A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6) (7 page)

A tall man stepped forward.  “Captain?”

“Check Percy out on our equipment - everything from environmental suits to weapons and communications gear,” Drake said.  “We’ll be leaving tomorrow morning; I want him ready to go by then.”

“Yes, sir,” the Sergeant said.

Percy braced himself as the Sergeant studied him, forcing himself to meet the Sergeant’s eyes.  Platoon Sergeant Danny Peerce had mentored him, first on
Warspite
and then on Vesy, but
this
Sergeant looked a great deal nastier.  He’d have to worry about Percy’s qualifications, no matter what the files said.  Percy hadn't gone through Selection and so there would be a question mark over his abilities.

“I am Sergeant Dale Lewis,” the Sergeant said.  “You've seen active service, right?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Percy said. 

“Then you will have no trouble with our training,” Lewis said, with an evil smile.  “Let’s go.”

The next few hours proved to be hellish.  Percy knew he was in pretty good shape - he'd kept up with his training on Vesy - but running around after Sergeant Lewis felt like going all the way back to the Potential Royal Marines Course and starting again.  Many of the weapons he was shown - and forced to fire time and time again until the sergeant was satisfied - were familiar, yet some were clearly unique to the SAS.  It was lucky, he decided, as they moved to survival gear, that he’d had time on Clarke
and
Vesy.  He had enough experience in using hardsuits to please even Sergeant Lewis.

“There isn't time to fit you out with booster implants,” Lewis said, as he led the way into the medical bay.  A grim-faced doctor was standing there, holding a datapad in one hand and a pocket scanner in the other.  “You may be at a disadvantage if you have to run after us.”

Percy nodded, curtly.  “I’ll try and serve as the rearguard then,” he said.  He’d heard that the SAS had booster implants - as well as implanted weapons and communications devices - but details had been sparse.  However, if they were anything like the civilian models used by spacers, it would take weeks to learn how to use the implants.  “How do your implants work?”

“That’s classified information,” Lewis growled.  “Pass Selection and you’ll find out.”

The Sergeant didn't let up.  As soon as the doctor had pronounced Percy physically healthy, he’d led Percy into a sparring room and tested him, ruthlessly.  Percy had been trained in hand-to-hand combat, but the Sergeant was astonishingly fast and terrifyingly strong.  It was a surprise, when the sparring came to an end, when the Sergeant reluctantly cleared Percy to accompany the troop and led him to meet the rest of the troopers.

Or maybe it shouldn’t have been
, Percy thought, feeling his body aching. 
If Drake wasn't joking about officers who didn't know how to fire a gun
...

“We operate on a first-name basis here,” Lewis explained.  The SAS common room didn't look
that
different to the one he recalled from Edinburgh, although it was cleaner than anything
civilian
.  “And we have zero tolerance for bullshit.”

“Quite right,” a trooper said.  He stuck out a hand for Percy to shake.  “I’m Jimmy.  I read your file.  What was it like on Vesy?”

Percy hesitated.  “Tricky,” he said, finally.  “Hot, sticky and remorselessly political.”

Jimmy laughed and slapped Percy’s shoulder.  “Sounds like fun,” he said.  “And Clarke?”

“Cold, icy and deadly,” Percy said.  “You wouldn’t last a minute without protective gear.”

“But at least it’s a free-fire zone,” Jimmy said.  “There won’t be any aliens or civilians to get in the way when we engage the Indians.”

He waved Percy to a seat and passed him a can of Panda Cola.  “Tell us about it.”

Percy nodded and started to talk.  The troopers listened intently, without the jokes he would have expected from a rival branch of the military.  But then, the troopers didn't have anything to prove; hell, some of them might have been
drawn
from the Royal Marines or had friends who’d served on Vesy too.  They didn’t need to engage in horseplay to prove themselves.

“If you want to update your will, make sure you do it now,” Lewis said, an hour later.  He’d listened quietly, sometimes asking questions to parse out more of the story.  “Or check your email - remember, anything you send will be held in the buffers until someone’s had a chance to take a look at it.  This is pretty much the only piece of downtime you’ll get, so enjoy it.”

“Aw, Sergeant,” Jimmy said.  “We were hoping to take him to the pub.”

Lewis lifted his eyebrows.  “Would
you
care to explain to the Captain while you’re all rolling drunk or puking during the shuttle flight?”

“Um ... no, Sergeant,” Jimmy said.

“Right answer,” Lewis said.  “You’re in lockdown anyway, so behave yourselves.  Percy, you have a bunk with the lads.  Don’t worry about standing guard tonight - you’ll do enough of that on the ship.”

Percy nodded.  He’d have to email Canella before departure - and Penny.  She'd made it back to Earth - the Indians had returned her without delay - but he hadn't had a chance to talk to her.  God alone knew what she was planning to do, apart from writing the full story of the disaster on Vesy.  It might make interesting reading.

And I’d better hope no one here learns she’s my sister
, he thought, as he headed for the nearest terminal. 
The media is the enemy of secrecy and security
. 

Chapter Six

HMS
Warspite
, Earth Orbit

“They do feel the urge to be melodramatic, don’t they?”

Penny Schneider had to fight down the urge to roll her eyes.  It had been an hour since they’d boarded the shuttle and set off for an undisclosed destination and Darrel Stevenson had spent most of the time complaining about it.  If he hadn't wanted to agree to the terms and conditions for being embedded with the military, she asked herself, why had he signed up in the first place? 
She
, at least, had known what she was getting into when she’d signed on the dotted line.  There might be a number of irksome security regulations - and the promise of a hefty jail term if she deliberately broke them - but there was also the prospect of a scoop.  It was something she needed desperately to boost her career.

Because my stories weren’t unique when I was returned to Earth
, she thought, sourly.  The Indians had held her prisoner just long enough to devalue her experiences and allow other reporters - who’d escaped with the Royal Navy - to undercut her. 
I need something new as soon as possible
.

She ran a hand through her long blonde hair as the shuttle rocked one final time.  The gravity field shimmied, suggesting that they’d docked with a starship.  She couldn't help a flicker of fear despite the anticipation, fighting the urge to request - demand - that she be taken back home.  It wouldn't be the first time she’d travelled on a military ship, but it wouldn't be the same.  This time, they were going to war.

I could die here
, she told herself.  She'd faced death before - on Earth, during the war - but this was different. 
Someone might blow the ship to atoms and take me with it
.

The hatch opened.  She rose to her feet and picked up her carryall, walking through the hatch and into a small airlock.  The logo on the inner hatch was familiar,
very
familiar.  She had to choke off a laugh as she realised she’d been assigned - again - to
Warspite
.  Was Percy back onboard?   He’d been on Vesy, the last time they’d met, but Fort Knight was no longer in existence.  She knew he'd survived - she’d checked the records as soon as she’d been returned to Earth - but she hadn't been able to organise a meeting.  Her sources had told her, in confidence, that everyone who’d had anything to do with the disaster were being interrogated by various Boards of Inquiry to find out just what had happened.  She could only pray that Percy hadn't been singled out as the scapegoat.

She smiled, despite her fears, as the inner hatch opened to reveal Commander Howard.  She’d met him during the first trip to Vesy - as XO, he'd been responsible for supervising the reporters as well as his regular duties - and she rather liked him, although she knew he’d been careful what he’d shown her.  She didn't fault him for that, but it was rather annoying.  Naval personnel tended to stay firmly on-message whenever they thought they were being monitored by their superiors. 

“Commander,” she said.  “
What
a surprise to see you again.”

“There
was
a need for secrecy,” Howard said.  He looked past her.  “Mr. Stevenson.  Welcome onboard
Warspite
.”

“Thank you,” Stevenson said.  “Was it really necessary to hide the destination from us?”

“I’m afraid so,” Howard said.  “I assume you paid close attention to your briefing?”

“Of course,” Stevenson said, irked.   “It was very interesting.”

“Operational details have to remain a secret, for the moment,” Howard said.  He turned, motioning them to follow him.  “I know it's a burden, but we cannot afford to take risks.”

He said nothing else until they reached their suite.  It was larger than Penny had expected - one small living compartment and a single bedroom - but she had the very definite impression that Stevenson was disappointed.  She dropped her bag on the sofa, checked inside the bedroom and smiled to herself.  The compartment was much bigger than the quarters she’d used last time she’d been on the ship.

“You’ll have the bedroom, we assume,” Howard said.  “Mr. Stevenson will have the sofa.  The head” - he jabbed a finger towards the bathroom - “is shared.  I’m afraid there isn't anyone assigned to keep the room tidy, so you’ll have to handle it yourselves.  The door will need to be keyed to your fingerprints if you want to keep everyone else out; you’ll be able to handle that through the room’s terminal, over there.”

Penny followed his pointing finger and nodded.  “When will we depart?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Howard informed her.  “As we’re moving vast amounts of supplies through the ship, the two of you are to remain in your compartment for the moment.  You will be escorted to the mess when dinner is ready; until then, there’s a small stockpile of food and drink in the fridge.”

“It’s a tiny fridge,” Stevenson complained.

“I
assure
you that this is the second-largest cabin on the ship,” Howard said.  “This isn't exactly a fancy hotel.”

Stevenson looked disbelieving, but Penny nodded in understanding.  She’d seen the junior enlisted quarters during her first cruise and they were
tiny
.  There was nowhere near enough room to swing a cat and privacy was a joke.  She’d endured the refugee camps on Earth, but she honestly doubted she could have tolerated such close quarters for very long.  If the crewmen had fallen out or started fights, it would have been intolerable.

“We understand,” she said.  “It
was
in the briefing notes.”

Howard smiled, very briefly.  “You can compose or record messages, if you like, but they will be held in the buffer until a censor can inspect them or we return to Sol,” he reminded her.  “And I’ll see you tonight, for dinner.”

“Thank you,” Penny said.

She watched Howard go, the hatch hissing closed behind him.  “Well,” she said.  “All we can do now is wait.”

“I suppose,” Stevenson said.  He bent down to inspect the sofa carefully.  “How do you think you turn it into a bed?”

Penny examined it for a moment.  “I don’t think you do,” she said.  The sofa wasn't very big - Stevenson was in for a few uncomfortable nights - but it was better than sleeping on the deck.  “You’ll probably find blankets in the drawers underneath.”

Stevenson sighed.  “The things I do ...”

“Just go embed yourself with the troops,” Penny said.  Her mentor during her first year as a reporter had been an embed, someone who’d lived and worked with a military unit while being a reporter.  His stories had always been hair-raising.  “You’ll be sleeping in mud, eating dung for dinner and dodging fire from people who are trying to kill you.”

“Reporters shouldn't be killed,” Stevenson objected.

Penny snorted, rudely, as she picked up her carryall.  Reporters
were
targeted; sometimes, they looked like soldiers, if seen from a distance.  Or they were targeted because the insurgents saw them as the enemy, the men and women who encouraged the British population to support punitive strikes against rogue states and terrorist groups.

And if this ship gets destroyed
, she thought,
we'll be blown to atoms, without the enemy ever knowing who they killed
.

She pushed the thought aside as she stepped into the tiny sleeping compartment and opened her carryall, dumping her clothes into the drawer beneath the bed.  She’d been told not to bring any more than the bare essentials, something that bothered her more than she cared to admit.  A suitcase of clothes wouldn't be that bad, would it?  But her editor had made it clear that he expected her to abide by the military’s rules.  There was no profit - and no scoop - to be had if she spent the trip in the brig, being fed bread, water and ration bars.

“You’ve been on this ship before,” Stevenson called.  “What do you do when you’re bored?”

“There’s a games compartment,” Penny said.  “And a couple of entertainment rooms where you can watch movies.  But I suggest remaining here until the Commander comes back for us.  You don’t want to get in the way.”

She pulled her datapad out of the carryall and pressed her thumb against the sensor.  It lit up, a pop-up reporting that it was unable to establish a datalink to Earth’s giant datanet and send messages to her editor.  Somehow, Penny wasn't surprised.  The datapad would need to link to the ship’s internal communications network and it would be off-limits, without the right passwords and authorisations.  She doubted she’d get them either, at least until they were allowed to send messages back home freely.  The military wouldn't be taking chances.

“You should have downloaded a few books or movies,” she said, as she opened her reader and thumbed through the options.  The latest in a long-running series about a young witch attending a school for magicians was out; it had automatically downloaded, the last time she’d connected to the datanet.  “Watch something if you don’t have any work to do.  Or try and get some sleep.”

Stevenson snorted.  Moments later, she heard the theme music from a particularly irritating soap that hadn't yet managed to be taken off the air, despite the Troubles and the First Interstellar War.  Quite how the BBC had managed to keep it going was something of a mystery.  She sighed, pulled the hatch closed and lay back on the bed.  If there was nothing to do until the ship was underway, she might as well spend the time reading.  She’d have to go to work soon enough.

***

Percy couldn't help feeling annoyed as he followed Lewis and the troopers onto the heavy-lift shuttle.  He’d sent a message to Canella the previous night, before he’d bedded down with the troops, and made the mistake of checking his email the following morning.  Canella’s message had been apologetic, but she’d made it clear that she’d found someone else after his assignment to
Warspite
and departure from Earth.  Percy had hit the table in anger and then forced himself to bury his feelings as deeply as he could.  They’d only prove a distraction on the voyage. 

And on the deployment
, he thought.  Lewis had made it clear that they’d be exercising constantly on the ship, as well as training with the Royal Marines. 
I can’t afford to be distracted
.

He found his seat and sat down, waiting for the shuttle to take off.  The other message he’d found, from Penny, had been equally worrying; she’d been offered a chance to embed with the military and taken it.  By the time he’d seen it, going by the timetable she'd provided, she would already be in lockdown.  He’d fired off a quick message anyway, warning her to be careful.  She was, as far as he knew, the only blood relative he had left.

Unless mother is still out there somewhere
, he thought, as the shuttle’s hatches banged closed. 
But it’s been nearly six years since the war
.

It wasn't something he wanted to think about, not really.  Their mother hadn't been in the house when the aliens had attacked Earth; Penny, Percy and Gayle Parkinson had been alone, forced to escape to higher ground on their own.  God alone knew what had happened to her; Percy wondered, sometimes, if she’d been drowned in the tidal waves and her body swept out to sea, or if she’d taken the opportunity to disappear and start a new life.  Either one was possible ...

The shuttle rocked and took off.  Percy closed his eyes and tried to relax, knowing there would be nothing to do until they reached
Warspite
.  It didn’t work; his thoughts kept buzzing through his head, reminding him that Penny was missing and Canella had left him for someone else.  He’d been warned, when he’d signed up for training, that long deployments could ruin relationships - no matter how strong they were - but he hadn't really believed it.  How could he have?  He hadn't really had any real relationships in the past. 

A romance at school doesn't count
, he told himself firmly.  In hindsight, it was embarrassing to admit just how badly he’d mooned over a particular girl, then cried when she’d broken up with him.  It had felt like the end of the world ... which proved his father had been right, more than once, when he’d insisted that teenagers were stupid. 
You grew out of it
.