Only the Brave (Lincoln's War Book 3)

by Richard Tongue

   “What about me?”

   “I’m going to bet that you joined the military for the same reasons I did. What did you have in mind when they finally grounded you?”

   “There’s a reason I kept up my shuttle certifications.” Looking at the viewport, showing a projected starfield while Komarov cruised through hyperspace, she added, “There are some pretty wild worlds out there, with all sorts of fun atmospheres to play with. I figured I’d pick the most interesting and set up a charter business. I’ve just about got enough saved up to make a start right now if I had to. Given a few years, I’ll be able to do it in style. They’re not getting me out of the cockpit in a hurry.” She paused, then said, “Might be I could do with a co-pilot.”

   “Co-pilot?” he asked with a wry smile.

   “Maybe we can negotiate your job title.” Gesturing at the tray, she said, “Have your sandwich. You haven’t eaten in twenty hours.”

   “Too long,” he said, taking a bite. “Damn, I am hungry.”

   “Attention,” Volkov’s voice said, barking over the ceiling speaker. “Attention. Stand by for emergence from hyperspace. Shuttle crews to their stations.”

   “Now we get to find out the score,” Benedetti said, stabbing a piece of asparagus with her fork. “Everyone but Yamantaka ought to be back by now. Assuming they don’t decide just to go home.” She reached for a panel on the wall, bringing up an external sensor display, the screen flickering into life. “Now don’t get any crazy ideas about going right back to work. You’re stuck here for at least another couple of days, whether a warfleet turns up or not. Maybe you should think about heading down to Zemlya. The hospitals down there can take care of you just as well, and you might benefit from getting away from the ship for a while.”

   “Emergence,” Volkov reported, Flynn’s stomach wrenching as the ship lurched back into its home dimension. Flynn looked at the sensors, reading the data as it came in.

   “Titov, Leonov, Santos-Dumont,” he said. “And Yamantaka, home early.” He paused, then asked, “Where the hell is Lincoln?”

  Chapter 11

   Forrest looked up from her desk, the door sliding open as Kirkland and Lopez walked inside. The hacker glanced across at Kirkland, then held up a datapad.

   “I’ve finished, Captain. All the data is downloaded and analyzed. I think we’ve found what we were looking for, even if we didn’t know we were looking for it.”

   “Now what the hell does that mean, Specialist?”

   “We know where the enemy fleet is going to assemble, before launching the attack on Zemlya. It’s a single jump from here, albeit a long one. We could be there in an hour.” Stepping forward, she said, “This wasn’t an easy hack, Captain, and the information wasn’t just sitting in the database. Commander Kirkland and some of the tactical team crunched all the logistic data that prospector had.”

   “Apparently it was an actual prospecting ship,” Kirkland added. “Though with some rather hasty upgrades, specifically to the sensor and software packages. The original pilot was trying to get some contracts with what would be the army of occupation for his brother. It’s all in the report. Suffice to say that the information is genuine.”

   “What sort of fleet are we talking about?”

   “Twenty-nine warships of the design we’ve seen before, about a dozen smaller escorts and the same number of auxiliaries, and ten thousand troops on four large bulk transports. If the information we’ve obtained from our allies is at all accurate, this represents most of their mobile fleet assets. They must have stretched themselves pretty damned thin to put this force together. Odds are they couldn’t replace it if we could find some way to take it down.”

   “And where?”

   “A brown dwarf,” Lopez replied. “The strangest one I’ve ever seen. It’s got a black hole spinning around inside it, sending off all sorts of rare gases. The Guild have a major anchorage there, focused on resource exploitation, but large enough to act as a forward base for their attack. It’s not as if they’re going to need it for very long. They’re scheduled to launch their strike in nineteen hours, give or take.”

   “Nineteen hours,” Kirkland pressed. “My best estimates suggest that the enemy fleet will have to be assembling any time now, and that they’ll be departing in sixteen, probably in three waves. With that much strength, they’ll almost certainly plan to arrive in one massive formation, and hope to overwhelm us without a fight. Captain, with that much force, we don’t stand a chance.”

   “Of course,” Forrest mused, “all of this is old information. They might already have decided to change their minds, following our attacks on their outer defenses.”

   “Then where are they, Captain?” Kirkland asked. “This is not an unimportant system, and they stripped it bare to prepare for their attack.” Tapping the datapad, she added, “Putting this fleet together has already exposed them to danger from other areas, opened up their far frontiers to raids from pirate and independent forces. I’d say that someone has decided that the price is worth paying, if it ends the war quickly. They might even be right about that.”

   “Then your judgment is that our mission has failed?” Forrest replied.

   “My judgment, Captain, is that our mission never really had a chance. We all knew it was a long shot, but until we got hold of this data, I don’t think we could realize just how much of a long shot it was.” Glancing at Lopez, she added, “I recommend we return to Zemlya, gather the rest of the fleet, and proceed to another location to continue the fight. Attempting to occupy that world will take months. Let’s take that opportunity, pin them down. We can launch raids on their supply lines, take the war to another dimension, and perhaps...”

   “You really think that our coalition would survive for months, if we abandon our greatest ally without even a fight?” Forrest asked. “We’d find ourselves alone, on the run, and with damn few options left on the table. We cannot simply withdraw.”

   “We can’t fight, either. Not with a realistic chance of victory.”

   Forrest paused, then said, “Lopez, you’re dismissed. I presume I don’t need to tell you not to talk about this to anyone else in the crew, not for the moment. Contact the bridge, and tell them that I’m going to want to speak to all the department heads in an hour.”

   “Aye, ma’am,” Lopez replied, carefully placing the datapad on the desk before walking out of the room. Forrest looked after her for a moment, then turned to Kirkland.

   “Comment is invited, Commander.”

   “I don’t see what sort of chance we have, Captain. Not against a force that strong.”

   Tapping the datapad, Forrest replied, “And if we know precisely where to strike? They’re not planning a hit and run raid, Commander, and they aren’t planning something small scale. Nor do they have the luxury of a sustained operation. That means they intend to storm Zemlya, catch the planet by surprise with overwhelming force, and plant a garrison on the surface to deal with any opposition. Does that sound about right?”

   “I think so, Captain.”

   “And they can’t afford to wait for long. Not with their territory wide open to attack. Our raids will have made that perfectly clear, if nothing else, and they will have concentrated the thoughts of the enemy fleet commanders to some degree. I can imagine that they are facing all sorts of pressure from their people back home. In short, if they can’t attack soon, with full force, then they have to disperse their fleet.”

   “Granted.”

   “And they might not get a second chance, either. Putting that fleet together must have taken the expenditure of an awful lot of political capital. If it was to fail to accomplish anything significant, given the damage we’ve already inflicted, I suspect enough heads would roll in their hierarchy to push them back onto the defensive again.”

   “Perhaps, Captain. We don’t have anything like enough political intelligence on the inner workings of the Guild t
o get a definitive answer to that question. It’s a reasonable theory, but that’s all.” Taking a vacant seat, she added, “This would be a hell of a gamble, and I’m not sure that our allies would go along with it. We had enough trouble getting them this far.”

   “I’m not talking about the entire fleet. Just Old Abe.” Before Kirkland could protest, Forrest continued, “We don’t have to destroy them. One attack run, a quick strike to do damage to their auxiliary forces, their transports. We don’t hit them where they are strongest, we hit them where they are weakest, with everything we’ve got. Rob them of the initiative.”

   Kirkland’s eyes widened, and she said, “Captain, the risk...”

   “Is perhaps not so great as it seems, and consider what we’d get out of this. The attack would be aborted. They wouldn’t have a choice, not if we can do enough damage to their logistic chain. We might be able to score some hits on the station, hurt them on the economic front as well. And more importantly, they’ll assume that we’ve got more strength than they thought. Why else would we risk our greatest fleet asset on a raid?”

   “That’s a valid question, Captain. If we lose this ship, the war is over.”

   “No. If that fleet reaches Zemlya, the war is over. If we can hold them back for a year, even at the cost of serious damage or the loss of this ship, then the war carries on. The Lemurians will have more capital ships in twelve months, and Zemlya’s working on a carrier that looks suspiciously like this ship. Eighteen to twenty-four months for completion, then one every year thereafter. Meanwhile, the Guild is left guessing, and with a major setback like that, facing significant internal political turmoil.”

   “With all due respect, ma’am, this is dependent on a pretty shaky series of assessments, and we don’t have the information to back up much of it. We’d be sticking our head into the lion’s mouth, and it might easily all be for nothing.”

   “What other choice do we have? At least this way we have a chance to steal back the initiative, and I don’t think there is any other option for us than to take it. Run with it. See if we can deal enough damage to that fleet to save Zemlya.” She paused, then added, “I’m more worried about the fighters than the carrier.”

   “Given the limited experience of our crews, we could easily lose the entire wing.”

   Nodding, Forrest replied, “That’s a very real possibility. How do you think they’d fare in a straight-up firefight, Commander? We’re looking at finding the best of a pretty dire series of options, and as much as I dislike the idea of going into a pitched battle under these circumstances, I honestly cannot come up with a better set of options at this time. I am, naturally, open to any other suggestions or thoughts you might have.”

   Kirkland frowned, shook her head again, and said, “I can’t think of anything, ma’am, but that doesn’t necessarily make this the best option. Perhaps we could return to Zemlya, get some of our better pilots back on board, and...”

   “We don’t have the time, and even if we did…” She paused, sighed, and said, “We’re going to have to keep our best pilots back, Commander. As much as I hate the idea, if this goes wrong, they’re our training cadre. We can build new fighters, train new pilots. As long as we keep the war going.”

   “You’d write off fifteen pilots...”

   “To save thousands of their shipmates, millions of civilians? Sometimes this becomes a simple numbers game. It’s hateful, it’s abhorrent, and it’s going to mean I wake up screaming for a while, but that’s the cost of wearing this uniform sometimes. We’re in a state of war. They all volunteered for their current duty, knowing the risks they’re taking.”

   “That doesn’t release us from our obligations to them, Captain.”

   “Don’t you think I know that?” Taking a deep breath, she said, “I take it that you are opposed to this extension of our mission.”

   “I am. And I formally request, for whatever it is worth, that you note this opposition in your official log. I will obey orders, I will remain at my post, but I think you’re pushing our luck too far, Captain. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t make my position, in private, perfectly clear.”

   Forrest nodded, and said, “I will note your objections.” Frowning, she added, “One day, Commander, you might be sitting in this chair, though I suspect that is increasingly unlikely.”

   “I agree. Commander Flynn would be a far better choice than I.”

   “Nevertheless, it may happen, and if it does, I want you to remember this day. Sometimes you have no choice other than to make decisions you find repulsive, for the sake of the greater good. We’re at war, and we have to win. Nothing else matters now.” Gesturing at the door, she said, “Go and make sure the senior staff are on their way, and put together a briefing on our target.”

   “Yes, Captain,” she said, rising from the chair. She walked to the door, and said, “Captain, can I ask one question?”

   “I don’t guarantee an answer.”

   “I’m not expecting one.” She looked at the flag hanging behind her, and said, “Are you sure you aren’t doing this because you don’t think any of us have anything left to lose?”

   “Dismissed, Commander.”

   “Yes, ma’am,” she replied, standing to attention before walking out of the room. Forrest looked at the flag, limp on its pole, the colors she had fought under for her entire adult life. Colors of a country that no longer existed. Doubt crept into her mind, fears that Kirkland might be right. She was condemning her crew to what could easily amount to a suicide mission. They’d stumbled into this war, not through any real choice. Did she have the right to risk her crew for this fight?

   Did she have the right to keep them out of it, knowing what was at stake?

  Chapter 12

   “Detachment, move out!” the guard barked, Romano leading the column of workers, Tanaka and a dozen of the other prisoners behind him. Each had been issued with a rather scanty toolkit, a thin plastic pouch containing a small selection of tools, many of them seeming ludicrously old-fashioned to Romano’s eyes. There had been no briefing, no warning, just the word that fourteen of the prisoners were required for a maintenance detail, Romano’s name at the top of the list.

   “I thought we were supposed to be sticking to piloting,” Tanaka grumbled.

   With a shrug, Romano replied, “Maybe we’re going to be fixing the ship we broke. Maybe one of the guards just got hacked off with us. Maybe someone made a mistake.” Glancing at his friend, he continued, “I don’t mind a chance to stretch my legs, get a little fresh air.”

   “Fresh air?” Tanaka asked. “Who do you think you’re kidding?”

   “Cut it out,” the guard barked. “You’re here to work. Nothing more. Take a left at the end of the corridor, just the first four of you. There’s a maintenance hatch on the side, and we need all of the optical cables in that area tested. Log any that are faulty, and someone will come down with the components.” Turning to Romano, he added, “If you miss anything, I’ll blame you. Personally.”

   “Don’t worry,” Romano said. “I don’t intend to miss a thing.” He locked eyes with the guard, a brief contest that the latter man conceded as he turned away down the corridor, leaving the four of them alone at the junction. Tanaka looked around, his eyes moving from one security camera to another, four surveillance systems focused on their every move.

   “Wonder where we are,” Tanaka mused. “All these corridors look the same.”

   “That’s very deliberate,” Chung replied. “We’ve been here for months, but there are prisoners who have been working this facility for years, and there has never been a successful escape. I don’t think we can do anything else than wait for your friends to arrive.”

   “They’d hardly tell us if there was a way out of here,” Xiang said, bitter eyes ranging the corridors. “Defeatism is a disease. It sits in the mind and leeches out all that is good. I will not permit it to infest me
.” Glaring at Romano, he added, “Some of us don’t have special friends in high places, Lieutenant.”

   “Let’s just get on with the job, shall we?” Tanaka replied, rummaging in his toolkit. He pulled out a data feed, locking it into position at the top of the cluster of hanging optic cable, tendrils waving around, crunching together in his hand. “Damn, this is old, old stuff.”

   “Not to the Guilders,” Chung said with a faint chuckle. He moved to the wall, activating a command panel with the touch of a button, and replied, “I have monitoring control called up. You can begin as soon as you want.”

   “Feed Alpha-One,” Tanaka said.

   “Nominal,” Chung replied. “Beginning reset.”

   “How many of these are there?” Xiang asked.

   “Runs down to Gamma-Twenty,” Tanaka replied. “You got dinner plans?”

   Shaking his head, Xiang said, “This is makework. They could handle this remotely, even with the equipment they have.”

   “Maybe this is just some sort of punishment detail,” Romano said. “Next time the guard comes back, I’ll ask, if you want. For the moment, I think we need to get on with this.”

   Tossing his data analyzer to the deck, Xiang turned to Romano, his hands balling into fists, and replied, “I’m no collaborator. I’m only here until I can find a way to get out of here. This is...”

   “Feed Alpha-Two,” Tanaka said.

   “Nominal,” Chung replied. “Beginning reset.” Looking at Romano and Xiang, he said, “Let’s just get this over with, shall we? The sooner we’re finished, the better. There’s no point stretching this out any longer than we must.” Tapping a control, he said, “I’m ready here, Lieutenant.”