Shall Not Perish (Lincoln's War Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  SHALL NOT PERISH

  Lincoln’s War: Book I

  Richard Tongue

  Lincoln’s War 1: Shall Not Perish

  Copyright © 2018 by Richard Tongue, All Rights Reserved

  First Kindle Edition: February 2018

  Cover By Keith Draws

  With thanks to Ellen Clarke and Rene Douville

  All characters and events portrayed within this ebook are fictitious; any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

   Captain Catherine Forrest climbed out of her bunk, rubbing her eyes in a desperate attempt to wipe the drowsiness away, and looked up at her clock, cursing under her breath. Oh-Four Hundred. She reached across to her alarm, slapping the control to silence the shrill whistle that had roused her from sleep, then tapped a communications control.

   “Engineering,” a tinny voice said. “Commander Gorgas here.”

   “Commander, this is the Captain,” Forrest said. “The alarm went off early again. I thought your boys had fixed it after last time.”

   “Christ,” the engineer replied. “I’ll come up and do it myself as soon as I can break free down here, Skipper. And I’ll make it clear to the idiot I sent last time that he’d better improve his ideas, or I’ll keelhaul the moron.”

   “Can you do that on a starship?” Forrest asked, a smile curling on her face. “Just see that it’s fixed, John. Or have the damn thing ripped out, and I’ll buy a five-newbuck alarm clock on my next furlough.” She paused, and asked, “How are things down there tonight?”

   “Same as ever, ma’am. Behind the maintenance curve and fighting to catch up. You think we might be able to scrounge some more snipes from the base? The more help we can get to bring this old girl up to speed, the better.”

   “I’ll ask again, but we both know what the answer will be.” Looking up at the clock again, Forrest continued, “Anyway, this old girl needs to catch up on her beauty sleep. Later, Commander.”

   “Yes, ma’am,” Gorgas said, the channel cracking off. Forrest looked up at the battered clock again, watching the second-hand slowly tick away, and finally decided against attempting to steal back her lost hour of sleep, climbing out of bed with an effort and walking over to her wardrobe, pulling out her uniform and slowly getting dressed. Belatedly, her monitoring system realized that she’d woken up, and coffee began to pour into a mug, steam rising from the surface as she took a sip, gagging at the fowl taste. With a sigh, she reached for a half-empty jar of cocoa, dumping two heaped spoonfuls into the mix and stirring it vigorously to remove the granules. An improvement, though a small one.

   Walking over to the monitor screen, she tapped for the latest set of reports, sighed when the system failed to respond, then tapped again, the display belatedly bursting into life. Everything was just about as Gorgas had reported. Not enough engineers, not enough equipment. And an old ship, long past her best. Thirty years ago, when she’d been a hot-shot cadet right out of flight school, USS Abraham Lincoln had been the flagship of the United States Space Force, the pride of the fleet.

   Thirty years. Where had they gone?

   Her first tour had been enough of a success to send her hurtling onto the fast track. Somehow, somewhere, it went off the rails. And now she was back on Lincoln, her commanding officer this time, but along the way a generation of new carriers had pushed her to the sidelines. She wasn’t even rated as a carrier any more, relegated along with her sisters to ‘fighter transport’ during the last set of cutbacks.

   That might change, all too soon. She looked over the latest reports from Earth, briefings about the current diplomatic situation. The Pacific Federation was preparing for something, that much was certain. Most of the pundits seemed to be suggesting a proxy war between some of the outer colonies, two of the smaller nations fighting it out on the frontier. The Russian Remnant, maybe, or the Brazilian Union. That would be Old Abe's war, even if their involvement would be limited to that of a glorified freighter.

   She looked out of her viewport at the station beyond. New Dover, one of the three starports that formed the basis of the great defensive perimeter of United States Trust Territory, with Third Fleet at anchor, ready for the latest round of Fleet exercises. For the first time, Lincoln would play no part, though she’d been ferrying fighters and ordnance across space for months as part of the preparations. She was sitting this fight out, her crew looking forward to some much-needed shore leave after their final cargo run. Though secretly, Forrest knew that they’d all prefer to be taking part in the battle. One more chance to demonstrate just what this ship was still capable of.

   Tugging on her jacket, she stepped out into the corridor where a pair of technicians were working on the overhead cables, the ceiling lights flickering on and off as they manipulated the controls. Lincoln was still well within her designed lifespan, but her age was beginning to tell. Technically, a full overhaul at a shipyard would restore her back to full operational readiness, but the odds of them getting that much shipyard time were remote at best. Not with the new carriers coming into service, all of them suffering the usual nagging problems of recently commissioned vessels. Lincoln would still show them up in a firefight. That much, she could guarantee.

   Stepping into the waiting elevator, she saw a figure racing down the corridor towards her, jacket in hand, and she held her hand in front of the doors for long enough to allow Commander Vikram Singh, her Executive Officer, a chance to make his way inside.

   “You too, skipper?” he asked.

   Frowning, she replied, “Your alarm go off early?”

   “About five minutes ago. Along with twelve others, all senior officers and top enlisted. There’s got to be something wrong with the network. I’ve got Commander Gorgas working on it.” The elevator jerked into life, sending them up to the bridge. “I don’t like the implications, though. I’m hoping this is one of the tech gang playing a practical joke.”

   “It’s not the first time we’ve experienced a systems glitch,” Forrest replied. “Though I agree with you. I want a full inspection of the critical code, right away. And you’d better inform the spooks over on the station, as well. See if they’ve had any problems.”

   “Already done, Captain,” he said with a smile.

   “Damn, Vik. You want my job?” The pained expression on his face made her instantly regret her words, and she added, “Sorry. I didn’t think.”

   Raising a hand, he replied, “Don’t worry about it, Skipper. It doesn’t bother me. Not any more. Six months from now I get my pension, and then I’m out the door.”

   “I’ll hate to lose you.”

   “You didn’t lose me. They did.”

   They continued the ride in silence, Forrest glancing at Singh before turning to the wall monitor, using the systems reports as a distraction. Commander Singh’s career rise had been meteoric, all the way to t
he command of a destroyer, seven years ago. Lost in a skirmish with the East African Federation, a brief firefight that had been the responsibility of the flotilla commander. One who had the luck to die in the battle, leaving Singh as the senior officer alive. Nobody blamed him. Not officially. But he’d spent five years going from one dead-end assignment to the next, until Forrest had managed to pull some strings to get him aboard Lincoln as Executive Officer. And even now, he was still paying for the sins of his superiors.

   The doors slid open, and she walked onto the bridge. Lieutenant Fox, the Astrogator, rising from the command chair as she entered, standing to attention and snapping a parade-ground salute. She was new to the ship, had yet to pick up the malaise of the rest of the crew, and Forrest struggled to suppress a smile as she returned the salute.

   “Good morning, Captain, Commander,” Fox said. She looked up at the clock, and said, “Has something happened, ma’am? I wasn’t expecting...”

   “Possible malfunction with the administrative network,” Forrest replied. “Which is a complicated way of saying that the computer decided that the senior staff needed to be up early this morning.” Turning to Singh, she said, “Commander, take charge of the investigation. I’d like something definitive before oh-eight-hundred. If you need to bring some of the New Dover spooks on board, do it. And if anyone complains about priorities, refer them to me.”

   Fox frowned, and said, “If someone is playing games with the administrative network...” She paused, then said, “Could it be part of the exercises, ma’am? I know they played a similar trick on Saratoga last year. Set off every smoke alarm through a hole in the firewall.”

   “We’re not a part of the exercises, Lieutenant,” Singh replied, moving to the flight engineering station, the duty technician moving aside to allow him to sit.

   “No, sir, I know, but someone might be testing a trick out on our software. We’ve had the same systems updates as everyone else, but our hardware’s older, our firewall weaker.”

   “If someone has decided to play that sort of a trick with us,” Forrest said, her eyes narrowing, “I will personally see that he ends up walking home. And if it’s one of our people playing a game,” she continued, looking around the bridge, aware that her words would be passed throughout the ship in a matter of minutes, “then I had better get a damned good explanation in short order, or the responsible crewman will spend the rest of their career shoveling ice on Hyperborea!”

   Turning from his station, the night-shift sensor technician, a young rating named Clayton, said, “Captain, when we had the last batch of updates to the administrative systems, they gave us new software for the long-range sensors as well.”

   Forrest turned to the young man, and said, “Are you suggesting that...”

   “I don’t know, ma’am. They did make the systems more efficient, but we’re totally dependent on our instruments in here. It’s not as if we can look out of the window, skipper.”

   “Hang onto that paranoia, Specialist,” Singh said. “It’ll serve you in good stead.”

   “How long to restore to the previous updates?” Forrest asked.

   “Maybe five minutes, Captain.”

   “Then do it.” Reaching for a headset, she slid it into position, and said, “This is the Captain. General Quarters. All hands, General Quarters. That is all.”

   As the alarm sounded, Fox asked, “Do you think it could be that serious, ma’am?”

   “I haven’t done any serious hacking since I was a kid, Lieutenant, but I still remember the basics. One of which is that altering deep programming can have unexpected repercussions.”

   “Like setting off every alarm on the command network?” Singh asked.

   Walking over to the communications station, she looked down at the nervous rating, and said, “Get me Admiral Hancock, right away.”

   The technician’s eyes widened, and she said, “He’ll be asleep, ma’am.”

   “Well, they’ll just have to wake him up, won’t they, Specialist.”

   Singh walked over to Forrest, and quietly warned, “If this turns out to be a false alarm, you might be the one shoveling ice on Hyperborea, Captain.”

   “And if it isn’t?” Gesturing at the console, she said, “Get me something definitive, Commander.” Turning to Fox, she added, “Inform all hands to be alert for potential sabotage, and have sidearms issued to all personnel.”

   “Right away, ma’am,” Fox said, moving to a wall monitor, plugging her headset into the system. The elevator door slid open, and a trio of technicians raced onto the bridge, moving to fill vacant positions, as status lights slowly flicked from green to red on the master status panel, the ship scrambling to the alert.

   It could still be nothing. A hacker’s trick. Someone playing a game with the systems. Or it could be something else, and more than a third of the United States Space Fleet was out here, at anchor, their crews enjoying a last spell of leave before the exercises began. Wait for even a day, and they’d be at full war readiness, a condition that would last for a couple of months. She looked at the carriers, long, slender shapes moored at the orbital starport. All too vulnerable, if caught at anchor.

   “I have Captain Murdoch for you, ma’am,” the rating said, white faced.

   Muttering under her breath, Forrest switched her headset to the exterior communications channel, and said, “I wanted the Admiral, Murdoch.”

   “If you think that I’m going to wake him up just because one of the oldest ships in the Fleet is having some minor system malfunctions, you’ve got another think coming!” the Admiral’s aide replied. “Do you realize...”

   “Do you realize, Captain, that this could be the precursor to an attack? Have you been reading the political updates from home, lately? PacFed is building up to something, and this is a perfect time and place for a strike.”

   “Are you out of your mind?” Murdoch replied. “We outgun them two to one, and they know it. And that doesn’t count our allies. The consensus on the staff is that they’re preparing for another proxy war. That’s why we moved the exercises up, to make sure we were ready. All our sensor systems are working fine, and there’s no trace of any intruders in the system.”

   “And if they’ve been tricked?”

   “We have the finest systems-security team in the Fleet. I’m confident that there is nothing they can have missed, though if you insist, I will personally check with them again in the morning. Now, is there anything else?”

   “I must formally recommend, Captain, that you bring Third Fleet to Action Stations at once. In the event of further sabotage...”

   “You have no evidence of anything yet, and I will not wake up the entire fleet two hours early because of the paranoid delusions of a passed-over officer on a half-ruined transport! Good night, Captain.” The channel snapped off, and Forrest took an involuntary step backwards, her face flushed with rage, Singh putting a calming hand on her shoulder.

   “Easy, skipper. We’re all with you over here, at any rate.”

   “The damned fool,” she spat.

   “It’s all on the record, ma’am,” Fox said.

   “That’s no great comfort, Lieutenant.” Turning to the sensor technician, she asked, “How long, Clayton?”

   “Just a minute, skipper. I’m having trouble loading the old interface.” He grimaced, and added, “I’m going to have to take us out of the Fleet Tac-Net, as well. Not compatible.”

   “It’s not doing us any good at the moment, Specialist. Go right ahead. Then run a full-sky scan at maximum sensor resolution as soon as you can. If there’s anything out there that isn’t supposed to be, I need to know about it at once.”

   Looking across from her station, Fox said, “All decks are cleared for action, Captain.”

   “Too slow,” Forrest said, shaking her head. “Too damned slow. That took almost five minutes. They ought to be doing it in three.” Turning to Sing
h, she added, “Once this is over, I expect you to beat some heads together in the wardroom.”

   “My pleasure, ma’am,” he said with a smile. He frowned, then said, “I have Specialist Lopez for you, Captain. Private channel.”

   Nodding, Forrest said, “Put her through. And if this is an admission of guilt, I want the brig nice and cold for her.”

   “Ma’am?” a nervous voice replied. “Lopez here, Captain. I’ve talked to everyone down here in the Pit, and none of us are involved in any games with the command network. We’ve gone over everything we’ve done in the last week, and we can’t find any sign that we might have interfered with the alarm systems in any way.”

   “I’m guessing that’s an admission that you’ve been poking around into parts of the ship’s network that are meant to be restricted, Specialist.”

   There was a pause, and Lopez replied, “We’d never do anything that might affect the safety of the ship, Captain. You’ve got to believe me.”

   “We’ll talk about an appropriate punishment later, Lopez. At the very least, I wouldn’t count on enjoying shore leave for a while.” She looked at Singh, then added, “Though thank you for your honesty, Specialist. I won’t forget it. Bridge out.”

   “I don’t think she’d lie to you, skipper,” Singh said. “If there’s an answer here, then I don’t think it lies with our people.”

   “Got it!” Clayton said, clapping his hands together in satisfaction. “Full scan in progress now, Captain. Three-sixty sweep.” He flicked a switch, and a tactical hologram snapped into life over the operations desk, Forrest, Fox and Singh eagerly gathering around it as the system updated their view of local space. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing unexpected. A few shuttles in the outer areas, moving from moon to moon, a couple of picket ships in position, a flight of fighters on a training flight.

   And five contacts. Large ones. Heading in from deep space, on an intercept course.

   “Christ,” Fox said, her cool exterior for once shattered as she frantically worked the controls, bringing up the warbook. “PacFed Heavy Cruisers, Sukarno-class. And a Gorae-class Carrier. All bearing directly on New Dover, ma’am.”