Hostile Spike (Battlegroup Z Book 2)

by Daniel Gibbs

  “My God,” Wright muttered.

  A second merchant ship was luckier—instead of exploding, the Rand’s neutron beams shaved its engine pods off, leaving the vessel tumbling through space, but at least its crew might have a chance at survival.

  Tehrani peered at Wright. “Ideas?”

  “We’re out of position and outgunned, ma’am. They played us.”

  “By the time we get in range, that cruiser will have destroyed half the convoy.” The tactical plot confirmed Tehrani’s comment, and she momentarily blanked on what to do next. Think, dammit. I have to change the rules here. The solution hit her suddenly. “Communications, order the convoy to prepare for an emergency Lawrence drive jump to our next destination.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied.

  “No objection, XO?”

  “Well, it’s risky, but I don’t have a better idea.” Wright offered a half-hearted grin. “That’s why you get paid the big bucks, Colonel.”

  “Conn, Communications,” Singh interjected. “Captain Shikoba has asked me to convey her deepest concern about your order. She believes it will lead to unnecessary loss of life.”

  “Noted.” Tehrani set her jaw. “Instruct her to carry out my orders.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  “Navigation…” Tehrani turned toward Mitzner. “Plot our Lawrence drive jump and stand by to engage.”

  “Should I order our small craft back?” Wright asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What about the ejected pilot?”

  Wright’s words hit Tehrani like a ton of bricks. She’d forgotten, in the heat of battle, that they had a missing pilot from Beta element out there. “See if either of the on-deck SAR crews are willing to volunteer.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.” He touched his screen. “Both did, ma’am.”

  “Get the number-one bird in space. Tell them to be sure they pay attention to orders, because we will leave without them if it’s required.”

  Wright nodded grimly at her. “Understood.”

  5

  With the bombers and the Boar elements headed back to Zvika Greengold, Jason and the rest of Alpha busied themselves trying to keep League fighters from picking off the vulnerable merchant ships and slower small craft. As he destroyed yet another Leaguer, Jason noticed a new friendly contact emerging from the Greengold. Its ID flashed on the HUD, designating the late arrival as a search-and-rescue craft.

  He cued his commlink. “Rescue One, state intent. We’ve got orders to head back to home plate for emergency Lawrence jump.”

  “Alpha One, we’ve got a pilot in space with a strong beacon,” someone on the SAR bird replied. “You know the drill. That others may live. If you could give us some cover on your way back to the Greengold, I’d appreciate it.”

  Justin felt like he was having another one of those moments of clarity. He had two paths in front of him—the safe choice, heading back with the rest of Alpha, or going the extra mile, above and beyond the call of duty. What shocked him was how quickly he made the choice. “Rescue One, understood. I’ll take up close escort position off your port side. You got one shot at this, then we’re bailing out. Confirm. Over.”

  “Roger, Alpha One. Confirmed. Thanks for the assist.”

  “Are you insane?” Feldstein practically screamed into Justin’s ear. “The convoy is about to jump.”

  “If it were me out here, I’d hope someone tried.”

  “At least let us go with you.”

  “No. I won’t risk the rest of Alpha. Get back to the Greengold, cover her from incoming missiles, and stand by to execute a combat landing.”

  “But—”

  “That’s an order, Lieutenant,” Justin replied with an edge to his voice.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied curtly, and the line cut off immediately.

  Justin interlinked his sensor net with the SAR bird, affectionally known as a Jolly Green. Typically, emergency distress pings didn’t populate the board, but with his craft communicating directly with them, a contact appeared with Lieutenant Hastings’s ID attached to it. This is gonna be close. Perhaps it was luck or good fortune, but so far, the enemy hadn’t noticed them. At least, they haven’t visibly reacted to the Jolly Green.

  As they raced toward the stricken pilot, Justin thought about the horror it must be, to be stuck in the void as the battle raged, unable to affect it or even take steps to save yourself. Relying solely on others is not a place I would ever want to be. He scanned the sensor display once more, part of a rotating three-second situational-aware check ingrained into him as a fighter jock. Oh shit. Four League craft had broken off from the forces engaging the freighters and turned toward the Jolly Green.

  The odds were not good. Justin would’ve gladly taken two on one, but four amounted to suicide. He keyed his commlink to the guard frequency as a sudden inspiration hit him. “This is Lieutenant Justin Spencer calling the four League fighters bearing zero-one-two, range fifty kilometers.”

  “Do you wish to surrender, Terran?” a French-accented female asked.

  “You’re headed toward an unarmed search-and-rescue craft engaged in rescue operations. Please break off.”

  A pregnant pause followed. “Wouldn’t you shoot us down if the roles were reversed?”

  Sudden revulsion hit Justin. “Never. Killing a man or a woman in a spacesuit after ejection is murder.”

  “Lucky for you, Terran, I agree.”

  To Justin’s complete disbelief, the four League fighters peeled away and headed back toward the main force.

  “Why, Leaguer?” He was dumbfounded that it had worked, especially with what he’d seen so far of the enemy.

  “Because we’re fighter pilots, first, last, and always. You don’t murder an unarmed foe. At least, that’s what a commander I greatly respect instilled in me. The next time we meet, Terran, I’ll shoot you down. This, I promise you.”

  Justin grinned. “May the best pilot win.”

  Perhaps he imagined it, but he thought he saw one of the League craft waggle its wings in salute.

  The commlink beeped, indicating a direct call from the Jolly Green. Justin toggled it over.

  “Rescue One to Alpha One. We’ve got our man. Heading back to the barn. Not sure how you scared them off, but there’s four pararescue men over here that will be eternally grateful, Spencer.”

  “Roger that, Rescue One. I’ll maintain close escort.” Justin scanned his HUD. The convoy tried to avoid the enemy’s heavy cruiser as much as possible, but another freighter had been lost, by his count. We’ll get a jump-out order any moment. Justin tightened his hand around his flight stick and hoped they wouldn’t be left behind.

  “I don’t know how, but the SAR bird got Hastings. They’re headed back to the barn,” Wright announced. “Master Six is coming around for another firing pass.”

  Tehrani glanced at the tactical plot. They were already in range of the Rand. “TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Six.”

  “Firing solutions set, ma’am,” Bryan replied crisply. “We’ll be in range momentarily.”

  Wright leaned over and whispered into Tehrani’s ear, “Our neutron beams won’t scratch their paint, skipper.”

  “I know,” she replied equally quietly. “We just need to distract them for thirty seconds until our last few small craft can land.” After the incredible heroism shown by the Jolly Green, Tehrani wasn’t leaving them behind. She couldn’t. The moment the icon for the League capital ship breached the circle around the Zvika Greengold on her screen, showing it within firing range, she directed her attention to Bryan. “TAO, match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

  Two beams shot out of the carrier’s bow and connected with the Rand at light speed. Impressive weapons, especially against undershielded foes, but the Rand shrugged off the attack like a linebacker plowing through someone half his weight. The cruiser replied with a wave of plasma balls and energy-weapon attacks that lit up the Greengold’s shi
elds.

  “I think we got their attention, Colonel,” Wright intoned as he was thrown around in his harness. “SAR bird is twenty seconds out.”

  Tehrani held her breath as the final two blue dots merged with the icon representing the carrier.

  “All merchant vessels report ready to jump, ma’am,” Singh interjected.

  “Communications, order them to jump immediately,” Tehrani replied. “Navigation, activate Lawrence drive.”

  Flurries of orders and replies swept the bridge, and Tehrani sat like the beacon of a lighthouse in the middle of a hurricane. The lights dimmed, and directly in front of the ship, an artificial wormhole opened. Lights flashed briefly as the freighters disappeared through their own portals through the stars. Waiting until the absolute last second, she let out a breath and double-checked the tactical plot. Only the Zvika Greengold remained. “Navigation, all ahead flank.”

  The trip through the wormhole was exceedingly rough thanks to League weapons fire impacting their deflector screens. The bridge crew shook in their harnesses, and Tehrani thought the effect was akin to bull-riding machines she’d seen before in bars—usually American ones. A few seconds passed as they glided out the other side, and the shaking stopped.

  “Conn, TAO. Sensors back online. No hostile contacts.”

  “Conn, Navigation. Transit complete, ma’am.”

  Tehrani let her head hit the back of her headrest. “XO, begin damage control efforts. Terminate condition one and stand down battle stations.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am. I’ll have a full report for you within half an hour.”

  “How many civilian vessels are we missing?” Tehrani asked, staring into his eyes.

  “Seven, ma’am. Six from enemy fire, and one didn’t survive the jump.”

  A couple of gasps went up from the senior officers, though no one spoke. A wave of sadness and despair swept across the bridge.

  My call cost twenty spacers their lives. Before regret could form, her mind pushed back. If I hadn’t ordered the jump when I did, we’d all be dead—for nothing. At least if the supplies made it, their sacrifice would mean something.

  Wright seemed to sense how she felt. “That anyone got out is a win, ma’am. Asking us to defend a large convoy with three ships is tantamount to suicide.”

  Tehrani pursed her lips. “If it were our last jump, I might feel better about it, XO. But here we are, beginning our journey.”

  “We’ll get to the other side. I know it.” Wright flashed a grin at her. “What’s that you guys say? God is great?”

  “Allu Ackbar. God is the greatest.”

  “Well, He’s going to see us through.”

  The words were meant as encouragement, but they spoke to doubts deep in her soul about her commitment to faith and truly believing that God, whatever His name was, controlled the universe’s outcomes. Why not prevent the League from attacking us in the first place? She decided to set aside that rabbit hole of thought and focus on repairing the ship. “We live in hope.” Sotto voce, Tehrani continued, “Thank you, Benjamin.” She used his first name on purpose, reinforcing the personal nature of the comment.

  “Any time, ma’am.”

  Justin strode into the pilots’ ready room, still in his flight suit, like most of the rest present. Feldstein, Mateus, and Adeoye were right behind him, and they sat together. The mood was somber, at least among the Red Tails squadron members, and even the normally chipper Lieutenant Martin was quiet.

  All small talk and whispers ceased instantly when Whatley came in through the hatch. Everyone rose and stood at attention.

  “As you were,” Whatley rasped as he stepped behind the lectern. “Anyone care to tell me what went wrong?”

  He’s sure not pulling his punches. Justin cleared his throat. “There were too many enemy fighters, bombers, and ships, sir.”

  “So, in other words, the problem was that the bad guys showed up with too many people on their team, Lieutenant?”

  “Sir—”

  “There are sixty-nine dead merchant spacers out there, Spencer. Because”—Whatley pointed at Justin—“you screwed up. Along with you.” He pointed at another pilot at random. “All of you did.”

  Justin thought Whatley’s eyes were going to explode out of his head. His face had turned a bright shade of red. “Sir—”

  “Stow it, Spencer. I do not want to hear excuses right now. You got your collective asses handed to you by the commies. If this keeps happening, there won’t be a convoy to defend.”

  “Sir,” Justin barked, “get us more ships, or let the entire wing launch. You can’t expect us to do the impossible.”

  “If we launch the entire wing, who’s going to defend against the attack that comes two hours later while you’re all refueling?”

  Justin set his jaw. “With respect, sir, what would you have us do?”

  “Get better at your jobs. Focus on teamwork.” Whatley’s eyes flicked to Mateus. “Lieutenant, you only had a twenty-three percent hit rate on your neutron cannons. I expect better.”

  “I’m a triple ace,” Mateus shot back. “In six engagements.” Her eyes flashed anger. “There were too many for us to take on all at once.”

  “There’s your problem right there. Get this through your thick skulls, ladies and gentlemen. This war is not about your personal kill score. It’s about protecting the men and women to your right and left. Period. I want simulator time dialed up until you’re all hitting the target forty percent of the time with the neutron cannons. You will practice working as a unit. You will watch each other’s backs. If you don’t, I’ll bust you all back to private and find some real pilots! Do you get me?” Whatley thundered, spit flying out of his mouth.

  Even though every fiber in his being wanted to lash out at Whatley and tell him he was full of it, Justin bit his lip then replied, “Sir, yes, sir.”

  The rest of them followed.

  “Good. Now get the hell out of my sight.”

  While the rest made their way to the exits as fast as their legs would carry them, Justin remained behind. He crossed his arms and waited for the clang of the hatch to signify that they were alone. “That was uncalled for, sir.”

  “Was it?” Whatley stared at him.

  “They did their best, sir. So did I.”

  “And in this case, your best wasn’t good enough. So get better.” Whatley’s expression softened just a touch. “I’m going to be hard on everyone, especially you, Spencer. They’ve got to get out of this kill-count mentality and focus on the objectives. It doesn’t matter how many times you make ace if the civilian ships we’re escorting, our carrier, other capital ships, or the planet we defend go down. Do you get what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, sir. But if I may, your delivery model sucks.”

  Whatley snorted. “I don’t care about your perception of my delivery model, Lieutenant.”

  “The pilots need to know you’ve got their backs.”

  As Whatley stared at Justin, he seemed to flip a mental coin. “No, they need me to ride them as hard as I can. You, on the other hand… they do need to know you have their backs. Which your stunt with the Jolly Green showed in spades.” He smiled slightly. “Now get out of here. And reinforce that we have to work together.”

  “Yes, sir.” Justin briefly came to attention then turned and walked out the hatch. Even after the small victories he and the rest of them had achieved, he found it almost impossible to be anything but depressed.

  6

  The mood of the pilots’ mess, which after the Battle of Canaan had been energetic and even jovial, now resembled a tomb. The losses hadn’t helped, but the final nail in the coffin had been Whatley’s debriefing session. Justin suspected that much like him, everyone else was replaying every action they’d taken. He’d searched for something he missed or a specific maneuver he could’ve used that might have changed the outcome. I don’t think there was a way to win with what we had to work with.

  He set his tray on a table. Whil
e the mess stewards had piled his plate high with chicken and dumplings along with bread and a side of broccoli, the last thing Justin wanted to do was eat.

  Feldstein sat down next to him. Her tray was filled with food as well. “You look like crap.”

  Justin turned his head and snorted. “Thanks. You too.”

  “Hasn’t your wife taught you never to tell a lady she looks bad?”

  In his state, Justin wasn’t remotely interested in banter. He shrugged. “I’m sorry. Probably not good company right now.”

  “We got our asses handed to us,” Feldstein said as she unrolled her silverware and put the napkin in her lap. “I hate to say it, sir, but it’s not going to be the last time.”

  “Yeah. I know. I’m thinking more about those merchant spacers that aren’t going home.”

  His comment cast a somber tone.

  Feldstein said little then bowed her head and whispered a prayer in Hebrew that Justin couldn’t understand. She looked up and offered a small smile. “Hopefully, they’re in a better place.”

  “Heaven?”

  Feldstein took a bite. “Yes.”

  “I’ll leave that to you and the others.” Justin pursed his lips. “All I know is we’ve got one life, and I’d hoped to make the most out of it.”

  “Have you talked to Michelle and Maggie lately?”

  Thankful for the subject change, Justin shook his head. “Not since we left. I’m supposed to get some comm credits tonight. What about Richard? How’s his ship doing?”

  “Good. They’re on rotation to home defense for the next three months.” Feldstein put her fork down. “I’m not sure I could do this if he wasn’t.”

  Justin blinked. I hadn’t thought of it like that. She has to worry about her husband too. I just have to worry about myself. “I suppose I’m lucky that way. My wife is nowhere near the combat zone.”

  “Unless the damn Leaguers invade New Washington,” Feldstein replied darkly. She took another bite. “I’m sorry, sir. Probably not the best of company either.”