Jessamy Beech Ch. 14: Falmouth

Jessamy whirled to face him, "WHO, DAD? WHO ELSE IS GOING TO PUT THINGS RIGHT? YOU? IT'S MY FAULT JIFF'S DEAD. I LET AUBREY LIVE AND I SHOULD BE THE ONE TO FIX THIS. NOW PLEASE STAY OUT OF MY WAY ..."

. . .

Jessamy refused to have any further discussion about Jiff with John or Mpenzi. She quickly changed her clothes, struggling to fasten the waistband of a pair of black Craghoppers over the swell of her belly. She tucked the Royal Marines Commando knife that had come with her all the way from Dalmally into her boot, strapped on a thigh holster and went searching for ammunition.

"Jess, what do you expect to do?" Mpenzi asked, following her.

"Kill him. Do we have any 5.56?"

"Bottom drawer. Three mags worth. Aubrey's most likely got an entire crew on that ship of his. With Chinnor's army too, you'll be walking into a war zone. Think, Jess. Think about what'll happen to Pheebs if you go."

Jessamy turned to face her, "Think about what'll happen to Pheebs if I don't."

"FUCK!" Mpenzi punched the wall in frustration, "... well give me a few minutes and I'll get changed. I'm coming too."

Jessamy scowled, "You'll slow me down. You're not as fit as you once were Lupita."

Mpenzi lunged across the room and seized the collar of Jessamy's softshell, "I can still take you down with one hand behind my back, Corporal Beech," she snarled, "never forget that. I'm going ... is that understood?"

Jessamy held her gaze for a few moments, then nodded, "Yes ... Sergeant."

. . .

As Jessamy and Mpenzi set off later that evening in one of Madron village's battered pickups, John Beech was left to organise for a possible evacuation. If Truro fell then it was only going to be a matter of time before the victor's eyes turned to Penzance and the surrounding area.

"Mummy loves you Pheebs. Always," was all Jessamy could bring herself to say to her daughter, before tears began to sting her eyes. Phoebe's father, her Jiff, was dead. And she was going to avenge that death if it killed her.

On a still but overcast night, they drove steadily eastward along the A30 through Crowlas and Hayle, steering around the wreckage of decades old pileups and meteorite craters. Even from twenty miles away, the sky ahead glowed and pulsed with flashes of fiery light and the road surface vibrated to the concussive impacts of a naval bombardment.

"I'm so sorry about Jiff," Mpenzi said softly.

Jessamy hunched forward over the steering wheel, "You may think I'm a heartless bitch Lupita, but now isn't the time to mourn. We've got a job to do."

Lupita Mpenzi had known Jessamy for long enough to realise she was far from being a heartless bitch. But was in fact one of the most caring human beings she'd ever met. She'd encountered this kind of reaction before in soldiers under her command. Compartmentalization. A subconscious, or in some cases conscious, defence mechanism that shut negative thoughts and traumatic experiences away behind a locked door at the back of their minds, until the job was finished and it was safe to let them out.

But some unfortunately, kept the door locked for good.

"He was a good man."

The pickup's bald tyres squealed as Jessamy swerved around a rusting St Austell Brewery truck, mounting the kerb, "Jiff wasn't just good. He was the best. Now please, Lupita ... shut up and let me drive."

. . .

Jessamy recalled the very last time she'd seen Jiff alive, in their bed the previous morning.

"F-fuck. I'm so sorry beautiful. I ... got a bit carried away there."

She'd smiled up at the gorgeous man straddling her torso, his still twitching cock resting in the slippery valley between her breasts, "I hope to hell you haven't cum in my dreads. Lupita noticed last time and took the piss. Said you need to improve your aim."

Jiff had leaned down and kissed her face, his lips gathering up the pearlescent globs of his semen that he'd seconds before spattered across Jessamy's cheeks and slender neck, "Better clean you up eh?"

"You don't have to do that."

Jiff had continued, nibbling her earlobes, kissing her eyelids, "Yes I do princess."

"Jiff?"

"Mmm? What's wrong?"

With a wriggle of her shoulders she'd signalled him to move off her, "Do you ever worry about the future? About bringing kids into all this shit that's happening to the world?"

He'd kissed her full on the lips, his tongue leaving a salty aftertaste, "Not especially, why? Y-you still harping on about that bloody asteroid? That it's going to fall out of the sky in a few years? No-one can do anything about it."

She'd regarded him seriously, "I can. Jiff, I've got the knowledge to prevent that. I just need to find any one of the people on that list of names and get them to help."

Jiff had moved to the side of the bed with his back to her as he'd reached for his clothes, "You've had that bloody list for years and you've done nothing about it yit. When your time's up, your time's up. There's nothing iny of us can do about it. It's called life Jess, and fighting it doesn't make things any easier ... now, I'm heading down to The Demelza. I'll be back home in a few days. Give Pheebs a kiss for me eh?"

"Love you," she'd called as he walked out the door.

"Love you more."

. . .

"So ... what's the plan?" Mpenzi asked. Beyond the windscreen the darkness was broken only by the bombardment in the distance. No streetlights, no cheerily lit windows in secluded farmhouses, and no other traffic.

"I'm thinking if Aubrey continues blasting away, Chinnor's men are either going to be wiped out ... or they'll retreat. Either way is good for us, though there's not going to be much left of Truro," Jessamy drove slowly, weaving skilfully around more obstructions, both manmade and natural without even the aid of headlights, "but what we need to do is make Falmouth harbour less of a desirable option for him. Block it somehow. Maybe some of the old tankers moored up?"

"Then what?"

"Then I get onboard the Poseidon and kill the fucker."

. . .

Jessamy slammed on the brakes as they reached Treliske on the outskirts of Truro. The road ahead was blocked not only by derelict, abandoned cars but by a scattered crowd of panicking people desperate to get away from the beleaguered city, "We can't get through this way!"

In the distant night sky, flames danced over two hundred feet into the air as fire consumed Truro's magnificent three spired cathedral. Gunfire and screams punctuated the staccato thudding of high explosive shells blasting the city centre into rubble at a steady rate of twenty a minute.

TAKATAKATAK!

Jessamy stamped on the accelerator and wrenched the steering wheel right as a spray of bullets chewed holes in the pickup's rusted panelling. The vehicle lumbered over a rutted grass verge onto a side road as Mpenzi aimed her SA80 back the way they'd come, "You okay?"

Mpenzi nodded, "Can't tell who it is. Chinnor's men or pissed off locals."

"I'm not hanging around to find out!" the pickup's front bumper tore away with a screech of metal as Jessamy clipped an overturned SUV. She punched the horn again and again, having no desire to mow down innocents.

"Which way are we heading?" Mpenzi shouted.

Jessamy reluctantly switched on their vehicle's one working headlight. Away from the glare of the burning city the lane they drove down was pitch black, "Falmouth along the back roads. Just passed a signpost for Perranwell."

Mpenzi shook her head, "Shit, Jess. I thought things'd be bad but it looks like Aubrey's out to flatten the place."

Jessamy jerked the wheel as the pickup screamed along the granite blocks of a Cornish hedge, "Chinnor's the only opposition down here. Aubrey's gun's got a range of thirteen miles ... so while he's anchored in Falmouth harbour, he can wipe out as many as he wants. We HAVE to do something about that big gun Lupita. Or he'll control the whole county."

. . .

"Report."

On the red lit bridge of the frigate HMS Poseidon, a nervous naval lieutenant snapped to attention. He'd not been one of Jack Aubrey's fellow escapees from HMP Dartmoor and therefore took no pleasure in the orders his captain had given him.

Fear and knowledge made him obey. Fear of Aubrey's unpredictable violent temper. Knowledge of what had happened to the last attempted mutiny at the hands of Aubrey's pet assassin - the woman they called Nemesis.

"Bombardment continuing s-sir. Our ammunition reserves onboard are down to 40%. Drone sur-surveillance has spotted a large number of people and several vehicles fleeing the city heading east. Could be civilians, could be Chinnor's men retreating. Shall we cease fire sir?"

Captain Jack Aubrey looked askance, "No you will not cease fire lieutenant. The job's only half done. Is Chief Petty Officer O'Brian in position yet?"

"Almost sir. He's taken all four RIBs with a sq-squad of men in each. Two boats to either side of the river. If any stragglers onshore get close enough to take a shot at Poseidon he'll deal with them sir."

Aubrey clapped his hands, "Excellent work. HELM! Can you take us in any closer to the action?"

The Poseidon had sailed unchallenged north past Falmouth into Carrick Roads, to where Restronguet Creek met the River Fal. To their right, the abandoned village of St Just In Roseland, where the wreckage of a dozen millionaire's yachts lay broken and shattered on the rocky beach. To their left, the decaying hulk of one of the navy's fleet auxiliary ships and ruins of the town of Penryn. Directly ahead at a distance of no more than a few miles, the city of Truro blazed.

"Sorry sir, no. There's a narrow channel but a couple of oil tankers are moored up in the way. It'd be a very tight squeeze sir and a risky manoeuvre in the dark."

Aubrey considered for a moment, "Very well. Lieutenant, contact O'Brian. Tell him to get a couple of squads onboard those tankers. See if their hulls are sound enough for towing one out of the way to be an option."

. . .

"Are you fucking mad?" Mpenzi hissed.

They'd left the pickup half a mile back up the road and continued on foot. Jessamy crawled forward through dead, waist high bracken. Around them the mud swamped ruins of what had once been the tiny village of Mylor Churchtown. Even after twenty four years of catastrophic freak weather, hardy little Turnstones and Oystercatchers picked their way along the rocky shoreline only yards away in search of molluscs and tiny invertebrates.

Beyond that, the dark expanse of Carrick Roads, the upper reaches of Falmouth's great natural harbour. Oily sludge littered with debris lapped at the shore, and anchored midway between them and the harbour's opposite bank - HMS Poseidon. The frigate loomed less than half a mile away in almost complete darkness, its bridge visible as a line of red lit windows, its grey bulkheads flickering in the light of Truro's distant fires.

"We get on board, put the gun out of action and kill Aubrey. Simple," Jessamy crouched and began unlacing her boots.

"Wait a minute. You're not seriously thinking of swimming there?" Mpenzi grabbed her arm, "that water's fucking freezing Jess ... and in case you'd forgotten you're two months pregnant!"

Jessamy was about to argue when they both detected another sound over the waves and soughing wind. Mpenzi pulled her down, "Get down!"

A black twenty foot rigid inflatable boat, or RIB, circled around from Poseidon's far side and headed towards their position, a searchlight scanning the shore.

Jessamy gripped her SA80 and prepared to defend herself. The RIB swerved left raising a filthy black wake of polluted water then slowly decelerated to come alongside a crumbling granite jetty no more than a hundred feet away. It appeared that whoever was onboard the boat hadn't spotted them after all.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Mpenzi asked. She reached into a pocket of her flak jacket and fished out a long black cylinder which she quickly screwed to the barrel of her Heckler & Koch handgun.

Jessamy nodded, pulling her Royal Marines Commando knife from its place in her boot, "Yep. Transport."

. . .

"Get the tripod set up so the gun covers the approach road," Able Seaman 'Mac' McTavish ordered his squad mates, "anything comes this way from the Truro road let 'em have it."

The other three MTP clad figures hastily and efficiently erected a bulky tripod to which they attached a general purpose heavy machine gun.

"Is there gonna be anyone left alive after that?"

McTavish gazed upriver towards the inferno that had once been Cornwall's administrative centre, "You got a point lad, but th ..."

PFFT!

McTavish collapsed, dead with a bullet in the top of his spine.

"Shit!" cried one of the others, then gurgled blood as he clutched the knife embedded in his throat.

PFFT! PFFT!

Jessamy Beech retrieved her knife and was wiping the gore spattered blade before the last of their victims had even hit the ground. Mpenzi looked warily about, to ensure they hadn't been spotted, "How do you want to play this Jess? Poseidon first or what?"

Jessamy stepped down into the RIB, scanning around for anything useful, "What the hell are these?" she grabbed a heavy cylindrical object the size of a soup can.

Mpenzi grinned, her teeth a gleaming crescent in the darkness, "Now we're talking."

"Great. So what the fuck are they?" Jessamy insisted.

"Demolition charges."

. . .

Crouching low in their stolen vessel, Jessamy and Mpenzi formulated a workable plan.

The RIB would drop Jessamy in the water close to the Poseidon. She would climb onboard and use two of their four available demolition charges on the bow mounted Mark 45 naval gun, before dealing with Aubrey. But only if the opportunity arose. Jessamy had vaguely promised - rather unconvincingly - to take no unnecessary risks. Mpenzi would continue upriver to one of the enormous oil tankers that had been anchored there for almost a quarter of a century and attach the remaining charges to its hull.

"So, twist the top to set the timer ..."

Mpenzi nodded, "Anything between 60 and 180 seconds. The bottom's magnetised so once it's on it sticks like shit to a bed. Press the green button ... and run like fuck."

They'd both concluded that the demolition charges would have been used to clear a channel for Poseidon into the harbour if the people of Falmouth had seen fit to barricade the entrance. Luckily for them they hadn't been unloaded yet.

Jessamy grinned, "Run like fuck. Got it."

. . .

"RIB three's not responding to our hails sir."

Jack Aubrey frowned, chewing the inside of his lip. It sounded like another bad receiver. So much of their equipment had been breaking down recently and it was getting harder to find replacement parts, "I'll have a word with McTavish when he gets back onboard. Who's on RIB four?"

The lieutenant at the Comms console shuddered, "Th-three of your ratings and the um, mercenary ... sir. Nemesis."

Aubrey waved a hand dismissively, "Tell them to get on with it. I want one of those tankers moved."

"Aye sir."

. . .

"They're going to think it's fucking weird this RIB's heading back so soon Jess. They're supposed to be setting up a defensive perimeter," Mpenzi manoeuvred the sleek black craft slowly towards the stern of the Poseidon, the engine noise frighteningly loud even over the bombardment.

"Just get me as close as you can and veer off. I'll jump," Jessamy stuffed her two demolition charges into a small black daysack and straddled the side of the boat. She tugged the fleece lined Buff taken from one of the dead sailors up over her face and put their kevlar helmet on over her dreadlocks.

Mpenzi watched as she stood astern steering the boat, "Jess. Don't take any stupid risks. I want ... I need you back in one piece."

Jessamy winked as the RIB closed to within a hundred yards of Aubrey's frigate, "Hey, it's me," then she allowed herself to fall back into the freezing black water, the splash hidden by the boat's wake.

. . .

Mpenzi rubbed a tear from her eye as she accelerated the RIB towards the nearest tanker, "Getting bloody sentimental in your old age Lupita."

She had an uneasy feeling that something bad was about to happen and feared that she'd just seen Jessamy Beech alive for the last time. Jessamy's father had been her lover and partner for years. But if she'd been forced to, she'd have admitted she still loved the beautiful young Cornish woman.

There were two medium range tankers. One anchored on either side of the main channel. It had been common practice when Falmouth had been a working port to anchor empty vessels upriver for days or even weeks as they awaited their next payload. These two hadn't moved in over twenty five years.

The left hand ship had drifted slightly on its anchor chains towards the faster flowing middle of the Fal river. Mpenzi headed for that, the five or six storey high hull gradually eclipsing the fires further upriver as she piloted the RIB into its shadow. It was impossible to say what colour the tanker had once been. Barnacles, rust and green slime covered much of the ship's side.

. . .

"RIB three's heading for the tanker on the far side."

Nemesis gripped the side of her own inflatable boat as wavelets caused it to bounce and jolt across the river's oily surface. Sure enough McTavish's boat was just visible in the distance slowing down beside the collosal tanker. Why the fuck Aubrey was planning to tow one of the rusting hulks she had no idea. It would allow Poseidon to sail less than another mile upriver, no more.

Jack Aubrey was an arse. An arrogant wannabe who'd based his entire persona on a fictional character from a book. A total arse. She'd realised that the first time that she, Jessamy Beech and Lupita Mpenzi had met him. But for now he was useful. She grudgingly admitted she owed him for saving her life and nursing her back to health. But they both knew that she wasn't going to live out the rest of her life at Devonport.

"Follow them, and step on it," Nemesis called impatiently over the noise of the outboard, "let's get this fucking tanker checked over and get back to our real job."

. . .

Jessamy Beech was shivering by the time her numb fingers finally made contact with the Poseidon. Her hands groped their way along the ship's cold metal hull until they found what she'd been searching for. A nylon net made of thick rope mesh hung down into the water to make getting in and out of the RIBs easier. She climbed awkwardly up onto it and paused, taking a couple of minutes to slow her breathing and control the quaking tremors throughout her body.

She hadn't taken the incoming tide into account. Jessamy had had to swim with all her strength against the current or be swept upriver past the Poseidon. At the bow end there would have been no way of getting onboard.

Jessamy could only remember being so cold once before. Biting cold with teeth that made your very bones ache. The night she'd fled Mull's Torosay Castle in a meteorite shower - barefoot, wearing lingerie and a stolen jacket, her blistered heels breaking the ice on frozen puddles as she ran, expecting every single instant to feel a Preen bullet or crossbow bolt in her back.

This, was that cold.

Jiff, she reminded herself. This wasn't about stopping Aubrey, it was about avenging Jiff. Cold was immaterial. She would see this through if it killed her.

Jessamy peeked over the edge of Poseidon's flat stern. One sentry. Making circuits of the helicopter landing pad with his back to her. She guessed that the noise of the big bow gun firing every three seconds would mask her approach. But whether it would drown out her violently chattering teeth was another question. She waited until the guard was across on the frigate's far side and gently eased herself up and onto the deck.

SPLOSH!

One of the demolition charges fell out of her open daysack and was gone, already on its way to the bottom of the harbour.