A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “And order the starfighters to hold out as long as they can,” he added. There was no way they could be recovered, not unless the British kindly allowed the starships to shut down their drives. They couldn't even save the crews. “They’re to fight to the last.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” the aide said.

  ***

  “They’re refocusing their attack on us, Admiral,” Sally reported.

  “Alter course,” James ordered. If there was nothing to one side of them, they’d force the enemy to unite their formations. “Continue firing.”

  The Indians were doing well, he had to admit; their starfighters were a little inexperienced, yet their point defence was good - even against mass drivers - and the long-range missiles had been a nasty surprise. Three of his ships were gone, four more were heavily damaged; he thought five or six Indian vessels had been taken out, but the damned drones made it hard to be sure. The only consolation was that the Indians had to be having similar problems.

  “The boarding pods are closing in on us, Admiral,” Sally added. “A number are also being diverted to Lillian.”

  “Understood,” James said. A wave of starfighters was also closing in on Theodore Smith. They’d be unable to punch through the armour, but they’d sure as hell be able to weaken the point defence. The Tadpoles had used a similar trick against Ark Royal. “Order two of the frigates to provide additional covering fire.”

  He braced himself as the Indian starfighters swooped down. It was unlikely he’d feel anything, he told himself, when they opened fire, but memories of the war ran deep. Red icons flashed up on the status board, alerting him to smashed plasma cannons and useless sensors; three Indian starfighters survived to break off as Theodore Smith’s starfighters counterattacked. The boarding pods slipped closer, trying to move into the blind spots created by the starfighters. A dozen died, picked off harmlessly, but three survived long enough to latch onto the hull.

  They’re not large ships, James thought. They could only carry a dozen marines in combat amour apiece.

  “Marines are already being deployed,” Sally said. “I ...”

  Theodore Smith rang like a bell. For a long moment, the displays blanked out before the emergency power came on and the system rebooted itself. James stared in disbelief at the red icons covering the status board, slowly putting together what must have happened. They’d been tricked. The boarding pods hadn't been crammed with Indian marines, but enemy warheads.

  “Only one detonated,” Sally reported, checking the live feed from the surrounding starships. “It did considerable damage, though; one of our drive units and two launch tubes are out of commission.”

  James cursed. It looked very much as though the Indians had started to shoot themselves dry, but they’d already inflicted more than enough damage to make the expenditure worthwhile. Without a shipyard, it would take weeks to repair the damage ... and, unless it was fixed in time, the carrier was far too vulnerable.

  “Admiral,” Sally said. “The remaining Indian ships are breaking off.”

  “It looks that way,” James agreed. He sucked in his breath. The Indians had hammered the task force, but they’d taken a beating themselves. They’d need resupply before they could complete the job. “They’re waiting for the carrier to come finish us off.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Pegasus System

  “The enemy carrier is badly damaged, sir.”

  Anjeet hesitated. “How badly damaged?”

  “Unsure,” the aide admitted. “She took at least one of the faked boarding pods - the ones tactical assumed would be overlooked in favour of shooting at the missiles.”

  “I know the theory,” Anjeet snapped. “How badly was the carrier damaged?”

  “She took at least one major hit,” the aide said. “Tactical analysis suggests she’s probably lost one of her drive compartments and a starfighter launch tube. She also lost a considerable number of weapons and sensor blisters before our starfighters were beaten off.”

  Anjeet frowned. If the British carrier was crippled, he had an opportunity to force a decisive victory; the British would hardly wish to continue the war if they lost their proudest carrier to an inferior foe. And yet, the only way to push his advantage now was to take Viraat out of orbit and advance on the enemy ship, battering her to uselessness with his mass drivers. The remainder of his fleet needed time to repair and rearm.

  He closed his eyes, torn between two equally unpalatable problems. Delay favoured the British; the longer the war lasted, the weaker India’s position would become. And yet, if it were a trap, he’d be risking everything on one throw of the dice. But the rewards for victory would be immense. The war would be over, India would have secured her gains and he would have won the first major interstellar conflict between two different human powers. No one would be able to look down on India after she’d beaten Britain in even combat.

  “Contact the bridge,” he ordered, finally. The opportunity was too good to miss. “We are to advance out of orbit towards the enemy position.”

  “Aye, sir,” the aide said.

  “Two frigates are to accompany us,” Anjeet added, after a moment. “The remaining ships are to hold position in orbit.”

  Anjeet nodded as he turned his attention to the main display, mentally calculating possible vectors. It would take at least nine hours to reach engagement range - Viraat wasn't anything like as fast as a frigate, let alone a courier boat - but he doubted the British could repair their ship before he could arrive. The smartest thing for them to do would be to fall back to J-35, forcing him to choose between giving chase and letting them go. But if they couldn't escape before he arrived, he’d have an excellent chance to win. One undamaged carrier against one that had already been badly damaged. It wouldn't be a remotely fair contest.

  Good, he thought, savagely.

  “Order Admiral Joshi to split his remaining fleet,” he ordered. “Ships that are still in fighting trim are to reverse course and hold position, twenty minutes from the British task force. The remainder are to head directly to the tramline and jump out to Vesy.”

  “Aye, sir,” the aide said. He paused; Anjeet gave him a sharp look. “The remaining ships have largely shot themselves dry.”

  “They can still keep a sharp eye on the British ships,” Anjeet said. It was quite likely the British had shot themselves dry too - he made a mental note to send raiders into J-35 once the main battle was concluded - and they would need time to rearm too. “And make sure the reporters don’t come too close.”

  “Aye, sir,” the aide said, again.

  Anjeet smiled, coldly. The reporters were impudent, even the ones he’d had carefully vetted before allowing them to board his flagship. If anything, the ones who had booked their own passage to the system were even worse. His inbox was overflowing with requests for interviews, tours of the carrier and details of his future plans, as if he would be so foolish as to share them. He wondered, absently, if his British counterpart had the same problem. No doubt the British found the reporters as irritating as he did ...

  Maybe we should have organised the battle so the reporters were trapped between the fleets, he thought, nastily. And sworn blind it was a terrible accident.

  He pushed the thought aside, regretfully. The reporters might be gadflies, but killing them would lead to more trouble than he cared to endure. It was important, vitally so, to present India’s point of view to the rest of humanity and killing reporters would only make that harder. The Prime Minister would be furious if everything India did was painted in the worst possible light, simply because a reporter too stupid to know better had climbed into a missile tube seconds before it was opened to interstellar space. No doubt it would be portrayed as deliberate murder. God knew that countless reporters had died during the Age of Unrest.

  And they learned nothing useful from it, he thought. Not even the concept of telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

  A shudder ran through th
e giant carrier as her main drives came online. Anjeet watched the status board for a long moment - he’d always been a little nervous about the overpowered drives - and then relaxed as everything showed green. They were on their way to the final battle.

  “Course laid in, General,” the aide confirmed. “Bridge estimates nine hours, seventeen minutes to engagement range.”

  Anjeet nodded. It was possible, he supposed, that the British would try to slip around the carrier and attack Clarke III, but they’d run straight into the remaining escort ships and the mass drivers if they tried. The entire moon was ringed with active sensors, ready to detect and track even a starship in stealth mode. And then they could be targeted and destroyed, perhaps without even knowing what had hit them.

  And besides, if they try, they won’t gain anything, he thought. They’d need to land troops to evict us unless they’re prepared to write off their own settlers.

  It galled him to have to rely, however indirectly, on human shields. The fact that they hadn't handcuffed the settlers to the mass drivers didn't change what they’d done. But there was no alternative. The British couldn't be allowed to secure orbital supremacy and drop KEWs at will or the war would come to a short sharp end. Perhaps it would have been more honourable to send the settlers home, or to Vesy, before the war started in earnest, but honour was only for those who could afford it. India had long since learnt that honour was nothing more than a word.

  “Inform me when we are one hour from the enemy,” Anjeet ordered. Perhaps the British would retreat, if they could. He’d fall back if they did, allowing the spin doctors to spin a tale of how he kindly let the damaged carrier go. “Until then, put the beta crews on duty and have the starfighter pilots get some rest. They’re going to be needed.”

  He studied the final report from Admiral Joshi and noted, carefully, all the questions it left unanswered. Theodore Smith had six starfighter launching tubes; she’d lost one, according to the analysts, but could she still launch and recover starfighters from the others? If so, she would be far from defenceless. The post-battle analysis had barely begun, but it was already clear that the British torpedo-bombers were very effective. Their torpedoes had taken out half a dozen starships during the brief engagement.

  But our long-range missiles were a nasty surprise too, he thought. If only we’d had more of them.

  He shook his head, bitterly. Nations went to war with what they had on hand, not with what they wanted. India had gone into debt to build the navy and a relative handful of special weapons; it was churlish to complain that he didn't have everything he wanted. A wonder weapon that could take out a British carrier from halfway across the system would be very useful ... but if he’d had something like it, the British would probably have it too. Both fleets would have been wiped out within seconds.

  “And inform Khan that I wish to review his files before they're dispatched to Earth,” he warned. “This isn't the time to boast our success.”

  “Aye, sir,” the aide said.

  ***

  “The carrier is leaving orbit, sir,” Tara reported. “She’s on a direct-line course for Theodore Smith.”

  “Understood,” John said. They hadn't been able to do more than watch the battle, knowing that the whole affair had been resolved long before the first signals reached Warspite. The Royal Navy had held its own, but the carrier had been badly damaged. “Helm, move us into intercept position.”

  “Aye, sir,” Armstrong said.

  John felt his heartbeat starting to pound as the giant red icon moved closer. Admiral Fitzwilliam had ordered him to refrain from using Warspite’s main weapon, anticipating her deployment when the two sides stopped skirmishing and went for one another’s throats. He hadn't expected the Indians to take the offensive so savagely, but now ... now they had the perfect opportunity to take a shot at the Indian carrier. It would mean defying his orders, yet he knew what the Admiral had had in mind. They could hardly hope for a better chance ... if, of course, Warspite and her main gun lived up to Admiral Soskice’s predictions.

  “I want to be so deeply buried in stealth mode they can't hear a whisper,” he ordered, keying his console. “Engineering; drives are to be placed on standby, ready to be flash-woken.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Johnston said. “I must warn you that this will take a heavy toll on the drives.”

  “So will Indian weapons tearing us apart,” John said, tartly. The beancounters would probably make a fuss - Johnston was right; Warspite’s drives would lose at least a couple of years off their expected lifespan if he held them on standby - but success and survival were more important. “We’ll only have one shot at this.”

  “Captain,” Armstrong said. “We’re in the right position, assuming they don’t change course.”

  They’ll want to get to the carrier before she can make her escape to J-35, John told himself, firmly. Theodore Smith was badly damaged; her repair crews were already going to work, but it would take at least a week before she was ready to return to the fray. They’ll never have a better chance to win the war outright.

  “Hold us here,” he ordered. “Tactical?”

  “Main gun is online,” Tara said. “We are ready to engage the enemy.”

  “Hold point defence in readiness too,” John ordered. “They’ll counterattack as soon as they realise what we’ve done.”

  “Aye, sir,” Tara said.

  John nodded, then exchanged a look with Howard. No matter how they sliced it, there was a very good chance they were on a suicide mission. The Indians would react badly, the moment they knew they were under attack ...

  ... And they might know, if they picked up traces of the plasma gun being readied to fire. It had been intensely modified, after the first time it had been used against a live target, but no one had tested the modifications in actual combat. If the Indians detected them before they entered engagement range, they could either engage Warspite themselves or merely alter course, forcing her to play catch-up. And if they did engage Warspite, John had no illusions about how long they’d survive.

  But it was what we signed up for, he reminded himself. And trading Warspite for one of their carriers is a win in anyone’s book.

  He studied the Indian carrier as Warspite’s passive sensors tracked her approach. She was colossal, easily two kilometres long, although it was clear that some of her design had been influenced by America rather than Britain - or the Tadpoles, for that matter. The Americans had built the largest fleet carriers before the war, choosing to deploy vast numbers of starfighters rather than cramming their ships with mass drivers, missile tubes and other long-range weapons. And three American carriers had died in the Battle of New Russia because they lacked heavy armour too ...

  They may have skimped on the armour, he thought. It didn’t look as though their drives were any more powerful than comparable British designs, but their carrier definitely had a tighter acceleration curve than anything in the Royal Navy. Their mass must have been reduced somehow.

  “She’ll be in range in forty minutes,” Tara reported. “Her two escorts are holding position on either side of her.”

  “Ignore them,” John ordered. It would be a mistake, under normal circumstances, but there was no choice. Warspite was expendable compared to the giant carrier. “When I give the order, I want you to throw everything we have at the carrier, including the kitchen sink.”

  “Aye, sir,” Tara said. “I suggest we focus the main gun on her drive section, assuming we can get a clear shot. It would disable the carrier even if it didn't destroy her.”

  “Make it so,” John ordered.

  He forced himself to relax. If they did disable the carrier, she would be out of the war permanently even if the Admiral didn't take the opportunity to finish her off. The Indians would still have a second carrier, but they’d be wary about risking her when the tactical situation had changed so completely. They’d certainly want to rethink their options if they lost their first carrier.

  “All w
eapons ready,” Tara reported.

  “I have an evasive escape course programmed in,” Armstrong added. “We can be on the move as soon as the drives come online.”

  And pray they don’t actually fail under the sudden demand, John thought. It hadn't been that long ago that a faulty power conduit had crippled the entire ship. The engineers had worked in several bypasses after that, just in case, but he was far too aware that a single mistake at the worst possible time would be disastrous. This could go horrendously wrong.

  “Thirty minutes to engagement range,” Tara said. “Recommend we adjust position slightly, very slightly.”

  “Send the details to the helm,” John ordered. “But be careful we don’t do anything that could be detected.”