Sol Strike (Battlegroup Z Book 3) by Daniel Gibbs (red novels .txt) 📗

neutron-cannon aiming. Instead, Justin allowed her to settle behind him. He disengaged the inertial damping system on his Ghost with a nasty grin and executed a spin move, lining his fighter up to fire on her as it raced forward.

Feldstein, however, was ready. Before he got the kill shot off, she rolled away to the port side, presenting a rapidly moving target that was difficult to hit. While Justin was still realigning his systems, she flashed around and toggled her missile system to the heat seekers. “Alpha Two, Fox two.” The simulated Eagles raced toward his fighter along with a brace of neutron-cannon bolts.

Justin had expected his implementation of Major Whatley’s signature combat move to win the day in one fell swoop. To his surprise, he was on the receiving end of a knockout blow. Justin rolled away while triggering the flares dispenser, sending numerous high-temperature decoys into the void in the hopes that they would throw off the heat-seeking missiles. One took the bait and exploded violently, while the other tracked him move for move.

“Ready to give up, sir?”

“Not a chance in hell.” Justin pulled back hard and executed another one-hundred-eighty-degree turn then headed straight for Feldstein. He didn’t bother to wait for the missile tone, instead firing two Vultures before the LIDAR system had fully locked up her fighter. Perhaps thanks to the short range of his attack, both hit before she could react. Her craft slowed considerably, which made lining it up for a neutron-cannon volley far more straightforward than it should’ve been. A dozen bolts later, the flight computer marked Feldstein as destroyed. “Alpha One, splash two.”

“Oh, you got lucky, flyboy,” Feldstein immediately replied. “Stupid computer said my engine lost sixty percent thrust.” She sounded miserable. “Next time, I’ll take you.”

“I look forward to it,” Justin said as he evened out his fighter and slowed from combat speed.

“Sometimes, it’s better to be lucky than good,” Feldstein groused as her craft came back to life. “Be careful your luck doesn’t run out.”

“I’ll see what I can do there.” Justin grinned and toggled the comm channel over to Command. “Major, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Spencer. Quite a show you guys put on.”

“Thank you, sir. I still need to review the simulator holovids, but I feel pretty confident moving forward. The improved Ghosts function quite well.”

“Agreed. Bring them back to the barn.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Justin replied. Finally, we’re ready to hit the League.

After they’d completed the Ghost tests and a final set of recommendations to MacIntosh and the engineering teams from the CDF Special Projects division, the mood on the Zvika Greengold shifted from desperation to hope—especially among the pilots and the Red Tails. To celebrate, Whatley gave them the night off, which resulted in a card game hosted by Mateus after dinner.

Justin, Adeoye, Feldstein, and Mateus sat around the usual table in her quarters. Over the past few months, it had become routine, almost a habit, for Alpha element to gather there. Bantering the evening away, they consumed a few beers, kicked back, and relaxed to the point that Justin almost felt like a normal human being—not a warrior on a hair trigger, waiting for the next battle.

A dozen disastrous hands of poker and two pints of beer later, he tossed his cards onto the table. “You win again, Lieutenant.”

Mateus made a grand show of collecting the chips on the table and adding them to her massive pile. “I believe you’re all tapped out now.” She winked. “When are you boys going to learn not to mess with the Portuguese raider?”

“Sure you haven’t marked those cards?” Justin asked good-naturedly but with a stern expression. “Seriously, eleven out of twelve hands?”

She shrugged. “You all have tells. I’ve learned them after all this time. Three months is an eternity to play the same people in cards.”

“Hmmm.” Justin’s lips curled into a grin. “Put your money where your mouth is, and let’s play some blackjack.”

“You’re on, flyboy.”

As Mateus shuffled the cards and removed both the jokers, Feldstein spoke. “So, who’s looking forward to hitting the Leaguers at Earth?”

“Better question—what yellow-bellied coward isn’t, so we can throw them off the ship?” Mateus replied as she cut the deck. “I can’t wait to get there.” Her face contorted in anger. “And pay them back for what they’ve done to all our friends.”

Justin tilted his head. “No one’s worried it’s a jump too far?”

“You, of all people, ask us that?” Feldstein smirked. “The holovid hero himself, Justin Spencer, getting cold feet? Perish the thought.”

“Downtime gives way to introspection,” Justin replied with a frown. “Especially when I look at all the symbols on the side of my fighter.” What had begun as a way to honor the pilots lost on the Zvika Greengold had morphed into something of a shipwide memorial. Several other Red Tails had copied him, having religious symbols painted on the side of their craft instead of kill markings.

Mateus tossed a couple of cards faceup to each of them before putting a single card facedown in front of her and a second faceup. “It’s war.” Her tone was nonchalant but held an edge. “We all knew what we signed up for.”

“I’ll hit,” Justin said after examining his cards—a ten of spades and a three of diamonds.

The next card to land in front of him was a nine of clubs.

“Ha. It looks like your luck is holding, Spencer,” Mateus said.

The others played their hands before she continued, “Dealer has fourteen and will hit. Ah, look at that, a queen. Dealer busts.” Her eyes locked with his. “I think you’ll do just fine.”

“Everyone’s got an expiration date,” Justin replied.

“Wow, I thought we were supposed to be cheering ourselves up,” Feldstein interjected. “Keep this up, and I’ll want to visit an airlock.”

Chuckles swept through the room, but they seemed forced.

Adeoye leaned forward. “Friends, it would be wrong not to acknowledge the loss of so many of our number. But at least the four of us have survived. We are like brothers