Never In Vain (Lincoln's War Book 2) Read online

   “General Markova,” Forrest said. “It’s a pleasure.”

   “Thank you,” she replied, gesturing her to take a seat. “You know Major Volkov, Major Kozlov,” she said, nodding at the two ship commanders, destroyer skippers she’d worked with during the tactical exercises that had occupied her command crew during Lincoln’s abbreviated refit. “This is Lieutenant Commander Carlos Garcia, of the Lemurian Militia, the commander of the escort cruiser Santos-Dumont.”

   “A pleasure, Captain,” Garcia said, a beaming smile on his face. “I had a chance to take a look at your ship when we were entering parking orbit. If she’s half as impressive in battle as she looks, I think you’re going to be the answer to our prayers.” Shaking his head, he said, “General Markova told me the story, but I can still hardly believe it.”

   “We have verified it,” Markova replied, taking her seat at the head of the table. “As astonishing as it appears, Captain Forrest, her ship and crew have reached us from five hundred years in the past.” Turning to Forrest, she added, “I’ve taken the liberty of showing the Commander some of the recordings we took from Enkidu. Tell me, are the reports I’ve read about the condition of your ship accurate? You are almost ready for launch?”

   “We can depart with twenty-four hours notice, General,” Forrest said. Looking around the table, she added, “I take it there is an emergency?”

   “A non-urgent one,” Garcia said. “But yes, there is an emergency.” He looked at Markova, and continued, “The Zemlyan government has already offered us all possible assistance, but we’re going to require your ship, and I understand that the command chain...”

   “Quite correctly,” Markova interrupted, “Captain Forrest is maintaining the independence of what is the most powerful single combat unit in existence. To be honest, Commander, your arrival has untangled something of a Gordian knot. Our politicians and strategists have been arguing for weeks about the next step to take, and to have a straightforward objective...”

   “Just what is the objective, General?” Forrest asked. Turning to Garcia, he said, “Commander, I am responsible for what is left of the United States Space Force. We’re willing to join forces against the Guild in an Allied context, but I am not willing to turn over my ship to another government.” Glancing at Markova, she added, “Despite the protestations and promises of the President.”

   “What she isn’t telling you,” Markova added, a twinkle in her eye, “is that she was offered my job in exchange for placing her ship under Zemlyan control.” Glancing at Garcia, she said, “It’s your meeting, Commander.”

   Nodding, Garcia said, “Lemuria is almost self-sufficient, Captain. We’ve been pretty isolated from the rest of the galaxy since the Fall of Earth, a deliberate policy. Our goal was to weather the storm, so to speak, and come out on the far side as intact as possible. Our planet is hard to reach by hyperdrive, and that’s been greatly to our benefit. However, we’re desperately short of petrochemicals. Until the last quarter-century, we were extracting them from the outer moon of one of our gas giants, but the quantities were limited, and the local conditions hazardous.”

   “I take it you found a better source.”

   “Once we regained the capacity for interstellar travel, we did a little exploring, and found a world with all the resources we need. Nueva Aragona. In a system where all civilization had been extinguished by the war. I can’t share the location, but we’ve ensured it is well protected, with a strong orbital defense platform. As strong as that of my homeworld. In the long-term, we’re hoping to open the world up to trade, but that’s for the future. For the present, we’re dependent on shipments of petrochemicals to keep our industries back home working.”

   “Let me guess,” Forrest said. “The Guild have got themselves involved.”

   “Correct,” Garcia replied. “Our resource world is more than twelve parsecs from Lemuria. A long journey, and as I said, there are only a handful of hyperspace points available. They’ve set up a blockade to prevent us getting home.” Looking around the table, he continued, “We’re building up our fleet, but Santos-Dumont is the only capital ship we have at present. In a year, we will have two sister ships, but for right now...”

   Silence reigned for a moment, and Forrest said, “How large a convoy?”

   “Three ships. Irreplaceable, realistically. It took ten years to build them.”

   “Ten years,” she replied, shaking her head. “I think I’d have made sure I had sufficient escorts first, Commander.”

   “The interstellar situation has changed enormously since then. We’re building fast, but...”

   “How long can you hold out?” Volkov asked.

   “Maybe a month,” Garcia replied. “A little more if we stretch things a little. Given that we’re overdue, my government will have already initiated rationing, but it’s not going to keep the wolf from the door forever. I’m afraid we’re going to need help, and soon.” Turning to Forrest, he said, “Lemuria is an industrial hub. We’re opposed to the Guild, and while I cannot formally speak for my government, I know that they will be willing to offer support in exchange for our help. Perhaps formally join the alliance.”

   “That’s a matter for the diplomats,” Forrest said. “Can I see some specifications on your ship, and the tankers?” Garcia slid over a datapad, and she quickly flicked through the data. The tankers were about as she had expected, perhaps a little worse. In any sort of a battle, they’d be an absolute liability, especially fully laden as they were.

   Santos-Dumont was a far nicer surprise. While they were describing her as an escort cruiser, she looked a lot more like a light carrier, able to hold a half-squadron of fighters as well as packing a considerable punch with her primary armament, cannons almost as powerful as the old PacFed pulsars. The fighters looked more like bombers, carrying a single heavy missile, and her mind rapidly began to work out the tactical possibilities the addition of such a ship to their fleet would provide. The Zemlyans had only smaller destroyers, and few enough of those. The Lemurians could give them the ability to put serious task forces into the field.

   “I’ve already agreed to commit Komarov and Titov to the escort mission,” Markova said, “but without your ship, I don’t think...”

   Placing the datapad on the table, Forrest interrupted, “Commander, the United States Space Fleet will provide assistance, on three conditions. The first is that I am in full tactical command of the force. American, Zemlyan, Lemurian. I don’t want any debates over my orders in the middle of a firefight. The same goes for the fighter force. My Wing Commander, Lieutenant Commander Flynn, will command all fighter forces.”

   “Agreed,” Garcia said.

   “The second is that you hand over to me all of your strategic data. Everything you have that could in any way be related to the Guild, and to Guild activities.” Raising a hand, she added, “You can hold back the location of your resource worlds for the present, but I want the fullest possible picture of what our enemies might be up to. Locations of bases, trade routes, the works.”

   Garcia paused for a moment, then reluctantly nodded, saying, “Only material related to the enemy. Even then, I’m committing a violation of my orders, but under the circumstances, I think my superiors will understand. What’s the third requirement?”

   “A letter, signed by yourself, advocating that Lemuria should enter into an alliance with American and Zemlyan forces against the Guild. And your word as an officer that you will do everything in your power to see that such an alliance comes about.”

   “No argument from me, Captain,” Garcia said. “I’m realistic enough to know that we’re not going to be able to wait for our new ships to come out of the construction yards. I’m all in favor of an alliance against the Guild. And I’ll be more than happy to serve under your command.”

   Markova glanced at Volkov and Kozlov, then added, “All of our discussions have assumed that you will be commanding
any task force we dispatch, Captain. While I naturally have to confirm this decision with my government, I think you can assume that we will be giving this operation our full and wholehearted support.”

   “Then that’s settled,” Forrest said. “We’ll have a tactical briefing in, say, three hours, gentlemen, up on Lincoln. Can your ships be ready to depart in twelve hours?”

   “Not a problem, Captain,” Volkov said. “My crew are raring to go.”

   “As are mine,” Kozlov added.

   “The sooner we leave,” Garcia said, “the sooner my people get the materials they need. We can’t allow the Guilders to establish a blockade.” A brief moment of doubt crossed the young commander’s face, and he asked, “Do you think we can manage it, Captain?”

   “I think we can teach those bastards a lesson they won’t forget in a hurry, Commander. We certainly did at Enkidu. And we will again at Lemuria.”

  Chapter 2

   Flynn settled into the pilot’s couch, his hands resting on the controls as he worked through the pre-flight sequence, waiting impatiently for the rest of his passengers to board. He had a substantial cargo riding in the cabin, Captain Forrest, General Markova, Major Volkov and a half-dozen others, heading up to complete the final preparations for departure. Behind him, the hatch cranked open, and the lithe figure of Benedetti slid through, dropping into the co-pilot’s seat without a second thought, reaching for a headset.

   “They’re almost set back there,” she said. “Are you ready?”

   Turning with surprise, he asked, “Who are you?”

   “First Lieutenant Valentina Benedetti. Commanding your fighter-bomber squadron. Didn’t you read the briefing notes?”

   With a smile, he replied, “An hour ago I was working out where I was going for dinner tonight. I barely had time to make it back to the spaceport, still less go over the briefing notes.” Shaking his head, he asked, “When did you have time to get checked out on our shuttles?”

   “I haven’t, but I don’t like riding in the back. It’s bad enough that I can’t fly this bird myself. Yet. But I’m not going to sit in the passenger cabin like a sack of potatoes when I can be sitting up here, watching you work.” Gesturing at the controls, she added, “You’ve got simulators up on that big beast of yours? I intend to spend every spare moment I can snatch on them.”

   Cracking a smile, Flynn said, “We sound like the same sort of people. I get itchy if I’m not at the controls myself. I did a year in Flight School as an instructor. Worst time of my life.” Tapping a button, he said, “I’m locking the outer hatch in one minute. Strap down and prepare for launch.” His hand reached up to a series of switches, completing the pre-flight sequence, and he added, “Take a look at the navigational computer. How’s our clearance?”

   “Good all the way, if I’m reading this right,” she said. “Vertical take-off?”

   “She’s built for landing on remote outposts. Technically, as long as I’ve got somewhere nice and flat, I can set her down without an actual pad, but that requires a lot more maintenance when we get back to the ship. Chief Wong would not be happy.”

   “He’s your crew chief?”

   Nodding, he replied, “And Command Master Chief at the moment. We’re short-handed enough that everyone’s wearing a couple of hats right now.”

   She smiled, then asked, “What’s your second hat?”

   “Ship’s cocktail maker. I’ll demonstrate when we get upstairs, if you want.” Reaching for a control, he said, “Pilot to Cabin. Sealing hatch, liftoff in twenty seconds.” Throwing a control, he continued, “Shuttle One to Traffic. Do we still have launch clearance?”

   “All the way,” a halting voice replied, someone still trying to learn English. “Good luck, Commander. Give them hell.”

   “Will do, Traffic, and thank you.” There was a loud report from the rear as the double hatches slammed shut, and his hand danced across the launch thruster controls, a growing rumble from underneath as the shuttle began to steadily rise, the rate increasing as he built up more speed, easing her from the surface. The landing gear rose into the hull, locking into place, and he fired a quick pulse from the forward thrusters to tip the shuttle forward, before gently pushing the throttle open, the main engines roaring into life to kick them clear of the surface.

   “Nice and smooth,” Benedetti said with an approving nod. “If a little conservative.”

   “With this much brass riding on board,” he replied, “I’ll play it safe, I think. We should be out of the atmosphere in six minutes. On Lincoln in a little under twenty.” Looking at her, he asked, “Are you any good?”

   “Best damned pilot in the galaxy.”

   With a grin, he replied, “We’re going to have to face off in the simulators sometime. Still, you know what they say about old pilots and bold pilots.”

   Frowning, she replied, “I’ve never heard that one.”

   He glanced across at her, shook his head, and said, “I keep forgetting about the time gap. Five hundred years. The language is still just about the same, but so many of the references are lost.” He paused, then added, “I spent a little time at the State University, going over the historical archives. I’d hoped to get some sort of insight into the war we missed, back in the twenty-second.”

   “Not much luck?” she replied. “Most of the archives were lost, either when Earth decided to commit suicide or in the fighting that followed. Zemlya was luckier than Lemuria. Here they’ve got air to breathe, and the terraforming process was pretty near finished when the wars began.”

   “And Lemuria?”

   “Dome world. Built to exploit uranium resources, heavy metals. Intended as a launching point for a series of deep exploratory probes, well into the Arm. They never happened, and we ended up stranded on a half-built colony, with no real pretense at self-sufficiency.”

   “I’m surprised you made it.”

   “The population bottomed out at two thousand, before the recovery kicked in a couple of centuries back. Even as little as two generations ago, it was still touch-and-go. Getting back to the stars was the key. Lemuria was never intended to be much more than a link in a bigger chain. We don’t have the resources in-system for anything else.” Shaking her head, she said, “We were just beginning to really get back on our feet with the Guilders turned up.” Glancing at him, she asked, “You think Captain Forrest can really pull this attack off?”

   “With a little luck and a lot of help, sure,” he replied. “She’s one of the best combat commanders we had. Though I’m a little biased, as she’s the only combat commander I’ve ever known. I’m kinda new to this.”

   Frowning, she asked, “I thought you were a veteran?”

   “Of about half a dozen firefights. We were coming off thirty years without a major war, just a few skirmishes, and most of those had been way out on the frontier.” He paused, then continued, “That’s why it was such a damned surprise when PacFed launched their attack. None of us saw it coming. Though in retrospect, I suppose we should have. The two big kids on the block were bound to fight it out sooner or later.”

   Shaking her head, she said, “Even before the Guild, we’ve been at war for decades, one way or another. Hell, at first we almost welcomed them. The space-lanes used to be lousy with raiders, some petty ship driver getting some guns strapped onto a transport and declaring himself the Grand Warlord of Altair Three. That’s why we started carrying fighters on our ships. We didn’t have a choice. The Guilders swept all of them away, but we quickly realized that the cure was a lot worse than the disease had ever been.”

   Flynn looked back at the controls, but before he could reply, he saw an amber light flashing on the system monitor, flickering on and off. He reached for the panel, sliding a finger across the touchscreen to bring up the diagnostic display.

   “What is it?” Benedetti asked.

   “Lateral thruster,” he replied. “That’s strange.
The whole system was serviced yesterday. Part of our battle preparations.” The amber light flashed red, and he quickly locked down the system, adding, “Gone altogether.”

   “Is it critical?”

   “Not really. I can manage with two lateral thrusters without any trouble.” He paused, then said, “Unless we’ve got more surprises coming up.” His hand danced across the controls, working through the critical systems, and his eyes widened, reaching for the throttle and killing the main engine.

   “Hey, we’re still short of escape velocity,” Benedetti said.

   “Main engine systems failure,” he replied. “We were about ten seconds away from detonation.” Shaking his head, he added, “I’m going to have words with the deck gang when we get back on board. Assuming we do.” His eyes flicked from panel to panel, and he added, “No chance of making orbit. Or of getting back to our launch site. How well do you know the surface?”

   She was already leaning over the navigational computer, replying, “Well enough, but we’re on a lousy trajectory for a return. Right out over the ocean. Can you swim?”

   “Actually, no. If you can come up with something better...”

   “Working on it,” she replied.

   “Make it fast,” he said. “Outer hull temperature rising.” He pulled back on the controls, bringing the nose high as the heat shield grew burnished red, flames beginning to flicker around the outside as the shuttle slammed into the atmosphere. He glanced at the monitor, adding, “Long-range communications and telemetry are out as well. It must be the control systems, not the hardware. That’s the only thing that makes sense.” He grimaced, and added, “Not that it matters right now, though. Benny, I need a place to land, and I need it now.”