Never In Vain (Lincoln's War Book 2)

by Richard Tongue

   “Any good news?”

   “Minimal damage to us, just a few hits on the ship’s outer areas. Could have been a hell of a lot worse, Captain.”

   “We’ve got to find out where that ship is going,” Forrest said. She leaned forward over her controls, looking at the short-range sensors. “The enemy squadron leader, the one Flynn shot down. That escape pod is still up.”

   “For the moment, skipper,” Fox replied. “It’s heading for one of the moons, about fifty thousand miles away. There’s enough of an atmosphere for it to get down safely, and I’m picking up some installations on the surface.”

   Cracking a thin smile, Forrest said, “I think we’d better make sure he never makes it to his destination. If we hustle, our shuttle might be able to snatch him out of the sky before he reaches the ground. Prioritize the recovery of Commander Flynn’s fighter. And Lieutenant Tanaka’s, as well. I think this job is perfectly aligned to their respective skill sets.” She glanced at Singh, and asked, “Something wrong?”

   “Just that I don’t want to be the one to tell Chief Wong that his pet shuttle is going into harm’s way again, Captain.”

   “These are the responsibilities of rank, Commander. Though if it is any consolation, I doubt he’ll blame you personally. Probably.”

  Chapter 11

   Flynn stepped into the cockpit, still wearing the sweat-laden flight jacket from the recent firefight, and settled into the pilot’s couch, the controls lighting up as the systems registered his presence. Beside him, Tanaka moved into position, stowing a pair of pistols in the overhead locker, while a group of armed technicians clambered into the cabin. He looked out across the hangar deck, battered, war-weary fighters sliding into position as the engineers began to prepare them for another battle, Chief Wong shaking his head in despair at every trace of battle damage.

   Benedetti’s bombers were grouped at the far side of the deck, a handful of crewmen borrowed from the crippled Santos-Dumont to begin their repairs. He looked over the scene, shaking his head as he began his pre-flight checks.

   “There was nothing else you could have done, Commander,” Tanaka said. “And right now, you’re the only pilot qualified to make this landing. Armstrong can handle everything until we get back.” He paused, then said, “If Lieutenant Mendez and the others had known they weren’t coming back, they’d have gone anyway. You knew them well enough to know that.”

   “Four dead. Five, counting Benedetti’s force. And we’ll be lucky to have enough fighters to put a single squadron up if anyone turns up within the next couple of days.”

   Tanaka turned to him, and replied, “What do you want me to tell you, sir? They needed more training, more experience, more time to get themselves ready, but we just didn’t have the time to prepare them for battle. Had we not been thrown forward in time, they’d have met the same fate. Everyone with any potential experience would have been put into the cockpit in a matter of months. Most of them were on the reserve lists anyway.”

   “I was their commanding officer, and the responsibility is mine.”

   Shaking his head, Tanaka sighed, and said, “It’s Mendez, isn’t it. That’s the one that really gets to you. Commander, I’ve seen friends die in battle, more than once. I’ve watched people killed almost by accident, by what looks like the most random possible chance. That happens in war. It was a stray proton bolt. That’s all. We take those risks every time we climb into the cockpit, and we take those risks whenever we go into battle. Not everyone gets to die in honor and glory. Sometimes you end up getting knifed in the back on a dark street corner with nobody to know or care.”

   “If that’s meant to be a comfort...”

   “It’s the cold, harsh, brutal reality of war, sir. That’s all there is to it.”

   “Lincoln Leader to Flynn,” the communicator barked.

   “Flynn here, go ahead,” he replied, leaning over the microphone.

   “You’re cleared for launch on request, Commander. Sensors show no sign of trouble in orbit, just a couple of monitoring satellites but no defense grid, and none of the PacFed fighters are on a vector to intercept. Lincoln will be following up as soon as the rest of our fighters are on board, and we’ll have a half-squadron on standby in case you need it.” There was a brief pause, and Forrest added, “We’ve been attempting to communicate with the outpost on the surface and the pod, but everyone in the system is keeping silent right now.”

   “Do we know what that outpost is, ma’am?” Tanaka asked.

   “Testing grounds for hostile-environment gear, with a military garrison to guard it. Our plot has the pod coming down maybe sixty miles from the base.” She paused, then said, “Your job is to make sure he never gets there. With a little luck, you should be able to intercept three minutes before entering the atmosphere. You only go down to the surface as a last resort.”

   “Don’t worry, Captain. You can tell Chief Wong that I’ll try and bring back his shuttle in better condition this time. Not even a scratch.”

   “I’ll pass that on. Good hunting. Out.”

   “You all set back there?” Tanaka asked, turning to the passengers, who replied in a brief flurry of affirmations. “All systems go, Commander. Clear for launch.”

   “Roger. Main engine sequence start.” He reached up, pulled a lever, then sat back as the catapult engaged, throwing the shuttle clear of the ship, the engines roaring into life as he guided the craft onto trajectory, curving towards the distant moon. Already he could make out the beacon of the escape pod, diving for safety on the surface of the desolate world. If it had to, the shuttle could take the atmosphere. If it had to. He wouldn’t want to risk it with a full load, not without launch boosters. The air on the moon was thick and viscous, a nasty, toxic mix that seemed almost designed to burn into hull metal, wrecking exterior components.

   Tanaka looked at the sensor images, and said, “I was wondering where I was going to spend my next leave. I bet they’ve got a hell of a bar, because I can’t think why anyone else would go there. I spent three months at Venus Orbital once. Just about as bad.”

   “What was the Lunar Mafia doing out there?”

   “Atmospheric flight testing. That part was fun, but that atmosphere was hell to work with. Two weeks between every run, just to deal with the damage. We never did work the kinks out of that design.” He paused, then added, “At least, we hadn’t when we left.”

   “Still catching you out?”

   “I’m trying not to think about it much. Hell, fighter pilots are usually on borrowed time, and I’ve been riding my luck for years. Sooner or later it’s going to run out. Like what happened with Mendez. If it happens, it happens. Not much else you can do about it.”

   “I guess not,” Flynn replied. He glanced at Tanaka, and continued, “I’m giving you the squadron. Promotion to full lieutenant. If that means anything under the circumstances.”

   “You sure you want to do that, given my background?”

   “I figure if one of your syndicate friends turns up after all this time, you’ll at least be good enough to give me some advance warning.” He smiled, then added, “The squadron’s loaded with rookies, and that’s only going to change the hard way. I need you to keep the death toll down as much as you can. Those kids have got to learn how to fight without dying in the process.”

   “That’s quite a tall order.”

   “You’ve got the experience to do it. More than I do.” Cracking a smile, he added, “And if I end up flying west, all of it will be your problem anyway.”

   Glancing nervously at Flynn, Tanaka replied, “You realize that means I’m going to be spending my war watching your back, right? The last thing I want is to get stuck with this mess.”

   Frowning, Flynn said, “If you really don’t want the job...”

   “No, no, I suppose there isn’t much choice, is there. It’s just not quite what I expected. Frankly, when I told you
my background, I figured I’d be on a fast ride to the brig. Not commissioned and promoted.” He reached for the sensor controls, making a quick series of adjustments to bring the escape pod into sharp resolution, and added, “They’re not bad. Some of them have real talent. God knows why flight school failed Estrada.”

   “He went AWOL. For two weeks. Something about his girlfriend. I don’t know the details, but it washed him out fast and hard. Price failed a medical, eyesight.”

   “You’re kidding, right? That’s correctable with….”

   “When you’ve got twenty applicants for every place, you tend to pick the best, and start looking for excuses to thin out the herd. I don’t necessarily agree with it, but I do understand it.” Gesturing at the sensor display, he added, “Our friend’s realized we’re coming after him. Course change.”

   “Odd one, though. He’s going shallow. That’s not smart. Assuming he breaks through the atmosphere without burning up, that’ll put him even further from the base.” Tanaka paused, then said, “This is a senior PacFed officer, and whatever else they might be, they aren’t stupid. We can assume that he knows what he is doing.”

   “Then he’s going down precisely where he wants to go.” Flynn glanced at Tanaka, and said, “A shuttle. Hiding in the atmosphere, ready for a high-acceleration burn to snatch him on a suborbital trajectory. Once he’s down in that soup, they can go where the hell they want. We won’t have the fuel to hop around the surface after them, and they know it.” Gesturing to the rear, he said, “Go warm up the turret. Doctor Flynn prescribes a heavy dose of protons for our current ailment.”

   “Love your diagnosis, Doc,” Tanaka said, throwing off his suit restraints and ambling back into the passenger cabin, weaving between the technicians nervously waiting for the action to worsen. Captain Forrest had provided Flynn with a collection of extra-vehicular specialists, hackers, and anyone who’d had the misfortune to score high on the firing range. The closest thing Old Abe had to a marine strike team, though that was gracing them with rather more credit than the rag-tag assemblage deserved. Most of them had fought in the recent battle, either as part of the turret crews or in the damage control teams.

   They were good spacers, but they weren’t soldiers, and if he could pull off the intercept, it would stay that way. He looked down at his trajectory plot again, still racing directly for the escape pod. He tried to work out where the enemy shuttle might rise, but there were too many options on the table, too many places the pilot might be hiding, biding his time before racing for orbit to recover the pod.

   It would be close, he knew that. Close in to the atmosphere, at the last moment. It would burn more fuel, but give maximum cover, and by now, the enemy must know that the shuttle was armed. He frowned, turned back to the cabin again, and scanned faces for someone familiar.

   “Hey, Lopez,” he said, finding the hacker loitering at the back. “Get up here on the double. I need you to run e-war for me.”

   “Those pods don’t have anything much to crack,” she replied.

   “Sure they do,” Flynn said, as the hacker reluctantly climbed into the co-pilot’s seat. “At least, that one does. I need you to shut down the distress beacon.”

   Her eyes widened, and she replied, “That’s the core of the hardware, Commander. Triple-redundant. I’m not sure it’s possible to...”

   “Find a way,” he said. “Just shut it down. There’s someone lurking down there who must be using that beacon to fix contact.”

   “So?” she asked. “Lieutenant Tanaka’s got the turret warmed up, and...”

   “If we’ve got guns, what makes you think they haven’t?”

   “On it, sir,” she replied, fingers dancing over the controls as she attempted to handshake the enemy network. Flynn looked ahead at the planet, growing closer on the screen by the moment, setting a bank of sensors to gather all the data he could find on the atmosphere below. They were less than four minutes from intercept, and if an enemy vehicle was going to strike, it would be.

   The time came, and went, without incident, and for a few seconds, Flynn thought that he might have got away with it, that the enemy force he had feared might not be present after all. Then cold realization hit him. If the vessel below them was armed, then he wouldn’t necessarily be attempting to rescue the enemy pilot at all. Just kill him, and take Flynn and his people down at the same time.

   His instinct was to gain speed, to race away from the vehicle below, but he knew that would be a potentially fatal mistake. They had to make contact with the enemy escape pod, or all of this was for nothing. From the co-pilot’s console, Lopez smiled, throwing him a thumbs’ up gesture to tell him that she’d accomplished the impossible in a little over a minute. The escape pod’s communications beacon was gone, and from now on, both sides would be reliant on their sensors.

   “Forty seconds,” he said. “Someone back there, get onto the docking hatch! I want a clean contact and lockdown as soon as we make contact. And keep it sealed. We can handle the prisoner when we get back to the ship.”

   His hands danced over the controls, fine-tuning his course, gently moving to make contact with the pod. Finally, anti-climatically, he locked onto the tiny escape craft, the shuttle’s docking clamps grabbing the vehicle tight to its side, rendering it unable to flee. Flynn immediately changed course, sending the shuttle veering off, just as a new contact appeared on the sensors.

   “Threat warning!” Lopez reported. “Shuttle, looks like Sierra-type according to the Zemlyan database, rising from the clouds on intercept course.” Shaking her head as she scanned the specifications, she added, “Some shuttle. Looks more like a heavy fighter. Significant nose armament and armor. Our cannons should be able to take it down, but the damn thing is agile as hell. It won’t die easy, sir.”

   “Neither will we,” Flynn said. He looked at the trajectory track, unable to stop himself from nodding in approval. The enemy pilot had set up his attack pattern with perfection, giving himself plenty of time and space to work with, able to strike on a variety of vectors as Flynn’s shuttle sped to safety. He’d covered all the options, save one. Flynn altered his trajectory, diving into the atmosphere.

   “Commander, what...”

   “We’re going for a skip,” he replied, cutting off the hacker’s protest. “If I get this right, then we’ll be heading out on an unpredictable trajectory, and that bastard won’t be able to stop us. He’s burned a lot more fuel than we have, and that’s going to hurt him when we escape.” He paused, turned to the rear, and said, “Lieutenant, I changed my mind. Crack that pod open and get the prisoner out. Make sure he doesn’t get a chance to die a hero.”

   “Already on it, sir,” Tanaka replied. “I cranked down the internal pressure to forty thousand feet equivalent. He’s having nap time now.” Working the door, he whistled, and said, “PacFed, sir, a full Captain by the look of it, and well-decorated. I think we found what we were looking for.”

   “Let’s hope he’s in a mood to talk. Set the pod to jettison once we get deep into the atmosphere. That ought to throw the calculations of our friend up there off a little.”

   Flynn turned back to his controls, hands resting on the thrusters as he set up the shuttle for the dive. His opponent was curving slowly around, likely suspecting that he was playing some soft of a feint, trying to throw him off. By now, that was out of the question. Flynn was deep in the dead man’s curve, too low to pull out of the dive without fancy flying.

   The sensors streamed atmospheric data onto the screen, text flickering into view for barely long enough for the pilot to register it before it vanished again. He’d done this maneuver before, but it was going to be touch with the dead weight of the pod dragging him to the side, forcing him to heavily burn his thrusters to compensate.

   A warning light winked on as the shuttle slammed into the upper atmosphere, flames licking on the sides of his heat shield. Finally, the pod flew away, heading t
o a fiery death on its way down to the surface, and suddenly he had far more control, was able to pull neatly out of the dive and throw his throttle full open to race to safety. His course plot spiraled away, off into endless space, but that didn’t matter. Either he’d find a way to make it back to Lincoln, or they’d send a tanker once they were clear.

   He gently guided the shuttle through the curve, glancing out of the viewscreen at the desolate wasteland below, flashes of brown dirt and black oil beneath, a treacherous wasteland not meant for human habitation. Warning lights danced across his systems monitor as the corrosive effect of the atmosphere began to take a toll, but with a last, desperate surge, he pulled clear, the engines roaring in relief as they broke back into orbit, on a trajectory spiraling out of the ecliptic, impossible for the enemy ship to intercept.

   “Not bad,” Lopez said. “Not bad at all. As far as I can see, Commander, you’ve just got one problem.”

   “And what is that, Specialist?”

   “When we get home, the Chief’s going to kill you.”

  Chapter 12

   Forrest walked down the corridor, Singh by her side, scanning through a list of damage reports. Lincoln herself was almost intact, would be back to full combat readiness in a matter of hours, and while Komarov had suffered somewhat more damage, Major Volkov was convinced that she would be prepared for another battle in a similar amount of time. The Zemlyan destroyers were tough, built to take excessive damage, and that was showing its worth today.

   That was where the good news ended. Titov had been hit in the hyperdrive, a lucky shot by the enemy that was stranding her in-system until replacement components could be brought forward, and Santos-Dumont was in such perilous condition that Commander Garcia was uncertain that she could complete the passage to Lemuria in one piece. The fighters had been mauled just as badly, hardly a single one returning unscathed from battle, Chief Wong’s crews working at full stretch in a bid to restore at least a full squadron to combat effectiveness. That the Lemurian fighters were stranded on Lincoln was not helping matters, though they at least were able to manage a semi-effective orbital patrol.