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

   “Then that’s where the enemy are,” Kirkland said.

   “That’s where they were, Commander,” Forrest replied. “They wouldn’t give away their position like that, but they just might decide to try and lure us into a trap. I’m not taking the risk.” She paused, then added, “However, Moran, send one of our probes on a fast flyby. Just in case.”

   “Aye, ma’am,” the technician replied. “It’ll be about fifteen minutes at this distance.”

   “Sixty seconds,” Singh said. Forrest looked at the fighters, nodding in approval as she saw Mendez racing ahead, moving ahead of the others. She’d be low on fuel for the return to Lincoln, but that wouldn’t matter, not if she shot the enemy fighters out of the sky. They could even send out a tanker, if it became necessary. Romano was falling behind, his acceleration flagging, disrupting the formation, and Singh looked up with concern on his face as he called up his fighter’s telemetry.

   “We didn’t have a chance to thoroughly test the fighters,” he said. “I wonder...”

   “They’ve launched!” Fox said. “Lead enemy fighter has launched two missiles, aimed right at our shuttle, estimated contact in thirty seconds!”

   That was the last important step. For form’s sake, at least, they had to let the enemy make the first move. Mendez fired her missiles, two more targets racing to intercept the enemy warheads, while McBride opened up with the shuttle’s proton cannons, pounding into the air in a desperate attempt to provide suppressing fire. Miraculously, one of the shots found its mark, a brief flicker on the display as the first missile detonated far short of its goal, the second destroyed by Mendez before it could seriously threaten the shuttle.

   “Mendez to Actual. Looks like they’re running for it. Orders?”

   “Let them go,” Forrest said. “We can track them all the way to the surface and find their base. That’s more valuable than two more kills today. Escort the shuttle back to the barn. Good work.”

   “Captain,” Singh said, his face locked in a grim frown, “I’m not getting any signal from Romano’s fighter, and he’s really beginning to fall behind. If these readings are close to correct, he’s fallen below orbital velocity.”

   “Actual to Romano,” Forrest said. “Come in, Lieutenant.”

   “Mendez to Actual. I can’t raise him either, Captain.”

   “Flynn breaking in, ma’am. Request permission to attempt a rescue.”

   “Not a chance,” Singh said, gesturing at the trajectory plot. “Even if they had the fuel, they don’t have the time.” With a sigh, he continued, “Smart boy. He’s trying for a landing with the thrust he has left. We might be able to retrieve him if he can get down in one piece.” Reaching for a microphone, he said, “Bridge to Hangar Deck. As soon as the shuttle lands, prepare for the fastest turnaround in history. Search and rescue mission. Understood?”

   “We’ll do our part, Commander,” Wong replied.

   “It won’t do any good,” Kirkland said, gesturing at the display. “He’s coming down less than fifty miles from that large heat spot. And the fighters are heading the same way. I’m afraid he’ll be landing right into a trap.”

   “Then, Commander, we’ll just have to do our best to make sure that we can get him out of it again,” Forrest replied. Looking at Singh, she said, “Abort the rescue mission. Let’s get another probe up into synchronous orbit.”

   “He’s almost down,” Fox said. “I have a positive track.” She smiled, then said, “Beautiful landing. I’d say his fighter will be damn near intact.” Her smile faded, and she added, “One of the fighters is heading after him. Likely to land along side. I’m afraid Commander Kirkland is right, ma’am. They’ve got him.”

   With a last glance at the tactical hologram, Forrest said, “Secure from battle stations, but maintain alert status. Do everything you can to expedite the repairs. I’ll heading down to the Hangar Deck.” Stepping to the elevator, she added, “Let’s see if our new passengers are worth the price we paid.”

  Chapter 10

   Romano slid into his spacesuit, struggling in the cramped confines of the cockpit, and looked around the desolate wasteland surrounding him. For the third time, he ran the diagnostic sequence, with the same result as before. The fuel gauges had malfunctioned, tricking the systems into thinking that they were loaded at full capacity. Instead, they’d had less than a quarter. That he’d managed a safe landing was a miracle, but he’d been left with nothing for a takeoff.

   He reached for the controls, attempting to engage the auto-destruct sequence, then cursed, fuming as red lights flashed on his display. He’d known that he was flying a wounded bird right from the start, but the malfunctions just kept on coming. He cursed himself more than the engineers, knowing that a skilled pilot might have pulled of a miracle he was simply incapable of. He looked up at the sky through the cockpit, trying to spot Lincoln up above, the carrier an unreachable distance away.

   “Romano to Lincoln Actual. Romano to Lincoln Actual. Come in.” A roar of static answered him, strangely artificial. Someone was jamming his transmission, and that meant that he would have company in the near future. Almost on cue, a light appeared on his proximity alarm, a contact closing to within a mile, and he looked up to see a fighter roaring overhead, settling down by his side on its landing jets, sending cascades of dust into the sky.

   He looked at his sidearm, strapped to the wall, and with a sigh, ejected the cartridge and tossed it to the floor. If there had been even the slightest chance of escape, he’d have taken it, but he was stranded on an unknown world, unable to contact his ship, without any fuel to takeoff, and as far as he knew, with no safe refuge anywhere on the planet.

   Checking that his suit was secure, he cracked open the canopy, stepping out onto the surface with his hands held high, his communicator open to all frequencies. Immediately, rapid-fire Russian echoed through his helmet, and he shook his head, unable to comprehend more than the occasional word.

   “Lieutenant Junior Grade Frank Romano,” he said. “United States Space Force. Serial number O-3310-06. I am unarmed.”

   “You speak English? Interesting. Keep your hands raised. My superiors are very interested in you, Lieutenant Junior Grade Romano, and we’re going to have a lot of questions for you.”

   “Lieutenant Junior Grade Frank Romano,” he repeated. “United States Space Force. Serial number O-3310-06.”

   “I’m afraid our conversations are going to be very disappointing, and possibly painful, if you do not prove to be more cooperative. There is a chance that all of this is a misunderstanding, but claiming the identity of a man who has been dead for five hundred years is a little strange, don’t you agree? We shoot spies, Lieutenant. So perhaps you want to give me your real name.”

   “Five hundred years? What the hell are you talking about?”

   “Come on, my friend. You aren’t fooling anybody. So why don’t you go ahead and tell me who you really are.” The enemy fighter settled into the ground, its hatch popping open as the pilot emerged, walking towards him with pistol in hand.

   “My name is Frank Romano. I am an officer in the United States Space Force. I was born on November 8th, 2085 in Philadelphia. My parents names are William and Melissa.”

   “I don’t know that world.”

   “World?”

   “Philadelphia.”

   “It’s a city in Pennsylvania, dammit!”

   “Nobody has lived there for centuries.” The pilot froze when he saw the craft, and once more, Romano heard a strange language passing through his helmet, this one less intelligible than the one before. The pilot holstered his weapon, pulling out a bulky camera and running it across the lines of Romano’s fighter, yielding more frantic conversation.

   A different voice, obviously being filtered through a translation program, said, “What is your ship? Where did you come from?”

   “I am only obliged to tell you my name, r
ank and serial number, as well as to indicate that I am unarmed. My uniform is my own, and as I have said, I am Lieutenant Junior Grade Frank Romano of the United States Space Force.”

   “You are trespassing on territory of the Interstellar Guild. You have engaged our forces in battle, and your comrades have destroyed valuable equipment. For this you must pay restitution.” There was another pause, and he continued, “There are two ways in which you could redeem yourself. Either through the provision of information, or your labor. In which case, I must tell you that I will be forced to sentence you to a period of no less than ten years of indenture here, on Enkidu. I should also warn you that the average life expectancy of a worker on this planet is three and a quarter years. I presume an officer in the United States Space Force can calculate probabilities based on that.”

   Romano bit back a retort, knowing that his captors were attempting to goad him into conversation, trick him into providing them intelligence. A week of mock interrogation in his final year at the Academy had been one of the most unpleasant experiences of his life, but it had taught him well. He glanced back at the fighter, knowing that by now the database would have been purged, any hope of lifting it from the surface lost. They’d not have a chance to learn much from it, in any case.

   “Lieutenant Romano,” the voice said, “We’ll be taking you to our central facility for processing. You’ll still have a chance to change your mind, and we will be attempting to contact your ship. Possibly your commanding officer will be less intractable.”

   “You’re asking my permission?”

   “I’m asking for your parole, until we get back to our base. Otherwise I’ll have to restrain you, but given that you are unarmed, and that there is no refuge for you anywhere on the planet, that seems to me to be a waste of time. We’re reasonable men, and I think we can come to an understanding.”

   “It is the duty of any officer captured in battle to attempt to escape at the first opportunity. You can take your parole and shove it.”

   With a sigh, the man replied, “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I truly am.” The pilot walked towards him, weapon in hand, and pulled a small cylinder out of his pocket, rolling it towards him. A strange blue crackle snapped out of the device, and all of his systems began to go crazy, wild, red lights flashing on as they failed, one after another.

   An emergency light flashed on, and he felt himself gasping for breath, his system reducing expenditure of oxygen to the minimum. He struggled for the override, fumbling at the controls in a futile effort to restore power, but he slumped to the ground, his eyes closing, finally relaxing as he fell unconscious.

   His head pounded as his eyes opened again, the drip-drip-drip of water coming from the roof, settling into a worn mark on the floor. His spacesuit and uniform were gone, and he was wearing a dull brown jumpsuit in its place, a ten-digit number stenciled on the front. A man was looking at him from the far side of the room, crouched on a chair, scooping brown paste out of a plastic container and shoveling it in his mouth.

   “Want some?” he asked.

   “What is it?” Romano replied.

   “Nutri-spread. Tastes as good as it sounds, but the Guilders claim that it provides all the nutrients necessary for life.” Kicking a second tray across the room, he said, “Try some.”

   Romano reached down for the container, his head swimming from the aftereffects of his ordeal, and asked, “Where are we?”

   “You are currently in Extraction Station Seven. In detention.” Looking him over, he said, “What did you do to get thrown in here?”

   “I’m a newcomer,” he replied. “Lieutenant Junior Grade Romano.”

   “Diego,” the man said. “In happier times an engineer on a Colombian ore freighter. I’ve been stuck down here for the last two years.” He smiled, and added, “And in all that time, I still haven’t quite learned to keep my mouth shut. Not that it matters. I’m supposedly sentenced to fifteen years for violating Guild treaties. Might as well be fifteen hundred for all the likelihood that I’ll ever get out of here.”

   Taking a scoop of the brown sludge, Romano gagged, and said, “Haven’t they ever heard of tastebuds?”

   “They don’t care. We’re valuable property in one sense, but that doesn’t mean they’ll spend a single shilling more than they have to on us.” Looking him up and down, he said, “You a spacer?”

   “I am.”

   “You hold onto that optimism. There might be some way to get out of here yet. Lot of Zemlyans down here, and all of them are convinced that their people are coming for them.” Looking at the bars, he said, “Seems low-tech, doesn’t it.”

   “It does.”

   “There’s a garrison of a hundred and fifty, all of them well-armed, all of them eager to earn a bonus for bringing down a rebel or an escapee, and there’s nowhere on the planet to run. A couple of people did manage to steal a shuttle last year, but I don’t know whether they managed to get anywhere.” He paused, and asked, “You got someone waiting for you back home?”

   “Not any more,” he said. Romano took a deep breath, and asked, “What’s the date?”

   “Day 110. How long have you been out?”

   “And the year?”

   “The year?” His eyes narrowed, and he said, “403 AC, according to my calendar.”

   “AC?”

   “After Colonization. Of course, every world is different. The Guild still uses Terran standard, so it’s 2631 to them.” Romano’s eyes glazed over, and Diego said, “Hey, you all right?”

   “They’re gone,” Romano said, slumping against the wall. “They’re all gone.”

   Walking over to him, Diego sat next to him, and said, “It’ll end sooner or later, my friend. And then we’ll all be with our loved ones again.” Gesturing at the ceiling, he said, “My Maria is waiting for me up there. She died during the attack, but they only wounded me. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still see her, arms outstretched. She’s waiting for me.” A smile filled his face, and he said, “They’re waiting for you, as well. Up there. You have to believe, and you have to have faith.”

   “They’ve been waiting a long time for me,” Romano replied. “Maybe they’ve forgotten.”

   “Nobody is forgotten in the eyes of the Lord,” Diego said. With a chuckle, he added, “Would you believe that I was once destined for the priesthood? I fell in love instead. That’s a wonderful thing.” Turning to him, Diego added, “Tell me about her.”

   “Who?”

   “Your girl, the one who is lost. Does she live?”

   “There isn’t one.” He took a deep breath, and he continued, “Trust me, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I’m not sure that I believe it myself. I’m going to wake up any time now, back in my cabin, and all of this is going to be a nightmare.”

   Shaking his head, Diego replied, “It’s too real, my friend. Take my advice. Live for the day, such as you can, and accept that the number remaining to you is short. If you have a chance to get away, then by all means, take it, but don’t count on such a thing happening.”

   Taking a deep breath, Romano said, “What part of Colombia are you from? I used to know someone from Bogota.”

   “Bogota?” Diego said, shaking his head. “You mean Nuevo Bogota, surely.”

   “Where’s that?”

   “Madre de dios!” Diego said. “You cannot mean the city on Earth. Come, my friend, if you are playing a joke on a tired old spacer, it is not particularly entertaining.”

   “I don’t understand.”

   Diego leaned forward, and asked, “Are you Earth-born?”

   “Sure.”

   Shaking his head, Diego retreated to the rear of the cell, and said, “No, no, it must be a trick. Or you are mad. I am locked in a cell with a madman!”

   “No!” Romano pressed, leaping to his feet. “My name is Frank Romano. I am an officer in the United States Space Force. I was bo
rn in Philadelphia. My father owns an orbital tourism company. I’m a graduate of the Academy in Houston.”

   “You say you were born on Earth?” Diego barked. “That is not possible. Either you are lying, or you are insane. There is no other explanation. And what is this United States?”

   The furrows grew on Romano’s forehead, and he asked, “You’ve never heard of the United States of America? And why would be impossible for me to be from Earth?”

   “Because no human has lived on Earth for three hundred years.”

  Chapter 11

   Flynn burst out of the shuttle as soon as it settled on the deck, walking over to Forrest, his hands bunched into fists. Behind him, McBride raced over to the technical crews, ordering them to prepare the shuttle for launch, but Wong, supervising the deck gangs, shook his head.

   “Captain, I think we can complete turnaround in five minutes. I can be back down on the deck in fifteen, and we can get that pilot out of there. Who was it?”

   “Lieutenant Romano,” she replied, and McBride grimaced.

   “I’ll go with the kid,” McBride said. “We can get him back, Captain.”

   “I’m afraid not,” she said, shaking her head. “Local ground forces picked him up a few minutes ago, and he’s being taken back to their major settlement. By the time you’ve refueled, he’ll be locked in a detention cell.”

   “Then I request permission to launch a rescue operation, Captain,” Flynn pressed.

   “We’ve got enough small arms to outfit a platoon, Skipper,” McBride added, “and I know we’d get volunteers for a quick snatch and grab. From what I’ve heard, they’re going to throw him into a slave labor camp. We’ve got to get him out of there.”

   “And I have every intention of so doing, but I won’t risk the lives of a couple of dozen people unless I am damn sure we’ll get our money’s worth.” Behind Flynn, Volkova and Petrov stepped out of the shuttle, looking around in awe at the equipment, the swarming technicians, and the fighters returning from their recent sortie.