Dreadnought by Mark Walden
‘Well, there’s no getting out of it now,’ Nigel said with a sigh. ‘On the positive side, it does mean that we get to leave the island for a few days.’ It had been a long time since either of them had left H.I.V.E. and while all their needs were catered for by the school and they lived in relative comfort, it would still be nice to have a change of scenery. Suddenly, the entry buzzer sounded and Nigel got up and pressed the switch to open the door.
‘Oh no, not again,’ Nigel said as the door hissed open.
Standing outside were Block and Tackle, who, despite stiff competition, were the most notoriously thuggish members of H.I.V.E.’s Henchman stream. H.I.V.E. was sorted into four separate groups, or streams, each containing students who had a unique set of abilities. There was the Political and Financial stream who wore grey uniforms, the Science and Technology stream who wore white uniforms, the Alpha stream, the future leaders of villainous organisations, who wore black uniforms, and finally the Henchman stream. Their blue uniforms were indicators that the only real talent they appeared to have was the ability to break any given bone in your body in the minimum amount of time possible.
‘What do you want?’ Nigel said irritably.
‘We just wondered if there was anything you needed doing?’ Block said politely.
‘Anything at all,’ Tackle added.
Nigel sighed. Up until fairly recently these two would have liked nothing more than to bully or torment Nigel and Franz in some new and inventively sadistic way, but ever since Nigel’s father, Diabolus Darkdoom, had become the head of the G.L.O.V.E. ruling council, they had rather substantially changed their tune. Nigel did not exactly miss getting his head flushed down the toilet, but their behaviour was now, in its own way, just as unpleasant.
‘No, thanks, I’m fine,’ Nigel said with a sigh.
‘The bathroom is needing a clean,’ Franz piped up from behind Nigel, jerking his thumb at the door at the back of the room.
Block and Tackle looked at each other, clearly unsure what to do.
‘No, it’s OK, Franz is just joking,’ Nigel said, shooting an angry look at his room-mate.
‘I am?’ Franz replied, slightly surprised.
‘Yes, there’s nothing we need at the moment but thanks for asking.’ Nigel hit the button beside the door and it began to slide closed.
‘If there’s anything else . . .’ Block said.
‘Anything at all . . .’ Tackle added as the door shut with a clunk.
‘I thought I asked you not to do that,’ Nigel said to Franz, sitting back down at the desk.
‘Do what?’ Franz asked innocently.
‘You know what I mean,’ Nigel snapped. ‘After the lunch queue incident you promised me you wouldn’t take advantage of my dad’s position again.’
‘That was just being a minor misunderstanding,’ Franz replied quickly.
‘You told one of the first years that if they didn’t let you cut into the queue, then my father would have Raven assassinate them,’ Nigel said angrily.
‘Well, he might have done . . .’ Franz replied weakly.
‘You know, sometimes I really wish people didn’t know,’ Nigel said, rubbing his temples.
‘I’m sorry,’ Franz said quietly. ‘You are right. I will not do it again. You are knowing that I am not being your friend just because of who your father is, right?’
‘Of course I know that,’ Nigel said, looking at Franz. ‘I just wish I could say the same of everyone else.’
‘Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow,’ Otto yelped, hopping around on his one good foot.
‘You allowed your guard to drop. Your enemies will exploit such weaknesses,’ Wing said, backing away from Otto and twirling the wooden stave he was wielding back into the ready position tucked under one arm.
‘Tell me again why I let you talk me into this?’ Otto asked, treading gingerly on his sore foot. Nothing seemed to be broken at least. They may have both been wearing full sparring pads but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
‘Because we have already encountered many situations where the ability to defend oneself has been crucial, and by your own admission your skills in those areas were . . . lacking.’
It was a weakness that Otto knew he had to spend time addressing, but unlike most of his other unique abilities, theory was no use to him now. He had spent hours before this session absorbing all of the information that H.I.V.E.’s library had to offer on self-defence, but a complete working knowledge of nearly every documented fighting style didn’t mean that his body knew how to do it. He could learn to pilot a fighter jet in minutes, but it didn’t mean he could perform a roundhouse kick, as Wing was capably demonstrating.
‘Let’s go again,’ Wing said.
‘Why not? I think there might be a couple of square centimetres of my body that aren’t bruised yet,’ Otto groaned.
‘I’m sorry,’ Wing replied. ‘Your lips were moving but all I heard was a whining noise.’
‘You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?’ Otto said, adopting the same ready stance as Wing.
‘I take no pleasure in it whatsoever,’ Wing said with a grin.
Wing advanced again and Otto tried to remember what he had already learnt: keep your balance, understand your centre of gravity and allow instinct to control action but never lose control. Easy to learn, hard to master. He dropped low and swung the staff up at Wing’s ribs. Wing’s staff snapped across his body, blocking Otto’s blow before thrusting the other end between Otto’s knees and spinning past him, knocking Otto’s feet out from under him and sending him crashing down on to his back. All the breath in Otto’s body seemed to leave in one explosive exhalation.
Wing offered Otto his hand and pulled his winded friend back up.
‘Are you OK?’ Wing asked.
‘Can’t . . . talk . . . breathing . . .’ Otto gasped, trying desperately to suck air back into his lungs.
‘What did you forget?’ Wing asked.
‘To bring a handgun?’ Otto replied, pressing gingerly on his ribs.
‘I’m not sure even that would have helped, to be honest,’ Wing said with a chuckle. ‘I think that’s enough for today.’
The pair of them headed for the changing rooms and quickly showered and got changed back into their regulation black jumpsuits. They walked out and on to the gallery overlooking the training area, where they found Laura, Shelby and Lucy. The girls broke into spontaneous applause as Otto and Wing approached.
‘You were all watching?’ Otto asked, wincing.
‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ Laura said. ‘I wouldn’t have missed this for the world; it’s the best show in town. I think it’s the combination of comedy and intense violence that makes it such a winner.’
‘I made popcorn,’ Shelby said, holding up a half-full plastic bowl. ‘Want some?’
‘You two are friends, right?’ Lucy asked, gesturing at him and Wing.
‘We used to be,’ Otto said, ‘before we started this private training session.’
‘Oh come on, Otto,’ Laura said with a grin. ‘You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. Some of that was almost like ballet.’
‘Yeah,’ Shelby replied, ‘just with slightly more blunt-force trauma to the head and neck area than usual.’
‘Speaking of trauma,’ Laura said, ‘everyone ready for our exciting trip to the Arctic Circle tomorrow?’
‘It will be an excellent opportunity to test our physical limits,’ Wing said happily. ‘I am looking forward to it a great deal.’
‘And that’s despite the fact that I didn’t hit him in the head even once,’ Otto said quickly. ‘Personally I’d rather eat a bucket of broken glass.’
‘I’m with Otto,’ Laura said with a sigh. ‘Give me a warm library and a laptop any day of the week.’
‘Hey guys, where’s your sense of adventure?’ Shelby said with a grin. ‘It’ll be fun.’
‘Woohoo,’ Otto said sarcastically. ‘Fun – frozen, lonely-death fun.’
‘I hope yo
‘Or “the crazy Russian woman” as she’s now known,’ Shelby said.
‘You know, I’m quite offended that they’ve put Raven in charge of our group,’ Otto said with mock indignation. ‘It’s almost as if they think we’re going to cause trouble.’
‘Aye,’ Laura said with a smile. ‘We don’t cause trouble. It just, sort of, happens around us.’
H.I.V.E.’s crater hangar was bustling with activity as the assembled students were directed to the Shroud dropships assigned to take them to the survival training exercise. Security guards in their distinctive orange jumpsuits patrolled the area, keeping the students under constant close surveillance. Dr Nero made his way across the landing pad and the groups of students quickly fell silent.
‘I’m sure you are all eager to be on your way to this training exercise,’ Nero said with a slight smile, ‘but I wanted to take this opportunity to remind you all of the rules that govern any trip outside of the school. You’ll be monitored at all times by your supervising staff member and you’ll obey their commands without question. You will be facing one of the most hostile environments on the planet and if you do not follow your instructor’s orders then some of you may not survive. Such is the consequence of failure, a lesson that you need to learn well if you’re to be future G.L.O.V.E. operatives. Good luck and I hope to see nearly all of you back here in four days’ time.’ Nero turned to Chief Monroe, the head of H.I.V.E. security. ‘You may commence boarding.’
The security guards around the room began to herd the separate groups of Alphas towards the Shrouds, the boarding ramps dropping from beneath the tails of the aircraft as they approached. Otto, Wing, Shelby, Laura, Lucy, Nigel and Franz slowly filed up the ramp and into the passenger compartment. Raven stood at the far end, watching them closely as they took their seats along the bulkheads.
‘I can see why they gave me this group,’ Raven said, raising an eyebrow.
‘And I thought it was because you missed us all so much,’ Otto said with a smile.
‘That will be quite enough from you, Mr Malpense,’ Nero said as he stepped up into the compartment. ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he continued, seeing their surprised expressions, ‘I won’t be joining you on the exercise. Enticing a prospect as spending several days in sub-zero temperatures is, I’m just taking advantage of the transportation. I’ll be leaving you well before you reach your destination.’
Nero made his way through the compartment, nodding to Raven as he passed, and climbed up the ladder leading to the flight deck above.
‘I believe that Doctor Nero was quite clear, but I just want to add something.’ She gave them all a smile that would freeze blood. ‘Try to escape from my supervision and it won’t be the hostile environment you have to worry about.’ Raven gestured to several crates behind her. ‘I need you to perform an in-flight inventory of the equipment here. Once that is done I will give you a more detailed briefing about exactly what the exercise will entail.’
From outside they could hear the distinctive whine of the Shroud’s turbines.
‘It appears that we are ready to depart,’ Raven continued. ‘Strap yourselves in for take-off. I will return once we are airborne.’
Raven climbed up the ladder to the flight deck, where she found Nero buckling himself into one of the seats behind the pilot, who was performing his final pre-flight checks.
‘Just let me sincerely thank you once again for giving me this group,’ Raven said sarcastically as she lowered herself into the seat next to Nero.
‘I thought you might appreciate the challenge,’ Nero said with a sly smile.
‘Interesting to see that they’ve taken Miss Dexter under their wing,’ Raven said as the Shroud began to rise slowly out of the crater.
‘Yes,’ Nero replied quietly, ‘though somehow I doubt they’d be quite so friendly if they knew all the details of her background.’
‘Clearly she hasn’t discussed it with them yet,’ Raven said as she strapped herself into the final spare seat in the cockpit. ‘And if she has any sense, she never will.’
.
Chapter Three
Jason Drake stood watching as the last of his men filed on to the enormous aircraft that stood on the runway. He was a handsome man in his early forties with short dark hair and an immaculately trimmed goatee beard. He wore an exquisitely cut and obscenely expensive suit that perfectly fitted his position as the CEO of one of the world’s most successful technology companies. He had made his first million dollars when he was seventeen years old, selling the first generation of unmanned surveillance aircraft to the air force, and had never looked back. Now Drake Industries was one of the biggest military contractors in the world, specialising in aircraft and satellite technology. Of course the military knew nothing about his ‘off-book’ projects, like the transport sitting on the tarmac in front of him. It had a passing resemblance to a Shroud dropship, which he had also designed, but it was much larger, with an expanded cargo/passenger compartment and an entire mobile command centre on the upper deck. The dust picked up by the raging desert winds blew in thick clouds across the strip of black tarmac, making it hard to distinguish the outlines of the men as they ascended the ramp into the belly of the aircraft. He glanced at his watch: everything was proceeding precisely on schedule despite the dust storm. A man wearing a desert-camouflage uniform and goggles ran towards him, removing the scarf that had been concealing the lower half of his face.
‘Load out should be complete within the next ten minutes, sir,’ the man reported, raising his voice over the howling wind. ‘The pilot’s not too happy about taking off in these conditions though.’
‘The pilot will take off as instructed or I will find someone to replace him,’ Drake said calmly. ‘We have a limited window of opportunity here. There can be no delays.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the uniformed man replied.
‘Has Furan reported in from the facility yet?’ Drake asked.
Pietor Furan was a dangerous man, Drake knew that much about him, but he had needed access to a source of reliable mercenaries. They could not be the usual dogs of war; they had to be utterly ruthless and incredibly highly trained for a mission such as the one they were about to undertake. His fellow members of the Disciples had assured him that Furan was the only man for the job. Drake had tried to do a little investigation into Furan’s past, but it appeared that no records existed. He knew how difficult and expensive such a lack of records was to arrange and it made him slightly uneasy, but he could not fault the quality of the men that Furan had delivered. The past couple of weeks of training had been intensive and uniquely demanding and they had all risen to the challenge admirably. For the ludicrous amount of money that they were costing him, Drake expected no less.
‘Yes, sir, Mr Furan reports that they are ready to receive the delivery,’ the man replied.
‘Excellent. Nothing can stop us now.’ Drake smiled to himself; all his planning of the past months was finally coming to fruition. In just a few short hours a chain of events would be set in motion that would destroy Darkdoom’s pathetic new regime and restore the forces of global villainy to the position of terrifying power that it was their right and duty to hold. Some people might have wondered what a man like Drake could possibly have wanted from the world that all his existing power and money could not provide. Their answer would come soon enough.
The pilot of the Shroud frowned as he looked out through the cockpit window. Huge, angry-looking, black storm clouds filled the sky ahead of them.
‘Are you certain that these are the correct coordinates, sir?’ the pilot asked, sounding slightly nervous.
‘Quite certain,’ Nero replied. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘It’s just that if we continue on this course it means flying straight throug
‘I’ll make sure everything is secured below,’ Raven said, getting up out of her seat.
‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ Nero said with a smile and gestured to the approaching storm.
Something remarkable was happening ahead of them. Like a giant pair of curtains, the clouds were parting, creating a clear path through the tempest.
‘I don’t understand . . .’ the pilot said quietly.
As they flew onwards the clouds continued to part until finally they revealed an aircraft quite unlike anything any of them had ever seen before, hovering untouched in the centre of the whirling storm. It looked almost like an advanced type of aerodynamic battleship but with four huge clusters of jet turbines, one mounted at each corner, holding the massive vessel aloft. The superstructure was bristling with weapons and sophisticated sensor equipment and mounted at the front was a huge silver sphere, its surface covered in a sparking white energy field. As the Shroud flew closer, a huge bay door slid open at the rear of the aircraft, revealing a hangar that already contained several other aircraft.
‘Incoming Shroud dropship, this is Dreadnought Control, please engage ILS and follow the glide path in,’ an unfamiliar voice said over the radio. The pilot quickly complied, banking the Shroud towards the enormous vessel and lining up his approach on the illuminated landing area inside the hangar bay. The Shroud slowly dropped down and landed on the steel deck with a gentle bump as the hangar doors closed behind them.
‘What is this thing?’ the pilot said as uniformed ground crew approached the Shroud.
‘The future of G.L.O.V.E., apparently,’ Nero replied, getting up and heading for the ladder to the lower compartment. He couldn’t help but smile as he climbed down and saw the puzzled expression on Otto’s face.