Bose looked embarrassed. “It was not how I wished to attain the office,” he said. “Would you care for a drink? Tea? Or something stronger?”
“Tea would be fine,” Joelle said.
She waited patiently for a young woman in a green sari to serve the tea, then leaned forward to meet his eyes. “I assume there was a reason you called me,” she said. “Please can we get to the meat of the matter?”
“Yes,” Bose said. “My government would like to see a formal end to the war as soon as possible. Accordingly, we are prepared to rubber-stamp the agreement between General Patel and Admiral Fitzwilliam.”
“My government has its own opinion of the affair,” Joelle said. If the Indians thought they were getting away with it that easily ... well, they had another think coming. “I have been told to put their terms before you.”
Bose looked pained, but unsurprised. “Please outline those terms.”
Joelle took a sip of her tea. “First, you will formally acknowledge our possession of both Pegasus and Cromwell,” she said. “The industrial and military equipment you moved into the system is to be transferred to us, free of charge. In exchange for this, we will not demand any reparations for the cost of fighting the war.”
Bose nodded, slowly.
“Second,” Joelle continued, “you will abandon all claim to Vesy. Your installations on the planet’s surface will be placed into lockdown, prior to being handed over to either us or a multinational contact team. Furthermore, you will provide us with a complete account of just what happened on the planet between the arrival of your forces and the uprising.”
She held up a hand before he could say a word. “Other governments may demand compensation for the deaths of their nationals,” she added. “The British Government insists on receiving the same level of compensation, once you come to an agreement with the other claimants.”
“We may agree to forget the whole affair,” Bose pointed out, smoothly.
“And if you do, more power to you,” Joelle said. Everyone would be pressing claims, now the Indians had been badly weakened. It would keep them busy for years. “We will not intervene further in the matter.
“Third, you will not be permitted to move warships into Vesy, Cromwell or Pegasus without special permission from the British representatives. Choosing to do so will be considered an act of war and treated accordingly. Furthermore, you will not be permitted to establish naval bases or fortifications in any of the systems adjacent to those three stars.”
Bose scowled. Joelle understood his feelings. If Britain had wanted to resume the war at a later date, or if the Indians wound up fighting someone else, India would find itself at a significant disadvantage. And it was insulting. Given the nature of the tramlines, it was generally agreed that warships and courier boats could pass through without hindrance, as long as they stayed well away from settled worlds. Even the Chinese allowed American warships to pass through their tramlines without objection and vice versa. It suggested, very strongly, that India was simply not trusted. But he said nothing.
He should have seen the original draft, Joelle thought. Some hotheads in the Foreign Office had wanted to crush India, even to the point of demanding the right to import goods into India and Indian-settled worlds without tariffs. But that would almost certainly have guaranteed another war in the future. Parliament may believe we’re letting them off lightly.
“The British Government does not, as I said, intend to claim any further reparations from your country,” Joelle said. “However, for our final demand, we want you to acknowledge, formally, that your country made the cold-blooded decision to launch an unprovoked war of conquest against the United Kingdom. We do not intend to charge your leaders - your former leaders - with war crimes, but there is to be no question, now or ever, over just who was responsible for the war.”
She cleared her throat. “These terms are not negotiable,” she concluded. “You have one week from today to accept them. Once you do, we will begin working out the details of returning the POWs and ending the war. If you choose to reject our terms, we will continue the war until your ability to threaten galactic peace is removed, permanently.”
Bose nodded, slowly. “Do you intend to return the POWs without delay?”
“We would need to round up the ships to transport them to Gandhi,” Joelle said. “But we do not intend to keep them, unless evidence surfaces that some of the POWs were involved in as-yet undiscovered war crimes.”
“No charges have been filed,” Bose said, stiffly.
“No war crimes have been reported,” Joelle said. Whatever else could be said about the Indian soldiers, they’d comported themselves in a remarkably civilised manner. “However, if that changes, we reserve the right to punish those responsible.”
She removed a datachip from her pocket and placed it on the desk. “You have our terms, Prime Minister,” she added, as she rose to her feet. “Please inform us within the week if you intend to accept them or not.”
“I will consult with Parliament,” Bose said. “And then I will call you personally.”
***
Somewhat to Joelle’s surprise, it was only three hours before Bose called her.
“My government has decided to accept your terms,” he said. “I am currently preparing orders for General Patel to withdraw the remainder of his ships to Gandhi, then supply you with transports to collect the former POWs. I trust this is acceptable?”
“It will be, as soon as you sign the peace treaty,” Joelle said. She'd expected a long argument - or even a decision to continue the war. An entire nation’s pride was at stake. “And I thank you, Prime Minister.”
Bose nodded. “You’ll have the signed treaty tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll discuss the transport issue afterwards.”
His face vanished from the display. Joelle let out a sigh of relief, then keyed her console and tapped in a brief message for the Prime Minister. He’d be relieved too, she knew; he’d had to argue savagely to get the Indians light terms, despite the risk of continuing the war. Now, there would be MPs arguing that they really should have put the boot in as hard as possible, kicking the Indians while they were down. It wouldn't be a pleasant session in Parliament ...
She was still working on her message when her aide knocked on her door. “Yes, Frieda?”
The young woman looked worried. “Ambassador, we picked up a message on a secure government channel,” she said. “Prime Minister Singh - the former Prime Minister - has just committed suicide.”
Joelle felt her eyes narrow. “Did he actually commit suicide or did he accidentally brutally cut his own head off while shaving?”
“I don’t know, as yet,” the aide said. “There aren't many details. But the Indians are advising their security forces to brace for riots.”
“I see,” Joelle said. She sighed, heavily. No one would actually miss Singh, but the Indians might have needed a scapegoat for the whole affair. “Order Captain Nolen to put the security guards on alert, just in case.”
“Yes, Ambassador,” Frieda said.
“And see what else you can pick up,” Joelle added. A real suicide? Or had someone killed him to avoid having to put the former Prime Minister on trial? “If there are more details, let me know.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Nelson Base, Earth Orbit
“So Singh is dead,” James mused. “Was it really suicide?”
“MI6 isn't sure,” Uncle Winchester said. “Apparently, Singh put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. If he actually was murdered ... well, the Indians aren't talking. But it looks as though no one is mourning his death. Bose managed to shift all the blame onto Singh once he was no longer around to defend himself.”
“Whatever floats their boat,” James said. “I suppose he didn’t manage to shoot himself in the back a dozen times?”
“There’s no way to know,” Uncle Winchester said. “From what we’ve been told, the body was identified, then cremated and the ashes handed over
to his family. The evidence, if there was any evidence there to find, is gone.”
“I see,” James said.
He couldn't really blame the Indians, he knew. The British task force had taken heavy losses, but it had emerged victorious; the Indians, unfortunately for them, didn't have that consolation. Putting all the blame on Singh was one way to absolve their caretaker government of any responsibility for the debacle. Four weeks after the formal end of the war, India was still in turmoil. It was unlikely the caretaker government would win the next election.
“We won’t be following up, in any case,” Uncle Winchester added. “The death of Prime Minister Singh allows us to bring this affair to an end without further delay.”
James nodded. The Indians had signed the treaty, then supplied ships to transport the POWs from Clarke III to Gandhi, where they were swapped for Governor Brown and the other long-term British POWs. He’d heard the Indian POWs weren't going any further - their government didn't want to add to the unrest by letting them return home to tell their stories - but that wasn't Britain’s concern. As long as the war didn't restart, whatever happened in India was India’s problem.
“We won,” he said. “I trust that the government was pleased?”
Uncle Winchester beamed. “I dare say we should have no trouble getting the next budget through the house,” he said. “It’s a shame we can’t extort more from the Indians, but it probably doesn't matter. Replacing the lost ships and building the next generation of warships should be funded without too much quibbling in Parliament.”
“Polling figures looking good, then,” James teased. “And to think that some people doubted our victory.”
“It could have gone the other way, if things had been different,” Uncle Winchester reminded him. “You’ll be confronting the Next Generation Warships Oversight Board on Tuesday, James. Given what happened to the Indian carrier ...”
“We need to move ahead with other projects,” James finished. He glanced at his watch. “I do have an appointment, Uncle ...”
“More important than the Minister of Defence?” Uncle Winchester asked, dryly. He held up a hand before James could say anything. “Percy and Penny, I assume?”
“Remind me to have whoever gave you access to my appointment book shot,” James said, crossly. “But yeah, I do need to speak with them before Penny goes off on her book tour and Percy boards ship for Vesy.”
“And takes his new girlfriend with him,” Uncle Winchester said. “Given her service, James, I dare say we can officially forgive her earlier conduct. Still ... perhaps it’s for the best she’s going to Vesy.”
He rose. “I’ll be in touch before the board meeting,” he warned. “It’s important we present a united front.”
“I know, Uncle,” James said.
“And I shall expect to hear about your engagement soon,” Uncle Winchester added. “You are running out of excuses, young man.”
James rolled his eyes as Uncle Winchester stepped through the hatch, then glanced at his appointments log. Percy and Penny were due in twenty minutes, just long enough for him to snatch a cup of tea and read the latest set of reports from Earth. And then ...
He shook his head. If the topic for the coming discussion was what he expected, it wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation.
***
Percy - his new rank insignia glittering on his sleeve - couldn’t help feeling nervous as the aide showed Penny and him into Admiral Fitzwilliam’s office. The man was his commanding officer as well as his semi-adopted father; it was never easy for him to know how to treat the older man. Indeed, he was mildly surprised he’d been allowed to serve under Admiral Fitzwilliam, although there had been quite some distance between them. It wasn't as if the Admiral had been issuing orders to him directly.
“Percy, Penny, please take a seat,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. He’d organised a small table, three comfortable chairs and a pot of tea at one end of the palatial office. “For the moment, I think we can do without rank altogether.”
“Thank you, sir,” Percy said. Old habits were hard to put aside, particularly ones that had been drummed into his head by a succession of training sergeants. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“And congratulations on your promotion,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “Captain at such a young age. I believe General Boone is looking forward to having you under his command on Vesy.”
Percy nodded. He’d been promoted, then offered a choice between being sent back to Portsmouth for further training or assignment to Vesy. Given that Lillian was also going to Vesy as part of the uplift team, it hadn't been a difficult choice. He had no idea where they were going, but he wanted to find out. Besides, he was one of the few officers who had experience on Vesy.
And I can try out for Selection in a couple of years, if things don’t work out, he told himself. Drake’s already written me a recommendation.
He pushed the thought aside. “It should be an interesting deployment, sir,” he said. “At least things should be more organised now.”
“I would hope so,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “And Penny! Congratulations on the book deal.”
“Thank you,” Penny said, flushing slightly. “All I have to do now is write it.”
“You’ve already written a handful of articles that were very well received,” Admiral Fitzwilliam pointed out. “Couldn't you just string them together into a book?”
“It’s a little more complex than that, sir,” Penny said. “I need to provide a great deal more context for my history of the war.”
“Just make sure you present your brother as a hero,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. He poured tea for the three of them. “Now, as much as I enjoy spending time with you, I do have quite a few other matters demanding my attention. Might I ask why you requested this meeting?”
Percy swallowed, reminded himself he was a Royal Marine and took the plunge. “We wanted to ask you what happened to our father.”
The Admiral’s face went very still. “He died on the Old Lady’s final deployment,” he said, carefully. “His death was not wasted ...”
“There are too many things that don’t add up,” Penny said. Percy would never have dared to interrupt. “Everyone else who died on Ark Royal has a note in the naval records stating where and when they died, but our father’s file is completely sealed. I’ve even been ... discouraged from asking more questions.”
“With reason,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. He studied Percy for a long moment before moving his gaze to Penny. “Do you know how our government classifies information?”
Penny blinked in surprise. “I know the basics, sir.”
“Information is classified on a scale from official to top secret,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said, coolly. “There are, of course, sliding scales of classification within each level; Percy, as a marine officer, may have access to some materials classified as secret without having guaranteed unquestioned access to everything at the same level. Even I could not hope to lay my hands on top secret material outside my bailiwick without answering some pretty hard questions.”
He paused. “There is another level of security classification,” he added. “Most secret. It is rarely used, Penny; as far as most people are aware, most secret went out of fashion after the Second World War. Most secret refers to material that could spark off a war or bring down a foreign government.”
Percy frowned. “A foreign government?”
“Losing a British Government would be awkward,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. “It would be very embarrassing if the government released papers that forced it to resign. But if we were implicated, accidentally or otherwise, in bringing down a foreign government, it would have unpleasant consequences. What happened to your father is considered most secret. To the best of my knowledge, only five or six people know the truth. If it had entered wider circulation ... well, we might see a war.”
“Another war,” Penny said, quietly.
“Yes,” Admiral Fitzwilliam agreed.
; Percy took a breath. “We can keep secrets.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said. He met Percy’s eyes. “I can tell you, if you wish, because I believe the evidence is sufficiently buried or destroyed to make it impossible” - his gaze slipped to Penny - “for even the most intrepid girl reporter to prove what actually happened. Should you decide to go public, you will sound like a pair of cranks. I don’t think I need to tell you what that will do to your careers.”
“No, sir,” Percy said.
“But you won’t be able to forget it, either,” Admiral Fitzwilliam added. “Knowing something classified as most secret is one thing, but there are ... personal matters involved and you may not look at your father in the same light ever again. Now ... you may feel you’re better off not knowing.”
A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6) Page 40