A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “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 had
n'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.

  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. Jo
hn 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?”