Hostile Spike (Battlegroup Z Book 2) Daniel Gibbs (classic book list txt) 📖

“You got it. Godspeed, Justin.”

Before Justin could reply, his commlink screeched with static. Maybe it’s a side effect of being so close to a Leaguer ship. The massive force field loomed ahead of him, and suddenly, he was through it. He’d tried to gauge the distance to be as close to the flight deck as possible and was only about a meter off it. Artificial gravity kicked in, and Justin collapsed onto the alloy plating with a thud. Alarm klaxons pealed, and loud shouts in a language he couldn’t understand echoed throughout the bay while crewmembers rushed about. Shocked to still be alive and that no one had seen him so far, he dragged himself behind a crate and tried to get his bearings. Okay, so far, so good.

Tehrani held on to the armrests of the CO’s chair as the bridge of the Zvika Greengold rocked. The League heavy cruiser had seemingly forgotten every other possible target within ten thousand kilometers and focused solely on the carrier. She wiped a bead of sweat from her face. This doesn’t look good. “TAO, ETA to energy-capacitor recharge?”

“Ninety seconds, ma’am,” Bryan replied.

Wright leaned in. “I ran some additional numbers. If we jump now, two-thirds of our freighters will realistically make it.”

“Not yet,” Tehrani replied.

“Conn, TAO. Forward shields buckling, ma’am,” Bryan said as the ship shook violently. “They’re under fifteen percent.”

“Navigation, come to heading zero-eight-zero, flank speed.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Mitzner replied. She turned back toward the CO and XO chairs. “Ma’am, with our reduced structural integrity from recent battles, a full power turn may not—”

“Execute my orders, Lieutenant,” Tehrani barked.

Chastened, the young woman turned around. “Yes, ma’am.”

Another wave of plasma balls slammed into the Greengold’s weakened deflectors, sending the protection values plummeting toward zero. Tehrani despaired. She had few options, and while the Marcus Luttrell was fighting hard, a single destroyer and an escort carrier probably wouldn’t take out a heavy cruiser by themselves. That was to say nothing about the lost pilots. After the loss of two hundred soldiers on the Glasgow, the thought of leaving behind her people was something she could barely stomach, even if bugging out was the best choice.

“Skipper, I’ve got an idea,” Wright whispered. “We might be able to coax another fifteen to twenty percent directed-energy power out of the neutron beams.”

“How?” Tehrani asked. It might be enough to get through their shields, especially if the bombers can land a good missile run.

“Thanes are overengineered. I did a tour as an engineering assistant on one when I was going through my midshipman years. There’s enough throughput in the energy conduits for it, but we’ll have to ignore the safety alerts.” Wright grinned. “Since we’re at our wits’ end here…”

“Why the heck not?” Tehrani replied with a smile. “Get engineering on it.” She turned toward Bryan. “TAO, coordinate an alpha strike with Sierra One and any freighter in range willing to close and attack Master Four.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am.”

Much like the flight deck on the Zvika Greengold, the atmosphere in the hangar bay of the League heavy cruiser was pure pandemonium. From his perch behind a crate of God only knew what, Justin watched as men and women in dark-gray uniforms busied themselves servicing a group of fighters. He recognized them as the front-line League of Sol space-superiority fighters he’d been blowing out of space for the last six weeks. What’d intel start calling them? Shrikes?

Justin had never felt more scared. His heart pounded as he fought to get his fear under control. Okay. Breathe. You can do this. A group of men carrying a hose rushed up the side of one of the craft and attached it to an intake valve. After more shouting, the hose went rigid. I bet they’re fueling it. Perhaps they were defueling the fighter instead. I’m going to have to count on my luck holding.

The first indication otherwise was the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. Justin jerked back, reacting without much thought going into it. As he turned, the owner of the hand came into view. An absolute bear of a man stood less than a meter from him. Judging by the grease streaks on his uniform, Justin assumed the man was a crew chief or enlisted rating.

“Mamoy klyanus, ya tebya sokrushit!”

Though Justin couldn’t comprehend what was being said, the raised wrench and guttural roar from the Leaguer told him everything he needed to know: the man planned to kill him or, at the very least, detain him for security. His brain tripped for a moment before his right hand went for the small sidearm built into his flight suit’s leg. Justin’s hand closed around it, and he felt momentary relief.

The wrench swung in an arc, mere centimeters from Justin’s eyes. He flung himself backward, narrowly avoiding the alloy tool smashing his skull in. The pistol cleared its holster, and he brought it up in what seemed like slow motion. His training kicked in as he squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times. Bright-red stains slowly spread out across the chest of the Leaguer.

Oh my God. Oh my God. Justin stared, almost in a stupor, as the enemy soldier collapsed to the deck. Angry shouts rose, and half the Leaguers on the deck were staring straight at him and the man on the floor. As a gurgling noise came from the fallen enemy’s mouth, two crew chiefs rushed forward.

Justin snapped out of it and raised his sidearm. He fired again, hitting one of the men in the shoulder. The impact of the bullet spun the Leaguer around, and he collapsed, bleeding profusely and crying in pain. The other man with him paused, standing his ground with a large wrench held over his head as if it were a sword.

It’ll only take a few minutes for whatever passes for the master-at-arms on this ship to get here. He was only twenty meters from what he hoped was