A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6) (20 page)

“Yes, sir,” Captain Morrison said.  “What do we do if we discover proof the Turks
are
spying for the Indians?”

James scowled.  “Legally, again, we can drive their ships away or arrest them,” he said.  “It may not be practical, however.  We may just have to endure their presence.”

It wasn't a pleasant thought.  The Indians would already know far too much about the task force, no matter what precautions he’d taken.  Given up-to-date information, they could plot ambushes or simply avoid his probes until his crews were run ragged.  And being unable to do anything about the spies would be immensely frustrating.  But he understood the problem facing the politicians.  An incident that led to the death of foreign nationals, even ones spying on British ships, could lead to calls for peace based on the
status quo
.  The Indians would win by default.

He cleared his throat.  “If the Indians refuse to accept the bait, even though we are weakening their position,” he added, “we will move the task force into the system and advance towards Clarke, forcing them into an engagement on our terms.  They will almost certainly call for the second carrier, allowing us a chance to destroy
both
carriers ... assuming, of course, we can deal with one before the other arrives.  We will be simulating the engagement extensively over the next couple of days.”

There was a long pause.  “Any other questions?”

“Yes, sir,” Commodore Blake said.  “What happens if they
do
manage to concentrate their forces against us?”

“We avoid engagement,” James said, simply.  He actually had a couple of ideas for dealing with the carriers, but he would prefer to avoid facing both of them at once.  “If worst comes to worst, we simply fall back down the tramlines and wait for a second carrier of our own.”

He looked from face to face.  “We leave in two hours, gentlemen,” he said.  “Good luck to us all.”

One by one, the holograms blinked out.  James rubbed his forehead as the tactical staff - and Captain Naiser - took their leave, leaving him alone.  Getting the task force to Hannibal had been a masterwork of logistics, but they were already seeing problems.  Many of the support ships in the RFA had been destroyed during the war and never replaced, a mistake that might cost the Royal Navy dearly.  And yet, what choice had they had?  There was no value in beans without bullets, coffee without fuel.  They’d thought they’d needed to rebuild the warship squadrons as quickly as possible and they’d been right.

He tapped the console, bringing up the near-space display.  A handful of yellow icons hung in space, keeping their distance from the task force.  Foreign observers, media representatives ... it was a given that some of them were spying, directly or indirectly, for the Indians.  James had no doubt of it.  The Turks were the prime suspects, but they weren't the only ones. 
He
was one of the few people alive who knew why the Russians had become international pariahs ... and just how far the Russians would go to recover their former position. 

They’d ally with the Indians if they thought it would get them back to where they were
, he thought, coldly.  The truth couldn't be allowed out, not when it might restart the First Interstellar War.  It wouldn't be long before the Russians decided that Britain - and every other Great Power - had as strong an incentive to keep the secret as themselves. 
And the Indians would probably pay through the nose for their support
.

He sighed.  He’d contemplated suggesting trying to bring the Russians back into the fold, but he’d known it was a political non-starter.  Too much had been at risk for
anyone
to feel comfortable with the proposal, even though nothing had ever been written down.  He felt a stab of guilt and shame for Percy and Penny, the former trapped on Clarke until liberation or death; they would never know how their father had died.  The secret had to remain secret.

“Admiral,” Susan’s voice said.  He looked up to see her standing at the hatch.  “
Warspite
did well, didn't she?”

“Yes, she did,” James agreed.  He knew better than to assume the Indians would continue to hold the same dispositions - they’d probably concentrate their forces as soon as they knew the task force was in J-35 - but it was a start.  Getting the SAS down to the moon would give them something they lacked, too: solid information on just what the Indians were doing.  “I think Admiral Soskice scored one, there.”

“It would look that way,” Susan agreed.  She closed the hatch and took a seat facing him.  “Is that good news?”

James shrugged.  “I spent the last five years battling Admiral Soskice’s theoretical concepts of new ways of war,” he said.  “And
Warspite
may have proved that at least some of them are solid.”

Susan smiled.  “Is that a bad thing?”

“I wish I knew,” James admitted.  “If one idea works, does that mean the next idea is certain to work too?”

“No,” Susan said.  “But an idea failing doesn't mean you should dismiss them all.”

James nodded, tiredly.  Susan had never hesitated to tell him when she thought he was wrong, even though he outranked her.  It was one of the reasons he’d worked to keep her with him as they’d both climbed up the rank ladder.  Hell, Uncle Winchester wanted him to marry someone; perhaps, just perhaps, he should consider asking her.  It wouldn't be a love match, but they worked well together.

Maybe after the war
, he told himself firmly.

“The Indians aren't likely to back down,” he said.  He understood the reasoning, but it ran the risk of compromising military victory.  And yet, thanks to their unwanted escorts, it would be very hard to surprise the Indians.  “Politicians.”

“Probably not,” Susan agreed.  “They’d save their ships, they’d save their men, but they’d lose their prestige.”

“Funny,” James observed.  “That’s how we feel too.”

He sighed, inwardly.  It had been
so
much easier, he reflected once again, when they’d been fighting the Tadpoles.  At least they hadn't had to worry about being knifed in the back ...

Until the Russians proved us wrong
, he reminded himself. 
Humanity is more than capable of fighting itself as well as an alien foe
.

Chapter Nineteen

New Delhi, India

“Are you sure you’re up to this?”

Ambassador Joelle Richardson nodded impatiently.  She’d been injured on Vesy, when the uprising had begun, but she’d had plenty of time to recuperate.  It had been a surprise when she’d been told she would be carrying the message to the Indians, yet it made a certain amount of sense.  The Indians would get her message, true, but they’d also understand that her
presence
was a message, a warning that the uprising on Vesy was neither forgiven nor forgotten.  One way or the other, the Indians would pay a price for the deaths ...

And, of course, for the damage they’d done to the Vesy
, she thought. 
They were on the verge of all-out war when we left
.

She pushed the thought out of her mind as the car came to a halt outside the Prime Minister’s residence, New Delhi.  It was an impressive building, she had to admit; the original building had been destroyed by a suicide bomber during the Age of Unrest and the Indians had rebuilt it bigger and better than ever.  They’d also added layer upon layer of additional protection, MI6 had informed her; the building was designed to survive a nuke at close range.   The handful of shootings, bombings and one attempted missile attack hadn’t done more than scratch the paint.

“I’m fine,” she said.  “It won’t take very long.”

“Good luck,” her driver said, as they were waved into a parking slot.  “I’ll be here.”

Joelle nodded and checked her appearance in the mirror.  Her face looked pale - her brown hair had had to be regrown hastily - yet she looked businesslike.  The formal suit she wore, despite the heat, made her look mannish, but there was little choice.  Wearing a loose dress would have conveyed entirely the wrong expression.  She pasted a dispassionate expression on her face, then keyed a switch.  The door opened, allowing her to step out onto the concrete.  It was hotter than she’d expected - sweat started to trickle down her back - but it was surprisingly cool compared to Vesy.

“Ambassador,” a female voice said.  She looked up to see a young dark-skinned woman wearing a long sari.  “The Prime Minister is waiting for you.”

“Thank you,” Joelle said.  “Lead on, please.”

She followed the young woman - barely out of her teens, at a guess - through a handful of security scanners and up a long flight of stairs.  The air conditioning was welcome; she breathed a sigh of relief as the air suddenly became a great deal cooler.  It was impossible, she was sure, for anyone to work in the heat.  The paperwork would probably melt, if nothing else.  Her lips twitched at the thought; she fought to keep them under control, knowing that a smile could be disastrous.  The guide stopped outside a pair of wooden doors, knocked once and then opened them for her.  Joelle nodded her thanks and stepped into the office.

Prime Minister Singh was older than she, Joelle recalled from the file.  She’d never actually met him in person before.  He was paler than his assistant, a dull reminder that caste and open racism still cast a long shadow over India.  Joelle had read, once, that Islam had offered better opportunities to those of the lower castes, accounting for some level of distrust between the upper and lower castes.  India still banned the treatments that changed skin colour permanently, she recalled.  It wouldn't do for the lower castes to start aping their betters.

And to think they claim to have overcome the sins of the past
, she thought, coldly. 
But then, the Troubles caused us to regress too
.

She shook the Indian Prime Minister’s hand, shortly.  It was easy to understand
why
the Indians wanted to be considered a Great Power.  The tacit agreement - that the Great Powers were completely independent, free even of criticism, within their own territory - would save them the brunt of moralistic outrage.  And the fact that most of that outrage would be largely hypocritical wouldn't make them any more inclined to take it seriously.  But their plans had caused an alien uprising and cost thousands of lives.  They couldn't be allowed to get away with it.

“Ambassador Richardson,” Singh said.  “Ambassador Begum spoke highly of you.”

“I’m sure she did,” Joelle said.  Ambassador Rani Begum had stalled on Vesy, delaying any international agreements until the Indians held the whip hand.  No doubt Rani had reported that Joelle was a soft touch or something equally unpleasant.  “I remember her well.”

Singh smiled, coolly.  “I assume you weren't sent here to discuss pleasantries or remember old friends,” he said.  “And, as you’re
here
, you’re definitely speaking for your superiors.”

Joelle kept her annoyance off her face.  On Vesy, she’d had a great deal of practical authority; on Earth, she was little more than a puppet, repeating the words of the Prime Minister.  There was no way to escape the datanet, or the simple fact that the Prime Minister could change his mind and issue new orders at the drop of a hat.  She had a feeling, based on her experience, that the Prime Minister had simply grown too used to the idea of being able to command events at will, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

“I am,” she said.  She cleared her throat.  “You have committed acts of aggression against the possessions and personnel of Great Britain.  There is no room to debate your acts.  None of the excuses you have offered justify, for a moment, either the conquests of British territories or the deaths of British personnel.  We will not - we cannot - surrender any of your ill-gotten gains to you.”

Singh’s expression darkened, but he said nothing.

“This is our formal response to your ultimatum.  Withdraw your ships from Pegasus, Cromwell and Vesy.  The first two will be returned to their true owners; the latter will be placed under international supervision until the Vesy are ready to claim authority in their own system.    If you choose to do so now, Britain will agree to recognise India as a Great Power.”

She’d argued against making any sort of concessions to the Indians, but the Prime Minister - understanding his counterpart better than either of them would have cared to admit - had insisted they had to offer the Indians
something
.  Joelle had tried to argue that recognition as a Great Power wasn’t
enough
, if they
had
to make a concession, yet there wasn't much else they
could
concede without undermining the whole rationale for the war.  It was a tiny fig-leaf to satisfy the doves in Parliament that, she was sure, wouldn't satisfy anyone else.

“If you refuse to abandon your conquests, if you refuse to order your ships to withdraw, there will be no further talks,” she continued, after a moment.  “Your forces will be unceremoniously evicted from Cromwell and Pegasus, using all necessary force.  We will do whatever we have to do to ensure that you no longer pose a threat to us or interplanetary peace.”

Singh met her eyes.  “Is that everything?”

“That is the formal message,” Joelle said.  “The Prime Minister, however, asked me to remind you about the dangers of both gambling with the future of India and the future of the entire human race.”

“
He
is the one launching the offensive,” Singh snapped.

Joelle controlled her temper with an effort.  “The issue is not up for debate,” she said.  She removed a datachip from her handbag and placed it on the desk.  “You gambled, Prime Minister; you gambled that we would roll over and allow you to get away with a glorified snatch-and-grab.  Your gamble was lost.  Now, you have the choice between withdrawing your ships and conceding defeat or war.”

“We are not a rogue state,” Singh said, “and it has been a
very
long time since India was ruled by the British.  You do not get to talk to us in such a manner.”

“You’re
acting
like a rogue state,” Joelle said.  It was also a great deal easier to
deal
with a rogue state.  If Iran, or Algeria, or Arabia threatened British interests, as they did from time to time, the KEWs would be dropped from high overhead without any warning.  India, on the other hand, was too strong to be bullied easily.  “There is no room for compromise, Prime Minister.  I strongly advise you to withdraw your ships.”

Singh met her eyes.  “I will discuss the matter with my advisors,” he said.  “Will you wait for an hour or two?”

“I have orders to wait for no longer than an hour,” Joelle said, recognising the power play.  If she’d stayed longer, it would have suggested there was room for compromise.  “I will assume that you have chosen to reject our demands if you fail to give us an answer by then.”

She rose and headed for the door.  Singh was angry, but she didn't really fear he would try to hold her prisoner.  The entire world would turn on India if an ambassador was harmed, no matter the excuse.  Outside, the young aide was already waiting, her face an expressionless mask.  Joelle smiled to herself and allowed the younger woman to lead her to a side room.

“I can offer refreshments,” the woman said.  “Tea?  Coffee?  Iced Lemon Tea?  Juice?”

“Iced Lemon Tea would be fine, thank you,” Joelle said.  She'd acquired a taste for the drink in Malaysia.  “I won’t be staying long.”

***

“So they rejected the ultimatum,” Bose said.

Prime Minister Mohandas Singh nodded, controlling his fury with an effort.  He had known the British were unlikely to accept the Indian demands - no one dispatched a full-sized task force and
then
backed down - but he hadn't managed to steel himself to accept their Ambassador’s tone.  She'd been injured, according to her file, on Vesy.  Sending her was an odd choice, unless one chose to take it as a subtle threat. 

“They are telling us to get out or get thumped,” he said.  He would have been more diplomatic in a meeting of the full cabinet, but he was damned if he was moderating his tone for Bose.  The milksop didn't have the stomach for international power politics.  “Or thump
them
, of course.”

“They
did
send a task force,” Bose pointed out, mildly.  “That is not a minor commitment.”

“Of course not,” Mohandas snarled.

He wasn’t blind to the dangers of playing with fire.  The British Ambassador - as rude and undiplomatic as she’d been - had had a point.  They couldn't risk weakening the human race to the point where an alien threat - known or unknown - could tear its way through the human sphere.  But the only alternative was backing down.  His position would be fatally undermined - his enemies in the government would see an opportunity to weaken him - but so too would India’s.  He’d presented the British with a situation where the only reasonable step was to back down, yet now they’d presented him with the same problem.

If we back down
, he thought,
we look weak.  But if we fight and lose, we prove ourselves to be weak
.

It wouldn't matter, he was sure, if the British recognised India as a Great Power, not if India backed down.  The rest of the human race wouldn't take it seriously.  They certainly wouldn't stand aside to allow India to assert itself.  The British offer was nothing more than smoke and mirrors, a tiny concession to allow him to claim the whole exercise had been worthwhile.  If it had been offered a month ago, he would have accepted.  But now ...

“We have the choice,” Bose said pedantically, “between fighting and backing down.  Correct?”

“Correct,” Mohandas said.  He’d said as much himself.  Surely, Bose would reach a point sometime before the deadline ran out.  “Do you have a point?”

“We tried,” Bose said.  “The British didn't submit.  Now we do the smart thing and back down ourselves.”

“And make ourselves look weak,” Mohandas snapped.

“We would not
be
weak,” Bose said.  “I do understand that military matters are a little out of my sphere” - Mohandas glared; he’d cut Bose out of those decisions for a reason - “but I
do
understand that building those carriers was a colossal commitment.  We spent
billions
of rupees on the ships.  I don’t want to
think
about just how much money we spent on establishing two out-system colonies and building up our space-based industrial base ...”