A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6) (12 page)

“We’ll meet up tomorrow; same time and place,” Majors said.  “See what you can glean from their supplies.”

Lillian nodded and hurried from the room, heading through a maze of stone corridors and up a flight of stairs into the engineering section.  The Indians had searched it thoroughly, then placed a guard at the hatch; the guard eyed her coldly before stepping aside to allow her to pass through and into the giant compartment.  She picked her environment suit off the wall, pulled it on over her shipsuit and checked the telltales before heading out to where the tractors were waiting.  A pair of Indian officers stood next to one, waiting for her. 

Shit
, Lillian thought.  Did they
know
she’d been talking with others, discussing ways and means to resist?  She felt a cold pit in her stomach, yawning wider as she approached the Indians.  No one had been executed - yet - for insurgency, or even passive resistance, but the Indians
would
have every right to kill her if they knew what she’d done.  No one was tolerant of insurgents these days. 
What do they want
?

“You’ll be transporting pallets from the shuttles today,” one of them said.  “Get them over to the dumping ground and leave them there.”

“Understood,” Lillian said.  She was tempted to offer to take them further, but they might have smelled a rat.  So far, no one had done more than the bare minimum to help, despite quite a few inducements.  “I’ll get on my way.”

She climbed into the tractor, allowing herself a moment of relief as the hatch slammed down and the engine hummed to life.  The Indians hurried backwards as she turned the tractor around and headed for the airlock, which opened at her approach.  She linked into the outside communications grid, informing the command centre that she was leaving the colony, then smiled as the airlock closed behind her.  The second hatch opened a moment later, revealing the frozen terrain beyond.  No matter what was happening behind her, it still took her breath away.

Clarke, an immense blue-green orb, hung in the sky, utterly dominating the surrounding landscape.  She’d heard that some people had problems living on Io or another of Jupiter’s moons because of the Great Red Spot, but she’d never really believed it until living on Clarke III.  Clarke was an awe-inspiring sight; the Great Red Spot, however, would look like an enormous red eye glowering down on anyone below it and reminding them of just how tiny they were, against the vastness of the universe.  She smiled at the thought, then forced herself to look at the ground as she gunned the tractor forward.  The vehicle hummed to itself as it crawled over the snow towards the Indian shuttles.

They looked
very
like British designs, she noted, although there were quite a few more of them than she’d expected.  She parked the tractor next to the closest and waited for orders, then watched as a handful of suited men transferred pallets from the shuttle to the rear of the tractor.  None of the pallets were marked by anything apart from a number; the Indians, she assumed, had decided not to take the risk of labelling them in English or Hindi.  The tractor lurched back to life as soon as the Indians were ready, transporting the goods towards one of their new installations.  They’d set up
something
quite close to the colony, yet several of their other installations were much further away.  She tried to see what it was as the tractor drew closer, but no matter how she stared it was impossible to be sure. 

Maybe it is a mass driver
, she thought.  She’d seen the giant mass drivers on the moon, the ones that kicked buckets of raw materials to Earth, but there was no reason why a mass driver on Clarke had to be so large.  Technology had advanced since the moon had been settled in 2050. 
And if it is, they could hit anything they can see
.

She pushed the thought aside as she stopped the tractor and waited for the Indians to unload her cargo.  They didn’t seem too interested in chatting with her, something that surprised her more than she cared to admit.  The marines on
Warspite
had always flirted with her and any other attractive female crew.  But then, none of the Indians seemed interested in socialising with the British colonists.  She had a feeling they’d been warned to keep themselves strictly to themselves.

Her radio buzzed.  “Thank you,” an Indian voice said.  “You may now return to the shuttles.”

Lillian sighed, but did as she was told.  There was no escaping the fact that it
was
collaboration, at least in some form.  It was quite likely she’d be in trouble if she ever returned home ... apart, of course, for whatever consequences there were for breaking her parole.  And yet, she
was
spying on them ... if, of course, she had any way to get the information to anyone who needed it.  She looked up, tracking the lights in the sky; one of them was an Indian carrier, but the others?  Might one of them be a British ship?

Probably not
, she thought, as a new flight of shuttles swooped overhead and landed near the colony. 
The Indians chased the tin-cans out of the system
.

It was nearly two hours before she was finally told to go back to the colony and pass the tractor to someone else.  Lillian headed back and headed towards the communal showers, where she washed herself as quickly as possible.  Water wasn't exactly scarce on Clarke, but the plumbing was nowhere near complete.  And besides ...

She looked up as Sharon entered the shower compartment, a towel wrapped around her.  The doctor tapped her lips before Lillian could say a word, then lifted her eyebrows.  Lillian shrugged, expressively.  She’d learned nothing of any use.

“There have been a handful of new patients in sickbay,” Sharon said, as she started to wash herself thoroughly.  “Indian workers with minor injuries.”

They’re moving fast
, Lillian thought.  She knew from experience that working fast tended to lead to more accidents, although Clarke’s atmosphere tended to make them worse. 
They must be expecting trouble
.

Oddly, the thought made her feel a great deal better.

Chapter Eleven

HMS
Warspite
, In Transit

“This,” Lewis said, “would be a very bad time to tell me you’re agoraphobic.”

Percy gave him an odd look as they donned their spacesuits.  “I’m a Royal Marine,” he said, crossly.  “You’ve seen my service record.”

“And you do have experience in deep space work,” Lewis agreed.  “But not everyone likes crawling around on the hull.”

“I do,” Percy said, truthfully.  “There’s just
something
about the vastness of space that appeals to me.”

Lewis gave him a sharp look, obviously suspecting that Percy was taking the piss.  Percy fought to keep his expression as bland as possible.  He was getting more than a little annoyed of the constant testing.  There was no way he could have been cleared for shipboard duty if he hadn't been able to go out on the hull without a panic attack and Lewis would know it.  But then, he was far too aware that his responses to the probing would be held against him, if he snapped back at the Sergeant.  He’d undergone enough tests during basic training to know the score.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Lewis said.  He turned, allowing Percy to see his back.  “Check my suit.”

Percy checked the telltales and frowned.  The reserve oxygen cylinder wasn't connected to the life support unit.  Lewis would have been fine, he thought as he reconnected it, as long as he didn't try to stay outside for more than an hour.  The central processor might need to be replaced too.  It should have sounded the alert when Lewis activated the suit without clipping the oxygen supply into place.

“You should probably get a new suit,” he said, once he’d checked the rest of the telltales.  “I think this one probably needs to go back to engineering.”

“I deactivated a few systems,” Lewis said.  He started to click the components back into place.  The telltales turned green, one by one.  “I’ll just go out like this.”

Another test
, Percy thought sourly. 
But at least I already know the answer
.

“You need to change suits,” he insisted, firmly.  “You’d be taking your life in your hands.”

Lewis smiled, so briefly that Percy almost missed it.  “And you’re willing to contradict me on it?”

Percy stood his ground.  “Yes, Sergeant,” he said.  “I am.”

“Good,” Lewis said. 

He removed the suit quickly, then pulled another one from the rack and started to don it.  Percy took the old suit and placed it in the locker for later examination and repair, making sure to log it on the terminal.  He had a feeling the whole test had been rigged, but it was well to be sure.  Disconnecting a number of settings could easily make the whole suit actively dangerous.  Lewis checked Percy’s suit, pronounced himself satisfied and then allowed Percy to check the new suit.  This time, there were no red lights.

“Follow me,” Lewis said, as he opened the airlock.  “Keep yourself tethered at all times.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Percy said.  “Being lost in space would be embarrassing.”

He shivered at the thought as the second hatch opened.  It was an old nightmare, one shared by all spacers; falling into the inky darkness of space, trapped in a spacesuit, the oxygen steadily running out ... and no hope at all of rescue.  Civilian spacesuits were over-engineered to ensure their beacons were always functional, but military suits were far more limited.  The cruiser’s stealth mode would be fatally compromised if he started screaming for help.

Lewis led the way out into space, his magnetic boots allowing him to walk normally.  Percy followed, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the hull.  There was no time to get distracted by the stars.  He tethered himself to the railing, then walked towards the concealed shuttle.  It was hidden under camo netting, but he could make out the details easily.  The stealth shuttle simply didn't
look
normal. 

Let’s just hope no one gets a visual of the hull
, he thought.  The shuttle was odd enough to catch the eye.  Unlike a normal craft, it looked almost like a flattened brick.  He honestly wasn't sure what material they’d used to make the hull, but it sure as hell didn't
look
like metal.  The tiny drive unit at the rear looked even odder, like something out of an alien-contact movie. 
They’d know there was something weird about the hidden object
.

Lewis opened the hatch and climbed into the shuttle.  Percy followed, blinking in surprise as the lights came on, revealing a handful of seats and a tiny cockpit.  The SAS troopers were big men; he honestly wasn't sure there was room for all of them in the single shuttle, particularly when they had to wear suits.  He followed Lewis to the front of the craft and frowned as he took in the controls.  They looked almost ridiculously simple.  He couldn't help thinking of the
Thunderbird 2
-themed car he’d been given for his seventh birthday.

“There wasn't time to check you out on this earlier,” Lewis said.  He pointed a hand towards the pilot’s seat.  “Sit down, Percy.  I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Percy nodded and sat.  The controls still looked odd, but it wouldn't have been easy to fly a standard shuttlecraft while wearing a spacesuit.  Indeed, the more he looked at the design, the more he realised that the stealth shuttle wasn't intended to be flown
without
a spacesuit - or, for that matter, an armoured combat suit.  He was tempted to take the stick and start moving it, but he knew better.  He’d flown shuttles during basic training - Royal Marines were expected to cross-train as much as possible - yet he’d never flown anything like the stealth shuttle.  He hadn't even
heard
of them before he’d been ordered to Hereford.

But they’re probably highly classified
, he thought, as Lewis returned to stand behind him. 
If they can really get through a planet’s atmosphere without being detected, they’d be a priceless asset.

“Welcome onboard,” Lewis said.  He sat on his haunches, watching Percy carefully.  “This is a
Chameleon
-class lander, designed specifically for covert insertion.  You may have noticed quite a few oddities about the design.  What do you think those mean?”

Percy hesitated, thinking hard.  The design wasn't particularly aerodynamic ...

“It’s a one-shot craft,” he said, finally.  “There’s no way to take off again.”

“Correct,” Lewis said.  “Once we’re down on the surface, we’re stuck until we get picked up by the navy or captured by the Indians.  There’s no way for us to leave under our own power.”

He sat back, but his eyes never left Percy’s face.  “The hull is composed of a material that is highly classified,” he explained.  “It is almost completely transparent to radar; an active sensor sweep will show nothing, even if the shuttlecraft is very close.  Furthermore, it is capable of absorbing and safely dumping a considerable amount of heat.  Our passage through the atmosphere will be almost unnoticeable.”

Percy nodded in understanding.  It was easy to hide a starship, even an entire supercarrier, in the endless wastes of interstellar space, but it was a great deal harder to slip into a planet’s atmosphere without being detected.  Even something as small as a single man making an orbital jump would leave a heat trail behind, leading the enemy right to him. 
Warspite’s
marines had sneaked down to Vesy, when they’d first stumbled across the alien world, but the Russians hadn't had a proper monitoring network.  The Indians, by contrast, definitely
would
.

“The greatest downside is that she makes a fleet carrier look nimble,” Lewis added.  He keyed a code into the console, bringing it to life.  “You were checked out on helicopters, I assume?  This craft is far harder to fly than a helicopter.  The best we can really do is control our fall to the LZ.  There won’t be any way to alter our final landing point beyond a few kilometres.”

“And if the enemy sees us coming, they’ll have plenty of time to catch us,” Percy said, slowly.  “Were these craft ever tested against a modern network?”

“We did two combat drops against the UKASDR,” Lewis said.  “The first time, we didn't tell them what we were doing; the second time, we offered a reward to the controller who saw us coming and scrambled a response team.  We weren't spotted, either time.”

Percy felt a flicker of admiration.  The United Kingdom Air Space Defence Region was heavily guarded. 
No one
was meant to be flying through the electronic fence guarding Britain without permission.  These days, after the war, the defenders would be likely to shoot first and ask questions later.  The SAS could have been shot down by their own side, quite by accident.  But the fact they’d made it through had to have worried a few officers in the MOD.

“We did have some advantages,” Lewis admitted.  “The pilot was very familiar with British weather - we got to choose the time and place of our insertion.  It might not be so easy to land on Clarke.”

He paused, dramatically.  “There’s another weakness,” he warned.  “The hull is
alarmingly
fragile.  We hit the ground; it starts to break up.  What doesn't shatter into fragments will be destroyed by the self-destruct system.  The computer” - he jabbed a finger at the console - “will be reduced to dust.”

“Shit,” Percy said.  He glanced at the bulkhead.  What
was
it?  A new composite?  He’d never been particularly interested in chemistry, but he was curious.  “I’d better not punch the hull.”

Lewis smiled, coldly.  “Quite,” he agreed.  “I want you checked out on this craft before we plunge into the Pegasus System.  You shouldn't be flying her, but I want to be sure you know what you’re doing.”

And understand the limitations of the system
, Percy added, silently.  He’d been astonished to discover that the SAS held open planning sessions. 
Everyone
was free to contribute a suggestion and, while the discussions had turned heated at times, they’d never broken down into violence. 
You want me to know what’s possible before I start offering dumb suggestions
.

He took the stick in his hand as the simulation began.  Lewis, he rapidly discovered, had underestimated the case.  The stealth shuttle handled so badly that he lost control the first time and had to cancel the simulation as the craft plummeted into the ground.  Lewis made a number of sarcastic remarks, then ordered him to try again.  This time, Percy managed to land, but landed so hard that it was unlikely anyone could survive.  By the time he thought he’d mastered landing in perfect conditions, he was tired and cranky.

“I don’t envy the pilot,” he said, as he reset the simulator once again.  “How close can we get to the planet before we’re committed?”

“There isn't much reaction mass in the tanks,” Lewis said.  “We could abort and drive into interstellar space, if we had no alternative, but it wouldn't be easy for
Warspite
to pick us up without being detected.”

“They’d have problems
finding
us under perfect conditions,” Percy agreed.  “They’ll need us to turn on a beacon.”

“Which the Indians could hardly fail to detect,” Lewis said.  “Still want to come with us, Percy?”

“I was under the impression I didn't have a choice,” Percy pointed out.

“You’ve told us plenty,” Lewis said, suddenly serious.  “I’ve never had someone
conscripted
into my unit before.  If you want to back out, if you want to go back to your old unit, you can.  There isn't a security risk any longer.”

Percy hesitated before shaking his head.  “I’ll see it through to the finish,” he said.  He didn't have it in him to back out, not now.  Besides, he was
still
the only person on the team who had any knowledge of Clarke.  His experience might make the difference between life and death.  “But thank you for the offer.”

“Good,” Lewis said.  He pointed to the console.  “Get back to work.  This time, you’re going to be plummeting into a snowstorm.”

Percy groaned.