“Better to be careful,” he said. He took a long breath. “Besides, we don’t want to be detected yet. We need to get our intelligence back to the Admiral.”
He glanced at the stream of reports from the SAS. One of them was marked urgent. He hesitated, then keyed in his command code and opened it as Warspite picked up speed, angling away from the Indian ships orbiting the gas giant. The message unfolded in front of him, a grim warning that things weren't quite what they seemed.
Mass drivers, he thought. That changed everything. All of a sudden, the asteroid made a great deal of sense. Shit.
Chapter Twenty-One
Theodore Smith, J-35
“Bugger,” James said, mildly.
He concealed his amusement at Sally’s astonishment with an effort. No doubt she’d expected a rather more ... deafening response. It was frustrating to discover that the Indians had done something that put them one step ahead of him, but at least he’d found out before it was far too late. A projectile slamming into one of his ships would have been disastrous. As it was, he had time to alter his plans to compensate.
“They’ll have near-complete coverage of the space around the moon,” Lieutenant-Colonel Wilson Boone said. 3 Para’s commanding officer - and the overall commander of the groundpounders - leaned forward. “Their accuracy will be shit beyond a certain point, but it will be enough to force us to keep our distance.”
James nodded. The SAS - and their contact on the ground - had been able to identify several mass driver installations, while the stealthed satellites had been able to locate the rest. It looked, very much, as though the Indians could hit starships approaching from any angle to the moon, even if they tried to keep the moon’s mass between themselves and the colony. In fact, assuming the Indian mass drivers were at least as capable as British designs, they could probably throw enough buckshot into space to make approaching the moon thoroughly hazardous. Boone was right - their accuracy would be appallingly bad - but it hardly mattered. He couldn’t risk taking a carrier close to the moon.
“Then they will have to be knocked out on the ground,” he mused. There were overlapping fields of fire; knocking out one mass driver wouldn't be enough to provide a zone of clear space. The analysts would need to work through it, but at a guess they’d need to take out at least two or three mass drivers to clear the way. It was going to be a major headache, even with the SAS already on the ground. “What level of defences do they have?”
“Back-up plasma cannons and railguns, according to the reports,” Boone said. “Their ground-based defences are quite weak.”
That’s something, at least, James thought. Mass drivers on Earth were heavily protected - but then, there were more crazies on Earth, willing to risk everything to strike a blow for their cause. Clarke III had a tiny population, most of which was firmly under enemy control. The SAS probably couldn't support a resistance movement, if one existed. We could slip more troops down to the surface, then take out the mass drivers ...
“Start looking at ways to deploy more troops to the surface,” he ordered, curtly. They did have a second SAS troop - and four more stealth shuttles - but they really needed more troops on the ground. “I wonder ... could you get down without a stealth shuttle?”
“Not if you want to remain undetected,” Boone told him, bluntly. “The SAS had real problems getting down to the surface, Admiral. A normal shuttle would definitely be detected in transit and blown out of the sky.”
“I see,” James said.
He shifted his gaze to the system display. The task force had established a perimeter around its location, but the foreign ships were right on the edge ... and, beyond them, a pair of Indian warships were holding position on the tramline. He was surprised they weren't trying to hide, but it was quite possible that they were trying to be intimidating. Besides, if he sent ships to intercept them, they’d have plenty of time to jump back down the tramline and vanish.
Or they could be in contact with the foreign ships, he thought, coldly. That would explain why they’re not in stealth mode.
It was possible, he supposed, that the Indians simply didn't trust their stealth systems, but he didn't dare take it for granted. They’d had access to Tadpole technology reports too. James had had his captains drill their crews relentlessly, training them to watch for signs that a stealthed starship was trying to slip into firing range, but it was extremely tricky. A skilled crew might be able to get within a bare kilometre of the target’s hull without being detected. He couldn’t take the risk of assuming that the Indians weren't at least that good.
He cleared his throat. “See what you can come up with,” he said. “Is there anything else I ought to take into account?”
“Pretty much all of the moon’s population has been concentrated in the main colony,” Boone observed. “Indiscriminate bombardment isn't an option.”
“It never was,” James pointed out.
“But in this case, the Indians have dug in around the main colony,” Boone said. “We might have to winkle them out, without the heavy weapons we would normally bring to bear on their locations.”
James sucked in his breath. “You think they’re using the settlers as hostages?”
He was genuinely shocked at the concept. The world was far too used to atrocities committed by rogue states, insurgents and outright terrorists, but the more civilised nations tended to try to avoid such measures. They tended to provoke counter-atrocities. Hell, it had been agreed since the Age of Unrest that retaliation in kind was the only way to keep a lid on atrocities ...
“It doesn't matter what they intend to do, sir,” Boone said calmly, cutting off his train of thought. “That is what they’re doing. We cannot bombard their positions from orbit without risking the lives of our people.”
James sucked in his breath. A sane commander would surrender the moment the high orbitals were taken, knowing his forces were hopelessly exposed to orbital bombardment - and doomed, if they tried to continue the fight. But the Indians, between the mass drivers and their positions, had safeguarded themselves. The British would need to fight it out on the ground.
“Draw up plans for an assault,” he ordered, softly. “It will be some time before we’re ready to proceed, anyway. We’ll just have to take steps to weaken them until we’re ready to engage the enemy in a decisive battle.”
“Yes, sir,” Boone said.
James glanced at Sally. “Sally, organise a conference for one hour,” he said. “Every commanding officer is invited to attend via hologram.”
“Aye, sir,” Sally said.
Boone frowned. “Sir,” he said. “There may be no way to avoid massive civilian casualties.”
“We could always offer to evacuate the colony first,” James said. He had a feeling the Indians would decline, which might not be a bad thing. If they were intentionally using the colonists as human shields, the offer to pull them out before the forces started fighting in earnest would expose their conduct to the universe. “It might benefit us to try.”
He cursed under his breath. Civilians had died in the First Interstellar War - the Tadpoles had killed more humans than Adolf Hitler - but that had been different. They hadn't precisely intended to kill countless humans, although Earth First and other radical groups insisted they had. This time, British civilians were being used as human shields by a government desperate enough to take the risk of harming them ... and creating a whole new precedent for trouble.
“It might,” Boone said. “But if the Indians have already rejected the offer to withdraw peacefully, sir, they’re unlikely to show weakness elsewhere.”
James sighed. Back at the Academy, he’d been told that once a military build-up reached a specific level, war was inevitable. Human nature simply didn't allow such forces to go unused, the lecturer had insisted; the war had to be fought to make the gathering of such immense firepower worthwhile. It hadn't made sense to him at the time and, in many ways, it still didn't. The cost of dispatching the task force w
as immense, true, but replacing the ships and men that were bound to be lost would be a great deal higher. Surely, it would be better for the Indians to back down before the shooting started.
But they’ve made a colossal investment in the system, he thought, darkly. To back down would throw all that into jeopardy.
He thought, briefly, about trying to negotiate, but it would be futile. His orders didn't allow him to offer the Indians anything they could use as a fig leaf to reclaim the system later. The best he could do was offer to compensate the Indians for their investment, but Parliament would be unlikely to approve it. They’d see the Indians as having made an investment at their own risk. There would certainly be no agreement that the Indians deserved to be repaid when no deal had been struck.
“I’ll speak to you after the conference,” he said. “Good luck.”
“Thank you, sir,” Boone said, dryly. “I’ll see what my planning staff can come up with.”
***
John disliked holographic communications, although he had to admit their value. The military-grade transmitters and projectors were so good that it was easy, too easy, to forget that he wasn't actually on the giant carrier in person. People had been known to fall into holographic realities and never emerge, the illusions reinforced by sensory feeds that blurred the line between fiction and reality. He'd even heard stories about people who’d entered fantasy worlds in Sin City and never emerged, right up until the day Sin City had been destroyed by the Tadpoles. He rather doubted that any of the VR addicts had survived.
They probably found reality too hard to handle, he thought, as his hologram took its place among the throng. He’d always found the holographic system a little hard to handle - his mind rebelled at the thought of thirty men crammed into a space intended for ten - but he’d never seen the point of dismissing reality. But then, my life is better than most.
It was an odd thought. As a starfighter pilot, he'd been as flirty as the rest of the breed; he’d laughed, he’d joked, he’d been careful to wear his uniform in a manner that would have upset his instructors ... he’d known, of course, that the odds of survival were very low. So had their commanding officers; starfighter pilots had to eat, drink and be merry, because they might be dead by the end of the day. But now, as a Captain, he was more driven than he cared to admit, even though he was at the very pinnacle of his career. He had something to live for ...
“Ladies and gentlemen, be seated,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. If he found being surrounded by holograms a disconcerting experience he didn't show it. “As you can see, the situation has changed” - his lips twisted - “in a manner not entirely to our advantage.”
He tapped a switch, allowing the assembled commanding officers to see the report from the surface. The mass drivers - and their fields of fire - were clearly marked. Behind them, intelligence’s best guess on their accurate range was underlined. It was chillingly clear that taking the fleet to Clarke III without doing something about the mass drivers would result in catastrophe.
“The Indians have made it considerably harder for us to land on Clarke III,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “Accordingly, I am modifying the plan. We will proceed with Gamma-Sigma instead of Alpha-Beta. The main body of the task force will move into the Pegasus System and hold position here” - he tapped a location on the display - “well out of the effective range of the mass drivers. We will threaten the Indian control of the system without risking our ships to their fire.”
And they won’t be able to bring the second carrier into the system without being detected, John thought, coldly. They’ll run the risk of us sneaking past them and raiding their possessions beyond Vesy.
“In the meantime, we will harass the Indian presence with smaller ships,” Fitzwilliam continued. “We know they’ve been running supply convoys into the system. Those convoys will no longer be allowed to travel unmolested. Two flotillas - Bulldog Beta and Bulldog Charlie - will be responsible for destroying or capturing those convoys. Their mining installations will also come under heavy attack.”
He paused. “It is quite likely that the Indians intend to use that asteroid as a source of raw material for the mass drivers,” he warned. “They could dump it into the atmosphere and mine it on the surface, if they’re willing to take the risk.”
John had his doubts. Getting the rock to the surface without causing a disaster in a planetary scale would be difficult. Massive chunks of rock had been lowered to the surface before, but never on an inhabited world. The risk was simply too high. But the Indians, if they wished, could probably slice the asteroid up in orbit and drop smaller loads to the mass drivers. It wouldn't be too hard.
Or they could be planning to break it up and scatter more rock into orbit around Clarke III, he thought. It would make our life harder.
“We depart in two hours,” Admiral Fitzwilliam warned. “The two flotillas will receive separate orders from me.”
He held up a hand. “We’re already on a war footing, but we have to assume the Indians have rejected the ultimatum,” he added. “They will have to dislodge us from Pegasus if they want to win the war. I’ve already warned our friends” - he jabbed a finger towards the foreign ships - “that anyone who comes too close risks being fired on without warning, and I don’t want you to hesitate. The Indians will not hesitate themselves.”
There was a long pause. “Captain Naiser, remain behind,” he concluded. “Everyone else, dismissed.”
The holograms blinked out of existence, leaving John alone. “Admiral?”
“Warspite will be the flagship of Bulldog Beta,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “You’ll have command of three other ships, all destroyers.”
“Yes, sir,” John said. He assumed that Commodore Blake would be in command of Bulldog Charlie, with Fitzwilliam himself in command of Bulldog Alpha. “We know precisely where to harass the Indians.”
“Of course,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “However, I have a specific set of orders for you. I do not want you to use your main gun against their convoys.”
John frowned. “Sir?”
“I do not want you to remind the Indians that it exists,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said, flatly. “I can give you the orders in writing, if you wish.”
“It won’t be necessary, sir,” John said.
“You’ll have them anyway,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. His lips twitched into a humourless smile. “The armchair admirals who’ll dissect the battle piece by piece will not take them into account unless you do. Some damn fool of a historian will say you were a complete moron who managed to forget the colossal gun built into his ship, someone so idiotic it was a minor miracle you didn't manage to hit an asteroid.”
“Yes, sir,” John said. There was something deeply personal in Admiral Fitzwilliam’s comment, but he knew he couldn't ask. God knew there had been hundreds of studies of Ark Royal and her missions, some of which had been highly critical. As the senior survivor, Admiral Fitzwilliam had probably gotten more than his fair share. “May I ask why?”
“I have an idea,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “It depends on just how the Indians react to our moves, Captain, but I’d prefer not to play that card until we know we can use it.”
“Yes, sir,” John said.
“You’ll have detailed orders waiting for you in the datanet,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “I don’t think we can hide the main body of the fleet, but we can probably get your ships away from the Indians and their allies.”
“Yes, sir,” John said. The Indian convoys had been fairly regular, according to the stealthed platforms. It was difficult to be sure, but it looked as if the Indians had devoted most of their freighters to supporting the war. “We can get to the interception point without anyone being any the wiser.”
“I hope so,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “Commodore Blake will be harassing their fleet while you take out the convoy.”
He smiled, coldly. “Your mission was very well done, Captain. Do you have any other observations before you go?”
<
br /> John hesitated. “We could broadcast a message to the colonists,” he said. “The Indians would have had to replace the datanet completely if they wanted to keep us from uploading messages into it.”
Admiral Fitzwilliam frowned. “And you believe it would help?”
“If the report is accurate, sir, the colonists are being gently pushed into outright collaboration,” he said. “It might be better to remind them, now, that we’re on the way. The Indians will know when we enter the system, won’t they?”
“Yes,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. He cleared his throat, loudly. “However, you would also run the risk of convincing them to do something stupid. I don't think there are many people on the surface with any genuine military experience. We still don’t know what happened to the POWs.”
“Yes, sir,” John agreed. The potential consequences were horrific. In wartime, the Indians would presumably clamp down as hard as they could. “But the risk might be worth it.”
A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6) Page 22