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

Red Tails fly close escort. War Hogs can handle what’s left.” Justin scanned his sensor readout one last time.

“Wilco, sir,” Green replied.

Justin switched commlink frequencies once more. “Attention, all pilots. Break right, five degrees, eight degrees upward vector. Prepare to engage the enemy.”

As the formation closed on the Leaguers, Martin and his Winged Lightning squadron mates broke off into small groups. The enemy vessels opened up with volleys of point-defense fire the moment they entered weapons range. Red plasma balls and streaks of energy filled the void, which the fighters answered by launching numerous Javelin missiles.

One of the corvettes, apparently crewed by braver men and women than they’d encountered so far, charged forward with its weapons blazing. The Ghosts attacking it scattered as the ship ranged on them, forcing it to divide its fire between four targets. Two anti-ship warheads hit its forward shield, causing massive flashes of white light, then two more quickly followed. When the glare faded, the League vessel had a good portion of its hull missing and was tumbling out of control. Escape pods launched before it blew apart.

“Scratch one Leaguer!” Martin roared.

The other corvette veered behind the frigate, apparently not interested in joining its consort’s fate. Four other Ghosts from Martin’s squadron loosed Javelins toward the League frigate before adding a maelstrom of neutron-cannon fire to the mix. They stayed in a tight, interlocking formation and closed the distance.

Made from slightly sterner stuff than the destroyed corvette, the League frigate opened fire with highly accurate point-defense weaponry. Red plasma balls filled the void and took out most of the anti-ship warheads headed toward it. Then the balls found the onrushing Ghosts. One ship exploded in a bright-orange burst of flame, while the other three quickly broke off and juked away.

Alarmed, Justin watched it play out on his sensor screen. Wait a minute. Something’s wrong here. League ships of any class, much less frigates, don’t have that kind of massed PD weaponry. “Echo One, break off. I say again, break off.”

“What the hell do you think we’re doing, Alpha One?” Martin replied. “We’ll take another pass with everyone. That commie bastard is going down.”

“I scanned their turret configuration. There’s twice as many close-in weapons on that thing as a normal Lancer-class frigate,” Green said. “No wonder they were able to knock down our Javelins.”

A new cluster of red dots suddenly appeared on Justin’s HUD. “Bandits, bandits, bearing zero-seven-four.” It took a moment for the computer to calculate how many. His eyes grew wide as the count ticked up to twelve Shrike fighters. “Twelve inbound bandits. Red Tails, break and attack. Winged Lightning, avoid engagement and re-form to attack the frigate.”

The range was closer than Justin would ever have liked to begin an engagement at less than fifty kilometers. The Leaguers separated into a stacked formation with six craft in two layers. It appeared on the scanner as a rectangle. No time to get fancy. “Red Tails, get a hard lock and use LIDAR-tracking missiles then close in and finish ’em off.”

Buzzing from the missile-lock-on warning system filled the cockpit of Justin’s fighter. He deployed a wave of jammers before squeezing the launch button. “Alpha One, fox three.”

Missiles from both sides raced through the void, and many exploded harmlessly from massed ECM pod use and jamming chaff deployed throughout the battlespace. Several League craft were hit and two destroyed, while one unlucky Ghost was bracketed by four Leaguer warheads and erased from existence. The fight quickly degenerated into a tail-chasing dogfight as individual pilots and their wingmen clawed for every advantage.

Justin chased a League craft, snaking through several scissor maneuvers before he finally obtained a guns solution. He held down the firing trigger, and dozens of blue bolts from the miniature neutron cannons erupted from his fighter. The Leaguer’s aft shields held for several hits before collapsing, and it exploded a moment later.

Thanks to the entire squadron’s efforts and a few lucky shots, the League force was reduced to three Shrikes then two. Justin got behind another enemy, aiming for the six o’clock position. Unlike his previous opponent, the Leaguer could fly and evaded almost everything Justin threw at him.

I don’t have time for this. He switched the stores selector to a heat-seeking Eagle warhead and launched. The missile dropped out of the central bay on his Ghost and raced toward the enemy. It hit the weakened aft shield and caused just enough damage that the next volley of blue bolts hit and erased it from space.

“You’re clear, Echo One. Light ’em up!” Justin practically shouted as his Ghost roared toward the exploding League fighter. He rolled away from the blast, searching for another target. For the moment, his scope was clear of other enemy craft.

“Wilco, mate,” Martin replied.

The battered Winged Lightnings re-formed and came in at different attack angles, skillfully targeting the same shield arc but avoiding the tight formation that had cost them so dearly the last time. Each Ghost loosed a Javelin and turned to stymie incoming point-defense fire as soon as the warheads were away. The League frigate gamely tried to shoot down the incoming missiles, but it was a hopeless task, with so many coming in on scattered vectors.

One after the other, fusion warheads smacked into the energy barrier protecting the Leaguer vessel. The barrier failed, then the next four warheads exploded against the thin armor plating, sending molten alloy into the void. A few seconds later, the entire ship went up like a Roman candle. No escape pods flew from it, and the resulting debris was less than a meter in length.

“Who’s next?” Martin asked. “Any other Leaguers want to fight? I’ll take any of you on.”

It took Justin a moment to realize Martin was transmitting on the guard frequency. He keyed his mic. “Alpha One to all pilots. Break toward the Lawrence limit and push it up. Max speed.”

“Music to my ears, sir,” Feldstein replied.

As the friendly fighters grouped back into a spherical formation, Justin studied the squadron-readiness readouts. They