Shall Not Perish (Lincoln's War Book 1)

by Richard Tongue

   “Maybe.” The sound of footsteps returned, louder this time than they had been before, and Kuznetzov said, “I know that it won’t matter if they catch us. We’ve got to get going.” He looked around, and added, “The answers might be down here somewhere.”

   Nodding, Romano said, “This way.” With a last glance at the wall, he turned back down the corridor, setting a quicker pace than was wise in the stale air. Strange smells drifted through the air, the tang of chemicals leaking from containers, the distinct odor of rodents nesting deep within the facility, the rats that were a ubiquitous problem wherever humanity had gone.

   The familiarity of the base was strange. The layout similar to other facilities he had visited on the moon, on Mars, perhaps designed by the same architects. It must have taken months to carve the tunnels out of the rock, longer to get the facility into full operation. And it had been used. The memorial wall was evidence enough of that. There had been battles waged here, long ago.

   If they hadn’t been thrown out of time, he’d have been part of it all. Would have fought in those battles, faced the PacFed forces. Maybe he could have made a difference. He looked up at the ceiling, the footsteps growing louder by the moment, then looked at the far wall, a series of tattered, faded posters stuck on the surface. One of them saying simply, ‘Remember Lincoln’.

   “The ship that started the war,” Kuznetzov said. “According to the books, it...”

   “I know what happened. I was there.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “Lincoln’s my ship, up in orbit.”

   Kuznetzov’s mouth dropped, and he said, “That ship was destroyed!”

   “Not destroyed. Lost. Lost in time and space, until we washed up here. For me it was a matter of seconds.” He glanced at a door, and smiled, saying, “Weapons storage. If we’ve got any chance at all, it’s in there.” The handle was jammed, the lock frozen, but there was a trickle of emergency power running through the systems, and he carefully wiped the DNA reader clean.

   “You’ll have access?”

   “My brother did, and these things never worked quite right. They often did let close relatives through.” He jabbed his finger into the slot, feeling a brief stabbing pain as the aged mechanism drew his blood. He looked at the monitors, not really expecting the systems to work, and smiled in satisfaction as the magnetic locks disengaged, releasing the door.

   “Thanks, Frank,” he muttered. “I owe you one.” He stepped inside, then backed out again, waving a hand in front of his face and saying, “No oxygen. Just nitrogen, probably. The whole room was in mothballs.” Turning to Kuznetzov, he added, “That’s going to help. Someone set this place up for long-term storage.”

   Looking at the wall, the erstwhile prisoner said, “The Martian Militia, specifically. According to the slogans they left behind. Any idea who that might be?”

   “Not a clue, but if I ever work it out, I’ll thank them.” He looked over the racks, and said, “Enough weapons for a small army. State-of-the-art stuff, too. At least, it was back in the day. Assault rifles, compression grenades, the works.” Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, noting the avaricious look on Kuznetzov’s face, and pulled out the nearest weapon, slamming a musty clip into place with a reassuring click before turning to cover his comrade.

   “What are you doing?”

   “Getting some answers,” Romano replied. “You aren’t a freighter crewman.”

   Glancing at the corridor, Kuznetzov said, “We don’t have time for this.”

   “I think we do,” Romano said, “After all, if the Guilders come running down the corridor now, I’ve got a nice shot. The first few bullets will clear you out of the way quite effectively.” Taking a step backwards, he continued, “I don’t know you, I don’t know your cause, and I’m in a position now where I don’t even really care whether I get through this or not, so what does that make you?”

   “Fine!” he yelled. “I’m an agent with Commonwealth Intelligence. My mission was to infiltrate this base and work out a way to destroy it.” Gesturing at the armory, he added, “I knew this was there, and I hoped you might be able to find a way of getting it open. There was supposed to have been a supply drop, but it never arrived. Or the Guilders found it. I was able to tap their communications, so I had some idea of who and what you were. I even spotted that ship of yours in orbit.” Glancing at his watch, he said, “There’s going to be an attack on this facility within the next hour. A big one. Though I have a feeling the Guild know all about it.”

   “You wanted to destroy this place? That would kill everyone down here.”

   “It would be the biggest blow against the Guild for half a century, and cause serious damage to their economy. A first strike that might give us a chance to beat them.” Stepping forward, he continued, “Everything I told you about them is true. You’ve seen it for yourself, first hand. Except there’s more of it than you know. The torture chambers. Bases were they use humans for medical and technological experiments, testing them to destruction. Whole planets subjugated. They’re on the verge of a major expansion, and they’ve got dozens of ships at their disposal.”

   “I’m sure they’d tell the same sort of stories about you and your people,” Romano said. “Have you any proof of this?”

   “Nothing that you’d recognize. I’ll be able to contact our ships when they arrive.” he tapped his neck, and said, “Implanted transmitter. A little gimmick we picked up from a Tomb World. I don’t dare risk using it until they arrive, though.” The footsteps grew stronger, and he said, “You’ve going to have to make a choice now, Lieutenant. My people will be here any time, and I think there’s a chance that they’re going to be walking right into a trap. I’ve got to stay alive to warn them, no matter what it costs.”

   “Can you contact my ship with that thing in your neck?”

   “I don’t dare risk it. It’d be like setting off a beacon that everyone for a hundred miles could hear, and if your ship isn’t listening out on exactly the right frequency, it would all be for nothing.” Shouts echoed down the corridor, and he added, “Not that it matters now. Either give me a gun or shoot me. Make your choice.”

   Romano reached to one of the shelves, pulled out a second rifle, and tossed it to Kuznetzov, followed by a clip. He quickly scanned the lockers, snatched a bag containing compression grenades, then moved to the side of the door, keeping himself out of sight, his comrade taking the other side, weapon in hand.

   “Stick with semi-automatic,” Romano said. “Third setting. They have a tendency to run really wild on full-auto. And watch when you’re reloading. The last round sometimes doesn’t chamber properly.”

   “These were your best small arms?”

   “What can I say, it was a government contract, and we hadn’t had a war to knock all the kinks out yet.” He looked at the serial number, and said, “Manufactured five centuries ago. Let’s hope they did a good job.”

   The first guard moved around the corner, rifle in hand, sprinting towards the open hatch. Romano restrained himself from firing, waiting for the rest of his comrades to follow him, a pack of six that made their way towards him. He held back for a moment, took a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm himself, to lower his blood pressure for a better shot, took aim, and fired at the leader.

   The corridor echoed to the sound of gunfire for the first time in centuries as he felled the first of them, then the second, precise shots of tailored AP rounds that ripped through their fragile armor, tearing into the bodies below, sending blood spraying on the walls. Kuznetzov put him to shame, taking out three more with three shots, leaving a single figure standing amid the mayhem, frozen in place, his rifle pointed at the ground.

   “Drop it!” Romano said. “Drop the weapon, stand by the wall, arms over your head!”

   “What are you doing?” Kuznetzov asked. “We can’t take prisoners. We don’t have the time.”

   “Find a medical kit,” he s
aid. “Get a sedative, then tie him up.”

   “Lieutenant...”

   “My Captain is going to want a chance to question one of the enemy when all of this is over. To get intelligence if nothing else, as well as find out their side of the story.” Raising his rifle again, he added, “Our friendship is off to a difficult enough start as it is. Best you don’t strain it any further than you already have.” Gesturing at the rear, he said, “Plenty of high-tensile cable back there, and I think I saw some handcuffs as well. No key, but we’ll deal with that later.” He paused, then asked, “How long before your friends get here?”

   “Thirty-two minutes and change.”

   “Then we’d better make sure to prepare a nice welcome for them.” He looked at the terrified Guilder, and said, “If you want to talk, now would be a good time.”

   “There are ships,” he said, looking down at the body. “Ready to emerge from hyperspace. A timed assault. I don’t know the details. We plan to hold the slaves hostage. Human shields to protect the facility.”

   “You bastards,” Kuznetzov said, moving forward.

   “Hold it!” Romano said, throwing an arm out to block him. “There will be another time.” Turning to the guard, he said, “Details. Now. Or I’ll let him do what he wants to do, and I don’t think I’ll regret it at all.”

  Chapter 18

   “Any moment now, Captain,” Fox said, looking up at the sensor repeater.

   “All decks are cleared for action,” Singh added, moving over to the tactical table. “Squadron ready for launch, and we’re go to initiate battle plan on your command.”

   Looking at Volkova, Forrest asked, “Anything else we might need to know, Lieutenant?”

   “I hope not, Captain,” she replied.

   Lincoln smoothly slid into position, Forrest watching the trajectory plot as she settled into place between the fourth and fifth moons, less than five thousand miles from the predicted exit point of the Commonwealth task force. They could only guess what the Guilders had planned for an ambush, and attempting to second-guess the enemy commander without any real knowledge of the size of the Guild formation had proven next to impossible. All they could do was provide cover, as best they could.

   Forrest looked around the bridge, resisting the almost overwhelming temptation to give last-minute orders, instead satisfying herself with a visual inspection. The crew were tense enough already, without a visibly nervous commander to add to the mix. She glanced at the communications station, Kirkland taking over for the late Todd, her hands poised to open the Zemlyan military frequency as soon as the friendly squadron arrived. The last thing they needed was to come under attack from their intended allies.

   “Fifty seconds,” Singh said. “Game faces, everyone. Let’s make this good.”

   “No change on the surface, Captain,” Moran said. “They’re just sitting down there. You think there’s a chance that the Guilders might just let the Zemlyan forces through?”

   “I don’t think we could have that sort of luck, Specialist,” Forrest replied. “Keep to full active detection. I want it to be as obvious as possible that we’re watching them.”

   “Aye, Captain. Full active.”

   “Thirty seconds,” Singh said, and Volkova adjusted her headset for the tenth time, checking the connection to make sure that there was no potential for trouble. A single wasted second could mean the difference between life and death.

   Forrest glanced at the operations board, a solitary red light still flashing on the starboard defense turrets. Almost everything else had been patched up, at least temporarily, but they’d just run out of time to complete all the repairs. If they faced serious opposition, that was going to be a problem. The Guild monitors weren’t PacFed cruisers, but they still had a vicious sting in the tail.

   “Showing signs of dimensional interference now, Captain,” Moran reported, looking up at his monitors, carefully adjusting his controls. “Precisely on schedule, building as predicted.”

   “Communications, stand by,” Singh ordered, and Kirkland nodded, focused completely on her task at hand. Volkova reached for a cup of water, draining it in a single slug before tossing the empty vessel into a waste chute. She didn’t have to conceal her nerves, and for that Forrest envied her. The sensor display began to flicker, changes and updates filtering through the system.

   “Ingress!” Moran said. “Two, correction, three ships, all matching the information provided by Lieutenant Volkova. Looks like the Scout Destroyers Leonov and Komarov, accompanying the Heavy Transport Cosmograd.”

   “Hail them, Commander,” Forrest said. “Lieutenant, the floor’s yours.”

   “This is Senior Lieutenant Natalya Volkova, formerly of CSS Gagarin. I am on a ship of the United States Space Fleet, one that has offered to join us in our fight against the Guild. They are not our enemy. Repeat, they are not our enemy. Guild forces will be striking from ambush at any time. Go to alert stations, and move into formation with Lincoln. And Ivan, my favorite color is turquoise, I hate tuna, and your first crush was your math teacher.”

   “This is Komarov calling, Major Volkov speaking,” a surprisingly soft voice replied. “Feel free to toss my little sister out of the nearest airlock, but I think she picked a pretty fast way of convincing us that you’re on the level.”

   Tapping a button, Forrest said, “This is Captain Catherine Forrest, commanding the United States Starship Lincoln.” She stressed the nationality more than she normally would, and continued, “We’ll be happy to talk about the details of just how we got here in the future, but we have reason to suspect that you will come under enemy attack at any moment. We need you to move into a defensive formation to allow us to bring you into our fighter screen.”

   “Understood, Lincoln.” He paused, then added, “Our historical database confirms your identity. If this is a Guild trick, then we’re probably dead anyway, so I’m going to…” He paused, then said, “Captain, I’m getting a signal from the surface, and the sender identifies himself as a member of your crew, a Lieutenant Romano?”

   “Good God, I don’t believe it,” Singh said, shaking his head. “Lucky son of a bitch...”

   “Lieutenant Romano was captured on the surface,” Forrest said. “I guess he’s managed to get free. Can you patch him in?”

   “We’ll work on that. The signal strength is very weak. Stand by one.”

   “Captain,” Moran warned, “the levels of dimensional instability are not decreasing as they should. I think we’re going to have some more company in a matter of moments, at a scale considerably larger than the Zemlyan force.”

   “Komarov, did you read that?”

   “I did, and our sensors are telling us the same story.” A burst of Russian crackled through the speakers, and he said, “We’re coming into position now. Ready to go in one minute, which should get us there in time. Given that you know more about the tactical position than we do, and that you obviously have a superior force at your disposal, I’m happy to accept you as flotilla commander for this operation.”

   “Fine,” Forrest said. “Commander, launch first wave.”

   “Lieutenant Mendez,” Singh said, holding a hand around his microphone, “Launch your element. Defensive formation at present, as per battle plan.”

   The bridge doors slid open, and Merritt walked into the room, sheepishly saying, “I know I’m meant to be off-duty, skipper, but I thought.”

   “Take it, Sam,” Forrest said, and the smiling crewman eased into the helm, his replacement moving gratefully to one of the reserve stations. The ship shuddered slightly as the fighters raced into the void, three at a time, forming into a trio of arrowheads moving into position to surround Lincoln, bringing her and the rest of the ships under their protection.

   “I’m told you have a Marine strike force on board, Major,” Forrest said.

   “Twenty in total, on two shuttles,” Volkov said. “
Our plan is to land the big ship once we’ve secured the surface. Do you have any ground-pounders with you?”

   “After a fashion. Stand by to launch them on my mark. We’ll have an escort for you all the way to low orbit, and again for the return, just in case they try anything.” She paused, then asked, “Do you have any information about Guild fleet assets in this area?”

   “We’d expected to meet a single guard ship, Captain. What happened to Gagarin?”

   “She was destroyed almost as soon as we entered orbit,” Volkova replied. “We barely had enough to knock out their orbital network. Sergeant Petrov and I were the only survivors, and if Lincoln hadn’t arrived in orbit when they did, we wouldn’t be here to talk to you.”

   “Instability still growing, Captain,” Moran warned. “Based on the information I have, I’d estimate anywhere from four to seven enemy ships will be entering the system in less than a minute.”

   “Seven,” Fox said, frowning as she looked over her controls. “I’m not sure we can take seven. Are they all coming through together, Specialist.”

   “Looks like, Lieutenant. Certainly I’m not picking up any sign of dimensional interference anywhere else, at least not at present. No sign of any activity on the surface, either.”

   “Captain,” Volkov volunteered, “I have your link with Lieutenant Romano.”

   “Thank you, Major,” Forrest said. “Romano, do you read me?”

   “Loud and clear, ma’am. I hadn’t expected the pleasure.” A rattle of gunfire filled the air, drowning out his voice for a moment, and he continued, “The base just went on maximum alert. You’ve got them rattled. This channel is almost certainly being monitored, no way to encrypt.”

   “Roger that, Lieutenant,” Forrest replied, straining to think for a second. “Have you ever been to Utah or Omaha, Romano? I hear they’re nice places to visit, especially in early June.”

   “Got that, ma’am,” Romano replied, a faint chuckle audible in his voice. “We’ll be ready, but I recommend you bear in mind that the Guild are planning to use their prisoners as human shields. Estimate a little over five hundred total.”