A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6) (38 page)

“I would prefer to give my surrender to Colonel Boone,” the Indian CO said, stiffly.

“I’m his deputy,” a Para officer said, curtly.  He cleared his throat.  “I am obliged to inform you that your officers may not keep their sidearms, but they will be issued stunners.  They will also be held accountable for any unrest, rioting or attempts to break out of the barracks by your soldiers.  As there is literally nowhere to go, I assume you will be able to convince them that trying to escape will probably get them killed even if they’re not shot.”

The Indian CO glared at him, then nodded reluctantly.  Percy kept one hand on his rifle as the officers surrendered their sidearms - some of them looked as if they still wanted to fight - and were issued with stunners.
He
would have preferred not to let them have
any
weapons, even the relatively harmless stunners, but it made a certain amount of sense. 
They
could get the blame for any brutalising of the POWs.

If the POWs don’t blame them for getting them into shit
, he thought, as the final officer was issued a stunner.  He’d had extensive briefings on POW camps; it wasn't uncommon for soldiers to turn on their officers, particularly if the officers had been staggeringly unpopular, and try to kill them.  Some of the officers even had to be put into protective custody for their own safety. 
And they may not be the only ones
.

The Indian CO sighed.  “There were nineteen British citizens who accepted the offer of Indian citizenship,” he said.  “They should receive the same level of protection.”

Collaborators
, Percy thought.  He suspected, thanks to Lillian’s debrief, that he could put names to them all. 
They should be shot
.

“They will be held separately,” the Para said, firmly.  “Their precise legal status, however, has yet to be determined.”

Percy wasn't too surprised when he was assigned to take command of the guard the collaborators, supervising a couple of other soldiers who’d been separated from their units.  The collaborators - eleven men, eight women - didn't put up a fuss as they were marched into the brig; they assumed, probably correctly, that they were likely to be torn apart by their fellow citizens, now the war was over.  Percy kept a sharp eye on them, carefully matching names to faces; there was no way, he knew, to know what would happen to the genuine collaborators once they were shipped back home.  Perhaps they’d simply be sent to India ...

He looked up as several men entered the corridor.  “We want them,” the leader said, gesturing to the brig.  “Hand them over.”

Percy shook his head, firmly.  “They have to be given a fair trial,” he said.  Lillian had told him that far too many colonists had been forced into limited collaboration; there was no way they could allow a lynching without causing further problems.  “And that is what they will receive.”

“I didn't risk my life to get a message out just so they could live,” the man snapped.  Percy frowned.  Majors?  The man who’d built the transmitter?  “They need to die!”

“We got your message,” Percy said.  The man's eyes opened wide.  “You did well.

“
Lillian
did well,” the man said.  “She ... did they kill her?”

“She’s fine,” Percy said.  Was Majors in love with her?  He hoped not.  “We took her to one of the ships.  The appropriate legal authorities will decide what happens to her afterwards.”

“That’s good,” Majors said.  “But we still need to kill them ...”

Percy hefted his rifle.  “I understand the impulse,” he said.  “But right now, you cannot kill them.  Let them have a fair trial.”

“I’ll be writing to my MP about this,” Majors snapped.

“You should, sir,” Percy said.  “But for the moment, you need to leave.”

He watched Majors go, feeling oddly sorry for the man.  He’d gone to considerable lengths to get a message out, even though it hadn't gone the way he thought.  Majors had found a way to resist despite the near-total control the Indians had held over the colony.  To him, the collaborators had to be worse than dirt.  They needed to die!

“Percy,” Penny called.

For a moment, Percy was sure he was hearing things.  Penny had been on
Warspite
, hadn't she?  And then he turned round and saw her standing at the door, looking ... older, somehow.

“Penny,” he said, shaking his head.  “What are you doing here?”

“Reporting,” Penny said.  She looked past him.  “Are these the collaborators?”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to interview them,” Percy said.  “But at least it’s safer down here now.”

Penny stuck out her tongue.  “I think I saw Hamish somewhere around,” she said.  “I’ll go look him up in an hour.”

“Just remember he may be on duty,” Percy warned.  “And I’d wait for a few days before you try to interview anyone else.”

***

“In total,” Sally reported, “we have rounded up eight thousand prisoners, mainly soldiers.”

“Ouch,” James said.  Looking after them all would be a headache, shipping them to Cromwell - let alone back to India - would be a logistics nightmare.  Maybe the Indians could be induced to supply the shipping, once the war was formally over.  “Can we support them for the moment?”

“Yes, sir,” Sally said.  “They’ll be strictly on ration bars, but they’ll survive.”

Cruel and unusual punishment
, James thought. 
He
would have hated a steady diet of ration bars, even if they were cheap, easy to produce and capable of supporting human life. 
But they don’t have a choice
.

“Very well,” he said.  “I ...”

He broke off as an alarm sounded.  “Report!”

“Admiral, we picked up a FLASH signal,” an operator reported.  “The second carrier just jumped through the tramline.  She’s advancing on our position.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Pegasus System

“General,” Captain Ajit said.  “The garrison has fallen.”

Anjeet scowled.  “Are you sure?”

He cursed under his breath.  Three days of frantic repair work, three days of shuffling trained and experienced crewmen from the damaged ships to the warships he hoped could be taken back into the Pegasus System; three days ... it clearly hadn't been enough to save the garrison before the British landed.  And if Clarke III had fallen, along with the soldiers, the war itself was effectively lost. 

“Yes, General,” Ajit said.  He didn't sound very pleased to be questioned on his own bridge, but Anjeet found it hard to care.  “The garrison’s current status has been confirmed by stealthed recon platforms.  It surrendered seven hours ago.”

“I see,” Anjeet said, finally.  “Continue on our current course.”

Ajit’s face darkened, but he did as he was told.  Anjeet watched him for a moment, then turned his attention back to the display.  One damaged carrier - the British engineers might be wonder-workers, but there were limits - and twelve smaller warships, presumably including the cruiser that had targeted
Viraat
.  This time,
nothing
would be able to sneak up on his carrier; this time, he’d have the firepower advantage and crush the enemy carrier like a bug. 

“We will engage the British as soon as we enter firing range,” he ordered.  “Prepare your crews for deployment.”

“Yes, sir,” Ajit said.  “And then what?”

Anjeet blinked.  “Captain?”

“We might be able to beat the British ships,” Ajit pointed out, smoothly.  “And then ... what?”

“We recover Clarke III,” Anjeet snapped.

“We have no landing force,” Ajit said.  “We’d have to arm crewmen and dump them on the planet, sending them right into the teeth of a tough and professional force that has already hammered us once.  And even if we did succeed in retaking the world, we’d still effectively have lost the war.  The British have
five
more carriers.  We have no other.”

Anjeet turned his gaze towards the display.  The remains of his former carrier were still drifting, inching their way slowly out of the system.  He was mildly surprised the British hadn't put a prize crew on the hulk, but they’d probably reasoned she was worthless at the moment.  Even if he recovered
Viraat
, it would take longer to repair her than it would take to build a whole new fleet carrier.

“The honour of India is at stake, Captain,” he said, finally.  “We must not be seen to lose.”

“Very well,” Ajit said.  He frowned.  “It will be at least six hours before we enter engagement range, General.  Might I suggest you get some sleep?”

Get the hell off my bridge
, Anjeet translated, mentally.  It was hard to blame the Captain; Anjeet had broken military protocol quite badly. 
And I do need to rest
.

“Wake me the moment the situation changes,” he ordered, turning towards the hatch.  “We must not lose this battle, Captain.”

“I have no intention of losing, General,” Ajit said.

***

“It's the second carrier, sir,” Sally said.  “She’ll be within engagement range in six hours.”

James cursed under his breath.  The Indians - deliberately or otherwise - had created one hell of a moral dilemma.  He could fall back and wait for reinforcements, preserving
Theodore Smith
and the remaining ships of the task force, if he was prepared to sacrifice everyone on Clarke III.  There were two thousand Paras and Royal Marines on the surface, along with a thousand civilians and eight thousand Indian POWs.  The Indians, of course, would take up weapons again ... he’d need to refight his way into the system a second time, if the war continued. 

But if I stand and fight, I may lose
, he thought.

“Order
Warspite
to prepare a second ambush,” he ordered, although - judging by the reports from the ship watching the tramline - it was unlikely the Indians would fall for the same trick twice.  They might be practically shouting their exact location to the entire system, but they were pumping out so many radar pulses that a stealthed ship would probably be detected before it got into firing range.  “And prime our ships for an engagement.”

He shook his head, bitterly.  There was no choice; he had to stop the Indians, even at the cost of his entire force.  Admiral Smith had rammed an alien superdreadnaught; James had watched, helpless to intervene, as two massive starships had died in fire.  Now, ramming
Theodore Smith
into the Indian carrier would constitute a victory, of sorts.  Britain had more carriers; the Indians had none.  But he didn't want it to end that way.

“And warn Colonel Boone that his men may have to prepare to defend the colony,” he added, bitterly.  They’d done such a good job of clearing the mass drivers that the Indians could simply land in the same blindspot themselves.  “If he thinks it possible, he and his men are to go to ground.”

“Yes, sir,” Sally said.  “What about the POWs?”

James refused to even
begin
to consider ordering a massacre.  “They can be held as long as possible,” he said.  There was no time to organise a parole agreement, even if the Indians were inclined to cooperate.  “And then ... I suppose they’ll go back to their former masters.”

He gritted his teeth in frustration.  It was
pointless
.  The Indians had to know they’d lost the war.  Even if they managed to win the coming engagement, it would be so costly that they had no hope of rebuilding their navy before the next carrier arrived.  Hell, China or even Russia might take advantage of their weakness to stick a knife in their backs.  India would win a victory that might as well be a defeat. 

“Record a message,” he ordered.  He took a long moment to organise his thoughts.  “General Patel” - they’d learned the name of their opponent on Clarke III - “this is Admiral Fitzwilliam, commander of Task Force Bulldog.  I will not permit you to recover this system without a fight.  Our forces are evenly matched;
victory
may go to the side that has only one or two ships left.  You may win this fight, General, but you will lose the war.”

He took a breath.  “We’re both military men, General.  I don’t know what orders your superiors have given you” - the captured officers on Clarke had refused to discuss any contingency plans with their captors - “but you have to know that this battle is going to be disastrous for India, whoever wins.  Please, for the sake of your men and country, withdraw from the system.  We won’t give chase, General; our objectives are merely to regain control of the territories you occupied.  Leave now and bring this war to an end before you lose everything.”

“Message recorded, sir,” Sally said.  “Do you think he’ll listen?”

“I don't know,” James said.  “Send it.”

He settled back in his chair and forced himself to wait.  The Tadpoles had chosen to end the war, only to have a rogue faction launch a final strike at Earth.  Would the Indians be so foolish?  Cold logic told him they’d back down, but cold logic would have failed to predict so many wars in human history.  And who knew just who was in charge on Earth?  It wouldn't be the first time a powerful politician or a radical faction had pushed an entire nation to the brink of defeat.

No tricks any longer
, he thought. 
No way for us to offset their power; no way for them to do it to us. Just a brutal slogging match that will cost them everything, even if they win.  And they have to know it
.

***

Anjeet jerked awake as the communicator buzzed.  “Report!”

“General, we received a message addressed to you personally,” his aide said.  “Do you want me to send it to your console?”

“Yes,” Anjeet growled.  “Now.”

He listened to the message, torn between two separate feelings.  The urge to just hammer the British senseless, in response to the loss of a whole carrier, was almost overwhelming.  And yet, the British Admiral was correct.  Anjeet might win the battle - he might lose his life, given that the carrier would attract fire from the British ships - but it would cost him the war. 

Which is what Ajit said
, he thought. 
The British would only have to rush another fleet carrier into the war zone and then they could snap up Pegasus, Vesy and Gandhi at marginal cost.

It was a galling thought.  His orders admitted of no ambiguity; he was to defeat the British, whatever the cost.  And yet, he knew that the cost would be staggeringly high.  Losing two carriers would mean losing
everything
.  The British would have every incentive to continue the war - victory would fall into their hands - but other powers would have a good reason to jump in.  Who knew what Russia could do if she seized the Indian colonies?  Or captured Pegasus and then returned the system to Britain as a goodwill gesture.

The Prime Minister would be furious, he knew.  There was no way to avoid it.  They’d been friends for a long time, as well as allies; the Prime Minister would see any surrender as a betrayal.  But this wasn't one of the innumerable wars of the Age of Unrest, where there was no room for surrender, where it was kill or be killed.  India could survive, and even prosper, without winning the war.  Hell, if they backed down now, they might even manage to avoid further losses.  The British wouldn't want to attack the colonies and make themselves the aggressor.

“Record,” he ordered.  His career was at an end.  Even the Prime Minister wouldn't be able to save him.  Parliament would want a scapegoat and he was the only one on hand.  “Admiral Fitzwilliam.  I assume you have been given authority to negotiate.  Accordingly, I am prepared to withdraw from the system - and concede your authority over both Pegasus and Cromwell - in exchange for an agreement that Gandhi and our other colonies are to remain untouched and there will be no demand for reparations.  If these terms are acceptable to you, I will reverse course at once.

“As a gesture of goodwill,” he added, “I will slow my approach until you respond.”

He keyed a switch.  “Send the message,” he ordered.  “And then halve our speed.”

“Aye, sir,” his aide said.

***

James listened to the message carefully, torn between relief and worry.  He
was
effectively an ambassador, at least until the Foreign Office sent a genuine diplomatic representative to Pegasus, but he wasn't an experienced diplomat.  It was quite possible that he’d accidentally give something away that would cause problems on Earth, even though he had a feeling the Prime Minister could overrule him if necessary.  But, for the moment, he had no choice; he had to do what he could.

“General,” he said, carefully.  “The United Kingdom has no claim on Gandhi or any colony world settled directly by India.  Therefore, I have no hesitation in agreeing that those worlds should remain untouched.  However, Vesy is another matter.  Your agents deliberately triggered off an alien uprising that killed hundreds of civilians and military personnel from a dozen different countries.  I believe you will have to withdraw from Vesy, leaving it open for either a multi-national contact service or a policy of no further intervention, but that is a matter for true diplomats.  So too is the issue of reparations for the war.”

He smiled, thinly.  If his calculations were accurate, the Indians had shipped a remarkable amount of industrial material to Pegasus.  Colonel Boone had already claimed it as the spoils of war.  He had a feeling that the Indians might wind up losing money anyway, if they lost any remaining claim to that material.  They certainly wouldn't be allowed to keep it.

“For the moment, I propose you withdraw your fleet to Vesy and await orders from your government,” he concluded.  “We will continue to hold position here.  Once you receive orders, we can decide what to do with Vesy.”

He sent the message, then settled back to wait again.

***

Anjeet considered the second message carefully.  He wasn’t blind to the implications of a long delay; he’d get orders from Earth, all right, but the British would have time to hurry a second carrier to Pegasus.  If the war restarted, they’d be in a far stronger position ...