Hostile Spike (Battlegroup Z Book 2) by Daniel Gibbs (best pdf ebook reader TXT) 📕

but they were mostly using “pray and spray” tactics. Individual dogfights broke out and quickly turned into tail chases in which, again, the superior CDF technology won the day. Feldstein, Mateus, and Adeoye took out an enemy each, while Beta element handled the remaining two fighters.

“Listen up, pilots. Now’s our chance. The shuttles are headed for the hangar. I want every small craft from the Greengold on the deck in sixty seconds. Move like your lives depend on it, because they do,” Whatley said, his voice simultaneously gruff and full of pride.

“I don’t need to hear that twice,” Martin interjected. “Gamma element heading for home plate.”

Justin cued a private commlink channel to Whatley. “Major, there’s still a good ten League fighters out here.”

“Watch and learn, young man.”

“But—”

“Spencer, for once, trust I know what I’m doing,” Whatley growled. “Can you do that, son?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, land that piece-of-shit League bird somewhere I can’t see it on the flight deck, would you?”

Justin tightened his hand around the stick and pushed the afterburner up. The first shuttle had just touched down, and the next one was coming in. I wonder what crazy plan Whatley has up his sleeve. He grinned, thinking the Leaguers had no chance at all.

“All shuttles and bombers landed, skipper,” Wright began. “We’ve got a few Sabres still out there, including the CAG.”

“How close?” The bridge remained bathed in blue light. The soft hue cast long shadows across the consoles while the damage-control teams worked on broken equipment.

“Thirty seconds to landing, ma’am.” Wright double-checked his screen. “Port side is clear. Everyone else is coming in on the starboard quarter.”

“TAO, target incoming enemy craft bearing zero-nine-zero relative, activate point defense.” Tehrani grinned fiercely. “That should even it up a bit.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am. Point defense in automatic mode,” Bryan called.

All four CIWS mounts capable of sweeping the port quarter synchronized their actions, assisted by the Zvika Greengold’s targeting systems’ vast computing power. A sustained cascade of energy bolts and projectiles, alternating between the weapons systems, sprayed into the path of the onrushing League fighters. The first couple were caught entirely unaware and ceased to exist after dozens of impacts, while the pilots toward the rear had enough time to veer off and attempt escape. Only a few made it. Whatley’s gambit had worked, though Tehrani was still amazed he’d pulled it off.

“Conn, TAO. Aspect change. Enemy fighters are pulling back. Master Three has reentered weapons range.” As if to underscore Bryan’s report, the bridge rocked from numerous energy-weapon impacts on the Greengold’s forward deflector array.

Tehrani leaned forward. “TAO, status of the energy-weapons capacitor?”

“Fully charged, ma’am.”

Might as well do a little more damage. After all, every ship they neutralized was one fewer to fight later. “In that case, TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Three.”

“Firing solutions set, ma’am.”

“Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

As they had so many times before, twin blue spears of death erupted from the bow of the Zvika Greengold. Moving at the speed of light, they connected with the depleted shields on the enemy destroyer and burned through them after only moments of contact. The League ship’s light armor and brittle hull were no match for the beams’ tightly focused power. They bored a hole from one side of the vessel to the other, turning the area around the contact point molten.

“Conn, TAO. Access Master Three is disabled. She’s ceased forward movement and is drifting, ma’am. I show life pod launches across all decks.”

Before Tehrani could reply, Singh spoke. “Conn, Communications. CSV Astute is asking us to confirm all personnel are off the League station, ma’am.”

“Everyone’s off, skipper,” Wright replied quickly. “No worries there. The Marines triple-checked.”

Tehrani turned and nodded in Singh’s direction. “Let them know we’re clear, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

A few moments later, the reason the stealth raider had asked became apparent. Six miniature suns showed through the window at the front of the bridge. They bracketed the station perfectly, causing maximum damage and erasing most of the structure from the universe. What was left would only be useful as scrap.

“Conn, TAO. Master One destroyed,” Bryan reported. “The board is clear except for a few enemy fast movers.”

“Search-and-rescue status?” Tehrani asked.

“SAR bird is out along with a couple of Sabres as an escort, ma’am. We’re not finding any trace of our people, though. The Boars are about to land. We could launch our other SAR craft,” Wright said. He furrowed his brow. “The lack of transponders is hampering their efforts, though.”

Tehrani pondered her options. The Greengold only had two of the specialized search-and-rescue craft. They could relaunch some fighters to assist, but the Sabres’ LIDAR arrays were optimized for warfare, not locating needles in the large haystack of space.

Bryan interrupted her thoughts. “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, inbound wormholes.”

“How many wormholes?”

“At least eight, ma’am.”

Seconds ticked by with a growing sense of apprehension. Tehrani stared at the tactical plot, waiting for Bryan's report.

“Conn, TAO. League signature confirmed, one Alexander-class battleship and sixteen escorts.”

Tehrani’s mouth went dry. They were out of time, and she could do nothing more. Even so, the thought of leaving missing pilots—men and women under her command—behind was heartbreaking.

“Skipper, it’s time,” Wright whispered insistently.

“I know,” Tehrani replied, her tone tinged with pain. “XO, give a sixty-second count for all remaining friendlies to dock.”

“Conn, TAO. Dozens of enemy fast movers launching, ma’am,” Bryan interjected.

“ETA to intercept, Lieutenant?” Tehrani asked, her eyes fixed on his back.

“Five minutes, ma’am. Master Five and her battlegroup are moving at flank speed.”

“Communications, signal the Astute to jump out immediately,” Tehrani began. Without even waiting for a reply, she pressed on. “Navigation, plot an emergency Lawrence drive jump back to our staging area.”

Acknowledgments rang out from both of them.

Bitter recriminations flowed in Tehrani’s mind, but she had no other options. The same pain was clearly evident on the faces of everyone else on the bridge. “No one left behind” had been a rallying cry of the CDF for generations. Slogans tend to fail in real combat situations. Being unable to live