A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6) (5 page)

He cleared his throat.  “I have a bad feeling about this, James,” he said.  “The order we built after the Troubles is dead.  It died with the war.  Neville, the appeasing toad, is right about that, if nothing else.  Either we fight the Indians, and risk heavy losses that may weaken us permanently, or we surrender and brace for the next round of demands.  The universe isn't what it once was.”

“I know,” James said. 

“We need time,” Uncle Winchester added.  “Time to rebuild the navy, time to incorporate the lessons of the war, time to rebalance the international order.  Hell, maybe even time to make approaches to the Russians again.”

“You know what they tried to do,” James said.

“I also know we may need them in the future,” Uncle Winchester said.  He gave James a sidelong look.  “Should I start looking for potential wives?”

James shook his head, firmly.

“Then start looking for someone yourself,” Uncle Winchester said.  “You’re a war hero, moderately handsome, well-connected ... you shouldn't have any problem finding someone willing to share your life.  Or you can set up an arranged marriage and be ...
friendly
, if not actual partners.  There’re quite a few marriages where the partners are homosexual and only married to produce children.”

“I’m not homosexual,” James said.

He sighed.  Perhaps it would have been easier if he
had
been.  No one gave a damn if someone happened to be homosexual, unless they were members of the aristocracy. 
Then
, they had to produce children, even if it meant entering an arranged - and loveless - marriage with a woman who might have the same tendencies.  But for him?  He wanted someone he actually
loved
.  And finding someone who loved him, instead of a gold digger, wasn't easy.

Perhaps I should have taken note of Prince Henry
, he thought.  The
Prince
had married for love, then taken himself and his wife to Tadpole Prime, well away from the media. 
I could do that, couldn't I
?

“Then find someone,” Uncle Winchester said.  “The family needs you to get married, James.”

“I’ll start looking once I return to Earth,” James said, reluctantly.  “I imagine I’ll have time to start a search then, if I must.”

It was a bitter thought.  He was still young, but it was unlikely he’d be promoted further.  Promotion into the Admiralty was based on politics as much as competence and skill; his family, he suspected, already had too much influence in the Royal Navy.  He was marginally surprised he’d been promoted to Vice Admiral, but then he
was
the senior survivor of
Ark Royal
.  It made him the greatest living hero of the war.

“I can offer advice, if you like,” Uncle Winchester said.  “You’re not
obliged
to marry a commoner, you know.  There’re quite a few young maidens in the aristocracy who’d know the score.”

James scowled.  It was tempting, perhaps too tempting.  A young woman from the same social class as himself, someone safe ... and boring.  Sweet, soft-spoken - or good at hiding her true personality from her family.  Pretty too, of course.  The families worked hard to ensure that their children were at the very peak of health.  There would be an understanding right from the start, an understanding that they didn’t love each other ... but that love would bloom, given a chance.  She would manage his estates and raise their children while he tended to his career. 

But she would be boring.  And he disliked boredom. 

“There aren’t many other options,” Uncle Winchester added.  “I do have a list of potential commoners, ones with the ability to fit into the aristocracy, but they wouldn't have the same background.”

“Of course not,” James muttered. 

He shook his head.  The British aristocracy had learned the dangers of inbreeding the hard way.  A commoner with a record of accomplishments - it crossed his mind that Admiral Smith would have qualified - could be invited to marry into the aristocracy, trading their genes for recognition.  No one would look down on them or sneer at their children.  Indeed, commoners who
became
aristocrats were highly honoured.  It was the only way to keep the bloodlines fresh.

But a commoner wouldn't understand the hidden social rules of the aristocracy ...

“It doesn't matter, not now,” he said, firmly.  “We can discuss it afterwards.”

“Then we will go over your plan,” Uncle Winchester said.  “What do you plan to do if the Indians mass their forces?”

“Go elsewhere,” James said, relieved.  Military issues he understood.  “Trying to defend everywhere is asking for trouble.”

Uncle Winchester nodded, then questioned every detail with a thoroughness James could only admire.  He'd known his uncle had helped design warships before the war, but he hadn't really grasped that Uncle Winchester had a level of tactical acumen too ... something, in hindsight, that should have been blindingly obvious.  And yet, his uncle had never really
bragged
about his achievements.  He’d certainly never talked about them without being prompted. 

And I asked for war stories
, James recalled.  His parents had sent him to Uncle Winchester’s when they’d found the young James too much to handle. 
I wasn't interested in the details
.

There was a rap at the door, which opened a moment later to reveal Sandra.  “Sirs,” she said, as she closed the door behind her.  “The Prime Minister wishes to inform you that the Houses of Parliament voted for war.”

James let out a breath.  It would be war.

He rose to his feet.  “I’ll need to return to Nelson Base,” he said.  “The task force will have to be assembled.”

“Make sure you give them hell,” Uncle Winchester said.  “I’ll speak to the Prime Minister; you’ll probably have another discussion with us before you depart.”

He held out a hand.  James shook it firmly.  “Good luck, James.”

“Thank you,” James said.  A quick shuttle back to Nelson Base ... he’d alert his staff on the way, get them to start sending out orders to the designated ships.  They’d finalise the plan over the next couple of days, while the task force prepared for war.  “We’re going to need it.”

Chapter Four

Nelson Base, Earth Orbit

“Captain Naiser,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said.  “Thank you for coming.”

Captain John Naiser nodded once as the hatch closed behind him, then took the seat the Admiral indicated.  It had been two weeks since
Warspite
had returned to Earth for the second time, leading a ragtag convoy of ships escaping Vesy.  He’d spent most of that time sitting in front of various Boards of Inquiry, having every decision he’d made on Vesy dissected ruthlessly.  Too many people had died for the Admiralty to do anything else.

He couldn't help feeling tense.  His crew had been ordered to stay on the ship, save for the handful who’d been answering questions themselves; he’d been told to keep his ship ready for deployment, but he hadn't been ordered to attend any of the briefings or planning sessions he knew to be underway.  War was looming and yet he’d had almost nothing to do, save for answering questions.  If he hadn't been left in command of his ship, he would have wondered if he’d been made the scapegoat for the disaster.  The Indians had organised the uprising, priming the Vesy and turning them against other human factions, but he’d been the officer on the spot. 

But I was left in command
, he reassured himself. 
They must have another reason to keep me away from the planning sessions
.

“There isn't much time, so I’ll be blunt,” Fitzwilliam said.  His voice was clipped, held under firm control.  “As you know, Parliament voted yesterday for war.  Task Force Bulldog - under my command - has been charged with recovering Cromwell and Pegasus and driving the Indians back to their own worlds.  Your ship has been attached to Task Force Bulldog.”

“Yes, sir,” John said.  Independent command of a small flotilla had been nice, but he was too junior to hold it indefinitely.  “
Warspite
is ready to go to war.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Fitzwilliam said.  He leaned forward, meeting John’s eyes.  “I’m placing you and your ship on detached duty, Captain.  I have a mission I want you to perform.”

John lifted his eyebrows.  “A mission?”

“On the record,
Warspite
will be assigned to Britannia,” Fitzwilliam said.  John felt a flicker of disappointment he ruthlessly suppressed.  “There is a demand for small ships to provide additional security and
Warspite
would be perfect for the role.  However, your actual orders - which will be sealed; you can open them once you enter the Terra Nova System - are to make a recon flight through the occupied systems.  I need a full tactical survey to help plan our offensive operations.”

“Yes, sir,” John said.  He felt a surge of brilliant excitement.  A challenging mission against a deadly foe?  It was what he’d signed up for.  And he had a score to settle against the Indians.  “You want us to find their carriers?”

“I doubt their dispositions will remain permanent,” Fitzwilliam said.  “They will almost certainly reposition their ships once they know where we’re coming from.”

He keyed a switch, activating the starchart.  “Our best guess is that they will place at least one of their carriers in Pegasus and another in Vesy - assuming, of course, they’re prepared to risk both of their carriers in the war.  They may well have plans to cut their losses if we’re ready to put up a fight.”

He shrugged.  “You are to start with Pegasus.  First, I want a tactical sweep of the system; second, I want you to land a small commando team on Clarke III.  We need up-to-date information on what the Indians are doing on the surface.  So far, our analysts have concluded it could be anything from setting up defences to merely holding the moon in a very light grip.”

“Because they can't hold Clarke III if we came knocking,” John said.

“We don’t know,” Fitzwilliam said.  “A SAS team - probably including a handful of Royal Marines - will be attached to
Warspite
just prior to your departure.  They’ll have a stealth shuttle for planetary insertion; you’ll get them to the system, but they’ll handle getting down to the surface themselves.”

“We inserted the marines on Vesy,” John said, quietly.

“There’s more at stake here,” Fitzwilliam warned.  “You’ll make sure you have a solid communications link with the troopers before heading through the tramlines to Vesy and Cromwell.  Ideally, we want to set up stealthed platforms in the region, but that depends on local conditions.  There’s too much dust orbiting that damn gas giant.”

“Yes, sir,” John said.  “Do you want to try to insert teams on Vesy and Cromwell?”

“I don’t think so,” Fitzwilliam said.  “The diplomats” - his face twisted into a sneer - “believe that the Indians will probably concede Cromwell without too much of a fight.  Cromwell is an Earth-type world, Captain, and our claim to possession is strong.  They’d set a very distressing precedent if they chose to keep it.”

John nodded.  It had long been agreed, after Terra Nova had collapsed into civil war, that whoever settled a system’s Earth-type world had unquestioned title to the remainder of the system.  The Indians
might
be able to get their hands on Pegasus, if the Royal Navy failed to evict them, but the other interstellar powers would resist allowing them to keep Cromwell.  It would definitely upset a number of apple carts.

“In any case, there’s no point in trying to determine what’s happening on Vesy,” Fitzwilliam added, after a moment.  “I think the general feeling on Earth is to pull back and let the Vesy come to terms with the cultural shock themselves.”

“I agree, sir,” John said.  “The Vesy have been too badly traumatised by their first contact.”

“So were we,” Fitzwilliam pointed out.

“The Tadpoles were on the same level as us,” John said.  “I don’t think the Vesy knew how to make gunpowder, let alone develop the scientific method, before the Russians stumbled across their world.  They had no
concept
of space travel.  We must have seemed like
gods
.”

“That’s a matter for a later date, if we win the war,” Fitzwilliam said.  “Ideally, Captain, we should have the task force at Hannibal by the time you return.  You will rendezvous with us there.  If we’re not present, you will head back to Earth; hopefully, you will encounter us
en route
.”

John nodded.  Only an idiot - or a politician - expected starships to run on time.  Something could easily go wrong, delaying them; the Indians could be expected to do whatever it took to delay the task force as much as possible.  They’d have to be keeping an eye on Terra Nova too, he suspected. 
Warspite
would have to enter stealth mode as soon as she entered the system and alter course to the tramline that would eventually take her to Pegasus.

“I may have another mission for you, once the first one is completed,” Fitzwilliam added, after a moment.  “However, your principle task is to serve as a scout.”

“Yes, sir,” John said.  He couldn't help looking forward to the deployment.  “
Warspite
was
built
for such missions.”

“Good,” Fitzwilliam said.  “Under the circumstances, you will have first claim on anything you need from the stores.  If any supply officers dare to complain, point them in my direction.”

“Yes, sir,” John said.  He’d fought enough battles with supply officers to be glad of the chance to force them to check with an Admiral.  They’d rapidly change their minds about objecting the moment they realised he wasn't joking.  “I believe we don’t need much, save for the SAS gear and other war stocks.”

“Make sure you take all you can,” Fitzwilliam warned.  “You may not be able to return to Earth before the task force enters the war zone.”

He smiled, rather thinly.  “Is there anything else your crew needs?”

“They could probably do with some leave,” John said.  “It was a long deployment and there wasn’t any real chance to stretch their legs and blow off some steam.  But I don’t think there’s time.”

“You can send a handful of crewmen to Island One, if you think you can afford to spare them for a couple of hours,” Fitzwilliam said.  “I want you on your way as soon as possible, Captain; handle it how you see fit, but don’t delay your departure.”

John smiled.  Island One was tame, compared to Portsmouth, Southampton or Sin City, but it would give some of his crew a chance to relax for a few hours.  He’d have to go through the duty roster with Commander Howard, his XO, and determine just who could be spared before departure.  It was a pity he probably couldn't clear himself for a few hours of leave, but it would be an abuse of authority.  Besides, there was just too much to do.

“Thank you, sir,” he said.

“There is a price, of course,” Fitzwilliam said.  “You’ll be carrying a couple of reporters with you.”

“Oh,” John said.  He cleared his throat.  “Sir, with all due respect, I thought this was to be a
secret
mission.”

“The reporters will be informed, in no uncertain terms, that they are not to file any stories without permission from the Public Relations officers,” Fitzwilliam said.  “During your mission, Captain, they will be doing nothing more than recording and witnessing the deployment.  They won’t be allowed to send messages off the ship until the task force enters the Hannibal System.”

John scowled.  “We can keep them from sending messages, Admiral, but it will still be a security risk.”

“The Prime Minister is very determined to make sure the war is presented in the best possible light,” Fitzwilliam said, firmly.  “You, at least, will only have one or two reporters. 
I
will have a whole press corps on
Theodore Smith
.  They’ll all have signed the standard non-disclosure agreement and their stories will be checked prior to distribution.  I understand your doubts, Captain, but we have our orders.  We need to keep the press on our side.”

John kept his face blank. 
With friends like those, who needs the Indians
?

“The looming war has already started to dominate the newsfeeds,” Fitzwilliam added.  “Our press corps, at least, is being reasonably responsible, but foreign media sources are going crazy.  We need to make sure we get our story out before the Indians have a chance to influence public opinion.  They’re already saying this is a war of choice.”

“It isn't, sir,” John said.

“Tell that to the reporters,” Fitzwilliam said.  He shrugged.  “In any case, Captain, if they cause trouble you have authorisation to stick them in the brig until the war is finished.  I believe that will be made clear to them too.”

“Thank you, sir,” John said. 

“The reporters we had on
Ark Royal
were pretty damn bad too,” Fitzwilliam added, with a thin smile.  “I know
precisely
how you feel.”

He reached into a drawer and removed a datachip.  “These are your sealed orders, Captain,” he added.  “You’ll receive the standard orders through the datanet; you will, of course, ignore them once you reach Terra Nova and open the sealed orders.”

“Yes, sir,” John said.

“I don’t expect you to engage the enemy,” Fitzwilliam said, as he rose to his feet.  “Ideally, you should pass completely unnoticed.  We don’t want the Indians to know you’re there, Captain; I’d like to have a
few
surprises to point at them.  Don’t go looking for a fight.”

His expression hardened.  “However ... if you are forced into an engagement and you can’t avoid it, I expect you to give them hell.  Beat the living daylights out of them.”

“Of course, sir,” John said.

“Good luck,” Fitzwilliam said.  “Do you have any questions?”

“No, sir,” John said.  He rose and saluted.  “Thank you.”

“Thank me when you come back,” Fitzwilliam said.  “Not before.”

John nodded and strode out of the hatch, down towards the docks.  Nelson Base seemed to have come alive overnight; hundreds of officers and crewmen were transporting supplies from the stocks to the starships docked at the giant station.  He pushed himself against the bulkhead as a pair of carts rumbled passed, pushed along by a pair of burly Royal Marines who had been pressed into service.  Behind them, a couple of commanding officers strode past, probably heading for one of the innumerable briefings.