A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6) (8 page)

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew was being shocked awake by a sudden twist in the gravity field.  Lewis glanced at him sharply as he opened the hatch, then motioned for the troopers to file out into the cruiser.  Percy picked up his carryall - there wasn't much in it, apart from a couple of uniforms and a datapad - and brought up the rear.  It felt odd not to be taking the lead, but Lewis had made it clear that he was to remain firmly in the back.  The troopers knew what they were doing; Percy, who hadn't passed Selection or trained with them, couldn't put himself beside them. 

Unless the shit really does hit the fan
, he thought.  The stealthed shuttle
should
be able to make its way through the planet’s atmosphere without being detected, but the first flights down to the surface had been nightmarish even without trying to hide. 
We could be blown down by a snowstorm and forced to crash - or be detected and shot down at the worst possible moment.

“Percy,” a familiar voice said.  He looked up to see Captain Darryl Hadfield, standing at the hatch to Marine Country.  “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Sir,” Percy said, awkwardly.  He wasn't quite sure where he fit in any longer, not while he was under Drake’s command.  “It’s good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Hadfield said.  He looked at Drake.  “We’re putting your men - and Percy - in Compartment C.  It’ll be cramped, but there should be enough room for all of you.”

“It will do,” Drake said.  “Did you get the training schedule?”

“We’ll be happy to make your lives miserable, once we’re underway,” Hadfield said.  Percy could
hear
the competitiveness in his voice.  Embarrassing an SAS Troop would be a feather in Hadfield’s cap.  “For the moment, half of my unit is on guard duty and the other half is confined to Marine Country.”

“Brilliant,” Drake said.  He nodded to the hatch.  “Shall we proceed?”

Hadfield opened the hatch, allowing them to enter.  Percy felt almost as if he were coming home.  A handful of marines were sitting in the common room, either reading from their datapads or watching a movie; a couple waved to Percy, who waved back.  Lewis tossed him a sharp look - an unspoken reminder that, for the duration of the mission, he belonged to the troop - as they walked past the room and into Compartment C.  Cramped was an understatement, Percy decided.  There was barely room for twenty burly men.

“Ah, we’ve had worse,” Lewis said.  He probably had.  If some of the stories were to be believed, an entire troop of SAS operators had once been stuffed into a tiny tent in hopes of finding protection from the snow.  “Get your kit stowed away and we can start exercising - again.”

“Percy,” Hadfield said.  “A word with you.”

Percy glanced at Drake, who nodded.  “Go.”

He followed Hadfield back into the corridor and watched for the hatch to hiss closed.  “I heard you’d been reassigned, again,” Hadfield said.  “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, sir,” Percy said.

“I’ve worked with Drake,” Hadfield said.  “He’s a good man to have at your back in a firefight.”

He shrugged.  “There’s something else you should know, though,” he added.  “Your sister has managed to get herself embedded on this ship.”

Percy felt his blood run cold.  He knew the mission, at least in general terms.  It wasn't hard to fill in the remaining details.  In order to reach Clarke III,
Warspite
would have to pass through enemy-held territory, with at least one Indian carrier and innumerable smaller ships on the prowl.  If there was a single mistake - or if the Indians got lucky - they might be detected, hunted down and destroyed.  He’d accepted the prospect of his own death, but he didn't want to think about the risk of losing
her
.

“Shit,” he said.  It didn’t seem strong enough, somehow.  “Where
is
she?”

“She’s in lockdown at the moment,” Hadfield said.  “There are ...
details
of the mission that aren't common knowledge, not yet.  You can see her once we’re underway.”

“I will,” Percy said.  It would be too late to convince Penny to go elsewhere.  Even if she
was
allowed to leave the ship, she’d go straight into lockdown on Nelson Base.  “I thought she’d want to stay at home after ...”

Hadfield cut him off.  “Would you want to stay at home after Fort Knight?”

“That's different,” Percy said.

“How?”  Hadfield asked.  “You returned to Earth with us and now you’re setting off, back to the war front.  Your sister was returned by the Indians; now, Percy, she wants to return to the fray.”

“She isn't a soldier,” Percy protested.

“But she does have a job to do,” Hadfield told him, bluntly.  “I think it’s a little late to be overprotective.”

“I suppose,” Percy said.  “How much can I tell her?”

“Everything, once we’re underway,” Hadfield said.  “The Captain will make a ship-wide announcement.”

Percy smiled.  “So who knows and who doesn't?”

“Just stay here and keep your mouth shut,” Hadfield advised.  “Drake will keep you busy, I think.  It’s quite a honour to serve with the SAS.”

“Yes, sir,” Percy said.  It was, he knew, although he would have preferred more training before departure.  “Would you countersign my application to Selection, when this is over?”

“If you like,” Hadfield said.  “But you’d better come back alive.”

Chapter Seven

HMS
Warspite
, Earth Orbit

“I received your final report, Captain,” Admiral Fitzwilliam said.  He peered out of the viewscreen, his eyes suddenly very hard.  “You’re ready to depart on schedule?”

“Yes, sir,” John said.  “The crew has been reassembled, we’ve crammed our holds with spare parts and weapons, the troopers are onboard and the reporters are locked in their cabin.  We can depart in half an hour, as planned.”

“Very good,” Fitzwilliam said.  “You’ve received the updated Rules of Engagement?”

“Yes, sir,” John said.  He paused.  “Am I to assume that the diplomats are still hoping for a peaceful solution?”

“I think we’re way past that point, but the Prime Minister needs to conciliate certain parties in Parliament,” Fitzwilliam said.  “The Indians will have ample opportunity to withdraw from the occupied systems, Captain.  They have already been given the response to their ultimatum.”

John nodded.  He rarely listened to political speeches, but he’d watched the Prime Minister’s address to the nation, knowing that it was
really
aimed at the Indians.  They’d been told, in no uncertain terms, to withdraw from Pegasus and Cromwell or be forced out.  By now, John was sure, messages would already be heading from Earth to Pegasus, warning the Indian commanders to prepare for war.  He’d be surprised if the Indians hadn't taken the possibility of a violent response into account, but stranger things had happened.  They might well have believed that Britain would just roll over and take it.

“The current ROE will remain in effect until the task force sets out,” Fitzwilliam said.  “At that point, we will assume that we have to fight - and take the offensive.  Until then, you are to try to avoid contact.  But if you are detected, you are authorised to open fire if you feel your ship is in serious danger.”

“Good,” John said.  He wasn't entirely happy with the ROE, but he doubted they would get any better until the task force departed.  At least he didn't have to wait for the Indians to open fire before he could fire himself.  It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.  “We’ll see you when we see you.”

“In Hannibal,” Fitzwilliam said.  “Good luck, Captain.”

His image vanished from the display.  John took a moment to gather himself - they were going to war - and then rose, walking out of the door and onto the bridge.  His crew were already preparing the ship for departure, testing and retesting everything before they left the safety of Earth.  The last thing they needed was
another
catastrophic failure in the middle of a war zone.  It wasn't a pleasant thought.  Once the Indians had finished laughing, they’d blow
Warspite
to atoms.

“Captain,” Commander Howard said, rising from the command chair.  “You have the bridge.”

“I have the bridge,” John confirmed.  “Status report?”

“All systems are fully functional,” Howard reported.  “The hatches are closed, the shuttles are stowed away and all crewmen have been accounted for.”

John sat down, bracing himself.  “Do we have an updated intelligence report from MI5?”

“Yes, sir,” Howard said.  “But it wasn't conclusive.”

“I see,” John said. 

He sighed, inwardly.  It wasn't really a surprise - the Indians would hardly have bothered to fit their spy ships with IFF transmitters that betrayed them - but it was annoying.  Had there ever been a war where both sides had
shared
a shipyard?  Nelson or Drake - even Woodward - would have reacted with horror to the thought.  But the Indians had dozens of facilities orbiting the Earth, easily close enough to Nelson Base to keep an eye on the British deployments.  They’d be able to watch from a distance as
Warspite
headed towards the tramline.

We’ll just have to evade contact as soon as we enter the Terra Nova System
, he thought, grimly.  If nothing else, the Indians would have real problems keeping up with
Warspite
.  She wasn't the fastest thing in space, but it would be hard for a stealthed ship to follow her without revealing its presence. 
Launch a drone towards the first tramline and alter course to the second ourselves.

He keyed his console.  “Engineering?”

“We’re ready, Captain,” Chief Engineer Mike Johnston reported.  He sounded happy; John knew, from Howard, that he’d spent quite a bit of time on Nelson Base.  “All systems are online.”

“Good,” John said.  “Helm, power up the drives.”

“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Carlos Armstrong said.  A dull thrumming echoed through the cruiser as the drives came to life.  “No problems, Captain; I say again, no problems.  Power curves are normal.”

“Set a least-time course for Terra Nova,” John ordered.  “Tactical?”

“No Indian warships within scanning range,” Lieutenant-Commander Tara Rosenberg reported.  “There are, however, a number of watching ships from other nations.”

John sucked in his breath sharply as the holographic display came to life.  The Turks and Brazilians - like the Indians - wanted Great Power status for themselves.  They’d be watching with great interest, perhaps even covertly supporting the Indians, as the Royal Navy readied itself for war.  And there were no Indian warships near Earth ... they’d left their homeland wide open, save for the protection of the Solar Treaty. 

And they’re right
, John thought. 
We don’t dare break the treaty, even though that frees up more of their warships to hold the territory they seized
.

It was a galling thought.  He understood the logic behind it - the human race would need the Indians if the Tadpoles restarted the war - but it was frustrating as hell.  No matter what happened, the Indians couldn't be defeated completely.  And they could keep producing war material and sending it out to the front, in the certain knowledge that Britain wouldn't dare to try to intercept the convoys while they were in the solar system.  The consequences would be incalculable.

We don’t even dare risk sending in the Special Forces
, he thought. 
Who knows where that will end
?

He pushed the thought aside, irritated.  “Inform Nelson Base that we are ready to depart,” he ordered.  “And then disconnect from the station.”

“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Gillian Forbes said, briskly.  There was a pause as she worked her console.  “We are cleared to depart, sir.”

John sucked in his breath, feeling a flicker of the old excitement.  He was now in sole command of a warship, master of all he surveyed.  Even the grim awareness that they were going to war didn't defuse his pleasure at returning to interstellar space.  No more boards of inquiry, no more endless debriefings ... just a cruise well away from the Admiralty, preventing it from looking over his shoulder.

“Take us out,” he ordered, quietly.

He sat back and watched the display as
Warspite
slowly pulled away from Nelson Base, passing a handful of supply ships making their slow way towards Island One.  A giant supercarrier - the
Theodore Smith
- hung close to the base, ready and waiting for the task force’s departure.  Behind it, a dozen frigates and destroyers were hastily preparing themselves for war.  He felt a flicker of nostalgia when he saw HMS
Petunia
- an escort carrier of the same class as
Canopus
- taking up position behind
Theodore Smith
.  It had been over five years since he’d served on a similar vessel ...

“We’re clear of orbital space, sir,” Armstrong reported.

“No sign of pursuit,” Tara added.

“It wouldn't matter, not so close to Earth,” John said.  The Indians had a communications chain leading all the way to Gandhi.  It might be worth arranging for something to happen to that chain before the war began in earnest.  “Helm, ramp us up to full military power and take us to the tramline.”

“Aye, sir,” Armstrong said.

Warspite
quivered again as the drives thrust her forward into interplanetary space.  John glanced at the display, then hastily keyed out a message for Admiral Fitzwilliam.  It was quite likely the Admiral’s staff had already considered the possibilities - he could see why they might want the chain to remain intact - but it was well to be sure.  He finished the message and turned his attention to the display, watching the hundreds of freighters buzzing to and from the tramlines.  How many of them were carrying military-grade sensors, monitoring
Warspite’s
movements for the Indians?

He scowled at the thought.  The First Interstellar War had taught humanity the danger of placing all its eggs in one basket.  Every spacefaring nation was working desperately to build up its out-system colonies, including Britain.  John had even been tempted by some of the settlement grants on Britannia or Nova Scotia, although he wouldn't leave the Royal Navy unless someone dragged him out with wild elephants.  The only way to secure humanity’s place in the universe was through settlement and maintaining a powerful military machine, both of which were being risked by the confrontation.  In hindsight, if the Indians had claimed Great Power status at the end of the war, they might well have got what they wanted without a fight.

But if the key to being a Great Power is being so strong that no one can stop you without being destroyed themselves
, he thought,
the Indians wouldn't need acknowledgement to make them a Great Power.  They'd have everything they needed themselves.

The minutes ticked by slowly.  John kept a close eye on the status display, hoping that any problems would reveal themselves before they jumped through the tramline.  But nothing happened as the tramline grew closer, a handful of starships flickering into existence ahead of
Warspite
as they returned from colony missions.  It was quite likely that some of them were Indian ...

“Ready a drone,” he ordered, coolly.  “It is to be launched the moment we pass through the tramline on an evasive course to Tramline B.”

“Aye, Captain,” Tara said.

“We will go into stealth mode and make our way to Tramline E,” John added.  “Our change in course should not be noticeable.”

Unless there’s something sitting far too close to the tramline
, he thought.  It was paranoia, but being paranoid was the smart option when a war was underway. 
The Indians might have a watcher lying doggo
.

Howard glanced at him.  “Tramline E?”

“Yes, Commander,” John said.  “Tramline E.”

He cursed the security games under his breath as the tramline grew closer.  If Howard hadn't already pieced together the true nature of their mission, he’d be able to do it now.  Commander Howard was his XO, his strong right arm - and his designated successor.  Keeping information from him was dangerous when he might have to assume command of
Warspite
if something happened to John.  Who knew?  Howard might take the ship to
Britannia
on the assumption that those were the
actual
orders.  It wouldn't be the first time security regulations keeping officers in the dark had caused serious problems.

It was a great deal easier,
he reflected morbidly,
when we didn't have to worry about human spies
.

“Captain,” Armstrong said.  “We’re approaching the tramline.”

“Drone ready,” Tara added.

“Take us through,” John ordered.

He braced himself for the brief moment of disorientation as the starship hopped through the tramline, vanishing from the Sol System and reappearing in the Terra Nova System.  The display blanked out for a long chilling moment before rebooting, displaying the local star and countless energy signatures from semi-rogue mining operations and a dozen quasi-legal settlements.  It definitely
looked
as though the activity was starting to taper off a little, but it would be a long time before the system was under a single government.  Terra Nova’s strongest export remained people in search of a more peaceful life.