Protocol, p.26
Protocol, page 26
part #1 of Burns Series
I wondered who this commissioner might be.
The Navy Spirit officer left the room while the nurse fiddled with the equipment by my bed. Maybe she also didn't like Navy Spirit people. There was always hope.
After a few minutes, several sets of footsteps came into the room. I recognized the footsteps from the original Navy Spirit officer and then four more people. Two sets of footsteps came close to the side of the bed.
The Navy Spirit officer said, 'I remind you one more time that this is a dangerous prisoner. He is charged with at least one hundred and twelve Navy Spirit code violations so far. You are not to talk to him about his charges nor are you to discuss with him the events leading to the charges. Is that understood?'
'He doesn't look too dangerous to me,' said a voice with an accent from AONT USA that didn't sound quite right. I recognized it immediately.
Chen.
'He doesn't look like he'll be saving the world either,' said a feminine voice with an accent from the sub-territory of France in AONT Eurabia.
Le Seaux.
The two faces loomed over me. Chen had a burn mark on his left cheek. The skin was blistered into a mottled lump. 'Last time I saw you,' he said, 'you were falling backwards out of a spaceship.'
'And the last time I saw you,' said Le Seaux, 'you were going into one.'
'Stop!' said the Navy Spirit officer. 'I told you. No mention of the events leading up to his capture. Do it again and you'll be out the door and won't be allowed back. Have you got that?'
Le Seaux laid a hand lightly on my arm. I looked across at her. Her face was unmarked. In fact, she looked surprisingly fresh faced, softer, her green eyes bright with health. It was amazing she was alive at all. But then I remembered. Octavia said they had healed her.
'The invasion?' I said. 'Hong Kong?'
'What?' said Le Seaux. 'Say it slowly this time.'
'The invasion? Hong Kong?'
'What was that?' said the Navy Spirit officer. 'What did he say?'
Le Seaux ignored him and spoke directly to me. 'Your family, Lieutenant? Is that what you said? They're devastated, of course, but surviving. They'll be here when you're better.'
My family? What could she mean?
'I didn't know you'd been in touch,' Chen said.
Le Seaux shrugged. She had some new kind of patch on her uniform, an award of some kind.
'Octavia?' I whispered. 'What happened to Octavia?'
Le Seaux leaned in close. I felt her breath on my neck. The Navy Spirit guard stepped forward as well. 'Too close, Lieutenant. Way too close,' he said. 'Step back from the prisoner.' He grabbed Le Seaux by one arm, and pulled her away, but not before she managed to whisper something.
'I'm right here, Alex,' she said, but her voice was not the same accented English that I recognized as Le Seaux's. Instead it was a mannered voice, the strange pre-Accord accent I'd heard weeks before.
'I'm right here. It won't be long now.'
--End--
A few words from you
could make all the difference.
Thank you for reading PROTOCOL. I hope you enjoyed it.
If you have a few spare moments, would you please do me a huge favor and post a brief review where you purchased it.
Reviews are critical for encouraging people to read the book, especially for new authors like me who do not have the resources of large publishing houses to support them.
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M.M. Holt.
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FIFTY DEGREES SOUTH
At the end of the Earth, we fought an enemy from beyond the stars.
If you enjoyed Alex Burns's clash with Octavia in 249 AONE, you might also enjoy the battle that started it all when Alexander Burns the elder met Octavia six hundred years earlier in 1803 CE.
This short book is titled 'Fifty Degrees South.' Yes, it's set in the days of sail, but rest-assured, the aliens, their vessel and obsessive leader play prominent roles.
Here's what it's about.
At the frozen end of the Earth, we fought an enemy from beyond the stars.
"The blue beams shot from the clouds. They struck the ship and halted our pursuit of the enemy French vessel. None of the officers nor the crew had seen anything like them. No-one knew how to fight back. No-one could say what the beams were, nor who had dared to fire on a ship of war.
The year was 1803. We were far south in the Atlantic Ocean. This was my first command as captain, and it was not going well. The mission was a strange one, even for a time of war. We were ordered to pursue a French frigate and capture a mysterious sea-chest, ordered to follow the frigate to the frozen ends of the Earth---failure not permitted, of course.
No-one had warned us about blue beams. None of the admirals said a word about shining black vessels in the sky. And no-one mentioned that we might find a woman floating in the sea, hundreds of miles from land, nor that she would be far more dangerous than she seemed.
But nothing could have prepared us for what waited beyond the frozen latitude of fifty degrees south."
Download "Fifty Degrees South," and time-travel back to this dangerous world today!
Just search for 'Fifty Degrees South' on Amazon.
Oh, and if you would like to find out more, there's a sample chapter on the next page.
My sincere thanks,
M.M. Holt
Ps: And please, if you liked PROTOCOL don't forget to leave a review.
'Fifty Degrees South.'
Chapter 1
When the first blue beam struck the sea just ahead of HMS Morgause, none of the seventy sailors in the first watch saw it. Instead, they were concentrating on the task known as wearing the ship, changing its heading from southwest to southeast.
At the ship's helm, Jessop, the quartermaster, turned the wheel clockwise, and great ship came into the wind. The Morgause's bow swung to starboard and the compass in the binnacle wobbled around to west-south-west, then west where it paused as Jessop waited for the next command. He was so engrossed in his task of feeling the ship's movement, he missed the sight of the blue beam entirely.
Forward of Jessop, on the main deck, the crew stood ready, the thick ropes in their hands, waiting for the commands to heave the yards of the main mast around to coordinate with Jessop's turn of the helm and with the other crewmen hauling on ropes at the foremast and the mizzen mast.
They too missed the blue beam as it hit the water, thick as a four barrels, and curiously light as it went down into the depths.
High on the mainmast, Trinity Evans was scouring the south for the enemy vessel, the Besançon, which the Morgause had been desperately pursuing for seven long weeks in heavy seas. But when he turned west with the movement of the Morgause's bow, he too missed the blue beam. He didn't see the three-second long blast from the sky, the cylinder-shaped shaft of light, wide and smooth, smacking the dark sea, going through it and straight down and distorting, like a twig in a glass of water. Nor did Trinity Evans hear the hiss of steam that followed.
On the quarterdeck, the view forward was blocked by the mainsail. The officer of the watch, Mr Kyte concentrated on Jessop's shouted compass readings. Mr Kyte didn't see the beam either, nor did he see the smoldering carcass of an enormous white squid surfacing ahead of the Morgause and sliding along its hull to be churned in the ship's wake.
But when the ship hard worn to her new southeast course and was pushing through the dark and swelling water at a good eight knots, the blue beam struck again.
And this time, it was noticed.
Trinity Evans ducked, held up an elbow, and thought it was lightning coming to strike him dead, but this was not like any lightning he'd seen before. For one thing, it was bright blue; for another, it was straight. It also wasn't flashing. It struck sixty yards ahead of the Morgause and blazed for a full five seconds. No lightning ever did that--not in Trinity Evans's experience. Not on your life. Not even after ten too many mugs of grog--the extra strong stuff.
He watched the beam, fascinated. The way it went right down into the water. Only when it finally ceased did he prepare to hail the deck. But still, he hesitated, wondering what should he say. This wasn't a regular sighting. It certainly wasn't the sighting of the Besançon, nor any other ship. This was something else entirely. It wasn't even in his list of hails, which was long. Still, he had better hail something before someone on the deck noticed it first. He slapped a hand to the side of his mouth and peered down at the darkened figures way below.
'On deck there!' he called. 'On deck!'
'Yes, Evans,' came the reply. 'Is it the Besançon?'
'No, sir. Strange light, sir! Strange light.'
'Where away?' came the reply but only after a few moments.
'Straight ahead!' he called.
As he said this, another beam hit the sea. Same place--directly ahead. Same thickness. Same intensity, it was the color of the blue in the plate glass windows back in his church in Penzance--which made Trinity Evans wonder. Was this a sign from God? Was the Second Coming at hand? Was this something mentioned in the book of Revelations? It certainly didn't look like a friendly light. Tomorrow, he thought. No more grog. No more ale.
'On deck there!' he called again.
'We saw it, Evans,' someone called back.
'Something new!' Trinity Evans countered.
'What?' came the reply.
'The strange light--it came from that big dark cloud.'
On the quarterdeck, Mr Kyte walked to the taffrail and looked up into the gloom at the gray cloud that had settled off the ship's port side, huge and glowering, almost like a ship itself, a ship of the air, with curious bulges. A ship of the air, he thought, then shook his head. His overactive imagination was at work again.
My Kyte made a note of the time. It was three bells in the morning watch, just as dawn was fighting off the night. Possible enemy activity sighted. A strange blue light.
'Did you see it, Poole?' he said to the youth beside him, one of the ship's young midshipman who were training to become officers, just as Mr Kyte himself had trained twenty years ago.
'Yes,' said Poole. 'I saw it, port bow, a quarter cable length away.'
'You mean, "Yes, sir,"' said Mr Kyte. 'You're in His Majesty's Navy, Poole, and we are at war.'
'Yes, sir,' said Poole. 'Beg pardon, sir. The light, sir--it made me forget myself.'
Mr Kyte scanned the darkness again. Nothing but the swelling sea in the soft dawn. Nothing but the shush of the water along the hull, and the creak of ropes as the ship rose and fell. He looked down at the main deck. The seventy men of the morning watch, dressed in their blue jackets and white duck trousers stared into the darkness. Others looked up at Mr Kyte--waiting for a command--and an explanation.
Then, without warning, another blue beam shot from the dark cloud. It was closer this time. He could see it clearly. It was a thick blue shaft of light, straight as a sun ray, coming from the dark cloud, going straight down into the sea, illuminating the underwater world beneath for a good sixty yards or so, and going down into the depths.
Trinity Davies was already hailing him from the upper deck when a second beam struck the water. Same straight blue shaft of light. Same point of origin in the dark cloud above. Two beams. One to port. One to starboard. They were like a ceremonial gateway of light.
Mt Kyte turned around. Poole was behind him, crouching.
'Stand up straight, Poole,' he said.
'Yes, sir,' said Poole.
'The men must see that you are unafraid, that you are fearless.'
'Yes, sir,' said Poole. 'Beg pardon, sir.'
'Never again, Poole.'
'No, sir. Never again. Fearless.'
'Fearless of even the strangest things produced by war and the heavens.'
'Yes, sir.'
Mr Kyte turned back to the beams.
'Are we going to beat to quarters, sir?' said Poole.
Is was a good question. Beating to quarters meant the bosun's whistle would blow, drums would pound, commands would be shouted, and the crew would scramble for battle, the one hundred and thirty men asleep in the hammocks below would rush to join the men already on the main deck. The gun crews would rush to the canons ranged along the sides of the Morgause, untying the ropes that held them fast on their wooden carts, readying them for the gunpowder and the cannonballs. The Marines would climb with their muskets into the tops. The powder boys would scramble to the magazine, deep inside the ship, and rush upward with buckets of powder for the gun crews. The wicks would be lit and set in tubs beside each canon. The boarding crews would assemble for the armourer to hand out the cutlasses, rapiers and pistols. The gun ports on the main deck and below would swing open and the Morgause would be ready to unleash thunderous hell and utterly smash any ship within range.
Beating to quarters.
Mr Kyte made his decision.
'Yes, Poole,' he said. 'Give the order. Beat to quarters.'
Poole almost broke into a run before checking himself. He was eager for something to be done about the beams.
'Mr Pound!' he called to the bosun.
'Sir,' Mr Pound called up from the main deck.
'Per Mr Kyte, we shall beat to quarters.'
'What?' said Mr Pound.
'We shall beat to quarters!' called Mr Kyte.
'Aye,' said Mr Pound.
Instantly, the mood of the ship changed. Mr Pound's whistle piped its shrill two tones, and the ship came alive.
Mr Kyte watched the blue beams and wondered.
The year was 1803 in the Napoleonic war. The location was the Atlantic Ocean in the lonely waters far south the equator, off the west coast of Southern Africa on His Majesty's Ship, Morgause. Seas moderate to heavy. Wind from the northeast. Time at sea: sixty days. Mission: to capture the enemy frigate Besançon and retrieve a certain sea-chest, contents unknown, and return said sea-chest to the Admiralty in London. Failure not permitted.
'Mr Poole,' said Mr Kyte without taking his eyes off the beams.
'Yes, sir.'
'Pass the word for Captain Burns.'
--/--
To continue reading, search 'Fifty Degrees South' on Amazon. I know you'll enjoy this book.
About M.M. Holt
M.M. Holt is a mysterious figure who lives partly in the real world, but more often in his imagination.
He writes science fiction, horror and adventure novels, often involving a Navy lieutenant named Alex Burns who struggles to keep his sanity in a future world gone mad with political correctness. This same Alex Burns also fights alien invaders. Sometimes Burns's great seafaring ancestors also appear in the books. They are also named Alex Burns, and in their owns times they also battled invaders from beyond the stars. Battling aliens and dystopian regimes is like a family tradition.
M.M. Holt is relentless traveler. He can usually be found writing in cafes by the sea, or in a bar on the edge of a crowded street, usually in far flung cities. If you see him, he'll be the handsome yet enigmatic stranger pounding the keyboard of his laptop, pausing only to sip black coffee and glance warily over his shoulder. He knows the Accord Of Nations is always one step behind.
mmholt548@gmail.com
@MMHOLT3
Table of Contents
Table Of Contents
Prologue
Part 1: Shore Duty
Part 2: The Mission (1)
Part 3: The Mission (2)
Part 4: Excidium
Aftermath
M M Holt, Protocol
