by Daniel Gibbs
Hostile Spike
Battlegroup Z Book Two
Daniel Gibbs
Contents
CSV Zvika Greengold Blueprints
SF-86 Sabre Blueprints
Starchart - Sagittarius/Orion Arms
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
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Acknowledgments
Hostile Spike by Daniel Gibbs
Copyright © 2020-2021 by Daniel Gibbs
Visit Daniel Gibb’s website at
www.danielgibbsauthor.net
Cover by Jeff Brown Graphics—www.jeffbrowngraphics.com
Additional Illustrations by Joel Steudler—www.joelsteudler.com
This book is a work of fiction, the characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For permissions please contact [email protected].
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Battlegroup Z
Book 1 - Weapons Free
Book 2 - Hostile Spike
Book 3 - Sol Strike
Echoes of War
Book 1 - Fight the Good Fight
Book 2 - Strong and Courageous
Book 3 - So Fight I
Book 4 - Gates of Hell
Book 5 - Keep the Faith
Book 6 - Run the Gauntlet
Book 7 - Finish the Fight
Breach of Faith
(With Gary T. Stevens)
Book 1 - Breach of Peace
Book 2 - Breach of Faith
Book 3 - Breach of Duty
Book 4 - Breach of Trust
1
Lawrence City—Canaan
Terran Coalition
25 October 2433
Almost four weeks after his last combat, First Lieutenant Justin Spencer walked into a small bar on Canaan. The capital of the Terran Coalition, Canaan was the site of the largest battle since the end of the Saurian Wars. Six weeks ago, Justin had been serving his last two-week annual tour of duty as a reservist. But suddenly he and every other member of the Coalition Defense Force, active duty or reserves, were locked in a struggle against a numerically superior force, the League of Sol.
Justin had spent the last week on shore leave, while the hangar bay was exposed to vacuum for refitting and striping the deck. He ran a hand through his shortly cropped brown hair and wished they’d ended up in drydock at New Washington. At least I could’ve seen my family. He sorely missed his wife, Michelle, and his daughter, Margaret. But for the next few hours, at least, Justin resolved to push the war out of his mind and focus on the moment. If nothing else, he would allow himself some joy with his friends.
As he pushed the door shut, his second-in-command and wingman, Second Lieutenant Dvora Feldstein, motioned him to a table in the back. She was a short woman, perfectly suited as a pilot, and one of the best in the Red Tails squadron.
“Hey,” Justin said as he plopped his nearly two-meter-tall frame into one of the four chairs at the high-top table. “Took me a while to find this place. Lots of pilots, eh?”
“What makes you say that?” Feldstein replied with a smirk.
“Oh, the general ‘We’re better than you’ attitude everyone in here is giving off, and it’s called The Ready Room, for crying out loud.”
Feldstein snickered. “Valid point.” Her lips curled into a smile. “Feels weird not to have my uniform on.”
“Oh, I think we’re supposed to even on liberty, but I got tired of the attention.”
“A flyboy tired of attention? Be still my beating heart,” she teased.
Justin shrugged. “I mean, I can’t even pay for a meal. Total strangers come up to me constantly, wanting to shake my hand and thanking me for my service.”
“And?”
“Isn’t it weird? It feels weird to me.”
“They know we saved their lives,” Feldstein replied. “And almost everyone appreciates it and the sacrifices made.”
Justin couldn’t readily explain why the attention bothered him. He furrowed his brow. “Six weeks ago, no one cared or gave you a second look if you had the same uniform on.”
“Six weeks ago, a massive empire of communists from Earth wasn’t trying to take over our planets and convert us all to nice little socialists.” Feldstein made a face. “Seriously, Spencer, find something else to grouch about. My bank account looks a little better thanks to the free meals, and who doesn’t want to be looked up to?”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I am. Get used to it.”
Justin laughed loudly and turned to his right just in time to see Second Lieutenant Elisabete Mateus walk through the same door he’d entered. He waved her over.
She flew over to the table, dodging a waiter with a large tray of beers. “Good evening, my fellow warriors. May I?” she asked, pointing at an empty chair.
“Like you have to ask,” Justin replied with a snort.
“Oh, this girl always likes to see if she’s wanted,” Mateus said. Her first language was Portuguese, and she had a slight trace of an accent. “Have you ordered yet?”
“Four beers,” Feldstein replied. “But they haven’t arrived yet.”
Mateus grinned and adjusted her top. “I should’ve ordered for you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I don’t look like I came straight from a church service like you two.”
Justin had to admit she had a point. Mateus was a beautiful woman and seemed to enjoy wearing clothes that accentuated that fact. Every time they’d gone out as a group, though, the lot of them ended up not paying because someone was hitting on her. “So, another night with no bar tab?” Nothing wrong with that. I like the free drinks too.
That got him a glowering stare from Mateus and Feldstein. “It’s the twenty-fourth century. We’re past that,” Feldstein stated.
“Speak for yourself. I never pay for drinks or food,” Mateus retorted.
Second Lieutenant Jackson Adeoye interrupted their conversation. Hailing from Lagos, one of several worlds that made up the African Union, he’d served with them for several training tours. “Friends!” he roared. “The last night before our merry band returns to the stars, where victory and glory await.” The rich timbre of his voice and his distinct Nigerian accent made the words come to life.
“Our foursome is complete!�
� Feldstein said with a chuckle. “Mateus here was just regaling us with how she doesn’t have to pay for her meals.”
“There is no such thing as a free lunch,” Adeoye replied. He slid into the final open chair. “But I would buy the lieutenant lunch any day.”
“Get a room.” Spencer crossed his arms while rolling his eyes in mock annoyance.
As they all laughed, the waiter arrived with a tray of mugs filled with a dark golden-brown drink with a good three centimeters of froth on the top. “Your order, folks. The gentlemen at the table over there”—he pointed at a group of men with close-cropped hair that resembled a TCMC recruiting poster—“took care of your drinks. Enjoy.”
“See, I told you,” Mateus said to another round of loud snickers.
Spencer held up one of the mugs. “To our fallen comrades and friends. May they live on through our honor and deeds.”
“Hear! Hear!” Feldstein replied and lifted her mug with the rest of them.
The cold liquid felt good as it rushed down Justin’s throat. He set the glass down. “I expect these next months to be hard.”
“Anything worth doing will be.” Adeoye deposited his own mug onto the table. “But God willing, we’ll keep winning.”
“I don’t think God has anything to do with it,” Justin said darkly.
“Justin—”
He turned and stared at Feldstein. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to hear it. It’s everywhere in the Terran Coalition right now. God’s on our side. God will help us win.” Justin bit his lip. “Tell that to the eleven pilots memorialized on the side of my Sabre.”
“Perhaps it would be best to choose a different topic,” Mateus interjected. She appeared uncomfortable and had a frown on her face. “We’re here to party, not debate.”
“Great idea,” Justin said and forced a smile. I’m in a bear of a mood. Probably the return to combat getting to me. He wanted, more than anything, to see his family. All they’d been able to do so far was vidlink a few times.
Feldstein picked up her mug and took a swig. “To Earth and victory!”
“To victory!” what seemed like the entire bar shouted at once.
Justin nursed his drink and laughed along with the rest of them, but his heart wasn’t in it. He couldn’t quite set aside the desperate combat situations he’d been in a month ago, and practically every night, he woke up in a cold sweat, thanks to recurring nightmares. They were always the same—a League fighter picking off his friends one by one then finally destroying his craft. He woke up as the cockpit filled with flames. Perhaps once they got back to the front, the dreams would fade, especially if they had some genuine success against the enemy rather than a desperate defense of their capital planet.
CSV Zvika Greengold
Low Orbit—Canaan—Terran Coalition
26 October 2433
The following morning, Justin questioned his sanity. Why did I stay up until 0200, getting so drunk that I could barely avoid the shore patrol? Judging from the pool of mostly dried vomit next to his bed, he knew the night hadn’t ended when he got back to his cabin. In his college days, being toasted was a fairly regular occurrence, but since he’d gotten married, the number of times Justin had over three drinks in an evening was countable on one hand. Grinning sheepishly, he chugged another half mug of coffee and tossed the empty container into the cleanup bin in the officer’s mess.
“You look like death warmed over, sir.”
Justin whirled around to see Feldstein behind him. “Seriously? Did you install stealth tech in your combat boots?”
She chuckled. “Nah. I’m naturally equipped with stealth mode.”
He laughed. “I’m not used to partying like that.”
“I can tell,” she commented dryly. “We’re going to be late.”
“Can’t have that. Whatley will never let us hear the end of it.” While Justin and the commander air group had initially clashed, they’d eventually developed a strong rapport with each other. Once the major finally got it through his skull that I wasn’t a coward. Another side of his brain told him he’d changed too. A few months ago, he would never have considered the possibility of sacrificing himself for another, much less acted on it. Circumstances sometimes forced rapid changes.
“So, let’s go,” Feldstein prompted. “And get out of whatever la-la land you’re in.”
Little else was said as the two of them tromped through the passageways of the carrier. Despite its relatively small size—the Zvika Greengold only carried thirty-six combat spacecraft—almost twenty five hundred personnel were assigned to the ship. They were split between the soldiers manning the vessel, the aviation crew, and the Terran Coalition Marine Corps contingent. The Greengold was like a small city in space.
When Justin rounded the corner, the double hatch for the hangar was open. A few steps later, they were walking on the deck plates. The ribbed alloy made for a different sensation through his combat boots. It almost felt as if the plating were trying to grab his feet and hold them.
The rest of the pilots were already present. Mateus and Adeoye stood with others from the Red Tails squadron, while the bomber pilots congregated around First Lieutenant Francis Martin.
“Now, mates, let’s make sure we give a proper welcome to our cobbers!” Martin yelled. His accent placed him as being from one of the British Commonwealth worlds—more specifically, a planet settled by Australians.
As Martin spoke, a squat fighter roared into the hangar bay. Justin had never seen anything like it before. Rectangular wings, a shortened fuselage, and impressive room for external stores defined the craft. It resembled a flying armory because of the half dozen pylons on each wing to attach missile pods or other munition packages to.
“What is that?”
“That, Lieutenant Feldstein, is an SF-79 Boar,” Major Gabriel Whatley replied with a bemused smirk. “Hero of the Saurian Wars.”
“How so, sir?” Justin asked.
“The Saurians threw squadron after squadron of heavily armored bombers at us. While our front-line space-superiority fighters were well suited for mixing it up with other space-superiority fighters, they sucked at getting slow and sitting behind a bomber, shooting it full of holes until it blew up. Especially when the Saurians wised up and installed aft turrets.”
Mateus appeared from behind a group of pilots. “It sounds to me like you saw this in person, Major,” she said overly sweetly. “Did you fly one yourself in the ancient times?”
“I was flying a Boar in training when you were still in diapers, Lieutenant.”
Everyone in earshot broke out laughing. “Oooh. He got you there, Mateus.” Justin slapped her on the back. “Keep trying. One of these days, someone will lay a glove on the CAG.”
“When I’m dead,” Whatley replied in a gruff but good-natured voice.
Another wave of chuckles swept through the pilots as Boar after Boar landed on the deck. Unlike the Sabres and the Maulers, the Boars lacked wraparound cockpit canopies, and instead, they had a small transparent alloy window at the front. Directly under it, each nose had a brightly colored piece of art painted on it. Most resembled the face of a tiger or a shark with large teeth around the barrel of the integrated rapid-fire magnetic cannon.
Justin felt impressed by the precision of those flying the squat little fighters. The last one of twelve touched down, and small doors on the side of each craft opened in unison. I guess they planned it. Cute. Clad in flight suits, the pilots exited their vehicles and lined up in a neat row.
A woman stepped forward and removed her flight helmet. “First Lieutenant Adrianne Green reports as ordered, sir.”
“At ease, Lieutenant.” Whatley extended his arm toward her. “Welcome aboard the CSV Zvika Greengold, your new home away from home.”
Green smiled. “Glad to be here, sir.” She glanced at the rest of the pilot cadre. “Who’s got the most kills on this ship?”
“Lieutenant Spencer, currently. Twenty-six, counting assists,” Whatley r
eplied.
Her eyes widened. “Not bad. I’ll still beat you,” Green said. She turned back to Whatley. “Permission for the Black Hogs to come aboard, sir?”
“Granted. Spencer will show you to your quarters and give your pilots the nickel tour. We depart tomorrow morning for the combat zone.”
“Of course, sir. We’re ready to go.” Green smirked. “Positively looking forward to blowing some Leaguers out of space.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” Justin said. He crossed his arms. “The Greengold has a reputation for being in the right place at the right time.” Green’s demeanor made him bristle. Her tone came off as smug and superior. I’m probably making a mountain out of a molehill. Still, he was protective of his squad. They’d earned their stripes, and anyone else would have to earn bragging rights too.
“Oh, really?” Green replied, her tone caustic. “I’m sure we’ll be able to significantly enhance that reputation, then.”
“Leave it on the battlefield,” Whatley interjected gruffly before more comments could be made. “Lieutenant Spencer, I believe I gave you a direct order to show the Black Hogs around. Do so now.”
“Yes, sir,” Spencer replied as he came to attention. Some things don’t change. Whatley’s one of them. He gestured to the double hatch back to the passageway. “Lieutenant, after you.”
Green strode forward without another word.
