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

Navigation. We emerged within five thousand kilometers of our projected destination.”

Wright nodded. “Welcome home, skipper.”

“Indeed.” Another successful mission and most of my crew safely returned to their families. She had to focus on small victories. “Navigation, bring us into a parking orbit around Canaan.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner said. “ETA to Canaan is roughly an hour.”

Tehrani laid her head back on her chair, taking in the sights of the Terran Coalition’s capital system, which was bustling, as always, with numerous civilian vessels. The Canaan defense fleet was clearly bolstered. Two large fleet carriers stood watch—the CSV Saratoga and the CSV Abraham Lincoln—along with their escorting battle groups. Such beautiful warships. The lines of the American-built ships were striking, and the two hundred plus combat spacecraft each held were able to project power in ways the Zvika Greengold could only dream about. But it was still our little escort carrier that attacked Sol.

Singh’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Conn, Communications. I have General Saurez for you on the vidlink, ma’am.”

“Put him on my viewer, Lieutenant.”

The screen above Tehrani’s head came alive with an image of Saurez. It appeared as if he was on a ship. “Colonel, do you read me?”

“I do, General. What can the Zvika Greengold do for the Coalition today?”

Saurez grinned. “Take a victory lap, Colonel. I’m transmitting a flight plan to you now. Follow it, and we’ve got something special planned. Oh, and be prepared to receive VIP guests. Several news crews want to interview you and your senior officers. Some of the pilots, too, if you can scare them up.”

“Yes, sir.” Inwardly, Tehrani groaned, though she kept a tight smile plastered on her face.

“I’ll see you when you dock, Colonel. Congratulations again on a job well done. Saurez out.”

As the screen blinked off, Singh spoke. “Receiving course instructions from General Saurez, ma’am.”

“Patch them over to Navigation, Lieutenant,” Tehrani replied. She turned toward Mitzner. “Navigation, lay in a new course based on our orders.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am. One moment.”

The view through the windows at the front of the bridge shifted as the Greengold altered its heading. A formation of Coalition Defense Force vessels came into view, lined up in two neat rows.

“Conn, Navigation. The course requested takes us through that formation, ma’am.” Mitzner turned her head. “Ready to engage on your mark.”

Tehrani nodded. “Ahead twenty-five percent thrust.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

As they passed each vessel, magnetic cannons flashed in the void along with the blue hue of Terran Coalition neutron beams. Tehrani took in the display. A twenty-one-gun salute fit for the victors of war. She looked at Wright. “They’re pulling out all the stops.”

“Looks that way, skipper,” he replied and leaned in closer. “I think it’s strange to celebrate, with Eire fallen to the League too. But the higher-ups probably know what they’re doing.”

“Morale is ever important,” Tehrani said sotto voce. “As the ever-present dutiful soldiers, we’ll man the line.”

“Amen.”

“Communications, 1MC to my chair, please.”

“Aye, aye. 1MC tied in, ma’am.”

“Attention, all hands. This is Colonel Tehrani. Man the sides. I say again, man the sides and render honors as we pass the assembled flotilla.” She clicked the mic off and nodded almost imperceptibly toward Singh. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

The Greengold flew through the dozens of warships, like the battered but triumphant warrior she was. As the vessel cleared the last of the assembled CDF ships, Canaan loomed ahead. With its massive oceans, vast continents, and numerous orbital installations, the sparkling blue ball was their home—the cradle of humanity in the Sagittarius arm. Even after so many years of working in outer space and seeing the beauty of the universe daily, Tehrani still found it an incredible sight.

“Communications, transmit a picture of a broom to the fleet.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

“Clean sweep?” Wright asked.

“If there’s ever been one by this ship, it was the attack on Sol,” Tehrani replied.

“Agreed, skipper.”

As they steadily closed in on Canaan’s central military station and the Greengold’s docking berth, Tehrani thought of the refit they would have to execute over the next few weeks along with all the other tasks to be done. They would have little time for rest. She allowed herself a few minutes of pride for a job well done, knowing the next day would be another fight.

Even when the events of the war were at their worst, Jason Nolan tried to find something positive to focus on each day. The practice became vital for him, especially after the loss of Eire. One of the Terran Coalition’s founding planets, it was the capital of the Irish Republic and a crown jewel of the core worlds. While Eire lacked a significant shipyard or large CDF spaceborne installations—which might explain why the Leaguers had picked it to invade—the morale blow was incalculable. Rumblings that perhaps a negotiated surrender was the best option they could hope for had broken out within his cabinet. They could somehow preserve some of the freedoms the Terran Coalition enjoyed while allowing the League to claim victory.

Nolan rejected those calls out of hand. Even though he ran on a platform of keeping the nation out of far-flung wars—police actions had plagued them since the end of the Second Saurian War—they were in a war of survival. Only one side could emerge from the conflict intact, and it wasn’t going to be the League. We hope, at least. He stared out of the window directly behind his desk, gazing into the skyline of Lawrence City.

One of the doors to the Oval Office opened. “Mister President?” Abdul Karimi, his chief of staff, called out.

“Yes?”

“You’re fifteen minutes late for your next meeting, sir.”

Ah yes. An agriculture planning session. If they weren’t smart, thanks to League invasions of their border worlds, hunger or possibly famine could ravage the Coalition. A year prior, that would have been unthinkable. We used to provide food and support to any neutral planet or nation that needed it on humanitarian grounds. “Have a seat.”

“Sir, we need to keep moving.”

Nolan turned around and gestured to one of the antique chairs in front of the