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

solar system had yet again changed. More than usual, his heart pounded for the few seconds between emergence and the fighter’s sensors coming back online.

“Nothing within thirty thousand kilometers,” Feldstein called. “I’ve got one gas giant on my scope at bearing zero-three-eight.”

“Confirmed,” Justin replied after blinking a few times and staring at his HUD. “It’ll take a bit for the Ghosts’ sensor systems to perform an in-depth analysis.” He set his head back on his headrest. Even with the flight helmet on, it still took some pressure off his neck. “God, I hope this is it. We need a break.”

“Oh, asking God for help now?” Feldstein replied archly.

“Figure of speech.” Justin cleared his throat. “Let’s go take a look at this gas giant. Come to heading zero-three-eight. Push it up to max thrust without afterburner.”

“Wilco.”

The trip in-system would take six hours, minimum. So far, they’d seen no indications of a League military presence. Or anything else for that matter. Justin hoped against hope for good news, because in his heart, he knew the Zvika Greengold’s time was running out.

10

On the Zvika Greengold, the midday watch had come and gone with little in the way of activity beyond frantic engineering repairs and report after report from the recon teams. Not a single one had been positive. Every system surveyed so far either lacked a mining station or was crawling with League forces. After Tehrani had stood the midday watch, she got some dinner and returned to the bridge for the evening shift. Wright had departed at her insistence for food and some rack time. If he does what I ordered him to. She grinned.

The second- and third-shift officers and enlisted personnel were present on the bridge, and they acted like first-year cadets, trying to avoid getting a demerit.

Tehrani took up studying old star charts from the Exodus, examining the path of the refugees who eventually formed the Terran Coalition. Unlike the mighty Lawrence drives on their ships today, it was a small miracle that the thing had even worked all those hundreds of years ago. Instead of going fifty light-years in a flash, the vast population transports would’ve been lucky to get a light-year or two at the max. I can’t imagine the mental anguish they must’ve gone through, wondering if the untested technology would work past the next day. It made her consider how lucky they were to have the advanced technologies at their disposal all around them.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, new contact at range five hundred kilometers off our port bow. Designated as Sierra Nine—CDF Ghost recon fighter,” the second-shift tactical officer, Second Lieutenant Amancio Campos, announced, immediately pulling Tehrani out of her thoughts.

“Conn, Communications,” Singh interjected. He was the only other first-shift officer on the bridge. “Incoming transmission from Sierra Nine. It’s Captain Spencer, ma’am.”

“Put him on my viewer.” Tehrani turned to the screen above her head.

Justin’s face, encased in his flight helmet, came into view. The picture cut in and out, and lines streaked across the image. “Colonel, can you hear me?”

“I read you, Captain. Go ahead.” Tehrani’s pulse quickened.

“We found it, ma’am. A gas giant with a small mining facility and only a few freighters going in and out. It looks like maybe three a day.”

Tehrani let out a breath, and relief washed over her like a flood. “Military vessels?”

“None, ma’am.” Justin grinned. “If I may be so bold, ma’am, I think we’ve got a winner.”

“Proceed immediately to the hangar bay and join the senior officers and me in the deck one conference room in fifteen minutes, Captain,” she replied. Thoughts shot through Tehrani’s brain at light speed as she considered the logistics of how to proceed. While the boarding and capture of vessels in space was by no means her area of expertise, at least they had more Marines than usual aboard. Perhaps Allah has granted us the ingredients we need to ensure a victory.

“Aye, aye, ma’am. My wingman and I will be landing shortly. Spencer out.”

The screen blinked off. Everyone on the bridge was staring at Tehrani, some overtly and some out of the corners of their eyes while they stood watch over their stations.

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” she said loudly. “But we’re getting there. Do your jobs, work the problem, press on, and our persistence will be rewarded.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am!” a rating in the back yelled. A wave of applause followed his voice.

Relief was written on their faces.

“Lieutenant Campos, you have the conn.”

Campos stood. “Aye, aye, ma’am. I have the conn.”

“Lieutenant Singh…” Tehrani turned toward her communications officer. “Have the XO, Lieutenant MacIntosh, the CAG, and Major Hodges meet me in the conference room immediately.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll track them down,” Singh replied with a warm smile. “Should I have some refreshments sent up?”

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a while. Ask the mess steward to send up some of my tea too.”

Singh inclined his head. “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Tehrani walked off the bridge, her steps lightened, and she felt buoyed by a new feeling: hope.

Deep within the bowels of the Zvika Greengold, Andrew MacIntosh blinked a few times. His eyes were tired from hours of staring at raw sensor data, high-resolution digital imaging, and composite 3-D holoprojections from the Sol system. He’d compiled a list of possible military targets and excluded numerous space installations that were civilian in nature.

“Captain, you in here?” Wright called, jolting MacIntosh from deep concentration.

MacIntosh sprang up and came to attention. “Yes, sir. Apologies, sir. I didn’t hear you.”

“It’s fine,” Wright said with a smile. “Not sure about your other postings, but we’re a bit less on the starch around here.” He gestured to the intelligence-review kiosk with its myriad of screens and a built-in holoprojector. “Since we have a briefing coming up with the colonel soon, I wanted to see how you were coming.”

“Lots of data to sort through, but it’s a target-rich environment, sir.”

Wright plopped down in the chair next to MacIntosh. “You know we’ve got analysts for this kind of