A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6)

by Christopher Nuttall

  And Ark Royal handled like a commercial megaton freighter four times her size, he reminded himself. It felt disloyal to make the comparison, but he couldn't help it. Theodore Smith could kick the ass of the fleets we faced without breaking a sweat.

  He smiled at the thought as the shuttle docked, the hatch hissing open to reveal a tall dark-haired woman waiting for him. James smiled in genuine pleasure and saluted, first the flag and then the woman. She saluted him back at once.

  “Admiral Fitzwilliam,” Captain Susan Pole said. She stuck out a hand in greeting, which James shook firmly. “Welcome onboard.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” James said. Theodore Smith had been his flagship ever since she’d entered service, but he’d spent very little time on her over the past two months. “It’s a great pleasure to be back.”

  Susan smiled. “I can imagine,” she said, as they turned to head down the long corridor to the CIC. “I caught the interview last night.”

  James made a face. The media, of course, had been demanding interview after interview, all of which he’d managed to duck until now. He’d had to go in front of the cameras and answer questions from a whole panel of reporters, none of whom understood the first thing about space warfare. They certainly didn't seem to realise that it would take at least a fortnight for any news to come back from the front; hell, they seemed to imagine that the MOD intended to sit on any messages - sent, no doubt, by FTL transmitter - until they’d been spun into declarations of complete victory.

  “All lies, Captain,” he said. He glanced at Sally, dismissing her to her duties, then turned his gaze back to Susan. “I trust your ship is ready for departure?”

  “Yes, sir,” Susan said. There was nothing, but confidence in her voice. “We finished loading the war stocks last night. There shouldn't be any problem meeting the scheduled departure date.”

  James nodded. He’d met Susan shortly after his promotion to Commodore, after the final flight of Ark Royal. Like many other officers in the post-war navy, she was young for her role, but there was no doubting her competence. Indeed, he had a feeling he'd been competing with her for carrier command before the war had started and he’d managed to get himself transferred to Ark Royal. Now, she was his strong right arm.

  “The Old Man would be proud,” he said, remembering the struggle to get Ark Royal ready for space. “And he’d be proud of his namesake too.”

  “Of course, sir,” Susan said. “We incorporated a great many lessons from the war into her hull.”

  James said nothing else until they passed through the CIC - his staff had arrived earlier, once he’d been able to spare them from Nelson Base - and into his office. It was larger than he thought he had any right to expect, but the Royal Navy was determined to ensure that flag officers received the very best of everything. James wasn't sure he approved - he knew that Admiral Smith would not have approved - yet it was something he hadn't been able to change. There were limits, clearly, to the powers of a Vice Admiral.

  “I assume you’ve read the classified briefings,” he said, once the hatch was firmly closed behind them. The compartment had been swept for bugs before a Royal Marine had taken up position outside. It was as secure as modern technology could make it. “We have our final orders.”

  “Yes, sir,” Susan said.

  “Commodore Nigel Blake will assume command in the event of something happening to me,” James added. “Commodore Pollock was earmarked for the role, but he has health problems and the doctors believe he’d be better off in a desk job.”

  “Yes, sir,” Susan said. She ran her hand through her short dark hair. “If something happens to you, it’ll happen to the whole ship.”

  “I know,” James said. Susan would technically be the third in line to take command, if something happened to James and Commodore Blake, but she would almost certainly go down with her ship. It might not matter; if the carrier was lost, the war would be lost along with it. “We’ll need to take the time during the voyage to work out the kinks in our arrangements.”

  “Not all of us have served together before,” Susan agreed. She sounded rather frustrated. It could take months to work a fleet up for combat, yet they were expected to be ready to deploy in a matter of weeks. “I’ve been running drills with the carrier battle group, sir, but we didn't have the entire task force to play with.”

  “We’ll see to it once we’re underway,” James said. They’d just have to learn on the go, despite the inconvenience. “Nine more ships will be meeting us in Terra Nova, Captain. The politicians finally agreed to pull our flotilla out of the system. The French will be handling rescue duties for British civilians in exchange for political favours.”

  “Good,” Susan said. “The flotilla was a waste of resources from start to finish.”

  James nodded in agreement. “We’re due to depart in seven hours,” he said. “My staff should have time to complete the first set of arrangements - I need to make a whole series of calls - but please let me know if there are any problems.”

  “I’ve worked with your staff before,” Susan said. “I don’t think we’ll have anything to worry about, sir.”

  “I hope not,” James agreed. An Admiral had his own command staff, which sometimes ended up picking fights with the starship’s command staff. James trusted his people - Susan was right; they had worked together for years - but he knew there could be problems. “If there are problems, we’ll work them out in the first week of sailing.”

  He watched her go, then keyed his console, linking into the secure datanet and requesting a conference with the Prime Minister. It could be quite some time before the Prime Minister answered - there was no way to know where he was at any given time - so James opened his terminal and began scanning through the long list of reports. His staff was meant to handle as many of them as possible, yet they tended to be quite conservative about what actually required his attention. James didn't really blame them for being careful - he would prefer to waste his time than overlook a tiny detail that would turn out to be important later - but it could be annoying. By the time the communications link lit up, he was more than a little annoyed at whoever had sent a report on projected ammunition expenditures to his terminal.

  We always shoot off more ammunition than projected, he thought, crossly. He’d learned that lesson during his time as an XO. Haven’t they noticed that by now?

  “Admiral,” the Prime Minister said. He sounded tired. Unlike James, he hadn't been able to avoid either the press or hordes of MPs. “I apologise for the delay.”

  “Thank you for taking the call,” James said. There were only a handful of people who could call the Prime Minister without clearing it first; he’d known he’d been put on the list after he’d been placed in command of the task force, but he had never taken advantage of it. “The task force is ready to depart on schedule.”

  “That’s good,” the Prime Minister said. “Parliament wants a victory, Admiral. It wants it very much.”

  James nodded. Uncle Winchester had briefed him thoroughly, both personally and through his team of political agents. Parliament was furious about the insult to both British prestige and the global order, but a number of MPs were worried about the cost of the war. They’d take any opportunity they could to cancel the task force and rely on political pressure to drive the Indians out of Pegasus.

  Which won’t work, he thought. They’ll think they’ve won and dig in harder.

  “You have your orders, covering all the contingencies we anticipated,” the Prime Minister continued. “You also have authority to negotiate a ceasefire if the Indians agree to vacate the system without any further ado. I’ve included written authorisation naming you a diplomatic representative, within certain strict limits.”

  James nodded, curtly. Parliament had wanted to send a political representative to accompany the task force, but the Prime Minister had been adamantly opposed and the bill had died in committee. A diplomatic representative who wasn’t tied to the military - or at
least lacked a solid grasp of military realities - would be more of a hindrance than a help. There was simply no room for negotiations. Either Britain recovered the captured systems or lost them to the Indians. There was no middle ground.

  “I won’t give away the store, sir,” he said.

  “Glad to hear it,” the Prime Minister said. “There hasn't been any formal communications from the Indians, but back-channel messages are still being exchanged. They’re determined to hold the systems until forced to withdraw. MI6 has been unable to establish what orders have been given to the enemy commander, Admiral. However, if they are determined to remain in possession of the stolen territory, the orders will boil down to ‘hold at all costs.’”

  “We’ll just have to convince them otherwise, Prime Minister,” James said. He glanced at his terminal. “Everything is loaded, even the reporters.”

  The Prime Minister smiled, tiredly. “You have all the authority you need to keep them under control, Admiral,” he said. “I’m sure a few months in the brig will be enough of a threat if necessary.”

  “I hope so,” James said. Susan had already made it clear to the reporters that certain parts of the carrier were off-limits, but they were the compartments the reporters wanted to visit. “I think we’ll be feeding them ration bars rather than bread and water.”

  “I’m pretty sure there are laws against cruel and unusual punishment,” the Prime Minister said. He smiled. “Good luck, Admiral. The King will be addressing the nation just before your departure. Princess Elizabeth has already been earmarked for visiting the ships when you return.”

  “Thank you, sir,” James said.

  He sighed, inwardly. There was a need for the Royal Family to at least pretend to be involved, but he doubted it would be a pleasant visit. He’d met Princess Elizabeth and decided, in the privacy of his own mind, that if she had a single brain cell in her head it had been turned to mush long ago. Her brother, at least, had been a starfighter pilot during the war, but he’d headed off to Alien Prime after the final battle to serve as Ambassador. James rather suspected, from the rumours he’d heard, that Prince Henry had told his family - flatly - that he had no intention of ever taking the throne. The young man he recalled had been so determined to seek his own destiny that he’d even signed up at the Academy under a false name.

  The Prime Minister nodded. “I’ll see you when you get back, Admiral,” he concluded. “I wish there was more time to organise a proper departure.”

  “We don’t need bands playing, Prime Minister,” James said. In all honesty, the crews had worked so hard they needed a rest, not a formal departure ceremony. “There will be time for that when we get home.”

  “Good luck,” the Prime Minister said.

  James watched his face disappear from the display, then rose to his feet and headed out into the CIC. It was considerably larger than the CIC on Ark Royal, crammed with consoles, holographic displays and a dozen crewmen. He took a moment to inspect the near-space display - there was no avoiding the handful of foreign warships in orbit around Earth, watching as the task force took shape - and then left the CIC, heading down to the engineering compartment. Admiral Smith had always toured his ship before departing and it was a tradition James intended to honour.

  He paused, for a moment, outside the memorial in the exact centre of the giant supercarrier and bowed his head. Had it really been six years since he'd first set eyes on Admiral Smith - and five since his death? It had seemed so easy to unseat the older man from his command chair, to take Ark Royal for himself. No one had seriously expected the ancient museum piece to be the only starship actually capable of facing the Tadpoles in open battle. James had honestly thought he’d spend a year in command, then use it as a footstep to command of a modern fleet carrier.

  And if I had kept command, he thought, it would have been disastrous.

  His cheeks burned as he remembered the very first meeting. He’d thought Smith a drunkard; he’d thought the meeting a formality before Smith was shuffled off somewhere even more harmless than a decaying supercarrier. Instead, Smith had coolly pointed out that James was utterly unready to command the Old Lady - and succeeded in retaining his command. He’d been right, James had to concede. His younger self had been an idiot.

  He saluted the portrait - he couldn't remember Admiral Smith ever looking so good in real life, but the artist had probably never seen him in person - and then headed onwards, visiting compartment after compartment. He’d helped to design the ship, yet there had been quite a few changes as the yards struggled to turn the concept into reality. The combination of modern drives and older-style armour alone had caused a whole string of problems.

  His wristcom buzzed. “Admiral,” Susan said. “We’re ready to depart. Do you wish to watch from the bridge?”

  James hesitated. He’d commanded Ark Royal during Operation Nelson and he’d been irked at how Admiral Smith had watched over his shoulder. It had been understandable - Smith had served on Ark Royal longer than James had been in the Royal Navy - but it had been annoying. The Royal Navy had long established that the ship’s captain held final authority while a starship was in transit, yet few commanding officers would have the nerve to tell off an admiral. It didn't help that the commander of a shuttle, who might be a lowly midshipman, would technically have the right to issue orders to a senior officer.

  “No, thank you,” he said, finally. “I’ll watch from CIC.”

  A dull tremor ran through the giant ship as he turned and slowly walked back to the CIC, taking his seat underneath the main holographic display. It was standardised - he'd used one like it during his first command along the border - but he made a mental note to start working through all the possible scenarios once they were underway. Another quiver ran through the ship - the drivers coming online - and he smiled. The temptation to just take the intership car up to the bridge was almost overwhelming.

  Better let Susan handle it, he told himself, firmly. She doesn't need you in the way.

  “Admiral,” Commander Eland said. He was a newcomer, hastily reassigned from HMS Victorious, but he’d worked hard to fit into the command staff. “Nelson Base has cleared the fleet for departure.”

  “Good,” James said. “Has the rest of the task force checked in?”

  “Yes, sir,” Eland said. “There are no problems.”

  James settled back in his chair. Fifteen warships - with nine more waiting to meet them at Terra Nova - three assault ships, three RFA support ships and ten freighters crammed with supplies. There would be more on the way, he knew, once several more warships had assembled at Nelson Base to provide an escort. Unless the Indians rolled over the moment the Royal Navy arrived, which he doubted, they’d have to burn through their supplies at a terrifying rate.

  But it’s the most formidable task force the Royal Navy put together since the war, he thought, grimly. It seemed impossible that the Indians could make a stand against it, yet Soskice - damn the man - had awakened a kernel of doubt. If we lose, here and now, there will be no second chance.

  It wasn’t a pleasant thought. They’d assumed, right up until the end, that the Tadpoles had wanted to exterminate the human race. Some of their factions, certainly, had been determined to do just that, wiping out the threat they thought humanity was to them. There had been no way to back down, no way to avoid the fight; they’d thought the choice was between fighting to the last or utter extinction.

  But the Indians can’t defeat us completely, any more than we can defeat them, he thought, sourly. The politicians might just decide to swallow the insult rather than go back to war.

  Susan’s face appeared in front of him. “Admiral,” she said. “We will be leaving orbit in five minutes.”

  “Good,” James said. There was no point in trying to hide. Indeed, he expected a number of other foreign warships to shadow the task force. Some of them would be covertly supporting the Indians, he was sure, but others would be trying to learn what they could from the first human-on-hu
man interstellar war. “You may take us out on schedule.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  HMS Warspite, Pegasus System

  “Two new starships detected,” Tara said, softly. “They’re either destroyers or frigates.”

  John nodded, feeling the tension rising again. There were fifteen Indian starships within detection range - and more, perhaps, lurking in stealth mode. A handful was near the carrier, covering her against incoming threats, while the remainder were orbiting Clarke III or surveying the system. John wasn't sure why they thought they needed to bother - they’d certainly have obtained copies of the Royal Navy’s survey results - but it did have the advantage of keeping a number of ships away from the danger zone. They wouldn’t be able to intervene if the shit hit the fan.