A Small Colonial War (Ark Royal Book 6) (4 page)

“Jaw-jaw is better than war-war,” Murchison quoted.

“I doubt Churchill would agree with you,” Uncle Winchester said.  “There is literally nothing to talk about.”

He held up a hand before Murchison could say a word.  “There may -
may
- be some truth in the suggestion we unfairly denied the Indians recognition as a Great Power,” he continued, his voice growing harder.  “It wasn't our call.  The Russians and Chinese were against it; the Americans and French didn't care enough to argue their case.  Perhaps we
did
treat them badly. 
But
... it doesn't serve as an excuse to kill our personnel, occupy our territory and demand - in the cheekiest of tones - that we kindly accept the
status quo
.

“Did we learn
nothing
from the Age of Unrest?  Giving in to blackmail only leads to more demands!  How many concessions were made to tin-pot dictators and religious fanatics during the Crazy Years that came back to haunt us when the entire global system hiccupped?  How many of our people died because we tried to make nice with our irredeemable foes, instead of squashing them like bugs while we had the chance?

“So we surrender to the Indians?  Let them get away with it?  Maybe, if we grovel sufficiently, they will
kindly
allow us to reclaim Pegasus.  And then what?  What happens the
next
time someone decides they can take a bite out of our territory, in the certain knowledge we’ll just let it go?  We
cannot
allow the Indians to humiliate us!  It will spell the end of Britain as a Great Power.

“The only acceptable outcome, the only one that maintains our current position, is recovering the territory the Indians occupied by force!  And we must do it
alone
.  There is literally no other alternative.  The Indians
cannot
be allowed to get away with this.”

He turned to face the Prime Minister.  “I strongly suggest that we declare war on the Indians and do whatever it takes to recover our territory.”

“India is not a rogue state,” Murchison said, quietly.  “We cannot send in the troops to give her a damn good thrashing.  They may thrash us back.”

“That’s what they thought during the Crazy Years,” Uncle Winchester said.  “They were so scared of getting hurt, even if they could inflict far more harm on their foes, that they allowed threats to grow until they nearly proved lethal.  The death of a single soldier was seen as grounds to surrender and walk away.  And look how badly it cost them!  The Troubles might have been averted if someone had stood up and said
enough
.”

“India is not a rogue state,” Murchison repeated.  “And if we concentrate the level of force we would need to deal with her, we would leave the border gravely weakened.”

“We may be able to convince the Americans or the French to move additional forces of their own to the border,” the First Space Lord said, quietly.  “They might not be willing to take overt steps to support us, but they’d understand what’s at stake.”

“The longer the Indians remain in possession of our territories, the harder it will be to dislodge them,” the Prime Minister said.

“Then we seize their territories,” Uncle Winchester said.  “They have two Earth-type worlds we could capture.”

“Neither of them is a worthwhile target,” the First Space Lord said.  “The bulk of the Indian shipbuilding industry is in the Sol System.  Off-limits.”

“This is war,” Uncle Winchester said.

“The logic behind the Solar Treaty remains in place,” the Prime Minister said.  “We cannot afford to break it. 
Everyone
would turn on us.”

James nodded.  Acts of aggression were banned within the Sol System, if only to preserve humanity’s infrastructure and prevent collateral damage.  It was one of the few treaties that
every
interstellar power honoured. 

Or every human power
, he thought, wryly. 
The Tadpoles didn't sign the treaty before they attacked Earth
.

“Parliament will have to make the final call,” the Prime Minister said, “but I will need to advise them.  If we go to war, and Parliament may well vote for war, can we win?”

“Numerically, we have the advantage,” Uncle Winchester said.

“They may have advantages of their own,” Murchison insisted.  “Most of their ships are post-war designs.”

James felt his eyes narrow.  Someone had been briefing Murchison ...

“We have modern ships too,” Uncle Winchester said.  “The fact remains that we cannot let the Indians get away with this.  If we fail to defend our interests now, when we have advantages, when
will
we start to stand up for ourselves?”

“And if we win, we win at a terrifying cost,” Murchison snapped.  “We could lose everything in the crossfire.”

The Prime Minister looked at the First Space Lord.  “Admiral Finnegan?”

“We have been looking at our options,” the First Space Lord said.  “Admiral Fitzwilliam’s team has devised a number of potential operational concepts.  With your permission, sir, he will brief you on them.”

“Granted,” the Prime Minister said.

James opened his briefcase, removed a datachip and plugged it into the processor slot beside his seat.  The holographic starchart vanished.  James took the control and opened the files, displaying another starchart.  This one showed potential angles of approach to Pegasus, Vesy and Cromwell.

He took a breath and began.

Chapter Three

10 Downing Street, London, Earth

“Time is not on our side, Prime Minister,” James began, “but it may not be on their side either.  We have to act fast before they can fortify their possessions; they have to secure recognition of their possession before the other interstellar powers bring pressure to bear on them.  Accordingly, we have good reason to seek a quick decision and so do they.”

He paused for effect before proceeding.  “We believe, given the tramlines, that they will have placed the main body of their fleet in Vesy,” he continued.  “That would allow them to determine our approach vector and concentrate their fleet against us.  They would have pickets emplaced to watch for us, as well as human intelligence sources.  They’d have time to redeploy before we arrived in the war zone.  It is unlikely we could avoid a duel with their fleet.

“We have several possible choices.  Variant One - Bulldog One - is to occupy their worlds and trade them for ours, although this would force us to deploy ground units to keep the local population under control.  This might allow us to avoid a major fleet clash, but I regard that as unlikely.  We believe the Indians will attempt to harass our forces on the ground while picking the time and place of a naval engagement.  Besides, in the long term, we would have to make some hard choices concerning the local populations.”

He saw the Prime Minister frown and nodded in agreement.  Terra Nova had been settled by hundreds of ethnic and religious groups, back when no one had known just how many worlds there were for the taking, and it had been a complete disaster.  If Britain kept the Indian worlds, they would either have to remove the settlers or accept a permanent ethnic mishmash, which would probably lead to war.  And one round of the Troubles had been quite bad enough.

“Bulldog Two calls for us to proceed up the tramlines to Vesy,” he said.  “That would probably allow us to dictate the time and place of the battle, as we would be neatly positioned to block any enemy passage between Pegasus, Cromwell and Gandhi.  However, the Indians would have plenty of time to prepare to meet us.  We would also face the problem of fighting for a system we don’t particularly want.”

He tapped a switch, altering the starchart.  “The third and final choice - Bulldog Three - is to proceed directly to Pegasus and force a battle there.  That has a number of advantages; we’d be fighting for territory that is unquestionably ours, we’d be able to insert Special Forces onto the ground and our supply lines would be short.  Well, shorter.  Our logistics aren't going to be very good at the best of times.  The Indians would also have the option of choosing to withdraw, if they didn't want to force a battle themselves.  If they did, we would allow them to leave.”

Murchison frowned.  “Do you think they’ll withdraw?”

“There’s no way to know,” James said.  Diplomacy was outside his sphere of interest.  “They may be running a giant bluff, in which case they’ll back down when it’s called, or they may be serious about keeping what they’ve taken.  In
that
case, they will certainly have to fight at Pegasus.  They won’t have a choice.”

“I see,” the Prime Minister said.  “Which option do you believe we should take?”

“I would prefer to choose either Bulldog Two or Bulldog Three,” James said.  “In an ideal world, we would proceed up the tramlines to Hannibal” - he tapped a star on the chart - “while deploying fast frigates or cruisers to spy out the terrain.  At that point, the task force would either head to Vesy or Pegasus, depending on the Indian deployments.  Bulldog One offers the least
risk
, but also the least potential gains.  The Indian industries are effectively off-limits.

“Task Force Bulldog would be built around the
Theodore Smith
” - he couldn't help a twinge of pain at the ship’s name - “and a hard core of escort carriers, destroyers and frigates.  It would proceed to Hannibal, then advance onwards; ideally, we would attempt to tackle the Indian carriers separately.  Both of their carriers are modern ships, after all; I’d prefer not to risk one of the pre-war carriers against them.  The objective would be to secure Pegasus, land troops, recover the colony and then proceed to either Cromwell or Vesy.  Once Cromwell was recovered, we could seek peace terms from a position of supremacy.”

“We would have nothing to gain from kicking the Indians while they were down,” Murchison commented.

“Except for the certainty they wouldn’t be able to threaten us again,” Uncle Winchester snapped.  “We made damn sure that
Iran
couldn't do more than bluster during the Age of Unrest.”

“The Indians could lose their colonies,” the Prime Minister said, “but they couldn’t lose their industries in the Sol System.  Not unless we were prepared to throw the Solar Treaty out of the window.  I think we must accept from the beginning that any victory we win will be limited in scope.”

“And we may need their firepower if we end up fighting another war with the Tadpoles,” the First Space Lord added.

And if we take the gloves off here, they’ll do the same
, James thought, privately.

The Prime Minister nodded, once.  “How long will it take to gather the ships and assemble the task force?”

“We’ve already ordered the ships to prepare for redeployment,” James said.  “I believe it won’t take longer than a month to ready the entire task force - maybe less, if we aim to deploy to Hannibal within the fortnight.  The real problem will be logistics.  I’d prefer to have our fleet train deployed with the task force, rather than risk having the freighters move in small convoys.  The Indians will understand our weaknesses, Prime Minister, and will try to target the convoys where possible.”

“I was under the impression that tracking a convoy in interstellar space isn't easy,” Murchison said.  “The Tadpoles didn't intercept many convoys, did they?”

“The Indians will have spies watching our bases,” James pointed out.  “The Tadpoles never had that sort of advantage.  They shouldn't have too many problems noting departure times and then it wouldn't be too hard to calculate a rough location.  In the longer term, we will need to pull additional smaller ships away from the border just to provide escorts to the fleet train.”

“I imagine the Admiralty can handle it,” the Prime Minister said.  He looked James in the eye.  “
Can
we win?”

“Nothing is certain in war, sir,” James said.  “However, I believe we have an excellent chance of whittling them down and defeating them.  I do not believe they are willing to fight to the last.”

“We would just need to weaken them badly,” Uncle Winchester noted.  “Their position is nowhere near as strong as ours.”

“Unless we push them into a corner,” Murchison countered.

“The point is that we cannot allow them to get away with this, as I keep saying,” Uncle Winchester hissed.  “This is not a dispute over who discovered a particular system first, but a schoolyard bully
nicking
your crisps and then kindly offering to give half of them back!  We cannot compromise beyond allowing the Indians to leave without a fight.  There’s literally nothing
to
compromise.”

He looked at the Prime Minister.  “I propose telling the Indians to leave now or face the consequences,” he said, flatly.  “And then we assemble the task force and gird ourselves for war.”

“We could always offer to concede their Great Power status if they left now,” Murchison offered.

“That would still allow them to benefit from their crimes,” Uncle Winchester said.

“People will die,” Murchison snapped.  “British
spacers
will die!”

Uncle Winchester’s face darkened.  “Yes, they will,” he said, finally.  “But how many more will die if we look
weak
?”

James kept his thoughts to himself.  Privately, he agreed with Uncle Winchester; the Indians couldn't be allowed to benefit from their crimes.  But, at the same time, he knew that war was a gamble.  Victory would be costly and defeat was unthinkable.  If there was a way to convince the Indians to leave, without using force, perhaps it should be taken. 

Except they will start wondering what else they can force out of us
, he thought. 
And then we’ll be blackmailed again
.

“So we ready the task force,” the Prime Minister said.  He glanced at the First Space Lord.  “I believe Parliament will authorise readying for war, if the Indians cannot be convinced to withdraw now.  They’re due to meet in two hours.”

“Yes, Prime Minister,” the First Space Lord said. 

“We’ll work out the political objectives afterwards,” the Prime Minister said.  His gaze moved to James.  “I assume you will be commanding the task force?”

“It’s my plan, sir,” James said.  “Besides,
Theodore Smith
is my flagship.”

The Prime Minister smiled.  “You’ll have orders once Parliament has met,” he said.  “But I dare say we’ll meet again before you go.”

“Yes, sir,” James said.

“I don’t like this,” Murchison said.  “We stand to lose an awful lot.”

“We have no choice,” Uncle Winchester said.  “The Indians have seen to that, Neville.”

The Prime Minister rose to his feet.  “Henry, I imagine you and your nephew have a great deal to talk about,” he said.  “Sandra will show you to one of the private rooms.  You’ll be informed once Parliament has voted.”

“Thank you, Prime Minister,” Uncle Winchester said.

James sighed inwardly as the room emptied.  He’d hoped to have a chance to visit the Cenotaph and the
Ark Royal
memorial before returning to Nelson Base, but it looked as though Uncle Winchester wanted to talk.  It had probably been decided beforehand, almost certainly with the concurrence of the First Space Lord.  James hadn't been
needed
to give the briefing, after all.  The First Space Lord had minions to do that sort of thing.

Sandra led them to a small room, poured them both fresh cups of tea and left without a backwards glance.  James watched the door closing behind her, then turned to stare at his uncle.  Uncle Winchester looked tired, worn down by arguing; he hadn't looked so tired, James recalled, back when the Tadpoles had started the war.  No one had really
believed
in aliens until Vera Cruz ...

“You convinced the Prime Minister, I think,” Uncle Winchester said, without preamble.  “I dare say Parliament will vote for war.”

James nodded.  “They can't let it pass, can they?”

“Probably not,” Uncle Winchester said.  “Yes, there’s a case to be made that we don’t really need to worry about Vesy, but Pegasus and Cromwell are quite important.  Parliament will understand that, I believe.”

He rubbed his forehead.  “When are you going to get married?”

“I haven’t found anyone,” James said, feeling his cheeks heat.  It was an old argument.  “Do we have to have this discussion every time we meet?”

“Yes,” Uncle Winchester said, flatly.  “You need to start raising the next generation of the family.”

“I have Percy and Penny,” James pointed out.

“Neither of whom are blood relations,” Uncle Winchester said.  “You cannot leave your titles to them.”

James met his eyes.  “There was a time when I believed that my birth made me superior to everyone else,” he said.  “I have learned hard lessons since.”

“You were a little brat back then,” Uncle Winchester agreed.  “Locking the maid in the storeroom was particularly unpleasant.  And then there was the time you gorged yourself silly on ...”

“Uncle,” James said.  It wasn't something he wanted to remember.  “Are you ever going to let me forget it?”

“I’ll be telling your grandkids all about it,” Uncle Winchester said.  “And sneering at you when you complain about what awful brats your children are.  You gave your parents quite a hard time.”