Only the Brave (Lincoln's War Book 3)

by Richard Tongue

   “Come on,” Romano replied, turning to the corridor, rifle in hand, racing towards the barracks. Tanaka ran faster this time, easily moving to his side, with the rest of the column in tow. He glanced up at the security cameras on the wall, panning to follow them, but Zani shook her head.

   “You don’t need to worry about them. I set the monitoring software onto a continuous diagnostic loop. It’ll take a while for Narik’s sysops to shut that down. Surprising what you can do with complete system access.” Looking behind her for a moment, she added, “First right, then left. That’ll take us to the rear hatch. It might not be as heavily guarded as the rest.”

   “Why?”

   “It’s sealed.” Patting a bulge in her pocket, she added, “Don’t worry, I brought my own key.”

   The group raced down the corridor, no sign of trouble until they reached the far side of the station. Three guards were waiting for them, raising their rifles, but before they could even move, the two men accompanying Zani fired bursts of automatic gunfire down the corridor, obliterating everything in their path. Romano looked at the blood-smeared devastation, eyes wide, then looked at Zani, who stepped over the corpses with cold determination, preparing the demolition charge.

   “Don’t cry for them, Lieutenant. They’d have murdered everyone in that room without a second thought. We made a choice.”

   “You didn’t have to slaughter them!” Tanaka protested.

   “Squeamish, Lieutenant? How many people have you personally murdered in battle? Or is it different if it is what you consider to be a fair fight.” She squeezed the blob of plastic explosive into position, and added, “Tell me, is there a nice way to kill someone.”

   “That’s not the damned point,” Romano replied.

   “I’m ready. Stand back.” She calmly walked around the turn of the corridor, held up a remote control, and tapped the single button at its center. An earth-shattering roar rumbled from the walls as the shaped charge ripped through the armored door, molten metal flying through the air, the carpet smoldering at their feet. Romano was the first to move, racing back to the door, his hand sweeping smoke from his face as he ducked through the red-hot hatch.

   “Lieutenant?” Chung said, walking towards him. “This is an unexpected pleasure. I wasn’t expecting to see you again.” He looked behind him, and said, “Commander Zani?”

   “There’s been a change of plans,” Romano said, turning to face Zani, rifle nestled in his hands, still ready to fire. “We now have two priorities. We’ve got to get these people to safety. One of the gas tankers should suffice. All they have to do is get to a safe orbit, at least for the present.”

   “Three decks down, and unguarded,” Zani replied. “We can manage that.”

   “The second is to get your defense grid working for us.”

   She paused, shook her head, and said, “That would be a step too far.”

   “Xiang?” Romano said, smiling as the technician aimed his pistol.

   “You might kill me,” Xiang said, his face cold as ice, “but you will die first. Time for you to choose which side you are on. Where are the controls for the defense grid.”

   “The Security Office, but you don’t have a chance,” she replied. “Narik took that first, and it’s designed to withstand a prisoner revolt. There’s no way to reach it.”

   “I’ll give you sixty seconds to think of one, Commander,” Romano said.

   “Commander,” one of the guards said, looking at a monitor screen. “There’s something coming through. A new hyperspace signal, growing stronger by the moment. I thought all of our forces were already here?”

   “They are,” she replied, shaking her head.

   “Flynn,” Romano said. “He’s brought the rest of the fleet. We might just have a chance of winning this thing after all. Well, Commander, does that change the picture sufficiently.”

   “Perhaps,” she said. “We could free the other barracks from there as well. Release all of the slave laborers.” Turning to Romano, she added, “It’s a long shot.”

   “We’ll take it. What do you have in mind.”

   “A spacewalk.”

   “In the middle of a battle?” Tanaka asked, shaking his head.

   “This is your crazy idea, Lieutenant, not mine.”

   “We don’t have a choice,” Romano said. “Lead the way, Commander. This time, you’re taking point.”

  Chapter 20

   “Emergence in one minute, Major,” the helmsman said, turning to Volkov. This time, Flynn was strapped into the Flag Officer’s chair, with the best possible view of the battle to come. He looked across at the status panel, a faint smile on his face. It looked so similar to the one in his fighter, the panel he’d become so accustomed to in such a short time. Instead of a dozen fighters, it listed the ships in their fleet, providing their last status reports from their departure.

   “How’s our payload,” Volkov asked.

   “Stable, and working at minimum output,” the flight engineer reported. “She’s putting a huge load on our power grid, but nothing we can’t handle.”

   “It’s going to make us slower than hell, sir,” the helmsman protested. “I just hope our fighter screen can give us a smooth ride into the station. We get one hit in the wrong place, and it’s all over in a hurry.” Reaching for a control, he added, “I’ve tested the explosive bolts. One level, and we’re free, and heading for the gravitational threshold.”

   “All decks, attention,” Volkov said, leaning over the microphone on the armrest of his chair. “This is the Captain speaking. We’re about to jump into our target system, and we will almost immediately come under heavy fire from multiple targets. Our mission today is vital for the very survival of our nation. We can’t afford to make mistakes, and we can’t afford to mess this up. We get one try to not only beat back the battle fleet, but potentially, to win the war. I have faith, and confidence, that each and every one of you will do his duty.”

   He paused, then added, “They’ll be writing songs about this battle for the next thousand years, people. Make it look good. Bridge out.” Turning to Flynn, he said, “Worst part of this job. I’ve never managed anything yet that didn’t sound like a damned cliché.”

   “I don’t know,” Flynn replied. “It sounded all right to me.”

   “Just be grateful I don’t make you sit in this chair.” Tapping a control, he said, “Engineering, I’ll need all the thruster control you can give me, and all power to the main engines. We’ve got to press through to the station on the first try.”

   “I’ll do what I can, sir, but the power load’s going to be tough to manage with that beast strapped to our butt. We’ll be burning like mad just to keep us stable. The center of gravity’s a little wild.” Volkov glanced at Flynn, who shrugged in reply.

   “Nature of the beast, and we didn’t have time to do a proper job.”

   “Major, we’re coming into the system now,” the helmsman said. The ship lurched and tumbled, Flynn gagging as his stomach rebelled, the hyperspace transit one of the worst he had ever experienced. Only the passage through time matched it, and he struggled to focus as the stars returned to the viewscreen, the display immediately identifying some of the points of light as enemy starships. As well as one that was all too familiar.

   “Good God, it’s Lincoln!” Flynn said. “Communications, open a channel, full encryption! We’ve got to get them into our tactical network.”

   “Do it, Corporal,” Volkov ordered. “And contact General Markova. We’re going to need her in on this as well. Helm, begin executing the battle plan as instructed. We don’t have any time to waste on idle chatter. Not with a battle to fight.”

   “Aye, aye, sir. Bringing her around.”

   “I have Lincoln Actual, sir.”

   “On the main screen, Corporal,” Volkov ordered, and Forrest’s face flickered into life on the display, her mouth curled i
nto a wry smile.

   “I’ve been expecting you,” she said, “but not that thing. What the hell are you doing...”

   “It’s a bomb, Captain. A temporal bomb. We’re going to try and duplicate the effect that brought us here, on a larger scale. If we can trigger a hyperspace portal large enough to tickle that singularity, it ought to take out the whole fleet.”

   “The whole damned system,” Forrest said. “Where are you getting the power?” She paused, then answered her own question, saying, “The station. Are you out of your mind?”

   “Possibly, but it’s the only plan we’ve got,” Markova replied, breaking into the channel. “Unless you have something else, Captain, we’re committed to this.”

   “Another unknown factor,” Forrest muttered. “You realize there are at least six hundred slave laborers on the station.”

   Nodding, Flynn replied, “Including Romano and Tanaka, but there are hundreds of millions, perhaps billions of lives at stake, ma’am. We’ll save them if we can, but our priority has to be bringing the war to an end. How many civilians could we save that way, on Zemlya and, for that matter, throughout the Guild?”

   “Very well.” She looked off-camera for a moment, then said, “Is that rig as slow as it looks, Major?”

   “Slower, if anything,” Volkov said.

   “I’ll throw half a dozen fighters to run close defensive escort. Give you a chance of punching through the outer screening ships, at least. Once you get down into the firing line, you’ll be on your own, but I think we can get you that far.”

   “Understood, Lincoln, and thank you. Volkov out.” Turning to Flynn, he asked, “Did you have any idea she was out here?”

   “Not at all,” Flynn replied. “I guess she must have found her own trail of breadcrumbs to follow, though I suppose it doesn’t really matter at this stage.” Reaching for his control panel, he frowned, and said, “I’m still using the missing arm, damn it.”

   “It’s been, what, two days?” Volkov said. “Give it time, Jack. And you’ll have a new one in a month, with any luck.” Turning to the viewscreen, he continued, “Helm, status report?”

   “On course for the station, estimated time to docking, fifteen minutes.”

   “We’ve got incoming, just as we expected,” Flynn added, bringing up the sensor display. “Four monitors, bearing directly. Most of them seem to have concentrated on the carrier.” Tapping the controls, he added, “We’ve confused the hell out of them. I think they’re struggling to react. With a little luck, we ought to be able to make it right to the station if we can punch through that first wave.” A light winked on, and he said, “Lincoln’s fighters are on the way.”

   “It’s a mess,” Volkov said, watching the tangled trajectory tracks on the display. “They’ll rally soon enough, though. It won’t take long for them to work out what we’re planning.” Frowning, he added, “First things first. More speed, helm. Give it everything we’ve got.”

   “Way ahead of you, Major. I’ve red-lined the engines.” Shaking his head, he said, “We’re still at barely one-tenth of our usual acceleration.”

   Flynn looked at the display, watching as the rest of the fleet adopted fighter-style tactics to cover them, the other three destroyers moving into an arrowhead formation designed to pierce the enemy front lines, while the two cruisers slid smoothly into position on either side, their defensive screen deployed to give them all the cover they could.

   On paper, they had a chance.

   “One minute to firing range. Turrets armed and ready,” the helmsman reported, struggling with double duty. Half of the bridge stations were empty, their controls set to run autonomously or slaved to active consoles, their crews left behind at Zemlya. This ship was meant to hold a crew of seventy-one; only twenty-two had come along for this journey, the remainder threatened with court-martials before they would consent to miss the mission. He could understand their desires, all too well. At least there hadn’t been an attempt to force him to yield his seat, crippled or not.

   “Twenty seconds,” the helmsman said. “We’re in the middle of the defensive formation. If we get any surprises, sir, we’re dead. I can’t possibly alter course in time, not without dropping our payload.” He paused, then asked, “Do I have permission...”

   “If we don’t dock the hyperdrive core to the station, Sergeant, we’re all wasting our time,” Volkov replied. “We push on until the last possible moment.” Overhead, the rhythmic pounding of the defensive turrets began, hurling bolts of energy at the enemy in a bid to counter the firepower of the enemy ships, a wave of colored lights flashing on the screen as the two salvos slammed into each other.

   The ship dived into the fire, the force of the multiple warships keeping the enemy at a safe distance, the borderland of flame moving back and forth as the two flotillas probed at each other, rival tactical officers attempting to find a weak spot in their formation. Looking up, Flynn saw Lincoln curving away, drawing a dozen of the enemy ships clear, but the rest of the Guilder force was probing, pushing in their direction.

   They might make it in. They wouldn’t make it out. The odds against them living through the battle were lengthening almost by the second. Not that it mattered, so long as they completed the mission. Going in, they’d known the risk, had known the odds against them, and it hadn’t seemed to really matter at the time. Not with the stakes as high as they were.

   “Threat warning!” the sensor technician barked. “Multiple incoming contacts, bearing directly, intercept course!”

   Flynn looked at the targets, and asked, “What the hell are they?”

   “Don’t know. Kinetic mines, shaped charges, could be anything. Turrets, open fire when you get the range.”

   “If we do that, it’ll compromise our forward screen,” the helmsman warned.

   “Better that than let them have a clear shot with those things,” Flynn replied. “Besides, we’re almost through.”

   Komarov raced forward as fast as it could, the engines overloaded, warning alerts flickering on the screen as the helmsman struggled with the controls, struggled to keep the power feed balanced and hold the ship on her course. The rest of the formation was matching speed, only the forward sections of the arrowhead beginning to pull away, the screen growing weaker in that section. General Markova moved to the heat on herself, hoping to spare the rest of the ships under her command.

   The turrets swung around, pounding at the incoming objects, the gunners struggling to find their targets as the range decreased, bolts of energy blazing through the darkness. More than a dozen of the objects had been dropped, and one after another, the guns wiped them from existence. Only a single one remained, tumbling through space, the targeting sensors locking on with seconds to go.

   Alarms sounded as the device detonated, destroying itself in a desperate bid to wreak some damage before the device could be brought down. The helmsman grimaced as damage reports flooded into his station, and he gloomily turned to Volkov, shaking his head.

   “It’s bad, sir. We’ve lost two of the power connectors to the engines. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem, but I’m not going to be able to run the systems at overload. That’s going to make this a lot tougher.” Looking back at the viewscreen, he added, “We’ve still got twelve ships coming our way, and there’s no chance that we can reach the station before we can intercept.”

   “We’re through the first wave,” the sensor technician said. “They’re coming about, moving to join with the second. That’s going to make it even tougher, Major. I recommend we abort.”

   “That is not an option, Corporal. We all knew the risks when we began this mission.” He looked at Flynn, and asked, “What about the fighters?”

   “They’re not going to make any appreciable difference, Ivan.”

   “General Markova is on the line, Major,” the communications technician reported. “She’s requesting a status update.”

/>    “Do we have a chance of getting through, helm?” Volkov pressed.

   “There’s always a chance, Major,” the young man replied. “Though I don’t like the odds.”

   “I never did,” Volkov said. “Sergeant, inform General Markova that I intend to press the attack, but that the fleet should prepare to alter course.” Turning to Flynn, he added, “Worst case, at least we try to take out as many of the bastards as we can.”

  Chapter 21

   Forrest shook her head, watching as the damage reports from Komarov flooded into her status panel. Only one impact had found its mark, but it had been enough to cause critical damage. She looked at the sensor display, watching the battle unfold all around her, the bridge crew struggling to keep up with the constantly-changing situation. The unexpected arrival of the rest of the fleet had caught the Guilders completely by surprise, but they were rallying fast, and their commander had quickly determined the source of the real threat, throwing everything he had into the battle.

   “We’ve got a clear run to the freighters, Captain,” Fox said, looking at her station. “All the way in, with only a single escort ship. We can still cause a hell of a lot of damage.”

   “And lose the rest of the fleet doing it,” she replied, shaking her head. “Not an option.” Looking around the bridge, she said, “I want ideas, people, and I want them now. We’ve got to find a way to buy them some time.”

   Kirkland frowned, then said, “Then we attack the freighters.”

   Turning to her, Forrest replied, “Commander, I thought I made clear...”

   “If you were the Guilder commander, would you think for a moment that we’d try something as crazy as docking an untested hyperspace core with an enemy station? If I was on his bridge, I’d be calling it as a bluff, a way to draw their guardships away from the real target. So far we’ve done everything we can to draw attention to the core. If we swing around now, we might be able to get in some serious punches, and pull at least some of the enemy ships our way.”