Never In Vain (Lincoln's War Book 2)

by Richard Tongue

 Romano glanced at Sinaga, lying prone on the deck, then stepped over to the datapad, still swinging from the charge, entering the final command code. The red lights flickered, then switched to green, the device disarmed with less than fifteen seconds to go. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, holstered his weapon, then moved over to Sinaga, pulling a medical kit from his pocket.

   “Did you do it?” Sinaga asked, his voice wracked with pain.

   “We’re still alive, aren’t we?”

   “You are. I’m not sure about me,” the PacFed officer replied. He looked down at the wound in his chest, and said, “I know where that’s going, Lieutenant. And if my knowledge of the layout of this ship is accurate, no medical team could reach me in time. Not that they’d want to treat me anyway.”

   “Try and relax, Captain,” Romano said, opening the kit. “I’m going to give you a sedative and an anticoagulant, then get you to sickbay.”

   “No!” Sinaga replied, his eyes widening. “I’m a dead man, Lieutenant, and I’ve already paid for my ticket to Hell. I know that much, at least.” He paused, and said, “Captain Forrest said she’d get me information about the location of my crew. Hundreds of them. They’re lost, stranded somewhere.” He took a deep, hacking breath, and said, “I can’t rescue them. I’m not going to have time. You want to pay me back for what I did? Finish what I started. Find them, and get them out of the hands of the Guild.”

   “Captain,” Romano said.

   “Promise me, Lieutenant,” Sinaga said, his hand gripping Romano’s. “Promise me!”

   Nodding, Romano replied, “I’ll do it, Captain. I swear.”

   A faint smile drifted across Sinaga’s face as his head slumped to the side, his last breath rasping across Romano’s cheek. Shaking his head, Romano closed the dead man’s eyes with a sweep of his palm, then rose to his feet, walking to the nearest communicator.

   “Romano to Actual,” he said. “We’ve found the saboteurs. Everything’s taken care of. You aren’t going to have to worry about them any more.”

   “Lieutenant?” Forrest asked. “What the hell is happening down there? Did you find Commander Singh?”

   “I’m afraid so, Captain. I need a medical and maintenance crew to Strut Nine, Junction Thirty-One on the double.”

   “They’re on the way, Lieutenant. As soon as they get there, come up to the bridge. I want to know the whole story, and it had damned well better be good.”

  Chapter 22

   Flynn looked at the sensor display, watching as Tanaka’s squadron nimbly danced through the debris as they began their final approach to the target. Up ahead, the rock dominated the viewscreen, Benedetti forced to slow down as much as she dared to make their attack run work. Barely a thousand miles away, a hundred miles from their closest approach, the enemy fleet loitered, six ships that would be the core of the fleet that would end all resistance to the Guild. Unless they could stop them, here and now.

   “Flynn to Tanaka,” he said. “Move into high guard. Keep out of range of the ground and ship bombardment, but prepare to repel fighters.”

   “Roger, Leader,” Tanaka replied. “We’ll watch you back. You deliver the package.”

   “Benedetti to bombers,” the pilot said. “I’m going in first. Watch my run, follow my lead at twenty-second intervals, and for God’s sake watch your sensors. If this thing goes, we’re not going to get much warning. As soon as we find our mark, bug out and run for home, as fast as you can. Lincoln won’t be able to wait for long.” She turned back to Flynn, and said, “You happy with the data package from Komarov?”

   “I think we’ve got everything we need,” he replied, working the tactical controls. “We’ve got to hit within a quarter-meter of the target if we’re going to pull this off. A near-miss won’t do a damn thing. Unless I’m missing something obvious, your targeting systems aren’t that accurate.”

   “They aren’t, but in practice, we’ve hit targets with that much precision before. It’s a matter of luck and steady flying.” Shaking her head, she added, “That flak isn’t going to help. Can we get some support from your people?”

   “Maybe, but…,” he paused, looked at the sensor screen, and sighed, saying, “Tanaka, I’m reading new contacts heading our way. Must have been hiding behind the other rock. Five, correction, eight bandits incoming. Break and attack.”

   “Roger, Leader,” Tanaka said. “I’ve got them on my screen. I’m engaging now. We’re not going to be able to hold them back for long, though.”

   “Once you’ve expended your ordnance, get the hell out of here, Lieutenant. Don’t wait for us. You’re faster than we are, and Lincoln might need you if the enemy manages a counterattack.”

   “Sir...”

   “That’s an order, Lieutenant! Now go blast some bad guys. Out.”

   “Blast some bad guys?” Benedetti repeated, a smile crossing her face. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you really need to work on your inspirational speeches.”

   “I think I was sick that day at the Academy.” Throwing a switch, he said, “Weapons computer locked onto target. We’re ready to go.”

   Nodding, she said, “Hold onto something. This is going to be tough.”

   The bomber dived towards the rock, still moving at dozens of meters per second, swinging past a piece of floating debris as Benedetti began her approach. The surface turrets instantly found their mark, pounding protons into the sky all around them, and she swung from side to side, trying to dodge both the bolts and the debris as the missile slung underneath them ranged for its target. Flynn looked at the controls, watching as the cross-hairs drifted close to each other, slowly, so slowly, warning lights dancing on the screen as small particles of debris drilled into the hull, gradually wearing away their sensor inputs.

   “Three hundred miles,” he said. “Closing fast. Release in thirty seconds.”

   “Got it,” Benedetti said, her eyes locked on her screen, hands tight on the thruster controls. The bomber swooped down to the surface, diving through the defensive perimeter, and a new danger manifested itself, jagged rocks reaching up from the ground, ready to tear the guts out of the fragile warship. The bomber was close enough to the surface for Flynn to see every detail, rushing past far faster than any sane pilot would attempt. Then, at least, the cross-hairs locked, and a dull tone filled the cockpit, the missile ready to launch.

   “One hundred miles,” Flynn said. “Go for it!”

   “Not yet,” she replied, weaving past a tower of rock. “Not yet.”

   “Seventy miles!”

   “Now!” Benedetti yelled, stabbing a control to release the missile, then pulling up, throwing the throttle full open in a desperate attempt to gain ground. The warhead lumbered slowly towards its goal, Flynn tracking it all the way to detonation. For an instant, the seismic readings flew off the scale, and he thought that they’d pulled it off on the first try, but the instruments quickly snapped back to normal, the fine sensors feeding through a report he hadn’t wanted to read.

   “A miss. Thirty centimeters out.”

   “Damn,” Benedetti replied. “Mary, you’re next. Go right in.”

   “Roger,” a soft voice answered. “I’m beginning my attack run.”

   Flynn took a chance to look at the battlespace, watching the fight raging in orbit around them, Tanaka sending his fighters on a fast intercept course to bring down the enemy ships. It seemed to be working, at least for the present, but the enemy had far more reinforcements available, and some of the point-defense guns on the monitors were opening up, adding their destructive firepower to the growing maelstrom of energy.

   “Christ!” Benedetti yelled, dragging Flynn back to the asteroid. “Mary, come in. Come in!”

   “Leader, I…,” the pilot replied, before the channel erupted into a torrent of static.

   “Debris,” Benedetti said. “Or a stray proton bolt. I’m bringing us around the asteroid
. We can escort the last couple on their attack run, try and give them some high cover.” Reaching for a control, she added, “Levinoff, you’re next. Keep low, right low, and release at sixty miles distance. Watch your course track, and watch for debris.”

   “Roger, Leader,” Levinoff replied. “Heading in now.”

   Flynn watched as the pilot skimmed down to the surface, nimbly dodging a sustained burst of proton fire from below. The enemy were getting their range now. That much was obvious. He muttered a soft prayer as Levinoff moved into position, a second target appearing on the sensors as he released his missile before throwing himself into an escape trajectory. Another explosion erupted on the surface, followed by a second one in orbital space as one of the surface installations caught the bomber in the tail, the fuel store detonating instantly.

   “Christ,” Flynn said. “He never had a chance.” Looking at the surface sensors, he added, “Fifteen damned centimeters off!”

   “Fourth time lucky,” she replied.

   “Skipper!” Tanaka yelled. “Three enemy fighters have broken through, heading right for you! I’m on my way, but I don’t think I can get there in time.”

   “Where, where?” Benedetti said.

   “Four o’clock, low,” Flynn replied. “I’ve got them.”

   Once more he had to endure the agony of watching, his eyes tracking the three fighters as they raced towards the reserve bombers, forced to break up their attack run in a desperate attempt to survive. The surface could wait, at least for the moment, but their destruction would mean the final failure of the mission and the loss of the entire fleet. Tanaka dived towards the interceptors, Estrada on his tail, recklessly burning fuel in an attempt to make it to the targets in time.

   Proton bolts burst from their winglet cannons as they raced into range, bringing down first one, then a second, but as Tanaka struggled to catch the last of them, the PacFed interceptor released a missile of its own, catching the lead bomber amidships. He didn’t live to savor his victory, but Flynn still cursed under his breath.

   “Nice shooting, people,” Flynn said.

   “Not fast enough,” Tanaka replied. He paused, then said, “We’re running low on fuel, Commander. I think we’re going to have to bug out. Thirteenth, one more pass, then push for home. Try and follow the same track as before, and watch your thruster fuel.”

   “Roger that, Lieutenant. We’ll be with you shortly.”

   Benedetti broke into the channel, and said, “Esposito, Silva, you’re going to make your attack run together, missiles timed to launch one second apart. Esposito first. I’ll take high guard and draw enemy fire. Don’t mess this up. Out.”

   Flynn looked at the sensors again, saying, “Try five degrees port. That’ll take us over the worst of the flak. I hope you’ve got a good evasive course worked out. We’re going to need it.”

   “Just the seat of my pants,” she replied, reaching for the throttle, the engines roaring as she swung around the asteroid. The two bombers were dropping down low, and as she hoped, the emplacements on the surface were hurling everything they had at her, violet bolts flying through the sky. Up above, as Tanaka’s fighters withdrew, the enemy interceptors were turning towards them, waiting to strike their exit vector.

   Two shots. Two shots that had to find their mark, or they were all as good as dead. Flynn’s eyes remained fixed on the scanners as Esposito and Silva began their approach, each picking their own path towards the target. The seconds crawled away as they swooped around the rocks and crags of the surface, finally releasing their missiles at closest approach, burning their engines hot in a bid to reach orbit.

   The first missile missed. The worst shot yet, eighty centimeters out.

   The second missile, by a miracle, found its mark.

   “Seismic readings off the scale!” Flynn yelled. “Punch it, Benny! We’ve got to move!”

   As the hum of the engines turned into a roar, the three bombers moved into loose formation as they raced clear of the asteroid. Flynn had a perfect view of the destruction raging behind them, the geologic flaw ruptured by the precisely aimed shot, sending millions of tons of rubble flying into the sky. Instantly, their pursuers decided that attempting to save their lives was more important than chasing after the enemy, scattering in all directions, burning their afterburners on whatever course they happened to be on.

   A blinding flash filled the sky, and another shock wave raced through the asteroid, burning lava erupting from long silenced subsurface volcanoes. The enemy capital ships were trying to move, trying to bring engines and thrusters online, but it was a race they were never going to win, and Flynn watched with sick fascination as the gigatons of debris smashed into them, wave after wave of molten rock sweeping through the void, clearing anything that happened to stand in its way.

   The Guilder ships were first, battered and smashed as ever-larger fragments hurtled into them, their superstructures instantly shattered by the sheer weight of debris. Then the PacFed ships, titanic vessels centuries out of their own time, turned into twisted rubble. One lone shuttle raced away from the nearest, trying to gain distance, screaming desperate distress signals into the void, but there was no hope, no chance. They were dead, and a tumbling rock finished the job, catching it on the lower hull.

   “My God,” Benedetti said. “My God. I never thought I’d see anything like this. What have we done, Jack? What have we done?”

   “Something I hope we never have to do again,” he replied. Looking down at the sensors, he added, “More thrust, now. That blast wave is gaining on us.”

   “If I go any faster, we won’t be able to maneuver through the rocks.”

   “We can’t do that if we’re dead!” Flynn snapped. “Full power, now!”

   The bomber surged faster, diving into the debris field as it raced for home, raced for the carrier waiting for them on the far side. Flynn looked at the mid-range sensors, sighing as he saw one of his pilots destroyed, then another crippled by a jagged piece of debris. The whole field had been disrupted by the explosion, would be a navigational nightmare for decades to come. The Guild would never again be able to use this system as a base, but the price had been high, so high.

   A siren wailed in the cockpit, and Flynn glanced to the side, spotting gas streaming out of a wound in the hull. Benedetti struggled with her controls, trying to compensate for the effect of the leak, trying to keep them on course. Slowly, painfully, they emerged from the debris, finally outrunning the first wave of the blast.

   “Flynn to Lincoln Actual,” he said. “Flynn to Lincoln Actual. Prepare to receive fighters. Recommend immediate withdrawal from the system as soon as we land.”

   “Understood, Commander,” Forrest said. “Come on home. Great job. Outstanding job.”

   “Yeah,” Flynn replied, looking back at the endless sweep of devastation behind them, the tangling mass of rubble still causing periodic explosions where remnants of starship lay. His best guess was that on the order of ten thousand people had just died.

   “Coming in on landing sequence,” Benedetti said. Flynn could see the smooth lines of the ship up ahead, then winced as he saw the angry gash at the rear, the tangled mess of the hyperdrive. Benedetti glanced back at him, her eyes laden with fear as she gently guided the wounded bomber inside. As the locking mechanism engaged, she said, “We’re home.”

   Nodding, he replied, “Aye. But unless we can work a miracle with the hyperdrive, this could end up being a pretty short-lived celebration.”

  Chapter 23

   The bridge was quiet, the usual hum of activity stilled, the focus of all attention the viewscreen, showing close-in imagery of the swarm of asteroids ripping through space, the final destruction of the Guild task force and their captured PacFed cruisers. A smaller cluster of contacts closed on Lincoln, her children returning from battle, desperately attempting to outrun the ever-growing wave of destruction and death in their rear.


   Forrest watched the screen impatiently, trying not to let her frustration show. Every second was hurting their chances of getting away, even with the engineering teams working furiously to make good the damage inflicted by the suicide strike, but she couldn’t leave anyone behind. Not after what they had risked for their ship and crew. It wouldn’t be fair.

   “All fighters home, Captain!” Fox reported. “In and safe. Nothing else outside but the Guilders, and not many of them left in flight.”

   “Helm, hard about,” Forrest ordered. “Full speed, any heading, now!”

   “Aye, Captain,” Merritt replied. “Full acceleration.”

   Stabbing a control, she said, “Engineering, this is the Captain. Report status on the hyperdrive. We’re going to need to get out of the system in a hurry.”

   “Still offline,” Brooks replied. “If you can give me a few minutes...”

   “I can, but the debris field can’t,” she said. “Fox, how long?”

   “Three minutes, ten seconds to first impact. Turrets are ready to repel, but there’s no chance they can shoot down everything. It’s just going to prolong the agony for a little while, and probably not very long at that.”

   “Did you hear that, Commander?” Forrest asked.

   “I heard it. Stand by.”

   Nodding, Forrest turned back to the screen, watching as the few survivors fled the destruction, a handful of Guilders finding their way clear on fast shuttles. Though they were likely doomed, as well. No life support for longer than a few weeks, and even if the Guild returned to this system in the time, they’d likely execute those they believed responsible for the disaster. Even if it was only a handful of hapless technicians and shuttle jockeys, they’d want a scapegoat.

   “More speed, helm,” Forrest said.

   “I’m pushing her as hard as I dare, Captain,” he replied. “We’ve sustained structural damage. If I ride her any faster, she might fly apart.”

   “Two minutes, thirty seconds to first impact,” Fox said.