“Not quite,” Drake said. “Pegasus. Specifically, Clarke III.”
Percy nodded slowly. He’d been on the surface while Warspite had been supporting the colony effort, practicing military deployments in utterly alien - and completely inhospitable - terrain. Clarke might have been fun, if the atmosphere hadn’t been poisonous; they’d joked, at the time, about setting up ski resorts and charging admission. But now, of course, the Indians were in possession of the gas giant’s moon. They’d have to be evicted before the colony could resume normal development.
“I read your file,” Drake said. “It was quite an interesting read. You joined the marines four years ago; you were assigned to Warspite as a Corporal one year ago and took part in the liberation of Vesy from the Russians. Captain Naiser left you behind, in command of Fort Knight; you served as a combination of outpost commander and diplomat until you were relieved. Quite an achievement for one so young.”
“Thank you, sir,” Percy said.
“You were promoted to Lieutenant and placed in command of the QRF,” Drake continued, calmly. “You were on the spot during the troubles on Vesy - eventually, you helped defend Fort Knight long enough to get the civilians off-world before it was too late. And you’ve been nominated for a couple of medals ...”
Percy frowned, inwardly. He’d tried to look up Drake’s record on MILNET, only to discover that anything beyond a bare acknowledgement of Drake’s existence - a standard precaution against walts - was classified well above his security clearance. But someone who held the rank of Captain in the SAS couldn't be dismissed. He’d have more practical experience on active duty than just about anyone Percy knew, save - perhaps - for Sergeant Peerce. It was unlikely - very unlikely - that Drake was genuinely impressed by Percy’s record. He’d have to wonder if Percy had been promoted too far, too fast.
“I shall be blunt,” Drake said. “You’ve been detached to my troop, Percy. I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, sir,” Percy said, automatically.
“We’re going to be deploying to Clarke,” Drake explained. “It won’t be the first planetary insertion we’ve done, Percy, but none of us have actually visited Clarke itself. You’re one of the few people we can tap for support. Your CO already approved the transfer before you came here.”
Percy had to smile. “Does this make me a trooper?”
“Not until you pass Selection,” Drake said. He smiled, openly. “But you will be fast-tracked through Selection when you get home.”
If I get home, Percy thought.
The thought sent chills down his spine. He’d heard stories of SAS deployments, including a number of stories that couldn't possibly have been turned into movies. No one would believe that such operations had ever taken place. Slipping undetected through a planet’s atmosphere was sanity itself compared to some of the crazier stories he’d been told. He looked at Drake and wondered, suddenly, just how many of them were true. Drake didn't look to be the sort of person who ever gave up.
“You’re better placed than some of the people we’ve had to take along,” Drake said. “You actually went through training, which is more than can be said for some of the intelligence officers. I assume you know how to fire a gun?”
“Yes, sir,” Percy said, stiffly. He knew it sounded as though he was being teased, but it was a very silly question. “I came first in my class of shooters.”
Drake smiled. “You’ll find we’re held to even greater standards,” he said. “We’ll be testing you out on everything from pistols to sniper rifles. Did you have any problems operating on Clarke?”
“Our weapons and equipment had to be cold-proofed,” Percy said. “They were designed for unpleasant environments.”
“Always good to check,” Drake said.
Percy couldn't disagree. There had been cases where weapons had worked perfectly in the laboratory, or out on the training fields, and then jammed up on active service. The oil had dried, or frozen solid ... it had cost lives, in the past. He’d been warned to be careful when he’d been deployed to Warspite; their equipment was rated for all environments, but it was well to be sure. Their weapons could not be allowed to fail when they were advancing on an enemy position.
“I won’t lie to you,” Drake said. “This will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. If it was completely up to me, you’d have weeks to prepare yourself for insertion, but we don’t have weeks. You’ll have a day with us now and then we’re transferring to Warspite.”
Percy brightened. “Yes, sir.”
“You’ll be in lockdown, though,” Drake added. “If you want to write letters or emails, you’ll have to send them through me. I would advise you not to send anything too explicit, but I could do with a laugh.”
“I’ll try to be blatant,” Percy said, dryly. “Or would you like me to download a romance novel and copy the interesting parts into an email?”
Drake laughed. “As long as it’s an interesting romance novel.”
Percy snorted. He’d always detested the thought of someone reading his private mail, but military security came first. That had been made very clear during his first deployment. The censors didn't really mind if a squaddie spent hours writing a letter to his girlfriend that detailed precisely what he intended to do with her when he got home, but they’d be furious if he accidentally revealed operational details. It would lead to an unpleasant interview with the soldier’s CO and perhaps an immediate flight home.
“I’ll pick something very amusing,” he said. Penny had given him a copy of one book featuring a Royal Marine for a joke and he’d been left with the impression that the writer had never set eyes on a soldier. But it had been funny, in a morbid kind of way. “Or maybe not write anything at all.”
“Good,” Drake said. “Once the ship is underway, you can meet your friends if you wish, provided you keep up with the training. I suggest, however, that you concentrate on working with us. We’re going to need to rely on you once we hit the surface.”
“Yes, sir,” Percy said.
Drake rose. “For the moment, you’re attached to B Squadron, 5 (Space )Troop,” he said, as he led the way towards the door. “You won’t be a Lieutenant, I’m afraid. I hope that won’t be a problem?”
“No, sir,” Percy said. He didn't hold any rank in the SAS. It was unlikely he’d be called upon to take command, or do anything other than share his expertise and serve as a footsoldier. Hell, if he did have to take command, there would be no one left to follow his orders. “I understand.”
“That’s a relief,” Drake said. He didn't bother to look back as he headed down the corridor. “Every so often, we get someone who wants to cling to his old rank.”
Percy wasn't really surprised. It hadn't been easy to get promotion - and he’d been lucky. He would have had to give up his rank if he applied to join the SAS, but officers attached to the SAS - willingly or unwillingly - might not be so keen to surrender something they’d worked to achieve. And yet, he was fairly sure he'd be allowed to keep his rank once he returned to his original unit.
He heard the sound of gunfire as they passed through a set of heavy metal doors and walked down a long staircase. The sound of shooting was growing louder; they stopped outside a second set of doors and donned ear protection before opening the doors. Inside, there was a shooting range, with a dozen men in black uniforms systematically firing their weapons towards a series of holographic targets. Four more men were kneeling on the floor, dismantling and reassembling their weapons; it looked very much as though the troopers were test-firing everything they had before boarding the shuttle for Warspite.
Drake put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, loudly. Percy watched with interest as the troopers turned to face their commander. They had nothing to prove, he noted; they weren't showing off their weapons or thrusting forward, trying to dominate the surroundings. There was something about the way they moved, an easy confidence in themselves, that was more impressive than any shouting or screamin
g.
They’ve already been through hell, he thought. He’d looked up SAS Selection when he'd completed the Commando Training Course and he’d been impressed. And then they went out and did the impossible.
“This is Percy Schneider,” Drake said, without preamble. “He visited Clarke III last year, which makes him the closest thing to an expert we have. He’s a Royal Marine with genuine experience, so don’t expect him to ask which end of a rifle fires the bullets. Sergeant?”
A tall man stepped forward. “Captain?”
“Check Percy out on our equipment - everything from environmental suits to weapons and communications gear,” Drake said. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow morning; I want him ready to go by then.”
“Yes, sir,” the Sergeant said.
Percy braced himself as the Sergeant studied him, forcing himself to meet the Sergeant’s eyes. Platoon Sergeant Danny Peerce had mentored him, first on Warspite and then on Vesy, but this Sergeant looked a great deal nastier. He’d have to worry about Percy’s qualifications, no matter what the files said. Percy hadn't gone through Selection and so there would be a question mark over his abilities.
“I am Sergeant Dale Lewis,” the Sergeant said. “You've seen active service, right?”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Percy said.
“Then you will have no trouble with our training,” Lewis said, with an evil smile. “Let’s go.”
The next few hours proved to be hellish. Percy knew he was in pretty good shape - he'd kept up with his training on Vesy - but running around after Sergeant Lewis felt like going all the way back to the Potential Royal Marines Course and starting again. Many of the weapons he was shown - and forced to fire time and time again until the sergeant was satisfied - were familiar, yet some were clearly unique to the SAS. It was lucky, he decided, as they moved to survival gear, that he’d had time on Clarke and Vesy. He had enough experience in using hardsuits to please even Sergeant Lewis.
“There isn't time to fit you out with booster implants,” Lewis said, as he led the way into the medical bay. A grim-faced doctor was standing there, holding a datapad in one hand and a pocket scanner in the other. “You may be at a disadvantage if you have to run after us.”
Percy nodded, curtly. “I’ll try and serve as the rearguard then,” he said. He’d heard that the SAS had booster implants - as well as implanted weapons and communications devices - but details had been sparse. However, if they were anything like the civilian models used by spacers, it would take weeks to learn how to use the implants. “How do your implants work?”
“That’s classified information,” Lewis growled. “Pass Selection and you’ll find out.”
The Sergeant didn't let up. As soon as the doctor had pronounced Percy physically healthy, he’d led Percy into a sparring room and tested him, ruthlessly. Percy had been trained in hand-to-hand combat, but the Sergeant was astonishingly fast and terrifyingly strong. It was a surprise, when the sparring came to an end, when the Sergeant reluctantly cleared Percy to accompany the troop and led him to meet the rest of the troopers.
Or maybe it shouldn’t have been, Percy thought, feeling his body aching. If Drake wasn't joking about officers who didn't know how to fire a gun ...
“We operate on a first-name basis here,” Lewis explained. The SAS common room didn't look that different to the one he recalled from Edinburgh, although it was cleaner than anything civilian. “And we have zero tolerance for bullshit.”
“Quite right,” a trooper said. He stuck out a hand for Percy to shake. “I’m Jimmy. I read your file. What was it like on Vesy?”
Percy hesitated. “Tricky,” he said, finally. “Hot, sticky and remorselessly political.”
Jimmy laughed and slapped Percy’s shoulder. “Sounds like fun,” he said. “And Clarke?”
“Cold, icy and deadly,” Percy said. “You wouldn’t last a minute without protective gear.”
“But at least it’s a free-fire zone,” Jimmy said. “There won’t be any aliens or civilians to get in the way when we engage the Indians.”
He waved Percy to a seat and passed him a can of Panda Cola. “Tell us about it.”
Percy nodded and started to talk. The troopers listened intently, without the jokes he would have expected from a rival branch of the military. But then, the troopers didn't have anything to prove; hell, some of them might have been drawn from the Royal Marines or had friends who’d served on Vesy too. They didn’t need to engage in horseplay to prove themselves.
“If you want to update your will, make sure you do it now,” Lewis said, an hour later. He’d listened quietly, sometimes asking questions to parse out more of the story. “Or check your email - remember, anything you send will be held in the buffers until someone’s had a chance to take a look at it. This is pretty much the only piece of downtime you’ll get, so enjoy it.”
“Aw, Sergeant,” Jimmy said. “We were hoping to take him to the pub.”
Lewis lifted his eyebrows. “Would you care to explain to the Captain while you’re all rolling drunk or puking during the shuttle flight?”
“Um ... no, Sergeant,” Jimmy said.
“Right answer,” Lewis said. “You’re in lockdown anyway, so behave yourselves. Percy, you have a bunk with the lads. Don’t worry about standing guard tonight - you’ll do enough of that on the ship.”
Percy nodded. He’d have to email Canella before departure - and Penny. She'd made it back to Earth - the Indians had returned her without delay - but he hadn't had a chance to talk to her. God alone knew what she was planning to do, apart from writing the full story of the disaster on Vesy. It might make interesting reading.
And I’d better hope no one here learns she’s my sister, he thought, as he headed for the nearest terminal. The media is the enemy of secrecy and security.
Chapter Six
HMS Warspite, Earth Orbit
“They do feel the urge to be melodramatic, don’t they?”
Penny Schneider had to fight down the urge to roll her eyes. It had been an hour since they’d boarded the shuttle and set off for an undisclosed destination and Darrel Stevenson had spent most of the time complaining about it. If he hadn't wanted to agree to the terms and conditions for being embedded with the military, she asked herself, why had he signed up in the first place? She, at least, had known what she was getting into when she’d signed on the dotted line. There might be a number of irksome security regulations - and the promise of a hefty jail term if she deliberately broke them - but there was also the prospect of a scoop. It was something she needed desperately to boost her career.
Because my stories weren’t unique when I was returned to Earth, she thought, sourly. The Indians had held her prisoner just long enough to devalue her experiences and allow other reporters - who’d escaped with the Royal Navy - to undercut her. I need something new as soon as possible.
She ran a hand through her long blonde hair as the shuttle rocked one final time. The gravity field shimmied, suggesting that they’d docked with a starship. She couldn't help a flicker of fear despite the anticipation, fighting the urge to request - demand - that she be taken back home. It wouldn't be the first time she’d travelled on a military ship, but it wouldn't be the same. This time, they were going to war.
I could die here, she told herself. She'd faced death before - on Earth, during the war - but this was different. Someone might blow the ship to atoms and take me with it.
The hatch opened. She rose to her feet and picked up her carryall, walking through the hatch and into a small airlock. The logo on the inner hatch was familiar, very familiar. She had to choke off a laugh as she realised she’d been assigned - again - to Warspite. Was Percy back onboard? He’d been on Vesy, the last time they’d met, but Fort Knight was no longer in existence. She knew he'd survived - she’d checked the records as soon as she’d been returned to Earth - but she hadn't been able to organise a meeting. Her sources had told her, in confidence, that everyone who’d had anything to do with the disaster
were being interrogated by various Boards of Inquiry to find out just what had happened. She could only pray that Percy hadn't been singled out as the scapegoat.
She smiled, despite her fears, as the inner hatch opened to reveal Commander Howard. She’d met him during the first trip to Vesy - as XO, he'd been responsible for supervising the reporters as well as his regular duties - and she rather liked him, although she knew he’d been careful what he’d shown her. She didn't fault him for that, but it was rather annoying. Naval personnel tended to stay firmly on-message whenever they thought they were being monitored by their superiors.
“Commander,” she said. “What a surprise to see you again.”
“There was a need for secrecy,” Howard said. He looked past her. “Mr. Stevenson. Welcome onboard Warspite.”
“Thank you,” Stevenson said. “Was it really necessary to hide the destination from us?”
“I’m afraid so,” Howard said. “I assume you paid close attention to your briefing?”
A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6) Page 6