A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6)

by Christopher Nuttall

  Percy shrugged and connected his suit to the shuttle’s support system. Oddly, he’d done a handful of covert insertions himself, although not in a first-class stealth shuttle. They couldn't risk any transmissions, even very low-power microbursts. Flying in the suits would be bad enough, but being detected by the Indians would be worse. The shuttle might as well be made of glass for all the protection it would give them against incoming fire.

  “It has a name,” Corporal Ed Hill said.

  “It has a set of numbers,” Jimmy said. “There isn't a proper name. It’s bad luck for a ship not to have a proper name.”

  “We’re not smacking a bottle of bubbly into the hull,” Lewis said. The sergeant smiled in a manner Percy found more than a little alarming. “I’m not going home to explain to a court martial board precisely how we managed to break an expensive shuttle.”

  “We're going to break it anyway,” Jimmy pointed out.

  “You flew in helicopters and none of them had names,” Lewis snapped.

  “Yes, they did,” Hill said. “No one dared write them down, but they did have proper names.”

  “Pick a name,” Drake said, as he took his seat next to the pilot. “Something we can be proud of when we read it in the history books.”

  “SAS Rules,” Rupert offered. He snickered. “Or Fuck Off.”

  “I was going to suggest Sneaky Bastard,” Jimmy said. “It suits her, doesn't it?”

  “Very well,” Drake said. “I hereby name this ship the Sneaky Bastard and may God help all who fly in her. Now, take your places and prepare for departure.”

  Hill smiled. “The flight to some godforsaken patch of rock is about to depart,” he said, in shrill falsetto. “In line with our standard policies, the food served will be anything but edible, no matter how much you harass the stewardesses. The pilot is drunk” - Percy had to conceal a smile as Corporal Cook, the pilot, made a one-fingered gesture without looking round - “the co-pilot is mad and the stewardesses all got engaged last week to the same Para.”

  “The lucky bugger,” Jimmy said.

  “And the guy sitting next to you is so fat you’ll be squashed against the window and you’ll want to hurl every time you look at him,” Hill continued. “And ...”

  “That will do,” Drake said. He glanced over his shoulder. “Is everyone suited, buckled and ready to go?”

  “Yes, sir,” Lewis said. The troopers rapidly checked and rechecked their equipment; Lewis inspected Percy’s gear carefully before reluctantly nodding. “All checked and ready to go.”

  A quiver ran through the shuttle as she undocked from Warspite. “We’re on our way,” Drake said. “Get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

  Percy sighed inwardly as he closed his eyes. Lewis had told him, in no uncertain terms, that electronic players, e-readers and music boxes were strictly forbidden. They simply couldn't risk using anything that might produce an electronic signature the Indians could detect. He would have liked to bring a book, but it would be impossible to handle one in his suit. And taking off the suit, even for a brief moment, was also forbidden. They would have no other protection if the shuttle sprung a leak.

  “I could always tell a story,” Jimmy offered. “There was this girl back in Las Vegas ...”

  “Which ends with you fleeing the city ahead of a hundred policemen and a dozen outraged fathers,” Lewis interrupted. “Don’t you have any stories that aren't about sex, drugs and rock and roll?”

  “I’m hurt, Sergeant,” Jimmy said. “To think that I would waste time talking about drugs and rock and roll. Honestly!”

  Lewis snorted. “Just get some sleep, Jimmy,” he ordered. “There’s a long walk ahead of us.”

  Percy smiled to himself - Jimmy’s stories were even less plausible than Uncle Al’s - and forced himself to sleep. There was no point in remaining awake for the five hours it would take to reach the moon’s atmosphere - and besides, there was nothing they could do if the Indians happened to detect them. He wasn't sure quite what the Indians would do, but they’d either be killed out of hand or forced to surrender. Either one would bring his war to an undignified end.

  The alarm jerked him awake, hours later. He glanced around in shock, cursing the spacesuit under his breath; four and a half hours in the suit hadn’t done wonders for the smell. Lewis was talking quietly over the network, briefing the troopers on the atmospheric conditions ahead of them. They didn't sound pleasant. Percy allowed himself to feel relieved that Corporal Cook was flying the shuttle, instead of him, even though it would leave him and the others feeling utterly helpless. There was something about flying through turbulence that unnerved him, no matter how many times he’d been in more danger on the ground. The risks of dying were considerably higher in a war zone ...

  He forced the thought out of his mind as the shuttle altered course slightly, banking towards the moon. Clarke III didn't look any different, he noted; it was still an icy world, reflecting the light of the gas giant back into space. He silently calculated the location of the colony, hoping that Cook didn’t make a mistake and put them down in an ocean, or the other side of the moon. Either one would prove fatal.

  “We’ll be entering the atmosphere in twenty minutes,” Cook informed them. His tone turned mischievous. “If you want to go to the toilet, now is the time.”

  Percy rolled his eyes, safe in the knowledge no one could see him behind his visor. They were in suits, not uniforms; if they needed to go, they had to go inside the suits. It wasn't a very pleasant process, but it beat trying to get out of the suits in the cramped passenger compartment. And yet ... he understood why the troopers kept joking, even as they drew closer to their destination. If they started to think about just what they were doing, they might freeze up ...

  And in the middle of combat, he thought grimly, freezing could prove fatal.

  “Get into landing positions,” Lewis ordered. “Captain?”

  “It will be a rough landing,” Drake confirmed. “And we’ll have to move out as soon as we’re down.”

  Percy sucked in a breath as he shifted position. The last time he’d flown through the moon’s atmosphere, it had been on a standard shuttle, without any need to hide. They’d been able to alter course as necessary, just to avoid threats from snowstorms and other high-altitude disturbances. Now ... Sneaky Bastard wouldn't be able to avoid anything unless Cook wanted to run the risk of being detected. They’d just have to hope that the preselected flight path was clear of anything that might make the flight more interesting than any of the troopers would have preferred.

  “Here we go,” Cook said. “Try not to be sick.”

  Percy swallowed hard as the shaking began. Sneaky Bastard shuddered violently, as if she was slamming into a body of water rather than the moon’s thin atmosphere. The sensation only grew worse as they plummeted further down towards the surface; he swallowed again and again, refusing to be sick inside the spacesuit. It would be uncomfortable, he knew from bitter experience, and he would just have to endure until they finally set up camp near the colony. There was nothing else he could do. Somehow, he managed to keep his gorge down as the shuttle levelled out, then started to shake again.

  “Cookie,” Hill called. “Are you trying to hit every last patch of turbulence?”

  “Stop bitching,” Cook called back. “You couldn’t do a better job!”

  Sneaky Bastard rang like a bell; Percy braced himself, convinced for a long second that they’d slammed into something solid. Had they landed? The shuttle dipped again, convincing him that they’d merely hit a rough patch of air. He grabbed hold of the makeshift seat and held on for dear life, promising himself he’d never make fun of anyone on a commercial airliner ever again. His mother had been very nervous the first and last time they’d flown together.

  “We need to turn around,” Jimmy said. “I left my stomach somewhere back there!”

  Percy laughed. He wasn't the only one.

  “It’s your own stupid fault for letting go of it,”
Cook called. “I hope you had it insured.”

  “There was this bunch of girls in a bus,” Jimmy said, “and we were driving alongside them, wearing our uniforms. And they started waving and flashing their tits at us. It was great fun. We followed them into a service station and got laid there ...”

  Percy didn't believe a word of it, but the story was a welcome diversion. It grew filthier and filthier as the shuttle levelled out again and flew straight for several minutes, then fell further into the atmosphere. Jimmy had just reached the conclusion when Cook shouted for them all to brace themselves; Percy covered himself, just as there was a final terrifying crash. The shuttle hit the ground hard enough to do real damage. Pieces of debris fell all around them.

  “Get up,” Lewis snapped, as one bulkhead caved in. “Grab your packs and go!”

  “There's nothing overhead,” Cook confirmed. “The next starship entering visual range of this location will be overhead in fifteen minutes; I say again, we have fifteen minutes to hide the evidence.”

  Percy unsnapped his suit from the chair and ran, snatching up his pack on the way out. The landscape looked just as he remembered; white snow on the ground, twisted mountains in the distance ... and, looming over the entire moon, the dominant presence of Clarke III. A light gust of snow blew across the landscape, hiding the tracks the shuttle had left when it had come down hard. Five of the troopers hastily hid the shuttle below camo netting, ensuring that no one overhead would see her if they bothered to peer down at the surface. The others - and Percy - moved the supplies away from the shuttle and concealed them under the snow, waiting for the moment they started the march to the colony. When he looked back, the remains of the shuttle were almost impossible to see.

  Lewis caught his attention. “We move in twenty minutes,” he said, using hand signals. It was too dangerous to risk radio transmissions, not with the Indians holding the high orbitals. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, sir,” Percy signalled back.

  The troopers hastily sorted out the supplies, then started the long march to the colony. Percy found it oddly relaxing; he’d been on forced marches on Vesy and, despite being trapped in a spacesuit, he had to admit that marching on Clarke III was considerably easier. It wasn't so hot or awkward; the only real danger was being spotted from orbit and the suits were camouflaged to make it hard for the Indians to notice them. Drake set a hard pace, but seemed willing not to push the limits too far. They might have to fight when they reached their destination.

  I hope not, Percy thought. Seventeen men couldn't hope to overwhelm the Indian defenders, not when the Indians were supported by orbiting starships. He was sure the troopers would give a good account of themselves, but the outcome would be inevitable. We need to dig in and find a way to scout out the Indian positions.

  It was nearly five hours before they started to cross through terrain that looked familiar, terrain Percy recalled from the exercises they’d held on Clarke before they’d been summoned to Cromwell and Vesy. The troopers paused for a brief conference, then altered course slightly so they would be climbing up the rear of the mountain between them and the colony in hopes of avoiding detection. Percy was silently grateful for the mountaineering course he’d taken during training - and then the climbing he’d been encouraged to do on his first leave - as he followed Lewis up the treacherous slope. The troopers, it seemed, had no difficulty whatsoever handling the climb.

  They are the best of the best, Percy reminded himself, as they reached a suitable vantage point. And they’ve fought all over the world.

  He leaned forward and sucked in his breath as the colony came into view. The briefings had told him that it had been expanded radically from the smaller installations he remembered, yet the Indians had clearly been working to expand it themselves. A number of prefabricated buildings were as he remembered - the original plan had been to expand underground, rather than expand the surface facilities - but the Indians had added a number of others to suit themselves. One looked rather like a barracks he’d seen on Mars complete with large airlock for suited soldiers; the others looked like warehouses, crammed with goodies from the orbiting starships. Dozens of men and machines were working on the landscape beyond the colony, carving out a far larger spaceport and a number of installations. One of them looked alarmingly like a ground-based mass driver.

  They could hit anything in orbit, he thought. Mass drivers had been set up all over Earth, after the start of the war. They’d helped save the planet from the Tadpoles. And they could probably hit something much further away, if they got lucky.

  Drake slipped up next to him as a shuttle flew overhead and landed on the makeshift landing pad. Percy watched a long line of suited men - or women - emerging from the craft and making their way into the nearest prefabricated building. Assuming the underground facilities hadn't expanded much further, he told himself, the Indians could have landed over four thousand people on the moon. Supporting them wouldn't be a problem, provided they had sufficient living space. The life support unit the original colonists had landed was massively over-engineered. It could have provided enough air and basic foodstuffs to supply over fifty thousand people, if pushed to the limits.

  “We need to set up a camp,” Drake signalled. “Move back.”

  The troopers had done it before, Percy noted; they’d probably practiced ever since it had become clear that war was the only realistic option. A site was chosen, on the rear of the mountain; a set of tents was established, then camouflaged under netting and handfuls of gathered snow. Percy was sure it was only a matter of time until it snowed again, providing additional cover. The troopers would be undetectable unless someone stumbled over them and that was unlikely. He doubted the Indians would be keen on letting their men go climbing when there was a war on.

  Unless they conclude it would be the perfect vantage point, he thought. The Indians didn't seem to have detected the shuttle, but they might be simply playing a very long game. They might want to run sweeps through the mountains anyway, just to be sure there’s nothing here.

  He shook his head as he stumbled through the makeshift airlock and into the tent. The Indians would have to be mad to let an SAS team just wander around the landscape at will, even if they thought they had the situation under control. No, the smart thing for them to have done would have been to blow Sneaky Bastard out of space as soon as they detected her - or, if they waited for the shuttle to enter the atmosphere, claim it was an accident if they still wanted to avoid a shooting war. Given the planet’s atmosphere and the shuttle’s design, it wouldn't have been an unbelievable claim.

  “Keep your suit on at all times,” Lewis reminded him. “We might have to run in a hurry.”

  If the Indians stumble across us, Percy thought. We’d be pretty close to dead the moment they set eyes on our positions.

  He took a ration bar and chewed it, thankfully. It tasted better than anything he’d eaten in the marines. The SAS, it seemed, got a better class of rations. But then, even on Vesy during the first mission, he hadn't been anything like as exposed. Lewis rattled through a box of supplies, passing out tiny sensors and monitoring devices that would have to be emplaced near the colony. Given time, they could parse out the enemy patterns and decide what to do next.

  “Link into the stealthed platforms,” Drake ordered. He glanced at Cook. “Send a message to Warspite. Tell them we’re on the ground.”

  “Aye, sir,” Cook said. He sounded doubtful. “That storm is coming in fast, sir. We may not be able to maintain a laser link indefinitely.”

  And now we’re trapped, Percy thought, darkly. Sneaky Bastard could no longer fly. They were stuck until the moon was liberated or the war came to a negotiated end. It was vaguely possible they could steal an Indian shuttle, he knew, but he doubted they could get very far before the craft was blown out of space. The Indians would have to be asleep at the switch to miss them leaving in a stolen shuttle. But at least they don't know we’re here.

  “The storm will
provide us with some cover, so we’ll start probing once Warspite has left the system,” Drake continued. “I want Ed, Martin and James on watch. Dale; you and your troopers set up the rest of the gear. Percy, you’re on overlook with me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Percy said. Drake wouldn’t want to risk the cruiser, if something went badly wrong and the SAS were caught. “There may be other vantage points further around the mountain range.”

  Drake nodded. “I want to know what’s changed too,” he added. His voice turned thoughtful. “And which buildings can be attacked without risking the civilians.”

  “Yes, sir,” Percy said, again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  HMS Warspite, Pegasus System

  “The insertion team has made it down,” Lieutenant Gillian Forbes reported. “They're in position now.”

  John allowed himself a moment of relief. The plan had seemed good on paper - and the SAS had been confident they could handle it - but he’d been far too aware of just how many things could go wrong. Landing on Clarke was hard enough without having to hide from watchful enemy eyes. But it looked as though he’d been wrong. The SAS had made it down and had marched overland to a vantage point near the colony.