking military officers. It had served as Edward and Henry's home for nearly two years now, but that would no longer be so come the next day.
The two brothers were still not speaking while Henry packed his things under his father's watchful gaze. Now wearing a sleeveless white polyester shirt and knee-length white cotton shorts, Henry pulled a bag over his shoulder, and without so much as a glare toward Edward, who was laying on the wall-side bed, he walked out the door. As he did so, Diane entered with her own bags. She nudged him out of the way with a very unladylike snarl and stepped into the room. She hurled the bag to the side of the window-side bed and sat down, starting to unbutton her navy blue blouse. James nodded to them and said, "See you all in the morning. Get a good night's sleep, it'll be the last one you get for a while."
The door closed. Edward did not react at first to Diane's presence, leaving it to Diane to speak first. After she pulled off her blouse, revealing the blue bra she was wearing underneath, she turned her head toward Edward. "You wouldn't go after Henry for what he did to you, but you stood up for me. Why?"
"Because it was the right thing to do." Edward sat up, obligated to by her speaking to him. He looked across the room at her and their eyes met for a moment. "Henry and I have fought so often that I ignore what he does. But when he goes after someone else, then it's different. He didn't have the right to hurt you like that."
"Edward, you're going to have to stick up for yourself stronger than that." Diane went to work pulling her trousers off, revealing the same short-cut shorts she'd been wearing in the gym. "Besides, I can take care of myself."
"I don't doubt that. But you were hardly in a position to do so." Edward touched the corner of his right eye, the surrounding skin having become black from the blow his brother had delivered in the gym. He winced just a bit, indicating it was still sore.
Diane had already noticed the eye during the vehicle ride back to the hotel, and saw it had gotten a little worse. "You want anything for that?"
"No, it's fine. It'll be better in a few days, just a little sore right now." A moment passed. "I remember Mary from training, but I don't think I ever talked to her as much as you or Henry did."
"Henry didn't see her very often either. And they don't mesh well. She's an innocent girl. Sweet and nice. No, she won't like Henry at all." Diane chuckled. "She'll probably get real shy with him around and then stay to herself."
"Assuming Henry doesn't try and bother her." A smirk crossed Edward's face. "One of the contests Henry thinks we're in is to see which of us goes to bed with a girl first."
For some reason that even she didn't know, Diane broke out laughing. "Really?" She turned with a wide grin on her face. "You know, that actually puts you a little higher on the list than you were before."
"Why?"
"Because, if I got in the sack with you, it would probably piss Henry off, and I like that thought." Diane winked at Edward. "Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to actually do it. Lord knows you'd never let me anyway, you're such a Victorian."
Edward didn't answer that. He didn't even watch as Diane pulled pajamas out of her bag and went toward the bathroom to change into them. For a moment, Edward did wonder what that would be like, to make love with Diane, but he quickly pushed the growing desire out of his mind and went to work pulling his own clothes off so he could get to bed.
Henry spent the entire walk to the room Diane shared with Mary Austin listening to his father give him an earful over the incident in the gym. "Henry, you must learn to control your temper, I've told you this how many times and you don't seem to be working toward it," James finally finished.
"Between Diane's 'I am woman, hear me roar' attitude and Edward's usual holier-than-thou self, how could I help it?", Henry asked. "I try to get along with them, but they just go on and do their best to make me angry."
"It's not as intentional as you think," James answered him. "There are people who annoy me as well, it's something you have to learn to deal with." Taking in a sigh, James put a hand on Henry's right shoulder and looked down toward his son, trying to lighten his expression while Henry looked back with irritation. "Henry, you are wrong about them, but they're also wrong about you, I think. You're going to have to work to make them change their minds on that."
"You'd think, Father, that after eighteen years Edward and I would know each other better."
That drew a chuckle from the older man. "Henry, twenty-six years has not given me enough time to understand your Aunt Margie. And we have far more in common than you and Edward do." James brought his hand down and gestured toward the door. "Henry, you might as well go and see her. I trust you'll be a perfect gentleman?"
"With Mary? Of course." Henry finally showed a wide grin, which made James happy. "She was always a nice girl."
"I'll leave you two then. I'll be by at ten in the morning, I expect you to be packed and ready by then."
Henry nodded and watched his father walk away, taking a turn at the far corner. He drew in a sigh and knocked on the door. When it opened, he nodded and said, "Hello Mary."
Mary Austin wore her blond hair a little short, allowing it to only go down far enough to hide part of her neck. Her skin had not of the muscular curvatures that Diane's had, only flat surface aside from the joints. She was in a white T-shirt and thigh-length shorts, standing at a hundred and seventy centimeters and having to crane her neck slightly to match Henry's brown eyes with her sweet and glittering almond eyes. Her skin was as light as Henry's. A small and cute nose and average lips, with filled out cheeks and a small jaw, filled out her facial features. A gracious neckline and an otherwise unremarkable build filled out what was visible. Because of the way she acted, Mary lacked the overt sex appeal Henry could see in Diane, but that really didn't matter. Mary was so much easier to get along with than Diane. Her face brightened a little at seeing Henry, and she welcomed him in vigorously with a cheerful Scottish accent that Henry thought went very good with her form. "Want mah tae take yer things? Ah daenae mind," she asked.
"No, I'm fine." Henry put his bag of clothes and personal effects on the side of the wall-side bed. After this he went to work pulling his shirt off and got on one of the beds. "You look good, Mary. The tots keeping you busy?"
"What dae ye think?", she asked in a sarcastic tone. She sat down across from him. "Ah heard about taeday in the gym."
"I'm sure you did. And I'm sure Diane made it clear it was all my fault."
Mary nodded, and with an awkward expression, she asked, "And what about yer side?"
Henry snorted and put a hand on his forehead. "Well, where to begin. Ah yes. How about the fact that my brother claims he isn't competing with me, but only when he's not sure he can win? Otherwise, yeah, it's a competition, and he's better than me."
"Ye're really that angry with him?"
"I am, sometimes. Edward has a condscending attitude toward me, he thinks he's so much smarter, so much better." Henry stopped for a moment to collect his thoughts. "I'll admit he's better than me at things. I couldn't stop him out there on the court today, and he always beats me at chess and other mind games. But dammit, Mary, I still try! I still admit I want to beat him in these things and I still oppose him even when I know I'll lose. But Edward never dares to play against me at things he knows he can't win. It's one-sided, and I'm getting tired of it."
"Then maybe it's time ye stopped playin' rival tae 'im," Mary said. She moved over to sit beside Henry and took his right hand with her smaller, gentle hands. "Diane daenae give ye the credit ye deserve. Ye never treated mah badly."
"I shouldn't have gone at her like that. Mary, I never meant to hurt her like that. I was just trying to stop her, and, I don't know..." Henry sighed. "Maybe Father is right and I let my temper get the best of me. It's just... I get so mad at them for being so... so..." He let out a grunt of frustration. "So Mary," he began again, wanting to change the subject. "How have you been since BT ended?"
Mary nodded in understanding, and they began talking about other things.
Jenson soon realized how much he'd missed the "good old days" after arriving at the pub. Although he had kept himself to the one pint offered him by Carter, they had swiftly begun talking about the "old days", and Jenson realized he hadn't laughed this hard since his wife's death and Britain's reduction to puppet state. The conversation had concentrated on telling a few bystanders about the antics that happened in their RAF days, from close calls in the air to a racy story about Carter, a spilt mug of beer, and a pair of large-breasted Swedish emigrč girls in a strip club.
Then Carter, to retaliate, described how Jenson drunkenly asked Crystal to marry him, and she had told him to piss off. Only later, when he sobered up, did she agree. And after that was a story about an attempt by Jenson and Crystal to make love in the base shower that went awry and proved horribly embarrassing. "If we had brought a video camera with us, we would've waited until after Andy finished his climax and then revealed ourselves." Carter's grin was as wide as it could possibly be, while Jenson's face turned beet red. "I mean, you can get a pretty penny for amateur pornography."
After some laughter, one of the bystanders spoke up. Possessing a respectable physical build and a fair complexion, Theresa O'Reilly was easy on the eyes of Carter and Jenson. Wearing a British Army uniform like Jenson now had, O'Reilly had a rosemary hanging around her neck, her way of showing herself a devout Catholic. Bright blue eyes focused on Jenson and the red-haired Irishwoman asked in her Irish brogue, "So, what happened with Crystal?"
The smiles disappeared off the faces of the two former pilots. "Crystal didn't make it back from the Massacre."
Sensing Jenson's pain, O'Reilly nodded and said in a softer tone, "My condolences. I hope God helps you with your pain."
"You have a child from her, though, right?" This question was from James Biggs, an Englishman who was older than any of the assembled. His markings as a Private did more than anything to tell everyone present that he was not like Jenson and Carter, and had been a post-takeover addition to the Resistance. A pair of shining blue eyes looked toward Jenson, and the man's well-combed black hair shined a little thanks to the light above them.
"Andrea," Carter answered for Jenson. "I feel sorry for Andy. She's got all of her mum's love of mischief and twice the charm."
While chuckles abounded, Jenson shook his head. "Just you wait until you have kids, Marcus, then I'll have a ball watching you to try and keep up with them."
"Kids are a waste of time. Use condoms and contra-pills. Then you get all the fun and none of the fuss. Am I right, Theresa?"
O'Reilly shook her head. "Ah, but you forget, Marcus, I'm Catholic. We don't believe in contraception, at least, we're not supposed to." A shy grin came on her face. "After all, God gave us sex to make babies with."
"Ha!" Carter shook his head. "You want to believe in that stuff, fine. But me? Nope, no God out there."
O'Reilly asked, "An atheist, Marcus?"
"Only one in our squadron," Jenson confirmed.
"Well, I have to admit," Biggs chimed in, "I'm not much of a very religious man either."
"Ah." O'Reilly nodded. "But, you never said you don't believe in God."
"Well, it's hard to explain, but," Biggs put his glass on the bar. "I think there might be something out there. And if it is God, or something like God, I think it embodies everything that we humans see as good and moral. Kindness, compassion, friendship, that kind of thing."
"Sounds almost what I'm like," Jenson said, "although I used to believe in God. I don't anymore. I can't."
"Why do you say that, Andrew?"
"Because, Miss O'Reilly..." Jenson drew in a breath. "How can God allow this to happen? How can God, who supposedly bends all existance to His will, allow a man like Armand Giuseppe to get power, and cause a war that could destroy everything that's worth believing in for Humanity? How can God allow a man to come so close to destroying all notions of freedom, and individuality, and diversity, in favor of one government, one people, and one ideology only?" And there was the unanswered question Jenson left hanging in the air too. How could God allow the one woman in the world I loved to die so needlessly?
O'Reilly sighed. "I wish I had answers for those questions, but I don't. All I know is that God works in mysterious ways. And, maybe you should consider this?"
"What?"
"The rifts. The things that have connected our world to this other timeline. Could they be God's work? Created by God to turn the tide here on Earth, so that we, His children, can preserve everything He has given us, and everything we have created ourselves, against those who would destroy it all?"
Carter pondered an answer for a moment. "You might have a point there, Theresa. But to Hell with it, I'm here to get plastered for possibly the last time in my life, let's enjoy it and not talk about theology."
There was a chorus of agreement.
An hour had passed before Henry and Mary had finally finished talking about old times. Mary had pulled closer to him and had an arm around his back. "It feels sae good tae be with ye again."
"I'm honored." Henry showed his pleasure at her words. "I mean, most girls our age don't want to be near me."
"Because they want a weaklin' who widnae stand up tae them," Mary said dismissively. She cuddled a little closer to Henry and a wide smile appeared on her face. She put her left hand on his chest over the heart. Henry liked the touch, her soft and gentle hands were a welcome feeling. To return the gesture he wrapped his left arm around her shoulders. "Henry.... ye're very handsome."
"And you're beautiful," he felt obliged to say. But now, he realized, this was a far greater truth than he had previously admitted. The light made her face and hair shine, creating stars in his eyes Henry could not resist. His heart quickened as he felt his blood begin to heat. In this light, Mary was not just a cute Scots girl; she was completely irresistable. "Mary, you're... I think back, and I have to say, you're the one girl to ever treat me with respect."
"That's because I dae respect you. Very much." Mary looked back into him. As she had said to him earlier, she could see in him what his own family could not see. She felt him put his right arm around the base of her back to pull her to within full body contact, and their heads drew closer. His eyes pulled her in as her's did his. And in those eyes, Mary felt all of his strength, all of his hunger. Henry had no political ambition, she had long known this. His was an ambition to prove his worth. To prove himself the equal of his brother Edward despite his shortcomings. Yes, he had a temper, and sometimes let his hormones do too much thinking. But Mary could feel his heart pounding with goodness.
And she loved it.
She saw some reluctance in his eyes. Henry was wise to be, she knew. What would come of this? What would his father say about them? Was this attraction real or the creation of their yearnings, desiring only the physical contact itself and not the partner in it? But Mary's faith told her it had to be something more, it simply had to. Henry's confidence and the devotion she knew was inside him, waiting to be discovered, and soon to be revealed.
"Henry, yir are the strongest, most handsome boy Ah've ever known," she told him.
And then she kissed him.
Henry took a moment to get used to the feeling of Mary's warm lips against his, but when he did, he returned the kiss with years of hunger driving him forward. It felt so good, so sweet, everything to be said about Mary was there to be felt. Henry's heart threatened to leap from his chest. "Mary, I want you," he told her in a whisper, failing to gain any handle on the barrage of emotions and feelings raging through him.
It did not take long for them to work their way out of their clothes. In the nude and on the wall-side bed, they felt each other's bodies for a short time, learning as they went how to make the other feel good, but that ended. Mary laid back on the bed with her legs spread, although not widely, and let Henry get over her. Her hands gripped his strong shoulders while his felt the softness of her breasts, moving down her sides to her thighs. And they began to make love in earnest. Henry's heart pounded too strongly for him to hear her initial cries, the pain of having a part of her torn within, but that soon gave way to a cry that could only be described as an alluring mix of pain and pleasure. She began calling out to him, louder and louder, finally getting over his heart beat. Mary became so excited that her nails scratched his back. Henry actually cried out in pain, something he rarely did, but he had no control to hold it back. He moved his hands from her thighs and gripped her wrists, holding her arms down by them with her hands just above her head. Years of waiting and yet, nothing in his most erotic adolescent fantasies could match this feeling. It was profound, it could not be put to words, much as how James had explained it to him and Edward years ago. Mary's cries grew louder and it made him feel even better. It assured him that this was simply not for him, but her too. She was also enjoying it. This was a first experience they were sharing together.
And with the physical release of their love-making came a personal release of everything else Henry contained in his soul. His anger with his brother, his grandfather, Diane, even his own father, it all didn't matter, for the first time in his life he didn't even think of it. His mind was cleansed of all it's frustrations. None of that concerned him, not at this moment. All that mattered was this beautiful, lovely Scot girl lying beneath him. The smell of her body, the sensation of sex filling him, the sounds she made, those were what mattered now.
It took some time for them to wind down after it was all over. Cuddled together in the bed, sweat covering them, Henry fingered one of her nipples, soft now that they had finished with their love-making, and looked into her face beaming with pride. "Mary," he began to say, but she put a finger to his mouth and stopped him from speaking more.
"That was exhausting," she told him. "And Ah'm ready for sleep. We huv tae be up in the mornin', remember?"
Henry thought about it for a moment, and through the haze of the afterglow, remembered what his father said. "Ten in the morning," he murmured to her. "Go to sleep, my beautiful woman."
"Ah'm yir woman now?"
The weak smile on Mary's face prompted a light chuckle from Henry. Never in his life had he felt so happy, so relaxed, and yet so tired. "I'm sorry if I was being to presumptive," he apologized. "It's just.... Mary, I have never felt so good in my life."
"Ah ken." She touched a hand to his face. "Then, wull ye hold mah?"
Henry put his other arm around her and pulled her close, her back to his chest, placing his hands over her navel. In this position, both soon fell asleep.
Andrea was still asleep when Jenson pulled the rented vehicle up to the child care center, in the outskirts of Inverness in a converted apartment block. He reached into the back and hefted onto his left shoulder the duffel bag holding what few toys and clothes Andrea had. After getting out and looking out onto the dawn over the horizon, he walked to the other side of the car and opened the door. For a moment he did not move. He looked at Andrea, who was so sweet and innocent at her age, and his heart began breaking again as he thought of how much he missed Crystal, and how much he hated parting with this little girl whom he loved with every ounce of his heart. With tears beginning to stream down his face, Jenson gently lifted his sleeping daughter into his arms. Shutting the door with his free left hand, he held her in his right, her head up on his shoulder, and walked into the building.
A volunteer janitor, a Scots boy of about fifteen, pointed him to the wing meant for toddlers. Jenson went down a corridor until he found one of the night shift attendants, whom he asked on where to put Andrea. She looked to be about eighteen, twenty-two at the eldest, with narrow brown eyes that spoke of Oriental descent and a fair complexion. With a Cornwall accent, she answered Jenson's question and led him to a former apartment suite. There are already five children, ages 2 to 5, in the room; two girls and three boys. One of the girls, like the attendant, had Oriental features, while the other had apparent Indian or Pakistani descent; one of the boys also had slightly darkened skin to indicate some Indian or African descent. But beyond these obvious features, Jenson could make out nothing else, and did not bother trying. He found an open bed in the corner and laid Andrea down. He knelt to a single knee and looked at her peaceful face for a moment. Unable to stand the pain of not saying goodbye, he touched her gently on the forehead and said, "Andrea, wake up," as loudly as he could without waking up the other children.
It took about a minute of prodding before the little girl yawned and opened her eyes. The almond color glinted back into Jenson's own eyes of the same color and the twinkling stars he could see within broke his heart as he summoned up the strength to say, "Good morning, Andrea. This is where you'll be staying for now, okay? I'll try and come back to see you when I can, but it could be a while."
"Papa." Andrea sat up and threw her arms around his neck. "I love you Papa."
"I love you too, my little angel." Hot tears flowed down Jenson's cheeks and onto his little girl's pajamas. "You be a good angel here, don't... don't give the nice ladies who care for you a hard time, okay?"
Andrea simply repeated, "I love you, Papa."
It took Jenson a few more moments before he could bring himself to part with Andrea. He tucked her into the bed, pointing out the bag of toys and clothes to her as he placed them on the dresser to her left, and let her go back to sleep. The attendant nodded to him when he listed what things Andrea had with her and gave her the instructions for the medication she was taking due to a recent infection. Stepping out into the hall, Jenson began crying as he realized this might be the last time he saw that precious girl again in his life. Every doubt in his heart came to the surface.
But then steel appeared. Resolve filled him. He had a duty to perform, not just for "King and Country", but for his own flesh and blood. For his little angel. She and the other children deserved a better future than the one Giuseppe or the Clans intended for the world. And he would do whatever was possible to give them that future.
Even if he had to die to do so.
Edward had already showered and was dressing when Diane stirred. With a groggy motion she sat up. Before Edward turned, she buttoned up her pajama top to cover her bare chest. "You're already up?", she asked before letting out a loud, blunt, and to Edward, very unlady-like yawn.
Edward finished pulling his shirt on and turned back to Diane, who swung her legs out over the edge of the bed to stand. "I've been up for over an hour. You're just a late sleeper."
After glancing at the clock, Diane said loudly, "Late sleeper?! It's seven fuckin' thirty!"
Edward tried not to wince at Diane's language, which still did not strike him as the kind of thing a woman in her position should be saying. "We used to get up in BT at five o' clock, so six was sleeping over for me."
Diane almost responded to that, but didn't. "Fine, I'll jump in the shower. You going to look into getting us some breakfast?"
"Breakfast will be here at eight," Edward replied. "I called down thirty minutes ago and found out Father had left arrangements."
She didn't answer. After getting up and stretching for a moment, she reached into a bag to pull out some clothes and stepped toward the shower. "I hope your brother is a late sleeper too," remarked Diane, "because Mary hates getting up early."
"Oh, trust me," Edward replied, "I wouldn't be surprised if they're still sleeping. Henry doesn't like getting up before seven, eight if he can help it." Edward reached for his slacks after Diane closed the door to the bathroom.
Despite what his brother had expected, Henry and Mary had woken up together at about six thirty. Without waiting they went into the shower. It took forty minutes for them to finish washing each other, during which they kissed, touched, and played under the warm water of the shower. Impassioned by their showering, they went straight for the bed without drying off, and began making love all over again, with Mary in Henry's lap crying out as she had the previous night.
They had barely finished, settling down to simple holding and kissing, when there was a knock at the door. A second knock echoed in the room and Mary got out of Henry's lap, reaching for her discarded panties and bra while Henry, thinking quicker, went to the bathroom for a towel. He draped it around his waist to cover himself and went to the door. At the door with a wheeled table was a room service man who had a couple of plates with the usual breakfast; fried eggs, toast, sausage links, and two strips of bacon. The Scotsman quickly closed the door, not wanting to unduly embarrass the undressed Prince.
Bringing the table into the middle of the room, Henry reached down and pulled on some underwear he had left at the foot of the bed. Mary was struggling to complete the hooks that kept her bra in place. Henry noticed and sat behind her, doing so for her. While he did so, he kissed the back of her neck and then her ear. "You are wonderful," he whispered, thinking of nothing else he could say. His emotions were still high, with the relaxing effect of sex now taking hold on him.
"Ah cud say the same for ye," she said back. "But Ah think we need tae get ready, yer father wull be here in two hours, remember?" That made her think of something. "Henry, what wull ye tell 'im? About us?"
"For now? Nothing." Henry reached his hands around her stomach, and stuck his right index finger in her navel, tickling her. "I'll find a good time to tell him. I promise." He kissed her on the cheek and let her stand up.
"Henry, ye huv tae ken.... Ah was raised a Christian girl..." Mary sat on the other bed and reached for her trousers. "Wull ye ever marry mah?"
The marriage question had not yet occured to Henry. He had enjoyed their love-making without thinking of what the future would bring for them. Yet, he could think of it. A future with Britain victorious, the two of them among her triumphant heroes, and the right to live as they desired. Nights of endless passion, days of being together, and children to go along with it. He would raise the future heirs of Britain, assuming Edward did what Henry thought he might do and relinquish any claim to the throne. But Henry didn't want it either...
But thinking of victory made Henry think of defeat. He thought of the Resistance crushed, his father a prisoner, and if they survived, well, where would they be? Slaves working in a UN labor camp of some kind? Or something more grotesque, what with the rumors of people disappearing and only a handful reappearing, but as totally loyal members of Giuseppe's feared secret police, Die Verteidiger der Ordnung, the Defenders of the Order? What kind of world would that be to bring children into?
Despite that, Henry felt Mary deserved some positive answer now. She had given him so much this past night, she deserved that much. "I will one day, Mary. As soon as we're finished with Giuseppe." A smile began to creep across his face as Henry pulled his shirt over his head. "A marriage in Westminster Abbey, and a honeymoon somewhere nice. The Caribbean or some island in the Pacific. Somewhere warm and beautiful, just like you."
Mary blushed, and continued to do so as they moved on to eating their breakfast.
A bus had been arranged to carry the prospective MechWarriors to their training facility, which with the exception of James and Jenson, nobody knew the location of. They drove out of Inverness for about thirty minutes and turned down a road to bring them to Loch Ness. The assembled watched the bus enter a hidden entrance dug into the ground, camoflouged to prevent aerial spotting. Everyone was pulled to the front by the steep decline of the tunnel until it leveled out. "Hey," a surprised voice called out near Edward's seat, "we're not going underwater, are we?" Nobody answered.
As there was no need to, as warning signs ahead about careful driving quickly confirmed this. The bus went on for about half a mile before it emerged from the tunnel into a welcoming area, about twenty meters in height. "Look at that!", someone shouted, and everyone turned their heads in a direction to the side of the bus and gaped in awe.
Standing at twelve meters, a massive Masakari OmniMech was nearby, it's two arms carrying prominent large pulse laser and extended-range particle projection cannon barrels. A flame-thrower below the cockpit was visible. "Sweet Mother of God," O'Reilly gasped from a window seat.
Beside the awe-inspiring Masakari was a smaller BattleMech, a Cestus. The Heavy 'Mech's prominent railgun and double-barreled arms sparked more interest and a few more gasps. Beyond the Cestus were more 'Mechs. A couple of Starslayer BattleMechs, Centurions, Wolfhounds, and a Caeser. The only other Clan models were two Medium OmniMechs, a Black Hawk and a Fenris, and a Medium BattleMech, a Clan-designed Griffin.
The bus entered a loop that would take it back to the entrance tunnel, and stopped. Sergeant Murray got up from the front and pronounced the order to disembark, and the MechWarriors-to-be filed out. James and his sons took up the rear, and stood in perfect line with the others. From a distance, a hard-looking woman in her forties in a red ComStar robe stepped forward, flanked by more ComStar personnel. "I am Precentor Tricia Cohen," she pronounced in a loud voice. "I have been sent by order of the Star League and our Blessed Order ComStar to train you in the use of these BattleMechs. We will begin with simulations, so that you can become accustomed to the mental commands necessary to operate them, and to our control systems. After this we will begin practicing in the real things. Twelve weeks from now, you will march out of this lake as ready for battle as we could possibly make you," Cohen said, knowing she was lying through her teeth. "Your 'Mechs will be assigned to you after the completion of simulation training, with one exception." Cohen took a step toward James. "Your Majesty, we will put you in the Clan Masakari."
There were a couple of jealous glares that were quickly stopped by Murray's stern gaze. James swallowed and shook his head. "Sorry, Precentor, but I will not accept that, not until I have proven myself worthy of it."
"I do not recall giving you that choice, Your Majesty. And, this is a direct gift from the Primus Herself." Cohen's eyes narrowed. "Certainly you would not want to disrespect Primus Mori by so bluntly rejecting her generosity."
Taking the hint, James nodded. "Very well, I accept it with great gratitude to the Primus."
Cohen nodded. She moved on to Edward and Henry, sizing them up. "These are your sons, yes?"
"They are."
"I look forward to seeing how skilled they are. I will give you," she looked to Henry, "the Clan Griffin, and to you," she turned her head to Edward, "the Centurion. Consider them the gifts of the Primus and the First Circuit."
The twins nodded in agreement.
"And you." She looked on to Diane. "You will receive the Firestarter OmniMech model, Your Ladyship."
If Diane was angry at all for receiving a lighter 'Mech than the others, she didn't show it.
Cohen moved on and asked for and received the names of everyone else. Mary, Jenson, Carter, Biggs, and O'Reilly were all next.
Standing to O'Reilly's right was a brunette, and one that was quite lovely, Cohen could tell. She didn't look like someone who had been infantry, rather, like a staff member at best, and a new recruit at worst. Cohen sized her up, beginning at noticing the five centimeter height difference between Cohen's one hundred and seventy-five centimeters and this girl's one hundred and seventy centimeter height. Her brown hair was shorter than either O'Reilly's or Diane's, only going to the back of her neck. Aquamarine eyes looked back at Cohen. Her skin was flat and her body had well-defined curves, making Cohen briefly shake her head. The desperation of her Order's allies was clear if they were recruiting young women like this one, who showed none of the military bearing Cohen would have desired. She doubted the woman had seen combat. Seeing the private rank insignia, she asked the young lady for her name. "Samantha Wellington, ma'am," the response came in a gentle English accented voice.
Cohen nodded and moved on to the young man standing beside her. The young man was taller than Cohen, standing at one hundred and eighty-four centimeters, topped off with short-cut brown hair. Blue eyes looked down toward her. His body was muscular and well-built from what she could tell, and Cohen could see a scar on his neck on the right side, a bullet graze that would've been fatal had it struck an inch to the left. A Lance Corporal rank insignia adorned his uniform. She asked for his name, and he replied with an accent similar to Wellington's. "Matthew Tarleton, ma'am."
Next up was a woman with fiery red hair that was cut in a male fashion. Her blue eyes glanced back at Cohen, with less than a centimeter in height as the difference. Like Tarleton, she had a muscular build and a stern gaze that Cohen respected in a fellow soldier. The beret on her head had a golden pin on it, a dagger with wings with the words "Who Dares Wins" inscriped below on a banner. Her body was rigidly straight, with only slight curves on her chest to tell she was female. "Lance Corporal Tessa Stuart, formerly of the Special Air Service, ma'am," the woman replied with a Scots accent upon a request for her name.
To Stuart's right was another woman, between Stuart and Wellington in height. She had a respectable build, although was also not infantry by her look, indicating a personal exercise regimen as opposed to the standard infantry one. Blue-gray eyes met Cohen's own gray eyes in a respectful exchange of looks. Her light brown hair was not as closely cut as Stuart's, going down about as far as Wellington's. "Second Lieutenant Irene Bailey," she replied to Cohen's request for a name with a Londoner accent.
The next woman had the same eye color as Bailey, but her hair was a darker shade of brown. Her body was as well-formed as Bailey's, and in her eyes Cohen could see that she, too, was a woman of command. Upon a request for her name, Cohen was answered with an accent that sounded like it came from North America. "Captain Kate Mulgrey."
That left two more, a pair of men. The first one, the elder-looking one, was about fourty, Cohen could tell. Cold brown eyes looked back at her. His hair was a sharp black, well-combed and kept. He stood well over her height, at one hundred and eighty-seven centimeters, with a strong build. Cohen noticed the air this man held, that of a well-born officer, and found it the closest to her ideal of a non-ComStar Inner Sphere officer than any other in the room. Even though his rank was only a Lieutenant, like Bailey, Cohen felt he had to be more competent than that, and his age didn't seem right for such a low commissioned rank. Some of her suspicions were confirmed when he spoke with a thick German accent, something she would expect from the better part of the Lyran officer corps. "Leutnant Friedrich Goellner, formerly an Oberst of the Panzergrenadiers Korps," the man informed her. Cohen blinked. The intelligence reports given to her about this world indicated that the Panzergrenadiers Korps fought for the United Nations. Yet here was someone she could easily see as a part of such an elite army was standing in front of her, a trainee and ally. She decided to further investigate this.
The next man was shorter than Goellner, at about a hundred and eighty-two centimeters. He looked back at Cohen with sad light brown eyes, with black hair as well-kept as Goellner's. His build was solid but on the slender side. She asked him his name, and in a Flemish accent almost as thick as Goellner's, he answered, "Arne Vanbiggine." She now noticed that a yellow-red-black tri-color pin was on his uniform by his rank insignia. The flag of Belgium. This confirmed for her that he was also a foreign refugee.
Cohen gave a short and simple speech about the BattleMechs. She covered the basics. Their history, how they operate, and an itemized account of training. When it was over, she allowed for Murray to decide quartering for everyone. Henry could hardly hide his delight when, after a short whisper session with James, Murray gave him a bunking with Mary. The two of them struggled not to exchange grins or glances, which would let on too much.
They were not the only male-female coupling either. Edward was paired with Diane, Vanbiggine and O'Reilly, and Wellington with Tarleton. But that was all. Stuart and Bailey were paired. Carter and Jenson were to share a room and Goellner was to be with Biggs. As the two senior members of the unit, James and Mulgrey would be given independent quartering. Directions and keycards to the rooms were handed out and everyone got their bags to go to their rooms.
Edward took the lead step into the quartering wing, with Diane behind him. "Should I lay out rules?", Diane asked.
"No peaking," Edward answered for her. "I already got that idea."
"And no looking through my clothes drawer," added Diane. The glint of the keycard in Edward's hand prompted her to her comment, "I wonder why we get keycards? That makes me think this is a hotel, not a bloody barracks."
"While we were in the tunnel, Father explained to me that this underwater facility was originally built as emergency sheltering for the Government, the Royal Family, and surviving members of Parliament in the event of a nuclear war. It was conceived in the eighties but only built because Tony Blair's successor, Hugh Creighton, insisted, and that was after the Chinese nuked Taipei and North Korea nuked Pusan in the War of 2005. One of the reasons Labour split, I'm told." They remained silent until they got to the room. Edward inserted the keycard with the scan bar down. The red light on the door scanner turned green and Edward was able to open the door. The room was small and spartan, with only a desk, a chair, a small clothes dresser and closet, and a bunk bed. The bathroom was on the other side of the room from the entrance, a small area with a sink, a toilet, and a shower that looked small enough that only one person could ever fit into it. "I get top bunk," declared Diane as she threw her bag into the closet. She clambered up the ladder and settled into her bunk. "Harder than the bed at the Royal Highland," she complained, "but still better than those slabs we had in BT."
"Absolutely," agreed Edward, who settled into his lower bunk. "But why do you want the upper bunk?"
"A couple reasons." Diane looked over the edge, down at him, and smiled devilishly, and dare he say it, seductively. "First, you can't look up through the bed at me while I'm sleeping. So if I decide to sleep naked or something, I don't have to worry about you gawking at me all night long. Secondly, have you ever seen that American movie from the 90s? The one with the skinny guy and the really fat guy who died?"
"Huh?"
"You know, it was about a politician's aide keeping his stupid brother away from civilization so he wouldn't fuck up the guy's election." Diane sighed at seeing the bewilderment on Edward's face. "Anyway, they were staying in a cabin in the mountains, in a bunk bed, and the fat guy was on the top bed and the skinny guy on the bottom. The roof gets ripped off during a storm, hail falls down, and the fatarse's bed collapses and he crushes the skinny guy. Now, being as I'm a girl in excellent shape, I'm lighter than you. So I figure that if this thing ever breaks, me crushing you won't be as painful for you as you crushing me would be painful for me. Get it?"
Edward rolled his eyes. And then he couldn't help but laugh.
Tarleton and Wellington stepped into their room, closed the door, and could wait no longer. He threw his arms around her and they kissed hungrily. "Oh, I missed you so much, Samantha," Tarleton sighed as he reached into her uniform and gripped one of her breasts. The kiss resumed after that.
The two had known each other since primary school in Liverpool. In their final school years they had become lovers, and lovers they had remained, escaping together to Scotland when Britain was taken over by Giuseppe. Tarleton had been conscripted early, being the well-built rugby player he was, while the lighter Wellington had taken up volunteer work and the occasional oddjob. Whenever they managed to meet it had resulted in the same thing; months of built-up desire releasing itself in one passionate tryst.
Sadly, they would have to wait until it was night before having the wild sex they desired. For now they had to get ready for the tour of the base that the trainees would be receiving. Wellington grinned widely at him and touched the scar on his neck. "Stayed alive for me?"
"Stay alive?" Tarleton gripped her closer and moved his hand around her thigh to feel her posterior. "I would crawl through the fires of Hell just to have you again."
"Okay, Matt, you need to calm down. We don't want to tell the others so soon, do we?" Wellington kissed him again before continuing. "Now I know why I believe in God. All those odds and we end up bunked together."
"Don't I know it." Tarleton managed to control his beating heart, and his lust, and sat down in the chair. "But why did you volunteer for this?"
"Volunteer?" Wellington laughed. "I didn't volunteer. They tested me, I passed, I got an order to go through BT and attend training." She touched him on the posterior. "So, lover, what shall we do this Valentine's Day? We missed the last couple."
"What have we to do?" Tarleton shook his head. "No romantic dinners and no movies, that's for sure. We'll be training by then."
"Well, we'll have to enjoy the night together, then. Maybe a couple of candles here, on the desk, while we.... make the bunk shake." She giggled with anticipation of not just that night, but the upcoming one as well.
"Seriously." Tarleton put a hand on her cheek. "It's good to be with you again, Samantha. Just, promise me, you'll live through this."
"I will," Wellington said, "if you promise the same."
They nodded, and sealed their respective promises with a kiss.
James and Mulgrey were waiting for the others at the corridor linking the quartering wing to the living wing, where the mess hall, break room, and exercise rooms were located. They looked toward each other, and James decided to ask, "Excuse me, Captain, but where did the American accent come from?"
"My parents moved to America when I was in an infant," she replied with the kind of rough voice that James figured to be the result of years of smoking. "I lived there until I was sixteen, when I moved back here with my mother after my parents divorced."
"I see." James nodded.
"So, Prince, why are you here?" Mulgrey looked up at him. "Are you seriously going to put your life on the line with the rest of us?"
"I am. It's my duty, and something to prove that I will, if necessary, follow the thousands of our slain countrymen into the grave to ensure our liberation. Otherwise, how different am I from my father?"
"Your father." Mulgrey crossed her arms. "But what makes you think this will even work? To put it simply, this is a losing war. We don't have the manpower, the resources, to drive the UN out."
"Maybe not for now," James agreed, "but we can tie them down. If we make a loud enough noise, they will have to assign more forces here, and not on their other fronts. We can provide a valuable service to the other nations of the world by doing this. Every brigade Giuseppe assigns to Britain, every VdO detachment, is one less unit he can send to America. It gives the Americans and their behind-the-lines Resistance movements more breathing room, with which they can counterattack and can, hopefully in a few years, drive the UN out."
"But what about the Clans?"
"They will be balanced out by the Inner Sphere, if necessary." James swallowed. "I do not pretend that we will all survive this. I know I may be marching to my death when I get into that BattleMech's cockpit. But there is nothing else I can do. Nothing."
Mulgrey nodded in agreement. "For what it's worth, Your Royal Highness, you have my support. And I'll be watching your back."
"As I will watch your's." James saw Goellner and Biggs round the corner, and they stopped speaking.