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

the League installation closer. What had started as a small speck, barely visible to the naked eye, revealed itself as a massive collection of storage tanks, an industrial-processing system of some sort, and docking ports for at least fifteen freighters. It rivaled anything Justin had ever seen in the Terran Coalition in size. I wonder if this is a centralized fuel-processing center or something. In the end, it didn’t matter what the Leaguers had built. What mattered were the dozen fusion warheads they were about to unleash.

“We’re in range, sir,” Feldstein reported.

“Red Tails, launch on my mark. Three, two, one, mark.” He double-checked the squadron-status display to see everyone had a separate target on the fuel depot locked. “Alpha One, Fox four.”

The Javelin anti-ship missile dropped out of the internal stores bay on the underside of Justin’s fighter and blasted off into the darkness of space. Joined by eleven others, it accelerated toward the target. Without the usual electronic countermeasures and rapid-fire point-defense weaponry directed to them, the warheads flew in roughly straight lines at a constant rate of speed.

It took the Javelins four minutes to fly from their launch point to the enemy installation. They were the longest four minutes of Justin Spencer’s life. Each second seemed like an eternity, and he expected hundreds of League fighters to jump them at any moment. He utilized every stress-reduction technique he knew, from deep breathing to allowing his thoughts to wander to Michelle and Maggie.

Precisely four minutes and eight seconds after launch, the first fusion warhead exploded in a brilliant flash of pure white that lit up the orbit of Saturn. One by one, the other eleven missiles followed suit, and when they were done, what had once been a tribute to human ingenuity lay utterly destroyed. In its place was a twisted mess of alloy tumbling in its decaying orbit and soon to be gobbled up by the atmosphere of the gas giant.

Justin could scarcely believe how successful the assault had been. Secondary explosions continued to blossom from the stricken station’s hull, and finally, a section of it blew apart with a sustained flash of orange flame. “Scratch one fuel processor.”

A general broadcast transmission from a ship or station nearby caught Justin’s attention, and he put it through to his cockpit speakers. It took a few moments for the translation program to catch up with the rapid-fire Russian. “We’re under attack!”

“Impossible. This is the heart of the League. No one would dare attack us here, comrade. You must be experiencing technical difficulties.”

“You idiot, we registered multiple LIDAR contacts before the explosions started going off. I tell you something is shooting at us!”

Justin had a strong desire to cue his commlink to the same channel and loudly announce the Coalition Defense Force was here, but he suppressed it. That’d be suicide right now. As the local authorities kept bickering, he searched for another target.

Feldstein interrupted his thoughts. “There’s a freighter convoy about two hundred klicks out, sir.”

“I see it,” Justin replied. He pulled up the sensor display on his HUD. At least fifteen cargo vessels were moving together, headed to Jupiter. Going after them would serve a dual purpose: hitting other targets while letting them synch up with Martin’s squadron. “Let’s do it. Remember Colonel Tehrani’s orders, though. We only fire on cargo transports. If there’s a passenger liner in there, it’s not a valid target. Confirm scan results before weapons release.” I won’t be responsible for an atrocity.

“Acknowledged, sir.”

Another fifteen minutes passed for Nishimura. The wait for each cycle of the airlock was an agonizing eternity. Terran Coalition Marine Corps tactical doctrine was to concentrate overwhelming force against the enemy, shock them with extreme firepower, and push through. As MacIntosh and the electronics specialist entered the ship, the plan he was working on continued to form.

Nishimura keyed his commlink. “Master Guns, change of plans. I’m taking eleven shooters and our el cheapo fleet engineer, and we’re storming the ship.”

A pregnant pause came over the commlink. “Are you sure, sir?”

“I’ve got a feeling we’re out of time. Just call it a sixth sense.”

“Understood, sir. Watch your corners and stay frosty,” O’Conner replied.

Nishimura could almost feel O’Conner’s grin through the communications system. “You know it, Master Guns. Get the rest of the team in and secure aft of the airlock. If we get in over our heads, I’ll let you know.” He clicked off the commlink and pointed at four Marines. “Hold this position, Corporal.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied crisply. “No one’s getting by us.”

“Good. Marines, on me. Armstrong, take point. Captain MacIntosh, you’ll take up the rear, and try not to shoot any of us. Got it?”

“I’ll do my best, sir,” MacIntosh replied cheekily.

Nishimura decided against a witty retort, instead directing his attention forward.

“On it, sir.” Armstrong took a few steps forward and raised his battle rifle. The rest of the squad took positions behind and to the side of him. They advanced at a rapid pace toward the first bulkhead. The four stunned Leaguers still lay on the deck, hands zip-tied behind their backs. Armstrong pulled a mechanical lever and opened the hatch into the next section.

The freighter was remarkably uniform and well kept. Barely a speck of dust seemed to be present, leading Nishimura to ponder how they managed to do that with the limited crew complement.

Proceeding at a brisk walk, the Marine squad moved down the passageway, passing cargo holds and computer equipment. After another twenty-five meters, they reached the next hatch. Again, they opened it and pushed through.

When they were halfway to the next bulkhead, the heavy alloy door behind them clanged shut.

Nishimura instantly went on guard. “Brace yourselves!” he bellowed. Ambush? Not until he floated free of the deck plates did he understand what was happening. Artificial gravity ceased, and the atmosphere alarm triggered in his HUD. “Switch to internal suit oxygen reserves and deploy magnetic boots.”

Going from floating in the middle of a zero-G space to back onto the right surface, even with mag-boots,