Sol Strike (Battlegroup Z Book 3) by Daniel Gibbs (book recommendations for young adults TXT) 📕

repair notices from the Greengold’s chief engineer, Major Carlyle Hodges. The Thane-class escort carrier was showing her age, but she was also built to last. Based on Hodges’s evaluation, she had quite a few years of active service left. The assessment put Tehrani’s mind somewhat at ease as they embarked on a journey that would put more than twelve thousand light-years on the ship.

“Conn, Navigation. Lawrence limit reached, ma’am.”

“Navigation, plot a jump to the coordinates I’m sending you now.” She sent a set of encrypted instructions to Mitzner’s console. CIS had insisted on keeping the rendezvous point for Battlegroup Z secret until the last possible moment.

“Aye, aye, ma’am.” It didn’t take long for Mitzner to input them. “We’re ready to engage on your command, Colonel.”

With a “here goes nothing” glance at Wright, Tehrani set her jaw. “Navigation, execute Lawrence drive.”

The bridge lights immediately dimmed as an artificial wormhole opened directly in front of the Zvika Greengold. It grew and formed a vortex with a dizzying array of colors ranging from blue to orange to purple. The ship accelerated, flew through in an instant, then popped out on the other side a few seconds later.

“Conn, TAO. Sensors online. Aspect change, five contacts detected,” Bryan announced. It typically took anywhere from four to nine seconds for sensors and shields to stabilize post-jump, and they were the most stressful moments of a soldier’s life. “IFF confirmed as CDF. Four Templar-class stealth raiders, CSV Astute, CSV Damyat, CSV Leviathan, and CSV Alvaro Alberto. Designated as Sierra One through Four. One Achomawi-class fleet support ship, CSV Salinan, designated as Sierra Five.”

Tightly clustered together, the five ships were roughly five thousand kilometers away, as far as Tehrani could tell from her tactical plot. She’d never seen a fleet support ship before, as they typically operated with larger carriers or battleship groups. “Communications, send my compliments to all five vessels.”

Before Lieutenant Gopinath Singh, the Greengold’s communications officer, could reply, Bryan cut in. “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, incoming wormhole.”

Alarm bells rang in Tehrani’s mind. What? We’re not expecting anyone else. “Classification, TAO?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s faint. Stealth signature.” Bryan paused. “IFF confirmed, friendly.” He turned his head around. “It’s showing as a Coalition Intelligence Service vessel, name, and class classified at Gold level.”

“Okay, this is getting weird,” Wright interjected.

“You’re telling me,” Tehrani muttered. “Communications, ping our newly arrived friends, and let’s see what CIS wants today.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Singh replied. “Actually, ma’am, they’re requesting a vidlink with you.”

“Put it through to my viewer.”

An unsmiling man in a business suit appeared on the monitor above Tehrani’s head. “Colonel, I’ll make this brief. President Nolan will be docking in your shuttle bay with his security team in twenty minutes. Please make ready to receive him and have as many crewmembers in your hangar as possible. The president wants to address your crew before the battlegroup departs.”

“Um…” Tehrani’s mind swam. “We aren’t prepared for a presidential visit—”

“He’s not concerned with pomp and circumstance, Colonel. Do the best you can. Terran Coalition One out.”

The screen went blank, leaving Tehrani with more questions than answers. Before she could form an order with her lips, Singh spoke.

“Conn, Communications. I received an authenticated set of orders as the transmission ended, with General Saurez’s biometric signature.”

Wright leaned in and whispered into Tehrani’s ear, “We’d better get moving.”

“Concur,” Tehrani replied and stood. “XO, get an honor guard assembled and have the department heads and the master chief round up as many soldiers in khaki duty uniforms as possible. Lieutenant Bryan, you have the conn.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.” Bryan stood at the same time as Wright did.

“I’m going to my day cabin to change. See you in the hangar in ten minutes, XO,” Tehrani said as she set off toward the hatch leading to the rest of deck one. Nolan sure knows how to make an entrance. She’d expected notice of the president arriving from General Saurez or someone in the chain of command. We’d best make the most of it.

Justin threw open the hatch to his quarters, barely breaking his stride. It crashed shut behind him, and he immediately stripped down to his boxers and a T-shirt. A last-minute VIP visit with the dog-and-pony show accompanying it was beyond out of the ordinary, and Justin was annoyed he had to play dress-up instead of focus on his squadron and the mission at hand. Secrecy was so tight that they hadn’t yet informed the crew at large or any officers below the senior staff. Of the pilots, only a few knew—Whatley and the three squadron commanders. Justin had told Alpha element of the plan, as they were conducting most of the SFS-4 Ghost tests.

I wonder who’s coming. Some four-star general up the chain of command? Staring at his closet, Justin was immensely grateful that the CAG’s message had specified wearing the khaki duty uniform and not dress black or white. It didn’t take long to finish putting everything on and check his various pins and insignia along with the ribbon block. After a final look in the mirror to make sure he would pass basic inspection, Justin raced back into the passageway and tore through the ship as if his life depended on it.

The hangar deck had triple its usual crew complement, as hundreds of personnel milled about. The senior staff was gathered together, while the enlisted ratings congregated behind what looked to be a hastily erected crowd-control line. Justin scanned the area for other pilots, and after a couple of minutes of searching, he saw Feldstein standing by herself. He set off toward her.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Mateus said as Justin trotted up, breathing hard from running the length of the Zvika Greengold.

He rolled his eyes at her and grinned. “So, any idea what the heck is going on?”

“We got a message from the CAG to be in the hangar, in our khakis,” Feldstein replied. “Beyond that, no clue. No G2 on your end?”

Justin shook his head. “None. Maybe someone from the Joint Chiefs