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

so many others did to throw off would-be trackers. It all has to be perfect, and it is. Confidence wasn’t something he lacked.

Playing the part of a bulk ore carrier to the hilt, the freighter had jumped in at the edge of a system and was slowly traversing the outer bands of its planets. Minutes stretched into hours, and Grant started to doze off.

“Captain, I’ve got a wormhole opening within twenty thousand kilometers,” the tactical officer announced. She was officially the ship's third mate, and the Farnborough specifically used standard spacer terminology rather than follow CDF procedures. It helped to sell the cover and avoid slipups if noncleared personnel were aboard.

Grant leaned forward. “Signature?”

“Lawrence drive comparison shows as Lusitanian, sir.”

Anticipation crept into Grant’s mind. Most of the drive scans the Greengold took had a Lusitanian signature.

“Small freighter on sensors, Captain. Hole has closed, and she’s moving off to the helium-3 mining orbital around the third gas giant.”

Not our target. Grant stretched his neck to the left. “Could be a scout,” he mused. “Maintain present heading and speed. No need to put on a show.”

The commanding officer of the Farnborough was nowhere to be found, as Grant had had the man removed from the ship before they got underway. He didn’t want anything going wrong and, above all, couldn’t afford to have someone in the way of what it took to accomplish the mission. No matter what happens, we will capture these pirates and obtain the information needed.

Another thirty minutes passed. The tactical officer kept a close watch on the lone contact on their scopes as it made its way farther in-system. The freighter never deviated from its course or speed. In another two hours, they would be ready to jump to the next solar system, Grant calculated. The farther away from the border we go, the less chance of being intercepted.

His thoughts were interrupted by the tactical officer. “Another wormhole, Captain. Five thousand kilometers, bearing zero-five-one.” She glanced at him. “Lusitanian signature as well.”

“Care to take bets on the type of ship to emerge from that wormhole?”

“Not in the slightest, sir.”

He chuckled. “I probably wouldn’t either.”

“New arrival matches the description of the pirate corvettes to a T, sir.”

Grant sat up ramrod straight. “All hands to battle stations. Raise the deflectors and charge our plasma weapons. Notify the Greengold of our situation.”

“Corvette is on a direct intercept course, sir. Sixty seconds to weapons range.”

At the call of battle stations, everything on the bridge shifted. In seconds, displays changed their configuration while auxiliary consoles slid out of the walls. Two fire-control technicians appeared, taking substations to relieve some of the workload of the third mate. The one concession to CDF operational doctrine was the blue lighting throughout the room. Supposedly it helped calm the nerves and encourage focus, but Grant had little patience for such things. “Keep the energy-weapons capacitor at half charge.”

“Sir?”

“We don’t want to show off yet. These pirates need to be slowly pulled into our web.” Grant offered a small smile. “Before we squish them.”

If the tactical officer was disturbed by his obvious relish for what was to come, she didn’t show it. “I’ll keep the neutron beam on standby along with our magnetic cannons.”

“Yes,” Grant replied. “Comms, get me the fighter element. Spencer.”

“One moment, sir.” One of the ratings, who occupied the communications station, turned toward him. “I’ve got him for you, sir.”

“Spencer, this is Agent Grant. Can you hear me?”

“I hear you, sir. Getting bumpy down here, and the alarms going off are hard to miss.”

“Our friends have arrived. Are you clear on your mission?”

“Crystal.”

“Good.” Grant smirked. “We’ll see how good you CDF flyboys really are. Bay doors are opening in ten seconds. Good hunting out there, and remember—nothing matters if we don’t disable and capture a pirate vessel. Do whatever it takes.”

“Understood, sir. Alpha One out.”

“Captain, fighters are launching from the corvette, consistent with previous models observed.”

The bridge rocked as xaser and plasma-cannon fire from the pirate ship raked their port shields. Grant scanned the tactical summary to see their deflectors were holding but taxed. Civvies would be taking hull damage on the next pass. They’ll soon figure out we’re not easy prey.

Return fire composed of plasma charges from the Farnborough raced through the void and caught the pirate vessel as it circled around for another strafing run. The effect was mostly for show. Grant gripped the sides of his chair. What a rush. He looked forward to what came next.

9

Launching from the cargo hold of a converted freighter was among the scariest things Justin Spencer had done in his life. He came within five centimeters of hitting the hull on his way out—which would probably have resulted in instant death. Clearing the hold and accelerating into the void, Justin glanced at his HUD sensor overlay. Eight heavy fighters, one corvette designated Master One. The odds weren’t awful, but he had to believe the enemy would try to escape once they realized the ship they’d attacked was no ordinary civilian ore hauler. With one last glance at the small printed picture of his wife and daughter, Justin cleared his mind for the fight to come.

A stream of orange plasma bolts from the Farnborough crossed the battle space and smacked the pirate vessel. Its shields held and crackled with energy while the corvette gamely returned fire with its plasma cannons, muon turrets, and xaser emitters.

Justin cued his commlink. “Alpha One to Alpha and Beta. Assume finger-four formation and stack at three thousand meters apart.”

The idea was to blow by the pirate craft and let everyone else engage the enemy in dogfights. At the same time, Justin would accomplish the primary mission, then they would eliminate anything left so that the Marine transports would have no issues getting on target. No plan survives first contact with the enemy.

The range between Alpha, Beta, and the pirates rapidly decreased. Justin’s missile-lock-on alarm sounded. “Bandits, bandits bearing three-one-one, range two hundred kilometers. Everyone, spike a bandit and launch at max