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

uniform with the flag of Scotland on his shoulder. He took two steps into the room and clicked his heels together. “First Lieu—” His face turned bloodred. “Captain Andrew MacIntosh reports as ordered.”

Tehrani was gracious. “Still getting used to your promotion, Captain?”

“Yes, ma’am. Apologies.”

“Take a seat,” Tehrani replied. “Captain MacIntosh, from CDF Special Projects Division, is joining the Greengold’s engineering team. He’ll be overseeing a most unusual project with us.” She grinned. “What you’re about to be told, gentlemen”—she glanced between Wright, Whatley, and Spencer—“is code word classified as the highest level. You won’t speak of it, even in your sleep. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Justin replied quickly. Okay, this is different. Not every day Special Projects shows up.

Excitement built up in him as the others nodded their agreement.

“Good. Captain MacIntosh, I’ll leave it to you.”

MacIntosh stood and touched a data storage device to the holoprojector on the conference table’s center. “Gentlemen, are you familiar with the SFS-4 Ghost?”

Stealth recon fighters? Justin stared at the newcomer, puzzled. SFS-4s were highly specialized craft. He seemed to recall it was nearly impossible to get into a recon squadron, and not many were in service. Beautiful machines, though. He’d often wished he could take one out for a spin.

“We’ve heard of them,” Whatley said in his familiar gruff tone. “But riffraff like us doesn’t get to fly the Coalition’s best.”

Justin barely kept himself from laughing at the sarcastic barb. “Think we could touch one? Supposedly, being in the same hangar as one of those things helps you fly better.”

“Leave the sarcasm to the professionals, Spencer,” Whatley retorted. “Now, why the questions?” He stared at MacIntosh intently.

“Because you will be flying them, Major. You and your entire wing.” MacIntosh deftly worked the holoprojector controls, and a map of the galaxy appeared. He zoomed in to show a section of space between the galactic arms of Sagittarius and Orion. “President Nolan wants to show the League of Sol it can’t attack us with impunity.” A mark denoting Earth appeared. “Our orders are to stage a hit-and-run raid on League military and economic targets inside the Sol system. Preferably as close to Earth as possible.”

Silence descended over the room. Justin stared at the map, and his jaw dropped. Attack Earth? That’s… insane.

“Look, I’m all for killing Leaguers,” Whatley interjected. “I’ve gotten my fair share so far, and I’ll keep on getting mine, but this? From the way you’re talking, I figure the brass is sending a small, expendable fleet, and who cares if we die.”

“Major, I understand your concern.”

“No, you don’t, son,” Whatley rumbled. “You’re a newly minted O-3 and have probably never held someone’s life in your hands. I do that every day. My pilots would fly into the depths of hell itself for the Terran Coalition, but don’t dare ask us to perform a suicide mission for political points.”

“Major,” Tehrani said sharply. “That’s enough.”

“Colonel—”

“Let the man finish, then judge.”

Chastened, Whatley grimaced. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Please continue, Captain,” Tehrani said as she crossed her arms. “I’d like to understand how we’re supposed to avoid being destroyed within fifteen minutes of jumping into Sol by whatever defense fleet the League has stationed there.”

“Well, Colonel,” MacIntosh began, seemingly regaining his groove, “the CAG is right. The Joint Chiefs want to avoid as much risk as possible, but President Nolan is adamant we need to strike Earth. Put some fear into the League and get morale up inside the Terran Coalition. I’m the nexus of this idea. Well, me and a stealth raider driver.”

Wright leaned forward. “The Golden Nebulas? This gets better and better. What’s next? A troupe of dancing bears?” Stealth raider personnel wore a distinctive insignia—a group of stars set against a nebula. Since the emblem was gold, they’d become known as the Golden Nebulas.

“Sir, we’d need a fleet of five hundred plus ships to invade Earth. You and I know that. So does the president. What was asked for was outside-the-box thinking. Enter the SFS-4 Ghost fighter. It’s the only small craft we have that can execute a Lawrence jump.”

“Captain, I think I see the beginnings of your plan here,” Whatley said. “You’re right. Ghosts should provide the element of surprise and avoid risking the Zvika Greengold and whatever other ships are sent. At a high level, that’s good thinking. But you forget something. Ghosts are designed for recon, not fighting. They’re barely armed. Speed and stealth are their primary weapons.”

Justin watched the interplay between the others, and his spirit stirred. For so long, they’d mostly reacted to Leaguer attacks. Aside from a couple of missions in which they’d seized the initiative, almost everything had been a defensive fight. On a good day, they’d repelled the League. On a bad one, the Leaguers took another planet, destroyed a convoy, or worse—overwhelmed a CDF battlegroup. To put the Leaguers on the defensive by attacking Earth—the thought made him downright giddy, even if the odds they’d make it back were exceptionally long.

“Which, sir, is why we’re going to alter them. My job is to refit the SFS-4s for sustained anti-fighter and anti-ship combat.” MacIntosh made the statement sound as if it were no more complicated than taking out the trash or ordering dinner. He held up a tablet. “Some of our best engineers have put together a package that will let them carry missiles and upgrade the energy-weapon armaments. It might not be a Sabre, but these additions will allow us to jump in, cause some serious trouble, hit League targets, and jump out.” MacIntosh’s face broke into a grin, and his Scottish brogue came through a bit clearer. “And we’ll give those communists a message they won’t soon forget.”

Polite chuckles greeted MacIntosh’s statement.

Except for Whatley, who scowled. “I’ll bite, Captain. If these upgrades are so awesome, why haven’t we deployed Ghosts across the fleet?” Before MacIntosh could respond, Whatley pressed on. “I’ll tell you why. Multirole fighters have never worked. Never. Any mechanical object is a tool. The best tools are optimized specifically for the task