They’ll be hiding near the tramline, if they’re there, he thought. The hell of it was that there was no way to know if there was a watching ship or not. It was quite possible that Warspite would slip past the picket and jump through the tramline without either of them having the slightest idea the other was there. They couldn't hope to pass on a warning without being close to the tramline.
“Passive sensors are clear, Captain,” Tara reported. “There’s no hint of any enemy presence.”
Which proves nothing, John thought. The Indians could be pretending to be a hole in space.
“Set course for Tramline B,” he ordered. He took a moment to consider his options. “We’ll slip through at Point Delta.”
“Aye, Captain,” Armstrong said.
Howard gave him a sharp look - travelling to Point Delta would add an extra seven hours to the journey - but said nothing. There was simply no way to predict where the Indians would be lurking, if indeed there were any Indians. All they could do was crawl from one tramline to the other, every passive sensor primed for the slightest hint of an enemy presence. It was unlikely in the extreme they’d reach point-blank range without realising how close they were, but the possibility couldn't be ruled out. He’d just have to pray.
The Indians could have seeded the system with recon platforms too, he thought. He wouldn't have wasted the money, but the Indians would need as much advance warning as possible before the Royal Navy arrived. And they’re even stealthier than a starship.
“Course laid in,” Armstrong said.
“Engage,” John ordered.
The display didn't change as Warspite made her way towards Tramline B. John kept a sharp eye on it, even though he knew there would be an alarm if something popped up. In hindsight, perhaps it would have been better to formally claim the system, even though it was useless. They would have legal grounds for engaging any Indian starship they encountered within J-35. But, technically, it was neutral space.
These ROE will be the death of us, he thought, grimly. It was so much easier when we were fighting the Tadpoles.
He forced himself to sit back and check through the latest set of reports from the SAS. Drake - he wasn't called a Captain onboard ship, where both Hatfield and John himself shared the same rank - had updated his deployment plan, confirming that they intended to make their way to Clarke and land on the icy moon. John was privately impressed - he’d seen the stealth shuttle and knew it would be a bitch to fly - but he knew they’d have to wait and see what the Indians were doing before they risked allowing the SAS to go in. Even a stealth shuttle could become visible if something went badly wrong.
“Commander Howard, get some sleep,” he ordered. “It’ll be fourteen hours before we’re ready to jump. Report back at 2100.”
“Yes, sir,” Howard said, reluctantly.
John didn't blame him. The sensation of being watched was growing stronger as they made their way further into the system. Sleep wouldn’t come easy for either of them. But there was no choice. They had to be reasonably fresh and alert when they jumped through the tramline to Pegasus. Or, for that matter, if they encountered an Indian warship. He nodded firmly towards the hatch - Howard saluted and walked off the bridge - and turned his attention back to his console. Whoever had said that war was long hours of boredom, broken intermittently by moments of screaming terror, hadn't known the half of it.
The display bleeped. “Captain,” Tara snapped. “One starship just jumped into the system, Tramline B.”
Which means she actually arrived an hour ago, John thought. FTL communications were still a pipe dream and FTL sensors even more so. What is she?
He looked at the tactical officer. “Can you ID her?”
“I think she’s a courier boat,” Tara added. “She’s not making any attempt to hide, sir; she’s just blazing across the system to Tramline A. I think she’s actually pushing her drives to the limit.”
John felt a flicker of paranoia. Had they been detected after all? Had an unseen picket ship jumped through to Pegasus and sounded the alarm? Or was it just a coincidence? It shouldn't have been possible for the enemy to detect their presence, but the Battle of New Russia had taught the Royal Navy that its assessment of what was technologically possible was rather inadequate. But if the Indians had developed some form of FTL sensor, the war was within shouting distance of being lost anyway.
“Project her course,” he ordered. “Is she going to come anywhere near us?”
“No, sir,” Tara said. “She’s on a straight-line course for Tramline A. She shouldn't come anywhere near us.”
“Keep an eye on her,” John ordered. Courier boats were really nothing more than drives and tiny living quarters - their crews tended to be a little weird, even by spacer standards - but it was possible the Indians had outfitted their ships with enhanced sensors. The Indians didn't have enough ships to risk over-specialisation. “Let me know if she changes course.”
“Aye, sir,” Tara said.
John briefly considered trying to intercept the ship, but rapidly dismissed the idea as pointless. Even if he managed to catch up with her - the courier boat was faster than Warspite in stealth mode - the mere act of intercepting her in J-35 would tip off any watching starships. They might succeed in capturing a tiny courier boat, but the real mission would be hopelessly compromised. Instead, he watched the courier boat on the display until she reached the other tramline and vanished. Wherever she was going, he knew all too well, she was definitely on her way.
It was odd, though; he brought up the starchart and puzzled over it. The Indians would need to send messages to Earth - that was a given - but they could do it quicker by sending them through the tramline to Vesy and then to Gandhi. At that point, the messages could be sent through the communications chain, shortening the trip by a week. Had they sent something so secret they hadn't wanted to take even the slightest risk of being intercepted ... or were they trying to force him to reveal his presence?
But it doesn't make sense, he told himself. They would have needed to slow down if they wanted to tempt us into an interception.
He looked up, five hours later, as Howard stepped back onto the bridge. The XO looked disgustingly fresh; he’d clearly taken the opportunity to have a shower, don a clean uniform and get something to eat before reporting for duty. John didn't blame him in the slightest, but it was still irritating. There was no way John wanted to leave the bridge, yet he needed his rest too. They had to be fresh, he reminded himself again, for when they jumped into Pegasus.
“Inform me the moment anything changes,” he ordered, as he rose. “You have the bridge.”
“Aye, sir,” Howard said. “I have the bridge.”
John walked through the hatch and down to his cabin. The hatch opened when he touched his hand against the sensor, allowing him to step inside. A pot of coffee was steaming merrily on the side table; he resisted the temptation to pour a cup and drink it as he undressed rapidly and climbed into bed. He didn't really expect to sleep, but darkness fell the moment he closed his eyes. It felt as if no time at all had passed before the alarm buzzed, jerking him back to wakefulness. When he glanced at his watch, it told him that six hours had passed.
I need a proper rest, he thought, as he pulled himself out of bed and checked the ship’s status display. He’d hoped to have a chance to visit Sin City and find some non-judgemental company for a couple of days, but between the debriefings and getting Warspite ready for departure there simply hadn't been time. I could book a hotel room on Earth and just sleep in it for a week.
He pushed the thought aside as he keyed the intercom, ordering breakfast, and then stumbled into the shower and lowered the temperature as far as it would go. The cold water jerked him awake; he washed himself hastily before stepping back out of the shower and drying himself as fast as possible. His old uniform would need to be cleaned; he pulled a new one from the locker and donned it hastily. The hatch chimed; he tapped a switch to open it, allowing the steward to en
ter with a small tray of food.
“Cook says this is the last of the waffles, Captain,” the steward said. “We’ll be on reprocessed foods from now on.”
“Thank you,” John said. Most civilians preferred not to think about what went into reprocessed food. Hell, it had taken him weeks to get over it, back when he'd entered basic training. There were candidates who never did. “It can't be helped.”
The steward saluted and retreated. John poured himself a cup of coffee, sat down and started to eat. The waffles wouldn't have been considered particularly good on Earth, but in space they were heavenly. He drank the coffee, checked the status display for the second time and then headed back to the bridge. Howard would have made sure the remainder of the crew had their own chance to sleep.
“Captain,” Howard said. “We are within an hour of Tramline B. No enemy contacts; I say again, no enemy contacts.”
“Thank you,” John said. “I relieve you.”
“I stand relieved,” Howard confirmed.
John sat down and checked the near-space display. It was empty; the only cause for concern the ship’s sensors had noted was a handful of flares on the surface of the sun, brief discharges that might cause problems for any starships that slipped too close. Warspite was well away from them, he noted; there shouldn’t be any danger. But it wasn't uncommon for astronomers to take their ships too close to a particularly interesting cosmic event and end up dead.
“Captain,” Armstrong said. “We should be heading through the tramline at Point Delta within forty minutes. Do you want to alter course.”
“Negative,” John said. “Steady as she goes.”
He braced himself as the tramline moved closer, feeling the tension rising on the bridge. Logically, there was no reason to expect the Indians to know precisely where to put their watchdogs to intercept Warspite, but it didn't matter. The sense they were being watched was growing stronger all the time. If the Indians had scattered a handful of recon platforms around, they’d be completely undetectable. Unless, of course, they made a deadly mistake and went active.
Or if they opened fire, he thought, morbidly. They’d be quite visible when they started spitting missiles towards us.
“Prepare for jump,” he ordered. “Ship’s status?”
“All systems go,” Howard reported. “Stealth mode has not been compromised.”
John hesitated. They could run a sweep around the tramline, but there was no way to be entirely sure there were no watching eyes. It had been easier - much easier - during the first war, when he’d been a lowly starfighter pilot. He hadn't been responsible for an entire ship and crew, not back then.
“Take us through the moment we enter the tramline,” he ordered.
“Aye, Captain,” Armstrong said. “Jump in seventy seconds and counting.”
John took one final look at the display. It looked empty, too empty. He knew he was being silly, but part of him would almost have preferred to see a fleet of advancing warships. Then, at least, he would have known what the enemy was doing. Instead, he had no way to know what - if anything - was lurking within J-35. The only certainty he had was that the Indians would be firmly entrenched in Pegasus.
“Jump in ten seconds and counting,” Armstrong said.
“Understood,” John said. He watched the last seconds tick away. “Take us through.”
He took a long breath as the display blanked out and reformatted itself, again. This time, it showed Pegasus, where it had all begun. John remembered escorting the first colonists to the system, back when he’d first been assigned to Warspite; he’d walked on the icy surface of Clarke III and admired just how quickly the colonists had started to make the world home. Governor Brown - he wondered, briefly, what had happened to the man - had even planned to start the long process of terraforming Wells. The Mars-type world would become a new jewel in the British crown ... assuming, of course, they managed to drive the Indians out of the system.
“Jump complete, sir,” Armstrong said.
“Take us away from the tramline; go passive once we’re at a safe distance,” John ordered. There was nothing to be gained by rushing in, not when the Indians would definitely have prepared the system to repel attack. “Status report?”
“I’m picking up a handful of transmissions from Clarke, but nothing solid,” Tara reported, grimly. “At this distance, sir, we wouldn't see much unless they power up their drives.”
John nodded. “Inform me the moment you locate that carrier,” he ordered. “That’s the most dangerous ship in the system.”
The display kept updating, new icons flickering into existence. It didn't look as though any of them were artificial, although it was hard to be sure. The system had always had a great deal of space junk, one of the reasons why it had been claimed so fast. There was literally no shortage of raw materials to be turned into everything an industrial society would need.
“They’re setting up a cloudscoop,” Tara said, suddenly. The display focused suddenly on a structure orbiting the gas giant. “I don't think it can be anything else.”
“They’re serious about moving in to stay,” Howard commented. “That’s not a small investment.”
“They’d need to start shipping fuel to Vesy if they want to uplift the natives,” John said. He wasn't sure if the Indians were sincere about helping the Vesy to reach the stars, but if there were any gains to be had from uplifting aliens the Indians would be in a good position to benefit. “The sole gas giant in the Vesy System is highly radioactive and impossible to mine.”
“They’re also lobbing ice asteroids towards Wells,” Tara added. “They must have dumped a terraforming package onto the planet too.”
John swore, inwardly. It was generally agreed that whoever settled the Earth-like world received title to the rest of the system. But Pegasus didn't have an Earth-like world, unless Wells was reshaped into something habitable. It would take decades, at the very least, for the world to develop a breathable atmosphere, but if the Indians kick-started a terraforming project they might be able to lay claim to Wells itself. They’d certainly manage to muddy the political waters still further.
But it will take them decades, he reassured himself. Wells was a long-term project. The war will be over by then, one way or the other.
“They might also have dumped colonists on the world,” Howard mused. “They could certainly do it on Cromwell.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” John said. It wouldn't be the first time a problem had been solved by forced relocation, but doing it on an interstellar scale would be a logistic nightmare. Cromwell had only a few thousand colonists; the Indians could overwhelm them easily, just by shipping in ten thousand volunteers from India. “For the moment, we won't worry about it.”
“Aye, sir,” Howard said.
A red icon flashed to life on the display. “Captain,” Tara said. “I’ve located the carrier.”
John sucked in his breath. The carrier - INS Viraat - was holding position near Clarke III, but keeping her distance from the rocks orbiting the gas giant. There would be a handful of smaller ships nearby, he was sure, but so far they weren't showing up on the display. It didn't matter. He’d seen the intelligence reports - and the carrier herself, back at Vesy. INS Viraat was a deadly threat.
“Her drives are stepped down, as far as I can tell,” Tara added.
“It won’t take them long to flash-wake their systems,” Howard warned. He frowned, considering the possibilities. “If their designs are anything like ours, they could be at battlestations within five minutes.”
“We’ll keep our distance,” John said. He studied the display for a long chilling moment, then tapped a command into the system, sending an update to Drake. “Designate this point” - he tapped a location on the display - “as Point Alpha, then set course for it.”
“Aye, sir,” Armstrong said. “Course laid in.”
John took a breath. Now, the real work would begin.
“Take us
in,” he ordered.
Chapter Thirteen
HMS Theodore Smith, Earth Orbit
“She’s magnificent,” Commander Sally Acorn breathed.
“Yes, she is,” James agreed, as HMS Theodore Smith slowly came into view. “The most powerful supercarrier designed and launched by the Royal Navy.”
He’d seen the mighty carrier before, but he drank in the details as the shuttle swooped towards the VIP airlock. The carrier was over three kilometres long, a flattened rectangle flanked by no less than four starfighter launching tubes. Her hull - lined with modern armour that was actually tougher than the solid-state armour of Ark Royal - was studded with point defence weapons, sensor blisters, mass drivers and external missile racks. She might not be the most agile of starships, but she was definitely faster than the average fleet carrier.
A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6) Page 13