A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6)

by Christopher Nuttall

  And I may not be able to capture the ships and get them home, he thought, grimly. They will have screamed for help the moment we attacked.

  “Hail them again,” he ordered. “This time, order them to surrender or take to the lifepods.”

  “Aye, sir,” Gillian said.

  A new red icon appeared on the display. “Captain,” Tara said. “We have a cruiser on intercept vector. Firing range in seven minutes.”

  John swallowed an oath. “Communications, inform the freighters that they will be destroyed in five minutes,” he said. He briefly considered fighting - Warspite and her consorts should have the advantage - but he didn't want to fight a more equal opponent without his main gun. “I want you to repeat the message until the countdown reaches zero.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Gillian said.

  “They’re launching lifeboats, sir,” Tara reported. New icons flickered into life on the display. “I estimate they’ll have crammed the entire crew into them.”

  “Wait until the timer runs out,” John ordered. He kept a sharp eye on the approaching cruiser. “Weapons locked?”

  “Weapons locked,” Tara confirmed. “Ready to fire.”

  “Fire,” John ordered. He didn't wait to see the results. The Indian cruiser was closing in rapidly. “Helm, swing the ship around and take us away from the tramline.”

  “Aye, sir,” Armstrong said.

  Six-nil, our favour, John thought, as the freighters died in fire. The cruiser was slowing, clearly ready to recover the lifepods. There was no reason to interfere, not when the Indians had already taken a black eye. And what will the next score be?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Pegasus System

  “General,” the aide said. “We just received an urgent message from Delhi. The incoming convoy was attacked and destroyed.”

  Anjeet cursed, savagely. The British had tricked him. They’d distracted him with their task force, while the true threat was moving into position. A glance at the report told him that the freighter crews had been allowed to take to the lifepods before their ships were destroyed, but it hardly made up for the loss of the ships. Starships took far longer to replace than trained crewmen. He’d have real problems keeping his garrisons supplied if the British ruthlessly targeted his convoys.

  But we moved plenty of war material into the system before the shooting actually started, he thought, coldly. And we can supply the troops from Clarke, if necessary.

  “Inform Delhi that she is to return to Vesy and warn the following convoys,” Anjeet ordered, slowly. The cruiser would already have recovered the lifepods. There was no point in punishing the freighter crews, not when they’d had little choice. Their ships had been sitting ducks. “They are not to enter the system without a powerful escort.”

  He mentally saluted the British commander as the aide hurried off to carry out Anjeet’s orders. Losing the escorts was annoying - and, if he wanted to ship more supplies into the system, he would have to divert more warships to protect the convoys. And that would weaken his position near Clarke. He could find himself too weak at both points when the British finally stopped playing around and came in for the kill. The mass drivers would be a nasty surprise, but the British would definitely smell a rat if he took his remaining ships closer to Clarke III. They’d assume he was baiting a trap.

  Which I would be, he acknowledged wryly.

  He frowned inwardly as Yahya Khan - the Public Relations officer - entered the compartment and hurried over to Anjeet’s chair. It wasn't that he disliked the man, although he had a slimy attitude that annoyed Anjeet more than he cared to admit; it was that he had a rank and a position of power even though he’d never seen combat until now. The nasty part of Anjeet’s mind was mildly surprised that Khan hadn’t remained in his cabin, cowering in fear. A flight of incoming missiles wouldn't give a damn about good press, or anything other than killing their targets.

  “General,” the PR officer said. “We could use this.”

  Anjeet lifted an eyebrow. “How?”

  “The British had no time to inspect our freighters,” Khan pointed out. “We could claim they were carrying thousands of harmless workers ...”

  “And then accuse the British of perpetrating a massacre,” Anjeet snapped.

  “But sir ...”

  “The British would not care,” Anjeet said. “These aren't the days when people cried crocodile tears over dead enemy soldiers. More to the point, it would be very hard to prove that the British knew they were firing on defenceless workers ...”

  He shook his head. “No,” he added, flatly. “We will not attempt to lie to them or the rest of the human sphere.”

  Khan looked astonished. “It could shorten the war, General.”

  “It might also put us completely beyond the pale, if we got caught at it,” Anjeet snapped, coldly. “How many people believed the exaggerated death tolls during the Age of Unrest?”

  “Too many,” Khan said. “I ...”

  “Dismissed,” Anjeet said. “Go back to your cabin and work on a press release about the engagement, but clear it with me before you show it to anyone else.”

  He glared at Khan until he got the message and scuttled out of the Flag Bridge, looking as though he wanted to crawl out on his hands and knees. The Crazy Years, the Americans had called them; the years when an entire country could claim to have been depopulated several times over and be believed. But then, the terrorists who had plagued the world had been fond of using human shields. A high-value target might turn a school into a base, safe in the knowledge that his enemies would consider it off-limits for fear of harming the children.

  And if they did harm the children, or even take out the school when it was unoccupied, they’d still be blamed for killing children, he thought, savagely. He understood the sickening practicalities, but it was still a dishonourable way to fight a war. Besides, India was no terrorist state. We can win the war without resorting to such measures.

  He fought down the urge to go for a shower - it was funny how he always had that urge after meeting Khan - and turned his attention back to the main display. The British flotilla that had attacked the convoy was already off the screen, although an ever-expanding sphere on the display showed its potential vectors. Anjeet was fairly sure it would still be lurking along the tramline, in hopes of snatching up another target, or making its way back to join the task force. Either way, there was nothing he could do about it. Instead, he studied the task force itself. The live feed from the shadowing ships revealed that it was still wrapped in a blaze of ECM, making it hard to be sure just how many ships surrounded the giant carrier. If the British were feeling very daring, they might have cut loose all but a tiny handful of their ships to raid his positions.

  No, he thought, dismissing the idea. They wouldn’t risk uncovering the carrier.

  “Not that it matters,” he mused, out loud. “We’d have to drive them out of the system anyway.”

  It was annoying, but the longer the British kept their task force in place, the weaker his forces - and his country’s position - would become. The report from Earth had made it very clear that he needed to seek a decisive battle as soon as possible, even though allowing the British to come into range of the mass drivers on Clarke would have evened the odds. As it was, he had a slight advantage in numbers, which might well be balanced by greater experience and resources.

  “General,” his aide said, returning to stand next to him. “The messages have been sent.”

  “Good,” Anjeet said. He keyed a switch, bringing up one of the contingency plans he’d worked out when he’d first heard the British were sending a task force to Pegasus. “Inform the tactical staff that I want Plan Kali reviewed and updated to match what we’re facing.”

  “Yes, sir,” the aide said.

  “Once it’s ready, we’ll earmark forces for deployment,” Anjeet continued. Plan Kali was risky - they’d be revealing all of their surprises in one engagement - but it was his best shot at cri
ppling the British before they advanced on Clarke. “And then prepare to engage ...”

  He broke off as new red icons flashed to life in the display. “Report!”

  “Enemy starfighters are diving into the junk field, sir,” a tactical officer called. “They’re going after the miners.”

  Anjeet blinked. The miners were well outside starfighter range. Had the British developed their own variant of the deep-space fuelling system? Or ...

  Another set of icons appeared, far too close to Clarke for comfort. “I’m picking up five ships, sir,” the tactical officer added. “One of them is almost certainly an escort carrier; the others are a single cruiser and three destroyers.”

  “Launch a strike package,” Anjeet ordered, smoothly. “Take them out.”

  “Aye, sir,” his aide said.

  Anjeet silently thanked all the gods that they were light years from Earth. It was easy, all too easy, to see what the British were trying to do. By raiding the outer edge of his formations, it would create an impression of weakness, an impression the Prime Minister would order him to rebut as soon as possible by attacking the British at once. There was no way to prevent the media from reporting the attacks, of course, but by the time the reports reached Earth and the Prime Minister’s response reached Clarke the whole matter would be immaterial anyway. Or so he hoped.

  Quite why the British didn't drive the reporters away I’ll never know, he thought. If nothing else, it was easier to lie without nosy foreign observers poking their noses into everything. It wasn't as if local space was safe. But at least we’ll both be inconvenienced by the bastards ...

  “General,” his aide said. “The strike package is away.”

  “Understood,” Anjeet said. “Inform the analysts that I need the revised Plan Kali as soon as possible.”

  He watched the younger man hurry off, then looked back at the display. The British warships were already withdrawing, the escort carrier slipping away while the smaller ships moved to cover its departure. Their starfighters would have plenty of time to catch up with the carrier, unless they were delayed ... he contemplated several ways to slow them down, before deciding none of them were likely to work. The British had definitely won the first engagement.

  But only the first, he told himself, firmly. They won’t be expecting Plan Kali.

  ***

  Flying Officer Harriet Monsey gritted her teeth as the starfighter plunged deeper into the layers of space junk surrounding the immense gas giant. She’d seen countless simulations where she’d had to pick her way though unrealistic asteroid fields - and fly down a trench to launch a missile into an air vent - but this was the first time she’d ever seen anything like it in real life. Sensible pilots didn't try to fly into gas giant rings. The mining craft, however, gave her no choice. They were making their slow way through the rings, hunting for metallic asteroids they could turn into raw materials ...

  “Remember, Harriet, use the force,” Flying Officer Danny Pearson called.

  Harriet rolled her eyes. “Fuck off, Danny,” she said. “You just keep an eye on our rear.”

  “They’re launching starfighters themselves,” Pearson snapped. “At least two full squadrons.”

  It must be bad, Harriet thought, wryly. She’d given him the perfect opening for a piece of sexual innuendo and he’d missed it. Or maybe he’s ill.

  She resisted the temptation to needle him about it as the enemy miner came into view. It looked like a giant spider, surrounded by a handful of automated platforms that moved through the smaller pieces of rock, poking and prodding for the next target. She couldn't help feeling a flicker of nostalgia - she’d grown up on a similar platform before applying to join the Royal Navy - but she knew she couldn't let her feelings get in her way. Tapping the console, she sent the pre-recorded message to the mining platform. The Indians had two minutes to jump into their lifeboat and cast off before their platform was blown to pieces.

  They should have time to get out, she thought. But not enough time to get into mischief.

  She hoped - prayed - that the Indians were either government-sponsored or had insurance. Her father had told her, often enough, just how deeply they’d gone into debt to purchase their mining platform - and how much they’d risked if they’d been unable to make a living. They might have had - and he’d always shuddered theatrically at this point - to go work for the government. The Indian government presumably offered similar terms to its asteroid miners as the British Government; they’d take a share of the ore in exchange for very favourable loan terms. But they’d have sacrificed their independence in exchange for security.

  “Enemy starfighters are entering the debris field,” Pearson warned. “They’ll be on us in a minute.”

  Harriet nodded. “They’re launching the lifeboat now,” she said. The lifeboat on her miner had always been more of a tip of the hat to Earthers who'd worried more about safety than practicality, but there was no shortage of Indian ships who could recover the miners. “I’m killing the platform in three ... two ... one ...”

  She fired her plasma cannons, directly into the miner’s hull. It was no less fragile than a pre-war fleet carrier; the plasma pulses burned through the hull, ripping the structure apart. One of the pulses must have hit something explosive - an oxygen tank, perhaps - and the remainder of the miner shattered. Harriet pushed aside the sense of guilt as best as she could, then yanked her starfighter around and blazed towards the edge of the space junk field. Her wingman followed her, keeping up a running commentary on the Indian starfighters. Two more were apparently skirting the edge of the asteroid field, watching for the British craft.

  “Here we go,” she said.

  “Right behind you,” Pearson said.

  The Indian pilots opened fire, sending streaks of plasma fire towards the starfighters. Harriet threw herself into a random evasive pattern, blasting past the Indians and heading upwards to the carrier. The Indians swooped around and gave chase, pushing their drives to the limit. They didn't seem to have quite the polish of the British fighters, but they were enthusiastic ... and very, very determined. Harriet found herself dancing backwards and forwards as they tried to close the range, then sighed in relief as the Indians backed off. She had no doubt they could have taken them, but the Indians had reinforcements on the way.

  And we might have wound up stranded, she thought, as they made their way towards the retreating carrier. An escort carrier had no business being in the line of battle and everyone knew it. The CO couldn't stay in range to recover us with the Indians breathing down his neck.

  “Well, you can paint a mining spider on your hull,” Pearson mocked. “Good shooting, by the way.”

  “Asshole,” Harriet said, without heat. The hell of it was that the flight deck staff would probably do just that. “That wasn't a moving target. Hitting one of their starfighters would have been far harder and you know it.”

  “Yeah,” Pearson agreed. “I kept missing the bastards.”

  “You’re a lousy shot,” Harriet countered. It wasn't easy to hit another starfighter when the pilot knew to keep moving, but she had no intention of taking that into account. “Anyway, first blood to us.”

  “Yep,” Pearson said.

  She was still smiling at the thought, twenty minutes later, when they returned to the carrier, which was retreating from Clarke. The Indian pilots were good, but the Royal Navy pilots were better. She hadn't served in the war - a fact that had been pointed out to her, time and time again, by the old hands - yet she’d acquitted herself well. And so had the rest of her year mates.

  We can fight, she thought. And now we have experience of our own.

  ***

  “Bulldog Beta is retreating from Clarke, sir,” Sally reported. “Targets One through Seven were hit; Commodore Blake judged Targets Eight and Nine to be too dangerous to approach without risking the flotilla.”

  “Understood,” James said. The time delay was turning into a right headache, but at least the enemy would
be having the same problem. “And Charlie?”

  “Returning to the task force, as per orders,” Sally said. “The enemy did not attempt to give chase.”

  “Probably for the best,” James said.

  He allowed himself a cold smile as he studied the display. The Indians had been hit, twice; losing the freighters had to hurt, but losing the miners had to be humiliating. British ships had raided their positions and escaped without losses; hell, they’d even broadcast warnings to the miners before wiping the mining craft from existence. The Indians would look like fools when the news reports reached home ...

  But it doesn't weaken them enough, he thought. We have to keep wearing them down, while tempting them into a major fleet engagement. And if we can weaken them before that engagement, the easier it will be to win.

  “Order Beta and Charlie to ready themselves for more raids,” he ordered. He doubted the Indians would send a convoy into the system again, not without a heavy escort; it would tie up ships and men that would be better used elsewhere. “And earmark a couple of frigates for a brief raid on Cromwell. I want the orbiting ship taken out.”