A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Yet,” the captain said. He cleared his throat. “But this is a little off-topic, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Penny agreed. She sighed inwardly. It wasn't easy to admit she was bored, but perhaps she should. Half of her insights into the war would never get past the censors - and if she tried, she’d wind up in the brig. She spent far too long watching movies, reading books and writing long emails to Hamish. “It’s quite a way off-topic.”

  She turned to look at the display. “I meant to ask,” she said. It wasn't precisely a lie - the issue had been bugging her for weeks. “Why doesn't Clarke III have its own name? Half the public seems convinced we’re attacking a planet rather than a moon?”

  The captain shrugged. “It’s generally the practice for the settlers to name their world, if it wasn't already named by the discoverer,” he said. If he was surprised by the question, he didn't show it. “I imagine the settlers will hold a referendum on the question in a year or so, once everything is nicely established. They’ll have plenty of time to choose a name.”

  Penny smiled. “Penny is a lovely name.”

  “Find your own planet,” the captain said, dryly. “You get to name it whatever you please.”

  “Fat chance,” Penny said. “Most exploration missions are run by either governments or large corporations. I couldn't buy an exploration ship for love or money.”

  “Probably not,” the captain agreed. “But you could add a name to the list of suggested planetary names.”

  “It sounds a bit pointless,” Penny mused. “You can name the world, if you discover it, but you can only choose from a list of pre-approved names.”

  “It could be worse,” the captain pointed out. “The first men to land on Mars, Venus, Titan and Terra Nova all had to say lines that were carefully scripted by PR hacks. After that, it became more acceptable to say ‘I claim this world for my country.’”

  “True,” Penny said. “I ...”

  She broke off as an alarm buzzed. “Captain?”

  The captain held up a hand as he keyed his console. “Report!”

  “Captain,” Tara said. “We just picked up a warning from the stealthed platforms. A number of Indian starships are leaving orbit.”

  “Understood,” the captain said. “I’m on my way.”

  He glanced at Penny. “Duty calls, I’m afraid.”

  “Good luck, captain,” Penny said. “And thank you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Pegasus System

  “Report,” James barked, as he strode into the CIC. “What do we have?”

  “Admiral,” Sally said. “Two large flotillas of Indian ships have departed Clarke.”

  James sat and keyed his console, activating the main display. “Where are they going?”

  “Unsure,” Sally said. “They’re not heading towards us or any of the tramlines.”

  James frowned. The time-delay was a problem - the Indians could have changed course already and he wouldn't know about it for at least ten minutes - but the more he looked at it, the less sense it made. Sally was right; the Indians didn't seem to have any real destination in mind. They’d have to alter course before they travelled too far from Clarke to do anything.

  Unless they’re trying to convince us to attack Clarke, he thought, slowly. They might not realise we know about the mass drivers.

  “Admiral,” Sally warned. “Three more fleets have been detected leaving Clarke. The total apparent ship count is over seventy, including three carriers.”

  James looked down at the display, shaking his head in disbelief. The Indians didn't have seventy ships, not in Pegasus. And if they'd had three carriers, they would have pushed for a decisive battle as soon as possible. No, those carriers had to be fakes, drones posing as enemy ships. They’d probably copied the tactic from the raiders he’d sent to keep the Indians on alert.

  They’d know we wouldn't be fooled, he thought. They might manage to get away with inflating their ship count, but only if they stuck to smaller ships. A carrier couldn't be faked realistically. There was no way the Indians could believe that anyone would be convinced by the fake carriers. And that meant ... what? Do they want us to know the carriers are faked?

  He contemplated it for a long moment. The Indians had to want him to know; there was no other possibility that made any kind of sense. Did they truly believe he’d be unable to determine which carrier was the real one? Or were they intent on forcing him to keep an eye on all five dummy fleets? One of them might well be real.

  Or they might all have some real ships, he mused. But if they come into close range, it would be easier to determine which ones are real and which ones are fakes.

  “Admiral,” Sally said. “The task force is requesting orders.”

  James nodded, slowly. “Signal to Warspite,” he ordered. It would be at least eight minutes before Warspite received her orders and sixteen before James knew she was ready to carry them out, but there was no way to avoid it. “She is to probe the edge of the Indian defence zone and attempt to confirm if the carrier remains in orbit.”

  “Aye, sir,” Sally said.

  “And order the task force to stand by,” James added. Even if the Indians changed course immediately, it would still be hours before they came into engagement range. “Yellow alert; I say again, yellow alert.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sally said.

  James forced himself to relax, thinking hard. It was hard to escape the impression the Indians were taunting him; they’d launched five separate fleets they knew he’d recognise as fakes, right from the start. And yet, he couldn't afford to completely dismiss them. One of those fleets might be real, protecting a full-sized fleet carrier. Or he might be meant to allow himself to be mesmerised by the sheer weight of firepower drifting through the system. It might be intended to keep him from noticing the real threat.

  “Order the escort ships to launch an additional shell of sensor drones,” he said. “I want to know about it if something comes within a million kilometres of our location, stealthed or not.”

  “Aye, sir,” Sally said.

  “And signal the foreign observers,” James said. A number of ships were already retreating from the task force, but others were obstinately remaining where they were. “Inform them that local space might be about to get hot.”

  He sat back in his chair, watching the Indians closely. They didn't seem inclined to alter course, but there was nothing to be gained by powering out of the system. The only scenario that made sense was that they thought they could escape his sensors entirely, then reverse course and strike him in the rear, but he’d already covered his back. Unless the real ships were making a beeline for him in stealth mode ...

  They’ll be inclined to gamble, he thought, coldly. There was no easy way to avoid it. The long-term advantage lies with us.

  “Inform me the moment Warspite responds,” he ordered. If the real carrier was still in orbit around the gas giant, he had some manoeuvring room. “And signal Hotchpotch. I want them to confirm the second carrier is still in the Vesy System.”

  Unless they’ve replaced that carrier with a drone and slipped it into this system, he thought, darkly. There were too many options if the Indians were prepared to gamble he wouldn't try to attack Gandhi. Putting one carrier into the system without being detected, certainly not at such long range, wouldn't be difficult. But they’d still need to get into attack range before they launched their fighters.

  He scowled at the display showing the foreign ships. There was no way he could take his own ships into stealth, not when the foreigners would point the Indians right to him. He could order them away from the task force, but not all of them would obey and opening fire on them would be a PR disaster. It had been far simpler when they’d been fighting the Tadpoles.

  But then we were also fighting to the finish, he reminded himself. Or so we thought.

  ***

  “Captain,” Tara said. “I believe the carrier is still in position.”

  John
leaned forward. “How can you be sure?”

  “She’s launching starfighters,” Tara said. “I think they’re sweeping local space for drones.”

  “Looks that way,” Howard agreed. “Unless they’ve managed to find a way to fake starfighters.”

  John rather doubted it. Unless the Indians had made a breakthrough, drones capable of faking starfighters convincingly would be staggeringly expensive. It would be cheaper to fly starfighters on remote control, even though it would be blindingly obvious that that was what they were doing within minutes. Combat AI simply couldn't cope with the decisions required to fly a starfighter into combat.

  But we were always wary about actually creating artificial intelligence, John reminded himself. Countless movies about rogue AIs turning on their creators had left a scar. The Indians might have decided to violate the taboo.

  “Prepare to pull us back,” he ordered. The last thing he wanted was to be detected and overwhelmed by a flight of starfighters. “Communications, raise the Admiral. Inform him that we have confirmed the presence of one fleet carrier in orbit around Clarke.”

  “Aye, sir,” Gillian said.

  John nodded as he studied the display. The Indians were playing at something, but what?

  “See if you can determine how many of those destroyers are real,” he added, after a moment’s thought. The Indians had concentrated their forces, following the task force’s arrival; they hadn't even diverted ships to serve as convoy escorts. “They may be trying to dupe us into believing the carrier is unescorted.”

  But surely they wouldn't have deliberately shown us more ships than they have, he thought, as Tara went to work. They’d know we’d deduce that that were fakes ...

  He scowled, inwardly. What if they weren't fakes? What if the Indians had secretly managed to build or buy more ships than MI6 had realised? The Russians were desperately short of foreign currency; they could easily have transferred a handful of smaller ships to the Indians in exchange for hard cash. It wasn't as if the Russians would feel obliged to warn anyone, either. Whatever had happened to isolate them from the other Great Powers, it had clearly been bad. They might want a little indirect revenge.

  “I think some of the ships are real,” Tara said, slowly. “But others are definitely drone-created images.”

  John frowned. “I see,” he said. “Upload the data to the Admiral.”

  “Aye, sir,” Tara said.

  ***

  “The fleets are on their way, General,” his aide said.

  Anjeet nodded, curtly. The British didn't realise it, but they had an advantage. His dispersed forces were so far apart that coordinating would be a bitch, while the British were concentrated in one location. They would have problems working out which of the starships were actually real, but once they figured it out they’d find it easier to react than any of the dispersed Indian formations.

  And I can't take command directly, he thought, sourly. I have to remain with the carrier.

  He gritted his teeth. The Prime Minister had told him to stay with the carrier, pointing out that India could hardly afford to lose one of its most experienced officers. Anjeet had argued that the carrier would draw fire, to which the Prime Minister had countered that it was also the most heavily-defended ship in the fleet. It was galling - he disliked the thought of remaining in safety while his men plunged into danger - but it did have some advantages. He could coordinate the dispersed fleets from the Flag Bridge ...

  But not command the engagements personally, he told himself. My orders would be out of date before they were even issued.

  “Order the fleets to execute Kali One on the designated moment,” he ordered, finally. The British would see the ships coming, but that was part of the point. “And inform Admiral Joshi that he may deploy the ... special units when he sees fit.”

  “Aye, sir,” his aide said.

  Anjeet cursed under his breath. The greatest naval battle since Operation Nelson - and the first major space battle between two human navies - and he, the commander of one side, was effectively stuck on the sidelines. His counterpart would be right in the thick of it. If only he hadn't been given orders not to risk the carrier ...

  But at least the British will get a surprise, he thought. And if they are disabled, I can finish them off personally.

  ***

  “Admiral,” Sally reported. “The Indian ships are altering course.”

  “They must have altered course simultaneously,” James commented. The display showed the Indian formations changing course one by one, but in reality they’d probably started their movements at the same time. “They’re heading towards us - confirm.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sally said. “Indian One will be within firing range in two hours, seventeen minutes; Indians Two through Five will be within firing range in two hours, thirty minutes.”

  “Expect Indian One to slow at some point,” James said. Given the problems they’d had to face, the Indians had done remarkably well. It looked as though his fleet was being attacked from several different angles at once. The reporters were probably even taking the reports of fleet carriers for granted. “Launch a new spread of drones towards each of the oncoming formations.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” Sally said.

  James sat back in his chair, thinking hard. Warspite had confirmed that one carrier and a number of smaller ships remained in orbit over Clarke, which meant that at least thirty of the ships in the advancing formations had to be fakes. The carriers definitely were, unless the Indians had sneaked the second carrier into Pegasus - and if they had, he’d still be reasonably confident about a battle. There would be the danger of the first carrier getting involved, but if he smashed one ship he could mousetrap the other.

  And if they are trying to sneak up on us while relying on us to be watching the formations, he thought, they’ve picked a very odd way to do it.

  He studied the sensor drones for a long moment. The Indians would have real problems sneaking anything larger than a destroyer through the electronic netting and into firing range, no matter what they did. A destroyer might do some damage, but it could be swatted before it did anything lethal. It would be embarrassing, yet it would be just embarrassing. His task force would survive.

  Unless they expect us to prepare for the formations and not to be alert now, he added, mentally. But such a plan would rely on us doing what they wanted.

  The display looked ominous. Five formations were closing from one side of the task force; the other side looked empty, untouched. And yet ... he hadn't dropped his guard. The Indians would have to be fools to assume he would. After all, they'd gone out of their way to make it clear that at least half the ships advancing on his position were fakes.

  “Bring the task force to red alert when the formations are twenty minutes from missile range,” he ordered. “But keep the tactical crews on alert.”

  “Aye, sir,” Sally said. She paused as a new report flashed up on her display. “A couple of the reporters have been apprehended trying to get into the CIC.”

  James frowned. He hadn't wanted the reporters. Given what had happened on Ark Royal’s final flight, he'd been reluctant to have anyone onboard who wasn't a naval officer. The Prime Minister had overruled him; the only concession he’d managed to get was an agreement that the reporters could be searched carefully before they were allowed to board and told, firmly, that large parts of the supercarrier were definitely off limits to them. Even so ... it was far too easy to come up with scenarios where the reporters accidentally or deliberately betrayed the ship.

  He pushed the thought aside. “Inform the marines that the reporters are to be dumped in the brig,” he ordered, curtly. There was a battle underway, even though neither side had fired a shot. “I’ll deal with them later.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sally said. There was a pause. “They’re making a fuss, but the marines have them well in hand.”

  James pushed the reporters out of his mind as he turned back to the display. The Indians were
still inching forward - as he’d expected, Indian One slowed slightly to ensure it entered engagement range with its fellows - and local space was clear. It looked as though the Indians weren't trying to be clever.

  And that makes no sense, he told himself. What are they trying to do.

  The display updated again as the drones flashed through the enemy formation, but they offered him no answers. A number of Indian ships were marked as real when they opened fire on the drones; others, showing nothing beyond a bare signature, were almost certainly fakes. Or they merely wanted the British to think they were fakes. James couldn't imagine any scenario where he’d want the enemy to get a close look at his hulls, but the Indian CO might have a more active imagination.