A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Yes, sir,” Sally said.

  She hesitated, noticeably. James smiled, inwardly.

  “Spit it out,” he said. Susan would not have hesitated to comment on his plans. Sally was too junior to be willing to contradict her commanding officer. “What do you want to say?”

  “We could raid Gandhi,” Sally said. She seemed to find it hard to meet his eyes. “Even a brief missile attack on their installations would be alarming.”

  “We could,” James agreed. It was certainly a tempting thought. At the very least, the Indians would have to face the prospect of losing all of their extra-solar investment. “But they would probably keep their cool and write off the damage.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sally said.

  James nodded in dismissal, then turned back to his thoughts. Blood had been drawn now and his forces had performed well. The Indians hadn't quite lived up to their claims, although it was only a matter of time before they garnered a considerable amount of experience of their own. James’s tactical analysts had already deduced that the Indians hadn’t even indulged in live-fire exercises until recently, perhaps attempting to conserve their strength. The prospect of a lethal accident, even during an exercise, could not be discounted.

  Or maybe they’re just trying to lure us in, he thought. The mass drivers on Clarke couldn't be underestimated - or knocked out, not at very long range. They want us to get closer before they start hurling rocks at us.

  He shrugged and keyed his console. “Prime Minister,” he said. There was no point in trying to delay matters. The damned reporters would already be sending messages back home. If the Prime Minister didn't receive a proper report, questions would be asked in Parliament and the government’s position might be undermined. “We have engaged the enemy for the first time. Tactical reports indicate ...”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Clarke III, Pegasus System

  “They’re here,” Sharon said.

  Lillian stared at her, shocked. For a moment, she thought Sharon meant the SAS, even though Lillian hadn't mentioned their presence to anyone on the colony. Had the Indians stumbled across them? Or had the troopers somehow sneaked into the underground chambers and made contact with Sharon? And then it struck her that Sharon meant the Royal Navy.

  David Majors leaned forward. “I’ve heard nothing,” he said. “Are you sure?”

  “A couple of the Indian soldiers were talking about it when they brought their friend into the infirmary,” Sharon said. “They’ve been here for a couple of days, apparently. There have been some brief engagements, but no major battle.”

  “They don't know about the mass drivers,” Majors said. “Shit.”

  Yes, they do, Lillian thought. The SAS would have passed on the warning. But how do I tell him that without betraying them?

  She agonised over it for long seconds. She trusted Majors. There was certainly no reason to assume he’d betray the underground resistance, such as it was. But she’d been warned, in no uncertain terms, not to reveal the SAS’s presence to anyone. She didn't dare breathe a word to Majors about them.

  “They will have inched stealthed drones and platforms close to Clarke,” she said, instead. “I think they’ll have seen the mass drivers on the ground.”

  Majors swung round to look at her. “Are you sure?”

  “They couldn't be anything else,” Lillian pointed out, calmly. What else could the mass drivers be? “Who would imagine the Indians would cover the surface with telescopes?”

  “We can't take the chance,” Majors said. He seemed to tense to realise he was being teased lightly. “We have to get a warning out, somehow.”

  Sharon cleared her throat. “How?”

  Majors glowered. Lillian sighed, inwardly. She understood his frustration. The Indians controlled everything. At worst, they could simply turn off the life support or destroy the colony from orbit. Resistance was futile. And yet, they had to do something. She didn't dare tell him anything that might betray the SAS ...

  “There is one possibility,” Majors said, slowly. “Lillian; you’re still taking supplies out to their bases, aren't you? You could take a jury-rigged transmitter and make a broadcast ...”

  “They’d detect the signal,” Lillian pointed out. She had no doubt Majors could put together a transmitter from cannibalised spare parts - he was a very capable engineer - but the Indian satellites would pick up the radio signal. “And then we’d be exposed.”

  “You could keep your mouth shut,” Majors snarled.

  “She couldn't,” Sharon said. “An injection of a standard truth drug and she’d be spilling everything she knows.”

  “Maybe we could feed the Indians something nasty,” Majors suggested glumly. “Do you have anything that would drive them mad? Or make them do whatever we want?”

  “No,” Sharon said. “We never imagined we might have to poison an occupation force.”

  “Clearly, an oversight in our imagination,” Majors said. “If we’d been armed ...”

  “We would have ripped the colony apart while we were trying to hold the Indians off,” Lillian said, bluntly. She wondered, absently, if Majors had been drinking and then decided it was unlikely. The Indians had banned alcohol and confiscated the two illicit stills they’d found. “There was no way to prevent them from occupying the colony short of blowing ourselves up.”

  She held up her hand. “If you can put together a directional transmitter, I should be able to send a signal to the navy, once I’m well away from the colony,” she said. “We would, of course, have to locate the navy ships first ... and make sure we sent the signal to the right navy. Sending it to the wrong one would probably give the Indians a laugh right before they arrested us.”

  Majors smiled. “Maybe they’d be too busy laughing to arrest us properly.”

  Sharon gave Lillian an odd look. “Are you sure you can find the right set of ships?”

  “Of course,” Lillian lied. “I was a crewwoman, after all.”

  She kept her face under tight control. Majors would be easy to fool - he wanted to find a way to hit back at the Indians so desperately that he’d overlook any little flaws in the plan - but Sharon would be tougher. She might well realise that Lillian was lying about something, even if she wasn't sure what. And that meant ... Sharon might assume the worst, that Lillian intended to betray them. God knew she had the least motivation to return to Great Britain.

  And she’s more than just a doctor, Lillian thought. She’s a psychologist as well.

  “It won’t take more than a day or two,” Majors assured her. “Assuming the Indians don’t find anything else for me to do ...”

  “You’ll be fine,” Sharon said, bluntly. “Good luck.”

  Majors nodded to them both - looking happier than he’d been in weeks - and hurried out of the compartment. Sharon hesitated, as if she wanted to have a private chat with Lillian, and then followed him. Lillian allowed herself a sigh of relief as she slumped back into her chair, feeling as if she’d just passed a test of some kind. There was no reason to use the transmitter, not when she could make contact with the SAS once she left the colony, but there was no harm in letting Majors believe she’d passed on his message. Hell, it was a way to strike back at the Indians. It was just ... a little more useless than he imagined.

  Unless Sharon decides to do something stupid, she thought. Sharon could be a dangerous enemy, if crossed; a doctor was simply too perceptive to be ignored. Maybe I should try to seduce Majors instead ...

  She pushed the thought aside, angrily. She'd already dismissed the idea of trying to seduce one of the Indians, even though she could see advantages to sharing Colonel Darzi’s bed. If nothing else, she could knife him as soon as the Royal Navy began its attack. But it probably wouldn't have worked, even if she had been a seductress. The Indians kept their distance from the British colonists.

  All I can do is hope, she told herself. And ...

  She looked up as a chime echoed through the air. “All personnel are
to report to the main hall,” a voice said. “I say again, all personnel are to report to the main hall.”

  Lillian hesitated, then rose to her feet and hurried out the hatch. The main hall was large enough to hold most of the colonists, if they didn’t mind standing room only. She'd only ever been there once since the Indians had landed, when they’d spoken briefly to the colonists to lay down the law. Now ... she joined the throng of colonists as they headed into the hall, somehow unsurprised to see that the tables and chairs had been pushed to the rear. The Indian Governor, Colonel Darzi, was standing at the front of the room, surrounded by four men in powered combat armour.

  Coward, Lillian thought, coldly. There was literally nothing on the colony that could burn through combat armour, certainly not now the Indians had stripped the colonists of anything that could reasonably be used as a weapon. You don’t need to wear armour to make a point.

  She leaned against the stone wall and waited for the rest of the colonists to enter the compartment. A number had clearly been sleeping and looked less than happy to be awoken, others looked relieved. There was no way the Indians could blame them for avoiding work when they’d been summoned by Darzi himself. Lillian hoped, savagely, that the delays would wind up causing problems for the Indians, although she had a feeling that any such problems would be minor. The Indians wouldn't have summoned essential personnel from their tasks.

  But they didn't say so, she recalled, as the hatches were closed. They called everyone.

  “Thank you for coming,” Darzi said, smoothly. “I’m afraid there have been developments.”

  He paused for a long second before continuing. “As some of you may already have heard, your nation has dispatched a task force into the Pegasus System and skirmished with our outlying defenders. Honours so far have been around even. They have yet to push against our main defence line.”

  Lillian winced, inwardly. It might have been better if the Indians had tried to keep the arrival of the Royal Navy secret. Now, some hothead might just try something stupid, something she couldn't head off in time. Majors couldn't be the only one planning overt resistance to the Indians, could he?

  “The situation has not changed, however,” Darzi added. “We still control the colony and the orbital space surrounding it. There is no point in trying to resist - or to impede our plans to defend this colony. Should any of you try, you will be shot out of hand. This is the one warning you will get.”

  Which matches the one you offered us earlier, Lillian thought, wryly. It sounded as though the Indians were more worried than they wanted to admit. Do you have reason to believe your positions are not invincible?

  “Some of you will be drafted to assist with the defence preparations,” Darzi warned. “For those of you ... yes?”

  A middle-aged man had stuck up a hand. “You cannot legally ask us to assist in preparing defences ...”

  “You have a choice between working and starving,” Darzi said, curtly. Lillian was surprised he hadn't ordered the man dragged out of the room and shot. “Yes, we can make you work for us. For what it’s worth, you probably won’t be counted as willing collaborators.”

  Probably, Lillian thought. She’d tried to look up the regulations, but they were terrifyingly imprecise. Like far too many war criminals, the collaborator would only be told he’d crossed the line after the war. It would depend, she suspected, on public reaction to their crimes. But you can't promise us anything, can you?

  “In the event of your navy gaining control of the system,” Darzi concluded, “we will surrender without further ado. Until then ... behave.”

  And that, Lillian was sure, as Darzi turned and strutted out of the compartment, was a flat-out lie. Control of the system was one thing, but control of the gas giant’s moons was quite another. The Indians would have ample opportunity to lure the Royal Navy in close and then open fire with their mass drivers, even if their fleet was beaten in open combat. And the Indians had poured men and material into Clarke. They wouldn't surrender while they could still bleed the Royal Navy white.

  She was still mulling over the issue when she checked her terminal and found a blunt order to report to one of the work gangs, after lunchtime. Cursing under her breath, she hurried to the nearest diner, ate a meal that tasted like ashes and then joined some of the other colonists in the vehicle bay. The Indians had gathered forty colonists, it seemed; they were all men and women who had no constantly useful purpose.

  “Get your suits on,” an Indian ordered, striding into the bay. “Check and recheck your radios; set to CLARKE frequency only.”

  Of course, Lillian thought, coldly. Given the presence of the gas giant, a low-power radio signal would probably be undetectable except at very close range. You wouldn't want us trying to signal the fleet, would you?

  She donned her suit, checked her neighbour’s while he checked hers, then picked up her shovel and followed the Indian guards out onto the surface. It looked clear, for once, but she could see clouds in the distance, shrouding the further mountains. She wondered if the SAS team were lurking there, watching from a safe distance, then put it out of her mind. There was no way to know.

  And hope I do get sent to take the next lot of supplies, she thought. She was on the rota, but that had been before the Royal Navy arrived. They may think I should be kept here instead.

  “You’ll be digging trenches around the colony,” the guard ordered. Someone had been busy; they’d placed tiny flags in position to illustrate where the workers were supposed to dig. The Indians would probably emplace weapons later, Lillian thought. They wouldn't trust the British colonists with heavy weapons. “Get to work.”

  Lillian sighed and did as she was told.

  ***

  “They’re digging a network of trenches, sir,” Percy observed.

  He peered through the binoculars as the workers started to do their job. It looked as though they weren’t being given a choice, although he was mildly surprised the Indians hadn't brought out the heavy digging equipment. A single bulldozer, adapted for local conditions, could dig a trench within minutes, while a military-grade handling machine could do the rest of the work in a day. Putting the colonists to work was just pointless.

  “Interesting,” Lewis said. He sounded rather amused. “They must want to keep the colonists busy.”

  “Looks that way,” Drake agreed. “Is there any sign of our friend?”

  “None,” Lewis said. He glanced at Percy, sharply. He'd been doubtful about making any sort of contact with the colonists. Even if they were loyal, they might not be trustworthy and accidentally betray the SAS. “The last two transports we saw weren't broadcasting the signal.”

  Percy frowned, inwardly. Had they signed Lillian’s death warrant by giving her the transmitter? It was certainly possible ... but then, if she had been caught, surely the Indians would have used it to bait a trap. They did seem to be running random patrols around the colony, yet as far as he could tell they were just random. There certainly didn't seem to be a proper search effort underway.

  Long hours ticked by, slowly. The Indians brought out heavy weapons emplacements, then ordered the workers back inside as they slowly fitted their equipment into the trenches. It wouldn't have lasted long against orbital bombardment, Percy knew, but the combination of ground-based plasma cannons, railguns and human shields would be enough to keep the Royal Navy from simply flattening the colony from orbit. They’d have to launch an assault on the ground and that would be tricky.

  But we could do it, he thought, as the Indians kept expanding their lines. He’d been taught a great deal about defences, back on Earth, and one of the things he’d been taught was that defences were only as strong as the soldiers manning them. The Indians didn't have enough soldiers to man them all. As long as we could get the marines down to the surface, we could overwhelm the defenders before they could react.

  “We’ll have to forward this back through the link,” Drake said. “Boone will need to know about it as soon as pos
sible.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lewis said.

  Percy kept his amusement to himself. The Royal Marines had picked fights with the Paras - and vice versa - on Vesy, but the SAS didn't seem to care that they were reporting to a Para Lieutenant-Colonel. On the other hand, the SAS knew they were the best; they didn't need to engage in the rivalry that dominated interactions between the Royal Marines and the Paras. And they had freedom to carry out their orders as they saw fit ...

  “Percy, take the recordings to the transmitter,” Drake ordered. “We may have to pull back if they keep establishing spotter outposts.”

  “Aye, sir,” Percy said.

  He took the datachips, placed them within his suit and headed off. Drake was right; if the Indians were genuinely preparing for an offensive on the ground, it wouldn't be long before they started putting spotters on the nearby hills. The SAS were past masters at sneaking around observers, but it would be harder to fool the Indians than terrorists on Earth. They might have to take down the tents and head somewhere further into the wilderness before re-establishing themselves.