Hostile Spike (Battlegroup Z Book 2) Read online

  “Condition one set throughout the ship, ma’am,” Bryan replied. “Shields at maximum. Point-defense online and in automatic mode.”

  “XO, launch the alert fighters.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am. That’ll be Beta and Epsilon respectively.”

  Tehrani nodded curtly. “TAO, designate—” She glanced at her tactical plot. “Master Two as the priority target.” The frigate was the closest to their formation of nearly defenseless freighters.

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Bryan replied.

  Two clusters of blue icons separated from the Zvika Greengold on the screen in front of Tehrani. One was quickly labeled as Beta and the other Epsilon. Groups of red dots appeared around the enemy vessels and accelerated away.

  “Conn, TAO. The enemy has launched fighters, ma’am.”

  “XO, get the next fighter element from our Red Tails squadron on deck and ready to launch.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Wright replied.

  The Marcus Luttrell turned sharply and sped toward the enemy interlopers. Its magnetic cannons sent a wave of high-explosive shells at ten percent of the speed of light toward the closest League frigate. Coupled with neutron beams and a volley of missiles, it made a significant dent in the Lancer’s shields.

  “Navigation, intercept course, Master Two,” Tehrani ordered as the Greengold’s fighters and bombers merged into the mass of red dots denoting League Shrike fighters.

  Wright leaned in. “Are we mixing it up again?”

  “That we are, Major,” Tehrani replied with a grin. “The sooner we neutralize this enemy, the sooner we can get out of here.”

  “We’re still two hours away from a safe jump.”

  Wright’s words registered in her mind, and she knew those two ships weren’t the last Leaguers they would see. Again, she cursed the poor planning of their civilian leaders. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master Two, forward neutron beams.”

  “Firing solutions set, ma’am.”

  It took a few minutes for the lumbering carrier to close the distance enough for their primary armament to be effective. As the Greengold moved forward, the Marcus Luttrell raked the frigate with another alpha strike before darting out of range. Tehrani noted that the destroyer’s shields were below fifty percent.

  The moment they got to their median range, she spoke. “Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

  Twin blue beams erupted from the Greengold’s bow, moving at the speed of light. They slammed into the protective screens of the League frigate, which failed after only a few seconds. Against a capital ship or heavily armored opponent, their assault wouldn’t have worked. But the Lancer had a brittle hull and limited armor plating. The neutron beams speared the hapless warship, blowing through its superstructure like it wasn’t even there. The vessel's bow blew off, and it started to tumble through space, out of control.

  “Conn, TAO. Master Two has been neutralized.”

  Tehrani didn’t allow herself to savor the victory. The only objective was the next target. “TAO, firing point procedures, Master One, forward neutron beams. Designate it as the primary target for our battlegroup.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am. Firing solutions set. Two minutes to energy armament recharge.”

  Wright touched her shoulder. “Colonel, we just lost another fighter from Beta element. Recommend launching our next group of Sabres.”

  So intent on the ship-to-ship portion of the battle, Tehrani had lost track of the fast movers. She scanned her screen and confirmed her XO’s report. “Do it.”

  On the flight deck, Justin’s Sabre sat in readiness along with the other three craft of Alpha element. Since the scramble alarm sounded in their ready room, they’d raced to their fighters and completed the preflight checkouts. While Alpha was supposedly on ready-thirty alert status, it was actually closer to ten minutes.

  “Spencer, Beta’s gotten worked over pretty bad,” Whatley said over Justin’s commlink. “I show Alpha ready to launch.”

  “Yes, sir. We’re locked and cocked,” Justin replied enthusiastically. His mind was clear of all distractions. The only thing that mattered was engaging and defeating the enemy.

  “Then get out there and kill some Leaguers before they start popping our freighters.” As always, Whatley’s tone was exceedingly gruff.

  “On our way, sir.” Justin flipped the commlink channel to the air boss. “Boss, request permission to launch.”

  “Permission granted, Alpha. Good luck, good hunting, and Godspeed.”

  With a grunt, Justin turned the commlink channel back to his element. “Okay, boys and girls, we’re getting our turn at bat. Launch on me.”

  He held down his throttle control and pressed the button to activate the magnetic accelerator catapult on the Greengold. His Sabre rocketed out of the flight bay and sped away. Feldstein, Mateus, and Adeoye were right behind him.

  The integrated battlespace-awareness system in Justin’s HUD populated with friendly and hostile contacts. The blue icons associated with Beta element were missing two fighters, and one of Epilson’s bombers flashed red, indicating severe hull damage.

  He gripped his flight stick with his right hand and lined up with the closest enemy craft. “Alpha, push it up to max speed and engage afterburners. The first objective is to assist our brothers.”

  “Acknowledged, sir,” Feldstein replied.

  As the Marcus Luttrell and the Zvika Greengold exchanged weapons fire with the remaining League frigate, Justin and the rest of Alpha flight weaved through the convoy of freighters. The sight was unique to behold. Most of the time, civilian cargo haulers plied their trade alone, or sometimes they flew in a small corporate convoy of two or three vessels. To see over thirty together with a CDF escort was unprecedented. At least during peacetime.

  Unlike most engagements, with the two friendly Sabres locked in a tail-turning dogfight, Justin and his fellows didn’t have to endure incoming missile and energy-weapon fire. Instead, he settled into an attack vector on the nearest Leaguer and lit off his LIDAR active-tracking system. The missile-lock-on tone sounded, and Justin squeezed the launch button. A single Vulture dropped out of his internal-stores bay and blasted off toward the enemy. “Alpha One, Fox three.”

  Missiles zoomed away from the other three craft in the element while Justin tracked his quarry, stabbing at it with bright-blue neutron-cannon blasts. Several bolts connected, and the League Shrike exploded in a brief ball of blue-and-orange flame. “Alpha One, splash one,” he called. “Alpha flight engaged.”

  Feldstein’s Sabre raced by as a flurry of energy weapons erupted from it. Another enemy craft blew up, followed quickly by two more. Justin noted with satisfaction that his pilots didn’t seem to have any cobwebs from their month-long combat hiatus. It certainly helped that Beta worked these guys over pretty good. None had more than twenty percent shield power.

  “Beta One, I see you’ve taken significant hull damage.”

  “Still combat capable, sir,” the pilot replied. “And nearly full stores.”

  Justin made a quick decision. “Return to home plate. Both of you. We’ll get S and R out here to scoop up the escape pods from Beta Two and Four.”

  “Sir—”

  “That’s an order,” Justin barked.

  “Roger. Beta is RTB.”

  Justin rotated his craft and leveled out on a vector to intercept the active flight of League Totem heavy bombers. Three of them were headed directly for the Marcus Luttrell, while the fourth seemed to have disappeared. I guess Beta got it before we arrived.

  The voice of Lieutenant Francis Martin, the colorful commander of the Zvika Greengold’s bomber squadron, came over the commlink. “Attack run commencing on Master One, mates. Stand clear of the blast radius. And if you’re a pansy-ass commie, please put your head between your legs and kiss your arse goodbye!”

  Justin laughed loudly. The ribald banter from the Aussie was still a welcome distraction in combat. “Wilco, Epilson One. Enjoy the fireworks.”


  “You’d better believe it, mate.”

  A good fifteen seconds passed. Right before Justin and the rest of Alpha element hit the League bombers' maximum engagement range, bright-blue spears of directed energy cut across his cockpit canopy. That would be the neutron beams on the Marcus Luttrell. They sliced through the unshielded hull of the remaining enemy frigate. Another two beams from the Greengold added to the destruction, and a moment later, the vessel exploded into one-meter-sized chunks.

  For a few seconds, Justin allowed himself to believe they’d successfully defended the convoy, as he closed with the remaining bombers. The notion was quickly dispelled as multiple wormholes appeared on his HUD. With a firm grip on his flight stick, he decided the best thing he could do was clean up the enemy before them as quickly as possible.

  “Conn, TAO. LIDAR effects… inbound wormholes.”

  Tehrani glanced at her tactical plot, which didn’t yet register the new vessels. They can’t be friendly. It would be too much to ask that the attack they’d already repulsed would be it for the run. “IFF, Lieutenant?”

  “One moment, ma’am,” Bryan replied quickly. “Aspect change. Enemy contacts confirmed. Three Cobra-class destroyers.” Cobra was the new designation from CDF command. Who knew what the Leaguers called the vessels. “Designated Master Three, Four, and Five.”

  Three new red icons sprang into being on Tehrani’s monitor. They headed straight for the merchant ships on an intercept vector. “TAO, designate Master—” She checked the plot to be sure of her orders. “Four as the battle group’s primary target.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  “Navigation, come to heading zero-one-zero, declination fifteen degrees.”

  The Marcus Luttrell accelerated toward the new threat, while the Greengold turned. The mass of the carrier coupled with its weaker engines—compared to a vessel designed for fast space warfare like a destroyer or a frigate—led to an agonizingly slow wait. Tehrani felt a tap on her shoulder and turned toward its source.

  “Colonel, I’ve got an idea. If we fly under a couple of merchant ships here”—Wright pointed at a series of blue dots on the tactical plot—“we might take the lead enemy vessel here by surprise. They’re probably focused on the Luttrell coming in at max sublight.”

  Tehrani grinned. “I thought you were all for staying in the back and letting our small craft do the heavy lifting.”

  “Well, yeah. That’s what a carrier typically does, but you want to be different, and it’s my job to help.” Wright winked. “Besides, it does feel pretty good to notch a ship kill.”

  With a shake of her head, Tehrani stared at the tactical plot and drew a series of lines over the touch screen. “Navigation, input the course I just drew into the system and drop us ten thousand meters, Z-axis.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner replied.

  As the Zvika Greengold worked her way toward the fight, the Marcus Luttrell carried on the battle. First, it turned at the last moment after entering maximum effective weapons range and made almost all the plasma balls fired by the League destroyers miss. Then with the grace of a ballet dancer, the ship let loose with a full alpha strike of magnetic-cannon rounds, neutron beams, and missiles. Before the enemy could get a shot in, the Luttrell darted out of range—to begin the deadly dance once more.

  Tehrani watched the plot like a hawk. The moment the Greengold cleared the last merchant ship, she barked, “TAO, firing point procedures, forward neutron beams, Master Four.”

  “Firing solutions set, ma’am.”

  “Match bearings, shoot, forward neutron beams.”

  Two blue spears of energy shot out from the carrier’s bow. Moving at the speed of light, they made contact with the League destroyer’s shields and hammered away at them. Meanwhile, the Marcus Luttrell let loose with every weapon system it could bring to bear. As the last missile slammed into the energy barrier, the deflectors failed, and the blue beams made contact with the hull. The alloy turned molten and glowed red.

  “Conn, TAO. Master Four shields are down.”

  Tehrani grinned wryly at Wright. “XO, I heard those Boar pilots are always bragging about how ballsy their fighters are. I think it’s time they put up or shut up.”

  “Couldn’t agree more, ma’am.” Wright touched a button on his chair. “XO to the boss. Launch the alert Boars.”

  As Tehrani turned back to the tactical plot, a new group of icons appeared directly outside of the Greengold’s launch bay. May Allah help them in their goal.

  A League space-superiority fighter blew apart less than five hundred meters from Justin’s Sabre. The brief orange explosion was a funeral pyre for the unlucky pilot who flew it. He rocked his flight stick to the right, avoiding a collision with fragments from the hull. More red dots appeared on his HUD as additional enemy craft entered the battlespace.

  “Alpha, re-form and defend the bombers. They’re taking another pass at us.”

  “Wilco, sir,” Feldstein replied, her voice staticky over the commlink. “Looks like the Boars are getting into the fight.”

  Four new blue icons appeared representing the Gamma element. They raced away from the Zvika Greengold and headed directly for the nearest League destroyer—Master Four— hich still hadn’t been able to rebuild its shield grid. The Mauler bombers twisted, with Alpha providing close support, and came around for another pass.

  Justin tightened his grip on the flight stick as a formation of three League fighters zoomed toward them. Inbound missiles lit up his LIDAR array but not the lock-on warning system: the enemy was firing exclusively at the bombers. “Alpha, drop chaff. Now, now, now. Break left and engage bandits.” He hoped the LIDAR-spoofing material would help confuse the warheads.

  One of the Leaguers entered his sights as he brought his Sabre around. Justin squeezed the trigger for his miniaturized neutron cannons, sending dozens of blue bolts into the void.

  “Alpha Two, fox three,” Feldstein called. A Vulture detached from her fighter and zipped away. A few moments later, it slammed into a League craft and blew off part of its wing. Sustained bursts from her neutron cannons finished the enemy off. “Alpha Two, splash one.”

  Momentarily distracted, Justin glanced out of the canopy of his cockpit as the Boars roared into the fight. Most Terran Coalition fighters appeared aesthetically pleasing. Not so the squat armored Boar. It wasn’t built for looks. Instead, it was built to blow things up. Coming in at a high rate of sublight speed, the group of four lit up the enemy destroyer. Every couple of seconds, each craft fired a round from its ventral-integrated magnetic cannon, shredding armor and subsystems wherever they hit. Dumb-fire rockets and neutron-cannon bolts added to the maelstrom. At least two of the vessel’s plasma-cannon turrets exploded, while anti-ship missiles from the Mauler element slammed into the already-damaged hull. Secondary blasts erupted from areas already damaged by CDF weapons fire, and the League ship began to drift.

  “Scratch one destroyer,” Green, the squadron commander for the Black Hogs, announced.

  Justin scanned his HUD, searching for additional targets. Not too shabby. Hope that they would beat back the enemy with limited losses rose in him.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t have been so quick to insult those Boar pilots,” Wright said with a chuckle.

  While everything on the bridge was still bathed in blue light, Tehrani couldn’t help but feel the room had brightened just a tad. Two enemy destroyers down in a few minutes would do that to the mood. She locked eyes on the tactical plot. One left. Her recollection of the after-action reports from the previous convoy runs suggested two waves followed by a pause then more attackers. We should get a break to rearm and tee up the next fighter elements on deck. “Yes, I think you’re right, Major,” Tehrani murmured. “We owe them an extra-special dinner tonight from the senior-officers’ mess.”

  “Agreed.”

  The kernel of hope in Tehrani’s gut grew as the last wave of fighters and bombers the Leaguers launched was quickly eliminated.
Until Bryan interrupted her thoughts, that was.

  “Conn, TAO. Aspect change… inbound wormhole.”

  Tehrani let out a breath. So much for military intelligence. She steeled herself for what came next.

  “Conn, TAO. New contact identified as Rand-class heavy cruiser. Designated Master Six.”

  There had to be some irony in the universe somewhere for CDF command to name a ship from a communist empire hellbent on conquering the Terran Coalition after Ayn Rand. Tehrani only knew of Rand in passing from her childhood education—that and a planet named Galt, beyond the Coalition’s frontiers. They’d long proclaimed to be the real capitalists and condemned the Terrans as a statist empire. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at the thought.

  “TAO, designate Master Six as the priority target for the fleet. XO, stand by to launch any available small craft.” Tehrani turned toward the front of the bridge. “Navigation, plot an intercept course with Master Six, all ahead flank.”

  The Rand, which to a casual observer would appear deceptively small, charged forward. It had emerged on the other side of the merchant ship’s formation, and as a result, almost all friendly forces were out of position to intercept. Red balls of plasma and neutron beams stabbed out from the heavy cruiser’s hull. As the nearest vessels tried to scatter, a barrage of the plasma balls slammed into an unlucky freighter’s shields. They only held for a few moments before the superheated matter smacked into the nonexistent armor and brittle hull of the civilian freighter. A chain reaction of explosions started and ended in chunks of alloy less than a meter wide.