Shall Not Perish (Lincoln's War Book 1)

by Richard Tongue

   “Have you had a chance to properly explore it?”

   Frowning, Kuznetzov replied, “Not really. I’ve been sleeping down there, but aside from checking out the upper levels, I never went deep. Like I said, the air’s pretty stale, and the further you get from the base, the worse it gets. And there’s security seals that I couldn’t access.” He looked at Romano again, and asked, “Are you seriously telling me that you are an officer in the United States Space Force?”

   “I am.”

   “You realize that there hasn’t been a United States Space Force for hundreds of years, right?”

   “You’re wrong about that. We’re still in business. Or perhaps, better to say that we’re back in business. And if we’re sitting on top of an American military installation, then I think I’ve got a perfect right to go rummaging through the stores and see if there’s anything useful I might be able to dig out, don’t you?”

   “Assuming I believe any of this, and I’m not sure that I do, are you really telling me that some of the equipment down there might still be combat-capable after all this time?”

   “I’m telling you that there’s only one way we’re going to find out, and unless you’ve got some better suggestions, I suggest you lead the way. If my people are planning a rescue mission, I am not sitting back and waiting for it to happen, not when there might be an arsenal at our fingertips!”

  Chapter 15

   “Survey complete, ma’am,” Moran reported looking up from his station. “We now have complete coverage of the entire planetary system. I can verify positively that there is no trace of any other starship on any of the moons of Enkidu.” Gesturing at a panel, she added, “The probes were launched by what appears to be an unmanned monitoring platform on the fifth moon.”

   “Looks like a transmitter array,” Forrest said, squinting at the blurry image.

   “Almost certainly to a relay satellite somewhere a few million miles away,” Volkova replied. “You’ll never find it. It’ll be rigged to stay dormant until an enemy ship arrives.” She frowned, then added, “They were here. Two Guild monitors. And it seems strange for them to have left the system unguarded.” Turning to the sensor technician, she asked, “Is there any chance that they could have entered hyperspace without your ship picking it up?”

   “No, ma’am,” Moran said. “We haven’t sustained anything like that much damage. A capital ship attempting dimensional transition would have lit up halfway across the system.”

   Kirkland looked at Forrest, then said, “We have yet to receive confirmation that they were ever here, Captain. There’s a small debris field, but that could easily be faked.”

   “Commander, almost forty of my friends died,” Volkova said.

   “Lieutenant,” Singh softly replied, “Try and look at it from our perspective. We’re starving for intelligence, and without any enemy ships in system to provide any corroboration...”

   “They’re hiding,” Forrest said.

   “Where?”

   “Somewhere in the deep system, where we couldn’t easily detect them.” Gesturing at the long-range display, she added, “Look at that gas giant. A couple of hundred moons out there, and half a billion miles away. The flap of a gnat’s wing for a hyperdrive-capable ship, but we’d never spot them. They sent two ships to destroy one. Lieutenant, what sort of margin did that give them, tactically? Weapons and armor?”

   “Two to one. They don’t like a fair fight.”

   “Neither do I,” Forrest replied. “I’m perfectly content to overwhelm my enemies with maximum force, thank you. They won’t send two ships to deal with two, and they won’t leave them in a position where they might be detected when your reinforcements enter the system.” Frowning, she continued, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but your battle plan called for Gagarin to clear out the orbital monitoring stations and deal with the anticipated garrison, with your other two ships guarding the rescue transport.”

   “That’s right.” With a rueful glare, she said, “They were waiting for us. We never had a chance.”

   “I’d have some strong words with your counterintelligence people,” Kirkland said.

   “Spot on, Commander. The Zemlyan plan was to strike a significant blow against the Guild, something to rally their people here and the governments of other quasi-neutral planets. What if the Guild decided to turn that around, use the opportunity to knock out a significant portion of your space fleet as well as demoralize your people to the point that they’d surrender.”

   Nodding, Singh said, “They’d need contacts in your fleet headquarters, naturally, but you said yourself that there were forces on Zemlya friendly to the Guild. There’s always someone willing to betray his people in exchange for a promotion under a new government. Or a fortune, and a new life somewhere else.”

   Volkova sat down in the nearest chair, her shoulders slumped, and said, “You’re right.”

   “I hope so, because if I am, we can turn this whole party around with a single firefight,” Forrest said with a smile. “Think about it, Lieutenant. No matter how good their intelligence might have been, they won’t be expecting Lincoln. If we have the same information you do, we can put our own forces into the line right beside yours, knock out the Guild strike force and give your people exactly the shot in the arm they need.”

   “Our timing will have to be absolutely precise,” Singh warned. “They’ll be coming in overwhelming force, and our strike wing isn’t anything like as strong as it should be. I’ve been watching them training for the last four hours, and they’re struggling.” Turning to Volkova, he asked, “You’re sure we’re not facing any small-ship opposition?”

   “The Guild focuses on larger ships. Mostly converted merchantmen, but they’ve got a lot of them. Dozens, maybe hundreds. We’ve never managed to get a good estimate.” She looked up at the clock, and added, “If you’re right, then they’ll attack as soon as our forces arrive. They’re due in nine hours, twelve minutes and four seconds.”

   “And you’ve got no way of contacting them, warning them off,” Kirkland said, shaking her head. “You committed to this battle plan with no realistic abort profile?”

   “We didn’t have a choice,” Volkova said. “Look, Commander, our ships are well behind the curve compared to yours, but simply putting together any sort of fleet at all in the circumstances was a miracle that cost us dearly. Give us fifty years, and we’ll be ahead of where you are now, and...”

   “Lieutenant,” Forrest said, softly. “I think that’s enough.” She took a deep breath, and said, “Commander, inform all department heads that we will be going to battle stations in nine hours from now. That’ll give us enough time to get everything ready without running the risk of losing our edge.” She looked around the bridge, noting the familiar faces at the controls, and said, “Everyone here goes down to their quarters for at least six hours’ sleep between now and then. We’ve all been working at full stretch for more than a day, and I don’t want my crew nodding off at their stations during the battle.”

   “We’ve still got a hell of a lot of repair work to complete, Captain,” Kirkland protested.

   “You go into battle with the ship you have, Commander, not the one you want.” Turning to Volkova, she added, “I’ve had Commander Gonzales assign you a cabin for the present. That order applies to you was well. I want everyone fresh for the fight.”

   “Does that include you, skipper?” Singh asked, a twinkle in his eye.

   “It does indeed, Commander.” Looking around, she said, “Kirkland, you have the deck.”

   “Yes, ma’am,” she replied with a smile. “I have the deck.” Forrest walked over to the elevator, the doors sliding over to admit her, and punched for her quarters. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, her reverie disrupted after a bare second by the chime of her communicator.

   “Brooks to Captain,” the tinny voice said. “Are you alone, Captain?”
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   “I am,” she said, holding the elevator with the tap of a control. “What’s wrong, Lieutenant?”

   “I’m in Airlock Five, ma’am. You’d better get down here right away. I don’t think it’s wise to put this over the circuit.”

   “On my way,” she said, changing her destination, waiting impatiently for the elevator to carry her through the decks. The doors finally slid open, and she stepped out to see Doctor Holland walking out of the airlock, a dour expression on his face, and a weeping technician sitting by the wall, Brooks attempting to comfort him.

   “What happened?” she asked.

   “Spaceman Brewer was conducting a check of the airlocks on this deck, but it turned out that one of them was occupied. Lieutenant Todd. He’s dead, Captain,” Brooks said. Gesturing at the controls, he said, “Apparently he managed to hack into the control circuits, purged all of the oxygen out of the room whilst leaving the pressure circuit intact. It would have been painless and quick.”

   “Was there a note?” Forrest asked.

   “If there was, I couldn’t find it,” Brooks replied. “I’ve got a team working their way through the software, making sure nobody can pull this particular trick again, but I don’t think that’ll help in the long term. It’s a big ship, and there are a lot of ways for people to kill themselves if they really want to.” He looked at the body bag sprawled in the airlock, and said, “He was getting married when we got back to Earth. I was going to the wedding. I guess he decided he didn’t want to start over.” With a deep sigh, he said, “I’ll take his body down to the morgue.”

   “Doctor,” Forrest asked, “How bad is this, ship wide?”

   “This is the first actual attempt, but I don’t think that’ll keep for long. I’ve been handing out antidepressants and tranquilizers like candy on Halloween. Enough that I’m beginning to get concerned about the supplies, but we’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. Hopefully our Zemlyan friends will have something we can use.”

   “Doctor, I don’t need a tranquilized crew...”

   “Everything has been taken away from them, Captain. Everything. They’ve lost their home, their families, their country. Now some people can cope with that. Hell, there are people who might actually relish a chance to start over. They’re not the ones I’m worried about. But there are a hell of a lot of kids like Randy out there, not knowing what to do next.” Looking down at the deck, he said, “And damn it, Captain, I don’t know what to do about it. We’re hanging on by our fingernails, and we’re slipping.”

   “How long have you been awake, Doc?” she asked.

   “That’s got nothing to do with it,” he replied.

   “Answer the question.”

   “Thirty-six hours, maybe, but...”

   “Then you will either go to your quarters and sleep for at least six hours voluntarily, or I will place you under arrest and instruct one of the paramedics to give you a sedative. Your call.”

   “Physician, heal thyself, huh,” he replied. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just...” He sighed, then said, “I’ve zipped up a lot of body bags today, Captain, and I suspect I’ll be zipping up a lot more of them tomorrow.”

   “Felix, that goes for you too.” She raised her hand to forestall his protest, and added, “Stop by Sickbay and take a sedative first. I think you’re going to need it.” She looked at the weeping Brewer, and said, “I’ll handle him.” She moved over to the weeping technician, sitting down next to him, and asked, “How old are you, Spaceman?”

   “Twenty, ma’am.”

   “Damn, you’re just a kid,” she said.

   “He looked so damn peaceful lying there, ma’am. Like he didn’t have any care left. There was this little smile on his face.” He looked him at her, rubbing at his eyes, and said, “It looked so easy, Captain.”

   “Don’t think that way,” she replied. “Don’t ever think that way. He had a smile on his face because oxygen starvation provides a feeling of euphoria, an exhilaration you can’t quite get past. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. When I was about your age, back at the Academy, I got caught in a malfunctioning spacesuit. They only just got me back to the airlock in time, and though I can’t remember all of it, I know that it was one of the greatest highs I ever had.”

   He looked up at her, and asked, “One of them?”

   “I don’t think we need to talk about your commanding officer’s sordid past in too much detail, Spaceman.” She forced a smile, and said, “Just that you know that I put on my pants one leg at a time as well, and I know what you must be going through. All too well. Did you have someone back home?”

   “No,” he said. “Nothing serious. I was going to put in my six years, then go to college.”

   “Studying what?”

   “History,” he replied. “I wanted to be a teacher. My folks didn’t have much. Resettled from Florida after the Super-Hurricanes hit, when I was two. I figured this way I’d get to serve my country and do what I wanted to do.” The tears flowed again, and he said, “They’re dead. They’re all dead. And...”

   “Hey, look,” she said. “Yes, they’re dead. But they were always going to die before you. This way, they knew that you were a hero. Now tell me. If they were here, right now, would they tell you to weep and cry about their loss, or would they want you to stand tall and keep going, build that better life for yourself. That dream of yours can still come true, you know. I’m sure Zemlya needs schoolteachers, and I can’t think of anyone better qualified to teach history than you are. One way or another, we’ll see you get to where you wanted to go. That’s a promise, Spaceman.”

   “Thank you, Captain,” he said, wiping his eyes. “It hurts, though.”

   “And it will, for a long time. I lost both my folks a while back. I still think about them sometimes, but I know that they would be proud of me. Proud of what I did. And I’m sure that your parents would feel the same way about you, and I think if you look deep down inside, you know that just as well as I do, right?” He nodded, and she said, “How long have you been in the service?”

   “Eighteen months.”

   “As soon as the dust settles out here, we’ll be going to Zemlya, and I see if we can sort you out with some sort of distance learning program to help you get those teaching credentials a little ahead of time.”

   “Lieutenant Romano had already...” he paused, then said, “I guess I wasted my time with those forms, didn’t I.”

   “He’d got you started?” she said. “Well, I’m sure he’ll help you again when he gets back, and I’ll personally sort you out with something. You’ll get that dream, kid. My word on that.” She held out her hand, and he shook it, a smile finally returning to his face.

   “Thank you, Captain.”

   “My pleasure. Now go hit your rack for a bit. I want you fresh for the fight.”

   “Yes, ma’am,” he said, rising to his feet as a pair of orderlies walked down the corridor with a stretcher, ready to collect Todd’s body. As Brewer walked away, she made her way over to Todd, looking down at the corpse of a once promising officer and shaking her head.

   “Damn, Randy. Why didn’t you come and talk to me. What did you have to do that for, boy?” She sighed, looked at the orderly, and said, “Tell whoever fills out the autopsy report to make it clear that it was a heart attack, right?”

   “Ma’am, I don’t...”

   “Something an old doctor once told me. Ultimately, any death can be described as the heart coming to a stop. So you make sure that goes down on the file. Got that?”

   “Yes, ma’am,” the confused orderly said, as Forrest headed towards her quarters, stepping quickly towards the elevator. The doors slid shut just in time, as she crumpled to the floor.

   Ordinary crewmen can cry in public, but a Captain cannot.

  Chapter 16

   There was a knock on the door, and Flynn looked up from his rep
orts, stifling a yawn as McBride walked in, a pair of bottles in one hand and a paper bag in the other. He unloaded his cargo onto the desk, and took the seat facing Flynn unheeded, kicking the door closed behind him.

   “I figured you’d be burying yourself in paperwork, and that’s a lousy way to spend the last couple of hours of your life.” Gesturing at the bottles, he said, “Latest offering from the Great Copper God down in Waste Reclamation. The boys down there do pretty good ‘shine.”

   “Getting drunk’s a good way of making sure you don’t come back from a mission.”

   “Which is why I borrowed a packet of Quicksober from Sickbay.” He opened the bag, pulling out a pair of plastic containers, and said, “You’ve got to get to know our resident chef. In civilian life, he ran a Chinese restaurant with his folks, so order that stuff first and last. It’s about the only thing he knows how to cook. Sooner or later I reckon the Skipper will just let him run it the way he knows.”

   Taking a sniff, Flynn peered at his container, and said, “This doesn’t look that bad.”

   “Told you.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a plastic packet, tossing them onto the deck. “Chopsticks. Good old Camporelli insists.” Cracking open his container, he reached in for some noodles, and said, “Skipper’s smart enough to realize that the Chiefs run the ship. Lots of commanders never quite get that part.”

   Twisting open the bottle, Flynn risked a quick drink, and said, “This tastes like cough medicine.” He gagged, and said, “Bad cough medicine.”

   “You know what they say. If it tastes lousy, it’s probably doing you good. Drink up.” He looked up at the operations chart, and said, “Mendez is commanding the squadron?”

   “With Tanaka as number-two. I’m really hoping that they’re only going to be making a strafing pass on the enemy ships, but I have a sneaky suspicion that we won’t get that kind of luck. We’re only launching ten anyway. No time to get the rest ready for flight, and I’m not going to have another Romano if I can help it. It’s risky enough out there with a ship in good condition, without having to worry about it falling apart all around you.”