The Governor rose to his feet with icy dignity. “Good luck,” he said, as he was motioned around the desk. “And I hope you do better than I did.”
Brian glared at him, then turned to Hamish. “Take the bastards into a side room and tie them up,” he ordered. “They’re our hostages.”
Hamish stared at him. “Brian, if we do this, we’re committed ...”
“We were committed the moment we lost our farms,” Brian snapped. “Win or lose, Hamish, at least we’ll go down fighting.”
Chapter Twenty
“Captain,” Richards said. “We have a situation.”
John cursed under his breath. The first time he managed to get a good night’s sleep, after three days in orbit, and it had to be interrupted. He checked the chronometer and swore under his breath, then cursed again as he realised it was mid-afternoon on Cromwell. It might have been a mistake, in hindsight, not to set the ship’s onboard time to match the planet’s.
“I see,” he said, as he sat upright. “What sort of situation?”
“A hostage situation,” Richards said. “Deputy Governor Gamble is calling it a rebellion, but it looks more like a mere hostage situation to me.”
Shit, John thought. He swung his legs over the bed and stood. Midshipwoman Powell had already entered his sleeping quarters, carrying a large mug of coffee. He gave her a thankful look, then took the mug and placed it by the side of his bed. There would be time to drink it once he had a handle on the situation.
“Details,” he said. “What happened, precisely?”
“As far as we can tell, a crowd of colonists stormed Government House, such as it is, and demanded satisfaction from the Governor,” Richards said. “When they failed to obtain it, they took the Governor and his staff hostage. Deputy Governor Gamble was at the Marine CP when the situation began and is currently safe.”
What a pity, part of John’s mind whispered. He’d met Gamble twice, since the first meeting, and the man had failed to impress him. Gamble was a corporate beancounter, not a visionary or even someone committed to the success of the colony. It was something of a surprise that he’d managed to last five years, with the colonists increasingly convinced they’d been abandoned, without suffering a horrible accident. Colony beancounters had been assassinated before. Terra Nova alone had accounted for dozens of them.
“Get Hadfield to give me a situation report, once I reach the briefing room,” John ordered. He took a long swig of his coffee, looked longingly at the shower, then reluctantly pulled his trousers and jacket over his underclothes. His duty shift wasn't meant to start for another three hours; normally, he would have had plenty of time to shit, shower and eat a healthy breakfast before stepping onto the bridge. “What about our personnel?”
“Everyone is safe, as far as we can tell, but I’ve taken the precaution of calling them back to the CP,” Richards said. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Better safe than sorry,” John agreed. Hostage situations were tricky enough at the best of times. They tended to be far harder to handle if there was an emotional connection between the hostages and those negotiating with their captors. “I’m on my way.”
He splashed cold water on his face, then strode out of the cabin and into the briefing room. Richards was already waiting for him, while Major Hadfield’s holographic face floated in the middle of the table. The Marine had refused to attempt to coordinate recovery operations from the ship, something that hadn't really surprised anyone. Marines hated the thought of remaining cooped up onboard ship when they could be out and about on the ground.
“Captain,” Richards said. “Howard has the bridge.”
“Good,” John said. The last thing they needed was Commander Watson assuming command during a tricky situation. “Major. Report.”
Hadfield nodded. “Sir,” he said. “We sneaked a handful of bugs into Government House. There are currently eight hostages, including the Governor himself. They have all been tied up, then stowed in one of the storage rooms. So far, none of them appear to have been hurt, save for a handful of bruises. That may change, however, if negotiations go badly.”
He paused. “I think there's a hint that some of their captors may actually be trying to protect the hostages from some of the other captors,” he added. “But I can't be sure.”
“Shit,” John muttered. “And the captors themselves?”
“There’s forty-two of them, mostly crammed into Government House,” Hadfield said. “A handful are on patrol outside the building, with a handful of others taking up sniper positions in nearby buildings. I don’t think they appreciate just how sophisticated our surveillance technology is, sir.”
“It certainly looks that way,” John agreed. “Now ... what do they actually want?”
“We don’t know,” Hadfield said. “The Deputy Governor” - his face twisted in disdain - “believes they want the colony itself, that this is their first bid in an attempt to secure independence from Great Britain and the CDC. It might be true, for all we know; the hostage-takers have only said one thing, when they called the Deputy Governor.”
John leaned forward. “And that was?”
“They want to talk to someone empowered to make decisions,” Hadfield said. “The Deputy Governor flatly refused to talk to them, sir; indeed, he declared martial law.”
Which he is entirely incapable of enforcing, John thought. Cromwell only had twenty colonial marshals, who would be heavily outnumbered by armed colonists. The Royal Marines from Warspite were more flexible, but even they would be outnumbered, if not outgunned. On the other hand, most of the rebels are gathered in one place.
“I see,” he said. “Major, tell me: can you recover the hostages without losing them?”
Hadfield shook his head. “I wouldn't care to guarantee anything, Captain,” he said. “They may be amateurs, but they haven’t made any serious mistakes. I can guarantee to kill or capture all of the rebels, sir, yet they would have time to massacre the hostages before we could save them.”
“Then we can't countenance a frontal attack,” John mused. “There would be too much risk of losing everyone.”
“Yes, sir,” Hadfield said.
John thought, rapidly. The hostage-takers might not want to start hurting their hostages, but they would, if they felt themselves pushed against the wall. They’d committed themselves the moment they took hostages. Even if the Governor had been inclined to overlook the colonists forcing their way into his office, he couldn't afford to ignore the hostages. He’d wind up looking both weak and stupid.
And the bastards want to talk to someone with authority, he thought. Someone who might be able to grant them what they want.
He smiled, thinly. “I will talk to them personally,” he said. “Have a shuttle prepared.”
Richards and Hadfield both opened their mouths to protest. Richards won.
“Sir,” he said. “I must remind you that regulations clearly state that the commanding officer of a Royal Navy starship may not deliberately place himself in danger.”
“And we couldn't guarantee your safety either,” Hadfield added, sharply. “They might take you hostage too.”
John took a breath. “Can you suggest any alternative?”
“We can wait,” Richards said. “They can't have been planning an uprising, no matter what the Deputy Governor believes. There’s little food in Government House.”
“I know,” John said. “They will start to starve, which will make them only more desperate, more willing to harm the hostages. Or, if we allow this situation to go on, there will be other uprisings in the rest of the colony. And if we launch an attack, the hostages and many of their captors would be killed. Do you disagree with my assessment?”
“No, sir,” Hadfield said.
“Damn,” John commented. He looked at Richards. “If this wasn't a planned uprising, they might be as shocked as we are. There should be some room to talk before we have to consider force.”
“I hope so, sir,” Richar
ds said. “But having you walk into their hands may encourage them to demand more.”
“Risk is our business,” John said, firmly. “I don't think Cromwell can afford a bloodbath.”
He met Richards’s eyes. “Mr. Richards,” he said, formally. “You are to take the sealed orders from the wardroom safe and hold them in readiness. If they capture or kill me, you are to open the orders and declare yourself Captain. Major Hadfield and his men will back you up, if necessary. Do whatever you see fit to resolve the crisis, then return to Clarke and send a full report back with the freighters.”
“Aye, sir,” Richards said.
John scowled, inwardly. Commander Watson might not protest at having Richards jump ahead of her - he’d already taken over most of her duties - but Howard and Armstrong would certainly object, if they were given a chance. The First Space Lord’s solution to his political dilemma involved subverting the chain of command; Commander Watson might not have been suited for her position, but she had it. And Howard and Armstrong were third and fourth in line respectively. Howard would make a good CO, John was sure, if he were given time, yet would he have the nerve to relieve Commander Watson?
This could get them all facing a court martial, John thought. Whatever the merits of the case, they would rapidly be buried beneath a morass of accusations and counter-accusations. And they might even wind up in Colchester.
“If you must do this, sir,” Hadfield said, “I advise you not to go armed.”
“I understand,” John said. “I’ll get on the shuttle in a few moments, Major. Until I arrive, picket the area, but do not make any hostile moves. And don’t let the Deputy Governor do anything stupid either.”
“He’s already been trying to issue orders to my men,” Hadfield said. “I had to speak to him quite sharply.”
John groaned. No doubt the Deputy Governor would complain to his superiors, who would complain - in turn - to the First Space Lord. Or there would be questions asked in Parliament, which would cause problems for the Prime Minister ... he shook his head, then rose. There was no point in worrying about it now.
“I’m on my way,” he said. Hadfield had good reason to be irked. Issuing orders to someone else’s men was a severe breach of military etiquette. “Hold the line until I arrive.”
“Good luck, sir,” Richards said. He rose, then snapped a salute. “Permission to speak freely, Captain?”
John’s eyes narrowed. “Granted, Mr. Richards.”
“Sir,” Richards said slowly, “do you have a death wish? You could wind up giving them a much more important hostage than a planetary governor.”
“No,” John said, trying to keep his anger under control. He had granted permission for Richards to speak freely, after all. “I just see no other way to resolve this crisis, short of violence.”
He couldn't blame Richards for being concerned. Captains were not meant to expose themselves to danger, not when they had expendable XOs under their command. But he couldn't trust Commander Watson to handle delicate negotiations, nor could he send Howard or Richards himself. The hostage-takers would probably regard sending a subordinate as a deliberate insult - or worse, a sign of fear or weakness.
“It has to be done,” he said. He couldn't see any other alternative. “And don’t fuck up, if you have to assume command.”
He returned the salute, then walked down towards the shuttleport and climbed through the hatch. The pilot was already waiting for him, the engines powered up and ready to go. John sat back in his seat, buckled himself in and braced himself. The shuttle dropped away from Warspite, then plummeted through the atmosphere at terrifying speed. John forced himself to concentrate on the sensations, even though they were thoroughly unpleasant. It made a change from worrying about his fate, when he walked into Government House. The hostage-takers might simply shoot him on sight.
And that would cost them their lives, he thought, coldly. The Admiralty would never let that pass, would it?
The shuttle touched down with a deafening bump. John rubbed his ears, then got up and walked towards the hatch. The cool night air struck him in the face as he stepped outside, still smelling of brine and rotting wood. Major Hadfield was standing just outside the shuttle, waiting for him. He didn't look pleased.
“Captain,” he said, stiffly. “The Deputy Governor insists on speaking with you.”
“He can wait,” John said. There was no time to reassure a corporate lackey. Besides, the Deputy Governor had declared martial law. The situation was in John’s hands until he returned authority to the civilian government. “Has there been any change in the situation?”
“Not at Government House, sir,” Hadfield said. “However, there have been movements around the various refugee sites. I think the hostage takers won’t be alone for much longer, if they’re alone now. Rumours are spreading rapidly.”
He spat. “The Deputy Governor hasn't helped,” he added. “He keeps going on and on about monies owed to the CDC. I don’t think the rest of the colony will remain calm for much longer, sir. I’ve actually started plans to lift our personnel back into space. This place won’t remain secure if they decide to attack it.”
John nodded. There was only a single section - ten men - assigned to guard the spaceport. It was nowhere near enough men to do more than defend the shuttles as they fled, or die bravely if the attack was pushed hard enough. The thought of fleeing before a crowd of ill-armed civilians was galling, but it might be the only realistic option. He was damned if he was going to bombard the colony into submission.
“Act as you see fit,” he said. He turned and looked towards the handful of lights in the gathering darkness, marking the location of the city. “Have you told them I’m coming?”
“Yes, sir,” Hadfield said. “We called them on the telephone. They said they’d receive you.”
“Then I need to go,” John said. “Have two Marines escort me until we reach the edge of their defences, then I can go on alone.”
Hadfield gave him a long sharp look, then saluted. “Hedrick and Abdul can escort you, sir,” he said. He sounded reluctant to let John out of his sight. “And have a good one.”
John felt his heart beating madly in his chest as he walked into the city, feeling darkness pressing around him as the last remnants of twilight faded away. Cromwell City looked eerie in the darkness; there were only a handful of lights, marking inhabited buildings. There should have been more, he was sure, but he had a feeling that much of the population was trying to hide. They’d probably seen countless movies showing assaults on terrorist strongholds in the Third World ... and just how bloody they could become, if matters got out of hand. The fact that most of those movies were about as realistic as Star Wars XXI was neither here nor there.
They’re propaganda, John thought wryly. It helped to distract himself. They can't show British forces in a bad light, but they can paint the terrorists as evil little shits. And, to be fair, most of them are evil little shits, or they wouldn't have put their base in the middle of a city full of innocent people.
He pushed the thought aside as a pair of figures loomed out of the darkness. “The Captain goes in,” one said. “The others remain outside.”
“Wait here,” John ordered the Marines, then stepped forward. “Take me to your leader.”
The two figures exchanged glances. Up close, John could see they were desperately frightened, which could be either good or bad. Their clothes looked to have been repaired once too many times, the original fabric covered with patches and pieces of cloth from other garments. He would have placed their ages at being in their mid-twenties, but they looked thin enough to be much younger. It was quite possible their current diet didn't include something important.
“This way,” one of them said. He sounded like he was trying to be firm, but he was too nervous to pull it off. “If you have a weapon, please give it to me now.”
“I came unarmed,” John said.
His escorts weren't impressed. As soon as they reached Govern
ment House, they pulled John into a sideroom and searched him thoroughly, removing his wristcom and a small portable radio headset. They didn't find any weapons, but they did insist on checking John’s name and face against the files in Government House, then carrying out an even more intense and intimate search.
“You are planning to buy me dinner afterwards, I hope,” John said. “What sort of idiot would conceal a weapon down there?”
“I've seen weapons hidden there in the movies,” one of his escorts said. “Jackie Spring conceals a laser pistol in her cunt.”
John rolled his eyes. “Jackie Spring is a fictional character,” he said, with heavy patience. He’d watched a couple of episodes with Colin, yet once one got past the sex appeal there wasn't much else to attract him. He could appreciate a female body, but he wasn't wired to find it attractive. “There isn't anything about her that is even remotely real, including her breast size. They only show her hiding weapons up there so they can attract the punters with full nudity. Or haven't you noticed just how often she loses her clothes each episode?”
[Ark Royal 04] - Warspite Page 21