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

“Too kind.” Voronin poured the hot black liquid into a mug and cradled it in his hands. “My one vice. I must have a couple of cups in the morning. Otherwise, my brain doesn’t function as well as it should.”

Yuen chuckled. “Have you reviewed my strategic plans?”

“I have.” Voronin took a sip. “An interesting change in both strategy and tactics. I am curious as to why you’d abandon the slow taking of each border planet the Terrans have in favor of your new plan.”

“The recent reinforcements we received, coupled with your prodigious ability to repair damaged vessels, has allowed new avenues of advance.” As a student of military history, Yuen had spent years internalizing the lessons from wars on Earth as well as spaceborne conflicts the League of Sol had engaged in over the centuries. Rather than thinking of war fought in space as having a front line, he preferred to look at the benefits of striking the enemy in depth wherever possible. But only recently had he been able to convince the Social and Public Safety Committee to allow it.

“Operation Bagration. It sounds vaguely Russian.” Voronin’s lips curled into a grin. “Should I read anything into that?”

“Only that I took some of my cues from the concept of deep battle, which Russia invented.” Yuen spread his hands out in front of him on the desk. “I believe that we now have the forces to strike throughout the Terran Coalition. As we gain strength, the CDF loses it. Even though the rate of exchange is four League vessels for every enemy ship we destroy, the League has the numbers.”

“The Terrans don’t,” Voronin replied matter-of-factly. “They also lack the stomach for sustained warfare. My intelligence analysts routinely intercept communications in which the so-called free press continually ask if the war is winnable.”

Yuen nodded. “As do mine. Which leads to Operation Bagration—a sustained strike on worlds, including heavily defended core planets, throughout the Terran Coalition.”

“I suppose that explains the troop transports we’ve been receiving the last couple of weeks.” Voronin quirked his nose. “Trying to keep restless soldiers from getting into drunken fights with the spacers is… challenging.”

They both laughed.

“Yes, Army and Navy never mix well,” Yuen replied. Even though it annoyed him to the core, he’d accepted long ago that different service branches had a robust rivalry.

“What can Unity Station do to ensure your success, Admiral?” Voronin asked.

After another sip of green tea, Yuen reflected on the attitude shown by Voronin. If only more men like him were present in the ranks, it would make the ultimate job of ensuring the galaxy fell under the communist revolution so much simpler. “Make every ship in the repair docks ready and keep pushing your crews to complete tasks ahead of schedule. Even the smallest frigate may be decisive in the battles to come.”

“It shall be done.”

6

CSV Zvika Greengold

High Parking Orbit—New Washington

21 March 2434

The day after Tehrani spent what could easily be the last night with her husband felt bittersweet. She’d woken up at 0430 and stared at him while he slept for what seemed like an eternity but was about fifteen minutes. After a quick shower, they had tea together, and she set off for the orbital shuttle station, pondering the next few months. Even with the hustle and bustle of people going about their daily lives, she felt alone. A couple with a newborn baby caught Tehrani’s eye. They pushed the anti-grav stroller before them and sat down in the waiting area for the shuttle. Both of them clearly had nothing but pure love for their child. Will I ever realize what it means to be a mother? Will I experience that joy for myself?

A year ago, children hadn’t been on her radar. Though they had on the roadmap post-retirement, Tehrani didn’t have a deep-seated desire to be a mother—at the time. But recently, she’d thought about it often, especially when confronted by parents with young children. Is it just because I know I might not survive the war and want to somehow pass something on to the next generation?

The military transport arrived at the station, announcing service to the orbital fleet landing facility, and Tehrani got on board. Being back around other soldiers in uniform helped her focus on the war and move away from thoughts of what could be later on.

It took another hour to get from the shuttle station to the airlock hatch of the Greengold. As Tehrani walked into her ship, an automated computer chime sounded, announcing her presence. “CSV Zvika Greengold, arriving.”

It brought a smile to her lips as she strode through the vessel, headed to the bridge. Fifteen minutes after coming aboard, Tehrani exited the gravlift onto deck one and exchanged salutes with the Marines guarding the bridge. They opened the bulkhead, and she entered the command center.

“Colonel on the bridge!” an eagle-eyed chief called.

“As you were,” Tehrani said quickly as those standing came to attention and saluted her.

She returned the salute and went over to the CO’s chair. Wright occupied it.

“XO, I have the conn.”

Wright sprang up with a grin. “Colonel Tehrani has the conn, aye.” He gave her a once-over. “Good night?”

Tehrani narrowed her eyes and stared at him. “Why?”

“Oh, you’ve got the ‘I didn’t think about the war for a few hours’ glow to you.”

Tehrani’s face grew warm. Probably redder than a beet too. “My husband surprised me with a lovely evening.” She cleared her throat. “Was your wife able to make it?”

Wright shook his head. “Unfortunately not. The cost of passage was too high to make sense on my salary.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tehrani replied. “Absence truly does make the heart grow fonder, I think.”

“Oh, it does,” Wright said. “All systems ready, ma’am. We’re ready to depart on your order.”

“In that case”—Tehrani adjusted in the CO’s chair—“Navigation, best course, and speed to the Lawrence limit.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner replied.

The outbound trip took a couple of hours, which Tehrani used to review their final supply manifests and