“You're not happy at school, are you son?”
“I hate it Dad. I enjoy learning the languages, chatting to Scott, but after going on missions, car chases, shooting guns and having some great fights, school just sucks. Even the last mission, I got to kick the stuffing out of some sickos. In school, I have to read huge thick books written by some guy who has been dead for a hundred years or add up x=y+2. Who cares about that stuff, well apart from Scott?”
Ray placed his arm around his son’s shoulders and kissed him on the forehead. “Do you also think you can curse at me?”
“Em. No. I’m sorry about that, Dad. I was in a bad mood,” Jason said. He flashed his eyes at his father and grinned. “Am I forgiven?”
“No.” Ray caught Jason in a headlock and tickled him until he screamed for mercy.
*
Jason watched the buildings flash by. It was a three-hour drive to the Royal Navy command headquarters in Portsmouth. Jason's father drove a fraction over the speed limit as he always did. He wore his naval uniform and had made Jason wear his Sea Cadet uniform. When Jason had asked why they were going, he simply told Jason he would find out, and it was probably something he would like.
Jason assumed his father, who was a second Lieutenant, was being promoted to Captain, like his friend Bill Giles. Jason thought that he deserved a ship of his own to command now and was proud of him. He had noticed his father had closed his office door a few times while he had been on the phone, something he had never done before.
The drive was uneventful. Jason had broken the knob on the radio. Ray Steed had switched it to Radio Two for older songs, and Jason kept switching to Radio One for pop songs and made yawning noises when Radio Two was on. In a small struggle to control the station, the knob broke off. Now the radio was stuck on a farming channel. Worse still, they couldn’t turn it off. They had to listen to two hours of how to prevent pigs from getting mange mites and how to cure a fungi problem on Elm trees.
When they stopped at the Royal Naval headquarters, an armed guard dressed in Sailors uniform approached the car.
Ray wound down his window. “Commander Raymond Steed here to see Admiral Neville Hollyingberry.”
The guard saluted and looked at Ray's ID. He looked across at Jason and passed the ID back. “Go straight in, sir.”
Ray drove through the opened gate and noticed Jason was grinning. “What’s so funny?”
“Dad, you put on your posh voice when you said that, one is here to see Admiral Neville Hollyingberry,” Jason said putting on an upper crust accent.
Ray looked annoyed, and then smiled. “Best behaviour, Jason,” Ray ordered.
“I’m gonna laugh if you talk like that again. I can’t help it.” Jason smirked. “How long are you going to be seeing him for? Can I have a look around the base?”
“No, you're coming with me.”
Jason’s smirk disappeared. He had only met a Captain before, and that was Bill and he was a family friend. Jason knew Admiral Hollyingberry was Admiral of the fleet, the head of the Royal Navy.
Chapter Six
After a brief, wait Ray and Jason were shown into a conference room. Jason took in his surroundings—large pictures of Naval ships dressed the walls, and portraits of previous Admirals, going back to Admiral Nelson, hung from one wall. Three men sat at the table, one in uniform who Jason guessed was Admiral Hollyingberry, a slim grey haired man in a suit with a smile that looked fake to Jason, and a larger man in a black suit with his back to them.
Ray and Jason stopped and saluted.
The Admiral saluted back and stood from his seat. “And you must be Sea Cadet Jason Steed. I’m pleased to finally meet you young man. I have heard so much about you, although I expected you to be bigger.” Hollyingberry smiled and shook Jason’s hand. He looked at Ray and shook his hand. “This is Wallace Peters from the Ministry and you know George Young of course.”
Jason looked wide-eyed. “George. Em, hi, I never, em, what are you doing here?” Jason asked looking over his shoulder to see his father’s reaction.
“All in good time Jason, take a seat. Would you like some tea?” Hollyingberry asked.
Jason watched as a naval steward poured four cups of tea into fine china cups. He looked at George still wide-eyed and back at his father. He was trying to work out what was going to happen next; this wasn't what he had expected.
She looked at Jason. “What will you drink?” she asked.
“I’ll have a Coke please.”
“A repulsive drink. I’ve always thought. I've never understood the taste unless mixed with a little rum. But of course you shall have what you want,” Hollyingberry said.
The stewardess quickly paced to the fridge and brought a Coke for Jason. He was surprised he was being treated so well, something seemed out of place he thought. Wasn’t his father the guest of honour?
“I’ll explain, shall I?” Wallace asked, gently placing his cup back in the saucer and wiping his lips with a tissue. “Jason, we at the ministry have been concerned about you. I've been talking to the Admiral, your father, your school, and George Young. You've proven yourself over and over again.” He paused. “Although you seem to be having some problems at school and let's face it, St Josephs is one of Britain’s finest schools.”
“Yes, if you’re a nerd,” Jason said much to the amusement of George who had to cough to conceal his laugh.
“We are aware that being on an undercover mission and having assassins attacking you one moment then going back to school and being told not to run down the corridor the next must be very difficult for you. That’s why we have come up with the idea of sending you to QRMA,” Wallace said.
“QR… What, where?” Jason asked. He looked at his father. Ray reassuringly placed his hand on Jason’s knee.
Wallace continued. “Quentin Roosevelt Military Academy. It’s in South Dakota in the United States. It’s for students aged twelve to eighteen. The US has over seventy Military Academies; they take students from age eleven. The best of each of those schools are tested after the first year. Twenty-five, that’s less than one student from every two academies, make it to QRMA, so only the very best. Let’s face it, Jason, you're the perfect candidate for a military school. Unfortunately, we don’t have any in the UK. If we did, we're sure you would be top in your class. We've arranged with the US to send you to the Quentin Roosevelt Military Academy. In exchange, they wish to send two US Marines to train with the Royal Marines.”
Jason sat quietly, trying to take it all in while gently sipping his Coke.
“Have you heard of Quentin Roosevelt? Do you know who he was?” Hollyingberry asked.
“Yes sir, he was an American President,” Jason said.
“No, Jason. He was the son of President Theodore Roosevelt. He was an ace fighter pilot in World War One; he died aged twenty-one when his plane was shot down in a dogfight. The academy is named after him. It has a reputation of being the toughest military school in the world. Two US presidents and a total of ten, four star Generals all went to QRMA,” Hollyingberry explained.
“How long do I have to go for?” Jason asked.
The question wasn’t answered. The room fell silent until Ray eventually spoke.
“It will be your new school son. You’ll be enrolled until you are eighteen, just like you are at St. Josephs. You’ll board at the school and come home on term breaks and recess,” Ray said.
Jason bit his bottom lip. He wanted to ask more. How could he continue with Karate and Judo or see Catherine and Scott? For now, he kept the thoughts to himself.
“There are a few points I have to make Jason,” Wallace explained. “First of all, you must control that temper of yours. George filled us in on the Paddington station incident. I also understand you have been suspended from school for fighting. You'll be representing Great Britain; we will not tolerate any of that nonsense. The second point is more important. You'll be given access to the top US military academy, you will be roommates and classmat
es with future American leaders. You will also have access to many places that no other country can get within five miles.” Wallace paused and sipped his tea.
“Although the US are our allies we may from time to time ask you to keep an eye open and an ear to the ground. Do I make myself clear?” Wallace stiffened.
“I never agreed to that. Jason is a perfect fit for a military school, and that’s what he’s doing. He is not on another mission,” Ray said.
“It’s not a mission, Ray. We just want a report, that’s all,” George said. “We have people in the US who will make contact with Jason.”
Jason sat quietly, feeling miserable. He looked at his father. “I thought we were coming here today because you was getting promoted, getting your own ship.” The room fell into an awkward silence. Jason eventually broke it and faced Hollyingberry. “Yes, sir. I will do Great Britain proud.”
George faked a cough and spoke. “On another bright note Jason, we caught the person they called ‘The Doctor’ and rescued three more children. He is actually a surgeon from Great Ormands Street in London and was selling human organs to rich people who needed body parts. He also carried out heart transplants. You saved many lives with your actions. Well done.”
“George, are you forgetting your department is being investigated for excessive force? I think a total of four people were hospitalized after that mission,” Wallace barked.
“Jason got the job done and put the bad guys away. No more children will get hurt thanks to him. I can deal with the paperwork and all the hassle that follows,” George said.
Jason said three words on the entire journey home. One was “no” when asked if he wanted a drink and “not hungry” when asked if he wanted to stop to eat. Once they arrived home Ray let him spend a few hours alone before trying to talk to him again. He knew his son would have more questions and concerns.
“You don’t have to go. You can stay here and continue at St. Josephs or you can go to the world's top military academy. You choose Jason,” Ray said.
“Of course I want to go to the American military academy, but I’ll miss Catherine, Scott and—” Jason paused, his eyes filled with tears. “I’ll miss you.” Ray hugged his son. Jason’s exterior toughness always collapsed when it came to the love for his father.
Chapter Seven
Explaining to Princess Catherine he was going to school in America, which meant they would hardly see each other, went easier than he had expected. They had a strange friendship. She considered him her boyfriend and he called her his girlfriend. But they had not been able to spend much time together, and the time they had been together it was usually for a family birthday celebration. They never had time alone to talk and had become little more than friends.
Scott, on the other hand, had been difficult. Scott’s large brown eyes welled up. The two boys had become very close and shared a brotherly love. Scott was concerned how Jason would cope with his homework without him. Jason was concerned that the likes of Malcolm Vango would bully Scott once he wasn't there to protect him. Though Jason did thump Scott for saying he would take Catherine out on a date while Jason was away.
He was given instructions to travel in his Sea Cadet uniform. He had already sent ahead his measurements, so his new uniforms would be provided once he arrived, but it was a rule he came in his existing uniform.
*
May 1st 1975.
Ray took Jason to London’s Heathrow airport and found it difficult saying goodbye to his son. It would be two months before Jason returned and very likely that he would be away at sea when Jason came home. He was leaving himself in a few days to join the Royal Navy’s aircraft carrier, HMS Hermes. The housekeeper, Mrs. Beeton, would look after Jason or he would spend time with his grandparents in Scotland. They kissed goodbye and hugged. Jason walked through to the departure lounge and found himself with mixed feelings, both nervous and excited.
The nine-hour flight on a United States Boeing 747 was over much quicker than Jason expected. His stomach tightened as the plane touched down at Des Moines International Airport. He collected his bags, went through a military passport control, and noticed a solider holding a small board with the name Jason Steed written across it.
Jason approached him and saluted. “Jason Steed, sir.” Jason thought the solider was around twenty. He still had acne on his face. Peterson was written on his shirt breast pocket. Jason assumed that was his surname.
“Follow me and keep up.” Peterson grunted, turned, and marched towards an exit. Jason jogged behind, struggling to keep up while carrying his suitcase and shoulder bag. Peterson climbed into a military Jeep and started the engine. Jason threw his bags in the back. As soon as he lifted himself in, the Jeep sped off before Jason was sat down.
“Hi, I’m Jason.” Jason smiled.
“No, here you will be called Steed. I’m Peterson and pissed off. I never joined the army to chauffer snotty little rich kids around.”
So much for the friendly welcome, Jason thought to himself. “Then why did you join the US army?”
“To defend my country. Fight for our freedom.”
“You are. I thought some of the best US generals went to Quentin Roosevelt Military Academy. Do you help run the place?”
“Yeah, they turned out some good generals and a few president’s, but many of the students are spoilt little rich kids like you. No offence, but really what’s the point of sending a pretty boy like you here? I bet your family is loaded too.”
Jason frowned at Peterson. He wanted to argue, tell him that no wonder he was just a driver if he had that attitude. He chose to say nothing and enjoy the American scenery. The two hundred mile drive from Iowa to Quentin Roosevelt Military Academy in South Dakota took them almost four hours. Jason marvelled at the large cars and trucks, the long straight roads with motels and diners scattered along the route, scenes that he had only seen in movies.
The Jeep stopped at a guardhouse, an eight-foot high fence surrounded a large complex. It was dark, so Jason couldn’t quite make out the buildings. He was dropped off and told to go to the main building and report to Corporal Jones.
He struggled with his bags across the parade ground and headed to the largest building where the doorway was lit up. Jason inhaled deeply as he entered. It reminded him of HMS Raleigh, a British Naval base. The scent made him feel more at home. He knocked on the door marked Corporal Jones.
“Enter,” a voice from within said. Jason entered. The office was clean and orderly. A man in his early forties in a green US army blazer sat at a desk full of exercise books. Jason dropped his bags and saluted.
“Jason Steed, sir. I was told to report to Corporal Jones.”
Corporal Jones looked Jason up and down. “So you're the Brit. Not what I expected. You seem a little small for the top seventh grade military candidate in Britain. You’re twelve?”
“Yes, sir. I turned twelve in March.”
“Your classmates are from all over the country. The best from each state's military schools. I see by your uniform you were a Sea Cadet?”
“No, sir. I mean, yes sir. But I’m still a Sea Cadet,” Jason stuttered.
“Not anymore, Steed. Your new uniform will be in your room. Now you're a US Army Cadet. If you graduate, when you're eighteen you can choose from he Army, Navy, Royal Marines, Coast Guard, or Air force.” He looked at Jason and pointed. “What are those ribbons on your chest, merit badges?”
“No, sir. One is the Victoria Cross and the other is the Queen's Award for Bravery.” Jason smiled and proudly stuck out his chest.
The corporal frowned at Jason. “In the United States. you can only wear a medal that you are awarded. Don’t tell me you were awarded them.”
“Yes sir, I was. I was a survivor in the Jakarta Massacre. The Queen awarded them to me in a private ceremony.”
“Really?” Corporal Jones smiled and saluted Jason. “We heard all about the massacre of the Sea Cadets. We heard a few survived. One even escaped with a cassette we
had that armed a nuclear warhead. The survivors where very lucky. I can see why they sent you here now. It’s an honour to meet you, Private Steed.” He came around his desk and shook Jason’s hand.
Something he said puzzled Jason but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, so he ignored it.
Chapter Eight
Corporal Jones marched up the stairs with Jason following behind. Jones was over six foot with large legs so he took the stairs two at a time. Jason battled with his bags to keep up with him. He followed the man along a corridor, with rows of doors either side.
Jones explained, “This floor is reserved for year one as far as Quentin Roosevelt Military Academy is concerned or 8th grade as you're probably used to. All students on this floor are aged twelve to thirteen. Next year if you're still here, you'll go up a level.” He stopped and waited for Jason to catch up. “Here we are room twenty-five.” He knocked on the door.
A boy with red hair opened the door. Jason thought he was about twelve, maybe thirteen; he wore just his Pajama bottoms, his mouth full of frothy white paste and a toothbrush. He saluted when he noticed Corporal Jones; he stood back and allowed them both in.
“This is Private Luttrell. He's been here, like most of the other students on this floor, for eight months. You're behind all of them so you'll need to play catch up.” He looked at Luttrell. “You have a new responsibility. Show Private Steed around and let him know how things work. If he gets lost or screws up I’ll blame you.” He saluted, stamped his heels, and marched out of the room.
Jason held out his hand, but Luttrell ignored it and dashed to a sink and spat out his mouthful of toothpaste. Jason took in his surroundings of the dorm room. It had bunk beds; the lower bunk had bedding folded neatly and had some uniforms laid out. The top bunk looked like it had been slept in. There were posters on the walls of air force fighter planes, bombers, and an aircraft carrier.
On one wall a huge flag was hung. Jason looked at it; it was three colors—red, white, and blue with a white star in the center of a blue vertical stripe. The room had a sink that Luttrell was rinsing his mouth in plus two wardrobes and two desks side by side.