Traveller Probo

Court-Martial Transcript

Colonel Trent: Prosecution

“In summary, can we suggest that Captain Helen Murdoch permitted her troops to be deployed into a situation that any reasonable person, especially a trained officer of the Crown, would consider as excessively hazardous? As a result, every one of the Special Forces personnel deployed were wounded. Three almost fatally.

“Let me summarise:

“Lieutenant Tony Osborne of the Australian SAS was grievously wounded, having an arm severed in the most barbaric fashion by a Viking axe.

“Senior Sergeant Steven Morris of the Canadian Joint Task Force 2 received life-endangering internal injuries due to a spear thrust to his abdomen, having survived only due to the light chainmail armour he, like the rest of the team, had been wearing.

“Australian SAS Sergeant Michael Hunter was wounded with a spear thrust through his shoulder. The wound was so deep the spear point barely missed his lung cavity and protruded out of his back.”

“In addition, all involved suffered cuts and bruises. Sergeant Ian McAlister and Sergeant Andy Poxon, both of the Her Majesty’s SAS, suffered facial fractures, and Sergeant Mike Hurley, also of Her Majesty’s SAS, received severe concussion. In addition, all of these specially-trained elite personnel who travelled to Saxon England on that fateful mission have been evaluated to suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress, all because of a decision that might be considered questionable at best.”

Major Vialls: Defence

“Um, may I remind the board that while Captain Murdoch was the commanding officer for the training of the Saxon Traveller team, the ultimate responsibility of the programme was in civilian hands, under the guidance and authority of Professor Adrian Taylor? As you will note from her written statement, Captain Murdoch confirms that, though she initially advised against the team members being sent to the destination time of circa 1012AD, the structure of her command gave the team members and, ultimately, Professor Taylor, the final say in the matter.

“The purpose of the mission was to extract Sergeant Hunter. Captain Murdoch had no military command of the situation. She was, through the consent of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces, best described as a contractor to the project. This unique situation can be confirmed by the Court Martial Board, detailed in the Project Saxon Traveller guidelines ratified by the Minister for Defence. A copy has been provided to each of the board and the prosecution.”

Court-Martial Board Member

“We are also concerned with any influence Sergeant Mike Hurley may have had, directly or indirectly, on the decisions of Captain Murdoch, given their relationship for about five months prior to Sergeant Hurley being sent to the Saxon past. On his second return, would you suggest he convinced Captain Murdoch to permit the participation of the entire team?”

Major Vialls: Defence

“The testimonies of Captain Murdoch, Sergeant Hurley, and of Professor Taylor, confirm that Captain Murdoch was the one who opted to prevent the mass Transportation of the Saxon Traveller team. Only on the insistence of the other team members, and with the prior agreement of Professor Taylor, was that action permitted. All witnesses confirm that, in this matter, Sergeant Hurley was largely silent.”

“I don’t need to remind the board that these men had trained together for about a year. We each, of course, understand the all-pervading motivation of team unity, of never letting down your team, or, in the common refrain in of Her Majesty’s forces, ‘never let down your mates’. Given their freedom and competence to make decisions for themselves, the team members worked within the agreed project parameters and made their own, joint decision.”

“Rather than target someone to blame, we must acknowledge the courage exhibited by each of the Saxon Traveller team in wishing to make the potentially hazardous journey one thousand years into the past. They willingly travelled to a world that was inherently dangerous, and though they were sent to rescue Sergeant Hunter, they ended up protecting the relatively defenceless Giolgrave villagers against marauding Vikings. While the popular media has made much of the glamour of their actions, we must remember the choice was ultimately theirs.”

Board Member

“Very well Major Vialls, point taken.”

“Colonel Trent, do you wish to pursue the fact that Captain Murdoch was pregnant at the time? You earlier implied that her delicate state might have assisted in what you have described as having clouded some of her reasoning?”

Colonel Trent

“No My Lord, we don’t deem such comments to be appropriate or necessary.”

***

New Zealand

Hami’s lips formed Pokere’s name while Ngawa helped him to his feet. He staggered, groggy from the blows he had received to his bloodied face. His bottom lip was savagely split so that it flapped as he spoke, while a nasty gouge had been carved in his cheekbone by a grubby thumbnail.

Ngawa was yelling. “Pokere, he’s not here sir. We have to get him! He’ll be right there!”

The Officer in Command of the military component of New Zealand Traveller was Captain Shayne Marshall of the NZSAS. He brusquely issued orders to the three guards assigned to the Transporter Area of Convergence. Marshall had just come in from a meeting in the office next to where the Transporter was housed.

Mel Chandler had also been at the meeting, together with the New Zealand project head, Professor Peter Avery. The three of them had been planning how to best manage the public communications regarding overwhelming success of New Zealand Traveller. Over tea, they had cramped the untidy office. As technical manager, part-owner and one of the inventors of the Transporter, Mel’s primary emphasis was to coordinate the safe removal of all Transporter equipment. It was vital it was removed before the inevitable media scrum. The device was to be air-freighted on their private jet back to England in time for their regular contact with Michael Hunter in Saxon England.

No stranger to fame, Mel knew every person involved in any Traveller project was likely to be elevated to a global media profile. Someone once described it as the fame enjoyed by astronauts in the early days of space travel, so Professor Avery and the Captain had their work cut out for them in trying to manage the media.

Now, there was this unexpected return. She had been training local technicians to oversee the day-to-day operation of the Transporter but the arrival of Ngawa and Dr Chow with the midday data upload meant there had been an emergency. Having been on hand with the post-battle return of the Saxon Travellers in England, Mel felt her heart in her mouth. Any emergency involving the Transporter meant lives at risk.

Marshall ordered the injured Dr Chow to be assisted onto a wheeled office chair by one of the soldiers. Ngawa spoke briskly, something about an attack and Marshall glared at Mel, his pale eyes framed by white eyebrows that gave him a cold, hard look. Only moments ago, in the convivial atmosphere of their office meeting, Marshall had been the epitome of urbanity. Now he was the man of action, where lives would be saved or lost based on his decisions. Mel had heard that Marshall’s nickname was Phantom, because his fair complexion had earned him the jocular description by his troops as the ‘Ghost that Kills’. Tea and cookies forgotten, he immediately barked at her, “Mel, get this unit working now! We have my men to bring back!”

Mel nodded and sprang into action. They had often practiced the procedure for an emergency evacuation, though each mission had its technical limitations. The Area of Convergence was determined by the size of the operational fields and was the area into which the Travellers would step for Transportation into the past. Because the prefabricated buildings for the New Zealand Traveller Project needed to make sure the Travellers were placed close to the ancient village but away from the suburban sprawl of 21st Century Auckland, the structure did not have a lot of space. Add the constraints of the newly developed disease-control screens and the Area of Convergence was cramped. That meant only two men could be Transported at any given time, a situation once considered of little consequence, given the observational nature of the New Zealand research model. Marshall turned to interrogate Ngawa, to evaluate the situation on the ground, while Mel and her two technicians performed the emergency extraction procedure in record time.

When activated, instead of two Travellers, Mel was horrified to see two big men appear on the floor of the Area of Convergence. The Perspex quarantine screens burst asunder as the men wrestled and cursed. Only one wore army fatigues while the other was dressed only in a reed skirt called a piupiu. It was immediately obvious that he was a local Maori villager.

“My God!” cried Mel in horror. “We’ve brought back a local!”

Ngawa snatched a rifle from one of the soldiers who was stunned into immobility. With a curse, he smashed the butt of the weapon against the back of the Maori warrior’s head. The unperturbed Marshall immediately ordered the removal of the interloper while a stunned army medic cared for the injured Hami. With difficulty, a soldier and Ngawa hauled the warrior not too gently off to one side. The big man struggled to regain consciousness, so Marshall pointed to the newcomer and spoke curtly to the medic. “Make sure he doesn’t wake up!” he ordered.

Mel watched the badly shaken army medic shuffle in his kit as he searched for an injection to make sure the warrior did not awaken soon. She had, of course, become well acquainted with all of the support team. The medic was a father of two who was on-site for the potential treatment of cuts and scratches and, as he described it, “The results of man’s unending stupidity when faced with military equipment.” This emergency had literally appeared from nowhere and it became obvious that none of the support group knew what to do. Like the rest of the team on location, the medic had become used to the low risk mission and enjoyed a relatively relaxed time away from normal regimental duties. There had been little to do but chat and joke.

Now, in the sudden chaos, the support team was shocked, frightened, and distressed. One of the guards, a regular army private, gingerly picked up a previously unnoticed parcel by the braided flax strap that was knotted through the tops of its ears. The severed head had left a bloody mess on the clean white tiles and when lifted, Markus’ face was barely recognisable. It was enough for Mel and the on-site technicians to cry out in horror. The soldier recognised the remains of a man they had bid a friendly farewell to only hours earlier and dropped the gruesome trophy with a heavy, wet thud as he gagged noisily before vomiting onto the floor. Mel felt her gorge rise and had to swallow a few times but the young woman she had been training was not so successful. She began to sob before she was also sick. Mel was relieved that she made it to the wastepaper bin by their terminal. With a trembling hand over her mouth, Mel looked to the other technician and imagined her face was like his; waxy, pale and appalled.

Accompanied by Ngawa and the two SAS facility guards, Captain Marshall, armed with a Steyr, headed for the Area of Convergence. “This’ll fix the fuckers,” he muttered with satisfaction.

In the doorway, Professor Avery called out in concern. “Captain, is this the right choice? The UN will crucify us!” They all knew the latest United Nations guidelines in the use of the Transporter specified that on no account was any rescue force to be sent to the past to offer aid to researchers. The historical consequences were considered, by some, to be unknown and potentially serious. Mel had been on hand when the team of Special Forces Travellers were rushed into the English past to rescue Hunter and then defend the villagers of Giolgrave against Viking marauders. Some argued that those actions could affect the ‘Now’ while others believed that history had already happened and that any action taken by a research team was already in history. The latest theory was that, with proper planning and limited contact, rescue missions were deemed unnecessary.

Though Mel never agreed with the non-rescue rationale, as part of their agreement the New Zealand government and researchers had signed off on all protocols before they took temporary possession of the Transporter. In theory, any lost or threatened researchers unable to access the Area of Convergence would, literally, be on their own. It was also considered too risky to the team members and the valuable equipment to activate the Transporter if hostiles were considered to be in the area, which was plainly the situation here.

Captain Marshall looked to Mel, “Act sharp Mel! Don’t lecture me now! I know what you’re going to say! My priority is my men and I’ll be buggered if I leave any of them in the lurch when they’re a step away. Send us as soon as you can, in fact send us NOW!” he barked.

The commander turned and pointed at Professor Avery, his previously amiable face like flint. “Also Professor, you sort this shit out and leave the soldiering to me!” He then turned to Mel and reiterated, “Just make sure you have this Transporter activated to return us as quickly as you can.” Mel did not reply but her hands shook and she called to her assistants to work with her, hoping action would take their minds from the bloody mess on the floor. She was terrified what might come back through the field, especially once all of the guards and rifles were gone. Her assistant trembled while the young woman technician continued to kneel by the waste bucket, temporarily useless for the task at hand.

Someone pushed past Mel and she was aware of the smell of damp, sweat, guns, disinfectant, and above all, the oddly metallic odour of blood. Hami looked determined to join the small rescue party.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” asked Captain Marshall, his face suddenly sympathetic.

Hami simply shrugged in reply, his broken lip already badly swollen. A white dressing had been hastily applied to his gouged left cheek. “You need me,” he muttered and attempted to smile, causing a spill of blood that ran down his chin. Captain Marshall simply turned and nodded to Mel.

As was always the case with Travellers, the men straightened, head up and shoulders back as they prepared for Time Travel, one of the most miraculous events any human could comprehend. Marshall and Ngawa immediately winked out of sight as if they had never existed.

A grim looking young SAS soldier, whom Mel knew to be quite a lad with the ladies, stood with the beaten but not broken Hami in the Area of Convergence. They stood a moment and then were simply gone. A second soldier, the one who had vomited, was then sent with the last of the guards. His was a face pale but grimly determined, embarrassed at his weak stomach moments earlier. They were to be sent into the distant and dangerous past as they clutched their weapons nervously, with no idea what to expect.

Distant sirens heralded the impending arrival of ambulances and police. Of the team, only two technical assistants, Mel, Professor Avery, a wearily slumped Dr Chow and the medic remained. The medic was armed, though with only a sidearm. He was to monitor the Area of Convergence, his pistol ready in case unwanted visitors arrived. The facility felt empty and, with their unexpected visitor propped against the once pristine, white wall, there was a feeling of terrible vulnerability. Under orders to activate the Transporter every five minutes until the team members returned, Mel and her team were kept busy, so it was with more than a little relief that Professor Avery opened the doors to two wide-eyed policemen who had responded to his emergency call. Their surprise was evident when they saw the bloodied warrior, clad only in traditional costume. Professor Avery silently pointed to the fallen warrior as the medic knelt to check the big man’s vital signs. “This fellow is drugged but he might come out of it soon. He has to be restrained!” he explained nervously.

Max - or Ruhi as he was known by his village, was smeared with damp blood. Though some of it was his own from a nasty gash on his forehead, most was Elkington’s. Sticky blood covered his face, soaked his wild beard and smeared the wall as police rolled him onto his side. His impressive bulk and unconscious dead-weight made him almost impossible to shift. When the police strained to position his hands behind him - a mission in itself because of his powerful arms and feeble struggles, they found their handcuffs would not fit. The older of the policemen nodded. “Back in a sec,” he grunted as he ran to their car to return with thick plastic ties. “These plastic ties should keep him under control,” he explained. “Sometimes they’re used for some of our bigger Islander lads when they’ve had too much to drink.” He smiled grimly as they zipped the ties around the big man’s wrists.

The medic injected more drugs and appeared terrified to even touch the big man.

“Careful gentlemen,” muttered Dr Chow wearily. “He’s one of those responsible for that,” and he pointed with a trembling finger to the severed head that had been placed on an overturned office rubbish bin. The younger of the two police immediately paled while the older cop swore. “Who was that?” he asked aghast while the younger cop made an odd noise in the back of his throat, gagged, and then retched noisily. The bin and the floor had already been decorated by vomit so did not aid the young policeman’s attempts not to be sick. The stomach-turning smell permeated the facility and Mel and the male technician’s faces paled even more.

The young woman technician began to cry. “I gotta get out, I just gotta get out,” she sobbed as she wrung her hands and fled outside, in deep distress.

Dr Chow shrugged and passed a hand over his face. The horror of the past few hours looked to be only just setting in and the medic spoke to him gently, helping him through the impending shock. “He was one of our team. Corporal Markus Brown was his name,” Dr Chow swayed where he sat and Professor Avery’s eyes widened as his hand flew to his mouth. “You should have seen what they did to Elkington,” the academic continued. “Special attention is traditionally directed to the enemy’s head as the Maori considered it the most sacred part of the body.” He sighed sadly, and then sagged. Mel felt sickened and wondered what horrors the poor man had experienced.

Dr Chow then covered his eyes with his good hand and his shoulders shook as he quietly began to sob.