Only the Brave (Lincoln's War Book 3)

by Richard Tongue

  Chapter 8

   “On course, Captain,” Merritt said, turning from the helm. “We should be entering the enemy system in less than sixty seconds.”

   “Kirkland, take it away,” Forrest said, glancing at her new Executive Officer, standing alone at the tactical desk.

   “Aye, ma’am.” Looking around the bridge, Kirkland said, “Action Stations. All fighters prepare for immediate scramble on request, damage control teams to their posts. Turrets to defensive posture, sensors prepare for full active scan upon emergence.”

   Forrest looked on approvingly as the bridge crew hurried to respond to Kirkland’s commands. She was still far from sure that she’d ever make a good commanding officer, but she was turning into a fine executive officer, her administrative skills coming to the fore. Not enough initiative, perhaps, but in a staff role, that was arguably a good thing.

   “Lieutenant Estrada reports that all fighters are ready to launch, Captain,” Kirkland reported.

   “Ride herd on them, Commander,” Forrest warned. “There’s not much experience in the strike group at the moment. If we face any serious opposition, then all our forces are to withdraw. We’re after the low-hanging fruit, not a full-scale battle.” Turning to Fox, still sitting at her old Astrogation station given the absence of Lieutenant Romano, she added, “I want our electronic warfare teams on maximum alert. We need any intelligence we can possibly gather.”

   “Aye, ma’am,” Fox replied. “Specialist Lopez is ready to go, and we’ve got the new Zemlyan software package working. She assures me that we should be able to slice through a civilian firewall in less than a minute.”

   “I’ll hold her to that, Lieutenant,” Forrest said with a smile.

   “Ten seconds, Captain,” Merritt said. “Hold on, everyone.”

   Lincoln lurched back into normal space, tearing a hole in the fabric of the universe and stumbling through it, the stars flickering back onto the viewscreen as the sensors began to scan the space around them. All eyes were on the sensor display, watching and waiting as information began to flood in. Their target had been a space station, the home base of a couple of thousand prospectors working the trojan point of a superjovian.

   The planet was there, but nothing more. The station was gone, as though it had never been there, and the scanners began to sweep the asteroids, trying in vain to find some sort of life. Forrest rose to her feet, walking over to the sensor display, leaning over the shoulder of the technician.

   “Could there be some sort of malfunction, Specialist?” she asked.

   “Negative, Captain,” Clayton replied. “I’ve got a green board. Everything’s working as it should.” He looked across at his controls, and added, “Lots of sensor blind spots in local space, ma’am. Permission to launch probe screen?”

   “By all means,” Forrest said, walking over to Kirkland. “Where the hell is the station?”

   “It was a modular design,” Kirkland replied. “Transported out here in three sections, according to our information from Lemuria. I suppose it could have been moved to another system, but our reports suggest that there’s still a lot of material yet to be mined out.” She paused, then added, “I suppose we might be to blame, Captain.”

   Nodding, Forrest said, “They might have moved anything they could out of the way, rather than risk it coming under attack. If that’s the case, we’re not going to stay any longer than we can help.” Turning to the helm, she continued, “Merritt, I want a course to take us to the secondary target as soon as possible.”

   “Already in the works, ma’am,” the veteran pilot replied. “We can bug out of the system in twenty-one minutes, as soon as we charge the hyperspace capacitors.”

   “Should I hold general quarters?” Fox asked.

   “No,” Forrest replied, “but maintain standby alert, and inform the pilots that I want them to stay on immediate notice to scramble until I give the word.”

   “Will do, Captain, but they’ll have to shut down in seven minutes or their afterburners will start to overheat,” Kirkland warned. “Maybe we should put a flight up, get a patrol into the sky.”

   “Negative,” Forrest replied. “I want to keep our fighters as one single unit, at least for the time being. If there’s something hiding in those rocks, we need to be in a position to counter it at maximum possible strength.” Turning to Clayton, she asked, “What’s the status of the drones?”

   “Away and running,” the technician replied. “We should have a complete map of everything within five million miles in a few minutes. The whole system in a couple of hours.” Throwing controls, he added, “I’m not picking up any signals, no communication chatter at all. If there is someone hiding out there, they’re running silent. Not even any active sensors.”

   “That’s odd,” Kirkland said. “No beacons, nothing at all, Specialist?”

   “Not a trace, ma’am.”

   “Independent prospectors usually make damn sure to register their claims,” Fox replied. “That must apply to the Guild, just as it would anywhere else. That belt should be littered with beacons, satellites, all sorts of junk. And the bulk of their equipment would be man-tended, not permanently manned, and we’d detect that as well.”

   “Our sensors are better than theirs,” Forrest said. “Specialist, I want a scan of some of the nearby rocks. See if you can find any mineral deposits, anything that might be worth taking a look at. I suppose it’s just about possible that they ran out of good sources, pulled out to another system.”

   Raising an eyebrow, Kirkland replied, “That might explain it, Captain. If there was a big strike somewhere else, then all the prospectors would grab their equipment and run for it. Maybe even the beacons, if they didn’t expect to be back. That could be a pretty damned tempting target.”

   “We’re not here to make war on civilians, Commander,” Forrest warned.

   “No, ma’am, but we could still raise all sorts of hell. More than in an established system.”

   “Contact!” Clayton yelled. “Small ship, in-system type, looks like a prospector. He’s in a holding orbit between a pair of asteroids, permanently in sensor shadow. Smart pilot, but unless he changes course soon, he won’t have a chance. The orbit’s decaying fast.” Throwing controls, he added, “He can’t have known we were here, Captain. Not until now.”

   “Hail him,” Forrest said.

   “No reply,” Lieutenant Roberts replied. “No signal at all, Captain. Either he’s not listening, or he doesn’t want to speak to us.” Turning to Forrest, she continued, “The Guilders could have told their people all sorts of things about our intentions, ma’am. He may think he has good reason for staying silent.”

   “Get a rescue shuttle into the air, full fighter escort,” Forrest ordered. “I want that pilot brought back to the ship, on the double, and inform the shuttle crew that they are not to take no for an answer.”

   “Captain,” Fox said, turning from her station. “Permission to speak freely.”

   “Granted.”

   “I recommend that we prepare for an immediate return to Zemlya, ma’am, and that we ignore the prospecting ship. We’ve got no evidence that they are in actual distress, and every reason to suspect that the pilot will alter course as soon as we leave the system.”

   “We can’t just leave,” Kirkland replied. “Not without gathering the information we came for.”

   “With all due respect, Commander, we didn’t come here to gather intelligence. We came here for a specific reason, to destroy a key manufacturing and prospecting support facility. There is no facility here. Our mission has failed, and we should return to the rest of the fleet as soon as possible. If only to find out whether or not they were any more successful. This ship is too important to risk unless absolutely necessary.” Turning to Forrest, Fox continued, “I’m sorry, Captain, I didn’t intend...”

   Raising a hand, Forrest replied, “You said yo
ur piece, Commander. We’re going to get that pilot, and we’re going to find out just where this trail of breadcrumbs leads. We still have a lot of hours before we have to return to Zemlya, and if we can find a suitable alternate target, we’re going to take full use of it.”

   “We’ve got a secondary target, Captain. The refueling depot might not be as significant, but it’s still worth striking, and...”

   “I’ve made my decision, Lieutenant,” Forrest replied. “And it stands.”

   “Shuttle and escorts are away, Captain,” Kirkland said. “Estimate nineteen minutes to contact at current acceleration. Based on current course plot and our information on that class of spacecraft, there’s no way the prospector can get away.”

   “Short of slamming his ship into the asteroid,” Roberts replied.

   “I think we can take that as read, Lieutenant,” Forrest said, throwing a severe glance at her communications officer. “Try hailing that shuttle again. He might be in more of a mood to talk now he knows he doesn’t have a choice.”

   “Aye, ma’am.” She leaned over her controls, frowned, then said, “I have the pilot now, Captain.”

   “Not a surprise,” Forrest said. “Patch me in.” After a second, she continued, “This is Captain Catherine Forrest, commanding the United States Starship Abraham Lincoln. To whom am I speaking, please?”

   “I have information that I’m willing to trade in exchange for my life,” a voice subject to primitive electronic masking replied. “I need assurances that you will provide me with safety before we can talk.”

   “You’re not in a great position to bargain, mister.”

   “Perhaps so,” the man replied. “Nevertheless, I hold information you need. The location of a major mineral strike, one of the most valuable ever discovered. I’m sure you could make use of that knowledge, and I have all the information you need right here.”

   “It’s a bluff,” Kirkland said, looking at Forrest, careful to stay clear of the audio pickup. “It’s too damned neat, Captain. This is a set-up. He’s stayed behind to plant false information, either to lure us into a trap or to send us god knows where.” Turning to the astrogation station, she said, “Lieutenant, get Lopez working. Suck that ship dry of everything in its database.”

   “Prospector,” Forrest said, nodding her approval to Kirkland’s plan, “just what sort of guarantees did you have in mind? I will provide safe passage out of this system to a neutral port.” Static filled the channel, and she continued, “Prospector, respond, please.”

   “Channel’s closed, Captain,” Roberts reported. “I guess he decided not to continue the charade.” Her hands danced across the console, and she continued, “We’ve still got a datalink, but at reduced bandwidth.”

   “Lopez is on the case,” Fox said. She looked up at her sensor display, and added, “Damn. The ship’s dropping out of orbit. Heading for the surface. Must be a suicide play. Assuming there was anyone on board that ship at all. Could have been a simulated intelligence.” Glancing to the side, she added, “Three minutes to impact.”

   Tapping a control, Forrest said, “Bridge to Electronic Warfare. Lopez, we need the information on that shuttle, and we need it now. Use any resources you must to get that data.” Turning to Kirkland, she continued, “Warn Lieutenant Estrada to watch out for any traps or devices hidden in orbital space. Just in case that pilot’s bluffing.”

   “I don’t think he is, Captain,” Clayton said. “He’s burning a hell of a lot of fuel. I’d say he’s totally committed to a crash. No chance of a soft landing either, not on that rock. I don’t think there’s anywhere to touch down, certainly not at that speed.”

   “Track it all the way to the surface,” Forrest ordered, watching the sensor display as the prospector dived towards its doom. Kirkland had to be right, that the Guilders had attempted to set a trap, but somehow the pilot had given up a little too easily, too quickly. She walked towards the console, tapping a control to focus a single sensor pickup on the area outside the enemy ship, looking for stray gases.

   Either they’d gone to enormous trouble to simulate a human, or that was a manned ship, and someone was about to die. Not that the Guilders weren’t willing to sacrifice their people to accomplish their mission.

   “Ninety seconds, ma’am,” Clayton reported. “I have positive trajectory track. Too late for the pilot to eject and have any hope of living through the landing.” Glancing at his readouts, he added, “He’s trying to break free of our hack, but it looks like Lopez has too tight a noose around his neck.”

   Forrest nodded, watching as the prospector dived for the jagged surface of the asteroid below, trying to imagine what it must be like in its cockpit, watching the rocks rush past, faster and faster, until finally the ride ended in fire and death. On the bridge, it was far cleaner. Neater. Just a dotted line trailing towards the surface, and a small star moving along the track. Right on schedule, it winked out, as though it had never been there at all.

   “That’s it,” Clayton said. “I got a good shot of the impact. There’s a new crater on that rock, Captain. Impossible for anyone to have survived.”

   “Nevertheless, I want our shuttle to go and take a look,” Forrest ordered. “Even if it’s just a question of sifting through the debris and trying to find the black box. Anything might be useful at this stage.” She tapped a communications panel, and said, “Bridge to Lopez. Report.”

   “Do you want the good news or the bad news, Captain?”

   With a grimace, Forrest replied, “Let’s start with the good news.”

   “I got everything. Emptied out the whole database. The bad news is that I had to do it out of sequence, and the worse news is that the files were encrypted. I think I can crack it, but it’s going to take time.”

   “Give me a number, Specialist.”

   “Thirty hours. And I’m going to need damn near all the processing power we’ve got.”

   “Thirty hours?”

   “It gets better. Any interruption, and I have to start from scratch. And when I said all, I meant it, Captain. We won’t be able to leave the system until I’ve completed the run.”

   “Thirty hours,” Kirkland said. “That puts us damned close to the deadline, Captain.”

   Forrest paused, nodded, then said, “Get it done, Lopez. As fast as you can.” Looking around the room, she continued, “We wait.”

   “Captain, the fleet...”

   “We wait.”

  Chapter 9

   Romano and Tanaka were led down the corridor by a pair of iron-faced guards, neither willing to look or speak to their captives. As soon as their ship had docked with the station, they had been escorted away, taken first to a holding facility before being sent to their barracks, most of the way around the habitable ring of the station. The two men carefully noted the layout, a modular design that would be straightforward to navigate if they could manage to escape their captors. Security was as tight as they had expected, monitoring cameras on every corner, blast doors at every intersection. They could isolate any part of the station at will, locked down to prevent escape.

   Not that they had anywhere to escape to. There were no interstellar-capable ships in the system, and even if there was, they had little chance of taking over one of them. Realistically, all they could do was wait for a chance, wait for their comrades to arrive. The facility was too good a target to ignore for long.

   They reached a heavy double door, and the guards gestured for them to step inside, the hatch slamming shut as they crossed the threshold. On the far side was a large room, bunks running along the walls with a long, gun-metal table in the center, folding chairs scattered around the floor. A hundred faces turned to them as they approached, and Romano glanced at Tanaka, trying to keep the fear from his face. Despite everything, they’d found the people they were looking for. They’d found Captain Sinaga’s lost crew.

   Taking the initiative, Romano st
epped forward, and said, “Lieutenant Frank Romano, formerly of the Abraham Lincoln. My friend here is Lieutenant Raul Tanaka, commander of the Thirteenth Intercept Squadron. Captain Sinaga sent us to find you.”

   “The Captain?” the nearest man said, walking towards him. “Where is he?”

   “I’m sorry,” Romano replied. “I’m afraid he’s dead.”

   “At your hands?”

   Shaking his head, Tanaka said, “He died a hero, and he died saving us from the Guild. He realized too late what sort of a deal with the devil he made, and he did everything he could to rescue you. When he died, he passed that duty onto us.”

   “So this is a rescue mission?” a bitter voice from the rear said. “That mean we’re going home? That you’ve got a war fleet out there ready to pick us up? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like two more prisoners got dumped on us, people we don’t have any reason to like. People we’re still at war with.”

   “Quiet, Xiang,” the first man said. Stepping forward, he said, “I’m Chung Huu Khanh. Master Flight Sergeant. Welcome to Hell. I understand you two were our pilots today?”

   Nodding, Romano replied, “We’ll try and do better next time, but it doesn’t help if someone starts blowing chunks out of the side of our ship. Your work?”

   “No,” Chung said. “Not that we wouldn’t have done it if we had a chance, but they keep us locked down here, nice and tight.” Sweeping his arms around, he said, “This is our world, at least for the moment. There’s an exercise area at the back, some equipment. I guess they want their workers to keep fit. And every bunk has a telescreen, but there’s nothing but propaganda. Gets boring pretty quickly.”

   “Don’t talk to them, Chung,” Xiang said, walking towards them. “After what they did to us, we ought to kill them where they stand.”

   “What we did to you?” Romano replied. “You’re the ones who launched a surprise attack on us, remember? I was there, at that first battle, just like you. You struck without warning, killed thousands of my comrades, and we still came out here to try and rescue you.”