Night Gathers

Started raining. It wasn’t exactly a surprise as the fleet just got out from the eye of the storm. Even so, the crews warmly welcomed the weak sun rays traversing rain clouds. The worst was over.

In the flagship’s bridge, the Admiral and the Lord Councillor stared the calm seas before them. They sailed two months ago, only to cross fire and death, blood and steel. The whole wrath of the enemy and even nature itself appeared to be against them but here they were, triumphant as the name of Her Majesty’s ship beneath them. Somewhere ahead, beyond those calm waters, was the island they called home. So close, yet so far.

The Lord Councillor had a melancholy deep impressed in his eyes. He was a peer of the realm, a duke from an ancient House. A victor, soon to be promoted to something almost as high as the Crown itself. He was all of this things, yet he felt lost. The war which started three years ago was over and a lion’s share of the victory belonged to him. But while the country had fought the war for honor, he couldn’t care less for that.

He had fought for her, for the promise made to her body, covered in the ashes of a burning city. And now, when he finally fulfilled it, he felt empty inside. A hole so deep that an empire reborn couldn’t fulfil.

The Duke of Somerville, Lord of the Privy Council, Knight Commander of the Order of the Garter and soon to be made Lord Paramount of the British Empire rose his head. His friend, Admiral Connington, was saying something about the kind of welcome they would receive. Without looking at him, Lord Somerville left the bridge and went downstairs to the flight deck. The super aircraft carrier HMS Triumphant was a proud ship and her crew respectfully opened way to the Lord they knew to have led them to glory.

They were getting close to England. For Admiral Connington and the five hundred ships at his command, spread around the globe, this was the end. For half a million britons who would never return, heroes, it was already over. To those who survived, britons, canadians, australians and new zelanders — there was no end, just a golden new beginning.

Down at the flight deck, he stood alone. He felt the ship rocking in the sea, the small waves crushing at the ship’s hull, a change so welcome, after the burning wrath of missiles. He smelled the salt in the air and the cold breeze of the North Atlantic.

Lord Somerville stood alone. The sun was gradually taking over the clouds. For him, there was no beginning nor end. Only the memories of a woman and the nightmares of a lost future, never to come true.

Lord Somerville started to make his way back to the bridge. The russians were defeated, the europeans, left behind and the Empire, reborn. Katherine was still dead and while the sun shone strong for half a billion people beneath the Union Jack, to him, night gathered. No sense in standing at a false sun.

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