A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6) (32 page)

“Enemy fighters entering engagement range,” Tara reported.  “Point defence engaging ...
now
.”

John watched, grimly, as the Indians plunged defiantly into the teeth of
Warspite’s
plasma cannons.  They’d learned well, he noted, from the endless skirmishes between the task force’s arrival and the battle; they'd mastered the art of random flying and constant evasion.  Four starfighters died, but the remainder lived long enough to strafe the hull and fire plasma bolts of their own into the damaged section.  Alarms howled through the ship ...

“Evacuate that section and the surrounding compartments,” John ordered.  He cursed himself silently.  He should have thought to do that earlier.  There
were
lighter layers of armour running through the interior of the starship, but not enough to keep the Indians from inflicting significant damage.  “Keep altering course ...”

The ship shuddered, slightly.  “One enemy target slammed into our hull,” Tara reported.  “A piece of armour plating may have been knocked loose.”

It can be replaced
, John thought.  The fleet train included a couple of freighters crammed with replacement armour, if they managed to get back to the task force in time. 
But we need to deal with the threat first
.

“The Indians are regrouping,” Tara reported.  “They’re concentrating on the damaged section again ...”

“Launch missiles, set to detonate near their position,” John snapped.  It was a desperation move -
Warspite
was far too close to the blast radius - but he couldn't risk allowing them a second shot at the hull.  A starfighter ramming into the damaged section would probably cripple the ship.  “Fire!”

“Aye, Captain,” Tara said.  “Missiles away ... enemy starfighters spreading out ...”

The missiles detonated.  “Enemy starfighters destroyed,” Tara reported.  “I say again, enemy starfighters destroyed.”

“Helm, keep us heading away from them,” John ordered.  They should be safe now, unless the Indians decided to order their smaller ships to give chase, but he wouldn't be able to relax until there was considerably more distance between
Warspite
and the Indian ships.  “Launch a pair of stealth probes to monitor the Indian deployments; I want to know the moment they prepare to return to the fight.”

“Aye, sir,” Tara said.

John smiled, darkly. 
Warspite
could paint an entire fleet carrier on her hull now, even though the carrier hadn't been completely destroyed.  She was certainly crippled, out of the fight for the foreseeable future.  Hell, John honestly wasn't sure if the Indians could get her out of the system before it was too late.  They’d probably be better served by putting the carrier on a course into interstellar space and leaving her there until the end of the war.  As long as she wasn’t a threat, Admiral Fitzwilliam would probably leave her alone.

And we won the engagement
, he thought.  Honours had been slightly less than even - the Indians had definitely been ahead on points - but the loss of the Indian carrier had been decisive. 
The pathway to Clarke III lies open
.

***

“General,” Captain Misra said, as Anjeet stepped through the airlock.  “Welcome onboard.”

Anjeet scowled. 
Delhi
was a cruiser, rather than a fleet carrier; she wasn't configured to serve as a command ship.  Not, he suspected, that it mattered; the Indian Navy needed time to lick its wounds before it could return to the fight.  Half the remaining ships were damaged; the other half had largely shot themselves dry or were crammed with evacuees from
Viraat
.

“Thank you, Captain,” he said, finally.  He knew Misra too well; the man was an ass-kisser, plain and simple.  Anjeet wouldn't have promoted him to command rank if the man hadn't been very good at making political allies.  “I shall be moving my staff into your secondary bridge and converting it into a flag bridge.”

“Of course, General,” Misra said.  “If there is anything I can do to make the transition easier, please let me know.”

“I will,” Anjeet said.  The suggestions that came to mind were either anatomically impossible or useless.  “Until the compartment is ready, Admiral Joshi will hold tactical command.  I will need to speak with him as soon as possible.”

Misra looked mystified - his mindset didn't allow for anyone giving up command, when one’s subordinates might take advantage of the opportunity to prove themselves - but led him straight to the communications compartment.  Anjeet took one of the consoles, chased the commanding officer out with a few well-chosen words and started to record a message.  It would be at least two hours before Admiral Joshi heard it.  There was definitely no hope of a real-time conversation.

“Admiral,” he said.  It hurt to admit it, but there was no point in trying to do otherwise.  “You have tactical command of the fleet.  The undamaged ships are to maintain a watch on the tramline; the damaged ships are to pass through the tramline to Vesy, where the survivors are to be off-loaded.  For the moment, there will be no attempt to continue the engagement with the British ships.”

Anjeet paused.  “They may take advantage of this to press the offensive against Clarke III,” he added.  “In that case, they will have to test themselves against the ground-based weapons.”

He tapped a switch, encrypting the message, then started to work on a more complex signal to Earth.  There was no point in trying to hide the lost carrier.  The reporters would already have started to send signals back to Earth.  He needed to get the bare facts to India before the reporters transformed the defeat - and it had been a defeat - into utter disaster.

“Bastards,” he muttered.

He looked at the display.  It was puny, compared to the one he was used to, but it was clear the British had won the engagement.  The only consolation was that they would now have to force a landing on Clarke, despite the battering they’d taken.  And the moon was heavily defended. 

We can still give them a bloody nose
, he thought.  There was no way to know just how badly the British carrier had been damaged.  The long-range sensors insisted it hadn’t moved since the engagement.  Were her drives still in working order? 
And perhaps win the war on points
.

Chapter Thirty-One

Pegasus System

“Well,” James said, as he entered the conference room.  “The only thing costlier than a battle won is a battle lost.”

Susan smiled.  “That’s a misquote, sir,” she said.  “The Duke of Wellington won the battle.”

“But at least he had victory to console himself,” James said.  He smiled, looking at the display.  The remaining Indian ships, save for the wrecked and abandoned carrier, were making their way to the tramline.  “Think how
they
must be feeling.”

He felt his smile grow wider.  The Indians had lost an entire carrier!  They’d know they’d been in a war.  Even if they somehow drove the task force back out of the system and declared victory, the cost would be staggeringly high. 
Theodore Smith
had been damaged, but her repair crews were confident that the ship would be ready to return to the war within three days.  The damage hadn't been
that
bad.

And they lost their one chance to really drive the boot in
, he thought. 
We won the engagement!

“But we haven't won the war,” Susan said.  “The question now is how do we capitalise on our victory.”

James nodded in agreement as the steward handed him a cup of coffee.  Twenty-seven hours had passed since the battle and he really hadn't managed to get enough sleep, between monitoring the repairs and keeping a sharp eye on the Indians.  It
looked
as though the enemy navy was in full retreat, but they’d already managed to pull the wool over his eyes once.  And besides, he’d have to engage the defences surrounding Clarke.  They might be hoping he’d lead his fleet straight into the mass drivers and get slaughtered.

“True,” he agreed.  He keyed a switch.  “It’s time for the conference to begin.”

There were fewer holograms this time, he noted; seven warships were gone, while others were badly damaged and had had to withdraw to J-35.  The Indians might have a chance to harry the wounded ships, if they had time to think of it; he’d taken a calculated risk sending so many ships back with only a handful of protective starships.  But there was no choice.  He needed everything he had to capitalise on his victory.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, once the final hologram was in position.  “As you know” - it was unlikely there was a single officer who didn't - “the Indians have effectively conceded control of the system to us.  The last reports from the tramline indicate that their sole presence, apart from the garrison on Clarke III, is a handful of starships holding position on the tramline itself.  I think they’re currently regrouping and considering their next move.

“That gives us an opportunity to take the war to Clarke III and liberate the moon,” he continued, when it became clear that no one was going to comment.  “Once the garrison is taken out - or captured - the war will be within shouting distance of being won.  I don’t believe the Indians will attempt to continue once we have chased them out of our territory.”

“There’s Cromwell,” Captain Roebuck said.

“There are two ships on their way to Cromwell to liberate the world,” James said.  “In any case, Cromwell is simply not as useful as Pegasus.  The Indians would be foolish to continue the war.”

“Some would say they were foolish even to
start
the war,” Commodore Blake said.

“They gambled and they lost,” James said, flatly.  He held up a hand.  “We will, of course, draw up contingency plans to handle their remaining carrier, if they bring her into the system, but for the moment our focus must be on Clarke.  We will be as battle-ready as we will ever be in two days - three, to give ourselves some leeway.  At that point, we must be ready to liberate Clarke.  We will, of course, transmit a demand for surrender beforehand, but we have to assume the Indians will try to hold out.

He paused.  “Major Rainer?”

The tactical analyst rose to his feet.  “As of the last report from Clarke, the Indians have emplaced fourteen mass drivers on the surface, spread out to allow them to target anything approaching from any angle.  Their projectiles, of course, will keep going until they actually
hit
something, but we believe their effective range is around one light minute at most.  The nearer we get to the planet, of course, the more their accuracy will improve, while our ability to either intercept or avoid them decreases.”

“I’d be surprised if they managed to hit anything beyond a few light seconds,” Blake commented.  “Their targeting will be shitty and they’ll have the time-delay problem too.”

“Yes, sir,” Major Rainer said.  “However, they are
physically
capable of hurling projectiles at targets that far from the moon.

“Each of these mass drivers is surrounded by a handful of railguns and plasma cannons, while they are supported by a network of active sensor platforms and ground-based radar transmitters.  Firing KEWs at them from long range is unlikely to work.  However, in order to land on the moon, we need to knock out at least two or three of the mass drivers and then approach from the blindspot.  This will not be an easy task.”

James nodded, clearing his throat for attention.  “Forces already on the ground are insufficient to complete the destruction of more than one or two of the installations,” he said, “although the mere destruction of the mass driver itself would suffice to render the installation useless.  Therefore, we will attempt to slip a second stealth shuttle through the defences.  However, as they are now on the alert, the task force will advance and launch ARM missiles to suppress the enemy’s defences.  We will, of course, launch these missiles from a relatively safe distance.”

There were some smiles from the various holograms, although he knew that no one had any illusions.  Mass drivers were dangerous weapons; a single hit would be more than enough to cripple even a giant carrier.  It
was
possible to intercept a projectile or deflect it, but the slightest mistake could wind up costing the Royal Navy an expensive starship.  There was nothing stopping the Indians, either, from firing as many projectiles as they liked towards the task force.  Hell, they could just mine Clarke itself for the raw materials.

“Once we have a window, the landing craft will be deployed,” he added, smoothly.  “The Royal Marines and Paras will link up with the forces on the ground, then advance on the colony and suppress resistance.  I believe the Indians will surrender at that point, as there would be nothing stopping us from stripping away the remainder of the defences and flattening the colony from orbit; they’d have to be insane to consider using human shields, now they’ve lost a carrier.”

“They might be insane,” Blake offered.  “Or desperate.”

“We’d have ample excuse to annex both of their worlds,” James pointed out.  “No one would object in the slightest, even if we couldn't touch India itself.”

He kept his face expressionless with an effort.  What if the Indians
were
that insane?  They weren’t a defenceless rogue nation.  There were limits to how far India could be punished without triggering off a major war on Earth itself.  And
that
would weaken the human race as a whole.  Surely, they’d see sense and throw in the towel.  They’d fought hard, and well, but they’d lost.  There was no point in throwing good money after bad.

Unless they think they still have a chance to win
, he thought. 
But they’re already down a carrier
.

He held up a hand.  “In the event of them using human shields, we will seal their positions off and strike out towards Vesy and Gandhi,” he said.  “Or simply communicate with Earth and invite the Indian Government to consider a truce.”

Susan looked doubtful and he knew she wasn't the only one.  The Indians had kept raising the stakes until they’d found it impossible to just fold.  And if they
did
try to hold out, the colony would have to be stormed, which would almost certainly kill a great many colonists even if the Indians
didn't
use them as human shields. 

And if I pass this question to the government,
he asked himself,
what will they say
?

“In any case, we will deal with the situation as it arises,” he said.  “For the moment, tactical deployment plans have been uploaded into your datacores.  I expect you to be ready to deploy in three days.  Dismissed.”

One by one, the holograms winked out.  “Admiral,” Boone said.  He’d chosen to stay.  “Do you want to board the Indian carrier?”

James considered it, briefly.  It was possible there were still trapped crew onboard, but the Indians hadn’t tried to ask for assistance in recovering them.  Other than that ...  “Would it be worth the effort?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Boone said.  “We could put a small team on her with little trouble, but if they’ve rigged her to blow without the proper access codes ...”

“I know the score,” James said.  He’d already thought about simply finishing off the crippled and abandoned ship as the task force approached the gas giant, only to dismiss the idea as spiteful.  They could try to claim the carrier as spoils of war after the shooting stopped.  “As long as the hulk is harmless, I see no reason to risk lives.”

“As you wish, sir,” Boone said.  “My forces are ready to deploy once we have a clear window.”

“Good,” James said.  “Inform the SAS that they will have company.  And make sure they check to see if they can handle three installations.”

“Drake says he has a plan,” Boone said.  “I trust him.”

James nodded, studying the display.  If Drake’s plan failed, he’d have no choice but to sneak up to the planet and try to clear the way using KEWs.  Even with ARM missiles being deployed in vast quantities, it wouldn't be easy to score a hit on the tiny installations from long range.  He might wind up bleeding his fleet white ... or having to accept something less than outright victory. 

“I trust him too,” he said, finally.  They’d never had to put a recon force on the ground during the First Interstellar War.  The Russians had tried, but the Tadpoles had largely kept themselves separate from the Russians on New Russia.  “See to your men, Colonel.  We’ll be deploying in three days.”

“Yes, sir,” Boone said.

***

“It could be worse, sir,” Johnston said.

John eyed him, sharply.  “I suppose it could,” he said.  “Can we take the ship back into action?”

Johnston pretended to think about it.  “Well,” he said, drawing out the word, “we
could
refit smaller pieces of armour over the gash in the hull.  It would give us a considerable degree of protection against anything smaller than a bomb-pumped laser, although if we get hit by a mass driver projectile we’re thoroughly screwed anyway.  The only downside is that our point defence network is all fucked up; we can affix spare cannons from the fleet train to the hull, if you don’t mind waiting a day, but we wouldn't have perfect control.”

“Which we would need, because we’d be moving right into the teeth of enemy fire,” John said.  After all they’d done, he was damned if
Warspite
was missing the final battle.  Nice as it would be to go home and gloat about killing a carrier, he didn't want to leave his fellows in the lurch.  “Is there any way to fix it?”

“Not without more time than we have,” Johnston said.

He cleared his throat.  “The inner framework didn't take such a beating,” he said, quickly.  “We were lucky they didn't manage to ram a starfighter into the gash.  I’ve started work on strengthening it now, so our structural integrity should remain uncompromised.  However, there's still no way we can avoid being blown to bits if we get hit by a projectile.”

John eyed him, darkly.  He hadn't had more than four hours sleep since the engagement and he was too hyped up on coffee to care.  “If you don’t start giving me straight answers,” he said, “I'm going to keep you on the ship the next time we visit Nelson Base.”

“Yes, sir,” Johnston said.  “In short, we should be good to join the task force for the final battle, but we would probably do better to avoid a missile duel.”