A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Lewis said. He turned, allowing Percy to see his back. “Check my suit.”

  Percy checked the telltales and frowned. The reserve oxygen cylinder wasn't connected to the life support unit. Lewis would have been fine, he thought as he reconnected it, as long as he didn't try to stay outside for more than an hour. The central processor might need to be replaced too. It should have sounded the alert when Lewis activated the suit without clipping the oxygen supply into place.

  “You should probably get a new suit,” he said, once he’d checked the rest of the telltales. “I think this one probably needs to go back to engineering.”

  “I deactivated a few systems,” Lewis said. He started to click the components back into place. The telltales turned green, one by one. “I’ll just go out like this.”

  Another test, Percy thought sourly. But at least I already know the answer.

  “You need to change suits,” he insisted, firmly. “You’d be taking your life in your hands.”

  Lewis smiled, so briefly that Percy almost missed it. “And you’re willing to contradict me on it?”

  Percy stood his ground. “Yes, Sergeant,” he said. “I am.”

  “Good,” Lewis said.

  He removed the suit quickly, then pulled another one from the rack and started to don it. Percy took the old suit and placed it in the locker for later examination and repair, making sure to log it on the terminal. He had a feeling the whole test had been rigged, but it was well to be sure. Disconnecting a number of settings could easily make the whole suit actively dangerous. Lewis checked Percy’s suit, pronounced himself satisfied and then allowed Percy to check the new suit. This time, there were no red lights.

  “Follow me,” Lewis said, as he opened the airlock. “Keep yourself tethered at all times.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Percy said. “Being lost in space would be embarrassing.”

  He shivered at the thought as the second hatch opened. It was an old nightmare, one shared by all spacers; falling into the inky darkness of space, trapped in a spacesuit, the oxygen steadily running out ... and no hope at all of rescue. Civilian spacesuits were over-engineered to ensure their beacons were always functional, but military suits were far more limited. The cruiser’s stealth mode would be fatally compromised if he started screaming for help.

  Lewis led the way out into space, his magnetic boots allowing him to walk normally. Percy followed, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the hull. There was no time to get distracted by the stars. He tethered himself to the railing, then walked towards the concealed shuttle. It was hidden under camo netting, but he could make out the details easily. The stealth shuttle simply didn't look normal.

  Let’s just hope no one gets a visual of the hull, he thought. The shuttle was odd enough to catch the eye. Unlike a normal craft, it looked almost like a flattened brick. He honestly wasn't sure what material they’d used to make the hull, but it sure as hell didn't look like metal. The tiny drive unit at the rear looked even odder, like something out of an alien-contact movie. They’d know there was something weird about the hidden object.

  Lewis opened the hatch and climbed into the shuttle. Percy followed, blinking in surprise as the lights came on, revealing a handful of seats and a tiny cockpit. The SAS troopers were big men; he honestly wasn't sure there was room for all of them in the single shuttle, particularly when they had to wear suits. He followed Lewis to the front of the craft and frowned as he took in the controls. They looked almost ridiculously simple. He couldn't help thinking of the Thunderbird 2-themed car he’d been given for his seventh birthday.

  “There wasn't time to check you out on this earlier,” Lewis said. He pointed a hand towards the pilot’s seat. “Sit down, Percy. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  Percy nodded and sat. The controls still looked odd, but it wouldn't have been easy to fly a standard shuttlecraft while wearing a spacesuit. Indeed, the more he looked at the design, the more he realised that the stealth shuttle wasn't intended to be flown without a spacesuit - or, for that matter, an armoured combat suit. He was tempted to take the stick and start moving it, but he knew better. He’d flown shuttles during basic training - Royal Marines were expected to cross-train as much as possible - yet he’d never flown anything like the stealth shuttle. He hadn't even heard of them before he’d been ordered to Hereford.

  But they’re probably highly classified, he thought, as Lewis returned to stand behind him. If they can really get through a planet’s atmosphere without being detected, they’d be a priceless asset.

  “Welcome onboard,” Lewis said. He sat on his haunches, watching Percy carefully. “This is a Chameleon-class lander, designed specifically for covert insertion. You may have noticed quite a few oddities about the design. What do you think those mean?”

  Percy hesitated, thinking hard. The design wasn't particularly aerodynamic ...

  “It’s a one-shot craft,” he said, finally. “There’s no way to take off again.”

  “Correct,” Lewis said. “Once we’re down on the surface, we’re stuck until we get picked up by the navy or captured by the Indians. There’s no way for us to leave under our own power.”

  He sat back, but his eyes never left Percy’s face. “The hull is composed of a material that is highly classified,” he explained. “It is almost completely transparent to radar; an active sensor sweep will show nothing, even if the shuttlecraft is very close. Furthermore, it is capable of absorbing and safely dumping a considerable amount of heat. Our passage through the atmosphere will be almost unnoticeable.”

  Percy nodded in understanding. It was easy to hide a starship, even an entire supercarrier, in the endless wastes of interstellar space, but it was a great deal harder to slip into a planet’s atmosphere without being detected. Even something as small as a single man making an orbital jump would leave a heat trail behind, leading the enemy right to him. Warspite’s marines had sneaked down to Vesy, when they’d first stumbled across the alien world, but the Russians hadn't had a proper monitoring network. The Indians, by contrast, definitely would.

  “The greatest downside is that she makes a fleet carrier look nimble,” Lewis added. He keyed a code into the console, bringing it to life. “You were checked out on helicopters, I assume? This craft is far harder to fly than a helicopter. The best we can really do is control our fall to the LZ. There won’t be any way to alter our final landing point beyond a few kilometres.”

  “And if the enemy sees us coming, they’ll have plenty of time to catch us,” Percy said, slowly. “Were these craft ever tested against a modern network?”

  “We did two combat drops against the UKASDR,” Lewis said. “The first time, we didn't tell them what we were doing; the second time, we offered a reward to the controller who saw us coming and scrambled a response team. We weren't spotted, either time.”

  Percy felt a flicker of admiration. The United Kingdom Air Space Defence Region was heavily guarded. No one was meant to be flying through the electronic fence guarding Britain without permission. These days, after the war, the defenders would be likely to shoot first and ask questions later. The SAS could have been shot down by their own side, quite by accident. But the fact they’d made it through had to have worried a few officers in the MOD.

  “We did have some advantages,” Lewis admitted. “The pilot was very familiar with British weather - we got to choose the time and place of our insertion. It might not be so easy to land on Clarke.”

  He paused, dramatically. “There’s another weakness,” he warned. “The hull is alarmingly fragile. We hit the ground; it starts to break up. What doesn't shatter into fragments will be destroyed by the self-destruct system. The computer” - he jabbed a finger at the console - “will be reduced to dust.”

  “Shit,” Percy said. He glanced at the bulkhead. What was it? A new composite? He’d never been particularly interested in chemistry, but he was curious. “I’d better not punch the hull.”

  Lewis smile
d, coldly. “Quite,” he agreed. “I want you checked out on this craft before we plunge into the Pegasus System. You shouldn't be flying her, but I want to be sure you know what you’re doing.”

  And understand the limitations of the system, Percy added, silently. He’d been astonished to discover that the SAS held open planning sessions. Everyone was free to contribute a suggestion and, while the discussions had turned heated at times, they’d never broken down into violence. You want me to know what’s possible before I start offering dumb suggestions.

  He took the stick in his hand as the simulation began. Lewis, he rapidly discovered, had underestimated the case. The stealth shuttle handled so badly that he lost control the first time and had to cancel the simulation as the craft plummeted into the ground. Lewis made a number of sarcastic remarks, then ordered him to try again. This time, Percy managed to land, but landed so hard that it was unlikely anyone could survive. By the time he thought he’d mastered landing in perfect conditions, he was tired and cranky.

  “I don’t envy the pilot,” he said, as he reset the simulator once again. “How close can we get to the planet before we’re committed?”

  “There isn't much reaction mass in the tanks,” Lewis said. “We could abort and drive into interstellar space, if we had no alternative, but it wouldn't be easy for Warspite to pick us up without being detected.”

  “They’d have problems finding us under perfect conditions,” Percy agreed. “They’ll need us to turn on a beacon.”

  “Which the Indians could hardly fail to detect,” Lewis said. “Still want to come with us, Percy?”

  “I was under the impression I didn't have a choice,” Percy pointed out.

  “You’ve told us plenty,” Lewis said, suddenly serious. “I’ve never had someone conscripted into my unit before. If you want to back out, if you want to go back to your old unit, you can. There isn't a security risk any longer.”

  Percy hesitated before shaking his head. “I’ll see it through to the finish,” he said. He didn't have it in him to back out, not now. Besides, he was still the only person on the team who had any knowledge of Clarke. His experience might make the difference between life and death. “But thank you for the offer.”

  “Good,” Lewis said. He pointed to the console. “Get back to work. This time, you’re going to be plummeting into a snowstorm.”

  Percy groaned.

  ***

  “Captain,” Penny said. “Thank you for granting me this interview.”

  “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” Captain Naiser said. If he was being untruthful, Penny couldn't tell. She doubted he was really pleased to see her, let alone submit to an interview, but at least he was trying. “Still, I may be called away at any moment.”

  “I understand,” Penny said. She glanced around the cabin with some interest. “Is this really the largest cabin on the ship?”

  “I’m afraid so,” the Captain said. “Warspite wasn't designed to hold more than a couple of hundred crewmen at most, really. We’re actually pushing life support to the limits right now.”

  Penny swallowed. “I don’t think I wanted to know that,” she said. “Are we in any danger?”

  “We probably couldn't take on many more passengers,” the Captain said. “Our life support systems are heavily over-engineered, though. We could lose half of the atmospheric reprocessors and still be fine. The only real threat would be the air getting a little smelly.”

  “Oh,” Penny said. She'd noticed that starships tended to smell, although she’d grown accustomed to the stench after two or three days of breathing nothing else. It wasn't a bad smell, not really, but it wasn't always pleasant. “And if we lost the rest of the life support?”

  “We’d probably have lost the entire ship,” the Captain said briskly. “In that case, we’d be dead anyway. There would be no need to worry about it.”

  “I suppose,” Penny said. She glanced around the cabin again. It was bare, save for a handful of pictures hanging on the bulkhead. There were no signs that the Captain had any interests beyond being a Captain. “I’m supposed to do an in-depth interview of you, but I don’t know what I can ask that hasn’t already been dug up.”

  “There were too many interviews after my first return from Vesy,” the Captain agreed. He cocked his head, slightly. “You could always just talk, I suppose.”

  Penny had to smile. “Do you believe we can beat the Indians?”

  “I believe we can,” the Captain assured her. “But I wouldn't say anything else, would I?”

  “I suppose not,” Penny agreed. “Are you confident that you can carry out your mission?”

  “If I thought it was impossible, I would have said so when I was briefed,” the Captain said, frankly. “It will be dangerous - there’s no doubt about that - but it’s doable.”

  Penny frowned. “But it could go wrong?”

  “Of course it could,” the Captain said. “War is a democracy, unfortunately. The enemy gets a vote too. Very few things ever go according to plan. We can cover all the bases, check out everything we can in advance and still run into trouble.”

  “That sounds pessimistic,” Penny observed.

  “It is,” the Captain said. “Nothing is certain in war. We may run into superior force and be destroyed. We may make a terrible mistake and be destroyed. We may encounter something right out of left field and be destroyed. There’s just no way we can prepare for everything.”

  He shrugged. “Back during the Crazy Years, politicians used to insist that nothing - absolutely nothing - had to be allowed to go wrong. The death of a single soldier was used as an excuse to end the war. Even a partial success was not good enough. They wanted everything to be perfect; the troops deployed on day one, the enemy capital taken on day three, the troops brought back home on day five.

  “But war isn't predicable. No matter what you do, you take losses; no matter what you do, it will cost you. You can do the right thing and it will still cost you. And it will certainly not look perfect.”

  “I was on Vesy,” Penny said. “Do you think things could have been different?”

  “I think we needed a better approach to the aliens from the start,” the Captain said. “If we had approached them as a united body, we might have been able to prevent the uprising. But politically, there was no hope of doing anything of the sort. And then ... the technology they gleaned from us, even something as simple as gunpowder, would change their society in unpredictable ways. We would be surprised no matter what happened.”

  Penny nodded in agreement. “You think the situation couldn't have been controlled?”

  “I think our sense of control was an illusion,” the Captain said. “And I think that’s true of war too. You don’t get to have control over how things go, merely ... the ability to influence it.”

  He shrugged. “I was always taught it was better to do something - anything - rather than let the other side take the initiative,” he added. “In this case, the Indians took the initiative from us and ran with it. We have to take it back.”

  “Like playing chess,” Penny said. “The person playing white has an advantage because they get to make the first move.”

  “They can lose it pretty quickly,” the Captain said. “But yes, you’re right. The Indians got to pick the time and place the war started. That gave them the advantage at the start. Now ... we have to undermine them.”

  His intercom buzzed. “Captain,” Howard said, “we’re approaching the tramline to J-35.”

  Penny shivered. J-35 was the final system between Earth and Pegasus. The long and boring cruise was about to come to an end.

  “Thank you for your time, Captain,” she said, seriously. “It was very informative.”

  The Captain smiled. “I hope you’ll have something more to write about soon,” he said, dryly. “I don’t think I told you anything particularly useful - or interesting.”

  Penny shrugged. She'd done a hundred interviews; officers, crewmen, marines ... the only
people who had refused to talk to her had been the newcomers, the soldiers she was sure were SAS. But there hadn't been any real scoops ...

  But now? She was sure that was about to change.

  And, assuming I make it home, she thought as she rose to her feet, I can write my own ticket.

  Chapter Twelve

  HMS Warspite, In Transit

  “All systems report ready, Captain,” Howard reported, as John took the command chair and studied the display. “There’s no sign of watching ships.”

  “Understood,” John said. The tramline lay ahead of them, ready and waiting. He doubted they would run right into an Indian starship, but the crew was ready to repel attack anyway, just in case. “Take us through the tramline.”

  “Aye, sir,” Armstrong said. “Jump in five ... four ... three ...”

  John braced himself as the display blinked out, then rebooted. J-35 was a useless system, at least by pre-war standards; the red star was alone in space, save for a handful of asteroids and comets. A small settlement might be able to survive, with a great deal of careful planning, but there would be little room for expansion. It wasn’t even claimed by any interstellar power, let alone a religious or isolationist group who might be interested in permanent settlement. But an Indian starship might be lurking, watching and waiting for any intruders from Earth ...