A Savage War Of Peace (Ark Royal Book 5) (5 page)

“Shit,” John said, remembering the religious war the Vesy had been waging.  Humans hadn't killed so many of their own kind in the name of religion since the Age of Unrest.  “That’s going to end badly, sir.”

“Probably,” the First Space Lord agreed.  “The Vesy may take strong offense to being told they’re worshipping false gods.  And not all of the factions sending ships are trustworthy either, not now.  They may start dropping thunderbolts from high orbit if the human god isn't worshipped at once.”

He paused.  “And the hell of it is that we have only limited authority to intervene,” he added, darkly.  “Try and get those factions to work from the base on the surface, Captain.  It would make it easier to pull them out if the shit hits the fan.”

“Aye, sir,” John said.  He had a sneaking suspicion he should have asked for the court martial instead.  He’d escaped one session in front of the World Court, but he might not get so lucky the second time.  “The Vatican would presumably have diplomatic immunity ...”

“Presumably, but you have authority to override it if they’re working from a British base,” the First Space Lord said.  “It will be a long time before
anyone
truly trusts the Vatican again.”

John nodded, slowly.  It wasn't his area of expertise, but he knew just how badly the Vatican had squandered a considerable amount of goodwill just before the Age of Unrest.  There were still states that had laws allowing them to peer into the church’s activities, just to make sure they weren't trying to cover up more sexual scandals and financial malpractice.  Hell, there were laws in Britain allowing
any
religious group to be watched, if they seemed likely to pose a threat to the state.  Being too trusting had led directly to the Troubles.

The First Space Lord tapped his keyboard, activating the holographic projector.  “You will have
Warspite
, John, and a pair of older destroyers to serve as escort,” he said.  “The Ambassador and her staff will travel on
Warspite
, which will allow you to confer with her about the best way to proceed.  Attached will be five freighters crammed with potential trade goods and prefabricated garrison components, as well as HMS
Stuart Tootal
.”

John blinked.  “I’m getting 3 Para?”

“And two additional sections of Royal Marines,” the First Space Lord said.  “Do try to keep them apart, when they’re not on active duty.  We can’t afford to keep replacing the bulkheads when they start fighting.”

He sighed.  “I’d prefer to send more, Captain, but we have too many other commitments at the moment,” he added.  “The PM has been talking to the Americans and French about a local alliance, but the Yanks are having an election year and the French, as always, are playing their cards close to their chest.  I’m pretty sure they’re looking for ways to gain advantage in the coming proxy struggle for Vesy.”

John nodded, grimly.

“If the shit hits the fan, try to secure the base on the surface and protect our personnel,” the First Space Lord concluded.  “Ideally ... well, the PM wants free access to the tramlines, but little else.  But we would prefer to avoid utterly shattering Vesy civilisation if it could be avoided.”

“I doubt it, sir,” John said.  “They’ve seen too many changes in too short a space of time.”

“We will see,” the First Space Lord said.

He glanced at his datapad.  “You’re expected back on
Warspite
in two days, Captain,” he added.  “By then, your official orders will be cut, along with a set of sealed orders you are to open if the shit really
does
hit the fan.  The ambassador will join you and your crew eight days later, giving you long enough to knock
Warspite
back into shape.  Until then ... go to Sin City or stay here, whichever one you please.  I don’t think we’ll need you before you return to your ship.”

“Aye, sir,” John said.  Returning to Sin City, finding a partner for a day or two and spending time in bed seemed a wonderful option.  But, on the other hand, he knew he’d be worrying too much about the coming ordeal.  Life had been much easier when he’d been a mere starfighter pilot.  “I think I’d be better off reading papers and doing my research.”

“There’s a whole crew of researchers going with you to Vesy,” the First Space Lord said.  “They were trying to hire a luxury liner for the trip, I believe, rather than endure passage on a warship.  Anyone would think they didn't like it.”

“It is an acquired taste,” John agreed, deadpan.  He well remembered cramped quarters on HMS
Canopus
... although Colin and he had never complained.  “I have been told it compares favourably to going to jail ...”

“Not these days,” the First Space Lord said.

John nodded.  Prisoners these days were sent to work gangs, where they worked six days a week in the Reclamation Zones.  It wasn't a pleasant task and the reoffending rate had dropped sharply, or so he’d been told.  There just weren’t the resources to keep prisoners penned up indefinitely, not any longer.  The truly serious criminals were simply hung and then buried in unmarked graves.

“You’ll find out soon enough, I wager,” the First Space Lord said.  “Good luck, Captain.”

John rose, recognising the dismissal.  “Thank you, sir,” he said.  “I won’t let you down.”

Chapter Four

“There she blows, sir,” the pilot said.

John nodded, leaning forward as HMS
Warspite
slowly came into view.  She
was definitely sleeker than the pre-war frigates and cruisers the human navies had used to picket systems and escort the giant fleet carriers, but her dark hull was studded with weapons and sensor blisters.  She looked almost like a flattened arrowhead, he recalled, her dark armour providing protection against everything short of heavy plasma cannons or laser warheads.  Or a direct nuclear hit.  The heavy plasma cannon at her prow seemed to glow with deadly light.

“I can fly you around her, if you wish,” the pilot said.

“I’ve already seen her,” John said, a little wistfully.  No matter how many times he was shuttled to
Warspite,
he would never see his command for the first time again.  “Take us to the airlock.”

The pilot nodded, then cut speed as the cruiser grew and grew until she dominated the horizon.  John braced himself, half-expecting a collision, but there was only a dull thud running through the craft as the shuttle latched on to the airlock.  He smiled to himself as he felt the gravity wobble, then rose to his feet as the airlock hissed open.  It was impossible to escape the sense that he was coming home.  He picked up his duffle bag, slung it over one shoulder and stepped through the airlock, back onto his ship.

“Captain,” Commander Howard greeted him.  “Welcome back.”

“Thank you, Commander,” John said.  “And I congratulate you on your well-deserved promotion.”

“Thank you, sir,” Howard said.

John allowed himself another smile as they walked towards the bridge.  He hadn't expected to be able to keep Philip Richards after they returned to Earth, not when his appointment as XO had only ever been temporary.  But he had no doubts about Howard’s competence - or, for that matter, of his ability to handle the crew.  If nothing else, Juliet Watson should have been disqualified for her inability to discipline her subordinates.

“There’s a full briefing for you in your terminal, sir,” Howard said, “but basically we’re at full fighting readiness.  Armed and dangerous, ready for a scrap.”

“We may need to be,” John said.  He’d spent two days reading intelligence reports and they’d all agreed that
everyone
was setting course for Vesy.  Three British warships and a troop carrier wouldn’t be enough to control the chaos, even if they held undisputed rights to the system.  “And the new tactical officer?”

“I knew her from
Sidney Smith
as the assistant tactical officer
,
sir,” Howard said.  “She’ll fit in well, I think.  So far, her work on simulations has been perfect.”

As long as she doesn't freeze up when she faces actual combat
, John thought.  He pushed the thought aside.  He knew
Sidney Smith’s
commanding officer and he wouldn't have allowed an incompetent onto his command deck. 
She should do fine
.

“Weapons loads are complete, sir; one hundred percent,” Howard continued.  “The bureaucrats don’t seem to have got in our way for once.”

“Glad to hear it,” John said.  He sat down in his command chair and hastily reviewed his two private monitors, then looked up.  “I relieve you.”

“I stand relieved,” Howard said.

He didn't look too happy, John noted.  Being promoted alone had been a heady responsibility, but he’d been in effective command of
Warspite
for the last month.  John wouldn't have blamed him for feeling a little resentment, not now someone else had come in and taken over command.  But then, Howard
had
known that John was the ship’s formal commanding officer.  He’d just have to deal with it.

“We’ll meet in my office for a proper chat in an hour,” John said, after a moment.  He’d need time to review the files to determine what, if anything, should be discussed.  “Until then, is there anything that requires my urgent attention?”

“No, sir,” Howard said.  “Chief Engineer Johnston has gone to Nelson Base, but he’s due back this evening.  The remainder of the senior crew are currently embarked; I’ve provisionally scheduled a dinner meeting for tomorrow evening at 1800.  We
are
currently lacking ten crewmen after they were hastily recalled to fill billets on
Theodore Smith
, but the Admiralty promised me that replacements would be found before our scheduled departure date.”

John groaned.  The war had left too many promising young officers and crewmen dead.  It would take years to replace the dead; even now, five years after the war, the Royal Navy was still short on trained personnel.  And getting newcomers just before they left could cause its own problems.  It wasn't unknown for commanding officers to offload problem cases rather than do the paperwork to arrange for a court martial or dishonourable discharge.  By the time
Warspite’s
officers discovered the problem, they might be light years from Earth and unable to do anything about it.

“Make sure I see their files before they’re transferred,” he said, reaching for one of his personal displays.  “Any problem children can be left behind, I think.”

“Yes, sir,” Howard said.  He cleared his throat.  “Midshipwoman Powell has requested a transfer to another ship, but so far no one has been willing to take her.”

“We’re too short of crew,” John said.  He didn't blame the poor Midshipwoman for wanting to leave.  She’d been forced to serve as a steward, to all intents and purposes, which had slowed her career down considerably.  And, even in this day and age, being unable to reach
Lieutenant
by twenty-five tended to suggest, very strongly, that the midshipman or woman was impossible to promote.  “Suggestions?”

Howard nodded.  “We have seven midshipmen, sir,” he said.  “Powell can be taken off the rota entirely, but the other six can handle the duties of a steward between them.  Unless, of course, we can get a couple of dedicated stewards.  We have to host the Ambassador and her party, after all.”

“That’s true,” John agreed.  “We should be able to take a pair of stewards with us, particularly if they’re cross-trained in something useful.  Put in a request at the Admiralty and see what you get.”

“Yes, sir,” Howard said.  “This may cause problems in the bunks, of course.”

“Tell them to suck it up,” John ordered.  He’d never been a Midshipman, but he’d had to deal with starfighter pilots being his equals one day and his superiors the next.  It wasn't an uncommon problem.  “They will be able to handle it, I am sure.”

“Yes, sir,” Howard said.

“And if they don’t, point out that Midshipwoman Powell did
all
the work on our last cruise,” John added.  He looked down at the deck.  “Speaking of which, find her something that will give her a chance at early promotion, should she do well.”

“Yes, sir,” Howard said, again.  He hesitated, noticeably.  “The only other issue is that Doctor Stewart has ... issued a formal warning note that you haven’t attended for your physical in the last seven months.  He’s insisting that you attend within the week or he will be forced to file a complaint with the Naval Medical Board.”

John fought down the urge to grit his teeth.  “You
have
pointed out to him that I was on Nelson Base for the last six months and I had a
full
physical when I returned to Earth?”

“Yes, sir,” Howard said.  “We all had the full physical.”

He shuddered.  John didn't blame him.  It seemed impossible for anything dangerous to spread from the Vesy to humanity - and vice versa - but the Naval Medical Board hadn't been inclined to take chances.  The entire crew had been checked and rechecked until the Board was satisfied that there was little risk of cross-species infection.  Having a routine physical check seemed pointless, compared to an extensive session of being poked and prodded by the best doctors in the business.  But it was also naval bureaucracy at its finest.  Someone would notice that the ship’s commander had no physical exam on file and demand explanations.

“I will see the doctor tomorrow, unless something comes up,” John promised.  He didn't have the time for a long battle with the Medical Board.  “I’ll let him know personally.”

“Thank you, sir,” Howard said.  He paused.  “With your permission, I have to review the latest tactical simulations ...”

“I’ll see you in an hour,” John promised. 

He settled back in his command chair and brought up the latest reports.  Howard had done a good job of keeping everything in order, even though he’d probably been snowed under with work.  Juliet Watson had been a poor record-keeper and Richards simply hadn't had the time to attend to paperwork.  But Howard had done well for himself ... John smiled coldly, then brought up the personnel reports and started to read.  Everything looked as well as could be expected when half the crew was on leave at any one time.

As long as they stay active when we leave the system
, he thought, opening the file containing his orders.  Unusually, there were a distressing number of weasel words, rather than the curt sentences he was used to seeing. 
Anyone could interpret these in any number of different ways
.

He sighed, then started to read carefully.  It wasn't easy to follow the different lines of logic; the First Space Lord, if anything, had understated the problem facing him.  He was to ensure that Britain secured a controlling interest in Vesy - or that the local system remained neutral, allowing free passage - but at the same time he was to prevent cultural contamination by anyone.  And yet, he
also
had orders not to irritate the other human powers - or the Tadpoles, should they show interest in a third intelligent race.  He checked through the intelligence reports, but found nothing to suggest the Tadpoles might be coming too. 

They will know about the Vesy,
he thought.  The treaty that had ended the First Interstellar War bound both parties to share information on any other intelligent races that might be discovered.  A note in the file stated that formal notification - and copies of the original reports from Vesy - had been sent six months ago, just after
Warspite
had returned home. 
But will they want to do anything about them
?

He shook his head, then looked up as the hatch hissed open, revealing a short woman with red hair cropped close to her scalp.  She blinked in surprise as she saw him, then hastily snapped to attention and saluted.  John rose to his feet and returned the salute, taking a moment to study the officer closely.  The uniform she wore marked her as a tactical officer, Howard’s replacement.

“Captain,” she said.  “Lieutenant-Commander Tara Rosenberg, reporting for duty.”

“Welcome onboard,” John said.  It
would
be her turn on watch, wouldn’t it? 
Warspite
might be operating with minimal crew while she waited in orbit around Earth, but Howard had clearly insisted that the senior crew still rotate watches.  Good for him.  “I’m Captain Naiser.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, sir,” Tara said.  She looked embarrassed, but pressed ahead anyway.  “Is it true you actually went down to a planet and convinced a bunch of rebels to give up their hostages?”

John had to smile.  “Something like that,” he said.  It was true enough, but the rebels had realised they’d backed themselves into a corner first.  “We’ll have a chance to talk properly later, Commander.  You have the bridge.”

Tara nodded and saluted, again.  “Thank you, sir,” she said.  “I relieve you.”

“I stand relieved,” John said.

He stepped through the hatch and walked down to his cabin, located only five metres from the bridge.  It had been left untouched since his departure - the air smelt faintly musty when he stepped inside - but it definitely felt like home.  He glanced at an old picture of Colin he’d placed on the desk, then checked his appearance in the mirror and sat down at the desk.  It was almost time for Howard to arrive, so he read through a handful of additional files before the XO tapped on the hatch.