Iron Hand (Battlegroup Z Book 5) Read online

  Iron Hand

  Battlegroup Z Book Five

  Daniel Gibbs

  Contents

  CSV Zvika Greengold Blueprints

  SF-86 Sabre Blueprints

  Starchart - Sagittarius/Orion Arms

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  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

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  Iron Hand by Daniel Gibbs

  Copyright © 2020-2021 by Daniel Gibbs

  * * *

  Visit Daniel Gibb’s website at

  www.danielgibbsauthor.net

  * * *

  Cover by Jeff Brown Graphics—www.jeffbrowngraphics.com

  Additional Illustrations by Joel Steudler—www.joelsteudler.com

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction, the characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For permissions please contact [email protected].

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  Battlegroup Z

  Book 1 - Weapons Free

  Book 2 - Hostile Spike

  Book 3 - Sol Strike

  Book 4 - Bandits Engaged

  Book 5 - Iron Hand

  Book 6 - Final Flight

  Echoes of War

  Book 1 - Fight the Good Fight

  Book 2 - Strong and Courageous

  Book 3 - So Fight I

  Book 4 - Gates of Hell

  Book 5 - Keep the Faith

  Book 6 - Run the Gauntlet

  Book 7 - Finish the Fight

  Breach of Faith

  (With Gary T. Stevens)

  Book 1 - Breach of Peace

  Book 2 - Breach of Faith

  Book 3 - Breach of Duty

  Book 4 - Breach of Trust

  Deception Fleet

  (With Steve Rzasa)

  Book 1 - Victory’s Wake

  Book 2 - Cold Conflict

  Book 3 - Hazards Near

  Prologue

  XB-9163-D—Terran Coalition Border Zone

  Asteroid Habitat

  1 November 2434

  * * *

  With every step Dmitry Borisov took, the harsh sounds of his spacer boots crunching on the alloy deck echoed. Only a few weeks earlier, he’d been living in luxury on Unity Station while directing the League of Sol’s External Security Service operations from the shadows. But Borisov was a man of action, and when his previous efforts had ended in failure, he decided the missing ingredient for success was him.

  Meeting with contacts near enemy-held space was dangerous at best, but Borisov wanted to look the people he was about to hire in the eyes. To ensure they are up to the task.

  The abandoned mining habitat was used as a free port and kept in service by a small group of independent mining corporations that allowed the local criminal elements shelter.

  Allowed probably isn’t the right word. Borisov sneered. The individualist humans and aliens in the Sagittarius arm did as they pleased, consequences be damned. Only power and might seemed to matter. The situation greatly disgusted him.

  The metallic click of a weapon’s action sounded like a thunderclap above the background noise.

  Whirling around, Borisov had no time to draw his plasma pistol and stared at three men. Two were human, and one was an alien of a species he didn’t recognize. It had vaguely reptilian skin but wasn’t a Saurian. That much, he was sure of.

  “Mr. Logan, I presume?”

  “You presume correctly.” A human in the middle of the small group stepped forward. He had sandy-brown hair and a youthful face dotted with several scars. “Richard Logan.” No hand was extended.

  Borisov felt his fight-or-flight instinct kick in. While he’d served as a field agent before, that was several years ago. “I am Dominic Rocha. We spoke a few days ago.”

  Loud laughter echoed from the three men, and Logan’s lips curled into a smirk.

  “I don’t know who you are, but you’re sure as hell not Dominic Rocha.”

  Borisov held up a hand. “If you don’t wish to do business—”

  In a flash, all three men drew weapons.

  Logan stepped forward. Before Borisov could react, the cold metal of the pistol was pressed against his forehead. “Shut up. You do realize that I could kill you right here, and no one would know, much less care?”

  “I have credits—”

  Logan laughed again. “I’ve got credits too. And if you were stupid enough to bring a credit chip with you, I’ll cut your finger off and use it to access them.” His cold stare left no doubt as to the veracity of the statement.

  “You need to take a step back,” Borisov replied quietly. “And hear my proposal.” Yes, these are the ones I need. Years of training kept his heart from racing as he leveled the men with an equally cold glare.

  “Okay, Rocha. I’m listening.”

  “You and your associates have a certain reputation, Mr. Logan.” Borisov glanced between the three, sizing each up as a potential opponent. “You kill without remorse, yes?”

  “Two types of people in this universe. Those who play by the rules and live their pathetic little lives… and us. We take from them. Some blood gets spilled.” Logan shrugged. “Not my problem.”

  Individualists are scum. Borisov wanted to kill the lot of them and erase their asteroid from existence along with everyone else associated with them. To him, it wasn’t the methods they used. Force, including murder, was completely justifiable to deal with enemies of the state. No, the crime they committed was the ultimate one—to put themselves above the needs of society. Ironically, I will use them to defeat the other individualists.

  “In addition to credits, I have a virtually unlimited supply of weapons, including hand, ship, and fighter-sized munitions. Missiles, mines, plasma cannons. Practically anything that can be had, I have in hand.”

  Logan narrowed his eyes. “I thought you wanted to discuss a job, not sell us arms.”

  “You misunderstand me. I mean to give you these weapons if you take the job.
”

  “Something’s off here.” Logan made a cutting motion across his throat. “This joker’s probably with CBI. Throw him out an airlock and do it quietly.”

  As the other human reached out to grab him, Borisov took his arm and, in a fluid motion, twisted it around with a bone-sickening crunch. At the same time, he used his dominant hand to cross-draw his pistol and pressed it against the thug’s temple. “I strongly suggest you reconsider, gentlemen.”

  Logan and the alien aimed their weapons at Borisov.

  “Acting like a tough guy doesn’t do anything for me, Rocha. Seen plenty of CBI undercovers in my time do the same,” Logan said. “And if you think I’m going to let you walk out of here because you took a hostage, well, you’re in for a rude awakening. I’ll shoot him to get to you. If you want a quick, painless death, I suggest quitting while you’re ahead.”

  “I am not with the CBI, Mr. Logan,” Borisov replied smoothly as he squeezed the trigger of his plasma pistol and sent a charge of energy through the unlucky man’s brain. The body collapsed to the floor in a heap. “Perhaps you can appreciate that, now? Or should we take our chances on trying to kill each other?”

  “Do you have a better suggestion?” Logan asked. His voice wavered, though the aim of his pistol remained firmly centered on Borisov’s forehead.

  “Put our weapons away, have a conversation, and work out a deal that makes you and your associates wealthy beyond all dreams.” Borisov’s lips curled into a nasty little grin.

  Logan glanced at the alien and nodded. “I think we can do that.” He lowered his pistol and gestured further into the asteroid. “After you, Mr. Rocha.”

  1

  New Washington

  Lincoln Memorial Hospital Complex

  18 November 2434

  * * *

  “Faster,” Justin grated out as the shuttle entered the atmosphere of New Washington. Heat from friction effects wrapped the craft in flame, and he checked his personal communicator once again.

  “Any faster, and we’ll burn up,” the pilot, a CDF warrant officer named Porter, replied. A middle-aged woman, she had said little since he came aboard.

  Colonel Tehrani had personally approved a seventy-two-hour liberty pass the day before and worked some magic to get Justin a berth on a corvette returning from the front lines for refit. Whether he would make it in time for his son’s birth was still uncertain. Michelle had been in labor for four hours, and the baby could arrive at any moment. “You can get another three thousand KPH out of this thing before hitting any red lines.”

  “What the hell is so important down there, Captain?”

  “My son’s delivery,” Justin snapped. “I missed my daughter’s birth because I was still active duty out of college.”

  Porter’s expression softened. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

  Justin shrugged. “I’m not one for special treatment. But this is quite important to me.” He let out a sigh. “I failed my wife the last time. I don’t want a repeat.”

  “Strapped in, sir?”

  “Yup.”

  She grinned. “Hang on.”

  The shuttle suddenly pitched down farther and accelerated. Justin recognized the shaking as the shield generator’s reaction to sustained thermal stress. The craft shot through the atmosphere like a speeding bullet, and in no time, blue sky broke through the sea of flame. As they rocketed above the planet at ten thousand meters’ altitude, a series of sonic booms rattled the cockpit.

  “Which hospital, sir?”

  “Lincoln Memorial. Women’s health ring,” Justin replied. His knuckles turned white from gripping his seat. “You know how to fly this thing, Warrant.”

  “Might not be as good as you fancy fighter pilots, but yeah, I can hold my own, sir.” She cued her commlink. “This is CDF Shuttle Six-Eight-Niner requesting landing permission for Lincoln Memorial. I have a military medical emergency.”

  Justin’s eyes grew wide at the lie. “Uh, Warrant—”

  She touched her headset. “We’re approved, Captain.”

  “But uh…”

  “Look, I’d want my husband to be there, too, okay? Just move your ass and get to the right ward.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Justin replied wryly.

  It didn’t take long for the shuttle to make its final approach. Porter performed the maneuver with the hand of a professional who had many years of training. She flared out at the last second and set down on the landing pad. “Good luck, Captain, and Godspeed. Rear hatch is open.”

  “Thanks, Warrant. Godspeed to you too.” Justin unstrapped himself from the harness and bounded out of the copilot's chair. Running full tilt, he raced by a group of paramedics rushing toward the shuttle. Heh. I hope the two of us don’t get court-martialed for this stunt.

  The medical complex was sprawling. Lincoln Memorial had three separate towers, several ancillary buildings, and multiple helicar garages. Usefully, they were well marked, and he was able to guide himself toward the women’s health center quickly. Michelle had sent him a message with the birthing suite she was in, and he tore through the lobby like a man possessed.

  “Sir, can I help you?” a receptionist called out.

  “I’m good!” Justin yelled as he raced by, absentmindedly remembering to remove his cover. He dashed into a gravlift and punched the button for the twenty-eighth floor.

  A few moments later, the doors whooshed open, and Justin nearly bowled over a group of nurses as he charged out.

  Sorry!” he yelled over his shoulder. “My wife’s in labor!”

  The nurses stared at him with bemused expressions.

  One put her hands on her hips. “Try not to kill anyone while you're at it, soldier!” Even she had a grin on her face, however.

  Less than thirty seconds later, Justin crashed through the door of his wife’s room to find two nurses and a doctor present along with Michelle. She was crying in pain, a medical cloth draped over her swollen belly.

  “Who are you, and why aren’t you masked?” one of the nurses cried out.

  “I’m the husband,” Justin replied. “I’m sorry. My shuttle just landed. I came as fast as I could.”

  “About time,” Michelle said between moans. “I’d about given up.”

  The nurse handed him a surgical mask. “Put this on and stand on the other side.”

  Justin nodded and slipped the mask over his face. He made his way around the bed and took Michelle’s hand. “I’m sorry I cut it so close.”

  She screamed then sucked in a breath. “It’s okay. You’re here now, and your son is making this difficult.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The baby is breach,” the doctor announced as she raised her head from under the cloth. “I’m going to try again to shift him, but if I can’t, we’ll have to operate.”

  It took Justin a moment to register that their son was trying to come out feet first. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Breathing exercises,” the doctor replied curtly before sticking her head back down.

  Michelle grabbed his hand and held it so tightly that Justin thought she might break his wrist. “I didn’t want to do this again without you.”

  “I know.”

  “Thank you. I don’t know how you pulled it off, but thank you, baby.”

  Justin grinned as emotion finally caught up with him, and his eyes watered. “Thank Colonel Tehrani. She pulled out all the stops.” Tears dripped down his cheeks. “Are you okay?” He immediately felt stupid at the lame question.

  “Okay, I’ve got him turned. Push!” the doctor yelled, cutting off all conversation.

  It took a second, but Michelle’s face turned bloodred as she pushed with all her might, screaming in pain. Again and again, she squeezed Justin’s hand until it nearly broke.

  Finally, the doctor spoke again. “Stop!”

  A moment later, the cry of a baby filled the room, and Michelle relaxed, breathing heavily. “Oh, thank God.”

  The doct
or pushed Michelle’s legs down and lifted the crying infant. It was an almost alien sight. Covered in a gooey substance and his face deformed from passing through the birth canal, the baby looked nothing like how he had on the holoprograms.

  “Would you like to cut the cord?” she asked.

  “Uh, how?”

  “Didn’t you take birthing classes with your wife?” the doctor asked, exasperated.

  “No, ma’am. I’ve been at the front since the war started.”

  Whatever condemnation was present in her voice disappeared. “I see. Well, I’ll clamp both ends, and it's straightforward—you cut with a pair of sterile scissors between the clamps. Neither your child nor your wife can feel it.”

  Justin gulped. For some reason, the task intimidated him far more than having League fighters try to blow his Sabre apart. “Okay. Got it.” He reached for the medical scissors and gripped them while the medical professionals clamped the cord. After sliding the razor-sharp implement to where the doctor indicated, he squeezed, severing the cord. Staring at his son, Justin felt more wonder than at any time in his life.

  The nurses quickly cleaned up the blood left by the procedures and proceeded to clean and wrap the infant.

  “Do you have any preference for where we’ll store the cord blood?” the doctor asked.