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

could see again, a gaping, molten hole had grown where the frigate’s shuttle bay existed moments before. Yes! Elation took over as the point-defense fire immediately disappeared but was replaced by a somber realization that a good man had given his life for the result.

“CSV Zvika Greengold actual to all fighters,” Tehrani’s said. “Evasive maneuvers. Maintain separation from Master Eight.”

As Justin wondered what she had planned, twin beams of energy erupted from the Greengold’s bow and connected with the deflectors of the remaining operational League PD vessel. He’d seen the neutron beams fired many times, but something was different. They seemed even brighter than usual and were sustained for an extended period. After five seconds, Master Eight’s shields failed, and the blue spears blew through the hull and out the other side. Son of a… A moment later, the vessel exploded into one-meter chunks.

“How’d they do that?” Feldstein asked.

Justin pushed the shock he felt aside and cued his commlink. “Alpha One to all pilots, best speed to the Greengold now.” Taking his own advice, Justin rolled his fighter toward the beckoning flight deck of their carrier. “Push it up.”

With the path cleared, the remaining friendlies streaked through the void. Some were noticeably slower than others because of battle damage and limped along. Justin slowed his craft, since they were the least able to defend themselves. While the CDF fighters retreated, numerous red icons appeared on his HUD. At least an entire squadron launched from the League destroyer still engaging the Zvika Greengold, while dozens more streamed out of the vessels approaching them at flank speed.

It didn’t take long for Justin to realize the enemy fighters heading toward them would overtake the crippled Ghosts before they reached the safety of the carrier. What he must do was clear, especially after Martin’s sacrifice. Justin cued his commlink. “Alpha One to Alpha element, head back to home plate. I’m going to slow down the incoming bandits long enough for everyone else to dock. I hope, anyway.”

“We’re not leaving you, sir,” Feldstein said, her voice strained with emotion. “You go, we go.”

“I won’t ask you to—”

“You don’t have to ask, sir. We stand with you,” Adeoye interjected. “God will bless us.”

Some blessing. “Okay, then form up on my wing. We’ll fire what remaining missiles we have and try to mix it up with energy—”

“Belay that order!” Whatley cut in. “Captain, you are to withdraw with your remaining fighters. I’ve got this.”

Justin scanned his sensor screen, and to his surprise, eight new blue icons separated from the Zvika Greengold and raced toward the Ghost formation on full afterburners. What? Sabres! He quickly deduced that they were the pilots from the freighter raid and the few reserves they had aboard. “Don’t have to tell me twice this time, sir.”

“Spencer obeying an order. Dear Lord, there’s a first time for everything.” Whatley’s voice was gruff, but it held something it rarely had: respect. “Captain, bug out bearing two-seven-eight.”

“Aye, aye, sir. All pilots, break to heading two-seven-eight. Maintain formation with the slowest fighter.” Justin looped his craft around in a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn. Even though he no longer had a bird’s-eye view of the battlefield, the sensor display gave him a lifeline to how the battle was progressing. On it, dozens of blue dots representing missiles streaked away from the CAG and his flight of Sabres, headed toward the nearest group of Leaguers.

While the enemy pilots dodged the incoming warheads, the damaged Ghosts pressed ever closer to the Greengold. Fighter after fighter landed on the deck at combat speed then were grabbed by the arrestor fields and dragged out of the flight line to make way for another craft. In less than two minutes, almost all of them were secured.

Justin cued his commlink to Whatley’s private channel. “Major, all elements except Alpha are down. Time for you to bug out, sir.”

“Giving me orders now, son?”

“Just this once, sir.” Justin grinned. He was in awe of how Whatley had single-handedly blunted the League attack.

“Way ahead of you—we’re headed back. Those piece-of-shit commie fighters can’t match our speed on afterburners. Get Alpha landed, and I’ll see you on the deck.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Justin used the tactical network link to send an urgent “dock now” warning to the other Alpha pilots and lined up on the strobe beacon. It flashed yellow then green. He slowed to ensure Feldstein, Adeoye, and Mateus got in first. “Hurry up, people. High-speed landing protocol. Trust the arrestor fields. Our lives depend on it.”

“This is the boss. Confirm all craft have positive control over engine and maneuvering systems.”

“Confirmed, boss,” Justin replied.

“Cleared to land on any available pad, Alpha.”

The moment Mateus put down, Justin kicked up his speed and glided into the hangar bay. The tractor fields caught his craft and swung it onto the deck. The moment the Ghost touched down, he popped the canopy and climbed out. Not bothering to wait for the portable ladder to be brought over by the crew chiefs, Justin swung over the side and dropped to the deck with a bone-jarring thud.

The rest of the friendly Sabres in space—Whatley and the other seven—thundered into the carrier two at a time. The second the last ones were aboard, the lights dimmed, a telltale sign of an impending Lawrence jump. All the while, incoming energy-weapon fire splattered against the Greengold’s shields, clearly visible through the force fields protecting the hangar.

Justin held his breath as the volume of fire increased dramatically, then it was gone, replaced by the multicolored walls of the artificial wormhole. He let out the breath, stunned to be alive. At first, joy and elation swept over him. They’d pulled off the impossible: attacking Sol and living to tell the story—as long as they could make good on their escape.

At the far end of the bay, a chant started. “What-ley! What-ley! What-ley!” Several pilots and aviation crew had hoisted the CAG onto their shoulders and were parading him forward. Applause, cheers, and whistles ran through the air as the throng of humanity