A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6) (24 page)

***

It was impossible, John knew from bitter experience, to coordinate an operation across interstellar distances.  Hell, it was hard enough coordinating one over interplanetary distances.  The Indians would have real problems bringing their second carrier into the Pegasus System if they intended to launch a joint attack.  They’d also - if the analysts were correct - have problems telling their convoys to abort course and return to Earth.

Unless they did manage to get a message off in time
, he thought, as the small flotilla approached Tramline D.  It still annoyed him that they hadn’t discovered it led to Vesy until after they’d gone the long way around, although if they had
Warspite
might have been jumped by the Russian deserters and destroyed. 
But even if they did, they’d start running out of supplies pretty quickly.

He looked down at the analyst’s report and scowled, inwardly.  There were just too many question marks - he silently gave them points for admitting as much - but certain things couldn't be avoided.  The Indians would have no trouble using British components ... if, of course, they’d managed to capture any.  Clarke III might have been intended as a fleet base, eventually, but none of the installations had been established, not even a standard supply dump for Royal Navy starships on long-range patrols.  The moment the Indians were cut off from their supply lines, the analysts had concluded, their fighting power would start to decay.

That’s true of us too, of course
, he thought wryly. 
The Indians will probably already be preparing deep-strike missions into J-35.  All of our supplies have to come through that system.

The display changed, sharply.  “Captain,” Tara snapped.  “Six ships have just jumped through the tramline.  Two long-range frigates, sir, and four freighters.”

John shared a dark look with Howard.  “Right on time,” he said.  “Helm, move us into interception range.”

He worked through the vectors in his head.  Assuming the Indians knew
precisely
when the convoy was going to arrive, they could have sent a warning message ... or, more likely, ordered one of their ships to wait for the convoy and pass on a warning at once.  But the timing would be
very
complex.  Given the arrival of the task force, on the other side of the system, it wasn't too likely the Indians would manage to get a warning off in time ...

“We’re in position, sir,” Armstrong reported.  “Enemy ships moving into missile range.”

“Enemy warships targeted, sir,” Tara added.  They’d picked the interception point with malice aforethought; the chances of the enemy being warned were minimised, while the incoming ships would have no time to jump back into Vesy.  “Missiles online, ready to fire; defence grid active, ready to fire.”

John braced himself.  He was about to fire the first shot of the war.  He knew shots had been exchanged on Clarke III - the SAS report had been very detailed - but that had been a minor skirmish.  Now ... there wouldn't be any hope of a peaceful solution left, once the convoy was smashed.

But then, there wasn’t much hope of a peaceful solution anyway
, he thought, grimly. 
They know they had ample opportunity to withdraw, once we showed ourselves ready to fight
.

“Fire,” he ordered.

Warspite
shook as she unleashed the first salvo, a dozen missiles plunging towards their targets.  The destroyers fired a moment later, overwhelming the Indian defences through a combination of ECM and sheer weight of fire.  John watched, dispassionately, as the Indians struggled to bring their defence online, but simply ran out of fire.  The destroyers weren't modern either, part of his mind noted.  Bomb-pumped lasers were more than enough to rip them apart, slaughtering the crews before they had a chance to escape.

“Targets destroyed,” Tara said.  Her voice was very calm.  “I say again, targets destroyed.”

John sucked in his breath.  “Hail the freighters,” he said.  The ships were trying to alter course, but they were too underpowered to hope to escape.  He doubted the Indians had bothered to cram weapons into their hulls ... and, even if they had, it would make no difference to the final outcome.  “Order them to surrender or be destroyed.”

“Aye, sir,” Gillian said.  “Message sent.”

There was a long pause.  John cursed under his breath as the silence lengthened, wondering just what he should do if the Indians refused to surrender.  His orders were clear - the freighters were to be captured or destroyed - but he didn't want to fire into helpless ships.  It would look very bad in a war where public and international opinion was actually important. 

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 crippling 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 ...”