Weapons Free (Battlegroup Z Book 1)

by Daniel Gibbs

  “Who are these people?” Wright asked quietly. “You don’t just show up in one of our star systems and attack the Coalition Defense Force.”

  “If we’re lucky enough to disable something, I’ll order our Marine contingent to attempt a capture,” Tehrani replied. She made eye contact with him. “If nothing else, that should get us some answers.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Communications,” Tehrani began. “Contact CDF HQ on Canaan. Send our sensor logs.” She quickly glanced at Wright. “Just in case.”

  “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master Four… Colonel, that ship is launching fighters. Same configuration as the ones deployed by the smaller vessels. I’m also detecting larger craft. Could be bombers.”

  “Understood, TAO. Communications, signal Alpha and Beta elements to engage.” Allah help us. Tehrani set her jaw, staring at the tactical plot. The battle was suddenly mostly out of her hands.

  “Tally ho, bandits at eleven o’clock, high!” Justin yelled. He used his craft’s mental link to designate a formation of what he assumed were four bombers behind a fighter screen. Friendly blue neutron beams issued from the Marcus Luttrell along with counter-fire filled the void around him. The contrasting colors were almost a thing of beauty—if the enemy hadn’t been trying to kill him and his fellow pilots.

  “Sir, shouldn’t we attack the fighters first?” Mateus asked. “They can chew us up.”

  “Negative, Alpha Four. If those bigger, slower craft are bombers, they’re the biggest threat to our ride. Neutralize them first, then clean up the remaining fighters. Beta element is tasked to engage all other enemies.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  Her comment wasn’t wrong, but Justin wasn’t taking any chances with their carrier. His training was clear—protect capital ships at all costs in a combat situation. While adrenaline still coursed through his veins, calm replaced his previous jitters. He methodically adjusted the trajectory of his Sabre to avoid flying head-on at the enemies screening the bomber group. The moment his missile lock-on sounded, he loosed a Vulture toward the nearest fighter. “Alpha One, fox three.”

  “Alpha Four, fox three,” Mateus called a moment later.

  Justin watched with satisfaction as his element tightened up after sending a salvo of four active LIDAR-tracking warheads toward the enemy. Two hit the same enemy, destroying it. One knocked down the forward shields of the fighter it connected with, while the fourth missed. We’re getting better at this. Alpha blew through the screening force and rocketed toward the bombers. “Okay, pilots, give ’em a volley of missiles, then we close in and take these guys down. They can’t maneuver, and we should be able to sit on their tails. Clear?”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Adeoye replied. “We’ll be aces by the end of the day.”

  “Stow that and focus on staying alive,” Justin snapped. The missile-lock-on tone sounded again. On the HUD, the targeting reticule highlighted one of the lumbering craft that moved at half the speed of the enemy fighters. He pressed the button for missile launch. “Alpha One, fox three.” The Vulture rocketed away from his Sabre and slammed into the bomber, which didn’t attempt to evade. He might as well have thrown a paper airplane. The sensor readouts on Justin’s HUD showed a less than twenty percent shield-effectiveness drop from the impact. He whipped around the enemy, avoiding a string of red plasma balls fired from the bomber formation, and settled behind the lead craft. “Alpha One, guns, guns, guns.” He held down the firing trigger for the neutron cannons, and bright-blue bursts of energy stabbed out into the enemy. Five, ten, fifteen hits, then the bomber exploded. Damn. Those things are tough.

  A new cluster of dots appeared on the HUD. Justin’s heart skipped a beat before he realized they were blue, indicating friendly forces. IFF transponders marked them as four Mauler bombers of the Gamma element. The Greengold had a single bomber squadron aboard, the Winged Lightnings.

  “Hey, mates,” someone called.

  Justin recognized the voice of First Lieutenant Francis Martin, a pilot who hailed from the Australian Federal State, one of the many member worlds of the Terran Coalition. The Aussie was larger than life, with a quip for everything. He and Justin had become friends over the last two weeks.

  “Care to keep these ugly little buggers off our asses while we stuff their big ships full of explosives?”

  Justin chuckled, and smatterings of laughter rippled through the commlink. “We’ve got your back,” he said as he rolled his Sabre around and accelerated toward the bomber formation. “Alphas Two and Four, finish off those bombers.”

  “Wilco,” Feldstein replied quickly.

  Martin’s voice came through loud and clear. “Glad to hear it, Spencer. Cheers, mate. I’ve got some beers on ice waiting for us. While we’re at it, maybe we can find something besides missiles to stuff into these buggers, eh?”

  “Keep the commlinks clear for proper traffic,” Major Whatley suddenly barked.

  It felt like the school principal finding you in the hall without a pass. The line stayed silent, as apparently no one wanted to respond. I oughta tell him to get out here and fight, rather than worry about our comms traffic. Justin grinned as he closed the distance on Gamma element. The idea that they were fighting up-gunned pirates went through his head again, but he rejected it. No, we’re fighting another military. But who? The craft attacking them matched nothing in the database, nor did the style of ship design.

  The bomber pilots knew their business. Martin and the three other Maulers settled into a tight cluster formation resembling an upright diamond, allowing each to engage without being behind a friendly craft. It made life easy for Justin, as all he had to do was settle in above their formation with Adeoye. However, their opponents weren’t content to let them just blast their ships. Another wave of the snub-nosed, red-tinted fighters launched, and his HUD immediately labeled them hostile. “Alpha Three, break and engage inbound enemies.”

  “Acknowledged, Alpha One,” Adeoye replied as he rolled away and engaged his Sabre’s afterburner.

  Justin flew right behind him, lining up the lead enemy in his sights. The kilometers dropped quickly, and before long, the missile-lock-on tone sounded in his cockpit. Justin squeezed the firing button for a single Vulture active LIDAR-guided weapon. “Alpha One, fox three.” The missile dropped out of the munitions bay, and its engine engaged, accelerating toward the target. Six seconds later, the Vulture exploded against the enemy’s forward shield, while Justin poured neutron cannon fire into the mix.

  Most of the enemies had broken off when struck by weapons fire, but not this one. The craft refused to alter course, instead sending bolt after bolt of red energy directly at Justin’s fighter. Hits piled up on his Sabre’s forward shield, and its protection rating dropped like a stone. He adjusted his shield power and redirected the aft generator forward, buying him precious few seconds to continue pouring neutron cannon fire onto the enemy. It worked—the black-and-red craft exploded in a brief flash of orange and blue before the vacuum of space consumed all available oxygen from the hapless fighter’s life-support system.

  “Alpha One, splash one,” Justin called as he balanced the remaining deflector power his Sabre retained.

  Adeoye’s fighter zoomed ahead, entering a series of interlocking scissors maneuvers with one of the other three enemy craft. He and the enemy pilot traded energy-weapons fire, each scoring several hits until Adeoye locked into the cone of lethality. A sustained stream of neutron-cannon bolts later, the unknown craft blew up.

  “Nice shooting, Alpha Three,” Justin said.

  “Whoever these guys are, they explode really well,” Mateus interjected. “Alpha Four, splash one.”

  “Eyes on the ball, Lieutenant,” Justin replied with a chuckle.

  While the furball continued, the friendly bomber element steadily closed the distance to the enemy frigate they’d lined up on. Justin tried to monitor his HUD’s LIDAR display as the deadly dance between his Sabre and the hostile fighters continued, t
o make sure nothing broke off to chase down the vulnerable bombers.

  “We’re ten seconds out, chaps,” Martin said. “I’ve got a green light, Javelin ready. Gamma One, fox one.” He used the brevity code for firing an anti-ship missile.

  Each one of Gamma’s bombers loosed a Javelin, which headed directly for the frigate labeled Master Three. With no escorting fighters between the warheads and their target, the only remaining obstacle was the enemy vessel’s point defense system. It flung a hail of small red plasma balls into the void, which made for an impressive display, but that was all it did. Three out of four missiles impacted its forward shield quarter, hammering down the frigate’s shields and blowing off a sizeable chunk off its bow. Secondary explosions began, and after a few seconds, the entire vessel blew apart into one-meter-sized pieces. No life pods launched.

  “Take that, you stupid buggers!” Martin shouted. “Now, let's go piss on the next one, mates!”

  As infectious as his enthusiasm was, something in the back of Justin’s mind told him that cheering the death of hundreds of people or aliens probably wasn’t the right way to approach the situation. But he set the thought aside and picked his next target.

  Tehrani stared out the transparent alloy “window” at the front of the Zvika Greengold’s bridge. It took several seconds for the explosion resulting from Master Three’s destruction to die down. As it did, it cast a shadow across the entire combat information center. Two down, two to go. A glance at her tactical readout showed that the largest ship, Master Four, still had most of its deflector strength intact.

  “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, wormholes inbound,” Bryan began. “Both are CDF signature, ma’am. CSV Glasgow and CSV Sheffield, designated Sierra Two and Three.”

  The last of our escorts. “Plug them into the tactical network, Lieutenant. Designate Master Four as the primary target for all ships and bombers,” Tehrani said.

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  Her eyes went back to the tactical plot on the screen built into the CO’s chair. Blue icons of the Greengold’s escorts and fighter squadrons filled the display. They swarmed around the two remaining red icons like bees. Additional symbols for anti-ship missiles appeared from the flight of bombers and quickly accelerated into the side of Master One, merging with its icon and blinking out.

  “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, Master One. She’s powering up her Lawrence drives, ma’am.”

  A few moments later, the icon for the enemy vessel disappeared, leaving only the largest ship on the battlefield. Again and again, the escorts and bombers lashed out with every weapon at their disposal. It took several volleys to batter down the vessel’s shields, but once they did, explosions erupted across its hull.

  “Conn, TAO. Master Four is attempting to jump out,” Bryan said as he turned around in his chair. “They’re not going to make it. Sensors show runaway exotic-particle release.”

  His words were prophetic. Through the transparent alloy windows, a massive orange explosion suddenly came into view.

  “Conn, TAO. Master Four has been destroyed. All enemy fighters neutralized. We’re clear.” Bryan used a soft tone, and his words were measured.

  “Damage report, XO?” Tehrani asked, tilting her head slightly.

  “One moment, ma’am.” Wright quickly scanned several screens of information. “Hull damage, deck eight. Two lost to the void. Several dozen wounded and light damage to the landing bays.” He pursed his lips. “All systems combat operational.”

  With the sudden danger of combat passed, Tehrani’s mind found the space it needed to consider the human cost. I’ve never lost a crewman under my command before. She forced herself not to show emotion on the bridge. “Fast-mover losses?”

  “Two Sabres lost, ma’am. Strong signal off one escape pod… the other pilot didn’t make it.”

  Wright’s words hung over the bridge and Tehrani’s head. “Deploy search and rescue. Bring our pilot in and see if anyone is left alive in any of the enemy’s wreckage. Keep our CSP out in force… and, Communications, find CDF command. We’ve got to alert them to what’s going on.” The last part, she said for the benefit of the bridge team, as anxious stares and worried expressions had replaced the frantic pace of combat.

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  Tehrani sat back in her chair, mentally running through the combat evolution. One thing was for sure—her ship and crew had performed remarkably well for never having engaged in actual combat. We lived up to our name today. Despite everything else, that thought brought a smile to her face.

  4

  Two hours later, after search-and-rescue operations concluded and the escape pod of Second Lieutenant Al-Mufti was recovered, Justin and his Alpha element were the last four fighters to touch down on the hangar deck of the Zvika Greengold. The carrier had two primary bays, with the one nearest the bridge tower configured for recovery and the other set up for launch. Automated landing systems took control of his Sabre as he closed within five hundred meters of the ship. His ship came to rest near the large CVE-73 marking in the center of the flight deck. The moment his cockpit canopy opened, Justin sprang up, and the crew chief rolled a ladder over for him to climb down.

  “How about that—we’re all aces!” Mateus called from across the hangar. She was still wearing her full flight suit, minus the helmet, and the flag of the Republic of Brasilia was displayed on the left shoulder of her uniform. She strode over quickly. “I can’t believe it, Spencer. We’re all alive too.”

  “Not all of us,” Justin replied. “Al-Mufti didn’t make it back.”

  “It was still a good day.” Mateus stretched her neck. “Feldstein and Adeoye are waiting in the ready room. Debriefing starts in thirty minutes, Major Whatley’s orders.”

  Justin nodded. “I’ll be there.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m waiting for shock to set in.” He furrowed his brow. “It’s weird to describe, but in the moment, flying that fighter through space, pulling thirteen Gs, and fighting for my life…”

  “Exhilarating?” Mateus rocked from foot to foot. “I’ve felt nothing like it before.”

  “Not quite the word I’d use.”

  She slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s the Portuguese half of me.” Mateus winked. “I’ll see you around.”

  “In thirty minutes,” Justin replied and watched her walk away.

  He mentally steeled himself for the debriefing while pondering what was going to happen next. All around him, the deck crew busied themselves with preparing the two squadrons of fighters and bombers for space combat once more. The Thane-class escort carriers only had three squadrons—thirty-six small craft in total—embarked. To see everything the ship carried being readied for action was a jarring sight in what had been, until an hour ago, peacetime.

  Maybe I have enough time to get a message to my wife. He set off for his cabin to try. All the while, he ran the question of who they were fighting through his head. While it made little sense, Justin had the feeling the designs he’d seen were human built. But what humans would attack the Terran Coalition?

  “Conn, Communications. Flash traffic from CDF command, ma’am.”

  Singh’s voice interrupted Tehrani’s mental considerations as she stared at a list of stores—munitions, food, and consumables such as oxygen and water—and found it woefully inadequate for combat. She glanced up at him. “Route to my viewer, Lieutenant.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  Several seconds later, a security challenge appeared on her chair-mounted screen, to which she pressed her finger into a biometric scanner. After it had confirmed her identity, a message—text only—appeared on the panel. Reading halfway through it, Tehrani sucked in a breath. “This communique is six hours old. Why did we just receive it?”

  “Jamming, ma’am. There’s still long-range communication issues, but taking out those enemy ships”—he shrugged—“seemed to reduce the amount of interference.”

  “Colonel?” Wright asked. His eye
s narrowed, and his face was taut. Stress leaked from behind his facade of professionalism. “What’s it say?”

  “We are at war.” The words fell out of Tehrani’s mouth like a hammer.

  Enlisted ratings stole glances at each other, while the officers openly stared at their commanding officer.

  She forced down the bile rising from her stomach. “An unknown enemy has appeared within the Terran Coalition’s borders and is pushing steadily toward Canaan.” Our home world. Whoever they are, they know what they’re doing.

  “We should address the crew,” Wright whispered as he leaned in. “Let them know what’s going on.”

  Tehrani nodded and punched a button to enable the ship-wide intercom, also known as 1MC. Fear crept into her heart. Whatever I feel, I must project strength. With a set jaw, she began to speak. “Attention all hands, this is your commanding officer.” She glanced at Wright. “I would first like to thank the entire crew of the Zvika Greengold for their professionalism, adherence to duty, and incredible performance during the combat engagement we just won. No one expected a pitched battle with enemy capital-class vessels to happen today, but this crew rose to the occasion. It is an honor to command you, and you bring great credit to the Coalition Defense Force with your service. Today, we lived up to the CDF motto of Semper paratus—always ready.” She took a deep breath.

  Around the bridge, every eye was on her. Even the enlisted ratings, who should’ve been paying attention to the myriad of displays, gazed intently.

  “CDF Command has set Defense Condition One. The Terran Coalition is now at war with an unidentified enemy, who has a fleet of over one thousand warships. And they’re headed to our homes. All CDF vessels are ordered to return at best speed to Canaan to assist in its defense. All I expect from each one of you is that you do your duty.” Tehrani clicked off the 1MC.

  “A thousand ships?” Bryan asked. “Colonel, with respect, the CDF doesn’t have but… what? Two hundred?”