A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6) (13 page)

***

“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 ...

They’ll be hiding near the tramline, if they’re there
, he thought.  The hell of it was that there was no way to
know
if there was a watching ship or not.  It was quite possible that
Warspite
would slip past the picket and jump through the tramline without either of them having the slightest idea the other was there. 
They couldn't hope to pass on a warning without being close to the tramline
.

“Passive sensors are clear, Captain,” Tara reported.  “There’s no hint of any enemy presence.”

Which proves nothing
, John thought. 
The Indians could be pretending to be a hole in space
.

“Set course for Tramline B,” he ordered.  He took a moment to consider his options.  “We’ll slip through at Point Delta.”

“Aye, Captain,” Armstrong said.

Howard gave him a sharp look - travelling to Point Delta would add an extra seven hours to the journey - but said nothing.  There was simply no way to predict where the Indians would be lurking, if indeed there
were
any Indians.  All they could do was crawl from one tramline to the other, every passive sensor primed for the slightest
hint
of an enemy presence.  It was unlikely in the extreme they’d reach point-blank range without realising how close they were, but the possibility couldn't be ruled out.  He’d just have to pray.

The Indians could have seeded the system with recon platforms too
, he thought. 
He
wouldn't have wasted the money, but the Indians would need as much advance warning as possible before the Royal Navy arrived. 
And they’re even stealthier than a starship
.

“Course laid in,” Armstrong said.

“Engage,” John ordered.

The display didn't change as
Warspite
made her way towards Tramline B.  John kept a sharp eye on it, even though he knew there would be an alarm if something popped up.  In hindsight, perhaps it would have been better to formally claim the system, even though it
was
useless.  They would have legal grounds for engaging any Indian starship they encountered within J-35.  But, technically, it was neutral space. 

These ROE will be the death of us
, he thought, grimly. 
It was so much easier when we were fighting the Tadpoles.

He forced himself to sit back and check through the latest set of reports from the SAS.  Drake - he wasn't called a Captain onboard ship, where both Hatfield and John himself shared the same rank - had updated his deployment plan, confirming that they intended to make their way to Clarke and land on the icy moon.  John was privately impressed - he’d seen the stealth shuttle and knew it would be a bitch to fly - but he knew they’d have to wait and see what the Indians were doing before they risked allowing the SAS to go in.  Even a stealth shuttle could become visible if something went badly wrong.

“Commander Howard, get some sleep,” he ordered.  “It’ll be fourteen hours before we’re ready to jump.  Report back at 2100.”

“Yes, sir,” Howard said, reluctantly.

John didn't blame him.  The sensation of being watched was growing stronger as they made their way further into the system.  Sleep wouldn’t come easy for either of them.  But there was no choice.  They had to be reasonably fresh and alert when they jumped through the tramline to Pegasus.  Or, for that matter, if they encountered an Indian warship.  He nodded firmly towards the hatch - Howard saluted and walked off the bridge - and turned his attention back to his console.  Whoever had said that war was long hours of boredom, broken intermittently by moments of screaming terror, hadn't known the half of it.

The display bleeped.  “Captain,” Tara snapped.  “One starship just jumped into the system, Tramline B.”

Which means she actually arrived an hour ago
, John thought.  FTL communications were still a pipe dream and FTL sensors even more so. 
What is she
?

He looked at the tactical officer.  “Can you ID her?”

“I think she’s a courier boat,” Tara added.  “She’s not making any attempt to hide, sir; she’s just blazing across the system to Tramline A.  I think she’s actually pushing her drives to the limit.”

John felt a flicker of paranoia.  Had they been detected after all?  Had an unseen picket ship jumped through to Pegasus and sounded the alarm?  Or was it just a coincidence?  It shouldn't have been possible for the enemy to detect their presence, but the Battle of New Russia had taught the Royal Navy that its assessment of what was technologically possible was rather inadequate.  But if the Indians
had
developed some form of FTL sensor, the war was within shouting distance of being lost anyway.

“Project her course,” he ordered.  “Is she going to come anywhere near us?”

“No, sir,” Tara said.  “She’s on a straight-line course for Tramline A.  She shouldn't come anywhere near us.”

“Keep an eye on her,” John ordered.  Courier boats were really nothing more than drives and tiny living quarters - their crews tended to be a little weird, even by spacer standards - but it was possible the Indians had outfitted their ships with enhanced sensors.  The Indians didn't have enough ships to risk over-specialisation.  “Let me know if she changes course.”

“Aye, sir,” Tara said.

John briefly considered trying to intercept the ship, but rapidly dismissed the idea as pointless.  Even if he managed to catch up with her - the courier boat was faster than
Warspite
in stealth mode - the mere act of intercepting her in J-35 would tip off any watching starships.  They might succeed in capturing a tiny courier boat, but the
real
mission would be hopelessly compromised.  Instead, he watched the courier boat on the display until she reached the other tramline and vanished.  Wherever she was going, he knew all too well, she was definitely on her way.

It was odd, though; he brought up the starchart and puzzled over it.  The Indians would need to send messages to Earth - that was a given - but they could do it quicker by sending them through the tramline to Vesy and then to Gandhi.  At that point, the messages could be sent through the communications chain, shortening the trip by a week.  Had they sent something so secret they hadn't wanted to take even the slightest risk of being intercepted ... or were they trying to force him to reveal his presence? 

But it doesn't make sense
, he told himself. 
They would have needed to slow down if they wanted to tempt us into an interception.

He looked up, five hours later, as Howard stepped back onto the bridge.  The XO looked disgustingly fresh; he’d clearly taken the opportunity to have a shower, don a clean uniform and get something to eat before reporting for duty.  John didn't blame him in the slightest, but it was still irritating.  There was no way
John
wanted to leave the bridge, yet he needed his rest too.  They had to be fresh, he reminded himself again, for when they jumped into Pegasus.

“Inform me the moment anything changes,” he ordered, as he rose.  “You have the bridge.”

“Aye, sir,” Howard said.  “I have the bridge.”

John walked through the hatch and down to his cabin.  The hatch opened when he touched his hand against the sensor, allowing him to step inside.  A pot of coffee was steaming merrily on the side table; he resisted the temptation to pour a cup and drink it as he undressed rapidly and climbed into bed.  He didn't really expect to sleep, but darkness fell the moment he closed his eyes.  It felt as if no time at all had passed before the alarm buzzed, jerking him back to wakefulness.  When he glanced at his watch, it told him that six hours had passed.

I need a proper rest
, he thought, as he pulled himself out of bed and checked the ship’s status display.  He’d hoped to have a chance to visit Sin City  and find some non-judgemental company for a couple of days, but between the debriefings and getting
Warspite
ready for departure there simply hadn't been time. 
I could book a hotel room on Earth and just sleep in it for a week
.

He pushed the thought aside as he keyed the intercom, ordering breakfast, and then stumbled into the shower and lowered the temperature as far as it would go.  The cold water jerked him awake; he washed himself hastily before stepping back out of the shower and drying himself as fast as possible.  His old uniform would need to be cleaned; he pulled a new one from the locker and donned it hastily.  The hatch chimed; he tapped a switch to open it, allowing the steward to enter with a small tray of food.

“Cook says this is the last of the waffles, Captain,” the steward said.  “We’ll be on reprocessed foods from now on.”

“Thank you,” John said.  Most civilians preferred not to think about what went into reprocessed food.  Hell, it had taken him weeks to get over it, back when he'd entered basic training.  There were candidates who never did.  “It can't be helped.”

The steward saluted and retreated.  John poured himself a cup of coffee, sat down and started to eat.  The waffles wouldn't have been considered particularly good on Earth, but in space they were heavenly.  He drank the coffee, checked the status display for the second time and then headed back to the bridge.  Howard would have made sure the remainder of the crew had their own chance to sleep.

“Captain,” Howard said.  “We are within an hour of Tramline B.  No enemy contacts; I say again, no enemy contacts.”

“Thank you,” John said.  “I relieve you.”

“I stand relieved,” Howard confirmed.

John sat down and checked the near-space display.  It was empty; the only cause for concern the ship’s sensors had noted was a handful of flares on the surface of the sun, brief discharges that might cause problems for any starships that slipped too close. 
Warspite
was well away from them, he noted; there shouldn’t be any danger.  But it wasn't uncommon for astronomers to take their ships too close to a particularly interesting cosmic event and end up dead.

“Captain,” Armstrong said.  “We should be heading through the tramline at Point Delta within forty minutes.  Do you want to alter course.”

“Negative,” John said.  “Steady as she goes.”

He braced himself as the tramline moved closer, feeling the tension rising on the bridge.  Logically, there was no reason to expect the Indians to know
precisely
where to put their watchdogs to intercept
Warspite
, but it didn't matter.  The sense they were being watched was growing stronger all the time.  If the Indians had scattered a handful of recon platforms around, they’d be completely undetectable.  Unless, of course, they made a deadly mistake and went active.

Or if they opened fire
, he thought, morbidly. 
They’d be quite visible when they started spitting missiles towards us
.