A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6) (18 page)

Penny smiled.  “Should?”

“There are fewer ships than there are ambitious officers,” Tara said.  “If I get to commander and there isn't a chance to serve as an XO, I might lose my opportunity to become a captain and take command of my own ship.  The Admiralty would eventually note that I hadn't moved up in rank again and ship me sideways into a desk job.  At that point ... I might well bend over and kiss any further advancement goodbye.”

She shrugged.  “Actual experience in fighting a war would be helpful,” she admitted.  “But even then I would have to be lucky.  There're always at least five or six officers competing for any given post.”

“Ouch,” Penny said.  “Is there nothing you can do to improve your chances?”

“Work extremely hard,” Tara said.  “Having political connections helps, sometimes, but I don’t have any.  That said, if I
do
get to become a commander, the odds of getting my own command become a great deal better.  Experience as an XO is vitally important.”

Penny frowned.  “Wouldn't you still have command experience?”

“It’s not the same,” Tara said.  “The XO does a great deal of the work, true, but the XO isn't the one
responsible
for the ship.  That’s the commanding officer’s job.”

“Like the editor is responsible for the news,” Penny mused.  “You can fire a reporter if necessary, but that doesn't keep the editor from getting the blame.”

“Pretty much,” Tara said.  She glanced at her wristcom.  “I’m due on the bridge in thirty minutes.  Do you want to grab a cup of coffee before I go?”

“Sure,” Penny said.  She paused.  “What do you do when you’re
not
on the bridge?”

“I should make you wait to read my book,” Tara said.  “I spend a third of my time on the bridge, as tactical officer; a third of my time supervising the tactical department and a third of my time in bed.  I’m supposed to stuff meals, exercise and studying for the promotion board exams into there somehow, but I’m damned if I know how.  That’s one good thing about long cruises, I suppose.  You can take the time to do your duty
and
look to your future prospects.”

She led the way to the hatch.  “Coming?”

“Of course,” Penny said.  “I thought I wasn't supposed to stay here without an escort.”

“You’re not,” Tara said, deadpan.  “You might push the wrong button and blow up the ship.”

Penny was sure - as sure as she could be - that Tara was joking.  But, as she walked out of the compartment, she was careful not to touch anything anyway, just in case.

***

“We could take her, you know.”

John nodded, slowly.  Cromwell - an Earth-type world that had been settled scant months before the First Interstellar War - hadn't been occupied, as far as they could tell.  The only Indian presence in the system was a single destroyer, holding position in geostationary orbit and maintaining a direct line of sight to Cromwell City.  Given that there were only a few thousand colonists on the surface, without any way of reaching orbit, the ship was very definitely overkill. 

Although they might be shipping in countless settlers soon
, he thought. 
Who knows what will happen when the colonists become a minority on their own world
?

“Captain,” Howard urged.  “We might not have a chance to take her out again.”

“I know,” John said.  A single Indian destroyer, isolated from the rest of the Indian fleet ...
Warspite
could take her out easily, assuming she got in the first blow.  And
that
wouldn't be hard.  The Indians weren't even sweeping space with active sensors.  “But that would remove all hope of a diplomatic solution.”

The words tasted like ashes in his mouth.  He was
sure
there was no realistic hope of a peaceful solution, of anything other than a brief and violent conflict between Britain and India.  Taking out the destroyer now might save lives in the long run.  But the Rules of Engagement were inflexible.  They were not to switch to an aggressive posture until the task force entered Pegasus.

He looked at the display.  “Is there any trace of Indian activity on the surface?”

“No, sir,” Tara said.  “The colonists may not even be aware they’ve been conquered.”

John’s lips twitched at the thought.  It wasn't as absurd as it sounded.  Cromwell was a farming colony; it had almost nothing else, beyond a tiny spaceport.  The Indians might not have bothered to announce their presence ... and if they hadn't, the locals might not even know the destroyer was there.  It would just be another light in the sky.

“Take us to the tramline,” he ordered.  It would be a week before they reached Hannibal, but once they were there they could stop sneaking around.  “We’ll be back.”

“Aye, sir,” Armstrong said.

Howard looked disappointed.  John didn't blame him.  Royal Navy officers were taught to be offensive and the opportunity looked too good to miss.  But it would remove all hope of a diplomatic solution ...

“Once we’re through the tramline, I’ll want your report,” John said.  It would be better for Howard to have something to do, rather than brood on missed opportunities.  “We’ll need to discuss options with the Admiral.”

“Aye, sir,” Howard said.  “The ships could move, of course.”

John nodded.  The Indians could move their second carrier - INS
Vikramaditya
, if her IFF was accurate - into Pegasus, given a few hours.  MI6 believed that the Indian carriers didn't carry as many starfighters as the latest British designs, but collectively they would tip the balance against
Theodore Smith ...

Unless we come up with a way to surprise them
, he thought.  He'd already had a couple of ideas, but the Admiral would need to approve them. 
And that might be difficult
.

Chapter Seventeen

Clarke III, Pegasus System

“Here comes the transport, boss,” Lewis said.

“Good,” Drake said.  “Percy, you’re with me.”

“Yes, sir,” Percy said.  He’d expected to remain at the rear, but he had a feeling he was more expendable than any of the troopers.  “I’m with you.”

The transport slowly came into view.  Percy had half-expected a normal lorry, but the vehicle cruising slowly towards him looked like a cross between a railway locomotive that had been forced to travel on normal ground and an army transport.  It was massive too, easily twice the size of a shuttle.  If he hadn't been forced to learn to drive transports when he’d joined the marines, he would have wondered if they were wrong and there was an entire crew on the vehicle, rather than just one driver.  But only one person was visible through the viewport at the front.

Which means nothing
, he reminded himself.  The marines preferred to have at least two people in the cab at all times, although there were sometimes moments when only one person could be spared to drive. 
There could be someone asleep in the rear
.

“Get ready,” Drake ordered.  “We’ll only get one chance to scramble onboard.”

“Aye, sir,” Percy said.  He watched the transport growing closer, marking out the ladder up to the hatch.  “I’m ready.”

“Go,” Drake ordered.

***

Lillian would not willingly have credited the Indians with anything, but she had to concede they were efficient.  The more supplies they brought down to the surface, the more work they found for the colony’s original settlers ... which made it harder and harder to avoid outright collaboration.  Lillian did as little as she felt she could get away with, but others were less capable of passive resistance.  A number of colonists had even thrown their lot in completely with the Indians, as far as she could tell.  It helped that the Indians were paying wages well above the average for even the simplest task.

Bastards
, she thought, as she drove the all-terrain transport over the icy ground. 
They could at least refuse to volunteer for anything.

She shook her head in dismay.  The Indians were setting up military installations all over the moon, putting her and the other engineers to work shipping supplies from the colony to the satellite outposts.  Lillian had welcomed it at first, despite having to sleep in the vehicle’s cab, but now it was just a nuisance.  The pleasure of being away from the colony paled when compared to the irritation of having to assist the Indians at the far end.  She was tempted to call in sick, but the Indians had made it clear that there were limits to how much passive resistance they would tolerate.  By the time the colony was liberated, if indeed it was
ever
liberated, sorting out who resisted passively from those who collaborated openly would be a nightmare.

A dull thump echoed through the transport.  Lillian cursed under her breath and glanced out of the cab, looking to see what - if anything - she’d hit.  The transport was rated for environments a great deal harsher than Clarke, but the icy ground was far from stable. 
She
would have preferred to take a different route each time; the Indians, however, preferred her to follow the same path.  They didn't seem to realise that there weren't any solid roads on Clarke, merely paths through the ice.

And one of them goes far too close to the ocean
, she thought.  She had no illusions about what would happen if she accidentally drove onto the ice and fell through.  The transport was airtight - it had been designed for operations in a poisonous atmosphere - but recovering her would be incredibly difficult, even if the Indians helped. 
I could die out here and they'd only moan about losing the supplies
.

She tensed suddenly as she heard the sound of a hatch opening.  It was impossible; she
had
to be imagining it.  There was no one else on the transport; she’d hoped to share the transport duties with someone else, but there weren't enough qualified drivers on the colony to give her a partner.  And yet ... the transport
did
produce odd sounds from time to time ... could she be imagining it?  Or ... she jumped and spun around as she heard the hatch behind her opening, her mouth dropping open in shock as she saw two black-clad men emerging from the sleeping compartment.  They couldn't be real ...

“Please don’t sound an alarm,” the leader said.  “We’re friendly.”

Lillian found her voice.  “Who ... who are you?”

“SAS,” the leader said.  “And you?”

“Lillian Turner,” Lillian stammered.  SAS?  Who
else
would be picked to sneak onto the colony?  And yet she had no way of knowing if they were telling the truth.  Their English was perfect, but the Indians spoke perfect English too.  It could be a trap to get her to do something stupid.  She’d never laid eyed on an SAS officer before.  “How ... how did you get onboard?”

“Jumped on while you were driving past, opened the airlock and made our way forward,” the leader said.  “We need to talk to you.”

Lillian stared at him, trying to think.  Were they genuine?  The black suits they wore were completely unmarked, although that proved nothing.  She could have worn a soldier’s uniform herself without being a soldier.  The accents were understandable and ...

The second trooper removed his helmet.  Lillian blinked in surprise as she recognised him, vaguely.  He’d been a Royal Marine, one of the complement assigned to
Warspite
; he’d been her guard during her brief imprisonment on the starship.  He didn't seem too pleased to see her - it was hard to blame him, as he’d know how stupid she’d been - but at least it proved their
bona fides
.  She just wished she could remember his
name
!

“Percy,” the trooper said.  “It’s been quite some time.”

“Yeah, yeah it has,” Lillian said.  She sagged back into the driver’s seat.  “What can I do for you?”

“Start with the obvious,” the leader said.  “How long do you have until you need to check in?”

Lillian glanced at her radio.  “I’m meant to call in every two hours,” she said, shortly.  “And once more before I park up for the night.”

“I see,” the leader said.  “And do you believe you’re being watched?”

“I don’t think so,” Lillian said.  She hesitated.  The Indians could produce bugs so tiny they couldn't be seen with the naked eye.  As far as she knew, there hadn't been any counter-surveillance technology on the colony before the invasion. 
She
certainly didn't have access to any of it.  “But I don’t know.”

The troopers exchanged glances, then started to sweep the cab with a handful of sensor devices.  Lillian watched, feeling her body starting to shake.  The Indians
might
have hidden a few bugs in the cab and, if they had, she was dead.  They’d know the SAS had landed and that the Royal Navy wouldn't be far behind.  The Royal Marine - Percy, she reminded herself - winked at her.  He wasn’t exactly ugly, she decided; indeed, he was remarkably handsome in many ways.

And you’re being an idiot
, she told herself. 
Letting yourself get distracted when you should be driving
.

“Clear,” the leader announced, finally.  “You’re not being watched.”

“That means you can do what you like in the sleeping compartment,” Percy jibed.  He sounded as relieved as Lillian felt.  “It’s bigger than
our
sleeping compartments.”

“No doubt,” Lillian said.  The Indians would probably notice if she stopped the transport, but otherwise ... they were safe.  “What can I do for you?”

“We need answers,” the leader said.  He squatted down, facing her.  “Percy, take the wheel.”

“Yes, sir,” Percy said.

“Keep her on a steady course,” Lillian advised, as she surrendered the driver’s seat to him.  “There shouldn't be anything to run into here, but keep a sharp eye out anyway.”

The leader removed his helmet and frowned.  “Indian patrols?”

“They don’t bother to patrol the landscape away from the colony, as far as we know,” Lillian said.  She cursed under her breath as she remembered the most important piece of information.  “They’re installing mass drivers, sir.”

“We know,” Percy said, without taking his eyes off the landscape.  “How many of them?”

“They’re setting up at least a dozen outposts,” Lillian supplied.  “If each of them houses a mass driver ...”

“They could hit anything within a light minute of Clarke before it knew it was under attack,” the leader said.  He didn't sound angry, merely curious.  “I have a long string of questions for you.”

He wasn't lying, Lillian discovered.  The interrogation was so intensive that her head started to pound halfway through, even though she knew she was innocent this time.  How many Indians were on the moon?  How many occupied the colony?  How many colonists were collaborating and how many were resisting passively?  What had the Indians told the colonists and why?  What had happened when the Indians invaded?  What had happened to the POWs taken during the landing?  By the time he was finished, Lillian wanted nothing more than a strong painkiller, a glass of water and a chance to get some sleep.

“I think she’s had enough for the moment, sir,” Percy said, glancing round.  “You’re very intense.”

“
You
didn't collapse under my questions,” the leader observed.

“I knew what I was getting into,” Percy countered.  “And I
volunteered
for the job.”

“Thank you,” Lillian said.  If she could have kissed him, she would have.  “We’ve been trying to collect information, but the Indians have the datanet and control systems thoroughly sewn up.”

“So you don’t know how many soldiers there are on the planet,” the leader mused.  He looked her in the eye.  “You have no idea at all?”

Lillian hesitated.  “We set up nine prefabricated barracks for them,” she said.  She didn't miss the sudden flicker of alarm in the leader’s eyes.  “Assuming that those barracks are only used for soldiers, sir, they have at least ten thousand on the moon.”

“Seems a bit of a heavy investment,” Percy said, lightly.  “Are they really
that
determined to hold Clarke?”

“The Governor was fond of saying that the next few decades would bring massive changes,” Lillian said.  “Just controlling the tramlines alone would make the system wealthy.  Being able to settle Wells and mine space junk would only enhance our position.  Those of us who got in at the ground floor, he said, would wind up very wealthy.”

Percy blinked.  “Really?”

“Yeah,” Lillian said.  She wasn't sure if it applied to
her
, but it might.  “The settlement corporation offered vast incentives to anyone willing to come to Clarke, rather than Britannia or Nova Scotia.  Everyone who came to Clarke has non-voting shares in the corporation and is thus guaranteed a share in the profits.  The Indians have good reason to want to hang on to the system.”

“I see,” Percy said.  He shrugged.  “When are you expected at your destination?”

Lillian glanced at the GPS.  “Four days,” she said.  The only advantage, as far as she could tell, was being away from the Indians for ten days.  “These transports aren't very fast.”

She hesitated and started to shake.  Were they going to kill her?  She had no illusions about how long she’d be able to hold out if the Indians used truth drugs ... or merely pulled out her teeth, one by one, until she talked.  The SAS troopers needed to maintain their secrecy, whatever happened, or the Indians would start tracking them down.  Their safest course of action was to kill her.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” the leader said, as if he’d read her mind.  “We just need you to keep quiet about our presence.”