Sol Strike (Battlegroup Z Book 3)

by Daniel Gibbs

  “We’re not out of the woods yet,” she said loudly. “But we’re getting there. Do your jobs, work the problem, press on, and our persistence will be rewarded.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am!” a rating in the back yelled. A wave of applause followed his voice.

  Relief was written on their faces.

  “Lieutenant Campos, you have the conn.”

  Campos stood. “Aye, aye, ma’am. I have the conn.”

  “Lieutenant Singh…” Tehrani turned toward her communications officer. “Have the XO, Lieutenant MacIntosh, the CAG, and Major Hodges meet me in the conference room immediately.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll track them down,” Singh replied with a warm smile. “Should I have some refreshments sent up?”

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a while. Ask the mess steward to send up some of my tea too.”

  Singh inclined his head. “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  Tehrani walked off the bridge, her steps lightened, and she felt buoyed by a new feeling: hope.

  Deep within the bowels of the Zvika Greengold, Andrew MacIntosh blinked a few times. His eyes were tired from hours of staring at raw sensor data, high-resolution digital imaging, and composite 3-D holoprojections from the Sol system. He’d compiled a list of possible military targets and excluded numerous space installations that were civilian in nature.

  “Captain, you in here?” Wright called, jolting MacIntosh from deep concentration.

  MacIntosh sprang up and came to attention. “Yes, sir. Apologies, sir. I didn’t hear you.”

  “It’s fine,” Wright said with a smile. “Not sure about your other postings, but we’re a bit less on the starch around here.” He gestured to the intelligence-review kiosk with its myriad of screens and a built-in holoprojector. “Since we have a briefing coming up with the colonel soon, I wanted to see how you were coming.”

  “Lots of data to sort through, but it’s a target-rich environment, sir.”

  Wright plopped down in the chair next to MacIntosh. “You know we’ve got analysts for this kind of work, right?”

  MacIntosh grinned. “When I was a flag lieutenant for General Irvine, reviewing tactical planning was my specialty, sir. I picked up a lot of tricks in terms of intel review.”

  “So, something I’ve been meaning to ask, seeing as I’m responsible for the crew… what’s a rising star who just pinned on O-3 doing assigned to an escort carrier? Your service jacket said you were on Saurez’s team.”

  It was bound to come up sooner or later. MacIntosh was surprised it had taken the XO so long to drill into why he was there. “I, uh, prefer not to speak of it, sir.” Okay, that sounded lame. As Wright’s stare continued, MacIntosh tried a different tactic. “I spoke out of turn repeatedly.” He gulped. “In front of the president.”

  “You were involved in presidential briefings?” Wright’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Yes, sir. As General Saurez’s senior staff officer, I prepared his projections and assisted in their delivery. It was my post with General Irvine too.”

  “Were you there, at the battle of Canaan?”

  MacIntosh looked away and pursed his lips. “I was.” Dark memories of the worst day of his life flooded into his mind. “Moreover, I was on the bridge when the Victory was disabled.”

  Silence descended over the small room. The battle of Canaan meant different things to different people but was something every citizen of the Coalition understood. Every person was able to say exactly where they were and what they were doing when it happened—doubly so for the soldiers who’d fought through the bloody day.

  “Too many heroes,” Wright replied, ending the silence. “We lost a third of our pilots in two hours. And a few hundred soldiers.”

  MacIntosh recalled the incredible sacrifices made. “Did you see Major Cohen’s final attack?”

  Wright nodded. “I’ll never forget the sight of his ship going into the side of that League dreadnought. He saved us all.” He bit his lip. “So many times in that battle, I thought we were dead for sure. But somehow, we’re still here.”

  “There were times when I thought those who perished might’ve been the lucky ones.” He brought his eyes back around to meet Wright’s. “That has thankfully passed.”

  “So, you pissed off COMSPACEFLT?”

  MacIntosh grinned. “Yes, sir. President Nolan wanted options for striking the League, and I gave him one.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Wright replied. “I’ve got little time for brass, anyway. No demerits against you there.” He narrowed his eyes. “This assignment is punishment, then?”

  “Perhaps to the general.” MacIntosh’s eyes flashed defiance. “But not to me. It’s an honor to be here, on the sharp tip of the spear.” His brogue became more pronounced as anger stirred in him. “And I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

  Wright put his hand on MacIntosh’s shoulder. “Whatever anyone else says, Captain, I love the attitude. How close to being done are you?”

  “Another hour at the most, sir.”

  “Good.” Wright stood. “Senior staff meets at fourteen hundred hours, giving you a little over two hours to wrap it up. Be there in your khakis. Colonel Tehrani likes a level of formality in her briefings.”

  Since MacIntosh had a blue engineering jumpsuit on, it was valuable advice. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Carry on, Captain.” Wright stood and saw himself out.

  The interior door slid shut, leaving MacIntosh to the quiet of his thoughts and the faint whirring of electronics. He looked back at the intelligence-review application displayed on the screens and tried to focus on the task at hand, but memories of the Victory’s bridge and how it had looked after the ship’s near destruction flooded his mind along with the still-raw image of General Irvine mortally wounded and clutching his hand. Rest in peace, ma’am. It’s a small thing, but I will soon get some measure of vengeance for you and all the others we lost.

  MacIntosh resolutely pressed forward. Death was coming for the League, and he was happy to be its harbinger.

  Justin had never landed a fighter so fast. From clearance to docking to post-touchdown roll-off, everything happened at light speed. He barely had time to wave at Feldstein and toss his flight helmet onto a supply shelf before he took off at a run toward the nearest gravlift. The passageways of the Greengold flew by, and by the time he arrived at the conference room on deck one, he’d worked up a sweat. With a glance at the Marine sentries guarding the bridge access at the end of the corridor, Justin pushed the hatch open to the appointed meeting area.

  Tehrani and the rest of them were already seated. Whatley, Hodges, Major Wright, Major Nishimura, and Lieutenant MacIntosh all sat on the table’s left side, while the right side was unoccupied.

  “Captain Justin Spencer reports as ordered, ma’am,” he said as he brought himself to attention.

  “At ease, Captain. Please, take a seat,” Tehrani answered quickly. She gestured to the empty right side of the conference table. “We’re most interested in your report.”

  Justin couldn’t recall the last time he’d been in a senior officers’ briefing. Check that. I’ve never been in one. He slid into one of the open seats and made eye contact with Tehrani. “Uh, yes, ma’am.”

  “Out with it, son,” Whatley rasped. “We don’t have all day.”

  “We found a small-scale mining operation around a gas giant, sir. Roughly half a million miles from the Lawrence limit in system Gamma Cephei.” Justin took a deep breath and steadied himself. “During our recon pass, no military vessels were observed, and only a couple of freighters.”

  “How many, exactly?” Nishimura leaned forward. “Size? Did you get passive scans, by any chance?”

  “Yes, sir. We deep-scanned all three. Same make and model of ship, as far as I could tell. Haulers with cargo pods, less than fifty life signs on each.”

  Tehrani furrowed her brow. “Run those scans through AI analysis. Knowing their weapons- and defensive-system configurations
will be vital to success.”

  “At a high level,” Whatley added. “Jump in, disable a freighter, board it, and use it to get the helium-3 fuel. Then jump out.”

  “That won’t work,” Hodges interjected. “The only way to disable a ship is to shoot off its engines or damage the reactor enough that it SCRAMs. How exactly do you think a boarding team of Marines will repair the damage if you do that? The crew won’t help you, and our engineers won’t know how to use League tech.” He crossed his arms. “You’ll need to capture the freighter without disabling it.”

  “That’s impossible,” Nishimura said with a scowl. “The assault shuttles we have at our disposal aren’t boarding pods. They can’t burrow into the hull of an enemy vessel, nor can they take a sustained pounding from point defense.”

  Justin frowned as the officers debated the best course of action. It seemed as if every step forward brought one or two back.

  “How long is the internal stores bay on a Ghost?” he blurted out, not thinking before he spoke.

  “About three meters. Oh, that’s good.” Whatley grinned. “Three meters long and six meters wide.”

  “I don’t follow,” Tehrani replied as she rubbed her temples.

  “Marine power armor has self-contained life support,” Justin continued. “The internal stores bay is big enough for at least several Marines.”

  MacIntosh had, up until that point, remained silent. He leaned forward. “Match speed with the enemy ship and open the bay. The Marines will use maneuvering units to latch onto the freighter then use a limpet mine or some explosive device to breach its hull and take the vessel by force.” His Scottish brogue grew stronger as he got more excited. “Now, that’s a braw plan, lads, and—” He glanced at Tehrani. “Ma’am.”

  “No offense taken, Lieutenant.” A smile crept onto her face. “What does braw mean, though?”

  “Great, fantastic, wonderful.”

  Justin could barely suppress a laugh as the young Scotsman’s face turned bloodred.

  “We need to test how many Marines can fit into the bay ASAP,” Nishimura said. “Let’s see—roughly fifty crew. I’d need to get at least fifteen to twenty shooters aboard to be assured of victory.”

  “Get some of your guys down to the hangar deck in full armor, and we’ll test it now,” Whatley replied.

  “I want to fly the capture mission.”

  Tehrani’s and Whatley’s eyes bored into Justin. He gulped.

  “No,” Whatley replied flatly.

  “But—”

  “That’s my mission.” Whatley’s tone brooked no rebuttal. “You will lead the attack on Earth. Final decision.”

  A hush came over the conference room. Justin inclined his head respectfully. “Yes, sir.”

  “Unless you have an objection, ma’am?” Whatley asked.

  “Your division, Major.” Tehrani glanced between them. “Right now, we have a half-baked plan at best. Flesh it out then refine it, gentlemen. You’ve got six hours to get me an actionable assault briefing. By then, our stealth raiders should return from Earth reconnaissance. It’ll be time to plan our attack, execute it, and go home. Get to it.”

  Everyone stood amid smatterings of “Aye, aye, ma’am!”

  Justin made a beeline for the hatch and got to the gravlift before Whatley caught up with him.

  “And just where do you think you’re going?”

  “Uh, the mess, sir, followed by some rack time,” Justin replied as the gravlift doors slid shut.

  “Wrong answer. We’ll swing by the mess and get combat ration bars, then you can join me on the hangar to test that cockamamie idea of yours.” Whatley stared at him. “You’d better hope it works. Or I’m going to PT you around the hangar until the Leaguers find us.”

  Even with the weight of everything going on around him, Justin grinned. “Yes, sir.” Time to put up or shut up.

  Uncharacteristically for Tehrani, she was nearly late to her own staff meeting. After answering the call to prayer, she’d spent some time reading the Quran and offering a prayer for their efforts. Somewhere, Tehrani had lost track of time as she poured out her soul to God. The weight of so many men and women felt heavy on her back as she pleaded with Allah to give her wisdom and guidance to see the Greengold and its pilots to victory. More important than beating the League was getting her crew home, and thoughts of how they could effectively get their cake and eat it too were at the forefront of her mind.

  “Colonel on deck,” Wright barked as she crossed the hatch into the deck one conference room.

  “As you were.” Tehrani scanned the table and chairs. Besides the XO, Whatley, Hodges, and MacIntosh lined the left side, while Nishimura and an officer she didn’t recognize stood on the right. Her eyes flicked to the newcomer.

  He cleared his throat. “Apologies for the late arrival, ma’am. I thought it best to come in person to avoid any chance of comms leakage this close to enemy space. Lieutenant Colonel John Fielding, commanding officer of the CSV Astute.” He sported a proper posh British accent to go along with the flag of England on his shoulder.

  “Ah,” Tehrani replied. “Please, take a seat, everyone.” She sat at the head of the table. “I haven’t had the chance to properly thank you for the Astute’s support during our last battle together, Colonel. Your ship performed superbly. I look forward to seeing more of your handiwork in the coming action.”

  Fielding’s lips curled into a small smile. “Likewise, ma’am.”

  He, too, dropped into the chair behind him, as did the rest of those assembled.

  “There’s a lot of ground to cover, gentlemen. Major, what’s the reactor status?”

  “Repairs are progressing, ma’am,” Hodges replied. His cockney accent was pronounced, and he had deep dark-purple half circles under his eyes. “I thought we might come up short on spare parts for refitting the coolant system, but the Salinan had everything we needed. Now it’s a matter of the manpower to complete the repairs.”

  “I see. Do you have an ETA?”

  “Two days, ma’am.”

  Tehrani groaned inwardly. She couldn’t see hanging around in League space like a sitting duck for another forty-eight hours when it felt like any moment, the enemy might find them. Keeping a tight expression on her face, she kept her focus on the engineer. “What can be done to improve the number? Assign additional resources?”

  “Well, if soldiers from deck force were brought in to help, they could take some load off my engineers.” Hodges’s face brightened. “Maybe knock that down to twenty-four to thirty-six hours.”

  “How long have you been awake?” Wright asked quietly.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” Hodges snapped.

  “Everything.” Wright crossed his arms. “With respect, ma’am, I would advocate for ensuring that for every twelve hours of work the core engineering team completes, six hours of sleep should be required.”

  “There’s no way in hell we’ll be ready to refuel the reactor before two days, then,” Hodges said, his eyes suddenly flashing with anger.

  “Colonel, my recommendation is that we take a slower, steady approach rather than push for speed above all else,” Wright replied.

  Tehrani kicked both arguments around mentally. Her first instinct was to speed ahead and throw caution to the wind because of their location. What good will that do us if we blow the Greengold up from a lousy reactor repair? “I’d rather we get this out of the way and be ready to refuel the ship tomorrow.” She glanced between Hodges and Wright. “But we’ll do it the XO’s way. Ensure your engineers get rest every twelve hours, Major.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Hodges set his jaw and appeared as if he wanted to challenge her order but thought better of it.

  “Okay. None of it matters unless we can capture some fuel.” Tehrani shifted her eyes to Nishimura and Wright. “Gentlemen?”

  They looked at each other as if asking, “Who wants to go first?”

  Wright cleared his throat. “Ma’am, Captain S
pencer’s plan will work to deliver the Marines on target, but I feel the need to point out it’s exceptionally hazardous.”

  “Go on.”

  “We can fit six Marines in full power armor within the internal weapons bay of each Ghost fighter,” Nishimura interjected. “Using four of them gives us twenty-four combat effectives and enough force to storm a fuel tanker of the same type observed by Captain Spencer.”

  Tehrani widened her eyes at the sheer audacity of their plan. “I honestly didn’t expect any of you to buy into Spencer’s suggestion. It sounded outlandish to me and nearly impossible to accomplish.”

  Nishimura leaned forward and shook his head. “No, ma’am. Exceptionally hazardous, as the CAG said, but not impossible. Our power armor has its own life-support functions and is rated for use in the void. Force Recon and the tier-one operators of Space Special Warfare Command have delivery vehicles for this sort of action, but I’m afraid neither the Zvika Greengold nor any other ship in the fleet has them. So we’re forced to improvise. It’ll be a highly uncomfortable journey, and I expect my muscles to hurt the next day, but that’s what the TCMC is paid to do.” He flashed a smile. “I’ve got twenty-three volunteers plus me.”

  “You’ll be leading the mission directly?” Tehrani asked. “Isn’t that typically done by a platoon lieutenant, Major?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Nishimura sucked in a breath. “But six thousand light-years from home, I’m not asking one of my men to do something I’m not willing to do myself.”

  She wholly understood and subscribed to the sentiment. Besides, if the Marines weren’t successful, none of it mattered. Even if they managed to strike Sol, the League would relentlessly track them down. What good are heroes paraded in front of the holocams for public execution? When one considered the attack's real objective, it boiled down to improving the Terran Coalition's morale. And giving us collectively the wherewithal to keep up the war. “I understand, Major.” She turned to Whatley. “Your verdict?”

  “I personally think Marines are insane,” Whatley began with a grin. “But we’re out of options. We’ll get them there. The downside is we’ll be flying with almost no weapons besides the miniature neutron cannons.”