crvboy presents: Queen Of Ice by Christopher Patrick Lydon

"Remember this is just for show, sir," Lieutenant Worth offered tightly, "We could all get into a lot of trouble if you're discovered."

"Just tell me what I have to do," VonGrippen sat staring through the rain at the rear ramp of the STOAT, standing open and lit as it took on supplies preparing for departure.

"RAF Fleeters are... a select breed, sir, they are confident and have their own culture. My CO has informed the base that a Lieutenant Commander will be accompanying my platoon while they secure our Martian assets. He had to pull a lot of strings to get this done," Dominic handed over identity papers to VonGrippen, "you hold a valid commission and if any one checks the system you are a decorated fleet officer. It was the only way we could... make these arrangements."

VonGrippen nodded, "well, provided I am not asked to actually fly the ship the cover story should hold."

"We three are the only ones that are going to know that you aren't what you say you are. Just when you get onboard the ship walk to the armoury and strap on a pistol, RAF Fleeters are always armed when they are onboard space vessels. When you address anyone onboard the ship put your hand on the pistol. It's a symbol of your authority; no one else is allowed to be armed in space flight. And remember you are in command."

"I understand," VonGrippen nodded, turning back behind him to look at Lance dressed in a medic's uniform, "and you?"

Lance stopped trying to get the TAC-vest to sit properly, "I'm just cargo, right? I sit there, keep my mouth shut and we go."

Lieutenant Worth nodded, "we always take an emergency medical technician with us on operations. Just in case. Just remember to obey anyone with more stripes than you have, Corporal. And call officers sir."

VonGrippen nodded, Lance was the heavier set of the pair and could fill out the tactical gear and pass for a soldier. VonGrippen with his slender frame would have stood out, however the Fleeter uniform suited him perfectly, and given his rank, the Lieutenant that would command the STOAT wouldn't ask questions.

"How many on this flight?" VonGrippen asked.

"I have a sixteen man platoon, there is the flight engineer and the pilot, this is mainly a courier and delivery run. It's risky, but we're hoping that with the RAF colours and transponders both the EU and the US will leave us alone."

"And if we run into trouble?" VonGrippen asked, "I am not qualified to fly a RAF vessel into combat."

Dominic nodded, "keep your head, order evasive manoeuvres and a distress call. Remember we're trying to reach orbit so set your sights there and keep the pilot focused. If we do run into trouble we're dead anyway so nothing you say or do will change that."

"Optimistic," Lance murmured from behind them.

"The latest American cruise missiles are capable of intercepting and shooting down our best fighters piloted by our best pilots. I don't care who you are; those odds simply aren't in your favour. We're going to be chased all the way to orbit by conventional fighters, and if the US has one of its orbital platforms in position we're going to have to evade F-60 aero-space fighters." Dominic gave a serious look, "if you want to back out of this and wait..."

VonGrippen shook his head, "we go," he said calmly.

"Easy for you to say," Lance murmured bitterly, "you don't get scared."

And that was the other reason VonGrippen would wear the Fleeter uniform. Medi-techs were permitted to be nervous, RAF Fleeters thrived on the adrenaline rush that space flight offered.

"We should go," VonGrippen stated as he stepped from the Landrover, he maintained a tight stare as he marched towards the rear ramp of the ship. Dominic was marching back towards the covered truck, Lance in tow collecting his men.

VonGrippen straightened to his full height as he marched up the ramp and out of the rain. He walked around the ramp to the armoury cage and pulling a pistol belt down, strapping it on as he pulled and loaded a service automatic. Remembering his instruction at the range as he examined and set the safety on the weapon before sliding it into the thigh holster.

"Lieutenant Commander?" The woman's voice caused VonGrippen to turn.

She mirrored his uniform, black with simple flight wings on her breast and fewer medals, she saluted, "sir, Sub-Lieutenant Ryder, sir. Welcome aboard."

"Thank you," VonGrippen replied resting his hand on his pistol as he had been instructed to do, "pre-flight?"

"Underway, Petty Officer Robson is completing the walk around, sir." She gestured to the side companionway that led up into the main body of the craft, "if you would care to oversee?"

"Naturally," VonGrippen stated, walking purposefully up the metal steps, passing through the rows of aircraft bucket seating that would house the troops once they were aboard, ducking under the cargo netting suspended from the ceiling as he pushed through the door and into the cramped cockpit, selecting the number two chair and sitting down.

Lieutenant Ryder pulled herself into the pilot's chair, returning to her pre-flight checks, pulling the clipboard from its mount and running through her checklist, pulling on her radio headset as she glanced up at her engineering gauges.

VonGrippen watched her, studying what she did and how she did it. Aware that he might, at some point, find it necessary to duplicate her actions. An eventuality he was going to be prepared for. He reached down and slid the headset on as he listened to the radio chatter as Robson reported that his engines checked out, and the control surfaces were responsive.

* * *

Ben managed to emerge from his room, wrapped up tightly in the warm dressing gown, a Christmas present to him from one of the orderlies who had tended to him when he had to spend Christmas in the infirmary the year before. Unlike the standard ones worn by the others, grey flannel with their typical numbers printed on it, this one actually had his name embroidered upon it and he loved it deeply.

He coughed and wavered unsteadily as he padded through the outer residence modules and into the main living area in search of food. His stomach rumbling loudly as he walked into the kitchenette.

Above him one of the guards was shadowing him on the upper catwalk. They always did that after hours. They seemed to grow paranoid on the evening shift, and that caused Ben to chuckle. Out of all the GN-2's penned up in their gilded cage; Ben was probably the least dangerous of all of them.

He pulled open the refrigerator, happily fishing out what he wanted, pastrami and rye... well if he closed his eyes and imagined. Instead canned meat and a generic white bread that really wasn't that appetizing. He assembled the sandwich and looked at it again, glancing up at the guard standing above him.

"You want some?" Ben asked holding up the sandwich.

The guard glared at him, cocking the submachine gun threateningly.

Ben sighed, blinking at the guard, and shaking his head, clearing away the visions of death that floated around the guard. Of the dark knight, a gun, and a close range shot to the head...

He was growing accustomed to the visions of death that floated about the French guards. The regularity of the visions indicated the certainty that the event would happen soon. A secret he guarded carefully from the psychologists that attempted to extract information from him, he learned quickly that his gift was the only thing that kept them from terminating the 'failed experiment', but that didn't entitle to them knowing every facet of his gift. He told them just enough to wet their appetites and hid the rest. He didn't want to make the same mistakes that had led to Sephy's 'special training'.

He walked back through the Deep Core residence, stopping when he passed the living room. The lights were low, and Rikard was present talking to Markus and Katherine.

Ben nibbled on his sandwich, watching the three of them talk, Katherine's emphatic shaking of her head, matched by Markus's dark scowl told him that Rikard wanted something.

The dark haired doctor looked across from the conversation, his eyes locking onto Ben's and holding them, glancing up towards the guard, and gesturing for him to leave. Crossing the living room to where Ben was standing.

"You've seen something," Rikard asked, his heavily accented voice inquired.

Markus's simple shake of his head behind Rikard's back told Ben to lie.

"I don't see anything..."

Rikard's wolfish smile spoke volumes, "I taught you to lie better than that."

Ben shrugged, "you gave us all skills, but lying wasn't one of my best." He stood defiant, taking another bite of his sandwich.

Rikard nodded, "then you know what's to come," Rikard mused, "excellent once Roki arrives I want you to..."

Ben shook his head, "Uncle Roki will die in your arms," Ben smiled lightly, chillingly, "and your dreams will never be fulfilled."

Rikard caught Ben by the shoulders, shaking him angrily, "do you know when they will die?" he asked looking up at the guards.

"I'm not a magic eight-ball," Ben snapped.

"Put him down Rikard," Markus commanded, drawing all of his own force into his voice.

Rikard obliged, setting Ben down and shaking his head, "I don't have time to waste," he looked back at Markus, "be ready to go. It may be our only chance to be free..."

Markus's eyes remained fixed on Rikard, "I understand what's at stake Rikard, you can rest assured of that."

* * *

"Risking our necks for what? Mail?" One of the private's grumbled as he slung his pack under the crash seat.

"Shut it squealer," Sergeant Blaine ordered walking through the rows of seats and stowing his own gear.

"But Sarge," Squealer complained loudly, "Scuttlebutt says that every ship that tries to leave Earth gets shot down. Why the hell don't they just send the mail by radio, or unmanned drone?"

"Because they told you to go," The Sarge snapped, "Shut up, strap yourself in and quit your whining, or would you rather I ship you to Mars in one of those unmanned drones? Cause I'd gladly stuff you into one if you open your mouth again."

"Problem Sarge?" Lieutenant Worth inquired as he took his seat, Lance already seated and strapped in nervously beside him.

"Nothing LT," The Sarge replied pulling his straps over his chest and attaching the buckle, "Just hope these Fleeters know what the hell they're doing is all."

"Faith Sarge," Dominic nodded firmly, stopping as he looked back towards the companion way as the engineer walked up them, wiping his hands on a soiled rag, "All secure?" he called out looking over the rows of seats and faces, nodding in satisfaction as he touched a hand to the headset of his roll-radio, "We're secure back here."

* * *

"We're good to go," Ryder observed, turning to VonGrippen, "awaiting your orders."

VonGrippen tilted his head back to her, years of commanding a starship kicking in as he squared his shoulders "let's get underway Lieutenant..."

Ryder nodded as she switched to the radio, "Tower this is STOAT flight Victor-Two-Nine requesting permission to taxi to the runway..."

"Negative Victor-Two-Niner, you have one more piece of cargo arriving. Standby."

VonGrippen frowned at the staff car sweeping across the apron towards them, speeding through the rain.

"I hate mudfoots," Ryder muttered, "can't seem to get their act together and be on time for anything." She glanced over at VonGrippen, "Know what this is about Commander?"

VonGrippen shook his head, "I'm not certain." He admitted truthfully, wondering if this complicated things or not.

The car swung round and out of sight as Robson reported that he was lowering theramp to let the newcomer onboard. An expectancy sweeping through each of them in anticipation.

"Damn naval spook," Robson reported in a hiss, the distinctive sound of a car door opening and closing in the background.

"Figures," Ryder commented dryly, "no way Intel would pass up a chance at trans-orbit. Though it might mean we get a higher priority when it comes to fighter coverage."

"One would hope," VonGrippen agreed, wondering about the Intelligence officer, shifting into his seat and gritting his teeth, "as soon as he is aboard contact the tower for clearance."

"Understood Commander," Ryder nodded, checking and waiting for the one red light on her panel that indicated the rear ramp was open to turn to green and give her a clear board. The moment it changed she dialled up the Tower again and obtained the clearance they needed.

* * *

Lance watched the Naval Lieutenant walk through the ranks of soldiers, a couple of snickers from the men as they murmured quietly derogatory comments about the Navy.

The officer took his seat in the row opposite Lieutenant Worth, stowing a flat black briefcase as the STOAT jerked and started to taxi towards the runway. He was a handsome man, too handsome in a way, like a ken doll with an almost artificial attractiveness, as if someone had sculpted his features that way and failed to smooth it out or make it seem even remotely natural.

The Lieutenant doffed his white peaked cap and tucked it onto his lap as he finished buckling in, turning his eyes away as he stared towards the bulkhead as everyone onboard the space craft felt the pull of the ship as it began to accelerate down the runway, the main drives kicking in as it catapulted skywards, jerking the passengers back into their seats as they climbed and gained altitude.

* * *

"Cavalry," Ryder nodded down to the Radar display on the console between them.

VonGrippen looked down at it, and up out of the window as the transport broke through the dark clouds into the radiant sunshine above. A dozen or so Valkyrie jump-jets screamed into escort positions around the transport, keeping a fighter screen around the STOAT, to protect it from the Americans that sought to prey upon anyone attempting such a flight.

VonGrippen listened to the ready chatter between the pilot's greeting the STOAT and informing it of their designations and their orders. He had a hard time at first, making out who was who, but while he listened he began to pick out the call-signs and the flight numbers, and identified who was who.

He rotated the data display around on the headset, positioning the optical display over his eye as he accessed the archive files. He checked their flight plan, reviewed the ship manifest and sat quietly thinking as the ship continued to accelerate towards escape velocity. He wasn't an engineer, nor a pilot, yet he still understood physics. The STOAT needed to achieve Mach-5 to attain escape velocity, the ion drives would fire, taking over from the jet engines that had gained them altitude, blasting them towards space.

It was there that he felt the Americans would attempt their interception. The moment the ion drives engaged the STOAT would leave its Valkyrie escort behind, accelerating well beyond the European missile screen and into low Earth orbit, territory that was unquestioningly an American control zone.

The five orbital defence platforms had been commissioned under a UN charter, but the United States had secured control of the platforms once their strategic importance had been determined. Each mounting an impressive array of cruise missiles and home to a squadron of Aero-space fighters, VonGrippen sought out the orbital paths, trying to pin-point where the attack would come from.

"Gamma Station," He said after a pause, flipping back the optical display and turning to Ryder, "It's the closest to our escape vector."

Ryder checked her instruments, "Are you sure? We're going to be flying over the American defence stations stationed in Africa..."

"By the time they attain a lock and fire," VonGrippen did a quick calculation to confirm, "Yes by the time we pass over them you will be ready to engage the ion drives and put us on a direct path for Gamma Station."

"Should I alter course to avoid it, sir?" Ryder inquired a little uncertainly, "It would deviate from our approved flight plan."

VonGrippen knew she was asking his opinion as her superior officer. It was his call and he knew that she expected an answer, "Alter course once we engage the ion drives, take us..." he flipped the optical display back into place and reviewed their options, pausing as he found what he was looking for, "Straight for Beta."

"Beta?" Ryder sounded uneasy, "But we'd be avoiding one orbital platform just to run down the throat of another."

"Yes, however Beta Station is currently over the South Atlantic, and in about five minutes it will come under fire from the Falkland's missile base." VonGrippen double-checked the course of Beta Station, nodding in satisfaction. The Americans had taken great pains to reposition Beta Station so that it would make an orbital pass over the British outpost that gave the United Kingdom a crucial base in the South American Campaign. Planning an orbital bombardment, their primary weapon systems pointing down towards the Islands, their Close in Weapon Systems keyed to deal with incoming missiles they would be too busy to deal with the escaping STOAT.

"Fleet Command isn't going to appreciate us getting into the middle of a fire fight." Ryder pointed out.

"Fleet Command isn't aboard this ship," VonGrippen sat back into his chair and folding his arms, "wait until we get confirmation of Beta launching its aero-space fighters to attack the Falkland's and engage the ion drives. Airborne they will be stuck carrying Air-to-ground ordinance, and so committed to their primary objective." He turned to look at her sceptical face, "we are simply, improving our survival options in order to complete our mission, Lieutenant."

"Understood Commander," Ryder replied watching the radar displays as they climbed higher, the STOAT hitting a pocket of turbulence as it bucked and rattled. Her hand flexed as she moved it over the main drive controls, ready to switch the engines over, seconds cycled down as Beta swung into the edge of weapons range of the Falkland Islands.

The missile launches from both sides were almost simultaneous, heavy cruise missiles slicing down through the atmosphere as the Falkland base returned fire, it's Valkaryie jump-jet's scrambling. Each outfitted with a heavy missile strapped to their fuselage. The A-Sat Mk-4 was a specially prepared weapon designed to be carried by fighters that would attain as much altitude as they could, bearing on their targets to deploy the 'ship killer' warheads that would ignite and streak to their targets. An evolution of the same missile system that was used to effectively shoot down observation satellites for over a century.

Beta station launched it's fighters, each bearing a full load of cluster bombs and bunker busters that were designed to penetrate the heavy fortifications that protected the Falkland's base. Both sides carrying enough firepower to annihilate one another many times over, hoping that one side had a lucky shot that would prove decisive.

In a war ruled by technology, it was simply a matter of luck. Skill had been replaced by AI assisted smart weapons, laser guided bombs and prayer.

"Firing ion engines," Ryder reported tapping the appropriate controls as the outboard engines flared to life, spluttering a moment as they ignited. The STOAT curving in a sharp bank and screaming away from it's fighter escort as it rocketed straight towards the hell storm of fire that was it's only key to escaping Earth.

It was a spectacular view as they climbed, white contrails rising from the ground sweeping past those descending, aero-space fighters diving through the midst of the explosive blossoms of light as they dove through the middle of the Valkyries, a whirling dog-fight of fighters screaming and chasing each other. Explosions flickering and flaring as Beta Station began to open fire on the incoming missiles with it's Aegis systems, pouring defensive missiles out to try to shoot down the deadly weapons that threatened its existence.

"Oh... my... God," Ryder breathed as the cruise missiles penetrated the defensive missile screens, slamming into the criss-cross network of support modules, explosively shredding the delicate framework that held the station together. One of the modules splintering away as the rest of the station began to disintegrate.

VonGrippen stared at the deaths of nearly a thousand people dispassionately, somewhere below a similar fate had befallen the Falkland's base. With so much destructive force brought to bear it was an inevitability that the only victor would be death as human beings annihilated one another.

"Increase speed," he ordered, shocking Ryder back into the here and now, she stared blankly at him a moment as VonGrippen gestured ahead, "Increase speed Lieutenant."

"Aye sir," She swallowed her professionalism returning as she adjusted the STOAT's trim and applied more power to the drives the small craft breaking Earth's orbit as it hurtled into space, curving about once it was clear to make the twenty-hour flight to Mars. The Lieutenant reporting their success at running the blockade back to Headquarters.

* * *

"We're not dead?" Squealer asked in shock.

"Shut it," Sarge growled again, unbuckling his belts as he pushed off from the seat. The STOAT was outfitted with artificial gravity systems that would engage as soon as Robson flipped the switch. The Sarge sailed over the rows of seats and caught himself on the gangway, pulling himself down as the engineer activated the gravity, a gentle settling that pushed Lance back into the padding of his crash seat.

Around him the troops were unhooking themselves, getting up to stretch as they worked out the kinks of the tense take off. Lieutenant Worth unbuckled himself and started forward towards the cockpit as the Naval Lieutenant rose.

"A moment Lieutenant," he said, his voice sounding haughty and overconfident.

"Sir?" Dominic inquired, knowing that a Naval Lieutenant was equivalent to an Army Captain, so the newcomer was his superior officer.

The Intelligence officer gestured Dominic over and flipped open his flat black briefcase, "you have a change in orders Lieutenant," he produced an envelope that he passed across to Dominic, "they order you to assist in a matter of state security, and since I am the ranking officer aboard this ship I am going to assume command..."

"I'm sorry?" VonGrippen stepped out of the forward compartment, resting his hand on his sidearm and tilting his head before he looked over at Dominic, "what's going on?"

"Sir," The Naval Lieutenant looked startled, as if he hadn't expected the presence of someone that outranked him. He darted his tongue across his lips and saluted, "Lieutenant Roki, Naval Intelligence, sir." He frowned trying to recognize the man standing before him, hand on his pistol. The Striking flacons... Roki's eyes went wide.

"Admiral Alexander Richard VonGrippen," Alexander replied calmly though his brow furrowed, "You must forgive my hearing, I thought I heard someone say they were the ranking officer on ship?"

Lance smiled as around him the soldiers sat up in surprise at the name, VonGrippen was a name well known amongst the British army. His reputation preceded the young Admiral. There was a murmur amongst the men as they realized who he was. A couple even sat forward in awe.

Orders or no, VonGrippen brokered no challenge to his authority in space, the RAF STOAT was outside of Earth's atmosphere, and he was a flag officer in a recognized superpower, remote as the House was, it still carried weight on the British ship. He was unquestionably in command.

"M-my apologies Admiral," Roki squirmed, like a child that had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He seemed to struggle with how he should proceed before he placed a warm smile on his face, "I have orders to re-direct this flight for an important Intelligence mission."

"May I see these orders Lieutenant?" VonGrippen extended his hand, his eyes never wavering from Roki's, holding them as his penetrating gaze searched for the lie. You didn't lie to VonGrippen, he could read the body language, and always possessed an intuition when it came to a lie that, after so many years of friendship, intimidated Lance.

Lieutenant Worth handed the envelope across to VonGrippen, looking uneasy as VonGrippen tore it open and scanned across the contents. He folded it once and handed it back to Dominic to gain his opinion on it. Dominic's jaw clenched as he looked up at VonGrippen and then over at Roki.

"They have the correct authentication codes," Dominic murmured.

VonGrippen nodded his ascent, scanning over the documents noting the destination, "very well Lieutenant," He addressed Roki, "perhaps you should tell me the details of this mission."

"I'm afraid that is strictly need to know, sir," Roki coughed uncertainly, why hadn't anyone mentioned that a ranking Admiral was on the STOAT. True VonGrippen's reputation was closer to a pirate than to a military officer, but face-to-face, Roki faltered.

VonGrippen's eyebrow twitched, "indeed, I expected as much. However, as the ranking officer, I should be made aware of the details pertaining to the safety of this ship and it's cargo. Unless of course your orders specifically grant you the power to relieve a superior officer of command?"

Roki faltered under VonGrippen's withering gaze, and everyone in the compartment witnessing the exchange gained the impression that Roki was up to something. His acting skills were decidedly lacking. It was the impression of a weasel attempting to cover a blunder caused by its own cleverness.

"No, sir." Roki murmured, "please set a course for Phobos and alter this vessels identification prefix to the one contained in the orders. And once we are within range of the moon I will outline the details to you, sir."

VonGrippen nodded, "very well Roki," He deliberately dropped the mans rank, keeping his firm gaze locked for a moment longer before he turned and marched back into the cockpit, closing the door audibly.

Lance relaxed back into his seat and watched Roki murmur a curse under his breath and glare at the men watching him as he stalked off towards the companionway and descending to the cargo bay below.

"Sir?" The Sarge asked moving up beside Dominic.

"Something's wrong," Lieutenant Worth replied folding his arms and staring towards the companionway.

"I think we all smell a rat," The Sarge dropped his voice so that the other men couldn't hear, whispering low into Dominic's ear. Dominic nodded a few times before he turned to walk forward, knocking on the cockpit door as the Sarge marched aft to keep an eye on the Naval Lieutenant.

* * *

Ryder set the autopilot, nodding to Dominic as she went back into the main compartment to make her rounds of the ship's systems. Leaving VonGrippen and Worth alone.

VonGrippen poured himself a cup of coffee from a thermos as he turned in his seat and rested quietly for a moment as the door closed behind the Sub-lieutenant.

"I didn't expect the spook," Worth admitted, "this complicates things."

"Mildly," VonGrippen replied holding up the orders, "but we only have to make it to Mars and rendezvous with the Shisak, and that may work in our benefit. I don't trust Roki for a moment."

"No," Dominic replied uneasily, "I figure he's trying to take advantage of the fact that we made it, but why I don't know. Whatever it is, I'm willing to bet those orders won't stand up to confirmation from Headquarters."

"But then I'm still supposed to be on Earth, and once they realize I am here they could order this vessel to turn around," VonGrippen sighed, "verifying his orders will generate far too many questions that none of us want answered. How do you want me to proceed?"

"You're in command, keep it," Dominic nodded firmly, "I don't trust Roki as far as I can throw him. At least I'd rather someone I know in command, even if you are... a pirate."

VonGrippen nodded, "A lot of people have their neck's out on this one. I'll do everything I can to keep this quiet."

"Couldn't ask for more," Worth sighed, feeling that such a simple plan had become so complicated, "I should get back to the men and explain what's happening."

"Right," VonGrippen nodded as he flipped the optical display back into place, "I for one am going to study the Martian terrain, and learn what I can about Phobos, I'd rather be prepared for what's to come."

* * *

Roki swore slapping his hands down atop one of the crates. He'd chosen the STOAT flight because it had been the only option he had to get off of Earth. But he'd been careful, he'd checked the manifest; it was supposed to be an Army Second Lieutenant and a Fleet Sub-Lieutenant in charge. That would have given him sufficient clout to pull rank, but luck had put an Admiral on board.

VonGrippen, he didn't know anything about Admiral VonGrippen beyond what was in the papers, that VonGrippen was a brilliant young commander that worked for some back water collective of colonies that rattled its sabres and expected to be taken seriously as a major player. He liked being prepared, foreknowledge that would allow him to manipulate the person in question. But VonGrippen had an unsettling look, like he could see right through his tissue of lies. Roki hated men like that; they refused to buy the line they were fed, like good little human beings.

GN-1's were more advanced, smarter, in better physical shape. And yet he was still intimidated by the ordinary, intimidated to the point when he had nearly given everything away.

He felt sick to his stomach, sitting down on a packaging crate. All it would take to unravel everything was a simple confirmation call back to Headquarters. They would instruct the STOAT that the orders he had been given were forged, and then... his mind shuddered and reeled as his imagination took over feeding him all the possible outcomes of being arrested for treason.

Damn Rikard and his requests.

Damn VonGrippen and his eyes.

Roki set his head in his hands and waited for the inevitable march of booted feet on the companionway that would herald his arrest.