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

inserting onto a League space station is a close second. This will be the first time I’ve ridden cargo class, though.”

A wave of snickers went through the weapons bay.

“When we’re done with these assholes, they’ll be flying coffin class,” the younger Marine added.

“Just remember, boys and girls: keep your focus, check your right and left, and don’t pull any John Wayne stunts. Clear?”

“Crystal, sir!” they chorused back.

Nishimura thought about how few times he’d been in combat. Most of these kids had never fired a shot in anger before we stormed the Leaguer station a few months ago. While the realization was sobering, they’d trained for years for all kinds of operations. A Marine was drilled from boot camp to act with muscle memory. Control of their power armor suits, weapons, and everything else was engrained to the point they could do it in their sleep. We’re always crowing about how awesome our training is compared to near-peer competitors like the Saurian Empire or the Matrinids. About time we find out how real it is.

An hour passed then two. Few things changed outside in the void. The Ghosts sat there unmoving while presenting as small a LIDAR and thermal signature as possible to avoid detection. While League sensor technology hadn’t proven up to the task of pinpointing the best Terran Coalition stealth systems, being prudent still made sense.

Nishimura started to wonder if the next freighter was coming. He cued his commlink to Whatley’s channel. “Major, I know I’m a Marine and bad at math, but aren’t they a bit late?”

“By a good forty-five minutes.”

“What’s the plan?”

Whatley grumbled, “Wait until they show up, land you squids on the hull, and proceed with the mission.”

“So, no plan B.”

A pregnant pause came over the commlink. “We’re so far past plan B that it’s a joke, and you know it, Major.” Whatley coughed. “This is a Hail Mary. If we’re lucky, only half of us die.”

“Nice positive thinking there.”

“The CDF didn’t promise us a rose garden.”

The invocation of an old TCMC recruiting slogan made Nishimura burst out laughing. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“Look, I ran the options. We don’t have the ground troops to capture the station. Even if we did, then there’d be no way to get the fuel to the Greengold. The only thing that makes sense is to wait.”

Nishimura shook his head, even though Whatley couldn’t see him. “If you knew anything about Marines, CAG, you’d know that we hate to wait.”

“Get used to it,” he retorted though with a good-natured tone. “It’s all pilots do—until the shooting starts.”

“Amen to that.”

“Now sit tight and try not to fill up your suit’s relief bladder.”

After trying again to shift himself, Nishimura went silent. He didn’t feel like bantering with Whatley and instead focused on the fight he hoped was to come. If they didn’t win, they would never see the Terran Coalition again.

Justin stifled a yawn as his joints cried out in pain. Trying to twist his body into a different position was nearly impossible in the cramped cockpit and just led to cramps in other areas. Four hours down, eight to go. They’d made it two jumps toward Earth, and in keeping with the mission parameters, the fighter force held its position in deep space. Fifteen minutes were left before the Lawrence drive completed its cooldown.

“Justin, you there?” Feldstein asked on a private channel.

“Yeah.” I wonder why she’s using my first name. Even friends in the military almost always used the last name to talk to someone, a system ingrained from day one of boot camp.

“You don’t have to go alone.”

Justin sighed. “Dvora, it’s my duty. I’m not going to take extreme risks. Once I stick my nose in and get a few scans, I’ll send a burst transmission back, and you all join me. No heroics. I promise I won’t take on the entire League of Sol by myself.”

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“I have no plans to die today.” Justin felt perplexed by her behavior recently. It almost seemed like she had deeper feelings than simple friendship. I’m going to have to address it if we get out of here alive. But for the moment, the only thing he had headspace for was the mission. “I promise.”

“Okay. Be careful.”

“Always.” Justin cued the commlink to synch with the all-friendlies channel. “This is Alpha One. I’m going to spin up my Lawrence drive in a moment, but before I do, I wanted to tell you all that there’s no group of men and women I’d rather be flying and fighting with. Hopefully, I will find the way clear, and we’ll collectively put the hurt on the Leaguers. If I don’t return or reply within fifteen minutes, head back to the Zvika Greengold.” It felt strange to give an order assuming his death or capture, but duty required it. He wished he could’ve recorded a final message for his wife and daughter, but they were so far from the Terran Coalition that the range wasn’t there, even with FTL communication, for it to get back to the fleet’s listening posts.

“Mate, nothing is stopping me from putting the hurt on those commie bastards,” Martin replied. “So if you make it or not, I’m coming in and getting mine. You can drink a cold one to that.”

Peals of laughter spread across the commlink, and Justin joined in. “You’re on when we get back to home plate.”

“Good luck, mate. We’re all pulling for ya.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant.” Justin flipped the safety cover off the jump button and confirmed one last time that the proper coordinates were loaded. Then he pressed the button, engaging the Lawrence drive. A blue-and-orange artificial wormhole roared into being directly in front of his fighter, and he increased forward speed to enter it. As Justin closed his eyes for the transit, he hoped it wasn’t for the last time.

12

Justin kept his eyes shut as tightly as he could during the wormhole transit, as he’d learned his lesson during the first series of