Jessamy Beech Ch. 10: Plymouth

"Yep. I know what you mean."

. . .

Twenty minutes later, Jessamy breathed in deeply through her nose, relishing the delicious aroma of the nut roast in front of her, "Smells lovely sir."

"Fresh meat is understandably hard to come by nowadays," said Aubrey from across the table, "and admittedly some of the vegetables are canned, but the kitchens do a wonderful job with whatever they have to work with. And please, don't call me sir. I'm just Jack."

"Jack."

Captain Jack Aubrey's quarters on the top floor of the magnificent Wardroom building were spacious and sumptuously furnished. The light from the candles and fireplace flickered on the polished oak paneling covering much of the walls, creating a cosy, intimate atmosphere. Besides the table - large enough to accommodate six chairs - a huge leather topped desk filled the area inside a tall bay window and another - conspicuously open - door led through into a separate bedroom.

Oil paintings depicting savage sea battles of the Napoleonic wars completed the walls along with various other bits of nautical paraphernalia - signal flags, a brass sextant and a pair of crossed cutlasses above the stone mantelpiece.

"We're becoming more and more self sufficient here. Growing much of our own food. We have doctors, mechanics, even a school now."

"You have kids here?" Jessamy was astounded.

"Yep, only three or four, but it's a beginning," Aubrey looked pleased with himself, discussing what they'd achieved, "anyone with specialist knowledge is welcome. Your comms expert ..."

"Alison?"

"Yes, Alison. We could use her on board Poseidon. Using the ship's equipment to help us track down other pockets of survivors scattered around. Maybe even as far away as in France or Spain."

Perhaps they'd misjudged Aubrey after all. Jessamy forked a piece of food into her mouth, "Mmm, that's delicious s ... Jack."

"Glad you like it," said Aubrey. He leaned over the table and refilled her glass, "more wine?"

She noticed he was still in uniform. Navy blue jumper over a white shirt with his rank slides glinting in the candlelight. Businesslike. If he was some sort of imposter as Mpenzi suspected, he was putting on a very convincing show.

They chatted amiably while they ate, about the harsh conditions in the north. The abandonment of Mull, the invasion of Cumbria, the rise of General Chinnor ...

"I think my Mum used to be in the Royal Navy," Jessamy announced suddenly, "but I was so young when I last saw her I can't really remember."

"Are your parents still alive?" Aubrey swirled his wineglass, admiring the way the red liquid caught the light.

"I don't know," Jessamy admitted, "but I intend to find out. I remember my Dad put me on the train in Penzance when all the children were evacuated to Scotland. He was crying, but I don't think my Mum was there ..."

"Once you're all settled in, maybe you can take an expedition down to Cornwall to find out," Aubrey sipped his wine, "it would be useful to me too to find out how many survivors are left down there."

Jessamy was taken aback. All the plans and schemes she'd made to desert from the army were pointless if Captain Aubrey was going to LET her go. She sipped her wine, noticing that Aubrey was watching her intently, "What?"

"You're really quite stunning," he said, "how old are you? Nineteen? Twenty?"

Jessamy remembered how Butcher Beaconsfield had liked his girls on Mull - the younger the better. Perhaps Aubrey had the same penchant, she thought. She decided to subtract a couple of years from her real age.

"S-seventeen," she said, trying to add a barely perceptible slur to her speech. If she could convince Aubrey that the wine was affecting her more than it actually was, it might loosen his tongue.

Aubrey sat back, "Seventeen eh? I had a daughter just a bit younger. Sophie."

He leaned forward across the table and tenderly pushed a lock of hair away from her forehead, "Beautiful eyes ..."

"Thankyou."

Aubrey's eyes roved unashamedly over her, taking in her lips, her neck, resting for an uncomfortable extra few moments on her cleavage, "I can imagine that every part of you is beautiful."

Jessamy smiled, an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. But Mpenzi wanted answers and it was up to her to get them, "Would you ... be more comfortable ... in the, um ... bedroom?"

Aubrey looked stunned for a second or two. Then his face split in a wide grin, "It w-wasn't my intention to seduce you Miss Beech but I must admit I was f-finding it hard to resist. Now it seems you've beaten me to it."

Jessamy stood and held out her hand for his, "Shall we?"

"I assure you it wasn't my intention to get you into bed."

Oh yes it was, you lying snake. Jessamy leaned forward, giving Aubrey a tantalising glimpse down the front of her dress as she kissed his cheek, "Nonsense," she purred, "I've yet to meet a man who doesn't want to fuck anything with a pulse."

Aubrey looked shocked. But whether from her attitude or language Jessamy had no idea, "Um, you go on and m-make yourself comfortable," he sounded uncharacteristically flustered, "I just need to use the, um ... to pee. All that wine ..."

Jessamy carried her half empty wine glass through into the bedroom while Jack Aubrey stepped into the ensuite to relieve himself.

The last time Jessamy had been in a situation like this it had ended with her having to fight off a would be rapist twice her size. She'd learned how to defend herself since then but still felt desperately nervous. How far would she have to go to get answers before she could make her excuses and leave? And would Aubrey simply allow her to do so?

Jessamy perched on the edge of the bed, the mattress high and a little lumpy. She knew she was playing a dangerous game but apart from physically tying Aubrey to a chair and torturing him she could think of no better way to get answers. She teased the hem of her dress up to expose an extra inch of thigh, and waited.

A well thumbed paperback novel sat on a scarred mahogany bedside cabinet with a pair of folded reading glasses.

Old Snook had taught her to read back in Tobermory, from an ancient copy of the childrens' classic 'BLINT AND THE JAWS OF THE BEAST' - the only book he could find. But she knew that her vocabulary was somewhat limited and tried to read more whenever possible. Her free evenings at Woodvale had been shared between the firing range and devouring any literature she could lay her hands on.

"MASTER AND COMMANDER," Jessamy read. The cover depicted yet another furious sea battle from the Napoleonic wars. Warships under full sail blasting broadsides at each other from deck upon deck of cannons. But it was the author's name that caught her attention, "Patrick O'Brian ..."

The only other O'Brian Jessamy knew of was Aubrey's right hand man. She flipped the book over to read the back ...

From across the apartment, she faintly heard the toilet flush.

"As the Royal Navy takes part in the wars against Napoleonic France, young Jack Aubrey receives his first command, the old and slow HMS Sophie ..." Jessamy flipped through the book. Sure enough, the character of Jack Aubrey appeared on virtually every page. A courageous, upstanding naval officer loved and respected by his crew.

"Oh ..." said a voice from the bedroom's doorway.

Jessamy looked up and waved the paperback at him, "Mind explaining this?"

Aubrey came into the room, not bothering to close the door behind him, "Sorry for the subterfuge love, but me given name didn't seem to fit."

He stared at her legs in a way that made Jessamy feel quite uncomfortable. The facade of a posh sounding home counties accent was gone, replaced by one from a far less salubrious area of the nation's ill-fated capital. Jessamy kicked her high heels off and scooted back across the wide bed, "So who the fuck are you really?"

"To the sailors I'm Captain Jack Aubrey of Her Majesty's Royal Navy," he said, watching her as he stalked slowly across the room, "to me mates I'm Derek Skinner. You, my lovely, can call me Del."

Shit. Jessamy realised she'd just thrown away her only weapons. But she also doubted that fending off an opponent with nothing but a stiletto shoe probably wasn't going to work a second time anyway, "Who are your ... mates?" she asked, dreading what the answer would be.

"I should say - INmates."

Jessamy felt an icy finger trace a line up her spine. She swallowed hard, "Inmates?"

"From Her Majesty's Prison Dartmoor."

"Prison?"

Skinner sat on the edge of the bed and loosened his tie knot, "Fifteen years for computer fraud, money laundering and raping a policewoman. Front entrance of the prison took a direct hit. Thanatos. Killed most o' the screws. We escaped. The lads needed someone with an ounce of sense so they made me their top dog."

Jessamy scanned the room, searching for anything she could weaponise, "So why are you here? Devonport?"

Skinner pulled his jumper off and started undoing his tie, "Plymouth was fucked. The navy had food and shelter so we moved in."

"You killed them all!"

"Nah," Skinner pulled his tie off and began unbuttoning his shirt, "there was only a few left. We outnumbered them. No chain of command. I told them 'stay and help or fuck off an' die.' They know that if they piss me off they're out on their ear wiv nowhere to go. O'Brian's me muscle. In for armed robbery and murder."

"A-and you named yourself after s-some made up navy captain."

"Read 'em in prison. Didn't think I'd ever be a real captain wiv me own ship though. I'm trying to do some good here love. The other prisoners are willing to pull their weight and make a go of it. The women ... we keep locked in their rooms, 'til they come 'round to our way of thinkin'. You think you're free to come and go as you please but you're not. You're being watched. What we really need here is more people to do the work and more supplies ..."

Skinner looked as if he was enjoying himself talking about his little empire. Jessamy had an idea, "Could I ... get the wine? I could really do with another drink."

Skinner shrugged as he removed his shirt with his back to her, "Yeah whatever. Don't think of running out on me though. I locked the door when I went for a piss."

Fuck. Jessamy scrambled off the bed, "I wasn't going to. I'll just ... get the wine, eh?"

Skinner didn't reply.

"So where are you getting food and stuff from?" Jessamy called as she crept back into the main room.

"No harm in tellin' you I s'pose. You would've found out sooner or later. We're sending scouts out to all the neighbourin' towns and villages, askin' them to join us or at least 'donate' some of their food or fuel."

Jessamy froze, her hand on the wine bottle. There was cutlery still on the table she realised. Not sharp, but dangerous if used in the right way. But Skinner didn't seem too bothered. His arrogance had dismissed her as yet another defenceless female. There was one last question she needed to ask, but she'd already guessed what the answer would be, "What h-happens if the towns and villages refuse?"

Skinner appeared grinning in the doorway, naked from the waist up and levelling a Glock at her head. His chest was decorated with an enormous tattoo of an 18th century man o' war, "I get one of our scouts to radio back with precise coordinates of the trouble makers, we aim that big fuckin' gun on the Poseidon, and we wipe them off the face of the fuckin' planet. Naval bombardment. Now get yer fuckin' knickers off you little slag an' get back on the bed."

With a single movement, Jessamy wildly launched the wine bottle at Skinner ...

KERRASH!

... and dived behind the table ...

BLAM!

... as a bullet thunked into the oak paneling where she'd been standing. Judging by the reddish splash on the wall beside Skinner, she'd missed too.

"C-come out you little fuckin' whore," Skinner strode across the room, trapping Jessamy between the heavy wooden table and the fireplace.

There'd been women and children in the village they'd seen destroyed. Skinner was nothing more than a murdering monster.

Jessamy happened to glance up, and had an idea.

"W-what would your Jack Aubrey do if he had one of his arch enemies trapped in the same room with him? Would he just shoot them?" Jessamy called.

"Fair fight. To the death. But you ain't one of me arch enemies. You're some skinny little bitch who's beggin' for it," Skinner was edging closer. Jessamy could see his legs.

Jessamy had done a lot of stupid, foolhardy things in her nineteen years. But she was convinced that what she was about to do was probably the stupidest.

She stood up.

"F-fair fight?" she stammered.

Skinner cocked his head to one side, listening.

Keeping one eye on her opponent, Jessamy reached above the mantlepiece and carefully drew down one of the antique cutlasses. She placed it on the table between them and reached up for the other, "Now put the gun down and fight like a real man."

Skinner smirked, tucked the Glock in the waistband of his trousers and snatched up the cutlass, "I'm disappointed Jessica. I really wanted to fuck that cute little arse of yours."

Jessamy circled around the table, holding the heavy cutlass out in front, "The name's Jessamy you evil piece of shit."

Without any further preamble, Skinner lunged. His cutlass blade bit deep into the table top where minutes before they'd been eating dinner like civilised people. Vegetables and splinters of crockery spun across the room as Jessamy danced away.

Skinner had brute strength in his favour, but Jessamy more than made up for it with her agility. Their blades clashed, striking sparks, sending a jarring pain up Jessamy's arm. A few more hits like that and her hand would be too numb to grip the weapon at all.

This fight was buying her time to think of another means of escape, nothing more. Despite Mpenzi's relentless training back at Woodvale Jessamy couldn't hope to defeat Skinner.

She felt ridiculously vulnerable, barefoot and dressed in a skimpy little cocktail dress trying to fend off a psychopathic brute. Their blades clashed again and again, the old and pitted metal screeching as Skinner drove Jessamy back towards the bedroom door.

She screamed as Skinner's blade scored a deep cut across her forearm ...

"Surrender!"

"No way, Argh!" Jessamy yelled as her bare foot found a fragment of the wine bottle glass. Skinner grinned evilly and doubled the ferocity of his attack, sweat already glistening on his naked torso. The tip of his cutlass sliced cleanly through the material across Jessamy's abdomen. The line of searing pain it opened up made her feel nauseous. But only for a second.

She was scared. Really scared. With the force of Skinner's blows Jessamy could barely feel her arms any more. The pain in her foot was agonising, but on top of that she kept slipping and sliding on her own blood.

Skinner paused, panting. He watched from scarcely a few feet away, looming over her with legs planted wide apart and chest heaving from the exertion, "Do you surrender yet, little girl? If you put the sword down, lose the dress and just get in the bedroom we can ..."

Jessamy slammed her wounded foot up hard into Skinner's groin, the impact making her howl with pain. He dropped his cutlass with a loud clatter and dropped to the floor clutching his balls. In an instant Jessamy was on him, striking as hard as she could with the cutlass's pommel across the back of his head.

Skinner slumped on his side, out cold or possibly even dead.

"I, I d-did it," Jessamy breathed, scarcely able to believe it herself, "this ... is getting to be a habit."

KNOCK-KNOCK!

Jessamy spun towards the locked apartment door ...

"EVERYTHING ALRIGHT IN THERE SKIPPER? THOUGHT WE HEARD A GUNSHOT."

O'Brian.

"Oh fuck," Jessamy whispered.

PART FOUR: THE TAMAR

A minute later O'Brian finally succeeded in battering the door down. He stormed into Skinner's quarters, SA80 at the ready. The thick blackout curtains billowed in the breeze from the open sash window as O'Brian surveyed the broken glass, blood, sequins, and Derek Skinner lying unconscious in the bedroom doorway.

He thumbed the radio on the collar of his flak jacket, "All units, this is O'Brian. Be on the lookout for a blonde in a blue dress. Good looking, late teens. She may be out on the Wardroom roof. Shoot to wound only. O'Brian out."

THUNK!

As he turned his attention back to the open window, Jessamy emerged from the ensuite and slammed the butt of her newly acquired Glock pistol down on the base of O'Brian's skull. With a grunt, he collapsed unconscious on top of Skinner.

"You finally get your wish, fuckers. I'm taking the dress off."

Wincing at her myriad bruises and cuts, Jessamy stripped down to her white cotton panties, then hurriedly wrestled O'Brian's uniform from his prone form. Needless to say it was way too big for her but she guessed that in poor light and the confusion of Skinner's men searching for her outside, she might just pass for one of them.

Overalls, boots, flak jacket ...

It took her ten minutes. As she tucked her long blonde hair under O'Brian's black uniform beret and Buff there came the sound she'd dreaded hearing from the corridor outside - footsteps.

O'Brian's boots were huge on her, which was just as well as she'd taken a moment to bind a pillowcase tightly around her bleeding foot. She stomped out through the splintered doorframe, keeping her face averted from the feeble light, "Quick! Call a medic! The captain's wounded. I'll go help with the search!"

The three black clad sailors barely glanced at her as they pushed past into Skinner's quarters. Jessamy hadn't even known if O'Brian (or whatever the fuck his real name was) had women on his team so it had been a massive gamble. Leaving them to tend to Skinner and O'Brian she hightailed it down the Wardroom's back stairs, limping as fast as she could.

. . .

It began to rain heavily as Mpenzi and Alison got back to their accommodation block, "We're not going without Jess and that's final."

"But why?" Alison whined, "we could've been halfway across the bridge by now."

"We don't know what the fuck is going on in this place yet. Jess might get back and tell us everything's fine. In which case we'll be staying," Mpenzi wondered if the sirens way off in the distance were anything to do with Jessamy. Or the block's two sentries suddenly jogging off into the darkness leaving it unguarded.

"Psst!"

Alison jumped as a dark figure stepped out from behind a dilapidated minibus parked in front of the building, "Relax, it's me."

"Jess?" Mpenzi had dropped into a fighting stance with hands raised, her only means of defence as they hadn't bothered booking their weapons out from the armoury.

Jessamy tugged down her Buff, "Yes it's me. Listen, we have to get out of here. This place is seriously fucked up, I'll explain later."

"How was your date?"

"Let's just say there won't be a second one anytime soon," Jessamy tossed O'Brian's SA80 to Mpenzi and checked her Glock's magazine, "you two have any luck?"

"We found a back way. Leads up onto the railway track that crosses the bridge into Cornwall," Mpenzi explained looking Jessamy up and down curiously.

"They didn't have my size."

"There are two bridges," interrupted Alison, "the railway bridge, that's in pretty bad shape and the Tamar Bridge that carries the road. That one's probably guarded though."

Jessamy considered for a moment, "They'll be expecting us to take the bridge ..."

"And?" Mpenzi gestured for the others to follow and started walking quickly northwards.

"We do the unexpected. We take a boat."

Jessamy retrieved her bow from its hiding place and they were off.

. . .

It was midnight. They'd trudged through the freezing rain along the railway line through St Budeaux on the western edge of Plymouth, then scrambled down the muddy embankment into rubble strewn streets. As they moved, Jessamy gave the others a quick summary of what she'd learned.