Bandits Engaged (Battlegroup Z Book 4) by Daniel Gibbs (classic literature list .txt) 📗

dolls as the ship bucked and pitched wildly. “Port and starboard deflectors losing cohesion, Captain,” Cabrillo yelled above the din. “Starboard point-defense emplacement two is destroyed.”

They had no way out. Pirates don’t act like this. Metztli couldn’t get the stubborn thought out of his mind as he tried to figure out what to do next. A merchant above all else, he had no military training and could count on one hand the number of times the Juan de Fuca had charged its weapons. Caught between fight and flight, he had only one option. Metztli punched the ship-wide intercom. “This is the captain speaking. All hands, abandon ship. All hands, abandon ship. Get to the escape pods.”

“Port shield collapsed, sir!”

Metztli threw off his harness and stood. “With me, everyone.”

The small group proceeded to the two escape pods directly aft of the bridge and separated into them. Ungodly metallic groaning punctuated the air while the Fuca was tossed from side to side.

“We’ve got to go, sir!” Cabrillo shouted as he slid into the pilot’s seat on the cramped life pod. “Seal the hatch.”

After checking both directions down the passageway for additional personnel, Metztli put his hand on the control to shut the space door. He was torn between waiting longer for more crew members to make their way forward and the hardwired human desire to survive. There are six other pods. I’m sure everyone’s gotten to them. The thought immediately collided with the duty of the captain to remain aboard until all were safely off. In the end, survival won. Metztli triggered the shut-and-release mechanism, and the little pod rocketed forward.

“Five hundred meters from the Fuca,” Cabrillo called. “One thousand meters.”

Metztli hung on for dear life as g-forces weighed him down and the craft raced away from the doomed freighter.

“Reactor is critical on the Fuca. She’s going up,” Cabrillo said somberly.

Metztli crawled up to the cockpit and struggled to hoist himself into a chair. Once strapped in, he forced himself to stare at the stricken freighter—his ship. He pursed his lips as a bright-white flash erupted. Nothing was left except a debris field when the glare faded—with only a few chunks visible to the naked eye.

“We’re clear, Captain.” Cabrillo sounded like an automaton.

He’s probably in shock. Allowing himself to believe they’d survived, Metztli fought to control his breathing and lower his pulse.

A bright explosion visible through the transparent alloy lining the cockpit brought him back to reality. “What was—”

“Jesucristo, save us,” Cabrillo whispered. “They’re shooting down the pods.” His eyes were as wide as saucers, and his jaw dropped.

The few remaining escape pods tried in vain to maneuver away from the attacking fighters, but it was an impossible task. One by one, they blew apart in brief smears of orange flame.

Metztli and the rest of his crew were moments from death. A life dedicated to the spacer’s way flashed in front of his eyes along with regret for roads not taken and things Metztli wished he could’ve changed. He decided to take his precious last seconds to pray. “Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” As Metztli crossed himself afterward, he closed his eyes.

A single anti-fighter missile exploded in close proximity to the life pod’s hull, which shredded instantly, cutting those inside to pieces. Then the fuel cells overloaded, and the entire pod blew up.

As his consciousness faded amidst the unbearable agony of heat followed by the extreme cold of the void, Metztli hoped his faith in God and an afterlife would bear fruit, and he would awake in a better place.

1

CSV Zvika Greengold

Canaan Orbit—High Loop Five

5 August 2434

Captain Justin Spencer, commander of the Red Tails space-superiority fighter squadron and executive officer of the Zvika Greengold’s flight wing, paused for a moment in the gravlift to deck fifteen. A year ago, he’d been finishing up a work project—trying to tidy up some code he’d written before his two-week annual tour with the Coalition Defense Force. It seemed like it a lifetime ago.

Nearly nonstop combat for eleven months had taken him from a cocky reservist to a hardened veteran along with the rest of his squadron and the carrier’s entire crew complement.

The gravlift doors opened, and he strode down the passageway to a hatch marked CAG—Major Gabriel Whatley. Justin pressed the buzzer.

“Come!” Whatley called loudly from the other side of the hatch.

Justin pushed it open and walked in. “Captain Justin Spencer reports as ordered, sir.”

Whatley gestured at two chairs in front of his desk. The office was small and cramped, overflowing with knickknacks and records. “Sit.”

He’s grumpy, as always. Justin dropped into the indicated seat and waited for Whatley to say whatever he’d called him down there for.

“We have some housekeeping to do, Spencer. You’ve been avoiding the question for weeks now, and I’ve let it slide because of our refit. I might add not being in the vacuum, fighting Leaguers, is making my skin crawl. I can’t wait to get out of here.”

The quip let Justin focus on the second half of Whatley’s statement as he tried to push the first out of his mind. I have to face it sooner rather than later. Francis Martin’s not coming back. He died at Sol, saving our lives. My life. Justin set his jaw. “I know, sir. The Winged Lightning needs a new CO. I—”

“You haven’t made a recommendation to me because it’ll make the loss real and validate the pain of losing another friend.” Whatley’s voice, while ever gruff, held genuine compassion. “I’ve been there, too, son.”

If Justin were anywhere else, tears would’ve flowed. Martin’s constant bantering in the cockpit and his ribald insults directed at the League of Sol pilots they’d engaged so many times together were beacons of strength. But they were gone, as was he. But in front of Whatley, Justin only displayed