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

Coming out of what could only be described as a gravity wave, Justin returned his gaze to the HUD. The scene amazed him. Hundreds of cargo pods had scattered, and a few were already entering the atmosphere of Mars. Bright plumes of flame leaped off them, a telltale sign of parabolic reentry.

“Not sure what we did or who did it,” Justin said. “But nice work, folks. Okay. Time to get out of here and head back to the Greengold.” His gut said it was time to make their escape.

“We’ve got incoming. Bandits, bandits, one-seven-zero, range seventy kilometers. Twenty-plus bandits on an intercept course,” Feldstein called with alarm. “I’m being spiked.”

“My entire squadron’s spiked,” Green muttered.

Overlaying the sensor readout on his HUD, Justin realized the Leaguers were too close for them to make a run for it. Those damn Shrike fighters of theirs have afterburners. We don’t, and they’ll catch us before we hit the Lawrence limit to microjump. No choice but to fight. “We can’t run, people. Squadron leaders, reform elements and prepare to engage.”

Feldstein cut in on a private commlink channel. “I hope to God you know what you're doing.”

“Trust me, Dvora,” Justin replied. “We blow through these guys. They probably can’t get more fighters out before we break contact and get to the limit. Then we’re home free.”

“From your lips to God’s ears.”

“If there is one, sure.” Justin flipped the channel back to Alpha element. “Alpha, finger-four formation. Use double missiles to engage. We need to knock out as many hostiles as possible in one pass without turning this into a dogfight.”

“Wilco,” Adeoye replied as he rolled his craft toward Justin’s wing.

The range between the twin groups of fighters closed rapidly. Multiple lock-on warning tones sounded in Justin’s cockpit as he settled onto a vector to intercept the onrushing enemy craft. Using the mental interface with his Ghost, Justin selected the twin-fire mode for his Vultures. The moment the Leaguer entered weapons range, he squeezed his missile-launch button. “Alpha One, fox three.”

Anti-fighter missiles sped away from both sides, with the Ghosts having an edge in volume of fire thanks to their higher numbers. Electronic countermeasure systems went to work, jamming several warheads while chaff blossomed from aft-mounted dispensers. Several League fighters ceased to exist as they took multiple hits, and the two formations met in a wild melee. Blue neutron-cannon bolts and red plasma balls crisscrossed in space, and shields lit up from direct impacts as well as glancing blows.

One of the Vultures Justin fired hit its intended target, but the other exploded harmlessly, taking the bait of enemy countermeasures. He rolled his fighter, struggling to keep the Leaguer in his sights. Its pilot was better than most and successfully dodged most of the neutron-cannon fire he sent its way. I don’t have time for this. Justin toggled his stores selector to heat-seeking missiles and squeezed the trigger. “Alpha One, Fox two.” Guns-D that, asshole.

Another four League craft exploded as more friendly fighters entered energy weapons range, while the enemy Justin tracked tried to juke out of the way. Flares erupted from it, decoying the inbound HT-53D Eagle. But while the pilot avoided one threat, another materialized. Feldstein obtained a guns solution and fired a stream of neutron-cannon bolts. A few moments later, the Shrike exploded violently.

“You looked like you could use some help, sir.”

Justin let out a sigh. “Yeah, thanks, Dvora. That one was slippery.” Why am I using her first name?

He had no time to think about the subject further. Noting that four friendly icons were dark, indicating lost craft and pilots, Justin engaged the tactical overlay on his HUD. Only one League fighter remained in the near vicinity, and it wasn’t moving to pursue. Now’s our chance. “All pilots, break left relative. Come to heading zero-three-three, mark positive ninety. Max speed to the Lawrence limit.”

A few light-years away, Nishimura stood guard with the Marine squad as MacIntosh and the captured civilian who’d promised to help them toiled at a console. The rest of the crew had been rounded up—hands and feet flex-cuffed together—and moved to an empty compartment under heavy guard. Nishimura had little confidence in the League turncoat, regardless of her story. Only MacIntosh’s insistence that they could use the help in deciphering the engine and flight controls kept Nishimura from shooting her along with the rest of them.

“Status report,” he barked for the third time in five minutes.

“The same as it was a minute ago, sir,” MacIntosh replied. He turned from the console. “We’re almost done unlocking them.”

Nishimura stroked the butt of his sidearm. “How do I know you’re not secretly sending a message to your Leaguer buddies?” he asked the woman.

She turned and glared at him. “You have no reason to trust me, but I suspect this gentleman here will know if I do anything untoward and promptly shoot me.”

“Ya got tha’ right, miss.” MacIntosh’s brogue had become considerably thicker in the last half hour.

Silence followed as she tapped away for several more seconds. With a flourish, the woman hit a final key and slid back from the console. “You should find yourself able to maneuver the ship now.”

MacIntosh gave the thumbs-up with his armored gauntlet. “Confirmed, Major. We’re able to navigate freely.”

“Next step, the helium-3 refinery.” Nishimura crossed his arms. “Walk us through how your ship takes on fuel.”

“It’s entirely automated,” the woman said. “We dock, an arm extends, and once our access codes are accepted, an hour later, we’re full.” She shrugged. “The job could be automated, but the League prides itself on full employment. Everyone has a place, you see.”

Nishimura gestured out the windows at the front of the bridge. “Take us in, then. There’s no time to waste. Do you have a name?”

“I thought you’d never ask. It’s Candace Flores. And yours?”

“Major Kosuke Nishimura.” He furrowed his brow. “What planet are you from?”

“Earth.” She wiped a piece of hair out of her eyes.

Nishimura’s mind raced. The idea of a civilian POW randomly being a Christian