Hostile Spike (Battlegroup Z Book 2) Page 18

  “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 up to the ideal cut her to the bone.

  She pushed the thoughts down and decided to try to comfort her people. “We got what we came for, ladies and gentlemen—an offensive victory over the League of Sol. Don’t lose sight of it.”

  “Conn, Navigation. Lawrence drive is fully charged and coordinates locked in.”

  Tehrani peered at Wright. “All our small craft back onboard?”

  “Thirty seconds, ma’am,” he replied.

  “Conn, TAO. Sierra One has jumped out.”

  Blue dots on Tehrani’s screen representing the last of the Boars and the SAR bird raced toward the Zvika Greengold. The last icon was the one marked CAG. Of course the major would wait until his people were safe. “Time to get scarce,” she said as the CAG’s dot merged with theirs. That’s everybody. Except our missing pilots. “Navigation, activate Lawrence drive.”

  The often-repeated sequence of events commenced with the lights dimming on the bridge. Directly fore of the carrier, an artificial wormhole came into being, ripping a hole in the continuum of spacetime amid a kaleidoscope of color. The Greengold glided through the opening, and Tehrani felt thankful they’d escaped with their lives.

  Justin felt the hangar deck through his flight suit’s boots and glanced around the bay, which was a jumble of landed Sabres, Maulers, and Boars along with a few Marine shuttles. Aviation ratings milled about, assisting pilots out of their craft, while medics tended to wounded Marines before moving them toward the medical bay. It didn’t take long for his compatriots in Alpha element to make their way over.

  Feldstein wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. “Glad you’re still in one piece.”

  Okay, that’s different. Justin took a step back when she released her grip. “I had some great teammates watching out for me.” He glanced between Adeoye and Mateus. “Crackerjack flying from all of you.”

  “Lieutenant Spencer,” someone called. It took Justin a few seconds to realize it was Major Nishimura.

  The major, still clad in his power armor, trudged across the hangar with a group of Marines.

  Justin brought himself to attention and saluted. “Sir.”

  Nishimura returned the salute with a smile. “On behalf of all my Marines, thank you. To you and all the pilots who covered us out there. We wouldn’t be alive without your efforts.”

  “Just doing our jobs, sir,” Justin replied. He relaxed to a parade rest position almost instinctively and grasped his hands behind his back. “Did you get the intel?”

  “Oh yeah,” Nishimura replied, his smile growing into a grin. “We also captured a couple of high-value POWs. One of them, I think he’s the kind that likes to talk, if you know what I mean.” The grin faded. “Who was the pilot that sacrificed himself for us?” The Marine’s expression turned somber. “I’d like to remember him.”

  “His name was Orhan Yavuz,” Justin replied. Emotion welled up in him. He’d known the Turkish lieutenant but not well. He’d only been in the squadron for a short time but distinguished himself as a natural aviator. Is this how it’s going to be? We won’t have time to make friends becaus
e all of us die too quickly?

  The rest of the Marines had come in behind Nishimura, while the medics finished their jobs removing the wounded.

  “Did he have a family?” Nishimura asked.

  “Yes, sir. A wife and two small sons. Twins, I believe,” Justin replied.

  Nishimura glanced behind him then toward the assembled mass of pilots. “Let us give thanks for the bravery and dedication of Orhan Yavuz. Let us give thanks for the freedoms we enjoy every day. Let us remember the price paid for those freedoms and for our lives as we stand here.” His voice broke as he continued, “Orhan Yavuz fell in the line of duty, serving his country. Men and women like him answer the call from throughout the Terran Coalition. Let us never forget our fallen comrades, for they have earned our respect and admiration with their lives.”

  The hangar bay went silent, as anyone within earshot of the major had stopped what they were doing and listened. Justin recognized his words as a variation of the Toast to the Fallen.

  “We knew Orhan Yavuz. We’ll remember him, and he won’t be forgotten. To our fallen!”

  “To our fallen!” was echoed by everyone, including Justin. A loud round of somber applause followed it.

  Justin pursed his lips. “Thank you, Major. It means something that we remember the sacrifices made.” Someone has to remember. It has to count.

  “We’ll be heading off to Marine country shortly. Any pilot is welcome.” Nishimura smiled. “And we’ve got the good beer.”

  A wave of laughter swept through those around them. “Thanks, sir.” Combat humor. It helps keep us sane.

  “You getting a new Sabre?”

  “I suppose,” Justin replied. “They just have to pull it out of storage.”

  “And paint the kill marks on the side, right?”

  Justin shook his head. “No, I don’t do that.”

  Nishimura stared, a dumbfounded expression on his face. “A fighter pilot who doesn’t mark his kills? Seriously, Spencer, what’s wrong with you? Are you one of those guys that only eats kale?”

  “Uh, no.” Justin paused, not entirely sure how to respond. “I decided after the Battle of Canaan that instead of painting kills on my bird, I’d have patches painted for everyone my squadron lost, and I’ve kept that going.”

  For a moment, Nishimura didn’t speak. He bit his lip and took a step forward. “Whatever anyone else says, you’re a decent guy, Spencer.” He slapped Justin on the shoulder. “Carry on, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, sir.” Justin flashed a smile and watched the group of Marines walk past, their armored boots clanking on the flight deck. He stared as they disappeared from view, pondering the lives snuffed out in an instant. We’re here, then just like that, we’re not. He found it very sobering.

  “So, when are we going to get the free booze?” Mateus asked, breaking Justin out of his mental revelry.

  “How about we get out of these flight suits first,” Feldstein cut in. “I smell like an outhouse.”

  Adeoye sniffed the air. “No, you don’t.”

  “And you know what an outhouse smells like?”

  Justin took a step forward. “Let’s go get changed.”

  They fell in line behind him. The animated conversation about outhouses continued while he focused on Nishimura’s words. I wonder how long it will be before someone raises a toast to me. Or someone in Alpha. One thing that rang true with him was he needed to make every day count. No regrets.

  18

  After the Zvika Greengold returned to the CDF station that marked their halfway point on the convoy escort mission, Tehrani had expected to see Agent Grant standing at the airlock door when they extended the transfer tube. Numerous CIS SIGINT—Signals Intelligence—technicians had been waiting for them but no Grant. After the past week, she couldn’t have cared less. Overseeing the removal of the captured data and transfer of remains for transport back to Canaan had left Tehrani drained. If I let myself stop for a minute and think about what’s happened, I’m not sure what the emotional toll would look like. Perhaps, she mused, that was why there was always something else to do.

  Later that afternoon, Tehrani was back in her day cabin, crunching away on paperwork, when her door buzzer went off. “Come in.”

  The hatch swung open, and Agent Grant’s smiling face was before her. He wore a CDF khaki service uniform, though it lacked rank insignia. “Good day, Colonel. May I have a few minutes of your time?” Grant asked in a perfectly reasonable tone, like he had no other care in the galaxy.

  Tehrani’s jaw dropped, and for a moment, she couldn’t think of anything to say. “How did you get in here?”

  Grant walked in and sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Well, it’s quite simple to blend in. For a spy, anyway. Especially when I’m in the right uniform.” He steepled his fingers. “I must confess… we were blown away by how your ship pulled off the mission. I had less than thirty percent odds on the Zvika Greengold making it back.”

  The spook’s nonchalant manner when talking about her ship and, more importantly, its crew, infuriated Tehrani. She stared directly into the man’s eyes. “Do you need something, Agent? Otherwise, I have no interest in listening to your predictions.”

  “I see I hit a nerve. Forgive me. That was my way of giving you and your crew my compliments. I thought you might want to know we recovered some extremely actionable intelligence out of the caper. The station you took out wasn’t the only one out there.”

  Tehrani shifted. “I figured as much.”

  Grant grinned. “What you did will change the face of the war.” He paused. “I really do hope we work together again.”

  Something about his tone bothered Tehrani. His entire demeanor was off. “And why is that?”

  “It’s nice dealing with fellow professionals,” Grant replied. “Allow me to answer the question you want to ask but are just too polite to.” His mouth grew into a large smile. “I’m not like you or the rest of your crew or the Marines, for that matter. I’m a high-functioning sociopath.” He held up his hand. “Don’t worry. It’s well-known and in my file. There’s a code of ethics I follow rigorously. It keeps me on the straight and narrow, if you will. Still, I enjoy fieldwork far more than I ought to.”

  Tehrani just stared, dumbfounded. How is this guy working for us?

  “It has certain benefits. Specifically, I’m able to get over setbacks and losses… quickly.” He glanced around the day cabin. “You, I suspect, not so much. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you made it.” Grant stood. “I’ve taken up enough of your time, Colonel, and I can see myself out.” He grinned again. “As I said, I look forward to the next time.”

  “Good day, Mr. Grant,” Tehrani replied, staring at him as he walked through the opening and the hatch clanged shut behind him.

  For a long time after he left, she pondered the conversation and had the feeling a bath was in order. A stark reminder that while I’m firmly convinced we’re the good guys, it doesn’t mean everyone in the Terran Coalition has pure motivations. Though she tried to focus on her work, the unpleasant emotions wouldn’t go away.

  Another day in the books, another mug of spiced tea—such was the nature of the small rewards Banu Tehrani allowed herself. She’d stayed in her day office, working on the after-action report for their battle at the League station, until almost 2100 hours CMT, stopping only to have dinner brought in. Utter exhaustion had set in. Curled up on the couch in her quarters belowdecks, she took another sip of the hot tea.

  The tablet resting on the coffee table repeatedly buzzed, the vibration causing it to rattle on the transparent alloy—warships had very little actual glass because of safety concerns in battle. Tehrani picked it up, to find the vidlink application open with an incoming call from her husband, Ibrahim. She excitedly pressed the button to answer.

  A few moments later, his smiling face appeared on the device. “Banu, can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “How did you manage to get through? The commlink lines
are jammed.”

  Ibrahim’s eyes twinkled. “You’re not the only person with friends in high places. Consider it a gift from a friend.” He beamed. “How are you?”

  “Alive.” Tehrani forced a smile, but it morphed into a frown. A tear slid down her face. “Better than the alternative, I suppose.”

  “More death?”

  She closed her eyes. “Yes. Even in victory, we lose good people.” More tears came along with a choking cough. “So many conflicting emotions. Part of me wants to be glad, even happy that the enemy was vanquished.” Tehrani furrowed her brow. “And that we killed enough of them to make a difference.”

  Ibrahim raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you’d better read your Quran some more, dear. If you’re still tending more toward being devout.”

  “Are you mocking me?” Tehrani demanded.

  “No… no. Not at all.” He pursed his lips. “I’ve been attending the mosque near our home every few days.”

  Tehrani stared at the tablet in amazement, the flash of anger abating. “Who are you, and what did you do with my husband?” As long as she’d known Ibrahim, he’d been a skeptic of religion. Arabia was a pretty conservative place—religiously speaking—so it wasn’t like he’d flashed it around to everyone they knew, but it was one of his core beliefs.

  He spread his hands out in a shrug. “I’ve been praying for your safety.” Ibrahim paused, choking up. “You’re the love of my life, Banu. I’m not complete without you, and I can’t protect you where you are. So instead, I ask Allah to protect and guide you. If such a being exists. The way I’m looking at it, it can’t hurt to try.”

  The way he made the statement, and the sheer honesty of it, made her love him all the more. “Thank you,” Tehrani replied softly. “I would point out to you, though, that I’m a military officer with nineteen years of experience.” She grinned.

  “And I’m an economics professor.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Those facts do not change my desire to protect my wife.”