A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Take us back to the embassy,” she ordered. She had a feeling the Indians would declare her persona non grata within the hour. “And get me a secure link to London.”

  “Of course, Ambassador,” the driver said.

  Joelle scowled as the car pulled away from the building and passed through the guardpost and onto the road. The lack of any protesters was the only real difference between India and a rogue state, she decided. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  “He rejected the ultimatum,” she said, when the Prime Minister’s face appeared in front of her. “There will be war.”

  “Understood,” the Prime Minister said. He looked worried, but determined. Matters were no longer in his hands, now the Indians had rejected the last attempt at a diplomatic solution. “If they’ll let you stay at the embassy, do so. If not, catch a flight straight back home.”

  “I will,” Joelle promised. “All we can do now is wait.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Clarke III, Pegasus System

  “The British have moved into J-35, General.”

  “As expected,” General Anjeet Patel said. The warning from Earth had been passed up the chain a scant day before the British had arrived. Timing wise, it could have worked out better. “Order our ships to concentrate, as per the deployment plan.”

  The young man nodded and hurried off. Anjeet snorted and turned his attention to the display. The British had flatly refused to accept anything, but complete withdrawal; they’d come, soon enough, to test themselves against his fleet. And now they were in J-35. They could be on him within hours, if they wished. What would he do, in their place? He’d be tempted to try to defeat one carrier before the other could arrive ...

  He cursed under his breath. If it had been entirely up to him, he would have concentrated both carriers right from the start, but there had been no way to know which way the British would jump. The Prime Minister had made it clear that they couldn't afford an attack on Gandhi ... even though all their calculations agreed the British wouldn't be able to hold the world, certainly not for very long. No, the only way to square the circle was to keep one carrier in Vesy, ready to move either way if necessary.

  “Dispatch a pair of recon ships to J-35,” he ordered. He already had a good idea of just how many ships the British had assigned to their task force, thanks to the foreign media, but it was well to be sure. “I want one of them on standby to jump back the moment the British move towards the tramlines.”

  “Aye, sir,” his aide said.

  Anjeet nodded. He couldn't help feeling nervous. Technically, he’d served in the war, but he’d never seen any real action. His experience was limited to punitive strikes against rogue states, while the British Admiral had served in the fires of war. Anjeet had read Admiral Fitzwilliam’s file and had to admit he was impressed. Even by the standards of the post-war Royal Navy, Admiral Fitzwilliam was young for his post. Anjeet would have liked to believe it was a sign of political connections rather than actual competence, but he suspected otherwise. Admiral Fitzwilliam had served on - and then commanded - Ark Royal.

  But we have surprises too, he thought, savagely. He didn't have any real hatred for the British, but they couldn't be allowed to win. We’re ready to give them a black eye.

  “Ships dispatched, General,” his aide called. “They’re due in J-35 in nine hours.”

  And then they will have to locate the enemy, Anjeet thought. It wouldn't be hard, not if the British were being shadowed by the media, but they’d have to get dangerously close to the British ships. If he was in command of the task force, he would have fired on anything that came suspiciously close to his ships. But we should get some advance warning of a thrust into our territory.

  He shrugged, then keyed his console to call Colonel Darzi. The forces on the ground would have to be alerted to ready themselves to repel attack. Their mass drivers, if nothing else, might give the British pause before they launched an offensive. Targeting would be a bitch beyond high orbit - the slightest error would send a projectile hundreds of miles off course - but the British would still have to take them into account. If, of course, they knew the mass drivers existed.

  And if they don’t, he thought coldly, they’re going to be in for one hell of a surprise when they get too close to the moon.

  ***

  “The carrier is still in place, sir,” Tara reported. “She hasn’t moved at all.”

  “They must not have seen us last time, sir,” Howard commented. “They’d have altered their position if they had.”

  “Probably,” John agreed. The display kept updating, revealing that the Indians were sweeping space with active sensors. They didn't seem inclined to try to hide the carrier, something that surprised him. Even a ship the size of interstellar bulk freighter could be hidden with a little effort. There were so many sensor pulses that he was convinced he wasn't looking at a decoy. “Unless that’s what they want us to think.”

  He tapped his console, pulling back the display. The remaining Indian ships were heading back to the carrier, concentrating their forces around her. That wasn't too surprising - the Indians couldn't afford to lose their carrier - but it was odd they didn't seem to be planning on taking the offensive. It wasn't as if they could get into more trouble. Maybe they were planning on trying to spin the whole affair as a British act of aggression. If the Indians weren't inclined to come out to fight, the Royal Navy would have to go in after them ...

  Which is insane, he thought, coldly. They have to know they’re not going to get any help.

  He looked at Armstrong. “Helm, take us into laser range of the stealth platform,” he ordered, grimly. “Keep us ready to back out if necessary.”

  “Aye, sir,” Armstrong said.

  John nodded to himself as Warspite inched forward. The Indians should have received the ultimatum by now, along with instructions on how to inform Admiral Fitzwilliam that the war had ended without a shot being fired. Admiral Fitzwilliam had been determined to give the Indians as long as possible to come to a decision, but it was clear that neither he nor anyone else believed the Indians intended to simply give up. They certainly hadn’t sent a ship to J-35 with a coded message to report the end of the war.

  And if they’re not going to give up, he thought, they’ll be seeding space with passive sensor platforms of their own.

  He felt the tension rising slowly on the bridge. Crewmen were speaking in hushed voices, even though there was no way the Indians could hear them. The slightest sound made the less experienced officers jump, as if they thought the ship was haunted. John smiled at the thought - there had been stories of haunted starships longer than mankind had been exploring space - and then pushed it aside. As tired as he was of sneaking around, he knew life would get a great deal more exciting when the shooting actually started.

  And it will start soon, he told himself. He hadn't been given any details, but it was clear that Admiral Fitzwilliam intended to be aggressive. The tactical data Warspite collected would be used to update the attack plans before the task force advanced into Pegasus. And then we get to see how good we are, compared to them.

  “Captain,” Tara said. “They’ve actually expanded the mining operations. I think they’re even pushing an asteroid into orbit around Clarke III.”

  John blinked. “Show me.”

  The display zeroed in on an asteroid that was slowly tumbling towards Clarke III. John frowned, hastily running a comparison between the current sensor reports and the ship’s records. The asteroid was definitely new. He ran the trajectory back and realised that the Indians had to have knocked it out of its previous orbit a day or so after Warspite had left the system. It almost looked as though they were planning to bombard the colony they’d occupied.

  “That’s odd, Captain,” Howard said. “They could intend to set up another colony.”

  “But they’d have plenty of space junk to use as raw materials, sir,” Tara offered. “And they used nukes to knock the astero
id onto a new trajectory.”

  John shook his head, puzzled. Modern nukes were barely radioactive, not compared to the dirty bombs that had held the world spellbound for over a century, but using them on an asteroid you intended to turn into a colony was still risky. Hell, the force of the blast might do real damage to the asteroid’s structure, making hollowing it out impossible. Logically, the Indians had to want to mine the asteroid, rather than turn it into a colony, but it made no economic sense. There was no way the system could hope to pay off such an investment within the next fifty years.

  Unless they think they can overcharge us for the use of the tramlines, he thought. But that makes no sense too.

  He scowled. Anyone could use a tramline without paying, if they were ready to sneak through the system rather than move openly - and they would, if the price for using the tramline was too high. They were normally set low to discourage cheating. The Indians might have less experience in interstellar expansion than the British, but they weren't idiots and they could certainly learn from someone else’s experience. Logically, there was something he was missing, but what?

  “Keep an eye on the asteroid,” he said. It made no sense. The Indians wouldn't be plotting to bombard their own troops, he was sure. His lips quirked in bitter amusement. If they wanted to kill their own men there were easier ways to do it. But unless they wanted to subsidize the entire system for over a decade, perhaps longer, it was hard to see what they gained from moving another asteroid into orbit. “Let me know if anything changes.”

  “Aye, sir,” Tara said. She paused. “We’re approaching the stealthed platform now.”

  John braced himself. If something had gone wrong - if the Indians had discovered the platforms or captured the SAS team or even caught a sniff of Warspite as she left the system - they were about to find out the hard way. They could have mined local space, if they wanted to catch a starship, or placed one of their own ships in perfect position for an ambush ...

  “Open the link,” he ordered.

  There was a long chilling pause. “Link open, sir,” Tara reported. “I’ve verified the security codes. The data is flowing now.”

  “Send a signal to the SAS,” John ordered. “Let them know we’re here.”

  He took another breath. The data would be shunted directly into a secure core, just in case the Indians had decided to try to be subtle. They could have uploaded a virus into the platform, if they’d managed to subvert the security firewalls; their virus could easily attempt to take over Warspite’s computers or simply ransack her secure files. John doubted it would succeed - the Royal Navy’s computer security was second to none - but it might be enough to disable the drives and take them out of stealth mode, revealing their presence to the Indian ships. By the time everything was switched to manual, it might be too late.

  “The data is secure, sir,” Tara said. “Do you wish to review it?”

  “No,” John said. There would be time to study the data once they returned to the carrier. “Is there any response from the surface?”

  “No, sir,” Tara said. “They may not be near the transmitter.”

  John nodded. The SAS would have set up a laser transmitter on the surface, but they might not have placed it too close to their camp. They’d want to avoid leading the Indians right to them, if something went badly wrong and the laser beam was detected. He’d read the briefing notes carefully; the transmitters were rigged to explode if someone touched them without the right codes, but their mere presence would be enough to alert the Indians. They’d know that someone was watching them ...

  Tara’s console pinged. “Contact, sir,” she reported. “Data dump coming through now.”

  ***

  Percy had been told, back when he’d entered basic training, that military service was long hours of boredom mixed with fleeting seconds of absolute terror. In his own opinion, military service was actually long hours of training and chores in preparation for the moment when everything was put to the test. Standing guard on the transmitter, perched far too high up the mountain for comfort, was hardly his idea of a good time, but it was infinitely preferable to being hunted across hill and dale by determined enemy forces, or being captured and interrogated by terrorists.

  But I could be doing something more useful, he thought, crossly. I could be crawling up to the installations with the others.

  He shook his head. The SAS had divided up and started to probe the Indian defences, slowly putting together a picture of just what they were doing on Clarke III, but he’d been left behind with the transmitter. He had a feeling, in fact, that his expertise was now useless. The SAS knew everything he did and more. And, as he hadn't trained with them, they probably considered him something of a third wheel. Putting him at the transmitter was a good way to get some use out of him without putting themselves at risk.

  It was a galling thought. Percy knew, without false modesty, that he’d done well on Cromwell and Vesy. His promotion, he’d thought, was a recognition that he'd done very well; he’d honestly expected to be thanked for his service and told to return to his old rank and duty station. But the SAS were something different. Even the couple who’d been drawn from the Royal Marines - not that they’d admitted so; Percy had had to deduce it from the handful of mannerisms they’d been unable to hide - fitted into the troop perfectly. Their casual, almost jocular manner and their disdain for hierarchy hid a staggering level of competence and experience. He wanted to be one of them and yet he was scared he might not be able to live up to it.

  He’d read about SAS Selection, once when he’d completed basic training and again when he’d been seconded to the SAS. It was made as hard as possible - on purpose - and soldiers who were binned were sometimes placed on suicide watch. Percy hadn’t believed it at the time, but he thought he did now. To fail the ultimate test of soldiering, when one had the self-confidence to try, would sting. How could one go back to one’s original unit as a failure?

  But there is no shame in trying and failing, he told himself. Only in not having the guts to try ...

  The transmitter lit up. Percy blinked in surprise and tapped the keyboard. It wasn't easy in his suit, but he’d had a great deal of practice. Drake had uploaded his reports to the transmitter regularly, just waiting for Warspite to return to collect them. Now, Percy watched the first set of messages downloading before transmitting Drake’s reports in return. He wondered, briefly, if Penny was still onboard the cruiser, before dismissing the thought as absurd. No matter how he felt about it, or the danger of death if the cruiser was detected, Penny wasn't likely to walk away from her scoop. How could she?

  There was no message for him in the bundle, he noted. It wasn't really a surprise. He’d been warned, more than once, that the SAS were completely detached from the rest of the world while on covert deployment. There would be no personal messages for any of them; hell, he’d been told he couldn't even keep a personal log! It felt weird not to be jotting down a brief account of the day’s events and his personal observations - he’d had to do it as a Royal Marine - but the risks were just too high. The enemy would certainly read his notes with great interest if they were captured.

  He watched the transmitter deactivate itself, once the last of the messages were gone, and sighed to himself. There was no point in trying to read the messages. He hadn't been given any of the codes to decrypt them. Percy found it more than a little irritating, but he understood the logic. The troopers had been prepared for interrogation on a scale he couldn't hope to match. If they were pushed too hard, they’d die rather than give up anything, even something as minor as their wife’s bra size. He knew he couldn't say the same for himself.

  Good luck, he thought, glancing upwards. The sky was clear, for once; it had been hours since the last poisonous snowfall. Come back soon.

  ***

  “Download complete, sir,” Tara reported.

  John nodded. “Deactivate the link to the platform,” he ordered. “Helm, back us out of here, quietly.”


  “Aye, sir,” Armstrong said.

  “Captain,” Tara said. “Two Indian starfighters were just launched.”

  John felt his eyes narrow. “Just two?”

  “Yes, sir,” Tara said. “They could be a long-range recon patrol ...”

  “Perhaps,” John said. It made sense ... unless, of course, the Indians were running more exercises. He would have preferred to stick to the simulators if there was a prospect of actually having to fight, but the Indians might disagree. “Helm, keep us well away from their projected flight path.”

  “Aye, sir,” Armstrong said.

  Howard frowned. “Two starfighters against us?”

  John shrugged. Two starfighters weren't much of a threat ... but then, the Royal Navy had thought the same about starfighters in general before the Battle of New Russia. Warspite was far tougher than either of the British carriers that had been ripped apart in the battle, yet the Indians could easily launch enough starfighters to overwhelm her defences if they wished ...