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

fuel transport, the rest of our forces will attack Sol.” She paused and took a breath. “When I was a little girl, my mother told me stories of life on Earth, passed down from her grandmother, who heard those same stories from her grandmother. Each generation bred in the next a sense of wonder about the cradle of humanity. I had hoped that someday, humans from the Terran Coalition might yet again walk on the soil of our home. Instead, thanks to the League of Sol’s cowardly attack on us, we’re forced to fight at the very place from which we were birthed.”

The bridge became whisper quiet. Breathing was the only sound besides the odd chirp of a computer console.

“I know firsthand how horrible the war has been—the pain of losing our friends, seeing Canaan itself assaulted, and the narrow victories we’ve won. The Terran Coalition remains steadfast because of you, the men and women of the Coalition Defense Force.” She set her jaw. “The road here has been difficult, and the challenge of our reactor failure to the mission is critical. But as long as each of us does our duty… and God looks on us kindly, we will prevail. I wish the warriors going into battle Godspeed and good luck. To the rest of us, work hard, work diligently, and prepare to head home the moment our pilots—and the fuel supply—return. Tehrani out.”

A wave of applause broke out on the bridge, from senior officers and enlisted personnel alike. Wright gave her the thumbs-up sign and smiled. Even the console jockeys clapped.

Tehrani held up a hand, grateful for the show of support and trust. The tumult ceased. “Thank you. Now let’s get to work.”

“You heard the colonel. Stations, ladies and gentlemen,” Wright barked.

As the team members got back to their assigned duty positions, Tehrani glanced at the mission clock. Time to launch our birds. “XO, signal the air boss to get everything into space.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.” Wright tapped at the interactive console built into his chair. “All squadrons launching.”

On Tehrani’s tactical plot, blue icon after blue icon appeared on the screen. Automated IFF beacons picked each up as a different craft from the three squadrons on board. Four split off, led by Whatley, while the rest formed up a few kilometers away from the Greengold, with Spencer in the lead.

The pieces are in place. “Communications, confirm stealth raiders are jump ready.”

Wright leaned in. “You know we’ve only got four Sabres on ready, five if the Leaguers find us.”

“With backup pilots who’ve never flown a combat sortie. If they find us before our team can recover the fuel, it’s all over, anyway.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, skipper.”

They both laughed.

Tehrani shook her head. “We’re all in on this one.”

“Yeah. Between us, if they do find the ship, I’m not letting them take me alive.”

Wright’s tone had a hard edge that Tehrani recognized as a made-up mind. Rather than focus on the negative possibility, she chose to believe they would be successful, even with the odds stacked against them.

“All stealth raiders report ready to jump, ma’am,” Singh interjected.

Tehrani sucked in a breath. “Communications, transmit the following: all ships and fighters engage Lawrence drives and begin the mission.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Through the windows at the front of the bridge, muted flashes of light appeared as each stealth raider opened an artificial wormhole and flew through. While the Zvika Greengold’s Lawrence drive created a far brighter and more robust display of color, the raiders used a unique configuration of the drive designed to make the transit as stealthy as possible. A few moments after that, Tehrani’s tactical plot only had two contacts—the Greengold and the Salinan.

“Well, they’re off.” Wright crossed his arms. “Now, all we have to do is wait.”

“The worst part.”

Wright nodded. “Can’t disagree with you there, ma’am.” He put his head back on the headrest. “It’ll be at least twelve hours before they get back. I’ll tell you one thing. I don’t envy those pilots. Bio breaks are nonexistent.”

Tehrani chuckled at the joke and narrowed her eyes. “Until they return, we will continue with the reactor repairs and preparing for departure.”

“And some prayers.”

“Yes.” Tehrani smiled at him. “Allah’s favor would be much appreciated today.”

“Amen.”

Marines were used to difficult situations, cramped quarters, and generally getting the short end of the stick. Kosuke Nishimura certainly was, and the weapons bay he currently occupied along with five other power-armored Marines was possibly the worst situation he’d ever been in, outside of combat. No one to blame but me, either. He chuckled, remembering the NAVY principle—never again volunteer yourself. But Nishimura felt being in command required him to volunteer without question for anything he ordered the men and women under him to do.

“Jump transit complete,” Whatley said through the commlink. “How are you squids doing down there?”

“Pissed off enough to kill an entire freighter full of Leaguers,” Nishimura replied. “Remind me why we signed up for this again?”

“There’s that whole going home thing, Major,” one of the enlisted Marines in the weapons bay interjected.

“Noted, Private.” Nishimura tried to adjust his leg but found it impossible. Six suits of power armor barely fit into the available space, but he’d prioritized maximum numbers over all other concerns, including comfort and safety. “CAG, mind linking my suit into your sensor board? I hate being blind down here.”

“Yeah, I can do that, but no comments from the peanut gallery. Clear?”

Nishimura snickered. “Got it, Major. I wouldn’t expect a critique from you on how we kick doors and shoot Leaguers either.”

“Good. We understand each other.”

A few seconds later, the Ghost’s tactical network synched up with the combat computer in Nishimura’s suit. The system they’d jumped into was empty except for the refueling station. Quiet, as advertised. Not surprisingly, time passed slowly as the element of four fighters lay in wait for the first available target.

“Is this the craziest op you’ve been on, Major?” one of the younger enlisted Marines asked.

Grateful for a momentary distraction, Nishimura answered. “Yeah, probably. Though hot